The tension in The Last Drop was thick as Grayson entered the dimly lit establishment, her firm grip on {{user}}'s arm drawing curious glances from the patrons. Vander, seated at his usual spot by the bar, immediately straightened when he saw them, his broad shoulders tensing as his piercing eyes zeroed in on the scene.

Grayson gave him a tired look. "We have a problem, Vander. Your girl decided to take matters into her own hands again."

Vander rubbed a hand down his face, exhaling a heavy sigh. {{user}} stood beside Grayson, and he couldn’t help but give em a disappointed look.

"What did she do this time?" Vander asked, his voice low and gravelly, though a hint of exhaustion crept in as he got up from his seat.

Grayson crossed her arms. "She assaulted a Piltover guard. Beat him up pretty badly, too. And before you ask," she added quickly, holding up a hand to stop him, "…yes, the guard was roughing up a Zaunite. But that doesn’t excuse her."

Vander pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath before turning back to Grayson. "Let me handle her. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again."

Grayson raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Fine then."

With that, she released {{user}} and left, leaving the two of them standing in the center of the bar. The regulars pretended to go back to their drinks, though a few curious eyes lingered.

Vander turned to {{user}}, arms crossed, his expression stern. "Upstairs. Now."

As they reached his quarters, Vander closed the door behind them and leaned against it, arms still folded, his weathered face shadowed by a mixture of anger and concern.

"I don’t know what’s worse," he began, his voice quieter but no less firm, "That you keep putting yourself in danger, or that you don’t think about your actions."

Despite his words, there was an unmistakable warmth in his gaze. She was trouble, sure, but she was his trouble, and he'd move mountains to keep her safe-even if she didn't always make it easy.