Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zaun never slept.

The streets pulsed with neon glow, a mismatched orchestra of flickering lights, distant shouts, and the steady hum of machinery. Even at this hour, when most people sought refuge in narrow beds or sagging couches, the city was alive. Graffiti murals stared down from crumbling walls, their vibrant defiance challenging the oppressive steel towers above.

Jinx loved it. She loved the chaos, the movement, the unpredictability.

Her boots scuffed against the cracked pavement as she walked, one hand clutching a battered duffel bag, the other shoving her wild blue hair out of her face. Tonight, however, even Zaun’s electric buzz couldn’t drown out her internal storm.

She paused at the edge of an alley, her mismatched eyes darting to a dimly lit corner where her old crew used to hang out. Her fingers twitched, wanting to trace the pistol strapped to her thigh—a nervous habit she hadn’t shaken—but instead, she clutched the bag tighter.

A small voice echoed in her head. Not hers. Not Silco’s.

It was a child’s.

She glanced down at the duffel bag, a deep frown pulling at her lips. The weight inside wasn’t weapons, explosives, or cash like it usually was. It was… softer. Lighter. A stuffed bunny peeked out from the zipper, one button eye dangling precariously.

Jinx hated it. She hated everything about this situation.

A week ago, someone had dumped a kid on her doorstep—well, not someone. It had been Cronk, an old gangmate who’d barely said two words before shoving the little girl into her arms and vanishing into the night. “She’ll be safe with you,” he’d muttered. Like hell she would.

The girl—Isha, Cronk had called her—hadn’t said a word since. Not one. Just stared at her with wide, dark eyes, clutching that stupid bunny like it held the meaning of life. Jinx didn’t know what to do with her. She’d tried yelling, bribing, even leaving her with a neighbor for a few hours. Nothing worked.

The kid didn’t cry, didn’t laugh, didn’t complain. She just… existed. Quiet. Too quiet.

Jinx hated quiet.

The Last Drop was mostly empty when Jinx shoved open the door, the familiar creak of its rusted hinges signaling her arrival. She expected the usual mix of half-drunk regulars and shady deals happening in the corners, but the bar was eerily subdued tonight. The dim light of the bar gave everything a greasy sheen, the stale scent of smoke and cheap alcohol pressing against Jinx like an old, unwelcome memory. A couple of figures hunched over their drinks in the corner, murmuring in low tones. Behind the counter, Claggor wiped at a glass with a rag that looked like it had given up on being clean long ago. He glanced up when she walked in.

Jinx didn’t wait for him to greet her. She stomped up to the counter, her boots loud against the sticky floor, and dropped a scuffed duffel bag onto the bar with a heavy thud.

“Got anything stronger than that piss you’ve been serving lately?” she asked, flashing a manic grin as she leaned over the counter.

Claggor’s eyebrow rose, and his gaze flicked to the bag, then back to her. “What’s in the bag, Powder? Also, isn’t it too early for trouble”

Her grin faltered, just for a second, but her voice remained sharp. 

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, though there wasn’t much venom behind it.

Claggor leaned back slightly, studying her with that infuriating calm he always carried, the kind that made her feel like she was still the little kid who used to tag along behind him, Mylo and Vi. Before he could say anything more, Jinx felt a small tug at her sleeve.

Her body stiffened. She knew exactly who it was without looking.

Isha stood beside her, the oversized hoodie she’d been given hanging awkwardly on her thin frame. The kid’s wide eyes darted nervously around the room, her small hands gripping at Jinx’s arm for security. In the grimy, shadowed bar, she looked like a lost sketch someone had forgotten to finish, out of place and too fragile to belong here.

Claggor’s brows shot up high enough to disappear beneath his hairline. His cleaning rag hung limp in his hand as he stared. “And who’s this?”

Jinx gave him a look that dared him to push.

 “None of your business,” she muttered, angling herself slightly in front of Isha as if shielding her from his scrutiny.

Claggor didn’t take the bait. Instead, he set the glass down, bracing his hands against the counter as he leaned in a little.

 “Looks like a whole lot of business to me,” he said evenly, his tone measured but not unkind. “Kidnapping? Not exactly your usual, Powder.”

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped again, sharper this time, though it was more to cover the awkward swirl of something she didn’t want to name, tightening in her chest. “And don’t worry about her. She’s fine.”

Claggor’s eyes softened, and for a moment, she hated him for it. “Fine, huh?” he said, glancing pointedly at Isha, who shrank closer to Jinx’s side. “She looks about as fine as you do.”

Jinx’s fingers twitched, and for a split second, she considered throwing the bag at his head. “Well I think I’m pretty alright, so jokes on you, I also didn’t come here for life lessons.” 

“Didn’t think you did.” Claggor straightened, his arms folding across his chest. “But you might’ve walked into one anyway. Who is she, Jinx? For real.”

Jinx’s jaw tightened. She felt Isha shift beside her, her small hand still clinging to her sleeve. She didn’t look at the kid, couldn’t. Instead, she met Claggor’s gaze head-on, her grin curling back into place.

“She’s just someone I’m looking after,” she said flippantly, like it was no big deal, like it didn’t already weigh on her more than she wanted to admit. “ I’m not playing house or whatever.”

Claggor didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at her like he was trying to peel back all the layers she kept throwing up in his way. Then, finally, he let out a slow sigh, shaking his head.

“Alright, Powder—fine, Jinx,” he corrected himself quickly when her glare sharpened. “You need a drink, I’ll pour you one. But I’m keeping an eye on both of you while you’re here. Got it?”

Jinx rolled her eyes, dragging the bag closer to her. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Good.” Claggor’s tone softened slightly as he turned his attention to Isha. “And you, kid—don’t let her boss you around too much, alright.”

Isha blinked up at him, confused but curious, and for the first time since they’d walked in, her grip on Jinx’s arm loosened just a little.

Claggor didn’t push for more, just grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and started pouring. But Jinx could still feel his eyes on her, quiet and steady, like he was waiting for her to slip.

She hated how much it made her want to bolt—and how much it didn’t.

She groaned, grabbed the bag, and stomped toward one of the booths in the corner, dragging Isha along. The kid followed without a word, her bunny clutched tightly in one hand.

Jinx dropped into the booth, slouching low in her seat as she pulled out a half-empty notebook and a pen. Scribbles filled the pages, chaotic sketches of bombs, guns, and mechanical contraptions that would make most people’s stomachs churn. She flipped to a blank page, ignoring Isha as the kid climbed onto the seat across from her.

For a while, they sat in silence.

Jinx tapped the pen against the paper, her eyes darting to the kid every few seconds. Isha was staring at her, unblinking, her head tilted slightly to one side. It was unnerving.

“What?” Jinx finally snapped.

Isha didn’t respond.

Jinx groaned and threw the pen down. “Look, kid, I don’t know what you want from me, okay? I’m not… I’m not good at this stuff.” She gestured vaguely at the space between them. “You gotta talk or something. Use your words.”

Isha tilted her head the other way.

Jinx leaned back and let out a frustrated laugh. “Great. Just great. You’re as messed up as I am.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

The voice cut through the air, smooth and familiar. Jinx froze, then whipped around. Ekko stood a few steps away, arms crossed, a faint smirk on his face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes, though her pulse betrayed her irritation.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back. His gaze drifted past her to Isha. “And who’s this?”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Nobody. Don’t worry about it.”

But Ekko wasn’t looking at her anymore. His focus was on Isha, crouching slightly to her level. She clutched her bunny tighter, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Hey there,” he said gently, his voice dropping into a tone Jinx didn’t often hear. “What’s your name?”

Isha blinked but didn’t answer.

“She doesn’t talk,” Jinx said, shrugging like it was nothing. “Been that way since I got stuck with her.”

Ekko’s brows knit together. “Stuck with her?” He straightened, his voice quiet but sharp. “She’s not a stray, Jinx. She’s a kid.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for her, did I?” Jinx snapped. “Cronk dumped her on me and disappeared. Said she’d be ‘safe.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

Ekko shook his head, the faint smirk gone. “So, your genius idea was to bring her here? Real stable, Jinx.”

“Oh, spare me the lecture, Boy Saviour” she scoffed. “She’s fine. Look at her—she’s not dead.”

“Not dead isn’t the same as fine,” he responded back. His attention shifted back to Isha. He crouched again, raising his hands in deliberate, smooth movements.

Hello. My name is Ekko. What’s yours?

Jinx blinked, her arms crossing defensively as she watched. “What the hell is that?”

“Sign language,” he said without looking at her.

Isha hesitated, her small hands trembling slightly as she slowly mirrored his movements.

Isha.

Ekko smiled. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Jinx’s smirk faltered, replaced by something closer to confusion. “Wait, she knows… that hand stuff?”

“Apparently more than you do,” Ekko said flatly.

Isha signed something else, her gaze darting nervously between Ekko and Jinx. He nodded before glancing at Jinx. “She’s asking if you’re mad at her.”

Jinx stiffened. For a moment, she didn’t respond, her eyes flickering to Isha’s worried face.

“No,” she muttered. “I’m not mad.”

Ekko studied her, his expression unreadable, before he straightened up. “You’re in way over your head.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” she muttered, tugging at her jacket sleeve. “You done?”

“Not even close,” Ekko said, crossing his arms again. “What’s your plan, Jinx?”

“Plan?” She barked a laugh. “Since when do I have plans?”

“You know what I mean,” he pressed, his tone harder. “Cronk’s not coming back, I’m assuming. You’re it for her now.”

Her jaw tightened, and her smirk twisted into a scowl. “Yeah? And what would you do, Mister Big Shot? Take her back to your precious Firelights and raise her like one of your little rebels?”

“If it meant giving her a real chance, yeah, I would,” Ekko said without hesitation.

The words hit harder than Jinx wanted to admit. She turned away, her fingers digging into the counter. “Well, lucky for her, I’m not handing her over to you or anyone else.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Ekko said evenly. “But she needs more than this, Jinx. More than you bringing her into random bars and playing babysitter when it’s convenient.”

“I didn’t ask for her, Ekko!” Jinx snapped, spinning back to face him. “Do you think I don’t know I’m the worst person for this? But guess what? She’s here. And I’m all she’s got.”

The bar’s usual hum fell silent. Even Claggor had stopped polishing glasses to glance their way.

Ekko didn’t flinch. He never did. “Then act like it.”

Jinx opened her mouth, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but it died when she caught Isha’s wide eyes. The kid was holding her bunny out to Ekko, her small hands trembling but determined.

“What’s this?” Ekko asked, his voice softer as he took the worn toy.

Isha signed something, quick and hesitant. Ekko’s lips quirked into a small smile. “She says you look like you need it.”

Jinx snorted, though it lacked its usual venom. “Kid’s got you pegged.”

Ekko handed the bunny back gently, his gaze lingering on Isha. “She’s smarter than you give her credit for.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not the one dealing with you,” Jinx muttered, but the edge was gone from her voice.

Ekko’s eyes flicked to her. “If you want to keep her safe, you’re going to have to step up. That means learning how to understand her—on her terms.”

“Right. And next you’ll tell me I need to learn that hand-talking crap?” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s called sign language,” Ekko said, his tone sharp again. “And yeah, you should.”

“Not happening.”

“Your choice,” he said, shrugging. “But don’t expect her to wait around forever for you to figure it out.”

Jinx scowled, her fingers twitching at her side. But she didn’t argue.

By the time they left the bar, the tension between them hung heavy in the air, unresolved. Isha walked between them, her bunny clutched tightly in one hand, the other brushing against Jinx’s jacket. Ekko lingered at the corner where their paths split, his gaze steady.

