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Chapter Text

1 

The wind was cold as it blew across the undercity and into Piltover. Jax stood at the very edge of the charred windowsill of his old workshop. It was built on the edge of the Piltover, at a place where a tributary of the Pilt River curved along the border of the city. It was a scummy little thing, hugging the riverwall. Sewage outlets and storm drains littered the wall and emptied into the tributary, finding their way to Pilt River. Right here was a strange gray area; if Jayce followed the tributary downstream to the main river, the scattered warehouses that edged the undercity’s port were visible, rising out of the smoggy air across the river. They were stunningly close. The river narrowed here, far past the main bridge. If Jayce threw a piece of rubble from the ruins of his workshop, he might be able to break a window in the nearest warehouse — the one that crept up boldly right to the edge of the river. 

The undercity was so close that he could smell the thick, acrid smog that always clung to it and the cloying scent of the fish, languishing in crates somewhere within the warehouse. 

Jayce never imagined dying in his workshop — in the place he had bought with so much hope — but the drop from his windowsill to the silty bank of the tributary below was high enough to ensure he died. And he could be sure he wouldn’t have an audience, and that the Enforcers who were surely searching for him, intent on carrying out the Council’s punishment of exile from Piltover, wouldn’t look here first. After all, there was nothing left for him here. Only ashes. 

Jayce slid one foot closer to the edge of the windowsill. The wood of it creaked beneath his boots. As he looked down, the wind cutting through his clothes, vertigo rose up and all but choked him. As dizziness swept over him, he gripped the edge of the window and fought down a humorless laugh. If he fell to his death by accident, while trying to kill himself, that really would be the universe’s final laugh at his expense. 

“Are you Jayce Talis?” came a voice from him. 

Jayce startled so badly he almost lost his footing. Biting back a curse, he twisted around, heart hammering against his ribs. It was funny, how his body was still so frightened of falling, even though his mind was already made up. 

There was a man behind him — a bit younger than he was, with a carefully tailored three piece suit in Academy colors. He had a craggy face and an aristocratic nose, and he leaned almost casually on a cane as he regarded Jayce with strange gold eyes. 

“What?” Jayce didn’t bother to keep the snap out of his voice. 

“Are you Jayce Talis?” repeated the man. 

Jayce looked from the man to the drop behind him and back. “Can’t you see I’m a little busy at the moment?” 

The man looked from Jayce to the drop behind him and back. “You do not seem busy to me. You are Jayce Talis, then?”

“Who’s asking?” 

“Viktor.” He adjusted his grip on his cane and shifted a little, stretching out one leg. It almost seemed like it hurt him to put his full weight on it. “I’ve come to talk to you about your research.” 

Jayce stared. “You’ve what?” 

“Are you having trouble hearing me?” Viktor gestured to the charred, broken window behind Jayce. “The wind, perhaps?” 

“ What? ” 

“You are making me repeat myself,” said Viktor, projecting each word across the room with great care. “Perhaps if you came down off the ledge, we could discuss your work.” 

“My work?” 

Viktor furrowed his brow. “Are you sure you’re Jayce Talis? You do not seem very intelligent.” 

That got Jayce down off the ledge. Before he had time to realize what he was doing, he was across the room and toe to toe with Viktor. Looking down at him from his greater height, he snapped, “Is this close enough for you?” 

Viktor looked him up and down. “Now you are invading my personal space.” 

Jayce balled his fists at his side. “What do you want?” 

“I already told you. To discuss your work. From what I can tell, you are making the most exciting advancements, and I believe —” 

“It doesn’t matter!” Jayce swept an arm out sideways, cutting Viktor off. “Haven’t you heard? I’m being thrown out of Piltover. My equipment is being destroyed. This —” he gestured to the broken remnants of what had once been his favorite place in the world “— was my workshop. Now look at it. So none of it matters. None of it — not my research, not the crystals, none of it!” 

Viktor looked around. “So some of your equipment did survive the explosion?” 

“ That’s what you took from that?”

Viktor studied him for a moment. “I think you are confused as to why I’m here.” 

“You think ?” 

“Let me clarify.” Viktor tugged at his vest, straightening it. “I want to help you continue your research, Jayce. I believe it has potential. Potential to… to change the world.” His eyes shone. “Do you not agree?” 

Of course Jayce agreed. If he could find a way to harness the Arcane, then the sky would literally be the limit. Or it wouldn’t be the limit, in fact. “I’m being exiled,” he said. “Right now, there are Enforcers tracking me down. They’re going to throw me out of the city. So whatever you’re thinking, it won’t work.” 

Viktor paused, appearing to think things over. Then he said, “You’re being exiled from Piltover, yes?” 

“Yes. The research capital of the world, so I might as well be kicked out of the scientific community as a whole. If I can’t do my work in Piltover, I can’t do my work.” 

Viktor frowned. “That is not very imaginative.” 

“It’s realistic.” 

“But it isn’t. I was able to do quite a lot of good work in the undercity, before I became Heimerdinger’s assistant.” 

“You what?” 

Viktor seemed to be talking half to himself. “If I have done it before, I can do it again, with some crucial additions. And with your advancements and boldness, we would already be far ahead of any other research being done.” He glanced around the workshop, like he was taking stock of what was still intact. “You have some of the supplies we would need already, but Heimerdinger —” 

“What are you talking about?” Jayce shook his head. “You’re not making any sense.” 

“You are not a very good listener, are you?” 

“No, you’re not a —” 

“It’s very simple, Jayce.” Viktor smiled at him. Jayce actually took a step back. Not because it was a particularly frightening smile, but it was so unexpected on a face as serious as Viktor’s. “We’re simply going to break into Heimerdinger’s lab, steal what we need, and retreat to the undercity to continue your work out of the Academy and the Council’s reach.” 

Jayce blinked. “Excuse me?” 

Viktor tapped a finger to his lips. “Do you have a set of lockpicks?” 

“A set of what?” 

“Lockpicks.” Viktor refocused his gaze on Jayce. “To pick a lock.” 

“What lock?” 

Viktor sighed. “Heimerdinger’s.” 

Jayce felt like he was in a verbal boxing match. And he was losing. “Why would you break into his office?” 

Viktor gave him a confused look. “Because I do not have a key.” 

# # # 

As she wandered through the halls of the Academy, wondering if there was a way to get a look at Jayce Talis’ work before the Council had it destroyed, the last thing Mel expected to run into were two people who evidently had the same question she had, judging by the way they were huddled around Heimerdinger’s laboratory door. 

One of them appeared to be Jayce Talis, and he was deep in an argument with a young man who appeared to be Heimerdinger’s research assistant. Viktor — that was his name. 

Mel stopped behind them, her white and gold dress swishing around her legs, and clasped her hands behind her back, leaning forward a little to listen in on their disagreement. 

“We’re going to get caught,” Jayce hissed to Viktor. 

Viktor, who was engrossed in trying to pick the lock on the door, cut him a sideways look. “We will not get caught.” 

“Oh, really ?” 

“No. At this juncture, we will be arrested.” 

“That’s the same thing!” Jayce pressed his forehead against the oak door. “Have you gotten through the lock yet?” 

“If I had,” said Viktor, “I would have informed you.” 

Jayce sighed and flipped around to press his back against the door, sliding down it as he did. Of course, that put him exactly at eye level with Mel. 

In the glow of the flashlight he carried, she saw him manfully swallow a scream and reach out to swat Viktor on the shoulder. 

“I have not had any more success in the last two seconds than I had before,” said Viktor, turning. Then he saw Mel. She waved. Jayce mouthed a swear and shut his eyes. Admirably, however, he did not panic or try to push past her and run. Technically wanted fugitive that he was, Mel wouldn’t have blamed him. 

He must desperately want whatever lay behind the door — his confiscated equipment, certainly. He wanted it enough to risk arrest, which given that he had fled from the Enforcers earlier, when they were set to escort him from the city, would mean a punishment more severe than banishment. Imprisonment, probably. 

Mel filed this information away. It would be useful, later. Most information was. 

“Ah,”said Viktor. He did not seem particularly frightened. Mel also filed this away. In the voice of someone thinking very quickly — too quickly for true cleverness — he exclaimed, “My, but this isn’t my dormitory, is it?” 

As Mel gave him a look she hoped conveyed just how thin that deception was, Jayce burst out, “We just wanted to get my equipment!” 

Sighing, Viktor slid him a deeply unimpressed look. “You will need me in the undercity.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Only that you would not hold up under torture.” 

As Jayce seemed to be trying to decide if this was an insult or not — and he was clearly leaning toward yes — Mel said brightly, “You’re going to the undercity too?” 

Viktor eyed her narrowly. “Why do you want to know?” 

Jayce said, “He wants to help me continue my research. I don’t know why.” 

“Or,” said Viktor, with another sigh, “you could just tell her the truth. Again.” 

“I don’t really think I’m in the position to lie.” 

“No, this is exactly the position where you lie, Jayce.” To Mel, Viktor added, “He is quite intelligent, I have heard.” He glanced at Jayce. “I have not yet seen it for myself.” 

Two spots of color appeared on Jayce’s cheeks. He opened his mouth to give Viktor a scathing reply, but Mel interrupted. A darkened hallway in the Academy, when Jayce was wanted by the law, was not the place to have an argument. Besides, Viktor had left off trying to pick the lock, and frankly, Mel still wanted to examine the confiscated equipment herself. 

“So you’re going to go to the undercity, and what?” Mel lifted her eyebrows. “Continue studying the Arcane?”

“Yes.” Viktor pulled himself up as straight as he could, but his limp meant his posture was still sloping and hunched. “Unless you are planning to stop us.” He tightened his grip on his cane, meaningfully. 

Mel suddenly remembered Heimerdinger mentioning to her once that Viktor grew up in the undercity. That explained much, up to and including his suddenly warlike posture. If it Viktor were anyone other than a man who had grown up in the undercity, escaped to a secure job in Piltover, and was intent on leaving said job and going back to the undercity, Mel would never believe he would be insane enough to attack her, operating under the assumption that she intended to stand between him and his goal. 

But given that Viktor was all those things and looked like he knew how to use his cane quite violently, assuming he could balance without it firmly planted on the floor, Mel gently slotted him into the category of “mad scientist” in her mind. 

“Viktor.” Jayce grabbed Viktor’s arm. “You can’t hurt her!” He eyed Mel. “She might have a key to Heimerdinger’s lab.” 

Hesitantly, Mel, who had been ready to categorize Jayce as the soft touch of the duo — and perhaps even the same one — labeled him as “unknown”. 

But probably he was crazy too. He had to be, to break into the Academy the very same night he was kicked out of it. 

“I don’t have a key,” she admitted, shrugging. “But I am quite accomplished at picking locks.” 

Jayce stared at her. “You’re what?” 

“Ignore him,” said Viktor. He loosened his grip on his cane and stepped aside. “He does this often. Eventually, he will catch up.” 

Chased by the sound of Jayce’s sharp, insulted inhale, Mel slipped in between him and Viktor, bending down to study the lock. Viktor tried to hand her his lockpicks, but she ignored him, sliding two bobby pins out of her hair and enjoying the discomfort oozing off Jayce at her proximity. He found her attractive, of course, and was busy searching for a place to fix his eyes that didn’t make him look lecherous. Mel loved that part — the distracted, anxious way certain men’s eyes bounced around her figure, usually settling on somewhere safe, like the top of her head. It was sweet, in its own way. She preferred it to the men who stared at everywhere but the top of her head. 

Jayce was firmly in the category of men who stared at the top of her head, but Viktor, judging by the way he was casually leaning over her shoulder to watch her work and was entirely at peace with the way their shoulders brushed, had somehow managed to evade both categories and find himself lonely in a previously unknown third category. Mel rather thought she could have showed up in her underwear and Viktor would have calmly noted the abnormality and moved on without a second thought.  

It was exciting. People rarely surprised Mel anymore, but these two — in different ways — had both managed it. Turning that over in her mind, she pushed her bobby pins, bent carefully into the right shape, into the lock and went to work. “I’m wondering,” she said, “if the two of you have sufficient funds to effectively do your research in the undercity. After all, you will need to procure a building to do your research in, on top of supporting yourselves in general.” She flicked a look at Jayce. “You will no longer benefit from your house’s money or the sponsorship of House Kiramman. And you —” now she looked at Viktor “— will presumably lose the modest salary you receive from Heimerdinger.” 

“What is your point?” asked Viktor, with exactly the level of suspicion she would expect from an undercity dweller when the topic of money was in play. 

Mel gave the bobby pins a final twist. With a click, the lock opened. Straightening up, she said, “I’m only saying you will need a sponsor. Someone with wealth. Someone with enough resources to be able to supply you with what you need under the table.” She smiled. “We wouldn’t want the Council to come in and ruin what looks like a truly promising partnership between you and Mr. Talis, would we?” 

Jayce craned around her to poke his head in between them. “What?” 

Viktor held up one finger to quiet him. “We would need spacious occupation,” he said. “With a large basement that could serve as our lab, in an area of the undercity that does not seem an excess of unrest.” 

Mel narrowed her eyes. “I can manage that.” 

“And a monthly allowance for necessities, as well as a flexible fund for work-related expenses.” 

“Fine.” 

“And a promise that Jayce and I will maintain full control over our research.” 

“Hm…” Mel smiled in a particular way that sent most people retreating. Viktor stood his ground. Interesting. “Why should I promise that? It seems you need me far more than I need you.” This was not exactly true — research into the Arcane being done here , by people who were, unlike her mother and people, not insane, was essential — but it was a gamble she was willing to make. If only to see how Viktor reacted. 

She was not at all surprised when he lifted his chin and said, “I survived in the undercity on my own once before. It would not be difficult for me to do again, even with Jayce.” 

“What do you mean, even with me?” Jayce looked back and forth between them. “ Why aren’t you reporting us to the Enforcers?” he asked Mel. 

Mel directed a different kind of smile at him. “Because you’re interesting, and in the end, so few things are.” 

Jayce gave her the look of a man desperately clinging to a piece of flotsam in a conversational river, trying and failing to keep his head above water. “ What ?” 

“Well?” asked Viktor. “You clearly want our research too, so don’t bother trying to deceive me into thinking you hold all the cards.” 

Mel turned back to him, narrowing her eyes again. “I could scream.” 

“But you won’t,” said Viktor. 

Mel couldn’t argue with that. Really, she just hadn’t want to give in without at least a token show of resistance. “I want to be the first person to learn of any breakthroughs you make,” she said. “And I want access to your data. You have control of the research, that’s fine. But I want to be involved . If I am, you can have anything you want.” 

“Anything we want?” Jayce said, with an adorable look of confused hope on his face, at the same time as Viktor said, “Deal.” 

# # # 

Jayce stood in the doorway of the house Mel had somehow managed to buy for them in the undercity — in the time it took him and Viktor to gather up his equipment, steal more equipment and research materials from Heimerdinger, avoid the Enforcers, and sneak across Pilt River in a boat that stank of fish and leaked like a faucet. It was a large, well-appointed place, which Jayce is starting to realize is rare in the undercity, with a large kitchen, parlor, and dining room on the ground floor; numerous spacious bedrooms and two bathroom on the second floor; a garret with rickety cots and chests full of things, some illegal, left behind by the previous residents; and a huge basement with ground-level windows looking out on the street. 

And, most notably, a giant pool of dried blood on the parquet floor of the foyer and splintery bullet holes riddling the staircase that rose up at the back of the foyer. 

Unperturbed, Viktor squeezed past Jayce, limping heavily after sitting imobile on the boat for so long, and let his rucksack, stuffed with stolen equipment and research journals, slid off his shoulder and onto the floor. Then, letting out a heavy sigh, he sat down on the bottom stair, heedless of the bullet holes, and started massaging his leg. 

Jayce waited a moment to see if he would notice the bloodstain. When it seemed like Viktor was too absorbed in rubbing the pain out of his leg to pay attention to anything else, he said, “Where did all that blood come from?” 

Viktor looked up, tossing a bored look at the brownish red, streaky stain. “The previous owner.”

“That… that does not answer my question.” 

Viktor seemed confused. “He was a gangster. That’s how this house came to be empty — he and his lieutenants died in a shootout with a rival gang. Didn’t Mel tell you?” 

There hadn’t been much time for Mel to tell them anything, except for “good luck” as she lowered them and all their stolen goods out of the window of Heimerdinger’s office using a rope made of ripped up dust sheets. “But…” 

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” said Viktor, infinitely casual. “He was a terrible man, by all accounts. He used to run this whole neighborhood, back when I was a boy. We’re all better off without him.” 

“That’s not what I mean!” 

“It isn’t?” 

“No!” Jayce pushed a hand through his hair. He couldn’t remember when he had last slept. Too long ago, probably. “I just… why is the blood there ?” 

Viktor wrinkled his brow. “Because he died there, Jayce.” 

“No, I —” Jayce put his head in his hands. Lifting it again, he said, “I mean, what are we going to do about it?” 

Viktor shrugged, picking up his rucksack again and shambling in the direction of the basement door, which was located under the stairs. “Put a rug over it, perhaps. I imagine wood filler will be necessary for the bullet holes.” 

Jayce stared after him for a moment before dumping his own rucksacks on the floor just inside the door and turning on his heel. As he swept back out into the close, smelly street outside, he called over his shoulder, “I need a drink.” 

“Do not leave it unattended,” was Viktor’s encouraging reply. 

# # # 

The second the young man, in his crisp, tailored three-piece suit, flopped down at the counter in the Last Drop, Vander clocked him as an overcity boy. A passably wealthy one too, though compared to the undercity dwellers, everyone in Piltover was wealthy. For a few, half-panicked moments, Vander thought he might be an undercover Enforcer investigating the explosion, who had been turned on to the Last Drop and the kids by some anonymous tipster or some evidence Vi and the other had unwittingly left behind. 

Then the man started ranting about someone called Viktor with such unsuspicious genuineness that Vander knew that he couldn’t be an Enforcer, and he definitely hadn’t been in the undercity before. He was, as the kids would have put it, an easy mark. 

He was also utterly, almost pathetically, earnest, which was why Vander sent a hard look over his head at the rest of the denizens of the Last Drop, silently declaring him off limits. At least for tonight. 

“And there’s blood on the floor,” the man, who had politely introduced himself as Jayce Talis (and Vander thought that was probably his real name — innocent, naive boy), said. He hunched low over the beer Vander had served him. “Blood. On the floor!” 

Vander watched him for a long moment. It was odd to be treated like a normal bartender, rather than the unofficial leader of the undercity and the protector of the Lanes as a whole. “Is it fresh?” he asked at length, wiping out a glass with the towel he kept perpetually hanging over one shoulder. It felt like the thing to do. 

Jayce stared disconsolately at the bottom of his glass. “No, it’s old.” 

Vander nodded. “You could throw a rug over it.” 

“That’s what Viktor said!” Jayce threw up his hands. “Is everyone in this whole city crazy?” 

There was a general stirring in the bar at that outburst, and Vander paused in his glass-wiping long enough to give Jayce a raised eyebrow. Jayce subsided. Vander swore a faint blush colored his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” Jayce said. “That was rude of me.” 

Once, Vander had found a baby crow — little more than a hatchling — huddled beneath the eaves of a warehouse in the port district. Its nest was in the crook of a drainpipe, far above the street, and he could hear the faint peeping of its brothers and sisters above the clamor of portside traffic. Silco and Felicia had been with him, and though Silco had gone on and on about how stupid all of it was, Vander was still their de facto leader, which meant that he and Vander worked together to boost Felicia up high enough for her to shimmy the rest of the way up the drainpipe, the hatchling briefly tucked in her bra, and return it to its nest. 

The feeling he had when he saw the hatchling, all alone in a cold world that largely wanted to eat it, was the exact same one that gripped him as he looked at Jayce, apologizing for rudeness in the middle of an undercity bar. 

“It’s fine, kid,” he said. “Nobody cares.” 

Jayce lifted his head, eyebrows drawing together. “I’m from Piltover is all… I’m not used to all this.” 

“Trust me.” Vander glanced at the other occupants of the bar again, making sure no one was making plans to mug Jayce the second he left. “Everyone can tell.” 

Jayce sighed. “I had to leave my mother behind, and I can’t ever go back, and she… Well, I hope she doesn’t come here.” He flicked a sheepish look at Vander. “No offense.” 

Just then, Vi emerged from the basement of the bar, slouching over to the jukebox to lean against it. Going by her posture, she knew Vander saw her — she was in full view, after all — and was deliberately flaunting his orders to make herself scarce, just until the heat died down a little. They were lucky that she, Powder, and the others hadn’t actually managed to steal anything before triggering the explosion. Things would be much worse if they had. 

Being that she was Vi, her eyes immediately locked onto Jayce. A smile tugged at her lips — a little, curving smirk that told Vander that she could also tell he was a Piltie and that she had, without the slightest hesitation, labeled him as easy money. 

Vander sighed through his nose. He could try to silently order her to let Jayce leave with all his belongings, but so soon after their argument, there was absolutely no chance Vi would listen to him. Absently, he said, “Don’t worry about it,” to Jayce. As he spoke, a tiny blue-haired figure appeared from the direction of the basement and tucked herself up next to Vi. Vi leaned down and said something into Powder’s ear. She didn’t do anything so crass as point Jayce out, but she didn’t need to. Powder’s bright gaze landed on Jayce, and an excited grin broke out across her face before she hurriedly schooled her features into a neutral expression. 

Ah. So Jayce was to be practice. 

Vander could still stop this, but in truth, Powder needed to build her confidence. And Jayce was going to find himself mugged, pickpocketed, or generally fleeced at some point soon. It might as well be Powder who did it. 

Jayce drained the last dregs from his glass and set it on the counter with a sharp click. Then he laid some money — too much, but Vander wasn’t going to tell him — next to it and smiled at Vander. “Thank you for listening,” he said. “I should probably get back to my lab partner now.” 

“Probably,” Vander agreed. 

“And maybe buy a rug.” 

With what wallet? Vander thought. Out loud, he said, “That might be a good idea.” 

Nodding, Jayce stood up and wove through the tables toward the entrance. Like clockwork, Powder slipped away from Vi’s side and traced a path through the tables, coming at Jayce from the side of the bar opposite to Vander. Everyone at the tables watched her fondly and didn’t interfere. Just before Jayce reached the door, Powder bumped into him. It was a beautifully executed misdirection, really. Vander saw one hand slip into Jayce’s jacket pocket and the other one deftly unclip his pocket watch from his best, but he doubted Jayce saw or felt anything. 

“Oh no!” Powder jerked back, dropping Jayce’s wallet into her own pocket and tucking the pocket watch up her sleeve in twin smooth movements. The other kids must have been doing a good job teaching her. “I’m so sorry, mister!” She turned a sweet, beguiling gaze on Jayce. 

Even huge, liquid eyes like Powder had wouldn’t have moved most people in the undercity. Everyone who came to the Last Drop was fond of Powder, but cannoning into someone would have still gotten her a growled, “Watch where you’re going, kid.” 

From Jayce, however, she got nothing of the sort. Instead, he patted her shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about it. I should have been looking where I was going.” With that, he turned and left. 

The moment the door shut behind him, muffled laughter broke out across the bar. Benzo, sitting at a table near Powder, reached out and high-fived her. Powder giggled and all but skipped back to Vi’s side, proudly displaying Jayce’s fine leather wallet and shining gold watch. “We could pawn this for so much!” she said excitedly, all but bouncing on her toes as she swung the watch back and forth on its chain, admiring the way it glinted in the light. 

“I’ll take it,” Benzo called. 

“We aren’t giving you a discount just ‘cause you're friends with Vander,” Vi called back, which provoked even more laughter. 

Leaning over the bar, Vander gave everyone — but particularly Vi — a judgmental look. “You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” 

Vi fixed him with a smug grin. “You gonna make us give it all back?” 

Vander started cleaning out Jayce’s glass. “Go to bed,” he said, which was his way of admitting he had lost. 

# # # 

Viktor was just about to settle down and do some actual work — the basement lab was only half set up, but Jayce’s research journals were calling to him — when Jayce reappeared, smelling of alcohol. 

“All right,” Jayce said. “I overreacted about the bloodstain.” He sank into one of the rickety chairs that were scattered about the main room of the basement. Judging by the worn places at the backs of all of them, just where someone might knot rope if they were tying another person to a chair, Viktor thought they were probably used by the former denizens of the home to hold prisoners during interrogations. Before the shootout that took out the gang’s leadership, he had heard that the war between them and a portside gang was fierce. 

He considered telling Jayce about this, but he had a feeling it would provoke another long session of incredulity. He hadn’t found that he minded the process of Jayce adjusting to something, but right now, it would distract from his work. 

Sitting at a desk he had found in the basement and — with difficulty — shoved into a corner that received excellent light from the windows, Viktor reluctantly looked up from the journal he was reading. “What brought you to this conclusion?” 

“A bar,” said Jayce. “A bartender.” 

“Ah,” said Viktor, though he didn’t really see the connection.

“I met this cute kid too.” 

“Mm.” Viktor returned to the journal. This felt like one of those conversations he could half-listen to. 

“Bright blue hair, came up to about my hip.” Jayce sounded like he was smiling. “Sweet, too. I don’t know, it was nice — to see a happy little girl. I think she must have been the bartender’s daughter or something. I can’t think why else she’d be there.” 

“Mm,” Viktor said. He could think of many reasons, up to and including child labor, but Jayce would learn the finer points of undercity culture soon enough. He didn’t see a need to waste time explaining to Jayce that it wasn’t unusual in the slightest to find unaccompanied undercity children in bars. They were warm, they had food, they had job opportunities, they had tipsy people who might not notice their pockets being picked… In some ways, they were ideal environments for street urchins, truly. 

