Altan nodded, his thoughts drifting as Delilah chattered next to him. "—and that's why molerats haven’t invaded Megaton," she finished, a proud look on her face.

He glanced down at her, feeling a quiet pride of his own. She was holding up well on this journey. The hours since leaving Megaton had calmed her nerves, and her easy banter was a welcome sign of progress. Altan had taken extra care with their route, ensuring they avoided the worst parts of the Wasteland and the bodies he’d left behind during his patrols. The calm quiet was a bit eerie, to be honest, but he pushed that thought away. He didn’t have time for jitters, especially with Delilah along for the ride.

"Altan?" Delilah’s voice pulled him back to the moment, her face upturned, eyes full of concern.

"It’s nothing," he muttered, giving her a reassuring smile. "We’re almost there."

She looked up at the Super Duper Mart, then back at him, her face suddenly serious. "Was it scary? When you first went in there?"

Altan hesitated for a moment, his gaze distant as he thought through his words. "Yeah. Terrifying, even. But, they're just… people, like you and me," he said slowly, his voice steady but filled with something close to regret. He didn't want to overwhelm her, not with all the ugly truths of this world. "Not in the same way you and I are people—no families or dreams or morals like we have—but they’re flesh and blood. They might be jacked up on chems and have their wires crossed like a ball of yarn, but-"

He paused, his fingers tightening around his rifle. There was a lot more he could say, but he stopped himself. He didn’t add that they died the same, the same way they bled—painfully, messily, often with the same lack of dignity. That part wasn’t for her to know yet. Not right now. Not when she was just starting to see the Wasteland for what it truly was.

Instead, he met her eyes. "But in the end, we’re all just trying to survive. Just gotta remember that."

Delilah nodded, her face pensive. Altan hoped that it wouldn't come to that. She deserved a chance to stay innocent a little longer.

As they neared the Mart, voices filtered through the cracked windows of the store, and Altan's rifle snapped up. Delilah, wise enough to stay quiet, pressed close to him. Altan peeked around the corner, eyes scanning the scene inside: two scavengers, a man and a boy, picking apart a cash register in the dim light of a lantern.

He motioned for Delilah to crouch, then pointed to the far corner of the entrance. She nodded, pulling out her laser pistol and hurrying into position. Altan flicked the safety off his rifle and stepped inside, his voice booming with authority.

"This is my claim. You're intruding. I suggest you leave, now."

The scavengers froze, the cash register slipping from the man's hands, its parts scattering across the floor with a loud clatter.

"Hold up, man. This place was empty when we got here," the older scavenger protested, his hands raised. "Looks like it’s been worked over already."

Altan’s rifle stayed trained on him. "It looks like that because I’ve been working it since I cleared the raiders out a few days ago. There's nothing in here worth dying for." He gave the man a long, hard look. "Don’t make me shoot you in front of your kid."

Before the scavenger could respond, Delilah’s voice cut through the tension.

"Altan."

He glanced back, rifle still raised, his finger just off the trigger. "Lily?"

She stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Why don’t you just sell him your claim?”

Altan paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before the words sank in. He blinked, mentally chastising himself. Selling the claim—why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Sell it?” His frown deepened as his mind caught up. “I… I'll admit, the idea never crossed my mind.”

Delilah didn't flinch. “It’s rare, but it happens. Moira told me about it. Some folks try to sell when it isn't worth fighting over. The idea is everyone walks away with some caps, one way or another, and no one loses out.”

Altan shifted uncomfortably, the idea gnawing at him. He’d spent the last ten days fighting tooth and nail for what he had, but now, with her suggestion, it seemed so obvious.

Delilah waved a hand, glancing between him and the scavengers. "We came here to make some caps so we can head to Rivet City," she said. Then, shooting a quick, nervous glance at the scavengers, she added, "Do you two have any caps? Not that we’re trying to rob you, but I figure we could all walk away happy… or at least not dead?"

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The older scavenger gave a reluctant shrug. "I ain't got much on me, but I’ve got barter goods. And I’d rather not get shot today."

Altan hesitated, the tension still thick in the air. Then, slowly, he lowered his rifle just enough to signal the standoff was over. "Alright. Meds, ten mil, five-five-six, and energy cells, if you have them. Caps, otherwise. In return, I’ll show you the spots I haven’t had time to hit yet."

Delilah’s eyes lit up, and she couldn’t help but smile, even as her hands shook. She'd narrowly avoided possibly having to watch Altan shoot someone, and that was a win in her book. The tension that had gripped her chest loosened, though the adrenaline still buzzed in her veins. Altan had moved closer to the older scavenger, so she stepped out from behind the corner, the sound of her boots on the cracked tiles barely registering as she moved into the open.

"Hi," she waved at the boy, who was nervously watching the exchange. "I’m Delilah. That’s my big brother, Altan. Sorry about, uh," she mimed aiming a rifle at him, "the whole ‘threatening to shoot you’ thing. No hard feelings?"

