Chapter 14
FRIDAY MORNING
Morning light spilled through the tall Kiramman windows, pale and clean against the winter outside. Snow still dusted the streets beyond the glass, but inside the house the air was warm with the smell of toast, tea, and something sweet baking in the kitchen.
Despite the bruises, bandages, and stiff movements, the breakfast table was alive.
Chairs scraped, cups clinked, and voices overlapped in a way that made the room feel fuller than it had in weeks. Someone laughed. Someone else complained about the tea being too weak. Vi was already halfway through her plate. Gerhard leaned back with his coffee like nothing in the world could surprise him anymore. Elara regained her appetite since her dad came home safe and was now compensating for it. Her plate stacked with food mimicking the same menu Vi ate.
Everyone wanted to know the same thing.
Caleb.
Nyx sat rigid at first, but she was listening, really listening.
Tobias cleared his throat over his morning toast and folded his napkin neatly on his lap. “He’s stable,” he said, stirring sugar into his tea. “I’ve kept him on a deliberately high dose of pain medication for now. There’s no sense in making him suffer when his body is already doing so much work. He need sleep and plenty of it.”
Nyx’s hands tightened around her cup.
“He’s… been through a great deal,” Tobias continued gently. “Six months of confinement, does terrible things to a person. Physically and otherwise.”
He glanced toward Elara choosing his words carefully.
“He’s severely malnourished. His muscles have wasted from lack of proper food and movement. His ribs are bruised, possibly fractured and one arm was broken at some point and allowed to heal incorrectly. I’ll have to re-set it once he’s strong enough.”
A hush settled over the table.
“Multiple contusions to the head,” Tobias added, quieter now. “And the wound where his ear was…" she paused "Well, unfortunately it became infected. That tells me he was denied even basic treatment.”
Nyx swallowed hard.
“He’s dehydrated, exhausted, and suffering from prolonged stress and trauma. His body has been in survival mode for months.”
Vi stopped chewing. Put of all the people sitting at the table this morning, she knew better than anyone what he went through and it made her stomach churn. She let the cutlery down suddenly loosing her appetite.
Silence held for a moment longer, then Tobias lifted his eyes and allowed himself a small smile.
“But,” he said, firmly, “none of this is beyond recovery.”
Everyone leaned in slightly.
“With proper nutrition, rest, and care, his strength will return. The infections will clear. His bones will mend correctly this time. His mind…” Tobias hesitated. “That will take longer. But he is safe now and surrounded with people who love him very much. Safety and love is the first medicine.”
Nyx let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
“So… he’ll be okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” Tobias said kindly. “Not quickly. But fully, in time.”
Around the table, shoulders eased.
Nyx listened to every word Tobias said, her chest tightening at the list of injuries… and then slowly, impossibly, something inside her began to lift.
He was alive and safe and that was all that mattered.
By the time Tobias finished, she was smiling, really smiling. Not the thin, guarded version she’d worn for months, but something bright and fragile and full of belief.
She turned to Jorin, and the look she gave him was pure relief, hope.
He leaned down without a word and kissed her forehead gently. It had been so long since he’d seen that expression on her face that it almost hurt.
“Love you,” she whispered.
Then suddenly straightened, as if the thought had struck her all at once.
“I… I need to get him something,” she said. “A present for Shan’zoa. I can’t believe he’ll actually be here for it.”
Her voice wavered, and her eyes filled despite herself.
Caitlyn, who had been quietly buttering her toast, looked up.
“We could make an outing of it today,” she said gently. “The promenade has reopened most of its shops.”
Nyx blinked. “You mean… together?”
Cait smiled. “Yes. I thought you might like the distraction.”
Nyx hesitated only a moment before nodding. “I’d like that.”
“Can I come?” Elara blurted out immediately, half out of her chair.
“Elara!” Gearhand shot her a warning look.
“I don’t mind,” Cait said quickly.
“Yeah, why not?” Vi added, giving Gearhand a sideways glance. “Stop being such a misery. Let the kid have some fun.”
Elara turned her full pleading stare on him. “Can I, Dad? Please?”
Nyx reached over and smacked Gearhand lightly on the shoulder. “You’re not about to say no to that face, are you?”
He sighed in defeat. “Alright. But only if you behave and listen to Caitlyn.”
“I always behave,” Elara said with perfect innocence.
Vi snorted. “Yeah. Sure you do.”
“Well, that’s settled then,” Nyx said, her smile brighter than it had been in months.
“I think the big guy’s just nervous about his job interview,” Vi teased.
Gearhand laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a résumé that makes it sound like I was raised with a silver spoon in my mouth. No idea how the fuck I’m meant to sell that.” He glanced at Tobias. “Pardon my language, sir.”
“It’s quite all right,” Tobias said dryly. “I’m accustomed to it by now.”
“Fake it till you make it,” Vi said, winking.
Tobias shook his head, glancing at his daughter amused. “I do wonder what your mother would say about all this.”
Caitlyn straightened and lifted her chin, putting on her most dignified voice and posture.
“Could everyone please conduct themselves like civilised people?” she said, mimicking Cassandra perfectly, complete with sharp hand gestures.
“You’re terrifying,” Vi said.
Nyx smirked. “You know what they say, Vi. Every woman turns into her mother eventually.”
The table erupted into laughter.
Vi’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Absolutely not.”
For the first time since the nightmare had begun, the house felt like a home again, full of noise, warmth, and plans that had nothing to do with survival.
....
Tobias rose as the others filtered out of the dining room, chairs scraping softly against the floor and voices drifting down the corridor.
“Caitlyn. Vi,” he said, his tone gentle but deliberate. “Could you join me in the study for a moment? There’s something I’d like to show you.”
The two women exchanged a look.
“Yeah … sure?” Vi said, shrugging.
Caitlyn gave a small nod and followed him. The door closed behind them with a quiet click, muting the sounds of the house. Tobias crossed to his desk, unlocked a drawer, and removed a small velvet pouch. From it, he took out a thin, golden band engraved with symbols, delicate in shape, but heavy with implication, and set it carefully on the table between them.
Caitlyn frowned. “What is that?”
“I was hoping you might know.” Tobias said. "It was removed from Caleb’s ankle last night,”
Cait’s brows knit together. “Did you ask Nyx?”
“I did,” he said softly. “But… she was in no state to explain anything. I didn’t want to press her.”
Vi inhaled sharply. “I know what that thig is.”
Cait turned toward her at once. “You do?”
Vi nodded, though her face had gone pale. “I’ve seen it before. In Stillwater.”
“Stillwater?” Caitlyn echoed, confusion flickering across her features.
Vi reached out and picked up the device, handling it with a strange reverence, as if the metal itself carried echoes of screams and stone walls. Her jaw tightened.
“Someone I knew had one of those." She said with heavy heart staringat it."They used them on Vastaya prisoners. They're power suppressors. If you had someone with claws, wings, fire in their blood, anything like that, this made them… harmless.”
She threw it back onto the table.
“Having someone like that in a prison was ‘a security risk,’ they said. So this…” She gestured to it in disgust. “.....solved the problem.”
Caitlyn stared at the device, horror settling into her features. “That’s… barbaric. Who would even authorize something like this?”
“The same people who thought prisoners being beaten for sport was acceptable,” Vi snapped. The words came out sharp, edged with old fury.
Cait swallowed. It had been meant as a rhetorical question, but the answer, spoken aloud made the room feel heavier.
Tobias cleared his throat, trying to steady the moment. “I assumed it was some kind of tracking device.”
Vi shook her head slowly. “No. It’s worse than that.” She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the table. “You try using your power with one of those on you, it turns it back on you. Deflects it inward. I’ve seen people's brains spilling on the floor fried.” Her jaw clenched.
Her voice rose despite herself. “Imagine trying to survive when even thinking about protecting yourself can kill you.”
Cait moved before Vi could spiral further. She stepped closer, her hand sliding gently down Vi’s arm, grounding her. Then she took Vi’s hand in both of hers, warm and steady.
Vi’s breathing slowed. Her shoulders dropped.
“Sorry,” she muttered quietly, eyes flicking away. “I didn’t mean to...”
“It’s okay,” Cait said softly. “You don’t have to apologize for remembering.”
Tobias looked down at the bracelet, his expression dark. “It doesn’t make it any better knowing its purpose. But at least now we understand what they did to him.”
The golden band sat between them, harmless in appearance, almost beautiful, yet suddenly, unbearably loud with everything it represented.
.....
The Promenade sat high above the rest of Zaun, a rare place where the streets widened and the light seemed to breathe. Shopfronts glowed with warm lamplight behind thick glass, their windows crowded with clockwork toys, silk scarves, polished brass trinkets, and jars of shimmering powders. People bustled past in layered coats and scarves, voices overlapping in a low, constant hum, merchants calling out deals, children laughing, the clink of coins and glass.
Nyx and Cait moved side by side, their boots crunching softly over the snow that still clung to the street. It had stopped falling, but the cold wind still cut through the air, slipping between buildings and carrying with it the mingled scents of oil, spice, and sweet smoke from food stalls.
Nyx slowed in front of a jeweller’s window, peering in thoughtfully.
“I need something…” she muttered. “For my brother. And Jorin. And… everyone, really.”
Cait smiled at her. “You realise that sounds like a recipe for overthinking.”
Nyx huffed. “I don’t overthink.”
Cait gave her a look. “You are actively overthinking.”
"Sais a woman who overcomplicates even a simplest task" she nudged her with a hip "But it's ok, it's a part of your charm." She laughed despite herself.
Cait rolled her eyes as she was scanning another display, mentally ticking off her list. She already had Vi’s main present tucked away at home, but that hadn’t stopped her from eyeing small extras, a leather belt here, a pair of fingerless gloves there. Her favorite bar of soap she said she always wanted as a kid and couldn't afford. Small things that said I saw this and thought of you.
A gust of wind swept down the street and Nyx shivered.
Cait glanced at her. “You know, you might consider shopping for a coat while you’re at it.”
Nyx scoffed. “I have a coat.”
Cait glanced down Nyx’s burgundy red leather studded long coat “That thing is a fashion statement, not insulation.”
Before Nyx could retort, Elara darted ahead of them, drawn like a magnet toward a brightly lit stand near the corner of the square.
It was an old-fashioned candy cart, all polished brass and curved ironwork, its wheels trimmed in gold filigree. Mqssive glass jars lined its shelves from end to end, each filled with sweets in every imaginable colour and shape, spirals of sugared fruit, jewel-bright drops, twisted ribbons of caramel, and tiny crystal candies that caught the light like gemstones.
Elara hovered in front of it, eyes wide as dinner plates.
