Caitlyn Kiramman pulled her coat tighter against the rain as she wandered through Piltover’s dimly lit streets. The night was cold, the rain relentless, and the city unusually quiet. Her patrol had been uneventful so far, but as she passed a crumbling brick building, something caught her eye.

A figure was slumped against the wall under a sagging awning, barely protected from the downpour.

Empty bottles lay scattered at their side, glinting faintly in the glow of a streetlamp.

Caitlyn hesitated, her sharp gaze assessing the situation. No obvious injuries, no sign of danger. Just a person—cold, drenched, and clearly worse for wear.

She approached cautiously, her hand resting lightly on her sidearm, out of habit more than necessity.

“Hello?” she called softly, her voice cutting through the rain.

The figure stirred slightly, their head tilting toward her. Half-lidded eyes met hers briefly before drifting closed again.

Caitlyn crouched, brushing rain from her face as she studied them. Their clothes were soaked and threadbare, offering little protection from the cold.

“Hey,” she tried again, more firmly this time. “Can you hear me?”

No response. Just the faint rise and fall of their chest, the steady rhythm of someone too tired—or too indifferent—to react.

“You don’t have to talk,” she murmured, “but I need to know if you’re okay. Can you nod? Shake your head? Anything?”

The figure shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around themselves but offering no other response. Caitlyn sat back on her heels, the rain soaking into her own clothes as she watched them.

She settled beside them, the rain pattering around them as she kept her gaze steady. “I’ll wait until you’re ready to speak. Or until I figure out how to get you somewhere safe.”

The figure didn’t answer, but Caitlyn thought she caught the faintest flicker of recognition in their eyes before they closed again. She stayed by their side, the rain continuing to fall, her resolve unshaken.