Now, when the real war kicked off tomorrow and their side got pushed back—’cause that was this place’s trend—they still needed a way to capture it.
Sure, surrounding the mine completely would do the trick too, but that would take bodies. Lots of them. And tomorrow? They wouldn’t have bodies to spare.
The fighting would stretch across the entire region like a damn wildfire, and every soldier counted. They couldn’t afford to babysit a mine, not when the front lines became a mess of chaos, blood, and fire.
So, cutting off supplies? That was cleaner. Let ’em starve. Let ’em boil under the Shams with no water and nothing to keep them going. Let the desperation do most of the work for them while they destroy their gate.
And honestly, the timing wasn’t half bad either.
The mine didn’t run during the day—too hot, too risky.
The glass they were digging up turned deadly under the Shams, made the whole place a death trap if one tried to work it in the heat. Morning was break time for them, at least most of them. So everything, all the loading and hauling and delivering, happened at night.
That gave Malik a narrow window.
If he missed it, that was it—capturing the Pit would be all but impossible.
But if he caught them in the act? Or at least found the remains of their visit?
He could follow them back, track the route to wherever they came from, and have his new friends burn the whole support chain to the ground.
So yeah. He had to move. Had to find them. Now.
Or this whole plan was dead in the water.
Malik could not fail.
He simply could not.
It was his one priority.
Safira, however, had other priorities.
“So, so…”
She tilted her head toward him.
“Where were you eleven years ago?”
Malik’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“What?”
“Eleven years ago.”
She repeated casually.
“Where were you?”
“Why does that matter?”
“I’m just curious.”
“No, you’re fishing.”
Safira grinned.
“Maybe. But you’re dodging.”
He rolled his shoulders.
“I move around. No point thinking about the past.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“That’s the answer you’re getting.”
She hummed in thought, then tried another angle.
“Alright, where were you when you were my age?”
“Busy.”
“That’s vague.”
“That’s intentional.”
She sighed.
“You’re frustrating.”
“I get that a lot.”
She wasn’t deterred.
“Fine. What’s the worst thing you’ve eaten?”
Malik blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
He smirked a little, remembering his two little ones.
“Alright. Some slimey, weird-looking root. Happy?”
Safira made a disgusted face.
“You ate that?”
“Didn’t have a choice.”
She chuckled.
“Then… did you kill that man yet?”
Malik paused for a moment, then kept moving like nothing happened—just enough that Safira didn’t catch on.
The girl was sharper than she let on, softening him up with a few harmless questions before dropping the real trap. Classic move.
What really caught him off guard, though, was that she actually remembered what he told her all those years ago.
Then again, with how deep her hate ran, maybe it wasn’t all that surprising.
When someone’s that obsessed with hating you, they don’t forget a damn thing.
“…What man?”
She opened her mouth to counter, but he cut her off.
“Look, do you have a point with all these questions?”
She tapped her chin.
“Maybe I just want to know who I’m sneaking around with.”
“You’re better off not knowing.”
She scoffed.
“See, when people say that, it just makes me more curious.”
Malik gritted his teeth.
“You ever shut up?”
Safira gave him an innocent look.
“Not often.”
He ran a hand down his face.
“Great.”
She leaned in slightly.
“Did you kill a little girl eleven years ago?”
Malik stiffened.
The words hit him harder than they should have.
He didn’t even realize his breath had quickened until she spoke again.
“Te—?”
And then, before he even processed what he was doing, he snapped.
“Shut up!”
His voice cut through the night, echoing off the outpost’s walls.
Silence fell between them.
Then—
“Who’s there?!”
A voice rang out from one of the stables nearby.
“Goddammit…”
Malik cursed under his breath, his shoulders tensing.
“Come out, damn you! I won’t let another damn thief take from me!”
Heavy boots stomped closer, sand crunching beneath them.
Safira, to Malik’s complete and utter surprise, stood up, dusted herself off, and stepped out of the shadows.
“Sorry! That was me!”
The man stopped in his tracks.
He was broad, older, his beard streaked with gray.
His scowl softened slightly when he saw her, more specifically, her beauty.
“What in the Seven Hells are you doing here? It’s way past curfew for the non-workers.”
She let out a breath, wincing slightly.
“I just got bit by a scorpion.”
The man frowned.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, just startled me.”
His expression eased.
“Still, what are you doing out here at this hour?”
Safira sighed, rubbing her arms.
“I like taking walks at night. The war’s been…”
She let the words hang.
“It’s been a lot. My husband and I—we just needed some space.”
The man nodded solemnly.
“I get that. We all do. Didn’t mean to scare you, girl.”
“It’s alright.”
He sighed, rubbing his chin.
“You want to join us for dinner? You and your husband?”
She shook her head.
“I appreciate it, but no. I should get back before he worries.”
He nodded again.
“Alright. Sorry for the fright.”
She gave a small smile before turning away.
When she reached Malik, he was staring at her, arms crossed.
Before she could say anything, his right hand landed on her head.
A firm, slow pat.
“Good job.”
She blinked up at him, stunned.
Slowly, a blush began to show.
“W-What?”
***
{Outside The Projection}
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“A pat?”
“That’s it? That’s what all that buildup led to? A damn pat?”
The hall, filled with men and women who had been leaning in, eyes wide, breaths held in anticipation, collectively exhaled. Then, right after, a wave of reactions rippled: exasperation, amusement, and sheer bafflement.
“Ahahahah! Did he just—did he just PAT HER HEAD?!”