Chapter Text
The bass was low, heavy, vibrating through his ribcage like a second heartbeat. Smoke hung thick in the air, lit by the pulse of strobe lights. Bodies moved in waves to the music, their sweat masked by the scent of booze and cheap perfume.
He shouldn’t be here.
He told himself that again and again, but the sound kept dragging him deeper.
Then he saw her.
Blue hair, electric even in the dark. Pale skin cut by flashes of strobe light. She moved quickly, phasing through the crowd like a ghost.
She looked back once, over her shoulder. Her gaze met his. The light caught her pupils, and for a second he thought they glowed.
The music dropped.
She disappeared.
“Hey!” he called, following her through the backdoor into the alley.
Cold air hit him like a slap. Rain gathered on the collar of his shirt, dripping down his neck. The city hummed around him, distant shouts, the hiss of steam, an old generator coughing out fumes somewhere nearby.
And then she was there again.
Close enough that he could smell something sweet, almost rose-like, under the metal.
Her fingers brushed his collar and made their way down his chest. The touch was light, but still enough to make his heart skip a beat. Then she leaned in, her breath trembling against his skin.
It didn’t feel real, but it felt right.
Her lips touched his neck making Ekko swallow hard.
There was a pause. Then pain. Sharp, burning his skin alive.
He tried to breathe, but the world folded in on itself. The streetlights smeared into streaks of blue. The rain went quiet.
And the last thing he saw before it all went dark was her face, wide-eyed, startled, terrified of herself.
The world came back wrong.
Ekko gasped and rolled onto his side, hitting the floor hard enough to rattle the tools on his desk. His throat burned. His body drenched in sweat. Everything smelled like rust and ozone.
For a second, he didn’t know where he was. The dream, if it was a dream, clung to him in fragments: strobing lights, sweaty bodies, a frightened girl with blue hair.
He touched his neck. His fingers came away sticky.
Blood.
Not much, but enough to prove it wasn’t just in his head.
He stumbled to the mirror, nearly tripping on a bundle of wires. His reflection hit him in pieces: tired eyes, a smear of red at his collar, bruised skin where teeth had broken through. He wiped it, hissed, and winced at the tenderness.
“What the hell…” he muttered.
The clock read 4:37 a.m. He peeled off his jacket, dropped it in the corner, and tried to breathe past the panic.
He’d blacked out behind the Drop. He remembered that much. Then… nothing. Just a blur of rain and light and her.
Her.
That was the part that wouldn’t leave him. The look in her eyes, fear, like she hadn’t meant to do it. Like she was sorry.
He ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to think. Maybe someone had drugged him. Maybe it was Shimmer. Maybe he’d been mugged. But none of those answers explained the bite mark.
Ekko sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall until his heartbeat steadied. Then he noticed the smallest thing, a single blue thread caught on his sleeve.
He pulled it free, held it between his fingers.
It shimmered faintly in the low light.
Not a dream.
Morning came slowly. Grey light seeping through the shutters, cutting across the dust in Benzo’s shop.
Ekko pulled on his jacket and scarf, cinching the orange fabric tight around his throat. The skin there still ached when he moved, but at least it stopped the sting of cold air. He looked in the mirror again before heading downstairs. The mark was mostly hidden. His eyes, though, still red at the edges, sleepless, tired.
The stairs creaked under his weight. Somewhere below, he could already hear Benzo moving; the clacking of dishes, the stove sizzling, the faint hum of the radio. Jazz music, Benzo’s favorite.
The smell hit next: eggs, coffee and burnt toast.
“‘Bout time you dragged yourself up,” Benzo called without looking, flipping through a pile of invoices behind the counter. “You sleep at all, lad?”
Ekko shrugged, tugging his scarf higher. “Yeah. Kinda.”
Benzo glanced up, skeptical. “You look like hell.”
Ekko forced a grin. “Feel worse.”
Benzo chuckled, that low, tired sound that always carried more warmth than it should’ve. “Welcome to the Lanes, eat something before it eats you.”
Ekko grabbed the half-burnt toast and leaned against the counter, trying not to wince as the scarf brushed the sore skin beneath. The shop smelled like hot metal and sawdust, the old generator in the corner ticking as it cooled. Normally, the sound calmed him. Today it just made his nerves ring louder.
Benzo watched him for a moment longer, then went back to his papers. “ Zeke and Scar are stopping by later. Seems you boys are getting along.”
Ekko nodded absently. His mind was somewhere else: the alley, the girl. He swallowed hard, the bread turning to dust in his throat.
“You alright?” Benzo asked, not even looking up this time.
“Yeah,” Ekko said. “Just tired.”
Benzo made a noise of half-belief. “Mm. Don’t get mixed up with the wrong crowd. The Drop’s no place for you to be hanging around.”
Ekko froze mid-bite, pulse stuttering.
Benzo didn’t notice. He just reached for his coffee, muttering something about late shipments.
“Yeah,” Ekko said quietly. “I know.”
