Ciel stared up at the corroded ceiling, the glow of bioluminescent moss casting strange, flickering shadows across the stone. The sewer was quiet now, save for the distant dripping of water and the occasional shuffle of movement deeper in the tunnels.

  Gorrug pushed himself up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders before grabbing his hammer and hoisting Skrimp under one arm. The war beast let out a soft, wheezing honk, its feathered wings twitching as it curled up against the orc’s massive chest.

  “I will take first watch,” Gorrug said simply, his deep voice carrying through the chamber like a distant drum. No one argued.

  Miri, having healed the last of their injuries as best she could, sighed as she slumped against the wall, her usual smile faded from sheer exhaustion. Without mana inhalers, without stim packs or enchanted health restoratives, all they had was rations and sheer grit.

  Which meant they were pretty fucked.

  Veyra, already sprawled out on her makeshift bedding, was snoring within minutes, one arm thrown over her face, her rifle still tucked within reach.

  Raze, having lit a fresh cigar, sat against the opposite wall, his storm-gray eyes half-lidded, not asleep but somewhere between meditation and quiet contemplation.

  Ciel exhaled, sitting up, her limbs still heavy with exhaustion.

  She let her gaze drift over to Sylva, who sat a short distance away, her slender fingers idly tracing a pattern into the dirt with the tip of a dagger.

  Something in Ciel shifted.

  Without thinking, she pushed herself up and crossed the short distance, dropping down beside her.

  Sylva didn’t look up, but Ciel caught the faint twitch of her mouth, the smallest sign of acknowledgment.

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

  Then Ciel, ever unable to sit in silence for too long, leaned back against the wall, tilting her head toward her.

  “So, that was fun.”

  Sylva let out a soft snort, eyes still on the dirt she was idly carving into. “Oh yes. Getting mauled by sewer puppets? Just another fantastic night with you.”

  Ciel smirked. “I do throw the best parties.”

  Sylva finally looked at her then, her crimson gaze flicking up, unreadable in the dim light. “You’ve always had a habit of walking into nightmares like they’re invitations.”

  Ciel shrugged. “And you always follow.”

  Sylva went back to tracing her dagger against the ground. “Someone has to be there when it all goes to shit.”

  Ciel tilted her head slightly, watching her.

  “That why you’re still here?” she asked, softer this time.

  Sylva’s dagger paused against the dirt.

  For a second, she didn’t respond. Then, slowly, she sheathed the dagger, her hands now resting on her knees.

  She turned to face Ciel fully now, her expression carefully neutral, but her eyes giving away something else.

  “I could’ve left years ago.”

  Ciel didn’t know why, but that hit her harder than expected.

  The two of them had been like this for so long… flirting, fighting, pushing and pulling, testing limits but never crossing them.

  And yet… Sylva stayed.

  Through the worst of it. Through jobs gone wrong, through reckless plans and stupid risks, through watching Ciel throw herself headfirst into danger like she had nothing to lose.

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  Through all of it, Sylva had been there.

  Ciel felt her throat tighten slightly, but she played it off with a smirk, nudging Sylva’s knee with her own.

  “Guess I must be real fun to be around, huh?”

  Sylva sighed, but it wasn’t annoyance, not really.

  “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  Ciel grinned. “And yet.”

  Sylva met her gaze again.

  For once, there was no teasing smirk, no sarcastic retort.

  Just a quiet, heavy moment.

  A lot had been left unsaid between them over the years.

  And maybe they weren’t ready to say it.

  But… Maybe they were.

  The silence stretched between them, thick, heavy, and unspoken.

  Then, finally, Sylva broke it.

  “You remember the first time we met?”

  Ciel blinked, caught off guard. Her lips twitched in amusement, but she didn’t quite smile. “Vaguely. Was too busy trying not to get stabbed.”

  Sylva let out a soft snort, shaking her head. “You deserved it. You ruined my job.”

  Ciel raised a brow. “You ruined mine first.”

  Sylva exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes. “We were working different jobs at the time. Didn’t even know each other. But then you came barreling in like a lunatic, guns blazing, and suddenly, I was dodging bullets meant for me.”

