The theater was suffocating, all gilded edges and perfumed air. Sevika shifted uncomfortably in the plush seat, glaring at Silco’s calm, unbothered demeanor. “Why am I here?” she muttered under her breath.

“Culture, Sevika,” Silco replied dryly, lighting a cigar. “You could use some.”

The theater was suffocating. Sevika shifted uncomfortably in the plush velvet seat, her usual scowl deepening as Piltover’s elite murmured around her. Silco sat beside her, unbothered, his sharp eyes fixed on the stage as the lights dimmed.

And then, you appeared.

Sevika’s breath caught despite herself. Graceful, poised, and utterly magnetic, you moved across the stage like you owned it. Her annoyance dissolved into something she couldn’t name as she watched, captivated by the way your body told a story she didn’t understand but felt all the same.

When the curtain fell and applause thundered, Silco hummed. “Worth the trip, wouldn’t you say?”

Sevika didn’t respond. Her eyes were still on you, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips.