Jax and Yuna walked in silence through the Brownout District. A sudden, cold rain had lately transformed the dusty streets into a slick, treacherous mire. Outside the iron walls of Ferrum, the sandy wastes were usually scorching, but the rainfall had brought a biting chill that seeped into their bones.
Yuna looked up, watching the clouds break to reveal a patch of clear, obsidian sky. She glanced at Jax.
"Do you still think about him?" she asked softly.
Jax's expression darkened, his gaze fixed on the muddy cobblestones. The usual spark of defiance in his eyes was replaced by a somber, hollow look.
"Happiness is easily forgotten," he said, his voice a low, monotonic rumble. "But pain? Pain is a predator. It hunts you even in your sweetest dreams."
Yuna walked beside him, her brown eyes filled with a quiet concern. "If you can't find a way to forgive—or at least forget—him, Jax, you'll never reach the goal you're chasing. That weight will eventually pull you down."
Jax let out a short, mocking laugh, though his face remained grim. "Yuna, this pain isn't a weight. It's fuel. It's making me into exactly what I need to be. Burning in these flames... it's the only thing making me strong."
They lapsed into silence as they reached the heart of the district, stopping before a massive, oil-stained garage. Inside, the silhouettes of electrically-powered vehicles stood like sleeping metal beasts.
"Rick! Rick, you bastard! Are you in here?" Yuna yelled, her voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls.
A young man emerged from the back of the shop, wiping grease from his tanned hands with a filthy white towel. He wore a heavy brown jacket over navy cargo pants, and leather gloves tucked into his belt.
"Wow," Rick mocked, a smirk playing on his face. "Neither of you kids sleeping these days? It's the middle of the night."
Jax didn't smile. "We need a buggy. A fast one. It's urgent."
Rick perched himself on the edge of a cluttered workbench, crossing his arms. "Let me guess... did that old man Dallas fool you into another one of his crazy errands?"
"This is different," Yuna said, her tone sharpening. "This time, it's a high-value recovery mission."
Rick's annoying smile faltered. "Last time you two went out for Dallas, three of my best custom cars came back as scrap metal. His missions are a death sentence for my machines."