Dylan sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly hunched, elbows resting on his knees. He kept his eyes down for a mont, as if the words were costing him sothing.
"In three days, they’ll co for you and Élisa... to assign you to your new teams."
Silence exploded all at once.
"What?!"
Maggie had straightened up, eyes wide — almost shocked. No, betrayed. Her legs slid off the bed before she even realized. Her whole body protested, tense with a montum she hadn’t yet decided how to direct.
"You an we’re being split up?!"
Dylan raised his head. He didn’t look surprised by her reaction. He’d anticipated it. But that didn’t make it any easier to take.
"That’s Gael’s decision. Or, as he calls it... a strategic redistribution. He wants to make the most of everyone’s unique skills. Split the profiles, create asymtrical teams."
He paused, then added with tired irony:
"A classy way of saying he doesn’t want us getting too attached, I guess."
Maggie shook her head, one hand clenched at her temple.
"But... we went through all this together. We survived. And now we’re being reshuffled like pawns on a map we’ve never seen?!"
Dylan didn’t answer right away. He looked at her clenched fists, her shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring. He knew Maggie wasn’t afraid of action — she feared absence. The kind of unknown where no one’s left to watch your back.
"I’ll be infiltrating a military base with a girl who walks barefoot and talks like a thundercrack. You... we don’t know yet. Maybe deterrence. Maybe provocation. Maybe sothing else."
He looked her straight in the eyes.
"What I’m saying is... get ready. Because he’s not going to ask our opinion. And we can’t afford to say no anymore."
A silence fell. The kind that hurts. The kind you don’t fill with words.
Then Maggie exhaled, almost to herself, her voice rough:
"Shit... he’s breaking our legs right before the race."
And Dylan, despite everything, gave a tired smile.
"Or maybe... he’s hoping we’ll learn to run differently."
A quiet creak split the silence. The handle turned slowly, and the door opened halfway, letting in a warm breeze — carrying the scent of the street, dried sweat, spiced at, and gunpowder.
Élisa entered.
She was carrying a large canvas bag almost as big as she was, swinging against her hip with each step. Her face was flushed from the heat, bangs stuck to her forehead, but her eyes sparkled — with excitent, tension, maybe both.
"So... I splurged a little with your money, Dylan. If we’re going to die, might as well sll good."
She dropped the bag onto the bed with a soft thump, paying no mind to the tension still weighing down the room.
Dylan turned his head slightly, just enough to watch her. Maggie didn’t move. Still standing, arms crossed, her mind far from shopping bags.
Élisa didn’t seem to notice. She dug into the bag and pulled out — in no particular order — two small bottles of scented soap, a half-eaten box of red berry biscuits, a roughly sewn silk scarf, and... a new notebook, bound in worn leather with a strap around it.
"I had just enough left for this," she said, handing it to Dylan. "You rely too much on that sharp mory. Learn to write a bit — it might co in handy."
He took it without a word, then set it beside him. The leather felt warm, supple. A simple object, but loaded with a kind of care that said sothing more. A way of saying: I know you doubt yourself, so take this — in case you get lost on the way.
"Thanks," he murmured.
Élisa smiled, then really looked at Maggie for the first ti. Her smile faded.
"What happened?"
Maggie didn’t answer. She simply turned toward the window, back stiff, arms still crossed. Dylan looked up at Élisa.
"We’re getting separated," he said, plain and flat.
Élisa blinked. One second. Two.
Then she shook her head, like she hadn’t heard right.
"What?"
"Gael’s splitting us up. Sending each of us to different teams. Different missions. Different goals. Three days, and we’re gone."
Élisa froze. She didn’t speak this ti. Her gaze bounced between Maggie and Dylan, as if searching for the punchline to a terrible joke.
But their faces were too heavy. Too real.
She ended up sitting on the floor, without even noticing. Just there, between them, her back against the bedfra, legs stretched out in front of her.
"...Where are we going?"
"We don’t know yet for you," Dylan replied. "For , it’s Infiltration. A military base in Tiphaea. Led by soone nad Alka."
"You think you can handle it?" Élisa asked, half-serious.
Dylan nodded.
"Yeah. I’ve got a decent number of infiltration missions under my belt, and they’ve all ended well."
