Deyja would look up at Will. “I don’t want to die,” he looks about ready to cry. When he had first arrived at the camp, he had spent his nights crying himself to sleep and trying to stay away from people. He would’ve started being more open to the group again just before the one kid revealed his plan, then would have hidden himself again. He didn’t want to do this, it was against the rules, they weren’t supposed to do this. He hid himself in the back corners of buildings during play time, playing games on paper that his parents had taught him. His was afraid of dying, afraid of the organization, afraid of everything. Everything was wrong. He should be at home. He needed to be at home.