A/N: For Tahimikamaxtli, who deserves more than this short for his kindness and inspiration. I was way too nervous to go anywhere near Riven and Yasuo, so I hope this works as a thank you ;-;


Quinn didn't know what she was doing.

Well, technically she knew, but she figured it would be more beneficial if she didn't think about her hastily devised plan. Lucky for her, the fear that gripped her and the fact that she was running as fast as she could and hadn't really pulled in a full breath in several minutes made it easier than she thought to not dwell on the specifics of her actions. She crashed through the muggy underbrush of the Bubbling Bog with Valor following silently above her and the Serpentine River roaring to her right, and even though the thick forest looked so different at night, Quinn knew exactly where she was going.

Because she'd been watching this path for months.

Her lungs were really starting to burn when she pushed through a particularly dense part of a thicket, but on the other side of the vines and thorns was the small tent she was looking for, buried in the foliage with such skill that Quinn would have missed it if she didn't already know it was there. She still stopped a few feet away from it, and a different kind of fear took hold of her now; not the debilitating feeling that she was quickly running out of time, but the cold horror of the unknown, and it took her several moments to compose herself before she could force herself to approach the tent.

Besides her ragged breathing and the steady roar of the river, there was no other sound in the night; she knew Valor was close, but she couldn't see him, and there was no movement from inside the tent. She brushed aside the tent flap anyway, stepping slowly inside, aware that at any moment there could be a knife between her ribs and one less ranger in the woods. Her fears turned out unfounded, however; the tent was empty, and there was certainly nowhere for anyone to hide. There were a couple of blankets piled in a corner that she assumed served as the bed, a couple of dirty eating utensils around a small pit dug in the middle of the tent that was full of glowing coals but no food. There was nothing else there, no clothes, no maps, no personal items. Quinn stood at the entrance, her chest heaving as she tried to pull air into her lungs, her hands out to the side as her muscles twitched. She felt wrong, like she was about to snap, and she gave up the small and dangerous hope she had of finding the owner of the tent.

She was turning around, preparing to run back the way she came twice as fast when she felt the sharp, distinct point of a blade press to the middle of her back. She froze, and not even her trembling muscles dared to move anymore.

"Who are you?"

Quinn shook her head, because she didn't have time to be surprised or terrified that she'd been caught, and she certainly didn't have time to explain all the boring details of who she was- neither of them did. Keeping her hands up, she did the most dangerous thing she could in her position; she turned around. The blade moved from her back to her neck in a fluid motion she didn't see, and even though there was a sting of pain, she spoke before the hooded man she now faced could speak, or worse.

"You have to go. They're in the woods, they know you're here and-"

She stopped when the blade pressed even harder to her neck, and she felt blood running over her skin now, and Quinn was suddenly very, very afraid. The man who owned the tent -the assassin- she could see his face clearly, after weeks of him hiding behind that cowl and her watching from a distance; his hair was longer than she expected, almost reaching his shoulders, and he had a strong jaw that was set into a scowl with deep-set eyes that were more intense than any she'd ever seen.

It would be easy for him to kill her. She bet he wanted to.

And if she was going to die, she might as well finish what she came here to do- to warn him. Despite the blood dripping down her neck, the pain of the blade cutting her skin, and the fear that choked her, Quinn spoke.

"The Demacian army, they think you're responsible for all of those murders and they're here now! You have to leave!"

There was no change in the man's expression, so it was impossible for Quinn to tell what he was thinking; he didn't trust her, that much was obvious, and why would he? A Demacian ranger suddenly comes running into his expertly hidden camp with an army at her heels, and asks him to run. Quinn was amazed she was still alive.

"I don't trust you."

Not 'can I trust you', just a flat refusal, and Quinn's face fell in dismay.

"You have to."

Silence. The way he stared at her, it made her feel so small and insignificant, and she was very much aware that she was alive only because he permitted it. Still, she silently begged that he would listen, because if he didn't, this would all be for nothing. They would both die.

For one impossible second, the blade pressed even harder against her skin, and Quinn closed her eyes, thinking of Valor and Caleb and-

A rough shove against her back.

She opened her eyes, catching herself before she tripped, and turned around. He was there behind her, holding up the blade on his arm, and jerked his head to the entrance of the tent.

"Leave."

One look was all she gave him, one look of concerned gratitude that lasted all of a second before she bolted out of the tent, away from the assassin and into the night.