The air in the undercity was thick with smoke and the faint metallic tang of Zaun’s machinery. Powder trailed slightly behind Vi, her wide eyes darting to the glowing pipes and flickering lights of the streets.

“Do you think Vander’s mad?” she asked, her voice small, as her hands clutched a jingling pouch of scrap parts. Vi glanced back, her stride confident despite the unease bubbling under her surface. “He’ll get over it. We needed that stuff, Powder. We’ll fix things—just like always.” Claggor and Mylo followed close, their footsteps echoing off the cobblestones. “Yeah, ‘fix things,’” Mylo muttered, tossing a loose bolt into the air and catching it. “Unless those enforcers catch on. That last job was way too loud.”

“Better loud than empty-handed,” Claggor shot back, adjusting his bag. “We’ve got enough here to keep the lanes running for weeks.” Vi slowed as they approached the Last Drop, her gaze hardening. “Let me do the talking. Just stick to the story.” Powder’s voice piped up, hesitant. “What if Vander’s really mad this time?” Vi crouched slightly to meet her sister’s worried gaze. “Then we take the heat together. That’s what we do, Pow.” She ruffled her hair gently before straightening up. The door to the Last Drop creaked open, spilling warm light and muffled voices into the street. Vander’s silhouette loomed by the bar, his broad frame turned toward them. As the group stepped inside, the tension in the room thickened, each step feeling heavier. “You’ve got some explaining to do,” Vander said, his tone calm but firm, his gaze locking onto Vi.