As night fell, the clamor outside the clinic gradually subsided, and the undercity slipped into a brief slumber. Seeing the late hour, Ethan stood up and glanced around. "Everyone, take a break. We’ve got important tasks tomorrow." He gestured toward a few rickety folding beds in the corner of the clinic.

  Tara let out a dissatisfied huff. "Rest? That kid’s still out there, Hank’s lying half-dead in Ashen Vale, and we’re supposed to sleep here like nothing’s wrong?"

  Though the lights were dimmed, no one truly slept. Tension and anxiety filled the small clinic like a tangible weight.

  Suddenly, Rebecca raised her head and whispered, "Listen!"

  Everyone fell silent, straining their ears. In the quiet of the night, faint voices grew closer from a distance.

  "…That mech arena was so cool! Did you see how that big guy went down?" came a lively boy’s voice.

  "Not bad. More fun than I expected," another voice replied, laced with a characteristic lazy drawl. "Tomorrow, I’ll show you how to tweak that spider to make it move faster."

  Tara leapt up and bolted for the door, Ethan close behind. Outside, the darkness was broken only by the faint glow of luminescent moss on the mechanical pipes.

  "They’re probably all asleep. Look, the lights are off," Milo’s voice dropped to a whisper. "We can sneak in. Grandpa’s probably out cold…"

  Tara flung the door open and snapped on the light, its harsh glare illuminating two startled figures—Milo and Lila, frozen in place.

  "Asleep?" Tara roared. "You think we’re here on vacation? We’ve been waiting in this dump all day! Hank’s dying in Ashen Vale, and you two are out having fun?"

  Milo flinched, instinctively ducking behind Lila. Lila, unfazed, stood with an air of indifference, as if Tara’s fury didn’t concern her.

  Ethan stepped forward, placing a hand on Tara’s shoulder. "Calm down, Tara. They’re back—that’s what matters." He turned to Milo, his tone softer. "We were worried. Someone’s very sick and needs your grandpa’s help."

  Otis, hearing the commotion, emerged. Seeing Milo, his face showed both relief and reproach. "Milo, how could you? You tied me to a chair and had me worrying about you all day!"

  Milo hung his head, but his eyes held no guilt—only defiance. "Sorry, Grandpa, but I’m sick of being forced to study that boring junk all day."

  The room fell into a brief silence. Lila leaned against the doorframe, observing with a flicker of calculated thought in her eyes.

  Otis broke the quiet, his voice a mix of resignation and urgency. "This isn’t the time for this. Someone named Hank is gravely ill. We need to prepare a potion, Milo. I need your help."

  Milo looked up, surprised. "My help?"

  "Yes," Otis nodded, his tone professional. "You know my equipment better than anyone. And this potion requires precise mixing. Your hands are steadier than mine."

  Milo’s eyes lit up. He hesitated, then nodded. "Got it, Grandpa. What do I need to do?"

  The tense atmosphere eased slightly. Ethan watched as the grandfather and grandson headed into the clinic to prepare the potion to save Hank. He turned to Lila and asked quietly, "Everything go okay?"

  Lila shrugged, but Ethan caught a fleeting, unusual look in her eyes—not her usual nonchalance, but something deeper. "Just showed the kid around," she said with a playful smirk. "Checked out the undercity. First time seeing this stuff—way different from the scrapyards. Pretty interesting…"

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Ethan sensed an undercurrent in her words but knew now wasn’t the time to dig deeper. He nodded and motioned everyone into the clinic.

  At the center of the clinic, Otis stood at a makeshift workbench, shakily holding up photos of Hank’s symptoms that Rebecca had provided. The images showed Hank’s skin covered in irregular red patches, his face waxy and eyes dazed.

  "It’s a common miner’s disease," Otis said, shaking his head. "Starts with a fever, then red spots on the skin, followed by breathing difficulties. If untreated, it worsens until breathing stops entirely." He pointed to swollen lumps around Hank’s neck. "It’s already spreading."

  "Can you cure it?" Rebecca asked urgently.

  "Yes, but it requires a special potion," Otis said, turning to Milo. "That’s why I need you, Little M. The mixture demands precision, and your hands are steadier than mine. Plus, only you know how to fix our old machine."

