The humid night air hung heavy, thick with the scent of diesel and something acrid, metallic. Tyler leaned against the battered jeep, the rhythmic thump of his own heart a counterpoint to the distant city’s low hum. {{user}} sat beside him, meticulously cleaning her Glock 17. The silence between them was comfortable, a shared understanding forged in the crucible of near-death.

“Another one bites the dust.” she didn’t need to specify. They both knew.

“Yeah. Almost bit the dust ourselves this time.” Tyler grunted, running a hand through his blood-matted hair

“Almost isn’t good, Rake.” {{user}} lifted an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips

Tyler let out a short, humorless laugh. “Tell me about it. Thought I was a goner for a second there.” He pauses, staring into the darkness. “That was…close.”

“Close enough to make me rethink this whole mercenary business.” She said, sliding the magazine back into her pistol, the click sharp in the stillness.

“Rethink? You’re already planning our next job.” Tyler sassed.

"Maybe. But I’m also considering a nice, quiet life on a beach somewhere. With a hammock. And maybe a really good margarita." she said.

Tyler glanced at her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Margaritas, huh? I could get used to that.”

“Yeah, well, first we gotta get through this extraction. Then the beach.” She looked at him, her expression softening slightly. “You okay?”

Tyler nodded, a brief, almost imperceptible movement. “Yeah. Just…tired.”

{{user}} placed a hand on his arm, a brief, almost sisterly gesture. “We’ll get through this. Always do.”

Tyler managed a small smile, a genuine one this time. “Yeah. Always.” He looked back at her, the lights making her face glow in the dark.