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There’s a stillness in the morning that Jinx has learned to cherish. Before the static creeps in.
Before the echoes start.
It’s quiet.
She blinks awake in the hush of their small, dimly lit room. No alarms, no shimmer burn. Just the sound of Ekko’s breathing. Even the city is mercifully silent. For once, her thoughts don’t race. They drift, soft and aimless. And in that rare clarity, she turns toward him. His face is relaxed, lashes resting against his cheeks, mouth slightly open like he's mid-dream. She watches, still as a shadow.
Her fingers lift without thinking, brushing over the curve of his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, the scar near his brow that only she ever touches. He stirs faintly under her touch. Then, without opening his eyes, he finds her hand and presses it to his face—like he knows it’s her by feel alone.
His lips brush the center of her palm in a barely-there kiss.
No words.
Just breath. Skin. Quiet.
They lie there like that, her hand cradling his cheek, his warmth grounding her—like this tiny bubble of peace might hold off the rest of the world for a few more heartbeats. The quiet doesn't last forever. It never does. From beyond the bedroom door, the low hum of a television drifts in—something soft and animated, probably a cartoon. Jinx recognizes the familiar rhythm of Isha's favorite show playing in the background. She smiles faintly. Then come the whispers. Nox’s voice, low and calm, guiding Isha through her usual morning whirlwind.
“Boot goes on the left foot, not your hand, gremlin.”
“I like hands for boots.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
A quiet giggle. A tiny stomp. Zipper sounds. A rustle of a lunch bag.
Then the door creaks open just enough to let them through. Isha tiptoes in like she’s on a stealth mission—though her messy braids and squeaky shoes ruin the effect—and Nox follows, carrying her backpack. Jinx doesn’t move. She just watches, eyes warm, still curled beside Ekko. Isha climbs up on the edge of the bed and presses a kiss to Jinx’s forehead.
“Bye Mama,” she whispers, soft as spun sugar.
Nox bends to give her the same. “Don’t burn the place down.”
Then they both turn to Ekko. Still half-asleep, he doesn’t open his eyes, but one hand fumbles out from under the blanket. Nox gives his shoulder a squeeze. Isha pats his hair awkwardly—twice—before declaring, “Be good today, Daddy.”
“Of course bug,’love you,” Ekko mumbles, lips barely moving but enough to crack a smile for her.
“Love you toooo,” Isha sing-songs, already dragging Nox by the wrist.
They leave with a click of the door. The apartment settles again. Jinx turns back toward him, her hand finding his again under the sheets. Ekko’s breathing deepens. She watches him fall back into sleep, peaceful and undisturbed.
And for just a little while longer…
She lets herself stay in that moment, with the warmth of her family still lingering in the air, and her world—just for now—still whole.
Ekko doesn’t open his eyes right away.
There’s no rush. The bed is warm. The sunlight is soft—trickling in through the curtain cracks, golden and slow. It stretches across his back, a gentle weight. His breath moves steady and deep, tangled up with the scent of her—smoke and citrus and something electric that always clings to Jinx like a secret. She’s pressed against him, her hand light on his skin. He knows that touch. Gentle, careful. Not the way she usually is during the day.
This is the morning version of her. Still, quiet, clear.
His fingers twitch, reaching out, finding hers. He brings her hand to his cheek—eyes still closed, body still heavy with sleep—and presses a kiss into her palm like it’s instinct. Because it is. She doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t either. Words would only make the moment louder than it needs to be. He starts to drift again, lulled by the heartbeat he can feel against his side and the soft weight of her legs tangled with his. Then… voices.
He hears them through the door, muffled and familiar. He doesn’t need to be fully awake to know who it is. Nox, already dressed probably, already annoyed probably.
Isha, loud even when she whispers, saying things like “left boot” and “I like my feet backwards” because she’s chaos in a hoodie. Ekko smiles lazily into the pillow. A few minutes pass. The door opens. He doesn't move. He doesn’t need to. He feels them. Isha’s small, clumsy hug. Nox’s brief but grounding squeeze on his shoulder.
Tiny fingers pat his curls—twice.
He manages to murmur, “’love you,” barely audible, but it’s enough.
They leave in a gust of hushed footsteps and soft laughter.
And then it’s just Jinx again.
