Madherald Collection

by bbg22

Summary:

“Very well,” he relented, his tone clipped with reluctant patience. “But do not think this is the end of it. Later, we will speak of this.”

Jinx sighed but didn’t pull away. If anything, she melted into him, resting her head against his shoulder as her arms loosely circled his neck. “You’re so annoying,” she teased softly, her voice carrying a faint hint of the playfulness he adored.

“And you are far too stubborn,” he retorted, tilting her chin up with a finger. His eyes softened as he began to pepper her face with small kisses, eliciting a small giggle. “But I suppose I must love you for it.”

Jinx’s laughter brightened as he kissed her—once, twice, three times. Her giggles turned into a soft snort. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re trying to cheer me up.”

“Is it working?” he asked, his lips curving into a rare smirk.

“Maybe,” she admitted with a shrug, though her eyes sparkled just a little brighter.

Chapter 1: Comfort

The faint glow of Viktor’s lab flickered softly, casting long shadows across the room. The mechanical whir of machinery filled the space, an ever-present hum of invention that was as much a part of Viktor as the air he breathed. Normally, Jinx would be darting around, picking up tools she barely understood, pestering him with questions she knew would annoy him, or daring to playfully dismantle something important just to see his reaction. But tonight, she was subdued—a ghost of her usual self—and Viktor didn’t like it one bit.

Jinx sat on the edge of his workbench, her legs swinging absently as her sharp blue eyes stared down at her lap, lost in thought. She hadn’t even touched the pile of scrap parts he’d intentionally left out for her, knowing she couldn’t resist tinkering. It was this uncharacteristic stillness that had drawn his attention away from his work and straight to her.

Viktor had been watching her for the better part of an hour, his sharp mind ticking through possibilities. It didn’t take a genius to guess that Silco, with his endless schemes and manipulations, had likely said or done something to upset her. The thought made Viktor’s jaw tighten. Silco was a self-serving fool, and his influence over Jinx grated on Viktor like a rusted cog. Yet, as much as he wanted to interrogate her, Viktor knew better than to push too hard. Jinx was a wild thing, but even wild things could break when handled poorly.

With a soft sigh, he set down his tools and limped toward her, his cane tapping softly against the floor. Despite the ache in his leg, Viktor reached for her, his thin fingers curling gently around her wrist. “Moje světlo,” he murmured, his voice low and rich with his Zaunite accent. “You are far too quiet tonight. This is not like you.”

Jinx didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes flickered to his face, a faint shadow of her usual mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m fine, Vik,” she muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Ah, but you forget,” Viktor replied, his lips curving into a sardonic smile, “worrying about you is practically my full-time occupation. Come.” Without waiting for her protest, his hand slid down her wrist to intertwine with her fingers and lightly tugged her off his workbench and led her to the loveseat that sat in the corner of his lab. Sitting down, he pulled her gently into his lap, settling her against him despite the strain it put on his leg.

She stiffened at first, but his arms circled her with a firmness that brokered no argument. One hand found its way to the thick braid trailing over her shoulder, his long fingers twining and untwining the strands absently. “Tell me,” he said softly, his breath warm against her ear.

“What has stolen your fire tonight? Was it Silco? If that man has upset you—”

“It’s nothing,” Jinx interrupted, her voice sharper this time. “I just… don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Viktor’s golden-brown eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He hated not knowing, hated the thought of her keeping secrets from him. But he knew her well enough to recognize the stubborn tilt of her chin. If he pushed now, she’d retreat even further.

“Very well,” he relented, his tone clipped with reluctant patience. “But do not think this is the end of it. Later, we will speak of this.”

Jinx sighed but didn’t pull away. If anything, she melted into him, resting her head against his shoulder as her arms loosely circled his neck. “You’re so annoying,” she teased softly, her voice carrying a faint hint of the playfulness he adored.

“And you are far too stubborn,” he retorted, tilting her chin up with a finger. His eyes softened as he began to pepper her face with small kisses, eliciting a small giggle. “But I suppose I must love you for it.”

Jinx’s laughter brightened as he kissed her—once, twice, three times. Her giggles turned into a soft snort. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re trying to cheer me up.”

“Is it working?” he asked, his lips curving into a rare smirk.

“Maybe,” she admitted with a shrug, though her eyes sparkled just a little brighter. Jinx exhaled a soft laugh, pressing her face into his neck. “So bossy,” she teased, her voice laced with fondness.

“Someone must be, as you clearly lack the discipline to care for yourself,” Viktor replied dryly, though his lips brushed against the side of her temple in a gesture that softened the words. He tilted her face toward his, their noses brushing together in a gentle nuzzle before he finally kissed her lips.

Jinx’s laugh bubbled up more earnestly this time, light and sweet like the chime of broken glass. “You know,” she murmured, her eyes brightening, “I love it when you get all protective. It’s kinda cute.”

“Hm,” Viktor mused, a hint of amusement flickering across his usually stoic face. “If by ‘cute,’ you mean entirely necessary, then I will accept this compliment. But tell me, Jinx,” he added, his tone turning playfully stern as his hand ghosted over her side, “are you even eating properly? You are far too skinny. I should make you a proper meal before you waste away.”

“Ugh, don’t start with that,” Jinx groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. “You’re worse than a nanny.”

“Better a nanny than a gravekeeper,” Viktor shot back smoothly, though his hold on her remained gentle. “Your health, moje lásko, is no laughing matter.”

Jinx snorted, burying her face in his shoulder. “You’re such a pain.”

“And yet, you are here,” Viktor quipped, his voice softening. His fingers resumed their lazy play with her braid, his touch steady and grounding. Whatever weight had been pressing on her seemed to lift, if only slightly, as she settled against him.

 

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Viktor held Jinx in his lap for what felt like hours, his hand stroking the length of her braid while his other arm cradled her securely against his chest. He didn’t press her, though the sharpness of his mind was ablaze with speculation. Whatever had happened, it had shaken her in a way that few things could. Jinx was a tempest, wild and unyielding, but tonight she was… quiet.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“I told Silco about us,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her fingers fidgeted with the collar of Viktor’s shirt, refusing to meet his gaze.

Viktor’s hand stilled on her braid. “Ah,” he murmured softly. He could already sense the direction this was headed, and his jaw tightened.

“He didn’t take it well,” Jinx continued, her voice trembling with anger and something deeper—hurt. “He… yelled at me. Told me I was being irresponsible. That I was letting myself get distracted from the cause.”

The bitterness in her voice made Viktor’s chest ache, but he remained quiet, letting her continue at her own pace.

“And then—” she faltered, her hands clenching into fists against her thighs. “And then he said whoever it was… that you…” She swallowed hard, her eyes shimmering as they finally lifted to meet his. “That you were just manipulating me. That you were trying to find a weakness in the rebellion.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and cold. Viktor’s expression darkened, but he said nothing yet, focusing instead on the way her voice cracked when she said it.

“He knows what yelling does to me,” she went on, her voice thick with emotion. “He knows. And I got lucky this time but still, it… it felt like a betrayal. Like he doesn’t trust me. Like he doesn’t think I’m capable of knowing when someone’s intentions are real.”

Her breath hitched, and she clutched at his shirt as if grounding herself. “But I know you’re real, Viktor. I know you. You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like I was worth anything. Not even Silco could do that, not the way you do.” Her voice cracked, tears slipping down her cheeks despite her best effort to hold them back. She roughly wiped at them with the heel of her palm. “You mean everything to me, and I can’t believe he would… he would say that about you.”

Viktor’s heart twisted painfully at her words, and the possessive protectiveness he felt for her surged to the surface. He had long despised Silco, but this? To accuse him, to harm Jinx in this way? It was unforgivable.

Grabbing her hand, he stopped her from rubbing at her face, slight redness already left in its wake on her pale skin. His thumb softly brushed over her fingers, pulling her hand down to rest in her lap. “Moje drahá,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he lifted his hand from hers and wiped her tears with a careful hand. “Look at me.”

She did, her big, tear-filled eyes locking onto his. Viktor’s expression was sharper than usual, his jaw tight and his golden-brown eyes burning with intensity. But his touch was gentle, his hand cupping her cheek.

“Silco is a fool,” he said, his voice cold but resolute. “He sees shadows where there are none, and he allows his paranoia to poison his judgment. But you, Jinx—you are not a fool. You are clever. Sharp. You see things others cannot. And if Silco cannot see that, then his failure is his own.”

Her lips trembled, and she tried to speak, but he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone softening. “I would never manipulate you. Never. You are the one light in this wretched city that gives me hope, Jinx. You are more than worthy—of love, of trust, of everything. And you are mine. Do you understand me? Mine.”

She nodded, her hands clutching at him desperately as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “I know,” she whispered. “I know. I trust you, Vik. With everything.”

“Dobrá,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers. “Then let the fool rant. His words mean nothing to us. You are here, with me, and that is all that matters.”

Jinx exhaled a shaky laugh, her arms wrapping around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder. “You’re too good at this, y’know that? You always know exactly what to say.”

Viktor smirked faintly, his hand resuming its gentle play with her braid. “I am merely stating the truth,” he replied, though his voice held a note of teasing warmth. “Now, no more tears, moje srdce. You are far too beautiful for such sorrow.”

Jinx laughed again, softer this time, and nuzzled closer to him. For the first time that evening, the tension began to ease from her frame. Viktor held her close, his heart aching with a mix of love and fury. He would deal with Silco eventually, but for now, his priority was Jinx—and ensuring she never doubted her worth again.

Notes:

Look, I love Silco and Jinx’s relationship in Arcane (as long as it's strictly father-daughter). But alas, he was the easiest one to pick to upset Jinx.

Chapter 2: Delusional Whispers

Summary:

“Jinx,” he called softly.

She stopped mid-step, her head tilting toward him. Her bright, blue eyes focused on him, as if seeing him for the first time that evening.

“What is it, Vik?” she asked, her voice light but tinged with an undercurrent of distraction.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, his cane resting against the arm. “Tell me, what are they saying to you?” he asked, his tone measured, his golden-brown eyes steady on hers.

The question startled her. She froze for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, her lips twitched into a grin, and she let out a soft giggle. “Oh, nothing you need to worry about,” she teased, sauntering toward him.

Notes:

Short and sweet. Perhaps shorter than I would’ve liked, but alas.

The rhythmic clinking of metal tools and the hum of machinery filled Viktor’s workshop as he meticulously worked on his latest invention. Every so often, he glanced up at Jinx. She was pacing near the far wall, her lips moving in a one-sided conversation. He couldn’t hear what she was saying from his spot, but he recognized the pattern: rapid whispers punctuated by small gestures, her expression shifting between irritation and defiance.

The sight wasn’t new to him, but it still tugged at something deep in his chest. He remembered the first time he had caught her in one of these moments. The embarrassment that had flushed her cheeks, the way she had anxiously rambled, afraid she would drive him away. She had called herself “crazy” then, spat the word like it was poison, like it defined her entirely.

But Viktor had only seen her brilliance. He had reassured her that her struggles didn’t scare him. If anything, they only highlighted how blind and weak the people in her past had been—those who abandoned her when she needed them most. It was their failure, not hers, that they couldn’t see her strength.

Even now, as she argued with the phantoms only she could see, Viktor saw her determination. She was fighting a battle no one else could, and she was winning. It didn’t matter if the world misunderstood her; Viktor understood, and that was enough.

Still, her agitation tonight was different—more intense. He set his tools down, his brow furrowing as he watched her. When she turned to pace back toward him, Viktor spoke.

“Jinx,” he called softly.

She stopped mid-step, her head tilting toward him. Her bright, blue eyes focused on him, as if seeing him for the first time that evening.

“What is it, Vik?” she asked, her voice light but tinged with an undercurrent of distraction.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, his cane resting against the arm. “Tell me, what are they saying to you?” he asked, his tone measured, his golden-brown eyes steady on hers.

The question startled her. She froze for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, her lips twitched into a grin, and she let out a soft giggle. “Oh, nothing you need to worry about,” she teased, sauntering toward him.

Viktor arched an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt as she crossed the room, her steps deliberate. She stopped in front of him, leaning down to take his face in her hands. Her fingers were warm against his skin, her gaze locked onto his.

“They’re jealous,” she said, her voice low and playful. “Jealous that I’ve got myself such an amazing man.”

He blinked, his sharp mind momentarily derailed by her sudden shift in mood. “…Jealous, you say?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jinx continued, her grin widening. “They can’t stand it. They’re over there whining and yelling about how I need to leave before you do, but I don’t buy any of it.” She slid her hands down to his shoulders, her grin softening into something more genuine. “Because I know better.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “And what, exactly, makes them so envious?” he asked, indulging her with a raised brow.

“Are you kidding me?” she said, feigning shock. “Look at you, Viktor. You’re tall, incredibly handsome, a genius—oh, and let’s not forget that voice of yours. Sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” She gave him an exaggerated wink. “But most of all? You actually care about me. You don’t look at me like I’m broken. You see me for who I am.”

Her words struck a chord deep within him, and for a moment, Viktor couldn’t hide the softness in his expression. He reached up, his hand closing gently over hers where it rested on his shoulder.

“You are not broken, Jinx,” he said quietly, his voice laced with conviction. “You are whole. Flawed, as we all are, but whole. If these voices cannot see that, then they are as blind as the rest of the fools who failed you.”

Jinx laughed softly, her hands tightening their hold. “See? This is why I don’t listen to them. You’re way smarter than they are.”

Viktor chuckled dryly, his fingers brushing along her wrist. “Perhaps I should remind them of that the next time they dare to interrupt our time together.”

Her grin widened, and she leaned down, pressing a quick, impulsive kiss to his lips. “You’re the best, y’know that?”

“Hm,” he murmured, his tone teasing as his eyes glinted with amusement. “I am aware.”

Jinx laughed again, the sound lighter now, and Viktor felt the tension in her frame ease. For the rest of the evening, the voices seemed to grow quieter, drowned out by the steady warmth of Viktor’s presence.

Notes:

Kisses <3

Chapter 3: Bad Friends and Bad Memories

Summary:

“Jinx,” he said softly, his accented voice cutting through the tension. “What is it? Why does this upset you?”

She hesitated, her lips parting before she seemed to think better of it. Her fingers tugged harder on her braid, and Viktor could see the tension in her jaw as she tried to formulate a response.

“We used to be best friends,” she finally muttered, her voice low and tinged with bitterness. “Ekko and me, I mean. If things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe…” She trailed off, avoiding Viktor’s gaze as she grimaced. “Maybe we’d have ended up like you and me.”

Viktor sat across from Jinx in the warm, cluttered confines of his workshop, his brow furrowing as he watched the subtle shift in her demeanor. It had been an innocuous enough answer to her question—sharing his day, as she so often requested. He had simply mentioned meeting Professor Heimerdinger’s new protégé, Ekko, a young mind with a surprising aptitude for engineering.

He hadn’t anticipated her reaction.

Her face fell, the brightness in her blue eyes dimming as her shoulders slumped. She began fidgeting with one of her braids, winding it tightly around her fingers until it pulled at the roots. Her silence, so unlike her usual chatter, made Viktor’s chest tighten.

“Jinx,” he said softly, his accented voice cutting through the tension. “What is it? Why does this upset you?”
She hesitated, her lips parting before she seemed to think better of it. Her fingers tugged harder on her braid, and Viktor could see the tension in her jaw as she tried to formulate a response.

“We used to be best friends,” she finally muttered, her voice low and tinged with bitterness. “Ekko and me, I mean. If things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe…” She trailed off, avoiding Viktor’s gaze as she grimaced. “Maybe we’d have ended up like you and me.”

Viktor’s expression tightened imperceptibly at her words. He didn’t like the idea—didn’t want to imagine it. The thought of her being with someone else, anyone else, stirred something sharp and possessive in his chest. She was his, and no one, not even a specter of the past, could change that.

But that wasn’t what mattered now. What mattered was the way she was pulling at her braid with increasing force, her knuckles white as she unknowingly hurt herself. Viktor reached out, gently but firmly taking her hands in his own.

“Stop,” he said softly, his tone steady but laced with concern.

Jinx froze, blinking down at their joined hands before mumbling, “Sorry.”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed slightly at her apology, the way she directed it at him for harming herself. It spoke volumes about her fractured sense of worth. He said nothing at first, merely holding her hands in his as he gave her the space to continue at her own pace.

After a few moments of silence, Jinx began again, her words halting and bitter.

“After I joined Silco, I didn’t see Ekko anymore. We used to spend every day together, Vik. Every. Single. Day. Then suddenly… nothing.” She glanced at him, her expression conflicted. “A couple months after I joined Silco, I saw him again. Total coincidence. He didn’t see me, but I followed him into a bar.”

Viktor remained quiet, his grip on her hands firm and grounding as she pressed on.

“I wanted to talk to him, y’know?” she said, her voice growing softer. “But his friends—he was with this group of orphans—they were teasing him about having a crush on Powder.” Her lips twisted bitterly as she spat the name, her expression darkening. “He told them he did… until she started talking to her gun.”

She laughed then, sharp and humorless, the sound cutting through Viktor like a blade. “I’d forgotten about the face he made when I showed him Fishbones for the first time, when I told him that Fishbones talked to me. He looked… grossed out.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she shook her head. “When I heard him say that, I didn’t even bother trying to talk to him. I just left. Haven’t seen him since.”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the faint hum of machinery. Viktor’s mind raced, processing everything she had said. He hated the way she spoke of herself—how deeply the rejection of others had wounded her. He tightened his hold on her hands slightly, drawing her attention back to him.

“Ekko was a fool,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “If he could not see your brilliance, your worth, then he was unworthy of your time.” Viktor’s lips curved into a faint, sardonic smile.

“He clearly lacks the intelligence to understand the value of true ingenuity.”

Jinx blinked at him, her expression softening slightly.

“Jinx,” Viktor continued, his golden-brown eyes meeting hers with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “You are not crazy. You are not defined by the opinions of those who abandoned you. You are Jinx—brilliant, relentless, and mine.”

Her lips twitched into a small, tentative smile at his last word, and she squeezed his hands in return. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice lighter now. “Yours.”

“Good,” Viktor said, his tone softening as he released one of her hands to brush a stray strand of blue hair from her face. “Now, no more apologies for things that are beyond your control. You are more than enough, Jinx. You’re perfect. Never doubt that.”

For the first time that evening, her smile grew genuine, and she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. “Thanks, Vik. You’re the best, y’know?”

“Hm,” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “So I have been told.”

Jinx laughed softly, the sound light and free, and Viktor felt a small pang of satisfaction. Whatever shadows lingered in her mind, he would banish them, one by one, as many times as it took.

 

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Viktor couldn’t shake the strange feeling gnawing at the back of his mind, a sensation as foreign to him as the idea of wasting time on trivial matters. Jealousy. He rarely entertained such emotions, finding them illogical and beneath someone of his intellect. Yet, as he looked at Jinx—her blue eyes still faintly tinged with sadness, her hands warm in his own—the question slipped out before he could suppress it.

“Did you… have feelings for Ekko?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral, though the undercurrent of tension betrayed him.

Jinx froze, her brows lifting in surprise. For a moment, her expression was unreadable, and Viktor braced himself for whatever response might come. Then, suddenly, she burst into a fit of giggles so vibrant and unrestrained that it filled the room, dispelling the tension like smoke in the wind.

“Vik,” she managed between laughs, her grin so wide it nearly split her face. “Are you jealous of the boy savior?”

Viktor’s cheeks flushed faintly, his thin lips pressing into a firm line as he attempted to maintain his composure. “It is not jealousy,” he replied curtly, though the slight furrow in his brow suggested otherwise. “I am simply… curious.”

Still laughing, Jinx leaned forward, taking his face in her hands and tilting it so their eyes met. Her giggles softened into a warm chuckle as she kissed him softly, her lips lingering against his for a moment before she pulled back just enough to speak.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, her tone teasing but affectionate. “I love you, Viktor. You. Not Ekko, not anyone else. Just you.”

He blinked at her, his brow smoothing slightly as her words settled over him.

“I’ve only ever thought of Ekko as a friend,” she continued, her expression softening. “And honestly? I’m sorry, but you’re incomparable, babe. Ekko couldn’t even dream of being in the same league as you.”

Viktor tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” Jinx said with a smirk, her hands still cradling his face. “The best version of Ekko? An orange. The worst version of you? Definitely an apple. Totally different. It’s not even fair to try and compare. Like, Ekko’s fine, but you’re—” She threw her hands in the air, searching for the right words. “You’re Viktor. You’re my Viktor. There’s no competition.” She waved a hand as if to dismiss the idea entirely. “Irrelevant, really.”

Viktor arched a brow, though he couldn’t help the faint smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “An orange and an apple, you say? An… interesting analogy.”

“Uh-huh,” Jinx said with a sage nod, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. “Literally, the only things you and Ekko have in common are that you’re both from Zaun and you’ve both been taught by… uh…Hinkerdinker or whatever” She trailed off, frowning slightly as she tried to remember the name.

“Heimerdinger,” Viktor supplied smoothly, his amusement growing.

“Yeah, him!” Jinx exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “Hinkledanger! You know I can never remember that.”

Viktor allowed himself a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You might do well to remember it. Heimerdinger is not so forgiving of butchered names.”

Jinx rolled her eyes playfully before grinning at him again. “Fine, fine. But you know what? I’d much rather talk about you. You’re way more interesting.”

Viktor leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze glinting with amusement. “Oh? Then by all means, continue. I find myself quite enjoying this… praise.”

Jinx laughed, leaning closer as her grin turned mischievous. “Okay, let’s see. you’re the smartest guy in Piltover and Zaun combined. No—scratch that. Smartest guy ever. Nobody else could pull off what you do. All those inventions? The Hexcore? That’s all you. Ekko’s smart, sure, but he’d need, like, three lifetimes to even come close. That’s hot, by the way.”

“Is it?” Viktor asked, his smirk widening.

“Oh, totally,” Jinx replied with a wink. “But that’s not all. You’ve got that super sexy accent—makes everything you say sound, like, ten times smarter. You care about me, like really care, and you don’t think I’m some crazy lost cause. You see me, Vik. The real me.”

Her voice softened slightly at the end, and Viktor’s expression grew tender as he reached out to brush a strand of blue hair behind her ear. “Because you are worth seeing, Jinx. Never doubt that.”

Her grin returned, brighter than before. “You’re also insanely good-looking,” she added, tracing his jawline with her finger. “Like, ridiculously good-looking. It’s almost unfair". Jinx continued, grinning mischievously. “Like, seriously. That sharp jawline? Those eyes? You’ve got the whole mysterious, broody genius vibe going, and I’m so into it.”

“Mysterious, broody genius,” Viktor repeated, his voice laced with dry humor. “I see. This is what appeals to you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jinx said with a wink. “The ultimate package, babe.”

Viktor chuckled, his golden-brown eyes warm as he leaned into her touch. “I believe you may be biased, moje světlo.”

“Damn right I am,” Jinx shot back, leaning forward to kiss him again, lingering this time as if to prove her point. When she pulled back, her smile was softer, her hands still resting on his face. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Viktor. And don’t you forget it.”

“I could hardly forget,” Viktor replied, his voice low and steady as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “You remind me often, and I find I am not inclined to argue.”

Jinx laughed, the sound bright and full of life, and Viktor allowed himself a rare moment of contentment. Whatever doubts or shadows lingered in her mind, he would banish them, one by one, as long as she remained by his side.

Notes:

Alright, was the glaze too much? I feel like it was pretty spot on. There’s no way Jinx wouldn't brag about her hot babe named Viktor.

Also, I don’t dislike Ekko; I just don’t like Arcane Ekko—at all… Okay, maybe I dislike him a little bit.

Chapter 4: Tactical Acquisition

Summary:

She began shrugging off her wet cloak, but Viktor was at her side in an instant, gently stopping her. “Allow me,” he said, his hands deft but careful as he helped her out of the soaked fabric. His golden eyes flicked to her injured arm, and his frown deepened. “You should shower. The water will warm you.”

“Sure, Vik,” Jinx said, her grin turning playful. “Admit it—you just want to get me naked.”

He sighed, his lips twitching in reluctant amusement. “If you are well enough to joke, you are well enough to listen. Go. Do not get your bandages wet.”

She relented with a mock salute, making her way to the bathroom.

The workshop was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of Hextech and the rhythmic tapping of Viktor’s fingers against the metal surface of his desk. He had been working for hours now, though his focus was anything but sharp. From the corner of his eye, he watched Jinx. She sat perched on a stool, fidgeting with a stray bolt, her hands constantly moving, her lips pressing together as if she were biting back words.

It had been like this all evening. Normally, Jinx’s visits were a whirlwind of energy, her voice filling the space as she chattered about anything and everything, her curiosity pulling her toward whatever project Viktor was engrossed in. But tonight, she was subdued, her vibrant spark dimmed by a nervous edge that Viktor could not ignore.

He had given her time—hours, in fact—hoping she would tell him what was weighing on her. But now it was nearing midnight, and she hadn’t said a word about whatever was bothering her. The nagging feeling in Viktor’s chest, the one that warned him he wouldn’t like what she had to say, had only grown stronger.

Finally, he set down his tools with a deliberate clink and turned his full attention to her. “Jinx,” he called, his tone soft but commanding.

She jolted slightly, her eyes darting to him like a child caught sneaking sweets. “Yeah, Vik?” she asked, feigning nonchalance as she wrung her hands together.

Viktor’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. “You have been fidgeting all evening,” he said, his accent thickening slightly with his restrained irritation. “What is bothering you? And do not lie to me—I will know.”

Jinx hesitated, her teeth catching her lower lip as her eyes flitted around the room, looking anywhere but at him. Viktor remained silent, his fingers beginning a measured tapping against the desk, the sound a subtle indication of his dwindling patience.

When she finally spoke, her voice was small, a stark contrast to her usual boldness. “I… I won’t be able to visit for a couple weeks.”

The words hung in the air between them, each one slicing into Viktor’s composure. His tapping abruptly stopped, his fingers curling into a loose fist. He leaned forward slightly, his piercing eyes narrowing. “Why?” he asked, his voice calm but taut with barely restrained anger.

Jinx flinched at the question, her hands wringing so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “It’s… Silco wants me to—” She swallowed hard, her voice dropping to a mumble. “I have to go to Noxus. To steal some stuff. For Singed.”

Viktor’s entire body went rigid. The tapping did not return, replaced by the faint creak of his chair as he sat back, his hand gripping the armrest with enough force to whiten his knuckles. “Silco,” he repeated, his tone icy. “He came up with this brilliant plan, I assume?”

Jinx nodded, her wide eyes watching him carefully, as if gauging when he might snap. Viktor didn’t—yet. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, drawing in a slow, deliberate breath to keep himself from lashing out. Not at her—never at her. She had been sent into the world raw and hurting, only to be manipulated by people like Silco, who saw her as a tool rather than a person.

He stood abruptly, his cane clinking against the floor as he rose. The motion sent a sharp pain up his leg, but he welcomed it, using it to channel the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He began to pace, his movements short and agitated, his fingers curling and uncurling around the head of his cane.

“Bozhe moi,” he muttered under his breath. “This is insanity. Absolute idiocy. He sends you alone, yes?”

Jinx hesitated before nodding, her voice barely audible. “Yeah…”

Viktor’s jaw clenched so tightly that he felt the muscles ache. “Of course. Of course he does. The man is a fool.” His words dripped with venom, his accent curling around each syllable like a whip.

As he paced, he was distantly aware of the pain flaring in his leg, but it barely registered compared to the rage simmering beneath his calm exterior. Jinx, however, noticed. She stood quickly, intercepting him before he could take another step. Her hands pressed against his chest, stopping him in place.

“Vik,” she said softly, looking up at him with wide, almost pleading eyes. “Are you… mad at me?”

Viktor sighed deeply, his anger deflating slightly at the sight of her meek expression. She looked so fragile in that moment, so different from the wild, chaotic force of nature he adored. He couldn’t allow her to think his anger was directed at her.

Placing his free hand on her hip, his thumb brushed gently over the exposed skin there, a grounding gesture for both of them. “No, solnyshko,” he assured her, his voice low and steady. “I am not angry with you. Never with you. I am angry with that slimy eel, Silco.”

Her lips twitched into a small, hesitant smile. “You really hate him, huh?”

“Da,” Viktor said simply, his smirk wry. “With every fiber of my being.”

Her quiet giggle was a balm to his frayed nerves, and he allowed himself to relax, his hand still resting on her hip as he gazed down at her. “You will be careful, yes?” he asked, his tone softening. “Promise me, Jinx.”

She nodded quickly, her hands clutching at his shirt. “I promise, Vik.”

Viktor exhaled, his thumb still tracing soothing patterns on her skin. “Good. Because if anything happens to you…” His voice trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice more confident now. “You’ve got me. Nothing’s gonna take me away from you.”
Viktor’s smirk returned, faint but genuine. “I will hold you to that, milaya.”

 

The rain drummed steadily against the windows of Viktor’s workshop as he paced restlessly, his cane tapping against the floor in a rhythm that betrayed his agitation. Nearly three weeks had passed since Jinx had gone on Silco’s ridiculous mission to Noxus, and Viktor had barely managed to contain the anxiety clawing at his composure. He was a man of logic, of precision, but where Jinx was concerned, rationality often gave way to worry.

The sound of the balcony window sliding open snapped him from his thoughts. Viktor turned quickly, his sharp gaze landing on the drenched figure climbing through the rain-slicked opening. Jinx. Relief flooded him, so potent it left him momentarily frozen. She was here. She was alive.

Without thinking, he moved toward her, his cane forgotten in his haste. But as he neared, his elation turned to dread. She was clutching her left arm tightly to her body, her movements stiff, and her usual vibrant energy was muted by exhaustion. Her clothes and hair clung to her in wet tangles, and water pooled at her feet, but Viktor didn’t care about the mess.

Her lips curled into a familiar grin, though it lacked its usual wildness. “Miss me, Vik?” she asked, her voice playful but hoarse.

His eyes flicked to her arm, and his expression darkened. “Bozhe moi,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Your arm…”

Jinx followed his gaze, glancing down at the awkward angle of her limb. She shrugged nonchalantly, though her grin turned sheepish. “Oh, this? It’s nothing. Calm down, genius. Just a little broken.”

“A little?” Viktor echoed, his voice sharp with disbelief. His jaw clenched as his gaze swept over the visible deformity—the jagged outline of fractured bone pressing against her skin. “This is not little, Jinx. Sit.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Viktor’s glare brooked no argument. With a huff, she plopped onto the nearest chair, water dripping from her clothes and forming a puddle beneath her. Viktor grabbed his medical kit, his movements precise but fueled by simmering frustration.

“What happened?” he asked as he knelt beside her, his golden eyes flicking between her arm and her face.

“A building fell on me,” she said breezily, as if it were a mere inconvenience. “I got pinned under the rubble. My arm got the worst of it, but I crawled out just fine.”

Viktor’s hands stilled for a moment as he processed her words, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the bandages. “You crawled out?” he repeated, his voice tight. “With this?”

Jinx shrugged again, wincing slightly as the motion jarred her injury. “Yeah, well, it’s not my first time crawling out of a tight spot. You know me.”

He bit back a sharp retort, focusing instead on her arm. Gently, he began to examine the injury, his fingers moving with care. Her skin was swollen and bruised, the bone beneath clearly fractured in multiple places. She didn’t so much as flinch at his touch, her face betraying none of the pain he knew she must be in.

The sight made his chest ache. Her unnatural tolerance for pain wasn’t a strength—it was a scar left by a lifetime of surviving injuries no one should have to endure.

“You need to see a doctor,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Jinx’s reaction was immediate. She shook her head, her grin faltering. “No way. Doctors and me? We don’t mix, Vik. You know that.”

Viktor sighed, his frustration mounting. “And yet you expect me to fix this?” he asked, gesturing to her arm. “I am a scientist, Jinx, not a miracle worker.”

“You’re my genius,” she said simply, her grin returning with a spark of mischief. “You’ll figure it out.”

His exasperation softened slightly at her words, but the worry in his chest only grew. “Even I have limits, solnyshko. This will need to be set properly, or it will not heal as it should.”

“Then it won’t heal properly,” she said with a shrug, as if that were an acceptable outcome.

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself. “If not a doctor,” he said slowly, “then perhaps Singed.”

Her nose wrinkled at the mention of the chemist, but she didn’t outright refuse. It was a small victory, and Viktor latched onto it. For now, he focused on stabilizing her arm, wrapping it tightly but carefully to prevent further damage.

As he worked, Jinx watched him silently, her grin fading into something softer. “You’re mad, aren’t you?” she asked after a long moment.

He glanced up at her, his expression unreadable. “Not at you,” he said quietly. “Never at you.”

“Silco, then?” she guessed, her tone light but her eyes wary.

Viktor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he finished securing the bandages and sat back, his golden gaze meeting hers. “I am furious with him,” he admitted, his voice low. “Sending you alone on such a reckless mission—”

“I’m fine, Vik,” she interrupted, her grin returning. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice softening. “You are here. But that does not make it right.”

For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the sound of rain against the windows. Then Jinx leaned forward, resting her uninjured hand on his knee. “Hey,” she said softly. “Stop worrying, okay? You’ve got me. And nothing’s gonna take me away from you.”

Viktor’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. “You are impossible, milaya.”

“And you love it,” she teased, her grin widening.

“Unfortunately,” he said dryly, his smirk deepening. “Yes, I do.”

 

__________________________________________________

 

The climb had been grueling. Jinx’s usual agility was hampered by her broken arm, and though she refused to admit it, the pain from scaling the building to Viktor’s lab had nearly been too much. Viktor, ever perceptive, had seen the strain in her eyes and the subtle tremor in her movements. That was why, when she finally made it inside, dripping wet and visibly exhausted, he refused to let her go back to Zaun—or anywhere else, for that matter.

“You will not,” he said firmly, his cane tapping against the floor as he watched her with a mixture of irritation and concern. “You are staying with me. That is final.”

Jinx blinked at him, caught off guard by the sharpness of his tone. “Here?” she asked, gesturing vaguely around his lab.

“Not here,” Viktor clarified. “My apartment. You need rest, Jinx. Proper rest. And you will not get that if you return to Silco.”
She stared at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Wow, bossy much?”

He gave her a pointed look. “Do not test me, solnyshko.”

Under the cover of night, Viktor draped her in a heavy cloak to hide her distinct features and led her through the winding streets of Piltover to his modest apartment. The journey was tense but uneventful, and by the time they arrived, Jinx’s usual energy had waned, replaced by a weary silence.

When Viktor opened the door to his apartment, the warmth of the space greeted them, a stark contrast to the cold rain outside. It was a modest but well-kept home, filled with books, schematics, and the faint scent of tea.

Jinx glanced around, her grin returning. “Still cozy,” she said, echoing what she’d told him the first time she’d been here.

Viktor smiled faintly, closing the door behind them. “It is functional,” he said, his tone softening. “And quiet. That is what matters.”

She began shrugging off her wet cloak, but Viktor was at her side in an instant, gently stopping her. “Allow me,” he said, his hands deft but careful as he helped her out of the soaked fabric. His golden eyes flicked to her injured arm, and his frown deepened. “You should shower. The water will warm you.”

“Sure, Vik,” Jinx said, her grin turning playful. “Admit it—you just want to get me naked.”

He sighed, his lips twitching in reluctant amusement. “If you are well enough to joke, you are well enough to listen. Go. Do not get your bandages wet.”

She relented with a mock salute, making her way to the bathroom. When she emerged some time later, her skin was warm, her hair damp and unbraided, cascading in waves down her back. Of course, she hadn’t brought spare clothes, so she wore one of Viktor’s shirts, the fabric loose and soft against her frame.

Observing her, Viktor hummed lightly, his gaze lingering on her arm. “Come here.”

Jinx sat down in front of him without protest, and Viktor began carefully braiding her hair into a single plait over her shoulder. His fingers worked methodically, his touch as gentle as always. “This will make it easier to sleep,” he said, tying the end with a soft strip of cloth.

“Look at you,” she teased, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Practical and handsome. I’m so lucky.”

Viktor smirked faintly. “That you are.”

When they finally settled into bed, Viktor slid one of his extra pillows under her injured arm, keeping it elevated. Jinx sighed contentedly as Viktor spooned her from behind, his arm draped securely around her waist. The weight of his presence, his warmth, made her feel safe in a way she rarely did. Their legs tangled together, and she leaned back into him, her exhaustion pulling her closer to sleep.

As she began to drift off, Viktor pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, his lips lingering for a moment before trailing to the back of her neck. “Spokoynoy nochi, moya láska,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jinx hummed in response, her voice heavy with sleep. “Night, Vik.”

For the first time in weeks, Viktor’s restlessness faded, replaced by the quiet comfort of holding her close.

Notes:

I cackled while writing this as I pictured Jinx scaling a wet building with one arm, like a little bug on the wall; her occasionally slipping down and losing progress, like pretty boy Link in BOTW.

I don’t know how it is in Arcane, but Viktor’s lab is towards the top of the tower, and thinking about it now, that probably doesn’t make much sense considering his leg, but whatever ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Also, I do like Silco, but he makes it too easy to use him as a plot point.

Chapter 5: Assistive Devices

Summary:

“Alright, genius,” she said with a sly grin. “Now dance with me.”

Viktor blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Dance?” he echoed, his tone skeptical. “I do not know how to dance.”

Jinx shrugged, her fingers intertwining with his as she started swaying to an imagined rhythm. “Doesn’t matter,” she said lightly. “Neither do I, really. But I think we’ll figure it out.”

He hesitated for a moment, but the sight of her wide, expectant eyes made it impossible to refuse. With a resigned sigh that held no real resistance, Viktor allowed her to lead him into a clumsy, makeshift dance. Their movements were far from graceful—more a series of uneven steps and sways than anything resembling a proper waltz—but neither of them cared.

The knock at the balcony window sent a shock through Viktor’s chest, his heart lurching in a way that was both relief and frustration. Thirty-three days. He had been counting every single one since Jinx last visited, each passing day fraying his nerves further. He abandoned his cane in his haste, the ache in his bad leg a small price to pay as he rushed to open the window.

The sight of her, standing there with that familiar wide grin, nearly brought him to his knees. She was safe—disheveled and chilled from the night’s weather, but alive and well. In her arms, however, she carried something wrapped tightly in a bundle, cradling it with care. Viktor barely noticed at first, too preoccupied with pulling her inside and into his arms, his relief manifesting in a rare display of open affection.

Jinx laughed softly, looking up at him with those pale blue eyes brimming with affection. “Miss me, genius?” she teased before standing on her tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his lips.

The warmth of her touch was enough to push back the storm that had been brewing in Viktor’s chest for weeks. He kissed her back, lingering for a moment longer than usual before pulling away, his expression shifting to something sterner. “Jinx,” he began, his voice sharp but not unkind. “Do you have any idea how worried I have been? You disappeared without—”

She cut him off, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Wait, wait, wait! I’ve got a surprise for you!” Her grin widened as she gestured to the bundle in her arms. “Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

Viktor’s golden-brown eyes narrowed slightly, flicking between her face and the object she held. “A surprise,” he repeated, his tone dubious. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before gesturing for her to help him to the loveseat in the corner of his room. “Fine. But do not think this conversation is over.”

Jinx nodded eagerly, slinging her free arm around his back to support him as he leaned heavily against her. Despite the annoyance simmering just beneath the surface, Viktor couldn’t help but notice how carefully she guided him, her touch gentle as she helped him sit. Once he was settled, Jinx sank to her knees in front of him, placing the bundle into his lap with a flourish.

“There,” she said, sitting back on her heels, her eyes practically sparkling. “Open it!”

Viktor raised an eyebrow at her enthusiasm but obliged, carefully unwrapping the object. As the fabric fell away, he revealed a leg brace, its craftsmanship striking in its simplicity and quality. The leather straps were smooth and durable, while the gleaming steel framework was polished to perfection. It was clear that great care and precision had gone into its creation.

He stared at it for a moment, his fingers brushing over the leather as he looked back at Jinx, suspicion creeping into his gaze. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his tone cautious.

Jinx fidgeted with her hands, her grin faltering slightly. “I made it!” she said quickly. “And, uh… I had to go a little out of my way to do it.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed, but before he could press further, she added, “Just try it on! You’re gonna love it, I swear.”

Reluctantly, Viktor nodded, allowing Jinx to help him fit the brace onto his leg. Her hands moved with surprising dexterity as she fastened the straps securely, her touch lingering slightly as she ensured everything was in place. When the last strap was tightened, Viktor’s eyes widened in surprise.

The constant, dull ache that had plagued him for years was gone. Not dulled, not lessened—completely gone. He flexed his toes experimentally, marveling at how natural it felt. There was no numbness, no discomfort—only a strange, unfamiliar ease.

“It’s… remarkable,” he said softly, looking at Jinx in astonishment. “The pain is simply… gone. How did you do this?”

Jinx’s cheeks flushed, and she glanced away, twisting a strand of her hair between her fingers. “Well… it’s kind of a long story,” she began hesitantly. “Okay, so… I might’ve taken a trip to Demacia.”

Viktor blinked, his surprise quickly giving way to a scowl. “Demacia,” he repeated flatly. “Jinx, do you have any idea how dangerous—”

“Let me finish!” she interrupted, holding up her hands. “I, uh, met up with a friend there—don’t ask who, it’s not important—and I did some self-study on their healing magic. Turns out, they have these secret runes that are amazing for pain relief and healing, so I carved them into the leather.”

Her fingers twisted nervously in her lap, but her words grew more animated as she continued. “Oh, and the leather! I made it myself—hunted this giant greathorn for it. That thing was huge, Viktor, way bigger than I thought it would be. And then I had to decide between using iron or steel for the frame, but obviously steel’s better in, like, every way, so I went with that. Even though I kinda got stuck underground for a couple days making the steel, but, hey, worth it!”

Viktor stared at her, his expression a mix of exasperation and admiration as she finally cut herself off, suddenly looking shy. “Anyway,” she said softly, her eyes darting to the floor. “I just… the idea came to me, and once it did, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I left, and I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

For a long moment, Viktor said nothing, his gaze fixed on her. Then, with a sigh, he reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. “You are infuriating,” he said quietly, though his tone was warm. “Reckless. Impulsive. And brilliant.”
Jinx’s lips curved into a hesitant smile. “So… you’re not mad?”

Viktor chuckled softly, shaking his head. “How could I be mad, moje svetlo,” he murmured, “when you have given me something no one else ever has? Relief.”

Jinx’s smile widened, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes shimmering with affection. “Told you you’d love it,” she said with a wink.

Viktor let out a rare laugh, his thumb tracing a small circle on her cheek. “Yes,” he said simply, his voice low and full of warmth. “I do.”

After a moment of staring at his face, Jinx took both of Viktor’s hands in hers and she tugged insistently at Viktor’s, her excitement palpable as she urged him to stand. “Come on, genius,” she said, her grin wide and infectious. “You gotta try it out! I worked way too hard for you to just sit there all night.”

Viktor opened his mouth to protest, but Jinx gave him no chance, pulling him up from the loveseat with surprising strength. He wobbled slightly at first, his body instinctively compensating for the weakness in his bad leg, but then he shifted, distributing his weight evenly. For the first time in his life, there was no pain, no dull ache, no unsettling shift of his femur with every movement.

He took a cautious step forward, then another, Jinx moving with him. His movements became surer as he realized that the brace wasn’t just a temporary reprieve—it was stabilizing his leg, supporting it in a way he had never thought possible. The ever-present pain that had shadowed him since birth was gone, replaced by an overwhelming lightness that made him feel as though he could walk forever.

A laugh bubbled up from his chest, hearty and unrestrained, the sound unfamiliar even to his own ears. Jinx’s eyes lit up at the sound, her smile stretching impossibly wider. “See?” she said, her voice triumphant. “Told you it was amazing!”

Still laughing, Viktor turned his gaze to her, a mix of awe and gratitude shining in his golden-brown eyes. “It is… beyond words, moje láska.”
Jinx’s cheeks flushed at the term of endearment, but she quickly recovered, stepping closer and grabbing his hands again. She guided them to rest on her hips, her expression turning playful. “Alright, genius,” she said with a sly grin. “Now dance with me.”

Viktor blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Dance?” he echoed, his tone skeptical. “I do not know how to dance.”

Jinx shrugged, her fingers intertwining with his as she started swaying to an imagined rhythm. “Doesn’t matter,” she said lightly. “Neither do I, really. But I think we’ll figure it out.”

He hesitated for a moment, but the sight of her wide, expectant eyes made it impossible to refuse. With a resigned sigh that held no real resistance, Viktor allowed her to lead him into a clumsy, makeshift dance. Their movements were far from graceful—more a series of uneven steps and sways than anything resembling a proper waltz—but neither of them cared.

Jinx rested her head against his chest, her arms wrapping loosely around his back as they moved. She listened to the steady beat of his heart, the sound grounding her in a way nothing else ever could. Viktor’s chin came to rest atop her head, his hands settling on her back as he allowed himself to be fully present in the moment.

For a brief, perfect time, the chaos of their lives seemed to fade away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of their shared space. Viktor’s mind, so often consumed by calculations and logic, was blissfully quiet for once. All he could think about was her—her warmth, her laughter, her brilliance. She had become the most unexpected blessing in his life, and in that moment, he knew he never wanted to be without her.

The question slipped out before he even realized he was thinking it. “Marry me.”

Jinx froze, her head snapping up to look at him, her wide blue eyes searching his face for any hint of jest. “What?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor’s gaze was steady, his expression soft but serious. “Marry me,” he repeated, his voice low and certain. “I love you, Jinx. More than I can express. You are my light in the shadows, my constant in the chaos. I cannot imagine my life without you.”

For a moment, Jinx stared at him, her lips parted in surprise. Then, slowly, her face broke into a grin—one of those rare, genuine smiles that made her eyes shine. “Are you serious?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Viktor nodded, his hands tightening around her waist. “I have never been more serious.”

Jinx’s grin widened, and she threw her arms around his neck, her laughter ringing out as she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Yes,” she said against his mouth, her voice breathless and full of joy. “Of course, yes!”

Relief and elation flooded Viktor’s chest as he returned her kiss, his hands cradling her face as if she might disappear if he let go. When they finally broke apart, Jinx’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes shimmering with emotion.

“You’re like, really stuck with me now,” she teased, her voice soft but full of affection.

Viktor smiled, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. “Navždy,” he murmured, his accent thick with emotion.

