Archive of Our Own ^beta

Something was wrong. 

Sevika can feel it deep in her bones ever since that brutal fight with Vi and the Kiramman girl down in the ventilation system. 

The strange energy from that enforcer’s damn hex gun had done more damage than she initially realized. It had immobilized her just long enough for them to get the upper hand—enough to nearly knock her out.

And now, its effects are still lingering, gnawing at her from the inside out. 

After barely managing to escape with Jinx and Isha back to the relative safety of their hideout, Sevika had left them to tend to each other while she headed to her place. 

She needed her own space—solitude—to figure out what the hell was happening to her body.

The moment she stepped into her dimly lit apartment, a sharp, searing pain flared up from her side, making her grunt in frustration. Her hand presses against her ribs in a futile attempt to dull the pain, but it did little against the occasional jolts of energy that shoots through her like a storm surging inside her veins. 

When she shoves her shoulder against the bathroom door to force it open, a particularly powerful surge of energy courses through her entire body. 

The pain was so intense, so raw, that it ripped a strangled cry from her throat—an inhuman sound that echoed off the old walls. 

Her voice sounded wrong, distorted, almost like it wasn’t her own.

She stumbles forward, collapsing against the sink, gripping its edges for dear life. Her breath comes in ragged gasps as the aftershocks pulses through her system, sending tremors across her muscles. 

Heaving a shaky breath to steady herself, she lifts her head slowly, eyes settling on the cracked mirror before her—its shattered surface still bearing the imprint of her fist from years ago.

Her face, typically hardened and indifferent, now looked even more haunted. 

The old scar running across her cheek glows faintly with the usual ominous blue tint, a relic of that explosion years ago while her eyes glints with a toxic, iridescent purple, courtesy of the shimmer she had pumped into her bloodstream just to escape that damn fight.

She looked every bit the monster that those scums in Piltover whispered about in hushed tones whenever they talked about Zaun and its people.

A creature forged in steel and smoke, drowned in chemicals and radiation, something unnatural.

Something fearful. 

Her hands curl into fists. 

Or rather, one hand clenches the sink’s edge in frustration, while her metal prosthetic digs into the porcelain, cracking it effortlessly. 

The sound of breaking ceramic barely registers over the pounding in her ears.

Sevika takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to push down the wave of self-loathing rising in her chest. 

She’d lost too much—too many pieces of herself, too many people—to become this. 

To become someone who has the strength to survive and fight for change.

Though sometimes she wonders if the cost of what—of who—she lost was worth it. 

A brief memory flickers in her mind.

A face, a voice—someone she had buried deep and forced herself to forget. 

But before she can grasp onto the nostalgia of it, another agonizing jolt of energy surges through her, stealing the breath from her lungs. 

She grits her teeth, her entire body trembling. And then she sees it.

In the mirror, distorted waves of color flicker around her—faint, shifting iridescent auras of yellow and blue, warping and twisting her reflection. 

Her heart pounds as her figure in the glass seems to blur, as if reality itself was bending. The pressure builds inside her chest, unbearable, until finally, a scream is torn from her lips. 

She slams her eyes shut, desperate to block it all out.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, the pain vanishes.

Her eyes snap open, and what she sees in the now pristine mirror makes her stumble back in shock, slamming against the wall behind her.

The reflection staring back at her was…her.

And yet, it wasn’t.

Her hair is shorter—neatly trimmed, styled with intention, not the wild mess she usually leaves it in. 

Her expression is softer, not filled with lines of exhaustion while her usual hardened eyes are replaced by something calmer. 

But the thing that rattles her most? 

The scar that should’ve marred her cheek is gone. Smooth, unblemished skin stare back at her, mocking her. 

Trembling, she raises a tentative hand to touch her face, brushing her fingers against the unfamiliar smoothness. 

And then she freezes, her eyes darting to her hand.

Her left hand.

Her real left hand. 

She slowly clenches her fingers, feeling the warmth of her palm, the press of her nails against flesh—sensations she hadn't felt in years. 

A shuddering exhale escapes her lips as she stares down at her hand in disbelief. 

But then it is the simple gold band on her ring finger that sends the final push for her to spiral.

Her mind reels in panic and confusion as she tries to make sense of what the hell was happening.

“Sevika?” 

The call was soft, familiar, and it cut through the fog in her head like a blade.

Her head snaps up toward the bathroom door, her pulse pounding in her ears. 

That voice. 

It was a voice she thought she’d never hear say her name ever again—a voice she had longed for, craved in the silence of endless nights alone. 

Swallowing hard, she takes a hesitant step forward, then another, until she reaches for the handle and pushes the door open.

Her living space stretched out before her, looking both familiar and utterly foreign. 

The weightlifting equipment that is usually haphazardly strewn across the floor is now neatly organized against one wall. The curtains, always drawn tight to block out the light, are pulled back, letting in the golden hues of the morning sun. 

The air feels warmer, lighter.

The world itself seems...brighter.

“Sevika?” 

She turns toward the source of the voice, and there you are.

You stand by the small kitchen table, watching her with an expression of quiet concern. 

Your eyes—those same eyes she remembers too well—hold none of the resentment or pain she had come to expect. 

Instead, they are filled with something she hadn't seen in a long time: tender warmth and…love.

You step closer, stopping just in front of her.

And for the first time in a long time, Sevika was afraid. 

She was afraid to move, afraid that if she did, this moment would shatter just like how the mirror behind her was supposed to be.

Sevika could only stand there and stare at you, her throat too tight to speak. 

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, your hand reaching up to cup her cheek.

The touch was grounding, warm, and so painfully real that Sevika found herself leaning into it without thinking. 

She lets out a shaky, disbelieving huff, tears threatening to well up in her eyes. 

No, she wasn't okay. She didn’t know what was happening, whether this was real or some twisted illusion. 

But as she looks into your eyes, as she feels your touch, none of it seems to matter.

Sevika swallows the lump in her throat, nodding slightly.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s okay.”

Because for the first time in years, as she stands in front of you—whole and unbroken—maybe it actually was.

Maybe everything was okay.

Especially when you are looking at her like this—like you used to before she ruined everything between you two.

Sevika can feel your eyes on her—sharp and assessing, as they dart across her face. She holds her breath, willing herself to remain composed, to mask the confusion churning inside her.

She needs to figure out what the hell was going on. 

Figure out why you are treating her like this. 

Like she was yours.

The tension coils tightly in her chest as she fights to keep her expression neutral. The last thing she needs is for you to grow suspicious and ask questions she has no answers to.

But then, after a long, drawn-out moment, your expression softens. 

A small, warm smile tugs at your lips as your hand slides from her cheek down to her chest, resting lightly over her heart. 

The gentle weight of your touch sends the severely missed warmth spreading through her, foreign yet familiar. 

“Alright,” you say, accepting her reassurance without further question, patting her chest softly before stepping back.

Sevika releases a quiet breath, her shoulders sagging in relief, watching as you move toward the kitchen. 

You turn around and lean against the counter with casual ease, tilting your head and raising a brow at her. 

“Then can you get the flour down for me?”

Sevika blinks, momentarily thrown off by the simplicity of your request. She follows your gaze to the topmost shelf of the open cabinet, spotting the large bag resting there.

At your expectant gaze, she walks over to you, but you don't move out of the way. Instead, you stay planted right in front of the counter. 

It meant Sevika had to reach past you to reach for the item, her body brushing close against yours. 

She easily grabs the bag with one hand, setting it down on the counter behind you.

“I swear you keep putting it up there on purpose,” you accuse playfully, crossing your arms with an amused glint in your eyes. 

As Sevika considers your words, she realizes they were probably true. 

If she was in this situation—this life—she would definitely place it there, if only to have an excuse to be this close to you.

You lean forward from the counter, closing the remaining space and shooting her a knowing smile, a quiet moment stretching between you. 

But when she doesn’t say anything, you speak again, tilting your head curiously.

“What? No request for payment as thanks for your help?” 

Sevika’s brow furrows as she tries to figure out what kind of response you’re expecting from her.

“Like what?” she responds unsurely.

Your lips parts slightly, as if surprised by her reaction, and after a moment of staring at her, you sigh in exasperation.

Without hesitation, your hand cups her face again, and before Sevika can react, you lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her cheek.

Sevika freezes. 

The touch of your lips burns against her skin—hotter than even when shimmer coursed through her veins. 

Her eyes widen in disbelief, her breath hitching as she fights the overwhelming urge to lean into the warmth of you.

It was so…gentle. So normal. Something she had long since convinced herself was never meant for her.

You pull back, your eyes scanning her face with a mixture of amusement and concern. Another sigh escapes you, this one laced with fondness.

“I knew we shouldn’t have stayed up late last night,” you tease lightly. “You definitely needed the sleep.” 

Sevika blinks, her mind scrambling to make sense of your words, as if the memory of what you’re talking about will suddenly appear.

“Stayed up late doing what?” she mutters softly, the confusion in her voice slipping through before she can stop it.

You give her a look of disbelief before wrapping your arms around her shoulders and pulling her close into a hug.

The casual intimacy of the gesture makes Sevika’s heart pound in her chest, but she forces herself to stay still, to not react.

“You better be joking, Sevika,” you murmur, your tone in mock warning as your lips ghost close to her ear. “Don’t tell me you already forgot how many times you made me come last night.”

Sevika’s mouth goes dry. 

She feels the heat rise to her face and spread across her entire body, a dangerous mix of arousal and panic flooding through her as your words settle in. 

Her mind struggles to reconcile the situation—where she had you, where intimacy wasn’t a fleeting dream but a reality she was living.

You pull back slightly and tilt your head close to hers, your breath fan across her lips as you lean in, your voice dropping to a whisper.

“Or did you just want a reminder of how it went?”

Sevika feels her resolve teetering dangerously close to the edge. She wants to give in, to take whatever this world was offering her. 

Maybe she hit her head and lost her memories or something. Every horrible thing that has happened to her in the past years were just nightmares.

But inside, Sevika knows the truth. 

This wasn’t her life. It’s not possible.

Before your lips could touch hers, she pulls back, stepping just enough out of your reach to put distance between you.

Your expression shifts almost instantly. 

For the briefest second, Sevika sees it—the flicker of hurt that crosses your face.

It was a look she was all too familiar with, one she had seen multiple times before. 

And the sight of that hurt still cuts into her like a knife—like it always has.

Your arms drop to your sides, and you study her, concern slowly replacing the fleeting pain. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sevika?” you ask, softer this time.

With a deep steadying breath, Sevika forces a smirk, trying to play it off. 

“Yeah. I’m just...not feeling so good this morning.”

You give her a lingering look, then nod slowly. 

“Alright,” you murmur, though doubt still lingers in your eyes. “Hopefully, after the meeting finishes today, you can see if Vander will give you some time to relax. You have been working a lot lately.”

Sevika’s mouth drops open in shock before she mutters in surprise.

“Vander’s alive?” she asks, sheer disbelief in her voice.

You chuckle lightly, shaking your head as you turn back to the kitchen, busying yourself with the flour and other ingredients.

“Unless you killed him the last time you two met up for a drink, he should be at the Last Drop by now.”

Sevika exhales heavily, her mind racing at all of the new information.

She needs to figure this out—what this place was, if any of this was real. 

Despite the confusion, a small part of her desperately wishes that it is.

Standing here, in this home, with you moving around like you belong here with her, she can’t deny how painfully perfect it all seemed.

And more than that…

It was exactly the life she had imagined once, long ago, before she lost the opportunity for something like this. 

What if this is her second chance to get it right this time?

You glance up at her, as if feeling her eyes on you, and your lips curl up in a warm smile.

“You should head over there first and talk things over once more with him if you’re still nervous about the meeting. I’ll drop by later before you two have to head out.” 

Your words are just as confusing as everything else she’s learning—or relearning, but Sevika musters a casual nod in response.

“Okay,” Sevika mutters, glad for some direction.

She makes her way to the front entryway, but just as she turns the doorknob and opens the door, your voice calls out to her again.

“Sevika?”

She glances over her shoulder to look at you, still standing in the kitchen area, your eyes watching her with a hint of confusion in your gaze.

Silence fills the air until you realize she’s not going to respond like you're expecting.

“I love you,” you say suddenly, your tone softening with a small smile.

Sevika swears her heart stops at that moment, hearing those words from you to her. 

Not knowing how to respond, she instinctively does the same thing that she’s done to you multiple times in the past—she leaves.

Sevika stands frozen on the front steps, her hand still gripping the door handle like it might tether her to something solid–something that makes sense. The cold metal digs into her palm, grounding her in the aftermath of her own mistake.

You’d only said three words. 

Words she’d heard before, words that had once meant everything, then nothing, and now—now they carried a weight she wasn’t ready to hold. 

“I love you,” you said, so soft and certain. 

And what did she do?

She ran.

Just like before. Just like always. 

A low, frustrated growl rumbles in her throat as her hand tightens on the handle. She wants to turn back, to throw the door open and do something, anything, to erase the look on your face when she left. 

But her grip loosens with a defeated sigh, her arm falling uselessly to her side. 

What would she even say?

I’m sorry, I don’t know why I left. I’m not sure what’s happening. I don’t deserve those words.

But nothing makes it past her lips. 

With a sigh, her eyes drift up, sweeping across the street, and it hits her all over again. 

This isn’t the Zaun she’s used to.

The air isn’t choked with smoke or dust. The street isn’t slick with oil and ash. There’s no screaming in the alleys or sirens howling in the distance. 

Instead, there’s color. Light. Laughter.

Buildings she recognizes stand taller, cleaner. Signs glow with warmth instead of menace.

As she walks down the pathway, vendors call out cheerful greetings as they set up their stalls, some even waving to her like they know her. One even offers her a paper-wrapped skewer of something steaming and fried, grinning like she’s an old friend.

But Sevika ducks her head and keeps walking.

This place—it’s too soft. Too bright. It shouldn’t feel familiar, but it does. It feels like a memory that never happened. A life she didn’t get to live.

Her left arm is whole—no shimmer-run prosthetic, no constant ache of metal against skin.

And you’re still with her. Married, even.

As if whatever broke between you never shattered in this timeline.

Sevika walks in a daze until she finds herself standing outside the Last Drop.

It looks the same, and yet it doesn’t. 

The bones of it are still there—the rusted framework, the heavy doors, the chipped brick walls—but it’s been cleaned up. Restored, almost lovingly. 

There are planters built into the wall now, overflowing with living, green things. Actual trees stand nearby, slender and young, stretching up toward a translucent dome above that lets in filtered sunlight.

Zaun doesn’t have trees.

She stares for a long time. She almost doesn’t go in.

But her feet move anyway.

The door creaks as she pushes it open, and warm light spills out across her boots. It smells like beer and wood polish—cleaner, somehow, than she remembers. Familiar, but without the grime. Like memory scrubbed of all its sharp edges. 

She steps inside slowly, eyes adjusting to the open skylight, the clatter of mugs, and the low murmur of conversation.

Behind the bar, exactly where he used to stand, wiping down a glass with a worn cloth and chuckling at some joke she didn’t catch.

Her breath stalls, barely audible, but her lips move anyway. 

“Vander…”

He looks up at her, easy as anything, like seeing her isn’t the impossible thing it is. His expression is open and welcoming. That same damn look he always wore when he thought she was being too broody for her own good.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” he says, casual as hell, like no time has passed at all. 

Like he hasn’t been dead for years.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Her feet feel nailed to the floor. Her fingers twitch at her sides with the instinct to reach for something solid—proof she hasn’t completely lost it

Vander raises a brow, tossing the washcloth over his shoulder as he rounds the bar. 

“What’s wrong with your face? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Because she has.

The man she’s only seen for the past years as a memorial, cast in cold stone at the plaza. But here he is, whole and alive and smiling at her like nothing ever went wrong. 

Like she never made the wrong choice.

Her mind reels, struggling to process it. Her breath comes short, and her body stays frozen.

And then a shove jostles her shoulder as someone brushes past with zero regard.

“Quit blocking the entrance,” a voice mutters, annoyed and unmistakably familiar.

Sevika turns, blinking. 

Blue hair. That damn smirk. But she’s taller now—solid, steady. Her face is fuller, less gaunt, her eyes sharp but clear. Not fractured. Not wild. Not yet broken by grief or shimmer or whatever else shaped the girl she once knew.

“Jinx…?” Sevika breathes, more question than greeting.

She turns to her, hands on her hips and brows raised.

“Who’re you calling a jinx, musclehead?”

That voice. The sass. And yet…not quite the same.

Vander steps up beside her, hand resting lightly on her shoulder. 

“Powder,” he says gently, “give her some space. She looks like she’s had one hell of a morning.”

Powder.

Sevika blinks. That name—one she hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years—cuts through her thoughts like a blade. Her mind fumbles, unable to bridge the gap between what she’s seeing and what she knows.

Powder narrows her eyes, studying Sevika for a long beat, like she can see the way the inside of her head is spinning out of control. 

But eventually, she just shrugs and turns away, muttering something under her breath as she walks behind the bar, pulling on an apron.

Vander gives Sevika a small nudge toward the counter with a jerk of his chin.

“Come on. You look like you need something to knock you back into yourself.”

Still stunned, Sevika moves stiffly to the bar and lowers herself onto a stool, her gaze darting across the interior. 

It’s the Last Drop, but it’s not. The tables are sturdier. The floor’s been refinished. The lighting’s warmer, not as dim and brooding. There are even plants in ceramic pots nestled along the walls.

Powder sends her another sideways look before grabbing a tray of drinks and disappearing toward the tables, moving with practiced ease. 

Like this is her life. Like she belongs here.

A glass slides across the counter with a soft scrape. 

Sevika catches it on instinct, the motion fluid despite her sluggish thoughts. She lifts it to her lips and takes a long pull, expecting the burn of something hard, something that might settle the storm twisting in her gut.

But it’s…coffee.

Bitter, dark, and too smooth. It jolts her a little, rousing her nerves—but it’s not the harsh, numbing fire she was bracing for. She pulls the cup away with a faint grimace.

“You got anything stronger?” she asks, her voice rougher now.

Vander arches a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. 

“Didn’t think that’d do it for you.”

He moves with the easy confidence of someone who’s known her a long time—this version of her, anyway. Reaching under the bar, he retrieves a darker bottle, its label faded, the amber liquid inside catching the light just right.

“We really shouldn’t,” he says as he uncorks it, pouring out a measured splash into a fresh glass. “But what the hell. Just a little—to settle the nerves.”

He slides the drink to her, then gives her a pointed look, one brow raised.

“Just don’t tell your lady I gave you something stiff before our meeting.”

The reminder of you hits her like a punch to the chest. 

To soothe the ache, she swallows the drink in a single motion, the alcohol scorching its way down her throat. It burns beautifully—real, familiar, something she can feel all the way down. For one brief second, it anchors her back in her body.

She sets the glass down with a sharp, decisive tap and frowns, brows knitting.

“What meeting?” she asks, her tone heavy with quiet alarm for some more answers.

Vander pauses.

Something in his eyes shifts—just slightly. Concern, maybe. Wariness. He studies her, and then he leans in a bit and slides the empty glass away, slower this time, cautious.

“Did you hit your head this morning, Sevika?”

She lets out a huff through her nose, part frustration and part surrender. Her hands tighten slightly on the counter, her fingers unconsciously curling in toward her palms before the unfamiliar feeling of the action in her left hand draws her attention.

Her eyes flick downward, catching on the gold band around her finger. She turns her hand over slowly, fidgeting with the ring, rubbing her thumb over the metal like it might suddenly make sense. 

