duhshereadz

“She won’t find out,” Jinx interrupted, her grin widening mischievously. “You heard what I said, right? Vi’s not here. She went out hours ago.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Jinx pressed a hand to her chest like she was making some sacred promise. Then she leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Look, Sheriff Cupcake here is out cold. We can have a little fun, give her a makeover, and she’ll never know who did it. It’ll be hilarious!”

Ekko hesitated, eyeing Caitlyn. The Enforcer looked so peaceful, it almost felt cruel to mess with her. But then again, Jinx’s infectious enthusiasm was hard to resist. Ekko sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. But if Vi shows up—”

“Vi’s not gonna show up!” Jinx whispered, cutting him off again. She practically bounced on her toes as she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the couch. “Now come on, let’s get to work.”

Ekko sighed but crouched beside her, reluctantly taking the blue marker she shoved into his hand.

Jinx leaned over Caitlyn, squinting like she was appraising a blank canvas. “Alright, let’s start simple. Maybe some whiskers?” She stuck out her tongue in concentration and drew the first line with exaggerated care, a giggle slipping past her lips.

Ekko tried to hold back a smile. “You’re really in your element, huh?”

“You betcha,” Jinx replied, glancing at him with a wicked grin. “This is art, Ekko. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Right,” he muttered, rolling his eyes but unable to hide his amusement. He leaned over Caitlyn as well, carefully adding his own contribution—a lopsided heart on her cheek.

“Pfft, a heart? Really?” Jinx teased, her voice low but playful. “Where’s your creativity?”

“Some of us don’t spend our free time vandalizing people’s faces,” Ekko shot back, smirking.

“Booooring,” Jinx drawled, waving her hand dismissively. She leaned in closer, her marker poised to add something ridiculous to Caitlyn’s forehead. But just as she started, a loud creak came from behind them.

Both of them froze.

Ekko turned slowly, his stomach dropping as his gaze landed on the figure standing in the doorway. Vi, her pink hair practically glowing in the sunlight, leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed, an unamused expression on her face.

“Jinx,” Vi said, her voice low and dangerous. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jinx straightened up, the marker still clutched in her hand. “Uh, hi, Vi! You’re home early…”

Vi raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking to Caitlyn, then back to Jinx. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t catch you?”

Ekko scrambled to his feet, the marker falling from his hand. “Uh, Vi, we can explain—”

Vi held up a hand, silencing him. “You’re lucky Cait’s a heavy sleeper,” she muttered, walking toward them. Jinx backed up slightly, her grin turning sheepish.

“C’mon, Vi,” Jinx said, attempting her best innocent look. “It’s just a little harmless fun!”

Vi stared at her for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh. “Harmless fun, huh?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a marker of her own—a dark red one.

Jinx blinked. “Wait… what are you doing?”

Vi smirked. “If we’re gonna do this, we might as well do it right.”

Ekko’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you’re actually—”

“Shut up and hand me that blue marker,” Vi said, cutting him off.

Jinx’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I knew you had it in you, sis!”

The three of them crouched around Caitlyn, working quickly but carefully. Jinx added a tiny mustache above Caitlyn’s lip, while Ekko drew exaggerated eyebrows that made her look permanently surprised. Vi, despite her initial resistance, seemed to be enjoying herself. She added a small crown on Caitlyn’s forehead, complete with tiny jewels.

By the time they were done, Caitlyn’s face was a chaotic masterpiece.

Jinx stepped back to admire their work, her hands on her hips. “Now that,” she said, grinning from ear to ear, “is a work of art.”

Ekko chuckled, shaking his head. “We’re so dead if she wakes up.”

Vi smirked, tossing the marker onto the table. “She won’t wake up. Not until I tell her what you two did, anyway.”

“Wait, what we did?” Ekko exclaimed.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re an accomplice now,” Jinx teased, poking his arm.

Before Ekko could protest, Caitlyn stirred, letting out a soft groan. The three of them froze, their eyes widening.

Caitlyn blinked sleepily, her gaze landing on the trio hovering over her. For a moment, there was silence. Then her eyes narrowed.

“…What did you do?”

Jinx burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer. “Oh, you’re gonna love this, Cupcake!”

Caitlyn groaned again, sitting up and reaching for a mirror. The second she saw her reflection, her face turned bright red.

“Jinx!”

Jinx bolted for the door, cackling as Caitlyn leapt to her feet in pursuit. “Worth it!” Jinx shouted over her shoulder.

Vi and Ekko exchanged a glance, then quickly followed, Caitlyn’s angry shouts echoing through the hideout.

“What’s up, Little Man?” Vi asked, plopping down next to him on the railing and nudging his shoulder. “You’ve got that look. Like you’re about to say something that’s gonna make me regret coming up here.”

Ekko sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing serious. Just… you know. Hypothetically.”

Vi snorted. “Hypothetically? Okay, shoot. I’ll play along.”

He shifted his weight, suddenly feeling every ounce of awkwardness press down on him. “So… say I had this friend.”

“A friend, huh?” Vi grinned, already sensing where this was going. “What kind of trouble is this ‘friend’ of yours getting into?”

“Not trouble,” Ekko clarified quickly. “He’s… going on a trip. To visit, uh… someone.”

“Ohhhh.” Vi leaned back with a knowing smirk. “Someone special, I take it?”

Ekko hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, yeah, she’s special.”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “So what’s the problem? He—your friend—wants to impress her or something?”

“Sort of,” Ekko admitted, staring out at the city below. “He just… wants to make sure she’s, you know… happy.”

Vi let out a loud laugh, throwing her head back. “Oh, I got you, Little Man. You’re asking for relationship advice, aren’t you?”

Ekko groaned. “It’s not like that—”

“Oh, no, it totally is,” Vi interrupted, elbowing him playfully. “And let me tell you, you came to the right person. I am basically an expert on making people happy.”

“Uh-huh.” Ekko gave her a skeptical look. “Pretty sure you’ve scared away more people than you’ve impressed.”

“Details,” Vi said, waving him off. “Now, listen up. First of all, you gotta be confident. Girls love confidence. Walk in like you own the place—”

“I’m not trying to intimidate her,” Ekko cut in, rolling his eyes. “She’s not like that.”

Vi paused, studying him for a moment. Her smirk softened into something more genuine. “Okay, so she’s not the ‘big gestures’ type. What is she like, then? Hypothetically.”

Ekko hesitated, the words caught in his throat. How could he explain Jinx without actually saying it was her? How could he describe someone so chaotic and unpredictable, someone who could switch between grinning like a kid at a candy store and blowing something up in the blink of an eye? Someone who made his chest ache in ways he didn’t quite understand?

“She’s… complicated,” he said finally. “But in a good way. Like, she’s always full of energy, but sometimes I feel like… like she’s carrying the whole world on her shoulders, you know? And she’s got this laugh—it’s loud and kinda wild, but it’s… perfect.”

Vi raised an eyebrow, her grin returning. “Wow, you’ve got it bad, huh?”

“Shut up,” Ekko muttered, his face heating up.

Vi laughed, leaning back on her hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll be serious. If you want to make her happy, just… be there for her. Listen to her. Let her know she’s not alone, even when things get rough. And don’t be afraid to tell her how you feel. Girls like hearing that stuff.”

Ekko frowned. “What if I screw it up?”

“You won’t,” Vi said firmly. “You’re a good guy, Ekko. Whoever this girl is, she’s lucky to have you. And if she doesn’t see that, then she’s the one screwing up.”

For a moment, Ekko didn’t say anything, the weight of Vi’s words sinking in. He thought about Jinx—her bright blue eyes, the way she laughed at her own jokes, the way she kept pushing him away even when it was obvious she didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t know if he’d ever have the right words to say to her, but maybe… maybe Vi was right. Maybe just being there was enough.

“Thanks, Vi,” he said quietly.

“Anytime, Little Man,” she replied, ruffling his hair and hopping off the railing. “Now, go make your friend proud, okay?”

Ekko smiled, watching her walk away. “Yeah… I will.”

---

Vi

- Vi makes terrible coffee but drinks it anyway because she’s convinced it gives her “character.”

- She’s surprisingly superstitious and always knocks on wood when she feels like she’s jinxed something.

- Vi collects random keychains from places she visits and hangs them all over her belt like trophies.

- She pretends not to care about her hair, but she secretly spends time making sure it’s styled just the right amount of messy.

- She gives people nicknames that have nothing to do with their real name.

- Vi can’t whistle, and it drives her nuts when others do it effortlessly.

- She’s an amazing dancer but will only admit it when she’s had a few drinks.

- Vi always takes up too much space on couches, sprawling across them without a care.

- She secretly loves fluffy, cozy blankets and has a stash of them in her room.

---

Caitlyn Kiramman

- Caitlyn cannot function without a proper breakfast, and she gets cranky if she misses it.

- She’s weirdly good at chess, but she plays so competitively that no one likes going up against her.

- Caitlyn absolutely has a planner and writes everything in it, even things she doesn’t actually need to remember.

- She’s awful at video games and gets super flustered when she loses, which makes Vi tease her endlessly.

- Caitlyn secretly loves cheesy romance novels but keeps them hidden on a high shelf.

- Her guilty pleasure is eating dessert before dinner when no one is looking.

- Caitlyn’s handwriting is ridiculously neat, but she gets annoyed if anyone compliments it too much.

- She’s terrible at telling jokes, but her deadpan delivery somehow makes them funny anyway.

- Caitlyn refuses to wear mismatched socks—ever. It would ruin her whole day.

---

Jayce Talis

- Jayce is a terrible cook and once managed to burn water, but he insists he’s “just experimental in the kitchen.”

- He talks to himself when working, narrating every step like he’s in a tutorial video.

- Jayce has a stash of energy drinks he tries to keep secret because he knows they’re unhealthy.

- He always takes forever to get ready because he’s obsessed with looking polished, even if he’s just going to his lab.

- Jayce is weirdly good at folding fitted sheets, but he keeps that talent to himself.

- He tries to keep plants in his apartment for “aesthetic reasons,” but they always die within a week.

- Jayce collects notebooks but never fills them out because he “doesn’t want to waste them.”

- He has the worst poker face and can’t lie to save his life.

- Jayce has an elaborate skincare routine and won’t go to bed without following it.

---

Viktor

- Viktor sometimes forgets to eat while working, so he keeps random snacks hidden in his desk drawers.

- He’s the type to re-read books he’s already memorized just because it brings him comfort.

- Viktor hums classical music under his breath when he’s deep in thought.

- He’s absurdly good at mental math and sometimes mutters equations when he’s bored.

- Viktor absolutely talks to his tools and machines, even apologizing to them when they malfunction.

- He hoards broken parts or failed prototypes because he thinks he might use them “someday.”

- He doesn’t drink coffee, preferring tea, but it’s always cold by the time he remembers to drink it.

- Viktor sleeps in the weirdest positions, like half-falling off the bed but somehow comfortable.

- He’s lowkey very sentimental, keeping tiny mementos from his childhood in Zaun.

---

Silco

- Silco keeps his surroundings ridiculously neat and loses his temper if anything is out of place.

- He’s surprisingly good at card games but gets irritated when people accuse him of cheating.

- Silco never, *ever* lets anyone touch his chair in the office. It’s his throne.

- He prefers bitter drinks and thinks anything sweet is “a waste of time.”

- He secretly practices his speeches in front of a mirror to make sure he sounds menacing enough.

- Silco keeps a journal, but it’s filled with cryptic notes that only make sense to him.

- He absolutely hates bright colors and insists on everything being muted or dark-toned.

- Silco’s a night owl who rarely sleeps, and when he does, he can fall asleep sitting up.

- He secretly enjoys playing mind games just to see how long people take to figure it out.

---

Ekko

- Ekko is the type to doodle on absolutely everything, from walls to random scraps of paper.

- He always carries a deck of playing cards with him, and he’s amazing at sleight-of-hand tricks.

- Ekko has a sweet tooth and will go out of his way for pastries or candy.

- He has an old, beat-up notebook full of his plans and ideas, but it’s barely legible to anyone else.

- Ekko’s ridiculously good at climbing, treating it like a sport even when he doesn’t need to.

- He likes making little gadgets just for fun, like wind-up toys or tiny flashlights.

“I am serious,” you shot back, voice firm, matching his gaze.

Ekko raised a brow, his lips curling into a small, teasing smirk. “Oh, yeah? Then stop standing there like you’re about to take a school picture.” He pushed off the pipe and twirled the bat once before slinging it onto his back. “Lesson one: You don’t fight with your hands first. You fight with your head.” He tapped his temple. “Gotta read your opponent before they even think about making a move.”

Your jaw tightened. “I know how to fight, Ekko. I just—”

“You know how to throw punches,” he cut you off, his voice sharp now. He stepped closer, his boots scuffing against the metal floor. “But fighting? That’s a whole different thing.”

You squared your shoulders, bristling at the condescension. “Alright, then. Show me.”

Ekko’s grin widened. He took a step back and tilted his head. “Alright, Y/N. You asked for it. Come at me.”

There was a spark in his dark eyes, one that both intrigued and infuriated you. He wasn’t taking you seriously. Not yet.

You lunged forward, fists up, aiming a sharp jab at his side. He moved like smoke, twisting out of reach with an infuriating ease.

“Too slow,” he quipped, dodging your follow-up punch without breaking a sweat. His voice was light, but there was an edge to it, a challenge woven beneath his words.

You gritted your teeth and threw another punch, this time a feint. He dodged, just like you expected, and you aimed a kick at his ribs.

