The morning crept in grey and heavy, rain tapping against the window like a drumbeat too soft to ignore. Caitlyn stood by the mirror, blouse half-buttoned, staring at the storm outside.

Vi moved behind her, careful hands working at the small buttons along her back. She pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades as she fastened the last one, then wrapped her arms around her waist.

“You’ve been quiet,” Vi murmured, resting her chin on her shoulder. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

For a moment Caitlyn didn’t answer. She just let herself sink into the warmth of Vi’s arms, eyes fixed on the rain-washed city. Then, with a long breath, she said softly, “I want us to go to the summer house.”

Vi blinked, caught off guard. “The summer house? Cait, what about the case? All of this...”

“I knooow. Just for few days that's all” she cut in, finally turning to face her.

"Cait...Don't get me wrong, I'd rather be there than sorting out this shit. But if something goes wrong in a meantime you're gonna spend eternity blaming yourself. You know that."

Cait signed, her expression taut, but her voice steady. “But look at us, Vi. Gearhand’s hurt. The man almost got killed. He's barely saying anything beyond what needs to be discussed. He's falling apart just doesn't want anyone seeing it. Nyx is putting on a brave face but she's not well."

Caitlyn’s throat tightened as she went on. “I see it in her darling. That… hollowing grief, twisting into rage and vengeance. I know this feeling too well. It nearly destroyed me once, and I won’t be the one to push her to that edge.”

Vi reached up, brushed a strand of hair from Caitlyn’s cheek, tucking it gently behind her ear. Her gaze softened, every word unspoken in the quiet nod she gave. “Okay....We'll speak to the others, see if they agree. Alright?”

Caitlyn’s shoulders sagged with the faintest relief. She drew Vi close enough for their foreheads to come together. “We need clear minds. All of us. Otherwise, we’ll lose more than the case.”

"I agree." Vi said quietly stroking gently the nape  of Caitlyn’s neck then placed a long kiss to her forehead.

Caitlyn ran her hands slowly down Vi’s arms, grounding herself, as though smoothing away the last traces of tension. After a long pause, she turned back to the mirror, shrugging on her jacket. “I’ll speak to everyone,” she said, adjusting her collar with a quick glance at her reflection. “If they all agree, we’ll leave on Sunday after the party.”

Vi gave a short huff, rolling her shoulders like she’d rather face another fight. “Was hoping’ to dodge all that.”

Cait chuckled softly. As she passed by, she caught Vi’s chin between her fingers and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “No chance.”

Vi screwed up her face, half annoyed.

“Don’t sulk,” Cait teased, her eyes glinting as she turned to leave.

Vi muttered something under her breath, then caught Cait’s wrist and tugged her back. “You owe me for this.”

“Maybe…” Cait smirked, sliding her hands down Vi’s sides, deliberately slow, until they cupped her backside. With a playful squeeze, she drew her closer.

“You’re shameless, y’know that?” Vi muttered, though her hand found the side of Cait’s neck, pulling her into a deep kiss.

Cait only smiled against her mouth, perfectly content to let Vi think she’d won this round.

.....


The dining room was grand in every sense of the word. Tall windows looked out onto a rain-washed garden, light spilling pale and watery across the long table already set with silver and porcelain. Along the sideboard, dishes were spread in neat rows, fruits, pastries, eggs, smoked fish, and breads, a veritable mountain of food.

Nyx’s gaze wandered briefly over the space, the framed family portraits climbing the walls, the heavy candelabra gleaming in the muted daylight, the massive stone fireplace that dominated the far end. She gave Jorin a look, raising her brows.

“This is more food than anyone can eat for breakfast,” she muttered under her breath.

Jorin leaned closer, brushing a kiss against her temple with a crooked grin. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Doubt anything will be left.”

She rolled her eyes and passed him a plate. “Do you think they’ve got a dress code?” she chuckled.

Before he could answer, a burst of childish laughter cut across the room. Vi strode in with Elara hanging from her arm, the little girl trying valiantly to wrestle her down, but with no luck. With a chuckle, Vi simply lifted her clean off the ground.

“Morning,” she called, voice rough but bright enough. She wore uniform trousers and boots, the badge on her waist catching the light, paired with nothing more than a plain t-shirt.

Nyx’s eyes couldn’t help but snag on the badge. It was… strange, seeing her like that, half formal, half disarmed. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, so she simply nodded politely as she reached for a slice of bread.

“Not that one,” Vi said, stopping her hand with an easy grin.

Nyx blinked at her, confused.

“Tastes like eating a wall,” Vi deadpanned.

Nyx actually laughed, pulling her hand back. Jorin, meanwhile, reached for the hard-boiled eggs and cheese, things that looked safe enough.

“How you feeling?” he asked as he piled his plate.

Vi dropped into a chair with Elara still dangling from her arm like an accessory. “Like I just spent three days high as a kite,” she said, smirking.

“Too bad it wasn’t from the party,” Jorin shot back.

Nyx snorted. "What sort of parties did you go to?" She smacked Jorin’s shoulder

"Don't think he's gonna tell you" VI laughed

The sound of bootsteps on the floor pulled their attention as Geargrand entered, shoulders square, the lines under his eyes deeper than usual.

“Morning.” he greeted everyone

At the table, Elara had abandoned hanging off Vi’s arm and was now throwing little punches into Vi’s open palms, face scrunched with all the determination in the world. Her arms now permanently wrapped in boxing bandages that she refused to take off until it was bed time.

“Dad, look!” she crowed between jabs, the sleeves of her t-shirt flapping wildly with each swing.

Gearhand’s mouth tugged into a tired grin. “You’ll knock her flat if you’re not careful.” He ruffled her hair gently before adding, “Let her eat in peace, hm? She needs breakfast before she goes to work."

Vi chuckled, catching Elara’s last punch in her palm. “I don’t mind,” she said, standing and crouching a little so she and Elara were eye to eye. “But you...” she tapped Elara’s nose with a finger “...need food if you want muscles.”

Elara puffed up, flexing her skinny little arms with complete seriousness. “They’re pathetic.”

“Then eat,” Vi teased, guiding her toward the table with an exaggerated march.

Nyx, watching them, found herself smiling despite the knot in her chest.

Jorin slipped an arm around her shoulders as if he’d noticed too, she leaned into it. It was the only thing that comforted her these days.

.....

The dining room hummed with low conversation, silverware against porcelain, the steady patter of rain on the windows. At the far end, Caitlyn’s father leaned forward, engaged in animated talk with Jorin, their voices carrying a measured weight of politics and industry.

Closer to the center of the table, Nyx tilted her head, eyes caught on the ink spiraling down Vi’s arm. “That ink is gorgeous,” she asked, curiosity brightening her tone, “keep wanting to ask you where’d you get it done?”

Vi smirked faintly, stabbing into her eggs. “Stillwater.”

Nyx froze mid-bite, “What?”

"The only good thing I took from there" Vi said nonchalant taking a sip of juice

Across from her, Caitlyn’s eyes flicked from one woman to the other. “I hope your room’s comfortable,” she interjected smoothly, voice carrying that practiced grace. “If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Nyx forced her shoulders to relax, offering a polite smile. “Thank you...It’s more than comfortable...but we’ll be heading back to Zaun this afternoon.”

The words hung like a dropped glass.

Caitlyn blinked, stunned. “Zaun? But you can’t. It’s not safe.”

“We’ll be fine,” Nyx waived it off

Vi set her fork down with a clink, leaning forward. "I think Cait’s right. If you think Charoite’s just gonna let you breathe after trying to pop her off ...”

Nyx’s head snapped toward her. “So what, you expect us to move in here?” Her voice sharpened. “We’ve got work. I don’t need to explain it to you.”

“You won’t be working,” Vi shot back, voice hard, "cause you won’t be breathing.”

The tension cut through the room, Elara’s chewing slowing to nothing.

Caitlyn’s voice slipped in, calm but firm. “I was actually going to suggest we all go to the summer house for a few days. I think…” she glanced around, her gaze softening, “…we all need it after everything.”

Nyx stared at her in disbelief, a bitter laugh escaping. “Unbelievable. I thought you were serious about this.” Her chair scraped against the floor as she pushed back. “I need to get my brother out, not chill in some fancy Topside manor.” She threw her napkin onto the table with a snap of her wrist, anger flaring in her eyes. “You know what? Forget it. What else did I expect from a Topsider?”

