Arcane, Voice of Zaun

My eyes lazily opened to the sickly green glow of the chemlights. I was sweating from every orifice I possibly could, and the bed beneath me was drenched in it, the sheets clinging to my skin like a second layer.

The smell of my own sweat mixed with the ever-present stench of the Undercity that seeped through the walls—rust, waste, and that undefinable chemical tang that burned the back of your throat.

I sat up, blinking away the crust that had formed at the corners of my eyes, and looked around. The room swam for a moment before settling. Everything was the same as Veronica's medical center, except for one thing—there was someone sitting at my bedside, his head hanging low, a slight snore echoing from his throat.

Zzzzz

He had white hair that fell beneath his eyes, obscuring most of his face. The sickly green light of the chemlights cast strange shadows across his features, making him look almost ghoulish.

Lloyd.

Relief flooded through me like a wave breaking against rocks. I immediately got out of bed and hugged him, tears flowing down from my eyes uncontrollably, waking him up with my sudden movement.

"Huh, oh you're awake," Lloyd muttered sleepily, his red eyes slowly focusing. Then he grimaced, pushing at my shoulders. "Get off me, you're all sweaty."

His hands were rough against my skin, but there was no real force behind the push. Still, I pulled back, sniffling.

"And why are you crying again?" he asked, rubbing at his face with one hand. His voice lowered to a growl. "I told you that Sump kids don't cry."

I let go of my hug, sniffling my tears back up, trying to force them down like I'd been taught. Boys don't cry. Undercity kids don't cry. Nobody cries here. 

"I'm sorry," I said, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

"That's another problem you have," Lloyd said, leaning forward in his chair. The metal creaked under his weight. "Stop apologizing for everything. You think I got to where I am by saying sorry? This is the Undercity. You act or you die."

"I'm—" I started, then caught myself. The words 'I'm sorry' were so automatic, drilled into me by my mom when I was little. Be polite, she'd said. Be kind. Fat lot of good that did her in the end.

Before I could continue, Lloyd gave me a stink eye, which made me stop mid-sentence. His red eye seemed to glow in the dimness, like a burning coal.

"Understood," I said instead, feeling small.

"That's good," Lloyd said, swiveling out of his chair. The metal legs scraped against the concrete floor, sending a shiver down my spine. He stretched, his back popping audibly. "Seems like you're all better now."

Wait, what was Lloyd doing here? Shouldn't he have been in the mines? And my dreams—I was sure it was a vision. The crests, no matter how many I looked through, in all of them Lloyd died to a cave-in. His body crushed beneath tons of rock, that red eye staring sightlessly up at nothing.

Could they just have been dreams? Was I wrong?

As Lloyd turned to leave, his hand reaching for the rusted doorknob, I spoke up.

"Lloyd."

He turned back to look at me, an eyebrow raised. "What now?"

"When did you come back?"

"A day ago, why?" He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. The chemlight caught the edge of a new scar on his forearm, still pink and fresh.

A day? How long was I out?

"What happened to me?" My voice came out smaller than I'd intended, like a child's. I hated sounding weak, especially in front of Lloyd.

"Veronica said you got sick. Fever and some other stuff that I'm not gonna remember," he waved his hand dismissively. "You've been out of it for four days."

Four days. The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Four whole days gone, just like that. I'd never been sick for that long before. At least I wasn't really hungry or thirsty so it seemed like I had been well fed during that time. Thank Janna for the great soul that was Veronica.

"How did the job go?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "Were there any cave-ins?"

"Cave-ins?" Lloyd's eyebrows shot up. "Nah, the job went fine. I mean, it was a bit stuffy down there, but they're the mines. What are you gonna expect, clean air and sunshine?"

I ignored his sarcasm. "So everyone is fine? Cole? Jay?"

"Yeah, everyone's fine. At least better than you," he said with a laugh that sounded like rocks grinding together. "Cole got a nasty cut from some sharp rocks, but Veronica patched him up. Jay spent the whole time clapping. Nothing out of the ordinary."