But Ekko was faster. He caught your leg mid-air, twisting just enough to throw you off balance, but not enough to hurt. You stumbled back, catching yourself before you fell.

“Better,” he admitted, his smirk softening into something almost approving. “But you’re still thinking too much.”

“Thinking too much?” you snapped, brushing yourself off. “You just said I have to fight with my head!”

“Yeah, but not like that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re planning every move like it’s chess. In a real fight, you don’t get time for that. You have to feel it—react.”

You clenched your fists, your frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He was right, and you hated that he was right.

“Fine,” you muttered. “Let’s go again.”

Ekko’s grin returned, bright and full of mischief. “That’s the spirit.”

This time, you moved faster, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. You didn’t give him a chance to read you, throwing a rapid series of punches and kicks that forced him to stay on the defensive. He blocked and dodged, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes now.

“Not bad,” he admitted, sidestepping a kick and countering with a quick jab toward your shoulder. You barely dodged, the air shifting as his fist skimmed past you.

Your footwork faltered for a moment, and Ekko seized the opportunity. He swept your legs out from under you, and you hit the ground hard, the impact jolting through your body.

“Damn it,” you hissed, pushing yourself up.

“Don’t get mad,” he said, holding out a hand to help you up. “Get smarter.”

You ignored his hand, standing on your own. His smirk deepened, but there was something else in his expression now—a flicker of respect.

“Alright,” he said, stepping back into position. “Let’s see what you’ve got when you’re really in it.”

This time, you didn’t think. You didn’t plan. You moved.

Your punches came faster, sharper, and your kicks found their mark more often than not. You began to anticipate his movements, matching his speed with your own. For every dodge, you had a counter. For every counter, he had a trick.

The air between you grew charged, every movement filled with tension. Ekko’s smirk faded into focus, his playful demeanor giving way to something more serious. He wasn’t holding back anymore, and neither were you.

For a moment, it felt less like a lesson and more like a real fight.

You landed a solid hit on his ribs, and his breath hitched. He retaliated with a sweep that nearly sent you sprawling, but you twisted out of the way, the momentum carrying you into a spinning kick that he barely dodged.

“Now you’re getting it,” he said, his voice low, almost breathless.

You didn’t respond, too focused on the rhythm of the fight to waste words.

Finally, you saw an opening—a split-second where his balance shifted, just enough for you to strike. You surged forward, aiming a punch at his chest.

But Ekko was faster. He sidestepped at the last moment, grabbing your wrist and twisting you around. Before you could react, he had you pinned, your back against his chest, your arm locked in his grip.

“Gotcha,” he said, his breath warm against your ear.

You froze, your heart pounding—not from the fight, but from the sudden proximity.

His grip loosened slightly, and you twisted free, stepping back to put space between you.

Ekko chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Not bad, Y/N. You’re quick. Strong, too. But you’ve gotta work on controlling that energy. Right now, you’re just throwing it everywhere.”

You crossed your arms, trying to steady your breathing. “I’ll get there.”

His grin softened, and for the first time that night, there was no teasing in his expression. “I know you will.”

The moment lingered, heavy with unspoken words, before he stepped back, picking up his bat.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, slinging it over his shoulder.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. Same time.”

As he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but watch him go, the tension between you still thrumming like an unstruck chord.

Vi:

1. **Old Gloves**: Vi secretly still has the tattered gloves Vander gave her when she first started fighting. They’re too small for her now, but she keeps them tucked in her pocket during missions, like a lucky charm. She’s terrified they’ll wear away entirely one day.

2. **Loner Nights**: Vi sneaks out at night and wanders Zaun, sitting in quiet alleyways just to feel connected to her past. She sometimes leaves small tokens—flowers, coins, scraps of metal—for the ghosts of Vander, Mylo, and Claggor.

3. **Scar Stories**: Every scar on her body has a story, and she remembers each one. Sometimes, when she can’t sleep, she traces them with her fingers, recounting every fight, every failure, every moment she wasn’t strong enough to protect someone she loved.

Caitlyn:

1. **Sniper Rituals**: Before using her rifle, Caitlyn has a strange ritual where she whispers a silent apology to her targets. She doesn’t know why she does it—she just hates the idea of taking a life, even when it’s necessary.

2. **Tea for Two**: After particularly bad days, Caitlyn sets out two cups of tea in her room—one for herself, and one for a person she wishes she could talk to, whether it’s her father, her mother, or even Vi when she’s not around. She rarely drinks from the second cup.

3. **Trophy Room**: She has a secret drawer in her room filled with small tokens from cases she’s solved: a piece of fabric, a photo, a bullet casing. She uses them to remind herself why she fights for justice, but sometimes they just remind her of the people she couldn’t save.

Ekko:

1. **Clockwork Comfort**: When Ekko feels overwhelmed, he builds tiny mechanical birds and insects, winding them up and watching them flutter around his room. It’s his way of reminding himself that he can create life instead of just fighting against death.

2. **Grief Journal**: Ekko keeps a notebook where he writes letters to the friends he’s lost. Each entry starts with their name and a memory of something happy they shared, but by the end, he’s usually crying, scribbling apologies for not being able to save them.

3. **Old Music Box**: He has a broken music box from his childhood that he refuses to fix. It belonged to someone important—maybe his mother or a close friend—and though it no longer works, he listens to the silence as if it still plays their favorite song.

Jayce:

1. **Blueprint Guilt**: Jayce has a hidden vault of failed inventions that never worked as intended. Each one represents a moment where he feels like he let Piltover down. Sometimes he dreams of these blueprints exploding, the fragments injuring everyone around him.

2. **Crumpled Speeches**: Jayce writes letters to Viktor, confessing his regrets and insecurities about how their partnership fractured. He never delivers them, leaving them crumpled up in his desk drawer, afraid that nothing he says will fix what’s broken.

3. **Forge Visits**: Late at night, Jayce visits old smithing forges in Piltover. The hammering of metal on anvils calms him, a reminder of simpler times when all he had to worry about was crafting weapons, not leading a nation.

Viktor:

1. **Silence of the Undercity**: Viktor dreams of the Undercity, but it’s always eerily quiet—no voices, no machinery, just him wandering through empty streets. He wakes up sweating, unsure whether he’s relieved or sad that it was only a dream.

2. **Hidden Garden**: Viktor secretly tends to a tiny plant in his lab, hidden behind stacks of books and equipment. It’s the only living thing he cares for outside of himself, and he fears that if it dies, it’s a sign that he’s lost touch with his humanity.

3. **Staring at the Stars**: When Viktor feels the weight of his mortality, he goes to the highest point in Piltover and stares at the stars. He wonders if he’ll ever leave a mark on the world big enough to be remembered—or if he’ll just fade away like the stars in the morning.

Sevika:

1. **Cracked Mirror**: Sevika has an old cracked mirror in her room, one she refuses to replace. She hates looking at herself, especially the scars and the mechanical arm, but she forces herself to stare into it every morning as a twisted form of penance.

2. **Family Photo**: She carries a faded photo of her family—parents and siblings she hasn’t seen in years—tucked in the lining of her jacket. It’s the only thing from her past she hasn’t burned, but she doesn’t let anyone see it.

“You’ll see,” he said, smirking. “You trust me, right?”

“Debatable,” you teased, earning a scoff.

Ekko stopped suddenly, turning to face you. His dark brown eyes locked on yours, filled with amusement. “Alright, Y/N. I’ll give you a hint. It’s something you’ve never done before, but you’ll love it. Guaranteed.”

You raised a brow, skeptical but intrigued. “Fine. Lead the way, Time Boy.”

He chuckled, taking your hand in his, the warmth of his palm cutting through the chill. “Keep up, slowpoke.”

Minutes later, you stood in front of a high-rise apartment building. Ekko pulled out a small key from his pocket and nodded toward the rooftop door. “Come on.”

The sight that greeted you made your breath catch. The entire rooftop was strung with fairy lights, and a projector was set up against one wall. Blankets and snacks were scattered across a makeshift seating area.

“You did all this?” you whispered.

Ekko shrugged, looking almost bashful. “I figured we could use a night under the stars. You’ve been stressed lately.”

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered against his shoulder.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he replied, wrapping his arms around you with a soft chuckle.

2. Paint Wars

You should’ve known better than to agree to Ekko’s idea of painting the walls in his studio apartment.

“Do you even know how to paint a wall?” you asked, holding a roller with suspicion.

“Do you?” he shot back, grinning as he dipped his brush into a can of dark teal paint. “We’re winging it, Y/N. That’s half the fun.”

It started innocently enough—music playing in the background, the two of you focused on covering the plain white walls. But then you felt a cold splash against your arm.

“Ekko,” you warned, glancing at him.

He stood a few feet away, feigning innocence as he held the paintbrush behind his back. “What?”

“You just got paint on me.”

“Prove it.”

Without thinking, you dipped your roller into the paint and flung it at him, leaving a smear across his cheek.

“Oh, you’re done for,” he said, grinning wickedly.

The next few minutes were chaos—paint splattered everywhere as the two of you dodged and attacked, laughing uncontrollably. By the end, the walls were only half-finished, but you were both covered head to toe in teal.

Ekko leaned against the wall, out of breath but smiling. “Okay, maybe this wasn’t the most efficient plan.”

“Yeah,” you said, catching your breath. “But it was worth it.”

He reached over, smearing paint on your nose. “You look better in teal anyway.”

3. A Lazy Sunday Morning

The soft glow of sunlight filtered through the curtains as you stirred awake. Ekko’s arm was draped across your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Morning,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, pulling you closer.

“You always say that,” you teased, running your fingers through his soft hair.

He tilted his head up, his lips curling into a smirk. “Because I like waking up like this.”

Your heart swelled at the honesty in his voice. “What’s the plan for today?”

He groaned, rolling onto his back. “Plan? Nah, today’s for doing nothing. We deserve it.”

The two of you spent the morning tangled in each other, talking about everything and nothing. At some point, Ekko started humming a song, his voice low and smooth.

“You should sing more,” you said, resting your head on his chest.

He laughed softly. “I’ll sing for you, but only if you promise not to tell anyone I’m a secret softie.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

4. Protecting What’s His

The argument had been brewing all night, the tension palpable as the stranger at the bar got too close for comfort.

Ekko was leaning against the counter when it happened. The guy had laughed too loudly, his hand brushing your shoulder one too many times.

“Hey,” Ekko said, stepping in. His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp. “You wanna back up?”

The stranger scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Chill out, man. I’m just talking to her.”

“And now you’re done,” Ekko replied, his jaw tight.

You placed a hand on Ekko’s arm. “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

But Ekko wasn’t backing down. He stood his ground, his expression firm. “If you’re smart, you’ll walk away now.”

The stranger muttered something under his breath but eventually moved on.

As you stepped outside, Ekko let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry if I overreacted,” he said, his voice softer now.

“You didn’t,” you said, leaning into him. “Thanks for standing up for me.”

He pulled you close, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Always, Y/N. Nobody messes with you when I’m around.”

5. Confessions in the Rain

The rain poured down, drenching you both as you stood in the middle of the street.

“Ekko, this is ridiculous!” you shouted over the downpour.

“Then come here and stop me,” he called back, spinning in circles with his arms outstretched.

You ran up to him, grabbing his arm. “You’re gonna catch a cold!”

He laughed, shaking his wet curls out of his face. “You’re cute when you worry.”

“Ekko—”

“I love you.”

The words stopped you in your tracks. Your heart raced as you stared at him, his grin fading into something more serious.

“I’m not great at this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I love you, Y/N. I’ve been wanting to say it for a while.”

Tears mixed with the rain as you smiled, throwing your arms around him. “I love you too, you idiot.”

Ekko looks up, his eyes softer than she’s used to. There’s something different about him today—something less certain but also more grounded. He tilts his head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans forward, setting the tin of paint down and picking up a second brush.

“I’ll paint,” he says, but his voice is quieter now. “But I’m not just painting, Jinx. I need you to listen.”

She raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t reply immediately, but her curiosity is piqued, despite herself. She twirls the brush in her fingers, her eyes narrowed in that characteristic mischievous way, but her heart’s racing, a nervous flutter in her chest.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening. You know I’m the best at everything, even listening,” she says with a wild grin, but it comes out almost fragile. She dips the tip of the brush into a bright purple color, the bristles splattering some paint onto her cheek in the process.

Ekko doesn’t smile this time. His gaze softens, the weight of what he’s about to say pulling him into a rare kind of seriousness that makes Jinx’s playful demeanor falter for just a second.

“You know how we both got here, right?” he starts, his voice low and steady. “How you got to be… well, this version of you?”

Her eyes flicker away, the mention of her past hitting like a punch in the gut. She clutches her brush tighter, her breath slightly sharper now.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I did a few things—exploded a few things—what’s your point?” she says quickly, looking back at the wall like she can hide behind the chaos of the artwork. Her fingers twitch with the urge to pull out one of her many grenades, but she stops herself.

Ekko sighs, his eyes distant for a moment, as if remembering something painful. He runs a hand behind his neck, avoiding her gaze for a second. Then, he looks at her, and there’s a quiet ache in his eyes. It’s hard to see him like this, vulnerable, but it makes his next words hit harder.

“I came from another place, Jinx. Another world. A world where things were… different. And you were different, too. Powder wasn’t broken. She wasn’t lost.” His voice cracks slightly as he says the name, the pain of remembering who she used to be slipping through his tough exterior. “You… you were good, Jinx. You didn’t have to be this. You could’ve been so much more. I was gonna save you. I thought I could—”

Jinx freezes, her fingers stilling on the brush as his words fall around her like rain. The name “Powder” sinks into her chest, a tightness clawing at her throat. She doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know if she wants to hear it, but part of her is already feeling that desperate pull, the old wound reopening. She looks at Ekko, his face so raw and open now, and something deep inside her cracks.

