The dust of the chaotic market faded slowly behind them, replaced by the endless, empty silence of the Wasteland. Sunlight blazed overhead, turning the cracked earth into a baking furnace, and the only sounds were the crunch of gravel under their boots and the faint, distant howl of some unknown creature wandering the ruins.
Aris kept a tight grip on the rope tied around Kael's wrists, leading him through a maze of collapsed buildings and rusted metal skeletons. She moved with the quiet, sure steps of someone who'd memorized every dangerous corner of this hellish landscape. To her, the Wasteland wasn't a prison. It was a map. And she knew every shortcut, every hiding spot, and every place to ditch unwanted trouble.
Kael followed, stiff and silent, his golden eyes scanning the horizon like a soldier on patrol. He still radiated the quiet fury of a deposed ruler, but he didn't argue. He didn't pull away. He just walked—because deep down, he knew she was the only one between him and the raiders hunting him.
Aris found the entire situation deeply amusing.
The mighty Lord of the Black Fort, reduced to being led around on a rope by a random scavenger girl. It was the funniest thing she'd seen all year.
"You're glaring again," she commented casually, not breaking her stride. "If you keep making that face, your features will get stuck like that. Buyers don't like grumpy merchandise. It lowers the value."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I am not merchandise."
"Debatable," Aris said cheerfully. "You're currently tied up, being led through the Wasteland, and entirely dependent on me not to leave you for coyotes. That's basically the textbook definition of salvage with a bad attitude."
He fell silent, probably because he couldn't think of a good comeback. Aris approved. Quiet was easier to deal with than endless noble protesting.
They walked for another ten minutes before Aris finally slowed to a stop, ducking behind a half-collapsed brick wall that provided decent shade and cover. She let go of the rope only long enough to slide her backpack off her shoulders and rummage inside, pulling out a dented, half-empty canteen.
She took a small, careful sip—hoarding every drop like it was gold—and then held it out toward Kael.
His eyes flicked to the canteen, then to her face, clearly surprised.
"Water?" he asked, like he couldn't believe she'd share something so precious.
Aris stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"Don't get excited," she said flatly. "This isn't kindness. If you die of thirst, I can't sell you. Dead salvage is worthless salvage. I'm just maintaining my investment."
Kael's expression darkened again, but he didn't refuse. He leaned forward slightly, and Aris tilted the canteen just enough to let him take two tiny sips—no more. Water was too valuable to waste on a prisoner's comfort.
"Hey," she said, recapping the canteen and shoving it back into her bag. "Let's talk terms."
"Terms?" he repeated.
"Yep," Aris said, crossing her arms. "Since we're stuck together until I can find a new market to sell you at, and since those raiders are definitely still looking for you, we need an agreement."
Kael waited, his gaze sharp.
"Here's how it's going to work," Aris explained, tone businesslike and firm. "You are my temporary bodyguard. You fight. You scare off small creatures. You carry heavy stuff if I find good salvage. In return, I don't leave you to die, and I keep you hydrated enough to stay alive for my sale."
She paused, then held up one finger, her expression deadly serious.
"Rule number one: No heroics. If we run into trouble, you fight only to protect me—because if I die, you die too. No charging into danger to save strangers. No noble speeches. Just survival."
She held up a second finger.
"Rule number two: No complaining. I don't care if your armor is uncomfortable. I don't care if you're tired. I don't care if your pride is bruised. You keep it to yourself. I don't pay bodyguards to whine."
She held up a third finger, the most important one of all.
"Rule number three: This arrangement doesn't change anything. Once we reach a safe market, I still sell you to the highest bidder. No exceptions. No deals. No favors. This is business. Nothing more."
Kael stared at her for a long, heavy moment, golden eyes unreadable.
He'd spent his entire life commanding armies. Making treaties. Ruling through strength and fear. No one had ever dared to lay out terms to him like he was a hired thug. No one had ever dared to reduce him to a bodyguard with a rope around his wrists.
But as the echoes of the market gunfire still lingered in the air, and the reality of his betrayal sank in, he knew he had no choice.
Aris was his only way to survive long enough to fix what had been broken.
"Fine," he said, his voice low and clipped. "Temporary bodyguard. But I will not be sold."
Aris grinned, sharp and unapologetic.
"Cute that you think you get a choice."
She slung her backpack over her shoulder again, grabbed the rope, and gave it a light tug.
"Come on. The next market is a half-day's walk. And if we hurry, we can avoid the worst of the raiders. Try not to slow me down. My profit schedule waits for no one."
Kael stood, his movements stiff and resentful, but he followed.
Aris led the way back into the burning sun, a smile playing on her lips.
Plan A: Sell the fancy warlord for a fortune.
Temporary Plan B: Use the fancy warlord as free muscle.
Either way, she won.
In the Wasteland, the smart didn't just survive.
They profited.
And Aris was about to make the biggest profit of her life.