Notes:

Y’all, I’m gonna be straight with you—the ending keeps throwing me off. In my mind, their “marriage” is more like their mutual surpassing of a spiritual or emotional threshold rather than what it traditionally means. It may also seem sudden and very random, but at the time of writing it, it didn’t feel like too much of a stretch, especially considering Viktor is now feeling “complete” in a way, and it’s all thanks to Jinx. Although it still keeps rubbing me the wrong way, I had no idea what to replace it with ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Chapter 6: Festival

Summary:

Jinx’s grip on Viktor’s hand tightened as they stepped into the crowd, her nerves momentarily spiking. But Viktor remained calm, his presence grounding her as they weaved through the bustling throng of people.

“See?” Viktor said, his voice low but reassuring. “No one is paying us any attention.”

Jinx glanced around, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she realized he was right. For the first time in years, she wasn’t being stared at, whispered about, or chased. She was just another face in the crowd.

“This is… nice,” she admitted, her lips curving into a genuine smile.

The day of the festival arrived, and Viktor couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. It had been years since he had taken part in any kind of social event, let alone something as lively and colorful as the Piltover festival. But what thrilled him most was the thought of sharing the experience with Jinx—a day where they could pretend, even for a little while, to be just another couple in the crowd.

Jinx sat on the edge of his bed, her hair now a soft auburn that shimmered faintly in the light. Viktor had taken great care in applying the temporary dye, ensuring every strand was evenly coated. Her usual bold, chaotic appearance had been replaced by something far more subdued. Her hair was loose, cascading down her shoulders to hang just inches above the ground and framing her face, partially concealing her sharp features. The plain pink dress, though simple, softened her usual edge, and the brown leggings and sleeves beneath added an extra layer of modesty, but to also hide her tattoos. Her boots would still be out of place in Piltover, so they were swapped for a pair of slippers.

Still, despite the transformation, Jinx fidgeted nervously with her hands, her usual confidence noticeably absent. “This is… weird,” she muttered, glancing at herself in the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” Viktor said, his voice soft but firm as he approached her. He was dressed in his usual understated attire, his tailored coat freshly cleaned and his hair neatly combed.

Jinx looked up at him, her lips twitching into a small, uncertain smile. “You really think so?”

“Da,” he replied, reaching for her hand. “You are always beautiful, Jinx. But today, you are also incognito. No one will recognize you.”

She laughed nervously, squeezing his hand. “Guess it’s not every day I get to pretend I’m normal.”

“Today, you are not pretending,” Viktor said, his gaze steady. “Today, we are just two people enjoying a festival. Nothing more.”
Jinx’s smile widened, her nervous energy fading slightly as she leaned into his touch. “Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s do this.”

As they left the apartment, Jinx’s fidgeting returned, her fingers toying with the hem of her dress as they walked. Viktor noticed immediately, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He reached out and took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together.

“Do not worry,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “I will not let anything happen to you.”

Jinx looked up at him, her wide eyes filled with a mixture of affection and trust. “I know,” she said quietly.

The festival was already in full swing by the time they arrived, the streets of Piltover’s wealthier district alive with music, laughter, and the scent of delicious food wafting through the air. Colorful lanterns hung overhead, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets, and vendors lined the sidewalks, selling everything from trinkets to exotic snacks.

Jinx’s grip on Viktor’s hand tightened as they stepped into the crowd, her nerves momentarily spiking. But Viktor remained calm, his presence grounding her as they weaved through the bustling throng of people.

“See?” Viktor said, his voice low but reassuring. “No one is paying us any attention.”

Jinx glanced around, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she realized he was right. For the first time in years, she wasn’t being stared at, whispered about, or chased. She was just another face in the crowd.

“This is… nice,” she admitted, her lips curving into a genuine smile.

They wandered the festival together, taking in the sights and sounds. Viktor insisted on buying her a candied apple from one of the vendors, and Jinx giggled as she tried to eat it without getting the sticky coating all over her face.

At one point, they passed a group of street performers juggling flaming torches, and Jinx’s eyes lit up with childlike wonder. Viktor couldn’t help but smile at the sight, his heart swelling with affection.

“You are enjoying yourself,” he noted, his tone warm.

“Yeah,” she said, leaning into him as they walked. “I really am.”

For a moment, they were just two people, free from the weight of their responsibilities and the chaos of their lives. And as they strolled hand in hand through the glowing streets, Viktor couldn’t help but think that this was a moment he would treasure forever.

As the festival continued, the vibrant energy of Piltover’s streets seemed to wrap itself around them, momentarily pushing away the burdens of their usual lives. Jinx, who had been so nervous earlier, now looked like she belonged among the crowd, her laughter mixing with the chatter and music in the air. Viktor found himself marveling at the sight of her—so alive, so full of joy.

They stopped at a vendor selling handcrafted jewelry, the small booth illuminated by soft lantern light. Jinx’s eyes sparkled as she picked up a delicate bracelet adorned with tiny glass beads. “Look at this, Viktor,” she said, holding it up for him to see. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“It is,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But not as pretty as you.”

Jinx snorted, nudging him with her elbow. “Cheesy, much?”

“Perhaps,” Viktor admitted, his tone light. “But no less true.”

She flushed slightly, the color rising to her cheeks as she put the bracelet back. Viktor noticed her lingering gaze and stepped forward, pulling out a few coins to purchase it.

“Viktor!” Jinx protested, though her grin betrayed her delight.

“It is a small thing,” he said, fastening it around her wrist. “And it suits you.”

Jinx stared at the bracelet for a moment, then threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re the best,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“And you are biased,” Viktor replied, though he hugged her back with equal fervor.

They continued to explore the festival, pausing to watch a small fireworks display in one of the squares. Jinx’s gaze was fixed on the sky, her face illuminated by the vibrant bursts of color. Viktor watched her instead, the soft glow of the fireworks reflecting in her eyes as she gazed upward in awe.

“You’re staring,” Jinx said suddenly, turning to him with a teasing smile.

“Am I?” Viktor replied, unbothered by the accusation. “It is difficult not to.”

She rolled her eyes but reached for his hand again, her fingers lacing with his. They wandered further, stopping occasionally to sample food from the various stalls. Viktor found himself surprised by how much he was enjoying the evening. It had been years since he had allowed himself such simple pleasures, but with Jinx by his side, everything felt new and exhilarating.

As the night wore on, the festival began to wind down, the crowd thinning as people returned to their homes. Viktor and Jinx found a quiet bench near the edge of the square, sitting side by side as they watched the lanterns swaying gently in the breeze.

“This was amazing,” Jinx said softly, leaning her head against Viktor’s shoulder.

“I am glad you think so,” Viktor replied, his voice equally quiet. “It is not often we can have moments like this.”

She sighed contentedly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his hand. “You know, for being such a nerdy genius, you’re pretty good at this whole dating thing.”

Viktor chuckled, a rare and warm sound. “I had an excellent companion,” he said.

Jinx tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes filled with affection. “I love you, you know that?”

“I do,” Viktor said, his tone soft as his thumb brushed over her knuckles. “And I love you, zemlya moya.”

For a while, they simply sat together, the world quiet and still around them. It was a rare moment of peace, one that neither of them took for granted. And as Viktor held her close, he couldn’t help but think that, for the first time in a long time, he truly felt whole.

Chapter 7: Thief in the Night

Summary:

“That there? That’s the primary trigger relay,” she said, her voice animated. “And that little guy? That’s the failsafe. If you get past the first trigger without blowing your head off, that one’s there to make sure you don’t feel left out.”

Viktor chuckled softly, his golden eyes gleaming with genuine admiration. “Your craftsmanship is extraordinary, Jinx,” he said. “The precision of these components… it’s almost surgical. You could revolutionize robotics if—”

Jinx pulled herself up and stilled, cutting him off mid-sentence. Viktor looked up at her, his smile fading into a frown of concern. Her expression had changed, her blue eyes wide and alert, her body tensing as though she’d heard something he couldn’t.

“Jinx?” he asked, setting down his tool. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she dropped from the rafters in a graceful arc, landing in a roll that brought her to her feet in one fluid motion. Without another word, she darted across the room and slipped into his wardrobe, the door clicking shut behind her.

The air in the lab was heavy with the tang of metal and ozone, a faint blue glow emanating from the hex crystals encased in their display. Viktor sighed, his cane tapping softly against the polished floor as he moved toward his desk. Sleep had been elusive, the pressure of his latest project gnawing at him, but he had hoped for a quiet night to work in peace.

He had not expected to find her.

Jinx stood frozen in the middle of the lab, a case of hex crystals cradled in her hands like a stolen treasure. Her blue hair, chaotic and wild, framed a face that seemed caught between innocence and madness. Her blue eyes stared at him, wide and unblinking, as though she wasn’t quite sure if he was real. Viktor’s sharp gaze assessed her swiftly: small, lithe, dangerous. His voice was calm, almost gentle, as he broke the silence.

“Please put it down,” he said, his accent curling thickly around the words. “And leave, before I call security.”

She didn’t move. For a moment, Viktor wondered if she had even heard him. Her stare pierced through him, unnerving in its intensity, but he didn’t let it show. Then, slowly, she looked down at her hands as if noticing the stolen case for the first time. Her grip slackened, and with a soft clink, she set it back on the counter.

Her gaze snapped back to him. “What are you?” she asked, her voice distant and strangely soft.

Viktor blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “I am not sure I understand what you are asking,” he replied, unsure what she meant.

Jinx tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Okay,” she murmured after a long pause, her tone oddly childlike. Then, without another word, she walked past him, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. Viktor turned to watch her leave, his grip on his cane tightening as he processed what had just occurred.

When he checked the lab afterward, nothing was missing. Yet the memory of her lingered.

Back in Zaun, Jinx wandered aimlessly, her thoughts a tumult of confusion and clarity. The voices had come rushing back the moment she’d stepped out of the lab, a cacophony that clawed at her mind and distorted her vision. But in that room, with him, there had been silence. A clarity she hadn’t felt in years.

She wanted to feel it again.

_______________________________________

 

Days later, under the cover of night, she returned to Piltover. This time, she wasn’t there to steal. She slipped into Viktor’s lab unnoticed, her steps soft as a whisper. The moment she entered, the buzzing in her head vanished. The sudden stillness made her stumble, her steps making noise.

Viktor, seated at his workbench, startled as he turned and saw her. “You,” he said, rising to his feet and gripping his cane.

Jinx didn’t respond. Her eyes darted around the room before settling on the floor. Slowly, she backed into a corner and sank down, hugging her knees to her chest. “Keep working,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible. “I won’t bother you.”

Viktor hesitated, his sharp mind trying to unravel her behavior. Eventually, he sat back down, though his movements were slow and deliberate. His hands returned to his schematics, but his attention remained divided, his ears straining to catch any sound from her corner. Every so often, he glanced over his shoulder. Each time, she was there, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes.

Hours passed in silence. Viktor worked, his pencil scratching against paper, and Jinx remained motionless, her gaze unwavering. When he finally finished, he turned to find her asleep, her head resting on her knees. The tension in her face was gone, replaced by an expression of almost childlike peace.

Viktor allowed himself to relax, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. Exhaustion overtook him, and he fell asleep at his desk.

When Viktor woke the next morning, the first thing he noticed was his coat from the coat rack draped over his legs. His brows furrowed in confusion until he realized Jinx was gone. The lab was undisturbed, everything exactly where it should be. Viktor’s gaze lingered on the corner where she had sat.

For the first time in a long while, Viktor felt something unfamiliar: curiosity.

And far in Zaun, Jinx was already planning her next visit.

_______________________________________

 

The nights in the lab grew quieter, more familiar. Jinx appeared every few days, her steps as light as the ticking of a clock, slipping in through the balcony window and settling in her usual corner. She rarely spoke, her wide eyes tracking Viktor as he worked, and every night, she fell asleep before he did. Viktor, to his own surprise, began to expect her visits. The emptiness of the lab seemed less oppressive when she was there, even if she never said much.

One night, as he adjusted a mechanism on his workbench, Viktor turned to her and asked, “What is your name?”

Jinx tilted her head, as if considering the question carefully. “Jinx,” she finally said, her voice quiet but clear.

He hummed softly, slightly surprised that she had answered so readily. “Jinx,” he repeated, tasting the name. He turned back to her, his amber eyes catching the faint gleam of metal at her side. “I would prefer it,” he said carefully, “if you didn’t bring weapons here. This is a lab, not a battlefield.”

Her frown was instant, her gaze dropping to the floor. For a long moment, she didn’t answer, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. Finally, she nodded, giving a small “Okay.”

The next time she visited, the pistol she always carried was gone. Viktor couldn’t help but notice.

_______________________________________

 

One evening, as Viktor scribbled equations on the chalkboard, Jinx’s eyes followed him. She leaned her chin on her knees, watching the uneven rhythm of his movements as he limped across the room.
“Does it hurt?” she asked suddenly. Her voice startled him—it was the first time she had spoken to him first.

Viktor paused, chalk hovering mid-air. He turned his head slightly to glance at her. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Some days more than others. But it is bearable.” He tapped the chalk against the board thoughtfully. “It is simply the way I was born.”
She didn’t ask any more questions after that, but Viktor caught the way her gaze lingered on him longer than usual that night.

Then she stopped coming. Days passed, and the lab felt emptier than it had before she had begun her visits. Viktor found himself distracted, listening for footsteps that never came and glancing toward the balcony more often than he cared to admit. It was ridiculous, he thought bitterly. He didn’t even know her—what did it matter if she returned or not?

Nearly a week later, she did.

Jinx slipped through the balcony window with something clutched tightly to her chest, a canvas-wrapped object tied with a ribbon. Her steps were hesitant, her usual confidence absent as she approached his work table. She placed the bundle down gingerly, then retreated to her corner, curling up as she always did.

Viktor watched her for a moment, then turned his attention to the gift. Carefully, he untied the ribbon and peeled back the canvas. His breath caught when he saw what it was—a leg brace, simple yet elegant, made of high-quality leather and polished metal.
He looked back at her, her eyes watching him with nervous anticipation. “Would you like me to try it on?” he asked.

She nodded eagerly.

Viktor rolled up his trousers and fitted the brace to his leg, fastening the leather straps with practiced efficiency. As the final strap was secured, something remarkable happened—the constant, nagging pain that had plagued him for as long as he could remember vanished. Completely. He froze, his hand resting on the brace, disbelieving.

He adjusted the straps again, checking to make sure they weren’t too tight, but the relief remained. Slowly, he turned to her, still seated in her corner, her expression expectant and hopeful.
“Did you make this?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “And how… why does it work?”

Jinx seemed to think for a moment, nodded and then said, “Healing runes. Like the ones they use in Ionia.”

Viktor stared at her, stunned. Runes for healing were extraordinarily complex, requiring both precision and knowledge. For someone like Jinx—someone he had assumed was ruled by chaos—to create something so intricate was almost inconceivable.

Seeing the surprise on his face, she quickly looked away. “I told the runes they had to fix you,” she muttered. “That they had to take the pain away.”

Viktor’s chest tightened with something he couldn’t quite name. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, his voice almost a whisper. “Truly. But why? Why did you do this for me?”

Jinx raised her head, meeting his gaze. For a moment, she hesitated, as if deciding whether or not to speak. Then, finally, she said, “Because… when I’m near you, the voices stop. The noise, the screaming—it all goes away. It’s like magic.” Her voice grew quieter, almost fragile. “And you’re nice to me. You’ve never yelled at me, never called me names. You don’t look at me like I’m crazy.” She hugged her knees tighter to her chest. “It means everything to me.”

Viktor didn’t know how to respond. He sat there in silence, the weight of her words settling over him like a blanket. Finally, he managed to say, “I am glad I can give you some peace.”

Jinx’s lips curved into the smallest of smiles, and for the first time, Viktor thought he saw not the chaos, not the madness—but the person beneath.

_______________________________________

 

Viktor sat hunched over his workbench, his pencil moving methodically across the schematic for a hextech device. The faint blue glow of the nearby hex crystals illuminated the page, casting flickering shadows on his face. Jinx sat in her usual corner, knees hugged to her chest, watching him in silence.

This time, however, Viktor had a different plan for the evening. He paused in his work and turned to face her. “Would you like to join me?” he asked, gesturing to the empty stool beside him.

Jinx’s eyes widened slightly. She fidgeted with one of her braids, her gaze darting between him and the stool. For a moment, he thought she might refuse, but then, slowly, she stood. Her steps were tentative as she approached, and she lingered near the workbench before perching on the edge of the stool, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“You do not need to be nervous,” Viktor said, his voice warm and inviting. “I thought you might enjoy seeing this process.”

She gave him a small nod but said nothing, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes, however, were fixated on the schematic, absorbing every detail with a sharp intensity.

Viktor resumed his work, sketching out the final details of the hextech power scanner. He could feel her presence beside him, the faint shift of air as she leaned in to get a closer look. For a while, she remained silent, her expression inscrutable, until finally, she couldn’t hold back.

“You’re wasting energy here,” she said softly, pointing to a small cluster of components on the schematic.

Viktor looked up at her, surprised that she had spoken. She quickly pulled her hand back, her eyes flickering with hesitation. “I mean… you could reroute the energy through the lower circuit,” she continued, her voice uncertain but insistent. “It’d save power and keep the output stable.”

Viktor studied her suggestion, his brow furrowed. After a moment, he nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You are correct. That would indeed make it more efficient.” He turned to her, his amber eyes warm. “Thank you, Jinx. That is an excellent suggestion.”

Her face lit up with a mixture of surprise and cautious pride. “You… you think so?”

“I do,” Viktor said firmly. “Your understanding of hextech is impressive.” He hesitated for a moment before asking, “How is it that you know so much about it?”

The question seemed to catch her off guard. She leaned back slightly, her fingers tugging at her braid. “I, uh…” she started, her gaze darting to the floor. “When I was younger, I stole a hex crystal. Thought it was just a shiny rock at first, but…” She trailed off, her voice growing quieter. “I played around with it. Took things apart, put them back together. Figured out how it worked.”

Viktor blinked, momentarily stunned. “You taught yourself?”

She nodded, still avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. I mean, I didn’t have anyone to teach me, so… I just messed around until I got it.”

Viktor leaned back, his admiration evident. “Jinx, that is extraordinary. Do you realize how rare such an understanding is? Even among those who are formally trained?”

She shrugged, but her cheeks tinged pink, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” Viktor insisted, his tone earnest. “Hextech is a field that even the greatest minds struggle to master, and yet you have not only understood it but also found ways to improve it.” He gestured to the schematic. “Your insight alone has already enhanced this design.”

Jinx glanced at the schematic, then back at Viktor. For the first time in a long while, she felt something unfamiliar—a sense of pride, untainted by mockery or condescension.

Over the following weeks, Jinx began to emerge more from her corner, growing bolder in her interactions with Viktor. She started offering suggestions more frequently, and Viktor quickly realized that her knowledge rivaled—perhaps even exceeded—his own in certain areas.

Their discussions became a nightly ritual, filled with rapid-fire exchanges of ideas and playful debates about hextech’s potential. Viktor found himself smiling more often, a sense of camaraderie forming between them that he hadn’t experienced with anyone else—not even Heimerdinger.

_______________________________________

 

For Jinx, the lab became a sanctuary. Here, she wasn’t the unhinged criminal that Piltover feared. She was simply Jinx—a brilliant, albeit unconventional, mind that Viktor valued and respected. And for Viktor, Jinx became more than just a visitor. She was a kindred spirit, someone who could match his intellect and challenge his ideas.

Despite the chaos that seemed to define her, Jinx brought a strange kind of clarity to his world. And despite knowing who she was—what she was—Viktor couldn’t help the growing adoration he felt for her. She was, after all, unlike anyone he had ever known.

_______________________________________

 

The lab was filled with the soft hum of hextech devices and the occasional metallic clink as Viktor carefully disassembled one of Jinx’s robotic monkey bombs. The device, though deactivated, was a marvel of engineering, its microcomponents impossibly intricate. Viktor’s brow was furrowed in concentration, his long fingers deftly maneuvering a fine-tipped tool through the inner mechanisms. Above him, Jinx swung lazily from the rafters, her braids dangling like pendulums as she pointed out the various parts of the bomb.

“That there? That’s the primary trigger relay,” she said, her voice animated. “And that little guy? That’s the failsafe. If you get past the first trigger without blowing your head off, that one’s there to make sure you don’t feel left out.”

Viktor chuckled softly, his golden eyes gleaming with genuine admiration. “Your craftsmanship is extraordinary, Jinx,” he said. “The precision of these components… it’s almost surgical. You could revolutionize robotics if—”

Jinx pulled herself up and stilled, cutting him off mid-sentence. Viktor looked up at her, his smile fading into a frown of concern. Her expression had changed, her blue eyes wide and alert, her body tensing as though she’d heard something he couldn’t.

“Jinx?” he asked, setting down his tool. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she dropped from the rafters in a graceful arc, landing in a roll that brought her to her feet in one fluid motion. Without another word, she darted across the room and slipped into his wardrobe, the door clicking shut behind her.

Viktor stared after her in confusion, his mind racing to make sense of her sudden change in behavior. Before he could call out to her, the sound of the doorknob turning caught his attention.

The door swung open, and Jayce Talis strode in, his presence as loud and unannounced as ever. Viktor leaned back in his chair, his expression quickly souring.

“Jayce,” Viktor said, his voice edged with irritation. “You could at least knock.”

Jayce barely seemed to notice. He paced into the room, his usual confident demeanor replaced by an agitated restlessness. “Sorry, Viktor, I just— I needed to talk to someone, and you’re the only person I trust right now.”

Viktor sighed, already sensing this would be a long conversation. “What is it, Jayce?”

“It’s Mel,” Jayce said, running a hand through his hair. “We had a fight. A big one. She’s angry with me, says I’m too focused on hextech, that I’m ignoring everything else. But how am I supposed to stop? Hextech is—” He gestured wildly, his frustration spilling over. “It’s everything we’ve worked for! And she doesn’t understand that.”

Viktor listened patiently, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as Jayce vented. Though he found the interruption annoying—especially given the wardrobe’s now-occupied status—he refrained from interrupting. Jayce needed to get it out of his system, and Viktor, for better or worse, was the closest thing he had to a confidant.

When Jayce finally paused, Viktor offered the only advice he could muster. “Relationships,” he began carefully, “are about balance. Compromise. If Mel feels neglected, perhaps you should consider her perspective. Show her that she is as important to you as your work.”

Jayce sighed heavily, nodding, though his expression remained troubled. “You’re right. I just… I don’t know how to fix this.”

“You’ll find a way,” Viktor said, his tone firmer now. “But perhaps next time, find a better hour to discuss it, yes?”

Jayce managed a sheepish smile. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Thanks, Viktor. I’ll… let you get back to whatever it is you’re working on.”

With that, Jayce turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Viktor waited a few moments, his gaze fixed on the wardrobe. He couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable Jinx must be, and he hurried over, opening the door with a soft creak.

Inside, he found her curled up in her usual fetal position, her fingernails digging into the skin of her arms. Her breathing was uneven, her head resting against the side of the wardrobe. She looked up at him with wide, distressed eyes.

“Jinx,” Viktor said gently, crouching down to her level. “What is wrong?”

She hesitated, her lips trembling as she searched for the right words. “I should stop coming here,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not safe for you. If anyone finds out… you could get in trouble. You could go to prison. Because of me.”

Viktor’s chest tightened at the pain in her voice. He understood her fear—knew the risks better than she did—but the thought of losing her company, of losing her, was unbearable.

He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder before he thought better of it. “Jinx,” he said firmly, “I am willing to take that risk. I enjoy having you here. More than you realize.”

Her eyes searched his face, her mistrust of others warring with the fragile hope he saw flicker in her gaze. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” Viktor said. “You are… important to me. And I would rather have you here, even if it means taking a risk, than to not see you at all.”

Her lips quirked into a hesitant smile, and for the first time that night, her tension seemed to ease. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll come back.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Jinx felt truly wanted.

Chapter 8: Midnight Amber

Summary:

“You’re quite the vision, Miss Alcrest,” Merrick murmured, his tone dripping with insinuation. “It’s rare to meet a woman of your… caliber at gatherings like these.”

Jinx’s laughter was light, almost musical, though the sound grated against her own ears. “You flatter me, Lord Loch. Though I must say, the honor of meeting you is entirely mine.”

As she spoke, her senses sharpened, cataloging every detail—the possessive grip on her waist, the faint musk of his scent, and the way his pupils dilated as his gaze roved over her. She didn’t need to guess at his intentions; they were as blatant as the smug grin on his face.

But beneath the surface, her focus remained unshaken. Her mission was clear: confirm his involvement in the shimmer trade and extract as much information as she could. Whatever disgust she felt at his touch or his presence, she’d bury it deep until her task was done.

The room shimmered with opulence, the crystal chandeliers casting fractured rainbows across the sea of finely dressed elites. Jinx, wrapped in her disguise, blended into this world she so often scoffed at. The lavender dress hugged her curves in all the right ways, its soft fabric shifting subtly as she moved. Her brown hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, a stark contrast to the usual vivid chaos of her blue locks.
The poro fur coat completed the illusion of a highborn lady from Piltover, her sharp eyes masking the mischief that lurked beneath the surface.

Beside her, Sevika stood like a sentinel, her broad frame and tailored black suit projecting an air of authority that demanded respect. The older alpha’s steady presence provided a reassuring buffer against the unfamiliar space, even if her keen gaze never strayed far from Jinx’s side.

The crowd hummed with conversation, the low murmur of ambition and opportunism thick in the air. Jinx’s lips twitched in an almost-smirk as she caught the hungry gazes of various alphas lingering on her swaying hips. Her scent—carefully masked but undeniably alluring—played its part, a subtle tease of her omega nature that ensured she’d be remembered but not identified.

Her target, Merrick Loch, stood across the room. His golden hair gleamed under the lights as he laughed, charming his way through a gaggle of sycophants. But tonight wasn’t her moment to pounce—she needed confirmation, something solid to bring back to Silco. The patience he demanded grated on her instincts, but she trusted his plans. Usually.

The host’s voice rang out, silencing the din as the reason for the celebration was announced. Jinx had barely paid attention to the purpose of the gathering, but when the name Jayce Talis was mentioned, her brow arched. A demonstration of innovation was promised, and soon enough, a miniature prototype was unveiled—a compact, intricate mechanism that gleamed with the promise of Piltover’s progress.

As Jinx made her way to the display, something unusual caught her attention. A scent. Subtle yet potent, it coiled around her senses like a whisper that refused to be ignored. It wasn’t Merrick’s scent—it was far too complex, tinged with something sharper, a sheer musk that was mysterious yet warm. None of the other attendees seemed to notice it, but to Jinx’s heightened senses, it was undeniable.

Intrigued, she leaned closer to the prototype, studying its craftsmanship while her mind worked to piece together the anomaly. Her fingers itched to dismantle it, to see what secrets lay beneath the polished surface.

“You seem quite captivated by it,” a smooth voice spoke from behind her. The scent intensified as Jinx turned, her gaze meeting amber eyes that held a quiet intensity.

The man before her was tall and lean, his presence understated yet commanding. His auburn hair framed a face that, while unassuming at first glance, bore an intellectual sharpness. He wasn’t dressed as extravagantly as the others, his simple dark suit lending him an air of practicality rather than pretense. The prototype’s scent clung to him, as if he’d been working on it moments before stepping into this gilded farce of a party.

“And you are?” Jinx asked, her voice a lilting tease as she tilted her head, feigning coyness.

“Viktor,” he replied, offering a faint smile. “Assistant to Jayce Talis. Though, I’d say my contributions to this particular invention were not insignificant.”

“Modest and brilliant,” she mused, the corners of her mouth quirking upward. “A rare combination around here.”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to place her. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, Miss…”

“Lenore Alcrest,” she supplied smoothly, extending a gloved hand. “A pleasure, Mr. Viktor.”

His hand met hers, his grip firm but not overwhelming. “The pleasure is mine.”

Their eyes held for a beat too long, something unspoken passing between them. Jinx’s omega instincts stirred faintly, recognizing something magnetic in him. He wasn’t an alpha who dominated space with brute force or arrogance. No, his strength was quieter, more cerebral.

“What do you think of the prototype?” Viktor asked, releasing her hand. “I’d value an outsider’s perspective.”

Jinx considered him for a moment before replying, her voice careful but tinged with playful skepticism. “It’s… impressive. But I’d wager it's design has a flaw or two. Maybe something that could cause instability under stress?”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitched, amusement flickering across his face. “You have a keen eye. Few would notice such a possibility at a glance.”

“I like to keep my wits sharp,” she said, her tone almost daring. “You never know when they’ll come in handy.”

Viktor studied her for a moment longer, his gaze searching. Jinx felt the weight of his curiosity, the way it probed without overstepping. It was disarming in a way she didn’t entirely dislike.

Before either could speak again, Sevika appeared at her side, her presence a silent but firm reminder of their mission. “Miss Alcrest, we should move along.”

Jinx sighed dramatically, offering Viktor a small, regretful smile. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.” Her hands fidgeted for a moment before she pulled them around her back to hide it, hoping he didn’t notice. The action caused Viktor’s mouth to form into a small frown.

Viktor’s slight frown deepened the longer Jinx hesitated, his amber eyes fixed on hers. The subtle tug at the corner of his mouth, however, softened the disappointment. She let out a soft sigh, feigning regret.

“I have some business to attend to with another guest,” she said lightly, tilting her head in the direction of her target. Then, with a teasing lilt, she added, “But I’ll definitely need to pester you later about this little marvel of yours. Don’t think you’ve escaped me just yet.”

His expression shifted, the faint frown replaced by a small, genuine smile that sent a flicker of warmth through her. “Pester away, Miss Alcrest. Your time will always be welcome.”

Her lips curved in a soft smile of her own before she dipped her head in a polite farewell. With reluctant steps, she turned away from Viktor and wove her way through the crowd, her sights set on Merrick Loch.

The scion of House Loch stood near the edge of the room, surrounded by a sycophantic cluster of alphas and omegas alike. His golden hair caught the light, and his sharp, chiseled features held an arrogance that instantly grated on Jinx’s nerves. Still, she smoothed her features, donning the mask of Lenore Alcrest as easily as slipping on a glove.

When his eyes landed on her, Jinx knew she had him. His predatory gaze roamed her figure, lingering on the curve of her hips and the softness of her shoulders peeking out from the fur coat. He straightened, his lips curling into a confident smile that screamed entitlement.

“Miss Alcrest, I presume?” Merrick’s voice dripped with a practiced charm as she approached.

Jinx gave him a demure smile, her voice sweet as honey. “You presume correctly, my lord. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Before she could extend her hand, he seized it, bringing it to his lips without a hint of hesitation. His touch was clammy, and the brush of his mouth sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine. She masked her reaction with a perfectly poised expression, even as she fought the urge to yank her hand away.

“Lord Merrick Loch,” he introduced himself, his gaze never leaving her face. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”

As he straightened, his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close with a grip that was far too firm. His fingers dug into her side, the pressure teetering on the edge of pain. Jinx’s breath hitched, but she forced her smile to stay in place, unwilling to betray her discomfort.

“You’re quite the vision, Miss Alcrest,” Merrick murmured, his tone dripping with insinuation. “It’s rare to meet a woman of your… caliber at gatherings like these.”

Jinx’s laughter was light, almost musical, though the sound grated against her own ears. “You flatter me, Lord Loch. Though I must say, the honor of meeting you is entirely mine.”

As she spoke, her senses sharpened, cataloging every detail—the possessive grip on her waist, the faint musk of his scent, and the way his pupils dilated as his gaze roved over her. She didn’t need to guess at his intentions; they were as blatant as the smug grin on his face.

But beneath the surface, her focus remained unshaken. Her mission was clear: confirm his involvement in the shimmer trade and extract as much information as she could. Whatever disgust she felt at his touch or his presence, she’d bury it deep until her task was done.

Still, Merrick’s grip tightened, and Jinx had to clench her jaw to keep from flinching. Either he was oblivious to the faint, bitter edge of discomfort in her scent, or he simply didn’t care.

“So, tell me, Miss Alcrest,” Merrick drawled, his voice low as he leaned in, his breath brushing against her ear. “What brings a woman of your beauty and refinement to a gathering such as this?”

Jinx’s smile widened, her voice as sweet as spun sugar. “Oh, I simply couldn’t resist the allure of Piltover’s finest minds and their dazzling innovations.” Her tone turned conspiratorial. “And, of course, the company of such distinguished gentlemen.”

Merrick chuckled, the sound grating against her nerves. “Distinguished, indeed. Perhaps we should find a quieter corner to discuss such matters in more detail?”

Jinx tilted her head, feigning consideration, even as her mind raced. She’d need to play this carefully, luring him into a sense of complacency without giving him too much ground. All the while, Viktor’s amber eyes lingered in the back of her mind—a strange and unbidden comfort against the predator currently gripping her waist.

__________________________________
Merrick’s voice droned on, a self-aggrandizing monologue peppered with thinly veiled boasts about his family’s wealth and influence. Jinx maintained her polite facade, nodding and offering the occasional sweet murmur of interest. Her mind, however, was elsewhere, her patience rapidly fraying.

Sevika, positioned just out of Merricks’s sight but close enough to hear their conversation, subtly gestured with a slight nod—confirmation that they had what they needed. Silco would be pleased with the damning details overheard in Merrick’s blustering.

Jinx turned her focus back to Merrick, crafting an excuse for a graceful exit. “Lord Loch,” she began with a soft laugh, “this has been such a delightful conversation, but I fear I must take a moment to freshen up. The champagne, you know—it does have a way of catching up with a lady.”

He waved her words away dismissively, his grin smug. “Nonsense, Miss Alcrest. I’ve found your company far too enjoyable to let you slip away so soon.”

Her smile strained, but she tried again. “Surely even a gentleman as charming as yourself would grant a lady a brief reprieve?”

Instead of relenting, Merrick’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers pressing bruisingly into her skin. Her breath hitched, and she bit the inside of her cheek, holding back a wince and the overwhelming urge to knock him flat. The pressure of his hold, coupled with the invasive, cloying strength of his scent, made her stomach churn.

Before she could attempt another tactic, a voice spoke from behind them, low and measured.

“Pardon the interruption, Lord Loch, but I wonder if I might borrow Miss Alcrest for a moment?”

Jinx’s head whipped around, relief flooding her when she saw Viktor standing there. His amber eyes briefly flicked to her, his nose twitching slightly. His sharp gaze softened for a fraction of a second, and she realized he’d caught it—her scent, layered with the unmistakable edge of pain.

Merrick turned with a glower. “And who might you be?”

“Viktor,” he replied evenly, his expression impassive. “Assistant to Jayce Talis. I noticed Miss Alcrest earlier and found myself quite interested in her thoughts on our prototype. I hope you’ll indulge my curiosity.”

Merrick hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, Jinx thought he might argue, but then his arrogance won out. With a theatrical sigh, he released her, his hand falling away as though granting some great favor.

“Very well,” Merrick drawled. “But don’t keep her too long. We were just beginning to have some real fun.”

Jinx forced a smile, her muscles relaxing now that his touch and scent were no longer suffocating her. “Thank you, Lord Loch. I’ll be sure to return shortly.”

Viktor inclined his head politely before offering Jinx his arm. She took it without hesitation, allowing him to guide her out of the room and onto the balcony. The cool night air was a balm against her flushed skin, and she drew in a deep breath, purging Merrick’s oppressive scent from her lungs.

For a moment, Viktor said nothing, giving her the space to compose herself. He stood beside her, his hands resting lightly on the balcony railing as his gaze drifted over the glittering cityscape of Piltover. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but tinged with concern.

“Are you alright, Miss Alcrest?”

Jinx offered a wry smile, her mask of Lenore slipping just enough to show a hint of her true self. “I’ll survive, but I think I’ll be wearing Merrick’s fingerprints for a while.”

His amber eyes darkened briefly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “He had no right.”

Her smile softened, a flicker of genuine gratitude shining through. “No, he didn’t. But thank you for stepping in. I think I owe you one.”

Viktor met her gaze, his expression thoughtful. “You owe me nothing. No one should have to endure such treatment.”

Jinx’s heart skipped a beat at the quiet conviction in his voice. She studied him for a moment, the sharp lines of his face and the quiet strength in his posture. There was something disarming about Viktor—an alpha unlike any she’d met before. He wasn’t overbearing or arrogant. He simply… was.

The thought startled her, but she tucked it away, reminding herself of her mission. Even so, as they stood together under the stars, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of ease—a momentary reprieve from the chaos she carried within.

“Well, thanks,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I don’t usually need saving, but… it’s nice to know someone noticed.”

Viktor nodded, his gaze holding hers for a moment longer before he looked out over the city, his expression contemplative. “If you need an excuse to leave the party, I can provide one,” he offered. “A discussion about the prototype, perhaps?”

Jinx smirked, her usual sass returning. “So you’re giving me an out and offering to spend more time with me? Bold move, Viktor.”

His smile grew slightly, a hint of wry humor in his tone. “It’s merely an act of altruism, Miss Lenore. I wouldn’t dare presume to monopolize your attention.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Well, lucky for you, I don’t mind being monopolized—at least by someone interesting.”

Viktor’s gaze flicked to hers again, something warm and unreadable in his eyes. For a moment, the noise of the party and the weight of her mission faded, leaving only the two of them and the cool night air.

“Then perhaps I’ll take you up on that,” he said softly.

__________________________________
The path to the gardens was quiet, illuminated by soft lanterns casting golden light across the neatly trimmed hedges and blooming flowers. The hum of the gala faded behind them, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves in the cool evening breeze. Viktor walked beside Jinx, his cane tapping softly against the stone path, his pace unhurried.

Jinx found herself relaxing, the tension from her encounter with Merrick gradually ebbing away as their conversation unfolded. Viktor’s sharp mind proved as engaging as she’d suspected, and despite the weight of her mission, she couldn’t help but lose herself in their exchange.

“Steel is an excellent material, of course,” Viktor said, gesturing lightly with his hand, “but its properties can be significantly enhanced with the proper alloying elements. Vanadium, for example, increases tensile strength without adding much weight.”

Jinx tilted her head, her lips quirking into a smirk. “Vanadium’s good, sure, but it’s expensive as hell. Wouldn’t manganese be a cheaper alternative for most applications?”

Viktor glanced at her, his golden eyes gleaming with interest. “An astute observation,” he said. “Manganese is indeed more cost-effective and provides satisfactory results for certain uses. But in precision engineering, where failure is not an option…” He spread his hands slightly, his expression making it clear that compromise wasn’t an option in his mind.

Jinx chuckled, unable to resist teasing him. “Perfectionist, huh? I’m guessing you’re the type who can’t leave a design alone until it’s flawless.”

“Flawless?” Viktor echoed, his tone light but thoughtful. “No. Perfection is unattainable. But I believe in reaching as close to it as possible. A flawed design can have catastrophic consequences.”

His seriousness made her pause, her grin fading into something softer. She studied him as they walked, noticing the quiet passion in his voice, the way his posture straightened when he spoke about his work. For all his reserved demeanor, Viktor cared deeply about what he did, and it showed in every word.

“So, no cutting corners,” she said, a touch more earnest now. “I can respect that.”

“You strike me as someone who would prefer blowing up the corner entirely,” Viktor replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Jinx barked a laugh, caught off guard by his sudden wit. “Fair point,” she admitted. “But hey, sometimes a little chaos is exactly what you need to get the job done.”

Their conversation flowed easily after that, touching on mathematical models, theoretical physics, and even the philosophical implications of technological progress. Jinx surprised herself with how much she enjoyed it. Viktor had a way of making even the driest topics compelling, his voice steady and calm, his insights sharp and illuminating.

As they reached a secluded corner of the gardens, Viktor stopped beside a marble bench surrounded by fragrant jasmine vines. He gestured for Jinx to sit, and she hesitated for a moment before taking a seat, the cool stone pressing against the backs of her legs. Viktor remained standing, his hands resting lightly on his cane as he regarded her.

“You’re not like most people here,” he said after a moment, his tone quiet but certain.

Jinx blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “What do you mean?”

He tilted his head slightly, his golden gaze meeting hers. “You don’t wear the mask as easily as they do. You’re not here to climb ladders or collect favors. There’s… something else driving you.”

Her stomach tightened at his words, her instincts screaming at her to deflect, to laugh it off. But something in Viktor’s expression—a mix of curiosity and understanding—stilled her.

“Maybe I just like keeping people guessing,” she said, her voice light but with an edge of truth.

Viktor studied her for a moment longer, then nodded, as if he’d expected no less. “A wise strategy,” he said. “But even the best masks can slip.”

Jinx felt her heart skip, his words hitting closer to home than she cared to admit. She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms and flashing him a crooked grin. “What about you, Viktor? No mask for you, huh?”

He smiled faintly as he sat beside her, glancing away toward the horizon. “I find it… inefficient. Pretending to be someone else wastes energy I could spend on more productive pursuits.”

“Efficient to a fault,” Jinx said, shaking her head with a laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Viktor turned back to her, his expression softening. “Perhaps,” he said. “But I suspect you are, too.”

The words hung between them, unspoken truths glimmering in the quiet night air. For once, Jinx didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. She simply sat there, unaware of the sweet scent of honeysuckle mingling with the warm musk of Viktor’s presence, and let herself breathe the open air.

__________________________________
The bench was cool beneath them, the garden serene under the moonlight. Jinx shifted slightly, but the ache in her side flared, a sharp reminder of Merrick’s unwelcome grip. She grimaced, almost a whimper escaping her lips, but quickly masked it with a forced smile as she glanced at Viktor.

He wasn’t fooled. His sharp eyes caught her fleeting expression, and the faint sourness in her scent didn’t escape him either. His gaze softened, though the frown remained on his face as he studied her, clearly debating whether to press her about it.

“I’m fine,” Jinx said quickly, offering him a bright, if slightly brittle, smile. She leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder and her arm looping through his. For a moment, Viktor tensed, his body unused to such closeness. But as her warmth settled against him, he relaxed, allowing her to stay.

Her soft sigh cut through the quiet night. “You’ve got a really comforting scent,” she murmured, her voice low, almost sleepy.

Viktor paused, his golden eyes widening slightly. He stared at her, his expression unreadable as her words sank in. She was close now, her smaller frame tucked against his side, and her trust was palpable in the way her body relaxed against him. His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile, though he doubted she noticed, her eyes closed as if she was soaking in the moment.

After a long silence, Jinx spoke again, her voice quiet but steady as she opened her eyes. “I’m pretty sure you know by now that I’m not Lenore,” she admitted, her head tilting slightly, though she didn’t lift it from his shoulder. “I thought the act was convincing, but you’re smarter than the average alpha. Probably figured it out ages ago.”

Viktor didn’t respond immediately, letting her continue.

“My name’s Jinx,” she said, her tone lighter now, almost teasing. “A child of Zaun. I am indeed the daughter of a baron, just… not the kind these people would welcome into their fancy parties.”

Viktor didn’t respond immediately. She could feel his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes pointed in front of them, bracing herself for the rejection or suspicion that might follow her admission. Instead, his voice came, quiet and steady.

“I had my suspicions,” he said. “But I wanted to hear it from you.”

Encouraged by his calm, she continued. “I had a feeling about you too,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “You’re not from Piltover, are you? If your brilliance didn’t give it away—because, trust me, no one here is this brilliant—then it’s the way you carry yourself. Honest. Decent. Those aren’t exactly common traits in this city.”

Viktor’s small smile returned, though there was a shadow behind it. “You’re correct. I was born in Zaun.” He hesitated before continuing, his tone carrying a hint of something heavier. “Though I’ve spent much of my life working to prove myself worthy of being here.”

Jinx finally opened her eyes, tilting her head to look up at him. “Worthy? You’re already a thousand times better than anyone in there.”

Viktor chuckled softly, a low, self-deprecating sound. “You are kind to say so, but Piltover has its own metrics for success. They do not always favor… people like us.”

Her lips quirked in a small smile. “People like us. I like the sound of that.”

Viktor turned to meet her gaze, the amber of his eyes warm in the dim light. For a moment, the chaos and deception of the evening melted away, leaving only the two of them in the quiet intimacy of the garden.

“Jinx,” he said, testing the name on his tongue. “A fitting name for someone as… unpredictable as you.”

“Unpredictable?” she repeated with a mock gasp, grinning now. “That’s one way to put it.”

Their shared laughter filled the night, light and genuine, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Jinx felt a flicker of something she hadn’t dared to hope for: connection.

__________________________________
The sound of approaching footsteps and a familiar grumbling broke through the stillness of the garden. Jinx opened her eyes reluctantly as Sevika’s imposing figure emerged from the shadows, her sharp features illuminated by the faint glow of the cigar clenched between her teeth.

“There you are,” Sevika muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke. Her eyes flicked between Jinx and Viktor, her brow furrowing in irritation. “I should’ve known you’d wander off. It’s time to go. Silco’s waiting.”

Jinx sighed, the weight of her mission snapping back into place. Her time with Viktor had been a rare reprieve, and now it was ending too soon. Slowly, she unhooked her arm from his and stood, brushing her hands over her dress.

When she turned to face him, her heart twisted at the quiet solemnity in his expression. He stood as well, his golden eyes fixed on her with a mixture of curiosity and something she couldn’t quite name.

“Well,” she began, forcing a lightness into her tone, “I guess this is goodbye.”

Viktor stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently take hers. The touch was featherlight, a stark contrast to the roughness she’d endured earlier, and it sent a warmth curling through her.

“Must it be goodbye?” he asked, his voice low but earnest. “Will I see you again?”

Jinx stared at him, her heart beating a little faster as she searched his gaze. He was sincere, his golden eyes steady and full of quiet intensity. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to stay, to tell him everything, to let herself be vulnerable in a way she never had before.

But she couldn’t. Not yet.

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she nodded, her voice soft but sure. “Yeah. You’ll see me again.”

Before he could say anything more, Jinx leaned up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. It was a fleeting touch, but it left a faint blush blooming on Viktor’s pale skin.

She pulled back, grinning with her usual mischief. “Don’t forget me, okay?”

And with that, she turned and hurried after Sevika, her laughter echoing softly in the night.

Viktor watched her go, his fingers brushing the spot on his cheek where her lips had been. A faint smile crossed his face, and for the first time in a long while, hope sparked in his chest.

He would see her again. He was certain of it.

Notes:

Viktor’s scent is the Fusion™ Scent Charm Oil Midnight Amber, while Jinx’s scent is Fusion™ Scent Charm Oil Hawaiian Honeysuckle. I was shopping and ended up smelling these fragrance oils, and fell in love with both midnight amber and Hawaiian honeysuckle, and seriously feel like they go perfect together. Believe it or not, that is literally the inspiration for this one shot.

