Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Last Drop in daylight was a place stripped of its power. Without the cloak of darkness, the cracks in its walls and the stains on its floors were laid bare by the unrelenting light streaming through dusty windows. The bar, usually alive with raucous laughter, the clinking of bottles, and the chaotic hum of patrons, felt muted and hollow in its emptiness. Every scratch on the wood, every scuff on the floor, was exposed in the harsh daylight, as if the bar itself were naked and open.

Vi stood behind the counter, her movements precise and practiced as she wiped glasses. Her milky light blue eyes, unseeing, stared ahead, their gaze unfocused yet purposeful. Her hands moved with the kind of efficiency that came from years of repetition, but it hadn’t always been that way. She didn’t need to see the bar to know it like the back of her hand, but that knowledge had been hard-won, carved out of frustration, pain, and sheer stubbornness. Every inch of the bar was etched into her memory not by sight, but through countless nights of mishaps, missteps, and sharp-edged determination.

She could trace the bar’s layout in her mind, a mental map built from touch and sound. The groan of a loose floorboard by the door, the sharp corner of the counter that had more then once bruised her hip until she’d learned to step wide, and the uneven legs of the third stool from the left; all of it was familiar now. But getting to this point hadn’t been easy. The early days after the accident had been a constant struggle, her once-fluid movements reduced to awkward stumbles and second-guesses. She’d knocked over chairs, shattered bottles, and cursed herself for being too proud to ask for help. Every mistake felt like a blow to her pride, a reminder of how much she’d lost.

Vander had watched her struggle through the years, his quiet presence both a comfort and a source of irritation. He’d offered to help more times than she could count, but Vi had waved him off, determined to figure it out herself. She’d spent long, silent hours in the empty bar, her fingers brushing over surfaces, her ears straining for every sound that could guide her. She’d learned to listen, to the faint hum of the broken neon sign above the door, the soft clink of bottles shifting in their racks, and the way sound echoed differently near the walls. Each discovery was a small victory, a step toward reclaiming control over her surroundings.

Even now, twelve years after the incident, the effort of maintaining that mental map was exhausting. A single misplaced stool or a forgotten rag left on the counter could throw her off, sending her back to the days when every step felt like a risk. But she refused to let it show. Her movements were smooth and confident, a deliberate act of defiance against the challenges she faced. To anyone watching, she looked perfectly at ease, every bit the capable woman she grew to become. But beneath the surface, every motion was a calculation, every step a reminder of how much she’d had to adapt.

In the silence of the daylight hours, the bar felt almost like a companion, its imperfections and quirks as familiar to her as her own scars. The Last Drop wasn’t just a place where she worked or even lived, it was a testament to her resilience, a space she’d mastered on her own terms. And in that mastery, there was a kind of pride, even if she’d never admit it out loud.

“She’s late,” Vi muttered, setting down a glass with more force than necessary. The sharp clink against the counter echoed in the stillness of the empty bar, a sound that matched her growing irritation.

“She’ll show,” came Vander’s gravelly voice. He leaned against the far side of the counter, his massive arms crossed over his chest. His looming presence was a constant in her life, as solid and unshakable as the bar itself. It wasn’t just protection he offered—it was a silent reassurance, a reminder that someone always had her back, even when she refused to admit she needed it.

“She’s always late,” Vi replied, her tone dry but edged with tension. “One of these days, I’m locking her out.”

Vander chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest like distant thunder. “You wouldn’t do that, and we both know it.”

Vi didn’t answer right away. Her fingers traced the edge of the counter, the familiar grooves worn into the wood grounding her. She didn’t need to say it Vander already knew. Powder might have been late, but it wasn’t the waiting that made Vi’s nerves bristle. It was what came next.

Leaving the bar.

Vi hardly left the Last Drop these days, and when she did, it was never without reluctance. The bar was her fortress, its familiar cracks and creaks a shield against the vastness of the world outside. She’d carved out a life here, as limited as it might be, and the thought of stepping beyond its walls always left her uneasy. She had adapted to the bar, to its predictable noises and solid familiarity, but Piltover? Topside was unpredictable. Dangerous.

The last time she’d gone up to Piltover, she’d lost everything. Her sight, her confidence, her sense of control, all stolen from her in an instant. She could still hear the echo of the explosion in her nightmares, feel the searing heat and the overwhelming darkness that followed. It wasn’t a fear she’d ever voice aloud, but it clung to her all the same, heavy and unrelenting.

Everyone knew. Vander knew. Powder knew. They didn’t say it, but she could hear it in their careful tones when they asked her to come along, hear it in the hesitant way Powder spoke to her since, fidgeting nervously.

Before Vi could respond, the front door creaked open, and hurried footsteps echoed across the bar’s worn floor. “Sorry, sorry!” Powder’s voice rang out, high-pitched and breathless. “I got… uh… caught up with some last-minute tweaks.”

Vi tilted her head toward the sound of her sister’s approach. “Tweaks, huh? That your new excuse for everything?”

Powder flushed, her rapid steps faltering as she reached the counter. She placed a thermos in front of Vi, her fingers twitching against its lid. “I made you hot chocolate.”

“That supposed to make me forget you’re late?” Vi smirked, unscrewing the lid and letting the steam rise. Her expression softened despite herself. “You’re lucky I like it.”

Powder smiled nervously, twisting her fingers together. “You’re still coming, right? To the competition? Ekko, Mylo, and Claggor are counting on you too.”

Vi sighed heavily, leaning her weight on the counter as if the act of agreeing would drain her completely. “I’ll go. But only because I want to hear Mylo embarrass himself in front of the Pilties.”

Powder’s smile widened, the relief almost palpable in the way her shoulders relaxed. “You won’t regret it.”

Vander, still watching from the sidelines, gave Vi a small nod of approval, though knowing she hadn’t seen it. “Good call.”

Vi rolled her eyes, though the faintest of smiles tugged at her lips. “Don’t start.”

Even as she said it, her stomach twisted. The thought of leaving the bar, of facing Piltover’s gleaming streets and unyielding skies, made her chest tighten. Her fingers curled briefly against the edge of the counter, her knuckles whitening with the force of her grip. She didn’t want to leave. The Last Drop was hers, it was safe. It didn’t demand more of her than she could give. But she wouldn’t let them see that. She’d never let anyone see that.

“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered under her breath, finishing her drink in one last gulp. She set the thermos down with a clink, her grip lingering on it for a moment longer than necessary before letting go. Her steps were slow as she walked from behind the bar, her movements smooth, though her chest felt tight with dread.

Vander followed her without a word, his heavy boots scuffing softly against the floor. As they reached the doorway, she paused, her fingers brushing the edge of the frame to orient herself. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping out into the bright streets of Zaun, the transition from the bar to the open air like a punch to her senses.

She hated how exposed it made her feel, how the rush of sound and scent overwhelmed her. She could hear the buzz of distant machinery, the faint calls of merchants, and the occasional clatter of metal being worked. The streets of Zaun were alive in a way that felt suffocating, its unpredictability gnawing at her nerves.

Vander walked alongside her, his gaze steady and warm as it flicked between her and the path ahead lead by Powder. He knew she’d never ask for help, Vi’s pride wouldn’t allow it. Instead, with a practiced ease that came from years of knowing her, he gently looped his arm through hers. It wasn’t a question or an offer, but a quiet, unspoken insistence.

Vi tensed for a moment, her jaw tightening as if ready to protest, but she didn’t pull away. She hated needing the guidance, hated how it reminded her of everything she’d lost. But Vander didn’t push, didn’t make a show of it. His touch was firm but subtle, a grounding presence she couldn’t refuse. Together, they made their way through the uneven streets toward the lift.

Ahead, Powder waited, her small frame almost vibrating with a mix of nervous energy and guilt. She watched her sister’s slow, focused steps, her expression clouding with sadness. No matter how much time passed, the sight of Vi struggling to navigate the world without her sight never failed to prick at the deep well of guilt she carried.

Her chest tightened, and she opened her mouth as if to say something, but Vander caught her eye. One kind look and a gentle shake of his head silenced her. His message was clear: Don’t.

Powder pressed her lips together and nodded, swallowing her guilt like she did most days. She pushed it down, shoving it into that same dark corner of her mind where all her regrets lived. She couldn’t let it show. Not today. Instead, she forced a smile and took a step forward as Vi and Vander reached her and the others by the lift.

Ekko, Mylo, and Claggor were already waiting, their inventions carefully packed and ready for the trip topside. Ekko greeted them with his usual quiet confidence, while Mylo and Claggor bickered over the logistics of their presentation. Powder slipped in beside them, her smile growing more genuine as their chatter filled the air.

Vi, however, remained silent, her shoulders stiff as she stood by Vander. She felt the lift’s vibrations through her boots as it prepared to carry them topside, a reminder of where they were going and everything she wanted to avoid. She took a steadying breath, her face impassive, her fear buried deep beneath a mask of stubborn determination.

“Ready?” Vander asked softly, his arm still looped with hers.

Vi gave a short nod, though the tightness in her jaw betrayed her unease. “Not like I got a choice,” she muttered, her tone gruff.

Vander squeezed her arm briefly in response, a small gesture of reassurance, before leading her toward the lift. Together, they stepped on, leaving the Last Drop and the safety it offered behind.

The lift that connected Zaun to Piltover groaned as it climbed, its worn mechanisms straining under the weight of its passengers. Each jolt and creak of the machinery echoed through the narrow shaft, a reminder of its age and overuse. The air grew cleaner and thinner the higher they ascended, a sharp contrast to the oppressive haze of the Undercity below. Over the years, even that haze had lightened somewhat. The Piltover council, after decades of ignoring Zaun’s plight, had finally agreed to stop dumping their industrial waste into the depths of the Undercity. It wasn’t an act of generosity but a reluctant concession during the negotiations that followed the explosion and its fallout.

In the months after the catastrophe, tensions between Piltover and Zaun reached a breaking point. The leaders of both cities pushed by Vander’s steady pragmatism and Silco’s sharp, unyielding rhetoric had come together to negotiate a fragile peace. For the first time, Zaun’s independence was officially recognized, a historic moment born from years of struggle and loss. Vander had advocated for compromise, his focus on unity and survival, while Silco had demanded more, his passion and charisma driving the negotiations to a boiling point. The two had clashed often, but their combined efforts had forced Piltover to acknowledge Zaun as an equal. It wasn’t perfect, not yet, but it was progress.

For most Zaunites, the changes were undeniable. Cleaner air, a reduction in enforcer raids, and the first hints of infrastructure projects designed to improve living conditions were tangible signs of progress. But for Vi, it was all just talk. She had heard the stories, the cautious optimism in Powder’s voice and the frustration in Vander’s, but none of it mattered to her. She couldn’t see the cleaned streets or the new bridges that spanned the chasm between the cities. For her, Zaun remained the same: a dark, unchanging world filled with memories she couldn’t escape.

Powder chattered excitedly with Ekko, Mylo, and Claggor at the front of the lift, her voice a mix of nerves and enthusiasm. The energy of their conversation was palpable, filled with hope for the future and excitement for the competition ahead. Vi, however, stood near the back of the lift, her head tilted slightly as she listened to the rhythmic creaks and hums of the machinery. Every groan of the lift’s mechanisms was another reminder of how far they were climbing, how far she was from the safety of the Last Drop.

Vander stood close, his arm no longer around hers but his presence unmistakable. His large frame loomed beside her, a steadying force without needing to touch. She could feel him watching her, his quiet support a comfort she refused to acknowledge out loud. He didn’t speak, but his silence was enough, an unspoken reassurance that no matter what waited for them at the top, she wouldn’t face it alone.

Still, as the lift shuddered and climbed higher, Vi couldn’t shake the unease that coiled in her chest. Independence, peace, progress, these were just words to her, empty and weightless in the face of everything she’d lost. No amount of political change could give her back what she’d left behind.

“You good?” Vander asked quietly, his voice low enough not to carry to the others. It was soft, but there was weight in it, concern wrapped in the gruff tone of a man who had carried more than his share of burdens.

“Fine,” Vi replied curtly, brushing off his concern. She hated needing to rely on him, hated the way his presence, as comforting as it was, reminded her of how much she couldn’t do. There had been a time when she wouldn’t have needed anyone’s help, when she’d been the one leading the charge, fists swinging and fire in her veins. She had been a fighter—still was, much to Vander’s dismay.

He didn’t understand her need to fight, didn’t see it the way she did. To him, it was reckless, dangerous, a refusal to let go of a life she could no longer live. To her, it was the only way to feel alive, to prove to herself that she wasn’t as broken as she sometimes felt. She still won, most of the time. She didn’t see the problem. But Vander, ever the father figure, always did. He was protecting her, as he had from the moment she was first dragged through the bar, blind, hurt, and furious at the world. His watchful eyes had been on her ever since, and she knew he wouldn’t stop. Not until he was sure she was safe, and even then, probably not.

But it wasn’t just protection. It was more than that now. Vi was the only one of his kids still living at the Last Drop. Mylo and Claggor had moved on, building lives of their own in the Undercity. Even Powder had left, sharing a small place with Ekko. Vi, though, remained. The Last Drop was her world now, and it frustrated her more than she could put into words.

Sure, there was part of her that feared the world outside. She wouldn’t admit it, but the thought of navigating the unpredictable nature of Zaun or the cold, towering streets of Piltover made her stomach twist. It wasn’t just her blindness, though that played a part. It was the sense of vulnerability that came with it, the feeling of being exposed in a world that had already taken so much from her. The Last Drop was safe. It was familiar. But that safety felt more like a cage with every passing day.

And it wasn’t just her own mind that kept her trapped. It was her family, too. Vander’s constant hovering, Powder’s sad glances she knew were there, even Mylo and Claggor’s cautious questions whenever they visited; it all made her feel like they were holding her in place, as if they thought she’d shatter the moment she stepped outside, even if she felt like that herself. It grated on her, the way they walked on eggshells around her, the way they tried to protect her from a world she still wanted to fight. She didn’t need their pity. She didn’t want their help. But as much as she told herself that, she couldn’t deny the truth that sat heavy in her chest: without them, she didn’t know where she’d be. Dead in the gutters more than likely.

“I’m Fine,” she said again, sharper this time, as if trying to cut through her own thoughts. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the lift’s wall and tilting her head toward the groaning machinery. Vander didn’t push, didn’t argue, but she could feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unyielding. He didn’t believe her, and maybe he was right not to.

But Vi wouldn’t give him, or anyone else, the satisfaction of seeing her doubt herself. Not now. Not ever.

Ekko’s voice cut through the group’s chatter, steady and brimming with quiet confidence. “This is our chance to show them what we can do. They won’t be able to ignore Zaun after today.” His words carried a weight that silenced the others, a reminder of why they were here and what was at stake. Ekko had always been the dreamer of their group, but his dreams were rooted in action, in plans and blueprints that turned ideas into reality.

“Unless Claggor forgets how to talk when they ask questions,” Mylo quipped, breaking the brief solemnity with his usual sharp tongue. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, but the grin quickly turned into a grimace when Powder jabbed him hard in the ribs.

“Shut up, Mylo,” she snapped, her glare fierce despite the faint flush of nerves on her face.

Claggor muttered something under his breath, adjusting the strap of the plant container on his back. The weight of it made his steps slower, more purposeful, and he couldn’t help fidgeting with the straps to make sure they were secure. “I’ve got it under control,” he said, though his tone carried a hint of uncertainty.

Vi smirked faintly, her arms remained crossed as she leaned against the wall of the lift. “Relax, Claggor. If Mylo can survive five minutes without sticking his foot in his mouth, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Hey!” Mylo protested, his voice shooting up indignantly. He turned to Powder for backup, but her withering look silenced him before he could say more.

Laughter rippled through the group, cutting through the tension and replacing it with a flicker of ease. Even Claggor cracked a small, reluctant smile as the others teased Mylo further. The camaraderie, however lighthearted, was a balm to the nerves buzzing just beneath the surface.

Vi leaned her head back, letting the conversation wash over her as she focused on the creaks and groans of the lift’s mechanisms. Every sound was familiar to her now, a reminder of how many times she’d been here before everything, and yet each ascent brought a fresh wave of unease. She tilted her head toward the others, listening to the faint shuffle of feet and the occasional clink of Ekko’s gadget as he adjusted it on his wrist. Powder’s voice rose and fell, animated and bright, but Vi could hear the underlying nervousness beneath her words.

When the lift jolted to a halt, Vi’s body reacted before her mind caught up. Her hand shot out instinctively, brushing against Vander’s arm. He steadied her immediately, his grip firm but gentle, a silent reassurance that she hated needing but couldn’t refuse. Vander didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at her; he just gave her the moment she needed to regain her balance.

Together, they stepped off the lift and into the bright, prestigious world of Piltover. The shift was jarring, even for Vi, who couldn’t see it. The air was cleaner, crisper, carrying the faint metallic tang of industry and wealth. The distant hum of machinery was softer here, muffled by layers of order and refinement. It was a stark contrast to Zaun, and even without her sight, Vi could feel the difference in the way sound echoed off the smooth, pristine surfaces.

The others stepped out ahead of her, their chatter fading slightly as they took in the sights. Powder’s voice grew softer, almost reverent, as she described the towering spires and polished walkways, but Vi didn’t ask for details. She didn’t need to know how shiny the buildings were or how clean the streets looked. To her, Piltover was the same as it had always been—a world apart, a place that didn’t belong to her and never would.

Powder looped her arm around Vi’s without hesitation, her grip light enough not to feel overbearing. There was a quiet determination in her movements as she gently steered her sister toward the bridge that stretched between the two cities. The bridge itself was a marvel of engineering, a symbol of the fragile connection between Zaun and Piltover, but for Vi, it was just another step in a journey she didn’t want to take. Powder stole her away from Vander as they crossed, though she could feel his eyes on her the entire time. His focus wasn’t on the bridge or their surroundings; it was on her, watchful and protective as always.

Vi didn’t noticed the tension between them. Her focus was elsewhere, on the cacophony of sounds and sensations that assaulted her. The faint hum of the bridge’s mechanisms beneath her boots felt amplified, vibrating up through her legs and into her chest. The distant rush of wind against metal, the soft chatter of passersby, and the sharper clangs of industry all melded into an overwhelming symphony that pressed down on her like a weight. The air itself felt charged, almost electric, sharp and foreign compared to the thick, smoggy atmosphere of Zaun. It was cleaner here, lighter, but somehow suffocating all the same.

“Almost there,” Powder said brightly, her voice deliberately cheerful as if trying to cut through Vi’s silence. She tightened her grip on Vi’s arm, her smaller frame leaning into her sister for support. She knew the stairs up to the Academy building would frustrate Vi, that every uneven step would be a test of her patience and pride. Powder talked quickly, her words spilling out in a stream of chatter designed to distract her. She pointed out little details—things Vi couldn’t see but might still appreciate: the faint clink of a decorative wind chime hanging from a nearby post, the soft whistle of steam escaping a vent, the way the sunlight caught the metal of the bridge’s rails. Anything to keep Vi’s mind off the climb ahead.

Vi didn’t respond. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her jaw tight as she let Powder guide her. Her silence wasn’t anger—though she felt plenty of that simmering below the surface—it was the weight of everything pressing down on her at once. The world around her was too loud, too bright in ways she couldn’t even see. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a sharp reminder of how far she was from the safety of home. She hated it, every second of it, but she kept it to herself.

This wasn’t about her. It was about them—her family. She was only here for them, for Powder. She could feel the excitement radiating off her sister in the way her grip trembled slightly, in the way her words stumbled over themselves as she tried to fill the silence. Powder had worked so hard for this, and Vi wasn’t about to let her down.

Her breaths came shallow and quick, but she forced her feet to keep moving, her steps steady despite the noise threatening to drown her. She could feel the stares of passersby, the way they lingered just a moment too long before moving on. She didn’t need to see their faces to know what they thought—a blind woman in Zaunite leathers, being half-dragged toward Piltover’s pristine Academy. She bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing her frustration. Let them stare.

Powder paused at the foot of the Academy steps, hesitating for just a moment before tugging Vi forward. “We’re here,” she said, her voice softer now, tinged with a mix of pride and nervousness.

Vi’s fingers twitched at her side, her only outward sign of the tension coiled in her chest. She nodded once, curt and sharp, and followed Powder up the steps without a word. Her focus narrowed, her senses tuning out everything but the sound of Powder’s voice and the feel of her sister’s arm looped through hers. She wasn’t here for Piltover or its fancy buildings. She was here for Powder, and that was enough to keep her moving. She’d be damned if she didn’t come through for her.

Once they made it inside, the Academy’s grand hall assaulted Vi’s senses in a way that made her pause, her boots scuffing against the marble floor. The space buzzed with an overwhelming cacophony of sound and motion. Machines hummed and clicked in synchronized rhythms, the sharp hiss of steam punctuating the air as gears turned and levers shifted. Voices overlapped in animated discussion, a blend of Piltover’s crisp, formal tones and the rougher, more passionate cadences of Zaunites. The air carried the faint metallic tang of oil and polish, mixed with the warmth of too many bodies packed into one space. It felt alive, almost oppressive, like the very walls vibrated with the energy of innovation and competition.

Powder guided Vi carefully through the masses, her smaller frame pressed close as she described the scene in hushed, excited tones. “There’s a massive clockwork contraption over there,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe. “It’s… I think it’s a model of Piltover itself, with moving parts. Oh, and someone’s got a chem-powered automaton—it’s walking, Vi, like actually walking!” Her descriptions came fast and breathless, her words tripping over each other in her excitement as she tried to paint the picture Vi couldn’t see.

Vi listened, her lips twitching into a faint smile at Powder’s enthusiasm. She didn’t need to see the grand hall to understand what it represented—Piltover’s polished pride and intellectual vanity on full display. Still, she let herself be led, focusing on the sound of Powder’s voice and the occasional vibrations beneath her boots as they passed closer to some of the larger machines.

Ekko’s booth stood out immediately. His time loop device—a sleek, wrist-mounted gadget—drew a crowd almost as soon as he started his demonstration. Powder’s voice grew more animated as she described how Ekko confidently explained its purpose, his words drawing gasps of amazement from the audience. “He just rewound a vase!” she exclaimed softly, gripping Vi’s arm. “It fell and shattered, but then—boom—it’s back, like nothing happened.”

The crowd pressed closer, murmuring with awe as Ekko demonstrated the device’s potential for safety and precision in mechanical work. His calm, steady demeanor commanded attention, his passion for his invention shining through. Vi couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride—Ekko had always been brilliant, but seeing him captivate Piltover’s elite was something else entirely.

Not far from Ekko’s display, Mylo and Claggor’s project drew its own curious audience. Their plant—a carefully engineered greenery designed to filter toxins and thrive in polluted environments—sat in a small, clear container. Mylo explained the science behind it with his usual exaggerated flair, gesturing wildly as he spoke, while Claggor kept the technical details grounded. “It’s not just a plant,” Mylo insisted loudly, his voice cutting through the room. “It’s a revolution for places like Zaun. Imagine breathing clean air down there.”

Claggor added in his quieter tone, “It’s resistant to toxic exposure and needs minimal sunlight. We’ve made sure it can survive where nothing else will.”

Piltover’s scholars, dressed in their pristine lab coats and fine clothes, tilted their heads and murmured among themselves, their curiosity sparked despite their initial skepticism. One even leaned forward to inspect the plant more closely, muttering something about its potential applications.

Powder squeezed Vi’s arm as they moved toward her own booth, her excitement tinged with nerves. “It’s my turn,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the room. Vi nodded, her grip tightening briefly on Powder’s hand in silent encouragement.

When it was Powder’s turn to present, she took a deep breath and stepped forward, her trembling hands setting up her compact energy-efficient device on the small podium. Her invention—a small but powerful generator designed to provide clean, sustainable energy for Zaunite homes—looked modest compared to some of the more extravagant contraptions in the room, but it drew the attention of nearby judges and onlookers.

Powder’s voice, though shaky at first, grew steadier as she explained its purpose. “This device runs on minimal resources and produces no harmful byproducts,” she said, her words careful but clear. “It’s designed for places like Zaun, where access to clean, affordable energy is limited.”

Vi stood at the edge of the crowd, listening intently as Powder fielded questions from the judges. Despite her trembling hands, Powder answered each inquiry with surprising confidence, her knowledge and passion shining through. Vi felt a swell of pride rise in her chest, the kind that tightened her throat and made her smile faintly. For a moment, the overwhelming noise and chaos of the grand hall faded, and all she could hear was her sister’s voice—strong, determined, and full of hope.

As the judges nodded their approval and the crowd murmured in interest, Powder stepped back from the podium, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of relief and exhilaration. She turned toward Vi, her eyes bright and searching for her sister’s reaction. “Vi?” she called softly, her voice hopeful.

Vi gave a small nod in Powder’s direction, her expression softening into something that was almost a smile. It wasn’t much—barely a flicker—but it was enough to let Powder know she’d done well. The younger girl’s face lit up, her nervous energy giving way to pride as she returned to the group.

Vi lingered at the edge of the crowd, her faint smile fading as the overwhelming noise of the grand hall crashed back into focus. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms in a desperate attempt to ground herself. The hum of the mechanics, the overlapping voices, the sharp clicks of shoes against the floors, it was all too much. She felt the tightness in her chest growing, her breaths coming shorter and faster despite her best efforts to keep them steady.

She could feel a headache starting to form, the dull throb pulsing at the base of her skull. Each sound felt sharper, louder, as if the room itself were closing in around her even if she can’t even see it. Her senses, so finely tuned from years of adapting to her plight, now betrayed her, amplifying every noise and movement until it was unbearable. The air felt heavy, electric, as if it were pressing down on her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs.

Her family’s voices blended into the chaos, Powder’s excited chatter and Ekko’s steady tone just distant enough to feel unattainable, like she was listening to them from underwater. She needed space. She needed air.

Without a word, Vi slipped away from the bustling hall, her steps slow and cautious. Each movement felt like dragging herself through quicksand, her head pounding as she tried to block out the noise. She kept her face impassive, refusing to let anyone see the panic clawing at her from the inside. She couldn’t fall apart here—not in front of them, not now.

Vander stayed behind with the others, but she could feel his watchful gaze as she left. Even when he wasn’t by her side, she could sense his protective presence, his unspoken worry. It only made her shoulders tense further, the weight of his concern pressing against her already-frayed nerves.

Her fingers brushed the smooth walls as she walked, mapping the unfamiliar space in her mind. The texture of the smooth stone was cool under her fingertips, a small anchor in the storm raging inside her. She focused on the pattern of her steps, counting them out in her head to keep herself grounded. One, two, three…

The sharp sound of boots echoed down the near empty corridor, precise and measured, cutting through the haze in her mind. Vi paused, tilting her head slightly toward the approaching footsteps, her muscles tensing instinctively. She made no effort to move out of the way, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

The collision was brief but jarring. The other person stumbled back slightly, catching themselves with a huff of annoyance. Vi, unprepared and unbalanced, landed flat on her back, the floor cold against her skin as the air was knocked from her lungs.

For a moment, everything stopped. The noise of the grand hall faded, replaced by the sound of her own ragged breathing as she struggled to get air back into her chest. Her fingers splayed against the floor, seeking something solid to hold onto as her panic threatened to take over. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus, to push the fear back down where it couldn’t be seen.

“Watch it,” she growled, her voice low and pointed, more out of habit than real anger. Her pride stung more than anything else, and the last thing she wanted was pity from whoever had knocked her over.

The other person, her annoyance shifting to something closer to concern, hesitated. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Vi snapped, cutting the woman off as she pushed herself upright, her movements stiff and delicate. Her hands trembled slightly as she brushed herself off, but she masked it with a scowl, her milky blue eyes unfocused but intense.

The stranger lingered, her presence looming like a shadow in the quiet corridor, the polished floor amplifying the echo of her boots as she shifted her weight. Vi’s jaw tightened as she stood, every muscle in her body tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap. Her eyes stared forward, unseeing but sharp in their intensity. The moment dragged on, the air between them thick with tension and unspoken words.

“You just gonna stand there, or what?” Vi muttered, her tone biting, the sarcasm laced with irritation. She didn’t care who this was or what she wanted—Vi just wanted the moment to end.

“Excuse me,” the voice replied, crisp and formal, though tinged with both irritation and what sounded like slight regret. The woman’s tone was measured, soft, as if she were carefully choosing each word to mask her annoyance.

Vi raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sharp smirk. “You always walk into people, or am I just lucky?” There was a challenge in her voice, a deliberate poke at the stranger’s composure.

The woman stiffened visibly; Vi could hear it in the pause that followed, in the sharp inhale that betrayed her rising frustration. “You were standing in the middle of the hallway, might I point out.”

“Yeah, and?” Vi’s smirk widened, her posture shifting into something almost casual, though the tension in her frame betrayed her. She could feel the stranger’s discomfort, the careful restraint in her words, and it only fueled her need to needle her further.

The woman exhaled slowly, clearly trying to maintain her composure. Her voice, when she spoke again, was level but edged with steel. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Vi replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm, her smirk still firmly in place. “But maybe next time, try looking where you’re going.” She tilted her head slightly, her unseeing eyes narrowing as if daring the woman to respond.

The stranger’s tone hardened, the formal politeness giving way to something colder. “Perhaps you should consider the same.”

Vi barked out a laugh, the sound cruel laced with utter disgust. “Good one.” Her smirk vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a blank expression that was somehow more unsettling. She tilted her head again, as if sizing the stranger up. “You always this friendly, or is today special?”

The woman hesitated, the silence stretching between them as if she were debating whether or not to respond. When she finally spoke, her tone was measured and deliberate, but her irritation lingered just beneath the surface. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Sure thing,” Vi replied, brushing past her without a second glance. Her movements were slow, her steps steady despite the faint tremor in her hands. She could feel the stranger’s gaze lingering on her as she walked away, her hand sliding against the wall. “Try not to plow into more people”, Vi called without looking back. Not like she would get the satisfaction of a facial expression.

The woman stood there for a moment longer, her posture rigid, her jaw clenched as she watched the other woman’s retreating figure. Something about the interaction left her unsettled, not only did she knock a blind woman over, she fairly rude about. With a faint shake of her head, she turned and walked away, her boots clicking against the polished floor with precise, measured steps. “Shit,” she muttered to herself.

Vi, meanwhile, kept moving, her chest tight and her mind racing. The adrenaline coursing through her veins from the confrontation left her hand twitching at her side, and she clenched her fist to stop the tremor. She hated moments like this—hated how exposed they made her feel. But as always, she buried the feeling deep, replacing it with a sharp edge of indifference that she wore like a blanket.

Vi’s steps grew slower as she moved further down the long, echoing hallway, her hand brushing the smooth, cool wall to guide her. Her breathing was shallow, her chest tight as she tried to push down the storm of emotions threatening to boil over. Each step felt heavier, her usually focus clouded by the lingering echo of the encounter. The stranger’s voice, crisp and precise, still rang in her ears, mixing with the distant hum of the grand hall and the soft whir of unseen machines. It was too much—everything was too much.

She stumbled slightly, catching herself against the wall before sliding down to sit on the cold floor. Her back pressed against the corner where the hallway turned, the empty space offering a semblance of comfort. She pulled her knees up, as she pressed her hands to her ears, trying desperately to block out the overwhelming noise.

The hum of distant voices, the faint clicking of shoes on the far end of the hallway, the low rumble of mechanics—it all blurred together into a relentless cacophony. Her pulse pounded in her ears, each thud reverberating through her skull as she squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into the sides of her head. She hated this. Hated how the world seemed to close in on her, how her own body betrayed her with its reaction. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and the walls around her felt like they were closing in, suffocating her. Years of darkness and she still felt claustrophobic.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible over the chaos in her mind.

Footsteps approached from the direction of the hall she came from, heavier and slower than the ones that had passed earlier. She didn’t hear them at first, too lost in her own panic, but as they grew closer, a familiar weight settled over her. The air shifted, the faint scent of oil and smoke filling her senses, and she didn’t need to speak know who it was.

Vander.

He stopped a few steps away, his large frame casting a long shadow over her. For a moment, he didn’t move, his kind eyes taking in the sight before him. His heart clenched at the image of her sitting there, hunched over with her hands pressed to her ears like she was trying to shut out the world. She looked so small, so unlike the Vi he raised—the Vi who would pick fights with men twice her size without flinching, who faced every challenge with fire in her veins. Seeing her like this broke something in him as it did every time he caught her in rare moments like this.

“Violet,” he said softly, his voice low and steady, the way it always was when he spoke to her during her worst moments.

She didn’t respond, her shoulders tense and her fingers trembling against the sides of her head. Vander crouched down beside her, his knees creaking slightly as he lowered himself to her level. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before settling gently on her arm.

“It’s me, kid,” he said, his tone calm and familiar. “I’m here.”

Vi flinched at the touch, her head jerking slightly as she pulled her hands away from her ears. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, her jaw tight as she fought to regain control. “I’m fine,” she snapped, her voice rough and defensive, though the quiver in it betrayed her.

Vander didn’t move his hand, his grip firm but not overbearing. “I know you are,” he replied gently, his eyes softening as he studied her.

Vi’s lips pressed into a thin line, her face turning away from him as she leaned back against the wall. Her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, the weight of her pride warring with the comfort of his presence. Finally, she exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening ever so slightly.

“Too loud,” she muttered, barely audible.

Vander nodded, his hand squeezing her arm briefly before he sat down beside her, his back against the wall. “I know,” he said simply. He didn’t push her to talk, didn’t try to fix anything. He just sat there, his presence steady and grounding, a quiet reminder that she wasn’t alone.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The distant hum of the Academy’s activity continued, but it felt less oppressive with Vander beside her. His calm steadiness seeped into her, helping to steady her own racing heart.

Finally, Vi let out a long breath, her hands falling to her sides as she tilted her head back against the wall. “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?” she muttered, her voice carrying the faintest trace of dry humor.

Vander chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Not a chance, kid.”

But his smile faded as he glanced at her again, the ache in his chest still lingering. No matter how strong she pretended to be, no matter how much she tried to push him away, he’d always see her for who she was—his kid. And he’d never stop being there for her, even when it hurt to see her like this.

Vander’s large hand extended toward Vi, his steady presence unwavering as he rose slightly and crouched beside her. “Come on, kid,” he said softly, his voice firm but gentle. “Let’s get you up.”

Vi hesitated, her pride bristling at the idea of needing help, but the pounding in her head made it hard to summon her usual resistance. She gritted her teeth, muttering a barely audible, “I’m fine,” as she reached blindly for his hand. He grabbed it gently before pulled her up with ease, his strength effortless as he steadied her on her feet. Her legs felt shaky, but Vander’s solid grip on her arm was enough to keep her upright.

“We’re heading home,” Vander said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Vi opened her mouth, ready to protest, but the throbbing in her skull made her bite back the words. The headache had settled behind her eyes like a vise, tightening with every passing second. Arguing wasn’t worth it—not when her body felt like it was betraying her at every turn. She gave a small, reluctant nod, leaning slightly against him for support as they started down the hallway they came from.

As they approached the main hall, the noise returned in a wave, muted only slightly by the distance. Vi flinched at the rise in volume, her grip on Vander’s arm tightening instinctively. He didn’t say anything, just adjusted his pace to match hers, his steps slow and measured.

When they reached the others, Powder was the first to notice them. Her excited chatter with Ekko and the others faltered as her eyes landed on her sister. Concern flickered across her face, her brows knitting together as she took in Vi’s pale complexion and the tight set of her jaw. “Vi?” she asked softly, taking a step forward.

Vander shook his head subtly, his gaze meeting Powder’s with a silent message: Not now.

Powder hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stepped back. She forced herself to focus on the others, though her worried glances kept drifting toward her sister. She wanted to say something, to ask if Vi was okay, but Vander’s look had been clear. Now wasn’t the time to push.

Vi, meanwhile, barely acknowledged the group. Her head throbbed with every sound and movement around her, the ache radiating down her neck and into her shoulders. She leaned more heavily into Vander’s side without a word, letting him guide her away. Her steps were slow, stumbling, and heavy with exhaustion, her free hand occasionally brushing against the wall to steady herself further.

“We’ll catch up later,” Vander called back to the group, his voice calm but resolute. “Take your time. We’re heading out.”

Powder nodded reluctantly, watching as Vander led Vi toward the exit. Her heart twisted at the sight of her sister, usually so strong and untouchable, leaning on Vander for support. She clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘ Not now, ’ she repeated to herself, pushing the guilt and worry aside as she always did.

The noise of the grand hall grew fainter as Vander and Vi moved further away, the cool air of the hallway a small relief against the suffocating heat of the crowded space. Vi kept her head down, focusing on the sound of Vander’s footsteps and the steady rhythm of his breathing. She hated how much she needed him right now, hated how vulnerable she felt, but she couldn’t deny the relief his presence brought.

As they reached the doors leading out of the Academy, neither of them noticed the sharp, concerned gaze that followed them from a distance. Caitlyn Kiramman, newly Sheriff of Piltover, stood near one of the grand hall’s displays, her arms crossed as she watched the pair leave. Her earlier annoyance with the woman had dissolved, replaced by a growing unease as she took in her strained expression and unsteady movements.

Her mind raced with questions she didn’t have answers to: ‘ Who was she? What happened to her?’ She had only encountered the woman briefly, but something about her lingered, pulling at her curiosity in a way she couldn’t ignore. Caitlyn’s jaw tightened as she watched the two disappear through the exit, a flicker of determination sparking in her chest.

She didn’t know who this woman was, but she intended to find out. If only to apologize properly.

The lift groaned and rattled as it descended, the worn mechanisms echoing in the silence. Vander stood beside Vi, his bigger frame looming, a steadying presence in the cramped space. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel his gaze on her, watching as she leaned heavily against the wall, her fingers gripping the rail like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Vi’s head was bowed slightly, her milky blue eyes fixed on nothing, her expression unreadable. The ache behind her eyes had grown sharper, radiating down her temples and into her neck. Every jolt of the lift sent another pulse of pain through her skull, and her grip on the rail tightened, her knuckles white.

“You good, Vi?” Vander finally asked, his voice low and gentle, though it carried an edge of concern.

“Fine,” Vi muttered, her tone clipped and brittle. She didn’t lift her head, didn’t elaborate. The word felt hollow even as she said it, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit otherwise. Not to Vander, not to anyone.

Vander didn’t push. He just shifted slightly, his shoulders brushing against hers, a silent reassurance that he was there. It wasn’t enough to steady her, though. Her chest felt tight, every breath shallow and strained. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sound of the creaking machinery, the faint hum of the mechanisms, the lack of silence only seemed to amplify the pain in her head.

Her mind replayed the events of the day in relentless loops. The noise of the Academy, the overlapping voices, the overwhelming press of people. The stranger in the hallway—the curt, prim tone of her voice, the way she’d lingered as if debating whether to say something else. It all grated on Vi’s nerves, a reminder of how exposed and out of place she’d felt from the moment she’d stepped topside.

The lift jolted suddenly, and Vi flinched, her free hand darting out to grip Vander’s arm without thinking again. The contact was brief—she pulled away almost immediately, a scowl tugging at her lips as she muttered, “Damn thing’s gonna fall apart one of these days.”

Vander didn’t respond, He didn’t say it, but she could feel the worry radiating off him like heat. It only made her chest tighten further. She hated this—hated how much he saw, how much she couldn’t hide from him.

When the lift finally screeched to a halt, Vi let out a shaky breath, her hand releasing the rail reluctantly. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the cool metal, before Vander’s voice broke through the haze.

“C’mon,” he said softly, his tone calm but firm. “We’re almost home.”

Vi nodded stiffly, her legs feeling heavy as she stepped off the lift and into the once familiar streets of Zaun. The air here was thick and damp, the scent of oil and rust clinging to everything. Normally, it would have been a mere inconvenience, a direct contrast to Piltover’s sterile cleanliness, but tonight it felt oppressive, the weight of the day pressing down on her with every step.

Vander walked beside her in silence, his steps slow  to match her uneven pace as he held her arm. She didn’t speak, her jaw clenched tightly as her free hand remained balled into a fist at her side. Her head throbbed with every sound around her—the distant clang of metal, the hiss of steam escaping a nearby pipe, the low murmur of voices from the alleyways. It all blurred together into a dull roar, each noise grating against her already frayed nerves.

As they approached The Last Drop , Vi’s steps faltered slightly, she counted her steps, she knew they were close. Her chest still tight with the lingering remnants of her panic. Vander noticed, as he always did, and his hand moved to  her shoulder, squeezing gently as they reached the door.

“You’re home now,” he said quietly, pushing the door open for her.

Vi didn’t reply, but the moment she stepped inside, the tension in her chest began to ease. The familiar hum of the bar greeted her, its warm, dim light wrapping around her like a blanket. The smells—stale beer, wood polish, and smoke—were comforting in their predictability, a sharp contrast to the chaos she’d just left behind. Her boots scuffed against the uneven floor as she moved toward the bar, her hand brushing over the familiar grooves in the counter.

It wasn’t until she sank onto one of the stools, her elbows resting on the worn wood, that she finally let out a slow, shaky breath. Her head dipped slightly, her fingers tracing one of the deep scratches etched into the surface as she let the noise of the bar wash over her.

Vander stood beside her without a word, his presence steady and grounding. He didn’t ask if she was okay, didn’t push her to talk. He just waited, his quiet support enough to let her catch her breath.

For the first time that day, Vi felt like she could breathe.

A few hours later, the bar was alive with noise and life. The familiar hum of chatter and laughter filled the space, blending with the occasional clink of glasses and the shuffle of chairs across the floor. The dim lighting, warm and flickering, softened the edges of the room, making it feel smaller, cozier. Powder and the others were at one of the larger tables near the center, their voices rising in excited bursts as they recounted their success. Their enthusiasm was infectious, their laughter spilling out in waves that seemed to make the room itself feel lighter.

Vi  still sat at the bar, her elbows resting on the worn wood as she absently traced one of the deep grooves etched into its surface. A glass of water sat untouched in front of her, the faint condensation pooling around its base. Her head no longer throbbed as it had earlier, though a faint ache lingered, dull and persistent, like a distant storm waiting to break. She stared forward, her milky blue eyes reflecting the dim light but betraying nothing of the thoughts swirling in her mind.

The encounter with that topside snob lingered like an itch she couldn’t scratch, replaying in fragments—the sharp edge of the woman’s tone, the measured way she spoke, the faint irritation laced with something almost like guilt. Vi shook her head slightly, trying to shove the memory aside. “Pilties,” she muttered under her breath, her tone low and disdainful. The faintest scowl pulled at her lips as she let out a slow exhale, her fingers tightening briefly against the edge of the bar. She told herself she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing about that interaction mattered.

But it did. Everything mattered.

Vander slid onto the stool beside her, his large shoulders taking up more space than seemed possible. His presence was as steady and grounding as always, a quiet reassurance that she didn’t even have to ask for. He glanced at her, his eyes studying her profile as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low and familiar, the question simple but carrying more weight than the words alone.

Vi shrugged, her posture stiffening slightly. “Just tired,” she replied, her tone clipped. It wasn’t a lie, she was tired, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. She didn’t feel like unpacking everything else, not now.

Vander studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering as if trying to read what she wasn’t saying. He nodded slowly, his expression softening. “You did good today,” he said, his tone quiet but firm, a steady conviction behind the words.

Vi huffed out a breath, the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered, though the slight warmth in her tone betrayed her.

“It will, in time,” Vander replied simply. He didn’t push her, didn’t try to pry or fix anything. He just stayed, his quiet presence enough to fill the silence between them.

Vi sat back slightly, her fingers loosening their grip on the bar. She tilted her head, letting the sounds of the room wash over her; the laughter of her family, the faint hum of the neon sign above the entrance, the soft clink of glasses being set down. Since they’d left the Academy, the tension in her chest began to ease, just a little more.

She reached for the glass of water in front of her, her fingers brushing the cool surface as she lifted it to her lips.

Chapter Text

The Last Drop was quiet tonight—a rare gift, and one Vi wasn’t going to question. Fewer bodies meant fewer messes to clean up and less noise pounding in her head. She leaned against the bar, her fingers absently tracing a worn groove in the counter, her milky blue eyes gazing unfocused into the dimly lit room. The familiar ache behind her eyes was sharper than usual, pulsing in relentless waves that made her grind her teeth.

She never told anyone about the pain. Not Vander, not Powder, no one. It was hers to deal with, another scar from the explosion that had taken her sight. If they knew, they’d hover more than they already did. Powder would cry, guilt written all over her face as if it had been her fault. And Vander? He’d turn Zaun upside down trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed, tearing apart anything or anyone he thought might help. She didn’t need that kind of commotion. She didn’t want it.

Seven years ago, though, she’d reached her breaking point. The pain was relentless, drilling into her skull day after day until it felt like it would split her apart. Nothing worked—not the tonics the local healers brewed, not the meditation tricks Vander had awkwardly suggested, and certainly not the false promises of Zaun’s street corner chemists. The nights were the worst, when the silence of the bar left her alone with the throbbing agony behind her eyes, her hands gripping the edges of the counter so hard she thought her knuckles might crack.

It was desperation that pushed her to Silco. She’d hated herself for it even as she made the decision. He wasn’t someone you went to lightly, and everyone in Zaun knew it. Silco wasn’t just a man—he was a force, a presence that loomed over the Undercity like the smog from Piltover’s factories. His name carried weight, and so did his deals. But Vi hadn’t cared. She’d needed relief, and he’d been the only one who might have a solution.

The first time she’d walked into his place, every instinct screamed at her to turn back, to find another way. Silco had greeted her with that unsettling calm of his, his mismatched eyes gleaming with interest as he’d listened to her request. He hadn’t asked why she was there or why she hadn’t gone to Vander. He’d just smiled, sharp and calculating, and placed the first vial of shimmer in her hand.

“Remember, Violet,” he’d said, his voice as smooth and dangerous as the shimmer he’d given her. “This isn’t a gift. It’s an arrangement.”

She’d taken it anyway, swallowing her pride along with the faint shimmer-laced concoction. For the first time in years, the pounding in her head had dulled, the sharp edges of the world smoothing out into something bearable. It wasn’t perfect—it never was—but it had been enough to stop her from breaking completely.

Now, after all these years, the arrangement still held. Silco hadn’t exploited her need—not yet, anyway—but she didn’t delude herself into thinking his charity was genuine. He got something out of it, though she wasn’t sure what. Maybe he just liked knowing she owed him, liked having that little thread of control. Whatever his reasons, she didn’t care. She needed the relief, and Silco delivered.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the man himself strode into the bar, his footsteps smooth and unhurried. Silco moved like he owned the place—an air of control and authority that made Vi bristle even after knowing the man for so long. She didn’t trust him, couldn’t trust him. But trust wasn’t part of their deal. It never had been.

