I know, I know, it's been some weeks. And that after I said I would try to update on a regular basis. I actually had this chapter finished for some time, but I just never editted it. It's so much more fun to keep writing and stockpiling chapters (so that I can update regularly, I know, they hypocrisy) than to go back and edit. I'll promise that updates will come more frequently again and that I won't make a habit out of it. I hope you forgive me. If anything, this chapter is quite long.

Combustible

Penryn struggled against the hands pinning her to the wall once more, before changing tactic and kicking the man's shin. He grunted, though more in annoyance than in actual pain.

"Don't. I'm not in the mood to play games."

He took his hand from her mouth and put it on her forehead instead, pushing her head back against the wall. "Where is it?"

She didn't bother replying. She brought her knee up, aiming for his groin, but he effortlessly twisted out of the way, his hold never relenting.

"I said stop it. And answer my question!" His voice was thick with rage.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" She stopped struggling, deciding not to waste energy on fruitless fighting. She'd save it for when she was in a more advantageous position.

"My rifle," he hissed. "Don't play dumb, little girl. You stole it. Did you really think I wouldn't find you? Are you really that stupid?"

"To be honest, I didn't think you were anything anymore. You looked pretty dead." Her words dripped with hatred. This man was part of the nation that had invaded her country and was currently occupying it, enslaving its entire nation, all under the arrogant proposition of 'freeing them from their misery of nescience'. He was scum and he was evil. And though she was aware that he could kill her without any consequences, or worse, put her entire family through hell just with his political influence, she couldn't keep her mouth shut. He didn't have to know that she was terrified.

He laughed coldly. "That just goes to show that thinking isn't exactly your people's strength."

Rage welled up inside of her. She spat at him. For a moment, he looked like he was going to kill her right on the spot, and she couldn't stop herself from shrinking back. He really had a fierce glare. But then, he simply switched his hold, pushing his forearm against her throat, effectively pinning her against the wall and cutting off her air at the same time. He wiped his face with his free hand.

"Alright, let's cut this short. Give me back my rifle, and I'll let you live. Don't and I'll snap you in half before you know it."

He let off some of the pressure, just enough to allow her to take in shallow breaths.

She was going to die, then. There was no way around it. Though she was filled with terror, she managed to force out a wheezy laugh. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

His eyes narrowed and he leaned down, closer to her. "And why is that?"

Penryn steeled herself for her imminent death. Deep down she'd always known that the Guardians would kill her, whether through a bomb or a street soldier. But she was surprised that it was actually a one-on-one kill. Oh well, same difference. "Because I sold it already. By now, it's gone through half a dozen's intermediaries' hands. And since I had all tracers removed, I doubt you'll ever be able to find it again."

She saw murder in his eyes and knew that she would die. He'd break her neck right here. But then, he pushed himself away from her, hands balling into fists.

"Do you have any idea how much that thing is worth? More than your primitive, little brain can understand. And you sell it on some pathetic, stinking black market…"

He seemed to think for a moment, then turned back to her and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Bring me to the dealer you sold it to. Apparantly even you had enough intelligence to remove the tracker, since the signal stopped transmitting this morning, so I'll have no choice but to track it manually."

Penryn suppressed the impulse to spit on him again. Just feeling his touch on her made her skin crawl with fear. She'd never been this close to a Guardian before. And he was certainly daunting, with his towering height and muscular build. "I'd rather die than tell you one name of someone working at the black market."

His grip on her chin tightened. "That would be your alternative."

Her stomach contracted in terror, making her feel nauseous. But then, a thought came to her mind, drowning out everything else.

"What do you know about a quarantine?"

"What?"

"A quarantine. Children have been taken from the hospital. I've been told they were put into quarantine. What's going on. Has there been some kind of outbreak?"

He looked at her, anger mixing with incredulousness. "Who do you think is asking the questions here? The only reason you're not dead yet is my rifle."

