Chapter Text
The rain fell steadily from the gray sky, droplets cascading down from above. Each tiny bead danced down the rusted metal awnings, collecting on the slick cobblestones below. The streets of Zaun, grimy and weathered, shimmered under the touch of water. Puddles reflected the flickering incandescent lights and the hungry glow of nearby flames, as if the very city were adorned with glimmering jewels, set into a rusted cage.
Caitlyn stepped out onto the slick street, her boots making soft splashes as they sank into the wet pavement. She moved alone, cloaked in the misty darkness of the evening, her figure concealed beneath a long, weather-beaten raincoat. The coat’s heavy folds concealed more than just her identity—beneath it, she kept a pistol tucked carefully under her arm. Tonight’s meeting was delicate, a rare opportunity to gather information. She’d arranged to speak with a couple of locals, hoping to learn more about the simmering threats lurking in the deeper parts of the neighborhood. There were few who knew the city better than its own residents.
The street twisted past a cramped vendor's stall. Wedged between two crooked buildings, its thin, dilapidated frame almost went unnoticed. Newspapers, canned food, and a dusty ammo box of overripe fruit were scattered across the makeshift counter. Cait paused, her eyes scanning the corner before she slid a single coin across the table to the scrawny woman behind it.
"Today's newspaper, please. And what drinks do you have?" Cait asked, lowering her voice. "Non-alcoholic."
The woman grunted, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting trouble. "Eh, we got juice, water, maybe some milk— probably gone sour."
"I’ll take the water," Cait replied quickly.
Without another word, the woman handed over a glass jar of cloudy water and a folded newspaper. Cait tucked both items under her arm, ready to continue on her way, but then the woman spoke again, her voice rough.
"Your kid want anything?"
Cait blinked. "Kid? I—" She glanced to either side of her, searching for the source of the question. Nothing. Her eyes flicked behind her, and—
"Oh." A small figure had appeared behind her, standing silently in the rain. A little girl, no more than six or seven, with an oversized gray shirt that hung off her frame like a blanket, soaked through by the storm. Her hair was messy and unkempt, matted to her face with droplets of rain. But it was the girl’s eyes that struck Caitlyn most—wide and soft, the color of rich brown but reflecting a warm, golden hue in the dim light of the corner shop.
"Do you want something to eat?" Cait asked gently, though she already had an inkling of what the answer might be.
The child didn’t respond with words, only raising a small hand to point at the fruit-filled ammo box, her finger hovering over an apple.
"You want the apple?" Cait asked, crouching slightly to meet the girl’s gaze. The child nodded wordlessly.
Cait turned back to the vendor, “One apple as well, please.”
She slid another coin across the table, watching as the woman grabbed the apple and tossed it to the girl, who caught it eagerly with her grubby hands. The little girl wasted no time, sinking her teeth into the fruit with the urgency of someone starved. She tore into it, the juice running down her chin, her hands sticky with bits of pulp.
“Slow down,” Caitlyn said, her tone soft but firm. “Make sure you don’t eat the core, that’s the bad part.”
The girl paused for a moment, then shot Cait a glance before continuing to devour the fruit, barely slowing her pace. She was like a little raccoon. Cute, messy, with big eyes that seemed to glimmer in the light. The last pieces of apple disappeared into her mouth in a frenzy, and without hesitation, she tossed the core into the street, letting it tumble into a puddle.
Cait watched the child for a moment, her expression unreadable. It was tempting to lecture her on proper manners, but it wasn’t the girl’s fault. In this part of the city, there were no trash cans to speak of, no place for the waste to go but back into the streets. With a small sigh, Cait let it go. She had bigger things to worry about tonight.
"That's it?" The vendor muttered, his tone flat, as though the entire exchange had been nothing but an inconvenience. Cait nodded in response, adjusting her coat and straightening up. She glanced down the rain-slicked street. There were more pressing matters to attend to. Without another word, she turned away. Continuing her walk toward the meeting spot.The rain had picked up, a steady rhythm now, beating against the pavement with the wind. It swirled in gusts, sending droplets spattering against Caitlyn’s cheeks, soaking into her coat. Puddles were beginning to form on the empty streets. The gutters overflowing with rushing water that quickly soaked into the cuffs of her boots.
“Ugh... need to dry those off,” she muttered under her breath, irritated at the cold seeping into her boots.
Turning a corner, she was met with more empty cobblestone streets, the faint glow of lanterns casting long shadows on the walls. The town, usually full of life at this hour, seemed deserted. There was an eerie quiet to the scene, punctuated only by the steady patter of rain. In the distance, the warm, yellow glow of a repair shop flickered through the downpour—her destination—but the rain blurred everything, turning it into a distant, indistinct shape.
