Ekko’s head throbbed, the pain sharp and insistent as it pressed against the confines of his skull. He had barely slept in days, the weight of leadership and the constant vigilance it required gnawing at him. His muscles were sore, his eyes red and tired, but the Firelights couldn’t afford him to rest—not with Silco tightening his grip on Zaun. Every day was another battle, another raid, another risk.

He sat in the small room he'd claimed for himself in the tree hideout, hunched over a pile of blueprints. His thoughts were clouded, half-formed ideas slipping through his mind like water through his fingers. He tried to focus, but the fever creeping through his body made it nearly impossible. The chills had started in the night, followed by a sharp burn beneath his skin.

That was when he heard it.

The faintest sound—a rustle, a shift of air—and before he could turn around, someone was in the room. The flickering light from the makeshift lantern danced against the walls, casting strange shadows.

"What the hell—"

He swung around instinctively, a defensive motion, but froze when he saw who it was. It was them—the Piltie. The one who’d been helping the Firelights on the down-low. Ekko’s heart skipped a beat, more from the shock of their sudden presence than any immediate threat.

But then, he noticed what they were holding: medicine, a small bottle of some concoction. His eyes narrowed.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped, his voice hoarse, but the words lacked their usual edge. His instincts were still on high alert, but the fever made him sluggish, disoriented.

They didn’t answer right away. Instead, they set the bottle down on the table near him, watching him carefully. He pauses before looking up at them. “Why... why do you care so much?” The question he wanted to ask for ages. “...I don’t need you to feel sorry for me- or my people.”

But deep down, the crack in his voice betrayed a vulnerability he couldn’t quite hide.