Dil POV

We pull up to the diner, the rumble of my motorcycle cutting off with a final growl as I twist the key.

The air smells like asphalt and rain, heavy clouds curling over the horizon, threatening a storm that never seems to come. Bubbles hops off the bike first, light on her feet like she doesn't weigh a thing.

The black funeral dress clings to her in all the right ways, and I catch myself staring a second too long as she smooths it down and shakes out her hair.

She turns to me, blue eyes bright but tired. "Not bad for a first date joint," she says with a little grin.

I'm unsure if she's being sarcastic or if that was actually a compliment. Honestly, I've never been great at interpreting girls. Everything about her feels… out of my league, foreign.

"Let's go inside," I say, nodding toward the diner.

The place is as outdated as I remember—chrome-plated counters, cracked leather booths, and waiters wearing old-fashioned uniforms that haven't been in style for decades. It smells like coffee and bacon grease, but it's quiet. That's what I like about it.

No one here to bother us.

We slide into a booth near the back.

She kicks off her heels under the table with a sigh, curling her legs up beneath her, looking more comfortable than anyone should after their sibling's funeral.

I pull a menu out of the little holder on the table and glance at it, though I'm not really hungry. "What do you want to eat?"

She shrugs, resting her chin in her hand. "Something greasy. Anything."

I nod, signaling the waitress, who ambles over and takes our order without much enthusiasm.

Once she's gone, Bubbles leans back against the booth, her eyes darkening a little, like she's finally letting herself feel the weight of everything.

"So… the Chemical XX," she begins. "Apparently Buttercup got it from Africa, where it's produced. She left a note too."

I'm taken aback, moreso by the contents of the note that Bubbles shares with me. "Thats a lot to go through to get something."

"Yeah," she murmurs. "It's this tiny coastal village there. The stuff is crazy hard to get—militia controls the whole operation. I don't even know why she wanted it so badly... I mean yeah sure to kill herself, but, something is not adding up."

I rub my chin, my mind spinning. "What's it even originally for? I mean, what does Chemical XX actually do?"

She shrugs again, picking at the corner of a napkin. "I don't know, I just know about Chemical X, the compound that made us; not XX."

"I guess if Chemical X created you, XX would destroy you...?"

"Yep; I don't really think about that stuff much—what could kill us... I dont even know if we're invincible. I guess I always thought… yeah we just don't die like other people. Something that could typically kill a normal person like a building falling on you, or running into fire doesn't kill us."

I let that sit for a moment. "Do you think someone, an enemy maybe, could have done this to Buttercup?"

She frowns thoughtfully. "Maybe ... that would mean she was poisoned."

I tap my fingers on the table, lost in thought. "Still doesnt explain the note. If Buttercup got her hands on something that rare, it had to mean something, maybe she had no choice?"

Bubbles leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. "You think maybe she was on some mission? Something she didn't tell us about?"

"Could be. Or… maybe there's more to the story." I hesitate, then decide to tell her the truth. "The ghosts I've talked to in the past—when they stick around, it's usually because they've got unfinished business. Something they didn't get to resolve before they died."

Her expression shifts, a flicker of hope and fear dancing across her face. "You think Buttercup could still have… unresolved issues?"

"Maybe," I say carefully. "Or maybe someone wanted it to look like a suicide."

She sits back, exhaling slowly. "But that still doesn't explain the note."

"No, it doesn't." I pause, weighing my next words. "There's someone I know… someone who might be able to dig up information on Africa. But it's dangerous—militia don't play around."

Bubbles smirks, like I've just challenged her. "Dil..."

Before I can respond, she's gone—just a blur of color and movement. A second later, I see my motorbike perched precariously on top of the opposite building's roof. The next moment, she is sitting across from me, looking smug as hell.

She points through the window at the bike. "Now that's dangerous."

I can't help but grin, impressed despite myself. "Okay, okay. I forgot for a second."

She disappears again, and the bike is back on the ground before I even finish the sentence.

"Anyway," I say, adjusting my jacket, "if we're doing this… we have to be smart about it. No half-measures. If we dig too deep, we might not like what we find."

Her eyes harden. "I have to know, Dil. I need to know."

I nod, already knowing I can't say no to her. Whatever this is, we're in it now.

For now, though, I change the subject. "Eat something. You need to keep your strength up."

She rolls her eyes but grabs a fry from the plate when the waitress finally brings it over. I watch her, feeling both out of my depth and strangely calm.

This isn't how I pictured the night going, but somehow, it feels right.