Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ekko was already halfway through the crumbling building when he saw it — a jagged spiral etched into the rusted doorframe, faded blue paint clinging to corroded metal like a wound that refused to heal.

His breath caught.

That mark.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

He stopped without meaning to, boots grinding against the broken tile. For just a second, the world narrowed — sound gone, breath tight, chest flickering with something that couldn’t decide if it was dread or fury or disbelief.

She was inside.

He didn’t know how he knew. He just did.

The thought rooted deep in his spine, cold and certain.

He should have turned around.

He didn’t.

Instead, he pushed the warped door open with the heel of his palm, the hinges groaning like they resented him for it.

The attic looked like it was collapsing in slow motion.

Beams bowed under years of weight and weather. The ceiling sagged like it had given up. Dust hung thick in the air, catching the late afternoon light that filtered through the open skylight. A broken mattress slouched in one corner, half-covered by shadows.

And near the far wall — crouched low, elbow on one knee, flicking a lighter open and shut with a rhythmic snick-click-snap — was Jinx.

She didn’t even look up.

“You took your time,” she said, voice lazy and flat — like they were picking up a conversation from yesterday, instead of years and blood and silence ago.

Ekko didn’t move.

His fingers itched toward the staff slung across his back. He didn’t touch it. Not yet.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” he said, jaw tight.

“Sure you weren’t.” The lighter snapped again. Open. Flame. Shut. Gone. She didn’t rise, didn’t flinch. “Just happened to stroll into my skeleton closet.”

He hated that she could still read him.

Even now.

Especially now.

He stayed near the door, the wood warped under his boots, his weight shifted like he might bolt at any second. She didn’t rise either — didn’t make a move for a weapon, didn’t reach for the gun he knew she had strapped under that ridiculous patchwork coat.

That scared him more than if she had.

The silence between them stretched — thick and brittle, like glass smeared with ash. Not fragile. Just waiting to crack.

His heart was a drumbeat in his throat. Her eyes stayed low, watching the lighter dance between her fingers.

Not attacking.

Not taunting.

Not asking why he came.

That unsettled him too.

“You don’t own this place,” he said finally, just to say something.

“No,” she replied. “But you still walked into it.”

Another flick of the lighter. Another flash of flame.

It wasn’t a trap.

He realized that now. If it had been, she wouldn’t be sitting in plain view. Wouldn’t have given him the chance to hesitate. Wouldn’t have stayed so still.

She was just here.

And so was he.

After a moment, Ekko shifted his weight back toward the door.

He didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t offer a warning or threat. He didn’t ask why she was there or if she’d followed him.

He just walked out.

And Jinx let him.

She was already there when he opened the door this time.

Perched on the old crate like it belonged to her — knees drawn up, arms looped around them, chin resting loosely on her wrist. The lighter was gone, but her fingers twitched now and then, like she missed it.

Ekko paused in the doorway.

It wasn’t a trap. That much he could tell. The floor was undisturbed. No wires, no shadows in the corners, no tension in her shoulders like she was waiting to pounce.

Still — he didn’t relax.

“I thought maybe you wouldn’t come back,” Jinx said, voice flat. Not quite disappointed. Not quite mocking either. “Guess I was wrong.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stepped inside, letting the door creak shut behind him.

“Didn’t know I was supposed to,” he said eventually.

“You weren’t.” She didn’t look at him when she said it.

Dust drifted lazily in the light coming through the roof — soft, muted shafts through the grime-streaked skylight. He could feel it settling on his shoulders again, like it had never really left him.

He stayed standing for a while, watching her.

She didn’t move.

“I didn’t set a trap,” she added after a moment. Her voice was quieter now. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Liar.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, not quite a smile. But not far from one either.

Ekko didn’t bite. He didn’t deny it again. Just walked past the mattress, past the crates, to the far side of the room. He sat on the floor with his back to one of the beams — not close, not confrontational, just… present.

A peace offering, measured in distance.

She watched him, but didn’t comment.

Neither spoke after that.

Not for minutes. Maybe longer.

Jinx resumed fidgeting — this time with a rusted bolt she must’ve pulled from her pocket. The metallic tap-tap of it against the crate was the only sound for a while.

Ekko let his eyes drift toward the ceiling. The rot looked worse from below. One of the beams had a crack so deep he could see sky through it.

He should’ve left sooner. That was the plan.

But he didn’t.

He sat there longer than he meant to — not out of comfort, but out of something else. Something quieter. Something he wasn’t ready to name.

Eventually, he stood without a word.

Crossed the room. Opened the door.

He didn’t look back.

But as it closed behind him, he thought — just for a second — that he heard her sigh.

Soft.

Almost reluctant.

Almost… human.

She wasn’t there when he arrived.

But something was.

A box of rusted tools — half-cleaned, half-burnt — sat arranged in a crooked line on top of the crate. Nothing especially useful. Most were beyond repair. But someone had clearly gone through them with purpose, as if trying to sort out what could still be saved.

Ekko stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at the tools. His eyes traced the pattern — the deliberate spacing, the careful grouping by size. Not random.

Not a trap.

Just… deliberate.

He walked over slowly and sat beside the crate, the floor groaning faintly beneath his weight. He didn’t touch anything. Didn’t move a single wrench.

Just sat.

The silence wrapped around him — thick, familiar, uncomfortable in the way old grief always was.

She didn’t show.

Eventually, he left.

He wasn’t sure why he came back a week later.
But he did.

And this time, something had changed.

One of the wrenches was gone — the one with the cracked grip and singed teeth. In its place sat a small wind-up toy.

A little brass thing, the kind sold in the back alleys of the sump — a mouse, maybe, or a beetle, hard to tell with its legs bent and one wheel canted sideways. It was broken. Looked like it hadn’t worked in years.

He picked it up anyway.

Turned it over in his hands, inspecting the gears. A few teeth were worn down, one spring misaligned. Not hopeless.

He didn’t leave a note.

Just fixed it.

Wound it once to make sure it still worked. Watched it spin in a lopsided circle on the crate. Then set it back down, right where he found it.

And walked out.

He found her sitting on the floor this time.

Back against the wall, legs stretched long in front of her, one boot tapping idly against a rusted pipe. The overhead light through the skylight slanted across the space in dusty ribbons, casting soft shadows on the cracked beams above her. She was humming — low and tuneless, like something half-remembered, or maybe made up on the spot.

There was a gash on her arm.

Nothing fresh.

Crusted over at the edges, angry and jagged, but already healing.

Her eyes were half-lidded, and for a second — just a second — she looked almost peaceful.

“You look like shit,” Ekko said, half on instinct, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Jinx’s mouth curled, faint and sharp. “You always open with compliments?”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped fully inside and let the door creak shut behind him.

This time, he didn’t hesitate before sitting.

Not beside her.

Not across from her.

Just… closer than before.

A few feet away. Still space between them. Still tension in the air. But the kind of tension that had weight now — not heat.

He leaned back against one of the support beams, his hands resting loosely on his knees. The silence that followed wasn’t brittle, not like it had been the first time. Just thick. Quiet.

She didn’t ask about the toy.

He didn’t ask about the blood.

Whatever had happened to her arm, it wasn’t his business. And whatever he’d done in the days since, she clearly didn’t care.

But they stayed like that for a while.

Jinx kept humming — quieter now. Every so often, her fingers flexed like she was playing with something invisible in the air. Maybe a detonator. Maybe a memory.

Ekko didn’t try to fill the silence.

Eventually, she stood — sudden but not sharp. Her movements always had that restless edge, like her limbs didn’t know what to do when her mind slowed down.

She walked toward the door without looking back.

But before she stepped through it, she paused — hand resting on the frame, shoulders tilted just slightly in his direction.

“…You still carry it?” she asked, not looking at him.

Ekko blinked. “Carry what?”

She tapped her temple once with two fingers — light and quick — then shrugged. “Never mind.”

Then she was gone, disappearing down the stairwell in that weightless way she always moved — like she was never really touching the ground in the first place.

Ekko stayed seated a little while longer, frowning faintly toward the door.

He didn’t get it.

But the question stuck anyway.

Maybe it was the silence.

Or maybe it was the weight of everything they hadn’t said — all the near-fights and half-truths, the way they circled each other like sparks around dry kindling.

Whatever it was, they sat differently this time.

Not across the room. Not angled apart like opposing ends of a coin.

They sat alongside each other — their backs resting against the same bowed beam, the mattress stretched out in front of them like neutral ground neither had dared claim. It remained untouched. Neither of them looked at it.

Jinx was rolling the bolt between her fingers again — the metal clicking softly against her nails in a rhythm that was just shy of soothing. Her leg bounced once, then stilled. Then bounced again.

Ekko sat with his knees bent, arms resting on them, eyes fixed on the shifting pattern of light that filtered in through the skylight. Dust motes drifted lazily in the sunbeam like they were underwater.

He didn’t speak for a long time.

Then, finally, voice low: “I don’t know why I keep coming back here.”

Jinx didn’t turn her head.

“Yeah, you do,” she said.

Quiet. Certain.

He didn’t argue.

And she didn’t ask him to stay.

But he did.

It was already dark when they arrived.

Nearly the same moment.

From opposite stairwells.

Ekko paused with one hand on the railing, boot halfway up the final step. Jinx stood just inside the attic door, outlined in a wash of dim moonlight leaking through the skylight above.

She was wearing a coat.

Big and oversized — probably taken from a storage heap, heavy canvas slung over her usual bare shoulders like a second skin. There were singe marks at the hem. If he had to guess, it was stuffed with bombs or knives or something worse.

It didn’t make her look bigger. Just more distant.

They stared at each other in silence. Not hostile. Not surprised. Like they’d both been expecting this, but didn’t want to be the one to say it.

Then Jinx exhaled — one short breath — and moved across the room.

She sat on the crate with a thud, the coat pooling around her. Her hands vanished inside the sleeves. No weapons out. No tricks. Just stillness.

Ekko followed, settling on the floor near the support beam. Not too far. Not too close.

They didn’t speak.

The attic creaked faintly above them, wind whispering through the cracked skylight. Somewhere deep in the building, water dripped — steady and distant.

Jinx shifted once, drawing her knees up beneath the coat. Her face was hard to read in the dark, her usual sharp edges muffled by the fabric and the hour.

Eventually, she spoke.
Not loud. Not dramatic.

“Feels quieter lately.”

Ekko didn’t look at her. “You mean down there?”

She shrugged. “Everywhere.”

He didn’t reply right away.

Instead, he let the silence sit with them — heavy, but not as sharp as it used to be. Less like a threat. More like a shared weight.

Jinx didn’t press him. She just leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Her fingers twitched in her lap, like they wanted something to do—a reason to move. But she didn’t reach for anything. Didn’t speak again.

Ekko shifted his weight, elbows on his knees, gaze drifting toward the crate — the one where the toy had sat last time. It wasn’t there now. Just a smear of dust and a few scattered bolts.

They sat like that for a while, the room full of nothing.

But not empty.

Outside, Zaun hissed and churned as always. Inside, the quiet stretched but didn’t pull them apart.

Eventually, Jinx opened one eye and glanced at him sidelong.

“If you’re waiting for something to explode,” she muttered, “you’re in the wrong mood.”

Ekko huffed — not a laugh, exactly. But it eased something in his chest.

“I’m not waiting,” he said.

She didn’t answer. Just closed her eye again and let the silence settle back over them.

They didn’t talk again that night.

But neither of them left early.

The attic was darker than usual. The skylight was clouded with grime, and the last sliver of daylight was choking out beneath the smog. The stairs creaked under Ekko’s boots, every step loud in the silence.

He wasn’t expecting her.

But the second he pushed open the warped door, he saw the sliver of blue hair illuminated by the faint green flicker of a lighter in her hand. She was leaning against the far wall, legs pulled up, eyes half-lidded.

Jinx didn’t look surprised.

“…You’re late,” she said, flicking the lighter closed. The flame disappeared. Just like that, her face was half-shadow again.

“Didn’t know we had a schedule,” he muttered, stepping in.

“Maybe we do and you’re just bad at clocks.”

He gave a faint exhale — not quite a laugh, but not annoyance either. He didn’t rise to it. Not tonight.

She watched him settle on the floor across from her, back against the same beam she’d claimed. The silence stretched for a while — not quite comfortable, but not brittle either.

She cracked the lighter again. Flame, flick, gone. Again.

Ekko stared at the warped ceiling above them. “Why here?”

She glanced at him sideways. “Why anywhere?”

“I mean it,” he said. “There’s a million abandoned spots in Zaun. You picked this one.”

“So did you,” she said, and clicked the lighter again.

He didn’t answer.

She shut the lighter finally, rolling it between her fingers like it might still make noise if she pressed hard enough.

“Used to come here when I was younger,” she said after a beat. “Before Silco. Before everything. It was quiet. Ugly as hell. Nobody else liked it.”

“So you liked it because nobody else did.”

“Maybe.” Her voice was low, almost thoughtful. “Or maybe I just wanted something that didn’t already belong to someone else.”

Ekko didn’t know what to say to that.

He looked down at his hands instead, calloused and oil-streaked from a day spent fixing conduit lines. He hadn’t washed them before coming. He wasn’t sure why.

She spoke again, quieter this time. “You ever wonder if we’re just ghosts, haunting this place?”

He looked up.

She wasn’t looking at him — eyes fixed on some crooked seam in the rafters, like there was something up there only she could see.

“…Yeah,” he said finally. “I do.”

Neither of them spoke after that for a while.

The room held the quiet like a held breath — not fragile, but thick with weight. Not everything needed to be said aloud. Not yet.

She shifted slightly, resting her arms on her knees, head tilted back against the wall. Her expression was unreadable. The shimmer hadn’t touched her yet. She was still just Jinx — sharp edges and cracks and fire stitched into a shape no one could name.

Ekko leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He didn’t know what he was waiting for.

“Did you fix it?” she asked suddenly.

“…Fix what?”

“The toy.”

His eyes flicked to the crate where it still sat, wound up neatly again — placed carefully, like something that mattered.

“I did,” he said.

She didn’t say thank you. Of course she didn’t. But she stopped fidgeting with the lighter.

A long silence passed.

Then, so soft it was almost missed, she said, “I didn’t mean to kill them, you know.”

His stomach tightened. He didn’t look at her.

“I know,” he said.

Another long pause.

She stood after a moment — slowly, with that restless grace she always had, like her body was constantly on the edge of doing something destructive just to see what would happen.

She walked toward the window but didn’t leave right away. Just lingered there, staring out.

“You gonna come back again?” she asked.

Ekko looked at her, really looked — not at the madness or the mask or the history, but just her. Just for a moment.

“…Yeah,” he said.

She didn’t smile. But she didn’t say goodbye either.

She just stepped through the broken window frame and vanished into the dark.

And Ekko stayed, sitting in the quiet they’d left behind — not sure why he felt like something had shifted.

But he knew he’d come back.

Ekko didn’t think about whether she’d be there this time.

He just climbed the stairs and opened the door — like he always did now, like it had become routine in a place that was anything but.

She was already there.

Jinx sat perched on the crate again, legs drawn up, fiddling with something in her lap. A scrap of wire, maybe a dismantled detonator — it didn’t matter. Her fingers moved without looking at them, her eyes flicking toward him and away again.

“You’re late,” she said, but there was no edge to it this time.

“I’m consistent,” he replied, brushing dust off his sleeves. “You just show up early.”

She snorted, barely audible. “Maybe I just don’t have anywhere else to be.” She said it like a fact, not a complaint.

He paused mid-step.

It wasn’t a joke. Or if it was, it didn’t land like one.

He crossed the room without replying and sank down onto the edge of the mattress — not thinking about it until he was already sitting there. He didn’t look at her. She didn’t move away.

The air between them hung still.

She flicked the wire against the side of the crate — tap, tap, tap.

“Got into a fight earlier,” she said.

“With who?”

“Some idiot from Silco’s crew,” she said, flipping the wire around her knuckles. “Tried to tell me how to do my job. So, I broke his nose.”

Ekko glanced at her. “That supposed to impress me?”

“No,” she said, and then, after a pause: “Just saying. Some things never change.”

He leaned back slightly, elbows resting behind him on the mattress. “You always had a mean right hook.”

Her lips twitched, just a little.

Silence again.

Her hands stilled on the wire. “You remember when we used to steal candy from that vendor by the old lift track?”

Ekko blinked.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “You always got caught.”

She looked up at him with a half-smile, and for a second — just one second — it was Powder looking back at him.

Then she was gone.

“You let me,” Jinx said.

“I did.”

They didn’t laugh. It wasn’t funny. But the memory warmed the space between them in a way nothing else had yet.

“You still think about them?” she asked, eyes lowered.

He didn’t need to ask who she meant.

“Every day.”

She nodded, slow. Her fingers curled tightly around the wire again. “Me too.”

The wire slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.

Neither of them reached for it.

Instead, she slid off the crate and sat down next to the mattress — closer than before. Not quite touching, but near enough that he could hear the shift in her breath.

They sat like that for a long time.

Close. Quiet. Neither looking at the other.

Then — without turning her head — she spoke again.

“I don’t know what this is.”

“I don’t either.”

“And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Another pause.

She leaned back slightly until her shoulder brushed his arm. He felt the ghost of a touch. Then it was gone.

He didn’t move.

Neither said anything.

That small contact held more weight than a hundred arguments.

Eventually, she stood and walked to the door without another word.

He stayed where he was, staring at the space she’d left behind.

No plans. No promises.

But she’d sat next to him.

And he’d let her.

And that line — the one they’d drawn between them — had finally blurred, just a little.

The attic was empty when Ekko arrived.

No signs of her yet — no scattered parts, no tossed bolts, no smoke curling from a lighter. Just the stillness, thick and dusty, settled across the floor like it had never been disturbed.

He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

He dropped down onto the edge of the mattress, fingers drumming absently against the threadbare fabric. He’d never really paid it much attention before — just a decaying fixture of the space, as forgotten and broken as the rest of it.

Now, though, he noticed how the edges were worn in the shape of a body — faint, but there. Not from him. From her.

A gust of wind whined through the gaps in the rotting rafters. He tilted his head back, let it hit his face. His shoulders ached. His knuckles were scraped from a skirmish earlier that day. He hadn't even bandaged them yet.

The door creaked open.

Jinx slipped in like she always did — no warning, no sound, like she was born from the shadow itself.

“Looks like you beat me,” she said casually, closing the door with her heel.

“You keeping track now?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged off her jacket, dust scattering from the motion.

She didn’t sit right away. Just paced the perimeter slowly, boots crunching over stray debris. Eventually, she settled on her usual spot on the crate, but leaned forward this time, elbows on her knees.

They sat in silence again — familiar, taut, strange in its comfort.

Then, after a long pause, she said, “This place is colder than it used to be.”

He glanced over.

She didn’t look at him — just picked at a loose thread on the edge of her glove.

“Maybe the wind’s gotten worse,” he said.

“Or maybe the mattress is worse.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you slept here.”

“I don’t,” she said too quickly.

She didn’t follow it with a joke. That’s how he knew she was lying.

She kept her eyes on the thread, twisting it until it snapped.

“I don’t,” she repeated, quieter.

He didn’t call her out.

Just nodded once, slowly. “Still better than the floor.”

She gave a faint, crooked smile. “Debatable.”

They didn’t stay long that time. No fights. No barbs. Just that low thrum of tension beneath the stillness — the kind that stayed under your skin.

She left first again, slipping out without a word.

He stayed a little while longer.

When he finally stood to go, he glanced back at the mattress — just for a moment — then down at the threadbare crate beside it.

That night, before heading back to his patrol routes, he stopped by a salvage stall. Found an old, half-torn blanket. A dented pillow with stuffing poking out the side.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t nice.

But it was something soft.

He brought them the next time — didn’t leave a note, didn’t make a show of it.

He just folded the blanket over the mattress, placed the pillow at the top, and left the room.

She wasn’t there when he did.

But he knew she’d notice.

And he wondered if, next time, she’d be lying there when he arrived.

She was already there when he arrived again.

Same position — lounging half-sideways on the mattress, one leg bent, the other stretched long. But this time, her head rested lightly on the pillow he’d brought. The blanket was half-draped over her lower half, casual and careless, like it had always been there.

She didn’t acknowledge it.

Didn’t mention it at all.

But she wasn’t fidgeting. Wasn’t pacing or twitching or half-smiling through the cracks in her teeth like usual.

She looked… settled.

Not safe. Not soft. But something adjacent to comfortable.

Ekko stepped inside, letting the door creak behind him.

“Wow,” she said without moving. “You come here so often I’m starting to think you live here.”

“You’re in my spot,” he said dryly.

She snorted and shifted slightly, making a show of taking up more space on the mattress.

“You brought a whole pillow and everything. I figured it was fair game.”

He didn’t rise to it. Just walked to his usual seat near the beam and dropped down. No comment. No smirk. But a flicker of warmth rose in his chest anyway.

She liked it.

She just wasn’t going to say so.

The silence wrapped around them again — not heavy, not hostile. Just… there.

She pulled one corner of the blanket over her foot and pretended she wasn’t doing it.

Ekko leaned his head back against the wall and let his eyes drift shut for a moment. The air was a little less damp tonight. The draft from the northern wall wasn’t biting as much. Just a faint chill, tolerable now.

He almost forgot how cold it used to be in here.

They didn’t talk much that night. A few stray comments. A dry remark from her about some idiot who tried to hit on her in Silco’s ranks — "He limps now," she added, proud.

He didn’t ask questions. Just let her talk when she wanted to, and let the rest settle between them like dust.

When she left — early again — she didn’t look at him. But her hand lingered on the edge of the blanket before she stood.

He didn’t mention it.

When the door closed behind her, Ekko stayed a little longer. Just long enough to sweep a few curls of dust into a quiet pile with the old broom he’d stashed under the floorboards. He nudged a loose beam back into place. Picked up a few scraps of splintered wood and stacked them neatly by the crate.

Nothing obvious. Nothing that said he cared.

But when she came back next time, she’d notice.

He knew that now.

By the time Ekko reached the attic, the sun had already dipped low behind the smog line, casting a thin red haze through the broken window. The room felt different.

He knew why.

The dust he’d swept last time had mostly stayed put — just a faint outline of the pile now, like someone had stepped around it. The clutter he’d shifted — fallen beams, shattered glass, cracked debris — remained right where he’d stacked it, like the room had paused in his absence.

The difference wasn’t dramatic. Nothing anyone else would notice.

But Jinx wasn’t anyone else.

She was already sitting on the mattress, slouched with one arm tucked behind her head and the other lazily tossing that same bolt she always had in the air and catching it. Over and over. Click, catch. Click, catch.

Her eyes followed the arc of the bolt. But he could tell she’d already noticed everything.

Her gaze flicked toward the swept corner once. Then back to the bolt.

Then toward the crate — the wood stacked beside it now no longer splintered across the floor.

Then back again.

She didn’t say a word.

But the angle of her head shifted just slightly. The set of her shoulders tightened. Not suspicious, exactly — but that strange, twitching awareness she got when something didn’t line up the way she remembered.

Ekko didn’t acknowledge it either. Just sat in his usual spot near the beam and stretched out his legs with a soft grunt.

“You keep showing up like this, people are gonna think we’re friends,” she said dryly.

“We’re not,” he said.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

She threw the bolt a little higher, caught it one-handed, smirked like she’d won something.

Silence passed again. Easy, if not comfortable.

Then she shifted slightly and — without ceremony — pulled the blanket up across her lap. She didn’t even glance at him as she did it.

It was a simple motion, almost careless.

But he saw the way her fingers brushed along the edge first, like checking it was still there.

She started tossing the bolt again. Kept lounging like none of it mattered.

But when she got up to leave later, he noticed she left the blanket folded more neatly than usual.

And still, she didn’t say a word.

Neither did he.

But after she was gone, he found himself staring up at the ragged hole in the roof again — the one near the corner, where the wind cut sharpest in the early hours.

And this time, he started thinking about what he’d need to patch it.

Ekko climbed the steps two at a time.

The old broom clattered under one arm, a bundle of scrap wood and salvaged tarp tucked under the other. Nails in his pocket, a rusted hammer at his belt. He hadn’t even changed out of his work clothes yet — grease on his knuckles, oil on his jacket sleeve.

He kept telling himself it didn’t matter.

He just didn’t want the attic soaked. That was all. The last time it rained, the water had dripped too close to where they sat, darkening the floorboards near the beam. He wasn’t sure why he noticed. He wasn’t sure why it stuck in his head.

Someone on the street had muttered something about a storm rolling in.

That’s all this was. Nothing more.

Not because she might be there later.

Not because she might lie on that mattress again.

Just the roof. Just the rain.

He opened the door and set the supplies down without ceremony. The breeze through the broken window already smelled of metal and wet stone. Rain hadn’t started yet, but it was coming.

He got to work without thinking too hard.

Loose board, patched tarp. Hammer, nail. Folded edges to redirect the runoff. He braced the rotting beam with a piece of scaffolding scrap, wedging it under the sagging corner. It wasn’t elegant, but it’d hold.

Sweat beaded at his temple. Dust clung to his sleeves. The ache in his shoulder had started to flare again, but he didn’t stop.

He was just finishing the last corner when the door creaked open behind him.

Jinx.

She froze in the doorway, eyes flicking instantly to the tarp above, the tools scattered beside him, the hammer still in his hand.

“…What are you doing?”

He glanced over his shoulder but didn’t stand. “Fixing it.”

She stepped inside slowly, brow furrowed. “Fixing what, exactly?”

He nodded toward the patched corner of the ceiling. “There was a hole.”

“I know there was a hole.”

“It’s going to rain.”

She tilted her head. “So?”

“So…” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Now it won’t leak over there.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re making repairs now?”

He didn’t answer.

She stared at him a little longer, then took another step forward. Her voice dropped, not accusing — just sharper now, quieter, laced with something harder to name.

“Why are you doing this, Ekko?”

He paused. Still kneeling, still holding the hammer. He didn’t look at her at first.

She waited.

When he finally stood, he looked tired. Not just physically — something else. Something deeper.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Maybe because I’m here so damn often it started bothering me.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“Or maybe,” he added, softer now, “I just got sick of watching the rain come in.”

She looked at him then — really looked. Not playful, not suspicious, not biting.

And for once, she didn’t have a comeback.

Just a beat of silence.

Then, quietly: “You’re not fixing it for the weather.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

“You didn’t have to.”

His jaw clenched.

She walked toward the mattress but didn’t sit. Just hovered there, eyes flicking upward to the tarp, then down again. Her fingers brushed the edge of the crate — that twitchy motion she did when her thoughts spun faster than her mouth.

“You’re making it harder to pretend it doesn’t matter, too,” she said flatly.

He met her eyes. “Is that a problem?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Another beat of silence.

The wind shifted. A few drops of rain hit the broken glass above the window.

She sat down, finally. Pulled the blanket across her lap, like muscle memory.

He dropped the hammer onto the crate and sank beside her — not close, not far. Just beside her.

They didn’t talk again that night.

But the sound of rain stayed outside the attic.

And for the first time, neither of them felt like they were only passing through.

The attic was already dim when he arrived, sky dark with the last stretch of dusk. The air was thick with humidity left behind from the rain. The patch in the roof still held.

Ekko pushed open the door more slowly than usual.

His limp wasn’t bad — not enough to draw attention on the street, not enough to stop him from climbing stairs — but it was there. His movements were stiff, deliberate. He winced when he shifted too sharply, and his left knee didn’t bend quite right.

He’d pulled something during a scuffle near the shimmer lanes. Not even a real fight — just a wrong step on uneven metal, a bad landing off a pipe. No glory in it, just pain.

Jinx was already on the mattress when he came in. She looked up lazily, then blinked.

Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re walking funny.”

Ekko dropped his bag near the crate and sat down with a groan. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

“What happened?” she asked, chin propped in her palm.

“Slipped,” he muttered. “Landed wrong. Nothing exciting.”

She didn’t comment immediately. Just watched him shift stiffly into a sitting position. He leaned back against the wall with a small hiss, eyes shutting for a moment as he adjusted.

“Didn’t think you got clumsy,” she said eventually.

“Didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t,” she replied — too quickly.

He cracked an eye open at her, but said nothing. She was already looking away again, fiddling with a stray bolt, spinning it on the crate’s surface.

They sat in silence for a while after that. Jinx tossing the bolt. Ekko trying to keep his breathing steady through the dull ache in his joints.

Eventually, his head tipped back against the wall again. Eyes closed. Still.

And this time, he didn’t sit up again.

Not for a while.

His breathing leveled out. Shoulders loosened. One arm slumped across his chest, the other trailing at his side. It wasn’t intentional, not planned — but the ache, the warmth, the stillness of the attic… it pulled him under.

He fell asleep.

Jinx noticed within minutes.

She didn’t move at first. Just stared at him from the corner of her eye — waiting for him to shift, for him to say something sarcastic, for him to twitch back awake and pretend it hadn’t happened.

But he didn’t.

He was really out.

She watched him for a little too long. Long enough to notice the way his brow stayed slightly furrowed even in sleep. The way he curled inward slightly, guarded even unconscious.

She didn’t smile.

Didn’t soften.

But after a long pause, she rose quietly from her spot.

Walked to the edge of the mattress.

Stood over him for a beat — expression unreadable.

Then, without a word, she picked up the edge of the blanket and flicked it lightly across him. Not tucked in. Not gentle. Just there — enough to cover his torso, half his legs, nothing more.

She stepped back immediately.

Sat on the crate again and resumed spinning the bolt.

Didn’t look at him again.

But she stayed longer than usual that night.

Didn’t leave until the wind picked up again.

And when she finally slipped out, she didn’t touch the blanket.

She left it exactly where it was.

Ekko woke to the sound of water sliding down the old walls. Not from the roof — the patch was holding — but somewhere deeper in the building’s bones, where old pipes wept rust into the silence.

The blanket was still on him.

He stared at the ceiling for a while before moving, unsure what felt heavier — his limbs or the weight of knowing she’d stayed long enough to leave it there.

He folded it, not neatly, but with care. Not because it mattered. But because, apparently, it did.

The next evening, she was there first again. Same crate, same flicking lighter. The spark caught and vanished, caught and vanished, painting her face in brief flickers of orange.

She didn’t greet him. Just watched him limp slightly as he walked in.

“You always arrive with a limp now?” she asked, dryly.

“Just keeping you guessing.”

“That’s what you’re calling it?”

He sank into his usual spot against the wall with a faint grunt. His leg still ached, but not enough to keep him away. He stretched it out in front of him and leaned back, fingers laced behind his head.

Jinx’s eyes flicked toward the blanket — folded again on the mattress — but she didn’t comment.

“By the way,” she said after a few minutes. “You snore.”

He cracked one eye open at her. “No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“You probably just imagined it.”

“No,” she said, casually flipping the lighter shut, “I thought the ceiling was collapsing. Then I realized it was just you sounding like a dying engine.”

He huffed. “I’ve heard you talk in your sleep. I didn’t complain back then.”

Her hand froze. “I do not.”

“You twitch, too. Like a squirrel having a bad dream.”

“I will throw this lighter at you.”

“You won’t.”

She tossed it at him anyway — not hard, just enough to bounce off his shoulder.

He caught it before it hit the floor, thumb spinning the lid open and shut a couple times, mimicking her rhythm. Click. Snap. Click.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t ask for it back.

A long, quiet stretch followed. Neither of them moved much. The sounds of Zaun bled through the window — voices, clatter, a pipe groaning somewhere down the block.

She eventually leaned back on the crate and stretched one leg out toward the mattress.

“You gonna pass out again?”

“Thinking about it.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just watched him shift and settle, his body clearly still sore. She reached for the bolt she always fidgeted with, but her fingers stilled.

Then, quietly — almost like she wasn’t even thinking about it — she nudged her foot against his leg.

Not a kick. Not a jab.

Just a small, casual contact.

A check.

He looked down at the touch, then up at her. She didn’t look at him. Just let her foot rest there a second longer before pulling it back slightly — not away, just… back to neutral.

“So, you’re still stiff,” she said.

“I’ll live.”

She shrugged. “Guess that’s fine. Wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t grumbling about something.”

He let a breath slip from his nose — not quite a laugh, but something close.

She reached toward him then — just slightly — and plucked her lighter from where it rested by his leg. Their fingers brushed for a half second.

Neither of them moved fast. Neither flinched.

She pocketed the lighter and didn’t say anything else.

And neither did he.

But the space between them stayed smaller after that.

And this time, when she left, it was late — later than usual.

And Ekko, after she was gone, didn’t sweep anything.

He just sat in the stillness for a while, wondering why that faint pressure of her foot against his leg hadn’t left his skin yet.

The attic was quiet when she arrived.

The crate sat where it always did, the blanket folded on the mattress, dust settling in familiar corners. Nothing had moved. Nothing had changed. And yet—everything had.

Jinx stood in the doorway longer than usual, hand resting on the warped frame. Her eyes flicked to the patch in the roof, the stacked wood in the corner, the broom resting half-hidden behind the beam.

Everything looked the same.

She didn’t feel the same.

She wasn’t sure she’d show up. Even now, she didn’t know why she had.

Her fingers toyed with her lighter, but she didn’t flick it open. Not yet.

She stepped inside, boots echoing faintly on the floorboards. Sat on the crate without ceremony, elbows on her knees, head low.

The silence was louder than usual.

Then—footsteps on the stairs.

Her head lifted, a flicker of something crossing her face. She masked it before it could settle.

Ekko stepped through the door slowly. He was scraped up — not badly, but noticeably. A bruise along his jaw. Bandage near his shoulder, visible where his sleeve was torn.

He paused when he saw her. Just a second.

She didn’t move.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d still show,” she said, voice steady but softer than usual.

Ekko’s eyes flicked to hers, then away again.

“…Me neither,” he said.

He crossed the room and sat — not close, but not far either. The usual distance. A distance that meant something now.

She stared at him for a long beat. “You look like shit.”

“You should see the other guys.”

“Maybe I did.” She wasn’t smiling.

He glanced sideways at her. “You didn’t shoot anyone, did you?”

“Not today.”

He gave a faint exhale — not quite a laugh, not quite relief.

They didn’t talk about what happened. Not the ambush, not the tension boiling over in the alleys, not the moment one of his crew had nearly caught a bullet before another Firelight pulled them out of the way.

They didn’t talk about the fact that if things had gone just a little worse, this attic might have stayed empty tonight.

But Jinx’s eyes lingered a little too long on the bandage.

And Ekko didn’t bother hiding how tired he was.

Neither said what they were thinking.

But they were both still there.

Still choosing to be.

And maybe that was the loudest thing either of them had said all night.

The wind had picked up earlier in the day, but now it howled.

It slammed against the attic walls in bursts, rattling the beams and moaning through every crooked seam. The patched roof held, but the old window frame groaned so hard it sounded ready to crack.

Ekko arrived first this time. He wasn’t sure why he’d come early again — maybe because of the way Jinx had looked at his bandage last time. Maybe because a part of him still didn’t trust this space not to disappear if he left it alone too long.

He was already seated when she came in, pulling the door shut behind her with extra effort against the wind.

“Zaun’s trying to kill us,” she said flatly, brushing a few raindrops from her shoulders.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

She dropped onto the mattress this time, not the crate — unusual, but not commented on. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe she just didn’t feel like being separate tonight.

The air was colder than usual. The wind leaked through somewhere unseen, coiling through the attic like fingers.

They didn’t talk much.

She was fidgetier than normal — tapping a bolt against her knee, tugging at her sleeve. He could tell she felt it too: the strange, thick quiet, like something was pressing inward from outside.

Another gust hit the building — harder this time. The entire structure groaned, and a sudden crack of thunder rolled through the rafters like it was right on top of them.

Jinx flinched.

Just slightly. A twitch of shoulders, a half-startled breath — almost nothing.

Ekko looked over at her. She noticed.

“Don’t,” she said quickly, defensive before he’d said a word.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“Good.”

Another boom — louder.

She didn’t flinch this time. But she shifted closer to him. Not looking at him. Not saying anything. Just moved.

And when another gust hit and the old crate tipped sideways, toppling her bolt and scattering dust, she reacted on instinct — reaching out to steady herself.

Her hand caught his arm.

And instead of pulling back, she just… stayed.

Her fingers curled there. Barely. Like an afterthought. Like she hadn’t realized she was still holding on.

His breath caught, but he didn’t move.

They sat like that for a while. The wind roared. The attic creaked.

Then, carefully, slowly, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

Not soft. Not romantic. Just tired.

Just human.

Ekko didn’t look at her.

Didn’t move away.

He let her stay there.

Let her pretend it wasn’t happening, if that’s what she needed.

And maybe that’s what he needed too.

They didn’t speak again for the rest of the night.

But for once, neither of them felt alone in the attic.

It wasn’t a conversation.

No one said, "I’m going to sit next to you now,” and no one asked, “Is this okay?”

It just… happened.

One meeting turned into two, then three, and somewhere along the way, Jinx stopped sitting on the crate.

She ended up beside him on the mattress more often than not now — not close enough to touch, but close enough that their elbows brushed sometimes, that her knee knocked his when she shifted her weight, that he could feel the slight sway of her movement even when she wasn’t speaking.

Neither of them commented on it.

Not when she dropped down beside him like it was nothing. Not when he leaned his shoulder into hers slightly after a long day, and she didn’t flinch — just let it happen. Not when her boot bumped against his leg and stayed there.

Some nights, she even brought the blanket over her lap without remark.

Other nights, she was the one who leaned back first, shoulder brushing his — quiet, steady, like it was becoming a habit.

And Ekko — Ekko didn’t question it anymore. He didn’t measure the inches between them, didn’t stiffen when she settled closer, didn’t brace for the moment she’d mock him for it.

Because she never did.

She just stayed.

And so did he.

Chapter Text

It was late when they got there — later than usual, both of them coming from opposite ends of the city, dust and grime still clinging to their clothes. The night had crept up on them, the city’s noise and chaos slowly dying down into an uneasy calm.

Neither spoke much. There was nothing to say, not tonight. They were both too tired for words, too worn out by their separate battles in the streets of Zaun. The silence between them felt comfortable now, heavy with an understanding that didn’t need to be voiced.

They just dropped into place on the mattress — a familiar ritual now. Jinx tugged the blanket up absentmindedly, her fingers brushing against the fabric as if it were second nature. Ekko rolled his shoulder, the ache from his arm settling deep into his muscles. He winced for a moment, trying to stretch out the stiffness that had come from a long day of fighting, both literally and mentally. The air in the attic was cool and still, the city sounds muted through the patched roof and warped wood. The quiet settled around them like a blanket of its own.

Ekko closed his eyes first, just for a moment. His body craved rest, and the weight of the day seemed to sink into the mattress, pulling him deeper into the quiet.

Jinx shifted beside him. He felt the movement before he saw it, the small rustle of the blanket and the soft shift of her weight on the mattress. She settled onto her back, her breathing steadying, but he could feel the slight tension in her body, as if she was still holding something back. Their arms brushed together — barely, but enough to send a quiet spark through the air. Neither moved to pull away.

“Don’t fall asleep again,” she muttered, the words soft, but there was no bite to them. No teasing. No sharpness. Just a quiet observation.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mumbled, already halfway under the blanket, his voice thick with exhaustion.

She didn’t try to get up. Didn’t tease him like she usually would. Didn’t pull away. For a moment, it felt like the space between them was simply… not a space at all. Her presence, close enough that he could hear her breathing, was something familiar. Something that had settled into his chest like a quiet comfort.

Jinx exhaled slowly, her eyes drifting toward the ceiling, where the warped beams stretched overhead. Her gaze lingered there for a while, but she didn’t seem to be really looking at anything. The silence deepened, stretching between them, and then, almost without thinking, she tilted slightly toward him, her head resting against his shoulder. The motion was so slow, so deliberate, but unspoken. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he.

She didn’t remember closing her eyes. Didn’t remember meaning to. But she was already falling into the quiet pull of sleep, her body softening against his side. The moments had blurred, like something that was happening too quietly to notice. But she was there, and she let herself just be there.

When Ekko stirred hours later — groggy, stiff, blinking in the early blue light of dawn — he was surprised to find her still there, her head still resting against him, her body curled slightly into his. Her breathing was steady now, slower than before, but still peaceful. Her hand, curled loosely against his arm, was tucked under the blanket they’d somehow both ended up beneath. The warmth between them felt comfortable, a contrast to the coolness of the room.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just sat there, watching her in the stillness. The sun had started to climb behind the broken glass, casting a pale light over the room, but it didn’t feel like morning yet. The world outside still felt asleep, and in that moment, so did they.

He wondered, again, what this was becoming. What they were becoming. But he didn’t ask. He couldn’t. There was too much in the air, too much unsaid between them, and no words could make it simpler. Not yet.

She didn’t wake. Didn’t stir.

But, this time, he didn’t feel like he was just waiting for her to leave.

They hadn’t spoken about the night they fell asleep together.

Not the blanket. Not the way her head had rested on his chest. Not the way he’d stayed still when he woke before her — just lay there, breathing in time with her, until the light shifted and she blinked herself awake, muttered something half-intelligible, and sat up like nothing had happened.

They didn’t talk about it.

But something had shifted.

It didn’t show in words. It showed in how long their shoulders stayed pressed together now. In the way she leaned into him a little more when she laughed. In the way he didn’t lean away when her knee bumped his — and stayed.

It showed in the silences that weren’t quite silences anymore. In the way their glances lingered. In the charged stillness that hadn’t been there before.

And eventually, it showed in the fight.

It wasn’t a real fight. Not the old kind — no shouting, no explosions, no actual teeth bared. Just a sharp word. A misstep in the rhythm they’d managed to find. A crack.

“I’m telling you,” Ekko said, dragging a hand through his hair, “it’s not sustainable. You think Silco’s gonna let you keep skating the edge forever?”

Jinx didn’t look at him. Her jaw was tight, her fingers winding a piece of wire around themselves. “And I’m telling you to stop acting like you know what this is for me.”

“I’m not acting. I’m trying to get you to see the obvious.”

“Oh, so you get to decide what’s obvious now?” She snapped the wire in two with a twist and tossed it across the floor. “Just ’cause you’ve got a clubhouse and a handful of believers doesn’t mean you know how this works.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

“Jinx—”

She turned toward him sharply on the mattress. “You always do this. You act like if I’d just get in line, everything would be fixed.”

“I never said you needed fixing.”

She didn’t look away. “You never say it. But you act like it.”

That hit harder than she expected. He flinched — barely — but she caught it.

Something twisted in her chest. Frustration. Guilt. Heat. She didn’t have a name for any of it.

His jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”

She scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Life’s not fair.”

“You’re impossible sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Her voice rose. “Well, you’re—”

He shifted toward her, the tension rising like static. She shoved him — not hard. Just enough to tip the balance.

He moved with it, caught himself — and grabbed her wrist without thinking.

And suddenly she was off balance too.

It wasn’t intentional.

But momentum met friction, and Jinx tipped back — and Ekko went with her.

A thud. A sharp breath. Then stillness.

She was beneath him.

Flat on the mattress, breathing shallow. His weight braced on one elbow, the other hand still curled around her wrist. Her eyes were wide — not alarmed, not smirking. Just locked on his. Still. Raw.

Neither of them moved.

Their breath was the only sound in the room, loud in the quiet. Too loud.

He stared down at her — at the flicker of uncertainty in her expression, the way her chest rose beneath him. The way her mouth was slightly open, like she’d meant to speak and forgot what she was going to say.

He meant to pull away.

Meant to say something dry, make it a joke, turn it into nothing.

But she didn’t move.

And neither did he.

The moment stretched.

Then her voice, low — quieter than he’d ever heard it: “What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t have an answer.

So, he kissed her.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft.

It was heat and history and frustration breaking loose all at once — teeth and pressure and too much feeling jammed into a single, reckless motion. His hand slid to her jaw. Her fingers twisted in the front of his shirt like she couldn’t decide whether to pull him in or push him away.

She kissed him like she dared him to regret it.

He didn’t.

Her breath caught. His heart slammed. The mattress creaked under the shift of weight, under everything they weren’t saying.

When they finally broke apart, it was sudden — like snapping awake. Jinx stared up at him, chest rising fast, her hand still fisted in his shirt. His thumb still brushed her cheekbone.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t know how.

The attic felt heavier than it had a moment ago — tighter, quieter. The air between them buzzed, uncertain and dense.

She blinked. Her hand slowly loosened, fabric slipping from between her fingers. She wet her bottom lip without thinking, then looked away.

Ekko eased off of her. Not fast. Just enough. His hand fell away. He sat back like someone carefully withdrawing from a live wire.

Jinx sat up without looking at him. Her posture was tight. Coiled. Like she’d just remembered where she was.

He didn’t move. His fingers dug into the seam of the mattress — something to hold, to keep grounded.

His heart was still pounding.

She was the one who broke the silence.

“So that happened,” she muttered, voice too light.

“Yeah.” He didn’t meet her eyes.

She picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “That didn’t mean anything.”

His jaw worked. “Right.”

“Just heat. Fights do that.”

“Sure.”

She let out a dry breath. Almost a laugh. “You kiss everyone you argue with like that?”

His gaze finally lifted to hers. “Only the ones that get under my skin.”

That cracked something — just slightly.

Her expression flickered. Not a smile. Not a joke. Just a twitch of something unguarded.

She looked away again. “Shouldn’t have happened.”

“You shoved me.”

“You kissed me.”

He didn’t deny it.

She stood — not abruptly, but with that fidgety restlessness that always came when she didn’t know what to do with her hands. She paced across the room, then turned.

“I don’t do this,” she said, voice taut. “I don’t do this kind of thing.”

“Neither do I.”

“So, what was that?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t sure either.

She ran a hand through her hair and looked back at him — really looked.

“…Are you gonna pretend it didn’t happen?”

He shrugged. “Are you?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Then, softer: “I don’t know.”

He didn’t either.

Another pause.

Then she came back and sat beside him on the mattress.

Not nearby. But not far.

She didn’t say anything else.

Neither did he.

But the silence between them… wasn’t the same anymore.

The attic was quiet again.

Not heavy.

Just still.

Jinx sat on the mattress already, legs folded beneath her, hands busy dismantling something small and metal on the floor between them. A half-broken trigger mechanism, maybe — the kind she liked to fiddle with when she wasn’t looking directly at him.

Ekko eased down beside her. Just near enough to feel her in the edge of his vision, in the slight give of the mattress whenever she shifted.

The silence wasn’t awkward anymore.

But it wasn’t easy, either.

Expectant. Waiting.

She didn’t talk much that night. Neither did he. Not because there was nothing to say — but because too much had been left unsaid for too long.

Eventually, she set the metal piece aside and leaned back on her palms, eyes drifting up to the rafters overhead.

“Feels like the whole place is gonna collapse one day,” she murmured.

“Probably will.”

“You’ll still be here, patching the roof.”

“You’ll still be here, pretending it doesn’t matter.”

She snorted — soft, almost fond. “Yeah. Probably.”

He glanced at her — really looked this time. The shape of her profile in the low light. The curve of her mouth. The frown she wore even when she wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. She caught him staring.

“What?” she asked, not defensive — just curious.

“Nothing.”

She watched him back for a second longer, her expression unreadable. Then something flickered — a crack in the usual mask, a hesitation in her breath.

“What are we doing?” she asked. Quiet. Half under her breath. Not sharp, not biting.

Just tired. Honest.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he shifted — just slightly — closing the space between them until his shoulder brushed hers. Deliberate. Certain.

She looked down at the place they touched, then up at him.

He leaned in.

Slow.

No tension this time. No push and pull. Just that breathless second between knowing and doing.

Their mouths met — soft, certain. No fight in it. No distraction.

Just a kiss.

Real.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, anchoring herself there. His hand found her jaw again, thumb tracing the edge of her cheekbone — and this time, she leaned into it without hesitation.

They stayed like that longer.

Long enough for the weight of it to settle.

Long enough for both of them to feel how different it was.

Their mouths parted slowly.

Not like the first kiss, where everything had snapped sharp and fast and hot. This time, when they pulled away, it felt weightier. Like the stillness after a storm. Like breathing in something that didn’t burn for once.

He stayed close.

Ekko’s forehead nearly brushed hers, his hand still resting lightly along her jaw, thumb grazing her cheekbone in a motion that didn’t seem entirely conscious anymore.

Her eyes held his. Quiet. Unreadable. But something simmered beneath the surface — not fear, not hesitation. Recognition. Like she’d just realized something she didn’t know what to do with.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t joke.

Didn’t deflect.

She just stayed still.

Ekko spoke first. Quiet. Measured.

“…You’re not running.”

She blinked once. “Neither are you.”

That meant something. They both knew it.

She let her hand slide down from his jacket, resting between them on the mattress.

“…So, what now?” she asked, voice low, not mocking — just quiet. Wary.

He shrugged slightly, a dry little breath escaping him. “You tell me.”

Her mouth twitched. Not a smile. But close. “I thought you were the one with the plans.”

“Not for this,” he said. “Not for you.”

That landed harder than he meant it to.

Her eyes flicked away for a moment, and her voice softened — just barely. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“I know,” he said. “Me neither.”

They sat like that, barely apart, the silence between them gentler now — not hollow, not full of barbed tension like it used to be. Just… still.

Something about the air felt different. Like neither of them had to pretend anymore. Like for the first time, it wasn’t about strategy or survival or distance. It was just them.

She turned toward him a little more, knees shifting until they touched his thigh. Her fingers twitched — like she wasn’t sure if she meant to reach for him again or not.

Then, without a word, she did.

She leaned in first this time.

Their lips met again — slower. Warmer. Less guarded. Not hungry. Not frantic.

Wanting.

His hand slid behind her neck this time, thumb brushing behind her ear, and she leaned into it like she didn’t even notice she was doing it.

When they parted again, she rested her forehead lightly against his shoulder.

Not collapsed. Not clinging. Just resting.

“Don’t make this a thing,” she muttered.

He didn’t move. Didn’t argue.

“Bit late for that,” he said softly.

She huffed something like a laugh. Or a sigh.

“…Fine.”

A pause.

Then, softer — almost like it slipped out before she could stop it:

“I don’t want it to be just a thing.”

Ekko didn’t answer right away. Just turned his head, resting his cheek lightly against her temple.

“…Me neither.”

They didn’t talk much after that.

But she didn’t move away from him again that night.

And when they left — it was together.

Not separately. Not staggered. Not pretending.

Just together.

Not that she’d ever admit it — not even to herself. She’d told herself she was just passing through. Just wanted to get off the street. Just needed a quiet place to tune the misfiring mechanism she’d been playing with all day.

That was all.

But she lingered.

Fidgeted.

Tapped her heel against the crate, eyes flicking to the door every few minutes, pretending she wasn’t doing it.

She lit her lighter five times, then six, then stopped counting.

He didn’t come.

She stayed until the shadows stretched long across the floor. Until it got late enough that she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t noticed.

Then she left.

Didn’t slam the door.

Didn’t pace the streets looking for him.

Didn’t care.

Didn’t care.

The second night, she told herself she wasn’t going at all.

What was the point?

She could already hear the excuses in his voice if he did show. “Sorry, something came up,” or “Got held up.” Nothing real. Nothing solid. Nothing that made the way he’d kissed her feel like anything other than a temporary lapse in judgment.

It always ended this way. People always left. They always pulled away when things got too close. When she got too close.

Still, her boots carried her there anyway. Like her body didn’t believe the story her brain was telling.

She walked slower that time. Took the long way. Stopped twice to pick fights that didn’t matter just to burn off the static under her skin.

When she got there, the attic was dark. Still.

Empty.

The blanket was still folded. The mattress undisturbed. Dust catching the light in the same drifting, lazy spirals. Undisturbed.

He hadn’t come.

She stared at the spot where he always sat — where his shoulder used to brush hers — and something in her chest went hollow and hot at the same time.

There it is, she thought. Should’ve known.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t rage.

She just sat for a long time, flicking her lighter open and closed, the flame making her eyes ache in the dark.

Eventually, she left again.

This time, she did slam the door.

The third night, she didn’t plan to go at all.

Screw him.

Screw the kisses and the quiet touches and the way he looked at her like she was someone worth staying for.

She wasn’t going to wait around like some fragile little idiot just because he kissed her once and didn’t show up again.

She wasn’t.

She walked fast that night. Didn’t look at the sky. Didn’t check the shadows.

But somehow, her boots still found the steps to the old building.

She told herself it was just to see if the place was still standing. Maybe she’d set fire to the mattress for good measure.

She shoved the attic door open hard.

And then froze.

Because he was there.

Not standing.

Slumped.

Half-sitting, half-slumped against the beam near the mattress, his head tilted low, one hand braced tight against his side. His coat was streaked with grime and faint smudges of dried blood — not fresh, but not old either.

He looked worn down. Hollow. The kind of tired that ran deeper than sleep. One eye was swollen slightly. A bruise curved beneath his jaw. His knuckles were raw, and his breath caught unevenly when he shifted.

“Shit,” she muttered, the word scraping out sharper than she meant.

His head lifted at her voice. Slow. Like it cost him something.

“Hey,” he rasped, mouth tugging at something like a smile. “You came.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

“You—what the hell—” She crossed the room in two steps, dropped to her knees beside him. “What the hell happened?”

“Wrong place,” he mumbled. “Bad timing.”

“Bad timing? You look like you got dragged through half of Zaun.”

“Thanks.”

She peeled his coat back without waiting for permission, and swore under her breath when she saw the stained bandage at his ribs, already darkened and starting to come loose.

“You’re still bleeding.”

“Just a little,” he said, though his wince betrayed him.

“You should’ve sent someone. Should’ve told me—”

“I couldn’t get here,” he said quietly. “I tried. I just—couldn’t.”

Her hands were shaking. Not from panic — from the kind of emotion she couldn’t sort fast enough to name. Fury. Relief. That ugly knot of guilt that made her want to punch something and never let go at the same time.

And from that awful, twisting realization: It wasn’t rejection. It wasn’t cold feet. It wasn’t leaving.

It was pain.

And he’d still come.

She stared at him, all that pressure building up behind her teeth until it threatened to crack out sideways. So instead, she yanked the blanket from the mattress and tossed it over his shoulders with more force than necessary.

“Stupid,” she muttered.

And then, quieter — so quiet it barely counted as a word:

“Stupid for coming like this. But you still came.”

He leaned into the wall, eyes shutting for a moment. “Didn’t want you thinking I disappeared.”

“You did,” she said. Barely above a whisper. “People always do.”

“I didn’t want to be one of them.”

Silence stretched between them again.

Then — slowly — her hand reached out and found his.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t say anything else.

She just held it.

After a moment, she exhaled and let go.

“You need to lie down,” Jinx said flatly.

Ekko shook his head, swaying a little where he sat. “I’m fine.”

“You look like you got hit by a freighter.”

“It was just—”

“Lie down, Ekko.”

He blinked at her tone, and finally gave in — not because she was right (she was), but because sitting upright was starting to feel like climbing a wall with a broken rib.

He eased down onto the mattress with a hiss of pain, exhaling hard as his body settled against the worn fabric. His fingers curled briefly into the blanket beneath him. The tension in his jaw told her how bad the walk had really been.

Jinx hovered over him for a second, jaw tight, then turned and crossed the room.

He watched her disappear down the stairs, boots echoing faintly in the silence. He wasn’t sure what she was doing — but she came back less than ten minutes later, a worn roll of bandages in one hand, a cracked bottle of antiseptic in the other.

She didn’t say anything.

Just dropped down beside him and nudged his coat aside.

“You’re not going to do this properly,” she muttered, more to herself than him.

“Didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.”

She helped him sit up just enough to peel his coat off again. He grunted at the movement but otherwise kept quiet. Her hands were steady, methodical — not gentle, but precise. She pulled the bloodied wraps away and hissed at the bruising beneath.

“You tore everything open walking here,” she said.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I never do when it comes to you.”

That stopped her for half a second.

She didn’t answer. Just soaked a strip of cloth in antiseptic and pressed it against the worst of the reopened wound. He tensed, teeth grit, but didn’t pull away.

She worked quickly — rewrapping his ribs with clean bandages, tightening them just enough to hold without cutting his breath short. When she finished, she tossed the bloodied ones toward the far corner of the attic without ceremony.

Then she sat back on her heels and stared at him.

“You’re a dumbass.”

He managed a faint smile. “You already said that.”

“Still true.”

She didn’t move at first.

Then, slowly, she dropped back down beside him on the mattress next to him.

“Go to sleep,” she said.

“You staying?”

“…Yeah.”

Neither of them spoke again.

She shifted beneath the blanket, pulling half of it over him without comment, and this time, her hand found his under it — quiet and warm, no theatrics. Just there.

His breathing slowed first.

Then hers.

And eventually, they both drifted off — not wrapped in tension, not in grief, but in something that hadn’t quite found a name yet.

But it felt like safety.

Even if neither of them knew how to say it.

She woke first.

It wasn’t surprising. She always did.

Old habit. Years of sleeping with one eye open, fingers curled around a weapon, heart trained to jolt at the smallest sound. Rest had never come easy — not even here.

But this time, she didn’t get up right away.

She just… lay there.

The attic was quiet. Dim morning light filtered through the patched roof, casting dull streaks across the floorboards. Dust floated lazily in the beams of light, everything still and soft in a way it never was at night.

Ekko was still asleep beside her.

His breath was slow, even. His chest rose and fell beneath the blanket, one arm tucked under it, the other resting just slightly toward her, not touching but almost—enough to feel the warmth between them.

His face looked different like this. Softer. Younger. Less pulled tight by plans and tension and pain. The bruise on his jaw had darkened, the skin beneath his eye faintly swollen. His dreads were messy and slightly damp with sweat.

But he looked alive.

And more than that — he looked like he trusted her.

She hated that it made something ache in her chest.

Jinx turned onto her side, propping her head in her hand, watching him in silence.

She didn’t touch him. Didn’t say anything. Just looked.

Her brain spun anyway — too loud for how still everything was. The kiss. The way he held her. The way he didn’t leave, even when he should’ve. The way she’d wrapped the blanket around him like it wasn’t a big deal.

What the hell are we doing?

She didn’t know.

And worse — she didn’t hate it.

She watched him for longer than she meant to.

Eventually, he stirred — a twitch of fingers, a soft groan as he blinked against the light. His head turned slightly toward her, brows furrowing like he wasn’t sure where he was yet.

Then he saw her.

“Morning,” he rasped.

“Barely,” she said. “You’re still half dead.”

His lips quirked tiredly. “Still breathing.”

She shifted upright and looked down at him, arms folded loosely over her knees.

“You’re not going anywhere today,” she said flatly.

“Didn’t plan to.”

“Good.”

She didn’t say it, but there was a tightness in her shoulders that eased just a little at his answer.

He sat up slowly with a wince, bracing himself on the mattress. She didn’t move to help — wouldn’t — but her eyes tracked every twitch of pain like she was cataloging it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Sure.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then she stood abruptly and stretched. “I’m leaving.”

His brow twitched. “Oh.”

She glanced at him, voice unreadable. “Don’t be dramatic. I’ll be back.”

He didn’t ask what for.

She didn’t say.

But a few hours later, she returned — with a dented tin of preserved fruit, a half-loaf of bread, and a small water canister shoved under her coat. She didn’t explain. Just tossed them beside him on the mattress like they’d always been there.

Ekko raised a brow at the offering. “You rob a pantry?”

She shrugged. “Thought about pushing a vendor off a ledge. Didn’t.”

“Proud of you.”

“Don’t be.”

She sat beside him again without another word.

And when he handed her half the fruit, she took it.

Like it meant nothing.

Like it meant everything.

They ate in silence, as always.

But it wasn’t cold silence anymore. It was something else — quiet familiarity. The kind that settled beneath the surface, warm and steady, where neither of them needed to fill the air with words.

Jinx sat cross-legged beside him on the mattress, fingers sticky from the fruit she’d begrudgingly shared. Ekko leaned back against the wall, half the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, fatigue still lingering in the lines of his posture.

He looked better.

Not good, but better.

She glanced at him once — just once — and didn’t look away as fast as she used to.

“Better?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She flicked her fingers toward the empty tin. “Told you. Preserved garbage heals everything.”

“Must be magic.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t.”

She smirked faintly, but it faded just as quickly.

The quiet stretched again.

And this time, he was the one watching her — the curl of her mouth, the way her shoulders had lowered over the course of the evening, the way her fingers now idly tugged a loose thread from the hem of the blanket, not fidgeting with a weapon or a wire.

There was something fragile about this version of her. Not soft — not ever — but unguarded in a way he rarely saw.

His hand moved before he thought about it — slow, deliberate.

He reached for hers.

She didn’t flinch when he touched her fingers.

Didn’t pull back.

Just looked at him — quiet, eyes unreadable.

And he said nothing.

Did nothing, for a beat, but hold her hand.

Then she shifted slightly toward him.

Her hand twisted, turning in his palm, and her fingers slid between his without a word. Her shoulders brushed his again. He felt her breath in the space between them.

Her eyes didn’t leave his.

And this time — she kissed him.

Not with heat.

Not with fury.

Just… need.

It was slower than before, steadier. Her lips were warm, a little sticky from the fruit, her hands slipping up to rest at his shoulders like she didn’t want to hold on too tightly, but didn’t want to let go.

His hands found her waist. Light. Careful. Grounding.

She sighed softly against his mouth.

And when they parted, neither of them spoke.

But she stayed close.

Stayed with him.

And when they laid down that night — side-by-side again — they didn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.

They didn’t name it, either.

But the space between them stayed quiet and full.

And this time, when he reached for her hand under the blanket, she didn’t hesitate at all.

The attic held its breath.

Nothing moved, but the silence felt different now — expectant.

They sat on the mattress, close as always, shoulders brushing, blanket pooled around them in lazy folds. Ekko’s arm rested behind her, casual, but not without weight. Jinx was cross-legged, twisting a bolt between her fingers, but not really looking at it.

Her eyes kept drifting toward him.

He caught her once. Didn’t comment.

She didn’t look away.

“You’re staring,” he said finally, voice low.

She tilted her head toward him. “So?”

“So,” he echoed, watching her. “You gonna say something or just keep burning a hole through me?”

Her mouth curved — not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. “You want me to say something?”

“Only if you mean it.”

“I don’t do the talking part,” she said. “You know that.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, leaning in slightly. “You’re more of a show-don’t-tell type.”

She didn’t respond.

Instead, she shifted — slowly, deliberately — and before he could process what she was doing, she swung a leg over his lap and settled there, knees bracketing his hips, her hands resting lightly on his chest.

His breath caught.

“Jinx—”

“Shut up,” she said, but her voice was quieter than usual — huskier. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just real.

And then she leaned in and kissed him hard.

This time there was no soft build-up, no pause for air. Just heat — immediate and grounding and all-consuming. Her mouth pressed against his like she was trying to memorize him, like maybe the only way to understand what this was becoming was to feel it skin-deep.

Ekko’s hands slid to her waist automatically, gripping her. His pulse pounded under her palms, and she kissed him again — deeper now, hungrier.

Their breaths tangled between kisses. Her fingers slipped to the back of his neck, curling in his hair, and his hands pulled her closer, until there was no space left between them at all.

She kissed him like she needed it — not just the heat, but him. Like this was the only thing in the world that made sense — even if it didn't.

And he kissed her back like he’d been waiting for this longer than he could admit.

When they finally broke for air, her forehead pressed against his, breath uneven.

“Still don’t wanna talk about it?” he asked, voice rasped and low.

Her fingers traced the curve of his jaw, light and thoughtless. “No.”

“Okay,” he said.

Still flushed, still breathing unevenly, still with her fingers tangled in his hair like she didn’t realize they hadn’t moved. Her weight settled more fully in his lap now, not teasing, not testing — just there.

Ekko hadn’t let go of her hips.

He didn’t want to.

Their noses were nearly brushing, breath still mingling in the quiet space between them.

“Don’t,” she murmured suddenly.

He pulled back just slightly, enough to see her eyes. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

His brow furrowed. “Like what?”

“Like this means something.”

He paused. Then, low: “It does.”

Her mouth twitched, some flicker of instinct to smirk or joke it off — but it didn’t land. Instead, her fingers dragged down his chest, slow and aimless, like she didn’t know what to do with them anymore.

“You’re gonna ruin this,” she said, not quite accusing. “You’re gonna make it a thing.”

“Again, it already is.”

Her eyes flicked to his. That old, volatile defensiveness rising in her chest again like a reflex — like she wanted to shove him off, spit something sharp, cut this before it cut her first.

But she didn’t.

She kissed him again.

Slower this time — but deeper. Lingering. Her hands moving under the blanket, sliding over the warm planes of his back. His mouth opened against hers, and her fingers curled tighter, pulling him closer.

When he shifted beneath her, she moved with him, rolling her hips slightly — just enough to make them both pause, breath hitching in tandem.

Her mouth parted, and she exhaled against his jaw, voice low.

“You don’t get to make this soft.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

His hands slid on her skin, just to her waist, warm and steady and not rushing. Not groping. Just anchoring her there, thumbs brushing the bare skin at her sides, feeling her tremble against him.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said quietly. “I just want you.”

She didn’t say anything.

She kissed him again instead — harder this time, less control, more need. Her hips pressed against his again, and he groaned into her mouth before catching it in his throat.

They moved together like they didn’t know where it was going, only that they didn’t want it to stop.

But when his hand slid higher up her back, and her mouth drifted to the corner of his jaw, neither of them pushed further.

Not yet.

She leaned into his shoulder at last, breath still ragged.

And he held her.

One arm wrapped around her waist, the other on her back, thumb rubbing lazy, grounding circles at her spine. Flushed, breathing unevenly with her fingers tangled in his hair like she didn’t realize they’d moved. The blanket had slipped down her back, forgotten.

Then, she kissed him again — deeper, rougher — and this time, she didn’t stop.

Her hips ground against his now, a slow and deliberate — enough to catch his breath and hold it. His hands gripped tighter at her waist, sliding up her back, thumbs brushing the warm skin just beneath the hem of her top — leather and buckle pressing faintly against his chest.

Her mouth trailed from his lips to his jaw, then lower, biting lightly at his throat in a way that made his spine curve under her.

He groaned softly, fingers digging into her sides. He felt drunk on her — the heat, the weight of her in his lap, the scrape of her breath against his skin.

She leaned in closer, chest flush against him now, hands sliding into his hair again, tilting his head just the way she wanted him. Her body moved with a rhythm that made his pulse thunder.

And for a few breathless, frantic minutes, everything else disappeared.

But then — he shifted wrong.

Just a twist — a reflexive pull when her teeth scraped his collarbone — and pain lit up his ribs like fire.

His breath hitched hard, and a sound slipped out of him — sharp, unintentional.

Jinx froze.

Immediately.

She pulled back just slightly, eyes searching his face. “What—”

Ekko winced, jaw clenched, breath shallow. “Shit—sorry—just… fuck.”

She shifted off his lap fast — not retreating, just adjusting — hands braced on his shoulders. “What happened?”

“I moved wrong,” he said, voice strained. “Ribs. Pulled something.”

She stared at him, still half-wrapped in the aftermath of what they’d just been doing — flushed, breathing heavy, pupils still wide.

But her hands moved fast now — focused, practical — checking the edge of his bandages through his shirt. Her fingers were steadier than his.

“Dumbass,” she muttered, not unkindly. “Told you you weren’t healed yet.”

“Wasn’t planning to get tackled.”

“I didn’t tackle you.”

“You kind of did.”

She huffed. But there was no edge to it anymore.

She glanced at his face again — the way his breath stayed short, the way he was trying not to show how much it hurt. Her fingers hovered near his side, like she wanted to help, but didn’t quite know how to close the gap between what she wanted to do and what she knew how to say.

He caught her hand gently.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m okay.”

She didn’t answer. Just eased down beside him again, hand still on his arm, the other falling quiet to her thigh.

The moment hung in the air — still warm, still electric, but edged now with something more fragile.

“Next time,” she said softly, almost like a threat, almost like a promise.

Ekko smirked through the pain. “Next time.”

And then — just because she could — she kissed him again.

Gentler, this time.

Not stopping. Not backing down.

Just slowing down — for now.

She woke to the steady sound of his breathing.

Warmth pressed along her back, a strong arm curled around her waist, hand resting loosely just beneath the edge of her ribs. She could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest behind her, the weight of his body still grounded in sleep.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep again.

Definitely not like this.

Not curled around him like they’d done it a hundred times.

But now, lying here, she didn’t want to move.

The attic was quiet. Light filtered through the patched roof again, casting soft beams across the old boards. It was warmer than usual under the blanket — not because of the weather, but because of him.

His fingers twitched faintly against her stomach in his sleep, and she froze for a second — not out of fear, but out of unfamiliarity. Out of the way something so small could feel so big.

She could have pulled away.