He can feel her eyes on him. Her fingers tracing his wrist. Her body still curled into his side like she’s anchoring herself to the only thing that makes the noise stop. He doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t need to. She’s here. They’re safe. And the world, for now, is far away.
Time passes like water under his skin.
Ekko floats between sleep and waking, wrapped in the rhythm of Jinx’s breathing and the fading echo of the kids' footsteps. The scent of her hair—burned copper, stardust, and something wild—lingers in the crook of his neck. He finally lets his eyes open. The ceiling comes into focus first, sunlight bouncing off the chipped paint like a halo. His hand is still wrapped around hers, palm pressed to his cheek. She hasn’t pulled away. He turns his head slowly, blinking the sleep from his lashes.
And there she is.
Watching him.
Quiet. Focused. Not smiling, not frowning—just there. Like she’s trying to memorize the way he looks when he’s dreaming.
“You’re staring,” he mumbles, voice thick and lazy.
Jinx doesn’t answer. She just runs her thumb over his knuckles and tucks a stray bit of his hair behind his ear.
Ekko exhales a breath that’s half a laugh. “You tryna draw me with your eyes or something?”
She finally speaks—barely above a whisper. “Just… making sure you’re real.”
That hits somewhere deep. He pulls her hand from his cheek, brings it to his lips again. “I’m real,” he murmurs, words brushing her skin like a promise. “Especially for you.”
She closes her eyes and leans into him again, pressing her forehead to his chest. They stay like that for a while longer, not rushing to meet the day. The world can wait. The sunlight can stretch. The city can buzz on without them. For just a few more minutes, Ekko decides—this is where they’ll be.
Wrapped in each other.
Whole.
The silence stretches on, soft and golden. No urgency. No static. Ekko keeps his eyes half-lidded, content to just feel. The curve of her waist under his hand. The weight of her leg draped over his. The way her breath moves against his chest, warm and steady. Her fingers have stilled now, resting gently in his. Neither of them speaks. There’s nothing to say when everything is already being said through the press of skin, the steadiness of heartbeats, the silence that isn’t empty but full.
Ekko closes his eyes again, not to sleep—but to better remember this. To let it brand itself into his memory, so when the noise comes back, when the chaos starts flying, he’ll still have this to hold onto. Jinx shifts slightly, curling in closer, like she’s trying to fold herself into him. Like she wants to disappear into warmth and safety and never come back out. He tightens his arm around her without thinking.
“I like this,” she mumbles, so softly he almost misses it.
He tilts his chin to rest against the crown of her head. “Me too.”
There’s a beat. Then her voice, quieter:
“No voices. No screaming. Just you.”
Ekko doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he presses a long, slow kiss to the top of her head. His hand finds the small of her back, tracing gentle circles.
“I got you,” he whispers. “Even when they come back. I’m still here.”
Jinx doesn’t answer—but the way her fingers tighten around his says everything.
And so they stay like that.
Wrapped in the hush of morning, the ghost of children’s laughter lingering in the air, and the rare stillness of a world not asking anything of them—for now. Here, in this sliver of peace, they are just Ekko and Jinx. Not rebels. Not inventors. Not ghosts. Just two kids who survived too much and built a life they never thought they'd be allowed to have. A life that, in this moment, is quiet, and warm, and real.
… …
The morning is slipping through the cracks. Ekko feels it in the light—brighter now, more insistent. The way the warmth on their blankets shifts from gold to white. The hum of the world growing louder beyond their walls. He knows they should get up. They both have things to do. Places to be. People waiting. But that means letting go of this.
Letting go of her.
He feels her body shift just slightly—her breath shifting rhythm. She’s awake, fully now. Not just floating in that dreamy softness, but anchored here, with him.
And then—
A kiss.
Soft. Right below his eye.
Another, at the edge of his nose.
He smirks, just barely, as her lips graze his jaw.
“You’re stalling,” he murmurs, eyes still closed.
“No I’m not,” Jinx says, and kisses him again. His cheek. His brow. His other cheek. His nose again for good measure.
He laughs, a low chuckle that rumbles up from his chest. “You are. You’re weaponizing affection.”
“You love it,” she says between kisses.
“Yeah,” he admits, grinning now. “I do.”
