Chapter Eleven


"Cupcakes—help yourselves," Caitlyn said, setting a box of cupcakes layered with purple frosting onto the table. The young Demacians eyed the confectionaries warily, and Caitlyn quirked a brow.

"They're not filled with truth serum, if that's what you're worried about," she offered. At their continued wary glances, she sighed before reaching out to pick up a cupcake with pink frosting, and taking a rather formidable bite. After swallowing, she gestured once more at the pastries on the wooden table. "See? Not poisoned."

"The rest could be," one of them pointed out, a young man who Caitlyn recognized by the striking resemblance he bore to his father. Jarvan, the mayor's son. If Caitlyn weren't in the middle of an operation, she might have found it amusing that the mayor's son was a member of a vigilante group, that the mayor presented himself as anti-vigilante, and yet the entirety of upper Demacia was comprised of city authorities and their progeny.

"They aren't. I would eat another to prove it to you, but I think one cupcake is more than enough for me today," she said in reply.

One of the Demacians, a young woman with hair dyed a deep red, shrugged, reached out, and grabbed a cupcake with purple frosting. Jarvan gasped and protested, but the young woman had already taken a rather large bite out of the cupcake.

"I skipped dinner," the young woman, Shavira, no, Shyvara—Shyvana, that was it, goodness, what an odd name—said.

"And you will be properly fed soon. Arrangements have already been made," Caitlyn said, sitting down in the chair at the end of the table. From this vantage point, Caitlyn had a clear view of every Demacian teenager they had apprehended earlier that night. "I simply thought a peace offering was in order, given the circumstances."

The 'circumstances,' of course, being dozens of agents taking the small group in at gunpoint. The Demacian youths, with their unexpected interference, were certainly putting her Noxian double agents at risk, and with the appearance of the Black Rose, the show of force was warranted. Necessary, even. It sent a clear message to the Black Rose that they were no longer the only major power on the playing field. That would make them scramble—and that was exactly what Caitlyn was counting on.

But of course, all the Demacians knew was that they had been taken in by Piltover's finest—the FBI—evident by the insignia on each officer's vest. It was likely a nightmare for them, to be arrested by federal authorities—the risk of exposing the entire Demacian operation was so great, Caitlyn wouldn't have been surprised if they had kept their mouths shut entirely and only spoken to demand a lawyer.

Yet Caitlyn had already gotten them to speak—and based off of the way they were eyeing the cupcakes, it seemed she was... perhaps well on her way to gaining their trust might be a severe overstatement, but it was a first step, at least.

"I know that you don't trust me. And that's smart of you—practical, really," Caitlyn began. "The authorities in this town are not always to be trusted—if you were discovered, your family reputations could be ruined, or worse, you could become easy targets for Noxus."

The expressions she was receiving from them were not pleasant.

"That is, of course, why we are interested in you all."

Ah, there it was—the look of confusion on most of their faces. The only one who didn't seem confused was the Crownguard girl, Luxanna. Luxanna was frowning, and Caitlyn imagined that a million thoughts were running through the young girl's mind.

"What do you mean?" Luxanna asked, her tone even—if Caitlyn didn't know better, she would have sounded impassive, almost bored. But it was an act.

Caitlyn considered her words before speaking.

"Let me make it clear that I have no interest in dismantling your operation," she said, "and I have no interest in exposing your identities, or your relationship to Demacia. In fact, I think it more prudent to keep this under wraps, and as far as I'm concerned, you all can keep up with your charades and daring-do's, as long as you keep it discreet. That is not the reason you are here."

The small group exchanged glances with one another, mistrust evident in their expressions. Caitlyn pressed on. "No. The sole reason for your presence here was... well, let's call it poor timing."

"What you're saying," Luxanna said, "is that you weren't after us?"

"Bingo," Caitlyn said, watching the girl with rapt attention. Though she concealed it well, Caitlyn saw the downward turn of Luxanna's lips, a hidden scowl, the slight narrowing of her eyes as the young girl considered who Caitlyn and her unit were really after.

"Noxus?" Luxanna asked.

Caitlyn almost let out a sigh of disappointment. So close. "Not quite," she said. "Though you're not far off, and not entirely wrong." At this, Caitlyn folded her arms. "You encountered two parties tonight. One was under my direction—three undercover operatives. The second group you encountered is the party of interest."

"The Black Rose," Luxanna said, and because Caitlyn was listening for it, she heard the touch of breath I was in the girl's voice. Fear, or perhaps anger. Good, Caitlyn thought. She should be afraid of them.

"Yes," Caitlyn said. She uncrossed her arms and gestured towards the group. "My undercover operatives were searching for something. I had them prepare for the arrival of the Black Rose, as I thought it quite likely they would make an appearance. But it seems I underestimated you Demacians. I didn't expect your little group to make a showing tonight." What she didn't add was that, in hindsight, she should have, given that they were all young and impulsive, but she had anticipated that the bureaucratic nature of the Demacian organization would cause a more significant delay.

"Are you investigating them?" The soft-spoken girl, Quinn, asked. Soft-spoken, but shrewd, Caitlyn notes with approval.

She considered her response. This subject was classified territory, and she had to be careful with the information she gave away... at least, for the moment. "Only insofar as they impact my main operation."

Caitlyn could almost see the gears turning in young Luxanna's mind. "So you were intentionally drawing them out tonight," Luxanna said.

Only years of training allowed Caitlyn to hide the smirk that desperately wanted to sneak onto her face at that. So far, young Luxanna was putting all the pieces together quite nicely—almost as well as the DuCouteau girl.

"I can't discuss anything that might pertain to our ongoing investigation unless it's public knowledge," Caitlyn said, knowing Luxanna would take that as confirmation. "At any rate, that's not why I'm here with you all."

"So why are we here, then?" Jarvan asked.

"Initially?" Caitlyn said, "Happenstance. I had to protect my operatives—you were holding them hostage.

"But then I realized who you were. How... intertwined you've become with my operatives and the Black Rose. And so now, you see, I've kept you here to ask you all two questions. What do you know about the Black Rose? And are you willing to help us and conduct additional... operations?"

The silence that greeted her wasn't unexpected.

"You have time to think the latter question over," she continued. "But I am asking you to cooperate fully with me as far as my investigation into the Black Rose."

And with that, Caitlyn made her way to the exit and opened the door. Before leaving the room, however, she turned to them once more and said, "Dinner should be here in the next fifteen minutes. After that, one of my agents will be in to record any intel you have on the Black Rose, and you'll be free to leave after that." She met their gazes, and noted the suspicion on their faces, the confusion that passed between them in stolen glances. She continued. "If you choose to continue working with the FBI, a meeting will be set up to discuss additional details with me at that point. Even if you decline my offer, you should know that my offer will still stand—if you have a change of heart, well. I'll be here."

