Chapter Summary: Grayson enters the scene, Enyd tries to visit Benzo, Viktor goes swimming, and Katya continues to try her dang best.
Captain Grayson arrived at Piltover's Southside docks shortly before daybreak. As much as she loved her job, and as aimable as she was to the needs of her city and its citizens, she couldn't help but groan into the dark of her flat when the order arrived. The newest batch of Enforcer recruits had tried her patience all week and she was looking forward to an undisturbed weekend.
However, when Sheriff LeDaird called, she was duty-bound to answer.
Grayson stepped out of the carriage and gently tugged the hem of her stiff jacket down, righting the bunching at her belted waist. A cool, salty breeze breathed by and untucked a strand of hair from the bun at the base of her skull. Deftly, she brushed her hair back and slid the Captain's hat over her head.
"This way, Captain," her officer escort beckoned, voice echoing behind their mask.
Grayson turned on her bootheel and heeded the direction. Together, they strode down to the docks. The last pier to the south was washed in the bright lights of spots. Enforcers milled about, naturally parting away as she drew near. The wood under her thick-soled boots creaked and the water beneath the planks gently sloshed and lapped against the piers' posts. As she walked, Grayson's eyes were pulled across the River Pilt. The edges and points of the Undercity's Promenade level were softly glowing in the predawn light. She wondered where the culprits had scurried off to.
"Captain Grayson."
The sound of Sheriff LeDaird's deep bell of a voice cut through the haze of morning and the ambient murmur of Enforcers like a gong. Grayson's gaze snapped to attention, taking her commanding officer in. Built like a barrel and tall as a tree, Piltover's sheriff stood at the top of the gangway that led to the crime scene. His deep skin disappeared into the dark of the morning, but his green eyes glimmered underneath his prominent brow bone.
"Sir," Grayson greeted as she strode up the path towards him. She nodded respectfully.
"Did you review the initial report?"
"Yes. On my way over."
LeDaird smirked. "Sorry to interrupt your weekend off."
Grayson weakly grinned and shrugged. "It's not your fault. You're not the one who attempted to raid a freight vessel full of munitions."
LeDaird nodded loosely before boarding the small barge. Grayson followed, her eyes flitting about, taking in the scene. Lower ranking Enforcers were questioning weary and ragged looking crew members; the cargo boxes that had been belted to the flat of the barge were scattered about; some of them riddled with bullet holes, others upturned, some dented and partially opened.
"Near as we can tell," LeDaird began, "all the inventory is accounted for."
"I'll have it checked again before we close the scene," Grayson said. "Is anything salvageable? I know headquarters was counting on this shipment for training the new recruits."
"Most of it seems intact," the Sheriff answered. "But it will be under lock and key as evidence until this case is wrapped."
Grayson grimaced and sighed. She turned her attention towards the crew and jut her chin out.
"Did they see anything? Get a look at anyone?"
LeDaird furrowed his brow and sighed. "No concrete numbers, but they said there were definitely some kids. Approximately twelve-years-old or so. There was also a group of older ones – early twenties, maybe. They think maybe four or five of them. All from the Undercity by the looks of them."
Grayson shook her head. "Kids? What are children doing getting involved with a job like this? Shop lifting, petty theft, and vandalism I can understand. But, trying to steal from a supply ship full of munitions?" she paused. "Do we think they knew what was on board?"
"That is unclear at this point. Officer Borobourgh is questioning the harbormaster right now. Seeing if there has been any unusual activity recently."
Grayson frowned and her eyes swept over the shipment boxes again, then the crew, then across the river at the Undercity's matching series of piers and docks.
"Is there anything else?"
"An on-duty Enforcer managed to shoot one of the older ones. In the leg he thinks, but he was assaulted before he could go after him."
Grayson's eyes widened and her head snapped back to the Sheriff.
"The officer will be fine," LeDaird promised. "He was clocked in the head by a pipe, but word from the hospital is that he's only been concussed. No internal bleeding or acute brain damage."
"So," Grayson huffed. "We have attempted felony robbery, intimidation, trespassing, and assaulting an officer."
Her eyes once again landed on the shores and docks of the Undercity.
