The black-and-gold carriage rolled through the shattered street beyond the barricades, wheels crunching over glass and old rubble. Its lanterns glowed like watchful eyes as it turned toward the heart of Clawdiff, heading back into the city with all the calm authority of someone who had absolutely not just quietly given a group of teenage hybrids permission to commit financial crimes.

Silence hung over the camp.

The carriage disappeared around the corner.

For three full seconds, no one moved.

Then Mezzo exhaled, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, I love her,” he declared. “All that proper council talk—‘oh dear, what a shame, no supplies’—and then she looks at us like, well, technically I never said you couldn’t go rob a bank.”

Arcade facepalmed. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” Mezzo said, eyes gleaming. “She just gave us five days, no oversight, and an excuse to commit the most heroic heist in hybrid history.”

Then he launched himself straight into the air.

“WOO!” he shouted, arms thrown wide like he had personally been chosen by destiny, bad ideas, and a very loud drum solo. “Sanctioned shenanigans! We are going on a bank heist!”

Ray lunged forward and clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Keep it down!” she hissed. “Do you want the whole city to hear you?”

Mezzo’s eyes sparkled above her hand.

He nodded enthusiastically.

Ray narrowed her eyes. “That was not a question you were meant to answer honestly.”

Celeste stood nearby, ears slightly lowered, fingers twisting shyly at the edge of her sleeve. “Um…” she said, voice small but painfully sincere. “Won’t we get in trouble?”

There was something so soft and innocent about the way she said it that half the camp turned to look at her.

Mezzo gently removed Ray’s hand from his mouth.

Then, with all the drama of a man accepting his final destiny, he reached into his jacket, produced a pair of cracked black sunglasses, and slid them onto his face.

Celeste blinked.

“Princess,” Mezzo said solemnly, pointing at the ruined city around them. “It is the apocalypse.”

A candy zombie shrieked somewhere in the distance.

A building groaned.

Something exploded three streets over.

Mezzo spread his arms.

“We can do anything.”

Ray stared at him flatly. “No, we really can’t.”

“Course we can,” Mezzo said, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Think of it as withdrawing our own funding early.”

Hughes sighed, looking skyward. “Five days to the apocalypse, and I’m about to be part of a crime spree.”

Pitch, leaning against a broken post with his arms folded, sighed through his nose. “If we’re actually doing this,” he said, “then we split into two groups. Less noise. More ground covered. Better odds if one team gets caught doing something stupid.”

Mezzo lifted one finger. “Heroically stupid.”

“Criminally stupid,” Ray corrected.

Pitch’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Question.”

Mezzo turned to him, still grinning. “Answer.”

“Have you ever actually robbed a bank?”

The camp went quiet.

Mezzo blinked.

Then he placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Pitch. I am wounded. Deeply wounded. Is that the sort of thing you think I do in my spare time?”

“Yes,” Ray said.

“Also yes,” Arcade added.

“Absolutely,” Hughes muttered.

Mezzo paused, then shrugged. “Alright, fair. But no, I have not robbed a bank.”

Pitch gave him a flat look.

Mezzo pointed at him. “But neither have you.”

Pitch’s mouth opened.

Then closed.

Then, in the slowest, guiltiest Southern drawl any of them had ever heard, he said, “Well now… I wouldn’t rightly say robbed.”

Every head in the camp turned toward him.

Ray’s eyes narrowed. “Pitch.”

Arcade lowered his tools. “Oh, that was a guilty voice.”

Celeste blinked, ears lifting. “Pitch…?”

Plum’s pen hit the paper at dangerous speed. “Noted: evasive regional phrasing following criminal accusation.”

Pitch straightened. “I did not rob a bank.”

Ray folded her arms. “That is not the same as saying you never tried.”

Another silence.

Pitch looked away.

Mezzo’s grin spread wider and wider. “Oh my stars.”

Pitch sighed. “I may have entered into… unsuccessful negotiations with a vault.”

The whole group stared.

“A few times,” he added.

Ray threw both hands into the air. “A few times?”

“They had very smug locks,” Pitch said defensively.

Arcade stared at him. “You tried to rob banks because the locks annoyed you?”

“That was one of the reasons.”

Celeste’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “What were the other reasons?”

Pitch glanced around at everyone’s horrified, fascinated faces.

“…Money.”

Mezzo clapped his hands together. “Brilliant! We have a consultant.”

“I am not consulting.”

“You absolutely are consulting.”

“I failed.”

“Experience is experience.”

Ray pointed at Pitch. “You are not allowed to teach him anything.”

Pitch looked offended. “I have standards.”

“You tried to rob a bank.”

“And failed with dignity.”

Hughes rubbed his face with both hands. “Five days to the apocalypse and somehow the bank heist has prior lore.”

Plum underlined something in her notebook. “Operation Withdraw and Dash now has historical precedent.”

