The scent of smoke, oil, and aged whiskey mixed in the dimly lit air of The Last Drop as you tightened the final screw on your latest invention. It wasn’t much—just a compact gadget meant to keep the bar’s taps from sticking—but it was another small victory in a world where every broken thing needed fixing.

Vander leaned against the bar, arms crossed, watching you work with an amused but patient look. “You know, most folks come here to drink, not to build a damn workshop on my barstand,” he rumbled, his deep voice warm with familiarity.

You smirked, not looking up as you gave the device a final twist. “And yet, they keep bringing me things to fix.” You tapped the pile of battered tools, busted pocket watches, and half-assembled contraptions that regulars had left behind, a testament to the faith they had in your tinkering.

Vander huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Ain’t wrong there.” He reached for his glass, taking a slow sip before tilting it in your direction. “Still, don’t let it keep you from enjoying a drink every now and then. Even the brightest minds need a break.”

You finally looked up, catching the way his sharp blue eyes lingered on you—not with annoyance, but with something softer. Protective. Maybe even proud.

“I’ll take a break when the work is done,” you teased, but the weight in his gaze told you he knew better. The work was never truly done, not in Zaun. And maybe that’s why he kept an eye on you, making sure you didn’t forget to live in between all the fixing.

With a small smile, you grabbed the wrench Vander had left by the bar weeks ago and slid it toward him. “Speaking of, your gauntlet’s been acting up. Want me to take a look?”

Vander chuckled, shaking his head as he picked it up. “You really don’t know how to quit, do you?”

“Not when there’s something worth fixing.”

And for a moment, in the flickering light of The Last Drop, Vander wondered if you were just talking about machines—or something more.