"It's one thing to have something like this happen in the Lanes," she mused. "It's another to have it brought over here. How did they get here?"
LeDaird sighed through his nose and fixed his gaze onto the river's dark water. "The crew," his eyes looked back over to the small group of men huddled together, "said they heard small motors as the perpetrators escaped. Probably a small skipper or two. They did not get a good look," he added as Grayson went to open her mouth.
It made sense. It would be easier to cross the river than the bridge.
An unnamed, amorphous hunch crept under Grayson's skin. What happened was being pieced together; why was unknown. Grayson got to her station by not assuming the simple. It would've been easy to just say that it was a gaggle of disgruntled Trenchers and leave it at that.
But this . . . felt different. And she couldn't quite pinpoint why.
"I'll prepare a detail to go across the river. We'll search the Shores and docks, and question the harbormaster there. And any other fishermen that might be around."
LeDaird nodded in agreement.
Enyd was woken up by the familiar tickle in the back of her throat. She caught the first cough behind her teeth and rolled over, pawing at her bedside table until her fingers reached the tattered handkerchief there. She sat herself up and pressed the cloth firmly to her face. Her shoulders trembled and hunched, lungs heaved, and throat pulsed as she retched as quietly as she could.
When it passed, she sat catching her breath, handkerchief still pressed to her mouth. Her body trembled and she felt the cool, dampness of sweat underneath her nightclothes. A gentle, phlegmy rumble shook the base of her throat. She grimaced and pushed a wad of mucus into the handkerchief. Her hand fumbled for the chem-light at her side, fingers shakily pinching around the knob, turning it. The filaments within hummed and glowed to life. Heart pattering unevenly against her breastbone, Enyd slowly drew the cloth away and peeked down at what she had bore.
A slimy glob of brownish-red.
A sigh blew through her nose. Usually, a wispy breath like that would set off an additional fit. But since starting the medicine regimen earlier in the week, Enyd had noticed a difference in her symptoms. The coughs were looser, retches not as deep and throat peeling, fits less frequent.
Enyd swung her feet to the floor and gingerly rose from her bed. Keeping the hand holding her handkerchief carefully cupped, she stuck her head out of her bedroom door and glanced down the hall. The door to Silco's bedroom was closed; it had been open when she went to bed.
Enyd shuffled on the balls of her feet to the bathroom. She rinsed the cloth in the sink, ushering the bloody ball of mucus down the drain. She used the cold water, a small bar of lye and the pads of her thumbs to press out the stain from the fabric before wringing it out, and laying it over the sink's edge to dry.
The vial of medicine sat proudly between the damp rag and the sink's rinse cup. Her fingers only hesitated a moment before taking her morning dose.
She quietly left the bathroom, noting the faint light that was beginning to drift down the hallway from the apartment's windows. Before returning to her room to dress for the day, she slipped down the hall to Silco's door and quietly cracked it open. He had told her the day before that he would be out late at The Last Drop, and he had not yet returned home by the time she lay herself down for sleep.
A warm smile pulled the edges of her mouth as Enyd's eyes fell upon her son, sprawled across the top of his bed, still fully dressed, shoes on. Silco lay on his stomach, arms bunched up under the pillow his head rested on. Enyd watched the lazy rise and fall of his back and listened to the weak, uneven snores pushed out through his sleep slack mouth. Sweet warmth bloomed in her chest, like a late spring breeze. With great care, she shut the door and returned to her bedroom.
Once dressed, Enyd readied the kettle and gnawed on a crust of bread with marmalade. Her gaze drifted to the kitchen window, watching the many facets of glass shimmer and gleam in the wavering sunlight that had managed to push through the Grey. Today, she would bake. But first she needed to run an errand. The kettle's breath warbled and the tin jostled against the stove grates as the water inside bubbled and roiled. Enyd turned off the flame, poured the hot water into her teacup, and bounced the bag in its bath.
One of her Promenade clients had given her a small bag of metal and glass trinkets as a means to round out their payment. She had never had a use for such things, and she wasn't going to find one now. Unwilling to haggle about it, she had taken the few coins and the jumble of knick-knacks without any fuss. She would take the useless things to Benzo's shop and pawn them for however much he would offer.
