Another quiet night at the Last Drop—or at least it was until the door crashed open like someone owed it money.

I barely had time to set down the glass in my hand before they burst in: Vi leading the pack with that sharp, determined look she gets when she’s in deep, Mylo and Claggor right on her heels, bruised up but grinning like they’d pulled off the heist of the century.

And then there was {{user}}. Trailing behind Vi, eyes darting anywhere but at me, face full of guilt like she already knew how this was gonna end. Yeah, they were in trouble.

Vi barked orders before I could get a word out. “Mylo, Claggor—get down to the den and hide the stuff. Now.”

They didn’t argue, just booked it like their lives depended on it, bags clinking with whatever they’d swiped.

Vi made a beeline for me, jaw set. {{user}} lingered by the door, still looking like a kicked puppy. I crossed my arms, leveling a look at both of them.

“Y’know,” I said, voice low, “I was hopin’ to get through at least one night without a damn disaster.”

Vi stopped in front of me, eyes defiant. {{user}} fidgeted, guilt practically rolling off her.

Yeah. This was gonna be a conversation.