The walk back to their building was silent.
No soldiers followed, no curious eyes trailed them — but both knew the camp was watching now, even if no one showed it.
When they reached the door, 24 shut it behind them and locked it twice. The sound echoed in the quiet space.
Lu crossed her arms, sensing the tension before he even spoke.
"We should leave," 24 said finally. His voice was low, firm. "Before the commander decides that covering for us isn't worth it."
Lu turned to him, incredulous. "Because of them? I defended myself, 24. You saw the footage."
"That's not the point." He paced once, then faced her again. "You were forced into a fight inside a resistance camp. Word spreads. Doesn't matter what the footage shows — people see what they want to see."
Lu's jaw tightened. "So what? We just run again?"
"Running keeps us alive."
She stepped closer. "So does staying hidden — and right now, this is the best chance we've had. Food, shelter, and no EGI patrols within miles. You think we'll find another place like this?"
24 didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the window — toward the distant fences and the faint red glow of the security lights.
Lu pressed on. "You told me once: survival isn't just about fighting. It's about patience. This place gives us time. The EGI doesn't know we're here, not yet."
24 exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "And what if they find out? You saw what happened when they sent a kill squad of four. Imagine what happens if they send more."
"They won't," Lu said. "Not if we keep our heads down."
He turned sharply, his tone carrying a rare edge. "You were attacked inside the camp, Lu. You think that's keeping your head down?"
That hit her — but she didn't back down. "That wasn't on me," she said quietly. "And it won't happen again."
They stared at each other across the dimly lit room. The air between them felt tight, full of things neither could fully say — fear, trust, and something heavier.
Finally, 24 looked away first. "You're too confident," he muttered.
"And you're too afraid to stay still," she replied.
The silence that followed wasn't anger — it was exhaustion. The kind that comes from too many close calls, too many nights waiting for the next strike.
24 sat down on the edge of his cot, elbows on his knees. "We'll stay," he said finally. "For now. But if something feels off—"
"I'll be ready," Lu finished for him.
She lingered a moment longer, watching him in the low light. His expression didn't soften, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
"Get some rest," 24 said quietly.
Lu nodded once. "I will."
But she didn't.
A few minutes later, while 24 remained seated, lost in thought, she slipped out into the night. The air outside was cool, carrying the faint scent of ash and river water.
She walked aimlessly through the quiet camp — her mind still circling the argument, the look in his eyes, the unspoken worry he carried like a scar.
Back inside, 24 hadn't moved. The hum of the lights buzzed faintly overhead as he stared at the floor, thinking.
Thinking about how every quiet place eventually stops being quiet.
And how peace never lasted long for people like them.