Could have wriggled out of his hold, sat up, lit her lighter, made a joke, ruined it before it could settle too deep.

But she didn’t.

She stayed.

Stared up at the beams overhead. Watched dust drift lazily in the light. She counted the cracks in the ceiling, trying not to count how long his arm had been around her.

And thought.

She didn’t understand what they were doing. What this was. It wasn’t just heat anymore — not after the way he’d kissed her, not after the way she’d climbed into his lap like it was instinct, not after the way he’d whispered her name between sharp breaths like he meant it.

It wasn’t just softness either. Not some gentle thing wrapped in comfort. That wasn’t what they were made of.

It was something else.

Something jagged and complicated.

His grip tightened slightly in his sleep, pulling her a little closer. She felt his breath on her shoulder now, steady and warm.

And then came the thought — sharp, unwelcome, familiar:

What happens when he leaves again?

She closed her eyes. Pushed it away. Let herself exist just in the moment — just in his arms, in the attic, with the sun not quite high enough to demand they get up yet.

Just for a little while longer.

Just until she could pretend it didn’t scare her.

She didn’t know when he woke.

One minute, his breath was still deep and even behind her. The next, she felt his fingers shift slightly, and his voice came low, husky with sleep.

“You’re still here.”

She didn’t turn around. “Where else would I be?”

“Gone. Like you do.”

Her mouth quirked faintly. “Not today.”

A pause.

“Good,” he said.

She finally glanced back. His eyes were barely open, lashes heavy, hair messy against the pillow of bundled cloth beneath his head.

“You snore,” she said.

His brow arched lazily. “Do not.”

“You do.”

“You breathe like a pipe leak.”

She smirked. “You like it.”

He didn’t argue.

Their quiet settled again. But it wasn’t empty. This silence held weight — and warmth. Comfort. Something whole.

Eventually, she sat up and stretched, arms high above her head, body twisting in a way that made the leather of her halter shift against her skin. She caught him watching her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She threw a piece of lint at his face.

“I gotta go,” she said after a moment, standing and brushing her hands off on her pants. “I’ve been gone too many nights.”

Ekko pushed himself upright slowly. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“No, you’re not.”

She hesitated in the doorway. Turned halfway back. “You gonna be here tonight?”

“If I can be.”

She nodded.

Didn’t say goodbye.

She never did.

The light in Silco’s chambers was dim, the heavy blue shadows of the pipes casting narrow lines across the walls. He stood at the far end of the room, one hand loosely resting on the back of his chair, the other swirling something in a low glass — his usual stiff drink.

Jinx stood near the doorway, arms loosely crossed, a small cut on her knuckle from a street scrap earlier.

He didn’t turn, but his eye flicked toward her. “You haven’t been around much at night.”

Her posture didn’t change. “I’ve been busy.”

“With what?”

“Projects,” she said evenly. “You said you wanted me working on modifications for the shipment run next week.”

“I did.”

He took a slow sip from his glass.

“I just noticed you haven’t been sleeping in the hideout.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t think it mattered to you where I crashed.”

“It doesn’t,” he said mildly. “Just curious.”

His tone was even — not sharp, not suspicious. But his eye stayed on her for a moment longer than necessary.

Jinx didn’t blink.

She smiled, wide and sharp. “Maybe I’ve got a secret lover.”

Silco didn’t react. Just set his glass down, fingers drumming once on the rim.

“If you do,” he said, “I hope they’re not a distraction.”

“Everything’s a distraction.”

His smile was thinner than hers. “Some distractions burn cleaner than others.”

She turned before he could say more.

Didn’t respond.

Didn’t offer anything else.

But the door closed just a little too hard behind her when she left.

Chapter Text

She was already there when he arrived.

Seated on the mattress, legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, gaze angled at the far wall like it had said something that pissed her off.

Ekko didn’t ask.

She didn’t offer.

He just dropped down beside her, close but not pressing, and let the silence stretch.

“You’re late,” she muttered after a while, tone flat.

“You’re early.”

“Maybe I didn’t feel like staying in tonight.”

He didn’t press.

He could see it — the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flexed restlessly against her leg. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to talk about it.

Instead, they talked about nothing — about a broken pressure valve Ekko found near the sludge-way, about a fruit vendor who threw a tomato at someone for haggling too hard. Jinx told him a half-invented story about someone falling into a gutter grate and getting eaten by rats, just to see if he’d believe it.

He laughed. She smirked.

But even in the ease of it, the edge didn’t quite dull.

Later, they ended up lying on the mattress again, the blanket lazily tangled around them. The attic was warm tonight, the air still, the sound of the city far away and soft.

Jinx had settled on her back, one arm draped loosely across her stomach. Her head was resting on his bicep, the one curled beneath his head. His other arm draped over her, hand resting lightly on her ribs.

They let the hush of the attic settle over them like a fine dust.

But then his fingers started to move.

Featherlight.

Idle. Thoughtless. Slow.

He traced the edge of one of her tattoos — a curl of blue cloud just under her ribs — following it in lazy arcs with the pad of his finger. Nothing pushy. Nothing overt.

But she felt every motion like a spark under her skin.

She kept her expression neutral. Or tried to.

But her breath stuttered once. Just slightly. Enough to make him glance at her.

She didn’t meet his eyes.

Didn’t tell him to stop.

His fingers kept moving, mapping quiet lines along the curves of her ink — across her side, along the sweep of one low swirl just beneath her ribs.

She shifted under his touch — subtle, involuntary.

It wasn’t just the contact. It was how gently he did it.

She didn’t know what to do with it.

And then — without a word — he leaned in and kissed her temple, right at the corner of her eye, barely brushing the skin.

“Pretty,” he murmured, voice low and quiet in the dark.

Her breath hitched.

No smirk. No quip.

Whatever it was, it didn’t belong to words.

So, she gave it nothing.

She just stared at the ceiling, heart pounding too fast, skin burning in long lines with every sweep of touch.

His fingers traced another soft arc along the edge of a cloud swirl just beneath her ribs, light as breath, and Jinx was going to scream if he kept doing it — or melt — or something worse.

She turned sharply beneath the blanket and rolled into his chest without warning. Her forehead bumped against his collarbone before she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

“Shut up,” she muttered, though he hadn’t said anything in several minutes.

His arm, the one that had been teasing the edge of her tattoos, curled instinctively around her now — secure, grounding, warm. His hand slid lower, brushing the small of her back, then resumed its lazy trail, skimming stripes up and down her spine.

It was maddening.

Soft. Focused. Unapologetically tender.

And it made her feel too hot — not from embarrassment, but from want, low and sharp and impossible to ignore.

She shifted again, irritated by the ache curling inside her. Then, in a quick, irritated snap of motion, she bit his shoulder — not hard, but enough to make her point.

He flinched with a startled grunt.

“Ow—what the hell was that for?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t move her face from his neck.

He laughed — low and warm in his chest, the sound vibrating through her cheek.

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Exactly,” she said, voice muffled against his skin.

His fingers didn’t stop their rhythm on her back. If anything, they slowed a little. More deliberate now. She hated how it made her press closer.

Eventually, their breaths evened out again, tension slipping back into something softer, sleepier.

“I might not make it back tomorrow.” he murmured into the dark. “For a few days, actually.”

She didn’t react at first.

Then: “Why?”

“Work stuff. Just giving you a heads-up.”

Her mouth twisted faintly against his skin. “Don’t need a heads-up.”

“I figured,” he said with a wry smile. “Just didn’t want you thinking I bailed again.”

“You’re full of shit.”

He smiled into her hair. “You did.”

She huffed. “Shut up.”

“You said that already.”

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs — carefully, aware of the healing wounds — and he winced on reflex.

Then she went still again, pressed tighter into him.

She didn’t say she’d miss him.

Didn’t say she’d care.

But she stayed put.

Just let her body speak for her — tangled against his, fingers fisted lightly in the hem of his shirt, breathing slow and even as she drifted closer to sleep.

And when he finally whispered, “I’ll come back soon.”

Only silence answered him.

But she didn’t let go.

The first night without him, she told herself she wasn’t waiting.

She went to the attic anyway.

Not because she cared. Not because she was looking for him. Just habit. Just comfort. Just—whatever.

She kicked a few broken boards out of the way when she came in, flicked her lighter on and off, then dropped onto the mattress like it didn’t matter that no one was there to greet her.

It didn’t matter.

The blanket was still there — a little tangled, a little crumpled from the last night they shared it. She pulled it over herself and shifted until her head hit the pillow.

His scent was still there. Not strong, but enough to notice — warm and faintly metallic, smoke and dust and something else that had started to feel like home.

She ignored it.

Told herself she didn’t notice.

She slept. Eventually.

But the mattress felt colder.

And she didn’t sleep as well.

The second night was worse.

She stayed out later than usual, picking a fight she didn’t need to pick, spending too long near the Drop just to kill time. Something restless burned under her skin. She didn’t like the stillness when he wasn’t there to fill it with breath and warmth and weight.

When she finally caved and went back to the attic, the silence hit her harder than she expected.

She sank onto the mattress again, arms crossed behind her head, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended her.

The blanket wasn’t warm enough.

Even when she wrapped herself in it tight, it didn’t hold the heat the same way. The pillow still smelled like him — even more faint now, fading — and it made something sit heavy in her stomach in a way that made her twitchy and anxious.

She punched it once. Rolled over. Swore under her breath.

Still couldn’t sleep.

Eventually, she curled tighter beneath the blanket, one hand fisted in the edge of it like an anchor.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She didn’t have an answer.

But when she finally drifted off — hours later — her fingers were still curled in the place where his hand usually rested.

And she hated herself for craving it.

The third night was the worst yet.

She hadn’t really slept since he left. Not properly. Not without waking up twisted in the blanket, sweating and tangled in thoughts she couldn’t silence.

The attic felt too empty. Her workshop felt too loud.

Everywhere felt wrong.

She snapped at someone earlier for breathing too loudly near her workstation. Didn’t even remember what they’d said. Everything grated against her skin — the flicker of lights, the clink of tools, the way even the sound of her own boots echoing off the floor made her jaw twitch.

She nearly didn’t go to the attic at all.

But she ended up there anyway — angry, wired, buzzing with a thousand pieces of herself she couldn’t glue together.

She dropped the blanket on the floor in frustration, paced, kicked a plank, cursed at nothing.

And then — on a whim — she went back to her hideout.

Pulled open a storage crate buried under old supplies and scrap metal.

Found a folded tarp-blanket, stained and dusty, but still intact. Hadn’t thought about it in ages — she used to curl under it when the power flickered or the shaft got too cold. It had a weird old oil-and-mildew smell she didn’t mind.

She didn’t plan anything.

She just grabbed it and went back to the attic.

And without really thinking, she draped it over one of the beams, anchoring it at the edges with scrap pieces and metal hooks from the debris pile. It hung low over the mattress, a sloped shelter that swallowed some of the open space above her.

It wasn’t pretty. Or planned. Just something to crawl under.

But when she sat beneath it, the quiet didn’t feel quite so sharp.

The act of setting it up — pinning corners, tying knots, securing edges — gave her hands something to do. It stilled the noise in her head for a while.

It wasn’t decoration.

It was just… structure. Something solid. Something to exist under.

And that night, she slept a little longer before waking.

Not well.

But better.

The fourth night, she came back early.

Still keyed-up. Still prickling under her skin.

But when she ducked under the tarp again, something in her chest settled a little faster.

She didn’t want to think about that.

Instead, she dug through the alley behind the building and gathered whatever caught her eye — cracked bits of glass, broken costume jewelry, a bent piece of prism filament from an old sign.

Back in the attic, she started threading them together with thin wire.

Didn’t think about why. Just kept working.

Crystals. Dangly things. Nothing special. Just colour and light and motion. She tied the first strand to the tarp’s inner frame. It spun slightly in the air currents, catching light from the broken overhead fixtures and casting refracted glimmers across the tarp’s walls.

She liked it.

Didn’t say it aloud.

Just made more.

And when she finally lay down that night — still cranky, still curled too tightly under the blanket — the shifting glints on the ceiling lulled her faster than silence ever had.

The attic still didn’t feel right.

But it was starting to feel like hers.

Ekko paused in the doorway.

For a second, he just stood there — eyes catching on the tarp draped over the rafters, the soft tilt of its fabric edges, the crystals hanging like lazy constellations beneath it. They spun faintly in the shifting air, scattering light across the ceiling and walls in fractured, dappled colour.

It looked different.

Still the same attic. Still their wrecked little corner of nowhere.

But it had her fingerprints all over it now.

Jinx glanced up from where she was already curled on the mattress, elbow propped on the folded edge of the blanket. Her scowl formed instantly — sharp, challenging, like she expected him to mock it.

Daring him to.

He met her gaze and smiled faintly as he took one slow step inside and shut the door.

“I like it.”

Her scowl didn’t drop, but it softened at the edges. Just a little.

“Didn’t do it for you.”

“Didn’t say you did.”

He crossed the room, slipped under the tarp with practiced ease, and dropped down beside her on the mattress like he’d never left.

He was moving better — steadier, less stiff. The tightness in his ribs wasn’t pulling the same way it had before. Healing. Not whole, but close.

He adjusted his arm beneath the blanket, shifting to get comfortable — and her leg promptly hooked over his hip, knee pressing into his side.

“Stop squirming.”

“I just got here.”

“You’re messing up the blanket.”

He laughed softly, settling in.

Her arm slid lazily across his chest, fingers dancing in the creases like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t affection. Like it wasn’t anything. But her body was pressed against his again — warm, familiar, tangled in the same blanket.

He let his hand settle at her thigh, thumb brushing idle circles against her pantleg where it rested over him.

Just lay there — not cuddling. Not clinging. Just there.

And in the low light of the crystals above them, casting small glimmers against the tarp’s fabric ceiling, it felt like they’d never stopped. They lay tangled beneath it, warmth shared, blanket half-slid to one side. The crystals overhead spun gently, catching stray glimmers and scattering them across the walls like low-burning stars.

Ekko shifted just enough to glance at her. “It’s done.”

Jinx blinked. “What is?”

“That thing I was out on. Supply relay, some patchwork repairs along the old scaffolds. Took longer than it should’ve.”

She snorted. “You ever finish anything on time?”

He raised a brow. “Sure. Once. In a dream.”

In lieu of a reply, she flicked one of the dangling crystals with her fingertip, watching it sway lazily.

“One of Silco’s grunts tried talking to me yesterday,” she said at last, casually venomous. “Kept calling me ‘miss’ like I was gonna put on a dress and host a tea party.”

Ekko laughed under his breath. “Did you punch him?”

“Almost.”

“That why you’re extra cranky tonight?”

She turned her head sharply toward him. “I am not extra anything.”

He raised a brow. “You’ve been snarling since I walked in.”

“Maybe you’re just extra annoying.”

“Maybe you didn’t sleep so good while I was gone.”

Her jaw twitched. “I slept fine.”

“Jinx—”

“Don’t start.”

He didn’t push. Just looked at her.

She looked away first.

“I didn’t not sleep,” she muttered. “Just… not great. That’s not your fault.”

“Wasn’t blaming me.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“Maybe.”

She swatted his chest — half a punch, half a nudge. “You’re impossible.”

He caught her wrist lightly. “Didn’t sleep great either.”

She stilled at that.

He let go of her hand.

A beat passed.

Then she leaned in — not suddenly, not even with intention, just a slow draw closer, her face tipping up toward his like gravity was pulling her there.

Their lips met — soft this time, slow. Less frantic, more certain than any of the other times. Her fingers gripped his shirt again, his hand finding the side of her waist. For a little while, the world was only warmth, breath, and the glint of light playing across her cloud tattoos.

The kiss lingered.

Soft at first — a press of lips and breath, warm and sure — but it didn’t stay gentle. Couldn’t. Not when her body was already moulded to his, leg still slung over his hip like it belonged there. Not when he’d been gone for four days and she hadn’t stopped feeling the absence of him, even if she hadn’t dared examine the reason why.

Not when his mouth opened against hers again, and hers followed like a reflex.

Ekko’s grip on her thigh tightened — steady at first, then firmer, like instinct was starting to override restraint. His other hand dragged higher along her spine, slipping over the exposed arch of her back, fingers brushing the leather strap of her halter and the warm line of skin beneath it.

Her breath caught.

Every nerve lit up — fast, sharp, like a live wire.

Still, neither of them named it.

But something had cracked open in the silence — not soft, not safe. A deeper pull. A snap of heat just beneath the skin.

Her leg curled tighter around him. And his hand slid back down, gripped her thigh again — rougher this time — and pulled.

No hesitation.

Just motion.

And she went with it.

Not thinking. Just moving. Just reacting to the way his body pulled at hers like gravity had teeth.

She shifted over him in one fluid surge, knees planting on either side of his hips, weight settling full into his lap.

Their hips aligned — the contact sudden, hot, and dizzying.

They both gasped.

Hers was sharp, ripped straight from her mouth like a curse. His came after, rougher, caught halfway between a groan and a breath he forgot to take. Then their mouths crashed together again — harder this time. Messy. Urgent. All teeth and need and no finesse. The kind of kiss that burned going down. The kind that didn’t ask.

Jinx’s fingers clawed into his dreads for a moment, like she was grounding herself, like she was trying not to fall apart. Then they slid down — fast, hungry — over the slope of his neck, across the sharp line of his collarbone, chasing skin.

She didn’t pause.

Didn’t pretend this was careful.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt and shoved under it, palms dragging rough over bare skin. No teasing. Just heat and muscle and the sharp flex beneath her touch. His body jerked under her hands — a twitch, a stutter of breath — and he groaned low into her mouth.

His hands caught her hips again, hard now, dragging her tighter into him with each motion, like maybe he could press her all the way through. Her breath ragged, her thighs tightening, the mattress creaking faintly under the strain.

And when his hands slid up her bare back again — spanning from her waist to the edge of her shoulder blades, fingers splayed wide across the swirled ink of her tattoos — she shuddered.

She felt like fire.

Like pressure. Like everything she’d been trying not to want crashing down all at once.

Her mouth broke from his, panting, only to bite at his jaw, his throat — sharp little scrapes of teeth, not enough to mark, but enough to make him gasp again and dig his fingers harder into her hips.

She rocked forward once, deliberately this time.

His breath hitched. His whole body tensed.

And she did it again.

Her hands were under his shirt again, dragging up over his chest, nails catching faintly as she mapped him like a blueprint she meant to tear apart. His hands skimmed her sides now, over skin and leather and sweat, rough with friction, reverent with hunger.

There was no room for words now.

Just heat. Just motion. Just the sharp, relentless pull of two people who didn’t know where this was going — only that they weren’t stopping.

Not tonight.

Her hands were still under his shirt, palms flat against the heat of his stomach, fingers dragging higher over his chest — tracing the sharp rise of his breath, the tension coiled just beneath his skin.

Muscle twitched beneath her touch.

He was burning.

Ekko gripped her hips like he couldn’t decide whether to hold her down or pull her apart.

He didn’t choose.

He did both.

His hands locked around her — rough, certain — guiding the slow grind of her hips against his. The pressure built in deliberate waves, steady and unrelenting. There was no softness between them now. No restraint. Just friction, heat, and the desperate rhythm of two people trying to get closer than skin could allow.

Her breath broke on a gasp, sharp and real.

She didn’t bother hiding it.

His hands were too big, fingers spanning her waist like he could carve new shape into her if he pressed hard enough — and gods, she liked that. She didn’t want to. But she did.

One hand dragged up her spine — not rough, not tender, just intent — until his knuckles grazed the exposed strip beneath her halter, just under her ribs. The contact wasn’t soothing. It was maddening. Focused. Calculated.

A warning and a promise in one.

He followed the edge of her leather strap with infuriating precision, like he was studying it — learning every curve and angle by touch alone.

She shivered.

He felt it, but still didn’t speed up.

His fingers reached the buckle. Cold metal met flushed skin.

He didn’t tug. Didn’t ask. Just let his thumb sweep slow circles over the clasp, coiled and waiting — a question resting in the weight of his touch.

Not asking to undress her.

Asking if she’d let him in.

Her breath stuttered. Her palms froze where they were, flat against his chest like she could feel the skip in his heartbeat — uneven, just like hers.

They didn’t look away.

And for once, she didn’t fill the silence with words. No biting jokes. No shield of a smirk.

She reached up instead. Found his hand. Brushed her fingers lightly over his and let them stay there — a touch that said everything without saying a thing.

He met her gaze, eyes tight with held breath, ready to stop if she flinched.

She didn’t.

So he unbuckled it.

The click was soft but sharp. The strap loosened. The leather sagged, slipped low, leaving just the collar hanging around her neck.

Still, she didn’t move.

She felt the air kiss her chest, the shift of weight, the absence of cover. And then, with one breath, she pulled the halter over her head and let it fall.

The silence that followed was no longer tense.

It dropped like a storm.

Every nerve lit up under the intensity of his gaze.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t reach for her. Just looked.

Not sweet. Not gentle.

Raw.

Like he’d already memorized her and was just confirming she was real.

She nearly curled inward.

Not from shame — she didn’t have that in her — but because it mattered. Because his gaze landed on her like she was something breakable and sacred and already his.

Her arms twitched, the ghost of old instinct tightening through her shoulders, ready to shield herself.

“Quit staring,” she snapped — too fast, too sharp, her voice punching through the air like a knife. “Feels like you’re trying to peel me open.”

His eyes flicked up instantly. No apology. No retreat.

Only heat. And something deeper threaded beneath it.

“You’re beautiful.”

The words landed hard — not exactly soft or romantic. Just fact. Brutal in its honesty.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t know how.

He kissed her then.

Rough and consuming, mouth open and breath hot, his hands already back on her like he couldn’t stand the gap that had formed. She met him just as hard, matching pressure for pressure, tongue and teeth and need. There was no space left between them.

For that stretch of breathless, aching seconds, they didn’t pretend anymore.

No control. No scripts.

Just skin. Just pressure. Just them.

And everything else disappeared.

Her head dropped forward, forehead meeting his like she needed something to anchor to — and then his mouth found her neck, hot and open, trailing across her skin with growing intent. When he reached the hollow below her collarbone, his lips closed on her skin and sucked.

Hard.

She shuddered, the mark blooming fast — dark, deliberate, claiming — and a sound broke from her throat, low and guttural, somewhere between a curse and a gasp.

Then her hands were at his shirt, fisting the fabric, yanking.

“Take this off,” she growled, voice jagged, breath unsteady.

He blinked, dazed, but she didn’t wait.

“Now, Ekko.”

He obeyed.

He raised his arms, and she dragged the shirt up and over, not delicate about it — like it was something in the way. The cloth hit the floor with a dull thump, forgotten as soon as it was gone.

Then he was pulling her back in — arms locked tight around her waist — and their chests slammed together, bare to bare, heat to heat.

The air fled both of them.

It wasn’t a sigh. It was impact. A jolt. Like the final layer between them had just been stripped away, and there was no hiding left to do.

Her hands were still braced on his shoulders, fingers curled tight — not with doubt, but with too much. Too much sensation. Too much closeness. Her eyes dropped, dragged downward.

And then, voice low and almost hoarse, she said, “I’ve never—”

She didn’t finish it. Didn’t have to. The edge in her voice carried the weight.

Ekko’s hands stilled. The tension that cut through him was sharp, quiet.

“Me neither,” he said, not soft, just honest.

She looked up fast, blinking. “Really?”

He nodded once. “Really.”

That was it. Just truth — simple and stripped bare — and somehow it hit harder than anything else. Something in her wavered. Cracked. He didn’t press. Just let one hand slide up, fingertips curling gently along her jaw, thumb brushing the edge of her mouth.

“I can stop,” he murmured, voice steady. Not coaxing. Just offering. “Say the word.”

She didn’t answer at first. Her breath was still rough, chest rising and falling in sharp rhythm, gaze locked on his.

Then: “No.”

Steady and unflinching.

Just a yes in disguise — the kind she only knew how to give when it sounded like a challenge.

And then she kissed him.

Harder this time. Messier. Like she didn’t know what came next but needed to chase it anyway.

The kiss turned fierce, fast — tearing away what little softness had been left. Her mouth moved against his with frantic rhythm, all bite and want, lips dragging and catching, her breath ragged every time she came up for air. It didn’t feel like something slow or sacred.

It felt like hunger. Like ignition.

Her chest pressed flush to his now — skin and heat and pounding hearts — and his hands roamed without apology, gripping tight at her hips, sliding over her back, grounding her, dragging her in.
She could feel him, pressed between her thighs — thick, hard, wanting — and there was no missing it. No misreading it.

She stilled, just for a second.

Not because she was scared.

Because it mattered.

The weight of it hit all at once — how far this had gone, how far she wanted it to go. This wasn’t just heat anymore. It was gravity. Heavy and real and unrelenting.

And for a heartbeat, she let herself feel it.

Let herself want it anyway.

Then with her eyes locked to his, she rocked forward.

Deliberate.

A slow, unapologetic grind of her hips against his that knocked the breath out of both of them. Her gasp hitched sharp in her throat; his groan broke low and ragged against her ear.

His hands gripped harder. His fingers dug into her waist like he needed something to hold onto, like letting go wasn’t even a concept he could entertain.

He moved with her now. Matched her pace. Guided it.

Just need — raw and feral and stripped of everything but sensation.

Every roll of her hips drew another sound from him, rough and fractured, like she was tearing something out of him piece by piece. And she was. She could feel it. In the way his breath stuttered. In the way his hands kept searching for more of her.

Those hands slid lower — dragging over the lines of her sides, finding the curve of her ass, and squeezing. It jolted her forward. Her breath caught again sharply as her mouth brushed his jaw, and she didn’t try to muffle it.

She leaned into the rhythm, drove it faster. Every grind came harder now — messier, needier — the kind of motion that left her gasping, nerves firing like live wires beneath her skin. Her whole body felt tight, overstrung — like she was holding onto something electric and couldn’t let go.

And the worst part — the best part — was that he wasn’t slowing her down.

He matched every movement with his own, met every shift of her weight like he wanted more, needed more, like he was going to fall apart if she stopped. He held her close, so close she could feel the tension coiling through him, his muscles flexing under her with every stutter of her hips.

This wasn’t slow.

It wasn’t tender.

It was desperate.

Devastating.

Every drag of skin, every kiss that landed half-wild against the corner of her mouth or down her throat, every broken inhale — it all pulsed with the weight of everything they hadn’t said. Everything they couldn’t say.

It was want, unspoken.

It was emotion, outrunning words.

And through all of it — even as her body rocked against his, even as she broke the kiss to breathe — his eyes never left her. Even when her lashes fluttered. Even when she bit back a sound against his throat. Even when her rhythm faltered for half a second before picking up again. He kept looking at her.

Like he was memorizing it.

All of it.

Every twitch, every sound, every angle of light against her bare skin.

And for once — she didn’t flinch beneath it.

She didn’t smirk to deflect, didn’t twist away or try to reclaim control with a joke.

She just kept moving.

Harder. Deeper.

Because she needed it.

Because she needed him.

And right now, this was the only way she knew how to ask for it.

Jinx shifted again — slower this time, deliberate in the way her weight adjusted, palms bracing against his chest, spine arched as her hips dragged down in a sharper grind. The change in angle landed like a strike — all pressure, no softness, heat against heat until it burned.

The sound Ekko made wasn’t quiet.

It ripped out of him, raw and low, like it had clawed its way straight from his ribs. His hands clamped at her waist, fingers digging hard into her skin like he needed something solid to keep from unraveling. But he didn’t try to steer her. Didn’t guide. Didn’t push.

He just watched.

Watched her ride him — the way her body moved with intent, with rhythm, with fire. Every roll of her hips, the press of her thighs around him, the way her breath broke short and hard every time she sank into him. Her head tilted, lashes low, but her eyes never dropped from his.

That look.

Storm-blue. Feral. Hungry.

Locked on him like she meant to consume every part of him.

And fuck — he wanted her to.

He didn’t know how he’d gone this long without touching her like this. Without seeing her like this. Unbound. Gorgeous in her chaos. Wearing the moment like it was hers and always had been.

She looked at him like she knew he was going to come undone.

His jaw locked, breath catching, chest heaving ragged under her palms. Every muscle in him burned to flip her over, to take more, to let go completely — but he held still. Gritted his teeth and watched her move like she was fire in human form.

That was enough to ruin him.

Their bodies slipped tighter together, slick now, breath sticking, rhythm quickening with a pulse that was starting to spiral out of control. Every grind, every shift built toward something that felt both inevitable and unbearable.

Then he rose — just enough — one elbow bracing behind him as he pulled her forward.

His mouth met her chest without hesitation.

She gasped — not quiet, not careful. Loud and rough, her rhythm faltering as heat punched through her and bloomed hot in her chest.

He kissed her first — slow, wet, open-mouthed — dragging his lips over her skin until they hit the soft swell of flesh he hadn’t touched before now. And then he bit. Not cruel. Just enough to make her jolt and curse under her breath, voice cracking. His tongue followed — circling, flicking — before his mouth sealed over her nipple and sucked deep, hard enough to make her whine.

Still, she didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

She ground down harder instead, chasing that edge, breath catching again as his mouth moved lower, then up again, biting gently, licking rough, lips closing around her like he was trying to swallow her whole.

His grip at her waist tightened again, fingers fanned wide — dragging over sweat-damp skin, roaming across her ribs like he was trying to memorize every inch of her all at once.

He shifted.

Mouth on the other side now — tongue tracing, lips sealing, suction sharp — and it wrecked her.

The sound that tore loose was deep. Raw. Half-moan, half-sob — her head thrown back, braids sticking to her shoulders, hips jerking forward with instinct more than control. Pleasure hit her like a hit — hard, hot, and unforgiving — and all she could do was ride it.

Her fingers dug into his chest — nails scraping skin, hips grinding harder now, her body overtaken by the heat curling deep in her belly. Every breath ratcheted tighter. Every touch climbed higher. Every pass of his mouth over her skin stoked the pressure building at her core until it threatened to spill over.

He groaned into her, low and wrecked, hands gripping harder like he meant to hold her through it — or hold himself together.

But they were unraveling.

Falling.

And maybe that was the point.

His mouth moved across her chest with relentless focus — not soft, not soothing. Just consuming. Like he was trying to brand her into memory one kiss at a time. Each flick of his tongue, every scrape of teeth, pulled another jolt from her spine, made her hips jerk against him, made her hands claw into the blanket like it was the only thing tethering her to the world.

It wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

She needed more — more pressure, more heat, more of him — and her hands shot into his hair again, fingers twisting tight. She yanked him upward in one rough, breathless motion, mouth crashing into his like she needed him to feel how bad it hurt to want this much.

The kiss wasn’t pretty.

It was teeth and breath and the raw edge of want. No finesse. No pause. Her lips dragged over his with a snarl, bruising, biting, dragging him down until there was nothing but taste and pressure and heat.

When she broke away, her voice was wrecked — low, rasped, scraping out like it tore its way free.

“I want you.”

Not soft. Not cautious.

A demand. A threat. A confession wrapped in fire.

And it broke him.

Something in his face cracked — restraint gone, eyes dark and blown wide, hunger pulling taut like a snapped wire. Then he moved — fast and certain — rolling her under him in one fluid shift that stole her breath.

Her back hit the mattress hard.

His weight crashed into her — bare chest flush to hers, every inch of skin burning, anchoring her in heat and gravity and pressure that didn’t let up.

She gasped — a sound ripped from her throat, part moan, part warning — and locked her arms around his shoulders like she was daring him to move again.

He didn’t back off.

He pressed in — closer, deeper — like she was the only thing holding him together.

And she held him like she meant to keep him there.

He kissed her throat, her jaw, her collarbone — open-mouthed and dragging, tongue pressing into the pulse there like he needed to leave something behind. Her legs locked tight around his waist, heels digging in, hips grinding up with brutal urgency. They moved like friction could burn away everything that came before — and maybe it could. Maybe it already was.

His hand slid lower, heat trailing with it — rough fingers skating over the curve of her ribs, down her side, tracing the space between them like he already knew what came next. Then he found the edge of her pants, dipped beneath the waistband — and stilled, breath hot at her neck.

“Jinx…?” he rasped, voice scraped raw. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t answer with words.

She didn’t have to.

Her hand clamped around his wrist and shoved it lower. Her breath dragged out hot against his ear.

“Don’t stop.”

Not a plea. A command.

A warning.

And he listened.

Her eyes didn’t waver — lit with hunger, with fire, with something wild and unmistakable.

So his hand obeyed.

His fingers slipped under the waistband, tugging her pants down over her hips — slow, deliberate, certain. The fabric caught briefly, then gave, sliding past her thighs, then her knees. She kicked them off the rest of the way — heels hitting the mattress hard, punctuation to her want.

And then he looked at her.

Really looked.

No filter.

Just awe — and heat.

She was bare beneath him now, flushed and panting, legs still bracketing his hips. The last piece of fabric clung between her thighs, soaked through — proof of just how far gone she was. How much she wanted this. Him.

His breath caught.

His mouth parted.

And his eyes didn’t move.

She saw it hit him — how wrecked he looked, how reverent, how feral. How everything he felt for her, everything he hadn’t said, was flooding his expression in real time.

She arched a brow, trying to smirk through the heat crawling up her throat.

“What,” she muttered, voice low and defensive, “you gonna stare until I come apart?”

His eyes lifted to hers — dark, steady, and wrecked in a way that made her chest twist.

“If you do,” he said, voice rough, “I want to see it.”

She snorted but it cracked, a little too close to something she didn’t want to name. So, she rolled her hips deliberately instead, dragging his focus back down a movement he couldn’t ignore.

He didn’t make her ask again.

His hands slipped down, hooked her last barrier, and pulled — slow at first, then rougher, peeling it from her like something sacred. And once there was nothing left between them, he leaned in again, his body pressing her down, all heat and weight and bare skin swallowing the air where hesitation used to live.

He kissed her.

Not frantic. Not yet. But deep — steady — like he needed to memorize the shape of her mouth, the way she tasted when there was nothing left to hold back.

Her hands slid down his chest, rough palms gliding over warmth and muscle until they reached his belt. She didn’t pause. Didn’t fumble. She found the buckle and undid it in one sharp, fluid motion — the strap pulled free, the metal clinking soft and final between them. Her hands were shaking, but it wasn’t nerves anymore. It was need — hot, high, coiled under her skin like it was going to eat her alive.

“Off,” she muttered against his mouth, voice frayed and low, burning at the edges.

He exhaled a rough, breathless laugh against her lips and helped her.

They stripped fast. No ceremony, no slow build. Just heat and hands and a hunger that had finally torn itself free.

And then — stillness.

They lay pressed together, skin to skin, every breath dragging fire between them. Nothing in the world existed outside that contact — nothing but pulse and pressure and the weight of everything they hadn’t said.

The first full press of his body against hers hit hard — chest to chest, hip-to-hip, every inch of them colliding. Jinx sucked in air like it might steady her. It didn’t. Ekko cursed under his breath, arms braced beside her head, muscles tight with the effort not to give in all at once.

He was shaking with it. The restraint. The need.

And still — it wasn’t enough.

She grabbed his face, fingers in his dreads, dragging him down into another kiss that wasn’t clean or careful. It was all teeth and breath and desperation, like if she didn’t kiss him now, she might not survive it.

He groaned into her mouth, a sound broken and deep, and she arched beneath him — back lifting, thighs locking, dragging him down until his full weight pinned her in place.

The pressure didn’t just ground her.

It wrecked her.

Her legs curled around his waist again — tighter now, ankles locking behind him, heels digging into the base of his spine like she couldn’t let him go. Not now. Not ever. She pulled him in until their hips met, until there was no room left between them.

The contact was immediate — hot and sharp and dizzying.

They both gasped.

Ekko rocked his hips. His cock sliding against her in a slow, controlled grind that sent heat tearing through her gut and pulled a sharp, involuntary sound from her throat. Her hands clawed into his back, nails dragging along sweat-damp skin. He did it again. Deliberate. Focused. Like he needed to feel every inch of her. Like he wanted her to feel him back.

The rhythm hadn’t even built yet, but the pressure was already blistering. Like a fuse had been lit too close to the powder.

Ekko rocked into her again, the motion slow but steady, hips rolling against the slick heat of her, not entering yet—just pressing, dragging, building tension that left them both gasping. The friction alone was maddening, his body sliding against hers in perfect rhythm, catching just right with every grind, every pass a deliberate stroke that sparked fire low in her belly and stole the breath from her lungs.

Jinx clung to him, nails digging into his back, legs still wrapped tight around his hips. She arched, chasing it, hips meeting his with rough insistence — urging him closer. Harder. Again. Again. Grinding into her clit with perfect pressure, dragging heat and tension through her core with every controlled pass of his cock. His hands locked around her — holding her there like he could hold the moment still, like if he let go, they’d both unravel.

Her head dropped back against the mattress. Her mouth fell open. A soft, guttural sound torn straight from her chest. The pressure was unbearable now — all friction and burn and mounting heat. Too much. Not enough.

Ekko was panting into her neck, body slick and flexing against hers, rhythm tight and precision-locked. But he held the pace. Focused. Eyes half-shuttered, his whole body tuned to hers — to every twitch, every sound, every stuttered shift of her breath.

And then she broke.

It hit her hard — a sudden, staggering wave. Her spine arched. A gasp tore loose from her throat as her whole body trembled, heels digging into his back, fingers clawing at his skin as pleasure ripped through her in jagged pulses. No restraint. No walls. Just raw sensation.

Ekko didn’t move — just held her, moving gently against her as he guided her through it. One arm wrapped tight across her waist, the other cradling the back of her shoulder, face buried in the crook of her neck as she shook in his arms.

She stayed like that — catching her breath, the world momentarily blurred. Heart pounding. Lips parted. Her body slack in his hold, but still burning.

Then she reached for him again.

Her voice rasped low — hoarse and cracked. “Don’t stop.”

His breath hitched. He swallowed hard, hand sliding up her side in a slow, grounding arc. His lips ghosted over her temple, and then he started moving again — slower now. Deeper. Each roll of his hips pressing more deliberately into her heat, until it dragged another broken sound from her throat.

And then — he caught.

His hips rocked forward and his cock caught at her entrance. The tip of him nudging there, parting her, the pressure sharp and electric.

He froze.

Looked at her.

She was trembling again — not from fear. Her hands splayed across his back, body bare and flushed, hair clinging to her skin in damp strands. Her eyes locked to his, wild and clear and full of fire.

“Do it,” she said.

Her voice cracked. But her meaning didn’t.

His eyes searched hers once more — one last flicker of restraint — and then he pressed into her.

Slow. Deliberate. Breathless.

Her mouth parted — a noise breaking free, not quite a moan, not quite a cry. Just the sound of him filling her. The stretch sharp and consuming. It stole the breath from her lungs. He kept going — deeper — arms trembling with the effort to stay present, to stay in control, even as the heat of her closed tight around him. Tight. Perfect. Like she was made to take him in.

And still, they held each other’s gaze.

No looking away.

Not now.

He bottomed out, fully inside, and stilled — buried deep, pressed tight, the pressure between them enough to punch the air from his lungs. Jinx gasped — body taut, hips twitching, shifting slightly under him as she adjusted to the weight, the stretch, the sudden, full ache of him. Her fingers clutched at his back, breath hitching through parted lips, her eyes wide and glassy.

He leaned in — kissed the corner of her mouth — then let his forehead drop to hers, body still shaking.

“Okay?” he breathed, barely audible.

She nodded — tiny, breathless.

Then, voice rasping raw: “Ekko… move.”

That was all it took.

He pulled back — not far — just enough to start again. The first roll of his hips dragged another soft gasp from her lips. Her hands clung tighter, legs bracketing his waist as her body arched to meet him. The rhythm came slow at first — testing, building, pushing into her again and again until he found the angle that had her breath catching, eyes fluttering. She was noisy getting now — low moans and broken gasps spilling out without filter, curses punched out between sharp exhales.

“Shit— Ekko, you— fuck—”

His groan broke against her skin, hips grinding harder now as he chased the sound of her unraveling.

“Right there,” she panted, nails raking down his back. “Right— yeah— there—”

He didn’t let up.

Couldn’t.

The way she clenched around him with every grind, every shift, was wrecking his focus — tugging him closer to the edge with each pulse of heat between them. Her voice was falling apart now — muttered fragments, desperate gasps, nothing coherent anymore. Just need. Just sensation.

It pushed him further.

Faster.

His rhythm lost its control — rougher now, deeper, hips slamming into hers with growing urgency, their bodies colliding in messy, hot sync without finesse. Just skin and sweat and the raw sound of their breath crashing together.

“Ekko—” she choked out, voice cracking. “Harder.”

He drove into her — all rhythm gone now, replaced with something wild and full of fire. Each thrust brutal, full-bodied, desperate. Their skin slapped. Her breath caught. His body trembled. It was chaos in motion.

Her legs locked around him, tight, caging him in. Her arms dragged him down, mouth to mouth again, gasping against each other, tangled and shaking and barely holding on.

And then she started to shudder — chest rising sharp, breath fracturing, thighs clamping around his hips.

“Don’t stop— don’t—”

Her voice was gone.

But her body was screaming for it.

He was right there with her — gripping her hips hard, thrusting deep, deeper, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she shattered beneath him. Her cry tore loose — raw, unfiltered — hips jerking, body tightening around him as the climax hit like a bolt, ripping through her in waves that left her gasping, clawing, clutching at anything to stay above water.

She dragged him closer, locked around him like a vise, and he gave in — one final thrust, sharp and full, his whole body seizing as he buried himself to the hilt. His breath broke against her skin, and then he was gone too — coming hard, pulse crashing, lost in the feel of her. Of being inside her. Of everything they’d just torn down between them.

They stayed like that — tangled, shaking, his weight pressing into her, her arms still wrapped tight around his back.

Chest to chest. Breath to breath.

Nothing left to hold back.

The air was thick with it — with heat, with sweat, with everything they weren’t saying. The world didn’t rush back. It stayed still.

Burning.

And neither of them let go.

They just breathed.

Their bodies were still tangled. Skin slick and flushed. Chests rising and falling in sync as their heartbeats slowly began to settle.

Foreheads rested in the curve of each other’s necks. Faces buried against skin, breath hot where it landed. It should’ve felt like too much. Too close. Too exposed. But it didn’t…

It felt solid. Still. Almost right.

Ekko’s arms weren’t gripping her anymore—just holding. Loose. Warm. One hand drifted up and down her back, fingers moving slow and idle, not even thinking about it.

After a long stretch of silence, he shifted—just a little—and pressed his nose to her neck. Nudged softly at her hairline, like it was instinct. Like maybe he forgot they weren’t supposed to be this comfortable. He kissed her temple.

Light. Thoughtless.

Almost too easy.

Jinx blinked slowly. Eyes half-lidded, lashes brushing his cheek when she turned just enough to meet his gaze. And for a moment, he looked like nothing else existed. Like the weight had slipped off his shoulders without him noticing. Unarmored. Real.

He smiled. Not cocky or cautious.

Just… there. Soft around the edges.

Then he kissed her again—slower this time without the rush or fire.

Just breath. Mouth.

Contact for the sake of contact.

She let it happen. Kissed him back in that lazy, languid way that only worked when the world outside didn’t matter. Her fingers skimmed his shoulders. Drifted higher. Slipped into his curls like they’d been there a hundred times before.

His hand ghosted across her ribs again, thumb brushing lightly.

Neither of them moved to pull away.

Eventually, in the hush between kisses, his voice came quiet—barely more than a whisper, like anything louder might snap the stillness between them.

“…Am I crushing you?”

Jinx huffed a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh—more breath than voice, dry around the edges.

“Little bit,” she rasped, warm and unimpressed. “But y’know, it’s fine. Death by snuggly Firelight. Could be worse.”

Ekko chuckled—low and rough in his chest, like he hadn’t decided if he was embarrassed or amused.

She still didn’t shift.

Didn’t push him off.

Her leg stayed wrapped around his waist.

If anything, she pulled him closer—fingers tightening in his hair, her mouth grazing the corner of his jaw.

“‘Sides,” she murmured, smirk twitching up despite herself, “I kinda like the view.”

Eventually, however, the weight of him became a little too much — not unpleasant, but insistent. Her body ached in new ways, overstimulated and soft around the edges, and she shifted just slightly beneath him.

Ekko noticed.

And after a moment’s hesitation, he eased himself back, pulling out carefully, slow enough to make the withdrawal feel strangely intimate in itself. Jinx made a sound — small and involuntary, a soft intake of breath that slipped between her teeth. Not from pain. Just from the sensation — sudden emptiness, soreness, warmth still lingering inside her.

Ekko looked down at her instantly — catching the flicker of pink that bloomed across her cheeks as she turned her face away. Her lashes lowered, trying not to meet his gaze, lips twitching like she was annoyed at herself for reacting at all.

“Shut up,” she muttered before he even spoke.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said, but the smile playing at his mouth said otherwise.

Still, his eyes lingered — something soft, something wrecked and reverent in the way he looked at her. He reached for something — anything — to clean them up, but all he had nearby was his shirt, discarded near the mattress.

Jinx squinted at it, then snorted. “What, that’s your plan?”

He gave her a dry look. “Unless you wanna go digging for lace napkins under the floorboards.”

She huffed, but didn’t stop him when he gently wiped at her thighs with the corner of it — careful, almost tender, until she shifted and half-turned onto her side.

He was about to sit back when his gaze dropped — drawn between her legs without meaning to.

And then he stilled.

Her leg shifted slightly, and he reached to adjust the blanket underneath — but his fingers grazed her thigh and paused.

There — he could see it. The aftermath. His own release still slick between her thighs, slowly leaking, caught in the dim light like something sacred.

His breath caught.

Not from shock — from the weight of it. From the flicker of something sharp catching behind his ribs, twisting. A consequence lodged too deep to look at straight. Not here. Not while she looked like that — flushed and wrecked and still letting him touch her.

He shoved it down. Let it splinter into something lower, rougher, hungrier. Focused on her instead — on how raw she still looked, how open she was beneath him. His fingers brushed her skin again — slow, reverent — and his eyes darkened with something deeper than heat.

Jinx caught the shift in his expression instantly.

“What, getting sentimental about it?” she teased — but there was a softness in her voice, a flicker of awareness behind the grin. His eyes flicked to hers, hot and open and hungry again, but this time quieter. Less frantic. More focused.

“Can I…” he swallowed, voice low and rasped, “Can I go down on you?”

The air between them pulsed — not just with lust, but something heavier. Something that scraped close to vulnerability. It wasn’t teasing anymore.

Jinx blinked — breath uneven, eyes still tracking his face like she was trying to read him and herself at the same time.

Then, slowly, her lips curved slowly, expression unreadable, as the tension held between them like the first drop of a storm. Just once, she nodded. Her voice came rough. Barely above a breath.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah. Okay.”

There wasn’t anything teasing in it. Not this time. Just quiet honesty wrapped in heat.

She shifted again, moving more fully onto her back, settling into the mattress with a subtle arch of her spine, hair a tangled halo beneath her. Her legs parted slightly, unconsciously, and Ekko’s hands were there — one sliding up her thigh, coaxing her open, the other steady on her hip, grounding them both.

His breath hitched.

She was wrecked and flushed, slick with the aftershock of everything they’d just done — and still, somehow, she looked untouchable. Unbelievable. Like no one else had ever seen her like this and no one else ever would.

And he didn’t know how to touch her without worship.

He moved down — slow at first, jaw tense, heart stuttering against his ribs. He’d never done this before, but the second his mouth brushed her, tentative and warm, and she gasped — that soft, half-strangled sound — every doubt short-circuited.

His lips parted. He kissed her again, a little firmer this time, tongue flicking against her with growing confidence. Her breath caught. Her hand twisted in the blanket, legs twitching with every pass of his mouth.

And then — she moaned.

A real sound, cracked and messy, pulled straight from the center of her.

Ekko swore under his breath.

That noise — gods, that fucking noise — it gutted him.

He dropped lower, wrapped an arm under one of her thighs, hooking it over his shoulder, and dragging her closer so she couldn’t squirm away as easily. He buried himself between her legs with more focus now, tongue tracing deliberate strokes that had her hips twitching and her voice breaking in gasped curse that made his blood burn as he felt her start to unravel all over again.

“Fuck—” The word cracked as it left her throat, like she couldn’t hold it in.

His arm tightened around her thigh.

And then his hand slid lower, trailing down, fingertips brushing over the heat of her, until he slid a finger inside her again — slow and careful and deep.

She cried out, the sensation sudden and overwhelming. The hot, slick slide of it making them both moan aloud. Ekko’s hips twitched slightly against the mattress at the sheer filth of it, at the way she clenched around his finger like her body was pulling him in all over again.

He didn’t stop.

His mouth moved again — steady, purposeful, sucking and licking with growing confidence, tongue circling in tandem with the rhythm of his hand, until she was shaking, gasping, writhing under him again — not from chaos or fear, but from him.

From this.

From everything they were still becoming.

Her body shaking, voice breaking, hips twitching under his mouth and hand as he worked her with growing urgency. Her climax was building fast, harder this time, tangled in breath and heat and everything he was doing to her.

But then—

“Wait—” her voice cracked, rough and desperate, fingers gripping at the bedding. “Ekko—wait—”

He pulled back instantly, breath ragged, eyes flicking up to her with alarm. But she wasn’t stopping him out of pain or fear.

She turned her head toward him, flushed and panting, gaze dark and wild. “I want you in me. Again.”

He froze, struck silent by the blunt honesty of it.

But then she moved — rolling onto her stomach, lifting herself onto her elbows and knees, braids tumbling over her shoulder in messy ropes, skin flushed with heat and sweat.

And the sight wrecked him.

She offered herself without pretense. Open. Unguarded. And he could see everything.
His breath hitched. He almost forgot how to move.

After a moment, he crawled forward. His hand running down the curve of her spine before slipping lower, fingertips trailing through her again, slick and ready and soaked in him. She moaned at the touch, body arching, hips rolling back toward his hand like instinct.

He groaned low in his chest, teeth clenched against how hard it hit him.

He lined himself up behind her, steadying his hands at her hips.

And then, slowly — reverently — he sank back into her.

She gasped, high and sharp, fingers twisting into the mattress.

Ekko’s hands clenched at her waist, holding her steady as he pressed deeper, dragging in inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside her again — tighter like this, hotter, deeper.

He didn’t move yet.

Just held her like that — overwhelmed by the sensation, by the heat, by the way her body wrapped around him like it never wanted to let go.

Then she pushed her hips back against him, moaning again.

And he started moving.

Rhythmic, heavy thrusts, pulling her back onto him with every roll of his hips, his grip tightening at her waist as he rocked into her, panting hard now.

She was loud — gasping, moaning, cursing, her voice echoing off the walls like she didn’t care who heard. Like she wanted him to hear everything she felt. Every sound she made drove him deeper, harder, until nothing existed beyond the feel of her, the sound of her, the way she clenched around him like she was made for this. For him.

This time, there was no slow build. No restraint. Just heat, pressure, and the sound of her body meeting his — desperate, slick and wild, her hips rocking back into every thrust like she was trying to pull him deeper.

Ekko watched her — watched the way her spine arched with each motion, the way the blue swirls of her tattoos curved and shifted with the movement of her muscles, almost glowing faintly in the low light. Her braids spilled across the mattress, messy and long and tangled, the ends twitching with every roll of her body. Her back bowed like something sacred, every line of her perfect, every sound she made undoing him.

And her hips—

Gods, her hips in his hands, warm and firm and made to fit there, the way they yielded to him, moved with him, took him deeper every time. Jinx’s breath had gone ragged, loud gasps muffled against the mattress as she buried her face in the sheets, moaning into the fabric with every thrust.

But he wanted to hear her. All of her.

He reached forward instinctively, fingers curling into one of her braids, tugging it gently but firmly — enough to lift her head just slightly off the bed.

She moaned louder, sharp and raw, her body tightening around him.

He felt it — that ripple inside her, the way she clenched harder around him the second he pulled her braid. She liked it. The realization made his hips snap forward harder, made his grip on her tighten, made something primal settle deeper in his chest.

“You like that?” he rasped, voice low and uneven, words spilling out now as his body took over. “You like me pulling you back like this—hearing how good you sound?”

She tried to answer, but only a broken gasp left her lips.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his other hand sliding over her ass, up the small of her back, then back to her hip, gripping her like he couldn’t bear to let go.

She whimpered — tried to say something — but her voice stuttered on another cry when he thrust harder again. Ekko leaned forward, mouth close to her ear now, still holding her braid, hips still moving relentless behind her.

“Tell me,” he murmured, low and wrecked. “Tell me how it feels.”

“I—” She gasped, choked on a moan. “Feels—fuck, you—s’deep—”

Her words dissolved again, but it didn’t matter.

Her body said everything.

They didn’t slow down.

If anything, it only got rougher, more desperate, more primal — like all the heat they'd been building for weeks was finally burning through the last of their restraint.

Ekko’s rhythm was relentless now, thrusts deeper, harder, his grip on her hips bruising-tight as he pulled her back into him, burying himself again and again until she was nearly sobbing into the mattress with every breath.

Her thighs trembled, her hands fisting in the sheets, and her voice cracked in open, messy gasps with each thrust — no rhythm left, just raw sound and pleasure tumbling out of her mouth without control.

And still, she pushed back against him — arched and wanting, offering more, chasing every second of it, cloud tattoos rippling with every motion, her body perfect and wrecked beneath him.

He felt himself tipping — heat tightening low in his gut, muscles twitching, control starting to slip.

His hand slid from her braid to her hip again, gripping hard, and he mumbled it without meaning to, the words torn from his throat in a groan:

“Shit—I’m close—”

And her voice hit him like a match to dry kindling.

“Do it,” she gasped, breath hitching, hips bucking back into him while she worked a hand between her own legs. “Gods, Ekko—please—”

Something inside him snapped.

He let go — one final thrust, deep and sharp, pulling her tight against him as he pressed in as far as he could go, groaning her name like it was the only thing left in his head.

She came with him — loud and shuddering, her body clenching so hard around him it nearly undid him all over again, her cries echoing raw and unfiltered, fingers curling into the mattress as her body gave out beneath the weight of it.

He held her through it — still buried inside, hands trembling on her hips, forehead resting between her shoulder blades as his breath came in broken waves against her skin.

Neither of them moved.

Not yet.

Not when they were still shaking, still locked together, still trying to understand how it all suddenly meant more than either of them had planned.

Eventually, he had to.

He eased out of her carefully, slow and deliberate, though even that gentle motion drew another soft, overstimulated whimper from her lips. Her body twitched at the loss of contact, and then she collapsed fully, sinking into the mattress like her bones had given up, cheek turned to the side, breathing in slow, steady waves.

Ekko sat back on his heels for a moment, just looking at her.

His gaze trailed along her spine, the rise and fall of her shoulders, the still-flushed curve of her hips where his hands had been. His fingerprints lingered there, a faint red bloom against her pale skin — not enough to hurt, but enough to mark. Enough to say mine, without a word spoken.

He swallowed, eyes catching on the way his release still lingered between her thighs, proof of everything they’d just shared, raw and intimate and real.

Something in him clenched again — not with want this time.

He reached for the shirt again — the same one she’d mocked earlier — and this time, actually used it properly. He cleaned her up slowly, careful not to press too hard. Her body flinched a little at the contact, too sensitive now, but she didn’t stop him.

She grumbled faintly instead, shifting her hips with a wince. “You’re worse than a med bay nurse.”

“Just trying to take care of you,” he muttered back, still gentle in his motions.

She huffed — but didn’t argue.

When he was done, he tossed the shirt somewhere vaguely toward the corner of the room and slid back down beside her, still catching his breath.

Then, without a word, he pulled her in close — arm curling around her waist, chest to her back, his hand smoothing along her belly, grounding them both in the warmth that still lingered between their bodies.

She let him.

Didn’t make a sound this time.

Just settled against him, still half-draped in the blanket, her hair a mess across the pillow, the weight of the moment sinking in slowly beneath the quiet.

And there they stayed.

Not talking.

Not moving.

Just breathing together, tangled in sweat and softness, the ache of what they'd done still settling into their skin. Eventually, the silence settled into something heavier — not tense, not awkward… just full.

Warm limbs tangled together, heartbeat against heartbeat, the scent of sweat and skin and something quieter now clinging to the still air. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing left to say that their bodies hadn’t already screamed into each other’s mouths.

Jinx shifted once to tug the blanket higher, half-conscious. Ekko pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder, a soft, instinctive thing — and somewhere between his arm curling tighter around her waist and the steady rhythm of their breathing, they drifted into sleep.

Morning came slowly.

The light didn’t pour in so much as creep — thin beams slipping through cracks in the broken slats of the attic roof, casting faint, dusty patterns across the mattress. It was cool again, the air carrying a slight chill, and the blanket barely did enough to hold in the fading warmth of the night before.

Jinx woke first.

Or at least, her body did — not all at once, but in flickers. Her eyes opened halfway, crusted with sleep, gaze unfocused as she stared at the rafters. Her body ached in places she hadn’t used in a while. Between her legs was sore and tender in a way that made her cheeks warm even though no one could see.

She was still curled in his arms.

One of her thighs was slung over his, his arm heavy over her stomach, his breath warm and steady at her shoulder. For a second, she just stayed there — trying not to think too hard, not letting her brain spin itself into knots like it always did.

But the weight in her chest was already creeping in. It wasn’t that she regretted it. She wasn’t ashamed. It was just... questions. And uncertainty. Scratching at the cracked, coarse walls of her mind. Loud and distracting.

What now?

That was always the part no one talked about.

She shifted slightly, enough to draw a sleepy grunt from him.

Ekko stirred — blinking slowly, brow furrowing like he hadn’t quite returned to full consciousness yet.

Then his eyes opened fully.

They met hers.

And the silence thickened.

He didn’t smile this time. Didn’t say anything clever or soft.

He just looked at her.

Really looked.

Like he wasn’t sure what to say either.

“…Morning,” he mumbled eventually, voice rough with sleep, lips brushing her shoulder again because it was the only part of him that knew what to do.

Jinx blinked at him.

“…Yeah,” she said, voice flat but not unkind. “Guess it is.”

It wasn’t a rejection. Not a retreat.

Just… them.

Navigating the ruins of whatever this had just become.

She pulled the blanket tighter around her chest and sat up slightly, her hair a mess, twin braids tumbling over her bare shoulders, face unreadable.

“You’re hogging all the warmth, gearhead,” she muttered, because she needed to say something that wasn’t a confession.

Ekko gave a low snort and sat up beside her, rubbing at his face.

“I just laid still. You’re the one who sprawled across me like a heat lamp.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you off the mattress.”

“You tried. I just didn’t move.”

They exchanged a glance — and the tension cracked, just a little. Not everything had changed, not all at once. There was still that rhythm between them — snark and silence, friction and familiarity. But there was a new weight under it now. Something unspoken, humming beneath their skin.

They stayed like that for a little while longer, sitting in the quiet, tangled in the edge of shared warmth and the strange calm that followed everything they'd just done. It wasn’t awkward exactly—just new. Raw in a way neither of them really knew how to touch yet.

Eventually, Jinx exhaled sharply and sat up fully, swinging her legs off the mattress. Her body immediately reminded her that she’d been thoroughly wrecked not long ago, and she winced slightly, muttering under her breath.

Ekko glanced at her sideways. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” she said too quickly, brushing him off with a flick of her hand as she reached for her pants. “Just… y’know… used muscles I don’t usually use.”

He gave her a look — somewhere between amusement and pride — but didn’t say anything. She could feel him watching her as she bent to grab her clothes, stretching sore muscles and biting back another hiss as she moved.

And then she frowned at the bundle in her hand.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “These are ruined.”

She held up her underwear—barely more than a scrap of thin fabric at this point, damp and tangled and beyond salvage. She shook it once, then tossed it back on the pile of discarded clothes near the mattress with an unimpressed snort.

“Guess I’m going without.”

Ekko arched a brow. “You’re just gonna—?”

“Yeah,” she said, pulling her pants up over bare skin with a practiced motion, ignoring the lingering soreness. “What, you want me to air dry first?”

He tried not to look. Failed spectacularly.

And Jinx didn’t miss it.

She tugged at her halter top next, adjusting the buckle a little higher on her chest as she caught sight of the faint red mark he’d left on her collarbone — darkening now into the beginning of a hickey. She pulled the strap a bit tighter over it. It didn’t hide it completely.

And the bruising at her hips… well, that was harder to cover.

Her belt sat low, like always, and just at the edge of the leather, the faintest trace of finger-shaped red was peeking out, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it.

Ekko was definitely looking.

His gaze lingered—dragging along the lines of her skin, those subtle bruises he’d left behind. He swallowed, jaw shifting, a flicker of heat rising again in his expression, quiet but unmistakable.

Jinx caught it immediately.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, smug and sharp.

“You staring at my belt or what’s under it, pretty boy?”

Ekko blinked, caught, but didn’t look away. “Wasn’t sure if I should say something.”

She smirked, cocking her hip slightly toward him, like a dare. “No one’s gonna say shit.”

He gave her that dry, half-skeptical grin. “Not to your face, maybe.”

Jinx snorted and smacked him lightly, but without malice. Ekko reached down to grab his pants, dragging them on without urgency—the motion casual, easy—like the heat of last night hadn’t changed anything between them.

Jinx didn’t say much as she adjusted her belt, fingers working the buckle with a focus that felt too practiced. Her hair was still a mess, sticking in places it didn’t belong, but she didn’t seem in a hurry to fix it.

“Hey,” Ekko said quietly, not quite looking at her. “About last night—”

Jinx didn’t glance up. “Which part?” she muttered, tugging her holster tight around her thigh. “The fun part or the part where we forgot to not be idiots?”

Ekko huffed a small breath, not quite a laugh.

“So, you’ve thought about it,” he said.

“I’m not brain-dead,” she replied, finally straightening up and reaching for her boots. “Just impulsive.”

He watched her carefully, noting the set of her shoulders, the way she didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I just think maybe we should talk about it.”

Her hands froze for half a second before she crouched to pick up one boot, brushing off a bit of attic dust.

“Talk about what?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t cold, just… distant.

“You know what.”

She slid the boot on, not bothering to lace it yet. “It’s handled.”

“Jinx—”

“I said it’s fine,” she cut in, too fast. Not sharp, but certain. Like if she said it with enough finality, it would become true.

He didn’t push. Not because he didn’t care, but because she wasn’t letting him in. Not here. Not yet.

She stood, boots in hand now, hair falling across one eye. She didn’t tuck it back.

“Don’t get weird about it, Echo Chamber,” she said, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite stick. “I’m not gonna turn up six months from now waddling around and glowing.”

Ekko just nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t say you would.”

“Good.” She slung the boots over her shoulder. “See you later.”

She didn’t look at him again as she pulled the hatch open. The door creaked like always, wood groaning under its own weight.

Then it dropped shut behind her.

And the attic was quiet.

Chapter Text

The walk back was fine.

Totally normal.

Nothing weird about it. Just another trip through the undercity. Familiar alleys. Grease-streaked walls. The stink of chemtrails and fried rat in the air.

Everything was the same.

Except her legs ached, her hips throbbed faintly with every step, and her pants felt too tight even though they were the same damn pair she always wore.

And then she saw a kid — grubby, barefoot, chasing a ball through the street, all knees and elbows and laughter.

And it hit her like a brick to the ribs.

He’d finished in her.

Twice.

Her stride faltered. She kept walking. Pretended she hadn’t just short-circuited.

She wasn’t panicking. Not really. Just—thinking. Fast. Too fast.

She just needed to reflect.

Or move. Or not think.

Her thoughts spun like a badly tuned rotor: He was inside her. What if—no, it’s probably fine, it’s usually fine, people do this all the time, right? Not everyone ends up with a little gremlin screaming in their arms nine months later...

But some do.

And it wasn’t like she could just ask. Not anyone. Definitely not Silco.

She snorted to herself at the thought. The sheer cosmic horror of it. “Hey, Silco, question: what’s the probability I’m now a walking womb because I got railed like a broken door hinge by a Firelight?” — Yeah, no. No.

She turned a corner and almost walked straight into Sevika.

“Easy,” Sevika grunted, stepping aside.

Jinx startled slightly but recovered quick, mouth twisting into a familiar sneer. “Well, if it isn’t Big Scowl herself. Out for a brooding strut or just trying to find a mirror that doesn’t crack under your gaze?”

Sevika didn’t blink. “You look like shit.”

Jinx mock-clutched her heart. “A compliment! You really do care.”

But Sevika was still looking at her — longer than usual. And lower, too.

Jinx followed her gaze down.

Right. The bruises.

She’d pulled her belt up as far as it could go, but it wasn’t magic. You could still see a faint flush of red around the curve of her hip, peeking out under the strap. The collar of her halter was yanked high, but if she moved too much, the hickey would probably peek out again too.

Fantastic.

“Rough night?” Sevika asked, dry as rust.

Jinx rolled her eyes. “What, now you’re interested in my nightlife? Gonna start asking for reviews?”

“No,” Sevika said flatly. “But you’re walking like you got rearranged.”

That was almost enough to make her turn around and walk right back into a wall.

Jinx clicked her tongue, tried to brush it off. “Maybe I did the rearranging.”

Sevika didn’t look convinced.

Jinx fidgeted. Hands twitching. Eyes darting. Then she stuffed them into her pockets like she wasn’t nervous.

“Not that it matters,” she said after a beat, staring at a pipe on the wall like it was suddenly fascinating. “But. Hypothetically.”

Sevika raised a brow.

Jinx’s voice got faster, looser, like she was trying to outrun her own discomfort.

“If someone—not me, obviously—just, like, happened to get… y’know, a little too involved with someone and… things got kind of… internalized. Biologically.”

A pause.

Sevika stared at her.

“...What?”

Jinx scowled, waving her hands. “Like, inside! Hypothetically! Bodily fluids. Spillage. Cream-filled pastry metaphor—just—ugh, you get it.”

Another pause. Sevika lit a cigarette.

“You asking if you’re pregnant?”

Jinx’s entire face twisted. “No! I’m—ugh! Why would you even—god, you’re so blunt.”

Sevika exhaled smoke and shrugged. “You’re not subtle.”

“I’m not asking,” Jinx snapped. “I’m not asking. I’m just saying… hypothetically… if someone wanted to know what the odds are of getting, y’know, unintentionally occupied after a night of extremely excellent—hypothetical—screwing, what would a person even do?”

Sevika stared for a moment, then said, “You get a test.”

Jinx blinked.

“You pee on a strip.”

“Gross.”

Sevika shrugged again. “Simple.”

“Doesn’t sound simple.”

“It is. Or, if you’ve got half a brain, get something from a chem dispensary and dose yourself after.”

Jinx blinked again.

“There’s a thing for that?”

Sevika gave her a flat look. “Did you think people in Zaun just hope for the best and pray not to end up with a nursery in the corner?”

“I don’t know! I don’t—do this, usually.”

Sevika raised a brow again, eyes lingering on her neck. “Clearly.”

Jinx folded her arms, defensive. “It’s not like I planned it.”

“Obviously.”

“And it’s not like I’m gonna ask the guy, either.”

“No shit.”

They were quiet for a second.

Jinx rubbed the back of her neck. “…So. That thing. Chem thing. It’s reliable?”

Sevika took another drag of her cigarette. “Usually. If you get it soon.”

“…Right.” Jinx shifted, scuffed her boot on the ground. “Okay.”

Sevika gave her a sideways glance. “I can send someone to get it if you want.”

Jinx hesitated.

Then scoffed. “No. I’ll handle it.”

Sevika nodded. Didn’t push it.

Then: “Next time, try not to leave love bites where it peeks over your waistband. People notice.”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “You wanna give me tips on hiding battle damage now?”

“No,” Sevika said. “But you’re not as invisible as you think.”

And with that, Sevika turned and walked away, smoke curling in her wake.

Jinx stayed behind for a moment, hands clenched in her pockets, staring off toward nothing.

Eventually, she muttered, “...It wasn’t love bites.”

But she didn’t say it loud enough for anyone to hear.

The apothecary sat wedged between a scrap metal recycler and a noodle stall, tucked into a corner of Zaun that always smelled like rusted pipewater and spicy broth. The painted sign above the door had long since faded, the letters barely legible anymore, but Jinx knew the place. She’d walked past it a hundred times. Never gone in.

Today, she hesitated outside for longer than she’d like to admit, pretending to study a broken pipe fixture like she wasn’t about to walk into a shop and ask for something to keep her uterus unoccupied.

Eventually, she shoved the door open.

A tiny bell jingled overhead.

The smell hit her first — sharp herbs, bitter roots, and dusty old paper. The place looked like it had grown there naturally, vines of shelving winding around strange jars and faded labels. Behind the cluttered counter, nestled among the mess like a sleepy cat, sat an old woman in layered shawls, glasses perched low on her nose, eyes sharp beneath them.

