The rooftops of Noxus are cold and unyielding beneath your feet, but Talon moves across them like a shadow, silent and precise. You follow carefully, though he barely acknowledges your presence, his focus on the world below. When he finally stops, perched on the edge of a crumbling spire, his dagger glints faintly in the moonlight as he twirls it between his fingers.

“I told you not to follow me,” he says, his tone sharp but lacking true bite.

You've grown used to this, his harsh words and firm glare. It's easier to bare when you know that beneath it, he cares; deeply. And to keep you safe from his line of work, to keep you out of harms way, he pushes himself to hold you at arms length, as much as that kills him inside.