I probably wrote this ten different ways, and this is the only version that I had any confidence in.

Chapter 9: Not On The Roster

Summary:

Viktor glanced down at the book, a dense tome on advanced thermodynamics, then back at her. “I would not classify it as light reading, no,” he said, his skepticism returning. “But I find it… illuminating.”

“Illuminating, huh?” she echoed, crossing her arms. “I read through some of it earlier. Not bad, but the guy who wrote it—what’s his name again? Tolbern?—he totally flubbed that section on energy conversion. Like, I mean, come on. Even I could’ve caught that mistake.”

She tapped the side of her head with a smug smirk, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

Viktor’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. She was either brilliant or a very convincing liar. “You noticed an error in Tolbern’s work?”

“Yeah,” she said casually, shrugging. “I was bored, so I worked out the equations myself. He got the ratio wrong on page… what was it? Three hundred and thirty-seven? Something about miscalculating the output under fluctuating temperatures.”

The sun cast golden rays over Piltover Academy, illuminating the ornate spires and stained glass windows with a glow that hinted at the city’s intellect and ingenuity. Inside the grand library, the light filtered through high, arched windows, creating patterns on the marble floor as students moved between rows of shelves, their whispers blending with the rustle of pages. Jinx—now Matilda—was seated in the farthest corner, hunched over a thick tome with diagrams of Hextech cores. Her brown-dyed hair was gathered into two clunky buns that wobbled precariously whenever she shifted, but she thought they made her look dignified, like one of those uptight Piltover scholars.

Jinx fidgeted with her for the umpteenth uniform—the one she stole in the middle of the night. She couldn't believe how easy it had been to not only steal a couple uniforms but to also sneak in and pretend to be a student.

She snorted to herself at the thought, drawing the annoyed glance of a passing student. Matilda merely smirked, flipping the page with a dramatic flourish.

“This is actually kinda fun,” she whispered under her breath. The book she was reading detailed Hextech’s theoretical applications in transport, a topic that seemed as dull as the cobblestones back in Zaun. But the challenge of pretending to be someone she wasn’t—of infiltrating this hive of genius and pomp—was exhilarating.

As she turned another page, she could hear the library doors opening. Quickly ducking behind some book lined shelves, she peered between them to watch.

The figure who entered the library walked with a deliberate yet unhurried pace, their footsteps a faint rhythm against the polished floor. Jinx—no, Matilda—peeked from her hiding spot between two shelves stacked with dusty tomes, her fingers gripping the edge as she craned her neck for a better look. Her heart raced in a mix of excitement and the thrill of potential discovery. Whoever this was, they didn’t seem like a threat—at least not immediately.

The person was a man, tall and slender, his posture slightly hunched as if the weight of his thoughts bent his frame. His auburn hair caught the warm sunlight streaming through the tall windows, framing a sharp face with intense golden-brown eyes that seemed to absorb every detail of the space around him. He carried a cane, its polished wood clicking faintly against the ground with each step, though he used it more as a thoughtful accessory than a necessity.

He headed towards a section of shelves that Jinx had been terrorizing just hours before. Many of the books lining those shelves had more equations and numbers than words—some didn’t have any.

She watched as Viktor entered the aisle she had last visited, his eyes scanning the rows of books before he stopped. Viktor had noticed an empty space where a book was missing. He frowned, and based on his expression Jinx had guessed the book he was looking for was the one she just had in her lap. It was a collection of notes and theories put together by some knobhead.

Looking down at it, and then back at him, she could help the bubbling of mischief at the thought of teasing him.

The soft sound of her giggle carried through the quiet, still air of the library, cutting through the faint creak of the man’s cane as he leaned on it. Viktor froze mid-step, his attention snapping to the source of the sound. His sharp amber eyes immediately landed on her, peeking out from behind the edge of a nearby shelf.

Jinx—or rather, Matilda—grinned, stepping fully into view. In her hands, she held a thick book bound in dark blue leather, its edges worn with time. She waved it slightly, the movement almost teasing.

“This what you’re looking for?” she asked, her tone bright but with a playful edge, as if she’d caught him in the middle of something far more scandalous than searching for a book.

Viktor’s gaze flickered briefly to the book in her hands before returning to her face. His sharp features betrayed no immediate emotion, though his brow twitched slightly upward in curiosity. He adjusted his grip on his cane and stepped closer, his limp adding a faint rhythm to his movement.

“Yes,” he said after a moment, his voice smooth and lightly accented. “That would be the one.”

Jinx, still holding the book aloft, tilted her head with a sly grin. “Funny, I was just reading it. What’re the odds, huh?” She stepped away from the cluster of shelves she was hiding behind, twirling the book playfully in her hands as if it were a toy rather than an advanced academic text.

Viktor’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She could feel him sizing her up, as if her presence here in the quiet library defied explanation. “A curious coincidence,” he said, his tone polite but skeptical. “And you are?”

The girl grinned, rocking on her heels. “Matilda,” she said breezily, though there was a glint of something sharper behind her blue eyes. “I’m new around here. Thought I’d check out the library while everyone else was… you know, doing boring school stuff.”

Her gaze drifted briefly to the book in his hand, her grin widening. “You into this kind of thing? Doesn’t exactly look like bedtime story material.”

Viktor glanced down at the book, a dense tome on advanced thermodynamics, then back at her. “I would not classify it as light reading, no,” he said, his skepticism returning. “But I find it… illuminating.”

“Illuminating, huh?” she echoed, crossing her arms. “I read through some of it earlier. Not bad, but the guy who wrote it—what’s his name again? Tolbern?—he totally flubbed that section on energy conversion. Like, I mean, come on. Even I could’ve caught that mistake.”

She tapped the side of her head with a smug smirk, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

Viktor’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. She was either brilliant or a very convincing liar. “You noticed an error in Tolbern’s work?”

“Yeah,” she said casually, shrugging. “I was bored, so I worked out the equations myself. He got the ratio wrong on page… what was it? Three hundred and thirty-seven? Something about miscalculating the output under fluctuating temperatures.”

For a moment, Viktor was speechless. The girl—Matilda—didn’t look like a prodigy, and yet she spoke with an uncanny confidence that bordered on arrogance. He hesitated, his fingers gripping the spine of the book.

“I see,” he said slowly, though he doubted her claim. “A bold assertion. Perhaps you might show me your reasoning sometime.”

“Maybe I will,” she teased, tilting her head. “But only if you tell me what someone like you is doing skulking around in a library during class hours. You’re definitely not a student, so don’t you have, like, big professor-y things to do?”

Her energy was infectious, disarming even. Viktor found himself smirking faintly, despite his lingering doubts. “I am here to retrieve materials for my research,” he said. “But I was not aware I needed to justify my presence in the library to a student.”

“Oh, you don’t,” she said, stepping closer, her grin widening. “I’m just nosy. So… what’s your research about? You trying to invent something cool?”

Viktor studied her again, her excitement genuine and unrestrained. It was rare for someone to show such enthusiasm, especially for his work. Most students here viewed him as the stern assistant, a figure defined by rules and routine. But this girl—whoever she truly was—didn’t seem bound by those constraints.

“It is… complicated,” he said finally, his voice softening. “A means of improving the world, though not without its challenges.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sounds like a big deal. But, uh…” She gestured toward his cane with a flick of her fingers. “You don’t exactly seem like the kind of guy who’s scared of challenges.”

Viktor’s smirk faltered briefly, his gaze dropping to the cane. For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then he looked back up, his eyes steady.

“Perhaps not,” he said quietly.

Jinx—Matilda—felt a flicker of something unfamiliar at the sight of his expression. It wasn’t pity or sadness; she’d never been good at naming those softer emotions. But it made her chest tighten, just a little.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be brilliant,” she said, her voice lighter now. “Guess I’ll just have to keep sneaking around to see how it turns out.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “Sneaking?”

“Figure of speech,” she said quickly, flashing an innocent smile. “Anyway, you should get back to your big brain stuff. Don’t let me distract you.”

Before Viktor could respond, she turned on her heel, her hair buns bouncing slightly as she walked away. But just before she disappeared around a corner, she glanced back over her shoulder, her grin as mischievous as ever.

“See you around, Viktor.”

And then she was gone, leaving him standing alone with the thermodynamics book in hand—and a nagging sense that he’d just encountered someone who was going to cause him a great deal of trouble.

Chapter 10: A Gift From Madness + Powdered Perfection

Summary:

Jinx smirked, leaning closer. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you? All those little compromises, all those ‘necessary evils.’ Progress comes at a cost, babe. Always does. You just don’t like to look at the bill.”

“Stop distracting me,” Viktor snapped, though his tone lacked venom. He was getting close. The bomb’s internal mechanisms were intricate, but not insurmountable. He could feel the pattern of her design, the almost artistic logic behind it. It wasn’t just a device—it was a puzzle, a challenge meant to engage him completely.

Jinx watched him intently, her grin softening into something almost fond. “You’re cute when you’re all focused like this. Makes me wanna mess with you more.”

“Please don’t,” he muttered, carefully tracing a circuit with the tip of his screwdriver.

Notes:

This one also includes an alternate ending! I wanted to keep things fresh, lol.

A Gift From Madness

 

The first thing Viktor noticed about Jinx when she bounded into his workshop that day was the way her electric-blue hair shimmered in the low light. The second thing he noticed was the ticking bomb in her hands.

“Hey, handsome!” she chirped, her grin as wild as her mismatched eyes. “Brought you a present!”

Viktor’s blood turned cold. He pushed back from his workbench, the intricate schematics of a hextech power amplifier scattering to the floor. “Jinx,” he began, voice tight with alarm, “what is—?”

Before he could finish, she tossed the device into his lap. It was small, circular, and blinking with a red timer that read 4:59.

“You might wanna start working on that,” she teased, casually plopping herself onto his workbench, legs swinging. “Tick-tock, genius.”

Viktor froze for a fraction of a second before his mind kicked into overdrive. He set the device on the table, hands shaking slightly as he reached for his tools. “Jinx, please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “What? A bomb? Oh no, it’s definitely a bomb. But relax, it’s non-lethal. Probably.”

“Probably?” he snapped, already prying open the casing. Inside, a web of wires and gears mocked him with their complexity. The timer continued its relentless countdown: 4:34.

Jinx leaned forward, her chin in her hands. “Come on, don’t look so stressed. This is a test! A fun little game to see if Piltover’s golden boy can disarm a Zaunite masterpiece.”

He didn’t look up, his mind wholly absorbed in analyzing the device. “You’re mad,” he muttered, reaching for his pliers. “You do realize this could—”

“Boom?” she interrupted, making a dramatic explosion gesture with her hands. “Exactly! High stakes, high reward. That’s what makes it exciting.”

Viktor’s jaw clenched. He ignored her, focusing on the tangle of wires. His first instinct was to cut the red wire, but the configuration was deliberately misleading. It was a trap—he could feel it.

“Tell me something, Viktor,” Jinx said, her tone suddenly light, almost conversational. “Why do you always try so hard to fix everything? You’ve got this whole progress-is-life shtick, but you never stop to think about what you’re building on top of.”

He didn’t answer. His mind was racing, dissecting the bomb’s mechanisms, searching for the logic behind her design. 3:52.

“I mean,” she continued, waving a hand, “every shiny new invention you guys crank out in Piltover? It’s just another way to tighten the leash on everyone else. More tech means more control. More rules. More people at the bottom getting squished. Progress is just a prettier word for power, y’know?”

Viktor glanced at her, his gold eyes sharp. “And you think destruction is the solution? Chaos for its own sake?”

“Not for its own sake,” Jinx said, grinning. “Destruction makes room for new things. Sometimes you gotta burn the field to let the wildflowers grow. Doesn’t that sound kinda beautiful?”

His fingers paused over a green wire. He shook his head. “That is a dangerously simplistic view. Progress, true progress, creates solutions. Medicine, clean energy, tools to improve lives—”

“And weapons,” she interrupted. “Tools that crush people. Machines that stomp out dissent. Don’t act like you don’t know how the council uses your toys. Hell, Viktor, they’d turn you into one of their weapons if they could.”

His hands stilled for a moment, her words sinking in despite his better judgment. “Progress creates opportunity,” he argued, his voice steady. “Innovation drives improvement. It’s not inherently destructive.”

“Ha! Tell that to Zaun. Or, I dunno, Shurima? Ionia? Every time someone ‘progresses,’ someone else gets stomped. And when it all falls apart? Boom. That’s where the fun starts.”

Her words stung because there was truth in them. He couldn’t deny that many of Piltover’s inventions—his inventions—had been co-opted for military or political purposes. But surely that didn’t invalidate their potential for good? He pressed his lips together and kept working.

3:05.

Jinx smirked, leaning closer. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you? All those little compromises, all those ‘necessary evils.’ Progress comes at a cost, babe. Always does. You just don’t like to look at the bill.”

“Stop distracting me,” Viktor snapped, though his tone lacked venom. He was getting close. The bomb’s internal mechanisms were intricate, but not insurmountable. He could feel the pattern of her design, the almost artistic logic behind it. It wasn’t just a device—it was a puzzle, a challenge meant to engage him completely.

Jinx watched him intently, her grin softening into something almost fond. “You’re cute when you’re all focused like this. Makes me wanna mess with you more.”

“Please don’t,” he muttered, carefully tracing a circuit with the tip of his screwdriver.

2:28.

“So,” she said after a moment, her voice turning thoughtful, “what’s the difference, really, between what you do and what I do? You call it progress, I call it art. I make things that go boom, you make things that...what? Keep Piltover running? Same tools, different goals.”

“Intent matters,” Viktor said firmly, his hands steady despite the sweat on his brow. “What you create serves only to destroy. What I create—”

“Destroys in a different way,” she finished for him. “C’mon, don’t be naive. Progress isn’t clean. It’s messy and ugly and people always get hurt. Just admit it—it’s not that different from chaos.”

He didn’t respond. His mind was laser-focused on the final piece of the puzzle: a pressure-sensitive trigger hidden beneath the primary circuit board. If he disabled it without relieving the pressure first, the bomb would detonate. Clever. Infuriating, but clever.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said without looking up.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re fun to watch when you’re under pressure. All serious and broody, like you’re carrying the weight of the world. It’s kinda hot.”

Viktor sighed, but a small, begrudging smile tugged at his lips. “You are insufferable.”

“And you love it,” she shot back, winking.

1:12.

The timer’s beeping grew louder, more insistent. Viktor’s hands moved faster, his mind calculating the safest sequence to disarm the remaining mechanisms. He could feel Jinx’s gaze on him, equal parts playful and intense, as though she were trying to read his thoughts.

“Last chance to admit I’m right,” she teased. “Destruction can be beautiful. Sometimes it’s the only way to fix things.”

“I think,” Viktor said, carefully disconnecting the final wire, “that you mistake chaos for freedom. True progress is not without flaws, but it seeks to build, not destroy.”

With a soft click, the timer stopped at 0:08.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Jinx let out a delighted laugh, clapping her hands. “You did it! Knew you could, babe.”

Viktor exhaled, leaning back in his chair. His hands were trembling slightly, though he tried to hide it. “You are impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“And you’re brilliant,” she replied, hopping off the table and sauntering over to him. She plucked the now-defused bomb from his hands and inspected it with mock seriousness. “Not bad, genius. Not bad at all.”

He looked at her, his expression equal parts exasperated and intrigued. “Was it really necessary to risk both our lives for...whatever this was?”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It wasn’t gonna kill you. Just a little powdered paint bomb. You’d have been a very colorful mess, that’s all.”

He stared at her, speechless. “You—you’re joking.”

She grinned, leaning in close enough for him to feel her breath on his cheek. “Nope.” She grabbed the bomb and twisted a hidden latch, revealing its true contents: powdered paint in a riot of colors. “See? Told ya it wasn’t lethal.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Viktor surprised himself by laughing—a soft, low sound that startled Jinx enough to make her blink.

“You’re mad,” he said again, but there was a hint of admiration in his tone.

“And you’re stuck with me,” she replied, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before skipping toward the door.

As she reached the threshold, she glanced back, her expression unexpectedly serious. “Think about what I said, yeah? Sometimes you gotta break a few things to make something better.”

Before he could respond, she was gone, her laughter echoing down the corridor.

Viktor sat there for a long time, staring at the defused bomb in his hands. Her words lingered, unsettling in their truth. Progress or destruction? Creation or chaos? Perhaps the line between them was thinner than he’d ever realized.

And perhaps, just perhaps, she had a point.

 

________________________________________

Powdered Perfection (ALTERNATE ENDING)

 

The timer read 03:12. Viktor was sweating now, his normally calm demeanor cracking as the seconds ticked away. Jinx’s laughter didn’t help—she’d taken to offering cryptic hints in between her philosophical musings.

"Red or blue wire?" Viktor demanded, his voice sharp.

"Wouldn’t you like to know," Jinx cooed, batting her lashes.

"Jinx," he growled, turning to glare at her. She tilted her head, feigning innocence, before finally relenting.

"Fine, fine. Red’s always more fun, but blue’s... safer. Your call."

His hands hovered over the wires, indecision gnawing at him. Every instinct screamed to choose blue, but something about her tone—her deliberate vagueness—made him second-guess himself.

"You are insufferable," he muttered.

"And yet, you love me for it," she teased, her grin wide and toothy.

As the timer ticked down to 00:30, Viktor made his decision. He snipped the blue wire, and the device let out a soft click. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, he thought he’d done it.

Then the timer sped up.

Jinx doubled over with laughter, clutching her sides as Viktor frantically scrambled to stop the device.

"You're evil," he hissed, his calm veneer completely shattered.

"You should’ve picked red!" she howled, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, you’re so close, Viktor! Keep going!"

With only 00:10 remaining, Viktor’s hands moved with desperate precision. He adjusted the circuits, reconnected severed wires, and finally pulled the innermost casing apart to reveal the core mechanism.
00:05.

His fingers trembled as he made one last adjustment.

00:02.

"Done," he breathed, yanking out the final pin. The timer froze at 00:01.

For a moment, silence reigned. Viktor slumped back in his chair, his chest heaving as the adrenaline coursed through him.

Then the bomb exploded.

Viktor was enveloped in a cloud of vibrant powdered paint—reds, blues, greens, and yellows staining his clothes, his face, even his hair. The burst was harmless but utterly humiliating.

Jinx fell to the floor, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

"You should see your face!" she wheezed, rolling onto her back. "Oh my gods, you look like a walking rainbow!"

Viktor wiped his face with a cloth, glaring at her through the colorful mess. "That," he said, his tone icy, "was entirely unnecessary."

"Necessary? No," Jinx agreed, sitting up and smirking at him. "Hilarious? Absolutely."

He sighed, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips. Despite the chaos, he couldn't deny the strange thrill that came from matching wits with her. Jinx was unpredictable, dangerous—but she made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in years.

"Next time," he said, "try something less... theatrical."

"Where’s the fun in that?" she replied, leaning in to plant a kiss on his paint-smeared cheek. "Admit it, Viktor. You loved every second."

He didn’t answer, but when he looked at her, his eyes fell to the paint now covering her lips, and the faint blush creeping up his neck said it all.

Chapter 11: The Language of Machines

Summary:

Viktor stared, his analytical mind scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. “Jinx,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with awe. “You...can touch it?”

She looked at him, her grin widening. “Guess so. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Cool does not begin to describe it,” Viktor murmured, stepping closer. His gaze darted between her and the Hexcore, his mind racing with possibilities. “What do you feel when you hold it?”

She tilted her head, considering. “It talks to me,” she said, her voice casual, as though this were the most normal thing in the world.

“It talks to you?” Viktor echoed, his heart pounding.

The gentle hum of Viktor’s personal lab was a comforting contrast to the chaos of Piltover. Tucked away in one of the city's quieter districts, this lab was his sanctuary, far removed from the grandeur of his shared workspace with Jayce. Here, there were no council visits or meddling eyes. Just him, the faint crackle of machinery, and the Hexcore—a pulsating marvel that seemed alive with possibility.

Tonight, the Hexcore sat within a specially designed containment device meant to prevent its erratic energy surges from causing damage, its vibrant glow painting the dimly lit room in hues of blue and purple. Viktor sat at his desk, his sharp, analytical gaze shifting between his notes and the device itself. Though he had moved the Hexcore here out of necessity after the recent power outages, its presence felt almost fateful. There was an energy in the air, something unspoken, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was on the brink of a discovery—one that
could change everything.

The sudden clang of a boot against metal snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned toward the door, unsurprised to see Jinx sauntering in. She moved with a combination of ease and unpredictability, like a storm rolling in on a quiet night. Her blue braids bounced with every step, and her wide eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Hey, handsome," Jinx’s sing-song voice floated through the air.

Viktor allowed himself a small smile. “You’re late.”

“Fashionably,” she countered, stepping into the light, her blue eyes glinting like jewels. Her blue hair swayed behind her in twin braids, and her smile was sharp and wild, as if she’d swallowed starlight.

Jinx closed the distance between them, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. It was quick but left an electric trace, a spark that matched the thrill she always brought into his otherwise orderly world.

“You’ve been holed up in here too long,” she teased, plopping herself onto his workbench, scattering an assortment of tools. “Miss me yet?”

Viktor’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, his sharp golden eyes softening. “You are impossible to miss, Jinx. Even in absence.”

Her grin widened. “Good answer.”

Before he could ask what kept her, she pulled a small bundle from behind her back—a collection of high quality scrap metal, wires, and gears that she dumped unceremoniously onto his workbench. “Thought you might find a use for this junk. Or maybe I’ll make something with it. Who knows?”

Viktor chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Your definition of ‘junk’ is very generous.”

She leaned in and kissed him again, her lips soft but fleeting against his, a teasing gesture that left him momentarily breathless. “You love it,” she murmured, her words carrying a sly edge as she pulled away and began rifling through his gadgets.

He watched her for a moment, his golden eyes tracing her movements. She was chaos incarnate, a whirlwind of unpredictable energy, and yet she fit so seamlessly into the meticulous order of his world. It was a contradiction he hadn’t expected, but one he’d come to cherish.

She swung her legs idly, her gaze darting across the room, taking in the tools, blueprints, and half-finished prototypes, before returning to her hands that had found something to terrorize. Viktor returned to his work, a piece of Hextech machinery splayed open in front of him, but he kept her in his peripheral vision.

As Jinx tinkered with a small device on the table—a mechanical orb that whirred and clicked under her deft fingers—her gaze drifted once more, catching on the glowing blue of the Hexcore. It was nestled within its containment device, its pulsing light casting eerie shadows across the walls.

“What’s that?” she asked, her tone suddenly curious.

Viktor stiffened. “Jinx,” he began, his voice firm. “Do not touch it. It is dangerous.”

She pouted, but there was something else in her expression—a spark of intrigue, a glimmer of fascination, and perhaps a trace of recognition. She tilted her head, her braids swaying as she regarded the Hexcore like a cat sizing up a new toy. “It doesn’t look dangerous,” she said, her voice soft. “It looks...alive.”

Viktor hesitated. He had seen many people’s reactions to the Hexcore—fear, awe, greed—but never this. The way she looked at it was different, as though she connected it, understood it in a way no one else could.

“It is not something to play with,” he said, his tone gentler now.

But Jinx was already moving closer, her hand reaching out. Viktor’s breath caught, and he prepared to intervene, but then something remarkable happened. The Hexcore reacted to her presence. Its pulsing light grew steadier, brighter, and when her fingers brushed against its surface, it didn’t recoil or spark. Instead, it floated free of its containment device, drifting toward her like it was drawn to her.

Jinx let out a breathless chuckle, her eyes wide with wonder. “It likes me,” she whispered, catching the core in her hands. She tossed it into the air, laughing as it floated back down, as though gravity had no claim on it.

Viktor stared, his analytical mind scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. “Jinx,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with awe. “You...can touch it?”

She looked at him, her grin widening. “Guess so. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Cool does not begin to describe it,” Viktor murmured, stepping closer. His gaze darted between her and the Hexcore, his mind racing with possibilities. “What do you feel when you hold it?”

She tilted her head, considering. “It talks to me,” she said, her voice casual, as though this were the most normal thing in the world.

“It talks to you?” Viktor echoed, his heart pounding.

“Yeah. Not with words, though. It’s...images, sounds, numbers, like a puzzle, y’know? But it’s not just this thing—it’s always been like that. Machines talk to me. Guns, bombs, gadgets, you name it. I just thought I was crazy. Everyone else told me I was.” She giggled, twirling the Hexcore in her hands. “But maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m just...special.”

Viktor’s mind reeled. If what she said was true, then Jinx wasn’t merely gifted—she was something extraordinary, a conduit for understanding technology in a way he had only dreamed of.

“Jinx,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. “I need your help.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, this should be good. What kind of help?”

“With this,” he said, gesturing to the Hexcore. “If you can connect with it, understand it in ways I cannot, then together we could unlock its potential. We could achieve something...unprecedented.”

She smirked, spinning the Hexcore on her fingertips like a ball. “You mean you want me to be your lab rat?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I want you to be my partner.”
________________________________________

Over the following weeks, Jinx’s connection to the Hexcore proved to be more than just a curiosity. She could manipulate it with ease, coaxing out its power and guiding its reactions with a childlike intuition that defied logic. She called it “playing,” but Viktor saw it for what it was: genius.

“What are you thinking?” Viktor asked one evening as Jinx balanced the Hexcore on the tip of her finger, giggling as it spun like a top.

“Thinking we could make something fun,” she replied. “Maybe a cannon that shoots fireworks or a bomb that explodes into glitter. Ooh, or a gun that—”

“No weapons,” Viktor interrupted, his voice firm.

Jinx pouted. “Boring.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jinx, the Hexcore’s potential goes far beyond destruction. We could revolutionize Piltover—create machines that heal, that build, that solve problems we haven’t even dreamed of yet.”

"Ugh, fine. We'll do it your way." She rolled her eyes, and stuck her tongue out at him.
________________________________________

The nights in the lab grew longer, the work more intense. Jinx’s unorthodox methods often clashed with Viktor’s disciplined approach, but they found a strange harmony in their differences. She pushed boundaries he wouldn’t dare approach, and he grounded her wild ideas with careful precision.

One evening, as they examined the newest schematics Jinx had drawn based on the images the Hexcore had shown her, Jinx spoke up unexpectedly. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

Viktor glanced at her. “Tired of what?”

“All of this,” she said, gesturing to the lab around them. “Chasing perfection, trying to fix a world that doesn’t want to be fixed.”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, considering her words. “It is not about the world wanting to be fixed. It is about the possibility that it can be. That, to me, is worth any effort.”

Jinx studied him, her expression unreadable. “You’re such a weirdo,” she said finally, but there was a fondness in her tone.

“And you are a lunatic,” Viktor replied, a rare hint of humor in his voice.

She laughed, leaning over to kiss him. “Good thing we like each other, huh?”

“Indeed,” he murmured against her lips.

Notes:

Gonna be honest, the creativity juices were running out towards the end.

Chapter 12: Sparks and Smoke

Summary:

“Wow. You don’t believe me,” she said, her voice laced with hurt. She sat down on the floor, her back facing him. She fidgeted with her hands in her lap, nails biting into her own skin. She isn’t surprised that someone wouldn’t believe her—no one ever did. But this was her person! She had hoped it would be different with him…

Viktor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just… it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Her hands stilled, and she looked over her shoulder at him, her expression a mixture of anger and sadness. “I didn’t do it,” she said firmly. “I wouldn’t… not like that. Not when you were so close.”

He studied her for a moment, the sincerity in her eyes undeniable. Finally, he nodded. “I believe you.”

The quiet hum of Piltover at night was a rare comfort for Viktor. It was the only time the city’s relentless pace seemed to ease, if only slightly. From his small room at the academy, he often gazed out at the sprawling metropolis, the glow of street lamps and factory fires casting eerie shadows against the clouds of steam that perpetually hovered over the city.

Tonight, however, the tranquility was shattered.

A deafening explosion roared through the district, the force rattling the windows of Viktor’s modest quarters. Books toppled from shelves, and his half-finished blueprints scattered across the floor. For a moment, he sat frozen, his mind racing to identify the source. His chest tightened as the acrid smell of smoke and chemicals wafted in through the broken panes.

He grabbed his cane and hurried toward the source of the chaos. His limp slowed him, but his determination propelled him forward. As he approached the site, he realized with growing dread just how massive the blast had been. Fires raged, and debris littered the streets. The wails of injured civilians and the distant shouts of enforcers painted a grim picture.

As Viktor struggled through the wreckage, a secondary blast rang through, and his world spun. A sharp, searing pain bloomed in his side, and he staggered to the ground. Blood soaked through his shirt, but his mind was too clouded to fully register the injury. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision as he collapsed onto the cracked cobblestone street.
________________________________________

Jinx had been scavenging in a scrapyard on the outskirts of Piltover when she heard the explosion. The force of the blast knocked her to the ground, sending shards of glass and metal raining around her. Her heart raced as she scrambled to her feet, instinctively grabbing her weapon.

Her first thought was that it had been one of her own devices—a miscalculation, a mistake. But no, she hadn’t set off anything tonight.

Still, a gnawing unease took hold of her. Something about the direction of the explosion felt wrong.

Viktor.

Her hands trembled as she gathered her tools and bolted toward the source, weaving through alleys and side streets to avoid enforcers.

When she reached the heart of the destruction, her worst fears were confirmed. Among the rubble, surrounded by flickering flames, lay Viktor. He was pale, his breath shallow, and blood seeped from a deep wound in his side.

“Vik!” she cried, dropping to her knees beside him.

His eyes fluttered open briefly, unfocused. She appeared out of the smoke, her face a mixture of panic and determination. She didn’t waste a second, darting toward him and shoving pieces of debris aside with surprising strength for someone so wiry.

“Jinx…?” he murmured, his voice weak.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” she said, her voice wavering but firm. Her hands were steady as she examined his injury. The wound was bad, but not fatal if treated quickly. She glanced around; the enforcers would be here soon. She couldn’t risk staying.

He tried to protest, to tell her she shouldn’t be here, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was watch as she worked, her movements uncharacteristically focused. Within minutes, she’d fully freed him, hooking an arm under his and dragging him to his feet.

With surprising strength, she hoisted Viktor onto her back. He groaned in pain but didn’t resist. She moved quickly, her small frame straining under his weight as she navigated the maze of Piltover’s underbelly. Finally, she reached one of her hideouts, an abandoned building with a concealed underground space connected to a network of tunnels. It was far from luxurious, but it was safe.
________________________________________

Viktor woke to the dim light of an oil lamp. His side ached fiercely, and his head throbbed. He blinked, trying to orient himself. The room was cluttered with mismatched furniture, half-finished gadgets, scattered tools, scrap metal, and colorful graffiti. It was unmistakably Jinx’s space, chaotic yet oddly comforting. It smelled faintly of gunpowder and oil.

“You’re awake.” Jinx’s voice cut through the haze. She sat on a stool nearby, her hands covered in blood and grease.

“Jinx,” he rasped, his throat dry. “What… happened?”

“You got caught in the blast,” she said, her tone unusually soft. “I found you. Brought you here.”

He winced as he tried to sit up, and she was at his side in an instant, gently pushing him back down. “Easy there, genius. You’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“The explosion…” he began, but his voice trailed off. A suspicion took root in his mind. “Jinx, was it… you?”

Her expression hardened, a flicker of hurt crossing her face before she masked it with a forced grin. “You think I’d be dumb enough to blow up a district I knew you’d be in? C’mon, Vik, give me some credit.”

He studied her face, silent as he was searching her eyes for deception. Similarly, she watched his face, her own expression morphing into one of false disbelief.

“Wow. You don’t believe me,” she said, her voice laced with hurt. She sat down on the floor, her back facing him. She fidgeted with her hands in her lap, nails biting into her own skin. She isn’t surprised that someone wouldn’t believe her—no one ever did. But this was her person! She had hoped it would be different with him…

Viktor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just… it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Her hands stilled, and she looked over her shoulder at him, her expression a mixture of anger and sadness. “I didn’t do it,” she said firmly. “I wouldn’t… not like that. Not when you were so close.”

He studied her for a moment, the sincerity in her eyes undeniable. Finally, he nodded. “I believe you.”

The tension between them slightly eased, and she returned to her stool, but Viktor could see in the way her shoulder stayed tense and hunched that his words had hurt her. He had a feeling that his lack of trust in her had waned her trust in him. For once, he hoped he was wrong.
________________________________________

Over the next few days, Viktor was confined to the hideout as he recovered. Jinx tended to his wound with surprising skill, her usual frenetic energy tempered by an unexpected gentleness. She was far from a trained medic, but her resourcefulness and attention to detail impressed him.

“Where did you learn all this?” he asked one evening as she carefully changed his bandages.

She shrugged. “You live in Zaun long enough, you dance with death often. Can’t exactly rely on doctors down there.”

He nodded, understanding the unspoken struggles she’d faced. “Thank you, Jinx. You’ve done more for me than I deserve.”

She frowned, her hands pausing mid-motion. “Don’t say that. You’re… you’re important to me, Vik. I don’t let people in, you know? But you… you’re different.”

Her words caught him off guard, and for a moment, he was at a loss. Then he reached out, his hand resting lightly on hers. “And you are important to me, Jinx. More than you know.”
________________________________________

As Viktor’s strength returned, so did the dangers outside. The enforcers’ hunt for Jinx had intensified, with posters of her face plastered across both Piltover and Zaun. Despite the risks, she ventured out daily to gather supplies and check on the state of the city.

One evening, she returned with a newspaper, tossing it onto the table in front of Viktor. The headline read: “Explosion Devastates Wellcover District: Culprit Still at Large.”

“They’ve got half the city convinced I’m some kind of terrorist,” she said bitterly. “Doesn’t matter that the truth’s out and the owner of the factory already apologized. People need someone they don’t like to blame.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened. “It’s unjust. If there’s anything I can do…”

“You can’t,” she interrupted. “You’re brilliant, Vik, but this isn’t something you can fix with your machines or your brain. It’s just how the world works.”

Her resignation stung him. He wanted to argue, to find a solution, but she was right. The system was flawed, and it would take more than ingenuity to change it.
________________________________________

Despite the chaos surrounding them, moments of tenderness emerged. They spent long hours talking, sharing pieces of their pasts they’d never revealed to anyone else. Jinx’s laughter, now so rare and fleeting, became a sound Viktor cherished. And in her eyes, he saw not the reckless, unhinged criminal the world believed her to be, but a woman who had endured more than most and still fought to carve out a place for herself.

One night, as they lay together on a makeshift bed, Viktor spoke hesitantly. “Jinx, I fear for you. The enforcers… they won’t stop.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her blue hair tickling his neck. “I’ve been running my whole life, Vik. I’m good at it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to run,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You deserve a life where you’re safe. Where you’re free.”

She looked up at him, her eyes softening. “As long as you’re in it, that’s enough for me.”

He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. “And I will do everything in my power to ensure you have that life.”

Chapter 13: Tangled Wires

Summary:

“Don’t,” she interrupted sharply, her grin faltering. “Don’t look at them. They’re just trying to mess with me. With us.”

But Viktor couldn’t tear his eyes away. The deeper he looked into the shadows, the more he saw. Fractured memories played out like broken film reels, each one more harrowing than the last. The loss of her family. The explosion. The guilt that gnawed at her like a parasite.

The shadows surged, their blackened hands reaching for Viktor. He stumbled back, his breath quickening as they closed in.

“They can’t hurt you!” Jinx yelled, stepping in front of him. She swung her arm in a wide arc, her movements defiant. “You hear me? Back off!”

The experiment set up began with an air of tentative excitement, a fragile thread of anticipation woven with caution. Viktor’s meticulous nature was evident in every detail of his setup in the lab. The neuro-linking device sat gleaming in the dim light, its Hextech core pulsing faintly with blue energy. Jinx lounged across a nearby workbench, her boots propped up as she fiddled with one of her mechanical pistols, trying not to look too nervous.

“You’re sure about this, right?” she asked, her voice carrying a forced levity. She cast a quick glance at Viktor, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. “I mean, I don’t want my brain melting and turning into—what’s the word—oh yeah, goo.”

Viktor smiled faintly as he adjusted a few settings on the device. His movements were deliberate, precise, his hands steady despite the weight of what he was about to do. “Your brain is far too brilliant to be reduced to goo, my love,” he replied without missing a beat. “The device is safe. The Hextech core will stabilize the connection, ensuring neither of us experiences any... lasting damage.”

Jinx snorted, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “That’s... not exactly comforting, y’know.”

“Perhaps not,” Viktor conceded, finally turning to her. His sharp golden eyes softened, his expression sincere. “But I promise you, I will not harm you. This is simply an exploration, a means to understand your mind and its magnificence better. Together.”

Her smile faltered. She hesitated, gripping the edge of the workbench. “Yeah, sure,” she muttered. “Together.”

But inwardly, Jinx felt a gnawing apprehension. She wasn’t afraid of the device or the experiment itself. What made her reluctant was the idea of Viktor seeing everything—the chaos, the voices, the fractures in her mind she struggled to navigate daily. She didn’t want to scare him or, worse, make him pity her. But she couldn’t bring herself to say no, not when his eyes lit up with excitement at the possibilities.

“All right, all right,” she said, hopping off the workbench with a feigned air of bravado. “Let’s do it. You zap yourself into my noggin, we hang out in crazy-town, and then we wake up like nothing happened. Easy peasy.”

Heimerdinger, who had been quietly observing from a corner of the lab, cleared his throat nervously. “Ahem. I still have reservations about this, Viktor. The human mind is... unpredictable. Tampering with it, even with Hextech, could yield unforeseen consequences.”

Viktor turned to the yordle professor, inclining his head respectfully. “Your concerns are valid, Professor, but I have accounted for these variables. You will monitor us and ensure the device remains stable. If anything goes awry, you can disconnect the core manually.”

Heimerdinger sighed but relented. “Very well. I shall oversee the procedure.”

With that, Viktor and Jinx sat side by side in two reclining chairs. He carefully placed the neuro-linking bands around their temples, their Hextech circuitry humming faintly as they activated. Jinx couldn’t help but glance at Viktor one last time, her expression flickering with vulnerability.

“See you on the other side,” she murmured.

He reached out, his fingers brushing hers in a reassuring gesture. “Always.”
________________________________________

Viktor’s consciousness plunged into darkness for a moment before he found himself standing in a kaleidoscopic expanse. The air was alive with vibrant colors that twisted and morphed into shapes, a surreal blend of whimsy and chaos. Floating gears and machinery melded seamlessly with swirling graffiti-like designs, while the sound of tinkling laughter and the clink of metal echoed in the distance.

“This... is remarkable,” Viktor murmured, turning slowly to take it all in.

“Pretty neat, huh?” Jinx’s voice rang out behind him. He turned to see her standing with one hand on her hip, grinning at him. She looked at ease here, her blue hair flowing freely and glowing faintly in the surreal light, as if she belonged in this place.

“You weren’t kidding about it being ‘crazy-town,’” Viktor said, his tone lightly teasing.

“Pfft, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Jinx replied with a wink. “C’mon, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

She led him through her mindscape, which shifted and changed with every step. One moment they were in a carnival-like setting, complete with spinning rides and shooting galleries. The next, they were walking along a stretch of jagged cliffs overlooking a sea of shimmering Hextech-blue water.

As Viktor observed, he couldn’t help but marvel at the ingenuity of her imagination. It was chaotic, yes, but there was an underlying brilliance to it—a complex interplay of ideas that could only stem from Jinx’s unique mind.

“You’re truly incredible,” he said softly, his admiration evident.

Jinx glanced at him, her cheeks coloring faintly. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” she said, though her tone lacked its usual bite. “This place isn’t all fun and games.”

As if on cue, the vibrant colors dimmed, and the atmosphere shifted. The laughter faded, replaced by an eerie silence. Shadows began to creep in from the edges of the mindscape, forming jagged, inky shapes with glowing red eyes.

“What... are those?” Viktor asked, his voice tense.

Jinx waved dismissively. “Oh, them? Just the usual. They like to show up whenever I’m having a good time. Annoying little pests.”

The shadowy figures advanced, their elongated arms reaching out with clawed fingers. Viktor instinctively stepped in front of Jinx, but she simply rolled her eyes and stepped around him.

“Hey! Buzz off!” she shouted at the figures, swatting at them as if they were nothing more than irritating flies. “I’m busy!”

To Viktor’s surprise, the shadows recoiled slightly, their movements hesitant.

“See?” Jinx said, smirking. “Wusses.”

But Viktor didn’t share her nonchalance. As the shadows loomed closer, he could see flashes of distorted images within them—scenes of trauma and pain. A younger Jinx, her wide eyes filled with terror. A dark room filled with smoke and gunfire. A haunting laugh that echoed endlessly.

“Jinx...” Viktor began, his voice heavy with concern.

“Don’t,” she interrupted sharply, her grin faltering. “Don’t look at them. They’re just trying to mess with me. With us.”

But Viktor couldn’t tear his eyes away. The deeper he looked into the shadows, the more he saw. Fractured memories played out like broken film reels, each one more harrowing than the last. The loss of her family. The explosion. The guilt that gnawed at her like a parasite.

The shadows surged, their blackened hands reaching for Viktor. He stumbled back, his breath quickening as they closed in.

“They can’t hurt you!” Jinx yelled, stepping in front of him. She swung her arm in a wide arc, her movements defiant. “You hear me? Back off!”

The shadows hesitated again, their forms flickering.

Viktor stared at her, his chest tightening. “How do you endure this?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Jinx turned to him, her expression unreadable. “You get used to it,” she said simply. “They’re always there, always trying to drag me down. But I don’t let ’em win.”

Her words struck something deep within Viktor. He had always admired her tenacity, her ability to push forward despite everything she had been through. But now, seeing the constant battle she fought within her own mind, his admiration grew tenfold.

“I wish I could help you,” he said softly.

Jinx’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the bravado she always wore like armor slipped away. “You do,” she said. “Just by being here, you help. But don’t get all sappy on me, okay?”

Viktor couldn’t help but smile faintly. “I will endeavor to restrain myself.”

Suddenly, the mindscape began to shift again, the shadows retreating as the vibrant colors returned. But Viktor couldn’t shake the images he had seen, the weight of Jinx’s inner struggles. When the two hours finally passed, they awoke in the lab. He found himself looking at her with newfound understanding.

Jinx stretched and yawned, as if she had just woken from a nap. “Well, that was fun,” she said casually. “How’s your brain? Not goo, I hope.”

Viktor didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached out and took her hand, his grip firm yet gentle. “You are extraordinary,” he said simply. “And I am in awe of your strength.”

Jinx blinked, caught off guard by his sincerity. “Uh... thanks, I guess?” she muttered, looking away. But her cheeks flushed, and a small smile tugged at her lips.

Heimerdinger approached, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Well? How did it go?”

Viktor glanced at Jinx, their hands still intertwined. “It was... enlightening,” he said, his tone heavy with meaning.

Jinx snorted. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

As they left the lab together, Viktor couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of admiration for the woman beside him. She was a storm, chaotic and unpredictable, but within that storm was a resilience that shone brighter than any Hextech core. And he would do everything in his
power to ensure she never faced her battles alone.

Chapter 14: Inked Chaos

Summary:

Jinx ignored his jab, already striking a dramatic pose. She propped one foot on a stool, one hand on her hip, and the other brandishing a wrench like a weapon. "Draw me like this," she declared. "I wanna look badass."

Despite himself, Viktor chuckled, his lips quirking into a rare smile. "As you wish." He flipped to a fresh page and began sketching, his pencil moving with purpose.

Jinx held the pose for approximately ten seconds before growing restless. "How’s it look? Am I killing it? Do I look like I just blew up a building and walked away all cool-like?"

"Patience, Jinx," Viktor said, not looking up. "Art requires time."

Notes:

This one was actually inspired by a conversation in the Jinxtor Discord! It was about modeling for art and one of the things they mentioned is that it actually takes way longer than people would assume to model for art. I couldn’t help but think about Jinx being impatient with Viktor needing her to hold still, but also Jinx having a slightly distorted way about how she views herself, and well, the rest is history ¯\_(ツ)_/¯!

The flickering glow of hex crystals bathed Viktor's laboratory in an eerie, mesmerizing light. The ambient hum of machinery filled the air, punctuated by occasional bursts of sound from the far side of the room, where Jinx was hunched over her latest invention. Her signature twin braids swung as she moved, her hands deftly working through a cluttered array of wires, gears, and explosives with an almost manic precision.

Viktor sat quietly at his workbench, sketchpad in hand. The graphite tip of his pencil scratched softly against the paper, capturing every curve of her figure, every detail of her erratic yet strangely graceful movements. She was entirely engrossed in her tinkering, her lips twitching into fleeting smirks or muttering half-formed ideas to herself.

He found her utterly fascinating. Her chaos was a stark contrast to his carefully measured approach to invention, but in that chaos, Viktor saw brilliance—an unpredictable genius that defied logic but produced wonders. As he sketched her, his sharp mind worked overtime, analyzing the way her eyes lit up when an idea struck, the patterns in her seemingly random choices.

Jinx shifted, her chair screeching on the floor as she leaned closer to her project. Viktor quickly lowered the sketchpad, pretending to be focused on the array of tools in front of him. He glanced up again when he was sure she wasn’t looking, stealing another moment to capture her expression—a mix of unbridled joy and determination.

"You know," Jinx said suddenly, her voice startling him. She didn’t look up from her work. "If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna think you’re planning something sneaky."

Viktor froze, his pencil hovering mid-stroke. His mechanical leg clicked softly as he adjusted his position, clearing his throat. "I am merely observing. Your methods are... intriguing."

Jinx finally turned to face him, her mischievous grin spreading across her face like wildfire. "Observing, huh?" Her eyes narrowed playfully as she tilted her head, catching sight of the sketchpad in his hands. "Wait a minute. Are you drawing me?"

Viktor hesitated, his mind racing for a way to deflect. Before he could respond, Jinx sprang to her feet and bounded across the lab with the agility of a cat. She snatched the sketchpad from his hands, flipping it open.

Her eyes widened as she took in the detailed drawings. Viktor had captured her in various states of focus—her brow furrowed, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration, her hands mid-motion as they manipulated the delicate innards of a device.

"Whoa," she breathed, her teasing tone replaced with genuine awe. "These are... really good. Like, really good." She glanced up at him, her wide grin softening into something more genuine. "You think I’m intriguing, huh?"

