I'm an excellent shot.

There’d been a burglary within a workshop belonging to the Kiramman’s, inside a multitude of restricted items. Illegal equipment belonging to their sponsor that resulted in a large explosion. The Kiramman’s daughter, Caitlyn, had been just outside the door when it occurred. The explosion left her in critical condition, and she later succumbed to her injuries while in the hospital. Vander’s daughter, Violet, was amongst the children who’d broken into the workshop. The blow had killed her on impact, and she was found deceased on sight.

While the divide between the two cities was mended as a result, it came at the cost of two young girls. A Piltovan, and a Zaunite. There were losses on both ends.

Caitlyn’s funeral was attended by most, if not all of the citizens of Piltover. Grayson and her subordinates had been the ones to carry her small casket. Seeing the bright, curious, strong-willed girl she once mentored be laid to rest on a bed of violets… She always believed Caitlyn would become a force to be reckoned with once she grew up. Had she grown up, as she ought to have.

The Kiramman family were understandably distraught, having lost their only child. Tobias was inconsolable throughout the entire service, unable to bring himself to view his daughter’s casket. Cassandra on the other hand maintained her composure remarkably well, though Grayson knew her friend well enough to notice that she was just barely holding herself together. Since then, Cassandra’s taken a leave of absence from her councillor duties after both Tobias and Grayson had urged her to do so. For the sake of her own wellbeing…

Grayson hadn’t heard whether or not a funeral, or even a memorial was held for Violet. She’d learned a while back that most Zaunites weren’t as fortunate to hold services, or even perform proper burials for their deceased. The dead were either thrown into the rivers, disposed of in charnel pits, collected to be experimented on, or left right where they lay.

Though, she was present when Violet was collected. A veiled woman in black had arrived shortly after Vander, pulling a steel handcart along with her, with padding on the insides. Once Violet had been placed inside, she’d drawn its folded hood, and presumably transported her all the way back to the undercity.

So perhaps she was wrong. Times have changed, after all.

Regardless, Grayson had yet to properly pay her respects, hence why she made the journey down to The Last Drop, entirely on foot. She only ever did so when she traveled alone, not wanting to trouble her subordinates with trying to keep up with her. While she was no longer as young or spry as she used to be, Grayson still took a bit of pride in the fact that she still possessed the memory, and skill to use Zaun’s run-down infrastructure to her advantage. Though, it was certainly going to leave her joints aching the next morning…

The bright yellow glow of The Last Drop’s neon sign was a warm, more welcoming compared to the rest of the undercity’s lighting, which consisted mostly of cool greens, blues, and the occasional purple. Upon her entry, most of the patrons within the bar stilled, their heads turning her way. They eyed her with that familiar silent animosity she knew all too well, due to the fact that she was still clad in her uniform. The tension eased somewhat when Vander raised a hand behind the bar, gathering their attention.

“Easy,” came the gruff reassurance. “This one’s a friend of mine.”

Grayson detached her gas mask, and removed her helmet once she approached, placing them atop of the counter he stood behind. “Vander,” she greeted him with a polite nod, her voice low and raspy.

“Grayson.” Vander nodded in turn, retrieving a cup for her from one of the lower shelves. “What brings you down to these parts? I doubt it’s for the alcohol,” he remarked in mild jest, large hands grabbing a bottle of whiskey. “Or are the drinks topside just not hitting the same?”

“Our drinks are just fine,” Grayson chuckled lightheartedly while shaking her head, leaning against the counter. She watched as he began to fill her cup. “No, I came to offer my condolences.” Once the words left her lips, Vander faltered mid-pour. “I meant to come sooner,” she carefully apologized, her tone laced with remorse.

Vander shook his head before she could continue, setting the bottle down. “There’s no need for that, Grayson,” was his earnest reply, sliding her cup over towards her. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”

Grayson offered a gentle smile. “Yes, I am.” She glanced down towards her reflection against her whiskey’s surface. “How have you been holding up?”

“About as well as you’d expect,” Vander grunted, his focus shifting towards his outer hand, where the name ‘VI’ was freshly tattooed beneath his thumb and index finger. A flicker of melancholy flashed within his downcast eyes. “Not a day goes by where I don’t think about her.”

“I can only imagine,” Grayson empathized. While she herself had no children of her own, Caitlyn’s passing had weighed heavily on her conscience, and even then she was just a family friend.

“Been putting on a brave face for the kids’ sake,” Vander went on to say, picking up an empty glass another patron had left behind. “To be honest with you, if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“That’s understandable. And the rest of your children?” Grayson brought her cup to her lips, taking an idle sip. “How are they?”

“They’re not taking it well.” He solemnly shook his head as he turned around, washing the dirty glass in the sink. “They were there when it happened, as you know. Really messed them up. Especially my youngest.”

Grayson tilted her head. “The little girl with the blue hair?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Powder. She and Violet were close. They were sisters. Lost their parents six years back, good friends of mine. I took them in afterwards.”

“That’s terrible. I’m truly sorry for all that you’ve been through, Vander. You, and your family,” Grayson repeated her earlier sentiments. “If there’s anything that I can do for you all during this time, you know where to find me.”

“That I do,” Vander let out a weary chuckle, using a rag to dry off the now clean cup, before setting it aside. He offered a solemn smile.“Thank you, Grayson. I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

Grayson nodded gently in turn, her expression one of sympathy as she took another sip at her whiskey. Behind her, she could hear the entrance door swing open, then shut. Instinctively, she turned her head in order to catch a glimpse at whoever had entered.