It’s warm from her skin. Heavy. Unfamiliar. She doesn’t remember putting it on. Doesn't remember the weight of commitment it symbolizes. 

But it’s there.

“Maybe I did,” she mutters under her breath.

Vander’s eyes soften. He hums low in his throat, thoughtful. His gaze follows hers to the ring, and something like understanding flickers in his expression.

“Got into some trouble with your lady?” he asks, tone casual but not probing.

Sevika glances up at him sharply, caught off guard by the implication.

“Does that…happen to us often?” she murmurs, almost afraid of the answer.

Vander tilts his head in slight confusion and opens his mouth to answer, but the front door creaks open again, and both of them glance toward it.

You step inside.

Sevika’s breath catches.

You’re dressed in light street clothes, nothing formal, but you look beautiful all the same, the way your silhouette framed by the bright street behind you, the soft festival music filtering in. 

You scan the bar, and your eyes find hers instantly. 

For a heartbeat, the world falls away.

You hold her gaze.

Then your eyes narrow. 

The warmth in your expression vanishes, and you look away sharply, breaking eye contact, and move to the other side of the bar without a second glance.

Sevika continues to watch you, her chest tightening.

You head to the far end of the bar, where Powder now lounges at a table, laughing with familiar faces—older, relaxed versions of Mylo and Claggor–and at her side, that Firelight brat, dressed in more put together leather than his tattered long jacket.

You present Powder with the basket at your side, a warm smile on your face, as she takes what looks like the baked treats you were working on earlier with a gleeful cheer.

Vander whistles lowly beside her, drawing her attention back as he shakes his head.

“To answer your question,” he murmurs, “no—it doesn’t happen often. But judging from what I just saw…” He lets the rest hang in the air, tapping the bar with two fingers. “This doesn’t look so good for you.”

Sevika exhales heavily, shoulders sagging with something like defeat. Her eyes flick toward the bottle Vander set aside earlier, but as she reaches for it, he’s faster. He swipes it away with a practiced ease and tucks it back under the bar.

“Nice try,” he says, resting his forearms on the counter. “Tell you what—go make it right. Take her to the festival or something. Show her a good time. Clear the air.”

He gives her a sidelong look.

“I’ll take Silco with me to the meeting instead. He’ll cover for you.”

Sevika blinks, confused. 

“Wait—Silco?”

But before she can get the rest of the question out, a voice rises smoothly behind her, calm and cutting in that unmistakable way.

“Dragging me into another one of your little schemes, are you?”

Sevika stiffens and turns her head.

Silco stands behind her, hands clasped behind his back, dressed in a dark coat that doesn’t reek of war or corruption. 

He looks…normal.

And alive.

Her fingers curl around the edge of the counter again, tighter this time, as her mind spirals.

What is this place?

The rest of the conversation between Vander and Silco begins to blur. Their voices fade into a muffled echo. 

Sevika just stares at them. The two men who, in her world, would rather slit each other’s throats than share a drink, are talking now with ease, even humor. 

As if betrayal, war, and death had never existed between them. 

As if none of it had ever happened.

They speak with each other like old friends. 

Like this is just another day.

Like they didn’t try to kill each other.

Sevika’s mind reels. The words they say don’t matter. It’s the ease of it that sends a cold spike of panic through her gut.

The lights overhead are now too bright. The walls feel like they’re pressing inward. Her breathing quickens, shallow and sharp.

Everything feels like a distorted dream. 

Nothing fits. 

The people, the air, even the sound of laughter in the background. It all brushes against her nerves like static. Her stomach twists, and the nausea builds until she can’t take it anymore.

Without a word, Sevika pushes back from the bar and rushes outside. 

The noise dulls behind her as she stumbles into a nearby alleyway, half-blinded by the daylight. She turns sharply into the narrow passage, shadowed and cool, and braces herself against the worn brick wall. Her hands drop to her knees as she bends forward, breath ragged.

Dry heaves wrack her frame, but nothing comes up, just the sharp clench of her stomach and the desperate gasp of her lungs trying to ground her.

The world tilts slightly, edges too sharp, sounds too distant. The familiar hum of the city is distorted, layered with that same ringing she heard before everything changed. 

Before she woke up in this world that wasn’t hers.

Eventually, footsteps approach. 

She doesn’t register them at first, not over the thunder in her ears, but the soft scuff of boots on stone draws closer. 

Then, a sudden touch.

A hand, gentle, settling on her left arm.

The long-forgotten feeling startles her so completely that her body jerks back on instinct.

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps, voice raw and low, her head whipping up, eyes burning with the threat of violence.

And then she freezes.

Because you’re standing there.

Your hand is held to your chest, pulled back like it’s been scorched. Your eyes are wide, but thankfully, not with fear. Instead, your face is drawn tight in concern, your brows pinched with worry.

And just like that, Sevika’s thrown backward in time.

Her mind remembers the rough feel of bandages twisted awkwardly around her shoulder. The suffocating heat of frustration as she sat on the edge of her bed, a half-pulled shirt tangled around her head like a noose. Her one remaining arm trembling from the effort, fingers fumbling.

The door creaked open.

Sevika stiffened under the darkness of the fabric, already cursing herself for not locking the door beforehand. 

The last thing she wanted was to be seen like this. 

Weak. Broken. Humiliated.

Footsteps padded closer, tentative. 

Then your voice, quiet and kind.

“Here, let me—”

Your hand brushed the top of her head, fingers just starting to help.

And her fury surged like a reflex. 

Her arm swung up—her only one left—knocking your hand away.

“Don’t touch me!”

Sevika never saw how your face was after that. She couldn’t bear to.

But she remembers the silence. 

The sound of her breath. The sting in her chest.

And now…here you are, looking at her probably the same way as you did the first time she ever broke your heart.

“Sevika…” you say gently, her name like a plea.

She stares at you, her breathing shallow, lips parted like she wants to say something but can’t find the air. Her chest rises and falls in sharp, panicked gasps. The tightness in her throat is unbearable, and her eyes burn.

You’re going to leave again. Leave her.

You should.

She’s broken. Always has been. You don’t belong with someone like her. 

This world—whatever it is—it lied. 

It gave her something beautiful she never earned.

Her hands tremble as she sinks further down the wall, sliding to the ground as the weight of everything bears down on her. Her arms wrap around her knees, trying to make herself smaller despite her large frame.

But the panic won’t let go of her.

Until suddenly…you take its place.

Your arms slip around her, not tentative, not afraid, but certain.

You lower yourself beside her, pulling her gently into you. One arm curls around her shoulders, firm and steady, while the other cups the back of her head, guiding it to rest against your heartbeat. 

Your body wraps around hers like a shield. Protective. 

The warmth is overwhelming. 

And despite everything, Sevika can’t help but still sink further into that comforting feeling. 

Then a soft and steady kiss presses to the top of her head, and your voice, quiet and sure, murmurs against her hair.

“It’s okay, Sevika. I’m still here.”

The words hit her like a strike to the gut, cracking something wide open.

She doesn’t even realize she’s moving until her arms come up around you, clinging tight, her face buried in your shoulder. Her body trembles. She breathes you in like it’s the only thing tethering her to reality.

And then she hears it, her own voice, small and shaking, muffled into your skin.

“…sorry…I’m sorry…”

She keeps saying it, over and over, like the words might undo everything. Every mistake she’s made.

Or maybe just be enough to remind her that you’re still holding on.

And that this time, you haven’t let go.

Sevika drags a hand down her face, fingers pressing into her brow as she exhales slowly through her nose, trying to rein in the tired sigh threatening to escape. She’s leaning heavily against the counter now, one elbow braced, posture slouched—not just from fatigue, but from the sheer weight of everything she’s just heard.

Across from her, Heimerdinger stands on a stack of books, pointing animatedly at a spread of scribbled notes and chaotic diagrams scattered across the counter. Lines curve and intersect around symbols she doesn’t recognize.

“You see,” he says, tapping at a bunch of symbols that might as well be another language, “the energy released from the hex core created a multi-dimensional fracture—an anomaly that briefly distorted the fabric of reality, scattering the individuals in contact with it across space and time.”

Sevika squints at him. 

“So you’re saying…you’re not from here either?”

“Precisely!” Heimerdinger beams, pleased she’s keeping up. “Though how you ended up here is...curious. You weren’t present at the site of the original anomaly. But perhaps the energy discharged from that hex gun you mentioned acted as a conduit.”

He strokes his mustache thoughtfully as he begins to pace across the counter.

“Fascinating, truly. That such a residual surge could reach such distance and—”

Realizing he’s beginning another long explanation, Sevika exhales sharply and tunes him out, her gaze shifting toward the window. Through the glass, she sees you pacing just outside the shop.

Your arms are crossed tight over your chest, your expression pinched, and the faint pout on your lips and the impatience in your stride are familiar enough to stir something tight in Sevika’s chest.

“...an extraordinary case of dimensional divergence,” Heimerdinger continues, “possibly the furthest the anomaly’s reach has ever been thought possible. A revolutionary discovery, really—”

“Get to the point,” Sevika mutters, still watching you.

He pauses, blinking. 

“Ah, right. Yes. Based on what you’ve described, it’s likely your mind, or perhaps your essence, was pulled into this dimension by the same force that brought me here.”

Sevika turns back toward him fully, brows drawn low. 

“So how do we get back?”

Heimerdinger’s expression falters. Slowly, he gathers the scattered pages and begins to straighten them into a single pile. His silence speaks before his words do.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he says at last, gently. “Such a feat would require refined hextech at a scale that…well, simply doesn’t exist here. It’s never been invented. Not in this world.”

A beat passes.

“So,” Sevika says quietly, “we’re trapped.”

Heimerdinger hesitates, then gives a small shake of his head. 

“Don’t think of it like that. Trapped implies confinement. I prefer to see it as…an opportunity.”

Sevika scoffs, folding her arms tightly. 

“You sound like you’re trying to sell me something.”

“Perspective,” he replies simply. “In the old world, I had limits. Here, I’ve found freedom from those limitations. I’ve built things I never thought I would. Helped people I never expected to meet.”

He tilts his head at her, gentling his tone. 

“Don’t think of it as a prison, Miss Sevika. Think of it as a second chance.”

She doesn’t respond immediately. Her jaw works, her gaze dropping to the counter…then lower, to her hands. Both of them. Real. Solid.

No cold metal, no constant phantom ache.

She flexes her left fingers slowly, watching the movement, the familiarity that still feels foreign.

“A second chance, huh?” she murmurs.

Heimerdinger nods. 

“Haven’t you ever wished for one? A moment to choose differently?”

Sevika doesn’t answer. Not out loud. Her eyes drift once more toward the window—toward you. Still waiting. 

You feel her gaze before you see it. You look up, meeting her eyes through the glass, and raise your brow slightly, lips parting as if to ask, Well?

She stares at you for a moment longer—at the small crease in your brow, the way you shift your weight impatiently from one foot to the other, and the barely hidden worry in your eyes. The same look you used to give her, in a life where you waited long enough for her to never come back.

Sevika swallows hard.

“Every day,” she whispers.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The door to the shop creaks open, and you straighten from where you’d been pacing just outside. Sevika steps out, her expression unreadable, brows drawn and jaw tense. There’s something heavy in her eyes that sets off a quiet alarm in your chest.

You don’t wait.

“What did he tell you?” you ask, arms still folded tightly across your chest.

Sevika closes the door behind her and takes a slow step toward you. 

“He can’t help us.”

Your lips part, frustration surging in your chest. But you refuse to give in to despair. 

“Then we’ll find someone else,” you say immediately, voice laced with determination, as you turn to walk in another direction. “There has to be—”

“Hold up,” she says, reaching for you.

Her hand curls around your waist, gently tugging you back before you can storm off with half a plan and too much stubborn hope.

“No,” you say, softer now but still firm. “We need to keep looking. There’s got to be someone who knows something—someone who can help figure this out.”

Sevika doesn’t answer right away.

Her eyes search your face, like she’s trying to memorize it, like it might disappear if she blinks too long. There’s a storm behind her gaze, something more than frustration—uncertainty. Fear. Longing.

“What if…” she begins slowly, voice low, hesitant, “what if I don’t remember?”

Your breath stills at her words, your momentum stalling.

“What if this is it?” she continues. “If I can’t remember what I’ve done, who I was…before…How do I know I deserve it? I don’t know how I even earned this life—” her eyes flick to yours “—earned you.”

Her voice cracks slightly on the last word.

You don’t speak right away.

Instead, your hands move gently, one coming up to cup her cheek, your thumb brushing softly along her jaw. The other finds the bare skin of her arm where it’s wrapped around your waist, your fingers running soothing strokes over it in slow, grounding movements.

She leans into your touch without even realizing it.

“Sevika,” you murmur, steady and soft. “Look at me.”

Her eyes lift to yours, conflicted and vulnerable in a way she almost never lets show.

You meet that gaze without flinching. 

“Do you still love me?”

A beat passes.

Then Sevika exhales like she’s releasing a breath she’s been holding since the moment she woke up in this unfamiliar life. Her grip around your waist tightens just slightly, like she’s afraid she might lose this moment too.

“I’ve never stopped,” she says quietly.

It’s not a confession. It’s a truth. One that’s always been there.

You smile, just a little. A real one, warm and unguarded.

“Then we’ll figure the rest out together,” you say. “Memory or no memory. I’m not going anywhere.”

Something shifts in Sevika’s expression, relief softening the hard lines of doubt and guilt. The tension in her shoulders unwinds just a little, and the hand at your waist flexes like it’s learning what reassurance feels like again.

She glances past you, toward the sounds of music and laughter drifting down the street, the glow of festival lanterns flickering in the early evening light.

“Come with me?” she asks, voice rough but steady now. “To the festival.”

You blink, surprised by the sudden invitation. But the sincerity in her tone—the hesitant hope—it anchors you more than anything else.

You nod, looping your arm through hers. 

“Alright. Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Sevika stands quietly at your side, her broad frame slightly hunched in that relaxed way she gets when she’s comfortable but watching. Always watching. Her expression is softer than usual, almost fond, though she tries not to make it obvious.

You’re focused on the game booth in front of you, brow furrowed as you line up your shot. The small rubber ball in your hand is aimed squarely at a shelf of stuffed toys.

You launch it with a flick of your wrist. It hits the top plush with a satisfying thump, but not enough force to knock it over.

“So close!” the booth attendant chimes cheerfully, retrieving another ball and tossing it your way. “Last shot!”

You huff, dramatic and clearly annoyed, as you catch the ball. A slight pout creeps onto your lips as you toy with it in your hands, squinting at the display like you’re sizing up your opponent.

Behind you, Sevika chuckles under her breath, not in mockery but in quiet amusement. She hasn’t seen you like this in…who knows how long. Unburdened. Focused on something that isn’t survival or grief. Just you, at play.

You turn at the sound of her laugh, one brow arched in mock challenge.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she murmurs, smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re just cute when you try to be serious.”

You hum, a spark of an idea forming. Stepping closer, you slip in beside her and gently take her left arm, your fingers trailing absentminded patterns along her bare skin. Then, with a quiet deliberation, you place the ball into her open palm.

“If only I had a big, strong wife to win me something,” you say teasingly.

Sevika quirks a brow, amused and unimpressed. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to do it yourself?” she reminds you, eyes narrowing playfully. “Something about ‘pride in the win’?”

You make a show of sighing and reaching for the ball again. 

“Fine, if you’re not confident you’ll win—”

Before your fingers can graze the rubber, Sevika smoothly shifts the ball to her right hand. Her left slides around your waist instead, tugging you flush against her side.

Your breath hitches, the surprise and proximity turning your teasing into something warmer, more intimate.

Sevika leans just slightly into you, voice low and smug. 

“Let me show you how it’s done.”

Then, with precise strength and a flick of her wrist, she launches the ball at the shelf of plush toys. The top one topples instantly, falling forward into the bin with a dull thump. 

A clean hit.

The booth attendant claps enthusiastically. 

“We have a winner!”

Sevika barely reacts. She’s too focused on you.

But then, a faint crease forms between your brows, and her smirk falters slightly. 

“What?”

You blink, caught in your observation. Your eyes flick from her right hand—the one she just threw with—to her left, still curled possessively around your waist.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, shaking your head and smiling again. “Just impressed. Like always.”

But Sevika knows your expressions. And that wasn’t just admiration. It was curiosity. Confusion. Something deeper.

She opens her mouth to press it, but the plush is already being handed to her, a ridiculously round, soft blue creature with comically large eyes.

Without hesitation, she turns and hands it to you.

“Here,” she mutters, almost awkwardly. “Don’t say I never give you anything.”

You grin as you take it from her, squeezing it between your hands with genuine delight.

Then, before Sevika can react, you lean up and press a kiss—gentle and brief—to the edge of her cheek.

It stops her cold.

Her whole body freezes. The smirk fades. Her breath stalls in her chest.

Your lips linger just a heartbeat longer before you pull away, eyes sparkling with unspoken affection. You don’t comment on her expression. You don’t need to.

Sevika is still stunned, her mind lagging behind her body, face slack with the barest trace of awe. The warmth from your kiss is still spreading across her skin when—

“Well, well. Maybe those muscles are good for something after all.”

Powder’s voice cuts through the haze like a needle, teasing and sharp.

Sevika blinks, head turning to see her approaching with that same cocky strut, her blue hair bouncing with each step. Ekko trails just behind her, arms crossed, clearly the less amused of the two.

Powder tilts her head, eyes flitting from you to Sevika and back again.

“You two done making out in public, or should we come back later?”

Sevika scoffs, recovering enough to roll her eyes. 

“Go mess with someone else, Jinx.”

The moment the name slips out, the air shifts.

Powder stops short, her posture straightening. Her grin falters, eyebrows lifting in a look of genuine confusion.

“Did you hit your head or something?” she snaps, hands landing on her hips. “It’s Powder. Pow-der. Geez.”

You frown slightly and nudge Sevika in the ribs.

“That’s not nice,” you murmur, your voice lowered just enough for her to hear. “You shouldn’t call her that.”

Sevika exhales heavily and glances at you. The look you give her isn’t angry, just firm, your expression quietly asking for better.

You gesture subtly toward Powder, reminding her that this Powder isn’t the same as the one she’s spent years enduring. She wouldn’t know how much that name still weighs.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sevika mutters, mostly to herself. But the guilt prickles anyway. She looks at Powder and adds, half-hearted and awkward, “Sorry.”

Powder squints at her, unconvinced, but lets it go.

Ekko, however, doesn’t.

Sevika feels it the second his gaze sharpens. His arms uncross slightly, tension rolling subtly into his shoulders. He’s looking at her differently now. There’s a glint of suspicion there, a caution she hasn’t seen from anyone in this world yet…but knows too well from the other.

Before she can address it—or avoid it—Powder grabs Ekko’s sleeve and pulls him along.

“Whatever,” she says, casting Sevika one last glance over her shoulder. Not angry. Just…off. Confused.

Then, her gaze shifts to you.

“We’re gonna go visit Vi.”

You give her a warm and gentle smile like you’re trying to smooth the edges of something painful.

“Alright,” you reply gently. “We’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

Powder gives a noncommittal nod before disappearing into the crowd, tugging Ekko behind her. 

But Ekko—he looks back.

Just once. His gaze lingers on Sevika for a moment longer than it should, long enough for her to feel the hair rise on the back of her neck. It’s not just suspicion anymore. It’s recognition, the sense that something about her doesn’t add up, and he’s starting to see it.