Her focus broke with a splash, sharp and sudden, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent street. Cait blinked, confused—both her boots had been on dry cobblestones just moments ago. She turned, her gaze snapping toward the source of the noise.
That damn kid had followed her.
The girl stood in the middle of a growing puddle, one foot raised as if she’d just stepped into it, frozen in place. She looked up at Cait, eyes wide with guilt, as if expecting Caitlyn to scold her for the splash.
Cait’s shoulders tensed. "Where are your parents, dear?" she asked, her voice soft but firm.
The child didn't answer. She just stared, unblinking, her face expressionless—empty, even. A flicker of concern ran through Cait, but she quickly pushed it aside.
"Come on," Cait said, her voice gentler now. She stepped closer, careful not to make sudden movements. "I’ll help you find them."
She extended a gloved hand, offering it to the girl. The child hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking between Cait and the street around them. Slowly, she reached out, fingers trembling, and curled them around Cait’s hand. But it wasn’t a tight grip. She kept her distance, barely touching Cait’s fingers, as if afraid to get too close.
Cait didn’t force the contact, merely offering a reassuring smile as she took a step forward. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you,” she said, her tone warm yet measured “what’s your name.”
Caitlyn wasn't expecting much of an answer. The child’s silence being a barrier between her and ever finding out where the hell she came from, but the girl was able to sign her name with a few quick gestures.
I-S-H-A her little hands signed out.
Caitlyn nodded, thank god she learned sign language back during her academy days.
“Isha, that’s a sweet name” She said “stay by me, we’ll find your parents.”
The child didn’t respond, but she followed silently, her steps hesitant, barely audible over the sound of the rain. Cait kept walking, the street ahead of them as empty and desolate as ever. The repair shop’s faint glow was still just a blur in the distance, but Cait’s thoughts were now elsewhere. She didn’t know why the child had decided to follow her, but something in the girl’s eyes told Cait this wasn’t a chance encounter. There was more to this than she was letting on. The tension in the air hung heavy, the only sound the relentless tap of rain against stone and the faint scuff of the girl’s feet behind her.
———
The two locals were welcoming, though their surprise was hard to mask when the enforcer brought a random child into the meeting. Caitlyn, however, was just relieved to be out of the rain, and it seemed the child shared her sentiment. The girl sat quietly by a small electric heater, her worn body leaning against Caitlyn’s chair for support. She absentmindedly toyed with the frayed edges of her tattered pants, her eyelids drooping as the warmth from the heater began to lull her toward slumber.
Caitlyn glanced down at the child, her heart softening, pbefore turning her attention back to the older couple across from her.
"Thank you for understanding," Caitlyn said, her tone sincere. "I didn’t want to delay the meeting, but I also didn’t want to leave the kid out in the rain."
The elderly couple exchanged a brief glance, the husband offering her a kind smile. He was a wiry man with sparse hair and arms splattered with scars and burns, but his eyes were warm with gratitude. "No trouble at all," he said. "It's just... nice to see someone looking out for the people down here. Things aren’t always so kind in the undercity."
His wife, seated beside him, nodded in agreement. Her appearance was much softer than the roughness Caitlyn had come to expect in Zaun, her silver hair tied back in a neat bun, her clothes simple but well-kept. "It’s rare to have anyone show up to help these days," she added. "Especially someone in your position."
“Of course. I don’t want to go to war. That’s the absolute last thing I’d ever think of doing.” Caitlyn’s voice faltered, but she quickly regained her composure. “My mother, the council—they think differently. But I’ll stand by my own convictions.”
She glanced down at Isha, the young girl still struggling to stay awake, her small body curled up against the warmth of the heater. The firelight flickered across the tired, dirt-smudged face, casting shadows beneath her eyes.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Caitlyn continued, her tone quieter now, almost apologetic, “do you know if anyone’s looking for a girl named Isha around here?” She hated to change the subject, but the question gnawed at her. “Someone must be worried sick…”
The man thought for a moment, his hand absently picking at the sparse hair on his scalp. His mind seemed to search through a fog of confusion, trying to recall anything helpful. It was his wife who spoke up first.
“I’m not entirely sure,” she said, glancing at Caitlyn with a mixture of pity and indifference. “We saw her yesterday morning, didn’t know if she was anyone’s kid, though. Orphans aren’t exactly rare around here.”
“She looked a bit like a Pearson kid, but that’s just a hunch. Those folks live further by the fissures.”