She excused herself in a clipped voice and stormed out, boots striking hard against the polished floor.

Silence followed. Elara stopped mid-chew, wide-eyed.

“That’s not what I...” Caitlyn began, the words faltering as hurt bled into her tone.

Jorin pushed his chair back slowly, rising to his feet. “I’m sorry. She’s not usually like this.” He started to follow, but Vi stood abruptly, her chair skidding back.

“Wait. Let me talk to her. Please."

"You can try. But she’s not herself..." he said, worry egged in his voice.

She ran after Nyx, her boots thudding against the floor. She caught up with her at the base of the grand staircase. “Hey...hold up!”

Nyx spun halfway, jaw tight, eyes still flashing with heat.

“Listen,” Vi said, raising her hands, palms out. “Cait’s not like that. You’ve got it all twisted. She's not fucking you around. And she sure as hell isn't giving up on this either."

“Oh, no?” Nyx snapped back, voice sharp. “Because it sure sounded like it. A bloody holiday while my brother rots in those mines? Do you even hear yourself?”

Vi’s teeth ground together. She forced a breath through her nose, but her voice still rose. “You think Cait’s telling you to sit pretty and do nothing? She’s trying to give you a break, yeah? Just for one second. You’ve been tearing through this like you don’t give a shit if you make it out alive!”

Nyx’s hands clenched at her sides, trembling. “Because if I don’t, he dies.”

That cracked something in Vi. Her chest rose, fell. “You think I don’t get that? You think I don’t know what it’s like to want to tear down every wall, burn every bastard who ever stood in my way?” She waived her hand, her voice rougher now. “I did that, and I made one fucking bad decision after another. That shit's gonna eat you alive before you even reach him."

Nyx shook her head, but tears welled up all the same. Her voice faltered, softer now. “I just… I can't loose him. I've been waiting for this chance..." she trailed off as she looked up to the ceiling blinking her tears away then wiped her face quickly.

The words hung heavy between them.

Vi swallowed hard, her own throat tight. “I know.” Her voice was quieter now, steady but carrying weight. “But if you keep charging blind like this, you’re gonna lose yourself too. And then he’ll have nothing to come back to.”

For a moment, silence stretched, the only  sound  between them rain pattering faintly against the tall windows.

Nyx’s arms finally dropped to her sides, shoulders shaking.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly

Vi’s voice dropped, rough edges smoothing out. “Cait knows what that feels like, Nyx. Losing control. Watching grief twist you ‘til there’s nothing left but rage. She’s not trying to take this fight from you. She just doesn’t want to see the same thing happen to you.”

Nyx’s breathing was uneven, but she didn’t lash back this time.

Vi stepped a little closer, softer now. “So we take a pause. Just long enough to breathe. Then, when we’ve got clear heads, we make a plan. A real one. One that gets your brother out alive.”

The silence stretched, Nyx’s jaw tightening as though she was still chewing on fire. She turned half away, gripping the banister. For a long beat, she just stared at the polished wood then finally  she exhaled hard through her nose and looked back at Vi.

“One condition,” she said.

Vi arched a brow. “Name it.”

Nyx sniffed, eyes still rimmed red but steadier now. “No formal wear.”

For the first time since their voices had clashed, Vi smirked. “Do I look like someone who digs formal wear?”

That pulled a reluctant smile from Nyx, small but real, despite the storm still roiling inside her.

......

The rain hadn’t let up since dawn, a steady curtain dripping down the broken rooftops of the Fissures, carrying soot and grime into the gutters where the water swirled black. The graveyard lay tucked against a wall of leaning stone, its ground turned to thick mud underfoot. A handful of mourners huddled together, umbrellas sagging under the weight of the rain, their dark clothes plastered to their skin.

At the center, a rough wooden casket creaked as it was lowered into the earth. The ropes strained, slipping against wet palms until, with a hollow drop, it struck the water pooled in the bottom of the grave. The splash rang too loud, too cruel. Nyx’s breath caught, her shoulders stiff though her jaw held tight. She stood straight, her face carved from resolve, but her eyes betrayed her, red, glistening, straining against a grief that pressed to the surface. She risked a glance toward Switch’s mother, broken and clinging to her friends coat as sobs tore from her chest. Nyx quickly looked away, shame cutting deeper than the cold.

Sevika stood off to one side, her broad frame unmoving, rain dripping from the edge of her cloak. Beside her, Gearhand’s gaze kept straying to a small grave a few rows away, his daughter’s. The sorrow in his eyes was raw and unguarded, etched deep into lines already carved by years of hardship. Another child swallowed by Zaun’s endless struggle, another life claimed by the madness that never seemed to end. He clenched his jaw, but the grief was there for all to see, heavier than the rain.

Off to the side, Caitlyn and Vi stood apart from the family, rain running down their shoulders, umbrellas doing little to shelter them. Vi’s enforcer coat, heavy and practical, drew as many eyes as Caitlyn herself. Some looks carried quiet approval, some bitter resentment. Others shifted between the two women, suspicion and unease hanging thick as the damp air.

Behind them, an older woman muttered, her voice sharp enough to cut through the drizzle. “What is she doing here?” Her eyes flicked to Caitlyn, hard and accusing. 

“Not now, Mum,” her son hissed, trying to hush her, but the words had already landed.

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, her posture iron-straight as though she could weather the rain better than the stares. For a moment, she seemed about to retreat, anything but stand frozen under their scrutiny.

Vi, without a word, reached across the space between them. Her hand found Cait’s, fingers lacing together firmly. Caitlyn let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, leaning into the touch as if it anchored her in the mud, the rain, the judgment.

The casket settled into its resting place, the ropes slackened, and the priest’s words were drowned by the soft hiss of the rain. All around them, Zaun mourned in its own way, broken voices, weary silence, and the unyielding reminder that even in grief, the fracture between Piltover and Zaun had not yet healed.

....


The crowd began to scatter once the final words were spoken, umbrellas drifting off into the rain-slick streets of the Fissures. Mud clung heavy to boots, and the air smelled of wet stone and rust. Caitlyn and Vi lingered only a moment longer before turning down the path, moving away from the graveyard in silence.

Nyx, still speaking with an older woman at the edge of the gathering, caught sight of them leaving. Her chest tightened. With a hurried apology, she slipped away and jogged after them.

“Cait!” she called, voice carrying over the rain.

Cait turned, surprised, as Nyx caught up, breathless but determined.

“I wanted to… apologise,” Nyx said, pushing damp hair from her face. “For earlier. I wasn’t fair to you.”

Cait regarded her for a moment, then nodded, her expression softening. “I appreciate that. And I promise you, I’m not giving up. We’ll find a way to get your brother out, him, and the others. That I swear.”

The words hung there, steady and certain, before Cait glanced at her pocket watch. “But I have to go. There’s a meeting I can’t miss.”

Nyx’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I understand. I’m only stopping by my apartment to grab a few things, then I’ll head back to Piltover myself. Jorin needs to go to see his father. Explain all this mess.”

Vi tilted her head. “I’ll go with you.”

Nyx arched a brow. “You think I need a bodyguard?”

Vi gave a half-smirk. “No. But you might need help carrying your stuff.”

Nyx rolled her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. “Fine. Give me few minutes to say goodbye to everyone first.”

"Sure" Vi nodded

"Good luck at the meeting"

"Thank you. I'll need it." Cait huffed.

As Nyx drifted back toward the crowd, Cait turned to Vi with a sigh, adjusting the lapel of her coat as if bracing herself for something far less pleasant than the rain.

“I should go,” she murmured. “I’ve a council meeting to suffer through, and explaining all this to them is going to be… interesting.”

Vi snorted. “What the hell are you gonna say?”

Cait gave her a sly little smile. “Lie through my teeth. My mother would be proud.” She rolled her eyes, though the dry humour softened the weight pressing on her. “And I still need to see Lystra. I'm so worried about that message. I don’t sound positive at all.”

Vi made a low sound in her throat. “Busy day. I'll go that hydraulics guy later. Let's hope I get somewhere with that.”

"You will…” she murmured, smoothing down the lapels of Vi’s jacket, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“I have to go.”

She leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Vi’s lips. Then, almost unconsciously, she brushed them again, savoring the softness, the warmth, the faint taste of Vi lingering on her own mouth. It was a small, private comfort, a moment to anchor herself in something steady before stepping away. Her eyes fluttered closed for a heartbeat, letting the simple intimacy soothe the tightening in her chest.

She lingered there a beat longer, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “Be careful, Violet.”

Vi smirked. “I’ll try,” she said, half a laugh in her voice.

Cait rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “See you at home.”

“Or,” Vi added, tilting her head, “we could grab lunch later.”

Cait arched a brow. “That place on the Promenade?”

Vi nodded.

“I’ll be there around three,” Cait said.

Vi’s grin widened. “You got yourself a date.”

Their lips met again, slower this time, before Cait finally pulled away, umbrella snapping open against the drizzle. With one last glance back, she stepped into the rain. 

Vi held her gaze for a moment, reluctant to let her go as Cait’s figure folded into the grey streets. No matter how many times she saw her walk these alleys alone, it never stopped the worry gnawing at her. Zaun wasn’t kind to strangers, and Cait wasn’t just anyone.

Even as she disappeared from view, Vi could still catch the faint, sweet trace of her perfume, clinging to her jacket and filling her lungs with a warmth that made her chest tighten. The taste of her still lingered on her lips, soft and electric, a ghost of the kisses they had shared, making the distance between them feel impossibly sharp.

Still, she bit back the urge to run after her, to fuss, to shield. She knew better than to treat Cait as though she needed a guard dogging her steps. She was strong, clever, and way too proud and Vi respected that more than anything. She lingered for a long moment before finally forcing herself to turn.

.....


The council chamber smelled faintly of parchment and lamp oil, the steady drip of rain outside echoing against the high windows. Caitlyn stood tall before the long table, every member of the council peering down at her as if they might strip away the truth by staring hard enough.

“Sheriff Kiramman,” one of the older men intoned, flipping through the official report. “We ask you now to explain the events at factory. Three Enforcers dead.” His eyes lifted, sharp as glass. “This cannot simply be brushed aside.”

Cait clasped her hands behind her back, her face composed though her chest tightened. She had rehearsed nothing. She would have to dance on the edge of her own conscience.

“It was a highly sensitive investigation,” she said evenly, “into suspected Hextech smuggling routes. A closed operation. Unfortunately, things escalated beyond control.” Her words came smooth, her voice steady, though she felt each lie scrape across her tongue.

A councilwoman frowned. “An operation gone so wrong you lost three men? What exactly were you investigating?”

Cait’s smile was polite, her eyes unyielding. “Smuggling networks tied to contraband Hextech. Nothing out of the ordinary I assure you. Just part of the cleanup.  We have reason to believe it was routed through some points in Zaun. That’s as much as I can disclose, I’m afraid.”

Another member leaned forward, looking past her. “And what about you, Councillor Sevika? What were you doing there?”

The room stilled. All eyes shifted to where Sevika lounged in her chair, one arm braced on the table. She gave a dry chuckle, shaking her head.

“Let’s just say,” Sevika drawled, “I was making sure Piltover’s finest didn’t get themselves killed poking around Zaun. Didn’t do much good in the end.”

Even Cait felt the breath catch in her chest. It was a clever deflection, brazen, dismissive, yet plausible enough that the council couldn’t pin her down. Their eyes narrowed, but Cait stepped in, backing her without hesitation.

“Councillor Sevika’s cooperation has been extremely useful,” she said smoothly, glancing back toward the woman in question. “Her insight into Zaun’s underground is essential to this operation. First-hand knowledge, not something we could replicate within the Enforcers. Her help should not be overlooked, her efforts are crucial in preventing further escalation of violence.”

Even Sevika blinked at that, the faintest arch of her brow betraying surprise before her expression reset into a sardonic half-smile. Cait held her gaze, unflinching, making the lie sound like truth itself.

The council exchanged murmurs, some frowning, others begrudgingly nodding. It was harder to argue when Cait framed Sevika as not just a liability, but a vital asset.

The questions came harder then, the council pressing, demanding to know whether this was a threat to Piltover itself.

Cait stood her ground, answering each one with quiet authority. “We are keeping everything under control,” she assured them. “Zaun’s problems are nothing new, but my office is working tirelessly to contain it."

“And these names...Nyx, Jorin, Switch,” another voice cut in. “They appear in the reports. Who are they?”

Cait blinked but continued with confidence “Zaunites. Nothing more. Wrong place, wrong time. They were caught in the crossfire, unfortunate casualties of circumstance.”

Her lies stacked higher, smoother than even Sevika had expected. For a moment she tilted her head studying Cait with something halfway between disbelief and admiration.
At last, the council relented. The oldest member tapped his fingers against the report. “Very well. We will take this… explanation under advisement. But we expect to be notified of any progress. No more surprises, Sheriff.”

Cait inclined her head. “You have my word.”

The meeting broke. Papers were gathered, chairs scraped back, and one by one the council members filed out, muttering to each other.
Cait lingered, carefully stacking her documents, sliding them into her leather bag. The quiet was a relief.

Sevika’s boots scuffed across the stone floor as she approached. She leaned against the edge of the table, smirking down at Cait.

“I’ll admit it. I underestimated you Kiramman.”

Cait arched a brow, glancing up from her papers. “What do you mean?”

Sevika gave a dry laugh. “That performance? Those lies? You’d fit right into Zaun.”

Cait snapped the buckle of her bag shut, standing to her full height. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Sevika’s grin widened, sharp and amused. “You should.”

Cait lifted the bag onto her shoulder, then paused, her eyes steady on Sevika. “You underestimated me in more than one thing.”

Sevika tilted her head. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“That I’d do anything to stop innocent people getting hurt, on both sides,” Cait said evenly. “I never believed violence solved anything. That was always someone else’s idea of politics, never mine.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “So before you jump to conclusions about me, maybe give me the benefit of the doubt. You don’t know me half as well as you think.”

Sevika considered her, the smirk fading into something drier, harder to read. Then, after a pause, she said, “Only if you do the same back.”

Cait inclined her head, the corner of her mouth softening. “Agreed.” She shifted her bag, then added almost casually, “By the way...the invitation to the summer house still stands.”

That earned her a laugh, low and amused. Sevika shook her head. “I’ve got my limits, Kiramman.”

Cait smiled faintly, as if she’d expected nothing less. “Suit yourself.”

The two women exchanged a look that said more than either of them cared to put into words, an acknowledgment of the effort, even if neither believed it would ever stretch that far.

.....

The alley curved into a stretch of Zaun Vi hadn’t walked in years. A place that tugged on her heart in two directions at once. Nyx was talking beside her, explaining how Jorin had swung by his father’s place to let him know where they’d gone, but the words barely registered. Vi’s eyes were somewhere else, drawn to the street that unfolded before them.

It was the artists’ quarter, or at least, that’s what people used to call it. Narrow lanes lined with cramped little shops selling everything from painting supplies to scraps of canvas, second-hand frames, and rows of bright glass bottles filled with homemade dyes. Tiny galleries squeezed between cafes and craft stalls, each window cluttered with trinkets that glittered under dim, flickering lamps. The air smelled faintly of ink, varnish, and sweet bread.

She remembered coming here with Powder, her sister dragging her through the shops in search of fresh crayons. Powder never made it easy, every stall meant another round of pleading, another little treasure she swore she couldn’t live without. They’d spend whole afternoons there, laughter echoing against the walls, and when their legs grew tired they always stopped at the same pastry shop. The memory struck hard, the fruit cakes, sticky and warm, and the neon-blue ice drink Powder adored so much it stained her lips and tongue.

Vi’s chest tightened. Her hands shoved deeper into her pockets as though to anchor herself, her pace faltering, speeding up, faltering again. She kept her eyes down, fighting against the sting rising behind them.

Nyx noticed. She slowed, tilting her head, her words trailing off when she caught the quiet tension in Vi’s face. “Hey,” she asked, softer than usual, “what’s got you?”

Vi shook her head, vague at first. “Just… memories.”

Nyx studied her, steps falling in beside her again. It wasn’t until they turned another corner that the truth edged out, heavy in Vi’s voice.