Cait leaned down beside her. “Go on, sweaty. Pick whatever you like.”
Elara blinked up at her. “Really?”
Cait nodded with a soft smile. “Really.”
"I can choose whatever I want?"
"Whatever you want and as much as you can eat" Cait smiled
Elara stepped closer to the stand, overwhelmed. She stared at the jars, shifting from foot to foot, unable to decide.
Nyx leaned over her shoulder and pointed. “That one. The green twists.”
Elara squinted. “What are they?”
“Lime and apple...My favourite,” Nyx said proudly.
Cait wrinkled her nose. “They taste like socks.”
Nyx gasped in mock offence. “Excuse you, that is refined Zaunite flavour.”
“Refined mould,” Cait shot back.
Nyx rolled her eyes “You just don’t have taste.”
Cait turned to the vendor, an older woman with copper-rimmed goggles perched on top her head and sugar dusting her fingerless gloves.
“I’ll take a little of everything,” Cait said.
"Everything?" Elara’s eyes widened even more
"Well, I suppose since you cannot decide, you should try it all." She shot Nyx a look "Including but not limited to the moldy sock flavours."
Elara watched in fascination as the woman scooped candies into striped paper bags, the glass jars clinking softly as they were opened and closed. Then her attention shifted to the side of the cart, where the woman’s husband began spinning sugar into pale pink clouds around a thin metal rod.
Elara’s mouth fell open.
Cait noticed at once. “Would you like one of those too?”
Elara nodded so hard her scarf bow bobbed. “Yes, please.”
Cait smiled. “Add a candy floss as well, please.”
The vendor handed it over, a fluffy spiral of pink sweetness and Elara took it carefully, as though it might float away.
Cait watched her, her expression softening. “You’d think I'd just given her a gemstone.”
Nyx chuckled quietly. “In Zaun… that is a gemstone.” she tapped Cait’s shoulder "I don't think she'll ever forget this."
Cait looked down at Elara again. She wondered for a moment did Vi ever watched the sweets like that with longing in her big blue eyes, and something tightened in her chest.
....
Elara was already in trouble.
Her candy floss was slowly collapsing in on itself, pink strands clinging to her hands, her scarf, and threatening her nose. She tried to rescue it with fierce concentration, rotating the stick in careful little circles like it was some delicate scientific experiment.
“Are you alright, darling?” Cait asked, watching her wrestle with a strand of sugar and then promptly lick her fingers.
“It’s attacking me,” Elara giggled.
Nyx snorted. “First casualty of Snowdown.”
“Hold still, sweetheart,” Cait laughed, pulling a tissue from her coat pocket. She crouched and gently wiped Elara’s cheeks. Elara puffed them out dramatically, which only made Cait laugh harder. Then she wiped her sticky little hands. “You’re turning into the candy.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” Cait said warmly, tucking the tissue away.
They moved on through the stalls, the highest stretch of Zaun’s Promenade opening around them in a riot of colour and sound. Steam curled from food carts selling fried root skewers, spiced broth, and thick hot soups in tin cups. A vendor called out about fruit sweets wrapped in paper cones. Another stall displayed knitted scarves and mittens in deep jewel tones, hung from brass hooks like banners. People sold everything from handmade shoes and carved wooden toys to wind-up birds built from scrap metal and stained-glass lamps and orbs that glowed faintly in the winter light.
Elara darted from stand to stand, eyes wide with wonder.
Nyx lingered behind, drawn to a small table draped in dark cloth. Handmade jewellery lay scattered across it: brass bangles etched with swirling patterns, chains threaded with polished bits of crystal, and earrings shaped like tiny gears, wings, and leaves.
She slipped one bangle over her wrist, turning it slowly.
“Okay… these are actually gorgeous.”
Then she picked up a pair of earrings, slender gold leaves with pale blue stones set in them like raindrops, and held them up to Cait’s ear.
“Ooooh,” Nyx said solemnly. “These would suit you.”
Cait blinked. “I… I don’t really wear jewellery.”
Nyx rolled her eyes. “That’s because you’re boring.”
“Excuse me, I am not!” Cait protested, then sighed, shoulders dropping. “I just… wear the uniform most of the time.”
“Exactly,” Nyx said. “Boring.”
“Hey! Don’t call her boring!” Elara popped up at Cait’s side like a tiny bodyguard. “She’s not boring. She’s important.”
Cait straightened proudly. “Thank you, darling. See? Not everyone shares your opinion.”
Nyx smirked. “Girl, you need a style."
"I do have a style"
"Yeah a boring one. Just because you have to wear that stiff Pilty gear doesn’t mean you can’t own it. Pimp it up a bit.”
“Pimp it up?” Cait frowned.
“Yeah. Like your wife. She wears it with attitude.”
Cait glanced back at the earrings. They were simple… but elegant. Practical, even. She hesitated. “Well… I suppose...”
“I’ll take them,” Nyx said brightly to the vendor.
Cait spun around. “Excuse me?!”
Nyx grinned. “Too late. Snowdown gift. You’re welcome.”
Elara clapped. “Put them on!”
Cait shook her head, though she was smiling despite herself.
“You’re both terrible influences.”
......
A little farther up the promenade, Nyx slowed and stopped in front of a narrow shop window.
Inside, carefully arranged on velvet, was a beautiful set of drafting tools housed in a leather sleeve, graphite pencils, fine rulers, and delicate measuring instruments, all gleaming faintly under the light.
Her throat tightened.
Her brother had once owned a set like that. Lost in the explosion. Lost with everything else, their home, their memories, the small quiet pieces of a life that had vanished in a single second.
Cait came up beside her. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
“It is.” Nyx closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m just… wondering if he’ll even want something like this anymore.”
“I think he will,” Cait replied gently. “It took me a long time to feel myself again after everything that happened.... But I did eventually. Sometimes… we need things like this to remind us who we are.”
Nyx looked at her, then back at the tools.
She drew in a steady breath, reached out, and pushed the shop door open.
.....
Vi rang the doorbell and took a step back, shoving her hands into her pockets while she waited. The apartment building sat in one of Piltover’s quieter, nicer districts, high enough that the bridge could be seen stretching out beyond the windows. The hallway alone was enough to make her feel underdressed, ornate gold moldings traced the ceiling, and the walls were painted a soft, elegant blue that caught the morning light.
From inside the apartment, she heard a woman’s voice. “Just a minute!”
A few moments later, the door opened.
A tall woman with fiery red hair stood there, her face lighting up with a wide, genuine smile. “Vi! Oh, how lovely to see you.”
“Morning, Miss Florence,” Vi said, offering an awkward half-smile of her own.
Florence stepped aside at once. “Please, come in." She said wiping her hands onnthe kitchen towel "Thank you so much for visiting. Lance will be so happy you’re here.”
“No trouble,” Vi replied as she crossed the threshold. “How’s he doing?”
“Still bruised,” Florence said, already turning down the corridor, “but much better than he was. He’s been asking about you.”
The apartment was bright and airy, every surface touched by daylight. Pale furniture and soft rugs gave it a warm, lived-in feel, and large windows lined the far wall, revealing a small balcony outside now dusted with fresh snow. Beyond it, the city gleamed faintly, quiet under its white cover.
Florence led Vi toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. “He’s been terribly restless,” she added gently, “but seeing a friend should do him some good.”
Florence opened the door to Lance’s room and gestured Vi inside.
He was seated at a small desk by the window, wrapped in a thick dressing gown over stripy pajamas, carefully painting the wing of a model airship. Tiny bottles of paint and brushes were spread out in neat chaos across the desk. The winter light poured in beside him, glinting off the fresh coat of gold he was applying.
The room itself was like a miniature toy store. From the ceiling hung finished models of airships and balloons in all shapes and sizes, gently swaying. Along the opposite wall, bookshelves were packed tight with tiny boats, cars, and even whole rows of carefully crafted houses.
Lance looked up.
His face lit up instantly. “Vi!”
He didn’t hesitate, he was on his feet in a second, crossing the room to wrap his arms around her in a careful but enthusiastic hug.
Vi chuckled and patted his back. “Easy there, champ. How you holdin’ up?”
“Bored,” he said at once, pulling back with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t wait to get back to work.”
Vi snorted. “Take your time. I'm enjoying peace and quiet while I still can.”
He grinned. “No such luck, boss. Mum’s got me on bed rest and soup duty. You're vacation is up”
Vi finally took a proper look around the room, whistling low. “Wow… I knew you liked tinkerin’, but this?” She gestured at the ceiling, then the shelves. “Didn’t know I was walkin’ into an air fleet.”
Lance beamed at her reaction and immediately grabbed her by the sleeve. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
He led her back to the desk first, carefully lifting one of the finished airships. Its hull was painted in soft blues and greens, the tiny windows picked out in gold.
“I made this one last year,” he said proudly. “It’s based on a Piltover courier ship.”
Vi turned it slowly in her hands, genuinely impressed. “You did this?” She squinted at the fine lines along the wings. “This is… actually really damn good.”
He laughed. “Mum says I’ve got steady hands. Been doing it since I was eight. Started with boats, then balloons, then… well.” He waved vaguely at the ceiling.
He pointed up at a cluster of brightly coloured hot-air balloons. “Those are my early ones. See? The paint’s all messy.”
Vi tilted her head, studying them. “Still better than anything I could make. I’d glue my fingers together and call it art.”
That earned her a grin.
He moved to the shelves next, picking up a tiny house with a crooked chimney. “This one’s based on the old bridge district. Before it got rebuilt.”
Vi traced the roof with one finger. “You don’t just build ‘em… you make rhe whole panoramas.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Feels like keeping pieces of the world in my room. You know?”
She looked at him for a second, something warm settling in her chest. “You ever think about competing? I recon you could win quite few prices on the Progress day.”
His eyes lit up. “All the time. I'm just too nervous about it. I wanna design ships. Ones that don’t just fly… but actually feel like they belong up there.”
Vi smiled, slow and proud. “Guess the skies better watch out, then.”
Vi reached behind her back and pulled out a small paper bag, crinkled from the cold. “Almost forgot,” she said, holding it out to him. “Brought you something.”
Lance’s eyes widened. “For me?”
“Yeah, genius. Open it.”
He peeked inside, then actually gasped. “No way… this is from the Lanes!”
“Your favourite,” Vi said proudly. “And..” she tapped the second box tucked underneath, “cinnamon buns from that fancy Piltover cake shop you like. Cait got those special.”
His face lit up like she’d handed him a treasure. “Sheriff went all that way?”
“She insisted,” Vi smirked. “Something about ‘proper nutrition’ and ‘morale.’”