She looked up when the bell chimed.

“Ah,” she said kindly. “Hello, dear.”

Jinx stayed in the doorway, arms crossed like a barrier. “Hey.”

The woman smiled. “Something hurting, or something missing?”

Jinx blinked. “What?”

“Your body, child. Is something broken—or are you trying to keep something from growing?”

That startled a laugh out of her, loud and surprised. “Damn. You go straight for the throat, huh?”

The woman shrugged, unfazed. “Been doing this longer than you’ve been breathing. I can tell a girl’s stride when she’s walking sore and thinking hard.”

“I’m not—” Jinx started, then immediately stopped. Her eyes flicked away.

“Mm-hmm,” the woman hummed, and began moving toward a back shelf.

Jinx watched her shuffle through small drawers and paper-wrapped bundles until she returned with a small tin box and a second satchel wrapped in soft cloth.

She set them both on the counter and slid them forward.

“First one’s a two-dose chem suppressant. Take one today, one tomorrow — just in case. Second is a longer-term contraceptive tonic. Once a week, with food, and it should keep any surprises at bay.”

Jinx blinked. “...Seriously?”

“I assume this isn’t a one-time kind of situation.”

Jinx’s mouth opened and closed. “That’s… presumptuous.”

The woman gave her a look. “And practical.”

Jinx rubbed the back of her neck. “This stuff actually work?”

“Ninety-eight percent, assuming you follow instructions and don’t get clever.”

“Can’t make any promises.”

“You’ll manage.”

Jinx eyed both items, then reached out and pocketed them with a muttered, “Thanks.”

The woman’s expression softened. “You could also talk to the boy, you know.”

“What boy?” Jinx said too fast. Too loud. “No boy. Maybe a few explosions. Definitely not a boy.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And I didn’t come here for therapy, I came for uterus defusal kits.”

“Both are important.”

Jinx scowled, but her voice was quieter now. “I don’t know how to do this kind of thing.”

“No one does—until they do.”

The old woman paused, then added, gentler this time, “It doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to. But you should still take care of yourself. You deserve that much.”

Jinx didn’t answer.

She hated how those words got under her skin — soft as they were, they scraped deeper than they should’ve. It was easier when people were cold, blunt, transactional. Easier when care came wrapped in orders or silence. Kindness — real, quiet kindness — made things feel too exposed. It turned the moment into something bigger, heavier. It made her feel seen, and being seen always came with consequences.

She turned to go, tossing a braid over one shoulder. Her boots scuffed the floor once before she moved. But before she stepped out, the woman called again, “Take care of yourself, dear. And if you ever need more… the shop doesn’t close.”

Jinx didn’t look back.

But her fingers curled tighter around the tin in her pocket, and the words stayed with her longer than she expected.

By the time Jinx reached her workshope hideout, her legs ached again.

Not just from the walk — from remembering, from overthinking, from the way her skin still buzzed faintly under her clothes.

She shoved the heavy door open and slipped into the dark shaft, descending into the glow and clutter of her space. The humming of machinery filled the air, comforting in its chaos. Her boots echoed faintly as she crossed the metal grate floor and dropped the contraceptive tin and tonic into a drawer beneath her workbench with more force than necessary.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Maybe.

She threw herself into a half-finished project next — a rigged coil detonator that had been giving her hell for a week. Something finicky in the feedback loop. Normally she’d enjoy the challenge, but today her fingers twitched too much, her brain looping on things that weren’t voltage or gear ratios.

Like a hand gripping her hip.

Or a tongue against her—

She cursed under her breath and yanked the detonator off the table. It clattered to the floor.

“Problem?” came Silco’s voice, calm and smooth from behind her.

Jinx jolted — a real, sharp flinch — and scowled over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she snapped. “Gravity. Still an asshole.”

Silco stepped closer, gaze sweeping over the scattered tools before settling on her. He always saw too much. Too fast.

“I came to check on your progress with the shipment rigging,” he said, but his tone was preoccupied, eyes narrowing subtly. His gaze flicked downward — not toward her project, but toward the faint purplish smudge barely visible above her belt line, where the edge of her bruising peeked out between the gap of halter and waistband.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

His eye lingered just a little too long.

Jinx noticed.

Her spine straightened.

“What?” she barked.

Silco didn’t answer immediately. Just cocked his head, slow and assessing.

“You’re injured,” he said, more observation than concern.

“No. Not like—” She caught herself. “Not like that.”

His brow lifted faintly. “Then I assume it was… recreational.”

Jinx’s jaw twitched. “Wow. You got a word for everything, huh?”

Silco didn’t press. He never did. He just waited, let silence settle like weight on a chest.

Jinx turned back to the workbench, grabbing a tool at random.

“I’m fine,” she said. “The detonators are fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Mm.” His voice was unreadable. “Then perhaps keep it that way.”

She glanced over her shoulder again, expression sharp.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that distractions tend to leave fingerprints.”

Her hands stilled.

His gaze lingered a second longer. Then, smoothly, he turned to leave.

“I’ll expect the schematics by tomorrow.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The silence he left behind felt heavier than it should’ve.

Jinx stared down at her workbench for a long time, jaw clenched.

Then she reached into the drawer, pulled out the tin again, stared at it like it might bite her.

She didn't open it.

Turned it slowly in her hand, like she wasn’t sure if it would bite or break. Then she set it back down — more carefully this time.

The attic door slammed behind her harder than it needed to.

Jinx stalked in with tension wound through every limb, eyes flicking sharp, movement twitchy and restless like her body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to pace, punch something, or combust.

Her brain was full of noise. Her skin itched under her clothes. Everything felt off — the space, her breath, her bones. She needed something to break. Or burn. Or hold.

She didn’t even sit. Just hovered near the mattress, shifting from foot to foot, picking up a bolt from the floor and tossing it into the wall hard enough to clang.

When the door creaked open again, she didn’t look.

Ekko stepped in anyway.

His presence was a contrast—calm, grounded, steady in a way that only made her feel more volatile.

“Hey,” he said, scanning her posture, her clenched fists. “You alright?”

“Nope,” short and sharp like a fuse already lit.

He frowned. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Everything. Pick one.”

“Jinx—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, turning on him. “Don’t start with the soft voice and the gentle hands. I don’t want it.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.” Her eyes narrowed. “Always looking at me like you’re trying to fix me.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said, sharper now. “I’m just trying to figure out if I should brace for a punch or a kiss.”

Her breath hitched. Something about that hit too close to the wrong nerve.

“Maybe both,” she muttered.

“You’re picking a fight,” he said, stepping toward her. “You want me to hit back? Or are you just trying to chase off whatever’s got you twisted up tonight?”

Jinx’s laugh came sharp and joyless. “You think you know what’s got me twisted up?”

Ekko’s jaw clenched, frustrated now. “You could just talk to me.”

“Talking’s boring.”

“So hit me.”

That stopped her.

Something flickered in her expression—anger, yes, but something hotter beneath it, something raw and complicated that she couldn’t shove back down fast enough.

She hesitated. Just a breath.

Then she lunged—grabbing his shirt and kissing him like a lit match striking steel.

It was teeth and heat and desperation, no warning, no hesitation. Her body pressed full into his, swallowing his breath with hers before he could say another word.

Ekko stumbled backward, instinct catching a beat behind her force — and when the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, she shoved him down hard, climbing over him before he even landed.

Her legs straddled his hips, hands still fisted in his shirt, yanking him back into another kiss, deeper this time, as if she could bury whatever was clawing at her ribcage by swallowing him whole.

There was no explanation.

Just the weight of her body pinning him down, the bruising kiss, the desperate press of her hips against his, the way her fingers curled tighter every time he tried to speak.

Ekko responded on instinct — heat blooming through him as her mouth devoured his, his hands sliding up her waist, still too stunned to catch up. His brain scrambled, mouth parting like he might ask something — but her hand grabbed his face, dragging him in again before he could speak.

And if he’d noticed the way her body shook a little as she held him there, he didn’t say a word. He was too busy gasping into her mouth, too consumed by the way she kissed him like she couldn’t afford to let go. And somewhere beneath her skin, something fierce and possessive curled its fingers around his ribs and refused to explain itself.

The kiss broke only long enough for Jinx to breathe — ragged, eyes wild — and then she was on him again, dragging him deeper into the mattress like gravity had decided to work only in her favor tonight. Her fingers fumbled at the hem of his shirt, not bothering with gentleness. “Off,” she growled, already yanking it upward.

Ekko sat up just enough to help, but she shoved him back down again as soon as it was over his head, tossing the fabric somewhere behind her without looking. Her hands were already at her own buckle, unfastening her halter top and letting it fall in one fluid, careless motion.

She wasn’t being seductive. She wasn’t performing.

She was claiming space. Taking.

He let her.

Her fingers moved next to the waistband of his pants, impatient, tugging — then yanking with a bit too much force. “Off. Now.”

He was already working on it, but her hands were faster, meaner, tearing at his belt and shoving the fabric down his hips like she didn’t care whether it came off clean. She stood just long enough to shove her own pants down and kick them away, then she was back in his lap, pressing against him before his pants even made it past his thighs.

The contact dragged a gasp from both of them.

His hands instinctively found her waist — palms sliding over the bruises he’d left, fingers curling in awe and hunger.

But she snarled. Actually snarled.

Her hands gripped his wrists and wrenched them off her like a warning.

“Don’t,” she snapped, eyes blazing. “Not yet.”

He stilled beneath her, breathing hard, eyes wide — stunned but not resisting.

She pushed him down against the mattress again, not gently this time — and pinned his hands flat against the bedding on either side of his head, fingers wrapped firm around his wrists.

“Leave them there,” she said, low and rough, her voice like smoke and steel. “Don’t move them.”

Ekko swallowed, lips parted, completely under her now — heat rising through him so fast it left him dizzy.

But he didn’t move.

And Jinx leaned down again, mouth finding his — all teeth, all want — like she was trying to burn her name into him without saying a word.

She didn’t let go of his wrists.

Even when she started to rock against him.

Slow, deliberate, grinding friction that made them both gasp — hips dragging over hips, heat building sharp and fast between them. Her breath hitched with every pass, her thighs clenching tighter around his, her body moving like a coiled spring just beginning to unspool.

Ekko groaned beneath her, eyes fluttering half-shut. His hands twitched against the mattress — just slightly, instinctive — but he didn’t lift them.

Jinx noticed.

Her grip on his wrists tightened for just a second, a silent reminder, a test.

He stayed still.

Good.

But after a while, the friction wasn’t enough.

It scratched the itch, but didn’t burn it out. Not even close.

Her whole body ached for more — too much pressure, too much tension in her chest, her head, her skin. She needed to feel it deeper. Sharper. She needed to take all of it.

So she shifted.

Lifted herself just enough to reach down between them, fingers moving with sharp impatience.

She curled her hand around his cock — hot, hard, already slick with how much they wanted this — and guided him into place.

Ekko’s breath stuttered. His eyes snapped open.

But she didn’t look at him yet.

She was focused.

On the stretch. The ache.

She started to sink down slowly — and it hit her fast: how tight she was, how full she already felt before he was even halfway inside. Her eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenching. It hurt a little — sharp at first, intrusive and real in a way that kissing hadn’t been. She was still a bit sore from yesterday, but still, she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

She pressed down further, slow but steady, breath growing ragged, the pain blooming into something sharper, something she could anchor herself to. It grounded her. Real. Present.

Ekko was gasping beneath her, his whole body tensed — jaw slack, chest rising fast — but his hands hadn’t moved. Not an inch. When she was finally seated fully — hips flush, thighs shaking faintly — she stilled, bracing her palms against his chest to catch her breath. The pressure inside her was deep and hot and achingly full. She trembled a little, but not from fear.

When she finally opened her eyes, half-lidded and heavy, he was staring up at her.

Wide-eyed. Breathless. Eyes dark and blown wide.

He looked like he could barely breathe.

And he still hadn’t moved.

Jinx exhaled shakily.

She liked that. Liked knowing he was letting her take everything she needed without fighting it. Liked the control — not just over him, but over this feeling inside her that she couldn’t name.

Her fingers dragged slowly across his collarbone, nails grazing his skin.

Still silent.

Still claiming.

Still hers.

Jinx’s breath was still ragged when she started to move again.

She leaned back slightly, shifting her weight over his hips, the angle deeper — her hands braced against his thighs for balance. Then she lifted herself slowly, dragging his length from inside her inch by inch before sinking back down again with a sharp inhale.

Testing.

The first few strokes were rough, uneven — her body adjusting again, relearning the rhythm, her muscles tightening around him with each slow descent. It wasn’t about speed. It was about pressure. Depth. Control.

Ekko was beneath her, shaking with restraint, jaw clenched, his hands fisted tight in the mattress on either side of him like if he moved, even a little, he might break the spell between them.

His knuckles were white.

She watched him through heavy lashes as she found her pace — slow, deliberate rolls of her hips that dragged moans from her own throat and strangled groans from his. Her movements grew more fluid, more confident, more devastating.

She knew what she was doing now. Knew the angle that made her toes curl. The way he hit deepest when she dropped just a little faster.

And he was watching her like she was a goddamn miracle.

Eyes locked on hers, lips parted, chest rising with desperate effort to stay still. He was gasping with every pass, muscles trembling under her, sweat beading at his brow.

He wanted to touch her.

He wanted to thrust up into her so badly she could feel the tension in his thighs every time she rose.

But he didn’t.

She hadn’t told him he could.

Jinx leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, pressing her hips down slow and hard again, dragging a breathy moan from deep in her throat.

“Talk to me,” she panted, low and hungry.

Ekko’s head tipped back against the mattress, voice breaking. “Jinx…”

“Talk.”

“I—fuck—you feel so good,” he gasped, eyes wild. “You’re… perfect. You’re driving me insane.”

She smirked, sweat-slick and flushed, her rhythm never faltering.

“That all?” she murmured, grinding down with purpose. “You can do better than that.”

“Please,” he groaned. “You’re killing me—”

“Say it.”

He blinked up at her, dazed.

Her nails dug into his chest. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

Her eyes burned down into his. Demanding. Commanding. Desperate in a way she’d never say aloud.

“Say that you’re mine.”

Ekko’s breath caught.

Her hips kept moving — slower now, deeper — making him feel every word she didn’t say out loud.

He swallowed, voice shaking. “I’m yours.”

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t smile.

But her eyes softened just a little—just for a split second—before she closed them like she could shut the feeling out.

Jinx rode him with steady, deliberate control — her body rolling with practiced rhythm now, each movement dragging a low gasp from both of them. The pressure between them was thick, electric. Every grind, every bounce, every breath — deeper, harder — like she needed to burn the tension out of herself through him.

Ekko was beneath her, eyes heavy-lidded, jaw tight, fighting not to move. Arms rigid with restraint , his grip on the sheet looked painful. She’d told him not to touch, and he hadn’t — not once — but every flick of her hips made it harder.

And she could see it in him.

The way his muscles coiled beneath her. The way his fingers twitched. The way his chest heaved every time she sank back down onto him.

He was holding on, but just barely.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, head tipping back against the mattress.

Her pace didn’t slow.

“You wanna move?” she asked, voice low, challenging.

His eyes snapped open to meet hers.

“…Yeah,” he admitted, breath catching. “Fuck, yeah.”

She smirked — a slow, dangerous curve of her lips — and kept going, thighs working harder now, every downward slide pulling a rough sound from his throat.

His knuckles were white.

“You’re doing good,” she said, mocking praise curling into her tone. “Almost thought you’d break by now.”

“I’m trying,” he said, voice tight, controlled — barely. “Trying not to.”

“You always follow orders so well?”

“Only yours.”

That made her pause — just a little — then drive her hips down harder, dragging a grunt from both their throats.

Ekko’s eyes fluttered. His hands twitched again.

“Can I—” he started, swallowing. “Can I just—just your waist—”

“No.”

The word landed sharp.

And he didn’t fight it. Just clenched his fists tighter and watched her, his gaze devouring every inch of her, from the sweat glistening on her collarbone to the way her breasts moved with every motion, to the way her mouth stayed parted, gasping soft with every push.

She could feel it — how much he wanted to touch her, hold her, drag her down and give her everything back — but she wasn’t letting him.

Not yet.

“Just keep watching me,” she said, her voice hot, low, breathless now.

And he did.

Because she was beautiful like this — powerful, wild, and claiming him without ever saying the words. They’d been at it for a while now — hips grinding, bodies slick with sweat, air thick with heat and breath and tension so taut it buzzed beneath her skin.

Jinx was shaking with it.

Her thighs were burning, muscles quivering with every bounce, but she wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t give up the control, even as her rhythm began to falter from sheer exhaustion.

She was close — fuck, she was so close, but the strain was starting to catch up with her, each downward roll more ragged than the last. Her breath hitched on a whimper, body clenching tighter, pleasure and fatigue tangled so deep she could barely tell them apart anymore.

And finally — finally — she gave in.

Her hands dropped to his wrists, fingers gripping hard, dragging them up to her waist with sharp urgency.

“Ekko—shit—touch me,” she gasped, voice breaking. “Now. I can’t—just—need your hands.”

His eyes snapped open — wide and desperate and already on the edge — and his hands gripped her immediately, rough and grounding and just what she needed.

He held her firmly, anchoring her, his hips thrusting up to meet her now — deep and sharp, chasing her rhythm with his own. She cried out, head tipping back, a broken, loud sound she didn’t bother to muffle, her body rocking harder now, losing control with every pass.

One of her hands slid up his chest to brace herself as she leaned forward, panting, mouth open, eyes fluttering half-shut. Her hips met his with frantic, gasping precision, their bodies slamming together over and over again, slick and loud and full of heat.

She was loud now — couldn’t stop herself.

“Fuckin’—shit, don’t stop—”

He groaned beneath her, voice wrecked. “Jinx—I’m close—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Finish in me,” she gasped, low and wild. “I want it—want you.”

Her whole body tightened over him, trembling on the edge, riding the wave out as it built between them — fast, relentless, crashing toward something that neither of them could hold off much longer.

Jinx was unraveling — right there at the edge, teetering, hips grinding with a wild rhythm, her hand slipping up his chest again, fingers digging into his skin like she could anchor herself through him.

“Keep going—don’t stop,” she panted. “Fuck—just like that—”

She could feel it rising — a burn curling deep in her belly, rising fast and violent, no softness, no slow slide — just heat and sharpness and need.

“I’m gonna—shit—I’m gonna come—”

And then she did.

Her whole body snapped down on him, thighs clamping tight around his hips, her voice tearing out of her throat in a half-choked cry as she slammed down one last time, grinding deep against him with a shuddering gasp.

Her muscles clenched hard — a deep, pulsing squeeze that made Ekko lose his breath, made him groan low and guttural, hands clamping hard around her thighs like he was holding on for dear life.

He felt every spasm and every quake — her body tightening and fluttering around him, slick and hot and overwhelming.

She pulsed once, twice — and it undid him.

Ekko arched up into her, voice catching as he thrust deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside her, hands gripping her like he needed to leave marks to prove it happened, that she’d taken all of him.

Their breaths crashed together, their bodies locked, tangled, trembling.

And the world narrowed to nothing but skin and sweat and the feeling of being inside each other, fully and completely.

They didn’t speak — not yet.

Just the sound of their gasps, the aftershocks, the weight of what they’d just done settling over them like heat. Her thighs still trembled, her breath still came in short, uneven bursts — but as the waves of pleasure eased into something slower, deeper, she let herself sink.

Down, down, onto his chest — her full weight draping over him like the air had gone out of her muscles, arms tucked close, face pressed into the curve of his neck. She let out a slow, shaky exhale against his skin, her lips brushing his collarbone with it.

Ekko’s arms loosened around her slowly, the bruising grip on her thighs fading into a gentler touch, fingers sliding over the soreness in soft, absent-minded strokes.

Then, eventually, one hand moved up — settling on the curve of her rear, just resting there. Grounding. Holding.

They were still breathing hard, the attic air thick with heat and sweat and something heavier.

Ekko’s voice came low, wrecked and slightly dazed.

“…Wow. That was—”

Jinx made a low, scratchy sound against his neck — somewhere between a laugh and a grunt.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice hoarse. “It was.”

He shifted slightly beneath her, adjusting so her weight settled more comfortably against him. One hand stroked her lower back now, slow and absent.

“I think you broke me,” he said, half-joking, half-honest.

She snorted softly, but didn’t lift her head. “You’ll live.”

“Barely.”

A beat passed. Quiet.

His hand grazed her spine again, fingertips tracing the edge of one of her tattoos.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he added after a moment, voice softer now. “But… damn.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Just breathed him in. Let herself relax into the quiet his skin gave her.

They stayed like that for a while — tangled, quiet, breathing in sync.

Jinx’s body softened slowly against his, the post-climax haze settling into something looser, calmer. Her nerves weren’t humming so loud anymore. Her mind wasn’t screaming. She just felt… settled, like her skin finally fit again.

Ekko didn’t say much — just let his fingers wander lazily along her spine and sides, not demanding anything more, just holding her like she belonged there.

Eventually, he murmured, voice thick and dry with a hint of humor, “So… you think maybe next time we can just fight like this?”

Jinx gave a low hum against his throat, one corner of her mouth twitching up.

“Yeah?” she drawled. “That what you’re into now, gearhead?”

Ekko huffed a laugh.

She shifted slightly, just enough to bite lightly at his shoulder — not hard, just a warning nip. Then her voice dropped mockingly sultry, laced with a grin.

“Next time Silco’s people clash with the Firelights, I’ll just bend you over the nearest crate, yeah? Let you rail me in public, make a real diplomatic statement.”

Ekko laughed harder — the sound breathless and incredulous, head dropping back onto the mattress.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, still grinning.

She smirked against his skin. “You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

Her fingers stilled at that, but after a moment, resumed their idle path, toying with the edge of his belt — half-loosened from earlier — before settling against his ribs again.

She didn’t move away.

Didn’t untangle.

And neither did he.

Eventually, Jinx shifted — exhaling hard as she lifted her hips and eased off of him, muscles trembling faintly. Ekko slid out of her with a soft, wet sound, and she winced, jaw tightening, legs shaking a little from overuse. Her thighs were sticky, her body aching properly now, the sharp twinge of soreness reminding her that, yeah… this had been a lot.

“Fuck,” she muttered, flopping onto her back beside him, arm over her eyes. “I don’t suppose you’ve got something better than your shirt this time, do you?”

Ekko chuckled quietly, breath still a little uneven. “I might’ve actually thought ahead.”

He leaned over, reaching toward the small bundle he’d left near the mattress — pulling out a cloth he’d swiped from one of the supply crates last week. Clean. Soft. Not a shirt this time.

“Wow. Confident, aren’t we?” she said, amused, eyes half-lidded as she watched him. “Bringin’ cleanup supplies like you knew I’d let you wreck me again.”

He flushed a little, but didn’t rise to the bait.

Instead, he shifted closer and started helping her clean up, gentle and careful despite how recently he’d been anything but. He was quiet about it, respectful, not making a show of it — just wiping her thighs delicately, working through the mess between them.

Then he paused.

Because he saw it again — his release painting the inside of her thighs, catching in the bruises he’d left behind earlier, slick against the pale skin and low light.

His breath caught. Just for a second.

Jinx caught the flicker in his eyes and rolled hers.

“Nope,” she said, before he even opened his mouth.

Ekko looked at her, startled.

She flicked him in the ribs with one finger. “I’m sore. I can feel my own damn heartbeat down there.”

"Just… still not used to the view,” he said, voice low and a little dazed.

Jinx snorted, half-flushed. “Yeah, well—next time, bring a sketchbook.”

Ekko looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Can I?”

That made her pause. Just for a second.

She stared at him, caught off guard — like the idea hadn’t occurred to her before. Like she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Then she blinked, flushed deeper, and shoved his arm lightly. “Fuck off.”

He laughed and kissed her shoulder softly as she wiped the last of it away.

“Fair,” he murmured. “You earned a break.”

Once she was cleaned up, she tossed the cloth aside and sank back onto the mattress, limbs heavy. Ekko finally kicked his pants the rest of the way off and rolled back toward her, bare and warm, and pulled her close again, tossing the blanket over both of them in one lazy motion.

Jinx sighed and let him.

His arms wrapped around her easily, settling her against his chest, her legs tangled with his, her face tucked into the curve of his neck again.

It didn’t feel sexual anymore.

Just close.

Easy.

Quiet.

“What now?” she asked after a few minutes, voice low and scratchy.

“Now?” he echoed, brushing a hand through the mess of her braids. “Now we lie here until we forget the rest of the world exists.”

She hummed. “Bold of you to assume I ever remembered it in the first place.”

He chuckled and didn’t call her on the obvious lie. Just pressed his lips firmly against her forehead — soft and slow.

She let him.

And then tilted her head and kissed him back — not hungry, not possessive this time, just a lingering press of lips and breath and warmth.

The heat had gone.

But something else stayed.

For a while, there was only warmth.

Bodies tangled under the blanket, skin still flushed from heat, but their breathing had slowed. Their pulses had settled. The world beyond the attic felt far away — muffled beneath the weight of sweat-soaked fabric and the scent of skin and sex and shared breath.

Ekko’s fingers traced lazy, idle patterns on her arm, over her shoulder, down her side.

Then, softly, his voice broke the quiet.

“That was… amazing.”

Jinx didn’t answer right away. Just made a low, pleased sound against his chest — somewhere between a hum and a purr — and nuzzled into the crook of his neck like she might fall asleep right there.

But then he added, quieter, more careful, “Are you gonna tell me what all that was about?”

She stilled slightly — just the faintest hesitation.

Her eyes stayed closed. Her face didn’t move from where it was tucked beneath his jaw.

“…You’re killing the vibe,” she muttered flatly.

He smiled faintly, brushing a thumb along the curve of her hip. “You tackled me to the mattress and made me promise not to move. I feel like I’m owed at least a little context.”

Jinx groaned. “I’m relaxing, Ekko.”

“I know.”

“Do we really have to do this now?”

“No,” he said gently burying a kiss in her hair. “Not if you don’t want to.”

She huffed again, exasperated but not angry — just her, all sharp edges softened by the weight of exhaustion and afterglow.

“Tomorrow,” she mumbled, clearly not meaning it. “Or never. Flip a coin.”

He let it go — for now.

His arms tightened around her a little more, and she didn’t fight it.

Inside the tent was warm now.

Not from the air — the air still drifted cool from the patched roof, rustling the corners of the tarp tent — but from them. From sweat and skin and breath. From the blanket tangled at their waists, from the steady beat of two heartbeats pressed close.

Jinx was still draped half over him, one leg slung over his hips, her arm sprawled across his chest like a lazy claim. She hadn’t moved since she flopped there, and now her fingers were absently tracing the edge of his ribs.

Ekko’s hands had settled again — one on the curve of her lower back, the other gently combing through the mess of her blue bangs, slow and rhythmic.

Neither of them broke the peaceful silence for a while.

The quiet wasn’t awkward anymore. Not like the first nights. It felt natural now — like the attic had its own rhythm, a silence that didn’t demand to be filled unless they wanted it to be.

Jinx broke it first, her voice soft and scratchy.

“I still can’t believe you brought an actual blanket.”

He smirked. “I’m capable of thinking ahead. Occasionally.”

“Might’ve changed the whole course of history if you started earlier.”

Ekko laughed under his breath. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d start small.”

She hummed, fingers tapping gently against his skin. “Blankets before diplomacy. That’s the motto.”

Ekko snorted. “Pretty sure diplomacy never stood a chance.”

“Pfft,” she muttered, smirking. “Blankets are more reliable anyway.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’re so weird.”

“You didn’t mind a few minutes ago.”

Ekko looked down at her — her hair half-fanned over his chest, lashes brushing his skin, smirk faint and smug even in half-sleep.

“No,” he murmured, “I really didn’t.”

She didn’t respond to that — just shifted slightly, nuzzling into his shoulder, her arm curling tighter around his ribs. They lay there for a while again, her breathing starting to slow, her body heavier against him.

“Do you think we could just stay here sometimes,” she mumbled, almost absently. “Like… not talk. Just sleep.”

“I think we already are.”

She clicked her tongue. “Yeah, but I mean on purpose.”

Ekko tilted his head toward her. “You’re the one who always pretends you’re just stopping by to kill time.”

“I have important work to do, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?” He smiled. “What, exactly?”

She shifted, just enough to glare at him through one half-lidded eye. “Secret work.”

Ekko grinned. “Right. Classified sabotage and haphazard painting. Dangerous stuff.”

“I paint with explosives, thank you very much.”

“Explains the decor.”

Her fingers poked him lightly in the ribs. He caught her hand and laced his fingers through hers instead, holding it against his chest.

They just laid there. Breathing. Resting. Listening to the old beams groan faintly in the breeze. The way the tarp rustled just slightly overhead. The sound of rain starting to fall, soft and distant against the rooftop.

Jinx’s voice broke the hush, low and fuzzy. “You think it’ll leak again?”

Ekko’s eyes drifted toward the patched section of roof. “Not unless I messed it up.”

“You probably did.”

“I’ll bring another blanket next time.”

“Pillow,” she yawned.

“I’ll see what I can scavenge.”

“Maybe a couch.”

“Now you’re getting greedy.”

She smirked, eyes closed, already half-asleep.

She smirked without opening her eyes. “You like it.”

“I do,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “Sleep.”

She didn’t argue. Just curled closer and slipped under — her breath even, her body finally loose against his, safe for once in the quiet dark.

Ekko stayed awake a little longer, listening to the rain, watching the way shadows crawled along the rafters. Holding her close.

He didn’t want to move.

Not yet.

The whir of a fuse spinner echoed through the hollow shaft.

Jinx sat hunched over her workbench, one leg tucked beneath her, the other bouncing absently in time with the click-click-click of the tool in her hand. The smell of gunpowder clung to the air — sharp and familiar, grounding in a way nothing else was.

Her fingers were stained again, blackened at the knuckles with soot and copper dust, fingertips steady as she twisted a fine filament of wire around the core of a new charge. The casing was half-open, nestled in her palm like a sleeping shell — beautiful and deadly, the way she liked them.

It should’ve had her full attention.

But it didn’t.

Her mind kept drifting.

Back to the attic. Back to him.

Back to the way her thighs still ached if she shifted too sharply in her seat. The faint tug at her hip where he’d held her a little too tight. The ghost of his mouth at her temple. The stupid way her chest had felt light and heavy at the same time afterward, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh or punch something.

Her soldering iron slipped, hissing against the metal, and she cursed under her breath, jerking her hand back.

Focus. She shook it out and grabbed a rag, wiping the burnished metal clean again, jaw tightening.

“Stupid,” she muttered, winding the wire tighter. “It was just sex.”

Why did she even care?

She shouldn’t care.

That whole thing — all of it — the control, the heat, the way he looked at her like she was something more than what she’d been taught to be — it should’ve just been a way to blow off steam. She’d initiated it like it was. Took it like it was. Made damn sure he knew who was on top.

Say that you’re mine.

So why did she keep hearing his voice?

I’m yours.

Her fingers clenched the rag tighter, pressing hard into the casing until her palm stung. She hadn’t even meant to say that part. Not really. Not out loud.

And yet…

Her eyes flicked to the far end of the lair, to the edge of the fan blade platform where she sometimes sat when things got too loud in her head. She imagined what it’d be like if he were here now — sprawled on the couch she almost never used anymore, teasing her about wire gauges or pretending not to touch her tools.

She scowled.

Shoved the thought away.

Focus, Jinx.

Her fingers found the detonator core again, slipping it into place with a practiced flick. Her brain switched into precision mode, tracking voltages and timing curves, letting the process smooth out the static in her skull.

But somewhere beneath it, still pulsing quietly, was the feeling she hadn’t shaken since she woke up with her cheek pressed to his chest:

she hadn’t wanted to run.

The supply run wasn’t supposed to be eventful.

Just a standard sweep with Sevika — head down, grab the crates, get out. Jinx barely grumbled when she was pulled from her workshop, though she still dragged her boots the whole way there, one hand toying absently with a wrench hooked through her belt.

The street was quiet. Too quiet.

They were halfway through loading a box of spare chem valves into the back cart when Sevika’s grip on the crate tightened.

“Get down.”

Jinx barely had time to duck before a flash of light cut through the air, the unmistakable thrum of a hoverboard engine screeching above their heads.

Firelights.

Of course.

Jinx rolled sideways behind a half-collapsed column, fingers moving by instinct, snapping her rifle from its holster and leveling the scope. Her heartbeat should’ve been buzzing with adrenaline — that familiar high, the thrill of chaos, of explosions, of blood.

But something twisted in her gut.

Because there he was.

Mask glinting, long coat whipping in the wind, hair pulled back under the owl hood — Ekko, zipping through the smoke, fast and agile, drawing fire like a magnet.

Gearhead.

Her finger curled on the trigger.

Her breath held.

She fired.

Missed.

Barely — an inch off center, the shot grazing the corner of a beam instead of his shoulder.

He ducked and twisted again, looping back toward another Firelight dropping smoke cover for the retreat.

Jinx narrowed her eyes.

Took another shot.

Missed again.

And it wasn’t wind.

It wasn’t timing.

It was her.

Her jaw clenched as she chambered the next round — and still, her shots danced around him, biting at the air near his hoverboard, striking metal and pavement, never flesh.

She could’ve hit him.

She should have hit him.

But every time the crosshairs lined up, something inside her wrenched sideways — an echo of last night, of his fingers on her ribs, his lips in her hair, the sound of his breath tangled with hers.

And she didn’t want to.

Not really.

Not today.

Eventually the Firelights peeled off, smoke thickening in the alleyways behind them as they vanished into the shadows — no casualties, no real damage, just a message.

A warning.

Or maybe a test.

Jinx lowered her rifle slowly, her heart still hammering in a way that didn’t match the outcome.

Sevika walked up beside her, dragging her cigarette from her coat pocket, lighting it with a flick.

For a long moment, she just looked at her.

Then: “You gonna tell me what the hell that was?”

Jinx didn’t answer.

Sevika’s eyes narrowed, assessing. “You’re not off your game. You’re never off your game.”

Jinx’s grip tightened on the rifle.

“Three shots. Not a scratch. I’ve seen you hit a flickering bulb at fifty paces just to show off. So unless you’ve developed a tremor overnight…” She exhaled smoke. “That wasn’t a mistake.”

Jinx turned away, jaw clenched.

Sevika watched her for a long beat.

“…Right,” she said, low. “None of my business. Except it’s going to be someone’s business real soon if you keep playing like this.”

Jinx didn’t respond.

Didn’t have an answer she could say aloud.

Because Sevika was right.

She didn’t miss. Not unless she meant to.

Jinx didn’t take the usual route.

She wandered. Looped through alleys twice. Stopped at a rusted-out stairwell and stared at a dripping pipe for a good ten minutes like it might give her a reason not to go.

The satchel on her hip jingled faintly with spare ammo she didn’t need.

The silence in her head was louder than usual.

Or maybe it just felt that way because it was full of him.

Not just Ekko — not just his mouth, his hands, his breath curling against her throat — but the way he looked at her when she wasn’t speaking. The way his eyes lingered like he saw through all the noise. The way he didn’t flinch, even when she was at her worst.

And today — when he’d been nothing but another masked Firelight flying through smoke — she’d hesitated.

She missed.

She’d wanted to miss.

That rattled her more than anything else had in months.

Jinx kicked a pipe valve on the wall hard enough to hear it rattle down the length of the shaft. The echo came back distorted.

“Fucking idiot,” she muttered, not sure if she meant herself or him.

Sevika had known. Of course she had. Not the details — not the attic, not the mattress, not the nights tangled up together — but she’d known something was off. And Silco…

Distractions make you vulnerable.

She could hear his voice in her skull. That low, razor-edged sermon he always gave about loyalty and clarity. About focus.

But it wasn’t just that.

It wasn’t just that Ekko had gotten under her skin — it was what he stood for, and what he didn’t. The way he fought without poison. Without shimmer. The way he looked at the wreckage left behind and still believed it could be rebuilt.

What the hell do you see when you look at me, gearhead?

She didn’t know the answer.

But she was starting to understand what she saw when she looked at him.

Not a threat.

Not a distraction.

Not even a liability.

But… a choice.

Not a clean one. Not a safe one. But something she’d picked, over and over again. Even when it was easier not to.

And that… terrified her more than any war.

By the time she reached the old building, her heart was hammering louder than it should’ve been. Not from the climb. Not from fear.

From knowing she’d already chosen, long before her hands ever reached a trigger.

She climbed the ladder slower than usual, boots heavy on the rungs. The trapdoor creaked open at her push, and she slipped inside.

The attic was dim, the low light filtering through the patched tarp making soft shadow patterns over the mattress and old beams.

Ekko was already there.

Splayed out on the mattress — bare-chested, one arm behind his head, the other resting across his stomach, skin still gleaming faintly from whatever cleanup he’d managed after his own patrol. His hair was loose tonight. The sight of him in her space again made her throat go tight.

He didn’t look up right away.

But he smirked.

“Look who’s late this time.”

Her mouth twitched, just a little.

“I was thinking.”

“Oh no,” he said, mock-dramatic. “That’s dangerous.”

“Shut up.”

He shifted, turning toward her, one hand patting the spot beside him.

She didn’t move yet.

Just stood there in the doorway, watching him.

And knowing that whatever this was, whatever it meant — she wasn’t walking away from it.

Not now.

“You gonna stand there all night, or…?”

Ekko’s voice was lazy, but the smirk curled at the corner of his mouth was unmistakable.

Jinx narrowed her eyes.

“You always get this needy when you’re shirtless, or is that just a today thing? Real subtle, by the way.”

He snorted. “You caught me. I lured you here with my devastating pecs.”

She rolled her eyes, but her boots started moving anyway — slow, deliberate, like she wasn’t giving in, just… relocating her center of gravity.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, kicking off one boot as she reached the mattress, then the other.

“You’re into it.”

“Debatable.”

But she dropped down beside him all the same — not sprawling, not teasing, just letting herself sink. Her head found his chest naturally, cheek settling into the warm plane of his skin. Her hand curled lightly against his side. One of her legs tangled with his without much thought, knee nudging between his.

The arm she’d laid across pressed into her back — firm and grounding, his palm slipping under the edge of her halter top, finding new skin and resting there, warm and steady.

They didn’t speak for a moment.

Just the sound of quiet breath. The occasional creak of the old roof. Rain still faint somewhere above, tapping soft rhythms against the patched tarp.

Ekko’s voice came low, casual.

“So… your aim was shit today.”

She didn’t lift her head.

“Tired,” she said flatly.

“Uh huh.”

“You think I missed you on purpose? Wow. That’s cute.”

He grinned. “You are a good shot.”

“I’m the best shot.”

“Exactly.”

She jabbed a lazy elbow into his side. “Keep talking, I’ll aim for your other shoulder next time.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright.”

But he didn’t press.

He didn’t need to.

The truth hung between them quietly, acknowledged without being said. He knew. She knew he knew.

Eventually, he broke the silence again, softer this time.

“You asked me the other night,” he said, eyes fixed somewhere above them on the rafters, “if we could just… sleep here. Like, on purpose.”

She made a noncommittal noise against his chest, not quite a yes or no.

“You want to do that tonight?”

Jinx paused.

Her fingers flexed slightly against his ribs. Then: “You asking me to nap with you, mister?”

“I mean, yeah. But, like… the cozy kind.”

She snorted.

“You’re lucky I’m too sore to climb all the way back across the shaft.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Only if you shut up and stop making it weird.”

Ekko grinned. “Deal.”

His hand pressed a little more firmly into her back, and her leg tucked tighter around his. She didn’t say anything — didn’t joke, didn’t shove — just breathed.

And for once, they weren’t pretending it didn’t matter.

It happened in flashes.

Smoke and sirens. The copper tang of chemicals burning through her nostrils. Crates cracking open, shimmer leaking violet along the stone. She’d tried — at first — to shoot wide, to miss on purpose like she had before. But everything blurred. Memory bled into madness.

Pink hair.

Not Vi. But close enough to make her breath catch, to make the ground tilt under her boots. Her vision pulsed in fractured images — the shadow of a girl with her sister’s face, the recoil of a pistol, a scream she didn’t register as hers.

She didn’t remember pulling the trigger again. Not clearly. Just someone falling. Someone bleeding. And she laughed — too loud, too sharp — because she couldn’t breathe and the sound was the only thing that broke through the static.

Then they were gone.

And the world felt jagged and empty again.

Chapter Text

The trapdoor slammed open with a violence that shook the rafters.

Ekko climbed up fast and hard — no grace, no caution, just fury, like it was a fight just to keep standing upright. The mattress hadn’t even settled from the movement before he was already pacing, boots scuffing hard against the floorboards.

Jinx was already there, curled on the edge of the mattress, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. Her hair was messier than usual, her eyes ringed dark and raw, like she hadn’t slept in days. She didn’t flinch when he stormed in.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, jaw clenched, chest heaving. His eyes burned when they found her.

“You killed her.”

The words hit like a gunshot. No preamble. No softness.

Jinx blinked slowly. Her voice was flat. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You did it anyway.”

She looked away. Her fingers dug into her legs. “She looked like Vi.”

“Yeah?” he spat. “So what? You just shoot every girl with pink hair now?”

“I told you, I didn’t—”

“She was sixteen,” Ekko snapped, stepping closer. “Eve was sixteen, Jinx. Just a kid. Just a kid trying to make something better.”

Her mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. More like a tic. Something fraying at the edges. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

She finally looked up at him, something wild in her eyes. “Jinx. Don’t fucking call me that right now.”

He stared at her — and for the first time, maybe really saw what was unraveling underneath. The way her shoulders hunched. The tremble she tried to bury. The way her gaze darted around the room like ghosts were hiding in the corners.

“I trusted you,” he said, softer now, but more dangerous than before. “And I know you tried not to. I know that. But you still—” His voice broke. “You still took her from us.”

Jinx’s throat bobbed. She opened her mouth — nothing came out.

“Was any of this even real?” he asked, gesturing vaguely around the attic. “The mattress, the tent, everything we built here — was it just a game to keep your head above water?”

Her hands curled into fists. “You think I wanted this to happen?”

“I think you’ve been walking a razor for weeks,” he snapped. “And I think I kept pretending you wouldn’t fall.”

That hurt. She didn’t say it. But it cracked something deeper than bone.

“I don’t get to have both, do I?” she said, low. “You. And him.”

Ekko’s jaw clenched.

“I was trying,” she added, voice shaking. “I was really—trying.”

“So was I.”

They looked at each other, and for one sharp second, everything in the room was still.

Then Ekko turned toward the ladder.

“Don’t,” she said.

“I won’t be back,” he said without looking at her.

“Ekko—” Her voice cracked. “Don’t go.”

“I can’t keep pretending this place fixes things.”

He climbed down.

And this time, she didn’t stop him.

The spiral didn’t start all at once.

It never did.

It crept in — under her skin, behind her eyes, between her teeth — until she couldn’t tell where her heartbeat ended and the noise began.

Ekko didn’t come back.

Didn’t send a message.

Didn’t even look back.

And the attic sat too quiet, the mattress too cold, the blanket still smelled like him, but not enough.

She went back to her hideout. Tried to work. Couldn’t.

Tried to sleep. Worse.

Tried to eat. Laughed too hard and nearly choked.

The ghosts got louder.

PowderPowderPowder

You break everything you touch

Should’ve shot him

Should’ve shot yourself

Look what you did

She was just a girl

Just a kid

JinxJinxJinx

She punched a wall. Smashed a fuse core. Broke a detonator in half and didn’t even feel it cutting into her palm.

Silco told her to take time. She didn’t want time. She wanted control.
And if she couldn’t have Ekko, she’d have purpose.

So, she stole the gemstone.

Ran straight into Piltover like a specter from the depths.

And there — in a fracture of time and memory — Vi appeared.

Real. Flesh and scars and fury and softness.

Her sister.

Her blood.

Her mistake.

And then — Caitlyn. Enforcer. Clean and polished and perfect and wrong.

Jinx hated her immediately.

But worse — Vi didn’t.

The ground tilted again.

Words became weapons. Hands became fists. And before she could even blink, the Firelights were there, swooping down like ghosts with wings.

They took Vi.

Again.

And in the chaos, through the smoke and flickering lights — Jinx saw him.

Ekko.

The owl mask. The hoverboard. The glint of something so familiar it burned.

She raised her rifle.

Took aim.

Missed. Again.

Her hand didn’t shake this time.

But her heart did.

And when Vi vanished from her reach, she screamed.

Rage, grief, betrayal, longing — a sound too raw for language.

And the next time she stood tall, it was on the bridge.

There was something quiet about it.

Almost sacred.

The wind was high and hollow, pushing against her braids. Her hands were steady now, but her soul wasn’t. The bridge stretched long beneath her boots — a liminal space between then and now, between what they’d been and what they’d become.

She stood at one end.

He stood at the other.

Ekko.

No mask this time.

Just his face. His eyes. Her history.

The chasm between them wasn’t physical. It was made of years and scars and broken childhood promises.

But he crossed it anyway.

Fast. Reckless. Beautiful in motion.

A flash of old joy carved through her even now — how many times had she watched him sprint ahead of the others, cocky and golden and brilliant?

Always too fast.

She aimed.

This time, she meant it.

The bullet didn’t land.

Of course, it didn’t.

He knew her — too well.

Knew her rhythm.

Knew her patterns.

Knew how to dodge her like a dance they’d choreographed long before they knew what war was.

He reached her in a breath.

And when his fist connected — the world shattered.

They crashed together.

Down.

Her body slammed against the steel. The breath knocked from her lungs. He was on top of her — but this wasn’t the attic, and this wasn’t softness.

There was no warmth in his hands now. No kiss waiting beneath the weight.

Just anger, and grief, and the bitter echo of what they could’ve been.

She looked up at him — bloody-lipped, half-smiling, eyes glassy.

“It was always going to end like this,” she whispered.

His face flickered — recognition, maybe, or maybe just regret.

And she reached to her belt.

Pulled the pin.

The grenade between them clicked open, the trigger yawning like a second heartbeat.

She didn’t flinch.

It almost felt romantic.

He hadn’t slept since the attic.

Not really.

Even before the shimmer run. Even before the chaos and the blood. Even before Eve.

He’d felt it unraveling — not just her, but himself.

That final argument had been raw and bitter and sharp around the edges, but the sting didn’t come from her words — it came from how much he’d wanted her to say anything else.

How much he’d wanted to stay.

And how much it burned that he couldn’t.

He hated her. He grieved her. He regretted her. He missed her.

He wanted to forget the weight of her body pressed into his chest, the quiet way her breath evened out when she slept curled around him, the sound of her laughter when it was real.

He wanted it all gone.

But it stayed — a wound, searing and deep and twisted in a way he didn’t know how to name.

It made him reckless.

It made him stand on the edge of the bridge, watching the crates burn behind him, watching the smoke rise into the hollow sky like a prayer that wouldn’t be answered.

Then he saw her.

At the far end.

And the rest of the world fell away.

She was shadow and neon. Madness wrapped in muscle memory. Hair trailing in the wind like a banner of ruin.

But he saw something else too — her stance. The tilt of her head. The slight twitch in her fingers.

It was the beginning of a game.

Their game.

The old one — from years ago — when he’d try to catch her before she tagged him with paint.

He started it.

A dash forward. A challenge in motion. A call back to the roots they never really buried.

And then her pistol lifted.

He saw the difference immediately.

She was really aiming.

No teasing shots. No subtle misses. She was trying to hit him.

His chest tightened.

But he remembered her rhythm. Knew the beat of her breathing, the hesitation before her twitch, the angle she always favored when she overcorrected.

He danced around it. Around her.

He reached her.

And the moment his fist landed, something inside him shattered too.

Because she broke beneath it.

Not in a tactical way — not like a combatant bested in a fight.

But like something cracked inside her. The breath left her. Her body crumpled under him.

He was on top of her.

Not like before.

Not like the attic, where his hand had traced the edge of her ribs and held her safe under the covers.

This was cold steel and blood. Her braids tangled against the bridge. Her mouth bleeding. Her eyes glassy.

His hand was still raised, knuckles curled — not in affection, but violence.

And she looked up at him.

There was no hate in her expression.

Only… resignation.

Recognition.

Something impossibly soft in the eye of the storm.

He froze there, suspended above her, all his rage hollowed out by the way she was looking at him. Like a memory. Like a goodbye.

And maybe it was.

Maybe it always had been.

Then — he saw it.

The grenade.

His brain didn’t even process her movement — just the metallic clink, the shape of it in her hand, the fatalism in her eyes.

Ekko threw himself back, body twisting away, boots skidding on steel just as the blast hit.

Light. Shock. Heat.

The force knocked the wind out of him — threw him hard against the railing, his back slamming into it, pain snapping through his leg like a crack of thunder.

Then: silence.

Smoke, curling thick across the bridge. His ears rang.

He coughed. Tried to sit up. Gritted his teeth against the fire in his leg.

Through the haze, he looked across the scorched walkway.

And saw her.

Not ash. Not dust.

Her body.

Crushed among shattered stone and steel fragments — one arm slack, hair splayed like spilled ink, blood trailing from her mouth.

She wasn’t moving.

The twisted metal near her still hissed from the heat. Debris from the ruined crates sparked faintly at the edges of the blast zone, half-buried in rubble.

Heart thudding like a war drum.

And in his bones, he thought—

She’s dead.

His breath caught. His hands curled into fists. The pain in his leg became secondary to the hollow ache in his chest.

That’s how it ended, then.

That’s what it came to.

Not the attic. Not the mattress. Not even a word.

Just this.

A body in rubble. And him, too broken to even crawl to her.

He pulled himself toward the edge of the bridge, teeth grit, leg screaming with each movement. It wasn’t just a sprain. He knew it. Felt the swelling. The fracture humming beneath the skin like an old, cruel song.

Still, he dragged himself out of sight.

Below the bridge, near the crates and scrap, he wedged himself into shadow — not far, just far enough to be out of reach. Out of sight from Silco’s people, who he knew would come soon. Come for her. Come to clean up the pieces.

His fingers trembled, curled tight in the gravel.

He kept thinking about her face.

That look.

That tiny, fleeting flicker of softness before she pulled the pin.

She knew.

She’d meant it.

She’d meant it to be the end.

And maybe it was.

Maybe it always had been.

For one suspended, fractured heartbeat, he believed it.

He fully believed it.

Under the bridge, the silence grew teeth.

Ekko didn’t move much at first — couldn’t. His leg throbbed in relentless pulses, and every shift sent sparks of pain up his spine. So, he stayed in shadow, jaw clenched, sweat beading across his brow.

He waited.

Waited for someone to find her.

Waited for someone to find him.

And eventually, someone did.

A small shuffle. A curious voice.

Heimerdinger.

Ekko hadn’t expected him, but the distraction was welcome — a lifeline yanking him away from the edge of the grief he wasn’t ready to drown in. He forced himself to talk, to focus, to pivot. Help. Work. Rebuild. The Firelight Tree became his center again — their projects, their hope, their future.

He told himself that mattered more.

Told himself that it was good she was gone.

Told himself he could sleep easier knowing it was over.

But it wasn’t.

Not really.

Because as his leg healed, his ears sharpened.

And the streets whispered.

Rumors drifted like ash. Talk of the shimmer girl who survived the explosion. Talk of a blast at the council chamber — a city in chaos, fire streaking across the skyline. Silco’s dead, someone said in passing, like it was just another headline. Ekko didn’t ask how.

He didn’t need to.

Because he’d already seen the posters.

That grin. That hair. That goddamn name.

JINX.

Wanted. Dangerous. Alive.

It should’ve felt like confirmation.

But all it did was twist the knife deeper.

Some days he told himself it didn’t matter. That she wasn’t the girl who used to curl against him in the attic, who used to press her cold toes under his leg and mumble half-coherent nonsense before drifting off. That she’d always been chaos, and this was just what chaos looked like with no one left to stop it.

Other days… he couldn’t stop remembering the feel of her in his arms. Her breath against his collarbone. The whisper of her tattoos under his hands.

Eventually, his feet carried him without thinking.

Down the familiar alleys.

Through the ruins of the old stairwell.

Past the warped doorway.

He’d said he wouldn’t come back.

Had meant it.

But here he was.

The trapdoor creaked the same way it always had.

The air still smelled faintly of oil and rust and dust and tarp.

But she wasn’t there.

No surprise.

The mattress was undisturbed. The blanket lay crumpled, half-folded. A faint impression lingered on one corner — maybe his, maybe just memory. The space felt hollow in a way it hadn’t before.

No echo of her laughter. No trail of her presence.

Just… empty.

Ekko stood for a long while, just staring.

Then he reached into his pocket.

Pulled out a small brass trinket — an old wind-up watch gear he’d polished days ago. Nothing useful. Nothing special.

Just something she’d recognize was from him.

He left it by the edge of the mattress.

No note.

No expectation.

Just a mark that said: I was here. I remember.

Then he turned and climbed back down, not looking back.

Pain came first.

White-hot, blinding — like her bones were splitting open and her skin wasn’t hers anymore. The shimmer burned through her veins, writhing beneath the surface, rewiring muscle and marrow alike. The world flickered between light and void, between memory and nightmare.

Sometimes she screamed.
Sometimes she laughed.
She couldn’t tell which was worse.

The air tasted metallic.
Her blood did too.

She clawed at her own skin, not to tear it but because it didn’t feel like it fit right anymore. Her shoulder and collarbone—mottled now, raw and wrong. The skin there grew in tight and slick, shimmer-touched and scarred where the blast had taken her apart. Her tattoos — the soft blue clouds that once curled across her skin like static wind — were fractured now. Disjointed. Patchy. Broken.

Like her.

She didn’t remember the entire procedure.

Only the parts where she thought her ribs might split open from the inside. Only the parts where the world behind her eyes wouldn’t stop moving.

Vi visited her in those moments — but not really. Not flesh-and-blood Vi. Just the ghost of her sister that always lingered in the corners of her mind.

“Powder,” Vi said, voice thick with disappointment.

“You broke everything.”

I know.

Caitlyn came too — clean and pretty and unbruised by Zaun. Sometimes, Jinx shot her. Sometimes, Caitlyn spoke like she belonged somewhere Jinx never could.

But worse than either of them — worse than Vi’s disapproval or Caitlyn’s pity — was the way Ekko haunted her.

He didn’t say much in those fever dreams.

Sometimes he stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed, eyes low, face unreadable.

Sometimes she remembered his hands on her skin, warm and steady.

Sometimes she remembered his fist against her jaw.

Sometimes — the way he’d kissed her neck, slow and reverent, like she was something worth holding on to.

None of it stayed long.

Nothing ever did.

She woke each time shaking, feverish, hollow.

And still alive.

Which was worse.

She wasn’t supposed to be. She’d pulled the pin. She was supposed to blow herself to pieces. She was supposed to take him with her — not out of cruelty, but because it was the only way she could imagine them ending. Together. In a flash of light.

But she lived.

And he didn’t.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

No whispers. No sightings. No retaliation. No owl mask.

He’s dead.

And somehow, that hurt worse than the shrapnel buried under her ribs.

She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. He’d already left her once. Had already turned his back on her in the attic. Had already said he wouldn’t come back.

So, what difference did it make?

Still… it clawed at her, day and night. The thought that maybe he’d died thinking she didn’t care. That maybe his last breath had been pain and betrayal, instead of the warmth she hadn’t known how to show him.

She killed Silco after that.

She didn’t mean to — not like that.

(Except she did.)

(Except she always does.)

She held him in her arms after — her hand shaking around the gun, her ears ringing with the sound of her own scream. It felt like the last thread in her snapped clean in half.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t scream again.

She just walked out, dragging his body with her — wrapped him up, heavy and limp in her arms, and whispered to him like he was still breathing.

“I’m sorry,” she said into the wind.

“I didn’t mean—”

(But she did.)

Now she was underwater — weightless, suspended in the dark, arms wrapped around Silco’s lifeless body. Her braids drifted beside her like a tethers to the surface she hadn’t touched in days. She clung to him tightly, forehead pressed to his, as if she could hold him together long enough to make sense of the wreckage inside her.

But the pressure built in her lungs.

Her chest burned.

She couldn’t breathe. Not until she let go.

And when she finally did — when her fingers uncurled and he slipped from her grasp, sinking into the black below — the scream tore out of her in a flood of bubbles.

No one heard it.

No one ever would.

She watched him disappear into the dark, swallowed by it, dragged deeper than even she could follow.

And somewhere in the silence behind her eyes — not aloud, never aloud — a thought surfaced like rot from the deep:

Vi used to think I could fix everything.

Before I broke everything.

Her eyes, once a powder blue, now glowed faint pink in the gloom.

And Ekko’s ghost still hadn’t left her.

She couldn’t even kill herself right.

Couldn’t have anyone the way she meant to.

Couldn’t keep them.

Couldn’t hold anything for long before it turned to ash in her hands.

Even him.

Especially him.

Because she never said it, but she’d meant it. The way she held him. The way she kissed him. The way her body curled toward his even when her mind tried to push away.

And now she could feel it again — phantom limbs, phantom warmth.

His touch, her ruin.

Her want, his death.

She didn’t remember leaving the shoreline, didn’t remember deciding to go anywhere at all. Just walking. Numb and empty. Letting her body move because staying still hurt too much.

Until somehow, impossibly, she was standing at the base of a staircase she hadn’t seen in weeks.

The attic.

The air inside was stale, undisturbed — except for one thing.

A glint on the floor near the mattress.

Brass. Small. Familiar. A gear from his watch.

Her breath hitched before she could stop it. Her hand twitched toward it, then stopped halfway.

He’d been here.

Alive.

And she stood in the doorway, stunned and hollow, not sure if she wanted to pick it up or burn the whole place down.

Because if he was still walking the world…

She hadn’t just lost him.

She’d left him behind.

She didn’t even get to keep her ghosts properly.

Had told himself that a hundred times over. Said it out loud even—“I won’t come back.”

But his feet didn’t seem to remember that promise.

The staircase groaned beneath his weight just like it always had. The door opened with its same quiet creak. The air inside hadn’t changed—it still smelled like rust and dust and memory. Still carried the hush of something abandoned but not quite forgotten.

He almost turned around right then.

But something caught his eye.

The watch was gone.

It didn’t surprise him. Not really. He’d left it half on purpose, half in denial, and she’d always been the type to notice the things that weren’t spoken. He wondered if she’d touched it gently, or if she’d snatched it up in a fit of frustration. If she’d smiled at it. If she’d cursed it.

But what stopped him wasn’t its absence.

It was what had taken its place.

Something small, innocent—meaningless to anyone else, but not to him.

A little trinket. Nothing valuable. A scrap of metal, maybe, wound into a shape he knew she’d fidgeted with a hundred times before. One of her little mindless creations. Unthinking. Personal. It could’ve meant nothing. But the fact that it was here meant everything.

She’d come back.

She’d seen what he left.

She’d left something in return.

He stood in the doorway for a long time, caught in the silence. Fingers twitching at his sides. Eyes stuck on the object resting atop the old crate like it had always belonged there.

He almost walked out.

Almost let the moment go.

But his feet betrayed him again.

He crossed the room slowly—each step echoing louder in his chest than it did on the floorboards. When he reached the crate, he hesitated. Then his hand reached out, careful, as if it might vanish when he touched it.

His fingers closed around the trinket.

He held it in his palm for a long time, just looking. Turning it over. Feeling the weight of it—light and meaningless and so much heavier than it should be.

And then, gently, he set something down in its place.

His own token. Something small. Quiet. Familiar.

Not a replacement—just a reply.

He didn’t look back when he left.

But he took her offering with him.

They didn’t see each other for a long time.

But the attic didn’t stay empty.

Instead, it filled with a quiet rhythm—a strange ritual of offerings passed in silence, never face to face. Trinkets. Scraps. Bent wire. A gear from some long-dead device. A bit of old ribbon she must’ve torn off something. A folded paper scrap shaped like a bird. One time, a button painted with chipped blue.

Nothing valuable. Nothing useful.

Just fragments. Ghost-notes. Threads.

Ekko didn’t even know what they were doing, not really. What any of it meant. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

But he kept going.

He only ever went during the day now—when the sun was highest and Zaun was loudest, when the risk of crossing her path was lowest. He didn’t know if he was avoiding her or protecting something delicate between them by not forcing it too fast. All he knew was that he kept returning.

The attic stayed the same. But not really.

The dust told a different story. So did the blanket, folded carefully now. The pillow never sat in the same place twice. Sometimes there were fresh wrinkles in the mattress that weren’t his. One afternoon, he found a small bundle of thread she must’ve used to tie something—forgotten, or maybe left on purpose.

She was sleeping here again.

Not just visiting. Living in it, in some small way. Claiming the space again.

That realization hit harder than he expected.

And it hurt.

Because it meant she was still trying to hold on, even now. Still finding her way back to something. To them, maybe. Or maybe just the space. But the thread between them was still taut, still stretching quietly in the dark, still pulling.

And all he was doing was leaving behind scraps.

Outside, Piltover was screaming for her blood. Her face was everywhere now, printed in cheap ink and plastered across every alley wall. The wanted posters changed with every printing, but the message stayed the same: dangerous, volatile, armed. A threat.

The enforcer presence thickened every week—boots echoing in alleys, patrols doubling along choke points. Ekko had to reroute twice just to avoid checkpoints on the way to the attic. People whispered about her but no one had seen her. No one knew where she’d gone.

But he did.

Because even if she was vanishing everywhere else—here, in this space they’d built together, she was still real.

Still reaching back.

And suddenly, the thread between them didn’t feel so threadbare anymore.

It felt like something being woven, stitch by stitch. He hadn’t even noticed it until now.

And he realized—too late maybe—that the single pillow and worn-out blanket they'd always used were never meant to hold this much weight. Not anymore.

He stood in the middle of the attic one day, clutching a token she’d left behind—just a ring of soldered wire, twisted into the shape of a flower. He’d held it in his hand longer than usual. Felt the smooth bends of it. Realized how delicate it was.

And then he left again.

But this time, his feet didn’t carry him straight home.

They turned down a street he hadn’t meant to take. Past a stall where someone was selling fresh produce, past a boy juggling broken clock gears. Past a storefront with patched fabric draped in the windows.

A Zaunite shop. Old and tucked between heavier shadows.

Not a salvage vendor. Not scrap-stained.

Just quiet. Clean. Respectable.

He stared through the window for a long time.

Then went inside.

When he left, he carried a proper pillow and a folded blanket under his arm—still modest, still humble, but real. Meant to last. Meant to hold something.

And that day, he didn’t leave a trinket.

He left the pillow, tucked neatly beside the old one.

The new blanket, folded with care.

Again. No note. No explanation. Just something soft to carry a thread.

She stepped into the attic just after dusk.

The golden light of late day still clung to the edges of the window, casting long shadows across the floorboards. Dust hung suspended in the air like everything had been holding its breath.

She’d only meant to drop something off.

Something small. Something meaningless.

But then she saw it.

Her foot caught halfway through the doorway, body stalling like a puppet with its strings abruptly cut.

The blanket. The pillow.

New.

Not frayed and patched and bleeding stuffing like the ones they’d used before. Not something salvaged from some forgotten heap. Real. Chosen. Meant.

Her throat closed around nothing.

She didn’t move for a long time. Just stood there, staring like she’d stepped into some fragile dream she wasn’t meant to touch.

And then she did touch it—carefully, like it might vanish under her fingers. The pillow’s fabric was smooth and soft beneath her callused hands. The blanket heavier than she expected, warm even before she unfolded it. Too warm.

Too much.

Her breath shuddered in her chest, and before she could stop it, her eyes burned hot and wet and spilling.

She didn’t cry pretty. Never had.

It came in gasps and little choked exhales she tried to muffle with her sleeve. She sank down beside the mattress like her legs forgot how to hold her, pressing her hand over her mouth, tears dragging cold trails down her cheeks. She didn’t know why it hit like this.

Maybe because it was too soft.

Too safe.

Too kind.

He’d noticed. Somehow, he’d known.

And he’d remembered what he’d said all those weeks ago — the throwaway promise about finding them something better. And he’d kept it. Even after everything. Even after they’d broken apart.

She curled into the mattress that night with the new blanket wrapped around her like armour and her cheek pressed into the unfamiliar softness of the pillow. It smelled like nothing. Just new fabric and faint traces of the shop it came from.

But her tears still soaked the edge of it.

She didn’t sleep much.

The quiet stretched long and weightless, and her fingers fidgeted with the trinket in her pocket—a twisted bit of chain she’d meant to leave. Something she’d made without thinking. It had felt enough before.

It didn’t now.

By morning, she hadn’t moved. Just stared at the rafters, chest hollow, mind too loud.

When she finally stood, she folded the blanket carefully, neater than she ever had. She ran her fingers over the seams again, like she needed to feel the intention sewn into it.

She reached into her pocket again, pulled out the little chain.

Held it.

Turned it.

No.

It wasn’t enough. Not now. Not in the face of this.

She was scared.

Not of him. Not really.

But of what it meant to let herself be seen like this again. To sit still long enough for something to reach her. To be present, not a shadow slipping in and out of a place that remembered too much.

In the end, she didn’t leave the chain.

She left herself.

She sat back down on the mattress, stiff and silent, the tension wired tight through her limbs like something about to snap.

And she waited.

Chapter Text

Ekko didn’t know what he expected when he pushed open the attic door.

Nothing, maybe. Or just the same quiet emptiness he’d gotten used to — the one that still smelled faintly like her, like dust and old copper and absence.

He didn’t expect her.

She was sitting on the edge of the mattress — rigid, tense, like her whole body was coiled tight and waiting for something to go wrong. Not touching the new blanket, just near it. Just there.

She looked up the moment he entered, and their eyes caught across the space like a snapwire pulled taut.

“Hi,” she said.

Small. Not flippant, not a weapon. Just hi.

His throat felt dry. His fingers curled reflexively against the doorframe. For a second, he forgot how to move.

Her eyes.

The blue was gone.

Not faded. Not dimmed. Just… gone.

What stared back at him now, glowing faint in the attic’s gloom, was a pink he had only ever associated with shimmer. Not a reflection, not a trick of the light—her light. Like something had seeped into her, rewired her, made a home inside her body where it had no right to be.

Something ugly coiled in his gut.

He wanted to ask. To demand. To understand.

But she was already looking at him like she was bracing for something, and the words burned out on his tongue before they ever got the chance to take shape.

He considered sitting on the crate. It felt like the safer choice — the distant one. It would give them room to keep pretending nothing had cracked open between them.

But something in him shifted.

So, he walked over and sat beside her instead.

Close, but not touching. His hands rested on his thighs. Her fingers were twisted tightly in her lap. They both stared forward like the wall had something worth watching.

For a long time, they simply sat in the suffocating tension.

Ekko exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to look forward. Stared at the floorboards instead of the glow he could still see in the edges of his vision.

Then, before he could stop himself:

“…Your eyes.”

She shifted. Didn’t look at him. Her fingers toyed with a loose thread on her pants. “Yeah.”

A beat.

He waited. She didn’t give him anything more.

“…When?”

“After.” Her voice was flat.

After the bridge. After him. After everything.

His jaw tensed, but he nodded once, slow. Let the quiet settle again. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that answer. Didn’t know what he had even been expecting.

Then she spoke again, voice low.

“You left that stuff.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence again. Then:

“I didn’t know if you’d come back.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw moved slightly, grinding something down behind her teeth. Then: “Didn’t know if you would either.”

Another pause. The air felt thick.

Ekko stared at his hands. “I wasn’t sure if I should.”

Her voice was quieter now. “Why’d you?”

He took a breath. “Didn’t want it to end like that.”

“That,” she echoed, bitterly. “Like Eve.”

He flinched.

Her gaze didn’t move from the floor. “You want to talk about her?”

He did. And he didn’t.

“I miss her,” he said instead. Honest. Bare.

Jinx nodded, slow. “She looked like Vi.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t... I was trying not to hit anyone. I was trying. But then—”

“You saw pink hair.”

She nodded. That was all she could manage.

Ekko swallowed. “You didn’t have to keep firing.”

She didn’t respond.

“Why did you?” he asked. Not accusing, just... tired.

“Because I couldn’t stop.” The words fell out rough. “Because it felt like I wasn’t even there anymore. Like it was someone else holding the gun.”

She looked away.

“I didn’t want her dead,” she added, quieter. “I didn’t even know her.”

“I know.”

That surprised her a little.

He looked over at her, finally. “But I can’t pretend it didn’t wreck me.”

She nodded again. “I know.”

Silence again.

“Everything’s fucked,” she said after a while.

“Yeah.”

“Piltover wants me dead.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Silco’s dead.” Her voice was blank when she said it.

