The glow of the desk lamp was the only light in the room. Everything else lay in the shadow, shelves lined with old books and journals, the curtained windows heavy and still. The grandfather clock ticked behind her, slow and deliberate, reminding her just how late it had gotten. Again.

Caitlyn stood barefoot on the thick rug in her study, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair loosely tied back, the formality of the day long discarded. Her eyes, bloodshot and sharp, tracked across the paper she held in one hand, then back to the large wooden stand opposite her, a sprawling map of Zaun, punctured now with pins like wounds in flesh, red string connecting all the dots like the old road map.

A stack of patrol logs sat open on the desk behind her, each page a mess of annotations, arrows, and frantic underlines. Every time she flipped a new sheet, her fingers paused on the edge, hesitating as if preparing for what absurdity she might find next.

She’d known something was wrong.

Earlier that week she had discovered that patrols had been rerouted through key Zaun sectors for no apparent reason. The authorisation signatures didn't match. Worse, one of the names belonged to someone who didn’t exist, a non-registered officer, operating under forged clearance.

That had been the crack in the mirror. Now everything looked suspicious.

She no longer trusted the patrol data at face value. Someone was moving pieces behind her back, guiding enforcement away from certain zones just long enough for shipments or activity to pass unnoticed. Whoever it was had access, reach, and influence.

Restricting access to her files even from her own team made her skin crawl. These were people she’d trained with. Fought beside. But one leak could mean a blown raid. A death. Or all this work thrown into the air, neither of which being an option.

She moved to the board, holding a document, the fourth rerouting adjustment from last month, supposedly for “infrastructure instability,” though she’d seen no corresponding city maintenance orders. She pinned it to the southern corner of the map, next to three others that formed a strange half-circle. Her hand lingered, thumb pressed against the pinhead, eyes calculating.

A pattern was beginning to emerge.

From her notes and overlays, the falsified patrols consistently steered Enforcers away from key intersections, bridgeways, tunnels, old lift shafts all within range of known smuggler escape routes. What’s more, the patterns overlapped with power surges Lystra had flagged earlier, brief spikes in Hextech usage, then silence.

She turned back to her desk and grabbed another folder, pinned three more points on the map.

Now it looked like arteries, a circulatory system hidden beneath the city. A network of safe zones and dead corridors, created through forged patrol orders and deliberate gaps in oversight.

Two days.

They had two days to plan the raid on Charoite’s main hub. If she was wrong, they'd tip their hand too early. If she was right…

She exhaled slowly, then stepped back. The map, once abstract, now pulsed with possible meaning. Her study smelled of ink and paper. The clock behind her struck half past two.

Vi was still in Zaun, doing what she did best, pushing through the smoke and fear with her fists and grit. But here, alone, Caitlyn waged her own war. Pin by pin.

And she wasn’t done yet.

....

The house was quiet when Vi let herself in, the front door groaning faintly on its hinges. She shut it behind her with a soft click and kicked off her boots.

A soft glow spilled from under the door of Caitlyn’s study.

"Of course" she grinned and padded toward it, slow and quiet as a prowler, then leaned against the doorway with her arms folded.

“Y’know,” she said, voice just loud enough to carry, “this is startin’ to feel like our new dating routine."

The effect was immediate.

Caitlyn jolted like she'd been shot, one hand launched a folder into the air. Dozens of pages went fluttering like terrified pigeons.

“Gods, Vi!” she snapped, glaring over her shoulder, though the corner of her mouth was already twitching.

Vi raised her hands in mock surrender, sauntering in. “Hey, I knocked… spiritually.”

Caitlyn dropped to her knees with a theatrical sigh and started gathering the papers. “One day,” she muttered, “I will die of heart failure, and you will be arrested for manslaughter.”

Vi crouched down beside her, scooping up a diagram of patrol shifts. “Murder by charm, huh?” she said, giving Cait a wink as she passed it over. “Not a bad way to go.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “You are insufferable.”

“Yeah, but I bring you coffee and hot gossip,” Vi said, nudging her with her elbow. “Speaking of, how’s the wall conspiracy coming along? Got a beautiful mind moment happening in here?”

Caitlyn huffed softly, but she didn’t hide the smile as she took the paper from Vi’s hand. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Vi leaned in closer, voice low. “That’s what they all say. Right before they arrest me.”

“Tempting,” Caitlyn said, dusting off her knees as she stood, “but I’d rather keep you around. You're good for keeping my heart rate up.”

Vi stretched out on the floor dramatically, arms behind her head. “So this is what true love looks like. Me collapsed from exhaustion, you surrounded by pins and paranoid energy.”

Caitlyn stepped over her, snatching a pushpin from the desk and turning back to the map with a faint smirk. “Darling, if that’s your idea of romance, I fear for our future.”

Vi grinned, then pushed up from the floor in one smooth motion, stepping in behind Caitlyn. She slid her arms around her waist, pulling her close. “As long as it comes with snacks, I’ll survive,” she murmured, voice low.

Caitlyn started to turn, brow furrowed. “Snacks?”

Vi dipped her head, pressing a kiss to Caitlyn’s neck. “Yeah. This one in particular.” She nipped gently at her jaw. “Top shelf. Five stars. Crunchy in the right places.”

“Oh for...Vi!” Caitlyn half-laughed, half-scolded, swatting at her arm as heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Stop it.”

“Still standing,” Vi grinned, running her hands up under Cait’s shirt like she had all the time in the world. “But I could be persuaded to lie down.”

“Vi, I’m trying to...” Caitlyn’s voice cracked as Vi kissed just below her ear. “...debrief you. With actual intel."

Vi just hummed into her skin. “Mmm. Sounds hot.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes for a second, steadying herself like a woman resisting gravity. She exhaled, hands gripping the edge of her desk as Vi pressed tighter behind her.

“You are incorrigible.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re pretending not to enjoy this.”

Caitlyn turned in her arms, finally facing her, one hand slipping around the back of Vi’s neck. “We have a mission tomorrow.”

“I knooow.” Vi’s voice dropped. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to forget about it for just five minutes.”

Caitlyn leaned her forehead to Vi’s. “Me too. I'm sorry"

For a moment, they stayed like that. Quiet. Still. The warm press of skin and breath and tension between duty and desire. Then Caitlyn pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, expression soft but serious.

“But you should hear this.”

Vi nodded, stepping back with a low whistle. “Alright, Sheriff. Lay it on me.”

Caitlyn straightened, brushing down her shirt, trying not to look as flustered as she felt. She gestured to the half-cleaned desk, where a few key folders sat open.

“I think I know what they're moving through the wall,” she said. “And it's worse than I thought.”

Vi leaned a hip against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, giving Caitlyn her full attention now.

Caitlyn tapped the open folder with the back of her fingers. “Remember the damaged crate we found two weeks ago at the northern checkpoint? The one with the corrupted seal?”

Vi nodded. “Yeah. You thought it was a mistake in inventory.”

“I did.” Caitlyn reached for a second folder, flipping it open to photos of angular parts, wheels, gears, metal limbs splayed like an insect mid-dissection. “But turns out, it wasn’t a mislabel. It’s deliberate. They’ve been rerouting parts in pieces, one batch at a time, under different manifest codes. I cross-referenced it with the manifest logs from the northern rail lines and shipments recorded from two weeks ago. What they’re building is too big for one shipment.”

Vi leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Shit...which proves what Gearhand’s saying.”

"Exactly... I kept thinking it reminded me of something, just couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then it came to me. Progress Day."

She paused, then slid the blueprint toward Vi. “Looks like parts for these. Mechanical sentries only modified ones.”

Vi frowned, eyeing the blueprint. “Where’d you get this?”

Caitlyn hesitated, then lowered her gaze briefly. “It was my mother’s. She was looking into some new ventures...these were meant for enforcers and possibly some mining work. They were exhibited by this young inventor... part of some expansion project. She never got to do it before she...” she trailed off then shook it off "Anyways...What do you think?"

Vi squinted at the schematics then photos of the parts from the rogue shipment crate. The core engine looked bulkier than the standard model, thicker armor plating, multiple arc valves. “These aren’t for street patrols.”

“No... They look way more modified from the original. Built for breaking through things. Holding lines. Sustained engagements. They’re weapons.”

Vi gave a low whistle. “Damn. And here I thought I had the bad news.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “There’s more.” she crossed her arms. “Whoever’s assembling these, they’re trying to do it just outside our jurisdiction. Between the boundaries, old industrial zones, warehouse strips technically marked for ‘temporary usage.’ I cross-referenced all the patrols that were rescheduled...it makes sence now...the routes." She pointed at the map "If they deploy even a few of these and target key checkpoints, they could punch straight through to the inner sectors before anyone realises what’s happening.”