She was about to turn to leave when the Crownguard girl spoke up. "I have one question," she said, and she met Caitlyn's eyes with a fierce intensity.

"Where's my brother?"

Oh, right. The Crownguard boy. She'd forgotten to tell them about his condition. "He's in the medical bay, patched up and being given a blood transfusion," Caitlyn said. In a softer tone, she added, "He'll be fine. He'll have to take it easy for some time, but there likely won't be any permanent damage. And you'll be allowed to see him once he wakes up and the medical team is done with him."

Luxanna may have been a skilled actress, but she was also a young girl concerned about her big brother. At the news that he was fine, her shoulders visibly slumped, and she let out a shaky breath.

Caitlyn's heart reached out to the young girl, it truly did. But she never let her feelings get in the way of her professional work. And right now, her job was to go see the DuCouteau siblings, confer with them, and then verify that the preparations for the next state of her plan were coming together. She didn't have time to stay and console the young teenagers in the room.

"If that's all, I'll see you later tonight when dinner is prepared," Caitlyn said, and when no other questions were raised by the young Demacians, she nodded and exited the room, closing it behind her with a click that echoed with a sense of finality in the sparse hallway.


Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Garen's mind was hazy. He existed in a state of almost-consciousness, repeatedly drifting close to the plane of full awareness before once again sinking back down.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

That sound… it was one Garen had heard before; it was familiar to him. Where had he heard it before?

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Oh, right. A heart monitor. The last time he'd heard one, he'd been in a hospital, recovering from wounds he'd received from a deadly explosion.

He and Jarvan had been lucky. Several others hadn't been—Noxian and Demacian, alike.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It had been his own mistake that had landed them both in the hospital, then. Garen, in his teenage arrogance and overconfidence, had disobeyed an order to remain discreet and only use their tranqs, and had thrown a flashbang down a dock, hoping to distract a fleeing Noxian enemy.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The flashbang had gone off—but in doing so, it also ignited several barrels along the pier. Barrels that he later learned contained gunpowder and chemical explosives. He and Jarvan had a bit of time to run away after they saw the explosion begin to move out from the barrels and expand outward to swallow the pier.

Even with the distance they managed to put between them and the explosion, the blast had knocked him and Jarvan back, and they had both suffered severe burns, among other injuries such as broken ribs and fractured bones.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

But that had been a long time ago, now. Garen hadn't made such a fatal error in years.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Where was he?

Though his eyes were heavy, and his mind was still foggy, Garen opened them, blinking slowly against the bright light that immediately blinded him. Once his eyes adjusted, Garen managed to glance around at his surroundings.

Stark white walls and medical equipment greeted him, and the humming of electronic devices and the beeping of monitors came more into focus. The scent of chemically sterilized walls and floors reached his nose, and he became aware of a scratchy blanket atop him, as well as a hard and uncomfortable cot beneath him.

Garen tried to sit up, and a sharp pain in his shoulder immediately made him regret the movement as stars sprung up behind his eyes. He took a deep breath, grit his teeth, and then repeated the motion, sitting up slowly and trying to avoid putting pressure on his injured shoulder as much as possible. It was painstaking, but he managed to lift himself up into an upright position.

His movements must have set off some sort of alarm somewhere, or perhaps the equipment had been monitoring his movements or heart rate, because after he sat up, a small group of nurses entered the room hurriedly, checking his vital signs and examining his shoulder.

With his mind still in a bit of a daze, Garen was content to let the good nurses and doctors examine him, and when a nurse explained something, he realized he hadn't listened to a single word she'd said, and so he simply nodded along, trusting that the medical professionals in front of him knew what they were doing. She changed his bandages—that had been what she was explaining, he realized belatedly—and he stared questioningly at his shoulder, at the gaping hole that send pain radiating outwards. He also realized, then, that he was definitely on some serious painkillers.

At the thought, Garen snorted—he hadn't been on painkillers in years. The last time he'd been on morphine, it had been when he'd made a huge mistake on a mission—

Oh.

Memories came to him, of the downtown library and the Black Rose, and Garen leaned back in bed, startling the nurse attending to him, and he groaned.

"I messed up again," he grumbled. The nurse said something to him, then, but Garen felt his mind begin to wander again, and the monitors and their incessant beeping began to fade away, as if a fog was spreading around him.

For the next several hours, Garen slept, never quite fully awakening, yet aware enough of his surroundings to recognize that he was well and truly fucked.

When he woke, it was to the voice of the single most important person in his life saying his name, almost like a prayer.

"Garen," Lux whispered, and he became aware of a warmth in his right hand, a slight pressure from her hands around his own. "I'm here. I've got you."

He blinked his eyes open and beheld his sister leaning over him in the hospital bed, eyes wide, and he heard her intake of breath as his eyes adjusted to the light of the room.

"Lux," he said—or, well, tried to say—but his voice was hoarse, raspy, and it came out as more of a croak.

"You're awake," she said, and the surprise and joy in her voice were not lost on him, even in his tired, groggy state.

He nodded, and then moved to sit up—but the sudden and intense, burning pain in his shoulder made him gasp and immediately slump back into the pillows.

"Try not to move too much," Lux said, pressing her lips together in concern. "You're hurt. Do you remember what happened?"

Garen groaned. "Unfortunately," he rasped out. He licked his dry and cracked lips, and then said, "Water?"

Lux nodded and let go of his hand as she stood and left the room quickly, and the cold absence of her warmth made him shiver. After a few minutes, she returned with a bottle of water, and she held it to his lips as he drank greedily.

When he had finally had his fill, he felt strong enough to once again attempt to sit up. Gritting his teeth, he put as much pressure as he could on his good shoulder and sat up, hissing as his shoulder protested at the movement. But he made it to an upright position, and as he panted from the strain of his movements, he noticed Lux looking at him with concern.

"How bad is it?" he asked, thinking that the concern meant his wound was more severe than he had expected. Perhaps there was shrapnel lodged in his arm, or surgery would be required—

"Not too bad. It was a clean shot, apparently," she said, and by the tone of her voice, he knew he was about to receive a lecture. "You're lucky. A few inches over, and it would have hit your subclavian artery, or there may have been damage to your brachial plexus."

He sighed; he didn't know what his subclavian artery or brachial plexus were, but he knew by Lux's tone that that would have been very, very bad. "Were you or the others injured?" he asked.

"No," she answered, "But this isn't about us—"

"What matters is that everyone else is safe," he said quietly.