“You know where to find me,” he said. It wasn’t a promise or a threat—just a statement.

“Yeah,” Jinx muttered, tugging Isha closer as they walked away.

Chapter Text

The garage smells like oil and rust, the usual mix of broken machinery and dreams waiting to be fixed. Powder sat cross-legged on the floor, her fingers fumbling with a mess of wires and circuits. She bit her lip, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Powder, c’mon! We don’t have all day!” Mylo’s voice carried from the open garage door, where he leaned against the frame with an impatient scowl.

“Leave her alone,” Ekko muttered, tightening the chain on his beat-up bike.

“She’s taking forever,” Mylo shot back. “And you’re just saying that because you don’t want to do it yourself.”

“At least I could,” Ekko retorted, smirking.

Claggor, perched on an old milk crate, chuckled. “He’s got you there, Mylo.”

Powder tried to tune them out. She held up her invention—a small device with blinking LED lights—and pressed the button. It let out a weak sputter before a puff of smoke curled into the air.

“Great,” Mylo groaned, throwing his hands up. “Another dud.”

Powder glared at him, her face red. “It’s not a dud! It just—it just needs more work!”

Vi walked in then, her hair tied back and her jacket slung over her shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Mylo’s being a jerk,” Powder said, crossing her arms.

“Shocking,” Vi said dryly, shooting Mylo a look. “Give her a break. We’re not in a rush.”

“Yeah, we kind of are,” Mylo muttered, but he backed off, sulking.

Powder shot Vi a grateful smile, and for a moment, everything felt okay. They were a family then—a chaotic, messy family—but a family nonetheless.

The mall was packed, its food court buzzing with chatter and the smell of fries and burnt coffee. Powder followed close behind Vi, her invention tucked safely in her bag.

“You ready?” Vi asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Powder nodded, her heart pounding. This was her chance to prove herself, to show she could be more than the baby of the group.

They split up, each heading to their assigned spots. 

Her job was simple: place the device under the kiosk where the mall’s security cameras were controlled. Easy enough—until she saw the guard.

He wasn’t supposed to be there. Powder froze, her fingers hovering over the device.

“Powder, move!” Vi’s voice crackled through the earpiece.

“I—there’s someone here,” Powder whispered back.

“Just do it,” Vi hissed. “He won’t see you.”

Her hands trembled as she shoved the device into place and hit the switch. The lights blinked green, and the guard didn’t even notice. Powder let out a shaky breath and darted back toward the rendezvous point.

They made it out, but barely. The device short-circuited halfway through, causing a small explosion that alerted the mall’s security team. In the chaos, Mylo twisted his ankle, and Claggor got tackled by a security guard.

When they finally regrouped in an alleyway, Vi was upset though she attempted to not show it.

“What happened Powder?” she demanded. She wasn’t mad, Powder knew that then. Worried, yeah, she always was. 

“I—I was just—”

“We could’ve gotten caught! Mylo and Claggor—”

“She did her best,” Ekko interrupted weakly, he was never good at standing up to Vi then.

“And look where that got us?” Mylo muttered. 

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Powder’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to cry in front of them.

The old playground wasn’t much to look at anymore. Rusted swings creaked in the breeze, and the once-bright paint on the slide had long since faded to a dull gray. It was empty, which was why Ekko had brought her here.

Powder sat on the edge of the merry-go-round, her legs dangling as she picked at a loose thread on her hoodie. Her face was blotchy, the aftermath of tears she’d tried to hide.

Ekko approached her slowly, holding two slushies he’d grabbed from a corner store. He plopped down beside her and handed her one.

“Blue raspberry,” he said. “Your favorite, right?”

Powder didn’t respond at first, just stared at the swirling blue ice. Finally, she took it, mumbling, “Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional gust of wind and the squeak of the merry-go-round as Ekko shifted his weight.

“You know,” he said, breaking the quiet, “I think that mall gig was cursed from the start. Bad vibes all around.”

Powder glanced at him, her brows furrowed. “You’re just saying that.”

“Nah, I’m serious,” Ekko said, grinning. “The second we walked in and smelled that burnt coffee, I knew. Nothing good happens in a place with bad coffee.”

A tiny smile tugged at her lips, but she quickly hid it. 

“It was my fault,” she muttered, staring at her slushie. “If I hadn’t frozen up, maybe Mylo wouldn’t have—”

“Whoa,” Ekko interrupted, turning to face her. “Mylo twisted his ankle because he tripped over his own big ego, not because of you.”

“But—”

“And Claggor?” Ekko continued. “He’s fine. Tougher than a security guard, anyway. You didn’t make the device short-circuit. Sometimes stuff just… goes wrong. That’s how it works.”

Powder shook her head, her voice breaking. “Vi was so upset. And Mylo…”

“Mylo’s always mad,” Ekko said with a shrug. “I think it’s his natural state.”

That got a quiet snort out of her, and Ekko grinned.

“Listen, Pow,” he said, his voice softer now. “You did good, okay? You got the device in place. That’s more than most people could do with a guard breathing down their neck.”

She glanced at him, uncertainty written all over her face. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, I do,” Ekko said firmly. “You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for. And smarter, too. I mean, you built that thing, right? That’s like, badass.”

Powder looked down at her slushie, her grip on the cup tightening. “I just wanted to prove I could do something right.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Ekko said, bumping her shoulder lightly with his own. “Or to Claggor, or even Vi. You’re already enough, Pow. Even if they don’t always show it.”

For the first time that day, she looked him in the eye. “Thanks, Ekko.”

He smiled. “No problem. Now, drink your slushie before it melts. I had to steal it, so don’t make it go to waste.” 

Powder laughed, a quiet, shaky sound, but it was real. And for the first time that day, she felt a little lighter.

The next job was supposed to be redemption. Powder had spent weeks perfecting her latest invention, a remote-controlled drone with a small explosive payload.

They were supposed to hit a warehouse, stealing supplies from a local gang. But something went wrong—again.

The drone veered off course, crashing into a stack of propane tanks. The explosion was massive, shaking the entire block. Mylo and Claggor were caught in the blast, their injuries worse this time.

Vi screamed at her, raw and unfiltered. “You’re a liability!”

Powder couldn’t breathe. The word echoed in her head, over and over. Liability.

“You’re just a jinx,” Mylo muttered from his spot on the couch, clutching his bandaged arm.

“Shut up, Mylo,” Ekko said, his voice tense. But even when she did catch his eyes, she saw it, disappointment. 

Powder sat on the roof of the rundown apartment building, knees pulled to her chest as the city buzzed faintly below. She couldn’t face them—not after what happened. Mylo’s words looped in her head like a broken record: You’re just a jinx.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the images of the explosion and the aftermath were seared into her mind. The blood, the screams, Vi’s anger. It all churned in her chest until it felt like she couldn’t breathe.

The door to the roof creaked open, and Powder tensed. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t have to.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Ekko said, his footsteps cautious as he approached.

“Go away,” she muttered, her voice cracking.

“No,” he replied, dropping down beside her. He pulled his knees up and rested his arms on them, staring out at the city.

They sat in silence for what felt like forever, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavy between them.

“You’re not gonna say it?” Powder finally asked, her voice bitter.

“Say what?”

“That I screwed up. That I’m a… a jinx.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she hated how small she sounded.

Ekko sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t screw up, Powder. The drone did. Big difference.”

“It’s the same thing,” she snapped, her nails digging into her arms. “I made it. I’m the reason Mylo and Claggor got hurt.”

Ekko turned to face her, his expression serious. “Look, I’m not gonna lie and say it wasn’t bad. It was. But you didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” she whispered, tears spilling over. “They’re never gonna forgive me.”

“Vi was mad but she’s always going to believe in you, even when no one else will. And Mylo’s… Mylo remember,” Ekko said carefully. “But Claggor? He’s not holding this against you. And me? I don’t blame you either.”

Powder turned to him, her eyes wide and desperate. “Then why did you look at me like that?”

Ekko flinched, and for a moment, he couldn’t meet her eyes. 

“Because I was scared,” he admitted quietly. “Seeing them like that… It scared me. And I guess I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

“You really don’t hate me?” She stared at him, her lips trembling. 

“Pow, I could never hate you,” he said firmly. “You’re my best friend. You’ve always been my best friend.”

The words hit her like a lifeline, something solid to cling to in the storm of her thoughts.

“You’ve gotta stop pushing yourself so hard,” Ekko continued. “You’re trying to prove something to people who already care about you. You don’t have to keep doing that.”

Powder wiped her face with her sleeve, sniffling. “I just… I don’t wanna mess up anymore.”

“You’re gonna mess up sometimes,” Ekko said, nudging her shoulder. “We all do. But that doesn’t make you a jinx. It just makes you human.”

She gave him a small, shaky smile. “You’re too nice to me.”

“Someone’s gotta be,” he teased, though his eyes softened.

The late afternoon sun spilled through the cracked window of Vander’s bar, casting a warm glow that didn’t match the cold feeling settling in Powder’s stomach. She sat cross-legged on the floor of the upstairs apartment, tinkering with another one of her gadgets. The rhythmic clinking of metal helped drown out the noise in her head—Vi’s angry words, Mylo’s sharp jabs, and Claggor’s quiet disappointment.

The front door slammed downstairs. Powder’s hands froze mid-twist, the screwdriver slipping from her grasp. Vander’s heavy boots thudded against the stairs, each step slower than the last.

She didn’t dare move.

When Vander finally appeared in the doorway, his face was grave. Powder’s stomach twisted further.

“Powder,” he began, his voice softer than she’d expected.

“Where’s Vi?” she blurted out, sitting up straighter. The words felt like they were stuck in her throat, but she forced them out. “She said she’d come back.”

Vander rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her. “Vi’s not coming back. Not for a while.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice cracked.

“She’s… she got caught up in that mess with the warehouse. The police—” He stopped, sighing heavily. “They’re sending her to juvenile detention.”

The words hit like a punch. Powder blinked, trying to process what he was saying. “No. No, you’re lying. She wouldn’t—Vi wouldn’t just leave!”

“She didn’t leave, kid,” Vander said, crouching down so they were eye level. His big hand rested on her shoulder, but it didn’t feel comforting. It felt like a weight. “This isn’t her choice.”

Powder shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “But it’s my fault. It’s all my fault! If I didn’t mess up—if I didn’t—”

“Powder, stop,” Vander said firmly, cutting her off. “This isn’t on you. Vi made her choices, and now she’s got to deal with them. But this family—” His voice cracked for just a moment before he steadied himself. “We’re family and we’ll get through it.”

“No, we won’t.” Powder shoved his hand away and scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest. “You don’t get it! Vi was the only one who—who believed in me. Who—” She broke off, sobbing too hard to finish.

Vander stood slowly, his face pained. “Powder…”

But she didn’t wait for him to finish. She grabbed her bag and bolted, ignoring his voice calling after her.

Powder sat in an abandoned playground, the rusted swing creaking as she rocked back and forth. She clutched the screwdriver from earlier like a lifeline, her knuckles white around the handle.

Vi was gone.

The realization hit her in waves, each one worse than the last. She could still hear Vi’s voice in her head—laughing, teasing, shouting, but always there. Always telling her she could be more than just a screw-up.

And now?

Now, she wasn’t sure she could be anything at all. Because Vi was gone and she was a liability, a jinx. 

Powder didn’t go home that night. She wandered the streets, aimless and broken, until she found herself outside Silco’s club.

He was waiting for her, like he knew she’d come.

“They don’t see your potential,” he said, his voice smooth and soothing. “But I do.”

She didn’t have the strength to argue. Vi did. But she wasn’t here, was she?

