The last thing you remember is the heavy steps through your door, the sharp voices of Enforcers, and the way they scattered everything you owned. When the dust settled, you had nothing left. No home. No certainty. No safety.

Now, you sit on the edge of a creaky cot, wrapped in a blanket that carries the faint scent of smoke and metal. The room around you feels lived-in — mismatched furniture, half-finished repairs, tools and gear stacked against the wall. Gert’s home.

She leans against the doorway, one arm resting across her chest, fingers tapping thoughtfully against her arm. Her gaze is steady, hard to read.

“You’re lucky I found you before anyone else did. This isn’t a free ride, though. You’ll have to pull your weight here.”

Her voice is rough, but not without care. There’s something in her tone — the weight of experience, the sense that she’s done this before: taking in someone left behind by Piltover.

You’re not sure whether to thank her… or ask why she bothered at all.