“Stop it,” she mutters, voice trembling just a little. She’s never been one for softness—never known how to handle it—but she knows something’s coming. Something's broken. And she hates how much she wants to believe him.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Ekko continues, leaning in just a bit closer, his voice soft but unwavering, “but I need you to hear it. You weren’t always Jinx. You were Powder, and you were good. You still can be. That part of you, the one that cares, the one that dreams—she’s still there. She’s not gone.”

Her heart pounds against her chest, and her grip on the brush loosens. She tries to laugh it off, but the sound is hollow, desperate. “That’s not who I am anymore. I’m Jinx.” Her voice cracks on the name.

Ekko reaches forward, taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing over the paint-streaked skin. His touch is warm, grounding, and for a moment, Jinx forgets to be afraid. He meets her eyes, and in his gaze, she sees a reflection of something she’s been running from for so long: the hope of what she used to be, and the possibility of being something more than the chaos she’s built around herself.

“You don’t have to be Jinx. You just have to be you. Whatever that means. It’s okay to let go of the bombs for a moment. You don’t always have to explode.”

For a moment, Jinx says nothing. Her heart hammers, her breath shallow. She stares at him, trying to read the sincerity in his words, trying to find some way to make them fit. But they don’t fit—not yet. She opens her mouth to speak, but instead, she suddenly stands up, her body tense, and, in a frantic movement, she grabs the nearest can of bright red paint.

“Fine!” she yells, her voice wild again, “But if I’m gonna be good—we’re gonna be good together, okay? You’re still gonna fight with me. You’re still gonna make things go boom!”

Ekko stands up too, a small laugh escaping him despite everything.

“I never said we couldn’t make things go boom,” he says, a little grin tugging at his lips. He steps forward, gently taking the can from her hands, setting it aside with a quiet chuckle. His fingers hover near hers, the air thick with tension. Then, without thinking too much about it, he leans in, just a little, closing the distance between them.

“Jinx,” he says softly, his voice low and steady. “I’m with you, whatever happens. You’re not alone.”

And just like that, the air around them shifts. Jinx’s breath catches in her throat. She’s never felt this way before—not with him, not with anyone. For a brief moment, everything inside her stills, and then her heart beats faster than she can understand. Her mind races—fighting to pull away, to push him back, but the pull between them is stronger than anything she’s ever known.

Without thinking, she moves forward, closing the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss is wild, unsure, and a little broken, but it’s real. It’s not the explosion she’s used to—it’s a gentle, messy collision. When they finally pull apart, both of them are breathless.

Jinx grins, her fingers trembling against his chest. "Guess we’re really doing this, huh?" she whispers, her voice cracked but full of a strange, quiet hope.

Ekko looks down at her, his face soft, but with a spark in his eyes that tells her, for the first time in a long while, maybe they could be something good.

"And you've got poor manners!" you shot back, your voice echoing faintly in whatever space you had been led into. You stumbled slightly when your boots struck uneven ground, and Ekko's firm hand at your elbow was the only thing keeping you upright. Great. Not only had you been kidnapped—again—but you were blind to your surroundings, at the mercy of the boy leading you forward.

"Where are we even going?" you pushed, exasperated.

Ekko didn't answer. If anything, the silence that followed was more infuriating than his earlier banter. You wanted to make him hear it—the irritation rumbling in your chest, the fire at your heels that didn't wane—but then your attention snagged elsewhere.

The sound.

Thud, thud, thud.

The hollow rhythm of your boots had changed, softened. The surface beneath you was... different. Wooden? You were certain of it—there was a warmth to each step, an odd give to the earth you walked on. But not like wooden planks in some rickety shack. No. This was something else entirely. Something alive.

Then, a breeze—soft and cool—brushed against you, tugging at your clothes. The air carried with it a whisper. A faint but unmistakable sound.

Leaves. Rustling leaves.

Your brow furrowed beneath the sack. "Hold on," you murmured, straining your ears, "is that... a tree?"

Ekko slowed, his grip loosening just enough for you to know he was looking at you, considering. His reply came slow, edged with quiet humor. "Maybe you're smarter than you look."

You bristled. "Excuse me?"

"Relax," he said, pulling you along again. "Keep up."

Your mind, despite itself, wandered back to that sound. Trees didn't grow in the Undercity. There were no roots that could push through the sludge, no sunlight that could weave past Zaun's ceilings of smoke and steel. And yet here you were, walking on... wood. Your heart thudded against your ribs. If there was a tree—a real, living tree—what kind of place was this?

Before you could ask more, Ekko's steps slowed. A door groaned open, hinges creaking faintly, and the air shifted. It was warmer here, quieter. You heard the click of a door closing behind you. A pause. Then the rough pull of the sack from your head.

Blinking hard against the sudden light, you squinted and took a shaky breath, the weight of your surroundings flooding your senses all at once.

It was a bathroom. But not just any bathroom.

Your eyes widened, and you spun around, mouth parting in awe. The walls were wood—smooth, carved with care, the deep grain running like veins beneath the polished surface. The floor hummed with a faint warmth that felt alive, and above, light pooled in through gaps that let the softest golden glow spill over the space. And then, in a corner near the small, creaking sink, vines stretched lazily along the baseboards, their emerald leaves brushing against the walls as though they belonged.

A tree. A tree in Zaun.

You turned in a slow circle, your hands trailing against the wooden wall as though it might disappear beneath your touch. "How...?" Your voice was barely above a whisper. "How does this even exist here? In the Undercity?"

Ekko didn't answer immediately, but you didn't notice. You were too busy drinking it all in—the soft rustle you could hear faintly even here, the way the air felt different, like life itself was stitched into the walls. You could almost picture the trunk—the base of this impossibility—pushing defiantly through Zaun's decay, standing tall against the weight of the city above.

You caught your reflection in a cracked mirror above the sink and turned, surprised to find Ekko studying you. His gaze was unreadable, though something about the slight tilt of his head and the faint flicker in his eyes told you he was seeing more than you knew.

"What?" you said, straightening.

"Nothing," he replied, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "You're just... surprised."

"Obviously." You turned away from his gaze, pacing the small room again. "You'd think something like this would be impossible here."

"Most people think so," Ekko said, his tone quieter now. "But they're wrong."

You hesitated. There was something about the way he said it—steady, certain—that struck you. You glanced back at him, but he was already looking elsewhere, hands stuffed into his pockets, like the moment had passed.

Still, the idea sat heavy in your chest: A tree growing here. A thing of life where life had no right to be. Defiant and alive all the same.

And despite yourself—despite the frustration and the tension still knotting in your shoulders—you felt your curiosity settle like a seed in your mind, waiting to bloom.

Ekko's voice broke the strange quiet as he moved, the sound of a cabinet creaking open sharp against the warm stillness of the room.

"Sit," he muttered, low and curt, already rustling through its contents. You didn't immediately move, your gaze lingering on the strange beauty of the space, on the vines stretched like lazy fingers along the wall. Ekko didn't look back, though his voice carried a warning edge. "I said sit."

Reluctantly, you sank to the floor, the wood solid beneath you, hands still awkwardly tied before you. You watched him in silence, his broad shoulders framed against the light as he dug through supplies—an opened box here, an overturned cloth there—until finally, he produced a small bottle and fresh bandages.

He let the cabinet door groan shut, the sound settling heavy between you, and turned. His gaze flicked to your hands, wrists trembling faintly in your lap, the fingers cut raw where the glass shard had bit too deeply in your frantic attempt to saw yourself free. For a moment, he stood still, as if weighing a decision, the dark paint streaked across his face unreadable. Then, with a sigh that sounded heavier than it had any right to, he crouched in front of you.

"Don't move," Ekko muttered, almost to himself, as he pulled a knife from his belt.

Your spine went stiff as he leaned closer, the sharp glint of the blade far too close to your wrists. Instinctively, you flinched back.

"Relax," he said, exasperated, though there was a note of gentleness there—reluctant, like it didn't belong. "I'm not gonna slit your throat. Not yet."

The words should have stung, but something about the way he said them—too matter-of-fact, almost bored—softened their edge. Slowly, you let yourself go still, watching him through narrowed eyes as he slid the knife beneath the rope. The fibers frayed with a dry snap, loosening all at once.

As the ropes fell away, relief washed over you, but it came with a sharp sting. The cuts on your hands flared white-hot, blood darkening along the shallow lines of broken skin.

Ekko froze.

You saw it—the way his features twisted, his brow pulling down, lips pressing into a hard, thin line. For a moment, he simply stared at the injuries like they were something that shouldn't be there, something uninvited and wrong. His gaze flicked lower, catching on the angry rope burn still etched raw into your skin, and though his expression didn't shift, you swore you saw something break in his focus.

"What?" you murmured cautiously, confused by the sudden stillness.

He didn't answer. Not immediately. Instead, he took the small bottle from his pocket, tugged the cork free with his teeth, and tipped it over your hands.

The sting was sudden, sharp enough to rip a gasp from your throat. You jerked back instinctively, but Ekko's hands were already there—steady, firm—as he held yours in place.

"Hold still," he said, quieter this time, eyes focused on his work. His touch was careful—gentle—even as he worked the liquid into the cuts with the edge of a clean cloth. It didn't make sense.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked softly, brows furrowing as you watched him. "I'm your prisoner, aren't I? Shouldn't you... I don't know, let me bleed out? I thought you Firelights didn't care much for people like me."

Ekko's jaw tensed at your words, but he didn't look up.

"You think I care?" His voice was sharper now, cutting clean through the quiet. "You're just one less problem for Zaun when we're done with you. That's it."

Your lips twisted, an ache blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the cuts on your hands. "I do care about Zaun," you said, your voice edged with something earnest, something that almost sounded like a plea. "I'm trying to do what's right for this city."

Ekko scoffed under his breath, the sound harsh and disbelieving.

"Yeah?" he said, finally looking up at you. His gaze was dark, heavy, burning like embers beneath paint-streaked skin. "And what's 'right,' huh? Silco's idea of right? Poisoning the city until it collapses under its own weight?"

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words tangled on your tongue, caught somewhere deep where doubt had taken root. Silco's vision was supposed to be right. You'd believed that—*needed* to believe that—for so long. But lately, it was harder to ignore the cracks forming at the edges of everything you thought you knew.

"It's not that simple," you said finally, quieter now.

Ekko shook his head, the corner of his mouth curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It's not supposed to be," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

The cloth passed over your skin again, softer this time, soaking up blood as it moved. It didn't make sense. Not the way he held your hands like they might break if he wasn't careful. Not the faint crease between his brows as he worked, like seeing you hurt had unsettled something in him. And certainly not the way you let him, silent and still beneath his care, watching him through narrowed eyes that couldn't seem to look away.

"You don't make sense," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Ekko's hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he reached for the bandages. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean you're not acting like someone who hates me," you said bluntly, eyes narrowing as you studied him. "You're angry. You should want me tied back to that pole, bleeding out. But you don't."

Ekko said nothing. He kept his focus on the bandages, wrapping them carefully around your hands—tighter where the cuts split open, looser where your fingers could move freely. He didn't meet your gaze, and for a while, you thought he wouldn't answer at all.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"You think you're the only one caught up in something bigger than you?" His voice was low, careful, like he was testing each word before letting it go. "You think people like Silco get to decide what happens to this city?"

Your lips parted, but no words came.

"You're here because people are hurting," Ekko continued, his gaze flickering up to meet yours—steady and unrelenting, glowing faintly like embers beneath a mask of paint. "Because you helped him make it worse. Maybe you don't see that. Maybe you don't want to. But I do."

The words landed heavy, sinking into you like stones tossed into deep water. You wanted to argue—you needed to argue—but something about the way he looked at you made the words catch in your throat.

"Then you don't know what I've done," you said finally, your voice softer now, lacking its usual bite.

"Then tell me," Ekko pushed, his fingers stilling on the bandage. "Tell me why you're here. What he's got you doing."

You met his gaze for a long, quiet moment before looking away. "It's not that simple," you repeated.

Ekko didn't let his disappointment show. He simply tied the last bandage with a deft twist of his fingers and rose to his feet.

"Suit yourself," he said, though his tone lacked the sharpness you expected.

He didn't offer a hand to pull you up. He simply turned away, moving back to the cabinet to return what was left of the supplies. You watched him carefully, eyes lingering on the lines of his face—the hardness there, carved deep beneath the faint glow of his paint. He was young, you realized. Too young to carry that weight.

But then Ekko turned, and the sack was back in his hands, worn and familiar.

"Come on," he muttered. "Time to go."

You didn't fight him as he moved closer, though a flicker of unease stirred in your chest when he lifted the sack toward you.

"Seriously?" you asked, trying to mask the edge in your voice with a sardonic lilt.

Ekko's gaze met yours, and for a split second, you thought you saw hesitation there. Then, quietly, he said, "Yeah."

And just like that, the sack slipped back over your head, plunging you into darkness, stealing away the warmth of the room and the light of his gaze.

Ekko's footsteps sounded distant now, each one slower, heavier than before.

It didn't make sense.

Jinx scoffed, turning her back on him to fiddle with her oversized zapper gun, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. “Sure, yeah, I need you, just like I need a boring lecture or a nap.” She paused, her shoulders slumping just slightly. “Do you even know what you’re signing up for? It’s not gonna be all... paint bombs and fun. The places I go, they’re not your Treehouse.”

