Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: (you’ll always be) my favorite ghost

Vi is, to put it mildly, a reckless kid.

Scraped knees, split knuckles, bruises blooming under dirt-streaked skin –half the time, she doesn’t even notice until someone points them out. She climbs too high, jumps too far, runs too fast. If she falls, she gets back up. If she bleeds, she wipes it off. That’s just how it is.

But then one day, something changes.

She is halfway through a scuffle with Mylo, dodging his swings and laughing when he curses at her footwork, when a sharp pain blooms in her ribs. She staggers.

“I didn’t hit you”, Mylo mumbles.

Vi knows that. But it still hurts. A deep, searing ache, like something inside her has cracked.

Powder’s voice wobbles. “Vi?”

Vi forces herself upright. “I’m fine”, she says.

“You’re not”, Powder presses. “You flinched before Mylo even touched you”.

“It’s nothing”, Vi says. She is not exactly lying. The pain is already fading.

Powder doesn’t look convinced. She is still staring at her sister, gears turning in that sharp little head of hers. She stays quiet about it until they get back to the Last Drop. The second she sees Vander, however, she tells him: “Violet has a soul-mate!”

Mylo snorts. “Oh, come on.”

Powder ignores him. “Violet has a soul-mate”, she repeats in a sing-song voice.

“Shut up, kid”, Vi says, but there’s no real bite to it.

“You shut up”, Powder says. “You get hurt all the time, but sometimes you wince at nothing. And sometimes at night, you wake up, like something’s wrong.”

Vi crosses her arms. “I wake up ‘cause you toss and turn”.

Powder shakes her head. “Nope. It’s not me”.

“A soulmate, huh?”. Vander leans forward, resting his elbows on the table like this is the best thing he has heard all day. “That’s rare”.

Vi groans. “Not you too”.

Powder pouts. “I know what I saw”.

Vander watches her for a long moment and then nods. “I believe you, Powder”.

Vi blinks. “Wait, seriously?”. When Vander just smiles at her, Vi pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is – even if I had a soulmate –which is a big if– how is that supposed to work, exactly?”

Vander shrugs, still looking pleased. “Just means there is someone out there who is yours”. His voice softens. “Not a bad thing, is it?”.

Powder frowns. “It is a bad thing if you stay apart. ‘Cause the furthest you are, the worse the pain gets”.

Vi scoffs and ruffles Powder’s hair. “Then maybe I should drop everything and go find them right now”.

She says it like a joke, something to tease Powder with, but later that night, when a fresh sting burns across her arm –one she knows isn’t hers–, she doesn’t laugh. She exhales and presses a hand over the spot, like she can will it away. Like she can shove this whole stupid thing out of her mind.

But the pain lingers. And Vi simply lies awake, and wonders if maybe Powder could be right.

                                                           ***

A month later, one evening, Vi is walking home through the Lanes when her vision blurs and the world tilts under her feet. Vi feels a deep, sharp pain lanced through her side, hot and breath-stealing, like she has just been hit with something heavy.

Vi stumbles, gasping, and grabs onto the nearest wall for support. The pain fades as quickly as it comes, but Vi is left shaken, hand pressing against her ribs where she expects to find damage.

She doesn’t.

And yet, her heart is still pounding, her fingers still trembling. She doesn’t know why, but she feels sick with anger. Something is very, very wrong with her. She has tried to ignore it. Pretend it wasn’t happening. But after that, it becomes impossible.

Because it keeps happening. Sometimes it is minor. Other times, it is bad. Sudden, sharp pain like a strike to the ribs. A searing, gut-punch ache in her stomach that leaves her winded for a full minute.

The night she finally breaks down, Vander finds her sitting on the edge of her bed, fists clenched so tight her knuckles have gone white.

“I don’t get it”, Vi mutters, voice barely above a whisper.

Vander sighs. “But you do, kid”, he says softly. “You just don’t want to”.

Vi turns to look at him. “What?”

Vander exhales slowly, like he has been bracing for this question. “Powder already told you. It’s your soulmate”.

Vi had heard the stories; correction: the fairytales about soulmates. About people that are tied together, bonded by fate, by something deeper than blood. But those fairytales mostly focus on the good things. On meeting someone who understands you, who feels your joy, your excitement, your love. No one stresses out the tiny detail that soulmates feel every hit, every pain, every bruise their other half gets. And in any case, soulmates are supposed to be a rare thing. Very few people get one. Vi doubts she is one of them.

So, she shakes her head and dismisses the possibility altogether. “I don’t believe in this crap”, she says.

Vander is quiet for a long moment before he finally says, “I think you do now.” His hand is warm when he places it on her shoulder. “It’s a lot to take in”, he says. “You absorb each other’s pain, that’s the ugly part, I know. But the closer you get to each other, the less anything hurts”.

Vi knows that. Or at least, she knows that people who believe in soulmates, people like Powder, say it to be true.  “Fantastic”, she says, her voice low. “So all I have to do is randomly get close to a person that I have no idea who or where they are”.

“It’s more likely than you think”, Vander says. “Soulmates are drawn to each other”.

Vi wants to disagree, to raise a million objections to this crazy fantasy, but something more serious takes priority in her head. “Someone has been hurting her lately”, she says. She hates how tight her throat feels.

“Her?”, Vander asks.

Vi shrugs. “Yeah, her”, she repeats.  If she has to randomly feel someone else’s pain, then she also has every right to assign this pain to a beautiful girl with dark hair and kind eyes.

“In that case”, Vander says, “let’s hope you find each other quickly”.

                                                           ***

Vi promises to be careful. To keep her fists down, watch where she steps, pull back before she throws herself into something reckless. Just in case. Just in case Powder and Vander are right. Just in case there really is someone out there, tied to her, suffering every bruise, every cut, every broken bone she carelessly collects.

Vi promises to behave. But then everything falls apart.

Everyone around her dies –except maybe Powder, who is, at best, captured by a sociopathic criminal. And Vi wakes up in Stillwater with nothing but her own body and a brand-new kind of pain.

She forgets her promise as quickly as she forgets herself.

                                                           ***

Vi realises she had been so blissfully naïve. She thought she knew pain—split knuckles, the sharp crack of a fist against her ribs, the deep burn of a bone that doesn’t set right. She thought she had felt enough. She was so wrong.

She quickly learns what it feels to be beaten without mercy, to have her body treated like something disposable, to wake up every day knowing it will only get worse. Pain in Stillwater is different. It isn’t a moment, a brief sting that she can shake off. It is relentless. It is systematic. It is a lesson carved into her bones, over and over and over again. And the worst part –the absolute worst part– is that she now believes that she isn’t the only one feeling it.

Her soulmate, wherever they are, must be thinking they are dying.

At first, Vi fights like she always does. She spits curses, cracks her knuckles, swings at anyone who gets too close. But Stillwater doesn’t reward resistance –it punishes it. The more she struggles, the worse it gets.

The first time they shock her, two guards drag her to the centre of her cell, shove her to her knees, and press the baton to her ribs. The jolt is instant –white-hot agony tearing through her body, forcing a scream from her throat before she can stop it.

And somewhere –somewhere– someone else screams too.

Vi feels it. Not with her ears, but with something deeper, something raw and unshakable. She feels their terror, their confusion, their agony. And she understands, with absolute certainty, that they don’t know why this is happening to them. She bites down so hard on her next scream that she tastes blood. After that, she tries to stop feeling anything at all.

She shuts down. Lets the guards do what they want. Takes every hit without reaction. She makes her body a thing that just exists – a hollow space where Vi used to be. If she must suffer, she can take it. She can and will live with it. But she can’t stand the thought of her –her stranger– enduring it too.

Maybe if she stops fighting, the pain will become bearable. Maybe if she lets herself disappear, her soulmate will forget about her. Maybe their connection will fade. Maybe that would be better. Because Vi has nothing to offer her. No comfort. No promise. No escape. And if she feels even a fraction of what she does…

She doesn’t want to think about that. She can’t. Because there is absolutely nothing she can do to stop it.

***

On the fifth anniversary of her stay in Stillwater, Vi thinks she will finally die. She doesn’t know what she has done to deserve this beating. Not that it matters. The guards in Stillwater never need reasons. Some days, they barely need excuses. Maybe she looked at one of them the wrong way. Maybe she hesitated before answering. Maybe they are just bored.

All she knows is the sharp, sickening crunch of a fist slamming into her ribs, white-hot pain blooming through her chest before she can even brace for it. Her breath hitches, her knees buckle, but the second punch comes too fast for her to fall. A knuckle cracks against her cheekbone, snapping her head to the side. Her vision blurs. Blood fills her mouth. A hand fists in her hair, yanking her upright just as she starts to collapse.

“Not so tough now, huh?”. The voice is, as usually, amused at her pain.

Vi grits her teeth, forcing herself to stay silent. A fist drives into her stomach –once, twice– digging deep, forcing the air from her lungs with a sound that isn’t even a gasp. More like a strangled wheeze. A pathetic, broken thing. She doesn’t even realize she’s falling until the cold stone rushes up to meet her.

But they aren’t done.

A boot crashes into her side. Then another. The sickening crack of bone giving way sends nausea rolling through her stomach. Her ribs scream and an unbearable agony spreads through her entire torso. Vi curls inward instinctively, tries to shield herself, but hands grab her and flip her onto her back. A knee slams down against her chest, pressing hard, grinding into ribs that are definitely broken.

Vi can't breathe. Her hands claw weakly at the weight pinning her, fingers curling, uncurling, useless. Every breath sounds deafening in her ears, too loud, too wrong. She can feel her own heartbeat hammering inside her ribs –wild, frantic, animal. A final burst of life in a body that can’t take much more. Then another fist crashes into her jaw, snapping her head back against the stone.

The world tilts. Spins. Blood drips down her chin, warm and thick. Someone mutters something – Vi can’t make out the words, only the laughter that follows. The weight finally lifts. The hands let go. She barely feels herself being dragged back to her cell, her body nothing but fire and raw agony. They dump her like trash and her cheek hits the freezing floor with a sickening sound.

The cell door slams shut. Footsteps fade. Vi lies there, barely breathing, fingers twitching against the stone. She wants to move. To sit up. To do something. But she can only stare at the ceiling and hope for the darkness to take her.

She doesn’t know how long she lies there. Pain is everywhere and everything. A deep, burning ache in her ribs, every inhale like a knife slicing through her chest. Her stomach throbs where their fists have landed, the muscles spasm with each shallow breath. Blood pools thick in her mouth, coating her tongue, her teeth. She turns her head slightly, lets it drip from her lips onto the stone with a soft patter. The taste of iron lingers, and its bitter and nauseating and familiar. Her jaw just won’t sit right. Vi doesn’t dare touch it.

None of that hurts as much as the thought of her.

Vi squeezes her eyes shut, trying to push away the image that always surfaces when the pain is this bad –an unknown figure, a shadow of a person she has never met but has always been there. She feels her, or maybe she just imagines it. A flicker of warmth against her skin, gone before she can place it. A whisper of breath that isn’t hers, hitching on the same pain. Sometimes, when the nights stretch too long and her body won’t stop shaking, she swears she hears something –half a sob, half a gasp. But maybe she’s just losing her mind in this hellhole.

A broken sob tears from her throat, her own voice hoarse. She curls onto her side, cradling her ribs, shaking as the pain pulses through her. “I’m sorry”, she whispers. The words barely make it past her lips. “I’m so –so sorry”.

She presses her forehead to the cold stone. Tears burn at the corners of her swollen eyes. The irony isn’t lost on Vi. She had spent so much time wondering about this person, worrying about them, hating that they suffered. And all she had managed to do for the past five fucking years is become the one hurting them.

Vi sucks in a breath, wincing at the pain it sends flaring through her chest. This isn’t fair. None of it is fair. She shouldn’t have to feel this. She shouldn’t have to suffer just because she is suffering. But there is nothing she could do.

Nothing except–

Find me, Vi pleads silently. Please.

Her whole body is shaking. It is stupid. It is pointless. No one is coming. No one even knows where Vi is. But she can’t stop the thought from forming, from slipping through the cracks of her breaking mind. She imagines it often –someone bursting through the heavy doors of Stillwater, storming through the halls, shoving the guards aside like they are nothing. A hand reaching for hers, warm and steady, pulling her up, pulling her out. She imagines looking up into a face she has never seen before but somehow knows. She imagines safety. Freedom. And every time she indulges in these fantasies, because she has nothing left –because the pain is too much, because she is exhausted, because she can’t sleep if she doesn’t– Vi lets the sobs take her under.

She doesn’t try to fight them anymore. She just curls in on herself, shaking and broken, and cries herself into the only escape Stillwater ever allowed.

Sleep.

                                                           ***

Vi doesn’t know how long it takes her to walk again. To be able to open her mouth and chew her food. To take more than three steps without feeling like she will collapse. She stops keeping track of the days. The weeks. The months. Time doesn’t mean much in Stillwater. It’s just an endless cycle of cold stone, stale air, and the crack of fists against her body.

Once she is better, she gets into a fist fight with another inmate –because why the hell not? She earns for herself a swollen eye and a few days in isolation. She returns to her cell with a bad cold that makes her burn with a fever that her body doesn’t seem to know how to fight against. Vi spends the day sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and her arms draped over her knees. Every part of her aches, but she is used to it by now. Pain is a constant. It is just another day. The fever that has been sucking the life out of her slowly and deliberately is simply an added Stillwater bonus.

That’s when she hears footsteps. Not the heavy, deliberate stomp of a guard. Something quieter. Faster.

Vi doesn’t lift her head at first. There is no point. Sometimes, in the fevered haze of half-sleep, she hears things that aren’t there. The distant echo of a voice. The sound of a door creaking open. The warmth of a hand on hers. None of it is real. Never has been.

But then the lock rattles. Her body tenses out of instinct. This could easily be simply another cruel trick, the prelude to another round of merciless beating.

Then the door swings open.

Vi blinks. A woman stands there. An enforcer, out of all the people her aching brain could have fathomed. She is tall and has a rifle slung over her back. Her eyes are blue. Vi’s breath stutters. She knows this isn’t real. It can’t be. She has imagined this too many times before, lying on the floor, bleeding, praying for someone –her– to walk through that door and save her.

But she never actually does.

The woman steps inside and her lips press into a firm line as she takes her in. The bruises. The swollen eye. The exhaustion. For a second, the woman just stands there, useless as any other ghost that has ever visited Vi. Then her voice comes, low and urgent. “You're Vi, right?”

Vi forces a grin, even though it hurts. “Shouldn’t you already know that?”, she asks.

The woman exhales through her nose. “I'm here to get you out”. She steps closer and crouches down, close enough that Vi could touch her to test her ghost theory. “Can you walk?”

Vi shifts slightly –fuck, that hurts– and forces herself to sit up straighter. The cell spins, tilting sideways. Her stomach lurches. The fever is bad. Worse than she thought.  “I don’t think so”.

The woman pulls something out of her uniform –a folded set of papers. “These will get us past the guards”, she says. “But we need to go now”.

Vi stares at her. The words make no sense. “Sure”, she says.

The woman frowns. “Hey”, she says. There is sharp edge to her voice that Vi doesn’t like. “My name is Caitlyn Kiramman. I’m getting you out of here”.

When Vi offers no response, the woman, Caitlyn, reaches into her backpack and produces a flask. She presses it against Vi’s cracked lips, and the water is so cool and clean, that Vi would drink all of it if her throat ever decided to cooperate. She swallows with effort and winces at the raw burn left behind.

“Easy”, Caitlyn murmurs. Her hand is steady under Vi’s chin, tilting her head just enough to help her drink.

Vi should pull away. Shouldn’t let some posh enforcer touch her like this. But the second the woman’s fingers brush her skin, the pain lessens –just enough for Vi to breathe again, just enough for the pounding in her skull to dull to something bearable.

When she understands Vi can’t drink more, Caitlyn puts the flask down. She reaches out and presses a hand to her forehead. “You are burning up”, she mutters.

The relief that floods Vi’s body at the woman’s touch is better than any drug she has ever tried in this prison. But confusion follows fast on its heels. Ghosts don’t touch her. They never have, no matter how many times Vi begged them to.

Caitlyn reaches for Vi’s arm. “Come on”, she urges.

Vi lets Caitlyn haul her up. She stumbles, but Caitlyn catches her. For a second, Vi just stands there, chest heaving, head swimming. She feels the warmth of Caitlyn's body against hers. The solidness of her grip. And –strangely– she realizes the pain isn’t that bad anymore. It is still there, still biting, but something about Caitlyn being this close lessens it.

This is nice. Vi doesn’t really understand it but she probably doesn’t need to. She can go now, she can finally let go and be with her mom again. This feeling, this eye- watering relief is probably her body finally giving up and shutting down, and that’s okay.

Caitlyn adjusts her grip, her arm is tight around Vi’s waist. She still acts like this is real.

“I’m dying”, Vi says, not to this Caitlyn, which is obviously a figment of her failing brain, but to herself.

Caitlyn tenses. “No, you are not.”

She moves fast. Too fast for Vi to process. One second, she is propping her up, and the next, she is shifting Vi’s arm over her shoulder, practically carrying her forward. Caitlyn moves with purpose. Every time Vi stumbles, Caitlyn tightens her hold.

“Hold on”, she murmurs. “We’re almost there”.

Vi’s head lolls. “Like I know where ‘there’ is.”

They take a turn, then another. The corridors blur together, stone and metal and darkness. Then they see the guards. Two of them, standing at the final checkpoint before the exit. Vi tenses, but Caitlyn doesn’t slow. She pulls out the documents and strides forward like she belongs there.

“Transfer order,” she says.

 “At this hour?”

Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate. “New directive from Piltover,” she says, annoyance laced in her tone. “You want to wake up the councillor and double-check?”

The guards exchange glances. “No need. You’re clear”.

To Vi’s surprise, Caitlyn turns to them and says “thank you” before guiding her outside. Vi would laugh if she had any strength left in her. This is the politest law-breaking ghost she has encountered. And it made escaping hell look easy. Way too easy. Then again, she is dying. Everything should feel easy when you’re about to die. That’s her best and only guess.

                                                           ***

Then they are outside.

The air hits Vi like a slap –sharp and cold against her burning skin. She sucks in a breath, lungs protesting the sudden rush of freedom. It tastes strange, too fresh, too real. Her legs nearly buckle, but Caitlyn’s grip keeps her steady.

Caitlyn doesn’t stop. She moves quickly and guides Vi down a narrow alley. The world blurs, the fever distorts everything –shadows stretch too long, the buildings sway in ways they shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Vi lets Caitlyn pull her forward, her body floating somewhere between exhaustion and delirium.

Only when they are far enough, swallowed by the dark, does Caitlyn finally slow down. She shifts Vi’s weight and eases her down against a wall. The second Caitlyn lets go, the warmth disappears, and the pain comes crashing back. Vi gasps, curls in on herself as her ribs scream, her muscles seize. It’s like being hit all over again, like every wound that disappeared for the last hour urgently demands to be felt.

Caitlyn crouches beside her. “Vi?” Her voice is sharp but Vi barely hears her over the ringing in her ears. “Hey”, Caitlyn mutters. Her hand presses against Vi’s forehead again, and Vi can’t help the way she leans into it. It’s the only thing that dulls the fire burning under her skin. Caitlyn exhales through her nose. “Your fever is way too high”. Her fingers linger, they brush against Vi’s cheek before she pulls back.

The moment her touch is gone, Vi’s limbs tremble. “Don’t do that”, she pleads but doesn’t have the strength to explain herself. The fever still whispers at the edges of her mind, coaxing her back into the dream of Stillwater, back into the years of pain and nothingness. But this –this is different. The ache in her ribs, the chill of the night, the sharpness of Caitlyn’s voice –all of it is real. Too real.

She isn’t dying. Not yet.

Caitlyn shifts again. “Vi”.

She hesitates, then reaches for Vi’s jacket. With careful hands, she pulls it tighter around Vi’s shoulders. She pulls Vi’s hoodie up over her head and tucks the edges around her face to keep the warmth in. Her touch is so gentle.  So intentional. Unlike everything else in Vi’s life so far.  “This should help”, Caitlyn murmurs.

Vi swallows hard and forces her eyes open. Caitlyn is still there, crouched in front of her, watching her. Vi coughs and tastes blood. So much for not dying. “Why?”

Caitlyn hesitates. “What? Why did I break you out?”

Vi nods. She is thankful she doesn’t have to actually speak in complete sentences for Caitlyn to understand what she is trying to say. Not that she can, anyway. Every word scrapes her throat like sandpaper, every breath feels like a battle she has already lost.

Caitlyn’s expression hardens. “I actually need your help.”

Vi huffs a weak laugh. “Wrong girl”, she says.

Caitlyn doesn’t smile. “Right girl. A few days ago you beat up an inmate, a valuable witness at the last Silco fiasco”.

Vi stills at the name. “Well”, she says when she recovers, “I’m sorry?”. It comes out so dishonest that it would have immediately earned her a punch in the stomach from any enforcer worth their salt.

Caitlyn only frowns. All the more proof she isn’t real. “I need help tracking Silco’s associates”, she says. “I have a feeling you know more than you let on”.

Vi’s head thumps against the wall. “Like I said, wrong. girl”.  

Caitlyn pats her thigh. “We’ll see about that”.

Vi exhales sharply. Every muscle, every bruise, every broken piece of her screams at once –but when Caitlyn’s hand lingers, the pain dulls, just a little. Just enough. The fever gripping Vi’s body loosens its hold, ebbing like a tide drawn back into the sea. Her pulse steadies. Her ribs don’t feel like they’re about to splinter apart.

Then Caitlyn pulls away and the relief vanishes. The fever surges back with a vengeance and Vi shudders violently. “No”, she rasps, the word escaping before she can stop it. “Don’t–”

Caitlyn frowns. She reaches for her again, presses her palm against Vi’s cheek. The second she does, the fire subsides. Not completely, but enough to make Vi’s breath steady, enough to stop the trembling in her hands.

Caitlyn probably notices. Her brows draw together as her eyes scan Vi’s face. “Is this better?” she murmurs, as her fingers brush against Vi’s cheek again. Her touch sends something deeper than relief through Vi –something grounding, something safe.

Vi exhales. “Yes.”

Caitlyn doesn’t move, doesn’t pull back this time. “You’re not shaking”.

“I know,” Vi says, voice barely above a whisper. “Guess you’ve got a sweet touch, cupcake.”

Caitlyn doesn’t react to the nickname. She is still watching her, blue eyes sharp and searching. Vi swallows against the dryness in her throat, against the painful realization sinking in her gut.

This isn’t normal.

She has felt pain her entire life but never has something like this happened. Never has someone’s mere presence quieted the agony in her body. Never has she needed someone’s touch to keep her standing.

Caitlyn shifts again, adjusting Vi’s weight against her. “Come on,” she says, voice softer now. “We need to move. Get you somewhere safe to sleep.”

“If I sleep”, Vi mumbles, “I won’t–”

“Yes, you will”, Caitlyn says and Vi starts to find her ability to understand her incomplete sentences annoying. “I promise you, Vi, you will wake up”.

                                                           ***

Vi doesn’t remember believing her, but at some point she does wake up and she is very much alive. All the proof she needs is that she is in a shitload of pain and there is no ghost next to her to take it away this time.

At least she is in a real bed and not in Stillwater. So the escape part must have actually happened.

Vi shifts in the bed. Her skin is burning, but she shivers anyway, caught somewhere between waking and dreaming. She hears movement; soft and careful. A chair scraping. Someone watching her. She forces her eyes open. It takes a second to focus, but then she sees blue.

Caitlyn.

Vi’s throat is dry, but she forces out a sound –half a chuckle, half a sigh. “Of all the times I dreamed of you”, she rasps, “this time you actually bothered to show up”.

Caitlyn’s lips part slightly. A crease forms between her brows. “You’re awake”, she says. Her voice is the softest thing Vi has heard for the past six years. “You are safe. You need to rest.” She hesitates, then reaches out and presses a damp cloth against Vi’s forehead.

The relief is immediate.

Vi’s eyes slip shut again. “How do you do that?”, she murmurs. “Who are you?”

“I’m Caitlyn Kiramman”, Caitlyn says, as if that explains everything. “You can call me Cait”.

Vi lets out a faint hum, half amusement, half exhaustion. “That’s not what I meant”.

Cait keeps the cloth against Vi’s forehead. “Just rest”, she says.

Vi’s tongue feels heavy in her mouth, but the words come anyway. “You were there”, she says. “I swear I saw you in Stillwater. You would come in, say my name. Get me out. Not really, but, you know. It was a nice dream”.

“You are out now”, Caitlyn says.

“I wish”.

Vi cracks her eyes open again. Caitlyn is staring at her like she has lost her mind. Then, slowly, she pulls the cloth away. “It’s the fever”, she says. “You are still burning up”.

Vi exhales a laugh, barely more than a breath. “Yeah.” She lets her eyes close, eager to let the exhaustion win. She barely registers it when Caitlyn shifts beside her, murmuring something under her breath. Then there’s a cool touch at her lips, the rim of a glass nudging gently against them.

“Vi”, Caitlyn says. “Take this for me”.

Something small and bitter presses against Vi’s tongue. A pill.

“I promise it will help,” Caitlyn says, her fingers light against Vi’s jaw, guiding without forcing.

Vi takes the pill. Not because she understands, not because she thinks to question it –but because Caitlyn is here, and she is warm, and for the first time in years, someone is taking care of her.

                                                           ***

The second time Vi wakes, everything is different.

The fire burning under her skin is gone. The fevered fog has lifted, and the room –wherever they are– is steady and real. No more melting walls. No more voices that don’t exist.

Caitlyn is still there, sitting by the bed, but she’s not hovering like before. When Vi stirs, Caitlyn glances up immediately.

“You look better,” she says.

Vi licks her cracked lips. “Guess so”.

Caitlyn leans forward. “The antipyretics worked”, she tells her. “Your fever broke”.

Vi blinks. “The what worked?”

“It’s medicine”, Caitlyn explains. “For fever.”

Vi hums. “Good stuff”.

“Good thing I had them on me”, Caitlyn says. She says it casually, but something is off. There’s a strange hitch to her voice, a tightness at the edges Vi can’t place.

“Why did you?”, she asks.

“I had a fever myself these past few days”, Caitlyn says and Vi knows that this an important piece of information, that she should be piecing something together right now, but her brain feels slow, fogged by exhaustion.

Caitlyn fidgets, shifts her weight, then tries to steer the conversation away. “Do you remember anything from last night?”, she asks.

Vi frowns. Dreams and reality blur at the edges, but one thing is clear; Caitlyn was there. Cooling her down. Keeping her steady. And every time she touched her, the pain had eased. Vi swallows. “Yeah”, she says. “Bits and pieces”.

“Do you believe that I am real now?”, Caitlyn asks.

Vi smirks. “If you’re not, this is one hell of a hallucination”.

Caitlyn huffs out something like a laugh. She still looks too tense, too tired– like she is waiting for Vi to collapse again. “You should eat something”, she says.

“I really should”. Vi surprises herself with how eager she sounds. Food in prison was something she just needed to survive, not something she ever desired or enjoyed. But, then again, she has spent the past few days alone in her cell with no food at all.

She thinks about cracking a joke, about saying something like “there was no room service in Stillwater, cupcake”, but then–

Then Caitlyn pulls a small package of cookies from her backpack, opens it, and holds one out for Vi.

Vi freezes.

For a second, she isn’t here. She’s a kid again, sitting at Vander’s bar, bruised and exhausted but safe. He’s setting a plate in front of her—nothing fancy, just something to eat, something to fill the aching hollow in her stomach.

“Vi?” Caitlyn prompts.

Vi blinks back into the present. “Yeah”. She reaches out, takes the cookie. “Thanks”.

The second she takes the first bite, a familiar ache flares along her jaw. She clenches it instinctively, but the pain is sharp, a reminder of the night the guards shattered it. It never healed properly.

 “What’s wrong?”, Caitlyn asks.

Vi exhales slowly. “It’s nothing”, she says, but even to her own ears, it sounds forced.

This is stupid. She can handle a little pain. She shifts her jaw, testing it. The bone clicks, and Vi swears under her breath.

“Your jaw”, Caitlyn says. “How bad is it?”

Vi shakes her head, but before she can lie again, Caitlyn’s fingers brush against her chin. The moment they touch, the pain fades. Just like in prison, just like every time Cait has touched her since they met.

Vi exhales.

Caitlyn doesn’t pull away. Her thumb brushes lightly along Vi’s jawline and her palm steadies her face. “Does this help?” she asks.

Vi swallows. Nods.

Caitlyn holds her touch. For a moment, neither of them speak. Caitlyn stays like that for a moment longer, then shifts. “Okay”, she murmurs. “Here”.

She breaks off a smaller piece of the cookie and offers it to Vi. Vi hesitates for a second, but then reaches for it. It’s dry as hell, but it’s good. It’s food. It’s safe. It’s the first time in years someone has sat with her, made sure she ate, made sure she was okay.

When the sharp ache in her stomach dulls into something softer, Vi stops eating. Caitlyn leans back in her chair. She exhales. “It’s good your appetite is back,” she says.

But something in her voice is off.

Vi frowns. “You okay, cupcake?”

Caitlyn huffs. “Don’t call me that”. She reaches for the empty glass by the bed, but the motion is too stiff, too controlled. Vi doesn’t notice at first—not until Caitlyn winces, just slightly, as she shifts.

And then Vi sees the quiet, practiced motion –a hand slipping into her pocket, fingers twisting the cap off a bottle before Caitlyn tips a pill into her palm and swallows it dry.

Vi’s stomach twists. “Do you still have a fever?” she asks.

Caitlyn hesitates for half a second before shrugging. “It’s just a precaution”, she says. She won’t look at her.

She turns, maybe thinking the conversation is over, but Vi reaches out without thinking and catches her wrist. The moment they touch, everything shifts. The aches, the exhaustion, the bruises layered over bruises—it all fades. Just like that. It’s so immediate, so overwhelming, that Vi forgets to breathe.

Caitlyn stills. She exhales, as if a weight has been lifted off her too. “Vi?”

Vi exhales slowly. Her pulse is loud in her ears.

No. No way.

Her fingers tighten. It hits her all at once. The years of unexplained pain. The fever Caitlyn had for the exact same period she did. The way her pain fucking stopped when Caitlyn was close. When she touched her forehead, when she cupped her jaw. Vi remembers Powder’s voice, small but certain.

Violet has a soulmate.

She had laughed it off back then. She doesn’t laugh now. She looks at Caitlyn—at the dark circles under her eyes, the stiffness in her limbs, the pills she’s still trying to pretend she doesn’t need.

Vi knows exactly what she’s looking at. Caitlyn has been hurting for a long, long time.

Caitlyn pulls her hand back slowly, frowning like she feels the absence of the touch too, but she doesn’t say anything. Just grabs the glass and turns away.

Vi watches her go. She doesn’t say a word. This girl, this beautiful, kind woman that belongs anywhere else but next to Vi, is her soulmate.

And she has been living in a world of pain because of her.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Serotonin

The Undercity hasn’t changed much in the years Vi spent rotting in prison. If anything, it’s worse –more desperate, more hollowed out. Vi walks ahead, leading them deeper into the district towards the brothel. Her newfound freedom feels strange. The fact that she is leading the way with an enforcer by her side feels even stranger. But the fact that this enforcer is apparently her soulmate?

That’s absolutely surreal.

Caitlyn follows behind, rifle slung over her back, her eyes sharp. She doesn’t move like she belongs here. She is too rigid, too alert. She flinches at every distant shout, every shadow that flickers the wrong way.

They haven’t spoken much since–well. Since Vi knew.

She hasn’t said a word about it. She doesn’t know how to bring it up. Hey, you know how soulmates share each other’s pain? You’ve probably been feeling like shit for the past six years. That was me. My bad. We belong together by the way.

Yeah. That would go over great.

So she keeps walking. Pretends not to notice every time Caitlyn shifts wrong, every time her hand twitches toward her coat. They both need to find Silco for their own reasons, so maybe if she focuses on that, she can stop thinking about the soulmate thing for a second.

But then Caitlyn does it again; she reaches into her pocket, twists the cap off a small bottle, tips a pill into her palm. Pops it back dry, without hesitation.

Vi stops dead in her tracks. “What’s wrong?”

Caitlyn barely glances at her. “What?”

“Um, the pills”, Vi nods toward her hand. “You have taken like four in the past two hours”.

Caitlyn’s jaw tightens. “It’s nothing”.

“Doesn’t look like nothing”.

Caitlyn exhales sharply, but Vi doesn’t let up. She just stands there, waiting.

After a silence that feels long, Caitlyn sighs. “I have a chronic condition”.

The words shouldn’t hit like a punch to the gut. Vi already knows. But somehow, they still do. “What kind of condition?”, she asks.

Caitlyn meets her eyes for a beat. Then, she shrugs and says only one word: “Pain”.

Vi’s throat goes dry. “Since when?”

Caitlyn shrugs again, like it doesn’t matter. “For the last six years”.

Six years. Vi clenches her jaw so tight it aches. She takes a breath, steadies herself. “Are you in pain right now?”, she tries.

She half hopes Caitlyn will say “yes”. Because that would prove that Vi is wrong. That maybe she wanted to believe in that soulmate crap so badly that she convinced herself her pain was gone when Cait touched her. If Caitlyn is still hurting while being this close to her, then their connection must be a thing that only exists in Vi’s fantasy.  

Caitlyn’s face betrays none of her feelings. “No. Not right now”, she says and starts walking again. “But it’s better not to risk it”.

Vi’s heart is pounding. She struggles to catch up with Caitlyn. “Could you–”, she starts but then stops herself.

Caitlyn frowns, stops walking again. “What?”

Vi hesitates. She knows she shouldn’t say it. That this is neither the right time nor the right place. But she says it anyway. “Could you try not taking them? Just for a few hours?”

Caitlyn stares at her. Then, very quietly, she says, “Why would I do that?”

Vi lifts her hands in what she means to be a placating gesture. “Just–just to see if the pain comes back. If it’s still real”.

The words barely leave her mouth before she realizes her mistake.

Caitlyn takes a step toward her, slow and deliberate, and fuck. “Do you think this is a joke?” Her voice is sharp. Cut-glass sharp.

Vi shakes her head. “No, I–”

“You think I enjoy this?” Caitlyn continues. “That I want to spend my entire life in pain I can’t explain?”

“No, cupcake, listen–”

“No, you listen. I was a child when this started. My parents took me to every doctor, every specialist they knew. I went through scans, blood tests, endless fucking consultations. And you know what everyone told me?” She lets out a humorless laugh. “That there was nothing organically wrong with me. That it was all psychological. All in my head. And then, when I kept going back to them with new symptoms, they took my parents aside and told them that maybe I was feeling neglected”. There is fury behind her blue eyes now, fury that makes Vi wish she hadn’t said a word. “That I was making it up. That maybe I was mentally ill and only pretended to be in pain so that my parents would pay attention to me”.

Vi’s chest tightens. “I’m sor–”

“I couldn’t walk, Vi”. There is something in the way she says her name that makes Vi’s heart clench. The kind, patient woman that busted her out of prison just a day ago is nowhere to be found. All Vi sees now is a broken person who has been in pain for too long. Just like her.

Caitlyn’s voice shakes when she speaks again. “Sometimes I couldn’t even open my mouth to eat. I had to drop out of the Academy’s training for a year. I lost an entire year of my life, barely able to breathe some days, because nobody could figure out what the hell was wrong with me”.

Vi feels sick. I was wrong with you, she thinks. I was the one hurting you.

“I spent half the time dreading the diagnosis and the other half hoping for one that could finally give me an answer”. Caitlyn exhales through her nose, tries to calm herself. “My pain is real. And these”, she says and holds the pill bottle in front of Vi to see, “these make it bearable”.

Vi wants to say something. Anything. But the words are stuck in her throat.

Caitlyn doesn’t let the silence stretch for long. “I know you went through hell in prison. The guards I spoke to weren’t exactly subtle about it. I thought out of all people you would understand me”.

Vi feels like she’s drowning. She does understand. Maybe too well. But she can’t say that. Not yet. “I understand you”, she says, quietly.

Caitlyn shakes her head. She presses her fingers to her temple, as if trying to rub out the frustration building there.

“I don’t think so”, she mutters. She swallows, then lifts her chin, back straightening like she’s forcing herself to pull it together. She levels Vi with a look. “In any case, I can handle it”, she says, but there’s something brittle in her voice.

Vi watches as Caitlyn reaches into her pocket, as her fingers close around the pill bottle. A nervous habit. She doesn’t take another pill. She just holds onto the bottle like it’s the only thing keeping her steady.

The weight in Vi’s chest sinks deeper.

Caitlyn turns away first. “We should keep moving”, she says.

Vi almost stops her. Almost says her name, almost reaches out. But what is she supposed to say? Sorry I ruined your life? Sorry I made you an addict? Sorry I made everyone think you’re a liar? Sorry I am supposed to be yours?

So she shuts up and just watches Caitlyn walk ahead, the shadows swallowing her up. She doesn’t say a word. She just lets the guilt eat her alive.

                                   ***

Vi is too shocked by Sevika’s revelation to stay alert. She works for him. She doesn’t know exactly what she expected, but it wasn’t that. She’s like his daughter.

And that’s why she isn’t ready. That’s why she doesn’t notice the flash of silver until cold steel buries itself deep in her gut. The world blurs. The air rips from her lungs. Vi gasps, but no sound comes. She’s not sure what’s worse –the twist of the blade as Sevika yanks her mechanical arm free or the momentary absence of pain before her body catches up.

Then it crashes down on her. Hot. White-hot. All-consuming.

Vi collapses to her knees. She crashes onto the pavement, hands flying to her stomach, blood spilling between her fingers. Her ears ring. Her vision flickers black at the edges.

She should move.

She should do something.

But Sevika won’t let her. She has every intention of killing her right there on the spot, but before Vi has the time to regret her mistakes, Sevika jerks backward as a bullet slams into her mechanical arm. Sparks fly. Sevika hesitates for half a second, then takes off running.

Vi looks up, sees Caitlyn standing a few feet away, rifle raised. They shouldn’t have split up. She knows it now, now that it’s, as always, too late.

Caitlyn cocks the rifle again, exhales, and pulls the trigger. But the shot veers wide. Vi barely processes it at first. Then Caitlyn staggers. Her free hand flies to her stomach–right where Vi is bleeding.

Vi watches in horror as Caitlyn’s eyes go wide. Her breathing falters. She sways slightly, like she’s the one losing blood. Her grip on the rifle trembles. She tries to take another shot, but her fingers barely hold steady on the trigger. Her hands shake. She gasps. And then, Caitlyn drops the rifle and rushes to her.

“Vi”, she breathes as she drops to her knees beside her. She tries to lift her, but a sharp wince cuts through her features. She feels it. She feels it too.

Vi’s hands are slick with blood. She grabs Caitlyn’s wrist, her grip weak. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Cait, I’m so sorry–”

“Shh”, Caitlyn shushes her. “Save your strength”.

Vi chokes on a breath. The pain is unbearable and it’s spreading through her like fire. She presses her hands harder against the wound, but there’s too much blood, too much warmth pooling beneath her palms.

Caitlyn’s hands shake as they finally land on her –one cupping her face, the other pressing over Vi’s, trying to help stem the bleeding. “Stay with me”, she pleads.

“I did this to you”. Vi’s voice is barely a whisper, wrecked and trembling.

“Vi”. Caitlyn says. “You’re okay. Look at me. You are okay”.

Vi wants to believe her. But it hurts so much. Her body convulses, the fresh pain tears another broken sound from her throat. Caitlyn tightens her grip.

“Just keep breathing”, she orders. The previous tension between them is gone. Caitlyn doesn’t even scold her for being reckless. There is only concern in her voice, pure, heart-breaking concern for the person that has sent her life to hell.

“I can’t”, Vi says.  

“Yes, you can”, Caitlyn insists.  “I’ve got you”.

Vi gasps. Her head lolls against Caitlyn’s shoulder, and, just for a second, the pain ebbs. Not enough. Not nearly enough. But the warmth of Caitlyn’s body against hers keeps her from slipping under.

Caitlyn presses harder against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but Vi jolts violently. The pain flares sharp, red-hot, like someone is dragging a blade across her insides all over again.

Caitlyn sees it. Feels it. Flinches like the wound is hers. Her whole body trembles. “Damn it”, she breathes, more to herself than to Vi. “I think I got hit”.

“It’s my fault”, Vi says. She knows Caitlyn is in pain. She knows she isn’t just fighting for her. She’s fighting against every instinct screaming at her to collapse from the pain, too. Vi’s fingers twitch weakly, grasping for anything. Her hand finds Caitlyn’s forearm, and the moment they touch, the pain dulls.

“Do you feel this too?”, she asks.

Caitlyn freezes. Her mouth opens; closes. “Vi”, she breaths, “you're –you're in shock, I need to–”

“No”, Vi interrupts. “Tell me”.

Caitlyn doesn’t answer.

“Cait”, Vi pleads. “Please”.

“I’ve got you”, Caitlyn mutters. “I’ve got you”.

Then she hauls Vi up. Vi tries to help, tries to steady herself, but Caitlyn doesn’t let her carry any of the weight. She all but drags Vi back to the safe house, her grip firm, her movements controlled, but Vi feels it. The tremors. The shallow breaths. The way Caitlyn’s fingers twitch every few seconds, like something is eating her alive from the inside.

By the time they make it back, Caitlyn all but collapses into a chair, digging into her pocket with shaky hands. Vi watches as she pulls out the bottle, tips two pills into her palm, and swallows them dry.

Then she looks at Vi, eyes dark with exhaustion, and offers her one. “Here”, Caitlyn says, voice hoarse. “It will help with the pain”.

Vi really, really doubts it will.

                                   ***

Vi is barely aware of anything except the pain –and Caitlyn, kneeling beside her. Caitlyn’s hand presses against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, and fuck– it hurts, but at the same time, it doesn’t.

Vi’s fingers clutch Caitlyn’s wrist, desperate. “Just–just keep your hand there”, she rasps. “Please.”

Caitlyn hesitates. “Vi–”

“Please”. Her voice breaks. She doesn’t mean for it to, but it does.

Caitlyn nods. “Okay, okay”. She applies more pressure, even though it’s evident that she doesn’t believe that’s enough.

Vi exhales. The pain is still sharp, but the longer Caitlyn holds on, the less unbearable it is. It makes sense. It shouldn’t, but it does. Vi is too far gone to pretend otherwise.

But then Caitlyn shifts. Pulls back.

Vi’s breath hitches. “No–”

“I need to get something”, Caitlyn says.

“No, just–just stay”.

Caitlyn catches her hand in hers, squeezes once, then lets go. “Vi, you’re bleeding out”.

Vi barely registers the door opening, the soft rustle of Caitlyn slipping out into the Undercity. She doesn’t know how much time passes.

Her body throbs and every heartbeat pushes blood out of her and into the sheets beneath her. She tries to stay awake, but the darkness pulls at her, whispering, let go, let go, let go–

Then Caitlyn is back.

Vi forces her eyes open. Caitlyn looks exhausted, and she has come back without her rifle.

Vi frowns. “Cait?”

Caitlyn kneels beside her again and smiles. “I got it”, she says.

She holds up something small. Something glowing. Vi’s stomach twists.

No. Shimmer. Vi stiffens, trying to recoil, but her body won’t move.

Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate. She uncorks the vial. “Come on”.

Vi flinches away. “No”.

“Vi”, Caitlyn’s voice is fraying, sharp with something dangerously close to desperation. “I don’t have time to argue”.

“No”, Vi’s throat closes.

She can’t. Shimmer ruined so many. Vi swore she would never touch the stuff, never let it near her.

On the other hand, this time she is dying. And Caitlyn is looking at her like that. Like she’s terrified. Like she doesn’t know what to do. Like she would actually care if she didn’t make it.

Vi’s fingers curl into Caitlyn’s sleeve. “Just–just a little longer”, she pleads. “Your touch helps. I swear it does”.

Caitlyn shakes her head. Her eyes are glassy. “It’s not enough”.

Vi knows she’s right. Knows this wound is bad. But she also knows what this means. She just found her. Just found her. And if she closes her eyes now, she doesn’t know if she’ll ever open them again.

She doesn’t want to go. Not now. Not yet.

Caitlyn’s fingers brush her cheek. “Vi, come on”.

Vi’s heart lurches. She’s scared. So fucking scared. But Caitlyn is here. Caitlyn is real. And Caitlyn won’t let her go.

Slowly, Vi nods. Caitlyn exhales, then tips the vial to Vi’s lips. And Vi drinks the shimmer.

                                   ***

Vi feels better. She would be feeling great, if she could simply manage to forget the existential crisis that she has been going through ever since a certain enforcer showed up in her cell.

She lets her head fall back against the pillow. Powder is alive. She is alive too. She feels clean for the first time in forever. Caitlyn must have cleaned her face and neck while she was sleeping, because now Vi smells like soap. She probably slept for a whole day after drinking the shimmer. Nobody came to wake her up, to hurt her, to take anything from her. She should be happy about that.

She isn’t.

Because now, there’s no more ignoring it. No more blaming her fever or the haze of pain. No more pretending. Caitlyn is her soulmate. And Caitlyn, who is currently setting a steaming bowl of soup down on the table beside her, has no idea.

Vi watches as Caitlyn kneels next to the bed, exhaustion written all over her face. She lifts a spoonful of soup and holds it out.

“It’s not exactly gourmet,” Caitlyn mutters, “but it was the least questionable thing I could find”.

Vi huffs a weak laugh, but there’s something raw in her chest. Something aching. Caitlyn broke her out of prison. Saved her life. And all this time, she has been suffering because of her.

She reaches for the spoon herself, but Caitlyn doesn’t let her take it yet. Her eyes flicker over Vi’s face. “Your jaw,” she says. “Does it still hurt?”

Vi shrugs. “It’s fine”.

Caitlyn raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, cupcake”. She takes the spoon from Caitlyn’s hand and takes a slow sip of the soup. It’s warm and it soothes something deep in her stomach. Vi keeps eating.

Caitlyn watches her for a moment longer, then finally pushes herself up with a quiet sigh and moves to sit in the chair beside the bed.

Vi gives her a look. “Thanks”, she says. “For everything”.

“I’m just glad you are okay”. She watches as Vi takes another bite and then says, “You should be more careful. You almost– I was scared”.

“I will”, Vi says. “Promise”. Then, before she has time to overthink it, she asks, “What about you?”

Caitlyn frowns. “What about me?”

Vi gestures at her with the spoon. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not the one who got stabbed, Vi”.

Vi shifts slightly, ignoring the twinge in her side. “I know. But you were in pain too, weren’t you?”

Caitlyn’s brows furrow. “I wasn’t–”

“You felt it too”, she says. “When Sevika stabbed me”.

Caitlyn stiffens.

“That’s why you missed your shot”.

Caitlyn looks away. “I already told you. It was just a bad angle.”

“No”, Vi shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t.”

Caitlyn doesn’t answer.

Vi doesn’t want to push. She really doesn’t. But then Caitlyn takes the bottle out of her pocket and pops another pill, and something inside her snaps.

