Greybranch was quiet that morning, the oily haze of the city clinging to the air, diffusing the pale sunlight into a sickly, gray glow. Snow adjusted the straps on her pack, feeling the familiar weight of supplies and weapons. Her longshooter hung from her shoulder, a cold reassurance against her back. Beside her, Rain stood with her own pack slung awkwardly over one shoulder, her eyes fixed on the horizon as if she couldn't bear to look back.
"You sure you don't want to stop by Flint's?" Snow asked, trying to sound casual, though her voice carried an edge of concern.
Rain shook her head quickly, her pale fingers gripping the map case like a lifeline. "No," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's better this way. We've already said enough."
Snow frowned but didn't press further. It wasn't like Rain to avoid goodbyes, especially with someone like Flint, who had been nothing but kind to them. But Snow could see it in her—this brittle determination, the way she carried herself as if bracing against a storm. The cracks left by the Niners' accusations and Gemma's sacrifice hadn't healed; they'd only deepened, and Rain was holding herself together with sheer willpower.
The streets of Greybranch slipped past them, and soon they reached the northern edge of the city, where the buildings thinned out, giving way to scrapyards and barren stretches of dust-blown earth. Snow glanced at Rain again as they walked, her friend's silence stretching on like an unspoken weight between them.
"You know," Snow said, fishing through her pack, "I heard someone at the market call these a relic of the Old Ones. Thought you might like it." She pulled out a small foil packet and handed it to Rain. Inside were candy sticks—bright red and glossy, the kind that looked like they might've come from the golden age of the Once-World.
Rain stared at the packet for a moment, then gave a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks," she said, peeling one open and nibbling at the end. Snow waited, hoping the rare sweetness might bring some light to her friend's face, but Rain's expression stayed distant, her gaze fixed ahead.
"It's good," Rain murmured, but her voice was hollow, and she tucked the rest of the candy stick into her pack. "We should keep moving."
Snow's chest tightened as she fell into step beside Rain. She wanted to say something—anything—that might pull her friend out of this dark spiral, but every word felt clumsy and useless. Rain wasn't the type to break easily, but Snow had seen the toll this journey was taking on her.
The entrance to the metro network loomed before them, a jagged scar in the earth surrounded by rusting barricades and makeshift watchtowers. The Watchers stood guard, their weapons cobbled together from scrap and salvaged parts. They were a rough-looking bunch, their faces weathered by years of exposure to the toxic storms that swept through the region.
Snow and Rain approached cautiously, Snow's hand resting on the grip of her longshooter.
"Halt!" one of the guards barked, stepping forward with a crude rifle slung across his chest. He was a broad-shouldered man with a scar running down the side of his face. "What's your business at the border?"
"We're heading north," Snow replied evenly. "Through the metro."
The guard let out a harsh laugh, echoed by a few of his companions. "The Darklands?" he said, his grin spreading wide. "You've got a death wish, then."
"Just let us through," Snow said, her tone hardening. "We don't have time for this."
The guard's grin faltered as he looked her up and down, then turned his attention to Rain. "She doesn't look like she could handle a walk to the market, let alone the Darklands," he said, jerking his chin toward Rain.
Snow's hand tightened on her longshooter, but before she could respond, Rain stepped forward. "We don't need your judgment," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the exhaustion in her eyes. "Just open the gate."
The guard studied her for a moment, then shook his head. "Your funeral," he muttered, motioning to his comrades. The makeshift barricade creaked as it was dragged aside, revealing the crumbling staircase that descended into the earth.
Snow glanced at Rain, who was already moving toward the entrance, her grip on the map case firm. Snow followed, throwing a glare over her shoulder at the Watchers, who watched them go with a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity.
The air grew colder as they descended, the light fading into a murky half-darkness. The stairs seemed to stretch on forever, their edges worn smooth by time and the countless footsteps of the Old Ones. Snow kept a watchful eye on Rain as they walked, the uneven rhythm of her friend's steps setting her nerves on edge.
"Rain," Snow said softly, her voice echoing off the tunnel walls. "Are you sure about this? We can rest here for a bit if you need to."
Rain shook her head without looking back. "I'm fine," she said, but Snow could hear the strain in her voice.
"You're not," Snow said, her own frustration bubbling to the surface. "You've barely said a word since we left Greybranch. You're exhausted, and—and whatever's going on in your head, you can't just push through it forever."
Rain stopped abruptly, turning to face Snow. The dim light from Snow's lantern caught the tear tracks on her cheeks, though her expression was calm. "I don't have a choice," she said quietly. "I can't stop now. I have to keep going. For Gemma. For the Niners. For everyone who—" Her voice cracked, and she looked away.
Snow stepped closer, placing a hand on Rain's shoulder. "You don't have to do this alone," she said. "Whatever you're carrying, I'm here. Just… let me help."
Rain hesitated, her grip tightening on the map case. "You already are," she said finally, her voice barely audible. She turned and continued down the stairs, leaving Snow to follow, her heart heavy with worry.
The metro station at the bottom of the stairs was a ghostly remnant of the Once-World, its walls lined with faded advertisements and rusting signs. The tracks stretched into the darkness, their edges littered with debris and the skeletal remains of old trains.
Rain pulled out the satellite map, its faint glow casting eerie shadows across her face. "The route goes straight through here," she said, her voice steady but distant. "If we follow the tracks, we'll reach the edge of the Darklands."
Snow nodded, scanning the shadows for any signs of movement. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant sound of dripping water. She tightened her grip on her longshooter and glanced at Rain, who was already stepping onto the tracks.