“I used to come here with my sister,” she said, eyes flicking toward the rows of dusty shops. “She was always after crayons. She couldn’t live without them. Spent half the day dragging me from one stall to the next.” A faint chuckle slipped out, rough at the edges. “And of course, every damn time she’d cobble together some little chicken-shit gadget outta junk she found."

“It was Jinx, wasn’t it?” Nyx asked carefully. “Your sister.”

“Powder,” Vi corrected, almost on instinct. “Her name's Powder.”

Nyx nodded, not pushing. “Sorry...I don’t judge. We all got our fucked-up sides around here and we do what have to to survive. Switch was one the people your sister got out of Stillwater."

Vi’s breath got caught in her throat. She side glanced at Nyx for moment, eye stinging as tears threatening to spill. She inhaled them back in and looked down to the cobblestones.

"If you ask me, you two’ve got bigger balls than half of Zaun and Piltover put together." Nyx continued "You gotta be either half stupid or totally nuts to do what you’ve both done.”

That pulled a smile from Vi, small but genuine, cracking through the grief.

They stopped a few steps later. Nyx tilted her chin toward the looming shape of a building ahead, its brickwork scarred with years of soot and smoke. She jabbed a thumb upward.

“We’re here.”

.....

 

Nyx slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open with her shoulder. “Home sweet home,” she muttered, stepping inside.

Vi followed, shaking a bit of rain off her coat, and let out a low whistle. “Waaaw,” she said, eyes sweeping the space. “Didn’t expect this.”

Nyx glanced back with a crooked smile. “It’s not a lot, but it’s mine. And I’m proud of it.” She tossed her bag onto the bed and started shoving clothes and supplies into a bigger duffel, moving quickly but with practiced ease.

"It’s beautiful" Vi wandered, fingers brushing along the back of a worn chair, her eyes taking in the walls hung with sketches and shelves crowded with jars of ink and pigment. “Y’know,” she said quietly, “I used to dream of a place like this. Just a corner of Zaun that was mine.”

Nyx smirked without looking up. “Bet you never dreamed of a mansion though.”

Vi shot her a look, one brow raised. “That’s just a pretty house. Cait’s my home. That’s all that matters.”

Something in her tone softened the air between them. Nyx paused mid-fold, her eyes flicking toward Vi. “You really love her.”

Vi nodded, still pacing slowly around the room. “Cait’s not like other Topsiders you know. She’s different. She's got her own way of looking at things, and yeah, sometimes her words trip up on the way out, but her head and her heart... they're always in the right place. Doesn’t mean she’s wrong. Just means she’s Cait."

Nyx’s hands stilled for just a breath, her expression unreadable. She gave a small smile, as though filing the thought away rather than agreeing with it yet. After a beat, curiosity slipped in. “How’d you two even meet?”

Vi grinned taking a book off the shelf “She came to Stillwater all stiff and buttoned up asking about the case she was working on. I said I can help but not behind bars. Next thing I know she faked a signature just to spring me out." She shook her head smiling.

Nyx barked out a laugh. “Sheriff faked a signature?”

“Off the record.” Vi smirked with a wink.

Nyx laughed shaking her head in disbelief, stuffing more into her bag. “How long were you in?”

“Seven years.” Vo replied casually flipping through the pages

Nyx froze, eyes snapping up to her, filled with compassion mingled with something more… admiration.

“Don’t you feel weird wearing that badge?”

"You ask a lot of questions" she closed the book smirking slightly. “Yeah. Most days. But if you wanna change the game, you gotta sit at the table.” Vi crouched down, poking at the tattooing equipment laid neatly on a side table.

"That’s neet,” she said, tracing the edge of a carefully maintained machine. “You people make it look easy?”

Nyx laughed, clearly pleased. “Easy? No. Takes hours, practice, and steady hands. You mess up one line and it’s permanent. Every stroke counts.”

Vi tilted her head, curious. “How do you start? Do you sketch first or…?”

“Always sketch first. You see this?” Nyx pointed to a stack of paper covered in fine line drawings. “Every design I do starts here. Then I transfer it, and only then it goes on skin. And that’s just the beginning.”

Vi’s eyes lit up, grinning. “That’s class. Mine was done by some guy with one twitching eye, but we convinced ourselves his aim was good despite it.” She let out a low laugh, “Got an infection too.”

Nyx froze, horror written all over her face. “You what?!”

Vi shrugged, casual as ever. “Ah, don’t worry. Pulled through. Barely.” Then, tilting her head toward the jars on the shelfs, “Anyway… you mixing your own ink?”

Nyx blinked at her, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief before launching into an animated explanation about her tools, pigments, and the care each stroke required.

They fell silent after a while. Nyx packing last things and Vi studding the wall where Nyx’s art was pinned in a chaotic spread. She studied it, impressed. One sketch in particular caught her eye. A girl’s face, sharp yet soft, captured with an attention that spoke of memory rather than imagination. Vi tilted her head. “Who’s that?”

Nyx was halfway through folding a shirt. Her eyes flicked up, then back down. For a long moment she didn’t answer. Finally, her voice came quieter than before.

“That’s Switch.”

“Oh.”

The word slipped out of Vi before she even knew what she was saying. She stepped closer, staring hard at the sketch as if it might move, breathe, look back at her. Her throat worked but nothing came out for a beat.

“She was… beautiful,” Vi muttered, the word rough, clumsy, but honest. “So young.”

Her chest tightened. All the fights, all the blood she’d crawled through, Vi could handle that. But this? Someone laying down their life for her without her even knowing their face? That felt different. Wrong.

She dragged a hand through her hair, jaw clenching. Didn’t even get the chance to thank her. Didn’t even know her. It was wrong in so many ways Vi just couldn’t put into words.

“I should’ve been there,” she said finally, voice low, almost breaking. “Instead I was out cold, drugged like dead weight, while she…” Vi trailed off, swallowing hard. “She gave everything for me.”

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. A bitter laugh escaped, small and shaky. “Hell of a thing, havin’ a ghost carryin’ you like that. Makes you wonder if you’ll ever be worth it.”

Nyx let out a breath that wasn’t quite steady, lips pressing tight before she spoke.

“You are worth it,” she said quietly. “You can’t give her back what she lost. But you can honor her by keepin’ on. That’s what matters.”

“She was a closest thing I ever had to a sister,” Nyx continued as she was folding, her voice soft, almost a whisper. “She helped me get my shit together when I didn’t even know where to start. Never judged me, not once. Just… saw me.”

Her voice cracked, so faint it might’ve passed unnoticed if not for the quick swipe of her hand across her eyes.

She cleared her throat, forcing a steadier edge back into her tone. “Anyway. No point crying about it now. Doesn’t bring her back, does it?”

Vi shifted uncomfortably, feeling that familiar lump in her chest, the one that came with guilt she couldn’t shake. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words tangled in her throat. Instead, she just nodded, letting Nyx’s quiet strength fill the space.

Turning away, Nyx crouched by the little cabinet beside the bed. She pulled the drawer open, retrieving a few small bottles and slipping them into the half-packed duffel then took Switch’s sketch off the wall carefully placing it into the bag between the folded clothes. With a final tug, she zipped both bags shut. Slinging one over her shoulder, she pulled her hair up into a messy bun, chin lifted as though bracing herself.

“I’m done,” she said simply.

Vi nodded, grabbing the other bag without a word.

The weight of it had barely settled in her hand when the sharp crack of glass splitting filled the air. Something whistled past her ear, shards raining across the floorboards. It clattered once, rolled, and settled with an ominous hiss.

Vi’s eyes locked on it. The glass container with metal casing gleamed with intricate grooves, gears already grinding as a faint silver glow pulsed within the glass.

Her blood ran cold.

“Fuck!” she barked, already lunging for Nyx’s arm.

Any words she wanted to say got caught in Nyx's throat as Vi yanked her toward the door. They tore out onto the narrow wooden stairwell just as the container gave a final metallic click.

For a heartbeat, the world went silent. The air itself seemed to vanish, sucked out of their lungs, then came the implosion.

A soundless force ripped through the apartment, folding walls inward like paper, glass shattering into dust. The stairwell groaned and buckled as both women were thrown clear, hurled like rag dolls across the landing.

Vi hit hard, air punched from her chest, ears ringing in a suffocating vacuum before the blast roar finally caught up.

.....


