The underground car park was dim and echoing, all concrete shadows and flickering strip lights. Somewhere above, the city rumbled—distant traffic, murmuring crowds, the occasional undead screech carried strangely through the vents—but down here, it was just Mezzo, Celeste, and Plum.

And a sleek, cherry-red sports car that definitely didn’t belong to them.

Celeste stood with her arms folded, looking between the car and the very confident Dalmatian kneeling beside it, tail swishing like he’d just found buried treasure.

“Are you sure about this?” Celeste asked, voice full of deep and immediate doubt. “Because I feel I should say, for the record, that I don’t know anything at all about stealing cars, and that seems like a useful thing for the record to have.”

Plum, leaning on a parking meter and taking notes, didn’t even look up. “For the record, I am not endorsing this crime. I am merely documenting it for historical accuracy.”

Celeste nodded. “That feels worse, somehow. Very official.”

“Relax, Plum,” Mezzo said, grinning as he fiddled with a bundle of wires. “I’m an Irish bard—we’re good at escaping trouble… and stealing hearts.”

“There is a troubling amount of confidence in that sentence,” Celeste murmured.

There was a spark, a beep, and the car chirped cheerfully to life, headlights flashing like it was excited to join the chaos.

Celeste blinked. “You’re a little too good at this.”

“Talent,” Mezzo said smugly, standing and bowing with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”

Then, before she could protest, he grabbed her hand and all but launched her into the passenger seat.

“Oh, gods,” Celeste muttered, fumbling with the seatbelt. “Please, please don’t let us crash. Or explode. Or do both in the wrong order.”

“Trust me,” Mezzo said, sliding into the driver’s seat with an irrepressible grin. “I’ve driven, like, five times now. I totally know what I’m doing.”

Celeste turned slowly to stare at him.

“Five?”

“Three of those didn’t even end in flames,” he added brightly, hitting the ignition.

Celeste went pale. “That is—oh, that is not comforting at all. That is just a number wearing a tiny hat and pretending to be reassurance.”

Plum popped her head between the seats, Arcbracer camera blinking red. “This is brilliant! A first-hand look at a pre-heist getaway vehicle! Oh, wait—hold still, I need a thumbnail shot.”

“Plum!” Celeste squeaked, clutching the dash. “No filming during possible death scenarios!”

“Relax,” Plum said cheerfully. “If we survive, this’ll make great promotional footage.”

“If?” Celeste echoed.

The car roared to life, engine purring like a beast unleashed.

Mezzo threw it into reverse, nearly clipping a pillar.

Celeste made a horrified little yelp and grabbed the dash with both hands.

Then Mezzo slammed it into drive with a whoop. “Hold onto your horns, ladies!”

“I don’t have horns!” Celeste cried.

“Then hold onto your principles!”

“Oh, I think we left those back at camp!”

With a screech of tyres, the cherry-red menace rocketed out of the underground car park, weaving up into the chaos of Clawdiff’s morning streets.

Celeste’s terrified scream was drowned out by Mezzo’s delighted cackle—

and Plum’s excited commentary:

“This is absolutely going in the archives!”

They careened through the streets, dodging elegant flower carts and blinking billboards as if gravity itself had given up trying to contain them. Candy-coloured buildings blurred past, zombies dove aside, and some gave chase. Plum shouted at Mezzo, “Drive faster, you legend!”

Mezzo cackled the entire way.

Plum, wedged between the seats with her Arcbracer camera out, was providing a running commentary.

“Day two of the heist chronicles. I can confirm we are, in fact, being chased by a very angry donut zombie. This is peak journalism!”

“Plum, for stars’ sake, sit down!” Celeste cried, clinging to the dashboard.

“I am sitting!” Plum replied, upside down and grinning. “Mostly!”

After a few blocks of sheer chaos, Celeste finally found enough breath to yell over the wind, “What exactly are we doing?!”

Mezzo didn’t look at her—his focus surprisingly steady on the road, tail flicking as the car screeched around another turn. “Still a secret!”

“Mezzo—!”

He just winked, teeth flashing. “You’ll love it. Probably.”

Celeste groaned, slumping back into her seat. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Nope,” Mezzo said cheerfully. “But you are gonna scream again when we hit that roundabout.”

“What roundabout—”

The car swerved violently. Celeste screamed, grabbing his arm on instinct, clinging for dear life.

Mezzo froze for a split second, ears flicking red beneath his fur. His grin faltered—just a fraction—before returning double-strength. “Hey, easy now, I need that arm to steer!” he teased, voice just a little higher than usual.

Plum, entirely unhelpful, leaned between them with a mischievous smile. “Ohhh, this is great footage! I’m calling this clip ‘Romance and Reckless Driving.’”

“Delete. It.” Celeste hissed through gritted teeth.

“Never!”

The car drifted through the roundabout with a chorus of screeching tyres, screaming pedestrians, and Plum’s delighted giggles. When the chaos finally subsided, the trio skidded to a halt in the heart of the city—right in front of what used to be Clawdiff’s most impenetrable institution: The First Golden Reserve.

The bank loomed like a polished mausoleum, all cold marble steps and golden trim, flanked by lion statues with eyes like dying stars.

Mezzo leaned back in his seat, smug grin plastered across his face. “And here we are.”

Celeste blinked. “You brought us to the bank in one piece.”

Plum zoomed in with her Arcbracer. “Correction: a heist waiting to happen.”

Mezzo winked at both of them. “Welcome to Operation Withdraw and Dash, ladies.”

Mezzo folded his arms and turned toward the bank, the grin that usually meant trouble softened by something like earnestness. “Now that we’re here,” he said, “there’s a favour I want to ask. If you’ll have me.”

Celeste blinked, expecting the usual swagger. “I know we’re getting money for the Knights—maybe some epic décor for our headquarters when we finally afford furniture that doesn’t squeak—but you want to help someone, right? Princess-y charity mission?” She folded her arms, half teasing, half ready to be roped in.

Plum snorted and crossed her arms. “Don’t fib. You want to help yourself.”

Mezzo gave that crooked smile of his. “Nah. This ain’t for me.”

Celeste tilted her head. “Then who?”

He looked away for a second, jaw tightening as he watched the cracked skyline. “Pitch’s little brother. Jett.”

Celeste’s face softened. “He’s still in the hospital, right?”

“Yeah.” Mezzo swallowed. “Somewhere in the Grange. Still hooked to whatever busted machines they’ve got. Pitch’s proud as an ox—won’t ask for help—but he’s terrified. Afraid the world’ll end and there’ll be nothing left for the lad. So, we take some coin, stash it. Hide it like a treasure. For Jett. For after. For hope.”

Plum folded her arms harder and huffed, “You’re an idiot.”

Mezzo tilted his head and grinned sideways. “But a lovable one?”

Celeste sighed, the weight of it softening into something fierce and small. “That’s so sweet. Alright... let’s just get this over with, you big fluffy weirdo.”

Mezzo bounced on the balls of his feet, excitement bright in his eyes. “That’s the spirit.”

Plum muttered as she climbed the bank steps beside him, “If you say ‘Yeehaw’ at any point during this, I’m pushing you down the vault stairs.”

Mezzo winked, utterly unrepentant. “Yeehaw.”

Plum slid a mana cartridge into her pistol with a smirk. “I’ll cover exits. Don’t die.”

Celeste lifted a finger. “I’d like to make ‘don’t die’ more of a rule than a suggestion.”

“Agreed,” Mezzo said, already compiling a scheme in his head. “And I get to be in charge of escape velocity when we need it.”

“Escape velocity?” Celeste echoed.

“The speed at which we stop being arrested,” Mezzo said.

“That’s called running,” Plum replied.

“Not when I do it.”

Celeste nodded slowly. “Right. Magic running. With maths.”

Mezzo pointed at her. “Exactly.”

The inside of the First Golden Reserve was… not what any of them expected.

Celeste froze just past the threshold, one paw hovering mid-step, ears twitching. “...Are those snails or turtles?”

Mezzo squinted through the dusty gloom. “They are. They’re… snail-turtle-shaped.”

Plum adjusted her glasses, camera already rolling. “They look edible. Dangerously edible.”

A dozen glossy, slow-moving figures patrolled the marble foyer—rounded shells gleaming gold and foil-red, stubby legs whirring like clockwork. They looked like someone had crossbred snail security drones with turtle chocolate coin purses and forgotten to tell either side it was a bad idea.

One of the things paused, beeped softly—

Whomp!

The air popped with a glittery burst of chocolate coins as it detonated like a festive landmine.

Celeste yelped, dragging Mezzo and Plum behind a cracked pillar. “Motion-sensitive bomb snail-turtles,” she hissed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t that be a thing?”

“They explode into chocolate,” Mezzo whispered, eyes wide with reverence. “Is this heaven? Are we dead?”

Plum raised her Arcbracer like a blaster. “I vote we test one! For… scientific journalism.”

“Plum, don’t you—” Celeste started.

Pew!

A bright bolt zipped across the room, hitting one of the snail-turtles square in its foil shell.

BOOM!

It erupted in a shower of chocolate coins, glitter, and caramel smoke that painted the marble walls in molten sugar.

Plum coughed through the haze, proud grin wide. “Data gathered. Conclusion: very explodey.”

“Very loud,” Mezzo whispered, tail puffed. “Stars, Plum, subtlety!”

Celeste groaned, stepping out from behind cover and summoning her twin katanas. “Alright, that’s it. I’ll just blow them back.”

She swung her blades in an elegant flourish, channelling mana into the air—

—and immediately created a hurricane-strength gust that slammed into the walls, pillars, and her teammates.

Plum went flying backward into a coin fountain with a splash.

Mezzo’s hair blew completely backward like a windswept pop idol.

And Celeste… faceplanted into her own dress.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then Mezzo lost it.

He doubled over, wheezing between fits of laughter. “Oh—oh stars—your face!”

Plum joined in from the fountain, dripping wet and cackling. “You looked like a startled seagull!”

Celeste, hair sticking up like she’d been struck by lightning, glared murderously at both of them. “...I meant to do that.”

“Of course you did,” Mezzo wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Perfect tactical gale, Commander Seagull.”

“Keep laughing,” Celeste muttered, flicking chocolate off her blade. “Next gust goes your way.”

Plum grinned from the fountain. “Worth it.”

They tried to be stealthy.

They absolutely failed.

“Stealth mode!” Plum whispered, striking a dramatic pose with her Arcbracer like it was a wand.

“Stealth mode,” Celeste echoed, trying to be sultry and failing when her tail knocked over a stack of useless marble brochures.

“Stealth!” Mezzo shouted, because he’d misheard and thought they were forming a band.

Three very non-silent minutes later, they were sprinting through the foyer as snail-turtles detonated in a glittering popcorn of chocolate coins. Coins bounced off Pantheon-grade pillars, pinged into Mezzo’s ear, where one stayed lodged like a sugary earring, and rained down on their heads like a very pointy, very sticky confetti storm.

Plum, ever the professional, squeezed off a careful burst from her blaster to take out the nearest surveillance drone. The holo-camera fizzed, sparks twinkled, and the feed went black. She tapped her Arcbracer, fingers flying, scrubbing timestamps and nuking any footage that showed three ransacking kids in a stolen car.

“There,” she panted, “no digital record—mostly.”