As they moved deeper into the tunnels, Snow couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them. The weight of the earth above, the darkness pressing in from all sides—it was enough to make anyone uneasy. But more than that, it was Rain's silence that gnawed at her.
She promised herself, as they walked side by side into the unknown, that no matter what they faced, she wouldn't let Rain fall apart. Not here. Not now.
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The metro tunnel stretched on, a seemingly endless throat of damp concrete and decay. Snow walked ahead, her boots crunching softly against the scattered debris that littered the track. The faint glow of the battery lamp in her hand cast flickering shadows on the cracked walls, making the faded posters of the Once-World seem to twitch and breathe. The air was damp and heavy, carrying a faint metallic tang, and somewhere in the distance, water dripped steadily, each sound echoing like the ticking of an unseen clock.
Rain followed a few paces behind, her feet dragging slightly with every step. She clutched the map case to her chest as if it were the only thing tethering her to the world, her head bowed and her face blank. She looked hollow—like a machine still walking out of habit, its spark long extinguished.
Snow slowed her pace and glanced back at her companion. "How're you holding up?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
"I'm fine," Rain murmured, her voice flat, emotionless. She didn't look up.
Snow sighed and turned her gaze forward again, the shadows ahead seeming to swallow the path entirely. Fine, she thought bitterly. Rain hadn't been "fine" since they'd left Greybranch—or, really, since before that. She'd been distant, determined to the point of recklessness, consumed by some combination of guilt and obsession. Gone was the Rain who used to chatter excitedly about relics of the Old Ones, who would light up at the sight of an artifact or a piece of history hidden in the ruins. Now, she barely even glanced at the remnants of the metro network around them.
Snow paused for a moment to study a torn poster hanging crookedly on the wall. The colors had mostly faded, but she could still make out the smiling faces of a family, their arms draped around one another as they stood in front of a sleek train. Bold letters above them read, "YOUR FUTURE, CONNECTED." The irony of it twisted something in her gut.
"Look at this," Snow said, hoping to draw Rain's attention. "Must've been some kind of advert. They made it sound like the whole world was just a train ride away."
Rain barely glanced at the poster. "We should keep going," she said softly.
Snow clenched her jaw, swallowing the retort that threatened to rise. She wanted to grab Rain by the shoulders, to shake her, to force her to care about something—anything. Instead, she kept walking, her grip tightening on the lamp.
They finally stopped in a small side room off the main track—a maintenance room, judging by the scattered tools and broken equipment that littered the floor. Snow set the lamp on a crate and turned the dial to brighten its glow, filling the cramped space with warm, flickering light.
"Here," Snow said, pulling out the sleeper bags from her pack and tossing one to Rain. "We'll rest here for a bit."
Rain wordlessly unrolled her bag, laying it out on the cold concrete floor without much care. She sat down beside it and immediately unfastened the map case, pulling out the satellite printout and smoothing it across her lap. Her eyes scanned the lines and markings with feverish intensity, as if she could will the answers to their problems to materialize from the ink.
Snow dropped her own pack beside her sleeper bag and rummaged through it, pulling out a vacuum-sealed pouch of synthetic rations. She tore it open and sniffed the contents, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Not bad," she muttered to herself, digging into the meal with a spork. It wasn't great, but it was leagues better than the canned mystery meats they'd been subsisting on before Greybranch.
"Hey," she said after a moment, glancing at Rain. "You should eat something. We'll need our strength if we're going to keep going."
"I'm fine," Rain said again, her voice barely audible.
Snow sighed and leaned back against the wall, chewing slowly. "You keep saying that," she said after a moment. "But you're not."
Rain didn't respond, her attention fixed on the map.
Snow set her meal aside and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "You can't keep doing this to yourself," she said, her tone softer now. "You're going to burn out, Rain. You're pushing yourself too hard, and it's killing you."
Rain's hands tightened on the edges of the map, her knuckles whitening. "I have to keep going," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "If I stop—if I let myself think about it—" She broke off, her breath hitching.
"Then don't," Snow said firmly. "Blame me instead."
Rain blinked, finally looking up at her. "What?"
"You heard me," Snow said, leaning closer. "Blame me. Blame me for the Niners, for Gemma, for all of it. I should've done more. I should've stopped them from turning on you. I should've stayed with Gemma, should've—" Her voice broke, and she shook her head. "So if you need someone to hate, Rain, let it be me."
Rain's eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically. "No—no, Snow, you can't—none of that was your fault! You did everything you could—you're the reason I'm still alive!"
"Exactly," Snow said, her voice soft but steady. "And so are you. You're the reason Gemma stayed behind. You're the reason Flint helped us. People follow you, Rain. They believe in you. So stop tearing yourself apart for not being perfect."
Rain stared at her, her lower lip trembling. "I just—I don't want to lose you too," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Everyone I care about—everyone I trust—they all leave. And it's always my fault."
Snow reached out and took Rain's hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm not going anywhere," she said firmly. "I'm with you, Rain. To the end of this. No matter what."
Rain swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She nodded slowly, her fingers tightening around Snow's. "Thank you," she whispered.
Snow smiled faintly and gave her hand a final squeeze before letting go. "Now," she said, leaning back and picking up her ration pack again. "Eat something before you pass out. That's an order."
Rain let out a soft laugh—a genuine one, this time—and reached for her own pack. As she tore it open, Snow watched her carefully, relief washing over her at the sight of the faint spark returning to her friend's eyes.
For the first time in what felt like days, the oppressive weight in the air seemed to lift, if only a little. And though the journey ahead remained dark and uncertain, for now, they had this moment—a fragile, fleeting ember of hope to hold on to.