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The warehouse was cold.
Not only from the concrete and the drafts forcing their way through cracks in the walls, but from the silence that ruled inside it. A silence unnatural, suspended between the echo of their own footsteps and the distant, barely audible sounds of the city. As if the entire world outside were holding its breath, unsure whether it was still allowed to live normally. Emergency lights flickered lazily above them, dimming and flaring in sharp bursts. They cast uneven shadows across rows of metal shelving filled with crates, rusted containers, and forgotten equipment. Dust hung in the air, scratching at the throat and settling on clothes, gloves, and weapons like a thin layer of ash.
Leon moved slowly, almost silently, guiding them through a narrow aisle between the shelves. He placed each step carefully, testing the ground, listening for the faintest sound that did not belong to them. He stopped beside a massive concrete pillar and raised his fist — a simple, unmistakable signal.
Claire reacted instantly.
She crouched several meters away, back pressed to a crate, lifting her weapon and aiming down the corridor to the right. She didn’t look at him she didn’t need confirmation. Her body already knew what to do. Their movements were synchronized in a way that required no words and no glances. It wasn’t something you learned in training. It was forged over years of shared situations where a mistake meant not just failure, but real loss, someone’s life.
Leon leaned his back against the pillar and glanced at the round counter in his magazine.
Not enough.
The thought was brief, precise, stripped of emotion. He reloaded instinctively, even though he knew perfectly well it wouldn’t change anything. The motion was habit more than solution. He pressed himself deeper into the shadow, letting the flickering light partially erase his outline. He looked toward Claire. She checked her supply as well, lifting her gaze to him for only a fraction of a second. Long enough to pass the information, not long enough to lose focus.
“How many?” he asked quietly, his voice barely louder than the whisper of dust under boots.
“Two full.” she replied without hesitation. “And one started.”
Leon grimaced slightly, more to himself than to her.
“One and… the tail end.”
Claire studied him more closely. There was no panic in her eyes, no surprise. Only rapid calculation, cool and precise. She shifted closer, using the brief lull between distant sounds. Now only a narrow space separated their shoulders, just a few centimeters.
“Take one.” she said, reaching into her vest pocket.
“No.” he answered immediately. Too fast, too firm. “You shoot faster.”
“You cover better.” she replied calmly, without raising her voice. “And you know it.”
For a split second, they fell silent. This was the moment when decisions stopped being purely tactical. Leon looked at the magazine in her hand, then at her face. He knew that expression. The same one he’d seen hundreds of times before. Stubbornness paired with care she never voiced outright.
“We split.” he said finally.
Claire raised an eyebrow, as if ready to argue, but after a beat she nodded.
“Fine.”
They shifted even closer, fully hiding behind the pillar. Leon dropped to one knee, bracing his weapon against it, holding it steady with one hand. Claire crouched in front of him, so close their knees nearly touched. Emergency light flickered overhead, illuminating her face one moment, plunging it into shadow the next. In those brief flashes, Leon saw familiar features — focused eyes, lips pressed tight.
Her fingers were steady as she removed the magazine. His hands — calm, though taut — accepted it without hurry. For a moment, they both held it at once, as if neither wanted to let go first. The metal was cold, almost icy.
“You counting?” she asked quietly.
“Always.” he replied.
They spread the rounds across the concrete floor, shielding them with their hands so they wouldn’t catch the light. Each metallic click was muted almost instinctively. The metal was cold beneath their fingers. Every movement was precise, almost intimate in its concentration.
“Four.” Leon murmured.
“Five.” Claire added.
Their voices were barely audible. Breathing synchronized, steady, controlled. Their knees almost touched. Leon noticed a small scratch in Claire’s hand, a mark left by something sharp earlier. Claire noticed his jaw clenched slightly, as it always was when he took on more than he should.
“Keep more for yourself.” she said suddenly, softer.
“No.”
“Leon.”
“Claire.” he replied in the same tone. “You know better.”
Her lips twitched, as if she wanted to smile, but she stopped herself. Instead, she nodded.
“You’re stubborn.”
“So are you.” he said, sliding rounds into the magazine with practiced ease. “That’s why we’re still alive.”
He handed her one magazine. Their fingers met again, this time lingering longer. The touch was brief, but meaningful. Claire looked into his eyes, searching for something that had nothing to do with numbers or tactics.
“Thanks.” she said quietly.
“Always.” he answered without hesitation.
A sound echoed from afar. Muffled footsteps. Metal scraping against concrete. The echo carried low and treacherous.
They both stiffened at the same time.
Leon snapped the magazine into place and chambered a round in one smooth motion. Claire did the same, nearly in sync. They rose together, shoulders brushing lightly. The contact was like a spark — not distracting, but sharpening the senses.
“On my signal.” Leon whispered.
“Always.” she replied.
They stepped out from behind the pillar at exactly the right moment. Leon first, Claire half a step behind, precisely where she should be. Gunfire echoed off the walls, tearing through the warehouse silence. Movements were fast, but controlled. Every round mattered. Every shot was deliberate.
When the last enemy fell with a dull crash against the concrete, silence returned.
Heavy. Dense.
Leon lowered his weapon only after several seconds, making sure nothing moved. Claire did the same. They looked at each other almost simultaneously, as if needing confirmation that it was truly over.
“How many left?” she asked.
He checked his magazine.
“One.”
“Same.”
They both exhaled, nearly in the same rhythm. It was release more than fatigue.
“Good counting.” she muttered.
“As always.” he replied.
They paused for a moment, letting the adrenaline drain away. Leon leaned his back against the pillar, closing his eyes for a second. Claire stood beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. She didn’t step away. Neither did he.
“You know.” she said after a moment. “People think sharing ammo is just logistics.”
Leon glanced at her sideways.
“Isn’t it?”
“It’s also… trust.” she said. “You’re giving someone something that might decide whether you live.”
He watched her for a long moment, then nodded.
“That’s why I only do it with you.”
Her gaze softened. The corner of her mouth lifted just a fraction.
“Good to know.”
For a brief moment, they stood there in silence, shoulders still touching, weapons lowered but ready. The world outside could be collapsing, but here — in this fleeting instant — everything was exactly where it should be.
“Move?” she asked.
“Yes.” he said. “Together.”
They moved on, as always, sharing not only ammunition, but the weight of every step that followed.