Chapter Three It had been weeks since Sunny and Cosmo took Toodles into their care. Was it easy? Pfft. Heaven’s no. That would be asking too much. Toodles asked questions like she was trying to win a prize on Vee’s game show. “Um, Sunny?” she said, padding up to him on the bench. The trains rattled by; the noise was loud but not loud enough to drown her curiosity. “Yes, Toodles?” he said, because of course he answered every single one. “When can I see Dad again?” There it was — the one question he couldn’t answer. *Because apparently I moonlight as a fortune teller now. Great career move.* “I don’t know, kiddo,” he said, and the words tasted like rust. “Why?” she tilted her head, the way kids do when they think logic will fix everything. Also, who asks *why* someone doesn’t know something? *Like that’s going to help.* “Because I don’t know,” he repeated, which was the most honest answer he had. “But why though?” she pressed. Sunny face‑palmed. “Let’s go to the library,” he said, standing up before his brain could invent a dozen worse answers. Toodles skipped after him, eyes flicking to the bandage over his eye. “Those have been on there for a while.” She wasn’t wrong. Four weeks. Delilah had been slammed trying to keep Pebble together — which, spoiler, she wasn’t; the poor guy was still rattled from the Twisted that’d gotten him. Delilah hadn’t had time to check Sunny properly. *I’ll stop by Delilah’s office later,* he told himself, which meant he’d probably forget until something else exploded. After dropping Toodles at the library, Sunny wandered toward the shop area he avoided like a bad habit. Two of his least favorite toons were there: Dandy and Dyle. The two D’s — one annoyingly theatrical, the other a cold, tick‑tock bastard. Perfect. “Sunny, would you mind not standing there and being useless?” a voice snapped. Elixer. Of course. Short, smug, carrying a box of beakers and vials like he’d invented chemistry. He shoved the box at Sunny without waiting for an answer. “Mind helping instead of looking stupid? Much appreciated.” *Right, because you couldn’t possibly carry a box yourself. Must be a tragic condition.* “Right, right, because you just couldn’t do it yourself,” Sunny snapped. Elixer rolled his eyes and shooed him away. “Those go in Delilah’s lab. Shoo, shoo. I have things to do.” He drifted off toward Dyle’s shop, probably to swoon over him. Sunny muttered, “Ugh. Lethals. Spoiled. All of ’em,” and pushed open Delilah’s lab door with his foot. Coffee and wet dog hit him like a wall. Delilah’s head popped out of her office. “Arthur, I told you about coming in my lab without calling first!” she barked, then scowled at Sunny. “Not Arthur, but still another walking mistake. What do you want?” Sunny had learned to take Delilah’s barbs like rain. He wasn’t supposed to exist — she’d been experimenting, Arthur had knocked a sun‑shaped necklace into a vat of ichor, and poof: Sunny. Arthur hadn’t been allowed back in the lab since. “Just dropping this off… and asking about this.” He tapped the bandage over his eye. Delilah sighed and peeled the bandage away. She checked his vitals, poked at his wound, typed something into her terminal. “Huh,” she said, thoughtful and — was that scared? Sunny couldn’t tell. “What?” he asked. “Nothing. Shut up. I’m busy.” She tapped the keyboard. “You’re fine. Just… be careful. I have enough on my plate with toons dropping like flies. Making replacements without the mains noticing is getting harder.” *Without the toons noticing.* The photo in Rodger’s office flashed in his head again — a Twisted that looked like Sprout. That wasn’t a prop. That was a real Sprout, once. How had he missed that? How had they all missed that? “Okay. I’ll take my leave.” Sunny sped out of the lab because thinking about it made his chest tight and he needed a distraction before his brain decided to invent a funeral. He found himself at the elevator with Shrimpo (ugh), Boxten, Goob, and Looey. The elevator took forever to arrive and then forever to open. Shrimpo stamped his foot and yelled, “COULD THIS TAKE ANY LONGER? I HATE WAITING!” He paced, muttering about dirt. Looey looked paranoid. Goob was Goobing . Boxten fiddled with his fingers. When the doors finally opened, they went to work.
**Floor 56.** Looey was already tiring. Boxten had taken a beating but was patching himself up with a medkit. Goob was still goobing. Sunny was on distraction duty, which meant he was the one running, yelling, and generally being the shiny target the Twisteds loved. The elevator doors opened and the lights flickered, then died. Darkness swallowed them. “One second,” someone muttered. Sunny’s body glowed. It was a curse and a blessing. In the dark, he was a walking lamp. “UGH, YOU’RE TOO BRIG—” Shrimpo’s complaint cut off when a growl rolled from a distant room. Great. A main down here. Which one? Sunny’s stomach did a stupid little flip. *Because nothing says ‘fun’ like being hunted by a thing that wants to chew your face off.* He sprinted. The floor felt emptier than usual — a Twisted blot minding its business, a Connie, but no obvious source of the growl. Sunny paused in the middle of the room, trying to think. *Think, Sunny. Think. Or don’t. That’s also an option, apparently.* “GARF RARF.” He had a split second to turn. Jaws snapped inches from his face. A Twisted Pebble lunged — not the fetch‑happy kind. This one wanted to eat him. It growled and snapped again. Sunny darted, feet a blur. He’d learned from his last injury: never assume you’re alone. There was always a Twisted watching from the corners, waiting for you to blink. Heavy footsteps thundered behind him. The thing was persistent. *Like a bad thought that won’t leave you alone. Except this one has teeth.* Delilah had told him not to use his ability. His ichor flared when he pushed it — it lit him up and scorched whatever he ran across. Fire hazard, Delilah had said. *Also, a very effective ‘get the hell away from me’ button.* Did that matter now? No. Not when a rock velociraptor was trying to make him its lunch. He pushed his speed until the carpet hissed and sparks danced. The rooms blurred. Wherever he stepped, the carpet singed. He left a trail of tiny burn marks like a bad art project. The Twisted’s footsteps grew louder, closer. Sunny ducked behind a crate to catch his breath. Looey was on a machine, struggling. Sunny didn’t know how to work the things; his hands were for running, not repairs. He scanned for exits, for anything that wasn’t teeth. The elevator doors opened and everyone poured in. Looey collapsed onto the cold floor, panting. “Phew… that… was… close,” he wheezed. Something barked in the distance, a sound that said it had found a scent. Sunny felt it then — a sharp, hot pain in his arm. The Pebble had latched on and bitten him. He’d wrapped it up, but it still hurt. *Of course it did. Because why would anything go smoothly?* He sprinted to a crate, ducked, and then made a desperate dash for the elevator. The Twisted’s head snapped toward him; claws scrabbled. Sunny dove for the doors in one last, stupid, glorious effort. He hit the floor of the elevator and rolled, breath burning, heart hammering. The lights flickered back on. For a moment he lay there, staring at the ceiling, the world a little too loud, his arm throbbing. *I’m fine,* he told himself. *I’m always fine. Until I’m not. But probably fine. Definitely fine. Maybe.* He pushed himself up. The others were already talking, voices overlapping. Sunny forced a grin that felt like it belonged to someone else. “Next time,” he said, voice rough, “I’ll try not to get eaten.” *Next time,* his brain whispered, *you’ll probably still get eaten. But hey, at least you’l