Vi frowned, tapping a knuckle against the blueprint. “That’s the next op then. We find where these things are being built and stop it before they roll out. Who’s the inventor? Do you know?”

"No but I can find out"

"Find out what you can and we shake him if we have to. I wanna know if he's in on it."

Caitlyn nodded slowly. “Exactly. There’s more.”

Vi glanced up "No shit"

Caitlyn leaned in, her voice low. “The person signing off on those cargo permits? Someone from Council registry. We’re not just dealing with underground channels anymore. Someone high up is helping this happen.”

Vi exhaled, pushing back from the desk. “So we’ve got rogue tech, dangerous chem we don't  know anything about, a production line hidden in the grey zones, and a council rat helping smuggle it through our city. It's getting better by the minute."

She cracked her knuckles. "And here I thought I was gonna get some sleep tonight.”

Caitlyn gave her a wry smile. “You could still get a little.”

Vi arched a brow. “Only if you’re in bed too.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. "Now...what did you find out?"

.....

The warehouse sat crouched in the shadow of a broken overpass, rust blooming across its corrugated skin like a sickness. Half its windows were boarded up, the others too grimy to let light through, and from the outside, it looked abandoned, the kind of place people crossed the street to avoid. But inside, it was chaos held together with duct tape and panic.

Men moved in frantic bursts, boots slamming on concrete, curses flying as crates clanged and scraped across the floor. The air stank of oil, sweat, and the chemical tang of shimmer leaking from half-sealed barrels. Stack by stack, the contents of different operations Charoite was running, weapons, volatile chemicals, bootleg liquor, and things better left undescribed, were being loaded onto trucks, all under Kelm’s watchful, bloodshot eye.

“Two days, he said,” one of the loaders muttered as he strained to lever a heavy crate onto a dolly. “Bloody impossible. Place is crawling with Enforcers since that club raid lat week. We’re lucky they haven’t knocked yet.”

“Then shut up and move faster,” Kelm snapped, sharper than intended. He didn’t look at them when he said it, kept his back turned, shoulders tight. He was already shoving a container of rifle parts toward the loading ramp, the skin across his knuckles raw from splinters.

He looked like he hadn't slept, and in truth, he hadn't. The echo of Gearhand cracking his fingers sideways still made his stomach twist. Two days. Now one. And if they didn’t scrub every trace of Charoite’s trade from the site tonight, he’d be dumped in the canal with bricks tied to his legs.

He wiped a sheen of sweat off his brow and turned to inspect one of the trucks being sealed. The vehicle looked standard at first glance, an old cargo hauler with faded sides and a crack in the windshield. But as the workers finished loading, they engaged a panel near the tailgate and folded out false walls from the sides, slotting into place with dull metallic clicks. The cargo slid inward into a hidden bay built just behind the driver’s cab, sealed off by a decoy floor and side panels that made the rest of the truck look hollow. Unless someone ripped the truck apart rivet by rivet, it would pass as empty. Maybe.

“You secure the shimmer barrels tight?” Kelm barked.

“Yeah,” one of the men called back. “Foam-packed, double latched. Won’t leak unless the truck flips.”

“It better not or I'll flip ypu where tou don't want.” His voice cracked despite him. “Get this one out of here now. Send the next.”

The loader hesitated. “You sure about Route Seven? It’s close to Enforcer patrols.”

“Do it.” Kelm didn’t give a shit anymore. He was past fear, or at least past the point where fear meant hesitation. Everything had to go. Every trace. And if the Enforcers wanted to sniff around tomorrow, they'd find nothing but rust, broken crates, and a few oily footprints.

He kept moving, hauling and barking orders, trying not to think about how fast the hours were vanishing.

The last of the crates slammed shut in the truck with a heavy metallic clunk, the hidden compartment sealed and welded tight. On the outside, it looked like a load of empty pallets and rusted scrap, the kind no Enforcer would waste their time crawling through. The engine rumbled to life, gears grinding as it rolled off into the night, wheels rattling over broken cobblestones.

Kelm leaned against the loading dock wall, sucking in a lungful of cold air before lighting up a cigarette with trembling fingers. His nails were blackened from grease, and his forehead gleamed with sweat despite the chill. He took a long drag, exhaled slow. The nicotine didn’t calm him, not really, but it gave his hands something to do. His heart still hammered against his ribs like it wanted to punch its way out.

He feared Charoite more than every Enforcer stacked together in this part of the damn universe.

Behind him, the warehouse buzzed with the groan of strained machinery and the curses of overworked men. It stank of rust, old chemicals, and desperation. They weren’t done. Not even close. And they had maybe three hours before sunup.

A heavy clank cut through the night.

Kelm turned. The silhouette of a man approached, big, broad, built like a tank with no neck and shoulders that strained against a grease-streaked coat. He carried something under one arm, a pneumatic cylinder. Purple casing. Kelm's cigarette trembled between his lips.

“From her,” the man grunted, voice like gravel.

Kelm reached for the cylinder, but his fingers hesitated a second too long. The man didn’t wait. He dropped it into Kelm’s hands like passing off a live grenade and turned away without another word.

Kelm stared at it. Cold sweat gathered at the nape of his neck. Slowly, he cracked ut open and a small compartment unlatched. Inside, a folded slip of paper.

He unfolded it with grease-streaked fingers. The message was short. Handwritten. Sharp black ink in Charoite’s precise script.

“6 am. Come alone. We have things to discuss.”

His throat tightened.

Charoite never discussed anything.

.....


The first light of morning filtered softly through the slats of the window, casting warm gold across the room. Caitlyn lay still, propped on one elbow, watching Vi sleep. Her partner’s hair was a tousled halo against the pillow, one arm flung lazily across the bed, the thin sheet half-slipped down her back, revealing a bare shoulder marked faintly with the shadows of sleep.

Caitlyn smiled to herself, not the kind she wore for diplomacy or duty, but the kind reserved for moments like this. Quiet. Unseen. Honest.

She traced Vi’s face with her eyes, the small scar along her cheek, the way her brow had softened in sleep, the small crease that only faded when she truly let go. Cait couldn’t quite explain it, but seeing her like this made something settle in her chest. All the chaos of the city, the weight of responsibility, it faded here, for a while.

The old brass alarm clock on the bedside table suddenly shrieked to life with a mechanical clatter, rattling like a miniature explosion.

Vi groaned, dragging a hand over her face. “Ugh, nooo...”

Caitlyn reached over and slapped the little switch down, silencing it with a decisive click. She turned back to find Vi stretching like a cat, arms over her head, eyes still mostly shut.

“Morning,” Vi mumbled through a yawn, then turned with a grin and pulled her into a cuddle. “You’re warm.”

Cait couldn’t help laughing softly as she let herself sink into the embrace. “We really should get up.”

“Mmmm...Not yet.” she smiled sleepy, her arms closing around the most precious thing in the world she had.

“No,” Cait murmured, curling into her, “not yet.”

They stayed wrapped around each other, the sheet tangled at their waists, the early light painting soft gold on the wall. Neither of them spoke much, they didn’t need to. There was comfort in the quiet, in the slow rhythm of breathing together. Caitlyn pressed a kiss to Vi’s shoulder. Vi answered with a kiss to her hairline. A brush of lips here, a thumb grazing a cheekbone there, small, gentle reminders that they were still here, still safe, if only for a little while longer.

Eventually, Vi broke the silence, her voice low and muffled against Cait’s hair. “Alright... what’s the plan?”

Caitlyn didn’t move at first. Just curled in closer, her fingers brushing along Vi’s ribs before she answered. “I have a meeting before I go to work. Sevika’s coming at nine tonight. We debrief, and we go.”

Vi made a small noise in her throat part thoughtful, part resigned. “Mm...You're worried.”

Caitlyn shifted slightly, resting her chin against Vi’s collarbone. “I keep thinking about it. We’ve got barely any people. No backup.” She paused, letting out a slow breath. “And I’m not... I’m not entirely comfortable doing this outside the law. It goes against everything I was raised to believe in.”

Vi tightened her arm around her. “I know.”

There was a silence, then Vi pressed a kiss to the top of her head, warm, sure, a grounding thing. “But it’ll be alright. We’ve got this, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn tipped her head back to look at her. “You really believe that?”

