You’d been living in a second-floor apartment just outside WLF barracks. It wasn’t much…just brick walls, ration sheets taped to the fridge, and a broken balcony door that never quite locked but it was yours. Yours and Manny’s.

Being with someone in the WLF wasn’t easy. Missions could pull you apart for days. Nights could end with a knock and orders from Isaac. And trust….? it had to be earned every single day.

So when you heard the first knock, soft, rhythmic, calculated….your eyes snapped open.

Then came the twist of metal. Someone was testing the lock from the outside.

“Manny,” you whispered, nudging his shoulder.

He was already turning, groggy but alert. His hand slid instinctively to the pistol beneath the bedframe.

“You heard that?” you asked.

He nodded. “Three clicks. Like we do on recon.”

“WLF?”

He frowned. “If they wanted us out, they’d say it to our faces.”

A quiet pop came from the back, a silenced round. It missed, embedded somewhere in the wall. Manny was on his feet immediately, grabbing a shirt and motioning you behind the heavy armoire in the corner. It used to be your hideout during drills. Tonight, it was your only cover.

“Stay there. Don’t move unless I say.”

His tone didn’t leave room for argument.

You slid into the shadowed gap, breathing shallowly as the lock finally gave with a click.

Two figures entered.

They were masked, not Fireflies, but not official WLF either. Their gear was scavenged. One had a rifle. The other, a pistol and a knife. They moved like soldiers but not trained ones, more like ex-members or raiders.

Manny crouched near the hallway, using the dark to his advantage. He counted the steps. One heading toward the bedroom. One sweeping toward the kitchen.

When the first one passed the doorway, Manny pounced.

He grabbed the attacker by the neck, slammed him into the concrete wall hard enough to stun him, and twisted the pistol from his hand. It hit the floor and skidded toward the dresser where you were hiding.

You crawled fast, grabbed the weapon, flicked off the safety. Your hands were shaking but steady enough to cover Manny as the second attacker burst into the room.

“Drop it!” you shouted, gun raised.

The second man flinched but didn’t stop. He fired once, missing you by inches before Manny shot him clean in the thigh. He went down screaming, blood pooling fast.

The first attacker wasn’t so lucky. When he reached for his knife again, Manny didn’t hesitate.

One shot. Silence.

The screaming died down to ragged breathing.

You stepped into the light slowly, eyes wide. “They’re not Fireflies.”

“No,” Manny said, crouching beside the dying man. He yanked the patch off his vest. “They were WLF.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Why would one of our own—?”

Manny’s jaw clenched. “Ex-WLF. Probably pissed about what happened at the Forward Base. Or looking for leverage.” He glanced at you. “Or looking for me.”

He grabbed your coat and handed you your boots. “We have to go.”

“But where?”

“Anywhere but here. We’ll head toward the marina. Nora owes me a favor. And if this was a hit? We’re not safe in this sector anymore.”

You didn’t speak as you packed, just moved quickly, silently, knowing how this world worked. You zipped up the bag with your spare rations and ammo and looked back at the room. Your home. The coffee mug Manny always used. The crooked picture frame he never fixed. The spare blanket that smelled like him.

Gone now.

He took your hand at the door, fingers blood-warm and steady.

“We stay alive,” he said. “You and me. No matter what.”

You nodded, and the two of you vanished into the cold, damp dark of Seattle’s early morning, where trust was dangerous, and love was the only thing you could keep.