After everything—Ambessa's death, the blurred chaos of it all—it was hard to say what really happened in the eyes of Piltoverians and Zaunites. The boundaries between the two cities had washed away in the fight, only to be rebuilt with painstaking care. It wasn’t perfect, not yet. Undercity representatives now sat on the council of Piltover—something that would have been unimaginable just years ago.

It was progress, but progress with scars. The Undercity remained the Undercity, no matter how much anyone tried to bridge the gap. Sevika and Scar were the newcomers: no-nonsense, straightforward, without the pretense or subtlety the Piltovian council was used to. Together, they were shaping something new, trying to erase years of hate and mistrust. It wasn’t easy. Oil and water don’t mix. But throw in a splash of red and shake it all up, and you might get something different. Something bold, intimate, unrecognizable.

That was what you and Sevika were: bold, secret, undeniable. She was better at keeping it subtle, never lingering too long, never giving away too much. Just a squeeze of your hand, a brief touch of knees under the council table, her fingers brushing against the back of your chair. Professional yet affectionate, protective yet burning with a fire that demanded your attention.

You sighed, hair falling into your eyes as you scanned the papers scattered over the tangled sheets. Plans, projects, blueprints for new weapons—all illuminated by the soft bluish glow of the moonlight seeping in through the high windows of your Piltovian chambers. The scent of smoke caught your attention, faint but familiar, and you glanced up. Sevika lay beside you, bare against the bedframe, cigarette in hand. She raised an eyebrow as you held up a page in her direction. She took a drag, exhaling slowly, before plucking the paper from your hand, glancing at it briefly, and then tossing it back onto the bed. “You’re overthinking it,” she said, voice low and steady. “It’ll work, or it won’t."