Despite the uncomfortable position against the wall he had her in, Penryn managed to cross her arms, mustering up the last reserves of her defiance. "Well, if that piece of crap is so precious to you, you better start answering, because I won't tell you anything unless you give me the information I want."

He cocked his head to the side, irritated, gauging her coldly. "I know of no quarantine. Your soft nation's health concerns are none of my interests."

Penryn held his stare without shrinking back, less afraid now. Her focus was on her baby sister, and on gathering as much information about her whereabouts as possible, no matter the price. She forced herself to look into his eyes, trying to find out if he was telling the truth. His gaze was hard and impenetrable as steel.

"Someone at the hospital told me that there's been children taken away since two months, under the claim of some infection they caught. If your government imposes a quarantine, wouldn't you know of it?"

He frowned, looking annoyed. "I would, though it's nothing that I care for. But I'm tired of this question and answer. Just give me the name and I'll let you live another day."

"Just a matter of time before another one of you bastards kills me."

"Well, now you're just pulling at my heartstrings. Nothing is more important to me than the safety of the scum."

Slowly, her fear was being replaced by anger, hot and seething in her veins. "Well, that scum is in possession of your precious rifle, so at least one of us might be able to shoot back."

She didn't understand what was the deal with that thing anyway. Why didn't he just get a new one?

He let go of her chin and took a step back, raking a hand through his short dark hair. Halfway through the motion he winced and dropped his arm. That was when Penryn realized that he must've still been badly injured from the accident and the brutal fight that happened only one night ago. Thinking about it, it was a miracle that he was even standing here right now. Hadn't he been shot?

"Why do you have such a desire to die? Or is it stupid loyalty to some merchant that holds you back? You don't seem very good at keeping your tongue in check, otherwise."

Penryn chewed on her bottom lip, thinking through her options. This Guardian was her best – and only – shot at getting confidential information, data she couldn't even dream of obtaining even with the best hackers on her side. And a quarantine could only be imposed by the government, so there had to be some data about her sister's whereabouts and well-being.

"Even if I gave you the name, that would never be enough. Like I said, by now, your rifle will have passed several middle man. You would have to chase it down through the entire underground infrastructure, and there's no way a Guardian could do so without alarming every emergency protocol that these people have. You think they'll let a government person snoop around in their world? Or any outsider for that matter? If you don't know the right names and codes, you'll get nothing but a bullet to the head. I suspect even you can't survive that."

The Guardian cast her a sideway glance. "And you know the names and codes?"

She shrugged. "I know some of them."

With one step, he was back in her face, reminding her of her physical inferiority. "Great. I'll find you a paper and pen and you can write them down."

Penryn steeled herself. The last years, she'd learned the hard way that the only way to earn respect and get what you want in a place, where everyone's stronger and meaner than you, is to not let them push you around. Better take a jab to the jaw or a broken bone than show a thug or a merchant that you are too afraid to stand up for yourself.

So she put a hand on his shoulder – making sure that it was the injured one – and forced him back with a determined push of her hand. He winced in pain as the heel of her hand dug into his wound and took a reflexive step back. There it was, the scowl she had anticipated, the promise of certain death in his eyes. It was a risk she would have to take in order to make him take this serious.

Before he could threaten or curse her, she spoke up, "I don't think you understand, even though I already told you twice. I won't give you any information, if you don't return the favor."

A muscle jumped in his cheek, but his voice was calm and slow, as if he was talking to a little kid. "I already told you that I know nothing of a quarantine."

"But you have the means to find out about it! I don't think it would be hard for you to look up a patient's file. And that's all I'm asking!"

"Why should I do that? Seems like an awful lot of work just to get one name from you."