Vi grinned. “Course I do. You’re in charge.”

Her fingers drifted to the back of Caitlyn’s neck, tracing slow, familiar circles there, a motion she’d done a hundred times before, without thought. Caitlyn leaned into it instinctively, her lashes fluttering shut for a moment. It was always like this, her touch finding the tension and easing it, grounding her when her thoughts threatened to spiral.

“I know it sucks,” Vi said gently. “It’s not how you wanted this to go. But it’s either this or risking more people dying...You're doing the right thing Cait. You know that.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. Her throat worked silently as she dipped her head into Vi’s chest with a sigh.

A beat passed. Then she murmured, her voice  muffled “I do....It’s just...”

Her voice caught. She shifted against Vi’s chest, eyes still heavy with the weight of it all. “It doesn’t make it feel any better."

Vi let the silence settle between them for a moment. Then she nodded. “Sometimes the right thing feels like shit.”

That coaxed the ghost of a smile out of Cait.

Without another word, she shifted up, just enough to reach Vi’s lips. She kissed her, slow, quiet, no heat in it, just the aching need to feel close to someone who understood. Her fingers gently cupped Vi’s face, thumb stroking the familiar spot just by her ear in slow, absent circles. That one place she always reached for when she needed to feel safe, when the world pressed in too close and Vi was the only still point left.

Vi didn’t rush it. She just breathed with her, let the moment be what it was, simple, steady, real. Her hand slid up Caitlyn’s back, holding her there like she always would.

They parted slowly, foreheads resting together for a beat, breath mingling in the quiet morning air. Cait lifted her gaze, a soft smile tugging at her lips. her fingertips brushing Vi’s jaw. “When this is over… we’re taking a holiday.”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “A holiday?”

“Somewhere quiet. Somewhere... just the two of us. Alone, with each breath.”

Vi’s hand came up to cup her cheek, her thumb brushing along her temple. “Can we skip to that part?”

Cait laughed, the sound soft and fond. “If only.”

They fell quiet for while longer. Caitlyn lay draped half over Vi’s chest, her leg tangled lazily with Vi’s, fingers tracing slow, aimless patterns down the bare line of her stomach.

"You know," Caitlyn murmured, drawing an invisible circle just beneath Vi’s ribs, "we have another party to attend. Saturday."

Vi groaned, letting her head fall back into the pillow. “Of course we do. Because three in one month isn’t enough. Are they giving out medals now for how many you attend per month?”

Caitlyn laughed softly and began placing a trail of kisses down her chest, light, teasing, maddening. “Mmm, I already picked out your shirt. The one that fits you scandalously well.”

Vi arched a brow. “The one you said makes me look like I’m about to body-check the Dean of Trade?”

“That one, yes,” Caitlyn hummed, smile curving against Vi’s skin. “You’ll be very popular.”

"I doubt that"  Vi huffed again, but the sound melted into a low chuckle as Caitlyn kissed her way slowly upward over her sternum, her collarbone, up the curve of her neck. “You’re buttering me up.”

Cait gave her a feigned look of surprise. “Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

Vi smirked. “You beg pretty,” she murmured, eyes fluttering half-closed, “but you’re not very subtle.”

“Oh, and you’re such a mystery,” Caitlyn shot back, nosing just beneath her jaw, her voice going velvet-smooth. “Tell me again how you hate parties, while your hand’s been on my backside for ten minutes straight.”

Vi chuckled, breath catching as Cait’s lips brushed her pulse point. “I’m multitasking.”

“Mmm. Efficient.” Caitlyn’s tongue flicked lightly at her throat. “So is that a yes?”

Vi didn’t answer.

Instead, she grabbed Caitlyn and pulled her on top of herself in one smooth motion, sliding a leg between her thighs, one hand slipping into her hair and the other gripping her backside firmly. Their mouths met in a kiss that was all heat and hunger, slow but deep, built of shared secrets and every ache they’d ever soothed out of each other.

By the time they broke apart, Caitlyn was breathless, hair mussed, lips kiss-bitten.

Vi looked up at her, smug. “Now that’s how you ask me to a party.”

Caitlyn’s grin was wicked. “So… is that a yes now?”

Vi tugged her closer again with a playful growl. “Ask me one more time and I may consider.”

Caitlyn gave a slow, wicked smirk as she settled herself more firmly on Vi’s thigh. “Fine,” she whispered, starting to roll her hips deliberately, slow and smooth, her hands braced on Vi’s shoulders. “I’ll ask again.”

Vi’s breath caught just slightly, she bit her lower lip, eyes fixed on Caitlyn like she was something divine and dangerous all at once.

Cait leaned down, brushing her lips just barely against Vi’s “Will you come to the party with me, Violet?” she punctuated each word with another roll of her hips.

Vi gave a low, appreciative groan, hands running down Cait’s sides. “Alright, terms.”

Caitlyn arched a brow, still moving slowly against her leg. “Terms?”

Vi grinned, breath hot against her neck. “You owe me Cupcake. Two dances. One getaway plan if it’s boring. And no speeches longer than five minutes.”

Cait pretended to think. “I’ll give you dance. And a getaway plan...but only if someone tries to discuss tax reform.”

Vi narrowed her eyes playfully. “That’s not how this works.”

And then, with no warning, she shifted her leg down just enough to break the pressure.

Caitlyn let out a gasp, hips stuttering. “You absolute....”

Vi raised her eyebrows. “Terms, Cupcake. Take the deal.”

Caitlyn huffed, cheeks flushed. “Fine. All of it. You win.”

Vi’s grin turned cheeky, she hooked her leg back in place grabbing her by the waist and rolled them over in one smooth motion, Caitlyn landing beneath her with a breathless little laugh as Vi hovered above, bracing herself with one hand and cupping Cait’s face with the other.

“No more bargaining,” Vi murmured, voice thick with heat, “but I’m open to... persuasive arguments.”

Caitlyn reached up, fingers threading into Vi’s hair, “Shut up and kiss me.”

"Bossy" Vi grinned and obliged completely.

.....


The morning was clear and cold, the kind of cold that kissed your skin sharp enough to wake you fully. Caitlyn stood at the base of a tall Piltover building, its white stone façade gleaming under the early sunlight. The architecture was typical of the upper sectors, stately and unapologetically opulent. Brass balconies curled with delicate vinework jutted from tall windows, and intricate carvings framed the arches, retelling the city’s storied past in frozen detail. Wealth didn’t just reside here,  it was built into every block of marble.

Caitlyn adjusted her cuffs. Her uniform was pristine, blouse crisply ironed, navy coat buttoned and gleaming, hair pinned into a smooth twist that left no room for disorder. Her boots were polished to a mirror shine. Every inch of her presentation screamed composure, but the slight tap of her finger against her thumb betrayed a flicker of nerves.

She exhaled slowly, straightened her shoulders, and stepped inside.

The office was quiet. Prestine. The walls were lined with rows upon rows of polished books, many with gold-embossed titles she didn’t recognise, law, history, commerce, treaties. Heavy velvet curtains framed tall windows that let in light but somehow managed to feel private, like the rest of the world was a million miles away.

A massive wooden desk dominated the space, dark and gleaming, carved in rich detail with what looked like hand-chiselled motifs of Piltover’s skyline. Every corner of the room smelled of power, old money, inherited influence, the kind that didn’t need to be stated out loud.

But there was something else beneath that. Not unpleasant, just… off. A faint scent she couldn’t quite place. Like ozone after a storm. Or the barest trace of ink and oil.

The door clicked open behind her.

A tall man entered, well-dressed in a sharp navy suit, not quite what she expected. He was younger than his reputation suggested. Clean-cut, precise, with intelligent eyes that didn’t miss a thing. He moved with the calm, quiet confidence of someone who had never needed to raise his voice to get what he wanted.

“Sheriff Kiramman,” he said, his tone polite but clipped as he extended his hand. “Mr Sullivan.”

She shook it firmly.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course,” he said, gesturing smoothly toward one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. “Please.”

She sat.

He crossed behind the desk and took his own seat, posture perfect. “So. How can I help?”

“I need to find someone,” she said, keeping it simple.

She reached into her satchel and produced a manila folder, sliding it across the desk with two fingers.

Sullivan opened it, flipping through a few pages. His brow arched slightly at one of them.

“That’s all I’ve managed to gather so far,” she said. “I trust it’s enough to start.”

He closed the file with a quiet thud, lacing his fingers together. “It’s a tall order.”

“I was told you’re the best.”