"You are," Viktor admitted, his voice steady but quiet. "Your mind is a labyrinth of chaos, yet it produces results that defy logic. I find it... captivating."

Jinx beamed, twirling around with the sketchpad hugged to her chest. "Okay, okay, I’ll allow it. But if you’re gonna draw me, you gotta go big. No more of this boring tinkering crap."

Viktor arched an eyebrow. "Boring? You seemed rather invested in that ‘crap’ just moments ago."

Jinx ignored his jab, already striking a dramatic pose. She propped one foot on a stool, one hand on her hip, and the other brandishing a wrench like a weapon. "Draw me like this," she declared. "I wanna look badass."

Despite himself, Viktor chuckled, his lips quirking into a rare smile. "As you wish." He flipped to a fresh page and began sketching, his pencil moving with purpose.

Jinx held the pose for approximately ten seconds before growing restless. "How’s it look? Am I killing it? Do I look like I just blew up a building and walked away all cool-like?"

"Patience, Jinx," Viktor said, not looking up. "Art requires time."

She groaned dramatically but stayed put, her fidgeting betraying her excitement. After a few minutes, Viktor held up the sketch for her to see.

Her jaw dropped. "Holy crap, I look amazing! Look at that! I’m like... the queen of explosions or something." She laughed, her voice ringing with delight. "You’re pretty good at this, y’know."

"You are an excellent subject," Viktor replied, his tone neutral but his cheeks faintly tinged with color. "Your... energy is difficult to capture, but rewarding when achieved."

Jinx plopped down on the stool, still admiring the drawing. Her expression softened as she looked up at him. "Y’know, you don’t just have to draw me when I’m being all crazy. I mean, that’s most of the time, but still."

Viktor’s golden eyes met hers, curious. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged, twirling one of her braids around her finger. "I dunno. Maybe you could draw me when I’m just... me. Like, not doing anything. Just sitting here, talking to you."

"Would you like that?" Viktor asked, genuinely surprised.

Jinx nodded, her usual bravado giving way to vulnerability. "Yeah. It’s kinda nice, y’know? Being seen like that."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the lab filled the silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Viktor reached for his pencil again, his movements slower, more deliberate.

"Very well," he said softly. "Hold still."

Jinx didn’t strike a pose this time. She simply sat there, her legs crossed, her hands resting on her knees. Her gaze drifted around the lab, occasionally landing on Viktor with a small, almost shy smile.

Viktor’s pencil moved across the page with precision and care, capturing not just her likeness but the essence of the moment—the quiet intensity of her eyes, the way her posture betrayed her restless energy even when she was trying to be still.

When he finally showed her the finished sketch, her breath hitched. "That’s... wow," she whispered. "It’s like... you got all of me in there. Not just the crazy stuff."

Viktor studied her reaction, his analytical mind filing away every detail. "You are more than chaos, Jinx. Though it is a large part of you, it is not the whole."

Her eyes shimmered with emotion she couldn’t quite put into words. Instead of replying, she leaned forward and kissed him—a quick, impulsive gesture that caught them both off guard, and yet neither had any qualms about it.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but her grin was as wide as ever. "You’re not bad at this whole boyfriend thing, y’know."

"I live to please" Viktor replied, a rare warmth in his tone.

Jinx laughed, her voice echoing through the lab. She picked up the sketchpad again, flipping through the pages. "Think you can teach me how to draw? I wanna make something awesome for you."

Viktor’s smile was small but genuine. "I would be happy to try."

The two of them spent the rest of the night in the lab, not as inventor and anarchist, but as two people who had found a strange, unexpected connection in the chaos of their lives. The world outside could wait.

Chapter 15: Clockwork Heart

Summary:

“That is not its intended purpose,” Viktor said, watching her from the doorway.

She glanced up, unbothered by his presence. “Yeah, but now it’s cooler. And boomier.”

Viktor stepped closer, his curiosity outweighing his irritation. “You see everything as a weapon, do you not?”

“Only the fun stuff,” she said, shrugging. “But your designs? They’re practically begging for it.”

Notes:

This one was inspired by all the doodles, scribbles, and notes Jinx left on the pages of the Arcane art collection, but more specifically Jinx’s doodles in Viktor’s section!

 

Her little Isha always breaks my heart.

The dim hum of Piltover's night buzzed faintly outside Viktor's lab. Within, the warm glow of his desk lamp illuminated blueprints, mechanical prototypes, and an array of scattered tools. His workspace was a haven of order, precision, and progress—until recently.

For the past two weeks, his meticulous world had been invaded by chaos.

It started as graffiti on his blueprints. Garish streaks of pink, cyan, and purple ink marred his meticulous lines. Arrows that curved too sharply or spiraled aimlessly. Scribbles like mockeries of his calculated equations. The first time Viktor saw it, he scowled, crumpled the offending blueprint, and shoved it into the waste bin. But it kept happening. Night after night, whoever the culprit was seemed to delight in leaving their mark behind.

He might have dismissed it as an act of petty vandalism—had the chaos not worked.

On one particular morning, after recovering from the irritation of seeing yet another defaced design, Viktor paused, blinking at a scrawled note. Amidst the chaotic ink, a series of arrows and cryptic phrases hinted at an adjustment to the stabilizing core of his latest hextech design. It was an idea he’d been circling for weeks, unable to see the solution clearly. Yet here it was, laid bare in a childlike scrawl:

"Spinny-sparky-too-hot? Give it a twirl, not a stab. Loopy is key."

The suggestion shouldn’t have worked. And yet, it did.

Intrigued, Viktor began to scrutinize the defaced blueprints rather than discard them. Whoever this mystery vandal was, their insights were sharp. And the audacity—he couldn’t tell whether to feel violated or begrudgingly impressed. The logic was obscured by playful nonsense—doodles of cogs with smiley faces, little bombs with winking eyes—but beneath it lay brilliance.

And Viktor was nothing if not a seeker of brilliance.

Tonight, Viktor had decided enough was enough. He had set a trap. A hex net, calibrated to deploy with precision, was rigged near his workbench. The idea wasn’t to harm the intruder, merely to contain them long enough for him to confront them.

As he adjusted the settings, his thoughts flickered with annoyance and curiosity. Who would dare meddle with his work? Certainly not Jayce, who had neither the flair nor the recklessness for such antics. Nor anyone else at the Academy. This was someone outside the usual circle—someone brilliant, impulsive, and maddeningly intrusive.
________________________________________

The soft click of the lock was barely audible over the hum of the lab’s machines. Jinx pushed the door open just wide enough to slip through, her blue eyes glinting in the low light. The thrill of sneaking into a place she shouldn’t be in sent a giddy shiver up her spine. Viktor’s lab was a treasure trove of puzzles, ideas, and endless opportunities to make things explode.

Her fingers itched as she scanned the room. She pulled a marker from a pocket on her belt, flicked the cap off with her teeth, and sauntered toward his latest project. It was a sleek, half-finished design for some kind of biomechanical augmentation. Fascinating—but flawed. Her gaze darted over the lines and equations, her mind racing with ways to optimize it.

"Too rigid," she muttered, twirling the marker between her fingers. "Needs more flex in the joint. Maybe…" She leaned down, adding spirals and cryptic notes in vibrant ink. "Yeah, that’ll work. Probably. Or it’ll make it blow up, which is also fun."

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the faint shimmer of the hex net activating. It launched silently, unfurling like a spider’s web. But Jinx’s reflexes were honed from years of survival. She ducked just as it descended, narrowly avoiding its grasp. Spinning around, she whipped out her zapper and fired, disabling the trap in a flash of blue sparks.

“Well, that’s rude,” she muttered, a pout curling her lips.

“You have a peculiar definition of rude, considering you are trespassing.”

The voice was calm, measured, and unmistakably annoyed. Jinx froze for a heartbeat before turning toward the sound. Viktor stood in the shadows, leaning on his cane. His golden eyes glinted like molten metal as he studied her.

“And here I thought I was being neighborly,” Jinx said, twirling her zapper and giving him a crooked grin. “Helping out a fellow tinkerer. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Welcome?” Viktor limped closer, his tone sharp. “You have been vandalizing my work.”

“Vandalizing?” Jinx feigned offense, placing a hand over her heart. “I’ve been improving it. Your designs are neat and all, but they’re missing a little… pizzazz.”

Viktor’s gaze flicked to the prototype she’d been working on. Even in the low light, he could see the alterations she’d made. His frustration warred with a grudging admiration. Her notes, while unorthodox, addressed problems he hadn’t yet solved. And that infuriated him even more.

“This is not a game,” he said coldly. “These projects are delicate, calculated. They require discipline, not… chaos.”

Jinx tilted her head, her grin widening. “Chaos is where all the fun happens, handsome. Besides, I think your ‘discipline’ could use a little shake-up.”

The nickname caught him off guard. Viktor’s expression flickered, but he quickly masked it. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And why do you insist on interfering?”

“Name’s Jinx.” She dropped into a mock curtsy, her braids swinging. “And I interfere because it’s fun. And because you’ve got some shiny toys I couldn’t resist playing with.”

Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This… madness cannot continue.”

“Madness?” Jinx laughed, a wild, musical sound. “Oh, sweetheart, madness is just creativity with bad PR.”

He should have been furious, but something about her unpredictability intrigued him. She was unlike anyone he’d encountered before—dangerous, brilliant, and utterly unrestrained. It was both maddening and fascinating.
________________________________________

Despite his protests, Jinx didn’t stop coming. She was like a storm that couldn’t be contained. Every few nights, she slipped into his lab, leaving behind her chaotic contributions. Viktor, unable to stop her, began to study her work more closely. As much as it pained him to admit, her ideas were ingenious. Her scribbles often revealed solutions he hadn’t considered. Where his mind sought structure, hers thrived in disarray. Together, their ideas began to yield results neither could have achieved alone.

One night, he caught her tinkering with one of his prototypes—a small drone designed for reconnaissance. She’d painted it with streaks of neon and added what looked like a mini rocket launcher.

“That is not its intended purpose,” Viktor said, watching her from the doorway.

She glanced up, unbothered by his presence. “Yeah, but now it’s cooler. And boomier.”

Viktor stepped closer, his curiosity outweighing his irritation. “You see everything as a weapon, do you not?”

“Only the fun stuff,” she said, shrugging. “But your designs? They’re practically begging for it.”

He studied her as she worked, her movements quick and precise despite the chaos she embodied. There was an odd elegance to her madness, a brilliance that defied logic.

“Why do you do this?” he asked. “Break into my lab, meddle with my work?”

Jinx paused, her grin faltering for a moment. “Dunno,” she said, her tone unusually quiet. “Guess I just like the way your brain works. It’s… different.”

The admission caught him off guard. Viktor wasn’t used to compliments, especially not from someone as unpredictable as her. He cleared his throat, unsure how to respond.

“And you? Why do you let me?” she asked, turning to face him. “You could’ve kicked me out by now. Set a better trap or called the enforcers or whatever.”

Viktor hesitated, his fingers tightening on his cane. “Perhaps… I find your perspective useful,” he admitted reluctantly. “Even if it is… unconventional.”

Jinx’s grin returned, brighter than ever. “Aw, you do like me.”

“I did not say that,” Viktor said quickly, his tone defensive.

“Didn’t have to, handsome,” she teased, winking. “Your face says it all.”
________________________________________

Their partnership, if it could be called that, evolved into something more. Viktor found himself looking forward to her visits, despite the chaos she brought. And Jinx, for all her mischief, began to respect his work in her own way. She didn’t just tinker for the sake of it anymore—she sought to impress him, to show him that her madness had a method.

Their conversations grew longer, their banter sharper. They challenged each other, pushed each other to think differently. Viktor taught her about precision and control, while Jinx showed him the beauty of unpredictability.

But there was always an undercurrent of danger between them. Jinx’s volatile nature clashed with Viktor’s disciplined mind, and their growing connection teetered on a knife’s edge. Yet neither could resist the pull.

One night, as they stood over a finished prototype—a hybrid of their ideas—Jinx leaned closer, her breath brushing against his cheek. “Y’know,” she murmured, “we make a pretty good team.”

Viktor’s pulse quickened, though he refused to show it. “If you would only learn to contain your chaos…”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she whispered, her lips curling into a wicked smile.

Viktor turned to face her, his golden eyes meeting hers. “You are insufferable,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

“And you’re adorable when you’re grumpy,” she shot back, leaning even closer.

For a moment, the world outside his lab ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, two minds that shouldn’t have fit together but somehow did. The air between them thickened with unspoken tension, a dangerous flirtation that neither dared to name.

Then, as quickly as the moment came, Jinx pulled back, her laughter ringing out. “Careful, Viktor. You’re starting to look like you’re having fun.”

He watched her go, her wild energy leaving a void in her wake. Despite himself, Viktor couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

Perhaps chaos wasn’t so terrible after all.

Chapter 16: Not On The Roster pt. 2

Summary:

“Stupid,” she muttered, leaning against the wall and taking a deep breath. She could still smell him, faintly—a scent that was grounding in a way she didn’t want to acknowledge. It made her feel… steady. Safe.

And that was dangerous.

Her disguise as Matilda had worked well so far, allowing her to move through Piltover Academy without raising suspicion. But Viktor—he was perceptive, too much so. She couldn’t afford to let him get too close, no matter how much she enjoyed their conversations. He was sharp, thoughtful, and surprisingly kind—qualities that made it far too easy to get lost in his presence.

She took another breath, trying to steady herself. His scent lingered in her mind, wrapping around her thoughts like a stubborn vine. It was comforting, infuriatingly so, and it only made her resolve to keep her distance stronger.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered to herself, pushing off the wall and heading for the exit. “Not with him.”

Notes:

Gasp! An AU of an AU?!?! Preposterous! Who would do such a thing!

Obviously, this is a continuation of Not On The Roster, but it's omegaverse! Why? Couldn't say ¯\_(ツ)_/¯!

I honestly had no intention of doing this, but one of the homies in the comments gave me the motivation to write this! I wanted to make a continuation for this story, but had no solid idea what the plot would be, but I've got several other plot points I would like to touch on in the future! In fact, the entire premise of this is what I originally had planned for Midnight Amber!

The days passed like whispers in the wind, and the grand library of Piltover Academy became a familiar stage for their exchanges. Matilda, with her peculiar wit and disarming curiosity, and Viktor, the reserved alpha whose cane tapped a steady rhythm through the aisles, found themselves drawn into an unlikely orbit. Their conversations grew longer, their subjects broader, and while Viktor still harbored skepticism about her intentions, her insights and peculiar charm were undeniable.

Today, as the sun set and cast amber light through the high arched windows, Viktor sat at his usual table. Papers, notebooks, and open tomes were scattered around him like an unholy altar of intellect. The air smelled faintly of the books and ink, but also remnants of himself—his alpha scent. It was muted, as always, a shadow of what it might have been, diluted by illness and the strain of his body’s limitations.

Matilda arrived without preamble, as usual, her presence announced by the faint sweetness of honeysuckle that tickled his senses long before she spoke. She dropped herself into the seat across from him with practiced nonchalance, her dyed brown buns wobbling precariously.

“Hard at work, I see,” she quipped, propping her chin on her hand. “You ever take a break, or is this, like, a full-time thing for you?”

Viktor glanced up, raising an eyebrow at her. “If progress required frequent rest, humanity would still be in the dark ages.”

She grinned at that, leaning forward. “Yeah, but even geniuses gotta eat. Don’t tell me you’re one of those starving intellect types who survives on coffee and spite.”

“I prefer tea,” Viktor corrected dryly, his gaze returning to his notes. “And I am not starving.”

Matilda snorted, a bright, carefree sound that felt oddly at home in the solemn quiet of the library. “Tea, huh? Fancy. So, what are you working on today? More big brain stuff I’ll totally pretend to understand?”

“Always,” Viktor replied, the corner of his lips twitching into a faint smile despite himself. But then he hesitated, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “And you? Do you spend all your time here disrupting my concentration, or do you have pursuits of your own?”

“Oh, you know,” she said, leaning back in her chair and lacing her fingers behind her head. “Just trying to look like I belong. It’s a challenge, though. These airhead types are way too uptight for my taste.”

Viktor hummed, his skepticism tempered by genuine curiosity. “Perhaps they are unused to someone with… such unrestrained energy.”

She laughed at that, the sound rich and full. “Unrestrained, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The conversation meandered, as it often did, through topics ranging from theoretical Hextech to the absurdity of Piltover fashion trends. But tonight, Matilda seemed restless, her gaze darting occasionally toward the windows, where the last light of day faded into twilight.

Finally, she blurted, “So, why do you spend so much time alone?”

The question caught Viktor off guard. He looked at her, his golden-brown eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “I am not entirely alone,” he said carefully. “I interact with colleagues. Students. And now, it seems, you.”

“Yeah, but I mean real people,” she pressed, leaning forward. “Not just the brainy types who only care about equations and inventions. You’ve got that whole broody loner vibe going on, and I’m curious why.”

Viktor hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around his cane. Her question was too personal, her gaze too probing. But there was no malice in her expression, only a genuine curiosity that disarmed him.

“It is not a matter of choice,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “Most people… prefer not to associate with someone in my condition.”

“Condition?” Matilda tilted her head, her brows knitting in confusion. “What condition?”

He sighed, glancing away. “I am not as… strong as most alphas. My body has limitations, flaws. It affects how others perceive me, especially omegas. They find my scent… unpleasant.”

Matilda’s expression bristled and her body tensed, before she blinked several times, her expression shifting from hurt to something softer, though her usual playful grin returned quickly. “Huh. Well, I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

That made Viktor’s gaze snap back to her. “You do not…?”

“Nope,” she said breezily, resting her chin on her hand. “You smell fine to me. Your scent is very comforting. Like… the Sun. All earthy and warm.”

For a moment, Viktor was speechless. Her words hung in the air, an impossibility that both baffled and intrigued him. He had lived with the bitter undertone of his scent for years, a constant reminder of his condition. Yet Matilda sat there, unbothered, even enjoying it.

“Besides,” she added with a shrug, “it’s not like people are lining up to hang out with a sick omega either.”

Her words were casual, but the bitterness beneath them was unmistakable. Viktor’s mind raced, processing the implications of her statement. She was an omega. Of course, he had suspected it before, she had been so good at keeping her scent muted in the halls, only allowing her scent to flourish within the library. As usual, the honeysuckle sweetness of her scent seemed to wrap around him, subtle but unmistakable.

“That is… surprising,” Viktor said finally, his voice measured. “I would not have thought you—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m full of surprises,” she interrupted quickly, standing abruptly, and taking her notebook in hand. “Look, I just remembered I’ve got… a thing. Somewhere else. Gotta run.”

“Matilda—”

“Catch you later, brainiac!” she called over her shoulder, her voice wavering as she was already disappearing between the shelves.

Viktor sat in silence, the faint trace of honeysuckle lingering in the air. He stared at the space where she had been, his mind churning with questions.
________________________________________

Jinx cursed under her breath as she rounded another corner, clutching her notebook tightly to her chest. Her heart was pounding, though whether from the sudden burst of movement or the conversation she’d just fled, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t meant to say any of that—it had just slipped out, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them.

“Stupid,” she muttered, leaning against the wall and taking a deep breath. She could still smell him, faintly—a scent that was grounding in a way she didn’t want to acknowledge. It made her feel… steady. Safe.

And that was dangerous.

Her disguise as Matilda had worked well so far, allowing her to move through Piltover Academy without raising suspicion. But Viktor—he was perceptive, too much so. She couldn’t afford to let him get too close, no matter how much she enjoyed their conversations. He was sharp, thoughtful, and surprisingly kind—qualities that made it far too easy to get lost in his presence.

She took another breath, trying to steady herself. His scent lingered in her mind, wrapping around her thoughts like a stubborn vine. It was comforting, infuriatingly so, and it only made her resolve to keep her distance stronger.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered to herself, pushing off the wall and heading for the exit. “Not with him.”
________________________________________

Viktor returned to his quarters that evening, the faint ache in his leg a familiar companion as he lowered himself into the chair by his desk. The events of the day played over in his mind, each detail more puzzling than the last. Matilda’s words, her scent, the way she had fled—none of it made sense.

Matilda.

No, that wasn’t her real name. That much he was certain of. Her energy was too chaotic, too unbound, to belong to one of Piltover Academy’s carefully molded students. And yet, there was something undeniably captivating about her presence. Viktor’s lips twitched into a faint smile as he thought of her confident claim about Tolbern’s equations. Bold, yes, but not entirely unconvincing.

And then there was her scent.

Sweet, like fresh honeysuckle blooming in spring. Viktor’s sharp senses picked up on it every time she was near, a subconscious pull that left him acutely aware of her presence. Omegas often carried scents that were pleasing to alphas, but this was different. It wasn’t just enticing—it was grounding, a steadying balm against the constant buzz of his thoughts and the weight of his work. Yet, for someone with such an intoxicating scent, she seemed entirely unfazed by his own.

Alphas carried their own scents, strong and assertive, designed to draw others in or push them away. Viktor’s scent was complicated—tinged with the bitterness that came with sickness. Most omegas, and even other alphas, avoided him. He had grown used to the sidelong glances, the subtle scrunching of noses, the way people instinctively leaned away. It didn’t bother him anymore. Not much, at least.

But Matilda… She didn’t turn away. She didn’t recoil or hesitate. If anything, she’d always leaned closer. He could still picture the way she had inhaled deeply during one of their conversations last week, her blue eyes briefly fluttering shut as if she were savoring something. The memory stirred a strange warmth in his chest.

He closed his eyes, leaning back and exhaling slowly. Her scent lingered in his memory, sweet and untainted, defying the claim she had made about being sick. Similar to alphas, omegas with health issues always carried a faint sourness to their scent, a telltale sign that even the best disguises couldn’t mask. But Matilda was different. Her scent was pure, alluring in its sweetness, and yet she spoke as though she were anything but perfect.

For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder: What if she wasn’t lying? What if her sickness was something else entirely, something that didn’t manifest in the usual ways? The thought was unsettling, raising more questions than answers.

But one thing was certain—Matilda, whoever she truly was, had become a puzzle he couldn’t ignore. And Viktor had never been one to shy away from a challenge.

________________________________________

The days that followed were quiet, almost eerily so. Viktor had grown used to Matilda’s erratic energy, the way she seemed to appear at the most unexpected times, grinning like she’d just uncovered some grand secret. But now, she was conspicuously absent. The library felt emptier without the soft rustle of her presence, and he found himself lingering at their usual spots, hoping she might reappear.

She didn’t.

Not at first.

It was nearly a week later when he saw her again, perched on the edge of a low stone wall outside the academy’s gardens. The late afternoon sun painted the world in hues of gold and orange, catching on the clunky buns she always wore, wobbling precariously as she leaned back on her hands. Her gaze was distant, fixed on something he couldn’t see.

He approached slowly, his cane tapping softly against the cobblestones. She didn’t look up until he was only a few steps away, and when she did, her grin was noticeably absent. Instead, her blue eyes held a guarded wariness, as if she were bracing herself for something unpleasant.

“Matilda,” he said softly, inclining his head in greeting.

“Viktor,” she replied, her tone light but lacking its usual teasing edge. “Been a while.”

“Indeed.” He stopped a few feet away, giving her space. “I had wondered if I had done something to offend you.”

Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head quickly. “Nah, it’s not you. I just… needed some space.”

He studied her for a moment, noting the tension in her posture, the way her fingers fidgeted against the stone. “Is this space sufficient for me to ask you some questions?” he ventured, his tone gentle.

She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. Then she sighed, gesturing for him to sit beside her. “Go ahead. But no weird science stuff this time, okay?”

He smirked faintly but obliged, lowering himself onto the wall beside her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the distant hum of the city filling the silence.

“What illness do you have?” he asked finally, his voice carefully neutral.

Her head snapped toward him, her expression a mix of surprise and irritation. “Straight to the point, huh?”

“I find it is better to avoid unnecessary pretense,” he said simply.

She stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled sharply. “Fine. I’m—at least according to everyone else—mentally ill. The screws are loose up here—if I even had any in the first place.” Her tone was flippant as she knocked the knuckles of one of her hands against the side of her head, but there was an edge to it, a bitterness that Viktor didn’t miss. “I’ve seen a couple doctors before. Total quacks, if you ask me. But they all said the same thing: yada, yada, you’ve got psychosis.”

The word hung in the air between them, heavy and unspoken. Viktor’s gaze didn’t waver, though his mind raced. Mental illness, like physical illness, often left a distinct mark on a person’s scent. It could manifest in sharp, erratic notes or sour undertones—anything that reflected the imbalance within. But Matilda…

“You do not smell sick,” he said quietly.

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked almost stunned. Then her cheeks flushed a faint pink, and she glanced away, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m just good at hiding it.”

“No.” His voice was firm, and she turned to look at him again. “This is not something one can hide. Mental illness affects scent as surely as physical illness does. If what you say is true, I should smell it.” He leaned slightly closer, his amber gaze steady. “But I do not.”

She blinked, her mouth opening and closing as if searching for a response. Finally, she laughed—a short, sharp sound that carried little humor. “Well, that’s a first. Everyone else can smell it from a mile away. Or at least, that’s what they act like.”

Viktor tilted his head, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, her expression hardening. “You think you’re the only one who gets weird looks? Pretty much everyone in Zaun is sick in some way, and yet people look at me like I’m literally the plague. People either pity me or call me names…” Her voice trailed off, her fingers clenching against the stone. “Let’s just say they’re not exactly nice about it.”

The bitterness in her tone was palpable, and Viktor felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—a protective instinct, perhaps, or simply a pang of empathy. “Is that why you thought I was mocking you?” he asked softly.

She remained silent, her eyes meeting his.

“When I said people do not like sick alphas,” he continued, his voice calm, “you thought I was mocking you.”

Her gaze darted away, and she laughed again, this time more awkwardly. “Yeah, well… wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”

He frowned, his mind piecing together the fragments she had revealed. It was clear that her experiences had shaped her into someone who wore confidence like armor, deflecting attention with wit and mischief. But beneath that, there was a vulnerability she rarely let show.

“You have never once smelled sick to me,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “Not then, not now.”

Her head turned sharply, her wide eyes locking onto his. She looked genuinely taken aback, as if the words had struck a chord she hadn’t expected. For a moment, she didn’t speak, her lips parted slightly in surprise.

“Yeah, well…” she said finally, her voice quieter now. “You don’t smell sick to me either.”

It was Viktor’s turn to look surprised. “You mean that.”

“Of course I mean it,” she said, her tone defensive. “I thought you were just making up that whole ‘They find my scent unpleasant.’ thing. I mean, your scent is…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing again as she searched for the right words. “It’s nice. Really nice, okay? It’s… steady.
Grounding. Not bitter or anything.”

Her words hung in the air, and Viktor felt a strange warmth spread through his chest. He had spent so long believing his scent was tainted, a constant reminder of his limitations. To hear otherwise—especially from her—was unexpected. And yet, her sincerity was unmistakable.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic gentleness.

She waved a hand dismissively, though she avoided his gaze. “Yeah, don’t mention it.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the stone wall. Viktor’s thoughts churned, filled with questions he didn’t know how to ask. Who was this girl, really? And why did her presence—her scent, her words—affect him so deeply?

Matilda—or whoever she truly was—leaned back on her hands again, her gaze drifting to the horizon. For once, she looked at peace, the guarded edge in her posture softening ever so slightly.

And Viktor, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, found himself hoping she wouldn’t disappear again.

Chapter 17: Kill For Me

Summary:

“Not at all,” Viktor replied, his tone completely serious, though his golden eyes gleamed with subtle amusement. “Would you kill for me, Jinx?”

Her head tilted slightly, her expression morphing into one of exasperated disbelief. “You’re really asking me that?”

“Of course.”

Jinx dropped her hands from his face and leaned back slightly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Notes:

Okay, this one was inspired by the song Kill For Me by Aáyanna!

Idek at this point yall 😅, it just hit me.

The lab was quiet, save for the soft hum of arcane-infused machinery and the occasional clink of tools as Viktor worked with meticulous precision. The dim, bluish light from his prototypes cast long shadows across the walls, creating an otherworldly glow that Jinx found strangely soothing. She watched him from her perch atop one of his workbenches, her legs lazily swinging off the edge as she tossed a stray bolt into the air and caught it repeatedly. Viktor had long since grown accustomed to her presence here—an anomaly in his otherwise rigid and methodical world.

Her visits were unannounced and unpredictable, but they were now a constant. She would appear in the dead of night, slipping through the shadows like a phantom, and settle into the lab as though it were her second home. Some nights she was an outright menace, pestering him with her wild ideas, playfully stealing his tools, or distracting him with her irrepressible energy. Other nights, she was quiet—content to simply exist in his presence, much like the enigmatic feline she reminded him of. Tonight was one of the latter nights, but Viktor could sense the shift in her demeanor.

She hadn’t said much since she arrived, save for a casual greeting and a comment about how the brace he now wore on his leg made him look “wickedly cool.” Viktor glanced at her now and again, his sharp eyes catching every detail—the way her fingers toyed with the bolt, her hair falling in chaotic strands around her face, and her gaze fixed blankly on the ceiling. For Jinx, silence was rare, and it unsettled him.

Viktor adjusted a component on the prototype before him, his brow furrowing in concentration, but his mind wandered back to her. She looked vulnerable in the pale light—small, almost fragile, though he knew better than to underestimate her. A storm like Jinx could not be contained.

The silence broke when she spoke, her voice low and thoughtful, devoid of its usual manic edge.

“Would you kill for me?”

Viktor froze. His hands stilled over the prototype, the tool in his grip hovering inches above its surface. For a moment, he wondered if he’d misheard her. Slowly, he looked up, his golden eyes narrowing in curiosity and faint disbelief.

Jinx remained as she was, lying on her back with her legs swinging, her hand still tossing the bolt.

Her expression was uncharacteristically blank, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as if the question were as casual as asking about the weather. Viktor pushed his chair back and stood, his movement supported by the brace she had crafted for him.

He walked to her, his steps deliberate, until he stood between her dangling legs, his body pressing lightly against the workbench. Reaching out, he grabbed the hand still tossing the bolt, halting its motion. The metal clinked softly as it landed on the bench beside her.

“Jinx,” he said quietly, his accent softening the name.

She finally turned her gaze to him, her wide, vivid eyes meeting his. There was no mischief in them now, no laughter or mockery. They were deep, searching, and serious. Viktor held her hand firmly, his long fingers curling around her smaller ones, and he brought it to his face, pressing her palm against his cheek.

“What brought this on?” he asked, his voice a careful mix of curiosity and concern.

For a moment, Jinx didn’t respond. Her thumb brushed over the sharp line of his cheekbone, a habit of hers he had come to cherish. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though she were mapping out his face to memorize it.

“No one ever has,” she said finally, her voice soft but tinged with bitterness. “Not my sister, not my brothers, not my best friend. No one.” Her eyes flickered, their vibrant color dulled by old wounds.

“I wasn’t enough for them to do it. Not for me. Not ever.”

Her voice wavered as she spoke, but Viktor stayed silent, allowing her to continue. “I did it for them. I would’ve done it again and again. But they didn’t want me. They didn’t care enough to stay.”

Jinx’s lips trembled, her bravado faltering as the weight of her words settled between them. She turned her head away, as if ashamed of the vulnerability she had revealed. Viktor, however, didn’t look away. He had seen the depths of her madness and brilliance, the fractured pieces of her psyche, and the sharp edges of her heart. He understood her pain—perhaps better than she realized.

He hummed softly, a low, thoughtful sound as he processed her confession. Gently, he released her hand and leaned down, bringing his face closer to hers.

“Jinx,” he began, his voice steady but warm, “you already know this, but I am not a violent man. I have never crafted a weapon or wielded one. I have never desired to harm anyone, nor have I ever believed violence could truly solve anything.”

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing.

“But if someone were to threaten you—your life, your safety, your happiness—” He let the words hang, their weight heavy with meaning. “I would not hesitate, even if it meant taking theirs.”

Jinx’s breath hitched, her wide eyes shining with unshed tears. Viktor offered her a small, faintly crooked smile—the kind that was rare but genuine.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice an invitation.

Jinx sat up without hesitation, her legs no longer swinging as she shifted closer to him. Both her hands reached up to cradle his face, her fingers brushing against his sharp jawline and the hollows of his cheeks. She rested her forehead against his, her breaths mingling with his in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You mean that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I do,” Viktor replied, his tone unwavering.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, sharing the silence and the fragile tenderness it held. Jinx’s thumb resumed its gentle exploration of his cheekbone, and Viktor closed his eyes, savoring the contact.

“You’re too good for me,” she murmured after a while, her voice tinged with self-deprecation.

“Perhaps,” Viktor replied, his tone teasing, but he opened his eyes and fixed her with a steady gaze.

“Or perhaps we are both more than what the world perceives us to be.”

Jinx let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound like music to Viktor’s ears. “Gods, you’re such a nerd.”

“And yet you keep returning to this nerd,” he countered, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.

“Yeah,” she admitted, her lips quirking into a lopsided grin. “Guess I’m just as crazy as they say.”

“Perhaps,” Viktor said again, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. He reached up, his fingers brushing a stray strand of blue hair from her face.

“But I do not mind.”

Jinx leaned into his touch, her grin fading into something more vulnerable, more honest.

“Thanks, Viktor.”

“For what?”

“For being you,” she said simply.

Viktor’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, a rare expression for him but one Jinx always delighted in provoking. “Well,” he said, his voice lilting with a wry edge, “since you’ve asked me such a question, it only seems fair I ask the same in return.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow, her hands still cradling his face. “You’re kidding,” she said flatly, though her lips tugged at the corners in what might’ve been the beginning of a grin.

“Not at all,” Viktor replied, his tone completely serious, though his golden eyes gleamed with subtle amusement. “Would you kill for me, Jinx?”

Her head tilted slightly, her expression morphing into one of exasperated disbelief. “You’re really asking me that?”

“Of course.”

Jinx dropped her hands from his face and leaned back slightly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Her bright eyes narrowed as she fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Viktor,” she began, dragging out his name with mock irritation. “You’re the most brilliant mind in Piltover—the genius behind all the fancy hextech gadgets everyone’s obsessed with.”

He opened his mouth to interject, but she cut him off, holding up a hand. “No, no, don’t try to argue. You know I’m right. You’ve got half of topside’s elite practically tripping over themselves to get a piece of your brain. You’re the real golden boy up here, even if you pretend not to care.”

“Hardly—” Viktor started, but she rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Point is,” she continued, “your little buddies up here love to talk. Love to brag about you, sell off your work, or let your information slip to people who shouldn’t have it. You know how many assassins, thieves, and random psychos I’ve had to deal with trying to break into your lab? Hmm?”

Viktor blinked, clearly startled by the revelation.

“How many?”

“Lost count,” Jinx said with a dismissive wave of her hand, though there was a glint of pride in her voice. “Started killing for you a long time ago, babe.”

The casual way she said it made Viktor pause. He studied her closely, noting the smug expression creeping across her face, the way her fingers tapped against her arm as if reliving some memory she clearly enjoyed.

“I… was unaware,” he said after a moment, carefully neutral.

“Well, duh,” Jinx replied, smirking now. “What’d you think was happening when I’d disappear for an hour and come back covered in blood?”

Viktor frowned, trying to recall the times she’d returned in such a state. “I assumed it was… recreational,” he admitted cautiously.

She barked out a laugh, the sound sharp and delighted. “Recreational? Viktor, you think I just go out painting the town red for fun? Wait—don’t answer that.”

He tilted his head slightly, his frown deepening as he realized the implication of her words. “You have been… protecting me?”

“Obviously.” Jinx hopped off the workbench, her movements fluid and restless as she began pacing in front of him. “It’s not like you’re exactly hard to find. Everyone in Zaun and Piltover knows about the crippled genius who can barely leave his lab without a cane.” She gestured to his leg.

Viktor’s expression tightened, but she didn’t stop.

“You think people down here don’t see you as an easy target? You’ve got more enemies than you realize, Viktor, and half of them would love to get their hands on you, alive or dead. So yeah, I’ve been dealing with them. You’re welcome, by the way.”

The bluntness of her statement left Viktor momentarily speechless. He hadn’t considered the extent to which his work—and by extension, his person—had become a target. But Jinx wasn’t finished.

“And don’t think I’m just doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” she added, spinning on her heel to face him. “You’re mine, okay? No one else gets to mess with you. Not some topside asshole looking for a quick payday, not some Zaunite thug trying to make a name for themselves. No one.”

Viktor stared at her, his golden eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled—a low, dry sound that was both exasperated and amused.

“You truly are remarkable, Jinx,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

She grinned, her manic energy returning in full force. “Damn right I am.”

Still smiling faintly, Viktor leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms over his chest. “And here I thought I was the one protecting you.”

“Pfft, please.” Jinx sauntered closer, her movements loose and playful now. She planted herself in front of him, poking a finger against his chest. “You’re the brains; I’m the brawn. That’s how this works.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep,” she said with a decisive nod. “You come up with the crazy ideas, and I make sure no one messes with your pretty little head while you work.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. “And what do you get out of this arrangement?”

Jinx tilted her head, her grin softening into something more genuine. “You, obviously,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Her words caught Viktor off guard, though he didn’t show it. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against her wrist before curling around it. “And you are certain I am worth the effort?”

“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the unspoken understanding between them settling into something solid and unbreakable.

“Well then,” Viktor said at last, his voice tinged with dry humor, “I suppose I should thank you for your… vigilance.”

“You’re damn right you should,” Jinx replied, grinning mischievously. “But you can do that later. Right now, you’ve got work to finish, and I’m getting bored.”

With that, she hopped back onto the workbench, reclaiming her perch and resuming her idle tossing of the bolt. Viktor watched her for a moment longer, a faint smile lingering on his lips, before returning to his prototype.

And though the lab once again filled with the soft hum of machinery and the clink of tools, the weight of their earlier conversation lingered in the air—an unspoken promise that neither of them needed to say aloud.

Chapter 18: Inked Chaos pt. 2

Summary:

Viktor stiffened, his mind flashing to the mural’s intricate details and the effort she must have poured into it. “They’re going to destroy it?”

“Were,” Jinx said, her grin widening into a smirk. “And they won’t.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned against the workbench, her face mere inches from his. “Because I bought the building.”

Notes:

For my dear buddy RayBell! Thank you for this incredible idea!

The morning light filtered through the expansive windows of Piltover’s council building, bathing the polished marble floors in a cold, clinical sheen.

Viktor walked briskly beside Jayce, his bad leg supported by the sleek brace that Jinx had forged for him. It pulsed faintly with magic-infused energy, a marvel of her chaotic genius, and for once, the ache in his knee was a dull whisper rather than a roar.

He didn’t particularly want to be here—council meetings were tedious, self-important affairs filled with people who, in his opinion, enjoyed the sound of their own voices a little too much. But Jayce had insisted. It was "important for appearances," he'd said, flashing that disarming grin that irritated Viktor more than he'd admit aloud. So, here he was, dressed in his most presentable attire, his sharp, angular face set in a mask of indifference.

It wasn’t until they entered the building that Viktor noticed something odd. The staff—clerks, guards, assistants—all seemed unusually fixated on him. At first, he dismissed it as paranoia, but the stares didn’t stop. Whispered words trailed in his wake, too faint for him to catch but loaded with meaning. He glanced at Jayce, who had also noticed.

“Looks like you’ve got an audience,” Jayce muttered with a bemused chuckle.

Viktor didn’t reply. His golden eyes flicked to the side, catching the wide-eyed expression of a young clerk as he hurried past. Unease coiled in Viktor’s stomach, but he kept his stride steady. Whatever was happening, he would deal with it. He always did.

When they reached the council chamber, the tension in the air thickened. The council members were not seated at their ornate table as usual; instead, they stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, clustered together in a loose semicircle. They were talking in hushed tones, their attention fixated on something outside.

Mel Medarda turned as Viktor and Jayce entered, a sly smile curling her lips. “Ah, Viktor,” she said, her tone laced with amusement. “It seems you have a secret admirer.”

Viktor frowned, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

Mel gestured toward the window. “See for yourself.”

Hesitant but curious, Viktor moved forward, his brace clicking softly against the floor. When he reached the glass, his breath caught in his throat.

There, on the side of a massive building in the heart of Piltover, was a mural. A colossal, vibrantly colored portrait that spanned several stories, towering above the city like a monument. It was unmistakably him—every detail of his face rendered with astonishing precision. The sharp lines of his jaw, the furrow of his brow, the faint hollows under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. The mural captured him perfectly, but it also made him look... regal. Majestic. Like a figure out of myth.

For a moment, Viktor simply stared, his normally guarded expression cracking with astonishment. His free hand rose to cover his mouth, as if to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to spill out. His heart swelled with something he hadn’t felt in a long time: pride, and something even softer, warmer.

Jayce let out a low whistle beside him. “Wow. That’s... impressive.”

Mel smirked. “Impressive doesn’t even begin to cover it. Whoever did this has talent. And dedication.”

Viktor swallowed hard, his mind racing. He knew exactly who was responsible for this. The audacity, the sheer scale of it—it could only be Jinx. But how? And when? And why, for that matter, would she risk something so conspicuous when their relationship was meant to remain a secret?

He didn’t have the answers, but one thing was certain: he needed to see her. He needed to tell her how extraordinary she was. How much this meant to him.

________________________________________

The hours dragged on interminably as Viktor endured the council meeting, his thoughts consumed by the mural and the artist behind it.

As soon as he was able, he made his excuses and left, ignoring Jayce’s questioning glance. He made his way back to his lab, where he knew Jinx would be waiting. She often holed up there when she wasn’t out causing mischief, tinkering with her inventions or sketching wild, chaotic designs in the notebooks he’d given her to practice.

Sure enough, when Viktor entered the lab, he found her sprawled on the floor, surrounded by an explosion of tools, scraps of metal, and half-finished gadgets. She was humming to herself, her blue hair out of its usual twin braids, instead pulled into a low ponytail that framed her sharp, mischievous face.

“Jinx,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended.

She looked up, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “Hey, Vik! Back early?”

“What did you do?”

Jinx tilted her head innocently. “Do? Me? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Viktor sighed, but refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose. “The mural. The enormous mural of me that you somehow managed to paint on the side of a building in the middle of Piltover. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, and then she broke into a wide, toothy grin. “Oh, that! You saw it?” She stood up, bouncing slightly on her heels. “Do you like it? I mean, it’s not perfect or anything, but it’s big, right? You always say I’m all about the big stuff.”

“Jinx,” he began, but the words faltered. He had intended to lecture her, to tell her how reckless and dangerous her stunt had been. But looking at her now, so proud and eager for his approval, all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I saw it. And I... I love it.”
Her grin widened, and she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist with surprising force. Viktor stiffened, unused to such unrestrained affection, but he didn’t push her away. Instead, he placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her sleeve.

“How did you do it?” he asked after a moment. “The scale alone is... impressive.”

Jinx pulled back, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oh, it was a whole thing! Took me weeks to plan. First I had to build this giant extending ladder, and I had to mix my own paints because the boring ones you can buy aren’t bright enough. And then there was this one night when—” She stopped abruptly, her expression shifting to one of hesitation. “But, uh, you don’t need to know all that. The important thing is that it’s there. And it’s for you.”

“For me,” he echoed, the words foreign and strange on his tongue.

“Yeah.” Jinx looked away, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. “I mean, you’re always telling me I’m a genius, and you keep all my crazy gadgets and stuff. So I figured... I dunno. Maybe I could do something for you. Something big. Something... good.”

Viktor stared at her, his chest tightening. “Jinx,” he said softly, “you didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” she replied simply. Then, with a sly grin, she added, “Besides, now everyone knows you’ve got a fan. Maybe they’ll finally stop looking at you like you’re some creepy mad scientist.”

He couldn’t help it—he laughed, a quiet, raspy sound that caught him off guard. “I doubt that,” he said, but there was warmth in his voice.

For a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them comfortable and easy. Then Jinx reached up, her fingers brushing against the edge of his brace at the top of his thigh.

“You’ve been walking better lately,” she said, her tone unusually serious. “Is it helping?”

“It is,” Viktor admitted. “More than I expected.”

Viktor sat down at his workbench, still reeling from the mural and the audacious artist responsible for it. Jinx flitted around the lab, gathering her tools and muttering something about needing to fine-tune a gadget she’d left half-assembled. Despite her busy movements, he could tell she was waiting for him to ask something else.

Finally, unable to keep his curiosity at bay, he asked, “Jinx, how exactly did you manage to paint something of that scale without being noticed?”

She froze mid-step, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Oh, you know me, Vik. I’ve got my tricks.” She turned to face him, hands on her hips.

“But let’s just say it involved a few sleepless nights to gather materials, a lot of smoke bombs, and some very convincing decoys.”

His brow furrowed. “And the authorities? Surely someone must have tried to stop you.”

“Oh, they did,” she replied breezily, waving a hand as if swatting away an imaginary fly. “At first, some bigwig types came sniffing around, talking about ‘public defacement’ and ‘unauthorized construction’ even though they had already planned on tearing the building down.”

Viktor stiffened, his mind flashing to the mural’s intricate details and the effort she must have poured into it. “They’re going to destroy it?”

“Were,” Jinx said, her grin widening into a smirk. “And they won’t.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned against the workbench, her face mere inches from his. “Because I bought the building.”

The words hung in the air, utterly absurd and completely Jinx. Viktor blinked at her, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “You... bought the building?”

“Yup.” She popped the "p" for emphasis, clearly delighted by his reaction. “Outright. It’s mine now. Every brick, every beam, every square inch of that big ol’ wall with your handsome face on it.”

For a long moment, Viktor just stared at her, his logical mind struggling to process what she’d just said. “How—how could you possibly afford—?”

“Vik, sweetie,” Jinx interrupted, patting his cheek with a mockingly gentle hand. “Do you have any idea how much my allowance is as the daughter of the most dangerous chem-baron in all of Zaun and Piltover combined? I’m rolling in dough. Well, not literally. That’d be messy. But you get the point.”

He swatted her hand away, though there was no real heat in the gesture. “That is not the point, Jinx. You spent a fortune on a building just to protect a mural?”

Her playful demeanor faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I did.”

Viktor’s heart twisted in his chest. He wanted to be angry with her for being so reckless, so impulsive—but how could he be, when everything she did, she did for him? The mural, the brace, even the building—it was all her way of showing that she cared, in the only way she knew how.

“You are incorrigible,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Thank you!” she said brightly, clearly taking it as a compliment.

Viktor sighed, leaning back in his chair. “And now what? What do you plan to do with an entire building?”

