The heavy door sealed behind them with a sound like a tomb closing. The sterile, oppressive silence of Vexa’s chamber was instantly replaced by the dripping echo of the utility conduit, which now felt almost welcoming in its mundane griminess.

  For a long moment, nobody talked. Beauty’s engine waspurring gently as they made their way out of the service conduit, leaving the distant hum of pipes behind them. When they left the Conduit and returned to the quiet alleyway on the surface Rhaene let out a deep sigh.

  “Well,” Rhaene finally said, her voice deliberately light, cutting through the tension. “That was… intense. Dude needs to invest in some wall art. Or a plant. Something.” She swung her leg over the bike, her boots scraping on the wet concrete, kicking the bike’s stand down and leaning atop it as she took a breather.

  Aren, clearly unbothered, squirmed his way out from between them and dropped to the ground, immediately scampering over to the nearest wall to watch a single droplet of water form and fall with intense concentration. The ordinary weirdness of him was a relief.

  Arbor dismounted, his movements precise. He looked at the payment confirmation on his wrist display. “Contract fulfilled. Funds transferred.”

  “See? All’s well that ends with a paycheck,” Rhaene said, stretching. “Weird basement kid gets a pardon from the big boss, we get paid. It’s a win-win.”

  Arbor was silent for a moment, his optic fixed on the door. “The explanation was insufficient. The logic does not align.”

  Rhaene shrugged, quickly grabbing Aren by the back of his gown before he could lick the wall, much to his verbal dismay. “He’s a Demon Lord, Arbor. His entire job is being mysterious. ‘City-funded facility’ covers a thousand shady things. He’s not asking questions, so we shouldn’t either.” She hoisted Aren onto the bike seat. “Let’s go find some grub.”

  They navigated their way back into the chaotic swell of Acedia, the sheer normalcy of the noise and smell began to dissolve the residual chill from the Spire. They found a marginally cleaner alley near a market sector and parked, meticulously locking their bike. Aren immediately slipped free and began investigating a pile of discarded packing foam.

  Rhaene leaned against Beauty’s flank, watching him. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a hollow, practical silence. “So,” she said, not looking at Arbor. “We, uh… we actually have him now. Like, for real. Not just ‘getting him out of the murder basement’ real. But ‘what does he eat for breakfast’ real.”

  Arbor followed her gaze. “Our observational data confirms he will attempt to consume nearly anything organic, and several inorganic materials. This is not a sustainable nutritional plan.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “And he needs clothes that aren’t a shredded hospital gown. And… I don’t know, a bath. Definitely a bath. And what if he gets sick? Do weird feral lab kids even get sick?” The list was suddenly, overwhelmingly tangible.

  “These are logical concerns we did not account for in our original mission parameters,” Arbor stated. His tone was analytical, but the analysis was pointed inward. “It represents a significant, open-ended diversion of resources. Time. Credits. Cognitive attention.”

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  “Yep.” Rhaene popped the ‘p’. “A real pain in the ass.”

  They stood in silence for a minute, watching Aren meticulously peel a single layer off a sheet of foam.

  “We could have left him,” Arbor said, his vocal modulator unusually quiet. “With Vexa. It would have been the professionally correct decision. The path of least resistance and maximum efficiency.”

  Rhaene didn’t answer right away. She watched Aren bring a piece of foam to his nose, sniff it, and then, with a thoughtful expression, put it down instead of eating it. A tiny victory. “Yeah. We could have.”

  “Yet we did not.” It wasn’t any form of accusation. It was a joint observation of an irrational fact.

  “Nope.”

  “You argued to keep him. Vehemently.”

  “You’re the one who called him ‘our responsibility’ to a Demon Lord’s face,” Rhaene fired back, a faint smirk returning. “Pretty brave talk for a pile of bolts worried about his efficiency metrics.”

  “It was the most logical argument available at the moment to achieve the desired outcome,” Arbor replied, but the statement rang hollow, even to him.

  Another pause. The market sounds filled it, yelling, laughter, the sizzle of food.

  “Did you actually want to leave him there?” Rhaene asked, finally looking at Arbor. Her three eyes were uncharacteristically serious. “Back at the station. When we were arguing in the hallway. Before he said his name.”

  Arbor’s processor cycled through the memory. The cost-benefit analysis he’d presented. The clear, logical path of abandonment. The quiet, stubborn refusal of his own systems to accept that path’s conclusion. “My initial assessment advised against involvement. It was the correct assessment.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  The optic lights behind his faceplate dimmed slightly. “...No. The assessment was correct. The… conclusion was not.”

  A slow grin spread across Rhaene’s face. It wasn’t her usual sharp, teasing grin. It was something softer, tired, and genuine. “Yeah. Me neither.” She pushed off the bike. “Alright, enough mushy garbage. We’ve got a rat to civilize, I suppose. First order of business: food that won’t kill him. Second: a bath. You’re on bath duty, by the way. I wrestled the last thing that needed a bath, and I still feel sewer-salamander slime on me everytime I shower”

  “I am not equipped for infant management,” Arbor protested automatically.

  “You’ve got hands and a complete lack of smell organs. You’re perfect.” She whistled sharply. “Hey, Kid! Lunchtime! Let’s go find something that’s only mostly disgusting!”

  Aren’s head snapped up at the call. He abandoned his foam, scurried over, and without hesitation, raised his arms toward Rhaene. It was a simple, trusting, human gesture.

  Rhaene’s breath hitched for a second. Then she scooped him up, plopping him onto the seat. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it.” Her voice was rough, but her hands were careful as she secured him.

  Arbor mounted behind them, his arm forming its now-familiar barricade. As Beauty rumbled to life, he ran a final diagnostic. Fuel: adequate. Systems: nominal. Mission Parameters:... Arbor didn’t even bother. He already knew how far they’d strayed.

  They pulled out into the stream of traffic, a three-part unit. They had no plan, no expertise, and a future that was suddenly about more than just credits and logic chips. They had a kid to take care of.