“Violet,” he greeted, his voice carrying that same unnerving calm.

“Silco,” Vi replied flatly, already straightening up. She didn’t bother with pleasantries; their arrangement didn’t require them.

He approached the bar with a faint smirk, as if her discomfort amused him, and slid a small vial across the counter. It caught the dim light of the bar, glowing faintly as it spun toward her waiting hand. She caught it smoothly, her fingers closing around the cool glass with practiced ease.

“Still alive, I see,” he remarked, leaning against the counter as his mismatched eyes studied her.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Vi shot back, slipping the vial into her pocket. Her smirk was sharp, her tone even sharper.

Silco’s chuckle was low and dry, a sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “You always were too stubborn to let anything kill you.”

“Guess you’d know all about that wouldn’t you,” she retorted, already turning her attention back to the bar.

Silco lingered a moment longer, his eyes watching her like he was waiting for her to slip up. The weight of his gaze felt purposeful, a calculated act to remind her of who held the upper hand in their arrangement. When it became clear she wasn’t in the mood for conversation, he adjusted his coat, the subtle creak of leather cutting through the quiet room.

“Careful, Violet,” he said, his voice laced with mock concern as he leaned on the counter. “You might start enjoying our little arrangement too much.”

Vi smirked, though the expression felt more like armor than amusement. “You’re worried about me now?” she shot back, her tone light but carrying a threatening edge.

“Hardly.” Silco leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “But if Vander knew—”

“He doesn’t,” Vi interrupted, her voice pointed and low, the warning in her tone unmistakable. Her grip on the counter tightened, her knuckles brushing against the worn wood as tension rippled through her frame.

Silco chuckled, the sound dry and cutting, as if her defiance amused him. “Keep it that way,” he said, straightening his posture.

Vi didn’t need the reminder. If Vander ever found out about this, it wouldn’t just be trouble—it would be murder. The man had a temper when it came to protecting his family, and Silco’s involvement in her life, no matter how minor, would set him off like nothing else. Vander would come for Silco with fists swinging and fire in his eyes, and no amount of logic or pleading would stop him. It wasn’t just the shimmer; it was the principle of it. Silco was everything Vander despised—a symbol of everything wrong with Zaun, someone who thrived on the chaos Vander had fought so hard to keep at bay.

But that didn’t matter to Vi. She wasn’t proud of this arrangement, but it worked. It dulled the pain that Vander didn’t know about, that no one knew about. As much as she hated Silco’s sly comments, he delivered when no one else could. If it meant keeping herself together—keeping her family from hovering and worrying—it was worth it.

The door to the Last Drop creaked open, the groan of the hinges punctuated by the cool rush of night air spilling into the bar. Vi’s focus shifted at once, her ears picking up the light, measured steps of someone entering.

Silco’s piercing gaze flicked toward the newcomer, his eyes narrowing briefly as if assessing whether they posed a threat. Apparently satisfied, he adjusted his collar and stepped back from the bar. “I’ll take my leave,” he said smoothly, his tone neutral but with that ever-present undercurrent of mockery. “Enjoy the dark and quiet while it lasts, Violet.”

Vi bristled at the jab but didn’t respond, her attention already pulled toward the sound of a stool scraping against the floor as someone settled at the bar. The rubbing sound cut through the stillness, and she tilted her head slightly, her fingers tapping against the counter as she waited.

Silco lingered by the door for a moment, casting one last glance over his shoulder before slipping out into the night. The faint scent of smoke and chemicals trailed after him, fading into the cool air. He was gone, but his words hung in the space he’d left behind, a reminder of the precarious line Vi was walking—one that no one else could ever know about.

“What can I get you?” Vi asked, her tone steady, though a flicker of curiosity crept in despite the persistent throb behind her eyes. The ache was sharper now, a relentless reminder of the explosion that had stolen her sight. She’d need a dose after this, no question about it. Anything to dull the pain—physical and otherwise.

The reply came without delay, crisp and formal but laced with a hesitation that didn’t go unnoticed. “Whiskey, neat.”

Vi’s jaw clenched at the unmistakable voice, and recognition hit her like a punch to the gut. Her grip on the glass she grabbed tightened momentarily before she poured the drink with the ease of long practice. “Well, if it isn’t Piltover’s nicest lady,” she drawled, sliding the glass across the counter with a smirk deep enough to leave a impression. “Didn’t think you’d stoop to slumming it in the Lanes.”

The pause that followed was almost palpable, the weight of the woman’s discomfort hanging in the air between them. When she finally spoke, her words were careful, practiced. “I… didn’t mean to offend you at the Academy,” she began, her voice softer now. “I wasn’t paying attention. I shouldn’t have said…”

“Save it,” Vi cut her off, her smirk fading into something colder, harder. She leaned her elbows against the counter, tilting her head as if to meet the woman’s gaze. “I don’t need an apology from someone like you.”

The woman hesitated, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the glass as though seeking a distraction. “I still feel I owe you a proper one,” she said quietly, her earlier bravado replaced by a subdued sincerity that made Vi’s lip curl.

“Let me guess,” Vi said dryly, crossing her arms. “You came all the way down here just to say sorry? How’d you find me?”

A sigh escaped the woman, and Vi could almost hear the tension in her shifting posture. “I may have asked around after you left the Academy,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, as though revealing a secret.

Vi’s smirk deepened into something more sardonic. “Lucky me. I’ve got a stalker now. Blindness wasn’t enough, huh?”

The tension between them thickened, the ambient noise of the bar receding into a distant hum. Vi could hear the faint rustle of fabric as the woman adjusted her seat, could feel the weight of the stranger’s presence lingering like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

“For what it’s worth,” the woman said after a long moment, her tone tentative, “I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just… wasn’t thinking.”

Vi let out a quick, humorless laugh, the sound brittle. “Pilties not thinking? Well, knock me over with a feather.”

The woman’s jaw must have tightened; Vi didn’t need her eyes to sense the subtle shift in her energy. But instead of rising to the bait, the woman lifted her glass with measured grace, taking a slow sip. “What’s your name?” she asked after setting the glass back down, her voice steady.

Vi hated moments like this—moments when the silence stretched, heavy and uncertain, and she couldn’t read the other person’s expression. Her smirk returned as she straightened, her tone mocking. “Why? You planning to turn me in to the Enforcers for battery?”

“Hardly,” the woman replied evenly, her composure unwavering. “I make it a habit to know who I’m speaking with—and apologizing to.”

Vi tilted her head slightly, her unseeing eyes narrowing as she studied the stranger’s voice. “You always this polite, or just when you’re trying to make up for being an ass?”

A faint smile crept across the woman’s lips, though her tone remained cool. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you always evade questions with your own?”

“Why’s it so important to you?” Vi shot back, her tone nonsense as she turned away, reaching for another bottle on the shelf. The motion was quick, efficient, a testament to how well she’d memorized the layout of the bar despite her disability. Though she hated that word.

The woman didn’t respond right away, her gaze lingering on Vi’s movements—precise, practiced, unflinching. There was something about the bartender, something she couldn’t quite pin down, and it tugged at her curiosity in a way that surprised her.

When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, more reflective. “As I already explained—it’s a question you didn’t answer.”

Vi didn’t turn back, her fingers gripping the neck of the bottle a fraction tighter than necessary. The bar felt smaller, quieter, under the weight of the exchange, the air thick. Finally, she set the bottle down with a soft clink and turned, her smirk back in place, though there was no humor in it.

“Names don’t come cheap,” Vi said, leaning against the counter again, her tone laced with defiance. She tilted her head slightly, her unseeing eyes narrowing as though daring the stranger to push further. “You really want to know? Try earning it.”

The woman didn’t falter. “And how, pray tell, might I do that?” she asked, her voice smooth and controlled, the faintest hint of a challenge weaving through her words. Her polished Piltover accent contrasted sharply with the rough grit of the bartender in front of her.

As she studied Vi’s face, her gaze lingered on the tattoo etched into her left cheek—a simple yet unmistakable mark: VI. It was almost too obvious, and for a moment, the woman wondered if Vi even realized how little she had to hide. Still, she chose not to comment, keeping that observation to herself. There was something intriguing about the way Vi held herself, the way she spoke with confidence, unflinching despite her impairment.

Instead of pressing further, the woman allowed her lips to curve into a faint smile, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Earning it,” she mused aloud, her tone thoughtful. “You do enjoy to make things difficult, don’t you?”

Vi let out a low chuckle, the sound dry and humorless. “Life’s difficult,” she shot back, shrugging one shoulder. “Might as well keep things consistent.”

The woman’s eyes didn’t leave Vi’s face, her expression unreadable as she considered her next words. The quick wit, the hardened demeanor, and the way Vi seemed to deflect every attempt at connection—it all painted a picture of someone who had long since learned not to trust. And yet, beneath the layers of sarcasm and evasion, there was something else, something pure and hidden, that made her want to dig deeper. If not for pure curiosity sake. It’s been far too long since anyone has spoken to this crassly. It was quite refreshing if she was being honest with herself.

The relative calm of the bar shattered as the door burst open, swinging on its hinges with a loud creak. Powder’s voice rang out, high-pitched and brimming with excitement. “Vi!” she yelled, her exuberance filling the once-muted room like a crashing wave.

Vi winced sharply, her shoulders tensing as the sound hit her ears like a hammer. She flinched instinctively, her head jerking slightly as she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to block out the painful sting that spiked behind her eyes. It felt like a nail driving through her skull, and the sudden burst of noise did nothing to help. She bit back a growl of frustration, her fingers tightening against the counter as she tried to steady herself.

Powder was oblivious to Vi’s discomfort as she bounded toward the bar, her energy practically radiating off her in waves. Her boots scuffed against the worn floor, and she came to a bouncing halt in front of the counter, her toes practically leaving the ground with every movement. Her vibrant blue eyes sparkled with excitement as she opened her mouth to speak, but her gaze caught on the woman sitting a few feet away.

Powder’s enthusiasm momentarily faltered as realization struck. Her bouncing stilled, her head tilting slightly as her wide-eyed gaze settled on the stranger. Recognition dawned in an instant, her voice carrying a mix of surprise and nervousness. “Sheriff Kiramman?” she blurted, her tone rising in pitch.

The Sheriff, for her part, didn’t seem fazed. She turned in her seat slightly, her composure as polished as always. Her lips curved into a faint smile, and she gestured casually to the glass in front of her. “Caitlyn, please,” she said, her voice calm and measured. “I’m off duty.” She lifted the glass slightly as if to emphasize her point, the amber liquid inside catching the dim light.

Powder blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing for a moment as if struggling to process the situation. She glanced between Caitlyn and Vi, her expression a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, curiosity, and a hint of unease.

Vi, meanwhile, exhaled a long, heavy sigh, the sound almost drowned out by the lingering hum in her head. The initial shock of Powder’s entrance was beginning to fade, but the throbbing behind her eyes hadn’t eased. If anything, it had grown sharper, each pulse a reminder that she couldn’t keep putting off the dose she so desperately needed.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the counter, a restless, agitated motion. She couldn’t decide what was worse: Powder’s uncontainable energy or the realization that Caitlyn Kiramman—the same woman who had collided with her at the Academy—was sitting in Vander’s bar, completely at ease. Her jaw clenched, and she resisted the urge to slam her fist against something, knowing the sound would only make her headache worse.

“Powder,” Vi said finally, her voice low and strained as she pushed through the haze of pain clouding her mind. “What are you yelling about?”

Powder’s attention snapped back to her sister, her expression lighting up once again as if she’d momentarily forgotten her excitement. “I got great news!” she declared, her voice bubbling over with enthusiasm.

Vi pinched the bridge of her nose again, a futile attempt to stave off the headache pounding against her skull. Whatever Powder had to say, it could wait. Her patience, already paper-thin, was wearing down to nothing.

“Make it quick,” Vi muttered, her tone gruff. She cast a quick glance in Caitlyn’s direction, though her eyes didn’t quite land on her. “I’ve got enough to deal with already.”

Powder’s face lit up even brighter, her earlier hesitation forgotten as she launched into her news. “Vi, I did it!” she exclaimed, her words tumbling out in a rush. “The judges at the competition loved my generator. They said it was innovative, and… and they want me to attend the Academy! Like, as an actual student!” Her voice cracked with excitement, her hands clutching the edge of the counter as if she needed to ground herself against the weight of her own enthusiasm.

Vi blinked, the corners of her lips twitching upward in a faint smile. “That’s… great, Powder,” she said, her tone low and genuine, though lacking the energy Powder might have hoped for. Her sister’s success was a bright spot in her otherwise murky day, but the relentless ache behind her eyes prohibited her ability to fully engage.

She tried to suppress the wince that accompanied the next sharp pulse of pain, but her body betrayed her. Her shoulders tensed, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she instinctively rubbed at her temple.

The movement wasn’t subtle enough to go unnoticed. Caitlyn, who had been quietly observing the exchange, tilted her head slightly. “Are you feeling well?” she asked, her voice calm but laced with concern.

Vi stiffened at the question, her jaw tightening as she turned her head in Caitlyn’s direction. “I’m fine,” she replied tersely, waving a dismissive hand. Her tone was clipped, bordering on curt. “None of your business anyway.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow but said nothing further, her blue eyes studying Vi for a moment longer before returning to her drink.

Powder, however, wasn’t so easily convinced. Her excitement faltered, replaced by a creeping unease as her gaze flicked between Vi and Caitlyn. “Vi… are you sure?” she asked, her voice softer now, tinged with the guilt that always lingered just beneath the surface. She fidgeted with her sleeves, her movements growing restless.

Vi sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose again as she shook her head. “I said I’m fine, Powder,” she muttered, though her voice lacked the bite it had carried moments before. “Just… lay off, all right?”

Powder’s shoulders slumped, and her fidgeting stilled as she bit her lower lip, clearly torn between pressing the issue and respecting her sister’s boundaries. The last thing Vi wanted was for Powder to start spiraling into self-blame.

“Look,” Vi added, her tone softening just a fraction as she forced a faint smile. “This is about you, okay? You did something amazing, Powder. You earned this. Don’t let me ruin it for you.”

Powder nodded hesitantly, though the worry didn’t fully leave her expression. She glanced at Caitlyn briefly, as if seeking some kind of reassurance, but the Sheriff kept her gaze focused on her drink, her features unreadable.

The moment hung heavy between them, the air layered with repressed tension. Vi exhaled quietly, desperately trying to will herself to push through the pain long enough to keep Powder from dwelling on it any longer. The kid deserved to celebrate, even if Vi couldn’t muster the energy to join her.

Vi let out a slow breath, the faint smile she’d forced quickly fading as she straightened up. It didn’t work. She needed relief, and she needed it now. Ignoring the pang of guilt in her chest, she turned her head toward Powder.

“Powder,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt, “can you cover the bar for a bit? Just for a little while.”

Powder blinked, startled by the sudden request. “Uh, yeah, of course,” she replied quickly, stepping toward the counter without hesitation. “Everything okay?”

Vi didn’t answer. Instead, she waited just long enough to make it clear she wasn’t in the mood for follow-up questions. Powder, sensing the shift, nodded and slipped behind the counter, her movements cautious.

Satisfied, Vi shifted her focus to Caitlyn, who was still seated at the bar, her posture poised yet relaxed. Vi leaned slightly against the counter, her milky blue eyes narrowing as if she could see Caitlyn’s face. “You may know my name,” she said, her voice low and deliberate, “but you didn’t earn it.”

Without waiting for a response, Vi pushed off the counter and made her way toward the back of the bar. Her boots scuffed against the worn floor, each step echoing faintly in the quiet space. The door to the back room creaked open, and she disappeared into the dimly lit corridor that led to her room in the basement.

The basement was dark, cool, and quiet—her refuge from the noise of the bar above. Vi moved with practiced precision, her fingers brushing against the walls as she navigated the familiar space. She reached her small, sparsely furnished room and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

Her hand dipped into her pocket, retrieving the small vial of shimmer she had just received from Silco. The faint, iridescent glow of the liquid cast a cold light in the chilled room, its ethereal shimmer mocking her as if it knew the power it held over her. Vi’s fingers trembled as she unscrewed the cap, her movements both purposeful and desperate. She raised the vial to her lips and took a small, shaky sip, the metallic taste sharp and bitter on her tongue.

The effect was immediate. The relentless pulsing pain behind her eyes dulled into a faint whisper, the kind she could ignore. The ache that had threatened to crack her composure vanished, leaving behind a strange, hollow calm. Her shoulders relaxed, and the tension that had been grinding her nerves into raw edges melted away. Her other senses, always hyper-focused to make up for her blindness, quieted as if wrapped in cotton. The bar’s muffled hum and the distant chatter from above no longer felt like knives scraping against her skull. For the first time that night, she felt like she could breathe without pain.

Vi leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly as the shimmer coursed through her veins. Her hand tightened around the vial, her grip firm despite the trembling in her fingers. The weight of what she’d done—and what she continued to do—pressed down on her, but she shoved it aside. A necessary evil, she told herself again, her jaw tightening. She hated that she needed it, hated that it worked, but she couldn’t deny the relief it gave her. Not when the alternative was unbearable.

After a moment, she pushed off the wall and tucked the vial back into her pocket. With her senses muted and the pain pushed to the back of her mind, she felt steady enough to return. She climbed the stairs, made her way through the back, and stepped through the door into the main bar area, her boots scuffing against the wooden floor.

Her ears picked up the soft scrape of a stool being pushed back and faint footsteps moving toward the exit. She tilted her head, recognizing the distinct rhythm of the steps, and a small smirk tugged at her lips. Caitlyn was leaving. ‘ Good.’

Vi moved to the bar, her hand brushing the edge of the counter to guide herself. Powder turned to her immediately, her eyes wide with concern. “Vi? Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, her voice tight with worry.

“Yeah,” Vi said with a faint shrug, keeping her tone casual. “Just needed some air.” She leaned her hip against the counter, tilting her head toward Powder. “So, tell me all about this Academy opportunity. Don’t leave anything out.”

Powder hesitated for a moment, studying her sister’s face as if searching for cracks in her composure. When she didn’t find any—or at least nothing Vi was willing to show—she smiled nervously, her excitement bubbling back to the surface.

She launched into a rapid explanation of the program, the opportunities it would offer, and how it could change everything for her—and for Zaun. Vi listened, her smirk softening into something warmer, though the relief from the shimmer dulled the depth of her reactions. Still, she focused on Powder’s voice, letting it drown out the lingering guilt gnawing at the edges of her mind.

Vi smiled, a genuine flicker of pride breaking through the muted haze of the shimmer. “That’s amazing, Powder,” she said softly. “You’ve earned it. I always knew you were the smart one out of the two of us.”

Powder beamed at the praise, her cheeks flushing with excitement.

No matter what demons Vi was fighting, she wouldn’t let them overshadow her sister’s moment.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the grimy windows of The Last Drop, casting muted shadows across the bar. Vi worked in silence, her hands moving methodically as she restocked shelves with bottles of various sizes and colors. The clink of glass against wood was the only sound, a steady rhythm that suited her just fine. The ache behind her eyes was blessedly dull finally, kept at bay by the shimmer she’d reluctantly but mercilessly taken the night before. A temporary reprieve, though she knew it wouldn’t last. It never did.

The task was mundane, almost mechanical, but Vi welcomed it. It was something to focus on, something tangible she could control in the endless dark that had consumed her world. Her fingers traced the edges of bottles with practiced precision, brushing against smooth glass and cool metal caps as she arranged them in neat, orderly rows. She moved with purpose, her hands sweeping over the shelves to ensure everything was in its proper place. The familiar grooves of the wood beneath her fingertips grounded her, giving her something solid to hold on to when the void pressed too close.

She didn’t need her sight for this; she’d memorized every inch of the bar years ago. Each shelf, each bottle, each subtle imperfection in the counter, it was all etched into her mind through years of trial and error. A misplaced bottle or a shifted stool could throw her off balance, but here, at least, she knew what to expect. It was predictable, controlled, and in a life that felt increasingly out of her hands, she clung to that predictability with everything she had.

Sure, most of the time, The Last Drop felt like a cage. The walls were a constant reminder of what she’d lost, their rough texture under her fingertips as familiar as her own scars. A safe cage, but a cage nonetheless. She knew every sound that echoed within its walls; the creak of the floorboards, the hum of the neon sign above the door, the faint clatter of dishes in the back. It was home in the way a prison cell could be comforting, offering security at the cost of freedom.

She moved slowly, her steps careful and measured as she shifted from one shelf to the next. The faint scent of wood polish mixed with the lingering tang of spilled liquor filled the air, grounding her in the present even as her thoughts drifted. Her unseeing eyes, pale and distant, stared straight ahead, but her mind was far away. She wasn’t living her life, not really. Most days, she felt like a passenger, adrift in the darkness that had swallowed her whole twelve years ago. The world carried on around her, vibrant and full of color she could no longer see, while she remained trapped in this endless, claustrophobic void.

The shelves in front of her blurred into insignificance as she placed the final bottle down, her hand lingering on its cool surface. She exhaled slowly, the sound breaking the silence like a whisper in the dark. This was her life; a series of small, repetitive motions to fill the hours. She wasn’t sure if it was a comfort or a curse, but either way, it was all she had. And for the foreseeable future, she would make do, it’s not like she had any other options.

Once the shelves were stocked, Vi wiped her hands on her pants, the rough fabric absorbing the faint residue of dust and alcohol from the bottles. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the weight of the morning’s work settle into her muscles, and reached for the empty boxes stacked neatly at her side. They weren’t heavy, but their unwieldy shape forced her to shift her balance, the edge of one box brushing against her jaw as she adjusted them over her shoulder. Her fingers gripped the coarse cardboard, steady and firm, as she turned toward the back door.

The hinges creaked faintly as Vi pushed it open, her free hand trailing along the frame to guide her movements. The back room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single bulb casting long shadows over the scattered crates and shelves lining the walls. The air here was cooler, carrying the faint scent of damp wood and discarded scraps from the kitchen. She moved with purpose, her boots scuffing against the worn floor as she navigated the familiar space by feel and sound alone.

Reaching the outside door, she pushed it open with her shoulder, the rusted hinges groaning in protest. A rush of cool air greeted her, brushing against her face and carrying with it the familiar metallic tang of Zaun’s streets. The shift in temperature was welcome, a sharp contrast to the stale warmth of the bar, and she inhaled deeply as she stepped outside.

The alley behind The Last Drop was cloaked in its usual gloom, the faint light from a nearby lamp casting uneven patches of brightness onto the cracked pavement. The hum of machinery filled the air, mingling with the occasional hiss of steam escaping from unseen pipes. In the background, the echo of hurried footsteps and muffled voices drifted through the Lanes, the ever-present soundtrack of life in Zaun.

Vi adjusted the boxes on her shoulder and moved toward the trash bins, her boots crunching against the ground. She dropped the boxes beside the bins with a dull thud, brushing her hands together to rid them of any lingering dust. She straightened up, letting the faint noise of the city wash over her. For a moment, it was just another quiet morning.

Then suddenly it wasn’t.

A woman’s voice, sharp and cutting, broke through the background noise like a blade slicing through fabric. “Get your hands off me,” she snapped, her tone dripping with anger but trembling at the edges.

Vi stilled, her breath catching as her head tilted toward the sound. A knot formed in her stomach, and her ears strained to catch every detail. A man’s voice followed, low and slick, his tone dripping with mockery. “Come on, sweetheart, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

The words churned something hot and angry in Vi’s chest. Her jaw tightened, and she exhaled slowly, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. She didn’t need to see to picture what was happening, didn’t need to imagine the look of discomfort or fear on the woman’s face. The streets of Zaun were no stranger to situations like this, and Vi had spent enough years here to know how quickly things could escalate.

Her movements were quiet as she stepped away from the bins, her hand reaching out to graze the rough wooden exterior of the bar. The texture of the aged wood under her fingertips was grounding, guiding her steps as she made her way toward the voices. The closer she got, the clearer the scene became; the woman’s protests growing sharper, her words quick and clipped, while the man’s tone oozed confidence, the kind that came from knowing he had the upper hand.

Vi’s breaths were slow and measured, her focus narrowing as she closed the distance. The knot in her stomach hardened into a solid weight, but she didn’t let it slow her down. She wouldn’t stand by and let this happen; not here, not anywhere. Whatever was about to happen, she’d deal with it. She always did.

Vi’s fingers brushed the corner of the building, the rough wood guiding her steps as she turned into the alley. Her unseeing eyes narrowed, her head tilting slightly to catch the subtle shifts in the air and sound around her. “Hey!” she called out, her voice pointed and commanding, cutting through the tense air. “Why don’t you fuck off and find someone else to bother?”

The man turned toward her, and even before he spoke, Vi could hear the derision dripping from his laugh, the kind of arrogant mockery that had haunted these streets for as long as she could remember. “Well, well,” he drawled, his tone thick with condescension. “Look who decided to leave daddy’s safety. Go back inside, Vi. Me and sweet cheeks here were just having a friendly little chat.”

Vi’s lips curled into a smirk, though it was devoid of humor. Her stance shifted subtly, her weight settling evenly as she crossed her arms, her head tilting toward the sound of his voice. “Right, Deckard,” she replied, her tone laced with disgust. “And she was screaming in pleasure, I’m sure.”

The man’s footsteps crunched against the grit of the alley as he approached, the sound deliberate, taunting. His voice followed, dripping with amusement. “You’ve got some nerve, huh?”

“Nerve?” Vi shot back, her tone casual but laced with steel. “Nah, just common decency. Something you’ve clearly never picked up.”

The woman, sensing a glimmer of hope in Vi’s presence, attempted to step away from Deckard’s grip. Her movements were quick but hesitant, fear evident in the quick intake of her breath. But her hope was short-lived as Deckard’s hand shot out, his fingers clamping around her wrist with an audible snap. “You’re not going anywhere,” he sneered, his grip tightening as the woman gasped, her protests caught in her throat.

Vi’s smirk faded in an instant, replaced by a cold, unyielding seriousness. Her head tilted slightly, honing in on the sound of the woman’s struggles and Deckard’s sneer. “Let her go,” she said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl.

Deckard laughed again, the sound grating and cruel. “I don’t think I will,” he said, his tone shifting into something darker, more threatening. “What are you gonna do, Vi? Stare off into the distance and hope I get scared? Or maybe you’re just a secret perv, standing there enjoying the show.”

Vi’s jaw tightened, the muscles in her face twitching as her fingers flexed at her sides. She took a slow, deliberate step forward, her voice low and laced with venom. “Deckard,” she growled, each syllable slicing through the air. “You’re still the same piece of shit you were when we were kids.”

“Easy there, Vi,” Deckard said, his tone mockingly placating, as if speaking to a child throwing a tantrum. “Wouldn’t want to get yourself hurt, now, would ya?”

Vi’s movements were subtle as she stepped closer, her hand grazing the wooden wall for orientation before dropping to her side, curling into a tight fist. Her unseeing eyes were steady, her voice calm but razor-sharp. “Funny,” she said with a smirk that didn’t reach her face, “I was about to say the same thing to you.”

Deckard’s grip on the woman faltered for a moment before he shoved her roughly to the side. She stumbled back with a gasp, her hurried footsteps echoing in the alley as she made her escape. Vi tilted her head slightly, listening to the sound of her retreating steps until they faded into the distance.

“Get outta here,” Vi called after her, her voice firm, unwavering. “I’ll handle this.”

Deckard’s laugh erupted again, this time harsher, more guttural, echoing off the narrow walls of the alley. “You? Handle me?” He stepped closer, the sound of his boots crunching against the grit growing louder. “This I gotta see. Ha—pun fucking intended.”

Vi smirked faintly, the sound of his words sharpening her focus. She shifted her stance, her feet grounding her as she turned her head toward the sound of his voice. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said coolly. “You’ll feel it when I do.”

The fight was swift and unorthodox, a brutal clash of desperation and instinct. Deckard’s arrogance worked in Vi’s favor; he underestimated her, just as she knew he would. His first swing was wide and clumsy, telegraphed by the rustle of his coat and the sharp exhale of his breath. Vi ducked under it, her body moving on muscle memory and sound alone. She pivoted on her heel, twisting her body as her fist drove into his ribs with a satisfying crack, the impact jarring her knuckles.

Deckard grunted, the air forced from his lungs, and stumbled back a step. The sound of his boots scraping against the gritty ground echoed in her ears. “You’ve still got fight in you,” he spat, his voice tinged with surprise and grudging respect. “But we aren’t kids anymore.”

“Guess you’ll learn the hard way,” Vi shot back, her voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through her veins. Her fingers flexed, her fists clenching tighter as she steadied herself.

Deckard lunged, and Vi caught the shift in his weight from the sound of his boots. She moved to dodge, but the alley was narrow, and his fist clipped her shoulder with a dull, sickening thud. The force knocked her back a step, a quick flare of pain radiating down her arm. She grit her teeth, swallowing the groan that threatened to escape, and retaliated immediately. Her fist shot out, connecting with his jaw in a vicious uppercut that sent his head snapping back.

The alley was alive with the sounds of their struggle; the grunt of impact, the scuff of boots grinding against the ground,the wet sound of skin meeting flesh. Vi’s world was narrowed to these sounds, her other senses heightened as she tracked Deckard’s movements. Her muscles moved on instinct, years of street brawls guiding her strikes. But Deckard was larger, stronger, and he didn’t fight fair.

He feinted to her left, the sound of his steps shifting too late for her to react. She felt the rough grip of his hand close around her arm, twisting it painfully as he slammed her against the wall. The unforgiving surface bit into her back, and a sharp gasp escaped her lips as pain flared along her spine. The alley reeked of oil and damp rot, the scents mixing with the metallic tang of blood she tasted in her mouth from biting her lip during the impact.

“You’re done,” Deckard sneered, his breath hot against her face, the stench of cheap alcohol and tobacco making her stomach churn.

Vi didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, she twisted her body sharply, ignoring the sharp pull in her arm as she drove her knee up into his stomach. The impact was brutal, her kneecap slamming into soft flesh, and Deckard let out a strangled sound as the air was knocked from his lungs. His grip loosened, and Vi didn’t hesitate. She wrenched her arm free, pivoting as she delivered a brutal punch to his temple.

The blow landed with a sickening thud, and Deckard staggered back, cursing as he struggled to regain his balance. Vi could hear the ragged edge to his breathing, the way he spit to the side, likely clearing blood from his mouth. “You’re tougher than I remember,” he rasped, his voice tinged with both pain and frustration. “But I’m done fucking around.”

His footsteps shifted, heavier and more deliberate, signaling he was gearing up for something worse. Vi’s fingers flexed, her fists aching but steady. She braced herself, her breath steadying despite the sharp sting radiating from her shoulder and the dull throb of her back.

“You should’ve backed off,” Vi muttered, her voice low and dangerous, every syllable laced with the promise of violence. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound of it roaring in her ears as she braced herself for Deckard’s next move.

She caught the faint scrape of metal against leather, a knife. The realization sent a jolt of adrenaline through her veins, sharpening her focus. The weight of his shifting feet and the subtle shift in the air told her enough. She lunged forward, her movements swift and purposeful, her hand shooting out to grab his wrist. Her grip was firm, unrelenting, as she twisted sharply, feeling the tendons in his arm strain against her hold.

The knife clattered to the ground with a metallic echo, the sound loud and final. Deckard snarled, his breath hot and reeking, but Vi didn’t give him a chance to recover. She drove her fist into his face, the impact sending a sickening jolt through her arm as her knuckles connected with bone. His nose gave way with a wet crunch, and a spray of blood splattered against her fist.

He staggered back, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he hit the ground hard. The sound of his body collapsing onto the damp alley floor was almost satisfying. Vi stood over him, her chest heaving as she caught her breath, her head tilting slightly as she listened to his pained gasps.

“Still wanna dance, Deckard?” she asked, her voice steady, cold. Her fists clenched at her sides, blood, his and hers, dripping from her split knuckles.

Deckard coughed, choking on his own breath, and let out a low groan of defeat. He didn’t answer, his bravado shattered, leaving only the pathetic sounds of his pain.

Vi took a slow, deliberate step forward, her boots scuffing against the uneven ground. She crouched down, her fingers brushing against the air until they found the front of his shirt. She fisted the fabric and yanked him up slightly, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in close. The smell of blood, sweat, and fear filled her nose, the combination was nauseating.

“If I ever catch you pulling this shit again,” she growled, her voice low and menacing, every word dripping with venom, “you won’t walk away next time. Got it?”

Deckard nodded weakly, his bravado completely gone. His voice, trembling and hoarse, croaked out, “Yeah, Vi… won’t happen again.”

Satisfied, she released him with a rough shove, sending him sprawling back onto the alley floor. She straightened, her movements deliberate as she wiped her bloody hands on her pants. The adrenaline that had fueled her moments ago was already fading, leaving behind the dull ache of her injuries. Her shoulder throbbed where his punch had landed, her lip stung from where her teeth had bitten into it, and her knuckles were raw and split, her blood mixing with Deckard’s on her hands.

Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Vander was going to kill her when he saw her like this. She could already hear his voice, full of equal parts frustration and worry. But right now, she didn’t care. What mattered was that the woman had gotten away, that Deckard had been put in his place.

Vi turned toward the bar, her fingers brushing along the wall to guide herself back. Each step was measured, her boots crunching against the gritty alley floor. The air was thick with the lingering scent of iron and sweat, but the tension that had gripped the alley moments ago had dissolved into silence.

As she reached the door, she paused, leaning against the wooden frame for a moment. Her breath came in slow, steadying pulls, her hand pressed against her side as she felt the aches in her body catching up to her. She wiped her face with her sleeve, smearing blood across her skin, before pulling the door open and stepping back into the dim light of The Last Drop.

What Vi didn’t expect when she shut the door behind her was Vander standing in the back room, his broad frame blocking her path. She collided with him, the sudden impact making her flinch. Instinctively, her hands shot up to steady herself against him, but she pulled back just as quickly, her knuckles brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Damn it, Vander,” she muttered, her voice low and tired, though her heart was pounding in her chest.

He didn’t respond. The silence was heavy, pressing down on her like a weight. Even without sight, she could feel his eyes on her, scanning her appearance; taking in the split lip, the blood on her hands, the bruises forming on her knuckles. He didn’t need to say anything; the air between them was filled with his unspoken judgment.

Vi turned her head slightly in his direction, her eyes narrowing. She didn’t need to see his face to know what it looked like. The memories of his disappointed expressions from her younger years lingered, faded but still etched into her mind. She could practically picture it now; the furrowed brows, the tight line of his lips, the way his shoulders tensed as if he was holding himself back from saying what he really wanted to say.

“Go ahead,” she said finally, breaking the silence. Her voice was defensive. “Say whatever it is you’re thinking.”

Vander still didn’t speak. The quiet stretched out, suffocating, until Vi couldn’t take it anymore. She shifted on her feet, the ache in her shoulder reminding her of the fight she’d just walked away from. Her fingers flexed at her sides, her bloodied knuckles throbbing as she clenched her fists.

“Vander,” she said again, this time softer, pleading. “Just say it.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady, but filled with disapproval that made her stomach churn. “What the hells were you thinkin’, Vi?”

She let out a sharp breath, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “I was thinking some asshole was harassing a woman, and I wasn’t gonna stand there and do nothing.”

Vander’s sigh was drawn out, the sound carrying both exasperation and concern. “And now look at you,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “You look like shit, Vi. What if it’d gone worse?”

“It didn’t,” she snapped, her jaw tightening. “I handled it.”

“Handled it?” he repeated, his voice rising just enough to make her flinch. “You’re bleedin’, Vi. You’re bruised up, and for what? To prove that you can?”

Vi turned her head away, her shoulders stiffening. “It’s not about that,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about doing what’s right.”

Vander’s silence returned, heavier this time, and Vi could have sworn she could feel the tension radiating off him. She shifted on her feet again, her fingers twitching as she tried to resist the urge to lash out, to defend herself against a man who had always been her protector, even when she didn’t want him to be most of the time now.

Vander reached out, his large hand gently wrapping around Vi’s arm. The touch startled her, and she flinched instinctively, her body tensing as if bracing for something more. But Vander didn’t let go. His grip was firm yet careful, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t angry, just… worried.

“C’mon,” he said gruffly, his voice softer now but still carrying that weight of concern. He began to guide her back toward the main bar, his steps slow. Vi didn’t resist, though her lips pressed into a tight line as he led her, his hand never leaving her arm. She could feel the strength in his hold, not threatening, but steady and unshakable.

When they reached the bar, Vander eased her onto the first stool. The old wood creaked faintly under her weight as she settled, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter to ground herself. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she turned toward him. “I’m fine, Vander,” she muttered, though the exhaustion in her voice betrayed the words.

He didn’t respond again, at least not verbally. She heard his boots retreating across the floor, the faint creak of hinges as he disappeared into the back room. The sound of rummaging followed, bottles clinking softly together before he returned with a clean rag and one of the open bottles of bourbon he kept behind the bar. The acrid scent of the liquor hit her nose immediately, strong and biting, but she didn’t comment. She knew what was coming.

Vander stood before her, setting the bottle and rag down on the counter with a quiet thunk. His hands moved with a practiced ease as he poured some of the bourbon onto the rag, the liquid soaking through the fabric. The first touch of the damp cloth against her split knuckles made her flinch again, a sharp intake of breath hissing through her teeth.

“Easy,” Vander murmured, his tone low and soothing as he dabbed at her hand. He didn’t stop, working in silence as he cleaned the dried blood from her skin. The sharp sting of the alcohol was a reminder of the fight she’d just been through, every scrape and bruise a testament to her ‘good heart’ and stubbornness.

Vi’s jaw tightened, her fingers twitching slightly as she fought the urge to pull away. The silence between them was uncomfortable, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. She tilted her head downward, her milky eyes fixed on nothing as Vander worked. She hated this; hated the vulnerability of sitting here while he fussed over her, but she couldn’t bring herself to push him away.

The rag pressed against a particularly tender spot on her shoulder, and she flinched again, the movement subtle but enough for Vander to notice. He paused, his hand hovering for a moment before he resumed, more gently this time.

“You don’t have to do this,” Vi muttered, her voice low, almost inaudible.

“Yeah,” Vander replied just as quietly, his tone steady. “I do.”

Once Vander finished tending to her split lip, dabbing the rag with a gentleness that felt at odds with his size, Vi exhaled sharply and shifted in her seat, ready to be done with the whole ordeal. But before she could say anything, the front doors of The Last Drop creaked open, the sound cutting through the relative quiet of the bar.

Vi’s head tilted toward the noise, her fingers curling against the counter. It was too early for customers, and she could already tell by the sound of the footsteps that it wasn’t Vander’s regular crowd. These were lighter, faster, and unevenly paced, familiar.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the voices started. Laughter, chatter, and the unmistakable energy of people who had just entered a room without a care in the world.

“Vi!” Powder’s voice rang out above the rest, high-pitched and excited as usual, her boots scuffing against the floor as she hurried toward the bar. Behind her, the others followed; Mylo, Claggor, and even Ekko, their tones animated as they congratulated Powder on her recent success.

“You’re gonna be a damn Academy student, Pow,” Mylo was saying, his words brimming with exaggerated pride. “Soon, you’ll be designing stuff we’ll all be too dumb to understand.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ekko teased, earning a laugh from Claggor.

Vi remained still on the stool, her head turned slightly in their direction. She didn’t need to see them to know the exact scene unfolding; Powder beaming under their praise, Mylo gesturing wildly, Ekko and Claggor grinning.

The lively chatter came to an abrupt halt when they noticed her. Silence hung in the air for a moment, the scrutiny of their collective stares pressing down on her like a spotlight.

“Of course,” Powder muttered, breaking the stillness. Her voice carried an unmistakable mix of guilt, exasperation, and resignation. “You got into another fight, didn’t you?”

Vi smirked faintly, though the motion pulled at her freshly cleaned lip. “What can I say, Pow-Pow,” she drawled, leaning back slightly against the counter. “Some people just can’t resist pickin’ a fight with me.”

Powder crossed her arms, shaking her head as she approached, her steps slower now. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day, Vi.” Her tone was harsh, but Vi could hear the worry threaded through it. It was always there, even when Powder tried to mask it with frustration.

“I’m fine,” Vi replied, her voice steady, though she could feel Vander’s silent disapproval radiating beside her. “It’s nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Sure,” Mylo chimed in, his sarcasm slipping through the tension as he gestured toward her split lip. “You look like you handled it real well.”

Claggor elbowed him lightly, muttering, “Not the time, Mylo,” but his concern was evident in his tone.

Ekko stayed quiet, his perceptive gaze flicking between Vi and Vander as if trying to piece together the situation.

Vi tilted her head toward Powder, her smirk fading slightly. “What’re you all doin’ here anyway? Didn’t think I’d hear the whole crew this early.”

Powder’s stern expression softened just a fraction, her enthusiasm bubbling back to the surface. “We wanted to celebrate,” she said, her tone lighter now. “You know, the whole Academy thing. Thought we’d come here, get some food, and, I don’t know, hang out.”

Vi’s chest tightened at the mix of pride and guilt that rose within her. She nodded, forcing a smile. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, her voice quieter. “You deserve it, Pow.”

Vander’s voice broke through, firm but calm. “Not you, Violet. You’re coming with me.”

The words were met with a collective groan from everyone in the room, though none were louder than Powder’s exaggerated pout.

“Seriously?” Powder huffed, crossing her arms. “We just got here!”

Vander softened, turning to Powder and wrapping her in a quick hug. “We’ll be right back, kiddo. This won’t take long.” His tone was gentle, but there was no room for argument.

Vi sighed heavily, already resigned to her fate. “Guess that’s my cue,” she muttered, rising from the stool. She held out her arm, her movements slow and deliberate, and as expected, Vander’s large, calloused hand clasped it without hesitation.

“Let’s go,” Vander said, his grip steady but not overly tight.

Vi followed him without protest, her boots scuffing against the wooden floor as he led her toward the front doors. The familiar hum of the bar faded behind her, replaced by the quiet murmur of the Lanes outside.

The moment the cooler air hit her face, Vi felt her anxiety spike. Her free hand twitched at her side as if tempted to grab onto something for support, but she forced it to stay still. It wasn’t the streets themselves that unnerved her; it was the unknown, the way every sound could be something or nothing. Out here, she was at the mercy of the darkness she carried with her.

Still, she let Vander guide her, the weight of his presence anchoring her in the storm of her unease.

Vander led Vi without a word, his grip firm and steady as they walked through the uneven streets of the Lanes. Normally, his silence wouldn’t have bothered her, it was just his way. But as the minutes stretched on, and her boots hit unfamiliar patterns of cobblestone beneath her, her nerves began to fray.

Home might have felt like a cage most days, but at least she understood it, controlled it. Out here, in the open world where every sound was sharp and every step uncertain, she felt exposed. Vulnerable. The quiet between them only made it worse, her inability to track where Vander was leading her igniting a swirl of fear.

Her free hand curled into a fist, her knuckles brushing against her thigh as they walked. She hated this feeling; this helpless, gnawing unease that crept into her chest. She wouldn’t give it power by admitting it to Vander, but she could still let out the fire in a different way.

“Are we gonna walk in silence forever, or are you planning on saying something?” she snapped, her voice edged with frustration.

Vander’s steps didn’t falter, his hand on her arm still a steady anchor. “We’ll talk when we get there,” he said simply, his tone calm but unyielding.

Vi let out a sharp breath, her teeth grinding together. “Great. Real helpful, Vander,” she muttered, her free hand gesturing vaguely into the empty air. “Just keep dragging the blind girl into godsdamn nowhere. What’s the plan? Toss me in the river and hope I float?”

The corner of Vander’s mouth twitched; she couldn’t see it, but she could feel the faint change in his posture. “You’re not that lucky,” he replied, a faint hint of dry humor in his tone.

It wasn’t enough to soothe her nerves. She pulled her arm back slightly, testing his grip, but he didn’t let go. “You could at least tell me where we’re going,” she said, her voice quieter but no less pointed. “I’m not a kid anymore, Vander.”

His reply was quiet, almost too soft for her to hear. “No. But you’re still my kid.”

The words settled over her like a weight, one she couldn’t shrug off no matter how much she wanted to.

Vi felt the chill of the metal seep through her shirt as Vander gently leaned her against it. It was cooler than she expected, but it wouldn’t last; she could already feel the warmth creeping into the surface as the sun rose higher in the sky. Her fingers instinctively reached out, brushing over the ridges and grooves until they stopped on something else, something thin and brittle. Paper.

Her heart hammered in her chest as her fingers moved, one flyer after another stuck to the metal. Each one crinkled slightly beneath her touch, the texture unmistakable. Her throat tightened, and an icy feeling of dread settled in her stomach.

She turned her head toward where she knew Vander stood, her unseeing eyes narrowing in anger. “Why did you bring me here?” she demanded, her voice accusatory, nearly cracking.

Vander’s reply was steady, unflinching, his words hitting her harder than Deckard. “I thought you might need a reminder of what you lost and could still lose.”

Her jaw tightened, and her chest heaved as she struggled to hold back the anger threatening to spill out. “I don’t need a reminder,” she hissed, her hands curling into fists against the metal. The flyers rustled under the sudden pressure, but she ignored them. “I remember every damn day.”

The smell of rust and grease filled her nostrils, the faint hum of Zaun’s machinery in the background growing distant as her mind pulled her somewhere else. Back to that day. Back to this bridge. The image was burned into her memory, sharper than any sound or touch could ever be.

Her mother, sprawled lifelessly on the metal under her fingers. Blood pooling beneath her, staining the bridge and mixing with gunpowder and dirty. Powder singing as she held her hand, the sound haunting through the destruction. And her father… the same as her mother, gone before she even had the chance to understand what had happened.

Vi clenched her teeth, her nails digging into her palms as the memory surged forward, vivid and unrelenting. The one image she’d never lost to the darkness of her eyes. “Why, Vander?” she asked, her voice trembling now, caught between anger and pain. “Why here?”

She didn’t need to say more. He knew. He’d always known. She and Powder had been there, crying, frozen, and helpless, when everything they’d known was ripped away. And now, standing on this bridge with the rising sun warming the metal beneath her hands, it all came rushing back like a wave threatening to drown her.

Vander’s voice broke through her thoughts, low and steady, but carrying the weight of everything he hadn’t said until now. “You’re being reckless, Vi,” he began, his tone almost weary, like a man tired of watching the same mistakes play out over and over. “One of these days, you’re gonna pick a fight you can’t win.”

