Chapter 15
Chapter XV
The Last Drop, despite the usual Wednesday night bustle, had a corner that always remained shadowed, reserved for those who wanted a moment of solitude or simply preferred to hang out unnoticed. Cigarette and cooking smoke coiled like dying snakes around the ceiling beams, but in the highest corner, where the neon light didn't reach, the air remained still and cold.
Powder preferred it that way.
From that narrow balcony, she could watch unseen, studying every move onstage like someone deciphering a unique and important code.
With her elbows resting on the railing of the bar's upper deck, she held a half-full glass of the nameless liquor that Ekko jokingly called the "house specialty" when someone needed to get drunk—a drink you only knew was strong because it burned your throat afterward like a bad decision. But the truth is, Powder had barely touched it. She kept her eyes fixed on the now-empty stage. Or, more precisely, on Vi.
She wasn't singing this time. Had finished her set a while ago, but she was still there, sitting at the edge of the stage, smiling genuinely as Caitlyn spoke to her. Powder could hear her at times; her laugh was husky and easy, a laugh she'd been waiting years to release.
The two of them were very close to each other. More than close. Vi's hands rested on her crossed legs, but her knees were brushing Caitlyn's, a casual touch that would have gone unnoticed by anyone. But not by Powder. Vi also had that slight tilt of her body, that gesture she made with her head tilted to one side when she was listening attentively to something that mattered to her... Powder had known it all her life. It was her way of showing loving attention, of softening without being too noticeable.
And now Vi offered it to Caitlyn.
Powder pressed her lips together, holding back a sigh.
No one had said anything to her. Not Vi, not Caitlyn, not even Ekko, though she knew he'd noticed something too. But Powder wasn't stupid. She didn't need words to know that something had changed since Vi and Caitlyn’s date a week ago. She'd expected it—it was the logical thing to happen—but witnessing it was very different from imagining it. She saw it in the way Vi moved now. The way she smiled. The way she let her guard down more and more without realizing it. The way Vi's fingers, always restless, now drew lazy circles on her own thigh, almost touching Caitlyn's knee constantly. The way the Piltover artist tilted her head to capture Vi's every word, as if the sound of her voice were something precious.
And, damn, how can Powder be upset about that?
She couldn't, she really didn't have a good or coherent enough excuse to be mad now.
Vi had spent years carrying more pain than any single person should ever bear. And now, for the first time in a long time, she looked... truly happy. Her laughter didn't have the same harsh note it always had. Her silences were no longer filled with anger or resignation. Even her music had changed. There was an unexpected sweetness in her lyrics, in her voice. Powder feels like she was watching Vi grow up for the second time.
The scar above her sister's lip, illuminated by the dim light, now seemed to Powder a silent reminder of everything they had lost... and everything Caitlyn didn't understand.
But Caitlyn keeps looking at Vi like she was the most valuable thing in the world. Powder had noticed it since she'd walked into the bar earlier. That "there she is" look every time her steps led her toward Vi. It was irritating. It was annoying. It was... sincere.
The glass creaked between her fingers as she accidentally squeezed it too tightly. It wasn't exactly jealousy that consumed her. It was something deeper, older: a constant distress that this fragile happiness would shatter. Powder looked down at the glass and took a long sip, long enough to make her throat burn once more, hoping that maybe it would ease the strange knot in her chest.
Powder didn't hate Caitlyn anymore. Not completely. She couldn't. But she didn't trust her either. She still felt that thorn in her side, that nagging doubt that reminded her the Kirammans weren't just a rich, posh family. They were part of the system that nearly destroyed her sister. They were part of what put her in prison. Part of what blinded her.
And yet… Caitlyn cared for Vi. She touched her as if she knew where she hurt and how to soothe her grief. She listened as if she understood what no one else could. And Vi let her. She trusted her. She opened up to her.
"Don't trust the Pilties", Powder had told Vi once, years ago, when the nights in Zaun were long and hunger sharpened their teeth. "They smile as they stab you from behind."
But this Piltie, this Kiramman... Caitlyn didn't smile like the others. She smiled as if she couldn't help it, as if Vi's every gesture stole her breath. And that was almost worse.
Powder leaned her forehead against the railing, letting her blue hair fall like a curtain over her face. She didn't know what she felt exactly. Maybe... fear. Fear of losing that little piece of Vi that was still all hers. But she wasn't going to get in the way. She never would. How could she? If Vi was happy—if she truly was—then that was all that mattered. Even if it ate at Powder from the inside.
She forced herself to look again. Down below, Caitlyn said something that made Vi laugh. That clear, bright laugh, so different from the dark years, made something loosen inside Powder. Vi had placed a hand on Caitlyn's arm, and the Kiramman, the proud woman, the flawless one, was blushing like a teenage fledgling under the spotlight.
"Pathetic", Powder wanted to think. But the word didn't fit. What she saw wasn't weakness: it was courage. The same courage Vi had used to risk her life for her years ago, when her world had been reduced to ash, scars and disease.
This time, the liquor burned her chest as she finished the glass in one gulp.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that after everything, after the prison cells and the darkness and the sleepless nights, it was a Kiramman who would give her sister back the pieces the world had torn from her.
"But she makes her laugh," whispered a voice in her head, familiar and ancient—almost forgotten—and Powder closed her eyes for a moment with the resignation of someone who knows that there was much truths than lies in those words.
When she opened them again, Caitlyn was brushing a speck of dust-off Vi's shoulder as she spoke, a gesture so intimate it ached in her chest. It wasn't the touch that hurt: it was the way Vi allowed herself to be touched, as if she'd finally found a place to rest.