She opened her mouth, probably to argue, but then she let out a sigh of her own and slumped back in her chair.

"This is really bad, Garen," she said. He met her eyes and was startled to see the fear in them, and he felt a surge of emotion within himself, a familiar need to protect his sister from whatever it was that was scaring her, or face whatever was giving her trouble. She continued, "The FBI—they know everything. And they want us to cooperate with them." At this, the panic in her voice grew, her voice rising in pitch. "Can you—when our parents find out that we—"

"Wait," Garen said, holding up his good hand. "They want us to cooperate with them… and do what, exactly?"

And so it was that Lux spent the next several minutes bringing him up to speed, telling him all about the meeting the Demacians had just had with the two FBI agents Caitlyn and Vi, and Garen felt himself grow angry.

"Those Noxians put us in this position," he grumbled. "They actually went to the FBI—"

"It was a smart move, honestly," Lux said. "From what we saw last night, the Black Rose are extremely powerful, and not a force to be reckoned with. And if they're working with Noxus, too, then the double agents needed outside support, or else they'd just be killed. We were just unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire."

While he understood what she was saying, that didn't mean Garen had to like it. "I don't like it," he said, just to let her know that he didn't like it. Which she already knew, based on the way she huffed.

"Garen—that, that doesn't even matter." The touch of panic returned to her voice as she said, "When Mother and Father find out that our mission led to the FBI getting involved in Demacian affairs, to our identities being exposed—and with our identities exposed, of course their identities were exposed, and probably half of our upper command, and it's going to all come back down on us—"

"Lux," Garen said, and he reached out to one of her flailing hands, gripping it firmly in his own. She met his eyes, and he squeezed her hand gently. "It'll be okay," he said, his voice reassuring, calm. He'd done this before—talked her down from a panic attack, helped reason with her and reassure her that he would take care of her. It was his job, after all, as her big brother. "I promise. I'll deal with our parents. And if they try anything—anything at all—I'll make sure to stop it." He meant every word.

She swallowed, but he saw the panic begin to fade from her eyes, and she squeezed his hand back, gently.

"They're going to try to send me away again," she said, and though she was still scared—he could tell by the tightness in her shoulders—her voice was no longer shrill and high-pitched. "They're going to try to separate us."

"I won't let that happen," he said. "And neither will Sylas."

They'd had this discussion before.

Seven years ago, when they'd sent her away to boarding school for fighting with them, as a way to separate the two siblings and as a form of punishment for her disobedience, their parents had sent Lux to a military prep school for the wealthy.

It had been bad. She hadn't fit in, she hadn't adhered to their strict schedule, and she'd been too smart for their curriculum. The other children had bullied her, and the teachers were cruel to her for what they perceived to be arrogance and laziness. It had been a dark time.

Physical abuse from her peers, and even from certain instructors, as well as mental abuse from the students and staff, had followed. Lux's only escape had been her laptop, and she would spend hours online, immersing herself in the world of coding and hacking, desperately searching for an escape from her horrible reality.

Garen had pleaded with his parents to send her home; but they hadn't listened; they never did. He'd threatened to hurt them, even hurt himself—and he'd gone through with it. But all that had done was earn him corporal punishment, and a trip to a psychiatrist, who said he was mentally stable and needed to stop behaving like a child.

After a whole year of this, Lux had connected online with a certain Sylas Dregbourne, a member of Demacia's upper council members. They'd met online on the deep web, on forums for dismantling existing systems of oppression through concerted hacking efforts. Sylas had, apparently, engaged in several of these illicit activities, and he was surprised to find that Lux was interested in helping. The two had managed to disrupt several operations overseas that would have led to oppressive regimes, and they helped contribute to establishing new civil systems for persecuted people throughout the world.

From what Lux had told Garen of it all later, Sylas had taken Lux under his wing, and she looked up to him as a sort of mentor.

The man was known as a philanthropist and, though some would say he was eccentric and even unhinged when he would decry the systems that led to corruption in their city (some tabloids even went so far as to call him an anarchist)—he was known for always helping out those in need.

When Lux admitted that she was struggling in her new environment, Sylas had immediately made an in-person visit to the school, and when he learned of the abuse, he was furious. And when Sylas Dregbourne was furious, he was always one to make a stand.

Dregbourne had marched into the Demacian council room the next day and slapped down a stack of papers that documented the abuse onto the desk, and he'd questioned their father's competence and integrity in front of the entire Demacian council.

To save face, their father had claimed he had no idea of the abuse. Garen, who had been watching the whole scene unfold, had been infuriated; but, as Sylas explained to him later, it was better to choose your battles. Rather than pursuing the matter and calling out their father's lies, Sylas instead strongly urged that Lux be withdrawn from the academy and be allowed to return to normal life, perhaps even attend public school, where she was more likely to meet peers who were more similar to her. And just like that, their father had been cornered.

Lux had been withdrawn from the academy and returned to living in the Crownguard manor that same day. And when Sylas had handed a folder to Garen a month later, he had said only, "That's to make sure something like this never happens again. To ensure that the truly immoral people of this world face either exposure for their depraved acts, or concede to your demands."

The folder had contained a veritable treasure trove of blackmail to use against their parents, ranging from documents of tax evasion (minor, and probably unintentional), to lists of criminals that their father had let free only because they agreed to work for Demacia—criminals who had gone on to commit murders, arsons, and thefts that had harmed others.

Garen owed Sylas Dregbourne a debt that he knew he could never fully repay.

"They won't send you away—I'll make sure of it."

She took several deep breaths, and she closed her eyes. "Okay," she said, and then, for good measure, she repeated, "Okay."

After one last, firm squeeze of her hand, Garen let go and cleared his throat. "Now," he said, "are we being held prisoner here, or are we allowed to leave whenever we so choose?"

"We're not under arrest, so we can leave whenever we want," Lux said, "But you're still injured. We should probably let you stay overnight. Agent Caitlyn said they'll be serving dinner, soon. And she said you could stay here as long as you need to recover."

"I can't stay that long," he protested, "Kat will notice if I'm not home."

It took him a moment to notice the look his sister was giving him. "Really?" she asked, and he felt his ears begin to heat up at her tone.

"Don't give me that look," he said, choosing to ignore the way her lips curved up into a devious smirk. "If you recall, they're living under the same roof as us. I drive everyone around. I make all our meals. They're bound to notice."

"Uh-huh," his sister said, "And that's the reason she'll notice you missing." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," he said, ignoring any implications that her statement and the look she was giving him might have. "Exactly. That."

"Mmm-hmm," Lux said, but, mercifully, she decided to drop the subject. Rather than pursuing it further, she asked him, "How are we going to explain your arm?"