Vi’s head tilted slightly in his direction, her lips pressing into a thin line as her jaw tightened. The words stung, but it wasn’t the first time she’d heard them. Her defiance bubbled to the surface, her mouth opening to retort, but Vander didn’t give her the chance.

“That’s exactly what happened here, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with a regret that seemed to seep into the air around them. “I rallied the Undercity. Thought we could stand up, fight back against Piltover and their Enforcers. Thought we could win.” He paused, the memory dragging his voice down further. “We didn’t. We never really had a chance.”

His hand reached out, resting gently on Vi’s uninjured shoulder. She stiffened at the contact, a flicker of instinctual resistance tightening her frame, but Vander didn’t pull back. His grip was firm but not forceful, a steadying presence against the storm brewing inside her. “This bridge,” he said, gesturing faintly toward the cold expanse of metal around them, “it’s where I learned the cost of my choices. It’s where I lost your parents. Where I found you and Powder after it all fell apart.”

Vi flinched at his words, her fingers twitching at her sides as if to ward off the memory. She didn’t need a reminder of that day. The sight of her mother’s lifeless eyes had burned itself into her mind long before the explosion took her sight. That image had never faded, not in the nineteen years since.

Vander sighed deeply, the sound laden with a heaviness that seemed to weigh on both of them. His hand shifted slightly on her shoulder, tightening just enough to ground her, to make sure she didn’t drift too far into the darkness that consumed her thoughts. “I still remember that day like it was yesterday,” he murmured, his voice soft but unrelenting. “The explosion,” he clarified. “You, what was left of you, being dragged back to the bar. Burnt. Bloody. Broken.” His voice faltered for a moment, the pain of the memory cutting through his usually stoic demeanor.

“Janna help me,” he continued after a pause, his voice rougher now, “I thought I was gonna lose you then. Seeing you like that… so still, so small… it was like losing your parents all over again. And I promised them, Violet. I promised them I’d keep you and Powder safe. And that day, looking at you like that, I thought I’d failed them again… Failed you.”

Vi’s fists curled at her sides, her body trembling as his words dug into her like shards of glass. Her head turned slightly away, as if she could physically push away the weight of his regret and the memories it brought. But Vander didn’t stop.

“I know you’ve struggled since then, Vi,” he said, his tone softening as his grip on her shoulder loosened. “I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. Every time you pull away, every time you shut us out, I know. And I’ve done everything I could to keep you safe, to keep Powder safe. But Vi…” He hesitated, his voice catching for the briefest moment. “I can’t keep doing it if you won’t protect yourself.”

The words hung between them, heavy and unyielding. Vander let out a slow breath, stepping back slightly but keeping his presence close enough to anchor her. “You’re not living, kid. You’re fighting ghosts. You’ve been fighting ever since this bridge took your parents, ever since Piltover left its mark on us all. But if you keep throwing yourself into fights like this morning, you’re gonna end up back on this bridge with them. Only this time, I might not be able to pull you out and take you home.”

Vi’s breath hitched, her head tilting slightly as if to meet his gaze, even though she couldn’t see it. The silence stretched, her defiance cracking under the weight of his words.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” Vander continued finally, his voice steady but tinged with quiet desperation. “I’m saying it because I can’t lose you too Violet.”

Vander’s large hands reached out, his movements deliberate but unshakably gentle, as he took Vi’s hands in his own. His palms, rough and scarred from years of labor in the mines, enveloped hers with a warmth that made her chest tighten. Slowly, he guided her hands upward, pressing them against the weathered planes of his face. His beard, coarse and uneven, was the first thing her fingers encountered, the familiar texture grounding her in the moment. His breath, trembling ever so slightly, fanned against her palms, betraying the emotions he kept tightly controlled.

They didn’t do this often; this act of quiet searching. It wasn’t something either of them were particularly good at, but Vander knew it was the only way to break through to her now. Words alone weren’t enough; they never had been. He needed her to feel what he couldn’t express, to understand the depth of his fear, his pain, and his love.

Vi’s breath caught in her throat as her fingers moved tentatively across his features. She mapped the strong, familiar contours of his face, tracing the hard line of his jaw that had always felt unyielding, even during moments of tenderness. Her touch lingered over the deep grooves etched into his skin; lines carved by years of hardship, responsibility, and sacrifice. Faint scars crossed his cheeks and brow, remnants of battles fought long before she’d ever known him. She’d memorized them all as a child, when she still had her sight, but now, feeling them anew, they carried a weight she hadn’t noticed back then.

Her fingers brushed higher, following the curve of his brow, and then lower, skimming the area beneath his eyes. That’s when she felt it. Dampness. Warm and unsteady. Tears.

Her heart twisted violently in her chest, her breathing faltering. Vander was crying. Vander -her unshakable anchor, her immovable wall, the man who’d held her world together when it crumbled- was crying. She’d never seen it, not once in all the years he’d raised her. But now, in the darkness that had become her world, the warmth of his tears against her fingertips was more powerful than anything she could have seen.

Her own tears came unbidden, welling up and spilling over before she even realized it. They streaked down her cheeks in silent waves, the dam she’d built inside herself finally breaking under the weight of his grief. She hadn’t cried like this in years, hadn’t let herself, but now the pain and guilt and fear she’d buried came rushing to the surface, powerful and uncontrollable.

Vander’s thumbs brushed against her cheeks, wiping away her tears with a tenderness that broke her further. His hands, calloused and strong, cupped her face as if to hold her together when she felt like she might fall apart. The knot of defiance and anger in her chest unraveled completely, leaving behind a hollow ache that was somehow both painful and freeing.

Vi leaned into his touch, her forehead brushing against his as she clung to the moment, unwilling to let go. Her hands never left his face, her fingers trembling as they traced the edges of his jaw one last time before settling against his cheeks. She could feel the faint quiver in his breath, the steady thrum of his pulse beneath her fingertips, and the way he seemed to hold himself together just enough for her sake.

Her voice, raw and broken, slipped past her lips in a whisper so soft it felt fragile. “I’m sorry.”

The words hung between them, heavy with the weight of everything they couldn’t say. They weren’t enough to undo the past or fix the wounds they both carried, but they were all she had to give.

Vander’s grip on her face tightened just slightly, his own voice too thick with pain and love to form a response. Instead, he leaned his forehead against hers, letting his silence speak the words he couldn’t. The two of them stayed like that, holding onto each other in the quiet morning air, the world beyond the bridge fading away as they shared a rare, unspoken understanding.

Chapter Text

The Last Drop was quieter than usual tonight. Powder’s excitement over her Academy acceptance had filled the bar earlier, her laughter and animated chatter lifting the usual gloom like a rare burst of sunlight. But now, the energy had dimmed. Powder had drifted toward a corner of the room, tinkering with a gadget she’d brought along, her focus intense but her glances toward Vi frequent and worried. Vander stood behind the bar, wiping down glasses in his usual steady rhythm, but Vi could feel his watchful eyes on her as she sat slumped at a table near the wall.

The pain behind her eyes had appeared again, slicing through her skull like an unforgiving blade. The ache was becoming more frequent, the shimmer she’d taken the night before barely dulling it for long. She leaned her elbows on the table, pressing her fingers against her temples as if that could somehow ease the pressure. Though she knew she couldn’t. The relief shimmer once gave her was fading with every dose. It had been a dangerous gamble to start, but now it was a failing one. Her body craved more, demanded it even, but each use felt like striking a match in Janna’s wind. She would need to meet Silco again soon; an encounter she loathed with every fiber of her being.

Silco’s name alone set her body on edge. It didn’t matter that he and Vander shared some tenuous, grudging respect; Vi had never trusted him. She’d never liked him, either. His silky, calculated tone grated on her nerves, like nails dragged across metal. The memory of his unsettling, mismatched eyes lingered in her mind, one gleaming with quiet cunning, the other a warped abyss. There was something about him that felt inherently wrong, like the rot in the corners of Zaun’s streets, growing in places it didn’t belong.

But her distaste for him wasn’t enough to keep her away. Silco controlled the shimmer supply in the Undercity, and she needed it, no matter how much she hated herself for it. She couldn’t let Vander know, couldn’t let Powder know. They would see it as a betrayal, as a sign of weakness. And maybe it was.

Her fingers pressed harder against her temples, the pain pounding in waves that threatened to overwhelm her. Just the thought of Silco’s smug expression made her stomach twist, but the truth was simple: she couldn’t endure the pain without shimmer. Every minute without it felt like another crack in the fragile front she tried to wear, a mask that kept Powder smiling, Vander hovering but calm, and everyone else at bay.

Vi’s hand dropped to the table, her fingers curling into a fist. She’d have to find a way to keep the meeting quick, impersonal. Get the shimmer and leave. No pleasantries, no lingering. Not that Silco ever let her go without some pointed remark or thinly veiled jab. He always saw too much, knew too much, and she hated how exposed she felt under his gaze.

She exhaled sharply, the sound drawing a brief glance from Powder before the girl quickly looked away. Vi knew she messed up. So she straightened slightly, forcing her posture to relax, masking the tension that coiled like a spring in her chest. Whatever it took, she would deal with Silco. She always did. But even as she thought it, the weight of the decision settled heavier on her shoulders.

The door creaked open, and Vi’s head snapped up, her muscles tensing instinctively. She didn’t need to see to know who it was; those measured, light footsteps were unmistakable now, even though it was only her third time hearing them. The weight of the visitor’s presence seemed to settle over the bar like an unwelcome fog, thick and intrusive.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Vi muttered under her breath, her fingers curling slightly against the worn wood of the table.

Caitlyn Kiramman stepped inside, her boots clicking softly against the scuffed floorboards. The quiet hum of the bar seemed to hush even further as she approached, her presence an odd contrast to the dim, rough edges of The Last Drop. Caitlyn didn’t belong here, and yet, there she was, her polished demeanor slicing through the haze.

Vi straightened in her seat further, her arms crossing over her chest as she fixed her eyes toward the sound of Caitlyn’s steps. Powder glanced up from her gadget, her face lighting up briefly with recognition before guilt flickered across her features. She ducked her head back down, pretending to be engrossed in her work, her movements suddenly more hesitant than before.

“Good evening,” Caitlyn said, her voice polite, carrying an air of careful confidence. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

Vi tilted her head toward her, her lips curling into a sneer. “You again. What do you want now?” The irritation in her tone was unmistakable, her words flying through the fragile air like a whip.

“I wanted to talk,” Caitlyn said, stopping a few paces away from Vi’s table. Her voice softened, but there was no mistaking the resolve behind it. “Properly this time.”

“Talk?” Vi let out a harsh, humorless laugh, leaning back in her chair as if Caitlyn’s presence were more amusing than irritating. “And what makes you think I’ve got anything to say to you?”

Caitlyn hesitated, her hands clasped lightly in front of her, the small gesture betraying a hint of uncertainty. “I am afraid I may owe you another apology,” she said carefully, each word practiced. “For the previous night. I realize I have overstepped.”

Vi arched an eyebrow, though her expression remained hard. “Oh, you realize now? That’s rich. Typical Piltie—always late to the party.”

“I didn’t—” Caitlyn started, her voice tightening with frustration, but Vi didn’t let her finish.

“Powder,” Vi said abruptly, her voice carrying across the room. “Why don’t you remind our guest here how she learned my name in the first place?”

Powder flinched, her hands stilling over the small device in her lap. She glanced up, her blue eyes wide with guilt, before quickly looking back down. “I didn’t mean to,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was just… excited.”

Caitlyn’s gaze shifted to Powder, her expression softening at the young girl’s unease. “It wasn’t her fault,” she said gently, her tone almost soothing. “She—”

“Don’t,” Vi interrupted, her tone cold and unrelenting. “Don’t defend her, and don’t act like you know her. You don’t know a damn thing about either of us.”

Caitlyn stiffened slightly at the rebuke, but her composure didn’t falter. Instead, her gaze flicked back to Vi, her brow furrowing as if considering her next words carefully. Then, with a faint, almost amused tilt of her head, she spoke. “Vi, I’m unsure if you’re aware,” she said evenly, gesturing toward her own cheek in a pointed motion, though she knew the woman wouldn’t see it,“but your name is on your face.”

Vi froze for a split second, her smirk faltering as the words hit her. She had completely forgotten about the tattoo; bold, stark letters etched permanently into her skin. When she’d gotten it, along with the sprawling design that covered her back, ran down the back of her arms, and climbed up her neck, it hadn’t been about practicality. It had been about claiming something; her identity, her body, her life. The fact that she couldn’t see it had never mattered.

She’d been high when she got them, stumbling into a dingy tattoo parlor in the depths of the Zaun. The artist, a gruff man with stained hands, hadn’t asked questions. He’d just nodded and done the work, the needle buzzing against her skin for hours as she gritted her teeth through the pain. She remembered Vander’s reaction vividly, his voice thick with frustration when he’d first seen the fresh ink. “Why the hells would you get tattoos when you can’t even see them?” he’d demanded.

But Vi had simply shrugged him off. She wanted them. She’d always wanted them. Being blind didn’t change that. They were hers, a defiant statement to the world and to herself that she was still Vi, no matter what had been taken from her. That was three years ago, and now the tattoos were just another part of her, as much a part of her identity as the scars she bore.

From behind the bar, Vander cleared his throat, a low, funny sound that was suspiciously close to a laugh. Vi’s jaw tightened, her irritation spiking as she felt the amusement radiating from him. He wasn’t going to say anything, of course he rarely did unless she really pushed him but the subtle reprimand was there, hovering in the air between them.

“I’m not here to cause you any more turmoil,” Caitlyn said, her voice calm but unwavering. “I just wanted to… to get to know you as an individual.”

Vi’s laugh came again more bitter this time. “You want to get to know me? Why? So you can run back to Piltover and report all the weird little details you learned slumming it in the Undercity? Or maybe you’re just bored. Looking for a bit of excitement to spice up your prudish, pristine life up top?”

Caitlyn’s tone didn’t waver, her words measured but resolute. “I’m here because I want to be,” she said firmly. “And no one sent me. This has nothing to do with my position as Sheriff.”

Vi arched an eyebrow, though her unseeing eyes remained cold and distant. “Yeah, sure. And I’m just supposed to take your word for it? Forgive me, m’lady, if I’m not exactly brimming with trust.”

“You don’t have to believe me,” Caitlyn replied evenly, her gaze steady. “However, everything I said is the truth.”

The pain behind Vi’s eyes throbbed again, a sharp and relentless ache that threatened to unravel her already frayed patience. Her fingers twitched against the edge of the table as she considered her next move. Finally, she shoved her chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the worn floorboards as she stood. Her movements were intentional, each step slow and calculated as she approached Caitlyn. Her hand brushed lightly against the edge of the table to guide her, her other arm hanging loose at her side, though her body radiated tension.

When she stopped just short of Caitlyn, she tilted her head slightly, her lips pulling into a humorless smirk. “Listen, Sheriff ,” she said, her voice low and laced with warning. “You don’t get to waltz in here like you own the place, act like we’re old friends, and expect me to roll out the welcome mat. You want to know me? Earn that right.”

Caitlyn’s shoulders straightened, her posture as composed as ever despite the venom in Vi’s tone. “Then allow me to try,” she said simply, her voice calm and steady.

Vi let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head as if the sheer absurdity of the situation was almost too much to process. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” she muttered, her smirk fading into something more guarded. “But guts don’t mean shit to me.”

“That’s your valid opinion,” Caitlyn replied, her tone quiet but resolute. “However, I’m not leaving.”

Vi’s lips pressed into a thin line, her unseeing eyes narrowing as she leaned closer, her presence still commanding despite her lack of sight. “Then you’re either brave or stupid,” she said coldly, her voice dropping into a whisper. “Guess we’ll find out which one soon enough.”

Vander cleared his throat again, louder this time, the sound cutting through the tension like a mediator. Vi turned her head toward him, her irritation flaring as her brows furrowed. “You just gonna stand there and let her stay?” she demanded, her voice pointed and biting.

“She’s not causing trouble,” Vander replied evenly, his tone calm but firm, though there was a subtle undercurrent of amusement in his words. “Plus, it’s entertaining to watch you puff out your chest like that. Very intimidating, kid.”

Vi let out a sharp exhale, her hands balling into fists at her sides before she ran one through her hair in frustration. “The fuck, Vander!” she snapped, her cheeks burning with a blush she could feel creeping up her neck. She knew Caitlyn and everyone else in the bar could see it, which only added to her irritation. “Fine. Whatever. You’re no help, old man.”

Vander smirked faintly but said nothing more, his focus returning to the glass he was cleaning, though Vi could feel his silent amusement hanging in the air.

With a sharp pivot, Vi turned on her heel and stalked back toward the bar, her boots scuffing against the worn floorboards as she moved. Powder’s gaze followed her, wide and uncertain, her expression a mix of guilt and worry. She looked like she wanted to say something but held her tongue, her hands fiddling nervously with the small gadget in her lap.

Caitlyn, unfazed by Vi’s sharpness, followed at a slower pace. Her steps were quiet, the soft click of her boots barely audible over the faint murmurs of the bar’s few other patrons. When she reached the bar, she slid onto one of the stools, her movements composed and measured. Vander raised an eyebrow at her, his lips twitching as if fighting back a grin, and Caitlyn offered him the faintest smile in return.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, stretching out between them like a taut rope. The bar, though quieter than usual, felt even more subdued in the wake of the tense exchange. Vi busied herself behind the counter, her movements quick and purposeful as she wiped down the counter with aggressive strokes. The ache behind her eyes throbbed relentlessly, a constant, gnawing pain that shimmer couldn’t seem to dull anymore.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of a bottle, and she automatically adjusted its position on the shelf, her unseeing eyes staring straight ahead. She could feel Caitlyn’s presence just a few feet away, the weight of the woman’s gaze pressing down on her like a physical thing. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it was persistent, like a thread tugging at the edges of her attention no matter how hard she tried to focus on her task.

Caitlyn cleared her throat softly, the sound polite and insistent, Vi froze for a fraction of a second before resuming her work. “I wasn’t trying to upset you,” Caitlyn said finally, her voice calm but laced with something that sounded… earnest. “I came here because I wanted to understand. That is all.”

Vi snorted, her lips curling into a humorless smirk as she set the rag down and leaned her palms against the bar. “Understand what?” she shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “What it’s like to hang out in the Undercity? To rub elbows with the scum down here? Is that what you’re after?”

Caitlyn shook her head, though Vi couldn’t see it, her voice steady as she replied. “No. I want to understand you.”

Vi turned her head slightly toward Caitlyn, her eyes narrowing. “Why?” she asked, the word coming out sharper than she intended.

“Because,” Caitlyn said, her tone soft but unwavering. “I think there’s more to you than you let people see.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected, and for a moment, Vi didn’t know how to respond. The ache behind her eyes pulsed again, sharper this time, like a red-hot spike driving through her skull. She clenched her jaw tightly, her teeth grinding against each other as she fought to maintain her composure. She hated this, hated the vulnerability that came with being seen, even by someone like Caitlyn, who she didn’t even know. The bar felt smaller somehow, the weight of Caitlyn’s gaze pressing down on her like a spotlight she couldn’t escape.

Vi pushed off the counter, her movements deliberate but tense, her fingers instinctively brushing along the edge of the wood to guide her. Her other hand briefly skimmed the back of a stool as she turned, using its familiar shape to orient herself. “You think you want to know me?” she mumbled, her voice low and laced with venom. Her eyes stared straight ahead, her head tilting slightly as though she were sizing Caitlyn up despite the darkness that defined her being. “I’m not some pet you can parade around to your fancy friends topside.”

The words came out harsher than she intended, but Vi didn’t care. Let Caitlyn see the edge of her frustration, of her exhaustion. Let her know she wasn’t welcome here.

Caitlyn didn’t flinch at the anger in Vi’s tone. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on the bar with a posture that spoke of quiet determination. “Then help me get to know you, Vi,” she said evenly. “And for clarification, I would never do what you suggested. You may have your reservations about me but not everyone from Piltover is as you expect.”

Vi tilted her head, a disbelieving laugh bubbling from her throat as she turned away again. Her movements were slow, her hand trailing along the counter’s edge as she moved a few paces toward the end of the bar. She paused there, her fingers brushing against a bottle she had placed earlier, a tactile anchor in the swirling storm of her thoughts. “You’ll just run back to your ivory tower once you know,” she muttered under her breath, the words low but cutting. Her free hand curled into a fist, her nails digging into her palm to keep her focus away from the searing pain behind her eyes.

From his place behind the bar, Vander watched the exchange silently. His kind eyes flicked between the two women, his expression unreadable but heavy with unspoken thoughts. The faint crease in his brow deepened, but he said nothing, choosing instead to let the scene play out. His presence was steady, grounding, but even Vander knew better than to intervene too soon.

In the corner, Powder glanced up from her gadget, her blue eyes darting nervously between Vi and Caitlyn. Her fingers hesitated over the small device she’d been working on, her excitement from earlier replaced by a familiar worry that settled heavily in her chest. She opened her mouth as if to say something but seemed to think better of it, her shoulders hunching slightly as she looked back down at her work.

The tension in the room was palpable, like a brewing keg waiting to be unleashed. Caitlyn remained seated, her presence calm and unyielding. She didn’t press, didn’t push, but her silence was as much a challenge as her words had been. It was a quiet defiance, a refusal to back down, and it gnawed at Vi’s carefully constructed being.

Eventually, it was Powder who broke the silence, her voice small but determined. “Vi,” she said softly, glancing hesitantly at her sister before shifting her gaze to Caitlyn. “Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give her a chance to get to know you.”

Vi froze, her hand tightening around the edge of the bar, her knuckles turning white. The cloth she had been holding slipped from her grasp, landing with a soft thud on the counter. She didn’t respond, her jaw moving side to side, as she tried to push back the surge of frustration and guilt that Powder’s words stirred in her.

“Not now, Pow,” Vi said finally, her voice clipped and firm, leaving no room for argument.

“But—” Powder started, but Vander stepped in before she could finish. He moved to stand beside her, his large hand resting gently on her shoulder.

“Let it be, kiddo,” Vander said quietly, his tone soft but resolute. “Let it be.”

Powder hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line as her shoulders slumped slightly. She gave a small, reluctant nod and turned back to her gadget, though her movements were slower, her focus clearly elsewhere. The guilt lingered in her expression, but she said nothing more.

The room fell into silence again, save for the faint mutterings of other customers and the distant murmur of the city beyond the bar’s walls. Vi resumed her cleaning, her movements sharper now, more deliberate, as if trying to channel her frustration into the repetitive task. She felt Caitlyn’s eyes on her, steady and unyielding, and it made her skin prickle with irritation.

Caitlyn remained at the bar, her hands resting lightly on the counter as she watched Vi work. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, but her presence was a weight Vi couldn’t ignore. It was infuriating and unsettling in equal measure, the way Caitlyn seemed to occupy the space without forcing herself into it.

Vi’s fingers brushed against the edge of a glass as she reached for a towel, her touch slow and practiced as she guided it to the drying rack. The pain behind her eyes flared again, a sharp, piercing ache that made her grit her teeth. She forced herself to focus on the task, her hands moving with precision, but the tension coiled tightly in her chest refused to ease.

“You’re annoying, you know that,” Vi muttered finally, her voice low and edged with exhaustion. “Are you going to order anything or just sit there staring at the blind girl?” She waved vaguely in Caitlyn’s direction, her tone biting but lacking the sharp edge it usually carried. The exhaustion dulled her usual fire, leaving her words more fatigued than confrontational.

“I prefer persistent,” Caitlyn replied softly, her tone laced with amusement. She rested her hands lightly on the bar, her clean nails brushing against the worn wood. “I’ll take whiskey neat.”

Vi shook her head, letting out a laugh that was equal parts bitter and amused. “Yeah, well, annoying is more fitting,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her words as she reached for a bottle. Her movements were smooth but measured, her hand brushing the bar’s edge as she felt her way to the correct bottle. The faint glow of the bar’s lights reflected off her unseeing eyes, their pale blue hues swirling faintly like restless tides. Caitlyn noticed how, at the edges of Vi’s eyes, faint spiderweb-like scars glowed a soft blue, emanating from the corners and disappearing into her skin like threads of faintly luminescent frost.

Caitlyn watched Vi’s hands as she worked, her fingers deft and precise despite the obvious limitation of her blindness. She poured the drink without hesitation, the liquid sloshing gently into the glass. As Vi slid the drink across the bar toward her, Caitlyn couldn’t help but marvel at the way she moved with such practiced ease. It was as though every inch of this space was etched into her mind, each motion a dance choreographed to compensate for the darkness she lived in.

“Of course you’d take your drink neat,” Vi said, her lips curling into a faint smirk as she leaned slightly against the bar, her irritation giving way to reluctant intrigue. Her unseeing eyes fixed vaguely in Caitlyn’s direction, the faint glow of the scars around them catching the light like fractured glass.

“I like what I like,” Caitlyn replied with a smile, her voice light and genuine as she took a controlled sip of the drink. The whiskey was strong, burning pleasantly as it went down, but her attention remained fixed on Vi.

“Oh yeah?” Vi tilted her head, her smirk widening slightly. “And what do you like?” There was a hint of playfulness in her tone now, her earlier annoyance melting just enough to let curiosity creep in.

Caitlyn set her glass down carefully, her movements measured as she considered her response. “First,” she began, her voice steady, “you allowing me to speak with you. And second…” She hesitated, unsure how her next words would land but deciding to take the risk. Her gaze softened as she studied Vi’s face, her eyes swirling with that mesmerizing mixture of milky blue and white, framed by those faintly glowing scars. “Second, your eyes. They’re… quite lovely.”

The words hung in the air, and for the second time that night, Vi’s composure faltered. A faint blush crept up her cheeks, and she turned her head swiftly to the side to hide it. “The fuck, Caitlyn,” she muttered under her breath, her voice gruff and tinged with embarrassment.

Caitlyn couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just an observation,” she said lightly, picking up her glass again. “And an honest one as well.”

Vi scoffed, but the sound lacked its usual bite. She busied herself wiping down a clean spot on the counter, her motions brisk and focused as though determined to avoid addressing Caitlyn’s words directly. But the faint blush remained, a subtle betrayal of her otherwise gruff demeanor.

From the corner of the room, Powder glanced up from her tinkering, her brows furrowing slightly as she observed the interaction. Vander, ever-watchful, leaned casually against the far counter, his arms crossed as he quietly took in the exchange. The faintest hint of amusement flickered across his face, though he made no move to intervene.

“Well,” Vi said finally, her voice rough as she straightened. “You’ve got your drink. You can stop with the compliments now.” She folded her arms across her chest, her posture stiff as she tried to regain control of the conversation and her emotions.

Caitlyn chuckled softly, the sound rich and unbothered as her gaze lingered on Vi. “And why would I do that,” she countered, a playful lilt in her tone, “when you light up like that every time I do?” She took another sip of her whiskey, her confidence and ease as sharp as ever.

Vi stilled, the words hitting her like a sucker punch. She wasn’t ready for this; for the teasing tone, the pointed observation, or the way Caitlyn had managed to disarm her so effortlessly. Her cheeks burned hotter than her pounding head, and she shifted awkwardly, her feet shuffling against the floor as though she might escape the conversation entirely.

“Yeah, I’m… gonna go,” she mumbled, the words rushed and uncharacteristically clumsy as she turned on her heel, only to misjudge the step. Her boot caught on the edge of a stool, and she stumbled forward, a clatter of wood and sharp breaths echoing through the bar.

Before she could fully hit the ground, Vander was there, his strong hands catching her by the arms and steadying her with practiced ease. “Easy, Vi,” he said, his tone a mix of amusement and concern. His steady presence grounded her, though his quiet laugh and the faint smirk on his face, that she just knew was there, didn’t help her already wounded pride.

Vi muttered something under her breath, too low for anyone but Vander to hear, her head ducked in frustration as her hands flexed at her sides. Vander’s chuckle deepened, and he gave her a light pat on the shoulder. “You alright there, kid?”

“Fine,” she snapped, though the heat on her face and the slight tremble in her hands betrayed her. She didn’t dare look in Caitlyn’s direction, certain the Sheriff was watching her with that same calm, bemused expression that was quickly becoming unbearable even if she couldn’t see it. Gods she was doomed.

Vander’s eyes flicked to Caitlyn, who was indeed watching the scene unfold with a mixture of intrigue and amusement, her whiskey glass resting lightly in her hand. A faint smile tugged at her lips, though she wisely stayed quiet, letting the moment play out.

Vander leaned closer to Vi, his voice low enough to keep their exchange private. “Never seen you so flustered, Vi,” he said, his tone half-teasing, half-genuine. “It’s a good look on you.”

“Shut up, old man,” Vi muttered, shrugging out of his grip and taking a step back, her movements careful this time. The pounding in her head worsened, and the tension in her shoulders tightened, but she forced herself to straighten and regain some semblance of composure. “I don’t need a running commentary.”

Vander smirked, his arms crossing over his broad chest as he leaned back against the counter. “Sure you don’t.” His gaze shifted back to Caitlyn briefly, his amusement clear. “But I like her. I think she should come around more often.”

Vi glared in his general direction, her unseeing eyes narrowing. “You’re hilarious,” she deadpanned before turning away, her steps slower and more deliberate as she moved back toward her room.

Caitlyn, to her credit, kept her expression neutral, though her eyes sparkled with quiet amusement as she watched Vi retreat. She swirled the whiskey in her glass, taking another sip before setting it down on the counter. “She’s quite the character,” she said softly, her words directed toward Vander but loud enough for Vi to hear.

Vander chuckled again, his grin widening. “Oh, you have no idea,” he replied, his voice warm and tinged with affection. “But she’s worth getting to know, if you’ve got the patience.”

Caitlyn nodded thoughtfully, her gaze drifting back to Vi’s retreating figure. “I believe I just might,” she murmured, her tone steady and resolute. She picked up her glass again, her expression softening as she settled back into her seat, content to wait for Vi to reemerge from her retreat.

Vi slipped into her room in the basement, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click. The dim, familiar space was her sanctuary; a place where the world above couldn’t intrude, where she could let her guard down. She didn’t bother turning on the lamp; the darkness suited her just fine. Her fingers fumbled in her pocket, pulling out the small vial of shimmer she had tucked away. The faint purple glow from the liquid cast an eerie light on her hands as she uncapped it with practiced ease.

The headache that had been drilling into her skull since before Caitlyn’s arrival was unbearable, and she wasn’t about to let it linger any longer. Tilting her head back, she took a measured sip, the metallic taste sliding down her throat. The relief was instant,like a wave of cool water washing away the searing pain. Vi exhaled slowly, the tension in her body easing as she leaned back against the edge of her bed.

But the reprieve was short-lived. She barely had a moment to herself before the door creaked open, and Powder slipped inside.

Vi’s heart leapt into her throat, and she quickly shoved the vial back into her pocket, the motion fluid and almost instinctual. Powder didn’t seem to notice, her earlier guilt replaced by an energy that filled the small room.

“Vi,” Powder began, her voice practically bubbling with glee. “You were stumbling over yourself out there like a schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher!” Her laughter was light and teasing, her usual nervousness replaced by her playful tone.

Vi shook her head, her hand still resting over the pocket where the shimmer was safely hidden. She forced herself to focus on her sister, on the sound of her voice rather than the guilt gnawing at her. “We both know I’m not the one fit for school, Powder,” she said, her tone dry as she ignored the jab.

Powder crossed her arms, her blue eyes narrowing slightly in mock suspicion. “Oh, come on, Vi. Don’t dodge the question. That Sheriff is hot. ”

Vi tilted her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself. “She is?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “I mean… I figured she might look like Jericho.” Her smirk widened, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her voice she couldn’t quite hide.

Powder made a face so exaggerated that even Vi could practically feel the disgust radiating off her. “Oh, no way. She’s a ten all the way. Like… ridiculously gorgeous. If I wasn’t dating Ekko, I’d be jealous she was even talking to you.”

Vi snorted, a genuine laugh breaking free for the first time that evening. “I’m telling him you said that,” she said with good humor, the tension from earlier easing slightly as she bantered with her sister.

“Go ahead!” Powder replied with a mischievous grin. “I’ll just tell him you were flirting with the Sheriff.”

“I was not flirting,” Vi said quickly, her tone defensive. She pushed off the edge of the bed and started pacing, her boots scuffing against the rough cement. “She was the one doing the talking. I was just… trying not to punch her.”

Powder rolled her eyes, her hands resting on her hips. “Oh, please. You’re just mad because she’s got you all flustered. Admit it, Vi. You like her.”

Vi stopped in her tracks, turning her head toward Powder, her unseeing eyes narrowing. “I don’t even know her,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered just enough to betray her uncertainty.

“Yet,” Powder said with a knowing smile. “You don’t know her yet. ”

Vi groaned, raking a hand through her hair as she dropped onto the edge of her bed. “This conversation is over, Pow,” she muttered, but there was no real anger in her tone.

Powder smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “Fine. But you’re not off the hook, sis. I’m rooting for the Sheriff.” With that, she turned and slipped out of the room, leaving Vi alone once more.

As the door clicked shut, Vi sighed, her hand instinctively brushing over the pocket where the shimmer vial was hidden. The headache was gone, but the weight in her chest was heavier than ever. She leaned back on her bed, her mind drifting to Caitlyn’s voice, her confident presence, and the way she’d managed to get under Vi’s skin in such a short amount of time.

“Damn it,” Vi muttered under her breath, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her pants. She was in trouble, and she knew it.

Chapter Text

The Last Drop pulsed with subdued life as the evening settled in. Patrons gathered in small clusters, their hushed voices and muted laughter bouncing off the worn walls. The dim light softened the edges of the bar’s rough-hewn interior, casting long shadows that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of the Undercity. The faint hum of an old, flickering neon sign outside seeped through the windows, adding a soft buzz to the low ambiance.

At one of the tables near the bar, Caitlyn sat with her hands resting on the scratched wood, her gaze fixed on Vi, who lingered behind the counter. The Sheriff’s expression was calm, tinged with polite amusement, though her inquisitive eyes didn’t miss the tension in the way Vi moved; her steps deliberate, her fingers brushing subtly along the edges of the bar to keep her bearings. Caitlyn admired the way Vi carried herself despite her blindness, each movement precise, born of necessity and years of adaptation.

As Caitlyn studied the young woman, an unshakable sense of familiarity began to settle in her mind, like a puzzle slowly snapping into place. The rough cut of Vi’s hair, the subtle way she tilted her head slightly as though listening for something unseen; it stirred a memory buried deep in Caitlyn’s past. Her amusement faded slowly, replaced by quiet contemplation as realization crept in, unwelcome yet undeniable.

She’d seen Vi before. Not here, not in Zaun, but in Piltover. A single, vivid image burned into her memory surfaced: the smoldering wreckage of an apartment, the acrid stench of burnt wood and ozone filling the air. She could still hear the faint crackle of fire and the frantic shouts of bystanders. She had been just fourteen, standing frozen in the hallway outside her parents’ property in the Academy district, confusion turning to terror as the floor beneath her feet seemed to tremble.

The explosion had come without warning, a sudden, blinding blue flash that painted the walls of the narrow hallway in a stark, electric hue. The force of it rattled her bones, sending a deafening wave through the air that left her ears ringing for hours afterward. Caitlyn had been lucky; her position in the hallway shielded her from harm, though her body trembled with the force of the blast. Jayce had been less fortunate, thrown back as he reached for the apartment door. She remembered how he hit the wall with a sickening thud, clutching his head in pain as blood trickled from a gash above his temple. His body slumping to the side replayed in her mind even now.

And inside… Caitlyn’s chest tightened as the memory sharpened with painful clarity. Inside the apartment had been a group of Zaunite children, their faces etched into her mind as vividly as the day it happened.

She remembered them clearly now. The boy with the goggles, his larger frame hunched over something on the ground, face streaked with soot. The louder one with the wide grin that seemed at odds with the fear in his eyes as he pulled the tiny girl with short pigtails toward the balcony. The girl’s blue eyes had been filled with tears, her expression frozen in shock as her small hands clutched a small pouch too tightly. And her. The pink-haired girl who had stood protectively in front of the others, defiance radiating from her even as the building began to crumble around them.

Caitlyn recalled the sickening detail of how the girl’s clothes had burned into her flesh along the left side of her body, smoke rising in faint tendrils as she collapsed. Her face twisted in pain, her eyes squeezed shut, and for one terribly long moment Caitlyn thought she was going to be stuck there. But then the boys, desperate and determined, had dragged her to the balcony, their small hands trembling as they pulled her to safety.

Vi.

Caitlyn’s stomach twisted as the pieces clicked into place. Vi had been there, one of the survivors of that terrible day. The apartment had belonged to her family, a property they rarely visited but still kept in their name. It had served as Jayce’s living space and workshop, a place where he pushed boundaries and conducted experiments he had no business attempting. Caitlyn’s parents had been his patrons at the Academy, funding his brilliance, blind to the danger it might have posed.

The top floor had been packed with illegal experimental materials; volatile arcane energy stored in chests that should have been destroyed, were destroyed after the fact. Caitlyn’s mother had silenced the aftermath, using her influence as a councilor to cover it all up and shield the family from scandal. The council including Heimerdinger, had expelled Jayce from the Academy and banished him from setting foot in Piltover again, turning their backs on him. Caitlyn still felt the sting of his exile, the way it fractured their bond. Jayce had been her brother in every way that mattered, and losing him had left a wound that never truly healed.

But the damage had already been done. The blast hadn’t just destroyed property; it had shattered lives. Caitlyn thought of Vi now, standing behind the bar with faint scars glowing softly at the edges of her eyes. Those scars, coupled with the milky blue of her blindness, told a story Caitlyn didn’t need to hear aloud to understand. She felt the weight of it settle on her shoulders, a guilt she couldn’t explain why she had.

Vi’s movements, so deliberate, so practiced, spoke of years of learning to navigate the world without sight. The way her fingers brushed the bar’s surface as if memorizing every inch of it, the subtle tilt of her head as she listened for cues from the room, all of it revealed a quiet resilience that stirred something deep within Caitlyn. Admiration, yes, but also regret.

Caitlyn’s grip tightened slightly on the edge of the table as guilt and curiosity warred within her. She wanted to say something, to ask if Vi remembered the explosion too, but the thought was absurd. Of course she remembered. How could she not? What could Caitlyn possibly say to make any of it right? So she remained silent, keeping the revelation, to herself. If Vi wanted to tell her about that day she would not be the one to push her.

She let the hum of the bar wash over her, drowning her thoughts as she continued to watch Vi. Her admiration deepened, laced with a lingering sense of regret and an inexplicable desire to understand and get acquainted with the woman in front of her. Caitlyn couldn’t change the past, but maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to build something new from the ashes.

“Are you just going to sit there staring at me all night, Sheriff?” Vi muttered, her tone edged with feigned irritation as she wiped down the counter, her fingers moving methodically along the rag. The faint glow of the bar’s dim lights reflected off her short pink hair, which was shaved on one side, the other side slightly longer and tousled from her habitual runs of frustration through it. The faint scars at the corners of her eyes seemed to catch the light, an extreme reminder of the hardship she carried within her.

Caitlyn leaned back slightly in her chair, the corners of her mouth curling into a soft smile that matched her composed demeanor. Her crisp navy coat, adorned with Piltover’s insignia, framed her tall, slender figure, while the sharp lines of her jaw and the regal arch of her brow gave her an air of quiet authority. “That depends,” she replied smoothly, her rich, formal accent adding a purposeful weight to her words. “Are you going to keep avoiding me all night?”

Vi sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation, though the slight twitch of her lips betrayed the ghost of a smile she was trying to suppress. “I’m not avoiding you,” she said, though the stiffness in her posture and the subtle way her fingers tightened on the rag suggested otherwise.

Caitlyn raised a single eyebrow, her blue eyes flickering with intrigue, but chose not to press further. Instead, her attention shifted to the eclectic group of people who had gathered nearby, their presence bringing a vibrancy to the bar that contrasted with its otherwise worn and muted atmosphere.

Powder was perched on a stool near the bar, her short blue hair styled into two uneven buns that bobbed as she tinkered with a small mechanical device in her hands. Her red vest, worn over a slightly undersized white shirt, gave her an endearing, playful look. Her tongue poked out in concentration, and every so often, she muttered something under her breath, her wide blue eyes darting back and forth as if calculating the machine’s intricacies.

Across from her sat a dark skinned young man, his white dreadlocks pulled back into a neat yet stylish bun, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. He was dressed in an informal green suit that gave him a polished but effortless appearance, the fabric slightly rumpled as if he had been too busy to smooth it out. He watched Powder’s work with a mixture of fascination and mild concern, his dark brown eyes narrowing slightly every time a spark or faint puff of smoke emitted from the contraption in her hands.

At a table nearby, two different men were deeply engrossed in a spirited game of cards. The slimmer one had short, messy hair stuck out in every direction, his thin mustache twitching slightly as he smirked at the larger man. His mismatched shirt and vest looked hastily thrown together, as though his appearance had been an afterthought. The other young man, by contrast, was impeccably dressed, his clean-shaven face giving him a polished air that complemented the tailored suit he wore. The two bickered good-naturedly over the game, one gesturing animatedly while the other leaned back in his chair with an amused, patient grin, waiting for his friend to trip over his own arguments.

Behind the bar, Vander loomed with his usual quiet strength. His large shoulders were hunched slightly as he cleaned a glass with the ease of someone who had spent years mastering the task. His graying hair framed his weathered face, the lines around his eyes deepened by a lifetime of burdens and laughter alike. He cast a watchful gaze between Vi and Caitlyn, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The way his eyes lingered on Vi suggested a mixture of pride and quiet concern, while his occasional glances at Caitlyn held a knowing amusement, as though he had already discerned the subtle interplay between the two women.

Caitlyn observed the group with quiet curiosity, noting the familial bond that tied them together, even amidst their differences. It was a dynamic she found oddly comforting, though it also underscored how much of an outsider she was in this space. Still, the easy banter and shared laughter warmed the air, and for a moment, Caitlyn felt herself relax.

Vi, meanwhile, continued to avoid Caitlyn’s gaze, focusing intently on a stubborn stain on the counter that didn’t actually exist. The Sheriff’s presence unsettled her in a way she couldn’t quite articulate; part intrigue, part annoyance, and part something she wasn’t ready to name. As she worked, her fingers briefly brushed the hidden vial of shimmer in her pocket, her movements so subtle that no one could have noticed. The familiar cool glass against her fingertips brought her a fleeting sense of control, though it did little to quiet the racing of her thoughts.

Caitlyn’s smile deepened slightly as her eyes returned to Vi. “So,” she began, her tone light and inviting, a subtle challenge glimmering in her voice. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends, or should I take the initiative?”

Vi hesitated, her fingers tightening briefly around the rag in her hand, the worn fabric twisting under her grip. She didn’t like this; didn’t like how Caitlyn had slipped so easily into her world, didn’t like how the woman’s voice seemed to soften the edges of her carefully constructed defenses. It made her feel exposed, like Caitlyn could see right through her tough exterior to something more vulnerable beneath.

Reluctantly, Vi set the rag down with deliberate care and turned toward the room, her hand brushing the edge of the bar for balance as she moved. “Alright,” she said gruffly, her voice a little louder than it needed to be, as though trying to hide her discomfort. She gestured vaguely in Caitlyn’s direction. “Everyone, this is Caitlyn. She’s, uh… She’s new?”

Powder was the first to look up, her bright eyes flicking between Caitlyn and Vi with unabashed curiosity. Her mischievous grin widened as she caught the faint pink creeping up Vi’s neck. “New, huh?” she teased, her tone playful. “She’s pretty new, Vi.”

“Shut it, Powder,” Vi snapped, though her voice lacked its usual edge. Her ears burned, and the redness crawling up her neck was impossible to hide.

Caitlyn chuckled softly, the corners of her lips quirking upward as her gaze lingered on Vi, enjoying the sight of her flustered. She turned her attention back to Powder, her formal composure softening further. “It’s a pleasure to meet you officially this time,” she said warmly, inclining her head.

Powder giggled, the sound light and genuine, her small mechanical device momentarily forgotten on the bar. “Oh, a pleasure, huh?” she repeated in mock exaggeration, mimicking Caitlyn’s refined tone before turning to her sister. “You hear that, Vi? A Pleasure. ”

Powder’s grin stretched even wider at her sister’s furthering blush, her enthusiasm impossible to contain. “I’m Powder, but you already know that.” Her voice was bubbly and cheerful, a stark contrast to Vi’s gruffness, and her vibrant energy lit up the room.

“Janna kill me, please,” Vi muttered under her breath, dragging a hand down her face. Vander, standing nearby, chuckled quietly, shaking his head at the interaction.

“That’s Mylo and Claggor,” Vi continued quickly, eager to move on, gesturing vaguely toward the card table.

“Sup,” Mylo said without looking up, his brow furrowed in concentration as he studied his cards. His thin mustache twitched as he smirked at Claggor across the table.

Claggor, ever the polite one, straightened slightly in his chair. He offered Caitlyn a wave, in contrast to Mylo’s disinterest. “Nice to meet you, Ma’am,” he said with a respectful nod, his deep voice carrying a quiet sincerity.

“And that’s Ekko,” Vi finished, her tone softening slightly as she nodded toward the young inventor seated near Powder.

Ekko grinned, he leaned back slightly in his stool, his arms crossed as he sized Caitlyn up with an amused glint in his dark eyes. “So you’re the Sheriff, huh? You don’t look like the scary Enforcers they used to send down here.”

“Scary is subjective,” Caitlyn replied smoothly, her small smile conveying a confidence that wasn’t boastful but assured. “But no, I’m not here to intimidate anyone.” Her eyes flicked toward Vi, her smile growing into something teasing. “Well, maybe one person.”

Vi scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “You’ve met everyone. Happy now?” she grumbled, her tone defensive, though the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed her.

“Not quite, but getting there,” Caitlyn replied lightly, her voice laced with quiet amusement. Vi shifted slightly, her arms tightening across her chest as though trying to shield herself from whatever spell Caitlyn seemed to cast with every word.

Vander watched from his spot behind the bar, shaking his head with a knowing smile. For all of Vi’s rough edges and bluster, it was clear Caitlyn had managed to slip past the walls she kept so carefully in place, and he couldn’t decide if he found it amusing or alarming.

