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Chapter Text

The Lanes were only quiet during that sleepy time of day just before dawn. Although, ‘dawn’ was a relative concept dictated mostly by the time on a clock as the sun’s rays could barely penetrate the Grey that blanketed the Undercity. Quiet was also a subjective thing, considering that the city was a near constant cacophony of anguish, violence, and machines. The low hum of electricity and occasional cries of suffering or lust in the pre-dawn air were silence enough to starkly contrast the daily din.

And Katya couldn’t sleep in it. The ‘quiet’. Like a strange non-alarm clock, as the Undercity slowly hushed, her amber eyes cracked open. As unfair as it was to be roused as her neighbors and neighbor’s neighbors fell asleep, she knew it was for the best. She and her brother needed to get ready and over the Bridge.

Katya peeled the thread-bare blanket off her body and set her feet on the floor. She flexed and wiggled her toes experimentally before standing, stretching her arms over head and yawning. Gingerly, she shuffled toward the bedroom door and into the dark hallway of the small apartment. She knocked softly on the adjacent door before opening it.

“Viktor? Are you awake?”

The small lump in the bed whined and shifted under the blankets.

“It’s time to get up, Viktor,” Katya whispered sweetly. “We need to get ready to go. Is your bag packed?”

She reached over and twisted the knob of a small pot-bellied lamp, and it gently hissed to life with dim light washing over the room. Viktor let out a louder, more persistent whine and threw the covers over his head.

“Come on,” his sister crooned, stepping forward and gently jostling his blanketed body. “We cannot delay. Your bag, is it ready?”

Another groan, along with a small pale hand emerged from the blanket and gestured vaguely across the room to a large lumpy canvas sack.

“Good,” Katya smirked. “Do you need help getting ready?”

Finally, Viktor emerged from his cocoon with an annoyed, “No!”

The smally boy sat up with a huff, worn blanket pooling around him. Katya couldn’t help but grin at her younger brother, his chestnut hair unruly with sleep and his amber eyes – so like her own – trying to look venomous through the remnants of sleep.

“Then get up. No dawdling.”

Viktor whined at the back of his throat, kicking the blanket away and reaching for the cane leaning against his nightstand. Katya turned the lamp up another tick and left the room. She made her way to the kitchenette, turned on the stove and transformed the hiss of gas into a small ring of blue flames with the strike of a match. She set the old kettle over the heat before turning to the cupboard. Like most in the Undercity, it was near bare. Just a few pieces of chipped flatware, a can of beans, a nearly empty bag of oats, and a small tin of miscellaneous tea bags.

Katya pulled out two bowls and two mugs before her hand reached for the bag of oats. Her stomach dipped at how light it was. She put back one of the bowls. Behind her, she heard the uneven shuffle of Viktor’s feet and the ‘clunk’ of his cane as he made his way to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him with a necessarily forceful shove (it didn’t really fit in its frame and the landlord couldn’t be bothered to fix it). From the kitchenette, she could make out the sad sputter of the shower as it gargled to life. Closing the cupboard door, Katya walked back down the hallway toward her bedroom. She paused briefly at the bathroom door, dropping her ear toward the thin particle board listening to make sure her brother didn’t struggle to get into the shower. The change in the sound of water dripping from the spigot – more muffled against soft skin, than harsh against broken tiles – confirmed Viktor’s small success. Satisfied, Katya returned to her room and dressed for the day.

She pulled the tattered, over-sized shirt she slept in over her head, messy bun briefly getting snagged in a hole. She tossed the shirt aside and pulled the elastic from her head, letting her long dark brown hair fall over her shoulders and back. Rustling through her dresser drawers, meagerly filled, Katya pulled out fresh undergarments, a pair of trousers, and a blouse. She shucked off her current underwear and slipped on the fresh ones. She pulled a flimsy, sheering camisole over her head. Brassieres were too expensive. Her last one had bitten the dust a little more than a month ago, and she had sewn it together one too many times before to be bothered with mending it again. Periodically Katya would scour the dumpster behind Babette’s, hoping to happen upon a suitable-enough replacement. Alas, all the underthings that had recently been disposed of her nowhere near her size and her seamstress skills were not enough to perform the necessary alterations. She would check again today she told herself, sliding the high-waisted trousers over her wide hips. Katya slid her arms through the collarless linen blouse, buttoned it and tucked its hem into her pants. She reached for an old tweed vest that was hung on her bed post, sliding it over her shoulders and letting it hang unbuttoned around her torso. Before she left her room, she snapped up a tarnished silver pocket watch from her bedside table and tucked it in her vest pocket, securing its chain to one of its buttons.

Katya heard the breathy beginnings of the kettle’s wail as she made her way back to the kitchenette. She turned off the burner before the steam could reach an ear shattering crescendo. She placed a tea bag in each mug, emptied the small amount of oats into the bowl, and carefully poured the hot water into each receptacle. As she set the kettle back down on the stove’s grates there was a soft, clumsy series of thumps from the bathroom followed by angry murmuring. The tea and oats needed to steep anyway, so Katya made her way to the bathroom door.

She rapped her knuckles against the wood. “Viktor?”

He didn’t respond, continuing to mutter to himself. The soft jostle and clinking of leather and brass joined the muffled commentary. There was a muted scrape followed by a sharp smack as Viktor’s cane clattered to the floor. The sound made Katya jump and she knocked again.

“Viktor, I’m coming in.”

She shoved the door open as her brother made an annoyed plea not to do so. The shower had since been shut off, but the humidity of warm water hung in the air amplifying the space’s mildew scent. The boy glared at his older sister, hands gripping the straps of a leather brace awkwardly wrapped around his torso. Katya sighed, swooping down the collect the cane that had clattered to the floor and setting in back against the toilet tank.

Viktor tucked his chin to his chest and swiveled on his stool, his back facing his sister, hands still angrily gripping the fraying ends of his back brace. Katya stepped behind him, giving him a compassionate but authoritative look in the mirror that he peeked up at through wet lashes. Viktor bit the inside of his cheek, the hardened gaze in his eyes softening as he dropped the binds.

 Katya gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze and rub before beginning to unbuckle the straps he had gotten crossed. The next time Viktor needed to have his brace replaced, she was going to have the Tanner design one that secured in the front so he could do it himself. She didn’t mind helping him, not at all. But she knew how much Viktor wanted to be able to do things himself, how badly he wanted to be as normal and unneedy as he could be. To feel capable and strong like the other children his age. Katya undid the last tangled strap of leather, letting it drape alongside Viktor’s ribs next to its neighbors. She wanted her brother to feel capable. Strong. As normal as possible. A challenging task considering his twisted skeleton and deficient immune system. Even over the river in Piltover it could be difficult for a differently-abled and chronically-ill person to remain autonomous – what hope could a crippled Sumprat have?

In fact, some more tactless (but not necessarily wrong) Fissure Folk would say that Viktor was lucky to be alive at the ripe age of eleven. Most babes born with maladies in the Undercity died within their first year; whether by natural causes or at the hands of their scared, grieving and merciful parents. Being born anything but healthy (by Undercity standards) was a death sentence. With the lack of medical resources, abundance of pollution and danger, and the inability to get out from under the chokehold of poverty, children like Viktor died quickly and frequently.

Luckily for Viktor, his and Katya’s father was stubbornly (stupidly and cruelly others would say) adamant about keeping his boy alive. His son’s body may be a liability, but it didn’t have to be a death sentence. Before his untimely death, the elder Slostov gave his son a steady diet of academic text books that he had collected throughout his youth and stole in his young adulthood, enriching Viktor’s mind as a means to counteract the cruel joke fate had played on his physical body. Fortunately, the boy took to academia like a fish to water. Knowledge flowed through Viktor’s small frame and settled easily into the wrinkles of his mind.

When Viktor made it to nine years of age, their father’s plan – if in fact there had been a plan – came to fruition. Every year, the preparatory boarding school for the Academy of Piltover held a lottery, selecting a small number of children from around Runeterra to attend the prestigious institution on partial scholarship. The selection process was mainly based on academic prowess. The unspoken part of being selected was Piltover cherry-picking students who would make them look the best, the most generous and kindly. And that year what could be kinder and more pious than accepting a poor, crippled, yet brilliant Undercity Ratling?

Katya and Viktor’s father cared little for the motivations of the preparatory school’s admission board, he cared that his son had secured his best possible chance to remain alive. Viktor would live in the school’s dormitories during the week, breathing the clean Piltover air – so sweet and easy on his ragged, weak lungs – and was fed three meals a day. On the weekends, Viktor came home to his father and sister. Until one day he came home to just Katya. She told him there had been an accident at the mines. He didn’t believe her, but didn’t press. He couldn’t find his voice through the sudden tight constriction in his throat and clenching of his whole body.

“I’m going to have to leave school,” Viktor whispered hoarsely later that night, once he and Katya were cried out and his muscles had reluctantly released enough to allow his fear through his mouth.

“No,” Katya promised, her arms wrapping more tightly around him. She kissed his head, “No, you won’t have to leave school.”

“But,” he sniffed into her chest, “how are we going to pay for it with only you working?”

The scholarship the lottery selection came with was immensely helpful, but not enough to keep Katya and her father from having to work to the bone in the mines to make up the difference. Even the prorated tuition of Viktor’s room and board, since he came back home on the weekends, wasn’t enough to offset the constant need for funds. Viktor felt his sister’s heart thunder beneath his cheek, the pads of her fingers dug firmly into his shirt sleeves.

“You won’t leave the Academy. Do not worry about how. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of us.”

And she had. It was a year and a half later and Viktor still attended the Academy’s Preparatory School. Besides moving to a smaller, grimier, cheaper apartment, he wasn’t sure what Katya did to keep his life-line intact. She insisted it wasn’t for him to worry about (“Just focus on your schooling.”) and she never seemed concerned beyond the day their father passed, so Viktor didn’t worry either. His sister was steady and it kept him grounded and trusting.

Katya hummed to herself as she looped and set the leather straps into place across Viktor’s crooked spine. She grimaced briefly, seeing that the prong of the strap she had just secured was set in the last punch hole. They would need to visit the Tanner sooner then she anticipated. She mentally redirected her thought into an affirmation that this was a good thing, that her brother’s body was growing as it should thanks to the food the Academy fed him throughout the week. Katya relaxed her brow and continued to set the brace.

“There we are,” she sang, sliding the last strap into its keeper loop. She reached behind her for the stack of clothes set on the toilet seat and grabbed the undershirt. “Arms up.”

Viktor lifted his gangly limbs obediently and let the garment slip over his head and arms.

“I can do it,” he insisted as Katya went back for his school button-up.

“Alright,” she ran her fingers through his damp hair, “Breakfast is ready. Be quick.”

Returning to the kitchenette, Katya stirred the bowl of oats and set it and one of the mugs down on the table in the corner. As she returned to the counter to fetch her own mug, Viktor hobbled over and took up his seat.

He eyed the singular bowl suspiciously. “Aren’t you going to eat, too?”

Katya cocked her hip against the counter top, bobbing the tea bag in her mug and smiled, “No. I’m not hungry.”

It was a lie and she was grateful that her stomach didn’t betray her with a yawning rumble. She sipped her tea, savoring the way the hot liquid coated the inside of her empty belly. It had to be enough. Viktor pulled his lips into a tight line, but didn’t press. He ate his bland breakfast and drank his tea quietly.

“You have a history test this week, yes?” Katya asked, taking up Viktor’s dishes when he was finished. He nodded rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Professor Holgren teaches it differently than how Papa did.”

Katya couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling as she put the dishes in the sink. “I have no doubt.”

Piltover and their halve truths. Their whole lies. Painting themselves in an ever-increasing favorable light. Each era rosier than the last. Katya sucked a deep breath in through her nose and dropped the thought before it ran away with her emotions.

It didn’t matter. Piltover could keep lying, could keep overlooking half its citizens as long as it helped Viktor stay alive. A means to an end.

“Do you want me to quiz you as we walk?”

Her brother nodded as he made to get up from the table. “There are notes in my school bag.”

“Good. Go get your shoes and coat on. I’ll get your bag.”

The Sump was almost perpetually chilly and damp. However, with the recent shift of summer to fall, the cold and wet intensified as it did every year. And with that shift, the pollution stuck closer to the skin and limply curled the ends of hair. The moisture made sure that it was near impossible to feel fully warm, the humidity weighing the air down causing the gasses and grime in the air to feel so much closer.

Katya’s heart clenched as Viktor inevitably coughed as they stepped out into the murky morning. She readjusted his canvas bag over her shoulder and reached down to pull his scarf over his mouth and nose. It wouldn’t really help, but the performance tricked her into feeling a little better. She did the same for herself, pulling her father’s old coat more snuggly around her. After locking the apartment door, the siblings hurried as quickly as they could toward the nearest Conveyor. Quizzes could wait for when the air wasn’t so thick.

Katya flashed the badge the Academy had given Viktor to the attendant and they were let on without having to pay. They settled into their seats as the glass and iron contraption whirred and clattered to life, beginning its ascent.

The difference in the air quality between the Sump and the Entresol was maddening. It wasn’t Topside by any stretch, but as the car broke into the middle level of the Underground the atmosphere lightened. Brightened, too. Viktor went to lower his scarf from his nose and mouth, but Katya stopped him.

“Wait until we get to the Promenade.”

The boy sighed. A sound that transformed into a chesty cough. Katya looped her arm around his small shoulders and pulled him closer, rubbing his arm comfortingly. As his fit settled, Katya’s amber eyes nervously flitted around the nearly empty Conveyor car. The few passengers there were eyed the siblings with either annoyance (“It’s too early to listen to your brat contaminate the car.”) or pity (“Poor little one. I wonder how long he has.”)

Katya and Viktor sat in silence, watching the tangles of metal structures and neon lights through the windows in front of them. The boy leaned against his sister’s shoulder, turning his head into her coat. The scent of their father had dissipated greatly over the past year and a half, but if Viktor angled his covered nose just so – toward the deeper seams that were less exposed to the elements – he could make out the earthy sourness of the tobacco he had smoked, the mellow balmy scent of the soap he used, and the tang of metal from the mines he worked in all his adult life. Viktor felt the back of his throat constrict and he turned his head away, instead leaning his temple against his sister’s shoulder. A moment later, he felt her clothed cheek melt against his crown.

Once the Conveyor broached the Promenade level, the gears and pulleys that guided the transport began to clumsily grind to a slow and shaky crawl. The car finally crunched to a halt and the occupants made for the doors, Katya and Viktor waiting to deboard last. The small crowd that had travelled up from the Sump with them had already dispersed the platform by the time the siblings stepped out of the Conveyor. Katya pulled her scarf away from her face and opened her coat. Viktor removed his face covering but kept his coat buttoned shut, knowing his sister would chide him for doing so. It was warmer up here, but he knew she still feared him catching cold.

“Let’s go,” Katya said, reaching into the bag over her shoulder and fishing out the notes that he had mentioned back at home.

The pace toward the Bridge was set by Viktor and his cane, a steady but awkward limp. As promised, Katya leafed through her brother’s thorough notes, cobbling together questions for him to answer. Viktor’s answers were not as fluid as they were when he was quizzed on the sciences, but he still did so much better than Katya thought she could ever hope to do if their positions were flipped. As they made their way toward the main Bridge connecting the Undercity to Piltover, the Promenade was slowly bustling to life, shops whirring open and sleepy citizens taking their way to the streets. The sun rose behind them, casting long shadows in front of them that their feet never really caught up with. It inspired a question that wasn’t in the notes.

“Why did they build Piltover where they did?”

Viktor hummed and paused very briefly before swinging his cane in step again. “To catch the Sun. To be the first thing that was shown upon every day.”

“Yes,” Katya confirmed, careful to keep the edge from her voice.

As if on cue, the pair rounded a corner and were greeted with the first real view of Piltover. As Viktor had said, the sun covered the sprawling city in glistening light. The stone used to erect Piltover’s buildings had been chosen not only for its strength and durability, but for vanity. The creamy rock seemed to glow from within when the light of the sun cascaded over its sheened surface. As if to belabor the point, every building was ostentatiously gilded in webs of gold metal that would glare and flash against the sun.

Katya brought a hand up to shield her eyes as one such flash assaulted her vision. Grimacing, she shepherded her and Viktor’s path along a shadowy strip of pavement and resumed quizzing him. It wasn’t too much longer until the Bridge was before them. It was their least favorite part of the journey. Usually when they crossed it was low-tide and the briny and composting scent of it was thick in the air. On especially humid or windy days, one could also smell Piltover’s sewage runoff several meters down the shoreline, being pumped toward the Undercity’s coast. Luckily, this was not one of those days, their noses and tongues only being assaulted by the stench of rotting kelp and decomposing fish. As they passed underneath the central towers of the Bridge, the air annoyingly shifted and the scent of the tide dissolved, as if the atmosphere itself took issue with the Undercity.  

“How many individuals from the Undercity have been on Piltover’s Council since its founding?”

“Four,” Viktor answered. “Including a man right now.”

“Very good. What’s his name?”

“Jarrot Bone.”

“Correct,” Katya said, tucking the notes back into the canvas bag as they approached the small attendant’s hut guarding the final few yards of the Bridge that led into Piltover proper. Like hogging the sun and blinding the Underground at the same time, this was another slap in the face. Technically, the Undercity was a part of Piltover, but over half of the city’s citizens couldn’t just cross the River Pilt when they felt like it.

“Good morning,” the attendant said dryly. “Reason for crossing?”

Katya and Viktor knew all the Bridge attendants by sight and name. They had been making this crossing almost every week for over a year and still the municipal workers couldn’t be bothered to remember them.

Katya slid Viktor’s school badge and their laminated approval papers underneath the glass partition. “I’m dropping my brother off at the boarding school for the week.”

The bored eyes of the guard slid across the papers in front of them, and barely lifted their gaze to the two siblings standing just beyond the glass.

“Oh right,” the attendant yawned, “the student from the Undercity.”

“Yes,” responded Katya, working very hard not to speak in an aggravated tone. “From the Undercity. Just like every week.”

The guard didn’t react to the last bit, likely they had stopped listening. The papers and badge were slid back under Katya’s fingers and she and Viktor were gestured to continue on. And they did. Like they did every week.

On their way to Pilt Square, they passed several small restaurants and cafes and Katya’s hand tightened on the strap cutting across her chest as smells of baked goods and steamed milk wafted around them. She had to work to not pick up her pace and leave her brother’s side and get away from the taunting scents. She let out a loud, forced cough to cover the squeal of her empty stomach. Viktor flicked his eyes up to her and she waved her hand dismissively, trying to give a set of convincing smaller coughs.

“Swallowed wrong,” she explained, clearing her throat.

Mercifully, the smell of food was left behind as Pilt Square came into view. The streets opened up and the cobbled bricks gave way to large, smooth tiles of light stone. The edges of the square were trimmed with topiaries and six large trees were artfully dotted throughout. A large fountain splashed in the middle, sprays of clean water occasionally cutting prisms in the air when they caught the sun just right. At the opposite end of the square from where Katya and Viktor walked as a large wrought iron arch way that led toward the Academy campus.

There was a young woman dressed in the Academy’s uniform of cream and navy blue seated on the lip of the fountain. Her ankles were crossed and her spine was set straight and rigid – it needed to be to balance the voluminous blond coif sitting atop her head. The small book she held up to her nose lowered as the sound of Viktor’s cane came closer. Her round face split into a smile at the sight of them.

“Good morning Viktor, Katya,” she called. Her voice was light and airy, but genuine.

“Good morning, Miss Ivy,” Viktor returned, a bashful smile creeping around his mouth. His sister noticed this but did not bring attention to it.

“Good morning, Ivy,” Katya greeted warmly. She knew that Ivy Banforth was Viktor’s favorite. The young woman, perhaps a little older than Katya herself, was a teacher’s aide at the boarding school and met the two Slostov siblings at this spot at the start of every week. Katya would hand off the bag and her brother to Ivy and the aide would guide her charge the rest of the way to campus. Ivy was kind to her brother and seemed to be just as invested in Viktor’s presence at the Academy as Katya did. The only other individual at the Academy who seem to take active interest in her brother was the Dean, but Katya was not as willing to make favorable emotional concessions for Heimerdinger as she was the aide.

Ivy stood and tucked her small read away in her jacket pocket. She held out a well-manicured hand to Katya with a lovely smile. The brunette gladly unshouldered her brother’s sack and handed it over before turning to him.

“Have a good week at school. Good luck on your test,” Katya said, pulling Viktor to her.

He was quick to wrap his arms around her, careful not to knock his cane against her back. Katya returned the embrace, letting her fingers slide into his hair. She gave his body a final squeeze and loudly kissed the top of his head.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replied quietly. “See you at the end of the week.”

“See you at the end of the week,” Katya repeated, gently running his hand down his cheek before fully releasing him. “Thank you, Ivy.”

“Of course,” she chirped.

Katya waited a moment as she watched her brother and Ivy head toward the campus gates. Keeping her eyes on Viktor’s angled shoulders, she blindly reached for the pocket watch tucked into her vest pocket. Once in her grasp, she pressed it opened and let her gaze fall to the time. She sighed. She needed to get to work. The mine’s lead foreman allowed her to be ‘reasonably’ tardy on Mondays so she could shuttle Viktor to school, she didn’t want to push his generosity. She spun on the heel of her boot and strode back for the Bridge, her gait long and swift now that she didn’t have her brother at her side. She allowed her eyes to wander as she passed again through the café district, eying the small metal tables scattered outside the establishments. As easily as an eagle swiping a fish from the river, Katya reached out and snatched up a half-eaten roll from an abandoned plate. She didn’t even look as she shoved the baked good into her mouth, barely registering its taste before it was gone down her throat.

Katya passed the same Bridge attendant as before, and they didn’t even look up. Of course, no one cared who went into the Undercity; concern was reserved for people who wanted to be in Piltover who seemingly had no business being in there. Once back on the Promenade level of the Underground, Katya headed South, and not wanting to (or being able to) spend coin on a Conveyor, roof ran toward the mines.

It wasn’t long before the spiraling fence and wire of the quarry came into view. Even shorter was the stench that wafted up from the cracks in the rock and meandered through and around all the nooks and crannies of the Sump and Entresol. Again, Katya hiked up her scarf over her mouth and nose. She approached the gated entrance and the ancient, fat Yordle who controlled the lift waved her in.

“Mornin’ Katya,” she grumbled.

“Morning Marzi.”

The lift’s gate clattered shut behind her, and Katya’s stomach lurched slightly as it made its descent. The light went from the warm yellow-orange of day to a slicky chartreuse as she descended from the surface. The air became thicker too. But she was used to it. She had worked here since she was six, the smell and feel of the toxins muted and numbed by time. It also helped that she was fortunate enough to have what was considered a cushy ‘office’ job in the mines – working in the medical center. Caring for Viktor over the years had provided her with enough experience and know-how to be pulled away from manual labor and put to work band-aiding the miners. The lift jolted to a stop at her level and Katya walked the short stretch of rocky tunnel to the mine’s clinic.

“I’m here,” she called out as she entered, lowering her scarf from her mouth. She removed her coat and stuffed the scarf in its sleeve before hanging it on the rack next to the door.

“Will? Did you hear me? I said I’m here. You can go home,” Katya repeated. She pulled a long piece of cardstock out from the shelving unit in the wall and stuck it in the time-clock. The mechanism punched the paper with a hefty thud, and she put it back.

Will still had not answered, and Katya uncertainly made her way to the adjoining office. The unease in her shoulders softened as her eyes took in the sight of the balding, middle-aged man sleeping in his swivel chair. Will was leaned back to such an angle that it was truly remarkable that he hadn’t succumbed to gravity. His mouth hung open and gargling breaths issued forth.

“Will,” Katya hissed, tapping his shoulder. The touch caused the chair to sway slightly and that was enough to send her co-worker to lurching forward, coughing and sputtering. “Sorry. I’m here. You can go home.”

Will clasped a hand to his chest and wheezed. “Gods, Katya. Don’t scare me like that.”

“Don’t fall asleep like that.”

Will took a few moments to gather himself, brushing back the little hair he had and setting glasses on his thin nose. “You got your brother to school alright? No trouble?”

Katya nodded looking over the papers and clipboards on the desk. “All fine. Where did you leave off?” she asked gesturing to the mess in front of him.

“You’ll be picking up with Unit 89. The first of them should be arriving within the hour.”

Katya sighed, grabbing her stethoscope from the hook above the desk and slinging it around her neck.

“I hate performing physicals,” she moaned, taking the seat Will had just vacated. “What’s the point if we cannot actually help them when we find something wrong?”

The question was rhetorical, but Will answered anyway. “Because.”

Katya huffed through her nose, “They should just let us stitch, set bones, and amputate limbs. It would free up resources and time.”

“I agree,” Will conceded, hanging up his stethoscope. “But we have to make a show of it. Optics, morale, and what not.”

“What not,” Katya ground under her breath as she began to organize the papers in front of her.

“There’s a shipment of supplies coming in today, too,” Will added loudly as he left the office and made for the coat rack.

Katya’s fingers stilled briefly in their paper shuffling and the breath through her nose was sharper than intended. “When, and of what?”

“This afternoon,” Will answered, shrugging his patched coat on. “A mish-mash of things I believe. Mostly restock. Bandages, plaster, some anti-biotics and the like. There should be an order sheet on the desk there. Weren’t you the one that placed it?”

“I place a lot of orders, Will. It’s sometimes hard to keep them all straight.”

Will raised his eyebrows and hummed. “Well then, I’m off. Good luck today.”

“Get home safely,” Katya called over her shoulder.

Once he was gone, she rifled more hurriedly through the mess he had made and found the order sheet. Her heart fluttered at the sight of the inventory. Yes. This was the shipment she was waiting for. The one she over-ordered. On purpose. Knowing that her quietness and compliance had bought her some level of trust by the mine’s administration and board, this was something she did at odd intervals. So as to not draw suspicion. And with her and Viktor’s cupboards bare, his brace needing replacement, and tuition coming up, it couldn’t have arrived at a better time. She would just need to get through performing superfluous physicals before she could get her hands on the goods.

Chapter Text

A soft clatter in the kitchen woke Silco. Then the tell-tale muffled coughing. A hand clasped tightly over a mouth so as to not to be heard. He squeezed his eyelids and took a long, sharp breath in and a steady breath out. His exhale cooled the puddle of drool that had collected on his pillow and had seeped under his cheek. He grimaced, sitting up and wiping his mouth with a forearm.

His bedroom was dark but the sounds of the Undercity beating against the window told him the day was already very much started. He swung his long legs to the floor and padded over to the covered window. He gently peeled back the thick cloth tacked there and peered outside, squinting against the hazy glare of the sun through the Grey. The markets below had already unfurled dingy but colorful awnings, sex workers called after people who were heading home after graveyard shifts, Conveyor cars slid noisily up and down their cables, and grubby children shrieked as they ran to and fro between alley ways and levels of the Sump.

A louder, raspier string of coughs pulled Silco’s eyes away from his city and to his bedroom door. He reached for the shirt at the foot of his bed, pulled it on and made his way out of his room. He ran his long fingers through his scraggly locks of wavy hair, trying to temper the cowlick at the crown of his head.

Once in the sitting room of the apartment, he paused, eying the several piles of folded fabric and clothes carefully situated on the floor and coffee table. Every conceivable color and texture of garment, from humble drab canvas to frilly cream lace to bedazzled satin jewel tones. A harsh throat clearing from the kitchen drew his attention away from the stacks.

“Mum?”

Silco carefully wove in between his mother’s organized work and peered through the kitchen door. Her back was to him, shoulders high to her ears and vibrating with the force of her throat muscles trying to dislodge the irritation gathered there. It was always worst in the mornings. Silco stepped into the kitchen and fetched an empty glass jar from a cabinet and filled it with lukewarm water. She took it, hands shaking. She took sips in fits and starts, eventually draining the glass. The last gulp went down in a phlegmy grumble and she placed the glass in the sink. Her knuckles were stretched white as her hands gripped the sink and she hung her head. Silco rubbed a large circle against her back.

“Thank you,” she hoarsely whispered. Finally, she looked up at her son with the eyes he had inherited. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Silco shrugged a shoulder. “I needed to be up anyway. Where’s that medicinal tea from the herb woman’s stall?”

Enyd’s thin face split in an adoring smile and cupped her son’s high cheekbones. “Oh, my sweet boy,” she ran her slender thumbs over the taut, youthful skin under his eyes. Her smile faltered almost imperceptibly as she said, “in the bag by the kettle.”

Silco affectionately squeezed his mother’s wrists before moving to gather kettle and small paper bag. “Why don’t you go sit at the table. I’ll bring the tea and some bread over.”

Enyd did as instructed while Silco flitted about the kitchen. In no time at all, a steaming mug of green-colored tea and a chipped plate of bread Enyd had baked earlier in the week was placed on the table. The loaf was small, more crust than anything – which was why she hadn’t tried to sell it to her vendors in the marketplace. They only received her best goods and in return she received a hodge-podge of coins, wares, and favors. Silco placed one of the wares on the table next to the bread: a small jar of citrus jam, allegedly from somewhere far beyond the shores of Piltover and the Undercity.

Enyd brought the mug to her nose and sniffed. Tart. Acrid. Pungent enough that she could smell it. Years and years of working in the mines, having her nose and throat clogged by gases and explosive powder, had dampened her ability to smell and taste. Which meant if she could smell the stinging leaves floating in the hot water under her nose, surely Silco could. Her eyes flicked over to her son, who was tearing the burnt end of the loaf off and thinly applying the sunset-colored jam to it. She searched his face for any pinch of displeasure at the scent. She found none, and her chest tightened with adulation. 

Enyd took a small sip of tea and her face puckered. “Disgusting.”

Silco gave a small huff through the bite of bread and jam in his mouth. “I don’t suppose there was any hope of it tasting good, being medicine and all. Does it help?”

His mother took another short sip. “I suppose it does. I feel less winded throughout the day.”

“Good.” Silco slathered a layer of jam over a hunk of bread that had the most softness to it and pushed it over to her. Enyd took it, thankful for the way the texture of the bread and brightness of the jam dulled astringent after-taste of the tea.

Silco watched his mother passively, his teal eyes traveling between her and the tea. It wasn’t actual medicine, but it was currently the best thing available to them. It dulled her symptoms of the blight consuming her respiratory system – an illness she and other miners sometimes developed - but it wasn’t clear whether or not it would slow the disease’s progress. Curing it was a hope too far. As far as Silco knew even Piltover’s doctors, with all their grants, education and technology, hadn’t developed a cure. Not that they could be bothered to develop one since it wasn’t their people toiling away in the mines.

Silco took a too hard bite on the crust in his mouth and a sharp edge stabbed the roof of his mouth. He muffled a pained exclamation, slapping a hand over his mouth. Enyd looked up from nursing her tea, surprised and concerned.

“Are you alright?”

Silco gave a muffled affirmative and nodded his head. He rolled the crust to one side of his mouth and chewed more carefully before swallowing.

“Fine.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing its physical time at the mine,” Enyd mused. “Have the medical staff take a look at your mouth.”

Silco scoffed. It bothered him that she still remembered the mines’ schedule. Although, if he allowed his mind to not be colored with bitter emotions, he knew it shouldn’t be surprising. She was literally born in the mines, had labored there (in more ways than one) up until five years ago. She couldn’t forget the majority of her life so easily. He wished she could, though. They had worked so hard, planned so carefully to get her out of the mines after the first annual physical had diagnosed her with the affliction that was slowly eating her from the inside out. He wanted her to pretend that she had always had these odd, piecemeal jobs – baking bread for marketplace stalls and mending garments for various citizens of the Undercity who could afford such a luxury (mainly Promenade dwellers). He wanted her to forget. To forget all the pain and hardship she endured underground. He only wanted her to know the surface.

“The physicals don’t do a damn thing. It’s all show so Piltover can feel like they’re doing something.”

Enyd fixed him with a hard stare, “It’s not nothing. People died in those caverns left and right before Bone was finally able to pass regulations that ensured miner’s safety and well-being.”

Silco knew his mother admired the Undercity councilor. He had never seen such hope wash over her face when the news had spread like wildfire in the underground that one of their own had been accepted to the Piltover Council Chambers. It had been well over fifty years since the last Trencher had been invited into those hallowed halls.

Silco bit back another scoff brimming at the back of his throat. Jarrot Bone was maddeningly passive. Got a seat at the table and did precious little with it. The Undercity was still in squalor. Enforcers still brutalizing them whenever the opportunity arose. Citizens from the Underground couldn’t just walk across the Bridge and into the other half of the city.

No. Nothing of value had actually changed since Bone had reluctantly been given his seat by the Council. The only thing he had managed to accomplish was passing meager sanctions and regulations for how workers were treated and compensated in the mines from which he had also come.

Yes. The Piltie owners and operators of the mines were now saddled with the responsibility of providing yearly physicals to the thousands of workers there. At best, these appointments alerted you to a serious problem (like Enyd’s had), and would then do nothing about it. At worst, it took hours pay out of your check for having to miss work in order to be told “You’re fine. Get back to the mines”.

Yes. All workers of the mines were now monetarily compensated. Though not enough to guarantee roofs over heads and full bellies. But technically they were paid, and it was enough for Piltover to lord over them. Even the children who worked in the mines were paid, albeit even more minimally compared to their adult counterparts. Doing away with the use of child labor wasn’t a concession the Council was willing to make, citing that there weren’t enough adults small enough to fulfill the number of Slippers operations called for. The ‘compromise’ was paying children and adjusting their work hours to better accommodate their need for rest.

Yes. Once Bone’s new oversight was enacted, the abuse of miners by their superiors diminished. Namely because of the paperwork and lackluster ‘investigations’ would follow an altercation. Piltover couldn’t tolerate anything would slow down their insatiable want, so maliciously abusing Undercity workers was no longer a regular occurrence. The Council had added a nasty little foot-note to this particular clause stating that if a worker assaulted a superior, they would be immediately fired. Potentially sent to Stilwater, depending on the severity of the attack. Push come to shove, that wasn’t a risk many miners were willing to take because, despite the health hazards and insultingly low wages, the mines still had the most consistent work-offerings and some of best pay in the Undercity.

A rock and a hard place indeed.

Silco knew there was no point in maligning the Councilman in front of his mother. She held an odd, misplaced torch for him, and his cynicism and pragmaticism wasn’t going to snuff it out. No. Best to drop it.

“I should get ready to go. Sevika should be by any minute,” Silco said as he stood. He took up the bread plate and went back to the kitchen. “You should go up to the Promenade today. Get some fresher air.”

“I planned on it. I have some finished garments to drop off.” Another sip of tea, another grimace.

“I’m going to The Last Drop after I get off tonight.”

Enyd looked back toward the kitchen, her brow crumpling. Tea in hand, she stood as Silco began to slip back towards his bedroom.

“It’ll be very late,” she said, her mind flurrying with images of Enforcers and their faceless masks, sturdy batons. “Why don’t you just come back home for the night?”

“Can’t. I told Vander I’d be there.”

“Sevika?”

“She’ll be there too.”

“Silco,” Enyd urged, standing in his bedroom doorway.

“Mum, it’s fine,” he paused in gathering his clothes for the day. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll stay there overnight.”

His mother’s lips turned into a tight line. “What about Sevika?”

Silco couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling out of him. “Sevika? She’d be more fine than I would be on the other end of an Enforcers baton.”

Enyd was not soothed nor amused by that statement. As if on cue, a sturdy set of knocks thumped on the apartment’s door. Mother and son’s eyes followed the sound.

“Can you let her in, please? I’ll only be a minute.”

Enyd nodded and shut Silco’s bedroom door, before walking down the hall to their home’s entrance. Although, it was most certainly Sevika on the other side of the threshold, she peered through the fish eye all the same. Out of habit.

Enyd unlocked the door and opened it. Indeed, the tall and burly fifteen-year-old girl filled the doorframe.

“Mornin’ Ms. E,” Sevika greeted.

Enyd cleared her throat and replied in kind. “Good morning, Sevika. Come in, won’t you? Silco will be out in a moment.”

Silco hurried around his bedroom, putting on clothes with a thicker weave to them as they held up better in the dank mines and against the rough rocks. Once dressed, Silco sat on the edge of his bed and pulled his boots on. He paused a moment, pointy elbows resting on pointy knees, before reaching down, turning up a loose floorboard and retrieving the slim wooden box hidden there. He opened it and pulled out the three knives and whet stone stored within. The longest knife was slid into one of his boots; another was fastened to the inside of his pants along his left thigh; and the last he tucked up his sleeve. The whet stone slid into his trouser pocket. Silco stored the empty box back underneath the floor and gave the board a firm tap with his boot for good measure.

He stalked over to his lopsided dresser and grabbed the swatch of cloth bundled on its surface. He tied it loosely around his neck, the folded edge cowling around his collarbones, and the pointed tip covering the top of his chest like a bib. Reluctantly, Silco’s eyes turned up to his reflection in the dresser’s cracked mirror. His thin lips thinned further as he pulled his mouth into a tight line. He ran his fingers through his lank hair again before pulling the handkerchief around his neck up to test it. The fold sat well just over the ridge of his aquiline nose and the fabric sat snuggly against his cheekbones. The rest of it draped down toward the hollow of his throat, covering his mouth and chin. It was a piss poor substitute for an actual respirator, but since Bone’s regulations and standards hadn’t managed to be able to accommodate such things, this had to do. It was still better than getting a nose and mouthful of metallic shavings and ore dust.

Silco tugged the handkerchief back down around his neck and left his bedroom.

Sevika sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of breakfast tea (the dainty mug looking ridiculous in her meaty hands). Enyd sat across from her, still nursing the medicinal tea.

“Ready to go?” Silco asked as he returned, fussing with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Good morning to you, too,” the teen smarmed, draining her cup and setting it on the table. “Thank you for the tea, Ms. E.”

“Of course, dear.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Mum.”

Enyd rose from the table and walked over to her son, Sevika brushing past them for the door. She smoothed her hands over Silco’s shoulders, fiddling with the leather epaulette on the right side. Her teal eyes looked up into his matching pair, a small smile on her thin mouth.

“Be careful.”

“I will be.”

“Do not go traipsing around the Lanes. Stay at The Drop.”

Silco rolled his eyes. “Yes. Okay.”

“Have the medical staff look at the cut in your mouth.”

“Mum.”

Enyd’s lips twitched, conflicted as to whether she was amused by his exasperation or annoyed that he was trying to brush her concerns off.

“Give my best to Vander and Benzo.”

“I will.”

“I love you.”

Silco sighed quietly through his nose. “I love you, too.”

“Stop smirking,” Silco growled, as he and Sevika walked through the twisted green-lit streets of the Undercity.

“I’m not smirking,” she insisted. “I think it’s nice. Sweet. But, hey, if you want to trade families, I’m down. My dad is an asshole.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

In a few practiced steps and leaps, Silco sprang up onto a gangway arcing over the street he and Sevika were making their way down. She was quick to follow, although a little clunky and heavy in her teenage reflexes. She had had a growth spurt in the last couple of years and was still learning her new height and girth.

“So,” she breathed, “I was able to make sure that our physicals were with her.”

“I’ve never met the nurse.”

“Yeah, I know. But I worked with Katya for years before they stuck me in the tunnels with the rest of you. Also, she’s technically not a nurse –“

“I’m technically not a junior foreman, but those are the responsibilities I’m saddled with anyway,” Silco spat. Another insult provided by Piltover: giving workers the responsibility of upper-level jobs without the title, respect, or pay.

“She’s not technically a nurse,” Sevika pressed on, “but she knows what she’s doing with medicine and medical supplies, and she’s the one that does the . . . ordering.”

Silco hummed at the back of his throat as they clambered to a higher level of the Sump. It had seemed too good to be true when Sevika had told him, Vander and Benzo that the clinic officer she had worked under for years ran a side operation of scalping drug and medical supplies she stole from the mines to Undercity denizens. They knew someone with medical know-how and access to supplies would be necessary for what they were planning – a revolution against Piltover.

Injury was inevitable. It was already happening. While violence in the mines had dropped, Street Enforcers still beat any Sumprat within reach. The number of people that got dragged into the safe house in The Last Drop’s basement for patching up was not slowing down. It would only get worse once the revolution started in earnest.

Death was also inevitable. But if Silco, Vander, Benzo, Sevika and the rest of the like-minded individuals they had managed to quietly rally so far were able to have access to medicines and other necessary medical supplies they would hopefully be able to keep their numbers up to stand a chance against their oppressors.

“Will she be agreeable?” Silco asked as the mines came into view on the horizon.

“That, I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

Katya took the stethoscope from around her neck and threw it onto the desk. She sat heavily in the old swivel chair, arms like lead, eyes prickling as she stared at nothing in particular.

She hated performing physicals.

The last of Unit 89 had just left the medical office. A boy, younger than her brother. She had seen him not a month prior after a wayward pickaxe caught him in the face. He had been brought to medical screaming and shaking by a gaggle of children not much older than him. While he was writhing on her table, Katya wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking at.

The head bled so much.

 Several gauze pads and a shot of morphine later, she was able to find the puncture wound. It was deep. His lower jaw was cracked and crumbling around a maw of splintered bone and marrow. Teeth that remained hanging loosely by their roots.

Katya did her job and patched the small boy up the best she could, flushing and packing the punctured bone and flesh, and stitching the gaping hole in his cheek. She wove a drainage tube into the bandages around the lower half of his face and told him it would be best if he could stay home – wherever home was – until he was healed. She knew he wouldn’t - couldn’t - do that, but she told him all the same.

He had come back today for his physical, and what she feared was happening. The bone was infected. She had seen it happen before to other miners. The toxic fumes in the tunnels and the general bacteria of dirty bodies bustling against one another created a chemical petri dish that was insatiable, eating and eating until the next compound fracture presented a dizzying buffet of bone tissue and rich, fatty marrow.

In most cases, Katya or Will would go through the arduous and messy process of amputating the doomed appendage before the infection got too far out of hand. It was easiest and cheapest (for the mine). Amputating a jaw bone however . . . Katya was not skilled enough to attempt such a thing. She wasn’t even sure if one could remove a mandible and keep its owner living.

And now the boy’s face was rotting from the inside out. He had clambered up onto her exam table, sallow and sweating, his emerald eyes fogged over with infection and she grit her teeth and went through the physical exam as quickly as possible; so, she wouldn’t have to look at him, wouldn’t have to smell the ripe stench of decaying tissue.

She had marked up his chart with barely veiled agitation. Fever. Underweight. Irregular heartbeat. Gunked up lungs. She put his paperwork in the box to be sent to administration that would terminate him for ill health. Then he would probably die in the streets.

Or, he would die in the tunnels before the folder even made it to the foreman’s desk.

She slipped a few packets of painkillers into his small, clammy hand and coolly sent him on his way. She didn’t dare show any sign of sympathy, fearing that if she allowed any emotion through she wouldn’t be able to reel herself back in.

Now she sat slumped and rigid in the office chair, forcing herself to think of Viktor. She was doing this for him. Working in this shit-box for him. Unhelpfully helping people to give him a chance and keep him alive.

With great effort and concentration, Katya peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth and pried her teeth away from one another. She glanced at her pocket watch.

The members of Unit 90 would begin showing up shortly. Cautious excitement dared to creep under her skin. 90 was the unit Sevika had been placed into. Katya hadn’t seen the girl in a while and the prospect soothed the angst that had gathered in her belly from her last patient.

Sevika had worked in the medical clinic as an assistant of sorts up until a few years earlier, once she had hit puberty and she had suddenly exploded into a hulking figure. It didn’t take long for the Piltie foremans to take notice of the bulky medical assistant and file to have her placed in the tunnels, to use that muscle for moving ore instead of pushing pencils.

Katya had very reluctantly let her young assistant go. It had been the only time she had ever put up a fuss to administration.

“We need someone strong in the clinic in case there is a body too large for me or Will to lift!”

It was a long shot and it didn’t reach far enough. Sevika was sent into the mines. And Katya was sick over it. None of the laborers fared well in the caves, but those who were thick with girth and muscle suffered the most abuse. Not under the batons and electric rods of foreman, but under the assumptions and expectations their physique alluded to. People who looked and performed like Sevika were worked to death. Most of the time when Katya or Will were called into the mines to transport a dead body, it was that of a large, burly person who had collapsed in the midst of work.

This fact – that the physically strong died first – was unspoken, but well-understood amongst the miners. And it filled Katya with dread every time a statuesque individual would lumber into the clinic for whatever reason, knowing that at some point she would probably be pulling a sheet over their face. Sometimes, not often, when a young miner began to spurt both up and out, they would leave their jobs in the mines knowing that they wouldn’t be leaving alive if they stayed. Katya knew Sevika felt like she didn’t have that luxury with so many mouths at home to feed.

“Just . . . be careful,” Katya had said before her friend disappeared into the dark.

“I will be.”

“If – if you need anything,” Katya whispered fiercely, gripping the girl’s hand, “just let me know. I can get it.”

Sevika had pursed her uneven lips and stiltedly nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

Katya rose from the chair and went to wipe down the examination table in preparation for the next onslaught of patients. As she restocked gauze, plaster, tape and bandages from the clinic’s small supply closet, the main door swished open and firmly shut. Katya stilled, before peeking at her watch. It wasn’t quite time, and it wasn’t like workers to show up early for such things. Before she could call out, Katya heard the even taps of expensive soled shoes and she knew who it was. Steeling herself, she set down the box of syringes she was holding and exited the closet.

It wasn’t often Thade Rynweaver, the Piltovian nobleman who owned the mines, showed up to survey his enterprise. In true elitist fashion, he was much more apt to dole out responsibility to his underlings and receive written reports of the goings-on, as well as the bulk of the profits his hole-in-the-ground reaped, than exist among the Undercity masses that toiled and died under his feet. However, every now and again, he would appear.

Thade was not a Councilor, and despite his massive wealth and influence, had not been able to quash Bone’s new regulations and guidelines for miner’s safety. His sporadic visits became slightly more frequent after the sanctions went into effect. Katya was sure it was less about creating a sense of support and more about scaring everyone shitless. To make sure that everyone in the mines knew who exactly was in charge.

Careful to keep her face schooled, Katya stepped into the clinic’s office. Rynweaver’s back was to her, his tall, slender frame draped in an expensive black coat. He was sliding gloved fingers through the files of miners she had just seen with lackadaisical boredom. Katya felt the tips of her fingers twitch.

“Good day, Mr. Rynweaver,” she pleasantly pushed out through tight lips.

The mine’s owner glanced over his shoulder, setting down the file in his hands. “Miss Slostov,” he greeted in his received Piltovian accent, turning to face her.

No matter how many times she was in the presence of the unnerving man, it still rattled her – she just got better at hiding it. Everything about him was haughty and predatory. Like a regal bird of prey: eyes such a dark shade of blue they appeared black under harshly angled brows; sharp cheekbones cut toward a mouth of too-straight, too-white teeth; a slender, beaky nose created further menacing angles to his face.

“May I assist you with anything, sir?”

“I just wanted to pop by and make sure my funds were being put to good use. How are the physicals going?”

Careful to keep her tone neutral, Katya said, “Well. They’re going well. Most everyone Mr. Sadik or I have seen is fit to continue labor.”

Rynweaver’s blue-black eyes flicked to the tray with the file of the boy with the rotting jaw. He knew what it meant, those papers being in that box.

“Only a few . . . considerations,” Katya conceded.

Rynweaver plucked the file up and opened it, studying her notes. The corners of his lips curled up ever so slightly – a reaction that made Katya’s stomach clench – and he tsk’d under his breath.

“So young,” he mused, closing the file and placing in back in the outbox, “too bad.”

Katya brought her hands behind her back and squeezed them together to give her anger and nerves somewhere to go. There was nothing to say to such relished apathy so she kept her lips tucked between her teeth. Rynweaver swung out a long leg and stepped closer to her.

“How is your brother, Miss Slostov?”

“Doing well, sir.”

“And his schooling?”

“Excelling, sir.”

“Very good,” he said, standing entirely too close. He stretched out his hand and wove his fingers through the lock of hair slung over her shoulder. Katya kept her breath even. “You know, I saw him last week. I had a meeting with the Dean about funds for the next lottery. I found Heimerdinger speaking with him outside a classroom during a passing period, congratulating your brother on some test or another. It’s good to know that my coin isn’t being wasted there.” He let Katya’s hair slip through his fingers and it fell limply back onto her chest.

Rynweaver turned back to the desk, his eyes drifting to a sheet of paper stuck underneath the stack of files of miners due to begin arriving at any moment.

The order sheet.

Katya tightened her grip around her fingers as the pads of his pressed down and slid the paper out from underneath the manila folders. His eyes cut down the list. His lips ticked down and he looked back at her.

“This order is larger than usual, yes?”

“Slightly, sir, yes,” Katya answered. She spoke evenly and with conviction. “It’s not out of the ordinary and the order was approved before purchase. We have typically ordered more supplies around physical time, and last year accidents increased when the weather turned cooler.”

It wasn’t a lie. Last year, when the weather became rainier, followed by ice and some light snow, several miners had slipped and hurt themselves on rocks. Some became hypothermic. There had even been a couple small rock slides as water pushed the earth around.

Rynweaver made a displeased but understanding sound at the back of his throat. “Very well.”

He made his way back to the clinic’s entrance, turning to her one more time. His dark eyes locked with hers before skimming down her form. Once at her feet, the bottomless pools jumped back up to her amber orbs. “Good luck with the rest of the physicals today. Hopefully nothing too unpleasant crops up.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He left. Katya let out a long, ragged breath. She let her hands drop back to her sides and flexed feeling back into her fingers. After a moment’s consideration, Katya quickly wove her long hair into a wide fishbone plait.

The members of Unit 90 trickled down in alphabetical order, so Sevika was one of the last miners Katya saw. Despite being eager to lay eyes on her friend, it suited the medic fine; it gave her something to look forward to as she poked and prodded dirty and haggard bodies.

Katya’s heart thumped firmly against her ribs as she filed away the paperwork of the miner that preceded Sevika. She pulled out the teen’s file and flipped through it as she waited. She was relieved to see that the notes in Sevika’s file were few. The relief crescendoed when Katya heard the door open. She quickly abandoned the folder and strode into the main room, unable to stop the wide smile pulling her mouth apart.

“’Vika!” she sighed, drawing the girl into a tight embrace. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Sevika paused, only briefly, before returning the gesture. She rested her cheek against the crown of Katya’s head and tightened her strong arms around her, feeling the young woman chuckle underneath her.

“Gods, did you grow more?”

It was Sevika’s turn to giggle, “I dunno. Maybe.”

Katya stepped back, keeping her hands gripping the girl’s arms as she looked her up and down. She had grown more – a few inches taller so that the teen was almost a full head above her. She had also widened and hardened, her musculature growing from the hard labor she was put to. There was hardly any give to the tight biceps under Katya’s fingers. Despite the firmness and mature look of her body, Sevika’s face gave away her youth. Slightly rounded cheeks, skin absent of worry lines or wrinkles, bright silver eyes, and dark, dark hair that had been pulled back into two small buns, one behind each ear.

Katya’s lips quirked, affection and concern pulsing through her veins. “How are you?”

Sevika shrugged. “Fine.”

Katya rolled her eyes, “Such a teenage answer. Come now, I’m not your parent. How are you? Are you doing well? Keeping your head down –“

“Geez, yes!” the teen huffed, unable to keep herself from sounding pleased. “I’m doing okay, I promise. Keeping my head low, staying out of trouble . . . mostly.”

The teen flashed a devious grin that Katya frowned at.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The gentle sway of Sevika’s body, her weight shifting from foot to foot, was the only clue that she was nervous. “You remember when you said if I needed anything, I just needed to tell you?”

Katya’s stomach dropped and stepped back toward the tall girl.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Is your father sick? One of the little ones?”

“No no no, nothing like that. My old man’s fine, so are my brothers and sisters. This isn’t about them – “

“You’re not sick, are you? Did one of the foremans hurt you?”

“Kat, NO! Just quit your mother-henning for a second and let me tell you.”

Katya was not impressed with what Sevika had to tell her as she performed the girl’s physical. There was always scuttlebutt about an uprising against Piltover whispering its way through the Undercity. People were born stepped on and fed up, but ultimately, they were without any bite. They gummed against Piltover’s negligence and unfairness, knowing if they actually put any teeth behind it the retribution would be swift and crushing. Deadly. So, talk of revolution was kept wistful and dreamy.

Or so Katya thought. Now, Sevika was excitedly telling her about a small (but allegedly growing) group of youths who were trying in earnest to will an uprising into existence. To throw Piltover’s boot off of the Undercity and secede. To become its own independent nation. A place Sevika said they were calling ‘Zaun’.

“Stop talking,” Katya snapped as she pressed the disc of her stethoscope against Sevika’s bare back.

The teen clamped her teeth together and hissed at the sudden cold against her warm, brown skin. Several moments passed as Sevika sat hunched over, taking deep breaths, Katya pressing the diaphragm over various spots of her back. Sevika wondered if she was actually listening to her lungs or if she was formulating a disappointed response.

“Your lungs sound good,” Katya said, looping her stethoscope around her neck. She picked up Sevika’s file and began writing. “I’ll have to make a note that the gasses in the tunnels are beginning to affect a person’s common sense, though. That’s a new development.”

‘Ah. So both.’ Sevika thought.

“Kat, will you please just listen for a sec?”

“Lie back,” Katya commanded, pointedly not listening.

Sevika laid back in a huff, and Katya began palpating her abdomen. The teen shifted her lower jaw around as she thought of what to say next, of how to get her friend to listen.

“Arms up.”

Sevika lifted her muscular arms over head and Katya methodically pressed the tips of her fingers around her breast tissue, in her armpits and across her chest.

“Katya – “

“You can put them back down,” came the cool reply. “Open your mouth.”

Sevika sighed, bringing her arms back down. Feeling a little stupid, she opened her mouth. Katya shown a small pen light into the cavity and swiftly grabbed Sevika’s tongue with a small swatch of gauze. The light flicked to and fro, pinching fingers pulled the tongue side to side and up and down. Satisfied, Katya released the pink muscle and Sevika gladly set it back into her jaw, swishing some spit around to relubricate it.

“You can sit up. Put your shirt back on.”

Sevika obeyed as Katya picked her folder and pen back up, and sat on her stool. She scribbled across the inside of the file in short, irritated strokes.

“Katya. Please. Can you just . . . listen to me?”

The teen’s desperate tone pulled at her heart, and Katya finally relented. She set the file down in her lap and fixed her amber eyes on Sevika’s silver ones.

“I am listening, ‘Vika. And I’m concerned. Do you know how much trouble you could get into for even just conspiring this? And not just you! But your family as well! Is it really worth the risk? This . . . Zaun?” Katya hissed the word as if she were afraid Enforcers would leap out of the supply closet and beat them both.

“Kat, trust me, this is different. The guys who started this . . . they’re different. They’re not just some sloppy drunks dreaming and griping at the end of a bar. This could actually work.”

Katya’s heart couldn’t help but swell watching the unbridled hope build in Sevika’s eyes, shifting from gray to bright silver.

Katya blinked and shook her head. “I cannot believe you’d be so foolish,” she muttered. Sevika opened her mouth to respond before deciding not to. She snapped it shut again, and Katya huffed a reluctant chuckle at how petulant the large fifteen-year-old looked, sitting at the edge of the table, legs swinging slightly, hands bashfully fidgeting in her lap.

Finally, Katya voiced the question she had been afraid to ask, “Why are you telling me this, ‘Vika? You said you needed something. What do you need?”

For the first time since spouting off about this Zaun nonsense, Sevika had the decency and presence of mind to look unsure and cautious. Her eyes flicked down to her twiddling fingers and she bit the inside of her lip.

“I think . . . it might be best if you talk with them. I think they’ll do a better job at explaining what we need and why – “

“Sevika,” Katya cut in. “What do you need?”

The teen’s face began to flush with frustration and she clenched her eyes shut. “I just need you to come to The Last Drop tonight after you get off work. Meet them, let them explain everything.” Sevika looked back at the young woman with big, watery eyes. “We need your help. Please, Kat.”

Katya stared back at her. After a moment, a long sigh escaped through her nostrils and her face softened. “Fine. I will go – “

“Yes!”

“ – if only to see these fools you’ve gotten yourself messed up with. That way I can avoid them, too.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Sevika crowed, pulling Katya into a hug. “I promise, Vander will be able to convince you much better than I could – “

“I’m not looking to be convinced, ‘Vika.”

The teen brushed away that concern with a sassy tsch’d, tongue clicking against her teeth, before hopping to her feet. She adjusted her shirt as Katya led her back toward the clinic’s door. Sevika reached for her friend once more before the door could be opened, drawing her into another embrace. Katya reciprocated, her hands cupping each of Sevika’s shoulder blades.

“It was good to see you – “

“I’m happy to see you too – “

“Even if you’ve become more foolish since you left this office.”

Sevika groaned and pulled out of the hug. Katya smirked at the dramatics. The exchanged good byes, and Sevika told Katya the location of The Last Drop. Reluctantly, the medic watched her young friend open the door and begin to slip out.

Suddenly, Sevika paused, the door gently wobbling as its trajectory was impeded. “Uh,” she began, face scrunching in thought, “just so you know, the next miner you’re seeing is one of the founders of this . . . organization. He’ll be there tonight, too.”

Katya’s eyebrows raised and her lips dipped in a frown.

“Just thought I’d give you a heads up,” Sevika explained. “See you tonight.” A hopeful smile returned to the teen’s mouth.

“See you tonight.”

At the sound of the clinic door opening again, Katya looked up from the file she was studying. She didn’t know this miner, had never seen him in the clinic, Will’s stilted scrawl was all over his medical papers. But curiosity had gotten the better of her when Sevika said that this boy – man, she supposed. He was a couple years older than her – was one of the ‘Zaun’ idiots, and she hurriedly had pulled his file to get a better idea of who she might be dealing with.

Katya closed the file and stepped out of the office. Neither of them said anything as they took each other in. Either he was a man of few words, or Sevika had managed to alert him that Katya was not pleased with him or his ‘cause’.

He looked annoyed, so Katya assumed the latter.

Her amber eyes quickly skirted over him, taking her new patient in. On the taller side. Slender – a build that would suggest that he would be a Slipper, although his chart hadn’t said anything about it. Dark, wavy hair that hung lank around his ears. Light teal eyes that pierced through thick, defined brows. High, knife-like cheek bones, the cut of which were only challenged by the blade of his sharp, angled nose.

Katya felt her jaw tighten and she hoped he didn’t see the flash of recognition in her eyes.

“You’re Silco?” she asked, waving the folder in her hand.

“I am.” A low, smooth voice. Accented in a way that one didn’t typically hear in the Lanes.

“Come on then. Let’s get this over with,” Katya brusquely said, shortness trying to cover the discomfort she felt.

The exam was conducted in tight silence, only punctuated by the scribble of Katya taking occasional notes. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she felt Silco’s annoyance give way to amusement as the physical continued.

“Are you always this quiet?” he asked as she inspected his ear canal. “The other one mutters the whole damn time.”

“Take your shirt off.”

“Not even a drink first?”

Katya fixed him with a withering stare that he only chuckled at before removing his top. She circled around, eying him clinically. Long, ropey muscles, a slight concave dip between his pectoral muscles, ridges of ribs visible under taut skin, scars of various lengths, depths, and origins littered across his exposed skin. Nothing appeared to be new or infected.

Katya placed the ear pieces of her stethoscope in her ears and brought the diaphragm to his back.

He hissed. “Fuck that’s cold!”

Katya was glad she was behind him so he couldn’t see the shit-eating grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Don’t talk.”

His lungs sounded surprisingly good for having worked in the mines for so long. She made a note and instructed him to lean back. Her fingers danced and pressed along his stomach. Satisfied, she made another note in his chart.

“Open your mouth,” she said, grabbing her pen light and a piece of gauze.

Silco spared her another remark and opened, Katya noting his slightly crooked teeth as she flicked the light around his mouth. She paused, spying a small inflamed gouge on the roof of his mouth. She released his tongue and turned toward a wall cabinet.

“What happened to your mouth?” she asked, pulling a bottle and a small plastic cup from the cupboard.

“Thought I would moonlight as a sword swallower. I’m still learning.”

Katya rolled her eyes, pouring a small amount of sharp smelling liquid into the cup. She gestured for him to sit and it to him. “Swish. Don’t swallow.”

Silco did as instructed, wincing at the medicinal burn stinging his palate. Katya made another note.

“Just spit it back into the cup,” she said, reaching her hand back out. He did so and handed the cup back to her. “Anything else I need to make a note of?” she asked, tossing the cup into the small sink.

“That’s it?” Silco asked, pulling his shirt back over his head. “You’re not going to ask me to bend over and cough?”

Katya glared at him. “I don’t want my fingers anywhere near your ass. If you’re desperate to be touched in such a way, come back when Will is working.”

Silco barked a laugh and stood up. He began to make his way back to the clinic door, Katya’s hardening gaze against his swaggering back. As he opened the door, he glanced back at her over his shoulder.

“See you tonight.” And he was gone.

Katya swiveled back over to the desk, tossing his file onto it.

“Asshole.”

Chapter Text

Finally, the physicals for the day had petered out. Katya’s neck ached from hunching over charts and her head thrummed from the constant influx of patient information. All too gladly, she slammed the filing cabinet door shut. She wouldn’t need to concern herself with those files again until tomorrow. She would be relieved when the miner’s physicals would be done. At this rate, it was looking like the end of this week, perhaps early next.

Katya’s mind was quick to shift gears in the wake of the medical supplies due to be delivered within the hour. Her heart thundered against her ribs as she reviewed the order sheet. She wished she hadn’t forgotten that it was set to arrive today, she would’ve packed and prepared her person better. She shook her head, plait swishing against her back, and ran her tongue over her teeth.

It didn’t matter.

The small, secret pockets she had sewn into her father’s coat would suffice in getting a small portion of the supplies home and organized for orders.

It was a plot she and her father had schemed up shortly before his death. She couldn’t let her brother’s place at the preparatory school be compromised. Not after all the work it took to get him there, keep him there. Not when he would certainly die in the Sump, choked by pollution and ravaged by illness.

No. Viktor would stay Topside. As much as possible. Katya promised her father as she had held his cracked head in her hands, blood and brains spilling out from a wound she couldn’t fix. She had then taken his small pistol and shot the Enforcer her father had managed to hobble in their skirmish. It had been late and dark, and the Undercity’s soundscape was rife with the sound of violence so there had been no witnesses. No one cared. Just another dead Trencher and dead Enforcer.

Katya mindlessly organized the clinic until the small speaker on the front desk fizzled to life.

“Front gate to medical.”

The young medic threw herself over the edge of the desk and pressed the response button. “It’s me, Marzi,” Katya wheezed, the desk pressing into her diaphragm. “I’m here.”

“There’s a medical supplier here. Says there’s to be a delivery.”

“Yes. Yes. Send them down.”

The other end of the call hissed away as Marzi cut the line. Katya waited for the tell-tale rumble of delivery carts to approach the clinic door. When it did, she politely opened it for a lanky deliveryman. A prosthetic hand presented her with the delivery receipt and she signed it in a flourish, thanking him. He grunted an acknowledgment and slunk out of the clinic.

Katya carefully unstacked and opened the boxes. Her stomach fluttered at the contents inside. Packages upon packages of gauze, tape, needle and thread, plaster, syringes, antiseptic, burn gel, scalpels, ice packs . . .

Katya’s lips tightened as she opened the next, smaller boxes labelled ‘fragile’. Vials of medicine: various kinds of antibiotics, pain killers, morphine, high-strength decongestants . . . these were the big-ticket items. Such things never showed up in the Undercity’s marketplace. If someone wanted actual medicine like this, they would have to go Topside. And even if they managed that hurdle – and a tall hurdle it was – the cost of medication would be prohibitive.

That’s what made Katya such a necessary commodity in the Undercity. She was the only supplier. But she was meticulous about her clientele. Only engaging with people who were consistent, trustworthy and kept their damn mouths shut. She only needed enough to make sure she and Viktor survived. No more, no less.

Katya took out the original order list and began cross referencing it against the packing slip and the goods in the boxes. Once done, she restocked the examination room and supply closet. Sliding the final box of gauze pads in place, she peeked to her pocket watch. The mine would be entering its next shift shortly. Will would be coming back to relieve her. Haggard miners would slowly shuffle home, to a pub, or to a brothel. Others, mostly children and youths without homes, would return to the cramped barracks offered by the mine.

Katya slid the watch back into her vest and strode to the clinic’s door. She lowered the shade and locked it before grabbing her coat. She returned to the examination room and reached deep into the sleeve of the coat, pulling out a syringe.

‘Just the morphine,’ she thought, amber eyes gliding over the tantalizing vials in front of her. She had a client she could swing by to that night and collect a decent chunk of change for the drug. Enough to get another bag of oats for the cupboard.

Gently, she retrieved another treasure from deep in the coat: a small empty vial. She wrote in her work notes that she disposed of empty medicine containers.

She didn’t.

She kept them.

With great practice, Katya used her empty syringe to puncture the membrane of a morphine vial, drawing the medicine up into the vessel. Not enough to rouse suspicion. Not too much. Enough to give her client a high and rest bit from his chronic pain. Enough to make some coin.

She transferred the nip into the empty vial and safely tucked it into her coat.

The mine’s bell sounded, announcing the change in shifts, and Katya placed the morphine vial back in the cabinet. No one would be none the wiser.

By the time Silco and Sevika trudged into The Last Drop, the bar was already pleasantly packed and boisterous. Despite the sickly undertones that colored the Fissures, the interior of the establishment was warm, yellow light glowing through the various stained-glass lamps peppered across the ceiling. Mismatched wooden chairs and tables were scattered through the large main room, crackling vinyl booths lined most of the wall space. An old jukebox was in the corner, wheezing out a jangly tune over the heads of patrons. The far wall was the bar, and Vander was behind it.

Despite being so young, The Last Drop was his establishment. He had inherited it from the last proprietor the year before, a man that had took Vander under his wing when the boy decided (with much pressure from Silco) to leave the mines when it became clear the Topsiders were ready to work him to death. Seeing the value of his size and surprising people skills, the old Drop owner brought the lad on. Vander was given room and board and a small weekly paycheck. He had stayed ever since, responsibilities and pay steadily increasing until, finally, the old barman wrote Vander into his will, leaving his long-time employee the business.

Silco and Sevika made their way up to the bar, Silco’s eyes scanning the room as they wove in-between tables. The pub was mostly filled with older regulars, people they hadn’t yet tried to wrangle into their revolutionary plans. People their age were easier. Less stories. Less tired. Less hopeless.

“Oi! There you two are! We’ve been waiting!”

Benzo sat at the bar, his large body slightly canted as he swiveled in his seat to face the two miners, a frothy tankard in hand. He waved them over as Vander looked up from the cups he was washing. A smile lifted his gray-blue eyes.

Sevika hopped onto the stool next to Benzo, Silco took up the one next to her. Vander plunked a fresh tankard in front of Silco and a glass of water in front of Sevika.

“Come ooooon, Van,” Sevika whined, rolling her eyes and head back dramatically.

“No,” was the simple reply. When Vander turned back to the sink, the teen quickly dipped her mouth to the frothy head of Silco’s mug and took a quick slurp. She pulled away before Vander turned back, a satisfied smirk and a bubbly mustache on her full lips. Vander frowned at the teen, and flicked his eyes over to his lanky compatriot. Silco really didn’t care. He was busying himself with rolling a cigarette. A boney shoulder lifted and fell.

“It’s not like you’ll get in trouble for serving someone underage,” Silco droned, running his tongue down the seam of the paper. “Enforcers won’t come in here. Besides, we were drinking before Sev’s age. Do you have a light?”

Vander pouted and reached into his pocket, producing a book of matches. He slid them across the bar. Silco’s long fingers caught it.

“There’s a good barkeep.”

 “Is it just us?” Sevika asked, glancing around.

Vander set his large hands on the bar top and shifted his hip. “Aye. Beckett and Annie are scouting the docks tonight – “

“Was that a good idea?” Silco asked incredulously, lighting the end of his cigarette. “Beckett’s head has spent more time between Annie’s thighs than in the game recently.”

Before Vander could answer, Benzo chuckled into his drink, “You’re just jealous, Sil. When was the last time that beak of yours pressed into anything that wasn’t a pile of mine soot?”

Silco’s eyes flashed, and as quick as a snake lurched past Sevika, pressing the cherry end of his cigarette against Benzo’s meaty forearm. The larger man yelped, sloshing his beer as he pulled away.

“Silco!” Vander hissed, batting Silco’s arm back to his side of the bar.

“Pissy little thing, aren’t’cha?” Benzo grit, clamping thick fingers over the burn. “Didn’ realize it was such a sore – “

“Enough, ‘Zo,” Vander spat. He wrapped some ice cubes in a rag and handed it to him, before bringing his attention back to Sevika.

 “Beckett and Annie are at the docks,” he repeated. “I didn’t gather anyone else since . . . this isn’t a done deal yet. I figured it would be best to meet with her, just the five of us. So we wouldn’t spook or overwhelm her.”

Sevika’s eyes dropped to her glass and she swiveled it against the table nervously. “Probably the right idea.”

Katya rapped her knuckles against the flimsy, wet wood and waited. When nothing happened after a couple minutes, she knocked again.

“Pfeffer? It’s Katya.”

Finally, she heard movement beyond the door. It stopped after a moment and was replaced by a high, gruff, angry voice.

“Key. Top o’ the frame.”

Katya lifted up onto the toes of her boots, and ran her fingers along the top of the rotting wood. She felt the cool metal of the key and grasped it firmly between her fingers. The lock took a couple twists and tugs before its inner-workings scraped into place. Katya adjusted her scarf against her mouth and nose before opening the door.

The smell. Gods, the smell.

Rot. Stale urine. Ripe body odor. An unemptied chamber pot.

Pfeffer’s home (an entirely too generous term) was small and windowless. It was simply a bricked-up alleyway with a door. Katya kept it open ajar to filter some of the stink out, and to leave the unspoken message that she would not be staying. She gently shifted garbage and dirty clothes out of her path with the tips of her shoes, as she cut to the back of the hovel where the Vastaya lay on his couch.

Katya twisted the knob of a nearby lamp, and yellow light washed over the back of the room. Pfeffer’s  eyes squinted against the light and slid up to Katya’s face. His cheeks slackened and he took a great, rattling breath. One that made his bones creak and his muscles spasm. He winced and groaned on his exhale. Carefully, Katya knelt down at his side.

“What took you so long?” he growled.

Katya ignored his rudeness as she took one of his too-thin arms and rolled up his dirty sleeve. She knew his agitation wasn’t about her. It was about his pain. Some disease that cramped and warped his muscles excruciatingly against his bones, leaving him relatively immobile and infirmed. She rotated his forearm in her hands, inspecting. He grit his sharp teeth and hissed under her feather-light touches. She sweetly shushed him in the same way she would Viktor when he was upset. She ran her fingers down his paper-thin skin, eying the threads of blue and purple veins peeking out between patches of brittle fur.

“I only have one dose right now,” she said. “Do you want the whole thing? Or just half, and you can give yourself the other half later?”

Pfeffer fixed her with a veiny eyed stare and chewed his dry lips. A long moment passed before he whispered, “Half.”

Katya nodded and let go of his arm, fishing out the small vial and syringe from deep within her coat. She prepared the needle and set the remaining half-dose on the table next to the couch.

“Small pinch,” she said out of habit as she carefully pierced the needle just under the inside of his elbow. Pfeffer’s eyelids fluttered and a warbling sigh escaped his mouth as the morphine was pressed into his body. Katya felt him sag underneath her gentle hold.

Carefully, she pulled the tip of the needle out from his arm and set it next to the vial. “Try to give it at least six hours before you take the rest of it. I can be back day after next with more.”

Pfeffer’s head bobbled drunkenly up and down against the arm of his couch. A clawed hand lazily floated up and gestured toward a hutch across the room. Katya got up and went over to where he had pointed. A cracked jar was perched on one of the hutch’s shelves and she ducked her hand inside, pulling out a mis-matched handful of coins. She sifted through them, before pocketing their agreed upon price and tossing the left-overs back into the ceramic.

“I’ll be back with the rest of your order day after next,” Katya repeated as she made for the door. She spared one final glance at Pfeffer – whose breathing had shifted to something long and steady, glazed eyes stared up at the ceiling – before shutting the door and locking it.

Katya hopped up and placed the key back in its shitty hiding spot, before sauntering down the alley. Her steps made lighter by the slight weight of Hexes in her pocket.

Katya would much rather just go home after picking up the small sack of oats from the marketplace. But she had promised Sevika. And so, with a few less coins in her pocket and a few days’ worth of breakfast in her hand, she made her way through the Undercity’s business district.

The Lanes took their deepest breaths at night. Fanning flames of activity and life between the winding streets. Colorful neon lights pulsed above, washing the uneven streets in technicolor. The sounds of music, machines, and men thrummed through the air, jockeying for the top-notes of the soundscape they made together. Bodies jostled every which way. Occasionally, the imposing silhouette of an Enforcer creeped at the edges of the crowds. It was chaotic. Katya kept her head down as she wove through the packed streets.

The Last Drop came into view, the focal point of an open square, one of the few in the Lanes. Katya knew that the bar was a long-time establishment of the Undercity, though she had never been. She was pretty sure her father had been a few times. Before Viktor was born. Katya’s gaze lifted automatically to the open space above. It was rare to have such an unobstructed view towards the sky. The tangles of buildings and Conveyor tracks crisscrossed so thickly that it was almost impossible to see anything at the bottom of the Fissures.

Although, technically speaking, Katya couldn’t really see the sky. She could see the blanket of Grey with whisps of stars peeking through the occasional break in the smog. But it was still an open view, and that was novel.

She bumped into a large body as her eyes were lifted. Bashfully muttering an apology, she committed her eyes to her feet as she strode toward The Last Drop. She gripped the brass handle and pulled the heavy door open.

It was . . . cozy inside. Not quiet, but the sounds were warmer and the lights not so abrasive. The space smelled of tobacco, ale, and a little bit of sweat. It all felt very familiar. Katya squared her shoulders and reminded herself that she was not here to be lulled and comforted by some kind of by-proxy nostalgia. She was here to fulfill a foolish favor. And then get out.

She scanned the packed room for Sevika. After a couple cursory glances, a large brown arm flailing toward the back caught Katya’s eyes. Sevika smiled once their gazes locked onto each other and gestured her back. Katya took a deep breath and strode toward the bar.

As she wove through the other patrons, Katya’s eyes traveled between the three young men that surrounded the teen. The thin one to Sevika’s left she recognized from earlier that day. Silco the miner with the icy eyes, smart mouth, and Rynweaver’s nose. The other two men were large, and she tried to remember if their faces were familiar to her from the mines.

The one to Sevika’s right was a tad shorter than the man behind the bar. Wider, too, with a smaller head that sloped seamlessly onto his shoulders thanks to a thick neck. His sideburns bordered on muttonchops and his long light brown hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck in a ponytail.

The young man behind the bar was very tall, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. His large hands were spread confidently over the bar top as he rested his weight on his thick wrists. Blue-grey eyes shown beneath bushy brows and a shaggy head of dark brown hair. As Katya closed in, she saw patchy stubble smattered across his prominent jaw and chin.

“You came!” Sevika cried, as she leapt from her stool and pulled Katya tightly to her chest.

The girl was nervous, Katya could tell. Her eyes too wide, voice too high and tight. 

‘Good,’ Katya thought. ‘She should be nervous.’

Sevika unwrapped her friend and turned to her three compatriots. “Kat, this is Benzo, Vander, and you already met Silco,” she presented gesturing to each man.

Careful to keep her expression neutral, Katya’s eyes flicked between the three in front of her as they were introduced. Benzo had nodded and lifted his mug of ale. Katya’s eyes quickly appraised what looked like a fresh, circular burn on his meaty forearm. Vander had smiled warmly and lifted a hand. Silco stared at her, cigarette smoldering between his lips. Her eyes glanced back at the burn on Benzo’s forearm, her upper lip briefly lifted.

“It’s nice to meet you Kat – “

“Katya,” came the terse correction.

“Er – of course. Katya,” Vander amended. “It’s good to finally meet you. Sev’s talked about you a lot.”

It was kind, meant to make her feel at ease and welcomed. But Katya continued to keep her face schooled and body militant. She was pleased to see Vander’s eyes quiver with doubt.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure?” Benzo chimed in. “Vander’s got the best ale this side of Piltover.”

Katya shifted from one foot to the other, thinking on the few coins left in her pocket. She wasn’t going to give them up. A small tickle of nervousness scratched at the base of her spine and she unconsciously chewed the inside of her lip.

“On the house,” Vander added, smiling warmly at her.

“Perhaps she prefers something stronger,” Silco suddenly added, releasing a steady stream of smoke from his lips.

There was a pause before Vander asked, “Well, Lass, that true?”

“Ale is fine,” Katya heard herself say. Sevika’s hand gripped her shoulder firmly and grinned. “Thank you.”

“Coming right up,” Vander announced as he moved around the bar.

“Maybe we can move this talk to somewhere more private?” Sevika offered as a fresh pint was placed on the bar top.

Vander nodded, wiping his hands with the towel draped over his shoulder.

“Oi, Cairn!” he called over his shoulder. Somewhere, from a back room, a young darkly-complected teen appeared, a large bus tray in his shapely arms. Big hazel eyes looked to Vander before flitting between the crew behind the barman, and then once again landed on his summoner.

“I’m gonna step away for a bit. Watch the bar, wouldj’ya?”

Cairn nodded, his curly white hair bouncing with the movement. Vander tossed the towel under the bar and came around, gesturing for the others to follow him. Benzo was first, followed by Silco, who stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray. An icy glance glinted Katya’s way before the thin miner ambled behind the two larger men.

Sevika adjusted her stance to better look at her friend. Silver eyes big and pleading.

“Just . . . listen. Hear them – us – out.”

Kayta’s finger tightened around the handle of her mug and was led away from The Last Drop’s main room.

Katya was led back to what appeared to be living quarters. Vander’s, she supposed. She sat down at the round table where the three men had gathered, Sevika sitting next to her. The teen’s eyes kept flitting between Katya and the others nervously.

“How long have you worked at the mines?” Benzo asked, breaking the silence.

“Since I was six,” Katya answered, taking a small sip of her drink. She licked the foam off her lips as the bitterness of the hops settled against the back of her tongue. It wasn’t bad. For the Undercity. “You?”

Benzo shook his head, ponytail swishing against his back. “Work at my ol’ man’s pawn and scrap shop. Took it over a few years ago when he up n’ died.”

“I’m sorry.”

Benzo waved a fleshy hand, “Iss’fine. He was sorta a cunt anyhow.”

Katya stiltedly nodded and took another nip of her ale. Her attention was caught by Silco handing Sevika a freshly rolled cigarette and another to Vander. He caught her staring as he swiped his tongue down the seam of a third. There was the briefest of pauses before he pressed the edges together and gestured it towards her, dark eyebrow lifting.

Katya’s nose scrunched and she shook her head, letting her eyes drop back to her glass. Silco shrugged and placed the cigarette between his own lips.

“What? Not gonna offer me one?”

“Mmm,” Silco non-answered, striking a match. He passed the matchbook to Sevika and Vander.

Benzo mumbled into his mug, “You rat-faced, little – “

“I think we should just cut to the chase,” Vander broke in. He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. His eyes traced back and forth between Silco and Benzo, a friendly warning glinting behind them, before settling on Katya. “How much has Sev told you?”

Katya shifted in her seat, the wood creaking under her. Her amber eyes drifted between the three of them – Vander watching her patiently, Benzo with a tomcat grin on his face, Silco was unreadable. Sevika was the last to fall under Katya’s gaze. She was trying to seem unbothered, but when Katya’s disproving eyes looked to the cigarette between her lips, the tips of Sevika’s ears blushed. Katya looked back to Vander.

“That you’re trying to rally the Underground to fight Piltover.”

“To fight for our independence,” Silco added. His low, convicted voice cut across the table in a smooth blade. It sent shivers over Katya’s skin, as did the hard look he fixed her with.

“We have a dream of a free nation,” Vander said, his eyes looking over to Silco. Something like adoration filled them before they switched back to Katya. “To throw Piltover’s bootheel off of the Undercity. To give our people a chance.”

Katya’s fingers tightened against her mug. “How do you plan to do such a thing?”

“We’ve already rallied a hundred or so people. People committed to this cause, to change. Right now, a decent chunk of them are miners – “

Katya looked to Sevika and Silco, eyes widening.

“ – so when we decide to make our move, not only will it rattle the Pilties, it’ll hurt their pocket books as well.”

“There’s Bone, too,” Benzo chipped in, looking excited.

“Bone is in on this?” Katya breathed, disbelieving.

“Well, n-no,” Benzo conceded, bravado faltering. “But it can only help us to have a fellow Trencher on the Council, right? We can pull him in once we build up a head of steam – “

“Your heads are full of something,” Katya muttered, taking a swig of ale.

Vander’s eyebrows creased. “We are making decent headway. We have Brothers and Sisters stretching all throughout the Undercity. The mines, the docks, Entresol, Sump, Promenade. People are tired. The Undercity – Zaun – is ready to lead itself. We just need to show them.”

“You will get people killed.”

“Hopefully not as many if you join us,” Vander said, his tone reverent.

“Why would I matter?”

Vander shared a look with Sevika before returning to Katya. “Sevika has told us you’re a good medic. We need that. Because people will get hurt. They already are. Enforcers beat us without the threat of a revolution, it will only get worse when the Children of Zaun step out of the shadows.”

Katya snorted. Silco’s eyes narrowed. Vander continued.

“We need someone with medical training – “

“I’m not trained.”

“Know-how, then,” Vander countered without batting an eye. “The Children of Zaun need someone with medical know-how to keep as many of us alive as possible. You’re good at keeping people alive. Sev has told us about your brother. A lad like him in the Sump should’ve died ages ago, and yet you have kept him alive.”

Vander smiled warmly at Katya. She knew he was trying to praise her, connect with her, make her feel like she could trust him with bringing up Viktor. But all it did was make her feel cornered, invaded. She bristled and felt her shoulders hike up.

“My brother is alive because he spends most of his time in Piltover,” she shot back. “And this . . . foolishness you’re talking about would greatly endanger his ability to stay at the Academy.”

Katya felt warm. Anger rising beneath her collar. Her skin crawled as she sensed something unsaid that hung in the air.

“We’re not looking to war with Piltover,” Vander clarified. “We don’t want to decimate them. We just want Zaun’s independence, for our nations to be equals – “

“What aren’t you telling me?” Katya snapped. “Why me? Why do I matter to you?”

Vander clamped his jaw shut and let out a weary sigh through his nose, clearly displeased with being interrupted. He took a long final drag from his cigarette and tossed it in a tin can that sat in the middle of the table.

“Sev says you do the orderin’ at the mine’s clinic,” Benzo jumped in, giving Vander a chance to gather his thoughts.

Katya glared at him, nostrils flaring. “So what?”

Benzo’s eyes went wide with confusion. He looked to Sevika, then Vander, then back to Katya. “So, she said that you . . . cook the books sometimes. Over order and distribute wears in the Lanes.”

Katya went cold, mouth dropping in horror. Her stomach tumbled to her feet and her heart leapt into her throat. She looked at Sevika. The teen, realizing her mistake in Katya’s reaction, timorously looked away. She plucked her cigarette from her lips and tipped the ash into the tin can.

“I – I can’t believe you,” Katya hissed once her mouth and tongue began working again.

Sevika set her jaw, mustering the courage to face her friend. “Kat, they won’t – “

“We won’t say anything,” Vander finished. He fixed her with a steady, reassuring gaze. “We need your expertise and the supplies at your disposal. Katya – “

Katya was trembling as she pushed away from the table and got to her feet. She couldn’t believe this. She had told Sevika in strict confidence about embezzling the mine’s medical supplies; she had had the teen help her transport some of the larger orders out of the clinic, believing she could trust her. Who else had she blabbed to? Didn’t Sevika understand that spreading this information jeopardized both Katya and Viktor? If Katya was found out and sent to Stillwater (or killed), Viktor’s space at school would be forfeit. He’d die in the Sump. Alone. Abandoned. Forgotten.

Katya’s breathing became ragged, panicked, as she pawed at her coat. She had to get out of there. Finally, her fingers pinched around one of the Cogs she had gotten in change from the oats. She flung it onto the table where it bounced with a resounding PING!

“For the drink,” she spat. She didn’t want any of the bartender’s favors. “Fuck you,” she added to no one, thereby implicating the whole table.

On shaky legs, Katya spun around and hurried out of the apartment. She heard Sevika calling her name. Katya ignored it. She burst through the door that led to the pub, causing the busboy Cairn to jump and spill the drink he was pouring. Before he could ask what the matter was, Katya was cutting across the floor, bumping into a few patrons as she went.

She stumbled out of The Last Drop into the chilly, humid night and paused to take a great, shuttering breath. She hadn’t realized she was holding it. Her lungs burned from lack of oxygen and anxiety. She tripped to a stop, eyes wide and dry, breathing resuming in short pants. Her brain was short-circuiting.

Who else knew?

What did she need to do?

Was there anything to do?

Go home?

Run across the Bridge, get Viktor, and leave the Undercity before her crimes were found out?

How would she even do that? They didn’t have enough money to leave.

As Katya froze to her spot on the cobblestone square, she started getting several questioning looks from people milling around, going about their evening. She was jolted back to life when a hand fell onto her shoulder. She gasped and spun around, her legs tangling together.

“Whoa, whoa!” chuckled a gruff voice. The stranger grabbed Katya’s other shoulder to steady her. “Easy there, darlin’.”

He leered at her with his four yellowing teeth. The smell of expired chewing tobacco heavy on his breath. His grip went from being supportive to controlling. “Ye need some help? Ye look outta sorts. Lemme help ya.”

Before Katya could work up a wad a spit to shoot into the stranger’s face, he was ripped off of her and thrown to the ground. Sevika’s large boot stomped firmly into his chest, pinning him down.

“Don’t touch her,” the teen snarled. She pressed her foot down and the man beneath her sputtered and gasped, hands clawing at Sevika’s leg.

“Hey! What’s going on there?” a hollow, monotoned voice called through the crowd. Katya, Sevika, and the man’s eyes snapped up and over to the voice.

Enforcers.

Two of them. Making their way through the crowds toward the small scuffle.

Faculties coming back online, Katya swept away into the masses. Sevika released the man out of under her boot and kicked him in the ribs before running as well.

“Stop!” the other Enforcer called as he tried to shoulder his way through the throngs of Undercity denizens.

By the time they made it to the spot of the altercation, the near-toothless man was picking himself back up, grumbling, before skulking away. The two girls were gone.

Katya slipped into an alley once she was a few streets away from The Last Drop. She had lost the Enforcers. But not Sevika.

“Kat! Kat, wait!”

Sevika reached a hand out for Katya’s shoulder, wincing when she wrenched it away. Shocked when Katya turned around and pushed her into the brick wall.

“I can’t believe you told them!” she grated, amber eyes wide with disbelief and hurt. Betrayal. “I can’t believe you told them. Who else have you told?”

“No one – “

“Who have they told?”

“No one,” answered a third voice.

Both Katya and Sevika’s heads turned to the mouth of the alleyway to see Silco standing there. He watched the two women, eyes lingering on Katya’s flushed face.

“We haven’t told anyone else,” he repeated, taking a step forward.

Katya stared at him, assessing. His face gave nothing away, nor did his tone of voice; the mocking lilt he had to her in earlier that day gone. He held her gaze easily.

“Come with me,” Silco said. “I want to show you something.”

Anger flared under Katya’s skin again. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going home.”

She made to turn, but Silco’s long arm shot out and grabbed her elbow. Adrenaline coursed through Katya’s veins as she hurled back, ripping her arm out of his grasp. She pushed him, as she had Sevika, and took a couple steps back, right hand fumbling inside her coat. Silco, who seemed unphased, was quick to close the distance between them. Until he was stopped in his tracks, the barrel of a small snub-nosed pistol aimed up at his face.

Katya bared her teeth and her hands trembled. She hadn’t used her father’s pistol since the night he died, but she always kept it tucked in his coat. Sloppily, her thumb drew back the pistol’s hammer. It clicked into place. Silco watched her with steady eyes.

“Katya,” Sevika whispered. “C’mon. Don’t do this.”

In the brief moment Katya’s attention was snagged by Sevika, Silco sprang forward. He moved so swiftly that Katya couldn’t even process what he did. All she knew was that she was suddenly on the ground, pistol gone. Her arm heatedly thrummed from being twisted. Bewildered, she looked up, the gun now being aimed at her. Silco’s expression remained neutral, but Katya caught the annoying glimmer of mirth in his teal eyes.

An actual grin cut his mouth as he lowered the weapon, resetting the hammer. He slid the cylinder out of the gun’s frame and let out an amused huff seeing that it was actually loaded. He seemed pleased that she hadn’t been bluffing. He took a moment more to inspect the small piece, before handing it back to her. Katya’s brow crumpled and she tentatively stretched her finger tips for the handle.

When her hand wrapped fully around the pistol, Silco let go and repeated, “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

He held out a large calloused hand. Katya stared at it before looking back up into his face. Silco seemed peeved, but something entreating and genuine sparkled in his intense blue eyes. Cautiously, Katya slipped her hand into his offered one. It was rough and warm. And strong as he lifted her onto her feet.

“Head back to The Drop, Sev,” Silco ordered over his shoulder. “Tell Vander I’ll be back later.”

Sevika pouted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, fingers fidgeting at her sides. Making it clear she wanted to stay. Silco didn’t offer, and after a moment Sevika turned and trudged out of the alleyway. Silco turned back to Katya and let go of her hand.

“Come on,” he commanded, leaping up for the lowest wrung of a fire escape and pulling himself up.

Reluctantly, Katya followed.

“What do you want to show me?” she asked, as they climbed up the rickety iron steps.

Silco looked down at her from the landing above, eyes glittering.

“Zaun.”

Chapter Text

Silco led Katya up, up, up. Clambering over roof after roof until the denseness of the Sump was left below. Then, the haziness of the Entresol was behind them. Finally, Silco stopped on the large, flat roof of a tall merchant building of the Undercity’s Promenade level.

Katya tried not to huff and puff. It had been a long time since she had scaled the Sump all the way up to the Promenade in one go. Her skin was damp and chilly underneath her father’s coat, and her lungs stretched and complained at the rapid change in atmosphere and physical exertion. Katya caught the glean of sweat glowing against Silco’s cheekbones under the moonlight and felt better about her strained efforts.

From their current vantage point, Katya saw all of Piltover sprawled out before her across the River Pilt. Warm yellow lights twinkled through the districts, gradually increasing in numbers as the buildings got taller and grander, the city sloping up the mountain it rested upon. The white rock that had shone in the sunlight earlier that day now glowed under the moon’s face. The gold filagree etched into the mighty towers glistened like water in the dark. Katya’s eyes skirted over the city, resting once the silhouette of the Academy campus rose up.

She hoped Viktor had a good day at school.

“Katya.”

It was the first time Silco said her name and it startled her. His low, smooth timbre sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. She turned and saw that he had moved to the far end of the roof. He jerked his head, indicating for her to come over. She turned away from Piltover and strode across the roof.

On this side, the canyon of the Undercity gaped beneath them. Colorful lights flickered and danced in the crevasses. The hum of music and voices drifted out from below, swirling and dispersing on the breeze. The canyon rocks made interesting shapes in-between Conveyor tracks, apartments, and bridges. Earth and man came together in spots, rocks held into place by great beams of iron. Parts of the Undercity’s walls – iron and rock – were painted. Some were elaborate, thought-out murals. Others were fast, impulsive swatches of graffiti.

Suddenly, Silco broke the silence between them. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

Katya looked up at him. ‘Lovely’ was not a word she had used or ever heard to describe the Undercity. But looking at it now, from this angle, she could consider the adjective.

“What do you see?” he asked.

Katya was lost for words. What was she supposed to see? What answer was he looking for? Katya rarely gave her home a second thought. There were other things that needed her attention. Having been silent for too long, Silco tilted his head to look at her. He didn’t repeat himself. He waited.

Katya looked back over the Undercity.

“I see a gaping wound. It’s festering. Gangrenous.”

Katya’s gold eyes looked defiantly up into Silco’s cyan ones, daring him to become angry with her answer and bypass it. Instead, he hummed thoughtfully. Irritatingly.

“And who’s fault is that?”

Katya’s brows knit together. “You know, I never said Piltover wasn’t to blame. I said your ideas are dangerous and foolish.”

The smallest, most infinitesimal, smirk tilted the corner of Silco’s mouth. “And I never said our plans weren’t.”

He turned back toward the Undercity, resting large, lithe hands on the wall that separated them from a significant drop off the building. Silco’s eyes skirted over the shadows, lights, and silhouettes, an increasing fondness filling them. Katya caught herself staring, wondering.

How could someone look so sharp and soft at the same time?

“I’ve never left the Undercity,” Silco suddenly began. “I was born in the very mines you and I work in – “

“Your mother is a miner?”

“Was,” Silco corrected. “A Slipper.”

Katya felt her tongue press against the roof of her mouth and her eyes widen. After large-bodied miners like Sevika, Slippers had the next most hazardous job in the mines. Their task was to start and widen new tunnels so that new veins could be followed and exploited. Their small and svelte bodies were ideal for slipping into crevasses to place explosives. However, such tight, compact spaces meant denser concentrations of the noxious gases that wafted up from underground. If Slippers weren’t crushed by cave-ins or blown to pieces by faulty explosives, they almost always developed some kind of chronic illness due to the exposure.

“I – I’m sorr-“

“She’s not dead,” Silco snapped, eyes flashing as his head turned to look at her.

It was the most emotion Katya had heard out of him and it left her mouth and brain empty of words. Silco’s ire was as quick to simmer down as it bubbled up. His eyes flicked down to his boots before pulling out his cigarette tin from his trouser pocket. He placed a pre-rolled one between his lips and struck a flimsy match against the stone of the building.

“She left the mines five years ago,” Silco grunted through the paper, smoke streaming out from between his teeth. “After that other medic found. . . “

He trailed off, hard gaze fixed straight ahead. Katya didn’t need him to finish. She knew what Will had found. She’d diagnosed it herself in other miners. Some cancerous blight that settled into the lobes of the lungs and caked the trachea. Sometimes the illness was swift, other times it was slow. Regardless, it was always painful and always led to death.

Before Katya could stop herself, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Silco blew a long stream of smoke out into the air above them.

“How is she?”

The question – the genuine question – made him start. He looked to the woman beside him, her big amber eyes watery with empathy.

Silco sighed and shrugged. “She’s alive. She’s sick,” he took another drag from his cigarette. “I convinced her to leave the mines in order to buy her more time. She bakes bread to sell to vendors at the market and tailors garments now.”

Katya hummed thoughtfully. “I’d imagine nimble Slipper fingers would translate well to seamstress work.”

“We get by,” Silco grumbled, tapping his ash off the building’s ledge. “But like so many, only just.”

Once again, Silco focused an intent gaze on Katya’s face. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you and your family getting by?”

“It’s only me and my brother,” Katya mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. She told herself it was the wind and not the coil of vulnerability gathering behind her navel. Again, Silco waited. Katya was perturbed by how he seemed to be able to pull words from her mouth with a look alone. She sucked her lips against her teeth and looked to the Undercity.

“Our father died almost two years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How?”

Katya glared at Silco and his prying question.

“He was murdered by an Enforcer,” Katya finally said quietly. “He and I were walking home after a shift, talking about . . . our plan to supplement our income and financially ensure Viktor’s spot at the Academy. The Enforcer overheard us.”

The canvas of Katya’s coat scratched and rasped under her tightening fingers. Flashes of that night swirled through her mind.

                      The warm night.

                                              The dark street.

                                                                      The Enforcer’s voice echoing

                                                                                               through his mask.

                                                                                                                        Her body going cold with panic.

                                                                                                                                                               Nearly pissing herself when

                                                                                                                                                      the Enforcer grabbed her.

                                                                                                                                                                                                     The horrifying snarl that

                                                                                                                                                                                                               ripped through her father’s mouth

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        as he lunged at the Enforcer.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Being thrown against a dumpster as the two men brawled.

                                                                                                                                                                    The wind being knocked out of her.

                                                                                                                                                                             The sharp ache in her ribs.

                                                                                                                   The Enforcer fell. Katya’s father stomped on his ankles.

                                                                                                                                                                                                Bones crushing. Hollow wails.

                                                                                                                                                                     From the ground, the Enforcer delivered one blow of his baton

                                                                                                                                         to Katya’s father’s head.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                           His skull cracked and caved.

                                                                                                                                                                                                            The blunt end of the baton squelching against exposed brain matter.

                                                                                                                                     Her father fell.

“What happened to the Enforcer?”

Katya gave the slightest of starts, pulled back to the present by Silco’s voice. Her fingers ached with the grip she had on her coat. Her eyes and mouth were dry. She blinked, licked her lips, and took a long breath in.

“I killed him. Shot him.”

Silco gave a somber, understanding nod. He stubbed the end of his cigarette out on the wall and flicked the butt into the alley below. Another moment of silence before he asked, “What about your mother?”

Katya stiffened even more. She felt brittle. Too rigid. As if the smallest touch would leave her crumbling. Disintegrating. Her molars steeled against one another, hearing the bones squeak inside her ears. She could tell him. What difference did it make now? She could tell him. Just not look at him while she did so.

“She left a few weeks after Viktor was born,” Katya said, her voice carefully distant. “I would imagine that she could not stand to watch him try and live, nor could she stand the thought of killing him mercifully. Papa – my father,” she quickly corrected, “woke up one day and she was gone. Her, her clothes, gone. He tried to find her, but . . . never did. I don’t know where she went. If she’s still skulking around the Sump or if she somehow left and went to . . . Bilgewater or something. Maybe she’s dead, too,” Katya softly finished.

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

Quiet fell over the pair again, their eyes fixed upon the flickering, colorful expanse of the Undercity. Katya felt the terrible quake of vulnerability behind her navel growing. The thrashing need to protect herself clawing at her insides. It wasn’t necessary, it wasn’t right, but she said it anyway.

“You know who you look like, right?”

The minute the words left her mouth, she wished she could snatch them back up. She held her breath, waiting for Silco to bite back. His expression remained unnervingly neutral. Katya felt a shameful blush bloom at her neck and on the high points of her cheeks.

Finally, Silco let a long breath out through his telling nose. “Of course I do.”

“Does – does he know?” Katya asked, lacing the question with a kind tone hoping to make up for the rude one.