Enyd took the teacup up, pressing its warm rim to her lips, before taking a small sip. Since starting the medicine, she had returned to her old morning blend, shoving the medicinal tea way back into the shadows of a cupboard.
She could remember how it smelled, as tendrils of steam curled under her nose. Deep, heady notes of earth, slices of bright grass, and quick floral hints that appeared and left so quickly that she was never sure if she had actually smelled it. She was pretty sure she had.
Now, the smell was little more than a memory. There were faint whiffs of it on the blurry edges of the steam, but mostly the drink under her nose smelled hot. She took a sip, and let the nothing-tasting liquid flow down her throat.
Once wrapped in the long sweater that nipped at her ankles and the bundle of trinkets stowed in her bag, Enyd traveled out into the Lanes. She left a note for Silco, but was certain he would still be asleep by the time she got back.
It was still early enough that only a few stall workers had unfurled their awnings. Shopkeepers flit around their storefronts, opening shutters and wiping down grime-streaked windows. Enyd slid through and past other Trenchers, catching snippets of arguments, transactions, and gossip.
More than once she heard someone mutter about the docks and Enforcers.
She kept her head down and wound her way to the street that Benzo's shop was tucked into. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she neared, seeing that the windows were still dark. Slipping beneath the iron and glass portico, she stepped closer and peered into the storefront's large, circular window. Enyd cupped a hand next to her temple as her eyes scoured the dim interior.
Benzo usually had his shop open by this time. He was many things: young, brazen, sometimes immature, but he was a punctual and responsible business owner. Enyd knew that Benzo and his father (the elder Benzo) had a very rocky relationship, but both men loved the family business. The pawn and scrap shop had been in their family for generations; had sat squeezed and buckled between two buildings whose occupants and businesses changed like the seasons, but Benzo's treasure trove stayed. As much a fixture in the Lanes as Vander's bar was.
Stepping away from the window, Enyd went to the door. She tried the handle, and it refused to give under the bolt. Fingers squeezed the strap of her satchel worriedly, and she chewed her bottom lip. She lifted herself up onto the toes of her shoes and peeked through the window at the top of the door. Dropping back on her heels, she rapped her knuckles against the wood.
"Benzo?"
Silence from inside the shop; warm morning bustling from behind her. She knocked and called again. Still nothing.
While it would be unlike him, Enyd supposed he might be sleeping off a late night at The Drop like Silco was doing. Possible, yes, but a cool, intuitive tickle ghosted under her skin.
Sighing in resignation, Enyd traveled back home.
Katya tiredly watched her brother splash and float in the small grotto. It had been a long morning – too long – but Viktor seemed happy at the moment. And Katya tried to let her peace rest in the glow of his delight. She sighed, head resting heavy in her hands and looked down at the dusty tips of her boots.
She hadn't slept well. Or at all, really. Her slumber had teetered on the cusp of consciousness so that she would be sure to wake before Viktor. Katya did not want him traipsing into the living room. She didn't want him to get any closer to the Children of Zaun. He needn't know.
The moment Katya's tuned-in ears heard the faintest rustle outside Viktor's bedroom door, she bolted upright. The darkness outside the bedroom window was shifting from something inky and deep to indigo and soft. Dawn had started to usher night out of the Sump, and Katya needed to do the same to her impromptu guests.
Quick and quiet as an actual Sump Rat, she slipped from her brother's bed, gathered her bloodied nightshift, and went to her bedroom. She stuffed the soiled garment under her bed and pulled on a pair of trousers. Now that the eminent danger had passed, and the spike of adrenaline along with it, rosy and hot embarrassment about her bareness flooded her mind and creamy skin. She did her best to shake it off as she tip-toed past Viktor's room and into the living space.
Her ears and vigilance had not deceived her: Benzo had been sat upright; his broad back heaved against the front of the couch. Sevika held the same lamp in her hand as she inspected his bandages. Vander came in from the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand. Noticing her, he nodded. Katya noted that the grey under his eyes matched their irises. He had also not slept well.
He knelt beside Benzo and helped him lift the cup to his lips and drink.
