8. The Silent Partner

Deacon, disguised as a Diamond City Security guard, couldn’t help but smile as Myra blew past him, tearing through the market at breakneck speed. He’d hardly noticed it in Goodneighbor, his investigation taking precedence, but the past few months had changed Myra from the weak, frozen vault-dweller he had stumbled upon and rescued into a force to be reckoned with.

Myra’s pale skin had tanned like a peach ripening in the sun, pale scars from scrapes and skirmishes creating a map of experience on her face. The vault-dweller’s signature flannel was now accentuated by mismatched pieces of leather armor. Her pistol still hung at her hip, but it was now joined by a large laser rifle slung across her back, as well as a variety of knives tucked into her belt and boots. She no longer looked like a fragile pre-war housewife. She looked like a warrior.

Deacon’s smile soured when Paladin Danse stomped past a few moments later, fighting to keep up with Myra as she rounded second base. The soldier seemed almost relaxed, his dark eyes shining with something akin to mirth in spite of the scowl he wore like a badge of honor.

“Slow down, Larimer!” the Paladin exclaimed.

“And...let you...catch me?” Myra huffed with a cheeky grin. “Not...on your...life!”

Deacon lost sight of them as they veered past the town’s mutfruit farm and turned down Third Street. He slowly walked back towards the gates, curious to see how Myra’s run would pan out. He’d run the bases himself once, a lifetime ago. The look on Barbara’s face when he’d…

Myra reappeared in his vision, breathless as she crossed home plate, Danse only inches behind her. She collapsed to the ground, laughing. “That was awesome!” she exclaimed.

Danse frowned down at her. “Come on, soldier. You’re causing a scene.”

“You’re just upset that I beat you,” she wheezed.

The Paladin scoffed. “Hardly. I’d like to see you try that again with 300 pounds of metal strapped to you.”

“Oh yeah? Well, challenge accepted. But not today.”

Danse nodded, helping her up with a warm smile. “Affirmative. Today, we need to go speak to that detective.”

Myra’s face fell. “Yeah. I guess we do. But can we please swing by a few of the shops first? We’re running low on stimpacks, and I’d like to sell some of the extra gear we’re carrying.”

The Paladin thought for a moment. “Very well,” he said finally. “I suppose we can wait just a little longer.”

As they talked, Deacon quietly vanished into the crowd, making his way carefully towards Valentine’s Detective Agency. He had to admit, he was impressed. Was there anyone Myra couldn’t win over? From the looks of things, Paladin Danse was almost as charmed by her as Preston had been, and the dedicated soldier seemed like a much harder person to win over. How long would it be before Myra was ruling the whole damn Commonwealth with that infectious smile of hers?

Myra was adapting -- no, thriving -- and Deacon wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. He’d seen what the Commonwealth could do to good people. The place was a meat grinder, chewing up the kind and compassionate and spitting them out raw, bloody, and jaded. While a certain amount of toughening-up was important if one wanted to stay alive in the wasteland, he’d seen too many people completely consumed by their drive to survive, and it saddened him to think that the same thing could happen to Myra. She was special, a radiant light in a dark world. What was the point in her survival if she lost her soul along the way?

Furthermore, Deacon was concerned that the Brotherhood’s influence on her might be too much for even his ample charm to break. If Myra was going to be of any use to the Railroad, he needed to do something. And he needed to do it quickly. It was time to enact the first phase of his plan.

He slipped into an alley, trading in his guard outfit for one of his scavver disguises. When he emerged, he meandered casually down Third Street towards the detective agency, looking around for an excuse to be there. Andy Gaines, one of the town’s maintenance workers, knelt by a corner of the wall with a portable blowtorch, trying to repair the pitted metal. Deacon smiled. Andy was a tourist, one of the Railroad’s many informants in the Commonwealth. In other words, he would more than likely be willing to play along with whatever scheme Deacon cooked up.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Deacon asked casually.

Andy looked up at him briefly before returning to his work. “Do I know you, scavver?”

“That depends. Do you have a geiger counter?”

“Mine is in the shop,” the man muttered, replying with the appropriate countersign. “So you’re from the Railroad. I should have known. You probably shouldn’t be seen around town. You know the Institute’s got eyes here.”

