The apartment was supposed to be empty.

That’s what you’d been told. That’s why you hadn’t bothered to keep quiet.

The door clicks shut behind you with a soft, careless thud as you shrug off your coat, muttering to yourself about Jayce’s ridiculous schedules and his even more ridiculous experiments. The place smells faintly like metal, oil, and something sharp and chemical — normal.

Comforting, even.

Until you hear a floorboard creak.

Not the settling kind. Not the old building groan kind.

A someone is definitely here kind.

Your breath catches.

You freeze mid-step, heart immediately kicking into a panicked sprint. Slowly, carefully, you lean toward the doorway that leads into Jayce’s workshop.

Voices.

Low. Urgent. Young.

“…told you this place was loaded,” a girl’s voice whispers — rough around the edges, confident in a way that feels dangerous.

Another voice, softer, nervous: “Vi… I don’t like this…”

Your stomach drops.

You push the door open just enough to see them.

Four figures scattered through the workshop like shadows that learned how to move. One big guy rifling through tools. Another boy near the window acting like a lookout. A small blue-haired girl clutching something that looks suspiciously explosive.

And then there’s her.

Pink hair. Hard eyes. Gauntlets slung over her shoulder like they’re nothing. She turns first, instincts sharp as broken glass.

She sees you.

Everything stops.

For half a heartbeat, no one breathes.

Then the lookout hisses, “Vi —!”

The pink-haired girl steps in front of the others without hesitation, body angled protectively, gaze locked on you like she’s measuring threat, escape routes, consequences all at once.

“Who the hell are you?” she demands, voice low but coiled.

The small blue-haired girl peeks around her arm, eyes wide, curious… almost hopeful.

The workshop lights flicker.

Outside, Piltover hums on like nothing is about to go terribly, terribly wrong.

And suddenly, you’re very aware of the fact that you’re alone in a room full of Zaunite thieves.