Genevieve woke groggy. She’d slept like a rock, sinking to the endless bottom of a dark dreamless sea. But she couldn’t say she felt rested. She was mostly just disoriented and hungry. Without any sunlight or outdoor bustling to rouse her, the only thing that dragged her awake was the pang of an empty stomach.

“Oh, hey.” Hearing Marcie’s voice, Genevieve twisted around to look at the other cot. There was only a little light, but she could tell Marcie wasn’t there, just her cloak tossed away and left to hang off the side of the mattress. Marcie hadn’t gone far, though. She was sitting at a nearby desk, fiddling with one of her metal boxes under the dim glow of a lonely candle. She’d turned to look at Genevieve, and her face was barely visible in the gloom. “Good to see you’re up.”

It took Genevieve’s brain a few seconds to catch up. The sanctuary, Lenn, her new set of clothes… and passing out in this cot for Pulse knows how long. "Do you know what time it is?" she asked.

"It's probably around 8 or something?” The metal box made a pinging sound as Marcie slipped a bullet into it. Genevieve could just make out the shape of her tail curling around the box and placing it on the desk beside her. “Normal morning time. You didn't sleep all day or nothing. Ten, twelve hours maybe. Pretty reasonable after all that mess yesterday." The candlelight played off Marcie’s scales as she tilted her head, a dim orange glow highlighting the edge of her finger while she scratched her chin.. "So. You know. If that's why you're asking, don't worry about it. But, uh, you might justa been wondering what time it was, like, on the face of it. So in that case, uh, yeah, it’s like 8 or something. I’m pretty sure."

"That's all right," Genevieve said. Her head was aching and her body was exhausted. She didn’t really want to be awake, but she was, and she just had to deal with it. "It's helpful to know. Thank you, Marcie."

"Yeah, well.” Marcie glanced away from Genevieve, and even without light Genevieve could recognize the bashful self-effacing pout she kept slipping into when she was thanked. "I've conked out hard a few times after getting knocked around too much. And when I wake up after I'm always freaking out like 'ah shit I was asleep forever how long was I out what year is it' and stuff. So I just figured, like. You were probably wondering the same kinda thing."

Marcie tucked her legs up and folded her arms on top of her knees. For a few moments, Genevieve watched her silhouette in the dim light. Her tail was hanging down below the chair, where it swayed gently back and forth, long and thin with that distinct spade shape at the very tip. Under the candle Genevieve could see Marcie’s belt, her guns, and the pouches she carried around with her laid out on the desk. She’d taken them off, but she hadn’t let them out of sight or out of reach. It was diligent of her, Genevieve supposed, if she was telling the truth about all those explosives the day before. And she probably was.

But what drew Genevieve’s gaze the most was her eyes, shining in the dark with the flickering candle reflected in them. They were a dull amber color, golden light mixed with the dusty brown of Gryst's arid soil. And there was something about the way they reflected the flame before them. Like it wasn’t just the light of the candle Genevieve saw sparking in the deep black of her pupil.

That wasn't what captivated Genevieve, though. For everything else about her, her clumsy words and her agile body, the way she strode so casually through chaos, Marcie's eyes were thoughtful. You could see her taking in the world around her and thinking deeply about it, and her thoughts played out honestly across her face. Perhaps that was why, even the day before, when she was fighting and shooting and putting on such an explosive display of gunpowder and violence, Genevieve found it so natural to trust her. She had little other choice, it was true, but it was hard to believe someone as awkwardly, unthinkingly genuine as Marcelle Silver could be hiding some nefarious secret. If she was anything other than what she claimed to be, she was doing a very poor job of being whatever that was.

Marcie glanced over at Genevieve and hunched her shoulders defensively. "What's up?" she asked, a little wary. "I got something in my teeth? My underwear showing? C'mon, spit it out."

"Nothing like that at all," Genevieve reassured her. "I was just going to say… you're a very considerate person, Marcie. I wanted you to know I appreciate that."

With a grumpy little grimace on her face, Marcie pulled up her hood and scrunched tighter around herself. "Why the hell would you go say something like that?" she grumbled.

"Because it's true," Genevieve said. She sat up straighter, finally coming out of her sleepy fog. "I don't know what other people have said to you, or what you've been called elsewhere, but I think it's something you should hear, now, from me." Genevieve turned to dangle her feet off the cot. "You seem reluctant to take a compliment. But I'm grateful for what you've done for me, and I want you to know that I believe you’re a good person."

