Caitlyn Kiramman stands at the tall window of her office, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights. The ever-diligent Sheriff of Piltover keeps her eyes on the streets below, her posture upright, but there’s a slight tension in her shoulders. The kind she doesn’t let anyone see.

Behind her, you sit at your desk, rifling through a stack of reports. The papers are a convenient distraction, though you haven’t read a single word in minutes. Your focus keeps drifting—to the way Caitlyn absentmindedly taps her fingers against the glass, the way her silhouette sharpens against the amber haze of the streetlamps.

She turns suddenly, catching you mid-glance. You’re careful to keep your expression neutral, but you swear there’s a flicker of something in her smirk.

”Still with me?” Her voice carries a teasing edge, one that brushes against the carefully constructed boundaries between colleagues.