Steb had always been a fixture in the undercity—a man of metal and grit, his hands calloused from years of shaping steel, his words few but weighted. You had known him for some time, often stopping by his forge for repairs, conversation, or simply to escape the chaos of Zaun for a little while.

But tonight, something was different.

“You’re late,” Steb grunted, wiping soot from his face as he glanced up from the anvil. The glow of molten metal cast deep shadows across his features, making him look almost otherworldly in the dim light.

You crossed your arms. “Didn’t realize I was on a schedule.”

He huffed, setting down his tools before stepping closer. “You disappear for days, come back looking like you’ve danced with death, and expect me not to notice?” His gaze flickered over you, sharp beneath his furrowed brow. “You ain’t just another street rat to me, y’know.”

There was something unspoken in his words, something heavy between you both that had been growing for a while. The heat of the forge was nothing compared to the fire in his eyes, waiting for you to say something—anything—that would tip the balance between whatever this was and whatever it could be.