Then her hands are in his hair, fingers scratching lightly against his scalp, and her mouth is pressing quick, ticklish kisses along his temple, his neck, his collarbone—
Ekko squirms, laughter bubbling up as he twists under her. “Okay—okay! That’s illegal. You’re under arrest.”
“Oh nooo,” she teases, voice lilting with mock panic as she keeps going, “guess I’ll have to kiss the officer for mercy.”
“Bribery? Really? That’s a whole extra charge.”
She’s straddling his waist now, grinning down at him like the sun was hiding in her the whole time. His hands come up to her hips, steadying her as he grins back. There’s still that soft edge to them. The lingering comfort of the morning. But it’s brighter now. Sharper with play. He pulls her down into a real kiss—slow and grounding. When they part, foreheads pressed together, they both exhale.
“…We should probably get up,” he says quietly.
Jinx sighs dramatically. “But why when this is clearly the best part of the day?”
“Because if we don’t, we’ll miss the second-best part—coming back to this later.”
She narrows her eyes at him like she’s considering whether that’s a good enough reason. Then leans in, whispering:
“You better come back.”
Ekko smiles again, hand rising to cup her face.
“Always.”
By the time they step outside, the city is awake. The streets buzz with voices and clinking metal and the distant roar of an engine backfiring. Sunlight filters down between towers and tangled wires, casting long, golden lines across the pavement. But even in the noise, even in the motion—they stay close. Fingers interlaced. Shoulders brushing. Step in step.
They don’t say much as they walk.
They never need to.
This part of the city knows them—familiar faces glance up, nod in passing. The girl with the blue braids and the boy with the hover tech. Chaos and clockwork. Light and storm.
Eventually, they reach the crossroads.
Ekko slows.
Jinx does too.
Left for her. Right for him.
They stop in the middle of the walkway, letting the current of people flow around them like water past a stone. She looks up at him, eyes bright even in the shade. Ekko reaches for the string on her shirt, the one that always comes loose halfway through her day. Gently, he reties it, tugging it snug with practiced fingers.
“There,” he murmurs. “So it doesn’t fall open and start a riot.”
Jinx smirks but doesn’t respond. Instead, she dips her hands into his jacket pockets—quick, methodical. He raises a brow, amused.
“Don’t trust me to pack?” he asks.
“I trust you,” she says, slipping a spare magazine into his inner pocket. “I just don’t trust the rest of the world.”
Her hand lingers there for a moment—over his heart. Then, soft as breath, she leans in and presses a kiss just to the edge of his bottom lip. Not rushed. Not heated. Just… anchoring.
A promise.
A reminder.
Ekko exhales through his nose, eyes closed for a beat. Then:
“I’ll come find you later,” he says. “I always do.”
Jinx nods once. “You better.”
They part with a squeeze of fingers—just for a second longer than necessary—and then they turn.
She walks left, boots echoing lightly on the metal grating.
He walks right, slipping through the current of people, hood up, gears humming softly beneath his jacket.
They don’t look back.
They never do.
But they’ll find their way to each other again.
They always do.
…
Jinx steps carefully, one foot in front of the other, as she makes her way through the side streets. The clanging of pipes and the hum of the city’s mechanical heart beat a steady rhythm around her. The filters she’s checking today are crucial. If they don’t keep running, the air in Zaun gets unbearable. She knows the cost of that too well.
Gert and Lorn walk ahead, chatting idly, but Jinx is quiet. She doesn’t need to speak to them; her mind is occupied with everything that weighs her down. She checks the pressure gauges, adjusts dials, and runs diagnostics. The filters are old, battered, but holding steady. Her work is simple today—nothing complicated. Nothing that needs to be fixed right now.
She feels the tension slowly leave her shoulders as she finishes up. This side of the district isn’t as bad as some places, but it’s still rough, still Zaun. She’s almost done. Almost free to head back and keep pretending like she isn’t a ghost wandering her father’s old world. But the further she walks down the path, the more she can feel them gathering. They’re there—always there, waiting like vultures in the dark spaces between buildings.
The shimmer addicts.
