I got lost in my work again, my brush dancing over the canvas with growing confidence. Shapes emerged—familiar ones. Sevika's sharp features, softened just enough to capture the warmth she rarely showed, and Mom's gentle expression. Their outlines were rough, but the essence was there, and my chest ached in a bittersweet way as I brought them to life.

"Is that... me?" Sevika's voice broke through my trance, and I nearly jumped, realizing how close she'd gotten.

My cheeks burned as I looked up at her. "Yeah. And Mom," I admitted, my voice faltering a little.

She stared at the painting for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Did you do this from memory?"

I shrugged, trying to play it cool even as my heart pounded. "Kinda. I've always been good at... remembering faces."

Her expression softened, her voice lowering. "It's... good. Really good."

"Really?" I blinked at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone.

She nodded, glancing back at her own canvas. The storm she'd painted looked alive, its rough lines conveying an energy that felt like a punch to the chest. "You've got an eye for this stuff, kid. Way better than me."

I grinned, warmth blooming in my chest. "Yours is good too. It's... very you."

She smirked, shaking her head. "Sure, whatever you say."

Before I could respond, a group of older women from the workshop wandered over, their chatter filling the air.

"Look at this one," one of them said, leaning in to admire my canvas. "You did this yourself, sweetheart? At your age?"

"Wow," another added, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's incredible. You've got real talent, honey."

I laughed nervously, overwhelmed by the sudden attention. "Uh, thanks," I mumbled, ducking my head.

"Any tips for us amateurs?" a woman joked, holding up her own palette with a sheepish smile.

That made me laugh for real. "Um, maybe don't overthink it?" I said, tilting my head thoughtfully. "Just... go with what feels right."

The women chuckled, nodding like I'd just revealed the secrets of the universe, and I couldn't help but feel a little giddy. It was nice to be seen like this—appreciated for something I loved.

When the session wrapped up, Sevika lingered by my side, her gaze flicking between her stormy painting and mine.

"You mind if I keep this?" she asked suddenly, her voice gruff, like she was embarrassed to even ask.

I blinked at her. "Really? You want to keep it?"

"Yeah," she said, scratching the back of her neck. "Not like I'm into this artsy crap, but... it's got my face on it. Feels weird leaving it here."

I crossed my arms, putting on my best mock-serious expression. "Only if I get to keep yours."

Her eyes widened slightly before she let out a snort. "Deal, kid. But don't go showing it off. I've got a reputation to protect."

Grinning, I reached out to shake on it.

I clutched her painting to my chest like a prized treasure. "Your secret's safe with me."

The night air was cool, carrying the faint tang of oil and iron that seemed to cling to everything in Piltover. The hum of the city surrounded us, machinery and voices blending into a strange symphony. I clutched Sevika's painting tightly, the rough edges of the canvas pressing into my fingers as we walked.

She glanced down at me, her usual sharp expression softened by something quieter. "You know," she said, her voice lower than usual, "you've got this... way of looking at things. Like you see something the rest of us don't."

I hesitated, my thoughts tangling in a way that had been happening more often lately. "Sometimes it feels like I do," I admitted softly, choosing my words with care. "Like I see things I'm not supposed to. Or... like I've done it all before." How I wished I could just be honest with her.

Sevika's brow furrowed, her steps slowing slightly as she processed my words. "You mean, like déjà vu?"

"Not exactly," I said, shaking my head. "It's more like... like I have these thoughts, or skills, or—" I struggled to find the right word, waving my free hand as though I could grab it from the air. "—like they're already there, waiting. Like they make sense in ways they shouldn't. And sometimes, it's scary because I don't know how to make sense of it all."

Her silence made my chest tighten, and I glanced up nervously, expecting confusion or even ridicule. Instead, her sharp gaze had softened further, and she looked... thoughtful.

"Go on," she said, her voice gentler than I'd ever heard it.

I took a deep breath, the words tumbling out faster now. "I don't feel like I fit in—not at home, not with the other kids. They think I'm weird because of how I talk or the things I say. And Mom... she wants me to fit in, to be normal, but I don't think I even know how."

I hesitated, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. "But when I'm with you, it's different. You don't expect me to act a certain way. You don't make me feel like I'm broken or... wrong. I feel like i can be me, just me, I know it doesnt make a lot of sense, but, to me it does."

Sevika stopped walking, and I turned to look up at her. Her expression was unreadable, but her hand came up, ruffling my hair in a way that felt more like comfort than teasing.

