The workshop was a mess of scattered tools, wires, and half-finished projects. Soren was in the middle of it all, perched on a stool, his back to the door as he worked on something. Sparks flew, and the low hum of machinery filled the air.

You stepped inside, the door creaking slightly. His head snapped up at the sound, and when he saw you, a grin spread across his face—sharp, cocky, and unmistakably him.

“Hey,” he said, leaning back on the stool, spinning the strange metal device in his hand. “Just in time. I was about to make history.”

You raised an eyebrow, staying quiet as you crossed the room. His grin didn’t falter. It never did.

“Check this out,” he said, holding up the device. “Compact, precise, and, if I’m right, it’ll cause a hell of a distraction.” He turned it over in his hands, proud of his handiwork. “A smoke bomb—nothing fancy. But effective. Functional chaos.”

You glanced at the mess on the workbench and then back at him, unimpressed.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said, laughing under his breath. “You’ll see. This thing’s a masterpiece.” He pressed a button on the side before you could stop him.

The device hissed, then popped, filling the room with thick smoke. Soren waved a hand in front of his face, coughing slightly as the smoke started to clear. When he saw the way you were staring at him—arms crossed, completely unamused—he shrugged with a crooked smirk.

“Okay, maybe it still needs some testing.”

You shook your head, stepping closer, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “But hey, you’re here, so it’s not a total failure.” His voice was quieter now, that cocky edge fading just enough to let something softer slip through.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The smoke settled, and the workshop fell into its usual quiet chaos. Then Soren stood, stuffing the faulty device into his pocket like it didn’t matter anymore.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the door. “I’ve got better ideas anyway. Let’s get out of here.”