The subway tunnel wrapped around them like a quiet, cold embrace. The weak glow of the flashlight painted small circles on the damp concrete, chasing off the worst of the darkness but leaving plenty of shadows to feed a restless imagination. Above them, the Wasteland kept its secrets; below, only the faint drip of water and the steady, quiet rhythm of their breathing broke the silence.
Aris had propped herself against the wall, legs stretched out, eyes half-closed. She wasn't asleep—she never really slept, not all the way—not when the world was full of things that wanted to rob her, hurt her, or sell her for scrap. But she was resting, and that was close enough.
Kael sat across from her, still and watchful. Even in the dim light, his golden eyes were sharp, scanning the tunnel mouth every few seconds, as if he expected an entire army of raiders to pour through at any moment. He didn't fidget. He didn't sigh. He just waited, like a soldier on guard duty.
Aris peeked at him through her lashes.
He was ridiculous.
"You know they're not down here," she said flatly. "Raiders hate tight, dark, wet places. They like guns, open spaces, and feeling tough. They won't follow us into a tunnel system that could collapse on their heads."
"Better safe than sorry," Kael replied without looking away.
Aris snorted. "That's a luxury. In the Wasteland, you're either sorry or dead. Pick one."
This time, Kael did look at her. There was a faint, amused tilt to his lips that made him look less like a warlord and more like a person who'd actually laughed before the world broke.
"You have a saying for everything, don't you?"
"I have a business model for everything," she corrected. "Sayings are just the parts that sound cool. Now relax. If we die down here, it'll be from boredom, not bullets."
Kael's smile faded, just a little. His gaze drifted back to the dark tunnel, and his voice dropped, quieter than the dripping water.
"You've been alone a long time."
It wasn't a question.
Aris froze.
No one asked things like that. No one cared. People in the Wasteland didn't talk about pasts. They didn't talk about loneliness. They talked about water, food, and how not to die.
She sat up a little straighter, her defensive, sharp-edged tone snapping back into place like a blade into its sheath.
"What's that to you?" she said. "Planning to add 'sad backstory' to your list of reasons I should let you go? Save it. I don't care. I don't need pity. I need coins."
Kael held up his hands, placating. "I wasn't pitying you. I was… observing."
"Observe quieter," Aris muttered. "Depressing conversations are bad for my mood."
She fell silent, but the quiet felt different now—heavier, like something had been poked at that was supposed to stay buried. To fill the space, she rummaged absently in her backpack, her fingers brushing against the small pile of things she'd looted from the scavengers a few chapters back.
Coins. A dull knife. Bandages. A tiny, nearly empty vial of alcohol.
And something else.
Her fingers closed around a small, dented metal object, and she pulled it out.
It was a pocket watch—old, broken, the glass cracked, the hands stuck at three seventeen. The metal was cold and worn, but if you squinted, you could almost see the faint engraving on the back: a tiny, twisted flower.
Kael's gaze flicked to it.
"What's that?"
"Trash," Aris said automatically, shoving it back into her bag.
"Trash you keep," he pointed out.
Aris glared. "Some trash is worth keeping. It's… salvage. For later."
"Who sells broken pocket watches in the Wasteland?" Kael asked.
"Shut up," Aris said, but there was no heat in it.
She hesitated, then pulled the watch out again. She flipped it between her fingers, staring at the cracked face. For a second, the sharp, profit-obsessed scavenger was gone, replaced by someone smaller, quieter, older than she should have been.
"My mom gave it to me," she said, so quietly she wasn't sure he'd hear. "Before she died. It doesn't work. It's worthless. But…" She trailed off, then shrugged, pretending it didn't matter. "It's light. Doesn't take up space. So I kept it."
Kael didn't laugh. He didn't mock. He didn't even say I'm sorry.
He just nodded once, simple and respectful.
"Some things are worth more than coins," he said.
Aris stared at him.
That was the single most un-Wasteland thing anyone had ever said to her.
She quickly recovered, shoving the watch back into her bag like it had burned her. "Don't get soft on me. I still sell you. This… this doesn't change anything."
"Of course not," Kael said, his tone dry but not unkind. "Nothing has changed."
The corner of Aris's mouth twitched, almost a smile. She looked away, pretending to study the tunnel wall, so he wouldn't see it.
"Good," she said.
They fell silent again, but this time it wasn't heavy. It was calm, almost comfortable—two people who'd seen too much, hiding in the dark, not talking about the things that hurt.
Some time later, Aris's ears twitched.
She sat up straight, all casualness gone, every sense sharp.
Kael noticed immediately. "What?"
"Footsteps," she whispered. "Not ours. Not coyotes. People."
Panic flickered in the air, thin and sharp.
Aris grabbed the gun from her waistband, clicking off the safety in one smooth motion. Kael was on his feet in an instant, body coiled, ready to move.
The footsteps grew closer, slow and cautious, echoing down the tunnel.
Aris mouthed one word: Hide.
She slipped back into the deeper shadows of the small chamber, Kael pressing against the wall beside her. The flashlight was off now, plunging them into near-blackness.
Boots scraped concrete.
A figure stepped into view, holding a faint, flickering torch.
It was a girl—young, maybe a year or two younger than Aris, with matted brown hair and wide, scared eyes. She was thin, dressed in rags, and she was holding a rusted pipe like it was a weapon.
A scavenger kid.
Alone.
Aris relaxed, just a little. She lowered the gun, but didn't put it away.
The girl jumped violently when she saw them, letting out a small, startled squeak. She stumbled back, tripping over a loose rock, and nearly fell.
"Easy," Aris said, her voice calm and low, not threatening. "We're not here to hurt you."
The girl stared at them, wide-eyed, trembling. "You… you're not with the raiders?"
"Nope," Aris said. "We're running from them. Same as you, probably."
The girl's lower lip trembled. "They came. They burned my camp. I… I ran."
Aris's expression hardened. Raiders hurt kids. It was one of the few lines that made her genuinely angry. Not because she cared—business, blah, blah—but because kids were bad loot. Hurting them was just stupid and cruel.
She hesitated, then reached into her bag and pulled out a small strip of dried meat—one she'd stolen from the scavengers, the one she'd decided wasn't rotten.
She tossed it to the girl.
The girl caught it, staring at her like she couldn't believe it.
"Eat," Aris said. "Quietly. Raiders hate noise. You stay down here until we leave. Then you go deeper. Don't go above ground until the sun is high."
The girl nodded frantically, clutching the meat like it was gold. "Th-thank you."
Aris just nodded. She didn't say you're welcome. She didn't smile. She just turned back to Kael, her face neutral again.
But Kael was looking at her.
And he knew.
He knew she wasn't just the cold, ruthless scavenger she pretended to be.
Aris met his gaze, daring him to say it.
He didn't.
He just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Some rules, it seemed, were made to be bent.
Outside the dark chamber, the girl ate quietly.
Inside, two survivors stood in the dark, both knowing something had changed between them.
But Aris would deny it until the day she died.
She was still going to sell him.
Probably.