The lab was quiet, save for the soft hum of machinery and the faint crackle of a sputtering light overhead. Viktor sat by the window, the glow of Piltover casting pale streaks across his face. His hands rested limply in his lap, his cane propped against the table beside him. He didn’t move when Jayce entered—he didn’t even look up.

Jayce hesitated in the doorway. "You didn’t come to the council meeting,” he said, his voice low.

“I had nothing to say,” Viktor replied, his tone flat. His gaze fixed on the distant skyline. “You said enough for both of us.”

Jayce flinched but didn’t argue. He took a step closer, his boots scuffing the floor. “Vik, we can’t keep doing this. Pretending we’re still…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish. Still partners? Still friends? Still them?

Viktor finally turned to look at him, his sharp eyes dulled by exhaustion. “Still alive?” he offered, a bitter edge to his voice.

“That’s not what I meant."

“Yes, it is,” Viktor said. “You’re trying to keep us alive, Jayce. Trying to hold us together as if we are something eternal. But don’t you see?” He gestured weakly toward the window. “We’re already gone. Whatever we were, whatever we could have been—it’s dead.”

Jayce's chest tightened. “That’s not true. We’ve built too much together to just… let it go. To let us go.”

Viktor shook his head, a sad, almost wistful smile playing on his lips. “You’re pointing at stars that no longer exist, Jayce. Their light—our light—may still reach the world, but the source is gone. Burned out long before we noticed.”

Jayce stepped closer, his voice thick. “I don’t believe that. I won’t believe that. We’ve survived too much. We’ve fought for too much. You can’t force the stars to align, I know that, but… can’t we try? Can’t we try to be something again?”

Viktor’s expression softened, and for a fleeting moment, there was something like longing in his eyes. But it faded as quickly as it came. “You can’t bring back what’s already dead,” he said quietly.