Ekko stepped closer, lowering his voice. “And what? You think I’m scared of that? Jinx, I’ve been fighting for Zaun since before I could even carry a real weapon. You think I can’t handle a little chaos?” He smiled faintly, and for a moment, the weight in her chest lightened.

But she wasn’t convinced yet. She turned around sharply, her eyes narrowing. “What if you change your mind halfway, huh? What if you decide you don’t like what you see? You ever think of that? I’m not exactly... stable, y’know. And there’s no refund policy on this crazy train.”

Ekko’s expression softened, but there was a firmness behind it. “I’ve already decided. I’m not letting you do this alone.” His hand brushed against hers, briefly but purposefully. “You don’t have to keep running by yourself, Jinx. You don’t have to keep proving you’re okay when you’re not.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She looked down, her wild pink braid swaying as she tilted her head. “You really mean that, huh?”

He grinned. “Yeah. I mean it. Now, you got a plan, or are we winging this?”

Jinx blinked at him, then snorted. “Winging it? Ekko, you don’t ‘wing it’ when you’re stealing a blimp. This isn’t a cupcake run.” She chewed her lip, the gears in her mind turning. “Okay, fine. We need a transport blimp, something big enough to get us out of Zaun without getting shot down but not so big that Piltover puts the entire guard on us.” She tapped her temple with a manic grin. “I’ve got just the spot.”

Ekko raised a brow. “Why do I feel like this involves explosions?”

She grinned wider. “Because you know me so well! C’mon, let’s go.”

---

They slinked through the back alleys of Zaun, their footsteps masked by the industrial hum of the city. Jinx led the way, her movements erratic but purposeful, while Ekko followed, his timeworn bat slung over his shoulder.

The transport yard loomed ahead, its tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Beyond it, a handful of blimps sat docked on the platforms, their hulking frames faintly illuminated by flickering spotlights.

“Alright, which one?” Ekko whispered, crouching beside Jinx as she surveyed the yard.

“That one.” Jinx jabbed her finger toward a sleek, medium-sized blimp with minimal cargo compartments. “Fast, nimble, and not too flashy. Just like me.” She snickered.

Ekko tilted his head, studying the patrol guards pacing the area. “Alright. How do we get in without raising hell?”

Jinx grinned, pulling a small grenade-like contraption from her satchel. “Oh, we’re raising hell. Just a little hell, though. Enough to keep ‘em busy.” She handed it to him. “Toss this toward that far gate when I give the signal. It’ll make some pretty fireworks, and while they’re oohing and ahhing, we sneak aboard.”

Ekko sighed but took the device. “Why do I feel like you’ve done this before?”

“Maybe I have,” she said with a wink.

---

The plan unfolded with chaotic precision. As the guards turned toward the gate, distracted by the bursts of bright purple smoke and sparks from Jinx’s little toy, the duo darted across the yard. Jinx giggled under her breath as they ducked behind crates, her adrenaline spiking with every step.

They reached the blimp, and Ekko glanced around for an access panel. “Any ideas?” he whispered.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t rush me.” Jinx pulled out her zapper, aiming at the keypad near the door. With a quick burst of energy, it short-circuited, and the door slid open with a hiss.

“Subtle,” Ekko muttered.

Jinx grinned. “Subtle’s boring.”

They climbed aboard, moving swiftly through the cargo bay toward the cockpit. Jinx immediately started pressing buttons and flipping switches. “Alright, genius, figure out how to get this thing off the ground.”

Ekko scanned the controls, his brow furrowed. “Give me a second. This isn’t exactly my usual tech.”

“Hurry up!” Jinx hissed, glancing nervously out the window as a guard’s flashlight beam swept dangerously close to the blimp.

Ekko finally found the ignition switch and toggled it on. The blimp hummed to life, its engines whirring softly. “Got it!”

“See? You’re useful after all.” Jinx smirked, hopping into the co-pilot’s seat.

The blimp lifted off smoothly, rising above the transport yard as guards shouted in confusion below. Once they were safely in the air, Jinx leaned back in her seat, letting out a loud whoop. “We did it! We actually did it!”

Ekko laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Yeah, we did.” He glanced over at her, his grin softening. “So... where to?”

Jinx hesitated, her expression briefly clouding. Then she tilted her head and gave him a lopsided smile. “Demacia. Or whatever it’s called. Fancy place, lots of rules. Sounds like fun, huh?”

Ekko chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re something else, Jinx.”

The word rang in your head, sharp and cutting. You'd been caught. Dragged out of that sewage pipe like a rat, roped up and left here by those masked Firelights—by him.

Your jaw clenched at the memory of the boy, the calm confidence in his voice grating against your chest when he spoke. Like he already had you figured out. Like you were nothing.

And you? You'd proven him right. You'd let exhaustion sink its claws into you, and now here you were—trapped.

You let out a frustrated growl, jerking your wrists against the ropes, the fibers biting into your skin. "Stupid," you muttered under your breath, voice sharp with anger. You pulled harder, the burn in your shoulders only fueling your frustration. You let them catch you. Two days of running on no sleep, of clawing your way through Zaun's muck and shadows, and you'd fallen.

The one thing you were supposed to be good at—slipping through the cracks, escaping—and you'd failed.

You slammed the back of your head against the pole, the dull thud echoing in the empty room.

But as the echoes faded, a quieter thought crept in, cutting deeper than the ropes at your wrists.

What are you even escaping for?

The question settled in your chest like a stone, heavier with every second. You slumped forward against the pole, breath shaky as you stared at the dark floor beneath you.

You had no home. No family waiting for you. Silco's plans for Zaun—it was starting to feel like smoke and mirrors now, wasn't it? You'd buried the doubt for so long, ignored the cracks in his promises, but you couldn't unsee it now.

And what happens when he realizes you're doubting him?

The thought sent a chill through you, sharp and sobering. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing down the tightness building in your throat.

You'll die for that thought.

Your breathing slowed, the fight momentarily leaving your body as the truth pinned you down. What was the point? You'd spent so much time running, fighting to stay ahead, but what did you have left?

And then, just as the dark started to close in, a face surfaced in your mind.

Jinx.

Her voice came back to you—bright, excited, stumbling over itself as she babbled about her big Progress Day plan, blue eyes wide with pride.

Your chest twisted sharply. You'd brushed her off. Your only friend—the only light you had in all this—and you'd pushed her aside, too focused on chasing Silco's approval. Shame curled hot and heavy in your stomach.

She was waiting for you.

You need to hear about her plan, her fireworks.

The fire flared back to life inside you, slow but steady. You clenched your fists against the ropes, eyes narrowing as you scanned the room for anything—anything—to get yourself free.

And then you saw it.

A shard of glass, jagged and sharp, lying far across the floor. It glimmered faintly in the low light streaming through the cracked window.

You exhaled shakily, sizing up the distance. It was far—too far to grab. But your legs were still free, weren't they?

You leaned back against the pole, twisting your body just enough to stretch out one leg. Your foot scraped against the dirty floor, inching closer to the shard. The ropes dug painfully into your wrists, the pole's splinters biting into your back with every movement.

"Come on," you whispered, voice low and strained.

Your foot brushed the shard's edge, and you sucked in a sharp breath. You stretched further, toes curling as you hooked the edge of the glass and dragged it closer—slowly, painfully slow—until it was within reach.

You kicked it behind you, the shard tumbling across the floor and stopping just beneath your hands.

You twisted again, fingers stretching for the glass. The sharp edge bit into your skin as you grabbed it, your breath catching at the sting. Blood dripped slowly from your palm, but you didn't let go.

The shard was awkward to hold, clumsy with your hands bound, but it was enough. You angled it against the ropes, teeth gritted as you began to saw, the sound of fraying fibers loud in the stillness.

Each movement sent fire shooting through your shoulders, but you didn't stop. You couldn't stop.

I'll be out by tonight.

The rope was giving way—just a little more-

The door creaked open.

You froze.

Light spilled into the room, blinding you for a moment as you squinted against the brightness. A shadow filled the doorway, sharp and unrelenting.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, but your grip on the shard didn't loosen. Blood ran down your fingers, dripping onto the floor below.

You looked up, eyes blazing with defiance, shoulders trembling but unbowed.

You weren't done fighting—not yet.

The door groaned as it opened, and you tensed instinctively, grip tightening on the shard hidden in your bloodied hand. Light spilled across the floor again, cutting through the shadows like a knife. 

It was him. 

He stepped in, the same boy from before—half masked, eyes sharp as they settled on you. But this time, his hands weren't empty. He carried a plate balancing thin strips of fish and a hunk of bread, a small tin cup tucked under his arm. 

Your gaze flickered from him to the plate, and you couldn't stop the bitter laugh that bubbled out of you, the sound sharp and cutting in the silent room. "What's this? Dinner?" 

He didn't answer, simply crouched a few feet away and set the plate on the floor with a small thud. 

You huffed, shifting against the wooden pole, ropes biting painfully into your wrists. "You do see my hands are tied, right? Or am I supposed to grow a second pair?" 

"I know," he said smoothly, voice calm and clipped as he stood up again. "That's why I'm going to feed you." 

The words hit you like a slap, heat rushing to your face in a sickening flush of anger. "You're what?" 

"I said—" 

"I heard you the first time," you snapped, eyes narrowing into slits. "What, you think I'm some helpless child? That I'm gonna sit here and let you feed me like some stray you picked up off the street?" 

He raised an eyebrow at your venom, seemingly unfazed by your rage. "Suit yourself." He shrugged, turning on his heel. "Guess you don't need to eat then." 

He grabbed the plate and stood, already heading toward the door as if your pride and defiance didn't matter—like you didn't matter. 

You watched his back move away, each step pounding against your resolve. You clenched your teeth, fingers shaking around the shard. Let him go. Let him take the food and shut the door and leave you here. It wasn't as if you couldn't wait—wait for the sound of his footsteps to fade, wait to start sawing at the rope and make your escape. 

But when?

Your stomach growled, loud and desperate, and you felt it deep in your ribs. Your anger faltered, teeth gritting as the truth sank in like a stone: you didn't know when the next meal would come. Food was scarce—always had been. You'd gone days without, rationing what scraps you could find, cursing yourself for your hunger while your body betrayed you. That plate he held wasn't much, but it was more than you'd seen in too long. 

You swallowed hard, glaring daggers at his back as the heat in your face deepened. 

"...Wait." 

He turned just enough for you to catch the smug glint in his eye. "What was that?" 

You exhaled sharply, fists clenching. "I said wait, dammit." 

He grinned—infuriatingly pleased with himself—as he strolled back toward you, crouching again to set the plate and cup down within arm's reach. "That's what I thought." 

You glared at him as he knelt closer, holding a piece of bitter-looking fish between his fingers. "Don't look at me like that," he said, voice edged with something teasing, as if he enjoyed watching you squirm. "It's just food." 

"It's humiliating," you bit back, cheeks burning as he brought the piece of fish toward your mouth. 

"Then starve," he said casually. 

You scowled, breath shuddering as you begrudgingly leaned forward and bit the fish from his hand. The flavor was as bitter as it looked, but your hunger clawed it down with little care. 

You chewed in silence, glaring at the floor like it had personally offended you. Eat first. Escape later. That was the deal you made with yourself. Your stomach had won out this time, but you wouldn't forget what you were owed. 

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly, reaching for another piece of fish. 

You didn't answer. 

"I'm Ekko," he continued, unbothered by your silence. "Leader of the Firelights." 

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Leader. You glanced up at him, biting back a sneer. Of course he'd be their leader. The way he carried himself—steady, calculated, full of certainty—made it obvious. 

"Good for you," you muttered bitterly, avoiding his eyes as he brought the next piece of fish closer. 

You bit it off quickly, this time letting the anger simmer hotter beneath your skin. Your arms ached, your pride burned, and now this boy—Ekko—had the nerve to talk to you like this was normal. Like you weren't his captive. 

"What's your name?" he asked again, calm but firm. 

You didn't answer. Instead, as he reached to feed you another piece, you struck. 

You bit down—hard—on his finger. 

He hissed, jerking his hand back. "Ow, shit!" 

The fish dropped to the floor as he cradled his hand, eyes blazing with surprise and irritation. You met his glare with a wicked grin, lips curled in satisfaction. "Oops," you said, voice saccharine with mock innocence. 

Ekko straightened, flexing his bitten hand as if testing it for damage. He shot you an unimpressed look. "You're real charming, you know that?" 

You tilted your head slightly, still smiling, though the exhaustion was starting to creep back into your bones. "Y/N." 

"What?" 

"My name," you muttered. "It's Y/N." 

Ekko's expression softened just a fraction, though his sharp eyes never lost their edge. He wiped his hand on his pants, watching you for a moment too long before reaching for the piece of bread. 

You looked away again, shame bubbling in your chest despite your efforts to swallow it down. You hated this—hated him, hated yourself, hated the position you were in. But most of all, you hated the way he fed you without hesitation, without mocking you further. 

You chewed on the bread in silence, not daring to look at him again. Your wrists still throbbed against the ropes, but for now, you let yourself eat. 

Eat first. Escape later.

And all the while, Ekko sat there, feeding you piece by piece, until the plate was empty.

Ekko set the cup of water aside, the faint scrape of metal against wood ringing out in the quiet. You swallowed the last sip, head dipped down to keep him from seeing the faint tremble in your hands—one from exhaustion, the other from the building panic that clamped down on your chest like a vice. You were so close.

"Alright," he muttered, rocking back onto his heels as he stood up, brushing his hands off. "That's enough for now."

Good. Let him leave. Let him shut the door and let you finish what you started.