“It got me thinking — maybe it won’t be so bad down here. I mean, all we hear in Piltover is how corrupt and dangerous the undercity is, but maybe it’s all exaggerated. The bartender was kind too. Good listener.” 

“Mm,” Viktor said. 

“I never thanked you, by the way.” 

Viktor tore his attention from the journal for long enough to say, “For what?” 

“‘For what.’” Jayce snorted. “For following me down here. You left everything, and I know you believe in my research and all, but… It’s good to have a friend. That’s all. So thank you.” 

Slowly, Viktor raised his head, digesting the term. “We are… friends?” 

Sitting across the basement from him and looking out of place against the crumbling plaster wall, Jayce shook his head at Viktor. “What else would we be?” 

Viktor grasped for the correct word. “Colleagues?” 

“I don’t break into laboratories with colleagues.” 

“Partners, then?” 

“In crime, maybe.” Jayce smiled a little. “What’s the matter, Viktor? You don’t want to be friends?” 

“No — no, I…” Viktor cleared his throat. “I… It is an experiment I would like to attempt.” 

Jayce pressed his lips together, a fond expression passing across his face. “Good. Me too.” 

For once, Viktor felt like he was the one behind the curve. It was not a feeling he was used to.  

“Now,” said Jayce, “where does one buy a rug around here?” He patted his pockets. “I hope I have enough money. I’d rather not have to send a message to Mel asking for our stipend early. Though,” he mused, “it would be nice to see her again. Don’t you think?” He kept patting his pockets. 

Viktor frowned. “I suppose. She seems quite intelligent.” 

“And capable,” said Jayce, opening his jacket to rummage through its interior pockets. “Gorgeous too.” He flicked a grin at Viktor that seemed to be an attempt to communicate something specific, but Viktor had no idea what that specific thing was. 

Still feeling behind the curve of the conversation, he said, “She has symmetrical features.” 

Jayce paused, squinting at him. “What?” 

“Symmetry,” said Viktor. “It is usually what humans refer to when they speak of beauty.” He circled a finger in front of his face. “They have an unconscious affinity for it.” 

“They?” Jayce grinned. “You’re human, Viktor.” 

Viktor wrinkled his brow. “Yes. Obviously. What is your point?” 

Jayce made another untranslatable face. “Nothing. Just that I won’t have competition.” 

“In what?” Viktor thought it over for a moment. “Ah,” he said. “You find Mel attractive.” 

“I’m not blind .” 

Viktor failed to see the connection between those things, but he let it pass. “If you do pursue her, do so with care.” 

Jayce paused in searching his pockets again. “I’m not going to hurt her, Viktor. I like her.” 

“That is not what I meant. I meant to tell you not to give her a reason to cut us off.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“I did not give you a — ah, I see. Sarcasm.” Viktor eyed Jayce for a moment. “What are you looking for?” 

Jayce huffed out a frustrated breath. “My wallet — I can’t find it anywhere.” 

Viktor’s eyes landed on the vest pocket from which Jayce’s pocket watch had previously hung. Said watch was gone. Abruptly, Viktor found himself ahead of the curve once again. Jayce’s words about the little girl flashed through his mind again, slotting neatly into his newborn hypothesis about the location of Jayce’s wallet and watch. 

Quite suddenly, heat boiled up in Viktor’s stomach. This — this could not be allowed to stand. Not after Jayce had returned from the bar all but singing its praises. There were things that were done in the undercity, and this thing — well, it was exactly what was done in the undercity, but Viktor would not allow it. 

Not to his… Not to his friend. 

Standing up sharply and sweeping up his cane, he headed toward the basement door at a quick pace. Jayce twisted to watch him go. “Viktor?” he called. “Where are you going? I think — I think I was robbed!” 

“Where was this bar?” asked Viktor as he mounted the basement steps. 

“What?” 

“The location, Jayce.” 

“It’s just down the street — wait, where are you going?” 

Certain Jayce would eventually meander his way to the correct answer, Viktor let the basement door slam shut behind him. 

# # # 

Vander was just thinking about forcing the issue and physically picking Powder up and putting her to bed — Vi went where Powder went and Mylo and Claggor followed Vi, so extracting Powder would get them all to retreat to the basement — when a young man wearing a three piece suit entered the bar. 

He was not Jayce. He had hawkish features, gold eyes, a cane, and at the moment, one of the most terrifying expressions Vander had ever seen. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t anything . It was carefully crafted blankness, and it pinned Vander into place. 

Despite the fact that this new Piltie had a limp, a consumptive complexion, and a wobbly stance that made him look on the verge of falling over, everyone in the bar fell silent at his entrance. Vi even stepped in front of Powder, who, after she got over her indignation, crouched down to peer between Vi’s legs, eyes alight with interest. 

Something about the man — whether it was his boldness or his striking eyes or the fact that he was ninety pounds or less — brought back memories Vander would really rather forget. Beneath the bar, he wrapped one hand around his scarred forearm, remembering the fierce sharpness of Silco’s knife as it cut into him on that awful day, so many years ago. Then, realizing that no one else was going to speak, he said, “How can I help you?” 

The blankness did not slip from the man’s face. “My friend was in here earlier.” 

“A lot of people pass through here.” 

Now there was some disgust, peeping through the blankness. “Do not play dumb with me.” 

There was a general, aggressive shifting among the customers scattered about the tables and sitting near the end of the bar. A large man who probably had been given a name by his mother but who everyone just called Slasher reached toward his belt, where he kept the knife that had earned him his street name. Briefly, Vander pictured Slasher attacking the Piltie. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine a scenario where Slasher came out on top — despite the fact that the Piltie was a good foot shorter than him and wasn’t even big enough to make a good meal.   

People always underestimated Silco too. 

“Oh, was it the other overcity boy who was in here before? Jayce, I think?” Vander forced himself to rest his weight on one elbow, leaning casually on the bar. His relaxed posture was a silent signal. Everyone quieted down and went back to their drinks, though Slasher did it with some reluctance. The only people who didn’t listen — predictably — were Vander’s own children. They just kept watching the Piltie like they were a little pack of coyotes, trying to figure out their prey’s weak point. 

The Piltie eyed them, like a larger predator that was saying, Go on. Just try it . Then, turning back to Vander, he said, “One of your…” He glanced at the kids again. Vander wanted him to stop, before he did something really stupid, like grab the Piltie’s head and slam it into the counter. “Your… affiliates,” the Piltie decided, “robbed him. Earlier tonight.” 

“We did not!” snapped Vi, as if Vander hadn’t confiscated Jayce’s wallet and pocket watch from them fifteen minutes earlier and tucked them under the bar. They were still there, laughing at him. “How dare you accuse us of something like that.” 

“I am not accusing all of you,” the Piltie assured her. “I am accusing that one.” He pointed a long finger at Powder, half hidden behind Vi’s legs. 

As Vi’s eyes turned flaming, Claggor — wisely — put a restraining hand on her arm. Mylo, going by his body language, was on Vi’s side and prepared to help her cut the offending finger off. Vander imagined this scenario again and felt a little sick. He had most of his kids’ lives keeping them away from Silco. He wasn’t about to let them throw themselves at someone who filled him with the same sense of creeping dread that Silco had, at the end. 

“Oh, it’s not her fault,” said Vander, ignoring the incredulous looks all his kids direct at him. “She only does what I tell her too. Figured he was an easy mark.” He reached beneath the bar and retrieved the wallet and watch, dropping them on the counter. “Guess I was wrong.” 

Eyes narrowed, the Piltie crossed the room to the bar, leaning heavily on his cane. Uncertainly, caught between what their eyes were telling them — that the Piltie could probably be snapped like a toothpick — and what Vander’s reactions were telling them — that the Piltie was a bomb on a hair trigger — everyone parted to let him through, watching him the whole time. He reached the bar without incident and picked up Jayce’s belongings. He tucked them in his inside breast pocket, which was all but impossible for pickpockets to take advantage of, and nodded to Vander. “I’m glad we could resolve this without an incident.” 

His voice was neutral, but Vander felt the implied threat like fizzles of electricity across his skin, warning him of an impending lightning strike. “I am too.” 

The Piltie nodded again and headed toward the door. Everyone parted again. In another moment, he was gone. 

Vander exhaled. Before anyone could say anything and particularly before any of his kids could move a muscle, he spun and pinned all four of them down with a ferocious glare. “None of you,” he grated out, “ ever go near that man. Understand?” 

Powder’s eyes widened, but Vi, Claggor, and Miles just looked mutinous. “Why did you just cave like that?” snarled Vi, predictably. 

“None of your business,” Vander snapped. He pointed toward the basement. “Downstairs. Bed.” 

Vi didn’t move. 

“ I mean it this time ,” Vander said, in a voice that made the windows vibrate. 

Vi still looked furious, but neither she nor any of the others had the will to disobey him when he used that tone. Spinning on one heel and catching up Powder’s hand as she did, Vi stalked in the direction of the basement. Mylo and Claggor scurried after her. 

Once they were gone, Vander turned his glare on everyone else in the bar. “And all of you — stay away from him. He’s trouble.” 

No one objected, but Benzo did make his way over to the bar, leaning across it to speak in Vander’s ear. “You sure Silco never… You sure he never had a kid?” 

Staring at the door and fighting down the creeping sensation that he was being watched, Vander said, “Not anymore I’m not.” 

# # # 

Viktor swept back into the basement — or rather, he limped in at top speed — and dropped Jayce’s wallet and watch in his lap before settling back down behind the desk he had somehow procured. 

Jayce stared down at his rescued belongings and then stared at Viktor. “How?” he asked. 

Viktor was already absorbed in the research journal on his desk. Without looking up, he said, “You should keep your money in your breast pocket.” 

“What?” 

“And beware of sweet-seeming children bumping into you.” 

Jayce tried one more time. “What?” 

Viktor spread a sheet of paper out beside the journal and began taking notes with furious speed. “We should get to work.” 

Chapter Text

2

In general, Vander’s moods were easy to interpret and connect to the events that had caused them. For example, he once had spent an entire week grousing at everyone who came into the Last Drop, to the point where Benzo would frantically wave newcovers away from the bar when they stepped through the door to prevent everyone already there from having to listen to Vander move glasses around and pour drinks with much more noise and force than was strictly necessary. That tension had been caused by Powder’s bout with the measles. Vi, immune since she caught it when she was six, stayed down in the basement with her, but Mylo and Claggor were sent off to stay with Ekko in Benzo’s cramped apartment above his shop. Vander, also immune to the measles, felt the boys’ absence keenly, and when that emotional disturbance combined with Powder — his baby and the baby of the Lanes as a whole — lying weak and sick in bed, it beget a Vander that snarled and growled like a rabid dog whenever anyone but Vi or Powder spoke to him. Another time, a sleep-drunk Mylo, fresh off helping Benzo move a shipment of contraband to the one port Vander and his people controlled, said, “‘Night, Dad,” after Vander dumped him in his bunk downstairs. Vander all but floated around the Last Drop for a week after that, and Powder, never one to miss out on the chance to turn a situation to her advantage, managed to use his good mood to acquire an entire bag of sweets — Piltover variety, which meant Vander had used some of his secret overcity connections to get it — for her and Ekko. 

Vi was used to Vander’s moods making sense. His reactions were always logically related to the triggering event. That was how it had been ever since Vi had known him. 

Which was why his reaction to the scrawny Piltie was ticking her off. Nobody intimidated Vander. That was a rule, especially in the Lanes. He was the de facto leader, without ever putting on the metal gauntlets that had made his enemies fear him in the first place. 

The only person Vi could think of who came even close to disturbing Vander’s calm was the mysterious leader of the other half of the undercity — the man Vander had given control of all ports but one and the part of the undercity that existed below the water level. The bridge connected the undercity to Piltover and the part of the subterranean city that crept beneath Piltover were both neutral territory, not that Vi had ever seen either Vander or the man people called Silco in hushed tones utilize it. 

Silco was someone Vander considered a threat. Vi knew that; she could understand the shape of it. It made something approaching sense, even though she wished Vander would cast aside his obsession with peace and do something about him. 

But the Piltie who had invaded the Last Drop and demanded back some other overcity dandy’s wallet and pocket watch? Vander shouldn’t be afraid of him. 

But he was . And he wouldn’t explain why. All he would do was tell Vi and the others to stay close to the Last Drop, to stay away from the Piltie, to not get into trouble — or else . 

That, Vi decided after a week passed without Vander’s nervous mood showing any sign of lifting, was unacceptable. If Vander wasn’t going to ask for help or even explain, then she would handle it for him. After all, nobody should get away with bullying Vander. Not in his own bar, and certainly not in front of her. 

“Get up,” she says, jumping down the last step into the basement and clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Vander’s gone out — now’s our chance.” 

Powder looked up from her speller with a furrowed brow. “But what about school?” she asked. 

Education was a funny thing in the undercity. On paper, there was a public school funded by Piltover, meant to service everyone in the undercity, but said school had been surreptitiously taken over by some local gang, probably affiliated with Silco, years ago. They skimmed from the money that came over from Piltover and used the scraps left behind to keep the building lights on, thus deflecting Piltover’s suspicion. All that meant that undercity children received an education that was unorthodox, to say the least. Vander focused on it more than most other people Vi had met had, and he had managed to scrape together enough collective knowledge to make something approaching a curriculum for her and the others. Benzo, who was a whiz at math, taught them arithmetic, slipping in lessons on how to cheat people without them ever knowing in between lessons on multiplication and division. Vander, one of the few people in the neighborhood who could read proficiently, taught them how to read, write, and spell. A slender widow named Amari, who rented out an apartment above a nearby brothel (because, as she said, “Those poor girls need someone motherly around, in case they ever need help.”), had a rare collection of books on Piltover and Zaun’s shared history, and she came to the Last Drop twice a week to teach from them. All in all, Vi and her siblings knew more than most people in the undercity, but Vi figured it was still nothing when compared to the Pilties, with all their shiny universities. That didn’t bother her, though. There were things you couldn’t learn in books, and undercity people would beat the overcity in that kind of knowledge a thousand times over. 

“‘What about school?’” Mylo mimicked, rolling his eyes. “Get with it, Powder!” 

“Hey!” Vi snapped his fingers at him as Powder sent a furious glare in his direction. “Leave her alone. And forget school. This is more important.” 

“Piltie?” asked Claggor. 

“Piltie,” Vi confirmed. “I’m sick of waiting on Vander. If he’s not going to take care of it, we will. Pow-Pow and Ekko were right; he’s in the old Cuts’ house. It’s barely a five minutes’ walk from here.” 

“But we’re supposed to meet Benzo at his shop in thirty minutes,” said Powder as she laid aside her speller. “He’s got a shipment for —” 

“We’re going to miss our appointment,” interrupted Vi. She folded her arms. “If Vander’s going to try to keep us in the dark, I’m going to turn on the freaking light. Who’s with me?” 

Of course, everyone raised their hands. Powder even gave a little cheer, which earned her a fond head shake from Claggor. 

Vi smiled. “Good. Let’s go.” 

# # #  

When Silco had asked Deckard to not just watch Vander’s kids this time but snatch them, Deckard had all but burst with pride. He was moving up in the world. Last week, head of a street gang. Today, trusted operative of Silco. And tomorrow? Who knew what might come next, but one thing was for certain, Deckard was moving up in the world. 

So he sat on the flat top of a ramshackle building a block away from Benzo’s pawn shop, hunching low so that he couldn’t be seen. Silco had given him four men as support, and Deckard figured that basically handed him success on a silver platter. Vander’s kids were far from helpless, but even a scrappy little brawler like Vi couldn’t hope to beat five grown men. At least, not and protect Powder, her little weak link, at the same time. 

Deckard sat for a long time, watching the street and watching his timepiece in turn. When the kids didn’t show, even though they should have toddled down the street, like so many unsuspecting lambs, a full ten minutes previously, cold ran down his body. It felt like he had been dunked in ice water. 

After another ten minutes, his second nudged him, showing a mouthful of rotting teeth in an uncertain grimace. “Ain’t they supposed to be here by now, boss?” 

Deckard shoved him away hard enough that he almost toppled sideways onto the roof. “What do you think, idiot?” Silco had said that Vander ran the kids on a tight schedule when it came to jobs that involved Benzo. With his supposedly legitimate business, he couldn’t afford too many deviations from the timeline he set. 

And from what Deckard had heard on the street, Vander’s kids were just about as obsessed with Benzo as they were with Vander. They wouldn’t keep him waiting. 

Deckard set his jaw. “Send a message to Silco. We’ve got a problem.” 

# # # 

In the end, Mel was surprised it took Jayce a full week to ask her out on a date, what with the way he looked at her — sweetly and courteously, yes, but also endlessly and besottedly. It happened when she finally managed to escape from her Council duties long enough to actually spend enough time at his and Viktor’s new house to review the research they had done. They were already making progress; she saw the glow of a breakthrough on the horizon, like the first blush of dawn. 

After she looked through all their notes and listened to Viktor, saying more words at once than she had yet heard from him, recount all their latest experiments, she mounted the steps out of the basement, wondering if Jayce had realized that his laboratory was the former interrogation and torture room combined of the gang that had vacated the house — and life, permanently — before he and Viktor took up residence. 

On balance, she imagined not. 

Jayce climbed with her, taking advantage of the wide old staircase to walk next to her. He seemed preoccupied, his jaw working and his brow furrowed. Viktor was still at the bottom of the stairs, leaning one elbow against the wall to help his balance as he scribbled a few more notes down in his research journal, climbing the steps forgotten in the heat of the moment. 

Just when Mel was about to needle Jayce over his silence — or perhaps toss one of her gold bangles at Viktor and see if he noticed —  Jayce stopped at the top of the stairs and twisted to face her. “Councilor Medarda,” he said. 

“Mr. Talis,” she replied, with a smile curving her lips. 

“Oh, not this,” muttered Viktor from the bottom of the stairs, proving that he was not quite as oblivious as he seemed. Mel filed that knowledge away for future use.

Cutting a sideways glare Viktor’s way, Jayce squared his shoulders. “I was wondering — or rather, I was hoping — what I mean to say is…” He trailed off, biting his lower lip. 

Mel raised both eyebrows. “Yes?” She supposed she could help him out, but that wouldn’t be any fun. Besides, she had spent most of her adult life surrounded by people she could manage or take advantage of. 

Jayce was the first person she had felt safe enough to meet on equal ground. 

Well, him and Viktor. 

“I was wondering,” said Jayce, “if you would do me the honor of… No, that’s not right.” He sighed through his teeth. “I wanted to ask —”

Viktor hissed something under his breath that sounded like Pilties , tore his attention away from his notes, and leaned up the staircase, hooking one elbow around the bannister. “He wants to ask you out.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Jayce turned to look down his nose at Viktor. “I was getting there.” 

Viktor started up the stairs. “You were blocking the basement door.” 

“Viktor —” 

“Yes,” Mel interrupted. Her smile broke into a cautious grin that was so utterly unplanned and uncalculated that the heat of a blush rose to her cheeks — swiftly matched by the rosiness that flushed Jayce’s face. 

“Yes?” he asked. He was grinning too. 

She nodded. “Yes.” 

“Wonderful.” Climbing the stairs at record speeds, Viktor elbowed between them and opened the basement door. “My leg hurts. Move.” 

# # # 

Vander didn’t enjoy hiding things from his kids. Truthfulness, he felt, should go hand in hand with love and family, even if being truthful involved informing his kids there were things he couldn’t — or wouldn’t — tell them. It might infuriate Vi to know he was keeping things from her and the others, but in the end, it was better than lying to them. 

But there were certain things that all four of them — and especially Vi — needed to be kept in the dark about, even if it meant lying, and one of those things was his meetings with Silco. The kids knew about Silco in general. They knew he ran the below river portion of the undercity and controlled most of the ports. They knew he was dangerous. They knew they were to stay away from him or invoke Vander’s wrath. 

They didn’t know that he used to be Vander’s brother in everything but blood. They didn’t know he had known Powder and Vi’s parents — or that he, like Vander, had known their mother Felicia for longer than her own husband had. They didn’t know that he had been angling to make deals with the undercity chem barons to get control of shimmer production and use the power that would give him to expand his reach into Vander’s territory. 

They didn’t know that Vander had been actively working to prevent that and that this meeting was something close to a last-ditch attempt at preventing their cold war from blossoming into a full blown conflict that the undercity couldn’t survive. 

And they didn’t know he had something to ask Silco that required he look him in the eyes, to watch them for that flicker of deception that Vander knew so well. 

Emerging from a algae-slick sidestreet that stank of sewage and briny river water, Vander stepped onto the pebbly, muddy bank that curved beneath the undercity edge of the bridge that led into Piltover. This was the closest thing to neutral territory that he and Silco had, as neither of them, for different reasons, were willing to claim the bridge as part of their territory. Vander, because it was the site of his greatest mistake and was the reason Vi and Powder were orphans. Silco, because he didn’t yet dare expose himself to the watchful eye of Piltover Enforcers. 

Yet, Vander supposed, was the key word. 

Silco was waiting for him near the river’s edge, with his back to the water. This was meant as a taunt, of course. He took pleasure in reminding Vander of that terrible day, when he found that his hands were indeed capable of violence against those he loved — even though he had sworn that could never be the case. 

“Vander.” Silco’s voice was smooth and level as usual. To an outsider, he seemed perfectly in control, but Vander knew better. 

There was only one person Silco was afraid of, and it was him. Once, Vander had wished that weren’t the case, but nowadays, he took it as a blessing. Silco’s fear of him and his knowledge that Vander — for now, at least — carried more influence than he did were the only two things saving the undercity from complete chaos and, if Silco got his way, an eventual war with Piltover. Unlike Silco, who was an optimist of the violent sort, Vander knew that Piltover could and would crush the undercity if they made themselves more of a problem than they already were. 

“Silco.” Vander stopped in front of him and folded his arms. Somewhere up high in the supports under the bridge, perched like birds, were snipers waiting to take him out if he made one wrong move. Vander hadn’t brought any security himself, partly because he knew Silco wouldn’t risk taking him out unless absolutely necessary and partly because the best way to put Silco on edge was to give him the impression that Vander didn’t perceive him as a threat meriting backup. 

“What do you want?” Silco’s teeth showed in a cold smile. His ruined eye turned into a slit. “Or did you just miss me?” 

“You had one of your lackeys tail the kids,” said Vander. 

“Oh, you noticed that.” Silco lifted both eyebrows. “I thought you were slipping.” 

Vander took a step closer. Silco did not take a corresponding step back, but Vander imagined that was solely because of pride and because of the lap of water at his heels. “That’s not acceptable.” 

Silco shrugged. “You’re the one who let them go off and make trouble in the overcity. That puts all of Zaun in danger.” He leaned closer. “Control your children, Vander. Or I will.” 

Vander clenched his jaw. “Do it again, and I’ll send the Enforcers right to your door.” 

At that, Silco did recoil. Disgust crowded over his face. “Overcity scum? You’d incite them to cross the bridge? My, my, Vander. And here I thought you were ashamed of your role in Felicia’s death. Are you so eager to put more Zaunites at the end of Enforcer guns? Anything to play the righteous man, is that it?” 

Vander snorted. If either of them had an inflated sense of their own righteousness, it was Silco — not him. “This has nothing to do with any of that. My kids , Silco. You know what happens if you try to involve them in this. My gun to Zaun’s head. You touch them, I pull the trigger. But you’ll be the reason the city dies.” 

Silco’s upper lip curled back. “You’re a traitor to everything you once stood for. Zaun or nothing — that’s what you used to say. And now you whore yourself out to Enforcers and threaten to use them against the city. Our city. You tried to murder me, but I see clearly now, Vander. It was you who died that day.” 

“I died on this bridge,” replied Vander without hesitating. “Have children. You’ll understand.” A flash of cold rushed across his skin as he spoke, and the image of the Piltover man who had invaded the Last Drop ran through his mind. 

No. No, it wasn’t possible. It would have had to have happened before their falling out. Vander would have known if Silco had fathered a child. 

Unless Silco hadn’t known himself.

And he couldn’t have, because if Silco had known, he never would have let his son become a Piltie. 

Vander shook the cold away. If he was right and the Piltie was Silco’s, Silco had no idea he existed, and Vander certainly wasn’t going to be the one to enlighten him. If he was wrong, then angering Silco by revealing that two Pilties had moved into Vander’s section of town and taken up residence in a dead gangster’s house was the last thing Vander was going to do. A calm Silco was a liability; an infuriated Silco was even worse. 

“Oh, I do understand,” said Silco, voice even colder. “I understand perfectly.” 

“Good.” Vander took a deep breath, forcing his hands to stay relaxed at his sides, even though all he wanted to do was curl them into fists. Vi got it all from him — all her ferocity, all her impulsivity. He wasn’t even her blood, but he had still managed to give her all the most dangerous parts of himself. “Then you’ll understand this too: I know what you’re planning with the chem barons. I have eyes in your part of the city, the same as you do in mine. And I won’t stand for it. It’s breaking our deal.” 

“It is?” Silco lifted both eyebrows in an expression of innocent surprise. “The chem barons endanger my people, Vander. They have their own agendas, their own plans, and if my people get in the way, well… Things get messy. It’s my responsibility to prevent that from happening. I’m a leader. I protect my people.” He smiled again. “I thought you of all people understood that now.” 

Vander took another steadying breath. “I’m not an idiot, Silco. I know that once they become tools you can use, you’ll turn them against me and mine. I won’t let that happen. I’ll speak to my Enforcer friend and tell her all about your little underground operation. Got it?” He shifted closer and leaned down. “Can’t imagine how hard it would be for you to do your work without that mad doctor of yours.” 

Silco watched him for a moment. Then, he said, “You think you hold all the cards, don’t you?” 

“I hold an Enforcer. That’s good enough.” 

