Chapter 2
The sun had barely emerged from behind the horizon when Sevika and Vi came to a halt. They’d been on the run since the heist went sideways two days ago, the heavy bag of stolen loot thumping against their hips like a second heartbeat. Vi cradled her injured stomach, the makeshift bandage stained a deep red that stood out starkly against her pale skin.
The wound from the earlier gunfight was nothing short of agonizing, but it wasn’t going to stop her—not yet.
Vi could feel the blood seeping through the fabric of her shirt, a constant reminder that time was ticking. Every step was a laborious, each movement that much harder as her body begged for rest. But there was no time for weakness. Not when they had come this far. She clenched her teeth, pushing through the pain, her focus narrowed to the faint glint of the Piltover River in the distance, the faintest promise of water and salvation.
Sevika, ever the calm one in moments of crisis, squinted against the unforgiving sun, her dust-caked eyes scanning the horizon. Vi, her partner in crime, hunched over the crumpled map they’d stolen from a saloon a lifetime ago.
The paper barely resembled the desert expanse they now found themselves in, its edges curled from the heat and wear, but it was all they had. The two outlaws had ridden hard since the heist in Iron Sire, leaving a trail of dust, chaos, and bloodshed in their wake.
The previous night had been a blur of gunfire and shouting. Grayson, the sheriff with a face like stone, had caught them red-handed. Vi had managed to grab the loot, a glinting bag of gold bars and cash, and they bolted into the night. The echo of her gunshot had followed them, but whether it found its mark was lost to the wind.
Vi slapped the map against her thigh in frustration, sending a cloud of dust into the air. "This piece of shit's as useful as water in a bloody brothel!" she spat, her voice a mix of anger and exhaustion. Sevika, though equally tired, couldn’t help but smirk at Vi’s creativity. She had a knack for finding humour in the darkest of situations.
"Keep your britches on, darlin', we're not dead yet," Sevika drawled, her voice thick with a dryness that no amount of spit could ease. Despite her nonchalance, a tinge of worry lurked behind her eyes.
Grayson’s pursuit was relentless, and the fear of her obsession hung heavy in the air. If he was still on their tail, they’d need to keep moving.
With a grunt, Vi folded the map and shoved it back into her pocket, her movements stiff with pain. They had been riding for what felt like an eternity, their mouths parched, their stomachs growling like a pack of feral dogs.
The only sustenance they had was the occasional scorpion, roasted over a makeshift fire, and a couple of cans of beans from the bottom of Vi’s saddlebag, trust her to carry food always. The desert was a harsh mistress, offering little in the way of comfort or direction.
But as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the desert in a warm orange glow, Vi spotted something that made her heart leap. A thin ribbon of life snaked through the barren landscape, hinting at the promise of water. "The Piltover River," she murmured, the name etched into her mind from a drunken tale spun by a traveller. It was their only hope of survival, and it lay by their fingertips.
The next few hours passed in a haze of blistering heat; their bodies pushed to their limits. Vi’s injury grew worse. The bullet wound had left her weakened, and the desert was not kind to the sick or the wounded. Each time they rested, the blood from the gash seeped further, staining her shirt and threatening to drag her under now becoming infected.
By the next day, her movements were sluggish, her breath ragged. Sevika noticed, of course—she always did—but the older woman said nothing. There was no time for weakness. They had to survive, and that meant pushing through. So, despite the burning pain in her side, Vi continued to ride, her fingers trembling as they gripped the map, determined to reach the river before they and their horses collapsed.
When they finally stumbled upon the Piltover river, on the third evening, the sight was almost unreal. The river shimmered like a mirage, its cool waters gleaming in the fading sunlight. It was everything they had fought for—and more.
But it wasn’t the bustling trading post they had hoped for. Instead, it was a quiet, desolate stretch, the river meandering lazily through the land, untouched by civilization. There were faint city lights further west from the embankment that kept Vi’s delusions at bay for now.
Vi’s heart sank for a moment, the weight of disappointment pressing down on her chest, but the promise of water was enough to keep her going.
Without a word, she dropped her gear with a clatter and stumbled down the bank, her injured side screaming in protest. She plunged her head into the stream, the cool liquid washing away layers of dirt and sweat, feeling like the very essence of life itself. For a few glorious moments, it felt like they were free.