“You don’t need that,” Vi says. She sets the bowl down with a sharp clatter against the table and swings her legs over the edge of the bed.

Cait frowns. “Excuse me?”

“The pills,” Vi explains. “You don’t need them anymore”.

Caitlyn’s eyes snap to hers, sharp with something close to fear. “Vi, let’s not do this now”.

Vi plants her elbows on her knees. “Look,” she says, softer now. “I think I know why you’ve been in pain all these years”.

“You don’t”.

“It’s me”, Vi says. She takes a breath. Then another. How the hell is she supposed to say this?  She grips the edge of the mattress, steadies herself, then pushes to her feet. “You told me you’ve been in pain for a long time,” she starts. “Six years, right?”

“Yes”. Cait’s frown deepens. “Vi, what are you–”

“How old are you?”, Vi cuts in.

Caitlyn hesitates. “I don’t see how that’s relevant”.

“Just tell me”.

Caitlyn sighs. “Twenty-two”.  

“Cool”, Vi says, “we are the same age. The math will be easier”.

“What math?”, Caitlyn asks. She stands up, reaches out to feel Vi’s forehead, but Vi flinches away.

“I don’t have a fever”, she says. “When you were sixteen,” she starts, “did you wake up one day in summer and feel like you had been beaten half to death?”

Caitlyn opens her mouth; then shuts it.

“That was my first month in Stillwater”, she says and makes a face. “The guards didn’t like me much. So, I guess that’s when your headaches started. And the face pain. The stomach aches. It must have been a hell of a month”.

Caitlyn’s jaw tightens. “What are you doing?”, she asks.

Vi ignores the question. “And then a few months later,” she continues, “you couldn’t breathe for real this time because you thought your ribs were broken”. She nods to herself. “Mine were. That’s when I truly knew what pain was. Didn’t sleep for a whole week.”

Caitlyn shakes her head, hard, like she can physically reject the words Vi is saying. “No”, she says, voice clipped. “No, this is ridiculous”.

Vi just looks at her. “I know, but it’s true”.

Caitlyn crosses her arms and starts pacing. “You don’t understand how chronic pain works, how the brain processes–”

“Cait”, Vi cuts her off. “I’m not making this up. Just–just let me finish”.

“Finish what?”, she asks. “You are just guessing”.

“I’m not”, Vi insists. “You were eighteen when your knee gave out. You were walking or running or just standing, and then suddenly, you weren’t”.

Caitlyn stops pacing. Her arms tighten around herself. “How do you know about that?”

Vi exhales through her nose. “There was a riot in prison. I wasn’t fast enough, and one of the guards took a baton to my knee. Snapped something. I couldn’t stand for weeks. Still hurts sometimes”.

Caitlyn’s breathing is shallow now. “Vi”, she says. A warning.

Vi keeps going. “Last year, in summer, you woke up feeling like your jaw was broken, right?”.

“Vi”.

“That was my fifth anniversary in Stillwater.” She says it like it means something. Like it should click into place. “They beat me unconscious”. Vi continues, and her voice wavers now, but she forces herself to keep talking. “Smashed my face into the floor. I couldn’t open my mouth without feeling my bones grind together”. She shakes her head. “I thought I was going to die that night”.

Caitlyn is staring at her.

“That was the worst one”, Vi says. A tear slips free and wipes it away angrily. “I couldn’t walk, couldn’t chew any food for months. Lost a lot of weight. Almost died due to internal damage”. She dares one look at Cait, who is now looking at the ground as if it holds all the answers. “I guess that was when you dropped out of the academy”.

Vi leans forward slightly. Her voice is quieter now. “I’m really sorry for that. I kept apologising to you. For causing you so much agony”.

Caitlyn turns her head sharply, like she wants to look anywhere but at Vi.

“Kind of gave up after that”, Vi says. She doesn’t mean to say it like that, but it’s the truth. “Soulmates are drawn to each other, that’s what people say. I thought if you were real, you would have already come to save me”.

Caitlyn sucks in a breath. Her eyes dart across Vi’s face, searching for something, for any explanation that isn’t this. “Stop it”, she says.

Vi doesn’t. “But then you did”, she says and gestures at her. “You took your sweet time with it, but you came”.

Caitlyn’s hands shake. “I said stop”.

Vi tries one more time. “And then every time you touched me, the pain eased. My fever went down. I stopped shivering, you saw it yourself”.

Caitlyn finally speaks. “It was just placebo”.  Her voice breaks. “I—I made you think you were better. That’s all it was”.

Vi laughs, but it sounds more like a sigh. “You don’t believe that”.

Caitlyn’s shoulders tense. “I don’t believe in soulmates”.

Vi tilts her head. “Then explain it”.

Caitlyn says nothing.

“Explain why every time I was hurt, you felt it. Why you had a fever for the exact time I did”.

Caitlyn’s jaw tightens. “It doesn’t mean–”

“Explain why when you touched me, my pain stopped”. Vi leans closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Explain why you missed that shot, Cait. Why your insides exploded in pain when Sevika stabbed me”.

Caitlyn’s hands shake. Vi watches her, sees the war happening behind her eyes. The sheer, desperate need to deny it. Vi reaches out and takes Cait’s hand in hers.

This should be it. This should be all the proof she needs.

But Caitlyn jerks her hand away as if burned. “Stop”.  Her voice shakes.

Vi doesn’t move. “Cait”.

“Stop it”, Caitlyn repeats. “I don’t— I can’t—”. She runs a hand through her hair. “I need air”, she mutters. Then she turns and walks out the door.

                                   ***

The door swings shut behind Caitlyn.

Vi doesn’t know what she expected. Probably something like that. Maybe even worse. She should let it go. Should give Caitlyn time, space, whatever she needs to process this.

But Caitlyn comes back almost immediately.

Vi barely has time to register the sound of footsteps before the door creaks open again, and there she is, standing in the doorway.

“You don’t understand what you’re saying”, Caitlyn says as she closes the door.

“What?”

“You’re looking for answers in the wrong places,” she says, and her voice is steady now, like she’s already decided how this conversation is going to go. “Physical contact releases endorphins, serotonin, oxytocin. Chemicals that reduce stress and pain”. She gestures between them. “You’ve barely been touched in six years. Of course you would react like this. Of course you would feel relief when someone finally–” She cuts herself off, then shakes her head. “It doesn’t mean we’re soulmates, Vi”.

Vi stares at her. “Chemicals”, she says.

Caitlyn keeps going, like she’s trying to reason with a clueless kid. “It’s basic biology. It’s why newborns need skin-to-skin contact, why people instinctively reach for someone when they’re hurting. You associated my touch with safety, and your brain–”, she exhales. “Your brain did the rest”.

Vi scoffs. “So, you’re saying that it’s all in my head?”

Caitlyn hesitates. “No, that’s not–”

“That’s exactly what you are saying”, Vi cuts her off. “You are doing to me the same thing those doctors did to you”.

Caitlyn flinches like she’s been struck. “No”, she mumbles.

“They told you your pain wasn’t real. That it was all in your head. Your words, cupcake, not mine. They made you doubt yourself, made you feel like you were crazy”. Her voice rises. “And now you’re standing here, looking me in the eyes, and telling me the exact same thing?”

Caitlyn exhales sharply. “It’s not the same”, she says.

Vi shakes her head. “No, you know, what? Say you’re right. Say my brain was so starved for touch that it made me feel better every time you laid a hand on me”. She tilts her head. “How do you explain that you have been in pain for the past six years, the exact amount of time I was being tortured in prison?”

“That’s just a coincidence”, Caitlyn says. “An unfortunate pattern”.

“Cait, you suffered the exact same injuries as I did”.

Caitlyn exhales.  “So says you”.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 Caitlyn looks miserable when she utters the next words. “I have no way of knowing if you felt the way I did”, she says. “I told you I was in pain for years. That I couldn’t walk or eat. You just took some guesses and filled the gaps”.

Vi stares at her. “Guesses?” she echoes. Her voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it. “Cait, I listed out your entire fucking medical history”.

Caitlyn won’t meet her eyes. “I never told you what kind of pain I had. You’re just assuming it matches up perfectly with yours.”

Vi takes a step closer. “Because it does”.

Caitlyn shakes her head. “You think it does.”

Vi sucks in a breath. “So what, you think I made it all up to mess with you?”

“I think–”, Caitlyn hesitates. “I think you believe it’s real”. She raises her hand to stop Vi from interrupting her. “And, yes, I know how this sounds, I know how awful it is to be at the receiving end of this phrase, but soulmates aren’t real, Vi”.

She sits back in the chair, crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry, but they aren’t”.

Vi mirrors her, goes to sit back on the bed. “Why would I even want a fucking enforcer as my soulmate?”, she asks.

If she is hurt by the question, Caitlyn makes a good job at hiding it. “I don’t know, Vi. Maybe because I broke you out of prison; saved you from bleeding out on the street. Maybe because you wanted someone. You’ve been alone for years. You just needed someone to hold onto. Even if that was… an enforcer”.

Vi hasn’t done this in years. All her conversations in prison were short, practical. She has never had a debate, let alone one on a subject she barely understands herself. She is out of her depth. So, she repeats what she knows to be true.

“You cried in pain when Sevika stabbed me”.

Caitlyn looks at her. “Vi”, she says, “I have chronic pain. It flares up unpredictably. Sometimes it’s worse, sometimes it’s manageable. It’s not–”, she gestures vaguely, like she’s trying to pluck the right words from the air. “It’s not evidence of anything”.

Vi frowns. “It just happened to flare up the second I got stabbed”.

“Yes”.

“At the exact same part of your body where I got stabbed”.

“Yes, Vi”, Caitlyn says. “That happens sometimes. Pain is a weird thing”.

Vi leans forward. “And what about the shimmer? You felt better as soon as I drank it”.

Caitlyn crosses her arms. “Maybe I was simply relieved that you were getting better, and my body reacted to that”.

Vi shakes her head. “That’s a hell of a stretch, cupcake”.

“Look, if this is some kind of flirting–”

Vi blinks. Then she actually laughs for the first time in a long time. “What?”

“I don’t know what your angle is here”.

 “Seriously? You think I’m telling you all that because I’m flirting with you?”

“I don’t know!” Caitlyn snaps. “You keep calling me cupcake, I thought maybe this was just–”

“In what world,” Vi interrupts, “would this be considered flirting? I just told you the saddest fucking story ever told”.

Caitlyn shifts. “You don’t exactly have a normal approach to things”.

Vi shakes her head, somewhere between exasperated and stunned. “Cait, if you thought that was flirting, then I seriously need to reevaluate my game”.

Caitlyn doesn’t even offer her a pity smile. She just presses a hand over her face for a second, like she’s trying to physically push the conversation away.

Vi watches her. “You don’t believe me”, she says. It’s not a question.

Caitlyn lowers her hand. Her expression is unreadable. “No”. She looks down, like she doesn’t trust herself to meet Vi’s gaze. “I just…I’m sorry, I can’t”.

Silence stretches between them.

“I should go”, Vi says. “Find my sister”. She stands up, pulls her hoodie down. The pain in her abdomen reminds her this is a bad idea.  

“Vi”, Caitlyn looks up, her voice soft but steady, “you are in no position to leave right now”.

Vi has no idea if she is referring to her physical or mental abilities to handle herself on her own. At the moment, they are both debatable.

“This was a mistake”, Vi says and gestures between them.

“No, it wasn’t”.

Vi rubs a hand over her face. “I shouldn’t have said anything”.

She feels Caitlyn hesitate, but then there’s movement, the shift of weight against the old wooden floor. A second later, Caitlyn is right next to her, close enough that Vi can feel the warmth of her without even touching.

“I know this wasn’t easy for you”, Caitlyn says carefully.  

Vi presses her fingers against her eyes, willing herself to keep it together. She will not break down in front of Caitlyn. Not now.

Except–her throat is tight. Her breath is unsteady. And fuck, she hasn’t cried in front of someone else in years.

She swallows against it, her pulse hammering in her ears. Caitlyn doesn’t say anything for a moment, then her hands move to rest on Vi’s shoulders. She guides her back to the bed, her voice soft but firm.

“Please, Vi, sit down”.  

Vi does as she is told. Caitlyn sits beside her. Slowly, carefully, she reaches out and curls her fingers around the back of Vi’s neck. Just holding her. Just keeping her here.

Vi goes completely still.

She squeezes her eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. She can feel Caitlyn’s touch like a brand, warm and grounding, and it makes something in her chest crack wide open.

Her breath shudders. Her shoulders shake.

And then she’s crying.

Quiet, broken exhales that she can’t hold back anymore. She wills herself to stop, to breathe, but Caitlyn is right there, and it’s safe here, and she’s so fucking tired of holding it all in.

She tilts her head slightly, just enough that her face presses into Caitlyn’s shoulder. Caitlyn lets her. She doesn’t move away, doesn’t let go. Just keeps holding her like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Vi swallows hard. “I’m so sorry”, she whispers.

Caitlyn doesn’t say anything.

She just holds her. One hand cradling the back of Vi’s neck, the other resting between her shoulder blades.

Vi exhales against Caitlyn’s collar. She wishes she never had to pull away.

She doesn’t remember the last time someone held her like this. Not for a fight, not to drag her somewhere against her will –just to hold her.

For a long time, there’s only the sound of their breathing. The quiet press of Caitlyn’s fingers in Vi’s hair. The warmth of her, solid and real.

At some point, Caitlyn’s hand shifts slightly, her fingertips graze the nape of Vi’s neck. A slow, steady motion, like she’s reassuring both of them.

Vi exhales again. The tension in her shoulders melts just a little. Caitlyn lets her decide when she wants to let go.

“Get some rest”, she tells her. “Then, we figure this out”.

For the first time in six years, Vi has someone to hold her.

Soulmate or not. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Many (Un)happy Reunions

Caitlyn considers the possibility that she is going insane.

All available evidence suggests that she is.

She doesn’t know how many hours she has spent watching Vi sleep. She should rest too. She should at least close her eyes for a moment, take a breath. But she can’t. Not with her mind racing, looping back to Vi’s words—soulmates are drawn to each other.

It is absurd. Irrational.

And yet, she can’t get herself to entirely dismiss this absurd, irrational hypothesis.

She had gone in Stillwater with a simple plan. Ask questions. Get information on Silco. Walk away. That was it. That was all she was supposed to do.

And then she asked the head of the guards about Vi –do you want us to have a little chat with her?– and felt something in her chest. Something she couldn't name. Something she couldn’t resist.

When she saw her–trapped in her cell, beaten and delirious, she had no reason to care about her; she was just a nameless convict who perhaps knew something that could help her. Vi was supposed to be a resource, nothing more.

And yet, something pulled at her. A strange, inexplicable urge to help, to get her out. She hadn’t even understood it at the time—why it mattered, why it felt so personal.

Caitlyn had made her choice in a second.

She still doesn’t know why she did it. Why she forged the papers. Why she broke Vi out when she wasn’t supposed to.

It had felt reckless, illogical –things that Caitlyn is not.

It still feels illogical. It still feels right.

If Caitlyn is honest with herself, she has to admit that Vi’s explanation about her pain is the one that makes the most sense.

Caitlyn should dismiss it. Laugh in her face. Call it ridiculous, impossible, because it is.

But she can’t.

Because she had felt something. When Vi was bleeding out in front of her, Caitlyn had felt something more than fear, more than concern. When Vi had been stabbed, Caitlyn’s entire body had screamed with pain that wasn’t hers.

And when she had touched Vi, it had lessened. That shouldn’t have happened.

There are other explanations. Rational ones. Surely, there must be.

Vi could by lying about the injuries she sustained in prison. She is a convict and convicts lie. Everyone lies when they feel like they have to in order to survive. And Stillwater—it isn’t the kind of place that leaves records, is it? No files, no medical reports, no way to confirm if Vi’s injuries match Caitlyn’s suffering, no way to prove that her knowing Caitlyn’s pain is anything but a cruel, elaborate coincidence.

But coincidence doesn’t explain the way Caitlyn felt when she saw Vi. And reason doesn’t explain the way she felt when she held her. When her hand found the back of Vi’s neck, Caitlyn felt safe. Calm. Happy. Things she hadn’t been in a while. Maybe in forever. Despite the pain and the miserable circumstances, despite everything, that was the happiest moment of her life.

And that is what scares her the most.

Caitlyn reaches into her coat pocket. The pill bottle is cool against her fingers. She rolls it between her hands and hopes –desperate– that a dose of medicine will make sense of all this. That she will wake up with a rational, scientific explanation for what has happened these past two days.

Because the alternative, the idea that Vi is telling the truth, that they are bound in ways Caitlyn has spent her entire life dismissing, is too much.

She pops the pills into her mouth and swallows.

If there is an answer, she doesn’t want to find it like this. Not now. Not yet.

                                               *** 

Caitlyn wakes with a start.

It’s the noise that does it—faint, but unmistakable.

Her pulse spikes. She’s out of the chair in an instant, barely aware of the stiffness in her limbs. The safe house is supposed to be secure. No one should be here.

Except someone is.

She crosses the room in two quick steps, reaching for Vi’s shoulder. “Vi.” Her voice is low, urgent. She shakes her once, twice. “Vi, wake up”.

Vi stirs. “What?” Her voice is thick with sleep, her body sluggish as she shifts onto her elbows.

“We have to go”. Caitlyn’s grip tightens. “Now”.

That gets Vi’s attention. The haze of exhaustion clears in an instant. She sits up fast, maybe too fast, because she brings a hand to her face. “Shit”, she says.  

Caitlyn barely has time to register Vi’s wince before movement outside catches her eye. She turns sharply toward the window. Silhouettes shift in the dim glow of streetlamps—figures moving fast, too many of them.

She grabs Vi’s wrist and pulls her up. “We have to go”, she repeats.

Vi stumbles; pain flashes across her face. Caitlyn feels it—hot and sharp in her own abdomen, a cruel echo of Vi’s wound. It nearly knocks the air from her lungs, but she pushes through it.

Vi grits her teeth. “Cupcake, I don’t think–”

“Not now”, Caitlyn snaps. She opens the back door, then grips Vi’s arm tighter. “Move”.

The alley is dark, damp, reeking of old metal and sewage. The ground is uneven beneath their feet, but they run. Behind them, the front door of the safe house slams open.

“There! They’re running!”

Gunfire cracks through the air. Caitlyn ducks instinctively and makes sure to yank Vi down with her. They dive behind a stack of rusted crates. Vi presses a hand to her side.

Caitlyn feels it. The searing pain, the way it drags at Vi’s strength, the way it makes her own vision blur.

“We can’t stop”, Caitlyn says.

Vi nods and pushes forward. They weave through the alleyways, darting around corners. Vi stumbles once, twice—each time, Caitlyn steadies her, feeling the sharp twist of agony that follows. Every step makes Vi’s breathing more ragged, and Caitlyn’s own ribs feel like they’re caving in.

Finally, they burst into an open street. Caitlyn takes one look at Vi–pale, trembling, barely standing–and makes a decision.

“My house,” she says. “We’re going to my parents’ house”.

Vi shakes her head. “No–”

Caitlyn doesn’t let her argue. “You’re bleeding again”, She points at Vi’s shirt, which is starting to take a bright red colour around her abdomen. “You can’t keep running like this”.

Vi hesitates. Caitlyn swears she is about to agree with her, but then–

There’s a flicker of blue light in the distance. A flare. Vi’s breath catches. Her entire body goes still.

Caitlyn follows her gaze. “Vi?”

“I have to go”, Vi says.

“Go where?”

“Find my sister”.

Caitlyn exhales sharply. She doesn’t say what she’s thinking–It’s a trap. It has to be a trap.

But Vi is already moving. “I can’t leave her again”, she murmurs.

Caitlyn nods, as if she understands. “Then I’m not leaving you either”.

                                               ***

The blue glow of the flare flickers in the night.

Vi’s voice is soft—too soft for the weight of what’s happening.

“Powder”.

Caitlyn watches as the girl whips around. She is small, fragile even, swallowed by the vast emptiness of the bridge. But her eyes –wild, luminous in the dark– burn with something Caitlyn doesn’t have a name for. Caitlyn swears she has seen those eyes before.

Then the girl moves. One second, she’s standing there, trembling. The next, she runs and crashes into Vi’s chest with a force that nearly topples them both.

Caitlyn feels the warmth before she fully registers what’s happening. A slow, spreading sensation in her chest, unfamiliar but pleasant. Vi’s arms wrap around her sister. And for a moment, everything is still. Caitlyn lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She can’t blame this on her chronic pain accidentally flaring up. She can’t say this is a coincidence.

This is something else. A pull that’s deeper, more intimate. It isn’t her body reacting to a reflex or a rush of chemicals. Noone is hugging her. This warmth belongs to Vi, yet Caitlyn feels it, undeniable, at the very core of her being.

Then Vi’s sister sees her. The shift is immediate. Violent. She wrenches away from Vi like she’s been burned. Her fingers twitch toward her gun.

“No”. Her voice is sharp, splintered with something raw and brittle. “No. No, no, no, no. Not you”.

Caitlyn’s heart stutters. She had known Vi was looking for her sister. She had heard the name Powder, whispered like something fragile, something lost.

But this–

This is Jinx.

The realization slams into her like a gunshot.

She’s seen Jinx’s wanted posters all over Piltover. The mad bomber. Silco’s secret weapon. The terrorist.

“Your sister is Jinx?”, she asks.

Before Vi can answer, Jinx turns to her, and the look she gives her makes something cold settle in Caitlyn’s stomach.

“Why is she here?”

Vi stands between them, hands raised. “Powder, listen–”

“She is an enforcer”. The word drips with venom. “They killed Mom and Dad, remember?”

Caitlyn’s stomach plummets. She doesn’t move. She can’t. Because everything shifts. The ground tilts beneath her feet, and suddenly, she’s standing on the other side of the bridge, looking through Vi’s eyes.

She sees the fire. The smoke. The chaos. She sees blue uniforms. Raised rifles. She sees blood. She hears screams.

Caitlyn sways. She feels sick.

Vi’s parents were killed by enforcers. The words ring in her skull, hollow and deafening. Vi wasn’t just another survivor of Zaun’s suffering. She wasn’t just another person Piltover had ignored. She had lost them–lost them to the city Caitlyn swore to protect.

The uniform, the badge Caitlyn once wore with quiet certainty—it isn’t just a symbol of law, of justice. Not to Vi. Not to her sister. It is a reminder. It is a stain.

The weight in her chest deepens, sharpens, burns. Caitlyn presses a hand to her own side instinctively, staggers under the phantom ache. Her stomach twists violently. It’s not just pain—it’s exhaustion, it’s blood loss, it’s fear. It’s Vi’s reopened stab wound.

She isn’t sure how Vi is still standing. And yet, Vi doesn’t even look hurt. She doesn’t falter. Doesn’t waver.

Jinx’s hands go to her hair, her fingers tangle in shaking strands. “They took you away from me”, she mutters. “They took everything”.

Vi grabs Jinx’s wrists before she can reach for her gun. “I’m here now,” she says, voice steady. “I came back for you”.

Jinx trembles.

Caitlyn’s pulse thunders in her ears.

She sees it now –the way Vi holds on, the way her hands are so gentle despite the strength behind them. The way she is steady, grounded. A lifeline.

And Caitlyn feels it.

The warmth of Vi’s touch. The pressure of her hands. She feels Vi’s desperation. Her fear. She feels Vi’s love.

Jinx’s head jerks to the side, as if she’s listening to something. “Tell her to leave”, she says.

“Powder”, Vi starts.

“Tell her to leave!”, her voice cracks, rises to a near scream. She thrashes in Vi’s grip, but Vi holds firm, refusing to let her pull away.

Caitlyn tenses but doesn’t move.

“Cait–”, Vi’s voice falters. “Please”.

Caitlyn doesn’t speak at first. Then, softly, she says, “I’m not leaving you”.

Jinx’s head jerks like she’s been struck. “Vi”, she whispers, eyes pleading. “Send her away”.

Vi's throat tightens. “Powder, listen to me–”

“Stop calling me that!”. Jinx yanks back harder and nearly knocks Vi off balance. “My name is Jinx!”

For a long moment, no one moves.

Then—

Vi lets go of her sister’s wrists. Not entirely. Just enough. Just to show trust. She half turns to look at where Caitlyn is standing.

“Cait”, she says. Her voice is soft. Apologetic.

Caitlyn swallows. Vi won’t meet her eyes. And that hurts more than anything. She doesn’t know what she wants to say. That she understands? That she doesn’t–not fully–but she wants to? That she’s not here as an enforcer, or a soldier, or a symbol, but as someone who cares?

She can’t look at Vi either.

Not now. Not when every muscle in her body is screaming at her to stay, to stand her ground. To refuse this. But Vi has asked her to leave twice now.

Vi has chosen.

Caitlyn nods. “Alright”, she says, “I’ll go”. She forces herself to take a step back. Then another. The pain in her chest tightens, but she moves anyway. She turns. And that’s when she hears him.

“Oh, but you’re not leaving just yet”.

The voice is smooth, deliberate—wrong.

Caitlyn stops. Her body reacts before her mind catches up, instinct kicking in, years of training screaming at her to reach for the rifle she no longer has. She turns slowly, forces herself to stay calm, to stay sharp–

And there he is, right behind Vi and her sister.

Silco.

He is looking right at Caitlyn.

“Jinx”, he murmurs, almost gentle. “You know what you need to do”.

Jinx flinches, her fingers twitch toward the gun strapped to her thigh. She doesn’t move yet. But Caitlyn sees it–the hesitation, the war raging inside her.

Caitlyn shifts slightly. The pain in her abdomen –Vi’s pain– has grown worse.

Vi stands between them, her body turned slightly toward Jinx, but her eyes dart toward Caitlyn, desperate and torn.

“No”. Vi’s voice is steady, but there’s something raw beneath it. “Powder, you don’t have to do this–”

“My. name. is. Jinx!” The outburst is sharp, electric. Her breath comes in short, ragged bursts, her hands tangling in her hair as she shakes her head violently.

“She is only after the gemstone”, Silco says. His voice is softer now, almost indifferent. “And she”, he says and gestures lazily at Vi, “she only came back to ruin your life. Again”.

“Don’t listen to him”, Vi says.

But Jinx isn’t listening to anyone. She takes a step back, her eyes darting between Vi and Silco. She sways slightly and Caitlyn has seen enough in her life to know that this girl, whatever her real name is, is dangerously close to falling apart.

Silco sounds bored. “Well, if you won’t stop her…”, he says.

He raises his gun.

Vi moves before Caitlyn.  “No!”

But Jinx moves too. “Wait!”

Her hand flies out, grabbing at Silco’s arm. She jerks his aim just as he pulls the trigger–

The gun fires.

Vi stumbles back as the bullet grazes her arm.

Caitlyn feels it before she even sees the blood. A sharp, searing pain ignites in her own arm. Her breath catches, her vision swims. Her fingers dig into her sleeve, expecting to find torn flesh, but there’s nothing.

But it hurts. It hurts because Vi is in pain.

And Caitlyn feels all of it.

                                               ***

A metal canister hits the ground close to her.

Smoke erupts in a violent burst, swallowing everything in thick, suffocating fog. The stench of chemicals fills Caitlyn’s nose, burns the back of her throat. Her instincts scream at her to move, to react, but her body is sluggish. Her vision blurs. A shape flickers in the haze–Jinx.

She is saying something –maybe to Silco, maybe to Vi– but her voice is drowned out by Caitlyn’s own heartbeat, hammering wildly in her ears. She catches a final, fleeting glimpse of neon-blue hair vanishing into the smoke. And then, nothing.

Caitlyn coughs, blinks against the stinging fog. The pain in her arm hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s worse. The acrid smoke clings to her throat, making her eyes water, making it harder to breathe, to think.

She has to make sure Vi is okay.

Her vision is blurred, her head light from the fumes, but she finds her. A shape against the wall.

Vi is slumped, her shoulders heave as she coughs violently into her sleeve. Blood slicks her fingers where she presses them against her arm. Her face is twisted in pain, in frustration—until she lifts her head and sees Caitlyn approach.

“I told you to leave”, she says.

Caitlyn barely hears her over the ringing in her ears. She drops to one knee beside her, blinking hard against the sting in her eyes. Her hands find Vi’s arm, then her stomach. Another wave of pain blooms in her own ribs, sharp and deep. It takes her a second to place it.

Not mine.

Her palm presses against Vi’s side, right where the wound has reopened.

“And I told you”, Caitlyn murmurs, her voice raw from the smoke, “that I’m not leaving you”.

Vi coughs again and her entire body shudders with it. Her glare is glassy but still sharp. “You should have left”, she snaps. “You should have listened”.

Caitlyn ignores her. She’s shaking, whether from adrenaline or anger, she can’t tell. “We’re going to my parents’ house”, she says.

Vi shakes her head, pushes weakly at Caitlyn’s hands. “Just…just go”, she insists, each word forced between ragged breaths. “This isn’t your battle”.

Caitlyn’s fingers tighten against Vi’s arm, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep her still. The contact sends a dull warmth through her skin, a flicker of relief from the fire in her ribs. She feels Vi tense at the touch.

“That bullet was meant for me”, Caitlyn says, sharper than she intends. The anger is sudden, unexpected, but it’s there, curling tight in her chest. “But you just had to be the hero”.

Vi lets out a short laugh that quickly turns into another coughing fit. Her body jerks with the force of it, and Caitlyn feels a fresh stab of pain in her own ribs. When Vi recovers, she glares at Caitlyn again, eyes bright with frustration and something else—something wounded.

“I wasn’t trying to be a hero”, she mutters. “I was just trying to make sure he didn’t—” She stops herself, then looks away. “…Never mind”.

Caitlyn stares at her, feels her pulse roar in her ears. She reaches down, grabs Vi’s free hand without thinking, squeezing their fingers together. The relief is instant, like a wave crashing over her, dulling the sharpest edges of the pain.

“You should have told me”, she says, her voice quieter now.

Vi blinks at her. Her breathing slows.

“About her”. Caitlyn’s throat feels tighter than it should. “You should have told me your sister is Jinx”.

Caitlyn tries to steady herself, but the anger is still there, thrumming beneath her skin, fueled by the pain, the exhaustion, the lingering sting of smoke in her eyes. She doesn’t know if the heat behind her eyes is from the smoke or something dangerously close to tears. She doesn’t even know what she’s angrier about—the fact that Vi hid the truth, or the fact that it matters.

Vi swallows. She looks away, past Caitlyn, into the empty space where Jinx once stood.

“She’s my sister”, she says. Her voice cracks on the last word. “My responsibility”.

Caitlyn scoffs. “You’re always trying to protect everyone but yourself”, she snaps. The pain in her side flares again, and she has to swallow back the bile in her throat. She digs into her coat pocket with one hand. Her fingers close around the vial, and she pulls it free and opens it.

Before she can say anything, Vi’s hand flies out and smacks Caitlyn’s wrist. The pill bottle slips from her grip, clatters to the ground. Pills scatter across the dirt.

Caitlyn stares at them, then at Vi.  “Vi”, she says. She is too exhausted to fight with her about it.

Vi drags a hand through her hair, smears blood across her temple. She breathes heavily through her nose. “Do you believe me?” she asks. The words sound like they hurt to say.

Caitlyn falters. She wants to say yes. She wants to say no. She doesn’t know what she believes anymore.

But when enough time passes and Caitlyn fails to offer an answer, Vi scoffs.

“Got it”, she says.

She pushes herself to her feet. She sways in the process but refuses to take the hand Caitlyn offers. She bites her lip so hard Caitlyn thinks she’ll draw blood. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides, and there's something dangerously close to despair in the way she looks at the ground. Blood is dripping steadily down her arm.

Caitlyn exhales, forces herself to tamp down the frustration burning in her chest. Without a word, she bends down and snatches up Silco’s gun, the one he had dropped in the chaos.

She turns it over in her hands, her fingers trace the cool metal. Anything to ground herself. Anything to keep from looking at Vi and feeling–

What? Guilt? Doubt? The unbearable ache of something she’s not ready to name?

Vi doesn’t look at her. She just starts walking.

Caitlyn lets her go for all of five seconds before gritting her teeth and stepping forward. She catches up easily, slides her arm around Vi’s waist and presses against the wound.

Vi flinches but doesn’t push her away this time.

“You’re hurt”, Caitlyn mutters. “And in case you forgot, so am I”.

Vi exhales through her nose, her body tense beneath Caitlyn’s touch. Angry. Frustrated. Lost.

They don’t speak as they make their way toward Caitlyn’s house. Vi leans against her just enough to stay upright. But when Caitlyn shifts to adjust her grip, Vi’s fingers brush against her wrist. And for just a second, Caitlyn swears she feels something else, something softer than pain.

A flicker of warmth.

Like Vi knows. Like she understands what Caitlyn is trying to say without Caitlyn needing to say it at all.

                                               ***

“I see you brought home a stray”, her mother says.

Caitlyn doesn’t have the energy to fight, not now. Not after everything. “Her name is Vi”, she says. “And she needs stitches”.

Her mother folds her arms. “Caitlyn, do you have any idea what you’ve done? You disappeared for three days. We had no idea if you were even alive, and now you show up with her–”

“Cassandra”, her father interrupts. His eyes flicker to Vi, who is barely holding herself upright. Her arm is slick with blood, her shirt dark with it. He exhales sharply. “Whatever else can wait. She needs help”.

Caitlyn shoots her father a grateful look. Vi stares at him but doesn’t protest when he gestures toward the study. Once inside, Caitlyn helps Vi ease onto the couch, her movements careful but firm. Vi slumps against the cushions, exhaling through her teeth as Tobias sets out his supplies.

“Alright”, he says, rolling up his sleeves. “I need to see the wounds”.

Vi glances at Caitlyn. She doesn’t say anything, but the look is enough. Stay close.

Caitlyn nods and kneels beside her, heart hammering against her ribs.

Vi exhales and drags her shirt over her head. Caitlyn had known. Of course she had. She had seen the way Vi moved, the way her body tensed at sudden touches, the quiet grimaces she tried to hide. But knowing is one thing. Seeing is another.

Scars. So many of them, painting her skin in brutal, uneven lines. Raised welts, deep slashes, burns. The ghost of old wounds layered over fresh ones. A silent record of years of suffering carved into her body.

Something in Caitlyn cracks.

“Vi”, she says. Her voice comes out broken.

Her father doesn’t react, doesn’t ask. He only pulls out his instruments and begins cleaning the wound at Vi’s side. “This will need stitches”, he says quietly. “And your arm—there are still bullet fragments. I need to remove them”.

Vi just nods. She won’t meet Caitlyn’s eyes.

Caitlyn watches as her father sterilizes the tools, but she barely hears his words. Her head is swimming. The air in the room feels thin.

Vi stiffens as the needle pierces her skin. Caitlyn does too.

A sharp, searing pain blooms in Caitlyn’s side. It steals the breath from her lungs, rips through her body like a live wire. Her nails dig into her palms. She bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood.

Not mine. Not mine.

Her father notices. His hands pause, and he glances at her. “Caitlyn?”

“I’m fine”, she says, too fast, too sharp.

He doesn’t look convinced. His gaze lingers on her for a few seconds, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he returns to his work, carefully stitching Vi’s wound closed.

Caitlyn keeps her eyes locked on Vi’s face.

Vi exhales, a slow, uneven breath. She looks –Gods, she looks tired. And maybe, for once, she lets herself show it. Then, without a word, she reaches out. Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate. She takes Vi’s hand. Their fingers lace together, warm and unshakable.

The pain doesn’t vanish, but it dulls, and that’s enough.

Her father makes no comment on the gesture. He moves to Vi’s arm. He inspects the torn flesh carefully.

“The bullet shattered when it hit you”, he murmurs. “This is going to hurt”.

Vi lets out a breath through her nose, tilts her head back against the couch. “Wouldn’t be the first time”.

Caitlyn’s stomach twists. She still hasn’t let go of Vi’s hand. Doesn’t think she could if they put a gun to her head and ordered her to.

Her father retrieves a pair of tweezers, dips them in alcohol before positioning them over the wound. Caitlyn braces herself. Then he begins.

Vi stiffens. Caitlyn feels it –a hot, sharp spike of pain ripping through her own arm as the metal digs into raw flesh, searching for the shards buried beneath. Her breath shudders. She presses her free hand against her sleeve, as if that could stop the pain, as if that could make it make sense.

“Almost there”, her father says.

Vi gives a weak laugh. “Take your time, doc”.

Another twist of the tweezers. Vi’s grip tightens around Caitlyn’s hand—so tight it nearly hurts. Caitlyn doesn’t care. She holds on, grounding them both, as her fingers press into rough knuckles.

Then her father pulls back. A small, jagged fragment of metal gleams in the light.

“One down”, he mutters as he sets it aside.

This was supposed to hit me, Caitlyn thinks, but keeps the thought to herself.

She isn’t sure how long it takes. The room warps into pain and silence, broken only by Vi’s breathing and the occasional scrape of metal against metal. Every extraction sends fresh jolts of pain through Caitlyn’s arm, and her entire body screams in protest.

It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense.

But she knows. She knows that every inch of Vi’s suffering, every sharp breath and clenched muscle, is echoed in her own body.

She just can’t get herself to say the s- word out loud yet.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, it’s done.

Her father exhales as he drops the last fragment onto the tray. He sets the tweezers aside and reaches for the antiseptic. “You were so brave”, he says. “Maybe you could teach our little Cait a lesson or two on pain tolerance”.

And that’s all it takes for their fragile peace to shutter into pieces.

Vi scoffs. “Do you ever wonder why your daughter is in so much pain?”, she asks. “Why no doctor can figure it out? Why–”

Vi chokes on her words as Caitlyn’s fingers tighten around hers—hard, almost desperate. She turns, and Cait’s eyes are pleading.

Stop.

Not because it isn’t true. But because it is. Because her father won’t believe her. Because all he will hear is another excuse, another story, another thing Caitlyn has made up.

Caitlyn shakes her head—just a tiny movement, almost imperceptible. But it’s enough.

Vi exhales sharply. “Forget it”, she mutters.

Her father lingers, watching them both, a flicker of something unreadable crosses his face. Then, slowly, he nods and returns to his work.

The moment passes.

Vi doesn’t let go of Caitlyn’s hand. For the first time since they met, Caitlyn realises nothing would hurt her more than if she did.

                                               ***

Shortly after, Vi is asleep. Caitlyn wishes she could be too.

She sits stiffly in the parlor, exhaustion presses into her bones, but she doesn’t let herself relax. Her mother is pacing, silent. The weight of her disappointment –no, her fury– hangs heavy in the room.

“I knew you were hiding something,” her mother says. “I just didn’t think you could be this reckless”.

Caitlyn doesn’t answer.

Her mother stops, turns. Her arms are crossed, her lips pressed tight. Not a single hair out of place, not a single crack in the perfect image of control.

“It is bad enough that you insist on bringing girls into this house”, she says. Her voice is measured, clipped, like she’s delivering a verdict. “But this one? This is the worst by far”.

Caitlyn’s fingers curl into fists in her lap. She doesn’t react. Doesn’t rise to the bait. She’s too tired.

Her mother’s gaze flicks toward the hallway, toward the guest room where Vi is sleeping.  “Do you even know what she did to end up in prison?”

“She shouldn’t have been there”, Caitlyn says, surprised by how steady her voice is.

“That’s not what I asked”.

Caitlyn swallows. “I know she was a child when it happened. I know she was an orphan trying to survive”.

Her mother exhales through her nose.  “You forged my signature,” she says. Each word lands with the weight of a hammer.

Caitlyn looks down at her hands. “Yes”.

“You used my name to get this– this person out”, she says, as if she can’t quite believe it. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Caitlyn closes her eyes. She wants to sleep. She wants this conversation to be over. But most of all she wants her pills. She aches. Not just from exhaustion, not just from the weight of her mother’s words. The pain is creeping back in, clawing up her spine, tightening around her ribs. She tries not to think about the bottle Vi had knocked out of her hands earlier. She should have taken them when she had the chance. She should be mad at Vi for throwing her pills away. For some reason, she isn’t.

 “Why do you keep touching your abdomen?”

Caitlyn’s fingers still against her side. She hadn’t even noticed she was doing it. It’s because Vi’s pain is still there, curling low in her gut like an old wound reopening. But there’s no way to explain that, at least not in a way her mother would believe.

So Caitlyn drops her hand. “It’s nothing”.

Her mother studies her, and the anger in her gaze flickers. Then she pinches the bridge of her nose. “You look like hell, Caitlyn”.

Cait rolls her eyes. “I feel like hell, thank you for noticing”.

“Caitlyn”. A pause. Then, quieter: “How long has it been since you last took something?”

Caitlyn goes rigid.

Her mother’s voice is careful now. “I may not know everything, but I know that. I know you, Caitlyn”.

Caitlyn forces herself to meet her gaze, to keep her expression neutral. “I don’t need a lecture right now”.

“No. You need help”, her mother corrects.

Caitlyn exhales through her nose. “I need sleep”.

She doesn’t wait for a response. Doesn’t trust herself to. She just walks away.

                                   ***

Caitlyn moves through the darkened halls of the house with quiet steps. Her body aches—every inch of it, dull and throbbing.

Some of it is hers. Most of it isn’t.

The guest room door is slightly ajar. Vi is curled up under the blankets, her face slack with exhaustion. She looks softer like this, younger. But even in sleep, her fingers twitch, her brow creases, like some part of her is still bracing for pain.

Caitlyn exhales. She wants –Gods, she doesn’t even know what she wants. To step inside? To reach out? To tell Vi she’s not alone?

Instead, she lets Vi be and goes to her room.

                                               ***

Her room is just as she left it, pristine and untouched, save for the creak of the floorboards under her steps. The moment the door clicks shut behind her, everything catches up at once. The exhaustion, the fear, the ache sitting like lead in her bones.

And the pain. Sharper now, raw and unrelenting, no longer dulled by Vi’s proximity.

Her hands tremble as she reaches for the drawer. Her secret stash, tucked away behind old letters. She doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate. She just twists the cap off and shakes two pills into her palm.

She swallows them dry and then waits for the relief. For the numbness.

She sinks onto the bed. She should feel guilty. Maybe she does. But she’s too tired to care. Too tired to do anything but close her eyes and whisper, to no one but the dark:

“I believe you, Vi”.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Safe

Vi wakes up feeling better. Not great, but better. Which is a welcome improvement, considering the last few days –correction: years– have been a fucking nightmare.

She blinks up at the ceiling, squints against the morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. The bed beneath her is too soft, the sheets smell too clean. The kind of clean that doesn’t exist in Zaun. The kind of clean that definitely doesn’t exist in prison.

For a few disoriented seconds, Vi wonders if she’s still dreaming. If she’s still locked up in Stillwater, hallucinating some twisted, wishful version of freedom and comfort.

The bed alone is bigger than her cell.

But then Vi shifts, and pain flares up in her side. The stab wound is real. The bullet hole in her arm is real. But the way her body doesn’t feel like it’s been torn apart by a thousand different wounds all at once is also real.

Which means Caitlyn is real. And she is close.

Vi runs a hand down her face.

She doesn’t know what the hell to do with that. Vi doesn’t belong next to Caitlyn. She doesn’t belong in this room, in this house. Caitlyn’s parents were perhaps too shocked to kick her out when she showed up at their porch covered in blood last night, but Vi knows her place; it is anywhere but in this fancy mansion.  

Before Vi can rejoice for managing to sit up on the bed, there is a knock at the door.

Vi tenses so hard it sends another shock of pain through her ribs. Her breath catches, and for a split second, she’s back in Stillwater. Back in that suffocating cell. Back to the sound of boots against concrete, the rattle of keys, the sharp click of locks sliding open–

She grips the edge of the mattress. Her heart hammers against her ribs.

They came for her. Caitlyn’s parents alerted the authorities. Of course they did. Vi can’t really blame them.

But she won’t go back. She can’t.

The door creaks open.

“Vi?”

Her breath stutters. It’s Caitlyn. Not a guard.

“Hey, it’s me”, Caitlyn says softly. She steps forward slowly, carefully, like she’s approaching a wounded animal.

Vi forces herself to exhale. Her fingers twitch against the sheets.

Caitlyn crosses the room in a few strides, then stops at the edge of the bed. She hesitates for a second but then sinks down beside her. The bed dips under her weight. She’s close.

Vi’s body still locked in place, blood still rushing in her ears. She can't stop the way her hands tremble, the ghost of Stillwater’s cold iron bars remains wrapped around her ribs.

“Vi”. Caitlyn's voice is softer this time.

“Hey”, Vi tries, but it comes out hoarse.

Caitlyn doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches her, her gaze gentle. Then, slowly, she lifts a hand and places it on top of Vi’s.

“It’s just me”, she murmurs again, and then she adds, “You’re safe here”.

Safe.

Vi squeezes her eyes shut. Her pulse is still too fast, her breathing is still uneven. But she isn’t there. Not anymore.

And Caitlyn’s touch is warm. Soft. Real.

She lets out a slow breath, desperate to force her body to believe it. The tension in her limbs doesn’t ease, not fully, but Caitlyn waits. Gives her a moment to catch up. Vi can hear her breathing –steady, patient. Smell the faint trace of soap and something floral, something warm. Not the sharp stench of Stillwater, of rust and sweat and damp concrete.

Caitlyn shifts a bit and moves her thumb to draw circles on the back of Vi’s hand. Vi opens her eyes to stare at their hands. Smooth fingers against scarred skin. A convict’s hand in an enforcer’s. It shouldn’t fit. It never did. Vi doesn’t know what to do with it, with this. The careful touch, the patience, the quiet insistence that she’s not alone.

Her breath wobbles.

Caitlyn squeezes her hand. “Are you alright?”, she asks.

Vi huffs out a weak breath. “Getting there”.

Caitlyn’s lips twitch. She squeezes Vi’s hand one more time. Then she lets go.

Vi misses the warmth immediately. Her throat is dry, scratchy. “Sorry”, she mutters, voice rough. “Didn’t mean to–”. She makes a vague gesture, like that could explain the moment of blind panic, the way her whole body locked up.

“You don’t have to explain”, Caitlyn says.

Vi risks looking at her.

Caitlyn looks younger without her uniform, with just a hoodie and leggings on. Her expression is soft. She just looks at her like this is normal. Like it makes sense that Vi woke up ready to throw fists at ghosts that weren’t there.

“Did you sleep well?”, Caitlyn asks.

Fragments of the previous night come alive. The tea that Caitlyn insisted Vi should drink before going to bed; the bitter aftertaste it left on her tongue.

“You gave me something”, Vi says.

Caitlyn doesn’t look away. “You had stitches done, you were stabbed and then shot within two days. Of course I gave you something”.

When Vi doesn’t speak, Caitlyn adds: “I’m sorry, but if I had told you to take medication on your own, you would have said no”. She sighs. “You threw my meds away, remember?”

Vi exhales through her nose. “I spent all my life without painkillers. I can handle pain”.

“Just because you can do something, doesn’t always mean that you should”, Caitlyn says. There’s an edge to her voice now. “You are here now. With me. You don’t have to handle everything alone”.