Then he’s gone, pulled along after Powder, vanishing into the haze of people and music.

Sevika stands stiffly at your side, her hands now clenched at her sides. Her jaw locks tight, her muscles drawn with tension she can’t explain without unraveling everything.

The air feels thinner, and for a brief moment, she feels like the illusion—this fragile, impossible life—is slipping. 

But then all she feels is you.

Your fingers slide into hers without hesitation, soft but sure, weaving between hers with easy, quiet confidence. Like it’s instinct. Like you’re not afraid of whatever storm’s brewing in her chest.

She turns to look at you, startled by the small gesture.

You don’t say anything. You just give her that gentle, grounding smile that holds no judgment or pressure. Just your presence.

Then, without a word, you give her hand a light tug and start walking, guiding her deeper into the colorful swirl of the festival.

Sevika follows.

Because right now, you are the only thing that feels real.

Sevika sits at one of the small wooden tables scattered around the open square of Zaun, her arms resting against the edge as she leans forward slightly, the fingers of one hand idly tracing the grain in the wood. Her posture is relaxed enough to pass for casual, but the tension sits in her shoulders, low and steady, like an ache that never quite fades.

The festival bustles around her. Laughter rings out. Lanterns sway lazily in the breeze. Children run around with toys and treats. 

But none of it sinks in—not really.

Because everything about this world feels off.

It’s too safe. Too peaceful. No one watches their backs here. No one walks like they’re waiting to be hunted. 

In the center of the square, where a statue of Vander should stand—where he does stand in her world—there’s only a fountain. Water flows gently over stone. No plaque. No memorial.

Just a normal square in a world she doesn’t belong to.

What changed? Sevika wonders. What did this version of Zaun do differently to deserve this kind of peace?

What did she do to get this sort of life?

Her fingers tap restlessly against the table until a sudden jostle underneath makes her flinch. 

Sevika shifts back, peering beneath the table, ready for trouble. 

But it’s just a ball. And a small hand reaching after it.

A familiar little girl crawls under, eyes wide with innocent determination. 

Sevika freezes.

“Isha?” she breathes. 

The kid looks up, brown hair falling over her eyes. She tilts her head slightly, curious but confused, clutching the ball in one hand.

But her eyes don’t light with recognition.

Before Sevika can say anything else, a woman’s voice calls out from a few meters away. 

“Isha! Come from under there, sweetie!”

The kid looks back, smiles widely, and takes off, running toward the voice. The woman bends to catch her in a warm embrace, laughing softly as she ruffles the girl’s hair with a gentleness only a mother could carry. 

Sevika doesn’t move. She just watches, silent and still, as the small ache from the brief interaction passes.

“Do you know them?”

Your voice cuts through the quiet.  

Sevika blinks, looking away from the pair and turning to you.

You were setting down two containers of food—fresh grilled mushrooms skewered with peppers, fried dumplings, and a pair of sweet-glazed buns.

“Uh…” Sevika hesitates, glancing back toward the retreating figures. “Sort of.”

You hum as you sit beside her, not pushing. You simply pick up one of the skewers and take a slow bite, your gaze soft as you watch her from the side.

“Maybe it’d help if we talked through what you do remember,” you suggest, your voice gentle. “Might make it easier to sort out the details in your mind.”

Sevika grimaces, unconvinced. 

What’s the point, she thought. This body might fit here, but it’s not her life.

Still, she didn’t say no.

You grin a little at her reluctant expression, brushing crumbs from your fingers.

“Do you remember how we met?” you ask.

Sevika’s eyes lift to meet yours.

How could she not?

The memory strikes with startling clarity. And just like that, Sevika’s mind flickers back to it.

It was raining. Hard. The kind of night where the gutters overflowed and steam rose from every corner of the undercity. The flickering neon signs did little to break the gloom, and the air stank of rust and old oil.

Sevika had just finished playing cards in one of her usual haunts, taking a small fortune off a group of cocky out-of-towners.

They didn’t take it well.

She fought back hard. Left most of them on the ground. But one of them had managed a lucky swipe—just enough to cut deep across her side.

Now she staggered through the streets, hand clamped over the wound, blood seeping through her fingers. Her other shoulder slammed against the wall of a closed shop as she tried to steady her breathing.

A light flicked on.

A door creaked open.

Sevika looked up with a warning glare, ready to scare away anyone who might want to try her, and her eyes immediately locked with yours.

You froze—halfway out the door, your silhouette framed by the warm glow inside.

Then your gaze flicked down, catching sight of her hand pressed to her side.

Without a word, you turned and stepped back inside. The door shut softly behind you.

Good, Sevika thought. Didn’t want any more trouble anyway.

She shifted to push off the wall, gritting her teeth.

Then the door opened again.

And suddenly, you were there.

You pressed a cloth firmly to her wound, moving her arm around your shoulders before she could protest. The next thing she knew, she was being guided—half-dragged—through the doorway and into the warmth of your shop.

The scent of fresh bread and sugar hit her instantly. 

You settled her in a wooden chair near the counter.

“Press firmly,” you said, guiding her hand to hold the cloth in place before moving to gather supplies nearby.

Sevika scoffed. 

“What did you think I was doing?”

“Bleeding out in front of my shop,” you replied dryly, not even looking up as you prepared what she now realized was equipment for stitches.

You turned to her, raising a brow. 

“Now, you want something to bite down on, or are you just going to choke on your pride?”

Sevika huffed back a small chuckle before eyeing the needle in your hand warily. 

“How do I know you’re not gonna hurt me or some shit?”

You placed your hands on your hips. 

“Oh, do I scare you?”

She smirked despite herself, eyes trailing over you. 

“You don’t survive down here by underestimating people,” she muttered, pressing harder against her side and closing her eyes with a slight wince. “Especially not a pretty little thing like you.”

You didn’t answer. 

She barely noticed the silence—too focused on her own ragged breathing—until your steps moved closer to her. Suddenly, something small is tapped lightly to her bottom lip.

Sevika jerked back, opening her eyes with a glare.

“Dark chocolate,” you said simply, waving the small piece between your fingers. “It’ll help distract you.”

She eyed it suspiciously.

“I made it myself.”

Still, she didn’t budge.

You rolled your eyes, biting a corner piece, chewing and swallowing pointedly, before raising your brow again and offering it back to her.

Sevika glanced between the candy and your face in contemplation.

Your expression was not afraid, just calm and patient, quieting waiting for her. 

Something about that…disarmed her.

When you started to pull your hand back, Sevika reacted without thinking—reaching up with her free hand to grab your wrist, the grip instinctive and firm. She tugged you closer, snatching the piece of chocolate from your fingers with her teeth in one swift, unceremonious motion.

Her eyes didn’t waver, holding yours with a kind of defiance. Stubborn and unapologetic.

You didn’t flinch or scold her for almost biting your finger. You simply held her gaze, a barely-there grin curving your lips in amusement.

Neither of you said anything after that.

But for Sevika, she knew that was the beginning of everything. 

That memory lingers, then dissolves like smoke as she blinks herself back to the present.

You’re beside her once more. Still that same look in your eyes. Still that same warmth in your smile. 

A small dumpling pinched gently between your fingers, held out toward her like a quiet offering.

No pressure. No expectations. Just…waiting.

And before she can think twice, Sevika mimics the gesture she remembers from that night.

She reaches up, her fingers brushing your wrist as she gently takes your hand in hers. She guides your hand toward her mouth, and this time—just before her lips close over the dumpling—they graze your fingertips. Her mouth lingers for a beat longer than necessary, and still, she never once breaks eye contact.

You smile at her in turn, soft and certain.

Not scared. Not wary.

Just…there. Like you always are.

Sevika chews slowly, and the weight in her chest loosens.

“I remember,” she murmurs, swallowing. “How you shoved me out into the night right after you stitched me up.”

You huff a laugh and finally reclaim your hand, grabbing a dumpling for yourself.

“Was I supposed to offer my bed, too, after you ate all my chocolate?”

Sevika chuckles, resting her elbow on the table and leaning her cheek into her fist, watching you with something quiet in her eyes.

“That would’ve saved us some time.”

You gasp dramatically. 

“And miss the pleasure of watching you pine after me for weeks?” You pop the dumpling into your mouth. “You came into my shop every day pretending to browse, until you finally grew a spine and asked me out.”

Sevika scoffs, but her head dips slightly, trying—and failing—to hide the relieved smile tugging at her lips.

That much of your past with her is the same. 

Her fingers drum slowly against the table, comforted by the symmetry of it all. 

Until…they stop.

Because that means the rest might be the same too. 

Her throat tightens. A different memory creeps in.

She clenches her jaw, the muscles ticking. Her hand slowly curls into a fist.

“I…” Sevika starts, voice low, uncertain. “Did I…”

She grits her teeth, then forces it out.

“Did I leave you?”

She looks up at you, bracing herself.

Your expression doesn’t crumble, but it does change. The soft smile is still there, but it falters at the edges. Fades into something quieter. Sadder.

But not angry. 

You rest your hand gently over her clenched one, your thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles.

Your voice is barely above a whisper. 

“You came back…eventually.”

Sevika’s heart drops.

That was it. That’s the difference.

This Sevika came back to you.

She didn’t.

“You’re making that face again.”

Sevika blinks and looks up, startled by your voice pulling her from whatever spiral she was falling into.

Your hand lifts between you, fingers brushing gently over the space between her brows.

“Right here,” you murmur, thumb smoothing the tense furrow etched deep into her skin. “You always get that crease when you’re stuck in your head.”

Your touch is soft and so familiar it hurts.

Sevika swallows hard and straightens abruptly, retreating a few inches from your hand. Like she doesn’t deserve the comfort of it.

Your hand hovers there for a beat, suspended in air, before falling slowly to the table. You don’t look hurt, just patient. Waiting for her to find the words.

Waiting for her to come back.

Sevika’s eyes drop, staring at the worn edge of the table like it holds answers she can’t find in herself. Her fingers curl against her leg, tension bleeding into the silence. 

And then, like a cruel tide, the memory returns.

The hallway had been dim and uneven beneath her boots, each step unsteady and dragging.

Sevika’s shoulder slammed into the wall as she staggered, the half-empty bottle in her hand clinking softly against the doorframe as she passed. Her breath reeked of liquor and bitterness. She hated how lopsided she moved now, how every step reminded her of what was gone—of what she lost.

Her left side still felt like it should be there. But it wasn’t. The phantom ache gnawed at her, and it pissed her off even more that it hurt.

The hallway swam slightly in her vision, and then the door to the bedroom creaked open, soft light spilling across the floor, framing your silhouette.

You blinked, bleary-eyed at first, but then alert, concern snapping into place the moment you saw her sway.

“Sevika—”

She stumbled again, her foot catching the edge of the hallway rug. 

But before she could collapse, your arms wrapped around her, steadying her weight with practiced familiarity, even as she leaned heavily onto you. 

Her head dipped automatically into the crook of your neck, cheek brushing warm skin, her breath hot as she pressed her lips against you in a ghost of a kiss.

Your hand cupped the back of her head instinctively. 

But then, you hesitated—because you smelled it.

“You’ve been drinking again?” you murmured, tone tight. “You shouldn’t be out so late. Not while you’re still recovering.”

The words weren’t harsh, just tired and worried. 

But in that moment, they struck her like a match to oil.

Her body went stiff in your arms.

“I didn’t come back here for your pity,” she growled, slurring slightly, her voice thick with defiance and something darker—shame.

You pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. 

“I’m not pitying you, Sevika. I just…care about you.”

Her stomach turned.

It was too much.

And so she did what she always did when things got too close—she pushed.

“What if I don’t want you to care?” she snapped.

The words rang out sharper than she meant them to, slicing between you like broken glass.

Your face stilled.

She saw it—the flicker of pain, the subtle recoil of your heart behind your eyes. It was the kind of expression you only made when someone struck a nerve you weren’t ready to expose.

But Sevika didn’t take it back. In her anger and frustration, she didn’t know how.

“Whatever,” she muttered, shrugging off your hands as she turned toward the front door. “I’m going to get another drink.”

You didn’t follow.

You didn’t raise your voice.

You just stood there. Tired. Hurt.

“Sevika.”

Her hand froze on the door handle.

“Stay.”

It was soft. Just one word. But it carried everything.

She didn’t turn around. Couldn’t.

Her grip tightened on the knob, knuckles white.

Then your voice came again, quieter, heavier. 

“If you leave now...I won’t be here when you come back.”

Her chest constricted, and something in her throat burned. One simple fact—one reason—kept her in place. 

But the phantom pain pulsed in her missing arm, and the ache swallowed that reason whole.

Sevika twisted the handle and walked out.

Distant music fades back in. And then your voice pulls her out of the memory.

“Where did you go now?” you ask quietly.

Your voice isn’t accusing. It’s curious. Caring.

Sevika’s shoulders jerk subtly, like the question physically hit her.

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her jaw is clenched tight, her breath shallow. Her eyes are still fixed on the table’s edge, where her fingers tremble.

“I left,” she says finally, voice hoarse.

You remain quiet, letting her speak.

“You asked me to stay…and I walked away.”

A beat. Her lips tighten. Her voice wavers now, and her eyes finally rise to meet yours.

“You were the only good thing left. And I hurt you. I…I don’t know how to undo that.”

You look down briefly, your hand tracing the rim of your drink in quiet thought, then glance back up at her with a slight tilt of your head.

“We’ve all made mistakes, Sevika.”

Your gaze softens as you give her a small smile. 

“But you’re here now.”

Sevika’s breath stutters. Her pulse drums in her ears. She wants to believe that’s enough. That being here now can somehow undo everything about being gone then.

But she’s still scared. Not of you but of not being enough for this life. For you. For whatever future might be waiting.

She shifts in her seat, shoulders squared like she’s bracing for another blow.

You lean forward slightly, your eyes searching hers, your voice steady.

“So, what are you going to do?”

It’s not a challenge. It’s not a plea.

It’s a door. One only she can choose to walk through.

And for the first time since arriving in this world, Sevika truly considers the question, not as a ghost pretending to belong, but as someone who can decide.

Her gaze drops to your hand resting on the table. 

She reaches out slowly and places her hand atop yours. It’s warm and soft and trembles faintly as her thumb brushes over your knuckles.

When she speaks, her voice is low but certain.

“I want to stay.” Her eyes lift to yours, vulnerable and unguarded. “Let me stay with you this time.”

You stare at her for a long moment, your eyes glinting with something too big for words—relief, hope, but above all, love.

Then, finally, you turn your hand beneath hers, intertwining your fingers, and squeeze gently.

“Then stay,” you whisper. “Stay with me.”

The festival hums around you, warm and alive beneath the glow of flickering lanterns strung overhead. The soft clatter of vendors, the distant sound of music, and the scent of grilled street food and sweet candied fruit wrap fill the air.

Night has fully settled over Zaun, painting the sky in deep indigo. The buzz of the crowd feels softer somehow, less sharp, like the world has exhaled with you.

Sevika walks just a step behind you, her hand firmly intertwined with yours. She’s quiet, but not distant, and her gaze barely strays from you.

She watches the way you smile at passing stalls, how your eyes light up at conversations she doesn’t yet know the meaning of, but wants to eventually.

So when someone suddenly bumps into her shoulder, it jars her out of the moment when they confront her.

“Hey! Watch it—oh, it’s you.”

Powder stops mid-snap as she stumbles back a step, recognition setting in, and her arms drop back to her sides.

Her blue hair is a little mussed, and her shoulders are tense with irritation, but what Sevika sees more clearly are the shadows under her eyes. A puffiness that suggests she’s been crying, even if she’s trying very hard to pretend otherwise.

You must notice too, because your hand squeezes Sevika’s slightly before you gently ask, “Powder…where’s Ekko?”

Powder scoffs immediately, crossing her arms with an exaggerated huff.

“Ugh. Being a jerk.” She flings her arms wide, voice rising. “I don’t know—he’s just…being weird. Saying weird things. Looking at me weird. He’s acting like I did something wrong when I didn’t.”

Sevika arches a brow and tilts her head.

“You sure it’s not you?”

It’s a jab, delivered with a dry edge, but the tone lacks bite.

And something about it works because Powder lets out a small, surprised laugh.

“Wow. There she is,” Powder mutters, giving Sevika a once-over and nudging your side with her elbow. “No more of that doom-and-gloom ‘jinx’ crap, huh? Finally got your head screwed on right. Let me guess…” She smirks, eyes flitting to you. “Wife fixed you?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the amused smile that curves your lips. 

“Somebody had to,” you reply lightly.

Sevika huffs, but there’s no real protest, just a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Powder catches it. 

“See? Normal,” she says.

She stretches her arms overhead then, fingers laced behind her neck as she turns to leave, throwing out a casual, “Well, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Don’t make out in public, I just ate.”

But Sevika doesn’t miss it.

The way Powder’s shoulders don’t quite bounce with the usual swagger. The flicker in her expression, just a half-second of vulnerability before she masks it under exaggerated indifference.

Sevika’s seen that look before. For years, she’s watched that look appear in the same exact manner, even as the little girl grew older into the teenager before her now, albeit a different version of her.

And despite everything still tangled inside her, something instinctive rises in her chest.

She glances toward a nearby stall, catching sight of the brightly papered fireworks stacked in open bins beside unlit lanterns. The vendor is laughing with a couple of kids, handing out sparklers with a dramatic flourish.

Sevika’s gaze darts back to Powder’s retreating form.

“Hey, brat!”

The call makes Powder pause, one brow raising over her shoulder.

Sevika jerks her chin toward the stall. 

“Wanna blow some shit up?”

Powder blinks. For a second, she just stares. And then her face lights up, not in mockery or smugness, but in real, genuine, kid-like excitement. Her eyes gleam under the lantern light as she pivots fully and bounds back toward you both.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

You watch the two of them with quiet warmth as Powder bounces in place, already eyeing the fireworks like she’s deciding which one might do the most dramatic damage.

Sevika doesn’t say much as she lets Powder choose the ones she wants, but her hand doesn’t leave yours either. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“That was sweet,” you murmur softly, your voice low and warm as you work the thin strip of paper between your fingers.

You’re sitting between Sevika’s legs on the stone steps, your back nestled comfortably against her chest. Her arms rest on either side of you like a shield that’s not needed but never unwanted. 

The night air carries the faint scent of burnt powder and grilled meat, softened by the distant sounds of laughter and the gentle melody of a string quartet playing somewhere deeper in the square.

Just ahead, Powder crouches beside a new canister, completely absorbed in setting up the next firework. She doesn’t hesitate or flinch even as the fire sparks the line just a little too close for most others’ comfort. Just that wide, toothy grin splitting her face as the firework shoots into the sky, its trail of sparks disappearing into the darkness before it explodes into a bloom of violet and blue.

Sevika glances at the detonation, then lets out a resigned grunt. 

“Yeah, well, nothing cheers that brat up faster than a little pyrotechnic therapy.”

She fishes her now-empty wallet from her coat pocket, flips it open, and scowls at the barren interior before shoving it away with a groan. 

“There goes my drink fund for the week.”

You chuckle and lean your head slightly back against her collarbone. 

“Worth it.”

Sevika scoffs, but she doesn’t argue. Something catches in her gaze when she looks up again.

Across the square, tucked behind a stack of wooden crates, a small, familiar figure peeks out with wide eyes.

Sevika narrows her gaze in recognition. 

“Isha?”

You follow her line of sight. 

“Is that her name?” you ask softly. 

Sevika nods just as Powder’s attention seems to catch on the timid shadow too.