Ekko turned toward her slightly. “Did you...?”

She looked at him, then looked away. “Doesn’t matter.”

He let it go.

They sat for a long moment in the quiet again, until Ekko’s voice broke through it, hesitant.

“What... is this?”

Jinx’s laugh was bitter and soft. “Don’t start.”

“No. I mean it.” His voice wasn’t demanding—just tired. “Are we... back to pretending this place didn't... doesn’t mean anything?”

“I don’t know.”

“Me neither.”

Another long pause.

“But I’m here,” she said eventually. “That’s gotta count for something.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It does.”

She breathed out slowly, tension bleeding from her posture by inches. Then—cautiously, so cautiously—she leaned sideways and let her head rest lightly on his shoulder.

Ekko didn’t move.

Didn’t touch her.

Didn’t breathe, at first.

But then, after a long moment, he tilted his head gently sideways and let it rest against her hair.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Just a truce, in breath and weight and silence.

Just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, heads leaned together, as the quiet pressed soft and heavy around them.

Somewhere in the distance, a pipe hissed. A low creak echoed through the rafters. Time passed slowly, but it passed all the same.

Then—a low rumble.

Ekko’s stomach.

It wasn’t loud, but in the hush of the attic, it sounded thunderous.

Jinx lifted her head slightly, just enough to glance sideways at him.

He blinked down at his lap, looking sheepish. “Guess that’s my cue.”

She hummed, the edge of a smirk tugging at her mouth, but it faded quickly. She sat up fully, stretched her arms behind her with a small groan, and stood.

Ekko watched her, unsure what to do with the sudden shift. Something about the weight of her leaving felt different this time—less like her usual retreat, less part of their old push-and-pull.

He stayed seated, gaze fixed forward. “You going?”

She paused mid-stretch, back half-turned to him.

“Yeah,” she said after a second. “I should.”

There was a hesitation in her voice that made him glance up.

He nodded anyway. “Right.”

He didn’t know what else to say. Didn’t know if he was supposed to.

Should he ask if she’d be back?

What this meant for the back-and-forth of it all?

Whether this was the end of something again or just another pause?

He didn’t ask.

And maybe it was a good thing—because she was still standing there.

Still deliberating.

Her fingers twitched at her side like she was weighing a grenade, not a sentence.

And then she turned to look at him, just slightly over her shoulder. Her voice came out quieter than usual—absent the usual swagger, but not uncertain.

“You wanna come?”

Ekko blinked. “Come…?”

She shrugged, eyes flicking away. “To mine. I’ve got food.”

That was all she said.

His pulse skipped.

She’d never invited him anywhere else. Not in all the time they’d been meeting here. The attic had been the limit, the line neither of them crossed.

Now, she was offering him something else.

More space. Another piece of her. A tether outside this neutral ground.

He stood slowly, still processing.

“You serious?” he asked, cautiously.

Jinx didn’t look at him. “Wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

He didn’t answer right away.

She started walking without looking back—but slow, deliberate, like she was leaving space for him to catch up. Just enough distance to give him time to decide.

And after only a few heartbeats more, he did.

He followed.

Quiet steps down old stairs, through rusted corridors and dim halls. The attic faded behind them, but the thread between them stretched forward now, too.

A door had opened. And Ekko, purposefully, stepped through it.

Ekko followed her through the tangle of winding tunnels—narrow, uneven, half-collapsed in places. The light grew patchier the deeper they went, until it was mostly flickering phosphorescent strips bolted to rusted walls or the faint pink glow from her shimmer-glazed eyes leading the way ahead of him.

Every so often, she’d stop and glance over her shoulder.

“Don’t step there,” she muttered once, pointing to a loose metal plate with a hair-thin tripwire looped around its corner. “That one’s rigged.”

He stepped carefully, following her footfalls like they were part of some choreography only she knew.

She didn’t look back again after that, but he noticed the slight change in her gait—slower, more deliberate. Like she was guiding him through the maze, not just walking ahead of him.

Eventually, they reached a hatch tucked beneath a sloping wall, half-hidden behind a heap of scrap. She ducked to unlatch it and shoved the heavy door open with the creak of rusted hinges.

“C’mon,” she said without looking at him, and slipped inside.

Ekko stepped through—and stopped.

The space opened up around him like the hollow core of the undercity itself. A broad, open area, suspended high above a deep chasm, its platforms branching out like veins from a central tower. From the outside it had looked industrial—forgotten. But inside… it was something else.

Her hideout felt like her.

Like memory and madness stitched together in flickering neon and broken things. Bomb schematics lined the walls next to childlike drawings. Trinkets dangled from netting and exposed wire overhead, catching the dim glow of makeshift lighting rigs in quiet, dancing flickers. He recognized some of them—Firelight tokens, discarded gears, old toys—but others were just... detritus, strung up like offerings.

It was chaotic and meticulous all at once. Every scrap and object had clearly been touched by her hands. It wasn’t just lived-in.

It was haunted by her.

The longer he stood there, the more the silence of the place sank in. Not the comfortable quiet of solitude—but the kind that echoed with the memory of someone talking to themselves. It felt lonely. Lonely in the way her eyes had always been, even when her mouth was laughing.

Behind him, he heard the clatter of a can.

He turned to see her rummaging in a cabinet—half mechanical, half junk pile. She pulled out a pair of dented tin containers and muttered something under her breath as she pried one open.

“Still edible,” she said, glancing his way, then busied herself with heating the contents over a makeshift burner.

Ekko didn’t speak yet. He walked a little farther in, taking it all in—the tub near the back, the tangled cords, the dim corner where a hammock hung half-collapsed, the scuffed workbench glowing faintly with residue from old chemical mixes. He stopped at a wall where a few old sketches were pinned in crooked lines—some of them hers, he guessed. One, unmistakably, was of a monkey with a wind-up key.

He didn’t touch anything.

But he felt her watching him.

She wasn’t subtle about it. Her shoulder leaned against the edge of the burner’s table, her eyes flicking toward him every few seconds, then away again. There was something tight in the way she stood. Wary. Defensive. Like she was bracing for him to say something she wasn’t ready to hear.

Or maybe just waiting for him to look at her a certain way—wrong, disappointed, or pitying.

He didn’t.

He just looked.

Because this space—like her—was many things at once. Clever, tragic, dangerous. Brilliant in its own kind of broken way.

And despite everything, it made his chest ache.

She slid him a metal cup of whatever warm slop she’d managed to throw together, and he took it with a quiet nod. Their hands didn’t brush, but they came close.

She bit her lip but said nothing.

Not yet.

But she didn’t look quite like she wanted to run.

They ate in silence at first, each with a battered metal cup cradled in their hands, the food steaming faintly in the haze of the burner’s low flame. It wasn’t good—some kind of rehydrated stew from a can with scraps of actual meat tossed in—but it was warm, and after everything, warmth felt like something.

Jinx didn’t eat much. She picked at it, spoon idle between motions, gaze flicking toward him whenever she thought he wouldn’t notice.

Ekko noticed.

His eyes wandered again as he took another mouthful, trying not to look directly at her, letting his gaze settle instead on the things in the space around them.

Then, perched on a shelf just beyond the couch, nestled between some scattered tools and wires, he noticed two old, hand-stitched dolls. Faded fabric. Threadbare stitching. One had goggles stitched onto its head, the other wore a tiny scarf that had once been red.

Milo and Claggor.

He stared at them longer than he meant to.

“You miss them,” he said softly, not quite able to keep the ache out of his voice.

Jinx didn’t look at him. Just leaned away a little and muttered, “They never left.”

Her voice was quiet—but not soft. Not in the way someone meant to comfort or be comforted. It was just a fact. Like gravity. A truth she didn’t question anymore.

Ekko glanced at her then—at the curve of her mouth, the subtle tension behind her eyes—and something in his chest tightened.

She stepped away from the burner and wandered toward the couch, giving it a half-hearted kick before shoving a pile of clutter off one end. A few parts clattered to the floor—some gears, an old plush toy, a cracked mask.

Then she shrugged out of her cloak and let it fall over the armrest.

Without another word, she flopped down on the far end of the couch like it was any other day. Like nothing had changed. One leg curled under her, elbow thrown over the backrest, expression unreadable.

Ekko hesitated with his half-empty cup still in his hands.

She didn’t tell him to sit.

But she didn’t tell him not to either.

After a moment, he crossed the room and lowered himself to the other end of the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. They didn’t touch. There was a full stretch of threadbare cushion between them, and neither reached to close it.

He took another sip of the lukewarm stew and glanced at her again—and that’s when he saw them.

The scars.

His breath caught.

They carved through the clouds on her skin like lightning, jagged and pale and raw in the low light. A few ran across her collarbone and shoulder, scar tissue webbing through the blue ink, fracturing the once-fluid shapes like shattered glass.

They hadn’t been there before.

His fingers tightened subtly on the cup.

She didn’t move to cover them, either. Just leaned her head back against the couch cushion and stared up at the ceiling like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t just seen something that split him open in ways he wasn’t ready for.

But it had.

And now he couldn’t unsee it.

Not the scars.

Not the ache behind her eyes.

Not the weight she still carried like a second skin.

Ekko stayed quiet at first. His eyes lingered on the scarring that split the tattoos he remembered. He hadn’t expected it to hit him so hard—those marks weren’t just old wounds. They were reminders. Of the bridge. Of everything they hadn’t said. Of how close he’d come to losing her entirely.

Hollowly, she whispered: "Just say it, Ekko."

He swallowed.

“You survived that?” he asked quietly, not accusatory—just stunned. “I saw you. After the blast… I thought you were dead.”

Her gaze flicked over to him, sharp and unreadable.

“You gonna tell me I shouldn’t have survived it?” she muttered. The words were more acid than she intended, too defensive, too fast.

Ekko didn’t rise to it. His voice stayed steady. “No. I’m glad you did.”

That softened something in her. Just barely. Her eyes dropped for a second. Something unreadable passed through her expression.

He added, softly, “How did you?”

She shrugged one shoulder, eyes unfocused. “I don’t know. I remember pain. Then nothing. Then more pain.”

Her voice didn’t carry the weight of exaggeration. It sounded plain. Honest. Heavy.

Ekko watched her for a moment longer.

“I mean…” He hesitated. “You were already gone when they came for you. I didn’t know what happened after.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw twitched slightly. Then:

“They did something. Something shimmer-based, I think. I don’t know what exactly. I didn’t ask.” Her voice went flatter. “Didn’t really care. I was too busy trying not to scream until my lungs gave out.”

Ekko exhaled, quiet. His hands tightened slightly around the cup in his lap.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked—not about the scars, not really. Not even about her body. Something else.

She was quiet for a second, then said, “Not as much as it used to… except when it does.”

There was a silence after that. A stillness neither of them broke.

She shifted slightly on the couch, adjusting the angle of her legs. Her cloak, tossed carelessly earlier, lay crumpled behind her.

Her voice was lower now. “Did you get hurt too?”

He nodded. “Fracture in my leg. Nothing like you.”

She looked at him, a little longer this time. Her fingers twitched faintly where they rested near her knee, almost like she wanted to reach for something. Her mouth opened, then closed. She tried again.

“I didn’t see you… after,” she said, quieter. Her voice caught slightly.

Ekko nodded, slowly. “I got out just before Silco’s people got there. Hid under the bridge. Didn’t make it far.” He hesitated. “Didn’t want them to find me with you.”

She nodded, faintly. The silence deepened again.

She sat still for a long moment, then—softly, like it hurt to say—“I thought you were dead.”

Ekko glanced at her. “I know.” He paused. “You weren’t wrong to think it.”

Another beat.

“I was lucky,” he said finally, tone quiet. “Luckier than you.”

That hung in the air between them. A truth with no answer.

But they were both still here.

The silence pressed in again, weighty but less brittle. Still thick with things unsaid. Still a chasm between them.

Ekko’s eyes drifted toward her again, slower this time. He wet his lips, then asked—quiet, cautious, like the words might shatter something fragile,

“Why did you pull the pin?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Her body stilled, then tensed slightly. The air shifted. Her hand slid across her lap, restless fingers curling into the fabric of her pants.

She didn’t look at him.

Her voice, when it came, was low. Flat. “I thought it was the only way to end it.”

Ekko didn’t speak. He let her keep going.

“I couldn’t see a way back from where we were.” She exhaled, hard and shaky. “We’d been killing each other for years. We weren’t even people anymore—we were just sides.”

Her throat worked, like she was swallowing something bitter.

“I thought maybe if we went together… it would actually mean something.”

Ekko’s hands curled tighter. He breathed slow through his nose.

“It wasn’t revenge,” she said, voice sharper now, defensive like she hated the way it sounded. “It wasn’t hate. It just… felt like it was always going to end that way.”

He nodded once, slowly. His jaw worked, unreadable.

“It felt like a story ending,” she continued. “Some kind of fucked-up poetry.”

The couch creaked as she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, fingers laced tight.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” That was quieter. More fragile. “But I didn’t know how not to anymore.”

Ekko stared at her, the air between them thick with a hundred things neither of them had ever learned how to say. He wanted to reach across the gap, but his body didn’t move.  After a long moment, Jinx shifted slightly, her shoulder turning just a bit toward him.

It was small. Barely anything… just a lessening of space. But it was something.

Ekko let out a slow breath and shifted too, enough for their arms to just brush — a fragile thread of contact neither of them acknowledged out loud.

Neither pulled away.

Ekko swallowed once. His voice came low, like it might spook whatever tentative peace had settled between them.

“…Do you still feel that way?”

Jinx didn’t answer right away. Her fingers flexed slightly, knuckles pale from where she’d laced them so tight. She tilted her head down, eyes shadowed beneath the fall of her hair.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I think I don’t. That I’ve changed. That it’s different now.”

A breath.

“And then I catch myself thinking about how it’d be easier if I just burned it all down again. Easier than… this.”

Her voice cracked just a little at the edge of that word. This. Whatever this was. Whatever they were doing — or trying to do — now.

“But I didn’t pull that pin because I wanted you gone,” she added, lower now, more certain. “I did it because I didn’t know how to stop what I’d already started.”

Ekko looked at her, eyes heavy with something... complicated — some emotion he couldn't quite pin down. But he nodded, slow and deliberate.

“Okay,” he said. Not forgiveness. Not absolution. Just… understanding.

Something settled in the silence — not exactly peaceful, but something less jagged than before. The weight hadn’t lifted, but it had shifted, no longer crushing. Not closure, maybe. But a crack in the wall. Enough room to breathe.

Jinx got up first. She moved to the far corner, pulling open an old crate and rummaging through it. Ekko watched her curiously until she fished out something small and metal — half a clockwork device, rusted and tangled with copper wire.

She flopped back down at the workbench, tools clattering lightly as she dropped them beside her. The air filled with the quiet, familiar rhythm of her fiddling — the click of pliers, the soft whirr of a ratchet, the occasional curse under her breath.

Ekko stood slowly and wandered over. His fingers brushed a cracked lens on the shelf, absently picking it up and turning it in the light.

“That from anything important?” he asked, nodding toward the device in her hands.

“Dunno,” she muttered. “It used to be a toy, I think. Or a trap. Might be both.”

He huffed a dry laugh and sat on the edge of the table across from her, letting the silence stretch between them again.

For a while, that was all it was. Quiet metalwork. Muted glances. The occasional scrape of a tool.

Eventually, she slid him a half-stripped coil of wire. “Here,” she said gruffly. “If you’re gonna loiter, make yourself useful.”

Ekko’s lips quirked but took it without protest, grabbing a pair of snips and working beside her. Their hands moved near each other — closer than before. The rhythm of shared focus settled in between them again, comfortable in its own way. Like breathing.

“You ever miss this?” he asked after a long while, keeping his eyes on the wire. “Just… building stuff. Not for anything. Not for a cause. Just… because.”

Jinx paused, fingers tightening slightly on her tool.

“Sometimes,” she said. “But then I remember I don’t really know how to build anything that doesn’t explode.”

He didn’t laugh. Just met her eyes briefly.

“Not true,” he said.

She looked away first.

They fell quiet again.

When they finally finished the little tangle of junk between them — it didn’t do much. It just spun when wound up and sparked once, then sputtered out. But Jinx grinned faintly, and Ekko let himself smile too.

“Gonna give it a name?” he asked.

“Already did,” she said. “It’s called I Made This So I Wouldn’t Have to Talk to You.”

He snorted. “Wow. Beautiful. Touching.”

“Yeah, I’m full of sentiment.”

She flicked the switch again, just to see it spin once more, then tossed it onto the shelf.

Ekko leaned back on his hands, glancing around the room again. It was chaotic, layered — not just lived-in, but claimed. Every inch of it bore her fingerprints, like the place had grown around her instead of the other way around.

His eyes landed on the couch again — stained, threadbare, one leg held up by a crate.

He frowned a little. “You sleep on that thing?”

Jinx looked over, then shrugged. “When I have to.”

“You don’t have a bed?”

Her shrug deepened. “Couch or… you know.” She gestured vaguely. “There.”

It took him a second to realize she meant the attic.

“Oh.”

She didn’t explain further. She didn’t need to.

The silence pressed in again, just slightly different now — not quite so awkward or hesitant.  Just strange. Undefined.

Ekko looked back at the couch.

“…You should really get a bed.”

Jinx snorted. “Yeah, well. Where would I put it?”

Ekko didn’t answer. But he kept looking at her.

Not with judgment.

Just something quieter. Something heavier.

He glanced down at his watch, lips tightening slightly. He hadn’t wanted to check it, but habit pulled his wrist up anyway.

“I’ve got a patrol soon,” he said, low.

Jinx didn’t react at first. Just leaned back slightly on the stool, arms folding as she stared at the flickering light above them. Then, subtly, her mouth turned down.

“Right,” she said. “Of course, you do.”

She was trying to play it off. Like it didn’t matter. Like she hadn’t just let him into her space and let the walls fall down a little. Just a little.

Ekko hesitated a beat. Watching her, reading her.

“I could come by tomorrow,” he said finally. “Get us some food.”

Her eyes flicked toward him — quick, surprised — before she caught herself and looked away again.

“I can’t really go anywhere,” she muttered after a second. “Not like I can show my face in a food stall. Y’know… with my face all over every wall in Zaun and Piltover.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I said I’d bring it.”

She glanced at him again, brow lifting slightly. “You gonna smuggle soup in your pockets now?”

“I can cook,” he added. “Not poison-in-a-can this time. Something real.”

Her brow lifted higher. “You cook now?”

“I’ve been helping feed a whole camp for years. You think we survive on scavenged soup and stale rations?”

She gave a reluctant little snort. “Still hard to imagine.”

“I’ll prove it,” he said, rising to his feet.

A pause stretched between them. Not heavy. Just something else.

“You’ve given me food twice already,” he added. “I owe you.”

“Twice?”

He gave her a look. “Don’t pretend you forgot. That soup today and the stuff you brought when I was injured.”

She smirked. “That barely counts. But fine.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she said, casual again—but not cold.

And after he turned toward the door, she added—almost too soft to catch:

“You better not screw it up.”

His laugh followed him out.

The kitchen in the Firelight treehouse was small, but warm — tucked into the curved edge of the hollowed structure, cluttered with salvaged pots, mismatched utensils, and shelves built from scavenged wood. Steam curled from the pan Ekko hovered over, the air thickening with a rich, spiced aroma — far more fragrant than anything usually cooked around here.

He stirred slowly, brow furrowed. A touch more salt? No — less. Just a pinch. He tasted again, frowned, set the spoon down.

Behind him, heavy footsteps approached — pads on wood, the quiet clink of metal.

Scar.

The vastaya paused in the doorway, nostrils flaring at the scent. He didn’t speak at first, just tilted his head and sniffed again.

“…That smells good,” he muttered, blunt as ever.

Ekko glanced over his shoulder. “It’s not for you.”

Scar grunted. “Didn’t think it was.” His gaze lingered. “Fancier than usual. Smells… deliberate.”

Ekko huffed and turned back to the stove. “Can you just taste it? I want to make sure it’s right.”

Scar stepped closer, took the spoon without ceremony, and tasted it with a practiced flick of his tongue.

“Mm.” He nodded. “Balance is decent. Little heavy on the cumin.”

Ekko sighed. “Damn. I thought so.”

“You taking it to someone?”

Ekko hesitated — too long.

Scar’s eyes narrowed, amused. “Who?”

“Just… someone.”

A flick of an ear. A twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Ekko didn’t look up.

Scar let the silence hang, long enough to be pointed. Then he turned away.

“Have fun on your date.”

Ekko froze. “It’s not a date,” he called after him, a little too fast.

Scar paused in the doorway, glancing back. “Didn’t say it was.”

“You literally just did.”

Scar shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Never seen you cook like this before. Never seen you act like this either.”

Ekko opened his mouth, closed it again.

Scar was gone.

The kitchen was quiet. Steam still curled up from the pan.

Ekko stood there a while, frowning like the pan had personally offended him. He tasted the sauce again, adjusted it. Stirred. Simmered. Tasted again.

Finally, he nodded. Not perfect — but good enough to be proud of.

He set the pan aside to cool and portioned it carefully into a salvaged tin container, cleaned and sealed. Wrapped it in cloth to keep warm.

Then hesitated.

His eyes drifted to the stack of other containers on the counter. Then back to the little bundle in his hands.

Too small.

He could already picture her picking at it. Saying it was fine. Forgetting to eat half because her hands were full — wires, scrap, another half-finished mess. He remembered how her kitchen (if he was being generous with the word) looked. Bare. Not neglected, just… sparse. Like she’d stocked it once and let it rot from there.

His hand hovered. Then he exhaled and turned toward the pantry.

Fine.

He pulled what he had: some root vegetables, a bit of rice, an old tin of spices that still held a decent kick. He cracked it open, sniffed. Nodded. He could work with this — make something simple. Something warm.

Something that would last.

He got to work again — quiet, focused. Not for impressing. Not really.

Just… food. Making sure she ate. Making sure she had something warm to come back to.

Right?

Still, his hands moved with too much care — chopping, blending, tasting. Again. Again. Just enough heat. Just enough salt.

When both dishes were packed, wrapped, and tied into a carry bundle, he stepped back and looked at them.

He scratched the back of his neck.

Too much?

Maybe.

But she’d brought him food once.

Twice, if he was being honest.

He owed her. That was all.

Right?

He tightened the bundle and slung it over his shoulder.

This wasn’t a date.

But it still felt like he was carrying something important.

And he really, really wanted her to like it.

Chapter Text

The day stretched too long.

Jinx kept herself busy. Or tried to. Fiddled with a half-dismantled trigger mechanism, tweaked the tension on a spring coil that didn’t need tweaking, rewired something she’d already rewired twice.

Nothing held.

Her hands moved, but her head was somewhere else. Jittery. Uneasy. Restless in a way she couldn’t quite name.

It was just Ekko.

Just Ekko, bringing food.

No big deal.

Except it kind of was.

She sat on the workbench, swinging her legs idly, staring at a scorched blueprint she didn’t even remember burning. Her foot tapped a twitchy rhythm against the leg of the bench.

She wasn’t nervous. That wasn’t the word. Not exactly.

But something was buzzing under her skin.

It was ridiculous. They’d shared a bed. Shared breath and skin and scars and history. She’d stitched his wounds and he’d kissed her like she wasn’t some half-feral mess of trauma and trigger wires. And still—still—this felt different.

Food.

Not survival rations, not spare tins or trade scraps. Not the emergency soup she’d thrown together the other day just to have something in her hands when he came over.

He was making something for her. On purpose.

No one did that. Not for her.

She couldn’t even remember the last time someone brought her a homemade meal. Silco used to send food when she was younger, sure—but it was always through someone else. More transactional in the beginning… not a gesture. Something left at the door like she was a stray being kept alive out of obligation. They’d eat together sometimes too—often, actually, as the years progressed and they got closer—but it was never anything that came from his own hands.

Eventually, even that had stopped.

Silco gone. Home gone. Again.

She’d learned to feed herself—scraps, rations, whatever she could trade or build into something passable. She didn’t need anyone to take care of her.

Didn’t need anyone.

Still… her eyes drifted toward the mess in the corner. The cluttered pile of tools and wires and stained rags that usually didn’t bother her. She frowned.

Did it look worse than usual?

Probably not. Probably.

Her fingers twitched like they might reach for a rag, then pulled back. She scowled at herself. What the hell was she even doing? Cleaning?

Since when did she care?

But her gaze lingered on the space again. The half-swept floor. The grease stains on the workbench. The scattered junk around the couch.

It wasn’t like she needed it to be perfect. That would be weird. She didn’t even want it to be perfect.

She just… didn’t want him to think it was awful either.

She muttered a curse under her breath and nudged a coil of wire with her foot, watching it rattle out of sight beneath the bench.

Her hands hovered for a second—then reached for a cloth anyway.

Not because she cared what he thought.

Just because… well. Maybe she did. A little.

She didn’t know what this was between them — but it was more than nothing. And today, it felt dangerously close to real.

She hated that it made her heart flutter.

And she hated that she didn’t hate it more.

Eventually, she made her way over to the couch, half on instinct. There was an old coil spring poking through one of the cushions—she yanked it free and tossed it aside. A couple of screws and a stripped bolt had made a home in the corner seam. She scooped them up, stuffed them into the nearest junk tin.

Her eyes landed on a half-burned candle nestled behind a tangle of wires on the shelf beside the couch. She picked it up without thinking, turning it over in her fingers. The wick was blackened but usable.

She stared at it a beat too long.

A candle. What was she even doing?

Her lips twisted into a scoff, and she shook her head at herself. What next—flowers? A tablecloth? Was she planning a damn dinner date now?

“Tch,” she muttered and shoved the candle back on the shelf a little harder than necessary. The stupid thing wobbled but stayed upright.

She paced after that. Tidied, sort of. Rearranged a few tools on the workbench that didn’t need rearranging. Checked the clock, then again two minutes later.

When the hatch finally clicked open, she almost startled.

Ekko’s head appeared first—his familiar silhouette framed in the dim hallway light—and then he dropped down into her space with practiced ease.

He looked… relaxed. A little flushed from the climb, hair tousled, the short dreads atop his head shifting with each step.

“Hey,” he said, brushing his hands off on his pants.

“You remembered the path,” she said, feigning casual as she leaned against the workbench.

He grinned faintly. “Hard to forget when every wrong step nearly blows your legs off.”

She snorted. “Only one of them actually would’ve.”

“That’s comforting.”

They lingered there for a second, the air between them warmer than it used to be—but still stitched with something fragile and unspoken.

Then Ekko lifted the covered container from the satchel at his side, a little steam still curling up around the lid. “You hungry?”

Jinx glanced at it, trying not to look too eager.

“It’s still warm,” he added. “Didn’t know if you’d eaten.”

Her eyes flicked to the workbench where the half-empty can of soup still sat like a sad little monument. She shrugged. “Not really.”

He nodded and moved to set the container down. “Good. I made enough.”

Something in her chest did a little flip again—annoyingly tender.

She masked it with a quip, but her voice was softer than it might’ve been on another day: “Guess you really are trying to one-up my gourmet cuisine.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Just figured you deserved better than tin-can stew.”

She nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “Bold of you to assume I don’t have a refined palate.”

His smirk widened. “Right. Next time I’ll bring caviar and gold flakes.”

She snorted. “Better come with a damn gold fork, too.”

His laughter softened something in the air again, and for a second it was easy. Simple. Like it used to be—before everything cracked and burned and bled.

Jinx managed to dig out two mismatched plates from a crate half-buried under spare wiring coils and a cracked lantern. She tossed them onto the coffee table with a clatter, not bothering to hide the restless twitch in her hands.  Ekko settled beside her on the couch, setting the food down between them — still warm, the faintest curl of steam rising from the containers he’d packed so carefully.

He opened the first one and nudged it toward her.

“Spiced rice, sautéed mushrooms, a little citrus glaze. And I made a side of greens… figured you could use something made from actual food.”

Jinx raised a brow, inspecting it like it might bite her. “You cooked this?”

He nodded, already unpacking the next dish. “Told you I could.”

She didn’t answer, just watched him for a moment. The concentration in his hands as he plated it out, the small furrow in his brow when a piece didn’t sit quite right. It was strange — seeing him like this. Quiet. Gentle. Purposeful.

She picked up a fork and tried the rice first.

Silence.

Then another bite.

Ekko glanced at her sideways, waiting.

“…It’s good,” she muttered, almost like it surprised her. “Better than I thought it’d be.”

He gave a short laugh, relief washing into his posture. “That your way of saying thank you?”

“That’s my way of saying you’ve officially got better rations than half of Zaun.”

She stabbed another bite, eyes fixed on the plate like it had answers she wasn’t ready to ask for. He didn’t press her. Just took his own fork and started eating beside her in the quiet.

It wasn’t awkward.

Not quite comfortable, either.

But something in between — a space just big enough to share.

They ate like that for a while, passing occasional comments about the food, the spice level, a strange little crunch that turned out to be a toasted seed. He told her he’d stolen the recipe off a vendor in Piltover once, back when he was scouting routes for the Firelights. She rolled her eyes, but her fork didn’t slow.

Her leg brushed his at some point, and she let it rest there.

“Been a long time since anyone cooked for me,” she said eventually, voice low — almost like she hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Ekko glanced up at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t look at him. Just stared at the flickering candle she’d finally, begrudgingly, lit after all.

He hesitated. “Not even Silco?”

Jinx shrugged. “He sent food. Had people bring things. But this…” she gestured at the meal between them, the warmth of the dishes, the way it filled the room with a smell that made the place feel less empty — “This isn’t the same.”

Ekko didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

She added, quieter, “Not since… I don’t know. Vander, maybe.”

Something in her voice cracked a little. Something not broken, exactly — just worn thin.

Ekko looked at her again. Really looked.

And in that moment, it wasn’t about food anymore.

It was about presence. Intention. The quiet act of care wrapped in something so simple it hurt.

“You don’t have to keep eating out of cans,” he said softly. “Or pretending that’s all you deserve.”

Jinx didn’t answer.

But she didn’t argue either.

And that was something.

Jinx twirled her fork lazily between her fingers, watching the tines catch the dim candlelight.

“I can cook, y’know,” she said after a beat. “It’s just… chemistry. Ratios. Heat application. Same principles as bomb-making. Just with less explosions.”

Ekko snorted. “You say that like explosions aren’t your favourite part.”

She smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, well… food doesn’t usually blow up in a satisfying way. Cooking feels like a lot more effort.”

“Than bombs?”

“Than opening a can,” she corrected, flicking a crumb off her plate. “Bombs at least have a payoff. You put in the work, you get the boom. Food just disappears.”

“Or it keeps you alive,” he offered, still half-grinning.

“Minor detail.”

He watched her for a moment, then said, “You could cook with me sometime.”

Jinx blinked, clearly not expecting that. “What, like… stand in a kitchen and measure spices together?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing, though his voice had a quiet sincerity. “It’s more fun with someone else. Less like a chore.”

She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You saying I’m fun now?”

“I’m saying,” he replied, nudging his plate forward, “you might not hate it. And you’d probably be good at it — if you can rig a tripwire to explode with a timing fuse and a spring coil, you can boil a damn egg.”

That pulled a soft laugh from her, something real and unguarded for once.

“Maybe,” she said, quieter again. “Cooking’s just… never been on the list.”

“Time to rewrite the list,” he said, but didn’t press further. The implication was there, gently folded between his words. That maybe she’d feel a little better if she looked after herself more. That maybe she deserved to.

She just went back to her food, chewing slower now, more thoughtful. She didn’t argue. Just nodded slightly, like she wasn’t ready to say it out loud, but maybe… she heard him.

And for a little while longer, they sat there with warm food, quiet candlelight, and the faintest space between them starting to close.

The candle gave a final flicker and sputtered out, plunging the space into a soft kind of dim. The only light left came from the faint glow of the chemical tubes overhead and the low, pulsing blue of a half-disassembled power cell humming somewhere on a shelf.

Ekko sat forward, stretching slightly. His fingers brushed the edge of the empty plate, and he glanced over. “You want help cleaning this up?”

Jinx waved him off with a lazy flick of her fingers. “You cooked. I’m not completely heartless.”

He smirked. “Debatable.”

She shot him a sidelong look. “Go before I change my mind and make you scrub the pan with a busted fuse brush.”

Ekko chuckled but didn’t get up right away. He watched her as she leaned forward, reaching for the plates without urgency, stacking them in a loose pile.

“Guess I’ll head out, then,” he said after a beat, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Jinx didn’t stand, but her eyes tracked him — flicking to the door, then back to him again. Her mouth tugged, faint and unreadable.

“If you show up with food like that again,” she said, voice dry but quieter now, “I might not kick you out next time either.”

It wasn’t much.

But Ekko knew her enough to read her.

His brow quirked, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll risk it.”

He stepped toward the hatch, boots light on the metal. Before he dropped through, he glanced back once more. She was already gathering up the utensils, back turned, shoulders loose in a way they hadn’t been before.

Then he was gone.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It held traces — his voice, his laugh, the warmth still lingering on the plates, the faint scent of spice and citrus still in the air.

Jinx stood there for a moment, unmoving, eyes landing on the tin of leftovers he’d tucked near the burner without saying anything. Her hand reached for it slowly, fingers brushing the cloth-wrapped lid.

It was still warm.

She stared at it, unreadable for a breath too long, then shook her head and snorted under her breath.

“…Dumbass.”

But her voice wasn’t sharp. It was quiet. Almost fond.

She set the container aside and picked up the rest of the dishes, moving with an absent kind of focus. Not rushed. Not tense.

Just steady.

The candle had burned out, but the room didn’t feel dark.

Not tonight.

From there, the days blurred — not in monotony, but in quiet repetition. Small pieces of time, stitched together by shared presence.

The next time Ekko came by, he brought bread. It was a little stale around the edges, but warm from being wrapped close to his chest on the walk over. Jinx didn’t ask where he got it. Just grunted and split it between them, stuffing a slice in her mouth while gesturing toward a project on the workbench. He leaned against the table and helped wind a coil.

Three days later, she left a dented thermos on the shelf near the entrance. Still warm. Something that vaguely resembled tea — spiced, strong, bitter as hell. He made a face when he drank it, and she smirked like she’d won something.

Some nights, they said almost nothing. She handed him a screwdriver. He adjusted the housing on a rusted lantern. They worked until the silence grew too thick, then broke it with sarcasm. Neither of them commented on how much easier it had become.

Once, when she was busy gutting an old chem pump, he wandered over to the far corner and picked up the little wind-up trinket they’d built days ago. He turned the key. It sparked, spun, and sputtered out. Still broken. Still theirs.

Ekko didn’t come every day — sometimes not for two or three — but when he did, the silence between them grew calmer. Familiar again. A slow rhythm built itself from the quiet: food, small talk, shared tools.

Then, one night, he climbed down into the hideout with a wince and a muttered curse, dragging the satchel off his back and setting it down with more force than usual.

Jinx raised an eyebrow from the workbench. “That board of yours die on the way here?”

“Almost.” He dropped into the nearest chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kicked mid-glide and stalled out. Thought I was gonna eat pavement.”

She snorted. “So dramatic.”

“I literally almost fell face-first into a rust pile.”

“Tragic.” She didn’t look up. “Guess I better start sketching your memorial.”

He shot her a glare. She only grinned.

Then she turned in her chair, kicking her legs around to face him fully.

“Give it here.”

Ekko blinked. “What?”

She gestured. “The board. Or what’s left of it. Hand it over.”

He raised a brow. “You offering to fix it?”

“I’m not offering,” she said, stretching out a hand. “You’re crackling like a blown fuse, and if I have to hear you keep bitching about it, I’ll repurpose it into a wall decoration.”

He eyed her, then the hand, then finally removed the battered hoverboard from the clips securing it to the outside of his bag and held it out warily.

“You break it more,” he warned, “you’re walking me home.”

Jinx smirked. “No promises.”

She grabbed the board and spun her chair toward the workbench, already clearing space with one sweep of her arm. Tools clattered. Lights flicked. Her fingers itched to get into it.

Ekko watched her for a second longer, something soft flickering behind his eyes.

She didn’t look back.

“Don’t just sit there,” she muttered. “You’re not a client. Grab the buffer.”

And just like that, they were back in it — shoulder to shoulder, tools in hand, something broken laid out between them, waiting to be reworked.

Jinx flipped the board onto its side and popped the first casing open with a flick of her wrist. The panel creaked, revealing a web of scorched wires, grit-smeared insulation, and one very tired spinner array.

“You weren’t kidding,” she muttered, squinting into the mess. “It smells like something fried itself in here.”

Ekko leaned in beside her, shoulders bumping. “Pretty sure the left fan motor shorted when I banked too hard. There was a lurch—kind of a skip—and then nothing. Just dropped.”

She flicked one of the wires with the tip of her pliers, watching the casing shudder faintly.

“Was it pulling to the side before that?” she asked. “Like... dragging when you turned?”

“Yeah,” he said. “More resistance on the left. Thought it was friction on the blades. Maybe buildup.”

Jinx hummed under her breath. “Might be the current relay. If the coils in the converter housing are arcing, it’d throw the balance and dump too much draw through the spinner.”

Ekko blinked. “You think it’s not the blades?”

“Nah,” she said, brushing grime off a heat-sink unit. “Your blades are fine. Pitch is tight, but it’s tuned for fissure density. That’s deliberate. I wouldn’t change it.”

“Heimerdinger didn’t think the pitch was right,” Ekko said offhandedly. “Told him he didn’t understand fissure air.”

Jinx blinked. “The councillor?”

“Former,” he said. “He’s been in the Undercity since they pushed him out.”

She gave him a long look. “And you’re just casually correcting him now?”

“I’ve been working with him,” Ekko said, scratching behind his neck. “Learning.”

Jinx paused.

Her hand stilled on the open board. The silence stretched.

“He found me,” Ekko added, voice quieter now. “After the bridge.”

Jinx’s hand stilled on the board. Her fingers tightened around the tool in her grip. Ekko’s voice stayed quiet. “He was in Zaun. Said he wanted to help, see it for himself. He caught sight of the hoverboard by the docks and tracked it back to me.”

She finally looked over, just slightly—eyes narrowing, guarded but curious.

“Said the blade pitch was off,” Ekko muttered. “Told me I’d never get stable lift in the lower sectors.”

Jinx snorted faintly. “He’s not wrong—unless you’re accounting for the air density.”

Ekko nodded once. “That’s what I told him. He didn’t argue. Just looked at me like I’d invented gravity.”

That pulled a ghost of a grin from her. “And did you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Broke it enough times to figure out what didn’t work.”

A quiet beat passed.

Jinx looked back at the board again. Her face had gone neutral—not cold, just unreadable.

“So, you’re his apprentice now?” she asked, almost too casually.

“He’s not really the lecture type,” Ekko said. “But yeah. I’ve been learning. Tech stuff. Theory. Some Piltie crap I never had time to think about before.”

Jinx’s fingers tapped once against the open panel. Her voice, when it came, was low. “Guess he saw something he didn’t want to lose.”

Ekko’s eyes flicked toward her. “Yeah. He wasn’t the only one.”

Whatever passed through her expression, she buried it quick—turned it into motion instead of words.  Her hand darted toward the tray of tools, eyes scanning with sharp focus

“Gimme the flat-head with the stripped grip,” she said, voice low.

Ekko passed it to her without hesitation.

“So, you sure this is going to work?” Ekko’s voice cut through the twilight haze, echoing faintly off the concrete walls of the old rail corridor they’d found — long-abandoned, quiet, and far enough from the fissure edge that one bad spill wouldn’t mean freefall.

“Seriously?” Jinx shot him a look as she crouched beside the board, running her fingers over the final panel she’d bolted shut. “Who do you take me for—you? It’ll work, gearhead.”

He huffed, watching her with arms crossed. “Just asking. Last time it kicked mid-glide, I almost got pancaked by an exhaust chute.”

“And whose fault was that?” she said, patting the hoverboard’s casing with mock affection. “You let the insulation arc out. I just rerouted the power feed and buffered the relay. It’s not gonna short again.”

“Unless your patch job fries the stabilizer.”

She stood, brushing her hands off on her thighs. “Then it explodes spectacularly and we get a light show. Win-win.”

Ekko gave her a flat look. “I told you — speed and stealth. Not fireworks.”

Jinx snorted, turning toward him. “And I told you your design could handle a little flair. You’re lucky I didn’t add smoke trails or a confetti cannon.”

His lips twitched. “That sounds like exactly what you tried to add.”

She didn’t deny it.

Instead, she kicked the board gently toward him. “Go on. Ride it before I change my mind and add streamers.”

He rolled his eyes but crouched to check the underside, running a practiced hand along the rear vent and flex shaft. Her solder lines were cleaner than expected. He gave a low whistle.

“Didn’t think you’d actually buffer the whole coil array,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well. You complain enough, I get inspired.”

With a short sprint and a flick of his foot, Ekko mounted the board and hovered backward a few feet, letting the hum settle beneath him. He tested the tilt, the lift, rolled the weight side to side.

Then — without warning — he kicked off.

The board responded beautifully.

He ducked under a rusted pipe, curved around the cracked pillar at the corridor’s center, and flared upward toward a sloped incline along the old rail wall, using the angle to launch himself into a tight spin. He landed the arc with ease, cutting wide before swinging back around toward her.

Jinx whistled through her teeth. “Show-off.”

Ekko grinned, looping around once more before slowing just in front of her.

He kicked the board up into one hand and tossed it lightly her way. “Alright. Your turn. Think you can do better?”

The light in his eyes dared her.

The grin on her face said: obviously.

She caught the board easily and slung it under one arm with a cocky tilt of her head, stepping forward to set it down. It hummed faintly under her boots, the stabilizers flaring to life with a low, reactive whirr.

Confident — but new to it — she placed her feet where she’d seen Ekko position his, shoulders loose, posture relaxed.

Or, mostly relaxed.

The moment she shifted her weight forward, the board tilted awkwardly. She wobbled. Her arms flailed for half a second, fingers instinctively reaching out—

—and caught his sleeve.

Ekko's hand shot forward just as fast, steadying her with one palm at her waist.

Jinx froze.
Not because she was falling — she wasn’t anymore — but because his hand anchored her, quiet and certain, like it belonged there. Her breath snagged in her throat. She looked up sharply, scowling like it could cover the way her ears were already starting to flush.

“Hands off,” she muttered, swatting him away.

Ekko backed up with both hands raised, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Hey, you’re the one grabbing me.”

She rolled her eyes and bent her knees slightly, adjusting her balance until the board leveled under her. It didn’t take long — her body adapted quickly, and soon she was hovering in a stable line, cautious but capable.

She kicked off.

Not hard. Just enough to glide a few feet forward — then she adjusted, curved a little. Her movement wasn’t as fluid as his, but her control sharpened with every second. By the time she looped around and came back, her grin had sharpened into something triumphant.

“See?” she said, coming to a stop. “Told you it’d work.”

Ekko clapped mockingly, again. “You didn’t faceplant. I’m impressed.”

“I will run you over,” she threatened, nudging the board an inch toward him.

He chuckled and stepped closer. “Want to see what it can really do?”

Jinx arched a brow. “You offering to show me, or just scared I’ll outpace you?”

He didn’t answer — just climbed back on, hands steady at the controls as he angled the board toward a broader section of the corridor.

She followed suit, stepping on behind him without waiting for an invite.

Her arms bracketed loosely around him, just for balance.

Mostly.

“Don’t crash,” she muttered into his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

With a hum and a lurch of power, the board launched forward again.

They leaned into the speed together — smoother now, practiced. Ekko guided them around a banked wall, over a rusted grate, and down a dip carved deep from runoff. Jinx whooped as the air whipped past, braids snapping behind her like a banner.

It was wild. Fast. Stupid, probably.

And it was fun.

Just like it used to be.

Ekko curved around a support beam, then kicked the board into a short burst of acceleration, pulling into a tight banked drift before straightening again. Jinx leaned with him easily, movement intuitive.

And then, over the wind: “You remember that old monowheel?”

Jinx barked a laugh. “The one with the crooked seat and busted light? That thing barely held together.”

“You stood on it like you were invincible.”

“You let me stand on it,” she said. “Didn’t let the others near it.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Didn’t trust ‘em not to break it.”

She hesitated for half a beat — then smirked. “Guess some things don’t change.”

Ekko didn’t look back, but his voice came easy: “Didn’t trust them with that one. Don’t trust anyone else with this one either.”

That quiet stuck for a moment — soft between the echo of their movement and the steady pulse of the board beneath them.

Jinx didn’t say anything back.

But her grip around his waist tightened — just a little. Just enough.

And the board kept flying.

Jinx let herself hold on for a breath longer than necessary.

Then, without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed her face briefly into the back of his coat.

Warm fabric. Familiar scent. Too familiar.

She told herself it was the wind. That her bangs were blowing into her eyes.

Just the wind. That’s all.

“Don’t get used to this,” she muttered under her breath — too quiet for the wind to carry properly. Like saying it could stop the way her chest ached.

Ekko angled his head. “What was that?”

She pulled back slightly, already smirking. “Said if you hit another pipe, I’m leaving your ass in a crater.”

He laughed, the sound half-swallowed by the rushing air. “That’s fair.”

The board banked left, and Jinx adjusted with it, the tension in her spine easing with each smooth turn.

She didn’t expect this. Any of this.

Didn’t expect to be here again, in this place, riding shotgun on something he built — like nothing had ever cracked between them.

Like something had always been waiting to find its shape again.

“You ever think about building your own?” Ekko asked, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “Board like this?”

Jinx scoffed, but it wasn’t sharp. “What, and cramp your whole 'hoverboard genius' thing?”

“I’m just saying,” he said, turning them into a wide arc that swept near a broken stairwell, “you’ve got the hands for it.”

“Flattery,” she drawled. “Shameless.”

He grinned. “I’m serious. You modded the hell out of this one. You could probably build something that’d outrun mine.”

She paused a beat. Then: “Yeah, but mine would shoot fireworks.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Jinx snorted — but didn’t say no. Didn’t scoff it away like she normally would.

Didn’t pretend the idea didn’t settle somewhere warm in her chest.

They drifted back toward the corridor’s edge, the hum of the board quieter now, winding down like a shared breath. Neither said anything for a stretch of moments.

Not because there wasn’t more to say.
But because, somehow, just this — wind, balance, motion, and memory — said enough.

Ekko exhaled, easing the board into a hover just above the cracked concrete. “Y’know, I should be using this more when I come to see you. Would save me the trauma of vaulting over your tripwires.”

Jinx tilted her head, mock-serious. “That’s a security flaw.”

“Oh no,” he groaned. “You’re gonna booby-trap the air now, aren’t you?”

She smirked. “Guess you’ll find out.”

Ekko snorted and gently guided the board down the last few meters until they landed near the cross-support that marked the hidden path leading toward her hideout. The hum beneath their feet faded to nothing.

Jinx stepped off first, shaking her legs out with a little bounce as if trying to pretend she hadn’t been holding on quite so tightly. She stretched her arms overhead in a lazy arc and gave him a sidelong glance.

“You heading back now?”

“Figured I’d drop you off,” he said, powering down the board and clipping it to his bag. “Since you didn’t kill us.”

She mock-bowed. “You’re welcome.”

They walked in mostly comfortable silence — a few words here, a muttered joke there. The tension that had once clung to every interaction had started to wear thin, replaced with something tentative but alive.

At the hatch, Jinx paused, fingers brushing the edge of the frame. She looked back at him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You comin’ by tomorrow?”

Ekko blinked, then shrugged a little. “Yeah. I can—if you wanna hang out.”

She didn't answer right away.

He scratched the back of his neck, smile tilting uncertain. “Might be a little late, though. Got a thing in the afternoon.”

Jinx nodded, pretending that didn’t register more than it should. “That’s fine.”

Then, with a grin creeping back in: “Long as you don’t show up empty-handed.”

Ekko rolled his eyes, already backing away. “Noted. No entry without snacks.”

He turned and started walking toward the main exit, the low light catching the silver of a wire looped through one of the straps on his bag. Just before the shadows swallowed him, he looked over his shoulder.

The smile he gave her wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t smirking.

It was warm.

It stayed behind long after he left.

Jinx stood there a moment longer, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click. She froze until the silence settled in thick around her. Then, she spun on he heel and marched over to the couch, where she flopped back onto it with a graceless thump, limbs sprawled, feet kicked over the back. The springs creaked in protest, but she didn’t care.

For a while, she just laid there. Eyes half-lidded. The last traces of his warmth still lingering in the air.

But slowly, the cold started to creep back in.

Not the kind she could chase off with heat.

The kind that whispered.

That slipped in through the cracks.

That wore her skin like memory.

Milo’s voice hissed somewhere in the hollow of her chest, crawling past the defences she hadn’t shored up fast enough.

Don’t get used to this.

It won’t last.

You don’t deserve it.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Told herself it was just static. Echoes. Noise.

But it didn’t stop.

The room felt too quiet now. Too empty.

Too much.

She sat up sharply, muttering something under her breath, grabbed her cloak from the hook, and slung it around her shoulders.

She didn’t think about where she was going.

She just… moved.

The attic greeted her like a familiar scar — cold, creaking, full of things half-forgotten. But the blankets were still there. Folded where she’d left them.

She dropped onto the mattress with a huff and pulled the newest addition over her shoulders, burying herself in the folds like it might block out everything else. The draft. The voices. The ache in her ribs that wasn’t pain.

Just pressure.

Her fingers twisted in the fabric. She closed her eyes.

It didn’t fix anything.

But it helped.

A little.

The room was quiet, save for the soft scratch of paper and the occasional metal click from Jinx’s side of the platform.

Ekko sat on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm draped along the backrest as his eyes flicked between the pages Heimerdinger had given him. Notes on environmental modulation in hex-tech fields. He'd read the same paragraph three times.

Somewhere behind him, Jinx’s windup grenade clicked to life, whirred once, then fizzled out with a sad little sputter.

She groaned.

From where she was sprawled on her back across the platform, legs dangling over the edge, she gave the grenade a tired nudge with one knuckle.

Ekko didn’t look up. “You know, if you’re gonna die of exhaustion, maybe don’t do it three feet from a ledge.”

She snorted. “Oh, please. If I fall, it’s your fault for being too boring to keep me awake.”

“You’ve been half-dead all week,” he muttered, eyes still skimming the page. “Maybe actually sleep instead of wiring more toys.”

“Can’t,” she said, voice more gravel than bite. “Static’s been a bitch lately.”

At that, he did glance up — just long enough to watch her shift. She sighed and slowly sat up, dragging herself across the floor with the enthusiasm of a kicked can. She plopped down beside him on the couch with a graceless thud, limbs heavy and loose.

Her hair was mussed. Her eyes were half-lidded.

Ekko slid his papers aside without comment.

Jinx set the fizzled windup grenade on the coffee table, letting it roll slightly with the uneven tilt.

They didn’t speak for a bit.

A candle flickered on the far end of the room — one she’d lit earlier, mostly out of habit. She watched it now, eyes tracking the sway of the flame like it might hypnotize the restlessness out of her skull.

She didn’t lean on him.

Didn’t curl in.

Just sat there beside him, quietly worn down, letting the weight of being near someone work in place of words.

And after a long stretch of silence, when the candle’s flame bowed low in the draft, the quiet between them shifted — not awkward, not full. Just tired.

That’s when Ekko finally spoke again.

“You look like hell.”

Ekko’s voice was quiet. Not judgmental. Just observation.

Jinx snorted. “Thanks, mister. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

She didn’t even look at him when she said it — just kept watching the candlelight flicker, her tone dry but too tired to be sharp.

Ekko huffed a laugh through his nose, but didn’t push.

The silence settled again, soft around the edges.

The lull between them softened further. It was quiet in a different way now — not tense, not avoidant. Just full.

Ekko shifted slightly, his arm still draped behind her along the back of the couch. The space between them stayed — narrow, unspoken, and steadily fading. That same quiet tension lingered, softer now.

He glanced over at her, voice low. “You tired?”

Jinx shrugged. “Maybe.”

He nodded once, remaining as he was. She mirrored him — still, watchful, waiting.

For a long moment, they just sat there, watching the flame dance down to its last few millimeters. The hush of the hideout pressed around them — not heavy this time, but soft. A hush that didn’t need to be filled.

Jinx leaned back slightly. Not all the way — just enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.

She didn’t draw attention to it. Didn’t tease.

Ekko didn’t move either. Just shifted a little, letting his arm curve ever so slightly behind her. Not possessive. Just… there.

She noticed.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, slowly — almost like she didn’t mean to — she let herself lean a little more, resting the edge of her weight into his side.

And Ekko, quiet and steady as always, tilted his head just slightly, letting his temple rest against hers. It felt like something was finding shape again — unspoken, uncertain, but real.

A beginning they hadn’t dared name.

Not yet.

The candle had burned itself out by the time they started to feel the weight of the evening settle in. Neither of them had moved in a while. The plates remained untouched on the table, and the closeness between them had become something natural — quiet, unforced.

Jinx shifted slightly, the couch creaking under her. Ekko noticed the way she flexed one leg, stretching it out and wincing a little. The space was too cramped for comfort — they both knew it.

Still, neither had said anything.

Ekko glanced sideways. His voice was low, tentative. “You planning to sleep here tonight?”

Jinx didn’t look at him at first. Her fingers were idly fiddling with a loose thread near the edge of one of the couch cushions.

“Dunno,” she muttered.

Ekko hesitated, then leaned forward, elbows bracing on his knees.

“I can head out,” he offered. “If you want space.”

That got her attention. Her eyes flicked to him, quick and unreadable. She didn’t answer right away — not with words.

She didn’t want him to go. Not really.

She just didn’t know how to say that without it sounding like weakness. Like a need she wasn’t supposed to have.

It was easier to live alone in the shadows when you could pretend you weren’t cold in them.

“I sleep better when you’re around,” she almost said.

But the words caught in her throat, too raw, too real.

So instead, she just said, quietly, “You don’t have to go.”

Ekko’s gaze softened. He didn’t press her. Just nodded once.

Still, the couch was barely big enough for one of them to sprawl out on, let alone both.

“I was gonna head back to the attic anyway,” he said after a moment, careful, casual. “It’s quieter there.”

Jinx caught the offer for what it was.

A place.

A middle ground.

A choice.

She hesitated — just for a breath — then stood up and grabbed her cloak from where it hung over the chair.

“Better get moving before the enforcers start their rounds,” she muttered, tossing it around her shoulders and fastening the clasp.

Ekko rose too, slinging his bag over his shoulder, watching her from the corner of his eye.

They slipped out into the tunnels, moving in tandem. She took the lead, navigating the hidden paths she knew better than anyone, but every so often, she glanced behind to check he was still there.

He always was.

By the time they surfaced again into the open night, the city had shifted. The noise had dulled to a low hum, distant and muffled. Above them, rooftops stretched like quiet steppingstones beneath the dark.

At one point, Jinx paused and stepped up onto the edge of a flat roof. Ekko followed, curiosity flickering behind his steady steps.

They stood there together, looking out.

The city was a sprawl of flickering lights and blurred movement. Faint sirens echoed somewhere far off, and the low pulse of life beneath them carried on like it always did.

Jinx didn’t speak.

Neither did Ekko.

But the way her shoulder bumped gently against his as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the railing — it was enough.

They stood like that for a while, side-by-side in the stillness. The wind tugged lightly at her cloak, brushing it against his arm. The silence wasn’t empty this time. It was full — with things unsaid but understood.

The rooftop breeze wasn’t harsh tonight — just enough to whisper through the tangled wires above them and tug gently at the edge of Jinx’s cloak. The city below flickered like an old filament bulb, all sputtering warmth and distant noise, soft enough to almost feel far away from everything.

Jinx leaned forward a little on the railing, her posture casual but her eyes far away. Ekko stood just beside her, hands resting loosely at his sides.

Then Ekko broke the silence, his voice quiet but steady.

“You ever think about how much this place has changed?”

Jinx didn’t answer at first. Her gaze lingered on the glow of flickering lights in the distance, the vague hum of a tram somewhere, the curl of smoke drifting lazily up from a pipe stack.

“I guess,” she said finally, subdued. “Hard to notice when you’re inside it all the time.”

Ekko nodded, eyes still on the city. “Used to be able to trace every alley from memory. Now half of ‘em are blocked by rubble or overrun with shimmer labs.”

A beat passed. He tilted his head slightly. “Sometimes I think I’m still trying to get my bearings.”

Jinx glanced over at him, something flickering in her eyes. “That why you’re always out patrolling?” she asked, a touch wry.

“Maybe.” He gave a faint smile. “Or maybe I just don’t like feeling useless.”

She didn’t respond, but something in her posture softened — barely perceptible, but there.

After a few more seconds of silence, Ekko spoke again, quieter now.

“I thought I lost you for good.”

That hung in the air between them, thin and sharp.

Jinx’s expression didn’t shift much, but her voice was low when she replied. “You did,” she said. “For a while.”

His jaw tightened a little. But when he turned to look at her, there wasn’t accusation in his eyes — just the steady weight of something unresolved.

“Doesn’t feel so much like that anymore,” he said.

She didn’t look at him, but her hand — resting lightly against the edge of the railing — brushed his.

Just barely.

He stilled.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Jinx’s fingers curled around his. A small squeeze. Quick. Almost unsure. But deliberate.

His breath caught faintly at the contact.

Then just as suddenly, she let go. Turned away without a word, already stepping toward the edge of the rooftop and the path back down.

Ekko watched her for a second before following.

The moment hung there behind them like a held breath.

And the city — vast, flickering, chaotic — kept pulsing below.

Their feet carried them the rest of the way in silence.

Not strained — not anymore — but something quieter. Measured. Like neither of them wanted to break whatever delicate thread had begun to settle between them again.

The attic door creaked open, familiar in a way that felt almost startling. Jinx ducked through first, tugging her hood down, then yanking the rest of the cloak off and tossing it carelessly over the crate in the corner. It slid halfway off, one edge catching against a broken plank. She didn’t fix it.

She paused near the tent, fingers twitching faintly at her sides. Then, slowly, she laid down on the mattress — back turned, facing the wall. No words.

Ekko followed, slower. He didn’t lie down right away. Instead, he reached for the blankets — shook out the old one first, worn soft by time and use, its edges frayed, its weight familiar. Then the newer one, still carrying the faint scent of the place he’d bought it, corners crisp, fabric clean. He layered them both, one over the other — the past settled beneath the present, quiet and steady beneath something newly made.

A quiet sort of care in the gesture. No words for it. Just the act itself — deliberate, gentle. Like building something that could hold warmth again.

Jinx glanced back over her shoulder, brow lifting slightly at the extra care. One of her eyes caught the dim light — shimmering pink, curious and unreadable.

Ekko cleared his throat, a little awkwardly. “It’s chilly tonight,” he muttered, settling down beside her.

She didn’t answer. Just turned her head back toward the wall, her hair falling loose across her shoulder.

The silence held for a while — long enough that he could feel the tension in her spine, how rigid her body still was. Like she wasn’t sure how to be here, not quite.

Then, finally — just barely — she shifted. Scooted backward a few inches until her back brushed against his chest. Her face pressed down into the newer pillow beneath her head.

“It’s cold,” she mumbled, voice muffled by the fabric.

Ekko swallowed the quiet smile that threatened to tug at his mouth. “Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s what I was saying.”

A moment passed.

Then, slowly, he slid an arm around her waist — tentative at first, then more certain when she didn’t flinch. Didn’t move away. Just breathed.

And if the rooftop had felt like a held breath — tight, fragile, waiting —

Then this felt like the exhale. Soft. Real. Something beginning again.

Chapter Text

The sky hadn’t lightened yet.

No birdsong. No glow through the attic window. Just the muffled hush of a city still sleeping — and the slow, steady rhythm of Ekko’s breath, warm against her hair.

Jinx had turned in her sleep. She didn’t remember doing it. But now her body was curled in toward his, face pressed against his chest, cheek resting where his heartbeat thudded soft and steady beneath his skin. One of his arms still cradled her waist, the other slung up behind his head, slack with sleep.

She hadn’t meant to end up like this. Hadn’t expected to.

And yet… here they were.

It should’ve felt safe.

But she couldn’t stop shaking.

The nightmare still clung to her like static, clawing at the edges of her vision even now. Not a clear picture — just scraps of it, flickering in and out. A flicker of a hallway that burned. That voice again.

“Powder,” Vi said, low and cold and full of disappointed weight. “You broke everything.”

Jinx clenched her jaw.

She hadn’t thrashed. Hadn’t even moved, not really. But her throat felt tight, and her eyes were wet, and that was worse. Worse than screaming. Worse than waking up gasping.

She hadn’t cried in years — not like this. Not quiet. Not hidden.

The worst part was, she hadn’t even noticed when the tears started. They just… leaked.

Continuous.

Stupid.

She sniffed once, angrily, pressing her face harder into Ekko’s chest as if that might somehow stop it, erase it, bury it.

But the ghosts lingered. Milo’s voice, bitter and cruel, slithered up the back of her mind like smoke curling under a door.

Of course, you’re crying. Of course, you broke it. Of course, you’ll ruin this too.

The static behind her eyes buzzed louder.

“Jinx?”

Ekko’s voice was groggy, low and gravel-soft with sleep — but it cut through her haze like a tether.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her throat was too tight.

He stirred a little, arm around her tightening instinctively. She felt the shift in his muscles, the sleepy tension of him realizing something was wrong.

“Hey…” His hand slid gently along her spine. “What’s goin’ on?”

Jinx shook her head. Or tried to. It barely moved.

“Did you have a dream?” he asked softly, the edge of worry creeping in now. His hand paused against her back, fingers still.

Her breath hitched once.

He didn’t push further. Just exhaled slow and even, a warmth she could anchor to.

“Okay,” he said quietly, like it was enough. “Okay.”

His thumb rubbed slow circles against her back again — grounding, patient.

“You’re safe,” he said after a moment. “It’s just us. Nothing’s gonna get you here.”

She stayed where she was, not looking up, not moving. Her hands had fisted slightly in his shirt at some point. She didn’t remember doing that either.

“Not gonna make you talk about it,” he murmured, voice still low, still warm. “Just breathe, alright? With me.”

He did it first — slow inhale, slow exhale. Then again.

She matched him the third time. Then the fourth. Still trembling, but a little steadier.

The static was still there. The voices, the lingering echo of that cold disappointment still curled under her ribs like a bruise — but quieter now. Duller. Easier to bear.

Ekko’s fingers kept moving in those slow, steady circles on her back.

They stayed like that for a long time. Neither speaking. Just breathing. Just… existing.

She didn’t thank him.

But she didn’t release her hold on him either.

Eventually, her breathing evened out.

The tremble in her hands faded, though her fingers still clung to his shirt. Her heartbeat steadied against his chest. The worst of the static ebbed, pulling back like the tide, leaving her hollowed and exhausted.

She didn’t move for a long time.

But when she finally did — when she shifted back just slightly and lifted her face from his chest — the air felt different. Heavy in a new way.

Ekko just watched her, soft and steady, eyes warm despite the pale gray gloom of the attic. Jinx avoided his gaze. Her hand scrubbed roughly at her cheek, and she shifted onto her back, eyes on the ceiling like it might offer an escape. It didn’t.

She felt… stupid.

Weak.

She hated that.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, even though neither of them had asked. Her voice was too rough, too thin.

“I know,” Ekko said simply.

No pity in his tone. No softness meant to patronize. Just quiet understanding.

That made it a little easier to breathe.

Still, her jaw twitched as she rolled the hem of the blanket between her fingers. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

She glanced at him, skeptical. “Liar.”

He gave her a faint smile, shrugging. “Maybe. I don’t mind.”

Jinx huffed out something like a laugh, bitter at the edges. “You say that now.”

“I mean it.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. The silence settled again. Not brittle… just tired. Eventually, Jinx shifted again, arm bent behind her head, eyes still on the ceiling. She stared at nothing. Chewed on a thought for a while before spitting it out.

“I don't get why you're doing this.”

Ekko blinked. “Doing what?”

“All of this.” Her fingers twitched slightly, gesturing around them. “Coming here. Bringing me food. Not running when I—” She hesitated. “When I break things.”

Her voice dipped, quieter. “Most sane people would’ve given up on me ages ago.”

She turned her head, watching him now. “So why haven’t you?”

Ekko was quiet for a few long moments. Then he turned his head too, met her eyes in the low light.

“Maybe I’m not sane either.”

That earned a small, reluctant huff from her — not quite a laugh, but close.

But Ekko wasn’t joking.

“I don’t know,” he said more seriously. “Maybe I should’ve. Maybe I tried to, once.”

Jinx swallowed.

“But I keep thinking about that kid I used to race through alleyways with. The one who made chaos look like art. Who cracked every plan wide open and made it better. Who used to laugh like nothing could touch her.”

His voice stayed steady, but there was something softer under it now.

“And I don’t know exactly when I started seeing her again… but I do.”

Jinx didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe, maybe.

“I don’t think she’s gone,” he said.

Jinx looked away, blinking hard. Her fingers pulled the blanket a little tighter over her chest.

Her throat felt too tight to answer.

Ekko didn’t push. He just stayed there beside her, their shoulders brushing faintly under the weight of both old and new.

“I don’t think she’s gone,” he repeated.

Then, after a beat, quieter:

“But I’m not saying I’m waiting for Powder to come back either. I know she won't. Not exactly.”

Jinx’s breath caught faintly, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t think anyone stays the same forever. I haven’t. You haven’t.” His voice was steady, sure. “That kid I remember… she’s still in you. But you’re not her anymore. You’re more.”

His eyes found hers again.

“And that’s not a bad thing.

“I’m not here because I want the past back,” he said. “I’m here because I think… maybe there’s still something worth building. Something different. Something new.”

Something flickered in her eyes, sharp and quiet, like the start of a crack breaking open under pressure. But she didn’t turn away, though Ekko was done speaking for the moment. Just let the silence hold between them again, soft and stable.

“You sure you wanna bet on me?” she muttered, trying to smirk but failing halfway. “Might be a bad investment.”

Ekko’s lips twitched, just slightly — not in amusement.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

No edge in his tone. Just quiet conviction, like he couldn’t let it slide unchecked.

Jinx swallowed hard. When she finally spoke, her voice was rough—scraped raw and low like something pulled from a long-abandoned corner of her chest.

“I don’t know how to build anything,” she muttered.

Ekko waited and let her keep going.

“Every time I try… it breaks. Or I break it.” Her fingers twisted in the edge of the blanket. “You don’t get it. I don’t know how to hold anything without it blowing up in my face.”

She sniffed once, angrily, like she hated the sound of her own weakness. “What if I destroy you too?”

Ekko didn’t flinch.  His gaze stayed steady, his hand shifting slightly on her waist.

“You won’t,” he said quietly.

“You can’t know that.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I know I’d rather try than walk away wondering.”

Her breath hitched.

“I’ve seen what you build,” he said, softer now. “Machines, traps, bombs—yeah, I know. But I’ve seen the other stuff too. The tent you made in the attic. The way you fixed up your space. The way you kept those dolls all this time.”

“That’s not—” she started, but he cut in gently.

“It is,” he said. “It’s all part of it. You keep telling yourself you’re a destroyer, but you don’t see the pieces you’ve held together just by sheer force of will.”

She was silent again. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes stung.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect,” he added. “I’m not even asking you to know how this ends. I’m just… asking you to stay. To keep showing up. And I’ll do the same.”

Jinx stared at him, and for a moment, she looked like she might fall apart all over again—but then she didn’t. Her body moved instead, slow and deliberate, shifting toward him.

She buried her face in his chest again, hiding herself there, muffled breath hot against his skin.

“…Boy Saviour,” she muttered, voice weak, almost a tremble. But it wasn’t bitter this time. It wasn’t mocking. If anything, it sounded like a nickname she didn’t know how to let go of, tangled in all the ache and irony it carried.

Ekko smiled faintly, breath brushing her temple. He didn’t say anything. Just held her tighter.

And for a long while, they stayed like that—wrapped in old shadows, and something that felt like the beginning of something new… curled together beneath layered blankets, tangled in warmth and quiet—for what felt like hours. Neither moved. Neither spoke. Just the sound of their breathing, the occasional rustle of fabric, and the slow steady beat of Ekko’s heart beneath her ear.

The city beyond the attic was starting to stir. The shadows softened at the edges, giving way to the pale blush of pre-dawn, and the first golden thread of sunlight began to creep across the floorboards.

Jinx felt the change before she saw it — the subtle shift in air, quiet tilt of the world signaling morning had come. Ekko shifted slightly beneath her and exhaled slowly, his hand brushing a few strands of hair from her temple.

“I should go,” he murmured reluctantly. His voice was low, almost apologetic.

Jinx nodded against his chest, but didn’t make any effort to pull away.