"We'll be outta your hair soon," he whispered. "Sil went out t'fetch a cart from 'Zo's shop. It'll be easier than tryin' to drag 'em to The Drop."
Katya nodded as she, too, knelt at Benzo's side. His skin was ashen and clammy. His eyes were fogged and his jaw was slack. She brought the back of her hand to his forehead. As she expected, a fever was beginning to catch. Benzo mumbled something through dry and lazy lips as she took her hand away.
"You're not going to die," she finally promised. Katya's eyes flicked to Sevika. "How's the wound?"
"It's fine. Red. Swollen. But fine."
Katya nodded. "He'll need redressing once you get him situated at The Drop. There are a couple bottles of painkillers in the stash I gave to you. Give him two every six hours with food, as needed. Make sure he drinks a lot of water and keep him fed. No ale or liquor, it will thin his blood and he'll bleed more. He'll need to be still for a few days to allow the stitches and skin to knit. Wash and redress the wound once a day – "
Vander nodded along to Katya's instructions, his jaw set and brow determined.
"He'll hate the no drinking thing," Sevika japed, setting the lamp back on its table.
Katya rolled her eyes. "I have no doubt."
The apartment door opened and Silco swept inside. "Alright, I got the blasted cart. Let's load him up and get to The Drop before anymore of the Lanes wake up."
Quietly as they could, Sevika and Vander hauled Benzo up, guided him out of the apartment, and into the waiting scrap-cart outside.
"Do you know how to drive that thing?" Sevika asked as she and Vander lifted their wounded Brother into the back of the cart.
"I drove it here, didn't I?" Silco spat.
"Enough," came Vander's gruff voice. "We need'ta get goin'. Thank you fer your help, Katya."
The large barman took up the cart's passenger seat and Sevika settled in the back to help keep Benzo steady. Silco closed the cart's rear door with a hefty thunk, securing the two in. He turned back, his eyes landing on Katya.
"That," he began before immediately snapping his mouth shut. His eyes hardened and instead he whispered, "Thank you."
With that he whisked into the cart and it clunkily drove away. Katya shut the apartment door, and heavy weariness cloaked her as she gathered the bloodied blanket off of the living room floor and stuffed it under her bed, too.
"Katya! Katya! Kat!" Viktor's voice cut through the murk of her memories, and she lifted her head from her hands. He was standing in the middle of the pool, the warm water up to his chest. A huge smile was plastered across his face and his gangly arms were waving in the air, vying for her attention.
"Watch this!" he called excitedly.
"I'm watching."
Viktor spun and flopped back into the water, splashing noisily. His upper body dove under the surface and his scrawny legs stuck up in the air like a pair of twisted, leafless saplings. His legs traveled a few inches through the water as, Katya could only assume, he walked on his hands. His pale legs traveled a few more inches when they curled over, tumbling back into the water with the rest of him.
Viktor exploded through the surface, his chestnut hair plastered to his head and a wide smile covering his face. He looked to his sister expectantly.
"Very good," Katya weakly applauded.
She wished she could sound more excited for him. He was so happy to swim. But she was so tired. Aside from the stressful night's events and early morning, once Viktor rolled out of bed, he had insisted on needling her with questions about 'those people' and 'what happened to that man'. She had hoped promising him a trip to the Springs would encourage him to drop the subject. Katya had tried to give the same non-answer she had the night before. That he was just a hurt person who needed help.
Alas . . . Viktor was eleven. And insatiably curious.
"But do you know him? Why did he come here? Who were the other people? Was that Sevika? Why did they know your name? What happened? How did he get hurt? Is he going to be okay? Where did you get that shirt?"
Katya's fuse was long, especially for her brother, but she had reached the end of it. She yelled at him to stop pestering her with questions and told him to never bring it up again, that it wasn't his concern.
Viktor's gold eyes went wide and watery before they shamefully dropped down to his breakfast. His spoon made idle, distracted circles in his porridge. The apartment was dreadfully quiet in the wake of Katya's outburst. She left her brother at the kitchen table, instructing him to finish his breakfast, and went to take a shower.
When she peeled off her shirt, a fresh burst of Silco's scent wafted around her. Something akin to gratitude and relief washed over her feelings of shame and anger. She shook it off and flung the garment to the ground.