The night unfolded slowly, a gentle ebb and flow of conversation and clinking glasses as Caitlyn made a genuine effort to engage with the group. She’d moved from the table to the bar in a graceful, unhurried way, her composure standing out in contrast to the sometimes frenetic energy of the Undercity regulars. Powder, perched on her stool with two small buns wobbling atop her short blue hair, immediately seized on the opportunity to show off her latest invention; a compact mechanical device that whirred and clicked each time she prodded a tiny lever. Her red vest gleamed under the low bar lights, and she grinned at every impressed look Caitlyn sent her way.

“You built that yourself?” Caitlyn asked, her eyebrows lifting in genuine admiration as she leaned closer. The subtle scents of metal polish and machine oil tickled her nose.

Powder nodded excitedly, a proud flush coloring her cheeks. “It’s a mini-grappler… well, it’s supposed to be. Still working out the kinks. But once I get it right, it’ll shoot a cable strong enough to hold my weight.” She paused, her gaze flicking to Vi’s general direction, as though checking for approval. “Vi’s tried it, but… well… let’s just say we had a few rough landings,” she added with a sheepish laugh.

Caitlyn chuckled softly, imagining Vi being unexpectedly hoisted off the ground. “You’re quite the engineer. I’m sure you’ll have it up and running in little to no time.”

Powder beamed, and Ekko leaned in to examine the device. “Told you it was impressive,” he chimed in, his dark eyes sparkling with pride. “But you should see some of her other creations. This is just the tip of the iceberg.”

Not far from them, Mylo and Claggor were still immersed in their card game. Mylo, with his perpetually messy hair and thin mustache, bantered loudly as he slapped down his cards, occasionally shooting triumphant glances at Claggor. Meanwhile, Claggor remained calm and collected. He barely lifted an eyebrow at Mylo’s theatrics, only responding with the occasional nod or polite chuckle.

Caitlyn turned to them as they wrapped up a round, offering a polite smile. “How’s the game going?”

Mylo scoffed, raking in the cards. “He’d be losing if he didn’t have that annoyingly perfect poker face,” he muttered, nodding at Claggor.

Claggor chuckled, giving Caitlyn a respectful nod. “Don’t let him fool you, Ma’am. He’s got enough luck to keep me on edge.”

Meanwhile, Vi hovered near the bar, sometimes sliding behind it to grab a cloth or to rearrange bottles that didn’t need rearranging. Each time the noise grew too loud or the chatter pressed in on her, she disappeared briefly into the back room, tense figure slipping through the doorway.

Every time Vi left, she reached into her pocket for the small vial of shimmer she kept hidden, its faint glow illuminating her fingers like a secret she could neither confront nor discard. With a careful flick of the cap, she tipped a few drops onto her tongue, allowing the biting bitterness to wash away the dull roar in her head. The relief was as immediate as it was fleeting, and she returned to the bar with her shoulders squared, her unseeing eyes set in a determined line.

But Caitlyn waited for her every time. She would pause her conversation; be it with Powder, Mylo, or Claggor, and turn to face Vi the moment she emerged, her expression unreadable but undeniably warm.

“You know,” Caitlyn said quietly on Vi’s latest return, “if you continue to run off like that, I’ll begin to suspect you truly don’t want me here.” Her voice was low enough that only Vi could hear, a gentle tease that didn’t press too hard.

Vi shrugged, letting her fingers brush along the bar’s surface as she navigated closer, the edges of her shoulders tense with a frustration she couldn’t quite name. “Nah, you’re not too bad,” she muttered, her tone rough around the edges. “Still fucking annoying though.”

Caitlyn’s lips quirked upward, the soft light playing across her features. “Persistent,” she corrected, tilting her head thoughtfully. She studied Vi for a moment, noting the faint way her forehead creased, the tension in her jaw that never fully relaxed. “You’re a good sister,” Caitlyn added, glancing at Powder, who had resumed fiddling with her gadget near Ekko. “It’s clear how much they all care about you.”

Vi stiffened slightly, her hand curling against the side of the bar. “They don’t need me,” she said, her voice so quiet Caitlyn had to lean in to catch the words.

“That’s not true,” Caitlyn replied, her gaze steady and unwavering. “You’re the one holding this… group together, Vi. Whether you can see it or not.”

Vi swallowed, her jaw tightening as she turned her head away from Caitlyn, trying to hide the conflicting emotions playing out across her face. She wasn’t used to anyone, let alone a polished Piltover Sheriff, looking so closely, and seeing so much. It was unnerving, but there was a small, stubborn part of her that didn’t entirely hate it.

The hours slipped by, and gradually, the bar emptied until only the small group remained. Powder and Ekko eventually drifted off, murmuring about an early start on some new project. Mylo and Claggor packed up their cards, Mylo stretching and yawning dramatically while Claggor offered polite farewells. Vander, ever the silent sentinel, locked the door after the last patron left, giving a small nod of acknowledgment to Caitlyn before disappearing into the back room, presumably to finish inventory or straighten out the supplies.

When the others were gone, Caitlyn lingered at the bar, finishing off the last of her drink. Her presence weighed on Vi’s senses, a quiet reminder that she hadn’t managed to scare her off. Instead, Caitlyn seemed more determined than ever to stay rooted in Vi’s orbit.

Finally, Vi wiped down the counter one last time, the repetitive motion doing little to calm her racing thoughts or distract her from the steady sound of Caitlyn’s breathing only a few feet away. Her eyes fixed in a forward stare, but her attention was undeniably drawn to the woman in front of her. Even without sight, she felt Caitlyn’s presence, as tangible as the bar beneath her fingertips.

“You didn’t have to stay,” Vi muttered, her tone edged with lingering irritation and the faintest trace of unease. She ran the cloth over a spot she had already cleaned countless times tonight, her fingers brushing the warm, worn wood as she finished.

“Neither did you,” Caitlyn replied gently, a soft smile playing on her lips. Though her words were mild, they carried a quiet confidence, a reassurance that her choice to stay had been an intentional one.

Vi sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of the evening. She was too tired to argue the point. She didn’t have a response for that, so she simply nodded toward the bar’s front door. “You should go,” she said, her voice quieter than before. “It’s late.”

Caitlyn hesitated for just a moment before rising to her feet with a graceful, deliberate movement. Her polished boots made a subtle click against the bar’s uneven floorboards, and the soft rustle of her coat was oddly comforting. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, her voice warm but not presumptuous—an invitation rather than a command.

Vi said nothing. Instead, she navigated around the bar with practiced care, her hand brushing the edge to guide herself toward the door. As she moved, she felt the air shift when Caitlyn followed. With a deft motion, Vi pulled out a set of keys from her pocket, the metallic jingle sounding louder than usual in the near-empty room. She fit the correct key into the lock by touch alone, her fingers reading the shape of the metal like second nature, then held the door open for Caitlyn.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn murmured, stepping out into the cool night air. Her gaze lingered on Vi, a gentle curiosity in her eyes that Vi could sense rather than see.

Vi nodded once, a brief incline of her head, and resisted the instinct to pull away from the moment. The faint night breeze carried the hum of Zaun’s distant machinery and the soft shuffle of footsteps on the streets beyond. She felt Caitlyn pause, as though weighing whether to say more, but the Sheriff remained silent, her smile steady before finally turning to leave.

When Caitlyn was gone, Vi stood in the open doorway for a moment longer, gripping the edge of the doorframe in her hand. The ache behind her eyes had dulled to a faint hum, and her mind swirled with thoughts she couldn’t quite pin down. She wasn’t entirely sure why she didn’t just lock up and storm off to her basement room—there was no logical reason for her to linger.

But as she finally turned back inside, closing the door with care and twisting the key until the lock clicked, a small part of her admitted that she was already looking forward to tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Morning in Zaun usually brought the distant clang of machinery and the muffled hum of voices drifting through the Lanes. Today, every sound felt magnified; each clang of metal on metal, every shuffled footstep, each rattling pipe echoing far too loudly in Vi’s head. She lay sprawled on her narrow bed in the cramped basement of The Last Drop, the worn mattress dipping beneath her weight. Her eyes were clenched shut, as though blocking out the faint light, that she couldn’t even see, might somehow quiet the drum inside her skull.

On most days, a small sip of shimmer could blunt this agonizing overload, numb the edges of her relentless headache. But the doses she allowed herself never lasted long, and today, even that fleeting reprieve felt out of reach. Her room, usually her safe haven, seemed stifling now, every breath tasted of stale air and old dust, the faint tang of copper lingering as if the walls themselves were seeping decay. It made her stomach twist uneasily.

She tried to roll onto her side, gingerly turning her body so that her blind gaze faced the wall. Her hand reached out for the rough edge of her blanket, fingers curling around the fabric in an attempt to ground herself. The cloth felt coarser than usual, each frayed thread scraping her palm like tiny shards of glass. A spike of discomfort shuddered through her, and she grit her teeth against it, every nerve in her body protesting the simple act of moving.

Vi inhaled shakily, seeking some fleeting rhythm in the old pipes overhead; counting their sway as they swore and groaned under the weight of the bar’s bustle. Instead, each faint creak only shot another jolt of discomfort through her. With her eyes shut, her world was already dark, but today the darkness was just as unbearable as everything else, pressing in on her with an oppressive force. She tried to orient herself by listening for familiar sounds in her room; the subtle hum of the old lamp’s wiring, the hiss from the pipes that usually soothed her. But everything merged into a shrill cacophony, refusing to settle into the comforting background noise she relied on.

She clenched her jaw, swallowing back a wave of nausea. Her fingers twitched over the blanket’s edge, desperate for a focus point. She wanted to run, or fight, or do something, but the throbbing behind her eyes was too strong. Even if she groped for the shimmer vial in her pocket, she knew it would do nothing more than offer a fleeting numbness. ‘What good is that when your entire body feels like it’s on fire?’ she thought bitterly.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, and the sensation alone felt amplified, as if a rivulet of acid burned its path across her skin. She scrunched her face, trying to shake off the hypersensitivity, but it only deepened her aggravation. The knot of anxiety in her gut twisted tighter; she was pinned in place, too drained to rise, too frazzled to rest.

Her free hand slid cautiously along the mattress, testing for the edge so she wouldn’t accidentally roll off. The familiarity of the torn seams and worn springs was little comfort; she knew the layout of her room by heart, but that only reminded her of her helplessness, her inability to face the world above. ‘ Not today, ’ she thought, her breath hitching.

Another clang echoed from upstairs, presumably someone shifting a metal keg or dropping a tray. The impact reverberated through the walls, sending a tremor through her tired muscles. Vi squeezed her eyes tighter, a low groan escaping as she tried to shut out everything. She wanted to melt into the darkness, to let it consume her until the world’s piercing clarity faded. Yet her head continued to throb, a constant reminder that there was no escape.

She buried her face in the crook of her arm, inhaling the faint scent of soap lingering on her shirt sleeve; Powder’s brand, probably, from that last time Powder fussed over the laundry. The memory should have comforted her, but it only made her chest tighten with guilt. Powder would blame herself again. She always does. And despite Vi’s attempts to reassure her sister, they both knew the blame ran deeper.

But it was Vi who blamed herself most. She always had. For the explosion, for her lost sight, for every bad day like this when she couldn’t handle the world. And now, even the small solace shimmer once offered was slipping through her fingers. She felt tears prick at her eyes, but she forced them back, her throat tightening painfully. She refused to cry, not like this. Not when she felt so defeated.

‘Get up,’ she willed herself, fingers digging into the blanket until her nails scraped the mattress beneath. ‘Get up, damn it.’ But her limbs remained heavy, her head too full of pounding hurt to follow through. She stayed where she was, every minute stretching into an eternity of stifling darkness and overbearing noise.

Eventually, she let her hand fall away from the blanket, her arm flopping uselessly across her stomach. She listened to her own ragged breathing, waiting for the pain to recede, for her world to become manageable again. Until then, she wouldn’t move. Couldn’t  move.

Upstairs, Vander paused by the bar, setting down a crate of supplies he’d been carrying. His shoulders sagged as he let out a low breath, scanning the room. It was late morning, and the usual routine had begun: Claggor unloading deliveries in the back, Mylo grumbling over a broken stool leg, and Powder chattering excitedly about a new invention and her pending enrollment at the Academy. Yet the most noticeable absence was Vi. She was always up before dawn, either restocking shelves or idly cleaning glasses, grumbling all the while. But she wasn’t here.

Vander’s stomach tightened with worry. He knew Vi had days when her senses overwhelmed her; dark days when she disappeared into the shadows of her basement room, refusing to speak to anyone. He’d been there for all of them, since the day she lost her sight. But there was a heaviness in his chest that told him today was different. Perhaps it was the tension he’d felt from her the night before, or the slump in her shoulders whenever she walked away from the bar. Whatever it was, it left him with an uneasy feeling that twisted through his gut.

“What’s wrong?” Powder asked, catching sight of Vander’s troubled expression. She was perched on a stool, her short blue hair tied into two messy buns, a small mechanical contraption half-assembled in front of her. She wore her normal red vest over a short white shirt, grease stains already smudging the edges.

“Vi’s not here,” Vander said simply, setting the crate on the floor with a soft thud. “I haven’t seen her all morning.”

Powder’s eyes widened, a flicker of guilt immediately crossing her face. She hopped off the stool, the pieces of her invention clattering on the bar as she abandoned them. “She never misses a morning,” she murmured, fingers tugging anxiously at the hem of her vest. “Do you think… she’s okay?”

Vander forced a small, reassuring smile onto his face, though his worry weighed heavily on his mind. “She’s probably just havin’ a rough day, kiddo,” he said quietly. “But I’ll check on her.”

Powder nodded, her brows pinched with concern. “I’ll come too,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with that lingering guilt she always carried.

“Not this time,” Vander replied, resting a large hand on her shoulder. “Lemme handle this. You mind the bar with Mylo and Claggor ‘til I get back.”

Powder hesitated, her lips pursed in a silent protest, but she finally gave a shaky nod. “If she needs me…” she began, voice trailing off.

Vander squeezed her shoulder once, “I know,” then turned and headed toward the stairwell that led down to the basement. Each step felt heavier than the last, his heart thudding with the weight of concern.

As he descended, his mind drifted to the last time Vi hadn’t shown up to open the bar. He remembered the sharp jolt of panic he’d felt after scanning the empty counter, and the grim sense of certainty that something was wrong. He’d taken these same steps, boots echoing against the worn wood, and had found her on the floor next to her bed, curled up tight.

Her hair had been damp with sweat, her body trembling as she pressed her face into the cold concrete, as if trying to numb herself against the raw nerve endings that made every sensation unbearable. The memory rose in him like a tide of dread: how she wouldn’t speak, her jaw clenched in silent torment until he finally coaxed her onto the mattress. She’d been so pale, so spent, that he’d feared for a moment she was slipping away from him entirely.

He’d stayed with her that day, missing shipments and ignoring curious patrons as he sat by her bedside, gently placing a cool cloth on her forehead and speaking in a soft, steady tone. He’d told her stories of how he met her parents in the mines all those years ago, of the first time she tried to fight him when he’d told her she needed rest. Eventually, she’d dozed off, lulled by his presence, and he’d breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Shaking the haunting recollection from his mind, Vander reached the bottom of the stairwell. He paused outside Vi’s door, listening for any signs of movement, labored breathing, a groan, anything. The wood felt cold under his palm as he steeled himself to check on her, silently praying to Janna that he wouldn’t find her on the floor again, terrified and in pain.

Inhaling deeply, he pushed the door open, ready to face whatever awaited inside.

Vi’s room was lit by a single, weak lamp in the corner. Usually she kept it off, relying on her precise memory to navigate the tight space, but Vander flicked it on anyway, hoping the faint glow might bring some semblance of normalcy. The dull, tired light fell across the stained concrete floor and the sagging mattress against the far wall. There, huddled beneath a blanket, lay Vi, her silhouette barely distinguishable on the bed.

“Violet,” Vander said softly, his voice carrying in the small room. He caught the faint shudder in her breath; the slightest hitch that could mean tears or pain she refused to voice. Gently, he pulled the door shut behind him, shutting out the muffled clamor of footsteps and chatter drifting down from the bar above.

Vi remained silent, curled on her side with her arms wrapped around her midsection, as if hiding from an unseen threat. She didn’t so much as flinch at the sound of the closing door. Vander crossed the short distance to her bed, his boots scuffing lightly against the rough concrete, a noise that felt too loud in the hush of the room.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, easing himself onto the edge of the mattress with a quiet groan. The springs sagged beneath his weight, and he could feel the tension radiating off Vi in palpable waves. “You feelin’ too rough to come up?” he asked, though he suspected as much the moment he hadn’t seen her upstairs.

A shuddering sigh slipped from her lips. She turned her head just enough to angle her ear toward him, eyes staying tightly shut as though the faint lamplight itself stung. “I’m fine,” she muttered, the hollowness in her voice contradicting any claim of well-being. It scratched at her throat as she spoke, the rasp a testament to how fragile her nerves were.

Vander tried to soften his tone, letting his paternal concern show. “Gotta do better than that, kid.”

She flinched as though the gentleness in his voice was too much. Turning her face into the old pillow, she pressed her cheek against the fabric, hissing softly as it scraped her skin. Every texture, every sensation felt amplified today, and the friction of coarse cloth on her overly sensitive flesh sent fresh ripples of discomfort through her. She forced another wave of tears that threatened to gather in her unseeing eyes; crying only made the pounding in her skull worse.

Vander allowed the silence to linger for a moment, resting one of his large hand lightly on her shoulder. She stiffened, but he kept his grip steady, hoping the warmth might ground her. “Is it… your senses?” he asked carefully, measuring each word, unsure how to even put into words what she was currently feeling.

A choked laugh escaped her lips, though it was little more than a ragged exhale. “It’s everything,” she whispered, her voice catching on each syllable like gravel in her throat. “Too loud, too dark, too… everything.”

Vander’s chest tightened at her admission. It transported him back to those early days after the explosion, when even the faintest noise; an accidental clang of a pot, the shuffle of feet behind her would send her reeling. She’d slammed her fists into walls, curled up in corners, lashed out whenever someone tried to touch her. Watching her relearn the world by touch and sound had been both awe-inspiring and heart-wrenching. Now, all these years later, she still found herself prisoner to days like this.

“Violet…” he began, voice faltering. He cleared his throat. “You know you can talk to me.”

Vi shifted her weight slightly, wincing as her short, pink hair caught on a stray thread of the pillowcase. “Nothin’ to say,” she forced out between clenched teeth. “I just… need it to stop.”

Vander’s gaze drifted around her tiny room. He spotted a crumpled shirt dangling from a crate, the smell of stale coffee lingering by the nightstand. It looked disheveled, but not alarmingly so. And yet, he could tell something underlying these seemingly normal disarrayed signs; an acute helplessness that tied his stomach in knots.

He didn’t know about her secret shimmer usage, didn’t know the small vial tucked away with her clothes had done little more than take the edge off this morning. All he saw was a woman who rarely let anyone help her, now looking too broken to face the day.

“Do you want me to get Powder?” Vander asked quietly, though deep down he knew the answer.

“No,” Vi groaned, the word laced with a flicker of frustration. “I don’t want her blaming herself for this too. She’d just… fuss.”

He sighed, recalling how Powder had carried a kernel of guilt since the explosion; she’d been a child then, just like Vi, but it never stopped her from holding herself responsible. Vander also knew Vi’s own guilt ran just as deep, even if she refused to speak of it. “Alright,” he relented, pressing his hand more firmly to her shoulder, the warmth a steady reassurance.

They remained like that for several minutes, her labored breaths the only sound. Beyond these walls, the echo of machinery and distant chatter went on, but in Vi’s cramped space, time felt paused, centered only on her struggle to breathe through the waves of sensory overload.

Eventually, Vander stood, his knees protesting the motion. He took in her trembling form, huddled and unmoving, and tried to keep his voice calm. “I’ll be upstairs,” he said softly. “I won’t let anyone bother you.”

Vi’s body relaxed a fraction at his promise. It was the closest to gratitude she could manage just then, so he took it as a small victory. He flipped the lamp off on his way out, pausing at the threshold.

As he shut the door behind him, Vander lingered in the stairwell, one palm pressed flat against the rough wood.

The same dread from earlier gnawed at him still. There was a hollowness in Vi’s voice he hadn’t heard in years, a dullness that worried him more than any outburst of anger ever could. ‘Something’s off,’ he thought with a sinking heart, but he had no answers. ‘All I can do is be here.’

Closing his eyes, Vander inhaled, then let out a long, shaky breath before turning to ascend the stairs. Worry weighed heavily on his chest, each step feeling like a silent confession of helplessness. There would be questions from Powder; he could already picture the anxious furrow in her brow, and from the rest of the group, who would wonder where Vi had gone. All he could offer them was vague reassurance. She’s just havin’ a rough day, kiddo. But even Vander knew that was an inadequate salve for the knot of dread coiling in his gut. If Vi slipped any further than she already had… he wasn’t sure how he’d hold her together this time.

His boots thudded against the final stair, and he paused a moment, steadying himself. ‘I have to do something,’ he thought, a grim determination threading through his weary mind. ‘But what?' He could no more fix her heighten senses than he could erase the nightmares that clawed at her when she closed her eyes. He couldn’t pull her from the fog of guilt she’d carried since the day she lost her sight. All he could do was be there, hoping that somehow it would be enough.

He exhaled and ran a hand over his face, smoothing away the fatigue that threatened to show. When he finally emerged into the bar, the soft drone of subdued chatter and clinking glassware greeted him. Powder caught his eye immediately from behind the counter, the white shirt she wore looking more rumpled from her restless fidgeting. Her face was etched with worry, the open concern of a younger sister who felt powerless. Vander shook his head faintly, a silent signal that things were not okay, but also that it wasn’t her fault. Powder pressed her lips into a thin line, her gaze flicking to the doorway that led to Vi’s room. The unspoken question hung between them: Is Vi going to be alright?

The day dragged on, each tick of the clock underscored by the absence of Vi’s usual presence. Mylo and Claggor attempted to fill the bar with lively banter, with Mylo cracking jokes that landed more awkwardly than usual and Claggor offering half-hearted chuckles in response. Every so often, Mylo cast uneasy glances at the stairwell, and Claggor’s fingers tapped anxiously on the table’s surface, betraying his calm veneer. Meanwhile, Ekko and Powder huddled at the far end of the counter, whispering ideas about a new joint project; something involving a clockwork flotation device, by the sound of it, though neither seemed fully focused. Powder’s eyes kept flicking to the back, as if expecting her sister to show up any second, complaining about the racket.

Customers trickled in sporadically, mostly regulars who noticed Vi’s absence immediately. Many asked where the “grumpy bartender” had gone. Vander offered a gruff “She’s feelin’ under the weather,” or “She ain’t up for it today,” and that usually sufficed to quiet their curiosity. A few lingered, eyes uncertain, suspecting there was more to the story than a mere headache.

Late in the afternoon, Caitlyn stepped in, her polished demeanor a drastic contrast to the bar’s worn interior. She stood at the threshold for a moment, eyes scanning the room; perhaps looking for Vi, perhaps just taking stock of the subdued atmosphere. Powder offered a wavering smile, which Caitlyn returned before approaching Vander with a polite nod.

“How is she?” Caitlyn asked quietly, voice low enough that only Vander and Powder could hear. There was no demand in her tone, just genuine concern. Her refined accent made the question sound almost delicate amidst the rough edges of Zaun.

Vander shook his head. “Not up for visitors,” he said simply, his expression slightly guarded. He wasn’t about to explain Vi’s sensory overload or her dark moods to the Piltover Sheriff, no matter how polite she seemed. “Needs a day to… sort her head.”

Caitlyn nodded in understanding. She didn’t push, didn’t ask to see Vi. Instead, she set her elbows on the bar and asked if there was anything she could do to help. Vander just shrugged. “We’ll manage,” he said, and she accepted the answer with a quiet sigh.

And so the night inched forward. Mylo attempted to liven the mood by challenging patrons to card games he promptly lost; Claggor shuffled supplies around, trying to stay busy; Powder fidgeted with her contraptions, mind clearly elsewhere; Ekko hovered between them, offering help where he could but also casting anxious looks toward the basement door. Everyone felt Vi’s absence like a missing cog in a carefully assembled machine.

When midnight neared, the bar finally began to empty, until only the group remained. Powder leaned against the counter, arms folded, chewing her lip. Ekko and Claggor cleared away empty glasses, and Mylo grumbled about some lost bet. Caitlyn lingered for a while, nursing a glass of water, waiting for some miraculous shift in Vi’s condition. Eventually, though, she stood, thanked Vander, and slipped into the night.

A gnawing fear settled into Vander’s chest as the doors closed behind her: What if, this time, Vi couldn’t come back from the darkness that claimed her?  He tried to remind himself he’d seen Vi at her worst before, seen her lost in a cycle of blame and despair, yet she’d always resurfaced. Still, there was a dark undercurrent today; a emptiness in her voice, a slackness to her posture, that weighed on him more than any of her prior episodes.

When the last of the lights were turned off and the bar was locked down for the night, Vander trudged up to his own cramped room above the bar. He passed the basement door, resisting the urge to knock and check on her again; he knew from experience it wouldn’t help. If she needed him, she knew she only had to call out. But she never did on days like this, and it tore him up inside. With a heavy heart, he climbed the stairs, hoping she was simply sleeping off the worst of it. Yet he couldn’t shake the gnawing doubt that this time, maybe it wouldn’t be so simple.

Chapter Text

It had taken Vi three days to finally crawl out of bed without someone hovering at her side; three days of hushed footsteps and murmured worries just beyond her door, three days of Powder’s anxious knocks, Vander’s heavy sighs, and the bar’s collective guilt pulsing in the background. But today, at last, she felt the overwhelming weight on her chest ease just enough for her to stand on her own.

She began by washing up in the small, cramped bathroom adjoining her basement room. The water here had once been more toxic than refreshing, but improvements since Zaun’s tentative peace with Piltover had gone a long way. She let the cool stream run over her arms, scrubbing away the grime that clung to her like a second skin. Her breath caught when her fingertips ghosted over the burn scars on her left side; starting at the back of her neck and winding down past her shoulder blade, over the curve of her hip, all the way to her calf.

Vi paused, her eyes closed as her hand traced the raised ridges of twisted skin. The texture was like a roadmap of old pain, each ripple of scar tissue recalling that day’s explosion: the searing heat, the poisonous smell of her clothes melting into her flesh, and the singular instant her world went dark. She swallowed hard against the tangled surge of memory, willing it away with a slow exhale. This was just her body now; she refused to let it define her.

Once she’d forced away the lingering tremors of recollection, Vi dried herself off and dressed in fresh clothes, testing each movement for hidden aches. By the time she climbed the basement stairs, it was still well before dawn, the bar shrouded in restful dimness. She slid her hand along the railing at the top of the steps, each familiar nick and groove as comforting as an old friend.

Emerging into the bar proper, Vi felt a strange sense of relief settle over her. True, her body ached, her mind still felt tender, but she was upright, breathing, navigating her world one careful step at a time. The overhead lights were off; she never really needed them anyway, and the only glow came from the faint neon sign outside, casting elongated shadows across the worn floor. The dust motes drifted lazily, invisible to her sight but easy to feel in the stillness of the room.

She slipped behind the bar, inhaling the comforting smell of old wood and stale liquor. The poor odor might have turned other stomachs, but to her it was home. She ran her hand over the countertop, reacquainting herself with the mundane tasks she knew by heart: wiping down glasses with a clean rag, rearranging bottles by shape and size. It all felt reassuringly the same, even if she had been absent for three days. In a life marred by unpredictability; her blindness, the old burns that marred half her body, she clung to these small constants like lifelines.

Pausing briefly, Vi flexed her left hand, feeling the pull of scar tissue at her side where the burns tugged the skin. A faint echo of pain sparked there, but she no longer needed to grit her teeth and pressed on. At least the repetitiveness of her morning ritual steadied her, pulling her away from the ache of her memories. She might not see the bar’s battered surfaces or the dust dancing in the half-light, but she knew them; knew every bump, every splinter, every dent.

Vi exhaled, lips curving into the barest ghost of a smile. She’d made it upstairs without being escorted or fussed over, and that felt like a win alone, however small. Shoving aside the uncertain pang in her chest, she focused on polishing a battered mug, each rotation of the rag a quiet reminder that this was her place, scars and all.

Except, she realized with a growl, she was out of shimmer.

Vi set the mug and rag down and flexed her fingers against the bar’s grain, her thoughts prickling with unease. A quiet tension laced her breath. She reached for the pocket where she normally kept the vial; her secret lifeline on days when the pounding in her head grew intolerable. But the pocket was empty. Her last dose had been used up during her meltdown, and she’d been too out of it to even remember.

‘Janna,’ she thought bitterly, ‘why can’t Silco just walk his scrawny ass in here when I actually need him?’ And as though Janna herself was answering her half-assed prayer, the bar’s front door creaked open, a faint rustle of expensive fabric announcing a visitor.

“Speak of the devil,” Vi muttered under her breath, gripping the edge of the counter so tightly her knuckles whitened. Because there he was, slipping in through the still-locked door somehow, his steps entirely too quiet on the worn floorboards. 

Silco.

He stood out in sharp contrast to the bar’s rough shadows; a tall, slender figure with an almost regal composure. His coat, impeccably tailored, shifted softly with each movement. He paused near the entrance, mismatched eyes flicking across the dark interior before landing on Vi behind the bar. A flicker of amusement curved his thin lips, as though he found something darkly humorous about this early-morning rendezvous.

“My, my,” he began, his voice a low purr of condescension, “I see you’re finally up and about.”

Vi snorted, her lips twisting into a sneer. “You know,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, “I was just wishin’ you’d show up so I could bite your damn ear off.”

Silco arched one slender brow as he moved closer, each step slow and fluid, like a cat stalking an interesting insect. “Is that so?” he murmured.

“Damn straight,” Vi spat. She reached into her pocket with near frantic slowness, turning it inside out. “You’ve been diluting my vials,” she accused, lifting her chin defiantly. She kept her eyes narrowed in his general direction, listening closely to his every shift and breath.

His expression flickered with faint indignation, though he advanced another step, resting his palms lightly on the bar’s edge. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, voice feigning wounded pride.

“Bullshit,” Vi shot back, scowling. In the wan light, the faint burn scars at the corners of her milky blue eyes caught a subtle gleam. She listened for any quiver of falsehood in his silk-smooth tone, but Silco was a master of deception, catching him in a lie was like catching a glimpse of her goddess. “They used to help more than this,” she mumbled, frustration threading through her words. “Now it’s not doing jack shit for me.”

“Such crass language, Violet.” A flicker of wry amusement tugged at Silco’s lips as he folded his arms, the motion calculated and unhurried. “It sounds like your tolerance is building up, my dear girl. Shimmer isn’t a miracle, especially in small sips.” He drew out the phrase with languid emphasis, mocking her caution.

Vi’s jaw tightened, her mind flashing to Vander’s trust in Silco, or at least their uneasy truce. He thinks Silco wouldn’t dare pull any stunts. But here she was, practically accusing the man of sabotage. “It worked fine before,” she growled, “and now it’s worthless. It feels like you’re cutting corners.”

Silco shook his head, his tone a careful balance of exasperation and cool condescension. “I’d never shortchange you, Violet. Were it not for my respect for Vander, I wouldn’t bother at all. This arrangement was your idea, remember? I’m simply the supplier.” His mismatched gaze roamed her face, silently challenging her to refute his words. 

Vi let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong to trust you.” She pivoted slightly, her fingers gripping the bar, knuckles blanching. “I bet you just love the idea of havin’ power over me, over him. You you probably get your rocks off on it.”

Silco’s lips quirked in a detached smile, his posture unruffled as he leaned in a fraction closer. “I take no pleasure in your suffering,” he replied, his tone edged with disinterest. “And if I wanted something over your old man I would have finished what I started years ago.” He shook his head with a condescending smile he knew she would never see. “Had I wanted to exploit you however,” he added with the faintest shrug, “I would have done so when along before you started begging.”

Vi swallowed down a wave of anger that threatened to spike into a full-blown shout, but the exhaustion of the last few days left her spent. She settled for glaring in his approximate direction, her unseeing eyes narrowed to slits. “Keep your smug speech, Silco. Just give me what I need.”

Silco dipped his head, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, his attention lingering on her hand still clenching the counter. The pause long enough for her to know he was studying her. ‘Observant bastard,’ Vi thought, resisting the urge to hide her trembling fingers behind her back. The hush in the bar was unbearable, the only background noise the low hum of the old neon sign outside. She could practically taste the stale liquor in the air, her headache pounding in time with her heart.

Vi wouldn’t have been surprised if Silco walked away with that mocking half-smile, leaving her with no shimmer at all. But she was too desperate to temper her accusations. If he held all the cards in this twisted game, so be it; she’d rather starve him of courtesy than beg for more than scraps.

His gloved hand slid into his coat pocket, a obvious motion that Vi tracked by sound alone. Her breath caught, and she fought not to show how heavily she depended on what he might produce. ‘Don’t give him the satisfaction’, she told herself, even as her chest tightened with an anxious flutter.

Yet Silco remained still for a moment, gaze flitting toward the door, as if checking whether they were alone. “You’d do well to remember,” he said at length, “that I’ve never asked for anything in return for these vials. I’m not your enemy, merely a purveyor of… relief.” He inclined his head, then added softly, “You’d be wise not to bite the hand that feeds, as the old saying goes.”

Vi curled her lip in distaste. “I’ll decide who’s my enemy. Now give me my damn shimmer.”

Before Silco could reply, the door leading to the back swung open with a gentle creak. Vander stepped into the main room, having come down from his modest living space above the bar. His gaze swept across the interior in one decisive glance, landing first on Vi, who stood behind the counter; upright, dressed, and apparently stable. Relief flickered across his rugged features, but it was short-lived. The moment his eyes found Silco, that momentary ease hardened into cautious apprehension.

“Silco.” Vander’s voice carried a wary greeting, steeped in old familiarity and a hint of lingering distrust. Once, they had been more like brothers, united in their vision for the Undercity. But the betrayal on the bridge had forced a chasm between them, leaving them in a tense détente.

Silco offered a tight nod, the motion precise and contained. “Vander,” he replied, a polite but distant smile curving his thin lips. He moved with a quiet self-assuredness, his well-tailored coat shifting around his lean frame as if even it were obeying his command.

Vi shifted on her feet, letting her left hand brush the bar’s edge to keep track of exactly how close Silco and Vander stood. Although her glazed eyes stared forward, she tilted her head fractionally, attuning her ears to the subtle movements in the room. The tension coiled tighter, an invisible thread pulled taut between Silco and Vander’s uneasy alliance. With the bar not even open yet, Silco’s presence felt invasive, like he relished turning up when no one wanted him around.

Vander cleared his throat, forcing his face into what he hoped passed for neutral. He moved closer to Vi, resting one heavy hand on her shoulder. The gesture felt equal parts protective and reassuring, a way of confirming she was indeed here on her own terms, not bedridden by her recent struggles. “’S good to see you up, kid,” he murmured, voice pitched low. His gaze darted back to Silco, unspoken questions dancing in his eyes. “But you… what are you doin’ here so early, Silco?”

Silco shrugged with an elegance that belied the tension in the air, smoothing a nonexistent crease on his sleeve. “I merely came to check on your dear daughter,” he said, tipping his chin toward Vi. “Given her recent… absence.” His words dripped with a polite veneer that did little to mask the power play he had previously enjoyed.

A muscle in Vander’s jaw tightened. He did not like the notion of Silco taking a personal interest in Vi, especially not after their history. Still, he couldn’t outright accuse him of anything; they’d cobbled together a mutual toleration since the fragile peace with Piltover. On the surface, they both wanted Zaun to thrive. Underneath, old wounds festered, most of them Silco’s. 

“Yeah, well,” Vander said slowly, measuring each syllable, “she’s up, thanks for askin’. And now we got a bar to set for the day. So if you ain’t buyin’ a drink…” He deliberately let the sentence trail off, leaving the ultimatum or threat, Vi wasn't sure at the moment, hanging in the dusty air.

From her spot behind the bar, Vi clenched her fists at her sides, ignoring the dull ache that waves behind her eyes. She needed shimmer, and Silco was her only source. She hated that she needed him, hated feeling beholden to someone who had once nearly torn her family apart. But she hated the headache and self more.

Silco cut his gaze toward Vi, his mismatched eyes lingering on her with a faint spark of calculation. Even if she hadn’t seen it, she could sense the subtle hush that preceded his answer. She tensed, bracing for whatever smooth retort he might offer.

He let Vander’s words stand, merely dipping his head in a slight gesture of acknowledgment. “Of course,” he said, each syllable polished with a cool civility. “I’ll leave you to your day.” Without another glance, he turned, footsteps remarkably soft against the floor, he glided more than walked. In a few strides, he was out the door, the faint click of it shutting behind him sounding almost anticlimactic.

The moment Silco vanished, the bar felt less charged, as if a heavy air had been lifted from the room. Yet the tension clung to the corners like a stale odor, refusing to fully dissipate.

Vander’s hand squeezed Vi’s shoulder gently, his voice dropping further. “Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing every syllable.

Vi let out a shaky exhale, the anger and frustration swirling within her struggling to recede. “Let’s stock up,” she muttered, forcing her lips into a thin half-smirk. “Don’t want folks thinkin’ we’re slackin’.”

She doubted Vander believed the casual facade, but he gave her shoulder a squeeze, not saying anything, offering her an out. For a brief second, Vi’s mind flicked to the missing shimmer and how she had to plan a way to get more without tipping off Vander. The headache gnawed at her, a constant reminder of her dependence. Despite her small victory of leaving her bed and resuming her duties, the undercurrent of dread remained. But for now, at least, Vander had forced Silco out and she was still standing behind the bar, where she wanted to be.

Where she had to be.

Powder and Ekko walked into the bar, this time with a key. 

Only a minute or two after Silco’s departure, the door to The Last Drop swung open again, this time with far more warmth in its wake. Powder slipped in first, her arm linked through Ekko’s, the two of them whispering and giggling about something Vi couldn’t quite make out. Powder’s short blue hair was done up into two small pigtails, but she had swapped her usual vest for a patched bomber jacket, its sleeves embroidered with a chaotic pattern of gears and flowers in bright colors. Below, she sported snug black pants tucked into scuffed boots, and a bag slung over one shoulder rattled faintly with the sound of loose tools.

Ekko followed closely, his free hand laced with Powder’s fingers. He wore a comfortable, high-collared hoodie in dark gray, overlaid with a lightweight jacket in a soft green that echoed the ones he used to favor but with a sleeker, more modern design. A pair of goggles hung around his neck, and though his white dreads were still pulled back, they fell in a looser style, suggesting he’d hurried to dress and meet Powder’s enthusiasm this morning. The two of them moved in step, always drawn into each other’s orbit.

Vi could hear the door close behind them and the hush of their laughter. She couldn’t pick up the exact words of their whispers, but the tone alone made her roll her eyes in mock exasperation. “Oh, for fuck sake,” she drawled, exaggerating a gagging sound. “You two sound like you’re planning a wedding.”

Powder’s cheeks puffed pink slightly in a playful pout, and she shot Vi a mischievous grin that the older sister couldn’t see but could most definitely feel in the shifting air. Before Vi could brace herself, a rush of movement barreled into her, arms snaking around her waist. Powder collided with her in a forceful hug, enough to knock Vi off balance.

“Whoa, Pow-!” Vi started, but her words were cut off as she stumbled backward, her boots catching on the uneven floor. Powder’s momentum knocked them both down, and they hit the ground with a loud thud, Vi letting out a pained huff as her back made contact.

“Oops!” Powder squeaked, her voice both apologetic and amused, her arms still locked around Vi.

Vi groaned, more from surprise than actual pain, though the shock made the dull throb behind her eyes flare momentarily. “Careful, Powder, warn a girl next time. ” she muttered, but her words came softened by the slight smile tugging at her lips. Despite how it had ended, the crash of an affectionate tackle was better than the lonely stillness she’d battled for days.

Still pinned by her sister’s enthusiastic embrace, Vi managed to free one arm just enough to ruffle Powder’s hair in mock reprimand. “You gotta let this old woman stand,” she teased, trying to hide her lingering fatigue behind sarcasm. Her other hand found Powder’s back, rubbing it gently. She could feel the tension there, coiled up from worry, guilt, or both.

Ekko hovered close, his grin faltering just a little as he waited to see if Vi was truly alright. He adjusted the goggles around his neck, stepping forward to help steady them if needed. “You sure you’re good, Vi?” he asked, voice quiet with concern.

“Yeah, yeah,” Vi muttered, carefully maneuvering her legs to sit upright on the floor. She kept one hand on Powder’s shoulder as she guided herself, using her free hand to feel the bar’s edge for support. “I’m not that easy to break. Bruise on the other hand… Yeah my ass felt that one.”

Powder’s hug tightened for a second before she finally let Vi sit up properly, her guilt all too evident in the trembling exhale that escaped her lips. “Sorry,” she whispered, eyes glancing over Vi’s face as though she wished she could erase the last three days from existence. “I just… missed you.”

Vi heard the unspoken words: I was scared… I thought it was my fault again. She reached over to briefly clasp Powder’s forearm, ignoring the heaviness in her own chest. “I know, Pow-Pow. I’m okay,” she assured, though the lines of fatigue still clung to her features, and the dull ache in her skull loomed slightly larger but not yet unbearable.

With Ekko’s quiet assistance, they managed to get Vi back on her feet. Powder hovered at her elbow, afraid Vi might collapse again. Vi patted her shoulder, a silent dismissal of the fuss. “Alright enough of that,” she said, somewhat gruffly. “I’m not gonna break or something.” She wished her head agreed with that statement, but at least she was standing on her own.

Powder’s bright grin returned, a spark of relief dancing across her eyes. “Then can you help me and Ekko with this new project?” she asked. “We’ve got the parts, but we need your opinion. I, uh…” She hesitated, looking between Vi and Ekko. “I just wanna be sure it’s safe, you know?”

Vi scoffed good-naturedly, using the bar top as a reference to orient herself. “Right, because I’m the pinnacle of safety,” she joked, a sardonic twist to her smirk. Still, her chest felt marginally lighter. Powder was safe, Ekko was safe, and in that moment, it was enough to push aside the lingering negativity that had threatened to consume her at most times.

Ekko, Powder, and Vi moved from the bar’s floor, where Powder had tackled Vi, to one of the old round tables near the far side of The Last Drop. Despite the early hour, the dim glow from the neon sign outside offered enough light to see by, supplemented by the faint overhead fixture Vander had turned on in passing. Powder settled herself on a creaky wooden chair, patting the seat beside her as if it were a prime spot in a crowded theater.

“C’mon,” she urged, gesturing for Vi to sit. Ekko took the chair at Powder’s other side, angling himself so he could glance between the two sisters as they talked.

Vi eased into her seat with caution, her body was still stiff from the past few days. She shifted until the lines of pain in her forehead smoothed out a fraction. The old table rocked slightly on uneven legs, and she pressed a hand against its surface, letting her fingertips trace the wooden edges as she oriented herself. ‘At least my headache is backing off,’ she thought, a small glimmer of relief breaking through her lingering tension. ‘Janna knows it’ll be back soon.’

Powder cleared her throat in a mixture of nerves and enthusiasm, setting her half-finished contraption on the tabletop with a gentle thud. Her short blue hair swayed in two uneven pigtails, and her cheeks lit up with a proud flush as she launched into an explanation. “So,” she began, tapping a thin metal rod that formed part of the device’s spine, “the core is basically a mini-gear mechanism, right? It should convert the torque from this coil spring here into upward motion when the lever is triggered, kinda like the grappler. But the difference is-”

Ekko nodded along intently, occasionally chiming in with “Uh-huh,” or “Right,” each time Powder paused for breath. He asked clarifying questions, pointing at a set of tiny gears or a welded joint, his white dreads bobbing as he leaned in. “That’s brilliant,” he murmured, impressed. “But what about stabilizing it mid-launch?”

Powder’s eyes gleamed. “That’s where the cross-brace rods come in!” she explained, rummaging through a small pouch of mismatched bolts and washers. “If they’re angled just right, we can keep the device from spinning off-axis.”

Vi listened to her sister’s voice, a rapid-fire stream of mechanical jargon that soared completely over her head. She recognized the excited pitch in Powder’s words more than anything else, a signal that her sister felt alive in this moment. And though Vi didn’t catch the technical details, she found herself smiling faintly, content to hear the joy in Powder’s tone. After the agony of the past few days, this chatter felt like fresh air.

As Powder went on, Vi simply rested her elbows on the table, turning her head in the direction of her sister’s voice, nodding every so often. She couldn’t help but marvel at how Powder had grown; no longer the tiny kid overshadowed by her “older siblings,” but a budding inventor, forging a path that will someday take her to Piltover’s famed Academy. It gave Vi a sense of pride she didn’t quite know how to voice.

Ekko, meanwhile, continued to follow Powder’s explanation with rapt attention, occasionally tinkering with a loose spring or holding up a small gear as Powder explained its function. “I see,” he said, pressing his lips together. “So if we reinforce that joint, we might actually get enough torque to lift heavier loads?”

Powder nodded enthusiastically, her eyes shining. “Exactly! It’s more stable than the grappler I built for you, Vi. Less chance of, you know…” She paused, shooting Vi an apologetic glance. “…a face plant.”

Vi snorted. “You mean the time I nearly busted my teeth on that warehouse roof?” She rolled her unseeing eyes. “Yeah, I remember.” She rubbed her jaw unconsciously. 

A ripple of laughter passed among them, and for a moment, Vi allowed herself to relax into the sound, a gentle wave soothing the ache behind her temples. The headache’s retreat, however temporary, felt like a blessing. ‘I’ll take what I can get,’ she told herself.

Across the room, the door to the back swung open again, and the faint shuffle of boots announced Vander’s return. He stepped into the bar area, drying his hands on a rag, and paused mid-motion when he caught sight of the three seated at the table. A small smile curved his lips at the scene: Powder rattling excitedly about springs and torque, Ekko nodding with genuine interest, and Vi, upright and engaging—even if she didn’t fully grasp the conversation.

It was almost noon now, time to open The Last Drop to its usual midday trickle of customers. Vander had planned to have Vi run the bar as she normally did, but the sight of her smiling, actually smiling at Powder’s enthusiastic ramblings, made him hesitate. ‘She deserves another day off,’ he thought, pressing the rag to the counter and leaning his hips against it. If she wanted to keep an eye on the place from her usual post, that was fine, but he didn’t want her overburdened. Not after the last three days she’d had.

Vander cleared his throat softly, drawing their attention. “Bar needs openin’,” he said, his voice gruff but fond. “But I can handle that today, if you three got more gears to fiddle with.”

