Mia is walking with normal composure, and I am now wondering if we even have a water supply. I didn’t think of it when we were going through Roku’s shop earlier. Just the thought brings that scent of rust back to my nostrils, thick and metallic, like dried blood in the air.


Mia and I have made it this far. We can make it further. My eyes grow heavy, and a deep exhaustion claws at me. The heat is worse today—I can feel it in the way my skin bakes under the sun, in the sluggishness of my limbs. Sweat drips down my forehead, but it doesn’t cool me. It just reminds me how much water I’ve lost.


“You sure you’re okay, Etha?” Mia asks.


I swallow, but my throat is dry. “Not so sure.”


“Wanna set up camp for a while?” she offers, her tone unreadable.


We’ve been travelling for hours, and I have no clue when we’ll reach the next settlement. The world around me blurs at the edges, shimmering like a mirage. My heart pounds harder than it should.


“Maybe that’s an idea, Mia.” The words scrape my throat on the way out.


“Then let’s make a campsite.” She shrugs off her pack, retrieving the compact campsite tech.


Once more, I’m struck by how quickly it unfolds. The old-world engineers who designed it must have been visionaries. A whole shelter, a bedroll, a tiny solar fan—all from one small device. My body sways slightly as I try to keep standing, my balance off. The heat has drained more from me than I realized.


“I wish I’d thought to get some sort of water renewal system,” I mutter, my voice hoarse.


“Well, we don’t always think of the most vital.” She sighs, pulling out a canteen. “Go into the tent for a bit to cool off. I’ll keep watch.”


I nod and take the canteen, drinking deeply. The first gulp is like liquid salvation, washing away the sandpaper dryness in my throat. The water is warm, but it doesn’t matter—each swallow feels like waking from near death. I drink too fast, nearly choking, but the relief is instant, spreading through my body like a cooling balm. My head feels light, and my vision pulses in and out of focus. The heat is hitting me harder than I expected.


“Mia… Thanks. For… everything,” I say as I hand her the canteen back.


She studies me for a moment. “You feeling alright, Etha?”


Something in her voice makes my stomach twist. It’s not just casual concern—it’s deeper than that. A real, genuine worry. But does she worry because she sees me as a friend? A burden? Or something more? The question lingers, unspoken, but heavy in my mind.


I flush slightly. “Yeah, sorry. I just… I know you’ve done a lot for me.”


“You’ve helped me out a fair bit too, you know.” She laughs lightly.


I love the sound of her laugh. It shakes something loose in me. A feeling I’ve tried to push down, but here, in this wasteland, it has room to grow. When she laughs, the weight of survival doesn’t feel so crushing. I want to make her laugh again. I want to be the reason she smiles, even when the world around us gives so little cause for joy.


“I get that, but I’ve been on my own for so long. You make me feel alive again.” The words come out before I can stop them.


Mia raises an eyebrow, then snorts. “Yeah, the heat’s definitely gotten to you.”


“Not that badly.”


“Okay, into the tent, mister. We need to get you out of the direct heat.” She huffs, moving quickly to help me inside. Her hands are firm as she grips my arm, half-carrying me toward the shelter. “Don’t be stupid, Etha.”


“What do you mean?” I ask as she all but throws me onto the bedroll.


“Rest up. You clearly didn’t stay in New Boston long enough.” Her tone is sharp, but there’s something else in it too. A tightness, an edge of frustration mixed with something softer.


“You genuinely worry, don’t you?” I ask.


She looks away. “Let’s talk about it when we get back from the mission. How about that?” Her voice dips into something almost hesitant.


I sigh, shifting to get comfortable. A sharp jolt of pain shoots down my spine, and I hear a snap—like something giving way inside me. I wince, but I can’t dwell on it. Mia is here, and that thought alone grounds me.


“So, we’re going to follow the canyon?” I ask.


“Yeah, that’s the idea. It should lead right to where Old Ottawa was.”


“Was Ark Tech headquarters in Old Ottawa?”


“No, but we heard of the possibility of it being host to Project Purity.”


“We?”


“We—the mercenaries. We don’t have a fancy name like the Stormriders did.” She huffs.


“So, you’re with a group like them?”


She smirks. “You’re full of questions today, ain’t ya?”


“Yeah, I am.” I chuckle.


The tent rustles from the wind outside. For a moment, silence settles between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence that only exists between people who trust each other.


“Well, I suppose we may as well look at going to bed for the night.” She yawns.


“This cat can go for a nap.” She laughs.


“What is a cat?” I ask.


“It’s what they called women who could fight in the Old World.” She stretches. “I’m sure there was a logical reference there. Usually was.”


“Wait, so you don’t even know?” I smirk.


“Not really, no.” She shrugs.


I shake my head, amused. She rubs the back of her neck, sighing. I roll onto my stomach as she zips up the tent. The noise is oddly loud in the quiet of the night.


Before I can fully relax, I feel the bedroll shift. The weight of another body presses against mine. My breath catches. Am I hallucinating? Or is this real? My thoughts spiral in a haze of exhaustion and something else—something deeper. I try to keep my breathing steady, but my pulse quickens. Is she here for warmth? For comfort? Or is there something more between us, something unspoken? I wish I had the courage to ask, but for now, I let the moment be. Her presence alone is enough to keep the loneliness at bay.


The warmth against my back is unmistakable. I shudder slightly, my body instinctively aware of hers.


“You get into bed with me?” I ask.


“You mind?” she whispers.


“Not at all.” I force my voice to stay steady, though my heart is hammering.


I hold still, not wanting to disturb the moment. The desert is vast and empty, but here, inside this tent, it feels small—like the only place in the world. My mind races, grasping at possibilities I don’t have the courage to voice. Does she feel the same pull that I do? Is this just survival, or is it something more? The weight of unspoken words lingers between us, heavy yet fragile. I want to tell her—to let her know what stirs inside me—but the fear of ruining this moment keeps my lips sealed.


“Etha?” she whispers.


“Yes?”


“We will make it back from the canyon. You do know that, right?”


I hesitate. “Well, we’ll do it or die trying. I don’t believe in giving up.”


“Me either.” Her quiet giggle is warm against my skin, and then, without hesitation, she drapes an arm over my back.


I could never have imagined this—a world where trust and companionship still exist in a place so brutal. And yet, here we are.


“So tomorrow, we’ll actually go out and travel,” I murmur.


“No, we’re gonna travel at night. Less heat. We can spare more water for longer.”


She has a point. I yawn, my body finally giving in. I feel her shift, pressing closer, her head resting against my neck. In this unforgiving wasteland, there are no guarantees—but in this moment, I have her, and that is enough.


The night air is cooler than the day, and as I finally drift off, I listen to the rhythm of her breathing. It soothes me more than I ever thought possible.