But all Vi has known is alone. All she remembers, all she trusts, is alone.

She tries to stand up.

“Easy”, Caitlyn says, reaches out, but Vi stands anyway. Too fast. Her vision darkens at the edges, her knees nearly buckle.

She forces out, “Tell your parents I’m leaving. I don’t want to cause any more trouble”.

Caitlyn’s breath hitches like she’s just been slapped. “Vi, you are not going anywhere. You are hurt and you need proper medical care”.

“Cupcake, you heard your mother–”

“The only reason why you are not in a hospital bed right now is my mother”, she says, and all softness is gone from her voice. “Because she is too afraid of what people would say if we brought an ex-convict in for treatment”.

Vi can both see and feel her frustration grow with every word.

Caitlyn exhales, rubs a hand over her face like she’s trying to hold back everything she really wants to say. “My dad is a doctor, and he’s a good one. He can take care of you here”.

Vi sighs. “Look, I know how this ends, okay?”

Big blue eyes look right into hers. “You do?”, Caitlyn asks. “Because I have no idea”.

Vi wants to give her an idea. This is just a temporary thing –Vi is a stray Caitlyn brought into her home out of kindness, nothing more. She doesn’t even believe in soulmates. She made that very clear.

So, yes, Vi knows exactly how that plays out.

With Caitlyn’s parents calling the enforcers the second they decide Vi has overstayed her welcome. With Caitlyn realizing who Vi really is –an ex-con, a street kid, a mess of bad choices– and deciding she wants nothing to do with her. With Caitlyn getting tired of looking at someone like her, someone she has to patch up, take care of, someone who only brings her pain.

That’s how it ends.

“What do you think will happen when your mom finds out who I am?”, Vi asks. “Who my– my family is?”

Caitlyn looks at her but offers no answer. The silence stretches. “I’ll tell you what”, she says finally. “Let’s take a breath. We don’t have to figure everything out right now”.

Vi wants to object to that, because they haven’t figured anything out. They haven’t even addressed what happened with Silco; how her sister is the one Caitlyn is really after. How she almost got Caitlyn killed. But Caitlyn’s voice is steady and Vi catches herself wishing she never stopped talking.  

“I’ll be right back”, Caitlyn says and steps towards the door. She hesitates, glances over her shoulder. “Just– just wait for me”, she adds.

So Vi does exactly that. She waits and lets herself pretend for a second that this whole thing between them isn’t doomed.

                                               ***

Caitlyn knocks before entering, even though the door is only half closed. She steps inside carrying a tray with two steaming mugs.

Vi watches her from the bed.

Caitlyn crosses the room and settles beside her on the edge of the bed. She holds out a mug. “Here. I figured you could use something warm”.

Vi blinks at it. The scent of cocoa and milk drifts up, rich and sweet. A memory stirs–one she shoves down before it can take shape. She takes the mug. “Is this spiked too?”

Caitlyn huffs a small laugh and lifts her own mug. “It’s just cocoa and milk, promise”.

Vi takes a careful sip. The warmth spreads through her chest, and for a moment, it’s easier to breathe. “Thanks, cupcake”.

“Stop calling me that”, Caitlyn says. Her smile undercuts the sincerity of her complaint.

“But you are so sweet”, Vi says. “Like a cupcake”.

They sit in silence for a while, both sipping at their drinks. The world outside is quiet. No shouting, no fights, no bars or chains or the heavy press of Stillwater walls. Just this.

Then Caitlyn speaks. Soft. Careful. “I’m really sorry, Vi”.

Vi lowers her mug. “For what?”

Caitlyn’s grip tightens around her cup. “For your parents”. Her voice is quiet, like she knows how sharp the words are. “I heard what Jin– what your sister said. About how they died”.

Vi stiffens. The warmth from the cocoa turns heavy in her stomach. She doesn’t want to talk about this. Especially not when Caitlyn is looking at her like that—like it matters, like it changes something.

“Yeah”, Vi says.

She is grateful that Caitlyn doesn’t say anything like not all enforcers or I’m sure it was a mistake. That she doesn’t say I’m sorry again like it would fix anything. That she just sits there, watching her, waiting.

Vi forces herself to breathe. She grips the mug a little tighter and takes another sip. “I’m sorry I threw your meds away. Did you sleep alright?”, she asks.

Caitlyn lets out a breath. “I did”, she says. “I have more of it here”.

Vi sighs.  

Her face must be betraying her feelings on the matter, because Caitlyn rushes to add:

“I know what you are thinking–”, but Vi stops her.

“Trust me, cupcake, you don’t”.

Because Vi is thinking of Inmate 221. A scared little girl who broke her leg on her first day in prison and never healed right. Who cried into her sleeve, trying not to be noticed. After that, she couldn’t walk, so she didn’t do much; she stayed in her cell, shrinking further and further into herself. Vi hadn’t known her name, just the number on her uniform. She would score oxy for her, and 221 would draw her tattoos. Small, shaky lines etched in stolen ink, traded like secrets.

And then one normal, boring, uneventful day, Vi found 221 slumped against the wall in her cell, head lolling forward, her too-thin frame barely upright. She was half-submerged in her own vomit. Skin pale, lips parted, chest still.

Vi had seen death before –had lived with it, fought against it, lost against it more times than she could count. She had knelt down anyway. Pressed her knuckles against the girl’s sternum, muttered a hoarse “Come on, wake up”, even though she knew it was useless. Hoped blindly and stupidly that she would feel a pulse.

She hadn’t.

So, yes, Vi–Vi fucking knows where this road leads. She knows what happens when the pain doesn’t let up, when the pills feel like the only way out.

She knows what it’s like to find someone too late.

Her stomach twists. Because there’s a big, huge, difference. 221’s pain wasn’t her fault.

Caitlyn’s is.

“Cait”, Vi says. She almost says something. Almost tells her how this is killing her worse than any knife or gun ever could. But Caitlyn doesn’t look at her, doesn’t notice the way Vi’s hand tightens around her mug.

“It’s fine, Vi,” she murmurs, like that settles it.

But Vi knows better. Because nothing about this is fine.

“It’s the only way I can get some sleep”, Caitlyn adds.

“Yeah”, Vi says, as if this answer satisfies her. As if it does anything to calm the guilt raging inside her. She sinks back against the pillows. The cocoa is still warm in her hands.

Caitlyn moves. She leans forward, sets the empty mug on the nightstand. She hesitates for a moment but then, instead of sitting back up, she moves to lie down beside Vi. Not too close –there’s still space between them–, but not far either. Vi follows suit a moment later, sets her own mug aside before sinking against the mattress again.

The bed is big enough that Caitlyn could have settled anywhere, but she chooses to stay close. Vi has only been awake for an hour, but exhaustion starts to pull at her limbs. She can feel Caitlyn relaxing too, her breathing evening out, her weight settling more comfortably against Vi’s.

It’s strange. Vi isn’t used to this –falling asleep next to someone who isn’t Powder. Someone who isn’t a memory or a ghost.

But Caitlyn is here. Real. Warm. And Vi, for once, doesn’t fight it.

Her eyes grow heavier. Caitlyn shifts slightly, just enough for Vi to feel the faint brush of her hair against Vi’s shoulder. A soft sigh escapes her lips, barely more than a breath.

Then, gradually, they drift.

                                               ***

Vi wakes to soft evening light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, she doesn’t move, just blinks sleep from her eyes, trying to remember where the hell she is.

From the looks of it, she is in heaven.

Because Caitlyn is still beside her.

She’s on her side now, curled slightly toward Vi, her face relaxed in sleep. Her hair is a little messy, one strand falls over her forehead. Vi watches her for a moment, takes in the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her lashes flicker slightly, like she’s on the edge of waking.

Caitlyn fell asleep without taking a pill. Vi wants to be relieved. She wants to believe that this is a step forward, that maybe, perhaps, Caitlyn doesn’t need the pills as much as she thinks. Instead, all Vi can think about is how fucking pretty she looks like this. How much she doesn’t want to move, because if she does, she might ruin it.

She doesn’t let herself overthink it. She just reaches out.

Her fingers brush against Caitlyn’s cheek. Then she cups her jaw; the pad of her thumb traces the curve of her cheekbone. Caitlyn stirs at the touch, her lips part slightly, and then–

Blue eyes flutter open.

Vi freezes.

For a long, quiet moment, neither of them moves. Caitlyn just blinks at her, still soft with sleep, still hazy, like she hasn’t quite caught up to the moment yet. Vi barely breathes. She feels caught doing something she shouldn’t. But Caitlyn doesn’t pull away. She just smiles, then reaches up and mirrors the touch. Her fingers are warm as they press lightly against Vi’s cheek, as her thumb sweeps over her skin with the same kind of hesitant reverence Vi had just given her.

Vi’s heart pounds. She should say something. She should move. Instead, all she can do is stare, all too aware of how close Caitlyn is –how easy it would be to lean in, to close that last bit of space. Caitlyn’s gaze is warm to the point that it almost hurts to look at her. For a second, Vi lets herself lean into it. Lets herself exist in this soft, quiet thing between them.

And then the door swings open.

Vi panics. She jerks back so fast she nearly rips the stitches in her side. Her heart leaps into her throat.

Cassandra Kiramman stands in the doorway.

Vi feels like she’s a kid again, getting caught sneaking around when she knows better. Caitlyn, on the other hand, doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t panic. Just yawns and sits up with a sigh.

“Dinner is ready”, Cassandra says, cool and composed, like she didn’t just walk in on something she wasn’t meant to see.

Caitlyn rubs her face. “Right. We’ll be down in a minute”.

Cassandra lingers for a second longer. Then she nods and steps away.

Vi exhales sharply, rubs a hand over her face. “Shit, I’m so sorry”, she says.

Caitlyn just sighs. “You didn’t do anything”, she says.

Vi looks at her like she is the one losing her mind. “Your mother caught me touching your face lying in bed next to you. How is that not doing anything?”

Caitlyn lets out a soft laugh. “It could have been worse”, she says. “It’s not like you were kissing me”.  

Vi groans, flops back against the pillows. Because somehow, that’s the worst part. That she wasn’t. “I’m so screwed”, she says. It’s easier to focus on that, the actual problem they are faced with, instead of what Caitlyn said.

Caitlyn just smiles, pushes the blankets off and stands. “Come on, don’t worry about it”, she says. “Let’s go eat”.

Vi sighs but follows. She curses herself for wondering what would have happened if she were kissing her.

                                               ***

The dining room is quiet. Too quiet, compared to the chaos of the place where Vi ate dinner for the past six years. No clatter of tin trays. No stench of mold. Caitlyn sits beside her, close enough that their arms brush occasionally. Tobias sits across from her, next to Cassandra.

Vi tries not to fidget under the weight of the chandelier light, the fine porcelain, the ridiculous amount of cutlery she has no idea what to do with. The chair beneath her feels too stiff, too proper. The whole damn room feels like a cage, just one made of velvet and crystal instead of steel and grime.

She tries to focus on the plate in front of her. Softly cooked meat, mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables. Easy to chew. She doesn’t dare ask, but she is certain that Caitlyn ordered this menu just for her.

She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. The first bite—rich, warm, real—melts on her tongue. Butter and salt. Soft, tender meat that falls apart at the slightest pressure. She doesn’t remember the last time she ate anything that wasn’t cold, bland, and barely edible.

“This is delicious”, she says. The only reaction she gets is a small smile from Caitlyn and a nod from Tobias.

They eat in silence for a few minutes. When Tobias turns to say something to Cassandra, Caitlyn leans in slightly. “Is your jaw alright?”, she whispers.

It’s stiff, still not right, but it’s better than usual. “Yeah, perfect”, Vi says.

Caitlyn tilts her head. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t worry, cupcake”, Vi says quietly. “I’m fine”.

She doesn’t dare look at Caitlyn’s parents. At some point, Tobias offers to pour some water for her, but Cassandra – Cassandra has yet to utter a single word.

And Vi knows she will, sooner or later. She doesn’t have to wait long.

“So, Violet”, Cassandra says as she takes a sip of her wine, “Caitlyn was greatly offended on your behalf when I suggested that you should inform us of the nature of your crimes”.

Vi had known this dinner was going to be a disaster before she even sat down. She pauses, fork halfway to her mouth. Caitlyn stiffens beside her, but Vi beats her to it.

“No, of course”, she says. She sets her fork down. “It’s your house. You have the right to know”.

Cassandra inclines her head slightly. “Good to hear that”.

The silence stretches. Caitlyn’s grip tightens on her knife, but Vi doesn’t react. She’s been interrogated by worse people than Cassandra Kiramman. Still, she knows this game. She’s played it before. No matter what she says, it won’t change what Cassandra already thinks of her.

Cassandra’s fork pauses over her plate. “So, what did you do?”

“Nothing”.

She hears the small exhale from Caitlyn beside her, feels the tension spike in the room.

Cassandra hums. “Isn’t that what everyone says?”  

Vi finally looks up, meets Cassandra’s gaze head-on. “Yeah. I know”. She shrugs. “But in my case, it’s true”.

Cassandra studies her. Vi doesn’t look away. She doesn’t cower. She’s used to being judged. She can handle it.

“And how many years was your sentence over this nothing?”

Vi feels Caitlyn’s fingers brush against her thigh under the table. “I didn’t have one”, she says.

Cassandra’s gaze sharpens. “Excuse me?”

Vi shifts in her seat. Her jaw aches, but she ignores it. “I didn’t have a sentence”, she says.

A beat of silence. The crackling of the fireplace. The faint clink of silverware as Tobias slowly sets his knife down.

Cassandra’s brows draw together. “There wasn’t a trial?”

Vi exhales through her nose. “No”.

Caitlyn’s fingers press more firmly against her thigh.

 “That is not possible”, Cassandra says.

Vi meets her gaze, forces herself to stop before saying something she will inevitably regret.

Tobias clears his throat. “That would be highly irregular,” he says.

“What can I say?” Vi is tired. Tired of explaining this, tired of proving herself to people who will never understand. She grabs her fork and pushes a piece of carrot around on her plate. “Welcome to Piltover’s justice system”.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “I am on the Council. I oversee judicial proceedings myself. I would know if something like that were happening”.

Vi shrugs. “Guess no one thought it was worth mentioning”.

Cassandra bristles. “Are you saying Piltover locks people away without due process?”

Vi shrugs again. “I’m saying that’s what happened to me”.

“That is a very serious accusation”, Cassandra says. “And a convenient excuse”.

“You think I’m lying?”

Cassandra’s eyes don’t waver. “I think criminals will say anything to absolve themselves of guilt”.

Caitlyn clears her throat. “Mom, she’s telling the truth”, she says.

Cassandra finally turns to her daughter. “And how would you know that?”

Caitlyn doesn’t look away. “Because I saw the cell they kept her in. Because I heard what the people who work there think a prisoner is worth”.

Cassandra picks up her fork again. “Since when do bad living conditions equal an unjust imprisonment?”, she asks.

Vi shakes her head. She doesn’t want to fight with Caitlyn’s parents, she really really doesn’t. But it’s not like she didn’t warn Cait that this was exactly what was going to happen.

“Look, I get it”, she says. “I’m not the kind of person you want in your house. You’re a councillor. I’m not exactly a model citizen. But I was thrown in a cell without a trial or a sentence or anything resembling due process. And I spent years rotting there while people like you kept pretending everything was fair”.

Cassandra exhales slowly. “If what you say is true, then it is an issue I would need to look into. But you must understand how difficult it is to believe that an entire branch of our justice system would act so carelessly”.

Vi lets out a bitter chuckle. “You don’t know what goes on down there. And maybe you don’t want to”.

Cassandra’s lips press together in a thin line. “You are not the only one who has seen corruption, Violet”.

Caitlyn’s hand hasn’t moved from her thigh. She’s still there, still steady. Vi exhales, forces herself to lean into that instead of the anger curling inside her.

Across the table, Tobias reaches for his wine. “Regardless”, he says, “the past is the past. What matters is what comes next”.

Cassandra’s eyes don’t leave Vi’s. “Yes”, she says coolly. “And what came next is that you showed up on our doorstep with a stab wound and a gunshot”.

“That was not Vi’s fault”, Caitlyn says.

Cassandra ignores the intervention. “What do you say, Violet? Should I just be grateful that my daughter made it home at all?”

Vi swallows. It shouldn’t hurt. Shouldn’t get under her skin. She’s used to people looking at her like this, treating her like a threat. But Caitlyn’s mother isn’t just anyone. She’s the mother of the only person who’s ever fought for her, the only person who looked at her and saw something worth saving.

And she is now looking at Vi like she’s a mistake. Vi is too damn tired for this. Too tired, too sore, too fucking worn down to keep fighting.

“I’m not–,” she says, voice quiet, “I don’t want to cause any more trouble. Just give me a day to get back on my feet and I’ll let you be”.

“No”, Caitlyn says. There’s no hesitation, no room for argument.

Cassandra’s expression doesn’t change. “I didn’t ask you to leave”, she says. “I asked you to be honest with me”.

Vi clenches her jaw. She can’t tell Cassandra the truth—the whole truth. She can’t tell her that the only reason she’s alive, the only reason she’s still sitting at this damn table, is because of something no one in this room would believe.

Because when Caitlyn touches her, the pain eases.

Because when she was half-conscious and bleeding out, she felt safe as long as Caitlyn kept her hand on her wound.

Because somewhere deep in her bones, in a way she has no words for, Caitlyn is hers.

But she can’t say that.

Not to Cassandra. Not even to Caitlyn.

Cassandra levels Vi with a look. “My daughter’s safety is non-negotiable”.

Vi forces herself to hold her gaze. “I agree”.

Cassandra tilts her head. “Do you?” Her fingers tap once against the table. “Because it seems like ever since she met you, she has run into nothing but danger”.

Vi has no response to that. Because Cassandra is right, isn’t she?

Caitlyn was safe before Vi. Safe in her warm house, in her soft bed, with her guards and her privilege and her place in the world. Before Vi, she didn’t have to barter with criminals for shimmer to keep someone alive. Before Vi, she wasn’t getting shot at by a fucking mob boss.  

She was still in pain –Vi’s pain–, but at least she was safe.

“Could we for once have dinner in peace?” Caitlyn’s voice cuts through the silence.

Cassandra turns to her daughter. “You could have been killed,” she says. “Did you honestly expect I would be happy that you were involved in a gun fight?”

“Then I guess you should be happy”, Caitlyn snaps, “that it was Vi who took a bullet for me and saved my life”.

“Well, saving someone from the danger you put them in doesn’t exactly make you a hero now, does it, Violet?”

Vi rubs the back of her neck. “No, it doesn’t”, she agrees.

Because Cassandra is, again, right. Because if Vi hadn’t picked a fight with Sevika, if she hadn’t followed the blue flare, if she had made sure Caitlyn was far away, none of this would have happened.

Caitlyn’s fingers tighten against Vi’s knee under the table. Vi wants to tell Caitlyn to remove her hand, to warn her that her mother will know that too, that it will only make things worse, but her touch is the only thing keeping her calm at the moment.

So, she takes a breath and says, “I can’t promise you she will be safe. I wish I could”. She exhales, dares a look at Caitlyn. She could lie. She should lie. But Caitlyn deserves the truth.

“I don’t know how to keep the people I love safe”, she says.

Caitlyn’s breath hitches.

Vi realizes a second too late what she just said. Shit. Shit. She wants to take it back, say it was just a turn of phrase, say she is tired and doesn’t know what on earth she is talking about.

But Cassandra speaks first.  “Then I hope, for my daughter’s sake, that you learn”.

Vi braces herself for the next blow, but it never comes. Instead, Cassandra turns to her husband and asks him about the South Docks proposal.

Tobias clears his throat. “Ah. Yes. Right. The proposal”. He glances at Caitlyn, then at Vi, before finally addressing his wife.

Vi should be listening –should be paying attention to whatever Caitlyn’s parents are discussing– but the words blur together, distant and unimportant. She is not exactly sure why, but she is off the hook for now, so she’ll take it.

Under the table, she hesitates for half a second before turning her palm up, fingers searching for Caitlyn’s. Caitlyn finds Vi’s hand immediately; she slips her fingers between Vi’s and squeezes her hand.

Vi squeezes back and melts quietly and secretly under the warmth of Caitlyn’s touch. Caitlyn’s thumb moves first to trace slow circles against the side of Vi’s hand. Vi mirrors the motion, runs her fingertips along Caitlyn’s knuckles in an attempt to memorize everything about them. All she can focus on is the way Caitlyn’s fingers suddenly fit so perfectly between her own, like they were always meant to be there.

                                               ***

Caitlyn seemingly forgets about Vi sitting next to her, about how just a few minutes ago Vi basically admitted she loved her. She slips into easy conversation with her parents about Council affairs and city gossip. Vi knows she’s doing it for her sake, to try to smooth things over, to make the evening feel less like a battlefront.

Sporadically, her knee brushes Vi’s. Vi tries to stay focused on something else –anything really– besides the way that tiny touch makes her stomach flutter. She survived Stillwater. She survived Sevika and Silco. And yet, somehow, this –Caitlyn’s knee barely grazing hers– might just be the thing that kills her.

Eventually, Tobias excuses himself to make a phone call and Cassandra folds her napkin on the table. “We should all get some rest”, she says.

Vi doesn’t know what to expect. “Thank you”, she says. “For everything. Dinner was great”.

Cassandra holds her gaze for a long moment, then gives the barest nod. “You’re welcome, Vi”.

Vi nods. This is the first time all night that Caitlyn’s mom has called her Vi and not Violet. It’s a step forward. It’s something Vi could maybe work with. She’ll take it.

Caitlyn pushes back her chair and stands. “We should go upstairs anyway. I need to change your bandages”.

Vi blinks at her, then glances at her side. The wound aches so little, that she could go all night without thinking about it. But she knows better than to start an argument with another member of the Kiramman family on the same night. “Yeah”, she says. “Let’s go”.

Caitlyn leads her out of the dining room. Vi doesn’t look back, but she can feel Cassandra watching them go.

                                   ***

Caitlyn’s room is too big. Too clean. It doesn’t smell like rust or damp stone. No mold creeping in the corners, no flickering lights. Just warmth, soft furniture, and the soothing scent of vanilla.

Vi sits on the edge of the bed. She watches as Caitlyn kneels in front of her with the medical kit open next to her.

Caitlyn’s fingers find the hem of Vi’s shirt. She hesitates for just a second before pushing it up. Her hands are steady, but Vi can see the way her brows knit together when the wound comes into view—deep red, swollen around the stitches.

Caitlyn sighs, shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything.

“You can talk, you know”, Vi murmurs.

Caitlyn doesn’t look up. “About what?”

Vi shrugs. “About dinner. Your mom. How you’re feeling. Pick your poison”.

Caitlyn exhales. “She went easier on you than I expected”.

 “That was easier?”

Caitlyn only hums in response. She applies a fresh layer of ointment. The cool touch makes Vi’s muscles twitch, but Caitlyn soothes her without a word, her hand pressing lightly against Vi’s side.

“Still okay?”, she asks softly.

Vi nods. She doesn’t trust her voice.

“She’s difficult”, Caitlyn says after a whole minute passes in silence. “My mom. Stubborn. But… she listened to you, and that means something”.

Caitlyn’s touch is impossibly gentle, her fingertips barely brush Vi’s skin as she works. Her warmth lingers where she steadies Vi’s side, grounding, soothing.

“You don’t have to be this careful,” Vi murmurs.

Caitlyn doesn’t look up. “I do, actually”.

As she presses a fresh bandage into place, her hand lingers. Her thumb brushes lightly over the wrap in a motion that feels almost instinctive. Without any other word, Caitlyn moves to Vi’s arm. Vi swallows the instinct to pull back and lets Caitlyn unwrap the old bandage.

She presses the fresh bandage against Vi’s arm and smoothes its edges as if this is the most important task in the world.  

Vi exhales. “It’s so much better when you’re close”, she says, voice quiet.

Caitlyn’s fingers still. Then, finally, she looks up.

“I know”, she says.

And it means something. No, not something, everything. It means she understands. It means she accepts it; accepts them.

Caitlyn’s hand drifts; her fingertips skim over Vi’s side, and then rest just above her ribs. Vi doesn’t think Caitlyn even realizes what she’s doing, how easily she’s unravelling her without even trying.

Vi swallows. Her heart is hammering against Caitlyn’s palm. “Cupcake…”

She doesn’t know what she means to say. Maybe she doesn’t need to say anything at all.

Caitlyn leans in first.

It’s barely a breath of space between them before Vi meets her halfway, lips brushing, soft and tentative, like neither of them wants to shatter whatever this is.

Caitlyn’s lips are gentle, hesitant at first—then surer, like she’s realizing in real time that this is happening, that Vi isn’t pulling away. Vi isn’t sure she could if she wanted to.

She cups the side of Caitlyn’s face. Her calloused fingers trace the curve of her jaw and Caitlyn melts into her touch.

Soft. Sweet. Like a cupcake.

Vi breathes her in—vanilla and something floral that she can’t name but knows she can’t live without anymore.

Caitlyn shifts enough to press closer. Her fingers curl slightly where they rest against Vi’s ribs, like she’s anchoring herself. Like she’s afraid to let go.

Vi understands. Because she’s afraid, too. Afraid of how easy this is. How natural. Like they were always meant to find each other.

Like there was never any other path –only this, only them.

Vi tries to remember the last time she felt this happy. She comes up blank.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Vi’s choice

Vi barely has time to process what just happened before Caitlyn sinks onto the bed beside her. Her heart is still hammering. She lets herself relax just enough to rest her head on Caitlyn’s shoulder.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

Vi stares at the way Caitlyn’s fingers rest on the sheets between them. Close enough to touch. Close enough that Vi has to fight the urge to reach out first.

But it’s Caitlyn who moves. Her fingertips brush along Vi’s knuckles, trace the roughness of her skin, the old scars that never quite faded. Caitlyn shifts so that Vi fits against her more comfortably. Her fingers trail down Vi’s arm. They follow the curve of her bicep and linger just above her wrist before starting again. Then, slowly, Caitlyn takes Vi’s hand in her own.

Their fingers intertwine.

Vi closes her eyes. She’s so tired. But for the first time in years, it’s not the exhaustion of fighting, of hurting, of enduring. It’s a different kind of tiredness, one that comes from finally stopping. From letting someone else be close. From feeling safe.

Caitlyn’s thumb moves absently over the back of Vi’s hand in a soothing, rhythmic motion. Their hands fit together perfectly, even though they shouldn’t. Caitlyn’s skin is soft, Vi’s is broken and calloused, but, somehow, they feel right together. Complete.

Caitlyn tilts her head so it rests against Vi’s for a moment.

Vi’s throat tightens. “I shouldn’t fall asleep here”, she says. She doesn’t want to move. Not an inch. But she knows she has to. Getting caught once by Caitlyn’s mother is already bad enough.

Caitlyn doesn’t say anything right away. For a moment Vi thinks she didn’t hear her, but eventually Caitlyn says: “Yeah. I know”.

Neither of them moves. A beat passes. Then another.

Caitlyn doesn’t let go. Her grip tightens, her palm presses more firmly against Vi’s. She lets out a slow breath, and Vi feels it against her skin. “It would certainly make tomorrow’s dinner more interesting, though”, she says.

Vi lets out a soft chuckle. “Yeah”, she says.

Caitlyn looks just as tired as Vi feels. Just as unwilling to let this moment end. But all she does is give Vi’s hand a final, gentle squeeze before releasing her. “Go get some sleep”, she murmurs.

It takes all of Vi’s self-control to push herself off the bed. “You too, cupcake”, she says.

Caitlyn huffs a quiet laugh, shakes her head. Before Vi can step away completely, she reaches out and catches her hand again. She squeezes it, then lets her fingers trail over Vi’s knuckles before releasing her.  

Vi forces herself to keep moving toward the door. For the first time in years her heart is beating too fast for a good reason. She’s at the threshold when Caitlyn’s voice makes her pause.

“Have you ever even had a cupcake?”

Vi turns to look at her. “Nope”.

Caitlyn raises an eyebrow. “Well, then let me spare you the disappointment. They’re terribly overrated”.

Vi grins. “Nah”, she says. “I don’t think they are”.

Caitlyn rolls her eyes, but there’s colour on her cheeks as Vi slips out the door. And Vi—Vi is still smiling when she makes it to the guest room.

                                               ***

By the time Vi wakes up the next morning, Caitlyn has already left. Vi knocks on her bedroom’s door, pushes it open just enough to peek inside when she gets no answer. The bed is made; empty. She heads downstairs, hoping she will find her in the kitchen. There’s a bad feeling in her chest that she doesn’t know where to blame it on.

When she enters the kitchen, she stops short. Caitlyn isn’t there. But Cassandra is. She’s at the table, a coffee cup in hand, reading a document.

“Good morning”, Vi says. “Sorry, I was looking for Cait”.

Cassandra looks up. “Good morning, Vi. Cait had to leave for her shift”, she says. “She told me not to wake you. Said you needed rest”.

Vi rubs the back of her neck. “Okay, I’ll let you be”.

Cassandra gestures to the coffee pot and a tray with pastries. “Help yourself”, she says.

As if this is normal. As if Vi belongs here. As if she has coffee with Cassandra every day.

Vi doesn’t dare move.

“Please, Vi”, Cassandra urges, “sit down and have some breakfast”.

Vi hesitates. She’s not used to being offered things like this. She can’t even remember the last time she sat at a real kitchen table and had breakfast in peace.

But Cassandra keeps looking at her like she won’t accept anything but immediate compliance, so Vi grabs a cup from the counter, pours herself some coffee and lowers herself into a chair across from her.

Cassandra studies her for a long moment. Then she says, “Caitlyn seems to be doing better since you showed up”.

Vi tenses. “Really?”

“Really”, Cassandra echoes. “She has been on pain medication for years”. Her fingers tighten around her mug. “But it never helped her. Not the way it should have. This morning, however, she looked better. Calmer. More rested. And I need to know if that has anything to do with you”.

Vi blinks. Cassandra can’t possibly know about the whole soulmate thing. She can’t possibly believe it. “What?”

“Well, you spent six years in prison. I don’t know what your life was like there, what you had to do to get by. But if Caitlyn has access to something stronger than what she’s prescribed–”

“Wait, you think I’m giving her something?”, Vi asks.

Cassandra doesn’t flinch. “Well, are you?”

Vi leans back. “No. Of–of course not. I would never do that”.

Cassandra watches her for a beat, then nods. “Okay, good”.

Vi isn’t sure why that surprises her. She is used to people assuming the worst. In prison, the truth never set you free –it got you beaten half to death. Every time she tried to explain herself, the guards made sure she regretted it. So eventually, she stopped trying. Stopped talking. Stopped hoping that anyone would ever believe her.

But Cassandra does.

And that’s almost worse.

“She’s my daughter, Vi”, Cassandra says. “And I’ve been watching her waste away in pain, while no doctor can tell me why. No diagnosis, no explanation, nothing but pain”. She spares a look at Vi. “I assume she has already told you”.

“She has”, Vi says.

Cassandra nods, then leans forward, her gaze sharper now. “Then you know it’s not just the pain anymore”.

Vi’s fingers go still around the mug.

“She’s addicted”, Cassandra says plainly.

Vi feels like the ground has just tilted under her. She knew Caitlyn relied on the pills. Knew she took too many. Knew she looked at them like they were the only thing keeping her going. But hearing Cassandra say the word out loud, blunt and certain, makes it feel different. Heavier. Unavoidable.

“I’ve tried everything”, Cassandra continues. “Doctors, alternative treatments, specialists, cutting her off, giving her more time, pretending not to notice when she is high… none of it works. Because she doesn’t want to stop”.

She shakes her head. For the first time since the conversation started, she looks less like the composed councilwoman and more like a mother who is terrified of losing her child.

“But then you show up”, she says, voice quieter now, “and suddenly, she looks better. She even had breakfast this morning”.

Vi stares into her coffee. She doesn’t know what to do with that. With the weight of it. The weight of being someone’s reason to hold on.

She doesn’t deserve that. Not when she’s the reason Caitlyn is like this in the first place.

“I don’t know why she trusts you so much,” Cassandra says. “But she does. And if anyone has a chance of helping her, it’s you”.

Vi sighs. Because Cassandra doesn’t know the truth. Because she would hate her if she did.

“I don’t know if I can help her,” she admits.

Cassandra’s reply is immediate. “You already are”.

Vi looks away. It’s not that simple. Addiction isn’t something you fix with a few words and good intentions. And if the past is any indication, Vi has already caused one person to overdose. She wants to tell Cassandra everything—that Caitlyn’s pain wasn’t some rare unknown illness, that it had a cause, that it had a name. That it was her. That she is the one Cassandra should be angry with. That everything is her fault.

But Cassandra would never believe it. Same way Caitlyn didn’t.

So Vi only nods and takes a sip from her coffee.

“You haven’t eaten”, Cassandra says.

Before Vi can mumble a half-hearted lie about not being hungry, Cassandra gets up, cuts a slice of a cake, places it on a plate and sets it in front of Vi like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Vi stares at it. “You don’t have to–”, she says.

“It’s soft enough for your jaw”, Cassandra says.

Something in Vi’s chest cracks. She doesn’t understand why it hits her so deep –this small act of care, the fact that Cassandra remembers her jaw is messed up. The fact that she cares. Maybe because it’s been so long since someone did something like this for her. Maybe because it reminds her too much of the way her mother used to fuss over her, making sure she ate before running off.

Or maybe because Cassandra shouldn’t be this kind to her.

Not after all that pain Vi has caused to her daughter.

Vi doesn’t trust herself to speak. She blinks fast, wills away the stinging behind her eyes. When she looks up, Cassandra has already turned back to her papers, sipping her coffee like nothing just happened.

Yeah. She can’t let this woman down.

Vi takes a small bite and the soft texture melts against her tongue. It’s good. Too good.

“Thank you”, she says quietly.

Cassandra doesn’t look up. “Anytime, Vi”.

Somehow, that makes Vi want to cry even more.

                                               ***

The pain hits her unexpectedly.

A sharp, sudden headache slices through her skull like a blade, and her vision swims. Her ears ring –a high-pitched, relentless sound that drowns out everything else. The kitchen tilts around her, and she barely catches herself against the table before her legs give out. Her chest tightens with something cold and awful.

“Vi?”, Cassandra’s voice snaps through the static, sharp with concern. But it sounds distant, muffled, like Vi is hearing it from underwater. The dizziness is overwhelming, nausea rolls in waves through her stomach.

No, no, no.

Vi squeezes her eyes shut. Tries to breathe through it. But the pain is sharp and merciless, and it presses down on her skull like a vice. She grips the edge of the table hard enough that her knuckles go white.

This is not her pain.

It’s Caitlyn’s.

“Vi?”, Cassandra says again, more urgent now. A chair scrapes back. A shadow moves at the edge of her vision.

She can’t be here.

“I... I need to go”, Vi mutters. She pushes herself up on shaking legs, forces herself to move. Each step is unsteady, like she’s walking through a storm she can’t see. But she can’t stop.

Cassandra steps toward her. “Where are you going?”

Vi doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have the words. There’s only one thought pounding in her head, drowning out everything else.

She has to find Caitlyn. And she has to find her now.

                                                           ***

The morning air does nothing to clear the pounding in her skull. The pain is duller now, not a knife but a steady, brutal pressure, like a hand pressing down on the inside of her head.

Vi pulls up her hood. Instinct, habit—whatever it is, she needs to disappear.

Her feet carry her forward before she even knows where she’s going. Every step is a battle against the dizziness clawing at her balance. She stumbles once, her palm scrapes against the rough stone of a building as she steadies herself.

And then the smell hits her.

Smoke. Thick and acrid, curling in the air like a living thing. Vi’s stomach clenches as she rounds the corner –and the world erupts into chaos.

Flames lick at the remains of shattered storefronts, glass crunches underfoot as enforcers push civilians back, their shouts barely cutting through the ringing in Vi’s ears. The wreckage of a building sprawls across the street—stone, metal, and wood torn apart by an explosion.

A bomb. Jinx.

Vi’s breath catches, her body locks up as she takes in the devastation. Bodies are scattered across the street –some moving, some too still.

All of them dressed in blue.

Her heart slams against her ribs. Caitlyn.

She doesn’t realize she’s moving until she’s halfway across the street, shoving past the onlookers, her pulse roaring in her ears. No, no, no–

She scans the bodies, as dread sinks its claws deeper with every second. A bloodied officer is hauled onto a stretcher, his uniform barely recognizable beneath the soot and ash. Another lies still, his arm twisted at an unnatural angle.

“She got the morning patrol”, a voice says.

Vi freezes.

“Four confirmed dead, at least six injured”. A pause. Then, a lower voice. “Kiramman is missing”.

The words don’t register at first. But her head is still pounding, her vision is still hazy. If Caitlyn were dead, her pain would be gone.

So, Caitlyn must be alive. At least, for now.

The relief vanishes as quickly as it comes. Because Vi sees the message. Spray paint, vivid and taunting, slashed across a half-standing wall.

“Come find me, sis”.

Vi sways. Her sister left this message for her. And Caitlyn is with her. Vi pulls her hood lower and vanishes into the streets.

                                               ***

The moment Vi finds them at the Last Drop, the pain in her skull eases. Not all at once, but like a tide pulling back—still there, still aching, but no longer drowning her.

Caitlyn is tied to a chair, her face streaked with dirt and blood. There’s a piece of fabric stuffed into her mouth, muffling her shaky breaths. Blood drips from her temple, trailing down the side of her cheek. Her breathing steadies at the same time as Vi’s. A flicker of recognition flashes in her tired eyes.

Vi knows Caitlyn feels it. And Caitlyn knows Vi does too.

Powder is too busy bouncing on her heels, her gaze flickering between them. “The things I do for your attention, sis”, she says.

“Powder”, Vi says, “what have you done?”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

Vi forces herself to breathe. She glances at Caitlyn. “You okay?”, she murmurs.

Caitlyn swallows and nods—barely.

Powder rolls her eyes. “Ugh, don’t start with the lovey-dovey shit”.

Vi looks at her. “Powder, that’s enough. You are hurting innocent people”.

Powder stiffens. Her fingers tighten around the gun in her hand, but she doesn’t point it. Not yet.

Vi’s voice stays even. “I don’t know what’s going on, but killing enforcers will not help you”.

Powder pouts. “Aw, but it’s so fun”, she says. Like a child testing a boundary. Like she’s waiting to see if Vi will flinch.

Vi’s throat locks up. Because she doesn’t know if she’s joking. But there’s no time to dive into that now. “You need to let Caitlyn go”.

Powder makes a sharp “Ehhhhh!”; a taunting, nasal sound, as if Vi just gave her the wrong answer. She grins. “Can’t do that, sis”.

Vi’s stomach clenches. “Powder”, she tries again. “You need to let her go”.

“Nope.” Powder pops the ‘p’ and twirls the gun in her fingers like it’s a toy. “See, you don’t get to walk in here and make demands”. Her grin stretches wider, her eyes gleam. “Not when I went through all this trouble just to get you to talk to me”.

Vi forces herself to breathe. “You didn’t have to do any of this”, she says. “You have my attention. I’m here. Just let her go”.

Powder sighs dramatically. “Ugh, you’re no fun”, she says. “But let’s get something straight, big sis”. Her smile drops. “She doesn’t walk out of here unless I say so”.

“Okay”, Vi says. “Okay”. She doesn’t want to do this, not when her sister is so clearly on edge, but desperation forces her to open her mouth and try. “You remember how you always said I had a soulmate?”, she asks.

Powder flinches –just barely– but Vi sees it.

“You noticed before I did, remember?”. She keeps her voice careful, like she’s walking a tightrope. “You thought it was cool. You believed in it”.

Powder tries to interrupt but Vi raises her arm to stop her.

“Well, you were right”, she says.

Powder sways slightly. Just the smallest movement. Her eyes dart to Caitlyn—just for a second. Vi doesn’t miss it.

“Caitlyn is my soulmate”, Vi says. “So, when you hurt her, you hurt me too”.

Powder shakes her head. “No. No, no, no”. She starts pacing. “She’s an enforcer, Vi. No way. That’s—that’s a joke. A really, really bad joke”.

Her breathing hitches.  “You–”. She gestures wildly at Caitlyn. “–are not her soulmate”.

Caitlyn flinches.

The flickering light overhead casts deep shadows across the room, warping Jinx’s grin into something monstrous.

Vi doesn’t look away from her sister.

“Powder, you don’t get to decide that”, she says quietly.

She lets out a sharp, nervous giggle. “Uh, yeah, I do. 'Cause it’s fucking bullshit. Soulmates don’t work like that. You–”, she shakes her head again. Then her voice rises, frantic and jagged. “You’re Vi! You don’t need a soulmate! You’ve got me!”

Vi’s gut twists. “Pow–”

“No! No, that’s not how this works!” Powder’s pacing now, jerky, restless. “I— I waited for you! I needed you! And you–”. She stops, sucks in a sharp breath. Her fingers twitch around the gun. “And now you’re telling me that she’s the one who matters?” Her voice drops. “That I am  hurting you?”

Vi steps forward, slow and careful. “I’m telling you the truth, Powder”. She holds her gaze. “You always said soulmates were special. Caitlyn is mine.”

Powder exhales. Her eyes flick to Caitlyn again—just for a moment, just long enough for Vi to see the conflict there.

Then her expression hardens. “No.” She shakes her head, like she can physically throw the thought away. “No, no, no. I don’t accept that”. Her breath hitches. “You’re mine, Vi”.

She laughs. At first, it’s soft—breathless, almost like she’s amused. But then it builds, rising into something high-pitched, unhinged, spilling out of her like she can’t stop it.

Vi watches her closely. This is the worst kind of laugh. The one that comes before the storm.

“You–”, Powder gasps between giggles, running a hand through her messy hair, pulling at it. “You think this is real? She’s lying to you–”. She lets out a sharp, almost pained wheeze. “C’mon, sis, you know better than that”.

Vi doesn’t move. “Powder–”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

The scream rips through the space like a gunshot. Caitlyn flinches. Even Vi’s stomach tightens.

“Okay, fine. Jinx”, Vi amends. “Jinx, listen to me”.

Jinx’s breathing is fast, erratic. She claws at her own arms, her pupils blown wide, like she’s fighting something inside her head.

“You. are. lying”, she spits. Her eyes dart between them. “She is lying. You’re both lying. You’re just saying this so I’ll–”

She cuts herself off with a growl, turns away and kicks over a chair. It crashes against the wall.

Vi stays still, watching her, waiting.

Jinx spins back around. “You don’t get to have this”, she snaps. “You don’t get to have her”.

She marches toward Caitlyn.

Vi’s heart slams against her ribs. “Jinx–”, she tries.

“SHE’S NOT YOURS!”, Jinx shrieks.

Her gun is now raised, aimed.

Vi moves instinctively. She lurches forward, blocks Caitlyn from view. “Stop this!”, she says.

Jinx freezes. The gun wavers—for a second.

Vi stares at her. “Jinx”, she says. “Hey. I love you. You’re my sister. Nothing changes that”.

Jinx trembles.

Vi takes the smallest step forward. “You don’t have to hurt anyone else”.

Jinx’s eyes flicker.

Then, just like that—the moment shatters.

Jinx screams, slams the gun into the side of her own head, grips her hair with the other hand like she’s trying to rip her own thoughts out.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”

Then, she takes a breath. “Alright, alright”, she says. “It’s settled, then”. She holds out the gun, offers it to Vi. “You choose”, she says.

Vi’s breath catches in her throat. “What–”

“You choose!”, she repeats. “It’s me or her”, she says.

“I can't–”, Vi starts, her voice barely there.

Jinx’s lips curl. “Well, you’re gonna have to, sis”.

Vi looks at Caitlyn. She’s so still. She’s waiting for Vi to make the decision. To choose her. But Jinx—Powder—her little sister, is waiting too.

Vi’s chest aches. She lifts the gun. Turns it. Presses the barrel against her own temple.

Jinx’s smirk drops. Caitlyn’s breath hitches.

“Is this what you want?”, Vi asks. Her eyes are wet. “Cause this is the only way I’m pulling the trigger”.

Jinx stares. For a second, she looks terrified. So does Caitlyn.

Vi doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

Jinx’s hands tremble.

“I won’t hurt Caitlyn”, Vi says. “And I won’t hurt you either”. Her voice breaks. “But if you want someone dead that bad–”. She presses the gun harder against her skull. “–then it’ll have to be me”.

Jinx staggers back, shakes her head. “No—no, no, no, that’s not how this works–”

“You don’t get to decide how this works, Powder!”, Vi yells, desperation clawing at her throat. “You don’t get to hold a gun to my head and expect me to play along!”

Jinx squeezes her eyes shut, her entire body tensed and trembling, like she’s trying to block out Vi’s words; like she’s a breath away from completely breaking apart.

And then—

The door slams open.

                                               ***

Vi jumps. Her gun drops away from her head as Sevika stomps into the room, her boots heavy against the floor.

“Jinx”, she snaps. “We need to go. Now”.

Jinx doesn’t even move. Her eyes stay locked on Vi, her breath shuddering, her chest rising and falling too fast. “I’m busy”, she mumbles.

Sevika doesn’t give a damn. “Silco’s dead”.

For a moment, it’s like the whole world stops moving.

Jinx blinks slowly. Her expression is empty. “What?”, she whispers.

“It was a coup”, Sevika says. “Finn and the others turned on him. That chem-breathing bitch made the first move”.

Jinx just stares. “No”, she murmurs. “No, no, he—he wouldn’t let them–”

“We don’t have time for this”, Sevika snaps. “If we don’t move, you’re next”.

But Jinx isn't listening. She turns her hollow, wide-eyed stare back to Vi. She doesn’t say it. But Vi sees it. The slow dawning horror, the way her whole body tenses, the flicker of realization that twists into something ugly and venomous.

“The Council”, Jinx breathes, her voice too light, too soft, like she’s speaking from the edge of a nightmare. “They forced him to work with them. They backed him into a corner. And now he’s dead–”

Her gaze locks onto Caitlyn. “Because of her”.

“Jinx, no–”, Vi tries.

Sevika moves first. She yanks her back with a brutal grip just in time. “Enough!”, she snarls. “We have to go. NOW”.

Jinx thrashes violently, her screams turn into wordless shrieks, her boots kick against the floor as Sevika hauls her toward the door.

“LET ME GO!”, she screeches. “I’LL KILL THEM! I’LL KILL THEM ALL!”

As Sevika drags her away, her voice echoes through the room. “I’LL BURN IT ALL DOWN! YOU HEAR ME, VI?”

The door slams shut behind them.

Vi doesn’t waste a second. She rips the fabric that was stuffed into Caitlyn’s mouth free. Caitlyn gasps sharply, coughs as she gulps down air.

“Vi”, she tries, but her voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I got you”, Vi mutters. “I got you”.

She drops to her knees, fumbles with the ropes still cutting into Caitlyn’s wrists.

“Come on, come on–”, she says to herself.

When she finally unties the ropes, she pulls her up, steadies her as Caitlyn leans against her. Her whole body is trembling.

“I’m sorry”, Vi says. “I’m so sorry”.

