His fingers start drumming again. Against his knee this time. Tap tap tap.
"How long you think you'd keep it?" he asks. "Hour? Maybe two? Before someone finds it. Before they tear your stash apart. Before they tear *you* apart for keeping it from them."
The threat is clear. Concrete.
Del looks at him. Really looks.
The man isn't panicking. Isn't desperate. He's calm. Controlled.
This isn't someone who stumbled onto information.
This is someone who hunted for it. Who watched. Who waited. Who chose his moment.
He's smart.
That's... worse.
Del picks up his bread. Takes a bite. Chews slowly.
Thinking.
He could do it. Tell everyone. I'd lose the water. Probably get killed for hoarding. Or tell the overseers. I'd be punished. Water confiscated.*
Either way: I lose.
The man is watching. Waiting for response. For panic. For negotiation.
Hand reaches for stone.
Del swallows.
"You could do that," he says.
The man blinks. "What?"
"Tell the overseers. Or tell everyone. You could."
Confusion crosses the man's face. Quick. Suppressed.
"You think I won't?"
Del shrugs. "I don't know what you'll do."
The man leans forward. "Then you should be worried."
"Should I?"
Silence.
The man's jaw tightens. Muscle jumping. He wasn't expecting this.
Del takes another bite of bread. Keeps his hands steady. Heart still racing but doesn't show it.
"So what," the man says slowly, "you're just... accepting it? You're not going to stop me?"
"How?" Del asks. "Kill you? Here?" Gestures to the warehouse area. Workers everywhere. "That solves nothing."
The man studies him. Eyes narrowed. Searching.
"You're bluffing," he says.
Del looks at him. Doesn't blink. "Tell them."
The man's expression shifts. Uncertainty. Anger. Calculation.
He stands. Knee creaking audibly. Favors the right leg again.
"Fine," he says. "I'll tell them. Tomorrow. See how you like it."
Walks away. Not fast. Controlled. But his shoulders are tight. Hands clenched.
He's angry.
Del watches him go.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
The bread tastes like ash now. Can't finish it. Sets it down.
His hands are shaking. Adrenaline catching up. The calm was performance. Underneath: panic.
He knows. He knows where the water is. How much I have. How valuable it is.
Del's mind races.
Tomorrow. He said tomorrow. That gives me tonight.
Yes, tonight. Tonight. I can, what. I can, I can move the water. Where? He's been following me for a week. Knows my patterns.
Kill him? No. No I can't. Too public. He'll be on defense.
*Run? To where? Then I'll die for sure. Is uncertain death better than certain death?
Nothing. There's nothing I can do.
The panic is rising. Chest tight. Breathing faster.
Del forces himself to slow down. Breathe. Think.
Why tomorrow? Why not now?
Because he's thinking about it. Calculating. Trying to figure out my angle.
Del stands. Knee protesting. The cut stinging.
Walks toward his sleeping area. Needs to move. To do something.
Passes workers. Some eating. Some sleeping. Some staring at nothing.
No one notices him.
Reaches his corner. The containers are nearby. Buried under rubble. Hidden.
Not hidden enough.
Del kneels. Starts digging. Hands scraping against stone. Nails catching. Breaking.
Pulls out the first container. Heavy. Full. Clean water inside.
If I move them, he'll find them. He's been watching.
If I don't move them, he tells everyone. They take them anyway.
Either way: I lose.
Del sits back. Breathing hard.
The rock is in his pocket. He touches it.
Eight marks. Three attempts.
The child tried. Tried to learn. Tried to be something. Died anyway.
I tried. Found water. Survived longer than most. Going to lose it anyway.
His thoughts spiral.
Wait. My plan? I can just accelerate it. Yes. Yes. But how, how?
An idea. Vague. Desperate.
He said he'd tell everyone. Let them know I have water. They'd come for it. Take it. Kill me probably.
But what if...
The idea solidifies. Slowly.
What if I control how they find out?
Yes.
What if I use the information instead of letting it destroy me?
Del's breathing slows.
If people know I have water... they'll come desperate. Willing to trade.
I can't keep it secret. Not anymore. He knows. Maybe others know. But I can control what they think I'm offering.