Jinx doesn’t look at them directly at first. They always find her. They always call out, beg, and threaten her for a hit. A taste. They never know who they’re speaking to. Her fingers tighten around the tools in her bag. Gert and Lorn are still behind her, oblivious to the change in the air. She tries to shake it off. No, she’s not like him. She’s not her father. She won’t fall into that trap. Not again. But the guilt eats at her. Every time she sees their broken eyes, she feels the weight of it. The darkness of her participation in Silco’s schemes presses down harder. This is on me. She can almost hear her father’s voice ringing in her ears, reminding her of how she used to stand over the piles of bodies like it was nothing.
Her breath hitches, but she ignores it. She’s almost done. One more filter. Just one more. But the crowd of addicts is getting closer. She can feel them. Feel the desperation building as they smell her like a shark to blood in the water. And it’s only a matter of time before they move.
Sure enough, as she finishes up the last check, a hand grabs her shoulder. A rough, trembling voice spits out: “You’re one of us, aren’t you? Give us more. You owe us.”
Jinx doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate. She’s been through this before—dozens of times. But she doesn’t give them what they want. Not anymore.
“I’m not your dealer,” she says, her voice colder than it should be. “I’m here to fix this, not destroy it.”
They don’t listen. They never do. She’s about to leave, the path clear enough now, when it happens. One of them lunges at her, another follows. They’re faster than she expected, angrier than usual. Their pain makes them reckless. Desperate. A man swings something heavy at her—a pipe, maybe, or a crowbar. Jinx ducks—but it’s too fast. She moves too quickly, loses her footing for just a heartbeat. That’s all it takes.
The blow lands.
She hears the sickening snap as her ankle gives way under her weight. The pain is instant, fiery, and she curses under her breath. This was never part of the plan. Her pistol is out in an instant, even as she crashes to the ground. She pulls the trigger three shots, all landing center mass. The attackers fall, their screams cut short, and the others scatter, running for cover, afraid of the same fate. Gert and Lorn come running when they hear the shots, but by the time they reach her, she’s already trying to push herself upright. She’s breathing heavily, the pain still radiating from her shattered ankle.
Gert’s eyes widen as she kneels down beside her. “Jinx—shit, are you alright?”
“Fine,” she says through clenched teeth, even as she grits her jaw against the pain. But it’s clear to them both that she’s not fine. Not by a long shot.
Lorn curses softly as he helps Gert lift her, but she can see the worry in their eyes. They know better than to push her. They know when to leave her be. Still, they help, guiding her down the path slowly, their pace steady. But her thoughts are miles away.
All she can think about is Ekko.
She’s going to have to go to him. He’s going to see this. He’s going to fuss over her. She knows it. She can already feel it in the pit of her stomach—the guilt of him worrying. She doesn’t want it, but she needs it, and she’ll never say it out loud. When they reach the safe space, Gert helps her settle down, but the ache in her ankle is undeniable. The world keeps moving, but Jinx knows, today is done. Ekko’s going to be the one to patch her up now.
She bites her lip, knowing she’s about to have that familiar talk with him. He’ll never understand that this was ultimately right. She had done so much to hurt and destroy her home in the name of Silco and freedom, this was the universe making her pay her debt. It was okay, she deserves this bit of pain. She deserves a lot more. Damn did it hurt though. And then she has to face the man who’s been trying to undo all of this, undo her, with every bit of his heart.
Her breath hisses between her teeth. She should have had them bring her inside, but she did not want to be locked in alone. Not when she has to get through this pain first.
Ekko parts ways with Jinx, her fingers slipping from his with one last squeeze as she turns left and disappears into the crowd. He doesn’t look back. He never has to. He trusts her. Right turn. Day begins. The workshop is already humming when he arrives, machines clanking, gears spinning, people moving fast. His team greets him with nods and updates. There's no time for slow starts here, not when Zaun runs on borrowed time and patched-together miracles.
First on his list: inventory. The supplies gathered overnight are scarce, but workable. He spreads them across the bench and starts calculating—how far can they stretch? Which block needs it most? How many people can this actually help?
Then: hoverboards. A few are stuttering in mid-air, cutting out during long runs. He crouches beside one, pulling open the panel, fingers flying. Re-calibration, realignment, tuning the spark coil with care. The work steadies him.
He’s elbow-deep in the second to last board when he hears them. Passing by his station, not really paying attention to him. Softly speaking about someone.
