The muted chime of the past credit transfer to their shared Guild account lingered in their ears for a long moment after they left the Spire's oppressive shadow. They stood in a less-traveled alcove off a main thoroughfare, the perpetual twilight of Acedia's middle levels casting long, distorted shadows around them. Beauty ticked as she cooled. Aren sat cross-legged on the oily pavement, attempting to fit a small gear he’d found into the cracked lens of his broken hologram projector.

  The reality of their situation, momentarily deferred by the audience with Vexa, settled over Rhaene and Arbor with the weight of damp concrete.

  “We can’t just drag him around like this,” Rhaene said, finally breaking the silence. She gestured at Aren’s tattered, blood-stained gown. “He sticks out like a sore thumb.”

  “Agreed,” Arbor stated. “His current attire is non-functional and attracts unwanted attention. Procurement of suitable garments is a logical priority.”

  “It’s not just the clothes, Tinman.” Rhaene lowered her voice, her three eyes scanning the passersby, a hulking slag-golem, a pair of imps arguing over a sparking component, a sleek demon in a business suit whose feet ended in cloven hooves. “Look around. Really look. How many humans do you see?”

  Arbor’s optics did a swift, panoramic survey. He filtered for basic humanoid biometrics, discounting obvious demonic, mechanical, or hybrid traits. The result was a near-zero flicker in his display. “Statistically insignificant within visual range. According to last year’s population census, Acedia’s population is 97.3% demonic or demon-adjacent, 2.5% synthetic, and 0.2% ‘other,’ which includes residual human enclaves, visiting traders, and… anomalies.”

  “Right. ‘Anomalies.’” Rhaene crouched down, putting herself at Aren’s eye level. He looked up from his gear, blinking his wide, unmistakably human blue eyes. “He’s not just a kid. He’s a human kid.

  In a demon city. That doesn’t make him a target for a mugging; it makes him a curiosity. Or a commodity. The wrong kind of people see a human, especially a young one, and they don’t think ‘orphan.’ They think ‘rare pet,’ or ‘bargaining chip,’ or even ‘exotic ingredient.’ Vexa might have given us a pass, but the street-level scum sure as hell won’t.”

  The logic was irrefutable. Arbor’s risk-assessment matrices updated, painting a map of Acedia suddenly bristling with potential threats. “Leaving him unattended is unacceptable. Taking him with us

  on supply runs increases exposure. We require a secure, temporary location.”

  Rhaene sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to deflate her usual bravado. She looked away, her gaze drifting upwards through the tangled layers of the city, as if seeing something far beyond

  the dripping pipes and flickering signs. “There’s… one place. Probably the only place in this whole rust-bucket that’s halfway safe and won’t ask questions.” She grimaced. “My sister’s flat.”

  Arbor’s head tilted. “Are we sure this is the most logical course of action?”

  “Well, we’re not exactly on each other’s Christmas card lists. Haven’t been for… a while.” She stood up, brushing grit from her knees. “But Cid’s… reliable. In her own messed-up way. And her place

  is a fortress. More importantly, she owes me. A lot.”

  The decision, like most involving family, was a calculus of discomfort versus necessity. They mounted up, Aren secured once more in his spot, and Rhaene guided Beauty through a series of

  descending ramps and narrow service lifts, leaving the commercial sectors behind. The architecture grew older, more organic in its decay, less welded plating, more crumbling, pre-collapse

  masonry patched with fungal growth and corroded metal. They entered a district known as the Marrows, where the air was thick with chemical humidity and the gentle, constant plink of water

  filtering down from higher levels.

  Cidney Char’s apartment wasn’t in a building so much as it was part of one, a reinforced blister of composite alloy and tinted plexi welded onto the side of a massive, dormant coolant pipe. The

  entrance was a heavy airlock door, its surface pitted and stained with strange, rainbow-hued chemical splatters. A single, recessed button glowed a sickly green.

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  Rhaene stared at the button for a full ten seconds, her jaw tight. Then she punched it.

  A speaker crackled. No visual feed. “Piss off.” The voice was female, higher-pitched than Rhaene’s, laced with a irritation.

  “Cid. It’s me.”

  A long pause. The airlock emitted a sharp hiss and then clunked open an inch. “...Rhaene? No. You’re a hallucination. Bad batch of Cursor. Go away.”

  “It’s really me, you nutjob. Let us in. It’s important.”

  “Us?” The door hissed fully open, revealing a short, slender demon woman silhouetted against the lurid interior light.