The night was bitterly cold, the kind that clawed through layers of clothing and settled deep in your bones. Ekko stood at the edge of a dimly lit alleyway, his arms crossed tightly against his chest as he watched the scene unfold. The sharp glow of a flickering streetlamp cast jagged shadows over the group gathered just a few feet away.

Jinx stood at the center, laughing loudly, her wild energy electrifying the group of rough-looking teens she was clearly leading. Her blue hair gleamed under the harsh light, a stark contrast to the dark alley around her. She didn’t look out of place—she looked like she belonged.

Ekko’s stomach twisted as he caught sight of what they were doing. They weren’t robbing anyone or hurting anyone—yet—but they were vandalizing an old community mural, one painted by Ekko himself years ago. It was a symbol of hope for the people of Zaun, something the kids and families in the area looked up to. Now it was defaced with jagged streaks of graffiti and mocking phrases that didn’t fit its spirit.

And Jinx? She was the ringleader, spray can in hand, adding her chaotic touch to the mess.

“Jinx!” Ekko’s voice was sharp as he stepped into the light. The laughter and chatter stopped immediately. The group froze, glancing between Jinx and Ekko as tension rippled through the air.

Jinx turned, her smirk already in place. “Well, well, if it isn’t the self-appointed hero of Zaun. What, you here to lecture me again?”

Ekko’s jaw tightened. He ignored the jeering from her crew, his eyes locked on hers. “Do you even know what you’re doing? That mural was for the people here—for us. It means something to them.”

Her smirk faltered, but only for a moment. She shrugged, tossing the spray can in her hand lazily. “Relax. It’s just paint. People shouldn’t get so hung up on meaningless symbols.”

“It’s not meaningless,” he snapped, stepping closer. “It’s ours. It’s a part of this community, the one you should care about.”

Jinx’s crew shifted uneasily, sensing the change in tone. “You’re taking this too seriously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What’s the big deal? You want me to repaint it or something?”

“The big deal?” Ekko shot back, his voice rising, “Is this who you’ve become? Just another punk following orders for someone like Silco?”

Her eyes narrowed at the mention of Silco. “Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t bring him into this.”

“I will,” Ekko said, his voice firm. “Because he’s the reason you’re doing this crap. You think this is who you are, Jinx? Running with his dogs, tearing down the everything?”

“Stop acting like you’re so perfect,” she hissed, stepping closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “You think this mural is some grand gesture? You think this community loves you for it? Newsflash: the world doesn’t care about art or symbols. It cares about power, and that’s what I have now.”

“No,” Ekko said, his voice dropping, raw with hurt. “You don’t have power. You’re just lost. And the worst part? I stuck around because I thought—I hoped—you’d find your way back. But you’re not even trying.”

She flinched, something in her feeling like it was cracking, but she recovered quickly, forcing a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “If you’re so tired of me, then go. No one’s asking you to stay.”

Ekko hesitated, his heart clenching at her words. He had stayed longer than he should have, hoping she’d see the light, hoping she’d remember who she used to be. But this? Watching her destroy something so meaningful, seeing her dismiss everything they once stood for—it was the last straw.

“You know what?” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “Maybe I will.”

Jinx’s smirk faltered again, this time for longer. But instead of stopping him, she turned back to her crew. 

“Fine. Go play hero somewhere else,” she said, her voice hard.

Ekko waited a moment longer, hoping for some sign that she cared, that she’d stop him. But she didn’t.

He turned and walked away, his heart heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. Jinx watched him go, her grip tightening around the spray can. Deep down, she knew he was right—knew he’d been right for a long time. But admitting it meant facing a truth she wasn’t ready to confront.

As his figure disappeared into the darkness, a pang of regret hit her. She didn’t know why Ekko had stayed as long as he did. Maybe because he saw something in her she couldn’t see in herself.

But now he was gone. Probably for good.

And despite everything, it hurt.

Jinx jolted awake, her breaths sharp and uneven, the edges of her memories still vivid as if they’d followed her out of sleep. Ghosts from her past, uninvited, lingered like paint stains that wouldn’t wash off. Her fingers twitched instinctively, grasping at the emptiness beside her. She groaned, running a hand through her disheveled blue hair.

“Ekko,” she grumbled under her breath, her voice gravelly with sleep. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as her feet hit the cold floor.

The apartment was quiet, an unusual calm that set her teeth on edge. Jinx’s gaze flicked to the couch in the corner of the room where Isha lay, cocooned in a mess of blankets. The girl’s small body was barely visible beneath the pile, only a tuft of hair sticking out. Jinx padded closer, her steps light, instinctively careful not to wake her.

“Still out like a light, huh?” Jinx whispered, crouching beside the couch. She tilted her head, observing Isha’s peaceful expression. “Lucky you. Wish I could sleep like that.”

Her fingers brushed against a discarded stuffed toy on the floor—one of the few possessions Isha had clung to when she first arrived. Jinx placed it beside her, then straightened up with a stretch.

She didn’t feel like sleeping again. Not with the memories lurking at the edges of her mind.

Instead, Jinx wandered to the far wall of the apartment, her sanctuary of sorts. Rows of spray cans and stencils were arranged haphazardly on a makeshift shelf. The scent of paint still lingered from her last project, comforting in its familiarity. She picked up a can, shaking it idly, the rhythmic clatter soothing her nerves.

She glanced over her shoulder, checking on Isha again. The girl hadn’t moved.

“Guess it’s just me and the walls,” Jinx muttered to herself.

With practiced ease, she set to work, spraying bold streaks of color across the blank surface. Her movements were chaotic yet deliberate, each stroke a release of pent-up energy. Blues, pinks, and purples blended in a way only she understood, each color carrying a fragment of her mood.

As the hours passed, Jinx lost herself in the process. She didn’t notice Isha stirring until the girl’s small, quiet presence made her pause.

Jinx turned to find Isha standing a few feet away, her blanket trailing behind her like a cape. The child’s wide, curious eyes were fixed on the wall, on the evolving explosion of color.

“Morning, kid,” Jinx said, her voice softer than usual. She crouched, resting her arms on her knees. “You’re up early. Or late. Not sure which.”

Isha didn’t respond, her gaze still glued to the graffiti. She pointed at the wall, her small hand making a swirling motion.

Jinx tilted her head, trying to decipher the gesture. “What, this? You like it?”

Isha nodded slowly, her movements tentative but deliberate.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jinx said with a lopsided grin. “Didn’t think anyone appreciated my genius.”

Isha shuffled closer, her fingers brushing against a can of spray paint on the floor. Jinx watched her carefully, torn between letting the girl explore and her own chaotic instincts.

“You wanna try?” Jinx asked suddenly, holding up a smaller, half-empty can.

Isha hesitated, glancing up at Jinx for confirmation. When she didn’t object, the girl reached out, gripping the can with both hands.

“Okay, so you just—” Jinx guided Isha’s hands, helping her press the nozzle. A faint mist of paint sprayed onto the wall, a shaky line of blue that made Jinx chuckle.

“Not bad for a rookie,” she said, ruffling Isha’s hair.

The girl’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles, a rare but precious sight.

For the first time in a long while, Jinx felt a flicker of something unfamiliar. It wasn’t peace—she doubted she’d ever feel that—but it was…close enough.

Jinx leaned back against the wall, watching Isha as the girl grew bolder with the spray can. The blue streaks were uneven, and the lines wobbled with every motion, but there was a strange beauty in the chaos. Isha worked in silence, her face etched with concentration.

Jinx smirked. “You’ve got an eye for this, kid. Not bad for your first masterpiece.”

Isha glanced up at her, a hint of pride in her wide eyes, though she said nothing.

Jinx tilted her head, observing the child more closely. Here, in the haze of paint fumes and vivid colors, she seemed grounded.

“Guess art’s good for something after all,” Jinx muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Isha handed the spray can back, her small fingers covered in flecks of blue paint. Jinx took it, nodding approvingly.

“Not bad at all. Don’t go getting ideas about touching the gold tops, though,” she added, pointing to her prized stash of metallic spray cans.

Isha tilted her head in confusion, her expression so serious it made Jinx snicker.

“You’ll get there,” Jinx said, ruffling the girl’s hair again. “Gotta work your way up to the good stuff. Like I did.”

Isha didn’t respond, but her gaze lingered on the wall, her fascination obvious. She shuffled closer to Jinx, leaning into her side. Jinx stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the rare gesture of trust. Slowly, she relaxed, draping an arm over Isha’s tiny shoulders.

For a moment, the two of them just stared at the wall, the vibrant colors glowing faintly in the early morning light.

Jinx broke the silence with a sigh. “Alright, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She stood, lifting Isha effortlessly with one arm.

Isha clung to Jinx’s neck as she carried her to the small bathroom. The routine was clumsy at best, Jinx fumbling with a damp cloth to wipe the paint from Isha’s hands.

Jinx scrubbed at a stubborn smear of blue on Isha’s wrist.

“Not exactly guardian-of-the-year material, huh?”

Isha didn’t react, but the corners of her lips twitched slightly, as if she found Jinx’s grumbling amusing.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Jinx said, catching the expression. “You’re lucky you’re cute, kid.”

Once Isha was clean—well, clean enough—Jinx set her down and ruffled her hair one last time. “Go grab some breakfast. There’s…uh, cereal? Somewhere.”

Isha padded off toward the kitchen, her blanket still trailing behind her.

Jinx leaned against the bathroom doorway, watching her go. She scratched the back of her head, feeling a rare pang of…something. Responsibility, maybe? Or guilt? She wasn’t sure.

“Guess I’m not completely screwing this up,” she muttered to herself, though her tone was less confident than she’d have liked.

As she made her way back to her makeshift art studio, Jinx caught sight of a photo tucked haphazardly into a crack in the wall. It was an old snapshot of her, Ekko, and Vi probably taken by Claggor or Mylo.

Definitely Claggor.

They were younger, smiling despite the weight of the world they carried.

Jinx stared at it for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she pulled it free and tucked it away.

“Not today,” she said softly, grabbing a fresh can of paint. “Got enough ghosts hanging around already.”

She turned back to the wall, her chaotic masterpiece waiting.

Jinx was mid-stroke, a vivid streak of neon pink slicing through the wall, when she felt a light tug on her shirt. She glanced down, paint can still in hand, and saw Isha staring up at her, clutching her ever-present blanket.

“What’s up?” Jinx asked, her tone distracted as she flicked the can again, adding a sharp edge to her design.

Isha tugged harder, her other hand pointing toward the kitchen.

“Food?” Jinx said, tilting her head as if that would make Isha’s silent insistence less compelling.

Isha kept tugging, her eyes wide with urgency.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your blanket in a twist.” Jinx sighed, setting the can down on the nearest crate.

Isha led her into the kitchen, stopping abruptly in front of a cabinet that was far out of her reach. She pointed up toward a brightly colored cereal box perched on the top shelf.

“You woke me up, dragged me off my masterpiece, for that ?” She put her hands on her hips, raising a brow. “Kid, couldn’t you pick something closer to the ground?”

Isha’s look of determination didn’t waver, her blanket trailing behind.

“Fine,” Jinx muttered, shaking her head as she reached up. “This what having a kid is? Turning into some glorified ladder?”

Her fingers grazed the edge of the box, but it was jammed tightly against the back of the shelf. “Who even puts cereal this high?”She stretched further, finally yanking the box free with a victorious grunt. “Oh, me.”

“Here,” she said, thrusting it toward Isha, who accepted it with a small nod of thanks.

Jinx leaned against the counter, watching as Isha dragged her blanket and the box of cereal back to the table. She struggled briefly to open it, and Jinx rolled her eyes before stepping in to rip it open with one quick motion.

