Chapter 10: The Last Drop

The dim light of the Last Drop bar flickers erratically, casting jagged shadows across its rough wooden interior. Tarren stepped through the door, the faint creak of its hinges swallowed by the hum of subdued conversations and the occasional clink of glassware. His cloak was pulled tightly around him, hood shadowing his face. He moved deliberately, avoiding the gaze of patrons who were too lost in their own troubles to pay him much mind.

As he reached the counter, Vander glanced up from cleaning a glass. He immediately recognized the boy, despite the shroud of fabric attempting to obscure him.

"Well, well," Vander rumbled, his tone half-amused, half-chiding. "Look at you, playing at being a topsider. Cloak and all, like you're scared someone down here might see you."

Tarren sighed, lowering his hood. His youthful face, though familiar, seemed older somehow—worn by something Vander couldn't yet place. "It's not that," Tarren replied, sitting on one of the stools. "I've got valuables on me. Don't want to tempt anyone on my way here."

"Valuables, huh?" Vander mused, pouring a glass of something non-alcoholic and sliding it over to him. "Been a while, Tarren. Seven months, give or take. What brings you back?"

Instead of answering immediately, Tarren reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy pouch. Its contents clinked softly as he slid it across the counter. Vander raised an eyebrow and opened the pouch, revealing an assortment of gold coins.

"What's this?" Vander asked, his voice low.

"A thank-you," Tarren said simply. "Without you, I wouldn't be where I am today."

Vander frowned, his thick brows knitting together. He shoved the pouch back toward Tarren. "I don't want your money."

"And I don't want it either," Tarren countered, pushing it back toward him. "If you won't keep it, give it to someone who needs it."

For a moment, the two stared at each other in silence. Finally, Vander sighed, taking the pouch and tucking it behind the counter. "So… rich now, are you?"

Tarren shook his head, smiling faintly. "It's just part of my first paycheck."

Vander chuckled. "First paycheck, and you're already throwing gold around. Not bad." His tone sobered. "So, what's the real reason you're here? Just to hand me this?"

Tarren hesitated, his gaze dropping to the counter. His fingers traced the rim of his glass. "No. I… I need to ask you something."

Vander folded his arms, leaning against the counter. "Go on."

"Do you know someone named Singed?"

At the mention of the name, Vander's expression darkened. "What do you want with him?"

"I need to find him," Tarren said quietly.

"No," Vander said immediately, his tone firm. "You stay away from that man. He's dangerous."

"Why?" Tarren pressed. "Because he's dangerous, or because he works for Silco?"

Vander's jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a growl. "Both. He's a madman, Tarren. And if you think I'll let you study under him or whatever it is you're planning—"

"I'm not looking to study under him," Tarren interrupted. He pulled his cloak aside, revealing a revolver holstered at his side and an array of peculiar gadgets strapped to his belt.

Vander's eyes widened, then narrowed. "You planning to kill someone?"

Tarren didn't answer, instead taking a slow sip of his drink. The quiet stretched between them, thick with tension.

Finally, Tarren broke the silence. "Silco. That's who he works for, isn't it? Tell me, Vander. Do you want Silco dead?" He glanced up, his gaze piercing. "You were friends once. Isn't that right?"

Vander's fists clenched, his knuckles turning white against the counter. "What's happened to you, Tarren? What's got you asking these questions after all this time? If you think that I'll let you do something this stupid…"

Tarren shook his head. "It's not about me. It's about what's coming. I want to deal with the problem before it starts. Will you help me?"

"No," Vander said flatly. "That path's not for you."

Tarren's expression hardened. "You led the rebellion that killed my parents—and Vi and Powder's parents. I don't blame you for that. But what's happening now, what's going to happen if no one steps up, I do blame you for."

Vander's eyes flickered. "What are you talking about?"

"Silco," Tarren said. "Do you think he's been sitting idle all this time? Do you think he's been complacent since you tried to kill him?"

Vander's silence spoke volumes.

"How do you know all this?" Vander finally asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Tarren stood, his drink untouched. "There's a lot you don't know about me. I've been grateful to you and Benzo never asked too many questions when I was living here. I'm sure you've pieced something together in your mind."

He pulled his hood back, fastening it securely. "I'll find Singed on my own then. Thanks for the drink."

As Tarren turned to leave, Vander called after him. "Tarren!"

Tarren didn't look back.

The door creaked shut behind him, leaving Vander alone at the counter, the unfinished drink looking heavy in his eyes.