Deacon rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Well, yeah. Where don’t they? Look, I could use an assist, if you’re up for it. Nothing big, just recruitment stuff.”

“Sure. I mean, I’ve got a fair bit of work to do here. I wouldn’t mind a casual conversation while I do it.”

Deacon grinned. “Good man. But I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that. There’s a Brotherhood of Steel Paladin in play. I need to get him out of the way, or we risk exposing the whole operation.”

Andy nodded. “Hey, I’ve got you covered.” He knocked twice on the wall, and Deacon heard movement within. A moment later, a small, bedraggled girl pulled herself around the corner, her brown eyes bright with curiosity as she noticed Deacon.

“Yes, dad?” the child asked.

“Rachel, my friend here needs a distraction. Do you think you can be a brave girl and help us like you did before?”

She nodded, a bright grin lighting up her round face. “Can I keep what I take?” she asked.

“Only if you don’t get caught. Otherwise your uncle Danny will be very upset with you.”

Deacon glanced from Andy to his daughter in concern. “You’re really willing to put her at risk like that?”

Andy nodded. “She’s a smart kid. It’s not like we’ve never done this before.” He turned to the child. “Ok, now. You go wait around the corner, and when you hear daddy say ‘I wish we’d get more rain,’ it’s your turn, ok?”

The girl nodded, slinking off down the narrow street.

Andy turned his attention back to Deacon. “I heard a rumor that Takahashi recently changed the recipe for his Power Noodles. People say they don’t taste as good as they used to.”

Deacon smiled slightly. “Really? That’s a shame. I really enjoyed them.”

The two gabbed on, covering about the state of the wall, prices of brahmin meat, and other safe but boring topics as Deacon waited for Myra to show up.

Finally, he caught sight of her, skin still slightly flushed from her turn around the bases, hair windblown and tangled as she furiously tried to brush it out of her face with one hand. Danse walked a few steps behind her, his watchful brown eyes scanning for threats.

Deacon looked towards Andy, clearing his throat quietly. “Man, I can’t get enough of all this sunshine,” he said with a yawn. “It’s beautiful out. Makes you just want to take a long nap, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Andy replied. “All this sun’s bad for the crops. I wish we’d get more rain.”

“Well, don’t plants need both? At least, that’s my understanding.”

As they continued debating the matter, Deacon caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye as Rachel ran past, swiping Myra’s pack from her shoulder and taking off through the winding streets.

“Hey!” yelled Danse, “Get back here!”

“Did that really just happen?” asked Myra, her eyes wide. “Danse, I...I need that back. There’s things in there I can’t replace!”

“Wait here,” Danse replied. “I’ll get your belongings back, I promise.” He stomped off after the girl, scowling.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Deacon said under his breath.

Myra sighed, glancing around for a moment before finding an empty patch of wall to lean on. “Well, I guess Boston hasn’t changed that much after all,” she muttered. “Damn pickpockets.”

As she sulked, Deacon turned back to his companion. The hook was set. All they needed to do now was reel her in. Easy as lying. “Hey, you hear about the Railroad?” he asked the repairman.

“You mean that secret organization that supposedly protects synths?” muttered his gruff companion, rolling his eyes as he returned to his repairs on the side of the building. “Aren’t they a myth?”

“I dunno, man. My friend’s cousin says he found their headquarters or something. Apparently they’re the real deal.”

Andy laughed. “Yeah, and next you’ll tell me the West Stands are haunted.”

“I’m serious. He even told me they have some sort of code sign: if you want to find the Railroad, follow the Freedom Trail.”

Deacon glanced up at Myra, but she didn’t even look his way as she stared off in the direction Danse had gone, her lips parted slightly. The joy he’d seen on her face earlier had evaporated, leaving behind a hollow shell. Something more than the theft had happened, he realized. Something that he had not been party to.

After what felt like ages, Danse reappeared, Myra’s pack in his hand. The Paladin offered it to her with an apologetic smile. “Sorry I took so long. That street rat abandoned your bag on the other side of town and vanished. I looked for her, but she knows this city far better than I do. I’m sorry.”

“That’s ok, Danse,” Myra replied. “You got it back. That’s what matters. Thank you.”

“I checked to see if anything was missing,” the Paladin continued. “Besides that gold watch you found last week and a few other small items, I believe that everything is where it should be.”

