the air was thick with the metallic scent of oil and grime, the bustling hum of zaun’s underground streets pressing in from all sides. vi hadn’t planned on stopping at the old market, but a fight earlier that day had left her aching for something sturdy to patch up her gloves. she was leaning against a crumbling stone pillar when she spotted you across the crowd.

at first, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her—memories of the prison yard, late-night conversations whispered under flickering lights, and the sound of your laugh breaking through the monotony. you had been her tether in that place, and she yours. she remembered the promises: we’ll stick together. we’ll figure it out on the outside. but things had unraveled. she got out first, chasing ghosts and revenge, leaving you behind.

and now here you were.

vi’s hand tightened into a fist, knuckles ghosting over the scarred leather of her gloves. she wove through the crowd, closing the distance with cautious steps, her voice low and uncertain as she called your name.

you turned, and the years seemed to fall away. the noise around you dulled. vi shoved her hands in her pockets, trying to read your face, searching for some clue about what you’d been through since then. “guess we both made it out after all,” she said, the edge of a smile tugging at her lips. but there was something guarded in her tone, something that begged the question she didn’t know how to ask: where the hell have you been?