He laughed and carefully set the bag on his desk like it might vanish if he blinked too hard. “You two are the best bosses in the world.”
They sat for a moment, the room filled with the soft clink of paint bottles as he nudged them aside.
“So…” he said, glancing up at her. “How’s everything out there? How’s Darren?”
Vi snorted. “Oh, Darren’s fine. Bit of an idiot, though as always. But I still love him.”
Lance’s brows lifted. “What’d he do?”
“He smashed Caitlyn’s car.”
There was a beat.
“…Smashed?” Lance repeated. "No way"
“Straight into the house” Vi said, spreading her hands. “Cait’s face, though?” She laughed. “Priceless.”
Lance burst out laughing, clutching his side. “And he still has a job?”
“Yeah." Vi said with mock seriousness. “But it was moment of silence for the Kiramman-mobile.”
They both cracked up again, the sound bouncing off the walls.
.....
Back outside, Elara suddenly tugged hard on the sleeve of Cait’s coat.
Cait bent down instinctively. Elara rose onto her toes and whispered into her ear with grave urgency,
“I need to pee.”
Cait’s eyes widened. “Oh—! Well. Yes. Of course.”
She straightened and looked to Nyx. “Who fancies some food?”
Nyx smirked. “Smooth transition, Sheriff.”
They ducked into one of the small promenade restaurants, warm air and noise washing over them. The place was buzzing, voices overlapping, cutlery clinking, steam fogging the windows. A long counter ran the length of the right wall, underneath it glass display fridges packed with food, trays of spiced noodles, fried root patties, layered pastries, and jewel-bright sweets stacked in neat rows.
Behind the counter worked a handful of Zaunite girls with rolled-up sleeves and oil-stained aprons, hair braided or tied back with scarves. One had tattoos winding up her neck, another chewed gum while juggling three orders at once, and a third laughed loudly as she slid plates to the customer down the counter like cards in a game.
“We need the loo,” Cait announced as they entered.
“I’m a big girl. I don’t need help,” Elara declared, hands on her hips.
Cait lifted a brow and crouched to her level. “Oh, I have no doubt whatsoever that you are perfectly capable of managing this alone.”
She paused, then added solemnly, “However, you are currently assigned your own personal security detail. Regrettably, that means I cannot allow you to wander off unattended.”
Nyx snorted. “See? Perks of being important. Enjoy them while you can.”
Elara squinted at Cait. “Fine. But I go into the cubicle alone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of following,” Cait said gravely, as if offended by the very suggestion.
“I’ll find us a table,” Nyx said, already scanning the room. “You two have fun with… whatever this operation is.”
“Operation Pee,” Elara corrected.
Cait closed her eyes for half a second. “Right. Operation Pee. Let’s proceed.”
.....
Back at the table, the three of them bent over their menus with exaggerated seriousness.
Elara traced the lines with her little finger, lips moving as she tried to sound out the words.
“Smoked haaaam… with d… dull… d—”
Cait leaned closer. “Smoked ham with dill sauce.”
Elara squinted up at her. “Is that hot?”
“No,” Cait said warmly. “It’s creamy and very nice. Comes with bread dumplings too. Vi loves it.”
“She does?”
“It’s one of her favourites.”
Elara nodded decisively. “Then I’ll have that.”
She hesitated, then pulled a small sachet from her pocket and tipped a few coins onto the table. “Only… I’m not sure I’ve got enough.”
“What? No...” Cait started at once.
“It’s on us, kiddo,” Nyx said easily.
“You keep your money,” Cait added, sliding the coins back to Elara. “In case you see something special for your dad. Or for yourself.”
Elara brightened. “Will you help me find him a present?”
“Of course,” Cait nodded.
“You find what you want,” Nyx winked, “and leave the haggling to me.”
Then Nyx’s eyes drifted down to Cait’s hand as she lifted her menu again.
“…Hold on a second.”
She reached out and grabbed her hand. “And what the hell is this?”
Cait tugged it back with a smirk. “Nothing I’m prepared to discuss.”
Elara peeked over her menu. “Discuss what?”
Nyx’s grin turned feral. “Pretty sure the Sheriff just got herself engaged.”
“Really?!” Elara gasped. “Are you pregnant?!”
“What? No!” Cait spluttered, eyes wide in horror.
Nyx collapsed into laughter. “Now that would be ambitious for Vi.”
Cait went scarlet. “I am not pregnant...and… yes, alright, we are engaged.”
The table exploded.
Nyx shot up and came around the table, pulling Cait into a sudden hug. “You sneaky little Pilti!”
“Can I be a flower girl?” Elara squealed.
Cait was half-smothered between them. “You cannot tell anyone! It’s meant to be a surprise for Shan’zoa dinner!”
“Not a word,” Nyx said, crossing her heart.
“I won’t say anything,” Elara promised solemnly, then immediately added, “Except dad. I have to tell dad.”
“No!” Cait cried.
Nyx laughed. “Relax, your secret’s safe. Mostly.”
Cait sank back into her seat, rubbing her face. “I came out for presents… and somehow you’ve robbed me of my surprise.”
"I swear just dad" Elara smiled
Cait shook her head laughing.
......
After a long, easy chat, Vi finally headed for the door. Lance walked her out of his room, still grinning, but before she could reach the hallway, Florence gently caught her by the arm.
“Vi, dear… could we have a word?” she asked softly.
Vi hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
Florence led her into the kitchen, a warm, tidy space that still smelled faintly of tea and cinnamon. She gestured to one of the chairs. “Please, sit.”
Vi did, shifting a little awkwardly as Florence busied herself for a second, then sat opposite her folding her hands on the table.
“You see… Lance is all I have,” Florence said at last.
Vi looked up, surprised by the sudden seriousness.
“His father died when Lance was eight,” she went on quietly. “An accident in the Undercity. Ever since then, it’s just been the two of us.”
Vi’s brows knitted. “Wait… you’re from the Undercity?”
Florence smiled faintly and nodded. “Yes. I don’t sound like it anymore, but I was born there. We both were.”
She looked down at her hands. “I worked myself to the bone to get us out. Cleaning jobs, factory shifts, anything I could find. I wanted him to have… something better. A real chance.”
Vi swallowed. “Didn’t know. He never said anything.”
“He was still a boy when we moved up here,” Florence continued. “But even then, he used to talk about changing things. About making the city safer. He said if he became an Enforcer, maybe he could make a difference instead of just watching people suffer.”
Vi shifted in her chair. “He is making a difference,” she said firmly. “He’s one of the good ones. I haven’t met many Enforcers I could say that about,” she admitted.
She took a slow breath. “That’s the point, Vi. He has good heart and I don’t want to stop him in his dreams...But...I can’t lose him. Not after I fought so hard to keep him alive this long.”
Her voice wavered despite her effort to keep it steady.
“I know he believes in what he’s doing. And I respect that. I do. But he’s all I have left in this world.”
Vi’s jaw tightened. She nodded once. “I get it,” she said quietly. “More than you think.”
Florence gave a small, sad smile. “Then you understand why I’m afraid.”
The kitchen fell silent for a moment, the hum of Piltover far away beyond the windows.
Vi felt it settle heavier in her chest the longer Florence spoke. She didn’t say it out loud. Didn’t let it show on her face. But the thoughts gnawed at her, sharp and persistent.
On her watch.
She stared at the table, jaw tight, hands curled on the table.
Then Florence reached across and laid her hand over Vi’s.
Vi stiffened in surprise.
Florence’s grip was warm, steady. She gave Vi’s hand a gentle squeeze.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For saving my boy.”
Vi looked up, caught completely off guard.
“I know he came home hurt,” Florence went on, her voice trembling just slightly. “But he came home alive because of you. I will always be grateful for that… that he was under your watch. Please promise me he will no be moving to someone else.”
The words hit Vi sideways.
She had been bracing for blame. For anger. For fear turned sharp and accusing. She had expected to be told she should have protected him better. That she’d failed.
Not this.
Her throat tightened.
Florence smiled at her, tired but sincere. “Whatever danger he was in… you brought him back to me. That’s all a mother can ask.”
Vi swallowed hard. “I… I should’ve done more,” she muttered.
Florence shook her head. “You did enough.”
For a moment, Vi couldn’t speak. Her fingers twitched under Florence’s hand before she slowly squeezed back, just once.
“…Thank you,” Vi said quietly, though she wasn’t sure what she was thanking her for, her words, her trust, or the way she’d eased something heavy inside her.
....
He felt wildly out of place.
The suit Vi had bought him fit well, too well, maybe. Dark fabric, crisp collar, shoes that still pinched at the heel. He tugged at the cuffs, then immediately stopped, afraid he’d wrinkle them. His palms were damp. His thoughts were worse.
Don’t say something stupid.
Don’t swear.
Don’t mention factories.
Don’t mention… anything.
The waiting didn’t last long, mercifully.
“Mr. Gerhard?” a voice called.
He shot to his feet so fast his knee cracked against the chair. “Yes—yes, that’s me.”
The door opened, and he was waved inside.
The office was… smaller than he expected. Not the grand, glass-walled room he’d imagined after two months of rejection and polite smiles, but something cramped and cluttered, like the inside of a very intelligent storm.
Books lay stacked in uneven towers along the walls and directly on the floor, some open, some face-down, some with scraps of paper sticking out like bookmarks. Folders were piled almost to the height of the desk, leaning at dangerous angles as if one wrong breath might send them toppling. Blueprints were rolled and wedged into corners, pinned crookedly to corkboards, or half-unfurled across chairs.
The desk itself was barely visible beneath the chaos, paperwork layered over notes, over diagrams, over more notes. Pens and rulers and bits of string lay tangled together. And right in the middle of it all sat the largest ashtray Gerhard had ever seen, overflowing with cigarette butts and grey ash.
The air smelled of ink and paper, with a faint bite of smoke underneath, old smoke, soaked into the walls and books over years.
Behind the desk, a man muttered to himself as he rummaged through a drawer.
“No, no… where did I put that...ah...no, that’s not it either…”
He didn’t look up at first. His hair was dark and untidy, his sleeves rolled up, tie loosened like he’d forgotten it existed. He shoved one pile of folders aside to dig deeper into the drawer, sending another stack wobbling dangerously.
Gerhard stood there, unsure whether to sit, speak, or apologize for existing.
Finally, the man straightened, holding a crumpled folder triumphantly. “There we are!”
He looked up at last, and blinked when he noticed Gerhard.
“Oh. You must be the applicant.” He waved vaguely at the chair opposite the desk. “Sit, sit. Before something collapses.”
Gerhard obeyed carefully, perching on the edge of the chair as if afraid it might also be part of the pile.
Two months, he thought.
