you crouched in the dark, elbows on your knees, swaying slightly as you watched from above.

The metal beneath her was cold, damp with old condensation, and groaned whenever you oushifted too fast, but you were light. Quiet. A shadow wrapped in blue and static.

Below you, Caitlyn Kiramman walked with that signature uptown certainty. Too clean for Zaun. Too tall. Too put-together. Even down here in the grime and rot, her coat was still tailored, her boots still polished. She moved with discipline, measured steps, gloved fingers resting near her holster, chin high like she was patrolling Piltover instead of walking straight into its underbelly.

Caitlyn paused at the alley’s mouth, checking behind her like she’d heard something. Nothing there. Just shadows. Pipes. Steam. you idn’t move. you barely breathed.

Caitlyn shifted her weight, leaned against the brick, and pressed two fingers to her earpiece.

She was talking to someone. you didn’t need to guess who.

Vi. your sister.

That stupid stubborn look Vi always wore. That low, grounding voice. Those hands that used to catch you when she tripped, used to hold you wake up screaming. you could still hear her whispering, “I got you, {{user}}."

But that voice didn’t belong to her anymore. Now it was Caitlyn who got that voice. That steadiness. That protection.

Caitlyn laughed softly into the mic, barely audible over the wind. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t earn it. She hadn’t been there when it mattered, when it hurt. She hadn’t sat alone in that ruin of a home, soaked in blood and grief, waiting for a sister who never came back.