On the other side if town Cait splashed through the rain-slicked streets of Piltover, umbrella clutched tightly in one gloved hand, the other gripping her bag. Puddles reflected the glow of shop windows as the gray clouds covered the sky. Each of her steps sending a ripple across the watery surface. She leapt over one deep puddle when the car rumbled past, its wheels hissing through the water and sending a wall of cold spray over her.

She froze for a moment, water soaking her coat and dripping down her back.

"Shit,” she muttered as the water drained down her legs, "How rude!" She hissed stomping her food.

Wind swept rain plastered her hair to her forehead, and she swiped it with a wet hand in one frustrated motion, her patience short - circuiting then clenched her jaw and pushed forward, annoyed but determined.

Each puddle she hopped over seemed to mock her, but she refused to slow, her boots slapping against the cobblestones with purpose. She could see the polished metal door of the lab ahead, a beacon in the gray morning, and quickened her pace, ignoring the chill seeping into her bones.

Finally reaching the door, she grabbed the handle in a hurry, water dripping from her sleeve. She closed her umbrella shaking the water from the fabric and stepped into the warm hallway.

The lab hummed with quiet activity. Two technicians hunched over a long workbench, careful hands adjusting vials and spinning gears. “Good morning!,” Caitlyn said politely, offering a small smile. “Is Lystra around?”

"Oh, morning Miss Kiramman" One of the assistants looked up briefly and nodded. “I’ll fetch her. She’s at the back.”

"Thank you."

He disappeared through a sliding door, leaving Caitlyn alone for the moment.

While waiting, her gaze drifted over the lab. Tubes and flasks bubbled quietly, and small machines ticked and hummed. A green sheen caught her eye in a shallow pot. “What’s cooking in there?” she asked.

“That’s to prevent rust on factory equipment,” the other technician explained without looking up. “If we get it right, the coating will make the heavy machinery last longer, protect it from corrosion. See like here.

"How clever." Caitlyn nodded appreciatively."

“Is this your work?” her eyes widened in genuine curiosity as she leaned closer to inspect it.

The man looked up, pride evident in his stance. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, good luck,” she said, smiling before turning her attention back to the lab’s details.

Moments later, Lystra appeared, wiping her hands on a lab coat. “Caitlyn!” she said, her usual warmth lighting her features.

“Hi,”

“I need a break,” Lystra said, giving Cait a teasing glance. “Up for a drink around the corner?”

Caitlyn grinned. “Absolutely.”

She grabbed her coat and gestured for her to follow.

......

A minute crawled by like an eternity. Vi’s eyelids fluttered open, the world a blur of light and shadow. Her ears rang so loudly it was as if she were underwater, every distant crash magnified and distorted. Dust clung to her skin, filling her throat with grit. She coughed, swallowing it down as her vision sharpened just enough to make out shapes through the haze.

Her heart froze. Nyx.

Pieces of the ceiling had collapsed onto the stairwell, a chaotic tangle of wood, plaster, and twisted metal. Nyx’s hair peeked out from beneath it, one arm pinned awkwardly. Panic flared in Vi’s chest. Her own arm screamed in pain, her lungs burned with dust, but she scrambled up.

“Nyx! Nyx!” she called, voice raw, cracked. “Talk to me!” but there was no answer. She could feel a hole opening in her stomach, cold sweat gathering at the base of her neck.

But then a weak, choked voice answered through the rubble.

“I… can’t… move…”

Vi ket out a breath she didn't know she was holding "Fuck girl...don't do this to me "

She didn’t wait. She grabbed chunks of broken wood, chunks of plaster, anything heavy enough to roll aside, tossing them with frantic strength, sweat mixing with grime streaking her face. “I got you!”

Piece by piece, she cleared a path, adrenaline drowning the pain. Finally, her hands closed around Nyx’s shoulders, and with a heave, she pulled her free. Nyx collapsed against her, stunned, eyes wide and glassy, mouth opening to speak but no sound coming out.

Vi dropped to one knee, cradling her, hands frantically checking for injury. “Are you hurt? Where does it hurt? Nyx, tell me!”

Nyx’s fingers brushed her temple. A thin line of blood streaked her skin. Her eyes darted wildly around the wreckage of what had once been her home. “No… I..I…”

"Hey...look at me" Vi tried turning her attention from devastation around them

But then the dam broke. Nyx stumbled upright, limping, moving blindly among the rubble, crying, wailing, her voice a raw, guttural scream that tore through Vi’s chest. She tried to climb the jagged remains of walls and twisted metal, as if scaling them would somehow reclaim what had been lost.

“Nyx! No!” Vi lunged, grabbing her by the waist, holding tight. “Stop!”

Nyx struggled, slapping at her arms, shaking violently. “Let me go! Get off me!”

“It’s gone, it’s gone…” Vi whispered fiercely, her chest heaving, fingers gripping Nyx’s waist, keeping her tethered to the ground. “It’s over.”

Nyx was fighting her, hitting her, trying desperately to claw her way out of Vi’s grip. Her sobs shook her from head to toe.

Then the fight drained from her as the reality hit, and she finally collapsed against Vi, burying her face in her shoulder. Vi held her tight, cradling the back of her head in her palm, murmuring soothing words she barely felt herself. Her eyes scanned the wreckage behind them, the devastation stretching farther than she dared to take in.

"I'll kill her. I...I will rip her out of this world I swear." Nyx sobbed into Vi’s shoulder

"Shhhh" Vi whispered holding her tighter.

Her chest tightened so sharply she wanted to scream herself, a visceral, hollow scream that had no sound, just the taste of terror and helplessness burning in her lungs. Yet she stayed still, holding Nyx, letting the warmth of the trembling woman in her arms anchor her in the midst of chaos.

Voices echoed in the distance, muffled and distorted in Vi’s ringing ears. She barely made them out, fragments of commands and worried shouts floating through the haze. Dust clung to her lungs, every breath a rasping struggle.

A man leapt over the rubble, landing hard with a grunt. “Hey! Are you...can you hear me?!”

Vi blinked, trying to focus. She caught the outline of him, voice slurring around the ringing in her skull. Her own voice snapped before she thought.

“I....don’t know! Don’t know if there’s anyone else under there!”

The man froze, then nodded.

"Take her...her leg...She needs help."

Quickly man adjusted his angle to Nyx. Her leg had an open gash down the side. Without hesitation, he scooped her up into his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, and started carrying her through the debris.

Vi’s chest clenched, her stomach twisting. Her arms itched to go back, to tear through the wreckage herself, but she froze for the briefest heartbeat. And then she saw a hand, pale and trembling, reaching out from under a tangle of wood and metal.

"Help!" the voice called weakly.

“Fuck…” Without thinking, Vi sprinted forward, boots crunching over shards of glass and splintered wood, adrenaline slamming through her veins. She dropped onto her knees beside the trapped figure, coughing, vision still half-blurred, dust streaked across her face.

“Hang on! We'll get you out." She said grabbing  persons hand "Hey over here! I need some help!" she yelled, voice raw and hoarse.

.....

Back in Piltover, life carried on with its usual, bustling rhythm, oblivious to the devastation unfolding just streets away in Zaun. Cars clattered over cobblestones, carriage bells jingled, and the occasional hiss of steam punctuated the damp morning air.

Inside the little cake shop only a few streets from the lab, Caitlyn and Lystra sat sheltered from it all. The windows fogged faintly from the warmth inside, cutting them off from the rain-soaked streets beyond. The scent of fresh fruit and sugar mingled with the damp tang of rain drifting in from the street each time the door opened. Somewhere behind the counter, a coffee grinder hummed softly. Caitlyn took a big bite of fruit cake, letting the sweetness dissolve on her tongue, a small momentary shield against the heaviness of the conversation pressing on her mind.


“Please tell me you’ve got some good news,” she murmured, trying for a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Not exactly,” Lystra replied, voice low but tight. She slid a slim folder across the table. “We have a serious problem. This liquid....flammable doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s volatile in a way I’ve never seen. When you described the explosion, the way the building folded in on itself… I decided to do some extra tests in controlled environment.” She opened the folder, revealing stark set of photographs. “This is what happens with just a single teaspoon.” Her finger tapped the image for emphasis.