Two months of doors and corridors and waiting rooms like this.
And somehow… this one felt different already.
The man stood, pushing a stack of folders aside so he could reach across the desk.
He extended his hand. “John Pretty,” he said with a crooked smile. “Pretty. Not Petty.”
Gerhard blinked, then took it. “Borsen Gearhand.”
Their hands met, firm, warm. It startled him more than it should have. No one had shaken his hand like that in a long time. Not properly. Not like he belonged there.
“So. Mr. Gearhand. You’ve been informed about the nature of the position?”
Gerhard nodded, then cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I understand you’re looking for an engineer for the south-side bridge project.”
Pretty sat back down, folding his hands over a stack of blueprints. “That’s right. Took heavy damage during the… unpleasantness.” He grimaced slightly. “Structural stress fractures, compromised supports, and a few design flaws that were already there before things started exploding.”
Gerhard hesitated. “If you don’t mind me asking… how come you haven’t found anyone yet?”
Pretty snorted. “Reconstruction is happening across half the city. Every engineer worth their slide rule is already buried in work. Bridges, housing blocks, transit rails. Everyone wants everything fixed yesterday.”
Then he tilted his head, studying Gerhard more closely.
“So,” he said casually, “why are you free?”
Gerhard’s stomach dropped.
Caitlyn’s carefully invented CV flashed through his mind. Projects. Contracts. Clean timelines. All of it suddenly felt very thin.
“My… previous project finished,” he said. It came out stiff.
Pretty stood and walked to a small side cabinet, uncorking a crystal bottle. He poured two glasses without looking at Gerhard.
“Funny,” he said mildly. “Because according to my records, your ‘previous project’ finished while you were in Stillwater.”
The glass touched the desk with a soft clink.
Silence filled the room.
Pretty turned back to him. “You see, Mr. Gearhand, I like to know who works for me. So I did a little research.”
Gerhard shot to his feet.
Pretty looked up, surprised. “Where are you going?”
"I’ll just see myself out before you throw me out.”
“Oh no, no Pretty said lightly. “If I were throwing you out, you wouldn’t even reach that door.”
Gerhard froze.
Pretty pointed at the chair. “Sit Mr. Gerhard Please.”
Against every instinct, Gerhard did.
Pretty leaned back against the desk. “I don’t know what your relationship is with Caitlyn Kiramman. And frankly, I don’t care.”
Gerhard swallowed.
“However....What I do care about is her word,” Pretty continued. “And it’s obvious that, for whatever reason, she trusts you.”
He tapped the desk once. “She recommended you. Which tells me she thinks highly of you.”
Pretty looked him straight in the eye.
“So I’ll ask you one simple question, Mr. Gearhand.”
“Can you do the job?”
Gerhard didn’t hesitate.
“With my eyes shut, sir.”
Pretty chuckled, sliding a glass across the desk to him. “Let’s hope they’ll be open.”
He lifted his own drink. “Welcome to the team, Mr. Gearhand.”
Gerhard stared at the glass, then at him.
“…Thank you, sir.”
For the first time in months, he felt human.
.....
Piltover’s police station hummed with its usual low, orderly chaos, boots on stone floors, muffled voices through walls, the scratch of pens and the clack of filing drawers and typewriters. Cait sat at her desk drowning heroically in paperwork, spectacles perched on her nose, brow furrowed in noble suffering.
The door opened.
“Hello, love,” she said without looking up.
“Hi,” Vi replied, already halfway across the room.
She rounded the desk and Cait tilted her head automatically, offering a kiss. Vi leaned in, stole one, then went straight for the tiny fridge in the corner, pulled out a beer, popped it open, and perched herself on the edge of Cait’s desk.
“How’s Lance?” Cait asked.
Vi took a swig. “Better. Less pale. Still looks like he got hit by a train, but… healthier train.”
She smirked. “He said to thank you for the package. Made his whole day.”
Cait beamed like she’d just been knighted. “I’m glad.”
Vi nodded toward the mountain of papers. “And you? Thrilling day of ink and misery?”
“Productive,” Cait said primly. Then she sighed. “Although… the cat is out of the bag.”
Vi blinked. “Which cat?”
“Our engagement.”
“Already?!”
Cait groaned. “Nyx spotted the ring immediately. And Elara asked if I was pregnant.”
Vi choked on her beer “Wow. I'm good, not that good.” she burst out laughing.
Cait slid her hand over Vi’s thigh, thumb tracing idle circles. “You never know… with hextech, the possibilities are...”
Vi nearly fell off the desk. “Hell absolutely fucking not. I'm not having a baby with three heads and one of those awful mechanical Victor claws.”
Cait collapsed forward, laughing so hard she had to rest her forehead against Vi’s leg.
When she recovered, she pressed soft kisses into Vi’s thigh. “You’d be a wonderful mum, you know.”
Vi raised an eyebrow. “Are you ovulating?”
Cait lost it again. “Vi!”
She hooked her fingers into Vi’s belt tugging her closer and purred softly “Our kids would be the prettiest in Piltover and Zaun.”
Vi grinned. “Yep. Definitely ovulating.”
Cait grabbed her by the collar and kissed her properly, deep, warm, unashamed. Vi melted into it, hands sliding at the side of Cait’s neck. The desk creaking faintly in protest.
Them q sudden knock on the door practically sent them both flying.
Vi yelped and scrambled so fast she tangled her feet and landed on the floor with a thump.
Cait shot upright, yanking her jacket straight and clearing her throat like nothing had happened.
The deputy sheriff opened the door. “Uh..sorry.”
“Perfect timing,” Cait said stiffly, cheeks pink. “What is it?”
Vi stood up, brushing herself off, trying very hard to look innocent.
The deputy glanced between them. “…I’ll come back later.”
“No need!” Cait said far too quickly.
Vi snorted.
Cait shot her a warning look.
Vi just grinned.
.....
Elara sat at the big kitchen table, sleeves rolled up and hair tied into a high knot with a checkered blue scarf, the bow perched proudly on top. Her small hands were coated in chocolate as she carefully rolled rum balls into sugar, placing each one into paper baskets on the large tray in front of her.
Dora leaned over her shoulder, watching with an indulgent smile. “You’re doing a good job, you know. You could even think about making this a career someday.”
Elara shrugged dismissively, not looking up from her work. “Nah. I’m gonna be an Enforcer. Like Cait and Vi.”
Anika let out a soft chuckle, folding her arms as she observed the tiny, determined figure. “Well, you already have a resume ready for that, don’t you?”
Dora nodded, her smile softening. “Not surprised. You and Miss Vi? You’re like sisters from a different mother.”
Anika shook her head in amusement. “It’s nice, though, that you’ve got it all planned. Shows ambition.”
“I think you’d be really good,” Dora said thoughtfully, brushing a stray lock of hair from Elara’s forehead. “We need more Zaunites in blue. Maybe fewer heads would get cracked in lanes, too.”
Elara paused, looking up at them with wide eyes, a small chocolate streak on her cheek. Her little fists clenched on the table, her chocolate-smeared hands trembling with determination. “I’ll make sure I bring down the Chem-barons,” she declared, her voice sharp and unwavering.
Dora let out a low whistle, shaking her head in mock awe. “That’s… quite the ambition, kid. Might be a bit of a tall order, don’t you think?”
Before Elara could reply, a familiar voice rang out from the doorway. “Morning.”
Elara looked up, her eyes widening. Then, with the sort of unfiltered honesty only a kid could manage, she blurted “Anny, it’s your girlfriend?”
Anika’s face lit up, breaking into a massive, radiant smile. “Sev?!” she exclaimed, unable to contain herself.
Before anyone could stop her, she dashed across the kitchen and threw herself into Sevika’s arms, wrapping them around her tightly.
Sevika laughed softly, holding her close, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Morning, Doll,” she murmured.
"Morning Councillor" Dora shook her head with an amused smile, watching the pair. Her eyes met Anika’s, who was about to ask a question.
But Dora’s voice cut in first, warm and teasing, “Go on, we’ll manage.”
.....
They walked their usual path in quiet step, boots crunching softly over the gravel coveredwith thin layer of snow. The city humed far away, but here it’s just them and the low wind threading through rheor hair.
Anika glanced sideways at her. “So… how are you really doing?”
Sevika exhaled through her nose. “House feels empty.” She flexes her metal fingers once, like she can’t help it. “Too much space in the wardrobe. Keeps catching me off guard.”
Anika leaned into her shoulder, nuzzling close. “Too much space in me too,” she murmurs.
Sevika’s jaw tightened “Fuzzy misses you. I don’t seem to prepare his food the same.”
Anika chuckled softly. “You just need to cut the liver smaller. He’s dramatic like that.”
They walked a little more.
“Everyone’s… nice,” Anika says. “Too nice. But I just want to go home.”
Sevika shrugged, eyes fixed ahead. “Me too. I hope it’s soon. I keep talking to myself.” she chuckled
Anika hesitated for a moment. “And if the Council finds out?”
Sevika’s voice dropped, rough and certain.
“We’ll be watching the Undercity burn from Stillwater. All of us.”
"Don’t say that."
"It won't come to that.." her arm draped over Anika’s shrugged tightened pulling her closer "We won't let it"
—
The hallway is dim and smelled of fresh bread andnthe roasted chicken. Their footsteps stopped where they always did, in the small space by the back door filled with coats hanging by the door.
Anika took from the chest of drawers in the xor3
a small paper packet, tied neatly with string. “I packed your favourites.”
Sevika took it, then notices the little note tied to it as well. She unties it carefully.
Miss you loads
A crooked little drawing shows two stick figures holding hands.
Her breath leaves her in a slow, heavy sigh.
Without a word, she pulled Anika in, metal arm pressing her tight to her chest. She kissed the top of her head, long and lingering, blinking away tears she absolutely refuses to admit are there.
Anika lifted her chin, offering a sad smile. Without a word Sevika pulled her into a kiss, soft warm and lingering. Full of promise that soon they will be together again
.....
Solan’s office overlooked the factory floor like a throne room above an iron belly. Through the tall windows, molten light pulsed from below, machines roaring like chained beasts as iff nothing happened. Those who didn't manage to flee were back at their work stations bleeding and sweating once again. Rubble was being cleared, but the iron beast kept running.
Charlotte leaned against the desk, lighting a cigarette. She took a long drag, then exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around her face like a ghost.
“You fucked up.”
“I did not fuck up,” Solan snapped.
She smirked. “You’re in some heavy denial, man.”
Caleum lounged back in his chair, boots propped on a crate, swirling amber liquid in a crystal glass.
“You fucked up big time.”
“It’s a minor setback,” Solan said, pressing a bag of ice harder against his swollen forehead. One of his eyes was nearly sealed shut.