“I never said I couldn’t do it,” he said smoothly, “just that it will cost.”

Caitlyn didn’t flinch. “I never said I couldn’t pay.”

That made him pause. He studied her for a beat longer. “So… expense is not a concern.”

“Not even remotely.”

He leaned back in his chair, considering. “How fast do you need it?”

She tilted her head slightly. “How fast can you deliver?”

He smiled faintly, tapping a knuckle against the desk. “Depends. It’s tricky… but a week. Maybe two.”

She rose and held out her hand. “Then you’ve got yourself a job.”

Sullivan stood and shook it again, firmer this time.

“I’ll be in touch.”

....

The neon signs buzzed overhead, flickering against the heavy rain that slicked the cobblestones. Steam coiled from a dozen pans behind the rickety stand, where Jericho stirred something that smelled oddly of garlic and smoke.

Vi approached with her collar turned up against the downpour, Darren and Lance trailing behind, both looking unsure about the place.

"Remind me again...why are we here?" Darren muttered to Lance.

"'Cause it’s pissing down and I’m starving," Vi said, already pulling up a chair. "Aren’t you?"

Lance peered across the stall at a half-chopped fish, its insides slowly sliding off the cutting board onto the pavement. "Uh... not really."

"Suit yourself," Vi said, rolling her eyes and slid onto the worn wooden stool, the dampness of her jacket clinging faintly as she set her gauntlets on the counter with a soft thud. She shook the rain from her hair, droplets scattering like restless ghosts in the dim light.

Jericho worked silently behind his steaming pots, steam curling in the cool air. Vi gave him a relaxed grin, the edges softening after the day’s weight.

“Hey Jericho… give us three of your specials, yeah? Not too spicy for them.” Her voice was easy, almost tired, but with that quiet hope that came from moments like this, small islands of normal in the chaos.

Jericho didn’t look up just groaned nodding. He ladled a thick stew into three dented metal bowls and slid them toward them.

She pulled her bowl closer and inhaled deeply. “God, I missed this. Nothing like your place...I’m not going anywhere till I’ve cleaned this up." she added with a grin, digging in.

Jericho gave her a broad smile and slapped another fish steak onto the sizzling barbecue.

“It’s fresh. Probably,” Darren muttered, staring down at his bowl.

Lance nudged his with the tip of a spoon. “What kind of meat?”

“Don’t,” Vi said flatly.

She took a long pull of the broth and didn’t flinch. “Better than prison gruel.”

“Hell, that’s a low bar,” Darren said, taking a sip. He coughed. “Still clears the sinuses though.”

Jericho grunted.

"That’s the rat pepper," Vi offered.

Lance went pale.

“Relax,” she added. “Mostly rat. Some pepper.”

She chuckled under her breath, pleased with how easily they’d fallen for it. Total bluff. Watching Lance go pale and Darren eye his bowl like it might bite back was worth every spoonful.

Leaning back against the stall, she let the bowl’s warmth soak into her fingers. The street carried on around them, kids darting between pipes, a woman arguing with a vendor over busted tech, the rain coming down in thick, relentless sheets. Smog hung low, tinged green in the streetlight glow.

For just a moment, Vi imagined a small figure beside her, blue hair, big eyes, legs swinging off the edge if the chair, wiggling up a fish above her bowl and laughing. Then the image flickered out like steam, swallowed by the city.

This was still home. Still hers. Even if everything had changed.

.....


By the time the bowls were empty and the rain had eased to a misty drizzle, Vi stood, wiped her hands on her trousers, and jerked her head toward the boys.

“Alright. Playtime’s over. Up.”

Darren groaned. “Where we going?”

Vi pulled on her jacket, took gauntlets off the counter and didn’t answer.

Instead, she led them into the Lanes, winding deeper through the arteries of Zaun, where the air turned thicker and the colours turned meaner. They ducked into a shop so tucked away it barely had a door, just a metal flap with scratched-in warning signs and half a curtain. Inside, a woman with silver hair and sharp eyes waited, arms crossed.

“You're late,” she said.

Vi smirked. “Nah. You’re early.”

Once inside she tossed two bundles of clothes at Darren and Lance. “Get changed. You’re not walking into the Black Lanes dressed like poster boys.”

"Black Lanes?" Darren jolted his head up

"Why were going there?" Lance asked as he shed his jacket off

"Time for some undercover practice" Vi chuckled

They fumbled and grumbled, slipping behind a screen while Vi peeled off her own jacket.

Once changed she stuffed her badge deep into her trouser pocket. “Lesson one, badges get you nowhere ‘round there except dead.”

Darren peeked out, his collar crooked. “Uh… is this actual undercover work, or like… pretend?”

Vi gave him a look. “You see me pretending?”

Lance adjusted the too-tight belt on his borrowed gear. “She’s serious. We’re gonna die.”

“Not all of you,” Vi smirked, tapping her knuckles against the doorframe. “Stick close, keep your mouth shut, and try not to scream if someone licks your face. That’s just how they say hello down there.”

Darren turned pale. “We’re gonna die.”

Vi thanked the woman with a grin, pulling her hood up as she stepped back into the rain.
“Much appreciated, darlin’. See you soon.”

The woman winked and slid the door shut.

Vi turned down the alley, laughing under her breath. “Relax...I’m just roasting you,” she said, nudging Darren’s shoulder. “Can’t believe you actually eat up every bit of crap I throw out.”

“What?” Darren blinked, confused.

Lance looked like he’d swallowed his own tongue. “That was a lie?”

Vi slung an arm around both their shoulders. “Lesson two... confidence. Doesn’t matter what you’re saying, long as you say it like you own the whole damn building.”

Darren frowned. “Even if it’s a lie?”

Vi grinned. “Especially if it’s a lie."


......


The rain tapped gently at the high-arched windows of the Piltover’s Police Department, casting rippling shadows across the floor. The air inside the operations hall was crisp with ink, brass polish, and the faint hum of the lamps. Enforcers stood in quiet attention, boots squared on the black-and-white tiles, their uniforms neatly pressed.

At the front of the room Caitlyn stood with her hands behind her back, posture impeccable, her voice clear and composed.

“We’ve received credible intelligence suggesting that contraband, specifically Zaunite smuggled goods and stolen Hextech has been moved through at least three separate sites in the last fortnight.” She turned toward the map behind her, its surface etched with the lower sectors of Piltover and the border territories of Zaun, marked with red pins. “Here, here and here..." she pointed on the map "Each location will be approached simultaneously. Teams will be deployed to conduct a sweep, gather any remaining evidence, and document the state of the premises.”

A murmur passed through the ranks, none of them said it aloud, but they all knew what that meant.

“Your objectives,” Caitlyn continued, “...recover stolen technology if found, document any evidence of further smuggling activity, and extract any actionable intelligence. We are not engaging in detainment unless absolutely necessary.” She let the pause linger, just long enough to carry weight. “This is a precision exercise, not a street brawl.”

An Enforcer at the back raised her hand. “Ma’am, what’s the priority if all locations turn out cold?”

Caitlyn offered a faint, practiced smile. “Then we document accordingly. Sometimes the absence of evidence is its own kind of answer. Detailed  plan of the operation is on your desk. I suggest you read it carefully.”

Caitlyn stepped away from the map, glancing briefly toward her second-in-command, who gave a slight nod before she addressed the room again. “I expect full reports by morning. Keep your heads low and your discipline high. Piltover expects nothing less.”

She gave a crisp nod. “Dismissed.”

As the room began to shuffle with boots on tile and murmured chatter, Caitlyn lingered by the map, eyes drawn not to the red pins she had just named and to a quiet, unlabeled spot further south. The real operation. The one she hadn't breathed a word about.

.....



The Black Lanes weren’t on any map. You either knew them or you didn’t. And if you didn’t, chances were you wouldn’t come back to tell the tale.

It was the underbelly’s underbelly, where deals were made in code, weapons traded from coat linings, and even the light that crept down from the upper levels seemed to avoid touching the grime. Neon flickered like broken thoughts, shadows moved wrong, and the stink of oil, rot, and sweat lingered like a warning.

Everything here was either stolen, illegal, or about to become both.

Locals gave the three of them long stares.

Vi walked like she did, though. Hands in her pockets, eyes forward, chewing a toothpick she found somewhere back at Jericho’s.

Darren, trying to keep up, tripped suddenly, his boot catching on a lead snaking across the path. A monstrous creature snarled, part canine, part... something worse. It snapped its mechanical jaws an inch from Darren’s calf.

“Shit!” he yelped, jumping back.

