Mikey caught up with Luce at the doorway, breath still steady from his short jog.
"You ready?"
Luce asked, leaning lazily against the frame, one boot crossed over the other.
"Yep. All good."
Mikey flashed a grin.
His eyes widened, like something had just sparked in the back of his mind."Oh—almost forgot."
He darted back into the pod. The little room still smelled faintly of food, metal, and the oil lamps they'd burned through the night. From the wall, he carefully lifted his mother's necklace—its chain worn, the charm dulled but still heavy with memory. He slipped it over his head, tucking it beneath his shirt as though hiding a heartbeat.
The shirt itself was new—well, new to him. A ragged long-sleeved thing, hanging loose on his frame, frayed at the cuffs. The green cargo pants were sturdier, unmistakably Silo-issue, pockets sagging with small tools and scraps. His old sneakers were gone, replaced by scuffed brown boots that carried him with a steadier step. His black curls had grown wild, brushing his shoulders, giving him an older, almost unruly edge.
But more than his clothes, something else about him had changed. He walked taller now. Straighter. Like the weight he carried didn't bow him the way it used to. The people around him—his comrades, his new family—had taught him how to stand without collapsing.
"Now I'm ready," he said as he rejoined Luce.
She smiled faintly, then swung the pod door shut with a metallic clank. Together they stepped out into the wide plaza of the lower level, the air thick with chatter, smoke, and the smell of frying grease. Defector soldiers mingled with vendors and refugees, the whole place buzzing in anticipation of the bonfire.
Luce glanced sidelong at him as they moved through the crowd.
"You're finally able to take it off."
Mikey blinked at her.
"Take what off?"
"The necklace. Darla's. You never take it off."
He touched the charm beneath his shirt and let out a small, crooked smile.
"Yeah… it feels too heavy sometimes."
Luce nodded, her lips curling in a softer smile.
"How's the journal treating you?"
"Good. Really good. Gets it all out, you know?"
She reached over, giving his back a quick pat.
"Told you."
They reached a tall stall in the market, where smoked meats hung from hooks and a faint smell of spice lingered in the air. Luce leaned across the counter.
"Two pounds of whatever meat you have available."
The vendor, a short man with a bristled mustache, looked up from his cooler and grinned.
"Coming right up, Luciana."
Mikey raised a brow at her, voice low with amusement.
"So we got stuck on catering duty for the bonfire, huh?"
"Sure did."
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.
Luce caught it immediately.
"What's so funny?"
"I know you asked Bobo to come with you first," Mikey teased, giving her a sly look. "I was the backup. Second string. Admit it."
He chuckles to himself.
"How are you two anyway?"
Luce's cheeks warmed, and she glanced away, pretending to busy herself with the stall. She only ever flustered when Mikey brought up the big man.
"We're doing fine. I'm still mad at him, though."
"Because he promised Jasmine he'd help collect logs outside instead?"
She hesitated, then huffed.
"No… yeah. No."
Mikey laughed softly, clearly enjoying her squirm.
"Why don't you guys ever make it, you know… official?"
Luce actually laughed at that, shaking her head.
"We both wouldn't want that. We've talked about it—well, I bring it up more than he does—but he always says no."
"Why?"
"Because in our line of work, you never know when you're gonna die. He says if we're not that happy, then we won't be that sad when one of us is gone."
She exhaled, shrugging.
"I think it's commitment issues, honestly. But… part of me gets it."
Mikey's grin softened into something more thoughtful.
"I understand where he's coming from."
He did. Still, he wished they could be happy. They reminded him too much of his parents—two people who had risked everything to have what little time together they could.
The vendor finally set a brown paper sack of meat onto the counter. The grease was already bleeding through the bottom.
"Here ya go, Luciana."
"Thank you," Luce said warmly to the vendor before turning and walking off beside Mikey.
The two of them spent the rest of the morning weaving through the market, arms full, balancing crates, bags, and bottles. Every stall owner seemed to know Luce by name, and she slipped easily between handshakes and nods while Mikey lugged most of the heavy stuff in silence. It wasn't that he minded—he liked being useful—but when Luce insisted he roll an entire barrel of whiskey down the row of stalls, he shot her a glare that only made her laugh harder.
By the third barrel his arms were screaming. Sweat stuck his loose shirt to his back, the artificial sun overhead pouring down its mechanical glow like a heat lamp. It wasn't real, but it still felt suffocating.
"You're enjoying this way too much," Mikey muttered as he strained against the weight.
"Character building," Luce teased, balancing a crate of bottles with one arm. "Besides, you'll thank me tonight when everyone's drunk and telling you how strong you look."
"Yeah," he grunted, "If I don't drop dead before sundown."
Eventually they hauled everything across the plaza, past the humming generators and rows of patched-up tents, toward the northwest corner of the level. The open ground there had already been cleared for the bonfire: a wide circle of dirt, ringed with lantern poles and stacked benches. The place buzzed with motion—people hammering together makeshift tables, kids chasing each other with sticks, soldiers laying out barrels in neat rows.
The logging crew had just returned from outside. A low rumble announced the trains rolling in, wheels screeching against track. Men and women jumped down from the cars, muscles straining as they rolled thick pine logs toward the pile in the center.
Luce set down her box with a heavy sigh, wiping her brow. When she looked up, her gaze caught instantly on Bobo in the distance. The giant man moved like a mountain on legs, hefting two massive logs across his shoulders as if they were nothing. She couldn't help the smile tugging at her mouth—then it vanished, replaced with a twitch at the corner of her eye.
Jasmine walked at his side.
Mikey, finishing with a barrel, followed Luce's gaze and smirked. He didn't even need to say anything; the sharp focus of her glare said it all. He chuckled quietly to himself.
Then—
A small tug at his sleeve.
He turned. No one.
Then he looked down.
A little girl stood there, brown skin glowing in the artificial sunlight, pigtails bouncing against her shoulders.
"Hey!" Mikey's face lit up. "How's it going, little Angel?"
Angelica grinned up at him, though her voice came out as a whine.
"Bored."
Mikey crouched so they were eye to eye, resting his arms on his knees.
"Well, we're getting ready for the bonfire. Gotta help set it up first. So I can't play right now."
His frown was exaggerated, and she instantly mirrored it, lips puckered in a pout.
"But I want to…"
He ruffled her hair.
"Just wait a couple hours, that's all I ask. Then, when the fire's lit, we'll play all you want. Promise."
"...Well, okay."
Before he could say more, she suddenly threw her arms around him, her head pressing against his chest. Mikey froze for a second, then smiled—wide and warm—and rested a hand on her back.
"How's your writing going?" he asked softly. "Still using that notebook I gave you?"
"I am!" Angelica tilted her head up, eyes bright. "It's fun! I get to talk to Daddy."
The words hit him gently, like a punch padded with velvet. Mikey's throat tightened, but he chuckled instead, keeping his voice light.
"I'm glad."
She hugged him tighter.
"Angelica?"
Mikey looked up. A tall woman scanned the crowd, her voice clear. She was striking—tan skin, curly brown hair pulled back, posture straight but softened by the worry in her eyes.
Mikey raised his hand.
"Over here!"
Marlene pushed through the workers until she spotted her daughter clinging to Mikey. Relief swept her face.
"There you are, girly."
Mikey rose from his squatted position.
Angelica squealed as her mother scooped her up, kissing her cheek until she giggled and squirmed.
Then Marlene set her down and gave her a gentle nudge.
"Go find your friends. Mr. Mikey's busy right now."
Angelica nodded obediently, then darted off into the maze of children.
Marlene lingered, eyes soft as she turned back to Mikey.
"Thank you again—for being so kind to her."
Mikey scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "She's awesome. Real fighter."
"Sure is," Marlene said with quiet pride, watching her daughter vanish into the crowd. A small, wistful smile curved her mouth as she added, "Just like her dad."
Marlene turned back toward Mikey, folding her arms.
"So, a bonfire for the whole level?"
Mikey followed her gaze across the plaza. People bustled everywhere—hauling crates, hammering planks into makeshift benches, rolling barrels into place. In the distance, Luce was cutting her way through the crowd, already headed toward Bobo and Jasmine.