There was a long pause.

Then, carefully, hesitantly, he said, “You could come with me.”

Her head lifted a little. Her eyes found his, searching his expression.

He meant it. It wasn’t just a suggestion—it was an offering. An invitation. A bridge.

Jinx stared at him for a long moment, trying to decipher the knot twisting in her chest.

“You trust me that much?” she asked quietly, trying to keep her voice steady.

His thumb brushed her side without thinking. “Yeah,” he said. No hesitation.

Jinx looked away, her mouth twitching faintly—not quite a smile. More like something wistful and worn.

“You might,” she said. “But I doubt your people would.”

Ekko didn’t argue. He didn’t try to convince her. He just looked at her for a while longer, eyes thoughtful and heavy with something he didn’t say.

“Yeah,” he murmured eventually. “Maybe not yet.”

She nodded once, then leaned back into his chest briefly, just for another second, before pulling away. She sat up, and Ekko followed, slower, reluctant to break the warmth still lingering in the air between them.  His hand slipped gently from her waist, but before he moved away completely, he reached out again—fingertips brushing her jaw in a fleeting touch. Not quite a caress. Just enough to say what he didn’t put into words. His thumb skimmed the edge of her cheekbone before pulling back.

Jinx watched him, eyes dark and unreadable, something softer lurking beneath the surface.

“I’ll meet you here tonight,” he said, almost too casual—like if he said it easily enough, it wouldn’t feel like a promise.

She scoffed lightly, kicking one boot toward herself. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t be late,” she muttered, voice low and not nearly as sharp as it used to be. Flippant, sure—but there was something else under it. A thread of warmth. Something fond.

Ekko reached for his boots, tugged them on without hurry. When he finally stood, he lingered near the doorway a second too long. When he turned to glance back, she was leaning forward, hunched slightly as she laced up the other boot. Her mascara was still smudged beneath one eye from the night before, her hair tangled where it had been pressed to his chest for hours.

She looked tired. Worn.

And beautiful.

A shaft of pale morning light broke through the roof beams above, catching on the faint shimmer of her hair. For a moment, it haloed her in gold and dust.

She looked up, caught him staring. Her brow lifted faintly, wry.

“What?” she said. “Thought you had somewhere to be.”

His throat bobbed.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than it should’ve been. “Guess I just forgot how hard it is to leave.”

Her gaze caught on his for a second. Something flickered in her expression. Ekko gave a small, crooked smile—barely-there—and ducked out the hatch before she could say anything else.

The door closed behind him with a soft click. The echo of his touch stayed on her skin.

Jinx slipped through the alley shadows like muscle memory, the city already buzzing to life in the early light. She snagged a flaky pastry off a vendor cart without slowing, tucking it beneath her cloak before anyone could notice—or care enough to chase. It was still warm. She tore off pieces as she walked, chewing without really tasting.

She didn’t want to think about Ekko.

Her mind didn’t listen.

Every quiet corner she passed echoed with him. His voice. His touch. The look in his eyes before leaving, like he saw something she didn’t think she still had left to see. Something warm and weightless and close enough to hurt.

She made it back to her hideout without incident, boots scraping softly across the cracked tile floor as she shrugged off her cloak and dropped it onto a chair. The pastry was almost gone by the time she reached the far wall, pausing just long enough to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror nailed crooked above her workbench.

The reflection made her pause.

Smudged mascara, deepened shadows under her eyes, hair sticking out wildly from where sleep and sweat had tangled it. A bruise had started forming along one shoulder. Her mouth was pale. Lips chapped. She looked like the kind of girl who’d slept half-curled in an attic with a loaded pistol under the mattress and ghosts rattling in her lungs.

She squinted at the mirror, chewing the last bite of pastry.

“What the hell did he see?” she muttered under her breath.

He’d looked at her like she was something beautiful. Like she was something worth staying for.

Idiot.

Her gaze dropped. Her fingers twitched at her side.

She turned away.

The tub still sat where it always had—cracked and stained, but functional. She crossed the room, filled it with warm water, and started the slow, annoying process of untying her braids. Her hair fought her every inch of the way, stubborn as ever. She swore softly under her breath as she worked, until the last tie fell away and the strands finally came loose in a frizzed halo around her shoulders.

She slid into the bath without ceremony, muscles twitching as the heat hit her skin. The water rose around her ribs. She dunked herself under, holding there, letting the weight of it muffle the world.

It was quieter beneath the surface. Like her thoughts could breathe easier in the dark.

She stayed there, eyes closed, letting the water soak into her scalp, her bones, her scars.

Her nightmare flickered behind her eyelids—the echo of Vi’s voice, cruel and cold: ’You broke everything.’

The words had lingered long after the dream ended.

But so had Ekko’s.

’I don’t think she’s gone.’

And: ’You’re still you.’

She didn’t know what to do with those words. Not really. They felt too heavy to carry, too fragile to put down.

She thought about the way he’d wrapped his arm around her. How she hadn’t pulled away. How she hadn’t wanted to.

What did it mean, really? What were they doing?

Whatever it was… it didn’t feel like nothing.

Her hands floated along the water’s surface, catching stray suds between her fingers. She tilted her head back, eyes still closed, letting herself drift in the heat and silence.

The steam had long since faded, but she didn’t move until her skin started to shiver. Then, finally, she rose—slowly, rinsing the soap from her hair, wringing it out with shaking fingers.

She leaned forward against the edge of the tub, letting her wet hair drip down her arms, watching the ripples disturb what was left of the water’s surface. Her fingers twitched against the porcelain lip, like they didn’t know what to hold onto.

Her thoughts wouldn’t quiet.

He’d held her like she wasn’t something dangerous, wasn’t something broken, like maybe she didn’t have to keep bracing for everything to fall apart again. He made her feel… steady, even when she wasn’t. Like there was warmth still tucked somewhere beneath her ribs she hadn’t noticed in years. Like maybe she could be wanted without it being a trap.

That scared her more than anything.

She clenched her jaw and squeezed the water from a strand of hair. He didn’t get it. He didn’t know what it meant to be that close to a lit fuse and pretend it wouldn’t blow eventually.

She’d seen it before. What happened when people got too close. It was always the same ending—smoke and ash and silence. She could almost see it again: Ekko standing in the wreckage, just another burned-out shape in her wake.

She could leave. She should. Slip away, cut the cord before it tightened around her neck. It would be cleaner. Quieter. Kinder.

But the thought of it twisted something deep in her gut—sharp and real and awful. Like the pain of missing a step in the dark and knowing you’re about to fall.

She pressed a palm to her chest, like she could settle the ache.

’I’d rather try than walk away wondering.’

She hated how much those words stuck. How they dug in beneath her skin and wouldn’t let go.

Maybe he was a fool.

Maybe she was.

But it didn’t change the way something in her had cracked open beneath his touch. It didn’t change the way she wanted to stay when she’d only ever been good at running. Didn’t change the way she didn’t feel like a weapon when she was near him.

She wasn’t sure what that made her. Or what they were building. If anything.

Only that she didn’t want to break it before it even started.

She let out a long, shaky breath.

Then pushed herself upright and reached for the nearest towel.

She towel-dried her hair with distracted, jerking motions, combing fingers through the worst of the tangles. It was still damp, clinging in strands to her shoulders as she sat cross-legged on the floor, brushing out the knots with more force than finesse.

Her mind kept drifting—sliding back to Ekko’s voice, that quiet, hesitant offer from earlier. You could come with me.

She hadn’t missed what it meant. An invitation like that wasn’t casual. The Firelights didn’t even let each other bring guests unannounced, much less someone like her. Whatever walls he’d built to protect the places he cared about… he was trying to let her past them.

Even if it wasn’t actually possible. Even if the others would never accept it. The offer itself still lodged in her chest like a foreign object—unfamiliar and soft.

She stared at her reflection in the murky mirror above her sink again, hair still down, eyes ringed with the tired remnants of old mascara. A snort slipped out of her nose.

Trust. That’s what it meant.

What the hell do you do with that?

She let her hair air-dry as she moved on to her next task—scrubbing her clothes clean in a rusted basin. The motion was meditative, repetitive, grounding in a way she hadn’t expected. It didn’t stop her thoughts, but it slowed them. Gave her something to hold onto.

By the time the fabric was hung up to dry and she’d thrown on a spare shirt, her hands itched with restless energy. Something coiled low in her spine, some kind of twitchy tension that hadn’t worn off even after the bath.

So, she sat at the workbench, grabbed the first handful of mismatched parts in reach, and started building.

She wasn’t even sure what it was. A mechanical bug maybe. Or a toy. Something small and finicky with useless gears and too many springs. Definitely not a bomb. Obviously not. Absolutely not because Ekko had said she might be able to build other things. Nope.

She soldered the pieces together with a crooked smirk anyway.

And forgot to re-braid her hair.

It wasn’t until the light began to dim—until the quiet between the clinks of her tools started to stretch into something resembling evening—that she realized how late it had gotten. Her hair had dried in loose waves around her shoulders, soft now where it had once clung damp to her skin.

No time to fix it now. The braids would have to wait. Not that he’d care.

She stood, shook out her cloak, and threw it on.

She didn’t even look in the mirror again before heading toward the attic.

The morning passed in a blur of mundane tasks—sorting supplies, tightening cables on one of the older skiffs, fixing a busted pulley that had been squeaking for weeks. The kind of things that didn’t require thought. Ekko didn’t mind them; they kept his hands busy while his head drifted elsewhere.

Mostly to her.

By the time the afternoon sun had started angling low through the scaffolding outside the Firelight base, he was hunched over a map with Scar in the main room, markers scattered across its creased surface. The paper curled at the edges, weighed down by spare gears and pebbles, each marking a zone or pathway.

"West lanes are a mess," Scar said, tapping a clawed finger near one of the shaded corners. "Reports say some of Margot’s grunts turned on their own chem runner last night. Might be spillover from that refinery fire two days back."

Ekko nodded absently, but his eyes flicked toward his watch again.

Scar noticed.

“Something more interesting than gang turf and broken pipes?”

Ekko glanced up too quickly. “No—just checking the time.”

Scar’s ears twitched. He didn’t press him harder—at first. But as they continued sorting through route options and shifting markers, he spoke again, almost idly.

“That girl like the food?”

Ekko, still looking at the map, nodded. “Yeah, she—” He paused mid-sentence. His jaw clicked shut a second too late.

Scar’s gaze sharpened, a slow smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Ah. So, it was a date.”

Ekko groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Shut up.”

Scar smirked wider. “That’s a yes.”

Ekko muttered, “Pretty sure I said shut up.”

Scar looked far too smug for someone who barely cracked expressions most days. “Just glad you’re smiling for once. You’re the one always saying surviving isn’t enough—but you’ve been the most serious bastard in this place since I met you.”

Ekko rolled one of the pebble markers between his fingers, the smooth surface cool against his callused skin.

He bit back a response, unsure what would come out if he spoke.

Would Scar still say that if he knew it was her?

Would he still say Ekko deserved to be happy if he knew the girl he’d been cooking for—the one he was starting to think about in ways he hadn’t let himself for years—was Jinx?

His fingers curled tighter around the pebble.

Scar must’ve caught the shift in his expression. His expression evened out again, the smirk gone now, replaced with something quieter. A read he rarely offered unless it mattered.

“You okay?”

Ekko hesitated, then gave a vague nod. “Yeah.”

Scar didn’t believe him. Not fully.

“You look like someone pulled your ribs out and left ‘em tangled in a knot.”

Ekko huffed a faint laugh, but it didn’t hold.

Scar leaned back against the table edge. “You don’t have to tell me. I just hope whatever it is... you’re not carrying it alone.”

That hit deeper than Ekko expected.

He looked at the watch again. Almost time.

He rolled the pebble back onto the map, setting it down where it belonged.

“I gotta go,” he said, quieter now.

Scar nodded once, calm and unreadable as always. But there was a softness in his voice when he replied.

“Hope she’s worth it.”

Ekko didn’t answer. Just grabbed his coat and headed for the door—shoulders tight, thoughts heavier than before, but his boots knew the way.

Ekko walked the lanes with his hands tucked into his pockets, Scar’s words echoing behind his ribs.

’You’re not carrying it alone.’

He wasn’t sure if that was true yet. But it was starting to feel like it could be. Like maybe he didn’t have to.

He thought of her—how she looked that morning, sleep-rumpled and still soft around the edges from whatever walls they’d let down overnight. He’d never expected to be back here, navigating something so precarious and familiar all at once. But he was. And the ache in his chest was no longer just caution—it was longing.

He wanted to bring her in. Not just into his arms at night, not just into quiet moments and shared food, but into the life he’d tried so hard to rebuild after the war. Into the place he’d made with the Firelights. The place that felt like home.

But how?

Silco’s death had shifted things. After her attack on the Council, some had started viewing Jinx less as a symbol of Silco’s vision and more as a consequence of his failures. The old hostilities weren’t as sharp. But they weren’t gone, either. People remembered the damage, the chaos, the blood.

Would they see what he saw now?

Would they even try?

He liked the attic. The attic was theirs, sort of.  It was shared, but… temporary. Not enough. It wasn’t a life.

He thought about his room—small but clean, quiet, warm. A proper bed. He hadn’t thought much of it before. Now he kept imagining her curled under that blanket, hair spilled across the pillow, not freezing on a ratty mattress under scavenged quilts. Not tucked away in the cold like something that had to be hidden.

He didn’t know what it meant, thinking like that. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

He was still turning it over in his head when he reached their attic and cracked the door open.

She was already there.

Sitting at the mouth of the tent, knees pulled in, fingers working slowly through her hair. She’d nearly finished the first braid—long and clean, the strands catching what little light crept in through the beams. The other half was still loose, soft waves curling around her shoulders in a way he’d never seen before.

His breath caught.

He’d seen her unarmed. Unmasked. Crying, laughing, bleeding. He’d seen her broken and baring her teeth at the world. But somehow, this hit different—quiet and domestic and almost tender in its own strange way.

Something about her like this made him ache.

He didn’t speak right away. Just watched her hands, deft and practiced, pulling section by section into a neat twist. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

And for a second, he let himself look.

Just look.

“Your hair looks nice like that,” Ekko said softly as he stepped fully into the attic.

She didn’t jump or startle—just kept working, fingers weaving the last few strands into the braid with practiced ease. The soft clink of metal accompanied her movements as she slid a band into place and tightened it at the end.

“Didn’t realize you were into the wild rat’s nest aesthetic,” she quipped, voice light but not biting. “Could’ve saved myself a bath.”

Ekko chuckled as he lowered himself beside her, careful not to sit on the loose strands spilling over her shoulder.

“I’m serious. I like it,” he said, gaze lingering for a moment longer. He moved closer, his voice quieter now. “Down like that.”

She didn’t look at him, just kept working the last few strands into her braid. “It’s a mess,” she muttered, but not like she meant it.

“Still suits you.”

That earned a slight snort. “What, chaos-chic?”

He gave a small grin. “Something like that.”

She tied off the braid and glanced over at him. “You’re just saying that ‘cause it makes me look less stabby.”

He lifted a hand, hesitating briefly—then let his fingers graze gently through the still-loose half, curling a few strands between them. It was softer than he expected.

“Not the reason,” he said quietly.

She didn’t reply to that. Not out loud, anyway.

Jinx turned her head slightly, catching his movement out of the corner of her eye just as she finished securing the second metal band on the completed braid. She raised an eyebrow, half amused, half curious.

Then Ekko shifted, leaning forward, and began gathering the remaining hair into three sections. His hands were sure, gentle. He started braiding without a word.

Jinx blinked at him. “Huh,” she said after a beat. “You’re not bad at this.”

He grinned a little, eyes focused on his work. “We’ve got a few kids living at the hideout now. Orphans mostly. Some of them have longer hair—especially the younger ones. I’ve stepped in to help braid it when everyone else is busy.”

Jinx tilted her head slightly to give him better access, body relaxing without realizing it. “Didn’t peg you for a stylist.”

“I’m multitalented,” he said, mock smug.

She hummed, eyes half-lidded now as his fingers worked. “Well, I like it.”

Ekko’s hands paused for the briefest second, but then continued the rhythm of the braid. Neither of them commented on the quiet weight of her words. They didn’t need to. The moment was simple. Soft. Her breathing slowed as his hands moved with deliberate care, brushing the back of her neck now and then as the braid took shape. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

She liked his hands in her hair.

And he liked how she softened under them, like for once, nothing was chasing her.

Ekko’s fingers slipped gently down another section of her hair, easing out a tangle before starting the next braid. He worked slowly, careful not to pull, the motion almost meditative.

“So,” he said after a moment, voice low. “What’d you get up to today?”

Jinx shrugged one shoulder, her posture relaxed now beneath his hands. “Nothing special. Chores. Fixed up some junk. Started a stupid little project.”

“Not a bomb, I hope,” he muttered, just to see if she’d bite.

She rolled her eyes. “No. Just… something to keep my hands busy.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s new.”

“I can be domestic,” she said with exaggerated defensiveness, though the smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth gave her away. “I even did my laundry.”

Ekko huffed a quiet laugh. “Now I’m impressed.”

“And washing this mop takes forever,” she added, flicking her chin toward the half-finished braid. “Too much damn hair.”

“That’s what you get for being dramatic,” he teased.

She was about to throw something back at him, but then he leaned in suddenly, nose brushing lightly against the side of her neck, just under the damp ends of the unbraided strands.

“…You smell good,” he said, a little too casually, like he hadn’t just done that.

Jinx froze for half a beat. Her eyes went wide.

Then her ears turned red.

“You’re such an asshole,” she muttered, flustered, not quite able to look at him.

Ekko chuckled, warm and low. “Just sayin’. Kinda nice. Better than gunpowder and motor oil.”

“That’s my signature scent,” she grumbled, but her voice had lost its usual bite. She looked back at him, cheeks still faintly pink. “Don’t get used to it.”

He met her gaze, still smiling softly. “Too late.”

Jinx looked away again, but her fingers were fidgeting now—absently adjusting the metal ring on her finished braid.

Ekko resumed working on the other side, a little quieter now. A little closer. When the second braid was finished with a final twist and a gentle tug, he handed it over without a word. Jinx took it from him, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. Her hands moved with practiced ease, sliding the metal clasps into place, clicking them down tight.

He watched her—watched the way her fingers moved, nimble and sure, as if this was just another mechanism to assemble. A quieter kind of craftsmanship.

When she finished, she turned back to him fully, knees folding beneath her as she shifted to face him.

That was when her eyes caught him again—those soft-glowing pinks, too bright in the low attic light. Not blue anymore, no. But still striking. Still hers.

And they were on him now, studying him with that sharp, thoughtful intensity that always made him feel like she saw more than he meant to show.

He didn’t look away.

For a moment, it felt like she might say nothing at all.

Then she did.

“This morning,” she said quietly. “When you offered to take me with you… to the hideout.”

He nodded once, cautious not to interrupt whatever thought she was trying to bring to the surface.

Her fingers flexed lightly against her knee. “For what it’s worth…” She hesitated. Not because she didn’t mean it—but because saying things out loud always made them more dangerous.

“…I trust you too.”

It was soft. Uneven at the edges. Like she’d never said those words to someone who wasn’t dead or hadn’t already betrayed her.

Ekko blinked—once, slowly—his breath catching just slightly in the back of his throat.

He didn’t smile, exactly. But something in his face softened, deepened, like a knot inside him had eased.

“I know,” he said gently. “But it means something to hear it anyway.”

They stayed like that for a moment—just watching each other. Not moving. Not needing to.

Then, Jinx’s gaze dipped slightly, down toward his mouth, and then flicked back up just as quickly like she hadn’t meant to do it. Like she hoped he didn’t notice.

He did.

His hand shifted, just slightly, resting beside hers on the blanket. Close, but not quite touching. His voice was low when he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

It wasn’t bold. It wasn’t even confident. It was careful. Gentle. The kind of question that could only come from someone who didn’t want to startle the moment they’d built. Jinx blinked, surprised by how much her chest ached at just the way he asked it. Careful. Not assuming. Like he knew she could say no—and wouldn’t hold it against her.

Her fingers twitched once against her knee, then slowly reached for his.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Okay.”

So, he leaned in.

It wasn’t deep. Wasn’t heavy. Just a brush of his lips against hers—light and warm and tentative. Something smaller than desire and bigger than memory. Something new.

She didn’t close her eyes until the very last second.

When they parted, she didn’t go far. Just leaned her forehead against his for a beat, her breath steadying with his.

“…Still weird,” she muttered after a second.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But not bad weird.”

Her lips quirked faintly. “Yeah.”

Their hands were still resting between them, brushing knuckles. Ekko leaned back a little, eyes scanning her face again — the faint shadows under her eyes, the tension still tucked into the corners of her mouth. He tilted his head slightly, voice low.

“Come on,” he said, shuffling down toward the mattress, opening his arms in quiet invitation. “Let’s sleep.”

Jinx didn’t move right away. But after a few seconds, she exhaled — a small sound, almost a sigh — and let herself tip forward into him. Her limbs were loose, but her breath still held a trace of hesitation as she settled against his chest.

One of them reached out and tugged the blanket up over them both — warm weight settling across their shoulders like a hush.

Her nose brushed against his collarbone, cool from the air. Ekko instinctively pulled her in closer, pressing his cheek into the top of her head, his nose brushing her hairline. He breathed in slowly.

“You really do smell good,” he murmured, lips catching slightly on the strands of her hair.

She huffed a short laugh against his skin. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to kick you.”

“Sure,” he muttered into her hair. “You like it.”

“Maybe,” she said dryly. Then, quieter, “Not bad for someone who smells like rust and oil half the time.”

Ekko chuckled — low and quiet. But the warmth in it stayed, lingering between them as their bodies eased together beneath the layers of worn and new.

The world outside faded.

She stirred slowly, breath catching faintly as she shifted in his arms.

Ekko was still half-asleep, barely registering the movement—until she moved just a little more, pressing unconsciously back into his morning wood. The contact sent a jolt straight through him. He sucked in a breath and instinctively tried to shift his hips back, but it was too late — she felt it.

Jinx stilled.

Her body went quiet against his, and he could feel her breathing change — subtle, but different. More awake. More aware.

A second passed. Then two.

She turned her head slightly, enough to glance at him over her shoulder.

He met her eyes, wide and bleary from sleep, and already tinged with the faintest flush. Not embarrassment exactly — more like startled awareness, her brain catching up to her body.

“Morning,” he said, voice thick with sleep and effort. He tried to shift away a little more, gently, careful not to make it worse.

She blinked at him. “Morning,” she echoed softly.

Silence stretched between them for a beat, close and heavy but not unpleasant.

“Sorry,” he added, voice low. “Didn’t mean to… y’know.”

Her brow twitched faintly, a bit of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Not like you did it on purpose.”

“No,” he said, half-laughing under his breath. “Believe me, I’m painfully aware.”

She huffed something halfway between a snort and a breath, settling again — not pulling away this time, just quiet, just close. Her head relaxed against his collarbone. Ekko stayed still for a few long moments, watching the early light start to bleed in through the cracks in the attic roof.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now, steadier. “I want to do this differently.”

Her brows knit slightly, but she didn’t move. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he said. “Us.”

She tensed just slightly, but didn’t pull back.

“I don’t want to rush it,” he continued, softer. “Not this time. We’ve been through too much to mess it up again just trying to get somewhere fast.”

Her expression tightened — wary now.

“I’m not saying we stop anything,” he added quickly, catching the shift. “Just… take our time. Let it breathe. Build something.”

She was quiet for a moment longer, eyes fixed on the ceiling beams above.

“You really think we can do that?” she asked, voice low.

“I think we have to try.”

She turned her head again slightly to look at him, searching his face for something.

“Even if I’m bad at it?”

“You’re not,” he said immediately.

She raised a brow. “You don’t know that.”

He gave a small smile. “Then we figure it out together.”

Jinx let that settle between them for a while. Her fingers toyed idly with the blanket where it rested against her stomach.

Eventually, she spoke again. “You always this annoyingly good at being patient?”

Ekko chuckled quietly. “Only for you.”

Her smirk returned—smaller this time, but genuine.

She turned back toward him, pressing a little closer, her cold nose brushing the curve of his collarbone again. He tucked her in gently, wrapping his arms around her more securely. For a moment, he just breathed her in — warmth, hair still faintly scented from the bath she’d taken, the steady pulse of her presence grounding him in a way nothing else did.

His lips brushed lightly against her temple.

“Hey,” he murmured into her hair, voice low. “You wanna go out somewhere later? Like… properly.”

She blinked against his skin. Her voice was still raspy with sleep. “You mean like a date?”

“Yeah,” he said simply.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, one brow arched, skeptical but not unkind. “Ekko, am I going to have to keep reminding you that I’m literally a fugitive?”

“I know.” He shrugged one shoulder, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Doesn’t have to be public. Just… something different. Somewhere else. Something that’s just ours.”

Her eyes lingered on his for a long beat, quiet and searching, like she was trying to read all the things he wasn’t saying. Then she looked down at the space between them — where his hand had come to rest gently over her ribs, not possessive, not heavy, just… there. Present. Real.

Her voice, when it came, was softer than before. “You’re serious.”

“I am.”

She looked at him again — not with suspicion, not even with doubt, exactly. Just a kind of quiet, tired awe, like she hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone meant something just for her. Since someone wanted her to be part of something soft and deliberate, without explosions or expectations or escape plans.

Another beat of silence passed. Then she let out a slow breath and tucked her face back into the hollow of his shoulder again, hiding from his gaze.

“We’re both idiots,” she mumbled against his skin.

“Probably.”

But his hand found the ends of her hair again, fingers combing through the soft strands with the kind of care he didn’t have words for yet. No pressure. No rush.

Just warmth. Contact. Trust.

Something real. Something slow.

Stitched loosely from the old and fragile, but stronger for it.

Jinx didn’t say anything else. She just stayed there, face pressed into his collarbone, listening to the rhythm of his breathing. And Ekko didn’t move either, letting his fingers drift gently through her hair, slow and absent, like he could anchor them both this way.

The morning had started creeping in, brushing pale light against the walls, but neither moved.

Not yet.

They stayed close — not out of habit, not out of need, but because in that moment, choosing each other felt like the simplest kind of truth. And that was new.

Chapter Text

The tunnel twisted like a spine beneath the city — narrow in places, winding in others, its damp stone walls pulsing faintly with bioluminescent fungi. They lit the way in ghostly blues and greens, blooming along cracks and corners like stars caught underground.

Jinx kicked a pebble with the toe of her boot and let it skitter ahead. “How long is this walk, exactly? Because if I end up in some moldy rat den again, I’m breaking your kneecaps.”

Ekko glanced back with a grin. “Just a little further. I promise it’s worth it.”

She squinted at his silhouette in the flickering light, muttering something about suspicious boys and suspicious tunnels, but kept following anyway.

Eventually, the tunnel began to incline, gradually angling up toward the surface until it opened into the rusted underbelly of an old warehouse. The exit hatch groaned faintly under Ekko’s hand as he shoved it open, revealing a forgotten courtyard bathed in dusk light.

Jinx stepped through—and stopped dead.

The roof above was long gone, collapsed in some ancient industrial accident, but the ruin had bloomed in its absence. Moss blanketed the cracked concrete in thick green carpets. Vines clung to iron supports like slow-growing veins. A few patches of yellow flowers swayed softly in the breeze, their petals catching what little sun remained.

It smelled… fresh, somehow. Like damp stone and something green. Something alive.

Ekko stepped beside her, voice lower now. “I think the flowers feed on the swamp gases a little. I’ve tried moving them—didn’t work. They only grow here.”

Jinx glanced sideways at him, the corners of her mouth twitching faintly. “So, you found the one nice place in Zaun and decided to keep it secret, huh?”

“Something like that.”

A gentle fluttering movement drew her eyes upward—firelights. Dozens of them, flickering and glowing as they hovered lazily in the thick air. She exhaled slowly, as if afraid to disturb the moment.

And then she noticed the blanket. A thin, carefully laid sheet spread over a lush patch of moss. Beside it, a basket.

“Blankets and food. Jeez, you really have a theme, huh?”

Ekko grinned. “Yeah, well, it works.”

She gave a quiet snort and wandered toward it, crouching down beside the basket. “What is it this time? Street stew? Burnt noodles?”

He joined her, settling across from her on the blanket and opening the basket. “Actually… weird Piltie stuff.”

Her brows arched.

“Heimerdinger gave it to me,” he added, pulling out a box with too many elegant ribbons and seals. “Said I should try expanding my palate. I figured it’d be more fun if we laughed at it together.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed at a tin labeled Pressed Marbled Rootcake. “This looks like it’s been chewed already.”

“Yeah, I don’t even know what that is,” he said, unwrapping another dish—something gelatinous and suspiciously shiny. “But this one actually smells… not terrible.”

They started tasting everything—hesitant bites, mock-gagging, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Jinx nearly choked on something called Syruped Pear Flake Tartine and threw a crumb at him. Ekko retaliated by offering her the jelly dish again with the straightest face he could muster.

“You gonna admit you secretly like this one?” she asked, chewing thoughtfully on something flaky and sweet.

He tilted his head. “Maybe. If you admit you’ve been enjoying this date.”

Jinx rolled her eyes—but her mouth twitched. “I didn’t say I wasn’t.”

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I’m kind of enjoying it a lot.”

Her gaze flicked up to his, and for a second, everything quieted. The firelights pulsed gently around them, and the yellow flowers swayed in the stillness.

It felt… light. Unburdened in a way neither of them had known in years.

She looked back at the food, then plucked another bite from the box. “Still think the moss might be the best thing here.”

Ekko smiled, leaning back on his palms, watching her. “You know, I don’t even care if the food’s trash. This… this is nice.”

Her fingers paused. She didn’t say anything—but her eyes lingered on him just a second too long, and it said enough. They let the silence stretch again. Easy. Uncomplicated. Familiar in a way that didn’t ache so much anymore.

Jinx leaned back a little, shifting her weight onto one arm and absently toying with the edge of the basket. Her other hand still held the last piece of some pale, buttery pastry—delicate and strange, layered with something just a bit too sweet. She licked a smudge of filling from her thumb and muttered, “Alright. Fine. This one’s not awful.”

Ekko arched a brow. “High praise.”

She glanced at him sideways. “Better than that weird jelly cube you liked.”

“I didn’t say I liked it. I said it had potential.”

“You ate three.”

“Scientific method,” he said, shrugging. “Had to be sure.”

That pulled a small laugh out of her. It wasn’t loud or sharp. Just a soft, honest little sound that caught in her chest before she could stop it.

They kept going, picking through the odd little collection of Piltover flavors—some too sour, some too spiced, others so bland they might as well have been chewed paper. They didn’t care about the food anymore. Not really. It was the way her shoulder brushed his sometimes when they reached for the same thing. The way her fingers tapped the edge of the plate, restless but relaxed. The way her eyes kept drifting toward him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Eventually, Ekko reached for something new—a small twist of dough wrapped around a center of some mysterious cream. But before he could take it, Jinx snatched it from his fingers with a triumphant grin and leaned back, holding it aloft like a stolen prize.

“Mine,” she declared.

Ekko blinked, then narrowed his eyes playfully. “You really gonna fight me for that?”

“Maybe,” she said, tilting her chin upward and reclining farther, cradling the pastry just out of his reach. “You got a problem?”

His grin curved slowly. “Yeah. You’re a thief.”

“Guilty.”

He leaned over her, bracing a hand on the blanket for balance. “Give it back.”

“Make me.”

He reached for it, laughing under his breath, but she twisted just enough to keep it away from him, grinning like a devil. The motion left her reclined beneath him, the pale stretch of her throat catching the last gold-pink rays of sunlight through the crumbling roof. Her hair spilled behind her in ropes across the moss, and his arm trembled slightly where it held his weight beside her.

And then she looked up at him. Something flickered there—playful still, but softer underneath. Quieter. He felt it like a shift in gravity. Before he could say anything, she rose up and kissed him.

It wasn’t desperate. Just a firm, steady press of her mouth to his. No games. No teasing. Just the simple, unguarded fact of it.

His breath caught. For a moment, stillness.

Then his eyes slipped closed, and he kissed her back—gentle, warm, grounding. His free hand brushed along the edge of her jaw, barely a touch. When they finally parted, he exhaled slowly. His eyes still half-lidded, a slow smile tugging at his mouth.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low, “for a thief, you’re not so bad at giving things.”

Jinx’s lips quirked sideways. “Yeah, well. Glitch in the system.”

He laughed again—softer this time.

And around them, the firelights drifted through the air like stars that had forgotten how to fall.  They sat like that for a beat longer—close, the air between them warmer now, a little less sharp around the edges.  Ekko glanced sideways at her again, smile lingering faintly. “You always kiss people when you steal from them?”

Jinx let out a low snort, eyes narrowing with mock offense. “Only the ones dumb enough to let me get away with it.”

“That so?” he said, leaning just a little closer again, his voice a touch softer. “Guess I’ll have to be more careful.”

She shook her head faintly, still smiling. Her fingers toyed absently with the edge of the blanket between them, eyes flicking toward his, then away again — not quite shy, but there was a flicker of something fragile beneath the bravado. Something warm.

“You really think I’d let you win that easily?” she muttered.

“Was hoping,” he said, voice low. “Not expecting.”

She huffed, but the corner of her mouth curled again. Her hand was still near his, fingers brushing once, lightly, before drifting apart again.

“Y’know,” she said, tilting her head slightly toward him, “you could’ve just kept bringing me food all these years. Might’ve won me over a lot sooner.”

“Yeah?” Ekko leaned in a little, his smile lazy. “And here I thought I needed a hoverboard and a mask.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t move back. He was near enough now that she could count the tiny flecks of copper in his eyes where the fading light hit them. The kind of closeness that felt precarious. Like standing on the edge of something and not quite ready to fall.

She lifted her chin just slightly, lips parted to say something else — and his nose bumped hers, light and accidental.

It made her blink.

And then he kissed her again.

Gentle at first, then firmer when she leaned into it. Her hand curled in the blanket between them, the other braced on the mossy ground behind her. He tasted faintly like sweet spice and something sharper beneath it — something uniquely him.

She was just starting to kiss him back with a bit more certainty when she felt the light tug at her hand.

He’d snagged the twist of dough from her fingers.

Jinx broke the kiss with a narrow-eyed squint. “Did you just—?”

He leaned back, smug, taking a bite out of the stolen twist. “Your strategy backfired.”

“That wasn’t a strategy, that was a kiss.”

“Exactly,” he said around a mouthful, chewing with exaggerated satisfaction. “Tactical miscalculation on your part.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re pouty when you don’t get your snacks.”

She folded her arms and glared at him, but the twitch at the corners of her mouth betrayed her. He grinned, exaggeratedly, and broke the twist in half. After a moment, he held one piece out to her.

“Here,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re cute when you sulk.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes, but took it anyway — snatching it with a grumble that didn’t quite mask the way her cheeks went pink again. She looked down at the half in her hand, then at him again.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she muttered.

Ekko smiled and his weight shifted forward, bringing him just within reach.. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”

They stayed like that a while longer, knee to knee on the moss blanket, sharing the last of the strange little pastries beneath the warm colours of the setting sky. The firelights buzzed lazily through the air above them, weaving glowing threads between shadow and bloom. And for a little while, it was easy to pretend the world wasn’t broken at all.

Just this moment.

Just them.

Jinx chewed slowly on the last bite of her pastry, eyes flicking over to Ekko again as he leaned back on his palms beside her. His posture was loose now, relaxed in a way she didn’t see often. The corner of his mouth still held that faint smile — warm, almost lazy, like he hadn’t smiled like that in a long time.

Her gaze lingered a little too long.

She looked away again quickly, brushing her hands together to rid them of crumbs, even though there weren’t many. Her fingers curled briefly in her lap.

“Hey,” she said, not quite looking at him. Her voice was quieter now — still edged in that usual dry sarcasm, but something uncertain threaded beneath it. “Can I ask you something stupid?”

Ekko’s head tilted slightly. “Since when do you need permission for that?”

She snorted under her breath but didn’t smile this time. “I’m serious.”

His smile tempered, and he sat up a little straighter. “Yeah. Course you can.”

There was a pause — longer than he expected. She didn’t jump right into it like usual. Her fingers pulled at a loose thread in the edge of the blanket, winding it around and around her knuckle.

“If things were different,” she said slowly, “if none of this had gone the way it did… d’you think we’d still be here?”

He frowned slightly, not because he didn’t understand, but because he did — too well.

“Here how?” he asked gently. “Together?”

She shrugged, eyes still fixed on the thread. “Yeah. Or not. I dunno. Maybe you’d have someone easier. Normal.”

“You think I want normal?” His tone wasn’t sharp — just quietly incredulous. “Jinx, if I wanted that, I’d have walked away a long time ago.”

“Yeah, well… maybe you should’ve.” She didn’t sound angry. Just tired. Like it had occurred to her a hundred times before — like it had never stopped circling in the back of her mind.

Ekko looked at her for a long moment. “You’re not a mistake I’m trying to fix.”

She flinched — subtly, but it was there.

“I’m not saying it’d be easier,” he continued, voice low. “But I’m not here for easy. I’m here because I still look at you and see something worth staying for.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “You still gonna say that when everything goes sideways?”

“We’re good at making things, you and me,” he said softly. “And we’ll do it together. You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to be.”

She didn’t respond right away. Her eyes had gone glassy again, but she blinked it back quickly, biting the inside of her cheek until the sting passed.

“Still stupid,” she muttered, finally.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “But I don’t mind being stupid if it means I get to be here.”

Jinx let out a shaky breath. Her gaze flicked toward his again — sharp, unreadable, but searching.

Then, quieter still: “Feels like I’m gonna fuck it up just by touching it.”

His hand reached over, fingers brushing gently across hers. “You won’t. We’ll figure it out.”

And she didn’t say anything more about it after that — just watched him for a beat longer, then let her hand settle under his without pulling away. The firelights drifted lazily above them, catching in the soft wind. And somewhere in the space between silence and everything still left unspoken, something steadier began to take root.

That thought followed her long after they’d left the hidden garden, trailing behind their footsteps like a whisper. It lingered through the walk back, through the way his hand brushed hers sometimes but didn’t hold on, through the quiet rhythm of their breathing in the tunnels.

It followed her even now, in the stillness of the attic, with his arms warm around her again and his heartbeat steady under her cheek.

She hadn’t meant to stay awake. But sleep came slow tonight, and her thoughts came faster.

Ekko’s face was soft in the low light, cast in the dim glow of a streetlamp seeping through a crack in the ceiling. His brow relaxed, lips parted slightly with sleep, one hand curled instinctively around her hip like he’d anchored there without realizing.

‘Something steadier’, she thought again.

What did it even mean — to have something steady? Something secure?

She’d never known. Not really. Never for long.

Security always felt like the thing you noticed just before it vanished — the silence before a bang, the pause before a fall. It didn’t feel real until it was already slipping through your fingers.

But this didn’t feel like slipping. At least, not yet…

It felt warm. Still. Close.

Not safe, maybe. Not entirely. But safer. The closest she’d been in years.

And it scared her.

Because nothing lasted. She knew that. The world had proven it to her over and over — with blood and flame and broken things she’d never managed to put back together.

So how long did this last? How long until she messed it up again?

Her fingers flexed lightly against his shirt. He didn’t stir, just shifted slightly, sighing in his sleep like he was dreaming something easy.

She hoped he was. She hoped he’d get more dreams like that.

Her eyes flicked upward again, studying the line of his jaw, the familiar curve of his cheek. She wanted to stay like this. She wanted it more than she knew how to name.

But want had always been dangerous.

Still… she stayed close. Stayed quiet. Let herself feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand.

Her mind wandered.

Back to the moss under her elbows. The soft slide of his voice in the quiet garden. The way his laughter had softened all the sharp edges around her, like it was the only sound that didn’t scrape. The awkward way he’d fumbled with that ridiculous pastry, the way his nose wrinkled when he tasted something weird, the faint dimple in his cheek when he smiled and didn’t mean to.

She shouldn’t remember those things. Shouldn’t care that she did.

But she did.

It wasn’t just a date… wasn’t just a walk or food in a basket. They’ve done variations on both of those things before.  But something about it lodged in her ribs like a shard — delicate and stupid and so, so warm. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. The way he talked to her like none of it scared him.

Even when it should’ve.

Even when it scared her.

She was good at chaos. Good at running and breaking and setting fires she couldn’t put out. But this… this slow, steady thing? This warmth curling up inside her chest like a flame trying to stay lit in the wind?

It was terrifying.

Because she didn’t know how to hold onto things without crushing them. She didn’t know how to be constant — not the way Ekko was. Not the way he offered his quiet calm like a place to rest. He made her feel… wanted. Not just tolerated, not pitied. Not used. Not just useful. Not feared.

Wanted.

And she didn’t know how to behave in the face of that.

Because if she let it take root — really let herself believe it— and it went wrong, if she ruined it the way she ruined everything else…

Would it be worse than never having it at all?

She didn’t know.

But her hand stayed where it was, pressed lightly to his chest, counting his heartbeat. That steady rhythm that grounded her more than she’d ever admit aloud.

It might not last.

But for now, he was here. And so was she.

And maybe, like he said before, that was enough to try.

Jinx made her way through the winding alleys toward her hideout, half a cold pastry in hand — one of those weird, flaky Piltie things Ekko had brought along on their date. It had gone soggy at the edges overnight, and the filling had congealed into something unidentifiable, but she ate it anyway. It kept her hands busy. Gave her mouth something to do besides talk to herself.

Not that it helped much. Her brain hadn’t shut up since dawn.

She chewed mechanically, bootsteps echoing against rusted metal grates as her thoughts pulled tight again around Ekko — not on purpose, but with the kind of low, persistent gravity she was starting to recognize too easily. His voice, his stupid smile, the way he looked at her like she wasn’t broken glass wrapped in warning signs. The way his eyes softened like he didn’t care about the cracks. Like maybe he’d seen them and chosen to stay anyway.

She hadn’t had that in a long time.

She hadn’t trusted it in even longer.

Silco’s voice echoed in her head, uninvited. Cold. Measured. Something he’d said more than once — sometimes casually, sometimes clipped, depending on his mood. She remembered one of the last times he'd said it, sipping from a glass and not looking at her directly.

‘Some distractions burn cleaner than others.’

He hadn’t known it was Ekko. Maybe he hadn’t needed to. He’d known the signs. And even if he’d never put a name to it, he’d still seen the shift in her. That she’d started wanting something different. Something that wasn’t just destruction and fire and smoke.

She swallowed the last bite of pastry with a dry scrape of her throat.

Maybe Ekko was a distraction. But if so, he was the only one who’d ever made her feel steadier, not scattered. Not lost. That was worse somehow. More dangerous.

Because that feeling could get inside her chest. Curl under her ribs and take root. She didn’t know how to hold anything without her edges showing. Without cutting through the softness just by being near it.

She shoved her hands in her pockets and kept walking, gaze downturned, breath puffing faint in the damp air. Her thoughts were still tangled around him when—

A loud clang above.

Jinx looked up—just in time for someone to fall straight on top of her.

They hit the ground hard, tangled limbs and startled noise in a messy heap. Jinx’s shoulder slammed into the pavement and the world jarred sideways. A boot scuffed her thigh, a knee knocked her ribs. She twisted, blinking, and found a mop of messy brown hair sprawled across her chest.

“What the hell—?” she hissed.

A little girl bolted upright, scrambling off her. Jinx groaned and pushed herself up too, joints cracking, mind scrambling to catch up. She barely had time to register the panic in the child’s wild eyes—

Then the shadows shifted again.

Three men dropped from the edge of the building, boots skidding down the siding. Big, broad, armed — the kind of hired muscle that didn’t come quietly. Pipes and clubs already drawn.

Jinx’s fingers twitched toward her holster.

The kid was frozen beside her now, chest heaving, small hands curling into fists like that would do anything. Not a fighter. Probably hadn’t even meant to fall. Her hood had slipped halfway down in the scuffle, but now she let it drag the rest of the way off — deliberate this time.

Let them see.

And see, they did. The men slowed immediately. Their steps faltered, lips parting in recognition. The other’s grip on his weapon waivered.

Jinx tilted her head.

That’s right, boys.

She reached over, pressing a hand to the child’s head. Pushed them gently down in one quick movement.

Then—three shots. Fast. Clean. Casual.

The bodies dropped before the smoke even cleared.

The alley rang with silence.

Jinx exhaled and lowered her gun. Her ears were still ringing slightly. The kid was staring up at her now — shocked, wide-eyed. The kind of look she used to love, back when scaring people felt like power.

Now, it just felt tired.

She glanced down at them. Thin frame. Quick hands, maybe, but still too young. Too scared.

“You feel it? That buzzing behind your eyes?” she asked, voice dry. “Yeah… used to think that meant I was alive.”

She twirled the weapon once, but the motion felt heavier now. “Turns out, it just means you’re not dead yet.… You get used to it.”

The little girl didn’t move. Just watched her, still trying to figure out if they were about to be next. Jinx’s gaze drifted upward again, briefly—then back to the kid’s face.

“I’m not gonna shoot you, runt.”

Pause. Then, quieter: “Not in the mood.”

The child's eyes flicked—quick and unsure—to the wanted poster peeling off the alley wall behind her. One of the old ones. Not a smile in sight. Just a girl drawn like a warning—jagged lines, and wild eyes that didn’t blink. That version of her always looked like she’d forgotten how to breathe. Or maybe stopped trying.

Jinx followed the glance. Snorted.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “That’s me. Big bad Jinx.”

A beat. Her voice dropped a notch. “Real terrifying.”

Jinx stood with a grunt and brushed her hands off on her thighs. “Come on. Up.”

The child hesitated, then climbed to their feet. Not quite trusting yet, but not running either.

She turned and started walking. Didn’t invite them. Didn’t say anything else.

But after a few seconds, she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps following behind her.

And that voice—Silco’s voice—ghosted back again in her head: Distractions make you vulnerable.

Maybe.

But maybe vulnerability was the point.

Maybe what scared her wasn’t the distraction—

—but how much she didn’t want to let it go.

She thought the kid would run off.

That would’ve been the smart thing—duck down another alley, vanish into the haze, pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened. Jinx had half expected to turn the next corner and be alone again, with nothing but the buzz of static and the scent of gunpowder clinging to her coat.

But when she glanced back, there she was. A shadow with messy hair and scuffed boots, tagging just far enough behind to pretend it wasn’t on purpose.

Jinx narrowed her eyes, teeth gritting slightly. “You following me?”

The girl didn’t answer. Just gave a shrug that said maybe, maybe not.

“Tch,” she clicked her tongue. Cute.

She walked faster. Turned sharp corners without warning. Took a few wrong turns just to loop around the same block twice. Even doubled back through a pipe crawl too narrow for anyone with sense to follow.

But the child squeezed through anyway.

“Persistent little barnacle,” Jinx muttered under her breath.

She tried other tricks—ducked into a side stall and waited, watching from behind the stack of rusted gears until the little girl passed. But barely two blocks later, the kid was back, trailing her again like a ghost in a too-big hat.

Jinx’s fingers twitched. Not quite toward her guns. Not quite not.

She didn’t know what she was more annoyed by—the fact that it wasn’t working, or the fact that a small, creeping part of her didn’t mind the company.

She snorted at herself.

No. She had things to do. Places to be. Ghosts to wrestle.

Jinx came to a stop near a half-collapsed walkway, pausing under the shadow of an overhead pipe. She turned around, slow, letting the weight of her gaze fall on the child.

“I’m not babysitting, you know.”

The girl blinked up at her, wide-eyed but silent.

Jinx narrowed her eyes. “You got ears? Or did you leave those back in whatever pipe you fell out of?”

Still nothing. Just that same unreadable look.

Jinx huffed and turned again, hopping up onto the steel rung ladder leading toward Silco’s old office. She didn’t check if the kid was following this time—didn’t need to. Either she would or she wouldn’t.

Jinx adjusted her coat, pulled her hood up again. Let the shadows cling a little closer as she climbed, step by step, toward the old echo of her past. Toward the place where Silco used to sit and watch the city rot.

The little girl stayed below.

For now.

The air inside Silco’s old office still held the weight of him. Like the dust hadn’t settled right since. Bottles half-drained, the scent of metal and ghost-smoke baked into the floorboards. Jinx didn’t mind. She’d lived with worse.

From her perch high on the rafter, the fractured light filtering through the stained-glass window cast a jaundiced glow across the room—yellow and green like a bruise that hadn’t healed right. It made the place look surreal. Hollowed out. A church with no god.

She lay stretched along the beam, one leg swinging, arms tucked behind her head. Her eyes stayed fixed on nothing, but her thoughts didn’t follow.

Jinx had come here out of muscle memory more than intent. Back when things got too loud, this was where she went to feel like someone still had her back— even if the shape of that comfort didn’t quite fit anymore. The weight of the room still pressed against her ribs, sure, but it didn’t wrap around her the way it used to. It didn’t sit the same. The quiet wasn’t heavy—it was hollow.

She laid there in the eery light, arms behind her head, the ceiling blurring above. It used to be easier to fold herself into the comfort of what Silco believed. That she was made of teeth and precision and beautiful, efficient anarchy. That she was perfect just as she was—so long as she stayed the same.

But something in her had shifted sideways. Her skin felt a half-second out of sync with her bones. Not wrong. Just… rethreading.

Would he still have said she was perfect now?

She didn’t know. And that felt like the worst part.

Still, she lay there. Maybe not to feel safe—but to feel the shape of what safety used to be. The outline of a girl she’d already started shedding.

The door creaked.

She didn’t move. Just flicked her gaze downward through the wash of coloured shadow.

Sevika entered with her usual stormcloud face, not expecting company. She made her way to the desk, dropping into the chair like the weight of everything was pulling her down with it. Probably was.

Jinx watched her quietly. The grunt. The metal arm. The sharp breath between clenched teeth as Sevika struggled with a bad joint. A life of war and favors and grudges didn’t give you much left in the end. Just noise. Just pieces that didn’t fit right anymore.

A hinge stuck. Sevika shoved the whole thing away.

“I can’t believe you’re dead and I’m still here mopping up your messes,” she muttered to no one.

Jinx’s voice drifted lazily from above. “Jeez, lady, you crazy? Talking to dead people?”

Sevika jerked hard, her body reacting before her brain caught up. The screwdriver in her hand flew—a muscle reflex honed by years of bar brawls and battlefield instincts. It thunked into the wood beside Jinx’s head—clean, solid—and pinned the end of her braid to the rafter.

Jinx didn’t flinch. Just blinked down at it, mildly impressed.

“You here to finish me off?” Sevika barked, already reaching for another tool.

Jinx rolled onto her side, eyeing the screwdriver like it had just said something rude.

“Haven’t I done you enough favours?”

She yanked the tool free with a flick and a resigned grunt, like her body already knew how to react to this sort of thing and her brain was still catching up. Then she dropped. Heavy on the desk, boots first, knees pulled in, arms slung around them. It was dramatic as hell, and she knew it. But hey—if the ghost of her old man was gonna sit silent in the walls, the least she could do was give the performance a little flair.

Sevika stayed tight for one more second. Then exhaled.

“Same time every day,” Jinx drawled. “Big baby couldn’t do it himself.”

Sevika grunted, reaching for a bottle. “Couldn’t do much himself.”

Jinx hummed. “’Bout now, he’d have me all over the Lanes running collections.”

“Building his weapons.”

“Making his deals.”

“Exploding his enemies.”

Sevika’s jaw tightened. “He dips out, the whole world flips over.”

Then—crack. She shoved back from the desk. A chair splintered.

“All his plans. Everything we built… The hell are we supposed to do now?”

Sevika stood over the scattered remnants of the chair. Her breath stayed even, but her shoulders held the kind of stillness that warned you not to speak. Controlled only by the effort of not letting herself unravel too loudly.

Across from her, Jinx didn’t so much as twitch toward her weapons.

She just tilted her head.

Eyes pink, but not glowing. Not yet.

Sevika noticed it.

Jinx leaned back slowly on the desk, grabbing the busted prosthetic arm Sevika had left half-disassembled and raising it like a mock weapon, pointing it lazily in the other woman’s direction.

“Watch it all burn,” she muttered. But there wasn’t quite the venom behind it this time—more like a habit than a threat. A hollow echo of a sentiment she no longer knew if she meant.

Sevika didn’t move.

Didn’t blink. Just watched her.

“Yeah,” she said flatly. “Except you don’t really want to anymore, do you?”

Jinx blinked at her.

The silence stretched.

“You’re with that boy again.”

Jinx stiffened—barely, but enough.

Sevika watched her reaction like she’d been waiting for it.

“What boy?” Jinx tried to play it off, voice sharper than she intended. Defensive, too fast. Too obvious.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “C’mon. I’m not blind.”

Jinx’s mouth parted slightly, but she didn’t answer.

Sevika leaned on the desk now, resting her weight on her good arm, the broken prosthetic still sitting useless beside her.

“You’re still batshit, sure. That hasn’t changed. But you’re not twitching every five seconds. You’re not setting traps in every corner or muttering to ghosts in the walls. You’re… quieter. Focused.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You were like that for a while, back then. When he was in the picture.”

Jinx looked down at her boots, jaw tight.

“I don’t know what you two broke over,” Sevika continued, voice rough, “but you spiraled after. We all saw it.”

“I didn’t spiral,” Jinx muttered, but her tone lacked bite.

Sevika scoffed. “You nearly blew up half a block just to feel your ribs rattle.”

“...Okay, maybe a little.”

The corner of Sevika’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile—something between a sneer and something else.

“Point is,” she said, “You’re still cracked, but you’re not about to blow every time the wind shifts.”

Jinx finally looked up at her, brows drawn.

“And you noticed all that?”

“I notice anything that might kill me in my sleep,” Sevika deadpanned.

There was a pause. Then, to her own surprise, Jinx gave a quiet huff of a laugh—short and sharp, but not cruel.

“Paranoid much?” she muttered, eyes flicking sideways.

Sevika shrugged. “Still better than you.”

Jinx toyed with a loose wire from the arm she’d been holding, gaze flicking briefly toward the window and its jagged green light. Her voice came softer now, less sure.

“It’s not like that,” she said. “This time.”

Sevika didn’t comment. Just waited.

Jinx didn’t elaborate either. But she didn’t need to—not entirely. There was a shift in her posture again. Something worn but oddly present.

And Sevika, in her own blunt way, noticed that too.

“Just don’t let it make you sloppy,” she muttered.

Jinx didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “What if it’s the only thing that’s kept me from being sloppy?”

That gave Sevika pause. A long one.

But she didn’t push. Just stood, grabbed her half-finished arm again, and turned to leave.

“You figure that out,” she said over her shoulder. “Then come tell me if it held.”

Jinx stayed on the desk, arms curled back around her knees.

Watching the light flicker across the floor. Wondering if she really might.

She remained on there long after Sevika was gone.

The shadows stretched across the floor in crooked streaks, the faint green glow from the window casting her in silhouette. Dust motes drifted through the stale air, weightless. Silent.

But her mind wasn’t.

She kept thinking about that damned arm. About Sevika’s simmering rage. The half-buried grief beneath it. The way she’d clenched her jaw like it was the only thing holding her bones together.

You’re steadier now.

It wasn’t a compliment. Not really. It was an observation. A warning, maybe. But it stuck. Lodged behind her ribs like a sliver of glass she couldn’t quite cough out.

She didn’t know why it mattered to her. Or maybe she did, but didn’t want to.

Jinx slid off the desk in a slow, fluid motion, boots hitting the floor with a soft thud. Her hands slipped into her coat pockets, fingers twitching against nothing. The echo of metal still clung to her palms, even though the arm Sevika had carried was long gone.

But the thought of it lingered.

Not fixing that arm. No—she couldn’t. Sevika had taken it, and it was junk anyway. Not worth salvaging.

But she could build another.

Her jaw tightened at the idea. It was ridiculous. Stupid. Pointless. Sevika hadn’t asked for it. Didn’t need her help. Hell, she’d probably scoff and spit and threaten to beat her with it the second she saw it.

But still.

Still.

The thought wouldn’t go away.

Something she could fix.

The words came out of nowhere—quiet, unspoken, but clear in her head. Not shouted. Not manic. Just… still.

She didn’t know if she meant the arm or herself.

Both, maybe.

Her boots squeaked softly as she turned and walked out, making her way toward the old arcade without really deciding to. The route was muscle memory by now—same cracked grates, same flickering wall-lights. The place was half-dead, full of old wiring and scrap metal and parts nobody remembered how to use but her.

Jinx ducked inside and went straight to the back, weaving through rusted consoles and dusty machines. Her workbench was buried under clutter—spools of wire, half-assembled toys, scrap plating, things she’d started and forgotten.

But her hands already knew what they were reaching for.

Heavy casing. Coils and motors that still hummed faintly with dormant power. Pieces meant for something else, but adaptable. Adjustable. Hers.

The design began to take shape in her head—not as a clean schematic, but a chaotic overlay of instinct. Sharp lines. Brutal angles. A punch like a sledgehammer.

Functional.

Deadly.

Beautiful, in its own way.

She didn’t know why she was doing this. Not really. Not if it was a gift, or a weapon, or a statement. But maybe it didn’t need to be anything more than this: the act of building something for someone else. No agenda. No explosive payload. No trap.

Just a limb. A replacement. A gesture.

Something new, from someone who didn’t know how to offer anything but wreckage.

She thought of Ekko again—of the quiet steadiness in his voice, the way he’d told her she wasn’t just a destroyer.

Something different. Something new.

Her throat felt tight again, but she didn’t stop working.

Maybe she’d never be good at words. At plans. At holding on.

But she could do this.

Bolt by bolt. Piece by piece.

She could try.

And maybe that was the point of it all.

She shoved herself toward the exit, vision tunneling, the whole arcade twisting sideways. Her ears rang. Her legs didn’t feel like they belonged to her anymore.

Down the back hallway.

Through the narrow door.

Out into the alley.

The air outside was colder but no cleaner, and it scraped down her lungs like sandpaper. She slammed into the wall outside, coughing so hard she nearly vomited. Her fingers scrabbled at the bricks for purchase, nails cracking on the stone.

Betrayal clawed through her harder than the gas.

She screamed it out—voice hoarse and raw, not words anymore, just noise. A feral, fractured sound that ripped its way up her spine and echoed off the walls.

You joined them. You—fucking—joined them.

All she could see was the green glow behind her eyelids. All she could taste was dust.

And then—impact.

Something slammed into her from the side, fast and brutal.

A meaty arm, a fist, the flat of a weapon—didn’t matter. The world blinked white-hot behind her eyes as she hit the ground hard. Shoulder first. Elbow cracking. Her breath knocked out before she could scream again.

A blur above her. Footsteps. The weight of someone shifting.

Smeech’s goon.

Big. Dumb. Grinning.

Her pulse kicked like a bomb still waiting to go off. Blood in her mouth. Gas still in her lungs.

But rage—

Rage was starting to rise again.

And Jinx didn’t fall quietly.

The last shots had faded into silence, broken only by the hiss of steam and the soft clatter of dislodged metal.

Sevika approached, green chemtech fluid streaked across her front where she’d torn through Smeech’s prosthetics. Her gait was steady, but there was a wildness behind her eyes—one that mirrored Jinx’s own.

“You’ve got that look in your eye again,” she said, voice low and even. “What are you planning?”

Jinx didn’t answer right away.

Her gaze flicked sideways—toward the dying flicker of green gas further down the alley, curling like a scar into the air. The taste of ash still clung to her teeth. The ache behind her ribs hadn’t faded.

She thought of Vi.

She thought of Piltover’s boots crushing soil that wasn’t theirs. Of gas lines cracked open in streets they’d never lived in. Of that colour bleeding through Zaun like rot.

Her fingers curled tighter around the grip of her gun.

“…Something they won’t forget,” she said quietly.

Sevika didn’t argue.

She just gave a low grunt, turned away, and let the silence hang.

Jinx stayed still for a beat longer.

Then she turned—half-expecting the alley to be empty again, the chaos scattered like dust. But The kid was there. Still. Small, silent, eyes sharp beneath the rim of her battered miner’s helmet.  She’d stayed in the alley the whole time—just out of reach, but not out of sight.

Jinx’s eyes drifted to the streak of colour on the ground where the grenade had burst—hers, the one the goon had tossed aside. But it had landed in reach of someone else’s hands.

She looked back at the child.

“…That was a good throw,” she said, tone dry but not mocking. Her voice was still hoarse from smoke and rage, but softer now. “Don’t get used to compliments.”

The girl didn’t smile—just tilted her head, unreadable.

Jinx clicked her tongue once and shoved her gun back into its holster. “You’re a weird little parasite,” she muttered, turning away. “But fine. You wanna follow something dangerous, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She didn’t tell the kid to leave.

She didn’t stop her from trailing behind, either.

By the time they vanished into the shadows again, their footsteps echoed together.

This time, Jinx knew she didn’t mind the sound.

Chapter Text

The old hatch creaked as Ekko pushed it open, shoulder bracing against the weight. The hinges still needed oiling—he’d meant to do it last week. Maybe tomorrow.

He climbed the ladder with practiced ease, bag slung over his shoulder. The scent of crushed herbs clung to the cloth—cilantro, mint, some other spicy-smelling plant that’s rare in Zaun and he didn’t know the name for. The old woman who’d shoved it into his hands had called it a ‘thank you’, muttered something about her grandson’s broken ribs still being better than a bullet. Ekko only vaguely remembered helping the boy, but he hadn’t argued. He’d just taken the bundle and promised to make use of it.

The hideout was quiet when he stepped inside—dim light filtering through the makeshift shutters, soft hum of pipes in the walls. But he heard her.

“Hey,” Jinx said, voice low and flat. She didn’t turn around, only stood hunched over the basin, sleeves rolled up, water sloshing as she splashed her face.

Ekko set the bag down on the table and crossed to her, slow, quiet. His arms slid around her waist from behind, a soft exhale catching in his throat as he pulled her close. Her skin was cold from the water. He pressed a kiss to her temple, just above the damp edge of her hair.

“Hey yourself,” he murmured.

She grunted in response, reaching for a cloth to dry her face.

But when she answered him again—just a faint hum of acknowledgment—his brows knit.

Her voice was hoarse. Sandpaper rough, like smoke still clung to her lungs. Ekko’s hands moved before his words did, gently turning her by the shoulders until she faced him. He cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing under her eyes.

And he frowned.

The whites of her eyes were still tinged pink, bloodshot and raw.

“What happened?” he asked, quiet but steady.

Jinx hesitated.

Then—shrugged. “Piltover ripped a gas leak in the middle of the arcade,” she said simply. “Real subtle.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened. Rage flickered briefly behind his eyes before getting tamped down.

“Whole place went toxic. Again.”

He didn’t respond right away. His gaze skated around her skin like he was checking for bruises beneath the surface.

“And the rest?”

“Handled it,” Jinx said quickly—too quickly. “Smeech showed up. Tried to sell me out. He’s not a problem anymore.”

Ekko’s eyes narrowed further. He was about to press for details when something shifted in his periphery—a flicker of movement, quiet and still.

He glanced toward the crates by the wall.

And there, perched like some half-feral alley spectre, was a child. Just small and still enough to almost slip past notice. Wearing a miner’s helmet and watching them with inscrutable eyes.

Ekko blinked, eyes flicking toward the crates again. “Uh. Who’s the kid?”

Jinx grabbed the cloth again, wiping the edge of her jaw with it like she hadn’t quite heard the question. But she had. She sighed.

“She’s been following me,” she said finally. “Since earlier. Never said a word. Never left.”

Ekko’s brows lifted a little. “You let her stick around?”

“She threw one of my grenades when it counted,” Jinx muttered, still avoiding his gaze. “Didn’t even flinch. Could’ve gotten herself killed.”

Ekko turned his head again, studying the kid. Helmet too big, posture too still, eyes sharp and unreadable.

“She helped you?”

Jinx hesitated. “Yeah. I guess.”

Ekko glanced back at her. “You okay with her staying?”

Jinx shrugged one shoulder. “Not like she’s been any trouble. Just… there. Watching.”

She didn’t say it out loud, but something in her voice softened, barely. Like she wasn’t used to being watched without being feared—or followed without being hunted.

Ekko didn’t push it.

“Well,” he said, a little quieter, “guess you’ve got a shadow now.”

Jinx huffed softly, not quite a laugh. “Takes one to know one.”

He stepped closer again, hand brushing hers. She didn’t pull away.

His eyes swept her face again, more serious now. “That wasn’t just any street gas.”

She sighed again. “Piltover’s pumping the Grey through the old pipelines. Used the city’s own infrastructure. Real poetic.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t speak.

Jinx shrugged, voice still scratchy. “They knew where I’d be. Either someone tipped them off or they just wanted to smoke out whoever was still breathing.”

The tension in Ekko’s body spoke for him. He rested his forehead lightly against hers for a second, grounding himself there.

“I hate this place,” she muttered.

“I know.”

They stood like that a moment longer before Jinx finally pulled away.

“I’ll figure out what to do with her,” she said, nodding toward Isha.

“Doesn’t seem like she’s going anywhere,” Ekko replied.

“Yeah,” Jinx said softly, glancing sideways at the girl again. “That’s kind of the weird part.”

Jinx glanced toward the bag Ekko had set on the table, then raised a brow.

“More food?” she asked, drying her hands on a threadbare towel. “What, you think I’ve been starving myself?”

“I think your version of ‘feeding yourself just fine’ involves a half-stale pastry and a handful of pickled something,” Ekko said, raising an eyebrow. “Which, by the way, doesn’t count as a balanced meal.”

Jinx scoffed, tossing the towel onto the counter. “You’re such a snob. I’ve survived worse.”

“Doesn’t mean you should keep surviving on worse,” he said, smirking a little as he nudged the bag closer to her. “And for the record, I didn’t bring it just to rescue your digestive tract. An old woman gave me all that for helping her grandson out of a tight spot.”

Jinx eyed him skeptically but reached into the bag anyway, pulling out a few leafy greens and a bundle of herbs. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re just trying to domestic me.”

Ekko chuckled. “Nah. Just figured maybe we could cook together. Like we talked about.”

That gave her pause—just for a second. Then she rolled her eyes, but her mouth was twitching in a faint grin. “You really are the weirdest rebel I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re the weirdest demolition expert I’ve ever kissed.”

“That’s your bar?” she shot back. “One kiss and I get a title?”

“Pretty sure it was more than one.”

She gave him a light shove, but it didn’t carry any heat. “Yeah, yeah.”

Ekko glanced over to where the kid was still perched on the edge of a crate, helmet resting crooked on her head, eyes flicking between the two of them.

She was small, but she didn’t shrink. She watched—studying.

Ekko approached slowly, crouching slightly to get on her level. “Hey,” he said gently. “You got a name?”

The kid didn’t answer. But she made a small noise—something between a breath and a grunt—barely there, but audible. Her gaze stayed locked on his mouth as he spoke, not his eyes.

Ekko hesitated, then tried again, slower. “Can you understand me?”

This time, a flicker of movement—her head tilted slightly, but she didn’t nod.

Behind them, Jinx set a pot down on the burner. “Told you,” she called without turning. “Not a peep. Maybe she’s just shy.”

Ekko didn’t respond. Just watched the kid a beat longer, picking up on the small, telling details—how she hadn’t reacted to their earlier conversation until she was looking at them, how her gaze kept tracking his lips rather than his face. The way she stayed silent, but not quite in the way of someone choosing not to speak.

“She’s not shy,” he said quietly, his voice more certain now.

Jinx glanced over, brow raising.

“She’s deaf… at least, partially,” Ekko murmured. “She watches my mouth when I talk, not my eyes. Didn’t react when you spoke just now ‘til she looked at you.”

Jinx frowned, turning back to the kid. She stared back, unblinking, still silent—but sharper, now. More aware of what was happening between them.

“So, what, we just guess at everything?” Jinx muttered.

“We figure it out,” Ekko said. “Maybe she signs. Maybe she lip-reads. Either way, we learn.”

Jinx huffed. “You know sign?”

Ekko rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m… rusty. My dad was deaf. Taught me some when I was little.”

Jinx’s head lifted slightly. “You never told me that.”

He gave a small shrug, not quite meeting her eyes. “Didn’t really talk about them much. Back then.”

Jinx didn’t press. She just nodded once, slow—understanding the shape of that silence better than most.

Ekko glanced at the kid again. “Tamir—one of the Firelights—he’s deaf too. Got some practice in with him a while back before he left for Piltover.”

Then he raised his hand and signed a slow, careful hello. A little stiff, a little rusty, but clear. The kid’s gaze sharpened. Her fingers twitched slightly on her knee, but she didn’t answer.

Jinx leaned her elbows against the counter, chin in her palm. “Guess we’ve got another project.”