“Mm.” Silco clasped his hands behind his back, leaning away from Vander and tipping his head back to look him in the eye. “And do you know what I hold?” 

He had that look . Vander remembered that look, though he still wasn’t used to it being turned against him. That was the look Silco got when one of his plans was unfolding before his eyes, turning into a toothy-jawed trap that would clamp down on his opponent’s leg. 

Silco loved that part — watching his prey flail and scream and struggle. He used to love it for the strategy of it all, for the sweet taste of victory and the confirmation of his own brilliance. Now, Vander thought he just loved watching blood soak into the ground. 

Some part of him — the pit in his stomach that hadn’t gone away since he found Vi and Powder in the smoking aftermath of the battle on the bridge — knew what Silco had up his sleeve, even before Silco said, “Do you know where your children are, Vander?” 

Vander froze. His vision went red. Before he knew it, he had jerked forward and was gripping Silco by the front of his vest. His fists almost swallowed up Silco’s midsection, and he heaved him upward, off his feet, so that his boots dangled above the pebbly ground. 

Silco only smiled, lifting one hand to stay the snipers up above. “Now, now,” he said, “let’s not lose our heads, Vander. You can’t punch your way out of this one.” 

Vander’s breath came faster. “Watch me, you —” 

At that moment, two messenger birds — pigeons, like the sort that most undercity people kept to communicate quickly with each other when the pneumatic tubes failed — pinwheeled down from above, circling overhead until they settled onto their chosen perches. One landed on Silco’s shoulder, and the other alighted on the spread of Vander’s back. 

Their coos — so soft and mundane amidst everything else that the juxtaposition was almost insulting — filled the air between Vander and Silco. 

Silco nodded to the bird on Vander’s back. “Aren’t you interested in what your old Benzo has to say? He’s the only one who knows where you are, isn’t he? Go on,” he added when Vander didn’t move, “I won’t run.” 

He was telling the truth. He wouldn’t run. But he wanted to. Vander could see that in the rigid lines of his slim frame. But he wouldn’t, because he felt he was winning. 

The kids had been on their way to see Benzo. If they had been waylaid, Benzo would be the first person to know. 

With a growl that hurt his throat, Vander shoved Silco away from him, so hard that Silco almost tumbled backwards into the river behind them, and snatched the pigeon up. Ignoring its indignant coos at the rough handling, he opened the tube tied around its leg, unrolling the message within with shaking fingers. Across from him, Silco — with considerably more calm — did the same. 

In Benzo’s hurried handwriting were a few simple sentences that turned Vander’s ribs to ice. 

Kids gone. Disappeared outside Last Drop. Nobody’s seen them. Activity at the Piltie’s house but can’t see into basement — windows too grimy and too risky to go in when I don’t know if he’s got the kids or if he’ll panic and kill them. 

Vander gripped the paper tight in both hands and slowly lifted his head to stare Silco down. Silco, just finishing the note he had received, looked back at him. 

“Vander —” he began. 

Red flooded back into Vander’s vision. Silco did know about the Piltie. He was his son. And Silco was using him to try to take the kids and hold them hostage — probably to force Vander to step aside and let him take over the undercity. 

There weren’t snipers in the world fast enough to stop Vander before he slammed into Silco, knocking them both to the ground. He ended up on top of Silco, hunched so close to him that the snipers didn’t have a clear shot. They were just at the edge of the river; Silco’s hair trailed in the water and waves lapped about his ears. 

The panicked terror in his eyes almost satisfied Vander’s rage enough for the red to abate. 

Almost. 

“If your son kills my kids,” he spat out, knitting his hands into Silco’s collar, “I kill him .” 

“Vander —” 

“They die, and I’ll take the city to war against you. There won’t be a chem baron or sniper or zealot on this earth that can protect you. I’ll kill your son, and I’ll kill you. Do you hear me? Do you hear me ?” 

Silco’s breaths came in gasps. “Vander, please —” 

“Where are they? Where are the kids? Tell me, and I’ll drown you fast .” 

“I don’t know!” The words exploded from Silco. For a split second, more than a decade fell from his face, turning his expression young and petrified. “That’s the message I got! They never went to Benzo’s. I don’t know where —” 

“You’re lying . Your son —” 

“ What son?” Silco reached up and fisted both his hands in the front of Vander’s shirt, using his grip as leverage to pull himself up out of the water. He hung there, hair swept back from his forehead and dripping down his back. “I don’t have them, Vander.” 

Vander stopped breathing. Everything fell into place: the boy’s uncanny resemblance to Silco, the way he had swept into the bar and taken stock of the kids, the way he had just appeared . 

The way Silco didn’t know what was going on. 

He truly didn’t know about the Piltie, but the Piltie knew about him. 

And if Vander was right, he was angling to steal Zaun right out from under Silco. 

But he had made a mistake. 

He had tried to use Vander’s kids to do it. 

“You’ve gone topside, gotten oxygen sickness,” Silco was saying, still clinging to the front of his shirt. For once, all the facades that existed between them fell away. “You’re talking nonsense — I don’t have a son , Vander.” 

Vander refocused on him. “Oh, don’t you? A golden eyed boy with your face? A Piltie? But a Piltie with the smog sickness by the looks of him, so he had to have been born here. Twisted leg, walks with a cane, looks like he got his mother’s nose but everything else is yours —”

But all the color had suddenly drained from Silco’s face. “A twisted… She said he died. She said he died .” 

And that was a voice — raw and ferocious and broken — that Vander had not heard from Silco before.

The river rushing right next to them forgotten, Silco fixed his eyes — one blue, the other black and orange — on Vander. “ Where is he? ”

# # # 

Viktor had thought that Jayce and Mel going out would actually entail them going out , but apparently he had been gravely mistaken. First, they had fluttered about the parlor for an interminable amount of time, talking to each other shyly and giggling — which Viktor would have accepted, had the giggler in question not been Jayce — and then when Viktor left them to their inefficiency and absconded to the basement to get some actual work done, Mel migrated down after him. She had been intending to stay with them for several days — to supervise their work, certainly, which Viktor took great offense to — and so had brought several changes of clothes with her. Since the practical walking dress she had worn into the undercity was somehow not acceptable for a date, Viktor was torn away from his work to watch Mel walk up and down the length of the basement in several different dresses and forced to give an opinion. When he did, informing her of the science of male attraction in the process, Mel disappeared, only to be replaced by Jayce a mere minute later. He was full of anxious questions that he already had the answer to, so Viktor mostly let those flow over his head like water. However, he also seemed to think that Viktor had opinions on clothing and kept flapping his coattails at him until Viktor deigned to pronounce judgment on his outfit, informing Jayce of the science of female attraction in the process. 

That should have been the end of it, but just before Jayce and Mel giggled their way up the basement steps, Viktor had a breakthrough and was stupid enough to make an audible noise of surprise, which brought them both rushing back to his side. 

Since then, they had both been hunched over Viktor’s shoulders, penning him in on both sides, and helping him over the last hurdle of calculations. Mel apparently understood a good bit of higher mathematics, including the entirely new arcane branch that he and Jayce had been developing. 

All this meant that when the alleyside basement window was kicked in and a muscular teenage girl exploded through the opening, followed swiftly by a slender teenage boy, Viktor’s, Mel’s, and Jayce’s heads were so close together as Jayce stole Viktor’s pencil and scribbled down a last equation that their simultaneous, startled jerks upward led to triplet blunt force traumas. Through the white light that sparked in Viktor’s vision as he clapped one hand against his temple to cover the place where Jayce’s exceptionally hard cranium had made impact, he saw a large teenage boy race down the basement stairs, with two preteens — a scrawny girl with blue hair and a dark skinned boy with bright white curls — bunching up behind him. The large boy had a club of some sort, the skinny boy had a curving knife, the muscular girl had her fists, and the blue haired girl and white haired boy both had slingshots. 

And then, very suddenly, Mel had a slim gun in her hand and was pointing it at the large boy. The muscular girl screamed, “Claggor!”, and Viktor had time to think, This is not acceptable , before Jayce — benefitting from his tendency to act before he thought, for once — lurched forward and caught Mel’s wrist, twisting the gun free. It fell from her hand, hit the floor, and skittered across the room until it bumped to a stop against the bottom basement step.

The blue haired girl skittered forward and snatched it up. She carried it with uncertain grace, like she had been taught how to use firearms and then strictly warned not to touch them without supervision. “Thank you,” she said, awkwardly. 

“Powder,” hissed the white haired boy, “don’t thank them.” 

“Shut it, Ekko, I can still shoot them, even if I have thanked them.” 

“No, you can’t —” 

“Yes, I can —” 

Viktor gave Jayce, who was watching the two children argue about first-degree murder and the manners that governed it with the expression of someone who grew up in Piltover, a tired look. “This,” he said, “is why we do not shoot children but why we also do not give them our guns.” 

Jayce swallowed. “I’ll remember that for next time.” 

“Assuming there will be a next time,” said Viktor, eyeing the muscular girl and deciding that she, going by her demeanor, was the leader of the little — both numerically and physically — gang, “is a faulty hypothesis.” 

Jayce also eyed the children. “Oh dear,” he said, succinctly but uneloquently. As a former undercity dweller, Viktor could have created a veritable ballad of interwoven profanities to describe their situation, complete with a few in his mother’s native language. As his illness did not like him to waste breath, he refrained. “But they won’t really kill us. They can’t. They’re just kids .” 

“Oh trust me,” said Mel, flinging a fierce glare at each child in turn, “they will. Why are you here?” she added in a snarl, also focusing on the muscular girl. “Did my mother send you?” 

At this, Jayce paused in his contemplation of their imminent deaths at the hands of children to throw her a confused look, brows furrowed. Even Viktor himself took a moment to tuck her question away for further examination. 

The muscular girl stalked forward, like she hadn’t heard any of them. Fists balled at her sides, she stopped a few yards short of them and growled, “Why is Vander afraid of you?” She directed the question at Viktor, which left Jayce and Mel to give each other confused looks, like they were wondering why anyone from the undercity would be afraid of a sickly young man with a cane. 

Viktor allowed them their bewilderment. “Who?” he asked. He endeavored to keep his voice polite. Irritated as it was to have his work interrupted — again — it always paid not to antagonize people with weapons. 

The muscular girl looked at him like he had spit in her eye before declaring that he agreed with the most radical of the overcity people, who believed that the undercity shouldn’t breed and should, ideally, be razed to the ground. “ Vander .” 

“Repeating his name with more emphasis does not further enlighten me,” said Viktor, before he remembered that this was the sort of sentence that tended to antagonize people. 

“Vander,” snapped the slim boy next to the girl. “The guy who runs the Last Drop. You know, the one you stole from.” 

Jayce pulled himself straight. “He’s not a thief .” 

This was not Viktor’s objection. “It is not stealing to retrieve the property of someone else.” 

“ That’s who you are.” Jayce wheeled around to point at Powder. “You’re the girl who bumped into me!” 

Still too young to have completely forgotten the existence of her conscience, Powder ducked her head. “You were very nice,” she offered. “You should keep your wallet in your breast pocket.” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

“You didn’t answer my question,” snapped the muscular girl. “I’m getting impatient, and when I get impatient, Mylo here starts cutting off people’s fingers.” She jerked her chin to the boy next to her. 

Judging by the way Mylo’s throat bobbed when she made her threat, he had never even dreamed of cutting off people’s fingers, but he still said, with an acceptable amount of certainty in his voice, “Yeah. So answer Vi’s question unless you want to find out what life’s like without thumbs.” 

“Bluff,” said Mel. She sounded contemptuous. Apparently, she had not received the same lessons from her mother about not antagonizing armed threats that Viktor had. 

“Oh, yeah?” Vi widened her eyes into a crazed expression. “You sure about that.” 

In contrast to Vi, Mel let her eyes go hooded. “Yes. Anyone who knows anything knows not to start with the thumb . That’s the most important digit. You save it and start with the pinky.” She smiled brightly. “It builds anticipation, and that’s fifty percent of fear.” 

Jayce sidled away from Mel. “ What? ” 

“Not now, Jayce,” Viktor and Mel said at the same time. 

As Jayce was drawing in an insulted breath, Viktor said, “I was not aware I made this Vander afraid. I thought we had a civil interaction where I made clear what was and was not acceptable.” 

Now it was Vi’s turn to look contemptuous. “Yeah, sure .” 

“Do you think we’re stupid?” said Claggor from the steps, snorting. 

Viktor craned his head around long enough to look Claggor up and down. “I do not yet have enough data to say one way or the other.”

Jayce lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “ Viktor .”

“If you want to cut fingers off so badly,” said Mel, locking eyes with Mylo, “come closer. I’ll teach you.” 

Jayce turned to her. “ Mel .” 

“Oh yeah?” Vi jerked closer. “What about throats, you overcity —” 

Jayce stepped in front of Mel. After a pause where he seemed to search for Vi’s name, he said, “ You .”

“Hey, wait.” Powder slid a few steps closer, neatly ducking beneath the restraining arm Claggor extended. “Look at the glowy blue thing.” She lifted her free hand to point at the worktable that Viktor, Jayce, and Mel were currently backed up against. Amidst the many scattered research journals and Viktor’s several pages of calculations, was one of the crystals they were studying. It rested in a metal framework that Viktor and Jayce had built together, with Jayce having just made a few final adjustments to it based on their most recent calculations before the teenage gang’s indecorous advent. It hummed, as it always did, and shed a soft blue glow across the table.

“Stay away from that,” Viktor said.

“Oh great.” Jayce gave him a sideways glare. “Now you’ve just guaranteed she won’t. Do you have any idea how children work?” 

Viktor felt this was an insult. “I was a child.” 

Jayce snorted. “No, you weren’t.” 

As they spoke, Powder crept closer to the workbench, until Vi’s sharp voice brought her up short. “Stay away from them, Pow-Pow,” she said. 

“No, Vi, look .” Powder kept staring at the gem. The three boys were watching it now too. “It’s like the gems we found in —” She lifted her gaze to Jayce. “Oh, you’re the one we stole from, aren’t you? Whoever it was didn’t have a limp.” 

“I’m who ?” Jayce stared at her. Then understanding dawned. “ You’re the ones who blew up my —”

“Powder,” Vi snapped, “get away .” 

“Vi.” Powder’s expression turned urgent. “Do you remember what these things do ?” 

“Yeah, I do!” Vi shoved Mylo behind her, taking a few stumbling steps back as she did. At the steps, Claggor had already grabbed Ekko and started pushing him up the stairs. “It’s why I’m telling you to —” 

A massive bang reverberated through the entire basement as the door at the top of the stairs slammed against the wall. Through the opening came two men — one slender and sharp in shape and the other broad and blunt. They all but careened into each other as they raced down the stairs. The big one reached Ekko first and snatched him up, but the small one shoved past him and knocked Claggor aside, sending him reeling against the wall. 

As the small man skipped the last step and hit the basement floor, everything happened at once. 

Vi yelled, “ Vander ?” 

The big man — Vander — hurled himself at the small man. “Powder, Vi, boys, run !” 

Powder skittered backwards, thudding into the workbench. She had the gun in one shaking hand, but her eyes were fixed on the small man forging across the room toward the workbench. There was such a fire in his eyes that Viktor found himself yelling, “Shoot him!” 

Apparently, Powder didn’t trust her aim in such a crowded room. She didn’t shoot him. She did something far worse. She twisted around and turned the crank at the side of the apparatus the gem rested in. 

“Don’t!” Jayce shouted, at the same time as Vi screamed, “Everybody, get down!” 

Gaze focused, Powder grabbed hold of the apparatus in both hands and, before anyone could stop her, hurled it at the small man, while the big man barreled across the room toward her. 

Viktor had time to think, This would be a very stupid way to die , before a explosive blast of bright blue light engulfed everything. 

Chapter Text

3

Blue light rushed toward Jayce in a tidal wave. There wasn’t time to think — only to act. He lunged sideways and managed to catch Mel and Viktor in both arms, sending them both tumbling to the floor. He landed on top of them and tucked Mel’s head up against his shoulder to try to protect her eyes from shrapnel. He would have done the same for Viktor, but Viktor was busy trying to wriggle out from beneath him, either because he had a death wish — unlikely, that was Jayce’s department — or because he had a better plan than Jayce did and couldn’t believe he was going to die crushed underneath Jayce’s bulk — likely, that was Viktor all over. 

Mel’s hand fisted in the back of Jayce’s shirt. Viktor paused in his struggle to fling Jayce a wide-eyed look that made Jayce think that he actually did experience fear — just quieter than everyone else did. 

Then the blue light hit. 

And they didn’t die. 

The light caught them like surf on a beach and lifted them off the ground. They pinwheeled upward, surrounded by blueness that danced with strange runes. It was as though gravity had suddenly packed its bags and taken a vacation. Mel’s white dress billowed about her legs. Jayce’s unbuttoned jacket swelled out around his waist. Viktor’s hair drifted about his head like he was underwater. 

Jayce found a laugh in his throat. “We did it.” He caught Viktor’s eye. He was grinning, in an endless, childlike way. “We cracked it, Viktor.” 

A cracked laugh bubbled out of Viktor’s own throat. “We did.” 

There was a vast, wonderful moment where it was just the two of them and their discovery. A thousand possibilities poured through Jayce’s mind. When the news of his exile fell on him like an executioner’s ax, he thought his life was over. But as it turned out, it had only just begun. The moment stretched long and perfect. Jayce reached out to touch one of the glowing runes that floated through the air like so many snowflakes. 

Then Mel, still clinging to him, all but climbed onto his shoulders, trying to shove his head down, and yelled, “Watch your back!” 

The moment shattered. Jayce twisted around — or rather, he tried to and found that without anything to push off from, all he could do was make an awkward swimming motion that made him bobble around slowly until he was facing in the other direction. 

He completed the revolution just in time to see the two men who had burst into the basement before — the big one was called Vander, and oh no , that wasn’t good, was it? — use each other as launching pads to hurl themselves in two different directions. Vander, carrying Ekko, swooped through the air in Powder’s direction and snatched her up. 

The slender man hurtled straight toward Viktor. 

Jayce thought, Don’t you dare, and tried to surge sideways to get in between the man and Viktor. 

Viktor acted first, shoving off from Jayce calf with both feet and arrowing forward. He swung one arm back — a locket Jayce hadn’t known he had floating up out of the front of his shirt and catching the light — and slammed his cane into the man’s side. Chased by the sound of all the air being forced from his lungs, the man went spinning sideways. Viktor, carried by his own momentum, almost went flipping after him, but Jayce managed to snag hold of his trouser leg and drag him back to their huddle. Mel grabbed hold of his jacket and threw one arm around his shoulder. She slung her other one around Jayce’s shoulders, which meant she ended up hanging between them like a beautiful anchor that both kept them together and prevented them from floating away. 

There was probably a metaphor in there, but all the screaming was distracting Jayce from ferreting it out. 

The slender man was caught near the middle of the room, off to the left of Viktor’s desk, and Vander had dumped Ekko and Powder on Claggor. They held on tight to his vest, bobbing about him like tiny ducklings in a pond, and he held onto the corner of the stairwell opening. Vander was making his way along the edge of the room, headed in the direction of Vi and Mylo, were huddled up near the ceiling at the back of the room. 

In between Vander and his last two children were Jayce, Viktor, and Mel. 

Jayce didn’t really know Vander, and while he had seemed kind when they had spoken in the Last Drop, it seemed reasonable to assume that between Vander and his children was not a smart place to be. 

Mel had the same revelation, apparently, because she tried to haul him sideways, kicking her feet against empty air. 

Vander’s bellowing voice filled the entire room. “None of you were kidnapped . Vi, I know you’re the architect of this! You deliberately — when I catch you, I’ll cut you up into cubes and put you on toothpicks for the drinks at the Last Drop. You could have died . Powder and the boys could have died!” 

“It’s your fault,” Vi howled back at him, utterly unmoved by his threat. “You wouldn’t tell us anything! You acted all soft and squirmy around the Piltie, and then you didn’t explain. I thought Silco was threatening you or something. I had to figure out what was going on.” She dragged Mylo closer to her. “ We had to figure it out.” 

“And you’re telling me you wouldn’t have done this if I had told you what was going on?” 

Vi paused. “No, but —” 

Vander surged forward again. “I’ll ferment you in the beer vats!” 

Vi opened her mouth to say something else, but her face suddenly flashed with warning. “Vander, look out! Silco!” 

Vander turned just in time to see the slender man — Silco — manage to use the ceiling as leverage to throw himself forward. He slammed into Vander. There was a moment where their arms and legs tangled together. Vander almost caught Silco in the circle of his huge arms, but Silco, slippery like a river eel, ducked free and shoved off from Vander. 

Like he wasn’t even the target, though he arguably should have been. 

Jayce processed where Silco was aiming just seconds before he crashed into Viktor and tore him away, knocking Mel out of Jayce’s grip in the process. The pair flew through the air, head over heels. A yell ripped out of Jayce's throat. They ended up right side up, facing each other. Viktor had lost his cane in the tumble, and he knotted both hands in Silco’s shirt to keep himself from drifting off. Instead of fear, what was on his face was mostly annoyance, with just a shade of confusion. 

“Get away from him!” Jayce yelled hoarsely, trying to struggle forward. Without Mel close by, there was nothing and no one to push off from. 

With fumbling, shaky fingers, Silco caught hold of Viktor’s locket and opened it. Whatever he saw inside it made his already pale face turn even paler. He turned a fierce gaze on Viktor. “How do you have this? Who gave it to you?” 

Viktor’s golden eyes flashed. “Let me go.” 

“ Tell me .” 

“My mother.” 

All the fierceness dropped from Silco’s face. For some incomprehensible reason, given what Jayce had seen of their relationship so far, he said, in a trembling, uncertain voice, “Vander?”

Even more incomprehensibly, Vander turned to look at him. Amidst the commotion, he had reached Vi and Mylo and had them both tucked under each arm. Vi looked less than thrilled with the situation, but she didn’t struggle. “Silco?” His voice was just as uncertain, though it didn’t tremble.

Silco looked as lost as a little boy. “It… It’s her locket. It’s her face.” 

Vander froze. “But she… she died.”  

“No.” Silco tightened his grip around the locket, snapping it shut as he did. “She lied .” 

At that moment, the gem apparatus shut off. The blue light cut off sharply, and Jayce hit the floor before he even had time to brace himself. He surged to his feet, hip throbbing where it had hit the floor, and raked his gaze across the room, searching for a weapon. Any weapon. 

His eyes lighted on one of the copper pots from the kitchen. It was on Viktor’s desk, pushed off into the corner after he had made soup in it, brought it down to eat from absently while he worked, and neglected to bring it back upstairs again. It was a cycle that repeated every time Viktor remembered he was still a petty mortal that needed food, and for the first time, Jayce was grateful for it.

Viktor, for once in his life, seemed cast adrift. “My mother,” he said, very coldly, “died in a mine collapse when I was five.” 

Silco released his hold on Viktor and stumbled back, lifting one hand to his face and pressing the back of it against his mouth in an unconscious gesture of shock. “F…five. You were five . She was alive for five —” His voice choked off. “You were here , in Zaun, for five years.” 

“I was here until I was fourteen years old,” replied Viktor. 

On the other side of the room, Vander swore — creatively. It was entirely possible that Silco was on the verge of having a similar reaction or indeed, having any kind of reaction other than the stock-still disbelief he was exhibiting. 

But Jayce had had enough. He lunged for the pot on the desk, catching it by its handle. Vander shouted a warning. Silco spun around, one arm stretching behind him to shield Viktor, and before Jayce even had time to question why that was his first instinct, the copper pot struck Silco’s temple with a metallic clang. 

Silco folded up and slumped to the floor. 

There was a stretch of silence as Jayce stood over him with his arm upraised, poised to strike again if he stirred. Everyone else stood largely motionless too, staring at the scene. Mel had both hands steepled over her mouth and nose, and her eyes were wide. Amidst it all, Vi squirmed free of Vander’s grip and made a break in Powder’s direction, but Vander scruffed her by the hood of her jacket and tugged her back to his side. 

At last, Viktor tore his eyes away from Silco’s still form and looked at Jayce. “We’ll need to find a way to stabilize the core,” he said, and for a mad moment, Jayce thought he was somehow talking about either himself or Silco. “And build a containment field so that the arcane energy doesn’t spill out and cause the effects we just saw. Once we find a way to harness it, the possibilities will be endless.” 

“Viktor.” Jayce slowly lowered the pot. “You — and he — and I…” He shook his head. “I don’t understand.” 

“That is to be expected,” said Viktor, and so unsettled and unsteady did he look, that Jayce didn’t even have the urge to hit him for saying that. He turned his gaze downward to study Silco again before looking up at Jayce again, with a maddened sort of glint in his eyes. “Did you notice we share a similar cranial structure and facial features? Though,” he added, brow furrowing, “I believe I got my mother’s eyes, and perhaps her nose.” His eyes widened as he kept them fixed on Jayce. “Aren’t genetics fascinating ?” 

Jayce had the feeling of being swept away in a conversational river again. “What?” 

Kindly, Viktor reached out and set a hand on his shoulder. “You will catch up,” he said. “Eventually.” 

Then his eyes rolled back into his head, and Jayce had just enough time to catch him before he hit the floor. He lolled against Jayce’s arms, unconscious, in a position so reminiscent of a wilting damsel that Jayce would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been what it was. 

And if the point Viktor had been, in an uncharacteristically roundabout way, trying to make hadn’t hit him all at once. Twisting around to send a wide-eyed look at Mel, he said, “This is Viktor’s father ?” 

That was when Vi, who was apparently just as slow on the uptake as Jayce was, swore — even more loudly and creatively than Vander had. 

Vander looked from Silco to Viktor to Jayce and back again. “Do you have any rope?” he asked, sounding faint. 

