"Stop complaining. I brought back plenty of fresh produce and food from this last mission. I'll hit the black market tomorrow and trade for some variety—change things up for you."
Catching the darkening look on Sarah's face after he'd glared at her, Bryan dialed it back. He sat down and shared his plan. "Just bear with it for today."
Sarah's eyes brightened at the promise of real food. Her expression thawed considerably. Bryan shook his head and picked up a sealed strip of jerky, feeding it to her like she was a child.
"Really?"
She bit down on the offered jerky, swatted his hand away, and chewed the flavorless meat with obvious resignation, her tone dripping with suspicion.
"Really! I promise!"
Bryan pulled her close with one arm, grinning as he repeated his assurance over and over like a patient parent placating a toddler.
Watching the two of them carry on like he didn't exist, Chen Shi felt his soul take approximately 120,000 points of critical damage. The resentment of the perpetually single surged from his chest like a geyser. He decided his presence here was no longer appropriate.
Wordlessly, he stuffed the jerky in his hand into his mouth, grabbed a few more packets from the table, and quietly stood up. He shuffled toward Bryan's quarters next door. The study was clearly where he belonged.
"Get to class, kid!"
"Sarah—I tucked some crackers in your coat pocket. Snack on those if you get hungry!"
After sending Chen Shi and Sarah on their respective ways, Bryan watched the morning light return through the window. Only then did he retrieve the wooden box from yesterday, ready to resume his rounds.
Entering District D, he navigated the familiar route to the apartment building where Lucy and Daphne lived. Up the stairwell, and soon he stood before the doors to rooms 401 and 402.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He knocked without worry about finding an empty apartment. Since he'd joined the Supply Retrieval Squad, made squad leader, built his own crew, and begun skimming supplies through the smugglers for private distribution, food had stopped being a concern for his circle.
Their main role now was to network, gather intelligence, and funnel everything back to Bryan. Beyond maintaining awareness of the QZ's shifting internal dynamics, the information helped them anticipate where the Fireflies might strike next—letting them steer clear of the blast radius.
That said, even with food secured, they couldn't afford to look conspicuous. Lucy and Daphne took turns holding down ordinary jobs to provide a legitimate cover for their supplies.
"Bryan?"
The door to 402 cracked open, and a gaunt, haggard-looking woman peered out.
When Lucy saw who it was, surprise flickered across her face. She opened the door fully. "What brings you here today?"
"Let's talk inside."
Bryan frowned at her appearance but nodded, stepping in with the wooden box under his arm.
The apartment's interior hadn't changed in five years—still spartan, still bare. The only additions were a few supply crates stacked in the corner. On the central table sat a cluster of notebooks and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. A half-smoked cigarette rested on the rim, its thin ribbon of smoke curling lazily upward.
Bryan set the box on the table and settled into the couch. "Just got back from a mission a couple days ago. Realized it's been ages since I've seen you all, so I thought I'd drop by. Catch up."
"Want something to drink?" Lucy closed the door without acknowledging his light tone, walked to the corner, and held up a bottle of wine and a can of beer.
"No—no, no. It's morning. Who drinks this early?" Bryan waved her off immediately, grabbed the water pitcher from the table, and poured himself a glass. "Water's fine."
Lucy didn't push it. She put the wine back, cracked the beer open, and took a long, deep pull.
Bryan watched her over the rim of his glass. Behind the brief relief that the alcohol brought to her face, the sadness was unmistakable. He sighed internally. Five years, and she still hadn't let go. Still haunted by what had happened on that highway.
In the beginning, everyone had assumed Lucy's depression was temporary. Losing the people you loved most—of course it would take time. They'd all taken turns trying to pull her out of it. The group hadn't known Lucy particularly well at first, but they'd traveled together, fought side by side, survived together. She'd helped save Anna. Over the years, genuine bonds had formed.
But five years had passed. Anna had worked through her grief over losing her father. Lucy, though, remained exactly the same. No improvement. No change.
In all that time, Bryan could count on one hand the number of genuinely happy smiles he'd seen from her. Most of the time, she was just going through the motions.
Pulling himself back to the present, he picked up one of the neatly arranged notebooks from the table and flipped through it. Dense, chaotic notes—scraps of intelligence, fragments of information. Key items were highlighted in red. Clearly, Lucy had been here recently, sorting through raw intel.
"Anything useful?"
"No." Lucy glanced at the notebook in his hands and shook her head. "The QZ's still got undercurrents, but getting anything concrete is going to take more time."
Bryan closed the notebook and leaned back, letting himself sink into the couch. Disappointment, but not surprise. The Fireflies were certainly planning something major—that much was almost certain. But working without leads was its own kind of frustrating.
He couldn't rush this, though. He took a deep breath, forced down the restlessness, and pushed the wooden box across the table. "Dick gave me this when I visited him yesterday. There's something important inside. When Daphne gets back, pass it along to her."
"Just leave it there. I'll tell her."
Lucy gave the box a disinterested glance, not bothering to ask what was inside. "Anything else?"
Bryan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood and walked to the living room window, pushing it open. A gentle breeze swept through the room, slowly dispersing the haze of cigarette smoke.
He stared out the window and spoke quietly. "Lucy, we've known each other for five years now."
Her hand paused mid-reach for the beer can. She looked at him, confused, not understanding why he'd suddenly said something like that.
"Five years, and honestly—beyond exchanging mission intel—we've never been particularly close. I wouldn't say we have a deep personal bond."
He knew she wouldn't respond. He continued anyway, speaking as much to the window as to her.
"Truthfully, what you do with yourself... that's your business. I'm not here to care about that. But Sarah, Allen, Dick—they see you as their big sister. They haven't said it outright, but I can tell. They worry about you. Genuinely."
He turned to face her. Lucy was staring at him, slightly dazed. His voice hardened. "I don't know why you've let yourself become this. But understand something: if you keep going down this road, you won't be the only one who gets hurt. The people who care about you will suffer too."
"That's all I have to say. Think it over. I'm going to get everyone together for a meeting soon—pass the word to Daphne. I'll send you the details."
He drained his glass of water, set it down, and walked past Lucy without another word. He opened the door, stepped out, and pulled it shut behind him.
On the other side, his expression softened. He looked back at the closed door, a thread of genuine worry in his eyes.
Tough words aside, five years of shared history didn't amount to nothing. He couldn't keep watching her waste away.
But Bryan had never been good at this kind of thing—emotional conversations, guiding people through their pain. He'd said everything he could. What happened next was up to her.
Inside the apartment, the soft click of the closing door left the room in perfect silence. Lucy stared blankly at nothing for a long time. Then, slowly, she set down the beer can.
And let out a long, heavy sigh.
...
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