Crane's face healed in slow twitches, flesh stitching itself back together. His bloody grin faded a little.
He reached down and picked up a shard of the broken cup.
"Sorry about that," he muttered. "I'll get you a new one. And I'll clean this up."
Singed watched him quietly. "You are mad. Biting into a cup… or maybe you just act like it."
Crane glanced at him, eyes searching. "Did I scare you?" he asked, a flicker of a smirk creeping in.
Singed shook his head. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't surprise me. But no—fear wasn't the emotion."
Crane hesitated. Smirk or not? In the end, he settled for something uncertain—half-smile, half-frown.
"Well," he said, voice light, "if I surprised you, that's fine with me."
He gave a full grin now, something cheerier and stranger. "Tea time with you is always a great time."
He stood, brushing shards aside gently with one hand.
"I'll clean this up before I leave," he added, his voice dropping into something almost sheepish.
—————————————-
"I can't believe someone like Jonathan could make these," Caitlyn said, carrying a box of prosthetics as she walked alongside Jayce.
"I made them," Jayce replied, also holding a box. "Well—actually, Jonathan made the designs, the blueprints, all of it. I just built the prototypes."
They reached Jayce's door. He set his box down and fished the key from his pocket.
"I mean, yeah, you did the physical work," Caitlyn went on, "but it's surprising. Someone from that dirty, dangerous place… being so normal."
Jayce chuckled. "You should've seen him when I first met him. Everything about him screamed Under-city—he was filthy."
Caitlyn shook her head. "But he doesn't smell like them. And he doesn't look it at all."
"That's kind of how we met, actually," Jayce said, slipping the key into the lock. "He stole my soap."
Just as the key turned, the door creaked open on its own.
"Huh?" Jayce muttered.
Standing inside the room, Jonathan smiled at them.
"I've been waiting," he said, glancing at his wrist—where there was no watch.
"You're late," he added, as if he'd actually been timing them.
.
.
.
Caitlyn blinked. "Is it true you stole Jayce's soap?" she asked, then added quickly, "Also… are you only friends with me to steal my soap too?"
There was a slight crease in her brow—half a joke, half hope that it wasn't true.
Jonathan gasped. "What is this dastardly accusation?!"
He took a dramatic step back, one hand on his chest, the other pointing to himself.
"I've never stolen a thing in my entire existence!"
Caitlyn tilted her head, frowning. "But—"
"Jayce willingly gave me his soap," Crane said, cutting her off smoothly.
Jayce sighed, picking his box back up. "Enough about soap. We've got your prosthetics."
He walked past Crane and set the box down on the desk. Caitlyn followed, placing hers beside it.
Crane quietly shut the door, then moved to the boxes, peering inside.
"Yes," he murmured, looking into the first one. "Yes, yes, this is good."
He opened the second.
"That's nice."
Jayce cleared his throat. "Ahem."
Crane turned his head toward him. "Oh right—when do we present them?" His head tilted, curious.
Jayce's expression shifted. He looked away. "Yeah, about that… I had a meeting scheduled with one of the hospitals, but the hospital was recently…"
He trailed off, his gaze dropping.
Caitlyn glanced down too, then looked up at Crane. "It's been all over the newspapers."
Crane blinked once. Then, with a slight shift in tone:
"Oh… that hospital."
He paused. Then let out a heavy sigh, placing a hand to his chest, voice trembling—just enough to feel off.
"I heard about the attack," he said, sorrowful. "All those innocent lives… gone." His voice cracked. "Such a tragedy."
Looking into Jonathan's eyes, Jayce nodded.
"I scheduled the meeting with them before the… tragedy."
"But since the tragedy, they canceled and couldn't do it," Jonathan said, already anticipating where this was going.
Jayce shook his head. "No. They didn't cancel—I didn't get any mail saying so.
So we'll go to the hospital and see if we can still present the prosthetics."
Jonathan's jaw went slack. "Are you sure?"
"I'm pretty sure," Jayce replied. "They might reject the presentation, but it won't hurt to try."
Caitlyn glanced at Jonathan, raising an eyebrow. "What's so surprising about going to that hospital?"
Jonathan shifted slightly. "I heard it was a dangerous drug that caused the tragedy. What if I get infected?"
His voice was anxious—but he knew the fear toxin was long gone.
Jayce picked up one of the boxes.
"The investigators said it's gone. They searched the site, but couldn't find a trace of the compound."
"Come on, let's go," he said, walking to the door. "I'll do all the talking."
Jonathan picked up the other box. "Can't I say maybe a few words?"
Jayce glanced back. "You look like us, you smell like us, but you don't—"
"Act like us," Caitlyn cut in. "The way you talk gives you away. You're from the Under-city."
She opened the door for them.
Jonathan muttered, "So I can't talk ever? If I'm going to sell to hospitals, I have to talk."
"With what just happened," Jayce said calmly, "people are pointing fingers at the Under-city.
You can talk—just not yet. Let the turmoil die down first."
They leave the room, and Caitlyn closes the door behind them.
—————————-
As they neared the hospital, the scene ahead came into view—enforcers lined the entrance, accompanied by a few investigators and somber-looking doctors.
Caitlyn's eyes lit up at the sight of the enforcers. "Look at them… they look so cool in formation like that."
Jonathan leaned slightly toward her. "What about the investigators? I think they're cool."
Caitlyn side-eyed him. "I guess."
Jonathan glanced around. "There are doctors here too. That's a plus."
Jayce gave a small nod, focused on the path ahead.
As they approached the hospital entrance, an enforcer stepped forward, blocking their path.
"Hold it," he said firmly.
They stopped.
"What business do you have here? No patients are being accepted."
Jayce stepped forward, adjusting the box in his arms. "We're here to present prosthetics—to the doctors, if that's still permitted."
"We're from the Academy," he added. "I scheduled this with the hospital ahead of time."
Caitlyn raised her hand. "I'm not from the Academy," she said, pointing to the emblem on her chest, "but I am a Kiramman."
The enforcer rubbed his forehead, clearly flustered. "I was told not to let anyone in but—uh…" He pointed in turn.
"You're from the Academy," he said to Jayce, "and you're a Kiramman," he said to Caitlyn.
"Caitlyn Kiramman," she confirmed, unsure if he recognized her.
The enforcer blinked. "Oh—I thought you were your father, Tobias."
Jonathan leaned toward Jayce and muttered, "I think he needs to get his eyes checked."
The enforcer huffed. "I heard that. And of course I know who she is. She's young—obviously not Tobias!"
Just then, a gentle voice cut in. "What do we have here?"
Heimerdinger strolled up beside the enforcer, his hands folded behind his back, eyes twinkling beneath his bushy brows.
"You've been on your feet since yesterday," he said kindly. "Why don't you take a break? Get some rest."
The enforcer stared at him like the word was foreign. "Rest?"
Heimerdinger gave a slow nod. "Yes, rest. Even gears need time to cool down, my boy."
The enforcer looked at him, then the group, then back at Heimerdinger—before sighing and shuffling away like a man who'd just been relieved of carrying a mountain.
Heimerdinger turned his full attention to the group, eyes bright with curiosity.
"Well, well… a student from the Academy, and Caitlyn Kiramman," he said, inspecting them both.
Then his gaze shifted to Jonathan.
"And… you are?"
——————-
Have you guys ever had a dream about getting married.
Like a dream of living together and being in a relationship.
Because I just had that dream.
Don't know why It had to be about Channing Tatum, tho.