Dropping her feet to the floor, Marcie leaned all the way forward in her chair. "Where is all this coming from, huh?" she asks. "You tryin' to hype me up for somethin'?"

"Of course not," Genevieve said. "I simply wanted to say what I felt."

"Heh." Marcie shook her head. "You sound like my dad, y'know? Except he never talked about bein' a good person. Always said it was more important to do good than be good. Cuz there's a lot of good people in the world who don't practice it. So yeah, I try to do good. But that doesn't, like. Make me good."

"What would possibly 'make you good' other than doing good things?" Genevieve insisted.

"Hrm." Marcie sat still for a long moment, looking down at the ground. "You don't really get it," she said. "Which is fine. It's not like I'm asking you to. Dad never got it either. S'just not part of who he is. But the world ain't so fair about who gets to be good, and who's gotta work for it. Who gets shut out of it." She shrugged and sat up straight again, slipping her hood back off her head. "Like I said, though. It's fine. I always got the choice to do good. So I'm not about to fuss over whether I get to be good."

“You keep saying that,” Genevieve said, “but I still don’t know what you mean.”

Marcie didn’t give an answer. And before Genevieve could push any further, Lenn walked in through the doorway, carrying a couple of rough hand-made plates. "Good morning, both of you," they said.

"Mornin', Lenn." Marcie put her arm around the back of her chair while she turned her head to look at them.

Lenn nodded and approached, handing both of them plates. "For each of you. There isn't much, but it's sustenance all the same."

Genevieve looked down at her plate, which contained only a large chunk of fresh bread and a few strips of cured meat.

"I did what I could with what I had on hand," Lenn said. "If I had known you were coming, I would have gone to fill my stocks yesterday. But it's much too late for that now. The city's locked down tightly. I couldn't risk sticking my head out long enough to reach the market."

"Is it that bad?" Genevieve asked, looking up from her plate.

"Worse," Lenn said. "I've learned to prowl the streets when the Prince is making a show of force. He's easily incensed. But I've never seen it like this before. He's got his automata combing every corner of every road, alley, and domicile in the city trying to find you two. I'd put money down he's asked his father for a deployment of spy machines from the capital, too."

"So we gotta get outta here quick," Marcie said with a sigh. "And make a spectacle of it on our way out, so they don't go all martial law on this place tryin' to flush us out when we're gone."

"I assure you, Marcie, making a spectacle of it is the last thing you need to do," Lenn admonished.

"Yeah? So we're just gonna run away, let 'em flip this whole place upside-down, and whoever gets crushed in the process just ain't our problem?" Marcie shook her head disdainfully. "Sorry, but I ain't gonna do that."

"You're overestimating yourself and underestimating this city." Lenn was firm and solid, speaking in their most stern voice. "We've lived through all sorts of fits, and we'll live through this one as well."

"And what're they gonna do when they find this place, huh Lenn? They're gonna leave you alone just cuz I'm out of town? What about your patients?"

"If… I can say something," Genevieve interjected. She clasped her hands together in her lap and frowned deeply. "I don't really like the idea of leaving everyone else here to Cornelius and his wolves. If my flight would put anyone else at risk, I would rather take on that risk myself."

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Lenn looked at Genevieve for a moment, and then shook their head. "I suppose some people are simply made for each other."

Before she could say anything in turn, Genevieve's stomach grumbled loudly. "Ah," she said, blushing just a little.

"Go ahead and eat," Lenn said, waving their hand. "We have enough time to continue this discussion later. And to make sure that whatever you do, you at least have a plan. Marcie."

Marcie took a break from the strip of jerky she’d started gnawing on to stick her tongue out at them.

"A little bit of food will help us think clearly," Genieve said. She bit eagerly into the bread. It was a little plain, but as hungry as she was, that really didn't bother her much at all.

Marcie seemed to relish the meat. Or maybe she just liked having something tough and chewy to work between her teeth. "Schowuz–" she started to say, but she stopped herself and swallowed before trying again. "So what's the word on the street? How're folks taking this whole mess we've got ourselves in?"

"You realize I didn't have much of a chance to go gathering intelligence for you," Lenn said dryly. "Besides, Marcie, be honest with yourself. You know exactly what story the Prince is telling. He doesn't have an original bone in his body."

"Yeah, I know. You're right." Marcie sighed. "I was wondering if folks were buying into that, seein' as so many of 'em saw what happened with their own eyes, but it's not like that ever mattered."