He turned toward the shop window, the morning light cutting through the grime, and caught his reflection again, scarf hiding the wound, eyes shadowed and restless.
The bell over the shop door rang around noon, breaking the stillness.
Benzo glanced up from his paperwork and grinned. “Speak of the devils.”
Two figures ducked under the doorframe; one tall, broad-shouldered, his posture sharp and deliberate, the other bouncing behind him, his green buzzcut catching the light as he took off his beanie.
“Zeke, Scar,” Benzo greeted. “Didn’t expect you this early.”
“Work was slow,” Scar said simply. His voice was low, even. He gave the room a quick scan, a habit, not curiosity. His gaze lingered half a second too long on Ekko before he nodded. “Heard you made it home last night.”
“Yeah,” Ekko said, feeling his throat tighten under the scarf. “Guess so.”
Zeke grinned and hopped up to sit on the counter, earning a glare from Benzo. “Man, we were looking for you! You dipped out on us. Thought maybe you found better company.” He winked at Ekko.
Scar gave him a look. “Zeke.”
“What? I’m just saying!” He raised his hands, mock surrender, then looked back at Ekko. “You good, though? You looked kinda… rough when we saw you.”
Benzo stood, stretching his back. “I’ll let you boys talk. Try not to break anything, yeah?”
Zeke mockingly gave him a thumbs up. He disappeared into the back room, leaving them in the hum of the shop.
Scar leaned against a workbench, arms crossed. “You remember much from last night?”
Ekko hesitated. “Not really.”
Scar nodded slowly, studying him. His eyes flicked down, just once, to the edge of the orange scarf. It wasn’t subtle, but he didn’t mention it. “Zaun parties’ll do that,” he said finally.
“Yeah, shimmer drinks’ll mess you up,” Zeke added, aiming a finger gun to his temple. “We thought you were right behind us. Sorry, man.”
“It’s fine,” Ekko said.
But it wasn’t. He could feel the weight in Scar’s stare, like the guy knew something he wasn’t saying.
“You're new to the Lanes, right?” Zeke asked, trying to keep the mood light. “What do you think so far? Smells awful, right?”
Ekko cracked a smile. “You could say that, again.”
“Give it a week,” Zeke said. “You’ll start smelling like it too.” he nudged Ekko’s shoulder.
Scar rolled his eyes. “That’s supposed to be comforting?”
Zeke shrugged. “I’m just being honest.”
Ekko’s laugh came out half genuine, half nervous. It felt good, though, the first normal thing all morning.
Scar pushed off the workbench. “If you ever find yourself back at the Drop,” he said quietly, “don’t go wandering off alone. Some places here don’t take kindly to strangers.”
Ekko frowned. “You mean people?”
Scar’s expression didn’t change. “People. Things. Depends who you ask.”
Zeke shot him a look, but didn’t comment.
The silence stretched, heavy but not hostile. Then Benzo’s voice carried from the back, asking for a hand with a shipment.
“I’ll help,” Scar said. He moved toward the doorway, but before disappearing, he looked back once more, right at Ekko’s neck. His gaze flicked, then softened. “You’re lucky,” he said under his breath. “Could’ve been worse.”
Then he was gone.
Zeke leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t mind him. Scar’s all serious and stuff, but he’s cool once you get to know him. You’re good, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ekko lied. “I’m good.”
But as Zeke grinned and started rambling about some new hoverboard mod, Ekko’s fingers brushed the edge of his scarf again, the faint ache pulsing beneath.
Lucky. That’s what Scar had said.
He wasn’t sure that’s what it felt like.
The quiet didn’t last.
Benzo called for Scar again, and the older boy ducked into the back with a sigh. Zeke swung his legs off the counter and started poking through a box of scrap parts, humming off-key.
“Hey,” Zeke said suddenly. “We’re headed back to the Drop later. Scar thinks he left his comm knife there last night; somebody probably picked it up, but we’ll check anyway. You wanna tag along?”
Ekko froze for a second. The name hit like static, The Last Drop.
“I thought you said not to go back,” he said, glancing toward the back door where Scar had disappeared.
Zeke snorted. “Scar says a lotta things. Mostly grumpy things.” He shrugged. “We’ll just be in and out. It’s daylight, it should be no problem.”
Scar came back out then, wiping his hands. “We’re leaving soon.” His gaze flicked to Ekko, calm but assessing. “You coming?”
Ekko hesitated. He could feel the pull again, the part of him that needed to know what happened. The scarf suddenly felt too hot around his throat.
“I, uh… yeah,” he said.
Scar’s eyebrow lifted, but he didn’t question it. “Alright. Stay close.”
Benzo looked up from the register. “You’re taking the kid back to the Drop?”
“Quick stop,” Scar said smoothly. “Won’t let him out of sight.”
Benzo’s eyes narrowed, but he just grunted. “Try not to get shot.”
Zeke laughed. “No promises.”