Ekko exhaled a small laugh. “Better than letting her throw grenades unsupervised.”

Jinx snorted, but her smile lingered a little longer this time.

And behind them, the kid remained perched on the box, still a mystery—but just a little clearer than before.

The little burner crackled softly, heat blooming beneath the dented pot. Jinx dumped the first of the greens in with a practiced flick of her wrist, the scent of crushed herbs rising immediately. Ekko stood beside her, peeling and dicing something that looked like a cross between a carrot and a root-cluster of tangled vines.

“Careful,” Jinx muttered, eyeing his chopping. “You’re gonna show me up.”

“You saying I’m better at this than you?” he said, not looking up.

“I’m saying you’re taking this way too seriously,” she shot back, but there was no bite in it—just the soft curve of amusement under her voice. “It’s dinner, not a dissection.”

“I like my fingers,” Ekko said mildly, and she snorted.

Behind them, the kid shifted on her crate, helmet tilted slightly forward, eyes flicking between the two of them. Quiet, but not passive. Watching without giving anything away. Not just what they were doing with the food, but how they moved. How they talked. How they touched.

Jinx caught the look and turned a little more deliberately toward her this time, making sure her mouth was visible as she spoke. “You eye-balling our technique, kid?” she said, voice raised just slightly, lips clear and deliberate. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m still better than him.”

Ekko rolled his eyes and set the chopped roots into the pan with a sizzle. “She’s got good instincts. Probably already knows who the real chef is.”

“Bold of you to assume she’s not just judging you.”

“She’d be right to.”

That pulled a small, lopsided smile from the kid.

Jinx blinked.

It was quick—barely there. But it happened. Not a smirk. Not a sneer. Just a twitch at the corner of her mouth like something inside her had been caught off guard and cracked open, just for a second.

Jinx tilted her head again, brow raised, and made sure to speak clearly again. “Well, look at that,” she murmured. “She does have facial muscles.”

Ekko chuckled under his breath. “Guess we’re charming after all.”

“You’re tolerable at best,” Jinx shot back. “But the food might save you.”

Ekko grinned and reached for the spices. “Oh, that’s how it is? Insult me, praise the soup?”

“Soup’s been doing more heavy lifting.”

“Harsh.”

Jinx didn’t respond immediately. She reached for a handful of something dried and aromatic, sprinkling it in with quick fingers. Ekko stepped behind her to grab the next container and leaned close.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low near her ear. “That spice is strong.”

“I can handle strong.”

“Yeah, you can,” he said, just a shade too warmly.

She turned slightly toward him again—more fully this time—and a flicker of something indistinct passed through her expression. But then he bumped her gently with his shoulder and went back to stirring the pot like nothing happened.

“Smooth,” she muttered.

Ekko’s grin tilted wider, but he didn’t say anything—just winked at her as he went about his tasks. The scent of the spices began to deepen, filling the space with a warmth that had nothing to do with the burner flame.

The kid still watched them carefully, elbows propped on her knees now, chin resting in one gloved hand. There was something sharper in her gaze now—not suspicion exactly, but attention. Quietly tracking their movements, like she was trying to understand the rhythm of something unfamiliar.

Jinx glanced over and caught her looking again. Not at the food. At them.

“We could teach you some stuff,” she said offhandedly, flicking another vegetable into the pot. She didn’t look at the kid directly, but she angled her voice and mouth in a way she knew could be read more easily. “Not that I’m good with people or anything, but I’m hell with wires and explosives.”

Ekko chuckled as he reached for a bundle of greens. “She’s underselling herself,” he said, glancing toward the crate. “She’s good at more than just destruction.”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Don’t go ruining my reputation.”

“That ship’s already sunk, babe.”

Jinx went still for half a second—just half—but Ekko saw it. The faint hitch in her breath. The flick of her eyes toward him like she wasn’t sure if he’d really said it or if her mind was playing tricks. But the flutter in her chest made it clear enough.

After a beat, she simply tossed a bit of peel at him, trying to look unimpressed.

But her aim was half-hearted—and her smile, when it came, was harder to hide.

“Don’t get cocky.”

Ekko caught it mid-air, smug as anything. But his eyes lingered on her a moment longer—warm, a little bashful now that he’d realized what he said.

Neither of them said anything about it. Not with the kid watching.

But something in the air between them shifted—subtle and new. The kind of shift that had weight behind it, even if no one had the words just yet.

And on the crate, the kid kept watching. Quiet, unreadable.

But not untouched by it. Not entirely.

The stew didn’t look like much—pale green broth thickened with roots and whatever spice blend Ekko had been fussing over—but it smelled good. Rich and herbal, earthy enough to make the old hideout feel almost inviting.

Jinx ladled a portion into three mismatched bowls, steam curling upward in soft spirals. She handed one off to Ekko, then crossed the room and held the second out toward the kid—still watching from her perch on the crate, legs drawn up, arms resting on her knees beneath the oversized sleeves of her shirt.

“Here,” Jinx said. She made sure to face her properly this time, letting her see her mouth clearly. “Don’t make me feed you. I bite.”

The kid eyed the bowl for a second, then reached out and took it without a word. She didn’t smile, but something in her posture shifted—shoulders loosening, gaze flicking down into the stew like she didn’t quite know what to make of the gesture.

Ekko trailed after them with the third bowl, setting it down on the edge of the low coffee table by the couch. Jinx dropped onto the cushions with a thump, pulling her legs up and settling in, and the kid followed suit, curling up on the far end with her own bowl balanced in her lap.

Ekko, meanwhile, crouched automatically on the floor beside the table.

Jinx frowned at him. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you two have the couch,” he said simply, spoon halfway to his mouth.

She grabbed one of the ratty couch cushions and lobbed it at his head. “Stop being chivalrous. You look like a kicked puppy.”

He caught the cushion one-handed, grinning. “You want me in the middle instead?”

“Don’t test me,” Jinx warned, but her voice was warm.

“Could always just sit in your lap,” he offered casually, nudging her foot with his own under the table.

She raised a brow, playful. “Only if you wanna lose a kidney.”

Ekko chuckled and shifted up onto the couch anyway, settling himself beside her—shoulder brushing hers, knees bumping. He sat just off-center, angled slightly to give the kid a bit of space. Jinx didn’t move away.

The kid glanced sideways at them once, then went back to quietly eating. Her posture wasn’t quite relaxed, but it wasn’t braced anymore either. Just a little less coiled. A little more present.

Dinner passed in a strange but easy rhythm—Ekko and Jinx bickering over spice levels, passing back and forth a crust of half-stale bread to soak up the broth. The kid scrutinized them without comment, spoon clinking softly against her bowl every so often.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Jinx muttered at one point, licking her spoon. “It’s not bad.”

“Not bad?” Ekko repeated, feigning offense. “I slaved over this pot.”

“You chopped a carrot. Calm down.”

“Three carrots,” he corrected smugly. “And I added the spice blend.”

Jinx snorted. “You sprinkled a pinch of dried leaves, Chef Zaun.”

He leaned back slightly, spoon tapping against his bowl. “Alright, fine. You want credit? You handled the heat.”

Jinx smirked. “Damn right I did.”

The kid made a faint sound then—almost a grunt, but closer to a quiet exhale that might’ve passed for a laugh if you weren’t listening closely. Ekko caught it. So did Jinx.

She glanced sideways at the girl again. “Told you,” she muttered under her breath, elbow bumping Ekko’s side lightly. “We’re hilarious.”

Ekko didn’t argue.

The warmth in the room had nothing to do with the food by then.

And for a moment, between the clatter of spoons and the clink of bowls and the quiet hush of three bodies breathing together in the same space—it almost felt like something whole.

Something like… home.

By the time dinner was over, the kid had curled into the corner of the couch and gone still. Her bowl was empty—neatly set on the table—and her arms were tucked around herself, helmet pushed back slightly, cheek pressed to the cushions. Her breathing was slow, even. Asleep.

Ekko noticed first. He nodded toward her gently. “Guess we wore her out.”

Jinx glanced over, eyes lingering. “Either that or your soup’s got knockout properties.”

He snorted and started gathering the dishes. “Must’ve been your seasoning.”

“Clearly.”

They moved together toward the workbench, keeping their voices low out of instinct more than necessity. The kid didn’t stir. Still, it felt right—quiet, careful. Like trying not to break a good moment.

Ekko set the bowls down in the basin, brushing his hands off. “She okay there for the night?”

“Yeah,” Jinx said softly, leaning back against the edge of the workbench. “She’s small. Couch’s big enough.”

Ekko nodded, but his gaze slid sideways. “Am I heading out?”

Jinx gave a one-shouldered shrug, just a shade too casual. “Home tonight, I guess.”

He glanced at her. “You guess.”

“There’s not exactly room for three people on that thing,” she muttered, jerking her chin toward the couch. “I could squeeze in with her, but you’d end up on the floor.”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“I know. Still.” Her arms crossed loosely, fingers tapping against her ribs like she didn’t know what to do with them. “She’s just a kid.”

“I get it,” Ekko said. “I’m not arguing.”

But neither of them moved.

For a second, the silence pressed heavier between them.

Then Jinx blew out a breath. “It’s fine,” she added, too quickly. “You don’t have to make a thing out of it. We’ll figure it out.”

Ekko stepped closer, hands gentle as he found her waist, thumbs brushing soft, slow circles against the edge of her hipbone. Her weight shifted subtly toward him.

“I don’t like sleeping without you either, y’know,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught, just for a second. She glanced away.

“…That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, it is.”

His mouth found her temple in a lingering kiss, soft and warm. Her shoulders eased slightly, some tension bleeding out even as she rolled her eyes faintly to hide it.

“Alright, Boy Saviour,” she muttered. “Don’t get mushy.”

Ekko chuckled against her hair. “Too late.”

A beat passed, and then she elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Also,” she added, tone shifting sly, “you called me ‘babe’ earlier.”

He froze for just half a second, then gave a sheepish half-smile. “Yeah. Guess I did.”

Jinx tilted her head, watching him with a look he couldn’t quite read. “That… supposed to be a thing now?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

She made a noncommittal noise. “Could be worse.”

Ekko grinned. “Could be better.”

She snorted. “Don’t push your luck.”

But her eyes lingered on him a moment longer—soft, unreadable—and she didn’t look away when he leaned in again, pressing one last kiss to her lips. This one slower. Calming. Made to set both of them at ease.

When they parted, he rested his forehead lightly against hers.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured. “We’ll find a bed for in here.”

“Again, where am I gonna put that thing?”

He glanced toward the workbench. “You’ve got tools. I’ve got resources. We’ll figure it out.”

“You just want me to have somewhere for you to sleep.”

“Maybe.”

She grinned faintly. “Maybe’s not a no.”

“No,” he echoed softly, brushing her hair back from her cheek. “It’s not.”

He pulled back finally, just enough to step away.

“Go,” she said, nodding toward the door. “Before you make me change my mind and kick the kid off the couch.”

Ekko chuckled, but didn’t argue.

And when the hatch closed behind him, the room felt quieter—but not empty.

Not this time.

The Firelight hideout was quiet by the time Ekko made it back—late enough that most of the crew had turned in or scattered to their corners of the treehouse, winding down in that slow, patchwork rhythm of a place that never really slept but tried to.

He closed the door behind him with a soft thunk and headed down the path towards the tree, the bag slung over his shoulder a little lighter now. The ache of the day was settling in low behind his ribs. He wasn’t used to walking away from her at night anymore.

Didn’t like it, either.

He rounded the corner of the main hall—and nearly collided with Scar, stretching his arms overhead and yawning like a jungle cat.

Scar paused when he saw him, one eyebrow quirking up.

“Well, well,” he said, voice low and amused. “Didn’t think you still knew the way back here.”

Ekko chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Funny.”

Scar gave him a once-over, eyes narrowing. “What happened? You on the couch tonight?”

Ekko blinked.

Then he laughed—quiet and dry and a little too honest.

“I’m not the one sleeping on the couch,” he said.

Scar raised both brows at that, intrigued. “Oof. That bad, huh?”

“No,” Ekko said, still half-smiling as he moved toward his room. “That literal.”

Scar followed a few steps, clearly fishing. “So, what’d you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ekko shot him a look over his shoulder. “There’s a kid now.”

That made Scar pause.

“…Yours?”

“No,” Ekko said quickly, shaking his head. “Just—look, it’s a long story.”

“Long enough to get you kicked out of your girl’s place for the night,” Scar muttered with a grin.

Ekko didn’t correct him. He just shrugged again, but there was warmth in his expression. A softness that didn’t quite hide behind the banter.

“She needed the space,” he said simply.

Scar’s smile curved a little deeper. “Right. Real gentleman move.”

Ekko glanced toward his room, then back again. “Feels weird not being there, though.”

Scar didn’t tease him for that. Just nodded once, a little slower now. “Yeah. Bet it does.”

They stood there for a beat in the quiet.

“You good?” Scar asked finally, a little more serious now.

Ekko hesitated, then gave a small, tired smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… not used to sleeping without her anymore.”

Scar clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Better get used to that couch, then.”

Ekko rolled his eyes and shoved him lightly toward the hallway. “I said she’s on the couch.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Get outta here.”

Scar laughed as he went.

And Ekko, finally alone, turned toward his room. It felt colder than usual. Bigger, somehow. Quieter.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair before dropping the bag on the floor beside the bed.

Yeah. Night felt too long without her.

Chapter Text

The couch had never been comfortable. But tonight, it felt worse—thin cushions pressing into her back, a spring digging at her shoulder blade no matter how she shifted. The blanket was old and patchy, and she’d kicked it off half a dozen times already. But that wasn’t the worst part. It was the quiet absence beside her.

She’d gotten used to Ekko’s warmth. The way his breath evened out near hers. The way his arms would settle around her without thinking. She hated admitting it, but it helped—he helped.

Now the space beside her was just empty fabric and air, and even the silence felt colder.

Still, the kid’s breathing helped. The slow, steady rhythm of it from the far end of the couch, curled up tight beneath a blanket Jinx had tossed over her. The kid hadn’t even stirred when Jinx gently pulled off the miner’s helmet and set it down on the coffee table. Just stayed curled into herself, small and still.

It took the edge off the noise in Jinx’s head. Not all of it—but enough to soften the corners, let her rest her eyes for a while even if she didn’t fall fully asleep.

She dozed in stretches—light, restless, drifting just beneath the surface. No dreams. Just flickers. Half-formed thoughts. Memory static.

At some point, she checked the time. The old watch—Ekko’s, the one he’d left in the attic the first night she hadn’t kicked him out—was clipped to the edge of the workbench now. She didn’t move to grab it, just squinted at the glow from a distance.

Still early.

The kid stirred just after. A slight shift beneath the blanket, a deeper breath, the first signs of waking. Jinx stayed still, watching her from her side of the couch. The little shape stretched slightly, then blinked up at the ceiling.

Their eyes met.

For a second, the kid tensed—something alert flickering through the sleepy haze. But Jinx just shifted a little, pulling her knees up and resting her cheek lazily on her palm, elbow balanced on one knee.

“Chill,” she muttered, voice low and rough with sleep. “Not gonna bite.”

The kid blinked again. Still silent, but the tension in her posture eased.

“Sleep okay?” Jinx asked, half out of habit, half genuinely curious.

No answer. Just that quiet, neutral gaze.

Jinx sighed softly and straightened up, reaching for the notepad and pencil she’d set aside the night before. She scooted it across the coffee table toward the kid with a nudge of her fingers.

“Alright, mystery girl,” she said, not unkindly. “Gonna try this again. You got a name? Can you spell it?”

The kid hesitated.

Then—slowly—reached out for the pencil.

Her handwriting was clumsy. Large letters, a little uneven. But they formed a name, shaky and clear on the page.

ISHA.

Jinx tilted her head as she looked at it. “Huh,” she murmured. “Isha.”

She said it again, testing the sound on her tongue. “Isha.”

Isha’s eyes flicked toward her at that, something faintly curious in her expression.

“Nice to meet you, Isha,” Jinx said, and gave a crooked half-smile. “Kinda wish you’d told me that before I called you ‘kid’ five hundred times.”

Isha didn’t smile, exactly—but something in her face shifted. Less guarded. A little closer to something open.

“You hungry, Isha?”

There was a pause. Then the barest nod.

Jinx stood and stretched, rolling out her shoulder with a low pop. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you some breakfast.”

She didn’t say the word ‘steal,’ but she didn’t have to. She was already grabbing her cloak from the hook, slipping it over her shoulders as she moved toward the exit.

“Hope you like pastries,” she said over her shoulder. “Cuz there’s this one stall that sells these things with jam in the middle, and—well, let’s just say they’re not gonna miss a couple.”

She glanced back once to make sure Isha was following.

She was.

And that… surprised her a little.

But not in a bad way.

The storage room was quiet except for the soft clatter of shifting crates and the low scrape of wood against metal. Ekko crouched near the shelves, rummaging through a pile of blankets, tools, and miscellaneous scavenged gear. His brow was furrowed, muttering under his breath as he tugged open one of the heavier drawers near the floor.

Behind him, footsteps padded into the room—lazy, measured.

“You lose something,” came Scar’s voice, dry as ever.

Ekko didn’t look up. “Looking for the spare futons.”

Scar leaned against the doorway, arms folding over his chest. “First thing in the morning?”

Ekko yanked another lid open, dust puffing up in protest. “Yeah.”

Scar jerked his chin toward the stack on Ekko’s right. “Top cupboard.”

Ekko glanced over, spotted the metal latch, and popped it open. Sure enough—three rolled futons, tucked beside a heap of folded linens. “Thanks.”

Scar didn’t move from his spot. Just raised an eyebrow and grinned faintly. “Rough night?”

Ekko pulled at the largest futon, dragging it out and slinging it under his arm. “Not great.”

Scar gave a low chuckle. “So, you’re bringing the bed to her now? You really don’t wanna sleep here anymore, huh?”

Ekko shook his head, half-laughing under his breath. “It’s not like that.”

Scar tilted his head. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re up at dawn hauling bedding around. Kinda screams needy.”

Ekko hesitated—just a beat. Then he looked over his shoulder, face calmer than teasing now. “Maybe I am.”

Scar blinked, caught off guard by the quiet honesty in his tone.

“It’s not just some girl,” Ekko added. “We’ve got history.”

That shifted the air between them.

Scar straightened slightly, eyeing him in a more level way now. Thoughtful.

Then, after a beat: “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Ekko frowned. “What?”

“Jinx,” Scar said, like it wasn’t even a question.

Ekko stilled.

“I always figured,” Scar said, tone even. “You used to watch her like she was a fuse you couldn’t decide whether to light or snuff out.”

Ekko’s expression flickered—just briefly.

Scar went on. “Didn’t take a genius to notice you got real quiet whenever her name came up. Some of us figured it was more than just a war thing.”

Ekko didn’t deny it.

Instead, he set the futon down gently and rested both hands on the edge of the cupboard, thinking.

“I’d like to bring her here,” he said finally. “Eventually.”

Scar didn’t speak for a second. Then he nodded slowly. “Bold move.”

“Yeah,” Ekko said. “I know.”

Scar scratched his chin. “A lot of people hated her for what she did. What she used to do. But for most of ‘em, pretty sure it was more a sides thing more than a personal one. You know how it goes—firelight, shimmer, Piltover, Zaun. Everyone’s got a side.”

Ekko looked at him. “What about you?”

Scar shrugged again, slower this time, more thoughtful. “Doesn’t really matter why she did it. People saw her hit Piltover and figured she was taking a stand—for Zaun. That’s what stuck. A lot of folks respected it. Thought it meant she chose a side, and it was theirs.”  He glanced away, scratching at the back of his neck. “She’s still got a rep—people don’t forget that overnight. But the way some of them talk now... they’re coming around. They just need a little time.”

Ekko nodded quietly.

“She’d have to prove herself, yeah,” Scar added. “But if you’re vouching for her… people’ll listen.”

Ekko let out a breath. “I just want her to have a place that’s safer. For her. For the kid.”

Scar blinked. “So, what’s with this kid then, if it’s not yours?”

Ekko gave a crooked smile. “Another long story.”

Scar laughed under his breath. “You don’t make anything simple, do you?”

“Not my specialty.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Scar straightened from the doorway, stretching out his back. “Well. I won’t stop you.”

Ekko glanced over. “Yeah?”

“You care about her,” Scar said simply. “I’ve seen you throw yourself into worse causes for less.”

Ekko huffed a faint laugh. “Thanks, I think.”

“Just don’t let her bring too many grenades in here,” Scar muttered, heading for the hallway.

“No promises,” Ekko called after him.

Scar just waved a hand without turning back.

Ekko picked up the futon again, hands steadier this time.

This… he could work with.

By the time he made it back to her hideout, his arms full of a rolled futon slung awkwardly over one shoulder, Ekko was already sweating. The morning air down in the fissure was always damp and close, but dragging this much bedding around before breakfast was a new level of irritating.

He grumbled under his breath as he wrestled the latch open and shouldered his way inside—only to find the place empty. No boots on the floor. No half-muttered commentary echoing from the workbench. Just the low hum of a half-powered lamp and the faint scent of whatever stew they'd cobbled together last night.

Jinx was gone. So was the kid.

Ekko exhaled, tugging the bandana from around his neck and swiping it across his forehead. “Perfect,” he muttered. “Sweating like hell, and she’s not even here to make fun of me for it.”

He hauled the futon over to the couch, gripped the armrest, and dragged the whole thing forward a few inches until there was just enough room to wedge the mattress behind it. Once the couch was in place, he unrolled the futon in the narrow space between it and the wall, adjusting it with his foot until it lay flat.

Ekko spied a discarded blanket the girls had clearly used the night before balled up at one end of the couch and tossed over the top of the futon with a few quick flicks. Cozy enough. Tucked out of sight. Safe from the platform edge.

He stepped back to check it over once, then made his way to the workbench. From his pocket, he pulled a scrap of paper, scribbled a quick note, and left it beside her tools.

Then he paused, glanced around the hideout again—like he expected to catch her walking in mid-sentence, hands already waving, the kid trailing behind her.

He smiled faintly, shook his head.

And slipped out, letting the hatch fall quiet behind him.

Chapter Text

The city moved like it always did—loud, grimy, unpredictable. But tucked beneath the low pull of her hood, Jinx moved through it with practiced ease, head down, steps light. Isha stuck close to her side.

They started with the pastry stall.

It was a familiar little cart pressed into the edge of the market square, half-shadowed by a rusted-over scaffold. Jinx watched it from a distance for a while, eyes narrowed under her hood, before giving a subtle nod.

She darted in just as a loud brawl broke out down the way—nothing serious, just two vendors throwing words and half-spoiled produce at each other—and by the time anyone glanced toward the cart, the pastries were already tucked beneath her arm and she was vanishing into the crowd with the kid in tow.

They climbed a crumbling fire escape three blocks over, hand over hand until the rooftops opened wide above them. The noise of the street dulled beneath the sky, and the sun filtered through the haze of the upper pipes in streaks of tired orange. Jinx plopped down on the warm, uneven metal, legs swinging freely over the edge. Isha settled beside her, a little more stiffly at first.

Jinx pulled out the stolen pastries with a grin.

“Don’t say I never treat you,” she said, and handed one over.

Isha took it cautiously—but didn’t hesitate to eat it.

They sat like that for a while, chewing in comfortable silence, watching Zaun breathe and shift beneath them. Jinx leaned back on her palms, letting the wind catch her hood slightly. The little girl leaned her shoulder near but not quite touching, still keeping just that one inch of space between them.

They found the paint by accident—cans stacked haphazardly in an open crate beside a rusting dumpster, half-covered by a tarp and clearly long-forgotten. Jinx peeled one out, shook it experimentally. It rattled like a promise.

“Well,” she said, glancing at the kid, “would be a crime not to put these to good use.”

Isha raised an eyebrow, curious.

Jinx snorted softly and popped the cap, spraying a wide streak of bright pink across the cracked alley wall. “C’mon. Ever tagged something before?”

The child hesitated. Then shook her head.

“Well, today’s your lucky day.” Jinx handed her a can.

They got to work—no plan, just colour. Shapes formed in layers: swirling spirals, lopsided grins, jagged wings, stars with too many points. The kid’s drawings started clumsy, uncertain. But soon her lines grew bolder, more confident. A crude little rhino appeared under her hand, then a stick figure with big round goggles and a ridiculous grin.

“Hey,” Jinx said, leaning close with a grin, “that’s either me or a very stylish toad.”

Isha’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh.

By the time they’d filled half the wall, their fingers were streaked in colour and the air buzzed with chemical sweetness. Jinx stepped back, surveying the mess with a lopsided smile.

Then she twirled a can in her fingers and took off running down the alley. “Catch me if you can, paint goblin!”

Isha blinked, startled—then startled again when Jinx sprayed a streak of glowing purple mid-stride, leaving a ribbon trail behind her like a comet.

Jinx glanced back mid-run, still grinning. “What, you scared to get messy?”

The girl took the bait.

Boots pounding the pavement, she gave chase. Jinx zigzagged around crates and busted pallets, laughing wild and bright. The alley filled with motion and colour, neon arcs swirling behind them as they weaved, darted, tagged walls in passing, leaving chaotic streaks in their wake.

Eyes shining, Isha’s mouth twitched, like the shape of a smile remembered late. And when Jinx doubled back and bumped shoulders with her mid-sprint, spraying a looping swirl across a lamppost, the kid let out a quiet, breathless sound—half a laugh, half a huff.

They slowed, panting and flushed, paint scrawled behind them like a story on brick and stone. Still catching her breath, the child raised her hands, signing something carefully—haltingly.

Jinx paused, watching her hands. “Wait—hold on. That’s… is that a question?” She mimicked the gesture, squinting. “You’re asking if I’ve done this before?”

Isha nodded.

Jinx laughed. “Hell yeah. Painting walls, running from guards, defacing public property—it’s practically a hobby.”

Another little sound from the kid. Something close to a giggle.

Jinx mimicked the sign again, slower this time, trying to get it right. “That one’s ‘done before,’ right?”

Isha nodded again, a bit more firmly this time.

Jinx tapped her temple. “Got it. Locked in. I’m learning, see?”

And for the first time, the girl smiled—real, unguarded, crooked and small but unmistakable.

Jinx saw it. Let it settle in her chest like warmth in a cold room.

Her reply came in the form of another can, tossed over with a crooked grin.

“C’mon,” she said, after a beat. “Let’s go make some more trouble.”

The paint on their hands was half-dry by the time they stepped back into the hideout. The cavernous space smelled like stone and dust and the faint chemical tang of the burner stove from the night before.

Jinx pulled her hood down and glanced toward the entrance. “He’s probably due back soon,” she muttered, mostly to herself. Then, angling her face toward the kid: “Wash basin’s over there. Try not to stain everything on your way.”

Isha nodded slightly and headed to the basin. Jinx followed a few steps, rubbing a streak of dried blue off her knuckles, but slowed when something caught her eye.

A note. Folded, plain, weighted beneath a bolt on her workbench.

She plucked it up and read it.

Dropped off a futon. Be back soon.

“Futon?” she echoed, blinking like it was a foreign word.

Jinx glanced sideways—back toward the couch. Nothing obvious from this angle. But as she moved closer, her boots thudding softly on the worn floor panels, she noticed the couch had been shifted slightly forward from its usual place.

Huh.

Rounding the side, she found it. The futon was wedged neatly behind the couch, between it and the wall—a low, wide pad laid out with a blanket folded at the edge. It wasn’t thick, but it looked clean and comfortable enough. Wide enough for her, the kid, even Ekko if he stayed. Not that she assumed anything.

Still, her fingers lingered on the edge of the mat.

She could imagine him hauling this through the underlevels alone. Probably sweating the whole way. Probably cursing half the time and grinning the other.

Nothing left her mouth, but a small, strange warmth curled under her ribs.

A slight shift at her side made her glance up. The kid had come to stand beside her, peering silently over the side of the couch at the futon. One hand lifted—hesitating, then moving with a few slow gestures.

Jinx turned toward her, brow furrowed.

“You’re asking if… he brought it?” she guessed, pointing toward the blanket.

The child nodded once.

“Yeah,” Jinx said, voice a little softer. “That was him.”

Another pause. Isha signed something again—two small gestures, then a tilt of her head, questioning.

Jinx squinted, trying to parse it. “You mean… who is he?”

A nod.

Jinx shifted, crouching slightly so her mouth was easier to read. “That’s Ekko,” she said, tapping her own temple as she said his name. “He runs the Firelights.”

Isha’s eyes widened slightly at that. Of course, she knew the name—who didn’t? Jinx saw the recognition flicker in her face before the kid nodded slowly.

“He’s good,” Jinx added, almost defensively. “Not like the rest of them. Doesn’t run things just to feel big. He actually tries to fix stuff.”

Another beat passed. Isha hesitated, then raised her hands again— more careful this time, tentative and unsure if she was even doing it right. One hand tapped her own chest, then pointed toward Jinx, then mimed something vague but unmistakable—two hands held together, then apart, then together again in an exaggerated little motion.

Jinx blinked. Then blinked again.

“…What?”

Isha repeated it.

“Oh,” Jinx muttered, suddenly flustered. “That’s—no. I mean, yes. Kind of.” She ran a hand through her hair. “It’s complicated.”

The child gave her a look that was far too knowing for someone so small.

Jinx sighed. “Okay, fine. Maybe. Sort of. Shut up.”

A faint grin curled on the kid’s face.

Jinx narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get smug.”

The moment hung in the air between them—quiet, warm, surprisingly gentle.

And then the porthole creaked open behind them.

Jinx jumped slightly, whirling toward the sound just in time to see Ekko duck through the entrance, arms full of something unidentifiable.

“Seriously?” she muttered, heart still racing. “Your timing is the worst.”

Ekko stepped fully into the room, boots scuffing the floor, and set down the canvas bundle in his arms with a faint groan. “Impeccable timing, actually.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes at him. “You always have good hearing when you’re not supposed to.”

He grinned, unrepentant. “You always talk louder when you’re hiding something.”

She made a face and didn’t answer.

Ekko chuckled as he crossed the room, gaze flicking briefly to the kid—who, to Jinx’s dismay, still looked vaguely smug.

Jinx nodded toward the canvas bundle he’d carried in. “What’s that supposed to be? Another surprise delivery?”

“Figured you missed the tent,” Ekko said, nudging it with his boot. “Like the one you rigged up around the mattress back in the attic. Thought maybe you’d want one here, too.”

Jinx blinked, then looked away. “You really planning to make this place comfortable?”

“Figured you’d accuse the futon of having ‘sad mattress energy’ or something,” he said with a smirk that earned him an inelegant snort from the woman in question. He gestured toward the couch with a jerk of his chin. “So, you found it—the bedding.”

“Yeah,” Jinx muttered. “Subtle delivery.”

“Subtle? You know how hard it is hauling that thing across half the Undercity?” Ekko dropped onto the couch with a tired huff, letting his body sink deep into the cushions. “Almost blew myself up on one of your new damn traps on the way in.”

Jinx smirked. “Should’ve paid attention to the signs.”

“I did. They were all written in crayon and smeared with oil.”

She snorted and flicked a speck of paint off her sleeve. “Still counts.”

“Barely. Had to do it while carrying your freakin’ bed,” He leaned back, draping one arm lazily across the top of the couch. Eyeing the paint under their nails, he continued: “Anyway, you two look like you had fun.”

Jinx hesitated, then walked over and dropped down beside him close enough that the movement made Ekko shift slightly. The kid padded over a second later and climbed onto the couch on Jinx’s other side, settling comfortably against the side rest.

Ekko’s arm slipped lower, sliding loosely around Jinx’s shoulders almost without thinking. But when she stiffened slightly, he started to pull it back. Jinx reached up and caught his wrist before he could. “It’s fine,” she said quietly. Her fingers squeezed once, and she leaned back into the space beneath his arm, letting her weight settle there.

Ekko’s brow lifted at the contact, surprised, but didn’t comment.

She glanced away from him—pointedly avoiding Isha’s gaze as well.

He noticed. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” Jinx said a little too quickly, then cleared her throat and pushed on. “Anyway—her name’s Isha.”

Ekko blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yep. Got it out of her earlier. She spelled it on the coffee table.”

Isha gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment, legs swinging slightly where she sat.

Ekko smiled faintly. “Nice to officially meet you, Isha.”

Isha didn’t sign anything in return, but her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than usual—measuring, perhaps. Then she leaned back against the arm of the couch, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them.

Jinx watched the exchange, then tilted her head toward Ekko. “She’s warming up.”

“She’s still following you. That says plenty.”

Jinx hummed softly under her breath and, after a pause, leaned just a little more into him again.

He let the silence speak, anchoring her without a word, but he looked tired. And the way his arm settled more securely around her made it clear he’d missed this just as much as she had.  Jinx tilted her head against Ekko’s shoulder where she leaned, eyes half-lidded. “You sleep alright, futon fairy?”

Ekko let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair. “Not nearly enough for the kind of day I’ve had.”

“Poor baby,” she said with a smirk, though the warmth in her voice softened the sarcasm.

He grunted. “Enforcers discharged another cloud of the Grey this morning. Just like that. No warnings. No targets. Just… reminder gas. 'Stay scared, stay in line.'”

Jinx’s mouth twisted. The joking edge slid right off her face.

“Guess the arcade wasn’t enough,” he muttered, rubbing at his temple. “Spent half the morning chasing rumours about a leak. Had to tell people the truth wasn’t any better.”

Her eyes dropped to the floor. “So now they’re just blanketing the whole damn Lanes. Make everyone breathe fear just in case.”

“Yeah,” Ekko said. “It’s not just you they’re after. Not really. You’re just the excuse.”

Jinx’s fingers flexed where they rested against his knee. The faint scent of smoke still clung to her hair—leftover from yesterday. The Grey always lingered too long.

She didn’t speak for a moment, just stared ahead at nothing, jaw tight.

“They don’t care who they hit,” she said finally, voice low. “Just want people to feel small.”

Ekko glanced sideways, watching her closely.

Jinx didn’t meet his eyes. She looked tired—not just from lack of sleep, but from something deeper. Something knotted up and burning behind her ribs.

What she didn’t say: That her sister was there at the arcade. That Vi had looked at her like she was something toxic—something that had to be buried, not salvaged. That the Grey hadn’t just gotten into her lungs—it had clawed into old wounds that hadn’t scabbed over, no matter how much she wanted them to.

It wasn’t just Piltover.

It was Vi.

Vi, still standing with them. Still bringing their poison to Zaun. Still chasing ghosts instead of asking why everything fell apart in the first place.

Maybe that’s what stuck with her the most. That Vi had chosen Piltover’s keys and polished badge over a city choked with ash. Over her.

Again.

She swallowed. “They keep pushing like this… People won’t stay scared forever. Something’s gonna snap.”

Ekko didn’t answer right away.

She could feel the weight of his silence, the way his gaze pressed in like he could hear the gears grinding in her head.

“You alright today?” he asked, quieter now. “After yesterday.”

She gave a small shrug, too casual. “Fine.”

“You sure?”

“Not dead,” she said. “That counts, right?”

His brow furrowed, but she added before he could press, “Didn’t even throw a punch today. That’s restraint.”

Ekko gave a dry chuckle. “Miracle.”

But her expression didn’t shift. Not really. Her eyes were distant again.

She still felt Vi’s shadow behind her ribs. The air in Zaun felt thinner since then, not just from the gas—but from the sheer weight of what was still happening. From everything still bleeding at the seams while people pretended it wasn’t.

She wasn’t unraveling anymore. But she hadn’t stopped burning.

She didn’t want to burn out—not like before. She wanted to fight back. Wanted to carve something bright into the smog. Something unforgettable.

Not just to be seen—but to be felt. To send a message bigger than her own scars.

And maybe… maybe to prove that she was still here. Still standing. Still dangerous, in a way they wouldn’t see coming.

Because if Vi wasn’t going to choose Zaun—she would.

It wasn’t about starting something. It was about ending the silence. About Vi, and the Grey, and all the things no one would say out loud. Jinx didn’t want to burn it all down. She just wanted them to feel it—what she felt. What Zaun felt. Just once. Just enough to remember.

Ekko’s thumb was rubbing slow circles on her shoulder now, grounding her again. She leaned into it without thinking.

“You look like you’re scheming,” he said lightly, like a joke—but there was that usual half-truth underneath.

Jinx smirked faintly. “Me? Always.”

“You gonna tell me?”

She shrugged again, turning her face into his shoulder. “Only if you wanna hear about pipe layouts and pressure ratios.”

He huffed a laugh against her temple. “Guess I walked into that one.”

Her hand slipped around his arm, fingers curling into his sleeve. “I’m okay,” she murmured. “Really.”

Ekko didn’t quite believe it—but he let it go for now. He kissed the top of her head.

Beside them, Isha was curled up on the edge of the futon again, watching with that same quiet intensity. Whatever she was thinking stayed behind her eyes, but they flicked between the two adults before her, like she was trying to decode something wordless in the air.

Jinx caught her gaze briefly, then looked away again.

But the wheels were already turning behind her eyes.

Colour. Smoke. Noise. A message they couldn’t erase.

And this time, she wouldn’t be a footnote in someone else’s war.

It had taken two days for Isha to give up the couch.

Jinx didn’t blame her. The futon was objectively better—no crooked metal springs in the back, no sagging middle, no awkward lumps that left your spine feeling like it’d been sucker-punched in your sleep. Just space. Quiet. Softness. A shared kind of comfort she hadn’t realized she missed until she’d had it again.

Now, wrapped in her own blanket like a burrito, the kid was curled on the futon in front of her—small and still, a warm shape with a stretch of space between them and the edge of the room.

Jinx lay on her side, back pressed to Ekko’s chest, half awake and staring at nothing in particular. Her fingers twitched faintly against the blanket. Her mind was already sifting through the pieces of her plan—every bolt, every charge, every movement accounted for. All that was left now was to find Sevika and set it in motion.

And then Ekko stirred behind her.

His arms tightened, one slipping more snugly around her middle, and his nose pressed into the sensitive curve behind her ear. Jinx inhaled sharply through her nose before she could stop it.

The bastard smiled. She could feel it—lips curling soft and lazy against her neck.

His knuckles brushed her stomach beneath the blanket, drifting in a slow, featherlight trail from her waistline to the hem of her halter top—just beneath the swell of her chest. A small noise tried to escape her throat and she bit it back, eyes fluttering closed.

“Good morning,” he murmured, voice low and husky with sleep.

Heat climbed up her spine. That damn voice of his—raspy, rumbling in her ear like it was made to short-circuit her brain.

She reached down and caught his hand before it wandered any higher, fingers lacing through his with a pointed squeeze. Then she twisted partway in his arms, glaring at him over her shoulder—though the effect was more flustered than fearsome, thanks to the unmistakable pink blooming across her cheeks.

“There is literally a child right there,” she hissed in a whisper.

Ekko’s eyes glinted, amusement dancing in them like a challenge. “She’s asleep.”

“You were still doing it.”

His grin widened. “I wasn’t doing anything. You’re the one getting all worked up.”

“Ugh,” Jinx groaned, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “You’re the worst.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, entirely unbothered, and leaned in to press a slow kiss to the corner of her eye. “And you’re cute when you’re mad.”

Jinx rolled her eyes. But She let the weight of him settle around her. If anything, she shuffled just a little closer—fingers still tangled in his, her other hand curled loosely beneath her pillow. The ache in her chest, the coil of nerves that had been tightening all morning—just for a second, it loosened. Not gone. But held at bay.

She’d still find Sevika today. She’d still set it all in motion.

But for now, she let herself breathe in the warmth behind her and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her spine.

Just a little longer, and then she’d move.

The back routes through the Lanes were always louder than they looked. Pipes hummed low in the walls. Rusted bolts rattled somewhere underfoot with every footstep. Voices echoed from unseen alcoves—sharp bursts of laughter, bartering, the occasional hiss of threat. Zaun breathed around them like a living thing.

Jinx kept her hood up, head down, steps light. Isha walked just ahead of her, not holding her hand—but not straying either. They’d found their rhythm, weird as it was. The kid didn’t talk, but she listened, even if she couldn’t always catch what was said. She watched everything.

Right now, she was balanced on the edge of a thick steam pipe that ran parallel to the alley floor, maybe two feet off the ground. One foot in front of the other, arms out for balance. Just a kid thing… something even the careful ones did.

Jinx trailed beside her, walking on the concrete, only half paying attention. She muttered more to herself than to the girl.

“Sevika’ll probably be where she always is. Long as the booze hasn’t run out. If it has, we’ll hear her swearing before we see her.” Her voice dropped to a grumble. “Could’ve just used the alley entrance, but nooo—gotta be a damn crowd today, huh?”

Isha teetered—just a fraction too far off balance.

Jinx’s arm shot out like a reflex. One hand closed around the back of Isha’s coat and tugged her back into stability without missing a step.

“Easy, tightrope,” she muttered, flicking her gaze sideways. “Gravity’s a bitch.”

Isha blinked once, then adjusted herself, walking forward again with the same cautious concentration.

Jinx stuffed her hands into her pockets. Didn’t elaborate, but her gaze lingered longer than it needed to.

They took the long way around, sticking to alleys carved between industrial scaffolds and half-collapsed wooden sky walks. The main streets were too exposed, too easy for someone to recognize her—hood or not. She could feel her name crawling through Zaun again. Not everywhere. Not loud. But enough to get the occasional look.

She didn’t want looks today.

Isha hopped down from the pipe when they reached a dead-end divider and Jinx nodded her toward a side gap. The kid ducked through without question. Didn’t ask where they were going. Didn’t need to. She just stuck.

Jinx exhaled through her nose.

“Dunno why you keep following me,” she muttered, not looking at her. “I’m not a good example. I forget to eat and I start shit with people twice my size for fun.”

Isha didn’t respond. Just looked up at her blankly for a second before stepping over a bundle of broken wire and continuing on.

Jinx’s mouth tugged sideways. “Guess we’ve both got bad taste.”

The route curved and narrowed as they neared the stretch behind the Last Drop. She slowed when she heard the buzz of voices—too many for this corner. She squinted through the haze and caught sight of a crowd loitering near the side entrance. Enforcers weren’t around, but the crowd was thick enough to be a problem.

Jinx cursed under her breath. “Seriously?”

She turned and tugged Isha back a step, pressing her against the wall just out of sight. “Way in’s clogged. Probably some drunk idiot blocking the doorway again.”

Isha tilted her head up at her, curious. Then made a small motion—miming writing something on her palm, then pointing at herself, then toward the alley.

Jinx frowned. “You wanna go instead?”

Isha nodded once.

Jinx crossed her arms, shifting her weight. “I dunno. That crowd’s thick. I don’t like you walking through it alone.”

Isha made the motion again, more slowly this time. Wrote on her palm, held it out. Pointed at herself. Waited.

Jinx hesitated. Thought about just pushing through the crowd herself. About how many people she’d have to knock down to get a clear line inside.

Then she sighed and pulled a small scrap of paper from her coat. Scribbled a few words on it with the edge of a blunt pencil—Need to talk. No drama. Tell Sevika it’s me.

She handed it over.

“Fine. But I swear, if anyone so much as looks at you funny, I’m coming in swinging.”

Isha didn’t flinch. Just took the note and trotted toward the alley opening.

Jinx hovered at the corner, half-concealed by a stack of crates, eyes locked on the kid’s back the entire time. Her hand twitched toward her holster once, then again. Habit. Instinct.

Nobody bothered Isha. The bouncer took the note, glanced up, then nodded and stepped inside.

Isha turned and walked calmly back toward her.

Jinx stepped forward to meet her and pressed a hand to the top of the kid’s helmet, ruffling the rim until the wide-brimmed miner’s cap wobbled awkwardly.

“Not bad, kid,” she muttered—slow enough for her words to be read clearly. “You got guts, brat. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Isha looked up. There was no smile, not quite—but her lips twitched, a bare hint of upward curve like something unfamiliar was trying to surface.

Jinx blinked at that. The way the kid blinked like she didn’t know what to do with the praise. Like she didn’t hear it often.

She cleared her throat. “That doesn’t mean I’m getting soft.”

Isha gave a tiny shrug and leaned back against the wall beside her.

Jinx tucked her hands in her pockets again, about to speak—when footsteps scraped the gravel at the alley mouth.

“Y’know,” came Sevika’s voice, low and dry, “most people just knock.”

Jinx smirked without turning around. “Not most people.”

Sevika stepped into view, arms folded, metal shoulder glinting faintly under the diffused light.

Her eyes flicked to Isha, then back to Jinx. “Still dragging your shadow around, huh?”

Jinx snorted. “What can I say? I grow on people.”

"Like a fungus," Sevika groused before giving a grunt that might’ve been a laugh. “Guess we’ll see.”

Sevika leaned her shoulder against the alley wall, arms still folded. The weight of her stare wasn’t hostile—just heavy. Like she’d been expecting this, and was still deciding what to make of it.

“So?” she asked. “What do you want, Jinx?”

Jinx tilted her head, one hand resting on her hip. “Straight to business. No how’ve-you-beens?”

“You don’t drop notes through the back door unless it’s something that matters,” Sevika said. “Or something that’s gonna blow a hole in something.”

Jinx smirked. “Could be both.”

Sevika’s fingers tapped once against her metal arm. “Talk.”

Jinx’s eyes flicked to Isha for a second—just to check she was still tucked by the wall, quietly occupying herself, fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve.

Then she turned back to Sevika, hood still low over her eyes.

“You know they gassed the arcade again.”

Sevika’s jaw tightened, just slightly. “I heard.”

“No targets the time after either. No warning. Just smoke in the streets.”

“That’s Piltover,” Sevika said, flat. “Kick you till you learn to stay down. Or die standing.”

“Exactly.” Jinx’s voice had gone quieter now, sharper. “And I’m done playing corpse.”

A pause.

Sevika watched her with that unreadable gaze, but something in her expression shifted. Just a flicker. Approval, maybe. Recognition.

“You got a plan?”

Jinx shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. Sort of.”

Sevika arched a brow. “Helpful.”

Jinx stepped closer, dropping her voice. “I’ve got old routes through the pipelines. Pressure junctions, back valves, things nobody’s touched since before the Sump flooded. I can get something through.”

“Grey?”

Jinx nodded.

Sevika gave a low grunt. “And where’s it going?”

Jinx smiled. Not manic. Not wild. Something colder, steadier. “Piltover.”

That made Sevika straighten a little, the edge of a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Now you’re talking.”

Jinx didn’t grin back. “It’s not about politics.”

Sevika gave her a look. “Bullshit.”

“It’s not,” Jinx said. “I don’t care who gets the credit. I don’t want a statue. I don’t want a flag. I want them to feel it. Just once. What we breathe every day. What they never see unless it’s neat and bottled in a museum display.”

Sevika’s expression shifted again—curious, maybe, or skeptical.

Jinx added, softer now, “This isn’t about a cause. It’s about what it did to people like her.” She jerked her chin subtly toward Isha. “To kids who didn’t get to grow up anywhere safe. To me. To you.”

That landed.

Sevika looked toward Isha without turning her head, just her eyes. Then back to Jinx.

“Alright,” she said after a beat. “I’m in.”

Jinx blinked. “Just like that?”

“You’re not wrong,” Sevika said. “And if it’s gonna piss off the right people—hell, I’ll help you rig the damn lines.”

Jinx snorted. “Careful. I might take you up on that.”

Sevika grinned crookedly. “You still know how to rig a valve without making it blow?”

“Course I do,” Jinx muttered. “I’m not new.”

“You’re different,” Sevika said, not unkindly. “Don’t mean that in a bad way.”

Jinx hesitated.

Then: “Doesn’t mean I forgot how to fight.”

Sevika gave a dry grunt. “Wasn’t questioning your bite, just noticing the angle.”

There was a beat of quiet.

Then Jinx reached into her coat, pulled another scrap of paper from her inner pocket, and handed it over. “Here. Routes. Supply stash locations. I’ll mark the junction points once I’ve double-checked the flow.”

Sevika took it without a word, folding it with sharp fingers. “I’ll bring two hands I trust. No extras. We’ll move quiet.”

“Works for me.”

A pause.

Sevika nodded toward Isha. “She coming?”

Jinx’s gaze followed hers, landing on the girl who’d now sat herself on a cracked crate, quietly observing.

“…No,” Jinx said at first. “She’ll stay out of it.”

Sevika raised a brow, not pushing.

Jinx’s voice lowered. “She’s just a kid. She’s seen enough of the world through smoke.”

Sevika snorted. “So did we.”

Jinx didn’t argue.

She just reached back and gave a small wave. Isha hopped down from her seat and walked over, calm as anything.

As they turned to go, Sevika called out one last time. “Hey.”

Jinx glanced over her shoulder.

“If this goes sideways,” Sevika said, tone dry, “you better bring the damn fireworks.”

Jinx grinned—wide and crooked and real.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve already started painting the signs.”

And with that, she and Isha vanished down the alley.

The air in the tunnels was damp and thick, laced with rust, old stone, and the sharp chemical bite of slowly leaking Grey. Overhead, a wide pipeline arched across the chamber, its surface slick with condensation and grime. A broken junction jutted from its belly, welded shut with makeshift bracing and dripping faint trails of green mist into the dark below.

Jinx crouched on the pipe itself—perched just beside the patched cylinder like it was a ledge made for her, one boot anchored to a joint brace and the other pressed flat against the corroded metal. Her monkey-faced graffiti grinned out in pink and green where she’d scrawled it across the housing, half smeared now but still smug.

She hunched low over the old valve casing, goggles pulled down tight over her eyes, tools in hand. The thing had been rigged to blow—not quietly, but with flair. Just the way she liked it The slow hiss of pressure bleeding out was steady. Predictable. But she checked it again anyway. Always did.

The mechanism was old—held together mostly by spite by the looks of it. One of the teeth on the pressure wheel had cracked while she’d been working, and the back-flow valve rattled if you tapped it wrong, but it held. She sat back on her heels with a soft grunt and wiped a black smear of grease across the side of her thigh.

Then—movement.

Out of the corner of her eye, something shifted at the far end of the tunnel. Between the metal ribs of two larger pipes, a small shape ducked back out of sight. Not fast enough.

Jinx didn’t even sigh. Just stared a beat, then lifted a hand and made a lazy, deliberate "come here" motion—wrist flicked forward once, sharp and simple.

A second passed.

Then Isha peeked back over the pipe, small and hesitant. Her eyes caught Jinx’s, and her posture stiffened, like she was waiting to be yelled at.

Jinx’s brows twitched together—not angry. Just tired. She waited until the kid started walking—slow, cautious steps on the grated floor—before she spoke.

“Thought I told you to wait at the hideout.”

No bite. Just that quiet drawl she used when she was trying not to let something show.

Isha stopped a few feet away, hovering like she wasn’t sure she should keep coming.

Jinx finally sighed, tilted her head slightly, and made sure the kid could read her lips. “You were supposed to be there when he came back, y’know.”

Her voice lowered. “Didn’t tell him. About any of this.”

Isha's gaze dropped to the ground.

Jinx rubbed the back of her neck, fingers smearing paint and oil into her hairline. “Whatever. You’re here now.”

A beat passed. Then she jerked her chin down the corridor. “C’mon. I’ll find a spot for you. But you stay up high and outta the way, got it?”

The girl nodded once—small but firm.

They started walking together. Jinx didn’t take her hand. But she slowed her steps just enough for them to move in sync, boots clicking softly against the metal.

The tunnel curved, narrowing into the next access point. Jinx glanced back once, just briefly.

In another life, she wouldn’t have looked.

In another life, she wouldn’t have cared who saw the fallout.

But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t just for the spectacle. It wasn’t only for Vi.

It wasn’t even for Zaun, really.

It was for the smoke in her lungs. The weight behind her ribs. The kid who’d followed her into the dark and hadn’t turned back. Vi would never stop pumping the Grey through Zaun until she found her—like choking the whole city was just part of the search.

She didn’t want to be a symbol.

She just wanted to survive.

And this time, she wasn’t doing it alone.

Chapter Text

The message had been made—colour, chaos, and a warning written in smoke.

She left the dolls hanging like omens. Like prophecies. She wanted them to feel it—that breathless coil in their lungs, that low hum of dread in their guts. She wanted them to walk into this city and know that someone was hunting them. That someone remembered everything they’d ever done.

And then Vi came.

Not alone. Not unprepared. But the moment their eyes met, everything else faded.

Jinx wasn’t sure what she felt. Not entirely. Anger, maybe. Resentment, certainly. But under it all—something hollower.

Disappointment, perhaps.

Or maybe just the weight of knowing exactly how this would go.

She smiled anyway. Sharp and cold. Eyes glinting with bitterness painted in pink shimmer.

“Look at you,” she drawled. “Still wearing the good-girl face like it fits.”

Vi didn’t smile back. “You’re still doing this?”

Jinx tilted her head, mock-pitying. “You’re still chasing ghosts.”

The storm broke like a bone between them.

It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t clean.

It was blood and steel and breathless rage. The sound of fists cracking against ribs. The snap of a gauntlet ripping metal. Boot soles grinding into stone. It was pain like static in her skull, a fury so deep it tasted like metal at the back of her throat.

Vi wouldn’t stop. Not this time. Not ever.

And neither did she.

Until—

Jinx’s back slammed against the alter, the gauntlet at her throat cutting off everything but Vi’s breath, Vi’s face, Vi’s eyes—so close, so furious, so familiar and not.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

This was it, wasn’t it?

The end she’d always imagined. The one that felt inevitable.

Her boots scraped against the platform. Her fingers trembled against the cold metal pressing into her windpipe.

And still—somewhere, somehow—her thoughts drifted not to Vi, but to home.

To a tent in a broken attic. To a hidden room in a broken fissure. To the weight of a warm blanket. To the breath on the back of her neck. To the futon that didn’t creak. To a kid who’d made herself at home inside the cracks she used to hide. To a boy who wasn’t just a boy anymore—who touched her like she was whole, and made her believe it might be true.

She swallowed hard.

And when her eyes met Vi’s again, they didn’t blaze.

They burned quiet.

“Go on then,” she rasped. “If you’re gonna break me, do it.”

A pause.

Her voice cracked a little at the edges—no less defiant, but threaded with something raw beneath it.

“But don’t pretend you’re saving anyone.”

Vi’s expression pulled tight—just a flicker of a flinch, but it betrayed her.

Jinx exhaled, slow and shaking. Her gaze didn’t wavier.

“Not from me. Not anymore.”

And then—

A flash of motion. Small hands.

Jinx blinked, disoriented, only to find the kid hunched in front of her—between her and Vi. Tiny frame trembling, legs locked like she could hold the line. Jinx’s pistol clutched in her grip, pointed square at Vi’s face.

The barrel didn’t shake much.

But Isha’s hands did.

Jinx held her breath. The stillness around them pressed in like a vice.

Vi froze. Caitlyn too. The world narrowed, colour bleeding away from the edges of Jinx’s vision until all that remained was the pale shape of Isha, on shaking knees with the weight of death in her hands.

And for the first time in years, Jinx felt real fear.

Not for herself.

For her.

For the child who’d followed her, who’d painted alleys and stolen pastries and curled next to her side in sleep. The kid who didn’t belong in this war, but had stepped into the crossfire anyway, trying to save her.

Trying to protect her from her own sister.

Jinx’s breath caught. Instinct clawed at her—urging her forward, toward the gun, toward the chaos spinning just behind the stillness.

And yet—

Some traitorous whisper stirred in the back of her mind. A flicker of horror at the shape of the scene: a child standing in her place, her pistol trained on Vi’s face.

Her sister’s face—familiar, furious, and so goddamn far from what it used to be.

Gods, what was she doing?

She didn’t want this.

Not like this.

And then—

A crack. A burst of sparks and metal. Caitlyn’s bullet hit home, and Jinx’s pistol flew from Isha’s hands in a hiss of shrapnel. Isha made a sound—small and strangled, more breath than voice—and clung to her, arms locked like a vice around her waist.

“No—get off me—”

Jinx shoved, frantic and panicked, trying to force her aside, get her out of the open, out of the line of fire. Her fingers clawed at Isha’s arms, her voice rising raw and wild.

“You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t—”

Caitlyn lifted her weapon again.

Vi stepped in front of them.

Jinx didn’t hear the words. Couldn’t. The world was a dull roar now, all wind and ringing and the crackle of static behind her eyes. Vi was saying something—maybe about Isha, about her being just a child—but it barely registered.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

She hadn’t wanted this.

And then the world cracked open.

The tunnel wall exploded as Sevika’s charges blew, shattering the barrier holding the wind at bay. A rush of air howled through the chamber, sweeping dust and debris and bodies into motion. Sevika was already there, metal arm embedded into the stone like an anchor. She grunted as she grabbed Jinx’s shoulder with the other, keeping her grounded while Isha clung tighter, wind whipping their hair wild around their faces.

Vi and Caitlyn vanished in a rush—swept backward by the gale, dragged out of sight in the blink of an eye.

The Grey followed—ripping through the broken pipeline, carried straight into the tunnel fans. The city swallowed it whole in a whirl of colour.

Paint bombs set off in synchronized bursts, exploding upward in clouds of brilliant, toxic hues—magenta, teal, gold, violet—pluming like firework smoke, curling through the cracks in Piltover’s polished mask.

A rainbow of poison. A storm of memory.

Jinx just crouched there—air gone, nerves frayed to static. Her ears still rang, even in the silence between gusts. The only thing she could hear was her own pulse, pounding like the war drums of a battle she hadn’t meant to fight like this. Not really.

She looked down at Isha, who hadn’t let go.

Then toward the place Vi had stood.

And suddenly the city pressed in from all sides again—vast and echoing and wrong.

And Jinx didn’t know whether she’d won or lost.

The shimmer lab still crackled with embers behind them, flames flickering low as the last chemicals sputtered and died out in the wreckage. Ekko’s hoverboard skidded over the edge of a crumbling ledge, the wind tugging at his coat as he rose fast, Scar trailing behind in a sharper arc.

They’d meant to slip away clean—one more hit against the rot beneath the surface. Another dent in the machine.

But the noise came first.

A low, distant rumble—then a deeper shockwave that echoed through the Lanes like a second heartbeat.

Ekko’s shoulders tensed. “What the hell…”

He banked higher. The city opened beneath him, jagged and wide—and from here, he could see the smoke.

Not grey.

Colour.

Exploding in huge plumes across Piltover’s skyline—green, crimson, purple, gold… a slow, cascading detonation that painted the sky in swirling poison, each cloud billowing outward from the rooftops like flowers blooming from broken stone.

Scar skidded to a stop beside him, wind tugging his coat back. He followed Ekko’s gaze.

“Shit,” Scar muttered, eyes wide. “That her?”

Ekko didn’t answer at first. He just stared—watching the colours unfurl like war banners, like a city being rewritten in a single breath.

“She didn’t tell you, did she?” Scar said, squinting into the rising smoke.

Ekko’s jaw tensed. “No.”

“Still think it’s her?”

He nodded once, slowly. “Yeah.”

Scar looked back toward the skyline. “Then… I think she’s proven enough.”

Ekko glanced at him, brow furrowed.

Scar shrugged. “I said she’d need to prove herself. You vouched for her. This?” He tilted his chin toward the smoke. “This says she picked a side. Loud and clear.”

His silence held, weighty and unreadable.

The plumes kept rising—higher, broader, curling through the gold-stamped towers like a wound. Somewhere beneath that bloom of colour, people were panicking. Sirens would follow. Orders. Retaliation.

But here on this roof, there was only the wind.

Only the echo of it all pressing down on his chest.

He should’ve been angry. But he wasn’t. Not really.

She hadn’t promised him peace. She never had.

But part of him had hoped she’d come to him first.

Even just to say goodbye.

Instead, she’d painted her message across the sky alone.

And Ekko couldn’t help but read it for what it was—not a cry for chaos, not even revenge. But a reckoning. A declaration. A riot song sung in fumes and fire. For Zaun. For everyone who couldn’t breathe free anymore without choking on what Piltover left behind.

“She did it for herself,” he said quietly.

Scar looked over.

Ekko didn’t break his gaze from the horizon. “But I think it’ll hit home for a lot more than just her.”

Scar was quiet a moment, then nodded. “You still wanna bring her in?”

Ekko hesitated.

His mind drifted to the hideout. To the futon. To Isha huddled small beside them. To the way Jinx had leaned into him like something soft was still possible, even for her.

He exhaled. “Yeah. I do.”

Scar nodded again. “Then I’ll back you.”

Ekko’s eyes dropped to the rooftops below, where figures moved like ants trying to scramble back into order. But the damage had already been done. The story was already written—in colour, in shadow, in smoke.

And Jinx?

Jinx had just made herself unforgettable again.

But this time… maybe not just as a weapon.

Maybe as something more.

Ekko clenched his hands at his sides, the weight of it all settling deep in his ribs.

Whatever came next—they’d weather it together.

He only hoped she’d still let him stand beside her when it hit.

The hideout hatch creaked open.

Ekko was on his feet so fast he nearly knocked the stool over behind him. It scraped against the floor, clattering against one of the stray gears littering the edge of Jinx’s workbench. He didn’t care.

Jinx stepped inside.

Bloody. Grimy. Smoke-dusted and half-wilted under it all, but walking. Whole.

Isha followed behind her like a shadow, her small form subdued, dark-eyed and trembling, but unhurt. The child was fine—Isha had made it through—but the damage clung to Jinx.

His breath left him in a rush.

“Shit,” Ekko muttered, crossing the space in three strides.

He didn’t speak at first. Just cupped Jinx’s face with both hands, fingers splaying along the line of her jaw, tilting her head gently to the side to inspect the gash blooming in her hairline. Blood crusted dark near her temple. There was soot streaked across her skin, splattered paint along her arms, one hand wrapped half-haphazard in a cloth torn.

His gaze locked onto her hand—what was left of it, anyway.

He froze. His fingers hovered just above the makeshift wrapping, as if touching it might make the damage more real. His thumb brushed the edge of the tattered fabric, gentle and hesitant.

“You okay?” he asked finally, voice low.

Jinx looked at him for a long beat. Something flickering behind her eyes. Then she shrugged, a little too loose. “You should see the other guy.”

Ekko didn’t laugh. His fingers lingered on her cheek like he wasn’t ready to let her go yet.

“We’re fine,” she added, quieter this time. “Isha’s fine. It’s just… it got messy.”

“I can see that.”

Isha had made her way to the couch by now and sank onto it, curling in on herself with a blanket clutched around her shoulders. Ekko spared her a glance again—relief softening the tension in his spine—but his eyes returned to Jinx almost immediately.

“C’mere,” he said, and guided her gently toward the washbasin.

She didn’t fight him.

He helped peel off the half-burnt gloves, the bloodied wrappings, pulled her halter up just enough to check the scrapes underneath. His hands were careful. Gentle. Familiar. Jinx leaned against the counter’s edge, watching the way his brow furrowed as he worked.

“You really wanna know what happened?” she said eventually, voice distant.

“Yeah.”

Her eyes flicked toward the ceiling.

“Vi,” she said, the name dropping heavy from her mouth. “It was Vi.”

That made him still, completely.

“She came with the enforcers. Caitlyn too.” Her voice was steady, but her jaw clenched. “Guess they took the bait better than I expected.”

“You fought her?”

Her shoulder lifted in a shrug, but her mouth stayed tight. He poured water over her arms, watching red and black swirl down the drain.

“She wasn’t gonna stop,” she murmured. “I thought… maybe I’d feel something. Like it’d fix something in my head. But all it did was make everything worse.”

Ekko pressed a towel to her scraped shoulder. “Did you hurt her?”

“Not enough to matter.”

There was a silence then—thick and uncertain.

“She still looked at me like I was the same broken kid,” Jinx muttered. “Like I’d never be anything else.”

Ekko didn’t interrupt. Just reached for another cloth, soaking it in the basin again. He touched her brow carefully, cleaning the dried blood from her temple.

“I didn’t want to kill her,” Jinx said, barely audible. “I thought I did. I told myself I did. But in the moment… I didn’t.”

She didn’t mention Isha stepping in. The gun. The scream. The way Vi looked at her then—like a stranger in her own body.

“I didn’t want to die either,” she said. “Not this time.”

Ekko paused, cloth half-raised.

Their eyes met.

“I didn’t want to die,” she repeated, more certain now, like she needed him to hear it.

And he did. Every word sinking into him like a heartbeat.

“You don’t have to prove anything by bleeding for this place,” he said. “You already did enough.”

“I had to do something... They were still dumping Grey into the Lanes.” Her voice dipped, rough and dry. “People were choking. And it was my name under it. I just wanted them to—”

She broke off, not looking at him. “It wasn’t just about revenge. Not this time.”

His hands found hers again, wrapping gently over her bandaged wrist.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done in your place,” he said.

Jinx looked down at their joined hands. Her knuckles were raw and cut, his fingers smudged with ink and grease.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d try to stop me,” she added, a little quieter.

“Yeah,” Ekko said softly, without bitterness. “I probably would’ve.”

“But I had to see it through.”

He nodded once. “And you did.”

The silence stretched between them again, full of things unspoken.

Eventually, she leaned into his shoulder, heavy and bone-tired. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her temple, just like he had that morning. She sighed, tension bleeding from her spine.

“I think I’m done,” she whispered.

“With the war?”

“With… all of it.”

He watched in silence, but his hold on her didn’t loosen.

They stayed like that for a while.

Jinx half-curled against his shoulder, breathing slow but uneven, her energy hollowed out in a way that went deeper than just physical fatigue. Ekko didn’t rush her. He just kept his arm around her, anchoring her, letting the silence settle between them without needing to fill it.

Eventually, he shifted, guiding her back with a light press at her shoulder. “Lean back,” he murmured. “You’re not off the hook yet.”

Jinx let him, eyes fluttering half-closed as she sank against the edge of the washbasin again. She didn’t argue when he resumed cleaning out the last of the scrapes on her ribs, brushing dirt and dried blood away with slow, steady hands. Her shirt still hung lopsided and loose from his ministrations, revealing the scarred curve of her side. The fresh bruises blooming beneath.

“I should probably just take a real bath,” she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

Ekko glanced up, catching the slur of her exhaustion in her voice. “You want one?” he offered quietly. “I’ll draw it for you. Warm. No fuss or rattling pipes. Maybe even a clean towel.”

Jinx made a soft sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I just wanna sleep tonight.”

“Okay,” he said as he passed the last clean cloth gently over her forearm.

When he finished, he lingered there for a moment—his fingers still resting just above her wrist, the soft cotton edge damp between them.

She cracked one eye open, peering at him sideways. “What?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked at her—at the way the light caught the sheen of blood still drying in her hair, at the old scars and new bruises painting her skin, at the quiet steadiness still flickering in her gaze despite all of it.

“Just you.” Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jinx blinked, lips parting slightly. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say. Not that.

His hand rose to her cheek again, slow and warm, and he leaned in to kiss her—soft, brief, and grounding. Something like a promise in the space between their breath.

Then he straightened, his voice a murmur. “C’mon. Futon’s waiting.”

Isha had already curled up on the couch, bundled into a crooked sprawl of limbs and blanket, out cold. Her goggles were still perched lopsided on her forehead. She looked impossibly small.

Ekko helped Jinx over to the futon and eased her down onto it, following after. The blanket was cool against his fingers as he pulled it over them, tucking it gently around her. He lay close, not quite touching until she turned and pressed herself into him—face buried in the crook of his neck, fingers catching faintly at the hem of his shirt.

His arms came around her instinctively. One hand skimmed her spine before stilling there. He pressed a kiss to her hair and she sighed against his throat, the weight of the day finally bleeding out of her bones.

And then she was still.

Ekko stayed like that for a long time, holding her quietly. Listening to the rhythm of her breath. The twitch of her fingers. The way her brow finally smoothed.

Jinx slept.

And he let her.

At some point in the deep quiet of the night, Ekko stirred.

He wasn’t sure what pulled him from sleep—maybe the faint rustle of fabric, maybe just instinct—but his eyes cracked open in time to see a small, blanket-wrapped figure shuffle into view.

Isha.

She crept in with the cautiousness of someone used to going unnoticed, arms tightly wrapped around her own blanket, face half-hidden beneath the fold of it. She didn’t make a sound, just knelt carefully at the edge of the futon and began to ease herself into the space beside them.

Ekko blinked slowly, trying to fully wake. Jinx hadn’t stirred—her breath was still slow and even against his neck, her entire body curved into his. She was out cold.

Isha laid herself down carefully beside them, keeping her blanket cocooned tightly around her as she settled in. Her eyes flicked up to meet his—wide, unreadable in the dim light—but alert.

Ekko didn’t move much, just adjusted slightly to make room and keep Jinx from waking. He let his hand rest against the blanket near Isha’s shoulder, a quiet gesture of acknowledgment.

