Day thirty-three.
Del wakes. His ribs still ache from the beating three days ago. The swelling in his jaw has gone down but the bruise is deep purple now. Yellow at the edges. His knee hurts when he bends it. The cut reopened during yesterday's work. Bled through the cloth wrap.
He sits up. The stone is cold. Always cold.
The spot where the child used to sleep is empty. Just wet stone. A puddle from last night's rain.
Del's hand goes to his pocket. Touches the rock through the fabric. Feels the dents on the rock.
Gets up. Body protesting. Drinks water from his hidden container. Eats small portion of bread. It's stale. Doesn't matter.
The routine is automatic now. Wake. Eat. Work. Survive. Repeat.
His mind is quiet. Has been for three days. Not thinking about the child. Not thinking about the hand in the rubble. Not thinking about anything.
Just: functioning.
Heads toward the meeting point.
---
Hadric's crew gathers. Same faces. Tovin, Ren, Mara, the others. Everyone looks tired. The rain has been constant. Everything is damp and cold.
"Section G and H today," Hadric says. Water drips off his coat. "Split pairs. Del, you're with Mara. Check and haul."
Mara nods. She's been priority crew for two years. Competent. Efficient. Doesn't waste words.
They head toward Section G. The passage slopes down. Temperature drops immediately. Del's breath doesn't quite fog but almost.
His feet are wet within seconds. The cut on his knee stings with each step. He ignores it. Pain is just information. Noting it doesn't help.
Section G has four chambers. First chamber is mostly empty. One artifact visible—blue glow, steady pulse. Del approaches. Crouches.
The wrongness hits. Familiar now. Pressure in his skull. Copper taste. Nausea building.
But it's low-level. Manageable.
"Safe," he says. "Quick retrieval."
Mara moves in. Wraps it. Bags it. Twenty seconds.
They move to the second chamber.
Three artifacts here. Two blue, one green. Del checks each.
Blues are safe. Green is volatile—fast pulse, irregular rhythm.
"These two," Del says, pointing to blues. "Leave the green."
Mara retrieves. Efficient. No wasted movement.
Third chamber has rubble collapse blocking half of it. Unstable. They mark it and move on.
Fourth chamber is deeper. Darker. Artifact glow visible from the entrance—pale yellow, slow pulse.
Del enters carefully. Tests each step. The floor is slick. Water pooling in depressions.
The artifact is embedded in the wall. Can't retrieve without excavation. Too much work. They mark its location.
"That's G," Mara says. "Move to H?"
Del nods.
They work through H. Two chambers. Four artifacts total. All safe. All retrieved.
Back at the warehouse by midday.
Hadric marks the haul in his ledger. "Good work. Clean retrieval. No complications."
Rations distributed. Del gets his double portion. Bread and dried meat. More than most get.
He finds his usual spot under the overhang. Sits. The stone is cold but at least it's dry here.
Eats slowly. Making it last. The bread is hard. Has to work each bite.
Movement in his peripheral vision.
Someone approaching.
Del looks up mid-chew.
Man. Maybe thirty-five. Broad shoulders but the muscle has been eaten away—used to be bigger. Face is angular. Sharp. Nose broken at some point, healed crooked. Left eyelid droops slightly. Not paralysis. Scar tissue pulling it down. Makes his gaze asymmetric. Unsettling.
Dark hair going gray at the temples. Hands scarred. Nails cracked and yellowed. One thumbnail completely black—crushed, never grew back right.
He's favoring his right leg. Not a limp exactly. Just: puts weight on it differently. Old injury. Hip maybe. Or knee.
Del's seen him around. Works salvage crews. Not priority. Usually near the warehouse. Always with a woman. The one with brown eyes.
The man stops three feet away. Doesn't sit. Stands there looking down at Del.
His expression is neutral but his jaw is tight. Muscle jumping at the hinge. Tension.
"You're the one Kael marked," he says.
Not a question. Statement. Voice is rough. Damaged throat. Sounds like he swallowed gravel.
Del swallows his bite. Doesn't answer.
The man shifts weight. Right leg to left. Back to right. Can't stand still. Restless energy.
"Priority crew," the man continues. Still looking down at Del. "Double rations. Better sites."
His eyes flick to the bread in Del's hand. Then away. Quick. But Del caught it.