The three of them stepped out into the light. The sun never reached this deep into the Lanes; it was filtered through smoke and pipes, turning everything the color of rust. They moved in silence for a while, the sound of boots scraping concrete the only rhythm. Scar led, steady and quiet. Zeke trailed behind, fiddling with a gear in his hands. Ekko walked between them, half alert, half lost in thought.
He tried to picture the girl from the alley again, the look in her eyes after she bit him. It still didn’t make sense. None of it did.
The Last Drop looked different in daylight. The neon signs were dimmed, the place less crowded, the music replaced by quiet chatter. A few patrons lingered at the tables, drinking coffee instead of liquor.
The door creaked open as they stepped inside.
And there it was again.
That scent.
Roses, sharp, sweet, reminding him of her.
“Morning, boys.”
Vander’s voice pulled him back. The man stood behind the bar, drying glasses, sleeves rolled up and forearms dusted with faint gray smudges. His presence filled the room, calm, but commanding.
“Lost and found?” Scar asked. “We left a few things here last night.”
Vander looked them over. “Back room,” he said. “Box should be near the crates. Try not to make a mess.”
Zeke grinned and gave a lazy salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
They slipped into the back room, a cramped space lined with shelves, tools, and the faint smell of grease. The lost and found box sat by the door, full of odds and ends from careless nights.
Zeke crouched beside it, sifting through the pile. “Can’t believe I’m lookin’ for a lighter in a box that smells like old socks.”
Scar smirked faintly. “Maybe it’s time you stop smoking.”
Zeke snickered. “What are you, my dad?”
Ekko only half listened to their conversation. He’d been scanning the room, his mind still echoing with that scent. “I think I lost something too,” he said softly, fingers brushing the edge of his scarf.
Scar shot him a look, unreadable, curious, maybe even knowing.
“You sure it’s worth findin’?” he asked.
Before Ekko could answer, the bell above the main door jingled.
Footsteps. Voices. Laughter that carried the kind of familiarity that made the air shift.
They all turned toward the sound.
Vander emerged from behind the counter, smiling faintly as the group entered.
First came a girl, though nothing about her was particularly feminine. Her muscles were toned, stretching the fabric of her red hoodie, and her hair was buzzed short except for the locks of scarlet that fell across her face.
Two boys followed behind her: one lanky and tan, with dark spiky hair and a grin that reeked of awkwardness; the other tall, pale, and broad-shouldered, his quiet presence grounding the group.
And then there was the girl, impossible to miss.
Her hair was a mess of blue, vivid against her pale skin, and those wide, glassy eyes still burned with the same reckless edge she’d had that night.
She didn’t look at him right away, but when she did, it was like something unseen in the air snapped taut between them.
Ekko didn’t move. The world felt quieter now, like it had vanished leaving only them two.
Zeke leaned over the counter, oblivious to the shift. “Hey, Vander, you didn’t tell us you had new hires.”
Vander gave a small, knowing smile. “Family helps out where they can.”
Ekko’s gaze stayed fixed on her. “That your daughter?”
Vander nodded once. “All of them.”
Ekko lingered by the bar even after Scar and Zeke drifted to the other side of the room. He told himself he was just waiting for them, but his eyes kept finding her.
Jinx was standing near the counter, pretending to polish glasses that didn’t need cleaning. Every few seconds her gaze flicked toward him, just long enough to prove she noticed, then snapped away again like she hadn’t.
He swallowed, palms damp. The memory from that night had been patchy, hazy. But now, standing a few feet away, that same pull gripped him all over again.
He took a step closer.
“You work here?” he asked carefully.
Jinx stiffened. “Sometimes.” Her tone was clipped, like every word cost her something.
“You remember me right…from the party.”
Her eyes snapped to him, sharp, cold, and for a moment he swore they glowed just a bit too bright under the chem-lights. “You remember that?”
“Some of it,” he admitted. “Mostly you.”
That made her freeze. The glass in her hand trembled slightly before she set it down too hard on the counter.
“Then you should forget it.”
The words came out flat, but her voice cracked at the edges. She turned away, reaching for another glass.
Ekko blinked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“You being here is wrong,” she muttered, low enough that Vander might not hear but loud enough to sting.
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just…” She exhaled hard through her nose, gripping the counter until her knuckles went white. She released her grip before tying her hair up into a bun, letting a few loose strands hang over her face. “Go back to wherever you came from. I have enough problems already.”
There was a tremor in her voice that didn’t sound like threat, more like fear.
Before he could answer, Vander’s hand landed gently on her shoulder. “Jinx,” he said quietly, eyes flicking between them. “Take a breath.”
She tensed, then nodded, jerky and reluctant.
Ekko met her eyes one last time. For a split second, he saw it, the same look from that night in the alley, the flicker of pain and regret she was trying to bury.
And then she was gone, slipping into the back room before he could say another word.
“Found it!” Zeke wandered over, holding up his lighter. “Oh…You good, man? Found what you were looking for?”
Ekko glanced toward the door she’d disappeared through. “Yeah, I did.”