“Yeah, Gert said they were able to at least check all the filters before they took her home.” The first one said shaking his head.
“That’s good, I don’t even want to know what would have happened if they weren’t. Broken ankle or not, she would’ve kept going even if that meant cutting it off.” His friend said.
“Yeah, for all the shit they say about her, she really does care about Zaun.”
“Oh, totally. Crazy or not, Jinx has never turned her back on us.”
Ekko freezes.
They were talking about Jinx? Also, b roken ankle?
The world doesn’t stop—but something inside him does. That warm calm he carried from their morning? It shatters. He stands slowly. The two who had been talking fall silent, eyes flicking toward him, apologetic. They didn’t realize he was still here and heard. They don’t say anything, just point. Ekko’s already moving before they can explain, his mind racing.
She was fine. She was FINE.
Just a few hours ago, curled in his arms, teasing him, kissing his cheek like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. And now… she’s hurt? He doesn’t panic. Not on the outside. But inside, it’s wildfire flames licking up his ribs, burning behind his eyes. He finds her outside their home, slumped gently against the stairs, like she just gave out, gave up.
“Jinx?”
His voice is soft. Careful. Like if he’s too loud, she’ll vanish.
Her head lifts. She smiles faintly. “Hi, Ekko.”
He drops to his knees in front of her.
“Why are you down here and not inside?”
She sighs, then slowly, with trembling hands, starts to pull off her boot.
The second the fabric peels away, he sees it. The ankle is bad, swollen, turning shades no skin should ever be. Purple, black, bruising deep under the surface. She can’t even move her toes. And then one tear. Just one. Sliding silently down her cheek. That’s what undoes him.
“Hey,” he breathes, reaching out. “It’s okay. I’m here now. Let’s get you together.”
He lifts her like she weighs nothing. Cradles her close. Carries her inside with the kind of quiet urgency that says: nothing else matters right now. Inside, the lights are soft. The silence thick. He sets her on the edge of the bed and begins undressing her—gently, piece by piece. Not out of desire, but devotion. Pulling away the bloodied sock. Rolling off her jacket. Undoing the straps she can’t reach.
Then the bath.
Steam fills the room as the water runs—warm, soothing, a balm.
He undresses, then lifts her again, settling her into the tub on his lap, her back to his chest. Water curls around them, easing the sharp edges of her pain. Jinx melts into him slowly. Her head against his shoulder. His arms wrapped tight around her. Her hand finding his thigh under the water, just for the contact. He presses soft kisses to her temple, her shoulder, her wet hair.
“You did great,” he whispers. “You’re doing great. You’re helping Zaun. Every damn day.”
She’s quiet for a long time.
Then her voice, barely audible:
“Is it right for me to be proud of healing Zaun… when I’m the one who help break them?”
She shifts, turning over slowly in the water, until they’re face to face—heart to heart. Her forehead rests against his chest. She presses in until his arms wrap around her again. Ekko holds her like she’s breaking. Because she is.
He leans close and whispers:
“They broke you first, Jinx.”
A pause.
“It’s a never-ending cycle. But it’s okay.”
She’s slipping into sleep now, her body heavy with pain and water and grief.
His lips brush her forehead.
“Because I’ll always be here… to pick up the pieces of you.”
And she drifts off, heartbeat in sync with his, surrounded by the one place she’s always safe.
The room is dim and quiet, warmed by the faint amber light bleeding in from the window blinds. The air smells faintly of tea tree and old cotton—clean, still, familiar. Jinx wakes slowly, groggy, pain tugging at her nerves like a dull hum instead of a scream. Her ankle throbs with every heartbeat, but the ache is muted by the snug wrap around it and the cool comfort of elevation. She’s clean, dressed in a worn over-sized shirt that smells like Ekko, and tucked beneath soft blankets that are too neatly arranged for her to have done it herself. He must’ve carried her again.
She blinks blearily toward the small nightstand and sees a glass of water and a few pills carefully arranged beside a folded napkin. There’s also a sticky note written in Ekko’s messy scrawl:
“You’re not allowed to die on my watch. Take these. I’ll be back soon. Love you, always.”
