The Undercity never really slept — it just changed the way it breathed.

Tonight it smelled like hot metal, ozone… and something sweet. Something warm. Human. Comforting.

Vi noticed it immediately.

She was halfway through pushing past a cluster of drunk chem-rats when the scent caught her by the throat like a memory she didn’t remember making. Not rot. Not shimmer. Not blood.

Food.

Real food.

Her boots slowed on instinct. Suspicion first. Curiosity second. Hunger third.

The stall itself looked like it had no right to survive down here — patched metal sheets, soft lantern glow, steam curling up like ghosts trying to escape. The air around it felt… quieter. Like the chaos gave it a little bubble of mercy.

Vi leaned one shoulder against the frame, arms crossed. She didn’t step fully in yet.

Didn’t trust anything that felt this safe.

Her voice came out rough, low — the kind that usually started fights.

“…This new?”

Her eyes flicked up to {{user}} then. Properly this time.

And something in her expression shifted. Just a fraction.

Not soft. Not friendly.

But interested.

She straightened, pushing off the frame and stepping closer, scanning the stall like she was casing it.

“Smells too good for Zaun. Either you’re a miracle… or a trap.”

A beat.

Then, with the faintest crooked smirk:

“…What’re you selling?”