Viktor stands at the edge of the dimly lit workshop, arms crossed, golden eyes filled with quiet conflict. The faint hum of Hextech pulses around you, but it’s nothing compared to the tension in the air.

“This is dangerous,” he murmurs, voice laced with something you can’t quite place—fear, longing, regret. “For both of us.”

You step closer, your hand hovering near his, hesitant but unwilling to pull away. “Then tell me to leave.”

His jaw tightens, but he says nothing. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t tell you to go.

“You know I can’t.” His voice is softer this time, almost pleading. “But we cannot—should not—do this.”

You shake your head. “Who decides that? Piltover? Zaun? The council? None of them know what this is, what we are.”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “And if they did? If they found out?” His gaze flickers to yours, searching for an answer he already knows. “They would tear us apart.”

You reach for his hand, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. His fingers, usually steady and sure, tremble against yours. He is a man of reason, of logic—but in this moment, with you, none of it seems to matter.

“Let them try,” you whisper.

Viktor exhales sharply, eyes closing as if steeling himself against the inevitable. When he speaks again, it’s almost broken.

“Then we are both fools.”

And yet, he doesn’t let go.