A slender knife appeared from one of Mel’s sleeves. Jayce didn’t bother to question why she had it or how she wielded it so confidently. It was that kind of day. “You’re not tying Viktor up,” she snarled.

Vander gave her a tired look. “Not him. Silco.” 

“Oh.” Mel lowered the knife slightly. “I think there are chains, in one of the storage closets down here.” 

Jayce lifted Viktor into his arms. He wasn’t that much shorter than Jayce was, but he was still almost comically light. When he woke up, jokes about bird bones and insufficient nutrition would be made. “Why do we have chains ?” 

Mel gave him a tired look, shaking her head. “Never mind, Jayce. 

# # # 

After Vi reluctantly confirmed that she and the others had broken in and hadn’t actually been attacked by Jayce, Viktor, or Mel in any way, she trailed up the basement steps after Vander, with Powder and the boys in tow. Jayce carried Viktor. Vander carried Silco. 

Vi carried the copper pot, just in case they needed it again. She would have preferred the gun, but Mel snatched it up before she could get it, which had caused a generalized commotion as Jayce alternated between yelling for calm and threatening all of them if they dared touch Mel. Vander had endured it for approximately thirty seconds before he sneaked up behind Mel, wrenched the gun from her hands, and threw it up the basement’s disused coal chute. It had landed somewhere in the alley outside, neatly solving the tension created when there weren’t enough guns to go around in a group operating under a fragile truce. 

Upstairs, Jayce laid Viktor on a ratty couch in the parlor and covered him over with a quilt draped over the back. He did it with such care and concern that Ekko leaned over and whispered to Powder, “D’you think he’s going to give him a teddy bear too?” 

Powder snickered.

In contrast to Jayce, Vander all but dumped Silco into a wooden chair with a high back and dragged it into the center of the parlor. Then he locked the chains Mel had provided around Silco’s wrists and attached them securely to the back of the chair. He checked them — three times — before he moved to a worn armchair near the edge of the circular rug that took up the middle of the room and sank into it, bracing his elbows against his knees. 

Powder, seeing her chance to worm her way back into his good graces, broke away from Vi’s side, ducked beneath Vander’s arm, and squirmed into his lap. Almost absently, Vander tucked her into the corner of the chair, between his hip and the arm, and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. Ekko, apparently seeing the same golden opportunity that Powder did, perched on the arm of the chair and leaned his head sweetly against Vander’s. 

Great. Now me and the boys will be the only ones in trouble. Vi exchanged a look with Mylo and Claggor, rolling her eyes. Claggor nodded feelingly, and Mylo mimed throwing up. 

Turning back to Vander, Vi made a decision. Normally, the topic of Silco wasn’t one to be pushed — Vander didn’t talk about him, and she and the others weren’t allowed to ask — but this was a special situation. And it wasn’t as though Vander could get much angrier at her. “Vander. Explain.” 

“Yes.” Mel, standing behind Viktor’s couch and looming over him and Jayce, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, like a mother bird guarding one of her hatchlings, fixed Vander with a cool stare. “I was just about to demand that as well.” 

Vi expected Vander’s usual reaction to being questioned about Silco: an angry, short response followed by a great deal of stonewalling. Instead, he said, “He has a son.” He shook his head. “A son.” 

“Yes, we gathered,” snapped Mel. “We fail to see the significance. Who even is he?” 

“You don’t know about him?” asked Powder, leaning forward to peer at Mel around the wing of Vander’s armchair. “Gosh, you’re so Piltie . ” 

“Powder.” Vander pushed her head back, which was a reassuring level of awareness after Vi had watched him stare glassy-eyed at Viktor and Silco down in the basement. Nothing about this made sense . “Don’t say that to Piltie’s faces.” To Mel, he said, “He’s a gangster. He leads one half of the undercity. I lead the other. We have a truce.” 

Mel narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know how things work down here, but I don’t talk to my fellow leaders like he spoke to you today. Especially those leaders that aren’t my allies. So there’s more to this. Tell me.” 

Vi shot Mel a knife-sharp look, daring her to, Council member or not, threaten Vander in his own city, but Mel was unmoved. She was strangely unmoved by many things. And strangely armed too — for a soft Piltie. 

Vander looked at Silco again, and there was a strange softening in his gaze that was so odd and so full of hurt that Vi’s stomach twisted into a knot. She moved closer to Claggor and Mylo for reassurance. For years, she had hated that Vander had refused to tell her more about Silco or let her help him, in the silent, undeclared cold war that existed between. But now that she might be finally getting answers, she was no longer sure she wanted them. 

She didn’t like that look in Vander’s eyes as he watched Silco as he sat slumped forward in the chair, with a bruise flowering across his temple. It was far too reminiscent of how she knew she sometimes looked at Powder. 

And that… That made everything complicated. Vi hated when things were complicated. The straightforward, wonderful certainty of a fistfight was ruined when things got complicated. 

“We knew each other,” said Vander, which were the words Vi had been dreading. “We were… Once, we were like brothers. And the woman in that locket… We knew her too.” Vander sighed deeply. “The last time I saw her was about twenty years ago, before Silco and I fell out. It was a normal day, and they were… together. In love, I thought. But the very next day, word came that a gang whose bad side Silco had found himself on had killed her. Silco didn’t take it well. He went on a rampage, killed the whole gang. It was the beginning of the end. For things as they were. It wasn’t long after that that I… That I… Well, let’s just say we stopped speaking.” He glanced at Vi as he spoke, with something unreadable in his expression. 

Vi didn’t like it. She didn’t like any of it. 

“But she wasn’t dead,” said Jayce. “That’s the whole thing, isn’t it? She faked her death, and she was pregnant, and…” He looked at Silco. “And that’s how all this happened.” 

“She must have been afraid. Silco was always — he was always angrier than I was, but he never went too far. I always trusted him, more than I trusted myself sometimes. But around that time, he had started to change. He was dangerous. Uncontrolled. Not quite the man either of us knew. Maybe she saw it faster than I did. Maybe she believed faking her death was the only way. All I know is that moment, the moment he found out she was dead was the beginning of the end. After that, the Silco I knew before was gone.” Vander twisted to look at Viktor. “He loved her. More than I knew at the time.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us any of this?” Vi gritted her teeth together. “We had a right —” 

“No, you didn’t,” said Vander. “You’re kids. And it wasn’t your fight.” 

“But it —” 

“This isn’t open for discussion, Vi. And none of this changes anything.” He nodded to Silco. “That man is still the most dangerous person in the entire undercity.” 

“But he needs you,” said Mel suddenly. She watched Vander with a dissecting gaze that Vi didn’t appreciate. “I saw it in how he looked at you. So if he needs you, doesn’t that make you the most powerful person in the undercity?” 

Vander returned her gaze, considering. “Maybe once.” 

“Oh? What changed?” 

“Him.” Vander jerked his chin to Viktor. “I know Silco. That boy just became the center of everything.” 

Before anyone else could say anything, the window behind Mel shattered. She jerked away; a small, oblong object sailed over her shoulder, hit the rug, and rolled toward Silco’s chair. 

Vander surged to his feet, grabbing Powder and Ekko as he did. “Grenade!”

Chapter Text

4

Viktor awoke to the dulcet sounds of an entire roomful of people screaming. The big man — Vander — was all but throwing his two youngest children at his three oldest children and shouting at them to get out. As he did, he wheeled back around and pounded back across the room toward where the slender man — Silco — was chained to a chair. 

Silco. Father. 

Viktor hadn’t thrown up because of his disease in a long time, but just then, he thought he might. 

Then, Mel and Jayce surged into his line of sight, yelling over each other and managing to grab hold of all his limbs at once. One phrase made it through the hubbub, from Mel. 

“Viktor, there’s a grenade!” 

A grenade? All this panic over a simple grenade?  

Viktor would have thought that a room full of undercity natives would have known better — especially since one of those natives, however regrettably, had given Viktor half of his genetic information — but he supposed that parenthood sometimes stole the coldest aspects of logical thought in times of crisis. Of course Vander grabbed for his children first, rather than the grenade. 

In the span between an inhale and an exhale, Viktor gave himself space to wonder if the fact that he had no thought of grabbing Jayce or Mel and trying to drag them out of danger made him an unworthy friend. 

No, he decided, shaking free of both Jayce and Mel’s grip. It made him a logical one. 

Flinging himself off the couch and bringing a quilt, tangled about his limbs, with him, Viktor lurched to the middle of the room, snatched up the grenade, and limped at top speed over to the broken window. 

Whatever group had decided to throw the grenade weren’t even trying to hide themselves. They were scattered about the alleys leading onto the street where Viktor and Jayce’s house was located, waiting, Viktor assumed, for the grenade to go off. Then, amidst the confusion and generalized injury, they would assault the house and accomplish their certainly violent goals. 

Viktor was in the undercity to advance science. He intended to change the world, or, at the very least, leave a lasting mark on it before his untimely death. He did not have the time for something as crude as a gang war . 

He found himself shouting that through the broken window as he lobbed the grenade back the way it came, aiming at the closest and most densely knotted group of attackers. As a child, he had never excelled at any of the games the other children his age played — catch and kickball and the like. Now, however, all the time he had spent studying physics, rather than, as his mother had so often suggested when was alive, “going outside and playing with the other children,” finally came in handy as he calculated the optimal trajectory for the grenade in his head. 

It hit the ground with a cunning little click and a tiny bounce, before rolling to a stop at the foot a particularly hulking man, who had a tattoo of a scantily clad woman climbing up the side of his neck. He jerked his head up to look at Viktor, seconds before the grenade went off. Viktor ducked as it did, so he didn’t see the results, but there was enough screaming outside to make him think his counterattack had been successful. 

Still crouching, Viktor turned to find everyone in the room equally huddled on the floor. They were staring at him, mouths open. Even Silco, who had awoken at some point when Viktr’s back was turned, had his gaze fixed on him as he and Vander were tangled together in an odd, dramatic embrace that somehow involved the chair Silco was chained to. 

“What —” Jayce jerks out, one hand held over his head and the other cupping Mel’s head against his shoulder “— is happening ?” 

Without hesitation, Vander frees one arm and points at Silco. “It’s his fault.” 

Silco gave him a hooded look. “You’re only jealous because your people wouldn’t rush into enemy territory if they thought you’d been captured. Or rather,” he amended, “they would rush in, but they are all so small, they would immediately get accidentally stepped on.” 

“Well,” said Mylo with a sudden venom, “if we throw Silco out the window too, do you think they’ll leave?” 

“Probably not since that idiot chucked a bomb at their heads,” snapped Clagor. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Mel, whipping her head around to glare at Clagor, “was he supposed to let it explode in the room?” 

“We’re outnumbered! He’s gone and got us killed.” 

“No, he hasn’t!” Jayce gave Viktor an encouraging look. “He has a plan. Don’t you, Viktor?” He had his feet more fully under him, and he looked broad and strong, especially in comparison to Mel’s smaller frame. 

Viktor tipped his head to one side. He could play the part of the “muscle” convincingly. If he managed to avoid saying please or thank you , and if he remembered not to smile when he caught people’s eyes, at least. Mel, with her beautiful gown and soft hands, would probably be unfortunately relegated to the position of arm candy — a Councilor that Viktor had managed to woo over to his side. It would take groundwork Viktor did not have time to do to give her any other role. The children would simply have to stay out of the way, and if Vander could play the beaten leader convincingly — 

“Unchain Silco,” said Viktor. 

“See I told you he —” Jayce stopped short and squinted at Viktor. “Did you say unchain Silco?” 

“I did.” Viktor stood up. “I suppose you can leave his hands chained, if you like. I don’t have a preference. I won’t be the one holding him. You will.” 

“I’ll what?” asked Jayce, even as he moved to do what Viktor asked. 

Viktor didn’t bother to answer. Focusing on Vander, he said, “I need the gun you’ve been hiding.” 

Vander blinked. “I don’t have a gun.” 

“He’s lying,” said Silco, more helpfully than Viktor expected. To Vander, he added, “Your tell is the same as it’s always been.” 

“Thank you, Silco,” said Vander, through his teeth. He extracted a gun from a hidden pocket in his vest, and going by Vi’s widened eyes and furious hiss, she and the other children weren’t privy to its existence either. “I’m not letting you unchain him,” added Vander. This was directed at Jayce, who was quietly and kindly trying ot shuffle past Vander. Vander forestalled him by pushing one massive hand against Jayce’s chest. While Jayce was far from a small man, Vander existed in another category entirely. His hand nearly swallowed up Jayce’s entire chest. 

Prudently, Jayce halted. Having learned from before, he held up a hand behind him, stopping Mel from intervening. She wasn’t exactly a small woman, but next to Vander, she could easily have been mistaken for adorable or, perhaps, “pocket sized”. If he thought about it, Viktor wasn’t exactly certain who would win in a confrontation between Vander and Mel — it all depended on how much hidden weaponry Mel had and how much prep work she had had time to do. All he knew was that at the moment, there was no time for infighting. 

The shouting outside grew louder. There was the distinct sound of windows in the foyer being broken, though the bars on all the windows would thankfully prevent any kind of entrance from outside. 

A heavy thud reverberated through the house. 

The front door, though made of heavy oak and reinforced with metal bars, was not anything like so secure. 

“We’re running out of time,” said Viktor.

“I’m aware.” Vander moved as he spoke, corralling all his children by the parlor door. “That’s why we’re leaving through the back.” 

On cue, there was the sound of windows at the back of the house breaking. 

“You were saying?” asked Mel, with a cuttingly raised eyebrow. 

“I don’t know what makes your little friend think he’s in charge,” said Vander, looming behind Silco’s chair, “but whatever game all of you rich kids are playing stops now. Those are real murderers out there, with real guns.” 

“And real grenades,” agreed Viktor. “As you have just seen, I am both perfectly aware and perfectly capable of dealing with them.” 

Another thud shook the house. Wood splintered out in the foyer. 

“Silco,” said Vander, “call off your dogs.” 

“Oh, I would,” said Silco. Unlike Vander, his face was open and relaxed. Much as Viktor hated to say it, he saw himself in the quality of the expression, and he took it to mean that, like him, Silco was tense and ready for a fight — despite all appearances to the contrary. “But they’re not my dogs.” 

“But you said —” 

“I responded to your decision to blame me. I never said the blame was accurate .” 

Vander balled one fist and caught Silco by the front of his vest. “ Silco —” 

Silco didn’t seem at all afraid of the fist in his face. “It’s the chembarons. I disappeared out of my territory and into yours. I’ve been off the map for almost an hour now. I keep them on a tight leash for this very reason. The second they smell a hint of weakness, they try to seize power. Like they’re doing right now. Good job,” he added. “You gave them the opportunity they’ve been dying for.” 

Vander’s face flushed red and furious. “Then go out there and get them back under control .” 

“Oh, certainly I could do that,” said Silco. He showed his teeth. “If you surrender your half of Zaun to me.” 

Vander gave a short, sharp laugh. “Now? You’re doing this now? Is your nation of Zaun that important to you? That you’d make my kids into a bargaining chip? Hold them over my head?” 

“Why not?” Silco studied Vander’s face with narrowed eyes. “You did the same with my son.” 

There was another thud. As the sound of it faded away and as splintered shafts of sunlight pierced through the cracking door and cut across the foyer outside the parlor, Viktor decided he had had enough. He twisted his head to look at Mel, throwing her a look he hoped she could interpret. 

Mel was not in any way stronger than Vander, but she was faster than him. And while he had seen Jayce coming, he might not see her. 

After a split second of hesitation, Mel acted. Without a sound, without a scrap of warning bleeding into her body language, she launched herself across the room at Vander. He didn’t even have time to turn to meet her before she boxed his ears hard with both hands. Disoriented then, he let go of Jayce to make a clumsy grab for her, but she ducked beneath him and kicked him hard in his instep. He staggered. She caught hold of the thumb of the hand holding the gun and swung herself behind Vander hard enough to twist his arm behind his back. 

His fingers spasmed and opened. The gun fell out of his hand. Without even looking at it, Mel kicked it between Vander’s legs. It skidded across the floor to Jayce, who scooped it up and tossed it in Viktor’s direction. 

Viktor caught it and cocked it in one smooth motion, leveling it at Vander. That act made Vi, Clagor, and Mylo, who had all jerked toward him the second he got hold of the gun, freeze in place. 

As Jayce drew Mel away from Vander, Vander himself turned slowly to look at Viktor. “All right,” he said. “Is that how it’s going to be then, kid? Gonna live up to your dad’s name?” 

“I do not,” said Viktor, “want to shoot you. Or anyone. At most times, in fact. Except perhaps Jayce, when he forgets to lock the windows at night.” 

“Then what’s stopping me from taking that gun right back?” asked Vander. 

“The fact that I would kill you,” said Silco in his coldest voice yet. 

Viktor stored that concept — that this man he had only just met, who was somehow his father, wanted to kill for him — to digest later, when he had both the time and the desire.  

“Big deal,” said Vander. “We’ve both been there and done that. Put down the gun, kid,” he said, refocusing on Viktor. “Give it to Vi.” 

Viktor shook his head. “If any of you want survive,” he said, “you have to do what I say.” 

“You should trust him,” said Jayce. “His plans sound crazy, but they saved my research when it should have been destroyed, and they’ve kept me out of prison so far.” 

More splinters of wood flew through the foyer. 

“You’re all wasting time,” snapped Mel with a sudden urgency. “They’re going to get in, and when they do, all of us die.” 

“Then Silco can stop it,” said Vander. He shot Silco a searing look. “It’s his son who’ll die too.” 

“He can’t,” said Viktor. This he was quite certain of. “He thinks he can, but he can’t. It’s ego, which happens to be something I do not suffer from. They don’t trust him. They will have heard that you and he ran off together. They think you’re parlaying, forming an alliance. I don’t imagine they’ll tolerate that of their supposed leader. So their goal is both of you dead. By grenade, by gunshot, I don’t believe they care.” He swallowed. “I can stop that, if you do what I say.” 

“Vander.” Powder’s voice was small. She slipped up to Vander’s side and took his free hand. “Can’t you punch your way out?” She looked up at him, hopeful. 

Vander’s throat bobbed. He glanced up at Vi, who notably did not ask that question — probably because she already knew the answer. 

“There isn’t time for this,” snapped Jayce. “If he was going to shoot you, he would have already. This is the only way you all survive. Does it matter what his plan is, if it’s the only way? Does it matter whether you trust him or not if your other option is death? I thought undercity folk were supposed to be practical!” 

Vander’s eyes turned dark, but he set Silco down and reached down to unlock the chain fixing him to the chair. As he hauled him back to his feet by the elbow, he said, “What do you want me to do, kid?” 

“Give me him,” said Viktor. “And look beaten.” 

“Beaten?” Vander lifted an eyebrow. 

“Don’t ask questions,” said Viktor. They had already wasted enough time on questions. At least when Jayce peppered him with questions he did it while moving . “Jayce, look like you and Mel are sleeping together.” 

In spite of everything, Jayce turned bright red. “What?” 

Viktor continued as if he hadn’t spoken, hooking one arm about Silco’s throat as Vander handed him over. “Endeavor to also look like you could kill someone. Or even better, as though you have. Recently.” 

“ How? ” 

“Perhaps with a gun or a knife. The method doesn’t matter, only the intimidation factor.” Dragging Silco with him and shoving the gun against his temple, Viktor made his way toward the front door. Splinters covered the parquet floor like a strange snowfall. Through the cracks in the door, he could see the shifting shapes of the chembarons’ men. 

“Vik’, that’s not what I meant —” 

Silco’s voice stole Viktor’s attention from Jayce’s protests. “Are you going to shoot me?” he asked, tipping his head back to half-catch Viktor’s eye. 

He sounded strangely vulnerable when he spoke, revealing a shadow of the open fear that had spilled over him down in the basement, when he had seen Viktor’s locket. 

Viktor did not like seeing vulnerability like that on a face so similar to his own. “No,” he said. “But please endeavor to make it look like you think I would .” He glanced over his shoulder to check on Jayce, Mel, and Vander. Jayce, in a stroke of brilliance, was looming near Vander’s children as they huddled in the parlor doorway. Mel had draped herself over one of his shoulders, and Vander was close to them, looking on with an expression of unguarded but carefully tamed rage. 

Viktor didn’t imagine he was having to fake that part. There was a small likelihood that he would have to shoot someone today, but it would be Vander, rather than Silco, and it would be in self-defense. 

With that distasteful thought humming in the back of his mind, Viktor unlocked the front door and hauled it open. 

There were two men crammed on the doorstep, wielding a battering ram of considerable size. They were poised to strike the door again, their arms swung back, but they froze when they saw Viktor and Silco. 

“Hello,” said Viktor, peering over Silco’s shoulder. It was unfortunate that they were both almost the same height, but at the moment, he was grateful for the resemblance between them. It might save everyone’s lives. “I would like to speak to your employer, please. I assume he is the one who authorized the throwing of the grenade.” 

One of the men behind the battering ram wielders stepped forward. He had a swagger and a clearly inflated sense of his own importance, judging by the way he held himself and the fact that he wore a long red duster that was a clear liability for any mission involving stealth, which this one — to a degree — had. “Oh, you do, huh?” He flashed a smile full of golden teeth. “Who’s asking?” 

Viktor flashed his own teeth. “The person who threw the grenade back. And the person who — as you can see — has managed to subdue both your boss and the leader of this half of the undercity.” He jerked his head toward Vander. “Who do you think that is?” 

The man made a show of looking over both Vander and Silco. It was all bravado, judging on the way his jaw had suddenly gone tight and clenched. This was unexpected. Viktor was unexpected. 

Good. The plan rather depended on that. 

“You got yourself a couple of Pilties for backup?” The man snorted. “You’re on a short road to a grave.” 

“He’s not a Piltie,” said Viktor coolly. “He’s a ghost — an assassin, a spy, a lieutenant. He’s whatever I need him to be; I bought him years ago, far outside the borders of your little scrap of territory. If you try to find out anything true about him, you will be unsuccessful, but you will find that Jayce Talis — this is the name he goes by at the moment — was exiled from Piltover for high crimes and misdemeanors. Another thing you won’t find but that I will tell you now is that he was only in Piltover to gather information for me. And allies. You’ll note that he was successful. Or do you not recognize Councilwoman Mel Medarda?” 

If the man hadn’t recognized Mel’s face, it was clear he recognized her name. “You in bed with Pilties? You’re crazy.” 

“ I’m not.” Viktor smiled again and let the implication in his words stand. To his credit, Jayce did not blush again, which Viktor resolved to congratulate him for later. “Please don’t waste my time any further. I know that your leader is here, and I know that he is interested in any man who can successfully put a gun to Silco’s head. And I can’t imagine he isn’t interested in the proposition I have to make.” 

That was when another man — this one in pinstripe pants and a yellow and black leather coat adorned with spikes — stepped into view. He was tall and thin, with black hair shaved on one side. His scalp and face were tangled with black tattoos, and a golden jaw, modeled to look like a predator’s jawbone, complete with lower canines, covered his lips and the lower part of his face. 

He smiled, but with the golden jawbone, Viktor could only tell because his eyes crinkled. “And why would I be so interested?” 

Viktor gave the new man — a chembaron, he assumed — a withering look. “I’m not one for doing business with guns pointed at my head.” He flicked his eyes toward the rest of the chembarons’ men, who were scattered about the street or hidden in the surrounding alleys, all with their guns trained on him. 

The chembaron stuck his hands in his pockets. “And I’m not one for letting nobodies call the shots on my turf. So you managed to snag Silco.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can keep him, and it doesn’t mean you’re immune to a bullet to the head. Even the ghost-man you were yammering on about can’t kill all of my people. So my question is, why do you think you call all the shots? You in your Piltie clothes and your Piltie accent. You’re scaring nobody.” 

“No?” Viktor lifted both eyebrows. “I suppose not. From what I understand of brute beasts like yourself, you only respond to shows of force. So tell me, when I have my councilwoman call in the Enforcers, which part of your operation should they burn down first? Or should I tell them to cut straight to the chase and batter down the door to your house? A little taste of your own medicine can be instructive.” 

The chembaron’s smile dropped. “You talk a lot.” 

“I do,” agreed Viktor. “It’s me being merciful. Isn’t it, Jayce?” 

What Jayce lacked in intuition, he made up for in improvisation. “It is. It’s when he stops talking. That’s usually where I come in.” He smiled then, a genial smile full of many white teeth. 

“And that’s always my favorite part,” said Viktor. 

“Still a lot of talking,” the chembaron said. “Not seeing you back it up.” 

“I could throw another grenade,” Viktor offered. “Or I could give you more power than you know what to do with, new merchandise to sell, and a path to legitimacy. And while I’m at it, I could give you Piltover as well. If you like.” He leaned closer to Silco, who had gone still and tense against him. “Nation of Zaun, right? That’s what all the subversives say, I hear.” 

The chembaron’s eyes went narrow again — this time not because he was smiling. “Pretty ambitious. Still all talk, though.” 

“Not really,” Viktor said. With his free hand, he gestured to Silco. “I have him, which means I have his people. One half of the city under control. I have him.” He jerked his head to Vander. “Another half of the city. If my count’s right, that’s the whole undercity. Everyone, under my control.” He showed his teeth again. “Except for you and your ilk. So my question is, seeing what I have already done, seeing that I now have the weight of everyone who doesn’t want to see Vander or Silco with bullets in their heads behind me, seeing that I’ve got a councilwoman on my side, seeing all that…” He raised both eyebrows. “Do you really want to be the last people standing in my way? Standing alone ?” 

“I could still shoot you,” said the chembaron. “Shoot all of you. Then where are all your threats?” 

“Irrelevant,” said Viktor, “in comparison to the power vacuum that will engulf this city. How do you expect to make your money when your customers are tearing each other apart after both their leaders die in one fell swoop? I’m currently operating under the assumption that you aren’t stupid and that you want to make money. Do what I say, and I’ll give you more than you know what to do with.” 