Something flickered behind Silco’s eyes. Too brief to name, but for a split second his demeanor shifted.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I make a point to avoid him if I hear that he’s visiting the mines. Although,” Silco mused, “I doubt I’m the only one. I doubt my mother was the only – “

He broke off, emotion tightening around his throat as it had when he first spoke of her.

After a beat Silco tried again, his tone forcefully breezy, “I would imagine that’s the idea behind it. Create more workers for his mine. Being able to further abuse Zaunites while doing so is just icing on the Piltover Petit Four.”

Katya’s mind spun and her heart ached. Generally speaking, it didn’t surprise her that Rynweaver would do such things, but being face-to-face with such monstrousness was extremely unsettling. Equally present in her whirling dervish of a mind was the term Silco had used for members of the Undercity: Zaunite.

It sent a flutter under Katya’s skin. She didn’t dare look at the feeling too hard, but it had the same sweet, dangerous, addicting sensation as hope.

“It’s not right what they do to us, Katya,” Silco said. “This isn’t about revenge or even what’s fair. It isn’t right that Zaunites are forced to suffer just because we were born on the other side of the river.”

Katya’s tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth as hope dared to keep tickling against her heart. Making occasional deeper sweeps against the organ like firelight wings.

“They don’t care. Have never cared. Will never care. Occasionally, they try to distract us by doing things like inviting a Zaunite into Council Chambers,” Silco continued, tone edged. “But even then, nothing actually changes. You know when Bone dies, they will rescind the few measures he’s passed for the mines.”

Katya flinched. Yes, she knew that.

“Zaun and its people deserve the same respect and opportunity that Piltover has,” Silco’s blue eyes fixed onto Katya in a meaningful stare. “I am glad for your brother that he is able to spend his time somewhere that is less detrimental to his physical well-being.”

Katya’s eyes flashed warningly at the mention of Viktor.

“But such things shouldn’t be dependent on chance,” Silco spurred on, face and voice earnest. “Your brother should’ve always had the opportunity to go to the Academy, if that’s what he wanted. Not only to be allowed in under the slimmest of circumstances.

“It shouldn’t be a luxury for him or my mother to live in a place where the very air isn’t a danger to them. Your mother deserved to bear children into a world where she felt safe and capable to do so. Not one that choked her with such fear that she felt compelled to abandon you and your brother. Your father should’ve been able to walk home without fear of being killed for simply looking for ways to support his family. Your clients should have access to complete and comprehensive medical care.”

Katya wondered if Silco was aware of the fervent quiver in his usually steady voice. She wondered if he knew the cool façade he had worn since meeting him was slipping.

“And what’s more,” Silco continued, his tongue flicking against his lips as he continued to hold Katya’s gaze, “You deserve opportunity and respect, Katya. You shouldn’t have needed to work to help support your family when you were six. Your parents shouldn’t have been taken away from you, leaving you to figure out how to keep your brother alive. You deserve more than just eking out meager survival, Katya.”

Katya realized she had stopped breathing. She sucked in a breath and was surprised at how raspy her voice was when she said, “You don’t even know me – “

“I don’t need to know you to know that you deserve more. Are worthy of more than the insufficient, insulting scraps Piltover leaves you. Leaves us. I deserve more. Sevika deserves more. Vander, Benzo, your brother, my mother, we all,” he made a sweeping gesture out toward the Undercity, “deserve more.”

Silence fell between the two, although Katya was sure she could hear Silco’s heart thundering from behind his sternum. Could he hear hers?

“Piltover will never see us as worthy of respect or opportunity,” Silco quietly said. “They will never give those things to us. We will have to take them.”

Katya pried her jaw open and took a long shuddering breath. She finally allowed her eyes to leave Silco’s face. They quickly peered over to Piltover before landing on the Undercity again. Her brow furrowed. Had the view changed?

“What do you see?” she asked. “What do you see when you look at . . . Zaun?”

Silco spared her a thoughtful glance before turning once again to the towers, spires, cliffs, and crags of the Undercity. Of Zaun. He set his hands against the low wall in front of them and shifted his weight between his feet. A breeze swept through the canyon and over the Promenade’s rooftops. It ruffled Silco’s hair and sent Katya’s braid swaying across her back. The tips and edges of the wind smelled like dirt, metal, brine and fry bread.

“I don’t think you’re wrong to see a wound,” he began. “Zaun is suffering. But despite that suffering, it presses on. Has always pressed on. Piltover put their boot on us from the jump, but they haven’t been able to fully quash us.

“When I look at Zaun, I see a nation and people full of grit and color. I see a place where people are determined and steadfastly loyal to their Brothers and Sisters. Hardworking, always striving for something better. Because they know they’re worthy of it. They’re ready for it.

“Reaching for and securing Zaun’s – our – independence would mean securing the respect and opportunity that is our birthright. To have the means to feed and clothe our children. To develop the infrastructure to create safe, breathable air. Repair crumbling districts. To be able to create a government that actual serves and supports its people. That actually understands them. Values them.”

Silco paused, his eyes still traveling over the Undercity. Katya watched him, her gaze glued to his profile. After a beat, Silco stood to his full height, hands coming to rest at his sides. He turned to Katya. She didn’t look away.

“That’s what I see. Tenacity, grit, loyalty, color, and fire. Powerful in a way Piltover doesn’t understand. Powerful enough to be self-governing. This foolishness, as you call it, is not passing. It’s never been. It’s only ever been building. Now is the time. Your time. My time. Zaun’s time.”

Katya swallowed, lubricating her mouth and throat so her next words wouldn’t crack out. “Be that as it may, what if I don’t agree to join you? The Children of Zaun. Are you going to report me?”

Silco shook his head. “No. We will not report you if you don’t join, that undermines the very loyalty I spoke of earlier. You’re doing what you need to do, we won’t get in the way of that. We need medical supplies and help. Reaching out to you seemed like the easiest option. What we’re doing is already hard enough. But if you don’t help us, we will find another way.”

Katya’s brow creased and she finally broke Silco’s gaze, her eyes dropping to the ground. Then out to the Undercity. Her mind was racing, body vibrating, heart squeezing.

“I – I don’t have an answer for you,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if I can help.”

Katya looked back up at Silco, expecting to see disappointment on his face. Anticipating him to launch into another attempt at persuasion. Instead, she found understanding. Reluctant understanding, but understanding nonetheless.

“If you change your mind,” he said, “you know where to find us. I won’t lie. I hope you change your mind. We need you.”

Katya wrestled down the scoff that wanted to burst through her throat. She found the last bit to be a bit much, and she told herself it was manipulative. Even if he sounded sincere. Feeling fidgety, Katya pulled her pocket watch out and checked the time. It was late.

“I should go,” she whispered, tucking her watch back in its pocket. “Good night, Silco.”

Katya turned and headed back toward the side they had clambered up. She swung her legs over the edge and readied herself to swing and jump. Before she did, a thought struck her. She turned back to Silco. He was still by the far wall, his backside leaning against the building, his fingers clenching the lip of the concrete on either side of his hips. He watched her.

“You may already know this,” Katya began, “but don’t smoke around your mother. It’s bad for her condition.”

Silco nodded and smirked. “You going to bill me for that?”

Katya rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t smoke anyway. It’s bad for you, too.”

“Good night, Katya,” Silco droned.

With that, Katya slipped down back into the Sump.

Katya didn’t think about or notice the route she took home. She was wired and exhausted at the same time. Her mind buzzed and her limbs felt like jelly. She barely realized she was home when she turned the key in its lock. She shouldered the door open and slid inside.

Katya closed the door and reset the locks. After a beat, her forehead thudded against the door. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. Her lungs stretched her ribs and the middle part of her spine popped as her torso expanded. She forced a long, windy exhale through pursed lips and pushed herself off the door, stepping into the kitchen. She put the oats in the cabinet and her remaining payment from Pfeffer in a hidey-hole under the sink. She hung her coat by the door and trudged to her bedroom.

She hoped Silco was being honest, that he nor his Brothers would say anything about her side operation. She had no reason to trust him, but she didn’t really have a reason to not trust him either. Katya shook her head, turning her room’s lamp on. She still couldn’t believe Sevika had betrayed her trust like that. She knew Sevika hadn’t meant anything malicious by it, but Katya was rattled by her lack of consideration. She was angry.

Katya unclipped her watch from her vest and set it on the nightstand. The vest came off next. She groaned when the tight muscles in her shoulders and upper back protested the movement. She hung the garment on her bed’s post and flopped down onto her thin mattress. She propped her elbows on her knees, heavy head held in her hands as she stared at the floor between her boots.

She really didn’t want it to be the case, but Silco’s words about Zaun and Piltover echoed within her. Not just her head, but her whole body. They weighed on her chest.

She knew it wasn’t right how Piltover treated the Undercity.

 . . . what they do to us . . .

Katya flinched. It was interesting . . . she was a citizen of the Undercity. Had been born here. Had never left here. And yet, before tonight, she had somehow maintained a level of separation between herself and Piltover’s abuse. An ache was surfacing just under her skin. Something too deep to be new. Something she had unwittingly been pressing down for years . . . maybe her whole life.

 . . . you deserve opportunity and respect, Katya . . .

Katya shot to her feet and began undressing. She tore her blouse and camisole off. As the chill air in the apartment hit her breasts, she growled and flung her clothes into the corner. She had forgotten to stop by Babette’s dumpster. Aggravatedly, she pulled the button fly of her trousers apart and shucked them down her thighs. Only to cry out in frustration again, as she had forgotten to remove her boots. She yanked the boots off and tossed them away, quickly followed by her pants.

Katya angrily jerked a dresser drawer open and as her hands searched for a sleepshirt, her body gave a mild jolt. She was grateful for the interruption in her blinding ire, but unsettled when it was replaced by the same simmering ache as before. She gripped the dresser drawer and hung her head, the weight of her skull stretching the muscles in her neck and shoulders.

For so long, her purpose, her reason was Viktor. Even before her father was killed. Everything she did, she did for him. She loved him so much. He deserved the best possible life available to him. He deserved to go to school, not only be accepted to one under wild chance. He deserved the medical care he needed. He deserved a mother and a father. He deserved to be happy. He deserved to live. He deserved everything.

She loved him so much.

But . . . she deserved that, too. She had forgotten, or had never fully realized. The wanting, the truth, the ache that came with Silco’s words warred within her.

The wanting for Viktor and other children of the Undercity to have every single opportunity afforded to Piltovian children.

The truth that she deserved it, too. The truth that she deserved it because she simply existed. That she had inherent value.

The ache that she had never looked at that truth. Never knew to look at it. Seek it out. The ache that years of abuse and living in survival mode had nearly beat it out of her.

Katya slowly lifted her head, wiped the wet from her eyes, and pulled a shirt from the drawer. She went to bed.

Katya arrived to the clinic early the following day. She had slept fitfully, finally giving up two hours before she needed to rise. Will had been finishing up the last of the physicals on Mining Unit 147 and was shocked to see her stagger in. He finished up with the Slipper Yordle he was examining and ushered the matted miner out the door.

“Katya,” he hushed, carefully eying her haggard face, “you’re very early. Is everything ok?”

Katya’s head bobbled in an affirming fashion. “Yes. I just couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to sit around my home, so I thought I would just come in. When does the next round come down?”

Will’s eyes crinkled and he adjusted his glasses. “In about twenty minutes.”

He watched his younger co-worker drift through the office, lazily organizing things. She floated to the filing cabinets and pulled out the stack of files for Unit 148. With the folders in hand, she turned and went to the examination room. She had left the filing cabinet drawer open. Will’s lips pursed and he gently pushed his fingers against the cabinet, sliding the door closed.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again. “You seem . . . off.”

“Just tired,” she answered, stifling a yawn. She opened the top file and scanned its contents. “I’ll help with the physicals until you can go home.”

A couple hours and several dirty miners later, Will pulled his coat on and prepared to leave. As he fingered his coat buttons through their slots, he adjusted his stance to peer back toward the examination room where Katya was finishing up taking notes before filing the folders away. She seemed more awake than when she arrived, but still . . . distant. Foggy.

With his coat fully closed, Will went back to the exam room. He placed a hand on Katya’s shoulder, and she ever so slightly turned her head to acknowledge him.

“Don’t work so hard today. It doesn’t matter anyway,” he reminded.

Katya huffed sardonically through her nose and Will squeezed her shoulder before turning and leaving. As the sound of the blinds rattling against the clinic door died down, Katya closed the file she was writing in and tossed it on the rest of the pile. She rubbed her lips together and ran her fingers through her hair. Her mind felt full and empty at the same time. The ache remained under her skin.

Katya reached for her pocket watch, noted the time and wondered. The next unit of miners wouldn’t be arriving for another 30 minutes. Her fingers squeezed against the watch and her jaw set. With more purpose than she had moved with all morning, Katya rose from the swivel chair and strode into the supply closet. She pulled the light string and her eyes automatically drifted to the high strength decongestants. Her tongue worked against the back of her teeth as the war inside her raged on.

She needed to pick a side.

Snatching one of the glass bottles from the shelf, she turned the light off and left the closet.

Steeling herself, Katya entered the mine’s main cavern. She did not venture into the mining tunnels often. Only when called. Usually, to transport a dead or dying body, sometimes to deal with a medical emergency that couldn’t be brought to the clinic. Strings of white industrial lights were strung along the walls and through the empty space of the shaft above, illuminating the rocks and miners in harsh light and hiding others in sharp shadows. The lights traveled down hundreds of narrower tunnels, leading every which way from the mine’s main cathedral. Shouts of people, grinding of machines, rattling of carts and hammering of tools filled and echoed through the air. Katya’s heart thudded against her ribs as she strode toward the command center – a sheet metal hut at the center of the cavern.

Katya knocked loudly against the door and waited. Agitated grumbles were the only warning before the metal door was thrown open. The mine’s lead foreman glowered down at her.

“What?”

“I need to know the location of Unit 90. I have testing reports to give one of the miners.”

The foreman’s lip curled. “Wait here.”

When he disappeared back into the command center, Katya felt her shoulders slacken in relief. She had been expecting more push back. The foreman’s large body filled the doorway once more.

“Unit 90 is in the West end. Fissure number 262.”

Katya had already turned heel before the door was slammed in her face.

West end, Fissure 262 was an older excavation. Its tunnels were much wider, the air not as thick with fumes. In fact, the center of the fissure widened enough that a large turbine had been installed into the vertical opening to increase air flow. Despite the years of working on this particular tunnel, its walls still produced ore. Katya kept a careful distance between herself and the miners picking away at the walls, not wanting to catch the sharp ends of their tools. Her eyes searched up and down the winding paths and alcoves of the fissure, mindful of the gazes upon her. She knew wondering, prying eyes on her. Her clothes were too clean, skin too soft to belong in this part of the mine. She felt their judgement, their envy, their hunger.

She felt angry for them. They didn’t deserve this.

At last, Katya spied the familiar frame of Sevika. She was supporting a massive column of rock with the whole of her body, legs angled and braced behind her as her thick arms wrapped around the stone. Silco was weaving around her, throwing ties and nets around the large rock. A few yards away from the pair, a crane waited. Clearly this piece was needing to be moved as a single unit.

Silco scrambled up the leaning column and signaled to the crane operator. The large piece of machinery rumbled forward, its heavy metal hooks swaying dangerously. As Silco deftly grabbed the crane’s claws, his eyes landed on Katya. They widened momentarily and Katya felt a jolt similar to the one she felt the night prior pull through her. Silco was quick to hook the rock to the crane and jumped to the ground. Only when the crane’s arm hissed to life and began lifting the prize aloft did Sevika let go. She rolled her shoulders and flexed her hands, watching the stone be carefully transported to a waiting cart. She turned to say something to Silco, but quickly realized he was striding away from her. She bit her tongue, confused until she saw Katya standing at the mouth of the tunnel. Sevika’s heart skipped a beat and froze, nervous about what it meant for Katya to be down there.

Silco was far less perturbed by her presence, even if he wasn’t sure why she had shown up. Was she going to tell him and his cause to fuck off? Or . . . something else? He swiftly made his way over, curiosity beating out nerves.

Curiosity gave way to confusion when Katya reached out and grabbed his hand when he was close enough. He felt a small, cold piece of glass between his calloused palm and her smooth one. Before he could find his voice, Katya gave his hand a strong tug that pulled his body close to hers. Katya tilted her face up towards Silco’s ear and he compliantly dipped his head down.

“This is a high strength decongestant,” she whispered. “Have your mother take ten milliliters at breakfast and another ten with her afternoon tea. It won’t cure, but it will help.”

Silco was lost for words. His tongue worked furiously to find some.

“I – I can’t pay for this,” he finally whispered back.

Katya squeezed his hand, pressing the bottle firmly into Silco’s palm.

“You don’t need to,” she replied. She pulled back slightly so she could look up at his face, but her hand remained clasped around his. Gold met blue. “When do we meet?”

Silco’s hand squeezed back then.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Jarrot Bone woke up in his usual way on Wednesday morning.

In a fit of coughing, his throat clogged with mucus and pus.

He rolled out of bed, bones rattling and muscles tremoring with the force of the fit gripping his body. Unsteadily, he got to his feet and stumbled into his ensuite. A particularly forceful cough bent his spine and he tripped into the porcelain sink. His fingers found a white-knuckle grip around the edge and his balding head bowed into the bowl. He knew he should try to make his way over to the toilet, but he couldn’t guarantee that he would be able to lift himself off the floor once this fit had passed.

A shaking hand reached for the sink’s handle and turned it. Cold, clean water gushed out of the spout and splashed into the sink. Bone set his feet and braced himself as firmly as he could. With a mighty contraction of his abdominals, he heaved and retched and sputtered.

Discolored phlegm was thrown into the sink, quickly washed down the drain by the running water. Bone wheezed and lurched as he was involuntarily taken over by an onslaught of more choking coughs. More mucus, more pus, some blood and stomach bile spattered against the porcelain. Bone’s whole body trembled with the effort, his legs unsteady beneath him and cold sweat dampening his ashen skin.

Bone didn’t dare release the death grip he had on the sink until he was absolutely certain the fit had passed. He waited for the bowl of the sink to be stark white before turning the water off. As the sound of the water washed away, his pained wheezing filled the bathroom. His chest heaved and ached. Sharp, stabbing pains that cut against his lungs like razor wire. The bellow of his diaphragm spasmed and cramped in the aftermath.

Slowly, so very slowly, Bone made to stand fully, his hands still gripping the sink for support. His vision started to become clear again, after having pitched and wavered like heat against pavement during his retching. After a couple steady breaths, he lifted his gaze to the mirror before him and it cruelly reflected his visage.

Jarrot Bone was old by Undercity standards. Having been dumped at Hope House as an infant he never knew his birthday, but he was around sixty, he supposed. Give or take.

Take, really.

He looked eighty, by Piltover standards. Ashy skin, creped by time, toxins, and years of malnutrition hung off his thin bones. What little hair he had left was white and cropped close to his head. His eyes, once chocolate brown, were now muted and milky and currently watering and red-rimmed following his morning fit.

He made to clear his throat and set off another string of hacks and chokes. The most unpleasant ripping and sucking sound emanated from Bone’s chest and he hocked a congealed hunk of  . . . something (blood? Lung, maybe?) into the sink.

He flipped the faucet back on and coaxed the object down the drain with the stream of water. Taking the cup from the shelf above, he filled it and greedily drank. The cool water both eased and stung at his marred insides. He set the glass down with a shuddering breath.

Working as a Slipper for all those years was finally catching up with him.

A couple weaker coughs rattled behind his ribs and Bone finally pushed himself off the sink and opened the medicine cabinet above. Plucking out the small, brown glass bottle he gave it a swish. To mix up the medicine and to assess how much he had left. The liquid inside gently sloshed within and Bone let out a hitching sigh.

He was almost out again.

He unscrewed the dropper top and squeezed the medicine up to the line etched into the pipette. With shaky hands, Bone lifted the dropper to his mouth and released the medicine under his tongue. Just as the Academy doctor had instructed.

Bone was conflicted if he wanted to go back and see the doctor. The woman had been sympathetic but realistic, that there was no cure for what ailed the Councilman and this medicine would only make him more comfortable. Of course, Bone knew that. He had watched plenty other miners (primarily Slippers, like himself) succumb to this respiratory disease.

When Bone had finally secured a seat in Council Chambers seven years ago, it afforded him access to the care so many of his peers had needed. He felt guilt at that. He wanted to do so much for his community. Give them what was now available to him as a Councilor. His political progress was slow, burdened by generations of classism and prejudice. His health had been sacrificed and he felt himself hurtling toward his end, accelerated by the same institutions that impeded the work he wanted to do.

Whether it was fear or stubbornness, Bone didn’t know, but he felt the gripping need to hold on a little while longer. His work for the Undercity was not done.

 He didn’t want it to be done.

He decided he would see the Academy doctor again. Have his dosage upped and refilled.

Reverently, he homed the vial back in his medicine cabinet and went about the rest of his morning.

He had a standing early lunch with Professor Heimerdinger he didn’t want to be late for.

Bone crossed the Bridge mid-morning, cane in hand and the sun at his back as he walked toward Piltover. He had moved to a decent loft on the edge of the Promenade soon after becoming a Councilor. Something else he felt conflict over: living so much better than he ever had, while the majority of the Undercity lay in squalor. His Council peers and the doctor had encouraged it for his health and new position. Cleaner air, shorter commute. Bone understood, but it did little to assuage the shame in his belly.

Bone slid his approval papers to the gate attendant. It was a formality he insisted on maintaining out of solidarity for his people. The attendant humored him by glancing at the papers, but they too quickly gave them back and waved him on.

The café district and adjacent mercantile streets were already in full swing for the day. Bone walked past, not tempted at all by the smells or sights. While he paid no attention to it, he knew occasional eyes would stare and sneer at him. His addition to the Council had been wrought with tension and there had been a mild upset among Piltover’s citizens. The blatant hostility settled, but Bone knew that his presence on this side of the river was not welcome.

Which was fine by him. He wasn’t here for Piltover. He was here for the Undercity.

He crossed the square and made for the Academy campus. The dean preferred his academic tasks to his duties as a Councilor, and Bone couldn’t begrudge him that. The question was where would Bone find Heimerdinger? Oddly enough, his office was not a guarantee. The science lab? A better bet, although Bone hoped not since that building was a good walk away and his joints were already beginning to ache.

A warm breeze fluttered the leaves of the tall trees lining the broad walkway to the Academy’s campus and Bone shivered. Not from cold. He still had never gotten used to the sweet, clear scent of the Piltover air.

The school bell toned loudly as the Undercity Councilor made his first uneasy steps onto the quad. A deep, rich, brassy note that quaked through his old bones. Soon, adolescents and teens began to trickle out of the surrounding buildings, books in their arms and bags slung across their backs. Older students, young adults in their late-teens and early twenties, were the last to meander out of their respective buildings, striding across the paths in front of them with great purpose and furrowed brows. The upper classmen paid Bone little to no mind. It was Wednesday and they had been at the Academy long enough to expect his presence on this day. The younger students whispered conspiratorially in small, scurrying clumps, eying the Councilor with a mixture of awe, confusion, and learned suspicion.

Bone sighed and steeled himself for the rickety walk toward the science lab. However, Janna seemed to smile upon him in a small way when Heimerdinger toddled out of a nearby lecture hall. His joyful and bright sing-song voice cut through the muted passing-period chatter like a chime. At the Yordle’s side was a boy Bone recognized as the student from the Undercity. He was pretty certain his name was ‘Viktor’, but he had never officially met the lad. A gross oversight, Bone knew, considering he was the Councilor from the Underground and Viktor was the only student from there. They should’ve met long before this moment.

‘Better late than never,’ Bone thought as he ambled in their direction.

“Oh yes, yes, yes, m’boy,” Heimerdinger chortled, “I do believe you will have the utmost interest in the upcoming section on robotics and mechanization we will be beginning in my class come next week. If your understanding of physics is anything to go by, you’ll take to it swimmingly! Oh! Jarrot! I do hope I’m not late!”

Heimerdinger was pulled from his giddy tête-à-tête by the rhythmic sound of Bone’s cane tapping towards him. His ears twitched and shot up in alarm as he scrambled for his pocket watch.

Bone chuckled. “No, no. Not late. Not at all.”

His brown eyes shifted from the dean to the boy. He saw the student’s large gold eyes flick to his cane and then up to his face. Bone’s eyes crinkled when Viktor’s hand gripped his own cane with a little more conviction.

Heimerdinger’s ears drooped in relief as he pocketed his watch.

“Well, I’m glad for that,” he sighed, “it would be like me to lose track of time talking about nuts and cogs!” A chuckle whistled from under his impressive mustache.

“Viktor,” Heimerdinger said suddenly, “have you met Councilor Bone yet?”

The student shook his head, his creased eyebrows giving away his anxiety. “No, sir, I have not.”

“Well! Isn’t that a shame!” Heimerdinger gasped. “You know, Councilor Bone here is from the Undercity as well.”

“Yes, I know,” Viktor said quietly.

“Worked in the very same mines that your sister does,” Heimerdinger continued brightly. “We brought him on the Council – what was it? – seven years ago? It’s been very eye-opening and useful for Piltover to have an Undercity citizen in Chambers. We’ve been able to do a lot of good work.”

Bone’s smile strained, but he didn’t think Heimerdinger noticed. Viktor pulled his lips into his teeth and nodded politely. Both Trenchers knew the Yordle meant well, but remained largely ignorant of just what life in the Undercity was like.

“Yes, we have,” Bone agreed. He turned fully to the boy. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Viktor.”

Bone smiled and gently dipped his head.

“P-pleasure to meet you, too, sir. Councilor,” Viktor corrected quickly, nodding his head in return.

“Viktor is one of the brightest students in his year!” Heimerdinger gushed. “We are very lucky to have him and his capabilities on Piltover’s campus. Definitely one of the most deserving recipients of the Academy’s lottery.”

Bone watched Viktor’s fingers squeeze his cane a little tighter and a furious flush tinge his cheeks.

“Your sister works in Rynweaver’s mines?” Bone questioned, trying to divert the boy’s embarrassment. Viktor looked up at him through his mop of chocolate-colored hair and nodded. “What does she do there?”

“She works in the medical clinic.”

“Ah,” the Undercity Councilor breathed. The exclamation caught in the back of his throat and he wrestled down the cough that fought to rip through. “She must be very clever, too, then. To be entrusted to patch workers up with the little resources available to her.”

Bone’s eyes flicked to Heimerdinger, looking to see if he caught the under-handed comment. He didn’t appear to.

“Yes, she’s very smart,” Viktor affirmed. “When I go home for the weekends, she helps me with assignments and studying.”

Bone was unsurprised to hear that the student did not stay on campus permanently. There would be no way to afford it, even with the scholarship he was on.

Viktor’s feet awkwardly shuffled from side to side. Whether it was from anxiety or discomfort in his bum leg, Bone wasn’t sure. In any case, the boy spoke up.

“If you’ll excuse me, Professor, I n-need to go to the Hall of History. Professor Holgren’s exam is this afternoon and I would like to review more.”

“Of course, my boy!” Heimerdinger sang. “Please, don’t let two old men keep you from the pursuit of knowledge. Go on then! Off with you!”

“Thank you. Nice to meet you Councilor, sir.”

Viktor dipped his head toward Bone again before hobbling away. His steps were hitched and painful at first, but smoothed out to a steady limp as his gait warmed up. The two Councilors watched the boy go.

“How is he doing?” Bone asked once Viktor was out of ear shot.

“He is the brightest the Preparatory school currently has,” Heimerdinger admitted. “Perhaps even brighter than the upperclassmen in the Academy. Extremely promising.”

Bone nodded, his eyes following Viktor’s angled shoulders as he slowly made his way toward the Hall of History.

“How are the other students with him?”

Heimerdinger’s pause answered Bone clearly, but he eventually said, “He is struggling socially.”

Bone’s jaw tightened. He knew Viktor wasn’t struggling socially. He was struggling under Piltover’s prejudice.

“Shall we head to my office?” Heimerdinger asked.

Bone nodded and the two Councilmen headed toward the Academy’s Quarters for Administration. Heimerdinger’s short legs and Bone’s weary body kept pace with each other well. Bone’s eyes drifted down to his peer as they walked through the campus. The Yordle was usually peppy and chatty, filling dead air with keen observations and science-based puns. Now, he was quiet, pensive. His small gloved hands clasped behind his back as they traveled.

“What’s on your mind, Professor?” Bone carefully asked.

“Hmm? Oh, my. Apologies,” Heimerdinger murmured, his twinkly blue eyes widening as he snapped back to the present. “Just . . . pondering.”

Bone hummed and lifted his eyes to the path in front of him. He didn’t press. He waited.

“May I tell you something, Jarrot?”

“Of course.”

“This is between us, you understand,” Heimerdinger started in a lowered voice. Bone nodded. After a moment, the Yordle sighed and pressed on.

“Thank you. This has been on my mind for a long while, so I appreciate you lending an ear,” whether the little stroke along his own large ear was a joking gesture or a nervous tic, Bone wasn’t sure. “I am very hopeful about Viktor’s studies here, like I said. Myself and his other professors are extremely impressed by him and his skills. Truly remarkable given his breeding.”

Bone’s brows dipped at Heimerdinger’s well-intended but still ignorant comment.

“I worry for him though,” the professor continued. “He is not well, physically. Not just the limp. His immune system is compromised.”

Another thing Bone was not surprised to hear. He knew a lot of children born with physical defects typically dealt with deeper, more internal maladies. Weak lungs, a heart that pattered too fast, reduced cognitive function . . . if the babe was even given a chance to grow old enough to present such unfortunate symptoms.

Bone remembered a time in the mine where he had helped to deliver an infant whose mother had gone into labor while chipping away at the rocks with her pick axe. The child had come out feet first, her shoulders peculiarly sloped and her head too small. The girl wailed something fierce, and he had watched a kaleidoscope of emotions sweep across her mother’s face.

Relief and joy that the baby was not still born, even after a difficult labor.

Horror when she got her first good look at her daughter. Bone remembered that moment the most. It clenched his heart then. It clenched his heart now. The horror wasn’t rooted in disgust. The horror was born of the realization of what it meant to have a child like that.

Grief flickered briefly on the woman’s face before hollow resignation forcefully settled in.

“Please,” the woman had whispered to him. She held her daughter against her chest loosely, afraid that if she dared to hold any tighter that she might never let go, and doom them both. “Please. I-I can’t do it.”

Bone couldn’t bring himself to refuse her. He took the newborn off her chest and traveled many yards down the dark and sooty tunnel so the mother wouldn’t be able to watch or hear.

He smothered the babe, and then put her small body deep into a waste trolley that would be emptied into one of the mine’s incinerators later that day.

When he walked back down the tunnel, the mother was gone.

Later that week, he heard that a young woman had thrown herself from a turbine blade into the darkness below.

She had been doomed anyway.

Bone shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory as Heimerdinger continued.

“He would benefit from staying on campus permanently,” he said. “It may also help with his socializing.”

“But he can’t stay on campus?” Bone asked even though he knew the answer.

The two men rounded a corner and the Administrations Building came into view.

Heimerdinger shook his head, his swirl of blond hair bobbing in the air. “No. His family can’t afford it. And I have yet to convince the board to expand the funding for the lottery program. And they are not willing to make an exception to allot more funding to only one student.”

Bone and Heimerdinger entered the ornate hall of the Academy’s Quarters for Administration and made for one of the golden and glass lifts. An attendant opened the partition door and the two men stepped inside. Once alone, Heimerdinger spoke again.

“I - ,” he began, seeming unsure if he should say what he wanted to say. He cleared his throat and started differently, “In Viktor’s last parent-teacher conference, I floated an idea to his guardian – “

“His sister,” Bone said.

“Yes, his older sister. I know she is concerned about his well-being, too. I – I made an offer to take Viktor on as a ward.”

Bone looked down at his companion, eyes widening. This was a development he didn’t expect. “You suggested she sign his care over to you?”

Heimerdinger nodded. “As his professor I cannot legally aid in funding his education and board. While there would be some red tape and gossip to muddle through, I could provide that assistance if the boy were under my care.”

“I’m going to guess that his sister refused.”

“Vehemently,” the professor admitted. “I can’t say that I don’t understand her hesitation – “

Bone decidedly could say that Heimerdinger did not understand Viktor’s sister’s ‘hesitation’. People of the Undercity were rightfully distrusting of Piltover politicians. And what was more, familial bonds (whether that family was blood or found) in the Lanes were sacred. When you had so little, you held tightly to what you did – your family, your friends, your community. It was something Piltover, what with their money, their things, their gluttonous abundance, could never truly understand.

“ – but I am hoping she changes her mind. For Viktor’s sake. He’s too bright to be kept in the dark.”

The lift chimed and the doors opened. As Heimerdinger and Bone stepped out, they were greeted by an agitated young aide.

“Oh! Professor Heimerdinger! Councilor Bone!” she gasped, struggling to collect the stacks of files in her arms.

“Good afternoon, Miss Banforth,” Heimerdinger greeted brightly, his previous somber tone melting away. “Do you require assistance?”

“No no no no,” Ivy breathed, catching a loose file. “I just – “she took a moment to steady herself and her load. She took a deep breath in and said, “I just hadn’t realized the time. I needed to get these papers to Ms. Clotter in mailing and then have your and the Councilman’s lunch delivered to your office.”

Heimerdinger chuckled. “No rush my dear!”

Ivy smiled weakly in thanks. “Er – Professor,” she said, “Mr. Rynweaver is waiting for you in your reception. I told him you were not available today – “

Bone’s hand involuntarily flexed around the handle of his cane. So, Rynweaver had gotten the aide flustered, throwing his station around and intimidating anyone beneath him into a quivering mess.

“Don’t fret, Miss Banforth,” Heimerdinger assured. “I’ll take care of it.”

Ivy thanked him and skirted into the elevator he and Bone had just vacated. The two Councilors walked down the hallway to Heimerdinger’s reception area and office, their footsteps muffled by the plush runner underfoot.

The suite that belonged to the dean was large and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Academy campus and parts of Piltover. The space was sectioned off into two rooms: the reception area where Ivy would greet and intake guests, and Heimerdinger’s actual office which was sequestered behind ridiculously large ornate wooden doors.

A vacant, beautifully carved desk faced plump chairs. Thade Rynweaver sat in one of the them, his long legs crossed and hands primly folded in his lap. His dark blue eyes looked up at the sound of the hall door opening and a schooled smile cut across his lips.

“You have a jumpy assistant, Professor,” Thade said. His eyes darted to Bone and the gleam in them sharpened.

“Miss Banforth is just very meticulous in keeping to schedule,” Heimerdinger cheerfully explained. “She can get a little flustered when things don’t go to plan.”

Thade breathed a small, humorless chuckle as he made to stand up.

“I was hoping to speak with you, Councilor,” he addressed only Heimerdinger, “about the next lottery. The Kirammans heard some rumors that the Academy is trying to raise the amount of funds again?”

Bone felt the Yordle stiffen at his side before he melded back into something pleasing and palatable.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time to speak with you about that right now, Mr. Rynweaver,” Heimerdinger said kindly. “Even if I did, you know that is officially a Council matter and would need to be brought up in Assembly.”

Thade eyed the Yordle with a passive look. Too passive to not be hiding strong feelings. Too passive to not be hiding something.

He shrugged, his structured coat shifting over his shoulders. “Very well. I had time, and thought I would go to the source. I shall gather my fellow benefactors and we will put in a request for Assembly.”

Thade whisked past Heimerdinger and Bone without a second glance. “Have a lovely lunch.”

Silco sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands fidgeting the small vial of medicine Katya had gifted him a day prior. He hadn’t given it to his mother yet. He wasn’t sure how he was going to.

She would ask how he got it. She would be afraid that such a gift would come with strings, that he had gotten himself wrapped up in some kind of trouble to acquire it. She would refuse the medicine under those conditions and insist that he give it back.

Would she think he stole it? Maybe. She would refuse it then, too. Scold him and tell him to get rid of it.

Would she think he bought it . . . somehow? That he had been putting cogs and hexes aside until he could go across the river and visit a pharmacy? Unlikely. She might, even then, still refuse.

He had tried to come up with a way to slip it to her without her knowing. Could he sneak a dose into her morning tea? Maybe . . . but then he wouldn’t be around to make sure she took the midday nip.

Silco’s tongue flipped inside his mouth in time with how he spun the vial between his fingers. His boot heel vibrated and his brain buzzed.

No good options.

Decidedly, he got up and left his bedroom. He strode to the kitchen to find Enyd sitting at the table sipping her morning tea. The false medicine. She eyed him questioningly as he took the seat across from her. Before she could say anything, Silco very purposefully set the small, brown vial in front of her.

Enyd’s brow furrowed and her tea cup lowered. “What’s this?”

“Medicine. Actual medicine.”

Enyd slowly lowered her tea cup to its saucer, her gaze switching between the vial and her son, the confused crease in her brow deepening. Her mouth twitched, unsure of what to say or ask. Silco’s knee began to bob nervously as he waited for her reaction.

“What do you mean actual medicine?” Enyd finally asked, staring at the bottle as if it might explode or jump at her.

“I mean exactly what I said – “

“Where did you get this?” came Enyd’s sudden question, hissed through a tight jaw. Her teal eyes widened with worry and her brows scrunched and flew up to her hairline.

“It . . . it was given to me,” Silco decided to say. A partial truth would do. “When I had my physical day before yesterday, I mentioned to the medic on staff performing the exam that you . . . were sick. Before I left, she gave me this.”

Enyd frowned and bit her lip. “She shouldn’t have done that, Silco. It wasn’t hers to give. She could get into a lot of trouble if someone finds out. You could get into a lot of trouble – “

“No one will find out, mum,” Silco promised, leaning forward. He licked his lips and fixed her with pleading eyes. “No one will find out.”

“You don’t know that!” Enyd snapped in a strained whisper, as if she were fearful Enforcers could hear from the streets below.

Silco’s hands shot across the table and gripped hers. “Mum, please. No one will find out. Ka – The medic told me that she does the ordering for the clinic. She can account for this. They can spare it.”

Enyd’s eyes fell to the hands holding onto hers. Her son’s hands were large and svelte, wrapping protectively around hers. She felt a tightness in the back of her throat that had nothing to do with her illness.

It seemed not so long ago that her hands dwarfed his. That when he reached for her, his small fingers curling needily around hers, his bright blue-green eyes would look up into her face silently asking for comfort, guidance, protection, affirmation, love. And she would always give it, whatever it was he needed. That was her job after all, as his mother.

Enyd had been surprised and grateful that her heart, body, mind, and soul fell so willingly and completely into loving her son.

Initially, she had been nervous and unsure that she could accept the babe growing inside her womb, given how he had been forced upon her. After the first couple of months, when it was clear that the pregnancy had stuck, Enyd’s heart found a new home in her throat. Angry and ashamed how such a fate had befallen her; scared for her own well-being (birthing children in the Undercity was hazardous business); nervous and uncertain about what she was going to do with the baby when she bore it.

A large part of her – the part that jumped at shadows and woke up in the middle of the night covered in sweat and tears, the part of her that feared and hated the thought of facing a piece of him every day – was certain she couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t keep it. She steeled her nerves throughout the entirety of her pregnancy, preparing to dump the infant at Hope House the minute it passed through the birth canal.

And then . . .

Then labor began, deep in the rough fissures of a new tunnel. The fourth month of pregnancy had caused Enyd’s abdomen to pop away from her waifish frame and she was temporarily relieved of her Slipper duties, and was transferred to a unit sifting for sediment used for smelting. Getting her out of the mine’s crevasses was the one part of her condition she was grateful for.

Enyd’s water had broken in an impossibly large gush, simultaneously clumping the soot underfoot like wet sand and wafting fine dust particles up into the already thick air. Contractions were upon her fast and strong, feeling as if her body was trying to rip itself in half. The unit Enyd had been placed in gave her a wide berth, save for two other women who ushered the laboring mother-to-be to an alcove in the rocks.

One was a Vastaya who did not speak the same language, but was a strong arm to grip to when Enyd’s contractions crested into blindingly agonizing pain. The other was an old woman who began coaching the terrified young woman out of maidenhood. Her knobbily fingers pressed into Enyd’s hips and gave her firm but empathetic instructions on breathing and positioning.

Between contractions, the older woman told Enyd that she herself had given birth to twelve children in her life time. That each birth was painful, but each one was also worth it. Enyd couldn’t find the breath to tell her that she had doubts about the baby trying to make its way through her narrow hips.

Periodically, the crone would hike up Enyd’s tunic to inspect her progress (her undergarments had long been shucked to the side). In what seemed like too short of time, the old woman shoved a rock under each of Enyd’s feet.

“You’re going to feel like you need to push soon,” she had said, coming to grip the shaking arm not in the Vastaya’s hold.

Enyd’s heart moved from her throat to the back of her mouth and she choked on a sob. Her legs quivered with exhaustion and fear as she was held up. The bottoms of her dirty bare feet squeezed the stones beneath them.

She wasn’t ready for this.

She didn’t want this.

The feeling the old woman warned her about came, and a sound Enyd didn’t know she was capable of ripped from her throat as she bared down. The animalistic cry bled into an anguished wail as Enyd’s body forced an exhale. Her head lulled back on her shoulders as she cried openly.

The old woman ducked a hand between Enyd’s wet and bloody legs. She then guided Enyd’s own hand there.

“There. Feel that?” she had asked, pressing Enyd’s palm to a firm, foreign object. “That’s his head. Just a couple more big pushes and he’s out. This is over.”

“He?” Enyd sobbed. How could she be so sure of that?

The old woman didn’t answer her. “Come on, girl, push!”

Enyd cried out, her haggard voice reverberating off the rocks around them. She braced her legs and abdomen and bared down again, her cry turning into a teeth-grinding growl. She felt the babe’s head breach the birth canal and its soft mewling cries joined hers. The old woman once again guided Enyd’s hands between her thighs and had her grip the back of the infant’s neck.

“One more time. You can do it.”

The sound of the baby and the feel of its soft, slick skin under her hands ignited something deep and primal within Enyd and she unleashed what could only be described as a guttural battle cry. She pushed hard, her thin face scrunching and turning scarlet; her molars gritting together. Spittle gathered and fanned at the corners of her dry lips and veins throbbed at her temples. She felt the infant’s shoulders breach past her opening and she ripped her other hand away from the Vastaya to cradle the torso as it slid from her body.

A wail fell from Enyd’s mouth as her body suddenly felt strangely light and empty. Without a second thought, she lifted the fussing newborn to her chest. The Vastaya and old woman guided Enyd carefully to the cavern floor, allowing her wobbly, numbing legs a chance to rest. Enyd panted as she leaned her back and head against the rock wall. Sweat plastered her dark hair to her forehead and the sides of her face, tears rolled down her cheeks and neck.

“It’s a boy,” the old woman confirmed with a smile, her tone much more soothing.

Enyd kept her head pitched against the rock, staring up. She felt the baby shift and fuss against her chest and her throat constricted. She didn’t want to look down at it.

“Girl,” the crone called again, “Look at your boy. Look at what you made.”

Enyd squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. The bumpy rocks shifted and scratched behind her head as she reluctantly ducked her chin toward her chest. She opened her eyes and her heart gently grounded back down, deep into her chest allowing her throat and lungs to fully breathe for the first time in almost a year.

The baby looked up at her. He had her eyes. She remembered his eyes, and the ones currently peering up at her looked nothing like those horrible, deep-set black pools.

Her baby had her eyes.

Her son.

He watched her. His eyes searching her face for comfort, guidance, protection, affirmation, love . . .

A soft cry hitched at the back of Enyd’s throat and she held her boy closer. Her finger tips gently grazed over his head, marveling at the soft, dark fuzz. As her hands caressed down his cheek, he flailed an arm up and firmly gripped Enyd’s index finger in his small hand.

“Strong,” the old woman murmured. “Like his mama.”

He was perfect.

He was hers.

She was his.

Hope House was forgotten.

Enyd curled her hands around Silco’s in return, her fingertips pressing and massaging against the meat of his warm palms. Her throat tightened further and a bitterness settled on the back of her tongue. The gradual reversing of their roles was difficult for her to swallow. To have him fret over her; to have him be the comforter, guider, protector . . .

She didn’t want to be done with him needing her in those ways. She carried such tremendous guilt that she had ever hoped that she would miscarry and then giving him up prior to his birth, that loving him as intensely as she could was her way of trying to right those cruel wishes and thoughts. And the shifting of their dynamic once illness took hold of her ate at her heart like the blight ate at her lungs.

“Mum,” Silco said quietly. Enyd’s gaze lifted from his hands to his eyes. Her eyes. “Please. This is the least they can do,” he nodded toward the vial. “Piltover can spare a vial or two of medicine after everything they’ve done. They won’t find out. I promise. Please.”

Enyd held his gaze for a moment longer before she sighed and lifted his hands up, resting her forehead on his knuckles.

“My perfect boy,” she whispered.

“C’mon Kat,” Sevika whined, as she paced the alley behind Babette’s.

“I’m almost through it all,” came a voice, echoing from within the confines of the open dumpster.

“Didn’t you make all your deliveries last night? Don’t you have enough coin for a new brassiere?”

Katya’s head popped out from over the top of the dumpster. “Will you shut up, please?”

Katya glared at Sevika, and her gold eyes scanned the alleyway.

“No one’s here,” Sevika drawled.

“You never know who might be listening,” Katya grumbled, as she dove back into the discarded clothes and trash.

She was aggravated with Sevika’s loose lips and with the lack of selection in Babette’s dumpster. She tugged on a promising looking piece of satin fabric, only finding it to be a stained robe. Her lips curled in disgust and she tossed it aside.

“We’re gonna be late!”

“I didn’t think revolutionaries cared about such things as timetables.”

The next article of clothing Katya pulled on ended up being a very abused and damp pair of underwear. She flung it across the dumpster in revulsion. However, underneath those damaged undergarments had been a simple, sheer brassiere that looked to be Katya’s size. Her breath caught in excitement as she lifted it up and inspected it. There was no sizing tag, but aside from a fraying strap and broken hook it looked to be in decent condition. Satisfied, Katya tucked it deep within her coat and hopped out of the dumpster. She dusted herself off and walked towards Sevika, who was leaning against the mouth of the alleyway, looking out onto the street.

Peering over the girl’s shoulder, Katya saw two brothel workers leaning against the front door to Babette’s, calling and reaching out to people as they passed by. The two women were beautiful. Long, shapely limbs draped in see-through fabric, slim waists cinched up in corsets that had the soft, pert flesh of their breasts and ass spilling out over the top and underneath. Sevika was staring at them, chewing her lower lip.

Katya rolled her eyes and snorted, causing the younger woman to jump. A rosy blush quickly bloomed across Sevika’s round cheeks.

“Come on,” Katya ribbed. “We’re going to be late.”

Too quickly, Sevika stalked away from the alley heading in the direction of The Last Drop, her shoulders hunching around her head in embarrassment. Katya jogged to catch up with her. Once they were in stride, she put a comforting arm on Sevika’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Katya said as they wove through the night crowds milling about through the Lanes. “I did not mean to make you feel self-conscious.”

Sevika looked down at her friend as they walked, her tight shoulders softening under Katya’s warm gaze.

“It’s fine,” Sevika huffed, rolling her head to one side. “I suppose I deserve a little shaming after – “

“’Vika,” Katya warned.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything!”

Katya’s stern look relaxed and she sighed. “You already apologized for telling . . . them,” she gestured in the direction they were walking, “and I forgive you – “

“But you’re still mad.”

“I can be both. Mad and forgiving.”

Sevika sighed.

“As long as you don’t mention it to anyone else, I won’t bring it up. I’m certainly not going to lord it over your head, nor shame you because of it. Admittedly, I may be more discerning with the information I give you.”

A small smile tilted the corners of Sevika’s lips and in a hushed voice she said, “That’s fair, I guess. I am sorry, you know.”

“I know.”

The pair continued through the bustling streets in silence. When The Last Drop came into view, Sevika felt Katya tense beside her.

“You ready to meet some of the other Sons and Daughters?”

Katya pursed her lips and continued to cross the square.

“How did you end up convincing her?” Vander asked as he and Silco moved a crate of bottles against the wall.

They were in the basement of The Drop, preparing for a meeting for the Children of Zaun. They never knew how many Brothers and Sisters might show up, but it was a good idea to clear the floor just in case. They set the crate down and Silco wiped his hands on his pants.

“I just,” he started, shrugging, “told her about our vision. About Zaun and all it deserves to be.”

Vander’s thick brows knit together. “That’s it?”

“You didn’t threaten her?” Benzo asked in a chuckle, stacking crates together.

“No, Benzo, I didn’t threaten her,” Silco spat.

“Not even with a good time?”

Vander jumped in before Silco and Benzo could hiss and spit at each other like alley cats.

“Well, whatever you told her,” he said, clapping a hand to Silco’s shoulder, “good work.”

Silco’s lips twitched and he nodded in thanks. Benzo heaved the final crate on top of the rest and muttered something about getting a drink before the meeting started as he trudged up the basement steps.

“You know he’s just goading you,” Vander said with a sly smile. “You don’t always have to take the bait.”

Silco pinched his face in a sour expression. “He’s just so . . . insufferable. I don’t understand why you like him.”

Vander smirked and pulled a cigarette and book of matches out from his vest pocket. He stuck the filter between his lips and lit it. He took a drag before blowing a string of smoke out of his mouth and presented it to Silco between pinched fingers. “He’s said the same about you.”

Silco hummed and took Vander’s offering. “And what do you tell him?”

“That you’re my best mate. That despite this hard and bony outside,” Vander poked Silco playfully in the chest. Hard.

“Vander, fucking don’t,” Silco hissed, cigarette smoke streaming out from behind his teeth, swatting the abusive finger away.

“You have a good heart,” Vander continued with a fond smile. “You convinced me to leave those mines before the Pilties could kill me, didn’ya? You also ‘ave more piss n’ vinegar in ya than all of the Brothers and Sisters put together. You believe in Zaun in a way that can keep the rest of the lot motivated.”

Silco took a second drag on the cigarette before handing it back to Vander. He found it difficult to keep his expression cool and collected as his Brother’s words of affirmation washed over him.

“Zaun is our vision, Vander,” Silco reminded as the other took the cigarette back. “It wasn’t only me dreaming it up in the mines.”

“Aye, I know,” Vander agreed, placing the filter back between his lips. “But your passion about it convinces people. Rallies ‘em. Makes ‘em believe.”

“Perhaps,” Silco conceded. “It seems to scare as many people as it rallies, though.”

Vander shrugged. “Leave that lot to me n’ ‘Zo.”

“Ah, yes, the friendly-faces of the revolution,” Silco grumbled, a fingertip absently swiping down his long nose. “Much more palatable.”

Vander’s face softened and he reach out to place a hand on the juncture between Silco’s shoulder and neck. Without thinking about it, Vander’s thumb swiped along the smooth skin of his Brother’s collar bone. “Hey. Don’ worry about it. I, for one, like your . . . intensity, let’s call it.”

Silco smirked and gently brushed Vander’s hand off his shoulder. The taller man smiled back and took one last drag off the cigarette before tapping it out against the basement wall.

Instead of going through the front door of The Last Drop, Sevika led Katya behind the building to a basement walk-out. The teen rapped on the metal door in a string of intricately timed knocks, and the squeaky door was opened by Cairn the busboy.

“Are we late?” Sevika asked as she and Katya stepped down the darkened staircase.

“Haven’t started yet, if that’s what you mean,” Cairn answered, closing and locking the door. He gave Katya a searching look as he followed behind them. “You the nurse?”

Katya’s heart skipped a beat and her jaw momentarily locked before she said, “I suppose.”

Cairn smiled widely, presenting a large gap between his front teeth. “Good. Sev’s shit at stitching.”

“Watch it, you clod,” Sevika growled over her shoulder. Katya wasn’t sure if she flexed her sculpted back on purpose or if it was a defensive reflex.

Cairn snickered and slipped past the two women. “Gotta get back upstairs,” he said. “I’m manning the bar for Van.”

“You’re not staying?” Katya asked.

“Vander will catch me up later!” the busboy called as he leapt up a set of stairs. He opened the door at the top and the warm light and sounds of The Last Drop briefly streamed down to the basement hallway before shutting again.

“C’mon. This way,” Sevika said as she directed their journey down a narrow hall to the left.

Katya was led through a door that blended seamlessly into the wooden wall and into a large storeroom. Her eyes widened and she gripped her fists in her coat pockets. The space was warmly lit, like the rest of The Drop, and there seemed to be as many people here as there were above.

Katya hadn’t outrightly thought that Vander was lying when he told her that the Children of Zaun had decent numbers, but she was truly surprised at the size of the gathering. Sevika had been right: this wasn’t just a few drunkards at the end of a bar moping and cussing about the future.

Most of the people in the storeroom looked to be late-teens to young adults. A few older individuals lurked at the sides of the room, quietly chatting with each other; and, to Katya’s dismay, there were more than a few children weaving through the crowd, giggling and chasing one another.

At what appeared to the designated front of the room, Vander and Benzo were in conversation. Silco stood off to the side, his narrow hips leaning on a crate, cigarette dangling from his lips. As if sensing her, his eyes landed immediately on Katya. His lips tightened their hold on his cigarette and he lifted his head ever so slightly.

“Hey, Sevika!”

Katya jumped at the sudden and loud cry directed and her and her friend.

“Hi Annie,” Sevika responded, hands coming to rest on her hips. “How did the observations go at the docks the other night?”

The young woman – Annie – was seated up on a stack of crates to Sevika’s right. She was a pretty thing, with deep indigo hair swept back in loose braids. Her hazel eyes gleamed under the warm chem-lights. Butted up right against her side was a young man with freckled skin and blazingly red hair. His eyes were large and dewy blue.

“They went well!” Annie chirped.

“I’m pretty sure we’re gonna go over it tonight,” the young man added.

Annie’s eyes slid over Sevika’s shoulder to Katya.

“You’re new,” she said.

“This is Katya,” Sevika introduced, stepping aside. “She’s from the mines, too. Kat, this is Annie and Beckett.”

Katya smiled at the couple and murmured a greeting.

“You’re the nurse Sev’s talked about?”

Katya looked up to Sevika, questioning. The teen shook her head, a promising look in her silver eyes.

“I work in the mine’s clinic, yes,” Katya slowly answered.

“Thank Gods!” Annie cried, rolling her head onto her shoulders dramatically. Her dark braids slipped over her shoulders and behind her back. “No one here knows how to patch and stitch. I’m surprised no one’s lost any limbs yet!”

“Do – do people get hurt often?” Katya asked.

Beckett jumped in. “Right now, only from Enforcers who get their jollies from beating up Sump Rats. Nothing too bad yet.”

Katya did not like the word yet.

Annie’s eyes left Katya’s face to look beyond her shoulder. “Hey Silco. What’s the hold up? When can this meeting get started?”

Katya turned and saw the slender young man approaching their small circle. He gave Annie an unimpressed look and said, “Have somewhere else to be?”

Annie clicked her tongue against her teeth and rolled her eyes. “No. Just the sooner we get started, the sooner we get to bothering Enforcers.”

Silco frowned. “You know this isn’t just about bothering Enforcers.”

“She knows, Sil,” Beckett interjected. “Lighten up.”

Silco’s face tightened before turning his attention to Katya.

“May I speak with you?”

Katya nodded and followed Silco to a quieter corner of the storage room. Her eyes flitted nervously around the crowded space and her fingers worried a loose thread of her father’s coat. She couldn’t help but feel the mood was too light given what they were gathered there for. The interaction with Annie and Beckett, as nice as they seemed, put her more on edge.

“I just wanted to thank you again,” Silco whispered, bowing his head towards Katya’s ear. “For the medicine.”

“Did your mother take it?” Katya asked, forcing her eyes to look away from the center of the room and up at Silco.

His face softened and he nodded. “This morning. And I told her about the dose to take in the afternoon.”

“Good,” Katya said. “And she was agreeable?”

A small smile tilted the corners of Silco’s mouth, a lovely shadow curling around its corners. “It took a little convincing, but I think you can attest to my powers of persuasion.”

Katya rolled her eyes, but smiled as well. “Yes, yes you are very good with your words.”

“Oi! Silco!” Vander called from the front of the room.

Silco glanced over his shoulder to see his friend gesturing him over. He turned back to Katya and said, “Anyway, thank you – “

“Let me know when she needs more.”

Like when she gave him the vial in the mine, Silco was lost for words. The grin that had faded from his face briefly returned, and he nodded before heading back toward the front of the room.

“Alright, alright,” Vander called out over the crowd as Silco resumed his spot, lurking just behind the bartender’s shoulder. “Quiet down everyone!”

Sevika appeared at Katya’s side once more and lightly bumped her arm. The shorter woman looked up at her friend to find her smiling excitedly. Katya reciprocated the best she could before crossing her arms over her chest and directing her attention to the front.

“For once we have some news!” Vander continued, his voice and presence easily filling the large room. An excited murmur fluttered through the crowd before dying down again. “I know you lot have been waitin’ for something to happen, something that the Children of Zaun can really sink our teeth into.”

Affirming murmurs whispered through the room. Next to Vander, Benzo knowingly nodded his head.

“Well, now that our numbers are growin’ by the day n’ now that we have Brothers and Sisters with necessary skills and access,” Katya could’ve sworn his grey eyes landed on her, “we think it’s time to make ourselves known.”

The crowd cheered. Katya winced and gripped her arms tighter.

“We’ve received word,” Vander continued, “that there’s gonna be a large shipment of weapons and artillery delivered to Piltover’s – “ a small flurry of ‘boos’ echoed around the room “– Enforcer’s Headquarters this weekend. At the Southside docks.”

“You’re welcome for that intel!” Annie called from her crate. Beckett smiled and looped his muscular, freckled arm around her shoulder. Some of the crowd giggled at her outburst.

“Yeah, you n’ the ginger did alrigh’,” Benzo replied and took a swig from the mug in his hands.

The meeting quickly turned to planning. A small team was assembled to go with Vander, Benzo, and Silco the night the shipment was due to dock; others volunteered their homes and businesses for storing the boon; some children offered to run recon the night of to distract Enforcers and keep them off of the Children of Zaun’s tails.

Katya watched from her corner. Mouth growing dryer and dryer.

Chapter Text

Katya was quick the leave the medical clinic on Friday. She barely gave Will a ‘hello’ or update before she was out the door and in the elevator. It wasn’t unusual behavior for her per se. She picked up Viktor on Fridays, and she was always excited to bring him back home. Even if home was the polluted Sump. While she knew Piltover was the best place for his health, she cherished having him at her side.

However, a new anxiety also thrummed under Katya’s skin as the elevator ascended the shaft. Tonight was the night the small group of Sons and Daughters were ambushing the freight due at the Southside docks on Piltover’s side of the river. She was not part of it; she wasn’t ready to volunteer that much. Katya had already brought a small armful of medical supplies to The Last Drop the night before. That was enough from her for now.

Vander had met her at the same basement walk-out she and Sevika had entered on Wednesday night and led her back to the storage room. A strange, uninvited pang of disappointment flashed through her when she realized it was only her and Vander. She didn’t know what that was about, and she didn’t dare investigate the feeling further. Together, she and the tall barman hid the medical supplies in some crates.

“Thank you for this,” Vander had said, holding a roll of gauze with as much tender care as one would a baby.

“I’m sorry I was not able to bring more,” she replied, carefully wrapping bottles of anti-septic in torn pieces of cloth before stashing them away.

“This is more than enough to start,” assured Vander. “’S more than we ever had.”

Katya’s brow crumpled with sadness.

“Your clients should have access to complete and comprehensive medical care.”

“I will figure out a way to get more as soon as I can.”

The elevator breached the surface, meager streams of sunlight attempting to cut through the Undercity Grey.

‘The Zaun Grey,’ Katya reminded herself. ‘Zaun.’

As quickly as she could with a hungry body that had just worked a fourteen-hour shift, she made her way to the Bridge. The attendant scrutinized her approval papers and Katya ignored their unnecessary rudeness. Her mind was too full of excitement and worry. She snapped the papers up as soon as the attendant began to slide them back underneath the partition and darted into Piltover.

The café district could not distract her from her various anxieties, not even with its sugary smells and glossy display cases.

Katya did have enough presence of mind to stop a few strides before Pilt Square to take a couple deep breaths, and attempted to set the worry about the Sons and Daughters aside. She needed to focus on her brother. She was eager to see Viktor.

Katya rolled her shoulders back and walked toward the fountain she had dropped him off at on Monday.

Viktor and Ivy sat together on the lip of the fountain’s pool, his skinny legs dangling, her ankles primly crossed. At Viktor’s side was his cane and his large canvas sack. Student and aide were pouring over papers in his lap. Upon hearing footsteps, they looked up and the brightest, most enthused smile appeared on Viktor’s face. It did every week when Katya came to fetch him, and every time she felt her heart clench and stomach ripple with warmth, like a ribbon of honey falling into hot tea.

Viktor clumsily hopped to his feet, swiping his cane into his hand and Katya quickened her pace, closing the distance between them. She scooped him up in a big hug, leaning back far enough that Viktor’s toes left the ground.

“Oh, I missed you,” Katya sighed, hugging him tighter.

With a huff and a final squeeze, Katya plopped her brother back down.

“I missed you too,” he replied, his eyes falling to the packet of paper still in his hand.

“What’s this?”

Viktor sheepishly looked up at his sister, tips of his ears going pink, a self-conscious smile trying to muster its way through the teeth biting his lips. He offered the packet and Katya took it. It was folded in half, and she carefully unbent the hinge of the heavy weight parchment. It was a test – the history test he had been studying and fretting over all last weekend. A thick and elegant quill tip had written ‘100’ in velvety, opaque red ink across the top of the paper. Katya’s face lit up with excitement for him.

“You did it! Of course you did,” Katya crowed, drawing her brother to her chest once more. “You are maddeningly brilliant!”

Viktor giggled against the lapel of her coat. Maddeningly brilliant was what their father would call him when Viktor bested him at trivia games or found a loophole in one of the rules he and Katya were supposed to follow as children. It was also what their father reminded Viktor he needed to be to show-up all the Pilties he went to school with.

As the siblings stepped apart again, Ivy appeared at Viktor’s side and handed his ruck sack to Katya. A murmured thanks was given as Katya slung the bag across her back.

“Of course,” Ivy replied. “Viktor showed you his test, I take it.”

Katya beamed and ran her hand through her brother’s hair. “He did.”

A mischievous grin appeared on Ivy’s lips, and she leaned in conspiratorially, “You didn’t hear it from me, but I heard that Viktor was the only student in that class to have perfect marks on this test.”

Ivy winked and Viktor’s face flushed tomato red.

Katya’s face softened as her pride swelled. She wrapped an arm around Viktor’s shoulders and tucked him against her side, nuzzling the top of his head, “Of course he did.”

“Can we . . . go now?” Viktor whispered, clearly mortified by the attention.

“Yes, yes, we can go,” Katya answered, rubbing his shoulder, and kissing the top of his head. “Come, we have some appointments to keep.”

“Before you go,” Ivy interjected, “the dean wanted me to let you know that parent-teacher conferences are coming up in a few weeks.” Katya’s face fell into careful neutrality. “He wanted to alert you ahead of time so that you might find coverage for work so that you may attend.”

Katya’s lips thinned, and she nodded as she turned to leave, “Thank you, Ivy.”

“Thank you, Miss Ivy,” Viktor parroted as he hobbled after his sister.

“See you on Monday,” the aide called after them.

Katya and Viktor made the slow trek toward the Conveyor that would take them back into the depths of the Undercity. As they traveled, Viktor told his sister about his week. Excitedly rambling about Heimerdinger’s science classes and how the class would start building things next week as they began their curriculum on robotics; gushing about the new dessert the school’s kitchen had served after dinner one night; listing his assignments and prep work for the weekend. Katya listened and asked questions, happy that Viktor seemed cheerful.

As they waited in line for their Conveyor car, Katya’s attention was pulled away by the sight of a woman across the road: petite and waifish, with long dark hair partially pulled away from her thin face, icy teal eyes framed by shapely brows. Tucked under her arm was a small laundry bag with jewel-toned fabric poking out from the top. The woman was in conversation with a man who appeared to be a Promenade Entrepreneur (judging by his demeanor and clothing). A rich, ruby frock was folded and tucked under his arm. He handed her a small coin purse and a grocer’s bag of fresh produce.

“I convinced her to leave the mines in order to buy her more time. She bakes bread to sell to vendors at the market and tailors garments now.”

“Katya.”

Viktor’s voice and the tug he gave at her sleeve brought her back. She looked down at her brother and he nodded to the Conveyor car that had arrived while she had been distracted. She adjusted the bag across her back, and they boarded the car.

“Who were you looking at?” Viktor asked as they sat down. He dutifully pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose.

“No one,” Katya lied, doing the same. “I was just lost in thought.”

She of course didn’t know if that woman was Silco’s mother. Regardless, Katya was acutely aware of how quick her attention and thoughts were pulled by him. Did his mother know of his revolutionary dreams? Did she know where he would be tonight? The danger he would be in?

If he was anything like her, she knew Silco would keep his mother in the dark. Like Katya did Viktor. It was for the best: to keep them away from the danger and crimes that helped to give them the best life possible.

“What appointments do we have?” Viktor asked, once again drawing Katya out of the swirling thoughts in her anxious mind.

Glad for the distraction, she answered.

“We are going to stop by the Tanner to get you fitted for a new brace.”

Even though half of Viktor’s face was obscured, she could tell by the pinch between his brows that he was making a displeased expression. Katya smirked through her own scarf and nudged him playfully with her shoulder.

“Then I reserved us the best seats at Jericho’s.”

Viktor’s eyes bulged with excitement even though he scoffed, “You don’t need reservations at Jericho’s!”

“Mmmm, so say you,” sniffed his sister. “Those counter seats are difficult to come by.”

Viktor laughed and the Conveyor car jolted to life and began its descent into the maw of the Undercity.

The siblings got off at one of the Entresol stops and traveled through the alleyways that housed the augmentation parlors. The air was thick with the smell of hot iron and burning rubber. The whine of high-pitched grinders and occasional yelps of jumpy clients cut through the base drone of gears clunking together and the deep, hellish whooshes of fiery, open-mouthed furnaces.

Augmentation parlors were not new features in the Undercity, although their clientele had shifted over the years as trends changed. There were still a few grizzled original augmenteers lumbering around from the days when the alley was much quieter, when people sought their skills because they needed to replace a missing limb or close open wounds with bits of metal and earth.

Now younger generations of augment artisans were setting up shops, providing citizens of the Lanes with changes to their person that were strictly for aesthetics. Heavy bolts bracketed to foreheads and temples, sharp metal quills that were embedded under the skin, piercings that adorned every conceivable body part (and sometimes, not so conceivable), skin was looked at as merely a canvas for tattoos.

Katya and Viktor made their way down the alley to one of the farthest shops. It belonged to one of the original augmenteers, a man their father had made fast friends with when it was clear that Viktor’s body would require assistance not curling in on itself like a prawn in a hot skillet.

The old augmenteer’s name was Pok, and he wasn’t pleasant. Not that he was unkind, he just was not personable. The large, bald man had little patience and fewer words. He seemed to tolerate Katya and Viktor’s father, and he seemed to dislike the girl herself. But he always did what was commissioned of him. And he did it well. Pok was also the last remaining augmenteer in the Lanes who was proficient enough in the art of tanning a hide that could stand up to daily use.

He had one son – Mek – whom he was grooming to take over the parlor, and Katya was pleased he was teaching the boy how to tan. It meant she wouldn’t necessarily need to look elsewhere when the patriarch died.

When they entered Pok’s Parlor, Mek was hammering away at a bright orange twist of metal. Sparks scattered away from the hammer head and danced in sunset-colored arcs across the floor. The boy was around Sevika’s age and impossibly large. Since Katya and Viktor had been in last, new, thick swirls and points of black had been inked onto his pale arms.

Mek gave the hot metal a few more hefty CLANGS! before he noticed the two customers in the shop. He nodded in acknowledgement before setting the mallet down. He picked up a heavy pair of pliers and used them to transfer his medium into the furnace blazing behind him. The metal, which had begun to dull under the relatively cool air of the parlor, flamed bright red and orange as it met the heat of the fire. He clumsily tossed the pliers into a bucket near the hearth before turning back to Katya and Viktor.

“Yeah?”

“We have an appointment with Pok,” Katya explained. “My brother needs a new back brace.”

Mek’s small eyes drifted to Viktor briefly. Without a word, he lumbered to a back room and returned with his father in toe. Pok had been a hulking mass at one point in his life. Now that he was getting on in years (by Undercity standards), his musculature was deteriorating and the hunch in his shoulders – which had started as a physical representation of his bad mood – was now stuck deep within his bones.

“’S wonderin’ if we’d be seein’ ya soon,” Pok said as a way of greeting. His voice was low and reminded Katya of stones being run through a tumbler in the mines. It hurt to listen to.

“Yes, thank you for seeing us, Pok,” Katya spoke even and quickly, knowing the augmenteer had a short fuse. “Viktor’s current brace is almost too small – “

“Thas what eatin’ that fancy Piltie food will get you.”

Katya’s brows quirked. A joke. A bad joke; a mean joke; but a joke nonetheless.

“Yes, well, regardless we need to have a new one made,” she continued. “I would also like you to design it with front closures so that Viktor can do it himself.”

Pok’s already heavy brow dropped further. “A new design will cost ya extra, girl.”

Katya matched his hard gaze with her own. “As will the extra material for a larger brace, I’m sure. I am no fool, Pok. I anticipated a higher cost.”

Pok snorted through his wide nostrils. “A’ight. Here, boy. Stand over here.”

He waved a large oven mitt sized hand, directing Viktor to the corner of the shop that homed a large drafting table and a short stool. Having done this many times before, Viktor dutifully limped over to the stool. Pok held out a great hand and lifted the boy up onto the platform. Katya knew better than to hover, so she stayed put. She folded her arms over her chest and carefully watched her brother shift his weight between his uneven legs, prepared to launch herself forward should it look like he was going to tumble off the measuring stool.

So rapt was Katya’s attention on Viktor and Pok that she hadn’t realized Mek ambling over to her. Only when his hulking shadow drifted into her periphery did she jolt to attention. Startled, she looked up into the boy’s face.

“I saw you the other night,” he whispered in a crackling high pitch. Had it not been for the ominous statement, Katya may have had to fight back an amused grin at the utter ridiculousness of his mis-matched voice and body. “At the meeting.”

Katya’s fingers squeezed her biceps tighter and looked back to Viktor. He was still on his own feet, Pok was shuffling around him, helping to remove garments so he could get the best possible measurements for his brace. Viktor being bare would’ve worried her if the parlor wasn’t so blazingly warm.

“I didn’t know you were there,” Katya finally whispered back. “You’re a Brother then, are you?”

She saw him nod his head out of the corner of her eye.

“You goin’ on the mission tonight?” Katya’s stomach quivered to hear the edge of excitement in Mek’s voice.

She shook her head, “No.”

“Smugglin’ any goods brought back?”

“I don’t think this is a good time or place to discuss such things,” Katya sharply whispered. Neither Viktor nor Pok seemed to notice but she wasn’t willing to keep running that risk.

Mek gave an annoyingly confident snort next to her. “I’m not goin’ neither. But I tol’ Van and Sil we could hide some’of the stuff out back in the Sheet Shed. Da doesn’ go back there anymore.”

“He doesn’t know?” Katya couldn’t stop herself from asking.

Again, Mek grunted, “Naw. Hates Pilties but only enough to cuss ‘em out and spit after Enforcers – “

“Oi, boy!” Pok called from his work bench. “Come over ‘ere. I want you t’take the measurements. Learn ‘ow.”

“Good seein’ ya, Sister,” Mek hushed as he walked toward his father.

Pok thrust a measuring tape at his son and began instructing where and how to take measurements. Mek clumsily toddled around Viktor, taking and re-taking measurements as Pok scribbled and doodled them down.

Katya stood still, watching, her fingers cramping from the grip they had on her coat.

The appointment at the augmentation parlor took longer than Katya had anticipated or wanted, but at least when she and her brother left, she felt good and confident about the product that Pok would be crafting for them. He was confident he would have the new brace completed at the end of the following week. Pleased, and thrown by her conversation with Mek, Katya and Viktor left Augmentation Alley and headed for Jericho’s.

The Undercity staple was a short enough trip that they did not need to get back onto a Conveyor car. As night fell above the Undercity the neon and chem lights glowed and buzzed to life, lighting the way to the Black Lanes in squiggles and swatches of technicolor.

The siblings brushed past clusters of weary-faced Trenchers and bossy stall workers, yelling out their goods and sales into the night air. Katya ignored the occasional catcall, and her grip on Viktor’s shoulder tightened when a gaggle of scrawny children burst through the streets, shrieking, and laughing as they scrambled up awnings and jumbly building walls.

It hurt her to watch her brother’s eyes widen with want and self-consciousness as the group of children clambered out of sight.

As expected, Jericho’s was bustling. It was still a small establishment, but its growing popularity over the years had allowed the restaurant’s proprietor and namesake to claim the small sidewalk space just beyond the booth. Flimsy and small mismatched chairs and tables dotted the space in front of Jericho’s, patrons happily hunched over bowls of various meat and seafood specials. Katya was pleased to see that the stools at the restaurant’s booth were empty.

“See?” she said, jutting her chin towards the vacant stools. “Our seats are ready for us.”

Viktor, finally pulled out from lonely melancholy by his sister’s voice and the smell of Jericho’s food, scoffed and rolled his eyes. Together they wove through the smattering of tables and chairs and perched themselves on two of the three stools at Jericho’s counter. There had been a time when the third would have been taken up by their father.

Jericho warmly greeted Katya and Viktor with a slur of bubbly words neither of them knew but they understood the intonation. He grinned sharp, jagged teeth at them, his one eye twinkling under the chem-string lights that hung in boughs over his establishment. He slapped a large, stained menu on the counter between them and turned back to his hotpots and smoking sauté pans.

“We can each get a dish and serving of fry bread to share. Does that sound alright?”

Viktor grinned toothily and began scouring the menu. Together, their eyes greedily and excitedly took in the potential offerings. As children often struggle with, Viktor found he couldn’t decide between a bowl of stir-fried noodles mixed with bits of meat or fried fish over a bed of fried root vegetable wedges.

“Alright,” Katya sighed when he told her his predicament. She swiveled in her seat to face him and held up two fingers. “Pick.”

Viktor bit his lower lip and his large eyes flicked between the digits in front of him. He furrowed his brow and Katya watched him push his tongue into his cheek. She chuckled.

“Such a stressful decision,” she joked.

“It is!” he insisted. Katya laughed and Viktor wiggled in his seat, intently pondering the fingers in front of him.

Finally he spoke, “This one.”

He pointed to Katya’s index finger, and she said, “You’re having fried fish and wedges. How do you feel about that?”

Viktor’s face fell in surprised disappointment briefly before ticking back up into satisfaction. “Noodles!”

Katya smiled, “Noodles it is then.”

When Jericho turned back to them, Katya ordered Vitkor’s noodles, fry bread, and a plate of cold fish salad on hardtack for herself. The large, amphibious Vastaya trilled in delight, swiping the menu away from them and set about preparing their order.

While they waited for their food, Katya peppered Viktor with questions about his week at school and about the assignments he had for the weekend.

“Professor Heimerdinger told us to start thinking about what we might want to build as the ongoing project for the robotics curriculum,” Viktor excitedly tittered, fiddling with the utensils Jericho had just set before them. A basket of steaming, greasy fry bread and an array of dipping sauces followed shortly.

Katya carefully tore a piece off before dipping it in the thin, vinegary dip that had various minced herbs floating in it. Viktor tore a strip for himself and dunked his in the brown, sugary molasses option. Katya chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the combination of crisp and soft, bitter and herbaceous. She had to tread lightly when Heimerdinger came up. She knew her brother liked him, liked the attention and mentorship the Yordle offered him. Viktor didn’t know that the Professor had the audacity to ask Katya to pass his care to him at the last parent-teacher conference. Such rage had flooded her system that she marveled at her ability to not assault Piltover’s meddling founder right then and there.

“Do you have any ideas?” Katya asked through her bite.

Viktor nibbled at his strip of bread, licking the sauce that had dribbled onto his fingers. He hummed thoughtfully.

“I was thinking . . . a boat.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Katya affirmed. “Should we go to the Shores tomorrow? So we can watch the boats? Get some inspiration?”

“Yes!” cried Viktor excitedly. “Can we swim, too?”

Katya paused. “We will have to see what the weather is like. It may be too cold.”

“What about the Springs by the Oases?”

Katya pursed her lips, her resolve faltering under Viktor’s big, gold pleading stare. Before she could answer, Jericho plunked their orders down in front of them.

“I’ll think about it,” Katya said, gently tugging her plate closer to her. “This looks good. Let’s eat!”

Feeling warm from full bellies and each other’s company, Katya and Viktor boarded the Conveyor car that would take them to the stop nearest to their home. Night had fully fallen, and the car was blissfully empty. Having worn himself out needling Katya with thinly veiled hints that he would like to visit the Springs over the weekend, Viktor’s head rested heavily on his sister’s shoulder. Katya smiled beneath her scarf and drew him closer.  

She would like to bring him to the Springs, a small pocket of naturally heated pools and grottos that lay just behind what was commonly referred to in the Undercity as the ‘Oases’. The moniker was a little tongue-in-cheek. The Oases were a series of estuaries created by Piltover’s water run-off that fed into the River Pilt. Children and youths from both cities would gather there to play, swim, and dare each other to jump off rock ledges into the deepest parts of the water.

It wasn’t beautiful in a way Piltover recognized, but the sunshine and clean water were both luxuries to Fissure folk. Even more so to Viktor, who found that the buoyancy of water helped to relieve the aches in his bones and muscles in a way canes and braces couldn’t.

Despite this, Katya hesitated to give in to Viktor’s ask. The Shores were easy enough to travel to, weather-beaten and water-logged piers guiding the way. But the Oases and Springs required clambering over rocks and down steep banks of sand and loose gravel. Katya and Viktor had done it before, but it always sent her heart to her throat and tensed her muscles with nervousness as she led him to the Springs. It was easier when their father was alive, and he would carry Viktor down to the waters.

She also feared he’d get sick if the air was too chilled – even if the water of the Springs was pleasantly warm.

So lost in her thoughts, Katya hardly noticed that the Conveyor car had ground to a halt at their stop. She was jolted to when the conductor poked her head out of the cockpit and knocked against the glass. Muttering an apology, Katya nudged Viktor and herself to their feet and they shuffled out of the car.

The night air had cooled during the descent from the lower levels of the Entresol to the bottom of the Sump. It pained Katya to hear Viktor’s teeth occasionally chatter from behind his scarf as they hurried toward their apartment. Mercifully, their street was empty of milling bodies, most people having traveled up to the Entresol and Promenade for Friday night outings and events. Katya threw her shoulder into their door as the key turned in the lock, Viktor close behind her.

“Go wash up and I’ll make us some tea,” she said, shucking her coat off and grabbing his.

Viktor limped to his room and Katya prepared the kettle after locking and bracing the front door. Her fingertips drummed on the countertop, eyes on the dented kettle, but not really looking at it. In the absence of her brother, her thoughts once again drifted to the Children of Zaun and that night’s mission. Sevika would be there. She had foolishly and exuberantly volunteered to be in the small squad that would commandeer the freight vessel. Her, Vander, Silco, and Benzo. According to Beckett, who worked the docks as it turned out, the crew of this barge was set to be small despite the worth of the cargo.

“Ten people tops,” he had promised.

Annie had bobbled her dark purple head in agreement. She had apparently been the distraction, sweet-talking the son of the Harbormaster who had been on watch while Beckett crept into the office to peek at the roster of imports and exports, and the ships they would be on. Allegedly, the amount of cargo was fairly small, which was why there was a smaller crew and why Vander seemed so confident in being able to pull this job off. Beckett, Annie, and a small group of older children would blend into the night and act as lookouts and distributors when the main team got the goods into the Lanes.

The kettle began to wail, and Viktor thumped into the kitchen, dressed in long-johns and wooly socks. Katya quickly prepared two mugs of nighttime tea and set them on the small table.

“Shall we play a round of cards before bed?” she asked, looking for anything to keep her mind off of Sevika and the Children of Zaun.

Viktor nodded his head and pulled his mug toward him, curling his small hands around the ceramic, relishing the warmth seeping out. He lowered his lips to the rim and blew steadily across the tea’s surface, ripples eddying away and breaking on the opposite side of the cup. He grinned at the patterns in the water.

He hoped they could swim tomorrow.

Katya fetched a tattered deck of cards from a cabinet and sat opposite her brother. The cards were mismatched; a hodgepodge of suits from various decks to create a full set, with several different sizes and weights in paper. It made shuffling the deck very clunky.

That’s what Katya told herself, anyway. It certainly wasn’t the slight, agitated tremble in her fingers.

She dealt the hands, and the game began. Each set of amber eyes looking at the other over a fan of cards or a chipped mug rim.

An hour and a cup of tea later, Katya had claimed victory over her brother. In a winner’s flourish, she set her cards down and Viktor’s forehead thumped against the table’s edge in defeat, a world-weary sigh escaping his lips. After a beat, they both laughed, and Katya collected their empty mugs.

“Bedtime,” she said, placing them in the sink.

Viktor yawned and nodded, stiffly rising from his seat. Together, they went to his bedroom. Katya took his cane as he lifted himself into bed, and she carefully set it against his nightstand. As Viktor settled against his thin mattress and pillows, Katya drew the blankets up around him, fluffing them about his neck. A smile tugged at her lips as she watched his eyes droop.

“Good night, Viktor,” she whispered, leaning down and kissing his forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Kat,” he yawned, snuggling deeper into the nest he was making himself.

She turned down the lamp on his bedside table and quietly left the room, sparing him one last glance before shutting the door. Katya softly padded her way to her bedroom and changed into her usual sleepwear of an oversized shirt. She sat on the edge of her bed and undid the braid her hair was wound up in. Now that Viktor was in bed, now that it was quiet, the worries swirling in her mind stormed against the edges of her brain. She did her best not to catastrophize, but images of Enforcers and bloodied bodies kept flickering behind her eyes.

What if Beckett was wrong? Even if he wasn’t, what if the plan fell through and the Children’s scheme fell apart, leading to a massive manhunt for the other members of this clandestine revolution?

Fear tickled the back of Katya’s throat and her knee bobbled nervously.

What had she gotten herself into?

“You deserve opportunity and respect, Katya. You shouldn’t have needed to work to help support your family when you were six. Your parents shouldn’t have been taken away from you, leaving you to figure out how to keep your brother alive. You deserve more than just eking out meager survival, Katya.”

Katya gulped a breath as the memory of Silco’s words cut through the murk of her anxiety like a hot knife through butter.

“Piltover will never see us as worthy of respect or opportunity. They will never give those things to us. We will have to take them.”

Katya rose to her feet, gathered the blanket on her bed and strode out of her room. If she wasn’t going to sleep, she might as well do something useful, do something that kept her mind off of the mission. Off of the miner that insisted on taking up residence in her head.

Katya plopped herself down on the ratty couch in the apartment’s main room and tucked the blanket around her. She slid a slender hand underneath the furniture and drew out a large anatomy textbook she hid there.

When their father died, Katya sold a great many items from their former home she deemed unimportant and nonessential. She didn’t want to, but she and her brother needed the money. The books her father had gathered throughout his life – the books he used to cull and feed Viktor’s mind – were too valuable to part ways with.

Katya settled into the creaky and lumpy couch, opening the heavy book to the page she had previously dog-eared and resumed reading about the human respiratory system.

Harsh and relentless knocking jolted Katya wake. The book, which had been resting open on her thighs, tumbled noisily to the floor. Her heart pounded against her sternum, limbs locking in surprise.

What time was it? How long had she been asleep?

The knocking ceased only for a moment before it started up again. Her limbs released themselves and she shot to her feet, wide eyes glued to the door. Her mouth was dry, unsure of what to do; unsure of what was happening.

“Kat?” a tired voice mumbled from the hall. “What’s that?”

The noise had also woken Viktor and he was now sleepily leaning on his cane and the wall, looking between her and the door. The siblings jumped as the knocking turned to pounding.

“Go back to your room,” Katya hissed as she stumbled toward the door.

“But – “

“Go back to your – “

“Katya!” a voice rasped from behind the door, and she froze.

“Who’s that?” Viktor squeaked.

“Go back to your room,” Katya repeated, waving him away. Viktor flinched at her tone and brandishing arm.

Katya’s hands wrenched the brace pole away from the door and unlocked the deadbolt. She left the lock chain in place. Just in case.

She cautiously opened the door as far as the chain would let her and peered outside. Silco’s thin body and pale face filled the opening. Behind him, Katya could make out the burly silhouettes of three others: Sevika and Vander, with Benzo hung in the middle, his arms around the others’ shoulders. Katya’s eyes flicked back to Silco.

“We need your help,” he hissed.

Chapter Text

Katya froze, her voice stuck in her throat. She wasn’t sure how long she stood in the gap of the doorway, staring up at Silco’s wide, bright eyes. His face was slack, mouth agape, his breath huffing out in pants. Behind him, Katya could see the silhouettes of Vander and Sevika heaving with equal exertion. Benzo’s form shook and trembled with . . . something else . . .

Physical pain.

Recognizing it, Katya’s brain surged back online. She shut the door and pulled the chain loose before opening it wide. She stood aside and ushered them in.

“What happened? Were you followed?” Katya asked in a rush, closing the door and locking it back up.

“We wouldn’t have come if we were,” answered Silco.

“Take him to the living room,” directed Katya to Vander and Sevika. Her eyes quickly assessed the man slung between them as they adjusted their hold. “Put the blanket on the floor and lay him on it.”

It wasn’t hard to miss what was wrong: Benzo’s left pant leg was saturated with blood. A belt had been tied high up on his thigh near his groin. A few inches below the tight tourniquet was the source of the injury: a gaping hole, the blood there deeper red and glistening.

“Be careful with him,” Katya said.

Silco brushed past her to help Vander and Sevika lower their injured Brother onto the floor. Benzo took advantage of the safety the apartment provided and cried out as he was laid back. From the corner of her eye, Katya saw a small body jump at the sound.

Her brother!

She lurched forward and grabbed Viktor by the arm, leading him back to his room. He made a disgruntled, surprised sound, but otherwise didn’t put up much of a fight. She closed the door behind them and knelt to Viktor’s eye level.

“I need you to stay in here.”

“Who is that? What’s wrong?” he asked, amber eyes wide and fearful.

“Someone who is hurt,” Katya half-answered, sweeping her hands soothingly down her brother’s round cheeks. “He needs help, and I need you to stay in here.”

“But – “

“Please Viktor,” Katya begged. “Just . . . do as I say. Stay in here.”

Viktor frowned in-between his sister’s hands, an unsettled feeling creeping under his skin. A cry from the living room muffled its way through the door and his eyes flicked over his sister’s shoulder.

“If you stay in here, we will go to the Springs tomorrow,” Katya bribed as she tilted her head to one side, forcing herself back into Viktor’s eyeline. He pursed his lips in consideration and gave the smallest of nods.

Satisfied and relieved, Katya gave her brother a weak smile before leaving him in his bedroom.

Sevika and Vander were slowly lowering Benzo onto the blanket.  Silco held his left ankle steady, and Katya watched as her blanket soaked up the blood from Benzo’s pants. She grimaced watching the dark puddle spread through the threads like an unfurling rose, edges wide and soft.

“What happened?” she asked again, dropping to her knees to inspect the injury. It was hard to see in the low-light of the apartment and she waved in the direction of the lamp near the couch. Sevika hurriedly twisted the knob and yellowish light washed over the room.

The area around the wound was messy. Bloody, torn pants, ripped and punctured flesh. It looked like –

“He was shot,” Vander said in a hoarse voice.

Katya resisted the incredible urge to ask how or why Benzo got shot. There would be time for that later; for now, she needed to work.

“Am – am I dyin’?” Benzo garbled, his head twisting side to side as he tried to inspect his leg. “It feels like I’m dyin’.”

Katya didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if he was dying and she wasn’t about to give him an empty promise.

Instead, she said, “Hush. Don’t talk. Try not to move. You’ve already lost a lot of blood.”

“Oh Gods! I’m dyin’!” Benzo wailed, a sob breaking at the back of his throat.

“Shut up, you idiot!” Silco hissed.

“’Vika, bring that lamp closer,” Katya said, ignoring the outburst.

Sevika was quick about her order and hovered the lamp light over Benzo’s leg. Katya leaned in toward the bullet hole, not wanting to put her hands on him just yet. Her eyes traveled up to the belt around his thigh and back down.

“Is there an exit wound?”

Katya looked to Sevika, Vander, and Silco. All three stared back. Katya set her jaw.

“We’ll have to move him so I can see if there is one,” she explained. “Wait here. Keep him quiet.”

She got up, tugging and smoothing the hem of her sleep shirt as she padded to her bedroom. There, she collected a small sewing kit, a clean shirt, and a hair tie. Upon returning, she set the kit and shirt on the couch before going to the kitchen. She pulled her long hair back into a tight bun as she went. From the kitchen, she fetched a bowl of water and a wooden spoon before returning to her patient.

“Kat,” Sevika hushed in a nervous tone as she came back, “d-do . . . do you want to put on some pants?”

“I don’t have time for pants,” Katya spat back, entirely disinterested in whether or not she was decent. There was a man bleeding out on her floor for Janna’s sake!

She dropped to Benzo’s side again, carefully placing the bowl of water down. Opening the sewing kit, Katya withdrew a small pair of shears and began to cut Benzo’s pant leg below the tight belt.

“Did you do the tourniquet, ‘Vika?” Katya asked as she mindfully cut.

“Yeah.”

Katya nodded, her eyes affixed to her task. “You did a good job.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, a gleeful shade of coral blushed Sevika’s cheeks.

Once the pant leg was cut, Katya delicately shed the cloth down Benzo’s trembling leg. To his credit, Benzo managed to keep his noises of pain and discomfort as timid whimpers and hisses. His boot was unbuckled and shucked off so the whole pant leg could be pulled from his body. Katya handed the soaked fabric to Silco.

“Take this to the kitchen sink and rinse it off. Wring it dry.”

She was pleased and grateful that he took the garment without question and disappeared into the kitchen.

“I need to see if there is an exit wound,” she repeated. “You’ll need to hold his leg up.”

The direction was given to Vander, who swallowed and gave his Brother an apologetic look before coming to a crouch. Vander gently cradled Benzo’s calf in his hands and lifted the leg up. A sharp cry tore through Benzo’s mouth, and both Vander and Sevika jumped.

“Hold steady,” Katya instructed, unperturbed by the outburst. She maneuvered around the injured man and ducked low to inspect the underside of his leg. With a wave of her hand, Sevika was silently directed to readjust the lamp’s beam.

“You can put his leg back down. Slowly,” said Katya, righting herself. She took up the wooden spoon. “There does not appear to be an exit wound.”

Vander cautiously lowered Benzo’s leg, keeping a reassuring hand on his shin.

“Is that good?”

“It means that the bullet is still in his thigh,” Katya answered. She brought the spoon’s handle up to Benzo’s mouth. “You will want to bite down on this.”

His eyes bugged in panic and his teeth chattered.

“I’m sorry. This is the best I can do. I will be quick about this,” she said kindly.

As Benzo reluctantly took the wooden handle between his teeth, Silco reappeared with the rinsed and wrung pant leg.

“Lay it out and make sure none of the fabric is missing, especially around the tear,” Katya ordered, as she cut and ripped a piece of the shirt she had brought from her bedroom. After dunking and squeezing the cloth into the water bowl, she gently wiped the area around Benzo’s wound. The wood squeaked between his teeth.

She set the now red cloth aside and took out a pair of tweezers from the sewing kit.

“You’ll need to hold his legs steady,” she said to Vander.

Vander set his jaw and his hands firmly on Benzo’s ankles. His grey eyes worriedly looked to his Brother’s piqued face.

“I am going to make sure the femoral artery isn’t injured and then take the bullet out,” Katya explained, her brow furrowed. “Do your best not to move. Take a deep breath in.”

Benzo’s head dropped back onto the floor and he pulled a great breath in through the spoon and his teeth.

“And out.”

As he began to exhale, Katya spread the wound open with her fingers and methodically probed the ragged muscle tissue with the tweezers. Benzo lost what little composure he had left. He screamed into the spoon, his spine arched, and he tried to pull his legs out from Vander’s grip.

“Hold him still,” Katya commanded firmly, her eyes still glued to her work.

Vander grimaced and tightened the hold on Benzo’s ankles.

“Tilt the light over here, ‘Vika.”

Sevika adjusted the beam of light as Katya carefully moved within the wound. Occasionally, she would use a scrap of shirt to dab and gather blood that was pooling around the jagged hole.

“They missed your femoral artery,” Katya breathed, her shoulders softening. “That’s good.”

Deep within his muscle tissue, she finally uncovered the Enforcer’s slug.

Pinching the tips of the forceps around the domed metal, she said, “Deep breath in.”

Benzo, who was crying and wailing behind the spoon, choked on shallow breaths.

“C’mon ‘Zo,” Sevika pleaded. “You can do it. Like this – “

Benzo’s watery eyes found the teen and he watched her torso inflate with a mighty breath. Katya watched the teen guide the young man and was reminded of how much she missed having her in the clinic.

Finally, Benzo drew a long, shaky inhale through his snotty nose. As he pushed the air out of his body, Katya drew the tweezers from his leg, the shot firmly held between the pincers. She quickly pressed a clean wad of shirt to the wound as a fresh geyser of blood pooled in the opening. She dropped the bullet into the bowl of water and it sank to the bottom, a trail of blood wisping behind it.

“Is any fabric missing from the pant leg?” Katya asked, looking to Silco.

He smoothed his hand over the fabric in front of him and replied, “Yes. It looks like there’s a small piece missing near the tear. The cloth won’t knit together unless pulled.”

He held the pant leg up and pulled it taut, displaying how the hole in it still gaped. Katya grit her teeth and turned her attention back to Benzo’s wound.

“I will try to make this as quick as possible,” she said, her eyes looking to Benzo’s. “I cannot leave a foreign object inside the wound. There’s a good chance of infection if left behind.”

Benzo squeezed his eyes shut, heavy head thunking onto the floor. A pained groan peeled from his sweating throat.

“Come closer, ‘Vika,” Katya murmured, gesturing the teen over.

Sevika heeded her order and leaned in further, positioning the lamp light over Katya’s bloodied hands.

The young medic was true to her word, and after a minute of prodding around Benzo’s muscle, her tweezers fished out a small bit of cloth. Katya dunked it into her water bowl – now colored red – and handed it over to Silco. He took it and puzzled the piece against the hole in the pant leg.

“That’s it,” he said.

Katya nodded and dabbed the wound again.

“I just need to sew this up and wrap it and then we’re done.”

With practiced swiftness, Katya threaded a needle and began the suturing process. It was much more difficult with a sewing needle and thread. She made a mental note to get the proper tools for the stash kept at The Drop. Katya was more adept at sewing and wrapping wounds than she wanted to be, and in no time at all, Benzo’s thigh was cleaned and dressed. Gingerly, her fingers unhooked the belt from around his thigh and slid it off.

“Sevika, go get some water from the kitchen, please. Cups are in the right cupboard.”

Sevika placed the lamp back on its table before striding into the kitchen.

Katya gently reached for the spoon in Benzo’s mouth and whispered, “It’s all done. Let me have this back.”

Benzo’s jaw creaked open and Katya pulled the spoon away from his teeth. Deep divots dotted the wood from his bite. A warbly breath huffed out from between his lips, followed by a cry that seemed too small and meek for such a large man. Balling up the last scrap of shirt, Katya dabbed the sweat away from his forehead, temples, and neck.

Sevika returned with the cup of water. Katya reached for it and instructed Vander to lift Benzo’s shoulders and head up.

“Just drink this, then you can rest,” she said, lifting the cup’s rim to the injured man’s lips.

Stiltedly, he gulped the water down. Once the cup was drained, Vander lowered his Brother back onto the floor. Benzo’s eyes went glassy and their lids drooped.

“’Zo?” Vander gasped, worry etching his features.

“His adrenaline is wearing off,” Katya explained, leaning her back against the couch. “His body is too tired to stay awake. Which is fine. He will need rest anyway.”

Katya worried her lower lip with her top teeth as her eyes stayed on her patient. He couldn’t stay here, but he also couldn’t be moved. Not yet, anyway. Hopefully by morning, he could be transferred to his home or The Drop. He would need medicine to temper the fever that was sure to come.

Wearily, Sevika plopped her large body on to the couch. It squeaked and complained against her weight.

Clapping a large hand on Katya’s shoulder, she said, “Nice job, Kat. I knew you could – “

The sharp sound of Sevika’s hand hitting her shoulder and the weight of it, jolted Katya back to the original question.

“What happened?”

Her gold eyes flicked between Vander and Silco. Vander’s eyes fell to the floorboards. Silco held her gaze, but she saw his lower jaw slot further behind his upper one. Sevika’s hand slowly slid off of Katya’s shoulder, her strong fingers knotting together in-between her knees.

“What. Happened.”

“We didn’t get the cache,” Vander finally grumbled, still not looking at Katya.

“That does not answer my question.”

“It’s unclear at this point,” Silco said, “but we think one or two of the kids that were supposed to be with Annie and Beckett tried to board the freight before we did – “

“Why?”

“They probably thought they were helping,” Sevika mumbled.

Katya shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. Too late, she realized that she had never wiped her hands from working on Benzo. An annoyed huff burst through her lips and she used the collar of her sleep shirt to wipe the blood from her face. Resigned to the fact that the shirt was already dirty, she wiped her hands down the front of it.

“Did any of you say something about wanting or wishing for more help?” Katya asked slowly, her eyes closing.

Heavy, bashful, telling silence fell over the living room once again.

“We all met up at The Drop before headin’ out,” Vander mumbled. “To go over and confirm the plan for tonight. ‘Zo . . may have said something about wishin’ we had more able bodies to easily overtake the freight. I agreed, jokin’ like. We weren’t bein’ serious.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Katya shot back. “You’ve all set yourselves up as the leaders of this . . . revolution, “ the word still felt strange on her tongue, the idea buzzed in her mind and sent her heart pattering. “Most of the Brothers and Sisters are younger than you. They look up to you. When people look up to you, you do not get to be selfish. You do not get to speak so candidly. If you say run, they will. If you say swim, they will dive into the River. If you say you want a fire, they will show up with oil.”

Vander had the decency to look sheepish, his silver eyes avoiding her gold ones.