“Hey,” he whispered, forgetting for a second. But Isha wasn’t watching his lips, and he didn’t repeat it. He waited until her eyes flicked up to meet his again, watching his mouth before continuing. “You okay?”

Isha nodded once, small and firm.

He searched her expression, the tightness around her eyes, the faint trembling in her limbs that hadn’t entirely faded. He didn’t know what she’d seen today, not really. Jinx hadn’t said. But he could feel the heaviness in her.

“Was it bad?” he asked gently. She hesitated… then gave a small nod again.

Ekko exhaled quietly, his brow knitting. He wanted to ask more, but words felt clumsy in the hush of the room, and motion from signing risked disturbing the sleeping woman in his arms. So, he just held her gaze for a beat longer, then reached over—slow, careful—and brushed a hand across her hair. A simple, wordless offer of comfort.

Isha didn’t flinch. She didn’t lean in either. But her eyes softened a little, and that was enough for now.

“You were brave,” he said softly, almost more breath than sound.

She didn’t respond, but the way her grip loosened slightly around her blanket told him she’d understood him.

After a moment, she adjusted her position, curling more comfortably beneath the covers. Her hand brushed against Jinx’s arm accidentally, and Ekko saw her pause, almost like she expected her to wake. But Jinx didn’t. She just mumbled something incoherent and pressed deeper into Ekko’s chest.

Isha settled fully then, her small form tucked beside them.

Ekko watched her—this quiet, strange, fierce little kid who slipped into their lives and hearts—for a moment longer and then closed his eyes again.

“Sleep,” he whispered, almost to himself.

And the silence returned, soft and steady, as they drifted off again—together this time.

Jinx was already awake when Ekko stirred behind her.

He didn’t open his eyes at first—just breathed in slow, familiar warmth and the scent of her hair against his throat, something coppery still clinging faintly to the strands. Her body was tucked against him, weight heavy with exhaustion but no longer restless. He could feel the slow rhythm of her breaths, steady now, even if he could tell by the tension in her shoulders that she wasn’t sleeping anymore.

His arm tightened a little around her waist. He leaned forward just enough to kiss her hair, lips brushing her scalp in a quiet good morning.

Jinx didn’t move at first, but her voice came a beat later—low and scratchy, pressed into the crook of his neck.

“…You’re awake.”

Ekko hummed softly, fingers moving in a slow, reassuring stroke up her spine. “So are you.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her body shifted slightly, angling just enough to burrow closer—forehead pressed to his throat, legs tangling with his beneath the blanket like she hadn’t meant to reach for him but couldn’t help it either.

Ekko didn’t mind. He kept his arms around her, grounded and gentle.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment, quiet but clear.

Jinx gave a tired exhale against his skin. “Sore,” she muttered. “And… filthy.”

Ekko smiled faintly. “That’s what I figured.”

She made a low noise—half groan, half grimace. “Could probably wring a whole chemical spill out of my hair.”

“I could draw a bath,” he offered again. “If you’re ready for one.”

Jinx snorted against his collarbone. “What are you, my house husband now?”

“Only on alternating Tuesdays,” he said dryly, thumb brushing a soot-smudged patch of skin just beneath her shoulder blade. “You’re due.”

That earned him the faintest twitch of a smile. She didn’t pull away.

“Maybe later,” she mumbled. “I might dissolve if I get in one right now.”

“Later it is then.”

His hand slowed again—gentle strokes through her hair now, careful not to snag the tangles or catch where old, dried blood still clung near her scalp.

They stayed like that—breathing each other in, no urgency in their bodies, only the quiet ache of the aftermath still settling beneath their skin. Jinx shifted again eventually, just enough to ease her head down onto his chest, arm draped over his ribs, one leg slung loosely across his hip.

Ekko rolled onto his back beneath her but didn’t let go—just adjusted until she was cradled more fully in the curve of his side. He wrapped the blanket tighter around them both, fingers brushing the small of her back where his palm rested.

“I like this,” she muttered, voice almost drowsy again. “This part.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Not gonna say it twice.”

Ekko smiled at the ceiling, letting the silence settle again before he spoke.

“…I’ve been thinking,” he said finally, voice soft but steady. “About something.”

Jinx didn’t move, but he felt the slight shift in her breathing. “Dangerous.”

“Maybe. But I want you to come with me.”

That earned a slight twitch of her brow. “Come with you where?”

“To the Firelight hideout. Not today, if you’re not ready—but soon.”

Her head lifted slightly, chin resting on his chest now so she could meet his eyes. He didn’t look away—just let her settle there, one hand still absently stroking her side beneath the blanket.

She studied his face warily for a moment. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I talked to Scar,” Ekko said. “He knows. He’s not just okay with it—he thinks it’s time too.”

“Scar’s not the whole hideout.”

“No. But people listen to him.” Ekko’s gaze was steady. “And to me.”

Jinx frowned faintly, gaze slipping to the side. “They know who I am.”

“They know what you used to be.”

“Same thing, far as most of them care.”

“It’s not,” he said gently. “You’re not that anymore.”

She didn’t answer. Her jaw tightened.

Ekko’s voice softened further. “I’m not saying it’ll be perfect. Some people might need time. But you’re not walking in there alone. I’ll be with you. And Isha too, if she wants to come.”

“Not leaving her alone if she doesn’t,” Jinx said quietly.

Ekko nodded. “That’s fair. Wouldn’t want that either.”

Jinx’s eyes flicked sideways toward the wall where the kid still slept—small and silent under her blanket, unmoved by the quiet conversation happening just a few feet away.

“You really think they’ll be fine with both of us?” she asked, tone unreadable now.

“I think they’ll see what I see,” Ekko said simply.

“And what’s that?”

He reached up, brushing a bit of dried paint from her cheek, and let his hand linger there.

“Someone worth protecting,” he said. “Someone still building something good, even when it hurts.”

Jinx stared at him.

After a long beat, her voice came a little hoarse. “You’re such a sap.”

“Yeah, but you keep keeping me around.”

She made a soft sound—something like a scoff, but her hand curled more tightly against his chest.

“You really want this?” she asked quietly. “You’re sure?”

“I do,” Ekko said. “But only if you want it too.”

Her fingers pinched at a thick seam in his shirt, chipped nail scraping along the ridge like she could smooth it out—like the fabric might lie flat if she just pressed hard enough. But seams didn’t work like that. Not when they were stitched from two different sides.

“…We’ll see,” she said at last, fingers releasing their hold on his clothing as she relaxes into her decision. “Not today.”

“Not today,” he echoed. His fingers traced along her temple, tucking a strand away.

Jinx laid her head down again. Her hand slid from his chest to his side, holding him close.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if anyone gives me shit, I’m blaming you.”

“You already do that.”

“Do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

“Shut up,” she said, but she was smiling against his shirt now.

And Ekko just held her tighter, warmth wrapped around her like a promise.

Chapter Text

The next day unfolded slower than the one before, like the world had finally let them breathe. Nothing urgent, no hatches creaking open with bad news, no tension humming beneath the surface. Just the steady trickle of hot water in the washbasin and the low sizzle of batter on a pan.

Ekko had insisted Isha bathe first, muttering something about making sure the hot water didn’t run out halfway through. Jinx didn’t argue. The kid deserved the first turn, and the way her small shoulders had slumped in relief when she saw the bubbles told Jinx they’d guessed right. Fluffy towel laid out. Clean sleep clothes from a stash Ekko had brought a few nights ago. A small sliver of peace carved out in the aftermath of chaos.

Jinx sat slouched on the stool at her workbench, cheek pressed to her folded arms. Her eyelids felt heavy, body dragging with that kind of exhaustion that that sleep didn’t fix.

The smell of pancakes drifted through the room, thick with vanilla and something citrusy Ekko must’ve found in one of the spice tins. Jinx cracked one eye open to watch him work—flipping the pan over the portable burner with practiced flicks of his wrist.

“You’re still here,” she muttered, voice half-muffled against her arms.

Ekko didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“You’re usually gone by now.”

He shrugged. “Not going out today.”

That made her lift her head a little more. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, setting another pancake onto the growing stack. “No patrol. No supply run. No rooftop chases or shimmer raids.”

Jinx blinked at him. “You don’t have any less dramatic Firelight stuff to do?”

“I always have Firelight stuff to do,” he said, finally glancing over his shoulder at her with a small, crooked smile. “But I’m not doing it today.”

She watched him for a second longer. “Why?”

Ekko hesitated for just a beat, then turned back to the pan. “Just don’t feel like leaving.”

“We’re fine,” she said quietly, watching him more carefully now.

“I know,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I want to be somewhere else.”

That silenced her. For a second, all she could do was watch his back—the lines of his shoulders, the soft movement of his muscles beneath the loose fabric of his shirt. The warmth in his voice had slipped past her defences before she could brace for it, soaking into old seams she hadn’t noticed were splitting. And for a moment, she felt held together.

Ekko turned off the flame and stacked the last pancake onto the plate.

Just then, Isha wandered over—clean, bundled in the slightly oversized sleep clothes, damp dark hair curling around her temples. She still looked a little tired, but her face was relaxed now, cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the bath.

Ekko smiled when he saw her, reaching for another plate. “Perfect timing,” he muttered, mostly to himself as he handed her the dish, crouching slightly to meet her eyes. “Dig in, kid. Extra syrup’s in the tin.”

She nodded silently and wandered back toward the couch with it, bare feet padding soft against the floor.

Ekko stood again, brushing his hands on a towel. “Alright,” he said, glancing toward Jinx. “You’re up next.”

Jinx groaned dramatically. “You’re gonna run a bath for me too, now?”

He arched a brow at her, grinning. “Told you—house husband. It’s Tuesday.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of fondness beneath it. “Today’s not even Tuesday.”

“Maybe. But you’re getting that bath anyway.”

He turned and headed toward the back to start it, humming under his breath.

Jinx lingered at the workbench a moment longer before glancing toward the couch where Isha had curled up with her plate—eating quietly, posture relaxed but still alert in that way Jinx was learning to recognize.

Jinx pushed up from the stool and moved over, settling beside her on the edge of the couch.

For a few moments, they sat in companionable silence—the only sounds the faint clink of fork on plate and the steady splash of water filling the tub in on the other side of the work area.

“Hey,” Jinx said eventually, tapping Isha’s ankle lightly to get her attention.

When Isha looked up, Jinx met her eyes and said—slowly, clearly— “Yesterday…” She hesitated. “Thanks. For stepping in like that.”

Isha blinked— uncertain. Her fingers twitched slightly in her lap, a small shift but no sign. Just a pause.

“But you shouldn’t’ve had to,” Jinx added, voice softer now. “You’re a kid. That’s not supposed to be your job.”

Isha’s brow knit, lips pressing into a thin line. But she didn’t look away.

Jinx sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m not mad. Just…” She gestured vaguely toward the empty air between them. “You deserve better than that.”

Another pause. Isha didn’t sign anything in reply initially, but then one hand lifted—fingers curling in a small, familiar motion. One of her home signs. Jinx didn’t know exactly what it meant, but she felt the intent: acknowledgment. Understanding.

Jinx didn’t push for more. Just leaned back slightly, watching the steam drifting lazily from the walkway where water was still running.

“Alright,” she muttered, pushing herself up. “Time to try the five-star soak the wife whipped up.”

Isha smirked faintly over her next bite of pancake.

Jinx padded up beside him quietly, arms loose at her sides, expression unreadable beneath the curtain of her tangled, grimy hair.  Ekko glanced at her, something soft stirring behind his tired eyes.

“You want help with it?” he asked, voice low—almost instinctive.

She nodded once.

So, he helped. Wordless, gentle, careful with the clasp at the back of her halter. His fingers worked the buckle loose, and she peeled the top off with a tired sigh, letting it fall into the heap of yesterday’s bloodied clothes. A moment later, Jinx stepped into the bath—easing down slowly with a wince as her sore limbs adjusted to the heat. She sank into it with a breath that left her lungs all at once, arms slung over the rim, head tilted back against the edge.

Ekko dragged over a small storage crate and sat on it, kneeling beside the tub. He reached for her braid, fingers threading through what was left of the once-neat weave, unraveling it strand by strand. She stayed still beneath his hands—quiet, half-lidded eyes, too exhausted to do anything but let him.

He dipped a washcloth in the water, wrung it out, and worked it gently over the snarled locks. He was careful around the raw scrapes near her scalp, tender where her skin still stung. He worked slowly, steady, combing through suds and grit.

Jinx didn’t speak for a while—just sat there with her eyes closed as his hands moved from her hair to her back, lathering soap and rinsing it away in smooth, unhurried strokes. She tilted forward without him needing to ask, letting him reach the spots she couldn’t. His touch stayed featherlight—never rushed, never anything more than what she needed.

At one point, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, just beneath her ear.

Her lips twitched. “You’re gonna soak your shirt,” she mumbled, barely audible.

“Too late,” he said, laughing under his breath. “Should’ve thought of that before.”

She cracked an eye open, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Could just get in with me,” she teased, the corner of her mouth curling.

“Don’t tempt me. You know I would,” Ekko chuckled, resting his elbow on the rim of the tub. It was easier like this—when she was smiling. When she let him close without flinching. He didn’t let himself wonder how much of that ease he’d built with his hands, or how fragile it might be without them.

“Mmhmm.”

“But it’s still your hideout. And she’s still around,” he added, nodding toward the other walkway where he knew Isha was curled up on the futon, out of sight behind the couch, but her presence was still felt.

Jinx smirked and leaned her chin back against the porcelain edge. “Shame.”

Ekko grinned. “Firelight compound’s got more private baths.”

That made her crack a real grin, eyes slitting open to give him a sidelong look. “S’that so?” she drawled, deliberately sultry.

“What? Don’t make it weird,” he said with a laugh, flicking a drop of water off his finger at her shoulder with a wink. “I’m just a guy who appreciates good plumbing.”

She snorted.

“That’s awful, greasebrain.”

Ekko chuckled lightly, the sound soft and warm—then let it fade.

They were silent for a moment.

Jinx glanced at the crumpled heap of clothing on the floor and sighed. “Well… I can’t exactly put that back on.”

Ekko followed her gaze and made a face. “Yeah, no. Those need a funeral.”

“More like a good soak,” she muttered, then raised her voice slightly toward him, “There’s a bin by the ladder—grab some soap and chuck ’em in, will you?”

He gave her a lazy salute and scooped up the bloodstained bundle without hesitation, heading off to the corner where the old metal wash bin sat. She heard the splash as the clothes hit the water, followed by the faint slosh of him mixing in soap.

Jinx stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in one of the towels she'd set aside earlier. She’d meant to change into the spare shirt and shorts she’d left on a crate, but her eyes snagged on something else—something familiar.

One of Ekko’s old sweaters was folded nearby. Oversized, soft from too many washes, sleeves fraying just slightly at the cuffs. She didn’t even remember when he’d brought it over.

She hesitated a second longer… then tugged it on over her towel-damp skin.

The fabric swallowed her, the neckline slipping wide towards one shoulder, nearly baring her collarbone. The sleeves drooped past her hands. It was warm and smelled faintly of him—machine oil, musky smoke, a touch of citrus from whatever soap he used—and wearing it made something in her chest flutter just a little.

When Ekko returned, he paused in the threshold—and promptly forgot how to move.

Jinx glanced up, leaning against the side of the tub, halfway through towelling the ends of her hair. “What?”

He blinked, then smiled slow and crooked. “Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “You’re making a stupid face.”

“I’m not,” he said, though he absolutely was.

She tilted her head. “You’re so pathetic. It’s almost cute.”

“I’m just appreciating the view.”

She snorted. “Of me in this?” She tugged the oversized collar playfully. “You’ve seen me naked, but this does it for you?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, smile deepening. “It really does.”

Jinx flushed faintly and raised her eyebrows, amused. “You got a thing for me stealing your clothes?”

Ekko walked closer, slow and deliberate, hands slipping around her waist as he leaned in. “Maybe.”

“You’re so easy,” she murmured, teasing, just as he kissed her—soft and lingering, his hands twisting the hem of the sweater she’d claimed.

When he pulled back, there was a glint in his eyes that made her smirk widen. “Uh-huh,” she said, “you’ve still got that look.”

“You’ve got my sweater on,” he murmured, nuzzling the side of her face. “Wearing that’s a damn threat, you know.”

“Keep staring and I’m gonna make this your problem,” she teased, voice low.

Ekko groaned against her cheek. “Too late. Already is my problem.” Then he nudged her shoulder lightly. “C’mon. Sit.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Hair,” he said, stepping behind her. “Before it becomes a bigger mess than last time.”

Jinx chuckled and settled onto the stool without argument. “You just trying to distract yourself?”

“Absolutely.”

She laughed again—quiet and warm—and let him get to work.

His fingers were careful as he brushed through her damp hair, undoing the tangles with practiced ease. He worked slow, patient, sectioning it neatly. There was something grounding in the way he moved, the way he always treated her body with reverence, even when it was just knots and curls and half-dried strands.

“I really do like seeing you in my stuff,” he said, quieter now, like he couldn’t help it.

“I noticed,” she replied smugly.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Looks better on you anyway.”

She smiled to herself, small and private, and didn’t argue.

His hands moved with quiet rhythm — part muscle memory, part care. She didn’t speak, and neither did he, the silence between them stretching easy. Outside, somewhere beyond the rusted beams and mismatched walls, the world was still Zaun. But here, with his fingers threading through her hair, it felt like something else entirely. A world their own, where Jinx could let herself just… be.

Before Ekko, the static in her head had been too loud to think—beats thumping in a rhythm that kept her hands off the dial. She couldn’t turn it down on her own. But Ekko never flinched at the sound. He just moved with it. And somehow, knowing she could trust him to help her quiet the noise made the volume feel like something she could finally work around.

Jinx shifted slightly on the stool, not to get away, but to lean just a little further into the space between them. “You always do it better than I do,” she muttered.

Ekko huffed a soft laugh. “That’s because I don’t rip through it like I’m mad at my own head.”

“Whatever,” she grumbled — but she didn’t pull away.

Ekko’s fingers made the final pass through the braid, careful and slow, tugging just enough to keep the tension neat. He gave it a slight twist at the end, holding it steady while Jinx reached for the metal clasps and snapped them back into place with a practiced flick of her fingers.

“Show-off,” Ekko teased lightly against the back of her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her from behind in a warm, quiet hug. She leaned into it, letting the weight of him drape around her for a moment.

Eventually, the spell broke—not with a word, just a gentle fidget and a discreet nudge. She bumped her head back against his with a soft clunk. “C’mon,” she said, pushing at his arms. “Let’s go see what the little goblin’s up to.”

They made their way over to the couch together, peeking over the back. Isha had sprawled out sideways on the futon, one foot kicked over the edge, completely absorbed in a sheet of crumpled paper balanced on a book. She was drawing again—charcoal smudged along her fingers and a faint stripe under one cheek where she'd rubbed her nose absentmindedly.

Jinx grinned and dropped onto the floor nearby, sitting cross-legged and tilting her head to see what the kid was sketching. “That supposed to be me or a blown fuse?”

Isha looked up briefly, smirking faintly, and gave her a lazy, dismissive hand wave that could’ve meant anything from ‘shut up’ to ‘wait for the next masterpiece.’

Ekko laughed and lowered himself beside Jinx. “That’s definitely you,” he said. “Look—see the unhinged eyes? The hair defying physics?”

Isha made a more deliberate gesture this time—one of her personal signs, rough but expressive. A hand flick out, a mock explosion of fingers. Jinx recognized it by now: Crazyhead.

Jinx snorted and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Hilarious.”

They stayed like that a while, letting the quiet settle around them. Isha’s drawings shifted from chaos to detail—little scenes, tools, a squirrel with three legs and a mechanical brace. Jinx pointed at one and raised an eyebrow. “That from the scrap yard?”

Isha nodded.

Ekko tried one of the signs he half-remembered from his father—clumsy, stiff, but earnest. A flat hand twisted forward.

Isha blinked at him, then tilted her head. It wasn’t quite right.

Jinx watched them both, then gestured the way Isha had corrected her before—a slight adjustment of the wrist Ekko hadn’t caught. “Like that,” she said softly.

Ekko tried again, slower.

This time, Isha gave him a small look of approval before tapping two fingers to her temple. Smart. Trying.

“See that?” Jinx muttered, elbowing him. “She’s warming up to you.”

Ekko offered Isha a small smile and gave her a mock-salute, which earned him a very dignified eye roll. She passed him a piece of charcoal, gesturing for him to draw too.

He hesitated for half a second—then settled beside her with an exaggerated sigh, like he was being dragged into hard labor. But the moment his hand touched the page, his posture shifted. The lines came quick, confident—shapes and angles flowing from his wrist with a fluid grace that made it obvious he hadn’t just done this once or twice before.

Jinx leaned over to peer at what he was sketching—and her teasing sputtered into something closer to a scoff. “Seriously?” she said. “You got better?”

Ekko glanced at her, amused. “Better than what?”

“Than you used to be. You used to draw like a drunk pigeon.”

“Wow. I did not,” he said, feigning offense. “I was developing a style.”

“Yeah, well, somewhere between your blueprints and hero complex, you got sneaky good.” She squinted at the page. “That perspective’s not fair. People aren’t supposed to be good at everything, y’know.”

Ekko smirked and flicked a bit of charcoal dust at her. “You sound jealous.”

“Please,” she said, flicking it right back. “I’m chaos incarnate. That’s a whole aesthetic on its own.”

“And I’m just here making you look better by contrast.”

“You wish.”

But Jinx let her shoulder lean into his, and her eyes continued to track his hand with rapt focus as skated across the page. Isha, meanwhile, had turned to watch too—eyes narrowed in concentration, head tilting as if trying to memorize each stroke.

Ekko noticed and shifted the drawing pad slightly toward her. “Wanna finish this one?” he offered gently.

Isha gave a small, thoughtful nod and reached for the charcoal, picking up where he left off. Together, they refined the sketch—Ekko adjusting a line here, Isha shading there. Jinx leaned back on her hands, watching them both now, and for a second, she didn’t say anything at all.

Then, of course, she couldn’t help herself: “You do realize if you keep this up, Isha’s gonna outdraw both of us by next week.”

Ekko smiled. “Good. Someone’s gotta keep you humble.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m capable of humility.”

They kept going like that for a while—light banter, trading charcoal sticks and mock insults, helping Isha refine her shapes while she quietly corrected their signs or added notes to the margins of her drawings in a shorthand only she understood.

Eventually, Jinx’s attention drifted—not from boredom, just ease. Her gaze flicked toward Ekko again as she felt his fingers toying with the hem of the oversized sweater she wore. It was barely perceptible, just a soft pinch of fabric between his thumb and forefinger, or a brief brush as if checking it was still there. The same gesture kept happening, and every time, it left a little warmth blooming across her cheeks.

She bent her head toward his ear while Isha was distracted shading in a corner of her drawing.

“You keep touching that sweater like it’s gonna vanish,” she whispered. “You’re never getting it back, you know.”

Ekko didn’t even pretend to protest. He just turned his head slightly and murmured back, “Fine by me, if that means you’re gonna keep wearing it.”

Jinx rolled her eyes, flustered but smiling, and nudged him with her shoulder again—no real force behind it, just affection in disguise. He let the movement pull him closer.

And for a while, he just stayed there—grateful she still wanted him close, even now. The hideout held its peace—soft, cluttered, comfortably lived-in. Just the scratch of charcoal on paper and the quiet hum of three people learning to belong.

Routine was too clean a word for how things moved down here. But the daily rhythm that had settled in was messy, warm, and theirs. It became familiar in a way that didn’t make her want to crawl out of her skin. Ekko hadn’t pushed again about the Firelight hideout since she’d agreed to go. He was giving her space. Letting her get used to the idea. Letting them breathe here a little longer, just the three of them, before they had to shift again. Before everything got more complicated.

This place—her place—was quiet in the afternoons, half-glowing from the colourful strip lights she’d wired into the walls with scavenged tech and patchy solder. Ekko was off with the Firelights today—repairs or refugees or whatever other noble thing he’d run himself ragged for. He’d said he’d be back by evening. Isha was... somewhere in the sprawl. Probably drawing chalk stars on the floor again.

Jinx sat hunched at her workbench, goggles pushed up into her hair, thumb stained with grease and thumbprint smudged across her cheek. She was halfway through piecing together a new chomper—the casing already painted, mouth jagged and open like it was laughing. One eye glued in, one socket still empty. Her fingers worked fast, nimble and certain, flipping tools back and forth like a percussion.

“C’mon, you little freak,” she muttered under her breath. “Work right, or I’m tearing out your guts and starting over.”

She was so focused on setting the spring coil in the jaw that she didn’t hear the footsteps until a tiny noise reached her ears—a soft exhale, a low grunt, the air catching like it was trying to form a word but couldn’t.

Jinx startled a little at the sudden light touch of tiny hands on her lower back and elbow. Her hand twitched and slipped on the tiny coil, which shot off across the desk, bouncing harmlessly against a tin of flat washers. She glanced sideways. A brown-haired blur at her elbow, grinning up at her with big golden eyes and a face that clearly said boo.

Jinx blinked, then let out a breathy, quiet laugh.

“You’re dangerous, y’know that?”

She reached out without thinking, ruffling Isha’s mess of hair—and snagged on a knot.

Isha flinched.

It wasn’t big. Just a tiny pull-back, like a startled animal not expecting the touch. Her head had been turned; she hadn’t seen it coming. Her whole frame held still, caught in a half-breath.

Jinx froze too, then quickly softened.

“Hey, hey,” she said, voice dipping instinctively into something gentler, her hand retreating. “Didn’t mean to—wasn’t lookin’. My bad.”

She tapped her own lips and chin, clumsy but practiced, getting Isha’s attention. Then she made a loose fist and circled it slowly over her chest—her version of ‘sorry.’ It was a little off, a little crooked, but close enough that Isha didn’t correct her.

After a pause, Jinx added, “You want me to brush it?” half-spoken, half-signed, motioning to the knot and then miming a brush stroke with exaggerated flair. Her grin tilted sideways. “Could make you all shiny. Scare the rats.”

Isha didn’t answer right away. She just looked at Jinx, eyes flicking to one of her braids—those long blue ropes of woven anarchy—and then back again. Then, she reached up and tugged gently at one of them.

Not hard. Just enough to say it.

Jinx blinked. Her grin faltered into something less cocky and quiet.

“Oh,” she said.

And then—without teasing, without comment—“Yeah, alright. Gimme a sec.”

She pushed away from the bench and stood, scooping the battered brush from one of the crates near the couch with a practiced motion. She jerked her chin toward it, and Isha climbed up, still watching her.

Jinx sat behind her, legs folded, and let her fingers hover just above Isha’s scalp. Not touching yet. Waiting.

Isha gave the smallest nod.

Jinx started brushing.

She sat sideways on the couch, one leg bent up on the cushion, the other hanging off the edge. Isha was cross-legged beside her, facing the armrest, back straight, small shoulders tense at first but slowly relaxing under the pull of the brush.

“Y’know,” Jinx said, voice casual but low, “if you want real braids—like, proper ones—you’ll have to grow this out a bit.”

She tugged gently through a tangle near the nape of Isha’s neck, careful this time. “Still long enough to work with, though. You got lucky. Good texture. Doesn’t fight back as much as mine does.”

No response, of course. Isha’s head was turned, and her hearing was patchy at best. But that was okay. It wasn’t really for her benefit anyway.

“Dunno if you can hear any of this,” Jinx muttered. “But it’s easier when I talk. Helps me not break things.”

The brush slid through again, smoother now. She caught a faint glint in the strands where the light hit — not gold, not really brown either. Something warmer. Softer. Like dusk caught on metal.

“You’ve got nice hair,” she added after a beat. “Bet no one ever told you that.”

Still no answer. Just the rise and fall of quiet breathing between them, the slow drag of bristles through knots. She worked methodically, separating the pieces with her fingers, twisting one over the next. Muscle memory. A skill she’d kept for no reason at all — and now couldn’t seem to forget.

“You ever… I dunno. Go to school? Play in the alleys? Steal sweets from a vendor? What was it like before you dropped outta the sky and landed in ours?”

Her tone wasn’t sarcastic. Just wondering. Like the question had started on a whim but lodged somewhere deeper by the time it left her mouth.

Another pause.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” she murmured. “You’re here now.”

Her hands slowed as she tightened the end of the braid. Not too tight — she remembered that lesson — and slipped the band from her wrist, looping it twice before patting the braid gently, a quiet final pass smoothing it down. She lingered longer than she meant to, fingers brushing once more over the braid. Then she shook it off.

“There,” she said, a little hoarse.

She flopped backward onto the couch with a groan, arms spread briefly before one came up to drape over her eyes. “You’re officially prettier than me. Don’t let it go to your head.”

There was a beat of stillness. Then the slight creak of movement beside her.

Jinx shifted the arm off her face just enough to peek — and blinked.

Isha was crawling up beside her, every movement quiet and deliberate. Not hesitant this time, but not bold either — just certain. Like she'd made a decision. She didn’t say anything. Just leaned in and folded into Jinx’s side, small frame pressing against her ribs. Her head found the crook of Jinx’s shoulder, and her arms folded close to her chest.

Jinx stiffened.

Not a lot. Just enough to register it. Her breath hitched minutely.

“Oh,” she said under her breath.

This wasn’t like the futon. This wasn’t shared sleep or passive closeness. This was different. Intentional. Isha had chosen her. Had decided, without words, that this was safe. That she wanted to be held — by her.

Jinx didn’t move at first.

Then, slowly, she shifted just enough to curl her arm around Isha’s side. Not tight. Not claiming. Just… there.

Present.

Isha was warm. Small. Brave in a way Jinx hadn’t been for years.

‘Kid’s got claws when she wants to,’ Jinx thought, staring at the ceiling, her hand idly brushing a thumb over the side seam of Isha’s shirt. ‘But now she’s just… warm.’

She wondered what it would’ve felt like to be that brave when she was that small. To reach for someone and have them stay.

She’d never been good at trusting people. Still wasn’t. And yet somehow, Ekko was still here. And now, this kid… This quiet little evening-burrito with tangled hair and big eyes and a death grip on her heart.

What if she moved wrong? What if the child pulled away?

But she didn’t.

So, Jinx didn’t either. Let the weight of the moment settle. Let it be what it was.

Isha’s head was warm against her shoulder. Her fingers had gone still, tucked near her chest like she’d finally stopped guarding every edge of herself. Like this—this closeness—wasn’t a risk anymore.

Jinx let her eyes drift toward the far wall, gaze unfocused.

She wasn’t sure what to call the feeling settling low in her chest.

But it stayed.

And so did she.

The hatch door groaned faintly under its own weight as it opened.

Jinx blinked, lifting her head from where it had dipped low. Isha stirred too—still tucked under her arm, but already sitting up straighter by the time Ekko stepped inside.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft with the kind of tiredness that didn’t dull his smile. “Smells like grease and chalk in here. Must’ve been a productive day.”

Jinx smirked, stretching an arm overhead as she stood. “We didn’t blow anything up. That counts.”

Isha slipped off the couch beside her, bare feet padding lightly across the floor as she moved to meet him. Ekko knelt to greet her, and his eyes caught on the braids—small and uneven, but unmistakably familiar. His grin twitched wider.

“Well, look at that,” he said, brushing a finger lightly along one of them. “My girls are matchin’. Should I be worried?”

Jinx rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the flicker in her chest.

“Only if we start painting bombs together,” she said.

“...Again,” he muttered.

She snorted, then jerked her chin toward the stove. “C’mon, help me not burn dinner.”

Ekko followed, his hand brushing lightly over Isha’s shoulder in passing. None of them said it out loud.

Once, the hush between them had felt like a wall—thick with what they couldn’t name, what they didn’t know how to give voice to. But somewhere along the line, that quiet had softened. It became something they shaped together, not to avoid meaning, but to carry it.

The glances, the gestures, the way Isha leaned instead of asked, the way Jinx hovered instead of promised—these were the sentences they’d made without words. Not silence anymore, not really. Just a language of their own, made slowly, and by hand.

The last light of day filtered through the upper branches, weaving through the platforms, and scaffolding above, casting dim, shifting shadows across the painted faces at the base of the tree. The wall of the lost shimmered in the low glow — candles half-burned, hand-drawn portraits, paper flowers, gear tags arranged in careful circles. Names spoken and unspoken. Some with stories. Some with nothing left but memory.

They met here sometimes. Not for strategy. Not for planning. Just... when something needed to be said out loud.

Ekko stepped up onto the raised stone and turned to face them — a small crowd of Firelights scattered loosely across the clearing. Scar leaned back against a support beam, arms folded. The rest stood where they’d drifted, half in shadow, half in the flickering spill of candlelight.

“I won’t take long,” Ekko began. His voice didn’t rise, but it carried. “I just wanted to give everyone a heads-up. No surprise drops.”

That earned a few glances. Not hostile, just... expectant.

He shifted his weight slightly. “I’ve been gone a lot lately. That’s on me. I should’ve said something sooner. But—”

A pause. Not hesitation exactly, just the weight of choosing what came next.

“I’ve been seeing Jinx.”

A beat. Stillness sharper than silence.

“You’ve been what?” That was Quinn — dry, almost amused, like she thought she misheard.

Ekko held her gaze. “Not once. Not by accident. I’ve been spending time with her. Talking. Trying to figure out who she is now.”

A voice near the back — flat, quiet: “You already knew who she was.”

Scar’s gaze slid sideways at that.

“She’s not with Sevika,” Ekko said, steady. “She’s not running shimmer. She’s not looking for fights. She’s just—trying to live.”

His breath hitched for a second, almost unnoticeably. “And we’ve been looking after a kid.”

That pulled a sharper ripple from the group — not just surprise, but the beginning edge of unease.

“You and her?” Rae asked, brows lifting. “Together?”

Ekko opened his mouth, then paused — the shape of the answer there, but not the sound.  His silence wasn’t evasive, just... incomplete. Like he hadn’t quite decided what the answer was yet, or maybe wasn’t sure if saying it out loud would change it.

“We’ve been looking after her,” Ekko said. “The girl doesn’t talk much — signs a little. She’s young. Got caught up in things she didn’t ask for. We took her in.”

Quinn crossed her arms. “So, what’s this? You bringing them here?”

He nodded once. “That’s the plan.”

He expected questions. He didn’t expect the laugh.

It came from Chase — seated low on the steps, one boot braced against the stone, arms slung loosely over his knees. Not cruel. Just sharp. Disbelieving.

“I knew you were out a lot,” Chase said. “Figured maybe there was someone... someone normal.”

Scar shifted beside the pillar. Ekko’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to it.

“What does that mean?”

Chase looked up, finally meeting his eyes. “I mean, I thought maybe you’d found someone who didn’t try to kill our people.”

The air thinned around them.

Quinn’s gaze flicked toward the wall — just for a second. Her eyes lingered on the smeared edge where Eve’s portrait still looked too fresh to belong.

“You don’t get to just walk in here and drop a bomb like this,” Chase said, voice low.

“I didn’t drop anything,” Ekko answered.

“Not this time,” Chase muttered. “That’s her thing.”

Scar pushed off the wall with a small shift of weight. “You think you’re the only one who’s lost people, Chase?”

“I think some of us remember who took them.”

Ekko drew a breath, long and even. “She’s not who she used to be. I wouldn’t bring her here if she was.”

“You sure?” Chase asked. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re too close to see straight anymore.”

The silence that followed wasn’t surprised. It was heavy. Familiar.

Scar didn’t speak. Neither did the others.

Ekko’s eyes moved over them — not defensive or demanding. Just searching.

“You don’t have to like it,” he said. “But I’m bringing them. I’m not asking for permission. I’m giving you the respect of hearing it first.”

Silence.

“You don’t get to make that call alone,” someone said. It wasn’t angry — just firm. Measured. From one of the older builders, Farron, whose voice usually came with pragmatism, not pushback.

Ekko didn’t flinch. “I’ve brought people in before.”

“Not like this,” Farron said. “And not without asking.”

A ripple of quiet agreement stirred the crowd — small nods, murmured affirmations.
Scar’s gaze flicked once toward the mural, but he stayed silent.

“This is a community,” Quinn added. “Not a command structure.”

“I know that.” Ekko’s voice stayed level. “But I also know what she’s capable of — and what she’s not anymore.”

Chase scoffed and gestured vaguely behind them, toward the wall. “What she’s not anymore? She’s the reason Eve’s face’s up there. You think we just forgot that?”

“She’s not the same,” Ekko said. “I’m not asking anyone to forget what happened. I’m telling you she’s trying.”

Chase didn’t soften. “Trying not to kill anyone isn’t exactly a high bar.”

Then, sharper: “How long do you think that lasts?”

Ekko’s posture didn’t change, but his hand flexed at his side — a quiet, unconscious tick.

“She’s been stable,” he said. “Working. Resting. Watching out for the girl. She hasn’t—”

“With you,” Chase cut in. “She’s been stable with you.”

He leaned forward now, voice colder. “What happens if something happens to you?”

That hit harder than Ekko expected. Not just for the room — but for him.

The silence wasn’t long, but it reached deeper than the others. There was a pull in his chest, not panic exactly — just something sinking. A pressure under the ribs. A thought he hadn’t let finish until now.

Chase didn’t stop.

“You want us to house a live grenade and just hope you’re around to keep the pin in place? There are kids here. Families. We’re not your experiment.”

Scar moved for the first time since the exchange began — a step forward, slow and deliberate.

“She’s not a grenade,” he said. “She’s a person. One who’s been used as a weapon by half the people in this city. She doesn’t need more of that.”

Chase didn’t even blink. “You’ve never even met her.”

“I trust Ekko,” Scar replied. “And I’ve seen people come back from worse.”

Chase folded his arms, unmoved. “I’m not risking her losing it one night and blowing through the floor into the kids’ quarters.”

Ekko exhaled slowly through his nose. Not a sigh — just a reset. A stretch of calm to fill the space before his voice returned.

“She’s not a threat to you,” he said. “Or to the kids.”

“You sure?” Chase pressed again. “Or is that just what you need to believe?”

When Ekko answered, it was careful. Earnest.

“I know her. Not just the stories. Not just the damage. I’ve seen her hold herself together when it would’ve been easier to fall apart.” His gaze lowered, not in shame, but in memory. “I’ve seen her protect someone smaller — not because she had to. Because she wanted to.”

He paused. Let that sit.

“She never got a real chance,” he added. “Not from Piltover. Not from Zaun. Not from us. But she’searned one.”

His eyes swept the space in front of him — not challenging, just steady.

“You don’t have to like it. But that doesn’t make it untrue.”

The words hung between them, delicate and brittle, like ice stretched thin in morning light.

Scar’s voice followed, softer now. “You’d be surprised what someone can do when they’re not being looked at like they’re about to explode.”

Ekko didn’t move. But his throat worked once — a small shift, almost nothing. A swallow that wasn’t nerves exactly, but weight.

No one else spoke.

The candlelight played against the mural behind them. Eve’s face — hand-painted, imperfect — hovered just out of the glow. Watchful. Quiet.

A breath passed. Then two.

Farron broke it.

Still calm. “Then,” he said, “we vote.”

Ekko inhaled — just enough to speak — but the words never made it out.

From the edge of his vision, Scar gave a slight shake of his head. Not now.

Ekko’s jaw set, then eased.

He gave a single nod.

The process was quiet. No raised hands, no dramatic declarations — just murmured votes.

Yes. No. Yes. Silence.

Scar counted without writing it down.

When he looked up, he gave a single confirming nod.

It passed — but only just.

Ekko didn’t feel relieved, exactly. The win landed like something breakable — something he had to hold carefully in both hands. Like if he breathed wrong, it might crack.

Chase stood slowly. No dramatic push-off or storming out. Just that same disbelieving calm as he passed Ekko on the steps.

“She better be worth what it’s gonna cost.”

Ekko flinched, almost imperceptibly. But he didn’t turn.

The candlelight danced faintly along the edge of the mural wall. One of the paper names fluttered as the wind moved through the tree.

Scar was still behind him. A quiet presence.

“I asked her already,” Ekko said. The words felt heavier in the air than they had in his head. “I thought I knew how this would go.”

Scar didn’t respond at first. The candlelight caught his shoulder as he stepped up beside him.

“I thought they’d trust me,” Ekko added, voice lower now.

Scar’s reply was soft. “They do. Most of them.”

Ekko nodded — a bare tilt of his head. His face didn’t shift much, but something behind his eyes narrowed inward. A feeling he couldn’t quite pin down with his thumb. It wasn’t fear or doubt… just the strange pressure of being the one holding it all — and wondering if maybe, somehow, he was the fragile one. There had been something about the way they’d looked at him. The way he’d sounded — like someone selling a promise they weren’t quite sure how to keep.

He didn’t question her.

But something settled behind his ribs. A weight that hadn’t been there before.

Not doubt. Not really.

Just the quiet ache of carrying something delicate and realizing you didn’t know if you were holding it together… or just holding it.

And not knowing which would hurt more.

Ekko didn’t say it out loud.

Didn’t even finish the thought.

He just stood there, watching the candles burn.

Chapter Text

Jinx didn’t know why her hands were twitchy.

It wasn’t adrenaline. At least, not the usual kind. She wasn’t expecting a fight. She wasn’t carrying any explosives. No one was chasing them today. And yet, every time she tried to sit still, her leg bounced, her fingers fidgeted, her breath came just a little too shallow.

She wasn’t nervous.

She wasn’t.

Not about the Firelight camp. Not about the stares, or the unspoken question behind them: what the hell was Ekko thinking bringing her in?

She’d been stared at worse. Been feared, hated, hunted. This wasn’t new.

And yet…

She lingered by the door to her hideout, half-hidden in the crook of the wall, watching Ekko crouch beside Isha as he helped her tie the laces of her new—well, new-to-her—boots. He’d found them a few nights ago in one of the quieter markets, just sturdy enough to last and small enough to fit her little feet. Isha stood like a half-feral alley cat most of the time, but she’d grinned when he’d handed them over, even if it mostly only showed in the corners of her eyes.

Now she was quiet again—watching him carefully as he worked, one knee on the floor, fingers steady, tone low and patient as he explained how to adjust the buckle strap if it got too tight.

It was a stupidly soft sight.

And if Jinx hadn’t been keyed up with nerves, she probably would’ve melted a little.

Because, damn, he was good with kids.

Too good. Calm and patient and warm in a way that made her chest ache in places she didn’t like to look too closely. The kind of good that made people want to build futures with him. Families.

Dangerous kind of good.

She swallowed hard, arms folded across her chest tighter than they needed to be.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Not thinking about how natural it looked—the way he smiled at Isha, how gentle his hands were. How careful he was with her comfort. How maybe it made something hot and low coil in her gut in a way she didn’t even know how to name. Not thinking about that.

Because what was she gonna do, imagine herself with kids?

The idea was laughable.

She wasn’t built for futures. She was barely built for now.

Still, her eyes didn’t leave them as Ekko stood up, brushing dust off his hands, gaze flicking across the room—until it found hers.

Jinx startled like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

But Ekko’s eyes just crinkled into a smile like it was nothing at all and crossed the space between them. He didn’t say anything at first—just set his hands gently at her hips, thumbs pressing in slow circles against the fabric of her cloak, grounding her.

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of her eye with the same ease he always did.

“It’ll be fine,” he murmured.

Jinx didn’t respond for a moment. Her fingers twitched against her sides. She hated how good he was at reading her.

“I’m not worried,” she muttered.

“You keep saying that.”

“I mean it.”

His hands squeezed gently. “Okay.”

Then, without another word, he reached up and tugged her hood into place—drawing it forward over the sharp mess of blue strands she never bothered to hide any other way. It cast her face in deeper shadow, the colour tucked beneath fabric and motion. He caught her hand, gave it a familiar squeeze, and headed for the door.

She let him lead.

It wasn’t until they were halfway down the first tunnel—boots echoing in the narrow passage, Isha’s lighter footfalls close behind, one hand loosely hooked into the edge of Jinx’s cloak as they wove through the maze of old tripwires and scatter traps—that Jinx looked down and realized her hand was still in his.

They stopped just short of the gate—tucked in the final curve of the tunnel, shadows swallowing their outlines. The old sewer door loomed ahead, reinforced and unmistakably Firelight. Faint voices drifted from the other side, filtered through layers of steel and root.

Jinx stood stiff beside Ekko. She hadn’t let go since they left the hideout. Not really on purpose. Not really not on purpose either.

Ekko’s thumb swept over her knuckles once.

"You ready?" he asked gently, voice low in the hush.

Jinx didn’t answer right away. Her shoulders twitched faintly—somewhere between a shrug and a stretch, like the question had nudged something under her skin. Her fingers flexed in his grip, but she still didn’t let go.

"Define ready," she muttered. Then, with a thin, lopsided smirk, "If they shoot me on sight, you’re carrying me home."

Ekko huffed a quiet laugh. “Noted.”

He leaned in and kissed her briefly in the dark, like it might help settle the nerves she still wouldn’t admit she had. Then he turned toward the door, working the rusted handle loose. Metal groaned under his hand, hinges grinding as the weight shifted, and the tunnel air stirred with the first hint of something brighter beyond.

She gripped his hand tighter as the door edged open, scraping faint against the frame. Light spilled in—not just electric, but real, dappled, diffused through leaf and cloth and warm-painted glass.

Jinx and Isha stepped through behind Ekko and saw it all at once: the towering tree at the heart of it, its roots sunk deep into concrete and old pipe, its limbs draped in banners and soft canopies of green. Homes had been built into the branches—spiralling upward in layers, a living, breathing structure that pulsed with motion and colour and life. Kids laughed somewhere near the grassy clearing below, their voices sharp and light, punctuated by the clatter of a rolling cart and the sound of a wind chime catching a breeze that shouldn’t exist this far underground.

Jinx stopped dead in her tracks.

It didn’t feel like Zaun. It didn’t feel like anything she’d ever known. And maybe that’s what hit hardest. The breath caught in her throat for reasons she didn’t have words for.

Beside her, Isha’s eyes went wide. The pull on Jinx’s cloak sharpened—the child’s whole frame tilted forward, pulled by wonder.

Jinx turned slowly toward Ekko, mouth parted slightly. “You live here?”

Ekko smiled. “Yeah.”

“…You built this?”

“Some of it,” he said with a small shrug, still watching her. “The rest grew as more people joined.”

Jinx looked around again. “Feels like it’s from some other world.”

“It’s ours,” he said quietly.

Before she could answer, the sound of footsteps pulled her attention toward the path ahead. A lean, familiar figure was already making his way toward them—loping with easy purpose, one hand raised in a loose greeting. Ekko held her hand for a beat longer, gave it a soft squeeze before he stepped forward to meet Scar.

“Scar!” he called.

The other Firelight grinned as he reached them, offering a fist out toward Ekko in greeting. They knocked knuckles, exchanged a few words Jinx didn’t quite catch—their tone easy and confident.

Isha edged closer as the stranger approached, her hand tightening on Jinx’s cloak hem. Without thinking, Jinx let her palm settle gently on top of Isha’s head—fingers brushing the rim of her hat, steady and protective. The girl didn’t move away. Just stayed there, half-tucked against Jinx’s legs, watching the new arrival through narrowed eyes.

Then Ekko turned back to them. “This is Scar,” he said. “Scar, this is Jinx… and Isha.”

Scar’s gaze flicked to both of them, assessing but not cold. He dipped his chin in a kind of nod, not quite formal. “Heard a lot,” he said simply.

Jinx raised an eyebrow. “All bad, I’m sure.”

Scar’s grin tilted, eyes flicking between them. “Heard plenty. Mostly about how stressed he was making sure you’d eat what he cooked.”

Jinx arched an eyebrow, guarded but curious. “Made you taste it, did he?”

Scar gave a short nod. “Couple times.”

Jinx snorted under her breath. “Overachiever.”

Scar’s mouth twitched. “Keeps him up at night.”

A beat passed—just long enough to feel the weight of where they stood. But Scar’s voice stayed easy.

“So, what’s the deal?” Scar asked, not quite sharp. “You planning on hanging around here more? Might do him some good. He won’t have to mope around like a kicked puppy every time he can’t stay over.”

Jinx tilted her head, grin crooked. “Don’t count on me making anything easier.”

Scar just shrugged. “We’ve handled worse.”

Something in the easy back-and-forth loosened the knot behind her ribs.

And still… her hand itched slightly where Ekko’s had been.

There was a murmur of voices—low, uncertain at first—rippling across the clearing as more eyes turned their way. Heads leaned out from doorways, conversations stilled mid-sentence, and boots scuffed to a stop on the walkways above. The scent of iron and sun-warmed wood hung in the air, but beneath it was something thinner, tauter: the sound of notice.

Jinx felt it crawl over her skin—curiosity pressing in from all sides. Some faces wore frowns. Others, wariness. But no one moved against them, and none of the voices sharpened into open anger. There was no wall of hostility. Not yet.

Still, the itch behind her ribs hadn’t gone away.

And then—softly, without ceremony—Ekko’s hand found hers again.

He didn’t pull. Just linked their fingers like it was the easiest thing in the world, then started forward toward the tree.

Jinx followed.

They passed a few people on the way—Firelights standing in quiet clusters, watching from balconies or leaning on railings overhead. Ekko offered nods here and there, greeted one or two with a low word she couldn’t quite make out. No one returned it coldly. A few even smiled, small but real.

It was surreal, moving through a space like this, her boots brushing the edge of grass that looked too bright and too green for underground life. Somewhere beyond the mural wall, a child shrieked with laughter. Something about the sound made her feel like she was walking underwater.

Ekko led them toward a staircase winding around the base of the tree, tucked behind thick roots and curling upward toward the canopy dwellings. But just before they reached it, Jinx’s steps faltered.

Her hand twitched in his, tugging gently.

He turned back immediately.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She was staring at the wall.

It stood tall and wide, set along the curve of a support column just left of the main stairs. A painted memorial, layered in old photographs, stencilled portraits, hand-drawn sketches faded by years. Dozens of faces stared back. Some smiling, some solemn. All gone.

Her eyes locked on one near the center—short-cropped curls, soft freckles, a young face painted in warm tones that didn’t match the way it had ended.

Jinx’s breath stuttered.

“Eve,” she said quietly, not quite a question.

Ekko followed her gaze and nodded once.

Jinx didn’t say anything at first. Her fingers flexed faintly in his. Then: “She was just a kid.”

Ekko didn’t answer right away. Just stood with her in the stillness, hand firm in hers.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, quietly.

Jinx stared at the wall a beat longer, then let her gaze drift toward the base where the paint aged more—two smaller faces stood out near the bottom, younger versions of Vi and Powder captured in bold strokes and bright colour.

“You painted those?”

“Back when I thought they were both gone,” he said. His voice was low, but not heavy. “Vi disappeared after the prison raid. And you… well.”

She didn’t say anything for a beat. Then, her voice thinner than she meant, “D’you mourn me?”

Ekko’s smile was faint. “I tried.”

They stood there for a moment longer, hand in hand before Jinx turned her head toward the stairs winding up the tree. Her eyes flicked toward his again, something unreadable flickering behind them. Then, for a second, her thumb brushed slow along his knuckles.

“Alright,” she said softly. “Show me the rest.”

Ekko squeezed her hand back once more, and together they started to climb.

The winding stairs wrapped around the tree’s massive trunk, spiralling through filtered shafts of daylight that managed to reach down even this far through the layers of cavernous steel above. Isha walked slightly ahead, her wide eyes flicking over every strange detail—patchwork bridges, swaying lanterns, glimpses of coloured cloth fluttering from upper walkways. She’d never seen anything like it.

Jinx hadn’t either.

Halfway up, she reached out, lightly tapping the back of Isha’s miner helmet with two fingers. The girl turned, alerted by the motion, eyes lifting toward her. Jinx gave her a crooked little smile, the kind that was trying too hard not to look soft.

“What do you think?” she asked, voice pitched quiet—more out of mood than necessity.

Isha tilted her head, then mimed something—a motion like a sunburst expanding in her hands, accompanied by a subtle grin.

Jinx huffed a laugh through her nose. “Yeah. Big showoff, this guy,” she said, jerking a thumb toward Ekko.

He turned his head just enough to catch that, an amused glance flicked her way. “You say that like I didn’t haul half of this junk up here myself.”

“Yeah, yeah—Mr. Big Brain probably decorated with prototypes just to make the rest of us feel dumb,” Jinx shot back, but her tone was warm beneath the bite.

They reached a landing where a crooked wooden walkway branched toward a rounded door nestled between sturdy beams close to the tree’s trunk. Ekko stopped beside it, resting a hand against the latch. “This is me.”

He pushed it open, and the scent of soldered wire, aged paper, and sun-warmed wood spilled out into the hallway. Jinx stepped in after him, eyes sweeping the space.

It was messy. Mechanical parts and half-finished sketches littered the workbench by the wall, a cluster of experimental wings dangling from the ceiling in various states of disaster. There were gears stacked beside books, wire spools half-unraveled across a side table, and a battered couch tucked against the opposite wall with a blanket thrown haphazardly across the back. Sunlight filtered in through a broad window, catching the dust in lazy gold trails and illuminating the edges of it all.

Isha darted ahead, curious as ever, already poking around the shelves.

Jinx lingered in the doorway, arms loose at her sides. “Yeah,” she said, voice dry yet fond. “Screans ‘Ekko.’”

He chuckled behind her and nudged her hip gently with his own as he stepped past. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would,” she shot back.  Stepping forward, she lightly fingered the wing of a dangling prototype before tossing him a smirk over her shoulder, “called it.  You’re so predictable, boy genius.”

Ekko just laughed.

“There’s a bedroom down the hall to the left,” he said casually, turning away to move an empty mug away from the edge of the table.  He wasn’t looking at her as he continued, “and a second one on the right. Could clear it out easy. If you two… y’know. Wanted to stay a while.”

Jinx blinked, the words catching in her chest a second too long before she could pretend that they hadn’t. It didn’t make sense, how hard it landed—warm and low in her ribs—but there it was anyway.

He was offering them a home.

Again.

Another one.

First the attic, then her hideout, now this—already smelling like him, already another thing he was offering without saying it. She hadn’t even properly settled into her own space yet, and here he was, already offering another.

Jinx looked over at him, at the way he was crouching to gently pull a scrap of wire out of Isha’s fingers before she broke it—or herself. His voice was soft when he explained what it did, fingers brushing hers as he showed her the switch mechanism. The girl nodded seriously, enthralled. She didn’t know what made her heart twist more—the way Isha listened like she trusted every word, or the way Ekko never made it sound like teaching. Just like sharing.

Something twisted and loosened all at once in her chest.

“You really don’t do things halfway,” she said, a little too quiet, a little too honest.

Ekko glanced over at her and gave a crooked smile. “Not with you.”

Jinx rolled her eyes, but it didn’t land with its usual sharpness. She looked away, feeling her throat go a little tight for no reason she wanted to voice aloud.

“Okay,” she muttered, brushing her knuckles against the wall like it meant nothing. “So, how the hell d’you fit all this junk in here without it collapsing?”

And just like that, they kept moving.

And though she played it off, whatever fluttered loose in her chest slipped down to her gut and stayed there, humming steady in her bones— etched there now, steady as the beat beneath her ribs.

The room was quiet, except for the soft hum of life beyond the walls—distant laughter from somewhere lower in the tree, the groan of wood settling against old metal struts. Evening light filtered in through the wide window, catching on the cluttered bits of scrap and half-built projects that littered Ekko’s shelves, but Jinx barely saw any of it.

She sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on her knees, fingers laced loosely. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, but her mind was far away.

How had they even ended up here?

It felt like she’d blinked, and the world had shifted around her. One day she was alone in her hideout, teeth bared at the idea of softness, survival balanced on a wire. The next, there was Ekko again—Ekko with his damn hands steady and his eyes too kind and his voice always finding her, even when she didn’t want to be found.

Then Isha. Then dinners, and quiet mornings, and lazy afternoons that crept in when she wasn’t looking.

Then today.

Clearing out that spare room hadn’t been a decision, not really. It had just… happened. A box moved, then another. A mess swept away. The old cot wedged into place while Ekko knelt with a wrench, muttering about stripped screws and missing bolts like it was just any other day.

She hadn’t said yes.

But she hadn’t said no either.

And now here she was, in his room. His space. Sitting on his bed while her kid slept in the next room, and her own fingers still smelled faintly of the old wood polish she’d helped rub into the desk Isha had claimed for herself.

Jinx stilled.

When had that happened? When had Isha become hers?

She hadn't meant to make space for anyone else. The kid had just started following her one day, all quiet eyes and stubborn footsteps, and Jinx— before she even stopped to question it—had let her stay. Told herself it was temporary. That it was just easier to stop shaking her off. But then she’d started saving food in twos instead of ones. Started watching how Isha flinched when strangers came too close. Started reaching for her first when things went loud or sideways.

And now the kid had a room. A desk. A table set for three. Ekko looking at her like staying had always been the plan.

She couldn’t make sense of it—couldn’t square it with the crisp edges she was used to.

Literally this morning, she’d told herself this wasn’t who she was. That she wasn’t built for futures, wasn’t meant for anything soft or steady. That imagining herself with kids was some kind of joke. But maybe the real joke was that she’d already started living it without noticing—already had a kid now—and the absurdity of it was that it didn’t feel absurd at all.

It felt… real in a way she hadn’t planned for.

And maybe that was the scariest part.

She could still feel the press of Ekko’s hand on the small of her back from earlier, guiding her wordlessly through the Firelight corridors. Could still hear the laugh he’d half-choked out when Isha had mimed something too fast for either of them to catch and then rolled her eyes like they were the ones being difficult. Could still feel the softness draped over her, like someone had tossed a blanket over barbed wire—all comfort on the outside, but her nerves kept catching underneath.

It was too easy.

Too good.

Milo hissed at the edges of her mind, sharp as cold air creeping under the door. It won’t last.

She didn’t answer him. He hadn’t said much in days, just hung around the edges of her thoughts like a bad draft, waiting for her to slip.

She wanted to pretend he was fading. That maybe Ekko’s hands and Isha’s steady presence and the faint smell of pancakes in the mornings were enough to drown out all the old ghosts.

But she didn’t trust it.

She didn’t trust herself.

She glanced toward the hallway, fingers twitching in her lap. This wasn’t a trap. This wasn’t a trick. No one was waiting to tear it out from under her. But the fear sat heavy anyway, clawing at the ribs of her heart like it had every right to be there.

The door creaked open behind her.

She didn’t move, just listened to the familiar cadence of Ekko’s boots on the floor.

“She’s out cold,” he said, voice low and fond. “Didn’t even make it to the pillow. Just face-planted.”

Jinx’s lips quirked faintly at that.

Ekko leaned against the doorframe for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll see if we can scavenge a real bed for her tomorrow—something not held together with old guilt and a roll of tape.”

Jinx turned her head slightly, just enough to see him from the corner of her eye.

He looked like he always did—tired, a little scuffed from the day, residue of the day worked into his hands—but something about it landed differently tonight.

Maybe it was the way he was already half-focused on logistics, on making this easier, better. Maybe it was the way he’d said we earlier without even thinking about it. Or maybe it was just the way he looked at her right now, soft-eyed and quiet, like nothing about this was strange or heavy or difficult. Like it was just living. Like it was just them.

And it hit her like a bolt between the ribs.

She loved him.

There was no ceremony to it, no dramatic spike of adrenaline or thudding heart. Just the slow, unshakable certainty settling into her bones like warmth after a long freeze.

She was in love with him.

It terrified her.

She dropped her gaze again, heart hammering now in a way that had nothing to do with fear of the Firelights or ghosts or the past. He didn’t seem to notice the shift in her yet. Just stepped into the room fully, shaking the stiffness out of his shoulder and tossing a tool roll onto the side table before toeing off his boots.

She kept watching him in silence, unsure what to say.

And for once, not because she had too many words.

But because this feeling—this thing—all of it—was too big for words.

She must’ve made some small sound, some hitch in her breath or twitch in her fingers, because Ekko’s gaze found her again. His brows lifted faintly—not in alarm, just a quiet question.

He came closer.

Jinx didn’t move.

She wasn’t sure she could. Her limbs felt heavy, thoughts heavier. She kept her eyes down even as the mattress dipped beside her, his presence a steady warmth at her side.

A beat passed. Then another.

Ekko didn’t crowd her. He just sat there, elbow resting on one knee, thumb absently tapping a slow rhythm against his knuckle like he was letting her find her own footing before he asked.

Eventually, his hand lifted, slow and deliberate, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

She didn’t flinch, but her jaw clenched—just barely. She leaned into the touch before she even meant to. His palm cradled her face gently, thumb brushing just beneath her eye. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Jinx swallowed hard. The words jammed in her throat, stuck somewhere behind the pulse in her neck.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. Honest. Bare. “I think… I might be.”

Ekko’s mouth tilted into a smile—small, crooked, quietly affectionate. He didn’t say anything… just nodded like that answer was enough. She let her fingers drift to his wrist, anchoring herself in his warmth.

She let out a slow breath through her nose. “I wasn’t meant to stay this long.”
Her eyes fell shut for half a beat. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Things like this never ask permission.”

“I didn’t mean to—” She broke off, brow furrowing. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

“I hear you,” he said, voice soft but certain.

“I just… I don’t even know when it changed. When it stopped being temporary. When you—when she—” Her voice cracked and she looked away again, blinking hard. “I don’t know what this is.”

He shifted a little closer, his forehead nudging gently against hers in the quiet.

“It’s us,” he said. “That’s all.”

Just that. No pressure. No expectations.

Just the truth, laid bare and offered like something she could choose to hold.

And for a moment, Jinx stayed frozen, teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek, breath catching against the rising tide of everything threatening to crest in her chest. But then her face tipped into his palm, her cheek sinking against his hand as her eyes fell shut.

It wasn’t about the shape of what came next. It was this—where she’d ended up without meaning to, and where, somehow, she fit. Whatever the road ahead looked like, it could wait. For now, she let herself just sit with the feeling as it slowly sunk into her skin.

Ekko stayed close, hand still cradling her jaw, his forehead resting gently against hers like he didn’t mind just sitting there breathing with her. Letting her exist in the space between what she’d said and what she hadn’t.

His other hand rose up, and carefully brushed a few strands of her hair back from her face. His callused fingers were warm and when they skimmed lightly down her temple, trailing along her cheekbone, she didn’t stop him.

“I meant it,” he said quietly, voice barely more than a breath. “What I said before. You don’t have to know what it is yet. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her throat tightened. She nodded faintly, once. Maybe twice.

His thumb moved again — soft, grounding.

“I care about you, Jinx,” he whispered.

She opened her eyes at that. Blinked at him. Not in alarm. Just… something softer than surprise. Something like gravity settling into her bones.

He gave her a crooked little smile, one corner of his mouth lifting in that unguarded way he almost never let show unless it was just them. “I know you know that already,” he murmured. “But I needed to say it.”

Jinx didn’t say anything right away. Her chest ached, full of too much feeling and not enough space for all of it. So instead, she reached up and curled her fingers lightly around his wrist — thumb brushing over the inside of it, slow.

“Yeah,” she said eventually. “I know.”

Her voice was a little rough, but not sharp enough to cut the quiet around them. She leaned into him, forehead brushing his again.  Just… to be near.

They stayed like that for a breath. Maybe two.

Then he shifted again, just slightly, and pressed a kiss to her temple. Another near her cheekbone. A third near the corner of her mouth — close enough she could feel his breath when he lingered there. She held her body still. Her hand slid from his wrist up to the back of his neck, fingers curling loosely in his hair. Not pulling. Just holding him there.

Her lips found his.

Slow. Gentle. Like breathing each other in after holding it too long. Nothing to prove. Just a kiss that said, I’m here. You’re here. We’re still here.

When they finally pulled apart, Jinx didn’t let him go far.

She touched her forehead to his again, eyes half-lidded now, her body warm and loose from the weight of everything finally easing from her shoulders. He shifted with her when she leaned into him more, arms instinctively going around her.

They eased down together, bodies folding into the shape of each other. Jinx stayed wrapped around him, her hand still threaded in his hair, her lips brushing the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat steady beneath the skin. His fingers drifted back to her hair, slow and absent, like they hadn’t meant to leave.

For a while, the hush between them filled only by the soft cadence of their breathing, the shared weight of being together, being held. Just the quiet hum of breath and warmth and skin. The steady comfort of belonging.

Ekko’s hand traced the line of her spine, comfort softening the edges of the heat that lingered underneath.

“You remember when I said I didn’t wanna rush it?” he murmured against her temple, voice low and half-laced with a smile.

Jinx huffed a faint breath, her fingers tightening subtly where they rested against his chest. “Kinda hard to forget,” she said, lips brushing his jaw. “You were all noble and annoying about it.”

He chuckled softly, but didn’t refute it. His fingertips danced a slow line across her ribs, gentle and unhurried.

Her hand slid up the side of his neck. “You’re still annoying,” she added, softer now. “But I get it. We needed this—” She paused, searching for the right words before letting it land with nothing more than, “Time.”

His breath caught faintly, just for a second. Then he nodded, head dipping to rest against hers again.

And this time, he was the one who leaned down to kiss her.

There was nothing frantic in it—just the quiet certainty of yes. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she deepened the kiss, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned, heat building where skin met fabric. Then—without letting him go—she shifted, rolling them gently so he landed above her, her legs parting just slightly beneath him, anchoring him there.

Ekko broke the kiss on a quiet breath, eyes flickering down to hers. His hands rested at her waist, holding the space between them like something fragile.

Jinx looked up at him, lips parted, eyes wide and impossibly clear in the dim light. One of her hands smoothed up along his shoulder, the other staying firm at the back of his neck like she needed to keep him close.

“You good?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, thumb brushing over the skin just beneath her ribs.

She nodded—small, but sure.

And then his hands moved again, trailing up her sides in a slow, languid motion that had her gasping softly into his mouth when he kissed her again—deeper this time, more deliberate.

Her breath hitched, hips tilting slightly into his as his palms skimmed higher like he was tracing something sacred.

Then he paused, just slightly pulling back—hovering above her, eyes meeting hers in a long, quiet moment.

Not asking permission. Just… holding space.

She looked up at him, chest rising and falling with shallow, steady breaths. Her hand came to his cheek, fingers brushing lightly there. Her thumb swept the corner of his mouth.

Her mouth curved, something gentle and unguarded settling into place.

“Still not rushing,” she whispered.

Ekko’s smile mirrored hers, soft and aching with everything he didn’t quite have words for yet.

“No,” he said. “Just us.”

Their mouths found each other again, the kiss deepening as the warmth between them coiled tighter. Jinx’s hands wandered without hesitation now—over the planes of his shoulders, the solid curve of his chest, then slipping under the hem of his shirt where her fingers spread wide against his skin.

He gasped softly into her mouth at the contact, and she grinned against his lips, smug and flushed and hungry.

The kiss broke for only a moment—just long enough for her to tug his shirt up and over his head, her breath catching as she took him in again. The soft bronze of his skin, the lines of muscle, the familiar pattern of old scars she knew by touch as much as sight. He didn’t even wait for the fabric to hit the floor before diving back in, kissing her like he couldn’t stand the distance a second longer.

His weight pushed into her, the warmth of his chest smearing soft against hers in a way that made her ache. He leaned his forearm just above her head, braced against the mattress. His other hand sliding along her side, knuckles dragging a path that left her burning in its wake. His lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, then lower—along her neck where he kissed and sucked at the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

Her breath hitched, fingers wandering over the shorn sides of his head, tracing the velvety shortness where his hair tapered close to the skin.

His free hand moved higher, skimming the fabric of her halter top until it found the strap behind her shoulders. He worked the buckle loose with practiced ease, the leather slackening as he kept kissing his way down to her collarbone. His mouth was warm and open against her skin, breath stirring goosebumps in his wake.

When his hand slipped beneath the loosened top and cupped her chest, her back arched against him. She moaned—a soft, broken sound that spilled into the space between them, raw and honest and entirely unguarded.

She hooked a leg around his waist instinctively, drawing him tighter against her, wanting him closer—needing him closer. His weight, his warmth, the feel of his skin against hers—everything in her lit up like fire beneath the surface, slow and spreading, deeper than just desire.

Ekko groaned softly against her throat, and the sound sent a shiver through her. He pressed his hips more snugly into the cradle of her thighs, his hand sliding down again to trace the curve of her waist, fingers splaying against the skin like he wanted to memorize every inch.

Still no rush. Just the simmer of touch and the ache of want.

He rocked into her again, hips pressing close, and the breath hitched sharp between them—gasped, shared, caught in the space of skin and heat. Her leg tightened around him, keeping him close, the press of him solid through their clothes, warmth bleeding through fabric in all the places that made her shiver. The curl of heat low in her belly deepened, but it wasn’t just the hunger of it—it was the way his body moved with hers, answering instinct for instinct, like they were made to fit this way.

