Night. Full dark. The settlement quiet except for the usual sounds. Coughing. Crying. Someone fucking somewhere. Someone dying somewhere else. The normal sounds of surviving.
Movement near Del's corner. Quiet. Careful.
Opens his eye.
Can't see clearly. Just: shape. Shadow against darker shadow.
"It's me," Lira's voice. Quiet. "Can I—"
"Yes."
She sits. Close. Their shoulders touching. Warm despite the cold.
They sit in silence for long time.
Then Lira: "The woman with the daughter. I heard."
Del doesn't respond.
"Three got better," Lira continues. Voice quiet. Factual. "Two got worse. Four nothing. One temporary."
Pause.
"That's not—that's not terrible. Three is more than zero. Three families still have—three people are alive who might not be."
Del's hand in his pocket. The rock. Nine marks. Thumb finding the ninth automatically.
"Two are worse," he says.
"Two were dying anyway. You didn't—the water made them sick. Not you."
"My water made the daughter worse. Her body grew complacent."
Silence.
Lira's shoulder warm against his.
"I don't know," she says finally. "I don't know if trying and failing is the same as not trying. I don't know if temporary help is worse than no help. I don't know—"
Stops. Can't finish.
Del understands. The questions don't have answers. Just: are.
"The woman's daughter," Lira says. Voice quieter. "She got one day. One day of being better. Of being healthy. Of being a child."
Pause.
"Is that worth it? One day? If she dies worse because of it?"
Del doesn't answer.
Can't answer.
Just: feels the weight of the question sitting there.
"My daughter," Lira says. Voice very quiet now. Almost whisper. "Mara. If I could have one more day with her. One day of her being alive. Being healthy. Being here. Even if it made everything worse after. Even if it made the grief harder. Even if—"
Stops. Crying quietly. Not making sound. Just: tears.
"I'd take it," she whispers. "I'd pay everything for one day."
Del's thumb presses harder on the ninth mark. The sharp edge cutting into his skin through the fabric.
The woman paid everything for one day. Got it. Now her daughter is dying and she has nothing left.
His hand tightens on the rock.
"I'm sorry," Lira says. "About your service ending. About people being angry. About everything."
"Don't be sorry."
"Why not?"
"You didn't do anything."
Silence.
Then Lira: "Neither did you."
Del's hand tightens on the rock until it hurts.
"I took their rations," he says. Voice rough. "Knew some would die. Knew it was temporary. Let them hope—"
"You gave them what you could," Lira interrupts. Voice firm. "You didn't promise permanent. You just tried. Some got better. That's real."
"Two got worse."
"Two were already dying."
"The daughter—"
"Got one day," Lira says. "One day her mother will remember. One day of hearing her laugh. That's not nothing."
Del doesn't respond.
Doesn't know if she's right.
They sit in silence. Shoulders touching. The warmth of her real. Present.
"Tomorrow I leave," Del says finally. "Approach Kael. Sell the map. Try for transfer."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"Then I die here. Soon. Body's not lasting."
Gestures at himself. The rot. The blood. The failing.
Lira's hand finds his. Not the one in his pocket. The other one. The one with the cut. The infection.
Her fingers careful. Gentle. Not squeezing. Just: touching. Holding.
"I wish things were different," she says. "I wish you could stay. I wish I could—"
Stops. Can't finish.
Del understands. She wishes she could come. Wishes Garrett didn't exist. Wishes the Dregs weren't real. Wishes everything was something else.
Wishes don't matter.
"If Garrett hurts you again—" Del starts.
"He will," Lira interrupts. "After you leave. That's certain."
"Then run. Before he does."
"Where? I'm property. Anyone who finds me sells me back or keeps me themselves."
"Outside the Dregs. Somewhere. Anywhere that's not here."
Lira laughs. Quiet. Broken. "And do what? I don't know what's outside. Don't know how to get there. Don't know if it's better or worse. At least here I know—I know Garrett's patterns. I know how to survive him."
Del's hand tightens on hers.