A massive guy, twice the width of Darren and draped in scrap-metal armour, sat behind the lead, puffing on a pipe that glowed dull orange. He raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry!” Darren blurted.

The big man said nothing. Just stared. The dog-thing stared too. Somehow more judgmental.

A few guys nearby snickered. “Tourist tripped the leash!” one barked. “Careful, boy, that one bites stupid clean off.”

Vi stepped in, grabbing Darren by the collar and steering him away without breaking stride. “Ignore them. They laugh like that cause their teeth don’t work.”

They made it to a cluttered store with scrap metal stacked like a scrapyard had puked all over the place. Cogs, pistons, engine parts, half of it looked rusted to hell, the other half too dangerous to touch.

“Shifty?” Vi called.

A small figure emerged from behind a pile of gears. Barely five feet tall, wiry, and twitchy, with one eye that blinked a half-second slower than the other. His left arm was entirely mechanical, bulky, bolted directly into a metal backplate laced with tubing. He walked with a slight sway, spine clearly never healing right from his accident in the mines.

“Vi!” Shifty grinned, a stammer creeping into his words. “Didn’t think you’d...would..drop by. Uh. Not today.”

“Need a favour.” She leaned on the counter, easy.
“Heard you’re still breathing, figured you might help to find something. " 

"Oh...okay...What are you looking for?"

"These" Vi slid a few grainy photos across the counter. “You seen any of these parts moving around? Or know who's been making them?”

Behind her, Darren and Lance had drifted toward a shelf crammed with weird half-built contraptions. Things that looked part clock, part weapon, part bad idea.

One in particular caught Darren’s eye, a metal glove-like device threaded with copper wiring, and a faint green glow pulsing inside the glass vials embedded in the front.

He picked it up carefully. “Looks like some kind of gauntlet. Like what she’s got.”

“That’s neat,” Lance murmured, eyes widening. “Maybe it’s one of ours?”

“No…” Darren shook his head slowly, fingers brushing the gauntlet with a kind of reverence. “See that green stuff? That’s Chemtech. Definitely Zaunite.”

And with zero hesitation, he slid his hand into it.

“I don’t think you should be...” Lance started, but didn’t get to finish.

Clunk.

The gauntlet powered up with a sharp hiss and a burst of steam. The green liquid churned violently.

Darren froze.

“Oh man… Why would you do that?” Lance muttered, eyes darting toward Vi.

On the other side of the shop Shifty leaned in, muttering under his breath as he pulled on a pair of strange, multi-lensed goggles. The lenses clicked and whirred as they adjusted, making his eyes look comically large. He squinted at each image, his augmented hand twitching slightly as he pointed at one.

“These… yeah… yeah, these look familiar. That one, especially...” he tapped a blurry shot with a metal finger “There's a guy… does hydraulics. Real niche stuff. Could be his. Maybe not. Can’t say for sure. He’s clever though. If these came from down here, he’d know. Or know who knows.”

“What’s it for?” he asked, peering up at her with one eye magnified six times behind the lens.

Vi gave him a crooked smile. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

Behind her, Darren had gone very still.

“Uh. Guys?” His voice pitched higher than usual. “It’s getting hot. Like… really hotter.”

"What do you mean hotter?"

"Hot!...Like really hot!"

The green liquid in the vials was bubbling more violently now, lighting up the gauntlet like some kind of twisted glowstick. He yanked at it, trying to pull his hand free but it was stuck fast.

“Why isn’t it coming off?” he hissed, jerking his arm and clanking into a nearby workbench. A loose gear clattered to the floor.

"Just switch the damn thing off! " Lance panicked "

"I'm trying...It doesn’t work...Its...Arrrrhh..." he growled trying to pull his hand out "Stuck!!

Lance was pacing in tiny circles. “It’s melting your hand, isn’t it? You’re gonna lose the arm."

"WHAT!"

Darren yelped again as whatever was on his hand gave a mechanical hiss.

“You break anything in here,” Vi called without turning, “you’re paying for it.”

Shifty grabbed a piece of worn paper and scribbled something down with a charcoal stub. He folded it once and passed it to her underhanded, eyes darting briefly to Lance and Darren.

Vi slipped the note into her pocket and pulled out a small, squat glass vial filled with swirling blue liquid. She held it out silently.

Shifty’s breath caught. “Is that…?” He didn’t even finish before taking it with both hands. His good hand trembled.

“For Annette,” Vi said, softer than usual.

His eyes welled up. “You… you didn’t have to...”

“I know,” she said, cutting him off gently. Then she pulled out a second folded slip of paper and handed it over. This one had a crisp, clean seal at the top. The stamp of a Piltover medical clinic.

Shifty stared at it, blinking. “This… this gets me more?”

“Anytime. Just show them that.” She tapped the corner of the page.

He clutched both to his chest and practically threw himself forward over the counter, hugging her around the shoulders. Vi let him, patting his back once.

“I’ll keep quiet,” he whispered. “Promise.”

“I know.”

Vi finally turned.

Darren was on his knees like he was begging the thing to spare him, sweating bullets, while Lance had one boot braced on his thigh, yanking at the gauntlet with both hands like he was trying to rip a tree stump out of the ground.

Vi strolled over at a leisurely pace, all calm while they looked like a failed magic act mid-implosion. She crouched slightly, flicked the loose panel on the gauntlet open, and with one smooth twist yanked the wires straight out of the vials.

There was a loud phoomp as the lights died and the bubbling stopped. The gauntlet de-powered and slid clean off Darren’s hand like a limp glove.

The two men froze. Darren was blinking at his intact fingers like he’d just seen them for the first time.

Vi dropped the wires on the bench with a clink, straightened up, and dusted her hands.

“Well,” she said, strolling for the door, “I’d say that went pretty well.”

She paused at the exit, shot them a smirk over her shoulder. “Next time, maybe don’t let it marinate on your hand, genius.”

And with that, she was gone.

Lance turned to Darren, deadpan. “I think I love her.”

.....

Vi didn’t look back, hands stuffed in her pockets as she led the way into the deeper stretch of the Sump.

The path narrowed. The air got thicker. If there was a bottom to the pit, they were scraping it now. Slime-black walls narrowed in, leaking overhead. Pipes dripped. A rat the size of a small dog hissed at them from a ledge and skittered off.

“Okay,” Lance muttered. “I take it back. It can get worse.”

They passed locals milling along the corridor, squat figures hunched around makeshift fires, a woman stringing copper wire on a wooden spools, a kid selling bootleg cough drops from a shoebox.

Then they turned a corner.

Two guys were leaned against the wall, mid-conversation. Both looked like they hadn’t seen daylight in months, one with a buzzed scalp and hollow eyes, the other built like a slab of meat with neck tattoos that reached his ears.

Vi kept her head low, shoulders loose. Passed without a word.

Behind her, Lance was still grumbling and searching his jacket for something to clean his hands.

He pulled out a handkerchief, but as the cloth cleared the pocket, something else came loose.

A silver badge hit the ground and spun once before coming to a neat stop against one of the guy’s boots.

Lance froze. “Shit.”

The man looked down. Then slowly up. His lip curled.

“Enforcers.”

Vi turned, her gaze locking on the badge. “Oh crap...”

She didn’t even finish the thought.

The fist came out of nowhere. Right into Lance’s jaw.

Lance staggered back, clutching his face. “Son of a....”

Vi didn’t hesitate. She launched herself at the guy who threw the punch, tackling him with a grunt. They crashed into the opposite wall with a heavy thud, Vi swinging first, fist to his jaw. The guy doubled over, only to come up snarling and swinging a knife from his belt.

“Oh come on,” Vi growled, ducking the first jab.

Steel flashed again, she twisted sideways, just barely avoiding getting skewered. Her fist found his cheekbone with a satisfying crack. He reeled, spat blood, and lunged again.

Behind her, chaos had erupted.

The second guy had Lance pinned against the bricks. Darren, bless his wiry little heart, came sprinting from behind and jumped onto the man’s back like an angry raccoon.

“GET OFF HIM, YOU PUMPED-UP CORPSE RAT!” Darren howled, clawing at the guy’s face.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Lance shouted, flailing under the weight of two people.

Darren, now digging both thumbs toward the man’s eyes. “I’m aiming for the soft bits!”

The brawler roared, whipping around with Darren clinging to his shoulders like a backpack from hell. That’s when Lance recovered enough to swing a knee straight into the guy’s groin.

The man’s face crumpled.