I began to chew on my nails, a habit I had sadly picked up. Then what was my dream about? Maybe I was just wrong, and I'm overthinking it. The fever playing tricks, making me see things that weren't there. 

I looked back at Lloyd, who was waiting at the door, his patience visibly wearing thin.

"What about the materials?" I asked. "Do you know who you're selling them to?"

"No clue," Lloyd shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in a motion that looked more mechanical than human. "The dude sent a henchman, only gave me a meeting time. In fact, we're selling them today, in a few hours." His red eye glinted with anticipation. Business was always good.

So he doesn't know about Silco. I should tell him. But would he listen? Lloyd wasn't exactly known for taking advice, especially from a kid.

"I think you should rethink selling these," I said, as firmly as I could.

"And why is that?" His tone was flat, unimpressed.

"Because I think I know who the buyer is, and I don't like him one bit or what he could be doing with the materials."

Lloyd let out a short, barking laugh. "It's the Undercity. It's weird to find someone you do like," he said, shaking his head. "As for what he's doing with the materials, I don't give two shits as long as he pays well. However," he tilted his head slightly, "knowing his name could be good info. Spill it, kid."

"His name is Silco."

"Do you have an appearance?" Lloyd's voice sharpened, all traces of amusement gone.

I thought back to the time I peeked into the Old Cannery. There were two people who could be Silco: the first was the old man who was working with the purple stuff, a chemist by the looks of it, or the guy with half a scarred face and red eye who gave orders like he was used to being obeyed. I was putting my bets on the latter.

"Scarred face, red eye with black sclera," I said, trying to recall every detail. "Tall, skinny, wears a red and black suit. That's the gist of it."

Lloyd's reaction was immediate. He closed the door with a soft click before walking back over to me and sitting on the chair he had been in earlier. His face took on a serious look, one I had almost never seen him wear. The playful, sadistic gang leader was gone, replaced by someone calculating, dangerous in a different way.

"Do you have any more info?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Yeah, he's probably the one who gave you the tip. He's doing it in bulk, getting chem materials," I said, watching Lloyd's face carefully. "Plus, he has a goon force of over 3000."

"More than any chembaron, less than the Lanes," Lloyd muttered, almost to himself. His fingers drummed rhythmically on his knee, the only sign of his agitation.

"Yeah."

"Thanks for telling me all of this," Lloyd said, rising from his chair once more. He seemed lost in thought, his good eye distant, calculating.

"Wait, can I go with you today?" I asked, pushing myself to sit up straighter, ignoring the dizziness that washed over me. "I have a bad feeling about the sell."

Lloyd looked at me, really looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. His eyes swept over my skinny frame, taking in my pallid skin and the dark circles under my eyes that had probably been there since mom died.

"Are you up for it?" he asked, skepticism evident in his voice.

To answer, I rose from my bed and began walking around the room while stretching. My limbs felt like they were made of lead, and my head throbbed with each step, but I forced myself to move normally, to not show weakness.

"Up and ready," I lied, giving him what I hoped was a confident smile.

Lloyd watched me for a moment longer, then nodded. "Okay then, you can come with." He turned towards the door again.

But before he went through, something clicked in my head—a realization that had been slowly forming since I woke up.

"Wait," I called after him. "How long were you at my bedside?" A pause, then, because I couldn't help myself. "Don't tell me you actually care."

The question hung in the air between us, awkward and too revealing. Lloyd froze, his hand on the doorknob. For a moment, I thought he might turn around and hit me for the impertinence. But he just stood there, his back to me, his white hair falling over the collar of his shirt.

Silence was what replied to me as Lloyd didn't answer and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

The room felt emptier without him, the chemlight's glow colder somehow.

"Maybe he actually does care," I muttered to myself, hugging my knees to my chest. I remembered how much I had cried when I woke up and saw him alive, how the relief had been so overwhelming that I couldn't contain it.

Maybe I cared about him too.

But just a bit.

Like super tiny.