They settled into the lull that only comes after the screaming stops.
A toppled tree served as a bench, sap still sticky, leaves half-burnt. Hughes parked the van nearby with a satisfied thunk, engine ticking as it cooled. For a moment, no one moved—just the sound of wind, distant gull-bugs, and the ocean pretending nothing terrible had happened today.
Celeste passed out lunchboxes like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Arcade’s was first.
It was enormous.
Stacked.
Reinforced.
Possibly load-bearing.
Arcade opened it and stared.
“…Did you put two desserts in here?”
Celeste smiled proudly. “You burned more calories.”
Arcade looked misty. “I feel seen.”
Topsy’s came next.
She popped it open and froze.
The sandwiches were cut into the shape of a mana surfboard. There were little fruit stars arranged like sparks, and tucked inside was a folded note.
Topsy read it out loud, voice wobbling.
“You’re fast. You’re brave. You belong here. Keep shining.”
She squealed, hugged the box, and nearly fell off the log.
“THIS IS THE BEST LUNCH I’VE EVER HAD.”
Then Celeste reached Silver.
Or tried to.
Silver wasn’t looking at her. He was standing a few steps away, arcbracer glowing, holding a hovering lunch drone like it had personally betrayed him.
“…No, Chomp. I asked for lemon relish. Lemon. This is tarragon. Do I look like a barbarian?”
A pause.
“Yes, I’m aware they’re similar. That’s not the point.”
The butler’s voice crackled apologetically through the arcbracer.
Silver sighed deeply, tragically.
“Just—just go. I’ll manage.”
The drone hovered, uncertain, then retreated.
Celeste glanced down at the lunch she had made for him.
Simple.
Homemade.
Wrapped in paper.
No silk napkin.
No hovering technology.
It looked very small all of a sudden.
She held it out anyway.
“I—um. I made you one. In case you were hungry.”
Silver finally looked at it.
Then at his drone.
Then back at the lunch.
“Oh—no, it’s quite all right, darling.” He waved it away with practised gentleness. “I already have lunch sorted. No thanks to my useless staff. One asks for a single thing and—well.”
He sighed like the weight of nobility pressed on his shoulders.
“Tragic, really.”
Celeste pulled her hand back quickly.
“Oh. Okay. That’s—yeah, that’s fine.”
Hughes didn’t look up from his sandwich.
“Poison, lass.”
Silver bristled. “It’s called prudence.”
“All Council members are,” Hughes continued calmly, chewing. “Isn’t that right, your lordship?”
Silver muttered, “One must never be too careful.”
Lumina tilted her head. “That’s fair. Celeste used to burn ice cubes.”
Celeste gasped. “That was one time.”
Mezzo snorted. “She put a tin of beans in the microwave.”
Celeste went pale. “In my defence, the tin said microwaveable.”
“It did not,” Ray said flatly.
“It had a picture of waves!”
Silver pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly.
“How are you still alive, my dear?”
Celeste brightened just a little. “Team effort?”
Arcade raised his fork. “Team effort.”
Topsy raised her surfboard sandwich. “TEAM EFFORT.”
Silver looked around at them—muddy, loud, laughing, eating food that could absolutely kill a lesser noble—and for the first time since joining them, he hesitated.
Then, quietly, he reached out and took the lunch Celeste had made after all.
“…Perhaps,” he said stiffly, sitting down, “I’ll have a small backup.”
Celeste smiled.
Not triumphantly.
Not knowingly.
Just happy he was included.
Silver unwrapped the paper and stared at the sandwich inside.
It was cut neatly.
Too neatly.
Like someone had cared.
And for reasons he absolutely refused to examine over lunch in a park full of zombie glitter, that made his chest feel strange.
Then arcade walked passed with his lunch.
Silver stared at Arcade’s lunch like it had personally offended him.
“…Are you mad?” he said, genuinely alarmed. “If you eat like that you’ll balloon three trouser sizes by winter.”
Arcade didn’t even look up. “I’m a hedgehog, you dork. High metabolism.” He popped something crunchy into his mouth. “Also I’m always carrying snacks.”
Skye nodded solemnly. “It’s all the brain power he’s using.”
Arcade pointed at him with a fork. “Exactly. Also—rude. Not your business.”
Silver sniffed. “A tragic misunderstanding of nutrition and manners. Remarkable.”
Arcade fired back without missing a beat. “Funny coming from a guy whose lunch arrives with its own butler and emotional support drone.”
That earned a couple of quiet snorts. Even Ray’s mouth twitched.
Pitch, however, didn’t laugh. He just kept watching Silver. Measuring.
Silver leaned closer to Celeste, lowering his voice like they were sharing a secret. “So… about the uniform. How does Topsy already have one? I assumed there’d be fittings. Tailoring. Dignity.”
Celeste rubbed the back of her neck. “Oh—um. Topsy’s wearing my spare. And I asked Bartleby, he said he should be by tomorrow with yours.”
She rummaged in her bag, then paused, suddenly shy.
“And—um. I made you this.”
She pulled out a scarf.
It was well-made. Soft. The stitching was careful, the colours subtle enough not to clash, and embroidered neatly along one edge was his name. Not a title. Just Silver.
“In case you get lost,” she added quickly. “Everyone has one.”
Silver took it.
For half a second, he just looked at it.
Then his expression shifted—smooth, practiced, polite in a way that never quite reached the eyes.
“Well,” he said, turning it over between two fingers, “it’s… very thoughtful of you.” A small smile. Controlled. “Charming, even. Quite rustic.”