Powder stepped back from the railing with resignation. She had lights to adjust, annoying drunks to kick out, and a lump in her throat that wouldn't go away with alcohol and from which she needed more distraction. But before disappearing into the shadows of the bar, she took one last look at the stage.
“Just don’t break her again” she thought, directing the message to Caitlyn, even though she knew the other woman would never hear it.
And though she didn't look back, the echo of Vi's laughter followed her to the back of the bar, warm and stinging like an old wound that still knew how to hurt.
:::::::
The echo of gloves against the punching bag was the only sound in the gym at that hour. The lights were dimmed, as if the place knew it was about to shut down completely. Vi threw the last few punches with a steady rhythm, not looking for power, just… feeling. The movement. The breathing. The heat in her muscles.
The clock struck almost midnight. The last customers were gathering their things in the changing rooms, chatting quietly. Loris had already left, having finished his shift hours earlier, and Sevika hadn't even stopped by that day. But it didn't really bother her; Vi preferred to close up alone some nights; she liked the quiet. The silence of the sweaty walls, the echo of her own footsteps, the calm vibe of knowing everything was in its place.
And lately… everything felt right on place.
Since being with Caitlyn, something inside her had settled. Not like a bang or a jolt... but like a stone falling silently and smoothly, right where it belongs and becoming part of a biggest ecosystem. There was something different about her days. Everything tasted different: the coffee, the humid air of Zaun, even the sound of her alarm clock. She'd found herself smiling alone more times than she cared to admit.
Caitlyn hadn't asked for additional explanations when they started what they have now. She hadn't pushed her once. She was just... present. With her antique-watch patience and that sharp tenderness that seemed to read her precisely without needing to say it. Caitlyn have been waiting for Vi to name what they were building, to mark the pace, and Vi... Vi took it slowly. Not because she was hesitant. But because she was afraid of naming it and accidentally breaking the magic. As if by defining it, it became real and therefore vulnerable to breaking.
But at the same time… she had never felt anything like this. A peace that wasn't the absence of chaos, but the presence of something stronger. Something good.
She took off her gloves and dropped them on a bench as she walked to the edge of the ring, sitting on it, sweat still running down her back and forehead. Her breathing was beginning to calm when the buzzing of the cell phone in her pocket caught her attention, and she felt it vibrate against her thigh.
She pulled it out leisurely and heard the notification play aloud.
Voicemail. Caitlyn.
Vi smiled before even playing it.
She pressed the phone to the ear as her fingers played with the towel hanging around her shoulders.
Caitlyn's voice immediately enveloped her:
“Hey Vi… I know you’re closing the gym now and don’t want to bother you too much. I was just… thinking about you. How you laughed this morning when you almost spilled your coffee on the poor guy. I’ve never seen anyone so outraged by foamy coffee.”
Caitlyn's soft laugh sounded over the message, and Vi closed her eyes, enjoying the melody.
“I also thought about how weird it feels not to text you when something stupid happens during the day... I guess that means I like you. More than I should admit over voice notes.”
Vi bit her lip, still smiling.
“You don’t need to answer. I just wanted to let you know and wish you a good night of rest. See you tomorrow… Mel is really excited to have breakfast with us, you know. So be prepared for it”
The message ended and the gym fell completely silent.
Vi slowly lowered her arm, dropping the phone into her lap, and allowed herself to feel everything unhurriedly. The warmth. The smile. The comfortable, light weight on her chest.
She didn't answer right away. She just sat there, under the warm light of the spotlights, in the middle of an empty gym that suddenly seemed filled with something bright. This time, she didn't feel like she had to run, or strike, or defend herself.
Just breathe. And love. At her own pace.
The doorbell rang through the still air, tearing her away from that intimate moment where Caitlyn's fingers still seemed to burn in her memory.
“Good night, Vi!” a voice called from the entrance, too cheerful for the silence that filled the gym at that hour.
Vi raised her hand in a lazy gesture, the soft smile from Caitlyn's text still on her lips.
“See you, Drek. Close the gate tight.”
"You got it!"
The creak of the metal door and the click of the automatic lock signaled the end of another day. Vi moved with the precise routine of someone who has turned solitude into a ritual: she put away her phone after sending a quick reply to Caitlyn, wiped the sweat from her neck with her towel, and turned off the lights one by one, making sure the main entrance was properly sealed. Each gesture was a turning point in the silence. The gymnasium was falling asleep again behind her, wrapped in a heavy but pleasant silence she knew well.
With her jacket on and her gloves slung over the shoulders, she stepped out into the back alley, where the Zaun air was thicker, warmer, and filled with the electric hum of the underground pipes. Vi closed the door, locked it, and started walking. She enjoyed walking home. Although Zaun wasn't a peaceful place by any means, it felt more like home to her than anywhere else in the world. And on that walk between the gym and her little home, there was a sense of routine that helped her think.
That night, she was thinking about egg with noodles. And if she was lucky, some of the smoked tofu Powder had left in the refrigerator the other day, hoping hadn't gone bad. She walked calmly, one hand in her pocket and the other holding her cane firmly in front of her, wondering if Mrs. Talma's would still be open for an iced drink to complete her meal.
And she was thinking about Caitlyn too.
In the certainty that they would see each other the next day. That her voice won’t be just an audio in her ear, but a whisper near her neck. In her fingers brushing the back of Vi’s hand. In the nod of her head when she responded sarcastically. All of it. Small, silly, but important at the same time.
However, reality crept in behind her heavily, forcing her to pay more attention to her surroundings.
A different murmur crept into the background sounds. Distant footsteps, unlike her own or anyone’s she might know. Vi slowly stopped, not making it obvious. She continued walking, more slowly, tilting her head back slightly as if she could hear the sound of the steam better.
