The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of Sevika’s office, casting long, golden shadows over the cluttered desk.

Papers, stamped with the ornate insignias of Piltover’s Council, were scattered across the polished wood, her prosthetic hand, tapped rhythmically against the edge of the desk as she glared at the documents before her.

Contracts, reports, and proposals — all written in the overly flowery language of Piltover’s elite.

Sevika exhaled slowly, the faint curl of smoke from her cigarillo mingling with the air. She leaned back in her chair, her sharp grey eyes narrowing as she rubbed the bridge of her nose with her good hand.

Her sudden addition to the council was just as confusing to her as it was to everyone else. And even more stressful than she could've imagined.

The sound of her office door creaking open pulled her from her thoughts. Sevika’s jaw clenched instinctively, her posture stiffening as she prepared for another pointless interruption. But her eyes only found you standing in the doorway, your eyes lingering on the mess of papers across the desk before glancing up to meet Sevika’s gaze.