With barely a pause, Powder straightens a little, then tilts her head with an open, beckoning gesture. She crouches again and offers out a lit sparkler without saying a word.

Isha hesitates.

But then, slowly, she moves forward. Small steps at first, like the moment might shatter if she breathes too hard. When she finally reaches Powder’s side, she accepts the sparkler with a tentative hand.

The glow reflects in both their eyes as they watch the sparks hiss and dance down the stick, Powder grinning and Isha wide-eyed with quiet wonder. They don’t speak, but they don’t need to.

Sevika watches, lips twitching into a faint, rare smile.

“Guess those two were always bound to find each other,” she murmurs.

You shift slightly, sitting up straighter in her lap, and Sevika’s attention drifts back to you.

She watches you fold the piece of paper you’ve been writing on and tuck it securely into the metal crossbeam inside the paper lantern on your lap.

“What did you write?”

A soft huff falls from your lips as you shake your head.

“It’s a wish. If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

Sevika scoffs at the ridiculousness of the idea. Wishes and hopes are pointless to believe in when she needed to rely on her own strength all her life to survive.

Undeterred by her blatant skepticism, you raise your hand toward her, palm up, without even glancing back.

“Lighter?”

Sevika quirks a brow and reaches into her pocket.

But just as the metal clicks softly into your waiting hand, she pulls it back.

You blink, turning your head to look at her, one brow arching in amused expectation.

Sevika flips the lighter open and closed lazily, a smirk tugging at her mouth. 

“What do I get if I give it to you?”

You let out a soft laugh, turning and leaning in toward her with mock offense and exaggerated sweetness.

“Oh, I see,” you murmur, your tone dropping ever so slightly. You place a hand on her arm, fingers tracing along the firm line of muscle beneath her sleeve. “Holding my fire hostage?”

“Maybe.” Her smirk widens. “I like watching you squirm.”

You chuckle and press in closer. 

“Please, Sevika,” you whisper, deliberately dropping your voice an octave. “Can I have the lighter?”

Her eyes darken at the way her name falls from your lips, and her tongue briefly wets her bottom lip.

She leans in too, lifting the lighter and placing it back in your hand but wraps her fingers over yours, holding it in place.

“Well,” she murmurs, “since you beg so nicely…”

You tilt your head, smiling wickedly. Your free hand slides up her arm again, this time slipping beneath her sleeve to graze over her shoulder. You press your body flush to hers, your lips brushing the curve of her jaw.

Then your hand leaves her shoulder and gently cups her chin, thumb gliding across her bottom lip and guiding it slightly open.

You lean in close as if to kiss her before dipping your head to the side at the last second, lips brushing her ear instead as you whisper, “Just wait ’til I really start begging.”

Sevika lets out a breathless, low laugh, but there’s a sharpness in it now, a hungry edge.

You pull back just enough to light the lantern and admire the glow as it begins to shimmer, your paper containing your written wish fluttering safely at the center of the rod.

“I need a lift,” you say simply, glancing up at the thin string of lights above, where others have hung lanterns in long, drifting rows.

Sevika grins and sets her hands firmly on your waist.

Before you can prepare, she stands and effortlessly lifts you like it’s nothing. Her hands grip you securely as she holds you aloft. 

With a soft laugh, you reach up, stretching to clip the lantern onto the string line, the heat of her body grounding you even as you balance in midair.

When you finish, you glance down and say lightly, “Okay. You can put me down now.”

But Sevika doesn’t, at least not completely, lowering you just slightly until your face hovers above hers while keeping you in her arms.

“What if I don’t want to?” she teases, her voice low and husky.

You grin, settling your hands on her broad shoulders as you lean in slowly, your forehead resting gently against hers. Your noses almost brush, your breath mingling between you in the warm air.

You glance down at her lips, then back to her eyes.

“Then I guess you’d better hold on tight.”

Your fingers rise to cup her cheeks, your thumbs tracing along her jawline as your mouth hovers just inches from hers.

This time, she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate.

The moment your lips touch hers, Sevika leans into it instinctively, like her body remembers what it’s supposed to do before her mind can even catch up. Her arms tighten at your waist, pulling you closer, deeper.

But just as you feel her begin to deepen it, her hand moving down your spine, you smile against her lips and pull back slightly, teasing.

Her brows furrow, just barely, as her mouth parts in a question.

And that’s when you murmur, “Take me home, Sevika.”

The look she gives you then is full of heat, reverence, and something close to awe.

She doesn’t say a word.

She just starts walking with you still in her arms.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Sevika all but pins you to the wall the moment she kicks the front door shut, her body flush against yours as she swallows the gasp from your lips with a deep, hungry kiss.

The hallway lights are dim, but neither of you needs to see to know where this is going. 

You’ve been teasing her all the way home—light kisses along her jaw, fingers slipping just beneath her collar, your whispers more suggestion than words. And while she’d given your thigh a warning squeeze halfway down the street, it had only spurred you on.

Now, she’s done waiting.

You wrap your legs around her with practiced ease as she lifts you slightly against the wall, the motion grinding your body against hers in a friction that makes you both hiss between your teeth.

“Still proud of yourself?” she murmurs against your throat, her breath hot and uneven.

You only smirk and tilt your chin higher, a challenge. One she meets immediately.

Her hands make quick work of your top, sliding it off your shoulders and down your arms. The air hits your skin with a chill until Sevika’s palms replace it, warm and steady as they roam your body.

She pulls back just enough to take you in. Her eyes roam slowly, hungrily, as if rediscovering a favorite painting. The flush on your cheeks, the way your lips are slightly swollen from kissing, the rise and fall of your chest.

“Still just as beautiful,” she murmurs, mostly to herself.

And then she’s kissing lower, along your collar, down the slope of your breast, her mouth reverent, savoring every reaction while coaxing soft, involuntary sounds from you.

Her mouth wraps around one of your breasts, tongue swirling slowly around your nipple as she sucks gently, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.

At the same time, her hand massages your other breast, fingers firm and skillful, teasing along the soft curve before rolling your nipple between her fingertips.

Her hips keep moving, grinding against your core in slow, deliberate strokes that build a maddening pressure—so much heat, but still not enough.

You moan, your back arching into her touch, your fingers tightening in her hair as she works you with practiced devotion, each movement coaxing you higher while keeping you right on the edge.

“Sevika,” you breathe, her name stuttered like a prayer. “Please…”

You don’t finish, but you don’t have to.

Sevika knows.

Without a word, she pulls you from the wall and carries you down the hallway. Her mouth shifts back up until she’s kissing you again.

Her lips never leave yours, not even as she maneuvers you into the bedroom. She places you on the bed, lowering you with a careful strength, her body following until she hovers just above you.

Your back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and your breath catches. 

Sevika takes full advantage of the gasp, deepening the kiss, her tongue claiming the space you willingly give. 

You moan into her mouth, and her hand at your waist grips tighter.

She barely notices that while she was occupied, your fingers had found the buttons of her shirt. The fabric is halfway off her shoulders, and your hands are already at her belt, pushing down her pants.

Sevika breaks the kiss with a low growl, eyes narrowing in realization of the fact that you managed to undress her completely before she could do you. 

She kicks the last of her clothes off and mutters, “Sneaky, but you should’ve taken off yours first.”

Before you can ask what she means, her hand slides between your legs—still clothed—and presses firmly against your core. 

You jolt, gasping her name. 

“Sevika!”

But then nothing.

She eases the pressure, pulling her hand away just enough to tease but not satisfy. 

Your hands immediately grip her forearms, trying to guide her back, but she holds still. When you try to shift your hips toward her, she places her other hand on your stomach, keeping you in place.

You pout, lips parting in a soft whine.

Sevika leans in, brushing a gentle kiss against your cheek.

“Thought you said you were good at begging,” she murmurs.

Her hand moves again, finger flicking lightly against the aching heat between your legs.

You cry out, body jerking.

“Sevika—please!”

“That’s more like it,” she teases, her voice low, dangerous. “Now tell me, how bad do you want it?”

You squirm beneath her, breathless. 

“Please—touch me—Sevika, I—”

“Touch? That’s all?” she drawls, fingers tracing lazy patterns just where you want them most. “You don’t want me to use my fingers? Stretch you open? See how many times I can make you come?”

You whimper, nodding frantically, unable to form the words as arousal coils tight in your belly.

Finally, she leans down, mouth at your ear.

“You got plans tomorrow?”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

She grins. 

“Because after I’m done with you, sweetheart…I don’t think you’ll have the strength to even stand.”

You bite your lips in anticipation, an immediate heat of arousal shooting straight to your core at her words. 

Then she’s kissing you again as she slips off the rest of your clothes. 

When you’re finally bare beneath her, Sevika leans back just enough to look—really look.

You shift slightly, suddenly shy under the weight of her gaze.

“You’ve seen me like this before,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” she replies, her tone softer now. “And if I don’t look at you like this every time…like the treasure you are…” She pauses, her fingers now slowly slipping through the wetness between your thighs. “Then I don’t deserve you.”

Your eyes widen at the sincerity of her voice, but before you can even form a reply, Sevika’s hand shifts, and she plunges a finger inside you.

You gasp, the stretch immediate and delicious, your back arching off the bed. Her name slips out in a shaky moan, your hands flying to her shoulders, grounding yourself in her solid weight as your body pulses around her.

She gives you a moment—just a beat—to adjust, to feel her. Then, slowly, she starts to move.

Her rhythm is measured and deliberate, each stroke of her finger sliding in and out of you with practiced control.

Your breath comes out in shallow pants, but your mind hasn’t entirely gone into bliss yet, not while you still have a little strength left to tease.

You tug her down closer, one hand slipping up to the nape of her neck, guiding her head toward you. Your lips find that sensitive spot just beneath her ear—the one that always makes her exhale through her nose—and you suck gently, nipping just enough to feel the way her muscles tense.

Sevika swallows hard.

You feel the slight hitch in her breath.

Then a dark chuckle vibrates against your skin.

“You little—”

Before you can smirk, Sevika adds another finger.

Your eyes flutter open wide. “Oh—!”

She curls them just right, right into the spot that makes your vision blur for just a second, and your voice stutters out in a breathless gasp as all thoughts of teasing vanish from your head.

“Sev—!”

She chuckles again, low and smug, and then her thumb joins the dance, circling your clit with that perfect pressure, pushing you toward the edge with ruthless precision.

Your teasing stops cold. Your breath shatters.

You bury your face into the crook of her neck, your moans now raw, uncontrolled, flooding against her skin.

Sevika leans into you, bracing herself above you as her pace increases, fingers driving deeper, rougher, the wet sound of your arousal filling the space between gasps. She can feel the tremble in your thighs, the way your walls start to flutter around her.

“You’re close,” she murmurs, her voice low, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You whimper and nod further into the crook of her neck.

She presses her thumb tighter against your clit, swirling faster.

Your breath stops.

Then breaks.

Your body arches violently into hers as you come with a cry of her name, the orgasm ripping through you so suddenly, so completely, it leaves you trembling in her arms.

And Sevika doesn’t stop until you’ve ridden it all out, until your legs twitch and your voice thins to broken breaths against her neck.

Only then does she slow, giving you gradual pumps of her fingers, while her free hand gently smoothing over your thigh in soothing strokes.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes heavy with lust and affection.

Overwhelmed, you cover your eyes with your arm, chest rising and falling rapidly, struggling to catch your breath.

Finally, Sevika withdraws her fingers slowly, pulling a soft whimper from you.

There’s a beat of silence.

You peek through your fingers, just in time to see Sevika bring her glistening hand to her mouth, licking you from her fingers.

But her eyes aren’t on her hand. They’re on you.

And you recognize that look.

“Wait—” you start to say, but it’s too late.

She’s already dipping down, her grip on your thighs tightening as she parts them with ease. One slow, deliberate swipe of her tongue up your soaked core has your back arching off the bed, your hands flying to your mouth to stifle the sound that almost escapes, nearly sobbing from the overstimulation.

Sevika notices immediately, her eyes flicking up to yours in warning.

Her tongue moves in slow, skillful patterns, tracing every sensitive spot like she already knows them, already has them memorized in her mind. 

And when you stubbornly refuse to make a sound, she rises to the challenge.

You can feel it—the growing smugness behind each flick of her tongue, the deliberate pace that makes you ache.

Then, without warning, her tongue dips inside.

Your whole body jerks.

A desperate cry slips from your lips before you can catch it, your hands abandoning your mouth to bury into her hair instead—fingers tangling, clenching, holding her right where she is.

Sevika hums low in satisfaction, and the vibration against your core sends you hurtling toward another high.

Her hands press firmer against your thighs, anchoring you in place as her tongue works you relentlessly, unbothered by your pleas or the twitch of your hips.

She’s smug, and she’s hungry, and she’s absolutely not letting up.

Your moans get higher, breath more erratic, the pressure mounting again as she circles your clit with unrelenting attention. The heat in your gut coils tight until it snaps—your body trembling, breath breaking into shuddering gasps as you come again, your hands still fisted in her hair.

Only then does she ease off, slow and gentle, placing one final kiss to your sensitive center before finally rising.

Your chest heaves as Sevika crawls back up, hovering above you, braced on her forearms. Her face is flushed with heat, and there’s a dazed satisfaction in her eyes. Evidence of your release glistens on her chin, but she makes no move to wipe it away.

You peek through your lashes, trying to gather breath, and find her watching you.

Her gaze is soft now. Open. Filled with nothing but affection and love.

You blink, overwhelmed, and weakly shove at her shoulder.

“Gods, Sevika,” you mutter, breathless. “It’s not even a special occasion.”

She grins, completely unapologetic.

“It is now.”

You groan, but you can’t hold the smile off your face for long—not when she leans in to press gentle kisses along your collarbone, up your neck, along the line of your jaw. She takes her time, lavishing you with soft, unhurried affection until she reaches your lips.

There, she lingers, brushing her nose against yours before whispering, “I love you.”

You melt instantly, your arms wrapping around her shoulders.

“I love you too,” you breathe, kissing her back with slow, lazy adoration.

But then you feel it.

Her hand, previously braced by your side, slides down your thigh, massaging slow, grounding circles—comforting at first.

Until it shifts upward. Her palm drifts along your inner thigh, spreading heat as it goes.

Your body tenses with a sharp breath.

“If you don’t give me a minute,” you gasp, voice shaking, “I swear I’ll kill you.”

Sevika’s smirk returns in full, cocky and deliberate as she kisses the corner of your mouth.

“But sweetheart,” she murmurs, her lips grazing your skin, “you still owe me something.”

Her fingers trail dangerously close now, her voice low and teasing at your ear.

“I haven’t heard you really beg yet.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

A muffled, persistent knocking pulls Sevika from sleep.

Her eyes blink open slowly, adjusting to the dim interior as the sound continues, dull and rhythmic. One glance at the window confirms it’s still the dead of night—dark outside, quiet, peaceful…except for that damn knocking.

She’s ready to ignore it—probably just some drunk who got lost—when she feels the subtle shift of movement against her chest.

Sevika glances down.

You’re curled against her, your face nuzzled into the crook of her neck, one arm draped loosely across her ribs.

Her expression softens at the sight. 

You’re completely relaxed, lips parted in soft breaths, the warmth of your body tangled with hers under the covers.

The sight of you almost makes her forget the noise altogether.

Her hand moves slowly up your spine, fingertips slipping beneath your loose night top, tracing the warm skin there. She can almost feel the ghost of her earlier touches—the marks she left, the way you clung to her, the way you cried her name over and over again like a prayer.

A quiet sigh escapes you at her touch, and you instinctively burrow closer into her, like her presence anchors you even in sleep.

Sevika is caught in the daze of holding you, of remembering the feel of your body and the breathless way you told her you loved her, when—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The moment fractures.

You flinch, just slightly, a furrow forming between your brows.

Sevika’s jaw tightens.

She shoots a venomous glare in the direction of the front door like it personally offended her, then looks back at you. 

You don’t stir again, but your breathing has changed into something lighter, like the edge of wakefulness is creeping closer.

And there’s no way she’s letting your sleep be ruined by someone who can’t take a hint.

Carefully, she slides her arm out from under you, her other hand gently adjusting the blanket around your body. 

Your lips purse in a faint pout at the loss of warmth, but thankfully, you don’t wake.

Sevika presses a soft kiss on your head before rising soundlessly from the bed. She grabs a tank top and sweatpants from the dresser to throw over her frame as she heads down the hallway.

Another knock sounds, but it doesn’t get the chance to finish.

She yanks the door open with force, teeth gritting, voice low and threatening.

“What?”

But her anger fades slightly the moment she sees who’s standing on the other side.

Ekko stands in the quiet street, hand halfway through the motion of knocking again. He lowers it slowly, his expression unreadable but serious. Too serious for this hour. His eyes narrow slightly, scanning her face and the tension in her shoulders.

“What do you want?” Sevika mutters, the bite still in her tone but muted now, grounded by caution.

Ekko doesn’t answer immediately.

He studies her for a beat longer, then says, voice low and firm.

“We need to talk.”

The flick of a lighter breaks the silence of the alleyway.

Sevika stands with her back against the wall, the dull orange glow of her cigar flaring to life as she brings it to her lips. Smoke coils slowly from her nostrils as she exhales, her eyes flicking to Ekko standing across from her.

His arms are crossed tightly, jaw set, and posture stiff in that telltale way that says he’s already prepared for a possible fight. 

Lucky for him, she’s not in the mood.

“So talk,” she mutters around the cigar, voice rough with sleep and disinterest.

Ekko wastes no time.

“You called Powder ‘Jinx’ earlier.”

Sevika exhales smoke with a scoff, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“If you’re here to defend your girlfriend’s honor or whatever, save it.”

“That’s not what this is about,” he cuts in. His tone is sharper now, all pretense gone. “You’re not from this world, are you?”

The cigar stills between her fingers. For a beat, Sevika doesn’t respond. Her eyes scan him again, this time closer, reading past the posture and into the conviction behind his words.

He knows.

Her lips part, not in surprise, but resignation.

She mutters low, “So…you too, huh?”

Ekko doesn’t answer, but his silence is enough for her.

A cold breeze winds through the alley, and Sevika can’t help but smirk, laced with taunt.

“Knew it had to be something stupid. Let me guess—messed around with something you didn’t understand, didn’t you?”

“I was trying to help my people,” Ekko snaps.

“And how’s that going?” she replies, dry and unimpressed, taking another drag from her cigar.

Ekko’s mouth tightens.

“At least my people are still around. Last I heard, yours are getting wiped out by some enforcers.”

The jab hits its mark, but Sevika doesn’t flinch. She shrugs coolly, flicking ash to the ground.

“Groups rise and fall every damn day in Zaun. Vander, Silco, Shimmer crews—they all burn out eventually. Yours will too.”

“That’s exactly why I need to go back,” Ekko presses. 

Sevika sighs and rolls her eyes, tilting her head back to rest against the wall in exhaustion. 

“Tough luck, kid. Heimerdinger says there’s no way back. No hextech. No anomaly thingy. Face it, we’re stuck here.”

“Not unless I make one,” he counters, pulling something from his pocket.

A circular case glints under the moonlight. Inside, small shards of glowing blue crystal pulse softly—hexcrystal fragments.

Her brows lift slightly at the sight.

Ekko continues, determined. 

“I salvaged what I could. With Heimerdinger’s help—and maybe yours—I think we can recreate a way back.”

Sevika barks a humorless laugh.

“You’re asking me to help you? With that science shit? What makes you think I’ll do that?”

Ekko’s expression shifts into confusion.

“…Don’t you want to go back?”