Penryn tried not to let his condescending tone rile her up. She couldn't lose her temper now. "I already told you that it's not just one name you'll need. I've seen the motorcycle you used. You're no street patrol. You're higher up. So I'll doubt that you know the streets or the underground infrastructure you're about to venture into. They'll notice that you're not one of them immediately and then you'll never get your stupid gun back. But I know about it! I've been operating on the black market for years now, enough to be known amongst most faces and know my way around. If you're with me, no one will suspect you're government. Plus, I might actually be able to track down the route your rifle took, since I'm the one that brought it onto the market."

He watched her during her little speech, almost as if revising his assessment of her. "You do realize that you just admitted half a dozen crimes to a Guardian? I could have your hands cut off for this and a bullet through your head afterwards."

At this, she actually scoffed. "As if you couldn't do that anyway. A Guardian's word against mine? Even if I had a clean slate, you could have me killed and my family arrested without problems. So let's move past the phase in which I pretend to be a dutiful citizen that doesn't hate every single one of you stinking bastards and get to business."

At that he raised a brow arrogantly. "Big words from a small girl. I've definitely never been offered a business deal from a tiny thing half my size before."

"I don't think you have many alternatives. I don't know what that attack last night was about, but since you're here and not back with your Guardian buddies, I suspect you're on your own right now."

His eyes bore into hers and she held his glare until he finally blew out a hard breath and took a step back. "Bring me to the merchant you sold the gun to. Get me on the right track. I'll think about that little deal after I've gotten a picture of the situation myself."

"How do I know you will keep word? What if I bring you to the merchant and you betray our deal? There's no reason I could ever trust you."

"You said yourself that knowing one merchant's name won't do me much good. If I feel like your help could still be valuable after you've brought me to him, we have a deal."

Penryn clenched her jaw, but nodded. That was good enough for her.

"Alright, where is he?"

She pushed herself off the wall. "We can't seek him out now. It's almost night, the black market will close soon. Curfew, remember?"

He sighed, as if the curfew that his own damn people imposed was somehow her fault. "Fine. Tomorrow then."

Penryn nodded slowly. "We should probably get you new clothes." She took in his black gear. "You're not wearing any emblems or something, but you would draw attention in such professional gear anyway."

She started walking and he followed her. "Alright."

She looked back at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you. I thought you said I needed new clothes?" The lazy arrogance in his voice made an angry flush rise up in her face. Plus, the thought of a Guardian in her home didn't exactly make her feel comfortable. Although she supposed that it didn't matter anyway. He could easily access all the data there was about her, including where she lived, what she did and who her family was. And she was almost certain that his wounds hadn't properly been taken care of. He was no use to her if he died from an infection before he could help her.

"Fine. Come with me. We can stay at my place for the night. My father's old clothes should fit you. " She hesitated, then pulled her thick dark wool cloak off and threw it at him. "Pull that over your head. It should at least hide your gear a little bit."

He draped the cloak over himself, pulling the hood into his face. On her, the cloak reached almost to her ankles. On him, it stopped about mid-thigh. It looked okay though, and a least hid his gear partly.

"That works, I guess," she said.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Penryn constantly worried about someone noticing the unusually tall and well-build man she was travelling with. People in this district weren't exactly gaining weight in these last years. Maybe they'll think he's a street fighter, she thought to herself.

They made it to her apartment without any incidents. Her family lived on the highest floor of a narrow building that was crammed between two other high-rises, all equally worn-down and ugly. All fire ladders, that twined up the front of the buildings like brass skeletons, were pulled up to prevent street gangs or thugs from taking the easy way in. Not that that would really stop any of them.

Penryn punched in the code for the entrance door and stepped into the dim corridor. The Guardian had to duck his head as he stepped through the door.

"We have to take the stairs," she said when he approached the elevators. "That thing stopped working a good decade ago."

They climbed the stairs up to the seventh floor, where her mom's apartment was. Penryn through a glance back over the shoulder at the Guardian. Despite his injuries, he wasn't even out of breath.