Élisa didn’t laugh. Her gaze was distant now, hands resting on her knees.
"And ? Where do I go if I’m not with you?"
No one had the answer. Even the air seed to hold its breath.
Maggie finally spoke, her voice lower, raw with emotion:
"We find each other. No matter what. Even scattered. Even in pieces. We find each other."
Élisa slowly looked up. Their eyes t.
And Dylan, at that mont, didn’t say anything. But he nodded.
It was a promise.
Not the kind you swear.
The kind you carve into pain.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of all the things left unsaid. The fear under their ribs, the mories too tender to voice, and that stubborn spark of hope — small, clumsy, but unkillable.
Dylan leaned forward again, elbows on knees, hands clasped. He stared at the floor between his feet like it already held signs of the future.
"If you ask ..." he said softly, almost a whisper. "You’ll end up in a tactical support role. They’ll want soone who thinks fast, soone who doesn’t panic."
Élisa looked up at him, worry tightening the corner of her mouth.
"I think fast because I’m scared."
He smiled — not mocking.
"Perfect. Fear’s what keeps you alive. Pride’s what gets you killed."
Maggie ca back to sit on the bed, not far from Dylan, but still wound tight like a spring. She watched Élisa, not looking for strengths — but for cracks.
"No matter where they send you," she said. "Don’t forget what we’ve been through. Keep it with you. It’s not just mories. It’s your weapon. Your compass."
Élisa nodded slowly.
Then, almost like a child, she pulled the canvas bag toward her and took out a small glass vial, filled with a clear liquid that shimred pearlescent in the dim light.
"I also bought this. Supposed to calm the mind. So kind of infusion... or scam, I don’t know. Using my power still leaves ntally drained so... I grabbed three. One for each of us."
She offered the vials, a bit awkwardly.
"If we get split up... at least we’ll have this. A shared taste."
Maggie took hers without a word and slipped it into her jacket’s inner pocket. Dylan looked at the vial for a second, then stuffed it into his belt pouch.
"Not bad. A little cheesy, but not bad."
Élisa shrugged.
"We need sothing. Even if it’s just sugar and delusion."
A gentle silence settled. This ti, it was almost soft. Like a blanket laid over a wound that hadn’t closed, but that no one wanted to scratch anymore.
The crystal lamp flickered faintly, its glow swaying across the walls.
Dylan stretched out, then dropped backward onto the bed, arms folded under his head. He stared at the ceiling.
"You think we’ll co back? Here. The three of us. One day."
Maggie looked away. Élisa, without hesitation, replied:
"I think we won’t need to co back here. But we’ll find each other sowhere else. Sowhere none of us are the sa anymore."
Dylan exhaled through his nose, amused. A typical Élisa answer. Lucid. Unsettling. Accidentally poetic.
Then, without sitting up, he murmured:
"We’ve got three days to prepare... but really, there’s not much to prepare. So what do we do?"
Maggie leaned toward him, speaking in a calm, even tone:
"I’ve accepted a dinner with Jonas, since I’m starving in this inn. Figured it’s a good chance to get a free al."
Élisa smiled sadly.
"Poor Jonas. His whole shop’s budget is going to disappear..."
"Shouldn’t have invited a girl like ," Maggie replied with humor, a half-smile on her lips but sothing heavier still in her eyes.
Dylan let out a small laugh, almost unconsciously, still lying back on the bed.
"Honestly... he’d have better odds inviting a bear. Might actually survive the evening."
Maggie shrugged with faux nonchalance.
"A bear wouldn’t have asked stupid questions between bites. And he’d probably pay the bill without negotiating a second date."
Élisa giggled softly.
"You going in with your blade at your hip or that predatory smile of yours?"
"Both," Maggie shot back. "Gotta make sure he feels danger and the urge to die in the sa minute."
She stood, stretched slowly, then grabbed her jacket from the bedpost. Her movents were slow but deliberate — like a predator that never really sleeps.
"He’s waiting at the fountain quarter. I’ll pretend to be a normal girl. Change of pace."
Dylan raised a hand like he was blessing the mission.
"Happy hunting. Bring us sothing edible. Or at least so intel."
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