The days that followed were a grind of dust, hunger, and motion.
Talon had always known the wasteland as an enemy—an endless expanse of rust and ruin that swallowed the weak. But with Mira at his side, its cruelty sharpened. Every shadow was a threat to her safety. Every sound in the distance pulled his hand to the rebar strapped across his back.
Mira never complained. Even when the heat scorched their skin raw, even when their stomachs growled loud enough to echo, she walked beside him. Her face was pale, her lips cracked, but her eyes burned with quiet defiance.
Still, Talon could see the way her steps faltered. He remembered his mother's whispers on nights when hunger gnawed them thin: "Survival is not only teeth and claws. It is will."
He decided then—if they were going to survive, Mira needed more than will. She needed skills.
Their first lesson came in silence.
They were crouched behind the husk of an old crawler vehicle, watching a scavenger gang patrol the flats. Six men, armored in mismatched plating, rifles slung casually but ready. Their laughter carried on the wind.
Mira's grip tightened on Talon's arm. He glanced at her, pressed a finger to his lips. She nodded, swallowing hard.
"Look at their steps," he whispered when the patrol was gone. "They're not watching the ground. They think no one's here. That's when you move."
He led her through the rubble, showing her how to place her feet where his had landed, how to press close to walls, how to listen for the rhythm of engines. She mimicked him clumsily at first, stumbling over loose debris, but her eyes stayed sharp, determined.
By the time the patrol disappeared into the haze, Mira's breathing had steadied. She looked up at him. "Like that?"
Talon gave a short nod. "Better than I did my first time."
Her smile was quick but fierce. In that moment, Talon felt a strange swell of pride—not the kind his father had shown after rare hauls of food, but something warmer, heavier. He was teaching her to live.
That night, they scavenged an abandoned relay tower, its insides gutted by rust. Mira searched methodically, overturning panels and prying at loose grates. She returned with a handful of wires and a dented canister.
"It's empty," she said, disappointed.
"Not useless," Talon replied. He tapped the canister. "You can carry water in it. That means we can go farther."
She tilted her head. "You always see things like that?"
Talon paused. He didn't know how to answer. His father had always told him he noticed things others missed—the shimmer of heat before a storm, the faint sound of engines long before they crested the horizon. But lately, the details came to him faster, sharper. His eyes seemed to cut through the haze. His ears caught echoes others ignored.
It felt like instinct, but stronger.
"Yeah," he said finally. "Always."
Mira accepted the answer without question, but Talon's thoughts lingered on it as they bedded down in the tower's shadow. He didn't understand what was happening to him. All he knew was that whatever it was, it might be the reason they were still alive.
By their fourth day together, Mira no longer tripped over loose debris.
She walked softer now, toes before heels, and held her breath when they passed under collapsed bridges. Talon watched her learn, piece by piece. It wasn't just mimicry—she absorbed every lesson, every gesture. He taught with few words, and she responded without needing many.
It reminded him of how his father once taught him to patch wire harnesses—show, don't explain. Words were too heavy in the wasteland. Movement was truth.
Their latest shelter was the broken shell of an overturned cargo hauler, half-buried in a sand drift. Mira dug through the cabin while Talon worked on the cargo hold's ruined bulkhead.
A sudden cry brought him running.
"Mira?"
She knelt beside a broken locker, holding something out to him with both hands—a small emergency ration pack, sealed but dented.
Talon blinked. "Where—how did you find that?"
"I pried up the floor panel. It felt loose."
He laughed, a dry, astonished sound. "That's… better eyes than mine today."
Mira grinned, triumphant. "Maybe you're finally rubbing off on me."
The ration was split evenly—neither of them argued. They ate slowly, savoring every bite. Talon watched Mira chew in silence, noting how much thinner her cheeks had become, how sunken her collarbone looked. But her eyes were clearer now. The dull haze of dehydration and fear had lifted, replaced by something firmer.
He realized, then, what scared him most.
He was starting to need her.
Not just as someone to protect, not just a reason to fight—but as a presence. Her voice, her breath beside his in the dark, her footsteps echoing his on ruined stone.
Later that afternoon, they heard gunfire.
It echoed across the plains, distant but sharp. Talon instinctively pulled Mira down behind a rusted ventilation pipe, crouching low.
"Scavs?" she asked.
"Probably."
The shots came again—short bursts, then a long silence. He counted under his breath.
Three seconds. Four. Five. Then movement.
A single scavenger staggered into view, limping through the dust, weapon dragging from his hand. His leg was torn open, blood streaking down to his boot. His armor was scorched. He looked delirious, eyes scanning the horizon like a trapped animal.
He hadn't seen them. Yet.
Talon pulled Mira deeper into the debris. She didn't argue. They waited, breath held, until the man stumbled past and disappeared into the ruins.
Only then did Mira whisper, "What happened to the rest of them?"
Talon shook his head. "Either killed… or ran."
She stared out at the ridge. "Something worse than them out there?"
"Maybe."