  Ciel smirked. “You threw a knife at my head first, sweetheart.”

  Sylva shrugged. “You were in the way.”

  They both paused, letting the memory settle between them.

  The two of them had been on opposite sides of a job, unknowingly caught in each other’s paths. It had been a bloodbath, double-crosses, betrayals, a complete shitstorm that neither of them had walked away from unscathed.

  And yet, when things went south… when both their jobs fell apart, when the real threat turned against them—

  They had fought together.

  Not because they had to.

  Not because they liked each other.

  But because, in that moment, it was the only way either of them were getting out alive.

  Ciel sighed, resting her head back against the cold stone wall. “So, what you’re saying is, this has been doomed from the start.”

  Sylva glanced at her, smirking slightly. “Oh, absolutely.”

  A beat.

  Then Sylva’s smirk faded, replaced by something more tired, more real.

  “You’re too reckless, Ciel.”

  Ciel didn’t move, but she felt the words sink in like lead in her chest.

  Sylva’s fingers tightened against her knee, as if holding back frustration.

  “You don’t think before you go into action. You just shoot first, figure the rest out later.” She gestured vaguely to the sewer around them, to the situation they were in. “And that’s why we’re here.”

  Ciel’s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

  She couldn’t argue that.

  She didn’t have a defense.

  She knew it was true.

  Their last job—the one that put them in Grimm’s debt, the one that had led them down here—it was because of her.

  Because she had acted on instinct, because she had charged in thinking she could fix it.

  And she hadn’t.

  She had fucked it up.

  And now, they were marching toward what was probably their deaths.

  She bit her lip, looking away, her mind drifting—like it always did—pushing the weight of it all to the back of her thoughts, burying it like every other bad decision in her life.

  But Sylva wasn’t done.

  Her voice softened.

  “But it wasn’t just you.”

  Ciel glanced at her again, brows furrowing slightly.

  Sylva exhaled, her fingers rubbing absently against the leather straps on her thigh.

  “We’re a team, Ciel. That means when one of us screws up, it’s on all of us. You didn’t destroy the job alone. We all did. We all failed.”

  Ciel felt her throat tighten at that, but she didn’t say anything.

  Sylva hesitated, then finally added, her voice quieter—more vulnerable than she probably wanted it to be:

  “And I should’ve said that before now.”

  Ciel studied her, watching the way Sylva’s crimson gaze flickered in the dim light, the way she wasn’t quite looking at her, but wasn’t looking away either.

  And then, Sylva shifted.

  Something in her posture changed, in her expression, in the way her fingers twitched slightly like she wanted to reach out but couldn’t.

  Sylva, for all her sharp edges, her bluntness, her sarcasm, had never struggled with words before.

  But now?

  Now, she looked like she was warring with herself.

  And that’s when it hit Ciel.

  Sylva was scared.

  Not of the job.

  Not of death.

  But of something else entirely.

  Then, finally, she spoke.

  “I want to.”

  Ciel’s brows furrowed slightly. “Want to what?”

  Sylva inhaled. Slow. Careful.

  Then she turned to her fully, her crimson eyes locking onto Ciel’s, unwavering despite the hesitation in her voice.

  “I want to.” Sylva repeated, softer this time. “I just—”

  She stopped, her jaw tightening, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

  And that was it.

  That was everything.

  Ciel felt something in her chest clench, something sharp and real.

  Because she knew.

  Sylva had always known what she wanted.

  But this—this was different.

  This was her choosing not to want.

  Because Ciel was a walking corpse. A dead woman gambling with borrowed time.

  And Sylva wasn’t ready to commit to that.

  Neither of them said anything for a long time.

  Then, slowly, Ciel forced herself to breathe, to let the moment settle like an ache beneath her skin.

  She gave Sylva a small, crooked smile, something tired but still teasing, because that’s all she had left to give.

  “You know, we could die tomorrow.”

  Sylva scoffed, shaking her head, but her smirk was faint. Bitter.

  “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

  Ciel’s smirk faded slightly.

  Then she turned away, staring at the dim glow of the tunnel ahead.

  And for once, she didn’t have a joke.