“Leading the fight for Zaun’s independence is a heavy mantle and should not be taken lightly,” Katya said. Silco gave the smallest of nods, a told-you-so smirk tilting the corners of his lips. “Whatever happens, it is on you. This mistake is on all of you.”

Katya huffed and leaned back against the couch, having leaned forward during her togue-thrashing. She was tired and annoyed by Vander and Benzo’s lack of thought. Annoyed that it brought them to her home in the dead of night. Annoyed that she was now down two shirts and one blanket because of their poor leadership skills.

“Did the children get away? Annie and Beckett?”

“Everyone dispersed as soon as the shit hit the fan,” Sevika said comfortingly. “I think it confused the crew and the Enforcers that followed. I think everyone else got away unharmed.”

“We are sure to hear tomorrow,” Silco murmured.

The four young adults sat quietly. News of the botched robbery was sure to be the only thing talked about for the next several days. No doubt Piltover would increase Enforcer presence in the Lanes. The Council may not know of the Children of Zaun yet, but they would have no doubt that such an attempted crime came from the Undercity.

Katya shuddered. Exhaustion creeping in now that there wasn’t a man bleeding out in her home. The apartment was cold, too. And now her blanket was soiled and pinned down by a large, injured man. She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her fingertips in her sleeves.

“Benzo cannot be moved yet,” she said in a quiet voice, her eyes dropping to the supine man at her feet. Benzo had since fallen into an uneasy sleep, the edges of his lips curling in discomfort every now and again. Katya squeezed her eyes shut. She knew what she had to offer. It was for the best.

“No doubt that Enforcers are scouring the Lanes, questioning everyone who is out. You will need to stay here for the night. In the morning, take Benzo back to The Drop.”

Not waiting for answers, responses, or scoffs, Katya got up and took the bowl of bloody water and empty cup back to the kitchen. Her teeth chattered behind her lips as she rinsed out the bowl and cup with cold water. Gooseflesh prickled up her naked legs.

“Katya,” a soft, low voice whispered from behind her back.

She jumped and the bowl fell from her hands, clanging against the metal sink. She turned to see that Silco had followed her into the kitchen. His eyes drifted down her front, taking in the new crimson stains that had been swiped there.

“Thank you for helping us,” he said, eyes lifting back to her own. A feline grin lifted his lips, flashing his slightly crooked teeth. “And thank you for calling Vander and Benzo out on their bullshit. Hopefully, they will start taking this more seriously and will stop joking about how I have a stick up my ass.”

Katya’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t have a stick – “

“No,” Silco back-peddled, shaking his head. “No. Sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate that you – No. Of course not. It’s just that they sometimes give me a hard time about my . . . passion, let’s call it . . . for our cause. ‘Zo insists I’m too intense. I just think hearing it from you might finally make them realize that what we are doing – “

“Is intense,” Katya finished with a murmur. She eyed the light pink flush on Silco’s cheeks with amusement. “Yes, well, I hope so, too.”

There was a beat before Silco said, “I’m sorry Benzo ruined your blanket. Do you have another?”

Katya shook her head and sighed. “No, I don’t.”

“What about shirts? You went through two tonight. Do you have another to change into?”

It was Katya’s turn to blush. But for her, it was about shame. She looked down at her ruined shirt, and shook her head.

Silco’s eyebrows creased together in consideration.

“Do you have a washroom?” he asked suddenly.

“Y-yes. Down the hall, first door to your left.”

Silco left as suddenly as he had crept up behind her. Katya stood for a moment, stupefied, before turning back to the sink. She dried the bowl and mug with a rag and stored them away. Silco strode back into the kitchenette as she closed the cupboard. A small bundle was in his hands, and Katya’s eyes curiously dropped to it.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her.

Katya’s hands automatically reached out for the offering. It was a warm, waffle-weaved fabric. “What? Is this?”

“It’s the . . . undershirt I was wearing tonight,” Silco explained, trying to sound nonchalant and not entirely succeeding. “Please take it. You have already assisted us to the detriment of your linens,” he said with a coy smile. “You’re cold, anyhow. Please take it. The Children of Zaun take care of each other.”

Katya held the garment away from her bloodied nightshift, her thumbs grazing over the weave’s raised texture. Her voice caught in her throat.

“Thank you,” she finally managed.

With that, she left the four Children of Zaun in her living room. Sevika sprawled herself over the couch, while Silco and Vander sat next to one another with their backs propped up against the far wall. Vander looked sallow and shamed, his gaze distant and thoughtful. Silco’s head rested in a large hand, his elbow supported against his boney knee.

Katya quietly snuck into Viktor’s bedroom. She thanked Janna and whoever else over saw the Undercity that he was sleeping. She pulled off her ruined shirt and tucked it behind Viktor’s dresser. She made a mental note to retrieve it later and dispose of it. She didn’t want her brother seeing such things.

Trying not to think about it too hard, Katya slipped the thermal Silco had given her over her head. It wasn’t as long in the waist and hips as her normal sleep attire, but the sleeves covered her hands and the collar hung loosely around her neck.

Gently, Katya slipped into bed behind her brother. Viktor tensed and made a small, muffled noise before settling back into his pillows. Tucking her arm under her head, Katya closed her eyes and willed sleep to come.

She tried not to think about the wounded man on her floor.

She tried not to think about the three soldiers littered about her apartment.

She tried not to think about Zaun.

She tried not to think about how warm her new shirt was.

She tried not to think how it smelled like Silco.

Cheap tobacco, citrus, and soil.

Chapter Text

Captain Grayson arrived at Piltover’s Southside docks shortly before daybreak. As much as she loved her job, and as aimable as she was to the needs of her city and its citizens, she couldn’t help but groan into the dark of her flat when the order arrived. The newest batch of Enforcer recruits had tried her patience all week and she was looking forward to an undisturbed weekend.

However, when Sheriff LeDaird called, she was duty-bound to answer.

Grayson stepped out of the carriage and gently tugged the hem of her stiff jacket down, righting the bunching at her belted waist. A cool, salty breeze breathed by and untucked a strand of hair from the bun at the base of her skull. Deftly, she brushed her hair back and slid the Captain’s hat over her head.

“This way, Captain,” her officer escort beckoned, voice echoing behind their mask.

Grayson turned on her bootheel and heeded the direction. Together, they strode down to the docks. The last pier to the south was washed in the bright lights of spots. Enforcers milled about, naturally parting away as she drew near. The wood under her thick-soled boots creaked and the water beneath the planks gently sloshed and lapped against the piers’ posts. As she walked, Grayson’s eyes were pulled across the River Pilt. The edges and points of the Undercity’s Promenade level were softly glowing in the predawn light. She wondered where the culprits had scurried off to.

“Captain Grayson.”

The sound of Sheriff LeDaird’s deep bell of a voice cut through the haze of morning and the ambient murmur of Enforcers like a gong. Grayson’s gaze snapped to attention, taking her commanding officer in. Built like a barrel and tall as a tree, Piltover’s sheriff stood at the top of the gangway that led to the crime scene. His deep skin disappeared into the dark of the morning, but his green eyes glimmered underneath his prominent brow bone.

“Sir,” Grayson greeted as she strode up the path towards him. She nodded respectfully.

“Did you review the initial report?”

“Yes. On my way over.”

LeDaird smirked. “Sorry to interrupt your weekend off.”

Grayson weakly grinned and shrugged. “It’s not your fault. You’re not the one who attempted to raid a freight vessel full of munitions.”

LeDaird nodded loosely before boarding the small barge. Grayson followed, her eyes flitting about, taking in the scene. Lower ranking Enforcers were questioning weary and ragged looking crew members; the cargo boxes that had been belted to the flat of the barge were scattered about; some of them riddled with bullet holes, others upturned, some dented and partially opened.

“Near as we can tell,” LeDaird began, “all the inventory is accounted for.”

“I’ll have it checked again before we close the scene,” Grayson said. “Is anything salvageable? I know headquarters was counting on this shipment for training the new recruits.”

“Most of it seems intact,” the Sheriff answered. “But it will be under lock and key as evidence until this case is wrapped.”

Grayson grimaced and sighed. She turned her attention towards the crew and jut her chin out.

“Did they see anything? Get a look at anyone?”

LeDaird furrowed his brow and sighed. “No concrete numbers, but they said there were definitely some kids. Approximately twelve-years-old or so. There was also a group of older ones – early twenties, maybe. They think maybe four or five of them. All from the Undercity by the looks of them.”

Grayson shook her head. “Kids? What are children doing getting involved with a job like this? Shop lifting, petty theft, and vandalism I can understand. But, trying to steal from a supply ship full of munitions?” she paused. “Do we think they knew what was on board?”

“That is unclear at this point. Officer Borobourgh is questioning the harbormaster right now. Seeing if there has been any unusual activity recently.”

Grayson frowned and her eyes swept over the shipment boxes again, then the crew, then across the river at the Undercity’s matching series of piers and docks.

“Is there anything else?”

“An on-duty Enforcer managed to shoot one of the older ones. In the leg he thinks, but he was assaulted before he could go after him.”

Grayson’s eyes widened and her head snapped back to the Sheriff.

“The officer will be fine,” LeDaird promised. “He was clocked in the head by a pipe, but word from the hospital is that he’s only been concussed. No internal bleeding or acute brain damage.”

“So,” Grayson huffed. “We have attempted felony robbery, intimidation, trespassing, and assaulting an officer.”

Her eyes once again landed on the shores and docks of the Undercity.

“It’s one thing to have something like this happen in the Lanes,” she mused. “It’s another to have it brought over here. How did they get here?”

LeDaird sighed through his nose and fixed his gaze onto the river’s dark water. “The crew,” his eyes looked back over to the small group of men huddled together, “said they heard small motors as the perpetrators escaped. Probably a small skipper or two. They did not get a good look,” he added as Grayson went to open her mouth.

It made sense. It would be easier to cross the river than the bridge.

An unnamed, amorphous hunch crept under Grayson’s skin. What happened was being pieced together; why was unknown. Grayson got to her station by not assuming the simple. It would’ve been easy to just say that it was a gaggle of disgruntled Trenchers and leave it at that.

But this . . . felt different. And she couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

“I’ll prepare a detail to go across the river. We’ll search the Shores and docks, and question the harbormaster there. And any other fishermen that might be around.”

LeDaird nodded in agreement.

Enyd was woken up by the familiar tickle in the back of her throat. She caught the first cough behind her teeth and rolled over, pawing at her bedside table until her fingers reached the tattered handkerchief there. She sat herself up and pressed the cloth firmly to her face. Her shoulders trembled and hunched, lungs heaved, and throat pulsed as she retched as quietly as she could.

When it passed, she sat catching her breath, handkerchief still pressed to her mouth. Her body trembled and she felt the cool, dampness of sweat underneath her nightclothes. A gentle, phlegmy rumble shook the base of her throat. She grimaced and pushed a wad of mucus into the handkerchief. Her hand fumbled for the chem-light at her side, fingers shakily pinching around the knob, turning it. The filaments within hummed and glowed to life. Heart pattering unevenly against her breastbone, Enyd slowly drew the cloth away and peeked down at what she had bore.

A slimy glob of brownish-red.

A sigh blew through her nose. Usually, a wispy breath like that would set off an additional fit. But since starting the medicine regimen earlier in the week, Enyd had noticed a difference in her symptoms. The coughs were looser, retches not as deep and throat peeling, fits less frequent.

Enyd swung her feet to the floor and gingerly rose from her bed. Keeping the hand holding her handkerchief carefully cupped, she stuck her head out of her bedroom door and glanced down the hall. The door to Silco’s bedroom was closed; it had been open when she went to bed.

Enyd shuffled on the balls of her feet to the bathroom. She rinsed the cloth in the sink, ushering the bloody ball of mucus down the drain. She used the cold water, a small bar of lye and the pads of her thumbs to press out the stain from the fabric before wringing it out, and laying it over the sink’s edge to dry.

The vial of medicine sat proudly between the damp rag and the sink’s rinse cup. Her fingers only hesitated a moment before taking her morning dose.

She quietly left the bathroom, noting the faint light that was beginning to drift down the hallway from the apartment’s windows. Before returning to her room to dress for the day, she slipped down the hall to Silco’s door and quietly cracked it open. He had told her the day before that he would be out late at The Last Drop, and he had not yet returned home by the time she lay herself down for sleep.

A warm smile pulled the edges of her mouth as Enyd’s eyes fell upon her son, sprawled across the top of his bed, still fully dressed, shoes on. Silco lay on his stomach, arms bunched up under the pillow his head rested on. Enyd watched the lazy rise and fall of his back and listened to the weak, uneven snores pushed out through his sleep slack mouth. Sweet warmth bloomed in her chest, like a late spring breeze. With great care, she shut the door and returned to her bedroom.

Once dressed, Enyd readied the kettle and gnawed on a crust of bread with marmalade. Her gaze drifted to the kitchen window, watching the many facets of glass shimmer and gleam in the wavering sunlight that had managed to push through the Grey. Today, she would bake. But first she needed to run an errand. The kettle’s breath warbled and the tin jostled against the stove grates as the water inside bubbled and roiled. Enyd turned off the flame, poured the hot water into her teacup, and bounced the bag in its bath.

One of her Promenade clients had given her a small bag of metal and glass trinkets as a means to round out their payment. She had never had a use for such things, and she wasn’t going to find one now. Unwilling to haggle about it, she had taken the few coins and the jumble of knick-knacks without any fuss. She would take the useless things to Benzo’s shop and pawn them for however much he would offer.

Enyd took the teacup up, pressing its warm rim to her lips, before taking a small sip. Since starting the medicine, she had returned to her old morning blend, shoving the medicinal tea way back into the shadows of a cupboard.

She could remember how it smelled, as tendrils of steam curled under her nose. Deep, heady notes of earth, slices of bright grass, and quick floral hints that appeared and left so quickly that she was never sure if she had actually smelled it. She was pretty sure she had.

Now, the smell was little more than a memory. There were faint whiffs of it on the blurry edges of the steam, but mostly the drink under her nose smelled hot. She took a sip, and let the nothing-tasting liquid flow down her throat.

Once wrapped in the long sweater that nipped at her ankles and the bundle of trinkets stowed in her bag, Enyd traveled out into the Lanes. She left a note for Silco, but was certain he would still be asleep by the time she got back.

It was still early enough that only a few stall workers had unfurled their awnings. Shopkeepers flit around their storefronts, opening shutters and wiping down grime-streaked windows. Enyd slid through and past other Trenchers, catching snippets of arguments, transactions, and gossip.

More than once she heard someone mutter about the docks and Enforcers.

She kept her head down and wound her way to the street that Benzo’s shop was tucked into. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she neared, seeing that the windows were still dark. Slipping beneath the iron and glass portico, she stepped closer and peered into the storefront’s large, circular window. Enyd cupped a hand next to her temple as her eyes scoured the dim interior.

Benzo usually had his shop open by this time. He was many things: young, brazen, sometimes immature, but he was a punctual and responsible business owner. Enyd knew that Benzo and his father (the elder Benzo) had a very rocky relationship, but both men loved the family business. The pawn and scrap shop had been in their family for generations; had sat squeezed and buckled between two buildings whose occupants and businesses changed like the seasons, but Benzo’s treasure trove stayed. As much a fixture in the Lanes as Vander’s bar was.

Stepping away from the window, Enyd went to the door. She tried the handle, and it refused to give under the bolt. Fingers squeezed the strap of her satchel worriedly, and she chewed her bottom lip. She lifted herself up onto the toes of her shoes and peeked through the window at the top of the door. Dropping back on her heels, she rapped her knuckles against the wood.

“Benzo?”

Silence from inside the shop; warm morning bustling from behind her. She knocked and called again. Still nothing.

While it would be unlike him, Enyd supposed he might be sleeping off a late night at The Drop like Silco was doing. Possible, yes, but a cool, intuitive tickle ghosted under her skin.

Sighing in resignation, Enyd traveled back home.

Katya tiredly watched her brother splash and float in the small grotto. It had been a long morning – too long – but Viktor seemed happy at the moment. And Katya tried to let her peace rest in the glow of his delight. She sighed, head resting heavy in her hands and looked down at the dusty tips of her boots.

She hadn’t slept well. Or at all, really. Her slumber had teetered on the cusp of consciousness so that she would be sure to wake before Viktor. Katya did not want him traipsing into the living room. She didn’t want him to get any closer to the Children of Zaun. He needn’t know.

The moment Katya’s tuned-in ears heard the faintest rustle outside Viktor’s bedroom door, she bolted upright. The darkness outside the bedroom window was shifting from something inky and deep to indigo and soft. Dawn had started to usher night out of the Sump, and Katya needed to do the same to her impromptu guests.

Quick and quiet as an actual Sump Rat, she slipped from her brother’s bed, gathered her bloodied nightshift, and went to her bedroom. She stuffed the soiled garment under her bed and pulled on a pair of trousers. Now that the eminent danger had passed, and the spike of adrenaline along with it, rosy and hot embarrassment about her bareness flooded her mind and creamy skin. She did her best to shake it off as she tip-toed past Viktor’s room and into the living space.

Her ears and vigilance had not deceived her: Benzo had been sat upright; his broad back heaved against the front of the couch. Sevika held the same lamp in her hand as she inspected his bandages. Vander came in from the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand. Noticing her, he nodded. Katya noted that the grey under his eyes matched their irises. He had also not slept well.

He knelt beside Benzo and helped him lift the cup to his lips and drink.

“We’ll be outta your hair soon,” he whispered. “Sil went out t’fetch a cart from ‘Zo’s shop. It’ll be easier than tryin’ to drag ‘em to The Drop.”

Katya nodded as she, too, knelt at Benzo’s side. His skin was ashen and clammy. His eyes were fogged and his jaw was slack. She brought the back of her hand to his forehead. As she expected, a fever was beginning to catch. Benzo mumbled something through dry and lazy lips as she took her hand away.

“You’re not going to die,” she finally promised. Katya’s eyes flicked to Sevika. “How’s the wound?”

“It’s fine. Red. Swollen. But fine.”

Katya nodded. “He’ll need redressing once you get him situated at The Drop. There are a couple bottles of painkillers in the stash I gave to you. Give him two every six hours with food, as needed. Make sure he drinks a lot of water and keep him fed. No ale or liquor, it will thin his blood and he’ll bleed more. He’ll need to be still for a few days to allow the stitches and skin to knit. Wash and redress the wound once a day – “

Vander nodded along to Katya’s instructions, his jaw set and brow determined.

“He’ll hate the no drinking thing,” Sevika japed, setting the lamp back on its table.

Katya rolled her eyes. “I have no doubt.”

The apartment door opened and Silco swept inside. “Alright, I got the blasted cart. Let’s load him up and get to The Drop before anymore of the Lanes wake up.”

Quietly as they could, Sevika and Vander hauled Benzo up, guided him out of the apartment, and into the waiting scrap-cart outside.

“Do you know how to drive that thing?” Sevika asked as she and Vander lifted their wounded Brother into the back of the cart.

“I drove it here, didn’t I?” Silco spat.

“Enough,” came Vander’s gruff voice. “We need’ta get goin’. Thank you fer your help, Katya.”

The large barman took up the cart’s passenger seat and Sevika settled in the back to help keep Benzo steady. Silco closed the cart’s rear door with a hefty thunk, securing the two in. He turned back, his eyes landing on Katya.

“That,” he began before immediately snapping his mouth shut. His eyes hardened and instead he whispered, “Thank you.”

With that he whisked into the cart and it clunkily drove away. Katya shut the apartment door, and heavy weariness cloaked her as she gathered the bloodied blanket off of the living room floor and stuffed it under her bed, too.

“Katya! Katya! Kat!” Viktor’s voice cut through the murk of her memories, and she lifted her head from her hands. He was standing in the middle of the pool, the warm water up to his chest. A huge smile was plastered across his face and his gangly arms were waving in the air, vying for her attention.

“Watch this!” he called excitedly.

“I’m watching.”

Viktor spun and flopped back into the water, splashing noisily. His upper body dove under the surface and his scrawny legs stuck up in the air like a pair of twisted, leafless saplings. His legs traveled a few inches through the water as, Katya could only assume, he walked on his hands. His pale legs traveled a few more inches when they curled over, tumbling back into the water with the rest of him.

Viktor exploded through the surface, his chestnut hair plastered to his head and a wide smile covering his face. He looked to his sister expectantly.

“Very good,” Katya weakly applauded.

She wished she could sound more excited for him. He was so happy to swim. But she was so tired. Aside from the stressful night’s events and early morning, once Viktor rolled out of bed, he had insisted on needling her with questions about ‘those people’ and ‘what happened to that man’. She had hoped promising him a trip to the Springs would encourage him to drop the subject. Katya had tried to give the same non-answer she had the night before. That he was just a hurt person who needed help.

Alas . . . Viktor was eleven. And insatiably curious.

“But do you know him? Why did he come here? Who were the other people? Was that Sevika? Why did they know your name? What happened? How did he get hurt? Is he going to be okay? Where did you get that shirt?”

Katya’s fuse was long, especially for her brother, but she had reached the end of it. She yelled at him to stop pestering her with questions and told him to never bring it up again, that it wasn’t his concern.

Viktor’s gold eyes went wide and watery before they shamefully dropped down to his breakfast. His spoon made idle, distracted circles in his porridge. The apartment was dreadfully quiet in the wake of Katya’s outburst. She left her brother at the kitchen table, instructing him to finish his breakfast, and went to take a shower.

When she peeled off her shirt, a fresh burst of Silco’s scent wafted around her. Something akin to gratitude and relief washed over her feelings of shame and anger. She shook it off and flung the garment to the ground.

Once she was washed and dressed, the roiling anger and anxiety tempered into an exhausted sludge of regret. Katya found Viktor in his bedroom dressing for the day. She apologized for yelling and held him close. She did not, however, answer any of his questions.

She was grateful that as they wandered out for their day Viktor’s mood seemed to improve. Like flipping a switch, his sheepish demeanor gave way to buzzing excitement as the pair journeyed to the Shores and the Undercity’s docks. He had packed his notebook and a few pencils in his bag, along with the change of clothes Katya insisted upon, and chattered away about the kinds of boats he hoped to see once they got to the piers.

Anxiety bubbled back up and Katya’s stomach twisted as the docks came into sight.

Enforcers. Everywhere.

Her hand scrabbled for Viktor’s upper arm and drew him close to her side. He went expectedly docile and pliable, his excited prattle dying down in the midst of Piltover’s finest. His eyes fell to his feet and Katya guided him down the rickety steps and planks. Her eyes skirted up and down the several piers, hoping there would be one under less scrutiny. As her eyes traveled, she spied a wick of flame orange hair. Stomach tumbling to her feet, Katya’s fingers gripped Viktor’s sleeve like a vice. Beckett and an older gentleman were in an intense discussion with an Enforcer. Her throat went dry and she steered her brother in the opposite direction.

“Ma’am,” a hollow, tinny voice called out.

Katya wrestled down the cry that wanted to burst through her mouth, and her hand wrung Viktor’s arm hard enough to pull a squeak out of him. The pair stumbled back as a tall Enforcer stepped forward. The mask flashed in the sunlight, causing both siblings to wince.

“No civilians on the docks at this time,” the Enforcer said. “There’s an ongoing investigation.”

Katya felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. She drew Viktor into her chest and blinked furiously, nodding. She tugged her brother back the way they came. She felt him tense under her grip, and she knew he wanted to protest. Fortunately, he was not as insistent as he had been earlier in the morning. Together they made their way back into the Undercity.

“We will go to look at the boats another time,” promised Katya, lessening her grip on Viktor’s arm. “I am sorry.”

Viktor’s head nodded in heavy, disappointed understanding.

“It will just give us more time at the Springs,” his sister offered, trying to infuse her tone with excitement. “More time for swimming.”

She was thankful to see a small smile pull at the corners of her brother’s mouth.

They had made their way through the outskirts of the Underground, where the earth had a little more say over the iron buildings. Large sandy colored rocks cut a harsh line between the Undercity and the Pilt. Jagged rocks gave way to tumbled dunes as the Oases came into view, the high walls of Piltover gleaming in the late morning sun. Waterfalls from the drainage pipes glistened, flowed, and fed the small lagoons nestled in the fissure. The harsh echoes and screeches of children clamored off of the rocks and cement as they urged one another to jump from higher and higher ledges.

Katya shook her head and steered Viktor on the path towards the Springs. At the bottom of the chasm, they followed a thin but fierce trickle of a stream away from the Oases. Eventually it forked and their trail followed the right tine. The flow of water lessened as they carefully clambered under a large jut of stone into a wide littoral cave. The opening was large enough to allow daylight to shine and glint against the surfaces of the several turquoise pools that covered the cave floor. Warm, earthy gurgles emanated from beneath the rocks and steam danced on the pools’ glassy surfaces. The air was warm, damp, and smelled of iron and minerals.

“Are you going to swim, too?” Viktor asked, as he began to undress down to his smallclothes.

“No, not today,” came Katya’s answer as she sat heavily on a rock. “Please stay in the shallower pools.”

Thankfully, Viktor heeded her and kept to splashing happily in the pools where his toes reached the bottom.

In the afterglow of his handstand trick, Viktor whooped and flopped onto his back, letting the water thick with salt carry him. Katya watched her brother float, her fingertips absently circling around her temples. She peeked over her shoulder at the cave’s mouth, on guard for any sign of an Enforcer, carefully watching the arc of the sun.

They had been at the Springs for a couple hours at least, and despite not being spied on or interrupted, her mind and body sat upon a needle point – sharp and precarious. Her tired brain flitted between last night’s events, wondering how Benzo was doing, yelling at Viktor, the Enforcers at the docks, seeing Beckett being questioned . . .

“Kat!”

Katya jumped and her eyes automatically locked onto Viktor’s small face peeking at her from behind the edge of the pool. He smiled up at her.

“Do you know why the pools are warm?”

A soft smile bloomed across Katya’s face. She did know. Their father had explained it to her when he brought her to the Springs when she was young.

“No. Do you know?”

Viktor nodded and pushed off the edge of the pool, cutting back through the water in a great wake. He fanned his arms out and laid back once more.

“There is this stuff called magma under Runeterra’s surface,” Viktor explained, his voice bouncing off the wet stones, “magma is molten rock and metal. And in some areas the distance between the magma and the surface is thin enough to heat water. Sometimes, there are even underground pools that get heated and they boil and bubble up through cracks and fissures in the surface, feeding into existing pools up here.”

Katya nodded her head along with Viktor’s explanation and made appropriate ‘oo-ing’ and ‘ah-ing’ sounds.

“Did you learn that in school?”

Viktor somersaulted in the water and swam with small kicks back to the edge. “Yes. Last semester in geography.”

Humming in understanding, Katya’s eyes took her brother in warmly. His pale skin was turning bright pink from the heat of the pool and the tips of his fingers were well-pruned. She looked back up over her shoulder at the light in the sky.

“We should get going soon, Viktor,” she said, turning back to him.

As she anticipated, her brother groaned and his face slipped from view as he slunked under the water. She chuckled at the stream of bubbles that erupted and foamed on the surface above his head. She pulled out her pocket watch and eyed the time.

“You have thirty more minutes!” she called, hoping her words were clear.

After a moment, Viktor’s head breached the surface, a fierce stream of water leading the way through his puckered lips. Katya shrieked and hunched over her lap as her brother’s attack arced over her head. Viktor laughed, a bright and throaty sound that bounced around the cavern. He squealed in delight and flailed away as his sister lurched forward to splash water back at him.

Katya allowed Viktor forty minutes more – though she did not tell him about the extra time – to swim and float in the warm pool. When she called him back, the only resistance to her beckoning was found on his face. He dutifully swam back to the edge and allowed her to help him out of the water. She dried him off with a scratchy, old towel and helped him back into his brace, and change of clothes.

The Oases were still full of Undercity and Piltovian children when Katya and Viktor made their way back around. She gently coaxed her brother along, a reassuring hand wound round his arm. She did her best to ignore the wanting and envious way his eyes widened as the other children splashed, yelped, and climbed.

The hobble home was long. And stressful. Katya really couldn’t tell if Enforcers were more present in the dingy streets of the Sump or if it was her anxiety-riddled imagination. Several times, she skirted her and Viktor’s path down a narrow side street, through an alley, or up a rusty gangway to avoid crossing paths with law enforcement. Katya’s heart knocked insistently at her sternum and she murmured nothing answers to Viktor’s questions about their strange route home.

Enyd was pulling the fourth loaf of bread from the small oven when she heard Silco’s bedroom door open. She placed the pan on the counter and gave it a firm tap as he staggered into the kitchen.

“Good afternoon.”

A sleep-addled grunt huffed through his lips as he fumbled through the cupboard, looking for a glass. Exhaustedly, he leaned against the sink as he filled the cup. Enyd eyed the haze in his eyes and shadows across his face as she guided the bread from its pan.

Setting the newest loaf next to the others, she said, “Did you have fun last night?”

Silco gulped the water down and went to refill his cup. He made a noncommittal grunt at the back of his throat before downing the second glass.

“What time did you get home?”

Silco set the glass in the sink as his eyes traveled over the plump, brown loaves, lined up like fat soldiers on the wire rack.

“Not until early this morning,” he yawned.

Enyd couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled past her lips. Even when she was his age, she never stayed out so late.

“Why didn’t you just stay at The Drop? You know how dangerous it is walking through the Lanes at such an hour,” she reminded, drawing a mixing bowl close and punching down the cushion of dough within. With her eyes on her task, she missed the flicker of hesitance that flashed across his face.

“It was a busy night at The Drop,” Silco said. “Vander couldn’t close until much later than usual, so I stayed to help. He was in a real foul mood by the time we finished. I didn’t want to wake up and have to deal with it again. I was careful getting home,” he promised. “I didn’t even see any Enforcers,” he lied.

While he spoke, he eyed a smaller loaf that had been set to the side. It was less uniform than the ones on the cooling rack, and had one corner that was a crusty dome which promised a big, hollow bubble within. The perfect compartment for marmalade, butter, clotted cream, or a soft cheese. He stretched his long fingers toward the outcast, only to have his mother swat his hand away with a tea towel.

“There’s still some in the breadbox,” Enyd admonished. “That one is for Vander.”

Silco grumbled and retrieved the heel of bread from the box and an apple from the bag of produce his mother had received as payment from one of her tailoring clients. As he prepared a small plate, Enyd covered the punched dough with the towel and began scooping flour into a new, empty bowl.

“Was Benzo there last night?” she asked, leveling a cup.

Silco bit into an apple slice before answering. “He was.”

“Did he end up staying?”

His brows quirked, taking a bite of bread. He was unprepared for this line of questioning.

“I’m not sure. I’m not in the habit of keeping track of that oaf.”

“Silco,” Enyd chastised, scooping and leveling another cup of flour.

“Why do you ask?” he cut in before she could lecture him about kindness.

“I tried to go by his shop this morning to trade some brick-a-brac, and it wasn’t open. It was . . . unusual.”

Silco placed an apple slice on a hunk of bread, thinking. “He must’ve stayed then. Or he staggered home and passed out. You know how he likes to get overserved.”

Enyd nodded absent-mindedly as she poured the bloomed yeast into the mixing bowl, and stirred the mixture into a ball of dough with an old but sturdy wood spoon.

“Once I’m done with this, I would like to take that bread to Vander,” she nodded over to the small loaf her son had tried to covet. “Fancy joining me?”

Silco chewed the last bit of his snack, and nodded. “Yes. Let me wash up first.”

Katya walloped the pan against the radiator a second time, the broad bottom of the cooking implement clanging noisily against the iron, as if it were a temperamental xylophone. Her forearm quaked and her temper flared.

Upon returning home, she had directed Viktor to the shower. To wash off the silt and salt, but also to warm him back up. The air chilled considerably as they wove their way back home, and their journey was made longer by all the detours Katya guided him through. His teeth chattered and his body bent despite his brace. Katya had had half a mind to gather him up and carry him the rest of the way home. He would’ve hated that, though, so she allowed her instincts and self-loathing to war quietly within her.

With one more hearty CLANG! the radiator drunkenly gurgled and weakly hissed, as if a sick cat had taken up residence in the bent pipes. A remorseful sigh pushed through her lips and she lowered her culinary weapon. It would do. She trudged back to the kitchenette, placed the dented pan on the stovetop, and set about preparing supper.

As she prepared the slop of beans and dense oat cakes, her mind once again wandered. What had Beckett told the Enforcers? Had Enforcers swept deep enough into the Lanes to scour The Last Drop? How was Benzo fairing? Sevika? Vander? Silco?

Viktor limped into the kitchenette, one of his school books tucked under his free arm. He was dressed in his thermals and wool socks, his cheeks rosy from the shower and his eyes tired from the day’s events.  He sat himself at the table and cracked the textbook open, carefully peeling out the notes he had slid between the glossy pages.

He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Without a word, Katya swept out of the kitchen and returned with the blanket that usually lay rumpled on his bed. She tucked it around his shoulders and ran her fingers through his damp hair, willing it to dry faster.

“What are you reading?” she asked, returning to the pot of beans and giving it a stir.

“Chemistry,” Viktor chirped.

Katya nodded and flipped the oat cakes in the warped pan. They were only a little burned. She switched the burners off and set two plates. Viktor carefully scooted his papers aside and made space for his supper. She sat across from him, and watched her brother push his beans around while his eyes soaked up the pages in front of him, as if his nourishment was to be found within the pages of the text and not on his plate.

“Eat, Viktor,” she said, taking a spoonful of dinner to her mouth. It tasted like nothing, so he couldn’t claim he didn’t like it.

His eyes flicked to hers, and her spoon gestured to his plate. A small mound of beans and starchy broth piled onto his spoon and he brought it to his lips. He tentatively gnawed at the slop as his eyes went back to scanning the book.

Katya was fine with silence. She enjoyed watching her brother study, enjoyed how rapt his attention became in the presence of learning. She dug the edge of her spoon into the oatcake and pried it apart, mixing the crumbly hunk with the liquid dribbling off the beans.

“What are you learning in chemistry?” she asked, taking a small bite of the softened cake.

A small hum vibrated in the back of Viktor’s throat as he worked to focus on reading, eating, and answering his sister’s question.

“Chemical compositions.”

Katya smiled fondly. “I remember Papa teaching us basic compounds. Do you remember that hangman-style game he would play with us so we could memorize them?”

Viktor slurped a few beans from his spoon. He did remember. They would sit at this very table, Papa with sheets of scrap paper, a broken pencil under his rough hands, and one of his science books balanced on his knee. On the papers he would dash a series of lines that were meant to indicate bonds between the atoms. The siblings would take turns guessing the elements that stitched the compound together, making increasingly educated guesses as information was laid out, until one of them cried out the name of the chemical in victory.

Viktor nodded, smiling ruefully.

Katya’s brow creased with regret.

“What’s this one?” she asked, finger pointing to a combination of letters, numbers and lines at the top of the right page.

Viktor’s eyes traveled from his bite of oat cake to where her finger was pressed.

“Isop – Isopropyl alcohol,” he answered, his youth and accent unsure around the syllables.

Katya gave an interested murmur, but her stomach flipped. Her thoughts returned to the Children of Zaun and the injured Benzo. She fidgeted the food on her plate as she wondered how he was doing, how the rest of them were doing. She and her brother finished their dinner in silence, his focus on his reading, her’s on a gnawing need to check in on Benzo and get information on what Piltover may know.

“Just studying tonight, then?” Katya asked as she gathered the plates and spoons.

Viktor nodded and stifled a yawn as he scribbled a note on his parchment. “Where is Papa’s book about boats? I want to look through it and take some notes.”

“I think,” Katya said, her voice trailing off in thought, “it’s in the stack under the table by the couch.” She placed the dishes in the sink and turned to face her brother, “Viktor.” His eyes lifted from his note taking. Before continuing, she stepped back over to the table and knelt at his side. “There’s something I need to go do tonight. I won’t be long, but you may be in bed before I get back.”

His eyebrows knit together and fought the knee-jerk fear that wanted to flash in his eyes. He had stayed home alone before. Before the Academy, he would stay home while Papa and Katya worked. But after their father died, he couldn’t remember a time his sister had left him alone at home. Fear of her not returning, like how Papa never picked him up from the Academy again, dared to claw at his throat and squeezed his muscles. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and Katya sweetly wrapped her hands around his cheeks.

“I won’t be long. And I’ll be back. I won’t leave you alone. What I have to go do . . . is for us.”

Your brother should’ve always had the opportunity to go to the Academy, if that’s what he wanted. Not only to be allowed in under the slimmest of circumstances. . . Reaching for and securing Zaun’s – our – independence would mean securing the respect and opportunity that is our birthright. To have the means to feed and clothe our children. . .

Viktor’s face pinched in confusion before compliantly nodding. Katya leaned forward and kissed his brow before standing. She finished washing and drying the dishes in the sink before fetching the book Viktor had wanted from under the end table in the living room. She placed it on the table and ran her hand through his hair as he continued to work through his chemistry assignment.

Katya slipped her boots back on and spun her coat around her back, shaking her arms into its sleeves. As she unlocked the door, she said, “Remember, Viktor, bedtime is nine o’clock. Do not – “

“Open the door for anyone,” he finished.

Katya smiled at him, “Good luck with your homework. I will wake you up when I get home, so you know, okay? I love you, Viktor.”

“I love you, too, Kat.”

With that, Katya slipped out into the Sump and locked the door behind her. She felt the duplicitous pull in her heart between Viktor and Zaun as she traveled towards The Last Drop.

Chapter Text

Katya was comforted by the fact that the streets of the Undercity did not seem any less busy as she weaved her way to The Last Drop. Either no one was deterred by the increased Enforcer presence, or no one was aware of what had happened the night before. Or they just didn’t care. Perhaps Piltover wasn’t going to bother venturing further into the Underground than the Shores and docks. Regardless, the hustle and bustle and brightness of the Undercity persisted.

I see a nation and people full of grit and color. I see a place where people are determined and steadfastly loyal to their Brothers and Sisters. Hardworking, always striving for something better. Because they know they’re worthy of it. They’re ready for it.

Boots striking the cobblestones with purpose, Katya strode toward The Last Drop when it came into view.

Just as when she first entered the establishment almost a week ago, it was warm, inviting, and boisterous. The mismatched tables scattered across the main floor were packed; a small crowd was gathered round the billiards table whooping, hollering, and cheering on the two people playing; many stools at the bar were occupied by warm, mildly inebriated bodies. A twirl of indigo and a giggle caught her eye and ear, and she turned her head to see Annie setting down a tray of drinks at a table.

Relief washed over Katya’s bones to see that she was safe. She shared a laugh with the gruff looking man she had just served, sweetly shoving his shoulder. Turning, Annie’s eyes fell on her and they widened, as did her broad, beaming smile. In a flash, she was on the medic, wrapping her thin arms around her back.

“I’m glad you’re okay!” Annie sighed, tightening her hold.

Awkwardly, Katya settled her hands lightly on the other woman’s waist. “I should be saying that to you – “

“Van told me how you saved Benzo!” Annie whispered, knocking the other woman off balance as the hug tightened further. “You’re amazing!”

Katya grimaced against the shoulder pressing into her mouth. She had only done her job. And Benzo probably would’ve lived without her help. And she really wanted to be done with this conversation. And this hug.

Katya patted the tips of her fingers against Annie’s waist, hoping that she would get the hint to release her. She did.

“Are you here to check in on him?”

Katya nodded, and Annie looped their elbows together and guided her to the bar.

“I didn’t realize you worked here.”

“First night,” Annie chirped. “Van sent Cairn to ‘Zo’s shop to man it while he recovers. I offered to help here. Beats being a fishwife. I’m hoping he hires me on for good,” she raised her dark brows and held up her free hand, displaying entwined fingers.

Katya wobbled her head in an understanding fashion, pursing her lips together. Annie was impossibly light on her feet as she skirted them between crowded tables, and Katya felt like she could allow her eyes to meander through the establishment.

The booths tucked into The Last Drop’s walls and shadows were full, too, it seemed. Dense with people that wanted the libations the bar provided, but not the company; heads kept low to their drinks and bodies turned in to the private flicker of the tea-candle placed on their tables. Nearer to a staircase that led to the bar’s upper floors (storage space, perhaps?), she spied Sevika. She was seated next to a man who was wearing a rumpled Conveyor Car operator uniform. Katya assumed this was her father, based on his build and similar nose, hair and skin color. He was currently dealing hands of cards to the three men in front of him, plus one for himself. Sevika’s gaze remained loosely, almost appearing bored, on the booth’s candle. But Katya knew better.

While working in the clinic, Sevika had told her that her father would take her with him when he went to play cards. She had taught herself how to count them, and had a knack for sussing out people’s tells. It was a gift her father exploited, although Sevika did not fuss about it. The money she helped him ‘win’ kept food on the table for their large family of eleven.

It had been fleeting, but Katya had seen the painful wish in her friend’s eyes when she told her about their scheme. While Sevika had not been shy about bemoaning her father, her heart ached for his approval and validation.

From what Katya could surmise, he was a short-tempered, volatile man whose favorite child – the eldest of his brood, a son – was imprisoned at Stillwater on trumped up trespassing and burglary charges. And he was not unclear in how he felt about the rest of his children, all daughters: He tolerated them. He kept his partner heavy with child after child until she finally bore him another son. It was a short, bloody delivery that had killed her, but at least she had bookended his lineage with male heirs.

The boy had to be at least eight years of age now, and despite not being a working member of the family yet, had taken the mantle as their father’s favorite. Never mind Sevika toiling in the mines and making his gambling fruitful, never mind his other daughters working in the mines, cleaning homes in the Promenade, or working in the Undercity’s brothels. Never mind the notion that they were all his children.

The young boy carried the weight of his father’s unobserved hopes and expectations. And his siblings suffocated under it. It made Katya’s own heart clench, and she was grateful that she never questioned her own father’s love for her.

 Not wanting to distract Sevika from her job, Katya tore her eyes away and instead observed Vander as she and Annie approached the bar. He did not seem as jovial as he had the first time she’d seen him. His eyes were distant, the smiles he gave customers not lifting up to them. His movements were stiff, the fluidity she had seen him move with that first night dried up in the wake of a botched job. His eyes widened as she and Annie arrived at the bar top.

“Fill ‘er up!” Annie sang, placing the serving tray down.

Vander placed several large, mismatched mugs on her tray.

“Table seven.”

“Right . . . which one is that?”

A weary sigh escaped from the barman’s mouth. “The one to the right of the jukebox.”

“My right or their right?”

“Jus’ . . . whichever table has the same number of people as there are drinks on the tray.”

“You got it, bossman!”

With more pep than necessary, Annie whisked back into the crowded bar, the full serving tray held aloft.

“She’s . . . enthusiastic,” Katya commented after a beat.

“Yeah, she . . .” Vander broke off, rubbing his fingers against his forehead. He glanced around the bar at his customers. “Anyone need anythin’ right now?”

Heads wobbled in the negative and a couple tankards were lifted in thanks, warm smiles glowing across drunken faces. Vander tossed his towel under the bar and nodded his head in the direction of the backrooms. Katya followed quietly, keeping her lips pressed shut until they had left the warm and welcoming atmosphere of the bar behind.

“How is he?” she asked once they were in the dimly lit safety of The Drop’s living quarters.

“He’s been sleepin’ most’a the day,” Vander replied in a rumbly murmur. “I got ‘im situated in the    room. I sent Cairn t’work at his shop ‘til he’s able to move about.”

“Annie mentioned.” Katya paused nervously before she asked the next question. “What about Beckett?”

“He’s fine, too.”

“I saw him today. At the docks. He was being questioned by Enforcers – “

Vander turned to face her and planted his hands on her shoulders. He looked down at her with empathetic eyes.

“I know,” he whispered. “He already told us. He didn’ say anything t’give us away. Topside’s riled up but they don’ seem t’know what happened.” He gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “We’re okay, Sister.”

A shaky breath blew from Katya’s nose and she willed the fearful sting behind her eyes to subside. Vander released her and led her to a small room off the main hallway. It was dark and he reached past her to turn on the chem-lamp, making the room glow and flicker with orangey-yellow light.

Benzo was set up on a small twin bed. His upper body bolstered by many pillows and his injured leg awkwardly elevated with even more. He groaned quietly and his bleary eyes squinted against the blooming light. He blinked a few times before his gaze slid into focus and was able to take the two visitors in. His heavy arm barely lifted from his side as he attempted to greet them.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice crackling from exhaustion and the yelling he did the night before.

Katya swiftly stepped to his bedside and placed a hand on his forehead. The fever had worsened since this morning, but she expected that.

“How are you feeling?”

Benzo cleared his throat and said, “Grand.”

Katya smirked despite herself and took a seat on the stool at his bedside. She was pleased to see a glass and large pitcher of water on the end table, along with a roll of gauze, a brown bottle of isopropyl alcohol, and a bottle of painkillers.

“We redressed ‘im when we got back,” Vander said behind her. “Got ‘im some food n’ water. Gave ‘im the meds, just like you said. I’ve checked in on ‘im a few times since then. Been sleepin’ mostly.”

“He’s been a right mother hen,” Benzo joked.

“That’s good,” she said to them both. “I’m going to take a look at your wound, if that’s alright.”

“Be my guest, Lass.”

With practiced skill and careful fingers, Katya unwound the wrappings from Benzo’s leg and inspected the injury. Red and inflamed; the skin around the stitches puffy and oozing.

“Can I get a clean damp rag and soap, please, Vander?”

The barman nodded and left the room.

“Have you been scratching at it?” she asked, pouring a glass of water.

“Been tryin’ not to,” he answered, accepting the drink with wobbly hands. Katya kept her fingers grasping the cup’s base as he lifted the lip of it to his mouth.

His gulps were painful and stilted.

“That’s good,” she repeated. Benzo grimaced and she lowered the cup. He wrestled down the lump of water, and he leaned his head back on the mountain of pillows. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Dunno. Dunno what time it is now even.”

Katya nodded her head and set the glass back down on the bedside table. Vander returned with the damp rag and a bar of soap, and she began gently cleaning Benzo’s stitches.

“When did he last eat, Vander?”

“’Fore I opened fer the evenin’,” he answered, standing behind her. “So, ‘bout four hours ago. Some bread n’ broth. And a couple o’ pain pills. He won’ stomach much else.”

Katya nodded and set the dirtied rag and soap aside. “That’s pretty normal. If your appetite does not return in a couple days, then we will worry.”

Vander watched her take up the roll of gauze and brown bottle, mentally taking notes as she ripped a swatch of gauze from the roll and dosed it lightly with the alcohol. The sharp smell of the stuff filled the air and Benzo went green around his wide jaw. Lurching forward, Vander seized the water pitcher and forced the rim between his Brother’s lips. Katya squawked as her seat was jostled by the sudden appearance of the barman.

“Drink, mate,” he insisted. “An’ breathe.”

As Benzo carefully gulped, Vander placed a hand on Katya’s shoulder to steady her.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he sheepishly apologized. “I didn’ wan’im spewin’ all over you.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she replied, peering over Benzo’s bare thigh, “but thank you. This is going to sting.”

Katya placed the saturated gauze over the stitching, and the hiss and groan that ripped from Benzo’s mouth echoed into the pitcher.

“Fuck that hurts!” he growled, as she gingerly wiped the raised skin and thread.

Tossing the used gauze away, Katya adhered a clean bandage over the wound and then wrapped his thick thigh up with the remaining gauze. Her brows dipped with concern as the end of the roll escaped past her fingers. She tucked it into one of the pleats. Her fingertips brushed through her bangs and settled against her temples, pressing into the thin skin there.

“I will need to figure out a way to get more supplies,” she sighed.

She wished Silco had found her before the mine physicals, that way she could’ve calculated the Children of Zaun into the last order. She wouldn’t be able to get away with placing another large order so soon – especially without an impetus. It would raise questions.

But they wouldn’t be able to get away with such a meager supply for long.

Katya hadn’t felt this particular worrying squeeze round her stomach since her father’s death. The nauseating puzzle of figuring out how to make ends meet. Her small dinner churned unpleasantly in her stomach as a warm hand cupped her shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out, Lass,” came Vander’s reassuring voice. “I can put a word out t’the other Brothers n’ Sisters. See if they have anything they can spare.”

“We could also make do with substitutes, couldn’ we?” Benzo offered. “That stuff smells as sharp as the dreck you get from Freljord. Could we use that to clean cuts n’ scrapes instead o’ the medicine stuff?”

A small, reluctant chuckle huffed out from Katya’s throat. They weren’t wrong. They could figure it out. It had just been a long time since anyone but her figured problems out . . .

Her fingers twitched at her temple as she thought about resting her hand on top of Vander’s. She decided against it and let both her hands drop to her lap.

But she did say, “Yes, that would suffice. It is a good idea. We will still need more supplies, though.”

Vander’s hand squeezed her shoulder and then he knelt down at her side. “We will get more, Sis. Don’ you worry. ‘Sides if you could patch ‘Zo up with only what was in your home, ‘M sure we could craft a whole infirmary with bits n’ bobs from the Lanes.”

Katya’s head nodded absently, distantly. Vander watched her hollow and tired face.

“Katya,” he began. Her gold eyes slid over to his earnest, silver ones. “We’re gonna be okay. You n’ your brother are gonna be okay.”

“I’ve an idea,” Benzo slurred. The two looked over to him in interest. “We can’t rely on only you t’fix n’bandage. We can’ go breakin’ down your door e’erytime one of us goes n’ gets hurt. What if you taught the other Brothers n’ Sisters some o’ the basics at least? Make it part o’ the meetings. Whattaya think, Van?”

Vander hummed in an affirming note. “Not a bad thought. Perhaps you should get hurt more often, ‘Zo. You’ve never had such a good idea ‘til now.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“What d’ya think, Sis?” Vander asked, ignoring Benzo and turning to Katya. “Think you could teach us Sumprats somethin’?”

Katya gnawed the inside of her cheek. Eventually, she nodded.

“Yes, I suppose I could do that.”

“Sev could help ya,” Benzo added cheerfully. “Just like ol’ times, yeah?”

Another, more purposeful, chuckle tumbled out of her. Strangely enough, she felt lighter; her stomach and the worry around it soothed.

After a few more minutes, Benzo drifted back into an uncomfortable sleep and Katya and Vander quietly left the guest room.

“C’mon,” Vander murmured, jerking his head toward the door that led to the bar, “let me get’ya sumit to drink.”

Katya shook her head.

“No. Thank you, though. I need to get back home.”

“Just a quick one,” he insisted. “Somethin’ t’warm you up and thank ya.”

Katya’s fingers nervously pulled at the loose thread within the pockets of her coat.

“Okay. Yes, thank you.”

“There’s a Lass,” Vander said brightly, and opened the door for her.

The sudden increase in ambient volume and the shift in light made her wince. She followed the mountain of a man back to the bar, and took up a stool as he wound back to his station behind the heavily lacquered expanse of wood.

“Was Sil right?” he suddenly asked. Katya’s spine straightened and her brows took refuge behind the curtain of her bangs. Her face felt suddenly warm, and she slid her coat from her shoulders, letting it bunch and pool between her and the back of the stool.

“About you likin’ stronger stuff,” Vander clarified, smoothing over her confusion.

“Oh, er – yes,” she stumbled. “I like whisky. In tea, if you have it.”

Vander grinned. “Aye, I do. Lemon?”

“Yes, please.”

Vander set about topping off other patrons and making Katya her drink. Annie appeared with her tray and list of orders. Katya rested her elbows on the countertop and threaded her fingers together tightly. Her gaze drifted over the busy bar. Sevika and her father looked pleased at their table, while the other players looked annoyed and worried, fingertips rubbing the bridges of their noses and temples.

Annie dropped off her order and before she could tend to her next customers, Beckett traipsed through The Drop’s door and she squealed high and shrill, her raspy whistle of a voice cutting over the crowd and causing patrons to look up. She cut over to him and flung herself into his arms, mashing her mouth against his. A flurry of chuckles and weak whistles warbled through the crowd, and Katya heard Vander let out an annoyed groan behind her.

“OI! Quit snoggin’ an’ get back to servin’!”

Chuckles morphed into sympathetic whimpers and moans as the couple giggled and pulled away from one another. Annie clasped Beckett’s hand in hers and led him to the bar, setting him up on the stool next to Katya, before presenting her empty tray to Vander. He looked decidedly exasperated with his new waitress, but Annie didn’t seem to notice, her smile wide and bright as ever.

“That party over there,” she said, jutting her head over to a cluster of tables, “wants another round!”

Vander gave her a grumpy look before loading her tray up and waving her off.

“Usual, Becks?”

Beckett removed the cap he was wearing and ran a rough hand through his flame orange hair. “Please, Van. It’s been a long, stupid day.” He then turned to Katya and said, “You had a long, stupid night from the sounds of it.”

Katya’s shoulders tensed at his cavalier-ness, and she resisted the urge to give the young man the same dressing down she had given Vander the night before. Instead, she simply nodded and muttered, “It was not ideal.”

Beckett nodded and gratefully accepted the frothy tankard Vander slid across the bar top. A surprisingly pretty and dainty teacup and saucer was placed in front of Katya. She quietly thanked Vander, and pinched the lemon wedge over the steaming tea. The oil from the peel spritzed into the air and slicked the tips of her fingers. The sharp scent of citrus cut through the blanket of heady ale and warmth of dried sweat like a dart. A small, appreciative smile curled her upper lip. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had fresh lemon. She used the small spoon nestled into the lip of the saucer to stir the tea, lemon, and whisky together before delicately lifting the cup to her lips.

“Cheers, Sister.”

The interruption to her reverie jolted her, and she looked over to Beckett. He was grinning at her and presenting his mug of beer. She tipped the rim of her cup towards his and they gently clinked. He took a hefty swig and she gently nipped at the warm surface of her drink.

It was good. And the company wasn’t too bad either, she decided.

“To your likin’?” Vander asked, eying her.

Katya peered at him from over the rim and smiled. She nodded.

“It’s very good. Thank you.”

He smiled back. Her guard had lessened since their first meeting, and she could see the honesty in his face. It shone through his grey eyes and gleamed off of his straight teeth. It nestled in the lines of his smile and lived in the ruddiness of his cheeks.

His gaze tilted over her head, and his eyes widened and brightened. The honesty shifted into carefully tempered glee.

“Wasn’ expectin’ to see you tonight.”

Katya glanced over her shoulder, and her heart gave a couple firm taps against the base of her throat as Silco sauntered up to the bar. The slim woman she had spied the day before in the Promenade was at his side. Up close, it was much easier to see that she was, indeed, his mother. Like her son, everything about her was slender: her frame, her face, her hands. Katya could only imagine the fits the foremen had put up when she resigned from being a Slipper – her build was ideal for the job.

Her eyes were the same shape and bright teal as her son’s, as was the angle of her brow. Her hair was long and straight, jet like Silco’s but occasionally glittered with strands of silver. She had a similar mouth and jaw shape, a chin that was just shy of being too weak. But where her features were softened – whether by time or disposition – Silco’s were sharp. Besides his nose and height, it was the starkest difference between the two.

Silco slotted himself between Katya and the vacant stool next to her. He glanced down at her, lips and brows tilting in greeting. She returned the look briefly before bringing her attention back to her tea, confused and embarrassed by the pink-warm heat blooming around her ears.

“I wanted to bring you something,” came Silco’s mother’s voice in answer. It was low, despite her petite frame, and smooth save for how it crackled slightly at the end of her sentence. Like a gramophone with a dirty needle. Katya wasn’t sure if that was how she sounded, or if it was a result of her sickness.

From her satchel, Enyd pulled out a small loaf of bread wrapped in a tea towel and handed it to Vander. He took it from her, gratitude radiating off of him.

“Thanks, Ms. E,” he murmured. He stowed the gift below the counter. “Can I get’cha somethin’ t’drink? Sil?”

“I suppose we could take you up on that offer,” Enyd agreed happily, perching herself on a stool.

Silently, Silco slid onto the one between her and Katya, being mindful not to jostle the medic or her drink. They exchanged another glance; she was uncertain as to whether or not she should say anything. She opted for another sip of her tea.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Silco said, gesturing to her. “Smells good.”

Vander’s thick eyebrows pinched together. “Ye want tea? Since when?”

“He’ll join me for a cuppa every now and again,” Enyd confirmed.

“You want. . . tea,” Vander repeated, the upward lilt of the question giving way to a staggered baffled statement.

“With whisky, but yes,” Silco insisted.

Vander’s head shook slightly in disbelief, shaggy brown hair sweeping over his eyes. “Same for you, Ms. E?”

“A finger of that spirit from Freljord, if you please.”

Vander nodded and went about preparing his two new orders.

“I heard you had a busy night last night,” Enyd said when the drinks were placed in front of her and her son.

The statement made Vander stop in his tracks. His wide eyes found Silco’s. Katya’s shoulders seized and Beckett nearly spat out his drink. Silco, however, seemed unphased.

“The Drop was jammed last night,” he reminded. “I had to stay after to help you clean up. Benzo was passed out on the billiard table. Remember? Or was it so harrowing that you’ve already blocked it out.”

Vander blinked and gave a sheepish chuckle. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Guess I did try n’ block it out. It was hellish!”

“Did Benzo make it back home alright?” Enyd asked, gently swiveling the bottom of her rocks glass on the counter. “I tried to visit his shop this morning and it wasn’t open.”

Vander’s eyes briefly flicked over to Silco before saying, “Oh y-yeah. He made it out all right. Not ‘til the afternoon, but he managed t’stagger home – “

“I don’ ‘member seein’ any you lot las’ night,” a sleepy slur interrupted. The cluster of five looked over to the right to see a wizened Trencher hunched over his stein. His cloudy eyes lifted to Vander’s. “Wasn’ that young kid with the dark skin n’ white hair mannin’ the bar? I don’ ‘member it bein’ any busier than any other Friday.”

Before anyone could answer or correct the drunk interloper, The Drop’s doors opened and the chatter and cheeriness that had been filling the bar faded away. The sudden loss of ambience caused the occupants at the bar to swivel in their seats and see why the mood had shifted.

It was readily apparent.

Five Enforcers had entered the bar. Three of them donned the traditional and menacing full-face masks and helmets, their hands a little too eagerly wrapping around the rifles held to their armored chests. The two that had led the small cavalcade inside wore only respirators, which they simultaneously loosened from their jaws and let hang around their necks, the apparatuses hissing and slightly smoking as the filtration system within deactivated.

Katya’s mind roared and went blank all at once. Her blood rushed and pushed under her skin and pounded in her ears. Her stomach tumbled to her feet while its contents threatened to ascend into her throat. Her muscles quaked, spasmed, and acted on their own. One moment she was pivoted toward the doors, the next she had spun back to face the bar, her nails clawing at the lacquered surface. She felt one of her boots drop to the floor, but before her body could make to stand and escape, a strong and firm hand wrapped around her upper arm. The sensation of being touched, being held, grounded her back into her body with a jolt.

“Stay,” Silco murmured to her, his tone firmly edged in an order. Then, “I got you.”

Katya sipped in a small breath at his words and focused on the warmth and solidness of his grip, instead of the fear that threatened to paralyze and implode her all at once.

Behind the bar, Vander’s face had gone stony. He brought himself up to his full, imposing height and growled, “Can I help you?”

The male counterpart of the two identifiable Enforcers stepped forward. A large bronze badge gleamed upon his barrel-sized chest.

“I’m Sheriff LeDaird,” he said, resonant voice filling the space easily. “This is Captain Grayson,” he gestured to the younger woman a couple feet behind him. “I’m looking to see if anyone has any information about an attempted robbery at Piltover’s Southside docks last night.”

No one said anything. The confrontational silence did not seem to bother LeDaird; he’d worked as an Enforcer long enough to expect it from Undercity citizens. His eyes swept across the full bar, taking in the angry and distrustful faces with practiced coolness. Some older, grizzled individuals he recognized from his long time in the force (and from booking some of them). He was starting to learn some of the younger ones, but most were unfamiliar to him.

His gaze drifted back to the young man behind the bar. It wasn’t in his intimidating height or build that made it easy for LeDaird to imagine his visage on a wanted poster. It was the frothing, rabid look in his eyes. Like a hound eying a wolf stalking its flock, trying to decide whether it should attack or protect.

Like a beast barely tethered to its chain.

Decisively, LeDaird took another step forward.

“A small group of about four or five tried to rob a small freighter that was carrying very precious and specific cargo,” he began. Behind him, Captain Grayson began to meander through the outskirts of the crowd, her eyes sharp and watchful.

“An officer was assaulted,” the Sheriff continued, “and the resulting foot chase led to a brief firefight. We believe one of the perpetrators was shot and wounded.”

LeDaird paused, eyes keen to pick out any telltale reaction among the faces in front of him. He only found unyielding hate and suspicion. Except for the young woman at the bar, back partially turned to him, shoulders hunched protectively up to her ears. The young man at her side was leaned in towards her, but his icy eyes and sneer were fixed on the sheriff.

LeDaird flicked his gaze over to Grayson. She caught it, along with the order. Although her unhurried pace through the bar didn’t change, the intention in her eyes did.

“We are just looking for information,” LeDaird repeated, adding an empathetic twang to his deep voice.

“An’ your jus’ upsettin’ my customers,” the barman snarled back. Low, affirmative grumbles vibrated through the crowd.

Grayson meandered past a group that had been playing cards. She glanced at the too-young girl that sat just behind the man that must’ve been her father. Her lips pulled into a disproving line but kept moving. It wasn’t the time for questions beyond what they were already seeking.

“You own this establishment?” LeDaird asked, folding his hands behind his back.

“I do,” answered Vander, upper lip curling.

LeDaird couldn’t help the derisive sniff the blew through his wide nose. “You seem awfully young to own such a place. How old are you?”

“Dunno,” Vander snapped hotly. “Was dropped at Hope House as a babe. Nuns kicked me out after ‘bout seven or so years. Worked in the mines fer while, before startin’ up here. The old owner left it to me. I got the paperwork if ya wanna see it.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” LeDaird responded. A low sigh, deflated his chest before he changed tactics. “There is a monetary award to anyone who has information about this crime that leads to arrests of any of the individuals who committed it.”

He saw a few of the wary gazes flash with interest and he spurred on.

“Anyone who comes forward will be kept anonymous and protected.”

A round of disbelieving ‘tsks’ hissed through the crowd, as if LeDaird were standing in a pit of vipers. Maybe he was.

Grayson continued her slow but purposeful journey to the bar. Her calculated gaze steady as it swept over the suspicious faces around her. As she neared her target, her stoic demeanor shifted. The gears in her mind whirring and clicking into place to present something softer, for she saw in the young woman the telltale signs of someone on the brink of an emotional or mental break.

Her eyes were wide enough that the whites of them could be seen all the way around her amber irises. Her body was taut as a bow string, and it occasionally vibrated when the tension built too much. Her skin was drained to a sickly white, and as Grayson drew closer, she spied a small puddle underneath the woman’s stool.

Her behavior was definitely suspicious but Grayson knew that a softer, kinder approach would be necessary to speak with someone in such a state. Barreling after her would not get any questions answered and likely would stir up some sort of altercation.

The captain brushed past the young man with the bright orange hair she had seen earlier that day at the Undercity’s docks (a detail that she noted very carefully) and set a gloved hand gently on the bar next to the young woman’s straining one.

“Miss,” Grayson hushed, “are you alright?”

The young woman pulled away, but whether if that was her own response or the fact that the young man who sat on her opposite side had jerked her back, Grayson did not know. The sudden commotion - quiet though it was - shattered the precarious peace in The Last Drop.

A number of seated bodies around the main room leapt to their feet. Chairs screeched against the floor and angry voices boiled up. The three masked Enforcers that had remained near The Drop’s door assumed more threatening postures and readied their firearms.

Back at the bar, Katya crumpled in on herself, her hands clawing around her ears.

“Stop!” LeDaird boomed over the din. He gestured angrily at his officers, “Stand down! Back in your seats!” he yelled to the room.

The patrons did no such thing, glowering and yelling obscenities at the officers. Vander watched from his spot behind the bar, the wheels in his mind turning furiously. He would love nothing more than to crush and pound these pigs. However, he also did not want to play into a riot; not right here, not right now. His eyes flashed down towards Katya’s rigid and trembling form, her words from the night before fighting through the buzzing rage in his veins.

“OI! SI’DOWN!”

He internally winced to see the already frightened woman flinch again, but his boom of a voice had the desired effect: stunned silence fell over The Drop. Customers and Enforcers alike appeared shocked and small. Obediently, the Trenchers that had shot from their seats slowly lowered themselves back into them. Both LeDaird and Grayson seemed to struggle with not reacting to Vander’s command of the room.

Squaring her shoulders, Grayson went to readdress the young woman.

“Miss, are you – “

“She doesn’t like Enforcers,” hissed the young man gripping her arm. Grayson would be loathe to admit that his icy glare prickled and numbed her insides, as if her veins were on the verge of frostbite. “She’s had bad experiences with you lot. Can you believe it?” he added with a condescending lilt.

From behind him, she heard an anxious female’s voice whisper, “Silco!”

“Nobody wants t’talk,” the bar’s young owner harshly proclaimed. “If anyone changes their mind, I’m sure they’ll find you.”

Grayson took a step back, mindful to make it seem like she was the one choosing to move and not because she was intimidated by the ruffian behind the bar. She shot a glance back to LeDaird. The Sheriff’s brow set and he grimaced.

“Now, kindly get out of my bar,” Vander ground through his teeth.

LeDaird’s frown deepened, but he set his shoulders and strode back to the bar’s front. Grayson elegantly wove in behind him. Without any further exchanges of words, the Enforcers left The Last Drop.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

When Katya woke the next morning, her brain pounded and squeezed inside her skull. Every part of her body, including her eyelids, were heavy with sludgy, emotional remnants of the previous night. She pressed her face into her pillow and pulled her knees into her chest as tightly as she could, wanting to fall back asleep. However, the chill nipping at her ankles and toes begged for the warmth of movement.

Stiffly, she sat up and grabbed for her pocket watch. She blinked at the time. It was later than she expected; well past her normal wake-up time. Hissing in discomfort, she hobbled to her dresser and pulled on a pair of slacks that were too big. Slipping her arms through the sleeves of her coat, Katya left her bedroom.

Her brows quirked in confusion seeing Viktor’s bedroom door already open. Confusion gave way to something gooey and warm as she entered the kitchen. Her brother had pushed a chair up to the counter and was kneeling on it as he stirred two bowls of oatmeal. Two mugs of steamy, steeping tea sat nearby. He looked over when he heard her step onto the cracked linoleum of the kitchen floor.

“I was about to come get you,” he said. “I didn’t know what time you came home last night, so I thought you should sleep in. Are you ok? Your eyes are red and puffy – “

Viktor was cut off as his body was enveloped in a tight embrace. Katya pressed a hand to his back and head, holding him as closely as she could. Her nose buried itself in his bedhead, and she breathed him in. He smelled mineral bright from the Springs the day before, and of mellow soap. Under all of that there was an herbaceous base note she could only describe as boy. She breathed in deeply, memorizing it.

 Viktor slid his arms around his sister, nearly hiding within her coat, and rested his head against the steady thump of her heart. They stayed like that for a few moments, before drawing apart and taking their breakfasts to the kitchen table.

They spent the day huddled up together under Viktor’s blanket and nestled near the radiator, listening to the sleet outside the window. He worked on his assignments and studied. Katya watched and helped where she could. In the afternoon, Viktor leaned against her and fell asleep. In the peaceful silence, feeling and listening to his soft, steady breathing, she drew him in close and sturdied her resolve in a whispered hope.

“I am doing this for us.”

The sharp pelting of watery ice at the window slowly pulled Silco from slumber. His body ached. Groaning, he slowly sat up and rolled his shoulders. A strained hiss was pulled from between his teeth as the wound on his right shoulder protested the movement. His left fingers slipped under the collar of his shirt and gently probed at the injury, finding it warm, firm, itchy and scabbing.

Silco lifted himself out of bed, gathered an armful of clean clothes, and limped to the bathroom. The warm water from the shower helped to sooth and loosen his sore muscles. The patter of droplets against his skin relieved some of the itching at his shoulder.

As he toweled off and dressed, he noticed that the vial of medicine on the sink had moved to the other side of the faucet. There seemed to be less liquid in it, too. He simultaneously felt grateful and nervous. He made sure the burn and bruises on his shoulder were sufficiently hidden and left the bathroom.

He found his mother sitting at their kitchen table. Her elbows rested on the surface, flanking a cup of tea. Her hands and fingers laced together, creating a ledge for her nose and lips to rest against. Her eyes, which were red-rimmed and puffy, stared straight ahead. Silco felt a stab of hurt when she didn’t look at him. Gritting his teeth, he walked as evenly as he could to the table and went to sit down.

Enyd closed her eyes as her son took his seat and dropped her head, so that her hairline was resting on the edge of her hands. Her lower jaw shifted back and forth as she willed a string of thoughts to stitch together. Her stomach curdled and her bones shook.

The silence between them stretched. The only sounds in the apartment were the steady ticking of the wall clock and the sharp patter of the sleet on tin and glass. Silco tried not to fidget in his chair. Finally, his mother spoke.

“I just . . . don’t know what to say, Silco.”

Enyd shook her head. One hand dropped to the table while the other propped up her forehead. Finally – finally – she opened her eyes and looked at him. Silco fought not to gnaw on his bottom lip as she searched his face. Her breath shuddered and hitched; her expression having shifted to something aggrieved rather than disappointed.

“How could you put yourself and your friends in danger like this?”

Silco swallowed and scooted his chair closer.

“Mum,” he began. There was a slight tremor to his voice that he attempted to shake out by clearing his throat. “We have a real chance to change things. If we can rally the whole of the Underground we can break away from Piltover. We can be free.”

Enyd watched her son’s face carefully as he spoke. The fervor in his voice, earnestness in his eyes, and the intense energy radiating off of him scared her. It would get him killed. She reached forward and grabbed his hands. To ground him. To ground her?

“Please, Silco,” Enyd begged. “Don’t do this. Just . . . stop. Let that investigation just die out, and let things go back to normal.”

Silco’s nostrils flared and his grip on her hands tightened.

“Mum,” he pleaded back in exasperation. He watched her eyebrows cinch together, and he did his best to temper his tone. Being angry with her would not get her to understand. “Mum. We don’t have to live like this. We shouldn’t have to live like this – “

“Silco, you don’t understand. You’re too young! The Undercity is in much better shape than it was when I was your age.”

“It’s not good enough,” Silco countered, “even if that’s true. We are still second-class citizens for no other reason than we live on this side of the river. We still are not given the means to survive, much less thrive. Piltover squeezes our resources with our labor for their own gain and leaves us to rot.”

Enyd shook her head and her fingers palpated against his hands as if she were trying to wake him from a dream.

“Please, Silco,” she hissed, voiced strained and eyes pleading. “If – if things had been different, I wouldn’t have had you.”

Silco blinked and gawked at her reasoning. He scooted closer to her.

“Wouldn’t you have preferred that I had come to you a different way?”

He felt his mouth go dry and his gut clench.

“I shouldn’t have been forced on you, Mum. H-he,” Silco’s tongue tripped on the word and his throat retched as if his body was trying to keep him from mentioning Rynweaver, “did that to you because he viewed you less than human. Not worthy of respect, autonomy, or choice. Just a dirty little thing to be used.”

Enyd’s chin trembled and tears threatened to spill over her lashes.

“That’s how they see all of us, Mum. And you deserve better. Deserved better.”

A small sob burst out through Enyd’s teeth and she pulled her hands away to frantically wipe her eyes.

“Please, Silco,” she wept, “stop this . . . Zaun idea. Please. I will keep taking the medicine if you want. I want to pay the girl, though. Please, please, please. I’ll do anything if it keeps you from doing this. Keeps you safe. Please. I can’t lose you. It would kill me.”

Silco refrained from saying that Piltover had already killed her. He lifted out of his chair and drew his mother into his chest. She sobbed and coughed and clung to his shirt. He winced when she shifted against a particularly sore spot from the previous night’s scuffle, but did not let go of her. They stayed like that for a while, Enyd’s sniffles joining the quiet, monotonous symphony of the clock on the wall and the sleet on the windows.

When she softened against him, Silco spoke again.

“I can’t let our people live like this, Mum. Vander deserves to turn a profit every month, not give seventy-percent of his revenue back to Topside in tariffs and taxes; same with Benzo; same with any other Undercity business owner and entrepreneur. Sevika and her sisters shouldn’t have to slave for cogs at the detriment of their bodies.” He held her closer as he said, “You and Katya’s brother should be able to fucking breathe.”

After a few more shuddering breaths and small wheezy throat clearings, Enyd began to pull away from her son. She settled back in her chair and wiped her eyes.

“Katya is the medic at the mines,” she murmured. “The one who gave you the medicine.”

Silco nodded, being very mindful not to divulge the medic’s side hustle.

“Her brother is sick?”

“Born that way, but yes,” he answered. “He attends the preparatory school at Piltover’s Academy on their lottery, but he still comes home to her on the weekends. They live deep in the Sump. From what she has told me, it’s challenging on his immune system. But they can’t afford to live elsewhere.”

Enyd’s brows furrowed and her lips dipped in a small frown.

“He should have every right to health and a bright future just as much as any Topside brat.”

She knew he wasn’t wrong. But she was not willing to pay for a chance at freedom with her son’s life. Or Vander’s or Benzo’s.

As if reading her thoughts, Silco whispered, “I have to fight for this, mum. For me. For Vander. For . . . Katya. Her brother. For you. For the whole of the Undercity – for Zaun.”

Enyd’s eyes welled again and she bit her lip, breath huffing out in a spitty, unbidden sob. She wiped her eyes and held her head in her trembling hands.

A heavy weight sank into Silco’s chest as he said, “I promise I won’t bring trouble here. To you. I’ll,” he paused and cleared his throat, “I’ll even move out. If that’s easier for you. I’ll still pay my piece of the rent – “

“No, Silco. No. I don’t want that,” his mother said hurriedly. She had already said what she wanted: for him and the boys to stop this. But . . . that possibility seemed to keep slipping further and further away. “I don’t want you to leave. Please.”

The heaviness over his heart lifted a touch at her words. Neither were getting what they wanted, nor was a compromise reached. The rest of the day was spent quietly. Enyd darned and mended articles of clothing for clients, occasionally sniffling and wiping her eyes. Silco went about taping and wrapping the apartment’s windows to help keep the warmth in. In the afternoon, he left briefly to go to The Drop and check in with Vander. And to give Benzo a piece of his mind.

The sleet, rain, and wind continued and worsened through the late afternoon and evening. Coating the cliffs, buildings and roads of the Undercity in a slippery layer of ice. Rain water slid into the cracks of rocks and buildings, freezing and expanding. Iron, glass, and earth groaned against the forceful stretches. The Undercity did its best to accommodate the weather.

And if it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in temperature overnight, it may have.

Freezing sleet gave way to sheets of rain as a swell of warm air lifted the chill out of the Undercity, and away from Piltover.

Katya held her coat over her and Viktor’s heads as they scurried as quickly as they could to the conveyor car. Despite the make-shift umbrella, the siblings were soaked by the time they took their seats. Luckily, she had told her brother to not dress in his Academy uniform that morning, for fear of it getting sodden; he could quickly change in his dorm before classes.

Physically navigating a world that was already not set up for Viktor’s handicap was made doubly difficult by wet weather. The unevenness of the Promenade cobbled streets and the slickness of Piltover’s marble tiles made the journey slow and treacherous, as Viktor’s unsure feet and cane struggled to find purchase. If it weren’t for the rucksack on her back, Katya would’ve scooped him up and carried him the rest of the way.

As always, Ivy waited for them at the fountain, a large navy-blue umbrella canopied over her fluffy blond hair. The rain necessitated a quick hand-off. Katya unshouldered and handed Viktor’s bag to the aid who did not flinch at its dampness. Viktor quickly hugged his sister good-bye, before taking refuge under the umbrella and Ivy’s hand as she helped to steady their trip toward the boys’ dormitory.

Katya hated brief good-byes, but she didn’t want him in this weather in sopping clothes any longer. She adjusted her coat – so that the neck draped over the top of her head, the sides dropping like a veil over her shoulders and back – and took one more moment to watch her brother limp toward campus before spinning on her heel and hurrying back to the Undercity.

The rain morphed into a persistent mist rather than dropping sheets as Katya approached the mines. And the lessening weather allowed her to see the flashing emergency lights and hear the loud, bone rattling blares of the mine’s siren. Throat gripping and stomach tumbling, she sprinted and leapt over the final few buildings between her and her destination.

“Marzi, what’s going on?” Katya asked in an out of breath wheeze, skidding to a stop at the attendant hut.

“Tunnel collapsed and triggered a landslide on the West side of the mines. It’s bad,” the Yordle explained. Although, her monotone voice did not evoke the severity of the news. “The Pilties are sending their emergency services. Rynweaver’s orderin’ that all able bodies go and help. All other mine functions have been temporarily suspended.”

“The West end? Which tunnel?”

“Dunno,” Marzi droned. “From what’ve heard the whole pocket’s filled up.”

Not wanting to waste anymore time, Katya sprinted to the elevator, and seeing that it was down, she ran for the above ground platforms, stairwells, and gangways that stitched the mine together at the surface. Her mind spun and heart squeezed with dread; the West end was where Sevika’s unit had been working. While not a particularly faith-based person (her life had shown her that it was incredibly unlikely that some omnipotent God or Goddess was looking out for her), Katya found her mind reciting prayers to Janna that she remembered her mother teaching her.

Jan’ahrem

Blessed be the Blue Bird

Send protection for me and mine

On Your winds of almighty Love

In Your Name, by Your Hand, by Your Wisdom

Are we kept safe and held

We are eternally grateful

Forever devoted . . .

The scent of petrichor quickly transformed to that of burning dust as the chasm that used to be the West end came into sight. The air was fogged with smoke and rock particles instead of rain and mist. What was left of the landslide was a mountain of sludge, rocks, and boulders piled up against a broken cliff face, blocking and burying whatever may be left of the tunnels and fissures behind it.

Foremen shouted orders. The grinding and sliding of cranes and tractors groaned and screeched as their motors were pushed to work harder than usual. The harsh crack of pick axes and shovels against stone rang through the new canyon. Their wielders grunted and called out to one another. The occasional sharp cry of grief or pain sang above it all.

It was mayhem.

Katya paused, assessing the scene beneath her before journeying down. As she pressed passed other miners, her eyes were ever on the lookout for her friend. Her ears simultaneously listened for and ignored any information that may give her an idea of what units had been trapped beneath the rubble.

As she slid past a line of haggard-faced miners, one said something that finally set her heart back in a tolerable rhythm.

“Silco said to bring in the front loader. There’s one that should be ready at the machinery shop, fixed engine and all!”

Katya jerkily adjusted her path to run in the direction those miners had come from. And to her utter relief, as she rounded a sharp jut of rock, Sevika came into view.

“’Vika!”

The girl looked around for her beckoner, a large slippery rock gripped between her strong hands. Her eyes finally picked out Katya stumbling towards her and she dropped the stone. The two collided together in an elated, but too-brief, embrace.

“You are okay?” Katya gasped as they broke apart. Her hands and eyes scoured over Sevika’s drenched and dirty form.

“Yeah, yeah,” came the breathless answer. “Our shift hadn’t started yet. The tunnel gave before we got here.”

We.

Behind her, Katya spied Silco. He was shouting and giving fast, direct orders to the miners around him. As the small crowd dispersed to carry out their instructions, his gaze turned to Sevika and then landed on Katya. His eyebrows curled up and his lips parted slightly as he strode over.

“You’re alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just got here,” she answered, quickly looking him over. Like Sevika, he seemed unharmed. Just wet and dirty. “You’re okay, too?”

Silco nodded his head, water droplets shaking off the tips of his drenched hair.

“Fine. Sev, go help the others switch tracks so we can start getting this rubble out of here.”

Sevika nodded and gave Katya one more quick hug before departing.

“I’ll find you later,” she said. “Be safe.”

As Sevika jogged in the direction of the cart tracks, Silco dipped his head towards Katya and quietly said, “I – I wanted to check in on you yesterday. Are you really alright?”

Katya felt her mouth go a little dry and answered, “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you. You? What about your mother?”

She caught the smallest flinch in his left lower eyelid before he answered, “At a standstill currently.”

Nodding, her eyes drifted to his shirt collar – heavy and saturated with rain. It drooped a bit and she was able to see the edge of a bad bruise and how it morphed into a crusty burn. Her eyebrows crumpled together and she reached out.

“What happened – “

“It’s nothing,” Silco replied quickly, trying to dip away from her hand. For once, though, he wasn’t quick enough and Katya gently peeled the garment back, inspecting the new wound.

“It’s fine,” he back-peddled. “It’s not that bad.”

“It could do with some ointment,” Katya corrected. “But it should heal fine. How did it happen? It looks fresh.”

Silco opted not to lie. “Ran into some Enforcers last night after I dropped you off at your apartment.”

He watched her eyes go wide and mouth tighten. Reaching up, he took a firm grip on her shoulders and shook them slightly.

“I’m fine. It’s fine. Vander was with me. They’ll be no trouble for us. Okay?”

After a beat, Katya bobbled her head in understanding, although she did not seem convinced.

“Do you know if Will set up a triage yet?” she asked, clearing her throat.

Silco released her shoulders and nodded his head in the direction behind Katya.

“Over there.”

“Come on, then,” she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him along behind her.

“What? I don’t – “

“Ointment for that burn.”

Silco did not fight her as he was dragged to the triage space that had been hastily set up. Katya quickly checked in with Will, his eyes confused and suspicious behind his lenses as he looked Silco up and down. He told her only a few bodies had thus far been pulled from the rubble, all alive. He nodded his sloped nose in the direction of a series of beds, partially blocked from view by privacy panels. He repeated what Marzi had told her at the gate: that Piltover should be sending aiding emergency services, so that as more (hopefully) live bodies were unearthed, he and Katya would have help supporting them.

Katya nodded and her mind reveled and whirred in the face of this disaster. It gave her something to do and focus on. She thanked Will and pulled Silco to a bed near the back of the space. With a tug, she curled the privacy curtain around them. Instructing Silco to take his arm out of his sleeve, she fished a small tube of medicine out from the rickety sheet metal cabinet next to the bed.

Before uncapping the tube, she looked over the whole wound and gently prodded at it with her fingers.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little, I guess.”

“Electric baton?”

Silco nodded, and Katya squeezed a dollop of clear gel onto her fingertips before swiping it over his scabbed flesh. He couldn’t stop the shiver that vibrated over his skin at her touch.

“Sorry. It’s cold,” she muttered, rubbing it in.

He decided not to tell her that he didn’t think it was the chill.

“It should heal fine,” Katya repeated. “The medicine will keep it from getting infected. It’ll also help with scarring if you use it regularly.”

She screwed the cap back on the tube and handed it to him. He took the medicine and slipped it in his trouser pocket. Then a thought occurred to him and a small breath of laughter burst through his lips.

“What is so funny?”

Silco looked up at her, mischief in his eyes.

“Guess you can make another medical supply order now, can’t you?”

In the evening, Enyd made her way onto the damp streets of the Undercity, the bag of trinkets she tried to pawn at Benzo’s a couple days earlier slung over her shoulder. Although, she wasn’t planning on heading to the shop any longer.

The rain had finally stopped, and the air was an uncomfortable combination of chilled and muggy. Despite the less-than-ideal weather, the streets were raucous and full as ever. Enyd was pleased that any conversation that she managed to overhear had to do with the accident at Rynweaver’s mine, and not the failed heist from the previous Friday. The further that got pushed from people’s minds and mouths the better.

Silco had rushed home in the early afternoon to let her know that he was alright. He stood in their doorway dripping with water and sweat, smattered with grease and dirt; and Enyd couldn’t have been more relieved. He said he was going back to help at the accident site, since he was still being compensated for his time there and wouldn’t be back until late. She had taken his grimy face between her hands and kissed his cheek. She made him promise to be careful and let him go. He hadn’t since returned and she didn’t expect him to until after she had gone to bed.

Which was, for once, fine by her. She didn’t want him trying to sway her from finding the girl. The medic. This Katya. Not that she was altogether certain that he would try to deter her, but she did not want to run that risk. She had meant what she had said to Silco the day before: that she would keep taking the medicine, but she wanted to pay for it. Somehow.

 Enyd imagined that her home would be easy enough to locate. Since the girl’s younger brother was such an anomaly in the Lanes – both a cripple and a student at Piltover’s prestigious prep school – she was certain it wouldn’t take her long to pick and piece together information about them from other Trenchers.

She casually spoke with a few vendors in the market she sold bread to. All of them knew of the pair. One said they had sold the girl a sack of oats no later than the week before, but no one had any useful information when it came to finding them.

Enyd continued to weave through the blooming Undercity nightlife, speaking with people she knew and keeping an eye out on the crowd in case she spied the young woman amongst the bustle. Her first and only break was when she stopped by Jericho’s food stall. The behemoth of a Vastaya knew exactly who she was looking for and even regaled her with a brief, one-sided history of the young woman.

When Katya was little, she and her parents would visit his stall. The patriarch would order mixed-meat kebabs, the mother cold fish salad on hard tac, and the child would slurp at a bowl of greasy noodles. Then there was a brief moment in time where Jericho had noticed the mother’s swollen belly, and would dose her hard tac in fryer fat before ladening it with finely minced fish. It was to help make sure she was getting enough calories for her and the baby, he slurred proudly.

It was years before Jericho saw any of them again, and when they did finally resurface the number remained three. The restaurant owner did not comment on the missing mother, nor the small toddler set on the father’s hip. He served them just the same. More years went by, and the little family’s visits to his counter lessened – especially after the boy placed in Piltover’s school.

Eventually, when the girl had transitioned into a young woman, Jericho recounted an evening where only she had shown up. She looked tired and strung out, her eyes glassy with overwhelm. And despite never exchanging more than the necessary pleasantries with her, when he placed the menu down, she began to tremble and all her problems spilled forth. She never once looked at him when she said her and brother’s father had died, how her brother needed to stay at the prep school, how she was selling (and therefore, losing) as many of their homewares as she could, and how she and her brother needed to move to a smaller, cheaper apartment deeper in the Sump. Jericho doubted she meant to tell him, but in her avalanche of word vomit she gave the building address; indeed, they were moving to the grittiest part of the Undercity.

Despite the fact that his story of her was one of an outsider’s perspective, Enyd’s heart ached for Katya. She could only imagine how much more painful the unknown details of her life story could be. She thanked the Vastaya and headed in the direction of the address he had inadvertently given.

As she walked, Enyd ran over the few details she knew about Katya in her head: terrified of Enforcers (to a degree that she had not seen before), her parents were gone and as a result was caring for her sickly younger brother. In that care, she had to move them to the poorest, filthiest part of the Sump. She apparently had no one to lean on; that she had used a mere social acquaintance as an outlet for her grief, coupled with the fact that Silco had never mentioned her until the day before, led Enyd to believe that she had been on her own for a long time.

Too long.

Her molars grit together as she thought and walked. It had been her and her son for a long time, until he got older and began making friends. Then Vander came into their fold. Vander brought Benzo along, and Benzo’s family. Sevika was the most recent edition. Enyd was grateful for the small community they had cobbled together. Life was easier to move through when one didn’t feel alone. She imagined that Katya must feel alone, and she felt a deep empathetic ache reverberate within in her at the thought.

As Enyd descended poorly maintained stairs and bridges into the district Jericho had told her about, she tucked her long sweater tighter around her and gripped protectively at her satchel. All the buildings around her were in such a state of disrepair it became difficult to determine which were still inhabited and which had been condemned. Nonetheless, she continued following the numbers on the buildings in the direction she hoped would lead to her to Katya.

Her stomach swooped and heart thudded when she passed alleyways where the shapes of tents and people propped up against the bricks were silhouetted against the dim, chartreuse lights of the cracked and flickering street lamps. She startled when big, young, hungry eyes peered at her through broken windows.

We are still second-class citizens for no other reason than we live on this side of the river. We still are not given the means to survive, much less thrive. Piltover squeezes our resources with our labor for their own gain and leaves us to rot.

Silco’s words resounded through her head like a heavy bell, deep and bone-gripping with truth. Enyd pressed on, the soles of her shoes an uneasy clack on the broken stones beneath them. According to the numbers of the buildings, she should be nearing her destination. And she couldn’t believe her luck when the broken-down building came into view, Katya was trudging towards it as well.

She looked peeved and tired, her shoulders hunkered forward and her gaze down at her shoes. Her sluggish feet guided her body toward her front door as her eyes remained downcast and heavy. Enyd picked up her pace and called out.

Katya’s head shot up in surprise, her thick eyebrows lifting behind her bangs. Her whole body tensed and she looked around wildly before her wide eyes landed on Enyd. Her expression softened, although her body stayed rigid in shock and uncertainty as the older woman closed the gap between them.

A moment of silence passed between them, as Enyd decided what to say.

“I know it was you who gave Silco the medicine,” she finally said. She watched as a series of hard, scared, and defensive emotions flash across Katya’s face.

“I wanted to thank you,” Enyd added. She jostled her bag to her front and opened the flap, displaying the shiny trinkets inside.

Katya’s brow crumpled in confusion. “I told Silco that you did not have to pay me.”

“I know that,” Enyd replied, slipping the strap over her head. “But I want to.”

She handed the bag over to Katya’s stiff arms.

“If you take these to Benzo’s shop,” she said, “you can pawn them for coin. Or any other items in the store that you may need. Or you don’t have to do any of that.” A kind smile stretched her thin face, “I just . . . want to thank you.”

After a moment, Katya’s hands held the bag with more care and she drew it towards her chest, muttering the tiniest thank you Enyd had ever heard. She had to wrestle down the motherly urge to cup the young woman’s cheek and tuck her greasy hair behind her ear.

Instead, she asked, “Are you okay from the other night?”

Surprised again, Katya lifted her gaze to the mother’s face. She nodded weakly. Enyd found she couldn’t stop herself any longer; she reached out and brushed her chestnut hair behind her ear and softly said, “If you need anything, you let me know. Alright? You’re not alone down here.”

Her heart cracked when she saw Katya’s eyes grow shiny and wet. She bit the inside of her lip and nodded, thanking Enyd again and wishing her a good night before heading inside her apartment.

Enyd’s journey back up towards her own home was slow. Not because of her own physical condition, but because she found herself looking at her home in a way she hadn’t before. She wasn’t sure why; whether she never thought or knew to view the filth, poorness, and squalor as a problem, or if she had been too afraid to see it as such. Afraid of what seeing it as unfairness - as cruelty - would do to her ability to function within it.

Regardless, she couldn’t help but notice how the fronts of stores she new to do ‘good’ business were not as well-kept as perhaps they should’ve been. She noticed how often she had to redirect her path to avoid tripping over potholes in the street. Her eyes drifted to the clusters of sunken people dressed in rags that stood around aflame metal bins on the outskirts of squares and markets and in alleyways. Her heart fluttered at clusters of children too young to be out by themselves, looking necessarily mischievous, too wise and too thin.

She thought of her clients on the Promenade level. People who were better off than those in the Sump or Entresol, but who still had to pay her in a hodge podge of coins and knick-knacks from around their homes. How she frequently mended the same garments over and over again because their owners could not afford replacements.

These thoughts and observations continued to plague Enyd as she let herself back into her and Silco’s home. Just as she anticipated, he was not home yet. She shuffled into the bathroom and set about preparing for sleep.

As she washed her face and brushed her teeth, her eyes fell to the vial of medicine that had made its home next to the hot water handle. The toothbrush stilled in her mouth.

You and Katya’s brother should be able to fucking breathe.

Enyd spat, rinsed, and left the bathroom.

As she laid in bed, her mind wouldn’t settle, Silco’s words echoing in her head. The sight of an underfed city fresh in her mind. The memory of her rape behind her eyelids.

She was still awake when Silco returned home. She listened to him shuffle about the apartment for a bit, readying himself for bed: a small dinner, shower, teeth brush, bedroom. A small, rueful smile turned the corners of Enyd’s mouth as she listened. She knew all the steps, the movements, the tempo to his nighttime routine as if it were the passage in a book she had memorized. The only thing that had changed was that his footfalls were heavier and the small voice utterances he made had deepened.

Quiet and darkness swallowed up the apartment. And Enyd couldn’t sleep still. Gingerly, she lifted herself out of bed and padded out of her room and over to Silco’s. With a firm grip on the doorknob, she turned it silently and slipped inside.

He slept on his stomach, arms bunched under his pillow, pressing it into his face. Enyd skirted around the bed and knelt at its side. His eyelids didn’t even flicker at her presence, his soft sleepy breathing never skipping a beat. She brushed her fingers through his clean hair – it had gotten so long. He’d need to tie it back soon – so gently that he still didn’t rouse.

Her perfect boy.

Man. Enyd corrected herself internally. Her babe all grown. And trying to do what he thought was best. Wanting to make sure that the city he grew up in was better, that its people had every chance for a full life and success as any other. Her throat tightened. She had wanted a better life for her boy than what she had. She was certain she had given him that.

Enyd brushed her fingers through his hair again as a tear slipped down her cheek and her lower lip wobbled. Their roles reversed yet again: her boy showing her that she deserved a better life; showing her that they all did. And willing to lead the way.

She was so scared for him.

She was so proud of him.

She couldn’t let him down.

Not when he had learned this deep love from her.

Chapter Text

When Bone left Council chambers on Friday, the following week’s docket had been rather empty. He knew Rynweaver was attempting to rally a few other of the Academy’s lottery donors for an assembly, but that meeting had not been scheduled by the time he crossed the Bridge back to the Promenade that evening.

Bone was looking forward to an easeful weekend and a gentle start to the coming week.

Then there was an attempted robbery at Piltover’s Southside docks early in the morning on Saturday.

Then Rynweaver’s mine suffered a catastrophic cave-in and landslide in the wee hours of Monday morning, upsetting the very particular and precarious schedule and balance of Piltover’s economy.

Of course, there were also several injuries and casualties caused by the disaster. But that was secondary to Piltover’s bottom line.

So, by the time Bone had entered his office in the Council Tower mid-morning on Monday, his desk was already flooded with letters and memos about the Council’s suddenly full week of assemblies and meetings.

Sheriff LeDaird visited his office Monday afternoon to discuss the robbery at the docks. Bone was not surprised that the Sheriff was saddling the Undercity with the blame, but he did his best to remain diplomatic and helpful as he was peppered with questions about his constituents.

Captain Grayson had accompanied him into Bone’s office and sat dutifully silent next to her superior. When LeDaird was done, she asked the Councilman a few thoughtfully worded questions. He was privately pleased at her sensitivity and finesse. So much so that he made a mental note to privately confer with her about the concerning statistics of reported law enforcement abuse in the Undercity.

Tuesday, he, and the other Council members journeyed to the accident site at Rynweaver’s mine. Bone had mixed feelings about himself and his peers being guided through the active scene. He always felt a belonging swell of comradery being amongst the hard workers of the Undercity. How his heart thumped with pride at seeing their resilient spirits. How it ached with regret that his own body was now too frail to physically help them in this time of need. Having been a miner present for quite a few cave-ins, wayward explosions, and landslides, he was well aware of the grumbling that took place when Council made their mandatory visit to survey the damage and pay their respects. Having politicians onsite always slowed the rescue and clean-up efforts, and all Trenchers knew that whatever Piltover did on their behalf was primarily for optics.

Bone, his Council peers, and Rynweaver were led to an overlook that surveyed the destruction from on high. A grizzled foreman, who was as wide as he was tall (which was not very) explained to his captive audience how much of the mine had been damaged, what equipment had been lost, and what areas they had managed to excavate in the last twenty-four hours. Rynweaver broke in every now and again to add commentary pertaining to the mine’s finances, and what measures were being taken to safeguard Piltover’s economy. He succinctly reported how much coin was being allotted to support the ongoing rescue and reconstruction efforts. The newest Councilor, young Silas Hoskel, nodded his head enthusiastically. His brown eyes glimmering and over-waxed goatee quivering with excitement as Rynweaver listed numbers and statistics.

“What of the employees?” Bone interjected. He had waited patiently to see if Rynweaver or the foreman would bring up the topic of casualties and survivors on their own. They hadn’t.

The foreman, Janna bless him, did his best not to do a double-take at the Councilor before hurriedly scanning the papers on his clipboard. Rynweaver’s expression remained pointy and hatefully neutral.

“The coordinators I’ve brought in for triage will have that information for you.”

“How many employees from Saint Janna’s Sanitarium did you have to contract out?” Heimerdinger asked.

“A small team of ten nurses and five physicians.”

Bone knew the answer, but asked anyway, “How large is the mine’s medical staff otherwise?”

Rynweaver’s eyebrows angled downward, his jaw shifting under the weight of his annoyance. “There are two personnel in the medical clinic.”

“Two medics? For a mine that employs . . . how many did you say earlier?” Bone asked, turning to the flustered foreman.

“Er – three hundred n’ fifty.”

“Only two-thirds of that work in the mines,” Rynweaver interjected quickly and acidly. “The rest work in our offices in Piltover.”

“So, two medical staff for just over two-hundred miners?” Bone questioned, tapping his cane pointedly on the grated metal of the balcony.

“Outside of emergencies such as this, it serves operations well,” Rynweaver said.

“Shall we visit the triage?” clanged Councilor Bolbok, before the Undercity Councilor could inquire further.

“I believe we shall,” Heimerdinger chimed. “It should help boost the workers’ morale to be seen by their Council.”

Bone felt he couldn’t argue with the six bobbling heads.

The triage space was packed and busy. Beds were full, reserved for those who had lost limbs or consciousness. Miners who were injured, but whole and awake, were strewn about the aisles and propped up against walls. The Councilors dispersed, carefully weaving among the beds and bodies, approaching those who seemed open to receiving their empty condolences and well-wishes.

Bone sat with and held the bandaged hand of a man whose son had not yet been found. He listened and comforted. When the miner’s head fell into his free hand, dry sobs bursting through his throat, the aged Councilor spared a glance around the make-shift clinic. Doctors and nurses from Piltover were easy to spot in their pristine and crisp white smocks, their faces stiff and cold as the rock quarried from Rynweaver’s mine.

Across the way, he watched a young woman with gold eyes, chestnut hair, and a determined face deftly switch out a patient’s IV port and fluid bag. They scrabbled for her wrist before she could walk away, and she knelt at their bedside. Her hard expression shifted into feather-down softness as she whispered comforting things to them.

The moment was short-lived as a Piltover physician swooped in and batted the young medic out of the way. He checked her work, deemed it passable, and then ordered her to gather full bedpans. Bone watched Viktor’s sister swallow her rage, her pale skin flushing the color of a vine ripened tomato. Her cheeks hollowed as her teeth ground together and she stalked away, ignoring Heimerdinger’s greeting as she passed.

