Garrett's face does something complicated. Surprise first—genuine, like he didn't expect Del to actually speak. Then amusement—brief, like this is funny somehow. Then anger underneath both. Slow-building. Dangerous.
"What?" Like he didn't hear. Like he needs Del to repeat it. Like giving Del chance to take it back.
Del doesn't repeat. Just: looks at Garrett. Waiting.
Garrett laughs. Short. Sharp. Not amused. Not even close. The sound of it wrong. Broken. Like something cracking.
"You think—" He stops. Starts again. Voice louder now. "You think because people pay you for water tricks, that makes you important? Makes you someone who tells ME what to do? With MY property?"
He pulls Lira closer. His other hand going to her throat. Not squeezing yet. Just: resting there. Fingers spread across her windpipe. Thumb on one side. Four fingers on the other. The threat so clear it doesn't need words.
"I saved her," Garrett says. Voice still loud but something real entering it now. Something beneath the performance. Something that sounds like he actually believes it. "Three years ago. She was dying. Sick. Starving. Fever so high she couldn't stand. Couldn't eat. Couldn't do anything but lie there shaking and crying and waiting to die."
His hand on her throat. Not squeezing. Just: there.
"The merchant who had her didn't care. Didn't feed her. Just: property he'd wasted rations on. Waiting for her to die so he could sell the body for parts. For whatever was left."
Pause. The crowd listening. Some nodding. They understand this. This makes sense to them.
"I paid," Garrett continues. "Eight rations. EIGHT. That's what she cost. What I spent. Then I fed her. Every day for six months. Kept her alive. Gave her medicine. Protected her. Kept her SAFE when nobody else would. When nobody else cared."
His fingers tighten slightly on her throat. Just enough she has to tilt her head back. Just enough breathing becomes harder.
"She was dead," Garrett says. Voice harder now. Angrier. "Would've been dead. I kept her alive. That means she's MINE. My property. My woman. I can do whatever I want with what I saved. What I PAID for."
He looks at Del. Eyes hard.
"You understand?"
The crowd murmuring. Bodies shifting. Some nodding harder. This is how it works. This is the system. Garrett's right. Obviously right. He paid. He saved her. She's his.
Del's hand in his pocket. Thumb on the rock. On the eighth mark. The child who followed him. Who he didn't save. Who died because he stayed silent.
Not staying silent this time.
"You could hurt her," Del says. Voice still quiet. Just for Garrett now. Not performing. Just: stating facts. "Right here. Right now. Everyone watching. You're bigger. Stronger. Healthy. I'm half-dead. Can barely stand. You could break me too. Beat us both. Prove you're strong."
Pause.
"And then what?"
Garrett's jaw tightens.
Del continues. Still quiet. Still just facts. "Then what happens? You beat a half-dead man who can barely stand. You beat a woman you own who can't fight back. Everyone sees it. Everyone remembers."
Pause.
"You think that makes you strong?"
Silence.
The crowd watching. Listening. Some confused. Some starting to understand.
Del takes small step forward. His leg shaking. Vision graying at the edges.
"People here—" He doesn't gesture at the crowd. Doesn't need to. "—they remember things. They talk. They decide who's worth following. Worth trading with. Worth trusting when things get bad."
Pause.
"I'm the one who cleans water. Who helps their children survive. You're the one who—"
Stops. Doesn't finish. Lets Garrett finish it himself. Lets the crowd finish it.
Silence stretching. Taut. Like rope pulled tight.
Garrett could still do it. Could break Del right here. Assert dominance. Prove strength. Prove ownership. Prove he doesn't care what anyone thinks.
But—
His hand on Lira's throat loosens. Slightly. His grip on her arm loosens. Slightly.
His eyes on Del. Calculating. Weighing.
The crowd watching. Silent. Waiting.
Finally: Garrett's hand drops from Lira's throat completely. His grip on her arm releases.
Lira stumbles back. Catches herself against someone in the crowd. Doesn't run. Just: stands there. Breathing hard. Hand on her throat where his fingers were.
Garrett looks at Del. Face hard. Eyes cold. Something else behind the cold. Shame maybe. Or rage. Or both. Hard to tell. Hard to separate them when they look the same.
