When morning came, the light through the cracked windows was softer than usual — gold instead of gray. 24 sat on the edge of his cot, already half dressed, sharpening one of his knives out of habit. He didn't hear Lu stir until she groaned and rolled over, the sound of sore muscles betraying her.
"Don't tell me it's time again," she muttered, voice muffled by the blanket.
24 looked over his shoulder. Her eyes were open but heavy, like she hadn't slept enough. The faint bruises on her arms told him everything.
"It's not," he said finally.
Lu blinked. "Wait… what?"
He stood, slipping the knife back into its sheath. "No training today. You've pushed far enough this week."
She sat up slowly, suspicion lacing her tone. "You're serious?"
"For once."
Lu stretched, wincing as her shoulders cracked. "You're actually giving me a day off? Who are you and what did you do with 24?"
He ignored the jab, crossing to the door. "Rest isn't weakness, Lu. You break the body, it forgets the lesson."
"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, already standing. But after a pause, a grin tugged at her mouth. "If we're taking a break… then we're not staying in here."
24 raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly are we going?"
"Out," she said simply. "We've been cooped up in this dusty bunker for a week. Let's see what this place actually looks like."
The camp was different in daylight.
Outside the training building, the world buzzed with life. Soldiers still moved through their routines, but they were only part of the picture. Between rows of tents and half-standing buildings, there were families — real families — laughing, cooking, talking.
Children darted between barrels, playing some improvised game with a scrap of cloth. Vendors shouted prices from makeshift stalls lined with canned food, tools, and faded bits of pre-war junk polished up like treasure.
It didn't feel like a war camp. It felt like a town.
Lu slowed her pace, taking it in. "I didn't realize…" she said quietly. "It's not just fighters here."
24 nodded, scanning the crowd with his usual caution, though his eyes softened. "They're the reason the fighters stay."
They passed a stall selling roasted corn, the smell rich and sweet. Lu stopped, tugging at his sleeve. "Come on. You have to at least pretend you're human for one day."
He sighed but followed. She handed over a few coins she'd earned from helping in repairs earlier that week and passed him a cob, grinning. "See? Civilization."
He bit into it, expression unreadable. After a moment, he said, "Too much salt."
Lu laughed. "That means it's perfect."
They wandered deeper through the camp. A small music stand near the center had a man strumming an old guitar, and a handful of people gathered around listening. 24 stopped beside Lu, arms crossed, but didn't move away.
For a while, they just stood there, letting the melody wash over the noise of chatter and engines.
It was strange — this small fragment of peace inside a world that had burned itself to the bone.
Lu glanced at him. "You ever think about what you'd be doing if the world hadn't fallen apart?"
He didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed on the people laughing nearby. "No point thinking about ghosts," he said finally. "The past doesn't rebuild itself."
"Still," she murmured. "Feels nice to pretend for a minute."
24's gaze flicked toward her, and though he said nothing, the corner of his mouth twitched — almost a smile.
As the sun began to set, they ended up sitting on a low concrete wall overlooking the camp. Lanterns flickered to life below, the air thick with smoke and laughter.
For the first time in a long while, there was no sound of gunfire. No drills. No orders. Just life trying to continue.
Lu leaned back, letting her legs swing. "You know," she said softly, "I could get used to this."
24 looked out at the glowing horizon. "Don't," he said, but his tone lacked its usual edge.
They sat in silence after that, letting the quiet settle between them — not the silence of war, but something lighter.
For one day, the ghosts stayed away.