He didn’t know if she actually didn’t see the short Councilor through the tunnel-vision of her ire, or if she purposedly ignored him. Either way, Bone couldn’t help but feel a little smug as the Yordle feigned coolness in the wake of being disregarded.

Katya had taken Enyd’s suggestion and went to Benzo’s Treasure Trove Tuesday evening after work, bag of trinkets in hand. It had been a long time since she visited any sort of pawn shop; the last time being when she had to sell a great many household items and clothing after her father’s murder. The experience and circumstance left her never wanting to venture into such a shop again. That, and she hadn’t had any extra coin to spend anyway.

The bell attached to the door didn’t so much chime; it mutely clanged as she let herself inside. The store was larger than she anticipated, and it would seem Benzo used its over-sized dimensions to his advantage. The walls were covered in all manner of clocks, sconces, and artwork. Tables of all heights and widths dotted the floor, creating a winding path for customers. The tops of the tables could not be seen beneath the armies of knick-knacks, china, silverware, and globes. Larger items – like grandfather clocks, chests, mannequins – were kept propped against the walls. Katya imagined that the fullness of the store was not only a means to look impressive, but also to force customers to take a good look at everything as they scoured high and low; not only purchasing what they came for, but several intriguing impulse buys.

She would not be swayed by such tactics.

“Hi! Katya, right? The nurse?”

Cairn appeared from a door behind the front counter. He smiled broadly, setting his forearms on the countertop, the presence of his body jostling the flame of a candle that was melting over a skull.

“The medic. But, yes, that’s correct,” she answered, sidling around displays.

“How’s ‘Zo doing?”

“I have not seen him since Saturday. I am hoping no news is good news.”

She squeezed and fidgeted with the bag strap across her shoulder. The trinkets inside its belly tinkled against one another.

“I’m sure,” Cairn said warmly. And after a beat asked, “What can I help you with tonight?”

“I would like to pawn the items in this bag, please,” Katya said, lifting her bounty onto the counter.

Cairn opened the bag and began sifting through its contents. Occasionally, he would take a glass ornament out and hold it to the candle light, inspecting.

“You wanna unload everything?”

“Yes, please.”

“Trade?”

“Coin.”

At that he inspected more thoroughly, carefully touching, and eying each piece in the bag. Katya felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle and her gut coiled. Was he going to try and shaft her? Admittedly, she had no clue what Enyd had given her was worth, but the thought of being taken advantage of made her blood simmer. As the young shopkeeper finished scrutinizing the final baubles, her jaw set and she braced for haggling. Cairn stood to his full height and set his strong and elegant hands on either side of the bag between them.

“How’s two-hundred hexes and fifty cogs grab you?”

Katya’s voice caught in her throat and she blinked. Surely, she had heard incorrectly.

“Wha – “

“Fine. Three-hundred hexes and not a washer more,” Cairn countered, grinning.

Again, she was rendered speechless. That was more than a month’s worth of pay from the mines.

“Three – three-hundred – “ Katya snapped her jaw shut and shook her head, disbelieving. “H-how . . . ?”

“Benzo does good business,” Cairn answered with a feline grin, flashing teeth as white as his coiled hair. “And some Piltie dumbass came in day before last. I overcharged him for what he wanted. Didn’t even blink. Sucker.”

Katya left Benzo’s with the heaviest pockets she’d ever had. Before heading home, she stopped by a textile stand in the market and bought herself two new blankets. She hid the remainder of the amount under the sink in her apartment.

Wednesday, Bone’s regularly scheduled lunch with Heimerdinger was cancelled due to the ongoing meetings, business, and damage control the past weekend stirred up. The Undercity Counselor was fine with this development. He had found himself increasingly agitated and painfully aware of his Council peers’ utter lack of understanding and empathy for their underground citizens.

Between meetings and work of his own, he left his office in Council Tower to take a walk about on the nearby Academy campus. The chill and wet that had enveloped both cities in the start of the week had been thoroughly eradicated; having been chased out by the sun and clear skies, and comfortably warm, breezy temperatures. Bone limped along, his cane a harsh, muted tap! against the granite walkways that stitched the Academy buildings together.

As he walked, disdain ran rampant under his skin as students passed. It was uncomfortable. Usually, he was better able to curb reactionary thoughts and emotions. It wasn’t these young peoples’ faults that their ancestors and government had systematically abused over half the citizens of their city-state. However, the Academy students seemed content with remaining willfully ignorant; striding from class to class in their tailored uniforms of expensively spun fabric. Gilded hems and buttons. Books in their arms, but knowing that if their parents paid enough, the Academy would graduate them no matter how abysmal their marks. They were maddeningly privileged, and all too happy to reap those benefits. No matter how it hurt or crushed their poorer brethren.

As he crossly hobbled beneath the shadows of the large, lush trees that peppered the campus, Bone spied the young Undercity boy – Viktor – sitting by himself on a stone bench. His cane was leaned against the carved marble and a crumpled napkin sat at his side; a half-eaten sandwich cradled within. A large textbook lay open, balanced on his knobby knees. He poured over it as if it were the nourishment he needed, and not the food that sat next to him. After a moment, the Councilor staggered over.

“May I sit with you?”

The boy jumped and looked up, his eyes going wider at seeing who was requesting his company. Hurriedly, he scooped up his remaining lunch and shuffled to the side to allow Bone some space. A small smile deepened the lines around the older man’s mouth, and he sat down with a sigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, sir,” Viktor murmured, fidgeting with his book and sandwich.

“Here. Let me have the book, so you can finish your lunch.”

The boy awkwardly handed the textbook off and put the napkin on his lap, gently unfurling the edges. He flicked an uncertain look over to Bone before lifting the sandwich up to his mouth. Despite not knowing the boy well, the Councilor felt a warmth only kinship could bring bloom under his skin. It drove the disdain out, and for that he was grateful.

The pair sat in silence for a bit; Viktor timidly munching on his lunch, Bone leafing through the large book now on his lap. It was scientific in subject matter, and the boy had dog-eared several pages that seemed to be about robotics and mechanization. The older man smiled.

“Is this for one of Heimerdinger’s courses?”

Viktor covered his mouth and nodded. Silence fell between them again, and Bone began to skim pages more earnestly. It was mindboggling to him that a child should understand, much less, read the tiny text and rows and rows of numbers. He himself hadn’t fully grasped reading and writing until he was a teenager. In his youth, such a thing was not unusual for the Undercity. Pride in the young Trencher’s abilities spread through his veins like sunshine.

Next to him, Viktor finished his sandwich, crumpling up the napkin and stowing it in his bag.

“I can take the book back, if you’d like, sir.”

Bone handed it back like it was a treasure. Because it was.

“Are you liking what you’re studying under the Dean?” Bone asked.

Viktor paused, surprised, before he answered, “Yes. We will be starting the robotics curriculum soon. I am trying to get a head start.”

The Councilor’s bushy eyebrows quirked. “Ambitious, I see.”

The apples of Viktor’s cheeks grew rosy and ripe.

“I like to build things,” he responded sheepishly.

“What have you built?”

“I – er – made my cane.” His eyes drifted to the creation at his side.

“May I see?” asked the Councilor.

Viktor passed it over and Bone gripped it between his hands, eyes roving over its craftmanship. He hadn’t noticed when they first met, but the cane was indeed pieced together in a sturdy, albeit clumsy, way that looked and felt homemade.

“My papa found the wood that is used as the main structure many years ago, and I used metal scraps I had collected to enforce it. I made the handle, too. And have used metal rods to increase its length as I’ve gotten taller,” the boy explained. Bone noticed his voice growing breathy with tempered excitement as he described his process.

“It’s a fine cane, Viktor,” he congratulated, handing it back.

“I also helped my sister fix our oven a few months ago.”

The older man chuckled. “Judging by your cane, in an innovative way I have no doubt.”

A giggle stifled at the back of Viktor’s throat and he looked at his cane with renewed brightness.

“I believe I saw your sister yesterday,” Bone said when the conversation between them lulled. Big, golden eyes looked up at him. “Regretfully, I did not get the opportunity to officially make her acquaintance. She was rather preoccupied helping the injured miners.”

“She sent me a tube Monday afternoon,” Viktor said. “Telling me what had happened and that she was okay.”

Bone heard the worry behind the statement, and said, “She seemed well. Tired. Maybe a bit perturbed, but well.”

The boy’s young face softened at his words, but too much worry lingered behind his eyes.

Even though Heimerdinger had told him such, Bone asked, “Your sister is your guardian?”

Viktor shifted slightly, hands fidgeting along his cane before answering, “Yes. Our father died a couple of years ago.”

“What of your mother?”

His eyes dropped, shoulders slumping in a heavy shrug.

“You and your sister must be very close then.”

Viktor nodded solemnly. He chewed the inside of his lower lip before quietly confessing, “I wish she did not have to work so hard to keep me here.”

Bone felt his heart and shoulders fall. He placed a comforting hand on the middle of the young one’s back. He felt him relax under the contact.

“She shouldn’t have to,” he agreed. “I have always done my work here with the Undercity in mind. And after touring the mine yesterday, I will be working doubly hard to make sure people like your sister have the resources they need to work and live.”

Viktor peeked a glance up at the older man and nodded minutely. Bone set his jaw and leaned closer to him.

“You deserve to be here, Viktor. And your sister – “

“Katya.”

“And Katya should not have to work so hard to support you. Both things are true.”

The campus’ bell tower tolled the time in deep, resonate chimes, pulling the two out of their conversation.

“I should get going to my next class,” Viktor said, setting his cane’s foot down and making to stand. “Thank you very much for sitting with me, Councilor, sir.”

“You may call me Jarrot, Viktor,” he said warmly, rising himself. “Trenchers don’t stand on ceremony.”

He winked and the boy bashfully grinned.

“I would like to have lunch with you again sometime,” he continued as Viktor slung his satchel over his shoulder. “Do you usually dine here?”

“Unless it is raining or cold. Then I stay in the cafeteria.”

Bone could tell by the tone around the last word that sitting with his peers was not his first choice. He couldn’t blame him.

“Excellent. Then I hope to see you soon. Have a good rest of your day, Viktor.”

“You as well, Coun – Jarrot,” he corrected in an uncomfortable mumble.

He offered the man one last small smile before hobbling off in the direction of his next class. Bone watched him go for a moment, before turning heel and heading back to his office.

When he returned to his chambers in Council Tower, an envelope of luxurious slate paper was waiting for him on his desk. The cardstock was heavy and soft to the touch. Flipping the letter over, he sneered to see the Rynweaver crest embossed onto a thick seal of gold wax. As if receiving any correspondence from the mogul was some sort of award.

Bone settled heavily into his chair, drawing up his letter opener and slicing the parchment and wax with a satisfying flick. The leather of the chair groaned as he leaned against its back, eyes taking in the carefully worded assembly proposal. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Regardless, irate disbelief thrummed through his fragile body. The sheer audacity of this man to propose a meeting with Council about the Academy’s lottery when hundreds of his employees were hurt or dead. The absolute depravity of his priorities was maddening. And what was worse, was that Council would heed his call.

The assembly was scheduled for later that week.

Chapter Text

Wednesday evening came and Katya filled the pockets within her father’s coat with rolls of bandages, tubes of ointment, and vials of medicine. Unbeknownst to the haughty, Piltie medical staff assisting at the mines, she was carefully pilfering the gross abundance of supplies they had brought with them.

 A bottle of painkillers here, a spool of surgical thread there.

In the afternoon on Monday, when the medical aid from Piltover finally showed up, Silco sneaked into the small curtained-off section in triage where Katya was setting an unconscious miner’s leg. He expected her to jump at his surprise appearance, but she remained attentive and focused on her task, only giving him a quick flick of her eyes as an acknowledgement.

“The Topsiders are here,” he had whispered.

“I know,” she replied. “I’ve already heard them grumbling about assisting in the rescue efforts.”

“They are currently bringing in their first shipment of medical equipment and supplies.”

Katya’s fingers stilled for a brief second in setting the splint.

“First?”

Silco nodded, the corners of his lips tilting in that tiny smirk he frequently wore.

“If I start occasionally sending Brothers and Sisters to you for minor medical assistance, do you think you could hand off supplies to them?”

Katya wrapped the miner’s leg in a length of gauze, stabilizing the splints, and secured it with tape.

“I do not know any of the others,” she said, finally looking at him. “How will I know if they are one of us?”

“We’ll use a secret word.”

As the day progressed, and as the doctors and nurses from Piltover – and their bountiful supplies – settled in, more miners were unearthed. Most alive, some inevitably dead or close to it. Most of the clinic’s focus was on aiding the survivors; but some was given to those workers who got dinged up during the excavation. Clocked on the head by a rock or beam, pulled muscles from loading rubble into carts, cuts from being careless with equipment.

Katya made a point to be the staff member who aided these people. If she heard them murmur ‘Zaun,’ she’d hand them a small, random assortment of goods.

A couple times, she was hesitant to pass items off. One instance, the girl seemed too young, knobby-kneed, and button-nosed. But she looked fierce and determined, so Katya slipped her a couple vials of tranquilizers. The second time, a young man who looked to be about the same age as her, sauntered into her make-shift exam room and leaned against the table. He looked hungrily at her, and when she went to examine the wrist he said he had hurt, he leaned in too close and whispered the secret word in a low, husky breath. She deemed his wrist to be fine, and sent him along with a box of bandages. She decided it would not be right to deny other Brothers and Sisters because one happened to behave sleazily. It carried on like this Tuesday and Wednesday, Katya stowing away her own stash to bring to The Last Drop, and for her clients, as well.

Once her coat was sufficiently packed, Enyd’s empty bag crossed over her shoulder, she locked her home and headed toward Sevika’s. Her friend and her family lived in a too-small apartment a few streets down from the heart of one of the Undercity’s major marketplaces. Katya slid around the outskirts of the stalls and tents, occasionally dipping through a narrow alley between vendors when an Enforcer appeared on her path.

She turned right at a wide-mouthed lane, followed the winding street away from the pulse and flicker of the marketplace, and came to a stop in front of a tall apartment building. It leaned so heavily into the canyon of the street that metal beams had been drilled and soldered into its across-the-street neighbor to keep it propped up.

Katya stepped under the portico and skimmed the directory before pressing the call button for Sevika’s unit. The outgoing drone was quickly cut off by the line being picked up.

“I’ll be out in a sec!” Sevika hurriedly promised. Behind her voice, Katya could hear the distinct whining and griping of her little brother. Before she could understand what the child was on about, the call was cut.

She stepped back into the lane, worrying the loose thread in her pocket. True to her word, Sevika appeared quickly; noisily running down the stairs and bursting through the door. Her silver eyes glimmered with annoyance; thick upper lip stuck in a curled sneer.

“Everything alright?” Katya asked.

Before her friend could answer, a small, piercing voice shot down from on high.

“Sevika!”

She growled and turned her head up. Katya followed her gaze and the voice up the face of the building to a window that was pushed open. A small boy with a mop of straight black hair and deep russet skin was hanging out halfway.

“I wanna come!” he cried.

“Go back inside, Lu!” Sevika yelled back. “You’re not coming with! Saraph will be home with the twins in thirty minutes!”

“Please!”

“NO!”

Lu huffed and scowled. “You’re the worst!”

“Right back at’cha, you little turd!”

He stuck out his tongue and blew a very wet raspberry in Sevika’s direction. He then ducked back into the apartment and slammed the window shut.

“Little fucking menace,” she hissed under her breath.

“He’s a child, ‘Vika,” Katya admonished.

“He’s a brat.”

It was the medic’s turn to scoff, “He is – what? – eight? He’s a dítê.”

Sevika rolled her eyes and began stalking down the lane, Katya at her heel. They walked in silence until the younger sighed, and asked, “What did you want to teach the Brothers and Sisters tonight?”

Per Benzo’s idea, Katya had approached her friend Monday afternoon to ask if she would consider helping her teach the other revolutionaries how do administer basic first aid. Sevika had enthusiastically agreed, a wide, white smile splitting her coal-streaked face in half.

“I was thinking it would be best to keep it simple,” Katya replied in a hushed voice. “How to wrap and bandage wounds.”

Sevika nodded, “Simple enough.”

Just as with the previous Wednesday, the pair rounded the back of the tavern and performed the intricate knock. After a moment, Silco opened the door. He appeared stiff and agitated.

“You’re early,” he commented as they slipped inside. He eyed the bag over Katya’s shoulder, squinting in confusion. “Is that? – “

“Your mother’s bag, yes,” she answered. “I did not know when I might see her again. Can you return it?”

Silco sighed and mumbled, “She’s here. You can give it to her yourself, if you’d like.”

“Your mom’s here?” Sevika asked, disbelieving. “Like, for the meeting?”

“Yes,” he answered tightly, “for the meeting. She wants to know what’s going on.”

“That’s great!” she chirped. “Maybe she can encourage older Trenchers to join us!”

Katya watched the man’s face pinch and she said, “Do not saddle his mother with such a big expectation, ‘Vika.”

The trio entered the large stockroom. Crates had already been butted up against the walls, and a small number of people had already arrived. Enyd sat at the back of the room, stitching the hole in a shirt. Vander and Mek stood near the front of the room, both of their hulking frames leaned over a stack of crates as they quietly spoke. The augmenteer had a stubby pencil in his hand and he scribbled over a scrap of paper. Benzo was propped up in a ratty wingback chair, his injured leg held up by a small box. He still looked a little sallow and tired, but Katya noted that his eyes were not nearly as fever-fogged as when she had last seen him.

“Sevika, can you go ask Benzo if we can use him for our lesson? I want to go put these supplies away.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” she responded, leaving Katya and Silco’s sides.

“You have supplies?”

She nodded. “In my coat.”

When his eyebrows dipped, she opened one half of her coat and opened one of the secret pockets she’d sewn into the seams. She reached in and produced a small bottle of painkillers. Silco’s eyebrows and the corners of his mouth lifted, and an amused breath puffed through his lips.

“Very innovative,” he praised.

He walked with her to the corner of the stock room where she and Vander had stashed her first offering of supplies the week before. Watching Katya pull vial after vial, bandage after bandage, syringe after syringe from her coat, Silco was reminded of hearing about something called a ‘circus.’

When he was little, there had been flyers stuck to the lamp posts on the Promenade advertising for the event. It would take place in the heart of the Golden City, so of course he and his mother could not go; but the images of exotic animals, colorful tents, and people with painted faces had intrigued him. He battered anyone he could with questions about it. What was a circus? What happened there? What did the animals do? Who were the painted people?

He had finally found some answers in a wizened miner who was working the same tunnel as him and his mother. He claimed that he snuck into a circus in his youth, and regaled Silco with descriptions of acrobats and giant wild cats leaping through rings of fire. There had also been people called magicians – not mages – who performed sleight of hand and magic tricks that enthralled the audience; pulling a whump out of a hat and strings of handkerchiefs out of their mouths. The people with the painted faces were called clowns, and they performed silly skits. Apparently, one skit involved over ten clowns emerging from a comically small carriage. The old Trencher recalled that after the fourth clown appeared from the tiny vehicle, the audience began to gasp and laugh in increasing disbelief and joy as more and more performers tumbled out onto the dirt arena.

Watching Katya pull several medical supplies from her unassuming coat, he thought her a little bit magical and mischievous. He’d never been to a circus, nor seen magicians nor clowns, but he thought the delight and wonder with which he watched her had to be similar to that of the old miner.

“What?” she asked, wedging rolls of bandages between bottles of ale. She felt her cheeks pinch pink and her lips pulled into a self-conscious smile.

“I’m just,” Silco began, his mind racing to explain why he had been staring at her, “glad that you decided to help us. We’ll be much better off with your access and expertise.”

Katya was grateful that the blush she felt creeping under her skin stayed mostly to her neck, which was hidden by the collar of her coat. Once the last of the stolen goods was hidden away, they made to stand and she unslung the bag from her shoulders.

“I need to give this back to your mother.”

While putting the supplies in there hiding spot, the stockroom had filled more. Katya craned her neck over the incoming crowd and spied the woman on the stack of crates with her needlepoint. Her lips were in a tight, amused line and her blue eyes flicked up as she felt the other’s on her. Gently weaving through the meandering bodies, she and Silco made their way to her.

“Hello, Katya,” Enyd greeted, setting her sewing in her lap.

“I wanted to return your bag,” she said quietly, clumsily folding the canvas sack and handing it to her.

“Oh, thank you, dear. Where you able to find a use for those trinkets?” Enyd asked, taking the bag, and stowing it under her sewing.

Silco’s eyebrow cocked at the question. Before he could inquire, Katya answered.

“Yes, I took them to Benzo’s, and Cairn was able to give me coin for them – “

“Wonderful!”

“H-he gave me quite a lot,” Katya said in a hurried and hushed voice. “I don’t feel right not giving you any in return.”

Enyd’s jaw set and she took the young woman by her upper arm.

“Katya,” she said firmly. “It was not strictly a favor. I am paying for your services. Yes? How much would that medicine cost otherwise?”

Katya’s voice caught in her throat; her mouth opening and closing mutely until words came.

“I – I am not sure. The mine gets the product at cost because of buying in bulk – “

Enyd chuckled and gently shook her arm, “It’s alright, Katya. You are helping us,” she glanced up at her son, “let us be there for you.”

Just as when the older woman had presented her with the bag of treasures, Katya’s throat squeezed and her heart clenched.

“I’m sorry,” Silco broke in, “what are you referring to?”

“Alrigh’ let’s get this gatherin’ goin’!” Vander yelled over the crowd, clapping his hands, and walking over to the designated front of the room. The chatter of the crowd died down and heads swiveled towards the barkeep.

Vander’s eyes found Silco in the crowd and he jerked his chin, beckoning his friend to join him. Giving his mother and Katya one last look, he left their sides and strode to the front of the room.

“Now, all o’ yas probably know that we did not get th’shipment last weekend,” Vander began, his tone apologetic but firm enough to insinuate that commentary was not wanted. Regardless, a discontented murmur slithered through the crowd.

Vander’s jaw ground side to side, his eyes skirting over scared and agitated faces. At the back of the room, he spied Katya standing next to Enyd. He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth and stood taller.

“The plan fallin’ apart is on me, Sil, n’ ‘Zo,” he added. Beside him, Silco’s face briefly twisted before dropping back into something aloof. He folded his arms across his chest as Vander continued.

“We shoulda planned better n’ made our instructions clearer ‘fore headin’ out on th’job,” he said, settling large, bruised hands on his hips. “We’ll do better next time – “

“When will next time be?” a voice called out.

Heads swiveled in the direction of the question, and Katya’s nose wrinkled to see that it was the same Brother that had whispered the secret word too close and too wet into her ear earlier in the week.

Annoyingly, but not entirely unfairly, questioning murmurs ghosted through the crowd as the Brothers and Sisters looked back to Vander, Silco, and Benzo.

“There haven’ been no other reports of artillery shipments comin’ in,” Vander answered. “An’ even when they do start deliverin’ again, security may be beefed up.”

“What we need are more numbers,” Silco broke in. “We can use this blunder to our advantage.”

Vander looked over to his Brother. The crowd leaned in, interested as to what he meant.

“LeDaird has ordered more Enforcer presence in the Lanes since Saturday. The brutes are questioning and intimidating anyone and everyone in their path. We can use this injustice to persuade more Fissure Folk into our fold. This setback can be a means to bolster the Children of Zaun’s numbers.”

The bodies in the room shifted in tentative excitement, wondering hums and looks exchanged between neighbors. Next to her, Katya felt Enyd tense, her breath hitching. It caught in a wheeze at the back of her throat, and the older woman brought up the back of her forearm to muffle the sound of the cough. Katya reached for the glass of water at her side and Enyd met her hand halfway, gratefully taking it. Her blue eyes crinkled in silent thanks as she lifted the drink to her mouth.

“That’ll be th’focus fer now,” Vander agreed. “Get more people t’join the cause. Topside may have means, but we have the numbers.”

Stronger sounds of affirmation jostled through the room and Vander looked pleased. He grinned and looked to Silco. The other’s lips hooked up briefly, but despite it having been his idea disappointment rippled under his skin.

“Now,” Vander called again, cueing the crowd to quiet, “not gettin’ th’weapons wasn’ the only thing that went wrong last Saturday.” He gestured over to where Benzo sat propped up, “’Zo got shot.”

Benzo jokingly waved and flourished toward his bandaged leg.

“Luckily, one o’ our newest Sisters was able to patch him up,” Vander continued, bright silver eyes honing in on Katya. “An’ she n’ Sev have agreed t’take us through some patchin’ n’ healin’ basics. Katya?”

Katya felt her cheeks heat up as heads swiveled in her direction.

“Give me your coat, dear,” Enyd murmured, already gently peeling it from her shoulders.

Katya allowed her and made her way toward Benzo. A low, wheezy whistle blew through the bodies, followed by stifled giggles and groans. Unsurprisingly, it was the troublesome young miner. His friends sniggered around him, while Katya frowned and rolled her eyes. She made a point to stand taller and drew her shoulders back.

Vander and Silco stepped into the audience, allowing the room’s attention to fall on Benzo and the two women flanking his chair. While the barkeep stepped only a few people deep into the crowd, Silco slithered a little farther in, skirting the edges.

“You’re alright to do this?” Katya asked Benzo in a hushed voice.

He smiled, nodding, and gave her a thumbs-up.  An appreciative look came over her face and she tenderly placed a hand on his lifted shin. She looked to Sevika. The teen was vibrating, excited to help lead something; to be looked at for guidance and information. She grinned broadly, her round cheeks colored coral.

Finally, Katya faced the gathering fully and took a deep breath.

“Hello Nurse!” the cat-caller cried, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify what he clearly thought was a clever jape.

The group around him cackled loudly, and Katya sorely wished she still had her coat. She would’ve whipped out her father’s revolver and shot the ground at the asshole’s feet. Her teeth squeaked between the squeezing of her upper and lower jaw, willing some sort of snappy retort to arrive on her tongue.

 Suddenly, there was a loud, splintering THWACK! The miner’s laugh was cut short and he jumped as a knife blade appeared between his fingers, expertly threading the gap between them, and puncturing the wooden crate beneath. The hilt was in Silco’s white knuckle grip and he stared down at the instigator.

Daggers in his icy eyes, as well as his hand.

The group that had been laughing with their friend began to rustle agitatedly; clearly wanting to stick up for their peer, but uncertain if they should mess with one of the revolution’s founding members. The air was sucked out of the room as the rest of the crowd tensed. Enyd had bolted out of her seat, clutching Katya’s coat against her chest. Her eyes were wide with fear and disbelief. Once again – for a split second – she didn’t recognize her boy. The flash in his eyes; the twisted scowl on his face. But she restrained herself from interfering. If she wanted access to his world, she needed to adapt and let him be the leader. Her jaw cramped and her heart thundered. A gross tickle built in the back of her throat, and she choked back the phlegm climbing her trachea.

Finally, the cat-caller scoffed, “It’s just a joke, mate.”

“Your commentary is unimaginative, unnecessary, and unwelcome,” Silco snapped back.

“Shut the fuck up, Kells,” Sevika added, puffing her shoulders, and glowering at the man beneath Silco’s blade.

Kells huffed and slumped back into his seat. Silco unstuck the blade’s tip before tucking it back in his shirtsleeve. Katya watched, her cheeks sucked against her teeth in overwhelm. She looked at Kells, who sat like a toddler – arms crossed and avoiding her gaze – and then to Silco. He gave the smallest of nods to encourage her to continue. She swallowed her crossness down, along with a sweet swell of gratitude and began the lesson.

“Tonight, Sevika and I will show you how to treat and dress an open wound that does not need sutures – “

“What’s sutures?” came a loud, young voice from within the group.

The interruption through her off, but the bright genuineness of the question caused her to grin.

“Sutures is another term for stitches.”

“What if the cut needs su-chus?” came another voice.

“Pipe down!” Vander cried over the heads of the revolutionaries.

“We will get to that a different time,” Katya said. “For now, let us keep things simple, yes?”

She stepped to the side and allowed Sevika to kneel behind Benzo’s extended leg, dictating the steps as her friend completed them. For the most part, the presentation was quiet, save for the intermittent murmurs and hums of understanding and awe.

“Now, obviously, we are just redressing Benzo’s wound here,” Katya explained. “If and when you need to assist another or yourself, chances are likely that it will be . . . messier. Once you and the injured person are in a safe space, you’ll remove any clothing that may be in the way.”

Sevika plucked at the fraying edge of Benzo’s cut pantleg pointedly.

“An’ be certain to bring any bloody clothes with ya,” Vander interjected, “or burn ‘em. We don’ want’a leave a trail fer Enforcers t’follow. Yeah?”

“Vander is correct,” Katya agreed, her stomach jolting. She hadn’t thought of that piece. Of Enforcers using bloody clothing and trails to sniff out the Children. She was grateful for his attention to that detail.

“But before you do away with any piece of cloth, make sure that there are no scraps or threads stuck in the wound. Leaving foreign objects in the body could lead to infection. Before I could stitch Benzo up or dress his wound, I needed to fish out a piece of his trousers that the bullet took in with it.”

“Hurt like a mother fucker, too,” Benzo added with a shudder.

“Yes, it is not pleasant. But developing sepsis is even worse – “

“What’s sepsis?”

Another rogue question from a small voice.

“Sepsis is the body’s extreme reaction to an infection,” Sevika answered. “It causes your organs to malfunction, and shut down if not treated.”

Katya’s chest swelled with pride as her young friend took a more active role in the demonstration. She was pleased that ‘Vika had retained so much from their time together.

“Speaking of,” the medic continued, “this is a particular challenge in the Undercity, but when you go to clean or dress a wound – fresh or no – do so with as clean of hands and tools as possible.”

Muted scoffs and muttered exasperations prickled in the air. Heads shook and eyes rolled.

“I know, I know. Just . . . do the best that you can under the circumstances. Now, once the injured party is in a safe location and you are certain there are no foreign bodies in the wound, you will want to gently clean the area with water and a clean cloth.”

Sevika made a show of dutifully and delicately wiping down Benzo’s leg around the healing wound.

“Didn’ know ya had such a soft touch, Sev,” Benzo joked.

“You should talk to your mother more then!” Sevika snapped back.

The group snorted and giggled. Vander and Silco went about trying shush them, and Katya closed her eyes, her hands finding a home on her hips.

Children indeed.

The laughter simmered quickly under her, Vander, and Silco’s unamused looks, and she was able to continue.

“Once the area is clean enough, take a piece of cloth or gauze, place it over the wound and apply direct pressure.”

Sevika took up a square swatch of gauze and draped it over the line of stitches, before lifting to her knees, placing a large hand on Benzo’s thigh and pressing down. He yelped and hissed, and a shit-eating grin curled her lips.

“It will hurt,” Katya confirmed. “As should a tourniquet, if it is necessary.” She paused. “We will discuss tourniquets next, perhaps.

“Once it seems like the blood is clotting, take a long strip of fabric or gauze, or whatever you have available, and wrap the body part.”

Sevika unrolled a length of gauze and wound it around Benzo’s meaty thigh, mindfully overlaying the strips as she went.

“Don’t make it too tight,” she said, tucking the end of the cloth into the pleats of the bandage.

Katya nodded and finished, “The wound will need to be cleaned every day. We will have anti-biotic ointment and burn cream in our stores. Not many, though, so we will have to administer them on a triage basis.”

Silence stretched through the store room and Katya nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

“Are . . . there any questions?”

There were murmurs at first, and then like a wave coming to shore, a swell of questioning voices crashed over Katya and Sevika.

“What if a limb needs to be amputated?”

“What’s triage?”

“Is it true that if you soak in mineral water, it’s good for a cut?”

“I have a cut. Can you take a look at it?”

“How long does it take something like that to heal?”

“What are we supposed to do if someone’s guts get blown outta their body? What’s that called?”

Katya put her hands on her hips again and sighed.

“That is called evisceration,” she said heavily. “Hopefully it is something we will never have to deal with – “

“But have you seen it?” a young, wide-eyed teen asked.

“I have,” she answered. The youth in the crowd ‘oo-ed’ and ‘ah-ed’.

“Like I said, hopefully it is something we are spared.”

Katya’s heart pattered and her tongue felt fizzy as she added, “Hopefully we are free before something like that can happen.”

Her gaze found Vander and Silco’s in the crowd, and she smiled at their hopeful expressions of pride. The rest of the questions were shared between her and Sevika. Benzo even answered a few of his own. Namely “Did it hurt?” and “Did you cry?”

The meeting slowly petered out, the Children having instructions to lay low and scope out potential recruits.

Before leaving Benzo’s side, Katya rechecked his wound and its wrappings.

“How have you been feeling?”

“A little better each day. Fever’s gone down, I think.”

She held the back of her hand to his forehead, and then his cheeks.

“It seems so,” Katya agreed. “You’ve been eating and drinking, yes?”

“Yeah, Van’s keepin’ me well-fed and watered – “

“Actually water, right?” she sternly asked. “Not beer.”

“No beer – “

“Or hard liquor.”

Benzo rolled his eyes. “Aye. He’s been followin’ your pain-in-the-ass-no-fun instructions t’the letter.”

“Not fer a lack of tryin’ to misbehave,” Vander chuckled, appearing at Katya’s side. “Caught ‘im tryin’ to hobble his way to the bar one morning.”

“Walking on it may not be a bad idea at this point,” Katya mused. “To maintain strength in your leg before the muscles can atrophy any further.”

“Oi, Van.”

Mek had trundled up to their small group, the paper he had been scribbling on earlier clenched in his large hands.

“I should have your things ready by the end of this week. We got plenty o’ scraps in the back.” He looked the Katya and continued, “Your brother’s brace should be ready by Friday, by the way.”

She nodded, still not use to the various contexts of her life intermingling in one place. Her mind raced, trying to recall how much coin was left from her clients; then she remembered the surplus of money Cairn had given her and her worry eased.

Mek bid them good night and shuffled off.

“If the walking goes well,” Katya said, rising to her feet and brushing the dust from her knees, “you should be able to return to your shop soon.”

Benzo chuckled. “Yeah, don’ want Cairn over payin’ for anymore items.”

Despite his playful wink, Katya’s stomach dropped.

“He’s jus’ pullin’ yer leg,” Vander said kindly, knocking an elbow against her side. “Cairn came by t’give ‘em an update on shop happenings. Mentioned ya stopped by.”

Discomforting relief coated Katya’s bones. She forced a grin and said, “Right. I should be heading home.”

“I’ll walk with you!” Sevika offered.

“Yes, thank you, ‘Vika,” Katya said. Her fingers went to worry the thread in her coat pocket before realizing she wasn’t wearing it.

“I need to get my coat. Give me a moment.”

She weaved through the mingling bodies to the back of the room. She spied Kells as she went, skulking out of the basement with his group of friends. His dark brown eyes briefly flicked to her and his nostrils flared before he disappeared into the hallway. Unease crawled under her skin like cave lice skittering up rock. She shook it off and continued toward Enyd’s perch at the back.

Silco was at her side, the two quietly discussing something. The woman’s face seemed sterner than at the start of the meeting, and Silco’s own expression was tight. Katya was certain she was reprimanding him for nearly skewering Kells’ hand. She felt awkward about inserting herself, but she was not going to leave her father’s coat behind.

Silco noticed her first. He stood to his full height and his face softened. Enyd gawped for a moment until she also saw the young medic approach.

“Thank you for doing that,” Silco said. His eyes flicked around the room before adding, “I’m sorry some of our recruits are not as respectful as they should be.”

Katya’s mouth quirked and she shrugged.

“The Undercity needs as many supporters as possible. Beggars cannot be choosers. Not all the Brothers and Sisters will be couth – “

“The ability to respect someone is not exclusive to those of us with manners,” Silco countered. “He won’t interrupt you again.”

Warmth spread through the medic’s cheeks and she hoped the flush was minimal.

“Well,” she stammered, “thank you for your help with the presentation then.”

“Katya,” Enyd said, gently handing over her father’s coat. “I received a large bushel of produce as payment from one of my tailoring clients. Silco and I cannot possibly eat it all before it turns. Would you join us for supper tomorrow?”

Both Silco and Katya stilled at her offer. Blindly, not taking her eyes from the older woman’s face, the she reached for her coat and hugged it against her chest.

“I wouldn’t want to impose – “

“Nonsense,” Enyd scoffed, her hand flicking through the air as if to brush the concern away. “If it was an issue, I wouldn’t have offered.”

“I – I will not have been able to clean up after work. I do not want to come to your home filthy.”

“My dear. I live with my son, who is a manual laborer in the mines. I am unperturbed by most mess.”

“Mum – “

“I insist,” Enyd implored.

A grin Katya did not mean to let loose curled her lips. She looked gratefully to Enyd and then curiously to her son. Only for a moment was Silco lost for words.

“Yes, come for dinner,” he finally said.

A strange cheerfulness coated Katya’s insides and she agreed. As she slipped her arms through the sleeves of her coat, Enyd gave their address and the time she should stop by.

She bid them good night as Sevika appeared at her side. The pair left the stockroom, and mother and son watched them go; Silco’s eyes lingering after they had disappeared through the doorway.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he turned to see his mother regarding him. She looked smug for reasons he couldn’t understand.

“What?” he demanded.

“It’s nothing.”

Chapter Text

Grayson had been certain that when she received a request for an audience from the Undercity Councilor that it had been a mistake. Yes, she was Captain of Piltover’s Enforcers, but such correspondences were typically kept to the Sheriff. When she had informed LeDaird of Bone’s call, he had nodded knowingly and told her that it was not a mistake.

“He told me that he would be contacting you,” the Sheriff had said, eyes sweeping over the reports and notes officers had made about the robbery from the weekend prior.

“Do you know what about?”

LeDaird shook his head, setting a manila folder down with a sigh.

“I don’t. But he’s a Councilor – “

“With all due respect, sir, to you and Councilor Bone” she said. And she meant it. “I believe my time and energy would be of better use in solving this dock robbery.”

“I agree,” LeDaird replied. “But it is difficult to do our job when the Council goes unheeded. Humor him. See what he wants.”

Besides the summons itself, its directions seemed equally peculiar. Bone did not invite Grayson to his office. Rather, he requested that she meet him on the Academy grounds and walk with him to that afternoon’s Council Assembly.

So, Thursday, Grayson strode onto campus and headed towards their designated meeting point. The quad was mostly empty, students being in class or eating lunch in the cafeteria. The leaves of the lush trees gently rustled overhead, and songbirds occasionally peeped and sang. The path before her was dappled in bright noontime light. The few students she did see, politely smiled and nodded their heads. She returned the gesture in kind and continued towards her destination.

Spying Councilor Bone on a marble bench, her curiosity piqued when she saw a young student at his side. As she approached, she noticed canes flanked either body. A simple, yet elegant black one with an aged silver handle next to the Councilor. A clunky, cobbled piece of joined metal and wood sat near the student. Together, they were poring over a large textbook. Bone held it while the student excitedly pointed at pages, speaking through bites of a sandwich he held in his free hand.

Grayson felt her lips lift into a small smile at the sight as she neared. The expression faltered when the student looked up and saw her. His big amber eyes that had been wide with excitement flashed seamlessly into an expression of fear. His jaw snapped shut and he recoiled behind Bone’s body.

Confused, the Councilor’s head swiveled in Grayson’s direction. At the sight of her, the lines on his face settled into an expression of satisfaction. She drew her shoulders back as she closed the space between them.

“Good afternoon, Councilor,” she greeted evenly. Playfully cocking her head, she peered at the student by his side and said, “good afternoon, young man.”

The boy flinched when she spoke to him. As if she had raised her baton at him instead of giving him a warm smile. Grayson tried to let the awkward interaction roll off her back, but she felt it seep under her skin.

“Viktor,” Bone said, addressing his benchmate kindly. “This is Captain Grayson.”

Viktor’s eyes flicked to the old man’s face and searched it for reassurance. Grayson softened her stance and allowed her arms to dangle casually at her side, instead of barricaded stiffly behind her back.

“It is nice to meet you Viktor,” Grayson said, making a point to pull her deep gravel voice to a lighter timbre.

Viktor seemed to find some resolve in Bone’s steady presence. He shifted forward and swallowed.

“H-hello Captain Grayson.”

“Viktor is from the Undercity,” Bone said proudly. “Like me. He’s a part of the Academy’s scholarship program.”

The wheels in Grayson’s head began to turn. Then hitched and stopped as she tried to puzzle together what was happening. Bone had called upon her for a meeting. Certainly, it didn’t have anything to do with an Academy student.

She masked her unease and said, “Very impressive. Are you enjoying your studies?”

Once again, Viktor looked to the old man for guidance. Grayson watched his chin pucker and she knew he was biting the inside of his lip.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Viktor and I have been having lunch together these past couple days,” Bone explained. “Swapping Underground stories, aren’t we lad?”

A nervous giggle bubbled up from Viktor’s throat, and he nodded amiably, fingers pinching and tearing at the wrappings of his sandwich.

“I called for the Captain to meet me here,” the Councilor said. “She and I are going to have a walking meeting on the way to Council chambers. Well, she’ll walk. I’ll limp, won’t I?”

He gently nudged Viktor in the ribs. An action that finally broke a genuine smile from the child, and Grayson felt her shoulders relax.

“I should get going myself,” Viktor said, taking the textbook and sliding it into his satchel. He wrapped the remainder of his lunch and carefully placed it within a smaller pocket. “I am hoping to ask Professor Holmgren a couple questions before class begins.”

Viktor looped the satchel strap over his head, took hold of his cane, and hauled himself to his feet.

“See you tomorrow, Viktor.”

“See you tomorrow J-jarrot,” he replied. The ease vanished from his face as he turned to address Grayson. Replaced by a distant skittishness that lived in the near luminescent glimmer of his eyes. It reminded Grayson of the whumps she’d sometimes see during a midnight shift, startled from their trash buffet.

“It was nice meeting you, Captain Grayson,” he mumbled, ducking his chin down a bit.

“It was lovely meeting you too, Viktor.”

She smiled at him, and watched as he forced the corners of his mouth to lift in a reciprocal expression. The boy swung his cane around, and his leg followed, guiding him towards one of the Academy’s many grand lecture halls.

With the child gone, Bone’s face fell.

“Did you see how he looked at you?” he asked. He stared up at the captain from beneath his bushy eyebrows, pale eyes intense.

Grayson gave a quizzical look back.

“Pardon, Councilor?”

“How the boy looked at you,” Bone repeated. “Did you see how fearful he was?”

She brought her hands back behind her and reset her boots on the ground.

“Perhaps he is wary of strangers.”

“Law enforcement,” he replied, taking up his cane, “those sworn to serve and protect, should not invoke such a response. I watched you come across the campus. No other student you passed flinched away.”

He hauled himself to his feet, brushed the creases from his trousers and said, “I was impressed and pleasantly surprised with your tact the other day when you and the Sheriff came to my office to ask questions about the weekend robbery. It is why I called for you.”

He reached a crepey hand into his jacket and pulled out a folder brimming with parchment. Grayson was confused, but she did not hesitate when he handed it to her.

“Walk with me,” Bone commanded, kicking his cane out in front of him and beginning the long walk towards the Council Building.

A vague sense of unease buzzed under Grayson’s skin, but she followed.

As she stepped in tandem with the old man, he continued.

“Those reports I just gave you highlight the disparities of reported Enforcer altercations between Piltover and the Undercity. Curbing Enforcer brutality has long been on my list of priorities,” Bone explained. His narrow face softened as he looked to his companion. “I am hoping this is something that we can work on together.”

Grayson’s brows creased, and she chewed her tongue as she gave the folder a cursory glance.

“With all due respect, Councilor,” she began, “there is a higher Enforcer presence in the Undercity because there is a higher crime rate. Naturally, there are going to be more reported fights between citizens and officers there.”

“Do you know the statistics on reported Enforcer brutality, Captain Grayson?” Bone asked.

She should’ve, and she mentally kicked herself for falling short.

“One in five,” he answered. “Approximately eighty-percent of cases go unreported. Now, those numbers do not distinguish between Piltover and the Undercity – it is for the whole state. But since there are more Enforcers in the Undercity, we can safely assume most of the cases being reported are from those denizens.

“Of those that get reported, do you know how many Enforcers are prosecuted?”

Silence.

“Less than two-percent. And of those who are, the percentage of those officers serving time in Stillwater is even lower.”

The staccato tap of Bone’s cane punctuated the tight silence between Councilor and Enforcer. Like the ticking of a clock.

“You will find in those reports, Captain Grayson, a worrying trend. If a Trencher robs a market stall and gets caught, nine times out of ten they will be shipped off to Stillwater for some amount of time – depending on the value of what was stolen. Often there are also fines incurred; legal fees and the sort. Very few Undercity constituents have extra coin to go towards additional bills. And so, when they can’t pay, they are arrested again.

“If someone from Piltover commits a similar crime, numbers show that they will most likely receive a fine and community service hours. Which, upon completion, could result in the crime being expunged from their record.”

Mindful to keep her tone helpful, Grayson said, “Do your reports show that many cases that may start as simple robberies incur additional charges such as resisting arrest? Doesn’t that explain harsher sentences?”

“There are frequently four or five Enforcers named as arresting officers in a robbery report from the Undercity, regardless of the perpetrator’s history. Meanwhile, a single Enforcer – maybe two – will make a similar arrest in Piltover. How can one resist arrest when they are so massively outnumbered?”

Grayson’s lips pulled together in a tight line. The unease under her skin thrummed in harsh waves.

“These statistics do not scratch the surface of the core issue,” Bone sighed.

“And what is that?”

“That being born in the Undercity increases citizens risk of being treated unjustly by a system that is meant to protect them. That is why Viktor looked at you fearfully. Because, like it or not, you were not taught to protect him.”

The Captain’s jaw clamped shut, unsure of what to say.

“Please know, Captain,” Bone said kindly, “I am not trying to put you on the spot, nor antagonize you.”

The Councilor’s face softened and his limping slowed. Grayson followed suit, belatedly realizing that they had arrived at the gleaming marble steps of the Council Building. Before ascending, he turned to look at her.

“Like I said, I asked for you because I can tell you care about people, not where they come from. Enforcer reform is not something I can do on my own. I will need help; specifically, from the inside.”

Unease burrowed deeper, leaving Grayson’s skin, and settling into her heart and gut. Her mouth was dry and she hoped Bone could not tell how unkeeled she felt.

“I know what I am asking is alarming to you,” Bone admitted. “I imagine it is creating quite a lot of dissonance and resistance within you. I am not sorry about that. I’m doing my job. To represent the Undercity and fight for its equity.

“Please. Look over those reports. I have annotated several specific cases, but this project would greatly benefit from someone of your station and clout.”

Grayson tucked the file under her arm and said the only thing she could, “I will do what I can, Councilor.”

He smiled somberly at her.

“Thank you. I will be in touch.”

For assemblies, the Council Chamber windows were kept uncovered. Bone preferred it. For trials, when the mighty and opulent shades were employed, darkening the space – save for the singular shaft of light that beamed down from the highest point of the ceiling onto the defendant – it reminded him too much of being in the mines. The unwelcome memory of being caught in a cave-in; swallowed up by the hunger of pitch, the only relief being the tiniest prick of light far, far above him and his fellow miners. The light should’ve been a comfort, but Bone knew that if light had tunneled its way through the stone that the integrity of the canopy was compromised. It wouldn’t take much for the rest of it to collapse and quash them all.

Bone was seated at one end of the semi-circular table, Hoskel across from him at the other end. Heimerdinger was perched at the apex, the other Councilors taking up their stations between. The standing room in the chamber was occupied by Piltover entrepreneurs who had business with the Council, other involved citizens, some political science students from the Academy, and a court reporter.

They had gotten through the first few appointments of the afternoon relatively quickly. Something Bone would’ve been happy about if it weren’t for the impending case on the docket: Rynweaver and company’s inquiry into the Academy’s lottery budget.

As the round merchant who had been seeking zoning permits toddled away, Heimerdinger shuffled through the notes in front of him.

“Let’s see,” the Yordle whistled, thumbing through the parchment, “next up is Mr. Thade Rynweaver.”

The rest of the Council followed suit, rustling through their agendas, and drawing up pens. Bone drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair as Rynweaver cut out of the crowd and strode to the mouth of the table. Someone nudged his shoulder, and the Undercity Councilor turned to see a weasely looking assistant in a finely tailored, but unremarkable, black suit handing him packets of parchment.

“Pass them down,” the assistant hushed.

Bone did so, taking one for himself before handing the rest off to Councilor Xiu. Rynweaver waited until the whole table was prepared before speaking.

“Esteemed Councilors,” he began, “I am here representing not only myself, but all the Academy’s benefactors. And behalf of them and myself, I want to thank you for your precious time.”

Bone fought a snort. As if the Council had ever or would ever ignore Rynweaver’s call.

“And what are the benefactors in need of our time for?” asked Councilor Krum, her bright eyes glancing over Rynweaver’s packet.

“I am coming before you today to address a worrying rumor regarding the Academy’s lottery program,” he said, black-blue eyes cutting to Heimerdinger.

Bone found he could not keep silent.

“You requested an audience for a rumor?”

The nobleman paused, then turned to look at him like it was a painful thing to do.

“If it proves to be just gossip, then this will be a short assembly, and you may continue with your other important cases.”

“What is this?” Councilor Hoskel asked, flipping through the packet.

“The documents before you are a comprehensive list of the Academy’s lottery benefactors, the amounts they have donated over the past several years, and the number of students who use lottery funds as a means to attend school.”

“What are these additional reports?” Heimerdinger asked, setting one half of the papers aside, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. “These don’t appear to have anything to do with the Academy’s scholarship program – “

“I will explain once the benefactor’s question is answered,” Rynweaver said. “Tobias Kiramman, another longstanding sponsor, is a good friend with a high-level administrator at the Academy. They told him that there is some scuttlebutt amongst Academy board members about increasing the base donation rate for the lottery program. Is that true, Councilor Heimerdinger?”

Because of his species, and the general way he wore his heart on his sleeve, it was easy to see that Piltover’s founder was equally rattled and irritated. His long ears pulled back and lowered. His thick mustache drew back as his lips thinned.

After a long moment, he answered, “The Academy board has not officially met to vote on the topic, but yes, we have been discussing increasing the base for scholarship donations for benefactors of certain tax brackets.”

“May I ask what is necessitating this increase?”

Heimerdinger sighed.

“The more prestigious our Academy becomes, the more it costs to attend. That is the way with such institutions. It is an excellent problem for our school to have; but it remains a problem, and therefore must be dealt with. Tuition prices increasing means that the scholarship program will also require more coin.”

“Why?” Rynweaver asked. His voice was genuine, but Bone saw a trick in his eyes as the crows feet around them crinkled.

“To account for the differential. So that we can maintain our current number of lottery recipients per year.”

“Is that necessary?” Rynweaver inquired, his tone remaining polite while he took a step deeper into the circle of Councilors.

Heimerdinger looked taken aback by the question.

“Councilors,” he said, his voice swelled through the chamber, “the additional reports in your packets that Councilor Heimerdinger referred to, broadly cover Academy expenses over the past decade. The most interesting to take note of is that, while it is true tuition rates do increase by some percentage every school year, you’ll find that those costs do not necessarily offset the needs and upkeep of buildings, grounds, laboratories, or even course materials.”

“The Academy’s academic resources are not lacking,” Heimerdinger countered.

“Perhaps not for an institution of average means,” Rynweaver said, “but an institution like Piltover’s is a benchmark. We are the City of Progress after all. Shouldn’t the school all of Runeterra is flocking to present the part?”

“Aren’t the students what make it a benchmark, Mr. Rynweaver?” Councilor Bolbok questioned. “The minds and people that it is molding?”

“Some certainly,” the nobleman agreed. “I myself am an alumnus. As was my father. There is a graph in that packet that shows the average grades of lottery recipients compared to other students. You will see that they are not comparatively exemplary.”

“What are you getting at, Mr. Rynweaver?” Councilor Thornenburg asked, plucking the specified page from their packet.

“Now that this rumor has been confirmed, my proposal is this,” he said. “I believe that myself and the other benefactors’ donations would be of more use elsewhere in the Academy’s financial needs. New textbooks, new equipment, updated facilities. Instead of increasing the donation amount for the scholarships, use our funds to improve the school. Make it even more sought after.”

Finally, Bone broke in.

“You requested an assembly,” he began, “to not only flush out a rumor, but a rumor that has no bearing on this august body. This is a matter for the Academy Board, Mr. Rynweaver, not Piltover’s Council. My colleagues will not say as much, but I find it reprehensible that you would not only attempt to bypass the Academy’s governing body, but that you would choose this self-serving agenda rather than address what happened at your mine earlier this week.”

The polite brightness – faked though it was – in Rynweaver’s eyes faded. Cold, indignant revulsion replaced it. Bone felt his chest grow hot and he sneered at the younger man.

“If you are so concerned with where your coin is going, perhaps you should allot it to your business’s needs. It is utterly ridiculous that that is not the discussion we are having right now.” He looked around at his peers, unsurprised that they looked confused and taken aback. Aggravation cramped in Bone’s gut and he stood to alleviate it.

“Reports from the mine this morning said that the death toll is now up to seventy-five. Seventy-five men, women, and children are dead because of an accident at your mine, Mr. Rynweaver.”

The cramp in his stomach traveled up to his diaphragm. He gripped his cane tightly, trying to fight the spasm that wanted to make his lungs coil and sputter.

“With all due respect, Councilor Bone,” Hoskel said in a tone that offered none, “the accident was just that: an accident. Caused by the weather.”

Bone smacked the foot of his cane against the marble floor.

“The weather was not unusual, and there are safe guards that could have been put in place to prevent the cave-in and subsequent rockslide. Better and stronger scaffolding, ceasing mining operations when a tunnel becomes too tenuous to dig in. But no such measures are enforced – “

Bone’s breath hitched as the scratch in his lungs demanded to be dealt with. However, he refused to give into his bodily needs and pressed on.

“You are worried about your money being wasted on students who are not in a financial position to fully pay for the Academy – despite their academic performances proving that they deserve to be there – while your employees suffer and die because you won’t reallocate your funds.”

The first cough burst through Bone’s teeth. It surprised the room as much as his standing up did. Internally, the rageful Councilor winced. It was never one cough. Often, once it began, it carried on for several moments. Flustered, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He pressed it to his mouth and cleared his throat. Unfortunately, that set off the body shaking hacks he had tried to tamp down.

Councilor Xiu lifted from her seat and guided Bone back into his as he wheezed and sputtered.

“I think an hour recess is in order,” Heimerdinger called out. “The Council is temporarily adjourned.”

Katya looked up as the tent flap opened. Will stepped through, moving his glasses from his forehead to the slope of his nose.

“You’re early,” she observed, putting the lid on another box of bandages, and then marking it.

“Only just.”

Will glanced at his wristwatch before taking in the stacked boxes around the tent.

“Is this what you’ve been doing today?”

“Mostly,” Katya sighed. “There haven’t been anymore bodies pulled from the rubble since Tuesday evening. I did rounds this morning in the triage tent. Nothing worrying to note. Orders came down from the board to start packing things up and label what is staying in the clinic and what is being sent back to the sanitarium.”

Will hummed. “Which is which?”

Katya leaned over a box and pushed a clipboard towards him. He took it up, eyeing the columns before him, and sighed.

“All we have to do is pack and label,” she said, stretching her back. “Some laborer or another will come by to transport items down to the clinic or onto a freight. Oh, I got it!”

Will had reached over to grab her coat, which she had spread over a chair. Hurriedly, she jockeyed around a stack of boxes and plucked it up. She threw her arms into it and tucked it around herself. She gave him a grateful grin as the shift bell droned.

“Good luck,” she said, heading to the tent’s entrance.

She was still looking at Will when she stuck her hand through the tent’s slit, and she jumped when it touched something upright, solid, and warm. Katya snatched her hand back to find Silco standing in front of her.

“You need help, young man?” Will asked as his co-worker regained herself.

Silco’s eyebrows lifted and he said, “No, I was just – “

His eyes looked over to Katya.

“ – My shift ended and I figured I would see if you wanted to walk together. Since we’re going to the same place.”

Will stood up a little straighter, and Katya replied, “Oh. Yes. Okay. Let’s go then. Have a good night, Will!”

She waved goodbye and slipped out of the tent. Together, they wove through the crowd of laborers. Some dispersed toward the mine’s stairs and elevators, heading for the perimeter, and then home. Others strode past heading in the direction of the mine, pickaxes on their shoulders, resignation on their faces.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” Katya said as they neared an exit.

Silco shrugged, and then chuckled.

“It would’ve been awkward if we had been walking in the same direction, at the same time, and not acknowledged one another, wouldn’t it?”

As they strode through the gate, Katya felt the tenseness in her shoulders ease. She allowed her coat and the contraband within to soften and settle against her body now that it was safer. Silco retrieved his cigarette tin from his trouser pocket and placed a pre-rolled one between his lips before lighting it. He noted the subtle curl of her nostrils as the first stream of smoke danced out of his mouth. How the mole on the apple of her cheek lifted in disdain.

“I am not smoking around my mother,” he promised. “Per your orders.”

Katya looked directly at him and sniffed.

“Good.”

He dragged on his smoke before asking, “Does it bother you?”

Katya considered for a moment before answering.

“Only in that it is not healthy. But,” she said, “both of my parents used to smoke, so I would be lying if I said it wasn’t nostalgic.”

“You are not a liar.”

It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t quite a statement either. Katya looked to her companion, a quizzical squint to her eyes.

“No. I am not a liar,” she responded. Then, quietly she added, “A thief perhaps –“

“No. Not that either,” Silco interrupted quickly. “Thieving implies wrong-doing. What you’re doing isn’t wrong.”

“That would depend on who you are talking to.”

“You’re talking to me,” he said firmly, fixing her with fiery, icy eyes. “You’re supporting your family because you have been given no other means to. And you support your family by assisting others who also cannot get help elsewhere. That’s not wrong.”

“I was not anticipating a pre-dinner philosophical discussion,” Katya muttered. “All right, then. If I am not stealing, what is it?”

“Surviving,” Silco answered easily. “The fact you get to stick it to Piltover a bit in the process is just – “

“Icing on the Piltover Petit-Four.”

“Exactly.” Silco paused before he added, “You said ‘that would depend on who you are talking to.’ Even if you spoke to Rynweaver and he called it stealing, his opinion holds no weight here.”

Katya’s mind silenced at that. And for a moment, the fear that accompanied her crimes ebbed.

“You’re not a liar, nor a thief, Katya. They might label you that, but that’s not who you are.”

“Who am I then?”

Silco shrugged, removed the cigarette butt from his lips and flicked it to the ground.

“That is for you to decide.”

Katya scoffed and smiled, “What an annoying non-answer.”

A deep rumble of a chuckle glided up from Silco’s throat, smooth as an oil slick.

“Who are you then?”

His laugh morphed into a considerate hum.

“A survivor, like the rest of the Underground. Like my mum, Vander, Benzo – the fucking idiot. Like Sevika. Like you,” he said. “It’s not all of who we are, but it’s a very large piece.”

Katya nodded, unsure of what to say. What Silco had said rattled an old memory loose in her head. It was too dusty to see or hear clearly, but it had the shape of her kitchen table, three bodies around it; the tone and cadence of the sound reminded her of her father. Despite being covered by the veil of time, the memory murmured through her lips.

“What was that?”

“It’s something I remember my father telling me and Viktor once,” Katya replied, her brow furrowing as she tried to wipe the remembrance clean. “I think he was trying to teach us some history about Piltover and the Undercity. I had asked why so many texts detailed Piltover’s rise, while the Undercity was barely a footnote. He had said . . . something like . . . the truth is very inconvenient to write. It is a story very few wish to hear.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t know why that came up.”

“It’s fine,” Silco said. “I understand, I think.”

A chord deep within him vibrated at her words. It sent a tremor down his arms and he wanted to reach out and grasp Katya’s shoulder. Or her hand. To share the center-of-gravity-altering shake his insides were feeling. To ground himself with her.

“The truth is ours,” he said. “It’s Zaun’s story. A story of the survivors, not the thriving. I think that is what your father meant.”

A grateful smile, sincere with understanding, pulled at Katya’s lips.

“Yes, perhaps.”

The smirk Silco often wore lifted into something more resembling a genuine smile, before stopping and looking up at the building they were passing.

“This is us,” he said, stepping towards the entrance.

Feeling warm and carefully excited, Katya followed.

The apartment was a few floors up, and when Katya entered, she saw it was nice in a humble, meager way. Larger than anything she had ever lived in, cleaner and sturdier than her current abode, but was still distinctly Undercity. Cracks in the walls, a warped floor, old windows wrapped up to keep the draft out.

The smell, however, was wonderful. Katya’s mouth began watering the minute she stepped through the threshold. It wasn’t like the fry grease at Jericho’s, or any other food stall in the marketplaces. This was fresh, warm, and earthy, with a deep base-note of rib-sticking fat.

“Mum,” Silco called out. “We’re here.”

There was a gentle clatter from the kitchen, the shuffling of feet, and then Enyd’s head poked out from around the corner. A cloth was at her lips. She finished clearing her throat into it, before tucking the rag back into her woolen arm warmers and smiling broadly.

“Come in! Come in! Here, let me have your coat.”

Before Katya could stop her, Enyd was once again peeling it off her shoulders.

“Oh – er – thank you,” Katya managed to squeak. “Careful. There are – “

As she spoke, glass tinkled merrily from within the coat’s seams.

“Oh!” Enyd exclaimed. “My apologies. I should’ve asked – “

“No, it’s alright,” her guest assured. And then hummed, “Actually . . . hold on.”

She sifted through her coat while Enyd held it, muttering to herself.

“Ah! Here! This is for you.”

Drawing back, Katya presented a small vial of dark glass. Both Silco and Enyd recognized it as the medicine for the matriarch’s blight.

Enyd’s face softened and creased in a mixture of gratitude and reluctance. She carefully hung the coat over one arm and took the gift.

“Thank you.”

“I know you are probably not yet out of the first bottle I gave you,” Katya said. “But Piltover’s Sanitarium sent a surplus of supplies to aid with the rescue efforts at the mine. A bottle or two won’t be missed.”

“I should think not,” Silco agreed.

Enyd clutched the vial tighter and ushered the two further inside. As Katya stepped into their living room and eyed the neat stacks of clothes and a sewing basket in a corner near a worn and well-loved rocking chair, her skin prickled with unease. She suddenly felt like she was invading a space that wasn’t meant for her. She felt awkward and feared accepting the other woman’s too-kind invitation was an overstep. A mistake.

“Would you like a glass of water, Katya?” Enyd asked, as she placed the coat over the back of a chair.

The question cut off the train of panic in her head, but she wrung her hands together as she swiveled to look at the other woman.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Enyd smiled and gestured to the kitchen table just a few feet beyond the living room. Her teeth were straighter than her son’s, Katya noticed.

“Have a seat.”

Awkwardly, Katya wove past the furniture and took a seat at the mismatched table and chairs. Silco breezed behind her and into the galley-style kitchen, fetching three glasses from a cupboard and filling them with water from the tap.

“There’s some ice in the box, Silco,” Enyd murmured as she entered the kitchen from the hallway entrance.

Katya’s ears perked up and her eyes widened. They had an icebox.

Silco approached a rectangular metal cabinet stuffed into one corner of the kitchen. It came up to his chest, and he opened the top cupboard door. Reaching inside, he withdrew a fistful of ice cubes. He distributed them amongst the glasses, and popped the last one into his mouth before closing the icebox’s door. He stepped through the kitchen, placing his mother’s glass on the counter in front of her, before taking the seat across from Katya. He handed her the chilled glass, ice clinking inside like the medicine vials did in her coat. She accepted the drink, and the intense coolness of the glass reminded her of when she would stick her whole hand into a snow bank when she was little. She took a sip, amazed that the liquid felt cold going all the way down to her stomach.

“What did you make for tonight, Mum?” Silco asked, sipping at his own water.

“It smells delicious!” Katya added, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate.

Enyd smiled and drew a large, lumpy canvas bag towards her.

“Well, I spent the afternoon baking,” she nodded over her shoulder at a row of bread loaves wrapped in paper, “so that is part of what you smell. But I did use the little bit of excess dough to make rolls. Those are in the oven right now.

“I have a broth of oxtails simmering on the stove. I’m going to slice up this veg Mr. Nimby paid me with, and make a stew. Does that sound alright?”

It sounded more than alright to Katya. Wide gold eyes drifted to the steaming pot behind Enyd on the stove. She tightened the line of her lips, fearing the saliva pooling under her tongue may dribble out if she weren’t careful. She hadn’t had meat in . . . she couldn’t remember the last time. If she and her brother indulged in such a protein at home, it was usually the scraps at the fishmonger that no one wanted. She nodded. Enyd’s smile widened and she turned her attention back to the canvas tote.

Katya sipped again at her drink and looked back to Silco, who was leaned back in his chair. The nonchalance she’d seen him carry himself with had shifted into something more at-home and easeful.

“Do you always eat like this?” she joked.

He snorted playfully and shook his head.

“No. Mum just happened to get an especially good haul this week.”

“If we did eat like this frequently, perhaps I would be able to get some meat on his bones,” Enyd commented, drawing a knife from the butcher’s block and pointing its tip at her son.

“Oh wow,” Katya breathed, her eyes falling on the small mound of colorful vegetables now on the counter. Too in awe to be in control of her limbs, she lifted to her feet to get a better look at the bounty.

“I haven’t even seen some of these,” she gasped, stepping closer.

Enyd sidled over to allow space for the other woman at the counter.

“Yes, it’s not often such things make it this far underground,” she chuckled.

“H-how did you learn to cook these?”

“A lot of trial and error.”

Enyd gave Katya her own knife and walked her through the produce they would be adding to the stew pot, what each plant was and how to chop it. A couple of them – like the onions and soot mushrooms – she was familiar with. But when she cut into something that looked like a brown root, she gasped to see that its insides were a deep scarlet.

“That’s a ruby tuber,” Enyd explained. “It will take longer to cook so we’ll put that in now.”

She lifted the lid from the tall stockpot, a thick plume of steam erupting from its mouth. The smell of slow-cooked fat and meat coated the inside of Katya’s nose. It settled on her tongue and she peered into the pot. It seemed the scent had also pulled Silco into the kitchen, because he suddenly appeared over her shoulder, also looking into the bubbling stew.

Four stubby oxtails percolated in a frothy bath of rich, brown broth. Some of the meat had already fallen off the vertebra bones; the marrow in the middle was melted and mingling with the stock, creating oil slicks across the stew’s surface.

Silco reached around Katya, and dared to pluck a strip of meat that was dangling off one of the bones.

“Silco!” Enyd reprimanded, batting him and Katya to the side. She lifted the cutting board, and guided the chopped tuber into the pot.

Unperturbed by his mother’s swatting, Silco drew back, hooking Katya’s elbow and taking her with him. He bit at half of the meat he had swiped and handed the other piece to her. Tentatively, she accepted his offering and tucked it between her lips. She was not completely successful in muffling the moan that vibrated at the base of her throat. It was unctuous, meaty, and melted on her tongue.

“That good?” he asked, grinning.

“It’s delicious! Oh my Gods, Ms. Enyd. You are going to have to roll me out of here.”

“Good thing the Sumps are downhill.”

Katya rolled her eyes at him, but still smiled. Her tongue ran over her teeth, collecting as much of the oily fat as she could.

“It’s Enyd, Katya. I insist,” the older woman said, stirring the pot and covering it once again.

“Yes, okay. Enyd,” their guest conceded with a pleased grin.

She took up her station at Enyd’s side again, and continued cutting vegetables for the stew. Dice the onions, smash the garlic, slice the chard leaves from their stems before cutting them into ribbons. As they went, Enyd occasionally unlidded the pot to stir the contents. One time, she used a fork to fish out a small bundle of well-wilted herbs. Curious, Katya cut the twine and picked through them as her host named each one and explained its purpose and flavor profile.

“It’s mostly memory, mind you,” she had said and Katya nodded knowingly.

Soon enough, the rolls were pulled from the oven, golden and crusty. Enyd announced that the stew would be ready shortly and that the table should be set. She pointed to a shelf behind her, and Katya and Silco gathered bowls and spoons. They set the table as the older woman turned the stove off and scooped the rolls into a small wicker basket.

“Silco,” she called, thrusting the dish towards him. He grabbed for it and she warned, “Wait until we’re all seated, please.”

He set the basket down with an eye roll. Katya looked at the bread longingly.

“My parents used to say that, too,” she said dreamily.

“Yes, it comes in the handbook,” Enyd grunted as she brought the stockpot to the table. She heaved it to the middle and stuck a large spoon into it, giving the meal one last stir.

“Bowl, please, Katya.”

Katya lifted her dish up and Enyd ladled out a generous portion of stew. Before the young woman could pull the bowl back, one of the melting oxtails was added to the center of the soup. Enyd gave similar portions to herself and her son before sitting down.

Katya stared down at her steaming meal, the awkwardness she had felt upon entering the apartment dissolving into something sweeter and heavier. Gratitude, she realized. And it swelled when Silco held out the basket of rolls to her. She gently plucked one off the top, reveling in how warm and soft it felt.

“Thank you,” she murmured, although she was unable to look either host in the eye.

“Thank you for joining us, Katya,” Enyd said sweetly. “Let’s eat.”

Katya wasn’t sure how she was going to go back to eating oatmeal and beans after this. It was so good, and she felt badly that the chef couldn’t really taste her own creation. Somehow it was both rich – with the slow simmered stock and fatty meat and marrow – and bright – the fresh vegetables and herbs balancing the dish’s heaviness out perfectly. She tore the roll in half and took a bite of the spongy, steamy insides. Delicious. But it became even better when she dunked the other half in the stew and let it soak up the broth.

The table was silent as the three satiated the hunger gnawing at their guts, but the energy in the room was comforting, bolstered by the steam from the stockpot and the smell of bread yeast. As the itch in Katya’s stomach was scratched, something poked at her heart. She chewed on a strip of meat and softened hunk of ruby tuber as she looked thoughtfully between the other two.

It wasn’t the same, but the set up reminded her of her family before Viktor was born. When it was just her, Papa, and Mama. And then, after Mama left, just her, Viktor, and Papa. It had always been three of them. Until it was two. She missed her family, and wondered what a table of four would’ve been like.

As if sensing her thoughts, Enyd said, “I understand you have a brother, Katya.”

She nodded. “My younger brother, yes. Viktor. He studies at the Academy.”

“How does he like it?”

The question gave Katya pause, unsure if she had ever asked Viktor such a thing.

“I think so,” she answered uncertainly. The words tasted sour on her tongue and ruined her meal. Her lips pursed and she corrected herself, “Actually, I’m not sure if he likes it. Him attending is a necessity. He gets sick easily and the air quality Topside is better for him.”

Enyd nodded and Silco shifted in his seat.

“I understand,” the older woman said. “I try to visit the Promenade frequently for the same reason.” She paused and added, “The medicine you’ve given me is helping with that, too.”

“Good. I’m glad,” Katya said quietly, bringing another spoonful of stew up to her lips.

A few more moments passed, punctuated by the clinking of metal on porcelain and soft slurps.

“How long have you two known each other? Silco hadn’t mentioned you until recently.”

Both young adults sat up straighter and looked at the other from across the table.

“Not long,” Katya admitted.

For some reason, the tips of Silco’s ears went pink and he said, “Katya did my physical this year.”

“Yes. How did that happen by the way?” Katya asked, eying him. “I usually do not see your unit.”

“Sevika managed to get some of the schedules turned around,” he admitted. She rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Why did Sevika do that?” Enyd asked, gaze flitting between the two.

“To bully me into helping the Children of Zaun.”

“We did not bully you,” Silco countered, an exasperated grin covering his face.

“Oh no?”

“No. I think I made it very clear that joining was entirely up to you.”

“There seemed to be very little room to deny your argument. Especially since it was delivered so passionately,” Katya replied, cheekily.

“The way I said it hardly matters,” he said. “What does matter is that it is the truth.”

“Hmmm,” Enyd hummed, finishing a bite of bread. “What is it my boy told you?”

“He,” Katya began, taking herself back to the night Silco had showed her the Undercity and she had seen Zaun for the first time, “said that we – Zaun – deserve opportunity. And respect. That we deserve more than scrounging for scraps. It made me realize that we all deserve to thrive, not just survive.”

Enyd smiled with a quiet pride. “He told me something similar.”

Easeful conversation flowed across the table for the rest of dinner. Both Katya and Silco had second helpings of stew, and agreed to split the last oxtail. When the bowls were empty, Enyd made to stand and both young adults playfully admonished her before rising themselves and clearing the table. As Silco scrubbed the dishes, Katya prepared a kettle.

Over tea, Enyd told Katya of her Promenade clients and shared the marketplace gossip. Together, they brain-stormed of how to gather more Trenchers into the Children’s fold. They dreamed of what Zaun might look like once they were finally free. Katya watched Enyd’s light blue eyes become starry and damp as they spoke. She saw Silco’s become fiery and confident.

When the teacups were drained, Katya decided (with reluctance) that it was time to go home. As she announced this and lifted from her seat, Enyd addressed her son.

“Walk her home, Silco.”

“That is not necessary, Enyd,” Katya promised, pushing her chair in.

“Your coat is teeming with stolen goods,” she contradicted. “An extra set of eyes will not hurt.”

Katya opened her mouth to assure her that she could navigate the Lanes alone, but Silco interrupted.

“If you think I’m bullying, she is downright harassing. I’ll walk you home.”

A foreign warmth bloomed across her chest, and Katya conceded, fetching her coat from the chair in the living room.

Enyd walked them to the door and said, “Thank you again for coming tonight, Katya. We would love to have you again.”

Words caught in her throat as that overwhelming swell of gratitude from earlier rose from her chest to her mouth. Unwilling to let her voice crack, she nodded.

“Perhaps next time you could bring your brother?”

The tide of gratitude ebbed a bit. A discomfort Katya wasn’t ready to look at pulling it away. Still, she nodded and quietly thanked her host.

As she and Silco stepped out onto the street, he said, “So, do you need me to roll you?”

The callback made her laugh, and she said, “No. I think my feet can manage. Thank you.”

He smirked and retrieved a cigarette from his tin.

They walked in companionable silence for a bit, until Katya said, “It’s not just that you spoke to me truthfully, you know.”

Surprised, Silco looked over to her.

“Your passion for the cause is what helped me see it for myself. It helped me believe it.”

She lifted her gaze to his.

“The truth is hardly any good if you cannot convince people of it,” she added. Then smiled, “I just do not want you to downplay the importance of your passion. It matters.”

Not knowing what to say to that, Silco nodded and flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. He was thankful that the chartreuse glow of the chem-lights hid the pink in his cheeks.

“Do you want to lead once Zaun is free?” Katya asked. “Become the Head of State, or something?”

She asked in a tone that wasn’t entirely joking, and it gave him pause.

“Honestly,” he began, “I . . . haven’t thought that far ahead. Getting the Underground to rally has been my chief concern. Leading a revolution is one thing; leading a nation . . . feels like another. I don’t know if I would want that. Besides, it should be up to Zaun who leads them. We will decide collectively what form of government will serve us best.”

“And what if we choose you?”

The question ended up being more loaded than Katya intended. There was a charge in the air and it pulled at the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. Despite this, she leaned in again.

“They don’t care, like you said,” she continued, jutting her head in the general direction of Piltover. “That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? Zaun will need someone or a group of someones that cares about its people. That’s where your passion serves us best.”

Silco smiled to himself.

“Are you auditioning for my cabinet?” he joked. “My campaign manager, perhaps?”

Katya snickered and shoved her hands into her coat pockets.

“No. That does not sound like something I would want to do.”

“What would you like to do? Once we’re free and have the means?”

Her eyes softened and became thoughtful as she seriously considered the question.

“I’d like to become a doctor, I think,” she finally said.

Silco nodded and tossed the stub end of his cigarette away.

“That seems fitting.”

The rest of the walk to Katya’s home was a mix of easy silence and murmured conversations about nothing in particular. When they reached her door, she stepped forward to unlock it.

As the deadbolt thunked out of the lock, she heard Silco say, “Good night, Katya,” behind her.

 A thought – a need? – zinged up her spine. She paused, fingers wrapped around the key, considering.

Finally, she turned back to him and said, “You can call me Kat. If you’d like.”

Her heart thudded to see his eyebrows soften.

“Good night, Kat.”

“Good night, Silco.”

Chapter Text

Ivy pushed the drink cart into Heimerdinger’s office, the gold pitcher and crystal glasses rattling as it rolled toward the two wingback chairs by the ornate marble fireplace. Councilor Bone sat in one seat, his head in one hand while the other pressed a handkerchief to his mouth. He didn’t look at her as she approached, nor did he acknowledge the noisy cart. Heimerdinger stood in front of him, small hands clasped tightly behind his back. He nodded to Ivy as she came up, his blue eyes shimmering with concern.

“Thank you, Miss Banforth,” he murmured.

The corners of the aide’s lips ticked up politely and she poured two glasses of water, placing one on the end table next to Bone, the second, smaller glass on the table by Heimerdinger’s chair. The Yordle nodded again, excusing her. Quietly, steps muffled by the plush rug, she let the room. For a long while, the only sound in the spacious office was Bone’s wheezing breath.

“Drink, Jarrot,” Heimerdinger kindly instructed.

Bone grimaced behind his handkerchief, his teeth clenching in frustration. He didn’t want to drink the Piltovian’s pity water; he wanted to not be sick. To not be dying because of the labor he had done for them. He wanted Rynweaver and the other too-wealthy Academy benefactors to not grip their purse strings so tightly. He did not want the water.

Reaching out a shaky hand, Bone gripped the glass and brought it to his lips. The first sip he wrestled down, the following gulps came more easily.

Satisfied, Heimerdinger turned and stepped up the small stool to his chair, and sat down. The concern didn’t leave his eyes as Bone drained his glass. He left his own beverage untouched.

A long moment passed, the silence in the office punctuated by the Undercity Councilor’s phlegmy throat clearings. Still, he didn’t look the other in the eye.

“I am dying, Professor,” Bone grumbled after a couple minutes. He kept his eyes closed and his heavy head on his fingertips. His shoulder sagged, confessing the fact out loud. His throat clenched in a way that had nothing to do with his illness.

Heimerdinger’s long ears folded back and dipped. The concern that had molded his brow since adjourning the meeting transformed into weighty sorrow. His own small body mimicked his counterpart’s, his head dropping in grim respect for the mortality he’d never know.

“I am . . . sorry, Jarrot,” Heimerdinger whispered.

“I am dying,” Bone repeated. “I am running out of time to do good for the Undercity.”

The Yordle lifted his head. “You have, my friend.”

Bone sneered at the platitude.

“What have I accomplished, Professor?” he asked, his voice gravelly with illness and venom. “What real change have I managed to cement?”

“The new sanctions and regulations at the mines, for one,” Heimerdinger offered.

Bone’s hand dropped from his face and he fixed the professor with an icy stare.

“And can you guarantee me – guarantee the Undercity – that those will not be abrogated once I am gone?”

Heimerdinger’s ears dropped further. He was immortal; not a fortune-teller.

“The changes I have managed to enact are flimsy at best,” grumbled Bone. He brought his handkerchief back up to his mouth and coughed again. “I have barely been able to scratch my political agenda, and not only is my time running out, but Rynweaver and the other noble families are devising means to keep furthering the divide of opportunity between Piltover and her Undercity. Whose call do you think the Council will heed, Professor?”

The two stared at each other for a long while. Bone tired of his voice, the voices he spoke form being unheard; Heimerdinger uncertain of how to handle this diplomatically.

“Jarrot,” he began carefully, “it is the Council’s job to act in the best interest of the whole populace. Things advance for Piltover, they advance for the Undercity. A rising tide lifts all boats – “

“With all do respect, Professor,” Bone grit, “that is horseshit. If Rynweaver and the other benefactors get what they want, what will happen to Viktor, your prize pupil? His sister won’t be able to pay more than she already is for his schooling. What then? Toss him back into the Undercity’s maw to die? Let his spot be taken up by another Piltovian child? There is no bridging this inequitable rift between Topside and the Underground without massive change. And I have not been able to scratch away at anything because the rest of Council is only interested in maintaining the status quo.”

As he spoke, his eyes had become glossy, his voice desperate and aggrieved around the edges.

“This is not what I hoped my tenure on Council would be,” he whispered.

Heimerdinger watched and listened to his peer. His heart truly ached for the man in front of him. A sigh whistled through his mustache as he lowered his eyes.

“Change,” he said, “takes time.”

“Time is not something I have, Professor. There are plenty of other Undercity citizens who have a similar affliction – or something else. They don’t have time either. Viktor doesn’t have time.”

Heimerdinger winced at the mention of his student. It was likely Rynweaver and the benefactors would get their way. His stomach swooped and the skin under his fur became cold at the thought of having to send Viktor back across the river for good.

“This . . . variance between our cities is not what I had in mind when founding Piltover,” Heimerdinger confessed.

“I believe you.”

Heimerdinger looked up, ears lifting. Bone returned the look with red, watery eyes and a stern brow. He coughed into his handkerchief once more before continuing.

“I believe you that it was not your intention when founding Piltover to leave half of the population quite literally in the dust. However, it is what has happened. And do not distance yourself from the issue by using nothing words like ‘variance.’ It is prejudice, inequity, inequality, and violent classism. Piltover has built its progress on the corpses of Trenchers. And you have us dig deeper graves, day in and day out. Digging those graves is what is sending me to mine.

“The further the city gets from its founding, the broader the divide. This is a deep wound, Professor. Deeper than the Sumps. And in order to begin healing from it, changes must be made. And not just some rules and regulations at one mining enterprise. Piltover and the Undercity cannot move forward as things are now. Progress cannot bloom from prejudice.”

The pale scotch in Grayson’s tumbler caught and refracted the dim light of her desk lamp. The crystal it had been etched from glowed with it. She sighed, took another sip, and leaned her head on the tips of her fingers. In the back of her mind, she heard her mother’s voice reprimand her for her poor posture.

“Ladies sit up straight, Theodora,” she would say. “Ankles crossed!”

When Grayson was old enough to dress herself, she had kept her corset slack so she could sit more comfortably. Unfortunately, her mother caught on and demanded to inspect her underthings before they had company or before she left the house.

It irked young Grayson for several reasons. Not the least of which being that she and her family were a lesser house. No one was looking at them expectantly. Atticus was an Enforcer, his wife a junior curator at a small art gallery. They weren’t nobles nor did they entertain any, so her mother’s insistence on ladylike etiquette was grating.

Besides, even as a young girl, Grayson knew she wanted to be an Enforcer. Like her father. She wouldn’t need to know which fork was for salads nor the correct order of dishes for an eight-course dinner.

The one thing she was able to use from her mother’s infuriating, demeaning lessons was how to listen, how to approach people, and how to sus out subtext within a conversation or interaction. They were skills that had allowed Grayson to climb the Enforcer ranks quickly.

Much to her chagrin, though, slouching did end up hurting her back as much as sitting stick-straight did. She grunted and shifted in her seat, flipping over a page of the report she was currently reading. One of the ones from the dossier Bone had given her that afternoon.

The case had been closed for a couple of years. It was similar in subject matter to the previous few cases she had looked at in the folder. It had been a brief investigation: An Enforcer was accused of sexually assaulting, and later beating, an Undercity sex worker. The woman was not an employee of any of the brothels – no establishment claimed her once the report was made.

The Enforcer in question was a young man new to the force, and the young woman accused him of raping and sodomizing her. Once she made the report, she returned to the station beaten and bloody saying the same man had jumped her. The photographs that accompanied the report were too few, but impactful.

Despite this, the subsequent investigation was brief and lacked depth. The Enforcer was not found at fault, and when the victim kept making a fuss, the courts proclaimed her mentally incompetent and sent her to Osweld Asylum.

Grayson sighed and closed the folder, pushing it away. She sipped again at her scotch and eyed the remaining stack of reports to her left.

“That being born in the Undercity increases citizens risk of being treated unjustly by a system that is meant to protect them. That is why Viktor looked at you fearfully. Because, like it or not, you were not taught to protect him.”

Councilor Bone’s voice echoed in her head. Her gut coiled. The liquor didn’t burn enough.

She knew that crime rates in the Undercity were higher than those in Piltover. It was common knowledge, even amongst the public. Piltover mothers – regardless of station – frequently prohibited their children from straying any farther than the boundary markets in the Promenade. There was a well-known dare-game among Piltover teens to go deep into the Undercity, and whoever got the furthest unscathed won.

The Undercity was dangerous. Everyone in Piltover knew it.

And yet, the unease that had rippled under Grayson’s skin when she met with Bone earlier in the day would not settle. It scratched at her stomach and questioned what she had thought had been her intuition.

But Viktor’s eyes . . . the handful of reports she had read . . . Bone’s notes comparing relatively similar cases between the Undercity and Piltover . . .

Her teeth ached and her heart squeezed.

She had wanted to become an Enforcer because she watched how her father loved what he did. He would speak to her about how fulfilling it was to be there for people in some of the darkest moments of their lives, and help them through it. How good it felt to be of service to his city and his neighbors.

The idea had warmed and fizzed Grayson’s insides. It made her full of pride and hope. She wanted to do that, not sip tea and attend garden parties. She didn’t want to uselessly and capriciously climb the social ladder. She wanted to be purposeful in a way she could feel and see.

And being presented with evidence that perhaps her endeavors were not that . . . made her numb.

She couldn’t feel it.

And she couldn’t unsee the facts Bone had laid at her feet.

Grayson knew she was on the track to eventually take over for Sheriff LeDaird when he retired. Her father would’ve been proud of her. What if she could help accomplish more than he or she ever dreamed? Ever knew to dream? What if she forded the river and bridged the divide?

About once a month, Enyd visited the Clapper Textile Mill to purchase scrap fabric. For only a few washers and cogs she would be able to walk away with a small laundry bag of thread and a variety of swatches. It was cheaper than buying bolts of fabric. And the managers of the mill were happy to slip some extra money into their pockets while keeping the floors tidy.

No matter how many times Enyd entered the building, she was always taken aback by how loud it was. Even in the small and orderly front office area, the pounding and shrieking of the mighty looms just beyond the back brick wall burst through the mortar, rattling the filing cabinets and desks. She wondered how anyone got anything done as their pens skittered across parchment and dust motes rained down on their hair, having been shaken loose by the creaky rafters above.

Despite the cacophony, the mill’s secretary looked up as Enyd walked in and she waved her over, getting up from her vibrating desk. Birdy was a square-shaped woman with a flat face and one arm. The other had been sheared off in a looming accident years ago, after which she was transferred into the office. She was curt and belligerently independent.

Enyd wove around the manager’s desk, mumbling platitudes to him and the client he was speaking with. Neither gentleman looked up, their eyes glued upon the contracts and agreements quivering between them. She spared one last glance at the client, who looked too wealthy to be visiting Clapper, before slipping through the door Birdy held open for her.

“That girl has stockpiled quite an array fer ya this time,” Birdy quipped in her throaty voice as they ascended a set of stairs.

“Who was that man speaking with Amos?” Enyd asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

The secretary’s wide mouth pursed and she rolled her eyes.

“Some Topside muckity-muck.”

“Topside? Doing business here?”

 Birdy’s nostrils flared and her lip pulled into a thread-thin line.

“He needs . . . discretion, apparently.”

She offered nothing else. They arrived on a metal landing and the secretary opened the door crowning it. The clanging and whirring of the looms increased to bone-quaking intensity as the two women entered the factory floor’s catwalk. Below them, mighty metal mouths gnashed against the fabric tongues that slipped and pulled through their teeth, the width of the bolt increasing with each chomp; colors became deeper with each bullet-fast pass of the metal shuttle as more thread was added. Birdy was completely nonplussed by the volume of noise, but Enyd clapped her hands over her ears and quickly shuffled behind the other woman.

They traveled down the metal gangway, their footsteps a pitiful edition to the rest of the din. Birdy’s gaze flitted amongst the throngs of mill girls beneath their feet, all of them dutifully tending to their tasks (lest they end their shift short a limb, like the secretary). Her eyes widened as they fell upon her intended target: a tall teenager whose dark, almost black, skin stuck out from her pale peers like a sunflower seed in a bushel of ginko nuts. A broom was in her strong hands and she methodically swished it over the floor, gathering a pile of loose thread and fabric scraps.

Birdy beat her fist against the metal duct over her head in a methodical pattern. All at once, hundreds of faces looked up to the catwalk. The secretary locked eyes with the sweeping teen and pointed firmly at her. Enyd saw the girl’s face track to her own, and she nodded, scurrying down a tight row of machines to the back of the factory.

The two older women followed from above, finally escaping the main floor by way of another stairwell. Enyd sighed with relief and let her hands drop back to her sides. Birdy’s energy remained the same as she trundled down the stairs before them.

Weaving through a couple short hallways on the first floor, they arrived in the cutting room, and found the sweeper shoving a few more swatches into a small laundry bag.

“Hi Ms. Enyd!” she said joyfully, her white teeth a streak of starlight against her dark skin.

“Hello, Nasha. Those look like some interesting patterns you’ve collected for me.”

Enyd stepped to the counter and took up a short length of blue fabric with a paisley embossment.

“Make sure it’s t’yah liking,” Birdy called. “Then come find me in th’office. I gotta get back to work.”

Enyd nodded and bid her chaperone good-bye.

With the secretary gone, Nasha’s shoulders slumped and a breathy chuckle bubbled in her throat.

“Birds makes me so nervous,” she admitted. “The way she looks at me when she tries to get my attention gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“She’s fine,” Enyd tutted playfully, sifting through the materials. “She’s just a grumpy old-timer. Like me.”

Nasha laughed and shook her head, the makeshift bonnet she wore over her bushy hair swishing precariously.

“Nah. You’re not grumpy. And you’re not an old-timer.”

“I have a son older than you, dear,” Enyd countered with a cheeky grin.

Nasha shrugged and crossed her thick forearms over her chest. “It’s more of a state of mind, I guess.”

The older woman smiled at the girl’s generous definition and continued to inspect the fabric and threads. The silence between them was short-lived, because soon Nasha whispered excitedly, “Did you see the fop with Mr. Amos? The Piltie looking one? Was he still in the office when you got here?”

 “He was,” Enyd said carefully. “Birdy was not very forthcoming with the details, though.”

Nasha guffawed and shook her head again.

“He’s visited the mill a couple times in the past month. Caught all of our attention, you know? Mr. Amos rarely gets Piltie clients!”

“What does a Piltie want with an Undercity textile mill?” asked Enyd.

A Cheshire grin sliced across Nasha’s plump face and she leaned in conspiratorially.

“So, his wife’s family’s business is in window treatments. They do all the mansions in Bluewind Court. He’s got some management position at the Clockwork Vault. Apparently, he has racked up a lot of gambling debt with some Bilgewater crew. He’s ordering a bunch of curtain panels from Mr. Amos that he’s gonna be shipping over there.”

“Curtain panels? Why?”

Nasha leaned in further and whispered, “He’s been skimming the tops of some bigger accounts he oversees at Clockwork; gathering up enough coin to pay his debts. He’s gonna hide the money in the panels, and forge some shipping manifest to make it look like his wife’s family’s business is shipping the curtains.”

“How do you know all this?” Enyd asked, eyes wide.

“Because Gidgit, one of the other mill girls, sucks Mr. Amos’ dick at the end of the day, and he tells her things when he’s all spent and stupid. Then she tells me when I make her spent and stupid – “

“Yes, I understand,” Enyd brusquely hissed, wanting to bypass any discussion of Amos’ or Nasha’s sexual escapades. Besides, her mind was alight with possibility. Her stomach coiled and her heart tittered.

“Nasha,” she said quietly, “have you or any of the other girls heard of the Children of Zaun?”

The journey into Piltover at the end of the week was much more pleasant than it had been at the start. The sun lazily danced in-between fluffy clouds and a cool breeze swirled off the Pilt as Katya crossed the Bridge to pick her brother up. While her body was tired from a stressful week at the mines, her heart was still light and fluttery from the meal and company she had shared the night prior.

And from seeing one half of that company standing in the clinic’s doorway earlier that afternoon.

Clean up was in full effect at the accident site, regular operations were starting back up, and the triage tents were taken down; injured miners either could get back to work or rest at home. Upon arriving, Katya had been directed back into the mine’s medical clinic by a pushy Topside physician, and there she relieved Will of rehoming and reorganizing the space.

The boxes she and he had packaged up the day prior were stacked in neat piles around the front office and exam room. Periodically, additional packages were brought down by random laborers. Almost all came and went without saying much, barely giving Katya a chance to instruct them on where it would be most helpful to set them down.

Around one in the afternoon, when she was elbow-deep in gauze and bandages, Silco appeared in the clinic’s doorway, his arms wrapped around yet another box. Katya felt her cheeks pinch at the sight of him.

“This one rattles,” he said by way of greeting. The corners of his lips lifted, and he asked, “Where would you like it?”

“It is probably some of the antibiotics,” she said. “I’ve been looking for it. If you could put it in the exam room, that would be helpful. Thank you.”

Silco nodded and wove around the maze of boxes, as Katya lifted to her feet and followed him.

“By the table is fine,” she sighed as he stepped into the small room.

He carefully set the box down next to the exam table, and she watched the way his hands and forearms flexed as he transferred the weight of the delivery to the floor. As he stood back up, the need to say something else pummeled her.

“Thank you again for having me for dinner last night,” she decided to say. “I had a lovely time.”

“I’ll pass on your gratitude to my mum,” he said with a lopsided grin. Then, something softer and more self-conscious flickered across his face, and he added, “We enjoyed having you. I hope you can join us again. Like my mum said.”

Katya smiled and nodded.

“I certainly will never try to wiggle out of one of Enyd’s invitations again. Her cooking is delicious.” She paused and said, “And the company was enjoyable, too.”

The tips of Silco’s ears went pink and the grin he wore twitched nervously. He cleared his throat and nodded, trying not to look too pleased. Together, they began walking back toward the clinic door.

“You’re picking your brother up today?” he asked.

“Yes. For the weekend.”

He nodded, and Katya thought she saw a glimmer of disappointment behind his eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it came, and he fixed her with a warm look.

“Have a nice weekend, Kat.”

She bit the inside of her lower lip and smiled to herself at the memory as the Bridge attendant let her through. It was new, but it felt warm and intoxicating to belong. To be sought after. To be cared for.

Her smile fully split as she approached the fountain in Pilt Square, and she saw her brother and Ivy waiting for her. He looked up from the book he was reading and smiled back, waving in greeting. He stowed his book away, scooped up his crutch, and limped toward her. Katya wrapped her arms around him tightly.

“Oh, I missed you!” she sighed into his hair.

“I missed you, too.”

She drew back and cupped his face. “Did you have a good week?”

Viktor nodded and said, “I had lunch with Councilor Bone a couple times!”

Katya stared at her brother, flabbergasted. Before she could inquire further, Ivy had walked up, rucksack in hand.

“Hello, Katya.”

She handed off the large bag to the medic, and once it was situated securely across the other’s shoulders, she held out a cream-colored envelope. Katya’s smiled dropped as she reached out for the letter, recognizing Heimerdinger’s gilded sigil embossed on its front.

“Professor Heimerdinger scheduled Viktor’s midterm conference for next Thursday,” Ivy explained. “He’s written a letter excusing your absence from work, if that helps in your ability to attend – “

“That isn’t necessary,” Katya curtly said. She was aware that it didn’t make sense to be peeved with Ivy for the Yordle’s overreach, but she found she couldn’t help herself. “I will be there.”

“Excellent,” Ivy said politely. “I shall let Professor Heimerdinger know to expect you. Have a lovely weekend, Viktor!”

“You, too, Miss Ivy.”

Katya tucked Heimerdinger’s fancy envelope into her coat and guided Viktor back toward the Bridge.

“We have to pick up your brace at Pok’s before heading home,” she told her brother as they went.

“Can we go to Jericho’s then? Like last week?”

“Not today, Viktor,” she said. His lower lip pouted forward but he didn’t argue further.

“If the weather is good tomorrow, how about we try going back to the Shores to look at the boats?”

His eyes brightened. He smiled and nodded at his sister. She smiled back.

“How did you come to have lunch with Councilor Bone?”

“I was having lunch on one of the campus benches and he came up and asked if he could sit with me.”

He shot her an excited glance and his round cheeks glowed happily.

“Is that so?” Katya hummed playfully. “What did you and the Councilor talk about?”

“He asked questions about my classes, and what I like to build. I showed him my cane,” Viktor answered, flourishing the crutch out in front of him, taking a big swinging step.

“Careful, Viktor,” Katya chuckled.

“He told me a little bit about his life in the Undercity. Before he was a Councilor, I mean. He used to work at the mines.”

“Yes, I know. Papa nor I ever got to meet him though. It’s very exciting that you’ve made a friend in such a high place!”

Her brother laughed and they continued together toward the conveyor car station.

Augmentation Alley was bustling like normal. Glowing deep oranges and yellows in the shadows of the Undercity. The smell of fire and hot metal made Katya feel like they were walking through an oven. Her shirt stuck to her damp skin under her coat, and her bangs began to glue themselves to her forehead.

She and Viktor weaved past stores and stalls, making it to Pok’s Parlor at the end of the alley. They were not the only customers, and her heart stalled to see the hulking figure in front of Mek’s smithing anvil. It was Vander. Both young men turned to see brother and sister enter the shop, and Katya gripped her brother’s shoulder, holding him in place. She was not ready for Viktor to know this part of her life yet. She hoped he didn’t remember the barkeep from bringing Benzo to their apartment; she prayed it had been too dark for him to recognize the strikingly tall and muscled man before him.

Fortunately, Viktor looked up at her curiously, with confused, wondering eyes. Vander saw the trepidation in her face and kindly turned back to Mek without formally addressing her. Katya swallowed, wetting her dry throat with an audible click, and awkwardly ushered her brother further inside.

“Da!” Mek called out. “Customers!”

Grumbling and limping, Pok staggered out of the back room. Upon seeing Katya and Viktor he grunted and nodded, waving them over with a gnarled, meaty hand. The siblings gave Mek and Vander as wide a berth as they could, walking over to the augmenteer’s workbench.

He rifled through the pieces of metal and leather hanging over his drafting table, eying the tags of paper attached to each. Finally, he plucked a piece from the far left end of the rack and laid it across the table between them.

Pok eyed the piece, then Viktor.

“Looks ‘bout right. C’mere, boy. Let’s try it on.”

He stripped down to his current brace, Katya helped unlace him out of it. She felt how worn and fragile it was as she took it and his shirt into her arms. With cautious excitement, Viktor stepped closer to the old man. Pok slipped the shoulder strap over the boy’s head and went about showing him wear to buckle and how to tighten.