“Oh, I’ve got plans,” Jinx said, her grin returning.

“Big ones. Maybe I’ll turn it into a giant workshop. Or a museum! The Museum of Jinxian Wonders. Has a nice ring to it, don’tcha think?”

He shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You are impossible.”

“Impossible is my middle name,” she shot back, sticking out her tongue.

Despite himself, Viktor laughed—a soft, raspy sound that surprised even him. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Jinx froze, her eyes widening. For a moment, she seemed completely disarmed, as though she hadn’t expected him to say it aloud. But then her expression softened, and she leaned down to kiss his cheek, her lips brushing against his skin like a whisper.

“Damn right you do,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost tender. “And you’re pretty much stuck with me, Vik. Big murals, bought buildings, and all.”

He couldn’t help but smile, his icy exterior melting just enough to let her warmth in. “Yes,” he said softly. “I suppose I am.”

Chapter 19: Entwined From The Start

Summary:

“Your design for the trigger mechanism is clever,” he said, his voice measured. “But the alignment is off. It could misfire.”

Jinx groaned dramatically, flopping onto her back. “You always find something wrong.”

“That’s because I prefer when things don’t explode in my face,” Viktor replied dryly, though his tone was gentle.

She sat up, pouting. “You’re no fun.”

Notes:

This is an idea given to me by Night_stalker92! It’s a childhood friend AU! I didn’t really know how I was gonna do this as just a one shot, but I hope I did it justice!

PS, I quickly found out that I can’t write either of them as kids 🤪.

The dark subterranean lab smelled of acrid chemicals and stale air. Beakers bubbled and hissed on makeshift burners, their eerie green glow painting jagged shadows on the walls.

Singed hunched over his workbench, a spindly figure with a tangle of bandages and a face hardened by years of isolation. His gloved hands moved with meticulous precision as he mixed a volatile compound, the task demanding his full attention.

Silco stood a few feet away, his sharp eyes following the motions of his old friend. His voice broke the rhythmic bubbling of the lab.

“Her condition is… troubling,” Silco began, his tone a blend of frustration and calculation. “Jinx is brilliant—brilliant enough to design weapons that could shift the balance of power between Piltover and Zaun. But she’s unpredictable. She speaks to ghosts. It affects her focus.”

Singed grunted, not bothering to look up. “And you think my assistant will remedy this? Viktor is many things, but he is not a therapist.”

“I don’t need him to be a therapist,” Silco snapped. “I need her to talk to someone who’s real. Viktor may lack social graces, but he’s disciplined. Rational. She needs someone like that—someone who won’t feed her delusions but also won’t alienate her entirely.”

Singed straightened, his hollow eyes meeting Silco’s. “You hope his quiet nature will stabilize her.”

Silco nodded. “Precisely. Jinx thrives on chaos, but she also craves connection. Viktor might be the right kind of tether.”

There was a long pause. Singed tapped his gloved fingers on the edge of the workbench, his mind calculating risks and outcomes. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ll speak to him. He won’t resist. He knows how precarious his position is here.”

Silco’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “Then we’ll consider it arranged.”
________________________________________

The industrial gloom of the lab seemed to magnify the silence as Viktor adjusted the brace on his leg. He was sitting near one of the few clear surfaces, a small notebook in his lap where he scribbled equations and ideas between assisting Singed with experiments.

The sound of the metal door screeching open made him glance up. Singed entered first, followed by a girl who practically vibrated with restless energy. Her blue hair was tied into wild braids, and her eyes darted around the lab with unrestrained curiosity.

“This is Jinx,” Singed said bluntly, gesturing toward her. “She’ll be spending some time here.”

Viktor stood awkwardly, leaning on his cane as he extended a hand. “Hello. I’m Viktor.”

Jinx stared at his hand for a moment, her head tilting like a curious bird. Then, instead of shaking it, she leaned in uncomfortably close to his face. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

He blinked, startled. “A congenital defect. It… makes movement difficult.”

Jinx stepped back and tapped her temple with her finger. “Cool. My defect’s up here. They keep calling me crazy, but I think I’m just extra fun.” She let out a giggle that echoed through the lab.

Singed cleared his throat. “Jinx, Viktor. Viktor, Jinx. You’re free to… acquaint yourselves. I have work to do.” He shuffled to his workbench, leaving the two alone.

Viktor adjusted his cane, unsure how to proceed. Jinx plopped down onto the nearest surface, swinging her legs back and forth.

“So, do you, like, blow things up in here?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Not… intentionally,” Viktor said, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “Although it has been known to happen.”

Her laughter was infectious, and Viktor found himself relaxing despite the chaos she seemed to bring with her.
________________________________________

The years passed quickly, and Viktor and Jinx’s uneasy introduction had blossomed into an unusual companionship. They had found a rhythm—her wild creativity tempered by his methodical mind.

Viktor had grown taller and thinner, his face sharper, his movements still hindered by his brace. Jinx was even more chaotic, her inventions often teetering on the brink of brilliance and disaster.

One afternoon, they were sitting on the floor of the lab, a collection of scraps and wires spread between them. Viktor adjusted his goggles, studying the crude blueprint Jinx had sketched on the floor with chalk.

“Your design for the trigger mechanism is clever,” he said, his voice measured. “But the alignment is off. It could misfire.”

Jinx groaned dramatically, flopping onto her back. “You always find something wrong.”

“That’s because I prefer when things don’t explode in my face,” Viktor replied dryly, though his tone was gentle.

She sat up, pouting. “You’re no fun.”

“And yet, you keep asking for my opinion,” he countered, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

She leaned toward him, her grin sly. “Maybe I just like hearing your voice. Ever think of that?”

Viktor’s ears burned, and he quickly turned his attention back to the blueprint. “You’re impossible.”

Her laughter filled the room, and for a moment, Viktor allowed himself to watch her. She was magnetic, her energy consuming everything around her. He felt the ache of something unspoken in his chest—a quiet longing he didn’t dare voice.
________________________________________

The lab was unusually quiet, save for the soft hum of machinery. Viktor and Jinx were huddled over a half-assembled device, their heads nearly touching as they worked.

“This capacitor won’t hold the charge,” Viktor said, frowning as he tested the connection with a voltmeter.

Jinx twirled a screwdriver between her fingers, her expression one of exaggerated exasperation. “Then we just need a bigger one. Duh.”

“It’s not that simple,” Viktor replied. “A larger capacitor would make the device unstable. We need efficiency, not brute force.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, you and your efficiency. Sometimes you’ve just gotta make things go boom, you know?”

“Not everything needs to explode,” Viktor muttered, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Jinx leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s where you’re wrong, Vik. Everything’s better with a little chaos.”

He glanced at her, his golden eyes meeting her bright, mischievous gaze. “Perhaps. But chaos is easier to contain when it’s calculated.”

She stared at him for a moment, then grinned, “You’re such a nerd.”

“And proud of it,” Viktor replied, his tone wry but warm.

Jinx flopped back onto the floor, her laughter ringing through the room. Viktor shook his head, unable to stop the small smile spreading across his face as he resumed tinkering with the device.
________________________________________

The lab had changed over the years. It was larger, more advanced, but still bore the marks of countless experiments and occasional disasters. Viktor, now in his mid-twenties, stood at a workbench, carefully calibrating a piece of precision equipment. His once-thin frame was now more filled out, though his movements were still deliberate, dictated by his brace.

Jinx burst into the room, her energy as boundless as ever. She wore a smirk that was both playful and predatory, and a small bundle of wires and gears dangled from her hand.

“Guess who just stole a prototype right out from under Piltover’s nose?” she announced, dropping the bundle onto the table.

Viktor looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”

“Only if you’re worried about how cool I am,” she teased, leaning in close.

Viktor chuckled softly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” she quipped, her grin widening.

He didn’t reply immediately, but his golden eyes softened as he looked at her. “Yes,” he said quietly, the weight of the word hanging in the air.

Jinx blinked, caught off guard. Her smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something more vulnerable. She quickly recovered, her grin returning as she slid onto the stool beside him.

“So, what’s the genius working on today?” she asked, leaning against his shoulder.

He glanced at her, his lips curving into a small smile. “A stabilizer for your latest weapon. If you insist on making things explode, I’d prefer they explode… correctly.”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist in a sudden hug. “See? You get me, Vik.”

He froze for a moment, unused to such affection, but then relaxed, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “Someone has to.”

Jinx tilted her head to look up at him, her expression unusually soft. “Good thing I’ve got you, huh?”

“Good thing indeed,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

They stayed like that for a moment, the chaos of the lab fading into the background.
________________________________________

The metallic clang of the door startled Viktor from his work. He looked up from his workstation to see Jinx sauntering in, her usual swagger dimmed by exhaustion. Even in the dim light of the lab, the scrapes and bruises on her exposed skin stood out—angry red lines cutting across her arms and legs, and a fresh cut just beneath her cheekbone.

Viktor set down his tools, his gaze softening as he took her in. He was used to seeing her return battered from Silco’s missions, but it never got easier.

“Rough night?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Jinx grinned, though it lacked her usual fire. “Rough enough to remind me why I’m the best.”

She dropped her bag on the floor with a thud, flinching slightly when the motion pulled at one of her injuries.

“Let me—” Viktor began, standing and reaching for the first aid kit he always kept nearby.

“Nope,” Jinx cut him off, raising a hand to stop him. She strode toward one of the counters, propping herself up against it with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m fine, Vik. Don’t need you poking and prodding.”

He hesitated, his hand hovering near the kit. “You’re bleeding, Jinx.”

“So what? Blood’s part of the job description,” she shot back, waving him off. “It’ll stop on its own. Always does.”

Viktor bit the inside of his cheek, trying to remind himself that her refusal wasn’t personal. She hated appearing vulnerable, even to him. But despite knowing this, he couldn’t stop the faint flicker of disappointment from crossing his face.

He turned back toward his workbench, silently berating himself for his reaction. She wasn’t rejecting him, he reminded himself—just his help.

But Jinx had always been annoyingly perceptive. Her sharp eyes caught the faint shadow of dejection in his expression, and she tilted her head, considering him for a long moment.

Finally, she spoke, her tone lighter, almost nonchalant. “Vik. My braids are a mess.”

Viktor blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He glanced at her hair and realized she was right—both braids were slightly disheveled, the normally tight weave frayed as if they’d been snagged or grabbed during her mission.

“I—” He hesitated, unsure how to respond. Jinx rarely let anyone touch her hair. She didn’t even trust herself to redo her braids, always insisting that Silco handle it.

Jinx rolled her eyes, her voice tinged with mock impatience. “Oh, for crying out loud. Just fix them already.”

When he didn’t immediately move, she let out an exaggerated huff, crossed the room, and flopped onto the floor in front of him with a theatrical groan. She turned her back to him, sitting cross-legged and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Better do it now before I change my mind.”

Viktor couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Her words were playful, lacking their usual edge, and he knew she wasn’t going to back out.

“Alright,” he said softly, settling into his chair and reaching for her hair.

Jinx’s braids were always softer than he remembered, the strands slipping easily through his fingers. He carefully unwound the frayed braids, working gently to avoid tugging on any snags. She stayed uncharacteristically still, only shifting slightly to get more comfortable as he worked.

“How does Silco usually do this?” Viktor asked, more to fill the silence than out of real curiosity.

“Better than you,” she quipped, though there was no malice in her tone.

Viktor chuckled softly, his fingers moving with steady precision. He decided on one large braid, pulling it to the side so it would be comfortable for her to sleep. He worked slowly, making sure the braid was neat but loose enough to avoid pulling.

“You’re quiet,” Jinx remarked after a while, her voice softer than usual.

“I’m concentrating,” Viktor replied, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she teased, though there was a hint of something warmer in her tone.

Viktor tied off the braid with a spare piece of ribbon from his workstation, sitting back to admire his work. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold.

“Done,” he said quietly.

Jinx tilted her head, running her fingers over the braid as if testing it. She nodded in approval, a small smile playing at her lips. “Not bad, Vik. Not bad at all.”

He watched as she stood, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she flashed him a grin.

“Guess you’ve got more uses than just fixing my toys, huh?”

“I try to be versatile,” Viktor replied dryly, though there was a warmth in his eyes that he couldn’t hide.

Jinx didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—a rare gesture that left Viktor momentarily stunned.

“Thanks, genius,” she said softly, her grin softening into something more genuine.

Before he could respond, she turned and strolled out of the lab, leaving Viktor sitting there, his heart beating just a little faster than usual.

Chapter 20: Dear Annabelle

Summary:

“Jinx,” he said, his voice low and even.

She pressed a finger to her lips, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Shh. It’s Annabelle tonight,” she whispered conspiratorially. “But you can call me Bell. That’s what all the boys have been calling me. Cute, huh?"

Her laughter bubbled out as she said it, but Viktor’s jaw ticked in response. “You find this amusing, do you?”

“Immensely.” She stopped just short of him, her fingers skimming over the lapel of his jacket. “You should’ve seen your face earlier. So cold. So icy. Almost like you wanted to throttle poor Christof.”

The ballroom was suffused with a soft glow, the chandeliers dripping with crystalline light that reflected off the polished floors. Strings of violins serenaded the attendees, their notes weaving between snippets of polite laughter and the clinking of glasses. Viktor stood apart from it all, his posture ramrod straight as he leaned ever so slightly against a marble pillar. His brace allowed him a freedom he hadn’t known in years, though the icy knot in his chest, ever his companion at events like this, left him feeling just as bound as he had been with his cane.

He had no illusions about the night ahead. It was another exercise in pointless conversations, shallow smiles, and the same insipid politicking that left him longing for the sterile peace of his laboratory. Jayce had insisted on his presence, waxing poetic about "optics" and "representing progress." Viktor didn’t care about optics. Progress, real progress, didn’t happen in ballrooms like this.

It wasn’t until his gaze swept the crowd for what felt like the hundredth time that he saw her.
At first, the figure didn’t register. Just another woman in another dress, flanked by the usual throng of admirers. But then something shifted in the air, the flicker of familiarity tugging at him, sharp and undeniable. It was her.

Jinx.

His sharp eyes drank in every detail. Her normally vibrant blue hair was dyed a rich, inky black, cascading down her shoulders in loose waves. She wore a dress that could only be described as scandalous, the kind of thing designed to draw every eye in the room and hold it captive. His gaze darkened when he realized just how provocative the dress was. The off-shoulder design left her collarbones and a tantalizing hint of her cleavage exposed, while the daring slit along her leg revealed more skin than Viktor was comfortable with anyone else seeing. The tail of her dress was fanned out enough to keep her long tresses from touching the floor. She looked beautiful. Tempting. And completely out of place among these vultures. She was a vision of reckless, calculated chaos—a firework on the verge of exploding, and she was his.

Jinx turned her head slightly, catching his gaze across the room. Her expression stilled for a beat, before her lips curled into a knowing grin. That grin—a glint of steel beneath all her playfulness—was both a promise and a warning. The promise surely meant that tonight, she had plans, and they likely involved tormenting him in some way. Viktor’s jaw clenched, his knuckles brushing against the edge of a nearby pillar as he resisted the urge to cross the room right then and there.

Her performance was well underway. She was surrounded by men, their gazes hungry and their laughter forced as they fawned over her every word. His shoulders stiffened as he watched her immerse herself in the crowd of eager suitors. A group of men, most of them young and clearly wealthy, flocked to her as if drawn by gravity. She smiled, laughed, and batted her lashes with such effortless charm that Viktor almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

Jinx played her part to perfection, giggling, leaning just close enough to make each man think he had a chance. Viktor’s irritation rose with every passing second. He told himself it was foolish to feel this way. He knew what Jinx was doing—she thrived on mischief, on testing boundaries. However, one of the men in particular drew his ire. Christof Peel, the arrogant son of an influential investor, was far too close to her. His hand slid casually to her waist as he leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh in a way that was entirely too flirtatious for Viktor's liking, and it was just short of making Viktor’s blood boil.

He tore his gaze away, attempting to focus on the couples dancing in the center of the ballroom. The swirl of gowns and tails blurred together in a meaningless kaleidoscope of movement. For once, he wished he had brought a drink, something to occupy his hands. Anything to distract him from the fact that Jinx—his Jinx—was across the room letting some imbecile put his hands on her.
When he glanced back, it was worse.

Christof now had his arm wrapped fully around Jinx’s waist, his lips hovering dangerously close to her ear as they approached the designated area for dancing, ever so coming closer to Viktor. She smiled up at him, and to anyone else, it would have seemed genuine. But Viktor knew her too well. That smile was a weapon, honed to a razor's edge. She was baiting Christof, drawing him closer before inevitably cutting him loose. Viktor should have felt reassured, but instead, his irritation deepened. As they traveled within ear shot, Viktor could overhear Christof as he spoke into Jinx’s ear, “At Peel Manor, we have the loveliest garden in all of Piltover. My mother’s trees are the stars themselves, our main spectacle. I assure you, Bell, you would definitely enjoy them.”

He moved to step forward, then stopped himself. Jinx would never forgive him for interrupting her fun, and besides, it wasn’t his style to create a scene. Still, his fists curled tightly at his sides as he waited for the inevitable.

Jinx came to a halt, effectively stopping Christof in his tracks. The poor fool turned to her, confusion etched across his features as she nodded toward Viktor’s direction.

“That tree over there?” she said sweetly, her voice carrying just enough for Viktor to hear while nodding once in Viktor’s direction. “I’ve already planned on climbing it tonight.”

With that, she slipped out of Christof’s hold, her smile lingering for a fraction of a second longer before she turned on her heel and began sauntering toward Viktor. Each step she took felt deliberate, her hips swaying with infuriating precision.

As she approached, Viktor allowed himself a slow exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. The sight of her was still enough to steal his breath, but he refused to let her see the full extent of his reaction.

“Jinx,” he said, his voice low and even.

She pressed a finger to her lips, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Shh. It’s Annabelle tonight,” she whispered conspiratorially. “But you can call me Bell. That’s what all the boys have been calling me. Cute, huh?"

Her laughter bubbled out as she said it, but Viktor’s jaw ticked in response. “You find this amusing, do you?”

“Immensely.” She stopped just short of him, her fingers skimming over the lapel of his jacket. “You should’ve seen your face earlier. So cold. So icy. Almost like you wanted to throttle poor Christof.”

He raised an eyebrow, his tone cutting as he replied. “You could hardly blame me. Your dress alone—”

“—is fabulous,” she interrupted, twirling once to give him the full effect. The fishtail of her gown swept dramatically around her feet. “You don’t like it?”

“I like it well enough,” he admitted grudgingly. “But you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Jinx grinned, unabashed. “Of course I do. That’s the fun of it, Viktor. You think I came just to talk?”

“I suspect you did it to make my evening twice as difficult,” Viktor muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.

Jinx stepped closer, her grin softening into something quieter, more intimate. “Come on, Viktor,” she said, her voice dropping. “Let’s dance.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t dance.”

“You will tonight.” She took his hand without waiting for permission, tugging him toward the dance floor.

Viktor resisted for all of two seconds before relenting. He would deny it later, but the feel of her fingers in his was enough to weaken his resolve. As they stepped towards the swirl of dancers, Jinx’s laughter rang in his ears, and for a moment, the icy knot in his chest melted away.

Whatever game she was playing tonight, he knew one thing for certain: he was already losing. And he didn’t mind one bit.

“Must we?” Viktor asked, his tone exasperated but lacking real heat.

“Oh, we must,” Jinx said, her grin widening. “You’ve been standing around like a frozen statue all night. Let me thaw you out.”

With a resigned sigh, Viktor allowed himself to further be pulled onto the dance floor. The musicians were playing a slow, waltz-like tune, and Jinx pulled one of his hands to hold her waist before she placed one hand on his shoulder while her other entwined with his, their fingers locking together.

For all her wildness, Jinx moved with surprising grace. Her steps were fluid, her body swaying perfectly in time with the music. Viktor, stiff at first, gradually relaxed, his movements becoming more natural as he adjusted to her rhythm.

“You’re not bad at this,” Jinx remarked, her head tilted as she studied him. “Didn’t think you’d have a talent for dancing.”

“I am a man of many talents,” Viktor replied coolly, though his lips quirked ever so slightly at the corners.

“Yeah?” Jinx’s eyes gleamed, and her voice dropped into a teasing murmur. “Maybe you’ll show me some others later, in private?”

Viktor’s steps faltered for a fraction of a second, the back of his neck flushing faintly. “Jinx.”

“Bell,” she corrected, winking at him. “Keep up, Vik.”
________________________________________

Their moment of quiet was cut short as a loud, brash voice called out from the edge of the dance floor. “Viktor! There you are!”

Viktor’s expression darkened as Jayce Talis strode toward them, his ever-present exuberance on full display. He was dressed impeccably, his tailored suit a perfect match for the polished persona he projected to the public. Jinx groaned audibly, burying her face against Viktor’s shoulder for a moment before straightening up with a wide, fake smile plastered on her face.

“Ah, the golden boy,” Jinx said sweetly, her voice dripping with mockery. “How lovely to see you.”

Jayce’s brow furrowed as he glanced between them, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece together the nature of their relationship. “Bell,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, you know me,” Jinx replied, twirling a lock of her black-dyed hair around her finger. “Always where the fun is.”

Jayce looked to Viktor, clearly uncomfortable. “Viktor, I wanted to introduce you to—”

“Not now,” Viktor said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I am otherwise occupied.”

Jayce’s mouth opened as if to protest, but Viktor shot him a glare that could have frozen molten steel. With a defeated sigh, Jayce stepped back. “Fine. But don’t forget why we’re here.”

“I never do,” Viktor said quietly, watching as Jayce retreated.

Once they were alone again, Jinx leaned in close, her breath warm against Viktor’s neck. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“And you are insufferable,” Viktor replied, though his voice was softened by a trace of affection.

Jinx giggled. “You say that, but you keep me around.” Her fingers trailed lightly over his chest as she whispered, “So, what are we doing after this boring party, darling?”

Viktor’s lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile. “I suppose we could discuss that over a drink. Preferably somewhere far from here.”

“Now you’re talking,” Jinx said, her grin widening. “Let’s blow this place. Literally, if you want.” She winked, and Viktor groaned inwardly.

It was going to be a long night.
________________________________________

The cool night air hit Viktor like a balm as they stepped out of the suffocating confines of the ballroom. The distant hum of the gala still echoed faintly behind them, but he paid it no mind. Jinx’s hand was in his, her grip firm and insistent, as though afraid he might disappear if she let go.

They walked in companionable silence, the gravel crunching beneath their feet as they neared the grand gates of the hosting manor. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the manicured lawns and the towering wrought iron gates. The world outside felt quiet, serene—a stark contrast to the chaos of the gala.

But Jinx wasn’t content with serenity.

As they approached the gates, she tugged at his hand, leading him off the neatly paved walkway and onto the soft grass of the estate’s garden. Viktor barely had time to voice his protest before his back met the rough bark of a tree, her hands firm against his chest.

“Jinx—”

“Shh.” Her voice was soft but commanding, her lips curling into a playful grin. She stepped closer, her body pressing against his as her fingers trailed up his lapels, tugging him down just slightly to meet her gaze. “You talk too much.”

For a moment, Viktor froze. His mind warred between logic and instinct, the icy composure he wore like armor cracking under her intense gaze. Jinx had always been a force of nature, wild and unrelenting, and now she was staring at him as if he were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Before he could respond, she closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was fervent and electric, a spark igniting between them as her hands slid up to cradle his face. Viktor’s breath hitched, his hands finding her waist as if on instinct, pulling her closer.

The kiss deepened, growing hungrier with every passing second. Her lips were warm, insistent, and Viktor found himself matching her intensity, all thoughts of propriety and restraint dissolving like mist in the sunlight. His fingers tightened at her waist, his other hand moved to hold the back of her head and tangled in her hair, the silky strands slipping between his fingers.

Jinx moaned softly against his lips, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. She broke away briefly, her eyes half-lidded and burning with a mix of mischief and desire.

“See?” she whispered, her voice husky. “You’re much more fun when you stop overthinking.”

Viktor didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Words felt irrelevant in the face of her warmth, her closeness, and the fire she had ignited within him. Instead, he pulled her back in, his lips finding hers once more. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, as if he were trying to commit every detail to memory. The taste of her, the way her fingers clutched at his shoulders, the faint scent of gunpowder and something sweet lingering on her skin—it was intoxicating.

Time seemed to stretch and blur, the world narrowing down to just the two of them.

Their kisses were of fire and ice, chaos and control, everything that made them who they were. And in that moment, there was no gala, no judgmental stares, no past or future—only them.

As they pulled apart again, Jinx rested her forehead against his, her breath warm against his lips. "I’m climbing that tree tonight," she said, her grin returning.

Viktor chuckled softly, the sound rare and precious. "I would expect nothing less."

And together, they disappeared into the night, leaving the world of high society and expectations behind, if only for a little while.

Notes:

Did I cook 👀?

 

I felt like this was one of the best I've done so far. I hope everyone likes it.

Chapter 21: Mechanical Heart + Shattered Glass

Summary:

She flinched at his touch but didn’t pull away. Instead, she laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Help me? Yeah, right. You can’t fix me, Viktor. I’m too far gone.” Her voice broke, and she looked away, her shoulders trembling.

“You are not broken,” he said firmly, his hand squeezing her shoulder. “You are hurt. That is not the same thing.”

Her laugh turned into a choked sob, and she finally crumpled, her forehead resting against her knees. “Why do you even care?” she whispered, her voice muffled. “I’m just… I’m just a mess.”

“Because I care about you, Jinx,” Viktor said simply. “You are not just a mess to me. You are brilliant, and chaotic, and infuriating, but you are also… precious.”

Mechanical Heart

 

The dim glow of the workshop illuminated Viktor’s hunched form, casting elongated shadows across the cluttered space. The soft whir of his mechanical leg was the only sound breaking the heavy silence. He leaned over his desk, hands trembling as he adjusted the gears on his latest prototype. The faintest sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, and his breath came shallow and uneven, but he refused to stop. There was always more to do, and resting felt like a waste of time.

Jinx, crouched in the corner with a screwdriver between her fingers, hadn’t said a word for hours. She watched him with sharp, calculating eyes, the manic energy that usually drove her to create dulled by a gnawing unease. Her instincts were screaming at her—something was wrong.

“You’re gonna break it,” she said finally, her voice light but edged with concern. She dropped the screwdriver onto the table and walked over, arms crossed. “Or you’ll break yourself first. Whichever comes faster.”

Viktor didn’t look up. “It’s fine, Jinx. Just… a few adjustments left.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes, catching the slight tremor in his hands as he worked. She’d seen it before—the way he pushed himself beyond reason, chasing perfection even as his body betrayed him. It annoyed her in a way she couldn’t quite explain, like a splinter she couldn’t pull out.

“You’re lying.” Her voice dropped, an uncharacteristic softness slipping in. She stepped closer, her movements unusually tentative. “You look like you’re about to keel over, Genius.”

“I am fine,” he insisted, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. When he finally glanced at her, his golden eyes were clouded with exhaustion, the sharpness dulled by weariness.

Jinx tilted her head, her vibrant hair falling in messy strands around her face. She sniffed the air subtly, her senses picking up the faintest trace of sickness in his scent. Her stomach twisted.

“Fine, my ass.” She grabbed the tool from his hand with surprising gentleness and set it down. “Sit.”

“Jinx, I—” Viktor began, but she silenced him with a look. It wasn’t one of her usual manic glares, full of chaos and teasing malice. This was different—focused, almost protective.

“You’re burning yourself out,” she muttered, tugging him gently toward a nearby loveseat. To her surprise, he didn’t resist, though he winced slightly as he lowered himself. His body had always been fragile, but today he looked brittle, like glass on the verge of cracking.

Jinx crouched in front of him, resting her hands on his knees. “You’re not a machine, y’know. You can’t just patch yourself up and keep going.”

“I must keep working,” he replied, though his voice lacked its usual fervor. “There is so much to be done. For Zaun… for us.”

Jinx’s lips twitched into a lopsided smirk, though her heart wasn’t in it. “For Zaun, huh? Pretty sure Zaun can wait five minutes while you stop being an idiot.”

Her words earned the faintest chuckle from Viktor, but it quickly turned into a harsh cough. Jinx’s smirk disappeared instantly, replaced by a rare look of genuine concern. She reached out instinctively, her hand hovering near his chest before she pulled it back. Touching him still felt… complicated. Intimate. Instead, she returned her hands to his knees.

“I don’t need your pity,” Viktor said quietly, his gaze dropping. There was no anger in his voice, only a quiet resignation that made Jinx’s chest ache.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t pity you,” she shot back. “You’re too damn stubborn for that. But you’re mine, and I don’t want you falling apart on me.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than she’d intended. Viktor’s eyes snapped to hers, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. For once, Jinx didn’t flinch under the weight of it. She stood her ground, her hands tightening on his knees.

“I mean it,” she continued, softer now. “If you won’t take care of yourself, then I’ll do it for you.”

Viktor studied her for a long moment, his sharp mind clearly working through the implications of her words. Finally, he let out a slow breath and nodded, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips.

“Very well,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I will rest… if only to appease you.”

Jinx grinned, the manic glint returning to her eyes. “Good, cause you didn’t actually have a choice.”

She stood and grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair, tossing it over his lap with a flourish. Then, before he could protest, she plopped down on the floor beside him, leaning her head against his knee. Her scent, warm, and comforting despite its usual chaos, filled the air around them. Viktor felt his body relax against his will, the tension ebbing away.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The workshop was silent save for the faint hum of machinery and the soft rhythm of their breathing. Viktor closed his eyes, his hand falling to rest lightly on Jinx’s head. For once, he allowed himself to simply exist, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily forgotten.

Jinx, hearing the steady intake and exhale of breath, allowed herself to smile. Maybe she wasn’t great at fixing people—hell, she was better at breaking them—but for him, she’d try.

________________________________________

Shattered Glass

 

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the dimly lit lair, followed by a guttural scream of frustration. Pieces of metal and shards of blue and purple glass littered the floor, remnants of one of Jinx’s unfinished creations. She stood in the middle of the chaos, her chest heaving, fists clenched at her sides. Her hair, usually styled into her signature braids, was loose as it clung to her sweat-dampened face.

Viktor hesitated at the entrance, his golden eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene. The door had been rigged with her usual traps, but they were half-disarmed, as if she hadn’t even cared enough to finish setting them. That alone was a warning sign.

“Jinx,” he called softly, his voice carrying a quiet authority that cut through the still air.

She didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, she crouched over the scattered remnants of her invention, her hands trembling as she gathered the pieces, only to shove them away with a growl. “It’s all wrong!” she snapped, her voice wavering between rage and despair. “Everything’s wrong!”

Viktor stepped forward, his mechanical leg whirring softly with each careful step. The scent in the room hit him all at once—her scent, sweet and overwhelming, laced with the unmistakable undertones of a heat. His instincts flared, but he tamped them down, focusing instead on the omega before him. Her distress rang at a louder call than her heat.

“You’re in heat,” he said matter-of-factly, crouching a few feet away from her. “And you’ve been ignoring it.”

Her head snapped up, wild eyes locking onto his. “Yeah? So what?” she spat, her tone venomous. “It’s not like anyone cares. Not like I’ve got anyone to—” She cut herself off, her voice cracking. Her gaze dropped back to the floor. “I don’t need anyone.”

Viktor’s heart twisted at her words, but he kept his expression neutral. He’d known Jinx long enough to recognize her deflections, her instinct to push people away when she felt vulnerable. Slowly, he closed the distance between them, careful not to spook her.

“You should not be alone in this state,” he said gently. “Your body is under strain, and your emotions—”

“Oh, shut up with the science crap!” she snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite. “I don’t need a lecture, Vik. I need—” She stopped again, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“You need help,” Viktor finished for her. He settled onto the floor slightly behind her, brushing away some of the broken glass and twisted metal. His golden eyes softened, and he reached out, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “Let me help you.”

She flinched at his touch but didn’t pull away. Instead, she laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Help me? Yeah, right. You can’t fix me, Viktor. I’m too far gone.” Her voice broke, and she looked away, her shoulders trembling.

“You are not broken,” he said firmly, his hand squeezing her shoulder. “You are hurt. That is not the same thing.”

Her laugh turned into a choked sob, and she finally crumpled, her forehead resting against her knees. “Why do you even care?” she whispered, her voice muffled. “I’m just… I’m just a mess.”

“Because I care about you, Jinx,” Viktor said simply. “You are not just a mess to me. You are brilliant, and chaotic, and infuriating, but you are also… precious.”

She froze at his words, her breath hitching. Slowly, she lifted her head to look at him, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You mean that?”

“I would not say it if I did not,” he replied, his voice steady despite the rapid beating of his heart.

Something in her seemed to crack, and she launched herself at him, burying her face in his chest. Viktor tensed for a moment, caught off guard, but his arms instinctively came up to wrap around her. She clung to him like a lifeline, her small frame trembling against his.

Her scent surrounded him, rich and intoxicating, and his alpha instincts roared to the surface. But he forced them to quiet, focusing instead on the fragile omega in his arms. She didn’t need an alpha right now—she needed him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I just… I don’t know how to stop breaking things.”

“You do not have to apologize,” Viktor murmured, one hand stroking her hair. “You are allowed to feel, Jinx. You are allowed to fall apart. I will be here to catch you.”

Her grip on him tightened, and for a long time, neither of them spoke. The tension in the air eased slightly, her erratic breathing slowing as his steady presence calmed her.

Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes red-rimmed but clearer than before. “You’re not gonna leave, are you?” she asked, her voice small.

“Never,” Viktor promised, his gaze unwavering.

“Just as I am yours, you are mine, Jinx. And I take care of what is mine.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips. She nodded, leaning into his chest as her eyes fluttered shut. Viktor held her close, his heart steady as he silently vowed to protect her from the chaos—both within and without.

In that moment, amidst the shattered glass and the remnants of her heat, Jinx allowed her exhaustion to push her into a much needed sleep.

Chapter 22: Dear Annabelle pt. 0.5

Summary:

“Let me guess,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “When the investors come calling, you tell them how ‘you and Viktor’ revolutionized Hextech. How ‘you and Viktor’ made Piltover what it is today. But we both know it’s a lie, don’t we?”

Jayce’s face darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’m not sure who you think you are,” he said, his voice low, “but you’re way out of line.”

Jinx was no stranger to deception. It came as naturally to her as breathing, and tonight, she wore her mask as Annabelle with effortless precision. The wavy cascade of black-dyed hair softened her features, giving her the appearance of someone polished, elegant, and entirely forgettable. Perfect for what she had in mind.

The Progress Gala was in full swing when she slipped into a side lounge, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The room was dimly lit, furnished with leather chairs and polished tables—a haven for Piltover’s elite seeking a brief reprieve from the crowd. The air smelled of cigar smoke and expensive liquor, underscored by the faint hum of conversation filtering in from the ballroom beyond.

And there he was: Jayce Talis, standing by a sideboard with the confidence of a man who thought the world belonged to him. His tailored suit hugged his broad frame, and his face, handsome in a painfully conventional way, was set in an expression of relaxed satisfaction. He poured himself a drink, his every movement unhurried and deliberate. Jinx hated him already.

She stepped forward, her presence calculated to draw his attention. “Mr. Talis,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying just enough intrigue to pique his curiosity.

Jayce turned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took her in. There was a flicker of recognition in his gaze—not of her identity, of course, but of her beauty. Jinx knew men like him far too well.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, his polite smile sliding into place. “You are?”

“Annabelle,” she replied, tilting her head with a practiced air of coyness. “But you can call me Bell.” She let the name roll off her tongue like a gift, a small, glittering thing meant to disarm him.

Jayce returned her smile, raising his glass slightly. “Bell, then. A pleasure to meet you. Are you a guest of the Council?”

“Something like that,” she said cryptically, stepping closer. Her eyes flicked to the glass in his hand, then back to his face. “You’re quite the figure in Piltover these days. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Jayce chuckled, modest but pleased. “Well, I try. Progress doesn’t come easy, after all.”

She gave him a slow smile, the kind that danced on the edge of sincerity. “No, it doesn’t. Though for some, it seems to come a bit easier, doesn’t it? Being the face of Hextech and all.”

The compliment was sharp-edged, but Jayce didn’t notice. He took a sip of his drink, his posture relaxed. “I suppose it does,” he admitted. “But it’s a team effort. Viktor and I—”

“Ah, yes. Viktor,” Jinx interrupted, her voice cutting through his like a scalpel. Her smile lingered, but her eyes were cold now, gleaming like shards of glass. She moved to the sideboard, picking up his abandoned glass and swirling the amber liquid inside. “I imagine he makes things much easier for you. What with his brilliant mind and tireless work ethic.”

Jayce straightened slightly, the ease in his posture evaporating. “Viktor is invaluable to our work,” he said, his tone measured. “But we both contribute—”

“Do you?” Jinx asked, her voice soft but laced with mock curiosity. She set the glass down with a soft clink and leaned against the sideboard, her head tilted as she studied him. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like Viktor does the thinking, the building, and the innovating, while you do the smiling and the handshaking.”

Jayce’s jaw tightened, the flicker of irritation in his eyes betraying his otherwise composed exterior. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but—”

“I think you do,” Jinx said, her voice sharper now. She pushed off the sideboard and took a step toward him, her heels clicking against the floor. “You’re not even a fraction of the man nor inventor Viktor is, and deep down, you know it. You’ve built your reputation on his back, haven’t you? Taken his ideas, his achievements, and slapped your name on them like you deserve the credit.”

Jayce opened his mouth to protest, but Jinx wasn’t finished.

“Let me guess,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “When the investors come calling, you tell them how ‘you and Viktor’ revolutionized Hextech. How ‘you and Viktor’ made Piltover what it is today. But we both know it’s a lie, don’t we?”

Jayce’s face darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’m not sure who you think you are,” he said, his voice low, “but you’re way out of line.”

Jinx laughed, a sharp, biting sound that cut through the tension like a whip. “Oh, I’m just getting started, golden boy.”

She took another step forward, closing the distance between them. “Viktor doesn’t need me to fight his battles,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by and watch you use him like he’s some kind of tool for your own glory.”

Jayce’s eyes narrowed, his temper flaring. “Viktor and I are partners,” he said tightly. “We’ve always worked as a team. If you think—”

“A team?” Jinx repeated, her voice rising slightly in disbelief. “Don’t make me laugh. Viktor’s a genius—a real one. You’re just the pretty face they trot out when they need someone to smile for the cameras.”

Jayce bristled, his composure slipping further with each passing moment. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice strained.

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Jinx said, her smile vanishing entirely. “You think you’re the hero of this story, don’t you? The brilliant inventor who’s going to change the world.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But you’re not the hero, Jayce. You’re just a thief with a good tailor.”

“That’s not fair,” Jayce retorted, his voice rising defensively. “Viktor—”

“Is the only reason you’re standing here today,” Jinx snapped, taking a step closer. Her voice dropped, cold and dangerous. “And deep down, you know it. Without Viktor, you’d still be a failed idealist playing with broken ideas. But you took his brilliance, wrapped it up in a shiny bow, and sold it as your own.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the air crackling with tension. Then Jinx stepped back, her smile returning like a blade sheathed after a kill.

“Here’s a bit of advice,” she said, her tone light again. “For your own sake, stop taking credit for Viktor’s work. Stop pretending you’re the genius behind Hextech. Because if you keep it up…” She tilted her head, her smile widening. “Well, let’s just say it won’t end well for you. I do have a knack for making things go ‘boom’.”

Jayce glared at her, his fists trembling at his sides. “I don’t know who you think you are,” he said through gritted teeth, “but you have no right—”

“I have every right,” Jinx said, cutting him off with a flick of her wrist. “Because I’m someone who cares about Viktor. More than you ever will.” Her eyes flashed, her voice hardening. “Stop taking credit for things that don’t belong to you. Viktor doesn’t care about fame or accolades, but I do. And let me be very clear—if you keep stealing from him, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of fraud you are.”

Jayce stared at her, his face a mask of barely restrained anger. But he didn’t respond. What could he say? She had hit her mark, and they both knew it.

Satisfied, Jinx turned and headed for the door, her heels clicking against the floor in a steady rhythm. As she reached the threshold, she glanced back over her shoulder, her smile sharp and gleaming.

“Enjoy the gala, Mr. Talis,” she said brightly. “Oh, and do try to keep that ego of yours in check. It’s not a good look.”

With that, she disappeared into the hallway, leaving Jayce standing alone in the dimly lit lounge. His hands trembled as he reached for his drink, his mind racing with the weight of her words.
________________________________________

 

Jinx hummed to herself as she walked back toward the ballroom, the satisfied smirk on her lips refusing to fade. Confronting Jayce had been… exhilarating. He was everything she despised about Piltover’s elite: arrogant, self-serving, and oblivious to the struggles of those who didn’t share his privilege. And while Viktor might never say it out loud, she knew how much it bothered him to see his work overshadowed by Jayce’s charisma.

“Progress, my ass,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers trailing along the wall as she walked. “If it weren’t for Viktor, this city wouldn’t know progress if it smacked them in the face.”

As she reentered the bustling ballroom, she scanned the crowd for Viktor. He was easy to spot, standing off to the side with his usual stoic expression. The sight of him—tall, sharp-eyed, and so utterly different from everyone else in the room—made her chest tighten in a way she wasn’t entirely used to. She realized, this feeling was pride. Pride in the man that Viktor was, pride in all that he would be.

He didn’t need her to fight his battles. But she’d do it anyway, every chance she got. Because he was hers—her Viktor—and she’d be damned if she let anyone take anything away from him.

With a soft sigh, she adjusted the slit of her dress and headed toward a group of pompous, rich heirs, her smirk returning as she prepared to make the rest of the night… interesting.

After all, she was Jinx. Mischief wasn’t just her nature—it was her art.

Notes:

Do I hate Jayce?

“Hate” is a very strong word, and one should not use it lightly.

But yes, I do in fact hate Jayce.

Chapter 23: No One Else

Summary:

"Told you I didn’t do anything wrong," she murmured, her tone smug.

"You were never accused," he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She huffed playfully, but her smile betrayed her contentment. Viktor’s hand slipped from her neck, his palm brushing down her back in a soothing motion.

A soft, contented purr began to rise from her chest, a sound so uniquely hers that Viktor felt his lips twitch into a reserved smile. His hand rested at the small of her back, his thumb brushing lazy circles against her warm skin.

Notes:

I’m so sorry I took so long to update! The past few days of work were wayyyyy too much to handle, and I would not be surprised if the superintendent and what’s left of our company decide to quit! It’s seriously been awful 😭!

For hours, Viktor focused on his work, attentive in a way that made everything else fade away. Yet, when the door to his lab was roughly kicked open, his concentration momentarily wavered. He didn’t have to look up to know it was her. His Jinx, his chaotic, reckless omega.

She kicked the door shut with a dramatic flourish, causing his various delicate instruments to jostle slightly on their tables. Viktor, seated at his desk and focused on a series of intricate blueprints, did not flinch at the commotion. He merely adjusted his goggles with a sigh, now resting them on the top of his head. His amber eyes flickering upward to acknowledge her presence.

“Viiiikkktttooorrr,” Jinx’s singsong voice echoed as she strode in, her long braid swishing behind her like a pendulum and her eyes sparkling with uncontained excitement. She bounced into the room like a stray bullet, and tossed herself onto an empty stool and spun around lazily, feet kicking the air. "Miss me?"

"I am certain you already know the answer," Viktor replied dryly, setting down his tools and folding his arms. His tone was neutral, as always, but his eyes softened just slightly as they took her in. He always had a soft spot for her, no matter how much he tried to keep it buried beneath his composed exterior.

Jinx laughed, the sound ringing out in the lab. "Of course you did. Who wouldn’t? I’m the best part of your day, admit it."

“Jinx,” he said, his voice calm and measured, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t treat my workshop like one of your explosives.”

“Aww, come on, Vik!” Jinx teased, leaning against his desk and grinning at him. “You’re always so serious. You need to loosen up a little! Maybe let me decorate something in here. Add some pizzazz, some kaboom!”

Viktor’s lips twitched upward ever so slightly—barely a smile, but it was the closest anyone could hope for from him. “And what would I do with a workshop covered in kaboom, as you so eloquently put it?”

Jinx chuckled, continuing to spin on the stool. As she spun, Viktor’s sharp nose picked up the faint traces of oil and metal that always clung to her, but there was something else today—a scent that made his nostrils flare.

He removed the goggles from his head and set them down carefully, the motion deliberate as he fought against the wave of possessive aggression rising in his chest. His omega smelled of another alpha.

The scent was faint, but it was unmistakable. It clung to her skin like a predator marking its territory, setting his teeth on edge. Viktor prided himself on his control—on his ability to separate logic from primal instincts—but this? This made his composure crack.

A low, unfamiliar growl rumbled in his chest before he could stop it. At the sound, Jinx’s spinning came to a sudden halt.

The scent of a rutting alpha clung to her, foul and obnoxious. It wrapped around her like an unwanted stain, and it hit Viktor’s sensitive senses like a blade. His jaw tightened as he stared at her, his golden eyes sharpening dangerously.

"Jinx," he said, his voice low, tinged with a note of warning.

She tilted her head at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"You smell…" He trailed off, his fists curling tightly. Rationality warred with the raw instincts of his alpha nature. He was logical, always logical. There had to be an explanation. But the scent—pungent, cloying—grated against him, flooding his mind with images he didn’t want to entertain.

"I smell what?" she asked, sitting up straighter. Her lips curved in confusion, her nose wrinkling slightly as if she was trying to figure out what he meant. "I don’t smell anything weird."

"Another alpha," Viktor said flatly, his gaze fixed on her. He tried to keep his tone even, but it cracked just enough to reveal the underlying frustration he was desperately suppressing. "You reek of another alpha’s rut."

Jinx blinked at him, her expression shifting from confused to alarmed. "I do? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t smell anything!"

His jaw worked as he tried to suppress his rising irritation. He trusted her—he had to trust her—but the scent stirred possessiveness in him that was nearly suffocating. He forced himself to look away, staring at the wall as he tried to compose himself. But his silence only seemed to make things worse.

“Vik,” she whimpered.

He heard her as she moved, and felt her touch on him. When he glanced back at her, she was on her knees in front of him, her hands gripping his knees as if anchoring herself to him. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, pleading—made something in him ache.

“Please,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t know what I did wrong, but whatever it is, I didn’t mean to. I swear.”

