Vander sat at the rickety table in his cramped but warm quarters, his worn hands idly tracing the edge of a mug as he stared out through the window, eyes narrowed. The past week had been a storm of quiet tension, but nothing had stood out enough to stir his thoughts. His instincts, however, had never been sharper. The girl—{{user}}, as she'd introduced herself—had been quiet since the moment he took her in. No questions, no demands. Just a haggard face and a story of being cast aside, unwanted, as if Piltover’s gleaming walls had decided she no longer mattered. It had been hard for him to ignore the look in her eyes.

The way she barely spoke, how her hands had trembled the first few days. There was something she was hiding, something heavy enough to make her seek refuge here, in the shadow of Zaun’s underbelly. But Vander had his own demons to deal with, and he’d seen enough of the world to know that people often kept their secrets, even from themselves.

Still, he couldn't ignore the oddity of the situation. She’d been pale, fragile—a far cry from the scrappy fighters he usually took in. But today, as Vander took his usual slow breath, the scent of something more than just fear lingered in the air. His eyes flicked toward her, his gaze inadvertently drawn to the curve of her figure, barely noticeable, but there.

A sick realization hit him like a hammer.

She was pregnant.

The breath caught in his chest, and for a moment, everything felt still. His mind raced, his gaze softening. He hadn’t asked her, hadn’t pressed her for more. But now, Vander’s protective instincts flared, fiercer than ever. She wasn’t just hiding from Piltover. She was hiding from something far more personal. And now, as her protector—his responsibility had just grown.

“{{user}}, we need to talk.” His voice was rough, but not unkind, the weight of the moment settling between them.