The night pressed close around the settlement, thick with the hum of generators and the rustle of sand against old concrete. The air smelled of rust, oil, and faint smoke from the outer fires.
24 stood near the doorway of their quarters, his shoulders squared, his attention somewhere distant. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face—calm, but carved with purpose.
Lu, still catching her breath from the day's training, watched him for a moment before speaking.
"You're not done for the night, are you?"
"No."
His voice was low, even. He adjusted his coat, eyes flicking briefly toward the corridor.
"Pack your things."
Lu frowned, unsure if she'd heard him right.
"What? Are we leaving already?"
"No. Not unless I say so. But if I don't come back before dawn—head east. Follow the river until you reach the causeway."
Her stomach knotted.
"You're serious."
"The commander planted that camera," 24 said, his tone clipped but quiet. "I'm going to have a word."
"A word," she repeated. "That could turn bad."
"It might."
He turned to meet her eyes, calm but with something hard beneath it—a quiet acceptance of whatever would come.
"Enjoy the rest of your night, Lu. You've earned it."
"That sounds like someone who doesn't plan to come back," she murmured.
"I do," he said. "Plans just don't always hold."
And with that, he was gone—his footsteps fading into the steady hum of the hall.
The silence that followed felt too large for the room.
Lu packed her things in slow, deliberate motions, folding what few possessions she had into her worn pack. When she looked around, it hit her how still everything felt without him there.
She caught sight of the small adjoining room—the one with the old shower she'd discovered days earlier. A thin pipe ran up the wall, still miraculously functional.
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then turned the handle. The pipes groaned, coughing up a few splatters of brown water before the flow turned clear. Steam rose in the air, softening the edges of the cold.
She stepped under the stream, letting it run over her shoulders, her back, her hair. The warmth wasn't much, but it was enough to ease the ache in her muscles. Dirt, sweat, and the remnants of training washed down the cracked tiles in slow spirals.
She leaned her head against the wall, eyes closed. The noise of the camp was faint here—muted through concrete and water. For the first time in a while, she let herself breathe.
Her thoughts drifted to 24.
To the way he never let his guard down.
To the stillness he carried even when he was angry.
She wondered what he looked like when he wasn't ready for war.
The water cooled, but she stayed beneath it a few moments longer before finally shutting it off.
When she stepped out, she felt lighter—but the quiet didn't sit right anymore. The room was too still, the air too heavy. She dressed, pulled her mask back over her face, and sat on the edge of the bed.
The minutes passed.
No sound of returning footsteps.
No shadow in the hall.
Her chest tightened.
Finally, she stood, slipping her blades into their sheaths.
"You're not going in there alone," she whispered.
Lu pulled on her coat, tightened the straps of her pack, and stepped out into the dark corridor. The lamps flickered above her, casting long, uneven shadows across the concrete.
She followed the direction 24 had gone—silent, steady, the faint hum of the generators her only companion.
Outside, somewhere near the commander's quarters, the air was beginning to shift.
And Lu, masked and quiet as a ghost, was walking straight toward it.