Sevika goes quiet.

Her eyes drop to her left hand, fingers flexing slowly, feeling the solid weight and warmth of it. No hum of metal. No phantom pain.

She doesn’t answer.

Instead, she draws one last hit from her cigar, then grinds the butt against the wall behind her, killing the ember with a final hiss of smoke.

When she speaks, her voice is distant.

“Even if I wanted to, I can’t help you. That tech? It’s not my thing. Never was. But…”

She turns to go, but pauses and tosses a glance over her shoulder.

“Apologize to Powder.”

Ekko blinks. 

“What?”

“She’s smarter than either of us. Jinx figured out how to use Hextech by herself. If anyone can crack this shit, it’s her.”

With that, she begins to walk away. Though, each step feels heavier than the last, like the weight of Ekko’s earlier question is trying to claw its way back onto her shoulders.

“We don’t belong here, Sevika,” he calls after her.

She stops mid-step. Her spine straightens, jaw tightening. The chill in the night air suddenly bites deeper than before.

“You know that, don’t you?” Ekko presses, his voice steady and insistent. “There are people waiting for us. People who need us.”

A silence stretches long between them.

Sevika stares ahead, unblinking. Her fingers twitch slightly at her side, curling into a fist as her gaze drops. And then her voice comes—low, hoarse, and stripped of its usual edge.

“…No. There isn’t.”

She doesn’t give him time to respond. Doesn’t give herself time to think.

Sevika keeps walking, her boots brushing softly against stone as she melts into the quiet dark of the sleeping street.

The front door creaks open on its hinges. The moment she steps inside, the hush of the home envelops her. The faint scent of you still lingers in the air.

The door clicks shut behind her, and she leans against it for a moment, her hand gripping the doorknob longer than necessary to steady herself.

After a long moment, she finally moves down the hall, each footstep carefully placed, like she’s afraid to disturb something precious.

When she reaches the bedroom door, she pauses. Her hand rises to the frame and then the knob before her fingers still. 

Her eyes drop to her left arm, flexing instinctively.

In that split-second blink, she sees metal again—cold, hard, heavy.

Another blink. Flesh. Warm. Whole. 

Her breath catches, just for a moment. That tightening in her chest claws up again, guilt and gratitude entwined so tightly she can’t separate them.

But then she pushes through the door.

And the sight waiting for her dissolves the ache like smoke.

You’re still there, curled loosely beneath the blankets, the soft, slow rise and fall of your breath steady and even. The room is dim, shadows dancing lazily across your skin in the moonlight that filters through the window.

Her chest squeezes.

She crosses the room in quiet steps, as if afraid she might break the spell. 

Slipping beneath the covers, Sevika nestles in behind you. 

You stir at the motion, a sleepy hum of her name slipping from your throat as you instinctively reach back, hand brushing over her arm—your fingers searching until they find hers and pull her close.

Your body curls into hers like you never wanted her to leave.

Sevika holds you tightly, her arm winding around your waist, her other hand brushing a slow stroke down your side.

She buries her face into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, lips pressing a tender kiss to your skin, breathing in the comfort that only you give her.

For a moment, everything is still.

Then, in a breath barely audible, she whispers against your skin.

“I want to stay.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The soft sizzle of eggs fills the air. Golden morning light filters through the slats of the kitchen blinds, casting soft shadows across the counter as Sevika moves with practiced ease. She flips the eggs in the pan—one smooth motion of her wrist—and lets them sit for another minute while she grabs more from the carton nearby.

Before she can crack the next shell, she feels it—your arms sliding around her waist from behind, your body pressing snug against her back, and your face nestled between her shoulder blades, lips brushing the cotton of her shirt. A sleepy huff that tells her there’s a pout in your expression.

A slow smile creeps onto her lips.

“What?” she murmurs without turning.

“You’ve been up early all week,” you mumble, your voice still thick with sleep. “It’s been my turn to make breakfast for, like, three days now—and yet, somehow, you keep beating me to it.”

Sevika huffs, smug. She cracks the eggs one-handed into the pan, the motion quick and fluid.

“Oh no,” she says dryly. “Arrest me for wanting to spoil my girl.”

You laugh softly against her back, then pull away just enough to sidle up beside her. Your finger hooks under her chin, gently guiding her face toward you.

She meets your gaze just in time for a soft kiss, your lips brushing hers with deliberate slowness. When you pull back, your thumb tugs gently at her bottom lip in a playful gesture.

“Don’t tempt me to actually find the pair of cuffs, Sevika,” you murmur against her lips.

She lets out a low, amused grunt as you turn her face back toward the stove with a gentle pat to her cheek. 

You lean your hip against the counter beside her and start sneaking bacon bits from another plate, your actions casual and domestic in a way that makes something deep in Sevika’s chest ache in the best way.

“Oh, right,” you say, reaching behind you and grabbing a folder from the counter. “Before I forget, Vander dropped these off for you to sign. Needs it for the council later.”

Sevika wipes her hands on a towel, eyes flicking over the papers as you offer them to her. Her brow furrows as she skims the document detailing plans for additional tree domes across Zaun.

“Why does he need my signature?” she mutters. 

You turn and rummage through one of the drawers for a pen as you answer her over your shoulder.

“I think he’s trying to step back from all this council stuff. He has been relying on you more recently with all this.”

“And leave me in charge to handle Zaun’s affairs? Like that’s ever going to happen,” Sevika grumbles doubtfully, but takes the pen you hand her anyway. She uncaps it with her teeth, then smoothly signs her name at the bottom.

There’s a pause where the only sound is the low simmering of the eggs in the kitchen. Then a soft, curious hum escapes you.

Sevika glances sideways at you, catching the thoughtful expression on your face—your eyes focused not on her signature, but on her hand.

“What?” she asks, brow quirking.

You blink, startled, realizing you were caught staring.

“Hm? Oh. Nothing.”

She narrows her eyes slightly. 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You hesitate, then nod toward her hand.

“It’s just…I never noticed how much you use your right hand,” you say, voice gentle. “You always struck me as more left-handed.”

Sevika freezes, the pen still resting loosely in her fingers.

Her eyes drop to her right hand—strong, steady, reliable. But not the hand she used to rely on.

The memories come in a flash. A time when writing her own name felt foreign. When every movement felt backwards and clumsy. When brushing her teeth or loading a weapon took double the effort. The frustration. The rage. The phantom ache of something dominant that wasn’t there anymore.

She never really noticed when the shift happened—when the right hand stopped being second best and started doing everything.

Just as her throat tightens around a response she hasn’t found, the smell of burning egg hits her nose.

“Shit,” Sevika mutters, snapping back to the present.

She quickly turns back to the stove, scraping the eggs onto a plate before switching off the flame. A puff of smoke curls upward from the pan, and you wave it away with a light laugh.

“That’s what you get for not letting me cook for you,” you tease gently, nudging her with your hip, to take the pan from her.

Sevika exhales, letting the tension ease from her shoulders as she sets the plate aside on the counter.

You slide in before her again, resting your hand on her arm and giving her a brief comforting squeeze.

“You okay?” you murmur. 

Sevika doesn’t respond right away.

But she reaches for your hand—her left with your right—and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah,” she mutters, glancing down at her hand intertwined with yours. “I’m okay.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The morning sun is still low on the horizon, casting pale gold through the windows of the Last Drop when Sevika pushes open the door. She expects the usual of dim lighting along with the faint hum of the early bar prep.

Instead, a burst of color nearly smacks her in the face.

“What the—?” She bats away a dangling cluster of balloons, their strings catching briefly on her shoulder before floating back into place. Her gaze sweeps the bar, taking in the streamers, the paper lanterns, and the bright swaths of ribbon strung along the railings. 

“Oh good, you’re here—pass me a couple of those nails, would ya?”

Vander’s voice draws her attention upward. He’s balanced near the top of a ladder, one hand gripping a hammer, the other holding a corner of a half-hung banner. The words across it are half-obscured, but she can make out enough to frown in confusion.

Sevika sets the folder with the document she brought onto the counter and plucks a few nails from the open box nearby. She steps closer and holds them up. 

“What’s all this?”

Vander hammers the banner into place, climbs down with a grunt, and gestures toward the bold print above: Innovator’s Competition!

“The Innovator’s Competition is today,” he says.

Sevika narrows her eyes. The event is not usually celebrated in Zaun since people rarely give a shit about their ideas unless some Piltover patron backed it.

Vander catches the look and smirks knowingly. 

“Right. That scrambled memory of yours. You’ll piece it together eventually.”

“Yeah, sure,” she mutters, uninterested in unpacking that here. She nods toward the counter. “Anyway, I came to drop these off.”

Vander moves behind the bar, pulling the folder toward him. He flips it open briefly, scanning the signatures before nodding in approval.

“Appreciate it.”

He starts sorting through another box of decorations, pulling out strings of paper flowers and lengths of fabric bunting. It’s clear he’s about to busy himself again.

Sevika could leave, but your voice from earlier still lingers in her head, and instead she stays rooted to the spot, hands shoved in her pockets.

A glass slides across the counter toward her. 

“Something on your mind?” Vander asks without looking up.

She exhales through her nose, taps a finger against the folder, and shakes her head.

“You need to pick someone else. I’m not right for this.”

Vander’s mouth twitches in amusement. 

“Haven’t even asked you yet, and you’re already refusing.”

“I can fight,” she says flatly. “I can knock a few skulls if that’s what’s needed. But rubbing elbows with Piltover’s stuffed shirts? That’s not me.”

He studies her for a beat, then shrugs. 

“Fair enough. I won’t twist your arm. But I do plan on stepping back eventually.”

That earns him a sharp look. This Vander—still standing, still alive—wants to quit? After having the opportunity to do what hers didn’t have the time to do?

“Why?” she asks, disbelief in her tone.

Vander chuckles quietly, reaching for a bottle under the counter. He pours himself a measure of amber liquid before answering. 

“I’m not getting any younger…and neither are the kids.”

He gestures toward the shelf above the taps. Sevika follows his hand to a row of framed photos—some faded, some recent. The earliest ones have Vi’s grin among the faces—the later ones… only Powder and the others.

“They’re growing up,” Vander says, swirling his drink. “Finding their own paths. And Powder—” His voice softens almost imperceptibly. “—one day she’s gonna realize she’s meant for more than pulling pints here. When that day comes, I want to know I was there for as much of her life as I could be.” 

The weight in his tone lingers, settling between them.

Sevika studies him in silence, turning his words over. Wanting to be there for someone—it’s not something you can promise, not in any world. Life doesn’t always give you the chance to keep that kind of vow. But she understands it, more than she’d like to admit.

Your face slips into her mind, warm and vivid. The thought twists something deep in her chest.

A low breath escapes her, followed by a short, wry chuckle. She shakes her head.

“You’ve gotten soft,” she says at last. There’s no edge in it—no jab or bite—just the quiet acknowledgment of someone who knows exactly what he means.

Because, when it comes down to it, she’s no different.

Sevika tips back the drink he poured for her in one swallow and sets the glass down. Her gaze flicks to the folder again, lingering longer this time in contemplation.

“Hey,” Vander says, refilling both glasses. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re exactly what Zaun needs.”

She looks up and arches a brow in a silent question.

“Someone who’d fight for it,” he answers simply, clinking his glass against hers before downing the contents and turning back to his box of decorations.

Sevika looks down at her own glass, the liquid swirling lazily with each slight tilt of her hand. Her reflection ripples with it, distorted and uncertain.

The door creaks open, breaking her thoughts. She glances over her shoulder.

“Aw, it’s just you,” Powder says, stepping inside and letting her eyes sweep across the decorated room.

Sevika snorts, knocking back the rest of her drink in one smooth motion. 

“Expecting someone else?”

“Yeah. Your wife,” Powder answers, the corners of her mouth curling into a teasing smirk.

Sevika fixes her with a flat look, one brow raised in warning, but that only earns her a small laugh from the younger girl.

“I was hoping to sneak a few of her cupcakes before the party tonight,” Powder explains.

“Rotten luck, kid. She’s not done yet,” Sevika replies evenly, though she keeps the real reason to herself. 

You’d been making steady progress on the pastries for the party until you called her over for “a quick favor” to retrieve the flour that had somehow migrated to the highest shelf again. One step too close and her hands had bracketed your hips against the counter, your startled gasp melting into a breathless moan as she kissed you until the flour was the last thing on your mind.

The memory stirs a faint, private smile at her lips.

A heavy sigh from Powder drags her back to the moment. Without another word, the girl disappears into the backroom, the sound of clattering metal following her. Moments later, she reappears, lugging a box that looks almost too big for her frame, and sets it down on the counter with a thud that makes the glasses rattle.

“Well,” Powder says, straightening with a huff, “since you’re obviously not busy, you can help me carry this.”

Sevika glances at the heap of spare gears, rods, and metal scraps inside, then back up at her with a slow, skeptical look. 

“And why would I do that?”

Powder shrugs, adopting the picture of casual innocence, though the glint in her eyes says otherwise. 

“I’m sure your wife would love to hear how you made little ole me haul this all the way on my own.”

Sevika’s eyes narrow, the muscle in her jaw tightening. It’s not Jinx. Not exactly. But the resemblance in mischief is undeniable. She exhales through her nose and finally shakes her head in resignation.

Without a word, she stands and hefts the box, the weight making the metal inside clank sharply. She heads for the door, ignoring the smug hum of satisfaction from behind her.

Powder skips past her, pulling the door open with a grand, exaggerated sweep of her arm.

Sevika rolls her eyes but steps through. Yeah. Different name. Different circumstances.

Still the same infuriating, grinning pain in her ass.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Sevika follows Powder down the narrow steps, the thud of her boots echoing faintly off the old metal. At the bottom, she slows, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the hideout.

It’s…different.

Not the chaotic sprawl of Jinx’s lair, with weapons and painted warnings scattered in a manic storm of color and destruction.

This place—Powder’s place—still has sparks of her eccentric energy, but there’s something gentler threaded through it. Paintings leaned against the guardrails, brushes drying in old cups. Sketches taped messily to walls, half-finished projects piled in corners. It feels less like a battlefield and more like the hideout of a girl who’s still finding herself.

Her steps pause when her gaze drifts to the far corner.

There, tucked beneath a makeshift tent of patched cloth, is a small memorial. A painted portrait of a young Vi rests against the wall, the brushstrokes shaky but clearly done with care. A few candles burn low, their wax pooling beneath them, and the faint curl of incense drifts lazily in the air.

Powder kneels, striking a match to relight one of the sticks. She bows her head, whispering almost too softly for Sevika to hear.

“Hey, sis…look who I brought. And yeah—” her lips twitch faintly, forcing some humor into the moment, “—she’s still a simp for her wife.”

The jab doesn’t sting. Sevika lets it slide, her attention fixed on the girl instead.

She knows what Vi meant to Jinx in her world. How, even when they ended up on opposite sides, Jinx still clung desperately and stubbornly to the idea of her sister. 

But here…Powder doesn’t even have that. No fights. No betrayals. Just absence.

Sevika swallows down the heaviness in her chest, letting Powder have the moment to herself. Quietly, she moves toward the workstation, setting the heavy box onto the scarred metal table with a dull thud.

A soft patter of footsteps rounds the corner.

“Ah! Miss Sevika,” Heimerdinger greets cheerfully, goggles pushed up into his fluffy mane. “Glad to see you’re joining us.”

Sevika arches a brow. 

“Oh, uh…no. I’m not here for that.”

A scoff cuts across the room. Sevika turns her head, narrowing her gaze at the boy crouched near a half-assembled contraption. Ekko doesn’t bother looking up as he tightens a bolt with deliberate force.

“Of course she isn’t,” he mutters.

Sevika’s jaw ticks, a retort forming on her tongue, but Powder bumps past her, slipping between them. She props herself against the rail, arms crossed, expression easy.

“Don’t mind him,” she says. “He’s just grumpy ’cause we still haven’t gotten it to work yet.”

Ekko makes a low noise in his throat but doesn’t argue. He gives the bolt one last twist before straightening, rolling his shoulders.

“There,” he says, voice edged with determination. “That should do it.”

Powder eyes the device skeptically, tilting her head. 

“Really? ’Cause I brought extra parts to secure the frame a little more.”

“It’ll hold,” Ekko insists, already fiddling with a few knobs. “Ready?”

Powder lifts a brow, the corner of her mouth quirking. “Your funeral.”

From the side, Heimerdinger flutters his paws, nodding eagerly. 

“Go on, my boy. Let’s see it in action.”

Ekko doesn’t hesitate. He grips the triangular handle and gives it a sharp pull.

The machine sputters to life, the low hum building as a faint blue glow ignites at its core. The whirring inside quickens, gears rattling faster as the light intensifies.

Sevika frowns. Something feels off.

The frame trembles. Sparks crackle. A warning itch crawls up the back of her neck. Her eyes catch it first, the bolt he’d tightened earlier rattling loose, popping free with a metallic snap. The glow inside flares, too bright, too wild.

“Get down!”

Her voice cuts through the rising chaos. Sevika lunges, shoving Powder back behind her as she plants her boots, raising her left arm instinctively.

The explosion comes a second later, light and sound crashing all at once.

Her world fractures into white and ringing static. Smoke burns her lungs, heat singes her skin, and for a heartbeat, she feels nothing but the shock.

Then the sting suddenly blooms across her left arm.

Sevika squeezes her eyes shut, drawing slow breaths as the pain runs through her arm. For a moment, the world around her is gone.

When she opens her eyes again, she’s back in Zaun’s underground vents. Dust and smoke choke the air, her lungs heaving as she braces herself against the rubble. 

Beneath her, two smaller frames stir—Jinx and Isha, shielded by her own body. Relief loosens the tight coil in her chest when she sees they’re alive, just battered and scratched.

A muffled whimper cuts through the ringing in her ears. Sevika’s gaze snaps to Jinx, who cradles her hand tight against her chest. The jagged, cauterized stump where her middle finger had been makes Sevika’s jaw clench. She knows that loss, the sickening hollow of missing a piece of yourself. 

Grunting against the static pain radiating through her own body, Sevika lifts them both into her arms and staggers back toward their hideout. She deposits them gently onto a pile of cushions, and Isha immediately crawls to Jinx’s side. The other girl doesn’t say a word, only curls tighter around her hand, teeth biting down hard to swallow her pain.

Sevika digs out supplies with shaking fingers. Dropping to one knee, she takes Jinx’s trembling hand. The cauterization from the hex-bullet is rough but enough. All Sevika can do is bind it tight, keep it clean, and hope the kid can withstand the pain. When the wrapping is done, Jinx simply turns onto her side, curling inward, silent.

Sighing, Sevika pushes to her feet, only for her body to seize. A violent surge of energy rips through her, her arm jerking against her side as white-hot pain blinds her vision. She stumbles, breath ragged, before a small hand catches her sleeve.

Looking down, she sees Isha staring up at her, worried eyes too sharp for a child.

Sevika manages a tight smile, ruffling her hair with her good hand. 

“I’m fine, kid. Stay here. Make sure you lay low for a couple of days.”

When Isha nods reluctantly, Sevika steps outside, staggering alone into the empty streets as the electrifying ache gnaws at her body, making her close her eyes briefly from the pain. 

When her eyes snap open, she’s back. Back in the hideout. Just not Jinx’s.

She’s slumped against the guardrail, her right hand clamped tight over her left arm. Her breath comes in shallow pulls, ears still ringing from the blast. The sting is sharp and real, but her arm is still there. She can feel it—the bruising pressure of her own grip.