Ekko kissed her again, deeper now, but unhurried. His hands traced upward, fingers skating reverently along the curves of her waist and ribs, savouring the warmth of her skin. His mouth followed—lips brushing across her jaw, her throat, the slope of her shoulder.

When he moved lower, Jinx arched for him, pulling her halter over her head. She tossed it aside without much care—too focused on the feel of his mouth now, hot and open and soft over her chest. He lavished her with attention there, slow and patient and thorough, each flick of his tongue a quiet praise that made her breath hitch and her hands slide tighter into his hair.

But then he kept going—kisses trailing down her torso, lingering along the center of her stomach before shifting lower. His hands smoothed over her hips as he paused, his gaze catching on the jagged scar just beneath the rise of her ribs, etched deep across the place where ink had once flowed smooth through the clouds of her tattoos.

Jinx stilled a little, eyes flicking down. She saw him looking. Saw the falter in his touch—not shying away, but feeling the history etched there beneath his fingers.

Her voice was dry when she spoke. “That one… took a while to stop hurting.”

His gaze held hers a moment longer, then he bent, lips brushing the scar in a kiss. No words. Just the warm press of his mouth at the scar, like he could soothe it into something softer.

One.

Then another.

Then a third, just beside it.

Her breath snagged again, this time for a different reason entirely. Something deep in her chest ached in the way only tenderness ever could.

Ekko’s lips lingered at the edge of the scar, then continued their slow path lower—skimming her hipbones, tracing the subtle curve of her pelvis. One hand found the buckle at her belt, the other brushing featherlight along her thigh as he fumbled for a moment with the clasp.

Jinx reached down to help, fingers working past his. Their hands bumped briefly—awkward and warm—and then the belts came free with a soft jingle of metal. She lifted her hips for him without a word, letting him ease the waistband down, peeling both pants and underwear away in one slow motion. Her skin prickled under the air, under his gaze.

He paused once she was bare beneath him, eyes rising slowly to meet hers.

There was a question in his touch—a press of his lips at the inside of her knee, then a pause. Just… asking. Seeking. Just waiting for her.

She answered in the lean of her body, the shift of her thighs parting wider, her hands curling into the covers beneath her—silent permission traced in muscle and breath.

Ekko’s mouth followed the invitation. He kissed higher, the inside of her thigh warm beneath his lips, the pulse there fluttering against his mouth. Each kiss drew him closer, a slow but deliberate path written in heat and the faint scrape of stubble that made her skin shiver.

When he bit softly at the tender place near her hip, Jinx gasped—sharp and raw, the sound breaking out of her before she could temper it. Her fingers twisted the blanket tighter beneath her, the tension pooling in her core.

When she dared open her eyes again, his gaze was already waiting, dark and steady between her thighs. The sight of him there—calm, assured, watching her like she was something worth learning, not something to take—sent a fresh rush of heat across her skin.

Her breath came faster, but she didn’t flinch or shy away. She held his gaze like a tether, grounding herself in the unbearably intimate weight of it.

Ekko’s mouth pressed against her again, soft where his teeth had marked her thigh, lips brushing the tender skin before moving lower. He didn’t rush—his hands sliding up her hips, fingers pressing gently into the curve of her waist, steadying her without pinning.

And then—

The first touch of his tongue drew a full-body tremor from her, her spine tightening as her head tipped back. It was light at first, a flicker of warmth that teased rather than claimed. Then deeper, tracing her open, re-learning the shape of her pleasure like a blueprint he meant to memorize.

Jinx bit her lip, but the moan that escaped her was unrestrained, a soft crack of sound that laced through the air between them. Her hand left the covers, reaching instead for him—fingers threading into the soft curls at the back of his head, grounding herself in the feel of him.

Ekko hummed against her, a low vibration that sent another ripple through her body. His hand shifted lower again, the rough pads of his fingers stroking along the inside of her thigh before slipping inward, framing her with touch as much as with breath.

Jinx gasped when his fingers found her, his touch syncing with the slow press of his mouth. It unraveled her, not in a rush of heat but in steady, undeniable ripples—each movement measured, intentional as he coaxed new sounds from her.

Jinx couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. The sensation didn’t crash over her like the chaos they’d once drowned, but pulled her beneath the surface in none the less. Deeper. Yet, this time. the depths didn’t feel so dark. It felt like learning how to breathe underwater—unnatural, impossible, and yet she trusted the lungs she’d never known she had. Trusted the strength they’d built together, even when she hadn’t seen it forming.

When her hips tilted again into his mouth, a raw sound tore from her throat—half-formed, too much to contain. Ekko’s eyes lifted, catching hers from between her thighs, holding her there like the sight of her was enough to undo him, too.

The look pinned her open more than his hands did.

Her chest heaved, each breath rougher now, each soft sound breaking freer than the last. His mouth worked her with slow, unrelenting strokes, each glide of his tongue slick and purposeful, dragging wet sounds from between her thighs that made her shudder. Every pass left her aching, swollen, panting—drenched and wanting, every nerve drawn taut beneath his mouth.

When his fingers adjusted—subtle, sure, curling just right—pleasure licked up her spine, sending a gasp through her that almost doubled her. “Shit—”

But he didn’t falter. His eyes stayed fixed on hers, steady even as he eased another finger in, working her open with a patience that shouldn’t have made her fall apart like this, but did. She felt everything—the stretch, the heat of him, the way it filled her without rushing as his fingers sunk deeper into her.

Her hands clawed at the back of his head for a moment before finding his shoulder. She needed the hold, needed something solid beneath the fire building under her skin. And it was worse—better—for how gentle he stayed, for how much care threaded through every motion. Every flick of his tongue.

Ekko worked her open like it mattered. Like she mattered. And that, more than anything, broke her breath into pieces.

“Ekko—” Her voice broke open on his name, slipping high and breathless. “Don’t stop—”

He didn’t. His pace stayed steady, fingers pressing deeper with each slow stroke, mouth working her in rhythm, pulling her tighter and tighter. The heat inside her coiled hard, gathering low, and she could feel herself slick and pulsing around his hand, the tension strung so taut it was a wonder she could still hold together at all.

Her hips jerked when his mouth sealed around her again, his tongue moving in tandem with his fingers, and the sound that ripped out of her wasn’t soft—wasn’t anything she could control. She gasped, raw and unguarded, head tipping back as the strain in her body turned to fire.

She was close, every nerve wired to him, every muscle trembling beneath the weight of sensation.

And still, he didn’t ease up.

The pressure broke all at once. It tore through her in hard, shaking waves, pulling her apart beneath his mouth, around his fingers. Her body jolted with every aftershock, hands fisting hard in the sheets until she couldn’t tell if she was pulling herself together or trying to hold onto him. His fingers didn’t still right away—he stroked her through it, slower now, easing her down, his lips pressing soft at her inner thigh like he could kiss her through the wreckage.

She twitched when he caught a sensitive spot again, the sensation too sharp, too much. Her hand came down against his shoulder, a push more reflex than thought.

“Enough,” she rasped, the word rough in her throat.

He pulled back without hesitation, his hands slipping from her quivering thighs with a gentleness that made her ache all over again.

Jinx lay there, pulse thudding, breath uneven, her limbs too heavy to move. The sweat cooling on her skin left her shivering faintly, though the heat of him still lingered in the places where he’d touched her.

When her eyes finally cracked open, Ekko was kneeling back between her legs, his chest rising in a slow, even rhythm. The glisten of her wetness still clung to his fingers, to the corner of his mouth, and when their eyes met, he didn’t look away. No shame, no hurry.

He lifted those fingers to his lips, dragging his tongue along the pad of his thumb with deliberate care.

Her breath caught again—different now, sharp and wanting in a way she couldn’t disguise.

“Damn,” he murmured against his hand, his grin lazy, but his eyes dark with heat. “You’re soaked for me.”

Jinx swallowed hard, aiming for a glare but not quite making it, her body too loose, too spent.

“You’re cocky for someone who hasn’t even gotten his pants off yet,” she shot back, voice hoarse.

His grin widened, flashing, but his gaze flicked down between them—his own need straining, undeniable beneath the fabric.

And fuck, she couldn’t stop looking.

He noticed that too. Of course, he did.

And he waited there—still poised between her thighs, breath coming slower now, but his body humming with tension. Giving her space. Letting her decide.

Jinx’s chest rose and fell, rough but steady, the aftershocks of release still sparking softly in her limbs. But the sight of him like that—bare, flushed, holding back for her—coaxed something deeper, needier, low and spreading in her again.

Her fingers twitched where they rested against the sheets. Then she reached—hooking her fingers in the waistband of his pants and tugging, firm, certain.

Ekko moved easily beneath her touch, hips lifting as he pushed them down and away, leaving nothing between them. The warmth of his skin, the lines of him revealed—muscle taut beneath soft bronze, cock hard and leaking, tension wound but waiting—had her biting the inside of her cheek, just to steady herself.

He leaned forward again, slower now but no less intent. Like he didn’t want to break whatever fragile thread had pulled them this close. But Jinx wasn’t about to let it fray. She slid her hand up the back of his neck, curling her fingers into the shorter hair there, pulling him back into another kiss.

This one burned lower—deeper. A kiss that held firm instead of rushing ahead, weight and warmth passing between them as his body pressed flush to hers, the heat of him unmistakable where his cock brushed against her core.

The kiss broke on a breath, tangled between their lips. His forehead tipped gently to hers, skin slick, their breath mingling close.

“You’re trouble,” he whispered near her ear, his voice rough with restraint.

Jinx grinned against his mouth, sharp and soft all at once, her leg sliding higher along his hip, drawing him tighter against where she wanted him. He moved with her—just enough. The length of him nudged along her, thick and slick where he slid against her, and it pulled a gasp from both of them. The friction was maddening, perfect.

Her nails skimmed the curve of his shoulder, dragging faint lines as she met his eyes, wide and dark now.

“Don’t play with me,” she rasped, the edge in her voice dulled by the flush in her cheeks.

Ekko’s smile shifted, softer at the corners, something deeper threading behind his eyes. He leaned in close, their lips barely brushing as he spoke.

“Never.”

His hand slipped between them, fingers stroking lightly through the slippery folds of her labia again, teasing warmth before he guided himself to her, pausing just long enough to look at her—searching. His thumb traced the curve of her hip, silent reassurance.

And when she shifted beneath him, hips tilting in answer, he pressed slowly forward—the stretch of him a perfect, deliberate ache.

Jinx’s breath caught hard, her legs tightening around him as she took him in, inch-by-inch, until there was nothing between them but the heat of their bodies and the slow pulse of want rising between them again.

He pushed deeper, unhurried. The stretch of him filled her until her breathing fractured and her body trembled beneath the weight of it. Jinx felt herself opening for him, yielding to the slow press, her head tipping back against the pillow as a sound escaped her—low, rough, and full.

Ekko’s gaze didn’t stray. He traced every flicker across her face like the turn of a familiar page— the parting of her lips, the flutter of her lashes—all of it unfolding again beneath his gaze. He held there, buried to the hilt, the heat of him thick between her thighs, and the air between them felt thin, heavy with the pull of it all.

“Fuck…” she gasped, words fraying as they leave her lips.

He leaned in close, breath fanning her cheek, their foreheads nearly brushing. His hand slid along her side, the drag of his palm easing her back into the present. She felt it—the hot press of skin against skin, the thud of his heartbeat where his chest met hers.

“You feel incredible,” he breathed, rough-edged, like it scraped its way out of him.

Jinx clung to his shoulder, grounding herself in the hard curve of muscle beneath her palm. For a moment, neither of them moved, suspended together in the sheer weight of connection.

But the ache of stillness sharpened, twisting low in her belly.

“You said you wouldn’t tease,” she managed, her voice rasping as her thighs tightened around his hips, pulling him closer. “Please just… move.”

Ekko’s jaw clenched, something unraveling behind his eyes. His hips rolled back, slow, dragging himself out of her in a measured glide, until she felt the hollow absence of him. Then he pushed back in, just as slow, driving her breath out in a stuttering rush.

Their hands found each other above her head, fingers lacing tight. His other hand steadied her hip, the grip sure but not rough, anchoring them both as he found a rhythm—deep, steady, a give and take that built between them like a rising tide.

Every thrust carried weight—sinking into her, pulling a low moan from her throat as she arched into him. She felt it all: the drag of heated skin, the slow burn of him moving inside her, like they were building something piece by piece from the ground up.

Gradually, their pace shifted, driving deeper, heavier—still not rushed, but need rising sharp and present beneath the surface. Jinx slid her hands down his back, kneading corded muscle, her nails scraping lightly down his spine and dragging a groan from him that rumbled against her throat.

He didn’t hold back. His hips drove harder, the tension between them snapping taut as her gasps turned rougher, her body twisting under him, seeking more.

Ekko’s mouth found her neck, lips dragging along the soft skin beneath her jaw. He sucked a mark there, sharp enough to catch the air in her lungs. Her hands flew back into his hair, fingers tightening.

And when she writhed under him, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder, her teeth grazed the skin there—biting down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold herself together when everything else in her felt like it was breaking apart.

Ekko’s breath caught low in his throat, each movement drawing a deeper sound from him—quiet but rough against her skin. His hips rolled again, pressing deeper, and the hitch in her breath matched the pulse beneath his.

Ekko picked up the pace again, steady and driving, and Jinx met him move for move—fingers clutching at his back, breath hitching with every thrust. The sounds coming from her lips were shameless now, loud and raw and beautiful. She didn’t bother hiding them anymore.

Her legs wrapped tighter around his hips. Her nails scraped down his spine again and he growled low at the sensation, hips snapping harder, faster. He was close—she could feel it in the way he held her, the tension coiling in his muscles, the way his rhythm faltered for just a heartbeat before he—

Slowed.

“Ekko,” she whined, squirming as the thrusts gentled again, drawing out the pressure instead of chasing release. He moved with a maddening precision, deep and slow enough to keep her perched right at the edge but never let her fall. Her body tightened, needing more, but he kept her right there. “Ekko—”

His lips brushed her jaw, rough with breath but soft in the places that mattered. “Not yet,” he whispered, like a promise.

Her nails bit into his shoulder, hips rocking up into him anyway, desperate for the snap of release. “Please,” she rasped, the word tumbling loose, needy without shame.

He chuckled low against her throat, though the sound wavered under his own restraint. “Almost,” he murmured. His hips rocked deeper again, dragging out the pressure with relentless patience. “Just a little longer.”

His hand slid down her side, broad fingers spreading across her thigh as if grounding her was the only thing keeping either of them steady. He kissed the curve of her neck, lingered over the faint scar just below her collarbone, his teeth grazing there—gentle but claiming. The sensation sent a shiver straight through her, and she keened as her body clenched tighter around him.

Then, without warning, he shifted—pulling back just enough to draw her up with him. She followed the motion instinctively, knees bracketing his hips, chest flush to his. His hand steadied at her lower back, holding her close as the angle changed between them.

Her breath caught again, rougher this time, her hands framing his face before slipping on the closely shorn hair on the back of his head. She rocked forward slow, testing the shift, and the rough groan that spilled from him sent a wave of heat rolling through her all over again.

She pressed closer, lips brushing his jaw. “You okay down there?” she teased, voice low but laced with unrestrained desire.

Ekko’s eyes met hers, pupils blown. “Always.” But the way his hands tightened at her hips betrayed the strain beneath it.

Jinx smiled, crooked and flushed, and rolled her hips again, drawing another rough rumble from deep in his chest.

She smirked, still catching her breath, but the glint in her eyes dared him to keep up. Her hands smoothed down his chest, dragging light over familiar scars, the tips of her fingers grazing tender grooves like she meant to remind him they were both stitched together from broken things. Then her hips shifted—grinding down with intent, testing the tension that hummed beneath his skin.

Ekko groaned low, his head tipping forward to rest against her collarbone, panting raggedly against her damp skin. His hands tightened at her waist, holding steady—barely.

“You’re not gonna break,” she murmured, voice slipping between tease and truth, a challenge threaded through the breathlessness. “So, quit holding back.”

She rocked her hips again, harder this time, and felt the shudder ripple through him. His fingers flexed, slipping downward and digging into her rear like he was holding onto the last thread of restraint.

But restraint never stood a chance.

With a sudden shift, Ekko’s grip tightened and he rolled them—his body moving with muscle memory and need. She landed beneath him, back pressing into the mattress.

“What the—” she started, but the words melted into a high gasp as his hands found her thighs, hooking behind her knees. He pressed into her with one firm, claiming thrust that knocked the breath clean out of her.

Her mouth fell open, no sound at first—just the sharp snap of sensation stealing everything else away.

And then, heat. Pressure. The drive of him between her legs as his hips found a new pace—stronger now, less guarded, like whatever he’d been holding back had finally broken free.

Jinx clawed for purchase—his back, the sheets, back to him again. She couldn’t keep still, couldn’t bite back the sounds anymore, her voice breaking loose in soft, breathless cries.

“Ekko—” his name slipped out raw, need pooling under her ribs.

The way her voice hiccupped, the way her body arched to meet him only served to unravel him further. He leaned in, one arm slipping beneath her back, the other braced beside her head, and bore down on her, folding her into him until there was nothing left between them.

The tempo of his thrusts grew rougher, steadier, until the bed creaked beneath them, the headboard thudding lightly against the wall in time with their bodies.  Jinx clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders, her legs trembling where they wrapped around his hips. Her whole body throbbed with the cadence of his hips, each push drawing her tighter toward that breaking point.

“Jinx—” his voice was wrecked, whispered against her throat, as if he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

She felt the shift in him before anything else—the subtle tightening of his grip, the strain that rolled through his body like a ripple caught in muscle. His rhythm faltered, hips bucking into her one final time. His breath broke ragged against her neck as he shook with the force of it. He made a low, guttural noise that carried on the edge of release as warmth flooded through her in slow waves.

The feeling of him pulsing inside was all it took.

Her own pleasure crested hard, fierce and unstoppable. It dragged her under, stealing her breath in stuttering gasps as her body clenched around him. She pressed up into him, a broken cry escaping as her limbs trembled, every nerve lit and sparking, wanting to hold him there—to keep every inch of him as close as possible while she shattered.

They moved together through the last of it, the aftershocks sharp and uneven, soft tremors chasing the edge of release. She felt the weight of him slacken gradually, his body sinking heavier against hers as their breath synced—jagged, unsteady, but slowing.

Ekko loosened his hold, her thighs sliding from his hips, boneless where they fell against the mattress. Jinx didn’t move right away. She lay beneath him, spent and open, her pulse still racing beneath the heat of their joined skin. Her tangled bangs fanning wild across the sheets as her chest stuttered.

Slowly, Ekko lifted himself just enough to look at her, his gaze heavy-lidded but focused—like the sight of her like this still knocked something loose in him. His hand brushed lightly along her side, soothing without rushing, and he lingered there, watching her without a word.

Jinx let out a soft, involuntary sound as he eased from her, the empty ache a stark contrast to the fullness she’d felt a moment ago. She made a tired noise of complaint as he shifted away.

But Ekko didn’t go far. He leaned, reaching for the box of tissues on the nightstand—a quiet, practical gesture that somehow didn’t break the moment. His hands were gentle, unhurried as he cleaned her up, the heat of his touch softened now into something almost tender. She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, her body too loose to move but still attuned to every brush of his fingers.

“Prepared, huh?” she rasped, voice rough from everything they’d just shared.

Ekko’s mouth tipped in a lazy grin. “I’ve learned a thing or two.”

Her eyes narrowed faintly, a flicker of old mischief beneath the haze. “What, no shirt this time?”

That pulled a low chuckle from him. “Nah, not sacrificing one of mine again. You’re getting the deluxe treatment now.”

He finished, tossing the tissues aside, then sank back down beside her with a quiet sigh. Jinx rolled toward him immediately, curling into the solid warmth of his chest, her cheek finding the curve of his shoulder like she belonged there. His arm slid around her back, pulling her close until they fit together again, skin-to-skin.

There wasn’t anything to say.

His hand moved slowly along her spine, fingertips trailing light and aimless, easing the lingering tension in her muscles. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek calmed the last of her ragged breath, the cool air of the room tempered by the shared heat between them.

Eventually, he reached for the blanket half-slipped off the edge of the bed, dragging it clumsily over them both. It bunched awkwardly between their legs, but neither of them bothered to fix it. Jinx closed her eyes again, feeling the afterglow hum quiet beneath her skin as Ekko’s fingers continued their gentle, wandering path.

Jinx draped her leg lazily over his, her fingers sketching faint, wandering shapes across his chest. Their bodies stuck faintly where skin met skin, the sheen of sweat lingering between them. She shifted with a soft sigh, peeling back just enough to find a more comfortable place to rest. Ekko hummed as she pressed closer again—settling into the warmth of him without pulling away.

An easy silence stretched between them as they settled into the soft afterglow.

Ekko’s hand roamed idly up and down her spine, his thumb brushing the small of her back in sluggish, absent circles. The hush of the space cocooning them.

Then he hummed, voice low and amused. “Maybe a good thing Isha can’t hear us.”

Jinx blinked, still half-drowsy, her fingers pausing mid-pattern. “Huh?”

“You’re loud,” he deadpanned, eyes half-lidded but unmistakably teasing.

Jinx snorted, dragging her nails lightly over his chest. “Ungrateful slander,” she muttered, voice roughened at the edges. “I let you come in me, and this is what I get?”

Ekko grinned, lazy and smug. “Generous and loud.”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “Bet you liked it.”

“Loved it,” he said, without missing a beat.

Jinx’s hand resumed its lazy tracing, drifting lower, curling absently into the dip of his waist, but something gentle had crept into the space between them. Her voice softened, almost thoughtful now, the sharpness slipping from it as easily as her breath.

“She’s lucky, you know.”

Ekko blinked, lifting his head a fraction to glance down at her, brow knitting faintly. “Who?”

“Our kid.”

The words sat heavier than she meant them to—heavier than the air around them. Jinx felt it in the slight shift of Ekko’s body beneath her, the way his chest caught faintly as his hand stilled on her back.

He turned his head toward her, eyes softer now, searching. “Our kid?”

Jinx groaned, burying her face half into his chest like she could escape his look. “Don’t make it weird. You know what I meant.”

Ekko stayed quiet. His palm resumed its slow arc along her spine, but his silence felt different now—reflective. She felt the weight of it in the way his hand rested a beat longer at the base of her spine with each pass.

“I mean…” His voice was quieter this time, rougher at the edges like it took effort to find the words. “Yeah. I do.” He let out a tiny huff of air, almost like a laugh. “Just kinda hit me, that’s all. That’s what she is now, huh.”

Jinx shifted again, peering back enough to see his face, her smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. “For someone with such an overclocked brain, you’re pretty damn slow.”

He laughed—warm and fond—and pulled her closer, tucking her back beneath his chin as they sank into the comforting stillness of the room. The house creaked faintly in the breeze as if the tree were gently reminding the world that it was alive.

Their kid.

Their bed.

Their goddamn blanket.

And even if it still scared the hell out of her, Jinx let the thought settle this time without fighting it. The fear could sit beside her, for now, without taking the whole damn bed.

Chapter Text

Jinx stirred with a faint frown, eyes fluttering open to a ceiling that wasn’t hers. The wooden beams above her head were worn, crisscrossed with metal support struts, some of them rusted faintly at the edges—definitely not her hideout. For a split second, a cold flicker of disorientation twisted in her gut.

But then she registered the slow, steady rise and fall of a warm chest pressed against her back. The weight of an arm draped loosely over her waist. She breathed in—clean soap, old wood, and the faint tang of metal. Ekko.

Right.

Right. They’d slept here. Together. In his room. His bed.

(Their bed now)

The breath she hadn’t realized she was holding left her in a slow exhale, tension bleeding from her shoulders as she relaxed again. Soft morning light filtered in through the tall, iron-framed window nearby, casting long slats of brightness across the cluttered floor. It was quiet. Comfortably so. No alarms. No shouting. No explosions. No Milo muttering dark warnings at the edge of her mind.

Just the faint creak of the old building settling and the warm weight of someone she trusted holding her like she wasn’t something he had to be afraid of breaking.

She could’ve stayed like that forever, maybe. Let the sun crawl higher. Let time pass untouched.

Except—damn it.

Her bladder had other plans.

Jinx grimaced, squirming slightly as she tried to untangle herself from the blankets and Ekko’s arms without waking him. She was almost free when he shifted behind her—bare chest dragging warm across her back, murmuring something unintelligible into the crook of her neck as his arms reflexively tightened.

His lips ghosted lazily across her shoulder blades, then up toward her neck. A few of the kisses landed more like half-asleep nuzzles, but the heat of his breath sent a little shiver across her skin all the same.

She let out a low, content hum, her eyes slipping shut again for a second.

Then, with a soft grunt, she shoved half-heartedly at his face.

“Mmf. Gotta pee,” she mumbled.

Ekko made a low, sleepy sound of protest but loosened his hold, letting her go with a reluctant sigh.

His voice—sleep-rough and fond—floated after her.

“Don’t fall in.”

Jinx shot him a lazy middle finger from the hand that still had one, not bothering to turn around. He chuckled softly and let his eyes fall shut again, content for now to wait until she came back.

She padded toward the door, bare feet silent on the floorboards—then paused with her fingers on the handle.

Right. They weren’t alone here.

A quick glance down reminded her she wasn’t wearing a damn thing, which was… fine, honestly, if it was just Ekko. But considering Isha was somewhere out there in the apartment—hopefully still asleep—Jinx figured maybe flashing the kid first thing in the morning wasn’t the best bonding strategy.

She turned back and snagged a t-shirt from where it had been tossed over the back of a nearby chair. One of Ekko’s. It smelled like him. Felt like him, too—soft, loose in the sleeves, the hem hanging to mid-thigh.

She hesitated for a second longer… then smirked faintly and grabbed a pair of his boxers from the floor too. Pulled them on without ceremony.

“Squatter’s rights,” she muttered to herself with a sleepy grin, tugging the waistband into place before slipping out the door.

The hallway was quiet when Jinx slipped out, the old floorboards giving only the faintest creak beneath her bare feet. She found the bathroom easily—tucked past the end of the hall—and took care of things quick. She rinsed her hands, splashed her face, and yawned into the quiet before heading back.

But on her return, a soft scuff of movement in the main room made her pause. She hesitated by the archway, peeking in.

Isha was awake—barefoot, standing by the window with her blanket draped loosely over her shoulders.  Her hair stuck out in soft, sleep-mussed tufts, framing her sharp eyes and she turned just slightly as Jinx entered, catching her movement from the corner of her eye.

Jinx stepped in with a lopsided smile, pulling the hem of Ekko’s t-shirt down over her thighs again. “Hey,” she said quietly, keeping her voice soft and facing the girl so she could see her lips. “You sleep okay?”

Isha nodded, small and quick.

Jinx ambled over, scratching the back of her neck. “Looks different in the morning, huh? All this,” she gestured toward the sweeping view of the Firelight base visible through the windows, “tree nonsense.”

Isha’s expression softened. She signed something quick and a little clumsy, and Jinx furrowed her brows, piecing it together.

“You like it?” she guessed.

Isha nodded again. Then signed a second time—this time more deliberate. Home?

That one was easier.

Jinx blinked, surprised for a beat. Her throat tightened faintly as she crouched beside her. “Yeah… yeah, maybe. If you want.”

Isha hesitated. Then gave a shy nod and looked away.

Jinx nudged her shoulder lightly. “Ekko said we’ll get you a real bed today,” she added. “Then maybe we can start decorating your room. Get some dangerous paint fumes up in there. Really make it homey.”

That made Isha grin.

But then, her eyes caught something on Jinx’s neck—and before Jinx could follow the shift in her gaze, the girl pointed.

Jinx frowned. “What?”

Isha gave her a very exaggerated, teasing face, pointed again before tracing a circle on her own neck.

Jinx froze.

Her hand flew up, fingers hitting the sore spot just under her jaw. Damn it. Yep. There it was. Heat crept up her cheeks

“Oh, come on,” she groaned, voice somewhere between flustered and incredulous. “It’s not even eight in the morning.”

Isha smirked and shrugged, as if to say, not my fault you forgot.

“Alright, alright—get that look off your face,” Jinx muttered, still covering the mark with her hand. “He started it.”

Isha beamed like the innocent little devil she was.

“You are enjoying this way too much.”  Jinx huffed and crossed her arms—but the shirt shifted in the motion, riding up just enough to remind her she was wearing nothing underneath. She tugged it back down with a muttered, “Ugh, rude,” and shot the girl a mock glare.

Then she sighed and let her gaze drift back out toward the tree.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was quieter. “It’s not what I expected,” she said. “But… I think I could get used to it.”

Isha didn’t sign anything else, but her smile was soft as she reached over and slipped her small hand into Jinx’s.

For a long moment, they just stood there, letting the morning settle in slow.

Jinx looked down at her, thumb brushing lightly across Isha’s knuckles. Then she dropped into a crouch without letting go, wrapping her arms around the girl’s waist and pulling her into a loose, sideways hug.

“Y’know,” she muttered, resting her cheek against the side of Isha’s ribs. “You’re lucky I like you.”

She felt the answering soft huff of a sound more than heard it—something halfway between a laugh and a sigh. Jinx closed her eyes for a beat, exhaling against the thin fabric of Isha’s shirt. Then she leaned back again, squeezing Isha’s hand once before pushing herself to her feet.

“Alright, kid,” she said, giving her a lopsided grin. “You hungry? Let’s see what our dumbass of a genius stocked the cupboards with.”

She led the way toward Ekko’s tiny kitchen nook, barefoot steps soft on the wood floor. Isha followed behind, her eyes bright as she took in the space again, a little more awake now—more herself.

The cupboard creaked open under Jinx’s hand. She stuck her head in, sniffed, and made a face.

“Okay, well. He’s still Ekko,” she muttered. “That’s either flour or some kind of science project in a paper bag.”

She said it with more affection than judgment—Ekko might be the best cook of the three of them, but he had the mildly chaotic pantry of someone who never bothered with labels. Eventually, they settled on a tin of spiced oats and a pouch of dried fruit, which Jinx tossed onto the counter with a grin. “Alright, kiddo. You ever had stovetop oatmeal with stolen cinnamon apples?”

Isha’s eyes lit up. She hadn’t, but she was clearly on board.

Jinx set to work, walking her through each step with exaggerated flair and occasional signs—more than she’d used before. Her fingers stumbled now and then, but Isha nodded along, patiently correcting her only when she was way off.

It was quiet. Easy. Domestic in a way that still tugged at the tender strings in Jinx’s chest if she looked at it too directly.

She didn’t.

Instead, she poke Isha’s ribs until the kid squirmed with a muffled giggle, bumped her lightly with a hip just to make her sway, and focused on not burning their breakfast.

Ekko wandered in a few minutes later. His hair stuck out at odd angles in sleep-mussed tufts, eyes half-lidded but softening the moment he saw them.

“Mornin', munchkin,” he said, ruffling Isha’s hair gently as he passed by her on the way to Jinx.

She grunted softly but leaned into the touch without complaint.

Then his arms looped around Jinx from behind, careful and easy, hands tracing the familiar dip of her waist beneath the hem of the shirt she’d stolen. He pressed a kiss to her temple and murmured, “Well, don’t you look domestic.”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Touch me again and I’ll stick your toothbrush in the oatmeal.”

He grinned into her hair. “Rude.”

She reached up and pinged a finger sharply off the side of his head.

“Ow—what was that for?”

Jinx tilted her chin toward the side of her neck. “Maybe for the souvenir you left right here, genius.”

Ekko squinted. Then blinked. Then actually leaned back a touch to get a better look.

“Oh.” He winced—only slightly. “Okay, yeah. That’s… impressive.”

“I look like I lost a fight with a vacuum seal,” she muttered, flicking the spatula at the pan a little harder than necessary.

Ekko’s mouth opened to say something else—maybe another quip, maybe a compliment disguised as an apology—but then his gaze dropped just a little further.

He froze.

“Are you wearing my und—”

“They’re mine now,” Jinx cut in, not looking at him as she stirred the oats. “Finders keepers.”

There was a beat of silence behind her.

Then: “I mean, you didn’t even ask.”

Jinx smirked and finally turned her head enough to glance at him over her shoulder. “You wanna fight me for 'em?”

Ekko just shook his head, smiling like he couldn’t decide if she was trouble or a gift. “Not with Isha in the room.”

“Good call,” she said. “You’d lose.”

His hands were still on her waist.

And somehow, despite all the snarking and half-hearted threats, he didn’t let go.

“Make yourself useful,” Jinx said, elbowing Ekko lightly as she scraped one last spoonful from the pan. “Bowls. Now.”

Ekko chuckled, stepping away to grab them. “Y’know, for someone in my shirt, in my kitchen, using my stove…”

She spun on him with the spoon pointed like a threat. “You want me to be polite? You should’ve dated someone else.”

“Hey,” He grinned as he passed her a bowl. “I know quality when I see it.”

“Suck-up.”

Isha, seated cross-legged at the little table, made a small amused sound as she watched the exchange. Jinx winked at her and set down two bowls before sliding the last to Ekko with a muttered, “Here. Earned.”

They settled in—Ekko and Jinx bickering through mouthfuls, tossing sarcastic jabs over the table while Isha quietly tucked into her food. Occasionally, she raised an eyebrow or mimed something that made both adults pause.

“Don’t encourage her,” Jinx warned when Ekko snorted at something Isha said.

“She started it,” Ekko defended.

“Don’t care—you literally gave me a hickey that could guide ships in the dark,” Jinx shot back, jabbing her spoon in his direction.

“This whole morning?” She continued, waved her spoon vaguely between the three of them, the kitchen, the general state of her existence. “S’on you.”

Ekko held up his hands, trying not to laugh. “Okay. Fair.”

Eventually, the pace of eating slowed. Ekko leaned back a little, glancing at the two of them in his space—casual, settled, like it had always been this way.

“We should look around the rest of the compound today,” he said after a beat, tone light. “Show you what’s here. There’s a spot in storage I wanna check—might have a bed frame that fits the cot mattress.”

“There’s probably a few people you should meet,” Ekko added, more thoughtful this time. “You know… since you’ll be around more.”

Isha perked up slightly, and her fork stalled halfway to her mouth, eyes flicking between them.

Jinx tensed, stomach flipping. “Right. Other Firelights.”

Ekko’s gaze flicked to her, reading the shift. He didn’t comment.

Jinx scraped at her bowl even though it was already empty. “Yeah, alright. Later’s fine.”

Ekko nodded slowly. “No rush. Just… when you’re ready.”

Jinx gave a faint grunt of acknowledgment, but she didn’t argue. She’d known it was coming. Just hadn’t wanted to think about it yet.

She could feel Isha’s eyes on her—curious, not pressuring.

Jinx turned the spoon over in her hand, tracing the edge, like she could stall the conversation a few more seconds. Then she huffed out a breath and glanced sideways at Isha, the kid still watching her—bright-eyed, expectant. Not pressuring. Just… there.

“Alright,” Jinx muttered, dragging a hand back through her hair, “but if this turns into some kumbaya meet-and-greet, I’m out.”

She nudged Isha’s foot lightly under the table, lips curling. “You’re on distraction duty if this goes sideways.”

Isha’s mouth twitched, that small grin tugging up one corner, and she gave a sharp little nod—dead serious, like she was ready to throw down for it. Jinx let the smile hover there, felt it settle in her chest for a beat.

Ekko leaned back, watching the two of them—Jinx slouched twitchy in her chair, Isha sharp-eyed and ready like she’d take the lead if Jinx bolted. His arms folded loose across his chest.

“It won’t,” he said softly, reading Jinx in the way he always did. “But if it does, I’ll handle it.”

For a second, that hung in the air.

Ekko shifted, like he heard it too late, and cleared his throat. “We’ll handle it.”

Jinx snorted, though it came out thinner than usual. She flicked a crumb at him, but her heart wasn’t really in it.

Ekko smiled back, but his eyes dipped lower, not quite meeting hers.

Jinx sat back, drumming her fingers once against the edge of the table, the sound too light to fill the quiet. “Yeah,” she muttered. “We’ll see.”

The light had shifted by the time they stepped out into the compound proper, warmth spilling down from the higher reaches of the tree in slow golden shafts. The air smelled faintly of sun-warmed metal and old leaves, the distant trickle of water echoing somewhere deeper in the tunnels.

Ekko took the lead, guiding them down the winding wooden ramps that spiralled around the trunk. Isha trailed between them, eyes darting to every crevice and makeshift walkway, taking in the sounds and details like she was cataloguing it all to memory.

They passed the watering hole first—a low, still basin tucked into a natural dip in the floor near the roots of the tree, ringed by old machinery and metal pipes. The surface shimmered as Ekko explained it was filtered runoff, safe to drink if you knew which side not to step in. Isha nodded solemnly, then promptly knelt to peer at her reflection. Jinx just squinted and muttered something about her hair looking like it’d lost a fight with a wrench.

They moved past old storage sheds and tents that housed some of the families seeking shelter—Zaunites, mostly, with tired eyes and watchful expressions. Some gave Ekko small nods of respect. Others looked at Jinx and Isha with cautious curiosity, but didn’t say anything. Jinx stayed close, her eyes flicking warily between faces.

They reached a wider walkway that overlooked part of the camp's lower level. A patch of mossy stone sat in the middle like a courtyard, scattered with crates and mismatched chairs. The remnants of a chalk game were scribbled faintly on the stone.

That was when Jinx noticed the kid.

He was small—maybe five years old—with knobby knees, no shoes, and a tunic too big for his frame. He crept after them with all the subtlety of a marching band, eyes fixed wide on Jinx. When they rounded another corner and he darted behind a pipe, Jinx elbowed Ekko lightly in the ribs.

Ekko glanced back, then snorted. “He’s been following us since the watering hole.”

Jinx arched a brow. “Groupie already?”

Ekko turned and crouched slightly, beckoning the kid forward with a wave. “Hey, little man. You wanna come say hi?”

The boy hesitated, then wandered closer with the cautious confidence only very small children could manage. He stopped a few feet from Jinx and squinted up at her with narrowed eyes.

“You’re the scary one,” he said.

Jinx blinked.

“That’s what the big kids said,” the boy went on, completely unbothered. “But you don’t look that scary… you look like you need a nap.”

Jinx stared at him, utterly thrown. Then she huffed a laugh and leaned down slightly to his level, resting her hands on her knees. “I’m terrifying when I’m not sleepy, promise.”

The kid squinted harder, like he wasn’t buying it. “I dunno. You’re kinda funny lookin’.”

“Wow,” Jinx muttered, eyes narrowing in mock offence. “Brutal honesty. Love that. This camp’s raising its gremlins right.”

Ekko tried and failed not to laugh. Isha, beside them, shook with silent giggles, biting her lip.

But the sound barely faded before another figure approached from across the walkway, boots scuffing the stone with just enough weight to turn heads. Chase’s sleeves were rolled to the elbows, eyes sharper than the easy lope of his stride suggested.

The kid had time to notice before the man reached him. A hand landed light on the boy’s shoulder, steering him back a step.

“Run along, Mica,” Chase said, voice even but tight beneath it. “Your folks’ll be wondering where you got to.”

The boy squinted up at him, stubborn but small. “I’m just talking.”

Chase didn’t budge. His gaze flicked to Jinx—held there too long. “Now’s not the time.”

Mica hesitated, then shuffled off toward the edge of the courtyard, glancing back once before disappearing behind one of the tents.

Jinx narrowed her eyes. She stood up slowly, arms folding across her chest. “Didn’t know we were off-limits now. Kid wasn’t bothering us.”

Chase didn’t move. His eyes stayed on the boy’s retreating back, jaw tight. “No. Wasn’t him I was worried about.”

The words clipped something raw beneath the surface. Her stance stiffened.

“Really?” she muttered, chin lifting. “Think I was about to snap at a five-year-old?”

“He doesn’t know what you are yet.”

Jinx shifted, half a step forward—shoulders drawn tighter now—but before the words could get sharp, Ekko’s hand brushed hers. Just enough.



“I know what she is.” Ekko cut in, easy but with that undercurrent of steel. “And I trust her.”



For a moment, no one moved. Isha’s eyes bounced warily between the three adults as if she were waiting for one of them to detonate. Chase’s jaw tightened, but his eyes stayed locked on Ekko—measuring, weighing. The space between them stretched, brittle. Jinx felt the itch beneath her ribs, waiting for Chase to bite back—but he didn’t. He just stood there, silent, the suspicion thick between them.

“Chase,” Ekko pressed, tone cool. “We good?”

Chase’s mouth pressed flat. His eyes lingered on Jinx another beat before they slid off. “Yeah,” he muttered. “We’re good.”

But the words didn’t feel settled as he turned and walked off, disappearing between two storage sheds.

Jinx let out a slow breath, something sharp still caught behind her teeth. She shook it off, turned her glare on Ekko instead.

“You think I needed that?” she muttered, voice low but biting.

Ekko didn’t flinch. “Didn’t think you needed it. Just wasn’t gonna let that play out.”

“I can handle it.”

His gaze dropped to the ground for half a second, then back to her. “I know.”

Jinx’s jaw ticked once. Her fingers snapped against her thigh, sharp as the breath she let out through her nose. Ekko waited, patient as always, which might’ve pissed her off more than if he’d argued.

Finally, she blew out the tension with a soft scoff. She glanced sideways, rolling her shoulders out like she could shake it off. “Well, tour guide, if we’re done roasting me—what’s next?” she muttered. “You were saying?”

Ekko let her words hang a second longer, watching the edges smooth in her posture. Then, he tipped his head toward the path, a soft grin returning.

“Entry tunnels are that way,” he said, pointing across a narrow bridge. “Storage’s just past the stairwell.”

Ekko led them through a short, curving hallway lit by a mix of salvaged sconces and bioluminescent strips. The outbuilding tucked behind the main compound looked unassuming—low ceiling, rusted doorframe, paint half-peeled from age and moisture—but the moment he pushed the door open, the scent of old paper and metal greeted them.

Inside, the storage room was a chaotic haven of crates, tool racks, salvaged tech parts, and dusty canvas-wrapped bundles. At the far end, a bushy tuft of white-gold hair bobbed above a wooden crate, faint muttering echoing from somewhere deep within.

“Professor?” Ekko called, a faint grin in his voice.

A muffled clatter. “A moment!” came Heimerdinger’s voice, still buried in the box. “I’m nearly certain I left the pressure gauges in this bay…”

Ekko raised an eyebrow. “Wrong shelf. Those got moved to hydroponics last week, remember?”

A pause.

Then, a high-pitched “Oh!” of realization. Heimerdinger popped upright with a puff of dust, tufts of his mustache twitching as he blinked over the crate. His eyes found Ekko first—then drifted to the two unfamiliar figures lingering just behind him.

“Good heavens,” Heimerdinger said, adjusting his spectacles. “Who are these bright-eyed strays you’ve collected?”

Ekko exhaled a chuckle, stepping aside so the girls were more clearly in view. “This is Isha,” he said simply, motioning to the small figure in the helmet.

Isha tilted her head at the Yordle but didn’t move closer.

“And…” His voice caught, just a beat too long, eyes flicking toward Jinx.

She raised a brow at him, daring him to flinch.

Ekko didn’t. He cleared his throat and continued, “Jinx. She’s… with me.”

“Jinx, you say?” His tone was careful. Thoughtful. But not alarmed.  Heimerdinger’s brows twitched up. “With you?”

Ekko’s gaze flicked to Jinx, then back to Heimerdinger—a small beat, just enough to account for the history between them.

“She’s my partner.”

Partner. Said plain, like it didn’t need more. They’d lived it already, but hearing it out loud, in front of someone else, turned it solid in a way it hadn’t been before.

Jinx didn’t touch it, didn’t press back. Just let it stand.

To their mutual surprise, Heimerdinger didn’t bristle or protest. Instead, he hummed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing in the particular way they did when examining a new mechanism rather than a new person. “Fascinating.”

Then, as if remembering decorum, he gave a small bow. “A pleasure, Miss Jinx. Miss Isha.”

Jinx blinked. “You’re not gonna say anything about—?”

“Oh, I know of you,” Heimerdinger said, waving a hand. “But firsthand experience is far more informative than reputation. Besides—” he motioned around the mess of crates and parts, “—anyone willing to wander into this disaster zone is either brave, curious, or in possession of very poor judgment. Which makes you, statistically speaking, ideal company.”

That startled a real, short laugh out of Jinx.

Ekko glanced sideways at her. “Told you he’s not what people expect.”

Jinx muttered, “No kidding.”

Isha had stepped forward slightly, eyeing Heimerdinger’s ears with blatant curiosity. The professor, noticing, tipped his head toward her and gave a slow, exaggerated blink.

The gesture made Isha twitch—but she didn’t retreat. Instead, she made a small gesture with one hand, hesitant and half-formed, and Heimerdinger blinked again, softer this time.

Ekko murmured, “She doesn’t talk. Partial hearing. Still learning her signals.”

“Ah,” Heimerdinger said with immediate understanding. “Then I shall endeavour to enunciate.” He adjusted his posture, tipping his head higher, but the thick moustache still half-hid his mouth. Isha squinted, trying to follow. “Hello, Miss Isha. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Isha didn’t reply, but she watched him more openly now. Her hand rose again, slower this time, and made a small wave. Jinx watched her hand hover midair for a beat longer than it needed to, like she wasn’t sure if it was the right move to make.

Jinx nudged Ekko lightly with her elbow. “Think you just made her day. She’s into weird fuzzy things.”

“High praise,” Heimerdinger said with a sniff, clearly not offended.

Ekko smiled, shaking his head. “Anyway. She and Jinx are staying with me for a while. Thought it was time they met the rest of the madhouse.”

“Indeed,” Heimerdinger said, already stepping back into his crate like nothing about this moment had been particularly unusual. “And if they happen to be mechanically inclined, all the better. I could use assistance sorting the filament bins. Someone—” he glanced at Ekko over his spectacles—“forgot to label them properly again.”

Ekko raised both hands in mock innocence. “That’s a baseless accusation. Could’ve been Scar.”

“Scar can’t spell,” Heimerdinger shot back, voice muffled once more as he ducked into the crate.

Jinx snorted, then glanced sidelong at Ekko again.

He met her look and offered a quiet, almost shy half-smile.

And for once, she didn’t roll her eyes or shove him off balance.

She just let it sit. Warm. Unspoken. Familiar.

Ekko reached out and gave her hand a squeeze before letting go and ducking farther into the cluttered space, scanning the rows of stacked crates and old furniture for anything bed-shaped.

“Shouldn’t take long,” he said over his shoulder. “Might’ve stashed a frame behind those old supply lockers.”

“Be real,” Jinx called after him. “We’ll be lucky if it’s not rusted halfway to hell like the rest of this junk.”

Across the room, Heimerdinger had crouched again—now flipping through the pages of a dusty, water-stained field manual that looked at least two decades old. Isha lingered beside him, watching curiously as the yordle squinted at a diagram and grumbled something about mechanical stress tolerances being nonsense. Without looking up, he passed her a small, jointed metal piece—some long-disassembled tool—and motioned for her to try fitting it into the open contraption next to him.

Isha blinked at it, then turned it over in her fingers, studying the grooves. After a moment of fiddling, she slid the piece in with a soft click.

“Well done!” Heimerdinger beamed, eyes bright beneath his bushy brows. “Marvellous intuition. Are you an aspiring engineer?”

Isha tilted her head, half-focused on his mouth beneath the mess of his moustache, not understanding the words. She grinned sheepishly, anyway. Jinx, watching from where she leaned against a support beam, translated the gist of it with her hands—still clumsy, still learning, but close enough for Isha to pick up. Now with improved clarity, the girl shrugged modestly and pointed at Jinx.

“Oh, I see,” Heimerdinger said. “A creative household.”

Jinx snorted, but it was soft. “You have no idea.”

She wandered over to where Ekko was crouched behind the supply lockers, inspecting a mostly intact bed frame that looked like it had seen better days—but also hadn’t collapsed, which was a plus. He gave it a good shake to test the joints and glanced up at her.

“What do you think? Bit of rust, but nothing a scrub and a patch job can’t fix.”

Jinx tilted her head. “Looks like it’ll hold a kid and a couple dozen loose screws.”

Ekko grinned. “Perfect fit, then.”

Jinx elbowed him gently in the ribs. But the look she cast back toward Isha and Heimerdinger was thoughtful. The professor had her full attention now, showing her how to unscrew a rusted clamp from a broken device—his gestures patient, his tone enthusiastic, even when it was clear Isha only understood pieces of it. But she was watching closely. Engaged. Bright-eyed in a way Jinx didn’t see often.

“She likes him,” Jinx murmured, quieter now.

Ekko glanced back, following her gaze. “He’s good with kids,” he said. “Most people don’t know that about him.”

“She’s not used to that,” Jinx said, rubbing her thumb along the rough metal edge—solid beneath the rust, steady in a way she wasn’t always sure of herself. “People being patient with her.”

Ekko didn’t say anything right away. Just shifted a little closer, brushing his shoulder against hers.

“She’ll get used to it,” he said eventually. “You both will.”

Jinx didn’t answer—not aloud. Just drifted her hand toward his again. Their fingers brushed—calloused and faintly scarred. Familiar. He didn’t press, just let her find the contact on her own terms. It steadied the thrum beneath her ribs. Enough to take a breath. Enough to nod toward the wall.

“Frame’s not bad,” she muttered, giving it a once-over.

Ekko grinned. “Told you it’d be here.”

They hoisted it up between them. A bit of a rusted thing, scuffed with time and patchwork welds, but solid underneath the grit. Isha trailed behind, dragging one of the slats they’d set aside.

On the way out, Jinx veered slightly off-course. Ekko didn’t comment—just adjusted to her pull and let her lead. She slowed near a stack of materials outside another supply room and tapped her fingers once against Isha’s shoulder to get her attention.

Isha looked up. Jinx tipped her head toward a half-open crate and raised a brow.

The child’s grin said yes before her hands did.

By the time they slipped out of the compound’s side tunnel, Jinx had a dented can of lavender paint swinging from one hand, and Isha had a faded yellow one hugged to her chest like treasure.

“Borrowing,” Jinx said, before Ekko could say anything. She flashed a sharp smile that dared him to argue.

He just shook his head, amused, and pointed toward the water. “If we’re using that thing inside, it’s getting a bath first.”

They scrubbed it down near the watering hole with rags and elbow grease. Isha handled the legs with a little too much ferocity, tongue poking out in concentration, while Jinx and Ekko worked in tandem on the frame. It was good work—mundane, grounding. Every so often, Ekko would reach over and splash a bit of water her way, and Jinx would glare, but it never stuck.

Once the grime was off and the wood could almost pass as clean, they dragged it up the spiralling path to the flat. Jinx took one end, Ekko the other, and Isha mostly supervised. It was awkward and uneven and involved more cursing than necessary, but eventually they set it down on the balcony outside the flat, where the midday sun could get to it.

Inside, Ekko busied himself at the counter, pulling out bread and some dried meat, hands moving with that casual grace that always made it look like he’d been doing this forever.

Jinx hovered near the balcony door, Isha beside her, their paint cans sitting proud in the corner.

“You hungry, short stuff?” Jinx asked, brushing a smudge of dust off Isha’s nose with her knuckle. The kid nodded quickly.

Ekko glanced over his shoulder. “Ten minutes.”

Jinx smirked and dropped into the chair across from the workbench. “What’s the menu, house-husband?”

“Sandwiches.”

“Gourmet,” Jinx muttered, kicking her heel against the chair leg. “Real high class.”

He threw a wink over his shoulder. “Only the finest.”

Jinx rolled her eyes and turned back to Isha. She crouched to the girl’s level, eyeing the paint can Isha had picked up again. “So,” she said, tapping the metal lid lightly, “you wanna make that room yours?”

Isha tilted her head.

Jinx clarified, slowly. “Paint. Your room. Together?”

A beat. Then Isha lit up, nodding vigorously, hands already starting to sign something Jinx didn’t quite catch.

Jinx raised a hand, blinking fast. “Whoa, wait—slower. Gimme a sec… okay, yeah, I got that,” She squinted, tongue caught between her teeth as she focused. “Stars. You wanna paint stars?”

Isha nodded again, excited now.

Jinx grinned. “Hell yeah, we’re painting stars.”

From the kitchenette, Ekko’s voice drifted over with quiet amusement. “You’re gonna end up painting half the walls too, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Jinx called back.

Ekko shook his head fondly and stepped out of the kitchenette, two plates in hand. “Food first, Picasso. I’m not letting you and the kid turn the bedroom into an art exhibit on empty stomachs.”

He set the plates down with a little flourish. Jinx blinked—actual sliced cheese, good dried sausage, something vaguely resembling greens. She looked at him, then the sandwich, then back at him like she was re-evaluating every decision she’d ever made.

“This is annoying,” she muttered, taking a bite anyway. “You’re too competent.”

“Tragic,” Ekko said around his own mouthful. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Isha grinned between them, cheeks puffed with bread as she chewed.

They ate like that—cramped around the little table, sunlight angling in from the balcony, the scent of soap still clinging faintly to their clothes. Jinx elbowed Ekko when he stole a bite of her sandwich. Isha stole the last olive slice off his.

It felt stupidly normal, the kind of thing Jinx never thought she’d have—a table, bad jokes, and someone stealing bites off her plate. And by the time the plates were scraped clean, the lavender and yellow paint cans were already waiting by the door.

Chapter Text

The room smelled like paint and soap and sun—warmth clinging to the old wood floors and catching on the breeze from the open windows. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called from the tree canopy. Inside, the only sounds were soft laughter, the clink of brushes in tin, and the occasional thump of someone bumping a wall they probably shouldn’t have.

Lavender bloomed across the far wall in soft strokes. Isha’s little hand left starbursts of yellow, some lopsided, some perfect. Jinx didn’t correct her. She just watched, barefoot, one knee smudged with colour as she balanced a can on her thigh.

Ekko was painting the top edge, arm stretched high.

“You two are gonna put me out of a job,” he said, brushing a streak of soft yellow across the arch above the door.

“Good,” Jinx called back without looking up. “You’re clearly the weak link in this operation.”

“Tragic,” Ekko said, the grin audible in his voice. “Sucks for you. You picked me.”

“Clearly not at my best that day.”

He laughed, and Isha silently held up her hand for a paint high-five. Jinx met it with a splash, leaving a streak of yellow across her knuckles. Isha beamed. Jinx reached up and swiped a thumb across Isha’s cheek, smearing a bright streak of paint as she wiped away a wayward drop. The kid just grinned wider, eyes crinkling.

Then Isha turned with sudden mischief and smacked a full yellow handprint onto Jinx’s bare calf.

“Oi—!” Jinx twisted around to look at the mark. “You little menace.”

Isha giggled and scampered sideways, brandishing her brush like a sword. Ekko made a dramatic sound of dismay and raised his hands. “Truce! No casualties in the art zone.”

Jinx gave chase for half a second before collapsing back onto her heels with a snort. “You’re both lucky I like you.”

Ekko shot her a look, mock-serious. “We’ve been over this. You’re just in it for the free food.”

Jinx smirked, but whatever comeback she had brewing didn’t land. A firm knock echoed from the door—three taps, measured and even, cutting cleanly through the warmth of the room. Ekko set the brush down and wiped his hands on a rag, casting a glance toward the door as the knock echoed again.

“Still kinda early for sabotage,” he muttered, heading across the flat.

When he opened it, Scar was there, leaning his weight into the frame like it’d been holding him up. Dust clung to his boots and coat, his satchel hanging low off one shoulder. He didn’t say anything right away—just looked.

Ekko raised a brow. “You stopping by for a reason or just here to admire our fine artistic sensibilities?”

Scar’s gaze drifted past Ekko into the apartment—sliding over the half-painted wall visible through the room’s doorway, the scattered paint tins, the little helmet on the floor. His eyes caught on Isha first, perched on her knees with her tongue stuck out in concentration as she painted another yellow star. Then Jinx—crouched beside her, barefoot, a can balanced on her thigh, a bright miniature handprint smudged near her calf.

She didn’t look up. Didn’t stop.

Scar took it in quietly, jaw working once. “Looks like everyone’s settling in.”

Ekko shrugged. “Trying to.”

“Better here than out there,” Scar said. His tone was light, but the weight under it wasn’t. “I heard about the thing with Chase.”

Jinx glanced over at that, eyes narrowing faintly, but didn’t speak.

Ekko rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t blow up, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Not yet,” Scar said, and it was hard to tell if he was joking. Then his eyes cut back to the wall. “Not what I pictured, but... it works.”

He stood there a second longer, rocking back on his heels like he was still deciding something. Then he said, “I had news. Figured I’d stop by.”

Ekko leaned a little in the doorway, studying him. “Yeah?”

Scar’s eyes lingered on Jinx again—then Isha, giggling as she smeared another streak of yellow on her own arm like war paint.

He exhaled, slow. “But maybe it can wait. You’ve got a whole thing going here.” He gestured vaguely to the room. “Didn’t mean to crash the domestic bliss. Don’t let me wreck it.”

“Appreciate the mercy,” Ekko said, then tipped his head. “But I’m guessing if you heard about Chase, you’ve heard more.”

Scar gave a loose shrug, like it didn’t matter either way. “Wasn’t the reason I dropped by, but yeah—you’re officially on the books now,” he added, stepping just inside. “But still doesn’t mean everyone knows what to make of it.”

Ekko’s smile slipped, just a little. “How bad is it?”

Scar shrugged. “Mixed. Few raised brows and sour looks. But no one’s sharpening pitchforks. The kids think she’s some kind of revolutionary now.”

Jinx’s brow quirked. “Do they.”

Scar smirked. “The gas thing was a bold move. Messy as hell, but damn if it didn’t make an impression. Some of the younger crew are buzzing about it like it’s a war banner.”

She shifted the paint can from her knee to the floor by Isha’s side, giving the girl’s elbow a light tap and a quick point—just enough to keep her from knocking it over—before turning to Scar with a mild frown. “That what they want now? War?”

Scar met her stare. “Depends who you ask.”

Ekko crossed his arms, leaning against the wall beside the door. “I’m not interested in making her a banner.”

“No, you’re making her a bedroom,” Scar replied dryly, nodding toward the room they were working in. “Room’s coming together.”

“It’s hers,” Ekko said simply, nodding at the little girl who was ignoring them. Isha, oblivious, dipped her brush into more yellow and added another crooked star.

Scar grunted. His eyes drifted back to Jinx—hovered, just long enough to catch the subtle discolouration near her collarbone, where her borrowed painting shirt had slipped with the stretch of painting. He didn’t comment. Just smirked like someone tucking a card back into their sleeve.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see her with a paintbrush,” Scar muttered. “Figured she’d sooner use it to wire a bomb.”

“Still might,” Jinx said coolly, dipping her brush again.

Scar huffed out a dry laugh. “Yeah. There she is.”

The quiet that followed hung in the room —unspoken, but not uncomfortable. Scar rolled his shoulders once, the shift of someone settling something unfinished back where it could wait.

“Well. I’ll let you get back to it.”

Ekko gave a small nod. “Appreciate it.”

Scar turned to go, but hesitated at the threshold. Cast one last glance over his shoulder.

His eyes landed on Jinx again—still crouched low beside Isha, paint-smudged and barefoot, the handprint on her calf catching the light like some accidental badge.  He didn’t smile. Just dipped his chin once, like he saw something he didn’t expect, and didn’t quite know what to do with it yet.

Then he stepped out into the corridor and was gone.

The afternoon light had shifted—gold now, and drifting in long stripes through the window slats. The air still smelled faintly of paint, but the scent was undercut by dust and sweat and the edge of something clean trying to cut through the mess.

Jinx sat cross-legged near the center of the room, one braid slung over her shoulder to keep it from falling into the paint. She leaned back on her hands, surveying the wall like a critic, one foot tapping idly.

“Not bad,” she said, tilting her head towards her young companion. “Kinda looks like the inside of someone’s brain exploded, but in a cute way.”

Isha sat nearby, her heels kicked out in front of her, watched Jinx speak before turning away to survey her star-scattered handiwork. She signed something without looking over.

“Right, visionary art,” Jinx said with a snort. “Forgot you were an artiste.”

Isha gave a dramatic shrug—you said it looked good—and flopped sideways onto her back, arms sprawled, one knee bent.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinx muttered, waving a dismissive hand. “Still doesn’t explain why Ekko bounced the second the paint stopped flying. Coward move.”

Isha sat up enough to flash a two-handed sign—timing—and raised her brows with exaggerated mock-seriousness.

“Uh-huh. Suspicious timing,” Jinx muttered, eyeing the doorway like she could still catch him lurking. “Soon as someone called for backup, poof. Gone.”

Isha nodded solemnly. Then signed, smart, with a smug little smirk.

Jinx tossed a balled-up rag at her head. “Traitor.”

Isha ducked, laughing in complete silence—shoulders shaking, lips pressed together to keep from squeaking. She scooted toward the cluttered pile of brushes and half-sealed cans, zeroing in on the open lavender one Jinx hadn’t bothered to close. Carefully, she dipped her finger in.

Jinx raised a brow. “Better not be planning a second coat. That wall’s suffered enough.”

But Isha wasn’t looking at the wall.

With quiet focus, she reached for her arm and began to draw—soft arcs and loops, deliberate and slow, smearing pale purple over her skin in gentle swirls. A loose cloud. Then another. They sat light on her forearm, imprecise but intentional, their placement almost familiar.

Jinx blinked, halfway to teasing her again, but stopped short.

The brush in her hand lowered without thought, the air between them stretching thinner for a beat.

Isha didn’t notice. She kept drawing, tongue between her teeth, entirely absorbed.

And Jinx just watched.

Isha had crouched again, one knee down, tongue peeking out in focus as she dipped two fingers into the open can of lavender. She drew slowly—carefully—on her own arm. Loose curls. Cloud shapes. The paint went on too thick in some places, patchy in others, but the intent was obvious.

Jinx didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

The room was quiet except for the soft brush of paint on skin and the muted rustle of the curtains stirring in the window breeze. It would’ve been easy to laugh. Say something flippant, tease her, knock the moment sideways like she usually did.

But she didn’t.

Because the kid wasn’t just playing around.

She already had Jinx’s braids—had asked for them like it was nothing, like it was natural to want to look like someone. But this… this wasn’t about looks. Not really. It wasn’t just mimicry.

It was mimicry as language.

Jinx had worn that instinct like armour once—find someone louder, faster, meaner. Copy their sharp edges. Wear them until they felt like skin. She’d done it with Vi. With Silco. With ghosts. She knew what it meant to see someone who seemed unshakable and think, maybe if I move like they do, I’ll stop coming apart.

That was what Isha was doing now.

Trying on shapes. Borrowing safety.

And Jinx didn’t want to interrupt her. Not because it didn’t matter—but because it did.

The paint glistened on the girl’s arm—lavender arcs drying into ridges and smears. Not perfect. Not neat. But they clung. Like a claim.

Jinx shifted her weight. Exhaled through her nose, soft and low.

She wasn’t sure what this was supposed to look like—being chosen, being mirrored like that—but it was happening anyway.

Not just someone Isha looked up to.

Someone she had.

Jinx reached for the hammer, tapped the lid of the paint can back into place with three dull thuds, and stood up.

“Alright, cloudburst,” she said lightly, not unkind. “Up.”

Isha glanced up, wide-eyed, caught somewhere between pride and reluctance.

Jinx nudged her gently with a toe. “Come on. Help me wash the brushes before they turn into bricks.”

She turned toward the bathroom without waiting for a response, trusting the kid would follow.

And she did.

The sink hissed to life, faucet rattling with old pipes as water spilled over a basin already freckled with dried paint flecks. Jinx rolled up the paint-splattered sleeves of Ekko’s old work shirt and reached for the brushes.

Isha leaned in beside her, arms still streaked with lavender. She signed something quickly with wet hands, half-laughing, the motion wide and a little too fast. A sharp splash arced from her fingertips, flicking water across Jinx’s cheek and hair.

“Hey!” Jinx barked, more amused than annoyed as she wiped her face on her shoulder. “Tryna drown me, short-stuff?”

Isha grinned, unabashed, and did an exaggerated Oops sign, her fingers flicking water again with mock innocence.

Jinx let out a short laugh, shaking her head as she turned back to the brushes. The warm water ran over her fingers. She watched the streaks of purple and yellow swirl down the drain—tiny remnants of the day dissolving into nothing.

Her eyes flicked sideways.

Isha had gone quiet again, lips parted as she watched the water swirl beneath their hands. But her gaze kept shifting—down to her own arm, up to Jinx’s, then back again. Not comparing or admiring. Just… checking. Like she was trying to measure something.

Jinx kept scrubbing one of the bigger brushes, slower now, the bristles dragging against her palm in long, even strokes.

“Y’know that stuff’s gonna come off on your pillow,” she muttered, low and dry.

Isha looked away. Her fingers hovered near her arm, brushing lightly over one of the drying clouds. The paint was soft now, dulled by the heat of her skin—still clinging, but only just.

Don’t want to wash it off.

She signed it quickly, the motion small and simple.

Jinx’s hands went still under the faucet.

Something in Jinx’s chest tilted—sudden and stupid in a way that made no sense.
She’d seen it coming the moment Isha reached for the paint. But knowing didn’t make it land softer. The pull of it still burned under her ribs—quiet and sharp all at once.

Because it wasn’t about the clouds. Not really.

It was the same instinct Jinx had carried in her gut since she was Isha’s age—when you don’t know where you fit, you find someone solid and learn to echo their shape. Talk like them. Walk like them. Move in borrowed lines until you feel less alone in your own skin.

It had taken her years to figure out how much of herself she’d left behind doing that.

She didn’t want that for Isha.

The clouds on Isha’s arm curled in odd directions. Some too thick, others already flaking.

They were marks you wore when you didn’t know how else to stay.

And she hadn’t asked. Hadn’t waited. Just made herself into something half-familiar and hoped it counted.

Jinx didn’t know if it was bravery or habit. Probably both.

But either way—it sat deep. Heavy and familiar.

She was still learning how to carry being wanted without flinching. Even now, even with Ekko’s steady hands and Isha curling into her side some nights like it was the most natural thing in the world, part of her still waited to be left behind. So, when someone mirrored her without permission—when they took her in like this—her first instinct was to wonder what they saw that she didn’t.

But this wasn’t about her. Not really.

Because Isha wasn’t just painting her arm. She was trying to find her place the only way she knew: carving herself into someone else’s outline.

Jinx had done that too. And maybe she was still doing it, sometimes, without meaning to. And maybe she wasn’t all the way through it herself. Maybe she never would be. But that didn’t mean Isha had to follow the same path to the same scars.

Jinx didn’t want Isha mistaking that kind of mimicry for a way forward.

She set the brush aside gently on the towel, dried her hands on her pants, and crouched lower so Isha could see her mouth.

Her eyes dropped to the girl’s forearm—those clumsy, lavender clouds streaked across skin that still looked too thin to carry this kind of weight. They weren’t careful. They weren’t symmetrical.

They were trying.

Jinx reached out and brushed her fingers against Isha’s wrist. Not to stop her. Just to make sure she was looking.

“You don’t need all that just to match me, y’know.”

Jinx’s voice wasn’t sharp or dismissive. But she didn’t look away when she said it either. She kept her fingers resting lightly against Isha’s wrist, thumb brushing the edge of one crooked cloud.

She waited—just long enough to be sure Isha was looking at her properly. That the kid could see her mouth, catch the words, catch the weight behind them.

“They don’t mean you belong,” she added. “You already do.”

She hesitated, then sat back a little, resting on her heels. Still close enough for Isha to read her face.

“Look, I get it,” she went on, quieter now. “It’s hard to know where to fit. And sometimes it’s easier to… I dunno. Copy. Or try to be like someone else, so it doesn’t feel like you’re alone.”

Her gaze dropped again to Isha’s arm—those imperfect, lavender clouds drying in soft, uneven ridges. It didn't look like mimicry this close... It looked like wanting. A kind Jinx understood way too well.

“But you don’t have to do that with me,” she said. “This isn’t some test. You don’t have to prove anything. You don’t have to turn into me. Hell, you shouldn’t.”

Isha’s mouth twitched at that. Just slightly.

Jinx smirked faintly. “One of me is plenty. Ask Ekko.”

Isha tilted her head, brows knitting, then signed something small. Careful.

What if I want to be like you?

Jinx blinked. The smirk dropped—not in a bad way, just... folded inward, softer now. She didn't look away.

“That’s fine,” she said. Her voice stayed steady, her lips easy to read. “Just... don’t lose you tryin’ to find me, alright?”