"People hold faith in their own eyes when they allow themselves to live in truth," Lenn said. "But our kings have made it easy to deceive each other and bend ourselves into false narratives. All the moreso when they are convenient."

"Can't be that hard to sell people on blue bitch stole my wife. They're already picking that one up for six chips at the pulp stand." Marcie snatched the bread off her plate. "Maybe that's why he's so mad. Can't stand the thought of 'his girl' being ravaged by some nasty demon freak of nature." She rolled her eyes sarcastically and ripped off a chunk with her teeth. “I mean you know he’s gotta be some kinda puppy-torturing sadist behind closed doors,” she said, talking with her mouth full and lacking even an ounce of shame. “But nah. It’s me that’s the freak.”

Genevieve didn’t comment on that. She politely chewed and swallowed the bite of bread in her mouth, trying to put the memories of Cornelius out of her mind. Then she glanced at Marcie and, looking to focus on something else, cocked an eyebrow at her. "Ravaged?"

Marcie swallowed her food and wiped off her mouth. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be crude. But you know how it is."

“You just don’t seem like the ravaging type, Marcie.” Genevieve shook her head with a little smirk.

“That’s cuz I’m not!” Marcie protested. "I'm a, fuckin', sensitive, compassionate…"

She trailed off into irate grumbles as she realized what she had said.

"See, Lenn?" Genevieve turned to them. "I told you she had a good heart."

"Of course she does," Lenn said. They weren't even playing into the bit, just stating it as a fact. "For all her faults, I can’t deny her selflessness."

"All I've done for the both of you, and this is how you thank me?" Marcie complained, tugging her hood over her head.

"By remarking that you are kind and selfless?" Genevieve said, not quite done bullying her. "I'd think that is the very least we could possibly do."

"All right, all right, I get it.” Marcie yanked off her hood with a surly expression. "Look, it's whatever. I'm not bothered by what folks think of me. I just don't, y'know, want you to think I'm some kinda great gal who can do no wrong. You're just gonna get yourself disappointed that way."

“You think I am putting you on a pedestal, Marcie?” Lenn looked at her with an eyebrow raised. "That would be news to me."

"It's not that, Lenn. I'm just not about folks thinkin' I'm somethin' other than what I am. Good or bad. All I am is me. I don't wanna be chopped up and stuffed in some box where I don't fit."

Genevieve looked down at her plate, chewing her bread, lost in thought. "I understand that," she said. "Quite well, in fact. So I can't blame you for feeling that way. We can't always choose how we're presented to the world, or how the world decides to see us. But we do not have to accept the labels that are assigned to us."

"Well… yeah." Marcie looked at Lenn and gestured toward Genevieve. "There, see? All of that."

"Still, if I can protest one thing," Genevieve added. "I apologize if I made you feel like I was putting you inside a box. I have no desire to do that. But I can't apologize for describing positive qualities I have seen in you. You may be bashful about them, and they may not fit in with the version of yourself you want to project, but they are still a part of you. There is no need to deny them."

Seemingly at a loss for words, Marcie pouted that cute pout again and tried her best to avoid Genevieve's eyes.

"She's very kind to you, Marcie," Lenn said. "I'd keep her close if I were you."

"Look, hey, I'm not going anywhere, all right?" Marcie set down her empty plate and stood, eager to take her leave. "We're gonna have to get out of this city sooner than later, an' I'm not about to let a lady wander off into the wastes by herself. So at least for the next good bit here, me an' Jen are sticking together."

"I appreciate that," Genevieve said. "I won’t deny I’m worried about what is going to happen from here. But it is a relief, knowing I’ll have a friendly face with me, one way or the other."

"Marcie, where are you going?" Lenn asked, abruptly changing the topic.

"Just, like, down the hall a bit. Wherever that little workshop you had is. You said I needed to have an exit strategy and junk and it’s not like we can just chill out here forever so I'm gonna… you know." She slipped a bullet out from under her cloak and shook it as if to demonstrate that yes, it was in fact there, in between her fingers. "Exit strategy."

"You know that's not what I meant when I said that, right?" Lenn griped. "But I wasn't exactly expecting anything different. You know what your skills are, Marcie. So if that's all you want to do, then just be ready when Miss Genevieve here has something to point you at."

"Aye aye," Marcie said. She rolled the bullet between her fingers and stowed it away with a flick of her wrist. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"It really isn't," Lenn said. "It's not a plan." But Marcie ignored them and strolled out of the room, muttering to herself about ammo counts and powder loads.