Vi turned her head, glazed eyes shifting toward Vander’s voice. “You sure?” she asked, her tone laced with a hint of grateful surprise.

He nodded, his smile deepening. “’S no trouble. You look like you’re enjoyin’ yourself, is all.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with a fatherly warmth. “Figured you could use another day to rest, or y’know, tinker along with these two. Or just… be.”

Powder beamed, glancing at Vi as though seeking confirmation. She had clearly noticed the faint lines of fatigue still etched in Vi’s posture, and the relief in her own face was plain as day. Ekko, ever watchful, caught that silent exchange and settled back in his chair, a relaxed grin forming.

Vi’s shoulders slumped a little, the tension she’d been holding onto ebbing away. “Yeah,” she breathed after a moment, forcing a slight smirk. “Guess I can put up my feet and make sure these two don’t burn the place down.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words thank you, not directly, but from the slight softness in her tone, Vander understood.

Vander chuckled, moving toward the bar’s front doors to unlock them. “That’s the spirit, kiddo.” As he passed by, he gently ruffled the top of Powder’s hair, ignoring her playful swat in return. “You all right here, Spark?”

Powder grinned, her short buns bouncing. “Never better, Dad.”

Ekko stifled a laugh, nudging Powder’s elbow. “C’mon, show me that second coil again. I think we can reinforce it if we swap out the spring gauge…”

As they dove back into their mechanical discussion, Vi merely listened to their voices, a subtle, contented smile ghosting her lips. Her headache lurked in the background, and her supply of shimmer was dangerously low, no completely gone, but for now, with Powder’s excitement filling the air and Ekko’s easy banter helping lighten her mood, she allowed herself the luxury of a small, precious respite.

Vi rose from her chair, the wooden legs scraping against the uneven floor. The conversation between Powder and Ekko hummed in the background; something about reinforcing a coil or adjusting spring tension. She let their voices drift out of focus as she navigated back to the bar, one hand ghosting along the table’s edge, the other extended toward an old, familiar groove in the wall for guidance.

At the bar, she used her fingers to skim across the bottles and mugs, stopping at a small collection of clean glasses stacked neatly. Powder liked bubbly drinks if there was any left, Ekko didn’t mind an occasional cheap beer, and Vi herself stuck to water, has since when she got her tattoos. Alcohol never appealed to her, the taste more bitter than pleasant. ‘I need a clear head,’ she told herself, even if it often ached.

She selected a glass for herself, filling it with water from a tall, slightly battered steel pitcher. The leftover ice clinked inside, adding a quiet note to the near empty atmosphere. Next, she grabbed a small bottle of fizz,Powder’s favorite bubble drink, and a standard draft of cheap Piltover brew for Ekko. 

As Vi returned to the table, balancing the drinks carefully in her arms, she realized the bar had begun to fill. It wasn’t busy by any stretch, but the usual midday trickle of patrons had arrived, taking seats here and there with the casual grace of people who knew this place well. Boots scuffed against the floor, chairs scraped back in search of comfort, hushed voices mingling with the soft strains of an old radio hidden behind the bar.

‘None of them are worth remembering,’ Vi thought, a little sting of bitterness clinging to the phrase. She knew how her surly demeanor, combined with the spiderweb-like scars at the corners of her milky blue eyes, often turned people away. The scars had been born of arcane energy so intense that it left faint traces, glowing in certain lights; an unsettling sight, even in Zaun’s rough clientele. It made seasoned mercenaries glance away and novices whisper rumors about her “otherworldly” stare.

But as Vi set the drinks down on the table, one for Powder, one for Ekko, and a simple glass of water for herself, a single thought snagged in her mind: Caitlyn. Her unseeing gaze flicked downward, but she felt her stomach clench anyway at the memory of the well-spoken Sheriff who had, on more than one occasion, knocked her off her guard in ways she wasn’t used to.

‘Other than knocking me over in the hallway at the Academy, she’s been nothing but polite,’ Vi admitted begrudgingly to herself. She recalled the crisp accent, the warm but measured tone, and the way Caitlyn would sit just close enough to be kind, but not so close as to be intrusive. It gnawed at Vi, how easily the woman managed to treat her with respect she rarely encountered outside her family.

She settled back into her seat, sliding the fizz drink toward Powder with a nudge of her hand and handing Ekko his beer. Powder offered a bright smile that Vi caught in the radiant way her sister’s voice seemed to shift, while Ekko gave a quick, “Thanks, Vi,” before taking a long undignified drink. Zaun may have changed but its people… they remained the same. 

Vi drank her water in slow sips, the cool liquid soothing her sore throat. Her mind returned to Caitlyn. Something about the woman made her uneasy, but not in a threatening way. It was more like… she saw Vi, not her imperfections but the real Vi. The woman had an uncanny ability to make her cheeks burn and her sarcastic quips falter. Annoying. That was the word Vi had used, but it didn’t quite encompass the strange relief she felt in having someone approach her without fear or pity.

A few new patrons drifted in, their bootfalls a scattering of heavy and light steps. The sense of the bar’s chatter grew. Powder and Ekko resumed tinkering with the half-finished device on the table, though Powder threw the occasional curious glance at Vi. She must have noticed the slight tension in Vi’s posture, the way her knuckles sometimes went white around her water glass.

Trying to force away the flicker of anxiety that accompanied thoughts of Caitlyn, Vi exhaled. ‘I’m back at work,’ she reminded herself. ‘I’m fine.’ Yet she couldn’t ignore the memory of the Sheriff’s gentle voice or the surprise flutter in her chest when Caitlyn showed her genuine concern. Not to mention her damn advances. 

“Vi?” Powder asked, drawing her attention. “You okay?”

Vi mustered a wry smile, running her thumb over the rim of her glass. “Yeah, just… thinkin’,” she replied, her tone dismissive but not unkind. Powder looked like she wanted to pry, but caught herself, returning to Ekko’s side instead.

Vi let her mind wander back to the memory of Caitlyn’s polite, respectful stance, the unwavering patience that had thrown Vi off balance. She still found the woman’s presence irritating in ways she couldn’t quite articulate; there was something disarming about being treated like more than her blindness or her looks. It fed a budding curiosity and, at the same time, twisted her stomach in knots.

'Focus, Vi,' she ordered herself silently, taking another sip of her water. Still, the feeling of Caitlyn’s name lingering in her thoughts refused to fade. She supposed it was just one more thing to fight through, another layer in the messy stack of burdens she bore. Except, somehow, it wasn’t quite a burden, more like an unanswered question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.

Pursing her lips, Vi reached out to run her hand along the battered table’s surface, her fingertips encountering a deep scratch in the wood that hadn’t been there before. She allowed a brief frown, silently counting the new grooves, committing them to memory. Slowly, she felt her headache pull back another fraction, and she relaxed into the moment, content for now to listen to Powder’s lively chatter, Ekko’s steady hum of agreement, and the hum of the bar as midday merged into the afternoon.

Yet, in a quiet corner of her mind, the image of Caitlyn lingered: her polished accent, the respectful tilt of her voice, that relentless but strangely gentle persistence. It was infuriating. And comforting. And annoyingly hard to shake.

A thought crept in then, unwelcome yet insistent. Caitlyn had said she’d come by the night after their last conversation, but Vi had been too far gone, trapped in the haze of her own mind. Had she actually shown up? Did she wait? Did she ask? Vi bit her lip, debating how to bring it up without making it obvious that she cared.

She failed miserably.

“So, Powder,” Vi started, keeping her tone as casual as possible, “did the Sheriff stop by while I was out?”

She chose her words carefully, framing it like an afterthought, something barely worth asking, though she knew her sister would see right through it.

And, of course, Powder immediately latched onto it, her eyes lighting up like a fuse had been lit. Any lingering guilt she’d been carrying over Vi’s bad days vanished in an instant, replaced by pure, unfiltered mischief.

“Oh, she definitely stopped by,” Powder said, setting down her tool with exaggerated care. “Every. Single. Day.”

Vi exhaled through her nose, forcing a hum of disinterest, but she could already feel Powder gearing up.

“It was real sweet,” Powder continued, leaning in with a smirk. “She’d come in all proper, ask Vander about you real soft, like ‘How is she today, Vander?’” Powder mimicked, her voice high and mocking, throwing in an exaggerated Piltover accent.

Ekko snorted into his drink, shaking his head, while Vi drummed her fingers on the table.

“She didn’t ask to see me?” Vi asked, then immediately regretted it.

Powder’s smirk widened. “Nope. Never pushed. Just sat at the bar, sipped her drink, and left when Vander said you needed space. Didn’t demand anything. Just waited.” She shrugged, but her grin stayed sharp. “Kinda adorable, if you ask me.”

Vi only hummed again, but she could already feel the warmth creeping up her neck.

And Powder noticed.

“Oh, come on,” she giggled, elbowing Ekko, who was now grinning behind his cup. “Vi, you’re blushing!”

“Shut it, Powder,” Vi muttered, crossing her arms.

“Oh, so not happening,” Powder shot back, practically vibrating with glee. “You are so red right now.”

Vi groaned, dragging a hand down her face. 'Janna, why?'

But despite Powder’s relentless teasing, Vi made up her mind right then and there. If Caitlyn wanted to lay it on thick, then so could she.

Now if only she could stop her body from betraying her every damn time she thought about that woman.

Headache forgotten. 

Shimmer an afterthought. 

Chapter Text

As mid-afternoon melted into evening, the Last Drop transformed into its usual symphony. The jukebox thrummed with an upbeat tune, weaving through the air alongside the clinking of glasses, the sloshing of drinks onto tables, and the raucous conversations of patrons recounting their workday victories and grievances. It was the kind of atmosphere Vi had long since grown accustomed to: loud, messy, full of life. Normally, she found comfort in the rhythm of it all, and today was no different. However, she let it fade into the background.

She sat back, listening, not to the bar, but to Powder and Ekko’s conversation. Or, more accurately, Powder’s increasingly rapid and enthusiastic explanation of her latest invention. At this point, it was entirely her project, and Vi didn’t bother pretending she understood a single word of it. The technical jargon, the excited ramblings about mechanisms and inner workings; most of it soared straight over her head like a topside airship, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she could hear the excitement in her sister’s voice, could feel the weight of Ekko’s steady encouragement and the occasional hint of caution when Powder got too ambitious. It was nice. It was as common as the air she breathed. She liked it. 

She was also keenly aware that Vander had given her this day off for a reason. A rare thing, a gift she hadn’t even thought to ask for but one she desperately needed. Vi wasn’t the type to take breaks; not when she could be working, moving, proving that she could pull her weight despite everything. What she lacked in sight, she made up for in sheer determination and, when necessary, fists. That last part usually ended with Vander giving her that disappointed sigh of his.

Today, she allowed herself relax.

She ran her fingers idly over the rim of her empty glass, the cool condensation tracing against her calloused skin. Her body was still sore from the past few days: lingering stiffness in her muscles, a dull ache beneath her skin, but it was manageable. Fading with every passing moment. For the first time in days, she felt like herself again.

When the front doors opened she barely noticed. It was the evening rush after all. 

She would have ignored it, lost in the comfort of just being, but something about the footsteps that followed made her pause.

One set was familiar. The other two were not.

Vi tilted her head slightly, filtering out the bar’s noise, her focus narrowing in on the measured strides approaching the room.

“You two will remain outside. Your presence is not needed in here,” a crisp voice commanded.

The accent. The authority. The damn scent.

Sure enough, it was Caitlyn.

There was a shuffle of boots, a begrudging pause before two sets of footsteps retreated, the doors creaking shut behind them. Enforcers. They always moved with a certain weight to their steps, an unspoken air of control, of belonging where they damn well pleased. But not this time. Caitlyn had dismissed them without hesitation.

Vi listened as Caitlyn strode further inside, her footsteps precise, and light, yet there was a moment, just the briefest hesitation in her step. Vi smirked to herself. The Sheriff was looking at her now.

And that damn blush threatened to rise again.

'Not now,' she told herself.

“It’s so good to see you, Vi,” Caitlyn’s voice was velvet, but Vi caught the subtle breath she took before speaking, as if she were debating her words. “Your absence had me concerned about your well-being.”

Vi cracked open her eyes and did her best to smirk, but judging by the muffled giggle from Powder, she failed miserably.

“It’s good to know someone missed me,” she drawled back, trying to keep her tone light. Under the table, she lashed out with a playful kick, aiming for Powder’s shin.

“Ow!” Ekko yelped.

Powder erupted into full-bodied laughter, nearly tipping over in her seat.

Caitlyn merely hummed in response, the sound amused. “Indeed, I very much enjoy our chats.” There was another pause, another breath. “Sadly, I’m not here for pleasure. But I would like to catch up soon… if you’re up for it, that is.”

Vi swallowed. The question had been left in her hands. Caitlyn, ever the polite one, never pushed. Never demanded. She simply offered.

Vi nodded, turning her head slightly toward Caitlyn’s voice. “I’d like that.”

A satisfied hum. “It’s a date, then.”

Vi briefly choked on air. 

And with that, Caitlyn walked toward the bar, her authoritative steps shifting toward something softer, something more reserved as she approached Vander.

Vi resisted the urge to follow her movements, instead listening as Caitlyn exchanged a brief but quiet greeting with Vander. Their conversation was low, hushed; too low for her to make out any clear words. Suspiciously low.

Then, after a few moments, she heard the shuffle of Vander moving from behind the bar, the sound of a door creaking open. The office.

Vi’s curiosity flared, but she didn’t get up. Didn’t pry.

If Caitlyn had business with Vander that needed to be done behind closed doors, Vi would find out soon enough. She was the snoop of the family, after all: just barely edging out Powder for the title. She had an ear for things, a gut instinct that rarely led her astray.

Vi felt her body relax again, settling into her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. She had no interest in exhausting herself over something that would eventually make its way to her anyway.

Of course, Ekko had other plans.

“Why do you think the Sheriff is here?” he asked, his voice lowered as he leaned onto the table, the soft creak of wood accompanying his movement. “And with other enforcers.”

Powder, always eager to unravel a mystery, absentmindedly chewed on the back of her pen, deep in thought.

Vi, without missing a beat, sighed through her nose. “Powder, stop before you blacken your teeth.”

Her sister instantly removed the pen from her mouth, setting it down with a small clack on the table. Despite Vi’s lack of sight, Powder never questioned her uncanny ability to know things. It was downright eerie sometimes. Clearing her throat, she shifted gears back to the topic at hand.

“Since the peace, Zaun still hasn’t established its own formal law enforcement,” Powder began, picking up the pen again, twirling it between her fingers. “If I remember correctly, Vander made a contract with Piltover when it came to the Lanes and-” she waved her hand vaguely around, “basically all of Zaun.”

Ekko exhaled heavily, rubbing at his temple. “We know that, Pow. That still doesn’t explain why they are here.”

Powder pouted, folding her arms. “I was just saying…”

Noticing the slight downturn of her lips, Ekko immediately softened. He reached across the table and rested his hand gently over hers. “I know,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean for that to come out rude.”

Powder smiled, nudging him with her shoulder. “It didn’t.”

Vi smirked, eyes still closed. “It kinda did.”

“Oh, shut it, Vi,” Powder shot back, her tone playful, the warmth in her voice belying any real annoyance.

Vi hummed, letting the conversation drift as her mind worked through its own theories. Whatever had brought Caitlyn here had to be serious, especially if she had felt the need to bring enforcers with her.

It didn’t sit right with her.

Vi had never trusted Piltover. Not before the explosion, and especially not after. It didn’t matter that the two cities had mended their relationship, didn’t matter that Zaun had been given the chance to breathe instead of choke on the waste of the people above. She would never trust them. Well, maybe expect one. The changes people raved about meant little to her, she would never get to see them.

Zaun was still the Undercity. Piltover was still its oppressor, despite what everyone had tried to tell her.

And worst of all, it shouldn’t have taken an explosion, her explosion, for Piltover to finally realize its own failings.

Her jaw clenched.

Beneath the table, Vi flexed her left hand, feeling the familiar pull of her scarred skin, the rough texture a permanent reminder of how deeply the past had burned her. The scars served as an unspoken testament to the cost of Piltover’s negligence.

The cost of her negligence.

She pressed her palm flat against the table, grounding herself, forcing the thoughts away. She would find out soon enough what Piltover was up to. Until then, there was no point in dwelling on ghosts she couldn’t chase.

Vi knew Ekko and Powder were deep into their theorizing, voices hushed but animated as they exchanged ideas about the Sheriff’s visit. Vi, however, wanted no part of it.

“Are you two done with your drinks?” she interrupted, not caring if she cut off whatever wild speculation they were building on.

Powder spoke up first, her voice still carrying an air of conspiracy. “Yeah, but I can take care of it.”

Vi shook her head, already standing as she blindly reached for their glasses, the cool surfaces familiar beneath her fingertips. “It’s alright, Pow. I need to stretch my legs anyway.” She added a reassuring wink in her sister’s general direction, earning an exaggerated groan from Powder.

With practiced ease, Vi made her way to the bar, trailing her fingers along the edge before placing the glasses into the sink. She was about to turn back, ready to reclaim her seat and ignore whatever nonsense Powder and Ekko were whispering about now, 

When someone coughed.

Vi’s fingers tightened against the edge of the sink, her jaw clenching as she exhaled sharply through her nose. The sound wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t just some patron clearing their throat.

No, she knew exactly who it was.

“Huck,” she said, voice flat, already irritated. “You’ve been coming here long enough to know that speaking is better than making weird noises.” She turned her head slightly toward the general direction of his presence, though her expression remained unimpressed. “What do you want?”

Huck had the unfortunate tendency of being a sniveling coward at the best of times and an opportunist at the worst. The last time Vi had seen him, he was still the same bumbling little man with a widow’s peak so pronounced that she often joked it was larger than both Piltover and Zaun combined. She wondered if he’d finally gone fully bald. Maybe she’d ask next time.

“Um, V-Vi,” Huck stuttered miserably, his voice as shaky as ever. “Could I, uh, get a… a d-draft of the house brew?” A beat of awkward silence. Then, as though remembering his manners, he tacked on a small, “Please.”

Vi sighed, shaking her head as she reached out, her fingers brushing over the cool metal of the tap handles. Locating the right one, she grabbed a mug and started pouring, barely sparing him any real attention.

“Huck, you’ve known me since I was a kid,” she mused, her tone conversational. “How is it that now, you sound like you’re scared shitless to talk to me?”

“Well, you see—”

Vi didn’t let him finish. With a harsh motion, she set his drink down on the counter with more force than intended, the impact causing some of the amber liquid to slosh over the rim.

“You know what?” she said, her voice deceptively light. She leaned in slightly, her fingers never leaving the mug. “Forget I asked. I already know why.”

The tension in the room thickened as Huck sputtered, his nervous energy practically vibrating in the space between them. Vi gave him a second, waiting for him to reach for his drink. 

The moment she felt his fingers graze the handle, she grabbed his wrist.

The motion was swift. Not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that he wouldn’t be able to pull away. A quick gasp left him, but before he could stammer out some pathetic response, Vi was already moving, walking around the bar and pulling him along with her.

His wrist still in her grasp, she lifted his arm into the air. Awkwardly, considering the fact that Huck was a whole head shorter than her.

A hush fell over the bar. Conversations died. The music from the jukebox droned on, but it was nothing more than a distant hum compared to the sudden focus that was now locked on Vi.

Good.

She tilted her head, scanning the room with her unseeing eyes, her voice carrying over the hushed silence.

“Who here feels the same way our dear friend Huck does?” she called out, raising her voice just enough to be heard over the lingering noise. She wasn’t yelling, but there was an undeniable sharpness to her words; an edge that dared anyone to answer.

There was a long pause.

Then, the scrape of a chair.

Vi didn’t even need to see to know exactly who had stood up first.

“Vi-” Powder began, her voice cautious, pleading, trying to de-escalate before things got worse. She had no idea what was said but Vi never touched a customer unless they stole something or said something that was inappropriate. 

Out of everyone in the bar, Huck wouldn’t hurt a fly, hells he couldn’t hurt one if he tried. 

Vi’s free hand shot out, pointing blindly in her direction. “Don’t,” she said sharply, her grip on Huck tightening slightly for emphasis.

Another long, drawn-out silence. Vi didn’t move, standing there in front the counter in the bar with Huck’s wrist still in her grasp, the tension in the air so thick it felt like a living thing pressing down on everyone in the room.

She turned her head slowly, as if scanning the space, daring someone else to speak.

“I asked… who else feels the same as our friend here?” she repeated, giving Huck’s arm a small shake, as though to remind everyone what this was about.

No one answered.

The weight of unspoken truths hung over the bar like a heavy fog.

Finally, Vi let out a short breath through her nose and released Huck’s wrist, allowing his arm to drop back to his side.

“Take your drink,” she muttered, her voice quieter now, the heat still lingering in her tone. “It’ll be on your tab.”

Huck hesitated for a fraction of a second, then quickly grabbed the mug and scurried back to his seat, shoulders hunched in embarrassment. The bar remained silent for a moment longer, before the low murmur of conversation slowly resumed, like a machine sputtering back to life after stalling.

Vi didn’t move.

She knew exactly what just happened. She knew why Huck had been hesitant, why others hadn’t spoken up.

It wasn’t just the blindness. It wasn’t just the scars.

It was her.

She wasn’t little Vi anymore. Not in their eyes. She was someone else now. Someone people hesitated to look at directly, let alone talk to. They always flinched at the look of her. Just because she doesn’t have sight doesn’t mean she didn’t know. That it didn’t hurt, though she loathed to admit it. 

She exhaled slowly, pressing her lips into a thin line before turning away, heading back toward her table without another word.

Vi could feel Powder’s worried gaze burning into her from across the room, but she ignored it. If she acknowledged it, she might just break, and right now, breaking wasn’t an option.

“The grumpy bartender is back,” some faceless patron laughed, the words crashing through the bar’s tense silence like a rusted hammer. A few others joined in, chuckling low and uneasy, as if they weren’t quite sure if they were allowed to laugh at her expense but decided to try anyway.

Powder was already moving toward Vi, Ekko hot on her heels. She barely registered them, her blood roaring in her ears.

Vi froze.

She was used to people staring, used to the weight of their whispers pressing down on her like bricks tied to her ankles. But no one ever had the gall to say something here. In this bar. In her home.

Her fists clenched so hard her nails bit into her palms, and a sharp inhale entered her nostrils, her body coiling with the kind of rage that always simmered just beneath the surface. She was about to turn around, to do something, to make someone bleed. 

Then, the creak of a door opening cut through the tension.

“Thank you for your assistance, Vander…” Caitlyn’s smooth, refined voice carried easily over the now-quiet bar. But then, she paused, clearly sensing the shift in atmosphere the moment she stepped into the room.

Vander’s gruff voice followed right after, slower, more measured. “Anything to help, Sheriff.”

But when he stepped out behind her, he froze too.

He took in the scene in an instant: Vi standing in front of the counter, her whole body shaking with barely restrained fury. Powder and Ekko nearly at her side, hesitation in their movements. The entire bar watching, tension thick in the air. Vander could tell immediately that whatever had been said, whatever had happened, Vi was on the edge.

And when Vi was this angry, she hated being touched.

Powder didn’t realize it yet, didn’t notice the way Vi’s hands twitched at her sides, didn’t see how her breath came harsh and ragged through clenched teeth. Powder was too tactile, too used to comforting Vi with a squeeze of her hand, a pat on the shoulder, a hug. It wouldn’t help now. It would only make things worse.

Vander locked eyes with Powder just as she reached for Vi. He gave a single, quick shake of his head.

Powder stopped instantly, her eyes widening slightly in realization. She pulled her hands back. 

Vander’s mind worked fast. Vi needed an out. If she stayed here, she’d explode. And if she exploded, someone would get hurt, more than likely Vi herself. 

An idea formed. It might backfire miserably, but it was worth a shot.

“Vi,” he said, firm but calm, his voice cutting through the bar. “Take a walk.”

As expected, Vi’s head snapped toward him, unseeing but unmistakably furious. “And go where, Vander?” she bit out, her voice low and dangerous. “It’s not like I have a map of the Lanes or something.”

Caitlyn, still standing by the office doorway, turned slightly at the exchange, one eyebrow arching in question. Her gaze flickered between Vander and Vi, their dynamic was truly charming. Then, Vander’s eyes locked onto hers.

He needed her.

It was there in his expression, the subtle, pleading look, the way his fingers twitched slightly like he was about to gesture toward Vi but stopped himself. He wasn’t asking her to fix anything. But he was asking for her help.

Caitlyn understood immediately and didn’t mind at all. 

She shifted on her feet, adjusting her stance to be more open, more receptive, but before she could take a step, Vander’s hand caught her elbow. It was gentle, not forceful. A quiet caution.

“Don’t initiate physical contact,” he murmured under his breath, low enough for only her to hear. “Let her do it.”

Caitlyn nodded once, a silent promise of understanding.

She turned her attention back to Vi, who was still standing rigidly in place, her fists half-clenched, her breathing unsteady. Caitlyn had seen this kind of frustration before: not in Vi, but in herself, in new recruits back at the academy.

So, instead of demanding, instead of commanding, she simply offered.

“Would you like some company?” Caitlyn asked, her voice smooth, inviting, entirely lacking in expectation.

Vi’s shoulders tensed even further, debating whether or not to snap at her.

For a long moment, Caitlyn thought she might.

But then, Vi exhaled sharply, rolling her neck and shoulders as if shaking off the worst of her temper. She turned her head slightly in Caitlyn’s direction, lips pressing into a barely visible smile.

“…Sure,” she muttered.

Powder made a small noise of surprise. 'Vi never agreed to things this fast.'

Caitlyn, however, only smiled in return. “Alright then,” she said simply, stepping forward to let Vi take the lead.

Vi didn’t wait for further discussion. She started toward the exit, shoving her hands into her pockets, her steps forceful but no longer violent.

Caitlyn followed, keeping a respectful distance, letting Vi choose when or if, she would let her closer.

And Vander?

He exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face as the tension in the bar finally began to ease.

Janna help them all.

Caitlyn took a slight step ahead of Vi and opened the door for her, she gestured subtly, allowing the shorter woman to step outside first. The night air hit them instantly; a crisp, refreshing coolness that felt like a stark contrast to the warmth of the bar.

Caitlyn immediately took note of Vi’s attire; ripped black jeans that sat snugly on her frame, and a red tank top that was far too tight, though Caitlyn certainly wasn’t complaining. The way the dim glow from the streetlights cast subtle highlights over Vi’s defined arms and shoulders made it hard not to look, but Caitlyn was determined to be respectful. Not staring was proving to be more difficult than she anticipated.

Once the doors shut behind them, Caitlyn turned toward the two Enforcers who had been stationed outside, standing at attention like statues under the weak streetlamps. “I have what we need,” she said smoothly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You may go home and get some rest.”

The two glanced at her, and then, whether out of curiosity or sheer instinct, they turned their eyes toward Vi. Their expressions flickered ever so slightly, something between confusion and quiet judgment flashing across their faces.

Caitlyn did not appreciate that.

“That may have sounded like a request…” she said coolly, her voice laced with just enough steel to make them straighten further instinctively. “It wasn’t.”

The two men hastily nodding, turning on their heels and disappearing down the dimly lit street back toward Piltover.

Vi, who had been standing with her hands shoved deep in her pockets, tilted her head toward Caitlyn, a slow, teasing smirk pulling at her lips. “Damn, that was hot,” she muttered under her breath.

Or at least, she thought she had muttered it.

Caitlyn’s head turned, one elegant brow lifting ever so slightly. “It had nothing to do with being hot,” she replied, though the slight upward curve of her lips suggested otherwise. “It was their lack of ability to follow direct orders.”

“Orders”, Vi definitely felt that shiver crawl down her spine, and she was definitely going to blame it on the night air.

Caitlyn, perceptive as always, noticed. She didn’t call her out on it. She only smiled, a quiet, knowing smile, as her blue eyes swept across the Lanes. The foot traffic was minimal tonight, only the occasional passerby hurrying along the sidewalks, streetlamps flickering overhead. The soft hum of distant factories and the faint hiss of the canals in the distance made for an oddly peaceful ambiance. A perfect night to walk.

And, Caitlyn thought idly, ‘a perfect night to walk with Vi.’

“Where would you like to go?” she asked, keeping her tone light, open-ended. She would give Vi all the time she needed.

Vi huffed, shifting uncomfortably. She removed her hands from her pockets and ran them down her face, as if physically wiping away the weight of the evening. The tension she had been carrying inside the bar had mostly melted away, but in its place was something else, hesitation.

Caitlyn remained silent, patient as ever.

Vi’s fingers twitched at her sides. Where was she supposed to go? The Lanes weren’t the same anymore, not since the peace, not since her accident. It didn’t matter how much she tried to memorize each turn, each landmark, nothing felt familiar. And even if it did, what was the point? She’d never see it again.

She swallowed hard, forcing down the frustration threatening to bubble up again. “I-” Vi hesitated, voice rough around the edges.

Then, finally, with an exhausted exhale, she admitted the truth. “I don’t know.”

Caitlyn clicked her tongue in thought. “Alright,” she said after a moment, considering. “How about this, you point in any direction, and we’ll walk that way.”

Vi’s head snapped up in surprise. That was new. Usually, people just dragged her along, Powder, Vander, hell, even Silco sometimes, when he had a point to prove. She was used to being directed, not given a choice.

Caitlyn must have sensed her uncertainty, because she didn’t rush her. She merely stood, waiting.

Vi nodded once, more to herself than to Caitlyn. Slowly, she lifted her hand and pointed off to her right.

Caitlyn hummed in acceptance, stepping down from the stairs and setting off in Vi’s chosen direction.

Only… after a few steps, she paused, noticing that Vi hadn’t moved.

“Vi?” Caitlyn asked gently.

Vi stood there, fingers rubbing together anxiously, her head slightly bowed. She took a breath, steady, slow, but when she spoke, her voice was laced with unease. “This was a bad idea,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I should just-” She pointed half-heartedly toward the bar behind her, like she was about to retreat.

Caitlyn didn’t let her finish.

“Vi,” she interrupted, her voice soft, coaxing. “May I touch you?” Already breaking a promise to Vander. 

Vi’s breath caught sharply in her throat. Her heart slammed against her ribs so forcefully that she felt it in her ears.

Her head snapped up, unseeing eyes locked onto where she knew Caitlyn stood. If she could see, she knew she’d be met with something unreadable in those eyes.

Caitlyn was looking at her, watching her carefully, giving her every opportunity to say no.

“I promise,” Caitlyn added, her tone an unshakable promise, “I won’t do anything uncouth.”

Vi’s fingers twitched again, this time for a different reason.

The rational part of her screamed at her to decline, to shake her head and go back inside the bar, pretend this never happened. But… there was another part of her; one that, to her dismay, was growing louder.

A part that wanted to trust Caitlyn, an enforcer... No the Sheriff. 

A part that wanted to reach out.

After a long, pregnant pause, Vi nodded minutely.

She heard Caitlyn take a step toward her. Not too fast, not too slow, just intentional.

“I’m going to touch your right arm now, alright?” Caitlyn warned softly.

Vi clenched her jaw and gave another short nod.

She felt it then, warmth.

Smooth fingers brushed over the back of her hand first, trailing gently up her forearm. Caitlyn’s touch was careful, soft, like she was making sure Vi felt it before accepting it. The warmth seeped into Vi’s skin, the contrast against the cool air sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

She stayed very still.

Then, Caitlyn’s fingers ghosted over the inside of Vi’s elbow, gently lifting her arm away from her body.

Vi’s breath hitched. She couldn’t lie to herself, this shiver wasn’t from the cold.

Caitlyn didn’t mention it.

Instead, she guided Vi’s hand forward, carefully placing it against her own forearm. The fabric beneath Vi’s fingertips was smooth, fine, sturdy material, tailored perfectly to Caitlyn’s form. A jacket, fitted and pressed, undoubtedly pristine despite a long day’s wear.

Vi hesitated for a moment before running her fingers over the material, mapping it out. Slowly, she trailed them further up, feeling the structure, the seams, the solidness of Caitlyn’s frame underneath.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

“You don’t have to,” Caitlyn whispered, her breath feather-light against Vi’s ear. “But if this helps, I am more than willing to assist.”

Vi tilted her head slightly, her unseeing eyes searching for something in the darkness. In that moment, more than anything, she wished she could see this woman.

With a deep inhale, Vi nodded.

And then, gripping onto Caitlyn’s arm, she took the first leading step.

As they walked, an easy silence settled between them, punctuated only by the rhythmic tap of Caitlyn’s boots against the cobbled streets and the occasional murmur of distant voices from the alleys and walkways. Vi, for once, didn’t mind the quiet. It gave her space to think, to process the sheer oddity of the moment.

Walking the Lanes had always been a deeply ingrained habit of hers. Before the explosion, before the blindness, she had known every shortcut, every rooftop, every street corner. Now, the Lanes felt foreign, almost unrecognizable in their stillness. But the strangest part? She wasn’t walking them alone; she was walking them at night, with an Enforcer, her arm resting easily against the fabric of Caitlyn’s sleeve.

If someone had told her a week ago that this would be happening, she would have laughed in their face. Or, more likely, punched them.

Yet here she was.

And, even stranger, she didn’t hate it.

Caitlyn was changing Vi’s perspective with every step they took. Not in the forced, condescending way most Piltover elites did when they entered the Lanes, acting as if they were bestowing some great privilege by merely existing in Zaun. No, Caitlyn’s presence was different. There was an authority to her, yes, but it wasn’t overbearing, it wasn’t demanding. She didn’t walk these streets like she owned them; she walked them as if she belonged to them just as much as anyone else.

That was… new.

Each time they passed a citizen, Vi instinctively tensed, preparing for something; an insult, a sneer, maybe even Caitlyn’s clipped response to their presence. But none of that happened. Instead, Caitlyn would nod politely, offering a quiet hello before moving on as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Vi had no idea how the other person reacted, whether they returned the greeting or just stared in confusion. But Caitlyn’s unwavering composure said enough. She didn’t so much as falter in her steps, didn’t adjust her stance to appear more intimidating or to prepare for a confrontation.

She just… existed in Zaun.

Like it was normal.

By the third or fourth person they passed without incident, Vi found herself slowly relaxing. The tension in her shoulders eased, and the grip she had on Caitlyn’s arm, once firm, loosened to a mere, comfortable presence.

It was subtle, but Caitlyn noticed.

More than once, Caitlyn would slow slightly and murmur a quiet, “Step,” or “Hole.” She never tugged Vi away, never moved her herself. She just gave her the choice, let Vi decide how she wanted to move forward.

It was a small thing, but it meant everything.

Vi took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cool air. She needed this. More than she realized. Not just the fresh air, not just the walk, but this moment. The simplicity of existing outside of the bar, outside of herself.

And it wasn’t all because of the woman beside her.

“Thank you,” Vi whispered as they turned a corner, her free hand brushing against the rough edge of a building, grounding herself. “You didn’t have to come.”

Caitlyn let out a soft, amused laugh; the sound was warm, genuine, and it made Vi smile before she could stop herself. “I did say we needed to catch up, didn’t I?” Caitlyn replied, voice laced with humor. “I figured, why not now?”

Vi huffed out a quiet chuckle. “You said it was a date,” she reminded her, lifting her free hand to gesture vaguely at their surroundings. “Does this count?”

Caitlyn’s response was immediate.

“If you want it to.”

Vi’s breath hitched.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, maybe a playful retort, maybe some sarcastic jab. Not that. And certainly not that quickly. She felt her face heat up instantly, a blush creeping up from her neck and spreading across her cheeks. She ducked her head, cursing her body’s inability to not react properly to this woman.

Powder would never let her live this down if she were here.

Caitlyn came to a gradual stop, her steps slowing until they were both standing still.

“May I touch you again?” she asked softly.

Vi’s stomach flipped.

She squeaked. Actually squeaked.

Then, realizing what she had just done, she immediately cleared her throat, masking her embarrassment. “Yes,” she said, doing her best to sound casual.

She failed.

She really needed to get a grip.

She felt Caitlyn shift, stepping closer. There was no hesitation, no abrupt movement, just a steady, careful presence. The warmth of her body lingered close, though not close enough to overwhelm.

Then, contact.

Caitlyn’s fingers brushed against the inside of Vi’s elbow, not her forearm this time. It was an adjustment, a shift in familiarity, and Janna help her, Vi liked it.

She shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t, but she did.

And then, just when Vi thought she might have regained some composure, Caitlyn’s fingers ghosted over her cheek.

Vi’s breath stilled.

The touch was barely there, gentle, reverent. As if Caitlyn was testing the waters, giving Vi every chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

Once Caitlyn was sure Vi wasn’t going to look down or shy away, her fingers settled against her cheek, palm cupping the side of her face with a care that made Vi’s chest ache.

“Would you allow me the privilege of taking you out on a date?” Caitlyn whispered, her breath cool against Vi’s overheated skin.

Vi melted.

Her mind blanked. Completely blanked.

She didn’t even remember leaning into Caitlyn’s palm, but there she was, her head tilting ever so slightly into the warmth of her touch.

She nodded.

Caitlyn clicked her tongue, a sound of amusement, of patient indulgence.

Her thumb glided across Vi’s cheek; soft, barely there, but enough to make Vi feel like she was going to combust.

“Use your words, Vi,” Caitlyn murmured.

Vi continued to nod.

Then, the words finally registered.

“I-” Vi swallowed. “I would like that.”

Caitlyn smiled. Vi couldn’t see it, but she could hear it in her voice when she responded.

“Good girl.”

Vi was officially gone.

Her brain had shut down.

What did she just agree to?

She didn’t care, not when she was smiling like a lovesick idiot, and especially not when Caitlyn giggled.

Caitlyn giggled.

Vi was pretty sure she had died, and somehow, Janna had taken her soul straight to heaven.

Screw it.

She would roll with it.

The moment stretched between them, warm and lingering, “Are you ready to head back?” Caitlyn asked, her voice still gentle, still right there, her thumb barely grazing Vi’s cheek before she lowered her hand.

Vi, still reeling from the ghost of that touch, barely managed a nod, which earned her another one of Caitlyn’s signature tongue-clicks. That damn sound sent another shiver down her spine, one she refused to acknowledge.

“Yes, ma’am,” she started, then immediately winced. “I mean, yes.”

Caitlyn chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. “Caitlyn will do just fine.”

‘Gods, why did she have to sound so fucking sexy while she teased?’ Vi bit the inside of her cheek, barely restraining a groan. Instead of answering, she simply offered her arm willingly this time, before she could even talk herself out of it.

Caitlyn, ever patient, laid Vi’s hand gently onto her own arm. “Shall we?” she murmured, and just like that, they were walking again.

The walk back to The Last Drop was far livelier than their initial walk out. Conversation flowed effortlessly now, their earlier hesitations worn down by the steady rhythm of their steps and the intimacy of shared space. Vi, who had spent the past few years convinced she was no good at this (at talking, at letting someone in) was finding it surprisingly easy with Caitlyn.

Maybe too easy.

“So,” Vi mused, tilting her head slightly in Caitlyn’s direction, “you became an Enforcer just to spite your mum? That must’ve pissed her off.”

Caitlyn let out a quiet hum of agreement, her voice laced with amusement. “It certainly did. For the first few years of my career, she had me assigned as security for the council. I think she believed if she kept me close enough, she could steer me back toward her world.” She shook her head, the memory clearly something she wasn’t particularly fond of. “But I was fortunate enough to have built a rapport with the Sheriff at the time. Grayson helped me get out from under my mother’s thumb. I owe quite a bit to her.”

There was something unmistakably fond in Caitlyn’s tone when she spoke of Grayson, a warmth Vi recognized instantly, the sound of admiration, of respect. It made Vi pause for a moment, considering.

“You’re not like the other Enforcers I’ve met before,” Vi admitted, keeping her voice neutral, though the confession held more weight than she intended.

Caitlyn turned her head slightly. “However so?” she asked, curiosity threading through her words.

Vi hesitated. She hadn’t expected Caitlyn to challenge the statement, hadn’t planned on explaining herself. But Caitlyn had been nothing but patient with her tonight, and if she really was as different as she claimed to be, then maybe -just maybe- Vi could give her something real.

She licked her lips, steeling herself. “For starters,” she muttered, “you haven’t thrown me into a fence to search me for drugs.”

Caitlyn stiffened ever so slightly at that, but she said nothing. Instead, she simply laid a warm, reassuring hand over Vi’s where it rested on her arm.

Vi blinked at the sudden contact, a small hitch in her breath before she forced herself to continue. “And those weren’t even the worst ones. During…” She swallowed, clearing her throat. The words felt heavier now that they were leaving her mouth, harder to push past her lips than they had been in her head. “During the Undercity’s uprising, they killed my parents. I didn’t see them die, but I saw their bodies. I don’t even know what happened to them after.”

She coughed, as if the sound alone could scrub away the unease clawing at her chest. She never talked about this. She never had to. Everyone in Zaun knew what happened that day, and those who had been there carried their own ghosts. It was an unspoken rule: you didn’t ask. You didn’t bring it up. And yet here she was, spilling the story to a Piltover Sheriff.

Caitlyn squeezed her fingers ever so slightly, offering silent understanding. She didn’t interject with empty words, didn’t try to say something meaningless like I’m sorry, because what good would that do? Instead, she simply listened.

Vi took a breath, steadier now. “I haven’t really had other experiences with Enforcers after… the peace. But it’s still hard,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, but still carrying that raw honesty Caitlyn seemed to respect.

“Well,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice gentle but firm, “I can’t change the past, but I do hope that, with my actions, you’ll notice a difference between then and now.”

She didn’t add more, didn’t try to justify or explain away the damage her city had inflicted on Vi’s. She simply stated her truth and let Vi sit with it.

They walked in comfortable silence after that.

The night stretched on, the streets quieter now as most people had retired to their homes or the few bars still open. By the time they neared The Last Drop, it was well past two in the morning. Fatigue was beginning to settle into their limbs, but neither of them seemed eager to let the night end.

Caitlyn slowed when she noticed Vi shiver, again. ‘That’s the eighth time,’ she thought, frowning slightly. Without hesitation, she reached up and gently lifted Vi’s hand from her arm.

Vi tensed at the sudden movement, turning toward Caitlyn with a raised brow and slightly parted lips, about to question her. But Caitlyn merely shushed her. “One moment, dear.”

Vi instantly snapped her mouth shut.

She listened as Caitlyn shuffled slightly, then felt a warm weight settle over her shoulders, draping down her arms and back. 'Oh. Oh.'

Vi opened her mouth, then closed it again.

'Did Caitlyn really just give her, her coat?'

Her Piltover Enforcer coat?

Vi was at a complete loss. This was- this was too much-this was

FUCK.

Before she could even begin to protest, Caitlyn took Vi’s hand and placed it gently back on her arm. This time, when Vi traced the limb, she didn’t feel the familiar fabric of Caitlyn’s sleeve. Instead, she felt smooth skin, lean muscles, and warmth.

Caitlyn had given her coat to Vi without a second thought.

‘Janna, help me,’ Vi thought. 

Neither of them spoke as they continued up the steps to the bar. Vi couldn’t speak, not with the way her heart was pounding or the way her breath kept hitching at every little detail she should not be focusing on.

Caitlyn, for her part, was simply enjoying the view. Vi, for all her bravado, was so easy to fluster. And Caitlyn found herself thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

As they reached the door, Caitlyn slowed her pace, her movements deliberate, precise, like she wanted to savor this moment. Vi barely had time to process the shift before soft fingers reached up, brushing ever so slightly against her lower lip. The touch was intimate, slow and featherlight, a caress more than anything else, a lingering press of warmth against the sensitive skin. It was felt rather than seen, a whisper of contact that sent a shiver rolling down Vi’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold. 

Her breath caught.

Caitlyn’s fingertips traced, barely-there, as if memorizing, mapping the shape of Vi’s lips, the way they parted just slightly in response. A tease, a question, a challenge, all wrapped up in the simplest of gestures.

Vi’s heart stopped.

“I’ll get that back for our date,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice dipped in something honeyed, something dangerous.

Vi swallowed thickly, trying and failing to find words that didn’t make her sound like she’d just walked straight off a damn cliff. “Yes, Cait.” The words tumbled out in a breathless rasp, barely audible over the rush of blood in her ears.

'Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck.'

Caitlyn hummed, pleased, the sound sinking into Vi’s skin like a brand. “I like that.”

Vi could feel every single brain cell in her head shutting down, drowning in the weight of that voice, the warmth of Caitlyn’s presence, the fucking touch that left an invisible burn against her skin.

Then Caitlyn giggled again, the sound a light, amused chime that was entirely unfair given Vi’s current state. And just as slowly as she’d reached out, Caitlyn stepped back, letting her fingers fall away, leaving nothing but absence in their wake.

Vi stumbled forward, instinctive, chasing the contact before she even knew what she was doing. Her feet faltered, and she was forced to grip the railing for dear life, her fingers curling around the wood so tight her knuckles ached.

Janna could help her even is she wanted, Vi was beyond gone. 

She was suddenly, painfully aware of how little balance she had in that moment, -not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually- every damn thing about her was off-kilter, rattled.

Caitlyn had completely wrecked her.

“See you soon, Vi,” Caitlyn said, her voice a smooth purr, silk wrapped around steel, amusement laced beneath its surface like she knew exactly what she had just done to her.

And then, just like that, she was gone, slipping back into the early morning darkness like a phantom, her boots barely making a sound against the stone.

Back to Piltover.

Leaving Vi standing there, still gripping the railing, still trying to piece together the wreckage of her own damn mind.

Vi stood there for far longer than she’d ever be proud of.

Her head dropped back against the doorframe with a dull thud, her free hand running down her face as she exhaled, long and shaky.

Fuck Janna. 

Caitlyn was going to be the death of her.

And Vi was more than happy to let her be.

Chapter Text

Vi didn’t even feel the slightest bit of embarrassment when Vander opened the door and found her still outside with a goofy ass smile on her, it was small but the nevertheless. He took one look at her; Caitlyn’s coat draped over her shoulders, lips still slightly parted, and a telltale flush creeping up her neck, and didn’t say a damn word. Just let out a quiet chuckle under his breath before stepping aside to help her inside.

He locked the door behind them, the solid click grounding Vi back into the reality of the bar, but she still felt like she was floating. Vander barely even blinked when she held out her arm, asking for assistance without so much as a word. The gesture was automatic, unthinking: something Vi had never done before. But in that small gesture, still dazed from the lingering phantom touch of Caitlyn’s fingers against her lips, she just… wanted to try this assistance thing. 