                                               ***

Vi doesn’t stop until they reach the safehouse. The moment they’re in, Caitlyn’s knees buckle.

“Easy”. Vi catches her, lowers her carefully onto the mattress.

Caitlyn lets out a sharp breath, her fingers curl into the fabric of Vi’s shirt. The pain is still there, pressing behind her eyes, throbbing in her skull. But it’s less now.

Because Vi’s close. Because Vi is touching her.

Vi knows it. She can feel the way the pain fades, like an invisible weight being lifted. She adjusts her grip, presses Caitlyn against her chest.

“Better?”, she asks.

Caitlyn lets out a shaky exhale. “Better”.

They sit like that for a moment. Vi holds her close, Caitlyn’s breath is warm against her collarbone.

Then, Caitlyn mutters, “Inside pocket”.

Vi hesitates. “Cait–”

“Please”, Caitlyn says. She is shaking so badly that Vi is afraid she might collapse.  

Vi sighs and reaches into her jacket. She pulls out the familiar vial and presses it into Caitlyn’s palm. Caitlyn’s fingers tremble as she uncaps it and tips a pill into her mouth.

Vi watches her. “Your mom is gonna kill me”, she says.

Caitlyn’s brows knit together. “She won’t–”

“She will”. Vi’s voice is flat, certain. “And she will be right to”.

Caitlyn shakes her head. “This is not your fault”.

Vi lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, it is”.

Caitlyn reaches for her hand, squeezes it tight. “It’s not”.

But Vi can’t feel that. She can only feel the weight of it all pressing down.

I brought you into this. I let Jinx take you. You were hurt because of me.

And then Caitlyn’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade—

“I don’t know if that trick you pulled back there was a bluff”, she says. “But don’t do anything like that again. Ever”.

Vi doesn’t respond. She’s still holding her, still pressing her close, but she won’t meet her eyes.

“Vi”, Caitlyn says. “Look at me”.

Slowly, Vi does. Her eyes are red. “I was trying to protect you”, she says.

Caitlyn lets out a sharp breath. “By putting a gun to your own head?” Her face twists. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

Vi can’t answer. Because she does know. Because she had felt it.

Caitlyn presses a trembling hand against Vi’s chest. “Stop hurting yourself”, she says.

Vi can’t make that promise.

                                   ***

Her fingers tremble as she cleans the dried blood from Caitlyn’s face. She traces the curve of Caitlyn’s jaw, her touch careful, as if Caitlyn is made of something fragile, something that might shatter if she’s not handled right.

Caitlyn’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, her lashes rest against her pale cheeks. She looks so small like this, so vulnerable, and Vi can’t shake the ache that settles deep in her chest.

Every bruise, every mark on Caitlyn’s skin feels like it’s Vi’s fault.

Because it is.

“Almost done, cupcake”, she murmurs. “Can’t take you back to your mom covered in blood”.

Caitlyn huffs out a quiet breath. She winces as the cloth brushes over a tender spot near her temple.

“Sorry”, Vi whispers. She feels like she’s hurting Caitlyn all over again, even when all she’s doing is trying to help.

But Caitlyn shakes her head softly, her eyes still closed. “It’s fine”, she says, her voice low and calm. The words are quiet, but there’s a reassurance in them that makes Vi’s chest ache even more.

Vi presses the cloth against the cut again, more gently this time. She watches Caitlyn closely, as if trying to memorize every detail of her face. The bruises, the cuts, the exhaustion that pulls at the edges of Caitlyn’s expression—it all feels like a punch to the gut.

“Does it hurt?”, Vi asks, though she already knows the answer.

Caitlyn opens her eyes slowly, meeting Vi’s gaze with a soft, almost tired smile. “Not as much as it did before”, she murmurs. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

The words hit Vi harder than she expects.

Her fingers linger against Caitlyn’s skin for a moment longer. She’s trying to hold it together, trying not to let herself break apart.

“I am”, she says.

                                   ***

As soon as the headache dulls and Caitlyn starts breathing a bit better, they get moving again. When they are just a few hundred feet away from the Kiramman estate, Vi stops.

“Tell your parents I’m grateful for everything”, she says.

“What?”

Vi shakes her head. “Just…just tell your mom I’m sorry”.

Caitlyn’s frown deepens. “Vi, what are you talking about?”

“I can’t go back there, cupcake”.

“Vi, come on, don’t do this”.

Vi lets out a dry chuckle. “It’s not like your mom will take me back after today”.

Caitlyn’s expression tightens. “You did nothing wrong”.

“Good luck explaining that to her”.

“You did nothing wrong,” Caitlyn insists. “My mom let you in before. She knew who you were, and she still let you stay”.

“That was different”. Vi shakes her head. “Now, every enforcer in Piltover is after my sister. Your mom doesn’t need that kind of trouble”.

“You’re not trouble, Vi”.

Vi wishes she could believe that. “My sister is a wanted terrorist”, she says. Her voice is quiet. “What do you think the Council is going to decide for her?”, she asks.

Caitlyn looks at her like she already knows where this is going, and she doesn’t want to go there.

“Vi...”

Vi just stares at her. “They are going to issue a kill order”, she says.

Caitlyn swallows. “If they find her, she will be arrested and put on trial. But if she resists...” She takes a breath. “Then, yes. They will have to use lethal force”.

Vi can barely breathe. She knows there will be no arrest. Jinx isn’t the type to go quietly. She’d rather burn the whole city down before she lets herself be caged.

And Caitlyn is just standing there, saying it like it’s already decided. Like it’s already over. Like it’s not the end of the world.

“Either way, you can’t save her”, Caitlyn says.

“She is not–”, Vi chokes on her words.

“What? Dangerous? Deranged?” Caitlyn asks. “Vi, she killed my colleagues for fun. And she would have killed me too”.

Vi shakes her head. “No”. She won’t accept that. She can’t. “I would have stopped her. I almost did. I can bring her back”.

Caitlyn steps closer. “Vi…there is no coming back from this”.

Vi turns away. Her chest is too tight. Her throat burns. “I left her once”, she whispers. Her voice cracks open like a wound. “I won't do this to her again”.

Caitlyn exhales sharply. “There’s nothing you can do to help her”.

“I have to try”.

“Even if you convince her to surrender”, Caitlyn tries, “she will most likely be sentenced to death”.

“Then I have to be with her”, Vi insists.

She barely makes it a step before Caitlyn grabs her wrist. “Don't you dare”, she whispers. A plea. A command. A breaking heart laid bare.

Vi can’t move.  “As long as I’m with you, you are in danger”, she says. “I’ve already hurt you enough”.

Caitlyn is shaking again. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me”, she says.

Vi lets out a choked breath. “I do, if it means keeping you safe”.

Caitlyn shoves her hands against Vi’s chest. “You’re not keeping me safe, you’re leaving me alone”.

Vi winces, but she doesn’t fight it.

Caitlyn is breathing hard, eyes red-rimmed, furious, devastated. And then–

Slowly. Hesitantly. She pulls Vi in. Vi doesn’t resist. They cling to each other. They are both shaking now.

Vi fists her hands in Caitlyn’s coat, squeezes her eyes shut and just lets herself be held. Caitlyn’s hands tangle in her hair, press against her back, pull her closer, like she can keep Vi from slipping away.

“Please, don’t go”, Caitlyn whispers.

Vi’s breath stutters, then shatters entirely. She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she feels Caitlyn trembling against her too.

Then Caitlyn shifts. Tilts her head. Breathes against Vi’s cheek. And kisses her. Soft. Desperate. Salt-brined.

Vi’s fingers tighten in Caitlyn’s coat. She kisses her back like she’s drowning. Like this is all she’ll ever get.

Because it is.

And that’s why she has to stop.

She tears herself away first. Caitlyn makes a broken sound but Vi presses their foreheads together before she can say anything. Holds on. Just for a second. Just to pretend.

Pretend they have more time. Pretend this isn’t goodbye.

Caitlyn’s hands stay on her, fingertips barely holding on, as if the moment she lets go, Vi will disappear. And she’s right.

Vi’s chest is so tight it feels like it might break open. “I have to go”, she says.

Caitlyn shakes her head. “You don’t–”

“I’m sorry, cupcake”. Vi’s voice is barely there.

She forces herself to step away.

Caitlyn reaches for her –just a twitch of her fingers, a second of hesitation– but she doesn’t grab her. She doesn’t beg. She just stands there, watching, waiting for Vi to change her mind.

But Vi doesn’t. She turns her back on the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

One step. Then another.

She tells herself it’s easier this way. That leaving now, before Caitlyn hates her for it, is a mercy.

Then she hears Caitlyn exhale, a shaky breath that sounds like her whole heart breaking in real-time.

And Vi knows.

She will never stop hearing that sound. She will never stop feeling Caitlyn’s ghost at her fingertips. She will never stop wondering what would’ve happened if she had just stayed.

But she doesn’t turn back. She can’t. And that, she thinks, is the cruelest part of all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

‘till the walls did crumble (and fall)

Cassandra is quiet for a while after Caitlyn tells her what happened with Vi and Jinx. They have already moved past the “I’m relieved you survived a bombing and a kidnapping” phase and now stand at the edge of the inevitable: I told you Vi was trouble.

“You should have told me Jinx was her sister”, Cassandra says at last. She presses the ice pack to Caitlyn’s temple. “Keep that there”.

Caitlyn takes the ice pack without an argument. The cool relief barely registers. “You would have kicked her out if I had”, she says.

“And I would have been right”, Cassandra counters. “This girl keeps putting you in danger”.

“That’s not true”, Caitlyn says. “Vi…she has a good heart”.

Saying her name nearly undoes her. She has already spent an hour crying in front of her mother about a girl –she refuses to fall apart again.

“I know she has a good heart”, Cassandra says softly. 

Caitlyn is surprised by the certainty in her mom’s voice, as if she is agreeing with an impartial judgement, not with the untrustworthy evaluation of a woman in love.

“But that’s not the point here”.

“She is injured”, Caitlyn sniffles. She lowers the ice pack from her temple. “Her wound needs to be cleaned and redressed every day. She won’t– she won’t do it properly, you know she won’t. If it gets infected–”. She stops herself, her breath hitches. She shakes her head, furious at the way it all spins in her chest. “She shouldn’t be alone”.

Cassandra’s gaze softens for a moment. Then she sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “Vi made her choice, Cait”.

“Because she thinks she is doing the right thing. She thinks she can save her sister”.

“She can’t”.

“She doesn’t understand that”.

Cassandra’s voice drops. “But you do understand what happens next, don’t you?”, she asks. “Silco is dead. Zaun has no leader. We are standing on the edge of war, Caitlyn. The second the wrong person steps in to fill that power vacuum, this city will burn”.

Caitlyn swallows against the lump in her throat. She knows. She heard what Jinx told Vi. I’ll burn it all down.

“That’s why we have to stop Jinx”, Caitlyn says. “Arrest her before she does something—worse”.

Cassandra’s gaze snaps to her, sharp as a knife. “The way to stop her is to eliminate her”.

Caitlyn flinches. “No. We don’t have to–”

“You saw what she is capable of”, Cassandra interrupts. “Six enforcers dead. Marcus among them. If she gets away, there will be retaliation. The other councilors will demand it. This is beyond personal feelings, Caitlyn. She is a terrorist. And she has to be dealt with accordingly”.

Caitlyn’s heart is pounding, and she hates this. Hates the way her mother is speaking, so cold, so final. Like any of this is simple, clinical.

“I know killing her would hurt Vi”, Cassandra adds, more quietly now. “And I know you can’t bear to see her suffer”.

Caitlyn sighs. “You seriously think executing her will fix this? That Zaun will just accept it and move on?”. She shakes her head. “Killing Jinx won’t stop this war—it will start it”.

Cassandra studies her for a long moment. Then, softer, she says:

“You’re letting your heart cloud your judgment”.

Caitlyn’s throat tightens until it hurts. “Maybe I am”. Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Caitie…” Her mother’s voice is soft and makes Caitlyn want to cry again.

She can’t cry again.

Cassandra inches closer on the couch. “This is bigger than you. Bigger than Vi. If we don’t act soon, we will lose control. We are this close to everything falling apart”.

Caitlyn stares down at her hands. She knows. She knows.

“What if there is another way?”, she asks.

                                               ***

Cassandra exhales slowly, like she’s trying to keep herself from snapping. “You cannot be serious”, she says.

Caitlyn lifts her chin. “I am”.

Cassandra shakes her head. “You want to negotiate with Zaun?”

“Yes”, Caitlyn says firmly. “We offer them independence. In exchange, they give us Jinx”.

Cassandra lets out a short laugh. “Independence? You think the Council will even consider that?”

“They will, if the alternative is war”, Caitlyn argues. “You just said it yourself—Zaun is leaderless. The people there are scared, angry. They need stability. If we offer them a deal, real freedom, they might take it”.

“And you honestly think they’ll hand over Jinx just like that?”, Cassandra scoffs. “She’s practically a symbol to them now– chaos and resistance all in one”.

“She’s also a liability”, Caitlyn presses. “Silco was the only one protecting her. Now that he’s gone, some of them might see her as a threat instead. If we make them an offer–”

“This is absurd”. Cassandra rubs her temples. “Even if the Council entertained this delusion, it wouldn’t work. There’s no one to negotiate with, Caitlyn. Who speaks for Zaun now? Who do we even make this offer to?”

Caitlyn hesitates. She doesn’t have an answer for that.

“And even if, by some miracle, this plan works –what, exactly, do you propose happens to Jinx after that?”, Cassandra asks. “Because the Council will only vote for one thing– execution”.

Caitlyn shakes her head. “No. We argue for leniency. Life imprisonment, exile; anything but execution”.

“Leniency? Caitlyn, she murdered six enforcers. They are not even buried yet. She bombed the Progress Day celebration. She kidnapped you. You think anyone in that room will care about mercy?”

Caitlyn sighs. “If it stops another war before it starts, they should”.

“Should doesn’t mean will”, Cassandra snaps. “This is politics, Cait, not a moral debate”.

Caitlyn’s voice wavers, but she doesn’t back down. “Jinx will never surrender if she knows she’s going to be executed. But if there’s a chance –if Vi convinces her–”

“You really are in love with her”, Cassandra murmurs.

Caitlyn looks away. “This isn’t just about Vi”.

“Isn’t it?”, Cassandra asks softly.

Silence stretches between them.

Then Cassandra exhales, takes the half-melted ice pack from Caitlyn’s hands, and rises from the couch. “I can’t bring this proposal to the Council”.

“Then let me do it”. Caitlyn is surprised by the steadiness in her own voice.

“On whose authority would you even speak?”

Caitlyn straightens. “On behalf of the enforcers”.

Cassandra’s voice sharpens. “The enforcers don’t have a representative on the Council”.

“They don’t. But with Marcus dead, there’s no one to speak for them”, Caitlyn presses. “They lost six of their own today. They should have a voice in this”.

“We”, Cassandra corrects her.

“What?”

“If you want to pretend that you’re doing this for the enforcers, at least try to remember you are one of them”.

“Fine. We lost six of our own”, Caitlyn amends. “And if we don’t act now, we’ll lose more”, she continues. “I’ve been in the Undercity. I’ve seen what Marcus ignored. What he let fester. And now, for the first time in years, the enforcers don’t have a corrupt leader controlling their every move”. Her throat tightens. “They need someone to speak for them. And I was his junior officer, wasn’t I?”

Cassandra exhales through her nose. “You are barely an officer, Caitlyn”.

“I was barely an officer”, Caitlyn corrects. “Now I’m the highest-ranking one left”.

Cassandra sighs. “I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but, Gods, I hated that man”.

Caitlyn huffs a quiet laugh. “Marcus? Not as much as I did”. She hesitates for a second, debating whether this is the right time for another confession. “He made my life hell during that summer school before I joined the academy”.

Cassandra’s fingers tighten around the ice pack. “What?”

Caitlyn swallows. “He wanted me to fail. When humiliation didn’t break me, he got physical”. She forces herself to meet her mother’s gaze. “It was the first time I felt real pain”.

And then it hits her. The first time she felt real pain.

That was probably the first time Vi felt her pain, too.

Cassandra is silent for a long moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”, she asks.

“Because you would have pulled me out”, Caitlyn answers simply. Her mind races back to Vi. Vi, fifteen years-old, still whole in ways she isn’t anymore, doubling over from a pain she couldn’t explain. Gods, she must have been terrified.

There must be something in Caitlyn’s face that betrays her thoughts, because the next thing her mother says is about Vi.

“They sent this over today.” She picks up a thin file from her desk and holds it out. “I thought you should see it”.

Caitlyn takes it and flips it open. Vi’s name stares back at her in bold, black ink. Below it—her arrest record.

“Vi was telling the truth”, Cassandra says. “Marcus arrested her over nothing”.

Caitlyn scans the page, pulse drumming in her ears.

Charges: Resisting arrest.

Her breath hitches. “That’s it?”

Cassandra nods. “That’s all he bothered to write down”.

Caitlyn’s grip tightens. “And for this, she spent six years in Stillwater?”

Her stomach churns. She remembers the bruises Marcus left on her. The way he had sneered when she so much as looked at him the wrong way.

And Vi—Vi had endured so much worse. Alone. Forgotten.

A thousand things rush to Caitlyn’s throat. She wants to say that it wasn’t just prison –that it was torture. That she knows what Vi went through because she felt it. Every beating. Every moment of pain and fear. Years of it, without understanding why. She wants to scream that it nearly broke both of them.

But she doesn’t.

Her mother would never believe her.

A tear slips down her cheek before she can stop it. She wipes it away with her sleeve. “Mom”, she says, “that’s…that’s corruption”. She lifts the file. “Zaun deserves better than this. We owe them better than this.”

The silence afterward stretches—just long enough for Caitlyn to know her mother saw her tears. Cassandra says nothing about it. But something in her expression softens, just barely, like the hint of a thought she doesn’t voice.

She watches her daughter for a long moment. Then, quietly –almost reluctantly–she nods.  “I will allow you to propose the independence plan”.

Caitlyn’s breath catches. “Really?”

“I don’t agree with it”, Cassandra says flatly. “And neither will the Council. Even if they consider it, even if they vote in favour of Zaun’s independence, what makes you think that will stop the violence?”. She shakes her head. “You’re asking for a truce when there’s no one left in Zaun to enforce it”.

Caitlyn opens her mouth, but Cassandra cuts her off. “No infrastructure, no leadership. Do you really think the Chem-Barons will sit quietly and let some treaty dictate their future?”. Her voice hardens. “They’ll tear the Undercity apart the moment they realize no one is stopping them”.

Caitlyn swallows but stands firm. “Then we find someone who will”.

“Who, Vi?” She lets the name hang between them, heavy with doubt. “That girl can barely take care of herself, let alone govern an entire city”.

Caitlyn flinches. She wants to argue, to defend Vi, but Cassandra presses on.

“And even if, somehow, Zaun stabilizes, what’s stopping them from turning against us anyway? Piltover depends on Zaun’s labour and trade. They depend on us. Independence means tariffs, sanctions—it means cutting ties. And you think that will bring peace?”. She lets out a breath that sounds like a sigh. “You are being naïve, Caitlyn”.

“Fine”, Caitlyn says. “Then please let me be naïve in front of the Council”.

“I told you I will. But don’t expect me to fight this battle for you”. Cassandra rubs her fingers over her brow, as if she is trying to shield herself from an oncoming headache.

She levels Caitlyn with a look that is neither cruel nor unkind—just brutally pragmatic. “If I’m in that room when you speak, every single councilor will turn to me before they even consider what you have to say. Half of them vote with me on principle. If they see me strike this down—if they see me reject my own daughter’s proposal—the rest of them will follow”. She pauses, lets the weight of her words settle. “You’ll lose before you’ve even begun”.

Caitlyn’s breath catches.

Cassandra picks up Vi’s file again. Her fingers brush absently over its edges before she leaves it back on her desk. “But if I’m not there… they might actually listen”.

Caitlyn folds her arms. “How would–”

“I’ll recuse myself from the discussion”, Cassandra explains. “I’ll claim a conflict of interest. Parental bias. It’s flimsy, but it will hold”.

Caitlyn has never been so grateful for her mom’s craftiness before.

“That means you’ll have to stand on your own, make them believe in this as much as you do. I will return at the very end to cast my vote”.

A lump forms in Caitlyn’s throat. She nods. “Thank you”, she says.

Because Cassandra Kiramman does not yield. She does not step aside. She does not compromise. And yet, here she is, removing herself from the room so Caitlyn’s voice can be heard, so her plan, however reckless her mother believes it to be, can be judged on its own merit.

Cassandra studies her for a long moment, then disappears into the kitchen. When she returns, she has a fresh ice pack in her hand, cool and crisp. “Get some rest”, she says and presses the ice pack back into Caitlyn’s hands. “And hold that to your head”.

                                               ***

Caitlyn barely makes it to her room before the pain hits.

It begins as a dull ache in her chest, but then it sharpens; turns into a tearing pain at her left side, burning in a way that feels all too familiar. She gasps as she stumbles against the doorframe, hands on her ribs.

Vi.

Vi’s stab wound. Vi is in pain. Again. Well, not again. Still.

Caitlyn collapses onto the bed and tries to ground herself in the real world, but the pain keeps pulling her deeper into the dark.

Vi is too far. Too far.

A sob escapes before she can stop it. Caitlyn presses her hand to her mouth, tries to quiet the sound, but the tears slip down her cheeks anyway. She doesn’t try to wipe them away this time. It’s too much for her to bear this alone, and worse—Vi is alone. Somewhere, she’s suffering, and Caitlyn can't reach her.

She can’t protect her. She can’t hold her through this.

The whisper inside her head cracks through the haze of pain like a shard of glass. She needs me.

The realization stabs at her heart. Caitlyn grips the edge of the bed, as if trying to keep herself from falling apart. She bites her lip, forces back another sob, but the ache in her abdomen keeps growing. The farther they are from each other, the worse it hurts. The distance between them is suffocating.

I need her too.

The thought isn’t a choice; it’s a quiet truth that presses against her ribs, relentless and heavy, like a weight she’s been carrying without realizing. She wants to cry out, to scream the words, but they stay trapped inside, curling into something soft and desperate that she isn’t sure she’s ready to face. It feels wrong to need Vi like this, to want her when everything around them is falling apart—but Caitlyn can’t deny it.

If she can just make the Council listen, if she can force them to see reason, to understand that offering Zaun independence is the only way to stop the violence, then Vi will come back. She’ll have no reason to stay away, no reason to be afraid. If Caitlyn can guarantee Jinx’s safety, she knows—yes, she knows—that Vi will return.

She will.

And this thought, this impossible dream, now feels like the only thing keeping Caitlyn’s heart beating, the only thing that could stop the cold gnawing at her insides.

She presses her hand to her abdomen. Her body fights against the painful pulse of shared anguish. She can feel it—Vi’s pain, still so raw, so present, and Caitlyn hates it. The ache won’t stop, won’t ease until they’re close again, until Caitlyn can hold her, feel her warmth, hear her laugh—the things that feel so far away right now.

It would be so easy to take a few pills. So. damn. easy. But Caitlyn knows she won’t stop at one or two. And she can’t afford to lose control now, where everything depends on her being sharp and clear-headed.

All she has to do is make it through the night. One night. She can make it without pills. She tells herself that, even though the only time she has slept without them was when Vi lay next to her.  

But that’s not a helpful thought now. Caitlyn just has to survive tonight.

She closes her eyes, her breath shaky, and prays that morning comes quickly.

                                               ***

Jayce is the friendliest face in the room. He smiles at her before the meeting starts, makes small talk like this is just another day—not the most important one of her life.

When she lays out her plan, he frowns. Hesitates. He asks questions she has already asked herself a dozen times, but still, she answers –calm, measured, steady. He watches her with something like concern in his eyes. Then he nods.

He’ll vote in favour.

One down.

Caitlyn breathes, just a little easier. She always knew Jayce would be the easiest. He loves her. They have been friends since they were kids. He would back her no matter what. Still, it’s a relief to hear the words aloud.

A vote is a vote, no matter the reason behind it. And she needs as many as she can get.

She glances around the chamber. The weight of expectation settles like a stone in her chest. These are Piltover’s most powerful people, and she’s asking them to give Zaun something they’ve never given freely: respect, autonomy, a second chance.

She straightens her shoulders. She is not here to beg.

She is here to fight.

And now that she knows she’s not entirely alone in a room full of skeptics, Caitlyn walks to the centre of the floor—hope sparks in her chest like a match struck in the dark.

                                               ***

Caitlyn stands at the apex of the long, curved table. Every councilor’s gaze is pinned on her. The high ceilings of the chamber amplify the silence that follows her last words.

She feels small here –too young, too naïve, too out of place among these polished figures in their tailored robes. And yet, she stands at the centre of it all. The weight of Piltover’s future is pressing down on her, but she refuses to buckle.

Across from her, Jayce leans forward, his hands clasped together as if measuring the words in his head before speaking. Next to him, Mel Medarda watches with the same unreadable expression she always wears, but there’s a glint of something in her gaze—calculation, or maybe interest.

Caitlyn straightens. She has to be steady. Conviction is the only armour she has left.

                                               ***

Caitlyn lets out a breath. Everyone so far has voted in favour of Zaun’s independence. This feels too good to be true. No, scratch that. This feels absolutely impossible.

Jayce speaks up. “We should call Councilor Kiramman back to the room to cast her vote as well–”

Caitlyn turns her back to the table, ready to move, but then sees it. A flicker of motion beyond the vast windows.

Her breath stutters.

A missile.

The chamber’s massive windows reflect the oncoming destruction, a bright, fiery arc cutting through the dark.

For one terrible second, everything slows. The air is too thick, her limbs too heavy. The hope that had swelled inside her just moments ago turns to ice.

Caitlyn doesn’t even have time to scream.

                                               ***

The world ends in fire.

A deafening roar splits the air. The explosion detonates with devastating force, shattering the chamber’s windows in an instant. Shards of glass slice through the air like razors. The floor bucks beneath her feet.

For a fraction of a second, she’s suspended, untethered—just air and falling and the yawning abyss of what comes next. Then the world slams back into her. She crashes onto the cold stone, her ribs crunch under the impact. A jagged slab of debris crashes onto her leg, pins her down. She hears herself scream—or maybe she doesn’t. The explosion still rings in her skull, a relentless, high-pitched whine that swallows all other sound.

Smoke engulfs the room. Heat licks at her skin.

A fresh wave of agony blooms behind her left eye, sharp and sudden, like a knife carving through her skull. It steals her breath, crushes her thoughts, turns her world into raw, pulsing hurt. Caitlyn gasps, grasps at her face, but her fingers meet something wet and warm.

Blood. So much blood.

Panic claws at her chest, but her body is failing her. She can’t move. Her limbs feel heavy, distant. The chamber is unrecognizable—just fire and ruin and the twisted remnants of what had once been Piltover’s future.

A choked sound escapes her lips, half a sob, half a breath.

Her head lolls to the side. Somewhere through the smoke, she sees movement—a figure stumbling, frantic.

Mom.

Cassandra bursts into view, covered in soot, her face a mask of something Caitlyn has never seen before—raw, unguarded terror. Caitlyn wants to call out to her. But no sound comes. Her throat is too full of blood.

Cassandra runs. She drops to her knees, her hands hover over Caitlyn’s broken body—afraid to touch, afraid to see how much is ruined. But everything is ruined.

Caitlyn whimpers. The pain is unbearable. She coughs, and more blood spills over her lips. She wants it to stop; needs it to stop.

Her mother’s voice is breaking. “Stay with me, Caitie. Stay with me”.

Caitlyn blinks up at her, but she can barely see her anymore. Her mother’s face is slipping away, blurred at the edges like ink bleeding into water. The world is tilting, narrowing.

The smoke is in her lungs, in her ribs, in her throat.

She is slipping.

Cassandra is saying something –pleading, begging– but it’s distant, muffled, like she’s underwater. Like Caitlyn is already halfway gone.

Her limbs are cold. Her chest is heavy.

And then –through the haze, through the unbearable agony, through the wreckage of everything that was supposed to be– one thought pushes through.

Vi. Gods, Vi.

Caitlyn loves her. She loves her so damn much.

But she never told her.

She never told her.

She doesn’t want to die without saying it.

Doesn’t want to leave Vi in the dark, doesn’t want to break her heart more than the world already has.

She tries to lift a hand, tries to force the words out –but her body betrays her.

Her lips part. No sound. The darkness creeps in. Steals everything.

Vi will feel this.

Vi will feel everything.

And Caitlyn can’t even tell her she’s sorry.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

hold me close (I’m so tired now)

Vi hasn’t found Jinx.

She hasn’t slept. She has spent countless hours combing alleys, asking the wrong people the right questions, retracing steps she swore would lead her somewhere. Nothing. No blue hair flashing in the shadows. No taunting voice, no clues. Just a sick weight settling deeper in her gut with every hour that passes.

Something is wrong.

Vi can feel it. It is not just a hunch, not just regret pressing against her chest. It is sharp, unnatural –like a wire pulled tight through her heart. An agony that doesn’t belong to her.

It’s Cait.

After another failed attempt to locate her sister, Vi decides to go back to the Kiramman estate. She doubts Cassandra will let her anywhere near her daughter now, but she has to try anyway. Something inside her yells at her to be close to Cait.

Vi is halfway across the bridge when she sees it. A flicker of light, far across the city.

Wrong. Terrifying.

And then that light hits the Council chamber.

The explosion rips through Piltover with a violent roar. The sky blooms red and gold as the upper floors burst outward in a shower of flame and debris. The sound reaches her a second later—low, guttural, all-consuming. A howl of destruction.

Vi stumbles. One hand braces against the railing as her legs nearly give out. Her breath catches. There is a stab behind her left eye –so sharp, so blinding, that she has to close it. Her chest constricts, her ribs ache with every shallow inhale.

The pain slams into her like a paralyzing wave.

Cait. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Vi drops to her knees on the bridge. This isn’t right. Her hands fly to her head. Her skull is splitting—behind her left eye, it feels like something has burst. Blood. She tastes it, though her lips aren’t bleeding. Her chest heaves. Her ribs grind. Her leg—her left leg—can’t move. Something’s wrong. It’s broken. She knows it like she knows Caitlyn’s touch, Caitlyn’s voice.

Vi can't breathe. Her lungs are seizing, raw and full of heat. But there’s no fire near her—this isn’t her body.

This is Caitlyn’s pain. And Caitlyn should have been safe.

Vi curls forward, arms around her ribs, trembling. She gasps, but every breath she takes feels like it's killing her. There are people running behind her, shouting, pointing toward the smoke. None of them stop. No one notices the girl on her knees, choking on someone else’s agony. Tears spill from her eyes, but she doesn’t feel them. All she feels is Caitlyn—hurting, hurting, fading.

Vi presses her palms to the ground and pushes herself up. Her legs shake under the weight of pain that isn’t hers. But she keeps moving.

Because Caitlyn is dying.

And Vi is feeling all of it.

She runs. Her breath is ragged, her vision swims, but Vi drags herself forward on adrenaline and terror. Every step hurts. Every breath tastes like blood. Every second, the pain grows sharper.

She can’t stop. She can’t think. She has to get to her.

She is too far. She is too late.

But still—Vi runs.

                                               ***

Vi staggers down the street, one hand pressed to her left eye, the other gripping her stomach. The pain is blinding, overwhelming. It feels like her body is breaking apart, piece by piece. She doesn’t make it far. Her legs buckle beneath her. She forces herself back up.

Move. Find her. Now.

But every step is a fight. Every breath is razor-sharp agony.

Caitlyn is dying. And Caitlyn can’t die.

Vi makes it as far as the next street over before she hears it –boots, voices.

“Hands where we can see them!”

Enforcers.

She stops. Her whole body is shaking. Her fists clench on instinct. But she doesn’t raise them. She can’t. Because if they hurt her –if they beat her down like they want to– Caitlyn will feel every hit.

And Caitlyn is already dying.

Slowly, Vi lifts her hands.

The officers advance, guns trained on her. She sees the fear in their eyes. The hatred.

 “On your knees. Now”.

Vi sways. She doesn’t even need to drop to her knees–her legs give out on their own. A rough hand yanks her forward. She barely feels it through the waves of pain. The only thing she feels is Caitlyn. She gasps as the cuffs snap around her wrists, as metal bites into her skin.

Caitlyn. Caitlyn. Caitlyn.

“What happened?”, Vi chokes out. “Where is—”

The blow catches her across the face.

It’s not hard, not compared to what she has felt before. But the moment the officer’s baton splits her brow open, Vi feels Caitlyn’s pain double. She screams. She barely hears anything through the ringing in her ears. The pain in her stomach, in her ribs, in her eye—

The officers haul her up. She doesn’t fight. Doesn’t struggle. She lets them drag her away. Because resisting would mean hurting Caitlyn even more.

And she can’t do that. She has already done enough.

                                               ***

Compared to Stillwater, this cell is a luxury suite. Cold concrete walls, a hard cot, silence. No beatings. No guards to drag her out by the collar. A tray of food shoved in twice a day. Vi doesn’t touch it. She can’t.

All she feels is pain. Caitlyn’s pain. It hasn’t stopped. Hasn’t dulled. Hasn’t even let her breathe.

Three days.

Three days of hell. Of feeling Caitlyn’s broken ribs, her shattered leg, her ruined eye. Of feeling her slip in and out of consciousness. Of knowing that she might still die.

Vi hasn’t eaten. She hasn’t slept. She can barely sit up. The first night, she screamed. Loud and frantic. Slammed her fists against the steel door until her knuckles split. Screamed until her throat burned raw.

Let me see her. Please. Let me see her.

No one came. So she kept whispering. Over and over. Desperate. Prayer-like.

Please. Please. Let me see her.

Now even the whispers are gone. Her voice has vanished, worn down to ash. Her lips are cracked. Her tongue is dry. The pain behind her eye is a constant throb, but it’s nothing compared to the ache spreading like rot through her chest.

She doesn’t know what happened. Not really. She doesn’t know why the Chamber was attacked. Why Caitlyn was there. Caitlyn wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near it. She had no reason—no right—to be in danger. She was supposed to be safe. Far from danger. Far from her.

Every few hours, the door of her cell creaks open. A guard steps in. Always the same one. His voice is clipped, clinical.

“Where is Jinx?”, he asks.

He never says her name like it’s a person. Always like it’s a threat. A target. Something to neutralize.

And every time, Vi says the same thing. At first, firm. “I don’t know”.

Then again, quieter. “I don’t know”.

Then again. And again. And again. “I don’t know”.

Until her voice is shaking. Until her ribs scream with every breath. Until she curls in on herself on the floor and barely lifts her head to whisper:

“I don’t–I don’t know. I swear, I don’t–please–”

After what feels like a thousand I don’t knows, the guard stops asking, turns and leaves. The door slams shut.

And Vi is alone again.

Each time the door opens, Vi hopes for news. Hopes someone will tell her Caitlyn made it. That she is awake. That she asked for her. Each time, it’s just another demand for information she doesn’t have about her sister. Another reminder of how completely powerless she is. And each time, something inside her crumbles a little more.

                                               ***

Even if no one has told her; even if she has no proof; Vi knows.

It was Jinx.

Not Powder. Powder died a long time ago, and whatever’s left behind is a ghost with too much rage and not enough mercy. And Vi—gods help her—she still remembers the way Jinx looked at her the last time they met. Like a child betrayed. Like a monster unleashed. There was so much pain in her eyes. And hatred. And love twisted into something unrecognizable.

Vi sees it every time she closes her eyes.

I’ll kill them all. I’ll kill them all!

She probably did.

And now Vi is trapped in this cell, helpless, knowing that it was her own sister who did this. That the person she has spent her entire life trying to protect is the same one tearing everything apart. The guilt wraps around her like barbed wire. She can barely breathe.

If Caitlyn dies, it won’t just be Jinx’s fault. It’ll be hers too.

And that—that’s the thing that Vi doesn’t know how to survive.

                                               ***

On the fourth day, the door of her cell creaks open again. Vi doesn’t look up. Not until she hears the voice.

“Violet”.

Her head snaps up so fast it makes her dizzy. Cassandra.

She’s standing in the doorway. She looks… older. Tired. Her face is drawn, her shoulders stiff. But her eyes—

Her eyes are filled with something Vi can’t name.

Vi scrambles to her feet. Her legs give out halfway, and she catches herself on the wall, bracing against the cold. Every joint screams. Her muscles are jelly. Her stomach is a hollow pit. But none of that matters.

“What is happening to her?”. Her voice is rough, barely audible. “Why is she in so much pain?”

Cassandra stops short. She wasn’t expecting that. “What?”

“Cait”, Vi says. “She shouldn’t be feeling this much pain. Can’t you give her something?”

Cassandra’s brows draw together. “How do you know that?”

Vi shrugs. “I just…I just know”.

“You can’t just know”, Cassandra snaps. “No one told you”.

Vi’s throat closes up. “I just…I feel it”.

Cassandra goes still. Her eyes flicker over Vi –her sunken cheeks, the tremble in her limbs, the bruises under her eyes. And something in her shifts. Not softening. Just... seeing. She looks at Vi like she’s not sure who she is anymore. Then her expression hardens again.

 “She can’t be sedated”, she says flatly. “She is too unstable”.

Cassandra exhales sharply and looks away for a moment. She grips the edge of the doorframe to steady herself. Then she meets Vi’s eyes again. “She is opioid-tolerant”, she says, each word clipped with anger she struggles to keep restrained. “The doses that used to help her do nothing. If we go higher, we risk shutting down her breathing. We’re managing it. Barely”.

Vi feels like the air has been knocked out of her. Her knees wobble, and she leans harder into the wall. “What happened?” Her voice cracks. “Why was Cait there?”

Cassandra’s mouth tightens. “Because of you”.

The words hit like a fist to the chest.

“No”, Vi protests. “No, I didn’t–”

“This is all your fault”, Cassandra insists.

Vi’s shoulders flinch like she has been struck. “No”, she whispers.

“Do you hear me, Violet?”, Cassandra says. “She was only there because of you”. Her voice is like ice, controlled and laced with fury. “She defended your people. Risked everything to get you back. And now half the Council is dead and my daughter–”

Her voice cracks.

Vi looks up. “Are you sure that it was my– that Jinx did this?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, Violet”, Cassandra snaps. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know”.

She knows, of course she does. This attack has Jinx written all over it. But knowing it is one thing; hearing it is another. Cassandra’s words slam into her like a verdict. Like a gavel. Like the final nail in a coffin she helped build even though she didn’t mean to.

“I’m sorry”, Vi whispers. Her throat burns. “I’m so sorry”.

Cassandra stares at her like she’s something small and pathetic. “You’re sorry?” Her voice rises. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

Vi opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Just a broken breath. “I’m sorry”, she says again. “I promise, if you let me see her–”

“No”.

“Please.” Vi takes a shaky step forward. “Please, Councillor—”

“Now you call me that?”, Cassandra laughs bitterly. “Now you show respect? I said no.”

Vi falls to her knees. “Then kill me,” she says.

Cassandra stills. Her breath hitches.

Vi looks up at her but doesn’t dare touch her. “If that’s what you want, if that’s what will make this right—then do it. I don’t care. Just let me see her first. Just once”.

Cassandra stares at her. And for the first time, her mask cracks. For one, terrible moment, Vi thinks she’s going to say yes. But then Cassandra blinks.

“You will remain in custody,” she says coldly, “until you give us what we need to bring Jinx to justice”.

Vi’s head drops. “I don’t know where Jinx is”, she says.

“Then you stay here until you find out”.

Vi wants to scream, but all she can do is beg. “Please”, she says. “It helps Cait when I’m close to her. It lessens the pain. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. She’s hurting so much—if I could just be near her—”

“Letting you near her,” Cassandra says, her voice low and furious, “was the biggest mistake of my life”.

Vi flinches.

“The only reason you’re not back in Stillwater right now”, Cassandra continues, her voice a quiet, merciless thing, “is because I know Caitlyn would want me to show you mercy”. She takes a slow breath. “Not that you deserve any”.

“I know”, Vi says. Her throat is killing her. “I know I don’t”.

Cassandra leans against the wall like her body is finally giving up holding everything in. “I told you my daughter’s safety was non-negotiable”, she says. “Do you remember that?”

“I do”, Vi whispers.

Cassandra shakes her head. “Cait got you out of prison”, she says, “I let you in my house. I trusted you. She trusted you. And this is how you repaid us”.

Vi breaks. The sob rips out of her like it’s been waiting for days. She curls in on herself, hands trembling, shoulders shaking.

“I didn’t mean to–”, she tries, but the rest is lost in the flood of grief.

Cassandra watches her. She looks like she might say something–something final. But instead, she turns sharply, as if she can’t stand to be in the room any longer. She walks out without another word. The door slams shut.

And Vi is left on the cold floor, alone, the pain still pulsing under her skin, screaming with every beat of Caitlyn’s broken heart.

                                               ***

The guards are different after Cassandra’s visit. Softer, almost kind. Noone comes to ask her about Jinx again. Nobody speaks to Vi, but they bring her clean clothes –a grey sweatsuit that is too big in the shoulders– and they let her shower. They even send a female doctor to check her brow and redress her stitched up wound in her abdomen and the one on her arm. As if Vi’s health matters. As if she isn’t going to be executed or die in this cell sooner or later.

Vi’s not sure how many days pass like this. Time slips in and out, same as Caitlyn’s pain. Vi dreads the moment the pain will disappear. She knows that would only mean one thing. One unspeakable, unbearable thing.

So, Vi welcomes the pain. She clutches it. Holds it like it’s holy. It means Caitlyn is still fighting. Still breathing. Still alive.

But one day, Vi wakes up burning. A fever blazes under her skin, deep in her bones. Her breath comes short. Her limbs ache. And she knows that things are worse. For Caitlyn. For both of them. She doesn't need a doctor to tell her. Doesn’t need a machine to measure the unravelling. She feels it.

When the door finally opens, Vi hopes she is about to hear Cassandra’s voice.

“Violet”.

She is right.

She doesn’t try to get up this time. She can’t. She’s sitting against the wall, arms limp over her knees, soaked in sweat. Her skin burns. She lifts her head, sluggish and slow.

Cassandra steps inside but doesn’t move closer. There’s a long pause before her voice cuts through the silence.

“Well?” she says. “Aren’t you going to ask me how she is?”

Vi blinks up at her, eyes glassy. Her lips part, but it takes her a second to find the air. When she does, her voice is barely a whisper. “I know how she is”.

Cassandra’s mouth tightens, like she’s about to speak—but Vi keeps going.

“She’s dying”.

That lands like a blow. And Cassandra, who has come here armed with all her anger, all her pain, all her fury—suddenly falters.

“She has a fever”, Vi adds. Her voice is cracked and hoarse. “A bad one”.

Cassandra has yet to speak.

“She’s burning up”, Vi continues. “So am I”. She presses a shaking hand to her own chest. “It’s too high. You have to bring it down soon or–”

She stops. She won’t say it. She can’t.

Cassandra steps forward cautiously, as if Vi is dangerous and might lash out. She doesn’t. She barely has the strength to breathe.

Vi drags her eyes up to meet hers. “Please. I can help. Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking”.

Cassandra’s expression tightens. “No”.

“She needs me”, Vi insists, forcing the words out. “I can help ease some of the pain. I can help with the fever. I don’t know why, but I can”.

Cassandra frowns. “You expect me to believe that?”

“You don’t have to”. Vi leans her head back against the wall, exhausted. “Just let me prove it”.

“Prove what, exactly?”, Cassandra snaps. “That you know better than an army of doctors?”

Vi stares at her for a long moment. She is so tired. “Why are you even here,” she whispers. “If you don’t believe me? If you’re not going to let me try?”

That silences Cassandra. The words echo, low and raw, in the cell. She crosses the room, stops a foot away and crouches in front of Vi. Her eyes search Vi’s face—studying her.

“Tell me Cait’s injuries”, she says.

Vi swallows. “What?”

“You keep saying you can feel it”, she says. “So tell me where Cait hurts most”.

“Her eye is killing her”, Vi says.

“Which one?”

“The left one”. Vi pushes herself upright with a trembling hand. “Her left leg is broken, some of her ribs too. Her skin is burned in many places. The worst one is here”, she says and touches her own sternum.

Cassandra’s mouth falls slightly open.

Vi takes a long, shuddering inhale. “Her leg is broken in two places. Here”, she taps the top of her thigh “—and here”. Her hand moves lower. “Hurts like fucking hell”.

Cassandra doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Her face is stone. But her hands are trembling.

Vi leans forward, barely able to stay upright. “I can help. If you let me be near her, it’ll help. I promise”.

Cassandra doesn’t move.

Vi’s voice is almost a whisper now. “You love her more than anything in this world. So please… don’t let her suffer more than she already has”.

Another silence. But this one feels different.

Then Cassandra stands. Her arms cross over her chest, knuckles white with tension.

“Someone has been giving you information”, she says finally.

Vi gives a broken laugh. “Nobody even looks at me”.

Cassandra’s eyes flick toward the door. She hesitates—takes one breath, two. Then she steps forward. Slowly. As if against her better judgment. She crouches again, closer this time, and reaches out.

Vi flinches—not because she’s afraid, but because everything hurts. Cassandra presses the back of her hand to Vi’s forehead. Her touch is clinical. But her eyes widen.

“You are burning up”, she says quietly.

Vi closes her eyes. “It’s Cait’s fever. I told you”.

When Cassandra speaks again, her voice is trembling. “If you’re lying to me, if this is some twisted game–”

“I’m not”. Vi’s voice is wrecked. “I swear”.

Cassandra straightens slowly. Her fists clench at her sides. “Five minutes”, she says. “You don’t speak to her. You don’t touch her. That’s the only deal I’m offering”.

Vi nods, too fast, too desperate. “Thank you”.

But Cassandra isn’t looking at her anymore. She’s already halfway to the door, her face turned away, her voice barely audible when she says:

“I will never forgive you anyway”.

Vi closes her eyes. “I know”.

                                               ***

Cassandra doesn’t speak at all on the walk to the hospital. Two guards flank them. Vi can barely keep up; her legs shake with every step, the fever still sears through her blood like molten glass. Her vision tunnels. Her body sways. But she moves. For Caitlyn, she’ll move until her body gives out.

When they reach the door to the intensive care wing, Cassandra stops her with a hand on the arm.

“Five minutes”, she reminds her. “And you’ll wear this”. She presses a surgical mask into Vi’s hand.

Vi doesn’t argue. Her fingers fumble to pull the mask over her mouth and nose. Her breathing is ragged behind it.

Cassandra studies her a moment longer. “You don’t touch her. Do you understand me?”, she warns. “And prepare yourself—her face…” She hesitates, then exhales sharply. “She’s badly hurt”.

Vi nods. And then Cassandra opens the door. The room is dim and quiet–except for the mechanical rhythm of beeping monitors, the hush of an oxygen machine. A doctor is standing close to the bed reading something on a tablet.

Vi steps inside–and freezes.

There she is.

Caitlyn.

Pale. Motionless. Covered in wires and bandages and tubes. Her chest rises shallowly under the hospital sheet. Her left leg is braced and elevated. Her ribs are taped. Her left eye is bandaged. Her skin is littered with burns, raw and angry under gauze.