Caitlyn nodded, trying to keep her face composed, but her heart tightened at the thought of it. The poor child—left alone in a cold, unforgiving city, with no family, no home… Her chest ached. Though she was a stranger to these streets, she understood how easily children like Isha could slip through the cracks.
“Miss Kirraman,” the husband said, his voice gruff, breaking into Caitlyn’s thoughts. “I think you and the little one should head home. It’s a dangerous time for someone like her.”
“What—what about the meeting?” Caitlyn stammered,
The husband gave a slow nod, his face set in an unreadable expression. “It’s alright. We can send you a letter when we have a chance. But right now, I think that child needs you far more than any of us do.”
Caitlyn’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to swallow the emotion. She looked down at Isha, whose small hand had somehow found its way to the fabric of Caitlyn’s skirt, gripping it with a desperation that belied her frail appearance. The girl was still half-asleep, her breathing shallow, but there was a quiet sort of trust in the way she held on.
Caitlyn’s heart sank. Part of her—an instinctive part—wanted to leave the girl here in Zaun, where at least there was a chance someone from her family might find her. But another part, a deeper, more visceral part of her, knew that Isha wasn’t waiting for anyone. She wasn’t looking for family. She was just a child trying to survive, trying to find someone—anyone—to keep her safe.
Caitlyn remembered the terror of being lost as a child, the chaos of the Piltover streets spinning around her as she cried for her mother, her voice swallowed up by the noise. She knew the feeling of being alone in a crowd, desperate and unseen. Isha didn't have that kind of desperation, knowing someone’s out there and clawing your way towards them. It was the quiet acknowledgement that you didint have anybody else to reach out for.
“Alright. Thank you for your understanding.” Her voice was soft but resolute.
With that, Caitlyn turned and left the small workshop behind. The door creaked as she stepped out into the cool Zaun air. She pulled her tattered jacket tighter around her shoulders, the fabric worn thin from years of use. Without a word, she bent down and gently scooped Isha into her arms. The girl’s head nestled against her chest, breathing softly as her mind flipped from wake to sleep. Caitlyn cradled her close, her heart heavy with the weight of the decision she’d just made. She wasn’t sure what would come next, but for now, she could offer the one thing that seemed to matter most: safety.
—————
Tic-tic, tic-tic
The sharp clatter of the telegram machine cut through the quiet room. Dots and dashes rattled off, quickly printed onto a strip of paper, followed by an automatic translation in neat, typed letters. Primitive, yes, but in a world where long-distance communication was limited to telegrams, letters, and messenger pigeons, it was the best they had.
Vi had been napping on the foot of Caitlyn’s bed when the message arrived. The sudden noise jerked her awake, and before she could fully comprehend what was happening, she sprang from the bed, her body coiled in instinctive defense. Fists clenched, she scanned the room, ready to face whatever threat had interrupted her rest. It took a moment before her mind caught up with reality. The clinking sound hadn’t come from a shadowy enemy in the corner—it was the messenger machine.
Vi exhaled, her shoulders relaxing as the adrenaline faded. She muttered to herself,
“Prison habits die hard, huh.”
The machine gave a final, satisfying ding before a strip of paper slid out onto the tidy surface of Caitlyn’s desk. Vi moved toward it, still a little disoriented. She snatched it up and read the message, the ink still drying.
‘On train now. Have visitor. Make oatmeal?-CtKm’
Telegrams had always been short, often cryptic. But this one? It was especially vague. “Have visitor” could mean any number of things, and the lack of detail gnawed at Vi’s curiosity. Who was the visitor? Why didn’t Caitlyn specify? Still, the last part was clear enough: Make oatmeal.
Alone In the Kiramann mansion meant Vi didn't have to deal with Caitlyn’s family judging her for her homemaking skills. She could make a half decent prison wine, but that was about it. Dragging herself to the Kiramanns big fancy kitchen, only to make a simple dish, it felt comical. Guess the visitor did not give a shit about dinner, no guest in piltover would settle for some slop. People in piltover ate fancy things. Meats and cheese on tiny crackers and horse-serves…ordoves…orderves…whatever it was called.
"Didn't know I was gonna be the housewife," she mumbled to herself, pulling a canister of oats from the neatly organized shelf, followed by a glass jar of brown sugar. With no one around, she sneaked a spoonful or two of the sugar before tossing it into the pot of boiling water, along with the oats. The rest was just a waiting game. She’d go back to bed, but every couple of minutes, the water would boil up and spill over.
"Fucking oats..." she cursed under her breath. Caitlyn better not make her do this again. She loved Caitlyn—more than life itself—but not enough to master the sorcery of cooking a decent meal.
After what felt like an eternity of stirring and praying for some miracle to happen, the oatmeal finally looked vaguely edible. She took it off the stove, only to hear footsteps approaching from around the corner.