Celeste brightened. “Oh! I’m glad you like it—”
“Yes, yes,” he continued, lightly. “Very… you. I suppose it will do for now.”
He folded it carefully, as if humoring a child, and set it beside him.
Celeste beamed, taking the words at face value.
Ray did not.
Neither did Arcade.
Ray’s eyes flicked from the scarf to Silver’s face, then back again. Her jaw tightened just a fraction.
Arcade leaned back on his elbows and muttered, barely audible, “Wow.”
Pitch said nothing. He just watched Silver a little more closely than before.
Silver, oblivious—or pretending to be—smoothed his sleeve and glanced back at Celeste. “You really are very considerate. It’s… refreshing.”
Celeste smiled, warm and genuine.
The scarf lay between them on the log.
Untouched.
Silver leaned forward to stand—
—and his sleeve caught on a low branch with a sharp rrrip.
The sound was small.
The reaction was not.
Silver froze, stared at the tear like it had personally betrayed him, then sighed with genuine resignation.
“Well. That’s unfortunate.” He straightened. “I suppose I’ll have to throw it away.”
Celeste’s eyes went huge.
“W-what? No—no no no,” she blurted, scrambling closer. She stared at the jacket like it was a wounded animal. “I can fix that! It’s just a rip—see? Clean edge. Easy mend. You don’t have to throw it away.”
Silver blinked at her.
“Oh. How… nice.” He smiled politely. “That would be very kind of you.”
Around them, the silence went dense.
Mezzo finally broke it. “Typical,” he muttered. “He’s just like a pureblood.”
Silver glanced around, genuinely confused. “I… assume I said something wrong again?”
Ray crossed her arms. “Do you just throw out everything that breaks? Like it’s nothing?”
“Yes,” Silver replied, baffled by the tone. “It’s soiled. It has no more use. No more value.”
Mezzo stared at him. “You’ve never seen how people live in the Warrens, have you.”
Hughes spoke evenly, carefully. “You make do. You mend. You don’t discard something just because it’s damaged.”
Silver waved a hand. “The Warrens are rather dull. It wouldn’t be so bad if they were cleaned more. Good hygiene goes a long way.”
The table went dead still.
It was the exact look someone gets when they’ve just watched a man casually punt a bugpuppy into traffic.
Silver scoffed, folding his arms. “For your information, I have been to the Warrens.”
The air shifted.
Celeste blinked. Ray’s jaw tightened.
Silver kept going, voice smooth, practiced. “I was robbed. Beaten. I saw a disturbing lack of authority, sanitation, and any meaningful civic order—all while doing you lot a favour I’ll never be thanked for. So yes. I do know how you rough it down there. And frankly, with more effort, you wouldn’t have to live like that.”
There was a soft sound behind them.
Pitch stood up.
No sarcasm. No glare.
He just turned and walked toward the van.
Shadow folded around him as he left.
Silver didn’t notice. He was still talking.
Ray rose to her feet so fast her chair scraped back hard enough to screech.
“No one chooses to live there, Silver,” she said flatly. “No one. Everyone is trying their damn best.”
Topsy popped up beside her, hands on her hips. “Yeah! Try being a delivery girl on a zero-hour contract where your pay depends on whether a bugbear eats your scooter or not!”
Arcade didn’t look up from his tablet. “Or being a certified genius who still ends up at the bottom of every list because he’s not pureblood enough for university funding.”
Mezzo stepped forward, ears pinned back. “Or getting banned from half the gig venues in the city because your mana might make the audience ‘uncomfortable.’ Apparently my existence is a health hazard.”
Hughes’ voice cut in, low and steady. “Or being kicked out of the army for something that wasn’t your fault.” He fixed Silver with a hard look. “We’re not blaming you for not understanding, lad. But try not to talk about people like they’re lazy.”
Silver didn’t hear most of that.
He heard one word.
Boy.
His spine went rigid.
“Don’t call me that,” Silver snapped, fury flashing across his face. “I am not—”
Silence fell.
Celeste shifted awkwardly. “Um… is this one of those situations where someone isn’t reading the room? I’m confused.”
Ray pointed at Silver without looking at her. “Yes, Celeste. Yes it is.”
Celeste’s face brightened. “Yay, I got it right.”
Ray didn’t smile.
She turned fully on Silver. “Hybrids aren’t lazy. They’re poor. Not everyone can afford solar cleaning drones and automated sanitation while living underground.”
Silver dismissed it with a faint shrug. “Still seems like an excuse.”
Ray inhaled slowly.
Then: “Conversation’s over. Before I say something you will deeply regret.”
Silver bristled, wounded pride bleeding through. “Fine. I’m charitable. I won’t waste anything—if you lot clearly need it.”
Silver straightened, clearly offended now, and stood. He reached down, picked up the silk napkin from his lunch, and held it out to Celeste.
“You may have this,” he said lightly. “I’ll have more tomorrow.”
Celeste gasped like she’d been handed a relic. “Really? Oh my stars, I can make so many things with this—maybe a pouch, or lining for a—”
She hugged it to her chest, absolutely delighted.
The others didn’t miss the subtext.
Ray’s jaw clenched.
Arcade’s eyes narrowed.
Pitch looked away, expression unreadable.
Mezzo’s ears flattened.
Silver turned and walked off, utterly convinced he’d been generous.
Behind him, Celeste was already babbling happily about sewing projects.
And the rest of the team shared the same quiet, dawning thought:
Oh. He’s going to be a problem.
