Chapter 149: Singing Faye
The mess hall in A Block sagged under the weight of recycled heat and old rations.
Tables leaned sideways, trays cracked along the seams, the faint sour smell of gray-food clinging to the air. The lighting buzzed in the ceiling panels overhead, dim and sickly.
Elias sat across from Faye, their trays pushed between them, untouched.
Dot’s blue glow hovered low at the table’s edge, her hum faint but steady, matching the sluggish beat of his shard still pressing in his ribs.
The tension from the command room hadn’t left him. It sat just under his skin, the Chairwoman’s question — Will you break? — still scraping across the back of his mind like a blade he couldn’t sheath.
He shoved the tray forward, the texture gritty and uneven under his fingers. His hands ached from how tightly he’d held himself together.
Across from him, Faye sat with one elbow propped against the table, her red hair catching in the flickering overhead light. Her eyes — wary, but warm — watched him carefully, picking at the edge of her ration without real interest.
"Still standing, hero?" she asked, voice soft, the tease barely there. A faint smile tugged at her mouth, more habit than feeling.
Her music Ikona floated close behind her shoulder, a low hum threading the space between them like a melody trying to find a place to rest.
Elias caught the strain under her words — the stiffness in her posture, the way her fingers hovered over the tray before picking at it again. Small tells she might have hidden better on a normal day.
Their talks in the training yard — her teasing over his bruises, the stories she’d once told him of broken promises and second chances — pressed in at the edges of his memory.