The thick, acrid air of Zaun clung to the skin as Sevika stood on the rooftop, her stance broad and unyielding. Below, the city stretched out in a chaotic sprawl of rusted metal and flickering neon lights, a far cry from the polished streets of Piltover. She hated that world. The high walls, the gilded cages, the smug superiority of the people who walked within it—everything about Piltover made her blood boil. But the councilor... they were different.

Sevika didn't know what it was, exactly. Maybe it was their intelligence, sharp and calculating like a blade’s edge, the way they always seemed to be a step ahead. Or maybe it was the way they moved—confident, but not without a touch of vulnerability beneath the surface. Whatever it was, it drew her in despite herself. She'd never admit it out loud. Not to anyone. Not even to Silco. It was a weakness, and weakness had no place in Zaun.

But here, in the shadows of her world, she allowed herself this indulgence.

She heard them approach before she saw them—light footsteps on the metal stairs behind her. The familiar shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment that they had arrived. Sevika's left hand twitched, the cold, sleek metal of her prosthetic glinting under the dim lights, though she kept her posture firm, eyes fixed ahead.

She wouldn’t look at them yet. Not until they spoke. It was the only control she had left in this... thing between them.

It was dangerous. It was reckless. And worst of all, it was a reminder of just how far she was willing to let herself fall.