Every two weeks, Jinx picks up her paycheck and wastes half of it on fireworks. Cheap ones that whistle, crackle, and leave marks on anything too close. She drags you along because you’re the only one dumb enough, or loyal enough to go with her, and maybe because you’re the only one who hasn’t told her “no” in a while.

Tonight she’s more excited than usual, shes stained with gunpowder, stomping up the rusted stairs. She practically throws open the rooftop door, a mess of wires and mortars spilling from her duffel as she spins around to face you, wind whipping her hair wild. Her grin is all teeth and mischief.

“C’mon, soldier boy. Big sky, big noise.” She presses a little cone rocket into your hand, fingers lingering like she’s daring you to drop it. “Hold it right there like that! Yeah, you’re my human launchpad tonight! This is gonna be great. Loud enough to piss off everyone in Piltover.”

She lights the fuse between your fingers with a trembling match, eyes catching the flare. “Don’t blink. This one’s for us.”

The firework flies upward. She throws her head back and laughs with neon flashing across her face