He saw the telltale signs of distress: her scent shifting, souring slightly with worry, her fingers twitching on his knees. He understood his reaction was making her panic, and his heart twisted at the sight of her like this—vulnerable and panicked, so unlike the reckless, defiant omega he adored. Guilt swirled in his gut for pushing her to this point.

"I believe you," he said softly, his tone measured. "But I must understand. Tell me about your day, Jinx. Start from the beginning."

Jinx hesitated, biting her lip. She fidgeted for a moment as her eyes searched his, wide and almost pleading. "Vik, I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear. I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that, but I don’t—"

"Calm yourself," he interrupted gently, though his voice carried the authority of an alpha. His fingers brushed against hers, grounding her. "I said I believe you. I am not angry with you. But recount your day to me. Every detail." He reached out and cupped the back of her neck gently, his long fingers brushing against her braid. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly at the soothing touch, her instincts responding to the gesture.

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she nodded, further relaxing under his touch.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words slipping out instinctively. The way she preened under the praise was almost enough to distract him from the issue at hand. Almost. “Now, tell me.”

She chewed her lip, clearly trying to remember. Her voice initially wavered as she spoke. “Well, Silco did my hair this morning. Took him forever ‘cause he had a headache—poor guy. Then I went to Sevika’s fight in the ring. Thought it’d be fun to watch her get knocked around a bit, but she actually won. Boring, right?”

He hummed noncommittally, his thumb brushing soothing circles against her nape. “Go on”

“After that, I went to Babette’s place to get some intel on a thief that Silco has been up my ass about,” she said, her voice picking up speed as she recounted her day. “There was this gross alpha there who wouldn’t leave Babette alone, so I had to kick his ass. Seriously, he smelled like hot garbage. After that, I dropped off the intel to one of Silco’s guys, and then I came here!” She finished with a triumphant grin, clearly proud of herself.

Viktor’s hand froze mid-stroke. “You fought an alpha?”

Jinx tilted her head in confusion. “Yeah, so? He was being a creep. Babette was gonna call for backup, but I didn’t wanna wait. Figured I’d just deal with him myself. It was easy!”

Viktor closed his eyes, the pieces falling into place. Of course. The stench of another alpha’s rut wasn’t purposeful—it was likely residue from her fight. The bastard must have been in the throes of his rut, his scent spilling over everything in the vicinity. And Jinx, being Jinx, had marched right into the middle of it without a second thought.

“This alpha,” he said slowly, his voice carrying an edge of danger. “Describe him.”

Jinx shrugged, oblivious to the storm brewing in Viktor’s mind. “Big, loud, seriously smelled awful. He kept hitting on Babette, even after I told him to back off. So I kicked his ass. But only because he wouldn’t leave Babette alone!”

“Did this alpha,” Viktor asked, his voice deceptively calm, “smell as though he was in rut?”

Jinx blinked at him, her expression blank. “No? Aren’t alphas in rut supposed to smell irresistibly good or something? He smelled like shit and vomit fell in love and had a baby.”

Viktor exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought to rein in his emotions. “Not to you,” Viktor explained, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “You are bonded to me, Jinx. Other alphas would smell distasteful to you—repulsive, even. I am the only one whose scent would be… pleasant.”

Jinx stared at him for a moment, processing his words. Then, with characteristic bluntness, she said, “So, what? You’re saying that gross alpha smell rubbed off on me?”

“Precisely,” Viktor said, his voice dry. “And it is why we must remedy the situation immediately.”

Relief washed over her face, and the souring in her scent began to fade. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“I am not,” Viktor assured her. “Though I must admit, the thought of another alpha in rut near you—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “It does not matter. What matters is removing that wretched stench. You need to bathe,” he said, his tone practical. “That stench clinging to your skin is… difficult to ignore.”

Jinx pouted, and rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll go home and—”

“No.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “You will come with me to my studio. The sooner it is gone, the better.”

Her pout morphed into a mischievous grin. “Oh, I see. This is just your sneaky way of getting me naked, huh?”

Viktor raised a brow, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Perhaps. Would you object?”

Her laughter filled the lab, light and unrestrained. Viktor couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief at the sound.

Jinx took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. “A bath sounds nice,” she admitted, her voice light and teasing. “Maybe you’ll join me?”

Viktor’s smirk widened as he lightly chuckled. “I will consider it. If only to ensure the job is done properly.”
________________________________________

 

They made their way to Viktor’s studio, the journey filled with Jinx’s chatter and Viktor’s occasional hums of acknowledgment. Despite the tension earlier, the air between them felt lighter now, though Viktor’s alpha instincts remained on edge, eager for the offending scent to be gone.

When they arrived, Viktor wasted no time in directing her to the bathroom, his usual calm authority guiding his actions. Jinx rolled her eyes but complied, shooting him a teasing grin before disappearing behind the door.

As he waited, Viktor leaned against the wall, his mind drifting. The faint sounds of water running and Jinx humming to herself reached his ears, and he allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation.

Steam still lingered in the air as the bathroom door opened, spilling soft warmth into the cool ambience of Viktor's studio. Jinx stepped out, her long blue hair loose and trailing on the floor behind her like a silken train, damp strands catching the faint light. Her skin was slightly pink from the heat of the bath, her scent fresh and clean, no longer muddied by the stench of the alpha she had fought earlier.

She wore one of Viktor's shirts—plain, slightly oversized, the fabric hanging off her slender frame and slightly brushing against the top of her thighs, barely keeping her modest. The collar slouched on one side, baring her delicate shoulder and the mark he’d left on her neck. A reminder to anyone and everyone that she was his.

“Well?” Jinx asked, her voice light but laced with a flicker of uncertainty as she stepped closer, her bare feet making no sound on the floor. She turned in place briefly, the shirt swishing around her legs. “Is this better?”

Viktor’s gaze roved over her, his amber eyes softening as they took in every detail. Her scent was pure now, hers alone, untainted by the unwelcome intrusion of another alpha’s presence. It was sweet, intoxicating in its familiarity, a scent he could never tire of.

“Much better,” he murmured, closing the distance between them. Now standing close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

“Well,” she said, her voice dropping slightly, “does this mean you forgive me for smelling like hot shit?”

“There was nothing to forgive,” Viktor said simply, his hand brushing against her cheek. “You were never at fault.”

Her eyes searched his, and for once, there was no teasing, no mischief—just raw, unfiltered emotion. “I mean it, Viktor,” she murmured. “I’d never do anything to hurt you. You’re… you’re mine.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, his chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with jealousy or anger. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin as he leaned closer.

“And you are mine,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. Then, with a soft, almost tentative motion, Viktor leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was a clash of their contrasting natures—her wildness meeting his calculated control—but it was perfect in its imperfection. When they finally pulled away, Jinx grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling.

“So,” she said, her voice light, “are you gonna kiss me like that every time I smell weird, or was this a one-time deal?”

Viktor chuckled softly, his forehead resting against hers. “If it ensures you remain by my side, Jinx, I will endure whatever strange smells you bring.”

She laughed, the sound pure and unrestrained, and Viktor found himself smiling in spite of himself. For all her chaos and unpredictability, she was his—and he would not have it any other way.

Satisfied, he stepped back and gestured toward the bed in the corner of the studio. “Come,” he said. “You need rest.”

“Ugh, I’m fine,” she groaned, though she allowed herself to be guided toward the bed. “You’re such a worrywart, Vikky.”

Viktor ignored her complaint, "Go," he said softly.

Pulling the covers back and waiting until she crawled into the space before slipping in beside her. Jinx wasted no time in sprawling across his chest, her weight a comforting pressure as she nestled against him. Her body was light, her presence a comfort rather than a weight. Her head tucked under his chin, her breath warm against his neck.

His hand lifted, slender fingers sliding behind her neck with a gentleness that belied his usual precision. He drew her closer as he inhaled deeply. Her scent, now mingling with his, was intoxicating. It filled his senses, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

Jinx leaned into his touch, her eyes half-lidded as his grip lingered on her neck.

"Told you I didn’t do anything wrong," she murmured, her tone smug.

"You were never accused," he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She huffed playfully, but her smile betrayed her contentment. Viktor’s hand slipped from her neck, his palm brushing down her back in a soothing motion.

A soft, contented purr began to rise from her chest, a sound so uniquely hers that Viktor felt his lips twitch into a reserved smile. His hand rested at the small of her back, his thumb brushing lazy circles against her warm skin.

“You’re purring,” he remarked, his tone gentle, teasing.

“Mmhm,” she hummed, her voice muffled against him. “Means I’m happy. You like it?”

“I do,” he admitted without hesitation. The sound, coupled with her warmth, eased him in a way nothing else could. “It suits you.”

“‘Course it does,” she muttered sleepily. “I’m perfect.”

Jinx tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes glittering mischievously. "You got all growly earlier, though. Didn’t know you had it in you, Vik. I kinda liked it."

He rolled his eyes, though a faint flush crept up his neck. "Do not tempt me, Jinx."

She lightly giggled, and Viktor’s smile widened fractionally, his fingers threading through her hair as she began to drift.

But even in his contentment, a thought lingered in the back of his mind—an important question that refused to be ignored. He hesitated, knowing that voicing it would likely disrupt her blissful state. His fingers brushed lightly along her back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he debated with himself.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and hesitant. "Jinx."

"Mm?" she mumbled, barely lifting her head.

He paused, exhaling slowly. "When is your next heat expected to arrive?"

Her purring stopped almost instantly, and she lifted her head fully to look at him, her cheeks flushing a deeper pink than they already were. "Seriously, Vik?" she grumbled, half embarrassed, half annoyed. "You gotta ask that now?"

"It is important to plan for these things," he replied evenly, though the faintest hint of amusement danced in his tone.

She dramatically flopped back down onto his chest with an exaggerated groan, burying her face in his shirt. "I dunno. Maybe a month? Month and a half?" Her words were muffled against him. "You happy now, Mr. Planner?"

"Yes," he said, his hand returning to the back of her neck, his fingers soothing. "You may resume your purring."

She snorted a laugh, but within moments the deep, rumbling purr returned, her earlier embarrassment fading into sleepy contentment. Viktor let his eyes close, the vibrations of her purring and the weight of her warmth lulling him into rare tranquility.

Chapter 24: Come On, Shoot Faster!

Summary:

“Pfft, please,” Jinx said, grinning. “No one’s gonna care about some random girl beating a rigged carnival game. Besides…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can’t resist a chance to show off.”

Viktor sighed, though his lips twitched with amusement. “Very well. Just do not make it too obvious.”

Jinx bounded up to the booth, slapping a coin onto the counter. The attendant handed her the toy crossbow and a small quiver of bolts, giving her a skeptical once-over. “You sure you want to try, miss?” he asked. “It’s harder than it looks.”

Jinx flashed him a toothy grin. “Oh, I’m sure.”

Notes:

Anyone know the title reference 🤭?

The Piltover skyline glowed with the warm hues of dusk as Viktor adjusted the lapel of his coat and glanced at the clock on the wall. Tonight, the city was hosting another festival, this time celebrating the innovation and creativity that Piltover was famous for. Unlike the sprawling, bustling streets of their previous outing, this festival promised a more focused atmosphere, with activities centered around crafts, ingenuity, and skill. Viktor couldn’t deny his excitement—not just for the festivities but for another opportunity to spend an evening with Jinx.

“Almost ready, Viktor!” Jinx’s voice echoed from the adjacent room.

Viktor turned, his anticipation building. Jinx had insisted on putting together her own disguise this time, though he’d helped with the details. When she finally stepped into view, Viktor felt the corners of his mouth tug upward in a smile that softened his typically stoic expression.

Her freshly chestnut brown hair was styled into two uneven, wobbly buns on either side of her head, strands escaping to frame her face. The casual style gave her a playful air that contrasted with the bright mischief in her eyes. She wore a pair of capri overalls over a plain white shirt, the
rolled cuffs of her pants revealing sturdy ankle boots.

“What do you think?” she asked, spinning once for him.

“You look… delightful,” Viktor replied sincerely. “Though I imagine these buns may collapse under their own enthusiasm.”

Jinx snorted, crossing her arms with a playful glare. “They’re supposed to look like this! Besides, they’re not the highlight. These are.” She pointed at her boots. “Goodbye slippers, hello sturdy footwear! Now I can actually run if things get dicey.”

Viktor chuckled. “Let us hope there is no need for running tonight. But I agree, your choice is practical.”

Jinx smirked, sidling closer. “You always say practical like it’s a compliment.”

“Because it is,” Viktor said, offering her his arm. “Shall we go?”

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and they left the apartment together, stepping into the cool evening air.
________________________________________

The festival grounds were set up in one of Piltover’s smaller districts, with brightly lit booths lining the narrow streets. The crowd was smaller than their last outing, the atmosphere more relaxed, but the same sense of wonder and excitement lingered in the air.

Jinx immediately gravitated toward a booth displaying intricate clockwork animals. She crouched to examine a mechanical bird that hopped and chirped, her eyes wide with fascination. “Viktor, look at this!” she exclaimed, holding up the tiny contraption.

“It is impressive,” Viktor agreed, admiring the craftsmanship. “Though I wonder how long it will chirp before it requires maintenance.”

Jinx laughed. “You’re such a nerd.”

“And you are easily entertained,” Viktor countered, his tone teasing.

They continued to wander, stopping occasionally to sample snacks or inspect the wares of other vendors. Jinx seemed more at ease this time, her confidence growing with each step they took through the festival. She even struck up a conversation with a vendor selling handmade soaps, pretending to debate which scent was the most “explosive.”

As they walked, they came across a small stage where a group of musicians was performing a lively tune. Jinx grabbed Viktor’s hand and dragged him closer, bouncing on her heels to the rhythm. Viktor stood slightly stiff at first, but her infectious enthusiasm soon had him tapping his foot along with the beat.
________________________________________

The highlight of the evening came when they stumbled upon a shooting contest. A large crowd had gathered around the booth, watching as participants tried their luck with an array of targets. The setup was simple: a row of mechanical targets popped up at varying distances, each one moving unpredictably to test the shooter’s accuracy. Participants were given a toy crossbow with harmless bolts, and the goal was to hit as many targets as possible within a set time limit.

Jinx’s eyes lit up the moment she saw it. “Oh, I have to try this!”

Viktor arched a brow. “Are you certain? This may draw attention.”

“Pfft, please,” Jinx said, grinning. “No one’s gonna care about some random girl beating a rigged carnival game. Besides…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can’t resist a chance to show off.”

Viktor sighed, though his lips twitched with amusement. “Very well. Just do not make it too obvious.”

Jinx bounded up to the booth, slapping a coin onto the counter. The attendant handed her the toy crossbow and a small quiver of bolts, giving her a skeptical once-over. “You sure you want to try, miss?” he asked. “It’s harder than it looks.”

Jinx flashed him a toothy grin. “Oh, I’m sure.”

The attendant shrugged, stepping back to activate the targets. The first row popped up—simple stationary targets designed for beginners. Jinx raised the crossbow, her movements quick and fluid as she hit each target in rapid succession.

The crowd began to watch and several onlookers murmured in approval, a few claps and whistles breaking out.

The second row appeared, moving targets that zigzagged unpredictably. Jinx’s grin widened as she adjusted her aim, taking them down with ease.

By the time the third and final row emerged—targets that moved erratically and occasionally ducked out of sight—the crowd was fully invested. Jinx’s focus was unwavering, her shots precise. Each bolt found its mark, and the crowd erupted into cheers as the final target fell.

Viktor watched from the sidelines, a small smile tugging at his lips. He could see the thrill in her eyes, the way her energy seemed to radiate outward and captivate the crowd. It was a side of her he rarely got to see—a blend of confidence and joy that was almost childlike in its purity.

As Jinx handed the crossbow back to the attendant, the man shook his head in disbelief. “That was… incredible,” he said, handing her a small plush toy as a prize.

“Thanks!” Jinx said, holding up the toy triumphantly as she rejoined Viktor.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” Viktor remarked as they walked away from the booth.

“You kidding? That was awesome!” Jinx said, clutching the plush toy like a trophy. “Did you see their faces? They didn’t know what hit ’em!”

“You were very convincing,” Viktor said, his tone dry but affectionate.

Jinx smirked, nudging him with her elbow. “Admit it—you’re impressed.”

“I am,” Viktor admitted, his smile soft. “Though I hope this does not embolden you to enter a knife-throwing competition next.”

“No promises,” Jinx said, winking at him.
________________________________________

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and light. They watched a demonstration of a prototype airship, marveled at a massive mural being painted in real time, and even danced briefly to a slow tune played by a violinist on a street corner.

As the festival began to wind down, they found themselves once again on a quiet bench at the edge of the square. Jinx leaned against Viktor’s shoulder, the plush toy resting in her lap.

“This was a good night,” she said softly, her voice tinged with contentment.

“It was,” Viktor agreed, his fingers brushing lightly over hers. “Though I suspect you will remember the shooting contest most of all.”

“Maybe,” Jinx said with a grin. “But you know what I’ll remember more?”

“What is that?”

She tilted her head to look up at him, her expression unusually serious. “You. Just… being here with me. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.”

Viktor’s gaze softened, his hand lifting to cup her cheek. “Nor will I, zemlya moya.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the faint hum of the festival fading into the background. And as the lanterns swayed gently above them, casting a warm glow over the square, they both felt a sense of peace that was as rare as it was precious—a moment to treasure, free from the chaos of their world.
________________________________________

Back in his apartment, the cozy warmth of home wrapped around them like a blanket. The aroma of a simple yet hearty dinner—warm soup, fresh bread, and tea—filled the air. Viktor had taken care to prepare everything just so, setting the small table for two with neat precision. Jinx sat across from him, the glow of the table’s single candlelight dancing in her eyes as she spooned soup into her mouth, the prize plush toy perched securely in her lap.

The toy, a small male Yordle with simple clothes and goggles, had clearly captured Jinx’s attention. She occasionally glanced down at it between bites, her fingers brushing idly against its soft fabric. Viktor couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Have you thought of a name for it yet?” Viktor asked, his voice calm and curious, breaking the comfortable quiet.

Jinx paused mid-bite, her spoon hovering in the air. She lowered it slowly, staring at him with a thoughtful expression before looking down at the plush. Her lips curved into a smile, the kind that held a thousand memories, mischief, and tenderness all at once.

“Ziggs,” she said after a few moments, her voice soft but certain.

“Ziggs?” Viktor repeated, tilting his head slightly. He didn’t recognize the name but didn’t press her for its origins. “It is a good name. It suits him.”

Jinx laughed—a light, breathy sound that filled the small space with warmth. She hugged the plush close for a brief second before setting it back on her lap and picking up her spoon again.

“Glad you think so,” she said, her tone teasing but affectionate.

Viktor hummed in agreement and returned to his meal, the quiet rhythm of their eating filling the room. The plush toy sat contentedly between them, an unspoken symbol of the evening’s joy.

As they ate in comfortable silence, the candlelight flickered softly, reflecting the quiet contentment they shared. It was another moment to treasure—simple, sweet, and undeniably theirs.

Notes:

Her outfit is reminiscent of the overalls outfit in the Arcane art book. Oh, and let me tell you, I love Ziggs and his relationship with Jinx—someone who gets her and shares things in common with her! I’m excited to write about them in—hopefully—the near future.

Chapter 25: Told A Tale

Summary:

“Jinx,” he said slowly, his voice deadly calm. “Take it down.”

“Nope!” she chirped, crossing her arms and grinning like a mischievous child caught red-handed. “I worked hard on that! Look at the detail! I even got the hearts right.”

Viktor turned to her, his expression dark. “Take it down, or I will personally ensure that your dearest Fishbones malfunctions the next time you use it.”

Jinx gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Notes:

I can't believe I never thought about this until Night_stalker92 said something! Thank you for your service!

Viktor woke with a dull ache in his chest. It wasn’t physical—no, this was something subtler, something gnawing at the edges of his thoughts like a whisper he couldn’t quite make out. He sat up in bed, the early morning light peeking through his curtains. For a moment, he stared at the thin beams of sunlight, his golden eyes distant. A bad feeling lingered in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place why. He rubbed his temple, sighing softly before pushing himself out of bed.

He hated days like this. Days where the world felt... wrong, out of balance, like he was a pawn in some cosmic joke waiting to unfold. Viktor wasn’t one to be superstitious, but he also wasn’t one to dismiss the workings of fate. Too often, life had proven its penchant for cruel ironies.

As he dressed for the day, meticulously buttoning his shirt and straightening his lapel, he thought about Jinx. The volatile, unpredictable omega who had wormed her way into his heart. It still perplexed him how she’d done it, how someone so chaotic had managed to earn the unwavering loyalty of someone as methodical and calculated as himself. Yet, she had. And though he’d never admit it aloud, she was the only person in the world who could break through the icy walls he kept around himself.

By the time he arrived at the lab, the rest of the Hextech research facility was still quiet, the silence almost soothing. Viktor welcomed it. The lab was his sanctuary, a place where the world outside faded, leaving only equations, blueprints, and the hum of invention.

He secretly hoped Jayce wouldn’t show up today, or worse, Sky. Jayce was a distraction—loud and boisterous in his enthusiasm—and Sky… Well, she was another kind of nuisance. She meant well, Viktor supposed, but her overeagerness often grated on him. He had no patience for it.

Hours passed in solitude, the bad feeling lingering like a weight in his chest. He busied himself with calculations, refining the schematics for a device that would stabilize Hextech energy output. His concentration, however, was fractured, his golden eyes flicking to the lab door every now and then as if expecting something—or someone—to burst through.

And someone did.

Just as Viktor was reaching for the door to step out for a drink, Sky barged in, slamming into him with such force that they both toppled to the ground. The collision left Viktor sprawled on the cold floor, Sky’s smaller frame pressing down on him. He suppressed a groan, not from pain but from sheer exasperation. Her weight was nothing, but the situation itself was irritating.

“Oh my gosh, Viktor! I’m so sorry!” Sky stammered, scrambling to sit up, her hands fumbling to push herself off his chest. “I didn’t mean to—oh no, are you okay? I woke up late, and I wasn’t feeling well, and I rushed over, and I wasn’t looking where I was going—”

“Sky,” Viktor cut in sharply, his voice low but firm. His expression was carefully controlled, though a flicker of irritation broke through. She froze mid-ramble, her wide eyes locking onto his. “Please. Enough.”

Her mouth snapped shut, her cheeks reddening as she quickly got to her feet and offered him a hand. He hesitated but took it, rising with as much grace as he could muster given the circumstances. Dusting himself off, he exhaled slowly, trying to let go of the frustration clawing at him.

“I will be back shortly,” he said, his tone curt but not unkind.

Sky nodded, wringing her hands as she watched him limp out of the lab, the door clicking shut behind him.
________________________________________

The facility’s corridors were busier now, and Viktor couldn’t help but notice the glances directed his way. He ignored them, though his grip on his cane tightened. He didn’t care for the attention, and the whispers that often followed him made his skin crawl. He focused instead on retrieving his tea, a simple ritual that grounded him amidst the chaos of his day.

When he returned to the lab, cup in hand, he was immediately hit by a scent so strong it made him stop in his tracks. Sweet, cloying, and unmistakably omega. His brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he scanned the room. His gaze landed on Sky, slumped over her desk, her breathing labored and her skin flushed.

Of course.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Viktor suppressed a sigh. Sky was in heat, and she had apparently decided that coming to work in such a condition was a good idea. He had no patience for this. Quickly, he stepped back out of the lab, shutting the door behind him.

It took some time, but he eventually found an omega colleague who could assist Sky in getting home safely. As much as he disliked the disruption, he wasn’t entirely heartless. Still, as he waited for them to escort her away, a fellow scientist approached him, their expression awkward.

“Uh, Viktor… You’ve got a little…” They gestured vaguely to their own collar.

Viktor glanced down and immediately spotted the faint smudge of lipstick on his shirt lapel. He inhaled sharply through his nose, his irritation boiling over into something closer to fury. Without a word, he pinched the bridge of his nose again, this time to keep himself from snapping. Of all days, why this one?

Now dark outside, several hours had passed since Sky was escorted home and the lab aired out to rid it of the omega’s lingering scent, but Viktor was still on edge. The smell was faint now, but it clung to the space, an unwelcome reminder of the disruption. Omega scents didn’t affect him much. Unlike most alphas, he had a level of discipline that bordered on detachment, his focus on his work far outweighing any instinctual distractions. Besides, there was only one omega he cared about, and her scent was the only one he would ever willingly indulge in.
Jinx.

The thought of her brought a pang of something uncharacteristic—affection, perhaps, though Viktor rarely indulged in such sentiments. She was chaos incarnate, unpredictable and volatile, but there was a sharpness to her that matched his own, a brilliance that drew him to her despite her erratic nature. He had been courting her for months now, a strange and delicate dance between his stoicism and her fiery intensity.

And now, he realized with a sinking feeling, he was in trouble.

Lipstick on his collar. The scent of another omega in his lab. Jinx would not take kindly to this. She was possessive, territorial in a way that bordered on feral. Viktor had never seen her jealous before, but he could imagine it—and the thought sent a rare flicker of panic through him.

As if summoned by his thoughts, he heard her voice echoing down the hall. She was never discrete when she visited in the middle of the night. He was always the only one still working at the facility at this time, so she found no reason to be careful.

“Viiiiiktor! Where are you, you handsome nerd?”

Her tone was playful, singsong, and he could hear the distinct sound of her boots skipping against the floor. Viktor froze for a split second before springing into action, scrambling to reach the door before she did. He needed to explain, to somehow mitigate the impending storm before it descended on him.

But fate was not on his side today.

The door burst open with a dramatic kick, and there she was, all wild blue hair and glittering eyes, a smirk on her lips that quickly vanished as she sniffed the air. Her expression shifted in an instant, confusion morphing into something darker, sharper.

Viktor raised his hands in a placating gesture, his golden eyes wide with something dangerously close to desperation. “Jinx—”

“What the fuck is this?” she demanded, cutting him off. Her voice was sharp, almost a snarl, as her eyes scanned the room. “Who the hell was here? And why the fuck does it smell like another omega?”

“It is not what it looks like,” Viktor began, his voice steady but urgent.

Her gaze snapped to him, narrowing as she took a step closer. “Oh really? ‘Cause it looks a lot like you’ve been messing around with someone else while you’re supposed to be courting me.”

“I have not,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. But Jinx was not one to be easily calmed. Her eyes flicked to the smudge on his collar, and her lips curled into a bitter smile.

“Oh, I see,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “Lipstick on your shirt? The scent of some bitch in heat all over your lab? Real convincing, Viktor. Real fucking convincing.”

“Jinx, listen to me—”

“Are you fucking with me?” she interrupted, her voice rising. “Because if this is some kind of joke, it’s not fucking funny, and I’m really close to blowing shit up!”

Viktor stepped closer, his hands still raised in a gesture of peace. “It is not a joke. Sky came to work in heat. It was unprofessional and disruptive, and I had her sent home. That is all. The lipstick—” He exhaled sharply, his frustration breaking through for a moment. “It must have been from when she collided with me earlier. It is meaningless.”

Viktor took a cautious step toward her, his expression softening. “I know you’re upset,” he said gently. “But I need you to trust me. Please.”

Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of deception. She found none. Slowly, the tension in her shoulders began to ease, though her gaze remained wary.

“You better not be lying to me, Vik,” she muttered, her voice quieter now.

“I am not,” he assured her.

Jinx’s eyes burned into him, searching his face for any sign of deceit. Her nostrils flared, and she growled low in her throat, the sound more animal than human. Viktor held her gaze, his own steady and unwavering despite the chaos unraveling before him.

“I would never betray you,” he said quietly, but his words carried a weight that made Jinx pause.

For a long moment, the room was silent, tension coiling in the air like a living thing. Jinx’s breathing was heavy, her fists clenched at her sides. Then, finally, she exhaled, some of the fury draining from her posture.

“You better not,” she muttered, her voice still laced with irritation but lacking its earlier venom. “’Cause if you do, I’ll blow this whole fucking lab to pieces.”

Viktor allowed himself a small, wry smile. “Noted.”

She huffed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the desk. “You’re lucky I like you. Otherwise, I’d have torn this place apart already.”

“I am aware,” he said, his tone dry but tinged with amusement.

Despite everything, Jinx smirked, the spark of mischief returning to her eyes. “You owe me, y’know.”

“Do I?” Viktor asked, arching a brow.

“Yep. Big time. I don’t know if I believe you yet, but you’ve never lied to me before so I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt. But I’m not gonna let you off the hook easily.”

He sighed, though there was a hint of fondness in the sound. “Very well. What do you want?”

Jinx’s grin widened, and Viktor braced himself for whatever madness she was about to suggest. Something told him his bad day wasn’t over yet.
________________________________________

The days following The Sky Incident were a waking nightmare for Viktor. Not because of Sky herself—she hadn’t returned to the lab yet, thank the heavens—but because Jinx, ever the agent of chaos, had decided that teasing him about it was her new favorite pastime.

It started subtly at first. If Viktor could call anything Jinx did “subtle.” She’d show up at his lab unannounced, as usual, but now her visits were punctuated with sly smirks and little digs.

“Oh, Vik,” she’d say, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, leaning against the edge of his desk like she owned the place. “How’s your other omega doing? Sky, wasn’t it? Should I invite her over for tea? Or maybe for a threesome?” She’d laugh maniacally after every jab, throwing
her feet up on his desk or playfully swinging her legs from his chair as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

The first time she said it, Viktor froze mid-sentence, the flow of technical jargon halting abruptly as his brain short-circuited. He turned to her slowly, golden eyes narrowing in irritation.

“That is not amusing,” he said, his voice clipped.

“Oh, I think it’s hilarious,” Jinx replied, grinning ear to ear as she twirled a wrench she’d pilfered from his workbench. “You, caught in a love triangle with a shy little lab mouse? It’s straight outta a bad romance novel.”

“There is no ‘love triangle,’” Viktor said, his patience already wearing thin. “Sky is a colleague. Nothing more.”

Jinx’s grin only widened. “Suuuure,” she drawled, kicking her boots up onto his desk and leaning back in his chair like a queen on a throne. “But did you see the way she looked at you? All googly-eyed and blushy? She’s got it bad, Vik.”

Viktor closed his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose. He knew better than to argue with her when she was in one of these moods, but her teasing was like nails on a chalkboard. “I assure you, Jinx, whatever you think you saw is irrelevant. Sky’s feelings, if they exist, are entirely unreciprocated.”

Jinx hummed, tilting her head as if considering his words. “Unreciprocated, huh? So if I invited her over for tea, you wouldn’t mind?”

“Jinx,” Viktor said warningly, his tone as sharp as the scalpel lying on the nearby tray.

She cackled, spinning the wrench in her hand before tossing it back onto the desk. “Relax, nerd. I’m just messing with ya. Mostly.”

“Jinx,” he said firmly, his voice low and steady, “if you do not stop this madness, I will personally weld your boots to the floor.”

Jinx burst out laughing, stumbling back as she doubled over. “Oh my god, Vik,” she wheezed. “You’re so dramatic!”
________________________________________

It didn’t stop there. Oh no, Jinx was like a dog with a bone when it came to her jokes. The next time she visited his lab, she arrived with a suspicious-looking box under her arm.

“What… is that?” Viktor asked, eyeing the box warily.

Jinx grinned, setting it on the desk and flipping it open with a flourish. Inside was a garish, heart-shaped cake with the words “To Viktor and Sky: Lab Partners for Life!” written in bright pink frosting.

“I made it myself!” Jinx declared proudly.

Viktor’s eyebrow twitched. “You do not bake.”

“Okay, fine, I stole it from some bakery in Piltover and scribbled the words on top with leftover frosting. But it’s the thought that counts, right?” She shoved the box closer to him, practically shoving it into his chest. “C’mon, Vik. Share a piece with me. Or maybe save it for your special
lab partner, huh?”

“Jinx…” Viktor’s voice was a low growl, but she just giggled and hopped onto his desk, grabbing a piece of the cake with her bare hands and stuffing it into her mouth.

“You’re no fun, y’know that?” she said around a mouthful of cake. “Sky would’ve laughed.”

“You are insufferable,” Viktor muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And you love it,” Jinx shot back, her voice sing-song as she licked frosting off her fingers.
________________________________________

The breaking point came when Jinx plastered a crude, hand-drawn “WANTED” poster on the wall of Viktor’s lab. It featured a cartoonish caricature of Sky with exaggerated wide eyes and hearts floating around her head. Beneath it, in bold letters, was written:

WANTED: FOR CRIMES OF OMEGA LUST. APPROACH WITH CAUTION. SHE MAY ATTEMPT TO MATE YOUR LOCAL ALPHA SCIENTIST.

Viktor stared at the poster in silence, his golden eyes narrowing as his jaw clenched. Jinx, standing behind him, was doing a poor job of stifling her laughter.

“Jinx,” he said slowly, his voice deadly calm. “Take it down.”

“Nope!” she chirped, crossing her arms and grinning like a mischievous child caught red-handed. “I worked hard on that! Look at the detail! I even got the hearts right.”

Viktor turned to her, his expression dark. “Take it down, or I will personally ensure that your dearest Fishbones malfunctions the next time you use it.”

Jinx gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me.”

For a moment, they stared each other down, the tension thick in the air. Then Jinx broke, doubling over with laughter. “Fine, fine! I’ll take it down. Geez, you’re no fun, Vik.”

“You are testing the limits of my patience,” Viktor muttered, as he watched her pull the poster off the wall and crumple it in her hand.

“But I’m still your favorite omega, right?” Jinx asked, batting her eyelashes at him as she perched on his desk once again.

Viktor sighed, his shoulders slumping as he gave her a long, exasperated look. “…Yes,” he admitted grudgingly. “But only because I have no other options.”

Jinx grinned, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Love you too, nerd.”

And despite himself, Viktor couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. She was insufferable, chaotic, and utterly ridiculous… but she was his insufferable, chaotic, and utterly ridiculous omega. And somehow, that made it all worth it.

Chapter 26: Recipe For Perfection

Summary:

“It’s beautiful,” Jinx murmured, running her hands along the machine’s gleaming surface. Her voice was almost reverent, though her grin remained as sharp as ever. “So much power, just waiting to be unleashed. Can you feel it, Vik? Can you feel it humming?”

“I feel the instability,” Viktor replied, adjusting one of the stabilizers with precise movements. “If we are not careful, it could tear itself apart.”

“Good,” Jinx said with a laugh. “That’s how you know it’s alive.”

Viktor shot her a warning look, but she was already climbing onto the machine’s frame, inspecting the explosives with an artist’s eye. “This part here,” she said, pointing to one of the modules. “It’s too predictable. If it goes off, it’ll just blow a hole straight ahead. Boring. We need something more… chaotic.”

The low hum of machinery echoed in Viktor's laboratory, an incessant and oddly soothing rhythm of gears turning, valves hissing, and energy crackling through unstable circuits. The air smelled of ozone and grease, a scent that clung to his clothes and filled his lungs with every measured breath he took. Viktor’s sharp amber eyes darted across the schematics sprawled across his cluttered desk. His gloved fingers trailed along the intricate designs of the machine they had been working on for weeks—no, months now.

Behind him, Jinx paced the room with jittery, restless energy, her wild blue braids bouncing with each step. She wasn’t one for sitting still, especially when there was so much chaos to be made, so much noise to fill the silence of her turbulent thoughts. Her painted lips curved into a mischievous smirk as she picked up one of the prototype’s smaller components, a cylindrical chamber etched with glowing runes. She twirled it in her fingers like a toy, spinning it faster and faster until it slipped from her hand and clattered onto the floor with a loud clang.

“Jinx,” Viktor said without turning around, his voice calm yet firm, like a clock ticking one second slower than usual. “Do try not to destroy the components before we finish assembling them.”

Jinx’s smirk widened as she sauntered over to him, hands clasped behind her back. “Relax, Vik. If it breaks, we’ll just make a better one. You know how I roll—boom, bang, rebuild. That’s how all the best stuff gets made!” She perched herself on the edge of his desk, her legs swinging idly as she leaned forward to peer at the schematics. Her sharp blue eyes glittered with excitement. “Speaking of which, don’t you think this baby could use a little more… I dunno, kaboom?”

Viktor sighed, adjusting his legs before meeting her gaze. His expression remained cool, but the faintest flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips—something only Jinx ever managed to coax out of him. “Jinx, we’ve been over this. The device is meant to harness chaos, not succumb to it. Precision is paramount.”

“Ugh, you’re such a buzzkill sometimes,” Jinx groaned, throwing her arms in the air dramatically. “Why does everything have to be so precise with you? What’s the point of building something this crazy if it doesn’t leave a trail of mayhem in its wake?” She leaned in closer, her face inches from his, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “C’mon, don’t tell me you don’t get a little thrill from watching things go boom. I’ve seen the way your eyes light up when we test the explosives.”

Viktor’s golden eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pull away. “There is a difference between calculated destruction and mindless chaos, Jinx. One paves the way for progress; the other is a dead end.”

Jinx tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and exasperation. “Progress, progress, progress,” she muttered, mimicking his accent with a teasing lilt. “You sound like one of those uptight Pilties. Next thing I know, you’ll be talking about ‘order’ and ‘stability.’ Bleh.” She stuck out her tongue, wrinkling her nose. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“The fun,” Viktor replied dryly, “is in not accidentally vaporizing ourselves before the project is complete.”

Jinx burst into laughter, a wild, cackling sound that echoed through the lab. “Oh, that’s what you’re worried about? Please, Vik, I’ve been blowing stuff up since I was a kid. I know how to ride the line without falling off.” She reached out and tapped his chest lightly with her fingertip, her tone softening. “And besides… you’re here to keep me from going too far, aren’t you?”

Viktor hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the spot where her finger lingered. He didn’t respond immediately, but Jinx could see the faintest hint of warmth in his otherwise cold demeanor. “Yes,” he finally admitted, his voice quieter. “And you are here to keep me from staying too far behind.”

Jinx grinned, her earlier frustration forgotten. She jumped off the desk and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the massive contraption in the center of the lab. “Alright, genius, let’s see what your boring old ‘precision’ can do. But just so you know, I’m adding something extra to this bad boy before we’re done. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Viktor allowed himself to be dragged along, his mechanical leg clicking faintly with each step. Despite his protests, there was a part of him—a part he rarely acknowledged—that couldn’t help but be drawn to Jinx’s reckless enthusiasm. Her chaos was a flame, and he… he was the moth.
________________________________________
The machine, as it currently stood, was a monstrous fusion of Viktor’s technological ingenuity and Jinx’s anarchic creativity. A cylindrical core pulsed with raw energy, contained only by a lattice of Viktor’s hextech stabilizers. Surrounding it were rows of modular explosives, each designed by Jinx to detonate in unpredictable patterns. It was a machine that shouldn’t have worked, that defied logic and common sense—but somehow, it did.

“It’s beautiful,” Jinx murmured, running her hands along the machine’s gleaming surface. Her voice was almost reverent, though her grin remained as sharp as ever. “So much power, just waiting to be unleashed. Can you feel it, Vik? Can you feel it humming?”

“I feel the instability,” Viktor replied, adjusting one of the stabilizers with precise movements. “If we are not careful, it could tear itself apart.”

“Good,” Jinx said with a laugh. “That’s how you know it’s alive.”

Viktor shot her a warning look, but she was already climbing onto the machine’s frame, inspecting the explosives with an artist’s eye. “This part here,” she said, pointing to one of the modules. “It’s too predictable. If it goes off, it’ll just blow a hole straight ahead. Boring. We need something more… chaotic.”

“Jinx,” Viktor said, his tone carrying the weight of a thousand exhausted sighs. “The design is meant to channel the energy in a controlled direction. Adding ‘chaos,’ as you call it, would compromise the entire structure.”

“And that’s why you’re wrong,” Jinx shot back, flipping upside down to dangle from the frame like a bat. “Chaos isn’t a compromise, Vik—it’s an upgrade. If we make it too controlled, too predictable, then what’s the point? It’ll just be another tool for Piltover to use against us.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened. He understood her point, even if he didn’t agree with it. Piltover’s obsession with control and order was precisely why Zaun remained beneath their heel. But Jinx’s solution—to create something so unstable it couldn’t be controlled—felt like throwing a match onto a powder keg.

“Jinx,” he began, his voice steady but edged with frustration. “This project is not just about destruction. It is about innovation, about showing the world that Zaun is capable of more than—”

“Than blowing things up?” Jinx interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “That’s rich, coming from the guy building a giant death ray with me. Face it, Vik—you’re just as much a part of this chaos as I am. You just don’t wanna admit it.”

For a moment, the tension between them crackled like the unstable energy within the machine. Jinx’s grin was gone, replaced by something sharper, more dangerous. Viktor met her gaze, his expression unreadable but no less intense.

And then, as if on cue, one of the stabilizers sparked and fizzled, sending a burst of blue energy arcing through the air. Both of them froze, watching as the energy ricocheted off the walls before dissipating into nothing. The lab fell silent.

Jinx was the first to crack. She snorted, then giggled, and finally burst into full-blown laughter, doubling over and clutching her sides. Viktor’s lips twitched, and despite himself, he let out a low chuckle. Within seconds, the two of them were laughing like maniacs, the earlier tension dissolving into shared absurdity.

“Oh, man,” Jinx gasped between fits of laughter. “That thing’s gonna kill us before we even get a chance to use it.”

“Possibly,” Viktor admitted, a rare smile breaking through his usual stoicism. “But perhaps that is the price of progress.”

Jinx grinned, leaning against him as her laughter subsided. “See? You’re getting it. Chaos and progress, hand in hand. We’re like… two sides of the same coin.”

“Or two fools playing with fire,” Viktor said, though there was no malice in his tone.

“Same diff,” Jinx replied, her voice softening. She looked up at him, her bright blue eyes searching his face. “You know, you’re not so bad when you loosen up a little.”

“Perhaps you are not so unbearable when you focus,” Viktor countered, though there was a hint of warmth in his words.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the hum of the machine filling the space between them. Jinx reached up to touch his face, her fingers brushing against the shape of his jawline. “You’re such a weirdo,” she said with a crooked smile. “But I like you anyway.”

“And you are insufferable,” Viktor replied, his voice softer now. “But… I suppose I like you as well.”

Jinx’s grin widened, and before he could say anything more, she kissed him—quick, messy, and unapologetic. Viktor nearly stumbled at first, caught off guard, but then he relaxed, his hand resting lightly on her waist. It was a kiss that felt like everything they were: chaotic, intense, and somehow perfect in its imperfection.

When they finally pulled apart, Jinx was grinning like a maniac. “Alright, genius,” she said, hopping back onto the machine. “Let’s finish this thing before it kills us.”

Viktor shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his lips as he returned to the schematics. Together, they worked late into the night, their arguments and laughter blending into a strange, harmonious symphony of creation and chaos.

And as the machine began to take shape, so too did the dangerous, unpredictable bond between them—a bond as volatile and powerful as the machine they had built together.

Notes:

Don't know how I really feel about this one...

Chapter 27: The Doodle War

Summary:

At first, he pretended to be annoyed.

"Do you ever stop to consider that I might know what I’m doing?" he asked one evening, his tone sharp but not unkind.

"Do you ever stop to consider that you might be wrong?" she shot back, sticking her tongue out at him.

She had a point.

Notes:

The one has the same premise as Clockwork Heart, except instead of Jinx sneaking in to leave doodles on Viktor's work, she's doing it right in his face—and he's not gonna do a damn thing to stop her!

The laboratory was always dimly lit, the kind of perpetual twilight that Viktor found comforting. Harsh, bright light only cast unwelcome clarity on his limitations—the hunch of his back, the pallor of his skin, the cane always within reach. Here, in the amber glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of Hextech conduits, he could lose himself in the hum of machinery, the soft chime of metal against metal, and the orderly chaos of his work.

And of course, then there was her.

Jinx sat cross-legged on the edge of his worktable, a stray beam of light catching in her wild blue hair as she twirled a wrench between her fingers like a weapon. The table beneath her was littered with blueprints, gears, and an assortment of half-assembled contraptions, none of which were hers, but that had never stopped her from making herself at home. Viktor had initially bristled at her intrusion. Her presence was like a crackle of electricity in the air—chaotic, unpredictable, and utterly distracting.

He had spent days tolerating her constant chatter, the way she kicked her legs against the side of his workbench, the occasional thud of a small explosion from the corner of the lab where she tested her homemade "toys." But what had truly gotten under his skin were her doodles.

It had started innocuously enough—a series of jagged, haphazard lines scrawled in the margins of one of his schematics, drawn in the ink of his own precious fountain pen. At first, he thought she was mocking him, defacing his work in the same anarchic spirit that seemed to guide her every action. But then he looked closer.

Her doodles weren’t random at all.

The first time he truly noticed, it was late at night. She had left hours ago, the air still faintly smelling of gunpowder and oil. Viktor sat at his workbench, scanning the design for his latest prototype. A mechanical arm, intended to assist workers in the mines of Zaun. His eyes fell on her scribbles—a series of jagged arrows pointing toward the joint of the arm, where she had added a crude sketch of a spring-loaded mechanism.

"Ridiculous," he muttered to himself, leaning closer. But the longer he stared, the more sense it made. Her addition accounted for the strain that would undoubtedly wear down the joint over time. His original design, though mathematically sound, lacked the resilience for prolonged use.

He had implemented her suggestion the next morning.

She returned later that day, as she always did, dropping into his lab like a storm no one had prepared for. He said nothing about the doodles, only watching her out of the corner of his eye as she perched on the same spot, her slender fingers deftly disassembling one of his tools just to see if she could put it back together again.

"You’re quiet today, Genius," she teased, her voice light but tinged with that ever-present edge of madness.

He gave her a curt glance. "And you are infuriating as always."

She grinned, all teeth and mischief. "Aww, you’d miss me if I wasn’t around."

He said nothing, turning back to his work. But when she wasn’t looking, he caught himself smiling.
________________________________________
It became a game of sorts. Viktor would lay out his blueprints on the table, meticulously drafted and refined. And without fail, Jinx would find her way into his lab, armed with her pen and her audacity. She would lean over his shoulder, her hair brushing against his cheek as she studied his work with an intensity that was almost unnerving. Then, without asking, she would add her own touches—spirals and arrows and little notes scrawled in the margins.

At first, he pretended to be annoyed.

"Do you ever stop to consider that I might know what I’m doing?" he asked one evening, his tone sharp but not unkind.

"Do you ever stop to consider that you might be wrong?" she shot back, sticking her tongue out at him.

She had a point.