“Is that what you call losing our main engineer?” Charlotte shot back. “The man holding this whole project together?”
Caleum poured himself another drink. “You should consider yourself lucky they didn’t flood this place with Enforcers. That was an extraction op, not a purge.”
Charlotte pushed herself off the desk and began pacing the room.
“Hm… which makes me wonder.”
Solan glanced up. “Wonder what?”
“Why you weren’t flooded with Enforcers.” She stopped mid-step. “Means Kiramman’s being careful.”
“What are you talking about?” Solan muttered, his voice thick.
“She’s operating quietly,” Charlotte said. “Keeping it off the Council’s radar. If they get involved, Zaun burns, and she gets called a dictator again. So she’s playing surgeon instead of butcher.”
Solan scoffed. “See? Minor setback. Just a few of them and some kids on hoverboards.”
Charlotte snorted. “You mean the same kids who took down Noxians? Or the same ones who stopped this place from going up in flames?”
She suddenly went still.
“Wait…”
Solan frowned. “What?”
“You need an engineer.”
“No shit,” Solan said. “You just figure that out now?”
In a blur, Charlotte vanished from where she stood.
Solan didn’t even have time to blink.
She slammed him into the wall, the ice pack dropping from his hand. Her fingers wrapped around his already-bruised throat, lifting him off the floor.
“I’ve had enough of your attitude.”
“Alright!” Solan wheezed. “Chill!”
“I could snap your neck right now and take over this whole operation,” she said softly. “Give me one good reason not to.”
“Money,” he rasped through her grip.
Caleum took a slow sip of his drink, utterly unbothered. “He’s got a point Char... Put him down. You can always kill him later.”
Solan’s eyes flicked to him in pure horror.
"No offence mate, you screwed it up."
Charlotte released him. "You're a rare scum"
He dropped hard to the floor, coughing and clutching his throat. "You're the one to talk"
"At least I pay my people."
Caleum set his glass down. “You were saying?”
Charlotte leaned back against the desk, “I think,” she said slowly, “I’ve got just the right boy for us.”
....
SATURDAY MORNING
Morning light crept softly through the heavy curtains of Caitlyn and Vi’s bedroom, turning the dark fabric into a pale wash of gold. The city outside was still half-asleep, the distant hum of Piltover muted by snow and stone and glass.
Caitlyn stirred first.
Years of early mornings had trained her body too well, even on a Saturday, her internal clock refused to stay quiet. She blinked awake, eyes adjusting to the dim glow of dawn, and for a moment simply lay there, listening.
Vi, on the other hand, was dead to the world.
She was tangled in blankets, hair a mess against the pillow, one arm thrown loosely over Caitlyn’s waist. Her breathing was slow and deep, the kind of sleep that came from finally being safe, finally being warm. No guards shouting. No iron doors slamming open at dawn. No cold stone seeping into her bones in in summer.
Just a bed with a mattress thicker than her entire bed used to be.
Cait turned slightly, careful not to wake her, and studied her face. Sleep softened Vi in a way Cait adored. No tension in her jaw. No sharp edge to her grin. Just calm, unguarded peace.
Vi shifted, instinctively nuzzling closer, her face finding the crook of Cait’s neck. Warm breath brushed Caitlyn’s skin, and she smiled despite herself. Vi’s arm tightened faintly around her, as if she might vanish if let go.
Cait inhaled slowly. She loved the way Vi smelled in the morning, clean, warm, faintly like soap and bed sheets, and something that was just her Vi. Loved the weight of her pressed against her, the steady rise and fall of her chest under her hand.
She draped an arm over Vi’s back, letting herself linger in the moment longer than she meant to.
But duty crept in, as it always did.
With a quiet sigh, Cait pressed a long kiss to her hair then began to shift, trying to slide out from under Vi without waking her. She lifted the blankets just enough to move and suddenly her wrist was caught.
“Hey,” Vi mumbled, eyes still closed as she tugged Cait back against her. “Where d’you think you’re going, Cupcake?”
Cait let out a small laugh as she was pulled back into the warmth. “I have a meeting in two hours,” she said softly. “About the gates.”
Vi groaned dramatically and buried her face into Cait’s shoulder. “Fuck the gates...Call in sick.”
“I can’t call in sick to a council meeting.”
“You can if you’re tragically afflicted with cuddle deficiency.” she mumbled snuggling deeper into her
Cait giggled despite herself. “That is not a recognised condition.”
Vi lifted her head just enough to look at her, one eye barely open. “It should be.” She leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to Cait’s jaw, then another to her cheek. “Doctor’s orders. Stay.”
Cait tried to keep a straight face. “Violet...”
Vi kissed her again, softer this time, then wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close wrapping herself around her “Two hours,” she murmured. “That’s ages. You can spare, like… ten minutes.”
Cait hesitated, caught between responsibility and the very determined woman clinging to her.
Vi smiled sleepily. “See? Already reconsidering.”
“…Five minutes,” Cait said, surrendering as she settled back into the pillows.
Vi grinned and tucked her closer, draping herself over Cait like a blanket. “Best meeting you’ll have all day.”
Cait shook her head, laughing as she rested her forehead against Vi’s. “You’re hard to resist.”
“Yeah,” Vi murmured, eyes drifting shut again. “It’s my charm.”
Cait closed her eyes too, just for a moment longer. Their bodies fitting together with the easy familiarity of people who had learned each other in quiet moments like this.
Her fingers traced lazy patterns along Vi’s arm, drifting upward until they reached her face. Cait paused there, smiling softly as she studied her. Vi’s freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose like a constellation, and Cait leaned in to press a gentle kiss just beneath one eye.
“You know,” Cait murmured, “I think I could draw you from memory now. Every single one of these.”
Vi smirked, half-asleep and smug. “I’ve got more.”
“And I know all of them.”
“Not the ones on my....”
“Especially those,” Cait cut in with a giggle.
Vi snorted. “You lovable weirdo.”
“Affectionate weirdo,” Cait corrected, brushing another kiss over a freckle. “There’s a difference.”
Vi chuckled. “Very affectionate… though you can be terrifying too, sometimes.”
She leaned in to kiss Cait, slow and warm, then slid her hand into Cait’s hair, fingers threading through the blue strands in an unhurried, familiar motion. Cait melted into the touch, smiling against her lips.
Their kisses deepened, still gentle, still warm. Vi shifted closer, pressing Cait back into the mattress, and Cait let out a quiet laugh as Vi’s mouth wandered lower.
“Vi,” she said, half a warning, half a plea. “I really do need to get up…”
Vi answered by disappearing beneath the covers with a content little hum.
Cait burst into soft giggles, her hand flying to her mouth. “That is not a valid argument.”
There was no response, just the faint rustle of the sheets.
Cait’s hand drifted down over the duvet until she found the shape of Vi’s head beneath it. Instead of pushing her away, she hesitated… then gave the smallest, most treacherous nudge of encouragement.
Vi’s arms slid around her hips under the covers, holding her there.
Cait sighed, giving in with a smile.
“…Five more minutes,” she whispered, already losing the battle.
.....
The curtains were drawn tight, trapping the room in a grey half-light of the. Outside, snow pressed itself against the windows like ash drifting from a dead sky. The only sound was the slow drip of an IV and the faint rasp of Caleb’s breathing.
He lay still beneath the blankets, skin pale against the white sheets, as if the winter had already started to claim him.
The door opened without a sound.
A short woman slipped inside, dressed in the muted browns and greys of Piltover’s middle class. Her shoes made no noise on the floor. She moved with the confidence of someone who belonged there.
She stopped beside Caleb’s bed. Checked the IV bag hanging above and removed it. Then took a leather case she brought with her and laid it open on the side table like a surgeon preparing tools. Two vials rested inside, one filled with baby-pink liquid, the other a thin, icy blue.
She screwed the glass tubes together untill they clicked into place. The colours began to bleed into one another, twisting into a soft violet that pulsed faintly in the dim light.
Then she hung the mixture on the IV stand and fitted a rubber connector to the end.
Caleb stirred.
A shallow, broken sound escaped his throat.
The woman paused, watching him.
When he did not wake, she continued, guiding the tubing toward the cannula already embedded in his wrist.
Rhen suddenly the door opened. Nyx stood there.
For a heartbeat, she only saw her brother.
Then she saw the vial. Her blood went cold.
Power tore from her body in a violent surge. The woman was ripped off her feet and hurled across the room, striking the far wall with a sickening crack.
Glass shattered. Violet liquid sprayed across the floor like spilled poison. Caleb jerked in his sleep, a weak cry escaping him.
The woman screamed.
Footsteps pounded down the corridor.
Caitlyn burst in, rifle half-raised and froze.
The woman was pinned to the wall, choking, toes barely touching the floor.
“What...Nyx!... STOP!”
Nyx didn’t look at her. “She was about to put that into him.” Her hand trembled as she pointed at the broken vials bleeding colour into the carpet.
Cait’s eyes followed the gesture.
“She works with my father!”
Nyx's head snapped twards her.
“What?”
“Nyx, please,” Cait said, voice tight. “Put her down. She’s a nurse.”
Vi rushed in behind her.
“What the hell....Wooow"
Nyx’s voice shook with fury. “She works for you?”
"She's a nurse!" Cait yelled "You're killing her!"
The woman gasped for air and clawed with her hand trying to release the grip on her.
Vi raised her hands. “Easy. Easy. She’s not here to hurt him.”
Nyx hesitated. Her eyes wild on Vi. Her chest heaving.
"Easy...Please put her down. It's okay. She's just here to take care of him."
Nyx’s power flickered then retracted.
The woman dropped to the floor, gasping, and scrambled out of the room without looking back.
Nyx spun on Cait, eyes wild. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You let her come in here without telling me?”
“But I did...” Cait began.
“He’s my brother!” Nyx shouted, her voice shaking. “What makes you think you can just let people in here? He’s not a project for your father!”
“A project? How dare you...”
The IV stand rattled violently beside them.
Vi stepped between the two of them, hands raised she turned to Nyx “Hey...You need to chill before you tear the walls down.”
Jorin appeared in the doorway, confusion etched on his face. “What’s all the yelling about?”
Nyx’s voice cracked. “She didn’t tell me a nurse was coming. I thought they were killing him.”
"She almost strangled the nurse" Cait said
"Because I don’t know it was a fucking nurse!"
“But I...” Cait started again, but Vi grabbed her hand, stopping her.
Jorin moved closer to Nyx, steadying her. “Nyx… she did tell you.”
“NO....SHE DIDN’T,” Nyx yelled, shaking her head.