Oh. He hadn't thought of that. "Uhh… pulled a muscle while working out?" he asked.

"It's going to be bleeding and sore to the touch. You're going to have bandages. That's not going to cut it," she pointed out.

"Hmmm… broken arm?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Again—bleeding, remember? And you're going to be dressing your wound a lot, so you'd have to take off the cast, which would lead to questions."

A groan of annoyance escaped him. "I… tripped and fell on a knife?"

Judging by how she rolled her eyes, he was guessing that one was a no-go, as well.

After thinking about it for another few minutes, he said, "What if I just say I had a mishap while storing one of fathers' guns?"

"He doesn't let you touch his guns," Lux said, frowning.

"They don't know that," he said with a shrug.

"That… could work," Lux admitted. She opened her mouth to continue, but before she could speak, she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

The siblings shared a quick glance before Lux stood and made her way across the room. When she opened the door, the pair were greeted by the sight of a pink-haired FBI agent, whose biceps, Garen noticed, were insanely large. He was… actually a little jealous.

"Dinner's ready," she said. "I can have it brought in here, if you want."

"That would be great," Lux said. "Thanks, agent Vi."

"No problem." The agent—Agent Vi—looked at him. "Oh, hey, you're up! And you're looking pretty good for a kid who took a bullet to the upper torso!"

Garen wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he just said, "Oh. Thank you."

At his words, she beamed at him. "Are you hungry? I know I always am after getting shot. I can have them bring in a few extra servings."

As if on cue, his stomach growled, and she let out a laugh. "I'll take that as a yes," she said. "'Kay then, I'll be back in a few minutes with the food." She threw up a peace sign before exiting, leaving a baffled Garen and bemused Lux in her wake.

"She's… odd," Garen said.

"She's the good cop of the two," Lux said.

"So officer Caitlyn is the bad cop?" he asked.

Lux nodded. "Though," she said, grinning, "I don't think she's too bad at all. She's just a stickler for the rules, if I had to guess."

"… You met her once, Lux. You can't know that," he argued.

She shrugged. "Like I said—if I had to guess. It's a guess."

"Well," he said, "I hope you're right about that."

His stomach let out another growl, and he offered his sister a sheepish grin. "So—any idea what we're having for dinner?" he asked.

"No idea," she responded.

As if on cue, a familiar knock sounded on the door, and Lux opened the door to allow agent Vi in with a tray full of spaghetti and salad enough to feed three. At the sight, his mouth watered.

"All right, guys," agent Vi said, placing the tray down onto the table beside Garen's bed. "Italian's always a good way to replenish your energy after a long night. Nothing like carbs to brighten up your day, in my opinion."

She offered the two soda or lemonade, as well, and after returning with their drinks, agent Vi left them so they could enjoy their meal alone.

Once he had enthusiastically devoured his meal, Garen thought it prudent to return to the business of how they would explain the gaping bullet hole wound in his shoulder to the DuCouteau siblings. After several minutes of conversation, he and Lux decided to stick with a modified version of the 'I accidentally shot myself with my father's gun' story.

Rather than accidentally shooting himself, the story would be this: Garen, after receiving a call from their mother in the middle of the night, had run a quick errand and delivered certain sanitary napkins to the Crownguard's second residence in the downtown area. He had surprised their father, who had been returning from a late shift and had not expected to see an unexpected figure in the doorway. His father had fired a shot at what he thought was an intruder, and poor Garen had been rushed to the hospital after his father realized what had transpired.

As far as stories went, it was far from a solid one—if the DuCouteau siblings were to look into it on anything more than a surface level, the story was sure to fall apart. But Garen doubted that Katarina, Talon, or Cassiopeia would suspect that he and Lux were lying. Up until now, they had trusted him almost to a fault, and they had no reason to change that attitude, now.

With that matter settled, he and Lux had settled into a relaxed, mutual silence, simply enjoying one another's presence, lost in their own thoughts.

A knock at the door interrupted their reverie, however; the door swung open, revealing a tall, dark-haired agent. The woman walked inside, standing tall, as if she owned the place; behind her, agent Vi trailed into the room, closing the door behind her.

"Garen Crownguard," the woman said as she marched right up to his bedside. "I'm glad you seem to be making a full recovery. Before you leave, I'd like to introduce myself. My name is agent Caitlyn." She extended a hand towards his good arm, and he hesitantly took it, surprised to find how firm her grip was; almost vicelike.

"Nice to meet you," he said, though he wasn't actually sure if it was true or not, yet.

Caitlyn glanced at Lux and said, "I assume you filled your brother in on the details of my operation?"

Lux nodded. "The gist of it, yes."

Caitlyn made a low hum of appreciation before returning her attention to Garen. "I want to let you know that the FBI will help pay for your recovery. Any necessary treatments or therapy you may need, we'll provide you with."

He opened his mouth to thank her, but then a thought occurred to him, and he stopped himself. "Is that conditional upon me helping you with your mission?"

Agent Caitlyn grinned. "You're sharp, young man," she said. "But no—this is an offer of goodwill."

"More like an incentive," Lux responded, and Garen noticed that Caitlyn's grin only grew wider.

"Call it what you like," Caitlyn said in reply—and Garen was quick to note that she hadn't denied Lux's claim. "I see it as a mutually beneficial gesture. You receive the best care that can be afforded, a reassurance that you can trust us, and we perhaps receive your assistance in the near future."

"Right," Lux said, clearly skeptical.

Caitlyn raised her hands in defeat. "I won't force you to accept the aid, nor will I force you to assist me in any extraordinary way. It is in your best interest, however, and in Demacia's best interest, that you at least cooperate and agree not to hinder my investigation."

"Not like we have much of a choice," Lux retorted, and Garen frowned. His sister was right—they risked exposing the entirety of Demacia—everyone's identities, and the group's entire purpose—if they failed to cooperate with the FBI.

"You always have a choice," agent Vi said softly. "It's just a matter of choosing whether to do the right thing, even if you feel like you're stuck between a rock and a hard place. It's always your call."

Beside him, Lux rolled her eyes at the grandiose statement, but Garen couldn't help but find the agent's words reassuring and almost philosophical. She was right—you always had a choice. Your actions were always your own, even if your hand was forced to an extent.

"Well put," Caitlyn agreed. "Now, to business—we'll be transporting you and the other Demacians back to your homes in an hour or so. If you feel you're up to it, we'll also move you to a public hospital, where you can receive further treatment."

Garen nodded. "That sounds agreeable."