Vi’s whole body goes still. And then—breaks.

Vi drops. Her knees hit the tile with a thud too loud for the quiet room. She folds forward, arms clutching her middle, forehead nearly touching the sterile floor. No sound escapes her lips. No sob, no scream—just trembling. Wracked and silent, like all the pain inside her has finally found its exit, and it’s through stillness, not noise.

Cassandra is beside her in an instant. Her mask slips for a moment—cracks at the edges.

“Vi?” she whispers. The word is soft, uncertain. There’s no disdain in it now. Only fear. Only something close to grief.

Vi just shakes her head, like she’s ashamed to be seen like this, like she’s trying to pull herself up but her body won’t listen. “I’m fine”, she mumbles. “Just—just give me a second—”

But her arms give out when she tries to push off the floor.

“You’re not fine”, Cassandra says. Her voice isn’t sharp anymore; it splinters. “Gods, you’re not even close”.

She shifts closer. One arm wraps gently behind Vi’s back, the other braces under her arm. She’s careful. Careful in a way Vi isn’t used to. As if she knows how much everything hurts—even the parts that don’t show.

“Come on”, Cassandra says, her voice breaking now. “You said you wanted to help her? Then help her”.

Her grip is firm but surprisingly kind. Vi leans into it, just enough to rise. Cassandra doesn’t let go—not even as they move together toward the bed. She stays close, as if part of her doesn’t trust this to be real. Or doesn’t want to face it alone.

Then they reach her.

And everything changes.

Caitlyn’s body, tight and drawn in pain, loosens. Her breaths—too shallow, too fast—slow by degrees. The high-pitched whine of the monitors dips a little. Still jagged, still unstable. But better.

Vi doesn’t notice at first. She’s staring at her soulmate. Like she’s forgotten how to exist in a world where Caitlyn lies like this. Like if she blinks, Caitlyn might disappear.

 “Hey, cupcake”, she says.

The heart rate evens out a little more. Oxygen levels on the display flick upward by a few points. The lines on the monitor lose some of their jagged spikes, smoothing as if Caitlyn herself is… calmer.

Cassandra tenses. The doctor stares at the monitor.

Vi swallows hard, her fingers grip the edge of the mattress. She knows what just happened. She felt it. The agony doesn’t vanish—but it fades, just enough. Enough for Caitlyn’s breaths to even out. Enough for Vi to stop shaking.

Vi takes one more step forward. Her hand hovers above Cait’s. She turns to Cassandra.

“Can I–?”

To her surprise, Cassandra nods. She looks as pale as her daughter.

Vi curls her fingers around Caitlyn’s hand. It’s fever-hot and dry. The machines beep quieter. Softer. Steady. As if everything is under control.

The nurse in the corner—someone Vi hadn’t even noticed was there—lets out a shocked breath. “Her vitals”, she murmurs.

Cassandra’s hand flies to her mouth. She doesn’t pull Vi away. Instead, her other hand settles between Vi’s shoulder blades.

Vi just holds on. She presses Cait’s hand between both of hers and brings it to her chest, as if trying to anchor her there. Caitlyn doesn’t stir, but her whole body seems to ease—not like waking, but like relief. Like safety.

“Cait”, she whispers, barely a sound behind the mask. Her thumb brushes over Caitlyn’s knuckles. “I’m here”.

A tear escapes before she can stop it.

Cassandra’s voice is quiet. “She’s stabilizing”.

Vi grips Caitlyn’s hand tighter. She leans in a little closer, kneels beside the bed and rests her forehead just above Caitlyn’s hand as if in prayer.

“Come back to me, cupcake”, she whispers. “Just hold on”.

For the first time since the explosion, Caitlyn’s fingers twitch. It’s barely anything, but it’s enough. Vi feels it. And it shatters something inside her. She lets out a sound—half sob, half laugh. Her forehead is still pressed to their joined hands, as if she can will life back into Caitlyn through touch alone.

The hospital lights seem to dim around them, as if the world has narrowed to just this—the quiet hum of machines, the slow rise and fall of Caitlyn’s chest, and Vi’s whispered words.

Vi has no idea how long she stays like this. She doesn’t dare to move, even though her knees hurt. The thin paper of her surgical mask flutters with each unsteady breath she draws.

“Her fever is dropping”, the nurse says.

Vi’s head jerks up.

Caitlyn doesn’t open her eyes. Not yet. But the ghost of a smile –just the faintest curve of her lips– tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Vi’s breath catches behind the mask. She knows she might be imagining things, but she doesn’t care. She tightens her grip as her thumb brushes desperate circles over Caitlyn’s skin.

“Yeah,” she chokes out. The mask hides the way her lips tremble, but not the tears streaking down her cheeks. “That’s it, cupcake. I’m right here”.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

(crying like) Cassandra

Cassandra Kiramman doesn’t move.

She stands frozen a few steps away and watches the scene unfold like she’s not supposed to be here, like she’s witnessing something sacred.

The heart monitor’s steady beep is a metronome counting down the seconds Cassandra’s world has been upside down. Her hands are clasped so tightly that her rings bite into her skin. The rational part of her mind –the part that has spent decades navigating Piltover’s politics with icy precision– is screaming.

None of this makes sense.

For a week, she has listened to doctors catalogue Caitlyn’s injuries with sterile detachment: third-degree burns, fractured ribs, a lung punctured by shrapnel, a leg shattered in the blast, an eye lost.

Condition critical. Unstable. Worsening.

Every day she has woken to the suffocating fear that the next moment will be the one when the monitor flatlines. When her daughter slips away for good.

And then–

Vi touches Caitlyn’s hand. And Caitlyn’s body… eases.

Cassandra had watched, stunned, as Vi crumpled beside the bed, shaking like a wounded creature. And then –against every law of medicine, every reasonable expectation– the jagged spikes on the monitors smoothed. The fever broke.

Cassandra has spent a lifetime dismissing Zaunite superstitions. Soulmates. Bonds written in the stars or wherever. All those stories meant to comfort the desperate.

But this? This she can’t dismiss.

Τhe worst part –the most unbearable part– is that she doesn’t feel angry any more. She should. A girl from the fissures, tethered to her daughter by something inexplicable. A girl whose sister did this. A girl who has crawled through blood and ruin and still carries Caitlyn’s pain like a second skin. But all Cassandra feels when she looks at Vi now is—

A hand touches her shoulder. A nurse. “Councillor?”

Cassandra blinks. She hadn’t noticed the tears on her face.

Vi hasn’t moved. She is still slumped besides Caitlyn’s bed, their hands still joined. Her shoulders quake with silent sobs. She looks small like this. Not the reckless, dangerous criminal Cassandra once condemned in her head, but a girl hollowed out by grief.

“Leave them”, she says.

The nurse hesitates. “Protocol requires–”

“Leave them”, she repeats.

The nurse nods, as if Cassandra’s decision is logical, as if it makes sense. It doesn’t.

Cassandra steps closer. She watches how Caitlyn’s breath evens out when Vi’s thumb moves in a small, unconscious circle against her pulse point. Watches how Vi’s own bruised knuckles whiten from the strain of holding on.

For the first time since the explosion, Caitlyn doesn’t look like she’s suffering. And Cassandra—Cassandra wants to collapse from the weight of it all.

This changes nothing.

(It changes everything)

She reaches out, hesitates, then lays a hand on Vi’s shoulder. Vi tenses but says nothing. The machines keep their quiet vigil.

Cassandra stares, and something inside her twists violently, helplessly. She should feel angry. Protective. Afraid. But the fury she has carried for days has thinned into something she doesn't recognize. Not forgiveness. Not yet.

But understanding. Maybe even—affection.

Gods help her.

This girl should have been an enemy. Should have stayed away. Should have never been close to Caitlyn in the first place. But now she is something else entirely.

Cassandra should have seen it. Should have let her in sooner. Should have believed her when she told her she was feeling Caitlyn’s pain. She should have trusted this girl. The girl she dismissed. The one she feared would ruin Caitlyn’s future. The one she left in a cell for a week, even though she knew how traumatised she was by her stay in Stillwater. Even though she knew she had spent six years in prison for nothing.

And now, Cassandra can’t stop seeing all the ways Vi has saved her instead. She sinks into the chair beside the bed. Her hand stays on Vi’s shoulder. Not as a warning, but as a tether. She watches Caitlyn’s face. And for the first time in a week, she lets herself believe her daughter might stay.

She doesn’t believe in soulmates. She never has. She believes in discipline. In earned love. In logic. But right now, none of those things matter. All that matters is that her daughter is still breathing –and the girl at her bedside is why.

So Cassandra closes her eyes and prays.

That this is real.

That it lasts.

That Caitlyn wakes.

That Vi stays.

And that somehow, she finds a way to say the words she has never said before:

I’m sorry. I see you. I’m glad you’re here.

                                                           ***

Caitlyn’s fingers twitch again. A slow, aching curl against Vi’s palm. The movement is slight –barely more than a reflex– but Vi flinches like it’s a lightning strike. Her breath catches. Cassandra looks at her and sees how tightly Vi is gripping Caitlyn’s hand, like letting go might kill her. Sees the flicker of something panicked in her eyes.

“Oh, Vi”, she whispers. This is a girl who has never been allowed to keep anything she loves.

“She knows”, Vi says quietly. “She knows I’m here”.

And Cassandra has nothing left to fight it with. Not reason. Not resentment. Not fear.

Because she has seen death creeping in from every corner of this room. And now, for the first time in days, something has pushed it back. And she sees this—the way Caitlyn's battered body responds not to medicine, but to Vi—and she knows, knows, that if they take this girl away again, she might as well sign her daughter’s death certificate.

So she doesn’t say anything. She just watches them and tells herself she’ll find the words later.

Later.

If Caitlyn wakes. If Vi’s still here to hear them.

                                               ***

They bring the second cot in around midnight.

Cassandra waits near the foot of Caitlyn’s bed, arms crossed as the nurses roll the narrow frame in and set it up beside her daughter’s. It’s nothing special –the kind they use for overnight patients or exhausted interns– but the mattress is clean, the blanket thick, and it will do.

Vi has fallen asleep in the chair. Her head is tilted toward Caitlyn’s arm, her body folded into a shape no one should have to sleep in. Cassandra has watched her drift in and out of shallow sleep, startled awake each time Caitlyn so much as twitches.

She deserves better than a chair.

Cassandra doesn’t know how long she stares. Long enough for the pain to rise again—the complicated, grateful, aching kind. She doesn’t understand what’s between them. She may never. But she has seen what it does.

The doctor speaks without even glancing at Vi. “We don’t allow visitors to stay overnight”.

“She’s not a visitor”, Cassandra says flatly.

The doctor sighs. “Councillor, with all due respect—”

“I don’t need your respect”, Cassandra snaps. It takes everything in her to keep her voice low. Her eyes stay fixed on the cot as the nurses finish tucking the corners of the blanket. “I need your efficiency”.  

The doctor stiffens. “Protocol exists for a reason. We’re dealing with a high-risk trauma patient, one who is still immunocompromised. And this woman–”

“Is the reason my daughter might survive the night”, Cassandra cuts in. “You want protocol? Fine. Here’s mine: she stays. She doesn’t touch anything she doesn’t need to. She puts a mask on when she is close to Cait. She doesn’t leave that bed. You don’t speak to her unless it’s necessary, and if you have a problem with that, you take it up with me –not her”.

The doctor opens his mouth again, but thinks better of it.

Cassandra can see the conflict ripple through his posture –torn between arguing his case and preserving his career.

Eventually, he exhales and mutters, “As you wish, Councillor”, before turning and leaving the room.

Cassandra doesn’t relax, not even when the door clicks shut. Her arms stay folded across her chest. Her gaze returns to Vi. She has barely stirred through the whole exchange. There’s a crease between her brows, a tension in her jaw that hasn’t eased since she walked in. She hasn’t really slept. Not properly. The least Cassandra can offer her is a bed to lie down in.

The nurse touches Cassandra’s shoulder gently. “We’ll leave her blanket here, Councillor”.

Cassandra nods. “Thank you”.

Caitlyn shifts slightly beneath the sheets –not waking, but not as restless as before. Her breathing remains steady.

Cassandra takes a few steps toward the cot and crouches beside the chair. She rests a hand on Vi’s shoulder –gentle, careful, the way she might have touched Caitlyn when she was small and feverish. “Vi”, she says. “Wake up”.

Vi’s eyes blink open, red-rimmed and glassy. She inhales sharply — then immediately looks to the bed. To Caitlyn.

“She’s okay”, Cassandra says before she can panic. “Still stable”.

Vi doesn’t breathe for a second. Then she does –all at once, like surfacing from water. Her fingers tighten around Caitlyn’s. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep”, she mumbles. Her voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry”.

“You need to lie down”, Cassandra says. “You are exhausted”.

“I can’t–”. Vi glances toward the cot, which has been placed right next to Caitlyn’s bed –close enough for her to reach over if she needs to. Still, she looks at it like it’s miles away. “What if she wakes up? What if something–?”

“She’ll be fine”, Cassandra says quietly. “You’re right next to her. You won’t miss anything”.

Vi doesn’t answer. She looks down at Caitlyn, then at the cot, then back again. Her mouth moves once before she finally lets go of Caitlyn’s hand. She rises carefully, moving stiffly, like her whole body is protesting. She keeps her eyes on Caitlyn as she lowers herself onto the cot. When she lies down, she leaves the blanket pushed aside and keeps one arm extended across the narrow gap between them. Her fingertips brush the edge of Caitlyn’s mattress.

Cassandra stays a moment longer, just watching. Vi is already drifting off. Only then does Cassandra return to the chair by her daughter’s bedside. She reaches for Caitlyn’s hand. It’s warm. Not clammy, not shaking. Just warm.

For the first time since the attack, Cassandra lets herself breathe.

                                               ***

She appreciates the stillness. No alarms. No frantic footsteps. No pain-twisted cries from Caitlyn. Just the quiet rise and fall of her chest beneath hospital linens. Cassandra watches her daughter breathe. The rhythm is slow, uneven in places, but stronger than it was. And gods, it means something now. Each breath feels like one she can borrow for herself.

She leans forward and brushes the backs of her fingers over Caitlyn’s hand.

“You look like you’re just asleep”, she murmurs. Her voice sounds muffled behind her mask. “Like I’m going to turn my head for a second and you’ll sit up and tell me I’m fussing”.

Her voice catches. She swallows hard and blinks rapidly, but the tears come anyway. She doesn’t wipe them away.

“I should’ve let her in sooner”, she says softly. “I was scared. You were barely holding on, and I thought... I thought it was better to control what I could”.

A shaky breath.

“I didn’t know. About the pain. The connection. It sounded like madness. But now... I don’t care what it sounds like. Because you’re still here”.

Cassandra spares a glance at Vi, who is asleep.

“She wouldn’t let go”, she whispers when she turns to look back at Caitlyn. “Even when she was falling apart. Even when I –when I didn’t make it easy”.

There’s a tremor in her voice now. She’s too tired to hide it.

“I was too strict with you”, she says. “Always pushing. Always expecting you to do everything right –to make up for my mistakes. And when you didn’t follow the path I wanted... I thought I was protecting you”.

She lets out a small, broken laugh. “But you never needed protection, did you? You needed freedom. And I couldn’t give it to you”.

Cassandra leans down slowly, presses her forehead to the edge of the mattress beside Caitlyn’s hand. The scent of antiseptic is sharp in her nose, but underneath it—barely—she swears she can still smell her daughter’s skin.

“I’m sorry, Caitie”, she whispers. “I’m so sorry”.

Cassandra lets herself cry. No spectacle. No sobs. Just quiet tears sliding down her cheeks, dripping to the floor.

When she finally straightens again, her shoulders feel lighter. Not because anything has been fixed. But because for the first time in days, she isn’t carrying it alone.

Caitlyn is still here. And so is Vi.

Cassandra glances toward the cot. Vi hasn’t stirred, but her hand has slipped off the edge and it’s almost touching the floor. She walks over and adjusts the blanket. Her fingers pause just briefly to brush over Vi’s hair –an unconscious motion, like smoothing back strands from her own daughter’s brow. “Thank you”, she says softly.

Vi doesn’t wake.

Cassandra turns back to the bed and pulls the chair closer. She sits down again and lets her fingers rest on Caitlyn’s wrist. She isn’t watching the monitors anymore. She is just watching her child breathe.

                                               ***

Dr. Kwan clears her throat. She’s one of the younger physicians—sharp, calm, more open-minded than the others. She holds a tablet in her hands. Two more doctors flank her, the cardiologist and the pulmonologist.

Tobias, thankfully, is not there. Cassandra isn’t ready for this conversation yet.

“Good morning, councillor”, Dr. Kwan says. “We’ve reviewed the latest labs and imaging. The fever has dropped significantly since last night. She’s holding at 37.6, down from over 39. Her white count isn’t spiking like before. That’s a good sign, but her kidneys are still struggling. Her heart rate has stabilized within a safer range—still tachycardic, but not critically so. Blood pressure has improved, too. We attribute that partly to the reduction in systemic stress”.

Cassandra frowns. “You mean the pain”.

Dr. Kwan hesitates. “Yes. Less acute pain generally means lower cortisol, lower catecholamine surges. It allows the body to begin repairing itself. But the burns are still high-risk for sepsis, especially with the degree of tissue necrosis. If infection sets in deeper, we could see rapid decompensation”.

The cardiologist steps in. “This morning’s ECG was better. Still some irregularity, probably residual from the prolonged stress state and hypovolemia. But no signs of cardiac ischemia. No clot formation. Her lungs are functioning. We don’t see signs of collapse or fluid accumulation”.

Cassandra exhales.

Dr. Kwan doesn’t let her enjoy the good news. “Like I said, the burns still present a serious infection risk. We’re monitoring closely. If her temperature spikes again, or her blood pressure drops–”.

“She’s not out of danger”, Cassandra murmurs.

“No”, Dr. Kwan agrees. “Her condition is still critical”.

There’s a beat of silence. The third doctor, the pulmonologist, clears his throat. “I have to say”, he begins, “that this improvement is highly…unusual”.

“Unusual”, is all Cassandra manages to say.

Dr. Kwan speaks up again. “Vi’s presence seems to correlate with Caitlyn’s improvement”, she says carefully. “Correlation isn’t causation. But statistically, it’s improbable for septic markers to improve this rapidly without intervention”.

The pulmonologist shifts. “The numbers turned around too fast. We hadn’t adjusted her treatment plan. No new meds, no changes to the cooling protocol. The fever just... dropped”.

“There’s no medical explanation for it”, adds the cardiologist. “We were preparing for organ support. Then suddenly, her heart rate stabilizes, her breathing evens out—”

Cassandra doesn’t care about medical explanations anymore. “So?”, she asks. She wants to go back to her daughter as soon as possible.

“It could all be placebo effect, of course”, the same doctor adds. “Or pure coincidence. And frankly, this whole stunt is dangerous. She’s a prisoner. She’s not clean. That alone raises risk of infection”.

“She can’t leave”, Cassandra says.

The room lapses into a strained silence. Cassandra looks through the glass. Vi is still curled on the cot, one hand stretched toward the edge of Caitlyn’s bed, even in sleep. The distance between them is barely an inch.

“Her being in the room is not ideal, safety wise”, Dr. Kwan says. “But in her presence, Caitlyn’s inflammatory markers have dropped. That’s not just comfort or luck. That’s a measurable change”.

“She is not healing her”, the older doctor says.

“Maybe not”, Cassandra replies. “But she’s giving her space to heal herself”.

Another beat passes. The older doctor opens his mouth — then shuts it.

Finally, Dr. Kwan speaks again. “Whatever this is –psychophysiological, neural, something we don’t have the name for yet– we should monitor it. Document everything. Because something about it is helping”.

Cassandra nods once. “Then let it help”.                 

                                               ***

Tobias isn’t as relieved as Cassandra thought he would be.

He stands rigid in the hallway, hands clasped behind him, chin high like he’s bracing for impact. Cassandra knows that posture. The look of a man already grieving someone not yet dead. The armour of helplessness, polished into certainty.

“Cassandra”, he says, “Vi needs to leave”.

“No”, Cassandra says. “She’s not the problem here”.

“She’s not a solution either”, he says. “You’re clinging to smoke”.

Cassandra frowns. “You weren’t there”.

“I’ve read the charts. The reports. I’ve seen the scans”. His voice is too calm, the kind of calm that comes before a scream. “I know what Caitlyn’s odds are. And so do you”. His voice softens, but it doesn’t help. “I know this is difficult, but we can’t start indulging fantasy just because the facts are unbearable”.

Cassandra lets a long breath slip through her nose. She’s tired. Not just physically, but deep in the bones. Her voice is quieter when she speaks again. “She knew”, she says quietly. “Vi. She described Caitlyn’s injuries in exact detail – the eye, the burns, the leg fractures – like she had seen the chart herself”.

A brittle laugh escapes him. “Maybe she overheard. Maybe she guessed. Why does this matter to you so much?”

Cassandra steps closer. “Tobias, she had a fever too”, she says. “Her pulse was high, she could barely stand. And the moment she touched Caitlyn’s hand, her vitals began to stabilize. I watched it happen. And now Vi is better too. She looked half dead in that cell”.

“That’s not medicine”, Tobias says. “That’s hope with a heartbeat. You’re seeing what you want to see, because you can’t stand the alternative”.

“Tobias–”

“Correlation doesn’t equal—”

“Causation. Yes, I know”, she cuts in, sharper now. “I’m not saying Vi is healing her with some miracle touch. I’m saying Caitlyn is in agony, and when Vi is near, it eases”.

“And you’re willing to risk her safety for that? Her immune system is already collapsing—”

“I’m willing to risk anything”, Cassandra says, and her voice cracks. “Because the facts you keep clinging to tell me she’s already gone. And I won’t accept that. Not yet”.

Tobias stares at her. He looks tired, older than he did two days ago. “She’s not going to make it, Cassandra”, he says quietly. “We both know that. You’re just the only one still pretending not to”.

“Don’t say that”, Cassandra says. “Don’t ever say that”.

Tobias shakes his head. “Caitlyn is still alive because of machines. Because of doctors. Not because of–”, He gestures at the room. “Whatever you think this is”.

“She’s alive”, Cassandra says, more softly now, “because something changed”.

Tobias lets out a slow breath, almost like it hurts to do so. He doesn’t look at her when he speaks next. “This improvement”, he says, “this flicker, it’s not a recovery, Cassandra. It’s a surge”.

She stiffens. “A what?”

“I’ve seen it before”. He looks anywhere but in his wife’s eyes. “The body doesn’t just give up. Sometimes, right at the end, it rallies. One last burst of strength before–”

He stops himself, but the words hang between them anyway. Before it’s over.

Cassandra’s hands curl into fists. “You don’t know that”.

“I do”. His voice cracks. “I’ve watched it happen. Patients wake up. They speak. They laugh, even. And then–” A sharp inhale. “It’s not a miracle. It’s the last spark before the end”.

Her breath comes too fast. “You’re wrong”, she says. “You’re wrong”.

“I hope I am”. He drags a hand over his face. He suddenly looks ten years older. “But I know how–” A clipped tone from his pocket interrupts him. He pulls out his pager. “They need me in OR-3”, he mutters.

Cassandra’s eyes flick over him—the tremor in his hands, the hollowed-out exhaustion in his face. “You’re in no condition to operate”.

He shoves the pager back. “They don’t have anyone else”, he says.

She knows that’s a lie. Knows, too, what he’s really doing—retreating into the one place where he can still fix things. Where the wounds are clean, the solutions clear. Where he doesn’t have to stand helpless beside a bed and watch his child slip away.

She should stop him. He’s shaking. He’ll make a mistake. But she also knows the alternative—him here, pacing, suffocating under the weight of waiting. So she says nothing.

Tobias hesitates. For a second, she thinks he might say something. Might break. But then he straightens, reaches out to squeeze Cassandra’s hand briefly, and then walks away.

                                                           ***

When Cassandra slips back into the room, Vi is awake. She is sitting in the chair next to Caitlyn’s bed. She has put on a new mask—clean, dry, one that hasn’t yet been soaked through with tears. But her eyes are red. Her breathing is shallow. She doesn’t look at Cassandra at first. She is focused on Caitlyn’s hand. She is barely brushing her fingertips.

“Vi”, Cassandra says gently.

Vi’s head turns to look at her. “She is still in a lot of pain”, she says.

Cassandra steps closer and stands at the foot of the bed. “And you?”

Vi hesitates. Then she lifts one hand to her face and presses the heel of her palm just under her left eye. “This…it’s too much”, she says. “It’s everywhere. My ribs. My chest. I can feel her breathing wrong. It’s–” Her voice catches. “It’s like dying slowly”.

Cassandra feels something twist inside her. Alarm. Sympathy. Terror. She wonders if her face shows too much—whatever Vi sees in it makes her flinch.

“I’m sorry”, she blurts, almost panicked. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it like–”

Cassandra holds up a hand to silence her. She then clears her throat. “You don’t have to suffer”, she says. “They can bring you something for the pain”.

Vi shakes her head. “That won’t help Cait feel better”.

“I know”, Cassandra says. “But at least it will help you”.  

Vi looks at her like she has just spoken a foreign language. “Why would that matter?”, she whispers.

The question lands like a punch to Cassandra’s chest. The complete sincerity of it. The fact that Vi genuinely cannot comprehend the idea of prioritizing herself in a moment like this.

Cassandra stares at her. At this girl her daughter loves. Against hope. Against reason. Against all discouragement that could be. “You should save your strength”, she says.

“Cait is in that bed because of me”, Vi counters. “The least I can do is feel it with her”.

Cassandra opens her mouth. Closes it. There’s too much she wants to say. That Caitlyn would never let her suffer like this. That guilt doesn’t justify martyrdom. That Vi’s killing herself.

She opts for the softer counter. “Cait wouldn’t want you to be in pain”.

When Vi offers no response to that, they fall into silence. Cassandra doesn’t push. She simply lowers herself into the chair beside Vi’s. Vi doesn’t look at her. Her eyes stay on Caitlyn’s face. One thumb strokes the back of Caitlyn’s hand in slow, mechanical motions.

For a while, there’s only the soft whir of machines. The steady beep of the heart monitor. The faint hiss of oxygen.

Then Vi speaks. “What happened?”, she asks. “At the council meeting?”

 Cassandra takes a deep breath. There’s no point in hiding the truth from her anymore. “We were just about to vote for Zaun’s independence when…when the missile hit. Most of the Council members are gone. Mel and Jayce survived, but the rest—” She takes a deep breath. “They didn’t”.

Vi closes her eyes. Caitlyn’s hand remains cradled in hers, the only anchor she has.

“We have imposed martial law”, Cassandra continues. “There are patrols on every street. Curfews. Lockdowns. We can’t let this happen again”.

“And you’re looking for my sister”, Vi says. It’s not an accusation. But there’s anger in her voice. Fear. Grief.  

Cassandra nods. “We’re looking for your sister”, she confirms.

Silence stretches, heavy and thick. They both know what happens when they find her.

“She’s my sister”, Vi whispers.

“I know”.

Vi sniffles. “I don’t think she even remembers who she is anymore. But I do”. Her voice breaks again. “She’s still mine”.

Cassandra doesn’t speak. She feels absolutely no sympathy for Jinx. No understanding. Only fury. The image of Caitlyn’s body –broken, bloodied, burning, barely clinging to life– won’t leave her mind. She wants Jinx to pay for that.

But Vi–

Vi is a different ache entirely.

Cassandra might not understand much about this girl, but she understands this: Vi loves someone she can’t save. Cassandra does, too.

Vi swallows. “Is there any other way?”

Cassandra forces herself to look her in the eyes. She wants to lie. Gods, she wants to lie to protect this broken girl. But the truth has already carved itself too deeply into the night. “No”, she says. “I’m sorry”.

Vi’s hands tighten around Caitlyn’s. “I left her to keep her safe. I choose wrong every time”.

Cassandra feels something fracture inside her. The machines hum quietly behind them. Caitlyn exhales in her sleep. She reaches out and places a hand over Vi’s, still wrapped around her daughter’s.

“And because of that, now I’ve lost them both”, Vi says.

Cassandra squeezes her hand. She doesn’t tell her that’s not true, or Cait will be fine.  A lie is only worth the trouble if there’s a chance the person hearing it might believe it. But she doesn’t tell her the other truth, either; that Caitlyn’s organs are struggling, that Tobias thinks the flicker they saw earlier might have been the last. That they may be witnessing Caitlyn’s body slowly slipping toward the end.

Most of all, she doesn’t tell her that Caitlyn had just convinced the Council to vote for leniency—for her sister—seconds before Jinx sealed everyone’s fate.

She doesn’t say any of that.

Because Vi looks like she’s already dying, too. And Cassandra can’t bear to push her over that edge.

“I wish none of this had happened”, she says instead.

And she means it with every piece of her breaking heart.

                                   ***

The alarms aren’t loud.

Just a sharp, continuous tone—a flat line of urgency that slices clean through the silence. The kind of sound you only hear when something is going wrong.

Very wrong.

Cassandra is standing just outside the room when the nurse rushes past her. The doors open. A blur of white coats, fast hands, clipped words. She knows the words before they’re said.

“We’re losing her”.

Each erratic pulse is a knife twisting in Cassandra’s chest. She watches the jagged green line dance across the screen—too fast, then too slow, then nearly flat—and suddenly she can’t breathe. The antiseptic hospital air burns her lungs, too sharp, too clean for the devastation unfolding before her.

She had just left for an hour. A single hour. Just to shower. To change her clothes. She had told herself she would be quick. That Caitlyn would be stable. That Vi would be close. That she would be back before anything changed.

But something had changed.

A clot, maybe. Internal bleeding. She doesn’t understand what the doctors are saying. One moment, Caitlyn had been unconscious but holding on. The next–

She doesn’t remember moving, but she’s inside the room again. The nurse tries to guide her back, gently –“Mrs. Kiramman, please wait outside”– but she refuses. She needs to be here. She needs to see. She can’t let Caitlyn be surrounded by strangers, even now.

Vi is shaking. Pale as snow. Cassandra looks at her and sees something shattering behind her eyes. Just an hour ago, she was fine. Tired but composed. Now she holds herself like she’s being torn apart from the inside. There’s something wrong with the way she’s breathing: shallow, quick, tight, as if every inhalation hurts. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t cry out. But the agony is unmistakable. It’s in the way she curls inward, like she’s trying to contain the pain in her chest. In the way her shoulders tremble like she’s trying to survive something vast and invisible. Cassandra wonders if she’s trying to take it all, just so Caitlyn doesn’t have to. She catches herself wishing she could.

 “She needs the transfusion now”, someone says.

“We asked for more blood. It will be at least two hours–”

“She doesn’t have two hours–”.

Tobias was right. She had refused to believe him. She had refused. And she was wrong.

“Take mine”, Vi says.

“What’s your blood type?”, the nurse asks.

Cassandra’s pulse roars in her ears.

“I don’t know”.

“How can you not know your blood type?”, Cassandra snaps. Vi flinches and Cassandra immediately regrets it. She hadn’t meant to sound cruel. It’s just –if she doesn’t cling to anger, she’ll drown in the wave of grief threatening to crush her ribs.

“Test me”, Vi says quietly. She pushes herself off the wall. She is visibly unsteady –shoulders hunched, face pale, one arm held stiff over her ribs. No doctor in their right mind would take her blood. “Test me now”.

Yes. The answer comes unbidden, vicious in its desperation. Test her. Take her blood. Take every last drop if it means Caitlyn lives.

But then Vi sways and Cassandra’s body moves before her mind can catch up—her hand shoots out to grip Vi’s wrist. The heat radiating from her skin is alarming. Her pulse flutters beneath Cassandra’s fingertips, rapid and thready. She’s in no condition to–

“You’re burning up”, Cassandra says, but her voice wavers. “You can barely stand”.

“I don’t care”, Vi says. “If I match, you take it. Don’t wait. Don’t stop”.

The unspoken even if it kills me hangs between them.

Cassandra’s breath catches. She means it. The realization is a physical blow. Vi would drain herself dry right here on this sterile hospital floor if it meant Caitlyn opened her eyes.

And Cassandra—

Oh, Gods. Cassandra would let her.

The guilt is instantaneous, paralysing. But beneath it, something far more terrible: relief. Because if Vi is a match, Caitlyn might live. And nothing—nothing—matters more than that.

“This could put you at great risk”, Dr. Kwan says carefully, but she already nods to a nurse.

Cassandra hears her own voice, low and trembling. “Draw the sample”.

                                               ***

The minutes drag like centuries. Cassandra stands in the corner, arms folded so tightly she’s shaking.

Dr. Kwan steps closer.  “Trauma like this”, she says, “is always unpredictable”.

Cassandra nods but her eyes stay fixed on Caitlyn.

“This is a delayed rebleed”, the doctor continues. “One of the internal clots must’ve ruptured. Blood is filling her abdomen. Crushing her organs. Starving her system of oxygen”.

They call it a second hemorrhage, she adds. A worst-case scenario. And it’s happening now.

When the nurse returns, Cassandra braces herself for the worst.  

“It’s a perfect match”, she says. There’s a tinge of surprise in her voice. “Same Rh subtype, same antigens”.

For a moment, the room falls silent. Then everything explodes into motion—tubes, clamps, the hiss of machines resetting. The nurse doesn’t ask if Vi is ready. She just reaches out and guides her to the chair beside Caitlyn’s bed.

“You’ll feel a sharp prick”, she murmurs, already snapping on gloves. She rolls up Vi’s sleeve and tightens a band around her upper arm. Her fingers move quickly now to disinfect the skin and find the vein.

This is wrong. Cassandra should say something. Should stop this before it becomes dangerous. Vi’s body is already weakened. She’s still recovering from a stab wound. She has barely slept in the past week. She should be resting. Healing. Not hooked up to a transfusion line while barely able to stay upright. But Caitlyn needs blood. And Vi is the perfect match. So Cassandra stays silent.

The moment the needle goes in, Vi goes ghostly white. She grips the chair arm hard, breathing like she’s been punched.

“Your vitals are unstable”, Dr. Kwan says. “We may need to stop–”

“No”, Vi rasps. “Don’t stop”.

Cassandra watches the crimson stream flow through the tubing—too fast, too much—and feels something inside her splinter. She steps closer. Her instinct screams to pull the needle out, to save this reckless girl before she dies in that chair. Instead, she kneels beside her. Takes Vi’s hand in hers. It burns against her palm. “Please”, she whispers. “Hold on”.

“I can do this”, Vi promises.

Cassandra’s throat tightens painfully. She wants to tell her she’s sorry. That Caitlyn would never forgive her for doing this to the girl she loves. That they shouldn’t both die today. But her voice fails her.

Then—

“Pressure’s coming up”.

The words land like a shot to the chest.

“She’s stabilizing”.

The green line on the monitor smooths. The jagged peaks calm. The colour is returning to Caitlyn’s face. Barely—but it’s there.

Cassandra’s hand flies to her lips.

Vi slumps forward. She is trembling violently; her eyes are fluttering half-shut. The nurse grabs her shoulder. “We need to stop now–”

“Little more”, Vi breathes. “Please”.

But she’s gone limp. The chair is the only thing holding her up now.

And still, the blood flows. Into Caitlyn. Into life.

When it’s done, the machines are quieter. Caitlyn is still unconscious. But her vitals are holding. Her body isn’t fighting itself anymore.

Cassandra stands alone in the corner of the room, her back against the wall. Vi lies curled on the cot beside Caitlyn’s bed, pale and feverish, her brow soaked with sweat. A nurse checks her pulse, murmurs something about fluids, and leaves.

No one speaks. No one dares.

Cassandra looks at them—her daughter and the girl who would bleed herself dry for her—and something in her chest cracks wide open.

At some point, Caitlyn’s fingers twitch.

Cassandra gasps. She reaches out and brushes her daughter’s cheek. “Caitlyn?” she chokes out.

But Caitlyn doesn’t stir again. The monitors beep steadily, cruelly indifferent. And beside her, Vi’s breathing grows shallow, uneven.

The day continues with the slow, merciless beep of the heart monitor—

A countdown to grief.

Or a prayer for a miracle.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

No light, no light (in your bright blue eyes)

Darkness ebbs, then crashes back like a wave. Then again; and this time, it clings. Heavy. Suffocating. Real.

Caitlyn is awake.

Or… almost. The pain makes it hard to tell.

Something is screaming under her ribs. Her leg feels wrong. There’s a deep, frozen throb that pulses through her bones. Her face too. Oh, gods, her eye. There’s pressure, pain, heat. Something is terribly wrong with her eye.

Caitlyn tries to move, but nothing listens. Not her hands, not her mouth. Her throat burns like it’s been scraped raw. Her body is locked in place. Trapped.

Where am I?

She hears voices. Muffled. Then a clearer one –too clinical, too calm.

“BP is stable. Heart rate’s up”.

There’s a name Caitlyn wants to say. A face she needs to see. Her mind claws toward it, but it slips away, tangled in fog and fire. She remembers… Warmth against her skin. The ghost of calloused fingers wrapped around hers.

Vi.

She remembers Vi.

Vi hugging her. Vi walking away. Saying “Just tell your mom I’m sorry”.

And after that –nothing.

Caitlyn’s chest spasms like it remembers before she does. Her heart races. Where is Vi?

Her right eye flutters open for a second. Blurred ceiling lights burn her vision. Shadows move above her, voices echo, and panic sets in.

Where am I? Where is Vi?

She wants to cry out, but nothing comes. Just a low, strangled noise that dies in her throat. The world tilts and spins. Pain sparks under her ribs again –a sharp, white-hot flash that makes her vision dim.

She can’t open her eye again. She tries not to fall asleep, at least not before she gets some answers. But the darkness is already reaching. Gentle, insistent. Wrapping its fingers around her, cradling her like water pulling her under.

Just when she is about to slip again, a hand wraps around her fingers. Something inside Caitlyn settles just a little. Her fingers twitch.

The voice – hoarse, barely there – speaks from her left. “I’m here, cupcake”.

Vi.

Caitlyn doesn’t understand what’s happening. She doesn’t know if this is real. Doesn’t know if she’s dreaming or dying or already dead. But the warmth in her hand stays. Vi’s voice folds around her like a lifeline. Even if nothing makes sense, even if everything hurts–

She tries to cling to that.

                                   ***

The world returns in fragments. A chair creaking. The steady beep of machines. A voice – low and strained– like someone’s trying not to cry.

Then, her mom’s voice. “Vi, please. Drink your juice”.

It’s soft. Too soft. Threaded with something Caitlyn can’t really understand… not quite fear, but close.

Caitlyn blinks –or tries to. Only one eyelid lifts. The other won’t move. Her vision swims, catches on blurs and shadow. Her mouth feels like it’s full of dust. Her tongue is thick. She’s still floating in fog. Nothing is clear and everything hurts.

“I don’t like it”, comes Vi’s voice. She is close. “I’ve had four boxes already”.

Caitlyn feels Vi nearby, like heat from a candle, but she can’t see her. She can’t open her left eye.

“You’ve also given four units of blood for Caitlyn”. Her mom speaks again, firmer now, though her voice is still too careful, too kind. “You need to replenish the fluids”.

Four units?

Caitlyn’s heart stumbles. The words echo like an alarm down a long, empty hallway.

Why would she need so much blood? Why would Vi—?

“Cait wouldn’t want you hurting yourself for her”, her mother says. She sounds tired, like she’s trying to hold herself together. “If you pass out again, they are going to force you to stay in bed and you won’t be able to hold her hand. Drink it”.

There’s a pause. Then a sound on her left; faint, rhythmic. Liquid moving through a straw. The sucking noise is soft but grating in the quiet room. Caitlyn can picture Vi drinking the juice – the way her cheeks hollow just slightly as she draws from the straw, how she hates it but does it anyway because Cassandra Kiramman told her to.

Then comes the sound — that hollow, watery gurgle near the end of the box. The straw rasping for the last few drops.

That sound. Caitlyn always hated that sound. But now it makes her chest twist. Because it’s real. Because Vi is here. Because her mother asked her to drink it, gently, and Vi listened.

Caitlyn wants to ask what’s happening –why her mother is treating Vi like a fragile thing, why she’s pleading with her, comforting her. Why Vi needs juice. Why anyone gave blood. Why everything feels broken. But when she opens her mouth, nothing comes. Her breath comes ragged and shallow through the nasal cannula. Panic wells up.

A hand closes over hers. Vi. It’s her. Gods, it’s really her. Her thumb rubs gently over Caitlyn’s knuckles.

“Hey”, she murmurs. She is even closer now. “You waking up, cupcake?”

The word drops like a stone in Caitlyn’s gut.

Cupcake.

It’s hers. It’s theirs. She shouldn’t be calling her that in front of her mother. She should be keeping some distance, show respect. She should be afraid of Cassandra Kiramman.

Nothing makes sense.

Vi sounds… wrecked. Caitlyn wants to ask what’s wrong, why she’s here, how she’s here. The last thing she remembers is Vi walking away. Leaving her.

And now she’s holding her hand. Being told to drink juice. And her mother –her mother– is taking care of her, soothing her.

Nothing fits.

She tries again to speak, to say What happened? but her lips don’t move.

“Be patient”, her mom says. But not to her. To Vi. “It’s still too early”.

Caitlyn wants to protest that, to prove her mom wrong, but her body won’t listen to her.

Vi’s hand squeezes hers again. “You’re okay,” she whispers. “You’re safe. I’ve got you”.

But Caitlyn doesn’t feel safe. She feels lost. Half-conscious. Hurting. And like everyone around her is speaking a language she no longer understands.

***

“–the optic nerve appears non-functional. Even with intervention, the likelihood of recovery is–”

A sharp inhale. The scrape of a chair against the floor.

“Please”. Vi’s voice—low, desperate. “Don’t do this here”.

A pause. Then the same clinical voice keeps on. A doctor’s voice, Caitlyn thinks. “She’s not conscious enough to understand”.

“She is”. Vi’s fingers tighten around Caitlyn’s hand. “She is listening”.

“Even if she is”, the doctor concedes, “she is not conscious enough to retain any information”.

“You don’t know that”.

Another beat. Then her mother, carefully: “Vi–”

“Her breathing changed”, Vi says. There’s a tremble in her voice she tries to smother. “Just now. When he said ‘non-functional’”.

Silence falls like a sheet. Then the doctor speaks again, softer now: “That could be reflexive”.

“Or”, Vi insists, barely above a whisper, “she’s trapped in her own body, listening to you talk about her like she’s gone”.

The words hit like a drop in a still lake. Caitlyn wants to scream. Wants to sit up. Grab Vi’s hand. Ask what the hell non-functional means. But her body is heavy –unresponsive, locked tight in its pain.

“Councillor Kiramman”, the doctor says, “let’s continue outside”.

                                               ***

The next time Caitlyn wakes up, Vi is holding her hand and whispering her name like a prayer.

“Cait”, she murmurs. “Please open your eyes for me”.

Caitlyn wants nothing more than that. But the effort it takes is monumental. Caitlyn feels like swimming through cement. Her chest aches with every breath. But she opens her eyes. Correction: she opens one eye.

Vi gasps. “There she is”, she says. Her voice is soft, thick with something Caitlyn can’t name—hope, desperation, love.

And then her thumb is on Caitlyn’s cheek. She strokes gently just beneath her eye, the only one that opens. Her touch is reverent, and the moment it connects with Caitlyn’s skin, something shifts.

The pain dulls. Not completely, but enough. Enough for Caitlyn to breathe without wanting to cry. Enough for her muscles to stop screaming. It’s like her body recognizes Vi—recognizes safety, closeness. The tension in her chest loosens. Her heartbeat slows just a little.

Vi’s hand moves with care. It brushes a stray curl from Caitlyn’s temple, then rests along her jaw. The tenderness in it cuts through the fog.

“You are doing so well, cupcake”, Vi says.

Caitlyn doesn’t understand her enthusiasm. She doesn’t understand anything. Her eye flutters shut again, lashes damp against her cheek. Her grip on Vi’s fingers loosens.

“It’s okay”, Vi breathes. She leans closer. “You’re here. Just rest”.

She cups Caitlyn’s face in both hands now. Her thumbs sweep lightly along her jaw, like she’s memorizing the shape of her again, afraid to forget. And the pain fades even more. Just the presence, the warmth, the quiet hum of Vi’s breath—Caitlyn can feel her body responding, grounding. She doesn’t know why. She feels like she should know, but she doesn’t.

“You’re okay”, Vi whispers. “You’re here. You’re here”.

Caitlyn can’t answer. But some part of her—dazed, disoriented, aching—leans into that touch.

Vi exhales shakily, a soft sob barely contained. Her forehead presses gently against Caitlyn’s hand for a heartbeat.

“Someone–”, her voice breaks. She swallows and tries again. “Can someone call her mom?”

                                               ***

The voice settles over her like warm silk.

“Caitie”, her mother murmurs. “My sweet girl”.

Caitlyn blinks. The light is soft, but even that makes her wince. Her mouth is dry –so dry– and everything hurts. Her chest burns. Her leg throbs. The world is distant and sharp all at once. She tries to speak. Nothing comes.

“Don’t try just yet”, her mom says. “You had a little accident. But you’re safe now”.

Accident…? Her mind swims. There’s something missing –something huge– but the pain claws at her too much to chase it down.

“Mom…” It’s barely a breath.

“Yes, Cait, I’m here”. Her hand wraps around hers, warm and steady. “Everything’s going to be alright”.

Caitlyn's eye tries to focus. She sees the pale blur of her mother’s face. Hears something in the background –murmurs. Machines.

“You’re in a clinic in the Piltover Highlands. The best care. Vi’s here too. She is sleeping now, but she is right next to you”.

Vi.

She tries to turn her head, but the movement sparks fire in her chest. Her mom presses a hand lightly to her shoulder. “Don’t move just yet”.

Caitlyn’s fingers twitch. Her mother feels it—squeezes back.

“You’re doing beautifully”, she says, and Caitlyn hears the effort behind the lightness. “Rest for now, love. We’ll talk soon”.

She leans in, kisses her forehead. Caitlyn closes her eye again. She doesn’t want to fall asleep again.

Stay. Please stay.

But she has exhausted all her energy. She lets out a soft, broken sound.

And slips again.

                                               ***

Light cuts through the dark. A flick. Then a sharp, sterile brightness—too close, too sudden. Her good eye flutters and waters.

“There we go”, says a voice. “Caitlyn, if you can hear me, I’m Dr. Kwan. I’m going to check a few things, alright?”

Caitlyn doesn’t respond. Her throat still feels like gravel. She tries to turn her head, but her body barely shifts. The light moves with her. A gentle hand cups her cheek.

“I know that’s uncomfortable. Just a moment”.

The light shifts again. Her other eye—the wrong one—is touched next. It doesn’t open. Doesn’t move.

“No pupillary response”, Dr. Kwan says under her breath. “Left side non-functional”.

Something inside her sinks. She has heard those words before, but she can’t remember when. She can’t remember what they mean.

There’s a pause. Then a hand at her wrist, taking her pulse.