Myra smiled. “Well, I have to admit, that took guts. I think the kid deserves whatever she took, don’t you?”

Danse stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide. “You...what? She stole from you. Most people would want justice for that.”

“Hey, all I’m saying is she was desperate,” replied Myra. “That means she probably needed what she took more than I did. I think we can leave it at that.”

Danse smiled gently at her. “Larimer, you really are an unusual woman.”

“And proud,” she replied with a grin. “Now, since you so graciously returned my bag to me, I suppose I can repay the favor by not dragging my feet. Let’s…” she sighed softly.

“Oh, come on, let’s go see the detective.”

“Outstanding,” the Paladin replied, and the two of them continued towards Valentine’s office. Danse held the door open for Myra, gesturing her inside.

Deacon turned back to his companion with a heavy sigh. “Well, I’m pretty sure that was a bust. Thanks for trying, though.”

Andy nodded. “Any time. You guys saved my sister’s life when everyone else in town tried to kill her. It’s the least I can do.”

“Here’s a little something for your kid, too,” the spy added, handing the repairman his kazoo. “She more than earned it.”

Andy smiled. “Rachel will love this! Thank you.”

Deacon nodded in reply before continuing down the narrow street back towards the noodle stand. The stall was well-situated in the heart of the Diamond City Market, providing an excellent vantage point in several directions. Myra would not leave the city without him knowing about it, so long as he paid attention.

A few minutes later, Deacon watched as Myra appeared from around the corner, her disappointment palpable as she shuffled towards the town gate once more. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, trying to keep her composure.

“So now we have to go back the way we came,” Myra sighed to her companion. “Great. I knew getting help wouldn’t be that easy.”

Danse smiled grimly, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, soldier. We’ll find this Valentine, and he’ll be able to help us. If not, we will find another way to locate your son. We’re not going to give up until you know the truth, I promise.”

Myra stiffened at the contact, her eyes brimming with tears. “I hope you’re right, Danse. I just hope we’re not too late.”

Deacon wondered what would happen if they did find Nick Valentine. He was reasonably sure that Danse wouldn’t take the detective’s identity well. Perhaps the man’s own prejudices would do Deacon’s work for him and get the soldier out of his way. But he was getting ahead of himself. First, he needed to find out exactly where Myra and the Paladin were headed.

The spy slipped quietly into the detective agency as they walked away, easing the door closed behind him gently. The detective’s secretary, a bright-eyed young woman named Ellie Perkins, eyed him warily.

“I’m sorry, but the office is closed,” she said sternly.

“So I’ve heard,” Deacon replied. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to bother you. I was just wondering if you could tell me what you told the woman who just left.”

Ellie frowned. “You’re not a raider planning on ambushing her or anything, right? Nick always warned me not to give too much information away.”

Deacon flashed a charming smile at her. “I promise, I’m not up to anything of the sort. See, Myra’s a...my...well, she’s very special to me. I know she’s been having a hard time coming to terms with her husband’s death, and I...I’m worried about her. I just want to make sure she’s not going to get herself hurt. I don’t know if you’ve ever had to watch someone you care about put themselves in harm’s way like that, but if you have, you know why I want to help her.”

The secretary’s face softened, a bright glow in her eyes. “That’s...that’s incredibly kind of you. And I know exactly what you mean. If I could have talked Nick out of...oh, hell. They’re headed for Park Street Station if you wanted to meet her along the way.”

He couldn’t believe that angle had actually worked. “Thank you!” he replied eagerly, shaking the woman’s hand. “You’ve helped me a lot, Miss! I won’t ever forget it!”

“Good luck!” she replied, smiling back at him. “Bring her home safe, ok?”

Once he was out of the secretary’s sight, Deacon grimaced. It wasn’t that he minded lying, exactly. After all, misrepresenting the truth in order to get information was his life’s work. More than that, his lies were all he had left. There was nothing else in his life that he could really call his own. But he’d played with a more open hand than he normally did when he’d talked to Ellie, skirting the line between truth and fiction a little too well.

The core of every good lie, in his experience, was a kernel of truth, some detail or nuance that was so authentic that it gave the one weaving the story the same degree of trustworthiness. The best lies, told by the best liars, were so convincing that even the person weaving the story believed that they were true. And Deacon was an excellent liar, really in a class of his own. What made him special was that he was always able to believe his own lies, no matter how far-fetched. His sincerity was his greatest weapon, and his greatest enemy.