"Kid, you're not broken," she said firmly, her voice carrying a weight that made my throat tighten. "Weird, maybe. Strange as hell, sure. But not broken."

I managed a small laugh, but it caught in my chest. "Thanks," I murmured.

She crouched slightly, bringing herself closer to my level. "Listen, those other kids? They're just kids. They don't get it because they've never had to see the world the way you do. And your mom? She's just trying to protect you, even if she doesn't understand how to do it right."

I looked away, blinking hard as a sudden wave of emotion threatened to spill over. "It's hard, though," I whispered. "Knowing I can't talk about it. About any of it."

"You don't have to say it all," she said, her hand still resting lightly on my head. "Sometimes just letting someone know you're carrying something is enough."

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. "I really like spending time with you," I said instead, my voice small but steady.

She let out a low chuckle, standing upright again. "Well, I hate kids, so don't let it go to your head," she said, smirking. But the softness in her tone gave her away.

I grinned, some of the tension in my chest easing. "Too late."

"Figures," she muttered, ruffling my hair again, this time more roughly, like she was trying to shake the mood. "Come on, Puppet Master. Let's get you home before your mom skins me alive."

The hum of the city grew louder as we walked, but for once, it didn't feel overwhelming.

The walk home was quiet, the kind of silence that felt comfortable instead of awkward. When we reached my door, Sevika crouched down to meet my eyes. "Hey," she said gruffly, her hand resting on my shoulder. "Don't let anyone snuff out that weird way of looking at the world, alright? Keep it."

I nodded, my chest tightening at the rare sincerity in her tone. "I will."

She ruffled my hair again—something she seemed to enjoy doing—and straightened up, turning to leave. I watched her disappear into the shadows, a strange mix of warmth and worry settling over me. She was tough, stubborn, and loyal, but I couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to keep her eyes open too. With everything the future would hold for her, and the choices she would have to make, I worried.

The truth of the world wasn't always pretty, but it was always better to see it for what it was.

The years passed in a steady rhythm. Six turned into seven, then eight. Sevika's weekly visits became a constant in my life, always ordinary, always reliable. She showed up, brought a sense of familiarity, and left without fanfare.

But when I turned nine, something shifted.

Sevika arrived at the usual time, but the air around her felt different. Her jaw was tight, her movements sharp.

"I need to do something for work," Sevika said, crouching slightly to meet my gaze. Her sharp expression was firm but carried an edge of something unfamiliar—hesitation, maybe. "I want you to come with me. But you can't tell your parents, got it?"

My heart skipped a beat, excitement and nervousness crashing together. "Why can't I tell them?"

"They'd never let you go," she said, her tone clipped and matter-of-fact. That wasn't exactly comforting, but it wasn't entirely surprising either.

I hesitated, feeling my stomach twist with curiosity and a hint of fear. Her expression wasn't exactly inviting questions, but my curiosity always seemed to get the better of me. "What kind of work?"

"You'll see." She straightened up, pulling a small bundle of clothes from her bag and handing it to me. "But first, you need to change. You stand out too much in that frilly pink dress."

I looked down at my dress, frowning. "What's wrong with it?"

She raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Unless you want to be spotted from a mile away, it's useless. Come on, kid, get moving."

Grumbling under my breath, I grabbed the bundle and went to change. The fabric was coarse and unfamiliar, the kind of practical outfit I'd never had to wear before. As I slipped the shirt over my head, I muttered, "I look like I'm dressed to spy on people from the shadows."

"You're not wrong," Sevika called from the other side of the room.

When I emerged, I tugged awkwardly at the stiff material, feeling like I'd been dropped into someone else's life. "I look weird."

"Better," Sevika said, nodding her approval. "Now stop fussing and let's go."

As we started walking, my nerves bubbled over into questions. "So where are we going? Is it dangerous? Are we stealing something? Wait—are you stealing something?"

"Relax, kid," she muttered, clearly regretting her life choices already.

I trailed after her, my steps quick to keep up with her long strides. "Do I get a weapon? Like a knife? Or a—"

"No," she said flatly, cutting me off before I could finish.

"What about a disguise? Oh wait, this is the disguise, isn't it?" I tugged at the sleeve of my new shirt, feeling an odd thrill at the idea.

"You don't need a disguise. Just keep your head down and your mouth shut."

"That doesn't sound very fun," I said, grinning despite myself. "What if someone talks to me? Do I act cool, like I've done this a million times? Or should I pretend I don't speak the language? What if I—"

Sevika groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. "You're going to drive me insane before we even get there."

