Behind Blue Eyes

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.