  Cidney “Cid” Char lacked her sister’s imposing musculature. She was wiry, her movements slumped and lethargic. She wore grease-stained overalls over a faded band shirt under an off-white

  labcoat. She had a single horn on the right side of her head, as big as her head and the same length above her. Much larger than Rhaene’s, untaped, unchipped. Her purple skin the same shade

  as Rhaene's but covered in small black flecks. But her eyes were the strangest thing about her. All four were a vibrant, acidic green, and they held an unsettling intensity, even while squinting from

  the change in light conditions. They flicked from Rhaene to the towering Arbor, then down to Aren, who was peeking out from behind Rhaene’s leg.

  Cid’s eyebrows shot up. “You. A robot. And a… what in the seven cities is that? Is that a human child?” She didn’t sound horrified, more humorously surprised.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Rhaene growled, stepping inside and pulling Aren with her. Arbor followed, ducking through the doorway.

  The apartment was a lab masquerading as a living space. Beakers and distillation coils bubbled on heat pads. Shelves were crammed with jars of powdered minerals, viscous fluids, and biological

  samples floating in amber preservative. The air smelled of vinegar, ozone, and something sweetly metallic. In one corner, a section of the wall was scarred and melted, the composite slagged into

  abstract shapes.

  Cid circled her new guests, her green eyes drinking in every detail. “You look stressed, sister. Still the same, I see. And you,” she pointed a finger at Arbor. “Fascinating chassis. The shirt is a…

  bold choice.” She stopped in front of Aren, who stared back, unblinking. “And you. Little mystery meat. Where’d you dig him up, Rhaene? Dumpster behind a biolab?”

  “It’s a long story. We need a favor. We need to stash him here for a few hours. Maybe a day.”

  Cid blinked. “You want me to babysit your… pet human? I’m a chemist, not a daycare.”

  “You’re the only person in this city I halfway trust not to sell him for parts the second I turn my back,” Rhaene said, the admission sounding painful.

  “Aw, that’s almost sweet. Almost.” Cid leaned closer to Aren, her nose almost touching his, the color of her eyes almost washing off on him. “Hello, small thing. Would you like to see what

  hydrofluoric acid does to galvanized steel? It’s quite pretty.”

  Aren, after a moment of consideration, reached out and gently bopped Cid on the nose with his broken projector.

  Cid recoiled, not in anger, but in surprise. Then she let out a short, sharp laugh that sounded like glass breaking. “Alright! Fine. He can stay. But if he touches… anything in here, I’m not

  responsible for the consequences.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Go. Do your… whatever it is you do. Buy the creature some trousers while you’re at it..”

  The exchange was too fast, too casual. Arbor’s sensors noted the high-grade security on the airlock, the reinforced walls, the clear lines of sight to the only entrance. It was secure. It was also the

  lair of an obvious lunatic.

  “You will ensure his safety,” Arbor stated, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

  Cid’s green eyes glinted as she looked up at him. “Robot, I’m many things, but a liar is not one of them. Now scram. I have stuff to finish.”

  Rhaene knelt before Aren. “Listen, kid. Stay here with… Auntie Cidney.” She said the title like it was a foreign word. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t drink anything. Just… sit. We’ll be back soon.”

  Aren looked from Rhaene to Cid, his face unreadable. He clutched his projector, then slowly walked over to a relatively clean patch of floor and sat down, watching a complex drip-system click away

  in the corner. He seemed to take it in stride.

  It was the best babysitting they were going to get.

  Outside, back in the humid drip of the Marrows, Rhaene and Arbor stood by the bike, not yet moving.

  “That was a significant risk,” Arbor said. “Her psychological profile is unstable.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Rhaene snapped, then rubbed her temples. “She’s crazy. But she’s a predictable crazy. And she’s not… evil. Just… overtly interested in how things break down.” She

  glanced back at the sealed door. “He’ll be safer in there with her acid baths than out here with the wolves. At least she doesn’t kill kids…”

  Rhaene took a second to think.

  “...on purpose…”

  “How reassuring.”

  They mounted Beauty. The engine roared to life, cracking the frozen silence.

  As they navigated back towards the commercial strips, the image of Aren sitting calmly in that chemical den wouldn't leave them. The messy, uncertain work of surviving this city, and each other, had truly begun. And deep in the Marrows, a demon with acid-green eyes and a needle-thin smile watched a small human boy through the shimmer of a beaker’s steam, her mind already whirring with calculations far removed from simple babysitting.