“And how’s that?” 

“I’m going to take over Piltover,” said Viktor. Behind him, Jayce decidedly did not make a sharp, surprised intake of breath, but shock still radiated off him and Mel. Viktor could feel it. He wondered how they would feel when they realized that, in order to keep the chembarons from attacking again and prevent the city from crumbling around their ears as a result of a destabilized power structure, they really would have to take over Piltover somehow. 

Viktor was certain he could do it, of course, but the question was if he would live long enough. If he died too early, that would leave everything in Jayce’s hands. 

And however much respect Viktor had for Jayce as a scientist, the idea of him trying to unite the under and overcity without Viktor’s help didn’t bear thinking of. 

That settled it, then. Viktor would have to live. 

He had just wanted to research the Arcane in peace. Was that so much to ask? Did he have to reshape the geopolitical face of the entire city-state in order to get a moment’s peace? 

The chembaron tipped his head to one side, considering. He must have been taken aback — Vander and Silco both were — but he didn’t show it. “And how are you going to do that ?” 

“Simple economics,” replied Viktor. “I have something they’ll want. Something they’ll pay for. I have enough power that they won’t be willing to risk stealing it from me. He who controls enough resources climbs to the top. It will just take patience.”

“What’s this resource of yours?” 

Viktor reached behind himself and snapped his fingers to Mel. It was a guess on his part — that she would have, at some point, have swiped one of the gems they were using in their research and kept it hidden from them, as a way to maintain control over the situation in some way — but Viktor’s  guesses were rarely wrong. 

And this was not one of the times they were. Without hesitation, Mel slipped her hand into a hidden pocket of her gown and took out a glowing blue gem. It nestled in the cup of her palm as she held it out, wordlessly, so that the chembaron could see. 

His eyes snapped wide. 

Frissons of electricity, pouring off the gem, crawled across Viktor’s skin and made the fine hairs on his arm stand on end. Casually, he asked, “What do you know of the Arcane?” 

Eyes on the gem, the chembaron licked his lips. For the first time, his mask slipped. There was nervousness — even fear — beneath it. “Who are you, Piltie?” 

Viktor gave him an open, bored look. “I’m Silco’s son. And I’ve come to take what’s mine.” 

Chapter Text

5

Six months later. 

Caitlyn knelt on the floor of her room, one strap of her pajama top slipping off her shoulder. With one hand, she held her long black hair up in a sloppy knot at the back of her head, knitting her fingers absently into its lengths, and with the other, she traced the lengths of string connecting all the evidence and information she had gathered about Jayce’s disappearance into the undercity. 

“It all comes back to you,” she whispered to herself, tapping the photo of Heimerdinger’s old lab assistant — Viktor, no last name ever given — that sat at the center of everything. Her long nail made a dent in the surface of the photo, right over Viktor’s face. It was an official photo, taken when he was hired by the Academy. He wasn’t smiling in it. He stood straight and neat, looking directly at the camera. His golden eyes stared out at Caitlyn. 

No one else saw it. No one even suspected him. To the entire rest of the city, Viktor was a tragic victim, swept up in Jayce’s conspiracy against Piltover. That was the official story that was circulating through the newspapers, gathered in bits and pieces from intel that came from the undercity — some of it certain, some of it closer to speculation. Supposedly, everything about Jayce was a lie. The most popular theory at the moment was that he was some exile from Noxus, thrown out for treason against the ruling warlords, and had plans to take over both Piltover and the undercity — now demanding, in missives written in Jayce’s slanting hand, to be called Zaun — in order to regain the power he had lost. The newspapers all called him a mastermind, a man capable of deceiving everyone in Piltover, a ghost with no true name. At first, anyone who knew of House Talis scoffed at the idea — Jayce had been in the city since he was a child, after all. Since his mother Ximena had mysteriously returned from a journey into the frozen outer territories. But then investigators had discovered that Jayce, despite his Talis surname and his mother never giving any impression that he wasn’t biologically hers, was adopted. More than adopted, his story started out in the frozen reaches where Ximena had almost died. Where, coincidentally, Noxus warlords had been building bases for years, stretching their influence closer and closer to Piltover’s territory. 

Shortly after that story broke, Caitlyn’s mother Cassandra had gotten Ximena out of the city in one last bid to honor their long-term friendship, now shattered. That was the only reason Caitlyn was still speaking to either of her parents after they had first let Jayce be condemned to exile and then swallowed the stories about him whole. 

Caitlyn knew better. Ximena was no seditionist, and Jayce was no mastermind, intent on bringing down the Council and seizing power. He couldn’t even say no to her , not even when Caitlyn had barged into his workshop again and again over the years, interrupting his work and forcing him to get involved in her latest scrape. There was no way, as far as Caitlyn was concerned, that anything being said about Jayce was true. 

The only thing that was true was the fact that Jayce’s research — his obsession with the Arcane and all its theoretical application — had burst into stunning practical reality in the form of newly minted Hextech. Several factories in Zaun had been repurposed and were now producing Hextech devices that could both levitate objects and propel them forward. Already, transportation within Zaun had been revolutionized, with old cart wheels replaced with the new, affordable Hexwheels, as they were called. Even some of the ships coming out of Zaunite ports hovered above the water, no longer subject to currents or wind. There was even talk of Zaun exporting the Hexwheels to other cities and countries. In the span of a half a year, the face of the undercity had transformed. Zaun stood tall and demanded a place at the table. 

Piltover wasn’t yet willing to give it, but Caitlyn knew that state of affairs couldn’t last forever. 

She also knew that Jayce didn’t fight like Zaun was fighting. He was a brawler, not the kind of person who started a trade war. It wouldn’t even occur to him. 

Which meant his research had been coopted — that he had been coopted — by someone else. 

She narrowed her eyes at the photo of Viktor. If there was anyone who fit the profile of a liar and a mastermind, it was this Viktor. As far as Caitlyn could tell, no one knew anything real about him. Just a few sparse facts — enough to paint the vaguest outline of a person. He was an undercity native. He had found his way into Piltover at around fifteen, working as an errand boy for the Academy until he — or rather, his ideas — caught Heimerdinger’s eye. From there, Viktor was forever filtered through the lens of his work for the Academy. He was Heimerdinger’s third arm. His math and his research were indistinguishable from Heimerdinger’s. The only thing about him that was his were the rumors about his interest in fringe science. 

In the Arcane. 

Everyone, from the Council to Heimerdinger to the press, used Viktor as proof of Jayce’s villainy. A promising young man, set to perhaps succeed Heimerdinger at the Academy, yanked from his rags-to-riches and forced to work for a man who didn’t care about him in the slightest, who was intent on ruining the fragile truce between Piltover and the newly christened Zaun. Even Caitlyn’s own parents told her that she should be relieved that Jayce was gone, that it was a lucky twist of fate that had saved her from being a casualty in Jayce’s quest for dominance. Of course she couldn’t believe Jayce could do such a thing, they said. He had lied to her and tricked her into believing he was something — someone — he wasn’t. That was what con artists did, Cassandra said, stroking Caitlyn’s hair back from her face. They didn’t care who they hurt, as long as they got what they wanted. One day, Caitlyn would forget Jayce and be all the better for it. One day, she would see him for what he was: a traitor, plain and simple. 

Caitlyn knew better. Jayce would never betray her. 

“I know what you are,” she told the picture of Viktor. “And I’m going to prove it. And then I’m going to get my friend back.” 

Sharply, she stood up, careful not to disturb her evidence map, and crossed to her wardrobe. Like everything else in her room — from her four poster bed to her heavy brocade drapes — it was ornate and beautiful, with little birds and rabbits carved into its polished wooden front, but Caitlyn paid no attention to any of that. She didn’t even, as she usually did, pause to lament the childishness of the carved animals. She just yanked open the doors and snatched a woolen sweater, a pair of practical trousers, and a heavy, dark colored vest. Pulling the clothes on, she reached behind the the rest of her clothes and pulled out the rope of knotted together sheets that she had hidden in the back corner of her wardrobe two days previously. 

She slung it over her shoulders and crossed the room to her window, unlatching it and easing it open. The night air was chill as it spilled in through the opening. Across the city, still scattered with lit homes and businesses and late night traffic, the bridge to Zaun was visible, wreathed in the mist that rose up from Pilt River. That was one way to get into the undercity, but Caitlyn, thanks to years spent in Jayce’s company, knew of another. If she could make it to the burned out shell of the floor that had once housed his workshop, she could lower herself out its back window onto the bank of the inlet that bordered it. From there, it was a short swim across a shallow, calm portion of the river to the nearest Zaunite port. 

Once she was within the undercity, Caitlyn didn’t think it would be difficult at all to find Viktor — and by association, Jayce. After all, he was the city’s leader now. He — or, as the story went, Jayce — had subdued the two men who had quietly led the undercity before. He had won the chembarons’ allegiance. He had changed everything. 

No, Caitlyn thought finding him would be the easy part. 

Saving Jayce from him — that would be the hard part. 

# # # 

It struck Viktor, a week into his and Jayce’s unplanned conquest of the undercity, that leading an entire city, especially one populated with exceedingly stubborn people who were more likely to solve a conflict with a well-placed knife than a well-placed word, was not conducive to scientific advancement. That was when he decided that delegation was the better part of valor and handed one half of the reins to Vander and the other half to Jayce. 

Viktor hadn’t meant for Piltover to subsequently make the assumption that Jayce, about whom rumors were spreading like wildfire, was the head of the entire operation, with Viktor himself being a hapless victim in the middle of all of it, but if it gave him time to hole up in the basement and work on Hextech, specifically its applications in medicine, he was willing to let the false version of events take root. The only downside was the way Jayce’s responsibilities constantly pulled him away from their research. 

For her part, Mel played the double agent, splitting her time between Piltover and Zaun. No one on the Council suspected her involvement, since the people of the undercity thankfully knew all about keeping secrets, which meant that when Piltover — several different times — attempted to hijack shipments of Hexwheels and steal the technology for themselves, she was perfectly positioned to warn Viktor and Jayce. From there, Viktor covertly told the ships and the newly constructed airships to change their courses, leaving Piltover’s mercenaries wondering where they went. 

The most unfortunate part of the whole arrangement, really, was the fact that Silco’s half of the city worked with Vander’s half under protest and only because Silco had ordered them to, while he remained in the manor to show that he trusted Viktor to bring about his dream — a nation of Zaun. 

That part had surprised everyone — including Viktor — except Vander. When Silco had made the suggestion, Vander had only pursed his lips and said, “Shall I plan the baby shower now, or later?” 

To that, Silco had said, “At least I’ve settled on only one. How many have you acquired again?” 

Somehow, that ended the discussion, but it in no way ended Viktor’s trials. In fact, it somehow managed to increase them, since Vander was constantly lurking in the mansion. Ostensibly, it was to supervise Silco, but if Viktor knew that Silco had no intention of hurting him or risking the undercity falling back into the darkness that Hextech was lifting it from, then Vander certainly did. After a few weeks, Viktor became certain that Vander’s reasons for being in the manner were twofold. 

First, he wanted to see Silco — for all their supposed hatred of each other, they seemed entirely incapable of pretending the other didn’t exist or avoiding each other’s company. 

Second, he wanted to give his children a higher education at no cost, and he wanted Viktor to be the one giving them that education. Sometime in between Viktor subduing the chembarons and inventing Hexwheels with Jayce, Vander had decided he trusted him. 

When Viktor was saddled with teaching algebra to five hellions, he found he had preferred it when Vander wanted him dead.

Six months into their venture, he was locked away in the basement, working on Hextech with one half of his brain and helping Powder through a chemistry lesson with the other. She, never one for understanding personal space, was perched on his knee with her blue head bent over a scrawled sheet of chemical equations. 

“Is this the kind of reaction where things blow up?” she asked, half hopefully. 

“Only if you do it incorrectly.” Viktor leaned around her to make some notes in his research journal and check on Vi, Claggor, Mylo, and Ekko. The three older children where bent over a high mathematics lesson, rubbing their foreheads with pained expressions, and Ekko was with Jayce, reading aloud to him while Jayce put the finishing touches on their latest Hextech prototype — this one meant to help regulate a heart’s rhythm.  

Powder cursed, making Jayce jerk his head up. “Language,” he said. One of the rather endearing Piltover-born ideals Jayce possessed was the certainty that children should be protected from coarse language, even coming from their own mouths. Viktor, who could swear like the proverbial sailor and chose not to, respected Jayce for fighting what was, in Zaun at least, a losing battle. 

Powder shot him a look. “I used right grammar.” 

“Correct grammar,” said Jayce. “And that’s in no way the issue, and you know it.” 

Huffing, Powder turned back to her chemistry. Viktor let her struggle on her own for a while, listening to her whisper formulas to herself, eyes squeezed shut in focus. It was a rainy day, which meant the streets outside the basement windows were flooded, water rushing past the windowpanes. The air filled with the steady sound of rain drumming on the ground and manor roof. 

It was peaceful. 

Then Jayce opened his mouth. “Vik’,” he said. “Can I ask you a question?” He didn’t look up from the prototype as he spoke, using a tiny screwdriver to tighten a fragile joint in the main mechanism. 

Viktor inhaled slowly, turning the page in his research journal and using a pencil to sketch out a new design. This one was a respirator specifically designed to filter out the harmful toxins that still permeated the lower parts of the undercity and the mines. He still hadn’t hit on a way to cure his own disease — or hit upon a moment where it made sense to explain it to Jayce, Mel, or anyone else — but this would at least help prevent others in the city from contracting it. “That was a question.” 

Jayce set down his screwdriver and turned on his stool to frown at Viktor. “Don’t be pedantic.” 

“You should know by now that he’s incapable of being otherwise,” said Vi, lifting her head from her algebra. 

Jayce pointed at her. “Do your schoolwork.” 

Vi made a face but went back to her algebra. 

To Viktor, Jayce said, “All right, fine, it was a question, but I have another one.” 

“Go on.” Viktor used the edge of his pencil to shade part of the schematic. 

Jayce turned his screwdriver over and over in his hands. “I was just thinking… Well, I’ve been thinking it… What if I asked Mel to marry me?” 

As one, all the children’s heads shot up. Powder almost cracked her skull into Viktor’s chin. He dodged just in time. Using his hand to block any further unintentional assault, he said, “Well, assuming you don’t give her a third option, she will either say yes or no.” 

Jayce huffed. “That’s not what I was asking.” 

“But —” 

“Yeah, Vik’, I know that’s what it sounded like.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “I mean, what do you think about it? Do you think it’s a good idea?” 

Viktor wrinkled his brow. “I think it will further complicate an already complicated situation. I think a marriage split between two cities will have a specific set of drawbacks. I think you haven’t known her as long as is typical for a proposal of marriage.” 

Jayce’s brow drew together. For a moment, he resembled a kicked puppy. “So you think it’s a bad idea?” 

“In what part of what I said did you hear a value judgment?” 

“All of it,” interjected Ekko from his perch on Jayce’s desk. 

Viktor blinked. “Are you both perhaps suffering from a hearing impairment? Oh , you were projecting your own uncertainty onto what I said.” He shook his head. “I was merely telling you a set of facts that are true.” 

“Fine,” Jayce said, looking less puppyish. “But what do you think ? Should I do it?” 

“I think your marriage doesn’t involve me, so it’s up to you.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” said Jayce. “You’re my best friend. Of course it involves you.” 

Viktor processed that and further processed the warm feeling it caused to blossom behind his ribs. “And that means you care for my input on your emotional and relational dealings?” 

Jayce sighed. “How are you so smart but so stupid?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“ Vik’ .” 

Viktor absently redid one of Powder’s hair clips, since it was steadily sliding free of its place amidst her choppy bangs. “In that case, I think that you and Mel appear to be uniquely suited for each other. She’s comfortable with you in a way she’s comfortable with few others. Her presence seems to bring you a great deal of peace and happiness. You work well together. You share the same goals.” He shrugged. “I can see a marriage being a mutually beneficial endeavor.” 

Powder twisted to look up at him. “Have you ever been in love, Viktor?” 

“No,” said Viktor, as absently as he had tucked the clip back into her hair. He refocused on his drawing again. 

“You mean you couldn’t tell, Powder?” asked Mylo, with a cheeky sort of grin that earned him a withering look from Jayce. 

“Shut up, Mylo,” said Powder without looking up from her chemistry. Viktor gave her head an approving pat, applauding her focus. 

“So…” Jayce still hadn’t gone back to his work. “You think I should do it?” 

Viktor kept his eyes on his drawing. “Did I not make that clear?” 

Rather than answering, Jayce stood up, patting at the pockets of his vest in a distracted sort of way. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he held out his hand to Ekko, who grudgingly handed him back his wallet. Once it was tucked safely in his inside breast pocket, Jayce said, “Well, then I’d better go buy a ring. Yeah?” 

“With her money,” agreed Vi. Without looking, she reached across the space between her and Claggor and high fived him. Jayce rolled his eyes and let it pass. 

“If you wish to find something like that in Zaun,” said Viktor, still not lifting his gaze from his drawing, “you will have to make your peace with it being stolen.” 

Jayce paused, halfway toward the basement door. He tipped his head to one side, considering, and then shrugged. “I can deal with that.” In another second, he was gone. 

As the sound of his boots on the stairs faded, Vi exchanged a look with Mylo. “You know what this is?” 

“Growth,” Mylo said, nodding. Then he turned the page in his book to see if got the correct answer to an equation he had been working out. When he saw the answer, he cursed. 

“Language,” Viktor murmured, more out of respect for Jayce than anything else. 

As he spoke, Powder hopped off his lap and crossed the room to Mylo, leaning down to look at his page. After a moment, she said, “You forgot the right order of operations.” 

“Go away , Powder.” 

“I can help you figure it out, if you like.” Powder smiled, sticking her tongue in the corner of her mouth. “If you promise to never call me a jinx again.” 

Mylo paused, considering. Then, he said, “Deal.” 

As Powder dropped into a cross legged position beside him on the floor, Viktor shook his head at them and prepared to spend a peaceful hour perfecting his respirator design and perhaps beginning a rough prototype. 

Predictably, this was the moment Silco spoke. He had been a silent sentinel, sitting in his customary chair on the other side of Viktor’s desk. He had the ability to sit, quite still, for hours with hardly anything to entertain him. It unnerved Jayce and everyone else, but Viktor, well aware of just how interesting the interior of one’s own mind could be, saw nothing unusual about it. 

What was unnerving was how much of that time Silco spent just staring at Viktor. Drinking him in, Jayce had said once. 

Eating him with his eyes, Powder had amended, to everyone’s general discomfort — including Viktor’s. 

“You are aware that Mel is keeping secrets,” said Silco, low enough that the children couldn’t hear, “from both of you?” 

“I am.” Viktor did not look up. Silco was affecting his unpracticed fatherly tone again, and while in theory Viktor understood the essential role a father had in a boy’s life, he had never known a father’s presence and saw no need for one now, when he was past childhood. Unfortunately, in the past six months, he had become hemmed in by fathers — first by Silco and then, for reasons that eluded him but did not seem to elude either Jayce or Mel, Vander. Viktor had no desire to expend the mental effort necessary to ferret out the reason that Vander went from threatening him with earth to asking him, more than once a day, if he had eaten or if he was warm enough — especially not when knowing the reason would do nothing to stop it. 

“I knew you were perceptive,” said Silco, approvingly. 

“Of course you did.” Viktor turned to a fresh page and started a new sketch, this one to scale. The problem he needed to solve, both for the pacemaker and respirator, was containment. The Arcane orbs were stable, technically, but if they were going to be worn close to the body, during all the unexpected happenings of everyday life — especially in a mine — they needed to be more than technically stable. Viktor did not want to see a repeat of the explosion in Jayce’s workshop. “It is very obvious, and you are neither blind nor unobservant.” 

Silco smiled a little. “You’re so like your mother.” 

That tread very close to conversation Viktor, ideally, never wanted to have. “Yes,” he agreed. “She was very perceptive and aware of her surroundings. I imagine because she was so busy making sure you never found her.” 

Silco flinched a little at that. This was a conversational circle they had rode many times over the past six months, and Viktor prepared himself for the next section of it — where Silco made excuses and reminded him how much he had loved his mother. 

Rather than walking that well-worn path again, Silco said, “Are you going to do something about it?” 

“About Mel?” Viktor tapped his pencil to his lips. “Why do you care?” 

“It involves you.” Silco’s voice dropped even lower. 

Briefly, Viktor wandered what about him gave people the impression that he was incapable of protecting himself. Then, still not looking at Silco, he said, “I will handle it.” 

# # # 

Being close to Viktor was a strange experience. Most other people wanted something from Mel. Association with them beget all sorts of obligations or complex relational strategizing. It was exhausting. Even her relationship with Jayce, while a beacon of golden light that had unexpectedly sprung up amidst the loneliness of her life in Piltover, was one where they both irrevocably needed each other. It was easy and hard, in equal parts. 

Being friends with Viktor, however, was just easy. He didn’t ask anything of her. He rarely even spoke to her. Friendship in Viktor’s book, seemed to be all about loyalty and presence. Talking and everything else weren’t really involved. They were incidental, done only as necessary. 

Which was why Viktor appearing in the doorway of her room in the manor, used only sporadically, and asking to talk was so unusual. 

Mel, having just arrived at the manor for an extended visit, took off her traveling cloak — a dun colored affair that helped hide her appearance during the journey into Zaun — and squinted at Viktor. “You… want to talk?” 

Viktor looked pain but resolute. “Yes.” 

“About what?” 

“About Jayce.” 

Jayce was Mel’s favorite subject. She smiled. “All right. What about him?” 

Viktor answered without preamble. “Why are you lying to him? And me? But him — most importantly.” 

Mel went cold. A nervous laugh fell from her mouth before she could strangle it. “Viktor, what in the world do you mean?” 

Viktor gave him that particular, hooded look of his that most everyone in the undercity found terrifying. As far as Mel could tell, it only meant he was annoyed, but the consensus amongst the undercity, particularly the chembarons turned shareholders in the Hextech factories, was that that look preceded bloodshed. “Please do not treat me like I am one of the politicians you charm and use to your own ends,” he said. “I have known since I met you that you are hiding things. You act like you were born in Piltover, but you know far more about combat, subterfuge, and even torture than any lady of Piltover would. I could perhaps explain that away if not for the way you speak.” 

Mel swallowed. There was a pit in her stomach. “The way I speak?” 

“Your accent. In Piltover and with Jayce, you have a perfect native accent, but when you are among Zaunites, your accent shifts. It morphs to be more like theirs. And when you are alone with me, it takes on the characteristics of my mother’s accent, which I also share. You’re a chameleon, Mel. A practiced one, at that.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mel tried for another laugh, this one carefully crafted to be both confused and amused. “So my accent changes.” She spread her hands. “I don’t even know I’m doing it!” 

“I imagine you don’t,” said Viktor. “It didn’t used to happen. It only began after you became comfortable with us. When you stopped thinking about every word before you said it.” He tipped his head to one side. “I wonder, sometimes, what your real accent is.” 

Mel found she couldn’t breathe. “Viktor… please, I —” 

“Comfortable with us, but not so comfortable that you’ll tell us the truth. You speak of your family at times, but when you do, your accent is always perfectly Piltover, no matter who you’re with, which tells me you aren’t comfortable with the topic. And I have heard you speak of them several times now, but each time, you say a version of the same thing — you are estranged from most of them, they left Piltover years ago, and you were raised by a single father who is now dead. Nothing new is ever added, no detail ever fleshed out, no childhood story is ever shared. Not even to Jayce and I. A memorized background — a false one, built around a two truths: you no longer speak to your family and your father is dead.” 

Mel reached behind her and gripped the foot of her bed with both hands. For once in her life, she had no words to say. With anyone else, this was a trap she could wriggle free of in an instant — she had the spirit of a fox, just as her father had taught her — but with Viktor, her tongue froze to her teeth. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. “Please,” she found herself whispering. “Please just trust me, Viktor.” 

Viktor blinked at her. “Of course I trust you, Mel.” He continued, as if his words weren’t breath pushed straight into Mel’s tight lungs. “If I didn’t trust you, I would have ejected you from my life months ago. If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t let you near Jayce — certainly not unsupervised.” 

Mel let out a shaky exhale. “But you said I was —” 

“Lying, yes. But not about anything important.” He took a step forward, hovering just on the threshold of her room. “Your lies are all based in your history. I do not care about your past, Mel.” 

 To her horror, Mel felt the prickle of tears in her nose and eyes. She blinked them back. “You don’t?” 

Viktor gave her that hooded look again. “Of course I don’t. It is not relevant to me. I am interested in who you are in the present . Your past is not my concern.” He cleared his throat and shifted a little, leaning more heavily on his cane. “But it is Jayce’s.” 

Mel faltered. “What?” 

“Jayce,” said Viktor, like he thought that might be the part she misheard. “He is interested in marrying you.” 

“He’s what ?” Mel almost lost her footing. 

Viktor eyed her for a moment, checking to see if she needed help. When it became clear she didn’t, he said, “I would lower your voice. I believe he wanted it to be a surprise, and I’m not certain if he’s in the house or not.” 

Mel couldn’t breathe again. “Marry me?” 

“Yes.” Viktor eyed her again. “I hope your answer will be affirmative. If I had it my way, he would never jeopardize the balance the three of us have struck, but…” He sighed. “He wants more. For him, I’ll allow it.” 

A hesitant smile flickered at the edges of Mel’s lips. “What we three have… It’s important to you?” She had known that, intellectually, but Viktor didn’t show it the same way other people did. 