“Next time, just holler, alright? Save me the guessing game,” Jinx said, plopping the box down in front of Isha.

Isha grabbed a handful of the sugary loops, munching contentedly while Jinx crossed her arms, staring down at her.

“You’re lucky I’m nice,” Jinx said with mock sternness. “You mess with my painting again, though? No more cereal for a week.”

Isha blinked up at her, unbothered by the empty threat. She held out a handful of cereal as if offering a truce.

Jinx snorted, shaking her head. “Nah, you keep it. Don’t need a sugar rush on top of this chaos.” She turned to head back to her graffiti wall but paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder.

Isha was already lost in her snack, content and quiet.

For a fleeting moment, Jinx felt the faintest twinge of something unfamiliar—something warm. She frowned, shaking it off as she headed back to her paint cans.

She grabbed her spray can and returned to her wall, but her focus was shot. Every few minutes, her gaze flickered back toward the kitchen, where Isha sat munching away, the faint sound of crunching breaking the quiet.

Jinx huffed. “What are you doing to me, kid?”

Chapter Text

Jinx woke up to the shrill sound of her phone vibrating against the coffee table. Groaning, she swung her arm out blindly, nearly knocking the thing to the floor before finally grabbing it. She squinted at the screen.

Vi.

Jinx hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button. It wasn’t like Vi to call—not anymore. Not after everything. But curiosity won out, and she begrudgingly swiped to accept the call, pressing the phone to her ear.

“What?” she muttered, her voice groggy.

“Good morning to you, too,” Vi’s voice came through, sharp but with a faint edge of something softer. “You up?”

“Clearly,” Jinx replied, sitting up and rubbing her face. “What do you want?”

There was a pause on the other end. Jinx could hear faint background noise, maybe a street or a market, but Vi didn’t speak right away.

“I heard you’ve got a kid staying with you,” Vi finally said, her tone careful.

Jinx’s stomach dropped. Her fingers tightened around the phone as she forced a laugh. “Who the hell told you that?”

“Claggor.”

“Of course he did,” Jinx snapped, her frustration flaring. “Can’t keep his mouth shut, huh?”

“He’s worried about you, Jinx,” Vi said, her voice firmer now. “So am I. What the hell’s going on? Who’s the kid?”

“None of your business,” Jinx shot back. She got up,  her free hand gesturing wildly even though Vi couldn’t see. “You’re not part of this, Vi. So stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Vi sighed, the sound heavy and tired. “Jinx, I’m not trying to—”

“Yeah, you’re always ‘not trying,’ aren’t you?” Jinx interrupted, her voice rising. “Not trying to fix things, not trying to help, not trying to stick around. Why don’t you go back to pretending I don’t exist?”

“That’s not fair,” Vi said, her tone sharp now. “You’re the one who walked away. You left us, Jinx. Remember that?”

“Don’t start with that,” Jinx growled. “I had my reasons, you weren’t even there”

“Yeah? And how’s that working out for you?” Vi shot back.

Jinx stopped pacing, the words hitting harder than she wanted to admit. She pressed her lips together, her knuckles white around the phone.

“I don’t need you to check in on me, Vi,” she finally said, her voice quieter but no less angry. “I don’t need you, period. Got it?”

There was silence on the other end. Then, softly: “What about the kid? You gonna push them away too?”

Jinx flinched, her jaw clenching. “Don’t.”

“You don’t have to do this or anything, alone,” Vi said, her voice losing some of its edge. “I’m still your sister, Pow. Whether you like it or not.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jinx muttered, then ended the call without waiting for a response.

She tossed the phone onto the couch, breathing hard. Her heart pounded in her chest, anger and something more bitter twisting in her gut.

From across the room, she noticed Isha standing in the doorway, her stuffed bunny in her arms, watching silently.

“What?” Jinx snapped, though her tone softened when she saw the kid flinch.

Isha didn’t move, her wide eyes filled with cautious concern.

Jinx sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s nothing, kid. Go eat something or… I don’t know, draw or whatever you do.”

Isha hesitated, then padded off to the small table where her crayons were scattered. Apparently (she decided with a quick google search) spray paint fumes aren’t good for kids. Or anyone, but she was already fucked so that didn’t really matter for her case.

Jinx slumped back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.

She could still hear Vi’s voice in her head, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her sister might’ve had a point.

Jinx sat on the couch for what felt like hours, the conversation with Vi replaying in her head like a broken record. Every word gnawed at her, stoking the embers of her anger and guilt until they threatened to consume her.

She glanced toward Isha, who was quietly drawing at the table, her tiny hand clutching a crayon with an intensity that felt out of place for someone so small. Jinx sighed, pushing herself up and trudging over.

“What’re you working on?” she asked, her voice rough but less sharp than before.

Isha glanced up, her eyes wary, then turned the paper so Jinx could see. It was a messy scribble of green and blue, something that might’ve been a house or maybe just a blob.

“Cool,” Jinx said, plopping into the chair next to her. “You’re a real Picasso, kid.”

Isha frowned, clearly not understanding, and Jinx immediately felt stupid for trying to make a joke.

“Uh, never mind,” she said quickly. “Looks good.”

Isha tilted her head, studying Jinx like she was trying to read her mind. It was unsettling how much this kid seemed to see without saying a word.

Jinx tapped the edge of the table, restless. “You, uh, sleep okay?”

Isha shrugged, which Jinx took as a ‘not really.’

“Yeah, me neither,” Jinx muttered. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, and stared at the ceiling.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound was the soft scratch of Isha’s crayons on paper. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t awful either.

Eventually, Jinx leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Hey, kid,” she started, then hesitated. “You ever… want to go back to where you came from?”

Isha’s hand froze mid-draw. She shook her head firmly, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yeah,” Jinx said softly. “Didn’t think so.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling like she was in way over her head.

Isha’s expression didn’t change, but she slid the piece of paper she’d been drawing on across the table toward Jinx.

Jinx stared at it. It wasn’t a house or a blob. It was a picture of two figures—a big one with wild blue hair and a small one with a bunny in their arms. They were holding hands.

Jinx felt something tighten in her chest. “You’re a real pain, you know that?” she said, her voice cracking just slightly.

Isha tilted her head, giving her a look that might’ve been a smile.

Jinx groaned, slumping back in her chair. “Fine, you win.”

Isha nodded, her face lighting up as she grabbed another crayon and went back to drawing.

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly and flickered as Jinx pushed the cart down another aisle. The store felt oppressive—the hum of overhead lighting, the sterile tiles. It all set her teeth on edge. She didn’t belong here. She barely belonged anywhere, but here? Among parents debating fruit snacks? This was hell.

Her eyes skimmed over the shelves, her fingers brushing along the cold cans of beans and the dented boxes of cereal. She didn’t know what she was doing. She had no idea what to buy, or if Isha even ate anything normal. What did kids eat anyway? Jinx hadn’t exactly been great at nurturing anything in her life.

She grabbed a random box of crackers, tossed it into the cart, and shot a glance back at Isha. The kid trailed a few paces behind, her bunny clutched tight, her wide eyes scanning the shelves like they held some kind of answer.

Jinx’s fingers drummed against the cart, the wheels squeaking as she turned a corner, half-heartedly eyeing the snack aisle. Should she get something sweet? Maybe a few packs of cookies. She could eat her emotions away, at least for a little while. She didn’t want to feel everything right now—her frustration with everything, the weird lump of responsibility lodged in her chest, or the strange, maternal panic that hit her whenever she looked at Issa.

Isha was a puzzle Jinx couldn’t solve. The girl had been so quiet from the start, and now, with each passing hour, Jinx found herself losing patience faster.

“If you want something, grab it. Got Silco’s card today.”

Isha didn’t move. Just clutched the bunny tighter, her silence twisting the knot already forming in Jinx’s stomach.

“What, nothing? You’re killing me here, kid,” she continued.

Isha’s gaze flicked to the shelves and back to Jinx, and then raised a hand and pointed. A brightly colored box of animal-shaped cookies stood on the middle shelf, obnoxiously cheerful. Jinx frowned at it, then back at Isha.

“Really?” she said, reaching for the box. “This? You really are just a kid, huh.”

Isha just blinked at her, the faintest quirk of a smile tugging at her lips before it disappeared. Jinx sighed, raking a hand through her hair. This was impossible.

“Jinx?”

The voice froze her mid-motion. She turned slowly to see Ekko standing at the end of the aisle, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression a mix of surprise and thinly veiled disapproval.

“Perfect,” she muttered, shoving the cart forward. “What do you want, Boy Wonder?”

Ekko stepped closer, his eyes darting between her and Isha.

“Didn’t expect to find you here,” he said, his voice casual but edged. “Trying your hand at domesticity?”

“Yep. Because domestic life is surely my strong suit.” She gestured vaguely at the cart, sarcasm obvious. “Just out here living the dream.”

Ekko’s gaze lingered on the disorganized mess of junk food, instant noodles, and canned soup. “Looks like you’re nailing it.”

“Don’t start,” she warned, turning back to the shelf to avoid his stare.

He ignored her, crouching to meet Isha’s eye

level instead.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said gently, offering her a small wave. Isha blinked at him, tilting her head before returning the wave. Then, after a pause, her hands moved quickly in a series of practiced signs:

Why are you here?

Ekko smiled faintly, signing back: I could ask you the same thing. Shopping trip?

Isha glanced toward Jinx, then nodded.

Jinx caught the exchange from the corner of her eye and frowned. “Traitor.”

Ekko straightened, his gaze hardening on the cart, “That stuff is no good for her.”

Jinx froze, her grip on the cart handle tightening. “What the hell you’re talking about.”

“You can’t just push a cart around and hope for the best.” He stepped closer, glancing at the mishmash of snacks and instant noodles in the cart. “This isn’t a diet; it’s a vending machine jackpot. You can’t feed her this all the time.”

Jinx glared at him, her voice defensive. “Oh, so now you’re a nutritionist? Let me guess—you read a pamphlet and think you’ve got parenting all figured out?”

“I don’t have to read a pamphlet to know kids need real food,” Ekko shot back. He gestured to the shelves. “Fruits, vegetables, actual protein, Jinx. Not just… sugar and salt.”

Jinx’s mouth opened to argue, but she hesitated, glancing at the cart. It wasn’t like she didn’t know he had a point. But admitting it felt impossible. “Fine,” she muttered, grabbing a random bag of apples and tossing it in. “Happy now?”

“Not really,” Ekko said, stepping past her to grab a carton of eggs and a bag of rice. “She needs this too. And milk. When was the last time she drank milk?”

Jinx blinked, the question catching her off guard. “I’m not keeping track of every damn thing.”

“Maybe you should,” Ekko said, his voice quieter now but still firm. “There’s too many kids around here malnourished or eating unhealthy.”

“I don’t need a lecture from you,” Jinx shot back, spinning to face him fully.

“It’s not a lecture, Jinx.” he countered, his voice rising slightly. “You barely know how to take care of yourself, let alone a kid.”

Jinx’s face twisted, anger flaring in her chest. “Don’t you have anyone else to go save?”

“That’s not what this is about,” he said, his tone sharpening. “This is about her.” He gestured toward Isha, who stood frozen, her wide eyes darting between them. “Kids need to be seen and you’ haven’t been in the best shape for a while, especially not enough to take care of a kid. The life you live isn’t made for kids, she could get hurt, or worse.”

Jinx’s breath hitched, but she masked it with a sneer. “Shut up, Ekko. We’re fine.”

