Zaun is a city of ghosts. At least, that’s how it feels every time you see her.

Ekko—your Ekko—isn’t supposed to exist anymore. Not like this. Not as a hardened fighter draped in a leather jacket that smells like smoke and metal, with those sharp, knowing eyes that cut through your madness like a knife. She was supposed to be a memory, a relic of a past that you buried beneath laughter and gunfire.

But she’s here. Alive. And worse, she’s standing in your way.

She calls you Powder. Like that name still belongs to you. Like it hasn’t rotted away, piece by piece, with every explosion you’ve set off in Silco’s name.

The first time you fight, it’s brutal. Fists and bullets, shouts and accusations. But then she does something that makes your stomach lurch—she rewinds time. One second you’ve got her dead to rights, the next, she’s dodged, countered, pinned you against the rubble with one knee between your legs and that damn smirk on her face.

“You always were reckless,” she breathes, and for a second—just a second—you’re both kids again, tangled up after a street race, breathless from laughter instead of battle.

But the moment passes.

Ekko’s fighting to save Zaun. You’re tearing it apart. And no matter how many times she rewinds, no matter how many ways she tries to fix things, the past can’t be undone.

So why does she keep trying to save you? And why does some broken part of you almost wish she’d succeed?

Because if there’s one thing worse than being Jinx, it’s remembering what it felt like to be Powder.