"Hey, cupcake, got your oatmeal. I’m not cooking for a damn while because I nearly—"
Caitlyn stepped into the kitchen, but she wasn’t alone. A child, clutching the hem of Caitlyn’s leather coat, trailed behind her, peering out with wide, wary auburn eyes.
"Cait, whose kid is this?" Vi asked, her tone flat, unsure if she was even ready to deal with this.
Caitlyn froze for a moment, clearly caught off guard. "Vi, I—look, I can explain—"
But Vi was already cutting her off. "A visitor?I didn’t know it was a fucking kid."
“They were alone in Zaun,” Caitlyn began, her voice a little shaky. “I tried to find their parents, but—”
"So you fucking brought them here?" Vi’s eyes flicked to the kid, then back to Caitlyn. "It’s a baby, not a dog."
Caitlyn sighed, her shoulders slumping. "They won’t be here forever. Just until we can figure something out, okay?" She glanced down at the kid, her expression softening.
Vi followed her gaze. The little girl was standing there, clutching her coat tighter, her wide eyes peeking out from behind the fabric like a frightened animal. Vi's frustration flickered for a moment, but it was quickly replaced with something else—something deeper. The child was... sad. Vi’s heart sank as she saw the way the girl flinched at the raised voices. It reminded her of someone.
"Her name’s Isha," Caitlyn added, her voice gentle. "She’s not much of a talker, but she can hear just fine."
Vi wasn’t sure what to do. She felt awkward, unsure how to approach the girl. She knelt down slowly to her level. Raising a hand, she gave a tentative wave, the gesture somehow feeling clumsy. Honestly, she hadn’t been around a little kid in years—*not* since her little sister.
Looking into Isha’s eyes, Vi felt a wave of emotions hit her all at once—sadness, anger, nostalgia. It was all mixed together, and for a moment, she couldn’t put it into words.
"Hey, kid," Vi said, trying to sound less like a stranger. "I’m Vi." She pointed to the tattoo on her cheek, giving a small, crooked grin. "It’s written right on my face, pretty easy to remember."
Isha didn’t respond. But the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested she might’ve understood. Or maybe she was just too tired to care. Either way, Vi wasn’t sure how long she’d have to stand there, trying to bridge the gap between them.
Still, it was a start.
Caitlyn led the girl toward the tea room, a smaller space adjacent to the kitchen where they often enjoyed more casual meals. It was a stark contrast to the formal, imposing dining room, yet to someone like Isha—coming from the industrial, smoke-choked streets of Zaun—it might as well have been a palace. The walls were adorned with delicate watercolor paintings, their soft hues nearly glowing in the warm light. Silver vases sat on every surface, filled with silk flowers that looked as though they might burst into bloom at any moment. Isha felt like she had stepped into another world entirely, one full of beauty and gentleness she could barely comprehend. She scrambled up onto one of the tall chairs, barely able to peer over the edge.
“Here you go, kid. Eat up,” Vi said, sliding a simple bowl of oatmeal in front of Isha. It was a humble meal, but the perfect thing for someone who had eaten little in days.
Caitlyn and Vi sat down across from her, Isha gazing down at her bowl, watching the steam rise in delicate wisps. She hesitated for a moment, reaching into the dish with her grubby hands. Smearing the oatmeal all over her face and cheeks.
Vi raised an eyebrow, her voice gentle but firm. “Isha, I know you're hungry, but at least use a spoon. That oatmeal's hot.”
Isha just stared at the spoon, then at the oatmeal.
Vi leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "C'mon, cupcake. Let her have some fun," she teased, glancing at Caitlyn with a grin.
Caitlyn rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Vi, you're encouraging bad habits.”
Vi chuckled, leaning in a little. “Yeah, well... kids gotta have a little room to be kids, right?”
She nudged Caitlyn with her elbow, clearly enjoying the moment. Not wanting to waste any of the oatmeal, she got up and served her and Caitlyn their own bowls of the slop. Without hesitation, Vi dug in with her hands, mirroring Isha’s earlier messiness. She scooped a handful of the mush and plopped it straight into her mouth, then proceeded to splatter oatmeal all over the table—and her shirt.
“Smart idea, kid!” Vi cheered, her voice loud with mock approval, as Isha glanced up at her with wide eyes.
For once, Isha let out a tiny laugh, the sound more of a wordless giggle than anything, but it was enough to make Caitlyn’s heart soften.
“Ah, there’s that smile!” Vi teased. “I knew it was in there. Reminds me of someone.” She elbowed Caitlyn again, this time with a little more force, though Caitlyn’s expression remained mostly unimpressed. Still, a small smile tugged at the edges of her lips.