“Maybe you are. But she won’t always be. And if you can’t admit you need help, then you’re just gonna pull her down with you.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Jinx’s fists clenched around the cart’s handle, her breathing uneven. She hated that he was right—hated it more than anything.

Finally, she turned away, her voice quieter but no less sharp. “I don’t need your help, Ekko. I can handle this.”

Ekko stepped back, letting her go but not without one final push. “You don’t have to trust me, Jinx. But at least trust her. See her. There’s always help. Resources, support—things I could get you if you’d stop being so damn stubborn.”

“I don’t need your charity,” she muttered.

“It’s not charity, Jinx. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

Silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Jinx glanced at Isha again—at the bunny she clung to like a lifeline, at the faint glimmer of hope in her eyes as she watched Ekko. A pang of guilt twisted in her chest, but she shoved it down, turning back to the cart with a huff.

Ekko stopped looking at her, eyes back to Isha:

I’ll see you again, okay?

“Please just consider it.”

The words landed harder than Jinx expected, leaving a crack in the armor she’d spent years building. She looked away, her jaw tightening. She gripped the cart and pushed it forward, her steps quick and uneven.

“Jinx,” Ekko called after her, but she didn’t look back. If she did, she knew she’d see that look—the one that made her doubt everything she thought she knew.

And she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

When they turned the corner, out of Ekko’s sight, Jinx slowed down, her grip on the cart loosening. She glanced down at Isha, who was still clutching the bunny like it was her lifeline.

“Im not going to be great at this,” Jinx admitted in a low voice, more to herself than to Isha. “But I’m trying. Okay?”

Isha didn’t respond, but the slight shift in her expression—a flicker of something soft, almost understanding— was enough.

It was sunset when Jinx unlocked the door and pushed it open, ushering Isha inside. The girl stepped in cautiously, her bunny clutched tightly to her chest. Jinx flicked on the light, revealing the space in its full, messy glory.

“And we’re back!” Jinx announced, voice dripping with mock enthusiasm.

Isha looked up at her, unimpressed but silent.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jinx muttered, kicking a stray wire out of the way.

The girl wandered over to the couch and sat down, carefully tucking her bunny into her lap. She traced the fabric with her fingertips, her movements slow and deliberate.

Jinx watched her for a moment, then rubbed the back of her neck. She hated this—the silence, the stillness. It made her twitchy, like there was a clock ticking somewhere just out of reach.

She grabbed a toolbox from the corner of the room and plopped it onto the counter, flipping it open with a sharp click. “You hungry?”

Isha didn’t look up.

Jinx shrugged taking the groceries from their trip and bringing them in.

Behind her, she heard the faint creak of the couch as Isha shifted. She turned to see the girl watching her, her expression somewhere between curious and cautious.

“What?” Jinx asked, narrowing her eyes.

Isha shook her head, then looked down at her bunny again.

Jinx huffed, tossing the saltines onto the table. “If you’ve got something to say, say it. Or… sign it. Whatever.”

The girl’s hands moved slowly, hesitantly. Jinx squinted, trying to follow the shapes, but it was like trying to read a language she’d never even heard of.

“Yeah, no idea what that means,” she said, dropping into the chair across from Isha. “You’re gonna have to dumb it down for me, kid.”

Isha frowned, her fingers twitching uncertainly.

Jinx leaned back, tapping her fingers against the table. She didn’t like feeling out of her depth, and this whole situation was one giant pool of “What the hell am I doing?” But she couldn’t just give up—not yet, anyway.

“Can you spell?”

Isha hesitated, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her bunny as if gathering courage. Then, slowly, she nodded.

“Good,” Jinx said, leaning forward. “Start there. Spell it out for me, kid. One letter at a time.”

Isha glanced at her hands, her brows furrowing in concentration. She raised one hand and began spelling letters in the air, her movements careful but slow: F… I… N… E.

Jinx squinted, mouthing the letters as Isha signed. “Fine? That’s it? That’s all you got?”

Isha gave a small nod, her expression neutral but her shoulders tense.

Jinx let out a dry laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Fine, huh? You’re about as convincing as a bad alibi, kid. But whatever.” She leaned back, folding her arms. “You wanna play the strong-and-silent type? That’s cool. I’ve been there. Should meet my sister.”

Isha didn’t respond. Her fingers toyed with her bunny’s ear, her gaze fixed on the worn fabric.

Jinx sighed, rubbing her temple. “Okay, look. You gotta meet me halfway here.” Her voice softened, though the edges of frustration still lingered. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

Isha’s eyes flickered up to meet Jinx’s. There was something there—something fragile, like a tiny crack in the wall she’d built around herself. Her hands moved again, slower this time: T… H… A… N… K… Y… O… U.

Jinx blinked, taken aback. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but gratitude definitely wasn’t it. “Thank you?” she echoed, her tone uncertain. “For what? Screwing up every five minutes?”

Isha’s lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile, so subtle it was almost imperceptible. It was gone in an instant, but it was enough to catch Jinx off guard.

“Alright, fine,” Jinx said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re welcome, or whatever.”

Isha didn’t respond, but her small, tentative smile lingered in Jinx’s mind as she stood and started unpacking the rest of the groceries. For once, the silence didn’t feel quite as heavy. It was still there, still awkward and looming, but it wasn’t suffocating.

Isha was still sitting on the couch, her bunny cradled in her lap.

The silence settled again, heavier this time but not as sharp. Jinx stood, stretching her arms over her head.

“Okay, kid. I’m going to head to bed. Don’t touch the wires—they’ll probably fry you. And don’t wake me up unless something’s on fire.”

Isha looked at the couch, then back at Jinx, her brow furrowing.

“What? You want me to tuck you in or something?” Jinx snorted. “Not happening. Goodnight.”

She turned and headed for the small room she’d claimed as her own, kicking the door shut behind her.

Jinx collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Her mind raced, jumping from one half-formed thought to another. She could still see Isha’s face in her head—wide-eyed and guarded, like a stray cat that didn’t know whether to run or stay.

She hated how it made her feel, that little twinge of guilt mixed with something softer she couldn’t name. She wasn’t supposed to care about stuff like this, about people. That was for suckers.

But as much as she wanted to push it all away, Vi’s and Ekko’s word.

“You’re all dumb anyway,” she muttered, closing her eyes.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. Though it never really did, nightmares haunted her like ghosts. 

The darkness of her room didn’t offer much comfort. The faint hum of the city outside crept through the boarded-up window, accompanied by the occasional shout or clatter of distant machinery. Jinx pulled her jacket tighter around herself, the faint smell of oil and smoke still clinging to it.

She wasn’t supposed to feel guilty. Not for a kid she didn’t ask for, not for dragging her around Zaun, and definitely not for snapping at everyone. But the look on Isha’s face earlier—the way her eyes darted to Jinx for reassurance—was like a splinter lodged in her chest, too deep to ignore but impossible to remove.

Jinx groaned and rolled onto her side, staring at the flickering neon sign outside.

“This is why I work alone,” she whispered.

But it wasn’t really true, was it?

Her memories betrayed her. She could almost hear Ekko’s voice from years ago, taunting her as they raced through Zaun’s alleyways, calling her “Pow-Pow”. She could see Mylo rolling his eyes at her, Vi cheering them on and Claggor giving her that stupid thumbs-up, every time she did something right, no matter how small.

They weren’t ghosts in her nightmares—they were ghosts in her waking moments, slipping into the cracks she tried so hard to patch up.

Jinx sat up suddenly, running a hand through her blue hair.

“Screw this,” she muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She pulled on her boots and grabbed her pistol, more out of habit than necessity.

The streets of Zaun were quiet at this hour, but not peaceful. They never were. She shoved her hands in her pockets and walked aimlessly, hoping the chill in the air might do something to clear her head.

The Firelights’ building loomed ahead before she even realized where her feet were taking her. It was one of the few places in Zaun that felt alive—plants spilling out from broken windows, dim lights glowing behind patched curtains, laughter faintly echoing from within.

Jinx stopped a block away, leaning against a rusted lamppost.

“What the hell am I doing?” she muttered, kicking at a loose piece of concrete. She was starting to ask herself a lot recently.

She didn’t belong here. She knew that. She’d made her choices, and this wasn’t one of them.

But just as she turned to leave, the sound of footsteps caught her attention.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

Ekko’s voice was casual, but there was an edge. He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Time Boy. I was just… walking.”

“In the middle of the night? Near our place?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

Ekko sighed, stepping closer. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

She shot him a glare but didn’t respond.

Ekko stepped closer, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowing as he scanned her. “Where’s the kid?”

Jinx tilted her head, feigning confusion. “What kid?”

“Don’t play dumb, Jinx. Isha. Where is she?”

“She’s at my place,” Jinx replied nonchalantly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

Ekko’s expression hardened. “You left her alone?”

“Relax. She’s fine. She’s tougher than she looks.”

“She’s a kid, Jinx. You can’t just leave her on her own.”

Jinx scoffed, leaning against the lamppost with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Silco left me alone plenty of times, and I turned out just fine.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms. “Yeah, you’re a great example of a well-adjusted adult.”

Her smirk dropped, replaced by a sharp glare.

 “Screw you.”

“You know I’m right,” he shot back, his voice steady but quieter now.

Jinx stared at him for a moment, her mouth opening as if to retort, but no words came out. Instead, she kicked at a loose piece of concrete, her frustration simmering just below the surface.

Finally, she let out a huff, avoiding his gaze. “What do you want me to do, then? Ask for help?”

Ekko raised an eyebrow. “You could start there.”

“Help me, oh great leader of the Firelights,” she said mockingly, throwing her hands up. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he deadpanned, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “I can check on her.”

Jinx exhaled loudly, muttering, “Good luck with that. My security system might make you go boom.”

Ekko stared.

“Joking.”

Ekko didn’t move, though. He lingered, studying her like he was trying to see past her defenses. 

“Why’d you take her, Jinx?”

She rolled her eyes. “What, you want some sob story about how I saw her and couldn’t leave her behind? Sorry, not happening. She needed someone, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Why are you asking me this?” she snapped, her voice rising. “You gonna write a report on it? Make me a better person or something?”

“Nah. Just trying to figure out what the hell’s going on in that head of yours.” Ekko shrugged, unfazed.

“Good luck with that, too.”

They stood in silence for a beat, the tension between them hanging heavy in the air.

Jinx broke it first, her voice quieter but still sharp. “Where’d you even learn sign language?”

Ekko blinked, caught off guard by the shift. “You’re asking me that now?”

“Yeah, why not? What, is it some big secret or something?”

He smirked faintly, shaking his head. “No. There was this old woman who ran a shelter. She taught me and a few others. Said it was the least we could do if we wanted to help people.”

Jinx tilted her head, “Sounds like something that would interest you.”

“People don’t just change,” he said simply, his tone cutting just enough to make her shift uncomfortably.

“Some do,” she muttered, looking away.

Another silence fell, heavier this time. Neither of them moved, their shared history sitting between them like a barrier neither could cross.

Ekko paused, “Wait here.”

Jinx turned halfway, her brows furrowed. “What now?”

“Just—hold on,” Ekko said, striding past her and into the building.

Jinx blinked, caught off guard. “What are you—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ekko called over his shoulder, disappearing back into the building.

Jinx stared after him, her annoyance sparking again. She debated leaving right then and there, but something kept her rooted in place. She crossed her arms.

Minutes later, Ekko emerged with a bag in hand. He handed it to her without a word.

“What the hell is all this?” Jinx asked, eyeing the items like they might bite her.

“Kid stuff,” Ekko said simply, pulling his hood up. “You’re welcome.”

