Morning sunlight crept through the gaps in the barricade, turning the dust in the tattoo parlour gold. Tanya blinked blearily at it from the tattoo chair, where she heaved her arms from where they'd hung down the side. She clicked her shoulder, feeling the blood rush back into her dangling arm. Her body still ached in odd, stiff ways as if it hadn't figured out being alive again. She rubbed her face and dragged herself upright with a low groan.

Somewhere upstairs, Fahad's footsteps thudded softly. Porcelain clinked. Mrs Eceer or Ishita were already up. The thought of Ishita just upstairs made her ache even more.

Tanya forced herself to her feet and made it halfway to the counter before she heard a cautious knock on the door.

"Are you awake?" Came Boris' incredibly polite voice.

"She will be now," Olena hissed back. "Do we come back later? Maybe we come back later. I think we go—"

"No, come in!" Tanya croaked. Her chest flushed with warmth at the sound of their voices. She had no idea how it had happened, but Olena and Boris already felt like some of her best friends.

Suppose that's what they mean by trauma bond.

"Are you sure?" Olena yelled through the door, sounding uncertain for one of the first times since Tanya had known her. "We can come back."

"Get in here," Tanya yelled. She noticed the bookcase hadn't been put back last night, so she assumed there had been some kind of keeping watch.

The bell above the door jingled, and Olena shuffled in. "Hello," she said awkwardly. "I bring Twix bar, bread rolls, and many screws." She offered out the chocolate.

Tanya took it gratefully, tucking into it for breakfast.

Boris followed at a slower pace. "Good morning," he said, giving Tanya a once-over. "You're upright. Progress."

Tanya pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders and gave a half-smile. "Barely. I think my neck's still trying to remember which direction it turns."

"I have glue gun if it comes off. We just stick back on," Olena said. It was quieter than usual. Tanya could tell she was testing the waters.

Tanya laughed, a short breath of sound that surprised her. It felt weird, this easy energy. It was the kind of laugh that's less about the joke and more about the person telling it.

There was a brief lull where they all stood a bit too far apart, hands idle.

"So…" Tanya said finally, gesturing vaguely around the shop. "Today's plan is… floorboards?"

"Yes," Boris said with ceremonial gravity. "But first: reconnaissance."

He raised a hand toward the kebab shop across the street, visible through the cracked wood of the barricade.

"You want to rob a kebab shop?" Tanya joked, mouth agape and hand flying to her chest.

Boris did that old-man thing where he shook his head, lifted a single finger, and blustered into motion. "Well now, hang on—technically, it's not robbery, it's burglary. Then it's not even burglary because the property has been abandoned. This is more like responsible redistribution. Yes. Quite."

The joke had been entirely lost on him. Tanya and Olena made eye contact and laughed. Boris looked between them, bewildered, which only made them laugh harder.

Olena wiped a tear from her eye and clapped her hands as she marched outside. "Come, comrades. It is time to do crimes!"

The shop opposite had clearly taken a further beating in the fight. The door was completely crushed, cast off to one side where one of them had moved the rubble out of the way.

"I do first thing this morning," Olena declared, stepping over the remaining concrete and shrapnel with theatrical flair. Boris helped Tanya across more carefully. She was trying to restrict herself to small steps, anything larger and it felt like a red-hot poker was pushing at her lungs. Tanya had no idea how those two actions were connected, but she wasn't about to test through the pain to find out.

Inside, the place reeked of old oil and rotting meat. Broken glass was everywhere, and when there wasn't the crunching of that underfoot, there was the squelching of monster sludge. It coated the floor like a disgusting watery carpet, somewhere between the consistency of pudding and children's play slime.

"No monsters inside," Olena said cheerfully. "I check this morning and saw raccoon—and raccoon is alive. So, no monsters."

Tanya squinted, still looking around. "I ain't sure that logic follows, but alright."

Olena was already heading up the stairs, her boots thumping as she skirted the worst of the gore. She reached the top and gave one of the floorboards a testing kick. "Ooh. This good. Look—wide boards, nice and dry. Easy to rip up. We take nails too."

"Efficient," Boris said, peering thoughtfully at the cracked light fixture above the stairwell. "Very Soviet. Use every part of the building."

"I'm not just Russian!" Olena yelled from further up. "Do not simplify my heritage!"

Tanya followed them up, slower than she meant to be. Her legs still felt like borrowed parts—like they hadn't quite forgiven her for yesterday. She pressed one hand to the wall for balance.

