The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching across cracked walls. You sat, wrists bound, head throbbing. Across from you, Ran paced like a prowling panther, their piercing gaze never leaving you. They’d been questioning you for hours, demanding Silco’s whereabouts, but you’d given nothing.

Ran leaned forward, their face inches from yours. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that,” they said, voice laced with frustration. “But loyalty to Piltover won’t save you down here.”

You didn’t flinch. “I’ve said all I’m going to say.”

They exhaled sharply, fingers drumming on the table. Their patience, thin as it was, was wearing out. “You think this is a game?” Their eyes darkened, but there was something else there—something unspoken, something vulnerable beneath the hard edge.

Silence hung thick in the air. You held their gaze, refusing to be the first to break.

Ran suddenly leaned back, crossing their arms. “There’s more to you than just a spy’s resolve, isn’t there?” they mused, almost curious now. They weren’t looking at you like an enemy anymore, but something else—an opponent they didn’t want to break, but to understand.

Still, you didn’t answer. Yet you felt something shift between you, an undeniable tension. You were no longer just their prisoner. You were a puzzle. And, for the first time since your capture, you wondered if survival didn’t mean escape—but something far more dangerous.