Telling lies so colored by the truth was a dangerous game, especially when the pieces on the board were all so very precious. And the more true the lies were, the harder it was to avoid getting caught up in their web. He had to be careful, and his conversation with Ellie had not been careful.

Deacon tried to ignore the memory of Barbara’s homemade floral perfume as he almost caught a hint of it in the air. Even now, after all this time, he could still smell it, a ghost of his memories hanging about him like the faintest hint of smoke on a winter’s day. He shook his head. It wasn’t real. Nothing that really mattered was part of this world anymore. He had to stay focused on his mission. He could let the guilt set in again later, when he stopped by for his monthly visit to The Memory Den. He didn’t need the memory loungers to remind him of all he’d lost, but at least in the twisting corridors of his memories, none of that heartache had come to pass yet. He could still pretend to be a simple farmer, and the woman he loved would still be by his side.

After doing his best to set aside his melancholy, Deacon headed for the town gate. He’d given them a good head start, but now that he knew where Myra and Danse were heading, he’d be able to track them fairly easily. It didn’t take long for him to catch up with the pair.

Deacon did his best to stay out of sight, but still tried to stay close enough to catch snippets of their conversation. If he’d learned anything in his long career as the Railroad’s intel guy, it was that any piece of information he could gather might prove useful in the long run. He couldn’t count the number of times his life or the lives of other Railroad agents had been saved by overhearing something as mundane as someone’s shopping list.

“...wondering if I could get your advice,” Deacon heard Myra say to the Paladin. The spy inched nearer.

“Of course, soldier,” Danse replied. “What’s troubling you?”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” Myra protested. “I’m fine. Well, as fine as can be expected, given the circumstances. I was just wondering what you think I should do about Knight Rhys.”

The Paladin frowned at her. “Why are you asking about Rhys all of a sudden?”

“It’s been bothering me, ever since we left the station. I know it probably seems silly, but if we’re going to be working together, I suppose I was wondering if you had any idea how I can make him less...I don’t know, mad at me for existing, or whatever his problem is?”

Danse sighed. “First of all, perhaps the two of you would get along better if you didn’t assume he was out to get you. I’ve worked with Knight Rhys for years. He’s a good, fair man.”

“Then what’s his problem with me?” Myra asked.

“I’m not entirely sure. Have you thought about asking him yourself?”

She snorted. “What, and give him another excuse to yell at me?”

Danse shook his head. “I won’t pretend that I understand Knight Rhys, but I think you should give him a chance. Maybe he’ll surprise you. I think that he might just be confused by you, and things that confuse him make him upset.”

“What’s confusing about me?” Myra asked. “I’m as normal as they come.”

The Paladin stared at her in disbelief. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“What are you talking about, Danse?”

“You’re… um… how to put this…” he muttered, lost in thought for a moment. “You’re a very intense and challenging person. I can certainly understand why a man like Rhys might find that confusing, or even threatening.”

Myra stopped walking, her eyes meeting Danse’s. “Tell me, Paladin. Do you feel that way too?”

“I…” he began, trailing off as his gaze dodged hers, a faint blush staining his cheeks. “I guess I haven’t given it much thought. I’m just speculating, that’s all. If you want to know what Knight Rhys thinks about you, you really ought to ask him yourself.”

“Uhuh,” muttered Myra, smiling slightly as she resumed her walk. Danse trailed behind, watching her for a moment before following.

Deacon smirked as Myra and Danse continued on their way. That was definitely an interesting conversation. It was obvious that neither Myra nor Danse were completely comfortable with each other yet, and that was something Deacon could use to his advantage. There was still time for him to drive a wedge between them and save Myra from the Brotherhood’s influence. He just had to make the right move at the right time.

Myra hesitated as she and Danse entered the area around the Swan Pond, her eyes distant as she glanced around the small park. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as though she were walking through a dream, or… living a memory. Deacon knew that trance-like look well. Myra may have been standing in 2287, but her mind had traveled centuries back to a time before her world had ended. She walked calmly towards the edge of the pond, a ghost of a smile gracing her face.

