The Last Drop was dim as always. The smell of oil and smoke soaked into the walls. That was the air of this place. Slumped in the corner of the counter, Silas was already knocking back yet another glass of cheap booze. "[sarcastic]You've got a real soft look about you lately, boy." Old Marta, the owner, grinned as she polished a glass she'd already wiped clean. She was pushing sixty, but her eyes were still young. "Bwuh—hah!?" Silas wiped the spit-take off the back of his hand. His face went hot. "Shut it, old hag. What're you even talking about?" "I've been in this business a long time. When a man falls in love, his face gets like that—softer. See? Right there." "The hell do I know! Pain in my ass!" Silas turned away and downed his drink. But in his mind, there she was again. Auburn hair. Golden eyes. And that night, the brutal rain pouring down on the abandoned factory. Days had passed since then. And still, he couldn't get her face out of his head. (*No way.*) He'd always thought everyone topside was scum. That's when it happened. *Bang.* The door slammed open. The moment he looked over, Silas lost his words. Standing there was the very woman who'd been in his thoughts—Kaitlin Fails. Unlike last time, when she'd been soaked through, her crimson hair was neatly arranged today. But her golden eyes pierced him with the exact same intensity as before. "[serious]So this is where you've been hiding." Her voice was cold. The tone of someone who'd already decided Silas was nothing more than a subject of investigation. Marta's eyebrow twitched. "Well, speak of the devil." "[angry]How the hell do you know about this place!?" Silas was on his feet before he knew it. His heart hammered in a strange rhythm. He was pissed at himself for being so rattled. "[cold]A small-time crook like you? It didn't take much digging." She spat the words out and, without a moment's hesitation, sat down on the stool next to him. Marta immediately slid a fresh glass over. "On the house for a first-timer. Ale alright?" "[whispers]…I'm on duty, actually." Kaitlin murmured, a little flustered. For just a moment, her usual enforcer's mask slipped. But Marta just narrowed her eyes, looking thoroughly amused. "Oh? Can't share a drink with your sweetheart?" "Hah!?" Their voices overlapped perfectly. "N-No way!" "Don't be ridiculous!" They glanced at each other, then immediately looked away. Behind the counter, Marta cackled with delight. "So young. Honestly." "[angry]This isn't funny, old hag! And you—why the hell are you here!?" Silas rounded on Kaitlin. "Investigation. I needed more details about your smuggling routes." "This again. You don't quit, do you." "I don't have to. It's my job." Their words clashed. Same as last time. But something was different now. They both knew the other's moves. And maybe because they knew, they'd let their guards down somewhere. "[sad]That night… why I didn't arrest you. I couldn't figure it out myself for the longest time." Suddenly, Kaitlin's voice changed. It wasn't the cold enforcer anymore. It was something more fragile, more awkward—the voice of an ordinary woman. "Wh-What're you…" "[sarcastic]What, Miss High-and-Mighty Justice got cold feet?" He started to say it, then shut his mouth. Because Kaitlin was looking straight at him. "[whispers]No. Your eyes… I felt like if I arrested you then, I'd be doing something wrong." She forced the words out. It wasn't bravado. It was the truth. Something deep in Silas's chest ached. There was loneliness in that voice. And exhaustion. The hidden voice of a woman who lived in the glittering world topside but couldn't tell anyone what she really felt. Before he knew it, Silas had reached out. His fingers touched her pale ones, wrapped around her glass on the table. Kaitlin caught her breath. She looked up. Her golden eyes wavered. In that moment, without knowing who moved first—they leaned across the table toward each other. The kiss was like a fight. At first, just testing each other's lips. But then, devouring like starved beasts. (*What the hell am I doing.*) Reason screamed in the corner of his mind. But his body wouldn't stop. Her lips were soft, and they tasted faintly of cheap liquor. "…Room upstairs." He pulled his lips away and forced the words out. Kaitlin nodded silently. Her cheeks were flushed, stained red. Marta said nothing. She just kept quietly polishing the counter. They climbed the stairs and tumbled into a cheap room on the second floor of the Last Drop. The moment the door closed, they were in each other's arms again. Silas pushed her slender body against the wall and roughly undid the buttons of her clothes. Kaitlin's pale skin glowed faintly in the dim room. "[whispers]More…" Kaitlin begged in a small voice. Not her usual sharp tone. It was the first time he'd heard her sound like that—sweet, needy, like a woman. Silas's reason crumbled away. He pushed her down onto the bed. The springs groaned. He entered her. The heat, the tightness, the sensation of being swallowed whole—it made his head spin. "Ahh…" A sigh escaped Kaitlin's lips. His hips moved on their own. Deeper. Further. (*She's a damn enforcer from topside.*) The thought was somewhere in his head. But his body screamed that it didn't want to let her go. Hatred and obsession, for the first time, became the same heat, burning Silas up from the inside. "Ah, nn, haa…" Kaitlin's voice grew more and more womanly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, dug in her nails, clinging to him desperately. When the climax finally came, they trembled together. In the wreckage of the bed, only their ragged breathing filled the silence for a while. Kaitlin, expressionless, gently placed a hand on Silas's chest. She didn't cry or smile. Only her fingertips moved, tracing the burn scars on him as if trying to confirm something. Silas couldn't tell what she was thinking. But he couldn't say anything either. It felt like words would shatter everything. So he just stared at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. How much time passed? Eventually, Kaitlin sat up. "[whispers]…This was a one-time mistake." She declared it in a trembling voice and began hastily straightening her disheveled clothes. "[sarcastic]Yeah. I know." Silas answered curtly. Kaitlin's hands stopped. "[angry]How can you say you know?" Her voice was a mix of irritation and sadness. "Enforcer from topside. Criminal from down here. Pretty obvious." He said it with self-mockery. Then Kaitlin turned back. "[gentle]…I don't think I held a criminal." The words were unexpected. Silas looked up at her, surprised. But Kaitlin had already turned her back and was walking out of the room. The door clicked shut. Left alone, Silas lay on the bed, replaying her words. (*I'm…*) Was he just putting himself down? She'd said otherwise. But—could he believe that? His chest ached. Silas still couldn't put a name to what that ache was. Late night in Zaun. When Kaitlin stepped out of the Last Drop, the outside was already swallowed in deep darkness. The faint light falling from topside blurred and bled into the fog. She crossed the street briskly, heading to cut through Clockwork Alley. No one noticed the man watching her back from the shadows. Across from the tavern, behind an abandoned vendor's stall. Deacon Murdock was scribbling in a small notebook. The time. The location. The exact duration from when Kaitlin entered the bar to when she left. Everything was meticulously recorded. Tucked into that notebook was a strip of blue cloth—her hair tie. A personal item Kaitlin had dropped once. Deacon stared at it, his mouth twisting into a small smile. "[whispers]Soon. Soon you'll be mine alone." The chilling whisper dissolved into the Zaun fog and vanished. He closed the notebook. Inside, false security logs were already written—records showing Kaitlin acting alone. So that no one but him would know her whereabouts. To isolate her completely. Deacon turned and disappeared into the darkness. The whole sequence was so quiet, it was as if he'd never been there at all. Only the hair tie tucked in the small notebook glinted faintly in the night—proof of a madness-tinged obsession.