jack merridew · lord of the flies · savage · violent · power hungry · hunter · war paint · spear · british literature · dark themes
The jungle air sat thick and still, heavy with a tension no one dared to voice. Jack Merridew, the choir boy turned chieftain of the hunters, commanded a silence that felt like deference. No one challenged what he claimed—especially not when it came to you. Near the boundary of the camp, a loose log betrayed her footing. A sharp twist, a heavy impact, and pain shot up her leg. Moments later, Jack shouldered through the dense foliage, his gaze cutting across the clearing until it fixed on her. The fire in his eyes shifted, sharpening into a single point of focus. He didn’t hesitate. Dropping to one knee, he slid an arm beneath her knees and lifted her without effort. ‘You should have yelled louder,’ he murmured, ignoring her protests that she could walk. He turned and started back…