"This isn't over," Garrett says. Quiet. Just for Del. Not performing anymore. Just: promise. Fact.
"No," Del agrees.
Garrett turns. Walks away. Through the crowd. Bodies parting fast. Making more space than necessary. Like he's dangerous. Like getting too close might make him turn around. Might make him prove something.
He doesn't look back.
The crowd starts dispersing. Slowly. Talking quiet. Processing what they saw. Trying to decide what it means. Who won. Who lost. What changes now.
Del stands there. Vision graying badly. Leg shaking so hard he can see it. About to collapse.
Lira next to him. Not looking at him. Looking at ground. Her hand still on her throat. Fingers tracing where his fingers were. Checking. Making sure. Making sure she can still breathe.
Her other hand still gripping the metal piece. Knuckles white. Shaking.
"You shouldn't have done that," she says finally. Voice quiet. Hoarse. Throat damaged from his grip probably. "He'll come after you now. For making him back down. In front of everyone. He won't—he doesn't forget things like that."
"I know."
"He's patient. He'll wait. Find the right moment. The right way. And then—"
Stops. Can't finish. Doesn't need to.
Del knows.
Silence.
The crowd mostly gone now. Just: few stragglers at the edges. Watching from distance. Talking quiet. Spreading word. Building story. By tonight everyone in Silt Quarters will know. By tomorrow morning everyone in the Dregs will know. By next week it'll be different story entirely. Bigger. More dramatic. More clear about who was right and who was wrong.
But right now: just two people standing in an empty space where a crowd was.
Lira's breathing still fast. Shallow. Her whole body trembling slightly. Not cold. Not fear exactly. Something else. Aftermath. Release. The thing that happens when you've been tensed for so long and suddenly don't have to be anymore and your body doesn't know what to do with that.
"Come on," Del says. Starts walking. Back toward his corner. Doesn't check if she follows.
She does.
In the distance: salvage crew returning early. Someone screaming. High. Sustained. Then cutting off sudden. Someone else shouting names. Looking for bodies. For people who went down and didn't come back up.
The Dregs grinding on. Whether Del and Lira walk through it or not. Whether Garrett retaliates or doesn't. Whether any of this matters in the long run.
The world continuing.
---
They sit in Del's corner. Rubble wall against their backs. Far enough from others. Private enough.
Lira hasn't spoken. Just: sits there. Breathing. The metal piece in her hand. Her thumb moving across its surface. That automatic motion. Constant. Like prayer. Like breathing. Like something she does without knowing she's doing it.
Her face in better light now. The bruise on her cheek dark. Purple spreading to black at the center. Fresh. The swelling still rising. Will be worse tomorrow. Will turn colors. Purple to black to green to yellow. Will take weeks to fade completely.
The split lip still bleeding slightly. She keeps touching it with her tongue. Testing. Wincing each time. Like she's trying to make sure it's real. Like she's trying to make sure it happened.
Her throat has marks. Finger-shaped. Red now. Will be bruises tomorrow. Five distinct marks. His whole hand. The thumb on one side darker than the four fingers on the other. Pressure points visible. Geography of violence.
In the distance: sounds of the Dregs continuing. Salvage crews working somewhere below. The scrape of metal on stone. Voices calling. Someone crying. Someone else laughing—wrong, broken, too high. The sound of people surviving another day.
Del waits. Doesn't ask if she's okay. Doesn't ask anything.
"He found me before dawn," Lira says finally. Voice quiet. Hoarse. Each word careful. Testing her throat. Making sure it still works. "While it was still dark. Before most people awake. Said he'd been watching. Saw me yesterday. Sitting with you. Talking. Comfortable."
Pause. Her thumb still moving on the metal piece. Faster now. Agitated.
"Said I was forgetting my place. Forgetting who I belong to."
She touches her cheek. Winces.
Del doesn't respond. Just: listens.
Lira continues. Voice getting quieter. Like she's afraid saying it too loud will make it happen again. "He didn't hit me right away. First he just talked. Explained. Very calm. Very reasonable. Like he was teaching me something. Like he was being patient with someone slow."
Her fingers tighten on the metal piece.
