Morning came cold and gray, light leaking through fractured windows and the cracked ceiling above. The abandoned structure hummed with the wind, carrying dust and fragments of the world that once was.
24 was already awake, moving soundlessly through the room. He scanned each corner, every exposed beam, every glint that didn't belong. When he caught a flicker of red light high near the ceiling, he stilled.
A camera. New. Clean. Wired in.
He tilted his head slightly, studying it. The faint pulse of its lens confirmed it wasn't just a relic—it was active. Someone had installed it overnight.
"They're watching now," he muttered under his breath.
Lu entered quietly, her steps soft, hair damp from the cold water she'd used to wash. She stopped when she saw his expression.
"What is it?"
24 didn't look away from the beam.
"The commander's people. They've planted a lens. Probably since last night."Her shoulders tensed.
" So they're spying on us now?"
"No," he corrected, lowering his gaze to her. "They're measuring us."She frowned.
"Should we move?"
"Not yet." He glanced around the room again. "But from now on—no jumps. They don't get to see that."
"That'll hold you back," Lu said, voice edged with concern.
"Then I'll hold back," he replied simply. "It's still your training."
They began as they always did, but 24's movements were different—controlled, deliberate, restrained.
He faced her at the center of the cracked floor, arms relaxed, eyes locked on her stance.
"Weapons stay where they are," he said. "Today's about reaction. Control. If you can't fight barehanded, you're already dead."
Lu gave a short nod, setting her blades aside.
"And what's my goal?"
"To learn what not to do."
Before she could respond, he was already in motion. His first strike came low, sweeping, not fast—but sharp enough to test her reflexes. She dodged, barely. The second came from behind his pivot. She stumbled but stayed on her feet.
"Too much movement," he said evenly. "You're wasting energy."
He came at her again—hands a blur of motion, never hitting with full force, just enough to pressure her. Lu countered, twisted, ducked under his arm and went for a strike to his ribs. 24 caught her wrist mid-motion and stopped inches from her face.
"You moved because you thought you saw an opening," he said quietly. "You didn't."
She frowned, pulling her arm free.
"So I'm supposed to stand there and let you hit me?"
"You're supposed to see."
The hours dragged on. The air grew heavy with dust and sweat, their breathing the only sound in the room.
24's movements sharpened, his pace increasing. Lu began to adjust—reading him, not reacting blindly. Her body found rhythm where there was once panic.
A feint to the left. She didn't move.
A shift of weight. She ducked.
Then a step—too light, too early—and she saw it.She pivoted, her hand intercepting his strike before it landed.
24 froze, eyes narrowing slightly, then nodded."Better."She let out a tired laugh, pushing hair from her face.
"You sound almost proud."
"Almost," he said. "You're learning. That's enough."
By evening, the last light spilled orange and gold through the windows. The floor was streaked with footprints, dust, and the faint marks of their movements. Both of them stood still, breathing hard, the silence stretching between them.
Lu flexed her hands, palms bruised from the constant impact.
"You didn't jump once today."
"Couldn't," he said, looking up toward the corner beam again. "Wouldn't give them the satisfaction."
"You think they'll report it?"
"They already have."
He reached for his jacket and turned toward the door.
"That's enough for today."
Lu nodded, glancing once more toward the ceiling where the faint red light still blinked. Then, without saying anything, she climbed one of the support beams, reached the lens, and tore a strip of cloth from her sleeve.
She dropped it over the camera until the glow vanished.
When she landed, 24 was watching her.
"Now it's a fair fight," she said quietly.
He gave the faintest hint of a smile.
"We'll see how long it stays that way."
They left the room together, the dim orange light fading behind them—two silhouettes walking through the silence of a forgotten place, their movements measured, their bond wordless.
The camera blinked once beneath the cloth… then went dark.