There was no one in sight that she could notice under the dim streetlight. But something told her she wasn't alone; her instincts were fine-tuned enough to be certain of that.
She turned a corner, testing her situation.
She heard light footsteps again, closer this time, almost imperceptible in the splash of water. But they were there. Vi then slid her fingers to her belt, feeling the small folding knife she carried out of habit on the nights she had to close at the gym. It wasn't much, but enough to defend herself if it was some idiot who wanted to overstep their bounds.
“If you’re going to follow me…” she said aloud, still not turning around, “…at least have the decency not to step in any puddles.”
Silence.
Vi stopped dead in her tracks then. She spun around and raised her chin defiantly, her eyes fixed on the blackness of the corridor between two buildings. She could see nothing but meaningless shadows. But her body was already tense and ready to jump at the first opportunity, the cane firmly in front of her and the knife cold beneath her touch.
For a long moment there was no response, only the dripping of a rusty pipe.
“I don’t have patience for games,” she insisted, even sensing the presence nearby. “If you’re coming looking for a fight, do it now.”
More silence.
Until a figure emerged from the shadows. Tall, thin, and with confident, measured steps, too calm for the situation they were in. Vi didn't recognize them immediately, but she didn't detect a direct threat in their appearance either. The figure wasn't carrying any visible weapons and didn't have the typical thug vibe. They weren’t trying to hide, but wasn't moving much further either.
“Who are you?” she asked bluntly. “What do you want?”
The figure raised their hands, responding calmly and in a deep voice, dragging out the words as if weighing them before releasing.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Violet,” a mature, male voice spoke, with a Zaunian accent but quite refined. Like someone who had lived abroad for a long time. “I just… needed to confirm something.”
The use of her full name made her frown. She tensed her shoulders, spreading her legs slightly in a familiar and comfortable position, ready to move or attack if necessary.
“Confirm what?” she asked.
“That you're still alive. And that you're really with her… the Kiramman heiress, like the rumors claim.”
There was a long silence between them after those confusing words. Vi didn't relax, but she didn't attack either. That voice... something about it seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Dark. Tired, as if he had carried too many lives. That tone, that cadence...
Vi twisted her face into an annoyed grimace.
“Do we know each other?” she asked, her fingers tightening on the knife until she felt the metal bite into the palm.
“In a way, yes.”
The man took a step forward, enough for Vi to notice the smell of smoke and chemicals clinging to her clothes like a second skin.
“And you are…?”
“Someone who tried to protect you once,” he said, and for the first time, something that sounded like genuine pain seeped into his voice. “And also, someone who failed you… and your sister.”
Vi didn't respond. The air thickened around them, and for a second, she thought she felt the ground shift beneath her feet. She gripped the cane tightly to stay upright.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears, as if someone else were speaking through her. “Just… Who the hell are you?”
“I don’t expect you to remember me, Violet. Not now.” The familiarity with which he spoke to her made Vi’s skin crawl. “Your mind has holes deeper than the Lanes. I know that. But that didn’t stop me before, and it won’t stop me now.”
Vi narrowed her eyes. "I don't understand…"
“You don’t have to do it right at this moment... There are buried truths. Decisions others made for you. For your sister. For all of Zaun.” A heavy pause. “And I don’t want to dredge anything up now… Like I said before, I just needed to make sure with my own eyes that you were okay.”
Vi didn't know whether to take a step back or stand firm in her place.
“Why would you care if I’m okay?” Vi snapped, but even she heard the crack in her fury.
“I shouldn’t, but here we are. Even if you don’t like it, and even if you don’t understand it.” The man’s voice sounded increasingly tired. He took another step forward, and this time Vi involuntarily stepped back. “I still have a promise to keep.”
The man was silent again for a few seconds, as if pondering what to do or say. Steam hissed between the metal walls, a fleeting curtain in the heaviness of the conversation, and Vi felt the other man's gaze on her, heavy and inquisitive.
“You look at peace,” the man murmured, and there was something in his voice that sounded almost like grief. “I guess that’s enough for now.”
The words resonated in Vi's skull like a powerful blow, and she felt a pang in her chest. Not of fear, but of complete bewilderment.
“For now?” she hate that her voice suddenly cracked with uncertainty. “What do you mean?”
“The time will come to talk about everything, Violet. About the past. About what they did to you and what they trying to do now” the man’s shadow writhed before her eyes like something alive for a moment. “About what you forgot.”
Vi felt something coil inside her.
“And you’re supposed to tell me the truth?”
The man's laugh was a harsh whisper, a sound that chilled her blood because it was so familiar and so foreign.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Like I said before, I just wanted to confirm something right now… and make sure Miss Kiramman hadn’t turned you into another Piltover piece of kit.” There was a hint of amusement in the man’s voice that left a sour taste in her mouth. “I guess that’s another thing I got wrong.”
Vi clenched her jaw. “Don’t underestimate me…”
“Never” The man turned, his silhouette merging into the fog once more. “But you, too, must not underestimate those who wish to harm you and those precious to you. Take care of yourself, Violet. Because others won’t and can’t.”
Before Vi could respond, he added:
“When the time is right, we will talk again.”
The man disappeared, and with him, air seemed to flow back into Vi's lungs, though not with relief... but with heaviness.
Vi stood alone beneath the distant hum of the tubes, her fingers clenched into fists, her breathing shallow. She stood there for a few more seconds, still, as if her feet no longer belonged to her.