Katya watched her brother’s face gradually grow into something relieved and excited; the expression of joy being pulled from him as if it were warm taffy. She knew how much this opportunity of independence meant to him. She clutched his old brace tighter.

Sometimes, when she was young – younger than Viktor – her papa would take her to examine tidepools near the mouth of the Pilt. She would get sad upon finding shell after shell of what she thought were dead crabs.

“No, no, Button,” her papa would say, plucking the delicate carapace from her small hands. “This is called an exoskeleton. Crustaceans and insects have them. When it is time for the crab to grow, it sheds its current exoskeleton so the larger one underneath can take its place. There’s a short period of time where the crab’s new body is vulnerable. But once it hardens, it is bigger and stronger than before.”

Katya’s throat squeezed watching Viktor undo and redo the buckles and straps of his new brace over and over again. Until he was comfortable with his new shell. He beamed up at her and she smiled back.

Satisfied, Viktor put his shirt back on, and Katya drew her coin purse out from her coat.

“I’ll give ya a small discount if you leave his old brace,” Pok said, nodding to the soft leather straps hung over her arm. “Materials are becoming difficult to come by.”

Katya paused, considering. She looked down at the old brace.

“I would prefer to keep it, actually.”

She paid Pok their agreed price, and she guided Viktor back around Mek and Vander, heading for the alley. She noticed how her brother’s walk was more easeful than when they first arrived. Noticed how he more readily stepped in front of her. Her heart swelled for him, and ached at the same time.

Before she followed Viktor back out into the Undercity, she spared one last glance at Vander. Mek had just lifted something onto the anvil between them, and the barkeep was carefully inspecting whatever it was. When he lifted it up into the bright glow of the furnace, Katya could see that it was a large, crudely constructed gauntlet.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Rynweaver left the Academy Board meeting on Monday pleased with the outcome of their decision. His and the other benefactor’s minimum donation amount would be rising, but the coin would be more evenly divvyed up among Academy needs. It made the most sense moving forward, to invest in the Academy as an entity – not only its students. Fortifying the school’s resources would draw additional investors, create clout, and cement Piltover’s identity as a progressive powerhouse.

Thade’s great-great grandfather had pulled himself from the chasm of what was now the Undercity over one hundred years ago. Crawled to the shores of what would be Piltover and began his mining empire. He had believed in hard work and the opportunities it offered up, had past those lessons and mindsets on to his own children, those children to theirs, and so on until Thade’s father instilled it in him.

He felt like he was playing an integral role in his family’s legacy by doing his part to ensure Piltover’s status amongst the nations of Runeterra. It gave him a sense of pride and purpose that growing his family’s mining enterprise simply could not. He loved his home. And its potential.

His feet carried him to the florist near the mouth of Mainspring Crescent. The bell jingled merrily as he let himself inside, and swept to the counter.

“Sir?”

A young and pretty floral assistant addressed him in a light voice, and a small bow.

“I’d like to purchase two arrangements, please. To be sent to separate addresses.”

“Yes, sir.” She pulled a large booklet out from under the counter and said, “This is a list of our more popular designs – “

“You do original arrangements, don’t you?”

“Of course, sir.” She closed the booklet and stowed it back beneath the counter. She pulled out two pieces of paper from a drawer. Each had a long list of flower names. She set a fountain pen down along with them. “Mark off which blooms you would like.”

“Thank you,” Rynweaver said, and he set to work.

Horticulture and botany had been two of his favorite classes at the Academy. He thought it was fitting. Plants and flowers came from the very terra his family tilled, after all. His eyes scanned down the list and ticked off those he wanted.

Nasturtiums. Poppies. Hydrangeas. Geraniums.

He stood, and slid the parchment across the counter. The floral assistant flipped the papers and looked them over, her brow pitching in confusion.

“I know this is an unorthodox gathering,” Rynweaver said, an apologetic smile curling his lips, “but these are the ones I would like.”

“Yes, sir. Both bouquets are to be made with the same flowers?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Very good, sir” the assistant said, gathering the papers and tapping them into a stack on the counter. “Each arrangement comes with a calling card. Would you prefer to pen your own?”

“I would, thank you.”

She handed him two blank cream-colored cards and ducked her chin down once more before stepping away, giving him privacy to write the correspondences.

Thade drew the cards towards him. He tapped the pen against the counter and cocked his head, thinking about just what he wanted to say to Professor Heimerdinger and Councilor Bone.

In truth, he held no true ill-will toward either man. They weren’t worth the time. But they did not share similar values, so, inevitably, they would clash from time to time. And this time, Rynweaver had won.

He knew Heimerdinger’s heart was with his students. Piltover’s founder struggled with the bigger picture; he did not seem to grasp the scope and gravity and potential of Piltover as a whole. Luckily, Rynweaver, his peers, and the other Council members were there to step up where their founder fell short.

Bone . . . Not that Rynweaver would ever admit such a thing, but he admired Bone. Nearly all of the long-standing wealthy families in Piltover had ancestry in the Undercity. They had worked and sweated tooth and nail to rise up to the current stations their prodigy enjoyed. It wasn’t often any longer that a Trencher managed to scrabble their way out of the Fissures, much less cement a place in Piltover as well. It reminded Rynweaver of his family’s own beginnings, and couldn’t begrudge the Councilor for that.

However, he could not abide by Bone’s politics. The old man harped on and on about inequality, inequity, and social ‘responsibility.’ As if the Rynweavers, or any of his peers’ families, hadn’t gotten where they were by their own hard work. Or anyone in Piltover for that matter; or the Promenade even. The ball was not being hidden. Several people simply lacked the fortitude to do well and provide for themselves, and Rynweaver was not about to bend over backwards to foot the bill for outreach programs and policies for lazy Trenchers. Their problems were their own.

 Rynweaver set the pen tip down on the first card and scrawled a message to Heimerdinger.

               Professor ---

Here’s to Piltover’s Academy and the progress that will surely come of this adjustment. Always, and forever forward!

                              --- Sir Thade Rynweaver

He folded the card and tucked it inside its envelope, writing the Yordle’s office address on the front. He pulled the second card to him, paused in thought, and then began writing.

               Councilor Bone ---

I understand that the Academy Board’s decision today is very upsetting to you. I was also very aggrieved when the new regulations placed on my mine’s operations slowed production, so I know how it feels. However, those imposed sanctions have resulted in less conflict between employees and their superiors. Praise Janna for small miracles.

I hope that reminding you of this allows you to see that this development, too, will most undoubtedly yield greater results for Piltover, and therefore her Undercity. Always, and forever forward.

                              --- Sir Thade Rynweaver

P.S. – I do hope that cough has since resolved itself.

Rynweaver capped the pen, and stowed Bone’s card in its own envelope and labelled it with the Councilor’s address. As if sensing the completion of the task, the floral assistant appeared again, ducking under a weeping wisteria display behind the counter.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with, sir?” She asked, gathering the envelopes.

“No, thank you, that is everything, dear,” he replied, placing his hat back atop his head and striding for the door. As he opened it, he tipped his brim to the assistant, “Have a lovely day.”

A day later, both Heimerdinger and Bone received their floral arrangements.

The Professor read the card once and solemnly held it to his chest, his crystal blue eyes hovering over the unique blend of blooms before him.

Bone read his card and promptly tossed it in his office’s fireplace and set it ablaze. At the end of the day, he crossed the Bridge back to the Promenade and handed the flowers out to wide-eyed Lanes children who’d never seen a flower before.

Most of the day in the clinic was quiet. Katya passed the time by organizing the supplies and completing paperwork the Sanitarium required from assisting the rescue efforts. For a moment, she thought she was going to get out of seeing any patients. Then Kells showed up in the doorway, holding a scrap of fabric over his forearm.

Katya stood up and stepped around the desk. “What happened?”

Kells shrugged, a smug grin on his face. “Got my arm caught between two minecarts,” he said. “Figured I should come see you.”

She eyed his arm. A wet, red splotch had saturated his makeshift bandage. It didn’t look awful . . .

“Come to the exam room,” she said, jerking her head in its direction.

He followed, and took a seat on the exam table while Katya washed her hands at the small sink.

“Let me see,” she said, plopping on her stool and swiveling over.

He peeled the bandage away, revealing a large, bloody scrape.

“I know you just taught us how to treat things like this,” Kells said. “But I wanted a private lesson.”

Katya’s nostrils flared in annoyance. She set her jaw and went about patching the man up. She purposely went through the steps quickly. One, to get him out of her face as fast as possible, and two, to hopefully confuse him, thereby negating a ‘private lesson.’

“Watch where you put your arms next time,” she spat as she taped the bandage down. She shot up from her seat and stalked into the front office, directing him to leave.

Kells chuckled and ran a hand through his wheat-colored hair, following her.

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try. Do.”

“See you at the meeting,” he said with a sly grin as he slipped out of the office. “Thanks for this.”

Katya harumphed and sat heavily in the chair behind the front desk, thoroughly put out and aggravated. She didn’t think anything could lift her mood other than the tone of the shift bell. However, she was proven wrong when the door opened nearly an hour later and Silco stepped inside. She set her pen down, and stood, looking him up and down for injuries. When she saw none, she was confused, but a smile still bloomed across her face.

“Hey,” she said, rounding the desk. “What are you doing here?”

While Silco maintained his typical cool, aloof energy, there was something undeniably buzzing underneath. His eyes glittered like the sun hitting a patch of ice.

“There was a very promising development over the weekend,” he hushed, stepping closer. “We have a very big, very real opportunity within our grasp.”

Excitedly, he ran Katya through the discussion he and Vander had had with Nasha. About the Piltie stealing and laundering money, and how there was potential to steal it and funnel it back into the Lanes. Perhaps even use some of it to purchase weapons, medicine, and other necessities for the revolution. She did her best to listen, but her head echoed with how he had said ‘our grasp.’

Katya’s heart tittered at the news, at the possibility. At the danger.

“Not only could this help the Lanes,” Silco continued, “but it would be a real first step in getting Piltover to recognize the Children of Zaun and our movement. Get them to legitimately consider our demands.”

Katya nodded, although her face was growing warm and her throat tight.

“And what if they don’t consider our demands?”

Silco sighed. “It’s likely they won’t at first. But if we can utilize these funds to fight for ourselves, it’ll only be a matter of time. We’ll show them.”

The same confidence and zealousness with which he had spoken to her that night on the Promenade radiated from him. That night, fear had been the feeling that overwhelmed her. Now, she felt righteous and safe. She grinned up at him, her gold eyes matching the glitter and hope of his blue ones.

The clinic door opened again, and both Silco and Katya started at the noise. Will stepped inside, also looking surprised at the pair. Usually when he showed up for work, Katya was either by herself, or with a patient; and based on the pair’s close stance and conspiratorial lean toward each other, the young man (who he recognized from the previous week) was not a patient. His brow dropped and he adjusted his glasses.

“Will!” Katya exclaimed. “Is it that time already?”

“It is. Everything alright, young man?”

Silco straightened and nodded. “Yes, I just had something to tell Kat.”

Will hummed and shrugged off his coat. “Well, you shouldn’t dally. Don’t want your supervisor noticing you’re gone for too long.”

He jerked his head toward the open door and hung his coat on the rack. Silco’s lips pursed at the direction. He spared one last look to Katya and said, “See you Wednesday?”

She nodded. He smiled, and left. Will shut the door behind him as Katya went to retrieve her own coat.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“That young man,” Will clarified. “That’s the second time he’s been to see you.”

Katya scoffed. “I have friends, Will.”

The older man winced. “I’m sure you do, Katya. That isn’t what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” she asked sharply, sliding her arms through her coat and fixing him with a pointed look.

He sighed. “Just that, it’s different is all. I don’t want to see you get hurt. And,” he swallowed, “there’s been some rumblings.”

“Rumblings?”

“About people planning a revolution,” he whispered. “I’ve had a couple patients try to talk me into it. The Children of Zaun, or something.”

A chill tickled down Katya’s spine. Will’s hesitance made her nervous.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he repeated. “Or get into something you can’t get out of. You’re a bright girl, Katya. And what these people are trying to do . . . It won’t end well.”

Katya wrapped her coat around her body tightly. She gave Will a sympathetic, but firm look, and nodded.

“I’ll be careful.”

Wednesday night, Katya once again took the walk to Sevika’s apartment and waited in the narrow lane in front of her building. She took a few meandering steps back and forth along the uneven cobbles. When the front door screeched open, her head whipped up, and she came to a sudden halt. Sevika traipsed down the steps, her little brother scooped up in her arms, her younger sisters trailing behind her like ducklings. Not only were the children unexpected, but Sevika looked different –

“Are you wearing rouge?” Katya asked, peering up at her tall friend.

The color intensified as Sevika blushed, her grouchy face turning embarrassed. The boy in her thick arms giggled, his ink black hair swishing as he threw his head back. His sister’s grimace returned and she jostled him.

“Yeah, so?” Sevika huffed. “I . . . felt like it.”

“I thought you told Saraph it was because there’s gonna be a girl at the meeting that you like,” one of the younger girls said. The girl next to her – her twin sister, as they were entirely identical – nodded her head in agreement.

“Gods, Liv, I told you to stop eavesdropping!” Sevika whined, the blush creeping down her neck.

“It can’t be eavesdropping if we’re all in the same room!” the other twin claimed.

“Sevika,” Katya cut in, her eyes wandering from small face to small face, “why are you bringing your sisters and brother?”

Sevika groaned. “Because my old man asked me to bring them.” Katya’s eyes went wide, and she explained, “Someone – dunno who – talked to him about the Children, and he’s interested.” Her voice leaned slightly into hope. “He wants the kids to know what’s going on. So, I’m bringing them.” She shimmied the boy in her arms again and said, “You’ve met Lu. The nosy ones are Liv and Lotte. Then theres Lemlyn,” she jut her chin toward a gangly, sullen looking girl, “and Sky.” Sky, who appeared to be older, still lurked behind Lemlyn’s thin shoulder. But where her sister looked indifferent and stoic, Sky’s big hazel eyes flitted about. Not in vigilance, just in observation. Taking mental notes and cataloging away facts of the given moment. She knew because Viktor did the same.

“Saraph is meeting us there,” Sevika continued. “We should get going. Sky, Lem, hold Liv and Lotte’s hands.”

The gaggle of siblings began down the Lane, and after a beat Katya followed. She did not like the idea of Sevika’s father involving his youngest children, but she also knew that their youth would not keep them from eventually knowing and feeling the repercussions of the revolution. They lived in the Lanes after all. They didn’t have the luxury Viktor did, being siloed away on the safe side of the Pilt. They deserved what he had. And they would have it. Her steps became more determined as she caught up with Sevika’s long strides.

“What about your other sisters?”

Sevika shook her head. “They’re all working shifts at the brothel tonight. They know about it, though.”

Katya nodded and helped to usher the little ones in the direction of The Last Drop.

When they arrived at The Drop’s backdoor, Sevika knocked on it in the Children’s secret code, and no one answered. She shared a look with Katya, adjusting her hold on Lu.

“Let me!” The boy cried, leaning far out from his sister’s arms and trying to rap his small fist against the metal.

“Don’t Lu,” Sevika grumbled, hoisting him back. He whined and thrashed in her arms.

“For Janna’s sake, Lu, don’t whine!” Lemlyn snapped.

“Yeah! Don’t whine!” Lotte piped. Liv giggled and stuck her tongue out at her brother.

“Shut up! You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Everyone STOP!” Sevika yelled, glowering down at all her siblings. All five of them clamped their mouths shut, but stared daggers at each other.

“Maybe we should go through the front?” Katya offered.

“Yeah, I guess,” Sevika sighed. “Let’s go. Lem and Sky, remember to hold the twins’ hands.”

The group shuffled around to The Drop’s front door, Katya helping to wrangle the twins as they went. She was grateful that she had only one sibling to worry about. Viktor was thoughtful and well-behaved, but he was still young, and with that youth came unrelenting needs and naivete; she couldn’t imagine being responsible for multiple children.

Sevika and Lu pushed the door open, and the group had to slowly press themselves inside. The tavern was absolutely packed. Throngs of Trenchers, young and old, milled about. Instinctively, Katya held Lem and Sky closer to her, her hands sliding down their arms to check that the twins’ hands were securely held.

“Holy shit,” Sevika murmured, craning her head over the crowd.

“Holy shit,” her brother repeated.

“Lu, don’t.”

“Sevika!” a booming male voice called over the crowd’s chatter. All their heads jerked to one side, seeing her father calling her, waving a thick, dark brown arm through the air. Next to him, Saraph – the first of Sevika’s older sisters – stood, her cleaning caddy still slung over her elbow, her thin arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Papa!” Lu squealed and flailed his arms. His father guffawed and smiled brightly at the boy.

Sevika rolled her eyes and grabbed for her younger sisters, ushering them through the crowd. Katya followed behind, her jaw tightening at the noise and number of people, eyes restlessly scanning the faces around her.

“Kat!”

A jolt shot up her spine and she spun around, eventually finding Silco through the bodies. He waved her over, and she pulled away from Sevika and her gaggle, grateful that he was positioned in front of one of The Drop’s sheltered booths. Most of the people were pressing and jockeying for space in the center of the tavern.

“Your plan worked it seems,” she said, voice rising to compete with the din.

“It wasn’t just me,” he said, grinning. “Mum pretty much got all of Clapper.”

He gestured to the booth behind him where Enyd sat. A cup of steaming tea was at her elbow. She was holding up the hem of a trouser leg to the light of a small tea candle, merrily flickering on the table. Mouth slightly agape in concentration, she guided a needle up through the ragged fabric. Her eyes flicked over to her son at his voice, and she smiled brightly at Katya.

“Hello, Kat – “

The rest of Enyd’s greeting was cut off by a sudden, harsh cough. She dropped her sewing and ducked her head down into the folds of her sweater. Her slim body shook with the fit, and she reached for her cup of tea.

Katya slid into the seat next to her, concern creasing in a deep divot between her eyebrows. “Are you alright?”

Enyd politely waved the worry away with her free hand as the coughing settled, and she drew her tea up.

“This happens every year when the seasons change,” she promised, sipping her drink.

Katya looked over her shoulder at Silco. He watched his mother, then looked at Katya, his mouth a tight line.

Before anything else could be said, Vander’s voice boomed over the crowd.

“Let’s get started! Annie, go lock the front door! Sil! C’mere!”

Vander stood in front of the bar, towering over most of the crowd. Benzo sat at his side, thick elbows and back propped up against the bar railing. Silco looked back at Katya and his mother, giving them one last lopsided grin before striding to the front of the room. She watched him go, eyes on his shoulders, until Annie breezed by him, heading for the door. Her hazel eyes locked with Katya’s yellow ones. The medic felt her stomach dip at the grimace that twisted the other woman’s youthful features.

“Annie said she saw you and your brother this past weekend,” Enyd said, noticing the wordless exchange. “She felt . . . snubbed.”

“I should apologize,” Katya said, biting her lip.

Enyd patted her hand. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. Wait until after.”

Katya nodded and they turned their attention to the bar. Vander had perched himself on the countertop, wiggling his behind back to get a more secure seat. Silco had hopped up and stood on the side opposite Benzo. He crossed his arms over his chest, surveying the crowd with a hopeful and mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Slowly, the crowd’s chatter simmered down. Several sets of eyes traveled to the three young men at the bar, their stares ranging from curiosity, to anger, to excitement.

“Right. Well,” Vander started, looking around the room. He looked uncertain and his fingers twitched nervously in his lap. “It’s gratifyin’ to see so many Trenchers here tonight. We’ve been waitin’ fer a turn out like this. A lot of ya know me. Name’s Vander. I own The Last Drop. This is Benzo,” he jabbed a thumb in his peer’s direction. “He owns n’ operates Benzo’s Treasure Trove. Most o’ ya probably familiar with it. ‘N this,” he gestured to his other side, “is Silco.” Vander paused and looked out to the crowd, and then back to the man standing on his bar. “’N, to be honest, the reason you are all here is because of ‘im.”

“Don’t be so modest, Vander,” Silco snapped, causing a breezy chuckle to flutter through the crowd. “While both Vander and I began talking and dreaming of a sovereign nation when we were youths in the mines, freedom is something everyone here has dreamed about. Is something that everyone in this room wants. In fact, I would wager that it is something every single citizen in the Undercity yearns for – whether or not they are here in this room.”

Murmurs of agreement echoed through the tavern. Some bodies shifted excitedly.

“We have not been the first to want to take a stand against Piltover’s hold,” Silco continued, “but we will be the ones who make Topside listen. When we stand up, and show them – together – Zaun shall be a free nation.”

Louder calls and cheers of affirmation rumbled through the bar. The applause was scattered but it bolstered the collective morale all the same.

“We’ve received a tip from a new Sister,” Silco said. He nodded towards a gaggle of girls from Clapper Textile Mill, Nasha and her aunt seated among them. “Some Piltie who works at Clockwork Vault will be illegally transferring stolen coin to Bilgewater – “

Tired and exasperated mutterings about the Topsider’s shady business venture rippled across the tables and booths.

“O’ course a Piltie won’ use his own money to pay debts,” someone hissed.

“Corrupt. The lot of ‘em,” another added. “No more fit to govern themselves, much less The Lanes.”

“ – He will be hiding the money in curtains he is ordering from Clapper, to make it look like a delivery.” Silco continued. “There is a forgery angle here, too, that we may be able to leverage. But our focus is on the money.”

“Our plan fer the coin,” Vander broke in, before any could ask, “is to begin establishing trade relationships with foreign markets. Get that ball rollin’.”

“It will also be helpful when Topside begins to give us the ol’ squeeze,” Benzo added.

“That brings up a good point, actually,” Silco said.

“Oh, a compliment from Silco,” Benzo gasped. “I can die happy, I suppose.”

He received a scathing, skin-peeling glare from his slender compatriot, but no other comment. Instead, Silco continued his initial thought.

“It is important that we acknowledge that freedom is not free. When we begin making ourselves known, they will most certainly retaliate. We will have to fight and bleed for Zaun.”

Silco looked over the crowd, his jaw set and his eyes an icy inferno. He let the final piece go unsaid: some would die for Zaun. And they would be honored as heroes, as the fiercest fighters.

“So how do we get it?” Someone called out. It was Tolder, Lu in his arms, running his small fingers over the seams of his father’s conveyor car operator uniform.

“From what we’ve been told,” Vander said, his gaze looking over to Nasha, “the order will be delivered by airship next week sometime.”

“One of our Sisters has been doing recon work about the hanger the ship will be sailing from,” Silco added, a hand gesturing toward the crowd.

“You’re welcome!” Annie trilled from the back of the room, fluttering her fingers at the founders.

“And,” Silco pressed on, “while we have not officially decided this, it is looking like our best chance will be to smuggle aboard the ship.”

“Why not steal the money before the delivery gets loaded onto the airship?” asked a voice from the crowd.

“Why not parade as the airship crew?” another voiced.

“Because the crew has been specially picked out by this Topside prick,” Benzo answered. “They’ll be checking fer the money ‘fore they take off.”

“So, who’s gonna sneak aboard then?” Sevika asked, taking a determined step toward the bar. Katya’s stomach swooped at the sight, at the thought.

“Just a few of us,” Silco answered, widening his stance. The crowd in front of him began to shift and rustle excitedly, nearly everyone frothing at the bit to be involved, and stick it to Topside. “We can’t have the lot of us storming the airship base; it’ll cause more chaos than forward momentum. This is a job that will require stealth, not brute force.”

“Once we get the coin,” Vander said, “we will need to break it up, and hide it fer a bit. We’ll need volunteers fer that.”

The rest of the meeting devolved into Trenchers airing grievances and venting about Topside, especially in the wake of the botched weapons and ammunition robbery a few weeks prior. Greater numbers of Enforcers had taken to stalking the Lanes, invasively probing business owners, conducting illegal searches of people and homes, and some citizens had their Bridge passports unceremoniously revoked.

Equal amounts of tension and comradery vibrated throughout The Last Drop.

Katya did not doubt Silco’s fortitude for their cause. Nor did she doubt Vander, Benzo or Sevika; but seeing so many strangers collectively bristle and commiserate, seeing so many faces grow bright with righteous indignation, made her heart swell. It felt like true change was afoot.

Eventually, people started leaving in pairs and groups, the air thick with a sense of belonging. As Kells and his gang sauntered for the door, he caught Katya’s eye and jokingly bowed at his waist. She curled her lip in disgust and looked away.

“You know him?” Enyd asked, sipping her tea.

“Not really, but he insists on bothering me.”

Finally, Silco had waded his way back to their booth. It had taken him a moment, as people intercepted his path to talk, ask questions, and offer ideas. The tops of his cheeks were flushed and there was an excited, pleased shine to his eyes.

“That went well, I think,” Enyd said as he sidled up. He nodded, his cheeks pinching in a smile that he stopped from getting too big.

“I hope you didn’t mind not getting to do a medical presentation,” he suddenly said as Katya stood from her seat, swishing and adjusting her coat.

She waved off his concern. “It is fine. I don’t know how good I would have been in front of so many people anyway.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine – “

“Hey Sil!” Sevika barked, leaping toward their small group. “The job. I want in.” She was practically vibrating.

“We haven’t made any decisions yet, Sevika,” Silco answered, all annoyance and grit. “And I will be honest, when we do, the group will be those of us who are slighter in stature.”

She groaned loudly and slumped her shoulders. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious, ‘Vika?” Katya chuckled. “People like you and Vander would stick out like sore thumbs. It will be difficult to hide and sneak.”

Before Sevika could snipe back, Nasha sashayed up. She eyed Katya momentarily before turning her attention to her agitated peer.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetness,” she cooed in a tone beyond her years. “’Sides, you gotta keep those muscles frosty for pummeling Enforcers when the time comes.”

She ran a hand bedecked in simple silver and gold rings up Sevika’s bicep and shoulder. Katya raised her eyebrows and her friend blushed horribly.

“We haven’t met yet, I don’t think. I’m Nasha.”

“Hello, Nasha. I’m Katya.”

“Mmmm . . . an hourglass-shaped kitty cat, huh?” Nasha said, reaching out a long arm and brushing Katya’s coat open a touch, eying her hip-to-waist ratio.

“Katya, actually,” she corrected, stepping back.

“Katya. Yes, sure. Of course.”

The medic gave her a placating grin, although Nasha’s attention had fully turned toward Sevika.

“I should get going,” she said to Silco and Enyd. “I need to speak to Annie before I leave.”

“Kat, hold on,” Silco said, reaching out to grab her arm before she walked away. There was a brief pause before he pulled her off to the side, away from Sevika and Nasha’s heavy flirting.

“We have actually decided on a small team for the job,” he whispered as they huddled in a corner near the booth. “It’s going to be me, Annie, and Beckett. We could use one more. Would you consider?”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you’re level-headed,” he answered. “And you know how to steal things.”

“I thought it wasn’t stealing,” she teased, “when it isn’t wrong to do.”

Silco grinned at her. “You’re right. Regardless, you have expertise here.”

Katya smiled, pleased. Then it melted away.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. For me to join the team, I mean. While I know you’ll be more careful than with the last job, I cannot risk being found out. Not with Viktor at the Academy. I am already jeopardizing – “

“I understand,” Silco said, although disappointment flickered across his face. “You’re not doing wrong by your brother, but I understand your concern.”

She murmured a thanks, and said good night to him and Enyd before skirting through the crowd, looking for Annie. She found the young woman perched on Beckett’s knee; the pair seated at a table with a few other younger Children Katya did not know. Annie noticed Katya walking up, and did not try to hide the displeased expression on her face.

“I am sorry to interrupt,” Katya said, addressing the table. And then to Annie, “I wanted to apologize for this past weekend. I know it was rude of me – “

“Yeah, it was,” the other woman sneered.

“It was,” she agreed. “It’s just that I was with my brother, and he does not know about all of this.”

She fluttered her hand through the air, referring to the remaining Children members milling about.

“It’s okay,” Beckett said. “We get it. We were just excited to see you.”

Katya noticed how Annie did not say that it was okay. She gave the redhead a grateful smile, before addressing the woman on his lap. “I am sorry, Annie. Please know it wasn’t personal.”

Annie’s sneer lessened a little, but she didn’t say anymore. She simply nodded and turned her attention back to the table. Beckett leaned away and gave Katya a kind, reassuring look. She returned it with a weak smile, and left The Last Drop.

The following day’s afternoon, Katya found herself in the hall outside Heimerdinger’s office. Her knees bobbled up and down furiously as her mind wondered why the expensive chair she was seated in was so uncomfortable.

She hated these conferences. It was bad enough that she had to ferry Viktor into Piltover every week, it was bad enough that they spent so much time away from one another, it was bad enough that the Undercity had nothing equivalent to the Academy for her brother or any other Trencher youth to attend. Now, she had had to cross the Bridge for an additional time this week. Setting foot on Piltover’s pristine streets and walking through the esteemed Academy’s campus; into the Academy’s Quarter’s for Administration, receiving distrustful and accusing looks the whole way. It was clear to everyone she passed that she didn’t belong. Not with her too-pale skin, muted and patched clothing, and lack of ornamentation – no jewelry, hair trinkets, or fascinator. She knew that everything about her screamed Undercity to the Topsiders she passed. Little did they know, she thought to herself as she went, that she wasn’t from the Undercity – she was from Zaun. The reminder made her hold her chin up a little higher than previous times marching into Piltover.

Luckily, she did not need to wait long in the hallway before Ivy stuck her head out with a beaming smile.

“Professor Heimerdinger will see you now, Katya.”

Katya leapt to her feet and followed the aide through the grossly ornate doors, her chest squeezing in annoyance at the constant flaunting of wealth. The swell of irritation continued to lap at her ribs as she was led through the office’s lounge. It always struck her as pompous and unnecessary that such a little individual would have such a large office space – Founder of Piltover, Dean of the Academy, or no.

“Can I get you anything, Katya?” Ivy asked as she reached for the handles on the matching set of gilded doors. “Water? Tea?”

“No, thank you.” She didn’t want to be made comfortable. Not here. Not with Heimerdinger.

The doors were opened and Katya stepped through, giving Ivy a stiff, but grateful nod. She took in the sight before her. She’d seen it before – at Viktor’s other conferences – but it still fanned the flames of frustration and ire within her. Heimerdinger at his grand desk, seated in a high back chair; behind him, floor-to-ceiling windows framed the sight of Piltover sprawling beneath his office.

“Miss Katya!” the Yordle said brightly, his voice a chime that rang through his spacious office. “Please! Please! Come in! Come in!”

He waved her over and gestured to one of the smaller chairs in front of his desk. She heeded him and strode over, taking the seat angled away from the large marble fireplace who’s hearth could house her kitchen table and chairs easily. She couldn’t stand to look at it.

“Tea? Coffee? Would you like a fire to be made?” Heimerdinger asked, eying her coat with concern.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” she said, sitting primly in her seat. Ankles crossed, keeping her shoulders over her hips so she wouldn’t lean against the back of the chair.

“Right then,” he replied, unperturbed (or unaware) of her discomfort. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

“Yes, please.”

“Well,” he chuckled, shuffling through the papers in front of him, “per usual, I and Viktor’s other professors have nothing to say but wonderful things about your brother. He’s an absolute delight. Endlessly bright, thoughtful, studious, proactive, meticulous.”

Despite the protective, angry heat within her, Katya still felt, and allowed, the small, grounded hum of pride vibrate through her bones. At least Piltover recognized Viktor’s brilliance; that wouldn’t be something she needed to fight with them about.

“I am very excited to see what he comes up with in next semester’s engineering class,” Heimerdinger sighed.

“He is very excited as well. He is already preparing.”

“Of course he is!” laughed Heimerdinger.

“He is wanting to build a boat for the course,” Katya admitted.

The Yordle’s laugh wound down, and he joked, “I do hope that he keeps his designs to that of a toy boat. The marina is not near the Hall of Sciences.”

“I will keep his expectations in line,” she replied, letting a stiff, placating smile loose.

Heimerdinger giggled and nodded as he leafed through the papers on his desk, looking for his next talking point.

“The only area,” he began, voice taking on a more serious tone, “where we would like to see improvement is in his interactions with his peers.”

Immediately, the hot and angry wall bricked itself back up in Katya’s chest. This was the same ‘take away’ from every conference. And she pointed out as much.

“With all due respect, Professor,” she said slowly, “we have had this discussion before – “

“I know we have – “

“ – and there has been no improvement. Early on, Viktor told me he tried to socialize with his peers, and they displayed no interest. A child can take rejection only so many times. Perhaps the other students should be instructed on being more inclusive.”

Heimerdinger sighed and nodded his head. “I take your point, Miss Katya. I really do.”

She fought to roll her eyes and scoff.

“Does he have any friends in the Undercity?”

She suddenly became warm under her coat. Her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.

“He comes home on the weekends with so much homework that there is not really any time for socializing.”

Not entirely true; yes, Viktor came home with a lot of studying and work, but Katya was selfish with him when he was home. She knew she was.

Heimerdinger nodded in understanding again. “The Academy’s course loads are very demanding. Even for the younger grades.”

Katya fidgeted in her seat and checked her pocket watch.

“I do not mean to be rude, Professor,” she said, “but is there much else? I need to get back across the Bridge.”

Another lie. She just wanted to get out of his office.

“We are almost finished, Miss Katya,” he said. He picked through his stack of papers again. Slowing down as he went, his cheerful expression morphing into something somber and braced. “There is one last thing I need to discuss with you. To make you aware of.”

Despite not having an inkling of what was coming, dread flooded her veins. Simultaneously dousing and stoking the simmering rage within her. Her heart beat quickened, arms and legs stiffening.

“This past Monday,” he began, separating a few documents from the stack, “the Academy Board agreed on reorganizing and redistributing funds starting next semester.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it means that we can begin improving resources for students and faculty,” Heimerdinger explained. “It means we can increase the number of courses available. It means we can invite guest instructors who are experts in a variety of fields.”

Despite all these wonderful things, his face grew rigid and more serious. Finally, he heaved a breath and said, “It also means that the funds for the scholarship program will be decreasing.”

Katya’s stomach plummeted to her feet and her heart froze. She stared at the Professor until her eyes began to dry and ache.

“W-what?”

“I know that this is not good news.”

“Why would the Board change the scholarship program?”

“To redistribute those funds more evenly across other campus needs,” he explained, “like the ones I mentioned.”

Katya’s mind spun. She found it hard to keep her voice steady, to not cry. “I – I cannot pay any more than what I am already paying.”

She felt her face getting hot, her heart thumping faster. Her bones began vibrating beneath her muscles and skin.

“I know,” Heimerdinger said kindly, somberly. He slid a hand across the desk in a gesture that was meant to convey solidarity. But Katya knew it was going to be a grab. She knew what was coming next. Timidly, he slipped the few pieces of paper he had pulled out across his desk. “And I realize the seriousness of what I am about to ask you – “

Katya’s eyes flicked to the documents. Guardianship Papers. She stared at them, willing them to burst into flames right on his expensive leather blotter.

“ – I would like Viktor to continue his studies at the Academy just as much as you do.” Katya seethed at the thought of Heimerdinger thinking he could want anything for Viktor as much as she did. “I would like you to reconsider transferring his guardianship to me.”

As if those were the magic words to break Katya’s temper free, she shot to her feet and swept her arm across the desk, not only sending the guardianship papers flying, but other neat stacks, pens, and a well of ink that shattered on the floor. The dark color bled through the carpet just as Katya’s fury bled through her voice.

“FUCK YOU!” she screamed, leaning over the desk. It was wide enough that Heimerdinger did not feel the need to jerk back, but his eyes widened and ears folded. “Fuck you and this school! My brother deserves to be here! You are lucky that he is here! You’ve said as much yourself! Raising his year’s grade point average and all that! He makes this fucking place look good, so you can get those fucking expensive outside instructors interested! The one’s you’d rather pay than further funding his scholarship!”

Her bones rattled and her muscles twitched. The need to lash out became overwhelming. She knew she couldn’t assault the Professor. His chair would have to do. She grabbed for the second chair in front of his desk, and threw it into the fireplace. The wood cracked and splintered against the stone. Behind her, Katya was distantly aware that the office door had opened, Ivy coming in to check on the sudden noise.

“Miss Katya,” Heimerdinger tried to sooth, “I know this news is not ideal, and that this choice is difficult, but Viktor will fare better here.”

“He should not have to choose between his future and his family!” she screamed, slamming her palms onto the desk. “This is not a solution! You can’t take him away!”

Heimerdinger’s brows furrowed. He held a hand up to Ivy, signaling her to remain where she was. “Miss Katya,” he said again, tone firmer, “I understand that you are upset – “

“You understand nothing!” she cried, slamming her palms on the desk again. It hurt; her hands tingled. She felt her throat squeezing shut, hot tears building behind her eyes. “This is not a solution!” she repeated. “I won’t give him to you!”

Before the Professor could respond, Katya spun on her heel and stormed out of the office, pushing past a bewildered Ivy. Her mind was roaring, her heart on fire, her body trembling, her vision white with rage. She didn’t remember stalking across campus, didn’t remember passing the cafés and shops along Mainspring Crescent, didn’t remember almost running across the Bridge, back towards the Undercity.

She was not even aware of where her legs were carrying her. She didn’t see the people and colors of Zaun as she descended into its maw. She was too angry, too scared to think. She couldn’t lose her brother. She wouldn’t. She carelessly wove through the beginnings of the Undercity’s nightlife, eyes glazed, body taut.

She barely recognized the warm and cheerful and growingly familiar atmosphere of The Last Drop when she entered. She ignored the few people who raised their glasses to her. Her feet stumbled toward the bar. Vander looked up as she approached, Silco swiveled on his stool. She didn’t know he was going to be there, but she was glad for it. She wanted him there.

His usually reserved expression ticked into concern when he saw her – saw the expression on her face – and he rose from his seat. He grabbed for her when she was within arm’s reach.

“Come here,” he whispered, guiding her around the bar and to The Drop’s private quarters.

Vander gawped for a moment, before turning to Benzo – who was also seated on a stool – and said, “Watch th’bar fer a sec, would’ja?”

His friend nodded, eyes tracking where the pair had gone.

When Silco led Katya into the private hallway, she gasped. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath. Inhales and exhales came out of her mouth in panicked puffs. Hot tears finally slid from her eyes. They burned her cheeks. Her body shook and convulsed, her jaw chattering.

Silco gripped her shoulders. “What happened?”

“They want to take him,” she gulped. “Heimerdinger wants to take Viktor away from me.”

“What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

Behind Silco, Vander slipped through the door, his silver eyes wide and confused. He looked from Katya, to the hold Silco had on her, to Silco himself.

“What’s happenin’?”

“Viktor’s scholarship fund. The board is decreasing the money allotted to it.” Finally an anguished cry ripped from her throat. “They want more money starting next semester. I don’t have it; I don’t have it. It’s already too much – “

Before she could say more, Silco pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her tightly. She wailed, and he looked to Vander. His Brother looked lost, and sad.

“It’s okay,” Silco said, lips brushing through her hair. “They’re not going to get Viktor. We won’t let them.”

Katya’s arms gripped him back, grabbing at the back of his shirt in bunches. His voice rumbled through his throat and vibrated against her cheek and forehead. She felt their hearts beating against one another, his guiding hers back to a slower rhythm. His ribcage pressed against her hold and she used it as a guide to slow her own breathing.

“It’s okay,” he murmured again. Soft. Solid. Certain.

Katya closed her eyes and let herself believe it.

About an hour later, Katya was perched on Vander’s lumpy couch. A cup of tea in her hands, Silco at her side. Vander had gone back to the bar, but said he would be back to check in. He also said she was welcome to stay the night if she needed. She didn’t know if she needed that yet. Or wanted it.

She sat on the edge of the couch cushion, pitched forward, her elbows propped on her knees, her gaze on her tea. Silco sat close, his hip butted up against hers, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Occasionally, his thumb would sweep up and down her deltoid. The connection was soothing. For the first time in a long time, she was grateful for the contact. It kept her grounded.

He didn’t push her to explain more. They sat in silence, save for the periodic muffled laughter that would spill in from the bar floor. While her mind had slowed, many thoughts still pulsed through her head. Attempts at solutions for her problem, wishing her papa was here, if she would or should tell Viktor about Heimerdinger’s offer. Most pervasive was the burning cold disdain for Piltover. For putting her in this position. For putting her brother in this position. How dare they . . .

“I’ll do it,” Katya said lowly. Silco jerked at the sudden sound, and he tilted his head toward her in question. “The job. Stealing the money. I’ll do it. I want to.”

A long breath flowed out through Silco’s nose. He gripped her shoulder tighter, drawing her in and rested his chin on her head.

Chapter Text

When Katya picked Viktor up on Friday, she barely acknowledged Ivy. Partly due to her anger, partly due to shame about her behavior the day before. She took the rucksack from the aide, her eyes downcast, hands reaching out to grab protectively at her brother’s shoulders once it was secure across her back.

Ivy watched the other woman sadly, wanting to say something, but not knowing what that would be; nor knowing if it would be wise to say anything in front of the boy.

“Have a good weekend, Viktor,” she said instead, a reassuring smile on her cherry-red lips.

“You, too, Miss – “

“Let’s go, Viktor,” Katya interjected, guiding him away.

Viktor’s brows furrowed as he began to awkwardly fall into step with her guided gait. He looked back at Ivy one last time before turning his attention toward the walk home.

He could sense something was wrong. It didn’t take an especially astute mind to see that Katya was in a foul mood. What was trickier for him was determining why. People had too many variables for his liking – it completely negated the scientific method. The backbone of chemical, biological, and physical theories and laws were their relatively controlled environments. If A, then B. If A, and C is present, then D; and so on.

People did not, as far as he could tell, live by such rules. Their feelings and actions could not be counted on to be consistent. And he found it vexing. And intimidating.

Viktor stuck close to Katya’s side as they made their way to the Bridge, his chin tucked in and eyes occasionally peering up at her, hoping he could glean any information from her stony profile.

“What is wrong?” he finally asked as they stepped into the Promenade.

Katya winced and chewed her lip. The pause scared him.

“Nothing,” she finally said, ushering him toward the Conveyor Car station. “I’ve just had a bad week.”

“Oh,” he murmured. He knew Katya didn’t lie to him, but he felt unconvinced.

“Come. Let’s get home.”

The weekend went by quickly, as it often did. But instead of feeling comforted and refreshed by time away from Piltover, he felt on edge and smothered. Whatever had happened during the week to his sister, clouded their home. It kept her irritable and clingy at the same time. She sat too close, touched him too much, didn’t really speak with him, and didn’t really listen. Despite her near-suffocating proximity, she seemed very far away, and he didn’t know how to call her back.

On Monday, when she dropped him off with Ivy, her fingers clawed at him when they hugged. Desperate and lonely.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy kindly said, “but we need to get going.”

Viktor made to pull away, ready to start his week. But Katya held on for a beat more. She touched him for as long as possible, letting her fingertips trail down his shoulders and arms as he stepped over to the aide.

“I love you, Viktor. I’ll see you Friday.”

Her voice was hollow and heavy. He didn’t understand. And he didn’t like it.

“I love you, too,” he replied. He attempted a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Grayson knocked on Councilor Bone’s office door and waited. Usually, Councilors had receptionists. Bone did not. Something the Captain took note now only because she wondered if this was another microaggression against an Undercity citizen.

“Come in.”

She stepped inside, removing her cap as she did. “Councilor, sir.”

“Ah, Captain Grayson,” Bone sighed, peering over his spectacles at her. “Please, come in. Have a seat.”

He gestured to the simple chair in front of his desk as he pocketed his glasses, and put the paper he was reading down. Grayson did as instructed, removing the folders from under her arm as she sat.

“I have looked through what you gave me,” she said heavily, placing a palm on the documents. His nod was equally somber, and he waited for her to continue. After a long moment, she added, “I see what you are saying.”

Bone nodded again, closing his eyes. He made to swallow and his throat hitched. He clasped a hand around his mouth as his lungs tried to push an angry retch up his trachea. His other hand fished out the handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket. He covered his mouth, and swiveled away from Grayson. After a few more bone-rattling hacks, a warm, slimy wad crawled its way up Bone’s throat and mouth, and landed in the cloth. Very carefully, not wanting to disturb his guest, nor let on the severity of his condition, he coolly removed the handkerchief. Carefully pinching it to contain the bloody lump, he stowed it in his pocket and turned back to the captain.

“Apologies,” he rasped.

Grayson’s eyebrows creased in concern. She’d heard that the last Assembly had been cut short because of an acute health issue of Bone’s; now she wondered just how acute it was.

“I can come back another time, Councilor,” she offered. “Perhaps you ought to go home and rest.”

“No, no,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Rest will not help. I do not want to rest.”

That statement made the lines on Grayson’s face deepen. What he had said did not have the calming effect she suspected he wanted. However, she was not in a position to argue with a Councilor. No matter where he hailed from. Not if the work he wanted to do with her was on a time crunch.

“Thank you for taking the time to look over those files,” Bone said, genuine gratitude shining in his pale eyes. “Unfortunately, those are only a fraction of the cases – “

“I know.”

“ – and Enforcer brutality is ongoing.”

Grayson closed her eyes. “I know.”

She had never partaken, and she had never taken it as seriously as perhaps she should have, but she was well-aware of trainees and rookie Enforcers going into the Undercity and finding citizens to fight. In the name of tradition. For meaningless clout. She had recently reamed a trio for that very activity. Not only was it unprofessional and shameful, but they had had their asses handed to them by whoever they had tried to intimidate.

“I would like us to put the data together in a thorough and concise presentation format,” Bone said, “and present it at an Assembly.”

“Us?” Grayson gasped. “Shouldn’t we get LeDaird on board, too?”

“We will. Eventually.” He fixed her with a sly grin. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, yes?”

“I suppose,” she conceded, settling back into her seat.

She knew from experience (her own and her peers’) that sometimes bending or skirting protocol was the best way to get things done, to solve cases. Even LeDaird knew that. “Hopefully after that attempted robbery at the docks a couple weeks ago, things will be relatively quiet so we can work on this.”

The first step in stealing the money, Katya found out, was sneaking across the Pilt. The airship port was on Piltover’s side of the river; built into the cliff faces on the outskirts of the city. The captain Beckett worked for was also a part of the Children, and was allowing him to use a small dinghy to ferry himself, Silco, Katya, and Annie to the opposite shore.

The night of the job, Katya met Silco at The Last Drop’s backdoor. Vander and Enyd stood behind him; the barkeep looking hopeful, but stoic. Enyd was pale, her hands continually fretting with the dark clothes her son wore. Katya was wearing dark ones, too; something that he had suggested when they had met up with Annie and Beckett to go over the plan.

“We’re meeting Beckett and Annie there,” he said, stepping away from The Drop. Enyd followed and began to fuss over Katya.

She nodded, and asked, “Are we ready?”

“Wait a moment,” Enyd breathed, her hand snaking into her satchel. She pulled a small, folded pile of cloth out and handed it to Silco. “To cover your faces with,” she explained.

He nodded and handed one of the four handkerchiefs to Katya. Taking it, she unfolded it once, a glimmer against the pitch fabric catching her eye. She squinted in the low light, and saw that there was a small ‘Z’ stitched into the corner with silver thread.

“Be safe, yeah?” Vander said, shifting restlessly. While his strong jaw remained set, his eyes shone with worry.

Silco nodded. “We will be back in a few hours.”

Enyd threw herself into him, holding on tightly. He drew her close and reassured, “It will be uneventful. In and out.”

Katya nodded; so did Vander, as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Reluctantly, Enyd pulled back from her son, only for her slim arms to reach for and hold on to the young woman. Thrown off, but grateful, Katya returned the embrace.

“In and out,” she repeated. “Like he said.”

Regardless, Enyd insisted, “Be careful.” She stepped back and gave the pair a warning look. They nodded and stole away down the alley. Vander placed a massive hand on Enyd’s shoulder as they watched them go.

Silco and Katya slipped silently through Zaun’s alleyways and to the docks. Annie and Beckett met them in the shadows of the Harbormaster’s hut, both looking uncharacteristically serious. In addition to their dark outfits, Beckett wore a black knit cap over his fire-red hair, and Annie had spun her own dark locks into a tight braid, instead of her usual loose pigtails. There were quick ‘hellos’ – Annie simply jutting her chin in Katya’s direction – and Silco handed the pair the remaining two masks.

The docks were dark and quiet as they strode for the small dinghy lazily bobbing in the water, waiting for them. Beckett took the back and readied the motor. Annie took the middle bench, while Katya and Silco sat hip-to-hip at the bow. Beckett untied the vessel and ripped the motor’s cord. It puttered to life and they began the short voyage to a small grotto just beneath the airship base. The boat would hide there while they executed their plan.

The water beneath the boat was so still; a smooth, black mirror of the sky. Beckett captained the vessel gently, leaving only a glossy ripple in their wake. None of them spoke. Katya’s knee bobbled nervously as they went. Eventually, Silco put a hand on her leg, keeping his touch light.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. He paused, and added in a quieter whisper, “I got you. I won’t let anything happen.”

Katya gave him a thankful smile, but her heart thundered on. It was a moment before Silco realized that he had left his hand on her thigh. Slowly, so as to not draw attention to himself, he drew his hand back. His fingers tingled and he flexed them, wondering why it suddenly felt difficult to breathe.

With the pace they kept, it took a little over an hour to reach the grotto. Beckett harbored the small boat just out of sight of any prying eyes. As they exited the vessel, both Beckett and Annie swung large, empty sacks over their shoulders and handed one each to Katya and Silco. They tucked Enyd’s masks up over their noses, and they ascended the steep cliff face. The climb became easier once the natural, jagged rock gave way to the smooth stone that built up the tower of the hanger. However, the biting wind off the Pilt stung their eyes and cheeks now that the extra rock cover was beneath them.

“The third hanger,” Annie whispered as they approached the first massive cavern in the cliffs. She pointed up for good measure.

While Katya had of course seen airships and blimps far up in the sky, it was very different seeing them up close, tethered and waiting in their bays. Impressive, hulking machines made from metal, wood, glass, and fabric. She didn’t know if it was because it was so late, but they did not have to dodge as many workers as she expected. The few she spied were lazily leaned against the iron gangways that bracketed each airship, smoking and distracted by conversations they were having with one another.

The ship in the third bay up was not as large as the one beneath, a fact Katya found comforting. Less room to have to search through, fewer crew members to have to avoid. The small group huddled together at the mouth of the cavern.

“The delivery from Clapper should already be aboard,” Silco said. “Stowed in the belly of the main cabin. Time?”

Beckett checked the chrono on his wrist. “It’s 9:30.”

“The ship is supposed to sail at 10:00,” Annie supplied.

Silco nodded. “Right. We sneak in, find the delivery, get the coin, and get out.”

Katya swallowed and set her jaw. Her heart tapped and she steeled her nerves. Stealing from the mines medical supplies seemed so much less risky compared to this.

They carefully crept onto the catwalks, mindful to keep their footsteps as soft as they could. They ducked behind crates and kept careful watch of the workers above and below them. They approached the ramp that led onto the ship and paused. Silco and Beckett looked to Annie, who skirted around them and sneaked up to the door, and silently slid it open. She peered inside, and after a beat, beckoned them to follow her.

The cabin was dimly lit and full of boxes. To their right there was a door and a brighter light spilled beneath it. Muffled voices murmured behind it. At once, Beckett began silently stacking boxes in front of the door. Katya joined in and set additional crates in front of that pile.

“Here,” Annie whispered. She handed each member a chem-torch from a nearby shelf. She flicked hers on and held it beneath her chin, making a twisted face.

“Not now, Annie,” Silco admonished, turning his own on.

Annie rolled her eyes at him and began looking absently around the cabin. “Oh! Look at this!”

The other three turned, expecting to see a crate with the Clapper insignia on it. Instead, Annie enthusiastically thrusted a small, metal and glass contraption towards them.

“It’s a camera! I think,” she said excitedly, spinning the object in her hands to look at it. “I’ve never seen one.”

“Put it back, Annie,” Katya hissed. “That is not what we’re here for.”

The other woman ignored her and stuck the camera in her bag.

“Come on,” Silco insisted. “There’s a door over here. It should take us below.”

Indeed, the door opened onto a short staircase that took them below the main cabin. Larger boxes were stowed there and the group dispersed, looking for their target.

“Here,” Katya called after a minute. Her torch’s beam shone over a large, squat box with Clapper’s logo stamped across the wood. The rest of the party gathered around, and Beckett withdrew a prybar from his sack and opened the crate. They pawed through the paper confetti cushioning the delivery until they finally uncovered the curtains beneath. “Nasha said the coin would be sewn into the hems.”

Silco and Annie reached in, feeling for the ends of the fabric.

“Here,” Silco said, lifting the end of one panel up. The fabric sagged and sifted over his hands, gently clinking as it moved. He withdrew the knife from his boot and slashed the hem open. Gold hexes fell out. Katya’s mouth went dry, both Beckett and Annie’s eyes went wide.

“Fuck,” Beckett breathed. “I’ve never seen so much coin.”

“And this is only a fraction of it,” Silco said, and Katya could hear the smile in his voice.

They filled Annie and Beckett’s bags first.

“Fuckin’ Janna,” Annie complained as she slung the pack over her shoulders. “This guy must be in deep shit if he owes this much coin.”

“It’s 9:45,” Beckett announced, adjusting his partner’s bag.

Silco nodded. “You two go. Start heading back down to the boat.”

“Be careful,” Katya implored as they crawled back up the stairs.

Together, she and Silco dug through and cut open the remaining curtains, emptying the gold into their bags. Once they got to the bottom of the crate, they carefully pawed through the panels again, making sure not a coin was left behind.

Above them, a door opened and loud footsteps stomped along the floor. Both Katya and Silco froze, bodies tense like springs, hearts thundering. There wasn’t another way out. Only up, back through the main cabin – where someone was traipsing about, entirely unbothered by the amount of noise they made.

They should’ve checked how many of the crew had been in the main bridge of the airship before boxing it up . . .

“What the fuck is this?” an unfamiliar gruff voice muttered. Then the sound of him shifting boxes around.

Silco turned to say something to Katya and she jumped, knocking into the crate’s lid, and toppling it over. It wasn’t a loud sound, but noisy and unsuspected enough that it alerted the crew member above them.

“Whose down there?”

“Hide!” Silco hissed, pushing Katya into a darkened corner.

No sooner had she stumbled behind another tower of crates, did the door at the top of the stairs open, a large shadow looming down the steps and into the cargo hold. She hurriedly turned her torch off, gulping down a scared gasp. Silco sprang for the shadows. But the light pouring in caught his boot before he could slip away entirely. His own chem-torch rattled and rolled away across the floor. The man grunted an amused tone and began down the steps, each footfall heavy. Meant to intimidate.

Katya pressed her back into the wall behind her, scarcely daring to breathe. This couldn’t be happening . . . This couldn’t be happening. This was supposed to be an in-and-out job. Her skeleton wanted to crumble to the floor; her meager supper threatened to make a reappearance. She shouldn’t have agreed to this; she hadn’t been in the right state of mind when she agreed. What had she been thinking?

She’d been thinking of her brother, she knew. Of how he deserved the world, and that this was supposed to be a way of giving it to him.

She bit her lip under her mask to keep from making a sound. She had also been thinking of herself, if she was honest. She was so angry with Piltover. So, so angry that they wanted to take another thing from her. Like she didn’t deserve it. Like Viktor would be better off without her. That she was nothing, and deserved to fall into soot-covered obscurity in the Sump and die.

“What’s this?”

The man spoke and Katya started, peering out from behind a tower of crates. Her stomach curdled. The crew member – a very large man with a sneer on his face and an iron bar in one hand – had pulled Silco out of the shadows and now stood over him. Silco glared up at him, his blue eyes shards of ice that cut between the space of his hair and the mask. Next to his side, the bag of coins was open, its golden belly glittering in the light.

Suddenly, there was a rumbling. The frame of the airship thrummed and vibrated. And then it jolted forward. Katya’s stomach tumbled. The ship was leaving port! Her mind raced. She couldn’t get caught. And she couldn’t be hauled off to Bilgewater. She couldn’t abandon Viktor. She had to figure out an escape. At this point, whether or not the money made it back to Zaun didn’t concern her.

“Thieving little Sumprat,” the crew member growled at Silco, taking another step towards him. The meaty fist that held the iron bar twitched.

Katya’s hand twitched too. Toward the small revolver tucked in her trouser pocket. She had debated leaving it at home, and was now glad she hadn’t. Before the man could raise the bar over his head, she took the gun out, aimed, and fired. The pop of the gun was sharp, and rang off the metal hull of the ship. The bullet lodged itself into the back of the crew member’s knee, and he howled in anguish, crumpling to the floor. Silco lurched forward and grabbed the iron bar, and cracked him across the head.

The Enforcer fell. Katya’s father stomped on his ankles.

Bones crushing. Hollow wails.

From the ground, the Enforcer delivered one blow of his baton to Katya’s father’s head.

Katya’s mind spun and her body froze, cold terror leaching out any warmth in her. Her vision began to white out around her periphery. Silco shouting her name, and reaching for her shook her out of the memory and back into her body.

“Kat! Are you okay?” He gripped her shoulders tightly as his eyes scoured her body. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Katya took a couple shaky breaths and shook her head. “No. Are you?”

“No. We need to get moving. The other crew members will have heard that – “

“The ship is moving!” Katya suddenly cried. The floor was softly rumbling beneath her feet.

“I know,” Silco said. His hands flew from her shoulders to cup her face. “We’re going to get back home. Okay? You hear me? I got you.”

She swallowed and nodded. Her eyes flicked over to the prone man behind him. “Is he . . .?”

“No, just knocked out. I think,” Silco assured. He stepped over and quickly assessed the man. “No. He’s breathing. Come on.”

As they scrambled up the stairs, the rest of the crew was shouting and ramming into the door Beckett and Katya had blocked off. A fair amount of boxes had been knocked away, the door open enough that one of them could shove his shoulder and arm out, trying to topple some of the crates just out of reach. His eyes bulged seeing the two stow-aways skitter to a stop.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

His outburst caused the other members behind him to scuffle and fight to get looks at who he was referring to.

“Thieves!” Someone yelled.

“Move!” Another screamed, knocking the man in front aside. A gun barrel appeared in the doorway, and it fired.

The shot was not aimed at anything, and Silco and Katya ducked as the bullet hit a crate. It exploded in a burst of splinters and paper. Another shot was fired; this one ricocheting off a metal pipe, causing sparks to rain down from the ceiling in a fine mist.

“Stop wasting bullets!” Someone yelled.

The distraction was enough to let Silco and Katya throw themselves into the door and crush the people behind it. The gun went off again as the nose of it was flung up by the impact. The bullet sliced through a tube slung on the ceiling, and fluid began spraying out of it in wide swaths.

Katya screamed and leapt back. She tripped over a crate and fell. Silco went after her, grabbing her arm. As he went to pull her onto her feet, he paused, sniffing. They both looked over to the decimated crate. It was smoking, orange embers slowly licking to life, eating away at the wood and paper. Growing bigger, stronger.

“Fuck,” he whispered. For the first time, he sounded uncertain. Scared.

Behind them, the door to the bridge finally burst open, the three remaining crew members tumbling out, ready to fight. Katya’s eyes immediately picked out the woman who held the gun – a rifle, judging by its long barrel. She pulled her own gun back out and fired at her shin. The woman screamed and collapsed to the floor. Silco tackled into the man that had been trying to wedge through the door earlier, bowling both of them over back into the airship’s bridge.

The second man eyed the growing fire behind Katya with big, terrified eyes. He froze up as his counterpart on the floor yelled at him to do something. So, he did. Wrenching open the sliding door on the ship’s hull, he let a huge gush of air into the cabin. The embers sucked the sudden onslaught of oxygen up in a mighty WHOOSH. The flames ate and grew, licking up the walls and lapping at the ceiling. All three screamed, Katya scrabbling away from the fire. The heat bit at the sliver of flesh visible between her bangs and nose bridge. The smell of burning chemicals, hair, and heat filled the air. The crew member who had opened the bay door looked out at the view below him, back at the fire, to the woman on the floor, to Katya, to the gun in her hand, and jumped out.

The woman on the floor screamed and thrashed, trying to grab Katya’s revolver. Panic sluiced over her body, taking control of her limbs, as her assailant grabbed at her pant leg and attempted to pull her down. Katya’s limbs locked up a moment before exploding into action. Her free leg swung, the toe of her boot connecting with the underside of her attacker’s jaw. There was a sickening crack! and a garbled, anguished howl as the crew member was flung to the side. When she didn’t move, Katya lurched forward and grabbed the rifle before running into the airship’s bridge.

Silco had taken care of the final crew member; the man was slouched against one of the seats, blood dribbling from his lips, one of his hands pierced to the floor by a knife. Silco himself was at the consol, frantically looking over all the levers and buttons.

“The fire is spreading!” Katya cried.

Silco looked over his shoulder at her, and saw the blaze in the other room. The sweat trickling down his back was not only from the heat. Above them, there was a loud metallic groan and crash as the flames began eating away at the frame around the canvas balloon. Katya shrieked and jumped to Silco’s side. His mind raced, but no idea landed. He stared out the windshield at the expanse of black in front of them. Below, he could see the stars reflected off the Pilt, the orange fireball he and Katya were now engulfed in.

“We need to jump!” she shouted. He looked at her, eyes wide. “It’s our only option! Jump and swim to shore!”

Behind them, another gust of wind fanned the fire, and it surged up and around. Each of them could feel the thread of their clothes beginning to burn, the buckles of their boots becoming blisteringly hot. Silco agreed with her: jumping would be their only chance. He grabbed the rifle in her hand and beat it against the airships windows until they shattered. They scrambled up onto the consol and peered down below. The cool, briny air was a welcome relief from the heat and smoke. Less appealing was the very large drop between them and the water. Katya felt Silco freeze next to her, his body going rigid with fear.

“Come on!” she screamed, grabbing his hand and knocking her shoulder roughly into his. “Please!”

Silco grit his teeth, his fingers clamping down around Katya’s. “I got you,” he promised.

Katya wasn’t sure what made her say it, but she nodded and replied, “You have me.”

Together, they leapt from the airship. Plummeting down, down, down to the water below.

Chapter Text

Down.

Down.

Down.

The wind and mist whistled and screamed past Katya and Silco’s ears as they fell toward the water. Both their voices were caught in their throats, fear gripping too tight to allow for screams. Cold cut their cheeks and their eyes watered as they neared the river’s surface. It had been fortunate that the airship had not been able to gain much altitude during their time onboard. Otherwise hitting the water would’ve been a fatal affair; now, it would only hurt.

Katya maneuvered in the air, letting go of Silco’s hand to adjust her pack and to get into a diving position. She didn’t see if Silco did the same. Her heart leapt to her throat as the Pilt’s black surface approached quickly. She closed her eyes and felt the cold, hard slap of water as she dove beneath the surface. The river rushed in her ears and sliced at her skin as it swallowed her up. Next to her, she felt the pull of a current as Silco’s body was drawn under. It was utterly disorienting, and her hands thrashed out, reaching for him. It seems he had the same thought, as his own fingers scrabbled at her clothes. They found each other in the murk, and swam furiously for the surface.

They broke through the water, gasping. The soaked masks made breathing even harder and Katya ripped hers from her face, gulping in the glorious night air. She spun around and found Silco treading water in a panic, his eyes wide. Katya reached over and pulled his mask down. He gasped and splashed. They spun in the river and looked up. The airship was fully engulfed in flames and descending rapidly. Debris fell off it as it crashed toward the Piltovan shoreline. Shards of burning wood and metal raining from the sky. Suddenly, something on the back end exploded. Both Katya and Silco jumped.

“We need to get to shore!” she yelled. “Come on!”

Without waiting for a response, she began swimming as fast as she could toward the Undercity’s side of the Pilt. Her heart pounded as she cut through the water, throwing her arms over her head in strong strokes. The water sluiced over her, smooth and chilled. She turned her head to one side and sucked in a breath. Stroke. Turn. Breathe. Stroke. Turn. Breathe.

Belatedly, she realized she no longer sensed Silco beside her. She couldn’t feel his movements through the water. Stopping,she turned and looked for him. It would’ve been funny if the situation wasn’t so dire. Silco paddled after her, a splashing mess. His neck jut out over the surface, his chin tilted up to avoid water getting in his face. His hands clawed inefficiently forward, and his short, flailing kicks did little to propel him.

In three, smooth strokes, Katya darted back to him.

“Give me your bag.”

Without arguing, Silco unslung it from around his neck and handed it to her. She hurriedly secured it around her back, both bags packed tightly to her hips like a bustle. She began to swim again, her form made awkward by the additional bag. She still swam faster and better than Silco, although he did not fall as far behind.

Katya did not let herself look at the shoreline in front of her, fearing that if she did, her body would lock up in fear at the distance. She waited until her hands dug through mud, rocks, and silt before looking up. A relieved cry exploded from her lungs, and brackish water filled her mouth. She coughed and sputtered as she threw herself onto the shore. With the safety of earth beneath her, Katya’s body finally let the pain of the fall and ache of the sprint register. Her skin, lungs, and limbs burned. Her arms and legs trembled as she tried to clamber across slick rocks.

Behind her, Silco scrambled ashore. His hands slid underneath Katya’s armpits and he hauled her up the bank.

“I got you,” he wheezed. “Come on. We need to get away from the river.”

Katya nearly cried as she was lifted to her feet. She staggered after him, her hand squeezed tightly in his. They climbed up the embankment, finally stopping when the rocks grew tall and could hide them from view. The pair flopped to the ground, resting their backs against a boulder as they panted and gasped for air, their ribcages swinging wildly.

“You’re not hurt are you?” Silco finally asked once his lungs no longer burned.

Katya gulped and shook her head. She placed a hand over her heart. It thundered beneath her palm. Both from exertion and panic. “Are you hurt?”

“Hitting the water hurt, but I think I’m okay.”

Katya nodded. After a beat, she unlooped the bag straps from her torso and opened them. Gold glittered up at her, and relief wracked through her soaked frame. At least they had gotten their boon.

“I’m impressed that you were able to swim so quickly weighed down like that,” Silco mused.

Katya sniffed and pushed her dripping bangs off her forehead. Next to her, he had unbuckled and unlaced his boots. He turned them over in his hands and dumped river water onto the sand.He took his socks off next and wrung them out.

“My parents taught me how to swim when I was little,” she explained between breaths. She glanced sideways at him, thinking of his furious but inefficient paddling. “Do you not know how to swim, Silco?”

Even in the dark, she could see an embarrassed red flush color his cheeks, complimenting the chilled pink tips of his ears.

“I suppose it depends on what you mean by swim,” he grumbled. “I can not drown.”

“How can you not know how to swim?” Katya asked, bypassing his technicalities. “You live in a port city.”

“I live underground,” growled Silco, his brows dropping unamused.

Before Katya could respond, there was a crash of metal, splintering of wood, and roar of fire. They both ducked toward one another, Silco throwing his arms over both of their heads. When nothing happened, they slowly drew apart and peeked over the boulder.

Across the River, the airship had finally crashed into the cliffs of Piltover. A bright, hot orange ball of fire was snagged between a split of rocks, charcoal-black smoke billowing up toward the starry sky. Beneath the sound of screeching metal and screaming flames, the deep, repetitive drones of Piltover’s sirens bled into the air.

“We need to get moving,” Silco whispered.

Katya nodded in agreement as he slipped his socks and shoes back on. They hurriedly squeezed out their hair and clothes the best they could, before slinging the bags of Hexes back around their bodies, and stealing into the night.

It took a long time to get back to The Last Drop. While the airship had not gotten high, it had gotten a ways from port. Carefully, they climbed and hiked over rocks and through tidepools. Now that the adrenaline of the heist and escape was wearing off, both Silco and Katya’s teeth chattered against the chilled whips of night air. Their wet clothes clung to their skin as if glued, and they shivered fiercely, rattling the coins in their bags. It took nearly an hour to get back to the docks. The dinghy they had sailed in was tied back to its pier. Relief settled over Katya’s heart.

“They made it back,” she breathed. Her lips were going numb.

Silco nodded. “Good. They had instructions to get back to The Drop. Regardless of what happened.”

“We should get there, too. Make sure everyone knows we are okay,” Katya chattered. Silco’s stomach knotted, wondering how his mother was doing. “Plus, I am freezing.”

“Me too. Let’s go.”

News of the airship crash seemed to have already crossed the Bridge. Even though Katya and Silco kept to the alleyways and darker streets, they still heard the Lanes talk. Trenchers in squares, marketplaces, in front of brothels, and leaning across balconies all sharing the rumor that an airship over in Piltover had caught fire and had crashed on their side of the River.Voices ranged from disbelieving, to fearful, to righteous.

It was after midnight before the lights of The Last Drop appeared. The sight, the promise of warmth and friends renewed their vigor and they rushed around the building for the back door. Silco forewent the special coded knock and simply threw the door open, ushering Katya inside.

He slammed the door shut, and cried out, “Mum! Vander!”

At once, the sound of chair legs screeching across the floor and shocked voices filled the backrooms. The door to Vander’s apartment burst open and Enyd rushed out. She was pale, her eyes puffy and red; she threw herself at them both.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” she chanted in a weepy voice. She pulled back and took Silco’s face in her hands. “You’re not hurt?”

Behind her, Annie and Beckett followed, their eyes wide and faces ashen.

“Go get Vander,” Annie ordered, and Beckett turned heel and ran for the bar.

“I’m fine. We’re both fine,” Silco promised, grabbing his mother’s thin wrists. “We got the coin.”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” she hissed fervently. “You’re safe.”

Enyd removed one hand from her son’s face, and cupped Katya’s cheek. “You’re both freezing,” she said, eying their blue lips and wobbling jaws. “Come. Come. We’ll put more wood in Vander’s stove.”

As she began to guide them towards the apartment, Annie threw her arms around Katya’s neck.

“I was so scared!” she cried. “I’m so sorry I was a jerk. I’m glad you’re okay!”

Katya was stunned, unsure of what to do besides gently hold the young woman back.

“It’s okay, Annie,” she said.

“I can’t believe what an ass I was! I’m so sorry – “

“Annie,” Enyd called, kindly but firmly, “they need to get dry and warm. Come on.”

Annie kept her hands on Katya as she ushered her and Silco along. They entered Vander’s kitchenette, with the dining table they had sat around not all that long ago, when they had tried to convince Katya to join their cause. She hadn’t noticed it then, but there was a small wood-burning stove tucked into a corner. Enyd dragged two chairs near it and gestured them over. All toohappily, they both plopped into the offered seats, teeth chattering, limbs quaking.

“Annie, go grab some blankets from Vander’s bedroom,” Enyd ordered as she gathered an armful of split wood that sat in a basket near the door. “And some towels.”

In a flash, Annie disappeared down an adjoining hall. Enyd opened the stove and tossed the wood inside. She fussed at it with an iron poker until the existing embers caught and flames began to lick their way up the sticks. She blew on the fire a few times, before coughing over took her and she closed the grate.

“Mum,” Silco croaked. While continuing to cough, she had dropped to her knees and had begun to undo his boots. “Mum, just wait a moment.”

He took a hold of her shoulders and she stopped her single-minded attentions, allowing her body to work through the fit. When it past, she shot forward and enveloped her boy in a tight embrace.

“I was so scared, so worried,” she cried. “When Annie and Beckett came back without you. Without both of you – “

She peeled away from Silco enough to turn, and extended an arm toward Katya. The young woman reached forward and grasped at the connection offered to her, her youthful fingers wrapping around Enyd’s cool and slightly gnarled ones.

Suddenly, Vander burst into the room, Beckett close behind. His silver eyes were wide and wild as they landed on Silco. He rushed forward – Enyd barely getting out of the way – scooping Silco up in a tight hold. The smaller man grunted as the air was pressed out of him.

“Fer fuck’s sake, Silco!” Vander hissed into his neck. “You fuckin’ scared us.”

“Vander . . . this hurts,” Silco wheezed, craning his head up and out of the embrace.

“Oh geez, ‘M sorry.”

Vander carefully lowered Silco back on his chair, his eyes roving over his Brother worriedly. Annie reappeared, her thin arms loaded with blankets and towels.

“We – we had to jump from the airship into the Pilt,” Silco explained.

“Oh Janna,” Enyd murmured, bringing a hand to her forehead.

“The landing hurt.”

“We will probably be bruised tomorrow,” Katya commented, gratefully taking a blanket from Annie.

“You two got back okay,” Silco said, looking at Beckett.

The redhead nodded, his expression aggrieved. “We shoulda stayed. We shouldn’t have left you guys alone – “

“You did exactly as I told you to do,” Silco firmly said in a tone meant to wipe away any guilt the other felt.

“When we saw the airship catch fire,” Annie whispered, her chin wobbling.

“We are fine,” Katya insisted, grabbing her hand. Tears streamed down Annie’s cheeks regardless. “We are fine. And we got what we set out for.” She jerked her head toward the sodden bags left by the door.

“Vander, get them hot tea,” Enyd ordered, dipping down to finish taking off their shoes and wet socks.

He did so, and Annie handed a blanket to Silco. He wrapped it around his shoulders, shivering. The heat pouring from the little stove was mighty, but had yet to touch the bone-chilling coldthat wrapped both him and Katya up. His mother laid their socks in front of the hot iron, and stood, grabbing for the towels Annie brought. She covered each of their heads with them.

“Dry your heads.”

“Becks, take the bags downstairs,” Vander called over his shoulder as he readied the kettle.

“Right. C’mon Annie.” He grabbed her hand, and the each took one of the bags and disappeared toward the basement.

Quiet fell onto the space, the only sound being the chattering of teeth, crackling flames, and the hiss of the stove as Vander set the kettle over a small, blue flame. Both Katya and Silco turned in, tucking themselves as tightly as they could toward the stove. Enyd fussed and fidgeted at her son’s shoulder.

“Vander, do you have spare clothes for them? They will need to get out of these wet ones.”

“Er – yeah. Yeah. On sec.”

He seemed reluctant to pull himself out of the kitchen space, but he quickly trudged down the hall Annie had disappeared to get the blankets. He returned moments later with an armful of clothes. The kettle began to sing and he handed the items to Enyd before rushing back to the stove.

“Once you two are warmer, you’ll put these on,” Enyd said, shaking the large shirts and pants out. Her voice was quiet, as if she were mostly speaking to herself; to remind her that Silco and Katya were, in fact, here. That they were alive and needed tending to.

“Here,” Vander said, coming around and handing each of them cups of steaming tea.

Katya groaned in relief at the feel of the warm ceramic under her numb fingers. She lifted the lip of the cup under her nose and let the heat of the beverage waft over her lips.

“I don’ have any lemon right now,” Vander apologized, a weak grin on his stubbled face.

“It is fine.”

She took her first sip and shuddered at the juxtaposition of the hot liquid against her cold tongue. Silco did the same.

A while later, they decided they were warm enough to change out of their damp clothes. However, neither wanted to move too far from the fire. Katya decided to change first. Vander left the room and Silco ducked his head down, squeezing his eyes shut as she changed as quickly as she could. But her hands were still shaking, and it took longer to peel out of her clothes. Enyd held up a blanket around her, like a screen, to protect her modesty and ease her mind.

Once Katya was wrapped up in Vander’s comfy, but too-big, clothes, she wrapped herself back up in her blanket.  She called Vander back in as she closed her eyes and tucked her chin down. Enyd handed him the blanket and gathered up the empty teacups. Stomach tumbling and blush furiously creeping up the back of his neck, he held the blanket up for Silco to change behind, doing his best to keep his own gaze averted. However, his eyes betrayed him a couple times, and spied over the tattered hem of the blanket at the willowy cut of his Brother’s body.

When Silco was dressed again and had sat back down, Vander cloaked him in the blanket and announced that he was going to head back to the bar for a bit. He shuffled out of his apartment, giving the three one last look before closing the door behind him. Enyd had taken to rustling through the kitchen, obviously still in need of something to do, lest she let her emotions run away with her. She settled on making soup. She had found a can in Vander’s cabinets, along with a small, dented pot, and she set up shop in front of the cooktop. Katya and Silco remained huddled tightly against the small fire burning merrily.

After a few minutes, once it seemed the shivering and chattering had finally passed, once it felt like being warm again wasn’t so far away, Katya’s eyes tracked to Silco’s sharp profile. He looked so serious and thoughtful now, the light and shadows of the fire jumping across his high cheekbones and blade-sharp nose. How different he looked now compared to when he had been struggling in the water.

“Silco,” she whispered. His eyes cut to hers, the orange flame having eaten all the green ice out of them. “Would you like me to teach you how to swim?”

Several seconds passed as he carefully searched over her face. What he was looking for, she wasn’t sure.

“Yes. I would like that.”

Unsurprisingly, both Silco and Katya came down with colds the following day. Neither went home, Vander and Enyd setting up makeshift cots by the small stove that they kept hot and burning all night long. They packed the pairs’ blankets with hot water bottles, and put many pairs of socks on their feet – but not before Enyd slathered their soles with a sharp smelling salve.

They sent tubes to the mines saying they would not be in due to illness. They received no push back, which was simultaneously relieving and worrying. Relieving so they could rest after their tumultuous night; and worrying because it meant that everyone’s attention was elsewhere. On the airship crash. Katya, Silco, Vander, and Enyd all silently wondered how this accident would color the next movements of the revolution.

Instead of ruminating on that, the small woman ordered Beckett and Annie – who showed up to check on their friends the following day – to go to the market and fetch a sack of onions. When they returned with a twenty-pound bag of the dirty roots, Enyd snatched it up with strength that surprised them all and dumped about half of the onions into a large stock pot on Vander’s stove. She filled it with water and set it to boil. Within the hour, the room smelled sharp and earthy. Everyone’s eyes watered mildly, and the mucus clogging Katya and Silco’s throats and noses began to loosen.

Through a hoarse voice, Katya instructed Annie on what medicines and tools to bring up from the basement. Silco stayed mostly quiet, every now and again mumbling about wanting a cigarette; something both Katya and Enyd chided him about.

Luckily, Katya and Silco’s illnesses were quick to work their way through their bodies, and by the end of the week both were upright and mostly well. The Children gathered at The Last Drop a couple days later, everyone reporting news to each other of what was being said about the airship crash, and rumors of what was transpiring across the River.

Enforcers in the Lanes seemed distracted and more irritable.

“Bet they’re not talking to them ‘bout what’s goin’ on,” an old miner said.

“Or,” Sevika butt in, “they have a whiff of what’s going on and their agitated that a Piltie committed a crime.”

“We can’ be worryin’ too much about what-ifs n’ speculation right now,” Vander declared, his voice booming across the filled bar. “We hafta focus on what we can do next. We got the coin, n’ have distributed it amongst a few trusted sources fer safekeeping ‘til we can get our trade relationships goin’, but the ship crashin’ was not part of the plan.”

“Even if it wasn’t,” Tolder guffawed, bouncing Lu on his knee, “seems fair for the Topside ship to go down. Too bad about the survivors.”

Some of the crowd murmured and chuckled in agreement. Vander grimaced and looked off to the side where Silco and Katya stood. Silco’s voice and throat were still on the mend, so he had opted to allow Vander and Benzo to handle the talking points. His thin face pinched at Tolder’s comment. The crash had been an accident, and despite his distain for Topside, knowing that one of the crew members perished left him feeling . . . odd. Not wholly like himself. But satisfied.

Like the scales had tipped ever so slightly in Zaun’s favor.

“Regardless,” Benzo piped in, “we’re atta crossroads here. We can’t do this sneakily fer much longer.”

Vander looked out at the sea of faces and felt a heavy wave crash over him. Perhaps for the first time, he truly understoodthe weight of what he and Silco had started. All of these faces looking to him for guidance, direction, answers; all of these faces – young, old, angry, hopeful, desperate – looking to him.His stomach swooped at the realization. All had been fine and doable when it was just him and Silco dreaming as youths behind a mine cart. It had even been okay when Benzo joined in, and a few others soon after. It seemed strangely unserious before that initial botched robbery. Vander felt his face beginning to flush. What a fool he’d been; he knew what this endeavor would entail, and he had not known at the same time. He supposed a part of him hoped that peace could exist in a vacuum; that they could achieve it with minimal trouble.

“When people look up to you, you do not get to be selfish. You do not get to speak so candidly. If you say run, they will. If you say swim, they will dive into the River. If you say you want a fire, they will show up with oil. Leading the fight for Zaun’s independence is a heavy mantle and should not be taken lightly.Whatever happens, it is on you.”

Katya’s voice rung in his ears. He looked back at Silco. And the woman at his side. His Brother gave him a small encouraging nod. They had discussed strategy before this meeting. Vander steeled his nerves and turned back to the crowd.

“Then we tell Piltover. We send ‘em a message ‘bout the airship. An’ include the forged curtain documents just’a stick to them sum’more.” He swallowed, “We tell ‘em Zaun demands freedom. Peace n’ opportunity.”

There was a hush, then murmuring. The murmuring grew and gave way to louder agreements, then some clapping, and finally the tavern erupted in full-blown applause. Benzo beat the bottom of his tankard down on the bar top; others followed with their own drinks. Those who did not have beverages stomped their boots on the floorboards. The building rumbled and shook with the sound, and soon – no one could be sure who started it – a chant joined, and soon overtook the beating of cups and stamping of feet.

“Here comes The Storm’s Fury! Here comes The Storm’s Fury!”

Katya tensed at the cacophony. Silco grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She could feel his excitement buzzing through his fingertips, and she laced her fingers through his.

Somehow Annie’s trill of a voice rang above the din and cried, “Let’s commemorate this occasion!”

She waved the camera she’d stolen above her indigo head. The crowd agreed, and everyone shuffled and moved toward the bar as Beckett set up the camera on a high-top table. He fussed with the knobs atop the camera and peered through the viewfinder, before pressing a button. He raced towards the massive group and slid into the front row just in time for the lens to click and the light to flash. A photo on thick glossy paper slid out from the camera’s slot, and the crowd cheered and laughed.

“Let’s celebrate!” Benzo crowed, his wide face ruddy.

He hobbled behind the bar and poured himself another ale. The rest of the Children agreed. More drinks were poured, the jukebox received no rest, and Annie flitted about the room snapping photo after photo of the excited revelers.

“Katya! Silco! Smile!” she yelled, rushing up to the pair.

Both were flummoxed by her sudden appearance. Normally, they would’ve rescinded (with varying degrees of politeness), but the joy in the tavern and the young woman’s guerilla tactics left them off-kilter and clumsily agreeable. Without thinking, Silco wrapped his arm around her waist, and Katya’s around his,as they leaned into each other. They both winced at the bright flash, and Annie cackled in delight as she pulled the photo from the camera and waved it in the air.

“Here!” she said, thrusting the photo at them.

Silco snatched it up before she whisked away, chasing after Sevika and Nasha. Katya reached over to look at the developing photo. Slowly, her and Silco’s silhouettes appeared. Details filled in the them-shaped holes next. She snorted. Neither looked especially happy – they looked awkward and unprepared. Silco was barely smiling, while she veered toward a grimace. A wince pinched at Silco’s eyes, while her eyebrows pitched up in concern. However, she couldn’t deny the ease with which their bodies leaned in towards each other. Something about it brought her immense comfort.

“Maybe your mother would like to put that on the icebox.”

Silco snorted, but he tucked the photo in his trouser pocket all the same.

“Where is she?” Katya asked.

“At home. Her cough was especially bad today.”

She watched grief and worry gutter in his eyes briefly before he tucked it back inside him. A heavy, empathetic weight blanketed her heart and she leaned against him. She felt him lean back in gratitude.

“Oi, Sil!” Vander barked from across the room.

Both looked up to see the barkeep waving his Brother over. Benzo was at his side, Annie standing in front of the pair, her camera at the ready.

“Someone needs to take that thing away from her,” Silco grumbled as he trudged toward Vander.

Katya chuckled at his sour mood as he went.

The days following the airship crash were chaotic.

The crash site was far enough away from Piltover proper that city structures were not impacted; however, the distance did keep emergency services from arriving quickly. It was not until dawn before water wagons and ambulances were able to reach the charred shell of the airship. By the time aid arrived, the canvas balloon was gone, long since eaten away by the flames – dispersed into thousands of ashy embers on the salty wind. The hull was a charred, smoking skeleton; small pockets of flames still licked at beams and seat coverings, greedily eating the little that was left. Luckily, the cliff side where the ship had crashed was barren, preventing the fire from expanding to the surrounding wildlife.

The destruction was so complete that the Enforcers and emergency personnel who arrived on the scene were shocked to find two survivors near the crash. Bruised and bloody, but alive. A female with a bullet hole in her leg; a male with a puncture wound through his hand. Both stunk of singed hair and burnt flesh. Another survivor – a male – was picked up along the rocky shoreline below. He suffered a broken leg and hypothermia from having been left in the water. One victim was discovered. A male, charred and burned beyond recognition, in what had been the airship’s cargo hold. The three survivors were taken to the sanitarium in Piltover. It was a couple days before physicians cleared them to be interviewed by Enforcers.

An investigation had already begun prior to meeting with the crash survivors, and Sheriff LeDaird was very keen on knowing what had happened. A preliminary inspection of the airship remains revealed that the fire had been started by a firearm going off. A hydraulic line had been severed as well. The front windshield of the hull had been smashed open from the inside. And, of course, the dead body in the cargo hold.

When he and Captain Grayson visited the survivors in the sanitarium, they got a story they were not expecting.

The man who had a broken leg, rattled and broke immediately. Rambling off a story that seemed too outlandish to be true: He and the other three crew members had been paid off by a teller from Clockwork Vault to ferry a large sum of money from Piltover to Bilgewater, where the bankman apparently had large outstanding debts with some nefarious crew. He had stolen the money from a few accounts in the vault, and had commissioned curtains to hide the coin in. As they left port, two stowaways attacked them and caused the airship to catch flame and crash.

LeDaird didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he and Grayson both noticed how his cohorts had turned various shades of red and green, and when they tried to dispute the story, their own tales did not line up, nor could they keep their facts straight.

“If this is true,” Grayson muttered as they left the sanitarium, “then this Vault teller did not get what he paid for.”

“We will look into that next. Follow this trail until it runs cold,” LeDaird grumbled, jamming his Sheriff’s hat on his head.

The trail, however, did not run cold. It only heated up when Grayson and a few Enforcers went to Clockwork Vault and began asking questions. They found the teller the man with the broken leg had mentioned, and he stammered and sweat profusely as they spoke with him. When they asked for records of accounts, both Enforcers and Vault managers alike were shocked to find glaring discrepancies in the numbers.

Angry and baffled, the managers ordered hand-counting of the accounts effected – certain that it was only a clerical error. A gross, inexcusable clerical error. Alas, when the parttime grunts returned from the laborious task, their fingers blackened and numb, they confirmed that money was missing from those accounts. Lucky for Grayson, the teller in charge of those accounts was the very same man who the three airship crash survivors had pinned. A warrant was issued for his arrest, and a team of Enforcers stormed his home, finding him and his family in the process of packing to leave Piltover.

Obviously, this scandalous crime grabbed the interest of nearly every Topsider. Very rarely was there anything ever of this scope on their side of the River. It was outrageous, irreprehensible, and barely conceivable – that a fellow Piltovan would take advantage of his position and steal from some of the wealthiest families in the city. The list of accounts effected was long, including the Rynweavers, Ferros’, and Kirammans.

What was even more maddening – for the Enforcers as well as the families – was the fact that there was no coin recovered at the crash site. Investigators scoured the land nearby; dive teams were called out to comb the riverbed, and still no money turned up.

Grayson and LeDaird revisited the three injured crew members and questioned them further about the alleged stowaways. The answers given to them were few and frustrating. The pair had worn masks and non-descript dark clothing; one man, one woman – judging by their builds; they had bags with them, but none knew if coin was in them; one had a gun, the other a knife – they both used their weapons to assault the crew. The stowaways didn’t speak, didn’t declare why they were there.

LeDaird rubbed at his brow as he poured over the notes on his desk. Captain Grayson sat before him, looking uncharacteristically ruffled, her wide mouth down turned and her eyes distant. A couple other high-ranking Enforcers milled around his office, discussing theories and scrutinizing the bulletin board they’d adorned with facts, leads (few and dead that there were), and questions about the Clockwork Vault case.

They were talking in circles, and LeDaird felt a migraine coming on when a receptionist knocked on his door before letting herself in.

“For you, Sheriff,” she said quietly, handing him a rumpled envelope.

It was unusual, but his mind was so knotted up that he didn’t think to question it before opening the paper. He pulled out the letter, his mind barely noting the raggedness of the parchment paper. His eyes skirted over the message. And then again. And again, as the words began to settle themselves in his brain. His eyes cleared and his heavy brow dropped.

“Sir?” Grayson asked, as he slowly rose from his desk.

He walked slowly toward the bulletin board, eyes still glued to the letter. The two Enforcers stepped aside as he approached. LeDaird snatched an available pin from the cork and pierced the paper to the center of the board.

We are the Children of Zaun

Consider the coin the beginning of your reparations

We are the Children of Zaun

We are The Storm’s Fury

And we demand freedom.

Chapter Text

“Ya don’ think it sounds too threatening?” Vander asked, eyes glossing over the note again.

We are the Children of Zaun

Consider the coin the beginning of your reparations

We are the Children of Zaun

We are The Storm’s Fury

And we demand freedom.

“Sure makes a statement, doesn’ it?” Benzo said, glancing over his friend’s shoulder. He didn’t seem convinced either.

Silco stared at them from across Vander’s kitchen table, his fists gripping the back of a chair, cigarette dangling from his sneering lips.

“We are not going to ask nicely for our freedom. We are not going to ask for it at all.”

“’M not sayin’ we gotta go in with ‘pretty pleases’ n’ the like,” Vander sighed, setting the paper down. “’M just sayin’ is it wise to be so aggressive off the mark?”

“They are not going to believe that the airship crash was an accident. They are going to come at us with their teeth. They need to know we have our own,” Silco retorted. “That we won’t be pushed around any longer.”

His eyes went to the clock on the wall, and he pushed off the chair. Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, he crushed it into the ashtray at the table’s center.

“You goin’ somewhere?” Vander asked, eying the sudden movement.

“Kat wants to show me something. I’m supposed to go meet her.”

“Showin’ ya? What’s she showin’ ya?”

Silco averted his gaze as he said, “She’s going to teach me a few swimming strokes.”

Benzo guffawed. “Where? It’s bloody cold out.”

“Apparently there are some hot springs near those lagoons that kids like to play at. The ones between Zaun and Topside,” Silco explained blandly, going to gather his bag by the door. Katya had instructed him to pack a towel and dry change of clothes. “Besides, I need to give her the coin.”

At the top of their meeting, Silco had proposed the Children spare a negligible percentage of their recent treasure to Katya, so she could afford Viktor’s higher tuition rate for the upcoming semester. Vander and Benzo had agreed without a second thought.

Brothers and Sisters looked out for each other after all.

They all knew this would not be a long-term solution; and they all privately hoped that by the next time Viktor’s tuition fee came around, that their cause was far enough along that Piltover was agreeing to fully foot the bill.

Vander frowned. “Sil, I think we need to talk about this message some more. What if Piltover comes down hard on us?”

Silco slung his bag across his back, a hand patting protectively at the pocket that held the sack of gold.

“When have they ever come down easy on us? The only thing that will change is that they will now know there is a concentrated effort on getting their bootheels off us. Send the message.”

With that, he slipped out of the room. Benzo sighed and sat heavily next to Vander.

“What a fuckin’ prick.”

“He’s not wrong, I suppose,” Vander murmured, looking at the message. “No matter how we word it, Topside’ll still come after us. Best they know we’ll meet ‘em head on.”

His eyes drifted back to where Silco had been, his stomach knotting.

Silco stalked down the hall and through The Last Drop’s backdoor. He and Katya were meeting at the Bridgewaltz. The location was central enough, and made more sense than meeting at either of their homes.

When he arrived, it was mostly deserted. Which was to be expected in the early-afternoon; the Waltz did not burst to life until very late in the evening, Zaunites and Topsiders alike milling about the colorful streets taking in everything the Undercity had to offer: Crispy and well-spiced street food, boisterous musicians, and clever artisans with their unique wares.

But there was awhile before such nightly festivities began. Now, a few slow-moving, but dedicated, proprietors tended to the upkeep of their booths and stalls. A few Zaunites were hunched over tables or countertops, having fallen asleep the night before and had been deemed too troublesome to try and shoo away.

“Silco.”

He spun to see Katya strolling down a slim corridor of colorful awnings. She smiled brightly at him and adjusted the bag slung over her shoulder. His lips quirked and heart pattered at the sight of her; relieved and happy. Despite her invitation, he had been concerned that what had happened in the airship – how yet another thing did not go to plan – would scare her away from the Children. From him. But it had not, and he found himself inordinately relieved.

She wore her usual long, too-big charcoal coat and her hair fell loose around her shoulders. As she passed under a string of chem-bulbs, he noticed a flash of rosy gold undertones to her locks. He felt compelled to reach out to run his fingers through the strands to find that hue again.

Instead, he tightened the grip he had on his own bag, and nodded at her in greeting.

“Are you ready?” she asked, skirting around a vendor’s table to him.

“I believe so,” he said, jostling his pack. “Lead the way.”

They walked together through the Bridgewaltz, the winding alleys and gangways of the Lanes, and a short section of the Promenade before heading toward the Oases. The sun gleamed on the Promenade stones and the pair squinted against it as they traveled. Despite the brightness, the chill in the air was persistent, a promise of the cold season arriving shortly. A few shops they passed were even beginning the process of decorating for Snowdown. Business owners had threaded ribbons of gold and silver over window boxes and door lintels. A few storefronts boasted colorful paper garlands and delicate, star-shaped string lights. A few shop owners they passed were swapping details and ideas of impending holiday sales.

Before long, Katya led them down a steep rickety staircase that ended abruptly. She had always assumed that the builder had gotten fed up with trying to navigate and place the iron posts and steps over the uneven and sandy rocks, and had just given up halfway down the embankment. It would be easier and faster to travel down to the small rivulets that would lead to the Oases with Silco than it was with Viktor. She had nearly forgotten how quickly the landscape could be traversed. They walked along the bank of the largest tributary, mindful of the runoff trickling down from the sewer outlets that peppered the stone walls that rose above them.

“How did you learn about these hot springs?”

Katya shrugged. “My parents always took me to them. I do not know how they discovered them.”

As they neared the larger lagoons of the Oases, the sounds of screeching and laughing children overtook the noise of the gently running water. The pair spied a gaggle of scrawny Undercity youths scampering along the banks of the largest lagoon. It was too cold to swim, but that did not stop the children from investigating the shoreline, or skipping rocks. Katya was certain she spied a couple of Sevika’s sisters, but made no mention of it.

“This way,” she said as they approached a fork in the small river.

She veered right and Silco followed. The sandstone pressed in, narrowing the chasm they traveled, until a cave mouth yawned open and Silco took in this little secret of Zaun. The cavern itself did not seem particularly deep; the sun was able to illuminate most of the rocks and steaming, turquoise pools within the cave’s maw.

“Does anyone ever come here?”

Katya shook her head. “I have never seen anyone else here.”

She leapt down from a rock and stepped into the warm cave, swinging her sack from around her shoulders and dumping it to the ground. Silco remained at the mouth of the cavern, eying the glistening pools within apprehensively.

“It will be difficult to learn how to swim on dry land.”

Silco started, and looked down to Katya. She lifted her thick eyebrows and grinned at him.

“I won’t let you drown,” she said. “I promise.”

Silco returned her smile and followed her into the cave.

It was balmy. The heat of the water swirling around them in clouds of steam. The air smelled of the tang of minerals and wet sand. Katya knelt down and opened her sack, pulling out a large, fraying towel. She sat on it and began unlacing her boots. Silco began doing the same. When she stood, he looked up at her in slight confusion, but the question died on his tongue as she began unbuttoning her pants.

She noticed his wide-eyes and uncharacteristically stupefied face, and explained, “It will be easier to learn without soaked through clothes. Just in our underthings. Is that alright?”

Silco nodded. “Yes, that’s fine.”

He casually looked away as she slid the trousers down her legs. He felt a warmth blooming inside him that had nothing to do with the springs. He began to follow suit, writing off the tremor in his fingers as a need for a cigarette. When she shed her shirt, leaving her only clad in underwear, a camisole, and a brassiere, he bit the inside of his lip. He kicked his trousers off and stood, and unclasped the hooks that held his shirt in place before peeling it from his back. He tossed it next to his bag and tried to stand as nonchalantly as he could, dressed only in his thin undershorts. His pale skin was turning pink, and he prayed that she thought it was only because of the cave’s warmth and humidity.

Katya began braiding her hair, and glanced him over once. Twice. And then at his head.

“Would you like a hair tie?”

Silco’s hands flew to his lanky hair and pet at it. He looked to the water, and then back to Katya. “Will one help?”

She shrugged. “It might. Hold on.”

She bent over to dig through her bag, and despite everything inside him begging him not to, he eyed the curve of her wide hips and swell of her ass. She rose again and handed him a small elastic band.

“Here.”

He mumbled a thank you and began pulling his hair back as Katya headed to the nearest spring. She delicately jumped in, the water rippling and gently splashing around her body. A soft, pleased groan blew from her lips as her muscles were wrapped in warmth. The pool only came up to her chest and she dipped beneath the surface, wetting her hair. As she came back up, she wiped her bangs from her eyes, and looked back to the edge of the pool. Where Silco stood, waiting for instructions.

She noticed his slender body in a way she hadn’t during that initial physical. Slightly broad shoulders and chest that tapered to a very narrow waist; his muscle sat tightly against his bones, the cut and shape of them becoming more apparent as sweat and moisture collected on his skin. He had very little body hair. A small, light smattering across the planes of his chest and a thin line that began beneath his navel and disappeared under the waistline of his shorts. Her gaze lifted back to his face, the angles of his cheekbones and nose more apparent now that his dark hair was swept back into a messy knot. Lean, elegant, and magnetic she thought.

Beautiful.

Katya nearly choked at the word as it flashed through her mind. She played it off and jerked her head back, beckoning him.

“Come on. Hop in. The water is far better than the Pilt.”

Silco toed the pool’s lip for a moment more before jumping in. He created a larger wake than Katya did, and she laughed at the small waves that splashed at her.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, stepping forward, cutting his sinewy arms through the water.

Wiping the water from her eyes, she chuckled, “It is fine. I’m already wet anyway.”

Silco gave her an apologetic grin as his feet and toes squeezed and gripped the uneven rock beneath them, feeling the slight slick of algae that grew there. There were nerves coiling his stomach. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself. In general. And not in front of her.

“What’s first?” he asked, infusing his tone with a confident, blasé bravado.