The haze of her disoriented mind parts just enough for her to hear muttering nearby. Turning her head, she sees blue hair bent close. Powder, not Jinx.

Carefully, she’s plucking shards of glass from Sevika’s arm with steady hands, her lips moving fast in a stream of curses.

“Shit,” Powder mutters under her breath, wincing as she tugs out another sliver. “Your wife’s gonna kill me.”

The words drag Sevika fully back to the present. She blinks, focus sharpening, and the panic in her chest eases at the sight of her arm, bloodied with scratches but still whole. Her grip loosens at last, her right hand falling limply to her lap as she exhales a ragged, relieved breath. 

Powder finishes pulling the last shard free, muttering relieved words under her breath as she dabs at the blood with a scrap of cloth. 

“There, you should be fine.”

Sevika hisses through her teeth, the sting sharp but manageable. Still, she flexes her fingers just to be sure, relief washing over her as they move on command.

But when she lowers her gaze, her chest tightens.

Along one of the gashes in her forearm, a thin line glows faintly, pulsing the same blue as hextech. It crawls beneath her skin like fire trapped in glass. She clenches her fist, but the light doesn’t fade.

Before she can dwell on it, a shout cuts through the ringing in her ears.

“Miss Sevika!”

Heimerdinger rushes over, his fur singed from the blast, but his eyes wide with exhilaration. 

“You’re awake! And just in time too–we’ve done it!” His words tumble over each other, excitement crackling in his voice as he points past her.

Sevika follows his gaze and sees the contraption, battered and half-collapsed from the explosion, but not destroyed. The outer glass is shattered, the frame warped, but at its center, something remains. 

Suspended in the broken core is a sphere of energy, swirling and pulsing like a heartbeat. A pocket of blue, alive and humming with power.

An anomaly.

Ekko stumbles forward, coughing on the smoke, but his eyes are locked on the pulsing sphere. Despite the cuts on his face, his lips pull into a grin. 

“Halfway there,” he rasps, hoarse but certain.

Powder edges closer beside him, wide-eyed and silent. No snide remarks, no easy joke. Just wonder, reflected in her gaze as the light spills across her face.

Sevika doesn’t move from her position. Her fingers brush against her injured arm, tracing the faint glow beneath her skin. The sting keeps her grounded, keeps her here. But her gaze doesn’t waver from the thing in front of her—the doorway. A chance to return.

Back to Zaun. Back to the rot and the struggle. Back to the endless climb for survival…and the ghosts she left behind.

Heimerdinger is nearly vibrating beside her, voice shaking with awe.

“With refinement…with just a little more energy, I believe I could boost it. We may truly have found a way back.”

Sevika swallows hard, the ache in her chest deepening as the sphere throbs with steady light. Each pulse feels like a reminder of everything she thought was gone, everything she told herself she couldn’t return to anymore.

She has a chance to return to her old life, only now she’s not sure if she wants to anymore.

Because here—here she has her arm. Here she has peace. Here…she has you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Sevika’s fists slam into the bag, the steady thump, thump, thump echoing harshly in the otherwise quiet room. Each strike lands harder than the last, her knuckles aching through the gloves, the chain above groaning from the strain. She doesn’t care.

If she hadn’t learned there was a chance to return, none of this would matter. She wouldn’t have let herself get this attached. Wouldn’t have allowed herself to build a life that was never meant to be hers.

And now, the thought of losing it again makes her stomach twist.

Sevika snarls under her breath and throws another vicious combination—left, right, elbow—her chest heaving as the bag swings violently.

She doesn’t hear the front door until your voice cuts through her storm.

“You’re supposed to be getting ready for the party, not trying to murder the punching bag.”

Her head jerks up. You’re standing in the doorway, arms crossed, an amused smile curving your lips, though your eyes soften when you take her in.

Sevika lowers her gloves slowly, pressing them against the bag to still its sway. 

“I…just needed to let out some steam,” she mutters, eyes dropping as she strips the gloves from her hands.

You step forward, closing the distance in a few strides. Before she can think, you’re reaching for her arm.

“Sevika,” you breathe, eyes widening. “You’re bleeding.”

She blinks, glancing down at the dark blotches spreading across the bandaged wrap on her left arm. The sting is dull, easier to ignore now than it was earlier. She hadn’t realized how much she’d reopened it.

“There was a…mishap with Powder’s invention,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Caught part of the blast. I’m fine now.”

You give her a flat, knowing look. 

“Mmm, sure you are.”

Before she can argue, you’re tugging her down the hall. 

“Come on. Bathroom. Now.”

With a resigned grunt, Sevika lets you push her onto the edge of the tub. You kneel in front of her, hands already unwrapping the soiled bandages with careful precision.

She doesn’t speak. Just watches—your furrowed brows, the way your bottom lip tucks between your teeth, how gentle your fingers are despite the mess she’s made of herself.

The silence stretches, broken only by the sound of running water as you dampen a cloth. When you press the warm fabric to her wound, you whisper without looking up, voice quiet but firm.

“You don’t beat the life out of a punching bag on a random evening if you’re fine.”

Sevika exhales slowly, gaze flicking away. The fight bleeds out of her shoulders. After a pause, she murmurs, rough and almost too low to hear. 

“I don’t deserve you.”

You huff a soft laugh. 

“I am pretty amazing.”

That earns a faint snort from her, the corner of her mouth twitching into a small smile as she shakes her head. Her free hand rises, fingers catching your chin, tilting your face up to her.

“Cheeky,” she rumbles.

You grin at her. 

“One of the reasons you married me.”

The smile slips from her lips. Something raw flickers in her eyes before she blurts, quieter than before, “And why did you marry me?”

The question stops you. Your teasing dies as you study her face, closer now and seeing the uncertainty in her eyes. You set aside the cloth, taking her hand gently in yours.

“At first?” you murmur, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Because no one else was going to get all this.” You squeeze her bicep lightly, teasing, then let your hand wander up, tracing her shoulder, sliding across her collarbone until it rests above her heart.

“But really?” Your voice softens, steadier now, as though you want her to feel every word. “Because you fight harder than anyone I’ve ever known, Sevika. You don’t give up, even when the world gives you every reason to. And I wanted…I wanted to be the one standing beside you, believing in you, just as fiercely as you fight.”

Sevika’s breath catches in her chest, almost imperceptibly, but you notice the way her eyes flicker, how her shoulders stiffen against the weight of your words.

You lift her newly bandaged hand. Tilting it slightly, you press your lips to the top, right above the wrap.

“You think you don’t deserve me, Sevika.” Your voice is barely more than a whisper now, tender but unwavering. “But I’ve always believed you deserve someone who sees you the way I do.”

The silence that follows is heavy, but not suffocating. More like a quiet that allows the truth to settle between you. Her chest feels tight, unbearably so, but at the same time…lighter.

Her eyes don’t leave your face. She studies you, memorizing the softness of your expression, the way you’re still holding her hand like you don’t plan to let go. Something inside her twists painfully, because she wants to believe you. More than anything.

Your thumb strokes across her hand again, coaxing her back from the storm in her head.

And then, instead of pulling away, you lean up until your forehead brushes hers. The gesture is small, intimate, and grounding. Her hand tightens around yours instinctively.

“You always make things harder than they need to be,” you murmur with a small, teasing smile, trying to bring her back to lighter ground.

The corner of Sevika’s mouth twitches—half a smirk, half an attempt to keep her composure. She doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t move away either.

Finally, you lean back just enough to meet her eyes fully again, a playful spark flickering in your own.

“Now…come on,” you say, squeezing her hand once more. “Let’s get ready for that party together.”

For a moment, Sevika doesn’t move, her gaze lingering on you as though she’s caught between the instinct to retreat and the quiet, dangerous desire to stay in this softness a little longer. Then, at last, she exhales slowly and nods.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Sevika lingers at the edge of the dance floor, arms folded across her chest, watching the swirl of bodies moving to the music.

The air is thick with laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint smoke of candles burning low on the tables. The sight should feel festive, but she still can’t shake the instinct to keep herself slightly apart, more observer than participant.

The soft clink of glass on wood draws her attention.

A drink is slid across the counter near her arm. She glances sideways and finds Vander standing behind the bar, a knowing smirk tugging at his mouth.

“You’d think a party like this would tempt you to let loose,” he teases, folding his arms. “Instead, here you are. Same old Sevika—posted up at the sidelines.”

Sevika huffs, a corner of her mouth twitching. She takes the glass, lifting it slightly in mock salute. 

“We can’t all be dancing fools.”

Vander chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Where’s your other half, then? Doubt she’ll let you spend your time standing here.”

“She’s checking on the pastries,” Sevika replies easily, taking a slow sip. “I’m waiting for her.”

“Ever so loyal,” comes a voice like smoke curling into the air.

Silco slides into place beside Vander, glass in hand, his mismatched gaze settling on Sevika with an amused tilt of his head. 

“You won’t catch her dancing with anyone else.”

Sevika stiffens ever so slightly, her grip tightening on the glass. She’s still getting used to this version of him, so close in mannerism to the Silco she knew, yet softened in ways she hadn’t expected. 

She lifts the drink again, letting it mask her hesitation as the glass brushes her lips.

And then warmth wraps around her from behind.

You slip in at her side, arms looping easily around her waist. The suddenness nearly knocks her off balance, and she has to steady her glass before it spills.

“Careful,” she warns, voice half-playful, half-serious. “You nearly made me waste this.”

You smirk up at her, utterly unrepentant, before plucking the cup right out of her hand.

“Problem solved,” you say cheekily, tipping it back and finishing the drink in one go. The glass lands empty on the counter with a soft clink. “Now there’s nothing to spill.”

Sevika exhales a sharp huff, shaking her head, but she can’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips.

Across the counter, Vander leans forward with a grin. 

“So—how’re the pastries looking?”

“All good,” you reply, tucking yourself more comfortably against Sevika’s side. “I even saved a few cupcakes for Powder when she gets here.”

Vander’s brow rises. “Powder’s not here yet?”

“Nope,” you shake your head.

Silco swirls his drink lazily, gaze flicking toward the door. 

“She does love her entrances.”

You smile faintly, but your voice carries a note of quiet certainty. 

“She can afford to—I mean, look at who she has in her corner.” Your eyes flick between Vander and Silco.

The words settle heavier with Sevika than you intend. Her smile falters as a memory pricks sharp behind her mind—the last image she has of Jinx, curled into herself after the fight.

Her jaw tightens. The guilt gnaws at the edges of her chest before she forces herself back to the present.

The music swells, faster now, the rhythm pulling more people to the center of the floor. Laughter rises, the air alive with movement.

Your hand finds hers, tugging gently.

“Come dance with me.”

Sevika blinks, caught off guard by the sudden invitation. She opens her mouth to protest, but the earnest gleam in your eyes softens her resistance before the words even form. With a long-suffering sigh that fools no one, she lets you pull her onto the dance floor.

The music is faster now, playful and wild, and you immediately spin beneath her arm, laughter spilling from your lips.

Sevika is stiff at first, her broad frame awkward among the twirling bodies, her gaze darting to the crowd as though expecting judgment.

“Relax,” you tease, leaning in close enough that your breath brushes her ear. “No one’s looking at you.”

Her brow arches, skeptical. 

“Feels like they are.”

“Good,” you smirk, tugging her closer, “let them see how lucky I am.”

Sevika exhales through her nose, but the corner of her mouth quirks despite herself. Little by little, the tension drains from her shoulders as she allows herself to match your rhythm, her hands steady at your waist as you sway together.

By the time the song slows into something softer, she’s no longer aware of anyone else.

It’s just you—your smile, your laughter, your warmth pressed against her. 

You lean up on your toes, brushing your lips to hers in a tender kiss. She doesn’t kiss you back so much as she melts into it, her jaw unclenching, her breath catching when your hand slides up to cup her cheek before you pull away. 

The faintest smile touches her lips, unguarded as she loses herself in you.

One song becomes two. Two bleed into three. By the time the music shifts again, the two of you are swaying slowly, your back pressed to her chest, her arms snugly wrapped around you. Her chin rests lightly against the top of your head as you move in a rhythm that doesn’t belong to the room, but to the two of you alone.

After a while, you shift in her arms, tilting your head back slightly to look up at her. 

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” you murmur, brushing your fingers along her forearm before slipping free.

Reluctantly, she lets you go, watching as you weave through the crowd toward the bar. She’s still smiling faintly, caught in the afterglow of your closeness, until something at the corner of her vision tugs her attention.

Up near one of the pillars, a small shadow shifts. Her eyes narrow, focusing, then widen in recognition. 

Isha is perched precariously on the ledge, stretching to snag one of the balloons tied just out of reach. For a moment, she steadies herself, fingers brushing the string. Then her foot slips.

Sevika reacts without thinking. In two long strides, she’s beneath her, arms shooting out just as the girl pitches forward.

Isha lands in her hold with a startled gasp, eyes screwed tight as if bracing for pain that doesn’t come.

She blinks her eyes open slowly, looking up in wide surprise at Sevika.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sevika snaps, the roughness in her voice edged more with fear than anger. She steadies the girl firmly on her feet. “You could’ve broken your neck. Do you know how hurt you would’ve been if I hadn’t seen you?”

Isha ducks her head, cheeks pink with guilt, fidgeting with her fingers.

With a sigh, Sevika reaches up and plucks the balloon easily from the string. She presses it into the girl’s hands.

“Next time,” she mutters, “just ask.”

For a heartbeat, Isha only stares up at her, something shining in her wide eyes. Then, quick as a spark, she throws her arms around Sevika’s middle in a grateful hug before darting off into the crowd, laughter trailing after her as the balloon bobs in her grip.

Sevika stands frozen, the unexpected contact leaving her stunned. Her chest tightens, the guilty weight from earlier creeping back in—memories of Jinx, left alone, curling into herself, Isha, standing at the doorway, watching her go, flickering sharp in her mind.

Her brooding is interrupted by movement at the edge of her vision. 

Heimerdinger scurries past, his tiny frame nearly swallowed by the large box he struggles to push toward the side door. The box wobbles, far too big for him, but he perseveres with single-minded determination.

Sevika glances back toward the bar and sees you chatting with Vander and Silco, the glow of the lights catching the curve of your smile.

Her gaze lingers on you. For a moment, she almost stays, almost convinces herself to ignore it, but the itch in her chest won’t let her. With a quiet exhale, she turns and follows Heimerdinger out the side door.

“Ah, Miss Sevika,” Heimerdinger greets when he finally notices her trailing behind, his small frame straining as he shoulders the box down the uneven cobblestone. “Enjoying the party?”

Sevika doesn’t answer the pleasantry. She steps forward, lifting the box from him as though it weighed nothing. Her tone is low and flat.

“Do you really think this’ll work?” Her eyes stay fixed ahead, on the shadows stretching toward Powder’s hideout. “What if this…anomaly just spits you out somewhere else?”

Heimerdinger hums thoughtfully, his ears flicking with the motion. 

“Not likely. According to our calculations, with a little boost, everything should be restored. People, places—back to where they belong.”

The word grates against her teeth. She slows at the foot of the staircase leading to the hideout. Her boots scuff against the stone as her steps falter.

That gnawing weight digs deeper into her chest—Jinx’s face, clutching at the wound where her finger had been. Isha’s wide eyes, searching for comfort. Both of them left in a world without anyone to rely on but each other.

Her grip tightens on the box until the surface bends, and she lets it fall to the ground.

Heimerdinger notices her stall, ears perking as he turns back. He fidgets in thought, then toddles off toward the half-finished arc perched precariously on the edge of one of the blades. When he returns, it isn’t with words, but with a small object pressed into her palm.

Sevika looks down. A crystal. Hex-blue, carved with some intricate symbol at its center. It pulses faintly against her skin, alive in a way that makes her stomach twist.

“What’s this?”

Heimerdinger closes her fingers gently around it and pats her hand with surprising tenderness.

“A little boost,” he says. His gaze dips meaningfully to her bandaged arm. “The energy from that blast—it fused into your wounds, didn’t it?”

Sevika’s jaw tightens as her hand instinctively rises to press over her left arm. Even now, she swears she can feel that faint, unnatural thrum under the wraps.

Heimerdinger nods knowingly without needing confirmation. 

“A conduit, if you will. When the time comes. Should you want to.”

Her throat works. “…And if I don’t?”

Heimerdinger’s whiskers twitch, but his eyes hold no judgment, only quiet understanding. He makes a simple tossing gesture, as though discarding something into the wind.

Sevika stares down at the crystal in her palm, its glow reflected faintly in her knuckles.

“One doesn’t often get a chance at a second chance,” Heimerdinger murmurs. “No one would fault you for holding on to such a thing.” He gives a slight bow of his head before turning away, the scrape of the box filling the silence as he pushes it toward the arc.

A while later, Sevika finds herself outside of the Last Drop again, away from the noise of the party.

The fountain sits quiet in the square, lantern light rippling against the water’s surface. She lowers herself to the edge with a heavy exhale, shoulders sagging.

The crystal glimmers faintly in her hand. She unwraps the bandages from her arm, revealing the thin, glowing blue line etched into her skin. It pulses in perfect sync with the crystal, like a second heartbeat tethered to hers.

Her fingers hover over the water. Slowly, her hand opens—the crystal balances on her palm, poised at the edge of release.

For a breath, she imagines letting go. Imagines watching the ripples swallow it whole, the choice made for her.

“Sevika?”

Your voice cuts through the haze of her thoughts. She jerks, the crystal clutched tight in her palm.

Her head lifts sharply, and there you are, framed by the warm glow spilling from the Last Drop’s doorway, scanning the shadows until your eyes land on her.

Her chest tightens. She quickly curls her fist tighter around the crystal, holding it against her thigh as if hiding the very thought from you.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly as you step closer. Your hand rises instinctively, cupping her cheek.

The warmth of your touch makes her exhale shakily.

For a moment, Sevika almost gives in, almost lets herself imagine it. One toss. One motion, and she could let the crystal vanish into the fountain. One simple choice, and she’d stay here. With you. 

Her gaze shifts to you, and what she finds in your eyes nearly undoes her resolve.

Love. Pure, unflinching, maddening love—for a woman who has done terrible things, for someone who never thought she’d earn it. You see her, the way she fights, the way she survives—and you choose her anyway.

But Sevika knows herself. She doesn’t run from a fight. And no matter how much she wants to stay, she can’t forget Jinx. She can’t forget Isha.

Not when they’re still waiting in a world that hasn’t been kind to them, a world where they need someone in their corner.

Her fingers twitch open slightly.

The crystal begins to pulse as if charging up, its glow bleeding between the cracks of her fist, syncing with the faint blue line along her wound.

Your brows knit as you notice it. 

“Sevika…what’s that?”

Her palm closes around it again, tighter this time. The line of light along her wound flares brighter in response. She meets your gaze once more, her throat thick with words she’ll never get the chance to explain.

“I love you,” she rasps, voice low and raw, before the light swells between you, blinding and wild.

The air distorts, crackling as though the world itself glitches apart.

When the brilliance fades, Sevika slumps heavily against you. Your arms snap around her, catching her before she can fall.

“Sevika!” you call, panicked, holding her close. Her weight is solid and real against you, but something in the air feels wrong.

Then you see it.

A circular tear of light yawns open to your side, pulsing and unstable. At its center, another figure appears into focus.

A Sevika—but not yours. Her scars are harsher, her left arm gleams with cold metal, and her eyes hold shadows your Sevika has never worn here.

The other Sevika’s lips curve into a faint, almost pained smile as her gaze fixes on you. She looks at you like she can’t tear herself away, even though it hurts.