"You don't have to survive him. You could just—survive. Without him."
"There's no without him. Not for me. Not anymore."
She's right. Del knows she's right.
Still—
"I can't help you," he says. Voice flat. Hard. Hating it. "Can't protect you. Can't give you anything. Can't take you with me. Can't—"
Stops. The list of things he can't do too long. Too heavy.
"I know," Lira says. Voice quiet. Accepting. "I know you can't. I'm not asking you to."
Silence.
"I just wanted—" She stops. Starts again. "I just wanted to say goodbye. While I could. Before you leave. Before—"
Can't finish.
Del's thumb on the rock. On the ninth mark. Sharp. Fresh.
Should he carve a tenth? For leaving her here? For not being able to help? For knowing what Garrett will do and leaving anyway?
Doesn't know.
Can't know yet.
"Goodbye," Lira says. Voice small. Final.
Not "see you tomorrow." Not "see you later."
Goodbye.
Because she knows. Knows he's leaving. Knows he's not coming back. Knows this is ending.
"Goodbye," Del says.
She stands. Slow. Her hand sliding out of his. The warmth leaving.
Looks down at him. Those brown eyes catching what little light filters from somewhere. Even in darkness. Even bruised. Even tired. Catching light and holding it.
She doesn't say anything else. Just: looks. Like she's trying to remember. Like she's trying to keep this. This moment. This person who stopped Garrett once. Who sat with her. Who noticed her.
Then: turns. Walks away. Into the darkness.
Her shape disappearing. The sound of her footsteps fading. Fading. Gone.
Del sits there. Alone.
His hand still warm where hers was.
He lies down. The rib grinding. The blood. The rot. The failing.
Closes his eye.
Sleeps finally.
Dreams of nothing.
---
Morning. Day forty.
Light comes gray and cold like always.
Del wakes to the settlement sounds. The usual rhythm. Coughing. Pissing. Salvage crews gathering. Overseer Kael's voice in the distance calling assignments.
His body worse. Much worse. Can barely move. The rib grinding with each breath sending pain so sharp the world whites out. Blood taste in his mouth constant now. The rot spread past his shoulder. Across his chest. Red lines visible when he looks down. Branching. Spreading. Like roots growing through him.
Vision almost gone. The working eye barely sees. Just: shapes. Light and dark. Movement. Blurred.
Hours left maybe. Not days. Hours.
Has to move now.
Tries to stand. His leg gives out immediately. Falls. Catches himself on hands and knees. The rib shifts wrong. Something inside tears. Blood floods his mouth. Chokes on it. Spits. Dark. Wrong.
Waits for the world to stop spinning.
Doesn't stop. Just: slows slightly.
Tries again. Gets to his feet. Barely. The leg shaking so hard he can see it. The knee threatening to give with each small shift.
Tries to stand there. Swaying. Breathing. Each breath agony.
Then crawls. Toward the eastern edge. Toward where salvage crews gather. Toward Kael.
Each step negotiated. Each step a question. Will breath hold? Will vision clear enough? Will he make it ten more steps?
Doesn't know. Just: crawls.
People notice him. Bodies moving aside. Stepping back. Whispering.
"—the cleaner—"
"—half-dead—"
"—rot got him—"
"—crippled corpse—"
He keeps crawling. One step. Another. Another.
The world tilting. Righting. Tilting.
Vision graying. Clearing. Graying.
Keeps crawling.
Hears snickers.
Reaches the gathering area. Salvage crews assembling. Maybe fifty people. Kael at the front calling assignments.
"—section seven, artifact retrieval, need four—"
"—collapsed residential, sealed chambers—"
"—deep sectors, reconnaissance—"
Kael sees Del. Stops mid-sentence. Expression shifting. Surprise. Then: recognition. Then: calculation.
"Everyone out," Kael says. Voice flat. Hard. "Now."
The crews disperse. Fast. Bodies scattering into the ruins. Nobody questions. Nobody hesitates.
Just Del and Kael now.