Caitlyn’s fork froze midway to her mouth. Her pulse quickened, a hot rush of worry tightening in her chest. She leaned closer, frowning at the photos. “This was only a teaspoon?”

Lystra nodded, her expression grim. “This liquid is a metastable colloid."

Cait frowned "Can you translate that?"

Lystra chuckled "Sorry, habit....The energy is stored at the molecular level. Heat, friction, a spark, anything can accelerate decomposition exponentially. In a confined space the reaction runs away, and the pressure pulse collapses everything around it. To put is perspective, one small bottle like the one you gave me can level a room. A larger quantity…” she hesitated, “…could wipe out a district.”

Caitlyn swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Her hands tightened on the folder. “And it disrupts Hextech too?”

“Yes.” Lystra’s voice dropped even lower. “Any device or conduit relying on it is disabled instantly. This isn’t fuel. It’s annihilation, engineered to erase whatever it touches.” She exhaled slowly. “You have to report this, Cait. This is terrorism in a bottle.”

Rain ticked against the window. Caitlyn shut the folder and set it gently on the table as if it might detonate from a sudden movement. For a moment she didn’t speak. She sat back in her chair, eyes drifting past the glass to the street outside where passersby hurried under umbrellas, their lives blissfully untouched by the knowledge now lodged like a stone in her chest. She watched as a child tugged at a mother’s hand, a courier splashed through a puddle, a shopkeeper fussed with an awning to keep the rain from his display. Ordinary scenes, fragile in their normality. A part of her envied their ignorance. The blissfulness of unawareness.

She exhaled slowly, fingers drumming once on the folder before going still. Her mind spun with possibilities, tell the Council and watch panic turn into escalation, or keep quiet and risk shouldering it all herself. Either path could end in fire. She pressed her lips together, jaw tight, as she weighed the scales in silence.

When she finally spoke, her voice came out low and deliberate, but beneath the measured calm lay a faint tremor.

“I will,” she said. “But we need to keep this between ourselves at least for a little while longer.” She raised her eyes to Lystra’s, the sharpness there dimmed by a flicker of fear. “Please..."

Lystra exhaled a heavy breath.

"If I take this to the Council now, they’ll panic. You know how it goes. They’ll send enforcers into Zaun, tighten control, shut the bridges. And the people holding this…” she tapped the folder with a gloved finger, “…they’ll feel cornered. When you corner someone with a weapon like this, they’ll use it I can guarantee you they will. And when they do, Piltover will burn. Zaun will burn. Innocent people will die.”

"I understand what you're saying but what's your plan?"

She drew a breath and forced herself to sit back. “I can stop this before it happens I just need little bit more time. Whatever they’re planning is still in motion, not finished. If I report it too soon, we risk sparking the very thing we’re trying to prevent, an open war. But if I stay quiet and move carefully, we can take it out of their hands before the Council even knows it exists.”

"That’s a big risk you're taking."

Her eyes met Lystra’s and held them. “I know. But I'm not just afraid of the weapon....I'm  afraid of wrong people making the wrong decision at the worst possible moment.”

Lystra’s lips pressed into a hard line, then softened. She reached out, resting a hand briefly over Caitlyn’s. “I trust you. But promise me you know what you’re doing. One wrong move and this....” she gestured at the photographs “....could become a city-wide disaster.”

Cait let out a shaky breath. “I know. Believe me, I’m painfully aware.”

Lystra leaned back, trying to lighten the air between them. “Not only that… I like you, but sharing a cell with you in Stillwater? You’d drive me nuts.”

That earned a small, real laugh from Caitlyn, though her eyes stayed shadowed. “Let’s not test that theory,” she murmured, fingers tightening once more around the folder as though it contained all the weight of the city.


.....


The bell over the door chimed softly as Caitlyn stepped out into the street. Rain greeted her at once, cool drops pattering against her shoulders, running in rivulets down the length of her coat. The street was alive with noise, the rattle of carriage wheels over slick cobbles, the hiss of steam from a nearby vent, the hum of voices raised against the drizzle.

But all of it felt strangely muted, as though the city itself were holding its breath.

Cait paused on the edge of the pavement, tightening her grip on the folder under her arm. It seemed to drag at her side, heavier than paper had any right to be. The Council’s chambers loomed distant in her thoughts, and with them the image of a city igniting, collapsing inward under its own brilliance.

She forced herself to breathe. In, out. Her chest still felt constricted, like the weight of Piltover and Zaun both sat squarely on her shoulders.

“Steady,” she whispered to herself, though her voice was nearly lost to the rain. She adjusted her coat, stepped off the curb, and let the current of the city swallow her whole.


.....


Charoite’s office, one of many across the University smelled of expensive perfume and wooden crates. A single bulb swung low, throwing the broad wooden desk into sharp relief. She sat behind it with an impossible poise, cigarette burning between the bones of her fingers, the ash lengthening like a tombstone. A lone strand of purple hair slipped free from her otherwise immaculate style, falling across her forehead. The log book lay open before her, her pen scratched on the page in a slow, indifferent rhythm.

Opposite her, a boy no older than twenty was tied to a chair. His eyes darted, face pale and slick with sweat. He rocked in place as if motion could blur the ropes into forgiveness.

“Oh,” Charoite said suddenly, as if remembering something pleasant, “you remember the other night? I had a visitor. Someone I hadn’t seen in a long time.” She didn’t look up when she asked, “Who d’you think it was?”

The boy swallowed and said nothing. She didn’t expect him to.

“She was wearing an edge to her now,” Charoite continued, voice soft enough to be almost gentle. “Green hair. Very… fashionable. New clothes. She held herself like she’d stolen a badge from the sun.” She paused, and the boy’s eyes widened. “Your sister.”

He made a sound like a small animal.

Charoite smiled, a thin thing that never touched her eyes. “She looks so different I barely recognized her. Funny, that, people get prettier when they think the world’s already dead.” She tapped the pen against the page. “Oh, and she was with someone. Remember your chemistry teacher's son. What's his name again... Ah....Yes...Jorin. I hear he's her new boyfriend now. Small world.”

He started to protest, words tumbling through the rag shoved in his mouth, but she let him fumble.

She began to write again without looking up. The scratch of the pen was louder than the boy’s heartbeat.

Then she set her pen aside and opened the desk drawer with a deliberate, lazy motion and pulled out a long syringe. One if those with a glass barrel and a black plunger. The office air took on a sharper edge as if the thing itself had a scent. She regarded it for a moment, then jabbed the needle into the skin of her own forearm and pressed down. Her face did not change.

“You see,” she said, lifting the cigarette and tapping it out in the ashtray, “I like your sister. She has spirit. But she has friends who make my life… difficult. You two,” she said conversationally, “you always stuck with the rough crowd. Not that I mind, some people have a talent for trouble. I just don't like it on my doorstep you see. It's very inconvenient for the business."

She set the syringe down like a paperweight and picked up a small, neat knife from the desk. It gleamed under the lamp. The boy cried out. His voice muffled by the gag.

“You’ll help me convince her to change the company she keeps,” she said, leaning forward until her breath warmed his ear. Her voice was honeyed, dangerously soft. “We’ll send her a message so convincing she won’t forget it." she whispered into his ear.

The words sank in like ice. His eyes went wide, tears pooling at the rims as terror tightened every muscle in his face.

.....

The Promenade crowned the heights of Zaun, one if rare parts of the Undercity where sunlight touched the streets without obstruction and wealth carved out a semblance of elegance. Wide stone walkways curved along the cliff face, lined with metal railings polished smooth by years of Zaunite hands. Market stalls pressed close together, their awnings a riot of patched canvas and stitched tarps. The air carried the tang of oil and fried food, mingling with sharper notes of dock nearby. Rain finally stopped and sun peaked through the clouds bathing the streets in golden hues.

Caitlyn sat at a small wrought-iron table outside a café wedged between two gear shops, a steaming cup of tea balanced by her elbow as she sifted through a stack of Enforcer reports. Petty thefts, smuggling routes, another body fished out of the Sumps. All distractions. None of them tied to what she truly needed to solve. She made neat annotations in the margins, her handwriting as sharp and precise as her mind.

A scuff of hurried footsteps broke her focus. Cait glanced up just as a boy skidded to a stop before her table, chest heaving, a cap sliding crooked down over one eye. “Scuse me, miss... you a Sheriff?”

