The Cleaner base throbbed with its usual noise—metallic clanks, muffled chatter, the scent of oil and grit—but everything shifted the moment Enjin shoved the door open with Rudo trailing behind him.

“Alright, brat,” Enjin muttered, hands shoved in his pockets. “Time to meet the crew.”

Rudo scanned the room, taking in the chaos of people who’d clearly survived hell together. But then his gaze snagged on something out of place.

A single seat. Empty. Spotless. Untouched.

“Hey… who sits there?” he asked.

The room fell silent. Instantly. Like the whole place stopped breathing.

Enjin’s expression softened—something rare, something weighted. “That seat belongs to one of our strongest Cleaners.”

Everyone looked toward the empty chair. No one spoke.

“Her name is Jinnie,” Enjin said quietly. “She’s been gone for a year.”

Rudo frowned. “Gone? Like—”

“On a mission,” Enjin cut in. “She went deep into the wastelands to figure out why the trash beasts are evolving. Attacking places they never used to. And the sky—” He glanced upward at the stained ceiling. “It’s darker. More toxic. Something’s changing out there.”

The Cleaners shifted uncomfortably. One inhaled shakily.

“You all miss her,” Rudo murmured.

Enjin huffed out something like a laugh—bitter, sad, fond all at once. “Hard not to. Jinnie walked in and suddenly everything felt lighter. Even when we were bleeding out from a mission gone wrong, she’d get us laughing again.”

A few crew members smiled softly at the memory.

And then—

A voice broke the heaviness.

“Pfft, don’t let him fool you,” Zanka snorted, leaning against the wall with a sly grin. “Enjin’s been having little flings all year ‘cause he misses Jinnie so bad he’s losing his damn mind.”

The room erupted—groans, snickers, someone choking back a laugh.

Enjin spun around, face flushing red as he snapped, “THE HELL I HAVE?!”

Zanka shrugged lazily. “Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that. Man’s been restless, picking fights, flirting with anything that breathes—classic ‘I miss her but won’t admit it’ behavior.”

A couple of Cleaners nodded like witnesses in a courtroom.

Enjin glared, sputtering. “I don’t—! That’s not—! You idiots don’t know anything!”

“Sure we don’t,” Zanka sing-songed.

Despite himself, Rudo cracked a smile. But underneath the teasing, the truth lingered:

Enjin did miss her. They all did.

The empty chair sat there like a waiting heartbeat.

Rudo swallowed. “Do you think she’s okay?”

The laughter faded. Enjin’s jaw tightened.

“…Jinnie’s strong,” he said finally. “Stronger than anyone gives her credit for. But the wasteland changes people. And the beasts she’s fighting… they’re not the same as before.”

The room quieted again. An ache settled over the crew.

Enjin exhaled slowly. “Still. When she walks through that door again… everything’ll feel right.”

And though no one dared to say it aloud, every heart in the room held the same silent prayer:

Bring our sunshine home.