The thought hung heavy. Talon knew the scavenger gangs ruled much of the outer wastes, but even they had predators—other gangs, old war machines, corporate killdrones gone rogue. And worse still: stories.
Things that moved at night. Machines that breathed.
Mira didn't ask more. But her hand found his, fingers curling tight. He didn't pull away.
That night, they didn't light a fire. The wind was colder without it, but the darkness felt safer. Hidden.
They lay beneath a slab of concrete, Mira pressed close to Talon's side. Neither of them spoke. But sleep came more easily than it had in days.
And for the first time, Talon dreamed not of the past… but of the future.
The next morning brought wind—and with it, change.
Talon woke with a strange tightness in his chest. Not fear, not cold—something deeper. He could feel the vibration in the air before he heard anything. His ears rang faintly, tuned to something distant. He stood, scanning the horizon without thinking.
"What is it?" Mira asked, voice groggy.
"I don't know…" He closed his eyes. There—beneath the normal ambient roar of Rubicon's winds—was a mechanical hum. Faint. Repeating. Wrong.
He opened his eyes. "We move. Now."
Mira didn't argue. She grabbed her pack and followed him into the ravine, ducking under low-hanging debris and vaulting broken pipelines. Talon led them on instinct alone. Something told him that to stay where they were was death.
By midday, they had put miles between them and the tower ruins. The hum had faded. Talon kept checking the horizon anyway, eyes narrowed.
"You heard something, didn't you?" Mira finally asked. "But not like… normal people hear."
Talon didn't respond right away. "It was like I felt it. Inside my head."
Mira's face was unreadable for a moment. "Is that normal for you?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Scary?"
He thought about it. "Not scary. Just… strange."
Mira didn't ask more. But she looked at him differently after that—not with fear, but with something close to awe.
That afternoon, they found a narrow gorge filled with half-buried storage pods. Most were looted, but Talon found one that had sunk into the rock, partially intact.
"Could be food," he said, eyeing the sealed hatch.
Mira grinned. "Let me try this one."
Talon hesitated. "You sure?"
She nodded. "You said I need to learn."
He stepped back. "Alright. Just don't force the lock. Some of these had trip traps."
But Mira was already working, her fingers prying at the panel's edge. She grunted, wedging a blade under the frame.
Something clicked.
Talon's blood ran cold. "Wait—"
A sharp whine pierced the air as a dormant proximity mine flickered to life inside the pod's edge.
Mira's eyes widened in panic. Talon lunged—
There was no time to think. Only act.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and threw them both back, landing hard behind a slab of stone. The mine detonated in a flash of light and sound, shards of steel slicing through the air where they had just been standing.
Dust filled his lungs. His ears rang. But Mira was alive.
She was breathing, curled beneath him, eyes wide and wet.
"I—I didn't think—"
"It's okay," Talon said, voice hoarse. "You're okay."
Her lip trembled. "I almost—"
He gripped her face gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. "But you didn't. I've got you."
They lay like that for a long time, the world distant and muffled.
Later, when the dust cleared and the mine's remains cooled, they scavenged what they could—scraps of wiring, a cracked solar cell, and a tin of spoiled protein paste. Not much. But they were alive.
That night, Mira didn't sleep right away. She sat beside Talon, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around herself.
"I thought I could do it," she whispered. "I wanted to prove I wasn't just someone you had to carry."
Talon stared at the stars through the haze. "You don't have to prove anything. You're still here. That's what matters."
She turned toward him, her voice small. "Would you leave me behind if I got hurt?"
"No."
The answer came without hesitation.
She nodded, quiet for a moment. Then, without a word, she leaned against him. Talon didn't pull away.
The world outside remained cruel, but between them, something unspoken grew—stronger than fear, sharper than pain
The next morning, Talon woke early. Mira was still curled up beside the fireless pit, her breaths shallow but even. The bruise on her cheek—earned from yesterday's blast—had deepened to a harsh purple, but she hadn't complained once.
Talon stood, flexed his sore arm, and stared into the wasteland's horizon.
He needed to teach her properly. No more guessing. No more chances. If she was going to survive here—if they both were—then she couldn't just follow his lead. She had to become just as dangerous as he was. Maybe even more.
"Today we train," he said once she woke.
Mira rubbed sleep from her eyes. "Train?"
He nodded, tossing her the length of rusted rebar he'd been keeping as a backup. "Lesson one: make your weapon part of your body. If it feels heavy, awkward, or like it's going to fly out of your hands, you're dead."
Mira stared at the rebar. "It's heavier than it looks."
"Good. It'll teach you respect."
They started simple. Stance. Grip. Where to put your feet when swinging. How to keep the sun out of your eyes. How to duck when you missed and needed to recover.
Talon had never taught anyone before, but he spoke with the clarity of someone who had survived long enough to know what worked and what got you killed. Mira listened without complaint, even when her arms ached or her legs wobbled. She gritted her teeth, planted her feet again, and tried harder.
When she finally landed a clean strike against the practice rock he'd set up, Talon let a rare smile cross his face.
"Better."
Mira beamed, sweat streaking her face. "I felt that one."