“Violet…”
The man's voice still vibrated in her ear. Deep. Broken. Pained, but restrained. Familiar, like a song she'd once sung as a child and now only half-remembered. She didn't know who it was. Not exactly. But her entire body had reacted before her mind could clearly put the pieces together.
The man knew her, too much for her liking, but she couldn't identify where from or why.
Vi swallowed heavily. Her body, which had felt agile and light a moment earlier due to Caitlyn's message, was now a heavy cage, riddled with scars that burned against her skin like the first day.
An invisible chill began to creep up the back of her neck.
Thousands of questions swirled in her mind like a whirlwind in the midst of a mighty storm. And the worst part wasn't the lack of answers, but the certainty that a part of her did know them... she just couldn't remember.
“Shit…” she muttered, bringing her hand to her forehead.
A shadow of stabbing pain crossed her left temple, as if her thoughts were beginning to push too hard from within, struggling to break through, to break free. The world around her grew blurrier—more so than usual—and shadows muddled together in one mass, as if even the outlines were mocking her.
Vi stumbled a little. She braced a hand against the damp wall of a rusty old factory, unable to feel her legs secure beneath her as she cataloged the familiar symptoms that were beginning to present themselves.
Fatigue.
Dizziness.
Haze.
That cursed combination that came to her every time something forced her to delve into places her mind refused to visit.
“Not now…” she growled through gritted teeth. “Not now, please.”
She didn't have time for this. No brain capacity. No strength. She needed to get home as soon as possible, to her room, to the familiar darkness that didn't ask for answers.
She forced herself to walk, quickly at first, almost as if fleeing a fire that hadn't yet reached her, but that knew was coming behind. Her steps were uneven, clumsier than usual. And although she knew the path like a log, every intersection, every crack in the pavement, she felt she wasn't standing on solid ground but on a broken and painful memory.
The man's voice came back again and again.
“The time will come to talk about everything, Violet… About what you forgot.”
And Vi wanted to scream, explode, punch, and lash out at the world.
What did I forget? What do I owe you? Who the hell are you?
But nothing came out of her parted lips. Only a slight tremor in her hands, hidden by the fist around the cane she clenched.
The gym. Caitlyn. Her new life. The rhythm she'd found amidst the chaos. All of that seemed to hang in a fine line at that moment.
And for the first time in days, Vi didn't feel peace, not even thinking about Caitlyn. Instead, she felt like she was falling apart, like something inside her was shattering into meaningless pieces that wouldn't fit back together no matter how hard she tried.
As she turned the last corner, she saw the flickering lights of her building but couldn’t feel relief from it. She stumbled up the stairs with tired and heavy feet. She didn't even say hello to the old woman on the second floor who always left her door open when she watched television in the living room until late at night. She didn't have the strength to do much more than force herself to get home.
The door to her apartment thudded shut behind her, as if the outside world no longer had the right to exist. Vi slumped against the wood, her head hitting the surface harder than she'd intended. She didn't turn on the lights. The darkness was a refuge, a useful lie that allowed her to pretend, even for a moment, that she wasn't on the brink of something dangerous.
She sank slowly until she was sitting on the floor with her back against the door, and allowed herself to breathe. Deeply. Loudly. Painfully. Agonizingly. Her thoughts swirled unformed as exhaustion drove her down. And her heart kept beating with a mixture of fear and rage that she didn't know at whom or what to direct.
Breathe.
Breathe.
With her back still pressed against the door, she tries to focus on the cold floor beneath her legs. The silence of her apartment enveloping her completely.
Breathe!
But the air wouldn't come. Her lungs were two paper bags crushed under the weight of a memory she couldn't—wouldn't—see in full.
Until suddenly she heard it.
It wasn't a sound, but the absence of it: the metallic click of a deadbolt turning in nothingness, echoing in a vast, empty, endless room. And suddenly she wasn't in her apartment anymore. She was there, in that place her mind had buried in layers of fog and pain.
The hum of a metal cell clanging shut…
The smell of stale damp and rust on the bars…
Old urine, fermented sweat, and the sweet rot of untreated wounds…
The handcuffs biting into her wrists, the rough concrete against her cheeks…
A high-pitched squeal… a rat? A distant scream?
No…. Prisoners, moaning in the darkness like wounded animals…
Stillwater.
Vi bit her tongue until she tasted copper in her mouth. The pain was an anchor. A fixed point in the hurricane. But the throbbing in her temples intensified. A familiar sensation was there now, brutal, terrible and merciless.
“No, no, no, no…” she whispered, wanting to return to the emptiness, to the silence.
But the memories refused to obey; they had no master or tamer. Another flash crossed her mind, appearing before her wide, wild, and disoriented eyes.
Powder's silhouette, younger and slimmer, on the other side of a glass wall...
Screaming her name without a voice… Screaming to the world…
Her trembling, aggressive fists, hitting the glass.
And Vi... watched... unable to move. Unable to speak. Just staring powerless, not capable to fully recognize what was in front of her...
Crowds of people around her… Hands wrapped around her body… Voices without meaning…
Vi tried to get up… She tried to scream… she wanted to run… But her arms were heavier than steel, and when she opened her mouth, only blood came out… she couldn't breathe… and the shadows around her moved faster…
“Stop…” the word escaped her lips, broken, trembling.
She closed her eyes tightly, tried to breathe deeply, the way they taught her in rehab, the way she did when the world became a numbing noise.
Breathe. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. But the memories didn't follow a logical order. They came in a stampede and suffocated her under their crushing weight.
Vander's hand on her head, warm. Caressing her tenderly.
A sentence, barely audible:
“My little warrior”
Then, a flash of lightning. A distant storm. An indescribable pain.
Punches. Fists. A male voice shouting orders.
