Supporting each other on unsteady feet, Furiosa and the Ace walked away slowly from the infirmary to the silence of the empty Half-life Noble nest.
Looking around the moonlit room, Furiosa could see the discarded belongings of the former crew; a broken pair of bootlaces, a skull-carved stone,
a crude engine pinched out of clay like a small mechanical heart, and she wondered who those things had belonged to, though now they belonged to no one.
Once they were settled with their boots tossed off haphazardly, both collapsed onto the sand, exhausted.
It was the first time in a long time that Furiosa had slept the night through, and the warm sand was a stark contrast of comfort to the cold and unforgiving stone benches of the infirmary.
It seemed that even the deep ache of her missing hand couldn't wake her, as though she had grown accustomed to living with it.
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