Viktor shook his head. “Obviously. But that is not the topic at hand. Jayce is interested in a relationship that involves all of both of you. Your pasts, your present, and your future. A mutual future, if Jayce has his way. As such, he deserves the truth — all of it — from you. A marriage should not be built on lies.” 

“Where did you learn so much about the subject?” Up until this moment, Mel had thought that Viktor had never given it a scrap of thought before. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand it; it was simply that he didn’t consider it relevant to him. 

“My mother.” A small smile lightened Viktor’s expression. “I recognize this is ironic.” Smile fading, he said, “So will you? Tell him?” 

“Yes.” Mel only believed her answer after it left her mouth. When she had met Jayce and Viktor, she hadn’t known — not for sure — that she wouldn’t someday go back to Nexus. Now, she was certain. Nexus wasn’t her home any longer, and neither was Piltover. Somehow, over the past six months, home had become the basement workshop, where she could sit in companionable quiet for hours, perched on Jayce’s desk while he worked, with her bare feet resting on his knee and with Viktor busy at the neighboring desk. “Viktor…” 

Viktor, having heard her affirmative answer, was already halfway out the door, but he paused, one hand on the doorframe. “Yes?” 

“If I tell Jayce, could I tell you? Someday?” 

Viktor furrowed his brow. “I suppose if you like. I have no stake in the matter.” 

Somehow, that was the exact right answer. Smiling again, Mel said, in a little rush, “Do you think I should, Viktor? Marry him?” 

Viktor tapped the doorframe with his longer fingers. “If you did,” he said, “that would be most convenient for me, putting aside the inherent inconvenience of a secret marriage.” Before Mel could say anything in response, he added, “Please do not tell Jayce I told you his plans. I believe he wanted it to be a surprise.” Then he ducked out of view, tapping down the hall on his cane. 

# # # 

 That night, Jayce took Mel out on a late-night date — something that had become possible since Zaun’s main product ceased to be crime — and threw Viktor a conspiratorial grin as they left out the front door. Viktor, almost alone for the first time that day, shook his head. “If I were to ask a woman a life-changing question,” he said as he made his way toward the staircase at the back of the foyer, “I would not make it a surprise.” 

“It’s considered romantic.” Silco, unfortunately the only other person in the house, stayed where he was, leaning against the outside of the bannister. He was, as Jayce had said, an off-putting fixture in the house — rather like a piece of furniture that was uncomfortable and ugly yet impossible to get rid of. 

In this case, “getting rid” of Silco, in even a nonlethal way, would spark a civil war in Zaun and threaten the fragile prosperity that was just beginning to blossom. 

And it would, like everything else lately, distract from Viktor’s work.

“I’m aware of the perceived romantic element,” said Viktor, mounting the stairs. “I’m questioning why it exists. You need not respond.” 

“I was considering proposing to your mother,” said Silco without warning.  

Viktor narrowly stifled a choke of surprise. Holding himself very straight and still, he said, “Would this be before or after she faked her death?” 

Silco gave him a sad, quiet look that Viktor wanted to block out — it was far, far too human for a man responsible for as much violence as Silco was — but could not. “I loved her,” he said. “From the beginning to the end, I loved her. And if I had known you existed, I would have —” 

“Brainwashed me to fight in your war, no doubt,” said Viktor, starting up the stairs again. “I’m sure by now I would be several murders deep.” 

“I only did what I felt I had to in order to make a better world. One that honored her memory, one with peace, one with freedom for Zaun.” 

“Fascinating.” 

Irritation bled into Silco’s voice. “Aren’t you doing the same thing?” 

Viktor paused, turning to look back at Silco over his shoulder. “Perhaps. But the difference is, whatever new world you created would have you in it. A remnant of the old one you tore down. And from all the seeds you left scattered, the old one would grow back. You can’t do evil to create good. In the end, you will find that you only made a worse world, not a better one.” He inhaled, slowly. His lungs burned. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” 

With that, he limped up the stairs, leaving Silco staring after him. Once inside his room, he locked his door — less for security reasons and more to make a point. It occurred to him, as he did, that locking out his father in a fit of pique was perhaps not the act of adult independence he intended it to be, which led to him slamming the key down on the dresser by the door with more force than necessary. 

Consumed with thoughts of Silco as he was, he didn’t even have enough attention to spare to do any more work before bed. Leaving his research journal on the nightstand by his bed, he crawled beneath the covers, leaning his cane hooked over the headboard. 

He was just beginning to drift off — doomed, probably, to dreams of his dead mother haunted by Silco’s lurking specter — when the window beside his bed creaked open on old hinges and something heavy landed on his bed, jolting the mattress. 

Viktor lurched upright, snatching for his cane in the same motion, but whoever had landed on his bed thumped both knees down onto his chest before he could and stuck a thin knife in the hollow of his throat. 

Pain exploded behind his ribs. His lungs, already irritated from lack of sleep and his conversation with Silco, spasmed. He coughed and heaved, fighting for breath.

The end of a long dark braid tickled his shoulder, and through blurred vision, he saw the pale shape of a round, young face with big dark eyes and a ferocious snarl. 

Finding enough breath to speak, Viktor said, “Can I help you?”

“What have you done with Jayce Talis?” the girl spat. 

Chapter Text

6

Caitlyn was soaking wet and freezing, but the anger pumping through her kept her from shivering. Braid dripping over her shoulder, she knelt on top of Viktor and kept her knife — a gift from Jayce himself, when she turned twelve — pressed to his throat. She had never threatened someone before, but it seemed straightforward: stick the knife against something soft and vital and demand the desired results. 

In this case, Caitlyn wanted — no, needed — to know where Jayce was. And if he was all right. And if he wasn’t, how badly this Viktor had hurt him. 

“Where,” she repeated through gritted teeth, “ is he?” 

“Jayce?” Viktor drew in a labored breath. She was sitting on his diaphragm, which was exactly where she wanted to me. Grown men who couldn’t breathe properly were marginally less dangerous than grown men who could. 

“ Yes .” Caitlyn fought to keep her own breath from trembling. She thought she had the knife to Viktor’s jugular, but she wasn’t sure. She had studied the drawings of the human circulatory system for a long time before enacting her plan, but there was a world of difference between a three dimensional neck and a neatly rendered representation of veins on a flat sheet of paper. “Don’t play stupid. I know you have him.” 

“Have him?” croaked Viktor in an uncertain voice. “He’s a bit large to keep in my pocket.” 

A wave of incandescent rage washed over Caitlyn. It was hard to think, much less hold the knife steady. “ Tell me where he is, or I’ll cut your throat .” 

In the darkness, the whites of Viktor’s eyes shrank as he narrowed his eyes at Caitlyn. “Why do you think I am going to tell you? Do you think I make it my business to tell strange little assassins his location? That would not be intelligent.” 

It was at that moment Caitlyn decided she had had just about enough . She was wet. She was cold. She stank of fish. She was fairly certain her mother was going to murder her the second she set foot back home. “I want Jayce back! ” Her voice rose to a scream. 

That was when several things happened at once. There was a thud from somewhere downstairs and the rapid thunder of shoes against steps. As Caitlyn jerked her head toward the sound, Viktor surged beneath her, grabbing her shoulders with both hands and pitching her sideways. 

As it turned out, she was not heavy enough to pin a grown man down. The revelation struck Caitlyn at almost the same time as she struck the floor. It was made of hard oak planks. Pain exploded across her back; air rushed out of her lungs. 

Feet hit the floor on the other side of the bedroom, where Viktor was. He grabbed a cane and limped toward her. Caitlyn thought, I’m going to get beaten to death, and then, At least Mother won’t have a chance to lecture me for getting myself killed, and then, Because I’ll already be dead. 

And lastly, But she’ll probably lecture my headstone. 

Caitlyn rolled sideways in a desperate attempt to get away. Something heavy struck the bedroom door just as she rolled onto her stomach and tried to push her way to her feet. The doorknob rattled madly. A man’s voice filtered through the door. “Viktor! Viktor, are you all right?”

Viktor’s cane struck the floor a few inches from Caitlyn’s head. She jerked away; Viktor’s hand closed around the back of her soaking wet jacket. That was when she screamed, twisting like a fish, but he managed to drag her to her feet anyway. 

The second her feet were under her, she struck out blindly with the knife. The blade met flesh — Viktor’s cheek. He yelled out in pain and ducked away from the blow. She came at him again, but this time he caught her wrist and held it in a tight grip. For a long, moonlit moment, they stared at each other. 

Viktor, still sleep dazed, shook his head. “ Why ?” he tried. 

Caitlyn fought to get free. “Where’s Jayce?” 

Giving her a look that was danced the line between contempt and hysteria, he said, “This is a conversational circle!” 

The door shook again, like someone had thrown their shoulder against it. “Viktor!” came the voice again. “Unlock the door!” 

Viktor didn’t even spare the door a glance. “Go away!” 

“Viktor!” 

“Listen to me,” said Viktor to Caitlyn, “I will not kill you, but the man on the other side of the door just might, especially if he — correctly — thinks you mean me harm. So answer me now: who sent you, what do you want with Jayce, and who are you?” 

The door bucked again. This time, Caitlyn thought the hinges gave a little. 

Viktor shook her arm, as though for emphasis. “You are running out of time!”

Caitlyn kicked out toward Viktor’s cane, hoping to knock it out from under him and make him lose his balance. He shifted it out of her reach just in time and gave her a blistering glare. “You,” he said, “are even worse than Ekko.” 

“Who?” snarled Caitlyn. 

“Who sent you,” repeated Viktor, as if she didn’t speak, “what do you want with Jayce, and who are you?” 

Splinters flew from the door. Caitlyn threw one look toward it. She could only imagine the sort of hulking monsters someone like Viktor might keep as bodyguards. 

None of this had gone remotely how she had planned. 

“Tick tock,” said Viktor, with a little twist to his mouth.

Caitlyn knew then that she hated him. “No one sent me,” she spat. “I came to kill you myself and bring Jayce home.” 

Viktor narrowed his eyes at her again. His lips moved as he mouthed her words back to himself. “Why do you want to bring Jayce back to Piltover?” 

Fury pounded against Caitlyn’s ribs. “Because it’s his home! Because he’s not yours , he’s mine!” She lifted her chin. “I’m Caitlyn Kirraman.” 

Now Viktor’s eyes widened. He tipped his head to one side, considering. “Ah,” he said after a moment. “That explains it.” 

 Before Caitlyn could respond, the bedroom door crashed open. Yellowy light spilled in from the hallway, all but blinding her after the moonlit night, and a slender man with the sort of sharp edge that brought to mind a knife burst into the room. In the same moment, Viktor dragged Caitlyn behind him and threw up a hand to ward the man off. 

“Silco, no!” He spoke with the same harsh cadence that some of Caitlyn’s family’s servants used on the hounds that guarded the manor grounds. “You can’t kill her!” 

Silco. Caitlyn froze behind Viktor. Silco — the once-mysterious crimelord who had ruled half of the undercity. He was here, in a small bedroom. Less than ten feet away from her. 

Vaguely, Caitlyn thought she should scream, but any and all sounds died in her throat. She just shrank back, hunkering low behind Viktor as he kept a tight hold of her arm. 

“Can’t I?” Silco peered around Viktor, folding up his sleeves as he did. It was a very deliberate, practiced motion, and it made Caitlyn sick to look at it. “She tried to hurt you, didn’t she? Kill you? You, my son ?” 

Oh. Oh. Oh . 

Silco’s son. 

Well, didn’t that just explain everything?

That was when Caitlyn did start screaming, loudly and desperately. “Help! Someone, help! Jayce !” 

Through the surging waves of her panic, Caitlyn saw Viktor’s face contort into a pained grimace at the noise. “He has gone to get engaged,” he said, raising his voice to be heard and keeping one hand held up to ward off Silco. “He will not be back until late.” Then, glancing at Silco, he added, “You have nothing to fear.” 

Caitlyn broke off screaming long enough to give Viktor a withering look. If she was going to be horribly murdered, she thought she was at least entitled to not be lied to and treated like a child. “Do you think I’m stupid ?” 

Viktor looked at her, running his gaze over her dripping clothes and general disheveled state. After a moment, he said, “I do not yet have sufficient data.” 

“I can handle this,” said Silco, pushing forward until Viktor’s hand was pressed against his chest. “Viktor, if you just —” 

“ No .” Viktor sounded more irritated that afraid. “I can fight my own battles. And we do not kill little girls.” 

Caitlyn hissed. “I’m not little!” 

Viktor spared a moment to glance at her. “I now have sufficient data. You are stupid. Very much so.” 

“You don’t know she’s a child,” said Silco fiercely. “You can’t trust your eyes — the chembarons will play on your every weakness to —” 

“She says her name is Caitlyn Kirraman,” said Viktor, as though that settled it. Judging by the sudden change in Silco’s expression, it just might. “Yes,” added Viktor in the silence that followed. “ That Caitlyn Kirraman.” 

Silco swallowed. “It would still be more expedient to —” 

“No, Silco.” 

“I’m not suggesting killing her, necessarily  — I see that would make you uncomfortable — but sending her in a boat down the Pilt would ensure —” 

“ No, Silco .” Viktor drew in another strained breath and coughed. Shaking himself, he said, “We’ll just wait for Jayce to get home.” Sending a hard look at both Silco and Caitlyn, he said, “ Quietly . We’ll wait quietly. Because while I clearly will not be afforded the luxury of sleep tonight, I do intend to get some work done.” 

Caitlyn stilled again. Hesitantly, she said, “Home? Wait for Jayce to get… home?” 

Home meant safety. Home meant Jayce had maybe left this manor of his own free will and would similarly return of his own free will. Home might mean Jayce was working with Silco and Viktor both. 

Heat built behind Caitlyn’s eyes. Her lower lip began to tremble, and she hated it. 

Silco caught sight of the way her face was crumpling — and how could her own body betray her so thoroughly? — and made a vague hand motion in her direction. His own expression turned urgent. “Viktor — Viktor, she’s —” 

Viktor turned to look over his shoulder at Caitlyn. A grimace crossed his face. “I… Er, don’t do that. Please.” 

To her horror, a sob slipped out of Caitlyn’s mouth. Around the sudden lump in her throat, she said, “When… When will Jayce be home?”

Silco gave her a bad-tempered look. “It depends entirely on whether or not his dirty Piltie of a girlfriend accepts his proposal or not.” 

Viktor twisted again, this time to frown at Silco. “She is not dirty.” 

“But you admit she’s a Piltie?”

“That is a simple fact?” 

Lower lip still trembling, Caitlyn said, “He has a girlfriend?” 

Viktor looked back at her. “Perhaps by this time a fiance.” 

Caitlyn gulped. “So he… He wants to be down here?” 

“Mm.” Viktor pressed his lips together. “It occurs to me I should have led with that.” 

Tears spilled over the edges of Caitlyn’s eyes. “He didn’t want to come home to Piltover?” 

“I…” Viktor cast a searching look in Silco’s direction. “Give me your pocket square.” 

Silco put a protective hand atop his breast pocket, from out of which a handkerchief of plum silk protruded. “I will not see it sullied by a Piltie waif’s tears.” 

Without warning, Viktor reached out and plucked the handkerchief from Silco’s pocket. “Then perhaps you should avert your gaze.” He pushed the handkerchief into Caitlyn’s face. “I would suggest blowing your nose.” 

With her free hand, Caitlyn held the pocket square to her nose, staring out at Viktor over its shining purple folds. “What?” she said. 

“Ah.” Viktor nodded. “Now I see Jayce’s influence.”

“What?” 

Viktor continued as if she didn’t speak. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Viktor.” he laid a hand against his chest. Then, pointing behind him, he said, “This is Silco.” 

“His father,” added Silco, which made Viktor’s impressive brows drop over his eyes. 

Caitlyn sniffled. “What?”

Viktor sighed. “Jayce will explain when he gets home.” 

# # # 

All in all, Jayce didn’t think the proposal could have gone better. 

Though he almost threw up on the way there, when he and Mel at long last reached the location he had chosen — a bank of the Pilt River not the sight of ramshackle warehouses or harbor for dilapidated fishing boats — he was possessed with a strange sense of calm. The scent of fish and brine still rose from the swiftly running water, and Jayce was fairly certain one of the mafias Viktor had dismantled with the help of Vander had once dumped bodies in this stretch of river, but compared to the rest of Zaun, it was quite lovely.

Even so, he decided not to drop to one knee to ask Mel the question — largely because the pebbly bank was slick with algae and possibly the sort of polluted scum that caused cancer. It felt like something his mother would have disapproved of, skipping the kneeling down, but he figured his mother would have disapproved of him risking acquiring a cancerous tumor as well. Instead, Jayce took both Mel’s hands in his and looked deep into her slanting brown eyes. They were edged in gold that matched the single strip of gold running down her lower lip and chin. The deep red dress she wore, partially covered by a black cloak, was like a rose in the night. 

“I love you, Mel,” he said. That seemed as good a beginning as any. 

She tipped her head up toward him. “I love you too.” 

“But,” said Jayce, since this felt important to add, “I can’t offer you a normal life.” A woman like Mel deserved a mansion in Piltover and the sort of day-to-day existence that didn’t involve putting down gang uprisings or smuggling herself back into the overcity in the bottom a fishing boat. “I… I can’t go home to Piltover, and whatever Viktor’s started, I have to stay with him to finish it. And I don’t want to leave him! He was there when I need him, and…” He chewed his lip. He didn’t think it was good form to spend half of a proposal talking about his best friend, but he couldn’t avoid it. “Viktor’s part of my life. So whatever he decides to do, I’ve got to be there. To look after him or help him. You know how it gets on his own.” 

Mel gave him a fond smile. “I know how both of you get on your own.” 

“Yes. Right.” Jayce grimaced. “So I suppose my point is, my life is never going to be settled. Or restful. Or… average. I mean, for goodness’ sake, Viktor’s father is a mob boss.”

“Warlord,” corrected Mel. “I think he’s closer to warlord.” 

“Yes. That.” He took a deep breath. “So I just need you to understand that. I don’t think it’s liable to change.” 

Mel reached up and laid a hand on his cheek. “Jayce, I am not a normal woman. And I don’t want a normal life.” 

The knot in Jayce’s chest eased. A smile broke over his face. “No?” 

“No.” Mel shook her head, smiling again. 

“Then will you… I mean, would you do me the honor of… Will you marry me? Us — Viktor and me?” 

Mel’s white teeth flashed again. “Both of you?” 

“Not like that — just… You know what I mean.” 

“I do.” She pressed her lips together. “I…” 

At the hesitation in her voice, Jayce’s stomach dropped. “You…?” 

“I want to marry you,” said Mel, which both helped the original pit in his stomach and opened a new one. “I do — so much. But there’s…” She stepped back, pulling her hands from his. “There are things about me you don’t know, Jayce. Things I haven’t — well, I haven’t exactly lied, but I haven’t told you, and Viktor said…” 

“What did Viktor say?” Jayce’s eyes widened. “Oh, he told you what I was going to ask, didn’t he? That little —” 

“He only did it because he felt he had to. He just… He didn’t want me to lie to you. Or hide things from you.” 

Jayce swallowed hard. “And you have been?” Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. Mel didn’t give anyone, much less people who knew her well, the impression of a truthful woman.

Mel twisted her hands together and looked at the ground. “Not because I wanted to.” 

“Are you going to tell me now?” 

“I…” 

“Because you don’t have to.” 

“What?” Mel startled and lifted her lowered eyes to him once more. “I don’t?” 

Jayce shrugged. “If Viktor trusts you — and he must, if he knew this all along — that’s good enough for me.” 

Mel’s smile peeked through the clouds on her face again. “Truly?” 

He took her hands again. “I want to know. I do. But if you…” He reached up and tucked a loose braid behind her ear. “If you don’t want to tell me, I trust there’s a good reason.” 

“You do?” 

“I trust you , Mel.” 

“But I’ve been —” 

“Mel, I don’t even know Viktor’s last name . I have no idea what his mother’s name is. I don’t know where his childhood home is. I don’t know where he got his limp. I don’t know what first got him interested in the Arcane. I don’t know much at all, before he wandered into my workshop and saved by life, just before convincing me that breaking and entering was the next logical step. I don’t need to know everything about a person to trust them.” He ran his thumb over Mel’s cheek. “I just need to know them . And I know you, Mel. I know everything I need to know. So. Do you want to be my wife?” 

Uncharacteristic tears welled in Mel’s eyes. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “Very much. So much.” 

“Even if it means dealing with Viktor for the rest of your life?” 

“Especially then.” 

“So…” Jayce’s mouth went dry. “This is happening?” 

“Yes.” Mel threw her arms around him. Her sudden weight made him stagger backwards, almost sending both tumbling on the carcinogenic riverbank. “Yes, it is!” 

Now, he and Mel meandered, arm in arm, down the lane leading to the manor. They had gotten all their kissing done on the bank, so not as to inflict Viktor with the sight of it. Walking in companionable silence, through streets that were decidedly quieter since the chembarons turned to Hexwheel manufacturing over drug-running and since Viktor had forced Silco to shut down shimmer production, they headed home. 

“You know,” said Mel as they reached the doorstep and Jayce pulled out his key, “I will tell you. Eventually. It’s just not… It’s not the right time yet. It might even… It could put you in danger.” 

Jayce paused with his key in the lock. “It could?” 

“Maybe. But I have it handled.” 

That was all Jayce needed to hear. “Good enough for me. And if you need help…” He looked over his shoulder at her, turning the key in the lock and pushing open the door. “You can always ask Viktor.” 

Mel laughed at that and let him draw her inside. The foyer was quiet and still, but light spilled in front the kitchen down the hallway. “Is Viktor still awake, do you suppose?” she asked. 

“At this hour?” said Jayce. “If he is, he’s in the basement. If that’s anyone, it’s Vander’s children.” He sighed. “Do you think we need to set some boundaries? So they stop coming and going at all hours of the night and day?” 

Mel stretched up and kissed his cheek. “I think it’s sweet that you think that would work.”

“It might .” 

Mel pulled him down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Have you met them?” 

“They listen to Vander. And Viktor.”

“Exactly.” Mel looked over her shoulder at him. “Not us.” 

Jayce sighed. “Why is it that I am forever doomed to be surrounded by children who don’t listen to me?” Reaching past her, he pushed open the kitchen door and stepped inside. 

As he crossed the threshold, he was greeted by the strangest sight he had seen yet. Caitlyn — his unofficial little sister Caitlyn, scion of House Kirraman Caitlyn — was sitting cross legged on the polished kitchen table with a mug of hot cocoa clasped in both hands and Silco’s silk pocket square crumpled and used in her lap. Viktor was slumped in the chair at the head of the long table, cane hooked over the chair arm. There was a shallow, scabbed over slice on the side of his neck. At the other end of the table sat Silco, who also — inexplicably — had a mug of hot cocoa held casually in one hand. 

“Oh good,” said Viktor the second Jayce and Mel walked in. “You’re back. Judging by your expressions and high color, I assume the proposal was a success. Congratulations.” Gesturing in Caitlyn’s direction, he said, “Now, speaking of children who don’t listen to you, guess who I was accosted by tonight.” 

Caitlyn flung a venomous look at Viktor. “I’m not a child .” 

“Cait?” Jayce let the kitchen door slam behind him. “ Cait? ” It was all he could manage to say.

Caitlyn lifted a tearstained face to him. Her dark eyebrows were low over her eyes, and she gripped her mug with whitened knuckles. “Why,” she said, flinging the word at Jayce’s face, “did you leave me?” Her eyes flicked over to Mel. In an entirely different tone, she added, “Councilwoman Medarda. My mother speaks highly of you.” 

“Thank you,” said Mel flatly, staring at Caitlyn with widened eyes. 

“That wasn’t a compliment.” 

“Your mother!” Jayce burst out. Slightly too late, his words returned to him. “Does Cassandra know you’re here?” 

Caitlyn gave him a contemptuous look. “Of course not. Do you think I’m stupid?” 

“You swam across the Pilt River,” said Silco, taking a sedate sip of his cocoa. “I think you’re stupid.” 

“You’re not involved in this conversation,” said Viktor sharply. 

“I was involved in saving your life,” said Silco, lifting both eyebrows. 

“That is a gross exaggeration. Her knife was nowhere near my jugular.” 

Caitlyn inhaled sharply, whirling on Viktor. “Yes, it was !” 

“Drink your cocoa,” said Viktor. “You are overwrought.” 

“I am not.” 

“Then I suppose it is usual for attempted assassinations to end in you sobbing on my bedroom floor?” Viktor leaned his temple against two of his fingers, propping his elbow up on the arm of his chair. “I will make a note for the future.” 

“Attempted assassination? Knife? Jugular ?” Jayce’s knees went weak. Mel gripped his arm and guided him to the table and pulled out a chair. He sank into it, pulling Mel down to sit on his knee — less for the romance of it and more because he needed to grip her like she was a metaphorical security blanket. Faintly, he managed, “You swam the Pilt River?” 

Caitlyn lifted her chin. “I’m a good swimmer.” 

“There’s an undertow, Cait.” 

“There is?” 

Jayce’s life flashed before his eyes. It was full of more bad decisions than he remembered. Passing a hand over his face, he shook his head. “You swam the Pilt, you tried to kill Vik’, you’re in Zaun alone, and your mother doesn’t know where you are .” 

“And you left me,” said Caitlyn, as if that undid all of her personal stupidity. 

“That was an accident.” 

“You could have sent me a letter!” 

“I didn’t want to throw suspicion onto you! Piltover thinks I’m some kind of traitor!” 

“No, they think you’re a spy from Noxus.” Caitlyn’s lower lip trembled warningly. “Get it right . It’s been awful, Mother had to get Ximena out of the city to keep her safe, and everyone’s been saying how awful you are, and I was the only one who believed in you, and this whole time, I thought you were in danger, but the whole time, you’ve just been living it up and having — having a girlfriend .” She spat the word with disgust. “While I’ve been worrying .” 