Deacon bit his tongue, forcing himself to remain silent. He wanted desperately to warn her to stay away from the water’s edge, to slowly back away before she could awaken the terror within. However, to do so would expose him, undoing all his preparation and hard work. He had no choice but to watch from a distance, his sniper rifle readied at a large mass of debris in the center of the pond.

“What are you doing, soldier?” he heard Danse ask, concern coloring the Paladin’s gravelly voice.

Myra turned to look at Danse, smiling wistfully at him. “Nate and I used to come here, before the war. I swear the pond was bigger then. On summer evenings, when the weather was right, bands would play in that gazebo over there, and people would come and ride the swan boats and dance on the shore.”

Danse smiled at her softly. “That sounds ideal, Larimer.”

Deacon had to agree. He tried to imagine what Boston Common must have been like before the war, full of happy families and picnics, businessmen and statesmen going about their business, unaware of how quickly everything could be snatched away from them. What was it like, living in a world without constant radiation, a land of green trees and cleansing rain? He imagined that such a world would be a place of exquisite boredom. Would he have thrived there?

“It was pretty wonderful,” Myra replied. “I remember, Nate...he never liked being out on the water. I suppose that’s why he didn’t join the Navy. On our fourth date, we rented one of the boats. He was terrified the entire time, gripping the sides of the boat with white knuckles and probably hoping I wouldn’t notice. But he wanted to make me happy, and so he pretended he wasn’t scared out of his mind. It was...it was one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me. I never asked him to take me boating again. Instead, we would sit on the edge of the water and skip stones.”

She reached down, grasping something from the dirt, brushing it off in her hands. Deacon’s stomach clenched, his daydream forgotten. She couldn’t seriously be considering…

Myra’s arm stretched behind her as she twisted at the hip, slinging a palm-sized stone towards the water. The spy watched in horror as the rock skipped cleanly across the ruined pond, heading directly towards the center. He winced as he heard the stone connect with the debris pile.

“That was quite impressive, soldier,” he heard Danse say. “Perhaps someday you’ll teach--”

The man’s words were cut off by a loud splashing, a deep bestial roar rending the peaceful scene. The debris pile shuddered and creaked as it rose from the pond, a massive green hand reaching from the water towards Myra and Danse.

“Behemoth!” yelled Danse, readying his laser rifle. “Larimer, get to cover immediately!”

“What about you?” she cried.

“I’m right behind you! Go, now!”

The Paladin fired round after round into the giant Super Mutant, doing his best to draw the monster’s attention and allow Myra time to escape. The young woman fled towards Park Street Station, desperately scanning the area with her eyes, presumably looking for adequate cover. She darted into the gazebo, heaving her pack down next to her as she rummaged inside.

“Damn it, Danse! Where did you put my grenades?” she bellowed.

“They’re in my pack!” he shouted in reply. “Stay there, and cover me!”

The Behemoth hoisted a large, jagged rock from the pond, readying it in his massive hands as it glared at Danse. The creature cried out in rage, drawing its arm back to hurl the car-sized projectile at the Paladin.

Time froze for a moment as Deacon inhaled deeply, training his rifle at the Behemoth’s hand. His mind raced as he considered his options. On the one hand, he was under no obligation to help the Paladin. He could let Danse be crushed, possibly even killed. It would be in the Railroad’s best interest for him to not intervene, after all, and it would make it far easier for him to recruit Myra if the soldier were out of the picture. The man was an enemy to synth-kind and to all those who helped them.

However, there was something about the situation that gave Deacon pause. Looking back, he could never be entirely certain what it was that compelled him to intervene. It might have been concern for Myra’s well-being if the creature came for her next. Maybe it was the sheer bravery and gall the Paladin showed in that moment as he stared death in the face defiantly. It could have even been as simple as Myra’s gentle smile as she reflected on long-distant summers, and Deacon’s desire not to ruin another happy memory for her. There were so very few of those left in the world.

Deacon exhaled slowly as he squeezed the trigger, cursing himself under his breath as the bullet found its mark. The Behemoth roared in anguish as the flesh of his thick, green thumb ruptured in bright spurts of blood. It dropped the massive boulder with a splash that sent a circular tidal wave rushing towards the pond’s shores, covering Danse with a deluge of irradiated, filthy water.

