By the time the sun fell behind the badlands, the world had turned to gold and ash.
The horizon shimmered with heat, broken only by the jagged silhouettes of rusted towers and sand-blasted skeletons of old highways.
24 and Lumen had been moving since dawn, and for once, there were no signs of pursuit — no patrols, no drones, no faint hum of distant engines. Just wind and dust.
When they finally reached the bridge, it felt almost untouched by time. The structure arched across a narrow gorge, its metal beams corroded but still standing. Below, a thin river wound through black stone, its surface catching the dying light.
"Here," 24 said. "We'll rest here."
Lumen followed him down the embankment, boots slipping in loose gravel until they reached the shadowed space beneath the bridge. The air was cooler there, the sound of running water soft and constant.
It wasn't much — but it was peace.
They dropped their packs. 24 crouched by the river, rinsing dirt and dried blood from his hands. The water was shockingly cold, grounding.
Behind him, Lumen was already setting up a small perimeter — motion sensors scavenged from her pack, a few snares hidden near the rocks. Always cautious. Always prepared.
When she finally joined him by the river, the light had faded to deep blue.
"This place will do," she said.
"It's far enough from the main routes," he replied. "They won't find us here."
For a long while, they said nothing. The water murmured softly between stones. The bridge above groaned in the wind, like an old beast still dreaming.
24 leaned back against one of the pillars, exhaling slowly. "It's strange."
"What is?"
"The quiet. It feels… wrong."
Lumen turned her masked face toward him. "You're not used to being safe."
"No one's safe out here."
"Then call it lucky."
He gave a faint smirk. "You believe in luck?"
"I believe in timing. And right now, it's on our side."
He watched her remove her gloves, dipping her hands in the river. The gesture was simple, human. For a moment, the mask didn't seem so distant.
"You ever take that off?" he asked quietly.
"The mask?"
"Yeah."
"No."
"Why not?"
She looked at her reflection in the water. "Because the person underneath it doesn't exist anymore."
24 nodded slowly. "I know the feeling."
They sat there in silence again, both staring into the rippling current. The reflection of the bridge above them stretched across the water like fractured ribs.
"You could stay here awhile," Lumen said after a moment. "Train. Recover. You've been running long enough."
He glanced toward her. "You mean we could stay."
She didn't answer right away. The wind shifted, carrying sand and the faint scent of rain.
"Maybe," she said finally. "If we're careful."
They spent the rest of the evening making camp — 24 gathering driftwood, Lumen starting a small, smokeless fire. When it caught, the flames painted the underside of the bridge in gold.
24 sat across from her, sharpening his blades with steady, rhythmic strokes. Lumen watched the motion quietly, her mask reflecting the flicker of the firelight.
"You still train like someone's watching," she said.
"Someone always is."
She tilted her head slightly. "Then let them."
He paused, meeting her gaze. For a second, the world seemed to hold still — no war, no running, just two survivors sitting in the glow of their own fragile calm.
"You know," she said, breaking the silence, "you're quieter when you're not bleeding."
He gave a soft laugh. "Don't get used to it."
"Too late."
The night deepened. Crickets whispered in the dark. The river flowed steady beneath the bridge, carrying the reflection of two ghosts who, for once, didn't have to hide.