Bracer looked physically pained. “You’re all going to prison.”

Celeste made a tiny worried sound. “Do they still have prison? I mean, with the zombies and everything? Or would it be more of a holding cupboard situation?”

“Do not make this worse,” Bracer said.

Mezzo raised one finger. “Not if our consultant is good.”

Pitch muttered, “I hate all of you.”

Ray cracked her knuckles, smirking despite herself. “Well… it has been a while since I got to break something that wasn’t undead.”

Celeste sighed, but her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Stars help us,” she said. “Alright. Let’s plan this carefully. Very carefully. With maps. And rules. Sensible crime rules.”

“And by carefully,” Mezzo said, “we mean with flair.”

“No,” Ray said immediately.

“With some flair.”

“No.”

“With tasteful flair?”

Ray pointed at him. “No flair.”

Mezzo looked wounded. “You people hate joy.”

Plum adjusted her glasses, looking between the group and the battered city map spread across an overturned crate. “There are two banks still standing,” she said, tapping both red-marked circles with her pen. “One in the east sector near the old tram lines, and the other in the upper market district. The market one has less structural damage… but more zombies.”

The gang huddled around the map like they were planning a bake sale instead of grand larceny.

Celeste studied the markings. “Oh. Two banks.” She frowned, then nodded to herself. “That’s inconveniently helpful. Like finding two doors in a burning building and both of them have monsters behind them, but one might also have sandwiches.”

Arcade stared at her. “What?”

“I’m saying both options are bad, but we still need supplies.”

Pitch folded his arms. “Then we split into two teams.”

Everyone looked at him.

He shrugged one shoulder. “Two banks, two teams. We hit both before someone else clears them out, or before the dead decide to form a queue.”

Mezzo perked up instantly. “Brilliant. I’m with you.”

Pitch looked him dead in the eye.

“No.”

Mezzo froze. “No?”

“You’re not on my team,” Pitch said flatly.

“Excuse you?”

“Way too noisy.”

Ray snorted.

Arcade immediately looked interested.

Mezzo pressed a hand to his chest in betrayal. “Noisy? I am inspirational.”

“You are audible from three streets away,” Pitch replied.

“That’s called leadership.”

“That’s called a warning siren.”

Celeste glanced between them. “To be fair, Mezzo, you do enter rooms like something has exploded.”

Mezzo looked at her, betrayed. “You too?”

“I said it kindly.”

Hughes rubbed his forehead. “I hate that Pitch’s logic is sound.”

Mezzo narrowed his eyes, then whipped around dramatically to the rest of the group and vaulted up onto an empty crate like a spotlight had personally chosen him. He folded his arms, chest puffed, grin theatrical.

“Right then,” he announced, half war cry, half stage whisper. “Who’s on my team?”

Silence.

Then a flurry of very practical excuses.

Mezzo stared at them in mounting disbelief.

Then he dropped to his knees and batted his big, ridiculous eyes so hard it was almost criminal.

It was the kind of puppy face that took all the paperwork out of your hands and replaced it with a sticky, warm hug.

Celeste made a startled noise that turned into a snort.

A real, surprised snort.

Then she covered her mouth, already blushing. “Oh, that is deeply unfair.”

Mezzo turned the full force of the face on her.

Celeste immediately looked like she regretted ever being born kind.

“No,” she said weakly. “No, because, see, now I feel bad, and that’s suspicious. That’s very suspicious.”

Mezzo widened his eyes further.

Celeste clasped her hands together, visibly fighting herself. “You are using softness for wickedness.”

He trembled his lower lip.

Celeste let out a helpless little laugh. “Oh, all right. Fine. Anything for that face.”

Mezzo lit up like a festival lantern.

Celeste straightened, trying and failing to look stern. “But only because if I don’t go, I’m going to spend the whole time worrying you’ll do something dreadful. More dreadful. Possibly musical. And I’m apparently the only somewhat sensible person left who can still say no.”

Ray coughed into her fist.

Celeste glanced at her, ears dipping. “Well. Somewhat sensible sometimes.”

“Better,” Ray said.

Mezzo whooped, launching himself off the crate to do an entirely unnecessary victory jig. “Brilliant! Adventure, thievery, saving the city—same thing, really.”

“They are not the same thing,” Bracer said.

“They are if the money is for a noble cause,” Mezzo countered.

“That is not how crime works,” Arcade said.

Celeste frowned thoughtfully. “Although I suppose if a crime saves people, it becomes… complicated.”

Bracer looked at her.

She winced. “I’m not helping my own argument, am I?”

“No,” he said.

Mezzo grinned at Celeste. “You’ll love it. Regret’s half the fun.”

Celeste gave him a wary little look. “That sentence made everything worse.”

A beat of awkward camaraderie passed through the camp: some grumbles, some eye-rolls, a couple of resigned nods.

