"I didn't know you were interested in a life with me after this," I admit.

Mia looks surprised. My stomach knots. She's important to me, but the way she holds my gaze makes me uneasy. Not insulted—just... unexpected. I exhale, relieved.

"You are a strange one, Etha. Why else would I be curling up to you? I feel safer with you around." She says it like it’s obvious. Like I should have known.

"Really? I wasn't sure what to think."

She studies me, tilting her head slightly, like I'm some lost pup. I know nothing about reading a woman. My mother died when I was young, and my father passed not long after. No one ever taught me about this.

"Well, yeah, that's why we are here now."

"I'm sorry. I don’t really know much about this kind of stuff."

"Etha, I actually think of you as the one I want always with me." Her voice is soft but firm. My heart stammers, and I swear it stops dead in its tracks.

"Mia, I like you." The words leave my mouth before I even realize I’ve said them. "Is that normally how people, uh, declare this stuff out here?"

She chuckles. "Kind of. We’re all too awkward and isolated for romance to be... normal. It just kind of happens, like we kind of just happened." She hesitates. "Unless I’m wrong, and I need to stop acting how I have been..."

"Nothing is wrong with that, Mia."

The conversation dies as we hear shifting sand. My muscles go rigid. I reach for my whip, my fingers coiling around the grip, while Mia silently draws her pistol. The sound grows closer—unnatural in its rhythm.

A pause.

Then more shifting, this time heavier. Something—or someone—is circling us. We exchange a glance. No words needed. We creep toward the tent flap, silent. Mia nods. Three... Sand piles against the outer fabric. Two... More movement. There are at least two of them, possibly three. One... We lunge.

My whip crackles as I ignite the charge. In the dim glow of our weapons, I see them—three figures cloaked in shimmering fabric that flickers like liquid metal.

Mia slides to my side, eyes narrowed. "I think their clothing shines because it’s metal," she mutters before patting my back.

"You two, drop your weapons. We seek food only." The voice is female, but the tone is too controlled, too practiced.

"No, thanks." Mia fires. Her shot lands true, hitting the speaker in the throat. She crumples.

"How dare you?!" The second one howls.

The third lunges for Mia. I barely register her movement before she’s already evading. The last one draws a crude sword, the metal jagged and worn. I shift my stance, adjusting my grip on the whip.

Mia fires twice. I catch the brief flash of movement as her opponent stumbles but doesn't go down. Mine is quicker than I anticipated, dodging my first strike. I twist mid-motion, recalibrating.

Then—pain.

A sting across my face. My left vision blacks out for a second. I stumble, blinking. Focus. My opponent presses in. I lash out, my whip catching his wrist, but he jerks free. I snarl, the scent of scorched fabric filling my nostrils.

Behind me, Mia’s opponent grunts in pain. I pivot back to mine. He leaps, his blade arcing toward my chest. I duck low, rolling with the motion, then snap my wrist. The whip coils around his arm, electricity surging. He convulses violently, a strangled groan escaping his lips before he collapses.

Mia is already standing over hers, her boot pressed against his back, yanking his arm back at an unnatural angle.

"Nice work," I say between breaths.

"Not too shabby yourself, Etha." She twists his arm further. He groans. Definitely a man.

I crouch before his head, peeling back his face covering. His eyes dart between us, defiant despite his position.

"Why’d you try to ambush us?" Mia demands.

"You have pre-war tech," he grumbles.

I exhale sharply. Lies. That means they’ve been tracking us longer than we realized.

"Who sent you?" I ask.

"I work freelance. My client’s information is personal."

"Well, your life is also personal—and at risk."

"I'm not saying."

"Mia, let him up."

She hesitates, eyes flicking to me in confusion. But she listens, keeping her pistol trained.

The man smirks. "Big mistake, tough guy."

I reignite the whip. Sparks snap in the air. His smirk falters.

"Idiot," I mutter.

He lunges. I sidestep, flicking the whip. It coils around his leg, surging to life. He twitches, convulsing uncontrollably. The scent of charred flesh hits my nose before I cut the current. He crumples.

"Uh, Etha, you alright after all that?" Mia asks.

"It’s them or us," I say. "I have to be okay with it."

"True enough." She nods.

We retreat to the tent. The bodies can stay outside until morning. Something out here will eat them. The Badlands have no shortage of scavengers—animal or human.

"So, Mia, ever run into something you weren’t prepared to fight?"

"Outside of the Asag? Never." Confidence laces her tone.

"You seem to know a lot about the old world. Where’d you learn all this?"

"New Boston. Lots of travellers pass through. You hear things. Like how Californex almost collapsed after its iron shortage. They had to melt down old-world dining sets just to keep up. Some were even gold. Useless now."

"You’ve seen a lot of weird creatures, huh?"

"Hearing stories is one thing. Seeing them is another."

"What’s the worst you’ve seen?"

She pauses. "The Feral."

"What are the Feral?"

"Humanoids. I think they used to be people. They look like melted candle wax, stretched and twisted." She shudders.

"That’s creepy."

"You’re telling me." She laughs, but it’s uneasy.

The night settles. Despite the dangers, despite everything, I feel at peace.

"You know what, Mia?" I start.

"Hmm?"

"I think we can make a real difference."

She smiles. "We’re gonna try."

"I want to bring a better life to everyone we can."

"Agreed."

We might not change the world. But maybe, just maybe, we can make something worth surviving for.