The morning came pale and tired.
Mist hung over the river like breath that refused to fade, and the world seemed softer than usual — a brief kindness before the heat returned.
24 sat near the fire pit, sharpening his long blade. The steady scrape of steel against stone echoed beneath the bridge.
Lu sat nearby, legs crossed, her mask tilted toward the water. Neither had said much since yesterday's training — the air between them was filled with unspoken questions.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low.
"You could've killed me yesterday."
24 didn't look up. "If I wanted to."
"That's not what I meant." She brushed her fingers through the dirt, tracing lines absentmindedly. "You didn't. You stopped. You could've kept fighting, but you didn't."
He paused, the sound of sharpening halting for a beat.
"You were scared," he said flatly.
"I was surprised. There's a difference."
"You hid it well."
Lu let out a soft, humorless laugh. "The mask helps."
Silence again — only the wind under the bridge and the hum of distant insects.
After a while, she said,
"Those jumps… how far can you go?"
24 set the blade down carefully. "Far enough to get out. Not far enough to disappear."
"And in training — how much are you holding back?"
He looked at her finally, eyes unreadable. "Enough to keep you alive."
That made her tilt her head. "You mean you're faster, stronger—"
"I mean I could break your stance in one hit," he said quietly. "And I don't want to."
She nodded slowly. "Then why train me at all if you're just pretending to fight?"
"Because I don't need another weapon," he said. "I need someone who can stay alive when things go wrong."
Lu was silent for a moment. The current shifted, whispering through the stones.
"You think things will go wrong?" she asked.
24 stared into the mist. "They always do."
"And if we run into them again? The EGI. Or—"
"Specter's trainees," he said, cutting her off. His tone went cold. "If you see them—don't fight."
"I can't just—"
"Hide," he said firmly. "Hide and pray they don't notice you. Or run. Fast."
Her gloved hands tightened on her knees. "You really think they're that strong?"
24's gaze drifted to the scars running up his forearm — old burns, precise as brands. "They were made to kill things like me. Some of them succeeded."
Lu looked away toward the water, the surface trembling with the faintest breeze. "You talk about them like ghosts."
"They are," he said. "And the worst kind — the kind that can bleed."
For a long time neither spoke. The day warmed, and the mist burned off in thin, curling threads.
Finally, Lu stood and brushed the dirt from her gloves. "You know, for someone who says he's not a teacher, you give a lot of lessons."
24 looked up at her, faintly amused. "You listen to maybe half of them."
"Half's better than none."
He nodded once, picking his blade back up. "Then keep the half that'll keep you alive."
She turned toward the river, mask glinting in the morning light. "You always talk like you don't expect to make it out."
"Expecting to doesn't make it happen," he said.
Lu didn't answer. She just stood there for a while, watching the water flow past, her reflection a dark silhouette in motion.
And for the first time since the jump, 24 realized she wasn't afraid of him anymore.
Just… aware.