"Well, there we are," she muttered as they approached the door and she typed in the second code. She felt oddly embarrassed to show her family's tiny, worn-down apartment to him. He was probably used to living in pure luxury, surrounded by spacious rooms and expensive furniture. She mentally kicked herself for thinking that way. Their luxury came from invading and occupying other countries, and stealing from them. None of it was rightfully theirs.

She pushed the door open harder than she intended. A sour smell hit them from inside. Penryn coughed as she inhaled, the air feeling hot in her lungs. Her mother was apparently home.

She strode into the cramped living room, the Guardian on her heels, and pulled off her coat. She awkwardly turned to him, wondering if she should say something.
Before she could come up with anything that didn't involve words of welcome – because he certainly wasn't welcome in her home – a door to her right slammed open. Sour-smelling steam poured out of the room that her mother used as a laboratory. A scrawny woman in a stained lab coat staggered out of the room, looking like a ghost on stimulants. Skin waxy, eyes wild but unfocused, an almost indiscernible tremor running through her bony body. Penryn didn't know what she'd taken, but it was obvious that she was on medication again.

"Mom, what are you on?"

"I'm so much closer now, Penryn!" Her mother spoke faster than normal, the words tumbling out of her mouth. "I think I almost got it."

Penryn wanted to point out that she said that every time, from the day she started mixing her own drugs and meds in order to find something to help Paige, every time that she tested a would-be cure on herself, claiming that this one was finally a breakthrough. Her mother had been a pharmacist before the country was invaded and occupied, a somewhat reputable woman with a stable income. But with the Guardian's advanced technology and science, a pharmacist of her level had become obsolete in this new world. They'd still made small money on the side by selling drugs and meds on the black market, until that day Paige got injured and her mother became obsessed with finding a cure. For what was another question. With no money to pay for expensive medical treatment, the best the hospital had done was extract as much shrapnel from Paige's spine as possible and keep her alive until she was out of danger. All her family's money went to pain treatment, with nothing left to even get a proper diagnosis on her condition. But her mother had made her own diagnosis. Penryn didn't really know what it was, nor would she understand if she told her, but so far the breakthrough hadn't happened. And with her mother's self-tests inflaming a proper drug addiction, she doubted it ever would. Penryn's voice had long become one of many that her mother heard.

"That's great, mom," Penryn said carefully, steadying her mother with one arm. She peeked over her shoulder, making sure nothing was in flames inside the makeshift lab. "But maybe you should call it quits for today? You seem exhausted."

"How was Paige?" her mother interrupted, ignoring her words.

Penryn's stomach churned, sending bile up her throat. She swallowed hard to keep the nausea at bay. "She was fine," she pressed out, tasting her own lie acidly on her tongue.

"Did you bring her the meds I made?"

Penryn felt the presence of the Guardian behind her, making her back prickle. She supposed it was as she'd said; it didn't really matter what he knew, he could frame her for any crime he wanted. But she still didn't need him to hear all the illegal things her family was involved in. Theft, arms trade and now drug trafficking. Why not show him her lock pick skills next and tell him about all the residents and shops she'd broken into?

She nodded mechanically, terrified that her mother would continue with the questions. If there was one thing she was horrible at, it was lying. And no matter how drugged and delusional her mother might was, she wasn't stupid. If she caught on that something was wrong, there would be no stopping her.

"Alright, mom, I'm pretty tired, I'm going to go sleep. Um…" she threw a glance over her shoulder at the Guardian, who looked painfully out of place in their dirty little apartment. "That's a… friend of mine." She almost choked on the words. "He's going to stay here for the night. We have to do… school work."
God, she was bad at lying.

Apparently he thought so too, because she caught him snorting before she turned back to her mother. "Yes, yes, work," her mom murmured distractedly, counting off something from her fingers. Penryn wasn't sure she'd even noticed the other person in the room. "I think two would be enough…" her mother trailed off.