"Yep. Whole level's invited. Bobo's idea, apparently. He asked Isaak for the go-ahead and got it. Said it'd boost morale—and, y'know, show the new refugees from Rossen what we're about. How we operate like a family."
Marlene's mouth curved into a faint smile at that word. Family.
Mikey's grin widened. "Not really surprising. Bobo's always doing that kind of thing… trying to keep spirits up."
She tilted her head.
"So who's been stuck helping you all morning?"
"Luce," Mikey said, jerking his chin toward the crowd. "We were on catering duty. Got all the food rounded up."
Marlene followed his nod and spotted Luce at the far end of the square. She stood toe-to-toe with Jasmine, voices raised, hands cutting sharp lines in the air. Bobo hovered between them like a man trying to hold back a flood with a bucket, his big arms spread uselessly.
Marlene couldn't help it—she laughed, the sound full and warm.
"They're at it again."
Mikey arched an eyebrow.
"Luce and Jasmine? Yeah, I've seen them go off before. Pretty funny watching Bobo try to play referee."
"Funny's one word for it," Marlene said, still grinning. "It's been like that for years."
Mikey tilted his head. "Years? What, they've always hated each other?"
"Not exactly hate." Marlene smirked. "Funny story—Jasmine actually had the biggest crush on your father back in the day. That was before Luce dated him for that little stretch."
Mikey froze, then his eyes went wide. A bark of laughter escaped him. "Wait—what? You're serious?"
"Dead serious," Marlene said through her own laughter.
"Jasmine had it bad. But Luce swooped in and snagged Desmond. And then later Bobo came along and snagged her. So now Jasmine's throwing herself at him like it's her last chance." She rolled her eyes. "I don't see the appeal of that big oaf."
Mikey clutched his stomach, still laughing. "Man, I didn't know my dad and Bobo were… y'know, in competition like that."
"Oh, they were," Marlene said knowingly, her smile fading into something more reflective.
"Back when they were younger—your dad barely out of his teens, Bobo in his late twenties—they were inseparable. Ran this whole place like a pair of kings." She shook her head, half amused, half nostalgic. "Every woman around here ended up hating them eventually. Your father grew out of it, though. Matured. Bobo…" she smirked again, "well, let's just say he only sort of did."
Mikey shook his head in disbelief, laughter still on his lips.
"Man. That's insane. I can't even picture it."
Marlene looked at him, a laugh still threaded faintly through her voice.
"That's because you only knew your father after he met your mother. Darla changed him. Changed a lot of people, honestly. They hated each other at first—complete opposites. Dez was the angsty rebel type, always trying to prove something, and she was this quiet, reserved girl who kept to herself. Desmond was despised by women when he wasn't being chased after by them… but Darla?"
Marlene shook her head, smiling softly.
"She caught the eye of every man here. And I mean every one. Poor Luce never stood a chance."
Her smile softened even more as she added, "Even my Elliot had a crush on her."
The mention of her late husband hung in the air like a ghost, her expression shifting from amused to thoughtful.
Mikey's eyes widened a little.
"Woah… I wish I could've seen them back then. Y'know, how they really were."
Marlene's gaze went distant for a moment, as if replaying old scenes only she could see. "Yeah," she said quietly, almost to herself. "They were quite the bunch."
A breath slipped out of her, part sigh, part smile, before she straightened her posture again.
"Well, I'd better get back to it. Plenty left to do before tonight. I'll see you at the bonfire, Mikey."
He gave a small nod.
"Sounds good."
Marlene turned and melted back into the movement of the plaza, her figure swallowed up by the crowd and the clamor of preparations.
Left alone, Mikey brushed his palms together, dust from the barrel staves clinging to his skin. The chatter of voices, the smell of fresh-cut logs, the distant clang of tools—all of it swirled around him, but for a moment he stood still, letting her words linger.
Mom changed Dad. Changed a lot of people?
Mom. You really are amazing.
He exhaled slowly, glanced once more at the busy square, then bent back to the work of setting up for the bonfire.