“Babe, she did,” Jorin said softly, sliding his hands under her hair and cupping her face. “Remember last night? She told you the nurse would be coming in the morning. Before you went to check on Caleb.”
Slowly, Nyx went quiet, all the fight draining out of her.
“But I…” she blinked, uncertain.
Jorin pulled her gently into his chest. “It’s alright. Take a breath. You’ve been running on stress and no sleep.” He cupped the back of her head, eyes meeting Cait’s in quiet understanding.
Vi reached for Cait’s hand. “Come on… give her a minute.”
Once in the hallway, Cait leaned back against the wall, shoulders sagging. “Whatever I say or do… she always sees me as the enemy,” she muttered, voice tight.
“No, she doesn’t,” Vi said, stepping closer, trying to meet her gaze.
“Then why is it that she always jumps at my throat?” Cait snapped, frustration cracking through her calm facade.
“Cait… she’s been through a lot. She’s stressed,” Vi pressed gently, but her own tension was threading through her words.
“Well, I’m stressed too!” Cait shot back, voice rising. “We all are! Do you think this is easy for me?"
"I didn’t say that. How did you get to that?"
"Then why are you taking her side?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side! For fucks sake Cait!” Vi’s voice broke slightly, raw with exhaustion “I’m just fucking trying to keep everyone from killing each other!”
Cait’s eyes glistened, anger and helplessness mingling. “It’s like… whatever I say, whatever I do, it always ends up in a war."
"That’s bullishit and you know it."
"Then why do I always get to be blamed for everyone’s misfortunes?”
"Cait" Vi reached out with her hand but Cait spun away,
"I have to go, I'm late." she walked off pacing down the hallway, jaw clenched.
Vi watched her go, heart pounding, chest tight. The weight of all they’d endured, the fights, the danger, the responsibility pressing on them from every direction. And in that moment, neither of them could fully untangle the knots of stress and fear that had begun to wrap around them.
....
Each strike landed heavy and sharp, the chain above it rattling with every blow. The rhythm was brutal and relentless, thud after thud until her shoulders burned and her lungs ached. All the morning’s tension poured into it mixed with her own anxiety building in from months on end.
Finally, her strength gave out.
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead into the worn leather, breath coming in rough bursts. Her fingers clawing into the worn out leather, bandages darkened with sweat.
“Vi…”
The voice came softly from the doorway.
Cait had been standing there for a moment, unnoticed. Watching her. The sight of Vi like this, angry, exhausted, unraveling tightened something in her chest.
“Can we talk?” Cait asked, barely louder than a whisper.
Vi huffed turning away from the bag and Cait, rolling one aching shoulder. She crossed to the shelf, unwrapping the bandages from her hands and threw them into the wash basket.
"Please" Cait’s voice came again, quiet and careful.
Vi grabbed a bottle of water and twisted the cap and then stopped when she sensed Cait stepping closer.
“I don’t want us to argue,” Cait said quietly.
Vi let out a breath. “I wasn’t arguing, Cait.”
“No,” Cait admitted. “You weren’t. It was me.”
She hesitated, then said it plainly. “And I’m sorry.”
That did it.
Vi’s shoulders sagged, all the fight draining out of her at once. Arguing with Cait was the one thing that cut deeper than fists ever could. It crawled under her skin and stayed there.
She turned.
Cait was standing a few feet away, hands clasped in front of her, eyes shining with regret and uncertainty. Like she was bracing for rejection.
Vi held her gaze for a long moment.
Then nodded her head. “C’mere.”
Cait didn’t hesitate. She crossed the space between them in two steps and folded into Vi’s arms, face pressing into her shoulder. Vi wrapped her up tight, one hand settling at the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head.
“I hate fighting with you,” Cait murmured.
“Yeah,” Vi said softly. “Me too.”
They stayed like that for a beat, breathing each other in, the tension slowly uncoiling.
Cait lifted her head just enough to look at her. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was passed off… and I took it out on you.”
Vi brushed her thumb along Cait’s jaw. “No shit.”
"I'm really sorry?"
"I wasn’t taking sides Cait.."
"I knoooow" she put her finger on her lips "I know you didn't. I don’t know why I do that, I just get panicked."
"About what?"
"I don't know.."
"Cait..mI will always be on your side. Even when you screw it up...."
Their foreheads touched.
“I’m sorry,” Cait whispered again.
Vi answered by kissing her, slow, gentle, no heat in it, just reassurance. A promise.
When they pulled apart, Vi rested her brow against Cait’s. “We’re okay?”
Cait nodded, eyes soft. “We are.”
.....
The Guild Traders’ hall still stood high above Piltover, all pale stone and towering windows. Cold winter light filtered in from outside, catching on gilded columns etched with faded patterns. The ceiling arched like a cathedral vault, banners of the founding merchant families hanging stiff and heavy between the pillars, their golds dulled by shadow.
A long table dominated the centre of the chamber, its dark surface polished to a mirror sheen.
The people gathered around it wore wealth like armour. Rich coats lined with fur. Silk gloves folded neatly beside ledgers. Rings heavy with gemstones rested on knuckles tapping impatient rhythms against the table. Some leaned forward, sharp-eyed and calculating, others reclined as though the city itself were a chair beneath them. Notes lay open beside cups of untouched tea.
Blueprints of the shattered Hexgate network were spread across the centre like an autopsy.
Murmured conversations threaded through the air.
At one end of the table sat several older traders, faces tight with stubborn resolve, hands clasped as though already gripping the future. At the other, younger investors whispered urgently to one another,
This was not a council meeting.
This was where pressure was forged.
Here, among those who had poured fortunes into the Hexgates before they became weapons, a decision would be shaped, whether the gates should remain sealed… or whether Piltover would dare to wake them again.
And once they agreed, the Council would be making the final decision.
Caitlyn took her place among them, the Kiramman crest carved into the back of her chair. Around her, the richest people in the city prepared to vote on something they did not have to live beside.
The future of the Hexgates lay on the table between them.
And so did the risk of repeating the past.
Caitlyn rose from her chair, the soft scrape of wood against stone cutting cleanly through the murmurs. She rested both hands on the table, shoulders squared, gaze steady as it moved from face to face.
“Everyone here already knows my position on reopening the Hexgates,” she said evenly. “I’ve stated it publicly. I’ve argued it privately. And I won’t pretend my family’s influence doesn’t give my words weight.”
A few traders shifted. A ringed finger tapped once, sharply.
“But,” Cait continued, her tone sharpening, “influence does not equal expertise. And this decision should not be made on inherited power or financial desperation.”
A ripple of unease moved through the table.
“So,” she went on, “I’ve brought someone whose voice is qualified to speak on this matter. Someone who has spent the last months studying what remains of the Hexgate systems. Someone who understands what Victor’s experiments changed and what they broke.”
She turned slightly.
“Professor Hermish.”
From near the wall, an older man rose. He had a gentle, lined face and a posture that suggested years spent bending over notes rather than standing before crowds. He offered a small, polite bow to the room.
“Good morning,” he said warmly.
From his coat pocket, he produced a pair of thin spectacles and perched them carefully on his nose. The traders watched him the way one might watch a foreign tool being unpacked.
Hermish moved slowly around the table, placing a narrow folder in front of each person.
“You will find,” he said as he walked, “a short summary of my findings so far. Structural rune decay. Residual Hexcore instability. And projected outcomes should the gates be reactivated in their current state.”
Some opened the folders immediately.
Others did not touch them.
One man leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing.
“A short report?” he muttered. “On a catastrophe?”
Hermish smiled mildly. “Concise does not mean incomplete, sir.”
Cait watched them closely. Arms folded now. Silent. Letting the science walk where politics could not.
Hermish finished his circuit and turned toward the blackboard at the corner of the hall. He picked up a piece of chalk, its white dust ghosting his fingertips.
“If I may,” he said, facing the room, “I will begin with what the Hexgates were… and what they are now.”
The chalk touched the board.
And the room, full of money and doubt, grew very still.
He smiled faintly at the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen… I am aware I look like a man who should be lecturing sleepy students about rune symmetry, not addressing the economic pillars of Piltover.”
A ripple of polite, restrained amusement passed down the table. Suspicious eyes remained sharp.
He lifted the chalk.
“I will not speak to you about profit. I am not qualified. I do not know shipping margins, insurance losses, or how many thousands of workers depend on the Hexgates for bread.”
He inclined his head respectfully.
“But I do know runes. I know Hextech. And I know what happens when structure is allowed to evolve without restraint.”
He drew a simple circle on the board and rune patterns around it. A simple sketch of how the gates worked.
“This was Hextech as we built it. Stable. Predictable. Obedient to input.”
Then beside it, he drew a second circle, jagged, branching outward like veins.
“This was the Hexcore.”
Murmurs stirred.
“The Hexgates did not merely break,” Hermish continued calmly. “They were exposed. Their runes interacted with an adaptive magical system altered by organic material and volatile alchemy. In plain terms, ”
He turned back to them.
“the language of magic was rewritten mid-sentence.”
A merchant scoffed. “With respect, Professor, magic is not a disease.”
Hermosh nodded. “No. But systems can be contaminated.”
He added fine fractures to the jagged circle.
“When runes are altered at a foundational level, they no longer carry meaning the same way. Transport runes once meant ‘open path.’ They may now mean ‘reshape path.’ Or ‘consume obstacle.’ Or ‘desove traveler.’”
The words echoed unpleasantly.
A woman near the far end leaned forward. “So cleanse them. Recalibrate the runes. You academics adore recalibration.”
Hermosh smiled gently. “Madam… if a bridge collapses because its stone has turned to glass, one does not repaint the railings.”
Silence followed that.
He set the chalk down.
“What must be established before reopening the Hexgates is not merely that they function, but that they obey. That their runes carry only the meanings we assign them. That no adaptive logic remains. That no residual Hexcore influence persists in the gate network.”
A man snapped, “And how long will that take?”
Hermish spread his hands. “As long as it takes to ensure no one is unmade between Piltover and their destination.”
That earned him a few sharp looks.
“My sympathy for your losses is genuine,” he said softly. “But progress built on unexamined danger is not progress. It is acceleration toward disaster.”
Another voice cut in, sharper. “You speak as though catastrophe is certain.”
Hermosh met his gaze.
“No. I speak as one who has seen what happens when we assume control where none exists.”
He gestured faintly to the window, where the distant city shimmered in light.
“We built wonders by respecting structure. We nearly destroyed them by allowing it to evolve without conscience.”
He turned slightly toward Cait, then back to the table.
“I will not tell you what to decide. Only what must be true before you decide it.”
The room buzzed with low argument now, uneasy, resistant.
