The door slammed like a gunshot.
Bobo stood in the kitchen, face taut, shoulders still bristling. Luce didn't move at first—just stared at the dented wall where Mikey's body had hit. She cleared her throat.
"I hope you're fixing that, Bo."
Bobo raised an eyebrow, already exhausted.
"Fixing what?"
She nodded toward the splintered plaster.
"The wall. You put a whole kid through it."
Bobo groaned, dragging his hands down his face.
"Shit… yeah. Sorry, Luce. Fuckin' kids."
"Kids?" Luce crossed her arms. "You're the one who threw him into the damn thing."
He scoffed, chuckling as he dropped into the kitchen chair.
"What do you want me to say? I didn't want to rough him up… but someone's gotta knock sense into that head."
Luce stepped closer, arms still folded tight. "Bo, I get what you were trying to teach him. I really do. But maybe take your own advice about fighting with your brain instead of your heart."
Bobo's hands clenched into fists. His voice came low, bitter.
"Sorry if I'm a little pissed. I just slapped the shit out of Dez's kid…"
He grits his teeth.
"Why'd it have to be Dez of all people to bite the dust..."
He slammed his metal fist down onto the table before he could stop himself. The wood split with a crunch, sending splinters skittering.
"Goddammit, Bo!" Luce smacked the back of his head. Hard.
Bobo winced, then snorted.
"Yeah… okay, that one's on me."
Luce turned away, jaw clenched, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You're not the only one angry about Desmond being gone…"
Bobo looked up at her, eyebrow raised.
"Still hung up on him, huh? After all these years?"
He smirked.
"You two lovebirds never did get your happy ending."
Luce shot him a glare.
"We weren't on good terms, last time we saw each other."
Bobo leaned back, baiting her now.
"Right, right… that was after he started seeing Darla and you knocked her teeth sideways."
He laughed, deep and smug.
Luce stepped in front of him, staring him dead in the eye despite him being seated. She grabbed the collar of his tank top and yanked him forward.
"You are such an asshole."
Bobo grinned.
"You didn't say that last time I was here."
She slugged his chest with a solid thump.
"Shut up, prick."
"Feisty as always huh?," he said with a wink.
There was a beat. Then Bobo leaned in, voice low and rough. "How 'bout we go a few rounds, Luce? Could be our last night. Might as well go out swinging."
She looked at his lips, close now.
"We could…"
He leaned closer.
"Yeah. We could."
She slapped him clean across the cheek and turned away, laughing as she walked off, shaking her head.
"Kidding," she called back.
Bobo touched his cheek, grinning.
"I'll get ya eventually."
The next morning Bobo woke with a deep, gravelly yawn. He smacked his lips, rubbed his eyes, and sat up slowly, scratching the scarred mess of muscle across his hairy chest and stomach.
The blanket slid off his side, landing over Luce, still asleep beside him—just as naked as he was.
He lumbered out of bed and shuffled to the window, careful not to step on the metal arm lying where he dropped it the night before. Pulling the blinds open, morning sunlight spilled into the room. He stretched, big and wide, one-armed, the other shoulder ending in a blunt metal socket.
Behind him, Luce stirred with a groan, the light brushing her face.
"Put some damn pants on, Bo," she muttered, voice raspy with sleep.
He chuckled.
"Yeah, yeah…"
Bobo grabbed his clothes off the floor—black cargo pants, a worn grey tank, thick-soled combat boots. He pulled them on methodically, then crouched to pick up the detached arm. With a practiced motion, he slid it into the shoulder socket. It clicked into place with a satisfying hiss of pressure. He flexed the fingers, then rolled the shoulder.
Luce was already half-buried under the covers again when he opened the bedroom door. He ducked his head beneath the frame, footsteps heavy as thunder, the wood groaning under his weight as he headed out.
Bobo stood at the stove, chewing slowly as he finished his breakfast. He left the rest on a plate for Luce, covering it with a dish towel. Quiet morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, warm against the wooden floor.
His eyes drifted toward the basement door.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn't wanted things to end the way they did last night, but it was for the kid's own good. He walked over and opened the door, the old hinges creaking as he stepped down.
"Kid? You still here?"
Silence.
He flicked on the light. The mattress was bare—sheets folded neatly at the edge, pillow fluffed. Mikey's funeral clothes were still draped over the chair, untouched.