The plan isn't complete.
But it's something.
He's forcing my hand
Del starts moving the containers. One by one. Different hiding spots. Scattered across the Silt Quarters.
Leaves two in the original location. The ones the man saw.
Bait.
If he comes to steal tonight, he'll find those. Might think that's all there is.
Takes an hour. Del's knee is bleeding again. The cloth soaked through. Hands cut from scraping rocks.
Sits down finally. Exhausted.
The plan is forming. Out of desperation. Out of necessity.
Not because he's clever.
Because he has no choice.
I need to be ready.
Del lies down. Can't sleep.
Just stares at darkness. Thinking. Planning.
The man's face in his mind. The drooping eyelid. The wrong smile. The drumming fingers.
The brown eyed woman.
Hours pass.
No sleep comes.
Tomorrow everything changes.
And Del has no idea if his plan will work.
---
Day thirty-four.
By the time gray light seeps through cracks, he's exhausted but his mind is clear.
The plan is simple. Desperate. But it's all he has.
He gets up. Body aching. Knee bleeding stopped but the cloth is stuck to the wound again. Pulls it off. Skin tears. Fresh blood wells up. He rewraps it tighter. The cloth is filthy. Probably making the infection worse.
Doesn't matter.
Eats small portion. Drinks water. His hands shake slightly. He watches them. Forces them still. Can't show weakness.
Heads to the meeting point early. Before most workers are up.
The junction is quiet. Maybe a dozen workers. Huddled near the warehouse. One man is coughing. Wet. Rattling. He spits. Blood-tinged phlegm hits the stone. Spreads in the dampness. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Smears it across his beard.
Del finds a spot near the wall. Sits. His knee throbs when he bends it. The cut pulls. He shifts weight. Settles.
Waits.
More workers drift in. The junction fills. Maybe forty people now. Salvage crews gathering.
A woman near the warehouse is scratching her arm. Constant. Rhythmic. Nails digging into skin. Drawing blood. She doesn't notice. Just keeps scratching. The skin around the wound is discolored. Green-gray. Infection spreading.
Hadric appears. Checks his ledger. Water drips from the pages. He wipes it with his sleeve. Doesn't help. The ink is already running.
Starts calling names.
Del watches the crowd. Looking for Garrett.
There.
Near the back. Standing slightly apart. Arms crossed. That wrong smile on his face. His fingers drum against his bicep. Tap tap tap. Nervous energy.
He's watching Del.
Their eyes meet.
Garrett's smile widens. His tongue runs across his teeth. Top row. Left to right. Slow. Like he's tasting something.
He nods once. Deliberate.
Then turns and walks toward a group of salvage workers. Regular crews. Not priority.
Leans in close. Says something. Quiet. His hand on one worker's shoulder. Squeezing. The worker pulls back slightly. Garrett's grip tightens. Holds him there.
The worker's expression changes. Shock. Then: fury.
Garrett releases him. Steps back. Gestures toward Del.
The worker turns. Looks at Del. His jaw works. Grinding teeth. Spits on the ground.
Turns to the person next to him. Whispers. His hands gesture. Sharp. Angry.
It spreads.
Del watches it happen. One person to another. Whispers becoming conversations becoming shouts.
Within five minutes, maybe twenty people know.
Within ten, the crowd is moving.
Toward Del.
Not walking. Surging. A mass. Maybe fifteen people. Men mostly. Some women. All salvage workers. All desperate and angry.
Hadric looks up from his ledger. "Stay where you are!"
No one listens.
The crowd reaches Del. Surrounds him. Bodies pressing close. Cutting off escape.
A man pushes to the front. Thick-necked. Scarred knuckles. Barrel chest. One of the salvage crew leaders. Name is Vence. Been in the Dregs for six years somehow.
His left ear is missing the top half. Cut off. The scar tissue is ropey. Thick. It pulls his ear down. Makes his whole face look lopsided.
"Is it true?" he demands. Voice loud. Rough. "You have clean water? Hidden?"
Del stands slowly. Back against the wall. Can't run. Nowhere to go.
His heart pounds. Can feel it in his throat. In his ears. In his damaged knee.
Opens his mouth to speak.