“You’re stable. That’s good”, the doctor says, voice a little gentler now. A pause. Then: “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re doing well”.

Caitlyn isn’t sure what she’s doing, exactly; but well is definitely not the word she’d pick. Dr. Kwan lifts her arm, just slightly. Caitlyn’s hand droops. She tries to resist, just barely.

“Muscle tone’s responding. Reflex test next, alright?”

There’s no time to answer, even if she could. A small pressure taps the tendon below her knee. Her leg jerks. Not much. Just enough for the pain to scream up her thigh and into her ribs.

“I know”, Dr. Kwan says. “I’m sorry. We’ll give you something stronger once we’re finished. Just a little more”.

Another reflex. Her arms this time. Pressure at her elbow. Her fingers twitch.

“There it is. Still in there”, the doctor murmurs.

Caitlyn wants to ask what that means. What’s wrong with her. What happened to her face. To her leg. Why she feels like a ghost in her own body. But all that escapes is a low rasp of air.

Dr. Kwan pauses. Then her hand finds Caitlyn’s shoulder, warm and still. “You’re safe, Caitlyn. You’re healing. Rest”.

But Caitlyn doesn’t feel safe. Or healing. She feels cracked open. Disassembled. Not quite inside her skin. And so, when the light disappears and footsteps fade, she lets herself fall backward –not asleep, but deeper into the haze.

Where nothing touches her. Where she doesn’t have to try.

                                               ***

“Vi. Breathe. Just breathe”.

Vi.

The name lands like a stone in Caitlyn’s chest. She tries to move – a finger, a toe – but everything is distant, submerged.

“She opened her eyes”, her mom says. Her voice is barely there. “She looked right at you. She knew you–”

“That was three days ago”, Vi says.  “She hasn’t responded since”.

Three days? No, no, no. This can’t be right.

Caitlyn’s mind scrambles, panic climbs through the fog. Her throat burns. Her limbs are lead. She wants to speak –to scream– but the noise never makes it out.

Vi lets out a rough sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You said she was getting better. You said that”.

“I know what I said”, her mom replies, and now there’s a crack in her voice too. “And it’s true, Vi. Her vitals are stable. She is finally feverless. You have to let the rest of her catch up”.

Vi makes another choked noise, and Caitlyn realizes—she’s crying.

Oh, Vi.

“I can’t do this,” Vi whispers. “I can’t sit here and do nothing–”

“You are doing plenty”, her mom says. “Come here”.

Caitlyn’s eye manages to open a fraction. The light stings. Shapes swim. She sees her mother standing on the foot of her hospital bed. One hand rests carefully between Vi’s shoulder blades. The other curls around her arm, drawing her in. Steadying her. Vi leans in like she’s starved for it. Her forehead rests against Cassandra’s shoulder.  

Caitlyn stares. Tries to make sense of the image.

Her mother. Holding Vi.

It’s tender. It’s perfect. It’s impossible.

It doesn’t fit anywhere in her mind –not in the neat, rational corners where people like her mother existed. It looks like something she would see in a dream. Something she would tease Vi about the next morning.

I dreamed that my mom hugged you.

I wish, cupcake.

The warmth of the embrace reaches her, strangely –not just through her eyes, but somewhere deeper, as if the place where Vi is being held overlaps with her own chest. The feeling blooms against her ribs –quiet, aching, real.

She tries to speak –to say Vi’s name, or Mom, or What’s going on– but her mouth won’t move the way it should. A soft breath escapes her lips, weak and useless. Her mother doesn’t notice. Vi doesn’t either.

“I should’ve stayed with her”, Vi mumbles. “I never should’ve walked away”.

Caitlyn remembers that. Vi’s back, retreating. Her last words to her: “I’m sorry, cupcake”. Her breath stutters. Her chest lifts sharply, and this time her mom notices.

She turns. “Caitlyn?”

The name is a gasp. Vi’s head snaps up.

“She’s awake?”

Caitlyn blinks again, just barely.

“Oh my gods”, Vi says, stumbling to her side. “Cait–”

Caitlyn wants to ask what happened. Why they both look so wrecked. Why her mother is touching Vi’s shoulder like she belongs there. But she can’t say a word.

All she can do is lie there, one eye open, heart racing, drowning in confusion.

And Vi, holding her hand now, whispering broken things she can’t quite hear.

                                               ***

They keep moving her. She can’t tell how often, but it’s too often. Shifts to avoid pressure ulcers. Repositioning, they call it.

Caitlyn calls it hell.

They warn her before they do it. That doesn’t help. The pain is everywhere—bone-deep and blooming. Her left leg feels like fire wrapped in glass. Her ribs grind when they touch her side. Her head pounds at every angle.

Hands slide under her. Pillows. Sheets. Cold latex. They count –“One, two, three”– and then lift. Her vision whites out. She doesn’t scream; but only because she can’t. The breath gets knocked out of her. It’s just a gasp, a raw little sound that escapes before she can swallow it down.

They say sorry, gently. They always say sorry. But sorry doesn’t help.

Vi helps.

Vi, who tries to stay every time. Vi, who gets sent away every time.

“Vi, we’ve been over this”, they say. “Let us do our job”, they say.

So, Vi leaves the room. “Please, don’t hurt her”, she says, but Caitlyn doubts any of them listens.  

She wants to say let her stay. Wants to shout it. But her throat won’t work. So, all she can do is lie there while they lift her again, while pain rips through her like cloth torn at the seams. She doesn’t know how long it lasts. She only knows she’s shaking when it’s done.

Later, Vi returns. She takes Caitlyn’s hand in both of hers, kisses the back of it. “I’m sorry”, she whispers. “I’m sorry”.

And Caitlyn, still panting, clutches weakly at her fingers—because Vi is the only thing in the world that doesn’t hurt.

                                               ***

Voices come and go. Nurses. Doctors. Shifts changing. Charts being checked. Light in her eye again. “How are you feeling, Caitlyn?” “Try to squeeze my hand.” “Any nausea?” “On a scale of one to ten how bad is…”

Ten. It’s always ten. But she can’t say it. Sometimes she thinks she does, but then she realises no sound has escaped her lips.

Even when she’s not being touched, rest never comes easy. Machines hum. Doors click open. Someone always walks in. Even her sleep isn’t hers. They wake her for vitals. Wake her when they change the catheter. Wake her just to check that she’s still breathing.

She doesn’t know what day it is. Doesn’t care. All she knows is the pain. And the exhaustion. And the burning behind her good eye from trying not to cry.

Vi is always there, unless the doctors force her to leave the room to perform another useless exam. Caitlyn can always tell when she’s back. Even before she speaks. Something in the air settles. Her body, tight with pain and nerves and the fog of too many medications, eases by degrees. The pain doesn’t stop –it never stops– but it gets quieter. Like someone turning the volume down enough to let her breathe.

Every time Vi touches her hand, murmurs her name, strokes her knuckles like she’s reminding Caitlyn she’s still here—she feels something in her unclench. Not her muscles. But something deeper. Something beneath the pain. The part of her that’s still terrified. The part of her that doesn’t believe she’s safe.

Vi makes her feel safe. Not fine. Not whole. But safe. She tries to tell her that. Tries to speak. Her lips part. She blinks up at her –Vi, with her tired eyes and that faint shadow of a bruise still healing above one. Caitlyn can’t remember if this is a new or an old wound.

Caitlyn wants to tell her: You make this bearable. She wants to say: I guess you have a sweet touch too.

It’s stupid. A half-joke. A callback to what Vi had said the day they met. Something light in all this dark. But her voice won’t hold the words. They curl in her throat and vanish somewhere between breath and silence. Her mouth twitches. The words are there.

Sweet touch. Relief. Don’t leave me again.

But all that comes out is a cracked breath and the faintest ghost of a smile.

Vi notices anyway. Her thumb brushes against Caitlyn’s wrist. “You okay?”, she whispers, too softly for anyone else to hear.

Caitlyn blinks slowly. Pain flickers through her side. Her chest. But Vi’s hand is warm and sure around hers. She manages the smallest nod. Because Vi is here. And for now, that’s enough.

                                   ***

As the days pass, the world begins to sharpen, slowly but steadily. Her waking moments grow longer. The haze thins. Her mind, though still fogged with pain and exhaustion, starts to hold on to things—to voices, names, fragments of time.

She sees faces now. Dr. Kwan. A nurse with kind eyes. Vi, always Vi. Sometimes her father, crying. And her mother, ever composed, ever measured—even when Caitlyn can feel the tension bleeding off her in waves.

Doctors ask her questions when she’s lucid enough. Her name. The date. If she knows where she is.

“Hospital”, she murmurs once, her voice raw.

They smile like she has solved the world’s most difficult riddle.

“Good, Caitlyn. That’s very good”.

She doesn’t know why they’re so relieved. Doesn’t know why it took so much effort just to say that one word. Her mouth still feels like sandpaper.

The world remains soft around the edges, muffled and inconsistent. Time slips through her like water through fingers—hours, days, whole nights vanish between blinks. But she starts to notice things. The change in light through the window. The rhythm of beeping machines. The ache that never truly goes away.

Pain tethers her. Not the sharp kind that demands attention, but the deep, dragging kind that lives in her chest, her leg, her eye socket—especially there. Like something heavy is always pressing down. Like something’s missing.

Her eye. Her eye.

She doesn’t ask. Not yet. It’s too much. There’s already too much.

Vi is the only constant. Always nearby. Sometimes silent, sometimes humming softly under her breath like she’s trying to fill the quiet with something gentle. Sometimes she talks to her. Caitlyn doesn’t catch much of it, but Vi’s voice is grounding.

Caitlyn tries to speak more, though it comes in pieces. “Why...” she croaks once.

Vi leans in quickly. “Hey. What is it?”

Caitlyn blinks. It takes effort just to form the thought. “Why… lie?”

Vi stills. “What do you mean?”

But Caitlyn lets her eye close again. She doesn’t have the strength to explain—to ask about the half-truths, the softened answers. She remembers Vi saying she would be fine. Her mom saying she was lucky. But nothing feels fine. And luck doesn’t feel like this.

Later, when the light slants low through the blinds and the machines hum softly, Caitlyn’s fingers curl around Vi’s. She’s been awake longer this time. Long enough for the quiet to settle into something heavier. Long enough to think. Her throat is sore, but she speaks anyway.

“Vi…”

Vi perks up instantly. “Yeah, I’m here”.

Caitlyn turns her head slightly toward the sound. “My eye”, she rasps.

Vi doesn’t move at first. Then she leans closer. “It’s just swollen”, she says. “From the impact. There was a lot of smoke, debris –your body took a hit, that’s all”.

She says it gently. Carefully. Too carefully.

Caitlyn’s stomach twists. Not from pain this time but from the way Vi avoids her gaze. From the way she delivers the words like she has practiced them. Like she has said them too many times already. Caitlyn tries to move her hand up to her face but barely gets a few inches before it trembles and drops again. “I can’t… see”.

“I know”, Vi says quickly. “But it’s early. Swelling needs time to go down. The doctors are— They said it will improve”.

Another lie. Caitlyn knows it. Feels it. Not just in Vi’s voice but in the silence that follows, in the way her thumb brushes soothing circles over her hand like that might erase the question.

She closes her eye again. She is exhausted. Hurt in more ways than she can name. “Okay”, she says.

Vi lets out a breath, maybe in relief. Maybe in guilt. She doesn’t say anything else. But Caitlyn hears her swallow hard. Feels the way her hand trembles against hers.

And hates that after everything they have been through, still –Vi doesn’t tell her the truth.

                                               ***

Vi is beside her again. She is wearing a black hoodie. Caitlyn thinks it’s hers but she can’t remember for sure. Vi is slouched in the chair like she’s been there forever. One hand in Caitlyn’s. Her thumb brushes slow circles into her skin.

Caitlyn’s eye moves sluggishly, drifts over Vi’s face. Everything is still a bit out of focus, swimming slightly, but then she sees it. A dark scab, just above Vi’s eyebrow. Split skin. Yellowed bruising around the edges—healing, but rough. It stops her cold.

Her voice cracks on its way out. “Your face…”

Vi blinks. Follows her gaze. “Oh”, she says lightly. She raises her free hand to touch the spot without much thought. “I’ve had it for a while now. It’s nothing”.

But it’s not nothing. Caitlyn knows what a healing wound looks like. That one isn’t fresh—it’s been there for days. Maybe longer. “Where…?” she tries.

Vi doesn’t speak.

Caitlyn catches herself thinking she is waiting for her to fall back asleep to get out of answering.  “Vi”, she tries again.

“Bumped into something”, Vi finally says, with the kind of shrug that’s meant to end a conversation. “Doesn’t hurt”.

Caitlyn stares. She doesn’t buy it. Not for a second. But she’s too tired to push. Too sore to argue.

Vi leans in. “Don’t worry about it, cupcake. It’s fine”.

She says it so easily. Like the world hasn’t been turned inside out. Like they’re not sitting in a room filled with machines meant to keep Caitlyn alive.

Caitlyn’s eye flutters shut again. The ache in her chest flares. But Vi’s hand is warm in hers, and her touch softens the pain like it always does. Still—Caitlyn can’t stop seeing it. That small, ugly mark. Proof that something happened while she was gone.

Another thing Vi won’t tell her about.

                                   ***

Caitlyn can’t stop thinking about the look on her father’s face.

Not the half-smile he gave her before he left. Not the soft words or the way he held her hand. But the moment before all of that—when he looked at her like something was shattered inside him.

Caitlyn closes her eyes, but the image doesn’t leave. It clings. Etches itself behind her lids like a bruise.

Her mother lies with ease. She always has. She uses smooth, measured words. There’s no edge in Cassandra’s voice when she says, “You’re doing better,” or “The doctors are pleased”. Just calm, practiced strength.

Vi…Vi lies differently. Looks anywhere but at her. Tries to keep things light, tries to keep Cait smiling even when her body is a battlefield. Tells her, no parkour for a while, cupcake; smothers her true feelings with half-hearted jokes. She lies like she’s holding something back with both hands, like she thinks she’s doing Caitlyn a kindness by keeping it locked away.

But her father never lies. He has never had the stomach for it. And now, Caitlyn realizes, he didn’t lie at all. Not with words. Just with his silence. He looked at her like he couldn’t bear it. Like the weight of whatever happened –whatever they’re all still keeping from her– is tearing him apart. He looked at her like he thought he might never see her awake again.

And when Caitlyn asked –what happened?– he didn’t say it was an accident. Didn’t say she was going to be fine or that she was doing so well. He didn’t say anything at all. That silence cuts deeper than anything else.

They are all lying to her. But he’s the only one who seems devastated about it.

Caitlyn turns her face toward the wall. The ache behind her eye pulses. Her chest feels hollow, like someone carved a piece of her out while she slept. She is still too weak to fight them. Too tired to press for answers.

But she’s not a fool. Something terrible happened. And the more they try to shield her from it, the more certain she becomes that it’s worse than she can imagine.

                                   ***

It happens in the dead of night.

The room is at last quiet. Machines hum their boring rhythms. Vi has fallen asleep beside her, curled in the chair like a child. Her hand is still wrapped around Caitlyn’s like she’s afraid to let go.

Caitlyn is only half-awake. Drowsy. Fuzzy. Her leg burns. Her eye too.

Then—

A low, muffled thud, like thunder from beneath the earth. Then another, closer this time. It’s not thunder. It’s not natural.

It’s an explosion.

It shudders through the hospital walls. Faint but unmistakable. The kind of sound that leaves a bruise inside your skull.

Caitlyn’s breath catches. She knows that sound. It doesn’t come in memories –yet– but in something deeper. A recoil in her body. Her ribs pull tight. Her throat closes. She knows what it is. Not now, not here—but then.

A flash. A deafening roar. Splinters of sound and light. A scream—maybe hers, maybe someone else’s. Then nothing. Then pain.

Her chest stabs with it now, raw and sharp and immediate. Her hand convulses in Vi’s.

Vi jerks awake. “Cait?”

Caitlyn’s lips part, but she can’t speak. Her body feels frozen, trapped between now and then. Her one good eye stares ahead –at nothing.

Then comes another explosion. Distant, but sharp.

Cold marble under her cheek. Blood in her mouth. Someone shouting her name—

The hospital walls shudder.

“Stay with me, Caitie”.

Then Vi’s palm presses against her face, warm and real. “Hey. Cait. Look at me”.

Caitlyn’s breath stutters. She hears herself whisper, “The Council…”

Vi stills. Just for a moment. Barely long enough for Caitlyn to notice. “Cait–”, she tries again.

“I remember”, Caitlyn says. It’s more breath than voice. Her mouth tastes like ash. “I remem–” She chokes.

The Council. The meeting. The missile—

Her stomach lurches. Who else was there? Why was she there? She can’t –she can’t remember that. Only the impact. The world breaking apart.

Vi’s thumb strokes Caitlyn’s cheek. “You’re safe now”, she says. “It’s over”.

But Caitlyn shakes her head. “No”. Her voice trembles. “I heard it. It’s–”

Vi presses the back of Caitlyn’s hand to her lips and stays there a long moment before releasing it gently onto the sheets. “It’s just fireworks”, she murmurs. “You are safe”.

Caitlyn shakes her head. No. No, she knows that sound. She knows the way it tears through the air.

Vi leans in again and presses Caitlyn’s knuckles to her lips. “Cait, you’re safe”.

Liar.

Caitlyn is not safe.

She is there—on the floor, choking on blood and smoke. The impact still reverberates in her teeth. The wound behind her eye weeps, hot and unstopped. Her scream lodges in her throat, a silent thing, rotting inside her. The rubble crushes her, not stone but memory, relentless as a tide.

She is still there.

She has always been there.

And when Vi whispers, “It’s just fireworks”, again, Caitlyn doesn’t hear her.

She hears the missile.

She hears her mother begging her to stay.

She hears the one thing she never said—

(I love you, I love you, I love you—)

—and the terrible silence that followed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

To ashes and blood

“They are turning on each other”, Cassandra says. “The Chem-Barons. Jinx went after them, to avenge Silco. And as predicted, their alliance crumbled. Last night was a disaster”.

Vi sinks into one of the chairs outside Caitlyn’s room. “I told Cait it was just fireworks”.

“Good”.

Vi rubs her face. “None of this is good”, she says. “The explosions triggered her memory. She knows she was at the council meeting. She knows there was an attack. It’s only a matter of time until she puts it together. Realises my sister did this”.

Cassandra’s blue eyes –the same as Caitlyn’s– never leave Vi’s. “If she asks you, you won’t lie”, she says. “But you won’t start a conversation either”.

“She’ll hate me”, Vi whispers.

Cassandra sits down next to her. “She won’t”, she says. When Vi shakes her head, she repeats. “She won’t, Vi. She loves you”.

Vi presses the heels of her palms into her eyes. “She is in so much pain”. Her voice cracks on the last word.

“I know”, Cassandra says. “And pain distorts things. So, yes, she might be angry. She might say things she doesn’t mean, but she won’t hate you”.

Vi can’t breathe past the guilt lodged in her chest. “She’s only in that bed because of me,” she chokes out. “I should’ve kept her safe”.

Cassandra doesn’t speak right away. She just watches her for a moment. Then, quietly, she says, “You tried, child”.

Vi’s eyes sting. Her throat is too tight to answer.

“You tried,” Cassandra repeats, gently, like she’s laying a hand over a wound. “Don’t carry this as if you didn’t”.

A beat passes in the quiet. Cassandra glances toward the closed hospital door.  “There’s something else you should know”, she says carefully.

Vi lifts her head. “What?”

“The independence motion for Zaun came with an asterisk”.

Vi frowns.

“Cait convinced the Council to vote for a lesser punishment for your sister”, Cassandra says. “Detainment, not execution”.

The words land like a blow.

“What?” Vi’s voice is barely a breath. “No. That can’t be—she—why would she do that?”

“For you, Vi”, Cassandra says. The tenderness in her voice makes Vi want to cry. “For you”.

Vi shakes her head. “I didn’t ask her to do that”.

“I know”, Cassandra says gently.

A long silence stretches between them.

Then Cassandra’s voice shifts—cool, composed again. “That deal is off, obviously. We’ve authorized a task force. Mel, Jayce, and I. Enforcers are moving into Zaun at dawn”.

Vi blinks, thrown by the sudden turn. “Why?”

“To dismantle shimmer production, neutralize the remaining Chem-Barons, and locate your sister”.

Vi’s breath catches. “Locate”, she echoes.

“We are done wasting time, Vi”, Cassandra says. “She has turned the entire undercity into a powder keg”.

Vi shakes her head again. “You should find a way to call it off”, she says. “You don’t want the fight to be on her terms”.

“Our task force has new Hextech arms. They will be prepared”.

“They will be killed, Cassandra”, Vi counters. The name hangs in the air, and the moment Vi hears it, her heart lurches. “I’m sorry”, she blurts. “I didn’t mean—”

Cassandra’s expression softens, but she doesn’t remark on it. Just gives a small shake of her head. “That’s alright”.

Vi looks down at her hands, ashamed. The name Cassandra still echoes in her head like she has crossed some invisible line. It had just come out–

Cassandra’s voice stops her from spiralling. “Do you have a better idea?”

Vi nods. “Let me go with them”, she says. “Let me find her first. I can end this”.

“No”, Cassandra says. “You’ll stay here”.

Vi flinches like she has been slapped. “Why are you trying to keep me from her?”

“You’ll stay here”, Cassandra repeats.

Vi opens her mouth, but no words come. Cassandra’s voice was so quiet, but the weight of it drops like stone. She rubs at the back of her neck. “You think I’ll side with Jinx”.

“I think”, Cassandra says, “that you’ve lost enough already”.  

Vi swallows. The hallway is too quiet. Too clean. She feels like a ghost, a shadow on the edge of someone else’s war. “I can help”, she mutters. “I know her”.

“Could you pull the trigger if you had to?”, Cassandra asks. Before Vi can even process the question, Cassandra adds: “Even if you could, you shouldn’t have to”.

Vi wipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Can you at least”, she starts but stops. She forces herself to take the best breath she can. “Can you at least make sure she doesn’t suffer?”

Cassandra nods.

For a moment, there’s only silence between them—thick, tired silence. Then Cassandra reaches out and rests her hand on Vi’s knee. Vi lets out a slow breath.

Cassandra gives the knee a slight squeeze before standing. “Make sure you eat something”, she says. “I’ll be back as soon as I can”.

Vi nods. As Cassandra walks away, Vi can’t help but wonder if the next time they speak, it’ll be to hear that her sister is dead.

                                                           ***

Caitlyn is stronger. Not well. Not yet. But stronger.

She stays awake more. Her one eye stays open longer before exhaustion drags it shut again. She drinks without the straw now –slow, shaky sips from a blue plastic cup Vi holds steady. Her hands still tremble, but the haze in her mind is beginning to clear. And with it comes something worse: memory.

Caitlyn looks at Vi suddenly, voice rough, like rust scraped across stone. “Your face”, she says. She manages to lift a hand, just barely, and touch the spot above her own eye.

“It’s nothing”, Vi says quickly.

“No”, Caitlyn insists. “Tell me”.

“An enforcer did it”, Vi says. She puts the cup aside and sits back in the chair.

“Why?”

Vi takes a deep breath. “I was arrested”.

Caitlyn frowns. A deep crease forms on her forehead. “Why?”

“I guess I look suspicious”, Vi says. “Maybe it’s the face tattoo”. She points at her cheek and makes a face, but Caitlyn doesn’t smile.

“Vi, please”, she says.

Vi exhales. “I don’t know, cupcake. I was just trying to get to your house and I was arrested by a patrol. One of them hit me with his baton. It really isn’t that big a deal”.

“When?”

Vi hesitates. “The night you got hurt”.

Caitlyn goes quiet. Her face tightens. Something sharp works its way through her fogged mind. Vi wishes she would drop it. Just ask about something else—anything else. Because this path only leads to one place, and Vi isn’t ready for her to get there.

Vi stares at the floor. Her hands. Anywhere but Caitlyn’s face.

Then Caitlyn whispers, “Come here”.

Vi lifts her head. “What?”

Caitlyn’s fingers tremble as she reaches toward her. “Come here”, she repeats. Her voice is thready but sure.

Vi rises slowly, like she’s afraid the moment might shatter. She leans over the bed, close enough for Caitlyn to touch her.

Caitlyn’s fingertips graze Vi’s cheekbone. Clumsy. Weak. But tender. “You look worse than I do”, she murmurs. Her mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but something like it. “Does it hurt?”

Vi tries to breathe through the crack in her chest. “Not now”, she says.

Caitlyn’s thumb brushes the faint bruise beneath Vi’s eye. Her fingers twitch against Vi's chest. They are too weak to grip her shirt, but they are still trying, trying to pull her closer. She looks at Vi like the sight hurts and heals all at once. Then she breathes, “Kiss me”.

Vi stills. For a moment, she doesn’t move, like she’s making sure Caitlyn really said it—like she’s weighing whether it’ll hurt them both more.

“Are you–”

“Yes”, Caitlyn says. “Please”.

Vi takes a breath, then leans in and kisses the corner of Caitlyn’s mouth. She pulls back a bit and brushes the back of her hand across Caitlyn’s cheek. She then kisses her temple and the bridge of her nose.

Each kiss is an offering. A promise. A prayer.

Caitlyn’s breath catches. Her eye flutters shut.

Vi hesitates. Her lips hover a heartbeat away from Caitlyn’s. She brushes her thumb across Caitlyn’s bottom lip. It’s dry and chapped. It’s the most beautiful thing Vi has ever seen.

And then Vi kisses Caitlyn’s lips. Slowly. Softly. A kiss that trembles with everything unspoken. Caitlyn lets out a sound that isn’t quite a sob and isn’t quite a sigh, but Vi feels it all the same. Feels it in her chest, her throat, her bones. She holds Caitlyn’s face like it’s the only thing anchoring her to this world. And Caitlyn kisses her back for a second, even as her body trembles.

Vi pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together. “I missed you”, she whispers.

Caitlyn’s lashes brush her cheek as she blinks. “Me too”, she mumbles. Her hand lifts weakly. Her fingers brush Vi's jaw before falling back to the sheets.

For a heartbeat, they are safe. Happy.

Then Caitlyn's eye focuses past Vi's shoulder. “Vi”, she says. “You were arrested… close to my place?”

Vi’s throat works as she nods. Her hands slip from Caitlyn’s face.

“After the explosion?”, Caitlyn presses.

Vi closes her eyes. “Yes”.

Caitlyn’s face changes. Thought clicks into memory. Pieces slot into place, one after another, too fast to stop.

“I…” Caitlyn’s voice falters, then comes back hard. “Did she…do it?”

Vi straightens. She doesn’t speak.

“Vi”, Caitlyn says, sharper now. “Did she do it?”

Vi’s lips part, but no sound comes.

Caitlyn’s eye narrows. “Did Jinx bomb the council?”

Vi’s voice breaks. “Yes”.

Silence slams into the room like a dropped weight.

Caitlyn blinks. Her lips tremble. “She–”, she starts.

“Cait–”, Vi breathes at the same time. “I don’t think she even knew you were there”, she says. She reaches for her. “Cait, please, listen–”

But Caitlyn jerks back. Tears start spilling down her face, silent at first. Then a sob wracks her chest.

“Cait”, Vi tries.

Another sob. Then another. Caitlyn turns her face into the pillow, trying to stifle the sound, but it keeps coming –sharp, broken cries from somewhere deep inside her. The kind of pain that doesn’t sound like it belongs to someone who has survived.

Vi flinches like every sound cuts into her. She hovers beside the bed, helpless. “Cait, I’m sorry–”, she tries again.

Then the door opens.

It’s one of the doctors, a tall woman in scrubs with her hair tied back and a tablet in her hand. Vi can’t remember her name. She stops cold when she sees them. Her gaze locks on Caitlyn.

“Miss Kiramman–”. Her tone changes instantly. “What’s wrong?” She looks at Vi like this is her fault.

It is.

“I’m sorry–”, Vi starts, voice hoarse.

“She shouldn’t be this distressed. It will aggravate her condition”.

“I… I didn’t–”

But the doctor is already moving. She pulls a small vial from her coat pocket and injects something clear into Caitlyn’s IV. Caitlyn’s body keeps shaking, even as the sedative starts to pull her under.

“Don’t”, Vi whispers. “Don’t knock her out like this. She’s upset because she remembers. That’s good, isn’t it?”

“She’s post-trauma, likely withdrawing, and barely stable”, the doctor replies briskly. “She needs rest, not more adrenaline”.

Caitlyn’s sobs soften to sharp breaths. Then to hiccups. Then to stillness. Her eye flutters shut again, lashes wet with tears.

The doctor watches the monitors for a moment longer. Then she nods. “She should stay asleep for a few hours. If there’s any change, press the call button”.

She doesn’t wait for Vi to respond. Just taps something on her tablet and leaves the room.

And then it’s quiet again.

Vi doesn’t move. She can’t. Her legs feel like stone. Her throat hurts. She stands beside Caitlyn’s bed and stares at her face. It’s peaceful now. Or something like it. But her lips are parted slightly, as if her body hasn’t caught up with the calm. Like some part of her is still fighting.

Vi lowers herself into the chair again. Slowly. Like if she moves too fast, the whole moment will shutter. She presses her palms against her thighs and leans forward. She looks at Caitlyn’s hand that rests near the edge of the mattress. Pale. Still trembling every so often in sleep. Vi reaches out, hesitates –then gently lays her own hand beside it.

“I would’ve told you”, she whispers. “I was going to. I just –I didn’t want it to be true”.

Her eyes sting.

“I didn’t want you to look at me like that”.

Caitlyn shifts slightly in her sleep. A faint crease pulls between her brows. Vi doesn’t know if it’s pain or a nightmare or both.

“I couldn’t protect you from her”, Vi says. Her voice cracks. “And I couldn’t stop her. I wasn’t there when it happened. And I wasn’t with you after, when you needed me most. I should have been. I should have been”.

Her shoulders shake, but no tears come. Not yet. She rubs her face, then finally dares to touch Caitlyn’s hand. Her fingers curl around it. It’s cool. Still. But not limp. There’s life there, even if it’s buried under drugs and grief and silence.

Vi closes her eyes. Rests her forehead against their joined hands.

“I’m here now”, she murmurs. “Please forgive me”.

The machines hum softly. Outside the window, Piltover glows like a city that has already moved on.

But in this room, time doesn’t pass. In this room, Vi stays still.

                                                           ***

“More”, Caitlyn mumbles.

It’s barely a whisper. A dry, miserable sound, shaped through clenched teeth.

Dr. Kwan looks up from her tablet. She’s standing near the monitors, reading something.  “You’ve had your dose for today, Caitlyn”, she says. “We can’t give you more right now”.

Caitlyn turns her head slightly. A wince ripples through her jaw. “It hurts”.

Cassandra rises from her chair. “Can’t you give her something else?”

Vi is grateful for Cassandra’s presence. She doesn’t want to be left alone with Caitlyn right now. Not like this. Not now that Caitlyn knows. She wants to delay the inevitable as long as possible.

Dr. Kwan turns to look at Cassandra. “Her body has adapted to high levels of opioids. If we keep increasing the dosage, it stops helping –and starts hurting in other ways”.

“I need…” Caitlyn tries. But her throat won’t cooperate. The rest of the sentence dissolves into a breathless exhale. Her hand clenches in the blanket. Her face is drawn so tight it looks like it might split.

“We’re tapering slowly”, Dr. Kwan explains to Caitlyn, even though she refuses to look at her. “Cutting too fast could trigger seizures, arrhythmia, even collapse. You’re already experiencing some withdrawal symptoms—sweating, tremors, agitation. It’s hard. I know it’s hard”.

Caitlyn’s eye flutters shut. One tear slips down, unnoticed. Her body curls subtly inward.

Vi watches her like she’s afraid she’ll vanish. “How long will this last?” she asks Kwan, though she’s not sure she wants to hear the answer.

“It’s different for everyone”, the doctor replies. “But with her current tolerance and injuries…” She pauses. “It won’t be quick”.

Caitlyn makes a small sound, almost like a whimper. Vi feels it like a dagger between her own ribs.

Dr. Kwan sets her tablet down. “She needs time. And support”.

Cassandra nods. “She has that”, she says, as the doctor steps out. She then turns to look at Vi. “Come closer”, she says.

Vi startles like she’s been called out in class. Her hands fist in her pockets. “I–”, she starts, but her voice cracks.

She doesn’t want to go to Caitlyn. Not after what happened earlier. Not when Caitlyn’s pain isn’t just in her body –it’s in her eye, in her voice, in the way she doesn’t even look for her anymore.

But Cassandra keeps looking at her like she expects immediate compliance.

So Vi steps forward. Caitlyn doesn’t react when she sits in the chair next to her bed. Vi reaches for a damp cloth and dabs Caitlyn’s forehead. “It’s okay”, she whispers. “It’s okay, cupcake. I’ve got you”.

Caitlyn’s eye snaps open, glassy with pain. “No”, she whispers. “You don’t”.

                                               ***

The light in the room is dim. Cassandra had the nurses turn it down after Caitlyn started flinching from every glare. The muted glow paints everything in shades of blue and bruise-purple. The shadows pool in the hollows of Caitlyn’s collarbone, the sharp angle of her jaw.

“Don’t take everything she says to heart”, Cassandra had told Vi before leaving the room.

Vi wanted to scream, please stay, but instead she nodded and found her familiar place in the chair next to Caitlyn.

Now Caitlyn is curled under the thin hospital blanket. Her body trembles in a way that has nothing to do with the room’s temperature. Every breath is a battle; every movement, a white-flag surrender to pain that will not let go.

Vi sits beside her and holds her hand. Her thumb moves gently to brush the inside of Caitlyn’s wrist. She doesn’t dare squeeze too tightly. She feels it too, the withdrawal like shards of glass beneath her skin, the fractures in Caitlyn’s leg echoing in her own. But pain is an old language to Vi; she has spoken it since childhood. Where Caitlyn drowns, Vi treads water –gritting her teeth, swallowing the screams. It doesn’t mean she isn’t choking.

Caitlyn shifts, barely. Her lips part.

Vi leans in. “What is it, cupcake?”

Caitlyn’s voice is rough. “If you’re truly… my soulmate…”

Vi freezes.

“…why… does it still hurt?” Caitlyn’s breath catches on the last word, like it costs her too much.

Vi’s mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

A tear slips from Caitlyn’s one open eye. Vi reaches to wipe it away, but Caitlyn flinches.

Vi recoils as if struck. Her hand hovers in the air between them, useless. “I… don’t know”, she says. “I… I wish I could take it all away, Cait. I would. You know I would”.

“You’re… lying”.

The whisper slices through Vi worse than a yell ever could.

“No –Cait, I’m not–”

“You should…” Caitlyn croaks. “Make it better”.

“Cait”, Vi says, and hates how small her voice sounds, “this is better”.

Caitlyn shakes her head. “You should…feel it too”.

“I do feel it”, Vi whispers. “Every second of it. But I–”. Her throat closes around the confession: she knows how to carry hurt. Knows how to make it a home. This isn’t strength. It’s survival, carved into her bones from Stillwater.

“You should be screaming”, Caitlyn rasps.

Vi’s fingers twitch. She wants to say: I am. Inside, always. But the words turn to ash. Some wounds don’t bleed where you can see them.

“You left me”, Caitlyn rasps, almost inaudible.

“Cait…”

The machines beep a frantic rhythm as Caitlyn tries to push herself upright. Her muscles tremble with the effort. Sweat slicks her temple. Her one good eye burns with a fury that cuts deeper than any blade.

Vi reaches for her to steady her but Caitlyn slaps her hand away.

“Don't”. Her voice doesn’t even sound like it’s hers anymore. “Don't touch me”.

Vi takes a step back. This is the first time Caitlyn has managed to sit up without help after the attack. This should be a cause for celebration. Instead, it feels more like a prelude to a funeral.

Caitlyn reaches for the cup on her nightstand. Her hands are trembling so violently now that she can't hold it. Her fingers barely close around it before it slips. Water splashes across the floor. The cup clatters out of reach.  Her body clenches like it wants to snap in half.

“Cait”, Vi says, “you need to breathe –just try to breathe, all right?”

“No,” Caitlyn spits. “Don’t talk to me like…like you care”.

Vi stares at her. “How can you even–”

“You left to stop her”, Caitlyn snaps. Her face is pale and glistening with sweat. “You left”.

“I know”, Vi whispers. “I tried–”

“No”, Caitlyn cuts in. “You didn’t. You—she bombed the council. She killed them. She almost…killed me”.

Vi flinches. “I didn’t let her do anything. I wasn’t there–”

“Exactly”, Caitlyn cuts in. “You weren’t... You said–”. Her voice breaks on a sob. “You said I’d be safe”.

Vi’s face tightens, like she has been punched. “I thought I could find her. Get through to her. I thought I had more time–”

“You didn’t!” Caitlyn’s voice is shaking.

Silence rings for a second too long.

Then Vi says, quietly. “I didn’t know she would hit the council. I didn’t know you would be there”.

“I was there for you”, Caitlyn breathes. Her body is wrecked with tremors now, barely holding itself up.

The monitors shriek as her oxygen drops.

Vi's own body echoes the convulsion. A phantom cramp locks her ribs.  “Cait…”

“You chose her”.

The words land between them like a death sentence. Vi can’t speak. Her throat burns too hot, her heart too tight.

“I was bleeding out”, Caitlyn whispers, “alone”.

Vi’s knees nearly buckle. “Please don’t do this”, she murmurs.

But Caitlyn’s voice hardens. “You chose her”.

“I didn’t”, Vi says. Her voice trembles now too. “I chose you, Cait”.

Caitlyn's chest heaves. Tears spill over. “Get out”, she whispers.

Vi doesn't move.  “No, Cait”, she starts, but her voice breaks. “Your pain will get worse if I leave”.

“You're the only reason…”, Caitlyn pauses to drag in a shuddering breath. “I hurt”.

The words land like a killing blow. Vi staggers back half a step. Her breath leaves her in one slow, shuddering exhale. Her hands fall limp at her sides. The heart monitor fills the silence with its frantic beeping. Caitlyn falls back on the bed. She turns her face into the pillow.

Two nurses rush in and say something Vi doesn’t catch.

Vi takes a step back. Then another. The tile feels unsteady beneath her shoes. Every step away from Caitlyn feels like walking against a riptide, like her body is fighting the separation. Her fingers brush the doorframe. For one impossible second, she hesitates. The words pile up behind her teeth - explanations, apologies, promises that taste like ash.

Then the machines crescendo as Caitlyn's breath hitches. Not a sob. Not quite. Just the sound of someone trying very hard not to break.

And then Vi walks out.

                                                           ***

The door shuts behind her with a soft click that sounds louder than a gunshot. Vi stumbles into the hallway. She doesn’t make it more than a few steps from Caitlyn’s room before the pressure cracks her open. Her chest caves, her breath stutters, and suddenly the hallway tilts. She stumbles into the nearest alcove, presses her back to the wall, and sinks to the floor like a marionette with cut strings.

Then it all comes out. Choked, ragged sobs tear through her throat. Her hands shake. Her lungs won’t catch. She presses the heel of her palm to her mouth, trying to hold it in, trying to be quiet, but the sound rips free anyway –ugly, wounded.

She hears someone coming but doesn’t bother to look.

Let it be a nurse. Let it be no one. Let it be silence.

But it’s not.

“Vi”, says a voice that, against all odds, has become dear.

Vi flinches but doesn’t lift her head. Tries to stifle the next sob but fails. It tears out of her like something primal. She hears a rustle of fabric as Cassandra lowers herself beside her.

The hurt in Caitlyn’s voice still echoes. “You’re the only reason I hurt”.

“I’m sorry”, Vi mumbles.

But then Cassandra does the unimaginable.

She gathers Vi into her arms without a word. Vi stiffens for half a second –then collapses against her.

“It’s okay”, Cassandra murmurs. Her arms are steady and warm, her embrace firm, maternal. She holds Vi against her chest like something precious. “It’s okay. Let it out”.

Vi crumples against her. Cassandra hushes her gently. One hand cradles the back of Vi’s head, the other rubs slow circles between her shoulders.

Vi can’t stop. The sound that leaves her throat is wrecked. “I tried”, she chokes out. “I tried, I tried, I–”

“I know”, Cassandra says. “I know”.

“She said–”, Vi can’t finish. Her breath comes in spasms. “She said I should leave”.

Cassandra rocks her slightly, back and forth. “She’s in pain. So are you”.

Vi nods against her shoulder. Her tears soak Cassandra’s coat. “She knows…she knows it was Jinx”.

Cassandra offers no response to that. She keeps holding Vi closely.

“I’m sorry”, Vi gasps eventually. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just—” She clutches at Cassandra’s coat like a lifeline. “This is all my fault”.

“No”, Cassandra says firmly. “It’s not”.

Vi doesn’t believe her. But the weight of Cassandra’s arms around her makes it bearable, somehow. Makes the storm just a little quieter.

They stay like that, folded into the hallway’s stillness, the whir of machines behind the door the only sound. Vi sobs until she can’t anymore. Until her body just trembles quietly in Cassandra’s arms, empty and raw.

And Cassandra stays with her the whole time.

                                                           ***

Cassandra’s arms stay around her. Like she knows Vi might fall through the floor if she lets go. Vi doesn’t sob anymore. She’s past that. Her face is wet. Her throat aches. Her heart is somewhere miles below her chest, beating wrong.

“I don’t deserve this”, Vi says.

Cassandra leans back just enough to see her face. Her hands are still steady on Vi’s shoulders. “What? A hug?”

“A hug from you”, Vi says.

“Nonsense”, Cassandra says. “If anyone is undeserving of comfort, that’s definitely not you”.

Vi sniffles. “Cait is right”, she says. “I’m the reason she is hurting”. She wipes her face with the back of her sleeve. “Always have been”. Her voice cracks on that last word.

Cassandra's hands still on Vi's shoulders. A crease forms between her brows as she studies Vi's face. “Always?”, she repeats softly.

Vi nods but doesn't meet her gaze. “She thinks I’m not feeling her pain”, she says. “But I am. And it’s terrible. It’s just that…I’ve spent six years being beaten up every day. And there were no painkillers in Stillwater”.

Cassandra flinches at the name.

“So, I learned to live with it. I had to”.

Cassandra’s mouth parts. Confusion flickers across her face. She doesn’t speak.

“And I would leave her alone”, Vi says, like it’s the only truth she has left. “If that’s what she really wants. I would. But then the pain would be unbearable for her”.

Cassandra's voice is small. “Why?”

Vi breathes in. “Distance makes it worse”.

Cassandra's face does something complicated - horror and wonder and grief all at once. “You always felt each other’s pain?”, she asks. “Before you knew each other?”

A tear slips down Vi's nose as she nods. “Other things too”, she rasps. “But mostly the pain”.

The silence stretches. Cassandra is staring at her, and Vi steels herself for the dismissal—for the rational explanation, the refusal, the enough with this.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Cassandra stands up. She straightens her clothes, then reaches down and helps her to her feet, still quiet. Vi lets her, but as she rises, her leg buckles beneath her.

She catches herself against Cassandra with a soft gasp. “I’m sorry”, she mutters. “It’s my bad knee”.

Cassandra steadies her. “What happened to it?”

Vi shakes her head. “It’s just an old injury”, she says. “From prison. It never set right. Sometimes it locks up”.

Cassandra frowns. “How old were you when it happened?”

Vi shrugs. “Eighteen, I think”, she says. “It was pretty bad. I couldn’t walk for–”

“A month”, Cassandra cuts in. Her eyes widen. “Caitlyn’s knee”, she whispers, almost to herself. “Nothing on the scans, no fractures. Tobias kept calling it psychosomatic. But the pain was so intense that she couldn’t walk without crutches”.

Vi’s lips part. Her throat works around something that won’t come out.

The pieces click together with devastating clarity.

“I thought–”, Cassandra exhales. “That it was something in her mind. Stress, trauma, maybe depression. Something we couldn’t see, couldn’t fix”.

“It was me”. Vi’s voice breaks. “I’m so sorry”.

Cassandra stares at her. And then, like something crumbling quietly inside her–

Her voice comes out as a whisper.

“She wasn’t sick”, she murmurs. “She was…yours”.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Heavy is the crown

The clarity that comes with the realisation is terrifying. Because now Cassandra understands everything.

Six years of misery. Of strange symptoms no doctor could explain. Fevers. Pain. So much pain. Of sleepless nights and panic attacks.

Cassandra remembers now –now that it’s probably too late anyway– Caitlyn at sixteen, curled on the bathroom floor, gasping through tears that her ribs hurt too much to breathe. Cassandra had rushed her to the hospital, heart in her throat, fearing the worst: punctured lung, internal bleeding. She had waited with clenched teeth for anyone to exit the room and give her an answer. But then the doctors had come out, calm, almost amused: there’s nothing wrong with your daughter, Councillor. So, Cassandra had assumed it was just anxiety. It wasn’t the first time her daughter had complained of pain that month. She had told her to take a warm bath, drink some tea. And when that failed to soothe her, she and Tobias had agreed –reluctantly, cautiously– to let their daughter try something stronger for the pain.

And that was how it started. The spiral. The slow, invisible descent to addiction.

Tobias had suggested Caitlyn was overreacting. That she was fragile and spoiled, desperate for their attention. That Cassandra’s long nights and Council distractions had caused this “cry for help”. Their fight that night had been their first big one over it. It wouldn’t be the last.

After a while, Cassandra lost count of them. Fights with Tobias in low voices behind closed doors late at night or early in the morning, fights that led them nowhere and left them both bitter and empty afterwards. Fights with doctors who grew increasingly clinical, increasingly dismissive, suggesting therapy and “family work”. Fights with Caitlyn herself, when –inevitably– doubt poisoned Cassandra’s mind too.

Now Cassandra knows. She doesn’t guess. She doesn’t suspect. She knows with a clarity that burns that Caitlyn’s pain was real. All of it. Not imagined. Not exaggerated. Not a cry for help. And Cassandra hadn’t just missed it. She had actively contributed to the silence that buried it.

That’s what cuts deepest.

Vi wasn’t just some orphan from the Undercity. She was a civilian who ended up in prison without due process. And it was Stillwater. Their prison. The Council’s institution. Cassandra’s responsibility.

Cassandra had signed off on Stillwater reforms a dozen times without reading the fine print. Had shaken Markus’ hand at policy briefings. Had told herself the brutal crackdowns were necessary –for peace. For progress. For Piltover.

And Vi had paid the price. Poor, innocent Vi.

But so had her own daughter. Poor, innocent Caitlyn.

The beatings. The broken bones. The shock rods to the ribs. The hell of it all.

All shared to the last.

And even now, even after everything, Vi was still here. Waiting outside a door she wasn’t allowed through. Staying. Suffering quietly. Just in case Caitlyn asked for her.

And that breaks something in Cassandra. Something brittle and old and proud.

She looks over at her daughter. Pale. Sweating. Stubborn and proud even in ruin. And Cassandra wants to shake her. And hold her. And beg her forgiveness all at once.

                                                           ***     

Cassandra hears the retching before she even opens the door.