“Oh, you want to talk about worrying? Let’s send a line to Cassandra. I’m sure she’s worried sick .” 

“And you would be the authority on worrying mothers!” 

“At least I didn’t swim the Pilt and try to murder your best friend!” 

Caitlyn stood up on the table, almost spilling her hot cocoa in the process. “I didn’t know he was your best friend! And I was only trying to save you!” 

“I was fine !” 

“How was I supposed to know that if you didn’t tell me?” 

“You were supposed to know it’s not your job to look after me!” 

“You’re my best friend! And you left me all alone!” 

“I was a criminal! I left you where you were safe .” 

“Safe.” Caitlyn gave a savage snort. “Trapped, more like it. Smothered. No one listens to me except you!” 

“Maybe that’s because your first plan was to stick a knife to someone’s throat .” 

“It wasn’t my first plan!” 

“Heavens above, does that mean you actually thought through multiple plans and landed on that one? That’s worse .” 

Caitlyn opened her mouth to hurl some other accusation at Jayce, but she froze and went white before any words left her mouth. At one end of the table, Viktor jerked to his feet, snatching for his cane, and at the other end, Silco’s face turned dark and stormy as he surged upward. Even Mel went tense and still on Jayce’s knee, fisting a hand in the front of her shirt. 

Jayce was just about to turn around when the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head. An unfamiliar voice behind him said, “Speaking of spies from Noxus…” 

Hooded, heavily armed men and woman melted out from behind Jayce, surrounding the table. Under the eyes of half a dozen guns, Viktor, Silco, and Caitlyn fell still. 

Mel turned wide, furious eyes upward, looking at the man behind Jayce. 

Apparently undisturbed by her expression, the man said, “Your mother wants you to come home, my lady.”  

Chapter Text

7

All Mel’s life, her mother had been ruining things. It only made sense that she would make her presence known tonight, just to ruin her engagement. If Mel were interested in thinking rationally, it would become clear that Ambessa Medarda had her eyes on bigger — relatively — things than her only daughter finding romance at last, but Mel wasn’t interested in rationality or fairness at the moment. 

Piltover should have been far enough away to keep Ambessa out of her life for once. Zaun certainly should have been, but Ambessa had a special talents for inserting herself into wounds in exactly the way that hurt the most. All but exiling Mel to Piltover to “look after the family’s interests” wasn’t bad enough; now she had to demand her return, just when Mel had built a life — a real life — that she didn’t want to leave. 

As Jayce tightened his arms reflexively around her waist, Mel stared Tirvus down. He hadn’t changed much in the years since she’d left home. He was still tall, with dark skin that matched hers and long locs held back from his face with a strip of golden silk. The only thing that had really changed was that he had filled out. No longer was he a skinny teenager whose collarbone stuck out at odd angles and whose ribs made bumps under his shirt. He was a formidable man, with broad shoulders and muscles that were visible even under the loose black robes he had worn for this stealth mission. “And what makes my mother think she has a right to burn my operation without warning, cousin?”  

Jayce reacted predictably. “ Cousin ?” 

Mel laid her hand on top of his to apologize for ignoring him. “Well?” 

Tirvus made a show of looking around the room at Jayce, Viktor, Caitlyn, and Silco and their various postures of outraged defense. “Cousin, what makes you think your mother is blind enough to think that this operation isn’t burned already?” 

“It isn’t.” Mel eyed the gun to Jayce’s head and wondered if she could move quickly enough to break Tirvus’s wrist before he pulled the trigger. Probably not. She kept still. “They knew nothing about why I was here, until you showed up.” As she spoke, she felt Viktor’s gaze fall heavily on her. If only she had told him — or Jayce — when she still had time. This wasn’t the way she wanted them to find out. 

Tirvus gave her a pitying look, which made her want to slap him. “Yet they’ve made unheard of breakthroughs in the realm of arcane science, and General Medarda had to hear about it from merchants, coming into Noxus from Piltover, rather than her own daughter .” 

Mel’s stomach twisted. “I was only biding my —” 

“You were hiding it,” interrupted Tirvus. “For what reason, I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care. You’re compromised, Mel.” He nodded to one of the women who stood near him — a stocky, strong woman with a shock of red hair — and she jerked forward to drag Mel to her feet, out of Jayce’s arms. 

Mel gave an angry cry. Jayce tried to keep hold of her, but Mel, too certain that Tirvus would shoot him if necessary, pulled herself free. Staggering away from the table, wth her arm locked in the woman’s grip, she twisted around to cast a desperate look in Jayce and Viktor’s direction. She didn’t know why she did it; they couldn’t help her. Not when Caitlyn, painfully vulnerable, was still crouched on the table under the eyes of all the guns. 

“You can’t take her!” The second Tirvus stepped back enough for his gun to no longer be touching the back of Jayce’s head, Jayce twisted around in his chair, gripping the back of it. “I won’t allow it.” 

Tirvus gave Jayce a look of amusement. “I’m fascinated to hear about how you plan to stop it.” He sighted down the barrel of his gun. “Before I blow your head off, that is.” 

“Jayce…” Viktor very slowly got to his feet, bracing himself against the edge of the table. “Do not do anything stupid.” 

“Says the man who accidentally took over the undercity,” replies Jayce, keeping his eyes fixed on Mel. “I won’t let this happen,” he says. “Mel’s one of us.” He glances back over his shoulder at Viktor. “Just see what happens if you take her away. I have it on good authority that you don’t want to see the undercity angry.” 

“Too late,” says Silco grimly. He has a fixed look on his face — one that reminds Mel of Viktor at his most dogged. “They already pointed a gun at the wrong person.” He doesn’t clarify, but there’s no need for him too. She knows, as well as Jayce and Viktor himself do, that there’s only one person in the undercity that Silco would do anything to protect. 

Tirvus’s mouth twitches as he stifles a smile. “The undercity,” he says, “has never met the might of Noxus. Your dirty bands of thieves and cutthroats are nothing next to my people.” 

He was wrong about that. Noxus might hold the advantage in training, strength, and numbers, but Zaun had something special. 

Sheer, dogged stubbornness. If the rest of Zaun was like Viktor — and they were, Mel knew this — then Noxus would have no idea what it was getting into. Noxus, for all that it didn’t do it, at least knew the definition of surrender. Zaun had never learned. 

“Come on, cousin.” Tirvus pulled her backwards, toward the kitchen door. Everyone else started to withdraw too, melting backwards toward the windows and doors they emerged from while keeping their guns trained on Viktor, Jayce, Silco, and Caitlyn. 

“Mel.” Jayce got to his feet with a jerk, staring after her. 

“It’ll be all right,” said Mel, certain it would be nothing of the kind. When they were younger, she could usually knock Tirvus down in a fight, but everything was different now. With time, the strength gap between them had closed and then reopened in the opposite direction. Besides, even if she did break away from the woman holding her and somehow escape Tirvus, there was the matter of all his other soldiers. She could outrun some of them and outwit a few others, but she couldn’t avoid all of them. It would be better, in the end, to appear before Ambessa without having wasted everyone’s time by trying to run. Her mother would be angry enough that Mel had failed her mission — or rather, abandoned it and made one of her own. There was no need to make everything worse. “It’s my family, Jayce.” She flashed a grin. “One of us was a Noxian after all.”

“I don’t care,” said Jayce, and he didn’t. It was all over his face. “You belong here .” 

“I’ll come back,” Mel said. She had no idea if that was true, but she would make it true. Ambessa wouldn’t kill her, and that left a whole myriad of options open, if she played her cards right. And if there was one thing Mel excelled at, it was playing her cards right. 

“I don’t think Aunt Ambessa’s quite that stupid,” says Tirvus, turning toward the kitchen door, “but I admire the spirit. If you —” He fell abruptly silent. 

Mel turned to see why, pulling at the woman soldier’s grip on her arm. When she saw the reason for his sudden silence, her breath caught in her throat. “Powder?” she croaked. “What are you doing here?” 

Powder, hair tousled from sleep, stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding her favorite monkey toy — an unnerving thing with bulging eyes and a savage grin. Eyebrows drawn together, she said, “What’s going on?” Her eyes fell on Tirvus’s gun, and she flinched back. “Where are you taking Mel?” 

“Home,” said Tirvus shortly. Behind him, Viktor and Jayce were tightly coiled ready to spring. “Who are you, little one?” 

“Powder,” said Jayce through tightly clenched teeth, “Go home. Go find, Vi. Go now.” 

Viktor was silent, but for some reason, his attention had dropped to the monkey in Powder’s hands. On instinct, Mel followed his gaze. From between the cymbals in the monkey’s hands leaked the faintest blue glow. 

Oh. Oh . 

Oh, surely Powder wouldn’t — 

She was a street kid, educated by Viktor. Of course she would. 

Hoping Viktor would find some way to wordlessly communicate what was about to happen to Jayce — the pair of them excelled at conversing in ways normal beings couldn’t understand — Mel braced herself, praying that Powder didn’t have it in her head that all of them could survive an explosion. Viktor might loom just large enough in her perception to make her think he could.  

Powder scrubbed at her eyes, like she was trying to rub tiredness from them. In a tearful voice, she said, “You can’t take Mel away.” 

Tirvus seemed to endeavor to make his voice a half degree gentler than normal. “I’m afraid I can.” 

“No.” Powder sniffled. “You can’t.” Then she twisted the wind-up key on the monkey’s back and threw it up in the air. It pulled its cymbals back. Blue light flooded the kitchen. Mel yanked free of the woman soldier and threw herself toward Jayce. The monkey slammed its cymbals together with a tinny crash.  

Blue light shot through the kitchen. 

# # # 

Vi wasn’t used to having to sneak through her own city. Usually, the only people she had to worry about avoiding when she was doing something lesser minds labeled as “stupid” or “reckless” are Vander and Benzo, but nowadays, it seemed that there were people who yammer on about “caring for her” and “not wanting Vander or the boys to worry” lurking about every corner. Worse than that, it seemed that Jayce was lurking around every corner, wielding his disappointed eyebrow furrow with lethal precision. 

Vi, personally, didn’t care about his eyebrow furrow — disappointed or otherwise — but it made Mylo want to sink through the ground and become one with the cobblestones. He had, demonstrating truly terrible judgment, decided that Jayce was “cool”. 

Vi knew better. She had spent too much of her life muddling through a job — being the oldest in her family — she didn’t feel qualified for to not recognize someone else, namely Jayce, also muddling through a job — looking after Mel and Viktor — he didn’t feel qualified for. 

But for Mylo’s sake and because she’s a benevolent big sister — whatever stupid Claggor says — she will sneak around and avoid exposing herself and her siblings to Jayce’s ire. 

“Benzo said to go to bed,” said Powder, creeping along behind Vi. Ekko had somehow contrived to have Claggor give him a piggyback — citing tired legs — but Powder flatly refused. If she couldn’t run with the horses, so to speak, Powder would let herself get trampled before asking for help. That was just her way. 

“Benzo,” said Vi, peering around the corner of the alleyway that formed part of the back route to Jayce and Viktor’s house, “says lots of things. Wake me when it’s Vander.” 

Powder wrinkled her nose. “But —” 

“Look.” Vi looked over her shoulder at Powder, who was crouched in front of Mylo, Claggor, and Ekko. “Do you want to go to bed , like we’re little kids, or do you want to go where the exciting things happen?” Jayce and Viktor’s house, now quietly known as Arcane House in the undercity, was the center of much more than just research. It was the center of the revolution Vi had hunger for her whole life. Maybe it didn’t look quite like she thought — there was more talking and less shooting — but it was doing something. The eyes of the world were turning to the undercity. Drugs were no longer flowing through the streets. There was hope , for the first time in Vi’s memory. 

With all that happening, she certainly wasn’t going to do something so stupid as sleep . 

“Go where there are exciting things,” Powder said. She had her windup monkey clutched in both hands. He was her biggest secret. With all she had gleaned from hours spent in the basement laboratory with Jayce and Viktor, she had fashioned an entirely new device using a gem she had nicked when Jayce wasn’t looking. It lived hidden between the cymbals the monkey held, with the apparatus that controlled it connected to the windup key set into the monkey’s back. According to Powder, the device was sort of like a grenade, except it couldn’t kill people. 

Vi didn’t really understand, but the knowledge that it couldn’t kill people assured her that further questioning wasn’t necessary. “Well, there you go,” she said. “Now, come on.” 

Sticking to the edges of the street, she led the way to Arcane House, creeping past the front door and taking the narrow, twisting alley between the manor and the building beside it to the back garden. Garden was a generous term, really — it was more like a large square of crumbling stones interspersed with patches of moss, but it was more than Vi had ever had. Viktor and Jayce normally used it for their more explosive experiments, as evidenced by the various scorch marks and craters scattered about the yard. 

The kitchen let out into the yard, and tonight, a puddle of yellow light spilled through the window set into the wall next to the door, painting a buttery square right smack in the middle of the stones. 

“They’re still up?” said Ekko as he slid off Claggor’s back. “Viktor won’t tell on us, but Jayce —” 

“Jayce proposed to Mel tonight!” said Powder suddenly. “That’s why they’re still up. We should just go home.” 

“We’re not going home.” Vi eyed the window. “So either Mel said no, and Jayce is up having a crisis, or Mel said yes, and they’re all up celebrating.” 

“One of those things would be good to intrude on,” said Mylo. “And only one.” 

Vi nodded. If they caught Jayce at a vulnerable moment and Viktor at a moment when he wanted to be working but was instead forced to deal with the uncomfortable knowledge that one of his friends had caused the other pain, they were all doomed to be marched back to the Last Drop in disgrace. While Vander and Benzo at least aspired to consistency, Viktor and Jayce’s style of supervising them could be permissive or it could be decidedly petty. It all depended on their mood — particularly on Jayce’s. 

“Ekko,” she said, “sneak over and look in the window.” 

Ekko gave her an affronted look. “Why me? I don’t want to get into trouble.” 

“Then don’t be a little baby pussycat,” replied Vi, crossing her arms. Jerking her head to Powder, she added, “And she trips. You do,” she said, forestalling whatever Powder had been about to say. 

As Powder settled down to fume and sulk, Ekko reluctantly crept across the yard and peeped through the window, staying low. Whatever he saw made his eyes snap wide, and he frantically waved all of them over. Vi reacted first, dropping to her hands and knees to crawl over to the window while Powder and the others followed her. Lifting her head just enough to see over the edge of the window, she peers through the smudged pane closest to her. 

There are armed men and women in the kitchen, holding Jayce, Viktor, Mel, Silco, and a girl Vi didn’t recognize at gunpoint. Going cold, Vi ducked down, yanking Ekko with her. Several sets of frightened eyes turned to her — because of course she was the one who had to come up with a solution. 

Powder was breathing fast. “Are they going to shoot them?” 

“No,” said Mylo in the drawling voice he only pulled out when he was well and truly scared. “They’re going to make them tea .” 

“Don’t fight,” Vi snapped automatically, cracking her knuckles to help her think.B“Okay. Okay, we need… We need…” Her eyes fell on Powder’s monkey, which she held in a white-knuckled grip. “Pow-Pow, we need you .” 

Powder looked from Vi to her monkey and back. To her credit, she looked more uncertain than afraid. “Are you sure?” 

“You said that thing’s finished.” Vi nodded to the monkey. “Are you sure about that? It’ll work?” 

Powder shrugged a little. “It’s just a prototype, but… But, yeah, it’ll work.” She showed her gap-filled teeth in a smile. “I used Viktor’s math, I just modified it a little bit — like he taught me.” 

Vi drew a long breath. “Then I have an idea.” 

# # # 

The blue light exploded outward like a firework. It struck Viktor like a physical blow, all blinding light and deafening noise, and threw him backwards. He reeled against the counter behind him. His ears rang. He could barely see, let alone think. 

The light hit the pots and pans dangling above the oven range and sent them falling in a cascade of copper. It hit all the soldiers in the room and hurled them into the kitchen walls. It knocked Mel and Jayce to the floor. It sent Silco tumbling onto his back. It threw Caitlyn onto her back in the middle of the table. It hit the windows and shattered them outward. 

Then the light was pulled back into the gem in between the monkey’s cymbals, as though caught in a vacuum. Viktor found a moment to breathe, and then the device went off again. The light crashed outward in another wave. It was weaker this time, letting Viktor keep his footing, but spots of dazzle danced in his vision and his ears throbbed. 

Powder was still standing where she had been when the device went off. In the doorway of the kitchen, she looked at him, one arm thrown up in front of her face to shield her eyes. The light didn’t seem to be affecting her the same way it was everyone else. If Viktor had had enough space for thought, he would have appreciated that element of her design. As it was, he just groped blindly for his cane and brought it down on the head of the nearest soldier, just as the light was sucked back into the gem again. 

This time, Jayce reacted immediately, dragging Mel to her feet and catching hold of Caitlyn’s hands as she struggled into a sitting position on the table. As he yanked her off it and onto the floor, Caitlyn reached down and caught up one of the soldier’s fallen guns. Mel’s mouth moved in the shape of a fierce no , and she snatched it out of Caitlyn’s hand before trying to point it at every soldier at once. 

On the other side of the kitchen table, Viktor wasted a precious second and a half staring at Silco, who was dazed from where his head had slammed into a kitchen cabinet, and wondering if he really had to save him. 

Unfortunately, he did. 

Hobbling forward on his cane and stepping over one of the swiftly recovering soldiers, Viktor grabbed Silco by the back of his vest and tried to haul him up. To his credit, Silco did try to help, scrabbling to get his feet under him, but there was blood in his hair. His movements were slow and uncoordinated. 

Viktor couldn’t think of a worst time to succumb to a concussion. Sparing a moment to kick the nearest soldier in the head and send him falling back down onto his face, he yelled over the ringing in his ears, “Jayce!” 

Almost at the kitchen doorway, Jayce turned. His eyes flashed with understanding — followed by annoyance when he realized it was Silco causing the problem. He handed Caitlyn off to Mel and pushed them both through the kitchen door. As Mel caught up Powder’s hand and spun around to point the gun at the man she called cousin, who was closest to the door and struggling to his feet, the device went off a third time. 

It was much weaker this time but still enough to make Viktor throw an arm over his eyes and tuck one ear against his shoulder. Jayce pushed through it, shoving the table aside and grabbing Silco’s other arm. He looped it over his shoulders and lurched toward the door, all but towing Viktor and Silco both with him, but before either he or Viktor could take more than a few steps, children burst into the kitchen from all directions. 

Through the flashing light and noise, Viktor squinted. 

Oh. Those were his children. 

He was going to kill every single one of them — after he congratulated Powder on her ingenuity and initiative. 

Everything happened very fast. Mylo scooped up Powder and all but threw her toward the front door. As he did it, he took the monkey from her and threw it into the middle of the room. It was still going off rhythmically, but the flash and bang grew weaker every time. The soldiers were recovering, including Mel’s cousin. 

Vi plowed into the middle of the room, kicking heads as she went and knocking skulls into whatever nearest sharp corner was. She reached Viktor in a moment, taking Silco’s weight from him and shoving him toward the exit. Viktor hobbled toward it, clubbing his cane against the temple of a soldier who had almost gotten to his feet and sending him toppling again. 

Claggor grabbed up another one of the fallen guns, but he didn’t fire it — either because he had never shot someone before or because he was worried he would miss and hit someone he cared about. 

Ekko appeared through one of the shattered windows with a pile of stones in his hands and started hurling them at the soldiers. Some stones hit home; some hit the plaster walls and tore holes in them. Viktor didn’t care much about either. He just wanted everyone out , before some soldier with a gun realized that shooting would be a very effective way to get to Mel. 

“Move!” He shouted, reaching behind him and grabbing the back of Ekko’s shirt. Ekko didn’t need any further pressing. He started running, outpacing Viktor as he made for the front door. Jayce and Silco were at his right, and Mel, Caitlyn, and the other children were at the front door, hauling it open. 

They were all halfway into the night outside when someone caught hold of Viktor from behind and pulled him up short. The cold muzzle of a gun jammed into the back of his head. To his side, the rhythmic flash and bang of the device in the monkey continued. Outside on the front stoop, everyone jerked to a halt, turning wide eyes on Viktor. 

Viktor spat a curse in his mother’s native language. “Did I not say move? I will not be the reason that any of you —”

“Come now, Mel,” interrupted the voice of the man holding Viktor. Mel’s cousin — the only soldier so far who had managed to escape the kitchen. “Quietly, if you want your friend to keep his head.” 

Mel still had the gun she had stolen, and she lifted it, eyes bright and hard. “Tirvus,” she said, “let him go.” 

“Don’t waste my time,” said Tirvus, with a mocking twist to his voice. “We both know you won’t shoot me. I’m family, Mel. You don’t have the guts to —”

A shot rang out. A bullet whizzed past Viktor’s already ringing ears. 

And Tirvus swayed backwards and fell like a tree, landing hard on the parquet floor of the foyer. A spreading pool of blood from  the neat hole in his head  joined the old stain that was hidden beneath the carpet Jayce had bought on his first day in Zaun. 

“You’re not my family,” said Mel, seemingly half to herself.  “These people are .” 

All around them, the street was waking up. The gunshot would be the last straw; everyone would come out ready for a fight. And an attack on the manor would be considered an attack on Zaun itself, given that it was swiftly becoming the center of the makeshift government that had sprung up around Viktor. 

Besides, Zaunites were ridiculously fond of Jayce, for all they pretended to be afraid of him for Piltover’s benefit. The soldiers still inside the house would be walking into a kill box if they chose not to retreat and regroup. They would have to be stupid, and Viktor did not think they were stupid. 

But their leader was dead on the floor behind Viktor, and there was no telling what stupidity the suddenly leaderless might wreak. Whatever happened, Viktor did not want to be here to see it. 

Hobbling forward, he hurried out the door and off the front stoop. Doors up and down the street crashed open as he did, and voices demanding answers echoed all around him. Inside the house, the device finally stopped going off. No soldiers emerged, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still lying in wait. 

Viktor needed a safe place — somewhere that was both central and guarded. 

Luckily, he knew just the place. 

Reaching Mel, he met her eyes, forcing himself to think around the ringing in his ears. She was still frozen, staring at where Tirvus had fallen. Her hand was clenched tight around her gun. 

“You can keep that,” said Viktor. In her situation, the last thing he would want to do would be give up his only weapon. “But you likely won’t need it.”

“I know.” Mel sounded faraway. “I know. They’ll go — they’ll go and tell my mother what I…” Her voice broke. “What I did .” 

“It was quite logical. Now, perhaps when they return, they will know better than to threaten your…” He used her term, deliberately. “Your family.” 

“They’re going to come back ?” Vi burst out. 

“Over and over and over…” Mel’s eyes were wide, and her stare was fixed. “My mother, she… She always gets what she wants.” 

Viktor exchanged a look with Jayce, who was pressed up against Mel. The street was crowded now, full of their neighbors and the men Vander had set to watch the house (for all the good it had done), but they still needed to move. “That is a quality you share with her,” he said. 

Picking up Viktor’s meaning instantly — for once — Jayce asked, “And what do you want, Mel?” 

She released a shaky breath. “I want to stay. I want to stay here with you and Viktor.” 

“Okay.” Jayce ran his gaze over the children, probably counting them. As Viktor had already done it the second he stepped outside, he did not join in. “Okay, then you’ll stay. We’ll make sure you stay.”

“We’ll go to the Last Drop,” said Viktor, forging forward. “It is safe, defensible.” He looked over his shoulder at Mel. “And there, you’ll have time to explain.”

“I can’t.” Mel swallowed. “I have to go. I have to find them, and I have to go with them.” She pressed forward, but Jayce held her back. “You’re all in danger if I stay — I have to…” She turned and looked over her shoulder at Jayce, before letting her gaze track over the children, even Caitlyn, and Viktor. “She’ll kill all of you.” 

There was a long pause. Then, Vi said, “Oh well.”

Jayce said, “We’ll just have to kill her first.”

# # # 

In his old laboratory on the outskirts of the city, where the Pilt River ran into subterranean caves that one could make great use of if one didn’t mind the damp — and  Singed didn’t — Singed sat and thought. 

And thought. 

And thought. 

Setbacks were a natural part of research. He had begun at the bottom, here in this cave, and had worked his way into Silco’s operation. He had been making shimmer for a warlord with dreams also as big as his own. Perhaps he had gotten too comfortable. Surely, with as many resources as he had had, finishing his work should have been a simple matter, but here he was, with his work still incomplete. 

Perhaps, then, it was a good thing that Silco had abandoned his operation and the chembarons had stopped buying prototype shimmer and funding Singed’s further research. It had refocused him. It had forced him to find a new path forward. 

Strangely enough, the new path forward involved an old path — one Singed had not expected to tread again. 

Smiling to himself, he traced a finger over the newspaper cutting he had kept with him since he found it one morning, a few weeks previously. It was of one of the scientists from Piltover — Heimerdimger, his name was — posing in front of a newly built wing of the Academy. Off to his side was a slightly out of focus but no less familiar figure, in a neat three piece suit. He had a better cane now — a smooth wooden one, with a carved handle — and he was older, but that was the only difference.  

Tapping his finger against the headline, which cried in bold letters, ASSISTANT  TO DEAN OF THE ACADEMY KIDNAPPED, Singed said, “Viktor, Viktor… Still causing me problems, after all these years.” He lifted his head, pursing his lips. “Science still requires sacrifice, my boy.” 

Chapter Text

8

The atmosphere in the Last Drop could only be described as “tense”. And, perhaps, “cramped”. 