I grinned, unable to hide my excitement. "This is so cool. I've never been part of a secret mission before!"

"It's not a secret mission," she said, her voice exasperated.

"Sounds like a secret mission to me," I teased, skipping a little to match her pace.

Sevika stopped abruptly, turning to look down at me. Her face was the perfect mixture of annoyance and disbelief. "Do me a favor and just... breathe, okay? We've got a long way to go, and I don't need you bouncing off the walls."

I nodded solemnly, though I could barely contain my grin. "Got it. Cool, calm, and collected."

"Sure," she muttered, turning back to the path ahead.

We walked in silence for about thirty seconds before I couldn't take it anymore. "So, are we meeting someone? Is it someone you know? Are they scary? What if—"

Sevika groaned louder this time, throwing her hands in the air. "Kid, I swear to everything holy, if you don't shut up, I'm leaving you behind."

I clamped my mouth shut, though my eyes sparkled with excitement. Sevika glanced down at me, shook her head, and let out a chuckle despite herself.

"You're enjoying this way too much," she said, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement.

"Absolutely," I said, unable to hide my grin.

Her sigh was long and dramatic, but there was a warmth to it. "You're lucky you're good company, Puppet Master."

I gave her a mock bow, nearly tripping over my feet in the process. "I aim to please."

"Just try not to aim at my sanity while you're at it," she muttered, pushing me gently forward. "Come on. We've got work to do."

The trolley ride was like stepping into a different world, each moment pulling me further from the life I knew. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels beneath us felt like a countdown to something I couldn't quite name—excitement, maybe, or dread. Probably both.

As we descended into Zaun, the clean, open air of Piltover slowly became thicker. The atmosphere grew heavy, the scent of smoke and something acrid clinging to my skin and stinging my throat. The golden light of the sun dimmed, replaced by the flickering glow of chem lamps casting eerie greenish halos onto the streets below.

I pressed my face to the window, wide-eyed as the city unfurled like a chaotic dream. Buildings leaned against one another like weary friends, cobbled together from mismatched materials and held in place by little more than pipes and determination. Steam hissed from vents like angry whispers, and strange rivulets of liquid trickled down walls, creating oily rainbows in the puddles below.

"Sevika, look at that!" I exclaimed, pointing at a towering stack of chimneys spewing colorful smoke into the air. "What's in those pipes? Chemicals? Steam? Do you think they explode sometimes? Oh, wait, is that dangerous? What happens if—"

"Stop. Talking," Sevika growled, her jaw tight as she leaned back in her seat.

"Sorry." I bit my lip, trying to tamp down my excitement, but the questions kept bubbling up, relentless. "But seriously, what is that? And why does that building look like it's about to fall over? Are people actually living in there? How do they not die of—"

"Kid," she interrupted, rubbing her temples like she was seconds away from losing her mind. "If you don't give me five minutes of silence, I'm tossing you off this trolley."

"Got it." I mimed zipping my lips, but my eyes stayed glued to the window.

When we finally stepped off the trolley, Zaun hit me like a punch to the senses. The air was thick, gritty, and alive with smells—fried food mingled with engine grease, and something sweet and almost medicinal lurked underneath it all. Voices rose and fell in a constant din, sharp with arguments, loud with laughter.

A child darted past me, clutching a bag of something steaming, their face streaked with grime. Merchants barked from behind makeshift stalls, hawking bubbling flasks, fried skewers, and intricate mechanical odds and ends that looked like they belonged in a mad scientist's workshop.

"This is amazing!" I spun in place, taking in every detail. "Sevika, is that a food stall? What are they cooking? Do you think it's good? Can I try some? Oh, wait, what's that guy selling? Are those gears? Who even buys gears?"

Sevika gritted her teeth, her hand resting on my shoulder to stop me from sprinting off into the chaos. "Do me a favor and stop pointing at everything, okay? You look like a tourist."

"But I am a tourist!" I shot back, grinning. "Kind of. This place is incredible! It's so much cooler than Piltover. Look at that! Is that a—"

"I swear, kid," she muttered, her hand tightening slightly. "One more question, and I'm dragging you back to Piltover myself."

"Okay, okay, I'll stop," I said quickly, though my eyes darted around, taking in everything I could.

I laughed, falling into step beside her as we moved deeper into the chaos of Zaun. My questions didn't stop entirely, but I managed to space them out enough to avoid getting myself throttled. Probably.