Chapter 17: Homecoming

The undercity was alive in its usual, grimy way. The streets were dim, the air damp and heavy with the scent of smoke and decay, but to Tarren, it still felt like home. Hooded and cloaked, he moved through the winding alleys with ease, blending into the flow of the crowd. When he reached Benzo's shop, the bell above the door jingled softly as he entered. It still looked the same as always, the broken standing clocks in the corner, the scrap piles in the shelves, and the neatly arranged counter.

Behind the counter itself, Benzo looked up from a pile of newly acquired scraps that came from the junkyard, his eyes narrowing beneath his spectacles. He didn't need to see the boy's face to know who it was.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Benzo drawled, leaning against the counter. "Thought you were too good for us these days, what with your fancy life topside."

Tarren chuckled, pulling back his hood to reveal his familiar, albeit more tired, face. "Good to see you too, old man."

Benzo took out a pouch from below the counter, before gesturing towards it. "Next time, don't leave a fortune lying around on the counter here like some idiot. At least hand it over properly."

"If I did that, you'd probably refuse it," Tarren said, a smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned casually against the counter. "Is Ekko around?"

"Over at Vander's," Benzo replied, his tone gruff.

"Good," Tarren murmured, straightening and turning toward the shelves of scrap. His eyes scanned the rows of rusted metal and spare parts.

Benzo kept a close watch, crossing his arms. "Vander told me what you've been up to," he said after a moment.

Tarren paused, tilting his head but not turning. "What exactly did he say?"

"That you're doing things no kid your age should be doing."

Tarren finally turned back, holding a small, pristine piece of metal in his hand. His expression was calm. "I did what adults like you and Vander were too hesitant to do."

Benzo snorted. "You and your fancy words…" 

Tarren examined the metal and placed it on the counter. "You got more of this? Same material."

Benzo eyed the piece critically. "Plenty of scraps like that lying around."

"Not scraps," Tarren corrected, shaking his head. "The material. I need it."

Benzo huffed, throwing up his hands. "How am I supposed to know what material it is? I'm not a damn metal sniffer."

Tarren sighed, slipping the piece into his bag. "Never mind."

Benzo wasn't done, leaning closer to the boy with a serious face. "Silco's hunting you, you know."

Tarren leaned against the counter, unconcerned. "Silco's hunting whoever disrupted his operations. Unless someone snitched, he doesn't know it's me."

Benzo rubbed his temples in frustration. "You've changed. Going topside's made you reckless."

A small, knowing smile crossed Tarren's face. "I'm just trying to protect you all."

"Protect us? You're giving me more headaches than protection, boy."

Tarren chuckled softly, stepping around the counter to pull Benzo into a brief, firm hug. "See you around, Benzo."

Before Benzo could reply, Tarren slung his bag over his shoulder, placed a gold coin on the counter, and headed for the door.

"Where are you going now?" Benzo called after him.

"To Vander's," Tarren replied, waving a hand as he stepped out into the street.

—

The Last Drop was unusually quiet, the bar's usual chaos replaced by a hollow stillness. It was the middle of the afternoon, and most of the undercity's denizens were either toiling away in their grueling jobs or resting before the night's revelry. Behind the bar, Vander stood washing dishes, his broad frame hunched over the sink.

The sound of the door is louder in this quiet environment, and Vander looked up due to it. His frown deepened instantly. Again, he didn't need to see the boy's face to recognize him.

"Back already?" Vander grumbled, setting a glass aside.

Tarren unhooded himself, offering a casual smile. "Hello to you too. Is Ekko downstairs?"

"They're all downstairs," Vander replied curtly, motioning toward the staircase in the corner.

"Thanks." Tarren made his way toward the stairs, but Vander's voice stopped him.

"Wait."

Tarren turned, sighing as he met Vander's stern gaze.

"Sit down," Vander ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You and I need to talk about what you did last time you were here."

Instead of complying, Tarren reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of pinkish-purple liquid. Without a word, he tossed it to Vander, who caught it instinctively.

"What is this?" Vander demanded, holding the vial up to the light.

"Try it on a rat or something, force it to drink it." Tarren said. "You'll figure it out."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"It's courtesy of the scientist I dealt with," Tarren replied, already turning back toward the stairs. "The reason I did what I did, by the way."

"Tarren—"

But the boy was already descending the stairs, leaving Vander standing behind the bar, vial in hand and a storm of questions brewing in his mind.