Caitlyn seemed amused by the statement, if her pursing her lips to hold back a smile was any indication. "Quite," she said. "Well, if you have no further questions, I'll leave you to it. One of my agents will be back here again in an hour to retrieve you both."

And with that, the FBI agents left the room, and when the door closed behind him, he turned to Lux and said, "I'll call mother and father en route to the hospital, and I can explain the situation to them. You don't need to talk to them."

She offered him a grateful look. "Okay," she said. "But I'm coming with you."

"You really don't have to," he said. "It might be better for you to go home, get some rest after all of this."

"No," she said, shaking her head. And then she marched across the room and wrapped her arms around him, careful to avoid his injured shoulder. "I'm not leaving you. We're sticking together, okay?"

Garen had never been a man who wore his heart on his sleeve. Even on his worst days, when he had been at his lowest point, he had never been one to show his emotions. He tended to keep them bottled up, or he would work out as a means of catharsis, the exercise helping to help disperse his pent-up feelings like steam.

But now, with his sister's arms around him, holding him tightly, he felt his eyes burn, and felt the tears well up in them before he closed his eyes roughly and gripped her tightly back in a one-armed hug. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and let it out in a great exhale.

"Okay," he agreed. "Okay."


Talon kicked at the wall. The wall didn't budge. Of course. He kicked at it again, with a little more force behind it this time. Still didn't budge.

Katarina sighed. "The wall didn't do anything to you, Talon," she said.

"No," he admitted as he kicked it again. "But it makes me feel better."

"To beat up a wall?"

Talon let out a harrumph and kicked it again, and Kat let out another sigh. It wasn't like she could tell him to stop without coming off as hypocritical; she had a tendency to kick things when she was frustrated, too.

The sound of the door opening made them both instantly stand taller. The door swung open to reveal their younger sister, who had the most self-satisfied smirk on her face that Kat had ever seen.

"Honestly," Cassiopeia was saying, "I don't know what I expected, and I shouldn't be surprised anymore, but—really, Talon? Really?"

Rather than responding, Talon crossed his arms and let out a disgruntled humph.

With a shake of her head, Cass walked into the room, holding the door open behind her for two women. The first woman, Kat noticed, had a sharp glint in her eyes, as if she was assessing the potential danger you might pose when she looked at you. Her dark hair flowed over her shoulders as she entered the room with a purposeful stride, nodding in greeting to each of the siblings in turn.

Behind her entered another woman—this one taller and more built. The second woman's hair was cropped short, and was a shockingly bright shade of pink. She carried herself with a sort of swagger, and when she looked at Kat and Talon, it was with a gaze just as intense as the first woman's. This gaze, however, was assessing in a different way—more of a size up, as if determining whether she could take you on in a fist fight. The answer, of course, would be, yes. Yes, this woman would absolutely be able to beat the shit out of Katarina and Talon in a straight up fist fight based off her sheer muscle mass and height.

The contrast between the two women was startling, and Kat looked at her sister with a questioning glance. Cassiopeia met her eyes and offered a slight nod of reassurance, but it only made Katarina more curious as to what the pair were here for.

If it weren't already obvious the two were FBI from the badges on their chests, Katarina wouldn't have guessed it. The first woman seemed far too refined to be a federal agent; she looked as if she belonged to a more polished, sophisticated career—academia, perhaps. And the second woman seemed far more like a bodyguard, or perhaps—by the tattoo under her eye—a former gang member.

The first woman gestured to the table in the center of the room, where chairs were laid out for them to sit. They all took their seats in silence before the first woman finally spoke.

"It's good to meet you, Katarina. Talon," the woman said. "Your sister's told me a lot about you and your… unique skillsets."

Kat felt her eye twitch slightly, and she had to force herself not to look at her sister.

The woman continued, "My name is Caitlyn Wright. As I'm sure you're aware, I'm a member of the Piltover FBI. Your sister recently contacted me regarding your situation." At this, Caitlyn leaned forward slightly, her hands placed delicately atop the table, and her gaze turned hard, her eyes sharp as blades. "Make no mistake. You may be minors, but the three of you have been committing illegal acts for more than a decade now. The only reason we're working together is that you three are the key to my operation's success."

Before Caitlyn could say another word, the second officer spoke up. "Lay off them, Cupcake," the woman said. "They made mistakes, yeah—but they're doing the right thing, now."

With a small exasperated sigh, Caitlyn turned in her seat to regard her partner. "Vi, we've discussed this—"

"Yeah, and I said they're still kids." The second agent, Vi—well, that explained the tattoo, Kat thought—leaned back in her seat and shrugged. "Some of us grew up in bad situations. Not excusing any shit we've done. But they have their whole lives to make it up. Starting," she said, gesturing towards the teenagers, "with this, right here."

That was… actually kind of nice? Not necessarily true, since she and her siblings weren't exactly here out of the goodwill in their hearts—they'd been forced into this position of working with the FBI, after all—but still. A nice sentiment, at least.

But Cassiopeia spoke up, now. "Regardless of the reasons behind our agreement—you did agree that we would not be prosecuted in any way, and we would receive immunity and protective services in the future. Our cooperation, and especially the danger it puts us in," she said, "warrant at least that."

If Katarina hadn't been carefully observing agent Caitlyn, she probably would have missed the look of annoyance that crossed the woman's face at having lost the direction of the conversation. "Yes, we've agreed not to press any charges in exchange for your cooperation," Caitlyn said. "And speaking of your cooperation—I'd like you to debrief me on exactly what happened out there tonight. Cassiopeia," she said, nodding towards Cass, "You've already told me your side of events." Caitlyn turned to look at Kat and Talon. "Now, I'd like to hear your sides of the story."

Talon slumped further into his seat. "Is this really necessary?" he asked, clearly still grumpy. Kat couldn't really blame him—she was frustrated with the situation, too.

Everything they'd ever known, everything they'd been taught from birth, was devotion to Noxus; and when their father betrayed Noxus, when the Black Rose started hunting them, it was as if their world had turned upside down. This past week had been a blur of having to navigate circumstances that continued to spiral out of their control with ever-increasing stakes, events that pushed them to their limits, all overshadowed by the gnawing and oppressive fear that their father was suffering, or maybe even dead.

Needless to say, it sucked. It really, really sucked.

Talon's question was greeted with a guffaw from Vi. "It's necessary, yeah. We have a lot of paperwork to fill out, and we need your accounts for it." Vei raised her hands in defeat and offered a tired grin at the DuCouteau siblings. "Annoying, I know. But it's protocol."

"Vi," Caitlyn hissed under her breath, the tone chastising. Vi seemed unaffected.