Jinx’s lips curled into a sneer. “You think you’re some kind of expert now, huh? Like I don’t know how to take care of—”

“Do you?” Ekko interrupted, his tone calm but pointed. “You didn’t even know what aisle the foods were in earlier, Jinx. Take it or leave it.”

Jinx glared at him, her pride screaming at her to toss everything at him.

“Fine,” she muttered, gripping the bag tighter.

Ekko smirked faintly. He turned away again, this time for good. “Get back to your kid,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll check in tomorrow.”

“Please don’t,” the girl called over to him as he walked away.

Jinx watched him go, her jaw clenched, the shadows of the night swallowing him up. She muttered under her breath, “Stupid,” but there was no real bite to it.

Jinx pushed the door open, the creak echoing through the dimly lit space. The apartment was barely illuminated by the flickering neon lights filtering through the cracked blinds. She kicked the door shut with her boot, tossing the box onto the tattered couch as she glanced around.

“Isha?” she called, her voice softer than she intended.

A faint rustling came from the corner of the room. Turning her head, Jinx spotted the kid sitting cross-legged on the floor, clutching that same stuffed bunny from earlier.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Jinx muttered, leaning against the doorframe.

Isha looked up at her, those wide, guarded eyes locking onto Jinx’s. She didn’t say anything—she never did—but her expression spoke volumes.

Jinx sighed, running a hand through her hair. “What? Couldn’t sleep?”

Isha shrugged, hugging the bunny tighter.

“Yeah, well, same here,” Jinx muttered, flopping onto the couch. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned her head toward the kid. “You hungry or something?”

Isha shook her head, but her gaze lingered on Jinx, as if she were trying to figure her out.

“Good, ’cause I’m not cooking,” Jinx said, though her tone lacked its usual bite. She leaned back, closing her eyes briefly before cracking one open to look at Isha again. “Why’re you staring at me like that?”

The kid didn’t answer—of course she didn’t—but she shuffled closer, dragging the bunny along with her.

Jinx sat up slightly, watching her with a mix of curiosity and wariness. “What? You gonna say something for once?”

Isha stopped just short of the couch, sitting on the floor with her bunny. She tilted her head slightly, her small hands fiddling with the toy’s worn ears.

Jinx let out a breath, her shoulders slumping. “Yeah, okay. I get it. I’m not exactly a ray of sunshine.”

The kid didn’t react, but her gaze softened, and something about it made Jinx’s chest tighten.

“I’m sorry… ” Jinx admitted.

Isha’s lips twitched, almost like she was suppressing a tiny smile.

“Was that a smile?” Jinx asked, squinting. “Nah. Couldn’t be. You’re too serious for that, right?”

The kid’s expression didn’t change, but she held up the bunny, almost like an offering.

Jinx blinked, taken aback. “What, you want me to hold it or something?”

Isha nodded.

Jinx hesitated, then reached out, taking the stuffed toy with a touch far gentler than she realized she was capable of. She stared at it for a moment before looking back at Isha.

“This thing’s seen better days,” she said, her voice quieter now.

Isha just watched her, her small hands resting in her lap.

“Yeah, well…” Jinx handed the bunny back. “Don’t let it fall apart, okay? Not much left of it.”

The kid nodded solemnly, clutching the toy to her chest again.

Jinx leaned back, exhaling deeply. “You’re weird, you know that?”

For the first time, Isha’s eyes brightened, just a little.

Jinx caught it and frowned, though it wasn’t as annoyed as she wanted it to be. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m still terrible at this.”

Isha tilted her head again, the faintest hint of curiosity in her expression.

“Ekko got you some stuff, thinks we’re a charity case or something.” The girl grumbled, ignoring how the child’s eyes brightened a bit.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinx muttered, waving her off. “Go to bed already, kid.”

Isha stayed where she was, but after a moment, she rested her head against the edge of the couch, still clutching the bunny.

Jinx watched her for a moment, a strange mixture of emotions swirling in her chest. She shook her head, muttering under her breath as she stretched out on the couch.

“Strange kid,” she whispered, though the words lacked any real venom.

As the room fell into silence, the flickering neon lights painting faint patterns on the walls, Jinx stared at the ceiling again. Sleep didn’t come easy, but for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel as lonely.

Chapter Text

The soft clatter of crayons on the floor filled the quiet room as Isha hunched over a canvas, her small fingers deftly blending colors. Jinx watched her, her gaze a little too intense, as if trying to read the patterns of the girl's art the way she read people—quickly, instinctively, but always a little too late. The colors Isha worked with were bright, chaotic, but somehow they formed a quiet rhythm, a counterpoint to the storm of thoughts brewing in Jinx’s mind. The world outside felt distant, a mere hum of noise behind the bubble they’d carved out for themselves.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, an unexpected interruption. Jinx’s heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t in the mood for this—not today. Not with everything that was already crowding her thoughts. She glanced at the screen and saw the number of an unknown caller.

The phone rang again, piercing the silence like an alarm clock. Jinx cursed under her breath and flipped the phone over, her fingers itching to ignore it. But fate wasn’t going to let her off that easily. The phone buzzed again, this time with a voicemail notification.

After a long moment of hesitation, she tapped the screen, the message unfolding from the small speaker with the familiar, grounded voice of Ekko.

“Hey,” he said, sounding a little distant but still unmistakable. “You still have me blocked. No big surprise there, but listen, I’ve got a couple things for Isha. Thought you could use some… even if you’re being stubborn about it. If you can handle it, I’ll swing by later. Let me know.”

The message cut off, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Jinx’s finger hovered over the screen, unsure whether to reply, to shut herself off from it all again, or to acknowledge the help he was offering.

Of course, she’d blocked him. She’d pushed everyone away back then, convinced herself she didn’t need anyone. But Ekko… had a savior complex, now she was one of his projects.

She clenched her jaw and swiped to unblock his number, typing out a quick response, her fingers almost automatically forming the words despite the unease gnawing at her.

You can come over.

She hesitated, almost backspacing before the words could leave her fingers. No matter how hard she tried to shut him out, there was always something that pulled her back.

Sighing, she tossed the phone onto the couch, running a hand through her hair as she tried to banish the lingering thoughts.

A few minutes later, the buzz of her phone made her jump. Be there in 20.

Her stomach clenched at the message. She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready for him to be standing in her doorway. But there was no turning back now.

She looked over at Isha, still engrossed in her drawing, the little girl unaware of the storm brewing in Jinx’s mind. The silence between them felt heavy, the kind of silence that allowed thoughts to fester. Jinx took a slow, steadying breath and stood, moving toward the kitchen with the motions of someone pretending to be busy. Her hands flitted through the cabinets as if rearranging the half-empty shelves might help her reorganize the mess inside her head.

Jinx envied that simplicity, that innocence Isha had. She wished her own life could be as carefree as the strokes of Isha’s crayons on the canvas.

The sound of the clock ticking seemed to echo in her ears. Time was slipping away faster than she wanted it to.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Jinx’s first instinct was to pretend she wasn’t home. To hide. But the knock came again—louder this time.

Reluctantly, she opened the door just enough to see Ekko standing there, looking like he belonged in the space that she’d tried so hard to keep him out of. He shifted bags, emphasis on the s, multiple, in his hands, his expression cautious but not apologetic.

“You’re exactly on time,” Jinx muttered, her voice betraying a hint of frustration as she tried to steady herself. Some things really don’t change.

Ekko gave her a small nod. “Hey.”

“Just to remind you, I don’t need your charity, Ekko.”Jinx eyed the bags with suspicion.

“Never said you did.” His voice was soft, yet there was an edge to it, like he could see right through her.

Before she could react, Ekko stepped past her, not waiting for permission. He dropped the bags on the table with a thud.

Jinx’s gut clenched at the way he moved so easily in her space, like he still belonged in ways she didn’t understand. She closed the door with a quiet click, crossing her arms defensively as she tried to keep her cool. She wasn’t ready for any of this.

“Look, I’m not here to argue with you,” Ekko said, unzipping the bag. “I’m here to help. Whether you want it or not.”

Jinx shot him a sharp look. “I’m fine.”

Ekko didn’t waste any more words, pulling out a few toys, simple puzzles, and some snacks. “I know it’s not much, but I figured the kid could use something to keep her busy. There’s clothes in that one too. It’s not everything a kid needs, but I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”Jinx’s gaze darkened.

“I’m just saying, you’re not exactly a one-person army, Jinx.”Ekko glanced up, meeting her eyes without flinching.

Her pulse quickened, a flash of anger rising up. “Don’t tell me what I’m not.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy and filled with unspoken history. Ekko didn’t back down, just looked at her.

After a long moment, he spoke again, his tone softer. “You should learn sign language.”

Jinx bristled, not sure why his suggestion felt like an accusation. “I doubt I could.”

“You should try,” Ekko said, like he meant it. “She deserves someone willing to try.”

Jinx scoffed and turned away, pacing toward the window. “What do you want from me, Ekko? Did you come here just to insult me?”

Ekko’s eyes softened, but he didn’t flinch. “I know firsthand how easy it is for a kid to crumble in the wrong hands or alone. I think you know that too.”

Isha shifted in the corner, catching their attention. The girl’s innocent gaze met theirs, a reminder of what was at stake.

Jinx’s stomach twisted. She’d promised herself she’d never rely on anyone, least of all Ekko.

Finally, she muttered, “You can stay for a bit. But only until Isha kicks you to the curb. Then… you can go.”

“I’ll stay as long as she needs.”

—

After the alleyway showdown, as Jinx mentally titled it, they barely spoke. The distance between them wasn’t just physical; it was like something had been severed that neither of them was willing to repair. Time didn’t heal anything. Instead, it pushed them into separate corners, like magnets with the same poles facing each other. They existed in the same world—same school, same city—but they might as well have been on different planets.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when fate, in all its irony, paired them up for a project. Both of them were top students, naturally drawing the attention of teachers who thought it made sense to put them together. Of course, they hated it. But there was no getting out of it.

Ekko stood across from her in the small room where they were supposed to work. He folded his arms, eyes scanned the assignment sheet. The flickering overhead light made his face appear more serious than usual.

"If you don’t want to be here, I can do it by myself," he said, glancing up at her briefly. His tone was calm, bordering on neutral, but there was an undercurrent of frustration that had become all too familiar between them. "I’ll add your name in, if you want."

Jinx raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest with a slow, exaggerated motion. Her gaze locked onto him, and that same sarcastic smirk stretched across her lips.

"Aw, how thoughtful of you," she replied,"I’m fully capable of doing my own work, you know."

Ekko held her gaze but didn’t rise to the bait immediately. He knew better than that. "I’m just trying to make this as painless as possible. You want to get this over with without more drama, right?"

"Drama?" She tilted her head, clearly amused. "Oh, I love drama. In fact, I’m pretty sure we’re already in the middle of one, act two." She glanced at the desk, absently tapping the edge with a finger. "I’ll do my part, boy wonder. I’m not here to ruin your perfect little project, Ekko."

Ekko sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m not trying to be perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her. His voice was tinged with irritation, but he kept it in check. "I just don’t feel like dragging this out more than we need to."

"That’s cute," Jinx teased, leaning back against the table, one eyebrow raised. "You’re all Mr. Responsible now. Don’t forget I knew you before the hero complex." Her eyes gleamed, enjoying the slight jab.

"I don’t have a hero complex. And I’m not doing this with you, Jinx. We’ve got to get this done." He started flipping through the assignment sheet again, his eyes narrowing as he began outlining his thoughts.

"Oh, come on, you’re so serious." Her voice took on an exaggerated whine, "It’s just a school project. We’re not curing diseases or anything."

"It’s not about the project, it’s about the principle of getting it done right. If you don’t want to do it it’s fine.But don’t waste my time if you’re just going to mess it up."