One merchant muttered, “Science has always slowed trade.”
Hermish replied mildly, “And trade has always hurried past graves.”
That stopped them.
He inclined his head again, humble, steady.
“If you reopen the Hexgates without understanding what they became… you are not restoring a road. You are rolling dice with the world between the steps. Decision is up to you. I just hope you coose wisely."
And with that, he returned to his seat, leaving the chalk marks behind him like scars on the board.
Cait rose slowly from her seat.
The room quieted, not out of courtesy alone, but because she carried the weight of her family name as easily as her uniform once had.
“Thank you, Professor Hermish,” she said, inclining her head to him before turning back to the table.
Her hands rested lightly on the polished wood.
“Too many lives have already been lost to experimentation dressed up as progress.”
A murmur stirred, but she did not pause.
“Piltover has always prided itself on two things, invention and trade. But neither of those are the true foundation of this city.”
She lifted her chin slightly.
“Trust is.”
Eyes sharpened.
“Trust that our technology is safe.
Trust that our routes are reliable.
Trust that when Piltover builds something, it does not collapse into tragedy the moment profit demands speed.”
She walked a few slow steps along the table.
“If that trust is broken, by even one more tragedy, even one more life lost, then everything we have built becomes fragile. Reputation is not a thing you can patent. It is not something you can insure.”
She stopped.
“And Piltover is not alone in Runeterra.”
That landed harder.
“There are other ports. Other innovators. Other cities who would be delighted to inherit our trade if we prove ourselves reckless.”
A merchant scoffed. “You speak as though caution feeds mouths.”
Cait turned calmly to him.
“No. But disaster starves them.”
A ripple of uneasy agreement followed.
Another voice cut in, sharper. “Easy for you to say. Your family fortune cushions risk. You don’t understand what reopening the Hexgates means for smaller houses.”
Cait did not bristle.
She met his gaze evenly.
“My family’s wealth was not built on haste. It was built on measured decisions and long memory.”
Her voice lowered slightly.
“And it taught me one thing, that poor judgment does not merely cost money.”
It costs people.
She did not say Ambessa’s name.
But it burned behind her eyes.
“I understand urgency,” she continued. “I do not deny it. But urgency without discipline is how we arrived at ruin in the first place.”
She straightened fully now.
“We can reopen the Hexgates. But not blind. Not desperate. Not pretending the past did not happen.”
Her gaze moved across them, one by one.
“Piltover must be reliable. Efficient. Professional. Productive.”
A beat.
“And safe.”
Silence pressed in.
Her final words were steady, unyielding.
“Ladies and gentlemen… the future of Piltover rests in this room today.”
She stepped back toward her chair.
“Let us vote.”
For a moment, no one moved.
Cait clasped her hands together in front of her.
“Those in favour of reopening the Hexgates,” she said evenly, “raise your hands.”
Chairs creaked.
One hand went up.
Then another.
Then several more.
A slow, dreadful wave around the table.
Cait felt her chest tighten as the count climbed.
Merchants she had argued with moments ago.
Men and women who had nodded at the professor’s warnings.
Faces that had looked thoughtful… now looked determined.
Her jaw set.
“And those in favour of waiting,” she said, quieter now, “until proper safeguards are established.”
Fewer hands.
Far fewer.
The imbalance was undeniable.
For a second, the room seemed to tilt.
So this is how it happens, she thought. Not with shouting. Not with fire. With polite agreement and raised hands.
A murmur of approval swept the table.
Cait did not join it.
One if the older ladies approached her. "I am sorry honey." She layed her hand on her shoulder "You tried."
"And yet it's not enough" her lips tightened "How foolish was I to think that for once the logic will prevail"
She gathered her papers slowly, deliberately, as though if she rushed, she might lose her composure entirely. "I better go, before I say something I might regret later. Thank you for your support."
"Always. " the lady smiled kindly
The scrape of her chair sounded too loud in the grand hall.
Several merchants avoided her eyes.
One or two looked almost apologetic.
She did not speak.
There was nothing left to say.
She turned and walked toward the tall doors at the end of the chamber, boots echoing against marble. The gilded murals of Piltover’s triumphs seemed to watch her go.
At the threshold, she paused, just long enough to breathe.
Then she pushed the doors open and left the room behind her.
.....
Back at the Kiramman house, the living room had been transformed into a battlefield.
The carpet was their arena.
Between them lay the spoils of war,
Elara’s side stacked with carefully arranged sweets, wrapped fruit chews, two sugar sticks, and one slightly squashed chocolate button.
Vi’s side held… three coins and a bent button she insisted counted as “lucky" from her days at Stillwater..
Elara sat cross-legged, back perfectly straight, her little face screwed into the most intense expression a six-year-old could manage.
Vi lounged opposite her, legs crossed. She was trying very hard not to laugh.
“Alright,” she said, shuffling the cards badly. One slipped out and landed face up. “Uh ...ignore that.”
Elara gasped. “That’s cheating.”
“It is absolutely not cheating. It’s… dramatic flair.”
Elara narrowed her eyes. “You did it on purpose.”
Vi raised her brow. “Wow. Accused already? In my own house?”
Elara rearranged few sweets closer to herself, “This is serious business.”
“Yeah, yeah. High stakes.” Vi nodded gravely at the pile of candy. “I see at least… three years’ worth of dentist appointments there.”
They drew more cards. And then more.
Elara slapped one tiny hand on the floor.
“I raise you… one honey-drop.”
She pushed the amber sweet forward like it was a priceless jewel.
Vi blinked. “Whoa. Straight to honey-drops? Bold move.”
Elara puffed up. “I am brave.”
Vi pretended to think, rubbing her chin. “Hmm. Alright. I’ll see your honey-drop… and raise you… two whole coins.”
She slid them forward with exaggerated drama.
Elara’s eyes went wide. “That’s… that’s a lot.”
“Careful,” Vi said. “You’re gambling with sugar and pride now.”
They drew again and again. The pile in the middle grew, coins, sweets, and one extremely sticky sugar stick.
Elara peeked at her cards, squinting like she could read destiny in them. Her tongue poked out the corner of her mouth.
"I rase you two chocolate caramels" she slit the candy to the middle
"That’s bold."
“I have… a good hand,” she declared.
“Do you?” Vi leaned forward. “Because I’ve got vibes.”
They laid their cards down.
For once, Elara actually had something that vaguely resembled a winning hand.
Vi stared. “…Oh.”
Elara’s eyes lit up. “I win?!”
Vi checked again. “You… yeah. You actually do.”
Elara sucked in a dramatic breath and swept all the winnings into her lap. “Victory.”
Vi groaned and flopped back onto the carpet. “Robbed. Absolutely robbed.”
Elara popped a fruit chew into her mouth like a champion.
“Again.”
Vi sat up, grinning. “Alright, tiny crime boss. Shuffle up.” She tossed few more coins to her pile.
Cait appeared in the doorway just in time to see Elara picking up the cards.
“Oh?” Cait said mildly. “So that's where all your money is going.”
Vi turned, already smiling. “Don’t look at me, Cupcake. I got hustled.”
Elara lifted her chin proudly. “I won fair and square.”
Cait walked over and leaned down beside Vi, “Really? You lost to a six-year-old?” she giggled kissing her cheek.
Vi snorted. “Hey. She’s ruthless. No mercy. Took my last coin and didn’t even blink.”
Elara giggled.
Vi ruffled her hair. “Alright, champ… can we pause the game for a bit? I need to talk to Cait about something boring and grown-up.”
Elara considered this very seriously. “Can we train later?”
Vi pointed at her. “Deal.”
"YES!" Elara beamed, gathered up all her winnings into her pockets,
"Will you still teach me how to shoot?" She asked Cait on her way out.
"Promise is a promise." Cait turn over her shoulder. "Be ready after lunch."
"I will" She grinned happy and marched out of the room like a victorious general.
"You're teaching her how to shoot?" Vi asked surprised
"She insisted she has to lern if she was to be a good Enforcer." Cait said settling her bag on the table. "I was already shooting myself at her age."
The moment they were alone, her shoulders dropped. She walked over to Vi and settled herself down on the floor next to her letting out a long, tired breath. “Vi… can I have a cuddle?”
Vi didn’t even answer. She dragged herself across the floor closer then wrapped Caitlyn’s long legs around her waist pulling her so close until there was no space left between them.
"Rough day?" She whispered tucking a strand of blue hair behind Caitlyn’s ear then cupped her cheek gently.
The other woman melted into the touch closing her eyes then tucked her face in the crook of her neck.
Vi’s arms came around her automatically, solid and warm. “That bad?.” she asked quietly, her fingers threading into her lovers hair, gently, soothingly.
Cait rested her forehead against Vi’s shoulder. “The guild voted to reopen the Hexgates.”
Vi’s jaw tightened. “Figures. Why am I not surprised? Fucking idiots.”
“They didn’t listen,” Cait said quietly. “Not to the professor. Not to reason. They just… saw numbers. Profits.”
Her fingers curled into Vi’s shirt. “I rather naively believed that they would listen to the professor."
Vi brushed her thumb along Cait’s arm. “You tried.”
“And failed ” Cait admitted. “It feels like I walked into a hornets nest.”
Vi huffed a small laugh. “Sounds about right.”
Cait lifted her gaze. Her hand cuming to Vi’s hair. Slender fingers moving it from her face then leaned in pressing her lips at hers soft and tender. Then trailed small peck over Vi's cheek and fell into her arms again tucking her face deep into her neck. "Sometimes I feel like you're the only think that keeps me sain"
"Nah...You lost it a long time ago."
Cait chuckled into her shoulder
“Can you bring Professor Hermish with you when you speak to the council? Try to plead some sanity from them?”
Cait lifted her head slightly. “Yes… I can. But I don’t think it will change anything.”
Vi tilted her chin up gently so Cait had to look at her. “If anyone can do it it's you. You’re damn good at making people listen to you."
Cait’s eyes softened. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“With my whole annoying heart.”
Cait smiled faintly. “And rose coloured spectacles." She smiled "I’ll try.”
For a moment they just stayed like that, breathing each other in.
Then Cait shifted slightly. “I… want to talk about something nicer.”
Vi raised a brow. "Is that a challenge.”
Cait couldn'thelp but chuckle, then said softly, “I’ve been thinking about the wedding.”
Vi’s expression gentled instantly. “I'm all ears?”
“Do you… have any wishes?”
"Mmm" Vi shrugged. “Just one. I don’t want a spectacle. No grand show. I just want it to be about us.”
Cait smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that." She leaned in kissing her neck "Do you have any place in mind?" She murmured
"Well, I was thinking Jericho’s..."