Her fingers momentarily lost their grip around her cup, nearly dropping it onto the floor.

There stood a woman her age, shaking off the rain droplets that clung to her black umbrella. Her pale skin had grown slightly tanner, sleek hair once ash-blonde, now turned white with age. Lines and creases had graced her now sharper features. She appeared much thinner than before. Almost gaunt looking. Yet, she carried herself with a natural sort of dignity, and grace.

Her attire contrasted against her complexion, clad in black, and dark greys. She wore a leather blazer with angular shoulder-pads, her high-collar long and pointed. Relatively formfitting. A pair of gloves concealed her long, nimble fingers. Her skirt nearly reached the ground, flaring out into layers below her knees, long boots worn just underneath. And Grayson couldn’t help but notice the black choker buckled firmly around her slender throat.

For a moment, all she could do was stare in stunned silence, grey eyes widened, mouth slightly agape, her body frozen in place. Countless thoughts raced through her head, cluttering her mind as she watched those indomitable eyes idly scan her surroundings, before finally landing on her own.

“Theo,” her lips silently mouthed. An old habit she thought she’d broken over the last three decades since she’d last seen her. It couldn’t be helped. Old habits die hard, as the saying went…

Apparently, the saying also applied to Theodosia. In an instant her eyes had turned cold, and sharp, her body growing stiff, and rigid. That withering glare was always directed towards those she held a deep loathing for, and Grayson couldn’t even begin to count the number of times she’d pleaded for her to at least try and be more subtle.

The very look that was once cast towards just about anybody else, was now directed at her, and her alone. If looks could kill, Grayson was certain she’d be buried six feet under. Maybe even deeper. She wouldn’t put it past her. Theodosia had always been headstrong in that way. Still, a sting of pain shot through her chest.

Before the other woman could promptly turn on her heel and stride back out into the rain, Vander had caught sight of her, and decided to call her name.

“Theodosia.” He raised a hand, causing Theodosia to halt. Her amber eyes flickered towards him, expression schooling into its previous stoicism. “You came at the perfect time.” The imperceptible tightening of her expression suggested otherwise. “I just got that bottle you asked for.”

Theodosia regarded him wordlessly, before choosing to approach the counter, not sparing Grayson so much as a glance as she did so. Vander took a moment to rummage through his cabinets, and retrieved a bottle of brandy. Of course she’d asked for one of the strongest bottles they had. Theodosia accepted it with a low, gracious bow of her head, her eyes fluttering shut, before returning his gaze. When she placed nearly a handful of silver cogs onto the counter, Vander earnestly shook his head, and slid them back towards her.

“It’s on me,” came his low reassurance, something akin to appreciation in both his expression and tone. “Besides, that’s more than I would’ve asked you for.”

Theodosia stared at him in unspoken silence, only to incline her head, and pointedly slide the cogs back in his direction. Before Vander could even begin to form a protest, Theodosia had chosen to take her leave, striding out of the Last Drop without uttering a single word throughout her brief stay.

To say Grayson was left speechless would be an understatement. She blinked once, then twice, then turned on her stool to watch Vander collect her payment. He shook his head in fond exasperation.

“Was never much of a talker, that one,” he acknowledged with a deep chuckle, pocketing the cogs in his apron. “She tips well, though.”

“Is she a regular here?” The question left her mouth before she could even think to refrain from asking, eyes glancing in the direction Theodosia had just left.

“She drops by occasionally. Though, she only ever does so when one of my patrons up and drops dead,” came his wry response. Grayson cast a look of mild alarm his way. “Theodosia handles the undercity’s dead,” Vander went on to explain. “Plenty of them down here.”

Grayson stilled as his words registered in her mind, connecting the pieces on her own. She handled the undercity’s deceased. So Theodosia was Zaun’s undertaker of sorts, hence her funeral-esque attire. She recalled the look of gratitude in Vander’s eyes during their exchange, how the bottle he’d given her was meant to be a silent gesture of sorts. A show of thanks.

It had been her who retrieved Violet’s body that day.

It came as a shock to Grayson, having firmly believed that Theodosia would rather die than ever step foot in Piltover again. That must have been the first time she’d gone up there since their last encounter. At the same time, Grayson wasn’t surprised by the prospect in the slightest. When it came to Zaun, to its citizens, her fellow Zaunites, Theodosia had always come to their aid, even if it inconvenienced her, or put her life at risk.

“Don’t take it to heart, the way she looked at you.” Vander’s voice had snapped her out of her thoughts, having followed her gaze towards the door. “You know there are people down here who still keep their guards up whenever they see an enforcer down here. No less the Sheriff.”

Had it been anybody else, Grayson might have been reassured by Vander’s gentle reasoning. Even though Piltover and Zaun had made amends, it didn’t erase the years of mistreatment, corruption, unnecessary violence, unjust imprisonments, and deaths the citizens of Zaun had been subjected to. At the hands of her department, no less. Grayson couldn’t fault any of them for remaining distrustful of the uniform she wore.

But when it came to Theodosia? With the history they shared? Everything behind that cold, icy glare of hers was personal. She made it known the second the two of them locked eyes again, over three decades later. The weight of her suffocating silence conveyed just about everything Grayson needed to know about where she stood in Theodosia’s life.

Nowhere at all.

“… Don’t tell me you’re interested.” Vander raised a curious brow at Grayson’s heavy silence and wistful gaze, causing the Sheriff to choke on her drink mid-sip.