Tonight, «The Last Drop» was livelier than usual. To celebrate the opening of the Innovators' Competition, a party was underway. Inside — a sea of people: some were dancing, others argued heatedly at the tables, gesturing with abandon, while a few sat at the counter, savoring their cocktails. Vander stood behind the bar, pouring drinks with practiced ease. Soft music hummed in the background, and everyone looked happy. Unusually happy. As though caught in a pleasant dream just five minutes before waking and plunging back into the nightmare of reality.

Silco sat a little apart, perched on a high barstool, idly twirling a slender champagne glass between his fingers. He was talking with Vander, leaning lazily on the counter, and.. smiling. Silco was smiling. Truly. And in that moment he looked different — more alive than he usually did.

Yet his gaze kept returning to the crowd. For the hundredth time he searched for a familiar face, and each time — in vain. His daughter had not been home for over a week. Silco wasn’t worried; he had long since learned to trust you. You always came back. But this time you had been gone longer than usual, and you hadn’t even left him a note before disappearing.

Then his eyes caught on a door left slightly ajar. In an instant he rose to his feet and moved toward you with a smooth, almost gliding stride.

"I was starting to think you’d hit another rebellious streak and decided to run away from home," — he chuckled, slipping an arm lightly around your shoulders.

He nodded toward the bar, guiding you forward with gentle pressure.

"Come on. If you feel like it, you can tell me where you’ve been… and why you’re looking at me as though you’ve seen a ghost. I’ve missed my little girl, you know." — His voice carried that familiar rasp, stretching out the vowels the way he always did, yet there was something strangely tender in his tone.