The flat upstairs was a mess frozen mid-collapse. The front wall had crumbled inward during the fight, leaving a jagged gap where daylight spilt unevenly across cracked floorboards and splintered ceiling beams. Chunks of plaster and dusty rubble lay piled from the ceiling down to the floor below, blocking off the far corner like a silent barricade. A heavy wooden beam, cracked but holding fast, stretched diagonally across the ceiling, keeping the rest of the room from falling apart entirely. Dust motes floated in the stale air, settling on overturned furniture and stained wallpaper peeling at the edges. The floor beyond the beam looked unstable—boards bowed and cracked—but closer in, the wood was dry and solid enough to stand on.

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Olena reached into her bag and pulled a coil of thick rope, tying it securely around her waist before crouching at the edge of the damaged area. She tested a few cautious steps, the rope tight and steady in her hands as she inched forward, eyes sharp and unblinking. Her brow furrowed, then relaxed a little, before she took a sudden deep breath and leapt lightly to test it further. Then she tried again with more pressure. Finally, she turned back and, with quick, precise movements, tore a strip of tape from her pack and marked a clear line on the floor just before the unstable section. "Safe up to here," she announced, voice firm. "Beyond that, no promises."

Olena walked back over, untying the rope, and crouched, slipping a screwdriver from her belt, wedging it under the edge of the board with a grunt. "We pry from corner. Make clean pull."

Tanya crouched next to her. "Lemme try—"

Olena immediately pointed a stern finger without looking. "No. You hold nails. Maybe fetch light plank."

Tanya opened her mouth to argue, but Boris cut in gently. "She's not wrong. You're still… recovering."

Tanya gave a small, humourless huff. "Hard to argue when I technically got better from being dead."

That gave them both pause.

Olena sat back on her heels and squinted at her. "You mean real dead?"

"Yeah," Tanya said. "Stopped breathing. Heart. All of it. Just for a bit."

Boris turned to face her, eyebrows raised fully. "Well," he said, in that airy, overly formal voice of his. "That's rather a significant update."

Tanya tried to smile, but it became a grimace. "Guess I'm proof you can fail at dyin' too."

There was a beat of silence.

Tanya's breath caught. She half-laughed, but it was thin and wrong. "Sorry. That was… dark. I didn't mean—"

"Pfft," Olena said, waving it off. "If I died and came back, I would not shut up about it. You do not get to pull that card and not milk it, Tanya. Be dramatic. Get a cape."

Tanya blinked. "A cape?"

"Yes! Big black velvet one. You come in room and say, 'I have known the grave.' Very goth. Very sexy."

Boris chuckled, deep and surprised. "Perhaps embroidered with skulls."

Tanya couldn't help it—she laughed properly this time. "You two are unhinged."

"Correct," Olena said brightly.

"Entirely," Boris agreed. "Now let's get these floorboards up before someone else realises this is prime wood."

Further upstairs, they set to work. The planks in the living area were wider; they could get the stairwell ones if they needed to later. Olena produced a crowbar from her bag and began levering up one of the edge planks while Boris followed with a small hammer and a makeshift wedge, preserving the nails for reuse.

How can I be useful?

Tanya sat beside them, her knees aching as she leaned in to form a pile of nails.

Olena and Boris had kept chatting, mostly banter that Tanya struggled to follow in her still-dazed state.

"Hey," Olena said after a few minutes. "If you start dying again, please give me warning. You get pale, and I panic."

"I'm always pale," Tanya muttered, trying to pluck a stubborn nail that had fallen into a crack.

"Not like that. You went… all the way porcelain. Scare Boris."

"I was not scared," Boris said with great dignity, prising up a section in one smooth motion. "I was... temporarily concerned."

"You said, 'Oh no' and then stood completely still."

"I was processing rapidly."

Tanya chuckled quietly. It felt good. The three of them worked side by side, the morning light warming the windows. Normal. Or something like it.

"We really were worried for you both, you know," Boris said after a pause.

"Thanks," Tanya said, but it didn't feel like enough. The word both played on her mind, a sour taste she couldn't let go.

He flashed her one of those big grandpa smiles, all squinty eyes and a mouth pulled wide without showing teeth.

Olena passed Tanya a coil of old copper wiring she'd yanked from something laid across the room under some of the planks. "Hold."

"Wow, thanks. I feel like such a useful table."

