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A crescent moon hung high in the near-night sky, stars just beginning to crop up across a bruised blue backdrop. Situated beside the river was an insubstantial campfire, two bedrolls on either side, and, face down in the dirt, a decidedly dead boar stripped to the bone. The flames had been flickering bright and violent for hours now, smoke mantling the campsite in a warm gray haze.
The two of them had been awaiting nightfall. Or rather, Aloy had been awaiting nightfall. If he’d had it his way, Nil would have put an arrow between the sharpshooter’s eyes hours ago, slit the guards’ throats as he slithered deep into the bowels of the camp and set off the alarm himself, but—
“We do this my way,” she’d said, “or not at all.”
He’d nodded, resentful of his forbearing nature wherever she was involved, and stalked away to gather firewood.
They plotted their siege over dinner—skewers of meat seared over a dancing yellow flame, roasted nuts and dried berries, and the sharing of Aloy’s water skin.
“Mm,” she hummed, mouth full of rabbit. “You know your way around a cook fire, Nil. If I sound surprised, it’s probably because I am.”
He couldn’t help his mouth stretching into a crooked grin as he drank, gray eyes warm in the firelight and crinkled at the corners when they found hers.
“I make do,” he said, licking wet lips.
Aloy watched intently as a single, unhurried droplet trickled down the length of his throat, and he found himself watching her just as closely. He was drawn to the quick rise and fall of her chest, lungs filling with unsteady air as she studied him. He focused on the breastbone, thought of her heart beating just below the surface and how much he might like to hold it in his hands, for one reason or another.
Nil knew Aloy well enough, and he’d always respected her choices. Enough to keep his distance, to refrain from pushing unless first she pulled.
But there was no harm in teasing.
“Thirsty, partner?” he asked, offering the water skin.
Aloy’s face flushed the most brilliant shade of red as her eyes refocused—vermilion, like her hair—and she looked up, met his shit-eating grin with a sneer.
“I told you,” she huffed, accepting the water with haste, “I’m not your partner.”
Wasn’t she? They’d fought together, bled together. She was never happy to see him. She was never disappointed.
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
It had to mean something.
“Only by coincidence.”
Nil hummed. Considered. Decided then and there that he was happy Aloy hadn’t agreed to that fight atop the mesa, if only for this moment. If only so they might meet again someday, in this camp or the next, blades drawn with bloodied teeth. Like old times.
He smiled, nodded his head. “Whatever you need me to be, Aloy.”
There was no more to say.
Aloy pulled her knees to her chest, stared blearily into the fire as the flames turned kindling to ash. The killing hardly mattered anymore, Nil realized, so long as Aloy might bloody her hands in his stead. And that he might be there to watch.
They snuck in once their stomachs had settled, crawling through the wild grass like hungry animals closing in on their next meal. The night was cool away from the fire. Insects tickled his arms and legs, gooseflesh raising on his skin as he moved through the brush. This hunt wouldn’t be as fun as the others. Too many shadows. Too many places to catch one’s breath. But Aloy was a sniper, and this was her hunt. Nil could live with that.
Her first arrow was her kindest. A quick, clean kill. Quiet, unsuspecting. Almost perfect, though a touch too merciful, as was her way. Nil followed her lead, picking off the perimeter guards. He kept to the shadows, crept up on two sorry souls and slit their throats in quick succession, then nocked a barbed arrow and aimed for the heart of another atop a lookout tower. His blood fell like rain.
Aloy remained hidden in the grass, hair camouflaged within the wild reeds, arrows loosing near-silently from her longbow. Her tongue stuck out the slightest bit, her brow pinched in concentration as she fired. Each kill elicited a soft gasp, green eyes widening maddeningly so. If he didn’t know better, if he hadn’t been told otherwise, he’d think she was enjoying herself.
The remaining bandits were gathered at the center of the stronghold, oblivious to the silent terror raining upon their camp. Nil stowed his bow and made his way inward. He followed the scent of smoke, the sound of awful laughter. The bandits spotted them first, and Aloy charged and swung her spear in a wide arc. The men dove to the ground, clambering for swords and spears alike.
“It’s her!” one of them shouted. Pride surged within him, wild and reverent, as Nil joined the fray.
He struck his first target in the face with the butt of his knife and buried the blade between the ribs of another. Aloy wielded her spear as though it were a club, beating the bandits bloody before impaling them on her spearhead. She slashed and spun with abandon. The men made every attempt to overpower her, thrashing, cursing, damning her. Aloy heard none of it.
Two remained, cornering her, bloodthirsty and enraged. Nil took advantage of their single-minded assault, a twisting knife to the back of one as Aloy dealt with the other. Her body betrayed her, there at the end, the bandit wresting the spear from her hold and knocking her to the ground with a thud. He knelt over her, his fists colliding with her face once, twice, three times before Nil’s blade found its home in the man’s spine. Aloy scrambled to her feet. Bleeding rust and crying out, the bandit fell to the ground. Nil loomed over him, watched the light go from his eyes.
“This isn’t over,” he croaked. A dying man’s last words.
Nil’s knife kissed the man’s throat as he leaned in close and smiled, all sharp teeth.
“I certainly hope not,” he purred, and in one swift motion, the man’s blood spurted across Nil’s face and spilled to puddle in the dirt beneath them.
Wiping his knife on his trousers as he stood, Nil looked for Aloy. He followed a set of bloody bootprints and found her outside, looting their victims’ bodies in a haze. She collected shards and useless trinkets, ammo for her slingshot and herbs for elixirs. She would be here awhile. Nothing would go to waste.
She stood when she heard him approach, wavering slightly.
“I never thanked you,” she said. All he could think to do was smile. Play along.
“Whatever for?”
“Would you just listen for a second?” she snapped, ears burning red, wincing and clutching her left side. She’d been hit, and hard. It was of little consequence to her.
“Look,” she continued, “I know you said I broke your heart, or whatever, and I know you don’t care about Meridian. But you showed up. Not sure I understand why, but… I’ll never forget that you did, is all. Just… Thank you, Nil. Really.”
His insides went warm, blood pounding in his ears. Aloy was the only person capable of quieting the noise, the only person who had never judged him for hearing it in the first place, and it terrified him—being so terribly understood.
In a moment of weakness, he reached for her, cupped her round face and held her steady in his palm. Her nose was crooked and leaking blood. He wondered how strongly she could smell the iron. If it stirred her the way it did him.
“I trust we’ll meet again,” was all he said as he pulled away.
He’d never been wrong before.