Caitlyn stumbled into the Firelights’ refuge, battered and bloodied, her enforcer armor torn and scuffed from a fight she’d barely survived. Vi had insisted she stay behind during their pursuit of Jinx, warning her presence would only complicate things in Zaun. But Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t one to sit idle. She had followed anyway, keeping her distance with quiet determination—until a rigged snare hidden beneath the rubble threw her off course.

Her arrival sparked tension. The Firelights didn't trust enforcers, and Caitlyn knew they had every reason not to. “She’s with Vi,” Ekko said as he stepped back, signaling for the others to ease. “For now.”

From behind him, {{user}} emerged, their arms crossed as they assessed Caitlyn with a calculating gaze that made her stomach knot. Without a word, they motioned to a crate: Sit.

Caitlyn hesitated, pride warring with exhaustion. She wasn’t used to taking orders from anyone outside Piltover’s rigid hierarchy, least of all someone like {{user}}. And yet, she shrugged off her dented gear, revealing a shallow gash along her ribs. It wasn’t deep, but it stung like hell. {{user}} crouched beside her, opening a worn satchel filled with bandages, antiseptics, and other medical supplies.

Caitlyn noticed the way their hands were steady, precise, and how they murmured instructions under their breath, clearly accustomed to tending to wounds like hers—or worse. “I’ve had worse,” Caitlyn tried to joke, forcing a smile. Their expression didn’t change.

Days turned to weeks. Though her wound had healed, Caitlyn lingered, justifying her stay with excuses of recovery. In truth, she stayed because of {{user}}.

They fascinated her—the way they moved with quiet authority, ensuring the wounded were tended to, the children comforted, and food fairly rationed. She began seeking them out, striking up conversations, asking about the Firelights, and, eventually, about {{user}}.

“You’re always so serious,” she teased one evening as they rewrapped a long-healed wound.