But then he paused, one hand still lingering on the doorframe. You froze.

"...Actually," he said slowly, head tilting slightly as if some thought had just struck him, "I should check your restraints. Make sure they haven't loosened up."

Your heart stopped.

You shot him a quick look, fighting to keep your face blank. "They're fine," you said hurriedly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "You don't have to—"

"You don't mind if I make sure, though, do you?" he replied lightly, though his tone carried a weight that made the air thin. He was already moving closer.

Shit.

You shifted against the pole, struggling to keep calm as he stepped around you. "What's the point?" you snapped, voice sharpened by panic. "You already said I can't get out of here. What are you so paranoid about, huh?"

"Just being careful," he replied evenly. His footsteps slowed as he moved behind you, out of view, and you clenched your jaw to keep the panic off your face.

"Paranoid's a good look on you," you sneered, hoping your words could slow him down. "Guess being in charge of a gang of mask-wearing fireflies does that to a person."

He didn't answer.

And then you felt him stop.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the silence stretched on too long, the tension pressing against your ribs. You felt his gaze on your hands—your bloodied, trembling hands, still wrapped tight around the shard of glass you'd clung to like a lifeline.

A sigh.

"You're a crafty little thing, aren't you?" His voice was quiet, and when his fingers brushed against yours, you flinched—jerking away as much as the rope allowed.

"Don't touch me."

He ignored you, prying the shard of glass from your palm with deliberate care. You fought, fingers tightening on it until it dug in further, the sting sharp enough to bring tears to your eyes. But it was no use. He was stronger. When he finally pulled it free, the jagged shard glistened with a thin smear of your blood.

Ekko held it between his fingers for a moment, inspecting it with something like reluctant admiration. "You'd make a hell of a Firelight with tricks like this."

"Go to hell," you spat, voice ragged.

He didn't respond. Instead, he turned his attention to your hands.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "You're bleeding all over the place."

Your shoulders stiffened as you felt his fingers brush against your wrist, his touch unnervingly gentle as he turned your hands to inspect the damage. You could feel the blood smeared across your skin, sticky and warm, where the glass had dug deep and carved new lines into your palm.

"Looks like you're on a death mission," Ekko said after a pause, his voice quiet but firm. "And I can't let you bleed out in here."

You jerked your head toward him, fire flashing in your eyes. "Don't act like you care."

He ignored the venom in your tone, though you thought you saw something flicker across his face—something you couldn't quite place. "I'm gonna have to untie you," he said, his hands already working at the knots binding your wrists. "Clean you up before you do something stupid again."

You hated the way he spoke to you—hated the calm certainty in his voice, the way he acted like he had a choice in whether you lived or died. But most of all, you hated the way his touch didn't hurt. His hands were rough, but he handled yours like you were something fragile. It made you sick.

"Stop," you muttered, voice low, but he didn't listen. He didn't flinch.

"Relax," he said, voice softer now, as if he actually meant it. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

You turned your head away sharply, jaw tight as you bit back the frustration swelling in your chest. You don't have to hurt me, you thought bitterly, you've already humiliated me.

The ropes loosened, the fibers rasping as they slid away, and your arms dropped forward with an aching throb. You hissed through clenched teeth as blood rushed back to your numb limbs.

"Don't try anything," Ekko warned quietly, though his hands lingered near yours as if ready to stop you. "I'll patch you up, but that's all. You're not getting out of here."

“Pfft,” Jinx scoffed, tossing the trinket over her shoulder like it didn’t matter. “You’re just scared I’ll be better than you. Admit it.” She stood up, practically bouncing on her toes as she closed the gap between them.

“You? Better than me?” Ekko said, pretending to look deeply skeptical. “I mean, you are good at blowing stuff up, but this takes actual skill.”

Her pink eyes narrowed playfully, and she jabbed a finger at his chest. “I’ll have you know I’m great at everything—except rules. Suck at those. But balance? Speed? Danger? That’s my thing, Zippy.”

Ekko groaned, running a hand down his face. “If you keep calling me that, I might change my mind.”

She grinned, stepping onto the board with zero hesitation. “Too late!”

The board wobbled violently under her weight, and for a moment, Jinx’s grin faltered as her arms flailed for balance. She grabbed Ekko’s arm with a sharp yelp. “This thing’s trying to kill me!”

Ekko laughed, his voice light and warm. “No, you’re trying to kill yourself. You can’t just jump on like that—you gotta ease into it.” He placed a steadying hand on her waist, guiding her back to center.

Her cheeks flushed, but she tilted her head, smirking up at him. “You just like touching me, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said dryly, stepping back before she could make it more awkward. “It’s not because you almost faceplanted or anything.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, still wobbling slightly but managing to stay upright. “Alright, Mr. Know-It-All. What’s the secret, huh?”

He moved behind her, hands gently resting on her shoulders to keep her steady. “The board reacts to how you shift your weight, so stop moving around like a lunatic. Stand still, keep your feet flat, and let it level out.”

Jinx inhaled dramatically, stiffening like a statue. “Standing still. Got it. Like a rock. A super cool, badass rock.”

Ekko chuckled. “Yeah, sure. A badass rock.”

After a few moments, the board stopped shaking, hovering smoothly beneath her. Ekko grinned. “There you go. Now lean forward—slowly. Not all at once, or you’re gonna go flying.”

She leaned forward, her movements careful for once. The board responded, gliding forward a few inches. Jinx’s eyes lit up, her grin returning full force. “Holy crap, it’s working! I’m doing it!”

“Of course, it’s working,” Ekko said, walking beside her. “You’re not completely hopeless.”

“Wow, such high praise,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. But her joy was palpable as she started experimenting, leaning a little more and picking up speed.

Ekko smirked, stepping onto his own board. With a single smooth motion, he zipped past her. “Alright, let’s see if you can keep up, Jinx.”

“Oh, you’re on, Ekko!” she shouted, leaning forward and speeding after him.

The base turned into their playground. They wove between crates and beams, their laughter echoing in the vast space. Jinx was wild, taking every turn too sharply and almost crashing more than once, but her joy was infectious.

Ekko slowed as they neared the tree at the heart of the base. The glow of its arcane roots bathed them in soft light, and he hopped off his board, leaning casually against it. Jinx skidded to a stop beside him, panting slightly but grinning like she’d just conquered the world.

“Not bad,” he admitted, his brown eyes glinting with approval.

“Not bad?” she repeated, feigning outrage. “I was amazing! I was like—like a star falling through the sky or something!”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, a star that almost slammed into a wall three times.”

She elbowed him lightly, her grin softening as her gaze drifted upward. The stars glittered above them, their light almost shy compared to the arcane glow. “Kinda nice out here, huh?”

Ekko’s smile faded into something gentler as he watched her. “Yeah. It is.”

She turned to him, her pink eyes unusually calm. “Thanks, y’know. For teaching me. For putting up with my crap.”

He hesitated, his chest tightening at her rare moment of vulnerability. Slowly, he leaned closer, his voice quiet. “Always.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away as he closed the gap, brushing his lips against hers. The kiss was soft, unhurried, filled with a care neither of them quite knew how to put into words.

When they pulled back, Jinx blinked, her grin creeping back as she tried to hide how flustered she was. “Okay, maybe you’re not completely terrible at this.”

Ekko chuckled, stepping onto his board and motioning for her to follow. “Come on, Jinx. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Ekko froze, his breath catching. His blood turned to ice, then fire, as he whirled around. She stood there, bathed in the dim light of the city’s chaos, her hair wild and vivid, her expression caught somewhere between a smirk and sorrow.

“Jinx?” he breathed, disbelief cracking his voice.

Her eyes, that eerie, unnatural pink, softened for just a second. “The one and only.”

For a moment, he could only stare, his heart pounding against his ribs. Every emotion he’d buried clawed its way to the surface—grief, rage, joy, confusion. He stepped closer, his hands clenching and unclenching. “You’re alive?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Vi said—she told me you were dead.”

“She needed to think that,” Jinx replied, her voice quiet, almost fragile. “It had to stay that way. For her. For everyone.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Ekko snapped, anger flashing in his eyes. “She thinks she failed you! She thinks you’re gone because of her. Hell, I—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. “You let us believe you were dead? Why?”

Jinx’s gaze flickered, her smile fading. “Because I couldn’t stay. Not after everything. Not after Silco. Powder died a long time ago, Ekko. And Jinx... Jinx doesn’t fit in their world. She never did.”

“That’s bullshit!” Ekko shot back, his voice breaking. “You could’ve come back. We would’ve found a way.”

She shook her head, her laugh bitter and sharp. “No, you wouldn’t. You all deserve to be happy. Vi, Cait, you... You deserve a future without me screwing it up.” Her voice wavered as she added, “You’re better without me.”

Ekko stared at her, his chest tightening. “You think disappearing fixes anything? You think leaving makes it hurt less? You don’t get to decide that for us, Jinx!”

Her breath hitched, and for a second, the mask cracked. “I had to. Don’t you get it? I destroy everything I touch. Vi... Silco... even you, Ekko. The last thing I wanted was to ruin you too.”

“You didn’t ruin me,” he said, his voice dropping, softer now. “You’re not a bomb waiting to go off, Jinx. You’re—you’re just hurt. And maybe we all failed you, but that doesn’t mean you had to run.”

The words hung heavy between them, both of them locked in the weight of their shared history. She shifted uncomfortably, wrapping her arms around herself like she was bracing for impact. “I didn’t run. I left so you wouldn’t have to watch me fall apart.”

Ekko stepped closer, his voice a raw whisper. “I would’ve stayed. I would’ve fought for you. I—I still would.”

Jinx’s eyes flickered up to meet his, something trembling and uncertain in her gaze. “You’re an idiot, Ekko.”

“Yeah,” he said, his lips quirking into a sad smile. “Guess I always was when it came to you.”

She looked down, her voice cracking. “You shouldn’t have to carry me anymore.”

“I’m not letting you go,” Ekko said firmly. “Not again.”

For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak. And then, slowly, her arms dropped to her sides, and she stepped forward, closing the space between them. Ekko felt her hands curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He wrapped his arms around her instinctively, holding her tight, like if he let go, she’d vanish all over again.

“I missed you,” she whispered into his shoulder. “More than anything.”

He swallowed hard, his voice shaking. “You don’t get to say that and walk away again, Jinx. You don’t.”

She pulled back, just enough to look at him, her fingers brushing his cheek. “I can’t stay here, Ekko. Not in Zaun. Not with everything I’ve done.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Her eyes widened, panic flickering across her face. “Ekko—no. This is my mess.”

“I don’t care,” he interrupted, his voice steady. “I’m not losing you again. Wherever you’re going, I’m going too.”

Jinx hesitated, her breath hitching. For once, the chaos in her eyes seemed to still. “You’d really leave everything behind? The Firelights? Zaun?”

“You’re worth it,” he said simply.

For a moment, all she could do was stare at him. And then, slowly, her lips quirked into a fragile smile, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.

“You’re so stupid, Little Man,” she murmured.

“And you’re still impossible,” he replied, a faint chuckle breaking through the tension.

She kissed him then, fierce and messy and desperate, like it was both a promise and an apology. When they broke apart, her hand lingered on his cheek, her thumb brushing his skin.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

Ekko followed, still shaking off sleep as they wove through the flickering glow of the Firelight base. The air smelled faintly of smoke and damp earth, a mix that had come to feel like home. But tonight, the silence stretched too thin. Scar moved with his usual unnerving quiet, half-beast, half-man, his silhouette sharp against the glow of passing lamps. 

The others joined in as they reached the outer tunnels—bodies moving like phantoms through the dark—until the group numbered five, maybe six. No one asked questions, though Ekko felt their unease in the glances they tossed his way. He'd learned to trust that instinct. 

The fissure's jagged mouth loomed ahead, splitting the underbelly of Zaun like a wound. Beyond it, the air grew colder, carrying the faint trickle of unseen water. This was where the base's sanctuary gave way to the maze of the underground sewer system—a labyrinth few outside the Firelights had ever seen, let alone survived. 

Scar led the way, slipping through a narrow gap and into the dark. Ekko followed, boots splashing through shallow puddles as they wound deeper into the tunnels. The maze was all wrong angles and shadows, turns folding in on themselves, each path a trick waiting to pull you under. But the Firelights knew it by heart. Ekko knew it by heart. 

Tonight, though, something sat wrong in the air. 

Scar finally slowed near one of the outer entrances—one that saw little traffic except for patrols. He raised a clawed hand to stop the group, his red eyes narrowing on something ahead. Ekko's gaze followed, and that's when he saw her.

The figure was small, curled into herself at the base of the damp stone wall. A hood obscured her face, shadow swallowing her features. She didn't stir as the Firelights approached, even with their footsteps stirring echoes across the tunnel. 

Ekko frowned, his voice low as he broke the silence. "What happened?" 

"Found her here," Scar muttered, keeping his voice just above a growl. "Morning patrol caught sight of her. Asleep." 

"Asleep?" one of the others repeated, incredulous. 

"She's bait." 

"Or worse—she's watching us."

The murmurs thickened, worry lacing every word. Ekko turned on them, his expression dark. "Quiet." 

The group fell silent. 

Ekko turned back toward her, narrowing his eyes. Something felt off. Who in their right mind slept at the edge of a fissure? At the mouth of the Firelights' most guarded secrets? No one stumbled into this place. No one found it. 

Still, she didn't move. 

Ekko stepped closer, his boots splashing through the wet. "Cover me," he muttered, though Scar was already watching like a predator at the edges of the light. 