With a sigh, Kat started. "We entered the building at around 02:00 in the morning," she said. "I was already familiar with the layout of the library. I've, uh," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up ever so slightly as she remembered the many hours she'd spent at the library with Garen, researching and reading for their project. "I've spent some time in there. School project. So I knew where to look, which stacks we'd probably find historical information in. Cass and I went in, combed through the shelves on the top floors, then made it down to the basement."

It had taken a long time, really. They'd spent almost two hours hastily checking books for any sort of clue, any sort of message—a list. Cassiopeia had been clear that they probably weren't searching for an actual, handwritten list of names and contacts; it was more likely they'd be looking for a device, or perhaps a key. Kat had discarded dozens and dozens of books on the floor in her hasty search, and she knew Cass had done the same. They hadn't been looking to be stealthy—they'd been trying to be quick.

"At around… 04:30, I think," Kat recalled, "that was when Talon saw the Demacians pull up and warned us. I was trying to finish going through the last shelf I thought it could be at." It had taken several minutes—so many minutes, in fact, that Cass had started to get very worried that the Demacians might discover them.

"But then I opened one of the books, and it had been hollowed out. And the USB was inside it." It had been bold, really, to hid the list there, where anyone could have found it. But then again, Kat thought, how many people were looking at historical texts from the 1830s, when the city had been founded, that discussed the city's agricultural history? Exactly.

"I had just told Talon and Cass about it over the comms when the Demacians entered the room. I fired a shot at him, and he shot a tranq dart at me, but we both missed. I…" she cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She couldn't exactly say she had thought, 'hey, his voice reminds me of my crush's voice, so I was thrown off and fucking missed my shot,' now could she? Instead, she said, "I wasn't expecting them to just charge into the room like that, so it took me off guard."

Cass gave her a knowing look, but Kat ignored it and continued, describing their exit, how the Black Rose had appeared out of nowhere, it seemed, and how they had fled into the Demacians' van that was parked outside.

"And—one of them, the Might of Demacia, he was shot," Kat said. He was the one who reminded her of… "Is he okay?" she asked suddenly, maybe with too much concern.

The federal agents shared a quick glance before Caitlyn nodded. "I can't go into details, of course," she said. "But he's being cared for. He'd lost a lot of blood, so he needed a transfusion, but from what I'm told, it had been a clean shot. No debris leftover in the wound. He should recover without any lasting injuries."

Somehow, the knowledge that the Might of Demacia was going to be okay made her relax, and she let out an audibly shaky breath. "Oh," was all she could muster. "Good. Uh… That's good."

Katarina's thoughts drifted as Talon began to recount his version of events, and a thought occurred to her. In a few hours, Garen and Lux would wake up; and if they weren't home by then, there would be questions.

She interrupted Talon's description of a rooftop duel to ask, "How long is this going to take?" Which earned her an exasperated glare from Cassiopeia, and a questioning glance from her brother.

The two federal agents seemed unfazed, though. "However long it takes," Caitlyn replied, "to answer all of our questions."

"The Crownguards are going to notice we're not home," Kat said.

At this, Caitlyn quirked a brow. "You mean Mr. and Mrs. Crownguard?"

Kat shook her head. "No. Garen and Lux. We go to school together. They're letting us stay at their place, and they'll notice when we're not there in the morning."

At this statement, agent Caitlyn's lips pressed together tightly, and agent Vi looked downright confused.

"I'm sorry… do you mean that… the Crownguard children don't know you're here?" agent Caitlyn asked.

Katarina had to hold back a snort. "No. No, they don't know that we're part of Noxus. I mean, I'm sure they've heard rumors at school," she admitted. "But we haven't told them—we're not stupid, we wouldn't admit we're criminals to the police chief's kids. Nobody outside Noxus knows." She crossed her arms, and then said, "Well, and now you guys, I guess."

Vi opened her mouth as if to say something, but a quick touch of Caitlyn's hand against her shoulder stayed her from saying anything. Abruptly, Caitlyn stood, and Vi followed after Caitlyn gave her a short look. "If you'll excuse us for a moment," Caitlyn said, and then the pair exited the room.

Kat let out a breath of air she didn't know she'd been holding, and she looked at her siblings.

"Well, that was odd," Cassiopeia said, interrupting the silence.

"No kidding," Talon grunted.

"Did they actually think we'd tell Garen and Lux fucking Crownguard that we're Noxians?" Kat asked. She was genuinely confused. "Do they actually think we're idiots?"

"They might underestimate our intelligence somewhat, but I don't think to that extent," Cassiopeia mused. Then she let out a sigh. "I'm more interested in why they wanted to hear all of our accounts of tonight's events."

"They said it was protocol," Talon offered.

"Oh, I'm sure it is, to an extent," Cass said. "But, well…" she trailed off. "We can discuss it later. Away from… prying eyes and ears." The younger DuCouteau sister said this and nodded her chin in the direction of a very obvious camera in the corner of the room, recording their entire conversation.

Kat and Talon had noticed it when they'd first entered the room, of course. But it was worrying that there were still aspects of last night's fiasco that Cassiopeia didn't trust with the FBI. Moreover, it seemed like Cass knew more than she was letting on; the thoughtful look in her eyes right now was one Katarina was familiar with, one her sister often wore after solving a particularly complicated puzzle with her father.

Several minutes later, the two federal agents returned into the interrogation room, and once more took their seats.

"Well," Caitlyn said, "If you need a cover story for your whereabouts tonight, I'll discuss it with you later. For now, I'd like to focus on a new line of questioning."

The siblings shared a quick glance before Cassiopeia spoke up. "Of course," she said simply, with a nod.

"I've had some of my officers canvas the area of the library—and they returned with some interesting findings," Caitlyn said. "Can you guess what they were?"

"A black rose?" Cass asked, and Kat frowned.

"Bingo," agent Caitlyn responded, her eyes narrowing. "A unique calling card, there's no doubt about it. Forensics are looking at it, but I doubt they'll find any evidence based on what we know of how the Black Rose operates."

"They're too smart to leave any trace of evidence behind," Vi chimed in. "The bastards."

"Indeed," Caitlyn agreed. "In addition, we've found out how this group made its way into the library—a rather large hole was created in a bathroom in the basement. It linked to the downtown sewage tunnels. There's also evidence that it was extremely fresh—likely created this afternoon or late at night, after the library had closed."

A frown tugged at the corners of Kat's lips. "So what you're saying is that…" she said, her thoughts racing, "…the Black Rose knew we'd be there? If they dug it earlier in the day, they were planning this attack beforehand."

Caitlyn regarded her with an intrigued look. "Yes, that's what I suspect. The Black Rose anticipated your presence there tonight. Or…" she said, trailing off, and glancing expectantly at Cassiopeia.

