The distant rumble of engines nipped at their heels like a starved hound, sharp and persistent. Aris didn't waste a single breath on panic or complaints. She moved like a shadow, cutting through the labyrinth of collapsed concrete and rusted steel, every turn chosen with the brutal efficiency of someone who'd spent her entire life outrunning death.
Kael stayed half a step behind her, silent and watchful. No more protests. No more prideful stubbornness. He'd accepted his place in her chaotic plan—temporary bodyguard, unwanted companion, and still, technically, her most high-maintenance salvage.
The night swallowed them whole, cold and vast. The Wasteland didn't care about their problems. It didn't care about betrayals or wars or stolen paydays. It only cared about survival.
And right now, survival meant running.
"You're moving like they're right behind us," Kael muttered, his voice low enough to avoid carrying.
"They might as well be," Aris snapped back, not slowing. "These people aren't random raiders. They're trained. Organized. Whoever's hunting you didn't cut corners. If they can track us this far, they won't stop until you're dead or chained."
"Then why not leave me?" Kael asked. The question was quiet, almost gentle, completely out of place in the harsh night. "You could slip away. Double back. Go to a safe zone and never see me again. No more running. No more gunfights. No more risk."
Aris froze mid-step.
She spun to face him, eyes blazing in the dim light, her expression a mix of disbelief and outright annoyance. For a long moment, she just stared at him like he'd lost every last shred of common sense.
"Are you serious?" she hissed. "Leave you? After I dragged you across half the Wasteland? After I untied you? After I just lost my best market because of you? I don't leave valuable salvage halfway to a sale. That's not business. That's stupidity."
Kael blinked. "You're still thinking about profit?"
"Of course I am!" Aris threw her hands up, exasperated. "What else am I supposed to think about? Your tragic backstory? Your feelings? I don't have time for feelings! I have water to hoard, coins to earn, and a warlord to sell before I get shot! You are not special. You are just expensive."
Something flickered in Kael's golden eyes—amusement, respect, maybe even a hint of warmth. He didn't smile, but his jaw relaxed, just a little.
"Remind me never to underestimate your loyalty to profit," he said dryly.
"Good," Aris said, turning back around. "You shouldn't. Now move. If we reach the old subway tunnels before sunrise, we can lose them for good. They won't risk going in there blind."
"Subway tunnels?" Kael's tone sharpened. "The ones full of collapsed passages, wild dogs, and God knows what else?"
"Yep," Aris said cheerfully. "Safe for me. Extremely unpleasant for anyone chasing me. Perfect."
Kael fell silent, likely mentally re-evaluating every life choice that had led him to being dragged into underground ruins by a feral scavenger girl.
Aris didn't care.
His comfort wasn't part of the deal.
They walked for another hour, the engines fading slowly behind them, until the broken skeletons of skyscrapers gave way to a half-buried concrete entrance—dark, menacing, and half-covered in dust.
The subway tunnels.
Aris stopped in front of the opening, listening. Only silence drifted up from the dark. No scuttling. No growling. No sounds of pursuit.
Safe enough.
She pulled a small, dim flashlight from her backpack—one of her most prized possessions—and clicked it on. The weak beam cut through the dark, revealing cracked walls and a debris-strewn path downward.
"Stay close," she warned, already stepping forward. "Don't touch anything. Don't wander off. And if you see a coyote, let me handle it. I know how to deal with them."
"You handle coyotes?" Kael asked, following her down the sloping concrete path.
"I sell their pelts," Aris said casually. "Good money. Now quiet. Echoes carry down here."
The tunnel closed in around them, cold and damp, the air thick with dust and the faint smell of mildew. The flashlight beam bounced off the walls, creating dancing, monstrous shadows that seemed to reach for them as they passed.
To anyone else, it would have been terrifying.
To Aris, it was just another hiding spot.
They walked in silence for several minutes, the tunnel winding downward, branching left and right at random intervals. Aris turned without hesitation, choosing paths like she could see the entire tunnel system in her head.
Kael watched her, more and more impressed. She knew this broken world better than he knew his own fortress. She didn't need maps. She didn't need guides. She just knew.
"You've been down here before," he said quietly.
"Dozens of times," Aris replied without looking back. "Hiding. Sleeping. Escaping people stupider than you. It's one of my favorite places."
"Charming," Kael muttered.
Aris finally slowed to a stop in front of a small, hollowed-out side chamber—hidden, dry, and just big enough for two people to sit without touching. Perfect for a real rest.
"We stay here until the sun is high," she said, dropping her backpack and sliding to the ground. "If the raiders are still looking, they'll be above ground, not down here. We're safe. For a few hours, at least."
Kael leaned against the wall, still standing, still alert, like he couldn't bring himself to let his guard down even for a second.
Aris stared at him.
"You can sit, you know," she said flatly. "I promise the floor won't bite you. It's only slightly dirtier than your fancy armor."
"I'm used to staying alert," Kael said.
"Well un-get used to it," Aris retorted. "If you pass out from exhaustion later, I'm not carrying you. I'll just sell you to the tunnel coyotes. They love lazy warlords."
Kael sighed, a quiet, defeated sound, and finally slid down the wall to sit across from her. The flashlight lay between them, casting weak light over their tired, dust-covered faces.
For the first time in hours, there was no sound. No engines. No gunshots. No screaming.
Just silence.
Aris closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall, letting her body relax. Every muscle ached. Her throat was dry. Her feet felt like they'd been walking for years.
But she was alive.
And so was her salvage.
Success, by Wasteland standards.
"You really will sell me, won't you?" Kael asked suddenly, his voice soft in the quiet.
Aris opened one eye, looking at him. His golden eyes were unreadable in the dim light—no anger, no arrogance, just a quiet, genuine question.
She hesitated for half a second.
Then her usual sharp smirk returned.
"Absolutely," she said. "The second I find a buyer who won't get us killed. Don't get soft on me, Lord of the Black Fort. My rules haven't changed."
Kael stared at her, then slowly, faintly, smiled.
"Good," he said. "I'd be disappointed if they had."
Aris huffed, closing her eyes again, pretending she wasn't slightly relieved to hear it.
Rules were safe.
Rules were simple.
Rules didn't get you killed.
And her number one rule was still the same.
Survive.
Profit.
And never, ever get attached.
Somewhere above them, the Wasteland slept.
Somewhere behind them, the raiders searched.
But for now, in the dark quiet of the tunnel, they were just two survivors—one scavenger, one warlord—stuck together.
And Aris was still going to sell him.
Probably.