Sevika followed, her eyes tired but still sharp. She crouched beside Vi, drinking greedily from the stream before sitting back on her heels, wiping the sweat and grime from her brow. "Well, darlin’, looks like we made it," she said, a small grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Vi didn’t answer immediately, her head still dipped in the water as she drank her fill. But as she pulled away, she felt the weight of her injury press against her more than ever. Her stomach ached, but the coolness of the water had settled the fire in her veins, and with it, the pain began to ebb, though not entirely.
They made camp by the river, the sounds of the water lulling them into a sense of peace they hadn’t felt in days. The night was quiet, save for the crackle of the fire. The loot lay forgotten beside them, the weight of their stolen gold no longer important.
As they sat by the fire, sharing the last of their jerky and stale bread, Sevika’s voice broke the silence. "Vi, I think we should ditch the gold before we enter the town," she said, her tone serious.
Vi raised an eyebrow. "You want to leave our fortune in the middle of nowhere?"
Sevika nodded, her expression hardening. "We’re gonna need to blend in. A couple of dusty vagrants flashing gold is like waving a red cape at a bull. We hide it here, make a map, and if things go south, we know where to come back."
Vi hesitated, the exhaustion clouding her thoughts, but Sevika had a point. Reluctantly, she nodded, and the two women set to work. They buried the gold in a shallow grave, marking the spot with rocks and a crude map drawn in the sand—a ridiculous little doodle of a cactus with a smug smile, clutching a bag of coins. It was a joke, but it would work.
The next morning, they made their way down along the bank, the unfamiliar, quiet landscape slowly giving way to a quaint town, its entrance marked by a grand, weathered sign that read: Piltover Riverbank County. The path toward it felt like an old memory, a faded relic of something better, but the town itself seemed as though it had always existed just out of reach.
As they entered, the locals stared with wide eyes—curiosity and fear clashing in their gazes. Vi avoided contact, though it came out more as a grimace, the weariness of the past few days etched deeply on her face. The dirt and grime clung to her like a second skin, and her stomach still throbbed beneath the rough bandage. The infected wound threatening to take over.
They needed a drink. No—several drinks. And there was only one place to get it.
The saloon doors to ‘The Last Drop’ groaned open, and the low murmur of conversation inside came to an abrupt stop. Every eye in the room snapped toward the newcomers—some with suspicion, others with more than a little judgment. Vi straightened her hat, trying to shake off the exhaustion, though it clung to her like a heavy cloak. Her boots thudded heavily on the wooden floor as she strode in, Sevika trailing close behind, her presence as imposing as ever.
The barkeep, a tall man with a thick beard that seemed like it had never seen a razor, glanced over the two women with a mix of wariness and curiosity. His eyes flicked to Vi’s bloodstained bandage, then back to her face. There was a certain heaviness in the air, a tension that hummed just beneath the surface.
"What’ll it be, ladies?" he asked, his voice gravelly and deep, but not unfriendly—more like someone who had seen their fair share of trouble and had learned to expect it.
Vi let out a dry laugh, her throat scraping as she spoke. "Water," she rasped, her voice thick from days of thirst. "And something strong enough to burn the desert out of our throats."
The barkeep gave a short nod, his eyes lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary. A subtle shift in his stance, but nothing that screamed danger. He was used to strangers—and to trouble. Still, he moved quickly, grabbing a dirty glass and filling it with water before setting it down in front of Vi.
Sevika slid onto the nearest stool, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. She didn’t say a word—didn’t need to. Everyone in the room knew better than to approach.
The drink was strong, but it was what they needed. The burn of alcohol trickled down Vi’s throat, cutting through the dryness, though it didn’t do much for the heaviness in her bones. But it was a start. One drink at a time.
The man nodded, slamming two shots of whiskey onto the counter. Vi tossed one back without hesitation, the burn of the alcohol easing the ache in her gut. She could feel the fire in her veins as the liquid hit, a momentary relief from the pain in her side.
The bar quieted again, but Vi and Sevika sat down at the counter, letting the tension ease for the first time in days. They couldn’t stay long. Grayson was still out there, and the gold wasn’t far behind them. But for now, they let themselves rest, the weight of the desert and their troubles momentarily lifted. They had survived. And in their world, that was worth celebrating.
As the saloon settled back into its rhythm, the creak of the door echoed through the room once more. All heads turned at the sharp sound of boots hitting the wooden floor—those boots were different from the casual shuffle of the local patrons. The newcomer strode in with a purpose, her dark brown leather hat pulled low, shadowing her face. The collar of her weathered, tan coat was turned up, and beneath it, a badge gleamed faintly in the low light.
