Brandon hummed softly as he gathered what little he had.
They never had much.
"Hey Gid, I'm all packed, bud." He held up his small bag, smiling wide.
Gideon didn't answer.
Didn't look.
Brandon's smile lingered… then faded as he lowered the bag and drifted to the corner.
"…Why're you taking that metal sheet?" he asked.
Gideon paused—just for a moment.
Then looked over his shoulder.
That look.
It always made Brandon's chest tighten.
"It holds," Gideon said. "Better than anything else here."
He turned back down, already adjusting it into his pack.
Brandon let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"Want me to—"
"No."
Brandon slouched. "Right. Of course."
Gideon finished packing.
Then stepped toward the entrance.
"On me."
His shoulder drove into the boulder. Stone scraped. Shifted. Then gave way with a dull grind.
Cold air slipped in.
Brandon moved first—but stopped at the threshold.
His hand lifted slightly.
"…I don't wanna see them."
A pause.
Then—
Gideon took his hand.
Not gently.
Not rough.
Just… firm.
"Don't look."
They stepped out.
The smell hit immediately.
Thick. Metallic. Wrong.
Brandon flinched, turning his face away as they walked.
Something crunched faintly underfoot.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Gideon didn't slow.
Didn't look down.
Didn't acknowledge it.
Only when the air changed—thinner, emptier—did he let go.
They moved deeper into the combs.
The tunnels stretched long and uneven, the lights fewer now. Further apart.
Shadow pooled where the glow couldn't reach.
"…Second time we've lost our house," Brandon muttered.
"It wasn't a house."
"…Still counts."
"Stop."
Brandon flinched.
Silence followed.
"…He's really gonna search all this?" Brandon asked after a while, glancing back.
"Yes."
No hesitation.
"They'll strip it. Layer by layer."
A beat.
"You'll hear them before you see them."
Brandon swallowed.
Gideon's head tilted slightly.
"Beck."
Brandon stiffened. "No."
Gideon didn't elaborate.
"We're not dragging her into this," Brandon said quickly. "I mean it."
"She's already involved."
"How?!"
Gideon glanced back.
"If he looks into you—he finds her."
A pause.
"Everyone you know becomes a direction."
Brandon's stomach dropped.
"That's not—" he shook his head. "That's not fair."
Gideon's gaze lingered a second too long.
"It doesn't need to be."
They kept walking.
The tunnels narrowed.
Or maybe it just felt like they did.
"…What's she gonna do?" Brandon asked quietly.
"Correct you."
Brandon frowned. "I can already fight."
"No."
Flat.
"You react. You don't fight."
Brandon's hands sparked—then flickered out.
"You're inefficient," Gideon continued. "Uncontrolled."
A beat.
"A liability."
The word landed heavier than the rest.
Brandon's glow dimmed under the ash coating his skin.
"…Oh."
Silence.
Then—
"Beck will fix that."
Brandon stared ahead, jaw tightening. "I hope so."
"I know so."
Something in Gideon's tone shifted.
Not warmer.
Just… certain.
"…Where do you think I learned?"
Brandon blinked. "What?"
Gideon didn't look back.
"My form. My strikes."
A pause.
"She built them."
Brandon's eyes widened.
"…Beck trained you?"
"Yes."
That was all.
But it hit.
Hard.
Brandon's embers flickered back to life—slow at first. Then stronger.
Hope rebuilding itself piece by piece.
"I…" he swallowed. "I trust you, Gideon."
No response.
"…I won't break that."
Gideon adjusted the strap on his shoulder.
"Good."
A pause.
"Our survival odds improve."
That was it.
No reassurance.
No comfort.
Just math.
They kept walking.
Deeper.
The lights grew thinner.
The silence stretched longer.
And somewhere behind them—
Something shifted.
Gideon's head tilted slightly.
He didn't turn.
Didn't warn Brandon.
Just kept walking.
Brandon looked back. "What do you think that is?"
Gideon kept his head forward.
"Probably a mute."
A beat.
"I can handle it."