  Milo nodded and approached the rickety machine, deftly unscrewing panels and tweaking parts. "The temperature’s off," he explained curtly. "If it’s not right, the potion’s useless."

  Otis watched his grandson with pride, then turned to Ethan and the others, his expression grave. "But we’re missing the key ingredient—a mineral extract called ‘Deep Cyan Star.’ It’s only found in the deepest mining layers beneath Skyspire, tightly controlled by the Federation."

  "We’ll get it," Ethan said without hesitation. "Where do we find it?"

  Otis pulled a strange blue coin from his pocket, etched with a mysterious symbol. "You need to find the Shadow Merchant. He controls the undercity’s rare goods trade. Take this coin to the Cyan District. There’s an unassuming door—knock three times, pause, then knock twice."

  "That’s it?" Tara asked skeptically.

  "Far from it," Otis said with a bitter smile. "The Shadow Merchant doesn’t take money. He only trades for something he wants—information, rare items." He paused. "And whatever you do, don’t mention the Federation. He has… a deep hatred for them."

  "Hates the Federation?" Tara sneered, her fingers brushing the blade at her waist. "Sounds like we’d get along. Maybe I’ll tell him about the Federation dogs I’ve taken down."

  Ethan took the coin, studying its symbol. "We’ll head out at first light. The rest of you stay here to help with the potion’s other components."

  "Time’s short," Otis warned. "Based on the symptoms, Hank has two days at most."

  As everyone prepared to disperse, Milo looked up from the workbench, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Can I come with you? I know secret routes in the Cyan District."

  "No," Otis said firmly. "You’re needed here for the potion."

  Milo’s face fell. "But Grandpa, I run around the undercity all the time. It’s safer than you think. And—" he looked at Ethan, pleading, "I know shortcuts."

  Ethan considered, glancing at Milo’s skilled hands on the machine and the undercity’s labyrinthine layout. He turned to Otis. "He might be useful. Shortcuts could save us time, and his mechanical knowledge might come in handy with the Shadow Merchant’s trades."

  Otis hesitated, fidgeting with a vial. "But if something happens—"

  "I’ll keep him safe," Ethan promised. "And honestly, we could use a guide in this maze."

  Milo’s eyes sparkled as he looked at his grandfather, nearly bouncing with excitement. "Please, Grandpa! I’ll listen to Ethan, I swear!"

  Otis sighed deeply and nodded. "Fine. But you follow Ethan’s orders, no matter what. Understood?"

  "Understood!" Milo cheered, his eyes shining like stars.

  Ethan smiled faintly at the spirited young mechanic. This unexpected ally might just bring a surprising edge to their mission.

  "It’s settled, then," Ethan said. "Tomorrow morning, Tara, Milo, and I will find the Shadow Merchant. The rest of you stay here. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow’s a long day."

  With the plan set, everyone found a spot to rest. Ethan gazed out at the undercity’s intricate silhouette, mulling over the task ahead.

  Just then, a jingling sound came from the clinic’s entrance. Roon’s colorful figure leaned against the doorframe, a cigarette dangling from his lips, grinning as he poked his head in. "Yo, you folks still up? Heard you’re heading to the Cyan District to meet that shady Shadow Merchant?" He winked dramatically, his trinkets glinting with his movements. "That place has been dicey lately. My crew says there’s been a bunch of ‘new faces’ skulking around—sneaky types, not our undercity vibe. Watch yourselves, don’t walk into trouble."

  Ethan’s brow furrowed. "New faces? Federation?"

  Roon shrugged, blowing a smoke ring. "Who knows? Maybe. But that merchant’s a weird one. You’d better bring something ‘special’ to trade, or you won’t even get through the door. You know the undercity’s unwritten rule—sometimes an expired energy bar’s worth more than a sack of credits!" He flashed a grin, revealing a metal-capped tooth, and waved. "Alright, I won’t keep you. Good luck, Little Spitfire, and you… Mini Mechanic!" With that, he sauntered off into the night, his trinkets clinking into the distance.

  Ethan watched Roon go, his unease growing. He stepped to the window, gazing into the undercity’s depths, sleepless through the night.