“That worked!” Lance said, almost surprised.

Back with Vi, the knife arced dangerously close again. She ducked, grabbed his wrist mid-swing, twisted, he roared and before she could pin him, he slammed her sideways into the wall.

Her breath left her in a grunt, but she recovered quick. Eye caught something, rusty metal bar near the drain.

She dove.

He lunged.

She came up swinging.

The bar connected with his jaw. His legs went out from under him like a puppet with cut strings. He hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

Vi wiped the rain and blood from her lip with the back of her hand, turning toward the others just in time to see Darren roll off the second guy who was now groaning in fetal position and Lance staggering, panting.

“…Teamwork,” Darren wheezed, holding up a shaky thumbs-up.

Vi just stared at them for a second then rolled her eyes. “Get up, both of you.”

They scrambled, Darren still beaming. “Did you see me? I went full spider-monkey on that guy! Jumped right on his back like wham! And then..”

Vi reached out her hand to Darren pulling him up. “You fight like two feral pigeons in a potato sack.”

“Hey, but we won,” Darren grinned, proud.

Vi smirked as she started heading down the alley. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all. Don't forget your badge Lance.”

Lance wiped blood from his nose. “She’s so hot when she fights, though…”

Darren scoffed. “You're not her type"

“What’s her type then?”

"Sheriff" Darren winked.

Vi just kept walking, smirking quietly as the bickering trailed behind her like a pair of muddy, half-broken toys.

.....


The front door of the Kiramman estate creaked open with a grunt, Vi stepped inside, bruised, dirt-smudged, and smelling like rust, alley grime, and victory.

“Vi!” A small whirlwind shot from the hallway.

Vi barely had time to blink before Elara slammed into her legs, arms wrapping around her like she was trying to fell a tree. The kid was absolutely covered in paint, streaks of green and purple in her hair, blotches on her cheeks, and a handprint proudly stamped across her shirt like a badge of honour.

Behind her, two workers were halfway up ladders, smoothing plaster over cracked walls and bullet holes, muttering about what needs to be done next.

Vi looked at the mess, then back at Elara. “They paying you for this masterpiece?”

Elara beamed, shaking her head. “I’m volunteering! I get juice and biscuits!”

Vi let out a tired laugh and lifted her effortlessly, swinging her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Gahh!” Elara squealed, legs kicking. “When do we train again?! You promised!”

“At the weekend,” Vi said, carrying her toward the stairs. “If you’ve been eating your vegetables.”

“I have! I had two broccolis and a carrot yesterday!”

“Two broccolis? Must be a record.”

A stern cough interrupted them as the butler appeared in the doorway, tall, stiff-backed, not a hair out of place. “Good afternoon, Miss Violet.”

Vi rolled her eyes. “Just Vi, Wilkes. Vi. You’re gonna give yourself a spinal fracture if you keep standing like that.” She patted his shoulder, grinning.

Wilkes blinked behind his spectacles. “As you say...Miss Vi.” It sounded physically painful for him to say it.

“Where’s Cait?”

“Miss Kiramman is still out, ma’am. I believe she was visiting the Guild office.”

Vi nodded, then gently set Elara back down. The girl sprinted off like a tiny gremlin as she rejoined the workers.

Vi started up the stairs, every muscle aching. She was bruised and her shirt smelled like an ashtray.

She needed a shower. Maybe two. And a nap.
But gods, coming home to this? Worth every bruise.

....

The room was golden with afternoon light filtering through high-arched windows, casting a warm glow over polished wood, porcelain teacups, and the glint of wealth. Anyone who was anyone in Piltover sat at the long mahogany table, Council members, merchant kings, industrialists, and heads of noble houses. Conversation clinked against crystal glass and porcelain, underscored by the occasional rustle of silk and the scratch of expensive pens across paper.

Caitlyn sat among them, straight-backed and sharply dressed, but her eyes were tired. Her seat was not just symbolic, her family had poured a small fortune into the original Hexgates. She was one of the few people at the table who didn’t need to introduce themselves.

Lord Hargrave, a heavyset man with an even heavier voice, spoke over the soft murmurs. “The markets in Shurima are drying up without regular shipments, connections to Ionia are stagnant and Noxus is getting impatient by the day. Reestablishing the gates would not only stabilize trade, it would reaffirm Piltover’s dominance.”

There were murmurs of agreement. Another councilwoman tapped her finger thoughtfully. “We’ve poured too much into this project to let it wither on the vine. Every day they sit idle, the city loses money.”

Caitlyn’s gaze swept across the table. “I understand the urgency,” she said carefully. “But the risks are still being assessed. I’ve read every report from the Academy, none of them can yet rule out instability in the core. After what happened last time, surely we owe the public better than guesswork.”

“Guesswork?” scoffed Master Brimpton, a wiry man with fingers stained by ink and ink alone. “The same scientists you’re quoting were the ones who designed the Gates in the first place I'm sure they can figure it out.”

Caitlyn’s voice cooled. “And those same scientists are the ones who lost colleagues in the explosion four months ago.”

Silence. It wasn’t the dramatic kind, it was the tight-lipped kind. The kind that made people glance down at their notes, swirl their wine, and shift in their high-backed chairs.

Lady Nolana, from the trade guild, leaned forward. “Miss Kiramman, with all respect, your concerns are noted. But Piltover cannot afford paralysis. We’re a city of progress. Stagnation is as dangerous as recklessness.”

Caitlyn let out a slow breath. “And rushing forward without ensuring stability could cost us more than just trade. We’re still rebuilding neighborhoods, rehoming families. I’d prefer not to add more bodies to that count.”

A beat of silence followed Caitlyn’s words. Some exchanged glances. A few scowled into their glasses. But then a woman at the far end of the table, a tall, silver-haired figure with sharp cheekbones and an old-fashioned velvet coat, cleared her throat and leaned forward.

“I agree with Miss Kiramman,” she said, her voice measured but firm. “The Hexgates are a miracle of engineering, no question. But we’ve already seen what happens when miracles get ahead of foresight.” She glanced around the room, eyes lingering on one of the younger merchants who had been loudly pushing for full reactivation. “I knew Cassandra Kiramman. She wouldn’t have signed off on half-tested systems and neither will I.”

A few people muttered. One man scoffed, but quieted quickly under the woman’s glare.

Caitlyn gave her a grateful look.

She offered her a small nod before she continued “Do I have to remind you all that Piltover’s not just gears and profit margins? It's people. Families, nit just here but in Zaun as well. If you want the gates, then show us a design that won’t turn districts into craters the next time something glitches.”

The tension in the room shifted. Not dissipated, but changed. No decision was reached, but the energy became more reluctant, more begrudgingly cautious.

The meeting dragged on. Projections were cited, arguments volleyed back and forth. The room thinned out in stages, expensive perfume and ego lingering in the air.

Caitlyn stayed seated, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose from time to time or nervously twisting the corner of the report in front of her. The soft tick of a grandfather clock in the corner was the only sound she sometimes  heard.

She was exhausted.

The Gates weren’t her only concern, far from it. There were underground movements gaining traction, law enforcement spread too thin, too many fires to put out. Her mind kept drifting to to the crumbling parts of the city no one in this room gave a damn about.

By the end of the meeting, Caitlyn felt her shoulders sag. The kind of tired that settled in her bones. The kind she couldn't shake with sleep or caffeine.

She shook a few hands out of courtesy, offered tight smiles, and slipped away without lingering. Her mind was already spiraling into the next problem. And the one after that.

Progress could wait, just for a few hours, or days or even weeks as far as she was concerned. By this point she couldn’t care less.

She needed air. And maybe, just maybe, the feel of Vi’s arms around her to remember why she was still fighting.

.....

Caitlyn stood still beneath the grey sky, the handle of her umbrella clenched tight in one gloved hand. Rain pattered softly on the stone path beneath her boots, a rhythm that echoed off the tombstones and polished marble crypts of Piltover’s upper cemetery.

She reached out to the stone vase perched by the base of her mother’s grave and plucked out the wilted flowers with deliberate care. Their once vibrant petals were now papery and brown, curled in on themselves like secrets kept too long and replaced them with a fresh bundle. Lilacs, pale and fragrant, she tucked them in their place.

She rarely came here. And when she did, she came alone.

A cold breeze stirred the collar of her coat, the rain misting against her cheek. The entire place felt heavier in the wet, a kind of quiet, aching weight that clung to everything.

Caitlyn stared at her mother's name etched in stone. A woman who’d always loomed larger than life. A woman who had wrapped Caitlyn in safety so tight it sometimes felt like suffocation.