Her figure was tall and strong, and even under the heavy coat, her posture spoke of confidence, of someone who carried authority with a quiet menace. The eyes that scanned the room were sharp, cutting through the haze of smoke and murmur of hushed conversations like a predator surveying its prey. She stopped when her gaze fell on the two women at the bar, Vi and Sevika.
The atmosphere in the room shifted immediately. The energy around the stranger was commanding, magnetic. Her presence alone caused a subtle tension to ripple through the saloon, as if the locals knew better than to ask questions. The barkeep gave a barely perceptible nod, his lips pressing into a thin line, but didn't speak as the newcomer walked past him, her hand resting briefly on the wooden counter.
Behind her, a local followed, his face pinched in concern, but he kept his distance, as though sensing that the sheriff, for that's who the woman was, was capable of handling matters on her own. Her eyes danced once more to the women at the bar, her gaze contracting with something like recognition—or perhaps it was just a fierce suspicion. The local spoke in a low murmur, but the sheriff barely acknowledged him, her stare fixed on Vi and Sevika now.
Vi straightened as the woman drew closer, her body still aching from the long trek through the desert, but now there was something else—something flickering in her chest. The sharp pang of fear.
Her hand instinctively moved to her side, but the pain she'd been nursing, the one that had nearly crippled her before.
Vi could feel the burden of the sheriff’s eyes beating down on her. This woman wasn’t just a law enforcer—there was something else, something captivating about the way she moved, something in the set of her jaw that tugged at a distant memory. A memory that made Vi’s heart flutter uneasily in her chest.
The sheriff stopped just short of their counter, eyes flicking briefly between Vi and Sevika, her lips pressed tightly together as though she were wrestling with a thought that refused to settle.
"You're not from around here," the woman said, her voice low, tight with authority. It wasn't a question, but a statement. "And you don't look like you've been treated kindly by this desert. What happened to you?"
Sevika looked up at her, her expression unfazed. "Just a little... business back in Iron Sire," she said, her words vague with that familiar dry wit.
"Nothing we couldn't handle." She took a swig from the whiskey glass in front of her, offering the newcomer nothing more than a pointed look.
The sheriff’s eyes remained fixed on Vi, who hadn’t spoken a word, her body stiffening slightly as the woman’s gaze lingered on her injured side. The sheriff’s gaze flicked to the faint red stain on Vi's shirt before lifting back up to meet her eyes, searching, weighing.
“Did you steal from the wrong people, or did you just make bad choices?” The sheriff’s words were edged with something darker now, and the question felt more like a threat than an inquiry.
Vi’s throat was dry, but her anger stirred, cutting through the exhaustion. She pushed herself off the counter, turning toward the sheriff, meeting her gaze with defiance. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she shot back, her voice raw but steady.
The sheriff didn’t flinch. If anything, her stance seemed to grow firmer, like she was locking in place, as though preparing for a standoff.
But before she could respond, the local behind her cleared his throat and stepped forward, placing a hand on the sheriff’s shoulder with gentle urgency.
“She’s—she’s just wounded, ma’am,” the local said, his voice filled with concern, though his words held little confidence.
The sheriff didn’t move, her expression still sharp and unwavering. Her eyes flicked down to Vi’s injury, but there was no sympathy there—only cold calculation. After a long beat, she lifted her gaze to meet theirs again, her eyes harder than before, as if any trace of uncertainty had been erased.
Without a word, she reached for a set of handcuffs at her waist and clasped them onto Vi’s wrists, then motioned for Sevika to turn around.
"You're under arrest," she said flatly, her voice devoid of any trace of warmth. "For trespassing and causing unrest. You can either take your chances with the Iron Sire authorities, or you can take my offer."
Sevika opened her mouth to argue, but the sheriff cut her off with a raised hand. "I protect my people. I don't take kindly to troublemakers. You'll spend the night in a cell—cold, quiet, and without company. At dawn tomorrow, you’ll be given a choice: leave, or I’ll return you to Iron Sire, and I can’t imagine them being as merciful." Her gaze lingered for a moment longer, before she jerked her head toward the back of the saloon, indicating the direction to the cell.
Vi winced as the sheriff—motioned for them to follow her. They had no choice but to comply, and the walk to the back of the saloon felt far longer than it should have.