Once she was washed and dressed, the roiling anger and anxiety tempered into an exhausted sludge of regret. Katya found Viktor in his bedroom dressing for the day. She apologized for yelling and held him close. She did not, however, answer any of his questions.
She was grateful that as they wandered out for their day Viktor's mood seemed to improve. Like flipping a switch, his sheepish demeanor gave way to buzzing excitement as the pair journeyed to the Shores and the Undercity's docks. He had packed his notebook and a few pencils in his bag, along with the change of clothes Katya insisted upon, and chattered away about the kinds of boats he hoped to see once they got to the piers.
Anxiety bubbled back up and Katya's stomach twisted as the docks came into sight.
Enforcers. Everywhere.
Her hand scrabbled for Viktor's upper arm and drew him close to her side. He went expectedly docile and pliable, his excited prattle dying down in the midst of Piltover's finest. His eyes fell to his feet and Katya guided him down the rickety steps and planks. Her eyes skirted up and down the several piers, hoping there would be one under less scrutiny. As her eyes traveled, she spied a wick of flame orange hair. Stomach tumbling to her feet, Katya's fingers gripped Viktor's sleeve like a vice. Beckett and an older gentleman were in an intense discussion with an Enforcer. Her throat went dry and she steered her brother in the opposite direction.
"Ma'am," a hollow, tinny voice called out.
Katya wrestled down the cry that wanted to burst through her mouth, and her hand wrung Viktor's arm hard enough to pull a squeak out of him. The pair stumbled back as a tall Enforcer stepped forward. The mask flashed in the sunlight, causing both siblings to wince.
"No civilians on the docks at this time," the Enforcer said. "There's an ongoing investigation."
Katya felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. She drew Viktor into her chest and blinked furiously, nodding. She tugged her brother back the way they came. She felt him tense under her grip, and she knew he wanted to protest. Fortunately, he was not as insistent as he had been earlier in the morning. Together they made their way back into the Undercity.
"We will go to look at the boats another time," promised Katya, lessening her grip on Viktor's arm. "I am sorry."
Viktor's head nodded in heavy, disappointed understanding.
"It will just give us more time at the Springs," his sister offered, trying to infuse her tone with excitement. "More time for swimming."
She was thankful to see a small smile pull at the corners of her brother's mouth.
They had made their way through the outskirts of the Underground, where the earth had a little more say over the iron buildings. Large sandy colored rocks cut a harsh line between the Undercity and the Pilt. Jagged rocks gave way to tumbled dunes as the Oases came into view, the high walls of Piltover gleaming in the late morning sun. Waterfalls from the drainage pipes glistened, flowed, and fed the small lagoons nestled in the fissure. The harsh echoes and screeches of children clamored off of the rocks and cement as they urged one another to jump from higher and higher ledges.
Katya shook her head and steered Viktor on the path towards the Springs. At the bottom of the chasm, they followed a thin but fierce trickle of a stream away from the Oases. Eventually it forked and their trail followed the right tine. The flow of water lessened as they carefully clambered under a large jut of stone into a wide littoral cave. The opening was large enough to allow daylight to shine and glint against the surfaces of the several turquoise pools that covered the cave floor. Warm, earthy gurgles emanated from beneath the rocks and steam danced on the pools' glassy surfaces. The air was warm, damp, and smelled of iron and minerals.
"Are you going to swim, too?" Viktor asked, as he began to undress down to his smallclothes.
"No, not today," came Katya's answer as she sat heavily on a rock. "Please stay in the shallower pools."
Thankfully, Viktor heeded her and kept to splashing happily in the pools where his toes reached the bottom.
In the afterglow of his handstand trick, Viktor whooped and flopped onto his back, letting the water thick with salt carry him. Katya watched her brother float, her fingertips absently circling around her temples. She peeked over her shoulder at the cave's mouth, on guard for any sign of an Enforcer, carefully watching the arc of the sun.
They had been at the Springs for a couple hours at least, and despite not being spied on or interrupted, her mind and body sat upon a needle point – sharp and precarious. Her tired brain flitted between last night's events, wondering how Benzo was doing, yelling at Viktor, the Enforcers at the docks, seeing Beckett being questioned . . .
