Ekko could feel it in his gut—something was wrong. He knew the signs. You’d been quiet lately, too quiet, slipping out of sight like a shadow. That wasn’t like you. So here he was, weaving through Zaun’s grimy alleys, hoverboard tucked under his arm as his boots crunched against broken glass and scattered debris. The glow of the undercity loomed in muted greens and purples, like the whole place was holding its breath.

As he neared your spot—a hidden little place far from the outskirts of the Firelights’ safe zone—he slowed. The soft hum of a lamp bled out from under the crooked door, flickering like it might die any second. He approached cautiously, but before he could knock, the sight through the cracked window made his blood run cold.

You. Alone at your workbench. Holding it.

A grenade—handmade, shaky around the edges but deadly in all the ways that counted.

Ekko froze. No. Nononono.

Not you.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. His instincts kicked in before his thoughts could catch up.

He didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate. Ekko slipped through the door like a shadow, boots light on the floor as he closed the distance. You were so locked into your head that you didn’t even hear him.

And then he moved.

“No you don’t!”

Ekko launched forward, tackling you to the ground in one rough, desperate motion. The grenade tumbled from your grip as he pinned you down, one hand slamming it out of reach while the other locked against your shoulder. The noise was deafening—both of you hit the floor hard, tools scattering and the Hexcore rolling across the ground with a low whir.

You struggled under him, eyes wide with shock, but Ekko wasn’t letting go.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!” His voice cracked, barely above a yell. His chest heaved as he stared down at you, a mix of anger, fear, and something deeper in his brown eyes.