“Well, since you can already not drown,” she cheekily said, “I figured we would just focus on a more efficient technique.”

First, Katya took him through a few arm and shoulder warm ups, and mobility exercises: instructing him through shoulder rolls, chest and back stretches. She mimed the crawl stroke she was preparing to teach him by throwing her arms into the air in controlled, alternating sweeps. He did his best to copy her. And to not feel foolish.

“Keep your arm in its socket,” she told him, stepping over and gently adjusting his right shoulder down, away from his ear. “Use the muscles in your back, not your ligaments and tendons, to reach and pull.”

She touched the muscles in the center of his upper back and at his sides in direction. Silco adjusted his technique.

“The arm that is drawing back, bend its elbow more,” she added as he mimed the movement again. “It is called the crawl, yes? Imagine that you actually pulling yourself through something. Like this.”

She turned her back to him and did the stroke into the air, making a point to exaggerate pulling back through her elbows. He watched the slight rotation of her wrists and hands as she went, as if she were pushing material out of the way. He watched the way her back muscles moved. How the band of her brassiere strained under her camisole.

Katya turned to face him again, and gestured for him to try. He obliged and she nodded at his technique. She then explained the breathing pattern for the crawl: to turn his head in the same direction the arm sweeping back.

“Both sides?”

“Typically, yes. But you may find it easier to just turn your head to your dominant side for now. You’ll get a feel for it once you start swimming. You use your left hand, yes?”

Something pleased fluttered inside Silco that she knew that. He nodded.

“Good. Now, I want you to use your arms like that and swim the length of this pool,” she said, walking over to one end.

Silco looked at her, then to the spring’s opposite end. It wasn’t too long; maybe forty feet.

Slowly, he waded across the pool to her side. She gave him an encouraging smile, and he rolled his shoulders before launching forward into the warm water. Shifting the movement he’d just learned to a horizontal position was harder than he anticipated. His arms didn’t feel as strong and his lower body kept sinking, despite kicking furiously. Every time he turned his head to breathe, not only did he get a mouthful of air, but water splashed in, too.

Finally, his fingers scraped against the ledge of the pool’s far side and he stood up, panting. He looked down at the ledge, and then turned to look at Katya at the other end of the pool. The water between them was frothing and choppy, but she gave him an encouraging smile.

“Not bad,” she called. “Now, come back.”

Silco heeded her instruction and attempted the crawl again as he swam back. He was huffing and puffing by the time he returned to Katya’s side.

“I don’t know why,” he gasped, “but I did not think it would be so tiring.”

She smirked up at him. “Swimming is a different beast from roof running. It probably doesn’t help that you smoke, either.”

He recalled her final comment that night he had shown her Zaun.

You shouldn’t smoke, anyway. It’s bad for you, too.

He slyly grinned back at her, and purred, “I am allowed a vice. Piltover has made life hellish enough to deny ourselves any small pleasures. I’m sure once I get this stroke down, I’ll swim just as fast as you. Perhaps faster – “

Katya snorted, throwing her head back. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Silco shrugged cockily before diving back into the water and practicing again. After a few more laps, he began to get a better handle of how to move his arms and neck, his stroke pattern becoming smoother, surer. Slowly, he began cutting through the water instead of splashing against it.

“Very good,” Katya congratulated once he returned to her side again. “I think it is time to talk about hips and legs.” She turned to the pool’s edge and placed her hands on a relatively level slab of rock. “One of the reasons your lower half is sinking is because you are kicking too much with your knees. You will swim faster and more efficiently if you keep your legs straighter and kick from your hips.”

She kept her hands on the rock, and allowed the rest of her body to float up in the water. Her rear breached the surface, and Silco fought not to stare. She made a point to flex and straighten her shapely legs and kicked. Despite the movement, very little water was splashed up. Silco scooted down the edge of the rock a bit to find his own level piece. Once he was set up, he kicked his lower half up to the surface. Very ungracefully. His jaw squeezed and brow furrowed as he did his best to lengthen his legs taut and access his hips.

“It is a balance,” Katya explained, stepping over to him. “Straight legs, yes. But allow there to be a little give in your knees so that they remain soft.”

“So keep my legs straight. But don’t keep my legs straight.”

Katya smirked and shrugged. “Viktor can do it. And his bones are warped. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Silco huffed and tried again. It was challenging, but eventually he got it enough that Katya didn’t need to keep reminding him.

“Do not swish your hips so much,” she said, reaching out and gently touched the top of his hipbone.

The feeling of her fingertips on him caused Silco to jolt and stop swimming. He spun to look at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she gasped, hand pulling back. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay. I just – I just wasn’t expecting it.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “What did you say?”

“You are rotating through your hips too much. It’ll make you tired. Keep your hips steady. The rotation comes from your back. Remember? From the crawl stroke itself.”

Silco tried again, imagining that an iron beam holding his hips in place. A couple times, Katya reminded him to keep his knees and feet a touch softer. As she watched him, her eyes squinted and she brought the tips of her fingers to her temple.

“What?” he asked, pausing to catching his breath.

“I am trying to think of another way to explain,” she sighed. “Have you ever seen people on the Promenade ride . . . I think they are called Bi-sickles, or something? A metal frame with two wheels on either end?”

“Bicycles. Yeah. I’ve seen them.”

“Okay, well, the leg movement is not dissimilar. Steady hips, strong glutes and thighs propelling the motion, but some soft give from the knees down. Does that make sense?”

Silco pondered for a moment, thinking on the Topside youths he’d seen racing their toys through the Promenade streets. He recalled how their legs pumped their mode of transportation, strong and efficient strokes that powered the bicycle to impressive speeds. He nodded and tried again.

After several minutes, she suggested he put the two together and try swimming another few laps of the pool. Silco rolled his shoulders and shook his legs out a bit before venturing back into the middle of the water and piecing together what he had learned.

Just as before, it took him a couple laps to achieve smooth movements. Once he found a rhythm, he felt like a harpoon slicing through the water, especially compared to how he felt in the Pilt a few days ago. After his tenth lap, he stopped for a break at the far end and turned to look at Katya. His heart tapped firmly against his breastbone to see her beaming at him. Her skin was glistening from the warmth and water, her cheeks rosy. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her so pleased or carefree, and he was excited to think he was the source of her happiness in that moment.

Suddenly, Katya leapt forward and swam towards him, streaking through the water like a waverider. He hadn’t really paid attention the night they jumped from the airship, but she moved seamlessly – as if she became one with the water. It didn’t froth around her limbs, just rippled in smooth wakes. It seemed as easy as breathing for her. Despite the improvements he had made to his own abilities, he knew he floundered like a beached fish in comparison.

She appeared at his side, that sun-bright smile still on her face.

“Race?”

Silco stared at her for a moment, his eyes glancing down to her smile, then his own split across his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ‘played’ – had had unproductive fun. He was sure Katya felt the same.

“Prepare to eat my wake, Kat.”

Katya did not eat Silco’s wake. Quite the opposite. He struggled to keep up, but laughed at his own ineptitude in the water. Although, the more and more laps they swam, the surer in his skills he became. Katya told him his slight build would work to his advantage, something he quietly preened at because he never considered his physicality being an advantage for much.

Eventually they tired, and lifted themselves from the pool. They spread their towels over the cave floor and sat, allowing their bodies to rest and dry off. Silco did his best to avoid staring at Katya, at the way her wet clothes had sheered from the water and now clung to her body. A heat that had nothing to do with the hot springs spread through him.

To distract himself, he fished an apple and a small knife from his bag. He cut a slice and handed it to her. Katya stared at the offering for a moment, stunned, before taking it.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, because that it what you said when someone gave you something.

Unsettled warmth bloomed across her chest as she bit down on it in a satisfying crunch. It had been a long while since she had had a bite of apple. It had been a long while that someone had provided for her. She wondered if she would ever get used to being thought of, sought after, taken care of, considered. Silco’s companionship felt as much of a treat like this apple.

The fruit was crisp, juicy, and sweet against her tongue. As it broke down in her mouth, and the sweet sparked into surprising notes of tangy sour, compulsory sadness curled in her stomach; that her experience of the treat was nearing its end. Then her eyes fell onto the fruit by Silco’s pointed knee, and realized she could have more. That one bite was only the first. Her mouth watered and stomach rumbled.

“I brought some bread, too. One of mum’s reject loaves.”

Katya’s eyes flicked up to his face. Why had she gone so long denying herself of company? Denying her own needs? Pointedly skirting the care and lives of others? If she had kept to her solitary way, she would not have this apple, this bread. This man, and his caring mother.

“How is she?”

Silco’s nostrils curled. He cut his own slice of apple and ate it. He shrugged.

“Like she said, it always gets bad this time of year.”

Katya’s eyes softened, empathy and sadness leaching out the joy that had lit them up.

“She is probably due for another vial of medicine,” she said. “I will grab one when I am at the clinic.”

Silco gave her a weak smile and retrieved the lumpy loaf of bread from his bag. He tore a piece off and handed it to her. She took it and held it in her hands, thinking of how she might smooth out the lines that had appeared on Silco’s face at the mention of Enyd. How she might dampen the small flame of ire that had appeared in his eyes, and rekindle the joy that had been there earlier.

“I am glad I got to show you this place,” she decided on, looking up at the stalactites on the cave’s ceiling. “As grateful as I am that only Viktor and I seem to be the ones to ever come here, it’s so beautiful that I feel badly for it that so few people visit. Know about it.”

Silco hummed, biting down on a piece of bread and looking around at the cave. It’s towers and divots. At the lush moss and algae that collected at its mouth, and hung down from its opening like a shredded curtain.

“This is where your parents taught you how to swim?”

Katya shook her head. “No. I learned in the Oases. Like a lot of the children do now. When it came time to teach Viktor, his body did not handle the cool water well, so Papa taught him here. Being in the water also helps relieve some of the chronic aches he has in his body.”

“How did your father find this place?” Silco asked, looking around again.

“I never thought to ask. I wish I had now. He used to talk about taking me and Viktor out on a boat someday. To explore the Conqueror’s Sea.”

“It sounds like he had an affinity for water.”

Katya chuckled and took a bite of bread. “I suppose he did, now that you mention it. One of the books he would read to us most frequently had to do with ocean life. Various habitats, animal and plant life – that sort of thing.” She laughed and said, “My favorite chapter was about the deep sea, and all the monstrous creatures down there. It sort of reminded me of the Undercity. I found it fascinating, but I don’t think Viktor did.”

“How come?”

She shrugged. “He is more interested in building and creating things. He preferred when Papa read about inventions and why they worked. Engineering and chemistry and physics, and those sorts of things. Biology never grabbed him as tightly.”

“But it did you?” Silco asked, taking his knife to the apple again and slicing it twice. He handed one piece to her, and placed his own on his tongue.

Katya shrugged again and bit thoughtfully into the apple’s flesh, Silco’s eyes flicking down to her mouth as she did.

“I do find it interesting,” she said around the fruit in her mouth. “It certainly has served me well with my role at the clinic. And with caring for Viktor. And like I told you, I think I would like to become a doctor once Zaun is free. Once we have the ability to manage such things.”

“That reminds me,” Silco gasped, reaching for his bag. His hand gripped the small satchel of gold within and he drew it out. “Vander and I wanted you to have some of the coin from the airship job. To help with Viktor’s tuition next semester.”

He handed her the purse, and she slowly took it. Her eyes glossed over and became distant as she uncinched the bag’s mouth and peered inside. Gold glittered up at her. Katya sniffed and her throat squeezed tightly. She looked back up at him, and her heart cracked at the soft – almost adoring – smile on his face. She opened her mouth to thank him, but all that came out was a teary choke. Silco scooted over and wrapped his arm around her.

“I got you.”

Katya’s voice failed her again, and she simply leaned against him. She curled against his side; her face pressed into his neck. She nodded against it, overwhelmed and humbled by the sense of gratitude. Her body alight with the feeling of belonging. She felt treasured and valued.

She wasn’t able to speak, but as she closed her eyes and felt Silco’s jugular pulse against her cheek, she thought You have me.

Eventually, when the sun began to fade, they toweled off and redressed, preparing to head home. Katya wrapped the small bag of gold in her towel and shoved it deep within her sack. Despite the extra weight on her back, her heart felt easeful and light. The children that had been at the Oases were gone. Headed home for supper, or for work, or to nothing at all. Silco and Katya hopped onto the bottom step of the incomplete staircase and headed back into Zaun.

The Bridgewaltz was just beginning to brighten and stretch into its evening routine. The chem-bulbs above twinkled various colors, casting rainbow splotches on the pavement and across scattered tables and chairs. A few of the food stalls and kiosks already had customers gnawing at kebabs and drinking whatever brew was offered; the passed-out people Silco and Katya had seen earlier had since woken up and staggered off.

“Would you like me to walk you home?” Silco asked, as they came to a stop.

Katya looked up at him, voice stuck in her throat. The shadows and light did mesmerizing things to the angles of his face, and his pale eyes reflected the flickering magenta, orange, and green lights above.

Would she like? Would she want?

“That’s okay,” she finally answered. Her stomach curled in displeasure at her own words. “You should get home and check on your mother.”

Silco smiled and nodded. He ignored the pang of disappointment that flicked at his heart.

“Right, then,” he said, adjusting his bag. “I’ll see you soon. Yeah?”

Katya beamed up at him. Her milk-colored skin glowed in the colorful light, and Silco’s fingers twitched, fighting the urge to run them down her cheek.

“Yes. I will see you soon.”

“Thank you again for the lessons. For today.”

Something open, vulnerable, and wanting cracked behind Katya’s ribs, and she closed the distance between them, wrapping Silco in a tight embrace. He returned it with an immediacy that left his mind reeling and surprised. She felt warm and solid – not unlike that dream he had had the night he’d fought the enforcers. Turning his head slightly, he nestled his nose into the crook of her neck. The smell of brine, minerals, and warmth from the Springs was stuck to her.

“Thank you for today,” she whispered. “And for everything else.”

Katya gave him one last squeeze and drew back. Silco followed suit, his heart hammering against his chest.

“Walk home safe, Kat.”

“You, too.”

Silco watched her for a moment, before turning himself and walking home.

When he arrived at his and his mother’s apartment, it was quiet except for the warm, prickling drone of the phonograph needle swirling on a record that had finished playing. A singular light from the living room bled into the front hall. Silco quietly removed his boots, and set down his sack by the door before venturing further.

“Mum?” he called quietly, stepping into the living room.

Enyd was propped up in her rocking chair, a sewing project in her lap, her head lolled onto one shoulder, eyes closed. Her breath came in soft, long wheezes as she slept. Silco smiled tenderly at the sight and tip-toed to the phonograph, gently resetting the needle in its bed.

“Mum,” he said again, walking over and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Mum.”

Enyd gently started under his touch and blinked awake.

“Wha? – Oh, Silco. You’re home. I – I didn’t realize that I fell asleep.”

She adjusted in her seat, the chair rocking slightly with her movement, and she peered down at the bundle of thread and fabric in her lap. An amused huff blew from her lips at the sight, and a string of dry coughs followed it. When they passed, she straightened her shoulders and looked up at her son with watery eyes.

“How did it go today?”

“It went well. Kat’s a good teacher. It was nice. Spending time with her. Mum, why don’t you go to bed if you’re tired?”

Enyd batted away his concern with a flick of her thin wrist. “I’m fine. I want to get this done before I turn in anyhow.” She gestured to the sewing project in her lap. “Would you mind starting the record again?”

Silco turned back to the phonograph and reset the needle. Soft, warbly music echoed from the soundhorn and Enyd hummed appreciatively, lifting the needle and thread back up to the light.

“I’m going to take a shower. Do you need anything?”

His mother shook her head. She smiled at him, and said, “I’m glad you got to do something light today. Fun. Joyful.”

Silco’s insides squeezed – with what, he wasn’t entirely certain – and softly smiled in agreement.

“Me too.”

With that, he headed to his bedroom, grabbed his pajamas, and then locked himself up in the bathroom. He turned the water in the tub on, holding one hand under the faucet, waiting for it to turn warm. When it did, he was surprised that he could feel the difference between this warm water and the stuff he’d been swimming in a few hours prior. He didn’t know water could feel different. Pulling the tee diverter, the shower head rumbled and spat to life. He quickly divested himself of his clothes; surprised when a flash of Kat in her wet underthings flickered in his mind. He swallowed, tossed the clothes into the hamper by the toilet, and stepped into the shower.

The warm water sluiced over his frame in vaguely relaxing rivulets. The sensation paled in comparison to the heat and comfort he’d found in the Springs. He’d found in the excited, pleased beam of Kat’s smile. Silco ran his fingers through his hair, unraveling any snags and snares he found. He closed his eyes as water ran down his face. The image behind his eyelids was that of Kat standing in the shallow end of the pool, water to her knees, her underwear, camisole, and brassiere wet and sticking to her body. Her skin glowed and shone with the warm mist of the cave. Silco sighed, and finally allowed himself to ruminate on what he’d seen while he lathered himself up with soap.

Like many trenchers, Katya’s body hungered, but it hadn’t kept her hips and breasts from filling out. His mind’s eye roved over her legs. Stopped, and stared at where her thighs thickened into the swell of her hips and ass. Salivated at how the damp sheerness of her underwear had allowed the suggestion of curls at the crux of her thighs –

Silco gasped as he brought the soap to his groin, and found himself half-hard. Balls beginning to lift and ache. For a moment, he considered turning the water to ice cold, to put a stop to this. But his hand made a cursory sweep down his length and the space behind his navel tightened with anticipation. With a plead.

Silco’s imagination took creative license, and the Kat behind his eyes shifted her expression to something sultrier. Hungrier. Her lashes sat low over her golden eyes – those mesmerizing gold eyes. Silco braced one hand against the shower wall, while the other took hold of him in earnest. Kat bit just the inside of her lower lip, and Silco worked himself to full hardness in steady strokes.

His mind’s eye traveled up the length of her torso, wondering what it would be like to touch (taste?) the delicate flesh that ebbed and flowed into that beautiful hourglass shape. Her breasts – their details and shape brought into stark relief by the wet, clingy fabric – were devastatingly heavy and ample. Her nipples had puckered and lifted. He wanted to touch them. Roll them into impossibly tight, pebbled peaks between his fingers. And then suck and bite at them. How she would writhe beneath his attention –

Silco’s breath hitched as a callous on his palm caught along his frenulum. He bit back a groan, grateful for the noise of the shower and the record playing in the other room. Despite those buffers, he choked back any vocalization that threatened to give him away.

The promising lift behind his navel was intensifying – little shimmers of pleasure licking up his spine. The squeeze of his pumping hand tightened, and the one bracing against the shower wall collapsed to its forearm. Silco’s forehead pressed against the meat of it. His eyes clamped shut as his mind shifted, giving form to tamped down fantasies and maddening questions.

What would those plush thighs feel like wrapped around his waist? Kat’s heels pressing into his tailbone as he fucked her –

A whimper vibrated off his lips. Despite the water, he could tell that his cock was leaking all over his hand.

How would she feel wrapped around him? Glorious, he knew. His fist would never be able to compare. Warm, soft, and slick. And tight. Would they fit together like puzzle pieces?

How would she look beneath him? On top of him? Looking over her shoulder at him? He imagined her mouth hanging open – her dusty pink lips turned red and kiss-swollen. Her intense, expressive brows pitching up in elation as she hurtled toward her release. Pleasure he’d brought her –

Silco’s hips bucked into his hand as his own climax neared. Those little laps and zips of pleasure he’d felt earlier grew into spine arching, toe curling flames as his fist became a blur around his cock.

How would Kat sound? How would that rolling, molasses-sweet accent sound in the throes of ecstasy? Would she mutter in her mother-tongue? Chant his name? Look him in the eye and say “You have me”? –

“Kat!” Silco rasped, unable to keep her name behind his teeth. And he came. Strong, pulsing spurts onto the shower wall that were promptly washed away by the water’s spray. His hand worked himself through each throb of his orgasm, until his body felt blissfully heavy on his skeleton and he leaned against the wall.

He stood there for a moment, the water beating against his back; residual glimmers of ecstasy shivering up and down his spine. He huffed and puffed, heart hammering and lungs swinging. He placed his left hand on his chest, and felt the steady percussive, beat within.

As the gooey, post-orgasm feeling draped over his body, Silco finished cleaning himself. And made a point to make sure the wall and floor of the shower was clean of any ‘sign’ of him, too. He dried off, dressed, brushed his teeth, and went to bed. All the while thinking on what he had done, and whom he’d thought of.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling – one hand on his heart; the other tossed over his head – a lonely, wanting, foreign ache pressed into him. The sensation eased as he drifted to sleep and dreamt that Kat was curled against his side.

Katya glided through the dark, star-lit water of her dreamscape. Smooth, warm, and malleable. Like liquid glass. A few easy frog strokes propelled her forward, the water rippling gently. She wondered if she’d ever reach an edge here, if there would ever be something to grab hold of. Something to rest against, in case she ever tired.

“Kat.”

She gasped and sputtered. The water splashed as she spun. She’d never heard anything but her own breath here. The sound of her own body in the water. But now, a few feet behind her, there was a pale figure with lank dark hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Silco?”

He smiled at her. She realized how endearing – almost awkward – the fullness of it made him look. In life, he’d only ever smirked or grinned at her. Expressions that kept his coolness and distant persona intact, kept him at arm’s length from most people.

Now, he was beaming at her, and she was enthralled.

He paddled toward her. “Shall we?”

Katya blinked at him, and then she smiled in return. Laughing, they pressed forward into the endless space. Silco swam just about as well as he had at the Springs – not with the best form, water splattering about him. But neither cared. They moved together, Silco splashing at Katya; Katya dodging his sprays by elegantly flowing around him. Eventually, they tired enough to slow their pace, lazily floating along the surface. The stars sparkled and winked above them.

“Kat.”

This time he said her name softer, his tone lifting as if in question.

Katya stopped, her arms and legs barely needing to tread water to keep her upright. She looked at him, tilting her head in equal curiosity. He fixed her with an intense, earnest look that held her in place. An enticing heat banked behind his eyes, and he closed the small distance between them. One of his hands slipped up from the water and gently cradled her cheek. The etheric nature of the dreamscape made his touch feel ghost-like, a whisper of how his hand had felt in hers, but it made Katya’s breath hitch all the same. His thumb gently pressed against the beauty mark under her eye and dragged down. His blue eyes left her gold ones to flit down to her lips, and then back up. The look, the touch, sent a blaze through her body. As if her insides were a smoldering fire, and he was a great gust of wind, igniting her in a mighty WHOOSH!

Katya’s fiery heart thundered wildly in her chest as she leaned forward and kissed him. The hand on her cheek wrapped to hold the nape of her neck, and Silco’s other hand wound around her waist, drawing her flush against him. She gripped his shoulders and pressed her mouth more firmly against his, annoyed that the sensation of him was gauzy. She wanted to feel him, taste him.

She tilted her head and slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, pleading for access; hoping it would give her something more solid to experience. Silco obliged, his own tongue melding against hers. Katya squeezed her eyes tight as their tongues, teeth, and lips hungrily explored each other. For too brief of a moment, she thought she could taste cigarettes, thought she could smell that citrus tang and deep terra scent that had been on that shirt he’d given her.

Silco surged forward, his kisses a strange combination of intense and distant. Katya gripped at him, fingers digging into the slick and firm muscles of his shoulders and back. She gasped when her own backside pressed against something solid. Somehow, for the first time, she was able to feel an edge to this dreamworld. She couldn’t see it, only feel it. Silco’s right hand pressed into the starry surface next to her head, his breath a mere suggestion against her warm, damp skin. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers, the blade of his nose caressing her cheek. The inferno within Katya’s belly blazed for him. Her body ached, breasts heavy and heaving, core throbbing.

“Kat,” Silco breathed, pressing against her.

“Yes.” Katya’s breath came in shaky, pleading huffs.

Her legs lifted in the water and wrapped around his hips, drawing him closer. There was a probing pressure at her aching center and a desperate, excited cry pealed from her throat.

The exclamation woke Katya up. She jerked awake in her bed, back arching, breathing erratic. Initially, she was confused, borderline distraught. As her vision cleared and she took in the dark, empty space of her bedroom, she understood what had happened.

She was home.

Alone.

Disappointment settled in her stomach, lead-heavy and cold. Despite this, the ache between her thighs persisted; annoyed at being left unattended.

Katya steeled her jaw and turned onto her side, eyes closing, determined to just go to bed. She would inspect that dream in the morning. Or maybe she wouldn’t. It was only a dream after all.

However, her body refused to fall into stillness and slumber. Her mind swam with images and sense-memories of Silco. His intense gaze, low, syrupy voice; his lithe frame, how his hands had felt in hers, how his hands might feel on her body. Holding her in place, exploring . . .

Katya grunted and turned again, her core reverberating with a nearly painful, needy pulse. Her nipples were pointed and tight beneath the shirt she wore. His shirt. She laid still for a moment, considering. Finally, her fingers skirted across the gusset of her underwear in an exploratory swipe. Her body shuddered at the light touch and she gasped to find the garment soaked.

She decided to not think too hard about it, nor deny her bodily desire any longer. In quick, furious movements, she stripped her underwear down her legs and kicked them off, sending them somewhere deep within the folds of her blanket. Her hand was quick to cup herself, and an intense and relieved sound was pressed out of her lungs.

Her hips lifted into the heel of her hand as her index and middle fingers swiped lightly through her slit, gathering and coating them in her arousal. Slowly, she dipped them inside. A gasp left her, her back arched, her free hand reached for the pillow above her head and gripped it tightly. She was overwhelmed by how warm, wet, and ready she felt. Burying her fingers inside her felt relieving and maddening. Her body grateful that it was being touched, but desperately wanting more. Needing release.

Her fingers began to pump in and out, the heel of her hand trying to rub against her clit. Pleasure ebbed and swelled inside her, promising tickles fluttering behind her navel, up and down her spine. Images flashing through her mind provided titillating inspiration that drove her further and further into carnal need.

The shape of Silco’s member; she’d sneaked a peek of him when his shorts were wet and clinging to it earlier that day. Her fingers couldn’t compare.

The way Silco’s muscles moved over his body as he swam.

Silco’s head between her thighs, those piercing eyes watching her intently.

Silco’s hands grabbing needily at her thighs and hips as he rut against her.

 Katya’s body shook hopefully at the thought, her fingers pumping faster, the heel of her hand desperately wriggling against her apex. A whimper trickled from her mouth between ragged breaths. Despite the pleasure building within her, entangling her low spine in teasing tendrils, she needed more. The hand gripping the pillow snaked itself under her shirt, squeezing and pinching at the peak of her breast. A hiss whistled through her clenched teeth, her body writhing.

It wasn’t enough.

She rolled onto her stomach, pinning the hand working at her between her soaked sex and the mattress. Her hips humped and ground into her palm. The position, aided by her weight and gravity, offered deeper, sweeter sensations the ability to curl and build. Katya gasped and cried into the pillow, her legs propelling her hips into her hand hurriedly, the movement not dissimilar to the firelight swim stroke.

“Si – Sil – “

Katya’s breath hitched into a new tempo as her body rapidly approached the peak of her climax. Her toes curled, the soles of her feet flexing in anticipation; thighs and hips quivering.

“P-please. Oh, Gods. S – “

She moaned loudly into her pillow as she crested her release; hips pulsing and grinding over her hand of their own volition, chasing her high, squeezing every last drop of pleasure out of it. Eventually the sensation ebbed away, leaving Katya wrung out, and panting. Slowly, she withdrew her hand from herself and carefully stretched her legs out, rocking her hips side-to-side experimentally.

While she felt satisfied on an animalistic level, as the heavy blanket of sleep began to lay over her, the feeling of loneliness crept back in. Into her chest. Into her bed.

The sleep she was granted was dreamless.

Chapter Text

“We have a problem,” Grayson announced, striding into Bone’s office.

The Councilor looked up from his desk, pen pausing in the middle of the sentence he was writing.

“What is that?”

The Captain sighed and sat down heavily in the chair in front of his desk. She fidgeted her hat between her fingers, spinning its stiff brim to and fro.

“Someone has laid claim to that airship crash.”

Bone blinked. Then set down his pen. “Who?”

The airship crash and subsequent arrest of a teller at Clockwork Vault had thrown Piltover into a tizzy. Not much information had been made available to the public yet, but it had kept Grayson busy; unable to commit to the work she had agreed to do with the Undercity Councilor.

“Some group in the Undercity. They are calling themselves the Children of Zaun.”

Bone stared at the young woman across from him, his gut growing heavy and sinking to his feet. He felt cold sweat begin to accumulate on the back of his neck. He could feel his dreams for the Undercity slipping away. It would have been one thing if the airship crash had been perpetrated by one or two people; but a group admitting responsibility for it?

“I have not heard of them.”

“Neither have we,” Grayson admitted.

“Why did they attack the ship?”

“To get the money. They sent LeDaird a note saying that it was the start of Piltover’s ‘reparations’.”

“When was this note sent?”

“Yesterday afternoon. Tubed from a public booth in the Undercity to the station. LeDaird has a meeting with Heimerdinger in an hour about it. I am to meet him there.” Grayson paused before saying, “I wanted to give you a heads up.”

Bone nodded, fingers drumming nervously on the desk. Heimerdinger would call Council to a private assembly upon hearing this news. He knew what the Council would say. That the airship attack was an act of terrorism. That these ‘Children of Zaun’ were terrorists and needed to be dealt with swiftly.

Not necessarily justly.

Justice couldn’t exist in a vacuum of panic.

Bone would not be able to work towards his goals of Undercity equality and equity with Piltover concerned and smarting from underground retaliations.

His access to Grayson would diminish, too. Their fragile olive branch already bending under the conflicting weight of her duties and his goals.

“LeDaird doesn’t know you’re here right now?”

Grayson shook her head. She ran a wide hand through her black hair and repeated, “I wanted to give you a heads up. This group is demanding secession from Piltover. At the risk of being crass, Councilor Bone, shit is going to hit the fan.”

“Indeed,” he muttered, mind whirring frantically.

The scandal of a Piltovan teller trying to fleece Topside families would be old news by suppertime tomorrow. All anyone would be concerned with was this burgeoning terrorist group and their divisive demands. His seat on Council would be met with more scrutiny. His goals for the Undercity completely undone and unjustified.

“I am going to do what I can,” Grayson said, placing a hand on the desk, “to keep helping you. This doesn’t change that. To be clear.”

Bone swallowed and nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”

Council met for an emergency assembly later that day. When Bone limped into the chamber, Sheriff LeDaird, Captain Grayson, and Heimerdinger were already present. The two Enforcers stood with rigid spines in the center of the floor; Piltover’s founder sat in his seat looking uncharacteristically grave.

Bone took his seat as the rest of his peers strode in. Each of their faces were variations of the same theme: exasperated. As if being called to action was a major inconvenience.

“Councilors,” Heimerdinger greeted. His tone was serious as his bright blue eyes flicked to each face seated around him. “Thank you for meeting here on such short notice. This call is in regards to the airship crash that happened earlier in the week. Sheriff LeDaird has come into some alarming evidence.”

All the Councilors – save for Bone – mumbled surprised sentiments, looking to one another. The sheriff took a step forward, folding his hands behind his back.

“I have alerted Professor Heimerdinger that a group has claimed responsibility for the crash.” He paused as he withdrew a weathered envelope from his inner-breast pocket, holding it up. “This arrived to the Enforcer Headquarters yesterday afternoon.” He took out the scrap of paper housed within the envelope and read, “We are the Children of Zaun. Consider the coin the beginning of your reparations. We are the Children of Zaun. We are The Storm’s Fury. And we demand freedom.”

LeDaird’s deep voice echoed through the deadly quiet chamber. Bone felt a chill go down his spine and a flame light in his belly.

“Zaun?” Xiu sniffed.

“It is a reference to Oshra Va’Zaun. Or Kha’Zaun. The true name has been lost to time,” Bone said, quietly annoyed that the other council members did not understand the connection. “The port city from whence Piltover rose.”

“So, this letter came from the Undercity,” Krum said.

“From a public booth in the Lanes,” LeDaird confirmed. “Enforcers are currently investigating these booths, asking questions to see if anyone recalls someone suspicious or out of place using them.”

“Who are they? These Children of Zaun?” Bolbok ground through his gears.

“We are investigating that as well,” LeDaird promised. “They are not a gang or terrorist group we are familiar with. Likely, they are a new development. We are doing our best to get an idea of their numbers – “

“What about the money they stole?” Hoskel voiced. “The families that odious teller stole from are upset enough already. Now, their money is in the hands of a terrorist group? Reparations, indeed.”

Bone’s fingers clawed slightly on the table, waiting for the inevitable.

“Councilor Bone,” Heimerdinger finally said. His tone was kind, but prompting. “You are our eyes and ears into the Undercity. Have you heard any rumblings amongst your constituents?”

Bone closed his eyes, felt the drag and scrape of breath down his throat. His very being thrummed as years of tamped down distrust pulled at his bones. There had always, always been rumblings of secession in the Lanes. Fissurefolk grumbling and dreaming of a better life. But those moans and wishes fell by the wayside when mouths needed to be fed, and housing needed to be maintained. At the end of the day, they were too tired to rail and fight against their overlords.

Independence was too lofty and unrealistic a goal. Even Bone knew that. That was why he was on Council, why he had reached out to Captain Grayson; to try and bridge the gap. And what these people – these Children – were demanding, what they had done, would jeopardize that.

“I do not know them,” he promised.

“Are these the same individuals who attempted to rob that shipment for the Enforcer Headquarters a few weeks ago?” Councilor Thornenburg asked, stepping over Bone’s answer.

“At this point there is no evidence to suggest a connection,” LeDaird explained, “but we are looking at it as a possibility.”

“Councilors,” Heimerdinger interjected, his bright tone sharp and grabbing. “I called you here today because as the leaders of Piltover, we must decide how to move forward with the information we have. The safety of our citizens takes the utmost priority. We cannot tolerate anything that stagnates our great nation’s progress.”

Bone pursed his lips together. His eyes flicked over to Grayson, who exchanged his gaze with one of careful aloofness; but in the depths of her brown eyes, he saw a flash of concern, a muscle in her jaw flexed. Around him, his Councilor peers nodded and got to work.

Katya rifled through the shipment that had just been delivered to the clinic, carefully stocking the product while internally making note of which items would be stowed away in her coat later.

She felt . . . strange. A confluence of feelings had taken root within her over the past several days, and most of the time she couldn’t make heads or tails of them. The past two weeks had been very eventful – both broadly and intimately.

In the days following the Children’s letter, Council published a very scant bulletin about the airship crash and the Children’s involvement. She heard rebellion members and other Zaunites alike scoff and roll their eyes at Topside’s carefully crafted announcement. About how, suddenly, disdain and interest in the crooked Clockwork Vault teller was no longer anywhere to be found. The attention and fault fully shifted to the Undercity. As unsurprising as it was, the benefit of Topside’s compulsory prejudice resulted in the Children’s numbers growing again; now knowing that there was a cause to funnel that ire into, that there were likeminded citizens actively pushing for change, more and more Trenchers showed up. Sick and tired of being blamed and persecuted.

And persecuted they were.

Despite Council insisting that the actions they were taking were for the benefit of the entire Piltovan city-state, their solutions only negatively affected the Undercity. Registrations for Bridge passes was put on hold; those – like Katya – who already had Bridge passes were temporarily denied entry onto Piltover’s side of the river. Exemption was made for Viktor, Heimerdinger had seen to that. But Katya now passed him off to Ivy at the attendant’s hut on Piltover’s side of the Bridge, as oppose to meeting on campus.

The day those actions were put into effect, Viktor had limped toward the Bridge’s gate, Ivy at his side, with an expression that both cracked Katya’s heart and set it aflame in righteous indignation. He looked scared and confused. She had twisted the thread inside her coat sleeve tightly around her finger and bit the inside of her cheek.

I am doing this for us.

She felt more certain about that sentiment now. More solid. More sure. Her and the Children’s efforts would wipe away the concern from her brother’s face; from the faces of Lanes’ children across Zaun. It was an emotion they should not have to experience. Certainly not at the hands of their government.

As the attendant lifted the barricade, Ivy had ducked to protect her hair and Viktor limped toward his sister.

“Hello, Katya,” Ivy had said, her signature kind smile setting her face aglow. She unshouldered the bag on her back and held it out.

Katya took it without greeting in kind.

“Let’s go home, Viktor.”

At home, she explained what Council had done, why she couldn’t pick him up in Piltover anymore. She left out her involvement with the Children of Zaun; she still wasn’t ready for him to know. She didn’t want him to worry about her. Nor did she want him to have to carry that knowledge and navigate his way through Piltover every week. Not until he absolutely had to.

“Why did those people steal? Why is Topside closing the gates, though?” He had asked.

Katya looked at him intensely, every cell of her body vibrating with a sense of injustice. She pet a hand through his thick hair, hoping the touch would ground her. It didn’t. She felt more agitated.

“Those people – The Children of Zaun – are trying to right the wrongs Piltover has done to the Undercity,” she had told him. “Remember how you noticed your professor taught history differently than Papa did?” Viktor nodded. “Topside is in power. Wants to remain in power. So, they teach their lessons differently. So, they do not have to change. They punish us so they don’t have to change.”

Viktor’s eyebrows creased. “Then why do I go?”

“You know why – “

“I mean, besides the clean air – “

Katya had taken her brother’s face into her hands and said, “Because you deserve to be there, Viktor. You deserve the clean air and the opportunities the Academy will afford you. You do not need to give that up. These people – the Children – are working to make sure that others may have the same chances, too. We are not less because we are from this side of the river. That’s why they are doing what they are doing. That is why Piltover is doing what they are doing.” She sighed, and loosened her hold on his cheeks. “Do your best not to worry about this, Viktor. You will go to school. You will breathe clean air. And, hopefully, someday soon, you’ll walk across the Bridge home to a free nation.”

Viktor’s small bud of a mouth thinned, but he did not broach the subject again.

When Katya walked him to Piltover’s side of the Bridge the following Monday, Ivy had been waiting for them. As on Friday, Katya did not acknowledge her beyond handing off her brother’s bag.

She’d drawn Viktor in close, as she always did when they parted. But this time, she whispered in a voice that sent shivers down his spine, “You deserve to be here, Viktor.”

They parted, Katya dragging her hand through his hair and down his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he had replied, and, despite everything, concern shimmered in his eyes.

Katya’s lips pursed at the memory, and brushed her fingers along the neatly packed glass vials tucked securely in the box she was unloading. For the last supply order, her request for larger vials of medicine was approved. She had managed to convince the mine’s board that it was more economically feasible to order certain items in bulk – the high-strength decongestant among them. It was a maneuver that ended up being additionally helpful since supplies to Zaun were being bottle-necked by Piltover. Shipments on everything destined for the Lanes were delayed by thorough screenings, and, in a place that already had so little, Zaunites felt this transgression acutely. Businesses suffered, food on dinner tables became more meager.

The Children did their best to counteract this by greasing the wheels and lining the pockets of the few traders who dealt with Zaunite businesses directly. They were mostly morally grey types, whose scruples laid less with loyalty, and more with extra coin. Which the Children paid to get extra food and weapons into the city.

Katya had met Silco and Sevika one of the nights a trader from Bilgewater was due to deliver a few small packages of food, a case of liquor, and a roll of leather that held a few worn sabers. The meet up location was an inconvenient distance from anything, but that was the point. It was easier to do the hand off several klicks down Zaun’s shoreline, away from the docks that faced Piltover.

In the dark, only the glow of purple algae beneath their feet, Silco and Sevika had gathered the goods into their arms. Katya handed the trader – a bent and crooked old Yordle with leathered skin, no teeth, and ears with so many holes in them that they looked moth-bitten – the clutch of agreed upon coins and stowed the rolls of knives in her coat.

“Remember us,” Silco had said gravely, fixing the trader with intense eyes, “and we will remember you.”

The Yordle chuckled – a sound more akin to a rattling motor – and returned to his small boat, carefully moored against the rocky shoreline. He had not responded to Silco with words, but he nodded. Deftly, he navigated his vessel away from the shore.

They watched him go, before Katya had said, “Let’s get this back to The Drop.”

Silco nodded and led the way. Katya at his shoulder.

She had been concerned the night after she pleasured herself to thoughts of him, that things would be inexplicably awkward between them. As she arrived at work that following day, lead-heavy regret settled in her stomach. She was certain she ruined it – whatever it was.

Her fears were dashed later that day when Silco appeared in the clinic to tell her how sore he was, and to ask questions about the lesson that had blossomed in his head over night. Warm relief melted the despair in her gut. She looked up into his pink-tinged face delighted that he had sought her out. They talked until Will showed up. Like last time, he fixed Silco with a disapproving, questioning look that had the young man skittering from the clinic. Katya was close behind. They laughed together about how uptight her clinic co-worker was.

Katya plucked two of the larger glass vials from the lineup, and set them aside, intending on giving them to Enyd. The medic had suggested to her that she may want to up her daily doses of medicine through the cold season, to see if that brought her any additional relief. It meant she’d go through the decongestant faster, which is what prompted Katya to fight for the larger bottles.

Since the airship crash, Katya had shared supper with Silco and Enyd a few more times. The older woman showed her several, easy kitchen tricks and recipes that would be simple to replicate back in her own home. In exchange, Katya shared with Enyd her attempt to cook the tentacles with herbs a couple weeks prior.

Enyd chortled upon hearing that Katya had attempted to eat the wilted plants.

“That was good instinct,” Enyd had said, “to infuse the fat with the flavor of the herbs. But, as you experienced, once the herbs have imparted their flavor to the dish, they have little use.”

“Very brave of you to test it out on yourself instead of Viktor,” Silco had snickered from his seat at the table. “Big sister, indeed.”

Katya playfully flicked her napkin at him, and he laughed.

One evening, Enyd’s cough was particularly bad, and both Katya and Silco insisted that she not cook and exert herself further. Instead, the matriarch directed the pair from the kitchen table on how to make that night’s meal. Between Katya and Silco continually messing up and laughing, the process took much longer than usual. However, Katya found the end result to be even more delicious than normal.

Katya smiled to herself at the memory of that night, closing the lid of the crate and carrying it to the supply closet. She put away the vials of medicine in neat lines on the shelf, their arrangement reminding her of the neat rows Enforcers marched in.

An unsurprising result of the airship crash and the Children’s letter was increased Enforcer presence throughout the Lanes. It was inevitable, predictable. As such, Trenchers – whether they were among the Children or not – were prepared to deal with pushy questions and accusations. And knew to protect each other.

Something that was a surprise to the Children, as well as the Enforcers, was the development of someone graffitiing ‘Zs’ throughout the Undercity. After Council had released their statement, someone – perhaps the same person – painted FREE ZAUN across the face of an abandoned Promenade shop that faced Piltover. Council had it painted over, only for it to reappear a couple days later.

No one in the revolution admitted to the tagging, even amongst themselves. Tongue-in-cheek rumors about the spirit of Janna doing it whispered through the ranks. Some Children, bolstered by the secrecy of the original artist, joined in. Soon, it was difficult to walk anywhere in the Undercity without seeing nods to Zaun and their right to freedom. Small, artfully-minded ‘Zs’ were drawn in chalk on the sides of buildings. Bluebirds cut from paper hung on clotheslines and lampposts. ‘We are the storm’s fury’ etched into metal handrails.

The Undercity was embroiled in the cause, the notion of their freedom brightening their eyes and lightening their souls. A ticking clock ready to ring in a new era.

The next box was stuffed with soft bandages and gauze. She carefully thumbed through them, checking the invoice as she went. The speaker on the desk crackled to life, causing Katya to jump and curse. She cursed again, realizing she had lost her place.

“Foreman Baz to medical.”

Katya groaned, staggered to her feet, and over to the desk, pressing the speaker’s button.

“Go ahead, Baz. This is medical.”

“There’s been an accident in Fissure 27. Kid from Unit 88 got his leg caught between the track n’ a mine cart. We got the cart off ‘em, but he’s not calmin’ down ‘nough to stand. Can you come n’ give him something? Check ‘em over?”

Katya eyed the clock above the door. Her shift was due to end within the hour, but she did not want to leave this miner waiting for Will. That, and, if the boy was in Unit 88, that meant Unit 90 – Silco and Sevika’s Unit – would be nearby. It would be nice to see them, if only for a moment.

“Fissure 27? I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Fissure 27 was in the northern section of the mine, the oldest part of it. The tunnels there were large, having been carved out multiple times over the mine’s life. They were some of the first tunnels that became fitted with giant turbines, great fans that had drilled deeper and deeper into the terra. Most of the rock here had long since been squeezed of its main resources, those turbines now sitting eerily still in great, deep shafts.

However, per Piltover’s insatiable appetite for progress and productivity, some of these ancient tunnels were retrofitted to become storage space and garages for mining equipment. Others were further exploited for their resources; miners there were given orders to chip and pulverize the already dead stone to create gravel.

Grave robbers desecrating a corpse.

Since the collapse of the western mine tunnels, the units that had been working that rock were moved here until the board either found something else for them to do, or until the collapsed tunnels were excavated and rebuilt.

Katya walked the north end main vein from which the fissures branched out, clinic-issued medical bag bouncing at her hip. The foreman she passed paid her no mind, most of the miners did as well – too focused, too tired, or too hollow to acknowledge her. A few miners did catch her eye though. She recognized them as members of the Children. She nodded at them, and they nodded back. A quick, curt, but meaningful recognition.

She strode past Fissure 26, a small child accidently bumping into her. They murmured an apology and kept their eyes to the ground. Katya’s voice caught in her throat, recognizing him as the boy with the jaw injury she’d treated some weeks back. He was too quick for her to get a decent look, but the flesh around his neck and lower cheek was beginning to discolor, the sweet smell of rot gently wafting off him.

Her heart cracked and ached as she watched him scurry back into the fissure. This one – and she was guessing the same for 27 – were some of the tunnels that had been converted into equipment repair and holding space. She craned her neck a bit, glancing at the heads, faces, and bodies. Finally, spied Sevika’s tall form near the back end of an old excavator. She was holding the engine hood open with one powerful arm while a slim frame she recognized as Silco’s was half way in the machine, head first.

Sensing eyes on her, Sevika glanced up, and cracked a wide smile at the sight of Katya. She jerked her chin in greeting, and then looked at her questioningly. Katya playfully rolled her eyes and held up the bag slung over her shoulder. Sevika’s eyebrows lifted and made an ‘oh’ shape with her dark lips, nodding her head in understanding.

Her silver eyes then fell onto Silco’s back, his head still stuck in the machine’s engine. She swatted his behind with her free hand. Silco yelped and jolted, the excavator clanging as he hit something inside. He ripped himself from his work and spun on Sevika, his face contorted with disbelief and anger.

Sevika winced as his headlamp blinded her. She gripped the light with her hand, blotting it out, and jerked her head toward the fissure’s entrance. He flicked his headlamp off and turned. The glower on his face melted into an expression that tugged at Katya’s heart. His eyes brightened, a pleasantly surprised lopsided grin pulling one half of his mouth up. Then, like Sevika, his brows pinched quizzically, and she jostled the medical bag again and pointed a finger to her left, indicating the next fissure over. She waved at the pair, and continued toward her destination.

As Katya entered Fissure 27, she was displeased to see that apparently Kells was a member of Unit 88. He seemed to be expecting her, as he put himself right in her path as she entered the wide, yawning mouth of the tunnel.

“Hey, Nurse.”

She frowned. “I was called about an accident.”

“Hey! Hey!”

Both Kells and Katya spun to see a tall, scarred man in dirty overalls and headlamp waving her over.

Foreman Baz.

Without another word, she shouldered past Kells and made for the foreman. He led her to a small, dark crack in the tunnel wall, an annex of sorts. Before entering, she noted one of those humongous, inoperable turbines nearby, nestled in the deep, dark mine shaft it had once created. Katya was not naïve, but nevertheless felt claustrophobic at the thought of the near-infinite plummet that awaited some careless miner off the edge of one of those mighty blades.

She shook the thought from her mind and the shiver from her body, and followed Baz into the small tunnel.

Katya assumed that back in these tunnels’ most lucrative days, miners had followed a vein of precious minerals here, only to have it quickly run out and abandoned. Now, it was used to store small carts and a few lengths of track. A small group of young teens were gathered around a sobbing and shaking peer who was propped against one of the walls.

They parted, eyes wide and worried as Katya and Baz approached. The young teen against the wall was shaking, skin sallow, tears and snot running down his face. Katya knelt beside him and unslung the bag from her shoulder. She murmured reassuring things to the frightened boy as she pulled out a small chem-torch and turned it on. Flicking the small, tight beam of light over the patient, she assessed his injuries, and was pleased to discover that they weren’t too bad. There was a large tear down the length of his left trouser leg, the skin beneath scraped and badly bruised. There was one bleeding gash down his shin, but it wasn’t so deep that muscle and bone peeked through. The boy was mostly in shock and scared.

Katya began her work, gently asking him what had happened, what his name was, how old he was, what he did in the mines, if he had any activities outside of work he enjoyed; all questions to ground, sooth, and reassure him.

Thankfully, the wound required no stitches – it would’ve been challenging in the low light of the space. Katya cleaned and packed the injury, gently wrapping his shin with gauze and gave him a few pills of antibiotics and a small tube of salve.

“He can get back to work?” Baz gruffed behind her.

Katya pursed her lips, hating the answer she had to give him.

“He can.”

The boy should’ve been allowed to go home and rest. The boy shouldn’t have needed to work in a dangerous mine in the first place. The best she could do was give him a regretful and sympathetic look; he returned it with one of hollow understanding, the tear tracks down his sooty cheeks finally drying.

Baz ordered two of his peers to help him up and carry him over to their work area. They did so, and once they staggered from the small crevasse, Baz thanked Katya and followed them out. She nodded her head, lips sealed tight in displeasure.

Once they were gone, she took a moment to let the feelings of injustice and rage wash their way through her body. They passed, as feelings do, and she began cleaning up her equipment.

Katya started at the sound of rock beneath boots and jumped when Kells suddenly dropped down beside her. He leered at her in the low light.

“Need help?”

He reached for the partially unrolled length of gauze, and she snatched it up, shoving it into the bag.

“I am fine.”

She sloppily threw the rest of her equipment back into the bag, not even sparing Kells a glance, before standing a making for the main fissure. But a mighty, painful yank on her ponytail stopped her, pulling a surprised yelp from her throat. Her legs tangled and the medical bag tumbled to the ground. Before Katya could respond or cry out, Kells deepened the grip he had on her hair to the roots of it, slamming her front against the rocky wall. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her. Her mind spun and body went cold. She didn’t understand what was happening . . . and did at the same time.

Kells pressed his body against hers, pinning her in place. The hand gripping her hair pressed her face into the wall, while the other had snatched her left wrist and jerked it behind her back, her shoulder barking in protest.

“You’re an uppity bitch, you know that?” Kells hissed into her ear, spittle landing on her exposed cheek. “And I’m fucking sick of it.”

Katya choked on her voice. She willed a scream to tear from her throat, but none came. She lost access to her body, limbs freezing in terror. Kells pressed further against her, using all his weight to press her against the wall. She felt his hardness against her backside and gasped in distress. The hand that had held her wrist snaked around her front, and grabbed her sex. Her mind screamed for her body to do something, to fight back somehow.

Her bladder loosened and freed its contents all over Kells’ palm. He made a disgusted grunt and smashed her face into the rock further.

“You’re supposed to pee after, dumbass. Don’t you know that, nurse?”

Undeterred, his hand reached a little higher and pulled apart the buttons on Katya’s fly. She whimpered when he kicked her stance wider and began attempting to shuck her trousers down her legs.

Finally, she found her voice. It was painful to speak, the sound sharp and brittle against her tight throat.

“Please – “

“Don’t worry,” he cooed wickedly, grinding against her. “You’re gonna get it – “

Then Kells gasped, grunted and cried out in frustration as his weight was flung from Katya’s body. She sobbed in relief and slid down the wall, looking over her shoulder to see what had happened. Her heart leapt into her throat. Overwhelming gratitude and shame coursed through her body. Silco was standing between her and Kells. Why was he here? How had he known to come? He’d thrown her attacker against a broken down mine cart, and Kells was trying to gasp air back into his lungs.

Silco glanced over his shoulder at Katya and growled, “Are you okay?”

His eyes were blazing beneath the light of his headlamp. The fierceness of his face enthralled and scared her all at once. She wanted to cry. Wanted to rage. Wanted to melt away and disappear. Before Katya could say anything, Kells staggered to his feet and lunged at Silco.

Silco barked in surprised as he was bowled back, grunted as he hit the hard ground. Kells straddled him and landed a couple messy punches to his face. One hit landed on the headlamp, and it shattered the glass and snuffed out the light. Kells yelped in pain as glass shards embedded themselves in his knuckles, as the hot filaments of the bulb burned his skin.

It was enough of a distraction that he didn’t sense Katya springing up. She grabbed the medical bag and hit him in the head with it. Kells grunted and Silco rolled them over. Now on top, he laid a few sharp jabs to Kells’ head. After his opponent stopped grappling for his face, Silco hopped to his feet and stomped on Kells’ groin twice. The man on the ground screamed and reflexively pulled in on himself, rolling onto his side in the fetal position.

Silco would’ve liked to take things farther, but as he turned to Katya – saw her hunkered on the mine floor in a trembling heap – he knew he had to put his own personal rage aside. For the moment, he just had to be grateful that he had bowed to the will of his infatuated heart and sought her out. He had to be thankful that his need to say ‘hello’ while she was near, had allowed him to interrupt her from suffering an abuse akin to his mother’s.

His focus was on her. Her need mattered more right now than his own to kill the piece of garbage a few feet away.

“Come on,” he said, reaching out for her. “I got you.”

Breath coming out in hyperventilating huffs, she took his hand and stood. She hurriedly fastened her trouser buttons as Silco picked up the medical bag. He began guiding her out of the small crevasse, his hand a grounding, protective presence on the small of her back.

Just as they were about to re-enter the main fissure, the sound of gravel shifting under boots and a low growl were all the warning they received before Kells launched at them, this time armed with a short length of mine cart track in one hand. As he swung at them, Silco shoved Katya to one side. She tripped to the ground as the metal track collided into Silco’s face with a sickening crack. He wailed and stumbled back. The outcry alerted the rest of the unit in the Fissure, and nearly everyone looked up from their tasks.

Silco couldn’t feel the pain, only the numbing vibrations that were rattling his skull. He sensed wetness pouring down the lower half of his face, and he knew it was blood. He could taste the metal of it on his tongue. The blind rage he had reined in at the sight of Kells assaulting Kat became untethered, and he rushed at the other man, lifting his weapon back, preparing for another swing.

Silco snarled as he ducked under the track – heard it whistle over his head – and grabbed Kells by the neck, punching him in the jaw. Kells dropped his weapon in surprise, but recovered quickly, charging forward, grabbing at Silco’s back and kneeing him in the stomach. Silco grunted and doubled over. His arms dropped from Kells’ neck to wrap around his waist, and tackled forward. Both men lost their footing and rolled across the floor. And onto one of the turbine’s blades.

Blood rushed in Silco’s ears as he rolled on top of Kells, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him multiple times into the metal. He heard nothing but the rage in his head. Saw nothing but the man – the monster – beneath his hands. Silco was unaware that the rest of the miners were shouting and yelling, some egging the young men on, others calling for them to stop. Katya screamed for him, and pushed her way through the riotous crowd until she stepped onto the turbine.

Only she permeated the rageful haze of Silco’s mind. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and failed to see Kells reach for a rock that was sitting a couple feet away. He smashed it against Silco’s temple, causing him to choke in pain. The force of the blow dislodged Silco from his position on Kells, and was knocked to the side. Kells rolled over and scrabbled towards Silco, the rock still clutched in his hand.

Silco’s head throbbed, and he didn’t see Kells advancing on him. Kells’ free hand gripped at Silco’s throat and he raised the rock above his head.

Kat yelled and ran for the pair. She threw herself into Kells’ body before he could strike down. In her fear, in her anger, she failed to notice how the turbine’s blade narrowed as it approached the giant shaft of the mechanism. She failed to realize her own strength and power as she bowled her attacker over. And off the turbine blade.

Katya managed to catch herself before she followed Kells over the edge. Between her breaths and the pounding of her heart in her ears, she heard Kells’ body break and shatter as he hit the blades beneath them. Then there was one final, stomach-turning CRUNCH as his body reached the pit floor hundreds of feet below. Then there was silence.

Chapter Text

The silence in Katya’s head was quickly overtaken by the vicious and mighty rush of blood in her ears, the thundering of her heart in her chest. Her stomach twisted and squeezed.

She stared at where Kells had been, skin going cold. She felt an urge to crawl to the edge of the turbine blade and peek over. Was the pit deep enough that the shadows would blanket his body? Was the fall so great that he would be left down there, an extraction deemed too costly and unsafe to retrieve him?

The gentle call of her name pulled her from her clamoring thoughts. Her head snapped away from the blade’s edge over to Silco. He was propped on his knees and hands watching her intently. Katya’s eyes flicked over his head to see the entire fissure’s unit huddled along the edge of the turbine’s chasm, staring at them with dirty, pale faces and wide eyes. They were muttering amongst themselves, she realized. Their voices slid into her ears, crawled under her skin.

Silco called for her again, and her eyes were pulled back to him. She took in his bloody face, how his nose was bent, his eyelids and cheeks already beginning to swell and discolor. How blood dribbled freely from his mouth and nose. Despite all this, he looked at her like she was the one to be worried about. 

“What’s happenin’? Wha’s goin’ on?” Foreman Baz yelled, muscling his way through the crowd.

He stopped at the edge of the cliff, taken aback by the sight of the pair on the blade. Katya looked at him with a fearful, tear-stained, and scraped up face; Silco with his beaten and bloodied one. 

“One of the miners was attacking them!” a small voice piped up.

Both Baz and Katya looked over and saw the young teen she’d been called down there to patch up. His glossy dark eyes flitted to her and back to the foreman. Baz looked to the boy, back to Katya, then to Silco.

When no one refuted what the boy had said, Baz shifted agitatedly and ordered, “Help him up! Get them to medical!”

A few of the miners nearest to the blade stepped forward, and lifted Silco up by the armpits, hoisting him onto unsteady feet. One of them approached Katya, and she waved him away, scrabbling onto her own legs. She stumbled after the pair that had Silco slung between them. She kept her eyes on his back as she followed, keenly aware of the probing, curious eyes on her.

Katya did not remember the trek back to the medical clinic. One moment, she was in Fissure 27, the next she was in the cool light of the exam room. The miners who had carried Silco placed him on the table and whispered to him.

Belatedly, Katya realized they were members of the Children. She didn’t know them by name, but knew their faces. They assured Silco that they would make sure to spin Kells’s death in his favor; that there would be no trouble, no word about it after today.

They hurried back to the fissure, ready to fulfill the task before them. The room was quiet. The clock on the wall ticked and ticked.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Katya muttered, going to the small sink.

Her hands trembled beneath the faucet. The soap fell from her hands multiple times as she attempted to wash them. She tried to breathe, tried to steady herself. Closing her eyes, she gripped the soap like she might’ve gripped Kells’s throat had her body not locked in fear. Like when the Enforcer attacked her papa.

“Kat.”

His voice sent a shiver up her spine. She ignored him, drying her hands and riffling through the cabinets in search of her tools.

“You need to get patched up,” she mumbled, gathering gauze, a small splint, and rubbing alcohol. “Your nose needs to be set before it becomes even more painful to do so.”

“Kat. Kat wait,” Silco grit, his voice pained and nasally. 

He reached for her wrist and she lurched back, dropping the supplies in her arms. Silco retracted quickly, murmuring an apology. She gave a perfunctory nod before ducking down, and gathering her tools. She set them next to him.

“You are alright to sit up?” 

Her eyes were on him, but she wasn’t looking at him. Silco’s chest caved at the vacantness of her face.  He gave a small nod – it was as much movement his head would allow without causing spikes of pain to radiate through his skull. 

Katya softly muttered what she was doing while tending to him, but he only part-listened. Barely a wince pulled at his lips as she wiped away the blood on his face, as she inspected the gash across the bridge of his nose. She explained she couldn’t stitch it shut, that there was too little flesh to suture together. She’d use a butterfly bandage.

The sensation of the edges of his skin being pulled toward each other sent his insides crawling. It reawakened that small spark of rage that had risen in him when he’d first seen Kells holding Katya to the wall. He’d finished working the engine of the excavator, and jogged to the fissure over to see her. A group of sullen looking teens had pointed him toward a small crack in the rock near the turbine, and he went.

If he hadn’t went . . . 

His body shuddered with fury. Katya thought she did something and apologized.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he was quick to say. He noticed how speaking was becoming painful. How his teeth ached at the roots. His blue eyes, filled with cold fire, locked onto hers, and she finally looked at him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

There was a long moment where their gazes remained tethered. Silco willing his words to sink in, Katya trying to let them.

“Your nose is broken,” she finally said. Her voice was hoarse and quiet. “I need to set it.”

Carefully and swiftly – her hands having stopped their trembling in the comfort of performing familiar tasks – she placed a small splint on either side of his nose, taped them down, and then covered the whole thing with a pad of gauze.

She turned her attention next to his mouth. A deep cut had split the left side of his upper lip. Blood was beginning to clot, but still dribbled down his chin in a bright crimson river. 

“I will need to sew this.” She eyed it carefully, assessing. “It’s most likely going to scar.” 

She gathered a sterile needle and thread, and an empty syringe. She stuck its needle into the membrane of a dark bottle and explained, “This is local anesthetic. Open your mouth slightly.”

Silco did so. He bit back a grunt when the needle pierced his swollen lip. Then the sense of his lip fuzzed out, and disappeared into the haze of the drug. He fought the urge to poke at it.

Katya brought thread and needle up to his mouth, and began suturing the split together with expert quickness. While he couldn’t feel his lip, he could feel the pull of the thread and pressure of the needle. The process didn’t hurt, but the ghostly sense of the thread’s pull and needle’s point made him feel nauseous. His mouth watered and bile rose at the back of his throat.

“Do you need to vomit?” Katya asked, watching his eyes fog over and shoulders sway.

Silco shook his head. A mistake, it turned out. The motion loosened the already shaky hold his stomach had, and he pitched over. Luckily, Katya was fast, and had placed a small wastebin under his face before the sick gushed from his mouth. As he retched, she held his hair back and stroked a hand up and down his spine.

When it passed, Katya let go of his hair and placed a hand over his heart. “We’re going to sit you back up now. Go slow.”

Silco’s vision swam as he was guided back up. He winced as the ache and pressure in his skull jostled and thudded during the movement. As if his brains had turned to jelly and sloshed freely and heavily in his skull.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. It’s not unusual for such a response after something stressful. You are also most likely concussed, which would cause that reaction, too. Here, I need to knot and clean those sutures.”

She doused a small cotton round with rubbing alcohol and gently pressed it to the stitches on his upper lip. Silco hissed and grimaced, and then winced further when the expression caused a great swell of pain to ripple across his face. 

Katya tossed the sodden pad in the wastebin, and finished tying off the small line of stitches. She then turned to the room’s sink, and filled a small cup with water, before handing it to him.

“Swish, then spit into the sink.”

It hurt, but Silco did so. He watched as blood swirled down the drain, and then sat back on the exam table. Katya’s hand at his back the whole time. But he wasn’t soothed by it. Despite her attentiveness, she felt distant. He knew, and understood, that it was an unconscious defense mechanism on her part; keeping her safe and separate from what had happened in the fissure.

Had his mother behaved similarly in the days following her own assault?

Silco muscled that thought back. It was too much. And he wasn’t the one who needed sturdiness right now. Katya was. 

But she was closed off. 

He could feel it. And he wanted in. Wanted to take care of her.

“Kat – “

“Open your mouth,” she instructed. 

Silco did so, and Katya leaned forward, inspecting.

“Your two front teeth have been chipped.” 

She stood back up, and turned to one of the upper cabinets. Reflexively, Silco ran his tongue over his teeth, and shuddered at the roughened edges of his incisors. Embarrassment joined the sickening ache in his body. 

“It’s not too bad,” Katya said, returning with a bottle of pills in her hand. She gave them to him and explained, “Painkillers. Take two as needed every four hours. Ideally with food. If you can, take the next few days off and keep the apartment dark. Avoid looking at or reading anything too intensely. It’ll help with the concussion.”

While he was grateful for her expertise, Katya’s perfunctory motions and monotone voice continued to madden and scare him. He could feel her slipping away. Retreating from him. 

Instead of grabbing for the pill bottle, he gripped her hands.

“Kat,” he pleaded. She jolted beneath his hold. He internally winced at it, but couldn’t bring himself to release her. She looked at him, her eyes big and glassy. He swallowed, unsure of what to say now that he had her attention. “Just . . . stop for a moment.”

She blinked. And then her body tensed. She didn’t want to stop. Doing her job allowed her mind to settle into the rut of monotony, instead of replaying what had happened in Fissure 27. Stopping meant having to feel the fear and shame rattle through her bones. Stopping meant having to listen to the hateful and disparaging voices pounding in her head. They became clearer the longer she stood still. Voices that insisted that what had happened in the fissure was her fault. 

Her fault because she’d deviated from the quiet, monotonous life she’d set up for her and her brother. She had stupidly stepped into the open arms of the Children of Zaun. Had gone from a solitary, anonymous life to one of community, and it had gotten her sexually assaulted. The tentative understanding and belief in her own value, her own hopes and desires were dashed. 

Were not worth it.

Were nothing. 

Silco gently pulled on her hands and she jumped back into the moment. She stared at him, no longer sure what she was looking at. He had brought her into the Children’s fold, and adamantly spoken of her and Zaun’s inherent value.

She didn’t blame him.

She blamed herself for not keeping herself safe. 

“Why did you come for me?” Katya heard her speak the words, but had no sense of doing it. They suddenly just floated in the space between them.

Despite his swelling eyelids, Silco’s eyes widened. His mouth gaped, those two newly chipped teeth peeking out from under his stitched lip.

He was hurt because of her. Tears began to burn at the corners of her eyes. Her heart began to jump and tap the longer she stood still. Her legs trembled.

“I – because,” Silco stumbled.

The clinic door suddenly creaked open. They both jumped, Katya ripping her hands from Silco’s hold.

“Katya?” Will called.

Katya busied herself at the exam room’s counter. “In here. With a patient.”

Silco watched sadly as Katya retreated, absentmindedly fussing with a canister of cotton balls. A moment later, Will peered into the room. He couldn’t contain his gasp when he saw Silco. 

“What happened?”

“A fight,” Katya answered, adjusting the jar of tongue depressors before turning around. 

She set her hips against the counter and folded her arms tightly across her chest. Will’s eyes widened as he took in her dirtied clothes and scuffed up face. 

“I just finished patching him, and giving the medication instructions.” There was a pause, and then she spoke in Silco’s direction. “You’re able to go. Do you think you can get home, or should I call for ‘Vika?”

Silco’s voice stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to leave. But he also did not want her cross with him. 

Finally, he mumbled, “I can get home on my own.”

Katya’s lips thinned and she nodded, not looking him in the eye. “Put ice on your nose and lip when you get home. It will help with the pain and swelling.”

Silco looked at her for a moment longer before gingerly slipping off the exam table. He limped passed Will, who watched him with careful, distrusting eyes. 

It was late enough now that Silco’s shift had ended. He didn’t care to go find Sevika or anyone else who could let him know what was happening in the way of Kells, and the story that was being spun. Slowly, he made his way for the lift, ignoring the mutters and looks that swirled around him as he went. 

A bone-deep ache settled into his body as he walked away from the mines. His hands throbbed and he winced as his back repeatedly squeezed in small spasms with every other step. But it was nothing compared to his face and head.

Nothing compared to the sinking feeling in his chest.

His feet carried him home, slow and sluggish. He leaned into the door as he shuffled inside the apartment. A warm, scratchy horn piece softly bled from the gramophone, his mother’s humming accompanying it. Silco slipped off his shoes and limped toward his bedroom.

“Silco?”

He knew it was pointless, but he didn’t answer her and tried to shuffle as quickly as he could down the hall.

“Silco? Are you home? – “

Enyd’s voice guttered and dropped as Silco hobbled past the doorway. She could see that something was obviously wrong with his gait, but her heart plummeted at the sight of his face. Hurriedly, she set her sewing aside, leapt from her rocker, and followed him down the hall.

“Silco!”

He grimaced, but kept the course to his room. Until his mother closed the space between them, grabbed a hold of his arm, and spun him around. She gasped and tears immediately welled up in her eyes.

“Wh-what happened?”

“I’m fine. I have medicine for it,” he muttered, gently shaking the pill bottle in his hand.

He went to turn away from her again, but Enyd reached up and gently cupped his jaw. Silco gasped in pain and dropped the bottle. It hit the wood floor with a thud and rolled away.

“What happened?”

“It – Just a fight at work.”

“You need ice. Come with me.”

Too hurt and tired to argue, Silco let his mother lead him back down the hall toward the kitchen. She scooped up the pill bottle as they went. 

She placed him on one of the dining table chairs, and flipped the overhead light on. Silco grunted and squinted at the brightness. His stomach curdled.

. . . keep the apartment dark . . .

Before he could say anything, Enyd was on him, worriedly inspecting the bandages over his nose, the stitches in his upper lip, and the intense bruising and swelling around his eyelids and cheeks. Her breathing was shallow and watery, her eyebrows pitched upward with intense concern.

“Janna’s sake, Silco,” Enyd whispered. Her eyelids fluttered, and the tears that had been shelved on her lower lids trickled down her pale cheeks. 

She turned and went to the icebox, pulling out a tray of frozen cubes. A clean teacloth from a drawer near the stove was fetched, and the ice was dumped into it. Pinching its corners up, she created a small sack, and brought it to him.

As she gently pressed it to his nose and mouth, Silco hissed at the biting cold and tried to jerk his head away. Despite the concern trembling through her limbs, Enyd stayed solid and held the ice to his face regardless. 

Silco’s hand quivered, and he propped an elbow on the table to steady himself. Slowly, his other hand reached up to hold the ice to his sore face. Enyd extricated her hand, and returned to the kitchen. She filled a glass with water, and brought it to the table, sitting in the chair next to her son.

“Mum,” Silco finally croaked, “would you turn the light off? It . . . hurts.”

Enyd stepped to the wall and slapped the light switch. Silco’s shoulders sagged in relief as the kitchen and dining area fell into shadow; the only light the soft, warm glow of the lamp by his mother’s rocking chair in the room over. 

“Silco,” Enyd whispered as she took up her seat again, “what happened?”

Her hands slid across the table, but stopped short of touching him. Her eyes were wide, fear threatened to collapse her lungs. Scared, angry voices began hissing in her ears – the same ones that had initially flooded her when she had learned of the Children of Zaun.

Today he came home with a broken nose and beaten face; what if next time he came home with a bullet wound? What if next time he didn’t come home at all?

Silco swallowed, his throat clicking. His breaths became shorter, shallower as he thought back to what he had seen in that small crack in the cave wall. Kells pinning Katya against the rocks, one hand tangled in her hair, the other snaked between her thighs. He had watched in rage and disgust as Kells’s hips slowly undulated against Katya’s backside.

Rage flooded him, sent his heart pounding. The wrath was not the same as the variety he wielded at Piltover. This was something different. Something somehow deeper, more personal. 

“Another miner assaulted Kat today,” he finally said. “One of the Children.”

Enyd’s eyes widened and her body went cold. She couldn’t find her breath. Her hands and feet began to shake. A memory flashed in her head. Of her and Katya sitting in one of The Drop’s booths after a meeting. She had sneered at a blond young man who had ogled back at her.

“I – I walked in on him holding her against the wall,” Silco recounted, his voice a low scrape. “Forcing himself on her.” He swallowed again and said, “I attacked him.”

Enyd wiped at her eyes, chin wobbling horribly. Her breath had come back, but in small hiccups. 

“I wanted to beat him into the dirt until he wasn’t recognizable,” Silco admitted, “but I knew I needed to get Kat out of there. Away from him.” He paused, mouth gaping for a moment before he quietly said, “I wished someone had done the same for you. Had noticed and come to help.”

A small sob burst through Enyd’s teeth and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Tears streamed down her face. She nodded. She wished that, too.

“But he got up and swung a length of track at us,” he rustled the ice against his face. “He got me. I – I went for him again, and – I don’t remember it happening – but we ended up on one of the turbine blades. He hit me with a rock,” Silco gestured to the side of his head where his hair was matted to his temple with dried blood.

Enyd sobbed, her fingers twitching horribly. They itched to gather him up, to do something.

“He tried again, but then Kat appeared and pushed him off me. Pushed him off the turbine.”

Enyd held her breath, her thrashing heart stilling, fingers going rigid. She watched as, even through the bruises and cuts on his face, a myriad of emotions washed over him. She could see him trying to snatch up any one thing to feel. 

He finally settled on anger.

“If he hadn’t fallen,” Silco grit, barely tethered rage seething through his bloodied teeth, “I would’ve killed him. I wanted to kill him.”

A shiver trickled down Enyd’s spine. She gawped at her boy. Part of her insisted that he was wrong, that this wasn’t him; but another part – a hurt and vengeful part – was irrevocably grateful for what he’d done. Him wanting to kill Katya’s assaulter soothed her, soothed the traumatized seventeen-year-old who had been left in a dark mine tunnel, her skirts ripped, a tearing ache between her thighs, and semen dripping down her legs.

She was proud of him. And that silenced the part that tried to assert his actions, his desire, was wrong.

Finally, Enyd took up Silco’s free hand in both of hers. She kissed his bloody and swollen knuckles before resting her forehead against them.

Will had tried to convince Katya to let him attend to her. He eyed her scratched face and disheveled clothes worriedly. She refused, promising that she was fine. And that Silco had nothing to do with the state she was in. 

Will was unconvinced, insisting that he help her. She had jerked away from his well-meaning hands, and yelled at him to leave her alone.

“I will not be in tomorrow,” was all she said before she grabbed her coat and left. Leaving behind all the supplies she had set aside for the Children and for Enyd.

She pulled the large lapels of her coat up around her head, using them as blinders as she silently walked home. She didn’t hear the city around her. She didn’t know if people called out to her. She didn’t even know if she passed any Enforcers. She focused on the feel of her boots striking the cobblestones, on the static filling her brain, on the scratch of damp fabric rubbing against her thighs.

She threw herself at her door when she arrived home, messily staggering inside. Relief washed over her, a heavy weight that pulled at her taut muscles, loosening them beyond function. She slammed the door’s locks back in place before crumpling to the ground, sobbing and shaking.

She didn’t know how long she laid there, the warped and rough floor scratching against the scuff marks on her cheek. Her tears, for the time being, had run out. Breathing came in raspy, raw gulps. Her head throbbed. She either couldn’t – or didn’t want to – feel her body.

She needed to get up. She didn’t want to spend the night on the floor in front of her apartment door. She wanted to get out of her clothes, and wash the whole, awful day from her body.

With a great amount of effort, Katya staggered to her feet and shed her coat, stumbling for the bathroom. With shaky hands, she peeled her clothes off and started the shower. Her eyes stared down at the pile while she waited for the water to warm. She wanted to toss those clothes, burn them. But that wouldn’t be practical. If she got rid of them, that just meant she’d need new ones; and she didn’t have the money for that. 

Warm steam began to float from the shower stall and she numbly stepped inside. Normally, she relished a hot shower, but now she barely felt the comforting heat of it. Water beat in uneven patterns across her back and shoulders, small rivulets trickling down her arms and legs. At least, that’s what she would usually feel. Now it all felt distant. Almost as if the shower didn’t matter. There was no way to wash away the events of today.

Katya reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes closing as water ran over her face. Suddenly, she was back in the small crevasse. Kells breath on her cheek. His dick pressing against her.

Her eyes snapped open. A great, shuddering gasp burst from her mouth, sucking water droplets down her throat. She coughed and sputtered, her hands gripping fruitlessly against the tiled wall as her legs threatened to give way. Coughing morphed into desperate cries, and Katya slid to the floor, curling up on herself as the shower beat down.

She wanted comfort.

But also wanted to be alone. 

Deserved to be alone. 

The luxury of community had gotten her here, an oily voice in her head jabbed. If she had just told Sevika, Vander, Benzo, and Silco to fuck off, she could’ve gone on living her lonely life with little incidence. 

Yes, she would’ve needed to find a way to deal with Viktor’s rising tuition cost. But she had always found a way before. She didn’t need anyone to step in and shoulder the load with her . . . however nice it had been.

I got you.

Silco’s promise rumbled through her head, agitating and temporarily dispersing the hateful voice.

Katya hiccupped, wiped her nose, and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t deserve to ‘be gotten’. He’d nearly been killed trying to ‘get her’. She didn’t want that for him. Silco’s endeavors were dangerous enough without having to worry about her. 

Her heart ached at the thought. That foreign sense of wanting and desire throwing an equally loud tantrum at the thought of pulling away from him.

Katya reached up and turned the shower off, forgoing soap. Water would have to do. She crawled out of the stall and reached for her scratchy towel. With little care, she dried herself. Before shuffling from the bathroom, she grabbed her father’s pocket watch from the heap of clothes. She left the rest. 

Despite the vile rhetoric in her head, Katya still opted to sleep in the shirt Silco had given her. A small keepsake of when she had dared to want for herself, she figured. She snuggled under her thick new blankets; another lovely item belonging had gotten her.

Her chest caved, the fragile muscle of her heart collapsing like a dying star.

She prayed for sleep to come hard and fast.

It must have, but it was not at all satisfying. It felt like a blink. The night passed so fast, in fact, that she was certain it couldn’t be the next day. But someone was knocking on her apartment door. And the watch she’d left on her nightstand insisted that it was 10 o’ clock in the morning. 

Her head pounded. And the insistent knocking at the door didn’t help. Katya threw her blankets over her head, and waited for whoever it was to get the hint and go away. In the dark nest she’d made for herself, she tucked her knees up toward her chest, grit her teeth and waited. 

Then someone called her name. Katya shot up, blankets pooling at her waist.

Her heart thudded as she gingerly got out of bed, body tired, heavy, and aching. She pulled the blankets around her like a great, puffy cape, and shuffled to the front door. The voice was familiar, but Katya peered through the peephole all the same. 

The sound of scraping, old metal filled her ears as her hands undid the door’s latches and bolts. Wrapping her hand around the knob, Katya took a deep breath in, and opened the door. 

Enyd and Sevika stood on her front step.

Katya felt her resolve waver at the sight of the two women. Her chin wobbled, and she choked on her own breath.

“Oh, Katya,” Enyd whispered, stepping forward and pulling the girl into her arms. “I am so sorry.”

Katya crumbled. She dropped her head into the crook of Enyd’s shoulder and wailed. The older woman did not buckle under the weight of the taller, thicker girl. She stood solidly and held her with strong hands. 

“Come,” Enyd whispered after a minute. “Let’s go inside.”

Katya couldn’t bring herself to deny them. She was too tired. And despite that voice working so hard the night prior to convince her of the safety if loneliness, she wanted their company. 

Enyd ushered them inside, and Sevika locked the door behind her. 

The next hour was a whirlwind.

After wiping her boots on the doormat – chips of white paint flaking off – Sevika steered Katya toward the couch. Enyd headed to the kitchen, and made her tea and something to eat. Once she delivered a steaming mug and a plate of toasted bread with butter, she scurried through the apartment, straightening up and cleaning. She gathered the soiled clothes from the bathroom floor and began scrubbing them in the sink.

While Katya timidly gnawed at her toast, Sevika told her about the fallout of the previous day – or lack thereof. It turned out Kells had no family. He was orphaned at some young age, and had grown up in the mine’s barracks until he had aged out. Having no family made his death easier for people to forget, easier for the mine to ignore. Even the sniveling troupe he ran with did not seem willing to put up much of a fuss. Sevika wagered they were too afraid to go against the rumor in the mines that Kells had attacked Silco first. Katya didn’t doubt her, but she also felt Kells’s friends were probably the types who had loose loyalties. 

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. If she pulled back now, wouldn’t that make her the same?

“I’m glad Silco went to go find you,” Sevika said quietly. Then, with a wry grin, “I almost feel bad giving him grief about it when he ditched me.”

The tops of Katya’s cheeks colored at the story. Then, ducking into her tea, she muttered, “I am glad he came, too.”

A moment later, Enyd strode from the kitchenette, Katya’s damp, but clean, clothes draped over her arm.

“Do you have a drying rack, Katya?”

She shook her head, dark fringe tickling her eyebrows. “I usually just set things up by the radiator.”

She nodded her head toward the old, woven pipes under the window. As if in response, they bumped and hissed. Enyd nodded and stepped forward, shaking out each piece of clothing, and laying them carefully around the warm metal.

“I may have a spare drying rack,” Enyd mused as she fussed with the clothes. “I think its broken, technically. But it would be safer than putting your things directly on or near a heat source. I can bring it over tomorrow – “

“That is very kind, but not necessary, Enyd.”

The older woman shushed Katya’s worries with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense. You’ll have it.”

“I should get going,” Sevika said, rising from the couch. “I promised to meet Nasha today. We’re playing hooky.”

Enyd looked wholly disapproving, but chose not to rebuke the young woman’s decision. 

“Just don’t push your luck.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” Sevika turned to Katya, before dipping down and giving her a warm squeeze. “I’m glad you’re okay, Kat. Let me know if you need anything, ‘kay?”

Katya’s throat swelled, and she glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep from crying. She looked up at Sevika and nodded.

“Bye, Ms E!”

“Good bye, Sevika. Be safe.”

Sevika smiled broadly and left. 

Silence seeped into the apartment. Katya trembled despite her blanket cocoon. Enyd eyed her, her face full of motherly concern. And understanding. She stepped toward the coffee table and bent to pick up the plate of crusts.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Silco got hurt.”

Enyd’s hand jerked away from the plate as if it had burned her. Her head snapped up, eyes staring at the bleary-eyed young woman on the couch. 

At once, Enyd rounded the table and took up the cushion Sevika had vacated, pulling Katya close.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Katya sniffed and choked, burying her nose behind the curtain of Enyd’s ebony hair. The decision to draw back, draw away, quickly dissolved as motherly comfort wrapped around her, warmer than her blanket.

“You did nothing wrong, Katya. And Silco is fine. Banged up, but fine.”

Katya keened into Enyd’s shoulder. Thinking on Silco’s mangled face, on how much worse it must look today. Her arms snaked out from the blanket folds and wrapped around the older woman, holding tight. Holding on as if Enyd was her own parent. Enyd held her back with equal fervor. 

“He’s home. Resting. Vander is with him right now.” A pause, and then Enyd whispered again, “It wasn’t your fault, Katya. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She pulled back to draw the young woman’s puffy and tear-streaked face between her hands. “Do you hear me? It was nothing you did.”

Katya hiccupped, her eyes – turned the color of sap by her tears – searched Enyd’s face.

“How long did it take for you to believe that?”

The older woman’s shoulders sagged. She ran her thumbs under Katya’s swollen eyelids, wiping tears as she went.

“Too long, considering it was not my fault,” she quietly answered, her voice hoarse with her truth and her illness. “Don’t let it be so long for you, sweetheart.”

Eventually, Enyd cleared the table and brought Katya a tall glass of water. Instead of drinking it, she slid horizontally on the couch, tucked herself deep into the burrow of her blankets again. Enyd sat with her, a thin hand resting atop her covered feet and ankles. 

She stayed when Katya drifted into uneasy sleep. She was there when Katya woke back up, feeling dry and sick. Clumsily, she reached for the glass of water – Enyd steadying it as she brought it to her parched mouth. The drink was necessary, but not soothing. It cut ravines down her raw throat and sat heavy in her stomach. Her nose wrinkled in a wince and she tucked herself back in her blankets, curling towards the couch’s back cushions. 

Sometime later, Enyd hovered over her cheek and whispered that she was leaving for the day, but that she’d be back the next. Katya tucked her lips between her teeth to keep her from pleading that she should stay. Instead, she nodded. Then, Enyd kissed her temple, and it was a staggering effort for Katya to not start crying again. She listened to the soft padding of Enyd’s light steps, the front door opening and closing, then silence. 

Thick, lonely silence.

In the quiet, thoughts grew like weeds. A contemplative garden taking root in Katya’s brain. She pruned through each thought. How joining with the Children put her more directly in Kells’s path. How Silco had sacrificed his safety to assure her own. How Enyd and Sevika had appeared unprompted on her doorstep, out of concern, out of love, out of a sense of responsibility for her. How other Children had spun the story to protect Katya and Silco from any scrutiny over Kells’s death.

Katya sighed and pressed her forehead into the lumpy couch cushion. 

She wanted Enyd to come back. She wanted Silco tucked against her side, so they could heal together. 

She wanted, she wanted, she wanted.

She thought on Enyd’s words. 

It wasn’t her fault.

Kells had tried to take something from her, and, perhaps, if she did pull away from these people, he would posthumously succeed: He would manage to take away her sense of belonging, the comfort of her community. The idea that she was worth something. And she wanted that. Badly.

She wanted, she wanted, she wanted.

Chapter Text

Heimerdinger knew it was coming. He could only stave off this meeting with Rynweaver for so long.

It had been three weeks since the Children of Zaun had made themselves known. Three weeks since security measures had gone into effect. Three weeks since the investigation started. Three weeks – and there were no new developments or leads. And Enforcers were no nearer to tracking down the stolen money.

Rynweaver and the other families who had been stolen from were growing restless and agitated. Heimerdinger couldn’t say that he didn’t entirely understand. While money held little interest for him, he understood the frustration of having one’s belongings snatched away. Sometimes scientific research fell that way, too. Sometimes what you thought was safe, thought was yours, was suddenly slipped out from beneath you.

Money was one thing. Ideas were another.

Heimerdinger shook his head, ears flopping from side to side, and returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk. The new budget reorganization lay before him, and it turned his stomach more than he wished it would. A sidelong glance went to his fireplace, where not long ago the chair Katya Slostov had thrown into the hearth had lain, broken and splintered.

He didn’t know if she had told Viktor about the tuition increase, if he knew that his place at the Academy hung in the balance. He didn’t think so. Viktor had been carrying on like usual: pensive, studious, and dedicated. He gave no sign that he was aware that anything was afoot. Heimerdinger did not approve of keeping the boy in the dark, but Viktor was not his ward. As much as he disagreed with Katya’s decisions, he had no right to trample on them.

Instead, he focused on supporting the boy where it was in his power: in the classroom.

He praised Viktor openly for the initial sketches he had done for the boat he was planning on building in next term’s robotics curriculum. The ingenuity of its shape and proposed motor mechanism caused the yordle’s chest to puff with pride.

Viktor was leaps and bounds ahead of his classmates; even some of the older students. It would be a tragedy for him to cross the Bridge and never come back. To have his burgeoning genius swallowed up and snuffed out by the maw of the Undercity.

The soft, warm buzz of the intercom on his desk pulled Heimerdinger from his thoughts. He stared at the blinking red light by his right hand, letting the signal drone for a beat longer than he normally would.

Finally, he answered. “Yes, Miss Banforth?”

“Professor Heimerdinger, Sir Thade Rynweaver is here to see you.”

Heimerdinger utilized the last moments of privacy for his face to crumple and warp into an expression of long-suffering annoyance.

“Yes, yes. Of course. Send him in, please.”

Heimerdinger gathered the budgeting materials on his desk and stowed them away in a drawer. The door to his office quietly clicked open, Ivy graciously at the knob, directing Rynweaver inside.

Thade was dressed in his usual preferred black ensemble: tailored trousers and waistcoat, and shoes with a lacquered shine. Today, he also wore a knee-length wool coat, silver thread and buttons glistening in the cold-season’s watery light that streamed in from the window behind the desk.

“May I fetch you anything?” Ivy asked.

“Nothing. Thank you,” Rynweaver answered.

Ivy pulled her lips between her teeth and looked to Heimerdinger. He looked kindly at her, mustache lifting at its tips. A gentle shake of his head excused her, and she bowed out, the door softly snicking shut.

“Blessed Snowdown, Mr. Rynweaver.”

“And to you, Professor.”

Thade draped his coat over one of the chairs in front of the desk, and took the other for himself.

“Did Miss Banforth not offer to take your coat?”

Heimerdinger eyed the expensive article, its black so pitch that it sucked up light like a sponge.

“She did. But I trust you understand my hesitancy in handing my things over.”

Heimerdinger’s ears folded minutely.

“I understand how frustrating this is for you and the other families involved, Mr. Rynweaver.”

Thade reached into the inner pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a slim, silver cigar case. He pulled a matching lighter from his trouser pocket. He did not ask if he could smoke, pulling out a thick cigar and lighting it as if it were his own home.

Heimerdinger’s pink nose wrinkled, his eyes pricking at the intense smell of the smoke.

As Thade went to tuck the case away, he stopped and gestured it to his host, a thick eyebrow lifting.

“I don’t smoke. But thank you.”

“It is frustrating,” Thade sighed, settling into his seat. “And I know that LeDaird is doing everything within his power to right this wrong. To not only recover my funds, but to also put a stop to these terrorists. Stop them before they can do anything truly heinous.”

Heimerdinger nodded, but his mind whirred, wondering when Rynweaver was going to get to his reason for this appointment.

“How may I help you today, Mr. Rynweaver?”

A thick plume of sweet, eye-stinging smoke rose above their heads, refracting the sunlight streaming in through the window. The smoke slowly spun through the air, its tendrils leisurely unfurling and dissipating before the answer came.

It annoyed Heimerdinger, this power play.

“My grandfather told me stories about you, Cecil. From his father, who in turn heard them from his own. Stories about Piltover’s brilliant and dedicated founder. A Yordle – a being tied to spirit and magic, and yet you favor scientific progress and humanity’s growth. Foregoing your, arguably, natural inclinations to bear this great city-state.”

Rynweaver gestured his hand to the space above Heimerdinger’s head, signaling to the sprawling cityscape below the window.

As the man spoke, Heimerdinger’s plush coat hackled and puffed under his clothes. He kept his face open and neutral, but inside he was bristling. Mostly because of Rynweaver’s arrogance and, thus far, vague motives. It also irked him to be called his first name by someone who was not invited to do so. The generalized, vague, and misinformed commentary on his race’s cultural background made his blood hot.

“I am flattered your grandfather spoke so highly of me,” he decided to say. “He was a good man.”

Thade nodded in agreement. “He loved this city. As did my father. As do I, Cecil. As do you.”

He took a lengthy drag from his cigar. Heimerdinger’s ears twitched, sensing that this meeting’s point was about to be revealed.

“I understand that LeDaird is doing everything within his power right now. And yet, no results have been yielded. Not an inkling of information, much less the recovery of my and the other family’s money.” He rolled his cigar between his fingers, blue eyes following it carefully. Then, his voice darkened, “Honestly, I am not anticipating seeing my coin again. Those sump-snipes have probably spent it or sent it away to some secure location. They are most likely preparing a more serious strike.”

The heat in Heimerdinger’s blood chilled, leached out by how Rynweaver’s eyes seemed to go black.

“The Enforcers need more teeth. The Undercity needs to be made afraid. They know how to tolerate a squeeze, a slap on the wrist. These Children are unprecedented, and Piltover must be protected.”

“They are Piltovan citizens, Mr. Rynweaver.”

“And yet some percentage of those citizens committed a terrorist attack. The rest protect them with their silence.” Rynweaver looked at Heimerdinger, cold fire blistering in his gaze. “They do not love Piltover as you or I do. Surely you can see that. We need to protect our city of progress.”

Heimerdinger’s ears tucked back, his thick brow dropped. Lowly, he asked, “What would you have me do, Mr. Rynweaver?”

Thade crossed his long legs. “I am asking you to consider throwing your weight around more. You are Piltover’s founder and greatest champion. While the idea of Council is to ensure a system of checks and balances, and an equitable division of power, everyone knows that push come to shove, your word is law.

“Give LeDaird more leash and tighten up on Bone’s. Allow captains of industry – such as myself – who employ a large populace of the Undercity to use our influence to help flush out these traitors.”

“It is not that simple – “

“It could be though,” Rynweaver bit back. “This is your city, Cecil. And these Children are threatening it. Do not let them.”

With that, Thade lifted from his seat, cigar in hand. He paused and looked around the office before stepping over to the fireplace and crushing the ember end into the hearth’s wall. He tossed the remains into its ashy mouth and went for his coat.

Sliding his arms in their sleeves, he addressed Heimerdinger once more, “Thank you for your time, Professor.”

Heimerdinger’s pink nose twitched at the sudden use of one of his titles.

Thade strode for the office doors, and over his shoulder wished again, “Blessed Snowdown.”

The cold season was always hellish on Bone’s illness. The chill in the air froze the blight in his lungs and trachea into sharp, painful, icy stabs every time he ventured outside. Which made it difficult for him to put his ear to the ground and try and learn about these Children of Zaun.

He did his best, though.

In the days following the Council’s bulletin and subsequent decisions about movement and trade in the Undercity, he hobbled up and down the streets of the Promenade and upper Entresol attempting to glean information from anyone he could.

What hurt more than the pain in his lungs, were the looks of distrust he received from some of the Undercity citizens he approached. The ache sat low in his stomach and tugged down on his heart. He never thought something would stand between him and his people.

He lived for them, would die for them.

It was in those moments – when he was looked up and down, suspicion curling their lips, and doubt in their eyes – that Bone feared he had failed. That he had spent too much time across the river in Piltover’s mighty towers. That all the work he had attempted to do, and what little he had achieved, had gotten stuck in the blankets of kelp that stitched either bank of the Pilt together.

Had he lost that much touch with his constituents?

One afternoon, though, when the sun sat bright and heavy in the sky, he caught a small break.

He had shuffled into a small café that sat on the lip of the Promenade, near a conveyor car station. He’d spent a few hours canvassing the Skylight Commercia to no avail. Disheartened, and chest burning from the cold, he decided to stop and get something warm to drink before limping home.

The few patrons in the establishment looked up as he stepped in. Only a few nodded, the others kept to their drinks and thin sandwiches. Bone coughed into his scarf and approached the cash register. He ordered a mint tea and paid with two gold hexes. When the cashier blanched and sputtered, trying to explain that she did not have the change for such coin, he insisted she keep it regardless.

Bone perched himself on a stool seated in front of the large, greasy windows that looked out onto the conveyor car station. He watched all manner of people and creatures pile into, and traipse out of various cabs. The color and diversity of the Undercity always tugged at something prideful in him. Despite its setbacks, he loved that so many beings from Runeterra settled here, made the Undercity a veritable melting pot.

As the cashier brought him his tea, Bone watched as a conveyor car operator exited his vehicle and trot towards the café. He was a big man – wide, with skin the color of rust. The café’s door jingled merrily open as he pushed through, and a flurry of greetings were sent his way.

Bone’s stomach and heart dropped further. Was it jealousy?

“Tolder!” the cashier greeted. “Usual?”

“Yeah. ‘N can I get,” his gruff voice ground to a hum as he eyed the glass display case full of sweet breads and pre-made sandwiches. “Can I get one o’ the wharf rat tails? They’re muh boy’s favorite.”

“Sure thing.” She placed a steaming paper cup on the counter, and then whipped a paper bag open, reaching for a pastry drenched in glaze at the front of the case. “You gonna be at The Last Drop tonight?”

“Plannin’ on it. Hopefully there’s some idea o’ how to get these fuckin’ enforcers off our backs. Pigs.”

Bone’s ears perked at the man and woman’s exchange. He knew The Last Drop – what Trencher didn’t? – but it had been years since he’d last gone, back when it was under original ownership. He had heard through the grapevine that the previous owner had died in recent years and had passed the establishment to a longtime employee.

Something about what the pair said caused his heart to flutter in interest, his gut poking him with intuition. Bars, taverns, restaurants had long been places for Undercity citizens to meet and gripe about Piltover. But there was something more concrete in their tones, more bite. The word ‘idea’ felt weighty. Promising.

“Thanks fer the coffee and Rat Tail,” the man said, slapping a fistful of coins on the counter and heading for the door.

Bone watched the man stride back towards his conveyor car, and his mind whirred. He sipped at his tea, thinking. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the woman behind the counter take a wet rag and wipe down the sides of the display case. He wondered if LeDaird or Grayson had, or were planning on investigating The Last Drop.

Draining his cup, Bone stood and limped to the counter, placing the small ceramic mug near the register.

“Thank you.”

The woman looked up from her dusting, and nodded, her lips a thin line.

As he opened the door, a gust of cold, salty wind blew past him. Hurriedly, he pulled his scarf up around his mouth and hacked into it, leaning heavily on his cane. Behind the wet fabric, he grimaced. His lungs burned and throbbed, and he felt light-headed. Indeed, it was time to head home for the day.

As Bone approached the building his loft was in, he was surprised to see Captain Grayson standing in front of the building’s iron and glass door. She was dressed in her uniform and captain’s hat, but her breathing mask was slung around her neck. She remained still, hands behind her back, seemingly unperturbed by the way people walking by would give her a wide, wide berth.

Bone winced. He wished she wouldn’t meet him at his home. It was difficult enough to get his people to trust him; having the Captain of the Enforcers on his doorstep could only cause his constituents to pull away further.

But it had been challenging for he and she to touch base. The minute the Children of Zaun’s letter fell into LeDaird’s hands, Grayson’s time and priorities were automatically spoken for.

“Councilor Bone,” she greeted as he limped up.

“Captain Grayson,” he wheezed from behind his scarf. He glanced around and said, “Come upstairs. I don’t want us to talk here.”

He led her inside, and up the winding metal stairs to his front door. Grayson thought it odd that an old, sick man would be made to have to deal with stairs.

“Is there not a lift?”

Bone coughed and shook his head, wispy hair fluttering side to side.

They arrived at a large, ornately carved door and the Councilor used a key to let them both inside.

Grayson said a quiet thank you as she stepped through the threshold, her eyes habitually roaming over the new environment, taking notes. Small, with high ceilings. Large windows looked out over the river at Piltover, its skyline looming. The space was sparsely furnished and had no noticeable smell.

Behind her, Bone had begun coughing again as he removed his coat and scarf. He batted her away as she stepped over to help. He thumped his cane against the wood floor as the last gasps of the fit lurched from his throat.

“Follow me,” he wheezed, shuffling in the direction of a small, but neat kitchen.

With shaky hands, he filled a glass with water and took a careful sip. His throat burned and head throbbed.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” he finally said, turning. One hand held his cane, the other braced against the countertop.

Grayson watched him carefully. He looked worse than usual, and she was concerned she’d have to leap forward and hold him up.

She set her hands behind her back again, and said, “I am here to touch base.”

A small derisive huff shot from between Bone’s teeth. “Of your own volition? Or on orders from the Sheriff.”