"Said he'd saved me. Said I owed him. Said that meant I didn't get to choose who I spend time with. Where I go. What I do. Who I talk to. Said all of that belongs to him now. Because he paid for it. Because he kept me alive when nobody else would."
Pause.
"Said he'd been generous. Said he'd let me have space. Let me grieve. Let me keep this—" She holds up the metal piece. Small. Worn. Worthless. "—even though it's useless. Even though I should've forgotten my daughter by now. Moved on. Three years is long enough to grieve, he said. Most people would've taken this from me. Would've made me forget. Would've beaten me until I stopped crying about things I can't change."
Her voice breaking slightly. Catching.
"Said I was lucky. Said he was kind. Said other men would've hurt me worse. Would've taken everything. Would've made me grateful for less. Said I don't appreciate what I have. Don't appreciate HIM."
Pause. Her breathing faster now.
"Then he hit me. Three times. Face. Ribs. Stomach."
She touches her ribs. Left side. Winces. "Said that's what happens when I forget. When I'm ungrateful. When I betray his generosity."
She's crying now. Not making sound. Just: tears running down her face. Following the line of her jaw. Dropping onto her hand. Onto the metal piece. Making it shine.
Del's hand in his pocket. The rock. Nine marks. His thumb finds the eighth automatically. The child. The one he didn't save. The one whose death is his fault because he stayed silent. Because he didn't speak. Because he calculated and decided silence was safer.
Not silent this time.
Doesn't know if that makes it better.
"And the worst part—" Lira's voice very quiet now. Almost whisper. "The worst part is he did save me. Three years ago. I was dying. He bought me. Fed me. Kept me alive."
She looks at Del. Those brown eyes wet. Catching light even through tears. Even damaged. Even tired.
"That's real. That happened. I'd be dead without him."
Pause.
"So does that mean—" Stops. Can't finish.
Del's thumb on the eighth mark. Pressing hard.
"He saved you," Del says finally.
Pause.
"Then he hurt you."
Pause.
"Both things are real."
Lira staring at him. Waiting for more. Waiting for him to say which one matters more. Which one counts. Which one defines the relationship.
Del doesn't say more.
Doesn't know more.
Just: those two facts sitting beside each other. Both true. Both real. Both irreconcilable.
Silence.
Lira's thumb still moving on the metal piece. Her breathing steadying. The crying stopping. Not because she feels better. Just: because crying doesn't change anything. Doesn't help. Doesn't solve.
"What about you?" Lira asks finally.
"What about me?"
"What you just did. With Garrett. Was that—" She stops. Thinking. "Why did you do that?"
Del doesn't answer immediately.
Doesn't know how to answer.
Because the truth is: he doesn't know. Can't separate calculation from impulse. Can't tell if he acted because the math worked—because Garrett backing down was probable, because the crowd dynamic favored him, because the risk was acceptable—or because seeing Garrett's hand on her throat made something inside him move before he could think. Before he could calculate. Before he could decide.
"I don't know," he says finally.
Lira almost smiles. Doesn't quite. Just: that slight shift at corner of her mouth. The ghost of something.
"Honest," she says.
Pause.
"Thank you. For before. Even if you don't know why. Even if it makes things worse later. Thank you."
Del doesn't respond.
They sit there. Shoulders not quite touching. Close. The warmth of her near him. Real. Present.
His thumb on the ninth mark now. Sharp. Fresh. Unmarked by time.
Tomorrow nine people return with their water. Tomorrow the outcomes show. Tomorrow some are better. Some are worse. Some are dead.
Tomorrow everything decides.
But right now—
Right now Lira is here. Alive. Breathing. Safe for this moment.
Tomorrow she might not be. Garrett might retaliate. Might hurt her worse. Might kill her.
Or the service might reach her somehow. Poison he created finding its way to her through channels he can't predict. Through people trading water. Through desperation and bad luck and the way things spread in the Dregs.
Tomorrow has too many endings.
But right now—
Right now she's here.
In the distance: salvage crew leaving for afternoon shift. Overseer calling names. Bodies gathering. The usual rhythm. The Dregs grinding on. Indifferent. Inevitable.
Del closes his eye.
Just: sits there. Feeling her warmth nearby. Knowing it won't last.
Nothing lasts.