Over time, her contributions became less of a nuisance and more of a collaboration. Her mind worked in a way that defied logic, yet somehow always arrived at ingenious solutions. Where Viktor saw equations and calculations, she saw possibilities. She would point to a section of his design and say, "What if it exploded here?"—and as absurd as it sounded, her suggestion would often lead to breakthroughs he hadn’t even considered.

One night, as she leaned over the table, her arm brushing against his, Viktor found himself marveling at her focus. Her face, usually animated and wild, was serene in the glow of the lamp, her eyes tracing the lines of his schematic with a sharpness that rivaled his own.

"You are... surprisingly intelligent," he said, the words awkward and halting, as if admitting them caused him physical discomfort.

Jinx looked up, her eyes wide with mock offense. "Surprisingly? Oh, come on, Viktor. You’ve known me long enough to know I’m brilliant."

"I have also known you long enough to know you are insufferable," he retorted, though there was no venom in his words.

She laughed, the sound loud and uninhibited, echoing through the quiet lab. Viktor found that he didn’t mind the noise.
________________________________________
For all her chaos, Jinx had a way of slipping into quietude when it was just the two of them. On nights when the cities around them were restless, she would retreat to his lab, seeking solace in the hum of his machines. She never said it outright, but Viktor knew she found comfort in the way his world operated—logical, predictable, and steady in a way hers never had been.

She would sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scraps of metal and wires, sketching designs for her next invention on the backs of his discarded blueprints. Sometimes she would hum to herself, a tuneless melody that filled the space like smoke curling through the air.

Viktor, for his part, found her presence oddly grounding. She was a disruption, yes, but one that felt less like chaos and more like energy—raw, unfiltered, and alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

"You know," she said one evening, breaking the comfortable silence, "for a genius, you’re pretty bad at naming things."

He looked up from his work, raising an eyebrow. "I was not aware that naming things was a measure of intelligence."

"It’s not, but it is a measure of creativity," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. "You call everything something boring, like ‘Hextech Arm Prototype 3.’ Where’s the flair? The pizzazz?"

"And what would you suggest?"

She grinned, leaning closer. "Boomstick Arm of Doom."

He snorted, a rare sound that made her grin widen. "Your flair is... noted."
________________________________________
It was in the small things that their connection became apparent, though neither of them ever put it into words. Viktor would keep a stash of her favorite snacks hidden in one of his drawers, pretending not to notice when she stole them. Jinx, in turn, started bringing him little
trinkets she scavenged from the city—a gear that glowed faintly in the dark, a shard of glass etched with an intricate pattern, a box of screws that she claimed were "magic."

"Why do you keep these things?" he asked once, holding up a particularly strange object—a piece of metal shaped like a spiral, with no apparent use.

"Why not?" she said with a shrug. "Sometimes things don’t need a reason to exist."

He thought about that for a long time after she left.

There were moments when he caught her staring at him, her usual manic energy replaced by something quieter, almost vulnerable. He never called her out on it, though he often found himself returning her gaze, his chest tightening with an emotion he couldn’t quite name.

And then there was the night she fell asleep in his lab.

It had been a long day, the kind that left even her too exhausted to keep up her usual antics. She had curled up on the corner of his couch, her head resting on a pillow that looked far too large for her small frame. Her breathing was soft and even, her features relaxed in a way he rarely saw.

Viktor found himself watching her, his work forgotten. In sleep, she looked so young, so fragile, and he was struck by the realization that he would do anything to protect her—not from the world, but from the demons she carried inside her.
________________________________________
Their relationship was a delicate balance, like a machine with too many moving parts. Viktor knew he was treading dangerous ground, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. She was chaos incarnate, a storm that could tear his world apart, yet he couldn’t imagine his lab—or his life—without her in it.

And Jinx, for all her bravado, found something in Viktor that she hadn’t known she was searching for. He didn’t try to change her or fix her. He didn’t tell her to stop being so loud, so reckless, so her. He simply let her be, and in return, she found herself wanting to be near him, to see the way his eyes lit up when he solved a problem, to hear the soft lilt of his voice as he explained his latest invention.

In the dim light of his laboratory, amidst the hum of machines and the smell of oil and metal, they found something neither of them had expected—a connection, raw and unspoken, as fragile as the world they lived in.

And for now, that was enough.
________________________________________
Jinx stretched out on Viktor’s workbench, completely ignoring his exasperated glare as she sprawled over his neatly arranged blueprints like a cat seeking attention. Her boots knocked over a jar of bolts, sending them clattering to the floor.

"Must you?" Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yes," she replied immediately, grinning like the troublemaker she was. "But relax, babe. You act like you’re married to your blueprints."

Viktor didn’t even look up from his work. "Considering the state of my social life, I might as well be. At least they don’t talk back."

Jinx gasped dramatically, clutching her chest as though he’d shot her. "Wow. Rude. You’d miss me if I weren’t here to annoy you."

He paused mid-screw-turn and shot her a sidelong glance. "I would miss the silence."

"Ha! You admit it!" She pointed at him triumphantly. "You’d miss me!"

"That is not what I said," he replied, returning to his tinkering.

"You implied it."

"No, I—" He stopped and shook his head, realizing it was a losing battle. He knew from experience that arguing with Jinx was like trying to reason with a hurricane.

Instead, he pointed at a contraption sitting on the edge of the table. "If you insist on loitering here, at least make yourself useful. Hand me that calibrator."

Jinx tilted her head, eyeing the device he’d pointed to. "This thing?" She grabbed it and dangled it precariously over the edge of the table.

"Yes, that thing. And stop swinging it around like it’s a toy. It’s delicate."

She smirked, her fingers loosening ever so slightly. "Oops, butterfingers."

"Jinx," he warned, his voice icy but with a faint undertone of panic.

"Relax, Brainiac. Catch!" And with that, she tossed the calibrator in a perfect arc toward him.

Viktor’s reflexes weren’t great, but desperation was a powerful motivator. He lunged, nearly toppling off his stool as he caught the device mid-air. He landed awkwardly, gripping the calibrator like it was a priceless artifact, which, to him, it basically was.

"You are lunacy incarnate," he muttered, setting it down gently.

"And you love it," she shot back, kicking her legs as she swung them off the edge of the table.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "You are going to give me a heart attack one day."

"Then I’ll just build you a new heart!" she said brightly, grabbing a random gear and holding it up as if it were the answer to all his problems.

He couldn’t help the faint chuckle that escaped him. "Somehow, that is not as reassuring as you think it is."

Jinx hopped off the table, her boots clunking against the floor. She wandered over to his desk, rifling through his tools with zero regard for his carefully organized system.

"Hey," she said suddenly, holding up a small contraption he’d been working on earlier. "What’s this do?"

"It’s a prototype stabilizer," Viktor said without looking up.

"For what?"

"For preventing explosions."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, so it makes things less fun. Got it."

"Not everyone shares your reckless definition of ‘fun,’" Viktor replied dryly.

Jinx grinned, spinning the stabilizer between her fingers like a coin. "You’re such a buzzkill. But don’t worry—I’ll keep you around anyway."

"How magnanimous of you," Viktor said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Right? I’m a saint," she declared, flopping back onto the couch with her prize in hand.

He allowed himself a small smile as he returned to his work, the sound of her humming filling the space once again. For all her chaos and mischief, he couldn’t deny that the lab felt... emptier on the rare occasions she wasn’t there causing him stress.

But he’d never admit that to her.

Not yet, anyway.

Chapter 28: Clockout

Summary:

Jinx was perched on a stool near his desk, one leg crossed over the other as she tinkered with a small device in her hands. Her blue braids hung over her shoulders, and her tongue poked out slightly in concentration. She looked… peaceful, in her own chaotic way.

“You…” Viktor’s voice was hoarse from disuse, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “You did all this?”

Jinx glanced up, her lips curving into a grin. “Took you long enough to notice,” she said, setting the device down. “Figured I’d help out a little while you got some beauty sleep.”

Viktor blinked, his mind still reeling. “Why?”

She shrugged, leaning back on the stool. “I dunno. Guess I wanted to see what you could do when you’re not half-dead.”

The soft hum of Piltover’s sprawling streets was a distant echo through the frosted windows of Viktor’s laboratory, but inside the room, chaos reigned. Shards of glass littered the floor like jagged confetti, blueprints and notes were crumpled into balls of frustration scattered across every surface, and the heavy tang of burnt metal hung in the air. The once-meticulous space bore the unmistakable marks of a storm—an angry, relentless tempest of failure and despair.

Viktor stood at the heart of it all, his chest heaving as his twitching fingers gripped the edge of his worktable, knuckles white. His cane lay discarded on the floor, and his other hand trembled, a dark smear of grease trailing from palm to wrist. His eyes burned with exhaustion, sunken and bloodshot from days without proper sleep. Even now, his breath came out in harsh, uneven gasps, his lips muttering curses in Zaunite tongue as his gaze fell on the shattered remains of his latest experiment.

“A week,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Seven days. Seven miserable days for… this!” With a sudden burst of anger, he swept a nearby set of tools off the table, sending wrenches and screwdrivers clattering against the wall. His voice cracked with the weight of fury and shame.

“Useless. I’m useless!”

Behind him, unnoticed at first, the door to the lab creaked open. A slender figure slipped inside, her movements almost feline as she prowled closer. Powder-blue braids swayed with her steps, and the faint glint of a manic smile played on her lips—though it was tempered by something unusual. Curiosity. Concern.

Jinx.

Of all people, it had to be her. Viktor didn’t notice her immediately; he was too consumed by his downward spiral, too lost in the loop of self-recrimination to sense her presence. It wasn’t until she leaned against the doorframe and let out a low whistle that he finally turned, his head snapping toward her.

“What… are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, his accent heavier than usual, betraying his frayed composure. He grabbed his cane from the floor, using it to steady himself as he stood. “If you’ve come to mock me, make it quick and leave.”

Jinx didn’t flinch. If anything, his words seemed to roll off her like water on oil. She cocked her head to one side, her blue eyes glinting as she took in the wreckage of the lab—and the wreckage of the man at its center.

“Mock you?” she said, her tone almost teasing, though there was a softness beneath it that Viktor wasn’t accustomed to. “I mean, I could, but where’s the fun in kicking someone who’s already on the floor?”

His jaw tightened, and he turned away, muttering under his breath as he limped toward the corner of the lab. “Then why are you here?”

Jinx didn’t answer immediately. She padded closer, her boots crunching on broken glass as she moved further into the chaos. Her gaze darted between the shattered equipment, the crumpled notes, and finally, Viktor himself. For all her usual theatrics and unhinged energy, there was something unusually measured about her movements now. It was disarming.

“You’ve been down here a while, huh?” she finally said, her voice quiet. “Haven’t seen you around. Figured you were up to something big.” She tilted her head toward the wreckage of his experiment. “Guess not, though.”

Viktor stiffened at the jab, though her tone wasn’t as biting as he’d expected. He turned to glare at her, his amber eyes narrowing. “Leave me be, Jinx. I have no time for your games.”

She didn’t budge. Instead, she stepped closer, brushing past him to pluck a crumpled blueprint off the floor. She smoothed it out against her thigh, squinting at the intricate designs before glancing back at him. “Looks like it was almost something big,” she said, waving the blueprint. “But you’re trying too hard. Overthinking it.”

“Overthinking it?” Viktor echoed, his voice rising in disbelief. “Do you have any idea how complex this—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinx interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Big science-y words. Blah, blah, blah.” She grinned, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Look, I’m not saying you’re dumb or anything, but maybe… y’know…” She tapped her temple. “Take a breather? Let your brain catch up?”

Viktor laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “A ‘breather’ won’t fix this,” he said, gesturing toward the destroyed equipment. “Do you think I have the luxury of rest? Of failure? This was my only—” He stopped himself, his voice faltering as his shoulders slumped. For a moment, he looked almost fragile, his usual icy composure shattered by raw vulnerability.

Jinx watched him quietly, her usual snark absent. She let the blueprint slip from her fingers and stepped closer, her hands clasped behind her back. “You really do run yourself ragged, don’t you?” she murmured.

Viktor didn’t respond. He lowered himself onto a nearby stool, his cane resting against the table. His fingers ran through his disheveled hair, and for a moment, he looked so lost that it tugged at something deep in Jinx’s chest—a strange, unfamiliar ache she didn’t know how to name.

Instead of teasing him, she did something she rarely did: she sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“Y’know,” Jinx finally said, her voice soft, “you’re not the only one who’s failed before. I screw up all the time.”

Viktor turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting hers. There was a flicker of disbelief in his expression, as if the idea of someone like Jinx admitting failure was utterly foreign to him. “You?” he said, his tone laced with skepticism.

She laughed, a short, dry sound. “Yeah, me. Shocking, I know.” Her gaze grew distant, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the edge of the table. “But, hey… it’s not about not screwing up, right? It’s about… I dunno. Not letting it eat you alive?”

Viktor scoffed. “A simple platitude. Easy to say, difficult to practice.”

“Yeah, well,” Jinx said, shrugging. “Sometimes the simplest stuff is the hardest.”

She turned to him then, and before he could pull away, she reached out and took his hand in hers. Her touch was unexpected—gentle, but firm enough to keep him from withdrawing. Viktor froze, his body going rigid as he stared at her, wide-eyed.

“What are you—”

“Relax,” she said, her voice unusually soft. “I’m not gonna bite. Not unless you ask nicely”

Despite himself, Viktor huffed out a weak, humorless laugh. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jinx tilted her head, her eyes locking onto his. "Because I've been where you are," she said simply. "I know what it's like to feel like everything you do turns to crap. To hate yourself for not being good enough. And I know what it's like to have nobody there to pull you out of it.”

Her fingers were calloused but warm, her grip steady as she held his hand. Viktor’s instinct was to pull away, to retreat behind the wall of distance and detachment he’d built over the years—but something about her touch stopped him. Slowly, hesitantly, he let her hold his hand, his muscles gradually loosening as the moments stretched on.

“There,” Jinx said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Not so bad, huh?”

Viktor didn’t reply. He simply watched her, his mind grappling with the strange mix of discomfort and… relief that her touch brought.

After a moment, Jinx let go of his hand and reached up to gently cup his face. Her palms were still warm against his skin, her thumbs brushing lightly along his cheekbones. Viktor’s breath hitched, and his gaze darted away, his cheeks faintly flushed.

“You don’t have to do this all by yourself, y’know,” she said, her tone softer than he’d ever heard it. “You can let someone in. Just… a little.”

For a long moment, Viktor didn’t speak. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions, but in the end, he simply nodded—a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but one that Jinx noticed nonetheless.

“Good,” she said, pulling back and giving him a small, satisfied grin. “Now, here’s the deal: you’re gonna rest. Like, actual rest. Sleep, food, the whole shebang. Got it?”

Viktor frowned. “And if I refuse?”

Jinx smirked. “Then I’ll blow up your lab. It’s already rigged, so don’t think I won’t.”

He sighed, a faint hint of amusement creeping into his expression despite himself. “Very well,” he said. “But only for a day.”

“Two days,” Jinx countered.

“One and a half,” Viktor said, narrowing his eyes.

“Deal,” Jinx said, holding out her hand. Viktor hesitated, then shook it, his lips twitching into the faintest ghost of a smile.
________________________________________
When Viktor woke the next day it was already evening, and the first thing he noticed was the absence of clutter.

His lab, once a disaster zone, was spotless. The broken glass was gone, the crumpled notes had been smoothed out and stacked neatly on his desk, and the air was free of the acrid smell of burnt metal. Even the tools he’d thrown in his fit of rage were back in their proper places, arranged with almost obsessive precision.

For a moment, he simply stared, his mind struggling to process the transformation. Then, as his gaze drifted across the room, he spotted her.

Jinx was perched on a stool near his desk, one leg crossed over the other as she tinkered with a small device in her hands. Her blue braids hung over her shoulders, and her tongue poked out slightly in concentration. She looked… peaceful, in her own chaotic way.

“You…” Viktor’s voice was hoarse from disuse, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “You did all this?”

Jinx glanced up, her lips curving into a grin. “Took you long enough to notice,” she said, setting the device down. “Figured I’d help out a little while you got some beauty sleep.”

Viktor blinked, his mind still reeling. “Why?”

She shrugged, leaning back on the stool. “I dunno. Guess I wanted to see what you could do when you’re not half-dead.”

Her words were casual, but there was a flicker of something deeper in her expression—something Viktor couldn’t quite name.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Jinx’s grin widened. “Don’t mention it. Now, come on—we’ve got work to do.”
________________________________________
The days that followed were strange. Jinx had practically moved into his lab, her chaotic energy filling the once-quiet space. She brought him food, forced him to rest, and even managed to make him laugh—a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in years.

And when he was ready, when his hands were steady and his mind clear, she stood beside him as he returned to his work. Her insights, though delivered with her usual eccentric flair, were sharp, her understanding of machinery and mechanics rivaling his own. Together, they succeeded where he had failed alone.

The night they completed the experiment, Viktor sat back in his chair, staring at the softly glowing device in his hands. For the first time in weeks, he felt… accomplished.

Jinx plopped down beside him, her grin wide and triumphant. “Told ya we’d do it.”

He looked at her, the corners of his lips curving into a rare smile. “We?”

“Yeah, we,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “You didn’t think I was gonna let you hog all the credit, did you?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Thank you, Jinx. For everything.”

Her grin softened, her eyes meeting his. “Anytime, Vik.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the hum of the device filling the air. Then, tentatively, Viktor reached out, his hand covering hers and locking with her fingers. A genuine smile crossed her face as she looked down at their intertwined fingers, her usual manic energy dimming once again.

In that quiet moment, something shifted between them—a bond forged in the crucible of failure and resilience. Neither of them spoke, but they didn’t need to. For the first time in a long time, they weren’t alone.

Chapter 29: One Who Protects pt. 1

Summary:

“The project,” Heimerdinger explained, “is ambitious. We aim to create a device that could revolutionize power distribution across both Piltover and Zaun.”

Viktor’s mind whirred with possibilities, but the enormity of the timeline weighed heavily. “Two years… possibly four if setbacks occur,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Heimerdinger confirmed. “But think of the knowledge and experience you’ll gain!”

Viktor nodded, his thoughts drifting to Jinx. She had said she was fine with whatever decision he made, but the idea of leaving her, even temporarily, left him unsettled. They had been inseparable since childhood, their bond forged in the chaos of Zaun’s streets.

Notes:

Context: The age difference between Viktor and Jinx is similar to the one between Violet and Jinx.

The heavy, damp air of Zaun was alive with the pulse of machinery and the acrid stench of industry. Viktor worked deftly on a pressure pipe outside one of the small clinics tucked into the chaotic maze of Zaun’s underbelly. His hands moved with meticulous precision as he adjusted a stubborn valve, his mind absorbed in solving the issue before him. Though he leaned heavily on his cane, he moved with surprising fluidity, his focus eclipsing the pain in his leg.

“Remarkable,” came a voice from behind him, soft yet tinged with curiosity.

Viktor turned, startled. Standing there was a diminutive yordle with a brilliant white beard and bushy eyebrows—Professor Heimerdinger, a name that carried weight even in the depths of Zaun.

“You seem to have an intuitive understanding of these mechanisms,” Heimerdinger continued, his wide eyes darting between Viktor’s work and his face.

Viktor dipped his head in acknowledgement, unsure of how to respond. Compliments, especially from someone of such prominence, were not something he was accustomed to.

“This piping system is archaic,” Viktor said finally, his voice carrying a faint accent. “But it only requires attention to detail and a logical approach.”

Heimerdinger’s face lit up with interest. “Precisely! Logic and ingenuity are the hallmarks of great innovation. You have an exceptional mind, young man. I have a proposal for you.”

And so the professor explained: a project in Piltover, an opportunity to work alongside brilliant minds and advanced resources. It was a once-in-a-lifetime offer. But when Heimerdinger finally stopped talking, Viktor’s response was immediate and resolute.

“No, thank you.”

The yordle blinked, surprised by the direct refusal. “I understand your hesitance,” he said, his tone kind. “Piltover and Zaun have their… differences. However, I implore you to consider this carefully. You need not answer today.”

With that, Heimerdinger left a small card in Viktor’s hand, its edges embossed with the crest of the Academy. The idea clung to Viktor’s thoughts like static as he returned to the clinic, greeted by the sharp scent of antiseptic and the hum of makeshift medical equipment.

________________________________________
Jinx sat cross-legged on the floor of Viktor’s small workshop, tinkering with a gadget that sparked and hissed under her hands. Her blue hair in its signature braids, reflected the dim light. Viktor stood across from her, his fingers fiddling with a small piece of scrap metal.

“I had an odd encounter today,” Viktor began, his voice hesitant.

Jinx didn’t look up, though her ears twitched, a sign she was listening. “Oh? Someone finally confess their undying love for you?”

Viktor snorted softly. “Hardly. Professor Heimerdinger approached me. From Piltover.”

That caught her attention. She raised her head, eyes wide with curiosity. “The fluffy yordle guy? What did he want?”

“He offered me a position as his assistant and student,” Viktor said, his tone carefully neutral. “It is… an intriguing prospect.”

Jinx’s face lit up, her usual mischief replaced by genuine excitement. “Vik! That’s amazing! He noticed how smart you are! It’s about time one of those stuffy Pilties actually noticed you!” She squealed, bouncing slightly where she sat. “I’m so proud of you!”

Her words were like a balm to Viktor’s apprehension, yet he noticed the subtle shift in her scent—a sweet tang, undercut with the faintest hint of uncertainty.

“You don’t think it’s… betrayal?” Viktor asked, lowering his gaze.

“Betrayal?” Jinx laughed, though it lacked her usual wildness. “Vik, you’re not signing your soul away. You’re just helping him with some nerdy project.”

But her animation faltered as the implications set in. “Wait… You’d have to leave Zaun, wouldn’t you?”

Viktor nodded slowly. “For two years, perhaps longer.”

The workshop fell silent. Jinx looked down at the gadget in her hands, her thumbs idly spinning one of its gears. When she spoke, her voice was quieter. “Two years is a long time…”

“It is,” Viktor admitted.

But she pushed her emotions aside, as always. She lifted her head, a determined glint in her eye. “But if it’s what you want—what will make you happy—then you should do it. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

The sweetness in her scent intensified, and Viktor knew her words were genuine. She truly wanted the best for him, even if it meant enduring the ache of his absence.

________________________________________
The following day, Viktor met with Heimerdinger in Piltover. The professor greeted him warmly and led him to a laboratory brimming with cutting-edge technology.

“The project,” Heimerdinger explained, “is ambitious. We aim to create a device that could revolutionize power distribution across both Piltover and Zaun.”

Viktor’s mind whirred with possibilities, but the enormity of the timeline weighed heavily. “Two years… possibly four if setbacks occur,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Heimerdinger confirmed. “But think of the knowledge and experience you’ll gain!”

Viktor nodded, his thoughts drifting to Jinx. She had said she was fine with whatever decision he made, but the idea of leaving her, even temporarily, left him unsettled. They had been inseparable since childhood, their bond forged in the chaos of Zaun’s streets.

Would she thrive in his absence? Or would she unravel without the anchor of their connection? And what of his role as her alpha, the instinctual need to protect and care for her?

Viktor’s heart was at war with his mind. He stared out the grand window of the laboratory, the gleaming skyline of Piltover a stark contrast to Zaun’s dark haze. The possibilities called to him, but so did the girl who had always stood at his side, wild and unwavering.

For now, he would take time to decide.

________________________________________
The air in Zaun was thick with the tang of iron and oil, a constant reminder of the city’s industrial heart. In Viktor’s workshop, the atmosphere was different. It was alive with the warmth of Jinx’s laughter, the clink of metal, and the faint scent of ozone from sparking wires. But tonight, the space was quieter, weighted with the knowledge of what was to come.

Viktor packed the last of his belongings, his movements methodical. Jinx leaned against the workbench, twirling a screwdriver between her fingers. Her expression was uncharacteristically soft, her usual smirk replaced by something more subdued.

“So, you’re really doing it, huh?” she asked, her voice light, though her scent betrayed a cocktail of emotions—pride, sadness, and longing.

He turned to face her, his golden eyes meeting her vibrant ones. “It is… difficult to leave,” he admitted. “But this opportunity—it is everything I have dreamed of.”

Jinx stepped closer, her hands finding his. Her touch was warm, grounding. “I know, Vik. And I’m happy for you. Really, I am.”

Their goodbye that night was not a simple one. It was tangled with whispered words, lingering touches, and the primal instincts that had always simmered beneath the surface of their bond. When Viktor finally claimed her, it was with an intensity born of both love and the knowledge that they would soon be apart.

As the first light of dawn spilled into the workshop, Viktor left Zaun with a heavy heart, carrying with him the scent of his omega and the weight of her unwavering support.

________________________________________
The towering spires of Piltover gleamed in the sunlight, their gilded facades and intricate mechanisms a testament to the city’s obsession with progress. Viktor had imagined this world countless times as a boy in Zaun, dreaming of the precision and innovation that defined Piltover’s heart. Now that he was here, living in the thick of it, the reality was far less romantic.

He stood out. The enforcers who patrolled the streets regarded him with thinly veiled contempt. Merchants turned their noses up when he approached their stalls. His colleagues at the Academy whispered behind his back, their disdain cutting sharper than any blade.

“The trencher,” they would mutter, as if the very word was a curse. To them, he was a trespasser, a reminder of the polluted world they saw beneath their pristine city.

But Viktor wasn’t one to dwell on slights. He had come to Piltover with a purpose, and he would see it fulfilled. Under Heimerdinger’s guidance, Viktor immersed himself in the projects that were the lifeblood of the Academy. At first, his work focused solely on the power distribution device Heimerdinger had recruited him for. It was a monumental undertaking, one that promised to revolutionize energy use in both Piltover and Zaun.

Yet Viktor’s mind was restless, his creativity relentless. He began offering insights on other projects—solutions to problems that had stumped researchers for months, enhancements to designs that were already functional but could be better. Heimerdinger, impressed by his student’s ingenuity, encouraged him to explore freely.

The laboratory became Viktor’s world. The hum of machinery, the glow of arcane cores, and the scent of oil and ozone were his constants. His fingers were always stained with grease, his golden eyes perpetually alight with the spark of discovery.

But as he poured himself into his work, other parts of his life began to fade.

________________________________________
At first, Viktor made time to write to Jinx every evening, his letters meticulous and heartfelt. He told her about the grandeur of Piltover, the complexities of his projects, and the challenges he faced. He wrote of how he missed her laughter, her unpredictability, the chaotic energy she brought to every moment.

Her replies arrived like bursts of sunlight. Jinx’s letters were messy and vibrant, her words full of mischief and life. She described her antics in Zaun—stealing parts for her gadgets, painting murals on abandoned walls, and eluding enforcers with glee. She asked countless questions about Piltover, teasing him for his serious tone and signing her letters with doodles of bombs and grinning skulls.

But as Viktor’s responsibilities grew, his letters became less frequent. Weeks would pass before he found the time to reply. He told himself he would write soon, but “soon” stretched into months. He rationalized it: Jinx would understand. She knew how demanding his work was.

Yet each time he placed an unfinished letter aside, a gnawing guilt settled in his chest.

________________________________________
The laboratory was silent except for the faint whir of gears and the occasional spark of energy. Viktor sat hunched over his workbench, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. Before him was the culmination of years of effort—a sleek, intricate device that hummed with potential.

But Viktor’s focus wavered. His golden eyes, usually so sharp and determined, were distant.

Three years. The weight of that time pressed heavily on him. He had been away from Zaun for three years. Away from her.

Jinx had been on his mind more often lately, her name slipping into conversations in the most unexpected ways. Just last week, he had overheard a pair of enforcers grumbling about her latest escapade. The image of Piltover’s wealthiest district coated in unremovable blue paint had brought a rare smile to Viktor’s lips.

She had always had a flair for chaos.

But the thought of her stung as much as it warmed him. He had broken his promises to her—promises to write, to visit, to never let her feel forgotten. He had claimed her, bonded with her, and then left her to navigate the world alone. The guilt was a constant ache, an ever-present reminder of his failure.

For all his intelligence, Viktor couldn’t understand why he had let so much time slip away. Perhaps it was the weight of expectation, the demands of the Academy, the ceaseless pull of innovation. Or perhaps it was fear—fear of facing the life he had left behind, of seeing in Jinx’s eyes the pain he had caused her.

The device before him was almost complete. It was meant to be his masterpiece, a machine that would redefine energy distribution and cement his place among Piltover’s greatest minds.

But for Viktor, its completion symbolized something else: an ending.

He would finish this project, present it to Heimerdinger, and then leave Piltover. He would return to Zaun, to Jinx, to the life he had abandoned.

The thought both exhilarated and terrified him. Would she welcome him back with open arms? Or would she turn away, her wounds too deep to heal?

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the intricate web of wires and gears on his workbench. He had always prided himself on his ability to solve complex problems, to find order in chaos.

But this problem—the mess he had made of their bond—might be the one thing he couldn’t fix.

Notes:

Guys, I nearly had tears spill when I was deciding on the title for this one… I think you guys might know what I have planned for part two.

Chapter 30: Quantum Mechanics

Summary:

“Jinx,” he said softly, his tone losing some of its usual sharpness. “You are remarkable. Never doubt that.”

She didn’t respond right away. When she finally looked at him, there was something in her eyes he couldn’t quite place—something raw and unguarded. “You’re the only one who’s ever said that to me,” she whispered.

Viktor’s expression softened. He wanted to say more, but he knew better than to push. Instead, he simply nodded. “Then it is a truth long overdue.”

Jinx’s smile returned, softer this time. “Thanks, Vik,” she said quietly. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, she grabbed the tablet and started fiddling with it again. “Now, let me show you the reverse portal function. It’s even cooler—”

The air in Piltover was still, the cool night pressing against the glass of Viktor’s workshop windows. Shadows danced over piles of blueprints, copper tubing, and half-finished hextech mechanisms as the light from a dim lantern flickered. The man himself sat hunched over his workbench, his gaunt frame silhouetted in the glow of his magnifying glass lamp. His cane leaned against the table as he carefully soldered a delicate component onto a circuit board, his movements precise despite the tremor in his left hand. He had long grown used to working in the silence of the late hours—his solace lay in his work, and the world outside rarely disturbed him.

Except for her.

The faint scuff of boots on the windowsill made his ears twitch. Viktor didn’t look up right away; he didn’t need to. He knew exactly who it was. Only one person had the audacity—and the skill—to sneak into his workshop like this.

The creak of the window opening was followed by a soft thud as she landed inside, nimble as always. Then, her voice cut through the silence like a bolt of electricity.

“Guess who?” Jinx teased, her tone a singsong mockery that brought a faint, involuntary smile to Viktor’s lips.

“I wonder,” he replied dryly, his Zuanite accent thick with its usual undertones of sarcasm. “It could not possibly be the uninvited guest who makes herself at home in my workshop at the oddest hours.”

“Oh, come on,” Jinx drawled, her boots clicking against the floor as she strolled over. “You love it when I show up. Admit it.”

Viktor carefully set his tools down, finally turning to look at her. She was standing with her usual swagger, her hands behind her back and an impish grin stretched across her face. Her long blue braids swayed with every exaggerated step, and her wild blue eyes sparkled with mischief. There was grease smeared on her cheek, as usual, and the faint scent of gunpowder clung to her like a second skin.

“And what is it that you’ve brought me this time?” he asked, unable to keep the faintest trace of amusement from his tone. Jinx always came with something—some new gadget or explosive toy she’d cobbled together in the chaos of her manic mind. As much as her creations should have horrified him, they never did. In fact, he found himself marveling at her ingenuity time and time again. She was a prodigy, even if her methods were unorthodox to say the least.

Her grin widened as she pulled her hands out from behind her back. “Oh, nothing too crazy,” she said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. The excitement practically radiated off her as she held up a sleek, rectangular device. “Just a little something I’ve been working on for weeks. Took me forever to figure out the hextech calibration, but I finally got it. And tonight, I’m gonna show you how it works!”

Viktor leaned forward, his golden eyes narrowing as he studied the device in her hands. It was about the size of a small book, with glowing blue hextech runes etched into its surface. Thin, copper-like filaments wove across the tablet, and a faint hum of energy pulsed from its core.

He reached out and took it from her, his long, thin fingers cradling the device with surprising gentleness. “And what is this, exactly?” he asked, already impressed by the craftsmanship.

“It’s a teleportation tablet!” Jinx declared, practically bouncing on her heels. “Portable, compact, and—get this—it actually works. No more clunky hexgates. Just tap in some coordinates, and bam! You’re there in an instant. No fancy stabilizers or external power sources needed.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed as he inspected the tablet more closely. “A self-contained teleportation device…” he murmured, almost to himself. “The theoretical applications alone… Jinx, this is remarkable.”

The words made Jinx freeze for a moment. Her grin faltered, replaced by something softer, almost uncertain. “You… you really think so?” she asked, her voice quieter now. Her usual bravado slipped for just a second, revealing the fragile girl beneath the chaos.

Viktor set the tablet down and turned his full attention to her, his golden eyes meeting her blue ones. “I do not give empty praise,” he said simply. “Your work is ingenious. You have taken what most would dismiss as impossible and made it a reality. Few can claim such an accomplishment.”

The blush that spread across Jinx’s face was instant and furious. She looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “W-well, I mean, it’s not that big of a deal,” she stammered, though her voice betrayed how flustered she truly was. “I just… y’know… figured it out. Like I always do.”

Viktor allowed himself a faint smile. He had always been aware of the effect his praise had on her. Jinx wasn’t someone who responded well to kindness—it made her uncomfortable, made her squirm in ways that nothing else did. And yet, he knew she craved it, even if she’d never admit it. Perhaps because she had so rarely received it.

“Show me,” he said, gesturing to the tablet. “If it works as you claim, I would like to see it in action.”

That seemed to snap Jinx out of her flustered state. She perked up immediately, grabbing the tablet and grinning like a child about to show off her favorite toy. “Alright, you’re gonna love this,” she said, her excitement bubbling over once more.

She tapped a series of runes on the tablet, her fingers moving with practiced ease. “Okay, so I set the coordinates earlier—don’t ask where I got them, it’s a secret—but basically, I’ve got this thing locked onto a spot just outside the warehouse district. It’s super stable, no chance of ending up halfway through a wall or anything.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. He trusted her, in a way he trusted few others.

Jinx pressed one final rune, and the tablet flared to life. A circular portal of shimmering blue energy materialized in the air in front of them, crackling softly with contained power. The edges of the portal pulsed rhythmically, as if it were alive.

“Ta-da!” Jinx said, throwing her arms out dramatically. “Go on, stick your hand through. It won’t bite. Probably.”

Viktor hesitated for only a moment before extending his hand. As his fingers passed through the portal, he felt a strange, tingling sensation—not unpleasant, just… odd. When he pulled his hand back, it was unscathed.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “And you say this is completely stable? No risk of malfunction?”

“None!” Jinx said proudly. “I mean, I ran, like, a hundred tests before I brought it to you. You think I’d let you try something if I wasn’t totally sure it’d work? C’mon, give me some credit here.”

Viktor chuckled softly, a rare sound that caught Jinx off guard. “You have more than earned my trust,” he said. “This is extraordinary work, Jinx. Truly.”

The blush returned, and she looked away again, biting her lip to suppress a grin. “Geez, you’re gonna make me all blushy if you keep that up,” she muttered.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, watching her with quiet amusement. For all her bravado and chaos, there was a vulnerability to Jinx that few ever saw. She was a storm, unpredictable and wild, but she was also… brilliant. Beautiful, in her own, fractured way.

“Jinx,” he said softly, his tone losing some of its usual sharpness. “You are remarkable. Never doubt that.”

She didn’t respond right away. When she finally looked at him, there was something in her eyes he couldn’t quite place—something raw and unguarded. “You’re the only one who’s ever said that to me,” she whispered.

Viktor’s expression softened. He wanted to say more, but he knew better than to push. Instead, he simply nodded. “Then it is a truth long overdue.”

Jinx’s smile returned, softer this time. “Thanks, Vik,” she said quietly. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, she grabbed the tablet and started fiddling with it again. “Now, let me show you the reverse portal function. It’s even cooler—”

As she launched into an animated explanation, Viktor found himself watching her more than he listened. She was chaos incarnate, a whirlwind of ideas and emotions that never stopped moving. And yet, in her own way, she brought a strange kind of light into his world—a world that had long been defined by cold calculations and quiet solitude.
________________________________________

 

When she finished her last demonstration, Viktor leaned back in his chair, his golden eyes fixed on her. “You continue to exceed my expectations, Jinx,” he said. “It is no small feat.”

Her cheeks flushed again, and she fidgeted with the edge of her glove. “You’re just saying that,” she mumbled, but there was a shy smile tugging at her lips.

Viktor tilted his head, studying her. “You underestimate yourself,” he said. “You always have.”

Jinx looked up at him, her eyes wide. For a moment, the mask of confidence she always wore slipped, and he saw the vulnerability beneath. It was a rare glimpse, one she didn’t often allow, and it stirred something deep within him.

“Come here,” he said, his voice softer now.

She hesitated, her energy suddenly subdued. But she stepped closer, her movements tentative. Viktor reached out, taking her hand and guiding her onto his lap. She stiffened at first, unaccustomed to the intimacy, but she didn’t pull away.

He wrapped his arms around her, his touch surprisingly gentle. She was warm against him, her wild energy tempered by an uncharacteristic stillness. He could feel her heartbeat, rapid and uncertain, and he couldn’t help but marvel at how someone so chaotic could feel so… right in his arms.

“Do you know,” he said quietly, “how much I adore you?”

Jinx’s breath hitched, and she turned her face away, burying it in the crook of his neck. Her arms came up to wrap around him, holding him tightly as though afraid he might vanish. She didn’t trust her voice to respond, but her actions spoke volumes.

Viktor’s hand moved in slow, soothing circles on her back, his touch a silent reassurance. He held her as though she were something fragile, precious—something he couldn’t bear to lose. And in that moment, he realized just how much she meant to him. She wasn’t just a companion, an ally, or even a muse. She was… everything.

Normally, Jinx would slip away before dawn, disappearing into the night like a phantom. But tonight, Viktor didn’t want to let her go. He tightened his hold on her, his voice a soft murmur against her hair.

“Stay,” he said. It wasn’t a command, but a plea. “Just this once.”

Jinx pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his. For a moment, she looked uncertain, torn between her instincts and the quiet longing in his gaze. But then she nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Viktor’s expression softened, and he guided her to the small cot in the corner of the room. It was a crude thing, barely comfortable, but it was enough. He settled beside her, his hand never leaving hers. As they lay there, the hum of hextech filling the silence, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known in years.

Jinx curled against him, her usual restlessness giving way to a quiet contentment. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. In the stillness of the night, with the world outside forgotten, they found something neither of them had dared to hope for: a moment of solace, shared and unbroken.

For Viktor, Jinx was perfect. Flawed, yes, but perfect nonetheless. And though he would never admit it, even to himself, she had become the one person who could make his world feel a little less lonely.

Chapter 31: Boom Buddies pt. 1

Summary:

She blinked at him, tilting her head. “You’re worried about me?”

“Of course I am worried about you,” Viktor snapped. “You are important to me, Jinx. I cannot stand seeing you hurt.”

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, the silence stretching between them like a thread pulled taut. “You’re not mad, are you?”

Viktor sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his concern. “No,” he said quietly. “I am not mad. But I am… concerned. Your injuries may be minor, but they are injuries nonetheless.”

The silence of Viktor’s lab was a comfort to him, a sanctuary far removed from the chaos of Zaun. The hum of machinery was steady and low, soothing in its consistency. Viktor liked consistency. It was the bedrock upon which he built his life, the key to his progress and vision. And yet, despite his obsession with order, there was one chaotic variable he welcomed with open arms. Or, rather, he would have welcomed her with open arms, had she not been arriving later and later these days.
Jinx.

The mere thought of her caused his fingers to falter on the gear he was adjusting. His normally sharp focus softened as his mind drifted to the irrepressible woman who had claimed a piece of his heart. Jinx was, in every sense of the word, unpredictable. She was wild, volatile, and loud—a firecracker personified. But she was also his firecracker, and it was a truth he had come to accept, even cherish, in the past year of their clandestine companionship.

It wasn't unusual for Jinx to arrive well past the fall of night. In fact, Viktor had grown to expect it. Their... connection—he hesitated to call it love, though he knew that's what it was—was unconventional, much like everything about Jinx herself. It had been an arrangement of unspoken understanding. She never came during the day; she claimed the sunlight ruined the mystique of her entrances.

Besides, she'd once teased, "Daytime Jinx isn't as fun, and you only deserve the fun version, Vikky." Viktor hadn't bothered arguing, and though the nickname grated on him, her playful voice saying it had become oddly endearing.

She would slip into his lab like a shadow, her grin wide and manic, her words tumbling out in a whirlwind of barely comprehensible energy. She would sit on the edge of his workbench, swinging her legs like a child, touching everything she could reach, asking him questions faster than he could answer them. She’d claimed to be “just curious” about what Viktor did, though it quickly became apparent she had no real interest in his research. What she was interested in, however, was Viktor himself.

She was supposed to have come hours ago. Viktor glanced at the clock, his brow furrowing. Lately, her nighttime visits had grown erratic. She always came late, but now she was arriving far later than usual. And when she finally appeared, she was often out of breath, her pale skin marked by bruises, scrapes, or, more concerningly, burns. He’d noticed her brushing soot off her arms the last few times, as if she’d been playing in a forge. She laughed off his questions, changing the subject with a manic grin, and he hadn’t pushed her. He knew her well enough to understand that if Jinx wanted him to know something, she would tell him.

But tonight, the unease gnawed at him more than usual. He turned back to his work, his fingers tightening on a spanner. He hated the way his mind jumped to the worst conclusions—Zaun was no safe haven, and there was no shortage of dangerous people who would hurt someone as reckless as Jinx. Yet she never looked upset when she arrived. On the contrary, her bright blue eyes sparkled with delight, her breathless laughter filling his lab as if she’d just returned from some grand adventure.

Still, her injuries were becoming more frequent and more severe. And Viktor was no fool. He knew it was time to confront her.
________________________________________

 

It was nearly midnight when the sound of light footsteps reached Viktor’s ears. He didn’t look up from his desk, though his sharp hearing had already confirmed who it was. He tightened a bolt, the faint squeak of metal punctuating the quiet before her voice rang out like a cheerful explosion. And she was smiling—of course, she was smiling—because nothing ever seemed to dim the anarchic light in Jinx's eyes.

“Vikky!” Jinx called, her sing-song voice reverberating through the lab. The nickname was absurd—he hated it—and yet, he didn’t correct her. He never did.

Slowly, he turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, her usual carefree grin plastered across her face. But his golden eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the fresh set of burns decorating her forearm. Her hands were smudged with black soot, and her braids were singed at the tips, the vibrant blue strands now unevenly charred.

“You’re late,” Viktor said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of displeasure. He gestured toward her arm. “And you’re injured.”

Jinx shrugged, sauntering into the room with a skip in her step. She flopped onto a nearby stool, leaning forward on her elbows as she rested her chin in her hands. “It’s not that bad,” she said, waving off his concern. “Just a little… boom-boom mishap. You know me!” She laughed, the sound bright and mischievous.

“Yes, I do know you,” Viktor said, his tone colder now. “Which is precisely why I am concerned.”

Her grin faltered, just for a moment, before she covered it up with another laugh. “Aw, don’t be mad, Vikky. I’m fine. See?” She held up her hands, wiggling her fingers. “All ten fingers still attached.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened. He pushed back from his desk, standing and crossing the room to stand in front of her. “Jinx,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “This is not the first time you’ve come here injured. It is becoming a pattern. And you are arriving later and later, leaving me to wonder what exactly is happening. I have been patient, but I need you to tell me the truth. What is going on?”

For a moment, Jinx didn’t answer. She looked at him, her wide eyes studying his face as if gauging how much she could get away with. Viktor met her gaze evenly, his golden eyes unyielding.

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Fine,” she said, pouting. “You caught me. I’ve been hanging out with someone.”

The words hit Viktor like a punch to the gut, though he kept his expression neutral. “Someone?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah! A yordle named Ziggs!” Jinx said, her grin returning full force. “He’s awesome, Vik! He’s just as crazy about bombs and explosions as I am. We’ve been going to the old mines and setting off all the bombs we made. It’s been a blast—literally!” She giggled, leaning back and throwing her arms out dramatically.

Viktor’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. A yordle? Playing with explosives? In abandoned mines? It sounded like a recipe for disaster. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Jinx,” he said slowly, “do you realize how dangerous that is? The mines are unstable, and—”

“Oh, come on, Vik,” Jinx interrupted, rolling her eyes. “It’s not that bad. Ziggs knows what he’s doing. And so do I! We’re careful. Mostly.”

“‘Mostly’ is not reassuring,” Viktor said, his voice sharp. He rubbed a hand over his face, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. “Jinx, I do not wish to stop you from enjoying yourself. I understand that this… friendship is important to you. But you are coming back injured. That is not acceptable to me.”

She frowned, her playful demeanor dimming as she looked down at her hands. “I didn’t mean to make you upset,” she muttered, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I just… I was having fun. Ziggs is my friend. My only friend, really… outside of you.”

Viktor’s expression softened, though his concern remained. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her soot-streaked cheek. “I do not wish to take that away from you,” he said gently. “But you must be more thoughtful about what you are doing. If something were to go wrong…”

She blinked at him, tilting her head. “You’re worried about me?”

“Of course I am worried about you,” Viktor snapped. “You are important to me, Jinx. I cannot stand seeing you hurt.”

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, the silence stretching between them like a thread pulled taut. “You’re not mad, are you?”

Viktor sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his concern. “No,” he said quietly. “I am not mad. But I am… concerned. Your injuries may be minor, but they are injuries nonetheless.”

Her grin softened into something gentler, almost affectionate. She reached out, placing her hands on his chest, her fingers curling lightly around the fabric of his coat. “I’m fine, Vik. Promise. I mean, look at me—I’m still standing, right? You don’t have to worry so much.”

“I cannot help it,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are the only chaos I allow in my life, and if something were to happen to you…”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me,” she said firmly, standing on her tiptoes to bring her face closer to his. “You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

“That is how it should be, Jinx. You are the only one for me.” His gaze was strong, never wavering.

For a moment, Jinx was silent, her eyes wide with surprise. Then, to Viktor’s utter bewilderment, she laughed—a bright, joyful sound that made his chest tighten. “You’re so sweet, Vik,” she said, leaning forward and placing her hands on his chest. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”

Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jinx…”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she said, grinning up at him. “I’ll be more careful. Promise.”