That single action alone nearly made Vander want to pat himself on the back. All the years of trying to get Vi to lean on someone -to let anyone help her- and all it had taken was a single evening with one Piltover Sheriff.

If just a few hours with Caitlyn Kiramman had been enough to shake Vi this much, enough for her to voluntarily allowing help without any lip?

Then hells below, as far as Vander was concerned, Caitlyn was welcome here every single day.

No matter the hour.

Vi knew he saw the barely-contained smile on her lips, saw the way her fingers clutched at the lapels of Caitlyn’s coat like she wasn’t entirely ready to give it up just yet. But, to her great relief, he never mentioned it.

Instead, he simply stepped in front of her, his grip gentle as he took her hand in his much larger one, guiding her down the familiar steps toward her room.

Vi didn’t actually need the assistance. Not physically, at least. But her mind was still caught somewhere on the streets, lingering where Caitlyn had left her breathless. She could still feel the warmth of Caitlyn’s breath against her skin, the faintest ghost of fingers on her cheek, the way her voice had dipped so effortlessly into something that made Vi’s knees feel weak.

She did not trust her own footing right now.

It was as embarrassing as it was thrilling.

Vi heard her door creak open and let herself be led without resistance, allowing Vander to guide her down onto the edge of her bed. The moment she sat, she wasted no time kicking off her boots, barely registering the thud as they landed somewhere in the room. She didn’t care. She’d find them in the morning.

Except, she wouldn’t have to.

Vander, ever the caretaker, bent down, scooping them up with the same patience he always had when it came to his kids. Without a word, he placed them neatly at the foot of her bed, right where she’d expect to find them come morning.

Vi barely noticed. She was too caught up in the internal battle waging in her head; the debate of whether to shed the weight of Caitlyn’s coat or just sleep with the damn thing on.

Her fingers absentmindedly traced along the fabric, feeling the fine stitching, the soft but structured material, the lingering warmth it carried. It smelled like her: a mix of something floral and just plain clean, undeniably Caitlyn. Vi wasn’t sure if she could part with it just yet.

Vander, watching the way she clutched at the coat like it was precious, it was odd to him in the fact that, it’s was an Enforcer jacket alone, not Caitlyn’s. Zaun and Piltover may have made tremendous strides in their peace. However, twelve years did not equal the centuries of bad blood between the cities. The wounds may have healed but the reminder would always remain. The main was his children and how they became his. 

He took the decision into his own hands. “Here, kid,” he said gently, stepping closer. “Let me hang it up for you.”

Vi, in response, hugged the damn thing tighter around herself. An obvious, outright refusal. 

‘What did that woman do to her?’

Vander chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. It wasn’t often he got to see Vi like this, hesitant, shy, and completely smitten. He’d seen Powder fall head over heels, seen the way she naturally melted into her relationship with Ekko. But Vi? His strong, fearless, stubborn Vi? She never gave herself the chance to be soft with someone. And from what he could tell, she never let herself even consider it. It broke his heart everyday.

The accident may have taken her sight, may have changed some aspects of her appearance, but it also created an insecurity that wasn’t there before. That was almost as worse than the physical damage itself. Vi deserved a chance to love and be loved. Even if she was too big-headed to come to terms with that. 

That was why Vander didn’t tease her, even if the urge was there. No matter what was actually happening between his daughter and the Sheriff; it was something life altering by Vi’s actions alone. So Instead, he tried a different approach.

“You don’t wanna give it wrinkles, do you?” he asked, voice full of nothing but casual innocence.

Vi hesitated.

She still gripped the sleeves as if she let it go it would be like it never happened at all, but he could see the way his words struck. It was a stupid reason, but it worked. Slowly, begrudgingly, she shrugged it off her shoulders, holding onto it for a few lingering moments, fingers squeezing at the material one last time.

Then, carefully, reverently, she extended it out toward him.

Vander took it, mindful of how she handled it like it was the most valuable thing she possessed at the moment, -aside from her bunny- taking note of the Sheriff badge still attached to the front. He shook his head again, smiling softly as he walked over to her small, barely used closet.

Opening the door, he reached up to hang the coat inside. The sight that greeted him wasn’t surprising, Vi’s closet was mostly barren. She hated hanging things up, preferring to toss her clothes into crates or leave them on the floor for her hands to find later. He never understood why when Powder was the one who did Vi’s laundry, that Vi had this habit of taking all the neatly folded and arranged clothes, and tossed them about her room. It bothered Powder at the beginning but she gave up on asking why long ago. 

That was why Caitlyn’s jacket stood out so much. It was the only piece of clothing hanging up now.

Vander sighed through his nose, closing the closet door without comment. But something caught his eye before he did; a small, unassuming box, half-full of tiny, empty glass vials.

He crouched down, carefully picking one up. The faintest of residue clung to the inside, condensation lingering against the glass.

Vander frowned.

He turned the vial over in his fingers, expression narrowed in concentration. He didn’t know exactly what this was or more specifically what used to be inside it, but his gut twisted with unease. It was something Vi hadn’t told him about. And that alone was enough to make his stomach twist. She was a private person but this had to do more than her privacy. This could be harmful or downright dangerous. 

After a brief moment of consideration, he pocketed the vial. He didn’t confront her. Not yet. Not tonight. Not when she was still lost in whatever trance Caitlyn had put her in. 

He’d come back to this when Vi was on even footing and hopefully a level attitude, but changes would be made so they would be forced to have a conversation.

Closing the closet, he returned to Vi’s bed, where she had already peeled off her pants and curled up on the mattress, sinking into the familiar comfort of her space. Her favorite toy bunny held in one of her arms. It was older than Vi herself, and even though she was a grown woman; she never parted with it. 

That toy probably held more of Vi’s secrets then anyone. 

Vander didn’t rush her. He just sat there, the old mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight, he moved Vi’s legs to rest over his lap as his rough, calloused fingers began to worked over the scar tissue on her calf. He kneaded at the tougher patches, the ones he knew she wouldn’t feel, but it was as much for him as it was for her. He could feel the raised ridges, the way the burns had healed unevenly, leaving behind a map of pain she never spoke about.

Vi didn’t move, but he could feel the tension still lingering in her muscles. Her fingers, twitching slightly against her bunny, finally began to still.

“Do you wanna to tell me what happened in the bar earlier?” Vander asked, keeping his voice low, steady. He knew better than to push her; Vi would only speak when she was ready.

She huffed, shifting slightly, her right arm coming up to cover her eyes. “Huck was just being himself… a babbling idiot, but he-” she swallowed, her fingers flexing slightly against her forehead. “He doesn’t treat me like he used to. And I know it shouldn’t have bothered me. He’s been like that for years now, but after the last few days…”

She trailed off, her breath even, even thought it seemed like voicing the words took something from her. Vander didn’t need her to finish though. He knew.

He’d always known.

Vander’s jaw clenched, his fingers still moving over her leg, grounding himself as much as her. He had seen it, heard it. The way some of his patrons spoke about his girl, the way they looked at her when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. They had no problem treating her like she was less. Like she was something to be pitied at best, and mocked at worst.

It boiled his blood.

He thought he’d done enough to put a stop to it. Thought his words -his warnings and threats- had been enough to make them think twice before spewing their filth where he could hear it. But there would always be some. Always those who turned their noses up at her, who whispered behind their hands, who looked at her and only saw broken pieces.

And the worst part?

Vi never let it show, for the most part. 

She acted above it. Shook it off like it didn’t touch her. Threw fists when she needed to, met every insult with sharp words and sharper grins. But she was still human. She was still his girl. And knowing she’d been carrying this burden alone made his heart ache.

Because even with her blindness, her scars and all, Vi was beautiful. 

Not just in the way a father saw his child, but in a way everyone should have seen her. Strong, loving, loyal, and resilient. She was fire and force, grit and grace. And the fact that she couldn’t see it; that she had let those bastards make her believe anything less, made his chest feel too tight, his throat too thick.

Vander exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing small circles into the damaged skin beneath his palm. “Violet…” he started, then stopped, choosing his words carefully.

When he finally spoke, it was quiet, full of conviction. 

“You know you don’t have to prove yourself to them or to anyone for that matter, right?”

Vi’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know,  but I do have to prove something. Like I belong somewhere.” she muttered, but the words sounded tired.

Vander sighed, shifting slightly, moving his other hand to squeeze her knee. “But you do belong Violet… I mean it. You don’t owe them anything. Not your patience, not your temper, not your time. They don’t see you for who you are, and that’s their problem, not yours.”

Vi swallowed hard, the tension that began to build with this conversation loosened beneath his touch. “…It doesn’t feel that simple. I know I owe them nothing, I just feel like I owe it to myself, ya know?” she admitted after a long moment.

Vander’s grip on her knee tightened slightly before loosening, his way of showing her he understood. “I do. But It never is easy,” he agreed. “You just have to be you, Kid. Make people understand you.”

Silence settled between them, comfortable in its familiarity.

Vi let out a long breath through her nose, lowering her arm from her eyes and resting it across her stomach. “You sound like Caitlyn,” she grumbled.

Vander grinned, despite himself. “A smart woman, that one.”

Vi groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Please, don’t start.”

Vander chuckled, ruffling a hand through her hair before standing with a slight creak of the mattress. “I’ll start whenever I want,” he said, reaching for the blanket at the foot of her bed and pulling it over her without asking. “And I’ll keep sayin’ it until you believe it.”

Vi didn’t need to ask what he was referring to.

Didn’t tell him to piss off.

Didn’t shove the blanket away.

Instead, she shifted, getting more comfortable in her bed, the weight of the covers settling over her like an embrace. She hugged her toy tighter. 

Vander lingered for a moment longer, his broad frame silhouetted in the dim glow from the hallway. He took in the slow rise and fall of her breath, the way her fingers absently traced along the ears of her bunny. There was something light about her now, a stark contrast to the fire and fight she carried through her life.

It made his chest jump in a positive way. 

He reached for the lamp, he shut it off with a practiced flick, and made his way to the door, pausing at the threshold before stepping out completely. He glanced back one last time, his voice low, gentle.

“I’m proud of you, Vi.”

Vi barely stirred, but she hummed in acknowledgment, her voice thick with exhaustion. Then, just as he was turning to go, she whispered it; so quiet he almost thought he imagined it.

“Good night, Dad.”

Vander froze.

The door remained cracked open, the sliver of light from the stairwell illuminating the bare wall where Vi had turned, pressing her palm flat against the cool surface. She was already half-asleep, the tension finally unwinding from her frame, the weight of the past few days slipping into the quiet lull of rest.

But Vander, Vander felt like the ground had been pulled from beneath him.

His throat went tight. His fingers curled around the doorknob, gripping it like a lifeline. He stood there for a few breaths, blinking hard against the unexpected sting in his eyes.

Dad.

Powder had called him that for years now. She’d been so young when he took them both in, clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering her to the world. -besides Vi herself- He’d never hesitated to accept that role, to be the father she’d lost, the one she needed.

Vi, though. 

She had never said it.

Not once.

She had always been Vi, stubborn and brash, too proud to ever need a name for what they had. She called him Vander, sometimes old man, once or twice big guy when she was teasing. But never Dad.

He had never expected her to, never forced her to. 

She had been older when he found them, more aware, more guarded. She had loved her real father, and no matter how much he had cared for her, no matter how many nights he had spent tending to her wounds, comforting her when she no one was looking, he had never expected her to call him anything but his name.

But now…

Now, she had said it.

And it hit him like a punch to the gut in the best damn way.

A slow, shaky smile spread across his face. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, letting out a quiet, breathy chuckle.

With one last glance at the sleeping form of his daughter -because that’s what she was, his daughter- he gently shut the door.

He didn’t move right away.

He stood there for a moment longer, exhaling deeply, collecting himself. Then, with a still-growing smile, he trudged back upstairs to the bar.

The room was dim now, most of the lanterns blown out, only the faint flicker of an oil lamp near the counter illuminating the space. He checked over the bar, making sure everything was in place, wiping down a few stray glasses out of habit. His hands were steady, but his mind was still spinning, replaying that one quiet moment over and over.

Dad.

His smile softened, spreading into something warm, something unshakable.

With a final glance around the bar, he made his way up to his own room on the upper level, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

Even as he lay down, exhaustion tugging at his bones, his face still held that same proud, awed expression.

And as sleep took him, one word echoed in his mind.

Dad.

Vi didn’t wake at her usual time, just before dawn, though she didn’t realize it. For once, the familiar weight of exhaustion didn’t cling to her like it usually did, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so deeply, so undisturbed. It was disorienting in the best way.

She placed Cupcake, -her bunny- under her pillow. For safe keeping, not to hide her of course…

She stretched out beneath her blankets, arching her back slightly as her arms reached above her head. A satisfying pop traveled through her spine, followed by a string of smaller ones from her shoulders, elbows, and wrists. The motion pulled at the familiar tightness in her scars, the rigid, stretched feeling that always greeted her in the mornings. She sighed, exhaling slowly as she worked her fingers over the path of old wounds.

Starting at the back of her neck, she let her fingertips trail down, skimming over the raised lines that ran along her shoulder and down her left arm. The texture was both familiar; she had long since grown used to the feeling, yet some days, it still felt like a stranger’s skin, years haven’t changed that. She continued down her side, following the worst of the scarring where her clothes had originally melted into her flesh, mapping each ridge and indentation with the same practiced touch. She didn’t flinch. She simply pressed, massaged, encouraged circulation to flow properly through her limbs.

By the time her fingers ghosted over her calf, she flexed her toes, rolling her ankle carefully before planting both feet firmly down on the floor while sitting up. The cement was cold, but not uncomfortably so.

She took a deep breath and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, but the moment she did, a dull pressure bloomed behind them. Vi stilled, lowering her hands as her brow furrowed. She could already tell where this was going, her headaches never came all at once. No, they started like this, creeping at the edges of her mind, just waiting to sink their claws in.

Vi sighed, tilting her head back as she stretched her arms overhead once more, feeling and hearing several more joints pop back into place. She stood then for a few moments, contemplating her next move.

She had no shimmer. She had no real relief waiting for her here or upstairs. That left her with only one option: she needed an outlet.

And if there was one thing Vi knew how to do, it was turning one kind of pain into another.

She rolled her shoulders, bouncing lightly on her feet to wake herself up further. It had been too long since she got a proper workout in. Without a heavy bag, it was harder to burn off the energy, and she was still irritated about the last one she’d gotten from Sevika.

Vi scowled at the memory. The woman had sold her a faulty bag; one with a tear that neither of them had noticed until Vi went a few rounds with it and the damn thing exploded, coating her in a cloud of sand. The choice words she had for Sevika afterward were colorful, to say the least.

And she still hadn’t replaced it. What coins she had saved was for something else. And she’d be damned if she dipped into those funds now. 

Vi wasn’t going to let the lack of a heavy bag stop her. If she had to shadowbox, use the damn walls, or even rig up some makeshift replacement, so be it. Hells, if it came down to it, she’d make a new one from whatever scraps she could find lying around the storage room.

She wasn’t exactly in the mood to put on actual clothes, either. She stretched once more, rolling her shoulders and bringing each arm across her body in slow, deliberate movements. The same red tank top from last night still clung to her form, and her briefs were good enough. It wasn’t like she was planning to leave the bar’s main floor anyway, and it was way too early for anyone to be here. 

Plus, this was her home. If she wanted to walk around half-dressed, she damn well would.

What she hadn’t expected, however, was exactly just how late she had slept in. She had no real way to tell time. 

The bar wasn’t empty.

The moment she stepped onto the main floor, the sounds hit her all at once; the shuffle of boots, the murmur of low conversations, the unmistakable clink of glasses against wooden tabletops.

For a brief second, she just stood there, blinking blankly as her sleep-addled brain caught up with the reality of her surroundings.

Vi’s pause was short lived. ‘Fuck it.’ After last night’s conversation with Vander, she couldn’t bring herself to care. And the dull ache forming at the base of her skull made it even easier to dismiss the stares she knew she was getting. Bedhead, half-dressed, and all.

Then, of course, a chair scraped back, and a low whistle followed from somewhere to her left.

“Well, good morning to you too, Vi. Looking as dashing as ever.”

Vi’s scowl formed before her brain even finished processing the words.

Of course Mylo had to be the first one to open his damn mouth.

“Fuck off, Mylo,” she grumbled, folding her arms, not because she felt exposed, but purely to show just how done she already was with this conversation. She turned her head slightly, trying to gauge how many people were actually around.

Mylo, the ever-persistent shithead, only chuckled. “Didn’t take you for an exhibitionist.”

Before Vi could throw something at him, Claggor -bless him- cut in with a tired sigh. “Mylo, for once in your life, don’t be an ass.”

“Oh, come on,” Mylo whined. “We never see Vi without her usual getup. This is a momentous occasion.”

Vi groaned, pressing the heel of her palm against her temple as her headache pulsed in warning. “This is my home, if you recall. Don’t you all have something better to do?”

Before he could reply, a new voice cut through the conversation, one far too familiar, far too amused.

“Not an early riser, are we?”

Vi’s entire body went rigid.

Fucking Caitlyn was here. At this point Vi was beginning to believe Janna enjoyed torturing her. 

Every ounce of instinct screamed at her to leave. To turn on her heel and retreat before this got any worse.

But then came the sound of footsteps, careful, measured, drawing closer.

Vi squared her shoulders, forcing herself to not react, even as she could already feel the heat creeping up her neck.

“Actually,” Powder’s voice chimed in, far too smug for Vi’s liking, “she’s usually up and about by now. Someone must’ve kept her up past her bedtime.”

Vi clenched her jaw. ‘Traitor.’

Caitlyn clicked her tongue. “Well, that certainly explains quite a bit. Thank you, Powder.”

‘Oh, she was enjoying this.’

Vi didn’t need to see her to know she was smirking.

'Noon then.' 

She’d slept until noon at the very least. 

Vi cleared her throat, grasping for whatever scrap of dignity she could salvage. “Yeah, well… sometimes I like to mix things up.”

Caitlyn hummed. A fucking hum.

“Oh, I can see that.”

And just like that, Vi felt it; the weight of Caitlyn’s stare settling over her like a tangible thing.

She knew exactly what was happening.

Caitlyn was checking her out.

Vi didn’t need eyes to feel the way Caitlyn’s gaze lingered, slow and appraising. She could practically trace the path it followed; the outline of her tank top clinging to her torso, the lean muscle in her exposed arms, the long stretch of her thighs.

The barely-dressed, slightly rumpled, slept-in look that should’ve made her seem unkempt but instead had her feeling like she was being thoroughly inspected.

Vi’s immediate reaction was to cover the left side of her body, where the webbed scars crawled up from her calf.

But she didn’t.

This was her body.

And she had nothing to hide.

If Caitlyn wanted to play this game, then fine, Vi would play. She could give just as good as she got.

She smirked, tilting her head slightly and flexing her arm in a slow, deliberate motion. “Enjoying the view?”

Caitlyn, completely unfazed, barely missed a beat. “And which view would that be dear?”

Vi choked.

From somewhere in the background, Powder squealed like she had just won a bet at Vi’s expense. “Dear!”

Vi swore to every god and goddess that she was going to lock Powder in a closet later.

Her smirk faltered for half a second, she already knew, she lost. She had lost before she even entered the damn ring.

‘This fucking woman.’

The heat crawling up her neck was impossible to suppress. Vi rubbed at the back of it, forcing herself to refocus. “Why are you even here, Cait?” she grumbled but there was no heat behind her words, only trying to steer the conversation in literally any other direction. “Don’t you have enforcing to do? Kissing babies? Shaking hands with the elite or whatever the hells it is you people do?”

She wasn’t actually trying to get rid of Caitlyn. She was actually curious.

Caitlyn clicked her tongue again.

That was two now.

‘Fuck.' Vi was starting to like that sound after every use. 

“I am here on the job, actually,” Caitlyn answered smoothly, as if this was just another casual conversation and not some slow descent into Vi’s personal hell. “Vander here has been a wonderful help.”

Vander?

Vi turned her head toward the bar, only just now realizing that Vander had been there the entire time, quiet as ever.

She heard the warmth in his chuckle before he spoke. “Good morning, kid. Or should I say good afternoon?”

Vi scowled but didn’t stop her approach towards the man, rubbing her fingers along the bar before finding his hand. She squeezed it briefly before giving him a light smack on the arm. “Mornin’, Dad,” she muttered under her breath.

Vander froze again.

He was still trying to get used to that; to Vi using that word after all these years. The surprise melted into a smile, even as he rubbed his arm with feigned injury.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she huffed.

Vander just smiled, unbothered. “You seemed like you needed it.”

Vi frowned. “I still work here, y’know. I always set everything up for the afternoon rush.” She added more quietly this time, “It gives me something to do, y’know?” 

Vander hesitated for a moment, he did know, just by her tone he was about to reconsider his decision but after looking at his daughter longer, he knew he needed to follow through with this. Even if it would hurt her for a short while. “I know Violet, but as of this moment, you don’t work here anymore.”

Vi paused, trying desperately to change his words in her mind. 

The heat on her face was no longer from embarrassment.

It was anger.

“What?” she snapped, taking a step back. “You can’t do that.”

Vander exhaled slowly, keeping his tone calm. He’d expected this. “I actually can, considering this is my bar.”

Vi’s hands clenched at her sides, her pulse hammering in her ears. “Vander, I need this. I need the coins”

Her voice rose, frustration curling in her gut like a slow-burning fire.

Vander closed his eyes at the use of his name. He hoped she’ll revert back to Dad eventually, after her temper simmered. 

Yet, he didn’t recoil from her anger, didn’t give her an inch of ground to push against. Instead, he met her outburst with quiet certainty. “Why exactly do you need the coins?”

Vi opened her mouth, then closed it. She wasn’t ready to answer that. Couldn’t answer that. 

She wouldn’t tell him. He would not understand. Not yet anyway. She needed time to ease him into it. However, he made that time irrelevant. 

So instead, she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “So everything you said last night was just a lie? You want me to be some sort of main attraction to bring in the drunks? ‘Hey! Look over here, this is the creature that lives in the basement!’”

She knew it was a low blow, a bitter shot thrown just to hurt, but she felt bitter. Felt raw and exposed, like a wound ripped open before it even had a chance to scab over. She knew he would never use her like that or even say those things but she needed him to feel how she felt in this moment. 

"Violet! I'd never..."

She didn't stay to listen. Without another word, she spun on her heel, her jaw tight, her entire body wound like a spring ready to snap. She stormed toward the backroom, not caring about the eyes following her movements or the subtle tension that settled over the room like a thick fog.

She needed to hit something.

She needed to focus on something that wasn’t this, wasn’t Vander taking away the one thing that made her feel useful, wasn’t Caitlyn watching her with that knowing patience, wasn’t the nagging, clawing sensation in the front of her skull reminding her of her headache and her empty fucking pocket.

If Vander wasn’t going to let her work, then fine. She’d figure out a way to make herself a new heavy bag. She had to.

If that didn’t work?

Then the walls here would do just as nicely. Damage be damned. 

Vi tore through the storage room, yanking open crates, shoving aside old supplies, her fingers working fast but her mind working faster. Box after box, she dug through whatever she could get her hands on.

Nothing.

Everything was either too small, too weak, or too useless for what she needed.

She considered the empty potato sacks stacked in the corner, but the moment she ran her fingers over the fabric, she knew it wouldn’t work. The material was old, worn thin, riddled with minute holes. Anything she put inside -sand, soft clay, even scrap metal- would slip through before she could even get a full punch in.

Her frustration boiled over.

With a growl, she spun and kicked out hard, sending a half-filled box of liquor crashing to the floor. The bottles inside shattered on impact, the sharp crack of breaking glass splitting through the air, followed by the unmistakable scent of spilled alcohol.

Vi barely flinched at the loud sound. 

Her breath came heavy, uneven, her pulse hammering against her ears like a drumbeat.

She had to get out of here. 

Before Vander walked in here after hearing the break. Before Powder rushed in with worry laced into her voice. Before anyone had a chance to pity her or scold her or remind her of things she already fucking knew; she was reckless, that she needed to calm down, that she needed to stop.

‘Fuck that.’

She needed space, and a gods damn outlet. 

Thinking quickly, she pivoted and headed for the back door, shoving it open so hard it bounced off the wall.

The moment she stepped outside, the cool bite of autumn air rushed over her exposed skin, drawing a sharp inhale from her lips. Her bare feet met the rough dirt and gravel of the alley, grounding her, reminding her she was here and what she was doing. That there was still something solid beneath her.

She knew this alley well.

To the right, the path led back to the Main Street, to more people, more noise, more fucking eyes she didn’t want on her.

To the left, the alleys twisted and turned, weaving deeper into the underbelly of the Lanes, a maze of quiet corridors and shadowed paths where no one would follow her unless they had a damn good reason.

Vi didn’t even think.

She went left.

Her fingers dragged along the rough brick wall beside her, using the familiar texture to guide her steps. The moment the wall ended and another building took its place, she exhaled, feeling her way forward.

She just needed somewhere to go. Somewhere to breathe. Somewhere to be alone, just for a little while. Even though everything step she took from her home, the more anxious she became. 

Vander exhaled through his nose, running a tired hand over his face the moment he heard the unmistakable crash of glass shattering in the back. He had expected frustration, had braced for anger, but he hadn’t wanted it to come to this. He hadn’t taken Vi off work to punish her, only to get some damn answers, to make her pause long enough to actually talk.

But it seemed all he’d done was push her further away.

The bar had quieted slightly, the distant murmurs of patrons momentarily stalled as they glanced toward the back, no doubt curious but too damn smart to involve themselves in Vi’s outbursts.

Caitlyn, however, wasn’t just some patron.

She approached cautiously, the measured click of her boots against the worn floorboards barely audible beneath the hum of the room. Vander noted the careful set of her shoulders, the way her hands were relaxed but prepared, as if she expected to need to intervene: whether for Vi’s sake or his own, he couldn’t be sure.

When she finally stopped in front of him, she hesitated before speaking. “May I ask you a question?”

Vander glanced up, already knowing this was about Vi. His instincts told him to keep this private, but something in Caitlyn’s tone gave him pause. It wasn’t demanding, wasn’t accusatory. It was careful. Thoughtful. And Vander, despite himself, appreciated that. Not to mention, she has been somewhat of a saving grace as of late. 

He gave her a small nod, gesturing for her to go ahead.

Caitlyn met his gaze. “Let me know if I overstep,” she prefaced, ever the diplomat. “I’ve only had the opportunity to get to know her for a few days now, but…” She took a breath, choosing her next words carefully. “Why take away one of the few things she believes she’s good at, and something she’s completely at ease with? Did something happen when I brought her back last night that made you decide to do this? Was it too late?”

She hesitated before adding, almost guiltily, “If so… it was my fault she was out at that hour. I hadn’t meant to-”

Vander held up a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. It was odd that it worked. 

There was a lot to unpack in her words, more than she even realized. He grabbed two glasses and a bottle from behind the bar, pouring them both a drink. He slid one toward Caitlyn, motioning for her to sit.

She accepted gracefully, taking a slow sip without so much as a wince. ‘Huh.’ He had to admit, he was impressed. Most folks from Piltover turned their noses up at Zaunite liquor, let alone handled it with ease.

“You haven’t overstepped,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them. “And don’t worry about bringin’ her home late. She needed that time away. You did me and her a favor, so for that, I’m grateful.”

He raised his glass slightly in a quiet show of appreciation.

Caitlyn dipped her head in acknowledgment. “But?” she prompted.

Vander sighed, setting his glass down with a quiet thunk. “But I found this.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, clear vial and placed it on the counter between them.

“May I?” She pointed to the glass object. 

He nodded his approval again. 

Caitlyn picked it up with ease, rolling it between her fingers as she examined it with clinical, discerning eyes. The way she studied it, the way she immediately took in the faint residue clinging to the inside; it told Vander she’d seen things like this before.

“That,” Vander continued, “and over half a dozen more just like it. I found ‘em in her closet last night.” His tone darkened slightly. “I don’t know what was inside. Could be anything.”

He leaned forward, rubbing his thumb over the bar’s rough surface, exhaling through his nose. “I’m hopin’ it’s nothing. But I can’t shake the feelin’ that whatever was in this…” He nodded toward the vial still in Caitlyn’s grip. “Ain’t safe.”

He hesitated, then added, “Or legal.”

The last word left his mouth reluctantly. He was talking to the Sheriff of Piltover, after all.

Caitlyn hummed, tilting the vial to let the bar light catch against its surface. Her expression was unreadable, but the way her lips pressed into a pressed line told him she was already analyzing, already coming to quiet theories in her head.

Finally, she asked, “Do you truly believe Vi is an addict of some kind?”

Vander stiffened slightly. That was the real question, wasn’t it?

He let out a slow breath, staring down at the bar, lost in thought. “At this point,” he admitted, voice rough, “she hides more than she shows.” His fingers curled slightly. “So to answer your question… I don’t know.”

That was the truth.

Caitlyn studied him for a moment before nodding, as if she had already suspected as much. “Do you mind if I hold onto this?” she asked, lifting the vial slightly.

Vander’s question was immediate. “Would it result in her getting arrested?”

Caitlyn’s response was just as quick. “No.”

“Then be my guest.”

She reached into her interior coat pocket and, with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before, pulled out a clear plastic evidence bag. The motion was seamless, precise, experienced. Vander watched as she placed the vial inside, sealed it with an effortless slide of her fingers, and tucked it away again without hesitation.

His brow lifted slightly. ‘Who the hells just carries plastic bags around?’

There was no shift in Caitlyn’s expression, no telltale sign of triumph, no satisfaction at securing potential evidence. Only quiet contemplation, her sharp eyes flickering briefly toward the back room before settling back on Vander.

Another hum, softer this time.

Vander studied her just as closely. She was calculating something, working through pieces in her head, likely formulating her next move. He wasn’t stupid; she’d be keeping a closer eye on Vi from now on. And, happily enough…

Vander didn’t mind. He sorta hoped for it. 

Caitlyn, didn’t return to her drink. After that first sip, she left it untouched, a silent testament to the fact that she was still on duty. Instead, she smoothly changed the subject. “About what we discussed last night?”

Vander took the out for what it was, a brief reprieve from his personal turmoil. “I’m compiling a list of his associates,” he said, voice gruff but steady. He hesitated for a moment, then exhaled, rubbing a hand across his beard. “Is this investigation something I need to know more about?”

Caitlyn considered, her fingers briefly tapping against the counter in thought. Then, with careful deliberation, she answered, “At this stage of the investigation, I don’t believe I have enough to form a formal finding. But once I do, you’ll be the first to know, as agreed upon.”

Vander nodded, satisfied for now.

They were so deep in discussion that Vander didn’t notice the subtle movement in his peripheral vision; didn’t catch the small shadow slipping toward the back room.

But Caitlyn did.

Her observant eyes flicked toward the figure, Powder. Moving carefully, quietly, slipping into the room where Vi had stormed off not long ago. Caitlyn didn’t say anything, though. Just secretly watched, letting the girl have her moment, letting her check in on her sister. But when Powder returned moments later, her entire demeanor had changed. She wasn’t just walking, she was rushing back, breath short, chest rising and falling too fast. Her hands clenched at her sides, her figure twitching in a way that immediately set Caitlyn on edge. Powder’s face was pale. And her eyes, those usually bright, mischievous blue eyes, were wide with panic.

Caitlyn straightened in her seat.

Vander, oblivious for a moment longer, caught the movement in his peripheral and turned, his expression immediately shifting from ease to concern when he saw the look on Powder’s face. He started to move toward her, arms already lifting slightly, ready to pull her into a hug, to comfort whatever had shaken her so badly. But Powder stepped back before he could touch her, shaking her head so fast her hair shook loose from their buns and whipped against her shoulders. Then Vander saw the tears brimming in her eyes. The unease in his gut hardened into something cold.

Caitlyn was already rising from her seat.

“Kiddo,” Vander said, voice steady, arms still open but not touching. “What’s wrong?”

Powder kept shaking her head, as if she couldn’t find the words, as if saying them out loud would make them real. Finally, a breathless, choked whisper. “Vi is gone.”

Silence.

Vander’s entire body tensed. “What?” His voice was sharper now. “What do you mean gone?”

Powder’s breath hitched, her fingers unclenched from fists as she tried to steady herself. “She… she isn’t here, Dad.”

The title slipped out naturally. 

Vander barely noticed.

Because gone. Vi was gone.

His gaze snapped past Powder, toward the back room. The door was open.

And beyond it?

The back entrance was ajar.

A sharp pulse of dread hit Vander like a hammer to the chest. Vi was gone. And he couldn’t help but blame himself.

Swallowing down the rising panic, he turned back to Powder, his large hands settling on her shoulders in an attempt to ground her. Mylo and Claggor had already moved in closer, their presence solid, reassuring.

“It’s alright,” Vander murmured, forcing his voice to be steady even as his gut twisted. “We’ll find her. She couldn’t have gotten too far.”

He turned his gaze toward the bar, scanning the patrons. None of them outwardly appeared to be nosy, but Vander wasn’t naive; ears in Zaun were always listening, even when they pretended not to be. The last thing he needed was rumors spreading before they even figured out where Vi had gone. He opened his mouth, ready to clear out the place if need be, ready to tear through the city himself to find her-

But a firm, gentle hand landed on his shoulder. “I can look for her if you’d prefer?” Caitlyn’s voice was calm, even, but beneath it lay a quiet urgency. 

Despite her lingering distress, Powder scoffed, a small, breathless laugh escaping her lips. “You don’t get it, Sheriff,” she said, shaking her head. “Vi doesn’t like being outside. It frustrates her. It scares her. She needs family.” The words came out harsher than intended, but Powder didn’t take them back. “Sorry,” she added as an afterthought.

Caitlyn met the girl’s gaze, holding back the immediate retort on her tongue. Anger curled in her chest; not at Powder, but at the underlying reality of her words. Vi’s fear, her frustration with being outside, Caitlyn had seen it firsthand last night. ‘Had they not noticed that they needed to help ease that fear?’ Had Vander, Powder, and the others unintentionally reinforced that fear over the years? Shielding Vi from the world rather than pushing her toward it, into it?

Caitlyn took a slow, measured breath before responding, keeping her tone even. “I understand that, Powder. And I would never interfere in your family’s business.”

She held up a hand, stopping whatever Powder was about to throw at her. “But Vi is upset with Vander, and by proxy, she may be upset with everyone else associated with him right now. Family.”

Vander’s shoulders slumped slightly, shame flickering across his expression. He looked away, exhaling roughly. Caitlyn wasn’t condemning him, he had acted out of love and concern, but he could have gone about it better.

Caitlyn turned her attention back to Powder. “It’s part of my job to locate missing persons. And as you clearly stated, Vi fears being outside alone.” Which, based on last night’s observations, Caitlyn knew was only a half-truth. Vi could navigate the city somewhat, she just lacked the confidence to do so freely. “You’re more than welcome to assist if that will ease your anxiety,” Caitlyn added.

Powder sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her arm, then gave a hesitant nod.

Caitlyn turned back to Vander, already shifting into work mode. “Vander, I need you to stay here in case she comes home before we find her.”

Vander hesitated. This was an entirely new side of Caitlyn he’d never seen before. Sure, he’d witnessed her relentless flirting with Vi, had dealt with her requests for help regarding cases that involved Zaun, but this? The way she seamlessly slipped into command, giving orders without hesitation, assessing the situation with precision? It made perfect sense why Grayson had chosen her as her replacement. Vander exhaled, nodding. “Alright. You want me to close up shop?”

“No.” Caitlyn’s response was firm. “Keep everything running as usual. If Vi comes back and finds the place shut down because of her, she’ll internalize that guilt.”

Vander hummed in agreement, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Are you sure you’ve only known her a week?”

Caitlyn met his gaze evenly. “Yes.”

Satisfied, Vander turned his attention back to Powder, who had finally calmed enough to stop crying. He gave her shoulder one last squeeze before turning back to mindlessly man the bar. 

Caitlyn nodded toward the storage room. “Let’s go.”

Powder led the way, Caitlyn following closely behind. The moment they stepped inside, Caitlyn’s sharp eyes scanned the room, cataloging every detail. The place was a mess. Crates and boxes had been tossed carelessly, their contents spilled or upturned. The most notable thing was the shattered liquor bottle on the ground, glistening shards of glass catching the light.

'Vi had been looking for something. And she hadn’t found it.'

Caitlyn stepped lightly around the glass, her movements effortless. “Watch your step,” she murmured automatically, out of habit, as she would with one of her subordinates.

“Thanks, Mum,” Powder muttered sarcastically.

“I am not your mother,” Caitlyn shot back without missing a beat.

They carefully made their way to the ajar back door. Caitlyn paused, peering outside.

Left or right?

Caitlyn crouched slightly, studying the ground. Bare footprints. Vi wasn’t wearing any shoes when she left. The tracks led left. She exhaled, already considering her next move. Vi may have made a choice to go toward something, rather than flee blindly. That could mean something.

Something that could involved the vial in her coat. 

“Well, oh wise Sheriff,” Powder quipped, voice laced with sarcasm, “where did she go?”

Caitlyn didn’t bother responding to the teasing. Powder’s humor, even now, was a coping mechanism; a distraction from the anxiety bubbling just beneath the surface.

And right now, Caitlyn needed her focused. With zero regret, she made her decision. “We should split up to cover more ground,” she said, pointing down the left winding alley. “I’ll go this way.”

Powder blinked. “And me?”

“You’ll take the right path toward Main Street. Ask around. See if anyone’s spotted her.”

Powder considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Meet back here when we’re done?”

“Precisely.”

Without further hesitation, Powder brushed past Caitlyn, disappearing down the alley toward the main road.

Caitlyn didn’t feel too bad for misleading her. Powder was emotional, too emotional at the moment. And if Vi was just as volatile right now, throwing them together would be a disaster waiting to happen. Caitlyn took a breath, adjusted her coat, and stepped past the first footprint. She followed Vi’s tracks into the winding alleyway beyond The Last Drop.

Vi had run her fingers along building after building, tracing rough bricks, rusted metal, and the occasional peeling wood. Each new texture mapped out the unseen world around her, but none of it told her where the hell she was going.

She’d stumbled over more trash bins than she cared to admit, and at least twice she’d run into some junkies too strung out to recognize the mistake they were making when they reached for her. The first had barely managed to touch her hand before she twisted his wrist back with practiced ease, sending him staggering with a muffled curse. The second had been bolder, grabbing her arm in a pathetic attempt at intimidation. He’d ended up with a broken nose and a couple of missing teeth.

Vi had needed to hit something. It just so happened that someone had been stupid enough to volunteer.

Other than that, her detour hadn’t been all bad. Well, except for stepping on uneven ground, the occasional sharp piece of debris, and, most annoyingly, a single stubborn shard of glass that had embedded itself in the heel of her right foot. She’d tried shaking it loose, but the damn thing refused to budge. But she was fine.

…Except she wasn’t.

The further she walked, the more her surroundings became new patterns. The more she felt her pulse climb, her chest tighten. The more wrong everything felt. She had no idea where she was. Vi was prideful -stubborn to a fault- but she wasn’t too proud to admit that she was lost. And the realization made her headache throb harder behind her blind eyes.

Gritting her teeth, she pressed forward, tracing the walls again, looking for anything familiar. The cold air nipped at her exposed skin, sending small shivers up her arms. Her nerves felt raw, stretched too thin, too frayed to think straight.

Then, suddenly, old brick. Left, More brick. Right nothing.

A dead end.

Vi cursed under her breath, tracing her hands over the walls, feeling their height, their angles, counting her steps just to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

No exit except for back. 

She inhaled through her nose, grounding herself. Panicking would do her no good.

She needed to move.

With ease, she dropped to the ground, the cool dirt biting against her palms as she settled into position. Push-ups. Simple. Repetitive. Something she could control. “One,” she muttered, lowering herself slowly before pushing back up. Her arms trembled slightly, but not from exertion. The ache in her hands from earlier punches pulsed with each shift of weight, and the glass in her heel sent a clear reminder through her foot. But she gritted her teeth and kept going.

This was fine.

This was manageable.

“Two.”

If she just kept counting, kept moving, kept doing something, then maybe she could ignore everything else.

It wasn’t even remotely difficult to track Vi through the alleyways.

Caitlyn followed the trail of overturned trash bins, scattered debris, and most telling of all, the groaning men curled up against the walls. One in particular was cradling his face, blood dripping from his clearly broken nose. Another held his wrist, probably broken as well. Both glaring up at her as if she were somehow responsible for his poor choices.

Caitlyn couldn’t help but be impressed.

She already knew Vi was strong. She’d seen it in the way she flexed just to fluster her, -adorable- the way her muscles tensed whenever she was bracing herself. Vi was acutely aware of her own strength and had no shame in showing it. But it wasn’t just strength that had caught Caitlyn’s attention, it was the way she fought, the efficiency of it by the looks of these men. No wasted movements. No hesitation. Every hit was calculated, purposeful. She could have disabled these men worse, but she hadn’t. They were still breathing, still intact, mostly. That restraint was far more intriguing than brute force alone.

Caitlyn knew she was jumping to conclusions that Vi caused this but with the lack of evidence of other fresh footprints. It all pointed to Vi. 

As she passed the obvious addicts, Caitlyn reached into her pocket and pulled out a small card with the address of a new local help center. Along with it, she withdrew a clean cloth. She didn’t bother bending down to hand it to them; they shrank back against the wall before she even got close. so she simply dropped the items at their feet.

“You need to get that nose checked before it heals improperly,” she said, tone even.

The man grunted but didn’t argue.

Caitlyn moved on, barely missing a beat. 

Then she saw it.

A footprint, fresher than the previous ones, still damp on the ground. Vi’s of course. This one was different though. Within it, a stark smudge of red. Caitlyn narrowed her eyes, following the next few imprints. The pattern was consistent; only the right foot, pressing lighter than the left. ‘She’s favoring it.’ A small sigh left her lips. Vi must have stepped on something sharp. Whether it was broken glass, jagged metal, or some other debris, Caitlyn didn’t know. But she did know that Vi would almost certainly ignore it.

Lucky for her, Caitlyn came prepared. She adjusted the small medical pouch strapped to her belt, double-checking the supplies she always carried while on duty. A habit Grayson had drilled into her early on. 

“always be prepared to treat wounds, no matter how small.”

She picked up her pace. A few more turns, another narrow alleyway, and finally she heard her.

“One.”

The voice was low, and breathy.

Caitlyn exhaled a quiet breath of relief. 'At least she was alive.' As she rounded the last corner, she spotted her. Vi was at a dead end, mid sit-up, arms bracketing the side of her head, core visibly flexing as she lifted herself. The tension in her frame was obvious; not just from exertion, but from the sheer need to be doing something, anything to burn off whatever emotions were churning inside her.

Caitlyn didn’t speak. Instead, she leaned casually against the wall to her left, keeping both Vi and the exit in her periphery. She crossed her arms over her chest, settling in like a silent guardian.

If Vi noticed her, she gave no sign.

Caitlyn watched in quiet contemplation, taking in every small detail. The fine tremors in Vi’s arms, the way her breath hitched slightly with each movement, the raw stubbornness in the set of her jaw. Her right foot was still bleeding. Not enough to be concerning, but enough to be irritating. Caitlyn resisted the urge to step in immediately. 

‘let her work through this first.’

But she was there. Close enough to intervene if needed. And if something, anything, or anyone threatened Vi while she was working out, Caitlyn would be ready. The rifle on her back, the weight of her badge tucked inside her coat; her very presence as Sheriff should have been enough to deter any would-be troublemakers. But Caitlyn had been in Zaun long enough to know better. Some people still only understood force, no matter how hard she tried to change their outlook on enforcers. However, if push came to shove, she would be more than willing to show them exactly why she’d earned her title. For now, though, she simply leaned against the wall, scanning the alley in careful intervals. A habit, drilled into her over years of training. Always be aware of your surroundings. Always be two steps ahead.

She let her mind wander, not carelessly, but thoughtfully, piecing together everything she had learned in such a short span of time.

Vi’s family.

They were good people.

Flawed, rough around the edges, but good.

Vander, the backbone of Zaun, was more than just a bar owner, he was a leader. A man who had fought, bled, and nearly died for his people, only to shift into the role of caretaker when the rebellion was lost. His influence was undeniable. His love for his city and his family even more so. Caitlyn respected him, truly.

Powder was an exceptional young woman. Unorthodox, certainly. A little scattered, perhaps. But Caitlyn knew brilliance when she saw it, and Powder’s mind was a rare thing indeed.

Vi had joked earlier about Caitlyn’s duties, asking about kissing babies and playing politics. The politics part had been accurate enough. Caitlyn hated the social obligations that came with being Sheriff. Grayson had warned her about them, had made it clear that keeping the peace meant playing the game. She despised it, but it was a necessary evil. One she had already begun molding more to her liking. 

And in those circles, Caitlyn had heard Heimerdinger raving about Powder. He had called her “one of the most promising minds of her generation.” During the Young Innovators Competition, Powder had presented a small but powerful generator, designed to provide clean, sustainable energy to Zaunite homes. “Simple in theory, but masterfully designed,” Heimerdinger had said. “And all with the limited resources she had access to in Zaun. Imagine what she could accomplish at the Academy.”

The possibilities were endless.

Ekko was no less talented, though he had barely been edged out of the competition by Powder herself. Caitlyn had noticed his loyalty immediately, not just to his friends, but to his people. That, more than anything, had impressed her.

Mylo and Claggor… those two were an interesting pair. They were two halves of the same coin, balancing each other in ways only true lifelong friends could. Mylo was brash, loud, and completely unfiltered. Crass, yes. But Caitlyn had dealt with far worse personalities in Piltover’s political sphere. Claggor, on the other hand, was patient, steady; a gentle giant in every sense. His kindness was evident in the way he spoke, in the way he carried himself.

They were Vi’s family. And Caitlyn understood now, more than ever, how much they loved her.

'But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?'

They didn’t realize that their love, their help, was hindering her.

Vi wasn’t just physically strong. She was resilient in every way, carved from stone, hardened by loss and hardship. But there was a difference between enduring and living, and Caitlyn had seen the strain in Vi’s shoulders, the exhaustion in her breath. and that was gathered only in merely a week of getting to know her.

Vi was tired. Not just from the physical exertion of training, not just from the nightmares that likely still haunted her.

She was tired of being handled.

Everyone around her treated her like she was one step away from breaking. Powder, Vander, Mylo, Claggor, even Ekko to a degree. They wanted to protect her. To keep her safe. But in doing so, they were also keeping her caged.

Vi didn’t want to be kept safe.

She wanted to be free while feeling safe. 