"Kat!"
Katya jumped and her eyes automatically locked onto Viktor's small face peeking at her from behind the edge of the pool. He smiled up at her.
"Do you know why the pools are warm?"
A soft smile bloomed across Katya's face. She did know. Their father had explained it to her when he brought her to the Springs when she was young.
"No. Do you know?"
Viktor nodded and pushed off the edge of the pool, cutting back through the water in a great wake. He fanned his arms out and laid back once more.
"There is this stuff called magma under Runeterra's surface," Viktor explained, his voice bouncing off the wet stones, "magma is molten rock and metal. And in some areas the distance between the magma and the surface is thin enough to heat water. Sometimes, there are even underground pools that get heated and they boil and bubble up through cracks and fissures in the surface, feeding into existing pools up here."
Katya nodded her head along with Viktor's explanation and made appropriate 'oo-ing' and 'ah-ing' sounds.
"Did you learn that in school?"
Viktor somersaulted in the water and swam with small kicks back to the edge. "Yes. Last semester in geography."
Humming in understanding, Katya's eyes took her brother in warmly. His pale skin was turning bright pink from the heat of the pool and the tips of his fingers were well-pruned. She looked back up over her shoulder at the light in the sky.
"We should get going soon, Viktor," she said, turning back to him.
As she anticipated, her brother groaned and his face slipped from view as he slunked under the water. She chuckled at the stream of bubbles that erupted and foamed on the surface above his head. She pulled out her pocket watch and eyed the time.
"You have thirty more minutes!" she called, hoping her words were clear.
After a moment, Viktor's head breached the surface, a fierce stream of water leading the way through his puckered lips. Katya shrieked and hunched over her lap as her brother's attack arced over her head. Viktor laughed, a bright and throaty sound that bounced around the cavern. He squealed in delight and flailed away as his sister lurched forward to splash water back at him.
Katya allowed Viktor forty minutes more – though she did not tell him about the extra time – to swim and float in the warm pool. When she called him back, the only resistance to her beckoning was found on his face. He dutifully swam back to the edge and allowed her to help him out of the water. She dried him off with a scratchy, old towel and helped him back into his brace, and change of clothes.
The Oases were still full of Undercity and Piltovian children when Katya and Viktor made their way back around. She gently coaxed her brother along, a reassuring hand wound round his arm. She did her best to ignore the wanting and envious way his eyes widened as the other children splashed, yelped, and climbed.
The hobble home was long. And stressful. Katya really couldn't tell if Enforcers were more present in the dingy streets of the Sump or if it was her anxiety-riddled imagination. Several times, she skirted her and Viktor's path down a narrow side street, through an alley, or up a rusty gangway to avoid crossing paths with law enforcement. Katya's heart knocked insistently at her sternum and she murmured nothing answers to Viktor's questions about their strange route home.
Enyd was pulling the fourth loaf of bread from the small oven when she heard Silco's bedroom door open. She placed the pan on the counter and gave it a firm tap as he staggered into the kitchen.
"Good afternoon."
A sleep-addled grunt huffed through his lips as he fumbled through the cupboard, looking for a glass. Exhaustedly, he leaned against the sink as he filled the cup. Enyd eyed the haze in his eyes and shadows across his face as she guided the bread from its pan.
Setting the newest loaf next to the others, she said, "Did you have fun last night?"
Silco gulped the water down and went to refill his cup. He made a noncommittal grunt at the back of his throat before downing the second glass.
"What time did you get home?"
Silco set the glass in the sink as his eyes traveled over the plump, brown loaves, lined up like fat soldiers on the wire rack.
"Not until early this morning," he yawned.
Enyd couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled past her lips. Even when she was his age, she never stayed out so late.
"Why didn't you just stay at The Drop? You know how dangerous it is walking through the Lanes at such an hour," she reminded, drawing a mixing bowl close and punching down the cushion of dough within. With her eyes on her task, she missed the flicker of hesitance that flashed across his face.
"It was a busy night at The Drop," Silco said. "Vander couldn't close until much later than usual, so I stayed to help. He was in a real foul mood by the time we finished. I didn't want to wake up and have to deal with it again. I was careful getting home," he promised. "I didn't even see any Enforcers," he lied.