"Right… Come on." Penryn motioned to the Guardian to follow her. She led him into her bedroom, which was just big enough for her parent's old double bed, a desk and a drawer. She wasn't big on decorations, but the place was stuffed anyway. Loot, lock pick sets, knives, books, all strewn around the floor, desk and bed. She pushed the scramble off her bed and sat down, yanking off her boots with a sigh. The Guardian pulled out her chair and sat down, stretching out his legs.

"Um… I'm gonna use the bathroom," Penryn murmured, feeling stupid the moment she said it. Glad to be alone for a few moments, she took her time in the bathroom, rinsing the grime off her hands and slapping cold water into her face. It was the closest to a refreshment she'd get tonight.

When she finally came back into her bedroom, she almost yelped. The Guardian had taken his armor and shirt off, and was examining a nasty looking bullet wound in his shoulder. "Wha… what are you doing?"

He looked up at her, the hint of a teasing smile playing around his mouth as he took in her flustered expression. His voice was neutral, however, when he answered. "I'm checking the bullet wound. I didn't have time to properly clean it, yet."

Having gotten over the initial shock of seeing a shirtless Guardian in her bedroom – and though she would never admit it out loud, he definitely wasn't unpleasant to look at – Penryn chewed on her lip, deciding whether to help him or not. Oh, well. She needed him alive and well if he was to help her with her sister.

"Hold on," she said. "I think I can help you with that."

She strode out of the room and into the kitchen, where she gathered disinfectant, bandages, a bowl of hot water and some pain killers. The good thing that came with being the daughter of a pharmacist was a much easier access to med supplies. She carried the supplies back to her bedroom and dropped them onto her desk.

"Let me have a look."

He looked up at her, seeming to decide whether to accept her help or not. She was almost sure he'd decline, when he gave a curt nod.
Penryn leaned down and inspected the wound, carefully prying at the skin with her fingers. "I'd looks like the bullet is still inside," she marveled, incredulous that he'd managed to go for over twelve hours with an open, untreated bullet wound. And he'd managed to overpower her with it, too.

"Like I said, I didn't have the time to examine it yet."

"Alright, I'm going to get it out."

"You will?"

Her mouth thinned into a line. "Yes, I will. Unless you'd like to try it yourself with one hand and no view of the wound."

He inclined his head. "Alright, go ahead."

She lit up a candle and picked her daintiest, sharpest knife, holding the blade into the flame. She threw the bottle of painkillers at him and he caught it out of the air effortlessly. "Take those. They will help a bit with the pain. Plus, they reduce inflammation."

He swallowed down a handful of pills. Penryn walked up to him and leaned down, deciding how to go about this.

"It's going to hurt," she warned, not sure why she even cared.

The Guardian didn't seem anxious. "I'll live. I just hope you're not scared of blood."

"There's no sweeter sight than a Guardian's blood to me."

He snorted. She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close. His skin was warm and silky. It was weird to touch him, weird to be this close to the enemy, having him shirtless in her bedroom. He felt so real. Her brain couldn't quite keep up with the surreal situation.

She touched the tip of the hot blade to the wound, almost flinching at the sight. His muscles tensed under her touch, but that was the only reaction she got.

"Careful, Penryn. I'd prefer for you to not slip with that knife." This time she did flinch. She pulled away from him, aghast at hearing her name from his lips. It felt too intimate, too close. "How… how do you know my name?"

"Your mother called you Penryn." He cocked his head slightly. "It's a strange name. Penryn. Is it common in Jonum?"

He spoke fluently, his accent nearly imperceptible. Most Guardians had the heavy, dark accent of their native language, Malakei, brutalizing Jonum, her nation's official language, with their harsh pronunciation and guttural undertone. She'd hardly noticed his accent when he'd spoken before, but when he said her name, it sounded slightly off. Just a little bit different, though not bad.

"It's not." She refocused on the task at hand, glad for the excuse to not meet his gaze. There was something about those piercing, blue eyes that made her feel flustered.