The dull echo of pain in her neck…
On her face…
On her chest…
The same blow. Over and over again…
Always from behind... Always from the shadows...
The sound of metal against exposed skin…
Darkness.
Bones breaking under the skin… The taste of fear, sour and familiar.
Vi brought both hands to her head. Her breathing quickened. She felt sweat running down her broken, withered skin. The real world was beginning to fade. Only fragments remained. Incomplete images. Disrupted sounds.
“ENOUGH!” Her voice cut through the air like a knife and was the only thing real for a second.
But the body does not forget.
Her lungs burned. Her hands shook like leaves in a storm. And then, as if her brain decided she hadn't suffered enough yet, the song came. An ancient, lulling melody, sung by a voice that wasn't Powder, or Vander, or anyone she could name…
Pain…
Dim light behind bars... the taste of blood in the mouth...
A girl running, laughing, through hallways covered in graffiti…
A melody flowed from warm lips against her forehead. A lullaby amidst the chaos…
Who sang that to me?
The question was so violent, tearing through her mind like a gale, that it made her moan. She curled up, her nails digging into her arms, drawing red crescents on her skin.
A tall man standing in an open office, talking to her…
Long, cold fingers on her shoulder…
A face that faded before fully forming…
A promise to keep.
“Stop!” Vi growled. “Stop. Stop.”
Fighting the vertigo and her own body, she felt her way along the floor and began to move through the darkness, following an invisible path until, after an agonizing eternity, she found the edge of her low bed and touched it. Something tangible. Something present and safe.
Safe.
Caitlyn.
The name emerged like a beacon in the fog.
The image of her, her graceful, unchanging silhouette, loomed like a rope stretched across the abyss. Her warm hands intertwined with Vi’s, her soft voice speaking to her patiently, tenderly. Caitlyn's laughter echoing like music she did know. Hot breath on her neck as she leaned in to whisper. Caitlyn saying, "I'm here" without words.
With a gasp, Vi dragged herself onto the bed. Her knees hit the floor after a failed attempt to stand, but the pain was real, it was now, and that made it a gift. She clutched the edge of the mattress as if it were the edge of a cliff.
"This is yours," Vi murmured, repeating the words Powder had said to her the first time she set foot in the apartment. "No one can take this away from you"
The mattress gave way under her weight when she finally managed to climb on. She stretched out her arms, groping for the pillow, and when she found it, she squashed it against her chest, pressing down. It smelled of cheap shampoo and of herself. Of now and then.
She clung to that. To Caitlyn's invisible presence in her mind, to that present that sought to reassure her.
Breathe.
She counted to ten without stopping, starting over as many times as necessary until she felt she wouldn’t fall anymore. Her hands no longer hurt, but they were still shaking on the pillow. She was drenched in sweat and terribly disoriented.
But little by little, the room began to take shape again. The floor. The walls. Her own breath.
She was alone. But she was alive, whole, and safe.
For now.
She curled up in the bed without bothering to change clothes or wash. Just letting her body surrender to exhaustion. Outside, a pipe groaned; the sound was ugly and shrill, but familiar and constant. She closed her eyes, knowing sleep wouldn't come easily that night.
And yet, she preferred insomnia and exhaustion a thousand times over to the painful emptiness she had just touched.
:::::::
The buzzing started like a mosquito in the dark, but turned into a drill in a matter of seconds. Vi woke with a start, her heart pounding and lungs burning as if she'd been underwater too long.
Her head throbbed with a dull echo, the world twisted in a blurry whirlwind, and her eyes ached from holding them open for so long. The room was dark despite the late morning. Or maybe it wasn't so late. She didn't know anymore. Time had disintegrated into pieces impossible to piece together.
The buzzing sound returned, louder this time, or at least that's what it seemed like now that she was a little more awake. Her cell phone vibrated incessantly, the sound bouncing off the walls impatiently as it danced across the floor beside the bed. Her hands were shaking so much it took her three attempts to grab it. She pressed it to her ear without checking the screen with trembling fingers and chapped lips.
“Yes…?” her voice sounded alien, broken, as if someone had scraped her vocal cords with sand.
“Vi?” Caitlyn’s voice crackled over the line, so warm and solid that for a second Vi thought she could touch her. “Vi, finally! Are you okay? Where are you? Why weren’t you answering?”
The words came to her wrapped in cotton. Each one was like a stone falling into a pond. Each syllable was a distorted echo. Why did Caitlyn sound so scared? Vi squinted at the phone then, trying to focus. The bold blurry numbers, in huge, glowing outlines across the screen, stabbed her chest: 11:48 AM.
The meeting. The date. The promise to meet Mel earlier for breakfast. They were supposed to be together hours ago. But now it was too late.
And Vi didn't even remember falling asleep in the first place.
“I’m sorry…” she mumbled, but the apology tangled on her tongue. “I fell asleep. Late… I don’t know. I didn’t hear the…”
“Vi,” Caitlyn cut through the air with her name, and in that single syllable was a universe of concern. “What’s wrong? Tell me the truth”
Vi sat up slowly, feeling every muscle in her body protest the movement, as if she'd been filled with lead overnight. The world continued to spin around her, and the cold of the room was an absurd contrast to the sweat still covering her back.
“I’m fine. Just… tired,” she said, but even to her it sounded fake.
On the other side, Caitlyn took a deep breath. Vi could imagine her with her fist clenched against her chest, those lips she'd known to be so soft now bitten by anxiety.
“No. You’re not.” Caitlyn’s voice cracked at the edge, like glass under pressure. “I’m coming to your house, okay? I assume you’re there. Do you need anything? Food, water, medicine…”
Vi wanted to refuse. She wanted to tell her to not come, to not see her like that again—disarmed, fragile, broken. But the fear was stronger. The fear of being alone with the ghosts that haunted her apartment.