A message, unspoken but loud: I'm not taking the past with me.
Bobo exhaled through his nose, heavy. Part of him wished the kid had stayed—maybe argued one more time—but deep down, he knew this was for the best.
"We'll come back for ya, kid…" he muttered to the empty room. "I promise."
Luce's voice floated down from the top of the stairs. She was fully dressed now, hair tied back. "He gone?"
Bobo didn't look away from the bed.
"Yeah. Boy's gone."
Luce stepped down a few steps, arms crossed.
"Honestly thought he'd still be here. Maybe beg to come along, put up a fight or two."
Bobo gave a quiet laugh.
"Maybe he got spooked by the noise last night. Thought there was an earthquake."
Luce smacked the back of his head.
"Or maybe it was your snoring, old man."
He chuckled, the sound low and brief. Then his smile faded, voice dropping.
"…Did I do the right thing?"
He didn't need to explain. The weight hung between them.
"I get his anger," Bobo continued, eyes still fixed on the empty bed. "Hell, I've worn it before. No one stopped me back then. And I didn't want them to, either."
Luce gave him a soft look, her voice gentler than before.
"You did the right thing, Bo. You saved that kid's life."
She turned and headed back upstairs.
Bobo stayed a while longer, staring at the folded sheets, as if expecting Mikey to come back down at any second. But the quiet held.
Eventually, Bobo lumbered upstairs, the wooden steps groaning under his weight. He walked into the kitchen and found Luce already at the table, picking at the breakfast he'd left her.
She looked up mid-chew, grimacing.
"This is trash, Bo."
He chuckled, slumping into the chair across from her.
"Still better than whatever the hell comes from your cooking."
She narrowed her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Ass."
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, watching her.
"Alright, now that the kid's gone… what's the plan? How the hell are we getting to Jöten?"
Luce set her fork down and took a sip of water, eyes steady on him. "Our ride should be here any minute."
KNOCK. KNOCK.
She tilted her head toward the door.
"Speak of the devil. Can you get that?"
Bobo let out a long grunt—half protest, half effort—and rose to his feet. His boots thudded across the floor as he made his way to the door and pulled it open.
Standing there was a short man with brown skin, deep-set eyes, and a weathered face that twitched into surprise the moment he looked up.
"Eli?" Bobo blinked.
"Bobo?" the man echoed, just as stunned.
They both laughed and grabbed each other's forearms in a soldier's handshake.
"Been what, five years?" Bobo said, stepping aside to let him in.
"Give or take," Eli replied, scanning the place as he stepped inside. His eyes landed on Luce. "Luciana."
"Elliot." She nodded, calm but firm, gesturing for him to sit.
He took a seat at the table, wariness creeping into his expression.
"Alright. What's this about? If you're trying to pull me back in, forget it. I'm not going back to the Outlands."
Luce leaned forward, voice even.
"That's not what I'm asking."
Elliot arched a brow.
"Then what?"
She smirked.
"We need to get to Jöten."
He froze.
"Jöten?" He stood like he was ready to bolt. "Are you insane?"
"I'm serious."
"Hell no."
Elliot turned to leave, but Bobo stepped in his path, lifting one thick arm and gently blocking the way.
"Eli…" Bobo said quietly. "Lia's there."
Elliot stopped.
"…Amelia?" he said, voice barely above a whisper. He paused, then slowly sank back into his chair. "That girl…"
He ran a hand through his hair.
"What the hell do you expect me to do?"
Luce leaned in again.
"You've got a boat offshore. I know you do."
He looked at her sharply.
"Luciana, c'mon. I do, but getting to it, sneaking you out...it's not just risky. It's stupid. I've got a family now."
She lowered her voice, gentle but firm.
"The same family I helped smuggle onto this island after you deserted the Defectors."
Elliot clenched his jaw.
"I'm calling in one favor," she added. "Just one. Then you'll never hear from me again."
He sat there, chewing on his thoughts, jaw tight.
"…Fine," he said at last. "But not for you. Not even for Bobo. I'm doing this for Amelia. That dumb kid always had too much heart."
Luce leaned back, smirking. "Thanks, Elliot."
She glanced up at Bobo, satisfaction in her eyes. Bobo, leaning against the wall with arms folded, grinned back. He didn't say it out loud, but it was clear in his look:
They had their shot.
They were going to Jöten.