The dust in the western block settled slowly.
For the first time in weeks, the air didn't taste like ash or sweat—only the faint metallic scent of old wiring and quiet. The morning work had stretched into noon; by the time the sun angled through the cracked ceiling, both of them were coated in grime.
Lu had been dragging a pile of broken conduit toward the back wall when the metal panel behind it shifted. The dull clang echoed oddly. Curious, she pressed her shoulder against it. It gave way just enough to reveal a darker gap behind the wall.
"24," she called, voice low.
He looked up from where he'd been checking the door locks. One glance at the uneven seam was enough. Together they forced the panel aside, and a stale breath of trapped air rolled out—dust, age, and something faintly human, like the memory of soap.
Behind the wall was a small corridor that opened into an old personnel suite.
Someone had lived here once. Maybe years ago, before the fire.
Two beds, unburned and still intact.
A small table with its corners melted but usable.
And a doorway leading to something they hadn't seen in months—a bathroom with a still-standing shower stall and a cracked mirror.
The pipes were silent, but when 24 turned the valve, the building groaned like something waking from sleep. A few seconds later, a cough of brown water burst from the showerhead, cleared, and turned to a thin, steady stream.
Lu froze. She almost didn't believe it.
"It still works," she whispered.
"Gravity line," 24 said, watching the pipes hum. "This sector's water runs through the old filtration tanks under the ridge."
He turned to leave her to it, but she caught his sleeve briefly.
"I—thanks."Then she let go.
He stayed outside while she disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of rushing water filling the quiet hall. He found an old crate, sat, and listened to the rhythm of it. It was strange—how something as simple as water could sound louder than a battle. It wasn't noise. It was life, washing over a place that had forgotten it.
Inside, Lu stood under the stream for what felt like an hour.
The water was barely warm, but it didn't matter. It ran down her shoulders, tracing the scars she always kept hidden beneath the mask and armor. She let her fingers rest on the side of her face—the one she never showed—and felt the contrast of warmth and cold steel against her skin.
For the first time in what felt like years, she didn't have to move. Didn't have to fight. Didn't have to look over her shoulder. She closed her eyes and let herself breathe.
When she stepped out, she wrapped herself in one of the old, thin blankets she'd found in a storage bin. Her hair clung damp against the fabric of her mask. 24 hadn't moved from the crate, but he'd lit one of the old emergency lamps, soft amber light filling the room.
"Feel better?" he asked without looking up.
She gave a small nod.
"Didn't think I'd ever get to take a shower again."
"Don't get used to it," he said, though there was a faint hint of warmth in his tone.
She sat across from him on the floor, legs crossed, the lamp's glow cutting lines across the cracked tiles between them.
"You could use one too," she said, teasing lightly.
"Later," he replied, checking the edge of one of his blades. "If I start, the pipes might give out."Lu smiled faintly under her mask and leaned back against the wall.
For a long while, neither spoke. The building creaked, the wind whistled through the collapsed roof, and somewhere deep in the pipes, water still ran.
By evening, they had cleared the suite completely. They moved one bed into the main room to use as a couch, set the table under the remaining light, and even found a half-box of preserved rations in an old locker. It wasn't much, but it was home enough.
As night fell, 24 shut the heavy door and placed a rusted bar across it.
"No one will come here," he said. "Not unless they know what they're looking for."
Lu nodded. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, combing her damp hair through with her fingers. The lamplight caught her movements in soft gold, flickering shadows against the walls.
"It's strange," she said after a while. "Everywhere we go, it's always temporary. But this… this feels like it could stay."
24 looked over from the corner. His expression didn't change, but his eyes softened.
"Nothing stays," he said. "But we can make it last longer than most."
Later, after they ate in silence, he finally stood and moved toward the shower. Lu had already dozed off, sitting upright against the wall, mask still on. He paused in the doorway, watching the slow, even rhythm of her breathing.
For the first time in a long time, there was no alarm to set, no watch to take, no danger pressing from every direction. Only the sound of old pipes and the hum of electricity barely clinging to life.
He turned the water on and stepped in. The first blast was freezing, but he didn't flinch. The dirt washed away slowly, and for a brief moment, the lines of his brand—the 24 burned into his neck—blurred under the thin stream.He let it.For one night, it could fade.
That night, the outpost slept.
No ghosts. No drones. No gunfire.
Just a ruined building breathing again—
and two soldiers, finally still,
listening to the sound of water.