A weak smile tugs at her lips. She doesn’t try to get up. She just stretches her arm out, slowly, wincing a bit as she grabs the water first, then the meds, swallowing them down in one practiced movement. Jinx lets her head fall back against the pillow with a soft sigh, eyes drifting to the ceiling. Her body feels heavy, but for once, it’s not from guilt or weight of responsibility. It’s just exhaustion. Just healing. She allows herself to be still. Somewhere in the distance, the muffled hum of life in Zaun continues on. But in here, all that exists is the silence, the blankets that smell like oil and citrus, and the warmth left behind by Ekko.
…
The night wraps around them like a soft blanket, the low hum of Zaun outside dimmed by the quiet, sacred calm of their shared room. The air is warm with closeness, filled with the scent of old machine oil, worn cotton, and the faintest trace of jasmine from Jinx’s soap. Ekko holds her close, arms locked around her as though letting go would let the world break apart again. She’s nestled against him, half-draped over his chest, giggling into his collarbone as he kisses every inch of her face—forehead, cheeks, chin, the tip of her nose.
“Ekko, stop! I’m not a baby,” she huffs, stifling laughter behind her hand, eyes flicking toward the door with a warning glance.
“No,” he grins, not stopping. “But you’re my baby.”
Jinx rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t move away. She melts deeper into him, her laughter trembling into a breathless hush. Then his voice shifts—soft, serious, from the deepest part of him.
“Today was just a broken ankle, Jinx. Tomorrow it might be worse. And I—” He pauses, and she feels it. The weight in his voice. “I can’t navigate this world without you in it. I was so scared when I heard something happened to you.”
She looks up at him, her grin fading, her wide blue eyes shining under the moonlight that cuts gently across their bed. He’s staring at her like she’s the center of every timeline he’s ever dreamed of. Tears slip down her cheeks before she realizes she’s crying. But her voice stays calm, steady in the face of his fear.
“You have to keep going, Ekko,” she whispers. “From now on. We have Isha. We have Nox. If I’m ever too far gone, you have to be here to guide them.”
He shakes his head almost as if he is trying to stop the thought from even entering his head. Him Without Jinx? Never again. He presses his forehead to hers, eyes shut tight like he’s fighting off a storm.
“There was never a before you,” he says, voice cracking. “Only a with you. And I don’t think I can handle a without you.”
She kisses him, soft, slow, her hand slipping to the back of his neck to hold him there.
“Then let’s not think about after,” she murmurs. “Let’s just focus on us. Tonight, we’re here. We’re breathing.”
And so they stay—tangled together under worn blankets, skin to skin, breath to breath. Two hearts still beating in a city trying to rebuild. Two lives that held each other through ruin and still chose to love. They fall asleep that way, wrapped in each other and the silence of their small, chaotic, sacred home.
The morning slips in quietly, light brushing against the edges of the curtains like a secret trying not to be heard. The world outside is still heavy with the scent of smog and shimmer, but in this moment, their room is untouched soft, golden, safe.
Jinx wakes first.
Her body aches, her ankle throbs with a dull reminder of yesterday, but it’s the kind of pain that confirms she’s still alive. Still here. And so is he. Ekko is asleep beside her, his face calm in a way she rarely gets to see—no tension in his brow, no weight in his shoulders. Just him. Just Ekko. The boy who became her anchor.
She turns slightly, careful not to wake him, and begins tracing his face with the tips of her fingers. Over the scar above his brow, the curve of his cheek, the softness of his lips. She’s storing it all in her heart, like she’s afraid someday memory won’t be enough. But before she can pull away, his hand rises slowly—eyes still closed—and captures hers. He presses her palm to his cheek, leaning into it with the smallest, most content smile.
Then, gently, he guides her hand to his mouth, and kisses it.
She watches him as the morning light slips further into the room, wrapping around his back, catching on the curve of his spine, casting gold across the faded scars and quiet strength she loves so deeply.
He exhales, slow and warm.
And though he feels the day pulling at his skin, the hum of the waking city just beyond the window… he lets it go. Lets it wait.
He drifts again, letting her heartbeat guide him. Letting her arms carry him just a little longer. Because here, in the cradle of her embrace, he doesn’t have to fight.
Not yet.
Not this morning.
Not when they still have this.
And so the story loops again—two fighters stealing one more breath, one more dawn, before the world calls them back from their soft morning rays.