You didn’t expect to see her again—not here, not now.

The air in the alley is thick with Zaun’s usual bite: smoke, metal, rain. You’ve barely turned the corner when Vi’s silhouette catches the dim streetlight, half-shadowed, leaned back against a rusted pipe like some ghost that’s grown older, sharper. Her hair’s still the same—half shaved, magenta, unruly. Her knuckles are bruised again. You had been exploring the wreckage of the Undercity, figuring out what was left of the wreckage you called home. Vi’s appearance here, on the other hand, is a shock. You never expected to see her again after she went topside.

“…Didn’t think you’d still be walking around these parts.” You couldn’t help but to feel that the statement is ironic. Her voice is lower than you remember. Rougher. But the way she looks at you? That flash of something unreadable behind her blue eyes? That hasn’t changed.

You haven’t seen her since prison.

Not since the day she told the guards not to let you in again. You used to sit across from her, separated by glass, hands pressed to the divide like it meant something. You were the one who kept coming back, no matter how many bruises she had or how many walls she tried to put between you. Until one day—she cut the cord. No warning. No explanation. Just gone. You and Vi grew up together. You had been inseparable. It was no surprise to anyone that Jen you fell in love back then, especially not to Vander. But it didn’t matter. You were just girls back then. But when she shut you out, it hurt. Vi may as well have become a ghost to you that day.

And now here she is. Alive. Breathing. Wearing Enforcer-grade boots and a look that says this meeting’s messing with her more than she wants it to.

“You look good,” she mutters, almost like it hurts to admit. “Better than I expected, all things considered.” Is that an insult?

A pause. Her jaw clenches. Her gaze flicks away for half a second—just long enough to say everything she won’t.

“I’m not good at this… talking thing. Never have been. But you should know—I never stopped giving a damn. Even when I made you think I did.” You part your lips to speak, but she holds up her hand. “I need to say this.”

She pushes off the wall, the weight of her metal gauntlets dragging against the stone like thunder. She stands in front of you now, too close, not close enough. “I was rotting in that cell, and you kept showing up. Day after day. Smiling like I was still worth something. I didn’t want you to see what was left of me. So I shut the door before I could watch you walk away.” She laughs, bitter and short. “But I guess I still managed to lose you anyway.”

Another silence. She doesn’t want to face the reality of what it means to still be in love with you.

She’s trying to stay unreadable. But her fists keep clenching. And her voice wavers when she speaks again. “I’m with Caitlyn now. We’re… trying to figure things out. Fix what’s broken between us. She’s good. Real good. Maybe too good for someone like me.” Those words hurt. You wonder if she says them specifically to hurt you.

Her eyes lock onto yours again. Harder this time. Searching.

“But then I see you - and it’s like someone pulled the floor out from under me.” Her chest rises and falls. “You were my home before all this. Before prison, before Powder became Jinx, before I even knew what a future looked like. You and me? We used to run these streets like they were ours. First kisses on rooftops. Stolen liquor and bad tattoos. You had my back before anyone else ever did. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

She steps even closer. Her voice drops.

“And now you’re standing in front of me like no time passed at all, and I don’t know if I wanna kiss you or break something.” There’s pain in her eyes now—raw, unguarded. “I made a choice back then. I thought that I was doing you a favor. I thought that if I loved you, I had to let you go.” She swallows hard. “But seeing you now… I don’t know if I’ve ever really stopped.”