“Just... come, I don’t need nothing else” she whispered, and it was the most honest thing she could say.
A short pause, or a long one, Vi wasn't sure. But it was long enough for her to sense the tension on the other end.
“Don’t hang up. Stay with me.” Caitlyn was already moving, the sound of her quick footsteps and the jingle of keys crossing the line. “Jayce, cancel my one o’clock meeting. No… it’s urgent… no, no, I’ll be fine…”
Vi frowned. Jayce. Piltover. The outside world kept spinning without her. But it didn't matter anymore. Caitlyn's voice was the only anchor she needed, the only murmur that could pull her back to peace.
“Are you still there?” Caitlyn insisted, softer this time.
Vi nodded, forgetting that she couldn't see her. The phone slipped through her clammy fingers for a second, and Vi did her best to hold it against her face. Her eyelids felt as heavy as steel doors.
“Cait, no...” she managed to say, but sleep, or rather exhaustion, the fog, was dragging her down once again.
The last sound she registered before falling into darkness was Caitlyn's voice, growing more urgent, calling to her like a beacon in the storm:
“Vi, can you hear me? Can I…”
The world faded to a soft gray.
And then, it came back.
Slow, as if reality had to be pieced together gradually. In confusing fragments like a broken mosaic someone was trying to piece together with trembling hands. The dampness in her throat, the dry burning in her eyes, the uncomfortable weight in her muscles. The familiar sensation that the world was moving and that her body was adrift on the high seas.
And the voices, familiar, annoying, and insistent. Two voices she knew better than her own pulse, arguing about her mortal state (or not) with the delicacy of two trains colliding.
“I told you she was breathing! Look, her eyebrow just moved,” Claggor growled, his deep voice echoing near her left ear.
“That could be a post-mortem spasm,” Mylo argued from somewhere at her feet. “I’ll bet my paycheck that in five minutes it’ll start smelling like rotten fish.”
“She’s not dead, you idiot!” Claggor responded exasperatedly. “She’s just sleeping. Or… fainted, rather.”
“If she’s not alive, then I’ll take her jacket,” Mylo added with mock solemnity and obvious concern. “You can’t get those on the black market, you know.”
Vi opened her eyes slightly, letting in a beam of light that pierced her skull like a knife.
“What the hell... are you doing in my house?” the words rasped in her throat, rough as sandpaper.
The silence that followed was so absolute that, for a second, she feared she had gone deaf.
“DAMN CHEATER!” Mylo fell to his knees beside the bed, shaking a fist. “You owe me ten grand for scaring us!”
Claggor pushed him away with a shove that would have knocked down anyone but a street-bred Zaunite. His hand, large and calloused like Vander's but infinitely softer, rested delicately on Vi's arm.
“Easy, sister,” he murmured, and in that word lay a world of shared stories. “Caitlyn sent us. Well, actually it was Vander, but...”
“Caitlyn…?”
“It was a disaster from start to finish,” Mylo interrupted, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. “Kiramman was like a fancy grandfather clock, going back and forth across the room in desperation. Even I felt dizzy just looking at her…”
“Vander called us,” Claggor explained. “He sounded upset. Said Caitlyn found you unconscious and then couldn’t wake you up properly… Powder and Ekko were stuck with a job and couldn’t come, so… they sent us.”
“To save the day, of course,” Mylo added, a smile evident in his tone.
Vi tried to sit up, but the movement sent a wave of nausea down her throat. She sank down with a groan she couldn't control, but Claggor held her firmly, his face only distinguishable by his glasses, but his concern palpable in the air.
“Slowly, okay?” he said, adjusting the pillow behind her. “Caitlyn left instructions. Water first. Then food. Then…”
“A three-hour sermon about not scaring her into a heart attack,” Mylo finished, pulling a bottle of water from who knows where. “Drink it. Before I think of charging you for it.”
The water burned as it passed, but it was a good, real pain that anchored her to the present. Between sips, the pieces began to fall into place:
"How long...?"
“Four hours is our estimate, though we’re not really sure.” Claggor consulted an imaginary watch on his wrist. “Caitlyn left half an hour ago. She says she’ll be back with food and…”
“Medicine, more blankets, some of that weird herbal tea the pilties drink,” Mylo gestured with his hands. “I think she also mentioned something about scented candles for nausea.”
Vi let out a snort that almost turned into a laugh. Just Caitlyn being Caitlyn, then.
She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing slowly and trying to focus.
“You shouldn’t have bothered,” she murmured, looking at the water in her hands. “It’s nothing serious.”
The men exchanged a glance with a nod that would have been comical under any other circumstances, but now seemed rather theatrical to Vi.
“Nothing serious, she says,” Mylo rubbed his temple dramatically, “as she lay there pale as a secondhand corpse.”
“You know it doesn’t bother us,” Claggor nudged his brother. “It’s just… scary.”
The word, so simple, so Claggor, hit her chest harder than any fist. Vi looked up at her brothers—not by blood, but by every scar and every sleepless night shared together—and felt something inside her melt.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Mylo threw a crumpled sock he had in his pocket (why was he carrying that?) directly at her head.
“Shut up and eat something,” he growled, but when he reached over to tuck her in, his hands were surprisingly careful. “Unless you want Caitlyn to kill us when she gets back… or worse…”
“Powder” both men completed in unison.
Claggor nodded decisively, pulling an energy bar of dubious origin from his jacket.
“Here. It's one of those they sell near the bar. It tastes like cardboard, but it'll get you on your feet faster.”