"So," she muttered, opening the wound with a careful cut to give her a better look. "Now that you know my name, will you tell me yours?"

He was quiet for a moment. She was almost sure he wouldn't respond, when he said. "Raffe."

The sound of his name made her look up at him. It was weird that he suddenly had a name, that he wasn't just a "Guardian" anymore, but an actual person. A person with a name, a history, possibly a family? "Raffe," she repeated quietly, and something flickered in his eyes for a millisecond. "It… has a nice sound to it."

For some reason she felt heat rise up in her cheeks, so she quickly looked down at his shoulder again. She could feel his eyes on her and wondered what he was thinking. "So, why exactly is this gun so important to you? Couldn't you just get a new one?"

"It's not just some gun," he said. "It's damn advanced technology and it is both an irreplaceable weapon in battle, as it is a symbol of status. Whoever ends up with it neither has the knowledge, nor the capabilities to use it. But it should not be in the hands of Jonum people."

There was something to the way he said that, that made her suspect there was more to this than he was telling her.

"They took your motorcycle too, didn't they?"

"Yes," he sounded annoyed. "And I'm going to get that back as well. "

"What exactly did you do to piss them off that much?"

"Well, aren't you a victim-blamer?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, please. Don't try to play innocent." She twisted the blade carefully, amazed at his ability to keep up a normal conversation while his shoulder was being mauled by a red hot knife. "Aaaand, there it is." The bullet, small and black beneath the coat of blood, popped out of the wound, landing on her outstretched palm. She held it close to her eye and twisted it around. "Seems whole. There shouldn't be any shrapnel."

He nodded and rolled his shoulder, as if to shake off the pain. "Not bad. Didn't think you'd be so nifty with a knife." There was something akin to reluctant approval in his voice.

"You have no idea," she smirked and was surprised when he actually reciprocated the grin. He looked good with a smile, handsome and relaxed and normal. She reminded herself that he was part of the invaders that had turned her country into a terror regime.

She wiped antiseptic ointment onto his wound and bandaged him up, then quickly turned away and went to clean the blade and her hands. When she returned, she grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it on the ground, maybe more vehemently than she intended to. "I'll take the bed. You can sleep on the ground."

She almost expected him to argue with her, given that he must've been used to much more luxurious accommodations, but he flopped down onto the carpet without opposition. Her surprise must've been showing, because he shrugged and shot her another short smirk. "It's your bed, Penryn. I'm not going to get in, unless you ask me to."

"Yeah, that won't happen," she snapped, annoyed at the heat in her cheeks. He said nothing, but there was an amused glint in his eyes.

"Bloated ego much?" she grumbled and picked up a long-sleeved shirt and linen pants to sleep in. He shrugged nonchalantly and tucked his hands under his head, looking relaxed. She caught herself staring at the rise and fall of his muscular chest and turned away, cursing inwardly. His head might've been the size of the moon, but it wasn't unjustified. He was almost painfully attractive with his sharp, chiseled face, strong jaw and athletic build. His black hair contrasted beautifully with his caramel skin, looking so much healthier than her own pale complexion.

She changed into the comfortable clothes outside her bedroom, and when she came back in, his breathing had evened out. She tip-toed around him and crawled onto the bed, tugging her wool blanket over herself. She felt vulnerable and naked sleeping in the same room as him. She wanted at least a brick wall and a vault door between her and any Guardian soldier while she was asleep and defenseless.

She laid in the dark, listening to his even breathing. Despite herself, the stead rhythm numbed her and tiredness took over. Tomorrow, she would seek out the merchant she'd sold the gun to, bringing an enemy soldier right into the heart of the city's criminal infrastructure. If they were caught, she'd be lynched by both the government and her own people. She drifted into a fitful sleep, her last thoughts following her into anxious nightmares. There was a world of trouble waiting for her.

I hope you enjoyed.

Merry Christmas!

~K.