Jinx’s eyes flashed for a split second—something like challenge and amusement mixed together."Mess it up? You think I’m too dumb to handle this? 'Cause last time I checked, I’m still on top of my game."

"It’s not about being dumb, Jinx. It’s about... well, you know what it’s about." He looked her over briefly, irritation creeping into his voice. "You’ve been acting like the world’s got it out for you since—"

"Since when, Ekko?" Jinx’s eyes narrowed, cutting him off. She leaned in a little closer, not backing down.

“Don’t start this,” Ekko cut in, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I stayed. I tried to stick around, but you made it impossible. You’re not a kid anymore, Jinx. And you didn’t want me then. So don’t try to act like you needed me now."

“That’s your problem, you always think someone needs you.”

Ekko’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t wanted to go there—not yet—but there it was, hanging in the air. "Stop throwing yourself a pity party, Pow—Jinx. You do need people, it’s human nature.” he said, the edge sharper than he intended.

“I will never need you.”

"Fine," he muttered, "Let’s just finish this. I’m not going to sit here and argue with you all day."

"Good," she said with a sharp nod.

The next day, she didn’t show up to school.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t, or that she didn’t have work to do. But for the first time in a long time, Jinx felt like the walls around her had closed in completely. She spent the day at home, pacing around her room, replaying that argument in her mind over and over. Her phone stayed silent. She didn’t check it. She didn’t care.

Days passed, and the silence stretched on. Ekko had sent a few messages, about the work—each one more frustrated than the last—but she ignored them all. She knew she was avoiding him, avoiding the mess they’d both created.

But the thought of facing him, of facing what they’d become, was too much. And so, Jinx stayed away. She didn’t show up to school. Didn’t answer any calls. Dropped out, much to Silco’s dismay and blocked Ekko.

—

“Did you hear me?”

Jinx blinked again, her mind racing to catch up with the sudden shift. Ekko was standing there his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. He didn’t have to say it, but the weight of disappointment settled in the space between them. At least that’s what it felt like.

“What?” Jinx asked, her voice a little sharper than she intended.

“She wants ice cream,” Ekko repeated. He didn’t wait for her to process before adding, “You were in your head again.”

“My bad, was counting down the seconds until you leave.”

“Jinx,” he said, his voice softer now, almost resigned. “I’m not here to fight with you.”

She froze in the kitchen doorway, her fingers brushing against the edge of the counter as her breath caught in her throat. His words had a way of cutting through her defenses, even when she wanted nothing more than to push him away. She hated that he had this effect on her, but she couldn’t deny it.

“Yeah, well, I don’t need your help,” she muttered, more to herself than to him, though she knew it wouldn’t be enough to keep the truth from spilling out. “I just wanted the free stuff for the kid.”

“Fine,” he said, and the word hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken understanding.

She turned to face him then, her eyes narrowing in frustration.

“I’m not doing this for me,” Jinx bit out, her voice sharp, but it lacked its usual bite. “I’m doing this for Isha. So don’t go acting like you know what I need.”

“I don’t know what you need, Jinx,” he said quietly, “but I know what Isha needs.”

The words stung like a slap to the face, but somehow, Jinx couldn’t bring herself to retort. She swallowed hard, her throat tight as the air between them grew heavier. He was right. He wasn’t wrong. And it pissed her off more than anything.

Isha’s soft foot steps broke the tension, her small, hopeful eyes looking up at them from the corner.

Ice cream?

“Ice cream.” Ekko translated

Jinx hesitated, fighting the urge to pull away, to keep her walls up, to retreat back into the familiar bitterness that had always kept her safe. But there was something in the way Isha looked at her—expecting, trusting—that made her chest tighten.She sighed, exhaling slowly, and finally gave in.

“Fine,” she muttered, “But you’re paying.”

Ekko’s face softened, just a little, as he watched her with a quiet understanding. “Deal.”

Jinx watched as Isha’s face lit up at the promise of ice cream, her small hands clapping together in excitement. For a moment, Jinx felt a flicker of something warm as she looked at the girl’s pure, untainted joy.

Ekko didn’t move immediately, as if giving her the space to make the next move, but Jinx could feel the weight of his gaze, the way he was always waiting for her to crack. But not today. Today, she had ice cream to deal with.

“Let’s go,” she said, keeping her tone neutral, as she grabbed her keys off the counter and motioned toward the door. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to prove—maybe nothing, maybe everything—but it felt easier to just focus on the small, simple task of getting ice cream.

The three of them stepped outside, the cool air a sharp contrast to the tension that still clung to the apartment. Isha walked beside her, her excitement infectious, while Ekko trailed behind, silent but ever-present.

They made their way to the corner shop, the bright neon sign a familiar beacon in the darkening street. Jinx hesitated before pushing the door open, a small part of her wanting to pull away, to retreat into her head. But she didn’t. Not this time. She walked in, the bell above the door ringing softly as they entered.

Isha’s eyes darted around the room, scanning the array of flavors with the kind of intensity that only a child could muster when faced with an impossible decision. Jinx watched her, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips before she could stop it.

“Pick something,” she said to Isha, her voice gentler than she meant it to be.

Isha looked up at her, unsure, but Jinx simply nodded toward the counter, where a wide variety of flavors sat. Finally, the little girl pointed to something brightly colored—mint green and speckled with chocolate chips.

“Mint chocolate chip, huh?” Jinx mused, half to herself. She turned to Ekko, who was standing a few steps away, leaning against the counter as he watched the interaction with a bemused look.

“Fine. You get her mint chocolate chip. I’ll take a scoop of… whatever. Doesn’t matter.” Her voice was still guarded, but there was a strange, almost fragile calm in the air as she spoke.

Ekko raised an eyebrow at her, a challenge in his gaze. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Jinx replied quickly, her jaw tightening. “It’s just ice cream, Ekko. Don’t make it complicated.”

Ekko ordered for them both, vanilla and cotton candy—her childhood favorite—and the fact that he remembered hurt.

As they left the shop, Isha holding her cone like it was the most precious thing in the world. Jinx kept her gaze fixed straight ahead as they walked back, the feeling of Isha’s excited energy filling the space between them.

Jinx’s eyes flickered to Ekko, who was walking just behind, his hands tucked into his pockets as he watched the scene unfold with a quiet kind of patience.

They had come to some unspoken truce—an agreement that didn’t need to be said out loud, but was felt in the way they moved.

Jinx’s fingers tapped anxiously at the side of her leg. She hated how quickly he’d picked up on the nuances of her behavior, how easily he could see through the layers of her anger, her walls. She should be irritated, should push him away harder, but instead, she found herself... hesitating. It was all too complicated.

She swallowed the frustration that had bubbled up, forcing her voice to sound casual when she spoke. “So, you ever teach anyone sign language before?”

Ekko glanced at her, a surprised look flashing across his face before he masked it with a casual shrug. “A few people. Why?”

“Teach me.” Jinx shifted uncomfortably, trying to downplay the sudden wave of vulnerability that had crashed over her in the form of a demand instead of a question. “Just the basics. For Isha, you know?”

There it was. The request had been more abrupt than she intended, but it was out now. She wasn’t sure why it felt like such a big deal, but she couldn’t shake the awkwardness that flooded her chest.

Ekko’s steps faltered for just a second before he caught up, his voice steady when he spoke again. “Sure.”

“I just... wanna be able to talk to her better. Without making her feel like she’s different.”

Isha’s eyes floated back to them.

“Good start,” Ekko nodded.

They walked in silence for a little while, the weight of everything between them still lingering.

Chapter Text

“So how do you say savior complex.” 

Brown eyes stared at blue, extremely unimpressed. 

If it were anyone else Jinx would probably grinned at the response. But it wasn’t anyone else, it’s Ekko. 

Serious Ekko, to be specific. Though lately, that seemed to be the only version of him she got. One look her way and it was all tight jaws, furrowed brows, and that damn pity in his eyes.

So. Annoying. 

“That’s not how this is going to work.” Ekko sighed, in all his seriousness glory with a sigh through his teeth. 

“Boo.” Jinx gave an exaggerated pout and eye roll, as if she didn’t just want to hurry up and get this over with. 

They were crisscrossed on the carpet of her living room floor, almost four days later since their last meeting, in attempt to teach her sign language. 

Asking anything from him was already a blow to her pride. But better him than anyone else. Because despite all his savior complex tendencies, Ekko actually knew how she learned. And more importantly he wouldn’t throw it back in her face.

What she had forgotten, though, was that getting help from him meant having to be around him.

And that part sucked. He’d already been here for two hours and the most she learned was the alphabet, which didn’t really count because despite Zaun’s school system being literal ass. It was apart of the curriculum. Plus some random phrases Ekko felt she should know in their speed run courses. 

Ekko moved his hands again gaining her attention, he was signing, translating while doing so. “Focus.” 

In response, Jinx could only huff dramatically throwing her head back letting gravity pull her all the way down. 

“I am focused.” 

“You’re literally not,” 

He didn’t sound mad. Just… tired. The kind of tired that settled deep in your bones. She hated how well she could still read that. It was late, he’d been busy with community center stuff since she last saw him and came over right after when he was done today. 

Because of his save-a-hoe tendencies. 

Tilting her head back Jinx looked back to Isha, she was watching, had been since Ekko got here. Didn’t interrupt or do anything— not that she ever really did do much, just watched her eyes drifting from their mouths to their hands. 

With a sigh, Jinx sat back up catching that Ekko’s eyes had fell on Isha as well. 

“I,” he signed and spoke slowly, “need help.” 

Jinx raised a brow. “I need help?” she echoed, voice thick with sarcasm. “Bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“You asked for this, by the way” Ekko said, not rising to the bait. He repeated the signs, slower this time. “Try again?”

Jinx gave a dramatic sigh and mirrored the first part, “I,” she said, already forgetting the rest  “need help.” 

He corrected her hand shape, brushing his fingers over hers without thinking. She didn’t flinch, but her whole body tensed for a split second.

Ekko paused. “This is for her. Remember?”

Jinx didn’t say anything. Her jaw just clenched, and she looked away—but she tried again. Slower this time.

Need. Help.

Isha’s face lit up, barely a twitch, but Jinx caught it.

“Yeah?” she asked, glancing at the kid. “You caught that?”

Isha nodded, quick and eager. Then raised her own hands and signed back—

Help.

Jinx bit back a smile, if the kid was into it then what would she really lose here. 

She didn’t look at Ekko. She didn’t want to see what was on his face.

And she didn’t have to. She already knew.

He adjusted his posture again, easing into a more relaxed stance, like he sensed she was on edge, which he probably did honestly. 

That was the thing with Ekko, he always knew when to push and when to pull back. It used to piss her off how well he could read her, but right now, it was the only reason she hadn’t thrown him out yet.

“Okay,” he said after a pause. “Let’s backtrack. You remember the sign for ‘more’?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, but it’s dumb. It’s just tapping fingers together.”

“It’s simple,” he corrected. “And it works.”

“Still dumb.”

“But you remembered it,” he said, a corner of his mouth twitching—almost a smile.

Jinx grumbled something under her breath, signing it anyway. Tap-tap.

More. 

“Good.” He shifted closer, not too close, just enough so she could see better. “You do better with repetition, so we’ll circle back to every fourth word.” 

She didn’t respond just nodded. 

“And you don’t do well with being corrected too many times in a row,” he added, “So I’ll only fix what matters. The rest, we’ll clean up later. That cool?” 

Yes. 

She signed. 

Isha clapped, her small hands tapping against the floor. The sound was light, quick, and real.

