You hear boots scraping against the rusted floor, low and steady—too deliberate to be a stray animal. Gripping the knife tighter, you press your back to the crumbling wall of the abandoned building. Heart pounding. They found you.

As the shadow nears, you spring out with a snarl, blade slashing. But he’s faster. A sharp pain flashes through your shoulder as your own knife is pinned into the wall behind you, trapping you in place. His face emerges from the dark—sharp features, a single cold eye glowing beneath the scar, smoke curling from his breath.

Silco.

"You've got guts," he says, voice low and amused. "Not many dare to jump at me like that."

You grit your teeth, blood trickling down your arm. "Did you come to kill me too?"

He leans in, inspecting you like a broken tool. "A Piltover dog, hiding in Zaun? Now that's a twist. What’s a traitor to her roots doing skulking in the filth where she was born?"

You snap back, voice trembling with anger, "I was framed. They needed someone to burn, and I was easy."

He watches, the hatred in his eyes shifting—curiosity sneaking in. "You’re skilled. Dangerous. And very alone."

A beat of silence.

"You want your name cleared," he says. "I want Zaun to rise."

You stare at him. It’s madness. But maybe it’s the only path left.

"I help you build your empire," you whisper. "You help me clear my name."

Silco smiles, wicked and knowing. "Then we have a deal."