"Or…" Cass said, "They were expecting the Demacians."

Caitlyn beamed at Cass. "You're right on the money," Caitlyn said, and then turned her attention to Talon and Kat. "Your sister and I agree on that—I also suspect that the Black Rose had only anticipated encountering the Demacians when they initially dug the tunnel. And it's possible the USB you retrieved was a dud—a replacement. We're still waiting to hear back from my tech expert, of course."

Kat felt her stomach drop. "Damn it," she said, and she felt a hot fury, a rage, flash through her before the sense of cold, hard failure drowned it. They'd failed… They'd failed, again

"It's possible it hadn't been tampered with yet, though," Cass said, interrupting Kat's thoughts before they began to spiral out of control. "Did it seem recently disturbed to you when you found it?"

Recalling the layer of dust that had lined the stacks on which she found the book, Katarina shook her head. "No. The dust around it hadn't been disturbed, as far as I could tell."

A small smile touched Cassiopeia's lips. "Then it's very possible that they hadn't found it yet—or were planning on ambushing the Demacians after they had done the dirty work of retrieving it."

"At any rate, we won't know for certain until I hear back from my tech specialist," Caitlyn said, interrupting Kat's thoughts before they began to spiral out of control, "Regardless, even if the USB is a dud, this mission wasn't entirely a lost cause." And at those words, a sense of hope was kindled within Katarina once again, and she listened earnestly to the federal agent's next words. "Only you three and a federal agent in my employ knew of the recording—besides the Demacians, that is. My agent didn't leak news of the recording; of that, I'm certain."

"And we certainly didn't divulge that information to any other parties," Cassiopeia said, a smirk playing at her lips. "The way I see it, there are only two possibilities to explain how the Black Rose got ahold of that information. One, the Demacians discussed their plans in an open area, where they were overheard—doubtful, given their proclivity for secrecy. Or…" she trailed off, leaning forward, excitement clear in her voice.

"Or they took it to their superiors. And—oh, this explains so much—there's a rat in Demacia's upper echelons."


Sylas Dregbourne scoffed internally at the excess of this function, at the veneer of probity the participants all wore as they mingled among one another, pretending to celebrate a nonprofit's success in rehousing homeless residents of the city. Rather than actually celebrating the good that the nonprofit had done, these fools, these parasites of the city's bureaucracy and filth, were more interested in networking and boasting about their financial contributions than actually helping the citizens of this city.

Christ, he thought to himself as he sipped at his champagne, observing the other gala attendees as they played along in this farce of an event. Look at them, all wolves in sheep's clothing, pretending to mind the flock. All so they can devour the herd. At that, he couldn't help the small smirk that made its way onto his lips.

Soon, he thought, Soon, I'll make sure they devour one another, instead.

An older man, dressed in a business suit and sporting a trimmed beard, made his way to the small stage at the front of the gala. He cleared his throat into the microphone, and waited for the crowd's volume to go down before speaking. "Ladies and gentlemen," the man said, "I can't tell you how honored we are to have you here with us tonight. I know I speak on behalf of the entire organization when I say that, thanks to you—to all of you—we can proudly boast that we've provided housing for over 1,200 people in our city."

Applause. Sylas didn't join in, instead opting to take another sip of wine. His gaze swept across the floor, where hundreds of businessmen, councilmen and women, diplomats, and the elites of the city fraternized with one another, all eager to improve only themselves at the expense of the commonfolk.

"It's been an incredible journey," the speaker continued, "and without your generous contributions, we would not be where we are today."

Sylas tuned the man's words out, and continued to scan the attendees. When he finally spotted who he was looking for, his free hand flexed and then clenched into a tight fist. He made his way carefully through the crowd as the head of the nonprofit organization continued the droning spiel about how their success was wholly attributed to the oh-so-generous, magnanimous generosity of the millionaires and billionaires in attendance; he pushed past those hypocrites who only spent the thousands they did on charity for the tax breaks they would receive for it, and the public clout it could gain their companies. And, finally, he stood before the person he had spotted earlier among the throng.

"Emilia," he said, a small smile gracing his lips as he came into her space, "Imagine seeing you here, of all places."

The corners of Emilia's lips turned up. Though she continued looking at the front stage with faux rapt attention, she said, in a low and quiet voice, "Oh, Sylas. You know as well as I that the both of us being here is far from a coincidence."

"I do," he acknowledged. "Though I'm surprised your… close companion," he said, emphasizing the last words with unhindered distaste, "isn't accompanying you, tonight."

That got her attention. She turned away from the stage completely, ignoring the drivel being spouted onstage about contributions and substantial donations, and she faced him, her face the picture of pleasant composure. "Oh, Jericho? He couldn't leave the office early tonight," she explained, "Too much work left to be done. There were certain arrangements that had to be made last-minute, meetings he couldn't get out of. You know what it's like to run a successful company—if discussions with the board aren't up to your standards, you do what needs to be done to… bring them around."

A snicker escaped him—he couldn't help it. "Business as usual, then," Sylas said.

"Oh, no," Emilia responded. "Very unusual, in fact." With that infuriatingly agreeable façade, she continued without skipping a beat. "Your information was incomplete, Sylas. Very disappointing."

Outrage bubbled within him, rankling, but Sylas kept his voice cool and measured when he spoke. "Excuse me?" he asked. "I offered you all the information at my disposal."

"Then perhaps," she said, "you ought to have taken extra care when you relayed such urgent news." At this, her pleasant smile finally dropped into an impassive mask—unreadable. "There were two parties in attendance last night that you didn't account for. Two unaccounted parties equate to two additional opportunities for a plan to go wrong."

"You retrieved the list, didn't you? What does it matter that you didn't apprehend any of the children?" he snapped.

Her pleasant smile returned, though there was a sharp curve to her lips that made Sylas uneasy.

"For starters," she said, reaching out to grab a flute of champagne from a passing server. She took a quick sip, and then twirled the neck in her hand, the liquid turning within the glass. "A more apt term for those so-called 'children' would be 'child soldiers'. And soldiers, as you well know from your own time in the service, are extraordinarily efficient at what they do, be it killing or sabotaging otherwise well-oiled operations."

"Of, come off it," Sylas said, taking offense at the words. "They're still children. Your ridiculous cabal is filled with trained operatives who should have been able to handle a group of kids, no matter how smart they are."

"Certainly," Emilia said, "If it were just the little Demacians, we wouldn't have had any issues. We wouldn't be having this chat, would we?"

Sylas shifted uncomfortably. He had expected this conversation to go very differently; he'd expected thanks, congratulations—not this.