By the time she steps inside, the nurse is already at Caitlyn’s side, one hand bracing her shoulder, the other steadying the bowl as Caitlyn pitches forward as far as her body allows.

“Easy”, the nurse tells Caitlyn. “Just breathe. Don’t fight it”.

Caitlyn curls forward with another dry heave. Her whole frame trembles. Cassandra flinches. She knows what even that motion must feel like with broken ribs. Her daughter looks pale and feverish, her skin flushed and slick with sweat, her arms weak and trembling from trying to brace herself.

“She can’t be bending like that”, Cassandra says. “Her ribs–”

“I’m keeping her supported, Councillor”, the nurse replies calmly.

Caitlyn gives another sick little cough, then slumps back against the pillows with a hoarse whimper. Her injured leg jostles as she settles, and her face twists in pain.

Cassandra’s heart clenches. “Are you giving her anything for the pain?”

“She’s still on the taper. Half the dose she had yesterday, per the schedule”. The nurse wipes Caitlyn’s mouth with a cloth. “Vitals are holding. This is just… the hard part”.

Cassandra wants to scream at someone. She wants to pull Caitlyn out of this bed and fix her, now, whole, like rewinding time. Instead, she walks around the bed, lowers herself into the chair, and takes in the flushed face of her daughter. Caitlyn’s lips are cracked. Her eye is glassy. But she’s lucid.

“Cait”, Cassandra says softly. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re all right”.

“It’s not”, Caitlyn whispers. “It’s not”.

The nurse places a cold cloth on Caitlyn’s forehead. “She’ll be through the worst of it by tomorrow”, she says.

Cassandra nods. When the nurse steps out, she pulls the chair closer to the bed. She reaches out and adjusts the damp cloth that has already slid halfway down Caitlyn’s forehead. Her fingers brush her daughter’s cheek. Caitlyn flinches. Cassandra doesn’t move her hand.

“If you just let her in…”, she says quietly. “Vi could help. She has been asking”.

“No”. Caitlyn stares at the ceiling. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “This is all her fault”.

Cassandra leans back slightly. “It really isn’t”, she says after a beat.

Caitlyn doesn’t answer. She turns her face toward the window, and for a moment, she looks like a child again– sick and silent and hurting all alone.

                                                           ***

Caitlyn trembles violently through most of it. The muscles in her thin arms clench and spasm. Her body can’t seem to regulate anything. Her skin burns with fever one moment and feels icy the next. She cries out sometimes –small, wrecked sounds she immediately tries to choke down. The nurses move around her quietly, adjusting her IVs, cleaning the bedding, sponging cool water onto her brow.

But nothing helps much.

Caitlyn refuses to ask for Vi. Refuses even to say her name. Vi lingers at the door or sometimes waits hidden in the hallway. She never leaves, but she doesn’t dare enter the room either.

Cassandra makes sure Vi eats and sleeps in an on-call room close to Caitlyn’s. It isn’t much, but Vi never complains. She paces the floor until exhaustion drags her under, then wakes before dawn to hover just out of sight again.

Every time Cassandra leaves her daughter’s room, she goes to Vi. Tells her again and again to be patient. To wait. Promises that the ugliest part of withdrawal will pass soon. That Caitlyn will not always be this angry. Vi nods and sniffles, but doesn’t seem to believe there is an end to this.

Sometimes, Cassandra doubts there is one too.

Tonight, she finds Vi in the same place as always, curled in a rigid line on the bench just outside the room, head bowed, hands clasped between her knees like she’s waiting for a sentence to be passed.

Cassandra stops in front of her. “She’s finally asleep”, she says.

Vi looks up. “Did she ask for me?”

Cassandra hesitates. “No”, she says gently.

Vi’s throat works. She nods like she expected it.

A silence stretches between them.

Cassandra exhales. “You should get some air”, she says. “Go outside. This isn’t healthy”.

Vi shakes her head.

“You’ve barely moved all day”, Cassandra insists.

“She’s in there suffering”, Vi says, and shrugs like it explains everything. “I won’t move”.

Cassandra looks at her for a moment, then walks over to sit beside her.

Vi stares down at her shoes. “I can’t help her if I’m away”.

“I know”, Cassandra says.

“She’s in there because of me”.

A few weeks ago, Cassandra would have agreed. Worse. She would have been the one to use these words against Vi. But now she shakes her head.  “No”, she says. She won’t let Vi walk down that path again. “What’s happening to her now… none of that is your fault”.

Vi doesn’t argue. Cassandra can’t tell if she’s gotten through to her. The girl keeps staring at the floor, shoulders hunched in on herself like she’s trying to disappear.

“She’s coming back to herself”, Cassandra says softly. “I see it more every day”.

Vi doesn’t answer, but her shoulders tremble.

Cassandra hesitates, then reaches out. She gently places two fingers under Vi’s chin. Vi resists at first, but she lets Cassandra tilt her face upward. Tears streak her cheeks. Her eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, hopeless in a way that guts Cassandra far more than she expects.

“Oh, sweetheart”, she murmurs. The words slip out before she can stop them. Cassandra lifts a hand and brushes the tears from Vi’s cheek with her thumb. Vi flinches but doesn’t pull away. “She’ll come back to you”, Cassandra says. “She just needs time. You’ll be the first person she wants when she’s ready”.

Vi wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “If she’s ever ready”.

“She will be”, Cassandra says. “I raised a stubborn girl. But she loves you”.

Vi leans back against the wall and closes her eyes. She doesn’t speak again. But when Cassandra gets up to leave, she hears Vi whisper, almost too softly to catch:

“I love her too”.

                                                           ***

Caitlyn’s skin itches, and she claws at her arms and stomach until Cassandra has to gently pry her hands away to stop her from hurting herself. Caitlyn jerks away from the touch.

“Don’t”, she snaps. “Don’t touch me”.

Cassandra doesn’t argue. She just places a wet cloth by the bed within easy reach and moves back to the chair.

At some point, when the tremors are slightly less brutal, when the fever ebbs and Caitlyn lies curled in on herself like a child, Cassandra sits beside her and brushes damp hair from her brow.

“I finally understand”, she says quietly. “All those invisible injuries, all that unexplained pain you suffered from. I now know it was Vi’s pain from Stillwater”.

Caitlyn doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Her gaze stays fixed on the wall.

“I can’t say I like the answer I got”, Cassandra continues, “but at least I finally have one”.

“I don’t care”, Caitlyn mumbles and closes her eye.

Cassandra watches her for a long moment. The girl she raised is in there somewhere, buried beneath years of pain and silence and a desperate need to feel something more. Cassandra presses a hand briefly to her daughter’s temple, wishing she could siphon the agony out of her, bottle it, take it somewhere far away.

But all she can do right now is sit back down in the chair and wait.

                                                           ***

By the fourth morning, Cassandra knows something has to change.

Caitlyn is finally feverless. She is lucid enough to hold a conversation without slurring her words. She is also awake enough to weaponize her silence. She turns her face to the window whenever Cassandra enters, as if that might make her disappear.

So Cassandra doesn’t sit this time. She stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, and says simply: “Vi wants to see you”.

Caitlyn doesn’t respond at first. When her mother repeats herself, Caitlyn whispers: “I don’t”.

Cassandra tilts her head slightly. “No?”

“No”, Caitlyn says again. Her voice is rough from disuse. “I don’t”.

There’s no venom in it– just exhaustion. Cassandra watches her daughter for a moment, watches the tremble in her fingers, the tension around her mouth.

“Well”, she says, with that calm, diplomatic edge she uses when Council members think they're being clever, “if that’s the case… then I don’t see why I need to keep exposing myself to public scrutiny”.

Caitlyn’s brow tightens but she still refuses to turn her head towards her mother.

“I’ve already been questioned a dozen times for letting her stay this long”, Cassandra continues. “Technically, she’s still in custody. You know that, don’t you?”. A pause. “Maybe I should just let them take her back”.

Caitlyn’s head snaps towards her. “What?”, she asks.

“She is Jinx’s sister. She’s actually the perf–”

“Back where?”, Caitlyn interrupts.

Cassandra meets her gaze. “Stillwater”.

It is a calculated cruelty, and it tears at something deep inside her to deliver it.

But Caitlyn needs to fight. For herself. For Vi. For the bond she refuses to name. So, maybe, for once, being the villain will save her child.

“You can’t–”, Caitlyn starts. She is already pushing herself upright. Her arms tremble from the effort. Her breath catches on the movement, but she doesn’t stop. “Mom, you can’t”.

Cassandra forces herself to shrug. “Why not?”

“She can’t go back there”, Caitlyn says. Her hand drifts to her abdomen, where the phantom echo of Vi’s wound still aches. “Her stitches–”, her voice falters. “Have they removed her stitches?”

Cassandra watches her and knows the bluff has done its job. A soft look settles around her eyes. “For someone who doesn’t care”, she says, “you sure look awfully concerned for her”.

That hits. Caitlyn glares—but it’s fragile. The fight in her is born of fear, not anger. “I do care”, Caitlyn chokes out. “But I can’t think about…all that”.

Cassandra nods. “Then tell her”, she says. “Tell Vi you’re not ready. Tell her you’re hurting. That you need time. But don’t shut her out, Cait. She is hurting as much as you are”.

Caitlyn looks utterly miserable when she speaks again. “Please, don’t send her away”, she says.

“Vi is not going anywhere”, Cassandra reassures her. She sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m really sorry for doing this. I wasn’t trying to hurt you”. She leans in and brushes a hand lightly over Caitlyn’s hair. “I just didn’t know how else to reach you”.

Caitlyn’s throat works. Her good eye is glassy with unshed tears, and when she finally speaks, it’s a whisper. “You really…believe this?”, she asks. “The soulmate thing?”

Cassandra’s chest aches. “I do”, she admits. “And I hate that it took me this long to figure it out”.

Caitlyn nods. For a minute, neither of them speaks. Then Caitlyn takes a shaky breath and says, “Can you please…tell Vi to come in?”

                                                           ***

Her bad knee buckles once in the hallway. Cassandra catches her by the elbow, but doesn’t say anything.

When Cassandra opens Caitlyn’s door, Vi hesitates. She lingers in the threshold like she doesn’t trust the moment. Like one wrong move might undo everything.

But then Caitlyn lifts her head from the pillow. Even sitting up takes effort, but she does it. And when her gaze meets Vi’s, everything in Vi seems to crumble.

“Cait”, she breathes.

Caitlyn is crying before Vi even reaches her. Not quiet tears. She is sobbing, ugly and loud. Her hands reach out blindly like her body is moving faster than her thoughts.

Vi hurries across the room and sinks onto the edge of the bed, careful — so careful — not to jostle her. She takes Caitlyn’s outstretched hands and holds them tight.

“I’ve got you”, she says softly. “I’ve got you”.

Caitlyn tugs weakly, and Vi leans in, lets herself be pulled closer. She braces one knee on the bed to steady herself and curls into Caitlyn’s side. She does so gently, mindful of her broken leg, the rawness of her skin, the exhaustion in her bones.

“Careful”, Cassandra says from the doorway, but she doubts either of them listens.

Their foreheads press together. Caitlyn grabs at Vi’s shirt, pulling her closer still.

“You’re getting stronger, cupcake”, Vi says.

This is the first time Cassandra has seen Vi smile in days.

Caitlyn curls toward Vi like a child, buries her face in her neck. Vi eases her arms around Caitlyn –one around her back, the other cradling her head. She holds her through the tremors, through the heat, through the violent shudders of withdrawal.

Vi keeps whispering I’m sorry into Caitlyn’s hair again and again, even when Caitlyn keeps saying, no, no, I was wrong.

“I didn’t mean it”, Caitlyn chokes out. “What I said…when I told you to go…”

“I know”, Vi rasps. “I know”.

“I thought…I was angry…I was wrong”.

Caitlyn sobs against her neck. Her fingers dig into Vi’s spine.

Cassandra sees it –the way the pain begins to dull. The way the shaking softens. The way their breathing is now not laboured.

And then Caitlyn pulls back just enough to look at Vi, her hand still curled in the front of her shirt. “I know you’re in pain too”, she whispers. “I’m sorry”.

Vi nods. “It’s alright”, she says. When Caitlyn shakes her head, Vi repeats: “I promise, it’s alright”.

They sit like that for a long time, tangled in the gentlest way they can manage. Vi’s arm remains around Caitlyn’s back, steadying her. Caitlyn leans against her with closed eyes, one hand still fisted in Vi’s shirt, like she’s afraid to let go.

It’s desperate. It’s messy. It’s real. And it’s love. The kind that claws its way through pain and finds something sacred at the centre.

Cassandra quietly steps out and pulls the door shut behind her.

                                                           ***

She steps back into her daughter’s room just before dawn.

She had gone home for a few hours. It was her first real sleep in days, stretched out in her own bed instead of curled in a hospital chair. A shower, a change of clothes, a moment alone to steady herself.

When Cassandra left, Vi lay on the cot next to Caitlyn’s bed.

Now the cot is empty.

Instead, Vi lies beside Caitlyn, curled around her. One of Caitlyn’s hands is tucked beneath her own cheek; the other is clasped tightly in Vi’s. They have drifted so close that there’s hardly space between them. Caitlyn’s breathing is slow and deep for the first time in days.

Cassandra shakes her head. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t rush in or slam the light on. She just clears her throat softly by the door.

Vi startles. She shifts onto one elbow, careful not to wake Caitlyn, and glances at Cassandra. “I was gonna sleep in the cot”, she says quickly, low. “But she asked me to be closer. She finally fell asleep. I didn’t want to risk–”

“It’s alright”, Cassandra cuts in. “This isn’t the surprise you think it is”.  

There’s a beat of silence between them.

Cassandra steps closer and folds her arms.  “I should make you get up”, she says quietly. “For protocol. For optics. But…” Her gaze drifts over Caitlyn’s face, the peace there, the absence of pain. “She hasn’t looked this calm in days”.

Vi sits up slightly, without letting go of Caitlyn’s hand. “I’ll sleep in the cot if you want me to. I just—please. Just let me stay near her. I’ll wear a mask. I won’t move”.

The almost childlike earnestness in Vi’s voice makes Cassandra smile despite the circumstances. She looks at her. She sees the desperation in Vi’s posture, the way her whole body is bent toward Caitlyn without touching. She sees how tightly their hands are clasped.

She sighs through her nose and nods toward the cabinet. “Mask, please. Now”, she says, but there’s no edge in her voice.

Vi scrambles up, careful not to disturb Caitlyn, and slips the light blue mask on. “I’m sorry”, she says.

Cassandra watches her for a moment longer, then –after checking Caitlyn’s vitals–, she reaches out and gently smooths a lock of hair from her daughter’s forehead. Caitlyn doesn’t stir.

“Stay where you are”, Cassandra says at last. “It helps her”.

Vi nods. Almost in disbelief. Like she still expects to be told to leave.

Cassandra heads for the door. Before she leaves, she pauses. Her voice is softer this time. “And please stop apologising to me”.

Vi nods, catches herself before blurting out “I’m sorry” again.

A brief look passes between them. Cassandra wonders when exactly this girl managed to crawl into her heart and build a home there.

She closes the door behind her, as Vi carefully lowers herself back beside Caitlyn. Their fingers find each other again without looking. Caitlyn doesn’t wake.

And Cassandra, walking slowly down the corridor, thinks: Gods help anyone who tries to hurt that girl again.

Either of them.

                                                           ***

Cassandra leans against the wall. For a moment, things are finally quiet and easy. For a moment, she can breathe.

Then she hears footsteps. It’s the new Sheriff, Marcus’ replacement.

Gods, what’s her name?

Cassandra is so tired and sleep deprived that she wants to call her Grayson, even though she knows that’s wrong.

The Sheriff approaches with her helmet tucked under one arm, still in full patrol gear. She stops a polite distance away.

“Councillor”, she says and inclines her head. She looks barely older than Caitlyn. “May I speak with you?”

Cassandra doesn’t need to ask what this is about. She gestures toward a corner of the hallway, far enough from the room that Caitlyn or Vi wouldn’t hear.

“We found Jinx”, the Sheriff says.

Cassandra’s pulse kicks up. “And?”

“We tried arresting her”. Her voice is quiet. “Like you asked. We cornered her on a rooftop just west of the Sump. She was alone, injured. Shimmered out of her mind”.

Cassandra says nothing. Waits.

“We asked her to surrender. Told her she would be treated fairly. That we weren’t there to kill her”.

“So?”, Cassandra asks. “Did you arrest her?”

The Sheriff looks away. “She jumped, ma’am”.

Cassandra goes very still. “I was very clear–”, she begins, but never finishes her sentence.

“I know, ma’am”, the Sheriff says, “but she jumped. She slipped off the edge before anyone could grab her. She’s dead”.

Cassandra’s throat works around something she doesn’t say.

“We tried, Councillor”, the Sheriff says. “We really did”.

“I know”, Cassandra's voice is tired. “Thank you, Sheriff. The rest can wait until the Council meeting”.

Sheriff dips her head again, then turns to leave. Cassandra stands still long after she’s gone.

Jinx is dead.

The words land with no satisfaction. They don’t settle. They don’t soothe.

She had thought—hoped, maybe—that this news would bring her peace. Some grim closure. After everything that girl had done—after the deaths, the terror, the endless spiral of violence—Cassandra had imagined that she would feel relief. That some hidden knot in her chest would finally loosen.

But all she feels is weight. Heavier than before. More complicated.

Because she had chosen restraint. Had given the order—alive, not dead—not out of mercy, not out of doubt, but because of the way Vi’s voice broke when she told her they were going after her sister. Because Cassandra –pragmatic, unsentimental Cassandra– couldn’t bring herself to take away what little was left of that bond, no matter how tattered it had become.

And now, despite all of it, Vi will lose her sister anyway.

What Cassandra asked of that task force –what it cost her to say take her alive– won’t even matter now. Not to Vi. Not when all she’ll hear is that Jinx is gone.

Cassandra presses her fingers to her eyes. Everything hurts. Her head, her back, the hollow pit of her stomach. She has been sleeping in chairs and corners. She hasn’t eaten a proper meal in almost a month. She doesn’t know how much more she can take.   

Cassandra closes her eyes, and for a second, she lets herself feel it all.

Not as a councillor. Not as a mother. But as a woman who is so unbearably tired. Who has watched her city buckle under the weight of its own pride, who has watched her daughter waste away from a pain no one could name, who has seen grief take root in places she didn’t even know could ache.

Behind the door, Caitlyn sleeps. Vi, too.

Vi, who will shatter when she hears.

Vi, who still looks at Cassandra like she’s waiting for her to send her back to a holding cell.  

This, too, will fall to her. Of course it will.

She will have to be the one to tell Vi. She owes her the truth now, even if it means breaking her all over again. Even if it means looking her in the eyes and telling her she has lost the last piece of family she had left.

Cassandra lets out a breath. It does nothing to steady her. Her palms feel cold. She looks down the hall. There’s still so much to do. The city remains in chaos. The Council is a shadow of itself. The Chem-Barons may be dead, but the poison they left behind will take years to cleanse.

But none of that matters now. Not in this moment.

All she can think about is the girl inside that room –the one who gave her blood, the one who holds her daughter like she is something unbelievably precious– and how Cassandra will soon have to meet those grey eyes and say:

“Your sister is dead”.

Slowly, Cassandra pushes off the wall. She doesn’t walk back to her daughter’s room.

Not yet. Not yet.

Let them sleep.

Let them hold each other.

Let this moment last a little longer.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Jinx

The nurse adjusts the brakes on the wheelchair with a quiet click, then glances toward the bed. “Ready, Caitlyn?”

Vi tenses.

Caitlyn doesn’t answer right away. Her face looks too pale. The fresh bandage across her eye socket is stark and white. “I think so”, she says at last.

Vi shifts from one foot to the other. “She doesn’t have to do this today”, she says, louder than she meant to.

The doctor, who is standing beside Caitlyn, glances at her. “This helps with her recovery”, he says.

Vi hates how condescending he sounds.

“Ten minutes upright improves blood flow. Her lungs will thank her for it”.

“She’s still nauseous–”

“I’m right here”, Caitlyn cuts in. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not”.

Vi’s arms drop to her sides. “Shouldn’t we at least wait for your mom?”

The doctor ignores her. “Be careful with the leg”, he tells the nurse. “No weight on it. Let us guide you, Caitlyn”.

Caitlyn nods. Her eye flicks quickly toward Vi. Vi wants to walk over there, scoop Cait up in her arms, and tell everyone to fuck off. But she doesn’t.

The nurse unhooks the oxygen line from the wall. She switches Caitlyn to a small portable tank. The cannula is still tucked beneath her nose. The IV line gets capped and taped. Vi notices the clear bag at Caitlyn’s side –the catheter tube now looped and secured to the wheelchair’s frame, just below the seat.

She tries not to look at it.

Tries not to think about how much Caitlyn is still tied to.

Then the nurse and the doctor help lift Caitlyn from the bed. Even though they’re careful, Vi sees the way Caitlyn grits her teeth and feels in her own body the pain ripple through her ribs.

She takes a step forward, but the nurse murmurs something and Caitlyn exhales through her nose as she forces herself upright. She doesn’t cry out. She doesn’t look at Vi again.

When they settle her into the chair, Caitlyn sinks back with a low groan. One hand cradles her ribs. The other hangs limply at her side. Vi lingers close. Her eyes dart between Caitlyn’s breathing and the pulse in her throat. She swears it’s too fast.

The nurse checks the portable tank gauge. “If she gets dizzy, use the call button”.  

And then they leave. As if this is a normal day. As if nothing can go wrong. As if they looked around the room, tested every adult, and decided Vi was the one best qualified for this.

The silence feels too heavy. Vi can’t bring herself to speak.

Caitlyn, without looking at her, rasps, “I’m not dying, you know”.

Vi exhales. The words knock something loose in her chest. “I didn’t say you were”, she mutters as she rubs at her jaw.

“Get me out of here”, Caitlyn says. “Please”.

“What?”, Vi asks.

“I’m going insane in this room”, she explains. “So are you, by the way”.

Vi doesn’t answer. She thinks about everything bad that could happen if she dared move Caitlyn. “Your mom–”, she starts.

“My mom let you sleep in my bed”, Caitlyn says. “She trusts you”.

Vi wishes she could enjoy that statement for the victory it is. “You’re still nauseous”, she mutters. “Dizzy. What if you –I don’t know– pass out? What if the chair jostles you too much and something tears, or you need help, or–”

“Vi”, Caitlyn cuts in gently. “I’ll be fine”, she says.

Vi drags a hand down her face. “You’re stressing me out, cupcake”, she says.

“I know”, Caitlyn says. “I’m sorry”.

Another beat of silence. Vi shifts her weight. Her shoulders are stiff. There’s a hollow thud behind her ribs –too fast, too uneven. She wants this. Gods, she wants this. To give Caitlyn air. A moment of peace. Something soft. Something good. But the fear doesn’t let go easily.

She remembers what it felt like.

The walls. The silence. The never-changing dark. The way time folded in on itself, how every breath tasted like iron and dust. She remembers staring up at the ceiling in Stillwater, praying –begging– for something to change. Just one shift in the light. Just one breath of fresh air. Just one moment where she could feel human again.

And she remembers when Caitlyn gave her exactly that.

It’s not the same now.

But at the same time, it is.

So, Vi exhales and nods. “Five minutes”.

Caitlyn’s face softens. A smile curls at the corners of her mouth—gentle, knowing, the kind of smile that feels like sunlight after days of rain. “Thank you”, she says quietly.

Vi glances away, like the smile might undo her. “Five”, she repeats, half a warning, half a promise.

“Five”, Caitlyn agrees.

Vi mutters something under her breath that might be a curse or a prayer. Then she steps forward, leans down to tuck the blanket more securely around Caitlyn’s legs. She glances up, eyes catching Caitlyn’s for a heartbeat, and something in her gaze softens.

“All right”, she says, quieter now. “Let’s get you some fresh air”.

                                                           ***

Vi eases Caitlyn toward the door. Her palms are damp. Her heart simply won’t settle. Why did she agree to do this?

As they pass into the hall, she notices that there is no guard stationed outside Caitlyn’s room. Someone was always there.

Every single time. Armed. Watchful.

Now the corridor is empty.

Vi frowns. Maybe there was some mix up with the shifts. Maybe the guard is on a break.

Still... her gut squirms, but she keeps pushing the chair.

They roll through quiet corridors and make it to the courtyard. Nobody stops them, nobody asks Vi what the hell she thinks she is doing with the Councillor’s daughter.

It’s cooler out than Vi expected. A breeze tugs at Caitlyn’s hair. The sunlight catches the edge of her jaw, warm and soft. Caitlyn leans into it. Her face relaxes. Her shoulders lower a fraction.

Vi crouches beside the wheelchair. She keeps one hand on the wheel, while the other lightly rests on Caitlyn’s knee.

She watches her. Alive. Here. Breathing.

Vi lets herself do the same.

                                                           ***

Caitlyn sits with her head tilted back slightly, eye closed, her face lifted to the light. Vi watches the way the sun touches her skin, the way her chest rises and falls with shallow but steady breath.

She still looks breakable. The cannula tucked beneath her nose. The tremble in her fingers. The blanket folded across her lap. But she’s here. She’s alive. She made it outside for the first time since the attack.

Vi lets her breath out slowly. “You good?”, she murmurs.

Caitlyn doesn’t open her eye. “Mmm”, she says.

Vi lowers herself to the ground beside her with a quiet grunt, knees pulled up to her chest. She doesn’t speak. Just sits, like they have all the time in the world. Like she is not breaking every rule for this.

For her.

For a long moment, neither says anything. Then Caitlyn reaches out. Her hand, still shaking faintly, finds Vi’s hair. She threads her fingers through it gently, slowly, as if trying to remember something through touch alone.

Vi goes still. Her breath catches mid-inhale.

“I missed this”, Caitlyn says.

Vi swallows. “I missed you”.

Caitlyn’s hand lingers a moment longer before falling back into her lap. Her fingers curl in the blanket across her legs.

Vi looks up. “What is it?”, she asks.

“I know about my eye”, Caitlyn says.

“Cait–”

“It’s alright”, she says. “Dr. Kwan told me”.  

Vi stands without thinking. Her heart is pounding. It echoes in her ears like a warning, like something is cracking wide open. She moves them to the nearby bench. The metal is cold under her hands as she settles across from Caitlyn’s chair. She leans forward, unsure if she’s trying to steady herself or Caitlyn.

Caitlyn doesn’t leave her waiting. They fold into each other with aching slowness. Caitlyn leans out of the chair and Vi gathers her in gently, careful of the line still running from Caitlyn’s arm, the bag at her side, every fragile edge. Caitlyn rests her head against Vi’s collarbone and breathes her in like she’s remembering the shape of safety.

They stay like that for a while. Just breathing. Holding on.

“I’m sorry”, Vi whispers eventually.

“I know”, Caitlyn says softly. “Me too”.

Vi pulls back just enough to look at her. The words claw their way up. “I don’t know what I’m doing”, she says. “With this. With us. I lied to you–”. She stops herself, takes a breath.  “I didn’t know what else to do”, she says.

Caitlyn is quiet for a moment. Then, gently, she says. “I know”.

Vi squeezes her eyes shut. A tear slips free before she can stop it.  “I just –I couldn’t stand the thought of you waking up and realizing what it cost you. Because of me”.

Caitlyn’s gaze doesn’t waver. Her voice stays calm. “It didn’t cost me because of you”, she says. “Vi, look at me”.

Reluctantly, Vi opens her eyes. Caitlyn raises her hand and touches Vi’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. Her thumb brushes lightly under her eye.

“You shouldn’t have to be the one to tell me anyway”.

Vi’s face crumples. “No. I should’ve told you. I should’ve let you hate me for it”.

Caitlyn shakes her head. “I don’t hate you”, she murmurs. “I never could”. Her hand slips down, finds Vi’s. Her fingers are cold, but they curl around Vi’s with all the strength she has.

“I love you, Vi”.

Vi’s breath stutters. Her body trembles like the words cracked something open. She leans forward, forehead pressing to Caitlyn’s like an apology, like a prayer.

“I love you”, she whispers, voice thick with tears. “I don’t know how to say it. I don’t think I deserve to”.

Caitlyn leans into her. Their hands remain clasped between them, steady.

“You do”, she says. “You always did”.

                                                           ***

They have stayed outside longer than five minutes.

The world has yet to end.

Vi keeps holding Caitlyn’s hand. Her thumb moves slowly over her knuckles, like she can’t quite let go yet. Like she doesn’t want to.

“I think…”, Caitlyn says softly, “I think I’m hungry”.

Vi smiles. “Yeah?” she asks.

Caitlyn gives the smallest nod.

Vi lets out a breath that turns into a small laugh. Her smile blooms before she can stop it. “You’re hungry”, she says, like it’s the most miraculous thing in the world. “Cait, that’s… yeah. That’s good. That’s so good”.

Caitlyn gives a soft hum of agreement.

“Alright”, Vi murmurs. “Let’s get you back, then”.

They move quietly down the corridor, Vi’s hand always close to hers, brushing the blanket or the curve of her arm, like she can’t quite stop touching her.

By the time they get back to the room, Caitlyn has fallen asleep.

Vi doesn’t call the nurse, doesn’t press the button or ask for help. She simply sits in the chair across from Caitlyn and holds her hand.

Because this is the closest she has been to happiness in a while and she is in absolutely no rush to let this moment pass.

                                               ***

When the door opens, Vi turns with a smile already tugging at her lips, ready to share it all. Her chest is full of pride, of relief, of something dangerously close to joy.

And it’s Cassandra.

Vi exhales. Some knot inside her loosens just at the sight of her. For one unguarded second, her brain short-circuits.

Mom.

It’s not a thought so much as a reflex. A shape her heart remembers faster than her mind can deny.

It rises fast, instinctive and raw, a word she hasn’t thought in years and hasn’t felt in even longer. But she bites it back before it can reach her tongue. Just clamps her teeth down hard and swallows it whole.

She shifts the smile into something smaller.

“Hey”, she says. “You should have seen her. We went outside. She stayed awake the whole time. Her speech– it’s better, way better. And she asked to eat–”

Cassandra’s mouth softens into the ghost of a smile. “That’s good”, she says.

“Should we tell the doctors?”, Vi asks. “This is huge, right?”

“It is”, Cassandra says quietly. Her eyes linger on Caitlyn for a beat too long. Then shift back to Vi. “Could you step outside with me for a moment first?”

And just like that, the air changes.

The warmth drains from her all at once. The weight returns. Heavy. Familiar. Vi glances back at Caitlyn, sleeping soundly beneath the blanket, one hand still curled loosely in hers.

She lets go.

“Yeah”, she says softly. “Okay”.

She follows Cassandra into the hallway and braces herself for the part that’s going to break her.

                                                           ***

Cassandra doesn’t speak right away. She takes a slow breath. One hand rests on the wall beside her.

Vi is watching her like she already knows. Like her body knows, even if her mind keeps trying to buy a few more seconds of not-knowing.

Cassandra meets her eyes. “There’s something I need to tell you”, she says. Her voice is soft. Careful.

Vi nods. Her pulse is roaring in her ears.

Cassandra’s gaze drops for a moment. “The task force we sent into Zaun”, she begins quietly. “They found her. Jinx”.

Vi’s heart stutters.

Cassandra pauses. Her voice almost doesn’t hold. “There was… a fight. We don’t know all the details yet. But by the time they reached her–”. She breathes in, sharp, unsteady. “She was gravely injured”.

Silence drops between them like snowfall. Slow and quiet and everywhere.

“I’m sorry, Vi”, Cassandra says softly. “They asked her to surrender. But she didn’t. She jumped from the rooftop”.

Vi doesn’t move. Her face doesn’t even change, not right away. Her eyes are fixed on Cassandra’s, as if waiting for something else.

A catch. A lie. A miracle.

But it doesn’t come.

“I’m really sorry, Vi”, Cassandra says. “Your sister is dead”.

Vi doesn’t speak. Her body stays still, too still, like she’s afraid if she shifts even an inch, the ground beneath her will give. A single tear slides down her cheek before she even realizes it’s there. Then another. And she nods. A barely-there motion. A kind of surrender.

Cassandra reaches out, touches her arm, then her hand. Vi doesn’t pull away.

“We didn’t make her suffer”, Cassandra adds. Her voice is barely audible.

Vi lets out a breath like it’s cutting her in half. Her voice is wrecked when it finally comes. “…Okay”.

Cassandra squeezes her hand.

Vi barely notices the touch. “We should go back in”, she whispers. “Cait is alone”.

She doesn’t wait for permission. Doesn’t ask for comfort. She just turns and opens the door.

“Vi, we can talk–”, Cassandra tries, but Vi slips inside the room without another word.  

                                                           ***

The nurses are angry. Of course they are.

They return Caitlyn to the bed. Adjust the IV. Check her vitals. Mutter something about procedure and safety protocols, about “You shouldn’t have left the room without telling us”.

Vi can barely hear them through the roaring in her ears.

“I brought her out”, Cassandra says at some point. “She needed air. I signed the chart”.

The nurses pause. They don’t argue. Not with a Councillor.

Caitlyn stirs in her sleep and shifts her hand faintly, like she’s looking for something.

For her.

Vi’s breath catches, but she doesn’t move yet. Not with the nurses crowding the bed, muttering something about rebalancing the drip rate, about oxygen saturation, about risk.

It all blurs together.

Cassandra stays near the door, arms crossed loosely, but her eyes keep flicking between Caitlyn and Vi.

When the nurses finish fussing and the room finally settles again, Cassandra steps forward. “I can stay, if you want”, she says.

Vi’s first instinct is to say yes. Cassandra should take over. She is the one who deserves to be here. But something inside her steels. Shakes itself out.

“No”, she says. “You should go home to rest”.

Cassandra watches her a moment longer. Then she nods. “Alright”. She squeezes Vi’s arm –one last anchor– and leans close. “If anything changes–”

Vi nods.

And then she is alone.

Alone with Caitlyn’s slow, steady breathing. With the sound of the IV pump. With the weight of her own pulse beating too fast in her ears.

Jinx is dead.

The words still haven’t settled. They keep hitting different parts of her chest like they’re testing for cracks. Powder. Gone.

And Caitlyn–

She’s here. Barely. Because of Vi. Because she let herself get too close.

Vi moves to the chair beside the bed. Her knees nearly give as she sinks into it. One of Caitlyn’s hands is free again, resting on the sheets like an invitation.

Vi takes it.

She sits there listening. Watching. Wondering how long before Caitlyn sees what she really is.

                                                           ***

Caitlyn stirs.

It’s subtle at first—a twitch of her fingers beneath Vi’s, a small crease forming between her brows. Then a soft, barely-there sound escapes her, like confusion or discomfort. Her eyelids flutter.

Vi straightens immediately. She brushes her thumb gently along the back of Caitlyn’s hand. “I’m here”, she murmurs. “Take your time”.

Something is different this time. There’s a tension in her expression that wasn’t there before. A faint wince, like she’s trying to work out a wordless ache deep in her chest.

Her gaze doesn’t quite focus, but her voice manages one word. “Vi?”

“I’m here”, Vi says again, softer now.

Caitlyn swallows. Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak right away. Her brow furrows. Her head shifts slightly on the pillow. “Something is… wrong”, she breathes. “I can feel you”.

Vi freezes. Her heart skips in her chest. The bond. Of course it’s the bond. She shakes her head, gently. “You’re tired”, she whispers. “So am I”.

But Caitlyn won’t let go of her hand now. Her grip is weak, but firm enough to insist.

“No… tell me. What’s wrong?”

Vi leans in and presses her lips to Caitlyn’s knuckles. Closes her eyes for a second too long. Her throat is burning, and she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to speak without breaking in half. “Nothing”, she says. “You’re okay”.

“You’re not”, Caitlyn counters.

Vi tries to smile. “I’m fine”, she says. She hopes her face doesn’t betray her again.

But Caitlyn’s breathing is slowing again. Her hand goes slack in Vi’s, her strength fading fast. Whatever questions were on her lips melt back into sleep.

Vi hates herself for feeling relieved.

                                                           ***

Later, the door opens again. Vi knows who it is before she hears the soft footsteps. She keeps her eyes on Caitlyn’s sleeping face. Her hand rests over hers like a tether.

“I thought you went home”, she says without looking up. Her voice is hoarse.

“I did”, Cassandra answers. “Then I couldn’t stay there”.

Vi nods. Of course she couldn’t.

Cassandra steps closer, but not too close. When she speaks again, her voice sounds pained.  “You should eat something”.

Vi shrugs. “Not hungry”, she says.

Cassandra’s voice softens. “I know you don’t want to talk, but–”

“I don’t want to talk”, Vi cuts in. “I want to hurt myself”.

It comes out flat. Matter-of-fact. Like she’s reporting on someone else.

Cassandra stills. “Vi…”

Vi makes a low, frustrated noise in her throat. Then she stands up and paces in a tight line near the end of the bed. “That’s what I want”, she says, not facing Cassandra.  

Cassandra doesn’t gasp. Doesn’t rush forward. She just stands very still.

Vi presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I want to punch a wall until I break every bone in my hand. I want it to hurt. I need it to”. Vi swallows. “But I can’t. Because if I do–”. She gestures toward the bed. “Cait will feel it too”.

She finally looks at Cassandra. “I’m so full of it, I can’t– I can’t breathe. And I can’t let it out. I can’t touch it without hurting her. And I don’t want to hurt her. Not her”.  

The words scrape her throat raw. They sound uglier out loud. But she doesn’t stop.

“My sister is dead. I should feel that. It should hurt”. Her voice cracks. “I just want it to hurt the way it’s supposed to”.

She stops pacing. Her whole body is tense, trembling with the pressure she’s not releasing.

Cassandra exhales. Then she moves. She takes Vi’s fists and places them flat against her own chest, over her heart. Her own hand comes up to cover them. Her voice is low but steady. “Then let it hurt here”, she says.

Vi blinks. Her fingers twitch against Cassandra’s blouse, uncertain.

“None of this is your fault”, Cassandra says. Her grip on Vi’s hands tightens. “You were a child when they took you from her”.

Vi swallows hard. She turns her face.

“You want pain”, Cassandra continues, “because pain is the only language you learned how to speak. It’s what everyone gave you, again and again, until you forgot there are other languages in this world”.

Vi’s breathing is shallow now. Her fists are still pressed against Cassandra’s chest, but they’ve gone slack. “You can’t make this better”, she says.

“No”, Cassandra agrees. “But I can stand here with you. And I can hold you, if you’ll let me”.

That breaks something in Vi. She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t push Cassandra back. So Cassandra steps forward, just a fraction, enough to close the distance and fold her arms around Vi carefully, like she’s afraid she’ll hurt her.

Vi lets herself stay there; one heartbeat pressed against another. “I wanted her to come home”, she says. “Even if that was never possible. I still wanted it”.

“I know”, Cassandra says. “I know”.

                                               ***

Cassandra waits until Vi’s breathing evens out again, until her fists no longer tremble against her chest. Then, softly, she says, “Come sit with me for a minute. Just outside”.

Vi doesn’t move at first. She glances toward Caitlyn’s sleeping form, like she’s afraid stepping away will make her disappear. But then she nods and follows.

They walk in silence. Cassandra keeps pace beside her but doesn’t lead. She lets Vi set the rhythm, slow and uneven as it is. They step through the doors at the end of the hallway and out into the hospital’s quiet back garden.

Cassandra leads them to a bench and sits first. Vi hesitates, then lowers herself beside her, stiff-backed and silent. For a long moment, they just sit. Wind stirs the leaves. The faint hum of city life remains just out of reach.

And then, without warning, Vi speaks. “I keep thinking I should feel relief”, she says. “Like at least she can’t hurt anyone anymore. At least Caitlyn is safe now. That should matter, right?” Her voice is bitter. “But I don’t feel better. I feel–”. She drags a hand over her face. “I feel like I can’t breathe”.

Cassandra says nothing. She just listens.

Vi laughs sharply. “I know she did awful things. I know that. And you had every right to go after her. But to me…she is just Powder”.

Cassandra’s gaze flicks toward her.

“I don’t know how to grieve her”, Vi whispers. “I don’t know if I even have the right to. But it hurts. It just hurts”.

“You do have the right”, Cassandra says softly. “She was your sister”.

“She was a terrorist”.

“She was your family”.

Vi looks away. Her throat works around a sound she won’t let out.

Cassandra places a hand on her arm. “Both can be true. That’s what makes grief so unbearable”.

Vi leans her head back against the bench. Her voice drops to a hush, like a confession carried off by the wind. “One day Caitlyn will wake up and see me for who I am”, she says.  

“And who is that?”, Cassandra asks.

Vi stops herself before answering. Her throat works around it like she’s trying not to choke on glass. Then, barely above a whisper, she says, “Someone who ruins everything she touches”.

A fucking jinx.

“She won’t see that”, Cassandra replies. “She’ll see someone she loves”.

Vi closes her eyes. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides. “You don’t understand”, she says.

“Then help me understand, Vi”.

Vi shakes her head. “It was easier when you hated me”, she says after a minute of silence. “At least then it made sense”.

“Vi”, Cassandra says. “I never hated you”. She shifts enough to turn toward her. “Please look at me when I say this”.

Vi doesn't. She can’t. Her eyes burn and her chest is tight and there’s a pressure in her ribs like something’s going to crack. “You don’t get it”, she says. “Cait– she dragged me back to life like I deserved it. Like I didn’t belong there”.

“You didn’t”, Cassandra says, but Vi keeps going.

“And now she’s paying for it. Because of me. Because of who I am”. Her hands tremble at her sides. “She’s in that bed because of me. And you—you’re sitting here, talking to me, hugging me like I’m—like I’m family, like I haven’t destroyed the person you love the most”.

She finally turns and it feels like breaking her own ribs just to face Cassandra. “I ruin things. That’s what I do. I ruined Powder. I ruined Cait. I ruin everything I touch. Everyone”.

She dares Cassandra to argue, to disagree. But Cassandra doesn’t fight her. Doesn’t flinch. Instead, she reaches out and cups Vi’s face in both hands, as if she’s something fragile. Something worth saving.

Her touch is steady. Warm. Unbearable.

“You don’t ruin things”, she says. “You’re not a curse. You are not a mistake”.

Vi flinches, but Cassandra doesn’t let go.

“You are my daughter’s soulmate. And that makes you mine, too. Do you understand?”

No. Vi wants to scream. No, I don’t. She wishes Cassandra would just say it—that she doesn’t belong, that she should have stayed in Stillwater, that this was all a terrible mistake.

But Cassandra keeps saying things that make no sense.

“Vi, you didn’t choose any of this”, she says. “You had no agency, no control. But you are still here. Still loving her. Still holding yourself together so she won’t suffer more. That is not what someone who ruins everything does”.

She brushes her thumb lightly against Vi’s cheek. Her voice softens. “That’s what someone brave does. Someone good. Someone I would be proud to call family”.

Vi’s breath catches. Her shoulders shake. “You shouldn’t be proud of me”, she chokes out.

“That’s not your decision to make, Vi”.

Silence blooms between them. Then Cassandra exhales, and her hands fall gently from Vi’s face to her shoulders. “You should go back inside”, she says. “Get some rest. Lie down beside her, even just for a few hours. You need sleep”.

Vi wants to argue, but the fight is now gone from her. Her limbs are leaden. Her throat raw. So she simply nods.

Cassandra lowers her hands, but before she rises, she reaches out and gives Vi’s shoulder a firm squeeze.

Together, they stand and make their way back across the garden. Back through the quiet halls. Toward the room where the only person anchoring Vi to the world still breathes.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Fever

There’s heat behind her eyes. A slow, creeping warmth that doesn’t belong.

She’s half-awake, pinned beneath a wet heaviness. Her limbs ache, but it’s not the clean soreness of recovery. It’s the clumsy weight of her body moving wrong inside itself. Too hot. Too slow. Her mouth tastes like paper. Her brain like it’s wrapped in gauze.

There’s movement nearby. Voices.

Her mom’s. Someone else’s.

Not Vi’s.

Caitlyn manages to open her eye. It takes a moment to focus. The ceiling is too white. Her vision swims, then sharpens. Her father is standing beside her bed, arms crossed across his chest.

“Not here, Tobias”, her mother says quietly from the corner of the room.

“You knew about this”, he says. His voice comes muffled by the mask he is wearing. “You let her take our daughter outside”.

Her? Oh, Vi.

Caitlyn turns her head. It’s an effort. Like gravity has doubled overnight. Vi’s not in the room. The cot is empty now, the blanket folded across the back.

“Caitlyn asked her to”, her mom says. “She needed air”.

“And now she’s running a fever”, her father snaps. “Her immune system is still compromised. Her oxygen dropped. What part of that says ‘take her out for a walk’?”

“I told her it was alright”, her mom says –lies.

Gods, when was the last time her mom lied for her sake? When was the first?

“She’s not your patient, Cassandra”.

“No”, she replies. “She’s my daughter”.

Caitlyn watches them. She wants to speak, to say something to ease the weight bearing down on the room, but her throat is dry. She can barely breathe through the heat.

She has been through this many times. Too many to count. The two of them, arguing about her behind closed doors, thinking she wouldn’t hear them. Thinking she wouldn’t know she was breaking the family apart with her mysterious illness. With her attitude.

Her father presses his mask against the bridge of his nose. “You’re not thinking clearly”, he says. “You’ve let this whole soulmate nonsense cloud your judgment”.

Her mom’s voice sharpens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about”, she says.

“I know enough”, he says. “She took our daughter outside knowing how fragile she still is. What was she trying to prove? That she knows better than the doctors? That she is the only one who cares about Cait?”

“Tobias”, her mom warns. “If you insist on doing this now, let’s at least talk outside”.

“She doesn’t belong here”, he says flatly. “She’s reckless. Dangerous. You were the one who had her arrested and now–”

Caitlyn finally finds her voice, faint and cracked. “Stop”.

They both turn to her.

She swallows. Her skin feels wrong –like the fever is bubbling just beneath the surface. But her voice is steadier the second time. “Stop this”.

Her mother is at her side in an instant. She places a cool hand on her forehead.

“Vi didn’t hurt me”, Caitlyn says, barely above a whisper. “This is not my fever”.

“Great”. Her father shakes his head. “Now she is delirious”, he says.

Her mom presses the back of her hand to Caitlyn’s cheek. “You’re burning up, sweetheart. Give the meds some time to work”.

Caitlyn nods faintly, eye already starting to close again.

She wants to ask where Vi is. She wants to explain to them that this is Vi’s fever, not hers. That she can feel her soulmate’s heart breaking. That something is wrong with Vi, terribly wrong. That it is Vi they should be focusing on.

But she falls asleep before she has the chance to voice any of her concerns.

                                                           ***

When she wakes again, the room is quiet. Her head still throbs, but the oppressive heat has ebbed to something more manageable. She blinks slowly. Her mother is still there, sitting close.

Caitlyn turns her head. “Where is Vi?”

Her mom looks up. “They moved her to another room”, she says.

Caitlyn frowns. “Why?”

“They thought she might have… passed something to you”. Cassandra watches her carefully. “The doctors insisted”.