And yet now, with that glass bell gone… she sometimes felt adrift without it.

Her eye lowered, lashes brushing her cheek as she stood in silence. She wasn’t sure why she’d come. To talk? To seek comfort? To just… feel something solid, something familiar?

The rain began to fall harder.

She let her eye shut for a moment and drew a slow breath, the cold air brushing against her face like memory. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away, boots crunching the gravel path, umbrella tilting slightly as the shadows of the cemetery stretched behind her.

.....

By the time Caitlyn stepped into the manor, the storm was in full swing. The butler was already there, waiting with a towel in hand as he took her dripping coat with practiced care.

"Thank you Wilkes. Is Violet home?"

“Miss Violet...” he began, then faltered. “Apologies...Miss Vi...returned home about two hours ago.”

Caitlyn paused mid-step, a faint line appearing between her brows at the correction. “Alright,” she murmured, filing the moment away in the back of her mind as she continued into the hallway.

"Would you like a cup of tea Miss?"

"No, thank you. I just need a rest."

The familiar hush of the house wrapped around her as she made her way to the library. The scent of wood polish and old pages greeted her like an old friend. Inside, her father sat by the fireplace, the flames casting soft golden light across his lined face. A cup of tea rested beside him on the little round table, steam curling gently into the air as he read.

He looked up at the sound of her footsteps and smiled.

“Hello darling. You look tired,” Tobias said, closing the book with one hand.

Caitlyn leaned down to kiss his cheek, then straightened with a sigh. “I am tired.”

She wandered to the tall windows and stared out, arms crossing over her chest as the rain ran in rivulets down the glass.

“They want to reopen the Hexgates,” she said quietly.

Tobias blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Already?”

Caitlyn gave a dry laugh. “Of course. Trade routes, profit margins. Greed never rests, apparently.”

Her reflection in the glass looked older than she remembered, shadows under her eyes, hair clinging damply to her neck. She watched herself for a beat longer, then turned her head slightly.

“How did she do this for so many years?” she asked, voice small.

There was a pause. Tobias put the book aside and rose slowly, joints cracking as he moved. He came to stand beside her, one hand resting gently on her arm.

“She believed in something bigger than herself,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes it was this city. Sometimes... it was you.”

Caitlyn looked up at him, eyes shining now.

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now, Cait,” he added softly. “But if you keep trying, even when it's hard, maybe one day, someone else will ask how you did it.”

The strength in his words finally cracked the dam she’d been holding back all day. She folded into him, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder as his arms came around her protectively. He said nothing more, just held her as the rain tapped softly against the windows and the fire crackled quietly behind them.

And in that small warmth, for the first time in hours, Caitlyn allowed herself to cry.

....

She stepped into their bedroom, the soft creak of the door barely audible over the steady patter of rain tapping against the windows. The lights were low, golden. Warm. And there on the floor, legs crossed amidst a battlefield of papers, sat Vi.

She wore her worn cotton grey trousers and a loose tank top that slipped off one shoulder, revealing a freckled curve of skin and her beautiful ink. Her hair was pulled up in a haphazard knot, a rare sight, one Caitlyn only saw when Vi was truly at ease, too absorbed to care. It made her look different somehow. Softer. Gentler. Hers.

A half-eaten dinner plate sat forgotten beside her. A notebook rested in her lap, pen between her fingers.

And though Vi hadn’t even looked up yet, Caitlyn felt something in her chest loosen at the sight, like just being near her calmed something deep down she hadn’t realised had been clenched all day.

Then Vi lifted her head and grinned. “Oh, hello, Cupcake.”

“Hey, love,” Caitlyn replied, already undoing the day like stitches at a seam. She shed her boots by the door, unpinned the brooch from the collar of her shirt with care, and began unbuttoning the first few buttons as she walked. With a gentle tug, she pulled the shirt loose from her trousers, her movements methodical, almost meditative.

She crossed the room and plonked herself down beside Vi.

Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to her lips, warm and slow, with a little hum between them. A kiss that said, I missed you, I need this, thank you for being here.

When they parted, Vi gave her a look. “You look like you’ve been dragged through the streets.”

Caitlyn let out a soft laugh. “And you look like you’ve been in a fight.”

Vi smirked. “Well. I won.”

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose and rested her head on Vi’s bare shoulder, letting the silence stretch a beat longer before tilting her head slightly to glance over the mess. “What’s all this?”

Vi tapped the end of her pen against the notebook, then reached over and pulled a map a bit closer, creased and smudged with graphite. "So," she said, eyes flicking up to Caitlyn, "I went to see an old friend today. About those parts."

Caitlyn lifted her head slightly. “Parts?” she was too tired, her brain desperately trying to keep up at this poin.

Vi nodded, spreading out the map. “You know, the ones that came up weird in the smuggling manifest. Been chewing on it since yesterday. And I got a tip, someone who might know more. Thought I'd chase it.”

Caitlyn blinked. “You chased it?”

Vi grinned without looking up. “Yeah. It's been  a boring day at work so I thought why not. And guess what? Paid off. Turns out, I found where the actual alloy used in those parts is made. You can’t fake that kind of metal, not really. Can’t build squat without raw materials, no matter how clever your engineering is.”

"Clever" Cait’s attention now sparked

She tapped the corner of the map, where she’d scrawled something in red ink. “Found a supplier. Down in Zaun. Pretty small-time operation on the surface, nothing flashy, mostly under the radar. But guess where the shipments are going?”

Caitlyn shifted closer, brow furrowing as she followed Vi’s finger across the page.

Vi smirked. “The old mine.”

Caitlyn straightened up, staring at her. “You did all this today?”

Vi finally glanced up and met her eyes. There was a spark in her, quick, crackling, alive. “Mmhmm.”

“By yourself?” Caitlyn asked, eyebrows lifting.

“And Darren and Lance.”

“You took them to the Sumps? Vi...”

“What?” Vi replied, feigning offense. “I’ve been going down there since I was seven. They need real field experience sometime.”

She leaned back against the bed with a smug grin. “Things were going too well to stop. Didn’t wanna mess with the mojo.”

Caitlyn huffed a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

Vi leaned back on her hands, tank top shifting again over her shoulder. “Nah, just efficient.” She nudged Caitlyn’s knee with her own playfully.

Caitlyn looked back down at the map, then at Vi’s scrawl of notes, quick, slanted, looping letters and arrows and messy diagrams. “And it makes sense now?”

Vi’s face softened a little. “Not yet. But it’s starting to.”

Caitlyn let out a soft sigh, one hand brushing Vi’s knee before she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, slow, warm, full of something between gratitude and awe.

“You’re incredible,” she murmured against her mouth. “Seriously.”

Vi grinned, a touch smug but mostly soft. “I know.”

But Caitlyn was already shifting, the tension in her shoulders finally giving way as she slumped down beside her, twisting her body so she could lay her head in Vi’s lap. Her arms hooked lazily underneath Vi’s legs, anchoring herself there like she’d done a hundred times before, except this time it wasn’t strategy or planning pulling her close.

“I just need...” Caitlyn mumbled, eyelids already drooping, “...a few hours. That’s all.”

Vi didn’t say anything. She just reached down, her fingers gently threading into Caitlyn’s hair, stroking slow through the blue stands, steady, soothing.

“Yeah,” Vi whispered. “You rest. I’ve got this.”

Caitlyn exhaled again, her breath catching lightly in her throat before it evened out. Her lashes fluttered shut, her body growing heavier, warmer, tucked up close like she was finally letting herself stop holding it all together.

Vi leaned over, snagged another piece of fried chicken from her plate, and took a bite, careful not to disturb the woman curled into her. Her other hand never stopped its rhythm in Caitlyn’s hair.

Outside, the sounds of rain carried on. But here, in this moment, the only sound that mattered was Caitlyn’s slow, steady breathing against her thigh.

Vi glanced down, the corner of her mouth lifting.

“Sweet dreams, Cupcake,” she murmured.

And with that, she turned back to her notes, one hand solving mysteries, the other keeping her world safe and still.

.....

It was late now, well past the last shift bell. Caitlyn’s study was dim but alive with motion, the faint hum of the street bleeding through the open transom. Maps, blueprints, and photographs littered the table. One wall had been cleared to pin up notes and photos Gearhand had taken earlier that day, angled shots of a narrow, two-storey brick house tucked into the back of a forgotten alley. Charoite’s perfect little hideaway. Too perfect.