Hungry.
The man licks his lips. Dry. Cracked. "Doing well for yourself."
Del sets down the bread. Wipes his hands on his pants. "Do you need something?"
The man's smile is wrong. Lips pull back but it doesn't reach his eyes. The drooping eyelid makes it worse. Lopsided.
"Just curious," he says. "We're all trying to survive. Good to know who's who."
He glances toward the ruins. Then back. His neck cracks when he turns. Audible pop. He doesn't react to it.
No..
"Saw you yesterday," he says. Voice casual. Too casual. "Coming back from the old collapsed section. The deep one. Past the sealed chambers."
Del's stomach drops.
Keeps his face still. Doesn't move.
The man's eyes are on him. Watching. Searching for reaction.
"Lots of collapsed sections," Del says. Voice steady.
"True." The man nods. Shifts weight again. Right to left. "But not many people go that deep. Dangerous. Easy to get lost. Cave-ins. Bad air."
Silence.
The man scratches his jaw. Nails scraping against stubble. Sound is loud in the quiet.
"You had containers with you," he says. "When you came back. Four of them. Sealed. Old-world design."
Del's heart is beating faster. Can feel it in his throat.
Doesn't show it.
"Found some storage," Del says. "Thought they'd be useful."
"For?"
"Carrying things."
"What things?"
"Rations. Water. Whatever."
The man's smile widens. Still not reaching his eyes. "Water."
He says it like he's tasting the word. Rolling it around in his mouth.
Del picks up his bread. Takes another bite. Forces himself to chew normally. Swallow.
The man watches. His fingers drum against his thigh. Tap tap tap. Rhythmic. Constant. Nervous energy that can't be contained.
"I followed you this morning," he says. "Early. Before dawn. While you were sleeping."
Del stops chewing.
The man's smile shifts. Satisfaction. "Watched where you went. Saw you go back to those chambers. Saw you come out with one of the containers. Full. Heavy. You carried it careful. Like it mattered."
His fingers stop drumming. Hands go still.
"Saw you hide it," he continues. "Under the rubble. Near where you sleep. Covered it good. But not good enough."
Del's mind is racing.
How long has he been watching? How much does he know? How many containers has he seen?
"What do you want?" Del asks.
The man tilts his head. The drooping eyelid makes the gesture look predatory. Bird-like.
"What's in the containers?"
My plan is finished.
"Water."
"From where?"
"Sealed storage. Found it."
The man nods slowly. His jaw muscle jumps again. Grinding his teeth.
"How many containers?" he asks.
Del doesn't answer.
The man's smile returns. "More than four. You've been going back multiple times. Building a stash."
He sits down now. Uninvited. Not across from Del. Next to him. Close. Invading space.
Del can smell him. Sweat. Dirt. Something sour underneath. Infection probably. Everyone has something infected.
"Clean water," the man says quietly. Leaning in. "That's what you have. The kind that doesn't kill you."
His breath is hot. Smells like rot.
Del leans back slightly. Creating distance.
The man notices. Smiles wider.
"You know what that's worth?" he asks. "Down here? People are drinking poison every day. Shitting themselves. Bleeding. Dying."
He gestures toward the warehouse. Where workers gather.
"They're desperate," he says. "And you're sitting on clean water. Hoarding it."
The accusation lands.
Del's hands tighten on the bread. Can't help it.
The man sees. His eyes flick down. Register the tension. Flick back up.
"How long have you been following me?" Del asks.
"Week maybe. Little more." The man scratches his neck. Nails digging in. Leaving red marks. "You're careful. But everyone makes mistakes."
"Why follow me?"
"You survive." Simple. Matter-of-fact. "Wanted to know why. What you do different."
He leans back now. Gives Del space. Strategic retreat.
"Turns out," he says, "you have something nobody else has."
Del's mind is calculating.
Options. Threats. Outcomes.
He could kill me and take the water. But he hasn't. But he doesn't tell the overseers. Why? He can get a reward. He hasn't.
He wants something else.
"What do you want?" Del asks again.
The man's smile fades. Expression goes flat. Cold.
"Overseers would pay to know," he says. "Someone hoarding resources. They don't like that. Upsets the system."
Threat.
"Or," he continues, "I tell everyone. All the workers. Let them know you've got clean water hidden. See what happens."