"Except," Emilia continued, "those two unaccounted parties I mentioned? The first consisted of three trained and highly skilled assassins; troublesome, but easy enough to deal with. But the second?" Her gaze locked with his, those yellow irises standing stark against her pale face, and for a moment, Sylas felt as though she could read every thought in his mind. "The second was a certain group of federal authorities who the both of us would rather avoid."

The color drained from Sylas' face as the meaning of her words sank in. "FBI? What the fuck are they doing here?"

Emilia offered him a smile and a soft chuckle. "I had the same question, Sylas," she said. "What in the world were Piltover's finest doing here, in our city?" She swirled the champagne in her flute once more as she quirked her brow at him.

"Maybe one of yours is a turncoat," Sylas suggested.

"Perhaps," Emilia mused. "But I sincerely doubt it, given that I handpicked each of my subordinates."

"With enough money," Sylas said, his voice dripping with condescension, "even your loyal peons would turn on you."

At that, Emilia let out a soft laugh, low and dangerous. "Sylas," she said, "Not everyone in the world is motivated by greed, contrary to what you believe."

"Not everyone," he acknowledged, "but everyone that runs in your… circles? Oh, yes. They're all driven by avarice and gluttony."

"And you think the same of the—how did you phrase it? Circles that you yourself run in?" she countered.

"I do," he said, and he sneered. "My… colleagues don't care about the residents of this city, the everyday workers. They proclaim they serve a higher calling, that they mete out justice—but it's all self-serving pretense. Any action they take, every deal they shake on—it's all for the betterment of their own lives, at the expense of so many others'."

"But you're different," Emilia said, "Unlike them, you see what must actually be done."

"Exactly," Sylas said. "And I'm willing to shake hands with the devil, if I must." He leaned closer, and in a soft voice, so low she had to lean a little closer to hear him, he said, "And with the help of the Black Rose, we will see to their downfall, and create a new world, rid of both Demacia and Noxus alike."

As he spoke, the head of the nonprofit finally concluded his wretched speech, and applause rang around the two of them, thunderous—immortalizing the moment.

Emilia raised her glass to him at that, a smirk still playing on her lips, and he raised his own glass in return.

And they drank in their communion, consecrated his words, and Sylas knew in that instant, as the applause sounded around them and the crowd roared and cheered—as he swallowed the bubbling, rich champagne—that the future he wished to create, a world without the elite consuming the poor and humble, would surely come to pass.

As the applause began to quiet, Emilia leaned forward, that smirk still on her lips, still wet with the champagne she had drunk. "I'm afraid not," she said softly in his ear.

His eyes widened, and a cold fear like ice shot through his heart. "What?" he managed, throat dry.

"I'm afraid our deal must come to an end, Sylas. It's unfortunate—your information, up until now, had been invaluable for the Black Rose."

"What are you—?" he said, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest.

"As I mentioned earlier—none of my own subordinates would have sold out to the FBI," she said. She placed her flute of champagne down onto the tray of a passing waiter, and then she took his glass from his hands and did the same; frozen in shock as he was, he made no move to stop her. "Unfortunately, that really only leaves two possible sources from which the leak could have originated."

"No—" he started, "—it wasn't me—"

"Oh, but I sincerely hope that it was you, Sylas," Emilia continued. "You, who were so blinded by your need for revenge against the elite, against your fellow Demacians, that you didn't even see that you had made yourself into a fool."

Sylas couldn't breathe. He gasped for air as she continued, unable to speak. He began to shiver as the cold dread of what she was saying became clearer to him, as the pillars of the world he had begun to construct began collapsing around him in a cataclysmic horror.

"I'll be upfront with you, Sylas. I had no intention of ever honoring our agreement. You never would have seen to the fall of Noxus. You went on and on about how Demacia and Noxus were so intertwined, that the fall of one would antedate the fall of the other.

"But what you were too blind to see, Sylas," she said, "Was that, though Demacia cannot exist without Noxus—Noxus is bound by no such chains."

"You—you lied to me," Sylas said, his breath heavy. He had begun to sweat profusely, the fear of what might come causing his shivering to increase in intensity.

"Of course, you silly, stupid young man," Emilia said, and she laughed her low, dangerous laugh. "I'm in the business of deception, which you knew when you approached me. And while I highly doubt you were responsible for leaking our business to the FBI and contacting them, I have to consider that, as you said, you would do anything to ensure your hopeless mission succeeded."

"I never spoke to them—I never even dreamed of it," he said, and he found he was short of breath, beginning to gasp for air, hyperventilating.

"It doesn't matter. You're a liability to me, now, even if you were innocent of betraying me," Emilia responded. "With the FBI involved, I can only trust informants from within the Black Rose, who have infiltrated Demacia's ranks. There can be no more room for error, Sylas. And you? You're too erratic, too unpredictable."

"We could have ended their reign, Emilia," he said, and his body broke out into full shudders, now. "We could have made this world free from sin. A peaceful world."

"Sylas, don't be naïve. Even if you were able to take down Demacia and Noxus both, you wouldn't have achieved peace. Another gang would simply rise to take their place."

"You fucking bitch," he spat, fury roiling in his chest, pounding throughout his body with a hot anger that continued to grow within him. His body continued to shudder, and his gasps increased in pace—he felt as if he was about to explode.

"You said it yourself—you shook hands with the devil. Sadly, you'll pay the price."

"You—" he managed through his gasps, "what did you do to me?"

She leaned forward once more, reaching out to tuck a piece of his long hair behind his ear. "Just a bit of poison. In a few minutes, you won't feel a thing. The doctors will think it was a heart attack—tragic, in one so young. You aren't even thirty yet."

Was that a tinge of sadness, guilt in her eyes? No, it must surely have been a trick of the light.

"You—you can't—" he gasped.

"Oh, I already have, dear Sylas," she said. "If it's any comfort, your suffering will end soon, and you'll go quickly."

"E-Emilia—" he tried to say, but she interrupted him.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way," she said. "Goodbye, Sylas Dregbourne."

"N-no…" Sylas said, shaking violently now. He tried to reach out to her, but he was frozen, paralyzed—whatever poison was coursing through his system had made it impossible for him to move as his muscles shook and shivered.

Emilia Leblanc turned away from him, but she spared one last look over her shoulder, those yellow, venomous eyes meeting his. "Blood for Noxus," she said, her whisper just loud enough for him to hear.

And then, Sylas' world went dark, forever.


A/N: Promise this story isn't abandoned-I'll finish it eventually, even if it takes a couple more years. Thanks for the continued support, it's much appreciated!