Caitlyn exhaled softly, watching the redhead push herself harder, grunting as she forced her body through another sit-up.

“43.” The number was slower now, her breath coming in more labored bursts. She was tiring herself out. Caitlyn knew the signs. The trembling muscles, the way she gritted her teeth as if sheer willpower alone could carry her through it.

And for what?

To punish herself?

To prove something?

Caitlyn pushed herself from the wall. ‘Enough waiting.’ She took a careful step forward, making sure her boots scuffed against the pavement, ensuring Vi heard her approach. No more pretending she wasn’t there. No more letting Vi push herself to the point of exhaustion just to escape whatever was really weighing on her.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” Caitlyn asked gently.

Vi, still lying on the ground, exhaled sharply before forcing herself to do one last sit-up. “44.” She fell back onto the dirt, her arms extending into a T, palms brushing the cool ground beneath her. A light sheen of sweat glistened on her exposed skin as she took deep, steadying breaths, trying to slow her racing heart.

“Would it matter if I said no?” she finally replied, her voice just on the edge of playful and weary.

“Of course. I’d never intrude if you didn’t want me to,” Caitlyn responded smoothly.

Vi was grateful she had just finished working out because at least now she could blame the warmth flooding her face on exertion rather than the way Caitlyn’s voice dipped into something softer, something too gentle.

“I don’t mind,” she whispered, and then, feeling a little too exposed by the honesty in her own tone, quickly added, “It’s kinda dirty though. Not too sure you’d like that.”

Caitlyn didn’t dignify the comment with words. She just stepped closer and, without pausing, sank down beside her. Vi could feel the subtle shift in the dirt, the way Caitlyn’s presence altered the air between them, warm and steady.

Vi turned her head slightly toward Caitlyn’s general direction, still catching her breath. 

Caitlyn was watching her. Now that she was this close, she could make out more details about Vi than she had before. The afternoon light casted soft shadows over her face, highlighting the strong angles of her jaw, the relaxed curve of her lips, the faint twitch in her brow that hinted at some underlying discomfort. Then her eyes drifted downward. Vi was still in her briefs and definitely wearing the same red tank top from the night before. Caitlyn let her gaze wander lower, following the lean lines of Vi’s legs, down to her bare feet. And then-

She clicked her tongue.

Vi’s entire body tensed. 

That was the third time today.

That sound, ‘fuck,’ she loved that sound.

Caitlyn’s sharp blue eyes honed in on the little shard still lodged in Vi’s heel. She could see the way it glistened under the light, fresh blood staining the dirt beneath it. Vi had walked this whole way on an open wound. She probably didn’t even realize how bad it was. And if she did, she ignored it. If that were the case, Caitlyn was determined to break that unhealthy habit if allowed the opportunity.

Caitlyn forced herself not to sigh. Instead, she continued scanning Vi for any other signs of injury. Her gaze traced the curve of her calves, pausing briefly at the telltale sheen of scar tissue wrapping around her left leg. The burns stretched from her thigh down to her calf, a stark reminder of what she had survived. Caitlyn didn’t linger there. She already knew the story.

Not that Vi knew she knew.

Instead, she let her eyes drift back up, stopping when she saw the faint crease of tension on Vi’s face. Her eyes were closed, but her expression was tight, lips pressed together, jaw locked. She was in pain.

Caitlyn exhaled softly. ‘So the glass was that bad.' 

“Vi, do you mind sitting up for me?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

Vi cracked open one eye, her face still angled toward Caitlyn but with mild suspicion in her expression. “Why? I’m comfortable.”

“Yes, I can see that, dear,” Caitlyn replied smoothly, watching as Vi’s breath hitched ever so slightly at the word. “But I’d like to have a look at your foot, and that’s a bit difficult when you’re sprawled out like this.”

Vi really wished Caitlyn would stop calling her that. Or at least stop saying it like that. Soft. Intimate.

Her face burned.

“O- Okay,” she stammered slightly before cursing herself internally. Clearing her throat, she pushed herself up slowly, extending her injured foot forward. The moment she did, she winced; not from the pain in her heel, but from the sharp, throbbing reminder of her headache, the lingering remnants of dehydration from last night creeping in. ‘Fucking stupid.’

Caitlyn caught the wince but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she asked, “Can I touch you?”

Vi swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod.

Another tongue click.

Four times now.

At this point, Vi was starting to wonder if she could make Caitlyn do it again just to hear it.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice just a little too quiet.

Caitlyn hummed her approval.

Without hesitation, she reached out and carefully lifted Vi’s right leg, resting it on her lap. The touch was gentle, clinical even, but damn if Vi didn’t feel every single point of contact burn through her skin like wildfire. Caitlyn’s hands were warm, her fingers firm as they brushed over Vi’s ankle, adjusting her hold to get a better look at the wound. Vi shivered. Of course the other woman noticed.

“Are you cold?” Caitlyn asked, her tone equal parts amusement and concern. “I have another jacket, but I’d have to get it back before I leave.”

Vi gritted her teeth. 'This fucking woman will grant her the sweetest death.'

“Nope. Not cold.”

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, a knowing smirk playing at her lips, she hid it from Vi’s view, even though she didn't need to, but oh so present.

“Mm-hm.”

Without another word, she focused on the shard of glass embedded in Vi’s heel. Carefully, she reached into one of the pouches on her belt, pulling out a pair of tweezers and a small antiseptic wipe. “This will sting.”

Vi’s fingers curled slightly into the dirt, bracing herself.

Caitlyn didn’t waste time. With practiced ease, she gripped the shard with the tweezers and pulled it free in a swift motion.

Vi hissed but didn’t jerk away.

A fresh bead of blood welled up from the small wound, and Caitlyn immediately pressed the antiseptic wipe against it. She could feel Vi tense at the sting, her thigh flexing under Caitlyn’s hand.

Vi exhaled through her nose, forcing herself to relax.

Caitlyn worked quickly, wrapping a clean cloth around Vi’s foot, tying it snug but not too tight. “There.” She let her fingers linger just a second longer before finally letting go.

Caitlyn’s hands moved instinctively, working slow, deliberate circles into Vi’s calf, the firm pressure kneading at the tight muscle beneath her fingertips. She could feel the tension in Vi’s leg, the way her body unconsciously responded to the touch, taut with something she wasn’t sure was resistance or surrender. “All patched up.” Vi’s foot was still in her lap, but Caitlyn didn’t stop. She didn’t even think about stopping. Her thumbs pressed gently along the ridge of Vi’s shin, tracing the natural contours of her muscles, soothing what she could. Vi’s breath hitched, her fingers twitching against the dirt.

Caitlyn smirked, her eyes flickering upward.

Vi swallowed hard, her voice coming out in a breathless whisper. “Thanks, Cait.”

There was something pure in the way she said it, something that sent a quiet shiver down Caitlyn’s spine. “Anytime, dear.”

Her hands moved with purpose, fingertips ghosting up to the curve of Vi’s knee, pressing lightly, feeling the way the muscle gave under her touch. She watched Vi’s face carefully, cataloging every reaction; the slight part of her lips, the way her breath quickened, the subtle, involuntary flex of her fingers. And then, feeling bolder, she hesitated only a second before letting her hand glide to Vi’s other leg.

The reaction was immediate.

Vi jerked back so fast that Caitlyn barely had time to retract her hands, pulling them sharply to her chest as if she’d been burned.

Vi’s entire body was coiled like a spring, her breathing erratic, her pupils blown wide despite the lack of focus in her unseeing gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Caitlyn said quickly, hands up, voice softer now. “I should have asked.”

Vi wasn’t responding.

Not properly.

Her chest was rising and falling too fast, her legs had drawn up to her chest, her fingers curling in against her arms around her legs, gripping at her own skin. the shift so instinctive, so defensive that Caitlyn’s stomach twisted.

Panic.

Not discomfort.

Not shyness.

Fear.

Caitlyn’s breath caught.

This wasn’t about touch.

This was about who was touching her. About what Caitlyn had touched. She didn’t even feel an ounce of sorrow for herself. She overstepped and caused this reaction. 

Vi’s scars.

Caitlyn should have known they would be a separate obstacle to take on at a later date, hopefully, if given the chance. Now though, that chance seemed to be completely out of reach. 

Vi’s hands were trembling, nails biting into her arms where they clutched at her knees. Her breath was coming in uneven bursts, shallow and rapid, a sound Caitlyn recognized immediately. 

‘Too fast. Too erratic. She’s spiraling.’ Caitlyn, usually so composed, could feel her own pulse spike with an unfamiliar sense of urgency. ‘What do I do? What do I-‘ She didn’t give herself time to think more. Acting purely on instinct, she shifted, rising to her knees, circling behind Vi in one fluid motion. She moved deliberately, slowly, making sure Vi could hear her, could sense her presence before she settled behind her.

Vi didn’t react.

Didn’t notice.

That scared Caitlyn more than anything.

Without hesitation, she slid down onto the ground behind her, legs bracketing Vi’s, the warmth of her body pressing gently against Vi’s back. And then, carefully, cautiously, she wrapped her arms around Vi’s shoulders, enclosing her in an embrace that wasn’t trapping, wasn’t restricting, but grounding.

Her lips brushed close to Vi’s ear, voice a whisper in the silence.

“Can you hear me?”

No response.

Caitlyn tightened her arms slightly, just enough for Vi to feel the shift. “Do you feel me?”

A shaky inhale.

Better.

“If so, I need you to follow my breathing, dear. Can you do that?” She exhaled, slow and measured, her chest rising and falling deliberately against Vi’s back.

Vi’s body was still rigid, but Caitlyn waited.

Seconds passed.

Another breath.

Another.

And then-

A slow, stunted exhale from Vi.

Caitlyn smiled, just slightly against Vi’s ear. 

“Good girl,” she murmured, and this time, she felt the shiver that ran down Vi’s spine.

‘Good, she was slowly coming back to herself’

She didn’t loosen her hold.

Not until Vi was breathing properly.

Not until she was sure Vi was here.

Not until Vi told her to. 

Chapter Text

Warmth.

That was the first thing Vi noticed.

Not just warmth but something solid, something steady. A presence that surrounded her, cocooning her in a heat she wanted to escape from at first, every muscle primed to run. But then, as her breathing slowed, as the erratic pounding in her chest softened to something steadier, she found herself… not wanting to leave it.

The next thing Vi noticed was movement. Slow, rhythmic, even. The rise and fall of something pressed against her back, expanding, contracting, in a pattern that, despite herself, she was already mirroring.

Her mind jolted into overdrive for a fraction of a second, instincts screaming at her to pull away, to fight, but. Gentle, soothing circles traced over her arms.

Fingers.

Hands.

She realized she was being held. They weren’t gripping. They weren’t restraining. They were reassuring. Comforting.

Vi stiffened, her breath hitching as the realization sank in. This wasn’t Powder, this wasn’t Vander, those were the only people who ever touched her like this, held her. The thought sent another spike of panic through her, her breath catching in her throat.

“Shhh…”

Soft. So quiet it was barely there. A breath against her ear, warm and gentle.

“Keep following my breathing.”

The words grounded her more than they should have. More than anything else had in a long time.

Vi focused on the steady inhale, the long exhale. The expansion of a chest against her back. The slow, controlled fall of it. 

And only then did she realize, she was following it. Her own breathing had already synced with the rhythm of the person holding her.

“Just like that.”

‘Oh.’

Caitlyn.

That was who was holding her.

That was who was keeping her tethered while her body wanted to dissolve into the panic that threatened to pull her under.

‘What the fuck happened?’

“Do you know where you are?” A whisper. A gentle question. A lure back to reality.

Vi’s fingers flexed against her legs. She gave a slight shake of her head before squeezing her knees tighter against her chest, like holding herself smaller would somehow help.

Caitlyn apparently didn’t like that.

Vi felt her shift closer, impossibly closer until her front was flush against Vi’s back. Until the warmth fully consumed her.

Hands moved again, brushing over Vi’s wrists, her grip on her own legs. Not prying. Asking.

Vi understood the silent request and after a moment she loosened her grip slightly, though she didn’t let go entirely.

Her thoughts were starting to clear. She replayed Caitlyn’s question in her head.

Where was she?

Vi wiggled her toes. Loose dirt, bits of gravel pressing against the soles of her feet. A cool draft from the narrow opening of the alley brushing against her skin.

She swallowed hard.

“The alley,” she murmured, voice hoarse.

Caitlyn’s fingers gave the smallest, reassuring squeeze.

“That’s right.”

Vi closed her eyes. Just for a moment. Just to breathe.

Caitlyn’s voice was unbearably soft, patient in a way that made Vi’s chest ache.

“Do you remember how you got here?”

Vi swallowed. The weight of the question settled heavily in her mind, pressing down on an already fragile foundation. The truth sat on the tip of her tongue, but her throat was too tight, words sticking like tar.

She wanted to answer. Needed to really. 

But everything hurt. Not just her foot, not just the persistent pounding in her skull. This moment, being held, being treated with care, was more painful than anything.

Because she wanted it.

She wanted it so bad it hurt worse than the migraine clawing behind her unseeing eyes.

Instead of speaking, Vi gave a slow nod, her body betraying her in its hesitance.

Fragments of memory started piecing themselves back together, sluggish and disjointed, like pulling something fragile from deep water.

She’d woken up feeling… good. That in itself was strange. She’d had a full night’s sleep, uninterrupted, the first in hell, she didn’t even know how long.

But then the headache started creeping in. A warning. A reminder.

She needed an outlet. ‘No,’ she wanted an outlet. She needed to move, to fight, to hit something hard enough that she felt it, anything to pull focus from the fire in her skull. But she hadn’t had anything readily available.

The bar.

She went to the bar.

And then…

Vander.

Her stomach twisted as clarity cut through the fog.

She’d raged, kicking over a box of liquor. 

She’d ran.

No, not ran, fled.

From home.

From him.

Because of what he took away from her.

Vi’s breathing hitched slightly, earning her an, “it’s alright,” from Caitlyn. 

Vander had been so good to her the night before. He’d been patient, understanding, let her lean on him in a way she hadn’t in years. He’d tucked her into bed, called her kid, And then she’d gone and fucked it all up somehow. 

She didn’t understand.

‘What had changed?’

‘Why had he changed?’

She clenched her jaw, forcing her mind to replay the moments before she fell asleep, trying to pinpoint the exact second everything had gone to shit.

She remembered handing over Caitlyn’s coat, her fingers lingering just a second too long. Reluctant.

Vander went to hang it up to avoid wrinkles…

Vi’s stomach dropped.

The closet.

He’d gone into her closet.

He knew.

‘Oh, fuck.’

A fresh wave of panic surged through her. She squeezed her knees tighter to her chest, as if curling in on herself could somehow undo the damage.

Vander knew.

He had to.

That was the only reason.

Her hands clenched against her legs, nails pressing into her skin.

He’d seen the vials. The proof of her weakness that she tried and failed to hide. 

‘Stupid’

And instead of confronting her that night, instead of yelling; he’d taken away the one thing she had left. Her purpose. Her means of gaining control over her life.

Her body tensed. She should’ve expected this. She should’ve known.

She’d woken up. Gone to the bar.

Caitlyn had been there.

She’d teased Vi, made her blush. ‘Nothing new there.’

And then Vander.

The back of her throat burned, but before she could spiral any further. 

“Violet.”

Vi shuddered at the way Caitlyn said it. The name rippled through her like a current, sending an involuntary shiver up her spine.

Caitlyn never called her that before. 

Vi only allowed Vander and Powder to call her that.

When they’d first met; properly met, after Caitlyn had barreled into her at the Academy, Caitlyn had asked what her name was. 

Vi had smirked and told her, “You’ll have to earn that right.”

She never expected Caitlyn to actually earn it. And she didn’t at first. 

Powder, loud-mouthed little menace that she was, had of course ruined that mystery long ago.

But this?

Vi had never given Caitlyn permission to use Violet. Yet somehow, sitting here in this filthy alley, wrapped in Caitlyn’s arms, feeling safer in a way she hadn’t been in years; she decided Caitlyn had earned it.

“Are you struggling to form words?”

Vi nodded, and for once, she wasn’t embarrassed by the admission. Because fuck, she was overwhelmed.

By everything.

The headache.

The shimmer.

Vander.

Powder

And Caitlyn.

Especially Caitlyn.

Caitlyn hummed, a soft sound of acknowledgment, her arms tightening briefly before relaxing once more.

“Alright,” she murmured, her voice low and steady. “Would you like me to let you go?”

Vi reacted before she could even think, her body answering for her.

She shook her head, almost violently, as if the very idea of being without Caitlyn’s warmth sent a fresh wave of panic through her. Her arms released their death grip on her knees and, instead, latched onto Caitlyn’s arms, fingers curling tight, anchoring herself to something solid, real.

Caitlyn was holding her, but Vi was holding on to Caitlyn.

“Don’t let me go,” Vi choked out, her voice strained, not from tears but from the sheer effort of forcing the words past the tightness in her throat.

She hated this.

Hated the vulnerability of it.

Hated the way her voice shook, how weak she sounded. But fuck, she couldn’t let go.

Because as soon as she did, she’d have to face everything waiting for her at The Last Drop; Vander, Powder, the truth of what she’d been trying to bury.

She wasn’t ready for that.

Caitlyn made a soft, thoughtful sound before leaning forward, pressing just a fraction closer until her chin rested lightly against Vi’s shoulder. Light. Steady.

“What do you hear?” Caitlyn’s voice was warm against her skin, the question both grounding and distracting.

Vi stiffened slightly, confused. ‘Why ask that of all things?’ But she listened regardless. 

Really listened.

She closed her eyes, tilting her head just slightly as her focus sharpened.

“Factories,” she muttered after a moment, her words gravel-rough, but her voice was finally steadying. She coughed, adjusting her grip on Caitlyn’s arms. “Down in the Sumps. People… no, vendors, yelling from the Lanes.”

It was getting easier to speak now. The more she focused, the more she felt herself returning.

“Good,” Caitlyn murmured, her thumb brushing slow, methodical circles against Vi’s knee.

The small, repeated motion sent warmth curling up Vi’s spine, settling deep in her chest.

“What else?”

Vi swallowed, her fingers twitching where they gripped Caitlyn’s sleeves. “You…” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Caitlyn stilled. Then after a beat, a squeeze, a soft acknowledgment.

Vi exhaled, not quite a laugh, but something lighter than before.

“What do you feel?” Caitlyn asked next, her breath more than ghosting over Vi’s ear now; it lingered, just barely skimming her skin.

Vi turned her head slightly, blindly angling toward Caitlyn’s voice, toward the warmth radiating from her body. She didn’t even have to think about the answer.

“Only you.”

It was the truth.

Because in this moment, there was only Caitlyn. And that surprisingly didn’t terrify her.

She leaned into it. Into her.

Caitlyn inhaled sharply, the breath stuttering for just a fraction of a second; a tell, one Vi would have killed to see. Gods, she hoped there was a blush to go with that breath.

She’d never know, but she wanted to.

Vi became acutely aware of how close they were. How warm Caitlyn’s body was pressed against her back. How her breath skimmed over Vi’s lips with every exhale. How Caitlyn wasn’t moving away.

“And what do you see?”

The question was barely a whisper, softer than the breeze that drifted through the alley, barely audible between them.

Vi furrowed her brow.

‘Was Caitlyn seriously asking that?’

She knew Vi was blind.

‘What the fuck kind of question was that?’

But something in Caitlyn’s voice made her pause. Something gentle. Something knowing. And despite the absurdity of it, Vi answered.

“Nothing,” she breathed.

She felt Caitlyn hear it. Not just with her ears, but on her lips.

The world around them shrank.

The hum of the city, the distant factory drones, the occasional scuff of movement further down the alley; it all faded into insignificance as Vi inhaled sharply, steeling herself against her truth. The only truth. 

No light, no colors, no shapes. 

Nothing. 

“Does it frighten you?” Caitlyn’s voice was barely a whisper, a featherlight touch against Vi’s frayed nerves, but it carried the weight of something much heavier.

“Yes.” The word cracked as it left Vi’s lips, broken and honest.

Because it was the truth.

Nothing scared her before the explosion. She was never afraid. Fear belonged to Powder. She was the one who used to be terrified of the dark, of the monsters that lurked just beyond the reach of candlelight.

And now Vi lived in it.

Even years later, she still feared the dark, empty, void that swallowed her whole every time she woke up.

In her sleep she could dream in the light, in the colors. Vi could see her families’ faces. Everything she had lost was there but only in her dream-scape. 

Vi could no longer chase Powder’s monsters away when she couldn’t even act like she could see them herself.

And worse?

Vi wasn’t sure she wasn’t the monster now.

Caitlyn’s arms tightened around her, unwavering, as if she could physically hold her together when everything inside Vi was breaking apart at the seams.

“Do I scare you?”

Vi barely had to think about it.

“Yes.”

Not because Caitlyn was a threat. Not because she feared her. But because Caitlyn was something she didn’t understand.

Because Caitlyn was gentle when Vi was used to cruelty by everyone but her family. 

Because Caitlyn was patient when Vi had spent years convincing herself she wasn’t worth the effort.

Because Caitlyn had already shattered the carefully constructed walls around her, piece by piece, -in such a short time- and Vi wasn’t sure she’d survive whatever was left once they were gone.

She really wanted to though. 

Vi only realized she was crying when Caitlyn shifted, lifting just one arm to cradle her cheek.

The touch was soft.

Her thumb brushed across Vi’s skin, slow and delicate, wiping away a single tear as if it had never existed at all.

Vi exhaled sharply, the sound catching in her throat as she leaned into Caitlyn’s palm without thinking.

Her own fingers came up, wrapping lightly around Caitlyn’s wrist, holding her there.

“How can I rectify that, Vi?”

Caitlyn’s voice was closer now, heat brushed against Vi’s lips, her breath mixing with Vi’s own.

Vi swallowed, her grip tightening around Caitlyn’s wrist.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know how to stop being afraid of something that wasn’t meant to be feared.

Caitlyn was…

Perfect.

And Vi didn’t deserve perfect. She didn’t deserve anything. However, Caitlyn was here.

Every single second spent together, the fear grew and faded, tangled into some strange paradox Vi couldn’t begin to unravel.

So she stopped trying.

She stopped thinking.

She stopped running.

Vi did the one thing she thought she would never have the opportunity to do again after her accident.

She leaned forward, blindly tilting her face, and kissed the girl.

It wasn’t graceful.

It wasn’t practiced.

But it was everything.

A hesitant press of lips, uncertain but desperate in its honesty.

Vi’s fingers curled tighter around Caitlyn’s wrist. She turned her body towards the other woman. Her free hand shifting to grasp the fabric of Caitlyn’s uniform at her shoulder, anchoring herself in place as if she was afraid Caitlyn might disappear the second she pulled away.

But Caitlyn didn’t disappear.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she sighed into the kiss, a quiet sound of surprise giving way to something softer, something warmer.

And then Caitlyn moved.

One of her hands slid down, trailing from Vi’s cheek to the nape of her neck, fingertips pressing gently into the sensitive skin there as she tilted Vi’s face just slightly, deepening the kiss with an ease that made Vi’s heart stutter.

The alley, the city, the whole damn world, It didn’t matter.

Because right now, there was only this.

Only them.

And Vi had never felt anything like it before.

‘Was this what freedom felt like?’

Vi choked back a sob as she desperately deepened the kiss, pouring every emotion she couldn’t put into words into the way their lips met and parted. There was just so much; the overwhelming relief, the uncertainty, the sheer desperation of wanting something so badly it hurt.

She could feel Caitlyn, her warmth, the way her lips moved so effortlessly against her own, the faint hitch in her breath. She tasted her, mint, crisp and clean, mixed with the slight lingering trace of a Zaun brew. The contrast was intoxicating.

Caitlyn let Vi take the lead, something Vi had never expected but desperately needed. Caitlyn wasn’t pushing, wasn’t trying to take control; she was giving Vi the space, the choice. And for that, Vi was even more grateful for this woman.

She wasn’t good at this.

She didn’t know what she was doing.

But when Caitlyn sighed into the kiss, when her lips parted just slightly in response, Vi’s confidence surged. She felt the shift in their dynamic, the silent approval in the way Caitlyn leaned into her touch, in the way her fingers ghosted over Vi’s neck as if offering support without demand.

All too soon, Caitlyn was the one to pull away first, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe, her lips still close enough to brush against Vi’s.

Vi whined.

But that quickly faded when Caitlyn leaned forward again, pressing her forehead against Vi’s.

Their breaths mingled in the narrow space between them, both of them breathing hard, but Caitlyn’s was notably more uneven.

Vi smirked.

Finally, she had flustered this woman the way Caitlyn always seemed to do to her.

Then…

Caitlyn clicked her tongue.

Five

Vi swore her heart tripped over itself at the sound. ‘Just when I had the winning hand’

“You didn’t answer my question,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice rich with something teasing, yet still carrying that same gentle patience that Vi was coming to rely on.

Vi arched a single brow, feeling bold for the first time. “I thought I just did?”

Caitlyn hummed softly and shook her head. “Though I did enjoy that response,” she admitted, her fingers idly tracing slow, absentminded patterns along Vi’s neck, “it wasn’t an answer to my question.”

Vi opened her mouth, then closed it.

Because Caitlyn was right.

She had deliberately avoided answering. She didn’t have an answer before.

But now?

Now she did.

Vi leaned back slightly; not pulling away, just shifting enough that their foreheads no longer touched, but they remained firmly in each other’s space. She hesitated, then released her hold on Caitlyn’s shoulder and wrist, exhaling shakily.

Slowly, she brought her hands up to Caitlyn’s face.

Caitlyn removed her hands from Vi’s neck and remained perfectly still.

Vi’s fingers ghosted over her skin first, barely touching, hesitant. She needed this. Needed to map her. To see her the only way she could.

Caitlyn didn’t stop her. Didn’t question it. She simply let her.

Vi started at her hairline, running her fingers down, feeling the fine strands slip through her calloused fingertips. She trailed lower, brushing across Caitlyn’s forehead, her fingertips pressing lightly over her brows.

Caitlyn closed her eyes, anticipating Vi’s touch before it even happened.

Vi took her time.

She moved down to her cheeks, tracing the soft curves, then skimmed over her ears, noting the shape of them, the way the lobe dipped slightly. Her thumbs ghosted along Caitlyn’s jaw, mapping the angles, then carefully traced the slope of her nose.

Vi swallowed thickly.

This was…

Janna help her, Caitlyn was beautiful.

Powder had said as much, had raved about Caitlyn’s high cheekbones, her striking blue eyes, the sharp but elegant structure of her face.

But Vi had never had the luxury of knowing what she looked like.

And now, as her fingers carefully traced Caitlyn’s lips, she felt the truth of it.

Soft. Warm.

She felt Caitlyn’s breath catch, felt the faintest tremble as she parted her lips slightly under Vi’s touch.

Vi exhaled shakily, committing every sensation to memory.

She knew now.

Caitlyn was painfully gorgeous.

And Vi was-

Terrified.

She dropped her hands as the realization fully settled in.

Caitlyn caught them immediately, her grip firm but gentle, grounding. Holding their hands together between them.

Vi swallowed, staring downward.

She had never been this open before.

But she was ready now.

“…Help me,” she whispered.

Caitlyn hummed softly. “How, dear?”

Vi clenched her jaw, trying to find the right words, then lifted an arm, gesturing vaguely at Caitlyn . “To see you.…” Her fingers curled slightly. “Understand You.”

She hadn’t meant to sound so broken.

But she was.

Caitlyn, ever perceptive, her words from a week ago used against her this time. She lifted Vi’s chin, slow and careful with two fingers. 

Vi let her.

For the first time in ever, she let someone touch her in a way that wasn’t just a fight or a fleeting embrace from her family.

Caitlyn’s lips brushed against her cheek, a featherlight press that sent a shiver through Vi’s entire body.

“I can do that,” Caitlyn murmured. “And more if you would permit.”

Vi believed her.

Still terrified but willing to face everything if it meant Caitlyn was there with her. 

Vi’s mind scrambling to process Caitlyn’s words, the soft kiss lingering against her cheek like a phantom sensation.

Vi swallowed, suddenly feeling ripped open under Caitlyn’s gaze, under her fingers, under the weight of something she couldn’t define but desperately wanted to hold onto.

She turned her head ever so slightly, her lips brushing against Caitlyn’s knuckles, testing the waters, letting herself lean into the touch rather than flinching away. The warmth of Caitlyn’s hand moved from her chin to touch against her scarred skin by her eyes. It felt surreal, she wanted to flinch despite the intimacy from earlier. The feeling in her chest grew. 

‘Maybe this was what hope felt like.’

Caitlyn didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers traced a slow, deliberate path along Vi’s cheekbone, the touch reverent, like she was committing every detail to memory.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” Caitlyn whispered, barely audible, the words more felt than heard.

Vi’s heart clenched.

‘I don’t,’ she almost said. Because if she did, if she really saw herself through Caitlyn’s eyes, she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

Instead of speaking, instead of ruining whatever this was, Vi exhaled shakily, her fingers twitching against Caitlyn’s sleeve, gripping the fabric to keep herself there, before moving to her wrist. 

She had spent her entire life running, avoiding, shutting out anything that made her feel too much. And yet, here she was, tangled up in Caitlyn Kiramman like she was something Vi needed.

Maybe she did.

Maybe she always had.

Caitlyn leaned in again, their foreheads pressing together, the warmth of her breath fanning over Vi’s lips.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice impossibly soft.

Vi blinked, her brows drawing together. “For what?” Her voice came out rough, hoarse from the earlier panic, from the weight of warring emotions fighting in her chest.

Caitlyn chuckled lightly, and it was music. A sound so effortlessly Caitlyn that Vi swore she could feel it vibrate through her heart.

“For letting me understand you,” Caitlyn said, her tone filled absolute care.

‘Oh.’

Vi knew what she meant now.

She huffed, shaking her head slightly, but she didn’t pull away. “You’re so annoying,” she muttered, but there wasn’t an ounce of malice behind it. If anything, her words felt more like a quiet admission.

Caitlyn hummed, and for once, she didn’t correct her with a smug, teasing ‘Persistent’.

Instead, she tilted Vi’s chin slightly, her thumb grazing the edge of her jaw as she whispered, “And you, my dear, are so lovely.”

Vi’s stomach dropped.

‘Fuck me.’

She felt the telltale heat creeping up her neck, settling into her cheeks with a slow burn that she knew Caitlyn would pick up on.

Sure enough, Caitlyn hummed in approval, her fingers trailing lightly along Vi’s flushed skin, the touch barely there but impossible to ignore.

“Perfect,” Caitlyn murmured, the word so damn sure, like it wasn’t up for debate.

Vi clenched her jaw, shaking her head slightly. 

She wanted to argue, to tell Caitlyn she was wrong, that there was nothing perfect about her.

She wanted to say, ‘look at me, really look at me.’

The milky blue eyes that no longer saw the world as it was. The scars, so many of them, webbing across her skin like glowing cracked glass. The broken mess of a person she had become, the damage she carried with her every single day.

But Caitlyn had looked at her.

Caitlyn had seen her.

And still, she said it.

Still, she meant it.

Vi swallowed hard, gripping Caitlyn’s wrist just a little tighter, grounding herself in the warmth, in the certainty of the woman holding her.

She didn’t believe Caitlyn.

But maybe…

Maybe if Caitlyn said it enough times, one day…

She might begin to. 

All too soon, Caitlyn sighed, the weight of reality settling over them. “Are you ready?” she asked gently, her voice low, careful, as if she already knew the answer.

Vi sighed too, dragging a hand down her face. Of course, she knew exactly what Caitlyn was referring to. Going back. Facing Vander. Dealing with whatever storm awaited her at The Last Drop.

No, she wasn’t ready.

She liked this the little bubble they had created in this forgotten alley. The warmth of Caitlyn pressed against her, the comfort of her presence, the way she somehow made the world feel a little less unbearable. Leaving meant stepping back into the fray, into the inevitable confrontation with Vander, with her family, with herself.

And at the mere thought of it, her headache flared with renewed intensity, sending a sharp pulse of pain through her skull. Vi winced. 

Caitlyn, ever observant, caught it instantly. “We don’t have to go now if you need more time,” she offered, ever patient, ever understanding. She had misinterpreted the wince, but her sincerity was undeniable.

Vi exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “No, it’s not that…”

She pulled her hands from Caitlyn’s wrists and rubbed at her temple, leaning away just slightly; not to put distance between them, but to avoid accidentally elbowing Caitlyn as she tried to ease the tension in her head.

A quick inhale from Caitlyn made Vi pause. A soft gasp, barely audible, but unmistakably laced with concern.

Then, gentle hands cupped her jaw, turning her head to the side with deliberate care. Vi barely had time to react before she felt fingers brush lightly around her ear, skimming the damp skin.

“Vi… you’re hurt,” Caitlyn murmured, voice tight with concern.

Vi blinked, her brow furrowing. “What?”

Tentatively, she lifted her fingers to where Caitlyn had touched and felt something warm and sticky coating the tips. Her stomach dropped.

Caitlyn didn’t sound alarmed, but she felt alarmed. Vi could sense it in the way her touch lingered just a second too long, in the way her breath hitched ever so slightly.

Blood.

“Oh,” Vi muttered, rubbing her fingers together before wiping them off on her tank top. “No, Cait, this is normal.”

Caitlyn clicked her tongue.

Sixth time today. But she wasn’t counting. 

Vi might be developing a problem because, despite the situation, her stomach flipped at the sound.

“You bleeding is normal?” Caitlyn questioned, skepticism heavy in her voice. “And you expect me to believe that?”

Vi sighed, knowing she wasn’t getting out of this conversation. “When I get one of my nastier headaches, this sometimes happens,” she admitted.

Caitlyn didn’t respond immediately. But Vi could feel her calculating, considering. Then, quietly but firmly, she said, “I am no medical expert, but that doesn’t seem normal. My father is a doctor, maybe he-”

Vi groaned, cutting her off with a wave of her hand. “We haven’t even been on a date yet, I am definitely not ready to meet the parents.”

She tried to joke past it, tried to lighten the mood, but Caitlyn wasn’t having it.

“For the record,” Caitlyn said smoothly, “we had a date last night.”

Vi opened her mouth to argue, then promptly shut it again.

…Shit.

Technically, Caitlyn wasn’t wrong.

Caitlyn continued, ever so casually, “And you don’t have to meet him. I could simply ask about it… only if that’s alright with you, of course.”

Vi hesitated. She hated this. Hated talking about herself like this, but Caitlyn wasn’t pressuring her, wasn’t demanding answers or forcing her into anything.

It was a simple offer. No strings attached.

Vi sighed, rubbing at her temple again. What harm could it do? “Alright,” she muttered. “Why not.”

Caitlyn smiled, and Vi felt it in the shift of the air between them when she said, “Thank you.”

Then Caitlyn stood, stretching out her limbs, rolling her shoulders before wiping down her uniform. Vi heard the subtle rustle of fabric, the shifting of her stance.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice light but expectant.

Vi groaned dramatically, but there was no escaping it.

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

She pushed herself up without help, ignoring the slight ache in her foot, though she barely had a second to register it before Caitlyn was there, seamlessly maneuvering to Vi’s right side.

Without a word, Caitlyn took Vi’s arm and draped it over her own shoulders, bearing her weight without hesitation.

Vi huffed a laugh, unable to stop the smirk from tugging at her lips. “You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

Caitlyn clicked her tongue, again.

Seven.

“Of course I do,” Caitlyn said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Vi was doomed.

Vi groaned as she let Caitlyn guide her, though it wasn’t out of pain, at least, not physical pain. The realization of what she was about to walk into weighed heavily on her shoulders. Vander was going to kill her.

Caitlyn, ever the perceptive one, must have noticed her reluctance because she gave Vi’s hand a reassuring squeeze where it rested on her shoulder. “It won’t be as bad as you think,” she murmured, her voice calm, steady, and sure.

Vi snorted, shifting her weight slightly against Caitlyn to ease the pressure on her injured foot. “You don’t know Vander.”

“I know of him,” Caitlyn countered, adjusting her grip on Vi’s arm with ease. “And I know he cares for you more than anything in the world. Which means, yes, he’ll be irate, but I doubt it will be anything you can’t handle.”

Vi huffed, her breath ruffling a few loose strands of Caitlyn’s hair. “Yeah? And what makes you so sure?”

Caitlyn chuckled, clicking her tongue, a sound that was quickly becoming Vi’s favorite thing in the world. “Because he let me take you out last night.”

Eight

Vi’s brain short-circuited.

She stumbled, not from her injury, not from exhaustion, but from sheer, unfiltered shock.

Caitlyn let out a startled laugh, catching Vi easily before she could fully lose her balance. “Careful,” she teased, adjusting their stance so Vi wouldn’t put too much pressure on her bad foot. “I wouldn’t want to have to carry you back.”

Vi scowled, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck. “You didn’t just say that.”

“I certainly did,” Caitlyn said, the amusement thick in her voice.

Vi groaned, tipping her head back dramatically. “Why are you like this?”

Caitlyn simply hummed. “Persistent, remember?”

Vi knew she was smirking, knew she was enjoying every second of this.

With a resigned sigh, Vi grumbled, “Let’s just get this over with before you kill me instead.”

Caitlyn took that as her cue, tightening her hold on Vi’s arm as they slowly made their way out of the alley. The streets were quieter now, the distant hum of factories and vendors still ever-present, but there was an ease to the incoming night that Vi hadn’t noticed before.

Maybe it was because she wasn’t alone.

Maybe it was because Caitlyn was here.

They walked in silence for a while, the weight of the moment settling between them.

Eventually, Caitlyn spoke. “For the record,” she murmured, her voice softer now, less teasing, “I meant what I said. About asking my father.”

Vi glanced in her direction, not that she could see her, but just to acknowledge the words. “…Yeah?”

“Yes.” Caitlyn squeezed Vi’s fingers lightly where their hands brushed together. “And also for the record, you don’t have to handle everything on your own, Violet.”

Vi swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. She wanted to argue, to push back, to tell Caitlyn she didn’t need help, that she could handle it, just like she always had.

But she didn’t because the reality was…

She had asked Caitlyn for help. 

With that in mind, she let out a slow breath and nodded. “Alright.”

Caitlyn hummed in approval.

Vi felt the smile in her voice when she whispered, “Good girl.”

Vi almost tripped again.

After several turns, a few “steps,” “glass,” and “bins” from Caitlyn, Vi could tell they were getting closer to The Last Drop’s back entrance. The layout of the alleys was familiar enough, and the way the cool air was shifting, carrying the heavier scent of metal and oil from the main streets, told her it was getting late.

Based on the distinct chill settling into her skin, it was well into the afternoon, maybe even evening. She had been gone for hours.

The length of time didn’t particularly bother her. What did bother her was the state she was in.

Bare feet coated in dirt and alley grime. Sweaty from exertion. Still in nothing but her tank top and briefs.

‘Fuck.’

She really needed to think before she acted. She had woken up in such a good mood, convinced she could just walk around the bar in this state, like an idiot.

Stupid.

“I would prefer you stop calling yourself that,” Caitlyn’s voice cut in smoothly, teasing yet firm. There was no room for argument in her tone.

Vi stiffened. She hadn’t even realized she had spoken out loud.

She turned her head slightly toward Caitlyn and gave her a sheepish grin. “Yes, ma’am.” She lifted her free hand in a mock salute, the movement lazy and exaggerated.

Caitlyn sighed, but Vi could hear the amusement in it.

Then, they slowed to a stop.

“We’re here,” Caitlyn announced softly, adjusting her grip on Vi’s arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “How do you want to handle this? Back entrance or front?”

Vi hesitated.

Front meant walking through the bar, which meant dealing with her entire family immediately.

Vander. Powder. Mylo. Claggor.

A whole room of people staring at her, waiting for an explanation.

‘No thanks.’

She took a deep, steadying breath and immediately winced.

Janna, she reeked.

Between the workout, the dirt from the alley floor, and the lingering sweat, she stank. How the hell had Caitlyn been holding her up this entire time without complaint? Vi scowled.

The answer was obvious.

The woman had the patience of a saint.

Or… she was just that polite.

Vi sighed dramatically. “Yeah, let’s take the back. It’s easier to get to my room that way.”

Caitlyn hummed, considering. “Your room?”

“Yeah,” Vi grumbled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Or haven’t you noticed I smell like a rotting mongoose?”

Caitlyn hummed again. “Right... Good choice,” Caitlyn agreed, her tone suspiciously neutral.

Vi narrowed her eyes, even if she couldn’t actually see Caitlyn’s face. “You hesitated.”

“I most certainly did not hesitate,” Caitlyn said smoothly, but there was a smile in her voice.

Vi knew she was holding back a laugh.

The idea of Caitlyn trying very hard not to agree outright only made Vi grin wider.

Then Caitlyn actually let out a soft chuckle, and Vi lost it, throwing her head back in laughter.

“Janna, you’re trying so hard to be polite about it,” Vi wheezed. “Just admit it, Sheriff. I reek.”

Caitlyn nodded and Vi felt her smirk.

“Well,” Caitlyn drawled, “I do enjoy your natural scent. But I also support any decision that involves a shower.”

Vi groaned, playfully shoving at Caitlyn’s shoulder before immediately regretting it when she stumbled slightly.

Caitlyn caught her effortlessly.

And fuck, that was annoying.

Vi sighed, resigned. “Yeah, alright. Shower first. Then I guess I’ll go get yelled at.”

Caitlyn smiled against her temple. “I think that’s a wonderful plan.”

Caitlyn pulled open the back door and guided Vi inside with careful, steady movements. The air inside The Last Drop was slightly warmer than the alley, carrying the familiar scent of aged wood, stale beer, and the faintest trace of something sweet, maybe the remnants of whatever Mylo had been drinking earlier.

The storage room was clean.

Vi didn’t need Caitlyn to say anything to realize that the shattered glass, the spilled liquor -her mess- had been taken care of. Probably Claggor. The big guy always had a way of handling things without making a fuss about it.

Still, the realization made her stomach twist.

She hated that she had left like that. Hated that they had to clean up after her. 

again.

On the other side of the door separating the storage room from the main bar, voices murmured over the low hum of music, the occasional clink of glasses and laughter slipping through the cracks.

The bar was open.

‘Thank Janna.’

Vi had half-expected Vander to close up shop, to drop everything just to deal with her. And maybe, selfishly, she had dreaded that possibility the most.

That meant he hadn’t dropped everything for her.

That meant things could still be normal.

Or as normal as they could be.

Caitlyn shifted beside her, adjusting her hold before slowly releasing Vi’s arm, allowing her to find her own balance. Then, gentle but firm, Caitlyn turned Vi toward her.

“Can you make it downstairs on that foot without assistance?”

Vi rolled her weight onto her right foot, testing the pressure. There was a dull ache where the bandages wrapped her heel, but it was manageable. Nothing she couldn’t push through.

“Yep,” she confirmed.

Caitlyn lingered for a moment, as if weighing whether or not to believe her. Then, seemingly satisfied, she hummed.

Vi smirked to herself.

“Alright,” Caitlyn said, her tone shifting slightly. “Last question before we go in there.”

Vi barely had time to react before Caitlyn reached up, cradling her cheek with warm, steady fingers. Vi exhaled softly and leaned into the touch instinctively, unable to help herself.

Janna, she was getting so weak for this woman.

“Would you like me to stay for your conversation with Vander?”

Vi almost nodded. Almost.

But she stopped herself just in time.

Caitlyn didn’t know about the vials.

There was no way Vander would have told her, especially not with her being Sheriff and all.

And Vi wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not with Caitlyn.

Not yet.

Because Caitlyn thought she was perfect.

What would she think if she knew? Would she still look at Vi the same way? Or would she finally see the mess that everyone else already saw?

Vi inhaled slightly, then forced herself to shake her head. “No, you’ve helped me enough. I’m sure you’re needed somewhere else, kissing babies or whatever.”

Caitlyn hesitated, but nodded, her fingers brushing lightly against Vi’s cheek before pulling away. “Alright,” she murmured, voice softer now. “I’ll tell Vander you need a shower before you’re ready to talk.”

Vi barely registered Caitlyn stepping back before her hand shot out, blindly catching hold of the front of Caitlyn’s uniform.

Warm fabric. The faint scent of gunpowder and slightly clean linen.

Caitlyn stilled.

Vi swallowed, suddenly feeling very ridiculous, but pushed through it anyway.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” she asked, quiet and hesitant, more vulnerable than she had meant to sound.

There was a beat of silence.

“Of course,” Caitlyn said, amusement lacing her voice. “But it’ll have to be after my shift.”

Vi exhaled, relief flooding her faster than it should have.

“I have been neglecting my duties as of late,” Caitlyn continued with a chuckle, “and I dare say I must make an appearance before I’m demoted back to foot patrol.”

Vi smirked. “Oh, that would be tragic.”

Caitlyn clicked her tongue. 

Nine.

Vi had to bite back a grin.

She let go of Caitlyn’s uniform, relaxing just slightly. “Tomorrow then.”

Caitlyn didn’t move away.

Instead, she leaned in, so close that Vi could feel her breath ghost over her lips.

“Tomorrow,” Caitlyn murmured.

And then she kissed her.

Soft. Gentle. Barely more than a lingering press of lips, but fuck, Vi felt it everywhere.

She swooned.

No way around it. No fighting it. No pretending otherwise.

Caitlyn pulled back too quickly, leaving Vi frozen in place, barely processing the loss before she heard the creak of the storage room door opening.

She was gone.

Chapter Text

Vi thought Caitlyn was gone, yet the lack of the door closing told her otherwise; Caitlyn was still there, holding it open.

Vi took a steadying breath, gripping the edge of her tank top as if that could somehow protect her. She reminded herself of the plan: Haul ass to her room, take a shower, and avoid being seen.

Not that avoiding people was really an option anymore.

The subtle shift behind the bar, the faint hiss of a tap shutting off, told her she already had an audience.

‘Shit.’

Still, she pushed forward, mumbling a quiet, “Thanks,” as she moved past Caitlyn. Her left hand trailed against the familiar walls, fingertips brushing over aged wood as she navigated her way down the back. 

She barely made it three steps before Vander’s voice cut through the low murmur of the bar.

“Vi.”

That was all. No anger. No disappointment. Just her name, spoken in that gruff, tired way of his.

She almost stopped.

Almost.

But Caitlyn’s voice came next, smooth and steady. “Vander, if I may have a word?”

Vi didn’t hesitate.

‘Bless you, Cait,’ she thought fleetingly, using the moment of distraction to pick up her pace.

