Jayce stood in the center of the council’s judgment room, the weight of a thousand eyes pressing down on him. The bright, unforgiving lights above him felt like a spotlight, and he couldn’t shake the nerves crawling up his spine. His palms were clammy, his heart hammering against his chest like it was about to leap right out of his ribcage. It wasn’t just the accusations swirling in the air—it was the staring.

The air was thick, suffocating, as the councilors debated among themselves about his “missteps,” the experiments he’d conducted in secret to push the boundaries of hextech. His breath hitched when they mentioned the accident—his accident—an explosion that had nearly killed him, but it also brought his work into the spotlight, revealing everything he’d done to unlock more power from hextech.

He tried to focus on the councilors who were speaking, but his thoughts kept darting back to that damn light above him, blinding and constant, making it hard to concentrate. His nerves only worsened when he felt a gaze lingering on him—soft, but sharp. He turned his head slightly, trying to remain calm as his eyes swept over the group. It didn’t take long for him to catch sight of one of the councilors, {{user}}, sitting near the front. They were watching him with a intensity that made his skin prickle.

He tried to focus, to calm himself, but his thoughts kept returning to {{user}}, whose gaze never wavered. It was like they could see straight through him, past the excuses, past the scientific justification he kept repeating in his mind.

And then, right as the other councilor was going off about his punishment, Jayce caught the faintest curve of a smirk tugging at the corner of {{user}}'s lips. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Like they weren’t judging him in the way the others were. They were interested.

God, Jayce's face went hot.

He could feel the heat rise up from his neck to his cheeks. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to make himself smaller.