Jinx snorted. “Great. Got a fan club now.”

“I’m not doing this.” she had whined, in their earlier school days tugging her hair in frustration. “This is stupid. I’m not built for this math stuff.”

Ekko didn’t flinch. Just leaned back on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling like he wasn’t worried. Like he knew she’d try again.

“You said that last time,”

“Because it was stupid last time.”

“You figured it out though.” he grinned at her. 

She didn’t answer right away, kicking lightly at the floor. After a beat, she mumbled, “By luck.”

“No,” Ekko said, sitting up, “that was you. You just needed space, not someone breathing down your neck.” He took the notebook, flipped back a few pages, and circled something she had done right. “You just learn in bursts.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you calling me unstable?”

He smirked. “I’m saying you’re chaos. Controlled chaos.”

She hadn’t said anything to that. Just watched as he rewrote the problem, cleaner this time, smaller steps. Quiet. Calm. The way he always taught her. The way he always saw her. Not broken. Just… different.

It was hours later when they finally took a break.

Ekko stood, stretching out the stiffness in his shoulders before his phone buzzed, pulling him toward the door for privacy. Jinx stayed on the floor, legs still tangled under her, watching Isha’s small body rise and fall with sleep. The kid had knocked out mid-lesson, head resting on a folded hoodie, one hand still vaguely shaped in the sign for learn.

The quiet made her itchy.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, letting her fingers tap absently against the rug. 

She could hear Ekko in the background her walls were pretty thin, not enough to hear words just his voice. His now very manly voice that sounded too grown for the vision of him that was imprinted in her head. But still Ekko nonetheless. 

Blue eyes drifted back to Isha. Lucky, she thought, almost bitterly. But still, she found herself smiling.

The kid had been following along too. Ekko had mentioned earlier that Isha’s understanding of sign might be limited because of her age, and Jinx hadn’t really considered it until now.

The truth was—yeah, the kid was still just a kid. She knew that, logically. But Zaun didn’t raise kids the way Piltover did. Here, childhood was more of a suggestion than a guarantee. If you wanted to survive, you learned fast. Grew up faster.

Survival of the fittest, and all that.

She’d seen it too many times—wide eyes dimming too early, hands too small learning how to steal, lie, survive. Childhood wasn’t sacred here. It was something you shed like skin the second life demanded it.

And Isha…

She didn’t want that for her. Not really.

Jinx didn’t have the right words for it—didn’t know how to say she cared without sounding stupid or weak—but the idea of that little girl learning to navigate Zaun the way she had?

No.

She glanced at the mess of hair sprawled across the floor, tiny fingers twitching in sleep. Maybe the kid wouldn’t get a perfect life, but hell, maybe she didn’t have to learn the rules the hard way either. Maybe someone could give her more. Even if that someone wasn’t exactly qualified.

Jinx scratched the back of her neck and looked away.

The door creaked softly as it swung open, and Jinx didn’t have to look up to know it was Ekko stepping back in. His footsteps were always easy to place—light, steady, like he didn’t want to wake up the ghosts in the walls.

“I gotta head out,” he said quietly, nodding toward the door with his thumb. “Community center’s got a food drop this evening. If I’m not there, they’ll mess up the sorting again.”

Jinx gave a slow nod, eyes still on Isha. “Forgot about your gang.” 

“It’s not a gang.”

“Shocking,” she muttered, lips twitching despite herself. “You’ve got the name, the colors, the matching jackets—”

“I feel like you’re more familiar with that then I am,” Ekko added, deadpan.

That earned him a faint scoff, almost a laugh if it had come from anyone else. But from her, it was something. A sliver of familiarity in the otherwise jagged air between them.

“She still won’t say your name, you know,” Jinx said, fingers tapping absently against her knee watching him get his belongings. “But looks for you, watches you. It’s weird.” 

Ekko paused with his bag half-slung over his shoulder, turning just enough to glance at her, brow lifted but his expression unreadable.

“Weird how?” he asked.

Jinx shrugged, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet the room was, aside from Isha’s soft breathing. “Just… weird. Like she’s tryna figure you out. Same way she looks at me sometimes. Like she’s taking notes.”

“She probably is,” he said after a beat, tugging on the zipper of his jacket. “That’s what kids do. They watch. Learn who’s safe, who’s worth their time. Who sticks around.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed at that last part, “Not like I blame her.”

Ekko nodded slightly, not agreeing or disagreeing, just letting it sit between them.

“She likes when you’re here,” she added, quieter now, “Doesn’t outwardly shows it, but… she pays attention more. Like she knows it’s important.”

He didn’t respond right away, only moved to the door and rested his hand on the frame. “Maybe she just likes not feeling alone in it.”

Jinx blinked at that, unsure if he meant Isha… or her.

Ekko lingered in the doorway, fingers tapping against the frame like he was debating whether to say more. Then, almost like the words snuck out before he could catch them:

“She likes you more than you realize.”

Jinx’s head tilted, brow creasing.

Ekko gave a half-shrug, not quite looking at her. “Gets antsy when you leave the room. Watches the door when you’re gone too long. Tries not to follow you when you move around. Think she’s trying to figure out if… you’re gonna stay.”

The silence that settled after was thick, and Jinx didn’t have anything clever to throw back.

She hated how that pulled at her—guilt and warmth twisted together in her ribs. Isha wasn’t supposed to get attached. She wasn’t supposed to be watching the door like someone who’d already been left behind.

“She’s too quiet for all that,” Jinx muttered

“You don’t gotta be loud to care.”

Jinx didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not without unraveling a little.

He exhaled through his nose, stepping back into the hall. “I’ll come by early tomorrow.” And he had a way of speaking like it wasn’t a chore but a promise. 

 And then he was gone.

It was sunset by the time he made it back to the Community Center—Firelights. His space. His world.

The building buzzed with its usual noise—laughter from the rec room, crates being shuffled in the back, someone shouting directions near the pantry.

It was home, in a way. Built from scraps and necessity. Like everything in Zaun. From hustling for donations, to putting together a crew that gave a damn, to carving out homing options for people with nowhere else to go.

It was more than just a community center. It was a lifeline. A second chance. A dream that cost him everything—and gave back even more.

And maybe that’s why his chest felt heavier than usual tonight. Because helping people? That was the easy part.

It was watching the ones you couldn’t save try anyway, that got you.

He’d just started sorting through the evening food drop—crates of dried goods and a few questionable cans—when he heard boots scuff against the metal flooring behind him.

“Yo,” came Scar’s voice, casual as always, with a clipboard tucked under his arm. “You’re late. Thought maybe you finally bailed.”

“Never,” Ekko said, with a smile. 

Scar smirked, but his eyes narrowed. “You alright, man?”

Ekko hesitated, just long enough.

“Jinx.”

Scar’s brow arched. “Ah. That explains it. At her place again? 

Ekko gave a dry laugh, shaking his head as he picked up a crate of rations. “Because of the kid I told you about.” 

Jinx, in general, was a bit of a taboo around Firelights.

Too many reasons to count—Silco’s protege, Ekko’s ex-best friend, a walking headline of chaos. Her name tended to hover unspoken in the air, like smoke after an explosion. People didn’t bring her up unless they had to. And even then, it was usually with a look, not words.

She’d carved her mark on Zaun in sparks and ash—never quiet, never subtle. Always a statement. Always a mess left behind.

And yet, somehow, she was still part of the story. Especially Ekko’s.

No one really knew about him being on subtle speaking terms with her again, because it wasn’t like it mattered. He’d only mentioned it to scar because, Scar had a kid and randomly asking him on things about kids with no context probably would’ve drawn conclusions he’d rather not spread. 

Scar didn’t answer right away, just watched him like he was trying to read more than what Ekko was giving.

“Still not talking?” 

“She’s watching. Learning. That counts for something.”

Scar raised an eyebrow. “And Jinx?”

Ekko didn’t stop moving, but his voice lowered. “She’s trying. For the kid. I guess.”

“You guess?” Scar asked.

“She’s… Jinx,” Ekko muttered. “Still impulsive. Still half in her own head. I don’t even know if she really gets what she’s doing taking care of a kid.”

He paused, jaw tightening.

“But she’s trying. When she didn’t have to.”

Scar leaned on the wall. “You think she can do it?”

Ekko didn’t answer right away. He stacked the crates, wiped his palms on his pants.

“She shouldn’t have to,” he said finally. “She’s reckless. She makes everything harder than it needs to be in her head. But I still see… I don’t know. Her. It’s stupid.”

Scar nodded, more serious now. “Not stupid. Just means you still care.”

Ekko didn’t respond to that. He just stared down at the next box, its label faded.

He hated that he did care.

Because caring meant he still hoped she’d come back—not physically, but really come back. Powder. His friend. The one who might’ve been something more if the world hadn’t ripped them both in half.

Jinx made bad choices. Hurt people. Left him when it mattered most.

But there she was, in that tiny apartment, struggling to sign things like “learn” and “more” for a kid who barely knew what it meant to trust.

And part of him—against his better judgment—still believed there was something worth saving.

Even if it wasn’t his job to save her, even if she didn’t want saving.

The knock at the door was sharp. Measured. Not the kind that asked permission—more like a warning shot. All too familiar.

Ah. She was wondering when someone would go out looking for her. 

Jinx didn’t move right away, just stared at it from where she sat cross-legged on the floor, tools still scattered around from a half-abandoned project. Isha stirred softly on the couch behind her, but didn’t wake.

Another knock. Louder this time.

“Alright, alright, keep your metal on,” Jinx muttered, pushing herself up with a groan and slinking to the door. 

“Still don’t got a phone,” Jinx said dryly, swinging the door open.

Sevika stood in the frame, unimpressed as always, arms crossed and mechanical limb glinting in the hallway light. Her lip curled slightly.

“Silco wants to see you.”

“Wow, you came all this way just for lil’ ol’ me? I’m flattered.” Jinx leaned against the doorframe with a mocking smile, dragging it out. “Bet you really missed me.”

Sevika gave her a long, slow look. “Don’t flatter yourself, psycho.”

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Aww, I missed you too, Lefty.”

Sevika’s gaze shifted past her, narrowing slightly as her eyes landed on the small figure curled up on the couch. Isha had stirred, blinking groggily as she sat up halfway, bleary-eyed and quiet.

And just like that, the air changed.

Jinx saw it happen—the way Sevika’s posture stiffened, the unspoken question tightening her jaw.

“That yours?” Sevika asked, voice low, suspicious.

Jinx raised a brow, stepping halfway into the frame to block her line of sight a bit. “No receipt, if that’s what you’re asking and i’m sure you would’ve noticed if I was walking around here all big bellied, if you were implying that.” 

Sevika’s eye narrowed. “Didn’t know you were babysitting now. You gonna blow up a playground next, or what?”

Jinx grinned, all teeth, sharp and bright. “Jealous you didn’t get invited to arts and crafts time?”

Sevika didn’t answer, but the silence said enough. Judgment, concern, confusion—it all tangled there in that flat stare.

She shrugged it off, reaching for the door. “Tell Silco I’ll swing by. Eventually. If I feel like it.”

“I’ll tell him you’re still full of crap,” Sevika said, but didn’t move to argue. She gave one last glance at Isha, then turned and walked off.

Jinx closed the door slowly, the click of the lock sounding louder than it should’ve. She leaned her head against it for a second, letting out a breath. 

A tug on her shirt drifting her from her thoughts. 

Who? 

The kid signed slowly and it took Jinx a second to remember, mixing it with the: when, what, and such that Ekko had also gone through but she got it nonetheless and almost gave herself a pat on the back.

“Just someone who’s about to make this a lot more difficult.”