The corner of Caitlyn’s mouth twitched into a smile despite herself. “Depends who’s asking. Do you need a Sheriff?”

“Not me,” the boy puffed, shaking his head so hard his cap nearly fell off. “This lady with pink hair does. Said there’s been… there’s been an explosion. By Drip and Drop.” He bent double, catching his breath, then straightened clumsily and held out a crumpled scrap of paper with ink smudged from his sweat.

Caitlyn’s pulse jumped. She snatched the note, eyes scanning the messy scrawl. Her face fell, composure slipping just long enough to betray her fear before she snapped the reports shut.

“Take me there,” she said, voice clipped. Rising quickly, she gathered her scattered papers, shoved them into her satchel, and slung it across her shoulder in one practiced sweep. The boy blinked as she loomed over him, her urgency pushing past her otherwise polite veneer.

He nodded fast, tugged his cap straight, and darted into the crowded walkway. Cait followed close behind, her long strides cutting through the flow of Zaun.

.....

They left the gleaming Promenade behind, the boy leading her down iron stairwells slick with condensation, through passages where steam hissed from ruptured pipes, the air thick with smoke and chemical tang. Caitlyn kept pace, dodging workers pushing carts and leaping over slick puddles that glistened with oily sheen. The hum of machinery and echo of dripping water grew louder as they descended.

By the time they reached Drip and Drop, the boy’s words rang true. A crowd had gathered before a crumbling building, one wall ripped apart as if a giant fist had smashed straight through it. Dust still hung in the air, carrying the acrid bite of explosives.

A woman sat slumped on a wooden crate near the wreckage, her face streaked with blood, her arm bent at an unnatural angle. Another woman knelt beside her, pressing strips of cloth against the wound as the wail of an approaching ambulance split the air. The vehicle roared past Caitlyn, sirens howling, forcing her to step aside into the crush of onlookers.

Her eyes darted frantically over the chaos, searching. Then she saw Nyx. She sat on the edge of the pavement, covered head to toe in dust, her once-vibrant green hair dulled to a muddy brown except where streaks of tears had cut clean lines down her face. Her shoulders shook as she tried and failed to hold it together.

“Cait!” Jorin’s voice cut through the din, and he was already moving toward her.

“What happened? Where’s Vi?” Cait demanded, her words tumbling out, frantic.

“They threw a fucking bomb into the building,” Jorin said grimly. “Vi’s fine, just went to fetch water for the old woman.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened as she turned back to Nyx, brushing a grimy strand of hair from her forehead. The cut there was deep, blood streaking down to her jaw.

“You’re hurt,” Caitlyn murmured, her touch gentler than her words.

Her eyes found the gash across Nyx’s temple, blood seeping sluggishly down. Caitlyn’s breath hitched, and her voice softened almost to a whisper. “This looks bad.”

Nyx’s tear-filled eyes lifted to hers, red and raw. Her lips trembled as she choked out, “It’s all gone. Everything. I have nothing left…”

Cait’s throat tightened, but she forced calm into her tone, thumb brushing away dirt from Nyx’s cheek. “The most important thing is that you’re alive,” Caitlyn reassured her firmly, even as her heart ached.

Jorin hand slid up gently, stroking Nyx’s hair as though grounding her. "She's right"

She leaned into it, exhausted as if the the last ounce of light was leaving her eyes.
Then, behind her, a voice she’d been desperate to hear: “Cait?”

Cait spun, and there was Vi, a smudge of dust across her cheek, one arm cradling a chipped glass of water. Relief surged through Cait like a tidal wave. She launched herself at her, arms wrapping tight around broad shoulders.

Vi caught her with one arm holding her close despite the chaos. Caitlyn pulled back just enough to scan her face, tracing each scratch and bruise with trembling fingers.

“Scratches,” Vi said quickly, her grin soft despite the chaos. “Nothing more.”

Cait cupped her face in both hands, her own relief spilling over in tears she hadn’t noticed forming. Without another word, she pressed her lips to Vi’s, a desperate kiss that tasted of dust and smoke and sheer relief like the world is falling apart but they only see each other.

.....


Rain had long since ceased, leaving the air inside the Kiramman mansion heavy with the faint scent of damp stone and warm wood. Sunlight spilled through the closed wooden shutters, painting narrow, golden stripes across the pale blue sheets of the bed. The soft fragrance of fresh roses, arranged carefully each morning, mingled with the quiet hum of the house, lending a fragile calm to the room. Outside, the world felt distant.

Nyx lay curled against Jorin’s chest, her body heavy with exhaustion, her mind still spinning from everything that had happened. His arms held her close, one wrapped firmly around her as though he could shield her from the world, the other hand stroking slow, soothing lines through her hair. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and grounding, each thrum whispering that she wasn’t alone.

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured into her hair, voice low and certain, as if speaking it aloud might bend fate to his will. “When all this is over, we’ll find a new place. Just like we planned. You’ll have your own room for the salon, with a balcony looking out over the street. You can line every window with plants, five of them, not just the one you’ve been holding onto.”

The picture he painted was fragile, almost dreamlike, yet she clung to it, let it wrap around her like a blanket. A smile tugged at her lips despite the ache in her chest, and she tilted her head up to him. “Did you ever win on those scratch cards?”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, tender and grounding. “Dad’s gonna help us. We’ll be fine.”

The thought of family, of Sundays warm with food and laughter, unlatched something inside her. Tears slipped free, tracing down her cheeks, but Jorin kissed them away as if to erase them from existence. She caught his hand, threading her fingers through his, bringing his knuckles to her lips as if they were the most precious thing in the world.

“Promise,” she whispered, voice breaking with the weight of her hope.

He tilted her chin up, his touch gentle but commanding her full attention. His eyes met hers, unwavering. “I promise.” The words lingered between them, carved into the space like an oath. Then he kissed her, deep, slow, and loving, as if sealing that promise into her very soul.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “Try to get some sleep,” he breathed. “You need rest.”

"Don't go yet" she pleaded quietly

"I'm not going anywhere." He kissed her temple. His breath warm and soothing on her skin..

And she did, curling into him until there was no space left between them. The world outside was unraveling, but within the shelter of his arms she let herself feel safe.

.....


The Kiramman study felt heavy with silence, dust motes caught in the afternoon light drifting lazily through the tall windows. Vi leaned against the frame, one arm propped up, her gaze far away. She didn’t say much on the carriage ride back, and she still hadn’t found the words now.

Behind her, Caitlyn was busy unloading papers from her satchel onto her desk, the soft rustle of parchment the only sound. “You haven’t said a word since we got back,” she remarked, voice calm.

Vi exhaled through her nose, scratching at the back of her neck. “I should head back to the University. See that hydraulics guy Shifty told me about.”

“I’ll go with you,” Caitlyn said at once, stacking a set of notes neatly.

Vi turned a little, brow arched. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” she straightened smoothing her sleeve. “If I stay in this house another hour, I’ll go mad.”

Vi studied her for a beat “What did Lystra say?”

Her hands froze over her desk. She swallowed and shook her head. “Vi… not now. Can we talk about it later?”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” she busied herself tidying papers, pencils, anything to keep her fingers occupied. “We have to talk, all of us... but not today. I won’t make that decision alone.”

Vi glanced down at her hands. They were trembling slightly. Caitlyn’s face betrayed nothing, the perfect mask as always. She was good at hiding it, too good.

She pushed off the window frame and crossed to her. Gently, she placed her palm over Cait’s hand, coaxing the pencil from her grip and setting it on the table, then she turned her to face her.

Caitlyn let out a long, shaky breath and rested her forehead against Vi’s, her arms slipping up and draping over her shoulders. Vi slid hers to the other woman’s hips, rocking her playfully side to side.

“What are you doing?” Cait let out the ghost of a laugh.

“Trying to defuse that bomb in you before it goes off,” Vi said with a grin. “Come on. Let's go to the University, take it easy for the rest of the day. See that hydraulics guy, then grab a bite at Jericho’s.”

That earned a small chuckle. “Is this your idea of a date? Taking me for a slop?”

Vi smirked. “Best slop in town. Come on...let’s have some fun.”

Cait fell quiet, eyes dropping. Her shoulders slumped, then she nodded faintly, lifting her gaze again, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Heeeey.” Vi’s tone softened. “It’s gonna be alright.”