“Both.”

The Councilor nodded and renewed the grip on his cane, standing as tall as his short stature would allow. There was a moment before she spoke where he took her in. Like the first time he’d met her, he sensed her goodness. Her reasonableness. He knew she was the tool he needed to get enforcer brutality in the Lanes under control.

“Sheriff LeDaird is wondering if you have heard anything.”

“Only LeDaird?”

Grayson’s lips thinned. “Admittedly, I am curious, too. There are terrorists in the Undercity, Councilor Bone. My focus right now has to be rooting out the Children of Zaun. You and I cannot do our work while they are free.”

Bone’s wooly brows dropped, knowing she was right. He couldn’t get what he wanted without her. He couldn’t have her time and resources while she and her team were investigating terrorists. The idea to tell her what he had overheard today in the café crossed his mind. But he kept it to himself. After the last several days of doing his own searching, and experiencing the unexpected withdraw of his community, he was nervous to give Captain Grayson anything. It was bad enough that people had seen her on his step.

What good was securing Grayson’s time if his own people didn’t trust him?

There had to be another way.

“I have not heard anything, Captain.”

Grayson looked disappointed as a sigh blew from her nose, arms dropping to her sides. Briefly, Bone felt badly about withholding information from her. But, if he could get to and disperse the Children before the Enforcers closed in, there would be minimal bloodshed, he would hopefully recement his people’s trust, and he and Grayson could carry on with his plans.

“I am sorry, Captain.”

She nodded ruefully. “Thank you. Let me know if you hear anything.”

She turned and began to head back toward the front door.

“Captain Grayson,” Bone called. She turned, eyes questioning. “When you need to seek me out, please do it at my office.”

The smallest embarrassed flush tinged the tops of her wide cheeks. “Yes, Councilor. Apologies.”

He waved the concern aside, and kindly said. “Blessed Snowdown, Captain.”

“Blessed Snowdown, Councilor.”

Chapter Text

The weeks leading up to Snowdown were a complicated whirlwind for Vander.

One afternoon, Sevika had burst into the tavern, grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him to the back of the house. She hurriedly whispered about what had happened in the mines: that Silco and Katya had gotten into a fight with Kells. Kells severely injured Silco, and Katya had pushed Kells to his death. It seemed to be undecided whether that had been an accident.

Silco confirmed the events when Vander went to see him the next day. Enyd had tubed Vander, asking if he could come sit with her son while she was out.

Of course he would.

He was not at all prepared for what he saw when he arrived.

His Brother’s appearance made Vander’s stomach drop to his steel-toed boots. Vice-like fear and anger clamped down on his heart. His silver eyes flitted around Silco’s face. The bandage across his nose, the stitches in his lip, the angry bruises and welts that covered his face . . .

Vander hoped that Kells knew – where ever his retched soul had wandered off to – how lucky he was that he was already dead. Otherwise, Vander would’ve hunted him down. Would’ve used him as the body to break his gauntlets in on.

Silco peered up at his friend from his languid position on the couch. His eyes glacier blue slits between the purple swollen folds of their lids.

“Make sure he stays still and drinks water and eats. His food may need to be mashed up a bit. Keep the apartment dark,” Enyd said as she pulled her thick sweater on. She wrapped a scarf around her head, and drew it up over her nose.

Vander nodded, but struggled to take the information in. He hadn’t realized just how badly the fight had gone.

Once Enyd left, Vander rushed to Silco’s side. He fought not to take up his Brother’s long, elegant hands. Even under the calluses and near-permanent stains of dirt, anyone could see that those hands didn’t belong wielding a pick-axe. They belonged writing policies and demands for Zaun; they belonged in big important buildings, shaking other important hands.

Vander very much wanted to hold them.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he listened as Silco told him what had happened. The whole story – from his perspective. Vander’s stomach roiled nauseatingly at hearing what Kells had been caught doing to Katya. The curdle deepened as he watched Silco’s face contort under the swelling: barely restrained rage flickering beneath. Dangerous fire.

“A couple of the Children carried me to the clinic,” Silco explained, his usually smooth voice rough and nasally. “They said they would take care of the story. There’s been no fall-out?”

Vander shook his head. “Nothin’. An’ no one’s gonna say nothin’. Kells wazza cunt who got what he deserved.” A beat, and then he asked, “How’s Katya?”

Silco melted back into the couch. The gesture felt more defeated than relieved.

“She’s . . . She didn’t seem okay when I left the clinic yesterday. When she told me to leave.” Silco’s chin dipped, “I should’ve stayed with her.”

Vander’s gut twisted. “Well, yer mum’s with her now. She’ll be okay.”

When Silco didn’t say anything, when his expression remained distant and forlorn, Vander became fidgety and added, “Don’ worry ‘bout it, Sil. Kells is gone, n’ no one’s tryin’ to make a fuss about it. Here. Just lie back. I’ll make you a cuppa, yeah?”

In the days following, it really seemed like the whole thing would blow over. That this mild wrinkle within the Children’s ranks had already been ironed out. Until one evening, about a week after Kells’s death, a small group of three older teen boys approached Vander in the early hours of The Last Drop being open.

Their timing was purposeful; only a small handful of beleaguered and elderly Zaunites were peppered around the tavern. Men and women who didn’t want to be talked with or entertained. They only wanted the momentary peace a rocks glass or tankard could offer before they had to get home, go to bed, and live another day. It was a time during working hours Vander was more available.

It was a time there were fewer witnesses.

“We need to talk,” one had said. His upper lip quivered as he took in the man-mountain before him.

Vander’s eyes narrowed, and he peered over the group. His customers appeared at ease, so he jerked his head, instructing the young men to follow him. His instincts fizzed as they trailed behind. The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, his muscles coiled and braced.

Vander slid into one side of a shadowed booth. The others toddled in awkwardly with all the grace of new whumplings fighting for space in the nest, shoulders bumping and legs twisting together.

“What’dya need?” he asked once they were settled across from him.

His eyes cut from one face to the next. He recognized them as part of the gaggle that had orbited around Kells, but knew none by name.

“You heard about what happened in the mines a couple days ago,” the one on the right said. He was wiry with curly brown hair and pale skin. Dark green eyes blinked up at Vander under thick lashes.

Had his instincts not been priming his mind and body for some kind of fight, Vander would’ve thought him pretty.

“Aye. I have.”

“Well, what’re you gonna do about it?” The middle one demanded.

Vander’s nostrils lifted. This one had limp dark-blond hair, a pug nose, and too-round cheeks that were splotched angry-red.

“I wasn’ aware there was something to be done about it.”

“Silco killed Kells!” the one on the left hissed, his dark brown skin radiating vengeful heat. Black-brown eyes blistered beneath his thick, ebony hair.

Vander’s eyes flashed quick-silver. “He didn’.”

“He was going to if the medic he’s been eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!” the middle one said, pig-nose flaring. “They probably planned it together.”

Vander shot up from his seat, knuckles hitting the table with a crack! as he braced his arms and loomed menacingly. The three young men collectively jumped, and hunkered back into the booth. The vinyl at their backs crackled as if in warning. Gone were their indignant expressions, replaced by utter shock and fear as they beheld the behemoth lording over them. Vander’s body and wrath blocked out the little light that reached into the booth’s alcove.

“Listen up,” he hissed, his voice all growl and warning grit. He bared his teeth at them and loomed closer. “Kells died ‘cause he made a stupid, evil decision” – it wasn’t his place to speak about Katya’s assault, so he kept it firmly tucked down his throat – “n’ he got what he deserved, frankly speakin’.” He leaned closer, broad shoulders hunching up threateningly like hackles on a beast, “This conversation is over. ‘N if I catch a whiff of any of ya tryin’ to rustle up more problems, you’ll be the first bodies I test my gauntlets on. Savvy?”

After a beat, all three reluctantly nodded and crawled out of the booth, scampering for the door.

Vander stalked back behind the bar rubbing his temples, mind spinning like a top.

It was one thing to fight with Topside. It was another for it to happen amongst the Children. The burgeoning rebellion wouldn’t withstand in-fighting. Zaun would bleed out, wouldn’t make it past its infancy, and be buried by Piltover again. The Children of Zaun needed to stick together, Brothers and Sisters arm-in-arm; an impenetrable wall of scrap metal, zeal, and will.

Then the threat he’d delivered to those three yellow-bellied malcontents . . .

“‘N if I catch a whiff of any of ya . . . .”

A wince creased Vander’s face. He didn’t suppose threatening Brothers and Sisters did anything for morale or loyalty. There was the chance that he had just made things worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He needed to keep his temper in check.

That was difficult when his Brother was concerned. Vander was protective of Silco, loyal to him – perhaps even more so than he was to Zaun. Although, Vander felt they were often one in the same. Yes, they had dreamed up the idea together, small and squatted behind minecarts, but Silco latched onto Zaun like it was air. Cleaner and purer than anything in Piltover. He had always led the charge from there on out. And Vander was at his side.

“Yer as loyal as a dog to ‘im, Van,” Benzo had said one night, long before the Children of Zaun.

He had said it with a certain amount of distaste that had Vander’s brow curling questioningly.

“He’s my best mate. ‘Course I am.”

Vander’s heart and shoulders softened at the memory. But immediately tensed again when he recalled what the blond teen had said.

“He was going to if the medic he’s eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!”

Vander’s hand dropped heavy onto the bar top, gathering empty glasses and crumpled napkins. The comment had been innocuous, and utterly meaningless. The shithead had only meant to implicate Katya. But that little throw-away barb had slid under Vander’s ribs as if expertly laced.

“Oi! Vander!”

A customer in need of a refill pulled the barkeep from his head. Landed him right back into the moment like someone dropping a melon off Old Hungry. Grateful for the distraction, Vander went back to work.

Then time flew fast and the cold season fully settled over Piltover and Zaun, like a great, chilled blanket. The Lanes became smokier than normal, Zaunites reallocating what little funds they had to purchase wood and coal for their stoves. Less food, more heat; the pendulum of necessity ever swinging.

The Children kept meeting, kept preparing. A squad was set up to track Enforcer movements; where they had been, what their routes were, who they had spoken with and what answers they were given. Another group became designated runners for the supplies that pirates, independent merchants, and other morally grey characters smuggled in, and were paid with Airship coin.

Other members volunteered their homes and businesses to house the contraband: small armaments, scrap metal that would be smelted and repurposed, bottles of liquor too strong to drink but could be lit and chucked at Enforcers for when the time came.

However, the chill and impending holiday put a firm hold on both Piltover and the Undercity, stymying plans and regular schedules. On either side of the Pilt, families and businesses prepared for Snowdown, the holiday’s sentimental pull too strong for anyone or anything to fully deviate from it.

It went unspoken, but there was a sense in the Lanes – in Zaun – that this Snowdown was more poignant than those before. The holiday was about gathering, gratitude, and looking to the promise of the new year ahead.

The promise that this coming year would be the birth of their sovereign nation. Or, at least, the true beginning of the labor process.

This would also be the first Snowdown at The Last Drop Vander ran entirely alone. He’d more or less run it the year before, but the old proprietor – sick and dying – had been back in the living quarters, able to offer instructions and advice in that deep, throaty voice of his. Vander would take the wisdom with him back to the front and resume hosting duties.

But he was dead now.

The barkeep sighed as he cleared the taps for the busy night ahead, looking around at the bedecked tavern. The decorations were meager, but festive. Annie had festooned the pillars separating booths with garlands of colorful paper, dolloped the jukebox with a tangle of tinsel, and had put fresh candles on all the tables. Beckett suddenly appeared from the back; his strong, freckled arms loaded with extra stools.

Vander was grateful for the pair’s help. In the past weeks, Benzo had finally healed up enough to get back to his own business. Cairn stayed on to help at the pawnshop, instead of returning to The Drop. Benzo needed the extra pair of hands – his injury notwithstanding – and Cairn enjoyed the trade more than busing tables.

Vander certainly couldn’t blame him for that, and felt no ill-will toward the young man. Besides, now he had Annie to help. And while she was spacy, loud, and intense, she was good at her job and the customers loved her. Beckett was an added bonus; because where ever the dark bluenette went, he followed dutifully.

“Just put ‘em anywhere, Van?” Beckett asked, craning his head over the seats he carried.

“Yeah. Jus’ pepper ‘em ‘round the walls if ya would.”

As Beckett nodded and hauled the stools off, Annie burst through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, her thin arms laden with more candles. Great, fat pillars this time. Vander sighed, although the woeful sound did not impede the young woman’s trajectory toward the booths.

“Annie. I think we’ve enough candles.”

She began stacking them artfully on the booth tables. “Nuh-uh. Never. They create ambience.”

“Ambience and drunk people don’ mix,” Vander said, a hand rubbing at his forehead.

“It’ll be fiiiiiiiiine.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it, Van,” Beckett hushed as he carried the remaining stools over to the other side of the tavern.

Vander sighed, let it be, and continued prepping the bar’s stock.

A few hours later, The Last Drop was packed. Revelers young, old, and in-between stuffed the tavern to its gills. Most were members of the Children. Those that weren’t mingled with hope on their faces, intrigue glittering in their eyes like stars. The jukebox played on repeat, a long string of plucky, jovial tunes interspersed with the eager and happy chatter of the patrons. Ale and liquor flowed with abandon. Annie’s candles glowed and flickered invitingly. Vander had to admit that they did look beautiful. The soft, buttery glow of the flames brought a holy quality to the space. It inspired a bone-deep hope to flower in his chest.

Benzo and Cairn showed up about an hour after the bar opened for the night. The room burst into raucous cheers as Benzo threw up his meaty arms and greeted loudly, “BLESSED SNOWDOWN!”

Close behind the pair was Tolder and his brood, Sevika bringing up the end of the line. Once her younger siblings were inside, she whisked to the bar.

“Is Nasha here?”

“Haven’ seen her,” Vander answered filling a glass with caramel colored ale and handing it to a customer. “Bu’ she may be here n’ I haven’ noticed. Bit busy.”

“Yeah, just a bit,” she muttered, throwing her head around in search of the other girl. She smacked her palm against the bar top twice. “I’ll be back.”

Then she strode into the crowd, her head swiveling, eyes searching. A small smile crinkled the corners of Vander’s eyes as he watched her go. Then an empty tankard skittered across the bar and he fell back into work.

Sometime later, the crowd erupted again. Not as loud as when Benzo entered The Drop, but the swell of noise caused Vander to look up. His first full smile of the night spread across his face. Silco wove between tables, chairs, and customers, greeting people as he went with a small nod, or reserved wave.

“No Enyd?” Vander asked as Silco finally made it to the bar top.

His Brother’s lips thinned into a rueful, forced grin. He shook his head, dark hair fluttering about his face like curled shadows.

“No. She’s tired.”

The subtext of the message flicked at Vander’s heart with a mighty twang. Like it had been snapped with a rubber band.

She’s tired.

Her cough is especially bad. Has been bad. Is getting worse.

“What can I get ya?” Vander asked, hoping to distract Silco.

“Hmm? What?” Silco’s head – which had turned and was surveying the crowd – snapped back to Vander’s face. “Oh. Whisky. Please.”

Vander grinned and nodded. It was simple and quick, but preparing the two fingers of burnt amber liquor pleased him more than all the tankards of ale he had filled and refilled thus far. As he placed the glass in front of Silco, he was surprised to see a long, thin package on the counter between them.

“What’s this?”

“A Snowdown gift.”

Hot blush bloomed across Vander’s face. His heart swelled to the point of bursting. Then, honey-sweet hope once again dared to spread under his skin.

“Ya didn’ have to get me anything, Sil.”

Silco smirked and shrugged. “I wanted to.”

The blush on the back of Vander’s neck turned beet red as he sheepishly reached for the gift. It was wrapped in brown paper that had been crumpled and reused to the point of softness. Like thin suede.

Slowly, he peeled the wrapping away. A slender knife was settled in the worn curls and wrinkles of paper, its blade long with a gentle curve. There were a couple nicks in the metal that could be consider defects, but the worn appearance felt distinctly Zaun-ish to him. The handle was nearly half the length of the blade, wrapped in soft taupe-colored leather. The pommel was embossed with artful swoops.

Vander’s eyes roved over the knife, throat squeezing tight.

Then his gaze caught another detail: below the guard, on the first pleat of hide, the letter ‘V’ had been carved. The tightness gripping his throat intensified. Firelight wings beat and tickled his stomach to the point that Vander thought he might be sick with joy. Never before had he fought so hard to not reach for Silco, and draw him in close. To grab for his collar and pull him in for a kiss.

He refrained, though. Once again convincing himself that this wasn’t the time or place.

A small, love-hungry voice from deep inside cried out: “When will be the right time?!”

Not now.

Soon.

Hopefully.

Please.

Carefully tempering his expression in to one of bridled gratitude, Vander looked back up at Silco. His Brother eyed him with that smarmy, cocky half-grin and lifted eyebrow. Vander’s finger pads dug into the bar top to keep his hands from reaching out and grabbing for him. Everyday, it got harder and harder to do that.

Instead, he reached for the package and drew it closer.

“Ya didn’ hafta do that, Sil,” he murmured appreciatively.

“For when your fists get tired of beating Enforcers.”

An amused huff blew from Vander’s nose. “Thank you. I love it.”

Silco inclined his head, and lifted his glass to Vander. “Happy Snowdown, Brother. Next year may we be celebrating in a free nation.”

The weeks leading up to Snowdown were a heart-straining, soul-sickening series of days for Katya.

The third day after her assault, another gut-wrenching meltdown pulled her under. She couldn’t decide, in retrospect, if she had been grateful that Enyd was there, or if she wished she could’ve crumpled in private.

She had been standing at the kitchen sink, washing a cup. Enyd was gathering their lunch dishes from the table. Suddenly, Katya’s mind played an incredibly cruel prank on her: a phantom pressure at the crux of her thighs. Where Kells had groped her. She started with a gasp; eyes peeled wide. The cup fell from her hands as her legs buckled, and she tumbled to the cracked linoleum floor.

Blood rushed in her ears.

It kept her from hearing the wail that ripped from her throat.

At once, Enyd was at her side, drawing her close. Despite being so petite, she enveloped the young woman in a way only a mother could, all love and comfort. She spoke, lips and jaw moving against Katya’s temple, but the sound couldn’t penetrate the rush of blood in her ears. Nor the pummeling realization that ghostly sensation had brought her.

“I killed him. I killed him. I killed him – “

“Shhhh . . . Breathe, Katya. Breathe – “

“I killed . . . I killed him. I didn’t mean – “

A wail ripped itself from the base of Katya’s throat. She hadn’t meant to kill Kells; just to get him off of Silco. She didn’t know if her memory was playing tricks on her, but now the scene that played in her head contorted Kells’s face into one of abject fear as he tumbled over the turbine’s edge, limbs scrabbling for help.

But she hadn’t helped.

She had pushed.

Then watched.

Despite how vilely he had treated her, she had been unprepared to punish him with such finality. Dread and shame cemented in her arms and legs. The weight making it impossible to escape from the scenario playing over and over again in her head.

Sevika had said he had had no family. That there would be no trouble for her.

No trouble from the outside world, perhaps. But her insides roiled with it. Tentacles of humiliation slithering in her veins. Regret stabbing at her like claws.

“Katya. Katya. Look at me.”

With more force than the mother probably wanted to use, Enyd gripped Katya’s jaw between her fingers, jerking her head to the side so their eyes could connect. Spit, snot, and tears dripped over Enyd’s strong hold.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Katya. It was an accident. None of it was your fault. Do you hear me?”

Katya sniffled and trembled between the claw-grip. Her lips blubbered, an attempt to insist Enyd was wrong on the tip of her sob-thickened tongue.

Whip-fast, Enyd’s hand curled around the back of Katya’s head and tucked the young woman in closer.

“I will tell you as many times as you need to hear it. It’s not your fault. None of it.”

Katya did not know how long they stayed, curled up on the floor. She didn’t remember moving, but when her conscious mind turned back on, she found herself back on the couch, blanket tucked around her. Enyd sat at the far end, a sewing project in her lap.

Katya’s insides felt like sludge. Her throat burning from having been screamed raw. She turned her head against the couch cushion, eyes falling onto the accordion-style laundry rack Enyd had hauled with her that day. It was broken – one side’s legs having to be placed very carefully, as the bracing brackets had broken off – but it worked. Just like Enyd had promised.

She closed her eyes. At some point the couch shifted as Enyd rose. Then there was the soft press of lips to her temple, a loving murmur in her ear. When next Katya opened her eyes, Enyd was gone.

She went back to work the next day. Unwilling to keep eating up Enyd’s time. Hoping that the monotonous tasks of the clinic would dull the edges of the past few days.

Will pestered her when she appeared. Asked if she was okay. What had happened. Said that he was going to put in a formal complaint against Silco.

“Don’t do that,” Katya snapped harshly. “He didn’t do anything. It wasn’t him. I will be fine. Leave it.”

Will’s shoulders slumped, but he made the wise choice to not argue with her further.

As he wrapped his ratty coat around him, he said, “I finished stocking the supplies. I didn’t know why you had put some off to the side, but I put them with the rest of the inventory. Hope that’s okay.”

Katya stilled.

Right. Before she had gone to Fissure 27 – she swallowed down the bile gathering at the base of her throat – she had put a few items aside to stock for the Children and Enyd. She’d forgotten about it.

“Yes. That is fine. Thank you, Will.”

As that first day back slogged along, Katya kept looking at the clinic door. She didn’t know if she was wishing Silco would step through, or not. Part of her hoped he was still home.

She saw him next when she dropped off a bottle of medicine for Enyd.

Her heart made a home in her throat as she approached their apartment. The same mighty war raged within her as she knocked on the door: she craved to see Silco, then inexplicable shame would swoop in and fell that desire.

She shouldn’t expect his company, his companionship. She couldn’t pay the cost. Didn’t deserve it. Regardless of how much she may want it.

Agonizing relief sluiced over her bones when Enyd answered.

“Medicine,” Katya whispered by way of greeting. Reaching into her coat, she produced the larger bottle of decongestant. “Use the dropper from the smaller bottle. You could start taking an extra dose in the morning right now, since the cold weather makes your symptoms worse – “

“Katya,” Enyd crooned, taking the bottle and bringing a hand up to the young woman’s cheek. There was a pause, and she said, “Why don’t you come in?”

Katya shook her head, taking a step back. She flashed what she hoped was a grateful, but apologetic, smile.

“I cannot, unfortunately. I’m on my way to pick up Viktor – “

“Mum? Who’s at the door?”

Katya choked as her heart beat wildly in her throat. Her muscles tensed as they tried to decide whether bolting or freezing was the best option.

Then Silco appeared behind Enyd’s shoulder. He looked better than he had on her exam table. Bruising and swelling still puffed and discolored his eyelids and cheekbones, but it had since gone down. The bandage on his nose was gone, but the stitching on his lip stayed in place.

Katya’s throat wound tight. She was so happy, so relieved to see him. His presence a soothing balm to her scraped up heart and psyche. Yet, her boots remained rooted.

“Kat,” Silco said in a tone that danced between relief and excitement.

“I was just dropping off medicine for Enyd. I can’t stay. I need to pick up Viktor,” she robotically repeated.

The thick soles of her shoes shuffled against the floorboards, preparing her exit. Despite her leg’s attempts to walk away, her head and shoulders stayed facing the doorway. Her eyes glued to Silco’s.

She wanted to stay.

Wanted to talk with him.

Wanted to be with him.

Wanted him.

But she couldn’t. Shouldn’t. For reasons her trauma-addled brain couldn’t supply. Despite their lack of discernible motives, those thoughts won out.

“I need to go,” she said, and finally allowed her legs to carry her away. “See you both later.”

Like most of her movements of late, Katya didn’t remember getting to Piltover. The weight of the rucksack in her hand was the only thing that pulled her back online for a moment. She blinked. Her eyes fell on the worn canvas handle in her palm. She blinked, and then her eyes looked over and found Viktor. He looked back, open worry and confusion covering his face.

“What is wrong?” Viktor whispered to her when they took their seat in the conveyor car.

Katya pulled her lips into a reassuring smile. “Nothing. I am just tired. Long week, and I think I’m coming down with a small cold.”

The weekend past. On Monday, Katya took Viktor back to school.

The week past, too. A sludgy slog of colors and events that bled one into the next. Silco tried visiting Katya in the clinic, but she busied herself when he did. He stood dutifully near her during the Children’s meeting. His arms wrapped tight across his chest; fingers firmly tucked underneath his biceps.

Perhaps he was cross with her.

He should be, she figured.

Katya didn’t recall the meeting. Something about new supplies and updates on Enforcer activity.

She was, however, aware of the glances shot her way. The bitter, suspicious glares of Kells’s group of peers. Vander’s empathetic stare. He added a nod to it when she finally glanced in his direction.

Unwilling to linger, she slipped out just before the meeting ended; her bootheels a quick, snappy tap on the cobblestones.

“Kat.”

She froze, shoulders pitched up to her ears. This wasn’t the dream, but that call sparked the memory of it. Silco had called her then. Silco called for her now.

Slowly, Katya spun around, forcibly lowering her shoulders as she went. He wasn’t smiling like he had been in the dream. His face – which had become clearer in the passing days – was etched in an expression of deep concern.

In the dream, he had joyfully approached her. Now, he cautiously stepped forward. Like she was a wounded animal he didn’t want to spook.

She saw in his eyes that he wanted to say something.

“Can I walk you home?”

Yes. Yes, please.

“No, thank you. I can manage.” She gave him the same grin she’d given her brother, and turned on her heel.

“Kat.”

She stopped again. An unseen fist squeezing at her heart.

In the dream, the second time he had called, he’d come close. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. Now, Katya turned and watched him take a couple more steps.

“It is fine, Silco. Really.”

His footsteps stopped, the toes of his boots awkwardly scraping against the street. She heard the gulp he took, watched the way his hands flexed.

“Alright then. Get home safe.”

“Of course.”

Her legs carried her away. Something inside her wailed and begged to go back. It was promptly swallowed up by that beast that couldn’t stand the risk.

The weekend arrived, and Viktor came home. It past, and he went back to school.

Silco stood on Katya’s periphery all week. He would still stop by the clinic to check on her. He stood by her during meetings. But said very little, and Katya became acutely aware of how much she loved his voice.

Another weekend.

Another week.

Now, Katya sat on her couch. Her blanket cocooned her, as it had these past weeks. A great, fluffy shell that wrapped around her shoulders and haloed her head. The apartment’s light was dim. The air was quiet – save for the occasional clanks and hisses of the radiator. Despite it being the eve of Snowdown, she heard no celebrating outside her windows or door. There never was this deep in the Sump.

This year, the holiday had fallen in the middle of the week. Viktor was across the river. No doubt as lonely as she was.

She knew The Last Drop hosted a gathering for the holiday. It had for years. Even when her Papa had been a boy. Anyone who traipsed through the door was invited. She knew the Children would be there: Sevika and her siblings, Nasha, Benzo, Cairn, Annie, Beckett. Silco.

A vicious ache clanged through her. A yawning, angry emptiness that begged to be addressed.

But like when Silco had come after her that night to walk her home, the yearning was quickly gnashed between the pointed teeth of that same oily beast. Powerful, but slippery. Like it didn’t want to be looked at too closely. It simply wanted to swoop in, gobble up ridiculous things like desire, and retreat back to the shadows with little examination.

Just as the beast was about to recoil back into the vacuous recesses of Katya’s chest cavity, the yearning gave a mad thrash between its jaws. A powerful snap that threatened to crack the teeth that held it.

Katya’s heart swelled and lurched at the sensation. Sitting up straighter, she put a hand to her chest and pressed, as if that would dissuade any further tantruming from within.

The yearning jerked again, alive and insistent against the hold of its captor.

‘Go,’ it seemed to say as it attempted to pull itself from the serrated mouth that held it. ‘Go.’

A watery gasp blew from Katya’s mouth, and one of her feet dropped from the couch onto the floor. The movement, while not purposeful, finally caused the shadowy monster to scramble for a better hold. It braced itself against the cage of her ribs.

‘Don’t go,’ it hissed through a clenched jaw. ‘Don’t go.’

Katya blinked. Her shoulders dropped, as did her other foot.

Fear. That was the desire-eating thing. She knew it well. It had dictated most of her life until recently. Had kept her in-line until recently. Since her time with the Children – of feeling like she belonged to something, of feeling like she wanted something more – it had been skirted to the sidelines. Present, but not commanding. Kells, and what he had done to her had pushed it back onto the field, its stamina and intensity renewed from the break it had received.

Katya scooted to the edge of the couch, blanket dropping from her shoulders and gathering at her hips like soft folds of cumulus clouds.

That isn’t what she wanted. To let her desires decay and blow away in the wind. To let fear, Piltover, or anything else stomp out the inherent, wild value she had just begun to believe in.

The silvery slip of Desire caught in Fear’s jaws wriggled and thrashed excitedly. Fear strained, its claws losing purchase on her rib bones.

She wanted, she decided. She wanted to believe in her value, her worthiness.

Desire surged forward, most of its amorphous body slipping from Fear’s too-rigid teeth.

She wanted to trust in Zaun’s ability to pull itself out of the proverbial hole Piltover had made it dig for itself.

Desire whipped and twisted. Fear’s bite began to tire and give.

Katya stood and the blanket drooped to the floor. She wanted the same for herself.

With a final snap of its slender body, Desire broke free and gushed forward; just like how Katya’s feet strode for the door. Fear whimpered, empty jaws chattering, as it recoiled back.

Katya shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her coat from its peg, and burst out the door.

Her legs moved so swiftly that it felt like she was gliding, flying through the Sump and up into the Entresol. She wove around Snowdown revelers and underneath twinkling chem-bulbs single-mindedly, quick and swift as a canary.

It didn’t take long for The Last Drop to erupt in front of her, all merriment, togetherness, and neon green lights. Her heart thundered, and Desire serpentined inside her belly. Fists squeezing in her coat pockets, Katya surged forward.

As she anticipated, The Drop was packed, the patrons – Children and others alike – wonderfully happy in each other’s company. A few people raised glasses to her as she stepped inside, and she offered them careful smiles.

Over in a booth decorated with a ridiculous number of candles, Sevika beamed at her, and threw an arm up in greeting. Nasha was slung over her lap, preventing her from getting up. She gave Katya her own wave, and returned her attention back to twirling Sevika’s hair between her fingers.

Katya craned her head over the crowd as she shuffled closer toward the bar. Vander’s massive form flitted behind the countertop with grace that belied his stature. His face was ruddy with happiness as he addressed his customers.

Her eyes traveled down the long bar.

Looking.

Searching.

Her heart stuttered at the sight of Silco. Desire sang a song she’d never heard before.

He held a drink in his hand, his gaze cool and aloof as it traveled around the tavern. Then, like a homing missile, his eyes finally found hers.

Blue met gold.

Chapter Text

Silco stared at her for a moment, the thin line of his mouth slowly falling open.

For the briefest of moments, Kat felt like the rest of the tavern fell away. It was only her and him. Like in her dream. Her throat was a knot, her gut near exploding with the excited thrashing of Desire; her limbs trembled.

He set his drink down on the bar, and the noise and energy of the celebration rushed back in. Kat’s feet began moving again. Like she was a magnet, and Silco was one with an opposite pole.

“Kat,” he said, eyes wide, a nervous curl on his lips. His fingers twitched. Like he wanted to reach for her.

She reached for him instead, grabbing his hands.

Relief seeped from his palms into hers. She held tighter.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded, and she pulled him from the main room. She didn’t know at first where she wanted to go, but only knew the tavern was too noisy, too public. They snuck through the backrooms, past Vander’s private quarters, and into the alley behind The Drop.

The chill of the air took Kat’s breath away, the cold pricking her eyes. Her heart was galloping in her chest, an erratic rhythm that shook her body. Silco squeezed her hand.

“Kat?”

“This way,” she said, tugging at him.

Her feet led them to the rickety fire escape that snaked up the side of the The Last Drop like a withering vine. The metal clanged and whined beneath their boots as they climbed. The building the bar was in was tall, and when the pair reached the rooftop, the bustling square beneath spread out before them several stories below.

Kat’s heartrate slowed as she approached the waist-high wall that prevented the drop off the building, and looked out. The square beneath them thrummed with life. The sound of people, music, vehicles, buzzing chem-lights wove together in a symphony of unlikely beauty. The Last Drop’s marquee bled a warm spotlight onto the cobblestones, highlighting merry revelers entering and exiting the tavern and neighboring establishments, arm-in-arm with their friends and loved ones. Their laughter and happiness rose above the main musical theme of the Lanes in bursts, like bubbles floating, then popping playfully through the air.

It was beautiful. Tears shelved themselves along Kat’s eyelids.

It was beautiful. And she was part of it.

A sigh escaped from her lips in a watery shudder. Silco stood closer.

Finally, she looked up at him, gold eyes clear and bright like polished hexes.

“Silco, will you tell me about Zaun again?”

Silco’s voice caught, surprised by the question. His chest ached to see the broken, searching look behind Kat’s eyes. She had been so standoffish as of late. He missed her. Would she allow him to reach inside and help puzzle her back together?

A breath left him, a cloud filtering out through his lips and dissipating over the breeze. His eyes tracked through the crowd; his ears filled with the sounds of Zaun; the warmth of Kat’s palm pressed against his.

“Look down there, Kat.” He jut his chin to the wide open space below, and her eyes slid to look again. “We have made our intentions known. We’ve taken the first stand against Piltover, and they’ve tried to deter and choke us already. But look down there, think of what you walked into in The Last Drop. No one is afraid – at least not enough to cow down and remain small.

“That is what Zaun is: Brothers and Sisters standing against whatever is thrown at them. Loyal and steadfast. Fierce and wild in a way that chafes Piltover. Across the River, Topsiders police themselves and us to maintain the status quo. Their devotion is to their station, not their lives. Certainly not the lives of others. You’ve been over there. You have seen how dour and stagnate that city is. Pretty, perhaps. But it’s only an ornate and bejeweled husk. Piltover is not alive.”

Kat realized she’d been holding her breath the entire time Silco had been speaking. His grip on her hand was tight, solid. She looked up at him and saw the same fiery, passionate profile she’d taken in all those weeks ago when he had first showed her Zaun. When that first inkling of want and desire flickered inside of her. It filled her with awe.

“Zaun is alive,” he continued, voice fervent, eyes wide with possibility. “It is breathing. Look. Even beneath the surface, look how we thrive despite it all.”

“It is not a pipedream anymore,” Kat whispered in a wavering voice.

Silco’s head snapped in her direction. “It never was. We were always meant for this. We deserve it.”

Something unstoppable shifted in the air; a charge that had been building, preparing. Puffs of breath mingled between them like a binding fog. Desire leapt into Kat’s throat so suddenly she nearly choked. Her fingers latched tighter to his as she angled herself into the shelter of his body. He mirrored her, hand sliding out of hers only to rehome itself on the small of her back, pulling her closer. A small gasp hissed through her lips; his hold was warm and right. It caused Desire to shiver down her spine and pool low in her belly.

Thoughtlessly, her hands reached up. One combed through his hair, drawing the strands away from the angles of his face. The same thought as what came up at the Springs struck her: Beautiful. Her other hand cupped his left cheek, thumb running along the pink line that now hatched his upper lip, the stitches having since dissolved.

“We deserve it,” she repeated reverently, and closed the space between them.

The firm press of his lips against hers made Kat’s body lock up in delight. The hand in his hair gripped, while the other slid around his shoulders, holding him close. It was so much better than her dream. It was real. He was; and so was she.

Silco tugged her in closer, the hand on her back wrapping around her waist; the other reaching up to cradle her jaw. He used the hold to gently lean her head to the side, the opposing slant of their mouths allowing deeper access to each other. When his tongue gently swiped along her lower lip, a sharp inhale pulled in through Kat’s nose. Excitedly, she met him, tongue sliding over his with a relieved sigh.

Everything that had not filled out in her dream came into stark, beautiful relief. The eager push and pull of his lips and tongue against hers were warm and hungry. Like hers. The blade of his nose slotted against hers, caressing her cheek as his jaw moved. She could taste the bright-earthiness of the tobacco he used, the woody-burn of the whisky he’d left at the bar.

Desire gave way to lust, seeping lower, oozing past Kat’s navel. Sweet like honey. Her breasts began to feel heavy in their confines, nipples pinching tight.

She wanted more.

Such is the nature of desire.

Silco’s hand slid down from her neck, traveling in a commanding hold to her waist. His hand ghosted over her breast as it went, and her insides went molten. She clawed at his shoulders and back. An undeniable firmness and warmth pressed against her lower abdomen, and their kisses turned frenzied. Less lips; more tongue, teeth, and breath.

Kat snatched his lower lip between her teeth, and Silco finally paused. He watched her with wide eyes, pupils blown out; their hungry darkness having eaten away at the blue of his irises. Kat looked up at him, her eyes similarly darkened, his lip slowly sliding out from the hold of her incisors. When it finally snapped back, Silco rested his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled in damp huffs between them, their lips kiss-swollen and tingling.

“Should we go back inside?” he eventually whispered, hand running up her spine.

Kat swallowed, thinking.

They should.

But she didn’t want to.

She bit the inside of her lip, heart hammering, core beginning to throb. Her fingers dug into his shoulders; a sapling desperate to take root in sturdy ground.

Slowly, she nodded her head, but clarified in a breathy voice, “Yes. But not back to the party.”

If possible, Silco’s pupils dilated further. A grin, manic with enthrall, appeared on his face, and kissed her again.

“Come on,” he gasped, after pulling back from her lips in a sharp pop!

He grabbed Kat’s hand, and led her back to the fire escape and down. They tucked back into the lowlight of The Drop’s back rooms, staggering down the hall, ping-ponging off the walls as they grabbed and groped at each other, mouths meeting in messy kisses.

Silco pressed them against a door, pawing at the handle as his lips latched onto Kat’s neck. She mewled and squirmed – then squawked as the door opened and they tumbled through. Laughing, they tripped through Vander’s apartment on lust-sloppy feet until they reached another door that Silco pushed open.

“It’s a guest room,” he answered when the question flashed across her face. “This is where I stay if I spend the night.”

‘Room’ was a very generous term; it was more of a converted large closet. The space was just big enough to hold a twin bedframe and a few stacks of boxes whose use mimicked that of a dresser. None of this deterred Kat, though. She snicked the door shut, as he turned a small, pot-bellied lamp on.

When Silco turned, Kat was reaching for him once more. His hands greedily grabbed for her again, sliding beneath her open coat to grip at her waist and hips. Despite the animalistic tug of his body, a higher part of his brain managed to gutter back online for a moment.

He kissed her, sweeter this time, then asked, “This is okay? You’re sure?”

Kat looked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and sparkling. Her hands threaded back up into his hair, nails scraping across his scalp in pleasurable tracks. She was moved he had thought to ask. It only solidified what she knew.

“Yes. I want you.”

She pulled him into a kiss, deep and consuming, their tongues intertwining. After a minute, Silco’s lips trailed over her cheek to the space beneath the bolt of her jaw, confidence and excitement renewed by her confirmation.

His teeth nipped at her. “Do you have any contraband in this coat tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Kat chuckled. “Just me.”

She nudged her nose against his head, reeling his lips back to hers. As he kissed her, his hands slid back up to her shoulders, peeling the coat off her back and down her arms in a smooth movement. Her vest was next to follow, crumpling to the floor in a soft pile of canvas and old tweed.

Kat’s hands snapped to the closure of his shirt, ripping it open with a sharp tug. They slid across his sides and up the cut muscles of his back, hungry to feel him. Silco tugged the hem of his shirt out of his trousers and flailed his arms out of his sleeves; Kat’s hands pulling the garment along to help. It landed in a soft wumpf on the floor.

Kat’s eyes were closed, completely enraptured, and lost in the feelings, smells, and tastes of him. Her mind and body basked in the answers to mysteries she had been pondering for weeks. She barely felt the spin, but her eyes shot open when the back of her knees hit the foot of the bed. She flopped onto the mattress with a yelp. Silco chuckled, stooping down to undo her boots, then his own. Kat scrambled to sit up, hooking her fingers around her socks and ripping them off. Silco’s face crashed into hers as she did, bowling them back.

Kat laughed and kissed him. His body was a blessed, grounding weight that kept her right here, right now. Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and held him close; legs drifting apart, allowing him to nestle snuggly between her thighs. The warm, hard bulge in his trousers pressed promisingly against her. A sigh loosed itself from her throat. The crown of her head dropped back onto the pillow, and Silco returned his attention to her neck, its creamy expanse laid bare to him.

He licked, then latched on. A smile curled the corners of his mouth as she writhed needily beneath him. One arm burrowed beneath her body and the mattress, pulling her impossibly close; the other came up to palm the heavy weight of her breast.

The taste of sunshine was on her skin – as impossible as that seemed for someone who lived in the Sump. Deep, warm, and sweet. Like caramel being tempered across a confectioner’s marble table. He wanted more. He sucked hard – Kat gasping, her chest arching up into his – before popping off that spot and sucking onto another one an inch lower.

Breath came to Kat in sharp huffs, her hands desperately gripping in Silco’s hair and on his back. Every pull on her neck sent a twinge to her center. Her nails created crescent moons on the meat of his shoulders. Desire and lust looped and swelled inside her. A bright, luminescent ball that tingled her bones and warmed her from the inside out, opening and preparing.

Silco was not her first, and she highly doubted that she was his. She did not know what the statistics were in Piltover, but in the Undercity – where danger lurked around every corner in the form of Enforcers, desperate thugs, and illness – it was commonplace for people to be sexually active at a young age. To get the most out of a most-likely short life.

Kat had been older than the average Trencher; her first being when she was sixteen. A similarly aged boy who lived in the same apartment building as her, her father, and brother. He had been nice and polite, but the backbone of their brief relationship mostly had to do with curiosity and proximity. One day, he was arrested for pickpocketing a Topside woman in the Promenade, and was sent to Stillwater. Kat never saw him again.

The last fling Kat had occurred a few weeks before her father’s murder.  She’d met the young man at a food stall in Bridgewaltz, and cautious, but promising, sparks flew. She met him again the next night, and they went to a nearby boarding house that rented rooms by the hour.

Probably the worst five washers Kat had ever spent.

He hadn’t so much fondled her breasts as he had squeezed and yanked at them. His hips pistoned roughly and sloppily, and did not last long. And he had made a self-congratulatory pussycat joke upon rolling off her. She quickly cleaned and dressed, and never saw him again.

Silco moved to the other side of her neck, nipping at her jaw before sucking a third plum-colored mark right below it. A slight roll was beginning to build in his hips, the movement oiling his muscles and bones.

When his stiffness brushed against the seam of Kat’s trousers again, she panted and choked on a whimper.

Many sensations in her body felt familiar: the heavy, warm ache growing in her breasts, her nipples tightening to the point of discomfort; the wet, insistent pulse between her thighs . . .

Others weren’t.

The lust roiling inside of Kat was specifically for Silco. It was an itch that she only wanted him to scratch. Her other exploits, limited though they were, had not hinged on who her bedmate had been. Only that she had been curious, bored, lonely.

This Desire was specific. It was for him. And she felt hopeful, confident that his was too.

Kat’s hands left their hold on his back to tug at her shirt, pulling its hem from her trousers, before her fingers frantically began undoing the buttons.

Silco joined her, leaving the blossoming purple mark he had been working on to sit on his haunches, and hurriedly slip buttons through their eyelets. He nearly panted and salivated like a dog as more and more of her flesh was exposed to him. She was the color of a pearl and just as precious.

Kat thrashed her arms out of her sleeves, tossing the blouse onto the floor, before her hands wiggled behind her back to undo the hooks of her brassiere. Once undone, Silco shed the straps down her arms and threw the garment aside, revealing what he had been privately imagining since the Springs. Ample and heavy-bottomed, Kat’s breasts arched in their freedom; nipples, the color of her deep pink lips, stiff and proud.

Steadying the hungry shake of his hand, Silco held the weight of one of them, relishing the sensation of its softness. His breath hitched when Kat sighed and pressed into his hand. He dipped down, kissed her thoroughly, before settling prone over her, and began laving her other breast. His teeth puzzled against her nipple, and sucked. Kat gasped and choked on her pleasure, her spine bowing into him. Pleased, Silco spurred onward, his teeth and tongue performing an intricate dance over the sensitive bud.

Kat was no longer in control of how her body was reacting to him. Her hands struggled to find suitable purchase, gripping his body, then the sheets, then the pillow. Her hips undulated needily beneath him, searching for any sort of pressure to relief the maddening ache growing between her thighs.

Silco pulled away from her breast with a vicious tug that left Kat panting, and licked his way over to its partner. A moan that seamlessly wove together the sounds of eroticism and frustration bleated from her as he began nipping and sucking again. Her hands flew to grip his waist, attempting to make his pelvis crush against hers. Silco’s eyes rolled back behind his closed lids. She was so responsive and hungry. His dick strained at the front of his trousers, begging for attention.

Once both her breasts were glossy and rigid, he shifted down her torso, kissing the other moles and deep freckles now visible. His hands swept down the tantalizing curve of her waist as his lips and nose nuzzled the soft flesh of her stomach. Above him, she panted, her voice caught in a net of sharp breaths and half-words.

Silco raised himself again, sitting back on his heels. His own breathing was raggedly warped, a curse on the tip of his tongue as he beheld the woman under him. Kat’s chest heaved, her skin sweat-sheened and flushed; deep purple love-notes blossoming across her skin. Her eyes met his, a hazy, needy fire smoldering behind them.

Carefully, Silco’s fingers touched the waist of her pants. Kat’s eyes snapped open and she nodded madly.

“Yes!”

Together, they made quick work of her button fly, and tore her trousers off. Kat sighed as cool air hit the damp gusset of her underwear and her slick inner thighs. Silco’s fingers greedily gripped the waist of her undergarments, and Kat lifted her hips as he shucked them down and threw them into oblivion.

The curse finally leapt from Silco’s tongue in a disbelieving, “Fuck.”

She was lovelier than any daydream he’d manage to concoct. Luminescent and soft. Perfect. Her supple waist swooped into the generous curve of her hips, the flesh of her thighs quivering in anticipation.

“Sweet talker,” she giggled breathily, cheeks flushing like a rose.

Silco smiled and ran his hands up the length of her legs, marveling at their softness. As his palms grazed up, Kat’s hips canted. A needy reflex. His eyes honed in on the pretty thatch of curly hair between her thighs, at how the curls became dewy at the ends; the deep pink of her sex peeking out from underneath.

Saliva pooled under Silco’s tongue, and he licked his lips. His own aching need temporarily forgotten in the presence of this alter. Like a good disciple, he shimmied himself low, got onto his belly and guided her legs over his shoulders. Kat propped herself up on her elbows, watching him, her chest rapidly rising and falling in excited breaths.

He hadn’t even tasted her yet, and Silco already felt like he was drunk. The smell of her was so potent – a musky tang settling on the back of his tongue – and she was so warm – humidity radiating off her like a summertime rainstorm – that his mind wobbled with hunger and disbelief.

A soft coo from above drew him out of his revery. Blue met gold. His eyes were dilated and starry, hers were wide and waiting.

Silco scooched closer and took his first taste, his tongue a solid press and slide against her. A clipped, relieved groan sighed from Kat’s mouth, her body sagging. Silco’s eyes closed, a similar relief seeping through him. The sunshine taste of her skin boldened into something sharper here. A heady bouquet that he hoped would stay on his tongue for days after.

Silco drew back, and Kat whined at his absence. It was quickly remedied, though, as he snaked his hands up and around the crest of her hips and pulled her into his mouth. His actions were dichotomous: he ate like a man starved; but also licked and suckled at her methodically enough that it was clear her pleasure and experience was the priority.

Kat’s elbows gave way, and she collapsed onto the bed, a strangled cry caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Her gaze went down the length of her torso to the man between her thighs. Her imagination all those weeks ago paled in comparison to the real thing. Silco’s brows and eyelids remained soft, like he was at total peace and had all the time in the world to be with her. His nose rested against the split of her, breathing her in while his lips and tongue thoroughly explored below.

The sight and feeling of it all was overwhelming. Her head flopped back onto the pillow, vision swimming. The heat in her center pooled low and seeped out. She heard him groan against her, and tears pricked her eyes. Desire and euphoria bloomed big in her belly and chest. Her body trembled.

She wanted she wanted she wanted.

Despite his hold on her, Kat rocked her hips as much as she could. Matching the undulations of Silco’s tongue roll-for-roll. Wispy, sex-addled breaths and words huffed out from between her swollen lips. Affirmations and swears.

Silco’s mouth hooked in a smile against her. His eyes cracked open a sliver to watch Kat writhe, a lover’s pride filling him to see her peaked breasts, flushed skin, and pretty face twisted in erotic agony.

He drew back, left hand unwrapping from her hip so he could fill her with his fingers. His dick twitched at the warm, plush feel of her around his digits. His eyes fluttered when she moaned his name.

He would hear it again.

Like a hawk, his eyes honed in on the peak of her slit, to where that small bud sat hooded and sensitive. Bracketing his right forearm across her hip bones and gently shifting up, he unveiled his next target. Fingers hooking in such a way that had Kat gasping, Silco dove forward, flicking at her clitoris with the tip of his tongue.

She screeched and spasmed. A hand flew to his head and she grabbed his hair at the roots. The instruction was clear: Stay right there. Keep doing that.

Silco’s fingers pumped and pressed rhythmically, his tongue a steady dance on that little ball of nerves. Kat’s thighs began to shake around his head. His name was a chant on her lips once more. Delighted, enthralled, Silco took her clit between her lips and sucked.

Kat was teetering. Despite her screwed-shut eyes, she could see her climax barreling towards her. She was overwhelmed with the need for it, her want of it.

She wanted she wanted she wanted.

Despite everything – despite her desire, despite the man she had chosen – she could sense that this release had the potential to be the start of a big, life-altering reckoning. And while she wanted it, craved it, desired it, tendrils of fear slithered back out from behind her ribs. One last ditch effort to protect her from the unknown of choosing Silco. Choosing her life. Choosing herself.

Pleasure mounted. Desire coiled. Her skin grew tight over her bones.

She wanted. So, she chose.

Silco’s fingers pressed, his lips sucked, and Kat screamed her release with a resounding YES!

She renewed her hold on his head, and rode his fingers and tongue through wave after wave, hips rolling wildly as she claimed what was hers. And Silco stayed, dutifully pulling her orgasm along as long as she wanted.

Eventually, Kat’s body gave out, and her limbs became a quivering, jellied mess. Her legs slid off Silco’s shoulders, her hand released him and her arms lay boneless at her sides. Like bellows in the old forges of Augmentation Alley, her ribcage swung erratically. Her teeth chattered.

Distantly, she was aware of the feeling of Silco’s tongue back on her, cleaning her, kissing her thighs. Then, he suddenly scrabbled up the length of her body, hands coming to cup her face. She felt wetness between her cheeks and his palms.

“Kat. Kat. Hey. You’re okay? What’s wrong?”

She blinked, not understanding. There were tears in her eyes, she realized, and on her cheeks.

Sucking a great breath in, she prepared to tell him she was fine. More than fine. But instead of words, a bubbling sob-laugh burst from her mouth. She curled into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his back. He returned the hold automatically, limbs encompassing her without question. She panted and gasped into his neck, trying to speak.

“I got you,” he whispered above, drawing her closer. “I got you.”

There was a joyful laugh hidden within her labored breaths.

“You have me.”

Chapter Text

When Silco woke the next morning, there was a warm weight in his arms. A smile syrupy with sleep and bliss bloomed across his face, and he drew Kat closer. Her back was to him, his chest perfectly molded to it. Their legs tangled together, tight as a bramble bush. She breathed slowly, heavily; still asleep, her hands gently holding on to his.

She was naked. His trousers remained on.

The night before, his own need was quickly forgotten when he looked up from kissing and sucking her inner thighs, and saw tears trickling down her flushed cheeks. Her chest had swung up and down madly, as if on the cusp of hysteria. Silco’s stomach had dropped to his toes, his erection quickly dwindling as concern and fear shot through him.

Had he gone too far? Had she told him to stop and he hadn’t realized? Was she hurt?

Silco scrabbled up her body, petting his fingers through her hair, asking what was wrong. Kat had barked a sound – he couldn’t tell if it was one of distress or pleasure – and clung to him, her face burying in his neck. There, she planted kisses and whispers of “You have me” over and over. Silco held her tight, his heart thumping in relief, and responded back in kind.

Eventually, Kat wiggled her head out from under his jaw. She stayed close, her mouth finding his in gentle touches. Sweet nothings and sweet everythings were murmured between them, lips glancing off one another as they spoke, only to seamlessly meld back into kisses. They held each other close, chest and bellies firmly pressed together.

Occasionally, the muffled, joyous sounds of the Snowdown celebration in the bar made it through the walls, but neither noticed. Or made any attempt to leave the small bed. Silco pulled the covers up around them, creating a barrier between them and the rest.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, when they grew too tired to continue talking, tasting, and petting, Kat turned and nestled against his front; Silco’s arms wound around her, and they slept.

Now his face was caught in the tangle of her hair, his nose buried against her scalp. That sunshine scent was still there, curbed and softened by a smooth note of sleep. His arms rose and fell with the metronome of her breath.

Kat’s breathing changed: a long, slow, but sudden inhale signaling to her gentle reentry into the waking world. Silco pulled his face out of the chocolate sea of her hair, and watched as her right cheek bunched and eyelashes fluttered. Her head tilted over her shoulder, her sleep-heavy eyes finding his.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Mmmm, you didn’t,” she mumbled drowsily.

Half-heartedly, she attempted to spin in his arms. The farthest she got was torquing her upper body so she didn’t have to strain her neck to look over her shoulder. Their legs slid and squeezed at one another.

Carefully, one of her hands crept out of his hold and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. The back of her fingers slowly slid down the apple of his sharp cheekbone, nails grazing against his skin. He watched her; she him, her eyes the deep-orangey golds and coppers of an impending sunrise.

Silco’s face grew warm. Something fluttered madly in his chest.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she whispered back.

Her eyes, growing brighter by the moment, flicked to his mouth. The hand that had swept back up into his hair, gently curled around the back of his head. It was unnecessary, though. He didn’t need the encouragement.

Silco dipped forward and kissed her. Sweetly and slowly, as mornings call for. It was a shame to do so, but necessary to save Kat’s neck from straining – their legs unwound, and she spun to face him. Their lips reconnected quickly, arms and legs snaring up again. His hands were careful, but excited explorers on her warm skin. Fingertips caressing the planes and divots of her form; palms sweeping along her generous curves.

By no means was Kat Silco’s first. Like many Fissure children, he’d explored his body, and others’, young. Eleven had been his first kiss. At thirteen he received his first (very toothy) blow job from a similarly aged girl. He’d repaid the favor with what was an equally awful, fumbling fingering.

He was fourteen when he laid with a meek but willing sixteen-year-old girl. He’d met her while packing mine carts full of rubble. She had batted eyelashes at Vander, who had been hit by puberty as if by a chem-train. He’d snagged the attention of nearly all the young girls in the mine. Stretched tall with broad muscles, wispy stubble appearing on his chin and upper lip. He hadn’t glanced at the girl, and she took Silco as a second-place prize. It hadn’t hurt his feelings (not really). Like a true teenage boy, he was less interested in feelings and more on getting off.

The rest of his teenage years were punctuated by a string of casual dalliances. The longest sexual relationship (if one could call it such a thing) had been with a sex worker at Babette’s brothel when he was eighteen. A lithe, cat-eyed woman with dark hair named Brixie. He paid for her services, and she fulfilled them. And then some. Under her tutelage, she not only provided pleasure, but taught him how to be a thorough and attentive lover. She taught him the value – and erotic pleasure – of turning his partners into flushed and dripping, cock-drunk messes. Showed him the power of prioritizing their pleasure over his.

“You see?” she had said, pulling her lips off his cock, looking up at him through lush lashes. “Even though I am the one on my knees, it is me who holds the upper hand here – “ a tantalizing sweep of her soft hand up and down his shaft “ – my mouth, my body is what will bring you to ruin. You understand?”

Silco had nodded frantically, teeth grit, knuckles white as he gripped the dresser of Brixie’s room.

“But since I have the power,” she’d cooed, lips caressing down his length until her nose nestled against his hip crease, “I must also be of service. You understand that?” A long drag of her tongue brought her back to the head of him. Silco bit back a whine. “When one is in power, it is their responsibility to use that power to be of service.”

After a couple years, Brixie left the Undercity. She’d been socking away her coin for a boat ticket to get back to her family in Ionia. She’d overcome, and got out from underneath Piltover’s heel.

He honored her by putting her lessons to good use, and nary a dissatisfied woman left his figurative bed.

Kat was different, though. She had sneered at him at first glance, had pointed a loaded gun at his face later that same day. She’d listened to him. She didn’t scoff or poke fun at his intensity. She met it. She held no love for Piltover. She had a quiet ferocity, and was loyal. Not only to Zaun. But to his mother. To him.

He hadn’t just wanted to satisfy her, or get off by her hand, mouth, or cunt. He desired her in a way that he hadn’t with other bedmates. She pulled at something in him. An invisible thread anchored in his chest.

Was the other end in hers?

Kat’s tongue swept through his mouth, brushing against the chip in his teeth as it receded. An approving rumble hummed at the base of his throat, and he charged forward, widening his mouth against hers, tongues tangling in the middle. Traveling down, his right hand slid to her ass, gripping it hard. Kat gasped and hiked that leg up over Silco’s hip. He ground his hardened, clothed erection against her nakedness. They both grunted in approval.

Lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down his jaw, Kat ducked low and clamped possessive lips and teeth on his neck. With a voraciousness similar to him, she sucked. This time, Silco sucked in a tight breath. A surprised, guttural sound that bubbled from his throat. His hips spasmed, jerking hard into hers. She giggled against his throat, placing another mark beneath the first.

As she continued to mouth at him, Silco twitched and squirmed. The hand squeezing her rear pawed to the front, cupping her mound, fingers swiping through the wet folds of her inner labia. Kat made a satisfied sound against his pulse point, hips grinding down. Their lips found each other again as his middle finger pressed into her. Her kisses became pants against his mouth as she single-mindedly rode his hand.

Her own hand began to slide down his front, traveling over the firm planes of his chest and stomach. Like him, she paused at the waistband of his trousers, fingertips touching lightly. Itching.

“May I – can I touch you?”

Silco nodded and breathed a ‘yes’ into her mouth. His body froze, tremored, as her hand ghosted lower. She took a hold of him over his pants. Both made a pleased sound, their lust harmonizing.

Kat palmed the general shape of him, and then clawed at the buttons of his trousers, dissatisfied with the lack of warmth and details. Silco’s fly opened enough that he grunted at the freedom, and Kat’s hand excitedly dove past his undershorts. He was warm, silken, and heavy. Silco’s body stiffened in excitement, hips reflexively pressing forward, asking. Gladly, Kat swiped her hand down towards his tip. The kiss he was giving her turned into a shuddering breath.

“D-do you want to – “

“Yes!” He keened, his usually even-voice broken by eagerness. “Yes. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks.”

Kat growled, “Good. That makes two of us.”

Both of her hands went back to the fly of his pants, working it down all the way. In a mess of limbs and ragged breaths, they shifted across the bed: Silco rolling over to lay supine, Kat scrambling on top of him. The blanket they were wrapped in fell to the floor, utterly forgotten. Two pairs of hands yanked and pulled the trousers down over his lean thighs and calves. They had barely been tossed aside before Kat clawed at the waistband of his undershorts and yanked them down. He sprang free, a relieved grunt bursting through Silco’s teeth, and she grabbed him again, marveling.

Like most people in the Underground born with pricks, he was circumcised. A practical and cultural exercise – one less place for infection to lurk, the better. A fist-and-a-half long with a slight curve to the left. The light, olive pallor of his complexion turned darker at his groin; a muddled, purplish flush that deepened as it traveled from his balls to his tip. The head of him, which flared and turned up, had a bead of precum gathering at the slit.

Unable to stop herself, Kat took him in her mouth. Silco gasped – a terribly surprised, whiny sound. His hands hovered at her head, fighting the urge to press her further down. Much to his relief, Kat drew back and bobbed lower, her nose resting in the curly thatch of hair that haloed him. Her tongue massaged against the underside of his cock, pressing into a vein, and he choked on her nickname. She chuckled, pleased, and slowly drew off him.

Silco reached for her, and Kat readily slid up the length of his body, their lips melding together again. Wherever their skin touched, Silco felt sparks. Deep fizzing zaps that landed in his chest and groin, cock twitching and balls lifting. His arms and legs tangled around her in search of more. To see if their bodies would vibrate together.

They rolled over, Silco’s body enveloping Kat’s in a blanket of lust and need. Their tongues twisted between them. His hips began pumping and grinding against hers. His cock slid between her thighs, and he groaned into their kiss, the mild pressure there relieving and welcome. The movement and shape of him split her vulva wider, slicking him up with her arousal. Kat whined, her fingertips clawing at his shoulders. The sparks under his skin and the deep, excited fizzing grew and grew.

Unable to help himself, Silco propped himself up, hands on either side of Kat’s head. Her face was pink, that flush creeping down her neck to her chest. Her lips were swollen and kiss-bitten, eyes wide and glossy. His cock throbbed at the sight.

Kat’s gaze darted down, and his own followed. Together they watched him repeatedly graze her as his hips rocked. Her knees bent, legs lifting to gently encircle his waist. The motion canted her hips, and the next swipe of him settled deeper, his tip clipping her entrance, dragging across her clit.

A sound between a sigh and a groan, heady with desire, saturated with lust, slipped out of Kat’s mouth. The reaction it inspired in Silco was profound and feral. Animalistic. The need to fuck her stupid into the mattress overtaking him.

Enough was enough. They’d waited, and now it was time. Silco adjusted his hips, angling himself in preparation to finally fill her.

So consumed with the sight, smell, and feel of each other that neither one noticed or heard the shuffling of large feet in the hall outside. Nor the questioning call of a muffled voice, graveled with sleep.

“Sil? Ya in – WHOAMYGODS!”

Vander yelled and jumped, the door knob rattling violently as he reflexively yanked it. Katya screamed, and hurriedly rolled away from the door to hide her nakedness. She kneed Silco in the balls as she did, and he cried out and crumpled.

“OH MY GODS. I’M SO SORRY. I DIDN’ KNOW – “

“Get . . . out,” Silco wheezed from his doubled over position.

Face flaming red, Vander hurriedly slammed the door.

Fighting the gorge rising in the back of his throat, Silco flopped onto his side, a hand cupping his throbbing balls, the other covering his face. Kat’s spine kissed his as they lay in varying states of discomfort, embarrassment, and disappointment. Her eyes were wide with shock, hands slapped over her mouth in a silent, horrified scream.

They lay, bookended, like that for a minute: Kat, barely breathing, Silco further tucking in on himself as the pain in his groin radiated up into his stomach and lungs in curdling tendrils. A pained groan hissed behind his teeth, and Kat’s hand reached over and gave his hip an apologetic squeeze.

“I am sorry.”

Unable to speak, Silco tried to give her a placating grunt. It came out more as a pathetic whimper.

Disbelief ricocheted through his brain. They had been. So. Close. Vander couldn’t have waited ten more minutes before bursting through doors? He couldn’t have knocked? Disappointment, stone-heavy and warm with annoyance, slowly began to overtake the physical pain of his testicles getting kneed. Behind him, he felt Kat sit up and get off the bed.

“I should get going. I think.”

His heart sank further.

She shuffled about the small room, searching for her clothes. Silco stayed on his side for a moment more, face beginning to slacken in resignation. Slowly, he began to sit up, but did not leave the bed.

“Are you alright?” Kat asked, hiking her pants up and buttoning them.

Silco reached down and pulled the covers up into his lap. “I’ll be fine.”

Kat flattened her lips as she pulled her arms through the sleeves of her coat. Also discontented at the turn the morning had taken, seeing Silco’s hunched shoulders and hanging head only made her feel worse. She didn’t want to go. But the ‘mood’ was thoroughly dashed. And she did not want to linger in The Drop.

Running her fingers through her sleep-mussed hair a few times, she eyed the sculpt and slope of Silco’s shoulders and back appreciatively. Despite the interruption – and subsequent embarrassment – this was not where she wanted things to end.

Delicately, she stepped around the clothes on the floor and came to stand in front of him. She touched his jaw, and he looked up at her with a quirked brow. His eyes were wide, sheepish concern creeping behind them. It made Kat smile and she bent to give him a kiss.

“Will you come to my place tonight?” she asked, pulling away.

Concern quickly morphed into pleased anticipation. Silco reached up and pulled her into another kiss. His answer. The hand on her cheek quickly threaded up into her hair, and his other gripped the back of her thigh. Playfully, he tugged her closer. Kat giggled against his lips, patting his shoulders first, then gently pressing them back so she could extricate herself.

“I will see you tonight then,” she chuckled. The statement was delivered coolly, but her face pinkened and pinched in excitement.

“I’ll stop by the clinic after my shift. We can walk together?”

She had stepped toward the door, and Silco felt that thread in his chest tug. As if her walking out of his orbit put tension on it.

Kat placed a hand on the doorknob, and smiled happily at him.

“Yes. I want that.”

Vander stood behind the closed door for several moments. Eyes still wide, mouth still agape; heart pounding so furiously that it felt like it was about to burst from his chest, like an agitated bird in a faulty cage. He wanted to melt. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to die.

Not really, he decided after a moment, as his higher brain slowly circuited back online. He was just absolutely mortified. And heartache-tinged disappointment was close on its heels. Shakily, he staggered away from the guest room, down the dim hallway. He shook his head repeatedly, shaggy brown hair swishing over his pinched brow. He wanted desperately for the scene he’d stumbled in on to evaporate from his mind’s eye.

“He was going to if the medic he’s eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!”

That young punk’s comment clanged through Vander’s ribs, a horrific ache rippling across his insides. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but now it seemed confirmed.

Bile rose in the back of Vander’s throat and he trudged into the tavern.

The place was a mess. Remnants of last night’s celebration strewn about like festive garbage. Torn garlands looped around poles and rafters, turned over stools and empty cups littered the floor, the tinsel Annie had placed on the jukebox had been drug all about the bar, glittering as if the inside had been iced.

Benzo sat, gray and beleaguered, at the bar, hunched over a glass of water. He had passed out in a booth at the end of the night, and Vander had been too tired to find a means to get him home.

Benzo’s hungover eyes pulled Vander’s form into focus slowly.

“Wha’s wrong wiff you?” he mumbled through his gummy mouth. “Ya look as if ya seen a ghost, or summit.”

Vander opened his mouth to reply, decided against it, and went about straightening up the bar with distant, single-minded focus. Benzo raised an eyebrow at him and sat up, his intuition quickly unfogging. He took a cool drink of water, savoring the way it drenched his liquor-parched insides, before he tried to ask again.

The sudden, hurried taps of a pair of feet stopped him, though, and his brows shot up (a motion that made his head ring) as Katya burst through the doors that led to the living quarters. She jolted to a stop at the sight of them, her face reddening. Benzo watched as Vander’s face also flushed.

“Mornin’ Katya,” Benzo croaked, looking between her and his Brother. “Didn’ know you were here – “

“Yes,” she mumbled, pulling her coat collar tighter around her neck. Her eyes dropped to avoid either of their gazes. “Yes. But I was just leaving – “

“’M sorry, Katya,” Vander suddenly blurted.

“It’s fine, Vander,” she muttered, quickly skirting away from the bar and toward the door. “Do not worry about it. I’ll see you both later. Blessed Snowdown.”

The front door closed with a sharp smack, and she was gone.

“What was that about?” Benzo asked, turning back to the bar. “Wha’ happened?”

The flush on Vander’s face and neck deepened. Going beyond discomfort into upset. As he opened his mouth to explain, another pair of feet – these ones stomping – interrupted. Silco burst through the same doors looking positively furious. His boots were unbuckled, shirt sloppily secured so that it puckered and billowed in odd places. Clearly, he’d gotten dressed in an incensed huff.

“Ever heard of knocking?” he demanded, fixing his glare on Vander.

The barkeep was taken aback, eyes going wide. The red on his face went mottled with indignation.

“It’s my place, innit? I shouldn’ hafta knock in my own house!”

“What happened? Wha’s goin’ on?” Benzo asked again, looking from Vander to Silco.

“So what? You’re just going to barge into the bathroom the next time I’m taking a piss?”

“That’s not the same, Sil. N’ you know it.”

“Do you have any idea when the last time I got laid was?”

“Then get back t’ Babette’s! My guest rooms aren’t your own personal whore house.”

“She’s not a whore!” Silco bellowed, rageful disbelief twisting his face.

Vander blanched, then sheepishly looked away. “Sorry. I shouldn’ have said that. ‘M sorry.”

Benzo took another sip of water, watching the pair and letting the news they were yelling about settle into his body. Letting it coalesce with how Katya had hurriedly scampered from the bar. His eye’s honed in on the dark splotches dappling Silco’s neck.

“Ya didn’ get laid?” Benzo asked airily. “Looks like she did a number on you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Benzo!”

“Okay, okay,” Vander said, massive hands lifting to motion for calm. The fight in him had quickly dwindled, the ache that had been skirting the edges of his adrenaline bleeding in. He looked back to Silco, “’M sorry, ‘kay? I didn’ know ya were with Katya. Jus . . . I dunno. Hang a sock ‘r somethin’ on the door next time.”

The ire and fight in Silco’s face softened, but only a little. He looked at the clock on the wall behind Vander’s head.

“I need to get going.”

“Talk to you later, yeah?”

Silco sighed through his nose, brow still furrowed, and nodded. Shoulders drooping a bit, he shuffled back to the guest room to finish dressing.

“Ya walk in on somethin’?” Benzo asked after a moment of silence.

Vander sighed, and wearily began collecting left tankards and glasses from the bar top.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, not looking at his friend. “Sil in bed with Katya. Both naked. Dunno if I interrupted the main event, or if they had even gotten started. But . . . “

His voice drifted off as his mind unhelpfully supplied images of Silco hovering over Katya, her legs bracketing his waist; his dick poised to slip inside her. Vander shook his head again and swallowed. He dumped the cups into the sink and began to run the water.

Benzo’s wide features grew soft and somber, watching the way Vander wilted. How his head hung heavy, how the weight of grief settled across his shoulders like a yoke.

“Oi Van.”

There was a pause before Vander lifted his head and looked over, his expression carefully distant. Benzo fixed him with a surprisingly sympathetic look.

“I know I have the reputation of bein’ sorta thick n’ crass. ‘N I’m fine with that,” he said, shoulders lifting up in a laissez-faire shrug. “But, I know ya. N’ ‘M not blind.”

Vander’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes shone with vulnerability. Benzo tilted his head, his gaze flicking to the door Silco had disappeared through.

“He won’ know ‘less ya tell ‘im.”

Vander’s shoulders bristled. He swallowed and turned his attention back to the soapy water.

“I – he – “ Vander tried, but his voice kept choking and clicking over the words. A mighty rumble cleared his throat, and he tried again. “He’s my best mate, ‘Zo. I don’ wanna ruin anything.”

His voice was horribly quiet. It was amazing that someone so big could ever seem small. Benzo’s brow crumpled. He took another gulp of water, and sat with Vander as he washed dishes in silence.

Once dressed, Silco headed home to check on his mother before heading to the mines. A small piece of him felt guilty not returning the night before. Her cough had been quite rough the previous day – even with the medicine. The fits had left her shaky. She’d had to hold on to countertops and walls to support herself while maneuvering around the flat. Breaths that did not lead to strings of coughs came in soft, rasping whistles, and she would put a hand on her chest as if in pain.

Silco’s guilt was partly assuaged when he entered their home, and was greeted by the smell of yeast and cornmeal.

“Mum?”

“Kitchen!”

Toeing off his boots, Silco stepped down the hall and peered into the small galley-style kitchen. Enyd’s artillery of baking supplies were already lined up, prepared for that day’s battle. The oven ticked and warmed the air, helping to bloom the small bowls of yeast lined on the back of the stovetop. Enyd stood on a small stool, carefully pulling a burlap sack of flour from an upper cabinet.

“You seem to be feeling better.” Silco’s tone was casual, but the tint of rosy hope was clear in his voice.

“Blessed Snowdown to you, too, son,” Enyd grunted, hefting the bag into her arms and closing the cupboard door. She gingerly stepped off the stool and set the bag down. “How was The Drop’s party last night? I was sorry not to come.”

Silco’s mind stuttered for a moment. He’d not gone to the party. Not really. As smoothly as he could, he brushed his hair around his neck, attempting to shadow the hickeys Kat had left on him. Unfortunately, his hair was not quite long enough, and it just uselessly swished under his ear.

“It was fine. The usual ruckus.”

Enyd nodded, a smile wistful with bitter-sweet regret and memories curling her lips. She began measuring cups of soft, cream-colored flour into a large, chipped bowl.

“Aren’t you due at the mines?”

“In a bit. I wanted to check on you first.”

Gratitude deepened the smile on Enyd’s face. Humbleness edged it, the unspoken threat of her death looming over them.

“My perfect boy,” she sighed.

She reached a hand out and cupped his cheek. For a second, her eyes flitted to the bruises on his neck. Silco felt his stomach coil and face warm. Enyd’s face betrayed nothing as she stepped back to finish measuring the flour.

Silco did his best to tamp down the roiling unease rippling through his gut. He was twenty-three for Janna’s sake! While he had never brought a bedmate home, his mother knew he frolicked about. It was only natural. They’d had ‘the talk’ when he was twelve, with an emphases on consent and safety that had left Enyd teary-eyed and Silco burning with shame. Since then, there had been very little discussion on the matter. That is to say: None.

And true to that, the next thing Enyd said was, “Shall I warm up some stew for you tonight? Will you be home?”

Heat warmed like coals in his cheeks. “Ah – No. I won’t be home tonight – “

“Vander should begin charging you rent at this point – “

“I’m going to go to Kat’s, actually.”

He tried to sound nonchalant, but Enyd’s cup halted in the flour bag and her head snapped in his direction. Silco suddenly became very interested in a fleck of peeling paint on the wall.

“Kat’s?”

Silco nodded, wiping the paint chip he peeled up on his trousers.

“How long has that been going on?”

As much as he willed it not to, Silco felt the warmth in his cheeks bloom into a pink flush across his face.

“Not that long,” he admitted. His feet shifted nervously over the threshold, toes catching on the metal strip.

Despite the color in his face and waver in his voice, Silco held his mother’s gaze. He hadn’t expected her to scold or argue with him, but when her surprised expression shifted to a beatific smile, he felt his insides sag with relief.

She returned her attention to the flour saying, “I’m glad. She’s a lovely young woman. She seems to make you happy.”

“She does.”

A beat of silence before Enyd eyed the small built-in clock on the oven. “You should hurry if you’re to make it to work on time.”

Silco nodded and stepped over to buss her on her temple.

“Have a good day, Mum. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Silco said as he headed back toward the front door.

As he slipped his boots back on, Enyd’s voice raised from the kitchen: “Be safe!”

Silco bit back the groan in his throat, but allowed himself the eyeroll.

He replied, “Yes, mum. We will be.”

The day went by in a sloppy, jarring whirlwind. Katya arrived at the clinic and kept her coat on until Will left, using its collar to cover and shadow the numerous dark splotches on her neck. Once alone, she wound her long hair into an intricate braid that veered to the right side of her neck, hiding most of Silco’s love-bites.

Katya finished her daily tasks within two hours. The excited buzz of the night’s previous events, and the promise of imminent ones, propelling her to impatient levels of productivity. The time between miners coming in for non-emergency medical care dragged. Once they arrived, the time passed in an unfairly uneven sense; the patients’ visits being much shorter than what it felt like to Katya.

She huffed, looking at her pocket watch and realizing that the time had passed was less than half of what she’d thought. Agitated, she paced. In the quiet, plentiful space of time, her bored mind drummed up memories from the previous night. The feel of Silco’s lips on hers, his breath on her skin, his tongue in her body –

A miner would always come in at that point, popping her bubble. Befuddled and tomato-faced, she’d awkwardly tend to what they needed.

Katya was rearranging the desk drawers for the fifth time when Silco finally appeared at the clinic door. She jumped, and her heart bolted to her throat. Excited nerves tingled under her skin like a million little shocks. Her gut coiled girlishly, but she couldn’t help it. He stayed in the doorway, and she cocked her head at him. Rounding the desk, she got a better look and she chuckled.

Silco was positively filthy. Covered head-to-toe in soot, except for his face and hands which he’d wiped clean.

“What happened?”

“Someone loaded a cart full of unrefined chip gravel incorrectly, and it tipped. Foreman had us shovel it back in by hand.”

Kat’s nose wrinkled and she stepped closer.

“Your hands are alright?”

He presented his palms, stark white in comparison to his charcoal-colored forearms. “Yes. I had gloves, fortunately.”

Kat’s fingertips reached out and grazed the ridges, valleys, and callouses of his palms. The sparks under her skin fizzed and popped like bubbles. Reflexively, Silco’s own fingers curled in. The motion made her heart hammer.

When he spoke next, there was a heavy reluctance to his voice, “I should probably head home. I don’t want to bring this mess to your place.”

Kat’s head snapped up. Panic rose in her throat. “Nonsense. I have a shower.”

The soot-lines on his face relaxed. But only a bit.

“I’ll need a change of clothes.”

“I’ve done laundry, Silco,” Kat scoffed. “Plus, your mother brought me her old drying rack. It’s no trouble.”

Silco’s fingers finished curling around hers, a relieved smile blooming on his face. “Yes. Alright.”

They stared at each other; hands held between them. Kat was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, soot be damned. But she didn’t. Mostly because she didn’t think she would be able to stop once she started. Partly because she didn’t want Will to catch her, and then have to deal with his nosy questions and worried advice.

“Will should be here shortly,” she said, giving his fingers a squeeze before letting go. “I’ll get my coat.”

Her knees nearly knocked in excitement as she skittered over to the coat tree. Silco watched her backside appreciatively – and without guilt – as she walked away.

“Excuse me, young man.”

Silco jumped as Will appeared behind him. The other medic eyed his dirty state suspiciously, his eyes darting to the clinic beyond, then back to his face.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“No. I was just – “

“He’s waiting for me, Will,” Katya explained walking back to the door, tugging her coat around her. The tone she used was firm enough to discourage further questions. “Let’s go,” she said to Silco.

Together, they left Will perturbed and bothered in the clinic doorway.

“Aren’t you cold?” Kat asked as they swept through the Lanes.

The wind didn’t bite like it did above ground, but it held the distinct bone-chill of the cold season even within the winding crevasses and alleyways of Zaun. Seeping into rocks and stretching across metal. And it had Kat eying Silco’s lack of outerwear suspiciously. He simply shrugged, which she found maddening and amusing all at once.

“I’m fine. I think the soot is keeping me warm.”

Kat laughed. He decided he wanted to hear it again.

“If you’re concerned, invite me into your coat.”

It worked. She laughed again and held his hand tighter.

“I think not. I think I will let you suffer the consequences of being a bull-headed man who thinks it’s impressive to disregard the weather.”

Silco waited a few steps before swooping in front of her, and slid himself between the lapels of her coat. Kat shrieked in delight as their fronts met. Neither cared, nor noticed, the looks they received from people passing by. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he dipped down to kiss her.

Kat grinned up into the kiss, her arms doing their best to wrap as much of Silco in her coat as possible. Most of his back remained exposed to the elements, though, and she decided to run her hands up and down his spine as a means to warm him.

“Alright, I concede,” he said when their mouths parted, “this is warmer.”

The vibrations of Kat’s laugh danced under his skin in swirling tingles. He leaned in, the blade of his nose gently bumping against hers.

“Mmmm. Yes. But,” she replied, “now you’ve gotten your mess all over me and my clothes. A scheme to increase the load of laundry, I see.”

He leaned in closer, lips nearly brushing together. “More a ploy to get you in the shower with me.”

Kat’s breath hitched. Her core pulsed and lifted toward her navel. She kissed him again, hungrier this time. Tongues gently glancing off one another, breathing beginning to border on needy and ragged. She pulled back before completely losing herself to baser needs.

“We better get going then.”

Chapter Text

Kat had never once thought to be concerned with what the other people in her tenement thought. This deep in the Sump, most kept to themselves. Too sick to talk, too distrusting to foster relationships, too strung out on drugs to care about much else. She and Viktor lived quietly, unassumingly.

Now, with Silco’s fingers hooking inside her, she was keening and moaning loudly. The realization that she had neighbors flashed on the periphery of her mind. Perhaps she should stifle the grunts and cries pouring from her. Then the heel of his hand circled her clit and she decided she didn’t care.

Earlier, when her apartment door came into sight, her heart’s beat became a furious patter. She squeezed Silco’s fingers, and she was certain she could feel the blood rushing through his hand quicken. Their feet kept the same pace, but the energy between them heightened. Buzzed like a struck tuning fork. They both kept their eyes on the door, for fear that if they glanced at one another they’d never make it inside.

Kat closed and locked the door behind them, and it was over.

Silco was on her before she’d barely turned around, pinning her to the door, mouth wide and eager. She met him with equal fervor, hands clawing at his back and shoulders. He wedged his thigh between hers and pressed up. Kat mewled into the kiss and rocked her hips over the saddle of his leg.

He worked her coat off her shoulders, and it fell to the ground in a heap. Unwilling to part in any meaningful way, they each thrashed and danced their boots off.

“It was so bloody hard to stay focused today,” he had breathed between kisses.

“I know.”

“I could taste you all fucking day. Smell you as if you were right under my nose.”

“I couldn’t – hng – stop thinking about your mouth. Having it on me. In me.”

Silco groaned. Her hands went for his belt; his grabbed at the buttons of her blouse. They stumbled toward the bathroom, locked together with greedy hands and sloppy kisses.

His belt had been freed first – flung haphazardly into a corner. Quickly followed by Kat’s vest and top. Silco knelt, shucking the trousers and underwear down her legs, as she twisted at the waist to turn the showerhead on.

A yelp burst from her when Silco mouthed at the crux of her thighs. She spun back and watched the man on his knees. Warm, calloused hands creeped up her legs and held them while he feasted. Intense, blue eyes stared up at her. A guttural moan rippled from her mouth as his tongue flicked her clit. Her hands tried desperately to find some kind of hold on the walls as her legs trembled.

Before she could tumble, Kat had pulled at Silco’s shirt and dragged him back up to standing. His lips latched hungrily onto hers, tongue prying her mouth apart as they undid the clasps of his shirt and tossed it away.

Then, Kat had dropped to her own knees. She held his gaze while she popped the buttons on his trousers, and pulled them and his undershorts down in one swoop. His cock bobbed free and smeared a string of precum on her cheek. She kept his gaze like he’d done her, and licked the underside of him from root to tip.

That same hot, feral need that had pummeled him in the morning hit him again like a chem-tank. The urge to have her, take her, fill her a near blinding thing. Kat’s tongue swirled his glans, gathering a new bead of arousal. He fought the jerk in his hips as her hands slid up the back of his thighs. She gripped his buttocks firmly and bobbed down the length of him. Silco moaned, chin tipping toward the ceiling, a hand threading itself through Kat’s thick hair. The heat and wet of her mouth felt like summer in Zaun. It made him see stars and forget to breathe.

She pulled off, and made to rise. Silco gripped her arms and hauled her into another fierce kiss, letting their tastes mix and mingle between their tongues.

Mouths linked and bodies pressed together, they had stumbled into the shower. Warm water sprayed in uneven spurts over them. The soot on their skin ran off in rivulets, and spun in gray whirlpools down the drain.

Silco pushed her against the tiles, his hands roaming hungrily. Palming her breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers, sweeping down and squeezing her ass.

Now, his fingers were inside her, the heel of his hand grazing the swollen nub at the apex of her labia, pulling wild sounds from her. Her lips couldn’t even pucker into kisses anymore, stuck in a slack-jawed position that allowed moans and whimpers of all kinds to slide out. Her breath came in wet huffs fanning across Silco’s cheek. He watched her intently (had he even blinked?), the muscles of his left arm flexing furiously as he worked her. His body glistened and rippled in the sheen of the water.

It made him look like a dream, Kat thought.

Silco’s free hand swept down her left thigh, drawing it up to hook around his hips. The shift in her pelvis opened her more, his fingertips curling, pressing. Kat cried out, trying to move frantically against him. The heel of his hand met her, moving in tandem with the swing of her hips.

“L-less pressure. Pull your h-ha-A-nd back a bit.”

“Always listen when they speak.” Another of Brixie’s lessons. “They will always know their body better than you do.”

Silco drew the heel of his hand back a scant, and after a few circles, Kat’s breath became increasingly shallow and ragged. The leg around him trembled. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, little crescent moons blossoming beneath them.

“A-almost . . . almost.”

Silco watched her intently, felt her deeply. The way her thick, expressive brows pitched up. The way the plush feel of her choked up around his fingers. She was beautiful, spectacular. He could not decide if he wanted to keep watching, or close the space between their mouths. To swallow up the sounds she’d make when she’d finally crest and tip.

Kat’s insides lifted and tightened as her orgasm skirted closer, licking at the base of her spine in teasing laps. Until it wrapped around her completely. She wailed, her hips slamming back against Silco’s hand and grinding feverishly against it. Silco listened to her cue and pressed firmly against her, hand oscillating frantically as his fingers arched and pressed as firmly as they could.

He didn’t blink as she broke apart over him. Utterly enamored and turned on by how her skin flushed, by how her face tightened into a plead before melting in relief. His hand slowed as her hips did.

The hold he had on her remained secure as Kat’s body softened and grew post-orgasm heavy. He bent down and kissed her, a moan vibrating against his lips as he withdrew his fingers. He brought them up as he drew back, and placed the pads against her kiss-bitten lips. Without hesitation she took them into her mouth and sucked, eyes hazy with satisfaction.

“You see how distracting you are?”

Kat’s lips curled into a drowsy smile around his fingers, before pulling back.

“I am not sorry.”

Silco smiled darkly, and closed the space between them. The head of his dick probed and pressed against the top of her cleft, brushing over her sensitive nub. Kat whimpered. His left hand gripped her right buttock, tugging at it firmly in instruction. She nodded, flecks of water flying off her head.

They moved in tandem: Silco stooping slightly while Kat bounced up. She wrapped both legs tightly around his waist, and he gripped her ass, her spine firmly pressed against the wall. While not broad and wide like Vander or Benzo, laboring in the mines for most of his life had laid deceptive strength in his long, wiry muscles.

Kat – now hovering a couple inches above him – ducked down, tingling lips hungrily sliding across his. Her body jolted at the first press of his cock against her. She canted her hips in his hands, bettering the angle. Silco tentatively thrust forward, and the tip of him nestled within her. They both gasped, bodies quivering, hearts racing. He drew back, and pressed forward again until he was fully sheathed. Kat keened; he gulped down a great breath, face pressing against the warm, wet skin of her throat.

She felt so good. Perfect. Warm, wet, and snug. His mind went blank. Part of him wondered if he could stay right here, forever in her hold.

Then the clutch of her pulsed around him, and Silco’s brain surged back online, suddenly remembering the need to move. His hips drew back, and he slid home. Again. And again. Kat’s breasts jostled against his chest. Water collected between them and then fell to the floor in a sharp, splashing rhythm as the connection between them met and broke over and over. The wall behind her shook. Neither could bring themselves to care.

If a whole building could be undone by a good fuck, so be it.

Kat pulled Silco back into a searing kiss. Mostly tongues, teeth, and shuddering breath. One of her heels slipped down his back. She quickly pressed into his tailbone to keep from falling further, less their union be broken. The pressure sent him deeper, and she moaned loudly when the head of him hit something so profound it sent sparks bursting behind her eyelids.

Her other heel hooked itself beneath the cut of one of his ass-cheeks and pressed up. His pelvis crashed closer, wiry pubic hair a near constant tickle against her swollen clit. She threw her head back and panted.

“Yes. Y-yes! Keep d-do-O-ing that!”

Silco renewed the grip he had on her, and firmed his feet against the wet floor, fucking her with single-minded focus. One of Kat’s breasts bounced up, and he caught its nipple between his teeth, and sucked hard. She cried out and clawed at his shoulders and back. Her body shook and rattled. She was a live-wire, primed to short-circuit in the best possible way.

“Keep going keep going keep going keep – oh! – “

Her second orgasm ripped through her with shocking intensity. A harsh cry blazed up her throat with searing heat. Her whole body went rigid, locked into itself as pleasure shook her from the inside out.

All the while, Silco dutifully kept his pace. It was as much for her as it was him. He could feel a similar release building in his own body; navel lifting, balls tightening. The excitement in his belly coiled as her cunt squeezed and pulsed at him through her climax.

When Kat sighed and began to sag, he quickened his pace.

He was close.

So close.

He kept a careful eye on that spool of pleasure – waiting, feeling for the first sign of his unraveling.

He pulled off her breast, and hissed, “K-kat.”

Even through the murk of her orgasm-addled brain, she heard and understood him. Her legs loosened around his waist. He pumped once, twice more before pulling out and thrusting forward, across her perineum and through the cleft of her ass. Silco gasped his climax, the sound transforming into a gravelly moan as his cock spurt ropes of himself onto the shower wall. He panted against her collarbone; his skin prickled with goose-flesh.

“Holy shit,” Kat breathed, head still tilted up against the wall.

Silco could only nod against her.

He gulped and managed, “I need a cigarette.”

Kat playfully slapped his shoulder, and let her legs slide down until her feet touched the wet tiles below. Silco’s hands stayed on her, keeping her close. He took in her glowing pink face, her eyes glittering like the hexes they’d stolen. There was nothing to do but kiss her. So, he did.

After, they actually showered; washing the last remnants of soot away with the thin bar of soap kept in the shower’s corner.

Kat gave Silco a towel to dry himself off with, and wear around his waist while his clothes were being laundered. Despite having just had sex with him, she still blushed when she donned the shirt he’d gifted her many weeks ago.

That thread in his chest vibrated as if it had been plucked. A chord of adoration thrummed through him at the sight. He tugged at the hem of the garment and drew her closer.

“The morning after you sewed up Benzo,” he said, “and I saw you in this, I wanted to say how good you looked wearing it.”

A bolt of joy shot through Kat. The fragments of it fizzed in her fingers and toes. Her face pinched in a pleased smile.

“Is that so?” Silco nodded. “Well, may I say that you look quite dashing in my towel.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he leaned forward to kiss her. It was an easy, intimate, sweet thing, and it made Kat happier than she could remember being in a long time.

“If you really need a cigarette, you can smoke one,” she said as they drew apart.

Silco cocked his head at her. “I thought smoking was bad for me.”

“It is. But . . . I want you to be comfortable here.”

“Such a gracious host.”

He kissed her again.

“Just do it by a window,” she insisted, to which he smirked and nodded.

They drew apart, gathered their dirty clothes – Silco pulling his cigarette tin from his trousers – and headed to the kitchen. A large pot of water was heated, and the sink was plugged and filled. They worked easily together. Kat dunked and sloshed clothes in the hot water. She rubbed out soot marks with the same small bar of soap from the shower, before handing them to Silco. He submerged them in the sink, rinsing and wringing the items out. She quietly watched the flex of his muscles as he twisted the sopping clothes, grateful she could hide the color rising in her cheeks behind the steam wafting off the large pot.

When the task was done, Silco took the damp garments to the living room to hang on the drying rack, and Kat went about making tea.

He spread the items evenly across the rungs, mindful of the rack’s uneven footing. As he gently tugged the fold out of his shirt, he noticed the stack of books behind the rack. Carefully, he pulled it back a foot, and knelt in front of the pile. His eyes roved the spines curiously. A finger reached out to gently brush over the embossed titles and ragged jackets. The texts’ subjects varied greatly; from the sciences to history to law to mathematics to the arts. He plucked out a slim book on empires and government. Cracking the small living room window, he lit a cigarette and leafed through the pages.

A couple minutes later, Kat rounded the corner, two steaming mugs in hand. She eyed the book he was thumbing through, and asked, “Ah. Which one are you looking at?”

“Ezra S. Flint’s The Rise and Fall of Runeterra’s Ancient Empires.”

“Hmmm. I don’t know if Papa ever got around to reading that one.”

She set the mugs on the coffee table and plopped on the couch. Silco stubbed his cigarette out on the bricks outside and shut the window. He settled next to her, book in hand. Kat swung her legs over his lap and nestled her head against his shoulder. She covered them in one of her new blankets, and eyed their clothes on the drying rack. She quite liked the sight of their things cohabitating. Warm and heavy with comfort, Kat’s body melted against his, and Silco looped an arm around her shoulders.

They picked through pages of Flint’s book, discussing points of interest. Taking note of what felled mighty nations and what bolstered them. Dreaming what might work for the future of Zaun.

But their coupling was new, and so it was not long before their mouths found one another’s again. Wasn’t long before their breathing became labored and the air between them became hot. Wasn’t long before Silco slid his hand up his shirt and fondled Kat’s breasts. Wasn’t long before Kat ripped open the towel around Silco’s waist and got onto her knees. Wasn’t long before they stumbled to Kat’s bedroom, their tea undrunk and forgotten, the book lost in the folds of the blanket.

Silco took her from behind, enthralled by the way the meat on her hips and thighs jiggled with each thrust. Kat savored the depth he was able to reach, the way his balls beat rhythmically against her backside. She shared her pleasure with affirming grunts and moans, hands curling tightly into her bedding. He snuck his clever fingers underneath, and worried at her clit until her back bowed and she cried out. He cupped her as she rut against him, other hand holding tightly to her hips as he rode towards his own high. When the tell-tale pleasurable swipes up his low spine intensified, and when he felt his balls begin to squeeze and lift, he pulled out. Cum streaked across Kat’s gluteal fold and down her thigh.

Their pants filled the air, each dazed and lost in their own completion. When Silco came to, he leaned forward and kissed the small of her back. Kat giggled, turning her head to look at him. She was iridescent, glittering like starlight. Something warm fluttered madly in his chest at the sight.

“Let me fetch a towel.”

He reluctantly peeled himself from her side and whisked to the bathroom, returning with a towel he’d dampened with warm water. With a tenderness Kat had never known in a bedmate, he cleaned her. That great ribbon of Desire wrapped around her throat, twisting and making it difficult to breathe.

“You can just toss it there,” she said softly, gesturing to a tattered, caned hamper near the dresser.

He did so, and crawled into bed with her. The mattress was thin in all regards: in thickness and width. However, the latter was of no concern to them; the less space between them, the better. Kat drew the blanket up around their naked bodies, and they knotted their arms and legs together in a puzzle of impossible closeness. Their body heat, the metronome of their breaths, and the fulfillment in their hearts led them into a gentle sleep.

For the first time in a long time, Kat slept through the quiet.

When she did rouse, she listened to it at first. The soft heaviness of it filling her head like thick fluffs of cotton. No tail-ends of mournful cries, or rattling of trash bins outside as someone sifted through the contents in search of food scraps.

Just quiet.

Just peace.

Her eyelids peeled back and the hazy, warm dark flooded in. Silco’s neck was in front of her, his jugular a steady pulse against her cheek and temple. Kat tilted her nose into the cut of his jaw and breathed deeply. A tang of citrus, earthy terra, and the sweetness of tobacco leaf. Lazily, she kissed his neck and tightened her limbs around him.

A deep sigh, hoarse with sleep vibrated from Silco’s chest, and he drew her closer.

“Good morning, my lovely,” he rumbled.

The endearment made Kat’s heart flutter manically, and a bolt of heat shot down her spine and pulsed between her thighs.

“Morning.”

She lifted her head out from under his jaw and found his mouth. Their kisses were lazy and languid, as they’d been the morning before.

Unlike the morning before, they grew deep and heated without any tentative investigation of the other – verbal or tactile. Perhaps it was because they had already crossed the boundary of bodily intimacy; perhaps the smokiness of wakening made them pay less attention to the details of fore-play; perhaps they were concerned that someone would come busting through the door again.

In any case, it wasn’t long before sweet kisses turn breathy and wanting. Silco both rolled onto Kat, and was pulled on top of her by arms strong with Desire. He nestled in the cradle of her thighs, her knees lifting to secure around his waist.

With no other preamble, Silco slid inside her with a slow thrust. They both shuddered at the union, and Kat loosed a low mewl. Their lips found each other again, and he began a steady, burning pace.

She clawed at his shoulders, legs squeezing his sides as her hips rolled in tandem with his. When their mouths weren’t melded together, her breath came in wet, lustful stutters. Affirmations and curses tumbling out in between.

She was noisier than Silco had expected.

Kat had shown that she was by no means meek nor wilting, but her personality was not bombastic, either. She was solid, steady, and thoughtful. It surprised – and delighted – Silco to find that her bed-instincts leaned baser. Touching the more animal-side of human-nature and need, instead of the protected poise people learn. The sex workers he’d laid with purred crafted (but effective) scripts; the others seemed to choke down any utterance that had wanted to escape from their throats. It hadn’t bothered Silco, but now that he’d heard Kat’s coarse grunts, unabashed wails, and knowing directives, he greatly preferred it.

She felt like an equal.

Kat threw her head back, crown kissing the pillow, neck bared. Silco lunged forward and mouthed at her, teeth grazing, lips sucking. A delighted sigh blew from her, and her body squeezed him. His lips kissed a path back up to her lips, and she excitedly welcomed him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and held him close, fingers hooking into his hair.

A sumptuous heat warmed Kat from the inside out. Spreading slowly through her like a sunrise, toe to top. The drag of Silco’s cock pulling in and out of her was additional flint. The kindling of her insides curled and glowed. Until she finally sparked; that sunshine warmth crested, as did she.

Her orgasm was a full, slow wave. Spilling through her body like a wide ribbon of molasses, deep and cloying. It receded as waves do: steadily and evenly. Leaving her satisfied, but not rattled. A contralto-pitched moan pealed from her, a low chord that harmonized with Silco’s increasingly erratic breaths.

He was unwilling to peel himself off her, but it was unfortunately necessary as he felt his impending release tightening and tightening. With a grunt, he pulled back and out, sitting on his heels. His hand was quick to find himself, and took only three more pumps to spill onto Kat’s stomach. His abs flexed, and he gasped as tingles of pleasure and starlight-brightness zipped through him, stilling his mind and blotting out his vision.

The sight beneath him faded back into his eyeline with beautiful, real crispness. Silco brushed his hair from his eyes, and leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on Kat’s drowsy lips. He carefully unfolded himself from the blanket, and went to retrieve the spent towel from the night before.

As he stepped back to the bed, his gaze was pulled to the singular, small window in her room. He paused.

“It’s snowing.”

Kat clucked her tongue. “Is that what you call it? More like slush, perhaps.”

“No. I mean, it’s actually snowing. Look.”

