Jinx stared at him wide-eyed, a storm of emotions swirling inside her. Kaen, meanwhile, touched his lips with the tips of his fingers, his face a mask of calm that concealed a massive short-circuit in his brain.
"Mmm," was all he said, his monotone voice shattering the spell.
Jinx let out a nervous laugh, breaking the tension. And just like that, the moment dissolved, leaving behind a new and strange connection between them.
The walk back to the workshop was a performance in itself. Kaen walked with dramatic stiffness, one meter away from her, as if fearing another ambush.
"My purity," he began, his monotone voice a funeral lament. "Guarded so carefully over… well, over the last few days, now vilely snatched away by a predator with blue braids. My first kiss, mercilessly stolen. Is my chastity in danger? Should I start wearing a sonic chastity belt that emits a horrible note if you get too close? Will you chain me in your workshop and force me to write you love ballads? Is this the beginning of my life as a captive idol? I must admit the idea has a certain appeal, but I need to know the terms of my captivity."
Jinx blinked. Then, a slow, goofy smile spread across her face.
Instead of walking, she practically floated. She ignored his rant, and with an agile hop, climbed onto his back, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms over his shoulders. She clung to him like a koala, resting her chin on his shoulder, her goofy, blissful grin glued to her face. She didn't say a word, but now and then a silly giggle escaped her lips, a sound of pure, unfiltered joy.
"Now you use me as a personal transport vehicle," Kaen complained, though he made no effort to shake her off, simply adjusting his pace to bear the extra weight. "The abuse never ends. First my lips, now my back. I am a martyr of affection."
When they finally reached the workshop, he gently set her down on the floor. The atmosphere of the place had changed.
The night's positive energy seemed to ignite a lightbulb in Jinx's head. The frustration and mental block she'd felt earlier had completely evaporated. With newfound determination, she dashed to the workbench.
She dove into her craft. Kaen watched her from the couch, pretending to read one of the research notes he had stolen (in truth, he was only looking at the drawings and imagining them as album cover designs). He saw her in her element, a symphony of motion and creation. Her fingers flew across the components, soldering a wire here, adjusting a dial there, all while humming the melody of her own song. She was a storm of focused genius.
After nearly an hour of feverish work, she stepped back, her face smeared with grease but glowing with pride. "Alright," she said, her voice a whisper heavy with anticipation. "Attempt number two."
She placed the gem into the device, now modified with several extra dials and coils. She glanced at Kaen, winked, and with far more finesse than last time, pulled the lever.
No explosion. No shockwave.
Instead, a soft hum filled the room. From the gem, a pure blue light projected toward the ceiling, and from that light, dozens—hundreds—of holographic runes began materializing throughout the workshop. They floated in the air, slowly spinning, a constellation of arcane geometry painting the rusted metal walls with a magical glow.
She had done it.
Pure, overwhelming joy flooded her. With a triumphant scream, she hurled herself at Kaen. She jumped onto him on the couch, grabbed him by the shoulders, and lifted him up. "HAHAHAH! IT WORKED!"
She spun him around, laughing, her feet barely touching the floor. In the middle of the spin, with holographic runes dancing around them, she looked into his eyes and, as if it were the most natural gesture in the world, leaned in and stole another kiss. It was quick, playful, an outburst of pure happiness. Then she kept spinning, hugging him tightly.
"You're my lucky charm, Dead Fish," she said, her voice bubbling with laughter.
Kaen, dizzy from the spinning and the sudden affection, remembered his mission, steadying himself once she finally stopped. "I'm glad my inspiring presence catalyzed your advancement in arcane science," he said, his monotone voice regaining control. "However, with all this spinning, I believe my medical condition has worsened."
Jinx finally let go, though she stayed close, still buzzing with excitement. She tilted her head at him. "What medical condition? You're perfectly fine."
"My artistic schizophrenia," he explained. "I postponed my consultation with a specialist. My 'father' Singed. I must go see him."
Jinx's smile dimmed a little. The thought of him leaving, even for a while, took some shine off her victory. "Father?" she repeated, the word sounding strange and short-circuiting her brain. "Your… what? Did you just call Singed your father?"
"A biological formality," Kaen said. "He created me, therefore he is my father. Or my manufacturer. The terms are negotiable. Do you know where I can find his office?"
Jinx crossed her arms, a twinge of reluctance in her chest. She didn't want him to go. "Why would you want to see that creepy old man?"
"Medical matters regarding possible amnesia," he said. "Also, I need to return some pages I borrowed from his journal. It's good manners."
She sighed, defeated. She knew she couldn't hold him back. Reluctantly, she gave him directions, describing a decrepit lab in the deepest, most polluted sector of the Sump. "Be careful," she warned. "I don't think he's the… paternal type."
"Don't worry. I bring my charm," he assured her.
"Fine," she said, trying to sound casual. "Go see your… 'father.' I'll review this," she gestured at the floating runes, "and then I'll head to The Last Drop. I need to shove this in Silco's face."
...
Meanwhile, at The Last Drop
The door to Silco's office opened without a knock. He didn't turn. He sat with his back to the entrance, his figure a silhouette against the armored glass. In his hand, he held a small pocket mirror, examining the intricate web of scars that marred the left side of his face. With a small cloth, he carefully cleaned the edge of his eye, where the black sclera met pale skin. And through the reflection of the mirror, he saw Sevika.
"You're making a mess."
His voice was calm, devoid of emotion, directed at the figure that had just entered. Sevika halted in the middle of the room, the light revealing the damage. Her face was covered in fresh bruises, her lip split. She cradled her mechanical arm, which hung limp, sparking and dripping thick purple Shimmer fluid onto his carpet.
Sevika stepped forward, her head tilted in a rare display of defeat. "The sister," she rasped, her voice raw with rage and exhaustion.
She lifted her gaze, her eyes burning with fury.
"She's back."
Silco froze. The little mirror in his hand snapped shut with a metallic click. The revelation hit him with the force of an explosion—an impossibility made real. He turned in his chair, his face a mask of disbelief, his orange eye glowing with sudden, terrifying intensity.
"From the dead?!"