"So I always wondered," Dahlia said, jogging a few steps ahead to look at him, "why didn't you talk much when we first met? I mean, you still don't talk a lot, but it kinda feels like you've opened up now."
"When you phrase it like that, you make me sound like some kind of emo," Massiah muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't know. There was never anything to say."
"That's a lie!" Dahlia said, throwing her arms up. "There were so many stories we wanted to hear, even now!"
"Really?" Massiah said, still walking. "I don't think anything I've done is all that interesting."
"Do you know where Ansel and I first met you? I mean, we didn't know each other yet, but it was around the same time."
"Where?"
"There was a T-Level Two outside the gates," Dahlia said, her eyes bright. "It was huge. And in just seconds, you turned it into shish kebab."
"Not to make you feel bad," Massiah said, "but I barely remember that. I've killed a lot of myutants by the gates."
"You were barely bloodied," she said, smiling. "Your blade swung through the air like you were some kinda superhuman. Were you always like that?"
"Like what?"
"Strong."
"Of course not," Massiah replied. "What you see comes from hard work and dedication, nothing else."
Then he turned to her, slowing his pace.
"What about you?" he asked. "How do you carry around a giant war hammer without collapsing after three swings?"
"After my mom died, I left my haven and came here," Dahlia said, then hesitated. "Actually... can I apologize for something?"
"What?"
"I lied about my home. Not all of it, but most. I didn't come here for the money like I said. I just didn't want to seem suspicious." She winced. "Do you think Sabrina's going to be mad at me for lying?"
Massiah laughed. "Before you get enlisted, a significant part of your life is already researched. Sabrina probably knew the moment you walked through the door."
"I see," Dahlia said, looking a little relieved. "...after I left Barrow, I spent a lot of time in the depths. Used what money I had to buy weapons from some shady people. I fought myutants. A lot."
"You're from Barrow, right?" Massiah asked. "Doesn't seem like you're from the shitty parts. Why leave that for this?"
"I wanted to help," Dahlia said simply. "That's all I've ever wanted, for as long as I can remember. Being an exterminator... meant I could actually do something."
Massiah gave a small nod. "Noble."
Dahlia laughed. "What about you? I always wonder."
"No particular reason," Massiah muttered. "My life was shitty, and this... was just less shitty."
"Makes sense."
"Yeah."
They continued walking in a heavy, scattered silence.
Only the occasional question from Dahlia broke the stillness as they moved through the sandy dunes of the depths, past crumbling buildings and collapsed gates.
The sun sank lower behind them, the night came quickly and they were still nowhere near their destination.
"Do you think Ansel's okay?" Dahlia asked, her feet shuffling through the sand.
"He's tough," Massiah said. "And he's important to them, for whatever reason. They shouldn't have a reason to hurt him... at least for now."
"I wish I'd asked him more questions," Dahlia muttered. "I was just too scared to talk about myself."
"You'll have time to tell him later," Massiah said.
"I will," she whispered.
The crows began to retreat, black silhouettes whipping through the incoming dark. The night wind slammed against their backs as they veered off the central dunes toward a small, lamplit building ahead.
Dahlia hugged her arms against the cold seeping through her coat. "Do you think it's wrong?"
Massiah glanced at her. "What is?"
"Wanting to get attached to someone..." she said. "Like Cassandra was saying... I understand her and she's right. If I'm going to survive, maybe I shouldn't—"
"She was downplaying reality," Massiah said, cutting her off. "Same thing I did when we first met."
Dahlia looked up at him, surprised.
"I spent four years feeling like shit," he continued, his voice low. "And I made it seem like crying—even for a minute—was weakness. Cass is the same. She cried for days after Quem died. She's just... trying to protect you."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"Attachments are both our strength and our weakness," Massiah said. "On one hand, yeah, it's dangerous. Why get attached to people you know might die? But on the other..." He slowed, his voice softening. "Why lie to your heart?"