“Oh, Vi,” Caitlyn sighed, the fondness barely concealed. “My parents were already hesitant about letting you live here. I don’t know how they’d react to a little gremlin like her running around.”
Vi blinked, her grin faltering for a split second as she looked at Caitlyn, clearly taken aback. “Shit—you haven’t told them?”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes again, taking a small bite of the oatmeal before continuing. “They know, I sent a telegram to her and dad. He’s coming tomorrow morning to give her a checkup,” she said, tone dry. “I don’t even want to imagine what sorts of diseases they have down there.”
Vi waved a dismissive hand, her casual confidence returning. “She’s a strong kid, I can tell. Zaunites are just built different.” She reached over, ruffling Isha’s hair, which only made the little girl giggle harder, the sound infectious. “Isint that right kid? You and I both, we’re built tough.”
———
Caitlyn had honestly never studied, read, or done much with children. She was more of a law-and-order type, and children? They were a whole different world. She knew Vi had at least some experience, given the fact that she'd taken care of Powder for who knows how long. But that didn't make it any easier for Cait to deal with this whole mess. The last thing she wanted was to drag Vi into taking care of this little goober, especially after the surprise she'd sprung on her.
Cait sat outside the bathroom, listening to the splashes and the soft swish of bubbles. She leaned back against the wall, her thoughts drifting as she waited for Isha to finish her bath. Part of her wanted to make sure the kid didn’t make a mess—she was still half-expecting the entire room to be flooded—but at the same time, it felt wrong to intrude on the girl's privacy. She didn’t know her well enough for that.
“So, how much has the kid told you?” Vi’s voice broke through the silence. Cait glanced up to see her leaning against the doorframe, one arm crossed over her chest as she looked down at her. "I know she can’t talk, but there’s gotta be more."
Cait sighed, rubbing her face with one hand. "She never asked me to help look for anybody. Not once. She’s never mentioned anyone else, like she’s just... here." Her voice dropped a little as she frowned. "One of the locals said she looked like a Pearson kid, but I don’t know who that is."
Vi clicked her tongue, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall where she'd heard that name before. "Pearson… god, I know I’ve heard of them, but I can’t remember shit.”
“Are they well known or something?” Caitlyn asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Maybe? Who the hell knows,” Vi muttered, still lost in thought.
The bathroom door creaked open, and Caitlyn flinched, turning just as Isha emerged. Wrapped in a damp towel, bubbles clung to her dark hair, still wet from the bath. Isha raised her hand and signed.
‘Clothes?’
“Oh, right—one sec.”
Caitlyn scrambled through a nearby drawer, trying to find something that would fit the girl. After a moment of searching, she pulled out an old club t-shirt from middle school, the kind she used as pajamas when she was too lazy to do laundry. It was way too big for Isha, but it would work for now. The shirt hung loosely over her small frame, almost like a dress.
Isha seemed delighted, spinning around and giggling to herself as she twirled in the oversized shirt. The sight made Caitlyn smile.
“Guess she’s a fan,” Vi commented, watching the girl dance around. She knelt down and gently scooped Isha up into her arms. "What time is it… 10 p.m. or something? Definitely past your bedtime, kiddo."
Isha looked up at Vi, her wide eyes full of surprise. The sudden motion reminded Caitlyn of a kitten being picked up by the scruff of its neck—startled at first, but quickly adjusting once she realized she was safe. Her tense body relaxed, and she seemed content enough, curling slightly into Vi’s arms.
It was a short walk from the bathroom to Caitlyn’s room. The soft, golden glow of gas lamps bathed the space in a warm, dim light. Caitlyn watched them enter, then paused at the threshold.
“Vi, shouldn’t we put her in one of the guest rooms? I’d feel bad making her sleep on my couch…”
Vi raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Caitlyn. “She’s a little kid. I’d be scared sleeping alone in a big empty room, too.” Her tone softened as she adjusted her grip on Isha, the girl’s tiny hands playing with the fabric of her shirt. “She’s probably better off staying close, especially after everything she’s been through.”
Caitlyn sighed, nodding in agreement. There was something about the way Isha clung to Vi, trusting her almost immediately, that made her heart ache. It was clear the girl needed some comfort, and at least for tonight, Caitlyn was happy to offer it.
“Alright, but if she gets any ideas about staying up all night, I’m blaming you,” Caitlyn teased, though the warmth in her voice showed she wasn’t serious.
Vi smirked, glancing down at Isha. “We’ll figure something out. She seems like she just needs some rest… just a little peace and quiet.”