And despite the fact that nothing of what had transpired had been Jayce’s fault, facing literal hordes of angry Zaunites — an entire city block’s worth of them, all roused from their sleep by the crack of a gunshot — was activating his fight or flight instinct. Since both halves of said instinct now irrevocably included Mel — he would fight for her or run away with her — he had ended up perched on the bar, in some vague effort to maintain the high ground in the situation, with Mel tucked up against his side. She looked waxy and was shivering, which would have been bad enough, but she was also dead quiet . That was the worst part. 

He could kill her cousin. He would, if Mel hadn’t already handled that part. 

Half manically, Jayce wondered if they would have to buy another rug to cover up the second bloodstain in the foyer. Probably Viktor would know. 

Viktor — who should, if he had any care for Jayce’s frayed nerves, be on the bar on his other side, next to Caitlyn — had contrived to be right in the center of the action, where Vander was. He stood near the jukebox, while Vander fended off the crowd and Vi and the other kids surrounded Viktor like the pack of undersized, feral wolves they were. Silco, who no one trusted left alone in the house, especially not if the Noxians showed back up, was penned against the corner where the jukebox met the wall. Vander’s bulk trapped him there, and all Jayce could see of him was his bad-tempered face as he peered out around Vander’s swelling bicep. 

“Everybody, calm down !” boomed Vander. 

Generalized dissent was hurled back at him. Most of the words Jayce couldn’t make out, but one woman — Madame Rhianne, the former proprietor of the former brothel across the street from the Last Drop — managed to make her voice heard. “Calm down? Calm down ? There were Noxians in the street, Vander! In the home of —” she paused, arm thrown out in Viktor’s direction as she wrestled with the correct term for him. In the end, she gave up. “Of him ! Think of what could have happened.” 

Jayce was trying very, very hard not to think about what could have happened. To allay a renewed burst of adrenaline, he threw his arm around Caitlyn’s shoulders, pulling her closer against him. She threw him a bright-eyed look, a little grin playing about her lips. “This is all rather exciting, isn’t it?” 

Jayce shook his head. “There’s something wrong with you.” 

“What? It beats a formal dinner.” 

Jayce, who had sat through both a formal dinner and an armed standoff, disagreed. 

“We’re all very aware of what could have happened, Rhianne,” said Vander in a quelling tone. “Unfortunately, the Noxians having reason to be interested in our little corner of hell was news to all of us.” At this, he cut his gaze sideways to send a displeased look in Mel’s direction. 

Mel didn’t react, but the indignation that swelled within Jayce was enough for two people. “What was she supposed to say?” he snapped to Vander and the gathered crowd both. 

“Ideally,” said Madame Rhianne witheringly, “anything. Anything at all.” 

“Before armed Noxians flooded my street,” said Vander. 

“And threatened my son,” said Silco from behind him. For once, he and Vander were in lockstep, though neither of them seemed to notice. 

Off to the side of the jukebox, Viktor held up a single finger in Silco’s direction. “You,” he said, in his most cutting voice, “are not part of this conversation.” 

“I think you’ll find I am,” replied Silco, narrowing his eyes. 

“No, no,” said Vi, leaning around Viktor so she could see Silco better. “The way to be a part of this conversation was to be there when he was born. That’s, like, the entry point. Generally.” 

“Nice,” said Mylo behind her.

Without looking, Vi reached around and bumped her fist against his. Silco sighed, deeply.

To Vander, Viktor said, “And I believe you meant to say our street.” 

“I did not,” rumbled Vander, absently shoving Silco back into the corner when he tried to slide around Vander’s bulk. 

Caitlyn leaned closer to Jayce, directing her voice into his ear to make herself heard over all the noise. “So… How does Viktor fit in here, again?” 

“He’s the…” Jayce found himself as stumped as Madame Rhianne. “He’s the… Well, he’s our… He kind of… I don’t know, Cait. Don’t ask me hard questions right now. I’m still mad at you.” 

“ You’re still —” Caitlyn seemed to inflate, but Ekko turning toward her curtailed whatever explosion was forthcoming. 

“Viktor’s like our king,” he said with a cheerful grin that belied the entire night’s events. He was sitting on a barstool nearby, since that was where Benzo had dumped him the moment they all entered the Last Drop. Benzo was in front of him still, with one large fist knitted in the front of Ekko’s shirt, holding him in place. Ekko had resisted at first, but by this time, he was resigned to it. Benzo seemed equally resigned, but probably, Jayce thought, he was resigned to Ekko’s friendship with a group of children that had an eerie knack for finding the exact center of firefights. 

“Your king?” asked Caitlyn with twin raised eyebrows. 

“Sure.” Ekko shrugged. “It was sort of an accident.” 

Caitlyn looked from Ekko to Viktor and back. “An accident?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Whose ?” 

Ekko hesitated, wrinkling his nose in thought. Then, as though struck by some great inspiration, he said, “Silco’s?” 

“Silco’s?” 

“Yeah!” Ekko’s voice was almost a chirp. “I mean, I don’t think Viktor was planned, you know?” 

Caitlyn looked at Jayce again, like she expected him to formulate a saner explanation for everything. The problem was, he didn’t have a saner explanation. What Ekko said really was the long and short of it. He put his hand over Caitlyn’s face and turned her head away from him. “No. I’m still furious with you.” 

“Big deal,” said Caitlyn, voice muffled by his hand. 

Viktor was speaking again, having climbed on top of one of the round tables. He stood unevenly, using his cane for support, but despite his unthreatening posture, everyone in the room slowly quieted down. Jayce didn’t have much idea why, but it always happened when Viktor took center stage in any discussion involving Zaunites. When he had asked Benzo, he had just darkly muttered about Viktor’s eyes and his “cursed way of looking at you like he’s countin’ all yer bones.” 

In the end, Jayce supposed being bestowed — or in this case, burdened — by Silco’s genes counted for something in the undercity. All it had gotten Viktor in Piltover, from what Jayce had learned piecemeal from Mel, was offhand remarks about his “pretty eyes” and the way he always looked “lost in thought.” 

“I,” said Viktor in clear and carrying tones, “knew enough about Mel’s past to deem it something she could handle. What happened is the result of my misjudgment, not hers. I told her she could keep her secrets.” 

At this, Mel finally stirred. Jayce looked down at her, sending her a silent question. Had Viktor known everything? Mel gave him the tiniest shake of her head in response. 

Well. Viktor was either going to handle the situation, or he was going to get himself strung up in the city square. The only course of action was to wait and see which scenario played out. 

Vander wouldn’t let anyone string Viktor up, anyway. 

Probably. 

“Why on the whole green spinning ball of the world would you tell her that ?” asked Madame Rhianne. She folded her arms tightly beneath her bust. She was wearing a flannel wrapper that looked like it had seen better day, but beneath that, the laciest of nightgowns was visible — a remnant of her former career. The wrapper hid what looked to be veritable acres of cleavage but only barely. Jayce resisted the urge to ask her to pull the front of her wrapper more tightly closed. 

Viktor gave her a superior look, not even seeming to notice her chest as it heaved in time with her indignation. “Because, Madame, I am a Zaunite. I respect secrets. Don’t we all?” 

A grumbling silence greeted his words. Yes, Zaunites did respect secrets, but they clearly felt that said respect could be safely withdrawn when armed Noxians were involved. 

Viktor disagreed. “Isn’t it Piltover ,” he said, putting a venomous emphasis on the word, “that feels the need to insert itself in everyone’s business? Their long arm stretches far, reaching even into your own homes!” 

The silence was less grudging this time and more thoughtful. Everyone in the room had cursed Piltover and its nosiness at least once in the time Jayce had known them — usually to his face. It was always, “Piltover and their taxes,” or, “Pilties and their laws , always interfering,” or, “Piltover and their endless questions,” or, “Pilties, sticking their long noses in every crevice, including our backsides .” 

Zaunites prided themselves on knowing when to shut up and stop asking questions. And if they did have questions, they usually asked them from the other end of the barrel of a gun or in a dark basement, with a trayful of many ominous tools set in some obvious place nearby. They would never do something so, in their opinions, invasive and frivolous like ask after someone’s health or — worst of all — say something like, “Tell me about yourself,” or, “So what was your childhood like?” 

“If Mel had known that this would happen,” said Viktor, “I trust she would have told me because I trust her.” 

Next to Jayce, Mel teared up a little, sniffling. 

“The question,” said Viktor, “is do all of you trust me ?” 

Jayce felt it was time he spoke up. “And if you don’t trust him,” he said, “after everything he’s done for you — ending the shimmer trade, giving you jobs, giving you a chance to get one over on Piltover, handling the chembarons and Silco — if you don’t trust him after all that , then you’re all fools.” 

The silence that met his words was decidedly resentful. At the back of the crowd, someone muttered, “Piltie.” 

Viktor’s gaze snapped in the direction of whoever had spoken. “ My Piltie,” he said. “In case anyone has forgotten.” 

Once again, Jayce felt the need to speak. “And these two,” he said, gesturing to Mel and Caitlyn, “are mine. Which means that by virtue of the transitive property of —” he scrambled for a term “— claiming Pilties —” 

“Yes, yes.” Viktor waved his hand in assent. “They are mine too.” 

The silence was resentful, bordering on mutinous. 

Apparently reading it, Silco said, with a smile full of teeth, “And Viktor is mine .”

Viktor sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Once again,” he said, “I am not affiliated with him. But my point stands. Mel did nothing wrong. I made a misjudgment, and I intend to rectify it. The Noxians will not attack again.” 

Just as Jayce was wondering how on earth Viktor intended to make good on that little promise, Vander said, “What’s your plan, kid?” 

Viktor looked over his shoulder and gave Vander an open, almost confused look — like until that moment he had been laboring under the assumption that the solution was obvious. “I’m going to share Hextech with Noxus.” 

As Jayce’s heart leapt into his mouth at the very thought of the Noxians having access to the truly catastrophic power of the Arcane, Vander said, “Are you insane ?” 

Viktor’s brow furrowed. “No. Though I have not conducted an assessment.”

Mel straightened up, even more color draining from her already grayish face. “Viktor, you can’t give my mother your research.” 

Still standing on the table, Viktor shook his head. His brows knit together further. “I’m not going to do that, Mel. That would be foolish.” 

“But you said —” 

“I said I was going to share Hextech with Noxus.” He enunciated his words carefully. “I will be sharing it in the form of a very large Arcane-powered bomb, dropped on a place in Noxus of your choosing.” 

Faintly, Mel said, “My mother’s head?” 

Viktor tipped his head to one side. “A small target, but I suppose —” 

“No, Viktor, I didn’t mean —” 

“Oh, it won’t explode. Or rather, it will but not lethally — it will be a modified version of Powder’s stun bomb. The Arcane apparatus itself will explode to prevent Noxus from reverse engineering anything from it, of course.” He smiled. “I think it will be expedient if the Noxians know that we could potentially wipe them out if we so chose. It is a bluff, of course — too many civilians in harm’s way — but I don’t imagine Noxus will take the risk. Therefore, they will come to the bargaining table already knowing they are outgunned. I’ve heard that is very advantageous in negotiations.” 

“The bargaining table,” echoed Mel, still sounding faraway. 

“Yes.” Viktor’s brow wrinkled further. “Unless you all wish to go to war with Noxus? I felt that would be unwise.” 

“I need… I need to sit.” Vander reached out and pulled a chair away from Viktor’s table, sinking into it. He put his head in his hands. 

Viktor looked down at him. “I don’t understand. Wasn’t your goal deescalation?” 

“Dropping a bomb’s not deesca — deescal — whatever you said!” 

“It’s not a lethal bomb,” said Viktor, as though that was the balm to all ills. “What was your plan? We cannot simply keep our heads down and hope Noxus goes away. They will return, again and again until they have Mel and the secrets of the Arcane, and neither is an option.” 

The silence this time was the silence of people whose plan had been to keep their heads down and hope Noxus went away. Jayce couldn’t blame them; in the past, Zaun had found great success in keeping their collective heads down. 

“Viktor,” said Mel slowly, seeming to return to herself, “if the bomb isn’t going to hurt anyone, could you drop it on my mother’s head?” 

Viktor hesitated. “Perhaps not her head. But quite close to it. Is that what you want? I’m amenable to it.” He narrowed his eyes. “She upset you.” Those three words sounded darkly threatening enough that Jayce almost saw what all the Zaunites saw in Viktor. 

“I…” Mel pressed her lips together. “Yes. Yes, I would really like that.” 

In the silence that followed — this time of people adjusting to the idea that sometimes war was something one tripped into, rather than entered — Powder raised her hand, bouncing on her toes. “Can I help build the bomb?” 

“I will need your designs,” said Viktor, at the same time as Vander and Jayce both said, “Absolutely not.” 

Jayce was very certain both he and Vander would be ignored. When it really came came down to it, Viktor was in charge. 

# # # 

The attic above Benzo’s was cramped, but Ekko was used to it. It was his favorite place to hide when he was avoiding school at Viktor and Jayce’s, or — as he was currently — doing something everyone adult in his life except possibly Viktor would either think was stupid or highly dishonest.

Or, in this case, both. 

“How d’you spell ‘decapitation’?” asked Ekko, chewing on the tip of his pen. This was his sixth attempt at writing the ransom letter. The other five had been ruined by ink blots and crossouts. Powder had wanted to send each one anyway, since she never had the patience for perfection, but Ekko figured most kidnapping masterminds didn’t misspell ten words in a single one page letter. 

With a hooded look, Powder spelled the word for him, but before he could write it down, she said, “You can’t say that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you have to follow through on threats. And we can’t decapitate Viktor.” 

Ekko considered this. “We don’t have to send him the head.” 

Powder just looked at him.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed. “We would. But then why did you have me threaten to cut off his fingers?” 

Powder stuck her nose in the air. “Fingers are easier to come by.” 

Ekko opened his mouth to protest and then shut it. She wasn’t wrong. There was usually a convenient corpse somewhere in Zaun, and people as pale and sickly looking as Viktor in skin tone weren’t exactly hard to come by either. The intersection between those two categories couldn’t be too small. “All right,” he said.

Powder peered over his shoulder. “You write so slow . Is it almost done?” 

“Perfection takes time.” This was the reason she, the better speller, wasn’t the one writing the letter. Her talents lay in drawing and painting, not in penmanship. While Ekko could decipher her catscratch, he didn’t think a Piltie like Viktor’s old employer would bother. 

Forging Jayce’s signature at the bottom of the letter with a grand flourish, Ekko folded it up and used a bit of wax to seal it, sinking one of Jayce’s rings into to give it an identifying mark that a Piltie might recognize. He felt a little bad about stealing the ring from Jayce, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to give it back . 

Of course, giving it back might become awkward if Jayce found out he had taken it in order to more believably impersonate him to Heimerdinger and hold Viktor for ransom. 

Viktor wasn’t aware he was being held for ransom, but Ekko liked to think he would be reasonable about it. Just because everyone in Zaun was suddenly slightly more solvent then they were used to being didn’t mean it was smart to pass up an opportunity to make some easy cash. 

And tricking Pilties was stunningly easy. They really knew nothing about the underworld. If Ekko had sent a fake ransom note to anyone who lived in Zaun, he would have received a note in return containing three words: Proof before money. 

Heimerdinger had just sent the money. Multiple times. 

Granted, this time around Ekko was asking for something a little more significant than money, but he figured it was worth a try. Even if Heimerdinger finally told him to just kill Viktor and dump his body in the river, he had to do something. He was sick of Jayce moping around all the time, missing Caitlyn. 

“Do we have to bring her back here?” asked Powder as he handed her the letter. She had more access to the pneumatic tubes that Vander kept, which were connected to Piltover. It took them a minute to figure out which one went to the general post office, rather than to the office of the high ranking Enforcer he was inexplicably friends with, but now they could send letters with ease — as long as Vander didn’t see. 

“We’ve been over this.” 

“I know, but…” Powder blew her bangs back from her face with an irritated huff. “She’s snotty . And she dresses too nice.” 

Ekko kind of agreed, but moping Jayce reminded him a little bit of the black holes Viktor had recently taught them all about. He was silent and minding his own business, but his woe had a gravity that pulled everything close by in and crushed it. It was intolerable. “Do you want Jayce upset?” 

Powder wrinkled up her nose. “No,” she said at length, in the tone of great sacrifice. She stuffed the letter into the pocket of her overalls. “But don’t expect me to be nice to the Piltie.” 

To be annoying, Ekko said, “Which one?” 

Powder glared. “You think you’re so smart. Jayce, Viktor, and Mel don’t count any more.” She half-turned and then spun back around. “You know she tried to kill Viktor.” 

“So did Vander.” 

Foiled, Powder turned back around. A second later, she pivoted again. “Yeah, but her mom is awful . I’ve heard the things she says about the undercity.” 

“Viktor’s dad is sort of awful too.” 

“That’s not playing fair!” 

“Sure, it is.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Can you just mail the letter?” 

“ Fine .” She turned around a final time and crawled toward the trapdoor that led out of the attic. “I hope Heimerdinger drops her in the Pilt.” 

“She can swim that,” Ekko called after her. 

“Not if I’m waiting on the opposite bank with a brick!” 

# # # 

The months since Viktor had been dragged into the undercity by Jayce Talis — who had been, by all accounts, a promising young prodigy before he decided to disregard all Academy rules, accidentally blow up his entire workshop and apartment, and flee prosecution with a hostage in tow —  had been some of the most trying of Heimerdinger’s life. First, there was the news that Jayce had stolen a great deal of equipment, as well as his own confiscated research, before he disappeared into the undercity. Then there was the official inquiry and investigation, which involved a lot of Enforcers peering down at him and wondering how he had managed to misplace an entire research assistant. After that was over, there was the sudden explosion of Arcane technology within the undercity and the equally sudden implosion of the chembarons’ power structure, swiftly followed by Jayce Talis emerging as some kind of power within the city and demanding, with his typical brand of endearing politeness that had a new, sinister sheen to it, that the undercity be called Zaun. 

And then, just when Heimerdinger thought there was nothing in the world that could make his already chronic heartburn worse, the first ransom note arrived. It was written in a beautiful, slanting hand that wasn’t Jayce’s, but it did bear his signature. Heimerdinger wasn’t experienced in the realm of kidnapping or criminality in general, but he imagined that Noxian spies like Jayce who had risen to sudden power had secretaries who could write ransom notes. Jayce himself likely had other, more pressing things to do — such as menacing people, sending Arcane research back to Noxus, and the like. 

The note demanded a sum of money that made Heimerdinger wince but did not faze his bank account. He paid it. It wouldn’t do to give Jayce reason to be angry, not when he was perhaps the person in control of whether or not Noxus chose to attack Piltover. 

Besides, Heimerdinger had to admit he felt a lingering sense of responsibility for Viktor. He was a good boy — bright, hardworking, idealistic. He didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of all this. 

Heimerdinger reminded himself of this fact often when the second, third, and fourth ransom letters. 

Now, as he held the fifth in his hands, staring down at its contents as he sat by the fire in his office at the Academy, he kept saying, “It would be wrong ot let Viktor die,” over and over to keep himself from tossing the letter into the fire and washing his hands of the matter entirely. 

Bring Caitlyn Kirraman to the undercity without anyone in Piltover knowing what happened? 

Jayce had to be mad. 

But mad men started wars when they were angry. 

Or, in Jayce’s case, bereft. 

He had always been so very fond of Caitlyn. Even Noxian spy that he supposedly was, Heimerdinger couldn’t imagine that he would ever hurt her. Besides, if he truly did want to do her harm, he didn’t need Heimerdinger to bring her to him. One of the developments that was making Piltover as a whole exceedingly uneasy was the fact that the undercity — Zaun — no longer needed to use the bridge to cross into Piltover. They had airships, and who knew what else. If Jayce wanted Caitlyn dead, he wouldn’t send a note; he would send an assassin.

 So all in all, Caitlyn would likely be perfectly safe in Zaun. And if a war did start, it was better she was next to the man who started it, rather on the other side of the battlefield from him. 

Yes, that was right. Heimerdinger stood up from his armchair and at long last released the letter into the flames on his hearth. There was only one clear choice. 

He would have to kidnap Caitlyn Kirraman. 

# # # 

Caitlyn had answers. Ximena was certain of it. Nothing had made sense since Jayce and Heimerdinger’s research assistant, Viktor, had absconded to the undercity, and Cassandra apparently expected Ximena to, in her words, “Sit tight and let her handle it.” 

The last time Ximena sat tight and let Cassandra handle anything, Jayce ended up secretly running experiments with illegal materials and blowing up his own apartment. Clearly, Cassandra’s version of “handling” things involved kicking a metaphorical horse into a mad gallop, dropping the reins, throwing her hands in the air, and hoping nothing bad happened. 

Ximena was living in a reality where the horse had not only collided with a wall but also set off a chain reaction that led to her being smuggled out of her home in the dead of night and dumped in the Kirraman summer home, in the mountains far outside the city. 

Let me handle it , Cassandra had said. 

Ximena held back several unladylike snorts as she put on a practical traveling dress, stuffed some essentials into a satchel, carefully locked up the Kirraman’s summer home, walked to the rural train station near the manor, caught the next train to Piltover, and settled in her seat. 

Let me handle it. Ximena bristled. Piltover was on the verge of war, Jayce was in danger, and the papers will filled with slander about him. She was through letting other people handle it. She didn’t believe for an instant that Jayce had kidnapped Viktor — if anything it was the other way around. The entire story surrounding him and Viktor stank of a coverup. 

She would get to the bottom of it. 

Caitlyn. It was important to begin with her. If anyone knew the truth about Jayce, it was her. 

Not that Cassandra would allow Ximena to speak to her. With tensions as high as they were, it would be catastrophic to House Kirraman’s reputation, and merely being associated with House Talis had almost ruined them around. 

No, Cassandra would not answer the door if Ximena came calling. But that was all right. Ximena nestled deeper into her seat with a grim smile. It was not on Cassandra’s door that she would be knocking. 

It would be on Caitlyn’s window. 

# # # 

As a rule, Silco did not like Jayce Talis. He was a weak, soft creature, entirely too concerned with things like “good behavior” and “other people”. He was tolerably intelligent, but he was entirely hamstrung by his beloved principles. Long ago, Silco had simplified his life to two principles: keep his people safe and win. Those principles created an easy, two-step flowchart for approaching all of life’s problems. They streamlined everything. 

Unfortunately, they had recently begun to fail him. Previously, keeping his people safe had not included keeping them happy. He didn’t much care if his allies liked him or if they went to bed warm, content, and fed each night, but Viktor… 

Well, Silco cared very much about Viktor. It was not enough to simply keep him safe — Silco could accomplish that well enough by locking him in a small box and hauling him around. No, Viktor needed to be healthy. He needed to be comfortable. And — this one was the most time-consuming to accomplish — he needed to be happy . 

At the moment, he wasn’t. And it was entirely Jayce Talis’s doing. In previous times, the solution to the problem of Jayce Talis would have been as simple as a well-placed bullet or knife, but now that Viktor’s happiness — and happiness was such a flighty thing and did not appreciate it when Silco tried to clip its wings — was a concern, everything was far more complicated. 

Because, to Silco’s endless disgust, Viktor was unhappy because Jayce was unhappy. Apparently, the soft Piltie missed his small assassin: the Piltie called Caitlyn Kirraman. Silco couldn’t fathom why. She was neither competent nor pleasant to be around, but logic was not something Jayce favored. That was clear enough. 

And all his cloying unhappiness was rubbing off on Viktor. It was like a flu, misting out from every one of Jayce’s pores and infecting Viktor, until he kept casting worried glances across the basement workshop at Jayce and working on his new Hextech designs late into the night to make up for all the time he lost during the day, when Jayce and his cursed emotions stole his focus. 

If Silco heard Jayce give another little sigh while he bent over his work, causing Viktor to gain a deep furrow between his brows, he might kill him. 

Except he couldn’t kill him because that would make Viktor even more unhappy and ruin whatever fragile relationship Silco had managed to build with him over the past months. 

That left one other option. 

It was laughably easy to sneak out of Arcane House. At the beginning, Viktor and Jayce had both been watchful, not believing he meant to stay there willingly, but of late, they had relaxed. And with Vander asleep in the Last Drop, with all his children with him for once, there was no one to stop Silco from crawling up the coal chute in the basement and losing himself in the twisting depths of the Lanes, taking the familiar path to the nearest entrance to the subterranean tunnels that cut underneath the Pilt. From there, getting to House Kirraman should be a simple matter. 

And getting into Caitlyn Kirraman’s rooms and bringing her back to Zaun to undo Jayce’s cursed loneliness and subsequently free Viktor’s mind from the weight of the fool Piltie’s upset should be even simpler. 

# # # 

Caitlyn’s room was pitch black when she woke up. Usually, the moonlight made it through her tall windows and painted silvery panels of light on the floor, but as it was a new moon, the stars were her only friends. They provided little in the way of illumination; mostly they just made her realize how dark it truly was by offering comparison in the form of useless pinpricks of light. 

She huddled in the middle of her bed, drawing up her knees. Something had woken her. It wasn’t a nightmare, and it wasn’t the need to use the washroom. It was a noise — a noise that didn’t belong. She half-remembered it piercing the blissful unawareness of sleep and dragging her into consciousness. Her heart was still skipping against her ribs, and adrenaline sluggishly came alive in her blood. 

But her room was quiet. It was entirely normal. The shadows were all the right shape; nothing moved in them. Her clothes for the next day were hung neatly from her wardrobe door. Her bedroom door was still shut. All her books about Noxus were still stacked on her nighttable, and all her research on Ambessa Medarda was still tacked to the wall above her vanity. 

Everything was just as it should be. 

Caitlyn let out a shaky exhale. Perhaps it was only a nightmare that had woken her — an imagined sound, conjured from the depths of her overwrought mind. 

Then someone lurched up from beneath her bed, clapped a hand over her mouth, wrapped an arm around her waist, and dragged her off her mattress.