The Paladin growled in disgust, wiping water from his eyes with one hand as he trained his rifle at the gargantuan monster once more. The beast swung down with his other arm, knocking Danse from his feet and into the side of a large dead tree. The soldier groaned in pain, dropping to one knee as he fell.

“Danse!” cried Myra from the gazebo as she laid down cover fire for her companion, “Are you ok?”

“I’ll live, soldier!” he hissed. “Aim for the eyes, if you can! Let’s take this bastard down! Ad Victoriam!”

“Ad Victoriam, sir!” she shouted in reply, correcting her aim.

The Behemoth roared as bolts of red laser fire hit him from two directions, burning his face. Within the course of a few minutes, the creature wobbled and fell, one final groan of agony wheezing from his body as he succumbed to his injuries.

Myra ran to Danse’s side, her pack forgotten. Her eyes burned with righteous indignation as she stood over him. “Are you fucking kidding me, Danse? What happened to being right behind me? Don’t you ever do that to me again! You could have been killed!”

“Fortunately, I was wearing power armor,” he replied, using the trunk of the tree to hoist himself back to his feet, “and someone needed to draw his attention. I made a calculated choice, and it paid off. You and I both survived.”

“That’s not the point, Danse! How could you put yourself in harm’s way like that?”

“I would gladly spill my own blood if it meant that my brothers and sisters were safe, soldier. I had hoped that you’d understand that by now. If you refuse to wear adequate protective gear, I --”

“Don’t you dare put this on me! I’m not the one with a fucking martyr complex! Get over yourself, Paladin. You’re no good to me dead.”

“I can’t believe that after…”

Deacon crept towards the gazebo as Danse and Myra argued, their voices falling out of range. He almost felt bad for Danse, being on the receiving end of the young woman’s anger. Still, the Railroad agent couldn't’ have asked for a better opportunity. Deacon sneaked a recruitment holotape as well as one of Tinker Tom’s bugs into Myra’s bag before slinking back into the overgrown hedges around the park.

Eventually, Myra sighed, throwing her arms as far around Danse’s torso as she could manage, her fingers gripping the battered metal tight. He hesitated for a moment, staring down at her with wide eyes. Then he wrapped his arms gently around her, letting her settle against him.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you, sir,” Myra said, her voice hoarse from her outburst. “I’m just glad you’re ok. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d died because I made a stupid mistake.”

“I should have realized,” Danse replied. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled away from him, blushing slightly as she turned away. “Well, I guess we should get to the station, huh? Though after all that, I think a surprise attack is out of the question.”

“Larimer, I…” Danse started to say, his words failing him as she turned back to look at him. He cleared his throat. “You’re right. Let’s get moving before any other threats get drawn by the noise.”

Deacon rolled his eyes as the two of them walked towards the station. The gap he’d noticed between them seemed to be closing, and swiftly. One thing was for certain, next time he followed the two of them, he was going to bring popcorn.

He waited for a long while after Myra and Danse descended into Park Street Station before moving out of cover. Hopefully, Myra would find and listen to the holotape without Danse nearby, and she’d be intrigued enough to find her way to HQ. It wasn’t the most precise plan, but his decision to help the Paladin had left Deacon with limited options.

Just to be on the safe side, Deacon activated the protectron near the back side of Park Street Station. The robot had been programmed to draw attention to the Freedom Trail, the historic path that would lead interested parties straight to HQ, if they knew the right code.

“It’s all up to you, Caboose,” he muttered as the yellow, cone-headed robot hissed out of its charging pod and began patrolling the area, looking for visitors to greet.

Something told him this latest plan wasn’t going to work either. Myra was too focused on -- or perhaps too distracted by -- her mission to notice Deacon’s subtle attempts to intrigue her. He needed to be more direct, but he couldn’t approach her with Paladin Danse always by her side.

The best he could hope for was that his bug wasn’t detected and he’d be able to keep an even closer eye on Myra’s activities until he had a chance to recruit her directly. The Paladin couldn’t really be around her every hour of every day. If Deacon got lucky, he’d find the window he needed. Otherwise...well, it wasn’t helpful to dwell on that.

With a final glance back at the station, Deacon tightened the straps on his backpack, heading northwest. It was a long walk to Stanwix, and the sun was already dipping below the horizon, the cityscape devouring its light with crooked concrete teeth.