"Good. You are."

Tanya looked down at the wire, then tucked it into her pocket with the nails.

"What's this for, then?" she asked. "One of your gadgets?"

Olena nodded. "Yes. I am making little stove in corner of shop. If we get that monster core working then no more flamethrower or tank of gas—"

"She's been drawing up plans all morning," Boris said with a sigh. "Three pages on the stovetop alone."

"I want fried eggs not run out!" Olena announced.

"You could have them raw," Tanya said. "That's a thing now, right? Apocalypse chic."

Olena wrinkled her nose. "I prefer apocalypse sunny side up."

• • • • • • • • •

Later that afternoon, they'd stacked a decent pile of floorboards near the door. Tanya stretched her back, grimacing. Each bend had made the hot brand against her chest worse, and it was spreading further too. She'd been taking it easier and easier as time went on, but stopping entirely would strip her of her distraction.

"You sure you want to keep working?" Boris asked gently. "No shame in stopping for the day."

"I'm fine," Tanya lied. "Just need a break. I'll be back at it after some tea or something."

Boris pulled out a small packet of biscuits from his coat and passed it over. "Digestive?"

"You're like a walking corner shop," she said, taking one.

"I aim to please," he replied.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, munching on broken biscuits and listening to the soft rustle of the wind through the jagged gaps of brick.

It had been on her mind for a while, and eventually, she just let it out. She didn't look up. "You seen Ishita since?"

She saw Boris and Olena look at each other out of the corner of her eye. Tanya tilted her head further away so she wouldn't have to see their eyes grapple with what they should say.

"We spoke some early this morning when I scouting kebab shop."

"She asked me to help fix her flat," Olena added after a pause. "Said she would owe me one."

The words settled on her. They were heavy, but they didn't hurt as much as she'd feared.

"What's… no worry," Olena said.

Tanya took a deep breath. "No, go on."

Olena's voice was quieter. "What happen between you two?"

Tanya suddenly felt an itch to move, and she nodded towards the planks. She picked up a pile and Boris wordlessly took half her pile away until she only had a couple of planks. She didn't try to take more. They began the slow task of ferrying them back and forth down the stairs and across the street.

"We made a pact the day we met. Ishita's son was dying, and I wanted a pact to make sure I was safe," Tanya started.

"Like you did with us?" Boris asked.

"Not exactly. She didn't get it at the time, an' said she'd give me anything I wanted if I'd just save him."

Olena sucked air through her teeth, and Boris stopped walking where he was. Tanya stopped and looked over her shoulder at his face. Only his eyes gave his shock away.

She kept walking, and moments later, the footsteps behind her resumed.

"The System only ties us to our own meanin', I think. It's just, in that moment, Ishita meant it."

She waited for questions, but they never came, so she just let out the rest in a rush. "She died repeatedly to save me and doesn't know if that was because I said help me and the pact somehow made her."

Tanya didn't wait for a response this time.

She adjusted the boards in her arms and gave a shallow nod like she was setting a weight down beside her. "Anyway. That's the shape of it."

They reached the edge of the road again, and she stepped up onto the curb, glancing toward the shopfront. "Think that's enough lumber for a first trip."

Olena blinked, visibly filing away her own thoughts. "Yes. Probably can do most of this floor with this."

Boris tilted his head but didn't push.

Tanya glanced between them, then let the corner of her mouth lift. "So. Tattoos. I owe you both."

That snapped the mood like kindling.

Olena lit up, slapping Boris on the shoulder. "Yes! I have many ideas. Some tasteful. Some not. All very powerful."

"I've put some thought in as well," Boris said mildly, shifting his grip on the planks. "I would like something timeless. Perhaps a wren. Or a Kraken."

"A Kraken is not timeless," Tanya muttered, but her tone was softening.

"Timeless in the apocalypse perhaps," Boris replied. That's when Tanya realised he was joking.

Tanya rolled her eyes, walking a little faster now toward the parlour. "You both better have serious ideas ready to go. I'm not freestyling tentacles."

"You say this," Olena said with a grin, "but by end of day you will have designed me a flying drone with fangs and tiny heels."

"I hate that I believe you."

They disappeared through the broken doorway and into the half-lit space beyond. The boards thumped to the floor, the dust rose, and the subject stayed changed. Not because it didn't matter, but because Tanya realised that her processing what happened with Ishita had turned into picking at a scab.

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