The cell door clanged open with an unsettling noise, and the sheriff—gestured for them to step inside. The cold hit them immediately, a biting contrast to the dry, oppressive heat outside. The sheriff took a step forward, still silent as ever, before turning back to them.
“Sit,” she commanded, her voice as sharp as ever.
Vi, still clutching her side, nodded and sank down onto the bench inside the cell. Sevika followed, her expression unreadable as she stood near the bars, keeping her distance from both the sheriff and Vi.
The blue haired girl reached into her belt and pulled out a roll of cloth and antiseptic. She didn't say a word, but there was a certain efficiency in her movements that suggested this was nothing personal.
"Hold still," the sheriff muttered, kneeling in front of Vi. Her fingers were firm as she unwound the bloodied cloth, and Vi sucked in a sharp breath at the sting of the cool antiseptic on her open wound.
"Jesus!" Vi hissed, gritting her teeth as the other woman’s touch was anything but gentle. "You trying to kill me?"
"Maybe," the sheriff replied dryly, not missing a beat as she methodically redressed the wound. Her hands moved with a practiced precision, though the roughness of her technique made Vi’s body tense with every motion. "Your wound’s not going to clean itself."
Vi gritted her teeth harder, her gaze catching the other women’s gaze—her pale blue eyes hard but not entirely unapproachable. The way she worked reminded Vi of a machine, no emotions, just business.
“Are you always this rough with people, or am I just lucky?” Vi asked, her voice laced with the faintest edge of humour despite the pain. She leaned back slightly, trying to give the sheriff a teasing grin, even though her stomach screamed at her with each movement.
Her response was a single glance, cold and unamused, before she went back to her work. Vi pushed through the discomfort, trying to make light of the situation, and then decided to take another route. Maybe she could play her cards right, distract the sheriff for a second.
“You know,” Vi started with a sly smile, her voice low and dripping with flirtation, “if you weren’t so busy playing nurse, maybe we could talk about something... a little more fun.” She let her eyes linger on the woman, trying to convey more with her gaze than with words.
She paused, her brow twitching for a moment as she glanced up at Vi. "Save your flirting for someone who actually cares," she said flatly, though there was an unmistakable flicker in her eyes. It was barely there—like a tiny crack in an otherwise impenetrable wall—but Vi caught it.
Vi just smirked, pushing through the pain as the sheriff finished redressing the wound with clinical precision. She wasn’t expecting a real response, but she figured it was worth a shot.
“There,” the woman finally muttered, standing up and moving toward her belt again. Vi’s stomach burned from the rough treatment, but she didn’t let it show too much. Caitlyn pulled out a small vial, unscrewed the top, and handed it to her without saying a word.
Vi raised an eyebrow at the vial. "What’s this?"
“Antibiotics,” she replied, her voice businesslike again. "It’ll help the infection before it gets worse. Take it now or don’t, but you’re in no shape to risk infection."
Vi examined the tiny vial for a moment before shrugging and downing it without hesitation. It burned going down, but at least it was something.
"You're a real charmer, you know that?" Vi said once she finished her drink, settling back on the bench. She was still hurting, still exhausted, but the alcohol and the antibiotics were starting to ease the edge of the pain.
The woman didn’t respond, simply walking toward the door and pulling it open with a creak. "Rest. You’ve got till tomorrow morning. After that, you better be gone."
Vi let out a deep sigh, rolling her neck to ease the tension, her hand still resting lightly on her stomach. Sevika leaned against the bars, eyes narrowed, following the sheriff’s every movement as the woman walked away.
“Well, that went well,” Sevika muttered sarcastically.
Vi didn’t respond right away. Her thoughts lingered on the brief exchange with the woman—the sharpness of her touch as she cleaned the wound, the coldness in her eyes that left nothing to the imagination. Something that didn’t fit into the usual schemes Vi was used to dealing with.
With a faint grunt, she shifted on the bench and shot a glance toward the door. "Hey," Vi called out, her voice low but curious. "What’s your name, anyway?"
The figure paused for just a moment in the doorway. She looked back at Vi, her gaze unreadable, she answered. "It’s Sheriff Caitlyn Kiramman to you."
The name sounded like it carried importance, like it belonged to something bigger than just the woman standing there. But Caitlyn didn’t elaborate, and with that, she was gone. The door slamming shut behind her with a finality that sent a despair through the room.