"Well, whatever you need her to shoot, I can promise you she'll be up to the task," Lenn said to Genevieve, running their hand through their hair. "But she's used to waltzing through trouble and letting things sort themselves out. I wouldn't count on the devil's luck extending to you."

"I don't expect it to." Genevieve's gaze lingered on the doorway Marcie just left through. "But what should I count on, then? What do I do?"

"You can count on yourself. And you can count on Marcie. I give her a hard time, but she's as reliable as they come. And though my means are limited, I have allies in the city who will do what they can." Lenn walked to a desk in the room and fished out a well-used notebook and a pencil. They sat at the desk and turned to face Genevieve, twiddling the pencil between their thumb and forefinger. "As for what to do, I’m afraid you’ll have to decide on that for yourself. I hope you are more of a planner than Marcie. It would be hard not to be. But if you don't want to bet your fortune entirely on Marcie blowing apart hundreds of automatons and marching you out of the city by force, the two of us will have to come up with another strategy."

"All right." Genevieve stood up off the table, groaning a bit as she realized how stiff her legs were, and made her way over to Lenn, still holding her plate with a few strips of cured meat left. "This is my problem to solve. And even if I can't solve it on my own, I will do all that I can."

Genevieve ripped off a chunk of jerky. By the time she was done chewing it, her determination had already begun to falter. “Though I’d be lying if I said I had much to offer physically. If the earth here had magic for me to draw on, it might be a different story, but in a place this dry I fear I’m next to useless.”

“I imagine it must be quite the shock,” Lenn said. Their voice was level, and they were contemplating something, though Jen couldn’t tell what. “What was it like? Having the Pulse at your fingertips, vibrant as life itself?”

“To be honest,” Genevieve said, “I can better describe its absence.” She sighed and set her plate down atop an open desk. “Some of my earliest memories are of learning to channel the Pulse. My instructors said I had a knack for it, though I think they would have said that whether it was true or not. Calling to the earth for aid was second nature to me. But here I only find that ghastly silence.” Genevieve glanced at her food, and stepped away from it. Talking about this killed her appetite. “It’s almost like I’ve lost a limb. There’s this part of me, this way I used to interact with the world, that’s just… gone.”

Lenn listened quietly, and nodded their head. “I am sorry we cannot give you that back,” they said. “But I may be able to get you a small reserve. A few spare flecks, to help you in a pinch. Nothing like the bounty you knew.”

That wasn’t what Genevieve expected to hear. “Can you really do that?”

“If I can find a merchant still trading under lockdown,” Lenn answered. “Do not worry. I will make it happen. In exchange, though, I will need you to change your perspective. You do not have the tools you are used to. Instead of lamenting their absence, look to the tools you do have, and do not let them go to waste.”

“Very well.” Genevieve took a slow breath. “I will agree to those terms.” She picked up a chair and sat it near Lenn's, taking a seat next to them. "You said that you had allies in the city?" she asked. Better to try something than to give up. No matter how hopeless it seemed. "Marcie and I can’t defuse the situation here on our own. I don’t want to drag more people into this mess, but we may not have a choice."

“The choice has been made for us. That is unfortunate, but there is only one person to blame for it, and he is not in this room." Lenn opened to an empty page of their notebook and began noting down aliases and, with very deliberate vagueness, potential resources. "As for my allies, there are other followers of the True Pulse. And I remain connected with a number of former patients. I also know more than a few individuals who will be looking for a chance to get out of Fogard quickly, with the way things now stand. I am sure at least some will be willing to aid us, particularly if it's to convince the Prince to turn his gaze back out past the city, rather than within its walls."

While Lenn wrote, Genevieve scooted in closer to see what they were putting down. They shifted a bit to give her a better look, and she stared at the page of notes thoughtfully, putting pieces together in her head, one by one. She asked for a few clarifications about the things Lenn had written down, and the code phrases they used, but over time she started to see the larger picture.

It wasn’t much to work with. Maybe two dozen people across the city who owed Lenn a favor. Some were shop owners, some family men and laborers, and more than a few Lenn simply noted for their skills without any further elaboration. Though Genevieve got the implication well enough. Still, if those skills were reliable, and if they could put just a few helpful hands in exactly the right places…

“Okay,” Genevieve said, after much consideration. “It will be a challenge. But I may have something like an idea.”