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."

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