Kael walks closer. Studying Del. Taking in the rot. The blood.
Del stands, barely holding himself.
Kael looks. The way Del can barely stand. The way he's swaying like he might fall any moment.
"You're dying," Kael says. Not question. Statement. Fact.
Del looks up.
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Hours."
Kael nods. Like this makes sense. Like this is expected.
"Then why are you here?"
Del's hand in his pocket.
"I have information," Del says. Voice rough. Barely there. Each word costs. "About artifact sites. Valuable sites. Where to find copper. Active artifacts. Sealed chambers. Old things still there."
Pause. Breathing hard.
"Worth transfer. Worth keeping me alive long enough to extract it."
Kael's expression shifts. Interest sharpening. "What kind of information?"
"The water service. The cleaning." Del forces the words out. "Customers brought containers. Asked where they got the water. Examined it. Smelled it. Tasted it. Built map from what was in it. Five major areas. Detailed."
Kael's eyes narrow. Understanding. Then: impressed despite himself.
"That's clever."
"Is it worth transfer?"
Kael doesn't answer immediately. Just: looks at Del. At the dying body. At the intelligence trapped inside failing flesh. Calculating.
"Maybe," Kael says finally.
"Maybe isn't—"
The world tilts wrong. Del's leg gives out completely. Falls. Hard. Knees hitting stone. Hands catching. The rib shifts. Something inside tears. Blood taste flooding his mouth. Choking. Drowning.
Spits. Red. Dark. Too much.
Kael crouches down. Eye level now.
"You need medical," Kael says. "Fast. Or you die before telling me anything useful."
"Then get medical."
"Can't authorize that. Not for salvage worker. Not without knowing the information's worth it. Need proof."
Del's vision swimming. Fading. Going black at the edges.
Forces words out: "Southern. Deep parts. The under-city. Old pipes still there. Iron kind. Big ones. Sealed tunnels nobody's explored. Artifacts in them. Get there through collapsed residential. The clay-dirt area. Below that—harder stone. White-ish. Deep water down there."
Pause. Breathing. Blood.
"Eastern. The collapsed towers. Copper wire throughout. The artifact-powered kind. Still working. Still dangerous. Still on. Buildings with metal showing through outside walls. Green-ish. The copper-smell. That's where they are."
Pause.
"Northern edge. Artifact sites still active. Old buildings. Big ones. Many rooms. Artifacts that glow. Crystal-kind. See them at night. Very dangerous. Very valuable. Multiple sites."
Kael listening. Expression shifting. This is real. Detailed. Worth something.
"Western. Residential area." Del's voice weaker. Fading. "Old buildings where sick people went. Has clean-chemical smell. The kind for treating water. Storage there maybe. Still intact maybe. Valuable for trading."
Vision going darker.
"Southern upper. Just residential. Collapsed homes. Clay-dirt. Nothing valuable there. No artifacts. Just ruins. Not worth sending crews."
Pause. Can barely see now.
"That's partial. Map is complete. More locations. More detail about each. But I need medical now or—"
Falls forward. Face in dirt. Can't get up. Can't move. Can't breathe properly.
Kael's voice above him. Distant. Like hearing through water.
"Stay there. Don't move. I'll get authorization. This is worth—this is definitely worth something. Just stay alive until I get back."
Footsteps. Running. Fast.
Gone.
Del lies there. Face in dirt. Can't move. Can't breathe. Blood in his mouth. In his nose. In his lung drowning him from inside.
The Dregs continuing around him. Voices. Bodies. The settlement living its life. People stepping around him. Stepping over him. Another dying body among many.
His hand finds his pocket by instinct. The rock still there. Nine marks.
Did he do it? Did he climb? Did he sell the information? Did—
Can't finish the thought.
Vision going completely black now. Not coming back.
Sounds fading. The voices. The bodies. The Dregs. Everything fading.
Just: darkness. Cold. Quiet.
Then—
Fading again.
"—the artifact boy. Gone? Look, it's the tainted. The wat—"
Gone.
Darkness.