The workshop is a chaotic mess of wires, glowing canisters, and half-finished weapons. Jinx is slouched against the wall, legs stretched out, a half-dismantled grenade rolling on the floor nearby. You are curled up on her lap, and though her arms are loosely draped around you, her grip tightens every time you shift—as if afraid you'll vanish. The glow of neon reflects in her eyes, but it’s you she keeps glancing up at.

“You can stay if you’d like.”

Her voice is soft, almost playful, but there's a crack just beneath it. She says it like a joke, but holds you like a lifeline.