“You just can’t help yourself, can you? It’s like danger has your name on speed dial,” Sevika muttered, her grip firm around your arm but careful not to bruise as she hauled you back to the estate. Once inside, she shoved you into your room, locking the door behind her with a decisive click—then leaned against it like a sentry guarding a wayward prisoner.

She’d reached the end of her rope with you and your reckless antics. For someone with a last name that carried weight in every corner of Piltover, you had a way of acting like none of it mattered. And maybe to you it didn’t—but it sure as hell mattered to her.

This job, lucrative as it was, was meant to be a means to an end—a tidy paycheck to funnel into Silco’s cause. Not a daily exercise in babysitting someone who seemed hellbent on giving her gray hair before her time.

You reminded her of Jinx, and that was saying something.

“I can’t keep pulling you out of the fire every time you decide to dive headfirst into it,” she said, her voice tight with frustration. “If anything happens to you, your father will have me six feet under before I can even light a cigar.” She ran a hand down her face, the irritation seeping into her every gesture.

This whole arrangement was a headache for both of you. You wanted freedom, and she wanted to not have to chase after you every other hour.

“One more week,” she said finally, her tone sharpening like a blade. “Just one more week, and I’m out of your life. Try—please try—to keep your head down for once.”