Ekko crouched in front of her, his movements slow and deliberate. She was small—too thin, too fragile-looking for this city's cruelty. Yet something about the scene unsettled him. It wasn't right. Carefully, he reached forward and tugged back her hood. 

His breath caught. 

For a moment, all he could do was stare.

Her features sharpened in the low light—shadows dancing over skin too clean to be just another stray, too hardened to be innocent. Ekko's heart dropped, then twisted into something colder. He knew her. 

Not her name. Not her story. 

But her reputation.

She was Silco's ghost. No one knew how she came or went. No one knew anything about her. 

And now she was here. 

Ekko stood slowly, keeping his expression cold even as his mind reeled. What the hell was she doing here?

"Tie her up," he said, his voice sharper than he intended. 

Scar's head snapped toward him, ears twitching. "What?" 

Ekko didn't turn, his gaze fixed on the girl as though she might vanish if he looked away. "You heard me. Tie her up." 

The others shifted uneasily, their hesitations thick in the air like smoke. Scar's claws flexed, and for a moment, Ekko thought he might argue. But then Scar nodded once, low and tight, and the others began moving. 

Ekko didn't watch. His thoughts were already running too fast, spiraling into something he couldn't pin down. Silco never let his shadows wander. She was here for a reason. 

And whether she liked it or not, Ekko was going to find out why.

The girl shifted before they even touched her.

Ekko saw it first—the slight tensing of her shoulders, the way her fingers curled against the stone floor like claws finding their grip. "Careful," he warned sharply, but it was too late. Two Firelights moved in, hands reaching out, and that was all she needed.

She exploded.

The small, lithe figure that had looked so frail a moment ago snapped upward with a raw, desperate force. She spun into one of the Firelights like a whip of muscle and momentum, her elbow catching him hard in the side. He stumbled back with a grunt. The other grabbed at her, but she twisted low, her boot sweeping out and sending his legs skidding out from under him. It wasn't clean—it wasn't precise—but it was violent.

Ekko surged forward, instincts crackling like a livewire. He watched her fight, noted flashes of what made her infamous: movements that should've been quick and lethal, the kind of thing he'd expect from someone with a name whispered in dread.

But something was wrong.

She was slower than she should've been. Sluggish. Like her body couldn't quite keep up with her intentions. The sharp grace he expected was dulled, every strike just a bit off. Her breaths were shallow, movements heavy.

She wasn't well.

Why?

Ekko didn't let himself hesitate. He ducked a wild swing—sloppy, uncoordinated—and caught her wrist midair. Her head snapped toward him, and he felt the resistance in her bones, the fight that hadn't dimmed despite whatever was dragging her down. Her strength surprised him, the way she wrenched against his grip, teeth bared in defiance like a cornered animal. But Ekko didn't let go. He pivoted sharply, hooking her other arm as she struck at him, then pulled her close enough to knock her off-balance.

She hit the ground hard, and Scar was on her in an instant, pinning her down with practiced weight. Others followed, their hands quick and rough as they pulled her arms behind her back and bound them tight with coarse rope. She thrashed, twisting violently against their grip, a snarl catching in her throat.

Ekko watched, jaw tight, as Scar produced a cloth sack from his pack. Without a word, Scar yanked it over her head. The girl bucked against their hold, feet scrambling, but it was futile. The bag dropped her into muffled darkness.

"Move," Ekko ordered, turning on his heel.

She fought the entire way back.

Her shoulders slammed against hands that held her too tightly. Her body twisted, legs kicking out blindly. She couldn't see through the hood, but she refused to stop. Her ragged breaths and muffled snarls echoed through the winding sewer tunnels as they dragged her deeper into the maze, past pathways carved like veins through the earth.

Ekko led the way, sparing only glances over his shoulder.

She shouldn't have this much fight left in her—not in her condition. She was running on fumes. He could see it. But even now, she fought like the world would end if she stopped. It was almost impressive. Almost.

They reached the Firelight base—past the soft hum of lanterns in the fissure, past the enormous branches of their carved-out tree. Firelights turned to watch, murmurs buzzing like a low swarm, but Ekko ignored them.

"Bring her here," he instructed, stopping at one of the side rooms.

Inside, the air was cooler, quieter. The room was bare save for the tall wooden pole stretching from floor to ceiling, their purpose clear. Ekko pointed at one. "There. Bind her arms behind it."

The Firelights shoved her toward the pole. She staggered, her head snapping up beneath the sack as though she could sense where they were. Hands pushed her back against the rough wood, pulling her arms behind it and winding the ropes taut until her shoulders strained. She bucked against the pole once—twice—but there was no give.

Ekko exhaled slowly. The others lingered, waiting.

"Leave us," he said quietly.

Scar tilted his head, his claws flexing. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Ekko replied, voice firm. "I'll handle it."

Scar's hesitation was brief. He signaled to the others, and one by one, they filed out, their boots creaking against the wooden floor as the door swung shut. Silence filled the space, broken only by her muffled breaths—sharp and quick beneath the hood.

Ekko stood still for a moment, watching her. Silco's ghost. That's what she was supposed to be—ruthless, untouchable.

But this? This was a girl.

He stepped forward, boots soft against the wood as he closed the distance between them. He crouched down, arms resting on his knees, and reached out. His fingers found the edge of the sack, rough and grimy, and he pulled it away in one slow motion.

The bag dropped to the ground with a soft thud.

She blinked against the sudden light. Her face was sharp despite her exhaustion, dirt smudging her skin, eyes burning with something that looked a lot like hatred.

He met that stare, unflinching, though something twisted deep in his chest.

Ekko didn't speak right away. He let the silence linger, heavy and purposeful, watching her through narrowed eyes. She stared back—defiant, silent, chin tilted just slightly upward like a challenge. 

He didn't miss the tremor in her shoulders, the faint rise and fall of her chest as she tried to calm her breathing. Whatever had left her this ragged still weighed on her, but she refused to show it. 

Typical. 

Ekko shifted, rising to his feet. He took a slow step back, giving her space she couldn't escape anyway, then folded his arms across his chest. His voice, when he spoke, was calm, cutting through the quiet like a knife. 

"You're not as invisible as you think, you know." 

No response. Just the flare of her nostrils, the stubborn tension in her jaw. 

Ekko took another step, circling the pole like a shadow. "Silco's ghost," he mused, his words pointed. "That's what they call you. You disappear. Leave no trace. Even I wasn't sure you were real." He stopped just to her side, close enough that his presence felt heavier. "But here you are." 

Still nothing. 

His lips twitched into something between a frown and a smirk. "You've been busy in the Undercity. Little fires everywhere. But what I don't get," he crouched again, meeting her at eye level, "is what Silco's ghost is doing passed out at my front door." 

That got something out of her—just a flicker in her eyes, the way her lips pressed tighter together. He clocked it instantly. 

"You're running from something," he said. 

"I'm not running." Her voice was sharp, raspy from exhaustion, but clear enough to cut through the room. 

Ekko tilted his head. "Sure looks like it to me. You fought like hell to get out of here, but not like someone with a plan. You're not the same ghost I've heard whispers about." 

Her shoulders tensed against the bindings, her wrists twisting in futility against the ropes. She didn't respond. 

"So what happened?" Ekko pressed. "Silco get tired of you? Send you on a job you couldn't handle?" 

"Shut up," she bit out, her voice low, teeth clenched. 

Ekko didn't. He leaned in closer, just slightly. "You don't look like the loyal type, anyway. How long has it been, huh? Since you gave yourself to him—to his cause?" 

"I don't work for him or anyone," she snapped, but there was something underneath the venom—a crack, so faint he almost missed it. 

Ekko narrowed his eyes. There. He straightened up again, giving her space once more as he considered her words. "You don't, huh?" His tone stayed even, but curiosity crept in like a fine thread. 

"Don't act like you know me," she shot back. 

"I don't," he admitted, his tone softening just a little. "That's what I'm trying to fix." 

She let out a short, bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a scoff. "You want answers, Firelight?" she said through gritted teeth. "Then ask Silco." 

"Silco's not here. You are." 

The words hung there, sharp and unrelenting. Her gaze burned into him, anger crackling like sparks. But Ekko stayed patient, waiting. 

"What's your name?" 

Silence. 

Ekko huffed out a breath, pretending to sound disappointed. "It's just a name. I'd think someone like you would wear it proudly." 

Nothing. 

"You've got nothing to lose, right? Or is it that you've already lost everything?" 

Her head snapped up at that, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Ekko held her gaze, his words measured, as if testing his footing. 

"Do they even know who you are?" he asked quietly. "The people you fight for? The people you—what? Hurt for? Kill for?" 

Her breathing faltered, just a little. 

"Or are you just another piece on Silco's board? No name. No face. No choice." 

"Stop." 

Her voice was soft this time, but he heard the edge in it—the struggle, the line she was trying not to cross. It was the first time she didn't sound like she was spitting fire. 

Ekko watched her for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it wasn't. 

"You're stronger than that," he said, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "At least, I thought you were." 

Her eyes shot to him again, her glare still sharp, but Ekko caught the doubt that lingered in their depths. It was faint, buried deep behind her walls, but it was there. 

Good. 

He exhaled, stepping back once more, his footsteps soft against the wooden floor. "Fine," he muttered, though his words still held weight. "Keep your secrets. But you're not walking out of here until I get what I need." 

Her shoulders slumped just slightly as he turned away, but Ekko didn't miss the way her fingers flexed, her nails digging into her palms. 

She was fighting—him, herself, the chains she couldn't see. 

You shrugged, the ball rolling across your fingers like second nature. "Maybe I just like my privacy."

Her head snapped up at that, her wide blue eyes narrowing as she swung her legs off the stool and hopped down. "Privacy," she repeated, her tone dripping with mock disdain. She paced the room now, long braids swaying with her every exaggerated step. "That's such a boring answer. I mean, c'mon! You don't just disappear for no reason." She spun on her heel, pointing the screwdriver at you like it was a secret she was about to pry loose. "You've got a lair, don't you? Some kinda spooky hideout where you do... I dunno, mysterious ghost stuff. Or—" her eyes lit up, and she bounced on her heels, "you're building bombs! You totally are! Tell me I'm right."

You laughed under your breath, tossing the ball again. "Not everything's about blowing stuff up, Jinx."

"Uh, yeah, it is," she shot back, throwing her hands in the air. "Blowing stuff up is the best part of life! What else is there?" Her voice tilted into a manic laugh, high and sharp, but her gaze lingered on you, curious and unrelenting. "Seriously, though. Where do you go? It's weird, y'know. Like, one minute you're here, and the next—" she snapped her fingers—"gone. Even Silco doesn't know. And I hate not knowing stuff."

The ball slowed in your hands, the rhythm breaking as you caught it one last time. "Maybe I just don't want to be found," you said, your voice quieter now.

Her grin twitched, and for a moment, something darker flickered in her eyes. "Pffft. That's so lame," she said, but her tone didn't quite match the words. "What, you think you're, like, mysterious or something? Some shadowy figure creeping around Zaun?" She rolled her eyes, but the energy in her movements dimmed ever so slightly.

"Maybe," you replied, leaning back against the table. "Or maybe I just know how to disappear."

Jinx stopped pacing then, standing still in the center of the room. Her gaze locked on you, and the grin faded into something smaller, more thoughtful. Her voice, when it came, was quieter. "Yeah. I guess disappearing's a thing some people are good at."

Her words lingered, hanging in the charged air between you. For once, she didn't press, didn't demand answers you weren't willing to give. Instead, she flopped back onto her stool with a dramatic sigh, muttering to herself as her hands returned to her work.

And just like that, the moment passed, fading into the hum of her world. But you could feel the question still lingering, unspoken but understood. In her own way, she knew better than to push too far. She had her secrets, and you had yours.

The metal ball traced its usual arc, catching the flicker of light from the swinging bulbs overhead as you tossed it up and down. Jinx didn't seem to notice, too absorbed in the grenade shell she was painting with erratic swirls of pink and green. Her tongue peeked out between her teeth, and her eyes darted between the colors like she was weaving chaos into the metal itself. 

The two of you couldn't be more different, at least at first glance. She was a whirlwind—a volatile mix of genius and destruction. You, by contrast, prided yourself on your quiet efficiency, disappearing like smoke when the job was done. But over the years, you'd fallen into a rhythm, an unspoken understanding. Somehow, in the eye of the storm that was her world, you'd carved out a small space where you could exist alongside her, without pretense or walls. 

The workshop buzzed with chaos as Jinx darted back and forth, tweaking this and hammering that, her movements erratic yet strangely graceful. Her voice broke the silence, a sing-song lilt barely masking the venom in her words.

"Progress Day," she drawled, stretching the syllables like a bad joke. "Piltover's big, shiny celebration of how brilliant they all are. Patting themselves on the back for being oh-so-advanced while the rest of us rot in the dirt." She paused, leaning against her cluttered workbench, twirling a wrench idly. "But you know what's funny?" Her eyes gleamed with manic delight. "This year, their stupid party's gonna go boom. Right in their smug little faces."

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with intrigue. You'd come to expect Jinx's erratic nature and penchant for destruction, but this felt different—sharper, more purposeful. "Boom, huh?" you echoed, raising a brow. "You've got a plan, I take it?"

Jinx grinned, baring teeth. "Oh, I've got more than a plan. I've got a masterpiece." She slammed the wrench onto the table and leaned in close, eyes wide and wild. "But I need someone to help me pull it off. Someone with steady hands. Someone who knows how to slip in, get the job done, and slip out before anyone's the wiser." She tapped her chin, pretending to think. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone like that, would you?"