By afternoon, they stumbled across what looked like an old emergency aid drone, half-buried in the sand. Talon knelt beside it, pried the access hatch open, and stared down into a miracle:
Bandages. Dried water packs. A compression patch. Even a sealed medical injector, glowing faintly green.
"Jackpot," he muttered.
Mira let out a low whistle. "That's worth more than some settlements."
They split the find carefully, wrapping the goods into their salvaged cloth bags. Talon moved quickly, but his body felt… off. The drone hadn't made a sound, and yet… something pulled at him.
A vibration in the base of his skull.
Not danger, exactly. But presence.
He stood slowly, scanning the horizon. Nothing. The sun hung low behind a ridge, bathing the world in golden haze. Still, he could feel it—like static just before lightning.
"Talon?" Mira asked. "What is it?"
"…Something's coming."
There was no engine noise. No dust trail. No birds flying.
Just certainty.
"Hide," he said, grabbing her wrist. "Now."
They scrambled beneath the lip of a shattered comms dish nearby, pulling packs and bodies tight against the rubble. Mira didn't question him—not anymore.
They waited.
And minutes later, as if the world moved on some invisible cue, a corporate scout drone buzzed silently into view above the ridge. Sleek. Unmarked. Not scavenger tech. Not homemade junk.
Real money. Real threat.
It hovered for a moment—watching, scanning—then veered off, vanishing into the clouds.
Mira stared at Talon, eyes wide. "How did you know?"
He didn't answer right away. His chest was tight again, his senses still tuned too sharply.
"I don't know," he said at last. "I just… did."
That night, Mira cleaned the rebar blade with a strip of torn cloth, humming softly to herself. Talon sat beside her, chewing on dried rations from their aid-drone haul.
They didn't talk about the drone. They didn't talk about what was changing inside him.
But Mira leaned against his shoulder when the wind picked up, and he didn't move away.
The world was watching them. That much was clear.
And Talon was beginning to realize—he was watching it back, in ways no ordinary boy ever could
The wind died just after sunset.
That in itself was strange. Rubicon's skies were rarely still. Dust always moved, whispering across steel, singing through broken wires. But tonight, everything held its breath.
Talon didn't like it.
He crouched near the edge of their new shelter—a cracked vent shaft tucked beneath a collapsed bridge. Mira was inside, packing their gear for another early move.
His eyes scanned the ridge line. His fingers twitched near the rebar across his back. The air felt heavy. Thicker. Tighter.
And then he saw them.
Three figures moving low, fast, with discipline. Not scavengers—these weren't loud, drunk idiots with scrap armor. These were scouts. Trained.
Corp retrieval team?
Talon dropped into the vent shaft fast. Mira looked up, startled.
"We're not alone," he said. "Three. Maybe more."
She froze for only a second before nodding. "Weapons?"
"Yours. Now."
He tossed her the sharpened rebar. She caught it with both hands, set her stance. Her fingers trembled only a little.
"They're coming from the east," Talon said. "We'll have to strike first. Or we're dead."
Mira took a breath, then another. "Okay. Let's do it."
Talon studied her face. The fear was there—but so was resolve.
"On my mark," he whispered.
The first attacker dropped into the vent like a shadow—silent, masked, knife in hand. Talon was already moving.
He slammed his rebar up into the figure's ribs, armor clanging, blade flying. The scout let out a grunt as Talon shoved him back into the wall.
Another dropped in behind him—this one fast, with a stun baton that cracked the air.
Talon ducked the first swing.
The second came low—
Mira struck.
She lunged from the side, ramming her rebar into the attacker's knee. The joint cracked. The scout cried out and stumbled, giving Talon just enough time to finish it with a blow to the back of the head.
They stood panting in the dark.
Two bodies lay still.
Then came the third.
The last figure didn't enter the vent. Instead, he hovered above it—watching. Studying. A mask with a glowing green lens stared down at them.
Talon's breath caught. That wasn't scavenger tech. It wasn't even low-grade corp.
It was something else.
The masked man didn't speak. He simply tilted his head, as if… listening.
Talon felt his own heartbeat slow. His vision sharpened. The wind returned, just slightly. And in that moment—he felt a whisper in his mind. Not words. Not sound.
Just recognition.
It sees me.
Then the figure was gone.
No footsteps. No retreat. Just vanished into the dust.
Later, when they burned the bodies and salvaged what they could—Mira sat close to him, eyes fixed on the fire.
"You saw something," she said. "Didn't you?"
Talon didn't answer right away. His hands were steady. Too steady.
"It wasn't like before," he finally said. "It felt like… it was looking through me."
Mira didn't flinch. She leaned her shoulder into his. "If something's coming for you, Talon… it's coming for me too."
He looked at her. Not the scared, starving girl from the ruins. But a survivor. A fighter.
Someone who had taken a beating from Rubicon and still stood up swinging.
"Then we face it together," he said.
The fire burned low. The stars struggled through the dust. And in the distance, something stirred—watching.
But Talon no longer felt alone.