The boy smiled awkwardly. "No hard feelings. I’m Bryan. And I’m not even really with that guy. I was just trying to get him to help me. He promised, but then I had to help him loot the place."

Delilah tilted her head, curious. "What do you need help with?"

Bryan fidgeted, glancing at his shoes. "Well, I got run out of my home by these big monsters."

Delilah gasped. "Monsters? What kind of monsters?"

Bryan’s arms shot out, wide in imitation of the creatures. "Huge! And they breathe fire! Pa called ‘em fuckin' ants, but he said they were the dumbest fuckin' ants he’d ever seen."

Delilah froze, her eyes wide. "Ants that breathe fire?" She hesitated for a moment before covering his mouth with her hands. "Bryan! You can’t say that word! What would your dad think?!"

Bryan jerked his head back, pulling her hands off his face. "My dad’s dead. The ants got him."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Delilah went quiet, her gaze dropping to the ground. "I... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that."

Bryan crossed his arms, letting out a short, frustrated sigh before he softened. "It’s alright. You didn’t know."

Delilah glanced over at Altan, who was pocketing a few bottles and boxes of ammo, then back to Bryan, biting her lip. "We could probably help you, Bryan. I have a laser pistol, and Altan has his rifle. I'm pretty sure he's good at shooting. I'll ask him when he's done with that scavenger.”

Altan's voice cut in unexpectedly. "Ask me what?"

Delilah jumped slightly, turning to him with wide eyes. "Oh, um, Bryan needs help with giant ants. They ran him out of his home, and he says they also breathe fire."

Altan stared at her for a moment, then glanced at Bryan, sizing him up. "Giant ants? Alright, kid. Can't be worse than raiders. We’ve got a free afternoon, so I’m in if you are, Lily."

Delilah smiled brightly, relief flooding her. "We can help!"

Altan knelt down, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "You did good back there, Lily. Real good. I’m proud of you, and I know that Dad would be as well."

Delilah squirmed a little under the attention, her small frame tense against Altan’s solid form. But as he wrapped his arms around her in a firm, protective hug, a steady warmth bloomed in her chest—familiar, reassuring, and fleeting. Altan didn’t give out hugs often, and at thirteen, she felt too old to ask for them, so she cherished every one she got.

Despite herself, she hesitated, her uncertainty lingering, but then she let herself lean into the embrace. It didn’t last long—just enough for her to feel the care behind it—before Altan gently stepped back, his faint smile softening his sharp features. “Alright, Lily,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Let’s get moving. We’ve still got a long way to go.”

She nodded, brushing her hands against her sides to steady herself, and fell into step behind him as he walked out. Bryan lingered for a moment, glancing between them, then hurried to catch up, falling in line behind her.

"Hey, kid. You hungry?" Altan asked, glancing back over his shoulder at Bryan, who had fallen a little behind.

Bryan hesitated for a moment, glancing between Altan and Delilah before giving a small nod. "A little, I guess." His stomach chose that very moment to grumble loudly. "Maybe a lot."

Altan chuckled. "Alright then. We’ll grab a quick bite. No need to rush this."

Delilah fell into step beside Altan as they headed for a small, crumbling bus stop at the edge of the parking lot. The metal frame of the shelter had seen better days—most of it was rusted through, but it offered shade and a little respite from the harsh sun. Altan shrugged out of his rucksack with a satisfied grunt and dropped it on the ground. After pulling out a few hardtack crackers and a can of food from a pouch on the side, he gestured for the kids to sit on the rucksack.

"Take a load off," he said, tossing the can of stew toward Bryan, and handing a cracker to his sister. "We can eat while we talk."

Bryan caught the can, looking a little unsure of how to open it, but Delilah quickly pulled out her knife and handed it to him with a small smile. He gave her a grateful look before using it to pry the can open.

Altan leaned against the metal wall of the bus stop shelter, breaking his cracker into pieces and popping them into his mouth one by one. "So, kid," he said to Bryan, his tone casual but attentive. "You mentioned ants, right? Where'd you run into them?"

Bryan paused, taking a small bite of his food before answering. "A little south, by the highway. They’ve been coming up out of the ground, mostly at night. They look like ants, but... they’re huge, and they spit fire."

Altan’s brow furrowed. "Fire-spitting ants? That’s new. Could be some kind of mutation from the radiation or something else." He glanced toward the horizon, thinking. "We’ll need to be careful, but if they’re that close, we can handle it."

Delilah chewed on her cracker, listening closely. It felt strange, sitting here with these two, but at the same time, it felt oddly comforting. After all the uncertainty she'd been through, this was beginning to feel like something more solid. Like maybe she wasn’t just a tag-along after all.

"Alright, kids," Altan said, standing up and brushing the dust off his pants. "Let’s finish up and hit the road. We’ve got a bit of work ahead of us."

Bryan and Delilah gathered their things, and together, the three of them moved off toward the highway.