While he spoke, he eyed a smaller loaf that had been set to the side. It was less uniform than the ones on the cooling rack, and had one corner that was a crusty dome which promised a big, hollow bubble within. The perfect compartment for marmalade, butter, clotted cream, or a soft cheese. He stretched his long fingers toward the outcast, only to have his mother swat his hand away with a tea towel.
"There's still some in the breadbox," Enyd admonished. "That one is for Vander."
Silco grumbled and retrieved the heel of bread from the box and an apple from the bag of produce his mother had received as payment from one of her tailoring clients. As he prepared a small plate, Enyd covered the punched dough with the towel and began scooping flour into a new, empty bowl.
"Was Benzo there last night?" she asked, leveling a cup.
Silco bit into an apple slice before answering. "He was."
"Did he end up staying?"
His brows quirked, taking a bite of bread. He was unprepared for this line of questioning.
"I'm not sure. I'm not in the habit of keeping track of that oaf."
"Silco," Enyd chastised, scooping and leveling another cup of flour.
"Why do you ask?" he cut in before she could lecture him about kindness.
"I tried to go by his shop this morning to trade some brick-a-brac, and it wasn't open. It was . . . unusual."
Silco placed an apple slice on a hunk of bread, thinking. "He must've stayed then. Or he staggered home and passed out. You know how he likes to get overserved."
Enyd nodded absent-mindedly as she poured the bloomed yeast into the mixing bowl, and stirred the mixture into a ball of dough with an old but sturdy wood spoon.
"Once I'm done with this, I would like to take that bread to Vander," she nodded over to the small loaf her son had tried to covet. "Fancy joining me?"
Silco chewed the last bit of his snack, and nodded. "Yes. Let me wash up first."
Katya walloped the pan against the radiator a second time, the broad bottom of the cooking implement clanging noisily against the iron, as if it were a temperamental xylophone. Her forearm quaked and her temper flared.
Upon returning home, she had directed Viktor to the shower. To wash off the silt and salt, but also to warm him back up. The air chilled considerably as they wove their way back home, and their journey was made longer by all the detours Katya guided him through. His teeth chattered and his body bent despite his brace. Katya had had half a mind to gather him up and carry him the rest of the way home. He would've hated that, though, so she allowed her instincts and self-loathing to war quietly within her.
With one more hearty CLANG! the radiator drunkenly gurgled and weakly hissed, as if a sick cat had taken up residence in the bent pipes. A remorseful sigh pushed through her lips and she lowered her culinary weapon. It would do. She trudged back to the kitchenette, placed the dented pan on the stovetop, and set about preparing supper.
As she prepared the slop of beans and dense oat cakes, her mind once again wandered. What had Beckett told the Enforcers? Had Enforcers swept deep enough into the Lanes to scour The Last Drop? How was Benzo fairing? Sevika? Vander? Silco?
Viktor limped into the kitchenette, one of his school books tucked under his free arm. He was dressed in his thermals and wool socks, his cheeks rosy from the shower and his eyes tired from the day's events. He sat himself at the table and cracked the textbook open, carefully peeling out the notes he had slid between the glossy pages.
He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Without a word, Katya swept out of the kitchen and returned with the blanket that usually lay rumpled on his bed. She tucked it around his shoulders and ran her fingers through his damp hair, willing it to dry faster.
"What are you reading?" she asked, returning to the pot of beans and giving it a stir.
"Chemistry," Viktor chirped.
Katya nodded and flipped the oat cakes in the warped pan. They were only a little burned. She switched the burners off and set two plates. Viktor carefully scooted his papers aside and made space for his supper. She sat across from him, and watched her brother push his beans around while his eyes soaked up the pages in front of him, as if his nourishment was to be found within the pages of the text and not on his plate.
"Eat, Viktor," she said, taking a spoonful of dinner to her mouth. It tasted like nothing, so he couldn't claim he didn't like it.
His eyes flicked to hers, and her spoon gestured to his plate. A small mound of beans and starchy broth piled onto his spoon and he brought it to his lips. He tentatively gnawed at the slop as his eyes went back to scanning the book.