Her grip on the stair’s railing was firm as she descended into the basement. One step at a time. Careful, hurried all at once. She didn’t need another reason for Vander to come checking in on her.

When she finally stepped into her room and shut the door behind her, Vi exhaled a breath of relief.

‘Made it.’

Caitlyn had bought her time. Enough time to prepare, to pull herself together before she had to face whatever awaited her upstairs.

Without wasting another second, Vi reached for the hem of her tank top and peeled it off in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere in the room. It hit the floor with a dull thump, but she didn’t care. Next were her briefs, just as easily discarded.

The real challenge was the bindings around her chest.

Her fingers skimmed over the tightly wrapped fabric, searching for the tucked-in edge. When she found it, she began to unravel it slowly. One spin. Two. The tension loosened with each pass until the cloth finally fell, coiling at her feet like a discarded second skin.

For a brief moment, she breathed.

Being naked was a strange thing for Vi.

She loved it. And she hated it.

She loved the sensation of openness, the way her skin reacted to the environment around her. The cool air against her arms, the slight dampness clinging to the underground stone; it made her aware of herself in a way few other things did.

But she hated what she could feel about herself.

Her left hand traced down her side, brushing over scar tissue she had long since memorized. The burned flesh was thick and uneven, desensitized in some areas, too tight in others.

She knew what it looked like.

She had spent years running her fingers over the ridges, the dips, the places where the fire had taken more than just skin.

Her scars weren’t pretty.

But they were hers. How Caitlyn thought she was perfect was beyond her. 

Vi clenched her jaw and shook the thoughts away before they could drag her under.

There were bigger things to deal with, like trying to survive the night. 

She turned toward the small shower nook in the center of her room, fully intending to step inside, but a tight pull at her foot made her freeze.

‘Shit.’

The bandage.

Vi sighed heavily and lowered herself onto the cool concrete floor.

Her fingers found the edges of the wrapping, and with the same careful patience as before, she began to unwind it.

Round by round, until she was finally free.

She pushed herself off the ground and made her way to the shower, each step slow. Her body ached from tension, her muscles tight from exhaustion; not just physical, but mental. She could still feel the ghost of Caitlyn’s touch on her skin, the warmth of her embrace lingering like an unspoken promise. It made her hesitate for a fraction of a second before she turned the knob, letting the water cascade down from the rusted pipes above.

She tested it with her fingers first, rolling her wrist beneath the stream. Not too hot, not too cold, just the right balance, the way she liked it. With a quiet exhale, she stepped inside, letting the warm water hit her shoulders and run down her back. She didn’t bother closing the curtain behind her; no one ever came down here uninvited. At least, they weren’t supposed to.

Vi let out a deep sigh, tilting her head back and closing her eyes as the steam curled around her. She stood there for a long moment, simply feeling; feeling the sweat, the grime, the weight of the day wash away. It was like peeling away the layers of everything that had clung to her since the moment she walked into the bar that afternoon.

Her fingers found the bar of soap easily, the familiarity of the shape pleasing her. She started at her hair, working the lather through the short strands before moving downward. Scrubbing at her shoulders, her arms, her torso, careful around her scars, though the dull sensation of them never truly left. The moment her fingertips brushed over the ridges of damaged skin, she swallowed hard, pushing past the feeling.

Her mind wandered as her hands continued their practiced movements. Vander. The vials. Shimmer. 

He knew.

Not everything, maybe. But enough to make her stomach twist.

She could lie. Say the vials weren’t hers. Say they were Powder’s; ‘no, that wouldn’t work.’ Vander would never believe that. Powder had no reason to leave her work here, in her space of all places.

The truth was an option, too. The truth was simple.

But Vi had been hiding from it for so long that it felt like a stranger.

She exhaled through her nose, pressing her forehead against the cool tile. The water trickled down the back of her neck, soothing the heat there. She reached up and dragged her hands over her face before moving lower, scrubbing the last of the soap from her skin.

Her fingers brushed against the shell of her ear, and she stilled.

The blood.

She’d almost forgotten about it. A habit at this point. Her headaches had been happening long enough that she didn’t even react anymore when the telltale trickle started from her ears. It wasn’t concerning. Not really.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

She wiped at the area, making sure the dried remnants were gone before rinsing off the last traces of soap. Finally, she was clean. Finally, she smelled like herself again; not sweat, not alley filth, not Caitlyn’s coat lingering on her skin longer than it should have.

Just as she reached for the knob to shut off the water, a loud, “Violet!” rang through the confined space.

Vi flinched so hard she nearly lost her footing, her hands slamming against the tile walls to steady herself. “The fuck, Powder!” she snapped, breath still caught in her throat. “You could’ve killed me!”

Powder huffed loudly from just beyond the entrance. The sheer force of her irritation was palpable even through the curtain of steam. “And whose fault would that be, huh?”

Vi scowled, regaining her balance as she twisted the knob, cutting off the water. She shook herself violently like a stray dog, sending droplets flying in every direction. A petty, spiteful little part of her hoped Powder got hit with them.

“Uhh, yours, obviously,” Vi muttered as she shoved past her sister, barely grazing her shoulder on the way out.

Powder was undeterred. She followed immediately, voice layered with frustration. “Oh please, don’t act like you didn’t know I’d come straight here when you got back.”

Vi ignored her, dragging her hands through her damp hair as she made her way toward the crate near the closet. She crouched, feeling around for a shirt, any damn shirt, while Powder kept going.

“What the hells were you thinking running off like that? Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you if the Sheriff didn’t find you?”

Vi found the fabric she was looking for and gripped it tightly, trying to tamp down the rising irritation.

“The silent treatment… Real mature, Vi,” Powder said, her voice climbing. “Do you even understand what you put us through? What you put me through?”

Vi stayed silent, her jaw locking as she clenched the fabric in her fists.

Powder’s voice cracked. “That move was incredibly selfish of you.”

‘Selfish.’

Vi’s entire body went still.

Her fingers twitched where they gripped the shirt, the tension so strong it sent a tremor through her hands.

Selfish.

Vi had spent her whole damn life putting Powder first. Being there for her. Taking the blame. Being her practice dummy for whatever project she was working on. Taking every single goddamn thing the world threw at them so Powder didn’t have to.

And now, after everything, after years of surviving, of scraping by, of clawing her way back to find even an ounce of herself, she was selfish?

Something inside her snapped.

Vi barely registered the movement before she hurled the shirt in Powder’s general direction, her voice rising with unfiltered frustration. “I’m selfish?! That is complete and utter bullshit!” She wasn’t just mad, she was livid. A fire burned in her chest, searing through her veins, threatening to consume every rational thought she had left. She didn’t care if the people upstairs could hear her.

‘Let them.’

“Are you seriously telling me that you’ve never needed space? That you’ve never wanted to escape for a while?” Vi jabbed a finger in Powder’s direction, her breath ragged, her body thrumming with barely-contained rage. “Are you saying you’ve never needed to just…” She clenched her fists, trying to put the feeling into words. “Breathe?”

“It’s not-” Powder started, but Vi cut her off before she could finish.

“Don’t you fucking dare say it’s not the same.” Vi’s voice dropped into a dangerous growl, her hands trembling with fury. “Because I swear to every goddamn thing out there, Powder, I will beat the shit out of you.”

Powder’s breath hitched, barely audible, but Vi caught it. She ignored it. She was past the point of holding back, past the point of worrying about how her words would land.

Still breathing hard, Vi turned back toward the crate, digging through it until her fingers found a pair of sweatpants. The fabric bunched in her grip, grounding her even as the anger continued to roll through her.

“Everyone else gets to let off steam,” she muttered, her voice lower now, the sharp edge still there but laced with pain. “Everyone else gets to go wherever they want, whenever they want. So why not me?”

There was a pause. A hesitation from Powder before she finally responded.

“Because… you aren’t like everyone else.”

Vi froze.

Slowly, she turned her head toward her sister, narrowing her eyes. “You don’t think I fucking know that?” Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through it, reaching up and pointing toward her own face. “You don’t think I feel that? Every. Single. Day?”

Powder didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to.

Vi inhaled sharply, shaking her head as she fought against the burn in her throat. “It’s because of Vander. Because of the others.” Her voice wavered for the first time. “Because of you.”

Powder sucked in a breath, and Vi could practically feel her flinch at the words.

“That I feel like a fucking lame dog that has to be watched  and leashed at all times.” Vi’s voice wasn’t loud anymore. It wasn’t even angry. It was just… tired.

She shook her head again, feeling her emotions clawing at her chest, trying to escape. She blinked rapidly, willing the sting in her eyes to fade. Her fingers clenched tighter around the fabric of her sweatpants before she finally sat on the cold concrete and yanked them on.

Beside her, Powder took a hesitant step forward.

“I didn’t know that’s how you felt,” she murmured.

Vi let out a short, bitter laugh, standing up as she adjusted her waistband. “Of course, you didn’t,” she muttered. “I never told you, but I shouldn’t have had to.”

Powder’s silence was louder than any response she could have given.

Vi sighed, rubbing the back of her damp hair before speaking again. “You’re the genius, Powder. You should’ve seen what you were doing to me.”

The words landed hard, and Vi knew it.

She took another breath, gathering herself before pressing on. “I’m terrified to go outside.” The issue was it wasn’t a confession of a hidden secret, everyone close to her knew. “And the funniest part?” She let out another humorless laugh. “You guys made me that way.”

She heard Powder’s boots scuff against the floor, heard the way she shifted.

But Vi wasn’t done.

“The real kicker?” she continued, her voice quieter now but no less pointed. “It took an Enforcer, a fucking Enforcer, for me to realize what you all did to me.” She let the words settle, let them sink into Powder’s skin like ice. “Today was the first time since my accident that I truly felt safe outside.” A pause. A deep breath. And then, the final blow.

“No thanks to any of you.”

Silence.

Heavy. Breathtaking. Hurtful. 

Vi didn’t move. She let her words hang in the air, unchallenged, undeniable.

Then, she heard it.

A sniffle.

Vi clenched her jaw, her fingers twitching at her sides.

Powder was crying.

A knot formed in Vi’s stomach. She hated hearing Powder cry. Hated being the reason for it even more.

Those tears were Vi’s biggest weakness and it was unfair. Because nothing she said was wrong. It was her family’s fault she feared so damn much. Or they re-enforced them at least. 

She exhaled, shaking her head before reaching a hand out. “Pow… can you hand me the shirt I threw at you?”

A beat of hesitation.

Then, soft footsteps.

Vi felt the fabric press into her hands, and she frowned slightly. ‘Did she actually hit her? Not bad for someone who couldn’t see.’

“Don’t move, okay?” she murmured.

Powder sniffled again but choked out, “Okay.”

Vi nodded, tugging the shirt over her head and adjusting it.

Then, without another word, she reached forward, finding Powder’s shoulders with both hands.

She pulled her sister into a tight hug, and the moment she did, Powder latched onto her like she was afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Powder whispered, over and over again, her voice muffled against Vi’s shoulder.

Vi closed her eyes, resting a hand on the back of her sister’s head, holding her close.

“I know,” she murmured.

Vi blindly reached out to her left, her fingertips grazing the smooth wooden surface of the closet doors. They were opened. 

‘Thank Janna.’

Powder clung to her, her small body trembling slightly as she sobbed into Vi’s shoulder. Vi held her tighter, rocking her gently, shifting her movements just enough to subtly reposition them. Powder didn’t even notice as Vi slowly maneuvered her until her back was directly facing the closet.

“Let it out, Pow-Pow,” Vi whispered against her sister’s ear, her voice soft, comforting.

As she soothed her, Vi’s hands moved deliberately, tracing up Powder’s back before sliding forward over her shoulders, palms pressing lightly against her chest. The embrace was warm, reassuring.

And it was a distraction.

“I love you,” Vi whispered, her breath tickling Powder’s ear. “And I’m sorry.”

Before Powder could react, Vi gave her a gentle but firm push, shoving her backward into the open closet. The movement was so smooth, so unexpected, that Powder barely had time to gasp before she was inside.

Vi slammed the doors shut, gripping both handles and pulling them tight together. Thinking fast, she dropped down, leaning her back against the doors. She felt around with her bare foot for her discarded chest wrap. Powder immediately reacted, pounding against the wood.

“What?! Hey, let me out!” Powder yelled, shoving against the barrier. But with Vi’s weight bracing the doors shut, they didn’t budge.

Vi finally hooked her toe around the wrap and dragged it toward her hand, snatching it up. “Nope, you’re staying right there,” she said matter-of-factly, already looping the cloth around the handles above her head. 

“Vi! Seriously?” Powder shouted, shaking the doors, her fists thumping against the panels.

Vi tightened the knot, pulling the wrap as taut as possible. Powder continued to struggle, but the more she fought, the more secure the makeshift binding became. Satisfied, Vi pressed her hands lightly against the closet, feeling the vibrations of her sister’s efforts.

‘Yep. That’ll hold.’

Now that Powder was secured, Vi took a deep breath, stood up, and turned toward her bed, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Violet! Let me out!” Powder begged, her voice a mix of irritation and disbelief.

Vi ignored her, still grinning. This was perfect. She had promised herself she’d lock Powder in a closet for all the teasing about Caitlyn, and well… Powder had walked right into it.

Vi sat down on the edge of her bed, reaching for her boots. She pulled the first one on and started lacing it. “Pow, there’s something I need to talk to  about with you, and I really need you to listen and understand, okay?”

A pause.

Then, a quiet, hesitant, “Vi…”

“Just shut up and listen,” Vi interrupted, tugging the laces tight before starting on the next boot.

She didn’t hear any movement from the closet now.

 ‘Good.’

Vi took a steadying breath, her smile gone. “I’ve never blamed you for what happened to me that morning.” She knew she didn’t need to elaborate; Powder’s hitched breath told her she knew exactly what morning Vi was referring to.

“You need to stop blaming yourself for something you didn’t do.” Vi’s voice was firm, unwavering. “I was the one who got us into that apartment. I was the one who stood there and took the blast.” She pulled at her laces harder than necessary, as if the pressure in her hands could ground her, keep her from getting lost in the memory. “And guess what?”

She didn’t expect Powder to answer.

“I don’t regret it. Not for a single damn second,” Vi said with conviction. “Because if I hadn’t done what I did, if I hadn’t taken the hit, Mylo, Claggor.” She swallowed, pausing as she clenched her jaw. “You… could have been hurt. And that?” She exhaled sharply. “That’s something I could never live with.”

Silence.

Vi stood, her boots now firmly laced, and moved back toward the closet.

“I know we’ve had this conversation a thousand times,” she continued, voice softer now. “And every time, you brush it off. You keep carrying a guilt that was never yours to begin with.”

She lifted a hand and pressed it lightly against the door.

“Everything that happened that day? It was on me, Powder. Not you.” Vi leaned forward, resting her forehead against the wood, listening. “Please, Pow-Pow promise me you’ll let it go. If I can start to… then someone as smart as you can too.”

A shaky breath. A long pause.

Then, barely above a whisper, “I promise.”

Vi sighed, stepping back and nodding to herself. “Good,” she said softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Powder sniffled, voice thick with multiple emotions.

Vi could picture her on the other side, hands curled into fists, head resting against the door just as Vi’s had been. She could almost see her blue hair sticking to her damp cheeks, those wide, expressive eyes filled with tears.

Then, after a moment, Powder cleared her throat. “So… are you gonna let me out now?”

Vi laughed, shaking her head. “Nope.”

“What?! Vi, come on…”

“Oh, I know you promised,” Vi smirked, turning toward the her bedroom door. “But I didn’t just put you in there for that conversation. This is also my revenge for your damn teasing about Cait.”

A beat of silence. Then-

“Oooooh, Cait now?”

Vi snorted. “Yep. That just earned you more time.”

“Vi, you can’t be serious!”

Vi reached for her doorknob, pulling it open. “Be back in a few.”

“VI!”

She shut the door behind her, grinning as she headed upstairs.

The more steps Vi took, the more her smile began to fade. She had handled Powder. Though handled might be a stretch, but the real challenge was ahead.

Vander.

Vi clenched her jaw, inhaling through her nose. She hoped, at the very least, that he wouldn’t outright kill her. That would be a tragic way to go. Powder would die alone in a locked closet, and the guilt might be enough to send everyone off the deep end.

Morbid humor aside, Vi wasn’t ready for this. Not really. But the longer she hesitated, the worse it would get.

She stepped past the threshold and paused, listening.

The bar wasn’t cleared out. That was something. If Vander planned on scolding her, it wouldn’t be in front of everyone, he would’ve shut down business first. It was a small relief, but a relief nonetheless.

Her stomach twisted, though, because that meant only one thing.

He was going to wait until they were alone.

If he tried to take her to the damn bridge again, she might just throw herself over it before he could get a word out.

“Over here,” Vander’s voice came from behind the bar, calm but measured.

‘Good sign.’

Or he was just really good at faking it.

Vi turned her head toward him but made no move to approach. Her feet were practically glued to the floor.

A sigh. Then, “Powder, man the bar for a few?” He paused, clearly scanning the room for her.

Vi kept her expression unreadable. He didn’t need to know where Powder was at the moment.

“…Okay then. Claggor, take over.”

She heard Claggor push himself up from a table, his chair scraping against the floor as he took his place behind the counter.

Then Vander’s steps retreated toward the stairs. “This way, Vi. We’re going upstairs.”

No room for discussion. He didn’t wait for a response, his heavy footfalls already ascending.

Vi’s fingers flexed at her sides. She would much rather take her chances at the bridge again now. 

But she didn’t have a choice. It was time. 

Swallowing thickly, she finally moved, her fingers ghosting along the familiar walls as she navigated past the storage room.

Then she found the base of the stairs.

Vi lingered at the bottom, one hand gripping the worn railing. She listened carefully, waiting for a sign, a shift in tone, something to gauge Vander’s mood.

Nothing.

He had already gone inside.

Vi inhaled deeply, exhaling through her nose, steadying herself.

Then, one step at a time, she climbed.

Once Vi reached the threshold of Vander’s room, she hesitated again. It had been years since she’d stepped foot inside. The memories were there, she knew the general layout. But had anything changed? Would she still be able to navigate the space, or had time reshaped it into something unfamiliar?

She wet her lips, pushing down the lump forming in her throat. “Did you…” She swallowed, voice quieter now. “Did you change your room?”

Vander didn’t ask for an explanation. He knew why she was asking.

“No,” he answered simply. “Sit on the bed. It’s still in the middle.”

Vi nodded and stepped forward, feeling out her way until her knees bumped against the edge of the mattress. She lowered herself down slowly, sinking into the plush comforter. The fabric was softer than she remembered, smoother beneath her fingertips. Almost instinctively, her hands ghosted over it, tracing the stitching, feeling the weight of the blankets.

It was nice.

Her knee started bouncing, an old nervous habit she hadn’t even realized had returned until she felt Vander move. The scrape of wood against the floor signaled him pulling his desk chair closer. Then, without a word, he sat down in front of her.

The silence between them was suffocating.

Vi hated this.

The thick, unspoken tension, the weight of his unasked questions hanging in the air, it made her want to bolt. But she wouldn’t be the first to speak. Not this time. She needed to know what he knew before she figured out whether to lie, make excuses, or tell the truth.

Then Vander’s hand came down, firm but not forceful, pressing gently against her bouncing knee.

Vi flinched, but he didn’t move away.

“How’s your foot?” he asked, voice low.

Vi blinked, caught off guard. Her foot? ‘Oh. Caitlyn must’ve told him something about how she found me.’

“Fine,” she muttered. “Just a scratch.”

Vander exhaled, a slow and measured sound. “Alright. It seems to me that you’re unwilling to talk first, so I’ll go.”

Vi huffed, shifting on the bed. “Yep.”

She knew she was being childish. She could feel it. The anger from earlier was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but without Powder crying in front of her, without that raw vulnerability to defuse her temper, it had nowhere to go.

Vander let her response hang for a moment before speaking again. “Why do you need the coins?” His voice was steady, probing but not accusing yet. “You don’t pay for food or board, so that can’t be it.”

Vi swallowed, already feeling the walls closing in.

Vander continued, his deep voice rolling with the weight of his own thoughts. “Your clothes, those are either bought by me or Powder. So I’ll ask again, why do you need the coins?”

Vi clenched her jaw.

‘That’s what this is about?’

She had expected him to start with the vials, to interrogate her about those. Instead, he was focused on something so… simple.

Fine. She’d give him the truth on this one.

“I want to move out.”

She didn’t soften the words. Didn’t give him any cushion to absorb the impact. Just let them settle, sharp and solid, into the space between them.

Vander’s hand lifted from her knee.

Not because he was angry.

Not because he was upset.

But because he was shocked.

Vi almost smirked. ‘Didn’t expect that one, did ya, old man?’

“You…” Vander cleared his throat, voice suddenly heavier. “You want to move out of here?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

That single word carried so much weight. So much uncertainty.

Vi exhaled slowly. “Because I need to.”

Vander was struggling to process her words. She could hear it in his breathing, in the small shift of his chair as he leaned forward slightly.

Vi felt her fingers tighten into the comforter.

This was always the problem, wasn’t it? She was the oldest of all the kids Vander had raised, and yet she was still here. Still stuck. She had been grateful for everything he’d done for her, for the life he’d given her after their parents died, but at some point, this place had stopped being a home and started feeling more like a cage.

She didn’t mind working at the bar. Didn’t even mind the routine of it. But living here? Always being under the same roof? It had begun to feel uncomfortable.

Why was it so hard for them to see that?

Why couldn’t they understand that she needed to be independent?

She had spent years saving up, planning for this. Even if it was just an apartment across Main Street, at least it would be hers. At least then, she’d have a real reason to step outside, to force herself past the fear, to stop being trapped inside the safety of these walls.

Vander still wasn’t saying anything.

Vi turned her head slightly in his direction, knowing full well that he was staring at her. That he was probably searching for some kind of deeper meaning in her words, trying to figure out if this was just frustration talking or if she truly meant it.

She did.

she really meant it.

Vander was going to have to accept that.

“Violet, you don’t know what it’s like to live on your own. It’s nothing like living here.”

Vander’s voice was firm, but not unkind. It held years of experience, of knowing what lay beyond the safety of these walls.

Vi didn’t yell. She was too exhausted for that. But the frustration in her voice was unmistakable. “You let the others leave to live their own lives. Why not me?”

Vander exhaled. “Why not you?” He shakes his head in disbelief and disappointment. She couldn’t see the devastation on his face, “Okay, you want to be treated like the others?”

There was a shuffling sound, followed by a heavy thud as something was placed into her lap. Vi immediately knew what it was before she even felt the weight of it. The unmistakable sound of glass clinking together made her stomach sink.

‘Fuck. Here we go.’

Her fingers brushed over the surface of the box, confirming her suspicion.

He knows.

“What are those?” Vander’s voice was barely held together. “And Vi, don’t you dare lie to me.” He wasn’t yelling, but his tone was razor-sharp, cutting straight through the air between them.

Vi swallowed, her throat dry. She had expected this, had known this moment would come the second she realized he had been in her room. But no amount of expectation made her ready for it.

So she did the next best thing to actually answering his question.

“You went into my room after I left.” It wasn’t an accusation, it was a fact. She heard him last night, the distinct creak of the closet door closing, but she had ignored it. When she shoved Powder in earlier, the door had been opened. He had searched her room. Vi may be blind, but she wasn’t stupid.

“You had no right.”

Vander didn’t miss a beat. “I had every right.” His voice was steady, unyielding. “The moment I found those, you lost my trust.”

Vi recoiled, as if he had struck her. ‘Lost his trust?’

That cut deeper than she had expected.

‘Fine.’ If he wanted to go that way, she’d make sure she wasn’t the only one bleeding.

“Lost your trust?” Vi shot up from the bed, the sudden movement knocking the box off her lap. The vials hit the floor with a chorus of shattering glass, their delicate bodies colliding violently with the wood beneath them.

“You never trusted me to begin with!”

“Sit down, Violet,” Vander ordered, his voice rising for the first time.

“No.” Vi’s chest was heaving, rage coursing through her veins like fire. “You wanna know what those are?” She jabbed a finger toward the broken vials on the floor. “They are the only reason I am not dead.”

The scrape of Vander’s chair echoed through the room as he stood abruptly.

“You wanna know what’s inside them? Fine.” Vi’s voice trembled with anger, her breaths ragged. “It’s shimmer.”

A heavy silence settled between them.

Vander inhaled slowly. “Shimmer?” His voice held something she couldn’t quite place. “Vi, shimmer is a pill for pain. Those have liquid residue.”

Vi blinked.

‘Pill?’

The word barely registered. She had never seen shimmer in pill form. The vials Silco had given her had always been liquid. Was she supposed to be drinking it? Injecting it? She had never questioned it before.

“That’s not the fucking point, Vander!” She was spiraling now, past the point of reason. “You looked everywhere to find something to help me with my issue, yet you found NOTHING. NOTHING, DAMN IT!” 

Vi knew he may not have found anything to help but he did try. Every day the first two years. So she knew she was being unfair. 

“Watch your tone.” Vander’s voice darkened. A warning.

Vi felt the pressure of his authority settle over her, but today? Today, she didn’t care.

“Fuck you and your tone.”

Silence.

A silence so thick it felt like the entire bar below them had gone quiet.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. Vi knew she had crossed a line, but she refused to back down. Not this time. She had spent too long feeling powerless, feeling controlled, and she was sick of it.

Vander was the first to break the silence.

“Okay, Vi.” His voice was eerily calm. Too calm. “You want to be like the others. You want to continue taking some unknown substance into your body. I will not watch you die because of this shit. If you won’t quit it and you want to leave…” He took a deep breath. “You have one week to be out of here.”

Vi’s stomach dropped.

‘What?’

A week? A week?! She had spent years saving, but she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t prepared. She hadn’t even found a place yet. She couldn’t do that on her own. But she would be damned if she asked him for help now.

She turned, her steps hurried, desperate to get away before the lump in her throat turned into something worse.

Her foot hit something small, and suddenly, she was stumbling.

A vial.

She hadn’t realized they had rolled across the floor too. 

Before she could catch herself, Vander’s hand shot out, gripping her elbow to steady her.

Vi yanked her arm away as if his touch burned her. “Don’t touch me!”

She took a step back, righting herself carefully. Her pulse was thundering in her ears.

And then, before she could stop herself, the final blow left her lips.

“And so you fucking know, your ‘brother,’ Silco, gave me those.”

Vander sucked in a breath, but Vi didn’t wait for his reaction. She didn’t want to hear whatever he had to say.

She turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Vander didn’t follow.

And Vi had never felt more alone.

First, her confrontation with Powder. Then Vander.

Vi was nothing if not emotionally exhausted.

She barely registered her own movements as she descended the stairs back into the bar. Her body felt heavy, like every step was pulling her further into some unseen abyss.

Her head throbbed violently again, a sharp, piercing ache that pulsed behind her eyes. She winced, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth.

‘Ignore it.’

She had more important things to worry about. More pain than just the physical.

“You okay?”

A gentle voice, deep and steady. Claggor. Bless him. Her brother was purer than she deserved, almost as pure as Caitlyn. Maybe even more.

Vi sighed, letting the question sit between them for a moment. “No.”

She wasn’t okay. Not even remotely.

Her world had just crumbled at her feet, and she had no idea how to even begin to rebuild it.

Vi didn’t linger. She guided herself back toward her room, taking the steps slowly, as if her body understood before her mind did; that this space, this place she had called home, was slipping through her fingers.

She paused when she reached the door, pressing her forehead against the cool wood.

The ache in her skull was getting worse. It’s only a matter of time before it becomes unbearable.

A week. That’s all she had left.

With a deep breath, she pushed open the door. The hinges groaned in protest, as if they, too, didn’t want her to leave.

She left it open. Powder would come out as soon as she let her out of the closet.

Moving toward the wooden doors, Vi listened carefully. The only sound from within was the soft, rhythmic breaths of her sister. No snarky comments. No half-hearted insults. Just breathing.

It was unsettling.

Vi reached out, fingers brushing over the fabric she had used to tie the handles together. Her hands trembled as she tried to find the knot, struggling with the ends as her emotions bled into her movements.

‘Fuck it.’

Frustration boiled over. Vi gritted her teeth and grabbed the cloth binding the handles, wrapping her fingers tightly around it.

And then she pulled.

First, tension. Then, a loud snap.

Followed by the unmistakable sound of wood splitting.

The doors broke apart. The force sent Vi stumbling backward, landing hard on her ass.

She barely noticed the pain.

Sitting there, panting, she waited. For Powder to step out. For her to yell at her. For something.

But nothing came.

Just silence.

Vi leaned back on her hands, palms pressing into the cool concrete floor, grounding herself. It was a small comfort.

One week.

That’s all she had.

Yes, she had wanted to leave. But not like this.

She had wanted support. She had wanted Vander to understand. To be there. To help her take that step forward.

But now?

That’s seemed impossible. 

Vi heard the faint rustle of fabric, the soft creak of leather as Powder shifted inside the closet. Then, the light thud of boots stepping forward, stopping just inches in front of her.

Vi angled her head up toward her sister, her unseeing eyes searching the space where she knew Powder stood. But she didn’t know what to do next.

What more could she say?

She had already blamed Powder for her fears, but now that the weight of everything was settling in, it didn’t seem right.

Powder had been a kid.

She had learned how to “take care” of Vi from Vander.

She had only done what she thought was the right thing based off of him. 

Vi’s chest tightened, a lump forming in her throat that she couldn’t swallow down. Her fingers curled into the concrete beneath her, grasping at nothing. ‘Fuck, what have I done?’

A shuddering breath rattled out of her.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice cracking, shaking. “I shouldn’t have blamed you. You were just… just doing what you thought was right.”

Powder didn’t respond immediately. But Vi could hear it, her shifting, her fidgeting, her weight rocking slightly between her feet.

Vi squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would stop the tears from coming. “I fucked up, Pow-Pow,” she sobbed, the words barely forming past the weight in her chest. “I don’t… I don’t know how to fix this.”

A pause. Then, Powder’s voice soft, questioning. “Fix what?”

She was closer now. Kneeling in front of Vi.

Vi felt her breath stutter as she leaned toward the sound of her sister’s voice, reaching blindly in the space between them. “Everything,” she whispered, voice raw with grief. “I got what I wanted. But I can’t help feeling like I lost my family for it.”

Her body shook with the weight of that confession. Saying it out loud made it feel tangible. 

She had wanted independence. Freedom.

But now, standing on the precipice of it, alone, she wasn’t sure if she had made a mistake.

Then warmth.

Arms, slender but strong, wrapping around her. Holding her tightly.

Vi exhaled a sob against Powder’s shoulder, clutching her in return, as if letting go would mean losing the last piece of her family she still had.

A hand wove into her damp hair, fingers tangling at the nape of her neck.

“You’ll never lose me,” Powder whispered, voice trembling with conviction.

She squeezed Vi just a little tighter, pressing her cheek against her sister’s temple. “I promise.”

This promise Vi actually believed. 

Chapter Text

Caitlyn awoke naturally, the soft morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains of her bedroom, casting lavender streaks across the walls. She shifted slightly, stretching out the lingering sleep from her limbs, and as consciousness fully returned, she became aware of the gentle smile that had already found its way onto her lips.

Her fingers brushed against them instinctively, tracing the memory of a kiss that still lingered there. It was almost surreal, ‘ Vi kissed me. ’ The thought sent warmth spiraling through her chest, a quiet thrill buzzing beneath her skin.

Caitlyn let out a slow breath and leaned back against the headboard, fingertips still lingering at her lips. How had this happened? When had this happened? She had never intended for things to unfold this way. At first, she just wanted to get to know Vi; to apologize for their first rather disastrous encounter at the Academy, to extend a courtesy that had felt long overdue.

But that intention had shifted the moment she truly saw Vi.

Not her scars, not her blindness, but the woman beneath it all. The one who spoke with a sarcastic tongue yet held infinite softness in her heart. The one who walked with a fighter’s confidence but hesitated in ways Caitlyn doubted anyone else noticed.

And the one who, despite everything, was hurting .

Caitlyn had spent years honing her ability to read people. As a sniper, as an investigator, and now as Sheriff, She was someone who lived in a world of careful observation. And Vi was constantly at war with herself. Every movement, every reaction, every carefully measured step was born of necessity, yes, but there was also hesitation, a hesitation that had nothing to do with her blindness and everything to do with her surroundings.

A hesitation that screamed of fear , fear of the unknown and changed.

Caitlyn sighed, raking a hand through her tousled hair as she let the thought settle. Vi’s family should be the ones who knew her best. They should have noticed. But from what Caitlyn had gathered, from every interaction, every word left unspoken; it was clear that they didn’t.

Other than their brief encounter at the Academy, their “first” date, and yesterday’s search through Zaun; Caitlyn had never once seen Vi alone. And when Vi had confessed her fear of the outside world, Caitlyn had felt the weight behind those words.

In their desperate attempt to protect her, Vander and the others had unwittingly caused more damage.

It was the most unsettling thing about Vi’s situation; the realization that the people who loved her most might also be the ones holding her back.

Caitlyn exhaled, shaking her head. She didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t even know if she could .

But what she did know was that she would do everything in her power to make Vi feel safe. To make her feel capable and comfortable.

Because if there was one thing Caitlyn was sure of, it was this:

Vi deserved more than the life she had been forced to accept.

Caitlyn was going to make sure she knew it.

But first, she had work to do.

Caitlyn sighed, swinging her legs over the side of her large bed, the cool wooden floor meeting her bare feet. She stood and stretched, arms reaching high over her head until she felt a satisfying pop in her lower back. She rolled her shoulders next, shaking out the last remnants of sleep.

When Grayson had chosen Caitlyn as her successor for Sheriff, it hadn’t come as a shock, not to Caitlyn, at least. She had been training for it, whether she realized it or not, for years. True, there had been more seasoned officers, like Marcus, who had been vying for the position, but Grayson had groomed Caitlyn well. She had seen something in her that others hadn’t.

Not that it had been easy.

Caitlyn walked toward her attached bathroom, her movements fluid and familiar. As she splashed cold water on her face, she let the memories of those first difficult months roll through her mind.

It had taken time, too much time , for the Enforcers to fully accept her as their Sheriff. For months, she had endured the whispers, the barely concealed mutterings of officers who believed she had been handed the position because of her family name.

They thought she was untested. A noble girl playing at authority.

What they hadn’t known was that her family, her mother, especially , had fought her appointment harder than anyone else. Cassandra had done everything in her power to block her ascension, even going so far as to try and rally the council to intervene.

But Cassandra Kiramman was no match for Grayson.

And, surprisingly, Mel Medarda.

Together, they had dismantled her mother’s objections, ensuring that Caitlyn earned her place rather than having it stripped away before she could even prove herself.

Caitlyn grabbed her toothbrush, methodically scrubbing the sleep from her mouth, her mind already shifting to the day ahead.

She wasn’t heading into battle, at least, not the physical kind. Today was about handing over the information she had gathered from Vander regarding Finn’s increasingly shady dealings.

That meant reporting to the lead investigator on the case.

Marcus.

Caitlyn exhaled slowly at the thought. She still didn’t trust him, not fully. He had never outright opposed her appointment the way some others had, but there had always been something off about him. He had too many connections in the underbelly of the city, too many whispers that tied him to figures like the man he was supposed to be investigating.

For that reason alone, Caitlyn took a keen interest in the case that Marcus was supposed to be building. Yet after a year he had no solid leads and the ones he did have were dead ends. That didn’t sit well with her.

It had took her only several trips to Vander’s to get the information she needed. It was too much for Caitlyn to leave it as a coincidence. She just had to do this right and keep her head down.

Still, she had no solid proof of his involvement in anything corrupt.

Yet.

She left the bathroom, stepping toward her wardrobe. Her hands brushed over her neatly hung uniforms before selecting a crisp, dark-blue ensemble; practical, formal enough to be taken seriously but unburdened by the weight of unnecessary plating. Today wasn’t about intimidation. It was about facts.

She buttoned her jacket swiftly, adjusting the fit before strapping her rifle harness over her shoulders. A comforting weight. A reminder of why she was here.

Respect had come slowly in her new position, but after an incident at the airship docks last month, things had changed.

That day, she had earned her peer’s trust.

A deal gone wrong, a shipment that should have been routine had turned into an ambush. Enforcers had been pinned down, caught in the crossfire of a gang war none of them had been prepared for. And Caitlyn, from a rooftop nearly half a mile away , had picked off every last threat before they could land another fatal shot.

When the dust had settled, she had seen it in the Enforcer’s eyes.

Respect.

Not because of her name.

Not because of Grayson.

But because she had saved their lives.

Caitlyn adjusted her belt, securing her sidearm in place, and rolled her shoulders one last time.

Caitlyn returned to her bathroom, eyeing her reflection with mild scrutiny. Her hair was a tousled mess from sleep, stray strands sticking out in unruly waves. She debated for a moment, should she leave it down or pull it into a ponytail?

After a few moments of indecision, she opted to leave it down. A ponytail was more practical for fieldwork, but today wasn’t a physically demanding day. Letting it fall naturally gave her a softer appearance; one that made people underestimate her, and she had long since learned how to use that to her advantage.

Grabbing her brush, she began untangling the knots, wincing slightly when she hit a particularly stubborn one. Each stroke smoothed her thoughts as well as her hair, her mind slowly shifting from her morning routine to the tasks ahead.

She had one official duty today, the investigation with Marcus. That would take a few hours at most. But her mind kept circling back to something far more pressing.

The vial.

The one Vander had handed her yesterday, still sealed inside a clear evidence bag in her nightstand. Empty, but not entirely ; the faint residue lining the inside was enough to analyze.

Caitlyn turned away from the mirror, stepping back into her room. She crossed the space quickly, opening the drawer of her nightstand and pulling out the evidence bag. Holding it up to the morning light, she examined it closely. The liquid remnants inside had dried to a faint, iridescent sheen.

She wasn’t fond of the idea that Vi had been using whatever was in this vial.

Vi was reckless, sure, but self-destructive? That was a far more dangerous possibility.

Caitlyn didn’t like not knowing things; especially when they concerned someone she cared about.

Decision made, she slipped the vial into her jacket pocket.

There was a professor at the Academy, an expert in chemical analysis, who could determine its contents. With the right tools, even the smallest trace of residue could be broken down, revealing its chemical makeup. Caitlyn had no doubt that, by the end of the day, she would know exactly what Vi had been using.

She straightened, glancing once more around her room.

One last thing before heading out.

Tea with her parents.

A daily ritual, one that had been in place since she was a child. Though she had long since taken over as Sheriff, she never moved out of the family estate. It wasn’t due to attachment, far from it, but rather practicality.

Piltover had changed since the explosion years ago.

Zaunites could finally afford to live in the city above, taking up housing that once would have been barred to them. It was one of the few positive outcomes of that tragic event; one that had forced both cities to acknowledge their codependence. They still operated separately, but for the first time, they lived together.

Peace. Prosperity.

A future where Zaunites weren’t just allowed in Piltover but were an integral part of it.

It had been a long time coming.

And Caitlyn was grateful to witness the shift.

Caitlyn sighed quietly as she left her room, her boots clicking softly against the polished marble floor of the Kiramman estate. She didn’t dread mornings like these, not exactly. Spending time with her parents, especially her father, was usually pleasant enough. But it was the undercurrent of tension she braced for.

Her mother’s concern always came wrapped in barbed ribbon: polite, cutting remarks dressed in etiquette and masked as maternal worry. And Caitlyn was growing tired of peeling back that particular layer of civility every time they spoke.

She adjusted the lapels of her informal sheriff’s uniform and descended the wide staircase. The scent of herbal tea and soft baked breads drifted from the sitting room, accompanied by the rustling of paper and the clinking of fine porcelain.

As expected, they were already waiting.

Tobias Kiramman sat on the sofa, his legs crossed, this morning’s edition of the Piltover Herald in hand. His gold-rimmed spectacles rested low on his nose as he scanned the headlines, a small smile curving his lips.

Cassandra, ever composed, sat upright in her favorite high-backed chair, a council agenda spread open across her lap. Even at this hour, she was already dressed impeccably in soft lilacs and gray, her posture regal, her gaze focused.

Caitlyn crossed the room with practiced grace, her movements fluid despite the slight edge of tension in her shoulders. She took her usual seat next to her father on the couch, offering a polite but warm, “Good morning.”

She reached forward for the delicate porcelain teacup set out for her and took a slow sip. It was jasmine, her favorite.

“Anything interesting in today’s papers, Father?” she asked with casual curiosity.

Tobias chuckled, folding the paper in half and settling it on his lap. “If you count the continued delays in the redesigned air filtration systems for Zaun interesting, then yes. Apparently, the supply of capacitors is bottlenecked again.” He leaned in, pecking her cheek with a soft kiss. “Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you.” Caitlyn gave a small smile and took another sip from her tea. She resisted the urge to glance back at her mother; though she could already sense Cassandra’s sharp eyes lifting from her papers.

Still, Caitlyn continued. “Father, I do have a question for you.”

Tobias perked up immediately, his brow lifting in interest. “Of course, go ahead.”

Cassandra moved with subtle precision, folding her agenda and setting it neatly on the side table. She picked up her tea with the same measured grace, her expression neutral but alert.

Now both parents were watching her.

Caitlyn didn’t falter. She had grown used to their scrutiny, her mother’s in particular. Still, she took a breath before speaking, bracing herself not just for Tobias’s answer, but for whatever Cassandra might read between the lines.

Caitlyn kept her posture composed, her fingers lightly wrapped around the warm ceramic of her teacup. The words that left her mouth were calculated, careful. “What could cause bleeding from the ear?” she asked, her tone calm, neutral—clinical.

Tobias, ever the encyclopedic mind when it came to medical knowledge, gave a thoughtful nod. “Ah. Otorrhagia. Well, honey, there could be several causes, ranging in severity. A ruptured eardrum is one of the more common culprits often caused by sudden pressure changes, trauma, or infection. Then there’s middle or inner ear infections, particularly if left untreated. External injuries can also cause it, anything from a sharp blow to the side of the head to even lacerations around the canal.” He paused, narrowing his eyes slightly in thought. “In more serious cases, foreign objects lodged deep inside the ear, significant head trauma, or, though rarely, malignancies in the area, such as ear cancer, can be the root cause.”

He gave Caitlyn a longer look, assessing her quietly. “Is this for another case, dear?”

Before Caitlyn could respond, Cassandra’s voice sliced in smoothly, as always laced with polite dismissal. “I thought with your promotion to Sheriff, you were supposed to delegate those now.”

Caitlyn clenched her jaw for a moment, then offered a thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m not working a case, Mother. I’m simply reviewing an officer’s report before it’s officially filed. Quality control.” The lie was delivered with all the practiced ease of a seasoned diplomat.

Tobias nodded, seemingly satisfied, and took another sip of tea before continuing. “Well, without further clinical details on the patient; age, health history, recent events, I can’t say with certainty. But ear bleeding appearing so long after an injury? That’s not a typical progression, especially if we’re talking about a trauma from over a decade ago.”

Caitlyn tapped her finger once against her cup, thinking quickly, eyes fixed on the swirling surface of her tea. This was about Vi. And she had to walk the razor’s edge of truth without handing her heart to the table.

“The… victim,” she said carefully, “was injured in an accident roughly ten years ago. There was confirmed head trauma at the time. But they’ve recently shown signs of bleeding from the ear intermittently. Could that trauma still be a factor, even now?”

Tobias shook his head. “It’s unlikely. Chronic symptoms from head injuries are possible—dizziness, headaches, even seizures—but active ear bleeding after so many years? No, that suggests a new development. Something recent. Possibly something systemic or external acting on an old vulnerability.”

Caitlyn nodded slowly, digesting every word, her mind racing back to the vials.  The headaches. The pressure Vi kept brushing off. Could it be a side effect?

“What case was this officer working on to have such a detailed victim profile?” Cassandra asked suddenly, her voice calm but her eyes sharp as a blade. She leaned back into her chair with practiced elegance, lifting her cup and watching Caitlyn closely over the porcelain rim.

Caitlyn didn’t flinch. “Just a common theft case,” she replied smoothly, her tone disinterested. “The report was unusually thorough. I was impressed with how detailed the officer’s observations were, so I had a few questions. That’s all.”

Her mother didn’t respond, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Caitlyn knew the look. Suspicion. Cassandra could sense something deeper, even if she couldn’t name it yet.

She’d have to be even more cautious moving forward. Vi’s safety and privacy depended on it.

Caitlyn set her tea down gently on the polished table, careful not to let the china clink too loudly; it always drew her mother’s irritated glance. She smoothed the front of her jacket and rose to her feet with quiet grace.

“I must be off now,” she said, leaning down toward her father. Her hand rested briefly on his shoulder, the faint scent of his pipe tobacco clinging to him like a comforting memory. She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial murmur. “Save some lives.”

His eyes warmed instantly, the faintest crinkles at their edges. “I always try, dear,” he replied, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

Turning toward her mother, Caitlyn schooled her expression into polite neutrality, leaning in to place a light kiss against Cassandra’s cheek. The gesture was precise, practiced, neither too familiar nor too cold. “Have a good day, Mother.”

Cassandra, without looking up from her neatly arranged documents, gave a single curt nod before returning her attention to the council’s agenda. The motion was so smooth it might as well have been rehearsed, and Caitlyn knew it was her mother’s way of dismissing sentiment before it could grow into conversation.

Straightening, Caitlyn crossed the marble-floored foyer, her boots clicking softly in the morning stillness. She pulled open the front doors, the cool air rushing in to meet her. Pausing on the threshold, she inhaled deeply, letting the fresh scent of the waking city replace the faint perfume of tea and ink that clung to the sitting room.

Family had never been her strong suit. The ties were there, bound by duty and history, but they were wrapped in formality and expectation rather than warmth. Still, she loved them quietly, stubbornly, because they were hers. And despite everything, that meant something.

Chapter Text

My dear readers, 

I must truly apologize for my absence and for the news I am about to give you all. I am discontinuing this story. I hit quite a block with writing withdrawal due to my experience. I just could not do it. It’s actually quite comical that I can write torture with no issue but withdrawal… nope that’s too far. 

I however reread the entire story a month ago and discovered I was not happy with multiple choices I made. That being said… I have started over from scratch on this. So this version of the story is over but there is a new one coming soon as I have already written the final chapter (I usually start with the end) and 6 other chapters as well. 

There still will be the usual stuff I am known for obviously but just no addiction from our main characters. 

All that being said, I’ve also started a separate story as well. I am focusing on that one mostly due to me wanting to do !blind Vi and you all justice. 

Again I am truly sorry. 

-Sweet