“No”, Caitlyn shakes her head, then regrets it. “She didn’t. This isn’t mine”.

Her mom leans in. “Cait–”

“I can feel her”, Caitlyn explains. She closes her eye. “She is… hurting. It’s different. It’s not mine, it’s hers”.

For a moment, her mother doesn’t respond. Then she exhales, like she’s been holding something in. “She found out about her sister yesterday”, she says. “Jinx is dead”.

Caitlyn’s breath catches.

“I didn’t want you to know yet”, her mom adds. “I imagine Vi didn’t either”.

“Oh”, Caitlyn says softly. Her chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with fever. “She shouldn’t be alone”.

“I know”, her mother replies.

“She shouldn’t be alone”, Caitlyn repeats, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

There’s a long pause.

Then Caitlyn whispers, “Mom, please. It’ll drop,” she says. “The fever. It did before, when I found her in Stillwater. When I held her”.

Her mother studies her for a long moment –then stands. “Let me see what I can do”.

                                               ***

The door opens a few minutes later.

Vi steps inside, masked. She is wearing a grey sweater. Caitlyn’s grey sweater. She looks so cute in it that Caitlyn wants to cry.

Caitlyn lifts her hand. “Come here”, she says.

Vi crosses the room slowly. She hovers beside the bed but doesn’t dare do anything more until Cassandra nods.

Caitlyn shifts, makes room. The movement sends a jolt of pain in her ribs but she doesn’t care. “Lie down with me”, she whispers.

Vi hesitates for a moment. Then she lowers herself carefully onto the narrow bed. She doesn’t speak. Just rests her forehead lightly against Caitlyn’s.

Caitlyn curls toward her as best she can. Her arm drapes gently over Vi’s waist. Her body aches with the effort, but she doesn’t notice. As soon as she touches her, the heat begins to lift. Vi exhales slowly –a long, trembling breath. She buries her face into the space between Caitlyn’s neck and shoulder.

Neither of them says a word. They just hold on.

And, predictably, Caitlyn’s fever breaks.

                                                           ***

Vi’s breath is shallow against Caitlyn’s shoulder. She’s trying to stay quiet. Trying to stay small. Caitlyn curls her fingers into the sweater –hers, but it looks better on Vi somehow– and gathers whatever strength she has left.

“I’m sorry about your sister”, she whispers.

Vi doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t even breathe. And then, slowly, the tension gives. Her shoulders tremble. She lets herself cry, quietly, into Caitlyn’s skin, as if her body can’t hold the grief any longer.

Caitlyn places her hand on the back of Vi’s neck. She can feel the fever burning beneath her fingertips.  “It’s alright”, she says softly. “Let it out”.

Vi shakes her head and buries herself deeper in Caitlyn’s arms.

“I’ve got you, now”, Caitlyn murmurs. “I’ve got you”.

Her own body is sore, still too weak, but she holds Vi anyway. Her hand moves gently through pink strands. Her fingers rub circles between Vi’s shoulder blades.

Vi quiets, eventually. Her breathing evens out. But the heat doesn’t lift.

Caitlyn touches her forehead again with the back of her palm. Still burning.

“Your fever’s not coming down”, she says.

Vi doesn’t respond. Her eyes are closed now. Her body limp with exhaustion. But Caitlyn knows she’s awake. Knows she’s listening. She kisses her temple and pulls her close again.

“Stay with me”, Caitlyn says. “Let me hold you”.

And Vi does.

                                               ***

There was a moment once—brief, half-asleep—when Caitlyn had felt it. Find me, someone had said, voice like thunder in her mind. Please. Caitlyn had bolted upright in bed, gasping, heart racing, tears on her cheeks for someone she didn’t know. But the next morning, it was gone.

So she had buried it. Told herself it had been a dream. A moment of madness after so much pain and so many painkillers.

Now she knows that it was Vi.

Helpless, tortured Vi, asking for help.

Asking for her help.

She presses her forehead against Vi’s now, careful not to wake her up.

All those years. Vi had been alone. Starved, shackled, punished for crimes she never committed. Caitlyn swallows the sob threatening to rise in her throat. Her ribs hurt too much to cry. But the guilt is there. Sharp, curling low in her stomach. She should’ve known. Should’ve done something.

But how could she have? They didn’t even know each other then. The Council never spoke of Stillwater’s conditions. The Enforcers didn’t ask questions. And Caitlyn–Caitlyn was crippled by the same pain as Vi.

Vi shivers in her arms, and Caitlyn holds her tighter. She can’t undo what was done. But she can be here now. She can hold her. Stay when others want her gone. She can fight for her, like Vi has always fought for the ones she loves.

“I’m sorry”, Caitlyn whispers. Her lips brush Vi’s temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner”.

Vi doesn’t wake. But her body, at least, begins to relax.

Caitlyn lets herself close her eye, just for a moment. She listens to Vi breathe. Feels the weight of her.

And promises, silently: never again.

                                               ***

“Vi. I’m sorry. It’s time”.

Vi stiffens in her arms.

Caitlyn tightens her hold immediately. Her weak fingers curl into the fabric of her own sweater. “No”, she says. “Not yet”.

“I can’t give you more time”, her mom says, and there’s real regret in her voice. “The doctors are already in the south wing. If they come in here and see her…”

“She’s sick”, Caitlyn says. She forces her eye open. “She’s still sick, and I’m—better”. She’s not, not really, but the fever has lifted, her pulse is steadier, her lungs feel like her own again. “She needs to stay”.

“I know”, her mom says. “But if they find her here, they will remove her. You know that”.

Vi moves then. “I’ll go”, she says. “It’s okay”.

“It’s not”, Caitlyn says. Her hand trembles against Vi’s back. “It’s not okay”.

Vi doesn’t look at her. She just pushes up onto an elbow and sits back on the edge of the bed, swaying slightly with the effort.

Caitlyn tries to sit up too, but her ribs pull sharply. She gasps and sinks back, defeated. “Vi, you’re still burning up”, she whispers.

Vi looks over her shoulder. She is trying so damn hard not to fall apart. “I’ll be fine”, she says.

Caitlyn’s mom places a hand on Vi’s shoulder. “Come on,” she says.

Caitlyn watches as Vi stands slowly and leaves the room.

“I’ll be right back”, her mom murmurs.

Vi doesn’t say another word.

                                               ***

Caitlyn lies still, staring at the ceiling. Her throat feels tight. The space Vi left beside her is still warm.

“She’s not okay”, she says to her mom when she comes back.

“I know”, she replies. She walks to the chair beside the bed but doesn’t sit.

“You shouldn’t have taken her away”.

“I had to”, her mom says quietly.

“No, you didn’t”, Caitlyn murmurs. “You just didn’t want to fight with dad again”.

Her mom exhales. “This isn’t about what I want”, she says.

“She didn’t pass me the fever”, Caitlyn says. “And you know that”.

“I do”, her mom says. “I’m not the one you need to convince. Your father is already demanding another round of isolation protocols”.

Caitlyn closes her eye. Her heart is beating too fast. “She’s grieving”, she whispers. “And she’s scared”.

“I know, Cait”. Her mom’s voice catches on her daughter’s name. “Do you think it’s easy for me to watch you both like that?”

“Then let her come back”.

Her mother finally sits beside her. She leans forward to brush damp hair back from Caitlyn’s face.

“She is getting worse”, Caitlyn says. “Her fever—it didn’t even drop a little. Mine did but not hers”.

Her mom frowns. “We gave you the same medication. Maybe she needs more time”.

Caitlyn shakes her head. “This isn’t about medication”, she says. “She needs someone to hold her. She needs—me”.

“And she’ll have you”. Cassandra meets her daughter’s eye at last. “I swear to you, Cait. As soon as I can bring her back, I will”.

Caitlyn’s lashes are damp. She doesn’t wipe her eye. “Okay”, she whispers.

Her mom stays until her breathing slows again. Until her fingers, curled in the blanket where Vi had just been, finally go still.

                                               ***

Caitlyn’s labs are clean.

No infection. No viral markers. No cause for the fever –because it was never hers to begin with.

She lies half-reclined against the pillows, thin hospital blankets tucked over her legs, oxygen tubing still looped beneath her nose. Her breath comes shallow. Talking hurts.

Everything hurts.

Dr. Kwan stands at the foot of the bed. “No pathogens. No signs of systemic infection”, she says. “Your inflammatory markers are high, but not dangerously so. Given your injuries, that’s expected”.

“So she stays”, Caitlyn murmurs. Her voice is a whisper. “Vi stays”.

Her dad shifts beside her. “No”, he says. “Absolutely not. She still has a fever. She could be infectious”.

“I’m not–”, Caitlyn swallows. “I’m not sick”.

“You’re immunosuppressed, Caitlyn”, Dr. Kwan says. “Still within the high-risk window post-op. You shouldn’t be exposed to–”

“Please”, Caitlyn breathes. “Listen”.

Dr. Kwan pauses.

“She’s not a risk”, Caitlyn says slowly. “She’s hurting”.

Her father frowns. “Caitlyn, enough with this”.

Caitlyn doesn’t know exactly why but this is the last straw. “You weren’t here”, she whispers. “When I was burning up. When I couldn’t breathe. When I was dying. She was”.

Her father doesn’t speak.

“I got better”, Caitlyn adds. “As soon as she touched me. Ask her”, she says and nods at Dr. Kwan.

“There were improvements, yes,”, the doctor says, “but that doesn’t mean–”

Caitlyn doesn’t let her finish her sentence. “Vi is my soulmate”, she says. Her body is trembling from the effort it takes to stay upright. “She is mine”.

“Sweetheart”, her mom says. She steps closer and sits on the edge of the bed. “Don’t push too hard. Breathe”.

“You’re vulnerable”, her father insists. “We’re doing what’s best–”

“No”, Caitlyn interrupts. Her good eye burns. “You’re doing what you always do. Ignoring what I’m telling you because it doesn’t fit your logic”.

“Cait”, her mom warns.

Caitlyn’s chest rises in another shallow breath. Her voice drops even lower. “I’m an adult”, she says. “I make my own decisions. I take the risk of having her here”.

She leans back against the pillows. Her whole body sinks a little, spent. She doesn’t hear the rest of the argument.

The next time she wakes up, Vi is lying on the cot next to her.

                                                           ***

The smell hits her first—light broth, herbs, something floral in the steam. Caitlyn blinks awake slowly. The oxygen tubing is still there, but her breathing isn’t as shallow today. The ache remains, but it’s background noise now, dulled enough to ignore for a few minutes.

Vi is already awake at her side, perched on the edge of the chair with her hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms.

“No cupcakes for breakfast”, she says. “And not because I didn’t ask”.

Caitlyn lets out a breath that could almost be a laugh. “How are you?”, she asks.

Vi shrugs. “Better, I guess. No fever”.

Caitlyn lifts a trembling hand and touches Vi’s forehead with the back of her fingers. Cool. No trace of heat. The corners of her mouth lift. “Then take your mask off”, she says.

“Cait–”

“I won’t tell if you don’t”.

Vi hesitates, then pulls the mask down, revealing the soft lines of her face, the scar above her lips. She leans in.

Caitlyn doesn’t care that her hand is shaking. She cradles Vi’s cheek and presses her lips gently to hers. Their foreheads rest together for a second after.

When Caitlyn leans back, she’s smiling. “There’s your cupcake”, she says.  

Vi laughs under her breath. Her eyes are glassy. She shifts just enough to roll the tray closer to Caitlyn. It’s been there before –plenty of times– but today, Vi doesn’t reach for the spoon. She waits.

Caitlyn stares at the bowl. Her hand is still trembling, the muscles in her arm thin and weak from disuse. But she’s tired of being fed. Tired of needing help with everything.

Slowly—too slowly—she shifts. The spoon feels heavier than she remembers.

Vi doesn’t move. She doesn’t say a word.

Caitlyn scoops a shaky half-spoon of broth and brings it to her lips. Some spills. Her hand jerks. Vi flinches like she wants to help, but holds still.

The second spoonful is steadier.

Vi’s eyes shine a little, but she doesn’t speak. Just rests a hand beside Caitlyn’s on the bed—close, not touching, but near enough that the warmth hums between them.

When Caitlyn finally sets the spoon down, her arm is aching and exhausted.

“You did it”, Vi says smiling. “You did it”.

Caitlyn smiles too. Not for the broth, not for the independence, but because she has finally given Vi a reason to smile like that.

And nothing tastes sweeter.

                                                           ***

The days bleed together.

Pain still lives beneath Caitlyn’s skin – dull now, instead of blinding– but it’s easier to breathe. Easier to sit up, to eat. Her voice doesn’t catch in her throat every time she speaks. Her eye no longer weeps blood when she blinks.

The worst has passed. She knows it in her body.

But Vi doesn’t seem to know it at all.

The stronger Caitlyn gets, the more Vi disappears.

It’s not dramatic. Not loud. It’s quiet –terrifyingly so. Vi still presses soft lips to Caitlyn’s forehead, murmurs jokes that make Caitlyn’s ribs hurt. She still fetches water, tucks in blankets, offers to help when Caitlyn needs to be moved.

But she’s not really here.

There’s a dimness in her eyes now that wasn’t there before. A greyness. Like the light went out and no one noticed until the room got cold.

Caitlyn sees it in the way Vi stands. In the way she smiles when her mom is around, just enough to pass for normal, but never with her eyes. In the way she flinches if someone knocks too loud. In the way she never sleeps through the night anymore. In the way she is always just not hungry.

Caitlyn watches Vi sink and doesn’t know how to stop it.

                                                           ***

The only sounds inside the room are the quiet hiss of Caitlyn’s oxygen line and the rhythmic beep of the monitor beside her.

Vi is curled in the armchair again, hunched beneath the oversized hoodie she hasn’t taken off in days. Her hands are buried deep in the sleeves, legs pulled up under her like she’s trying to disappear into the fabric. The hood is up –shadowing her eyes– even though the room is warm.

She hasn’t said anything in a while.

“Vi”, Caitlyn whispers.

Vi lifts her head immediately. “Yeah?”

“Come closer”.

There’s hesitation in the silence that follows. Vi shifts –like she wants to– but her hands clench tighter in her sleeves. “Cait…” she says softly. “What if someone walks in?”

“Then they’ll see you holding me”, Caitlyn says, as if she is explaining something simple.

Vi swallows. “Your dad already thinks I shouldn’t be here”.

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks”.

Vi glances toward the door. “It does matter”, she says. “I don’t want you fighting with him. Not for my sake”.

“He’ll come around”, Caitlyn says. “Don’t worry about him”.  

Another beat passes. Then, slowly, Vi rises.

“I don’t want to hurt you”, she mumbles. “You’re still…”

“I’m not made of glass”, Caitlyn says, though her voice trembles. “I just want you close”.

And, finally, Vi is convinced.

She climbs into the hospital bed. She’s hyper-aware of every IV line, every bandage, every place Caitlyn still aches. She settles on her side, light and gentle.

She doesn’t dare touch at first.

Caitlyn lifts her arm. “Vi. Please”.

Vi leans in, rests her head just under Caitlyn’s collarbone, one arm wrapping lightly across her waist. She keeps her weight off the bandaged thigh, keeps her hands still. Her forehead presses against Caitlyn’s neck, and when she breathes out, it sounds like she’s been holding that breath for days.

Caitlyn threads her fingers gently into Vi’s hair. “There you are”, she murmurs.

Vi shudders. Her hand moves to Caitlyn’s ribs, splaying there like she’s terrified of holding too tightly. Her thumb strokes just once over the fabric of the gown, and then stops.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “For all of it. For leaving. For—”

“Shh”, Caitlyn soothes. Her lips graze Vi’s temple. “You’re here now”.

Vi’s fingers roam lightly. Her knuckles trace Caitlyn’s side, then up to the edge of the burn dressings. She doesn’t press. She just holds her. Her other hand finds Caitlyn’s and brings it to her mouth. She kisses each knuckle, like she’s memorizing them.

Caitlyn lets her. She studies her face in the low light –the way Vi’s jaw tenses, the flicker of fear every time the door creaks, like she’s waiting for someone to tear her away.

Her heart aches. “No one will take you from me again”, she says. “Not while I’m breathing”.

Vi closes her eyes. Her fingers move again –now against Caitlyn’s wrist, then her shoulder, then the curve of her jaw. Feather-light. Awestruck. Like she’s not sure she’s allowed. Like every inch is sacred.

Caitlyn lets her, and more than that –she leans in to it.

“I’m worried about you, you know”, she says softly, lips at Vi’s forehead. “You’re not sleeping. You barely eat”.

Vi’s breath catches. Her grip tightens just a little. “I just need this”, she says. “This is enough”.

Caitlyn strokes her hair. “No, Vi”, she says gently. “It’s not. You need to take care of yourself”.

Vi doesn’t answer.

Caitlyn’s fingers keep moving through her hair. “You’re allowed to need time”, she says. “But don’t disappear on me”.

Vi nods.

They stay like that. Vi’s arm curled around Caitlyn’s waist. Caitlyn’s hand in her hair. The warmth of them pressed together, careful and aching, too much and not enough.

Neither speaks again. But the silence is no longer hollow.

It’s heavy with love. With hurt. With everything they haven’t found the words for yet.

And all the things they will.

                                                           ***

Caitlyn is exhausted from therapy. Her muscles ache, but her mind won’t settle. Her mom sits beside her, with a book in her lap that she hasn’t touched in half an hour.

“She won’t talk to me”, Caitlyn says quietly.

Her mom looks up.

“Vi”, she adds. “She is too quiet. She only eats when you insist. She won’t meet my eyes unless I ask her to. And she won’t say a word about her sister”.

Her mom doesn’t answer right away. Her expression softens.

“She sits in that chair for hours”, Caitlyn continues, “but it’s like she’s not even here. She doesn’t look. She just… stares. Like she has given up”.

Cassandra reaches out, smooths the edge of Caitlyn’s blanket. “She’s grieving”, she says. “You said so yourself”.

“I know that”. Caitlyn’s voice is brittle. “But she won’t speak about anything. Not Jinx, not us, not even the weather”. She swallows. “She’s drowning and I can’t reach her”.

“You’re still healing”, her mom says gently. “You can’t pull someone from the tide while you’re learning to breathe again”.

“I can’t wait until I get better, mom”, Caitlyn says. “Every day she sinks deeper. This silence…it’s not safe”.

There’s a pause. Her mom looks at her but doesn’t voice her thoughts yet.

“I need to help her”, Caitlyn insists. “Even if it’s just a little”.

“You already do more than you know”, her mom says. “You’re her anchor, Cait. That’s why she hasn’t gone under”.

When Caitlyn shakes her head, her mom adds, “She’s tired. She has been carrying so much for so long”.

Caitlyn’s throat tightens.

“She’s not giving up”, her mom says gently. “She simply finally feels safe enough to rest”.

“But she won’t talk–”

“She lost her sister, Cait”, her mom cuts in. “She almost lost you. Grief takes time. Even for girls like her. Especially for girls like her”.

Caitlyn nods, but it’s slow. Hesitant. A gesture made for her mother’s sake, not because she’s convinced.

Her mom watches her for a moment longer, then leans in to brush a curl from her forehead. “Try to rest, sweetheart”.

Caitlyn closes her eyes, but the ache in her chest won’t let her settle. Her mother’s hand lingers for a moment, then retreats with the soft rustle of fabric and the creak of the chair.

The sound of pages turning picks up again beside her.

Caitlyn lies still, but sleep doesn’t come. Not yet.

She thinks about Vi in that chair—how still she sits, how her eyes don’t track movement unless Caitlyn calls her name. She thinks about the untouched food, the clothes hanging looser than they should. The way Vi says “I’m fine” like it’s a foreign word in her mouth.

Her mother’s voice had been warm, reassuring. Almost too much so.

Safe. Tired. Just tired.

But Caitlyn has seen tired. She knows tired. This is something else.

Her mother means well. She knows that. But maybe this is just another one of the lies people tell to keep the people they love from panicking.

She turns her face into the pillow. Tries to pretend the ache in her chest is just muscle soreness from therapy. But it’s not.

She doesn’t believe her mom. Not even a little.

And that’s what keeps her awake long after her mother starts reading again.

                                               ***

Caitlyn stands.

Only for a few seconds. Only on her good leg. Supported on either side by two nurses, her weight braced against a walker with padded grips. The left one has been raised slightly higher, so she doesn’t have to risk pressure on her arm –where skin grafts still sting and stretch. Her ribs ache under the compression wrap, and the world tips a little with the effort of staying upright.

But she’s standing.

Vi is at the end of the bed, hands hovering like she wants to reach but doesn’t dare.  “Cupcake”, she breathes, “you’re doing it. You’re up”.

Caitlyn exhales shakily. She can’t spare her energy to ask Vi for the millionth time to stop calling her “cupcake” in front of other people. The walker is cold beneath her fingers. Her entire body trembles –but she’s standing.

And she’s looking at Vi.

“Only just”, she whispers, flushed and a little dizzy. “Don’t get excited”.

Vi does, anyway. She grins so wide it scrunches her whole face. “You’re up”, she says, eyes shining. “You’re amazing”.

Caitlyn leans more heavily into the nurse on her right, swaying just a little.

“Alright, that’s enough for now”, the nurse says. “Let’s sit you back down”.

The descent is slower than the rise. Her leg throbs, ribs twinging with every small adjustment. The nurses help guide her into the chair and adjust her hospital gown where it’s ridden up at the back. A blanket is draped over her lap.

Her mom moves closer. She checks the monitors as Caitlyn eases back against the pillows. “Well done, sweetheart”, she says softly. She brushes a cool hand over her forehead.

Caitlyn doesn’t respond at first. She’s looking at Vi.

Vi steps closer now, slow, careful, waiting for some kind of permission. She is still too afraid to cross whatever invisible line she thinks separates her from this family.

“Come here”, Caitlyn says. Her voice is a little stronger now. She lifts her good hand –the one that isn’t shaking– and reaches out.

Vi comes closer. Drops to one knee beside the chair. Her eyes flick to Cassandra for just a beat –checking. Asking.

Cassandra adjusts the blanket a little higher over Caitlyn’s lap, then turns to quietly inspect the IV pump, giving them the closest thing she can to privacy.

Vi leans in and presses her forehead to Caitlyn’s hand. She doesn’t dare kiss her. Not with Cassandra right there. But her hand finds Caitlyn’s under the blanket and holds it, while her thumb strokes the back of it.

Caitlyn closes her eye. “I’m coming back”, she whispers.

Vi swallows. Her voice cracks. “You are”, she says.

She stays kneeling there, like it’s a promise she’s making –to hold this moment, to hold Caitlyn, however long it takes.

Her mom doesn’t interrupt them. She rests a hand on Vi’s shoulder when she passes behind her.

Caitlyn hopes with all her heart that Vi feels it.

That she is not just tolerated here.

That she is wanted. Loved. Fiercely, without question.

That Caitlyn would choose her –over and over again– in every life, through every storm.

That whatever broken thing Vi sees when she looks in the mirror, Caitlyn only sees the girl she loves.

And that she has absolutely no intention of ever letting her go again. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Home

Some days, it feels like Vi is drowning in a room full of air.

She walks. She talks. She even smiles, sometimes –for Caitlyn, mostly. But underneath, it’s all cinders. Just ash and silence where something like a heart used to be.

Powder is gone. Not missing. Not on the run. Not under arrest. Gone.

Vi feels it. Not the same way she feels Caitlyn’s pain –not like a flare in her chest or a burn beneath her skin– but in the absence. Like a door slamming shut inside her soul. Like a bond fraying until it snaps and leaves her alone with the pieces.

And still, she’s here. Eating breakfast she doesn’t want. Sleeping beside the girl she loves but doesn’t deserve. Pretending her hands aren’t stained with everything she failed to stop.

Caitlyn looks at her like she’s worth something. Cassandra holds her like she matters.

It only makes it worse.

Because deep down, Vi knows the truth. She left Powder behind. She let the world break her. And she didn’t go back –not soon enough.

And now Caitlyn –kind, steady Caitlyn, who nearly died– reaches for her with soft words and open hands, and Vi flinches. Not because she doesn’t want the touch. Because she does. So badly it hurts. But it feels like stealing.

She stays awake at night counting Caitlyn’s breaths. She needs to be ready. If something happens. If Caitlyn needs her. If the universe demands a price again and she has to pay.

And when she skips meals, it’s not punishment. Not really. It’s penance. A dull ache in her gut that makes more sense than the noise in her head. Something she can control. Something that won’t hurt Caitlyn.

She doesn’t cry often. Not unless Caitlyn is asleep or Cassandra holds her too tight for too long. But the tears live just beneath her ribs. Pressing up, silent. Waiting.

Because Vi is broken.

And part of her doesn’t think she’s meant to ever be fixed.

                                               ***

The hospital cafeteria is filled with stressed people and tired doctors. Vi stands near the wall, hands shoved in her pockets, waiting for a tea she probably won’t drink.

She’s about to leave when she sees Cassandra.

She’s seated at a small table in the corner. She’s not in one of her sharper Council outfits today –just a cream sweater and tailored trousers. She’s deep in conversation with an older man Vi has never seen before. A tablet is open between them.

Vi watches from a distance, already half-turning to go, but then Cassandra glances up. She sees her. And she smiles.

She says something to the man, then lifts her hand and gestures: come here.

Vi forgets about the tea. She crosses the floor quickly, shoulders tight under the weight of every whisper she imagines being thrown behind her back.

“Vi”, Cassandra says as she approaches. “This is Mr. Hemsley. He is helping us make a few temporary adjustments to the house”.

The man offers a polite smile.

“Hi”, Vi says awkwardly, unsure what she’s doing here. Her eyes flick to the tablet.

It shows a floor plan. Vi recognizes the outline of the Kiramman estate. There are some notes scribbled in green on top of it. Widened thresholds. Ramp access to the front veranda. Grab bars in the bathroom. A modified bedroom layout on the ground floor. Vi stares. She isn’t quite processing what she’s seeing. Then it hits her all at once.

They’re making space for Caitlyn.

“These should be ready before Caitlyn comes home”, Cassandra says. She flips to another screen with sample fittings and temporary railings. “The chair the hospital’s loaning her is well-built, but we’re ordering another that’s better for long-term use – just in case”. She pauses, then looks up at Vi. “We want her to feel safe. Comfortable”.

Vi swallows. “Thanks”, she says quietly. “For…for showing me”.

Cassandra inclines her head. “Of course, child”.

Vi nods, shifts her weight. “Do you… want me to head back up? I was just–”

“No, no, stay”, Cassandra says gently. “You should see this too”.

She slides the tablet slightly toward her. “This will be your room”, she says. “I figured you should have your own space, with all the doctors going in and out of Cait’s room for the next few months”.

Vi hesitates. “Are you…are you sure?”

Cassandra looks her in the eyes. “Yes, Vi”, she says. “I am”.

Vi nods. She is about ten seconds from crying, so she doesn’t sit, but she leans forward to take a look at the plans.

Caitlyn’s future is sketched there in lines and angles and soft green notes –blurred now by the tears Vi is trying very hard not to let fall.

And somehow, Cassandra seems to think Vi belongs in it too.

                                               ***

Caitlyn’s room smells like that awful lemon disinfectant Vi still can’t get used to. Caitlyn is dozing lightly, half-slumped against the pillows, head tilted toward the window where the afternoon light spills across her blanket.

Her eye flutters open when Vi shifts in the chair beside her. “You okay?”, she asks.

Vi nods. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you”.

“You didn’t”, Caitlyn says. “Wasn’t really asleep”.

Her voice is steadier today. So is her hand, when she reaches out to touch Vi’s knee. Her grip is faint, still –like everything about her now– but she’s here.

Awake.

Better every day.

There’s a soft knock, then the door opens. Dr. Kwan steps inside and Vi braces herself for bad news. Force of habit.

She is happy to be proven wrong for a change.

“We’re still waiting on the last set of bloodwork”, Dr. Kwan says, “but everything so far is looking stable. Vitals are consistent. Your breathing is better. No signs of any infection”.

Vi smiles but doesn’t let her expectations go too high.

“If the final tests come back clear”, Dr. Kwan continues, “you’ll be discharged tomorrow afternoon”.

For a second, no one says anything.

Then Caitlyn exhales. Her hand tightens slightly over Vi’s knee.

“Tomorrow?”, she asks.

Dr. Kwan nods. “I already spoke to your parents. You’ll need full-time care, physical therapy, follow-ups twice a week, and we’re coordinating with the house team to make sure everything’s accessible. But yes. Tomorrow”.

Vi doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until Caitlyn lets go of hers.

“Okay”, Caitlyn says. It comes out like something between a whisper and a laugh. “Okay”.

Dr. Kwan smiles. “I’ll check in again tonight”.

The silence she leaves behind is different now. Warmer. Happier, for a change.

Caitlyn leans back against the pillows.

Vi shifts forward and brushes a hand over her arm. “Hey”, she murmurs. “That’s good news”.

Caitlyn nods, but she doesn’t speak right away. Her mouth twists — something like a smile, but smaller. Sadder. “It doesn’t feel real”.

Vi squeezes her arm. “It is”.

Caitlyn turns toward her, and for a moment, Vi can see everything in her face: the fear, the exhaustion, the quiet joy, the pain still buried under the surface.

“Home”, Caitlyn says.

Vi leans forward and presses a kiss just beside her temple. “Home”, she echoes, even though the word rings hollow in her ears.

                                               ***

The hospital hallway is empty this late. The vending machines hum. Vi is slumped on the bench outside Caitlyn’s room, hoodie pulled low, legs jittering.

“Mind if I sit?”

Cassandra.

Vi wanted it to be her. She even prayed it would be her. Because tonight is bad and Vi doesn’t trust herself to deal with it alone.

“Yeah, sure”, she says and takes her hoodie off.

Cassandra lowers herself beside her. “You’re not hiding it as well as you think”, she says. “Cait is worried about you”. She places her hand on Vi’s knee. “I am worried about you”.

Vi doesn’t look at her. “I just couldn’t sleep”, she says. “Didn’t want to wake Cait”.

Cassandra tilts her head. “You think what you’re doing is quiet. Harmless. But it’s not”.

“I’m not…I’m not doing anything”, Vi whispers.

Cassandra isn’t convinced. “You’re hurting yourself”, she says.

“I…No, I’m not”.

She isn’t sure who she is trying to convince.

“But you are, Vi”, Cassandra says. “You are. Skipping meals. Refusing sleep. Avoiding the people who love you. That’s self-harm”.

Vi shakes her head. “I just… my jaw hurts. I can’t –chewing is hard right now”.

Cassandra nods. “Then let’s get it checked. Right now. We’re in a hospital, surrounded by doctors. If it hurts, we find out why. And we fix it”.

Vi’s eyes dart to her, startled. “It’s not…It’s not that bad”.

“Alright”, Cassandra nods again. “Help me understand, then. Does it hurt so much that you skipped all meals today, or it’s not that bad, which means you will happily eat if I bring you a nice bowl of soup right now?”

Vi huffs a shaky breath. Her knee jitters harder. “You’re really not gonna let me off the hook tonight, are you?”

Cassandra doesn’t smile. “No”, she says. “Not tonight”.

Vi laughs –a small, bitter thing. “You don’t get it”, she says. “I don’t even feel hungry. It’s like… it’s gone. Like my body has given up asking”.

Cassandra’s hand is still on her knee. “That’s what I’m afraid of”, she says. “And it’s exactly why we don’t ignore it”.

Vi’s throat tightens. We. Her eyes burn. She tries to say something –anything– but the words knot in her chest, too big to push through.

Cassandra’s voice softens even further. “Vi. Look at me”.

Vi does. It costs her.

Because Cassandra sees it all –the shadows under her eyes, the hollowness in her cheeks, the way she has clearly been crying and trying to hide it.

And Vi doesn’t mean to say it, not really, but it breaks out of her anyway, wrecked and small. “I miss her”.

Cassandra nods, as if she just heard the most rational thing in the world. “I know”, she says.

Vi sniffles. “I miss my sister. I miss my mom. I miss Vander. I miss when things were–”. Her voice breaks. “I just miss them”.

Cassandra shifts closer. “It’s okay to feel like this”, she says.

And then Vi finally cries. At first, it’s just a sound –raw and torn from her like something broken loose. But then it takes her whole body with it. The sobs come hard and fast, making her chest seize and her breath stutter.

Cassandra opens her arms and gathers her in. Vi presses her face to Cassandra’s shoulder, gasping between sobs, trying to breathe but failing. Her ribs hitch. Her hands clutch at Cassandra’s coat, desperate for something solid.

Cassandra holds her tighter. One hand braced against Vi’s back, the other cradling the nape of her neck.

“You’re okay”, she murmurs, over and over. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just breathe”.

But Vi can’t –not properly. The tears keep coming, stealing the air from her lungs. Her whole frame trembles. A hiccup jolts out of her, sharp and helpless.

Cassandra tilts her head down. Her cheek rests against Vi’s hair. Her arms tighten again, anchoring her.

“I know, baby”, she whispers. Her hand keeps moving in slow, calming strokes down Vi’s spine. “I know”.

                                                           ***

Later, when Vi has calmed down, Cassandra returns with a mug. “Here”, she says softly and sets it in Vi’s hands. “It’s chamomile milk”.

Vi curls her fingers around it. The ceramic is warm. The smell hits her harder than it should. She stares into it for a moment before taking a sip.

It’s warm. Safe.

And it reminds her of her mom.

She drinks it slowly, both hands wrapped around the mug like it might slip through her fingers otherwise. Cassandra stays close, watching Vi drink like it matters.

“This should help you sleep”, she says at some point. “Tomorrow is a big day”.

Vi nods. It is. For Cait, at least.

“You’re both coming home”, Cassandra explains.

Vi stares at her. The words take a moment to land. But when they do, they settle like light in her chest. She swallows. Starts to say something, then hesitates.

Cassandra’s eyes soften. “Please don’t ask me if I mean that”, she says. “Never doubt that you are welcome in our house. Never”.

Vi’s throat catches. She nods. She doesn’t want to cry again.

“Go on”, Cassandra says, tapping her gently on the arm. “She’ll sleep better with you close”.

                                                           ***

Vi wears self-hate like armour. Heavy. Familiar. Forged young and worn for so long it’s moulded to her. Muscle and memory. A second skin.

She’s used to its weight.

Used to the way it digs into her ribs, locks around her chest, holds her spine rigid when the rest of her wants to fold. It’s what kept her upright when she had nothing else.

It’s what kept people out—kept her safe. Kept her alone.

And now here’s Cassandra.

Gentle. Steady. Persistent in a way Vi doesn’t know how to fight.

She doesn’t flinch at her silences. Doesn’t retreat when the shutters slam down. Doesn’t try to force her way in. Just… waits. Stays. Offers.

A blanket across her shoulders. A soft hand smoothing her hair. A mug of warm milk. Calling her sweetheart, or, even worse, baby.

Like Vi deserves comfort.

Like she hasn’t failed every person who ever counted on her.

Vi wants to scoff. Wants to reject it. Shove it all away before it slips under the plates and finds the parts of her still breakable.

But she doesn’t.

Because Cassandra doesn’t look at her with pity or fear. She just looks. Sees her. And somehow still chooses her.

When Cassandra says, “She’ll sleep better with you close”, Vi almost snaps that she doesn’t deserve sleep. Doesn’t deserve Caitlyn. Doesn’t deserve any of this.

But she bites her tongue. Presses her teeth into the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood and shame.

And then—Cassandra’s hand in her hair. Soft, rhythmic. Calming. The kind of touch that feels like the forgiveness she once swore she would never offer Vi.

Something shifts. Not all at once. Not cleanly. But something. A fracture. A breath. A piece of the armour loosens. Just a sliver. Just enough for warmth to slip through.

Vi doesn’t know what to do with it. She stands there like she’s caught mid-fall, unsure if she’s allowed to land.

But her feet move. And the words follow her like a thread she didn’t know she needed to hold.

                                               ***

Vi stands just inside the doorway with her hands shoved in her pockets.

Caitlyn is dressed and sitting up in the wheelchair, beaming like the sun has finally remembered to rise. Her hair is brushed and her fingers drum lightly against the armrest with barely contained energy. Cassandra is signing papers with one hand and fielding questions from the nurses with the other, every inch the composed Councillor –but even she is smiling. Tobias doesn’t look at Vi. Not once. He walks around her like she’s not even there. Vi doesn’t blame him. Not really. She just keeps her eyes on Caitlyn.

“Vi”, Caitlyn says at some point. “Come here”.

Vi crosses the room. Caitlyn reaches out, and Vi offers her hand. Caitlyn squeezes.

“You ready to get out of here?”, Vi asks.

“I’ve been ready for days”, Caitlyn says. “I want my bed. A hot bath”. She lowers her voice and leans towards Vi. “A real date with you”.

Before Vi has the time to respond to that, Cassandra steps over.

“You’ll have all of that”, she says, and Vi feels heat rise to her face. “And more”.

Dr. Kwan continues her discharge rundown—check-up schedule, medication dosages, signs to watch for. Caitlyn listens and nods, sharp as ever despite the long road she’s still on. The brace is hidden under her loose sweatpants, but Vi knows it's there, stabilizing her fractured thigh. She won’t be walking unassisted for a while, maybe weeks still –but the fact that she’s sitting upright without pain meds in her IV is its own kind of miracle.

When Dr. Kwan finishes, Cassandra offers her hand.

“Thank you for everything”, she says. “You and your team. For your care, your patience, your skill”.

The doctor says something that Vi doesn’t catch.

And then Cassandra surprises Vi once again. She turns away from the doctor and looks at her straight in the eyes.

“But above all, thank you, Vi. It was your blood that stabilized Caitlyn when nothing else would”.

Vi freezes. Her heart knocks sideways in her chest. It’s quiet for a beat. Tobias clears his throat but offers no words.

Vi can feel Caitlyn trying to catch her gaze. She doesn’t dare look at her.

It’s Dr. Kwan who breaks the silence. “Caitlyn fought like hell”, she says. “But, yes, Vi’s blood helped us a lot”.

Caitlyn tugs at Vi’s sleeve. “You never told me that”, she whispers.

Vi shrugs. “It’s no big deal”, she murmurs.

Tobias still says nothing. He stands by the door, arms folded, gaze fixed on the window like he can’t hear any of it.

But Caitlyn squeezes Vi’s hand again. Tightly. “Come home with me”, she says. “Now”.

Vi doesn’t trust herself to speak. So she nods.

And for the first time in days, the armour feels like something she might be able to take off.

                                               ***

The gates open with a soft mechanical hum. The car creeps up the gravel drive, polished and quiet like everything else in Piltover. Like nothing had ever burned or broken here.

Vi sits in the back. She hasn’t said much since they left the hospital. Caitlyn leans against her, half-asleep. Her head drifts toward Vi’s shoulder every time the car shifts. The white pharmacy bag crinkles in her lap with each turn. A folder with her discharge papers sits untouched between them. Her wheelchair is stowed in the trunk like cargo. Like an afterthought. Like something nobody wants to talk about yet.

Cassandra murmurs something to the driver. He nods without speaking. Tobias is already at the door waiting for them.

Caitlyn is coming home.

And Vi has never felt further from it.

                                               ***

The house is bigger than Vi remembered. She swallows as the front doors open and staff move to meet them.

But it’s not the same house as before. The front step is gone. There is a new ramp in its place. One side of the hallway rug has been removed entirely. And down the corridor, just visible, the study doors have been replaced with wider, double-paneled ones. Doors that open out instead of in.

All the changes that Vi saw on paper mere hours ago are now implemented. Talk about efficiency.  

The nurses help Caitlyn out of the car. She winces as she shifts her weight. One hand grips the armrest until her knuckles pale. But Vi sees it –the shimmer of relief that crosses Caitlyn’s face when she reaches out and Vi is already there, steadying her elbow.

The ache in Vi’s chest eases just slightly.

They wheel Caitlyn inside. Tobias gives instructions to the nurses. Welcomes his daughter. Says nothing to Vi.

But Cassandra does. “Get started on dinner, please”, she tells the staff. Then she turns and places one hand on Vi’s back to steer her forward. “Your room is just next to Cait’s. Come take a look”.

The sitting room has changed. The thick rug is gone. A low hospital bed replaces one of the antique chairs. Warm lighting, a new side table, a white call button nestled discreetly by the armrest.

It should look like a hospital room. Instead, it looks thoughtful and cozy. Cassandra’s touch, Vi thinks.

She swallows again. “You changed all this…”

Cassandra smiles. “Of course we did”, she says. “Anything for Caitie”.

Vi stares at the floor. She doesn’t know how to bring it up, and there never will be a good moment to mention it, so she simply says, “Your husband doesn’t want me here”.

Cassandra’s smile vanishes. “Tobias is grieving in his own way. But this is Caitlyn’s home too. And she has made her choice”. She glances at Caitlyn and then back to Vi. “And so have I”.

Vi stands there, still half-tensed for a door to slam shut. For someone to say it: you don’t belong here.

But no one does.

And Cassandra’s eyes are kind. “Caitlyn wants you here”, she continues. “You belong with her”.

Vi looks over. Caitlyn is watching her. The way she always has — like Vi is something precious. Something people should want to have.

She lifts her hand. “Vi”, she says. And when Vi steps closer, she smiles. “We made it”.

The words are simple. They still hit like a storm.

Vi nods. Her breath catches. “Yeah”.

But it doesn’t feel like the victory it should.

Vi remembers the first time she walked on these floors –bleeding, full of guilt and pain and shame. Back when she was just a name in a Stillwater file. A walking red flag. A stray Caitlyn had brought home.

She had expected to be thrown out.

Now, she is being invited in. Not as a charity case or an ex-prisoner. Not as a burden. Just… as Caitlyn’s.

“You okay?” Caitlyn asks.

Vi blinks. Realizes she’s been staring. She tries to speak, but the words crack around the edges. “Yeah”, she says. “Just weird being back”.

Caitlyn holds out her hand. Vi takes it without hesitation. Caitlyn’s fingers are warm. Her grip is steadier than it was yesterday.

Behind them, Cassandra lingers just long enough to catch the moment.

“Careful”, she says. “Keep your hands where the doctors would approve”.

Vi flinches. Her hand twitches in Caitlyn’s. “Sorry–”

“She’s messing with you”, Caitlyn cuts in and squeezes Vi’s hand.

Vi looks down at her. “Really?”

“Yeah”, Caitlyn murmurs. She brushes her thumb over Vi’s knuckles. “She’s happy”.

Cassandra’s expression softens. “She’s right. I am”. She looks at Vi now. “I hope you are too”.

Vi’s chest tightens.

Cassandra hesitates, then reaches to touch Caitlyn’s shoulder. “Let me know when you’re ready to eat”. She turns to Vi. “And you –if you need anything. Anything at all. You come find me”.

                                               ***

Caitlyn falls asleep before dinner. Cassandra says it’s okay, let her rest, but Vi can sense that something has changed. There is no smile on her face anymore. She suddenly looks older again, just like during those first horrible days after the attack.

Vi doesn’t dare ask what happened.

She eats her dinner quietly while Cassandra and Tobias keep whispering about headlines and damage control. Vi wants to excuse herself as quickly as possible and go back to Caitlyn, but Cassandra gives her the look and asks her to finish her vegetables. As if everything is normal. As if her biggest concern is the nutritional value of Vi’s meals.

When dinner is almost over, Cassandra asks the staff to skip dessert and excuses herself to make a phone call from her office.

Vi doesn’t mean to follow her. But the alternative is to stay and compete with Tobias in who-can-stay-silent-the-longest, a game Vi isn’t particularly fond of after spending the last six years of her life inside a prison cell.  

So she drifts down the hall, unsure where she’s going, until she sees the faint light under the office door, which is cracked open just slightly.

Vi hears the unmistakable edge in Cassandra’s voice.

“…No. I said no, and that hasn’t changed”, Cassandra says. “Because it wasn’t an official negotiation. It was a peace effort”.

Vi takes one quiet step closer.

“I didn’t go in with a security detail because I didn’t want to startle them. That’s how trust begins — with risk. With someone making the first move”.

There’s a pause. Vi hears the faint hum of the comms device Cassandra’s using — private line, encrypted. Definitely not meant to be overheard.

“I know the headlines. Gods, do you think I can’t read?”, Cassandra’s voice sharpens. “They want a scapegoat, and I’m convenient. But we are one explosion away from a full-out war with Zaun, and you want me to apologize for trying to stop it?”

Vi’s breath catches.

War.

She presses her back against the wall.

“No”, Cassandra says. “Ambessa doesn’t speak for all of us. But she’s gaining support. She is capitalizing on fear”. A pause. Then, softer: “I won’t be surprised if this was all her doing”.

There’s a click  –the comms line ending– followed by the sound of rustling papers.

“Negotiating with terrorists”, Cassandra mutters to herself. And then Vi hears the sharp flutter of paper being thrown.

She doesn’t stay to hear more.

She steps back from the door and slips away before anyone sees her.

                                               ***

Caitlyn sits on the edge of the bed, legs down, hands braced lightly beside her. The evening sun spills across her knees, catching in the folds of her robe.

“I remembered something”, she says. “From the hospital”.

Vi pauses in the doorway. Her mind is still spinning –headlines, war, Ambessa’s name like a threat in the back of her throat– but none of it belongs here. Not in this room. Not with Caitlyn.

She wants it gone. All of it. The fear, the tension, the sound of Cassandra’s voice breaking after that call.

She kneels in front of Caitlyn without thinking. It feels natural. Honest. Like she’s finally where she’s supposed to be.

Caitlyn blinks. “Vi?”

Vi wraps her arms around Caitlyn’s waist, mindful of the healing ribs. Her face presses to Caitlyn’s chest—just to the side, where she can hear her heartbeat, where she knows it won’t hurt her.

And gods, it’s instant. The safety. The warmth. The way Caitlyn’s arms come around her without hesitation, one settling gently along her back, the other rising to cradle the back of her head.

Vi exhales. Caitlyn’s fingers find her hair, slow and careful, and Vi melts into it—into her. Knees on the floor, body trembling with a quiet kind of relief that feels too big to name. Her hands find Caitlyn’s sides and stay there.

“I’m sorry”, Caitlyn says softly. “Vi, I—I was awful to you. I hurt you”.

Vi says nothing. Just listens to her heartbeat, lets it echo through her chest like something sacred. Her thumbs rub slow circles into Caitlyn’s sides.

“I hurt you”, Caitlyn whispers again. “There’s so much I don’t remember clearly, but that’s not an excuse. I hurt you”.  

Vi lifts her head enough to kiss the hollow just below Caitlyn’s throat. Then places another kiss to the underside of her jaw. Then one more, right over her heart.

She presses her face back to Caitlyn’s chest. She could cry. But she doesn’t. Not now. Because none of it matters. Not the pain, not the hurtful words, not the mistakes. Not when she’s here, wrapped in this warmth, hearing Caitlyn’s heartbeat like it was always meant to be there.

“Cait”, Vi murmurs. “I don’t fucking care”.

Caitlyn cradles her tighter. She brushes her lips across Vi’s forehead, lingering there, then places a second kiss against her hairline.

“I love you”, she says.