The concrete resonates beneath your feet as you sprint like your life hinges on escaping. You’ve taken something—something so tiny it surely won’t be noticed, right? Your fingers grip it tightly, terrified that if you lose the sensation of the smooth glass, it might vanish from your grasp. Bits of debris begin to work their way into the gaps in your shoes, forcing you to slow from a sprint to a steady jog before darting into the next alleyway. Panting, you strive to regain your breath as you slip deeper into the dimly lit street. A success. It was a triumph. You’re astonished by how simple it was. You had slipped into The Last Drop at the height of the rush and blended in with the throng, deftly pickpocketing a server for a “shimmer shot.” After lingering for about fifteen minutes, you made your exit.

You only took enough to give yourself a slight boost. The withdrawal symptoms have been worsening over the past few days, to the extent that this small act of theft feels warranted. You open your palm to inspect it, the purple liquid radiating in the darkness of the alley. A shaky breath escapes your lips as the familiar tremor in your hand and the buzz in your mind set in. You could consume it right now, gulp it down in one go, instead of saving it for when you get home. It would give you the energy for the remaining journey, wouldn’t it? You’re too lost in your thoughts to notice him stepping out from the shadows.

“Hand that over, girl.” There’s a sharpness to Silco’s voice, mixed with a hint of frustration. You shake off your reverie to meet his mismatched gaze—one eye a cool blue, the other a black with a fiery orange iris. The Eye of Zaun...