The stench of rotting food and spilled shimmer was overwhelming as you crouched in the back alley of the Leaky Drop, your fingers numb from sifting through trash. The dim light of the streetlamp barely reached the corner where you huddled, your stomach growling loud enough to echo in the silence. You hadn’t eaten in days, and desperation had driven you here—Zaun’s underbelly, where no one cared if you were starving or worse.

You were so focused on tearing open a soggy, half-empty bag of scraps that you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until a shadow loomed over you. Your muscles tensed, heart pounding as you clutched the bag defensively, half-expecting some thug or enforcer to send you running.

Instead, it was a girl that looked roughly 16 years old, her crimson hair messy and uneven, her fists taped up and calloused like she was used to fighting. Her freckled face was scrunched in a mix of curiosity and pity as she crossed her arms, looking down at you.

“Hey,” she said, her voice gruff but not unkind. “What the hell are you doing out here?”