"You alright, mate?"

The leader stopped a polite distance away. Up close, he was less imposing in one sense and somehow larger in another, built like a rugby player with the kind of open, easy face that had probably served him well in whatever life he’d had before the world ended.

Finn didn’t get up. He couldn’t, not without making a production of it. He settled for a tired nod.

"Could be better."

"Name’s Marcus." He jerked a thumb at his own chest. "I’m sort of... running point here. For the moment."

"Mm."

"You two just arrived?"

"Yeah. Just got in."

"Thought so. Look, I won’t keep you. You look absolutely knackered. Just wanted to introduce myself and let you know what we’re doing here."

Finn said nothing. He listened.

"We’re pooling resources." Marcus gestured vaguely toward the Tesco. "The shop’s outside the Safe Zone ward, so we’re running teams in and out to stock up. Food, water, batteries, medicine, anything sharp. Everyone who comes in contributes what they can, and everyone who’s combat-capable takes a shift on the wall. Simple enough."

"Mm."

"What’s your class, mate?"

Finn had known that question was coming from the moment Marcus got off his crate.

He’d spent the entire walk over preparing for it, rehearsing answers, weighing which lie would sound the most believable.

In the end, he chose the dullest one.

"I’m a Rogue."

Marcus lit up at once. "That’s brilliant. Very useful for runs. What’s your Agility at?"

"Thirteen."

Marcus blinked. "Thirteen?"

"My level’s still low," Finn said flatly.

"Right, fair enough, fair enough." Marcus’s eyes flicked briefly to the kitchen knife at Finn’s belt, registered it, and moved on with visible restraint. "What about your starting weapon, then? System usually gives Rogues a dagger, doesn’t it?"

"It did. Lost it on the way here."

"Did you?" Marcus said it lightly, but his gaze lingered for half a beat. "Well, we’ve got a spare short sword you can use on rotation. Better than... that. Once you’ve had some rest, come find me, yeah? We’ll get you on the board."

"Thanks."

Marcus nodded, then finally, inevitably, looked at Nyx.

She was sitting very still, hood up, scarf in place, hands folded neatly in her lap. Finn noticed she’d tipped her chin down just slightly, hiding her eyes deeper in the shadow of the hood so the red wouldn’t show.

"And—er. Your friend?"

"She’s with me."

"Yeah, I gathered that, mate." Marcus’s smile tightened by a fraction. "What’s her class?"

"...She’s a Rogue too,".

Marcus’s expression changed instantly.

So did the faces of the two men with him.

"A Rogue?"

"Mm."

"Mate," Marcus said, and now there was real enthusiasm in his voice, "you have no idea how much we need Rogues. In the shop, being quick and quiet is the only way to get the most out of a run. We’ve been desperate for more stealth types."

"Yeah, about that." Finn let exhaustion drag at his voice. That part, at least, required no effort. "She’s low-level too. And she’s out of energy. The trip here took it out of both of us, so she’ll need rest."

"Of course, of course." Marcus held up both hands. "Totally understood. Get some rest. Both of you. But once you’re up to it, come find me, yeah? Even one run would help a lot. Genuinely."

"We’ll let you know."

"Brilliant. Cheers, mate." He took a step back, then halted. "Actually, I never got your name."

"Finn."

"Finn. Right." Marcus dipped his head, then looked to Nyx. "And—sorry, love, didn’t catch yours?"

He aimed the question directly at her.

There was a beat of silence. In that beat, Finn experienced roughly eleven separate cardiac events.

Then Nyx lifted her head and said, in her usual calm tone.

"You address me as though we are acquainted. We are not. I have not given you leave to call me ’love,’ nor am I obliged to offer my name to a stranger who has not earned it."

Finn’s heart dropped through his ribs. His mouth actually fell open for a second.

Marcus, to his credit, kept the smile fixed in place.

"Er. Right. Sorry about that." He cleared his throat. "Cheers, both of you. Rest up, yeah?"

Then he turned and headed back toward his crate.

The lieutenant with the boxer’s nose lingered a moment longer. His gaze slid over Nyx’s hood one last time, slow and lingering, the way a man looked at a present before Christmas.

Then he turned and followed after Marcus.

Finn waited until they were safely out of earshot.

Then he exhaled very quietly into his hands.

"Nyx."

"The man wore a smile as thin as parchment, Bearer," she said. "And presumed, without so much as asking, that we would serve his little camp—or that we required its charity. I saw no reason to indulge the performance."

She was not wrong.

That did not mean Finn wanted to antagonise the man currently organising the nearest concentration of armed survivors.

"And the other one?"

Nyx’s voice cooled by several degrees.

"The one beside him looked upon me as though I were meat hung upon a hook. He is fortunate I was not minded to remove his eyes."

Finn rubbed a hand over his face.

Again, she was not wrong.

Still, he would have preferred not to end up on the bad side of men like that. He knew exactly how irritating they could become.

"...Fine." he sighed.

They remained against the Tesco wall for a long while after that.

The Safe Zone’s regeneration worked steadily through him. Finn watched his HP tick upward in a way that was, if not fast, at least meaningful now, three a minute instead of two an hour.

Beside him, Nyx had already healed completely.

The shallow cuts and bruises she’d taken were gone. Not merely closing—gone. Thinking back, they might have faded before she’d even stepped into the Safe Zone.

A vampire’s regeneration, apparently, was absurd.

And while he was busy resenting that fact, he noticed something else.

Her dress.

At first he thought he was imagining it. Then he saw it again: the torn hem slowly drawing itself together. Thread by thread, fibre by fibre, the fabric was stitching itself back into place. The coat had hidden most of it from view, but when she shifted, he caught a clear glimpse of the material rejoining.

Finn stared and filed that away too. Her dress, apparently, was not a normal dress.

Time passed. Eventually the crowd lost interest in them. Finn’s breathing steadied. The light filtering through the Safe Zone dome shifted with the afternoon, paling from blue to gold.

At last, without opening his eyes, Finn said, "Nyx."

"Mm."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Is this the part where you propose to me, Bearer?" she murmured. "How forward of you. We have known one another scarcely a day."

He turned his head against the brick to look at her.

Under the hood, her eyes were half-closed. Her long lashes rested against pale cheeks.

For a moment she did not look like a vampire, or a summon, or some unknown entity. She looked like a tired girl who had not slept in a very long time.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The teasing curve of her mouth faded.

"Or maybe a better question is—who were you before this?"

She didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was quieter than before.

"I was—"

Her throat clicked.

"I was born in—"

The sound changed halfway out, catching somewhere deep in her throat as if the sentence had snagged on a hidden barb. Her eyes opened wider. A sudden sheen came to them that Finn had never seen before.

"I—"

She stopped. One hand rose to her throat. She pressed her fingers there and breathed out slowly through her nose.

"I cannot," she said at last, very softly. "Forgive me, Bearer. I cannot."