Dahlia stared at him, silent.
"It's human nature to want to carry on," Massiah said. "To love. To care. I don't know Ansel's middle name. Or the place he grew up. Or even his favorite food. But I still want to save him, still want to hear him talk again. Because I'm attached to him."
Lights flickered in the distance, the building coming into sight now.
"It's right here," Massiah said, pressing a fist lightly against his chest. "No matter how much I try to deny it, it aches."
Then he exhaled, followed by a small laugh. "I want to see him use those godawful karambits against a myutant one more time."
"They were a bad pick," Dahlia said, laughing quietly as well.
"Horrible," Massiah agreed. He stopped walking, glancing at the light ahead. "But that's what's good about life, right? If—when—we meet again... I'll tell him everything I should've. And I'll ask everything I want to."
A few moments later, they reached the building.
Just like the bar they'd stayed in before, it was another inn for travelers and the sorts, but of course just like anything within the depths, it was also a pit for hitmen and thieves.
At the far end of the building, half-swallowed by darkness, stood dozens of figures, all armed, all eyeing them like meat. Weapons glinted in the moon light. Some of them licking their lips in glee of a new score.
"Thieves," Massiah muttered under his breath, stepping up the cracked stone steps. "They'll be annoying... but not much of an issue."
"One of them had a gun," Dahlia said, glancing back.
"It's not loaded," Massiah replied.
"How can you be sure?"
"I just am."
They entered their room with the key provided by the innkeeper, it was a small room—barely enough space for a single bed—lit up by an oil lamp burning weakly overhead.
They stripped off their overcoats and weapons, folding them neatly in the corner.
Normally, Massiah would never have removed his overcoat. But he'd seen the thieves. They were desperate—and desperate usually meant weak. They probably hadn't seen a customer in weeks.
"So how do we prepare?" Dahlia asked, facing the door, her hand twitching near the hilt of her war hammer. She could already hear the faint shuffle of footsteps approaching.
"Do I fake sleep or...?"
"Does it matter?" Massiah asked, watching the door without blinking.
"This is a monumental moment!" Dahlia whispered fiercely. "This is my first mugging, believe it or not! All the other shady places I've been to didn't even have any thieves."
"Oh yeah," Massiah said. "We didn't stay long enough in that last bar to get robbed. Guess that just goes to show how eager these ones are."
The footsteps creaked closer, now right outside the door.
Four men stood there. Two gripping axes, one holding a chipped shank, and the last nervously clutching a pistol between his hands. They didn't barge in. Instead, the lock shifted with a quiet click, despite it having been locked from the inside.
The innkeeper must've been in on it, Massiah thought grimly.
They had a spare key.
The men with axes burst in first, weapons raised, eyes scanning the dim room. It looked empty, save for a heavy war hammer leaning against the wall, just above two neatly folded exterminator overcoats.
Big bucks.
One of the thieves rushed in, grabbing one of the coats. "This is prime stuff," he said, running his fingers across the fabric. "Kevlar blend, maybe better. Fetches a fat price on the BM too."
"Grab everything," another hissed. "I don't feel a damn thing about robbing these shitty exterminators dry."
"I'm not shitty," Dahlia said.
They all froze.
She dropped from the ceiling, arms folded, boots hitting the floor with a thud. "I'm a good exterminator. And I find that offensive. So offensive that I suggest you take it back."
Their eyes flicked upward—
Massiah hung there, arms and legs braced against the walls, his body flat against the ceiling like some expressionless spider.
"It was her idea," he said, deadpan.
"I'm still waiting," Dahlia sang, smiling sweetly.
One of the axe men snapped out of it first, swinging at her.
Dahlia flicked her body back, the axe whistling past her nose by inches. Before he could recover, she darted in, slamming her elbow into his wrist, disarming him in a single blow.
Then, she pivoted smoothly, the momentum carrying her fist into his throat. He hit the wall with a grunt so loud it shook the oil lamp.