Caitlyn stood by the map, jacket half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled. Hair tied back with military precision. One gloved hand tapped at a marked corner of the photograph.

“Two entrance points,” she said. “Main door here, back alley service hatch here. And a possible third through the roof vent, but you’d have to be half wraith and half idiot to risk it unless you're featherlight.”

She glanced at Vi without comment. Vi smirked.

“There are three posted guards, two visible, one patrol that does irregular sweeps. Gearhand clocked cigarette trail behind the stack. Probably the one watching from the shadows. They need to be taken out first. Quietly. Simultaneously."

Gearhand nodded from the couch, goggles perched on his head. He was already suited up.

“I’ll be on overwatch,” Caitlyn continued “There’s an access point across the street. Three storeys up, angled perfectly. Wind’s decent tonight, I can make the shot if needed.”

“And what’s the plan if they catch wind of us early?” Sevika asked from where she leaned against the desk, arms crossed, gear creaking slightly with the shift of her weight. “That lot’s not known for fighting clean.”

Caitlyn didn’t blink. “Enforcers are running coordinated sweeps on three other Charoites locations across Zaun. With any luck, our target won’t see this coming until you’re already through the door.”

Sevika grunted. “And if she ain’t fooled?”

“Then we pivot,” Caitlyn said crisply. “Fast, clean, and loud if we have to. We have no other choice. So let's hope for the best."

There was a brief pause, the kind thick with tension but edged with trust. They’d all done this before, in one shape or another.

.....

The night pressed close, Zaun’s toxic haze wrapping the rooftops in a grim shroud. Caitlyn lay prone on the far building, her rifle steadied on the edge of the roof. One eye down the scope, breath slow, she tracked their target house through layers of reinforced glass and flickering neon.

Below, in the alley’s gloom, shadows moved.

Masks on. Goggles snapped into place. No words now, they all knew the plan.

Sevika was first. She slipped behind the rear guard like smoke, her augmented arm snaking around his throat, the other hand clamping over his mouth. His legs kicked once, then went limp.

Across the street, another guard stiffened. He’d heard something. Turned.

Too late.

Gearhand burst from the shadows. One clean punch crumpled the man where he stood, head snapping back with a sickening crack before he slumped into the darkness.

Vi came in hot. Her boots didn’t make a sound until the very last second. The third guard spun just in time to see the flash of her gauntlet before his face met the brick wall. She caught him as he slumped to prevent the crash from giving them away.

They moved.

They breached the side entrance. Silent. Efficient.

But then, movement behind Sevika.

Caitlyn's scope zeroed in. She fired.

The first shot cracked the glass. Missed.

Sevika spun, eyes snapping toward the threat. Another man rushing her from behind.

Cait reloded fast. The second bullet found its mark. He dropped.

Sevika flicked a glance up toward the rooftop. A silent thank-you.

But upstairs, the sound of shattered glass, sharp and distant carried.

Charoite heard it.

In a room above them, her head whipped around. Eyes narrowing.

Everyone knew they were in the house now. Gunfire burst. One of her guards fired down the hall at Vi. Another opened up on the rooftop full automatic.

Bullets peppered the brick near Caitlyn’s face. She ducked, heart thudding, debris biting at her coat.

Inside, Vi didn’t flinch. She powered up her gauntlets. Blue energy surged as she launched forward, slamming into the gunman. His weapon flew. She caught it mid-air and crushed it into scrap.

Then her gauntlet collided with his skull. He dropped like lead.

Smoke flooded the hallway as someone lobbed a chem-bomb at Gearhand. It hissed as it hit the floor. Visibility dropped to zero.

His eyes didn’t sting, filtered lenses helped but he couldn’t see.

A fist struck his jaw. He reeled back, swinging blind.

Sevika ducked behind a wall as bullets whistled past. She cursed under her breath, pinned by suppressive fire.

Upstairs, Vi pushed through the choking fog. Her gauntlets raised. She stepped into the heart of the storm.

Caitlyn repositioned fast, running along the rooftop, eyes tracking through the smoke swirling inside.

A figure blurred past Gearhand’s position.

Another shot. Another takedown.

Then

Something shifted in the air. An energy.

Caitlyn’s scope trembled. She zoomed in.

Vi was in the upper floor now. Smoke everywhere. She stepped inside the room, goggles fogged at the edges, mask filtering the smoke but trapping every breath tight against her face. All she could hear was the rasp of her own breathing, loud, too loud, echoing in her ears like a warning.

Caitlyn could barely make her out, just a silhouette.

All vi could see where vague shapes through the haze. Everything dipped in grey. The lights flickered weakly, cutting shadows into the fog.

Her pulse thudded behind her ribs.

She advanced slowly, one foot at a time, gauntlets raised, elbows tight. She kept her back to the wall.

The silence was thick. Unnatural.

Then, something shifted.

Not movement. Not quite. Just a pressure in the room changing. A tension in the air, like someone else was breathing with her. She stopped.

Listened.

Somewhere behind the smoke, she thought she heard something. A whisper of motion.

Then...

Something moved.

Too fast.

A shape burst from Vi’s blind corner, trailing violet light like a phantom. Purple eyes flared in the dark.

Caitlyn gasped then fired.

Too late.

The figure hit Vi like a freight train, one arm slamming around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground. The other hand flung something into the air, a glass capsule, swirling with silver liquid.

Then...click.

A sharp sound, metallic and final, like a trigger pulled.

The liquid ignited.

Not flame,  light.

It flared, too bright, searing, unnatural. White-hot. It burned through the smoke like a flare through fog, swallowing shadows and flooding the room with a violent, pulsing brilliance.

Caitlyn’s lenses flared, the light cutting straight through them blinding her.

“Damn it”

A hum, then silence. The kind that makes your ears ring.
Then...

BOOM.

The sound didn’t scream. It imploded, like the world sucked in air then collapsed in on itself.

The building erupted.

Walls buckled, flame and debris punching upward. Shards of wood and metal tore through the air. Sevika flew backwards like a ragdoll, smashing through plaster. The stairs above Gearhand crumbled, dropping in a heap.

Caitlyn didn’t even get to shout. The blast wave hit her like a hammer, ripping her from the rooftop.

She tumbled through the air rolling down to next roof underneath.

Then....Crash.

Concrete met her back.

Street level.

Everything spun.

Smoke choked the sky.

But Cait didn’t move.

....


A high-pitched ringing was all she could hear. Caitlyn’s body ached in places she couldn’t name, and her vision bled at the edges, colours warping and smearing like water over ink.

She lay on something soft. A bed? Her limbs were heavy, muscles sluggish to respond. She tried to move, pain flared up her side like a flare. She groaned.

Something in the room was moving. No, someone.

A silhouette danced through the blur. She could smell them before she saw them: something sweet, something strange. Cinnamon maybe, and iron. There was the sound of water being poured. A kettle lifted from a tiny stove. Light spilled from lapmp on the curtains in thin golden stripes. The place was small. A nook of sorts. A tea kitchen. Neat. Still. Warm.

Wind chimes on the window clinked softly in the breeze. She blinked, and blinked again. The blur peeled back in layers, her eyesight returning in fragments.

Waves of green hair fell down a woman’s back like ivy.

Caitlyn winced and tried to sit up, breath catching in her throat. Pain throbbed in her shoulder. The woman turned at the sound, and Caitlyn’s eyes caught something, ink across her neck. Familiar, too familiar. She couldn’t place it.

“You took quite a fall,” the woman said, voice a low drawl echoing through Caitlyn’s still-fractured hearing. “Easy now.”

The figure stepped closer, and the room came into clearer focus slowly. So did the woman, low-rise trousers laced with belts and silver chains that swayed around her hips when she moved. A black leather underbust corset gripped her waist, a soft off-shoulder top slung loosely beneath. Her nails were long, neon pink against the porcelain mug she held.

Caitlyn's pulse kicked.

She saw her rifle. It was right there, leaning against the wall by the bed.

She grabbed it with effort, snapping it up, barrel trembling in her grip as she loaded and aimed.

The woman froze, eyes meeting hers. Bright green. Not threatening, but steady. Calm. There was no panic in her, no fear.

“If I wanted to hurt you,” she said gently, “I wouldn’t have left your weapon within arm’s reach.”

Caitlyn's breath came in short bursts. Her grip tightened around the trigger. And then...

The memory hit her like a brick to the chest.

The club. The woman outside it. The green hair. The tattoo. The stare.

“You…” Caitlyn rasped. “Where’s Vi?”

....