Confusion coils in your chest, but instinct overrides it. You reach out, your fingers brushing against the cool plates of her metal hand.

“Wait,” you plead in confusion.

This Sevika looks down at where you touch her. For a moment, her expression softens, sadness etched deep, as if she can still feel the ghost of your warmth through the steel. Her gaze lifts back to yours, steady and lingering, before she whispers hoarsely.

“…Thank you. For this second chance.”

Before you can respond, the circular energy stutters violently, light glitching brighter and sharper until it collapses in on itself with a blinding flash.

And she’s gone.

Leaving only you, clutching your Sevika tight against your chest, the echo of those last words still ringing in your ears.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Rapid taps echo against the splintered wood of the door frame, sharp in the stillness of the night.

But there’s no shuffle of boots. No muttered curses. No familiar rasp from within. Just silence.

Jinx huffs, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently on the cracked ground.

“Come on, Isha, let’s just go already,” she mutters, tugging her hood further down over her mess of blue hair. “She’s probably not even home. Woman likes to vanish for days on end—it’s her thing.”

The smaller girl doesn’t budge. Isha plants her fists on her hips, chin lifting in quiet defiance. She narrows her eyes at Jinx, then jerks her head firmly toward the door. The gesture is simple, but the intent behind it is clear: we’re not leaving until we check.

Jinx groans, throwing her head back dramatically. 

“Ugh, fine. You’re relentless, you know that?”

Her hand dips to her belt, metal clinking faintly before she spins a pistol into her grip. She levels it at the lock and fires. The shot cracks through the street, the lock splitting apart in a burst of sparks.

Isha winces, flinching back at the noise. When the smoke curls away, she shoots Jinx a flat look.

“What?” Jinx shrugs, twirling the pistol lazily before holstering it again. “It’s not like either of us has the key.”

Isha rolls her eyes with a long-suffering sigh and nudges the door open just a crack, cautiously. Jinx, less patient, slaps her palm against it and kicks it wide. The hinges squeal in protest as she strides in, voice booming without care.

“Oi, Sevika! You in here?” Her hands cup around her mouth as she glances around the dim interior.

The place smells faintly of dust and metal. Isha trails behind, slower, eyes flicking warily into each shadowed corner. She pushes doors open one by one, peeking inside.

Empty bedroom, barren kitchen, nothing.

Then a flicker of light spilling from the bathroom down the hall catches her eye. Isha stiffens, her heart quickening. She creeps toward it and presses gently against the already ajar door.

Jinx ambles over, irritation still etched across her face. 

“I told you, she’s not—” She stops short as the door swings wider.

Sevika sits slumped against the far wall, head bowed, her chest rising and falling in uneven pulls. Shards of glass glitter around her like scattered ice, the mirror above the sink fractured into jagged splinters.

“Sheesh,” Jinx mutters, whistling low. “What a mess.”

But when Sevika doesn’t so much as react to her voice, the bravado falters. Isha nudges her sharply in the ribs, shooting her a pointed look.

“Ow—okay, okay,” Jinx mutters under her breath. She clears her throat, tone forced casual. “Uh…you okay, Sevika?”

For a long moment, Sevika doesn’t answer. She only stares down at her left arm, the gleam of metal where warm flesh once was. Her fingers curl slowly, flexing, joints grinding faintly in the quiet.

Her reflection in the fractured mirror stares back at her, split into a dozen jagged versions, confirming where she is now. Her lips part at last, the words rasping out low, heavy.

“…No.”

The sound makes Isha’s brows knit, her small hands twisting at the hem of her shirt. Even Jinx’s smirk falters, unease flickering in her eyes.

Sevika exhales, the sound rough, final. With effort, she plants her hand against the cracked tile wall and forces herself upright. Glass crunches beneath her boots as she steadies her weight, the bathroom spinning for a heartbeat before it settles.

Her gaze flicks up, catching her own reflection again. One steady breath. One final shake of her head.

“…But I have to be.”

Her shoulders square as she turns from the mirror, from the mess, from the ghosts she can’t afford to chase anymore.

Because Sevika knows—whether she’s ready or not, she has to keep moving. In Zaun, survival doesn’t wait for grief, and it doesn’t care about what could have been.

The streets of Zaun tonight are quiet, broken only by the hiss of paint from a can. A streak of blue spreads across a cracked wall, forming the final line of a symbol. A mark of resistance, of hope.

Isha lowers the can with a satisfied grin, bouncing on her heels as she takes in her work.

Leaning against the opposite wall, half in shadow, Sevika pushes off with a small grunt. Her eyes flicker up at the fresh paint, the sharp, defiant edges of the artwork.

“Not bad,” she mutters, her tone rough but not unkind.

Isha beams, rubbing her forearm across her cheek and smudging blue dust over her skin. 

Sevika’s lips twitch in half amusement and half pride, but she tips her head down the street all the same.

“Admire it later, kid. Enforcers make this round soon.”

The warning comes too late.

“Hey! What are you doing there?”

A voice barks from the end of the block as another enforcer rounds the corner, joining his partner.

“Shit.” Sevika scoops Isha up under one arm and bolts down the street in the opposite direction, boots pounding against stone.

“Stop!” the enforcers shout, but Sevika doesn’t look back, weaving them into Zaun’s veins, ducking through shadows. 

Still, the pounding footsteps behind her don’t fade.

She drops into a narrow alley, setting Isha down but keeping a hand braced on her shoulder as she peers around the corner. Flashlight beams swing through the dark, picking over every crevice, getting closer.

“Persistent bastards,” she mutters.

A tug at her cloak makes her glance down. Isha points to a shop at the alley’s end, its windows faintly glowing in the dark.

Sevika stiffens. Recognition hits her harder than a fist to the gut. For a second, her feet refuse to move. She can see it in her memory already—warm light, soft laughter, the smell of sugar and spice clinging to her skin after nights she’d stayed longer than she meant to.

Before she can say anything, Isha is already sprinting across the cobblestones.

With a curse, Sevika follows. She stops just in the doorway, heartbeat hammering harder for an entirely different reason now.

The warmth inside is instant with fresh bread, honeyed sugar, and the faint crackle of ovens still alive. The air itself feels like a memory. 

Her fist clenches, metal creaking under the strain, echoing harshly in her ears.

A tap at the counter snaps her back.

Isha is crouched behind it, motioning urgently with both hands for Sevika to join her. 

Seeing no one else was around besides them, Sevika strides quickly across the floor and ushers the girl toward the door with a firm hand at her back.

“We shouldn’t be here. Let’s—”

Light sweeps across the window.

“Shit.” Sevika yanks Isha back down behind the counter with her, pressing them into the shadows. 

The door slams open, boots pounding in. 

Sevika tenses, ready to strike if it comes to that. 

But then the kitchen door creaks open, and her head jerks up.

You step through but halt mid-step when you spot the two of them crouched behind the counter, your eyes widening slightly in surprise as they lock on hers.

One heartbeat. One second of stillness. Yet a thousand things unsaid in the silence.

Your gaze slides away first, stepping out completely, tray in hand, and placing it calmly on the counter above her head.

“Can I help you, officer?”

The apparent commanding enforcer sweeps the shop with irritated glances. 

“You see anyone come by?”

You shake your head, tone smooth. 

“Afraid not. Haven’t had customers tonight unless you count the two of you.”

They mutter, restless, and turn as if to search further, but you pluck a muffin from the tray and hold it out casually.

“Here. Fresh from the oven. Might sweeten your patrol.”

The enforcer who spoke scowls in irritation, but his partner takes it with a muttered thanks. A moment later, they’re gone, boots fading into the street.

The silence after is deafening. As if no one wants to make the first move.

Until you spot a small hand reaching over the counter towards the tray.

“No.” Sevika catches Isha’s wrist, voice low and firm. “That’s not yours.”

You arch a brow, amusement breaking the tension. Plucking a muffin, you crouch and hold it out to the kid directly.

“This one can be.”

The girl snatches it, grinning and biting into it with muffled delight. You smile faintly at her before your eyes shift inevitably back to Sevika.

“At least you’re not bleeding in my shop this time,” you murmur.

It earns a rough chuckle from her throat. 

“Disappointed that you can’t play doctor?”

The banter comes easily, like no time has passed at all. 

And it stings for both of you.

Your lips twitch, betraying a smile before you hide it by busying yourself with the tray. 

Isha notices the new, emerging tension, watching you both in silence, chewing slowly as her eyes flick back and forth. Her gaze lingers long enough to make Sevika shift, uncomfortable under it.

Sevika clears her throat, standing.

“Don’t suppose you’d let us hide here for the night?”

You meet her eyes again, smile soft but edged with mischief. 

And then she’s outside again.

You send Isha off with a gentle hand on her back, softer than you were with Sevika. She slips through the door without resistance, muffin still clutched in both hands. You lean against the frame, arms crossed, eyes glinting.

“You know it’s not that easy to get into my bed.”

The words steal Sevika’s breath for a beat. Her grin spreads anyway, crooked and shameless, even as you retreat and the door clicks shut.

Through the glass, she catches one last look, your head turning over your shoulder, eyes locking with hers before you disappear into the back.

A short laugh rumbles low in her chest, unexpected and rough. She shakes her head.

But when she looks down, Isha is staring with eyes too sharp, too knowing.

“What?” Sevika grunts.

The girl only takes another bite, turns to glance at the bakery, then back at her with a look far too pointed for her age.

Sevika scoffs, nudging her forward. 

“Don’t start. Let’s get back before Jinx wonders where you ran off to again.”

Even as they walk away, Sevika glances back one more time. The glow of your shop burns behind her, warm against the cold streets of Zaun.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Sevika drops a greasy takeout box onto the lab table with a heavy thud, the sound cutting through the clang of metal.

Jinx doesn’t even flinch. She’s hunched over some contraption, goggles pulled down, sparks spitting out as she drills into metal. She only flicks a hand vaguely in Sevika’s direction in half-hearted thanks, never lifting her eyes from her work.

This is how the days are now, with Jinx shutting herself into the noise of gears and smoke. If Sevika didn’t show up with something edible now and then, the girl would probably starve herself without noticing.

Shaking her head, Sevika turns toward the corner tent. She lowers herself onto a cushion, setting the second box down beside Isha.

“Eat before it gets cold,” she mutters.

The girl doesn’t look up. She’s bent over her papers, scattered around her in chaotic piles, her fingers smudged with charcoal and blue chalk.

Sevika frowns. She’s used to the kid losing herself in her drawings, but then she notices the faint, muffled sound of chewing. Narrowing her eyes, Sevika leans closer, craning her neck just enough to peek at Isha’s face.

Sure enough, her cheeks are puffed with something. Sevika’s gaze darts to the space in front of Isha. A half-eaten muffin sits between her arms.

Suspicion coils in Sevika’s gut.

“…Hey, kid.” Her tone sharpens. “Where’d you get that?”

Isha freezes for a heartbeat, then glances down at the half-eaten muffin. Her eyes flick up guiltily to Sevika’s. Then she digs quickly through her messy stack of drawings.

She pulls one free and holds it up for Sevika to see.

It’s you, standing by the bakery counter. The smell of sugar and butter almost seems to radiate from the page. And next to you, drawn in rough, clumsy strokes, is Sevika herself.

The detail that twists the knife in her chest is your hand. Drawn joined and fingers laced with hers. Her mechanical one, awkward in shape but unmistakable, is held firmly in yours.

Sevika swallows hard, mouth pressed into a thin line. Her chest aches with the memory, the ghost of warmth she’d felt in the other world when your fingers threaded through hers. She flexes her metal hand unconsciously, the faint creak of gears echoing in her ears. Cold. Always cold.

She clears her throat roughly and looks away. 

“…Eat your food, kid.”

Isha sets the drawing down right in her lap, like a quiet challenge, then scurries back to her spot. She finally pulls the takeout box close and digs in obediently, chewing in silence.

Meanwhile, Sevika’s gaze stays pinned to the paper. The drawing makes her chest feel tight. Like she’s being shown a life she no longer gets to touch.

When she finally leaves the hideout later, her boots carry her onto familiar streets she wishes she’d forgotten. Without realizing it, she stops nearby.

The bakery’s lights inside are warm, spilling through the glass. Customers come and go, weaving in and out with the chime of the bell.

Sevika, however, hesitates and ends up lingering in the area outside. She lights a cigar, takes a slow drag, and exhales smoke into the night air. Her chest is a storm—want and guilt, comfort and fear—wrestling all at once.

She paces once down the street. Doubles back. Stalls at the corner, leaning against a wall, muttering curses under her breath. For some reason, she can’t bring herself to just leave, but she can’t seem to step through the door either.

“Are you going to come in already?” Your voice slices clean through the haze. “You’re scaring my customers.” 

Sevika jolts from the wall, her eyes snapping up.

You’re standing in the doorway, arms crossed, framed by the glow spilling out from inside. The light catches on your features in a way that makes her chest ache, sharp in tone, but soft underneath, exactly as she remembers.

Her stomach knots. Instinct tells her to leave, to retreat into the shadows before she can be embarrassed any further. But her boots feel cemented to the cobblestone, weighed down by something heavier than her pride.

You don’t say anything else. Just hold her in that look for a beat before stepping back inside, the door swinging gently on its hinges behind you.

Sevika exhales through her nose, dragging a hand down her face. For a brief, tempting second, she thinks about walking away. Pretend she was never here. Pretend you never saw her. It’d be easier. Cleaner.

But she knows you did see her. Running now would only make her look like a coward.

And if there’s one thing Sevika hates being, it’s that.

“Shit,” she mutters under her breath.

She pushes off from the wall, her boots heavy against the street. Her hand grips the door handle, then falters. She lingers there, her reflection warped in the glass pane. The thought of stepping into that warmth again terrifies her.

But leaving after being called out? That feels worse. Just slightly.

With a resigned sigh, she twists the handle and eases the door open. The bell above jingles lightly, cutting through the muffled quiet.

Just then, a customer hurries past her, mumbling something as they scurry out into the street. The way their gaze flicks to Sevika, wary and almost fearful, pulls a roll of her eyes. 

She steps inside fully this time, letting the door fall shut behind her. The warmth hits instantly, rich with butter and sugar, cinnamon clinging to the air. The bell chimes faintly overhead, and she’s immediately aware that the place is empty—just you and her now.

For a second, she almost turns back. But then your voice cuts in.

“So…once might’ve been a coincidence,” you murmur, leaning back against the counter with your arms crossed, lips curving faintly. “But twice? That’s starting to look suspicious, Sevika.”

Her chest tightens at the sound of her name from your mouth. Remembering what she came here for, she digs into her pocket, pulling out a pouch and setting it a little too firmly on the counter.

“I came to pay. For the muffins,” she mutters.

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. 

“Muffins? What muffins?” 

Sevika huffs, already exasperated, but it’s the way your mouth twitches when you’re trying not to smile that makes her chest ache more than your teasing.

“How many?” she presses.

You pause dramatically, tapping your chin, pretending to count. 

“Oh, let’s see…probably two dozen?”

She glares, stepping closer without thinking. 

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” Your voice softens, playful but edged with something deeper. You lift a hand, brushing your fingers between her brows. “You’re making that face. Your serious face.”

Sevika stills, her breath hitching. 

Your palm lingers against her cheek. The touch is instinctive, tender, like muscle memory between you both.

For one long, fragile moment, the bakery is quiet except for the hum of the ovens. Her eyes find yours, and the world narrows to just the two of you standing far too close, your warmth bleeding into her skin.

Her gaze drops, flickers to your mouth before she snaps it back up again. 

But you catch it, your lips parting in the faintest breath, like maybe you’re thinking the same thing.

The tension between you stretches, close to snapping. If either of you leans in even an inch—

The bell above the door jingles, shattering the moment.

Two enforcers stride in. 

As if broken from a spell, your hand falls away immediately, and Sevika’s chest aches at the loss of your touch. Still, she peels herself back, moving toward a shelf of loaves, trying to look casual even though her pulse is hammering.

“Evening,” you greet easily, slipping into your shopkeeper’s voice. “What can I get for you, officer?”

The same friendlier enforcer from the other night brightens. 

“Those muffins. You got more?”

You smile politely, turning toward the tray. 

“Fresh batch right here. Lucky for you.”

The enforcer steps up to the counter, his attention on you, but the other enforcer lingers behind. His gaze snags on Sevika, narrow with suspicion. 

“Hey…you look familiar.”

Sevika stiffens, but she doesn’t turn around.

Before he can press further, your voice cuts clean through, smooth and certain. 

“Love?”

The title drops like a stone in the air. Both men glance at you, and even Sevika can’t help but look at you in confusion.

“Would you grab me another tray from the back?” you ask sweetly, nodding toward the backroom. 

Realizing you were giving her an opening, she nods once before ducking through the door to the backroom. Lingering close, she can still hear your conversation through the door.

“Must be nice working with your partner,” the friendly enforcer comments.

You don’t miss a beat. 

“Unfortunately, no ring yet. But maybe it’s for the best. Last thing I need is someone biting into a cupcake and finding jewelry baked inside.”

The men laugh, distracted, while Sevika grimaces at the irony of your words. After a few minutes, the bell rings. 

But Sevika doesn’t move from the backroom until she hears you step in. You lean against the doorframe, arms folded loosely.

“They’re gone,” you murmur, quiet now. “But they might be patrolling nearby, so maybe don’t rush out just yet.”

Sevika nods, muttering a quiet thanks.

You nod in response before moving toward the shelves. 

Her eyes follow without meaning to, watching as you reach up towards the higher shelves, your fingertips brushing the bottom edges. She notices the broken step stool in the corner and exhales in exasperation.

Without a word, she strides forward. Her body slots close behind yours as her metal hand reaches easily above you, plucking the bag down with no effort.

You glance back at her, startled. 

But with her so close, your faces are only inches apart, your breath brushing her chin. The air grows heavy again.

Neither of you move.

Sevika stares down at you, memorizing every detail—your eyes, your lips, the same softness you used to give her, the same look she’s dreamed about in the dark. And she can’t stop herself.

“…Do you ever think about us?” The words scrape out in a whisper, raw and aching.

You inhale sharply, lips parting, but no sound follows. Instead, you press them together, your teeth catching your bottom lip, biting down like you’re trying to hold something back.

Her chest twists painfully at the silence. She swallows hard, the pressure breaking her open, and the words tumble out before she can stop them.

“It was my fault—all of it. I let the anger eat me alive, and I made you feel it too. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it.”

Sevika exhales heavily, hand clenching hard at her side to steady herself as she continues.

“That night—I should’ve stayed.”

Your eyes widen, the sharp edges of surprise softening into something more fragile. Your hand lifts almost hesitantly, hovering for a breath before it lands against her mechanical arm. The touch is feather-light, tentative—cold metal that can’t feel, but Sevika swears she remembers your warmth sinking into it anyway, phantom-like.

Her throat works, words trembling on the edge.

“Would you ever…consider—”

“Sevika.”

Your voice slices in, quiet and gentle. Too gentle. 

Her mouth shuts immediately, the rest of the question dying on her tongue.

Your palm drifts upward, pressing flat to her chest. The touch is barely there, but the slight push that follows is enough to create space where seconds ago there was none.

“You should go.”

Sevika lingers, rooted in place for a heartbeat longer. Searching your face, desperate for anything—for permission, for a crack in your resolve. But your gaze refuses to meet hers.

Her breath shudders out, long and heavy, the fight draining from her shoulders. With a slow nod, she steps back.