"You," Dahlia said, turning on the next closest man, "apologize."
Just then, the guy with the pistol stumbled through the doorway, pointing it at her with trembling hands.
"You better back off," he stammered, "if you know what's good for you!"
"Can I ask you something, Massiah?" Dahlia said, still facing the door.
Massiah nodded—not that she could see him.
"Why is the public perception of us so bad?" she asked. "I mean, not everyone hates us, some people get it... but why don't you guys at least try to make people like you?"
"Smiling doesn't get you paid extra," Massiah shrugged, nearly losing his balance against the ceiling.
"Still..." she said quietly.
"No one's a superhero," he said. "It's hard to smile when your job is killing monsters that murdered your friends."
"But..."
"You can try if you want," Massiah said, shifting slightly. "If fixing our image means that much to you, go ahead. It's in line with what you want, right?"
"Maybe..." Dahlia murmured, still moving forward carefully.
"Stay back!" the man barked.
Dahlia pressed her forehead against the barrel of the gun.
"Go ahead. Shoot."
He did.
The trigger sparked uselessly. Just like Massiah had guessed—empty.
Before he could react, Dahlia snapped her wrist into his elbow, disarming him, and then jumped, her foot slamming into his face. He dropped like a bag of bricks, landing next to his buddy.
The two remaining men were handled the same way, now crumpled on the ground just like their buddies, all unconscious.
"There's so much that goes into being a likable public figure, you know?" Massiah muttered as he casually searched the bodies.
From their pockets, he pulled out a mess of stolen credit cards, jewelry, and bubble gum wrappers.
Dahlia scrunched her face. "Stealing probably doesn't help our image either."
"Hey, they tried to rob us first," Massiah said, unwrapping a piece of gum. "I'm just giving them a taste of their own medicine." He tossed the gum into his mouth.
The strong scent of caffeine hit him immediately, sharp and nostalgic. It didn't actually give you energy—just smelled like it—but the familiarity alone dragged him back a few years.
"It's been a while since I had these," he said, chewing slowly.
"Are they good?" Dahlia asked, stepping closer.
Massiah gave her a side glance. "Weren't you the one just lecturing me about stealing?"
"Well," Dahlia said, reaching in, "you already committed the crime. No going back now."
Massiah eyed her a moment longer, then tossed her the remaining gum—all three pieces.
Dahlia caught them, grinning, as Massiah stretched with a soft yawn, glancing at the four unconscious thieves.
"What do we do about them?" Dahlia asked, following his gaze.
Without a word, Massiah glanced outside, then at the men, then back outside again, and within minutes, the four men had been stripped of their outer clothes.
Using the fabric, they were tied tightly at the arms and legs and left bundled outside, just beyond the threshold. The door shut with a final thud behind them.
Inside, Dahlia claimed the bed and Massiah took a small wooden chair by the door, settling with his head leaned back against the wall, just beside the entrance.
"Are you sure you don't want to sleep in the bed?" Dahlia asked, shifting under the blanket. "I can scoot over."
"And risk the both of us dying in our sleep?" Massiah muttered, already half-drifting. "I'm good."
"I see," Dahlia said, letting out a soft yawn herself. She lay on her side, facing him across the room. "Massiah... do you listen to music?"
"Not actively," he replied. "But once... I heard someone do a good cover of a band I used to like."
"Really?" Dahlia murmured. "Lucky. I haven't found anyone yet..."
Her voice was already trailing into sleep.
"...who can do a rendition... of Elvis..."
She turned over, curling tighter into the blanket.
"...there's like four songs I want to hear..." she whispered faintly, barely audible now. "...I hope Ansel's alright..."
Massiah glanced at her for a moment.
Then, quietly, he stood, stepping over to the small oil lamp. He lifted the glass shielding the flame and with a single breath, snuffed it out.
Darkness filled the room.
"I hope he is too," Massiah whispered into the dark.
The night swallowed their words, and silence took them both.