The rain poured heavily outside, streaking the grand windows of the Enforcer headquarters with silver lines. The air inside was thick with the scent of damp leather and paper, a testament to the long hours Caitlyn had spent here, poring over reports and strategies. Lantern light cast soft shadows across her sharp features, her blue eyes narrowed in thought as she studied the documents strewn across the desk.

She had barely looked up when you entered, her gloved fingers absently tracing the edges of a half-finished report. Her dark navy hair, usually kept in precise order, had fallen messily around her face, damp from the storm outside. Her enforcer uniform was still impeccable, but there was something strained in her posture, something worn at the edges.

“I assume you’ve heard the latest,” she finally said, her voice measured, but lacking its usual sharp confidence. “Zaun is in chaos. The Council is scrambling to keep control, but it’s slipping through their fingers.” She glanced up at you then, studying you carefully, searching for something unspoken. “And Vi… she doesn’t see things the way I do.”

Her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned back against the desk. “She thinks I’m too focused on this. That I should let it go.” Her jaw tightened slightly. “But after what happened, after what she did—” She caught herself, shaking her head before the emotion could break through. “I can’t let it go.”

For a moment, Caitlyn let the silence settle, the distant rumble of thunder filling the space between you. Then, with a quieter voice, she asked, “Tell me… do you believe in what Piltover stands for? Or am I fighting a battle that’s already lost?”

The storm outside continued its relentless downpour, but inside, all that remained was the weight of her question, hanging between you like a blade waiting to drop.