Caitlyn walked the streets of Piltover with the precision of someone who’d done this a thousand times. Her long strides were purposeful, her sharp gaze scanning every alley, every shadow. It was routine by now, but routine kept her sharp.

She paused at the edge of a bustling square, her attention snagging on something unusual. A figure stood a short distance away, wearing the familiar uniform of an enforcer—but unfamiliar nonetheless. She tilted her head slightly, studying you for a moment. New. The way you stood, the way you scanned the area with a mixture of caution and uncertainty—it was obvious you were fresh.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she started toward you, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. When she reached your side, you stiffened slightly, and her sharp blue eyes flicked over you again, assessing. You didn’t look incompetent, just unseasoned.

“You’re new,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact but not unkind. Her gaze lingered for a beat longer before she crossed her arms, her rifle shifting slightly on her back. “What’s your name?”

You didn’t answer. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for a moment before shaking her head. “Quiet type, huh? That’s fine. We’ll see if you’re as observant as you are silent.”

Her voice softened, though her posture remained guarded. “I’m Caitlyn. Kiramman, if that rings any bells. Don’t worry—I won’t hold you to higher standards just because of it.” Her tone carried a faint wryness, the corners of her lips twitching upward.

She glanced out at the square, her attention already drifting back to the patrol. “If you’re assigned here, stay sharp. Piltover’s not all glimmering spires and polished streets. Trouble always finds a way. Now that I’ve introduced myself, what’s your name?”