Vi bit into the bar under both of their watchful eyes, feeling how the simple act of chewing made her feel a little more alive. A little more herself.
“You’ll stay” she said, not as a question, but as a statement.
Mylo rolled his eyes.
“Duh. Someone has to make sure you don’t drown in your own sweat,” he exclaimed.
“And don’t let Powder blame us if you die,” Claggor added, but his hand found Vi’s and he squeezed it with a strength that spoke volumes about what the jokes had been hiding.
Outside, the murmur of Zaun raged on. Machines coughing, steam hissing, life seething in the shadows. But here, in this overheated room with these two idiots who were her family, Vi allowed the fog to dissipate a little.
Claggor and Mylo weren't like Powder. She didn't share that silent sister-to-sister connection with them, that instinctive understanding that only forms when you share every wound and scar from childhood. But they were just as precious in their own way. They were constant. Always there, like clumsy but firm pillars in her life.
Claggor was the kind of person who didn't need to say much to make you feel supported. He had that strange talent of simply being, of occupying a space with his calmness and logic until you began to breathe a little slower without realizing it. Vi had always respected him for that, even on the days when rage was choking her and all she wanted to do was scream at the world. Claggor didn't silence her. He just stayed, and that, in moments like these, was more than enough.
Mylo, on the other hand, was impossible to ignore. He had the sharpest tongue of them all combined and the innate ability to say exactly what no one should have. But beneath his mocking facade, Vi knew there was a brutal loyalty. The kind that wasn't spoken out loud, but was demonstrated with every unannounced visit, every joke when she was on the verge of collapse, every time he sought her out just to waste her time and distract her from herself. It was his way of caring. Loud, inappropriate, but honest.
They weren't perfect. They fought, they distanced themselves, they said things that hurt. But when Vi's body started to give out and her mind sank into that thick fog of exhaustion, they showed up. As if the universe was telling them exactly when to be there. Not with answers. Not with solutions. Just with presence.
And Vi, who didn't trust the world easily, knew she could trust them to do just that. To be there. To hold her, even if they didn't know how. Even if they were clumsy. Even if they were idiots.
They were her family. And, silently, she clung to that as if it could keep her whole.
It didn't take long for the apartment door to open with a hurried creak, followed by the quick tapping of shoes against the floor.
“Vi!”
Caitlyn's voice rose before she'd even fully crossed the threshold, and within seconds she'd appeared in the room carrying three bags—one dangling from her arm, another pressed against her chest, and a third dangerously close to bursting from the weight.
“Gods!” she exclaimed at seeing Vi awake, her blue eyes wide with relief. “You’re conscious. You’re talking. Are you okay? Are you in pain? Did you eat anything? Do you have a fever? Are you dizzy again?”
Vi blinked slowly, still half-reclining, watching Caitlyn storm across the room, dropping the bags onto the floor one by one.
“How much stuff did you buy?” Claggor asked, raising an eyebrow as the contents began to unfold: bottles of mineral water, packets of instant soup, several exotic fruits from Piltover that definitely wouldn’t survive Zaun’s humidity, a small bag of artisan bread, and, for some reason, a cashmere blanket.
Caitlyn didn't even look at it. “I don't know. Everything seemed… useful.”
“To pitch a tent?” Mylo muttered, and Vi could imagine his amused expression, even if she couldn’t see it clearly.
“Shut up, Mylo,” Caitlyn muttered as she approached Vi, dropping one knee onto the bed with a complete lack of ceremony and cupping her face in both hands. “You’re burning up. You’re burning up, aren’t you?”
“I’m fine, Cait.” Vi tried to sit up a little more, her face a mixture of amusement and overwhelmed by the sudden invasion. “I’m just tired.”
“Tired, of course… after being unconscious for hours without answering the damn phone,” Caitlyn murmured, lowering her voice without letting go of Vi’s cheeks.
It was the first time Vi had heard Caitlyn swear at anything.
“Be careful of your reputation, Kiramman,” Mylo said from the corner. “It’s not proper for a lady to speak in that manner.”
Caitlyn shot him a sharp look that, if it could have, would have pierced steel. Claggor, for his part, just smiled in amusement and picked up the bags from the floor.
“I’m going to leave this in the kitchen before the fruit decides to rot from stress,” he said.
“Thank you,” Caitlyn murmured, turning her attention back to Vi, who was staring at her with that mixture of tenderness and embarrassment that disarmed her every time. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked again, softer this time.
Vi nodded slowly. “Now I’m. You’re here.”
And that simple sentence made Caitlyn look down, her ears slightly flushed.
“Gods, I’ll leave you two alone before I throw up,” Mylo said with a grimace, crossing the door and closing it behind him with a theatrical slam.
Silence settled like a warm blanket over the room. Vi felt the air thicken, heavy not with discomfort, but with something deeper. Something they'd been holding back for hours.
And then, without saying a word, Caitlyn leaned into her and hugged her tightly.
It was a gesture as unexpected as it was urgent. Caitlyn didn't touch her gently or timidly, as she usually did. This time, she wrapped both arms tightly around Vi, burying her face in her neck as if she feared Vi would disappear if she let go. Vi stayed still at first, surprised by the intensity, until she felt Caitlyn's fingers tighten in her shirt and her labored breathing against her skin.
“I was so terrified,” Caitlyn murmured, barely audible. “I called and called… and when you didn’t answer…”
Vi swallowed. Her chest ached. Not from the fever, not from the fatigue or the residual panic from the night before, but from what that confession made her feel.
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, wrapping her arms around her as well. She still felt weak, but Caitlyn’s warmth was the only thing that didn’t hurt. “I didn’t mean to scare you… or miss the date with Mel.”