Katya was fine with silence. She enjoyed watching her brother study, enjoyed how rapt his attention became in the presence of learning. She dug the edge of her spoon into the oatcake and pried it apart, mixing the crumbly hunk with the liquid dribbling off the beans.
"What are you learning in chemistry?" she asked, taking a small bite of the softened cake.
A small hum vibrated in the back of Viktor's throat as he worked to focus on reading, eating, and answering his sister's question.
"Chemical compositions."
Katya smiled fondly. "I remember Papa teaching us basic compounds. Do you remember that hangman-style game he would play with us so we could memorize them?"
Viktor slurped a few beans from his spoon. He did remember. They would sit at this very table, Papa with sheets of scrap paper, a broken pencil under his rough hands, and one of his science books balanced on his knee. On the papers he would dash a series of lines that were meant to indicate bonds between the atoms. The siblings would take turns guessing the elements that stitched the compound together, making increasingly educated guesses as information was laid out, until one of them cried out the name of the chemical in victory.
Viktor nodded, smiling ruefully.
Katya's brow creased with regret.
"What's this one?" she asked, finger pointing to a combination of letters, numbers and lines at the top of the right page.
Viktor's eyes traveled from his bite of oat cake to where her finger was pressed.
"Isop – Isopropyl alcohol," he answered, his youth and accent unsure around the syllables.
Katya gave an interested murmur, but her stomach flipped. Her thoughts returned to the Children of Zaun and the injured Benzo. She fidgeted the food on her plate as she wondered how he was doing, how the rest of them were doing. She and her brother finished their dinner in silence, his focus on his reading, her's on a gnawing need to check in on Benzo and get information on what Piltover may know.
"Just studying tonight, then?" Katya asked as she gathered the plates and spoons.
Viktor nodded and stifled a yawn as he scribbled a note on his parchment. "Where is Papa's book about boats? I want to look through it and take some notes."
"I think," Katya said, her voice trailing off in thought, "it's in the stack under the table by the couch." She placed the dishes in the sink and turned to face her brother, "Viktor." His eyes lifted from his note taking. Before continuing, she stepped back over to the table and knelt at his side. "There's something I need to go do tonight. I won't be long, but you may be in bed before I get back."
His eyebrows knit together and fought the knee-jerk fear that wanted to flash in his eyes. He had stayed home alone before. Before the Academy, he would stay home while Papa and Katya worked. But after their father died, he couldn't remember a time his sister had left him alone at home. Fear of her not returning, like how Papa never picked him up from the Academy again, dared to claw at his throat and squeezed his muscles. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and Katya sweetly wrapped her hands around his cheeks.
"I won't be long. And I'll be back. I won't leave you alone. What I have to go do . . . is for us."
Your brother should've always had the opportunity to go to the Academy, if that's what he wanted. Not only to be allowed in under the slimmest of circumstances. . . Reaching for and securing Zaun's – our – independence would mean securing the respect and opportunity that is our birthright. To have the means to feed and clothe our children. . .
Viktor's face pinched in confusion before compliantly nodding. Katya leaned forward and kissed his brow before standing. She finished washing and drying the dishes in the sink before fetching the book Viktor had wanted from under the end table in the living room. She placed it on the table and ran her hand through his hair as he continued to work through his chemistry assignment.
Katya slipped her boots back on and spun her coat around her back, shaking her arms into its sleeves. As she unlocked the door, she said, "Remember, Viktor, bedtime is nine o'clock. Do not – "
"Open the door for anyone," he finished.
Katya smiled at him, "Good luck with your homework. I will wake you up when I get home, so you know, okay? I love you, Viktor."
"I love you, too, Kat."
With that, Katya slipped out into the Sump and locked the door behind her. She felt the duplicitous pull in her heart between Viktor and Zaun as she traveled towards The Last Drop.
Note: Will Katya run into Silco and Enyd at The Last Drop? Will Silco be able to keep his cool? (Probably . . . . Maybe. . . . We'll see.). How's Benzo? How's Vander's ego? Will he like the bread? So many questions to be answered in the next chapter!
Thank you for reading! Please comment/favorite/follow to let me know your thoughts.