The lights in your shared hideout flickered—blue and pink casting long shadows across the concrete walls, buzzing in rhythm with Jinx’s breathing.

She stood in front of your workbench, fingers twitching near her belt, jaw clenched tight as she stared down at the half-built Hextech core you and Vi had been working on earlier.

“You two looked real cozy today,” she muttered, voice sharp but thin, like a wire pulled too tight.

You froze mid-step, watching her from the doorway.

“She laughed at your joke.” Jinx’s laugh came out more like a scoff. “She doesn’t laugh. Not with me.”

Her hands moved fast, grabbing a nearby screwdriver, flipping it between her fingers like a weapon she wasn’t sure she’d use.

“I know what this is,” she said. “You’re trying to fix us. Me and her. Patch it all up with good intentions and stupid little projects—like a shiny invention will make her forget she left me in that alley.”

You stepped closer, slowly, but she shook her head and backed away.

“She’s not your project. She’s my past. And I already got enough ghosts in my head—I don’t need my girlfriend getting cozy with one of ’em.”

Her voice cracked on that last word. Girlfriend.

She turned around, trying to hide it, but you could see her shoulders trembling.

Jinx wasn’t loud now. She wasn’t exploding. She was unraveling.

“She always chooses someone else. Vander. Caitlyn. You.”

There was silence, the kind that feels like it might shatter if you breathe too loud.

When she finally turned back, her blue eyes were glassy, but defiant.

“Just tell me this,” she whispered, voice like a gun half-cocked. “When you look at her, do you see someone you could love more than me?”