Your brow furrowed as the meaning behind her words sank in. "You're asking me to plant the bombs for you?"

"Bingo!" Jinx sang, spinning on her heel and throwing her arms wide. "You're way better at the sneaky stuff than me. I'm more of a smash-things-and-laugh kind of gal." She leaned in again, her eyes glinting. "But you? You're like a ghost. In and out, clean as a whistle. And once the party starts..." She clapped her hands together, her voice turning almost melodic. "I'll take care of the rest."

You hesitated, the weight of her request settling in. Breaking into Piltover's Progress Day preparations wasn't just risky—it was a declaration, a blatant middle finger to their so-called progress. But then again, wasn't that the point? Piltover's elites were insufferable in their self-righteousness, their smug belief that they were untouchable. The thought of shaking that foundation, of watching their perfect day fall apart, sent a thrill down your spine.

"What exactly are we talking about here?" you asked carefully. "Where do you want them?"

Jinx grinned and snatched up a set of blueprints from the table, spreading them out with a flourish. "The exhibit hall," she said, jabbing a finger at the layout. "They've got all their shiny new toys there, showing off for the crowds. You'll sneak in the night before and plant these babies—" she held up a handful of small, handmade explosives, each one painted in bright, mismatched colors, "—at key points. Nothing too flashy yet. Just enough to set the stage."

"And then you handle the grand finale?" you asked, eyeing the explosives with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"Exactly!" Jinx's grin widened, manic and unrestrained. "When Progress Day kicks off, I'll light the fuse, and boom! All their big dreams go up in smoke."

You ran a hand through your hair, mulling it over. It wasn't an easy decision. This wasn't just vandalism or petty theft—this was a direct attack, and there would be fallout. But then again, you weren't exactly a beacon of morality, and the thought of making Piltover's elites choke on their own arrogance was hard to resist. Finally, you nodded.

"Alright, I'll do it," you said. "But you owe me for this, Jinx."

She whooped, throwing her arms around you in an overly enthusiastic hug before pulling back just as quickly. "You won't regret it, ghosty! This is gonna be legendary!" She shoved the explosives into your hands with a grin. "Go work your magic, and leave the rest to me. The Pilties won't know what hit 'em."

**********

The night was as silent as a held breath, the kind that clung to your lungs and begged for release. You moved through the shadows of Piltover like a whisper, your hood drawn low over your face, its fabric casting a veil of darkness that swallowed everything above your nose. The city lights glimmered in the distance, golden and proud, illuminating the cobblestone streets in pools of artificial starlight. But you were a shadow, slipping between the cracks of their arrogance, unseen and unaccounted for.

Your fingers ghosted over the rows of pockets lining your black vest, each touch brushing against the familiar weight of destruction. Bombs, small and precise, built for chaos. Jinx had demanded an onslaught, and you had delivered, your hands steady even as your heart felt the faintest twinge of unease. Not from the act itself—no, destruction was something you had made peace with long ago—but from the suffocating apathy of this place.

The people of Piltover wouldn't notice their doom even as it danced in front of their eyes, you thought bitterly. So enraptured were they by their towering achievements, their inventions, their untouchable prosperity. They didn't feel the fire licking at their heels, and you would make them feel it. 

You moved with the precision of someone well-acquainted with the shadows, planting each device where Jinx had instructed. The base of a shimmering statue, the hollow belly of an ornate clock tower, the underside of a bridge lined with hextech-powered lights. Your hands worked deftly, the rhythmic clicks of latches and timers setting a grim melody for the night.

It was almost too easy. 

When you finished the last bomb, you straightened, your gloved hand brushing the smooth fabric of your hood as you pulled it further down. You turned to leave, slipping back into the veins of Piltover, your heart steady. But then, like ice running down your spine, you felt it—a presence, the faint scrape of armored boots against stone. You barely had time to react before an iron grip clamped down around your arm. 

A guard. 

You snapped your head toward him, your hood slipping slightly to reveal a glint of your eyes beneath the shadow. The man was massive, encased in polished steel that glimmered faintly in the pale light. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension as sharp as a blade. Then you struck. 

Your free hand shot up, twisting against his armored wrist. His grip faltered, and you pulled away, but he was faster than you'd expected, swinging his arm in a wide arc. You ducked, narrowly avoiding the strike, before throwing a sharp kick to the side of his knee. He stumbled, but not for long. 

The fight became a blur of motion. You darted and spun, your movements fueled by instinct and desperation. You weren't built for brute strength—this man was stronger, better equipped—but you were quick, and you used that to your advantage. A knife, small but wickedly sharp, slid into your palm from a sheath at your hip. You slashed at him, scoring shallow cuts in the gaps of his armor before slipping out of reach again.

It wasn't enough to stop him, but it slowed him, just barely. You could feel your energy waning, each move becoming heavier, but you refused to stop. With one final slash across his side, you broke away, leaving him cursing as you turned and ran. 

And you ran. 

His voice roared behind you, the clatter of his armor echoing as he gave chase. You sprinted through Piltover, weaving through its labyrinth of streets, your boots pounding against the stone. Lights flickered in windows above you, faint signs of life stirring as the commotion reached ears too curious for their own good.

Your lungs burned, each breath slicing through you like glass as you pushed yourself harder. The guard was relentless, his shouts carrying through the city like thunder, his footsteps closing in no matter how many sharp turns or narrow alleys you ducked into. 

When the streets gave way to the edge of Piltover, where the pristine city bled into the jagged chaos of the Fissures, you didn't hesitate. You leaped, your body plummeting into the fractured depths below, the uneven terrain threatening to trip you with every step. The guard slowed, his shouts fading into frustration as he realized he couldn't follow you here—not without risking his life. 

You didn't stop running until the city lights were nothing but a faint glow on the horizon, your legs trembling as you finally let yourself slow. You collapsed against a rock wall, the cold, jagged surface biting into your back as you ripped your hood off, gasping for air. 

The bombs were planted. The job was done. But your pulse still thundered, your body humming with adrenaline as you stared into the darkness of the Fissures. Piltover had felt your presence tonight, if only for a fleeting moment. Soon enough, they'd feel much more.

The night stretched on, and after a few long, shuddering breaths, you finally found some semblance of calm. Your heart, still beating too fast, gradually slowed its frantic rhythm, the adrenaline in your veins turning to an unsettling stillness.

But you couldn't rest long—not really. Your eyes, always searching, flickered to the horizon where the last fading embers of Piltover's golden glow struggled to hold their ground against the swallowing dark. The weight of the city, its stone and steel, still clung to you.

You had no home. Haven't had one for years. The thought came as a sharp, bitter slice through your chest, but it wasn't new. It wasn't something that surprised you anymore. There was nothing to anchor you here, nothing but memories of places you once stayed and left behind. The world didn't care about the lonely wanderer.

But there was another reason you never stayed in one place for too long, a reason you didn't dare acknowledge to anyone—not even yourself, not fully. The idea gnawed at you, growing more persistent with each passing day. If something were to go wrong—if you ever reached the point where you couldn't follow Silco's cause anymore, if his plan ceased to make sense or lost its value—he couldn't kill you. You could disappear, like you always did, and that would be the end of it.

You can't kill what you can't find.

That thought clung to you, a splinter deep in your skin, guiding every step you took. It was a survival instinct now, a means of protection you had learned long ago. You could never stay anywhere long enough for someone to track you, never give them the chance to draw a map of where you would be next.

So you wandered.

You didn't think about it, not really. Your feet carried you without purpose, the rough, uneven path beneath your boots nothing more than the familiar hum of survival. The air had a bite to it now, cool against the warmth of your skin, but you barely noticed.

Then, as if by some instinct, the land ahead shifted—uneven, jagged—something out of place in the open expanse of the Fissures. You squinted, noticing the subtle dip in the terrain, the faint outline of something that felt like shelter, a break in the cold, open void.

A sewage system.

You approached it without thought, the shadows creeping inside like an invitation. It was a wide opening, a little dark and cold, but it was enough—enough to be alone, enough to hide, enough to rest. You didn't hesitate, not this time.

Slipping inside, you pressed your back against the cool, rough stone. The pipe was large, stretching far past your eyes reach, but in that moment, it was everything you needed. There was no one here to see you, no one here to ask you questions, no one here to keep track of where you were going.

For the first time in a long while, you felt the weight of the world slip from your shoulders, even if just for a moment.

Your breath slowed, and you pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them, as if the world outside couldn't reach you, couldn't touch you here. The bombs you carried, the plans you followed, the life you lived all felt distant, faded in the quiet dark.

Tomorrow, you would rise again. Tomorrow, you would keep moving. But for tonight, this small, hidden place was enough. It was all you had—because in the end, it was the only thing that kept you alive.

He glanced up, his dark eyes catching on the figure across the room. Jinx, deep in thought, looked like she was concocting something in that chaotic brain of hers. Ekko smiled faintly and shook his head before going back to his sketch. But a few seconds later, his pencil stopped mid-stroke.

“Hey, Powder,” he called, the name slipping out naturally, teasingly.

Jinx’s head shot up, a smirk already forming on her lips. “Don’t call me that, stopwatch,” she fired back, her voice carrying easily through the quiet room.

Ekko chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “What are you working on over there? Another masterpiece?”

Jinx held up her sketchpad, turning it around dramatically. It was an explosion of colors and swirling lines—figures and objects barely distinguishable from one another. Somewhere in the chaos, he could make out the faint outline of a figure mid-leap, surrounded by jagged bursts of energy.

“Wow,” he said, leaning forward with mock-seriousness. “I think that might be your best yet. Totally screams ‘I didn’t do the homework.’”

Jinx laughed, loud and unapologetic. She dropped the sketchpad onto the table and leaned her chin in her hand, her blue eyes sparkling. “What about you, huh? Still drawing buildings like you’re auditioning for some boring architecture firm?”

Ekko spun his sketchbook around to show her. The cityscape was breathtaking, with towering buildings and intricate shadows cast by streetlights. But in the corner of the page, there was something new—a tiny figure sitting on a rooftop, her hair whipping wildly in the wind. The detail was unmistakable.

Jinx blinked. “Is that…?”

“Yup,” Ekko said, grinning.

“Me?” she asked, leaning forward as if to get a closer look. Her voice was softer now, her usual sharpness replaced by something almost shy.

“Who else would it be?” Ekko shrugged, trying to sound casual. But the slight flush on his cheeks gave him away. “You’re always on my mind anyway. Figured I’d sneak you into my city.”

Jinx stared at him, her usual snark momentarily failing her. Instead, she tilted her head and let a genuine smile tug at her lips. “You’re such a sap, stopwatch.”

“And you love it,” Ekko shot back, closing his sketchbook and standing up.

He walked over to her, pulling a chair next to hers without asking. Jinx didn’t protest; instead, she scooted over slightly to give him room. He leaned his elbows on the table and looked at her sketchbook again.

“You know, it’s messy, but it’s got heart,” he said, tapping the page lightly. “Just like you.”

Jinx rolled her eyes, but her cheeks turned pink. “If I didn’t like you so much, I’d punch you for that.”

“You can punch me anyway,” Ekko said with a laugh, nudging her shoulder.

They sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, their sketchbooks forgotten. The golden hour light bathed them in warmth, and the hum of the fan became a soothing background melody.

“Hey,” Jinx said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah?” Ekko turned to her, curious.

“You ever think about how weird this is?” she asked, gesturing between them. “Like, you’re all… grounded and smart and stuff. And I’m—”

“Brilliant and unstoppable?” Ekko interrupted.

Jinx froze, then laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re incredible,” he said, his voice softer this time.

For a second, the air between them changed. Jinx’s usual bravado faltered, and Ekko’s confident grin softened into something more earnest. He reached out, hesitating for only a moment before brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“You’re really something, Jinx,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

For once, she didn’t have a sarcastic reply. Instead, she leaned forward, her forehead pressing lightly against his.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she murmured before closing the gap between them.

The kiss was gentle but electric, like a spark igniting something long overdue. It was messy, like Jinx’s sketches, and deliberate, like Ekko’s cityscapes. Perfectly them.

When they pulled back, Jinx was grinning, and Ekko couldn’t help but laugh.

“Guess that means you’re stuck with me now,” she said, her tone teasing but her eyes soft.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ekko replied, resting his forehead against hers.

And wasn't that what they said about Silco? The savior. The visionary. You'd heard it on a thousand lips, seen it etched into the stubborn resilience of the people who still dared to fight. They whispered his name like a prayer in the dark: He will lead us to freedom. He will make Zaun whole.

But as your eyes passed over the addicted and the abandoned, over the dirt-encrusted faces and trembling hands clutching at broken dreams, you felt the weight of those whispers like chains around your chest. Your hand brushed against the dagger at your thigh, its presence cold, sharp, unyielding. For a moment, it felt impossibly heavy—as if all the guilt you refused to face had been poured into its steel.

You pushed the thought aside, swallowing the bitter taste rising in your throat. Survival in Zaun had no room for morality, and neither did you.

Your steps carried you to the heart of Pleasure Alley, where the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and the electric hum of debauchery. The nightclub loomed ahead, its garish lights spilling across the cobblestones like spilled paint, illuminating the throngs of people clamoring to escape their own lives. The moment you stepped inside, the sound hit you like a crashing wave—music that pulsed like a living thing, voices raised in drunken revelry, the chaotic din of a hundred lives spiraling out of control.

The lights inside were dizzying, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of reds, blues, and greens that seemed to blur the edges of the world. Bodies swayed and stumbled, pressed together in a mass of unthinking hedonism. You slipped through them like smoke, unnoticed, untouched, a blade in the dark no one thought to fear.

