The morning broke dry and sharp.
The sun hung low over the fractured horizon, painting the badlands in pale gold. Beneath the old bridge, the river murmured softly, breaking against the rocks like it had been whispering there long before either of them existed.
24 and Lu had been training for hours already.
The clash of blades echoed through the canyon — metal on metal, grit underfoot, breath and rhythm. Each strike came faster than the last.
"Again," 24 said.
"You're getting slower," she teased, mask tilting slightly as she lunged.
"You're getting predictable."
He blocked easily at first — deflecting, redirecting, keeping her off balance. But Lu had learned. She shifted her weight, turned her wrist, and struck low from an angle he hadn't expected.
It was fast — fast enough that instinct took over.
The air bent. The sound cracked.
In the space of a blink, 24 vanished. Dust burst where he'd been standing. He reappeared several meters away, boots grinding into the stone, pulse hammering in his ears.
Lu stumbled back, blade raised but eyes wide behind her mask.
"What… was that?"
24 straightened slowly, the distortion fading from the air. "Reflex."
"That wasn't reflex," she said. "You— disappeared."
He looked at her for a long moment, then finally said, "It's called displacement. A jump."
Her voice was quieter now. "That's what they built into you."
He didn't answer.
"You could've—" she stopped herself, gripping her sword tighter.
"If I wanted to," he said, tone flat, "you'd already know."
The words hung between them — not a threat, just a fact.
Lu lowered her weapon. "You don't have to remind me what you are."
"Sometimes I need to remind myself," he said.
She turned away, shoulders tense. "We're done for today."
24 nodded once, sheathing his blade. "Agreed."
They didn't speak for the rest of the day.
The sound of the river filled the silence, steady and cold. 24 checked his gear, cleaned his knives, tried to lose himself in habit. But he kept replaying that moment — the flash of fear in her eyes when he jumped.
When dusk came, he realized she was gone. Her pack sat by the dying fire, her blade propped against a rock.
He followed the river quietly, moving through long shadows and dry wind. The air smelled faintly of iron and dust.
He found her downstream, kneeling at the edge of the river. The current caught faint glints of water as she washed her arms, her mask still in place. She looked small there — not weak, but still.
24 stopped several paces away, hands resting loosely at his sides.
"You shouldn't wander off alone," he said quietly.
She didn't turn. "You shouldn't sneak up on people."
"Force of habit."
A pause. The river kept talking.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said.
Lu dipped her hands back into the water. "You didn't. I just wasn't ready to see that side of you."
"That side's always there," he murmured. "I just try not to use it."
She tilted her head slightly, droplets falling from her gloves. "You're not just what they made you, 24."
"Tell that to the ones who didn't live to see me stop."
"I think you already stopped," she said, voice softer now — words carried by the water, barely above a whisper.
He looked down, the reflection of her mask rippling across the surface between them — featureless, calm, unreadable.
"Come on," she said after a moment, standing. "We should get back before dark."
"Yeah," he said, turning with her.
They walked side by side in silence, their footsteps crunching against the stone.
The wind moved through the hollow bridge above, humming low and hollow — like the world breathing in its sleep.
For the first time in a long while, the silence between them didn't feel empty.