Her sentences was interrupted with the playful smack at the back of her head. She laughed.
Cait straightened up, played with Vi’s fingers. “What would you think about having it at the summer house?”
Vi blinked. “Yeah...I can vibe with that?”
“Yes!” Cait made a little exited jump from the floor
Vi grinned. “That’s… actually perfect.”
Cait relaxed fully into her. “Then it's settled".I don’t need a circus. I just need you.”
Vi kissed her temple. “And I don’t need a palace. I just need to marry you.”
Cait laughed softly and tucked her face into Vi’s neck. "I'm tired."
"Well, there's a sofa."
"Can you lock the room?" Cait smirked slipping her hands underneath the elastic of her waistband.
For a little while, the Hexgates, the council, and the weight of the city stayed outside the door, and all that mattered was the future they were quietly choosing together.
....
Afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of their bedroom, pale and gentle, spilling across the polished floorboards and the edge of the large wardrobe where clothes hung neatly arranged. The quiet of the house at this hour felt almost sacred, one of the few moments duringtheir busy schedules they could enjoy in each other’s company.
Caitlyn stood before the mirror fastening the cuffs of her blouse, her dark hair pinned loosely at the back of her neck. The pale fabric fit neatly against her shoulders, but the small buttons running down the back proved impossible to reach on her own.
Behind her, Vi pulled on her own shirt, rolling her shoulder slightly with a faint wince she tried to disguise.
“Could you please Darling,” Caitlyn said softly, glancing over her shoulder as she moved her hair put of the way.
Vi stepped closer without question. Her fingers found the row of tiny buttons at the back of Caitlyn’s blouse, beginning to fasten them one by one.
“Why in the world do you own shirts that require engineering to close?” Vi muttered, squinting slightly as she worked.
Caitlyn huffed a quiet laugh.
“Because they look nice.”
Vi leaned closer, concentrating on the stubborn little buttons. Her injured arm moved slower than usual, the motion clearly uncomfortable.
As she worked, she brushed a light kiss against Caitlyn’s neck.
“Hey,” Vi murmured. “How about tonight we go out? Properly out. Food somewhere that isn’t this house or the station.”
Caitlyn’s expression softened instantly.
Vi’s lips lingered briefly against her skin before she straightened again, still fumbling with the last few buttons.
Caitlyn turned her head slightly toward her, a small smile forming.
“That sounds wonderful,” she said quietly. “And I mean that quite sincerely.”
She exhaled softly, the tension of the past few days evident in the way her shoulders relaxed.
“But please,” she added gently, “I refuse to speak about work. Not the council, not the investigation, not a single miserable detail until Monday.”
Vi snorted.
“That bad, huh?”
“My brain is quite thoroughly exhausted,” Caitlyn replied. “And I would like one evening where the world does not feel as though it is collapsing around us.”
"Deal, we can talk about the weather."
Cait rolled her eyes with a smile
Behind her, Vi’s fingers slowed. One of the buttons slipped from her grasp and she muttered under her breath rollingher shoulder.
Caitlyn glanced back slightly. “Vi?”
Vi shook out her hand. “Nothing. Just stupid micro buttons.”
Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed the stiffness in her movements.
“Your arm,” she said.
“It’s fine.”
Vi resumed the battle with the blouse.
Caitlyn turned halfway toward her.
“Violet.”
“It’s fine,” Vi repeated.
“You need to have my father look at it.”
Vi gave a quiet laugh. “Oh come on, Cupcake...”
“You broke that arm twice Vi,” Caitlyn interrupted, her tone sharpening slightly. “And now you have injured it again.”
Vi shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”
“You went boxing this morning.”
“That was just a light spar.”
“And earlier with Elara,” Caitlyn continued, raising a brow.
Vi opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
Caitlyn folded her arms slowly.
“Are the gauntlets too heavy?”
Vi scoffed. “They are heavy, yeah. But I can handle them.”
Caitlyn turned fully now, reaching out and gently taking Vi’s hand.
Her fingers moved carefully over Vi’s wrist and forearm.
The swelling was subtle, but unmistakable.
Caitlyn’s expression darkened with concern.
“Violet.”
Vi tried to pull her hand back but Caitlyn held it firmly.
“Your arm is swollen.”
“It’ll go down. I'll grab some ice from downstairs,”
Caitlyn gave her a very pointed look.
“You are having my father examine it after lunch.”
Vi chuckled. “Or?”
“Or we are not going on our date tonight.”
Vi blinked at her. “Is that blackmail?”
Caitlyn lifted her chin slightly. “You are leaving me no choice.”
Vi shook her head with a small amused smile.
“You play dirty, Kiramman.”
Then a knock sounded at the bedroom door.
Both of them looked toward it.
Caitlyn sighed softly but did not immediately move away. Her thumb brushed lightly across Vi’s cheek “I am doing this for your own good, Violet.” she leaned in planting a quick kiss to her lips before she raised her voice.
“Come in.”
The bedroom door opened quietly.
Nyx slipped through the gap and closed it behind her with careful hands. Her eyes flicked quickly between the two of them.
“Hi,” she muttered under her breath, half-awkward, half-sheepish.
Then she looked directly at Caitlyn.
“Cait… have you got a minute?”
Before Caitlyn could answer, Vi was wrestling with the buttons of her own shirt. Her injured arm made the small movements awkward, her fingers clumsy as she tried to work the fabric closed.
Caitlyn noticed immediately.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she murmured.
She stepped forward and gently pushed Vi’s hands away.
“Hold still.”
Vi huffed but obediently stood there while Caitlyn took over, fastening the buttons one after another with quick, practiced motions.
Over Vi’s shoulder, Caitlyn glanced toward Nyx.
“I'm sorry...Yes, course I have a minute.”
The final button slipped into place. Caitlyn smoothed the front of Vi’s shirt and straightened the collar with careful fingers.
Vi rolled her shoulder experimentally, then glanced between the two women.
“Right,” she said. “I’ll be downstairs.”
Nyx lifted her hands immediately.
“You don’t have to leave.”
Vi shook her head, already backing toward the door.
“No, no. You two need a minute alone. See ypu downstairs. Don't kill each other.”
Caitlyn gave a small nod.
“We shall try.”
Vi flashed Caitlyn a brief look, half fond, half reassuring, then slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Silence settled in her wake.
Caitlyn turned back toward the mirror.
She picked up the choker necklace resting on the dressing table, lifting it carefully. The small brooch attached to it caught the morning light as she clasped it around her neck. Her fingers adjusted the collar of her blouse neatly around the blue ribbon.
Behind her, Nyx shifted her weight uneasily.
She cleared her throat.
“I’m really sorry about this morning.”
Caitlyn’s hands paused against the fabric of her collar.
Nyx cracked her nuckles nervously.
“What I said… it was way out of order. I shouldn’t have said it.”
Caitlyn watched her reflection in the mirror for a moment longer before speaking.
“No,” she said quietly. “You shouldn’t have.”
Her voice was calm, but the hurt was unmistakable.
“That really hurt.”
Nyx nodded quickly.
“I know...And I'm so sorry."
She ran a hand through her hair, frustration and shame battling across her face.
“I don’t know what came over me. I don’t even know why I said it.”
Caitlyn turned then, folding her arms across her chest as she faced her.
“Did you mean it?”
Nyx’s head snapped up.
“No...no, absolutely not.”
The denial came fast, almost panicked.
“You’ve been nothing but kind to all of us,” she said quickly. “Cait, look...I don’t know why I said that.”
Her voice faltered.
“I’m out of my fucking mind with Caleb losing Switch… losing my apartment… knowing he was tortured…” Her breath caught. “I'm not tryingto justify myself...”
Her hands trembled slightly as she spoke.
“It’s just… it’s all been too much. My brain is just...”
She stopped mid-sentence, the words collapsing in her throat.
Caitlyn’s expression softened.
Her arms slowly lowered from their defensive fold as she took a few quiet steps toward her.
But Nyx shook her head quickly, wiping at her eyes.
“You know what? Forget it.” She turned abruptly toward the door. “I’ll pack us up today.”
Her hand was already reaching for the handle when Caitlyn’s voice cut across the room.
“Don’t you dare run away.”
Nyx froze. Then she turned back slowly.
“I’m not running,” she said sharply. “I’m just getting away from your face.”
Caitlyn tilted her head slightly.
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
Nyx scoffed weakly, but Caitlyn continued before she could argue further.
“I want us to be friends,” Caitlyn said. “I wanted that from the moment we met.”
Her voice was steady now, earnest.
“But you make it impossible sometimes. No matter what I do, you never trust me. You let me get closer… and then you push me away again.”
She sighed softly.
“I don’t want to keep having these arguments. I’m tired of it.” Her gaze held Nyx’s. “Can’t we just get along? I am not your enemy.”
Nyx’s eyes filled suddenly.
She tried to blink the tears away, but they spilled down her cheeks anyway.
“I’m sorry...I know you're not." she whispered.
Her voice shook.
“I’m just so angry all the time.”
She swallowed hard though her tears.
“All my life it’s been the same. People using me. Or screwing me over. There’s always some bloody alternative motive.”
Her shoulders sagged.
“I just… expect it now...”
She wiped her face roughly with the heel of her hand.
“Forget it. I’m just too fucked up.”
Caitlyn stepped closer.
“Nobody is beyond repair.”
Nyx looked up at her.
Caitlyn’s voice softened. “I learned that the hard way.” A faint smile touched her lips. “I was given a chance myself once. A chance I didn’t think I deserved.”
Nyx sniffed quietly. “You’re talking about Vi?”
Caitlyn nodded.
Silence lingered for a moment.
Then Caitlyn asked gently, “Can we put this behind us?”
Nyx’s tears were running freely now. She nodded slowly.
“I’d like that.”
Caitlyn didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her.
Nyx folded into the embrace instantly, her smaller frame tucking against Caitlyn’s taller one. Her forehead pressed against Caitlyn’s shoulder as she clung to her.
Caitlyn held her tightly. “Friends again?” she asked softly.
Nyx let out a shaky chuckle through her tears and nodded against her shoulder. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Friends again.”
She sniffed, pulling back slightly. “You really do know how to collect misfits.”
Caitlyn smiled warmly. “I told you,” she said. “I am a misfit myself.”
They finally pulled apart.
Caitlyn glanced at Nyx’s face and raised an eyebrow. “You might want to fix that makeup before lunch.”
Nyx laughed, wiping at her cheeks. “Yeah… probably.”
Caitlyn turned toward the door, reaching for the handle.
“Come on,” she said lightly. “Before they think we’ve gotten into another argument.”
Nyx snorted. “Honestly, that would be the safer assumption.”
....
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