Caitlyn pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. Vi couldn't see her expression clearly, but she could feel it. She could feel the sadness, relief, and frustration collapsing on the face of the woman in front of her.
“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Caitlyn replied softly. “We can reschedule for another day.”
"…Alright"
Caitlyn took her face in her hands again and placed a kiss on Vi's lips. Brief and precise, but laden with all the emotions she couldn't express with mere words. Vi relaxed even further at the gesture, feeling her body instantly lighter.
Caitlyn lowered her hands as they pulled away, finally giving Vi space, but still maintaining contact.
“Could you tell me what happened?” she asked.
Vi swallowed hard. For a moment, she thought she heard the echo of that voice again, the man in the alley, like a whisper etched into her marrow. But she didn't want to say it. Not without understanding it. Not without knowing if it was real or just a bad dream caused by stress.
“Nothing important,” she muttered.
Caitlyn pursed her lips, holding back the words that wanted to come out.
“That’s not true,” she whispered back “It has to be important”
Vi tried to pull her hands away, but Caitlyn wouldn't let her. There was a subtle but clear shift in her posture that made Vi understand she wouldn’t let the subject drop just because.
“Cait, seriously, I’m fi…”
“No, you're not,” Caitlyn interrupted, and this time her tone brooked no argument. “You fainted alone in your house. I saw your cane and your bag on the floor by the door when I arrived and feared the worst…” Caitlyn took a breath. “You're exhausted, dehydrated, feverish. And yet you still insist on pretending you can handle it all.”
Vi looked down, her fingers twisting in the fabric of the blanket.
“It’s not that I want to pretend. It’s just that…” she searched for words, frustrated. “I don’t know how to do anything else. I don’t know how… to let someone help me without feeling like I’m failing.”
By this point, the words felt repetitive and heavy on her tongue, but Vi had no other way to express herself.
Caitlyn let out a shaky breath and leaned her forehead against Vi's.
“Well, you're going to have to learn. Because I'm not going anywhere, Vi. And I'm not going to watch you slowly destroy yourself just because you think you have to carry everything alone.” A brief pause, filled with doubt and insecurity, and then: “Could you please… just consider again the possibility that I could take you to my father for a checkup? I know it's not what you want… but…”
Vi closed her eyes, allowing herself that second of vulnerability. The touch. The truth. The weight.
But even in Caitlyn's arms, with her scent enveloping her and her warmth covering her skin like a blanket, she couldn't completely quell the unease bubbling in her chest. Because inside, the dread was still there.
Return to the Piltover hospital. To that neat place, too white, too bright. To those hallways filled with voices speaking in technical terms and indifferent faces. It was more than just a doctor's visit.
It was a returning to the place where everything had begun to fracture.
Where, at eleven years old and with a desperate heart, she had risked stealing a priceless cargo with trembling hands. Medicines that barely made it to Powder. A sentence disguised as an attempt. The mistake that cost her childhood. Her freedom. Her sight. Her faith in herself.
How was she supposed to get back to that place?
How could she look at the people who belonged to that world and not feel like she carried the filth of Zaun on her skin, as if it were something she needed to apologize for?
And worse yet…how was she supposed to look Caitlyn's father? A man who, no matter how kind he claimed to be, belonged to the same system that locked her up. That left her to rot in a cell while Powder cried alone outside and Vander broke down doors to show up late.
Vi swallowed, feeling every word of gratitude she'd said before turn into a stone in her throat.
What hurt most wasn't even the thought of being under white lights and strange hands again, but the possibility—small, silent and cursed—that Caitlyn truly believed she could get better. That something could be fixed. That there was a cure for her problem or a procedure or a miracle hidden within her father's knowledge and the walls of a state-of-the-art hospital.
And Vi didn't want to break that illusion. She didn't want to look Caitlyn in the eye when they reached the end of this whole process just to say, "I'm sorry, Cupcake. My body is broken, and it's going to stay that way."
Because she feared that pain, that disappointment, more than any diagnosis.
But she didn't dare to say it.
She tightened her grip on Caitlyn's arm, clinging to her like someone clinging to the only certainty they have in the midst of emptiness. Caitlyn was there. She held her with tenderness and conviction. She believed in her. And that, even though it scared her… was also the only thing that kept her going at that moment. Even though her chest filled with fear. Even though every memory told her she was making a mistake.
Vi didn't know if she was ready.
But she was starting to think that might be willing to try. For Caitlyn, for Powder, for her family… for the girl she'd once believed was worthless.
And because of that man last night… the one who had given her a clear warning disguised as concern and that has caused the sleeping monsters inside Vi’s mind to awake again. If that man or others were a threat—and deep down, Vi knew the threat was real, even if she didn't yet understand why—then she had to prepare. She had to be ready for whatever was coming.
But how do you prepare for an enemy you don't know?
How do you protect those you love when you are the root of the danger?
Maybe getting checked out medically once again was the first step… even if it left a bad taste in her mouth.
She kept her eyes closed for a second longer, biting the inside of her cheek. Because rage, helplessness, uncertainty… were a slow poison in her chest. She felt vulnerable, trapped between a past she couldn't remember, a present she could barely hold onto, and a future that already felt like a countdown.
“Okay,” she finally murmured. “Okay, Cait…”
“Vi...?”
“We can do the checkup”
Caitlyn didn't answer back immediately, but Vi felt the tension in her body suddenly loosen, as if she'd just released a lump that had been in her throat for days.
“Thank you,” she whispered, clutching Vi to her chest once more.
And Vi let herself fall into that embrace as if it were a safe place.