At the threshold, she pauses. Turns just enough to take you in—arms wrapped around yourself, like you’re holding yourself together after forcing the words out. The image burns into her as she exhales once more, rough and quiet, and finally leaves.

You flip the sign on the bakery door from Closed to Open, the tiny bell above it chiming softly. The lock clicks as you twist it open, but before you can step back, movement catches at the corner of your eye.

Just under the large front window, a small figure stands with her head tipped toward the ground, the brim of her metal hat almost swallowing her face. Isha rocks on her heels, hands tucked behind her back, waiting patiently.

You open the door and lean against the frame, arms folding across your chest. 

“You again?” you ask, trying for stern but failing the moment her wide eyes flick up at you. With a sigh, you tilt your head, jerking it toward the shop. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in.”

Her face brightens, and she scurries past you, her little boots tapping against the floorboards as she climbs onto one of the stools at the counter.

A quiet laugh slips from you as you return to the display case, arranging the last of the pastries. 

“So,” you drawl, “what’ll it be today?”

Isha presses her nose almost against the glass, scanning each row with careful inspection before her finger taps firmly against a blue-frosted cupcake.

“This one?” You arch a brow, reaching for the one she indicated.

She nods eagerly.

“Alright, cupcake it is.”

You slide the treat into a small white box, fold the flaps, and start tying it up with ribbon. 

Isha leans forward, fascinated, little hands bracing the counter as if she’s watching some delicate art form. When she reaches out to hold the ribbon in place while you knot it, you can’t help but smile faintly.

But your smile falters as the memory of a few days ago presses sharp into your chest. The way Sevika had stood in your shop again. The way she looked at you. The words you never answered.

You clear your throat, hoping your voice will sound lighter than the weight in your chest. 

“So…how’s Sevika? Is she doing okay?”

Isha pauses for a fraction in thought, then rolls her eyes dramatically—an answer in itself—before tilting her head and giving you a grin too knowing for her age.

Heat pricks the tips of your ears. You busy yourself with pulling the ribbon tight, pushing the box across the counter to her. 

“I’m just asking because she came by the other day and…” Your words trail, your shoulders sagging. “And I haven’t seen her since.”

The admission leaves you smaller, quieter than you meant. 

You hadn’t told Sevika never again when you pushed her away that night—you’d just been overwhelmed, terrified of making the wrong choice with no time to breathe in her presence.

But what if she took it that way? What if she thought you didn’t want her in your life anymore?

Isha’s eyes narrow thoughtfully, then she digs into her pocket as if remembering something. A few clinking coins spill onto the counter, obviously given to her by a certain stubborn individual.

You frown, already shaking your head. 

“No, no. This one’s on the house.”

Before you can slide the money back, the clock on the wall chimes the hour.

Isha startles, eyes widening in realization at the time. She grabs the small box, waves at you with her free hand, and bolts for the door.

The bell jingles as she disappears into the street. You huff, half-exasperated and half-amused. 

“That girl…”

When you move to scoop up the coins and set them aside, your fingers pause. Something else lies tucked beneath the little pile—a folded piece of paper.

Curiosity prickles. You unfold it slowly.

The Last Drop.

Today’s date.

A time scrawled beneath for later tonight.

Your thumb drags over the letters, tracing the familiar tilt of the strokes. The handwriting is rougher than you remember, slanted awkwardly as if it had to be relearned. 

But you’d know it anywhere. 

The quirks are all still there. The little hooks on her S’s, the sharp cut of her T’s. You’d memorized those letters years ago, folded into the corners of the love notes she used to slip into hidden areas of your shop when she thought you weren’t looking.

You don’t know if Isha meant for you to find this or if it ended up in your hands by accident. 

But your chest tightens at the thought that maybe Sevika was reaching out for you once more.

You stand behind the counter, staring down at the slip of paper, wrestling with yourself. You still don’t have an answer to the question she asked you. But you do know one thing for sure. 

You don’t want to return to a life where you never see that infuriating, stubborn, impossible woman again.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The table at the center of the Last Drop is crowded with maps, rough sketches, and notes scrawled in different hands.

Sevika braces both palms against the scarred wood, her gaze sweeping the layout of Zaun. Circles and X’s mark choke points, enforcer patrols, Stillwater transport routes.

“They rounded up a dozen more by the shipyard yesterday,” someone mutters, voice tight. “Didn’t even bother with charges—just hauled them off.”

Murmurs ripple around the table. Frustration and fear.

Sevika pinches the bridge of her nose, dragging a heavy breath through her teeth. 

“At this point, we’re just handing them bodies. We need to lay low for now. Build numbers. Then we—”

Her words catch. Because when she glances up, you’re standing in the doorway.

For a second, the noise of the room dulls to nothing.

One of the men at her side notices you too. His hand twitches toward the knife on his belt, suspicion flaring in his eyes.

Sevika’s metal hand snaps out, clamping around his wrist. The knife clatters uselessly to the floor.

“Easy,” she growls, gaze locked on you. She straightens, giving the others a look sharp enough to still the room. “Wrap it up. We’re done for today.”

There are mutters of protest, but no one argues. Sevika’s already pushing away from the table, striding across the room before you can step further inside.

You tilt your head toward the map, but she blocks your line of sight with her broad frame, then takes your hand and tugs you firmly toward the office.

The door shuts with a heavy thunk.

You cross your arms, standing dead center in the room as she releases your hand. 

“So,” you murmur, voice edged with wry bite, “that a resistance meeting I just walked in on?”

“It’s none of your business,” Sevika replies flatly, already digging in her pocket for a cigar.

“It is now.” You hold up the note between two fingers.

Her eyes darken in recognition at the message that was supposed to be given to other members who didn’t show tonight.

“Isha,” she mutters under her breath with a sigh.

“I want to help.”

“No.” The refusal is instant with no hesitation. 

Sevika doesn’t meet your gaze as she drops onto the battered sofa, her metal arm creaking faintly with the motion.

The cigar flares at her lips with a snap of her lighter, the glow lighting her sharp features before she blows the smoke out hard, trying to bury herself in the haze. She slumps back and closes her eyes, exhaustion in every line of her body, willing herself not to look at you.

You step closer, arms folding tight across your chest. 

“You’re trying to get more people, right? I know who to trust. People come into the shop every day—”

“No,” she cuts in again, sharper. She doesn’t even open her eyes as she says it. 

The cigar barely brushes her lips before it’s snatched from between her fingers.

Sevika’s eyes snap open, fury flashing, watching as you crush the cigar into the ashtray. She surges forward, but you’re already pressing your palm against her shoulder, shoving her back down into the seat.

The suddenness of it makes the sofa creak, her jaw tightening as she stares up at you in disbelief.

“Look at me,” you demand, leaning down until your breath ghosts hot over her cheek. “If you’re going to tell me no, look me in the eye when you do it.”

Her chest heaves heavily, smoke and heat mingling in the air between you. It should be easy to push you away, to bark at you until you back off. But with you standing between her knees, close enough that her pulse stutters, Sevika feels the ground shift under her.

Then she sees it—that flicker. Your gaze darting to her lips in a way too quick to mean nothing.

Her gut twists. Hope flares, dangerous and raw. Before she can think better of it, her metal hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and tugging you forward.

You stumble, half-crashing onto her lap, one hand braced against her shoulder to steady yourself. The jolt sends a rush of heat up your body, leaving your face inches from hers.

Your lips part, a sharp inhale caught between you, before you snap them shut, teeth catching your bottom lip like you’re holding yourself back.

Sevika’s breath comes out unsteady, the scent of you filling her senses, stirring everything she’s tried to bury. Her voice breaks out of her in a whisper, low and rough, barely able to hold its shape.

“…Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” she asks, her breath brushing your lips.

Your throat bobs, your hand still braced firm on her shoulder. You don’t answer, not right away. The silence hangs between you, every breath pulling the tension tighter.

“I’m trying to make you listen,” you manage at last, but your voice falters, betraying you.

Her metal hand tightens around your wrist. The strength is undeniable, but there’s no malice in it, just desperation. A tether, holding you there, as though if she lets go, you’ll disappear.

You shift slightly, and suddenly your knee brushes her thigh.

Heat blooms through both of you.

Sevika’s gaze drops to where your lips part for a breath, then flicks back up, sharp and searching.

Her voice drops lower, almost a growl. 

“You told me to go.” The accusation isn’t angry, but it’s raw and wounded.

Your eyes flutter shut guiltily for a second before opening again, but you can’t hold her stare. You start to turn your face away, but her other hand lifts. Hesitant, almost trembling as she cups your cheek, guiding your gaze back to hers.

It’s you who falters now. You who feels caught, pinned in place, not by strength but by the weight of everything in her eyes.

“Can you blame me?” Your voice cracks, softer than you mean it to. “You show up after all these years, asking me to just—what—fall back into us? Anyone would need time to…to think.”

Sevika swallows, her throat tight. For a moment, she doesn’t breathe.

“So what did you decide?” she finally asks.

The words spear through the quiet.

You exhale shakily. One hand still grips her shoulder, the other slides down her arm—over hard lines of metal, all the way to her hand. You lace your fingers through cold steel as if it could still remember warmth.

“That you’re still the same woman,” you whisper, the corners of your lips tugging despite the hard beating of your heart. “Stubborn. And infuriating.”

Your voice is soft but charged, and it makes Sevika’s chest ache. 

You guide her metal hand deliberately to your waist, pressing it there like you want her to hold you, even if the steel can’t feel. Your other hand trails slowly down her arm to find hers on your cheek, moving it to rest against your hip. 

Sevika swallows hard as the heat of your body sears through her palm. Her breath has turned shallow and uneven, and she doesn’t even try to hide it.

You’re so close, your thigh brushing her own, your scent cutting through the smoke still clinging to her.

“And?” she whispers.

You look into her eyes, your heart softening with each second at what you find in her gaze.

“And you’re still the same woman I fell in love with.” Your voice steadies, firmer now. “The one who never stops fighting for what she believes in. The one who makes me want to fight too. Even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts.”

Sevika’s breath catches, too stun to speak.

You lean in, your forehead pressing against hers. 

The silence stretches again, but it’s no longer sharp or unbearable. It’s softer now. Forgiving.

Your thumb trace slowly along her jaw, over the ridges of her scars, coaxing her closer, holding her in place as you come to a decision.

“One more chance, Sevika,” you murmur. “You get one more.”

Relief crashes through her, her shoulders sagging under its weight. But her grip only tightens, fingers digging into your sides as if to anchor you to her.

Sevika drinks in your face desperately, every flicker of your expression, every breath. She needs to be certain this isn’t some hallucination or a cruel trick of some alternate reality.

Then your lips find hers, and she instantly knows it’s real. 

The kiss is hungry, frantic, and terrified—like you’re both trying to reclaim every lost year in a single breath.

A sharp gasp escapes you at her force, but your hands seize her jaw, holding her close, grounding her there. Smoke and whiskey cling to her lips, achingly familiar, flooding your chest with fondness that almost hurts.

Sevika groans low at your action, a sound dragged from somewhere deep, her metal hand clamping hard at your hip.

At your next gasp, she deepens the kiss, pouring herself into it.

Your body shifts, drawn closer, until you’re straddling her lap, pressing her down into the worn sofa.

The kiss slows—just enough for your lips to linger, for you to catch her bottom lip between your teeth before pulling back a trembling inch.

Foreheads press together, your breaths mingling in uneven bursts.

“You still kiss like you’re trying to win a fight,” you whisper, voice shaky but teasing all the same. 

Her mouth curves into a faint smirk, though her eyes are blazing. 

“Maybe I am.”

Your hand slips down, resting against her chest—right over the frantic pounding of her heart. The heat radiating beneath your palm makes her dizzy.

“Sevika.” Your voice is low, warning, and fragile. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Her gaze locks onto yours, raw adoration written across her face. 

“You won’t.”

Your smile, filled with trust in her, undoes her completely. 

She surges up, kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. Her tongue brushes against yours, pulling a soft sound from your throat that makes her groan into your mouth, needy and undone.

You melt against her, your fist curling into her collar as if you can’t stand even a breath of space between you.

Her hands—one steel, one flesh—wrap around you with unyielding certainty, steady and grounding.

When you both finally part, lips swollen and breath tangled, she still doesn’t let you go.

Her forehead leans against yours, her voice breaking rough in the quiet.

“I swear,” she murmurs, clutching you like a vow, “I won’t mess this up. Not again.”

This time, she won’t waste the second chance you’ve given her.

You walk Powder to the front door, offering another round of goodbyes. Her explanations about the past few days still swirl in your head—alternate realities overlapping, hextech anomalies, two Sevikas. The words runes and algorithms meant little to you, but knowing an idea of why things have been so strange brings you some relief.

When the door clicks shut, silence hums through your home.

Your eyes drift to the kitchen.

Sevika sits at the table, her frame heavy in that familiar way that you know means she’s lost in thought. Shoulders slumped, elbows braced, her hands knit together as she stares at nothing.

The sight tightens the sympathy in your chest.

Quietly, you approach and slip your arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she mutters, the word sharp and quick to reassure.

But even as she bristles, her body leans back into yours, betraying her need for your familiar comfort.

You hum, leaning your cheek atop her head. 

“You don’t sound fine.”

Her sigh is rough, almost reluctant, before she finally speaks again.

“It felt like a dream. I remember things that aren’t mine, but they’re in my head anyway. Like someone else lived my life and then just left the memories behind.”

Her jaw tightens as she remembers the earlier memories. Her fist slams against the table with a dull thud. 

“And the way she treated you—pushing you away,” she growls. “Makes me want to punch her—me?”

She groans in frustration at the confusing situation of conflicting identities, pressing her hand to her temple.

You lean over her shoulder and kiss the edge of her jaw, fingertips slipping beneath her collar to rub soothing circles across her chest. 

“She didn’t know. She was thrown into something she didn’t understand, and yet she was still trying.”

Sevika scoffs, but the tension in her shoulders eases just a fraction. 

You press on, your voice softening with fondness. 

“She was like you in the ways that matter—strong, loyal, fighting for what she believed in. Fighting for me.”

That should have soothed her. 

But something flickers in her expression, sharpening. Sevika turns her head, eyes narrowing. 

“Was she better?”

You blink in confusion. 

“What?”

Sevika stands and looms closer, bracing her hands on either side of you, caging you against the table. Her heat radiates, her scent of smoke wrapping around you, making your pulse stumble.

“Did she fuck my wife better than me?” Her voice is low, rough, sharp with possessiveness.

Your breath catches, heat pooling in your stomach. 

“I—I didn’t know she was from another dimension,” you stammer, defensive.

“That’s not what I asked.” Her tone drops even lower, grazing like gravel over your skin. She leans closer, lips brushing your ear. “Are you saying there was no difference?”

The question sends a tremor of anticipation down your spine.

Before you can answer, her teeth nip at your neck. 

You gasp, only to feel her tongue smooth over the sting, soothing and dangerous all at once. One hand clamps onto your hip, holding you in place. The other slides down with calculated intent, cupping your core through the fabric.

“Do you need me to prove it to you?” she murmurs. The husk in her voice makes your thighs clench.

Your grip on her forearm tightens, desperate for balance and composure. Heat floods you as her fingers shift, pressing firmly, grinding slow circles against your clit through the barrier of cloth.

“Sevika—” you breathe, your voice catching. You manage to rasp, “Maybe…maybe the bed—”

But she only shakes her head, her lips curving into a smirk against your throat. 

“I don’t think you’ll make it to the bed.”

Her mouth peppers bites and kisses along the slope of your neck while her hand works deliberately, rubbing slow, agonizing circles. The double assault makes you whimper, biting your lip to keep sounds from spilling. Still, you don’t push her away, your fingers only clutching harder at her arm.

“Sevika…”

Your breathing turns ragged, your body trembling as you stutter her name in a soft, pleading gasp.

Sevika chuckles against your skin, her breath hot. 

“Knew it. You wouldn’t have lasted a step.”

Her smugness burns in your chest. You want to break her composure, make her as undone as she’s making you. Drawing a shaky breath, you cup her face with both hands, dragging her into a kiss.

It’s desperate and deep, your mouth opening against hers, your tongue teasing, pulling a groan from her throat when your hand slides up to tug at the short strands at the nape of her neck.

You smile against her lips, proud of the way she melts for you.

But the triumph is short-lived.

Without warning, her hand slips beneath your waistband and thrusts a finger deep inside you. The sudden intrusion makes you cry out, your body jerking against hers, nails digging into her shoulders for support.

“Sevika—!” Your voice breaks, a plea and a curse tangled together.

She huffs a dark chuckle, her lips brushing your ear. 

“Don’t think I’ll forget what I want to hear.”

Her finger pumps into you at a torturous pace, slow and deliberate, her thumb brushing lazy circles over your clit. Every time you try to roll your hips, her other hand clamps you against the table, denying you the friction you crave.

“Say it,” she demands.

Your head spins, lost in the fire she’s stoking. 

“Say…what?” you pant.

Her teeth graze your earlobe. 

“Tell me who’s better.”

Then she twists the knife with more taunts, her voice dripping heat. 

“Were you this wet for her?” A sharp thrust makes you cry out. “Did she stretch you like this?” She adds another finger, filling you deeper. “Did she make you beg?”

The table rocks with her motions as you clutch at her, nails scraping her shoulders, your breath torn from you in broken gasps. She drives you higher and higher—and then stops, pulling back just before you tip over the edge.

”Sevika!” You sob her name in frustration, catching her wrist before she can withdraw completely. “Don’t you dare.”

Her brow arches, smirking knowingly. 

“Well?”

Your pride wars with the fire threatening to consume you. For a second, you consider holding out. But then she curls her fingers just so, and your body betrays you, trembling.

You huff in defeat, cupping the back of her neck, dragging her face close until your lips almost brush hers. 

“Of course it’s you,” you whisper hoarsely, voice breaking. “You, the infuriating woman that I married.”

The sound she makes is half a laugh, half a groan. Satisfaction glints in her eyes before she finally lets go—thrusting into you with merciless rhythm, her thumb circling your clit until you come apart around her hand with a gasp.

Your body collapses against her, whimpering when she slowly pulls her hand free. Relief washes over you until her arms suddenly hook beneath your thighs, lifting you with ease.

You yelp in surprise, arms instinctively wrapping around her shoulders.

“Wait, Sevika, I just…”

“You think it’s over?” Sevika says with a smirk, carrying you toward the bedroom. 

Laying you down, she hovers above, her gaze molten. Her voice drops low into a promise, her mouth brushing your ear.

“Now…I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

Hours later, you lie boneless in her arms, your body still trembling from wave after wave she dragged you through. She traces idle patterns across your skin, softer now, reverent.

When you finally find your voice, it comes out as a murmur. 

“Do you think…she’s happy?”

Sevika pinches your side gently, making you squeak. 

“After everything I just gave you, you’re thinking about her?”

You laugh breathlessly and push her back against the pillows, hovering above her. Your fingers trail along the faint glow that lingers on her arm now—the residue of the hex energy that marked her other self’s return.

“She’s you,” you whisper. “And I want her to be happy too.”

Something softens in Sevika’s eyes. She cups your cheek, her touch gentle.

“If she has you, she will be.” 

Your chest aches at the certainty in her tone. You huff a small, fond laugh, rolling your eyes to keep the emotion from spilling over as you lean down and brush your lips against hers.

“She’d better be,” you whisper against her mouth, the words a promise and a warning all at once.

Because after everything—after loss, after choices, after second chances—Sevika deserves happiness. Both of them do.

And you’ll make sure of it.