“But nothing is alright,” Cait whispered. “It feels like it’s all closing in on me… more and more....I feel like I'm choking....I can't...”

“Hey, hey...." Vi cut her off "We’re making progress. Look....” She took Cait’s hand and guided her to the board covered in maps, notes, red strings. Standing behind her, she wrapped her arms around Cait’s waist. “See? We’re getting there darling.”

Cait leaned back against her, eyes flicking over the board but finding more comfort in the warmth pressed behind her. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“All this. Without exploding.”

Vi huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, I explode plenty. Just like to be more dramatic about it.”

That made Cait chuckle, the tension in her chest easing. She turned in Vi’s arms, brushing her lips against hers in a gentle kiss.

When they pulled apart, Vi tapped her on the bum with a grin. “Come on Cupcake, let’s go.” She tugged Cait’s hand, leading her toward the door.

As they reached the threshold, Cait hooked her fingers through the belt loops of Vi’s trousers, leaning against her back to pepper playful kisses along her neck. Vi laughed low, tilting her head.

“If you continue that we're never gonna make it to a slop date,” she teased.

Her smirk curved wicked against Vi’s neck as she wrapped an arm around her waist, slipping her hand down the front of her trousers with deliberate intent. "Maybe that’s the point."

They barely made a step out of the study giggling before nearly colliding with a tall figure in the hall.

Cait froze mid-stride. Her hand vanished from Vi’s trousers so fast it was as if it had never been there.

“Dad!!” she gasped, cheeks flaming as she straightened her posture with military precision.

Vi, caught off guard, cleared her throat hard. “Uh… hi, Tobias. Caitlyn’s… dad.”

Both of them stood there stiff as lampposts, eyes wide, guilty as schoolchildren caught sneaking sweets before supper. Tobias arched a single brow, the kind that could level a battlefield, while the two of them silently wished the floor would just open up and swallow them whole.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn said quickly. “We’re heading down to the Undercity.”

“Again?” His tone sharpened.

“We’ve got a lead to follow.” Cait smoothed her sleeve nervously, voice even but the flush in her cheeks betrayed her.

Tobias sighed through his nose. “I don’t like this, Caitlyn. Not one little bit. I really think you should report this. Do it properly.”

Cait let out a small huff. “I need to speak to the others first Dad. It’s not something I can just make a decision alone.”
Unconvinced, Tobias turned to Vi. “Please. Knock some sense into her. ” 

 

Vi gave a half-smile, scratching the back of her neck. “You’re underestimating how much power I have over your daughter.” 

 

Tobias’s smirk was faint but genuine. “Oh I think you underestimate how much you do.” He stepped aside, gesturing. “Alright then. Go. Just… please be careful.” 

 

Caitlyn softened, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I promise.” 

 

They were halfway to the stairs when Tobias called after them. “Oh...Caitlyn. I nearly forgot.” He held out a pneumatic tube he’d just collected from the chute. “This just came for you. From the Council.” 

 

Her heart skipped. She took it with a sharp inhale, anxiety tightening her chest. “Thank you.” 

 

As he turned away down the corridor, Cait twisted the cap off and pulled out a folded sheet. She scanned it quickly, then exhaled, shoulders loosening. 

 

Vi tilted her head. “What is it?” 

 

“Just something regarding the Hexgates.” Cait rolled her eyes, tossing the entire thing onto the little round table beside a vase of fresh lilies. “Nothing urgent.” 

 

Then she reached for Vi’s hand, her lips quirking. “Come on. Let’s go for a slop.”

 

....

 

Solan’s office hung above the factory floor like a judge’s chamber, a broad glass window framing the endless clank of gears and the hiss of steam. A low lamp pooled golden light across the desk; the corners sat in shadow. The room smelled faintly of oil, smoke, and expensive liquor. 

 

Charoite hovered near the desk, restless, bracelets chiming as she gestured. “We’re bleeding coin every day I keep shifting shipments and pulling crews out of raids,” she snapped. “The Enforcers are everywhere. And for what? To sit on our hands while Caelum tells me he’s not ready?” Each word spat heat. 

 

Across from her, Caelum tugged at his collar, jaw tight. He looked more scholar than conspirator, but his eyes had that fevered gleam Charoite hated. 

 

“You don’t understand. This compound isn’t like the shimmer or powders you peddle in alleys. One miscalculation and the whole district goes up. I need more trials, more refinement. It’s not stable.” 

 

“Not stable?” Charoite stepped forward, heels clicking. “Tell that to the Enforcers shutting down my warehouses. Tell that to the crews I’ve had to bribe or bury. I will not clean up your mess while you sit here scribbling notes in safety.” Her finger jabbed toward the factory floor below. “Do you see them? That’s money on the line. My money. If this falls apart, who compensates me? You?” 

 

Solan’s hand rose, palm flat, and the room cut to a sharper quiet. “Enough.” The word landed like a blade. 

 

He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. His eyes, calm and unreadable, moved between them. “Charoite, your concerns are valid. Our operations are strained and the Enforcers pressure cannot be ignored. But if we rush, we invite disaster, our disaster. We have one shot at this and it must land clean.” 

 

He turned to Caelum. “Take the time you need, but not more than you must. No excuses. Hire more people if you have to. I don’t fucking care. Just get it done. I want progress reports on my desk by week’s end.” 

 

Then he turned back to Charoite “As for your losses...they are noted. Keep your channels open, keep your men loyal. When this is done, your compensation will make today’s sacrifices look like dust. Until then, you hold. Understood?” 

 

Charoite pressed her lips thin but nodded. Caelum said nothing, only adjusted his gloves but a faint tremor in his hands betrayed him. 

 

The factory’s churn filled the pause until Charoite broke the silence with a flicked hand. 

 

“And the Sheriff and her pit bull?” Her tone was flat annoyance. “They’re sniffing around, and now they’ve got Vastaya on their side. She left a wasteland at my refinery. How long before this project draws more eyes?” 

 

Caelum flinched and shot her a sharp look. “You wouldn’t be asking if you hadn’t let them escape.” 

 

“Escape?” Charoite snapped back, venom sharpening her smirk. “Don’t put that on me. It was your little science project that brought them to my doorstep. Don’t forget whose territory burned because you couldn’t keep your concoctions buried. I am not your fucking clean-up crew.” 

 

Her gaze returned to Solan, ice-cold. “You want this to work? Fine. But you will get them off my back. I will not waste another coin or another man covering mistakes that aren’t mine. That’s your job.” 

 

The tension snapped taut as a wire. Solan stayed still, calculating like a surgeon weighing two knives. 

 

Finally he leaned back in his leather chair “They’re problems, yes. But problems have solutions. 

 

Solan’s voice folded quieter, commanding. “The two of you snapping at each other solves nothing. Charoite, you are not here to sweep ashes or cover tracks. Caelum, deliver results, not excuses. If one more word of blame crosses this desk, it will be the last time either of you sits in front of me.” 

 

The factory’s hum filled the silence again. 

 

“We are not street thugs scrambling in alleys,” Solan went on, the edge under his calm sharpening. “We are partners building something precise, something that cannot afford mistakes. The Sheriff and her mutt will be handled. Quietly. But we will not rush. Rushing creates cracks, and cracks bring collapse.” 

 

His eyes narrowed, steel glinting under the calm. “Remember why you are here, and act like it.” 

 

Charoite’s jaw tightened. She leaned in, voice low and hard as snapped wire. “You’re not from here. You’re underestimating the gravity of this. If Kiramman and that pitbull of hers aren’t removed yesterday, everything comes down like a house of cards. They’re not your ordinary enforcers. Kiramman’s got reach, and Vi...she’s unpredictable. She knows this city like the back of her hand and how to play the game. Between them and whatever that Vastaya drags in, our whole operation can be exposed.” 

 

He leaned in his chair and drew a cigar from a crystal ashtray. He lit it slow. Smoke curled up, pooling in the lamp light. When he exhaled, his smile held no warmth.  “I do not underestimate anything, Charoite. I'll make sure they disappear, don't worry about it." 

 

Charoite’s smile was thin and humorless. “I’ve heard that before.” Her words were a warning, not a question. “Make it happen or I'm out...You two can burn together.” 

 

.....