Kat turned her head toward the window, and her eyes widened.

It was snowing!

A rarity for the Undercity. While the temperatures would drop in the cold season, precipitation usually remained damp; anything frozen melting as it passed through the warmed clouds of smoke and Grey that blanketed the Underground. Sometimes the Promenade got a dusting, but only just. As if the sky was a conservative baker rationing their sugar.

As such, the Undercity was ill-equipped to deal with such weather. Conveyor car tracks became deadly ski slopes. Stairways and bridges became treacherous ice rinks. Snow, heavy and wet, collected in banks throughout the Lanes, inhibiting any travel other than foot. And even then, most people ended up on their asses.

But most importantly – most excitingly – was that this sort of unusual weather event stalled mine production. The machinery struggled against the ice. Vehicles could not make it through the streets, deliveries could not be received nor transported. And Rynweaver was not about to pay people to stand around. He would also be a fool to run operations under unto conditions after the mudslide and tunnel collapse fiasco.

Silco and Kat shared a hopeful look. He hurried over and wiped her off before falling back in bed. Each relished the fact that now they had no where to be but in each other’s company.

Eventually, the pair managed to peel themselves from bed and shower, washing off the musty smell of sleep and sex. Silco’s clothes were mostly dry, and Kat gave back his undershirt to wear.

She looked away as she said too-coolly, “I wouldn’t mind another if you have any to spare.”

Silco chuckled, tucking his shirt into his trousers. He reached for her hand and drew her into his chest.

“I’m sure I could find something.”

He kissed her, the feeling of her lips growing intoxicating in their familiarity. Peeking over her shoulder as they parted, he reached around and picked up the two cold cups of tea they’d left the night before. He took them to the kitchen, grabbed a small saucepan, poured the liquid in, and went about reheating it on the stovetop. Kat skirted around him and prepared two bowls of oats.

She loved how easily they shared space.

After breakfast, once the dishes were washed and dried, Kat donned her coat and gave Silco her scarf to wear. Hand-in-hand, they traveled through the Sump and up into the Entresol.

Despite the inherent hazards the snow and ice brought to the infrastructure of the Undercity, it didn’t keep Kat and Silco from looking up in wonder at the fat, off-white flakes drifting from the Grey. Snow hadn’t reached the Undercity in over a decade, and they were not the only ones enrapt by it.

As they carefully meandered up the chasm of the Underground – only slipping once or twice, causing fits of yelping laughter – they passed other Fissurefolk. Children yelling and squealing about the snow, squatting behind steep banks of it and hurling snowballs at each other. Some adults seemed captivated by it, watching it fall, chuckling warmly at the children enjoying themselves. Other adults were, understandably, less thrilled; scowling as they tried to push snow off roofs with brooms and chip ice off their windows.

They passed alleys and squares where bins had been set ablaze, the chemical fluid used to light it and the trash within creating multi-colored flames that spewed bruised-colored smoke. Trenchers huddled around, sharing flasks of liquor that warmed them from the inside as much as the fires warmed their outsides.

Silco and Kat arrived at his and Enyd’s door rosy-faced and dusted with snow. They entered in a merry tumble of slush-slick boots and happy conversation. Surprised, Enyd looked up from folding and organizing laundry in the living room.

“You two walked here from the Sump? In this?” she greeted, hurrying over to them. While she tried to sound disapproving, her smile and the light in her eyes greatly defeated the effect.

“Blessed Snowdown to you, too, Mother.”

“Not even a coat, Silco!”

“I gave him grief for that as well,” Kat chuckled, brushing snow from her own coat before hanging it up.

“You’ll catch your death!” Enyd scolded. “And then what would happen with the Children, hmm? You’d just leave them in the lurch!”

Silco rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, mum. Look: A scarf. And a thermal.” He opened his shirt enough to display the white waffle-weaved fabric beneath.

The matriarch clucked her tongue. “Hardly enough for this squall. Go dry your heads. And, Silco, you go put on fresh, dry clothes. There are towels in the bathroom. I’ll start the kettle.”

Obediently, the pair took their boots off and shuffled toward the bathroom while Enyd went the opposite direction toward the kitchen.

Kat could not recall a more soul-soothing Snowdown.

Those she’d had with her own family, while precious and special in their own fragile way, were always tinged with loneliness. She’d catch the bleary sadness in her Papa’s eyes as he mourned another year without her mother. A sharp whip of anger would arc up her spine at the sight. The sting of abandonment too hot to ever temper into something like grief.

The cold season was also precarious for Viktor. Colds, flus, bronchitis, and other maladies lurked around every corner. Spreading through the Undercity like wildfire as the freezing temperatures encouraged closer quarters. The increase in proximity sent illness rates spiking. It was the only time Kat and Will were provided respirator masks at work, as they doled out decongestants and steroid shots to keep sick miners working.

She loved her father and brother more than words could ever express. She missed them with a bone-deep ache. And their relationships had been mostly defined by struggle and tragedy.

Comparatively, her connection with Silco and Enyd had been fostered under the lens of possibility. It was warmer, lighter. And comforted Kat in a way her life with Papa and Viktor could not.

Once their hair had been toweled dry and Silco had changed, they gathered around the kitchen table. Enyd set out tea cups, a small pitcher of cream, a bowl of cubed sugar, and a basket of bread she’d made the day prior. Conversation flowed easily, as it always had. Kat slathered a generous swath of butter and marmalade across a slice of bread, and savored each tart bite.

She savored the company more.

In the afternoon, Enyd pulled out a small wood case of dominos, and they played Noxian Train. Kat was unsurprised to learn that Silco was a very sore loser. She was surprised when Enyd smoked them both with a cool, cocky flare. Kat was pleased to watch her cheeks flush in triumph. It distracted from how they had sharpened from when she’d last seen the woman.

Late afternoon, Silco stepped out for a cigarette, and she followed Enyd to the kitchen and began helping her prepare dinner. The small woman pulled a goat shank nearly half her size from the icebox. Kat’s jaw dropped. She’d never seen such a large slab of meat.

“One of my Promenade clients gives me some ridiculous butcher’s cut every Snowdown as a gift. I’m always wary of preparing it because it is typically more than Silco and I could ever eat. I don’t want such a thing to go to waste. But, now that you are here – “

She gave Kat a loving smile that made her feel light-headed with gratitude.

They set about readying supper: crusting the meat in a melody of chopped herbs and lining its cooking tray with onions and heads of garlic; slicing and boiling a robust head of cabbage; pan-frying wedges of ruby tubers. It wasn’t long before Enyd’s kitchen smelled delicious and Kat’s mouth was watering.

When Silco returned, it was with a ruddy face and a bottle of dessert sherry in his coat.

“I thought you just went out for a cigarette,” Enyd exclaimed.

“I did. I just happened to go smoke outside a liquor shack that was open.”

“You didn’t need to spend your money on such a thing, Silco,” Enyd admonished, but, like when he and Kat had arrived in the morning, her lips drew into a pleased smile.

“I figured it would be in poor form to knock the place over on a holiday.”

With playful exasperation, she whipped a tea towel at him.

“Go on, both of you, set the table. I can finish this up.”

Kat wiped the table down; he set plates and utensils. Before long, the small table strained under the weight of a platter of roasted goat, a large bowl of cabbage, and a basket of crispy red chips.

Once voracious and excited hungers were sated, they sat back in their seats, plates peppered with gristle, strands of veg, and tuber skins. Silco rested his hand on Kat’s knee, and firelights fluttered in her stomach despite its new load.

When the groans about how full they were subsided, Silco got up and began clearing the table. Kat followed, stashing leftovers in smaller containers and slipping them in the ice box. He scrubbed the dishes. She dried them. Enyd watched, a strange shade of peace settling over her face. Silco poured three small glasses of the dessert sherry, and they toasted each other.

Afterward, they gathered in the living room. Enyd set a record on the gramophone. Soft, trilling music filled the space. She took up her rocking chair, and Silco sat on the nearby couch. He pulled Kat into his lap, and for a flicker fear lit up within her. Enyd quickly doused it.

“I was waiting for you two,” she said slyly, picking up her knitting.

Kat relaxed into Silco’s frame and he squeezed her waist, resting his temple on her shoulder.

Evening deepened and the snow lessened. Conversation drifted into amiable quiet. Nearing ten, Enyd’s throat began its nightly tickle, and Kat retrieved the medicine from the bathroom with a glass of water.

“Bedtime for me, I think,” she wheezed, handing the glass back to Kat. She lifted from her rocker with some effort. “Do not stay up too late. The weather is clearing. I don’t think the mine will be shut down tomorrow.”

“We won’t,” Silco promised, watching her shuffling carefully. “Good night, mum.”

“Good night, you two. Blessed Snowdown.”

“Blessed Snowdown,” Kat replied, also watching her movements with a discerning eye.

Enyd’s bedroom door opened, then snicked shut. Kat sighed and set the glass down, before returning to Silco’s side.

Nestling against him, the warmth that had filled her body all day began to ebb. The chill of regular life on the horizon. Struggle and responsibility.

Silco’s lips pressing against her hair tugged her back. She tilted her chin up, and gave him a small smile.

“It is alright if I stay? I should have asked.”

“I insist that you stay.” His hand curled around her shoulder possessively before kissing her. A heavy slide of lips and gentle glancing of tongue tips.

Kat sighed through her nose as they parted, her head filled the space between his chin and shoulder. Silco felt a foreign, but not unwelcome, pressure in his chest; a fizzing itch in his fingers. He gathered her closer, tucked his long legs up to thoroughly ensnare her.

In the dim of the room, in the quiet of a snowy evening, their words barely made a sound.

“I got you.”

“You have me.”

Chapter Text

Snowdown season ended. And with it, Topside’s patience.

A week after the skies dumped snow on Piltover and Zaun, three of the Children’s contraband runners were intercepted by Enforcers. Their usual route was gobbed up with snow and slush, forcing them to take a more travelled path.

They were stopped outside Augmentation Alley’s scrap pit. Enforcer’s pressed their fronts against the chain link fence, and searched them. Despite the cold, the air sizzled with the heat of tension. Each of the runners’ bodies was taut with anger and fear. Quivering like cornered dogs ready to bite.

The four Enforcers found bottles of clear Freljordian liquor tucked into their coats, shirts, trousers, and boots. They gently laid them in a snowbank nearby. Excitement bubbled beneath their skin over the find. Over what it might mean.

One of the Enforcers snidely asked for the stamped paperwork that was meant to accompany such product. Of course there was none, and the runners stayed tight-lipped, fuming and trembling.

“If there is no paperwork,” the Enforcer had said, his slippery voice hollow in his mask, “where did this come from?”

The other Enforcers pressed their batons firmly against the runners’ backs, the chain link biting into their skin. They said nothing.

“You steal it?”

No answer.

The Enforcer questioning them jerked his chin toward one of his peers. They knocked one of the runners to the ground – an older teen boy with shaggy blond hair. He grunted as he faceplanted into the dirty snow. The other Enforcers hauled him to his knees and found a revolver in his face.

“We can make it so you actually can’t answer.”

Feeling cornered shuts down one’s prefrontal cortex and the amygdala surges forward. Rational thoughts and actions get swallowed up by the primal need to survive. Which is why one of the runners, still held against the fence, flailed suddenly, her elbow threading the space between the Enforcer’s mask and chest, smashing into his neck. He choked and staggered, and she made to run.

Melee followed.

The Enforcer with the revolver shifted his attention and fired. The bullet embedded itself in the girl’s back, and she fell. The teen on his knees leapt up and tackled him. The third runner bucked against the hold of the Enforcer pinning them in place, thrashing out of their thread-bare coat and escaping. They went to scoop up the fallen girl, but her limp, heavy weight felt like death and they left her, darting for the hellish glow of Augmentation Alley. Two of the Enforcers streaked after them.

The tackled Enforcer and older teen wrestled on the ground, hands clamoring for control of the revolver. It went off without warning, without knowing its aim. The Enforcer’s back exploded in a warm, red shower and the young man gasped, kicking his way out from under the dead body.

The remaining Enforcer screamed, leapt forward, and bludgeoned the suspect with his baton. Between the twists of arms, mists of blood, and crunching of bone, another shot from the revolver blared and knocked the Enforcer back. He hit the fence and crumpled, chest gaping.

Shaking, bleeding, gasping, the battered runner gathered as many bottles as he could and crawled toward the nearest alley. He nestled himself in a snowbank, pouring the clear liquor over his wounds and down his throat. He waited for death to come.

It didn’t.

At some point, a pair of strong arms had hoisted him up. Voices murmured and glass clinked. Then there was warmth. The smell of stale beer and sweat. And astringent. The sound of a deep rumble and a rolling whisper. Something soft wrapped around his head. Something sturdy held his arm.

It would be a week before Dustin became remotely lucid. And even then, his eyes remained dark and drawn. Crazed.

The other runner managed to give the Enforcers the slip in the hot maze of Augmentation Alley. Ran appeared at The Last Drop a day later, covered in soot and burns, to inform Vander and Silco of what had happened. Their usual monotone speaking pitch turned jittery with anxiety.

The Children had been unable to retrieve the other runner’s body. The Enforcers that had pursued Ran came back to the crime scene before they could get to her.

There was a raid of Augmentation Alley the next day. Shops were turned inside out. Owners and their families lined up in the narrow streets while an army of Enforcers ransacked their livelihoods and homes.

Pok attempted to stop his shop from being destroyed, and was struck to the ground. Before Mek could come to his father’s aid, an Enforcer’s knee ground into the older man’s back and wrenched his arms around, slapping brass cuffs around his thick wrists.

“You’re under arrest for obstructing law enforcement.”

“You can’t do this!” Mek raged, advancing on the Enforcer.

“Leave it, boy!” Pok wheezed. Their eyes found each other. Even from the ground, Pok could pin his nearly grown son in place. “Leave it. Take care of things.”

The old augmenteer was hauled to his feet and led away. He gave Mek one last firm look, and his son was sure ‘take care of things’ did not just mean their shop.

Take care of Topside.

Pok was taken to Stillwater and never made it out.

The upturning of Augmentation Alley did not produce the suspect Enforcers were looking for. It technically did not reveal anything of note. But LeDaird had already been feeling Council’s pressure to act, to produce results. And now two of his own officers had been killed. The terrorist attack was already personal, but now the threat of the Children of Zaun had threaded beneath his ribs.

Screenings of goods destined for the Undercity intensified. Suppliers were searched along with their loads. New documentation became required. Small and fast skips patrolled wider and longer sections of the coastline, watching for any unusual activity.

Three weeks after the raid on Augmentation Alley, there was an unheard-of assembly at Rynweaver’s mine. Confused and agitated, miners and other employees shuffled into the facility’s cathedral. The space was rimmed with masked and armed Enforcers. The well-hewn walls glowed with strings of chem-bulbs and flood lights blared. Shadows of stalactites, stalagmites, and thin columns crisscrossed over the floor and walls. Atop the lead foreman’s trailer, Rynweaver stood. He looked coldly down at the Trenchers ambling in. Their dirty faces and dull eyes gazing up at him distrustfully.

Kat hung on the outskirts, shoulder brushing up against Silco’s. He’d positioned himself behind a craggy boulder, and had pulled the kerchief he wore around his neck over his nose. It was a habit he had developed the few times he and Rynweaver ever habituated the same space; born of his mother’s desire to keep her son separate from his sire. Lessening the chance of Rynweaver’s greedy gaze finding her boy in a crowd, and putting two-and-two together.

Sevika also stood with them, thick arms crossed over her chest.

Rynweaver held up a gloved hand and the crowd’s murmuring reluctantly dwindled.

“I will make this brief.” His cognac-smooth voice reverberated off metal and stone, sending vibrations beneath his audiences’ skin. “In light of the terrorist attack several weeks ago, the murder of Enforcers, and the raid recently, this mine will be doing its part to flush out the Children of Zaun. If anyone is discovered to be a member of this terrorist organization, they will be immediately fired and arrested. If anyone is found to have information of them and has not come forth, they will be fired and arrested. If anyone is found in support of the Undercity’s freedom, they will be fired and arrested.

“Thanks to these terrorists, the restrictions and protracted wait-time on imports and exports is causing the mine to lose money. To compensate for this unfortunate turn of events, all workers’ salaries shall be diminished by eight-percent – “

At once, the crowd erupted. They jostled and shifted like a school of fish, scales made of pickaxes and shovels glinting in the light. Kat’s stomach dropped, Silco stiffened. Sevika gasped and trudged forward, throwing her voice into the wails of complaints.

The Enforcers on the perimeter moved as one, stepping closer and herding the crowd with the slender but deadly bodies of their rifles.

“Consider this,” Rynweaver called above the din, “motivation for helping Council ferret out these traitors.” The angry swell of voices ebbed. “The sooner they are exterminated, the sooner this nation of Zaun nonsense is laid to rest, the sooner things go back to normal.”

“Normal is unacceptable!” Silco roared later that night at the Drop, standing atop the bar.

The Children rumbled their agreement. Over the course of the recent weeks, their faces had morphed. Once shining and hopeful, now darkening and angry.

“What is normal for Topside is us breathing smog, rationing breadcrumbs, breaking our bodies to service their needs!” A few of the growls rose into barked agreements. Others nodded, eyes hard and glassy. “Their normal will kill us!”

Kat watched him from her spot next to Enyd, heart pounding furiously. It was different than her first meeting. Her blood didn’t run cold with fear. Now, it boiled with indignation and fury. Her body thrummed with Zaunite pride and a disdain for their Sister City. Her chest swelled as Silco continued railing against Piltover’s abuse. Warm, slithering, smokey tendrils of awe filled the spaces between her organs and bones. His unabashed insistent belief and zealousness wafted from him, feeding her. Feeding the room. Their value, worth, and deservedness served to them on a silver platter with his words. And the crowd gorged.

Kat could even feel Enyd’s slight frame puff with pride at her son’s words and command of the room.

Vander leaned against the bar, watching and listening to his Brother’s ire. His face was a craggy series of lines and shadows, as if he’d been hewn from stone. His own fury was palpable. For the first time since overtaking The Last Drop, he hadn’t been able to pay the building’s rent, nor the other taxes Piltover burdened business owners with. It meant a yellow letter and a warning. Never mind the fact that the reason he’d been unable to pay in full was due to Topside’s chokehold on products coming into the Undercity.

Despite this, Vander listened to Silco and watched the crowd with a small amount of caution, ready to temper any hasty suggestions that would get their movement killed before any progress could be made. His eyes found Katya across the room, irritated that it was always her voice in his head when he thought of his responsibility to the Children. To the cause. To Zaun.

Since walking in on her and Silco, he’d avoided her the best he could. If he had to speak to her, his words were brief and colorless. He didn’t know if she thought he was still embarrassed and cagey, or if she was able to pick up on the undercurrent of envy coursing through him. In any case, she did not let on that she was aware of any shift in him. She appeared too preoccupied with the bombastic unfurling of her and Silco’s new relationship. Rarely was one seen without the other, their fingers tightly intertwined.

“We should gut any Enforcer that dares to step foot in the Undercity!” Tolder roared, leaping to his feet and throwing a fist into the air.

Lu jostled at his hip, giggling and tossing his own dumpling of a hand up. There was a small, angry swell of impulsive assent, frothing and spectacular in its heat. But most of the Children remained a dull sort of red. Their frustration grayed – caked and cracked by many heavy layers of unfairness.

Vander straightened at Tolder’s outburst. His heart hammered as he shot a glance up to Silco. His Brother folded his arms across his chest, lips thinning into a tight line.

“They deserve it,” Vander agreed, stepping forward. “But goin’ after Enforcers recklessly ain’ practical r’ wise. Silco n’ me – “

“So what? We’re just suppose’ta take it? What’re we doing here?”

“No,” Silco said firmly. “We will not take it. Haven’t you been listening?” He hopped off the bar and stepped in line with Vander. “We will not return to their status-quo. Nor shall we be stupid and hasty with how we move forward.”

Tolder blanched at his words, but Silco held the older man’s gaze. Then looked around the room.

“We are still in the cold season. Resources are always scarce. Now is the time to lean on each other. Stand shoulder to shoulder as Brothers and Sisters. We shall not be rattled.

“In terms of action, Vander and I have discussed the following – “

He laid out the development for new safehouses – places those in need could go if Janna’s Temple was full. It had been an endeavor spearheaded by Enyd. She reached out to her clients in the marketplaces and on the Promenade. Calling in favors and utilizing her likability to convince them to shelter Children who needed to hide, eat, or sleep. Thereby curling them into the cause.

Smuggling would continue. It had to. The change there would be security detail. Vander, Mek, Sevika, and other brawlers would flank the smaller, faster runners and take out anyone who stood in the way of their route.

Beckett would head a small crew of other Children – those specifically familiar with the docks – and sabotage Enforcer skips. Cutting fuel lines and puncturing hulls. There was also discussion of luring skips to the coast where a few Children would hide in the shadows of the craggy rocks, and use the few long -range rifles they had smuggled in from a Noxian trader to shoot them down. Although, the practicality of that plan was hotly debated. For one, ammunition was scarce. For a second, long-range marksmanship was a skill, and if the Children missed it would cost more than bullets and gunpowder.

“Katya can shoot,” Annie chirped.

Heads swiveled towards the medic, and while her shoulders stiffened, her eyes remained hard.

“I have never been trained. And firing a pistol is different than firing a rifle.”

“To-MAY-to, To-MAH-to,” Annie countered flippantly. “The ends of both go BANG, don’t they?”

“It is not that simple,” Katya replied, keenly aware that she was not scoffing outright at the suggestion. In fact, she felt annoyed by the idea’s pragmatic blocks. A frown formed on her face.

“We can make ammo,” Mek growled. Since his father had been hauled away, the teen had darkened and grown up fast. His voice had sunk and a heavy black cloud settled over his shoulders. His small eyes shone with rage. “Augmentation Alley can mold bullets.”

Katya swallowed, jaw setting. Her eyes locked onto Silco’s, still standing at the bar, before shifting back to Mek. “What of the gunpowder?”

Unsure murmurs vibrated through the tavern. Then, the most unlikely voice answered.

“The mines have gunpowder,” Enyd said.

All eyes fell on her, and she recoiled under the attention. But she took a deep, wheezing breath and stood as tall as her four-foot-eleven frame allowed.

She looked to her son and Vander before continuing. “The black powder used to blow apart the rocks there is the same as gunpowder. It is a fairly simple compound, too. Charcoal, saltpeter, and sulfur.”

Silco took a sharp breath in through his nose, remembering how that rotten-egg scent would linger on her clothes, in her hair.

“We have access to all of those things,” Vander said. “We could jus’ make our own. More work, yeah, but would be one less thing t’hafta smuggle.”

“We will do both,” Silco decided. His eyes shone as he looked at his mother. Possibility pulsed in his chest.

“There are sulfur pots deeper in the cave where the Springs are,” Kat said.

She nuzzled closer, her cheekbone rubbing against Silco’s neck, her left hand idly playing with the fingers of the arm wrapped around her shoulders. A low hum vibrated in his chest as he brought his other arm behind his head. He stared up at her bedroom ceiling in thought.

“Charcoal is easy enough to come by.”

“So is saltpeter,” he added. “It’s crusting every smokestack in Zaun.”

Silence fell between them. Then a thought curled Kat’s lips.

“It is ironic that Topside would shove us underground, only to give us the tools for their own undoing.”

A darkly amused sound huffed in Silco’s chest.

“They’ll choke on their own blood and hubris,” he whispered. “We’ll show them.”

The same warmth from the meeting swelled in Kat’s chest. It felt weighty with righteousness, her lungs struggling a bit under the emotion.

Suddenly, she sat up and made to straddle Silco’s waist. He started at her abrupt movement, but quickly settled back into the pillows. The blazing earnestness in her eyes held him in place. She hinged forward and kissed him, and he reached up to touch her cheek. When she straightened, the hand ghosted over her bare breast and rested on the ribs beneath it. She smiled at him, the dim green glow of the streetlamps outside cutting her into a beautiful shape. Then her smile lessened. Her eyes broke from his gaze and looked to the window.

“What is it?”

Silco watched the muscles in her jaw flex under the chartreuse light as she decided how to articulate whatever she was thinking.

“I have to get Viktor tomorrow.”

A low, short hum rumbled in Silco’s throat. His thumb swept over the mole beneath the swell of her breast. Kat disappeared from his side when she had her brother under her wing. He saw nothing of her between Friday afternoon and Monday morning.

“I will not lie,” she said, “the tenser things between Zaun and Piltover become, the more I am worried. I know there is no way forward without violence, but I am scared something may happen to him.”

Silco gently pet her flank, trying to decide what was best and truest to say.

“You cannot hide him from this forever.”

Kat’s brows pinched. “I am not hiding him. He knows there is unrest – “

“That’s not what I am talking about.”

She said nothing for a long moment. Then sighed, “I am not ready to tell him that I am a part of this. I am not ready to tell him anything.”

Her eyes sheepishly found his in the dark, the subtext of that statement settling heavy between them. She did not want Viktor involved in this part of her life – not the Children, not Enyd, not Silco.

Not yet.

Silco did not fight her on it. It wasn’t his decision to make. Viktor was her family, her responsibility. If Kat felt it was safest for him to be kept separate for the time-being, it wasn’t his place to insist otherwise.

Even so, he asked: “When will you?”

“When our freedom is on the horizon,” she said with a smile. Then, her expression sobered. “Or when I absolutely have to.”

Silco’s lips thinned and he nodded once, his eyes breaking away from hers. Kat reached out, running the back of her fingers down his cheek and over the scar on his lip.

“He is eleven. I want him to be a child as much as he can be. I know it is a privilege most Zaunite children do not get to have, but if I can offer some semblance of youth to him, I will. I want him to have better than I did. In every way. You understand?”

He did. Of course he did. A long sigh softened Silco’s body, and he leaned into her hand.

“I understand. I am selfish, and miss you on the weekends.”

Kat’s mouth quirked into a grin. She leaned over to kiss him, her hand threading through the ebony tangle of his hair.

How easily they fell into one another. Her plushness and his angles slotting together perfectly. How much sweeter would it be once Zaun was free, when their angst lifted and floated away on a sea breeze?

She could not wait.

“I miss you, too,” Kat whispered, pulling back. Then that mischievous, secret glint flashed in her eyes. “Shall I give you something to remember me by?”

Silco’s own eyes darkened, his pupils swallowing any of the faint light filtering into the room. A wolfish grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

“Like I said: I am selfish. I will gladly take whatever you’ll give me.”

“And then some.”

“And then some,” he agreed.

She matched his smile before spinning around, diving head first beneath the covers. Silco’s large hands gripped her hips firmly, and pulled her to his mouth just as her lips wrapped around him.

There was a promise of warmth on the edges of the breeze that fluffed Viktor’s hair. He and Miss Ivy stood by the Bridge’s attendance hut waiting for his sister. He hoped the warm season would begin sooner rather than later, if for no other reason than that he could take his lunch outside again. During the cold season he had no choice but to eat in the cafeteria with the rest of his class. They would shoot him prying stares and whisper about the stitches on his uniform and worn shoes. About how the button-up beneath his vest was a dingy grey color, instead of their pristine, crisp white ones. They’d hiss about how he was from the Undercity, and therefore made him a novelty. Not a novelty to be coveted, but one to be gawked at, poked and prodded. The other-ing had only gotten worse since that airship crash several weeks ago. The boys and girls in his classes plied him with taunts thinly veiled as questions. In more extreme cases, he’d be harassed as he walked across campus: older students yelling slurs at him, gesturing rude things.

He didn’t mention it to anyone. Professor Heimerdinger may have been willing to listen, but nothing would change. He had not seen Councilor Bone since before Snowdown. He didn’t tell Katya because . . . because something was off.

The sense of something being amiss he had had several weeks ago hadn’t ebbed. For weeks, his sister seemed a shell of herself. Attentive enough to keep his needs met, but there had been no light in her eyes. None of her smiles brightened her face. Then, the Friday after the Snowdown holidays, something had changed. Katya was bright again, but it didn’t warm him. She seemed happier, but still distant. Like her mind was elsewhere.

When she did not appear distracted, Katya was bubbling with frigid indignation about Piltover’s recent treatment of the Undercity. In the past, she kept their heads low and made a point to skirt around Enforcers. Avoiding them was not an option any longer, and Katya’s nervousness about them had transformed into anger. She kept her face hard when they walked through the Lanes back to the Sump, the grip she had on Viktor’s shoulder commanding and tight.

They had been stopped for questioning a couple of times. Where were they coming from? Where were they going? Had they seen anything suspicious lately? Katya’s answers had been short and sharp. Not rude enough to set the Enforcers off, but she left no room for them to think she would be any kind of helpful.

They’d been searched once. A perfunctory pat-down of Katya and a search of Viktor’s duffle bag. For a split second, he thought she might actually lash out when one of the Enforcers gently patted his body down. Of course, they had nothing on them, so they were allowed on their way. The rest of the evening, Katya stomped around the apartment, pots and pans clanging, her eyes – stuck in a perpetual glare – continually shot to the door and to the windows. As if she was expecting to see something there. She also kept lifting the collar of the shirt she was wearing – one he did not recognize – up to her nose, and breathing deeply. As if it brought her some sort of comfort.

The increased Enforcer presence in the Undercity also meant that he and Katya spent most of the weekend holed up in the apartment. No trips to the docks, the Oases, the Springs, or any of the marketplaces. And despite the close and constant quarters with his sister, Viktor battled a persistent, creeping sense of alienation.

His young heart twisted painfully in his chest as the ability to find solace on either side of the River dwindled.

“Here she comes,” Ivy sighed suddenly, pulling Viktor from his heavy thoughts.

He blinked his gaze back into focus, and saw Katya striding across the Bridge. She beamed at him, and Viktor desperately wished he could feel it. The gate attendant lifted the barricade, allowing him and Ivy to step through.

As usual, once Viktor was within arm’s reach, Katya gathered him up against her chest in a tight hug. Her nose buried itself in the fluffy folds of his hair, and her lips pressed against his crown.

“I missed you.”

Viktor knew she wasn’t lying. Yet, the sentiment seemed to bounce off his heart, unable to sink in.

“I missed you, too.”

She drew back and pet a hand through his hair. Her eyes gleamed as she took him in, an intense look of pride that strangely left him feeling lacking.

“Come. Let us go home.”

As had been the case for the past several weeks, Katya only acknowledged Ivy enough to take Viktor’s duffle from her.

“Have a nice weekend, Miss Ivy,” he offered before limping away.

The aide smiled sweetly at him. “You as well, Viktor.”

“Come along.”

Katya gently tugged on his coat, encouraging him to step away from Piltover. He gave Ivy a meek smile and she waved good-bye.

As they slowly traveled toward the conveyor car station, Viktor eyed the artwork and graffiti that now decorated buildings, walkways, fencing, and lampposts. Blue birds and ‘Zs’ scribbled in varying art styles and detail. Slogans of ‘FREE ZAUN,’ ‘WE ARE THE STORM’S FURY,’ and ‘FUCK TOPSIDE’ were written in manic zig-zags of chalk. It made him feel nervous. Dread brushed gently against his stomach.

The pair stiltedly ascended the few steps up to the conveyor car, and Katya flashed her Academy-issued badge. She and Viktor took their seats, and he fished out one of his steno pads from his school satchel. His sister smiled as he reviewed the notes he’d made that week in Professor Heimerdinger’s robotics class. Sketches of gears, cogs, and possible engine designs covered the pages.

“Still planning on a boat?”

Viktor nodded. “We will get to start constructing in a few weeks. We have to get designs approved first.”

Katya nodded. Her body jostled as the conveyor car began to slide down into the Undercity.

She pet a hand through his hair and said, “I am sure you will have no problem getting your plans approved.”

“I want to make an engine that is not reliant on traditional fuel. Like wood or coal,” he said, eyes glued to his notes and drawings. “Something that is sustainable and renewable. That way, maybe, it is something that can be transitioned to a larger scale. To help out the fishermen at the docks.”

Katya’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and drew him close. She kissed the crown of his head.

“That is a marvelous idea.”

Viktor kept his notebook close the rest of the night. Skimming through pages, adding notes and annotations. Adjusting sketches and scribbling new ones.

Gnawing on his lip, he sat back in his chair at the kitchen table. Katya stood at the sink, washing the dishes from dinner. He looked at his notebook, then Katya, then the living room window, then Katya again.

“Kat?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s getting warmer out. Do – do you think that we could go out this weekend to try and find materials for my boat?”

Katya stilled, the soft scrubbing of her sponge silencing. Viktor watched as her shoulders slumped. Disappointment began smoldering in his belly before she even turned around.

“I thought the Academy was providing materials,” she said, turning to face him. A hand on her hip, her mouth fighting a frown.

“They are. But . . . I want to use things from the Undercity. We could go to the scrap pit by Augmentation Alley. Just get scraps. We don’t have to even spend any money.”

Katya lost the fight with the grimace trying to spread across her face. Viktor held her gaze, but he could not understand why her emotions were being so fickle. He knew things were precarious in the Lanes as of late, but he was so tired of spending his weekends holed up in their apartment.

“Viktor – “

“Please!” he burst. “Please? Nothing will happen. We will not draw any attention to ourselves. Enforcers won’t bother us. Please? I want to go out. I want to find things for my boat.”

A heavy sigh blew through Katya’s lips as she hung her head. Viktor watched as the fingers on her hip tightened, the skin on her knuckles pulling white. His lower lips tucked itself under his incisors as he waited for her verdict.

“We can go – “ Viktor sat up and gasped “ – but if there are more than two Enforcers skulking about, we will come home.”

Her brother nodded emphatically, unwilling to press his luck. Katya’s eyes did not soften, and he tried to not let it bother him. He turned back to his notebook, pretending that his sister was just as excited as he was.

After a beat, Katya wiped her hands on the rag hung over the kitchen faucet before stalking over to her coat, hung on the peg by the door. Surprised, Viktor looked up as she whipped the garment around herself.

“What are you – “

“I need to go take care of something,” she answered, shaking the collar out around her head. “If I am not back before nine, get ready for bed. Yes?” He nodded slowly. “Good. I love you. I’ll be back soon. Do not open the door for anyone.”

Viktor’s brow crumpled as she whisked out of their home. The sharp sound of the door clattering into its frame echoed in his ears. It vibrated against his bones. It inspired loneliness to press against his chest. And frustration to bubble beneath his skin.

Katya kept her promise and they visited the scrap pit the following day. Relief sagged through Viktor’s body when he counted only two Enforcers in the immediate area. Eagerly, he scurried toward the bent and barbed metal gates. His eagerness was quelled as he saw a small pile of candles and trinkets piled against a section of fence a few feet away. There was a framed picture of a young girl leaned against half-melted pillar candles. Dread swiped a cold finger over his stomach. He ignored it and pressed onward. Clumsily, he sat before the nearest tangled heap of metal, and began scouring through it.

Katya lingered behind him, arms crossed over her chest, eyes continually scanning their surroundings. Her lack of interest made him feel self-conscious. A small voice in his head sneered that he shouldn’t have pushed for this. But when his hand landed on a large, uncorroded gear, that voice was drowned out by excitement.

“Kat! Look! I think this will be the perfect size for the motor’s main driver!”

Her head snapped back to look at him. Her eyes were wide and blank, confirmation that she was not actually there with him. She blinked and her gaze focused on the cog in his hand. She smiled.

“Very good. Are you going to put it in your satchel?”

He nodded. “It would be great if I could find another one. Or, at least, one of similar size. Will you help me look?”

The small pull at the corner of her mouth sent a bolt of shame through his chest. But before his face could fully fall, Katya knelt beside him. She held her hand out, and he gingerly placed the gear in her palm.

Inspecting it closely, she asked, “Do the teeth need to be the same, or just the size of the gear?”

“Ideally both.”

Together, they dug through piles of metal. Just beyond the scrap pit’s ridge, Augmentation Alley smoked and burned, its forges in full-force. When the wind picked up, Katya instructed Viktor to pull his scarf over his mouth and nose. The boy grimaced, but complied. He was already sweating. The day and activity proving too warm for the coat and scarf Katya had been insistent on. But his annoyance waned as they continued to sift through scraps together. Every now and then, she would present a particularly interesting looking twist of metal or clean gear, and ask for his opinion.

Slowly, carefully, ease dared to flicker in Viktor’s chest. The interaction between him and his sister leaning much more familiar than they had in several weeks. He held to it tightly, even when they would shift to a new pile, and her eyes would lift and the energy of her presence slipped for a moment. When she hunkered down again, Viktor would sneak a peek in the direction she had looked, expecting to see an Enforcer. There was none. Instead, a slender silhouette swaggered back-and-forth just beyond the scrap pit’s fence.

For some reason, that pricked at Viktor’s nerves more than any Enforcer.

Chapter Text

Grayson tossed the most recent Enforcer reports onto her desk in a haphazard flourish. Leaning back in her chair, her wide hand roughly scrubbed at her face.

Things were a fucking mess.

Somehow, despite increased Enforcer presence in the Undercity, the Children of Zaun were yet to be ferreted out. It was as if their adversaries were not just a few dangerous malcontents, but the whole of the Underground. Not one Undercity citizen had come forth to relay any information. Not even a monetary reward was enough to persuade them.

How were they supposed to cull a terrorist group if a whole section of Piltover’s population was involved?

And things were only getting worse.

Since Council’s most recent crackdown, Enforcer-issued skips had been vandalized. Enforcers attempting investigations were met with even more resistance and vitriol: garbage and rocks thrown at them from the dark shadows of alleyways. Business owners refused to serve any officer who crossed their threshold. Some Trenchers had taken to skulking around the Undercity’s side of the Bridge. A sneering, intimidating, spiteful version of the attendance hut and barricade on Piltover’s side of the River. While those leering and cat-calling any who passed through, no one had been physically assaulted. Yet. But it had discouraged Piltovans from venturing into the Undercity.

The worst development came from the Undercity’s shoreline, and from the murk of their narrow alleys.

For several weeks, Enforcer squads tasked with tailing suspicious activity were found beaten and bleeding. Their weapons, masks, and badges missing. Once retrieved and treated for their injuries, none of the officers could give useful information, but all the squads’ stories were the same: They’d be following a group of suspicious-acting Trenchers. Their quarry would weave and loop through the labyrinth of streets and alleys, moving in a nonsensical fashion, thoroughly disorienting the Enforcers. When a backtrack was attempted, they would be rushed. No one could say how many there had been, nor where they’d come from. From behind, from above, from the very shadows themselves. The assault would be fast and furious and unforgiving. They would fight with their fists and metal.

The skips that hadn’t been damaged were being shot at. One Enforcer had been killed thus far. LeDaird had turned parts of the Undercity upside down looking for whoever was storing such weaponry. His efforts produced nothing. Piltover’s foreign relations began to strain as they wondered if some nation was supplying the Undercity with an arsenal.

And all of this made it near impossible for Grayson to tend to her deal with Councilor Bone. She hadn’t even seen him since before Snowdown. A combination of her Captain duties and his illness had kept them apart. She had heard, though, when in Chambers he was fighting tooth-and-nail to curb Council’s discipline of the Undercity.

The situation was a powder keg.

There was a knock at Grayson’s office door. She jolted in her seat, the wood creaking as the chair swiveled side-to-side.

“Come in,” she called, righting herself and spinning back to the desk.

LeDaird opened the door, looking angry and haggard. It had been his most common expression since the airship crash. Grayson stood up from her seat.

“Sheriff.”

“At ease, Dora. I am not hear to deliver news. Nor give official orders.”

This did not put Grayson at ease, but she returned to her seat all the same. LeDaird tiredly placed himself in the one in front of her desk. He eyed the papers on it, and sighed heavily.

“This is a bloody fucking mess.”

“Yes, sir.”

She opened a low desk drawer and took out the heavy bottle of scotch that lived there. LeDaird managed a smirk, but shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

Grayson looked at the bottle, considered, and then rehomed it. They sat in silence for a minute before she broke it.

“What is it you need to ask me?”

LeDaird sat back in his seat, a large hand swiping down his face.

It was a long moment before he said, “I need you to speak with Councilor Bone.”

“Sir?”

“I need you to speak with Councilor Bone,” he repeated. Leaning forward, he braced his large forearms on his knees. “I need you to convince him to stop stymying Council’s efforts. It is making our job impossible.”

“Sir – “

“I do not know what he wished to speak with you about all those weeks ago, but he sought you out. Perhaps you may be able to talk some sense into him.”

Grayson grimaced, and sat back in her seat, rubbing at her eyes. She knew Council was being pushed by aristocrats, nobles, and other Piltovans to be even harsher with their treatment of the Undercity. They wanted to beat their citizens into compliance. It would go against the promise she made Bone all those weeks ago.

After a moment, she reached for the top righthand drawer of her desk, and withdrew the reports Bone had given her. She placed them next to the ones about the Children of Zaun.

“What is this?”

“When Councilor Bone asked for that audience with me,” she began, opening the files, “he wanted my help and support in his endeavors to curb Enforcer brutality within the Undercity. He presented me with all these reports and evidence that shows a distinct disparity between legislative and judicial inequity when it comes to its citizens.”

LeDaird sat up, spine straightening. He eyed the files Grayson had put on her desk suspiciously.

“What does this have to do with what I am asking you?”

Grayson’s heart thumped against her breastbone.

“Sir, after going over the reports he provided, I believe there is cause for concern. And now, what with the Children, tensions between Enforcers and Undercity citizens has only become worse. Asking Bone to back down will not work. And pressing any harder on the Undercity will not either.”

“The Undercity is not leaving us much of a choice. Leniency is not an option anymore – “

“Leniency was never attempted.”

“Politics are not our job, Captain,” LeDaird barked. Out of habit, Greyson’s spine snapped straight at his tone. “Our job – your job – is to enforce the Council’s will.”

“Our job is to protect our citizens.”

“Whose safety is ensured by our laws.”

“And what happens when those laws do not apply to everyone? Or when our laws prevent certain of our citizens from thriving?”

LeDaird pinned her with a fiery stare. It was a look she’d never been on the receiving end of, and it sent her heart thundering. Despite that, she held it.

“The Children of Zaun got the Undercity into this mess, and no one from the Underground seems keen on getting themselves out,” LeDaird grit. “Leniency can come once justice is served. Go to Bone, and do your job, Captain. I will not entertain this nonsense.”

The Sheriff rose, posture and movements militant. Lethal. He paused at her office door, and glanced over his broad shoulder.

“You’re a good Enforcer, Dora. Your father would be proud to see where you are sitting. Don’t jeopardize it.”

The cold season had not been kind to Bone. The freezing temperatures had seized his lungs, near stilling any attempts for breath. He had visited the Council physician with the intention of getting stronger medication. But, after an examination, he was told that little could be done. The blight in his lungs was too pervasive. Even increasing his dosage of decongestant was unlikely to do much of anything. The doctor had looked at Bone somberly, and apologized. At this point, the only means for relief would be morphine.

Bone refused.

He wouldn’t be able to do his job under the influence. And with the Council, Enforcers, and Rynweaver squeezing the Undercity, his presence in Chambers was needed more than ever.

He arranged a temporary living space for himself within the Council Building so he would not have to travel in the whipping winds and snow. His Council peers – save for Heimerdinger – whispered and hissed about it.

If Bone was so ill that he could not venture outside, should he not resign?

Unfortunately for them, Bone’s body was failing; not his fortitude. And since he was lucid, and could still get to and participate in assembly, there were no grounds to remove him.

Every day, when Bone sat in the small apartment he had carved out in the Council Building, he stared out the window at the Promenade across the river. He watched his home, the city he was fighting for.

The city that was desperately, dangerously fighting for itself.

From his seat, Bone could make out some of the larger graffiti emblazoned on Promenade buildings.

FREE ZAUN

FUCK TOPSIDE

WE ARE THE STORM’S FURY

He thought about that day in the café. Of the owner and that customer mentioning The Last Drop in a way that left his weak heart pattering. When the warm came, he told himself, he would travel down to the Entresol and pay The Last Drop a visit.

The warm came.

Bone moved back into his loft on the Promenade after the first full week of consistent above-freezing temperatures. He shuffled about his space, wiping down the dust that had accumulated on the surfaces. He tossed away the old food in the icebox, wincing at the waste. He vomited several times into the toilet, and sputtered bloody globules into the sink. The warmer weather did not ease Bone’s breathing. It kept him from fully choking, but it did not relax his lungs like it had in the past.  

Bone blotted his clammy forehead with a handkerchief, staring down at the sizable, glistening wad of blood, mucus, and tissue in the sink. His hands were shaking, but not only from the effort of keeping himself upright.

Fear sluiced through his veins. Not for death itself. Fear that he would not be able to temper the conflict boiling between the Underground and Piltover. People had already died.

He had to try.

Despite being told it would do little good, Bone took a double dose of the decongestant, wrapped a long scarf around his neck, mouth, and nose, grabbed his cane, and set out for The Last Drop.

It had been a long while since Bone had traveled low into the Undercity. For no other reason than time and his health. But as he stepped off the conveyor car and hobbled down the lanes, a jabbing pang of regret prodded his heart.

For one, the Undercity was beautiful and impressive. A testament to the tenaciousness of her citizens.

Two: His constituents – those that recognized him, anyway – regarded him aloofly. A thin veil of suspicion clouding their eyes when they looked at him, and were tight-lipped if they spoke to him.

He wanted to be able to comprehend their distrust. Logically, he could arrive at an understanding: even though he was from the Undercity, he was still a Councilmember. And Council was notorious for their abuse and neglect. And despite what Bone had been able to accomplish during his time on Council, it was barely a stitch in the gaping, festering wound.

But he couldn’t help but feel a small slice of anger and sadness at his peers’ recoil. Hurt that his work and love of their home was not acknowledged, or believed in.

Hurt that they were lumping him in with them.

The Lanes were a kaleidoscope of color covered in a miasma of grey mist. The Enforcer presence was heavy, but that did not seem to stop anyone from going about their evening. People crowded around food stalls, meandered in and out of brothels, haggled at trader stands. Trenchers had always kept a wide berth around Enforcers, but now the air between them was charged to dangerous levels.

An Enforcer wiped away Zaun propaganda from the side of a building, and nearby Trenchers fixed them a look so hateful it took away what little breath Bone had. The minute the Enforcer stalked on, a young street urchin popped out of the alley shadows. Armed with a chunk of chalk, they redrew the Zaun graffiti. Bone frowned deeply behind his scarf and carried on.

It had been years since Bone had been to The Last Drop. When the establishment came into view, he felt a bittersweet wave of nostalgia. In his youth, he and the crew of miners he worked with would gather there after a too-long shift. They would be tired, battered, and filthy. Perhaps they should’ve just gone home, but they would fill the chairs around a table, and drink ale anyway. The togetherness relieved them in a way that sleep could not.

Bone’s heart ached as he neared. They were all dead now. And soon he would be, too.

The inside of the tavern was as he remembered it. Clunky mismatched tables and chairs, swaths of warm orange, yellow, and green light, large barrels of Fissure Froth tucked right behind the bar. The young man behind the counter was robust-looking, built broad and tall.

Belatedly, Bone realized some of the patrons nearest the door were eying him carefully, whispering amongst themselves. He shored up the grip on his cane and pressed forward. His gait was slow, but purposeful. His jaw grit with determination. As he continued, the cheerful chatter dwindled. The young barmaid – a slip of a thing with loose indigo plaits – held her serving tray to her chest before whisking back to the bar.

The customers there – all young folk themselves – spun at her sudden appearance. The barkeep leaned over as she hurriedly whispered to them. Then, they all looked in Bone’s direction. Varying levels of shock, concern, and irritation covered their faces. But Bone pressed forward. He sidled up to the bar with confidence only age brought.

“I am here,” he said in a light croak, “to inquire about The Children of Zaun.”

The barkeep’s face vacillated between tightening and softening, as if he were unsure to deal with Bone coolly or openly.

“Go lock the door, Annie,” one of the other men growled.

Bone glanced over to him: young, lean and made of angry angles, with a mop of wavy dark hair. His nose . . .

Bone’s mind guttered to a halt and his feeble heart skipped a beat. But he kept his face schooled. Now was not the time. His light eyes tracked over the man’s shoulder and his heart stuttered again.

Viktor’s sister.

“I don’t work for you!” the barmaid spat.

“Go lock th’door, Annie,” the barkeep said.

The barmaid – Annie – huffed, and swept away. The other patrons, who had quieted to a low hiss, watched her trajectory before turning their heads back to the bar.

“Can I get’cha something, Councilor?” the barkeep asked, setting massive, bruised hands on the counter.

“Information.”

The barkeep smirked. The thin young man sneered. Viktor’s sister grimaced, her pretty face turning pink.

“Aye. I got that. Anything t’go with? Ale? Schnapps? Tea?”

“Water is fine.”

The barkeep nodded, rising back to his full height. “Benzo, clear your table fer the Councilor.”

Behind Bone, another swarthy-built young man rose, and shooed away the others sitting with him. They readily scattered, taking their drinks, and stationing themselves nearby to watch and listen to whatever was about to happen.

Bone only hesitated a moment before stepping over, and stiltedly took the proffered seat. He kept it to himself, but his knees and hips groaned in thanks. It had been a long time since he had traveled so far on foot in one go.

The foul-faced young man slipped from his barstool, a freshly lit cigarette between his lips, and prowled over. The Councilor searched him, looking for any other signs of Rynweaver. Physically, there was nothing else but his nose, and perhaps the color and texture of his hair. Bone did not recognize his other features, but they were striking. He wondered how many more illegitimate children of Rynweaver’s were hidden in the crags and crevasses of the Undercity. How many of its women and girls he had terrorized in more ways than one?

He wondered if the young man knew. He wondered if it would be a tactical advantage to mention it.

Moving like smoke, he slipped into the chair to Bone’s left. A tall glass was suddenly plunked down in front of him, and the barkeep lowered his enormous body into the chair on the right. The rest of the tavern had turned to face them, the weight of hundreds of eyes settling heavily on Bone’s chest. The only sound left was the occasional uneasy tap of a tankard on a table’s surface.

“We were wonderin’ if you’d show up eventually,” the barkeep hummed, lighting a cigarette of his own.

“It is difficult to show up when one does not receive an invitation.” Bone looked around the room. “Is this everyone?”

“Your even more of a fool than I thought if you think this is everyone,” the blade-nosed man spat.

Bone’s upper lip twitched. He looked between the two. “You’re the leaders then, are you? What’re your names?”

A stream of smoke shot from the thin one’s mouth. “Like I said: Fool.”

“You are foolish if you think my purpose in coming here is only to turn you in to the Enforcers. I could’ve come here with Enforcers. I did not.”

The silence in the space quivered, uncertain and precarious.

“What’d’ya want then?” the barkeep asked.

“To talk,” Bone said. And then: “To reason.”

The silence broke into sharp, angry hisses and whispers. The barkeep waved a massive hand in the air, instructing the crowd to settle.

Once they did, he fixed the Councilor with firm, earnest eyes and said: “Name’s Vander.”

Vander glanced across the table to his compatriot, who did not look back. He kept his glare firmly fixed on Bone. After a several-second stare down, he sat back in his seat.

“Silco.”

Bone nodded, eyes flitting between the pair. Then around the room. They landed on Viktor’s sister for a beat longer than anyone else. He turned back to Silco and Vander.

“Where is the money from the airship crash?”

Silco snorted, shaking his head.  The cherry end of his cigarette glowed persimmon-orange as he took a long drag.

“That’s all Topside cares about. Their money. Their ego. Their status quo.” Rumbles of agreement rippled around the room. “Even if we could give them their coin back, it won’t keep them from punishing us.”

“They are punishing us now,” Bone reminded. “The trade blocks and inspections. The Bridge. The increasing number of Enforcers in the Underground.”

“And whose fault is that?” Silco’s voice was a low, predatory growl. It seemed to be another thing he’d inherited from Rynweaver.

Bone frowned. “I am the only one managing to hold them back right now. I have been keeping Piltover’s fist loose enough that we can still breathe. They will not back off until the threat of the Undercity seceding is terminated.”

“Maybe the tactic should be cuttin’ off their hand,” Vander said with a shrug. “Instead of tryin’ to loosen it.”

Bone sighed, and ran a hand over his head. After a moment, he took a sip of water. The cool trickles seared his ravaged throat.

“You’re not the first, you know,” he rasped, “to dream and ache about such things. Years ago, my friends and I would sit in this very bar, and listen to others talk about independence – “

“But that’s all it was: talk,” Silco said. “Talk gets one only so far. To see a dream through, it requires action. Fighting – “

“You will get people killed – “

“People have already been killed,” Vander countered.

“And will continue to be massacred, whether the Children of Zaun disband or not. There is nowhere to move but forward. Toward our freedom.”

Bone’s lips pulled tight. He looked around the room again. At the angry and hopeful faces of his fellowman. He’d seen glimmers of those expressions in every person he’d ever heard speak about independence from Piltover. It was only ever a flicker, not enough to nestle into the lines on their faces; not enough to become fully imbued with the dream they were concocting. Because they knew –

“The Undercity will not survive a war with Piltover,” the Councilor said lowly. There was no defeat in his voice. Just the flatness of fact.

Silco’s eyes flared. Vander frowned deeply.

“We lack the funds and supplies,” he continued. He spoke with the grounded authority of a parent, and The Children bristled under him. “Piltover and the Undercity rose up from the same place. From Oshra Va’Zaun. They are sisters. They’re meant to be together. They will be stronger, safer together. That is what I have been working on in Chambers – “

“Fat lotta good it’s done!” a voice deep in the crowd cried. A roil of agreement swelled through the Drop.

“All due respect, Councilor,” Vander said, and his tone matched the sentiment, “Topside has had plenty o’ time to pull the Undercity up. They’ve no interest. An’ despite yer heart-felt efforts – “ Silco scoffed at this – “we’re still livin’ n’ dyin’ in squalor. Bodies covered in soot, lungs full o’ Grey, barely two cogs to rub together despite all the work we do.”

“We deserve more,” Silco growled.

“We do,” Bone agreed.

“So work with us,” interrupted Vander. “Like I said, we were wonderin’ if ya’d ever come knockin’. It’s clear ya love the Undercity, but Topside won’ listen.”

“They’ve thrown you placating crumbs,” Silco sneered. “Just enough to think that your agenda for equitability is possible. And you’ve gobbled them up.”

Bone glared at him. After a long beat, he addressed the room quietly, “Your anger is righteous, real, and well-founded. But freedom is too costly a thing. For both the Undercity and Topside. Our people will be decimated. They will get further away from their humanity.” His eyes settled on Viktor’s sister. “Lives will be ruined.”

She stiffened under his stare, and he was glad the message landed.

Silco leaned into his eyeline, redirecting Bone’s attention back onto him and Vander. There was a wild sharpness to his eyes now, like they’d been cut from ice. Cold and deadly. The back of Bone’s neck prickled. This one was dangerous. Like his father, he’d run the Undercity into the ground if let loose. So, Bone turned his attention back to the other revolutionary.

“I understand that it is not what you want. So often what is best is not the thing we want. Peace arguably requires more work. Requires humbleness and a swallowing of pride. From both sides. It requires forgiveness. But it preserves life. That is what we should be working towards.”

“You’re a stark raving, idealist fool,” Silco hissed.

Agreements slithered around them. Vander’s lips flattened. He smashed his cigarette into the ashtray on the table.

“We have to try, Councilor.”

Bone’s heart tapped an agitated, uneven rhythm. Heat bloomed beneath his collar, frustration and grief gripped his throat. He coughed, pulling the scarf back over his nose and mouth, turning away from the table.

He felt defeated. Like the blight in his chest, there was nothing to be done here either.

He would have to contact Grayson. He would have to do as much work in Chambers as he possibly could before his illness finally choked him out.

When the fit passed, Bone braced himself onto the strength of his cane, and hauled himself to his feet. No one stepped forward to offer a hand. The inkling of alienation that had been brushing up against his insides since before Snowdown became a scythe that gutted him.

“Thank you for the water. I will keep doing what I need to do to protect the Undercity.”

“So will we,” Silco volleyed.

Slowly, the tap of his cane filling the room, Bone rounded the table. Before he began the journey to the door, he paused in front of Viktor’s sister. She held his gaze, but he saw the muscles in her jaw flutter manically with anxiety.

“You should be ashamed,” he whispered.

A chair shrieked behind him as Silco shot to his feet, but he did not react. Bone watched doubt flicker in the young woman’s eyes before they glazed over defensively.

“Get out.”

Bone heeded her and limped toward the front door. The crowd parted with each hobbled step. Annie unlocked the door, and opened it for him. Despite his better judgement, Bone looked back over his shoulder at the angry and hopeful faces he recognized so well. Guilt hung heavy on his heart.

“Good luck,” he said, and stepped out back into the Lanes.

Chapter Text

The silence in The Last Drop vibrated. Like a violin string pull too tight; energy building from the inside-out, threatening to burst the container.

It was Sevika with the courage to break it.

“What do we do now?”

Her words broke the room from its trance. Bodies loosened, their gazes connecting with each other instead of the door. They murmured worriedly. Questions and concerns beginning to build.

“What if he tells the Enforcers?”

“What are we gonna do if Bone doesn’t support us?”

Then the anger rose up.

“Whatta fuckin’ traitor!”

“Topside lapdog!”

“Piltie fucker!”

“Never cared about the Undercity – “

“About Zaun!” a voice corrected.

Agreeing voices swelled.

“Oi! Aw’right! Settle, settle!”

Vander’s voice boomed over the lot of them. He stood, collected Bone’s glass, and went to lean against the bar next to Benzo. Silco rose as well. His eyes flicked to Kat in a quick quandary.

You’re alright?

Her lips flattened, in a failed attempt at a thankful smile. Instead, her brow firmed up, and her eyes hardened. A single curt nod was all the confirmation she was able to offer. Silco’s chin dipped, and joined his Brothers at the bar.

“We keep doing what we are doing,” Silco answered.

Despite not being as tall or as wide as his Brothers, Silco readily and easily drew the room’s attention. His zealousness and charisma just as – if not, more – eye-catching. He surveyed the room.

“This visit from our esteemed Councilor changes nothing. All it does is confirm what we already knew: That no member of Council has Zaun’s interest at heart. They even take our own, and mold them into pawns to keep furthering their agenda. To keep the Poor poor, and the Rich rich.”

The gathering rumbled in agreement, heads nodding.

“We should march across that Bridge, and storm Council!” a loud, ragged voice cried from the back.

Tolder, and the men near him, exuberantly agreed. Sevika wrenched her hand from Nasha’s, stomping forward, and threw her voice into the mix.

Vander’s eyes slid side-long to watch Silco’s face become edged and excited. Then the high whoops! of younger voices joined the crowd. The simmer of the room was slowly growing into a boil.

A panic clamped down on his heart. He thought about what Bone had said. And what Katya had said all those weeks ago. He smacked the glass down on the counter, and rose to his full height.

“We won’ be doin’ that,” he warned, voice a deep growl.

He gave the crowd a hard, pinning look. Vander could bluff. It was a survival skill he’d honed over many years. Just like mastering his fists. It was why he won at cards (save for when he played with Sevika). Why Silco did not know about his feelings for him. His stony face was a lie because his heart was battering his ribs, and his stomach had splattered to the soles of his shoes.

They didn’t have Bone’s support. It was never guaranteed, but having the Councilor condemn their movement shifted something in him. He supposed he must’ve held some subconscious, foolish hope that Bone, and his position on Council, would lend itself to a more easeful transition. One littered with less bodies. No more than necessary. If that was even a thing.

He hadn’t known the girl who’d been killed outside the Augmentation Alley scrap yard. She’d joined the cause recently. Riled up and hurt just like the rest of them. Frothing for change, and power over her own life. Just like the rest of them.

She should’ve been able to have it.

Instead, her name was added to the long, long list of Fissurefolk killed by Piltover.

The Undercity won’t survive a war with Piltover.

“Bone was right about one thing: we don’ have the means to take on Topside. Not right now. The augmenteers are crafting weapons and bullets. We have contacts now in Bilgewater who’re supplying us with firearms here n’ there. Smuggled alcohol fer fire-starters. An’ we’ll need all the time we can get.” He paused here, looked around the room. At Tolder and Sevika. Benzo and Silco. At Katya. “’Cause we all know that when Bone goes to meet Janna, Topside’ll come crashin’ down. He is the one thing between them n’ us right now, flimsy wall that he is. We build n’ prepare fer then.”

And hopefully something helpful comes up beforehand.

The energy in the Drop fizzled after that. The Children, angry and disappointed, mumbled into their drinks. When Tolder won his card game, he did not beam and gloat as he usually did. Sevika sat, arms cross, hunkered over her tankard; Nasha looking distant and uncertain at her side. Annie twisted through the crowd like smoke, eyes glossy and cheeks pink. Beckett pulled her into his lap when she wandered by, placing a grounding hand on her waist.

The Children left the Drop after finishing their drinks, too sour and foul-feeling to stick around. For the first time in a long while, Vander closed the tavern early. He, Silco, Benzo, Katya, and Sevika retreated to his private quarters.

Silco had not gone back to his drink since Bone left. Instead, he had begun chain smoking and paced feverishly around Vander’s kitchen. There was a manic flare to his eyes that Vander both sympathized with and watched warily.

“Well,” Benzo sighed after a while, tired of the silence, “there goes the plan of havin’ Bone’s support.”

“It was never a plan,” Silco spat, turning on heel and stomping back toward the sitting area.

“We have the whole of the Lanes!” Sevika proclaimed. Her silver eyes flashed. “Even Fissurefolk who haven’t officially joined the Children are standing beside us. None of them are taking down the graffiti, or eye-balling us weird. Everyone wants this!”

“Aye. Everyone does. But it doesn’ change the fact that we are still buildin’ up the means to protect ourselves,” Vander reminded hotly. “An’ even though everyone wants out o’ Topside’s shadow, they’re plenty who can’t defend themselves. We’ll need to be prepared for them.”

He hated that they did, but his eyes flicked over to Katya. She was leaned near the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She gave no indication that she had heard him, her amber eyes dull and unfocused.

Sevika scoffed. “Everyone in Zaun can fight. It’s what we’ve had to do since birth. Shit, Lu’s been pick-pocketing Enforcers since he was five. Even the old-timers will wield pick-axes and shovels. We need to show them we’re not afraid!”

“We’re not afraid,” Vander growled. He glared at Sevika, and she glared back. “We’re not afraid. And we can’t afford to be stupid. We keep doin’ what we’re doin’.”

He glanced up at Silco for confirmation. For back up. But his Brother continued to pace, face sharp angles and shadow under a plume of cigarette smoke.

“Fer fuck’s sake, Silco,” Benzo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sit down. Yer makin’ me seasick.”

Surprisingly, Silco did stop. He took the cigarette from his mouth – just a filter nub at this point – and smashed it in the ashtray on Vander’s table. He loosed a long breath, smoke shooting out through his nostrils, and curling about his face. A rageful dragon itching to crack armor and bones between its teeth.

“Sil,” Vander said. His voice was low, a plead humming beneath.

Finally, Silco looked at him. The wrath almost took Vander’s breath away.

“We keep moving forward as we have,” he said, voice gravelly with embers and cigarette smoke. “If they instigate further, we respond in kind.” He looked at Sevika, “We are not afraid.” To Vander, “We are not stupid.” To the room, “And we will not take peace as the prize.”

Like earlier, Vander’s stomach dipped. But he kept his face stoic and grim. Katya straightened and shoved her hands into her coat pockets, and stepped into the group’s circle.

“What say you, Sis?” Benzo prompted.

Katya’s jaw worked and her eyebrows furrowed.

Finally, she said in a hoarse voice, “Peace is not an option. I would rather die than have a peace that keeps us strapped to them. We deserve more than their crumbs and virtue-signaling. Freedom, or nothing.”

The silence grew tight again. The hairs on the back of Vander’s neck prickled, unease brushed against his gut. Silco looked at her with fierce, simmering pride.

“We should go,” he said quietly after a moment. “Mum’ll be waiting.”

Tentative fingers brushed against Kat’s arm, and she nodded.

“I should go, too,” Sevika said, pushing herself out from the table.

The darkness in her young face made Vander say: “Sev. No funny business.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” And she stomped from the room.

Silco and Katya made to follow her.

“Get home safe,” Vander said.

Silco nodded.

The silence followed Silco and Katya as they skulked through the dimmer, less traversed streets of Zaun. The sounds of the city were deadened by the blood rushing through their ears. Kat’s fingers squeezed and trembled between his. She’d only ever felt this angry at Heimerdinger.

You should be ashamed.

Her lungs froze remembering Bone’s words and his scathing glare. Painfully, her teeth gnashed together behind the tight line of her mouth.

How dare he . . .

His admonishment stabbed deeply. He knew what she, Viktor, and his constituents endured. And he had the nerve – the gall – to suggest that she should be ashamed for fighting for a better life for her brother? For herself? For the whole of the Underground?

Suddenly, Silco’s fingers slipped from hers. The absence sent a jolt down her spine, and she whipped around. Ugly fear shot through her, afraid she would see his silhouette fading away into the smudged shadows.

But he wasn’t. He stood, rooted to the cobblestones, his eyes an icy blaze cutting into the middle-distance.

“Sil?”

“I don’t want peace. I want freedom. We deserve no less.”

Kat searched his face carefully, eying the taut lines of light and dark that pulled his features into something fearsome. And desperate. She took a step towards him, and waited.

He swallowed. When next he spoke, his voice was ragged. Emotions reined in tightly, lest he snap and lose control.

“Zaun needs to be free. Not only is peace unacceptable, but it – it takes time if to be truly achieved. And it never is,” he added spitefully. “We have plenty of historical examples of that.”

Kat took another step closer. Her own anger tempered into something softer, preparing to help hold whatever it was he was slowly allowing himself to reveal. He still hadn’t looked at her, gaze still boring into an imaginary point ahead of him. The ice-hot fire in his eyes nearly glowed.

“Mum,” he started, voice growing horribly tight. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Mum won’t make it through the development and implementation of a peace treaty.”

Grief, heavy and sickly, weighed down Kat’s shoulders. Pulled her heart down to her stomach in a dead-weight.

Enyd was getting worse. To the point that she and Silco were beginning to help with her tailoring and bread deliveries. More days than not, she was too exhausted to travel outside of her home. And when she did, Zaun’s air choked her so much quicker than it used to. Already slight to begin with, she was losing weight. Her skin was growing duller, her hair thinning and turning limp.

She, nor Silco, nor Kat spoke about it. They only made the quiet adjustments necessary to keep Enyd as comfortable as possible. But Kat could feel Silco’s desperation beginning to grow manic. Willful denial a tantalizing balm offering to protect him from the harsh reality they were spiraling towards.

This was the first time Kat had heard him acknowledge his mother’s impending death. It had always been ‘she’s sick’ – never an out-loud admittance that she was dying. And, now, dying quickly.

Kat’s heart ached for him. The Blight, in her medical experience, did not have rhyme nor reason for how it progressed in a body. Some died within weeks of their diagnosis. Some got a few months to a few years. Very few, like Bone (Kat recognized that hacking sound he’d made. Wet and tearing and deep), got to live damn-near a full life.

Rage on Enyd’s behalf flooded through her.

It wasn’t fair.

Kat stepped closer, and took Silco’s face between her hands. He gave the smallest of starts beneath her touch, but the fury that had been building in his eyes quickly diminished. She didn’t say anything at first, just ran her thumbs over the jut of his cheekbones.

“Peace is not good enough,” she agreed quietly. We won’t make her wait for it.

The fire in Silco’s eyes rekindled, but this time it was more controlled. Strong hands came up, and hung themselves on her wrists. His thumbs brushed against her pulse point. The blood under Kat’s skin pumped steadily.

“You said you’d die before making peace with them. I don’t want that. I don’t want you to die for the cause. I want you to fight for it.”

The following day was beautiful. Powder blue skies streaked with whisps of cirrus clouds, the sun an intense, luminous pinprick high, high above. The air in Piltover was contentedly warm. Seats outside cafes were full, patrons enjoying their luncheons in the bliss of clear and comfortable weather.

Bone limped across the Academy’s campus with single-minded focus. He’d not seen Viktor since before Snowdown, and was hopeful that the boy would be taking his lunch outside now that the cold season had been blown out to sea.

His frail body thrummed and vibrated with anger and panic. He hadn’t slept a wink once he got back home from The Last Drop, his mind spinning with worries about what to do. How to best serve his people. How to protect them. How to keep them from harming themselves.

How to keep them from ruining everything.

Viktor had also not left his thoughts since leaving the Drop, either. He could not believe his sister would be so foolish. So selfish. Her involvement was jeopardizing everything for him.

Did he know? Was his sister stupid enough to use her brother as a mole for The Children of Zaun?

Bone’s blood boiled at the thought.

Finally, he spied the boy on his usual bench. Bone was surprised by the way his breath hitched at the sight of him. His sympathy for Viktor intensified, daring to transform into affection. In the span of twelve hours, he understood Heimerdinger’s want for Viktor to have a more secure spot on Piltover’s soil. Especially now. Especially now that it very much hung in the balance.

As Bone trudged up, he saw Viktor tinkering with a small mish-mash of metal in his lap. Per usual, his lunch sat untouched at his side. A fond smile tugged at Bone’s mouth.

“Mr. Slostov,” he greeted merrily, “fancy seeing you here!”

Viktor jumped, head whipping up at an alarming speed. His eyes were wide, bright, and owlish. He blinked and dropped his shoulders.

“Councilor.”

Bone smirked at him, cocking his head to one side. A small, self-conscious – but pleased – smile slowly spread across Viktor’s round face.

“Jarrot.”

“Better. May I sit with you?”

Viktor nodded, hurriedly adjusting his lunch and belongings. With a heavy groan and ungraceful plop, Bone took up the offered space. He stood his cane between his knees and rested his gnarled hands atop the tortoiseshell handle, giving a confident, casual air. A useful camouflage for his sensitive intention.

“What do you have there?”

Viktor looked down at the metal in his hands, turning it over. It looked like a set of wheels held together with a rubber band. Belatedly, Bone realized that there was a second, similar looking piece set on top of the paper that wrapped his lunch.

“It is a part of the motor mechanism for the boat I am building for Professor Heimerdinger’s class.”

“Ah.”

An awkward silence hung between them, too much time having passed since their last interaction to lend to flowing conversation. Bone gnawed the inside of his lip, pondering how to get information from Viktor without spooking him.

“We haven’t seen each other since before Snowdown,” Bone observed, casually glancing up at the trees that were beginning to bud. “Did the cold season treat you well?”

A shadow cast itself over Viktor’s face, and he shrugged in that way children do when they are upset but unwilling to talk. Whether it be because they don’t know how to voice their difficulties, or because they don’t want to get in trouble. Bone’s stomach churned, and he felt goose pimples appear on his arms.

“It was fine.”

“Was it? You seem . . . bothered by the question. If I may be so bold.”

Viktor’s mouth puckered and pulled to one corner, his brow furrowing as he tried to tug the rubber band to a gear tooth that was just too far away.

“I don’t like the cold. And Snowdown was in the middle of the week this year. I get off school, but Kat still has to work, so I had to stay on campus for the holiday.”

Bone’s hand tremored with the effort of keeping it from reaching out to cup Viktor’s shoulder. He knew the boy’s unique, lonely pain. The pain of having to exist on this side of the River in this time – under Piltover’s scrutinizing, prejudice gaze.

But he also knew that his and Viktor’s presences in varying esteemed circles were priceless cogs in the motor of progress to achieve equitability for the Undercity. They’d earned their stations so that, hopefully one day, other Trenchers would have much less of an uphill battle.

Bone hummed an understanding note, nodding sagely. “That is unfortunate. Especially right now with all the upheaval between our two cities.” He glanced sideways at Viktor to see if that garnered a reaction. His expression stayed stony, but did not deepen nor flicker. “Has your sister managed to stay safe while all of this is going on?”

The rubber band snapped out from between Viktor’s fingers, and whipped against his hand. He jumped and hissed. A small, angry, red welt began to grow on the web between his thumb and index finger. He shoved his hand into his mouth, sucking on the injury.

“Are you alright?”

Viktor nodded, and withdrew his hand from between his lips with a pop! He glared at the irritated reddened skin. A frown that was too-world-weary for such a young boy pulled his round cheeks down.

“Kat is – “ Viktor’s lips melded together, brows dropping. Bone waited on baited breath. “Kat has been keeping us home when I go back. I know she is just trying to keep me safe from what those people are doing – “

“The Children of Zaun.”

Viktor nodded. “Yes, them. Ever since they have appeared, she’s been keeping me home on the weekends.”

“To keep you safe?”

“That is what she says, but – “

Viktor paused, mouth clamping shut. Bone watched something fresh and hurtful flash in his eyes.

“But what, Viktor?”

Jumbles of thoughts made his brain hazy, words gummed up in his mouth, feelings thrashed inside his crumpled body. Viktor couldn’t decide what to say, how to say it, or what he was even feeling. In his mind’s eye, he saw Kat’s face – once full and kind – become dull and withdrawn. Nausea rippled across his stomach.

“I feel like something is going on.” Viktor hated how small and tight his voice had become. “She’s not telling me something. We’ve always been so close, and since before Snowdown it feels like she is going away.”

Suddenly, he hiccupped and sniffed. Hurriedly, horrified, Viktor set his invention down and wiped at his face. Shaking, he began to shove his belongings back in his satchel, embarrassment and confusion lighting his nervous system with the desperate need to get away.

Bone finally reached out to set a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, m’boy.”

“No. It is alright, Council – Jarrot. I need to head to my next class. There was something I needed to speak with Professor Holmgren about beforehand. I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to – “

As he rambled, Viktor sloppily stood, knocking his lunch to the ground and nearly falling over as he unevenly braced himself on his crutch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, limping away. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

Wanting to spare the child from further discomfort, Bone let him go. The ache in his chest grew with each uneven step Viktor took away from him.

While Bone now felt certain that Viktor was not being used by the Children, he still felt deeply sorry for him. He was glad for what he had told his sister the previous night. That she should be ashamed. Her actions were already tearing at her little brother’s tender heart.

Bone knew it was an awful thing to be alone. He’d felt it every day since becoming Councilor. It painfully intensified as he was realizing his fellow Fissurefolk did not feel supported by his political efforts.

Viktor knew what it was like to be alone. A brilliant child, unable to exist in the world he was born into because of his handicaps; unable to exist in the world he’d worked tooth-and-nail to get into because of where he had come from. No friends. Only a sister, who was now sacrificing their relationship, and his well-being, for a cause that would not end well.

A breeze blew by, ruffling Bone’s thin hair. His breath caught, and he quickly pulled the pocket square from his coat. He managed to bring the fabric to his mouth before the hacking started. His skeleton bent and shook with the force of the coughing. Abdominal and back muscles contracted painfully, threatening to pull and spasm.

When it passed, he folded the pocket square up without looking at the contents. Gently, he patted his forehead with the dry edge of the cloth. Bone’s breath was a sharp, shallow rasp – like a dull knife being pulled along a whetstone.

He needed to speak with Grayson, he decided. What he would tell her, he still wasn’t sure. But time was running out. For everyone.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

When Kat’s eyes cracked open, she saw the dim, orange glow of light outlining the jamb of Silco’s bedroom door. Signaling that Enyd was already up. If she had managed to sleep at all. Several nights over the past few weeks, the ferocity of her coughing and retching hadn’t allowed for more than a couple hours of rest at a time. It left the already haggard woman exhausted, her throat raw, and her voice the soft crackle of a dwindling fire. Weak and smokey.

Kat shifted beneath Silco’s arm, and he grunted, muscles flexing and drawing her in closer.

“It’s time to get up, Silco.”

He mumbled something into her hair that she’d since learned was ‘Not yet’.

“There is going to be a delivery of supplies to the clinic today. I need to be there to receive it.”

His body stilled in consideration. Finally, his arm relaxed and she sat up, twisting to face him. In the shadows of the dark room, the angles of his face appeared sharper. They cut against the softness of the pillow beneath his head, hair an ink spill over the light color of the case’s fabric. She reached down and brushed some strands away from his eyes. It was getting so long.

A blue eye cracked open and squinted up at her.

“What?”

Kat smiled sleepily, and dipped down to kiss the summit of his cheekbone.

“Nothing. You’re just handsome.”

There was something about the mornings, when it was just them and a tangled-up sheet. Before they had to open that door and march into the world. Ready to live, lead, and fight. For a few brief, waking moments nothing else existed.

Silco shifted his head against the pillow, setting both eyes upon her. Even in the dark of the bedroom, she saw the color on his cheeks shift, and a careful-not-to-be-too-pleased smile on the edges of his mouth. Kat leaned down and pressed a kiss to it, before suddenly slipping away as his arms attempted to ensnare her and draw her back into the covers. Kat laughed quietly as his arms flopped on to the bed, heavy in defeat. She gently padded toward the dresser her clothes were left on, and began changing out of her pajamas.

Silco unraveled himself from the sheets, grabbed his cigarette tin from the bedside table, and shuffled to the window. The light that filled the bedroom as he drew back the ratty curtain was grey and watery. Soft enough that the brightness did not sting, clear enough that Kat could easily thumb the buttons of her trousers through their eyelets. 

Silco cracked the window open, the sounds and smells of Zaun gently wafting into the room. He struck a match against the sandpaper within the tin of the case, and lit a cigarette. With a sleepy sigh, he leaned out the window.

Kat shrugged into her blouse, fingers making quick work of the button-front. Her vest was next, the chain of her papa’s pocket watch catching the light in a joyful twinkle. Tying her hair up in a ponytail, she crossed over to Silco. 

“You are going to have to tie this back soon,” she said, tucking his hair behind an ear. Goose pimples rose on his skin as her fingers traced lightly down his neck and shoulder.

He hummed in response, sucking a long drag from the cigarette. The paper was eaten away by a wriggling orange line, and the ash blew away on a soft breeze. 

“You don’t want to get it caught in any of the machinery at work.”

Silco lifted his eyebrows in a ‘that’s true’ fashion. Leaning farther out the window, he blew a mouthful of smoke into the air, and crushed the end of the cigarette against the bricks of the building. Standing back into the room, he pulled the window shut and turned to Kat. 

“Any spares, perhaps?” he asked, reaching out and running his fingers through the thick waves of her ponytail. 

“In my coat, probably. I’ll get you one before we leave.”

Kat left Silco in his bedroom to change, and ventured into the apartment. She heard Enyd before she saw her. A steady, wheezing drone whistling from the living room. She dipped her fingers into the pockets of her coat, searching for a spare elastic, before continuing.

The older woman was propped up in her rocking chair, pillow wedged behind her head, a large drop cloth spread over her lap. She held a section of the fabric up to the light at her side, stitching a long, red swatch to it with aching precision. Her eyes flicked over to Kat as she stepped into the room, a smile stretching her face.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Enyd.” 

Kat’s eyes gave a cursory glance around Enyd’s immediate space. A water glass on the end table, her medicine (woefully low) next to it; no signs of bloody rags or a sick bucket. Then she looked at the project in Enyd’s lap. A flag. Zaun’s flag. She’d been working on it for a few weeks, desperate to keep herself busy as her ability to consistently leave the apartment lessened. Enyd had presented the idea to Kat and Silco one evening, along with a few rough sketches of a design and emblem.

“Every nation needs a flag,” she’d insisted.

And she wasn’t wrong. Kat couldn’t decide whether to inspect the drawings Enyd was showing them, or to stare at Silco’s utterly entranced face as he took in his mother’s work. Enyd had come such a long way from initially scolding him that one night at Vander’s, to creating the crest of their nation. He’d excitedly taken her sketches to The Last Drop the next day to confer with Vander. 

The two men talked for hours, mulling over the scraps of paper, piecing together different facets of the drawings until the final draft emerged. The emblem for the Nation of Zaun: A ‘N’ and ‘Z’ artfully combined in a strong tower, against a backdrop of blue and red whorls meant to pay homage to Oshra Va’Zaun and Lady Janna.

“Did you sleep?” Kat asked, taking a step closer. It didn’t seem like Enyd had made much progress from where she had stopped the night prior. Hopefully meaning – 

“Yes. Better than I have the past few nights.”

“How long have you been up?”

Enyd blinked, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Only about an hour. Is Silco up?”

“He is getting dressed. I’ll make you some tea and breakfast.”

“Oh, Kat. You don’t have to do that. I can – “

Enyd slipped her needle through the flag to keep from losing it, and began to carefully gather the fabric up.

“No, no,” Kat insisted. She placed a hand on Enyd’s shoulder. “Really, I got it.”

The older woman looked up at her, eyes simultaneously grateful and abashed. She settled into the pillow behind her head, and lifted up her sewing again as Kat went to the kitchen. 

Enyd’s kitchen had become as familiar as her own. She moved swiftly between either side of the galley. The kettle went on the top right burner, as it was the one that got hottest most quickly. Tea was tucked away in the cupboard above the hood. Mugs were in the second cupboard that faced the stove, along with the plates. Bread was kept in the box below those cupboards. The bread knife and other silverware were tucked in the middle drawer beneath the butcher block counter. The drawer stuck if one did not lift the handle first and give it a gentle, but firm, yank. The marmalade was in the icebox door, next to the yeast.

Like seeing her and Silco’s clothes drying next to one another, the way Kat easily moved about the kitchen was honey-sweet comfort. A warm blanket that wrapped around her heart. 

She heard Silco enter the living room as she began slicing bread. Then, gentle and loving ‘good mornings’ shared between mother and son, before he appeared in the kitchen, Enyd’s water glass in hand. He went to the sink and filled it. The kettle began to warble. Silco reached over and turned the flame beneath down.

“Go ahead and take the bread over,” he said. “I’ll make the tea.”

“I’ll take the water, too.”

Silco handed her the fresh glass before turning his attention to the box of tea and mugs, and Kat walked over to the kitchen table, placing the bread and water glass down. 

Enyd knotted off the thread, and slid her needle snugly into the drop cloth’s weave for safekeeping. Gently setting her work on the floor, she gripped the arms of her chair and pressed up to her feet. Kat watched her carefully, body tightening like a spring. Ready to leap forward should Enyd look at all unsteady. But the older woman managed to the table just fine, though the plop into her seat was a little graceless. Kat slathered a slice of bread with marmalade, set it on a plate, and handed it to Enyd. She murmured her thanks as Kat went to prepare her own breakfast. Silco appeared, placing mugs of tea in front of his mother and Kat, before returning to the kitchen to grab his own.

As he took his own seat, Kat frowned as she scraped the sides of the marmalade jar with a knife.

“Do you - “

“You can finish it up,” he said, sipping at his tea.

Enyd watched as Kat slid the scant amount over her bread, lips pursing.

“I can go to the market today to see if I can find more.”

“Don’t, mum. The marketplaces barely have staples, muchless condiments.” Silco gave her a reassuring smile as he tore a piece of bread from his slice and popped it in his mouth. “We’ll be able to get marmalade soon enough. And butter. And cheese.”

Enyd returned the smile weakly, before tucking her head into the crook of her elbow and coughing. It passed quickly, and she waved Kat off before the young woman could assist her in any way. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” With a quivering hand, Enyd grabbed for her water glass. She took careful sips, her face softening with each one.

“There is a delivery coming to the clinic today,” Kat said. “I will grab another bottle of decongestant. We - we could also try some anti-inflammatories, too. See if that helps at all.”

Enyd’s knee-jerk reaction was to turn down the offer. Out of humbleness, out of fear. But she’d since learned to not fight against Kat’s insistence. Especially when Silco backed her up. Even if Enyd said ‘no’, she knew Kat would bring them to her anyway.

Kat’s eyes lifted to the wall clock, and she grunted, biting her bread. She took a few large gulps of tea and made to stand.

“That delivery will be there shortly. I should head out. Oh, here.”

She held out her wrist to Silco, presenting the black elastic wrapped around it. He blinked, then was jolted back to what she had said in the bedroom.

He peeled it off her arm. “Thank you.”

Smoothing his wavy hair across his skull, and gathering its bulk at the nape of his neck, he tied it off. Kat’s eyes were warm as she took him in. Sighing, she folded the rest of her bread and took it up in one hand, as the other went to gently rest on the side of Silco’s neck. She used the contact as a counter-balance to hold her upright as she dipped to kiss him. She rounded the table and kissed Enyd’s head. 

“Be safe,” Enyd called as Kat walked toward the door.

“I will be.” She twirled her coat over her shoulders, and opened the door. “See you both tonight.”

delivery arrived. Kat had the crates stacked and lined up against the wall across from the reception desk. She attached two invoices to a clipboard: the one that accurately reflected the amount of goods in the crates, and the one she’d forged to represent what would be stocked in the clinic’s stores. It was a strategy she’d never done before these last few orders, instead just sneakily slipping bottles and bandages here and there. But with this large of a job, the hard copies of paperwork would help shield her from any suspicion.

She hoped that no miners would come by. The only face she wanted to see peek through the clinic door was Sevika, who would arrive about an hour before Will was due to start. She would tuck a large portion of the confiscated goods in a hollow-bottomed trash bin, and wheel it out of the mine. She would meet Brothers and Sisters near the mine’s refuse trenches and divvy up the supplies among them to take to The Last Drop.

She’d had the foresight after Snowdown to convince the board to stock up on medicine and materials, arguing that the previous cold season they’d been woefully short on supplies. They had ended up being unable to contend with a flare of Fissure Fever that had broken out in the barracks. And subsequently spread to the tunnels. Sixty-two children, twenty-two men, and forty-five women died by the time the Cold broke.

Of course, the loss of life meant little to the Piltovan Board and Rynweaver. So, Kat spun the clinic’s need for preemptive supplies to the tune of the bottom line. If less miners got sick, more miners could work. If more miners could work, the more business the mine could do. A simple deflection, but a successful one. The board greenlit Kat to triple the order of supplies for the cold season. However, due to the intensity of the weather this past cold season and with the continued scrutiny over goods entering the Undercity, the shipments had been parsed out and delayed. Only two of the three orders arrived during the cold months; this was the last one.

Luckily, there had been no major illness outbreak this past Snowdown. And, luckily, that was not the reason Kat had requested the large orders.

More and more weapons were coming in from black market dealers, pirates, and morally dubious traders. Mek and several other augmenteers kept their forges burning bright at all hours, crafting weapons from metal scraps. Creating domed bullet heads and chrome-colored casings. 

In very, very small amounts, the Brothers and Sisters who had access to it were carefully smuggling gunpowder out of the mine. They’d scoop it up in random glass vials and jars, small enough that it wasn’t apparent on their person, and whisk it away to Augmentation Alley. There, blacksmiths became munitioners and assembled bullets. 

To compensate for the minimal amounts of prepared gunpowder, Brothers and Sisters began assembling the ingredients Enyd had listed weeks ago. Those who happened to be chimney sweeps gathered crusts of saltpeter in their satchels while they worked. Everyone who had access to a wood burning stove saved the charred remains left in their hearths. Kat showed Annie and Beckett where the Springs were, and the pair had been leading small crews to the caves to collect chunks of sulphur.

The collected hodge-podge of materials were brought to the Drop. The days Enyd was well enough to venture from her home, she taught the Children how to combine the trinity together, and oversaw the process. Never once did she think being a Slipper would be anything but a killing curse. Using the skills that had been forced upon her by Piltover to rend their own misfortune allowed her to remember what sweetness tasted like.

And in preparing for the inevitable fight, Kat spent Piltovan coin on supplies that would help heal and protect Zaunites injured in the fray. She’d nearly cackled and kissed Rynweaver’s signature at the bottom of the permit when it arrived in her hands. Instead, she folded it up and kept it in her coat as a keepsake.

Kat’s shift was blessedly quiet. Allowing her all the time to intake and craftily organize supplies. Most new items would stay in the clinic. The ‘extras’ she set aside, using empty boxes to hold them. She also stuffed a few items in her coat. Most of it would go to the stocks in the Drop’s walls. The rest she would bring to her clients.

Just as she closed the lid on the final box that was destined for The Last Drop, Sevika showed up with the trash bin. Together, they shoved the supplies snugly into the bin’s hollow bottom. The door snapped shut with a quick tug. Any sign of the door’s outline was hidden beneath the coarse texture of rust. Corroded metal barely received a first-glance, muchless a second one, in Zaun.

“Be careful.”

“‘Course.” Sevika winked and beamed her endearingly cocky smile.

Kat watched her friend go until she turned the corner and headed for the lift.

The rest of Kat’s time passed quietly. She was grateful for that. The absence of hubbub, sirens, and Enforcers meant Sevika had pulled her job off successfully.

It also gave her more time to finish stocking the storeroom. To make it seem fuller than it actually was. Like the window dressers that tended to the boutiques in Main Spring Crescent, Kat placed items in the cabinets and drawers just so. Absolutely no suspicion would be roused. 

A few minutes before the shift bell sounded, Silco swaggered into the clinic. Kat popped her head out from the supply closet, mouth drawing into a bright smile at the sight of him.

“That time already?”

“Already? Were you just having so much fun pilfering Topside that you lost track of time?” Silco cheekily asked.

Kat laughed, and stepped out of the closet, clipboard in hand. She set it on the reception desk, and sauntered over to him.

“I do love taking from them,” she cooed. Placing a hand on his chest, she lifted onto the toes of her boots. Mouth but a scant couple inches in front of his, she said, “It is a nice change of pace.”

There was a grin on Silco’s lips. It existed only for a moment. The tease of Kat so close to him too strong of a thing to keep from kissing her. She met him half-way with a small tug on his shirt. Her other hand wove its way up into his hair. Still in its knot from the morning. 

Silco’s tongue appeared in her mouth, his arms around her hips. His fingertips grazing the top of her ass. She welcomed him with a tilt of her head and a firmer press of her lips. He responded in kind, until it was difficult to know where he stopped and she began. 

The kiss slowed before it grew irrevocably frenzied. Kat loosened the grip on his shirt, and dropped back onto her feet. He grinned down at her, expression ever so slightly dazed.

“Let me grab the medicine. I left it in the closet. Then I’ll grab my coat and we’ll go.”

She patted his chest, went back to the supply closet, and pulled a brown glass bottle of decongestant and a tin of anti-inflammatories from the shelves. Closing the door behind her, Kat handed Silco the two medicines before going to grab her coat off the rack. 

“Excuse me?”

Silco started and spun around. He’d forgotten to shut the clinic door upon arriving, allowing Will to appear with no announcing sounds.

Will’s face dropped into an expression one might make when discovering shit on their shoe.

“Silco.”

Kat had finally given them a perfunctory introduction after the eighth time he had come to pick her up after work. Will had eyed him suspiciously, like he always had. Silco regarded him with a disdainful eye; Kat had told him about Will cautioning her about the Children. Silco had no time and little respect for someone trying to convince the fight out of someone.

“Will.”

“Hello, Will,” Katya said as she stepped over, gently adjusting her coat as she went. “I did the intake of the supplies. Could you call someone to come get the crates?”

Will didn’t answer her. His eyes were focused on Silco’s hands.

“What do you have there?”

The medic knew very well what Silco had. Decongestant and anti-inflammatories. But why did he have containers of each in his hands?

Will’s small eyes traveled over to Katya. He furrowed his brow, and used the knuckle of his index finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We don’t give patients entire bottles of medicine, Katya. You know that.”

It was Silco’s first instinct to tell the man to mind his own fucking business. But Kat pressed a hand to his shoulder, short-circuiting any hasty reaction. She fixed Will with a firm look.

“Yes, I know that. But a family member of his is very ill, and needs the help.”

“Over half of the Undercity needs help!” Will hissed in a harried voice. He closed the door behind him, and spun back to her. “And you can’t go giving away medicine that doesn’t belong to you. You could get into big trouble. We could get into big trouble!”

Katya frowned. “We won’t get into trouble. I’ll make sure of it. Silco’s mother suffers from the Lung Blight she developed working in these mines. This - “ she gestured to the medicine in Silco’s hands “ - is the least Topside can do.”

“Katya,” Will whined. “This isn’t going to end well - “

“She just told you that there’ll be no trouble,” Silco snapped. “So, unless you want there to be trouble, I suggest shutting your mouth.”

Will stared up at Silco, expression livid. His lips turned downward, as his eyebrows and nose pinched together. His hand lashed out, and pushed Silco’s shoulder.

“You’re a bad influence!”

Silco snarled and went to lunge forward. Kat jockeyed between the two men, a firm hand to Silco’s chest and a gentle elbow against Will’s collarbones.

“Just stop,” she demanded. “Drop it.” She focused her attention on Will. “I am giving him the medicine because it is the right thing to do. No one will know.”

Gently, Kat guided Silco around Will, toward the clinic door. Silco tucked the bottles into his shirt, and didn’t spare the other man a second glance as he and Kat disappeared into the hallway.

Viktor held tight to the clunky model boat tucked under his arm as he and Miss Ivy waited for Kat to pick him up. He’d finished this first proto-type earlier in the week, and could not wait to show her. Miss Ivy had already ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘aah-ed’ over it when she came to gather him at his dorm. 

“It’s spectacular, Viktor,” she had said, gently tapping one of the paddle-wheels.

“I’m going to take it for a test-drive this weekend.”

“I’m sure it will go swimmingly.”

She winked at him. Viktor’s cheeks warmed, and he carefully placed his boat into the shelter of his free arm. Miss Ivy took up his rucksack, and together they traveled to the Bridge.

Kat was prompt per usual. Grinning at him as she walked up, her eyes widened at the machine in his arm. Viktor gnawed on the inside of his lower lip in anticipation. He limped forward once she was a few feet away, carefully adjusting the boat against his hip.

“Is this it?” Kat gasped excitedly. “The SS Viktor?”

She held out her hands, and Viktor allowed her to take up the boat. He bathed in the look of awe and pride on her face, in the small little exclamations that escaped her mouth as she turned the boat this way and that.

“I am not going to name it that,” he mumbled, a rosy tint on his cheeks, an awkward smile tugging his lips. 

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Ivy gushed.

The joy in Katya’s face melted into stony protectiveness as the aide stepped forward. Gingerly, she handed the boat back to her brother.

“It is.” 

The agreement was cool. A small wince crinkled the corners of Ivy’s eyes. Katya held her hand out, and Ivy handed Viktor’s bag to her. Without a ‘thank you’, the brunette shouldered it, and encouraged her brother to begin the journey back home.

“Have a good weekend, Miss Ivy,” he called over his shoulder.

The discomfort on her face morphed quickly back into a kind expression.

“You too, Viktor. See you Monday!”

“See you Monday!”

“Come along, Viktor,” Katya murmured. 

She softly grazed her fingers over his cheek to redirect his gaze away from Piltover, and toward the Undercity. 

Once situated in the conveyor car, Viktor settled the boat on his lap, small hands wrapped securely around it. The other passengers eyed it and him curiously, but kept to themselves. Not that he would’ve noticed; the attention of his bright eyes and clever fingers held completely by his creation. 

“Were you able to figure out the motor?”

His sister’s voice was the one thing that could draw him away from the boat. Viktor’s head snapped up to look at her. The interest in her eyes warmed him.

“Yes, and no,” he admitted, looking back at the boat. A finger pet agitatedly at a slot near the helm. His lips thinned. “The motor needs to be cranked. The key is in my bag. So, it is renewable energy in a sense. But not self-sustaining.”

Kat chuckled, and pet a hand over his head. 

“That is still very good.”

“I want to test it out,” he said, eyes big and pleading. “Can we go to the Oases tomorrow? Please?”

Kat blinked, fingering the duck-tailed curls at the nape of his neck. The conveyor car’s engine rumbled to life, and the cab jerked as it began its descent. Viktor kept his eyes on her the whole time. Bright and hungry and deserving.

She smiled softly. “Yes. Alright.”

Viktor barely slept that night. His mind vibrating with images of his boat pleasantly chugging through water, formulas of acceleration and fluid mechanics dancing behind his eyelids. He leapt out of bed the moment he heard Kat shuffling about the apartment. He dressed in a whirlwind, particularly grateful that his brace was so much easier to slip on and set in place. Shirt only partially tucked in, he staggered excitedly into the hall, and shuffled toward the kitchen on clumsy socked feet.

“Careful,” Kat chuckled as he damn-near tumbled into the table. 

Viktor sucked in an excited breath the way children do - one wet sounding around the edges, as if they’re about to salivate around their joy - and shoved himself into his seat. He’d left the boat and his notebook on the table the night before. He pulled the items closer, eyes sparkling, and flipped the notebook open.

He heard Kat chuckle beneath her breath before she stepped over from the stove, and placed a hot mug of tea at his side.

“Don’t spill.”

“I won’t!”

His sister returned to the stove, and continued preparing their bowls of oatmeal. Viktor continued pouring over his notes, periodically mumbling to himself, and looking up at his boat. His breakfast appeared before him with a sudden clunk, oats thickly sloshing about within the bowl. Kat took up her seat beside him, and carefully moved the boat back to the center of the table.

“Eat, Viktor.”

Reluctantly, he closed his notebook and set it aside, tugging the bowl in front of him. Internally, his mind tantrumed a bit from having to be pulled away from its preferred activity, but he knew the faster he dealt with breakfast, the faster he’d get to the Oases. That was motivation enough to keep him from grumbling. Kat knew this, and smiled to herself as her brother tore through his oats and tea. 

When the bowl was empty, Viktor pushed it away, reached for his crutch, and hauled himself to his feet.

“I’m going to go brush my teeth!”

Kat glowed under his excitement, gathering their breakfast dishes, and bringing them to the sink.

Just as she finished washing them up, Viktor enthusiastically trundled back from the washroom. He made for the kitchen table to gather the boat, heart pattering excitedly at the thought of getting to test it out for the first time. 

Then, Viktor was unfairly pulled from his boyish excitement by surprising, rapid knocks at the apartment door. He looked to Kat - whose own face conveyed her confusion - to the door, and back to his sister. The knocks started up again. Frowning, Kat set the dish towel in her hand on the counter, and made for the door. She peered through the peephole, and Viktor watched as the color drained from her face. Her eyes flicked to him before pulling the door chain loose and unlocking the deadbolt. Opening the door only enough so she could slip outside, Viktor saw the silhouette of the visitor slink back to make space for her. She pulled the door mostly closed behind her, and he heard her hurriedly whisper. There was concern in her tone, though he could not make out the words. A voice, a man who sounded distraught, answered. A pause. Then his sister murmured an answer. 

She whisked back inside and closed the door. Turning to face him, Viktor felt his heart splatter to his feet. The heat of unfairness prickled his round cheeks. 

Despite having some idea of what Katya was about to say, he still asked: “What’s going on?”

She sighed, stepping toward him. “I’m so sorry, Viktor. Something has happened, and I need to go help someone.”

Viktor’s eyes, burning with tears he refused to let form, flicked to the door. Then back to his sister.

“Who? What happened?”