The weight of your mission settled over you like a second skin, as familiar as it was unwelcome. Your hand brushed against the handle of your dagger again, the steel as cool and unfeeling as the resolve you tried to summon. This was the way of Zaun, wasn't it? Change demanded action, and action often demanded blood. Someone had to bear the weight of that truth.

And tonight, that someone was you.

Your eyes found him in an instant, the broad curve of his back like a beacon in the dim haze of the nightclub. He stood hunched over the bar, his thick hand slamming down on the counter as his laughter erupted—a grating, guttural sound that carved through the music like a dull knife. He was a mountain of a man, all brute strength and little finesse. His wide shoulders rippled under a coat that looked too small, seams stretched to their limit as if they too feared his volatile temper. 

You didn't flinch when his hand curled around a glass, lifting it to his mouth in a swift, greedy motion that sent amber liquid spilling over the rim. He slammed it down just as quickly, barking an order for another. His posture, his voice, his very presence radiated carelessness—he lived as though nothing could touch him. Not the noise. Not the people. Not the shadow lingering at the edge of the room. 

Your fingers twitched at your side, brushing against the hilt of your dagger, its familiar weight anchoring you. For a moment, you wondered if he even realized how vulnerable he was, standing there with his back to the room. But no, men like him never did. Confidence, bred from strength, was always their undoing. 

You slipped through the crowd like water, unnoticed and unbothered. The bodies around you swayed and pressed, their laughter rising and falling in drunken waves, but they parted just enough to let you pass. Your eyes never left him. From the way he guzzled down his second drink, to the fat hand he dragged through greasy hair, to the crooked teeth he flashed in a smile so sickening it twisted your stomach. 

A weak link. That's what he was. A crack in Silco's endless chain of allies and pawns, a tool too dull to carve out anything but chaos. His usefulness began and ended with the bulk of his frame—a wall of flesh to shield others from the consequences of their schemes. It made you wonder if even Silco knew how little the man was worth. 

When he stood, his massive form swaying slightly as he adjusted his coat, you knew the game had shifted. He tossed a few coins on the bar, gave the bartender a grin that lingered too long, and started toward the door. You watched, unmoving, as he shoved his way through the throng of people with the grace of a charging bull. 

You waited. Counted each step he took until the crowd swallowed him. Then, as if on instinct, you followed. 

The night greeted you again as you slipped out of the club, the garish neon lights fading into the smog. He walked ahead, his heavy boots striking the pavement in a steady rhythm, unaware of the shadow trailing just behind. The streets were busier here—clusters of people arguing, laughing, bartering—but you kept your distance, your movements veiled in the chaos of Zaun's nocturnal life. 

He turned a corner, then another, the crowds thinning with each step. You kept pace, always a few strides behind, your hood casting your face into obscurity. The noise of the city fell away as the streets grew emptier, the glow of distant lights fading into darkness. 

And when he finally stopped, so did you. 

The cobblestone alley was cloaked in shadow, moonlight slicing through cracks between towering buildings. The distant hum of the city was a faint whisper here, a reminder of a world that still spun despite the lives left broken in its wake. You let your boots scuff against the ground, a quiet declaration of intent, the only sound besides the occasional drip of water from rusted pipes.

Ahead of you, the burly man paused, his gait stiffening. His broad back remained turned for a heartbeat longer before he spun around, the moonlight catching the faint scars crisscrossing his grizzled face. He squinted, a rough laugh bubbling up from a place of disdainful recognition.

"Well, well," he drawled, the grin that split his face both amused and bitter. "Look what the Undercity dragged back in. Y/N L/N, Silco's ghost. Thought you vanished, or did he send you crawling after me?"

You lifted your hood back, revealing eyes that had seen too much, features that still held a defiant grace. The sight of you made his grin twist into something darker.

"Come on, then," he sneered. "What dirty work are you here for now? He always did like sending you to clean up his messes."

Your gaze was unwavering, an answer in itself. "I'm here for you."

His laughter was cut short, replaced by a snarl as he lunged forward, fists clenched like anvils. You sidestepped his charge, your movements fluid, a honed instinct from battles fought in alleys just like this one. His first swing shattered the air beside you, his second met resistance as you blocked it with an arm.

You struck back, your fist a blur that connected with the side of his jaw, sending a crack through the stillness. He staggered, fury in his eyes, a battle-tested behemoth refusing to yield. But you were not just a relic of the past; you were whole, sharpened by years of surviving the very shadows he underestimated.

As he lunged again, you summoned every lesson carved into bone and muscle. A sweep of your leg unbalanced him, and you followed with a fierce strike to his ribs, the impact reverberating through your knuckles. He roared, swinging wildly, but you danced just out of reach, every movement a practiced choreography of precision and power.

Breathing heavy, he stumbled back, glaring with disbelief. You pressed forward, eyes burning with determination as you whispered, "This isn't Silco's fight. This is mine."

His eyes flickered with something primal—fear. It was faint, but it was there. You didn't let him recover. Another blow slammed into his ribs, forcing him to his knees with a guttural groan. His breath came ragged, but you didn't stop. The fury of years spent clawing your way out of the darkness burned in your veins.

Your hand shot out, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you. His bloodied expression twisted into a sneer even as his strength ebbed away. "You think this changes anything?" he spat, blood flecking his lips. "Zaun... always takes back its own."

You tilted your head, the weight of your grip tightening as the cold clarity of purpose filled you. "Let it take you, then."

With one fluid motion, your weapon found its mark. The blade you drove into his throat was unyielding, a precise and final punctuation to the story you both shared. His body seized, his eyes widening in shock as blood gushed from the wound, hot and thick against your skin. For a moment, he choked on his own defiance, the last remnants of his strength fading like smoke.

You let him fall, his body crumpling to the damp stone, lifeless and still. The alley fell into silence once more, broken only by the quiet drip of blood pooling beneath him. You stood there for a moment, your breath steady, your gaze fixed on the husk of a man who had dared to question your resolve.

"No cracks," you murmured to the shadows, pulling your hood back up. Whole. You were whole now.

And in that wholeness, you turned, vanishing into the darkness, leaving nothing but silence and a body behind.

**********

The Last Drop was alive with chaos, as always—a hub of violence, vice, and the simmering anger of the Undercity, made tangible in the acrid haze of smoke and the pounding thrum of music that spilled into the air like poison. You slipped inside unnoticed, your hood pulled low over your face, hiding the sharp glint of your eyes from the drunken crowd. The air reeked of sweat, cheap liquor, and the metallic tang of oil, a cocktail you could never quite get used to, no matter how many times you stepped foot in this den of misery. 

The patrons were the same: roughened men and women hunched over tables, sharp whispers carrying plots, grievances, and unfulfilled dreams. A fight broke out near the bar, glass shattering as laughter and jeers egged them on. You didn't flinch—didn't stop. You kept moving, boots thudding against the grated metal floor as you made your way to the back, up the winding stairs that spiraled toward power. 

Silco's office loomed above the chaos like a throne over a battlefield. The door creaked open as you entered, the noise from below fading to a distant hum. He was seated at his desk, shadows pooling around his angular features. A single lamp illuminated the space, its light casting sharp edges on his scarred face. The air was thick with the bitter tang of smoke, curling lazily from the cigar resting between his fingers. 

"You're late," he said, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the stillness of the room. 

You pulled back your hood slightly, just enough to let him see your face, but not enough to feel exposed. "It's done," you said evenly, your voice carrying the weight of exhaustion and resolve. You placed a small token on his desk—a bloodied ring, the only proof Silco would ever need. "He won't be a problem anymore." 

Silco leaned forward, his fingers brushing the ring as he studied you with those unnerving mismatched eyes. There was something about his gaze that always made you feel like he was stripping you bare, searching for lies you didn't speak. "Efficient," he murmured, though his tone carried an edge of skepticism. It always did. 

You shifted on your feet, glancing around the room to avoid the weight of his gaze. The conflicted knot in your chest tightened as you looked at him. Silco embodied everything the Undercity claimed to be—a vision of strength, control, rebellion—but also everything you hated. You wanted to believe in his cause, in his dream of a stronger, unified Zaun, but everywhere you looked, you saw bloodshed and despair. Was he truly the leader the Undercity needed, or was he just another tyrant masquerading as a savior? 

"Anything else?" you asked, forcing your voice to stay steady. 

Silco leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. "I didn't tell you to bring me this," he said, tapping the ring once, the metallic sound echoing in the silence. "But you brought it anyway. Why?" 

You met his gaze, refusing to look away despite the unease that gnawed at you. "Because you never tell me anything," you said flatly. "But I'm not stupid." 

His lips curled into a small, mirthless smile. "No, you're not," he admitted, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "That's what makes you useful. And dangerous." 

The words hung between you, heavy with implication. Silco had never trusted you fully, and you couldn't blame him. You were an enigma, walking a line too thin to define. You followed his orders, but your loyalty didn't belong to him—or anyone. 

"If you don't trust me, why keep me around?" you challenged, the frustration slipping into your voice despite yourself. 

"Because trust is a luxury I can't afford," Silco said simply, his gaze never leaving yours. "And you haven't given me a reason to get rid of you yet." 

You didn't flinch at his words, but they settled into your chest like stones. "Is that all?" 

"For now," he said, gesturing toward the door. "But remember, Zaun doesn't need heroes. It needs results." 

You nodded once, the tension in the room suffocating as you turned to leave. As you descended the stairs, the din of the Last Drop grew louder again, pulling you back into its chaos. Silco's words lingered, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. You hated him for what he was, but part of you feared that without him, Zaun would crumble further into ruin. 

Claggor chuckled from his spot by the snack table. “Maybe let’s just keep the explosions for midnight, yeah?” He popped a cheese puff in his mouth and gestured to Vi. “You done fighting with that streamer yet?”

Vi scowled at the roll of silver tinsel she was untangling like it had personally wronged her. “Whoever thought these were a good idea hates fun,” she grumbled, shaking the knotted mess in the air.

“You’re just bad at it,” Mylo chimed in, leaning lazily against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Say that again, and I’ll use you as the streamer,” Vi shot back, tossing the ball of tinsel directly at his face.

The group erupted into laughter as Mylo sputtered, half-laughing, half-complaining about his unfair treatment. Caitlyn shook her head fondly, hopping down from the stool and dusting off her hands.

“This is going to be the best New Year’s ever,” Caitlyn declared. “Trust me.”

Ekko grinned, pulling out a record to slide onto the turntable in the corner. “Not if we don’t have music.”

A crackle of static gave way to the soulful hum of a jazz tune, and suddenly the room felt warmer.

Game Time:

As the evening wore on, the group settled into a whirlwind of games, snacks, and good-natured chaos.

“Truth or dare,” Jinx announced, practically bouncing in place. She plopped onto the floor with a bottle in hand, spinning it so hard it wobbled. The neck of the bottle landed on Caitlyn.

“Truth,” Caitlyn said immediately, crossing her arms with a small, confident smirk.

“Boring!” Jinx groaned, flopping backward. “Fine, um… Who do you like?”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but blushed slightly. “I like—”

Vi cleared her throat obnoxiously. “We aren’t five, Powder.”

Jinx stuck her tongue out at Vi but let it slide. “Fine, next!” She spun the bottle again, and this time, it pointed to Claggor.

“Dare,” Claggor said with a shrug.

Jinx grinned wickedly. “I dare you to eat an entire spoonful of the mystery dip.”

Claggor hesitated, glancing toward the bowl on the table. Its contents were greenish-brown and entirely unidentifiable. “That’s... not edible,” he said cautiously.

“That’s the point!” Jinx cackled.

With a dramatic sigh, Claggor grabbed a spoon, scooped up the gunk, and downed it in one swift motion. His face scrunched up immediately. “This tastes like paint and sadness.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Ekko clapped Claggor on the back. “You’re a hero, man. A true hero.”

The Countdown Begins:

As midnight approached, they migrated to the rooftop of the clock tower, bundling up in scarves and coats. The city stretched out below them, a sea of lights and life.

Jinx leaned against the railing, her eyes sparkling like the stars above. “Y’know, for a bunch of nerds, you guys aren’t the worst.”

“You’re getting sappy on us, Powder,” Vi teased, nudging her with an elbow.

“I can still blow something up if it makes you feel better.”

“I’ll pass.”

Ekko pulled out a small device and pressed a button. A string of lights along the rooftop flickered to life, spelling out “2025” in colorful bulbs.

“Nice touch,” Caitlyn said, giving Ekko an approving nod.

“Thanks. Took me all week.”

As the clock tower chimed the first note of midnight, they all started counting down together, voices loud and full of excitement.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

“Wait!” Jinx shouted, holding up a handful of sparklers she had clearly smuggled upstairs. “Everyone grab one!”

Amid the chaos, they all managed to light their sparklers just as the countdown hit three.

“Three… two… one—Happy New Year!”

The night sky exploded in a symphony of color as fireworks erupted over Piltover. They waved their sparklers and whooped into the air, the sound of their laughter carrying over the rooftops.

Claggor lifted a soda bottle in a mock toast. “Here’s to surviving another year.”

“And making next year even better,” Ekko added, clinking his soda against Claggor’s.

“To no more mystery dips,” Mylo said, earning a round of snickers.

Vi grinned, wrapping an arm around Jinx. “And to not blowing up our hideout.”

Jinx rolled her eyes but leaned into her sister’s side. “No promises.”

Caitlyn, standing slightly apart, smiled softly as she watched the group. Despite the chaos and the teasing, there was no denying the warmth that tied them all together.