Plum looked down at the map again. “Team assignments. Pitch, Ray, and Arcade should take the market district bank. It’s larger, has more access points, and if the dead are thicker there, you’ll need the van.”

Pitch nodded. “Works for me.”

Mezzo pointed dramatically. “I knew it. He’s taking the sensible team.”

“Because they’re more likely to survive,” Pitch said.

Plum tapped the other mark. “That leaves the east bank near the tram lines for Team Loud.”

Mezzo looked delighted. “Team Loud!”

“No,” Bracer said immediately.

“Team Subtle Heroism,” Mezzo amended.

“That is somehow worse,” Hughes muttered.

Plum continued as if no one had spoken. “Celeste, Mezzo, and me. Smaller bank, fewer zombies, quicker in and out.”

Celeste stared at the map, then at Plum, then at Mezzo, then back at the map again. “Oh. So that’s decided, then.” She swallowed. “Right. Yes. That’s fine. I can do a bank heist. Probably. I mean, not well, I’d imagine, because I’ve never practised, and I don’t think there’s a polite way to practise. But I can be present at one. That’s a beginning.”

Ray snorted.

Celeste looked at her helplessly. “That didn’t sound very heroic, did it?”

“No,” Ray said. “But it did sound honest.”

Hughes groaned into his hands. “Or double the chance of getting executed for treason. But sure, let’s call it optimism.”

Bracer crossed his arms, frowning deeply. “You’re all out of your minds. The Council gives you a shred of trust, and your first move is organised robbery.”

“Heroic organised robbery,” Mezzo corrected, finger raised. “There’s a difference.”

“There really isn’t,” Ray said.

“There is in the musical retelling.”

“There is not going to be a musical retelling,” Bracer said.

Mezzo looked personally attacked.

Behind them, Lumina tugged Celeste’s sleeve with wide, pleading eyes. “Can we come? We can help!”

Celeste’s expression softened at once. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Carys and Bracer both swooped in immediately.

“Oh no you don’t,” Carys said in her warm but unmovable mum-voice. “You’re staying here.”

Bracer nodded firmly. “Zombie duty for you lot. Someone has to guard the park.”

Lumina pouted dramatically, crossing her little arms. “That’s not fair. I can fight. I can also bite.”

Celeste crouched slightly, brushing a hand over Lumina’s hair. “I know you can. That is why you are staying here, where biting is most useful and least likely to get you chased by bank zombies.”

Lumina narrowed her eyes. “Are there bank zombies?”

“I don’t know,” Celeste admitted. “But now I’ve said it, probably.”

“That’s what we’re worried about,” Carys muttered under her breath.

Arcade clapped his hands once. “Right. Van’s mine. I’m not walking halfway across Clawdiff with a heatwave and two heists to run.” He flicked a keychain around his finger with smug satisfaction. “Dibs.”

Ray raised an eyebrow. “You called dibs on a van?”

“Correction,” he said, grinning. “The only functioning van in existence.”

Celeste sighed softly. “So that leaves us…” She looked at Plum and Mezzo. “…on foot?”

Plum brightened. “Oh, I know a car park near the tram line. We can probably find something with wheels there.”

Ray gave her a look. “You mean steal something with wheels.”

Plum considered that. “Borrow. With urgency.”

Hughes looked pained. “That’s not better.”

Celeste made a small thoughtful sound. “Could we leave a note? I feel better about borrowing if there’s a note.”

Pitch stared at her. “You want to leave a note on a stolen car?”

“A polite one.”

“No.”

“A very polite one?”

“No.”

Mezzo slung his guitar over his shoulder, winking. “Perfect. A ride for a ragtag crew. Let’s make memories, huh?”

Celeste gave him a flat look, though she couldn’t quite suppress a smile. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Only slightly,” he said, hopping onto a broken railing. “Alright, team. Operation Withdraw and Dash begins!”

Plum scribbled “Operation Withdraw and Dash” into her notebook with deadly seriousness.

Hughes groaned. “You’re naming it?”

“She’s naming it,” Bracer said. “Stars save us.”

They gathered up a ragged, determined little plan—equal parts skill, stubbornness, and two-ingredient snacks—and began to move.

Arcade headed for the van with Ray and Pitch in tow, already bickering over routes and exit timing.

Mezzo hopped down from the railing and landed beside Celeste with entirely too much energy.

She gave him one last look: part amusement, part you are definitely going to make me rue this.

He winked.

“Worth it,” he promised.

Celeste huffed a tiny laugh. “Yes, well. I’m certain that’s what people say right before something catches fire.”

“See?” Mezzo said brightly. “You’re getting the spirit of it.”

“Mm. I don’t think that’s what I’m getting.”

As Arcade’s van sputtered to life and the others began their chaotic preparations, Celeste, Mezzo, and Plum started down the dusty road toward the city’s heart—ready to commit the most gloriously questionable bank job Clawdiff had ever seen.