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The tree loomed over the Firelights Enclave like a quiet witness, sunlight filtering through the branches signaling the morning of a new day. Hovering near the tree, Ekko and Scar crouched beside a pair of busted aerogliders, the scent of solder and ozone thick in the air. Metal clinked softly as tools shifted, and the ground was scattered with metal and wire.
Laughter rang out—brief, high-pitched. Jinx was with the Firelights children, darting between them like a flicker of static, boots kicking up dust, brandishing a new outfit she patched together herself with Aven’s help.
Scar’s gaze followed her, jaw tight. “She’s different.”
Ekko didn’t look up, already knowing who he was referring to. “Yeah.”
Scar wiped his hands on a rag, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been around her a lot lately.”
Ekko’s wrench paused. “You keeping tabs?”
Scar snorted. “Just watching. She’s hard to ignore.” He leaned back, arms crossed. “I get she was your friend when you were young. But she ran with Silco for years. People died. Our people. You really think she won’t flip?”
Ekko tightened a bolt, voice low. “If she was gonna, she would’ve.”
Scar studied him.
He’d been watching Ekko, ever since he carried Jinx on his back, offering her a second chance.
It wasn’t just the way he hovered near her, but the way he didn’t . Ekko didn’t overstep. He didn’t push. He was just there. Close enough if she needed him, far enough to let her breathe.
Scar remembered the day they walked in, silent and heavy, carrying Isha’s belongings like they were made of glass.
No words had passed between them, just motion. Jinx had begun preparing the altar, and the Firelights children had joined her, quiet and reverent, helping her honor the girl she’d lost.
Ekko had stepped away then, paintbrush in hand, and started painting Isha’s portrait into the Firelights mural. His strokes had been slow, deliberate—like he was trying to get her memory exactly right. When he’d finished, he returned to Jinx, asked her to add the details he’d missed.
She had. Tentative at first. Then, more confident, sure, the more she added.
Scar remembered the way her shoulders eased, just slightly, as she painted.
And when Ekko and Jinx stood together afterward, staring up at the mural, Scar had seen it—that moment had changed Ekko. Not in the way he led, but in the way he looked at Jinx. Like he saw something no one else did. Like he was waiting for her to see it too.
Scar had always trusted Ekko’s judgment. Even when he didn’t understand it.
“You trust her?”
Ekko glanced up, tracking Jinx as she slowed near Isha’s mural. The children ran ahead, but Jinx lingered. Her fingers brushing the painted wall, her smile small and strange, like it didn’t know how to stay. But now, tears didn’t fall from her eyes anymore. Just a smile. Small. Fragile. Real.
She's tired of being strong
She's tired of holding on
Tired of giving up her heart just to be treated wrong
“She’s trying,” Ekko said. “That counts.”
Scar watched him. There was something in Ekko’s voice. Something quieter, more personal. A thread of feeling held back, like it wasn’t meant to be spoken aloud. Scar had seen Ekko stand up for people before, but this felt different.
Scar’s voice dropped. “You care about her.”
Ekko stilled at his words.
Gaze still on her, he watched the way her shoulders sagged when no one was looking. The way she stood too still, like movement might crack her open.
When she's weak
When she can't seem to find a way
To keep them demons out her space
“Look at her.”
Scar turned.
Jinx was laughing again; the smile didn’t reach her eyes, but they held a warmth desperately hanging on. The Firelights children ran back to her, surrounding her. One of them—named Ember—took her hands, trying to pull her along. Jinx bit her lip, holding back laughter.
“Silco weaponized her,” Ekko said. “Nurtured her worst fears and called it love. She’s had no one but herself to face them—not even after he was gone.”
Scar stayed quiet, listening to Ekko, watching her with him.
Ekko’s voice softened, eyes flickering to the painting of Isha. “And when someone finally sees her, they were taken away from her.”
Scar’s jaw clenched, the feeling of grief and empathy creeping at his backside. It was a familiar feeling shared amongst the Firelights.
It's been a long long time since you've been treated right
You deserve somebody that'll hold you down for life
To do the little things that make you feel like you're enough
Need somebody that you know that you could trust
“She shouldn’t have to kill off pieces of herself just to be treated like she matters,” Ekko continued. “I see how tired she is. Of pretending she’s fine. Of holding it all in. Of not having anyone who just… listens.”
Scar’s voice was quiet. “You think you can be that?”
Ekko didn’t answer right away. He was staring at Jinx—across the space, across whatever distance still lived between them. And for a moment, Scar saw him differently. Not as the leader, not as the fighter. But as something quieter. Steady. Watching over her like he’d been carved for it. Like he’d chosen it.
“I’ve given up on her once. I’ve regretted it ever since. Never again.”
Scar watched as Ekko’s grip around the rag tightened.
“If the world’s gonna keep coming for her, I’ll be the one who doesn’t.”
He looked down at the rag in his hands, then back at her.
“She deserves better.”
You need somebody to protect you
That someone who never hesitates to tell you
Baby you're perfect
Your love is worth it
Scar grunted, making Ekko turn to him.
They both shared a look, one of mutual understanding.
Maybe Scar couldn’t see what Ekko saw in her, but he saw Ekko. What he was trying to do. To be.
Before more could be said, they heard heavy boots step toward their direction.
A few seconds later, a throat clearing got their attention.
Scar and Ekko turned, finding Jinx standing a few feet away. Her gaze was on Ekko, eyes unreadable but open.
“Can we talk?” She spoke with her tone low, almost hesitant. She bit her lip, eyes flicking over at Scar, before she added, “Somewhere private.”
Ekko paused, glancing at her with curiosity. Her expression was guarded, but her voice was sincere.
Scar looked between them, then turned back to the aerogliders with a grunt—pretending not to watch, but listening all the same.
Ekko straightened and nodded, wiping his hands on the rag. “Yeah. I know a spot.”
As they walked away, Scar watched them go, the quiet between them saying more than words.
Maybe Ekko wasn’t just her shield.
Maybe he was the one who stayed when no one else did.
Her angel. Her peace. Her place.
But you're due for better days
So dont you be afraid
You need someone to listen and just be your happy place