“You will not simply say what you think I wish to hear,” Viktor said, narrowing his eyes at her. “I need you to mean it.”

“I mean it!” Jinx said, her voice earnest now. She placed her hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look directly at her. “I’ll be more careful. Cross my heart.”

He studied her for a moment, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. But all he saw was her usual mischievous glee, tempered by a rare hint of sincerity. Slowly, he nodded. “Very well. But there is one more thing.”

“Yeah?” she asked, tilting her head.

“You must stop arriving so late,” Viktor said. “I dislike when we have so little time together.”

Her grin softened into something almost tender. “You’re really gonna make me melt, Vik,” she teased. Then, before he could respond, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

Viktor stiffened, caught off guard by the sudden kiss. But the surprise quickly melted away, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer as he returned the kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, tasting faintly of smoke and something sweet—stolen candies, perhaps. She tangled her fingers in his hair, her laughter humming against his mouth.

She was chaos incarnate, a whirlwind of destruction and unpredictability. But she was his chaos, and in her madness, he had found something he hadn’t even realized he was missing.

When they finally broke apart, Jinx was grinning again, her cheeks flushed with triumph. “I knew ya missed me,” she teased, poking him lightly in the chest.

Viktor exhaled a soft chuckle, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “Yes,” he admitted. “I did.”

“Good.” She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. “’Cause I missed you too.”

For the first time that night, Viktor allowed himself to relax. He still wasn’t happy about her newfound friendship with this Ziggs character, or the dangerous games they were playing in the mines. But he also knew that trying to control Jinx was like trying to catch lightning in a bottle.

She was wild, untamed, and utterly unstoppable. All he could do was hold on and hope that she would always find her way back to him.

And as her soft laughter filled the workshop, Viktor tightened his arms around her, silently vowing that no matter what chaos she brought into his life, he would always be there to weather the storm.

Chapter 32: Boom Buddies pt. 2

Summary:

Ziggs shrugged. “Mostly.”

“Define ‘mostly.’”

“Eh, like 70%. Maybe 60% on a bad day.”

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath in Zaunite. Jinx stifled a giggle. “You’re so uptight, Vikky,” she teased. “C’mon, let me show you the cool stuff we’ve been working on!”

The walk through Zaun’s labyrinthine streets felt endless to Viktor, though it was likely because he spent much of it trying to ignore the tugging on his sleeve. Jinx’s enthusiasm was in full force tonight. She darted ahead of him, practically bouncing with each step, her voice filling the industrial gloom.

“Come on, Vikky! You’re gonna love him! Ziggs is, like, the best! He’s a mad genius. Like you, but fuzzier.”

“I fail to see how that is a compelling recommendation,” Viktor muttered, his tone as dry as the dust coating the air.

Jinx spun around, walking backward to face him. “Relax, grumpy gears. This is a good thing! You need more fun in your life, and Ziggs knows how to bring the boom.” She mimicked an explosion with her hands, her grin wide and unrepentant.

“I am quite content without unnecessary detonations in my day,” Viktor replied, though his lips pressed into a thin line as he watched her antics. Her usual erratic energy was turned up to eleven tonight, and it both exasperated and softened him. He didn’t want to imagine what this Ziggs might encourage.

“And yet, here you are,” Jinx teased, turning forward again.

Against his better judgment, he had let her talk him into this meeting. The words she’d said the night before still lingered in his mind: “My only friend, really… outside of you.” A small pang of guilt had nestled in his chest, unshakable despite his efforts to rationalize it away. If this Ziggs truly mattered to her, then he owed it to Jinx to make an effort—however disastrous it might prove.

They arrived at a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of Zaun, its towering metal doors rusted and creaking. Jinx shoved them open with a dramatic flair. “Tadaaa!”

Viktor’s first impression was one of chaos incarnate. The interior of the warehouse was dimly lit by a patchwork of buzzing lights. Workbenches lined the space, each more cluttered than the last with half-assembled bombs, wires, and what appeared to be jars of volatile chemicals bubbling ominously. Scorch marks marred the floor, walls, and ceiling, forming a tapestry of past misadventures.

And then there was the yordle.

Ziggs popped up from behind a particularly unstable-looking pile of scrap, his goggles crooked and his wild, ash-streaked fur sticking out in every direction. He spotted Jinx immediately and broke into a toothy grin.

“Jinxie!” he shouted, bounding toward her with an energy that rivaled hers.

“Ziggsy!” she replied, running to meet him in a flurry of blue braids and soot-smudged hands. She grabbed his small frame and swung him around as if he weighed nothing, the two of them laughing like co-conspirators.

Viktor, still standing at the entrance, watched the display with a mix of disbelief and concern. He cleared his throat loudly, hoping to bring some semblance of decorum to the situation.

Ziggs immediately turned his wide, bright eyes to Viktor, studying him with unabashed curiosity. “Who’s the stick in the coat?”

Jinx beamed, skipping back to Viktor and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “This is Vikky! He’s my partner in… well, not crime. Science, I guess? Kinda. Anyway, he’s awesome. And smart! Like, scary smart. You two are gonna get along great.”

Viktor inclined his head slightly, his golden gaze sharp and assessing. “I assume you are Ziggs. The one responsible for Jinx’s increasingly reckless activities.”

“Reckless?” Ziggs repeated, his grin widening. “Nah, we’re not reckless—we’re pioneers! Visionaries! Boom buddies!”

“That is not reassuring,” Viktor said flatly.

Jinx nudged him with her elbow. “Oh, lighten up, Vik. Ziggs is a genius with explosives! He’s taught me so much.”

“That is precisely what concerns me,” Viktor replied, his voice laced with irritation.

“Relax, big guy,” Ziggs said, waving a paw dismissively. “Jinxie’s a natural. She’s got an instinct for the boom—you can’t teach that. We’ve been having a blast, literally!”

As if on cue, there was a muffled explosion from somewhere deeper in the warehouse. Viktor’s eyes narrowed further. “Is this… facility structurally sound?”

Ziggs shrugged. “Mostly.”

“Define ‘mostly.’”

“Eh, like 70%. Maybe 60% on a bad day.”

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath in Zaunite. Jinx stifled a giggle. “You’re so uptight, Vikky,” she teased. “C’mon, let me show you the cool stuff we’ve been working on!”

Before Viktor could protest, she grabbed his hand and dragged him toward one of the workbenches. Ziggs scampered ahead, grabbing a contraption that looked like a grenade fused with a clock and entirely too many wires.

“This little beauty,” Ziggs announced, holding it up with pride, “is the Boom Boom Blitz! Guaranteed to clear a room in under ten seconds.”

Jinx clapped excitedly. “It’s amazing! We tested it in the old mines—it blew up, like, everything.”

Viktor’s expression tightened further. “You tested it in the mines? The unstable, abandoned mines?”

“Yep!” Jinx replied cheerfully. “Don’t worry, we’re super careful. Mostly.”

“That word again,” Viktor muttered, his fingers tightening around his cane.

Ziggs, oblivious to Viktor’s disapproval, offered him the device. “Wanna try it out? We’ve got a perfect testing spot right over—”

“No,” Viktor interrupted firmly, holding up a hand. “I do not wish to ‘try it out.’ Nor do I find it prudent to encourage further experimentation in such a reckless manner.”

Ziggs tilted his head, his ears twitching. “Man, you’re a tough crowd.”

Jinx pouted, leaning against Viktor’s arm. “You’re no fun tonight, Vik. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“It is overwhelmed by my sense of self-preservation,” Viktor replied.

Ziggs cackled, slapping his knee. “I like this guy! All serious and stuff. You need someone to keep you grounded, Jinxie.”

Jinx rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She turned to Viktor with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Fine, no bombs for now. But you gotta admit, Ziggs is great, right?”

Viktor’s gaze shifted to the yordle, who was now rummaging through a pile of explosives with reckless abandon. “He is… enthusiastic.”

“Aw, come on, Vikky,” Jinx said, tugging on his sleeve. “Admit it—you’re having fun.”

“This is not my definition of fun,” Viktor replied, though his voice had softened ever so slightly.

The night wore on, with Jinx and Ziggs swapping stories of their escapades while Viktor observed with a mixture of bemusement and quiet horror. Despite himself, he couldn’t deny the bond the two shared. Their energy was infectious, even if it was entirely chaotic.

At one point, Ziggs dragged Viktor into a debate about combustion ratios, the yordle’s wild theories clashing with Viktor’s meticulous calculations. To Viktor’s surprise, the conversation was engaging, if not entirely productive.

“See?” Jinx said, leaning against a workbench and watching them with a grin. “Told you you’d like him.”

“I would not go that far,” Viktor replied, though there was a faint curve to his lips.

As the hours passed and the chaos of the workshop continued unabated, Viktor found himself marveling at how natural Jinx seemed in this environment. She was in her element here, surrounded by destruction and invention, her laughter ringing out like a melody amid the madness.

Eventually, as another explosion rattled the warehouse, Viktor decided he’d had enough. “Jinx,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “It is late. We should leave.”

“Aww, already?” Jinx pouted.

“Yes. Already,” Viktor said, his golden eyes meeting hers. “You promised to be more thoughtful about your activities. That includes ensuring you get adequate rest.”

Jinx sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. She turned to Ziggs, throwing her arms around him in a quick hug. “See ya later, Ziggsy! Don’t blow yourself up while I’m gone.”

“No promises!” Ziggs replied with a cackle.

As they stepped out into the cool Zaun night, Jinx looped her arm through Viktor’s and leaned her head against his shoulder. “So… what’d you think?”

Viktor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He is… an interesting individual.”

“Interesting good or interesting bad?”

“…Interesting.”

Jinx laughed, her voice bright and carefree. “You’re such a softie, Vik.”

“I am merely concerned for your safety,” Viktor replied, though there was no edge to his tone.

Jinx grinned up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “You love me and my crazy friend, don’t you?”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head. “You are the only chaos I allow in my life, Jinx. Perhaps I can tolerate… a small extension of that.”

She beamed, standing on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Knew you’d come around.”

As they walked away from the warehouse, Viktor couldn’t help but glance back over his shoulder. The night’s events had been nothing short of chaotic, but as Jinx’s laughter filled the air, he realized that chaos wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—so long as it brought her back to him.

Chapter 33: Boom Buddies pt. 3

Summary:

“Good morning,” he replied softly, his golden gaze studying her face. “You returned late.”

Her grin widened slightly. “Didn’t want you to worry, so I came straight here. Hope that’s okay.”

Viktor’s lips twitched faintly. “I suppose I can forgive the intrusion, given the circumstances.”

She laughed, pressing her face into his chest. “Told you I’d be safe. And now, it’s just you and me, Vik. All day, all night. Whatever you want.”

Notes:

FYI, in this one shot, Jinx's and Ziggs introduction to each other isn't exactly faithful to the Paint The Town comic, but it's not that far off. Or rather, the way Jinx remembers it isn't exactly accurate.

The soothing hum of machinery filled Viktor’s lab, its rhythm as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. He stood over his workbench, hands steady as they adjusted the delicate mechanism of a gear assembly. His golden eyes, usually so focused, kept darting toward the door.

Jinx wasn’t late—not yet. But her recent habit of pushing the limits of “fashionably late” gnawed at the edges of his mind. The last time she’d arrived hours after their usual meeting time, she had come bearing bruises, soot-streaked skin, and a sheepish grin that did little to ease his concern. Tonight, as he waited, unease stirred in his chest.

The door swung open suddenly, the loud creak breaking the quiet. Viktor didn’t look up immediately, though his hands stilled, recognizing the familiar, chaotic cadence of her footsteps.

“Vikky!” Jinx called, her sing-song voice ricocheting through the lab. It was a tone that demanded attention—bold, brash, and completely hers.

“You are unusually boisterous tonight,” Viktor said without turning, his tone dry. “What is the occasion?”

Instead of bounding over to his workbench or hopping onto a stool as she usually did, Jinx lingered near the doorway. Viktor finally glanced up, his sharp gaze catching the way she fidgeted, her fingers tugging at the hem of her jacket.

“Jinx?” he prompted, his brow furrowing slightly.

She hesitated, her usual manic energy replaced by a rare unease. “Okay, so… don’t get mad, okay?”

Viktor straightened, setting his tools aside with deliberate care. He turned to face her fully, his golden eyes narrowing. “That is not a promising way to begin a conversation.”

“Promise me first!” she insisted, taking a half-step forward. Her wide blue eyes met his, an unspoken plea shimmering in their depths.

“Jinx,” Viktor said patiently, though his voice carried the faintest edge of warning. “I cannot promise that until I know what you are about to say.”

She sighed dramatically, throwing her arms up before blurting out, “I can’t come tomorrow night. Ziggs and I have something planned. But it’s not dangerous! I swear!”

Viktor blinked, the words landing with more weight than he cared to admit. He maintained his neutral expression, but Jinx—keen as always—caught the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. It was brief, subtle, but unmistakable.

Her heart twisted. She hated that look on him.

“Vik…” she said softly, moving closer. When he didn’t respond, her worry deepened. She dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands reaching out to tug at the fabric of his coat. “Please don’t be upset with me.”

“Jinx—”

“No, listen!” she interrupted, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ll make it up to you, okay? After tomorrow, I won’t be hanging out with Ziggs for a while. I’ll spend more time with you—lots of time! Whatever you want to do. I’ll even visit during the day if you want me to. Just… please don’t be mad.”

Viktor’s breath caught at the sight of her. Jinx, wild and untamed, was rarely vulnerable like this. Seeing her on her knees, eyes wide and pleading, struck a chord he wasn’t prepared for.

He sighed, his hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose as he tried to collect his thoughts. “I am not angry, Jinx,” he said at last, his voice quieter now. “But I would be lying if I said I was not… disappointed.”

Her gaze fell, her fingers twisting the edge of his coat. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” she murmured.

Viktor slouched slightly, leveling his gaze with hers. “You bring me great joy, Jinx. But lately, it has felt as though our time together is… diminishing. It is a selfish thought, I admit, but I cannot help feeling that I come second to this Ziggs.”

“You don’t,” she said immediately, her voice rising with conviction. She grabbed his hands, clutching them tightly. “You’re not second, Vik. You’re first. You’re always first. I just—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Ziggs is my friend. But you’re you. No one else is you.”

He studied her for a moment, her sincerity plain in the way her fingers curled around his. Slowly, he nodded. “Very well. You may go tomorrow, but only on one condition.”

“Name it!” Jinx said, her face lighting up with hope.

“You must assure me that whatever you have planned is not dangerous. I will not permit another night of you returning injured—or worse.”

Jinx nodded emphatically, her braids bouncing. “I promise! Not dangerous at all. Cross my heart!” She even made the motion across her chest with dramatic flourish, her grin returning.

Before Viktor could reply, she launched herself upward, her arms looping around his neck. She peppered his face with kisses, her lips brushing his cheeks, his nose, even his forehead. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed between each kiss.

“Jinx—” Viktor began, but his words were drowned out by her laughter.

She pulled back just enough to cup his face in her hands, her blue eyes shining. “After tomorrow, it’s just you and me, okay? All the time. Whatever you wanna do!”

He sighed, his lips twitching into a faint smile despite his weariness. “Very well. But remember, Jinx—I will hold you to that promise.”

“You got it, Vikky!” she declared, stepping back with a triumphant grin.

The next night, Viktor found himself alone in his lab. The emptiness was palpable, the absence of Jinx’s vibrant energy leaving the space eerily still. He tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept wandering, his thoughts tangled in memories of her laughter, her teasing words, and the way she had kissed his forehead the night before.

The hours dragged on, each tick of the clock stretching time into an unbearable crawl. Viktor had always prided himself on his ability to remain composed, but tonight, the stillness grated on him. He found himself glancing at the door more often than he cared to admit, a quiet hope flickering in his chest each time.

But Jinx didn’t come.

When dawn finally began to break, Viktor abandoned his work and retreated to his cot, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. He told himself to trust her—she had promised to be safe, and she had never broken a promise to him before.

Even so, sleep was a fitful thing. He dreamed of explosions, of blue braids caught in a storm of fire and smoke. When he woke in the early hours of the morning, it wasn’t the dim light of the lab that greeted him, but the warmth of something—or someone—beside him.
Jinx.

She was curled up against him, her head resting on his chest and her arms draped loosely over his torso. Her braids, slightly frayed at the edges, spilled across his cot, and the faint scent of smoke clung to her skin. Viktor’s first instinct was alarm—how had she entered without waking him? But the thought was quickly replaced by relief. She was here, whole and unharmed.

He exhaled a slow breath, his hand moving tentatively to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. She stirred slightly, her lips curving into a soft smile as she nuzzled closer.

For a long moment, Viktor simply lay there, the steady rhythm of her breathing grounding him. The chaos of the previous night melted away in the quiet warmth of the present, and for once, he allowed himself to simply be.

When Jinx finally stirred awake, she blinked up at him with sleepy eyes, her grin lazy but affectionate. “Mornin’, Vikky,” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness.

“Good morning,” he replied softly, his golden gaze studying her face. “You returned late.”

Her grin widened slightly. “Didn’t want you to worry, so I came straight here. Hope that’s okay.”

Viktor’s lips twitched faintly. “I suppose I can forgive the intrusion, given the circumstances.”

She laughed, pressing her face into his chest. “Told you I’d be safe. And now, it’s just you and me, Vik. All day, all night. Whatever you want.”

“Very well,” Viktor said, a rare chuckle escaping him. “But perhaps we can begin with something less chaotic than your usual ventures.”

“Deal,” she said, snuggling closer. “You call the shots today.”

As the morning light filtered into the lab, Viktor felt a quiet sense of peace settle over him. Jinx was his storm, wild and unpredictable, but in moments like this, he knew he would endure any chaos she brought. She was worth it. She always had been.

________________________________________

 

The familiar hum of machinery filled Viktor’s lab as he worked, his golden eyes fixed on the delicate mechanisms before him. The air was thick with the metallic tang of oil and faintly scorched metal, a comforting atmosphere for the meticulous inventor. Jinx, as usual, perched on his workbench, her legs swinging idly as she watched him.

Tonight, though, her typical chatter had slowed. Viktor’s sharp mind caught the quiet shift in her mood even as his hands continued their precise adjustments.

“What is on your mind, Jinx?” he asked without looking up, his calm voice cutting through the silence.

“Me?” she replied, though her usual manic energy wasn’t there. “Nothin’. Just thinking.”

He set his tool aside and straightened, turning to face her. “You rarely sit still long enough to ‘just think.’” His golden gaze softened, concern flickering beneath his otherwise neutral tone. “Is it the voices again?”

Jinx blinked at him, surprised by how easily he saw through her. Then again, Viktor always saw through her. She shrugged, her hands fiddling with a loose string on her pants. “Nah, they’re not too bad tonight. Just the usual… background noise.”

He didn’t press her further—Viktor knew better than anyone that her delusions were not a subject to be forced. Instead, he leaned on his cane and tilted his head slightly. “Very well. But something else is troubling you, is it not?”

She hesitated, her fingers tightening on the loose string. Then, with a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she blurted out, “Did I ever tell you how Ziggs and I met?”

The shift in topic was abrupt, but Viktor understood it for what it was: a deflection, yes, but also a story she wanted to share. He nodded slightly, folding his arms across his chest. “You have not. But I would like to hear it.”

Jinx’s grin widened, her energy bubbling back to life as she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Okay, so, it’s kinda funny. When I first met Ziggs, I thought he was one of them.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed slightly. “You believed he was one of your… delusions?”

“Yup!” she said, popping the “p” with exaggerated cheer. “I mean, c’mon. He’s a talking yordle with goggles and this crazy laugh—what else was I supposed to think? He just showed up outta nowhere, like, ‘Hey, wanna blow some stuff up?’”

Viktor’s expression didn’t shift, but she saw the subtle tightening of his jaw, the faint downturn of his lips. He didn’t interrupt, though, letting her continue.

“Thing is,” Jinx said, her grin faltering slightly, “he wasn’t like the others. My… uh, imaginary friends? They’re not exactly nice, y’know? They’re always messing with me, whispering stuff in my head, telling me to do bad things. Real jerks.”

“I know,” Viktor said softly. His voice was steady, but the weight of his empathy was unmistakable. “They have tormented you for a long time.”

Jinx glanced at him, her wide blue eyes shimmering with something unreadable. She nodded, her fingers now twisting one of her braids. “Yeah. But Ziggs? He wasn’t like that. He was… fun. And nice. And fuzzy!” Her grin returned, brighter now. “I mean, c’mon, Vik! A fuzzy little guy with goggles? He had to be imaginary, right?”

“Your reasoning is… understandable,” Viktor said carefully.

Jinx laughed, leaning back on her hands. “Yeah, well, Ziggs didn’t like it. He kept saying, ‘I’m real, Jinx! Real!’ But, like, they all say that. The voices? The shadows? They’re always trying to trick me. So why would I believe him?”

Her tone was light, almost teasing, but Viktor saw the flicker of pain beneath the surface. He remained silent, knowing she wasn’t finished.

“So, I just ignored him. Figured he’d stop lying eventually or disappear, like the others do,” Jinx continued, her voice quieter now. “But he didn’t. He stuck around. And… he didn’t tell me to hurt people.”

Viktor’s golden eyes softened. “That was when you began to suspect he was not like the others.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to her lap. “Yeah. Every time I talked about the big explosions I wanted to make, the kind that’d really hurt people, he’d get all serious. Like, ‘Jinx, explosions should be fun, not deadly.’”

Her hands stilled, her fingers curling into loose fists. “No one’s ever said that to me before. It was weird, y’know? It made me think. Maybe he wasn’t just another one of them.”

The silence stretched between them, the hum of the lab’s machines filling the space. Viktor finally spoke, his voice gentle. “What convinced you he was real?”

Jinx looked up, her grin returning faintly. “It was when other people saw him. Like, one time we walked into this shop, and the shopkeeper lost it—started yelling, ‘Get that yordle outta here!’ That’s when it hit me. He wasn’t just in my head. He was real.”

A quiet chuckle escaped Viktor, though his gaze remained warm and steady. “I imagine that was a… unique moment of clarity.”

“You could say that,” Jinx replied, laughing softly. “At first, I was kinda freaked out. I mean, a fuzzy talking yordle that other people could see? Crazy, right? But mostly, I was just… happy.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly. “Happy?”

“Yeah.” She twirled her braid again, her grin softening. “He was my first real friend, y’know? Like, real real. Not just another voice messing with me. He was just Ziggs.”

Viktor nodded slowly, his expression contemplative. “It explains much about the bond you share with him. He was, in many ways, your anchor to reality when you needed one most.”

Jinx blinked at him, her grin faltering slightly. “Wow, Vik. You make it sound all deep and stuff.”

“It is deep, Jinx,” Viktor said, his voice quiet but firm. “For someone who has endured as much as you have, finding a connection like that is no small thing.”

She flushed at his words, her grin returning as she laughed nervously. “Geez, you’re gonna make me choke or something if you keep talking like that.”

Viktor allowed himself the faintest of smiles. “I suspect you would survive.”

“Barely!” she shot back, sticking out her tongue. Then she leaned forward, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “But you know what, Vik? Ziggs might’ve been my first friend, but you? You’re my everything.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Viktor felt his composure slip. He reached out, his hand brushing hers lightly. “As you are to me, Jinx.”

Her grin widened, her cheeks flushing again. “Aww, Vikky. You’re such a softie under all that serious stuff.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Perhaps. But only for you.”

“Lucky me,” she teased, hopping off the workbench. “Now c’mon, genius. Let’s see what we can blow up today—in the name of science, of course!”

Viktor sighed, a faint smile lingering on his lips as he followed her. Whatever chaos Jinx brought into his life, he knew he wouldn’t trade it for anything. She was his storm, his firecracker—and in her madness, he had found something truly extraordinary.

Chapter 34: Boom Buddies pt. 4

Summary:

“I know so,” Viktor said firmly. “You have shown her kindness and acceptance—things she has rarely known. Not only that, but you have helped prevent her from committing acts that she herself would not have wanted. For that, I owe you my thanks.”

Ziggs rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing beneath his fur. “Aw, shucks, big guy. You’re gonna make me all mushy.”

Viktor allowed himself a faint smile. “It is simply the truth.”

Ziggs chuckled, his grin returning. “Well, hey, it goes both ways. You’re good for her too, y’know. She’s always talkin’ about you. ‘Vikky this, Vikky that.’ Pretty sure you’re the only person who can actually keep up with her crazy.”

The abandoned factory loomed like a forgotten relic, its rusted walls streaked with grime and wear from years of neglect. Inside, the air crackled with frenetic energy. Sparks flared intermittently, and the room was filled with the chaotic symphony of clinking tools, bubbling chemicals, and distant explosions.

Jinx was in her element. She zipped between makeshift workbenches, her blue braids whipping behind her as she mumbled half-formed ideas to herself. A few times, she cackled and clapped her hands as if a particularly brilliant thought had struck her. Her latest project—a cobbled-together contraption of questionable stability—lay half-assembled on one of the tables, its purpose a mystery to all but her.

Viktor stood near the entrance, observing the mayhem with a mix of wariness and resignation. He had agreed to accompany Jinx to this “playdate” with Ziggs, but his initial apprehension had only grown upon stepping into the factory. It was less a workspace and more a minefield, with explosive devices strewn about like forgotten toys.

Ziggs, perched on a rickety stool nearby, was the picture of unbridled enthusiasm. His goggles sat slightly askew, and his wild fur was singed in places, but he wore his manic grin with pride. “Hey, big guy!” the yordle called, hopping down to greet Viktor. “Glad you could make it! Jinxie said you’d be a tough sell, but here you are.”

“I am here at her insistence,” Viktor replied, his tone even. “Though I confess, this environment is… concerning.”

Ziggs laughed, his ears swishing. “Yeah, it’s a little messy, but it’s got character, right? Plus, it’s the perfect spot for some real fireworks.”

“I am certain,” Viktor said dryly, his golden eyes scanning the cluttered room.

“Vikky!” Jinx’s voice rang out as she waved a wrench above her head. “Don’t just stand there lookin’ all stiff! You’re here to play, remember?”

“I was under the impression I was here to observe,” Viktor countered, though his voice softened at her playful grin.

Jinx shrugged and turned back to her project, already losing herself in her work. Viktor allowed himself a small smile before shifting his attention back to Ziggs, who was eyeing him with curious intensity.

“So,” the yordle said, crossing his arms, “what’s the deal with you and Jinxie? She’s always been all sunshine and fireworks about you.”

Viktor regarded Ziggs thoughtfully, his fingers brushing the head of his cane. “She and I… share a connection,” he said after a moment. “One that I value greatly. Jinx is a remarkable individual, though I suspect you already know that.”

“Hell yeah, she is,” Ziggs said with a grin. “She’s one-of-a-kind, that’s for sure.”

Viktor nodded, his gaze drifting to Jinx as she crouched over her device, humming a tune under her breath. “She has endured much in her life,” he said quietly. “More than anyone should. Yet she carries on, defying the odds with a resilience that is nothing short of extraordinary.”

Ziggs’ grin faltered, his ears twitching. “Yeah, I picked up on that. She doesn’t talk about it much, but you can tell there’s… stuff. Y’know?”

“There is,” Viktor confirmed, his voice steady. “Her past has left scars, both visible and unseen. The voices she hears, the delusions she experiences—these are remnants of trauma that has shaped her into the person she is today.”

The yordle frowned, his ears flicking thoughtfully. “Man… that’s rough.”

“It is,” Viktor said. “And it is why I am grateful for your friendship with her. Jinx often masks her loneliness with laughter and chaos, but I see the cracks in her façade. You have given her something she has long needed: a true companion.”

Ziggs tilted his head, his expression softening. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Viktor said firmly. “You have shown her kindness and acceptance—things she has rarely known. Not only that, but you have helped prevent her from committing acts that she herself would not have wanted. For that, I owe you my thanks.”

Ziggs rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing beneath his fur. “Aw, shucks, big guy. You’re gonna make me all mushy.”

Viktor allowed himself a faint smile. “It is simply the truth.”

Ziggs chuckled, his grin returning. “Well, hey, it goes both ways. You’re good for her too, y’know. She’s always talkin’ about you. ‘Vikky this, Vikky that.’ Pretty sure you’re the only person who can actually keep up with her crazy.”

“I try,” Viktor said, his voice tinged with quiet amusement.

The yordle nodded approvingly. “You’re doin’ more than trying. You’re, like, her anchor or something. She’s crazy about you, big guy.”

Before Viktor could respond, a triumphant whoop cut through the air.

“Done!” Jinx shouted, leaping to her feet and hoisting her newly completed device over her head. It was an absurd amalgamation of pipes, wires, and explosives, held together with a liberal amount of duct tape.

“What do ya think?” she asked, spinning around to face them. “Pretty sweet, huh?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his analytical mind already picking apart the contraption. “It is… intriguing.”

“It’s awesome, that’s what it is!” Jinx said, bounding over to him and thrusting the device into his hands.

“Jinx,” Viktor began cautiously, “this appears highly unstable.”

“Pfft, unstable is the fun part!” she replied, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the center of the factory. “C’mon, Vik! Let’s blow some stuff up!”

Ziggs followed behind, laughing. “You’re in for a treat, big guy. Jinxie’s got a knack for making things go boom in the best way possible.”

As Jinx set up her device for its inaugural test, Viktor cast a glance at Ziggs. The yordle gave him a thumbs-up, his grin wide and reassuring.

“She’s got this,” Ziggs said confidently.

Viktor nodded, his gaze softening as he watched Jinx dart around, her excitement radiating like a spark in the dark.

________________________________________

 

Jinx darted to the far side of the factory floor, her latest contraption held aloft like a prize. “Alright, you two!” she called out, setting the device down on a scorched metal table. “Get ready for the greatest show you’ve ever seen!”

Viktor exchanged a wary glance with Ziggs, who was already rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “So what’s this one supposed to do?” the yordle asked, bounding over to inspect the machine.

Jinx grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s a multi-explosion sequencer! First, it’ll shoot out these mini-bombs—kinda like fireworks. Then, once those are done, BAM! The big finale.”

“That sounds… excessive,” Viktor said carefully, leaning on his cane as he studied the device from a safe distance.

“Excessive is my middle name, Vikky!” Jinx replied, throwing her arms wide.

“It seems that you have many middle names,’” Viktor murmured, his golden eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the wiring on her contraption.

Ziggs snorted. “Don’t ruin the magic, big guy. This is art in the making!”

“Science and art are not mutually exclusive,” Viktor replied. “However, this appears to be neither—it is merely reckless.”

Jinx stuck out her tongue at him. “Oh, come on, party pooper. Just watch and be amazed!”

She began tweaking the dials and tightening bolts with an intensity that bordered on manic. Viktor sighed, taking a step back as Ziggs joined her, offering suggestions that were met with equal parts enthusiasm and dismissal.

“Okay!” Jinx announced after a few minutes. “All set! Now, for the best part—lighting the fuse.” She spun around and grinned at Viktor. “You wanna do the honors, Vikky?”

“Absolutely not,” Viktor said without hesitation.

“Fine, fine,” she said with a dramatic sigh, producing a long matchstick from her pocket. “Guess it’s up to me.”

“Wait,” Viktor interjected, his tone sharper now. “Are you certain it is safe to ignite? Have you accounted for potential flaws in your design?”

“Safe enough,” Jinx said cheerfully, striking the match against the side of the table. “Don’t worry, Vik. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“That is a dangerous question to ask,” Viktor muttered, stepping back further.

Jinx lit the fuse with a flourish, tossing the match aside as the thin thread of fire began its journey toward the heart of the machine. “Here we go!” she shouted, bouncing on her heels.

Viktor’s shoulders tensed as the device whirred to life. Sparks flew from the exposed wiring, and a series of metallic clicks echoed across the factory. For a moment, it seemed as though the contraption might actually work as intended.

Then it started shaking.

“Uh… is it supposed to do that?” Ziggs asked, tilting his head as the device began vibrating violently.

“Uh… maybe?” Jinx replied, her grin faltering slightly.

“Jinx,” Viktor said, his voice low and calm. “I believe we should move to a safer distance.”

Before she could respond, the machine let out a high-pitched whine, followed by a loud pop! A plume of smoke erupted from the contraption, filling the air with the acrid stench of burning metal.

“Abort!” Jinx shouted, grabbing Ziggs by the collar and yanking him backward. Viktor followed quickly, his cane tapping against the floor as they all retreated behind a stack of crates.

The machine continued to sputter and hiss, emitting sporadic bursts of sparks. Jinx peeked out from behind the crate, squinting through the smoke. “Okay, so… maybe I forgot a step.”

“Which step?” Viktor asked, his tone sharp.

“The ‘not setting it on fire’ step,” she admitted with a sheepish grin.

Ziggs burst out laughing, his cackles echoing through the factory. “That was awesome! Total disaster, but awesome!”

“Disaster is not the word I would use,” Viktor muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Relax, Vikky,” Jinx said, plopping down beside him and nudging his arm with her elbow. “Nobody got hurt, right? So it’s all good!”

“That is a low bar for success,” Viktor replied, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

“Hey,” Jinx said, leaning closer. “Admit it—you had a little fun.”

Viktor exhaled slowly, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “Your enthusiasm is… infectious. Despite the chaos, I cannot deny that your joy is palpable.”

Jinx’s grin widened, and she nudged him again. “See? Told ya you’d love it.”

As the smoke began to clear, Ziggs hopped up and inspected the smoldering remains of the contraption. “Not bad for a first run! A few tweaks, and it’ll be perfect.”

“Perfect is a stretch,” Viktor said, rising to his feet with a sigh.

“Eh, close enough,” Ziggs replied with a shrug.

Jinx stood as well, brushing soot from her jacket. She turned to Viktor, her expression softer now. “Thanks for coming, Vik. I know this isn’t your thing, but… it means a lot to me.”

He regarded her for a moment, the faintest of smiles curving his lips. “I will always be where you need me, Jinx. Though I would prefer fewer explosions in the future.”

“No promises,” she said with a laugh, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s get some air before Ziggs blows something else up.”

As they stepped out into the cool Zaun night, Viktor felt a rare sense of ease settle over him. Jinx’s chaos was unpredictable, overwhelming at times—but it was hers, and it was a part of who she was. Whatever chaos she unleashed, Viktor knew one thing for certain: she was no longer alone—and neither was he.

And for her, he would weather any storm.

Notes:

Alright, can you tell I really like the boom buddies? I feel like I can go on forever about them, lol.

Chapter 35: Told A Tale pt. 2

Summary:

Jinx,
You are chaos incarnate, but you are also the constant that grounds me. I would not betray the trust we have built, not for anyone or anything. I cannot undo what has happened, but I hope to show you that my loyalty is yours alone. If you will allow it, I wish to prove myself worthy of your trust again.

Notes:

This oneshot begins before Told A Tale (the start of their courting), and then continues after Told a Tale (the strain it puts on their courting following the Sky incident). Sorry if that's a little confusing.

This one shot is titled pt. 2 but really it’s more like 0.5 and 1.5, lol.

The sprawling chaos of Zaun hummed with life. Steam hissed from unseen vents, gears turned tirelessly, and the glow of energy painted the streets with flickering shades of blue and green. In a modest workshop tucked away from the clamor, Viktor stood, his golden eyes catching the low light as he fiddled with a small mechanism. Tonight, his usual meticulous demeanor was laced with something unusual—a touch of nervous energy.

Across the room, Jinx sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a smattering of tools and half-finished gadgets. Her vibrant blue braids trailed over her shoulders as she adjusted the wiring on a device she had yet to name. She didn’t need to glance up to know Viktor was unusually distracted. His fidgeting was louder than the hiss of her soldering iron.

“Spit it out, Vik,” she finally said, her tone playful as she leaned back, her fingers tossing a bolt into the air and catching it again.

Viktor hesitated, his grip tightening on the tool in his hand. The weight of the words he had rehearsed was suddenly heavier. “Jinx,” he began, his voice carrying its familiar precision yet tinged with uncharacteristic hesitation. “I… I have been thinking.”

“Shocker,” Jinx quipped, her lips quirking into a smirk. “What’s on your big genius brain now? More inventions? More schemes to fix this dump?” She gestured broadly to the surrounding workshop and, by extension, all of Zaun.

He managed a small smile but shook his head. “Not quite. I have been thinking about us.”

That earned her attention. Jinx straightened, her mischievous grin faltering slightly as curiosity lit her violet eyes. “Us?” she echoed, her voice softening as a rare seriousness crept into her expression.

“Yes, us.” Viktor set his tool aside, his cane tapping against the floor as he took a step closer. “You and I… we have always shared a bond. A connection forged in the fires of this city, unyielding and unique.”

Jinx tilted her head, her braids swaying. “Go on,” she said, her tone cautiously intrigued.

Viktor inhaled deeply, his golden gaze unwavering as he met her eyes. “Jinx, I wish to court you properly. To build something more than what we have now. Something permanent.”

The room fell silent, the hum of the workshop’s machinery the only sound as Jinx stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a wide grin spread across her face, her eyes gleaming with an intensity that rivaled her explosives.

“Say it again?” she asked, her voice sharp and incredulous.

“I am asking to court you,” Viktor repeated, his tone precise. “Properly.”

The smirk froze on her face. For a moment, she simply blinked at him, as if trying to process his words. Then, she threw her head back and laughed, loud and unrestrained, the sound ricocheting off the lab walls.

“Oh my gods, Viktor!” she gasped between giggles, clutching her stomach as her legs kicked in delight. “You? Want to court me? Are you out of your mechanical little mind?”

Viktor waited patiently for her laughter to subside, though his grip on his cane tightened. “I assure you, Jinx, my mind is perfectly intact. This is not a decision I have made lightly.”

Jinx’s laughter burst forth like a gunshot, ringing off the lab walls. “Oh, Viktor, you absolute nerd! You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He stiffened. “I do not joke about matters of importance.”

“Matters of importance,” she mimicked, mock-seriousness dripping from her tone. Her grin was manic, her eyes scanning him like a predator sizing up its prey. “Alright, fine. You wanna court me? Good luck, Genius. I’m not exactly the flowers-and-candles type.”

“I am aware,” Viktor said, his voice even. He stepped closer, his cane tapping softly against the floor. “But I believe I can offer something you will appreciate more than clichés.”

Her laughter subsided into a curious hum, and she cocked her head, leaning in so close he could smell the faint scent of gunpowder and ozone that clung to her. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“An equal,” he said simply.

For once, Jinx was struck silent. Her grin faded into something softer, something more dangerous. She reached out, curling a hand into the fabric of his coat and pulling him closer. “Alright, Genius. Impress me.”
________________________________________

 

Jinx was not the kind of omega who swooned over roses or serenades. If Viktor had even considered such clichés, she would have laughed him out of the room. Instead, he approached the courtship as he would a scientific problem: through careful observation and creative solutions.

His first attempt was a device—a mechanical puzzle box designed to challenge her sharp mind and indulge her love for surprises. The box was no ordinary toy; it was a masterpiece of engineering, its intricate mechanisms hidden behind panels that shifted and clicked with every move.

When Viktor handed it to her, Jinx’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “What’s this?” she asked, turning it over in her hands.

“A gift,” he said simply. “Though you may want to handle it carefully.”

Her grin widened. “Carefully? Viktor, do you know me?”

True to her nature, she immediately pressed one of the buttons at random. The box emitted a loud bang, releasing a puff of harmless smoke that painted her face with streaks of blue and gold. Jinx doubled over with laughter, clutching her sides as she gasped for breath.

“Oh, this is perfect!” she wheezed, holding the box aloft like a trophy. “You’re a genius, you know that?”

“I have been told so,” Viktor replied, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Do try to solve it before dismantling it entirely.”

Jinx took the challenge to heart, spending the next few days obsessing over the puzzle. Each time she unlocked a new mechanism, it rewarded her with a small surprise: a flash of light, a burst of music, or a recorded snippet of Viktor’s voice offering a cryptic hint. By the time she reached the final layer, her excitement was palpable.

Inside the box, she found a tiny, intricately crafted figurine of Fishbones, her beloved rocket launcher. She stared at it in stunned silence for a moment before breaking into a grin that could rival the sun.

“Viktor, you magnificent bastard,” she said, turning the figurine over in her hands. “You really get me, don’t you?”

All of Viktor’s following attempts at courting Jinx were as calculated as they were unconventional. He continued by creating gadgets tailored to her chaotic nature.

There was the miniature grenade launcher that ejected a mix of powdered paint upon detonation, the automated bomb timer that sang an off-key rendition of Jinx’s favorite song, and even a small mechanical creature that followed her around, spouting compliments in Viktor’s voice.

Jinx adored the gifts, each one sparking her laughter and delight. She named the mechanical creature “Vikbot” and often paraded it around Zaun, much to Viktor’s exasperation.

One of her biggest favorites was a tiny mechanical bird, its wings powered by an intricate system of gears and servos. When wound, it would take off in erratic loops, chirping a distorted melody that Viktor had painstakingly composed.

Jinx was thrilled, chasing the bird around the workshop and cackling as it darted out of reach. “You made this for me?” she asked, holding it reverently once it finally landed on her hand.

“Of course,” Viktor said, his voice tinged with pride. “I thought it might amuse you.”

“Amuse me?” she crowed, her grin wide enough to split her face. “This is the best thing ever! I’m naming it Boomie. Boomie the Bird!” She held it up like a trophy. “You know me so well, Vik!” Although it didn’t shoot fire like she hoped, it did release colorful smoke clouds accompanied with a satisfyingly loud bang.
________________________________________

 

Though Viktor preferred the quiet precision of his lab in Piltover, he understood that Jinx thrived on the vibrancy and chaos of Zaun. To connect with her on her terms, he devised ways to incorporate himself into her world.

One evening, Jinx found him waiting outside her hideout, a map in hand. She raised a skeptical brow. “What’s this? Planning your escape route already?”

“Not quite,” Viktor replied, his voice steady. “I have been studying Zaun’s undercity schematics and identified routes to several areas of interest. If you are willing, I thought we might explore them together.”

Her grin widened, sharp and feral. “You want to go on a field trip with me? You’ve got guts, nerd.”

What followed were nights spent navigating hidden pathways, dodging enforcers, and scaling rickety structures that groaned under their weight. Viktor’s logical mind clashed with Jinx’s instinctual navigation, resulting in playful arguments and the occasional detour when one of her “shortcuts” led to a dead end. But it was during these escapades that they began to truly understand each other’s worlds.

One particularly memorable night ended with them perched atop a crumbling smokestack, Jinx pointing out constellations she’d invented. “That one’s Fishbones,” she said, tracing a scatter of stars. “And over there? That’s the Little Boom, and right next to it? That's the Big Boom. My favorite.”

Viktor tilted his head, studying the sky. “It seems… chaotic.”

“Exactly,” Jinx said with a wink. “Just like me.”

On another night, Viktor wanted to indulge her love for chaos.

While Viktor could never condone Jinx’s more destructive tendencies, he recognized her need for creative outlets. Instead of condemning her chaotic impulses, he offered her an alternative: controlled mayhem.

He led her to a secluded testing ground in the depths of Zaun—an abandoned system of underground factories, where he had set up a series of targets and structures designed to collapse dramatically. Jinx’s eyes lit up as she surveyed the area, her fingers twitching with anticipation.

“Is this what I think it is?” she asked, bouncing on her toes.

“It is an opportunity,” Viktor said, gesturing toward the field. “To unleash your talents without… collateral damage.”

She let out a whoop of delight, pulling Fishbones from her back and taking aim at the first target. Explosions lit up the darkened space as she tore through the course, cackling with glee. Viktor watched from a safe distance, marveling at her precision and ingenuity as she turned the field into a fiery spectacle.

When she finally paused to catch her breath, she turned to him with a grin. “You’re full of surprises, Vik. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Sometimes, chaos can be… constructive,” he replied, his tone tinged with amusement.
________________________________________

 

Viktor knew Jinx would not forgive easily. She thrived on chaos, but trust was sacred to her—a rare and fragile thing she guarded fiercely. To repair the damage, he would have to think beyond logic and delve into the heart of their connection.

Viktor began with something he’d never done before: a handwritten note. Though he preferred precision in his work, words on paper felt more personal—an acknowledgment that Jinx’s feelings deserved to be addressed with care.

The note, written in Viktor’s immaculate handwriting, was simple but heartfelt:

Jinx,
You are chaos incarnate, but you are also the constant that grounds me. I would not betray the trust we have built, not for anyone or anything. I cannot undo what has happened, but I hope to show you that my loyalty is yours alone. If you will allow it, I wish to prove myself worthy of your trust again.

He left the note alongside a small metal charm he had crafted—a miniature replica of Pow Pow, designed to be worn as a pendant. When Jinx discovered it at her hideout, she stared at the note for a long time, her fingers tracing the elegant script.

“This doesn’t fix anything, nerd,” she muttered, slipping the charm into her pocket. But she didn’t throw it away.

But Jinx’s love language wasn’t words—it was action. Knowing this, Viktor decided to show his sincerity in ways she couldn’t ignore.

He began by dedicating his evenings to projects that catered to her unique needs. One such creation was a customized launcher upgrade for Fishbones, designed to adapt to her unpredictable combat style. The new mechanism allowed her to switch between modes—explosive, incendiary, or smoke-based—on the fly, giving her even greater flexibility.

When Viktor presented the upgrade, Jinx tried to feign indifference. “What’s this supposed to be? A bribe?”

“It is an apology,” Viktor said calmly. “And a reminder that I value you, not as a subject of courtship, but as the extraordinary individual you are.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t hide the flicker of appreciation as she examined the sleek new design. “Alright. You’ve got my attention.”

However, despite his efforts, the specter of Sky lingered in Jinx’s mind. One evening, as they sat in his lab, the tension between them simmered to the surface.

“So,” Jinx said, idly spinning a wrench between her fingers. “What happens if Sky comes back? You gonna ‘accidentally’ get lipstick on you again?”

Viktor looked up from his work, his golden eyes meeting hers with quiet resolve. “Sky will not return to my lab.”

“How can you be so sure?” she pressed, her voice sharp.

“Because I have already made it clear to her that her actions were inappropriate and unwelcome,” Viktor replied. “I will not allow anything—or anyone—to jeopardize what we have.”

Jinx tilted her head, studying him as if searching for cracks in his armor. Finally, she leaned back with a small smile, and he noticed that her voice was softer than before. “You’re lucky you’re good at this. I’m not easy to win over.”

“I am aware,” Viktor said with a rare smile. “And I would not have it any other way.”
________________________________________

 

As the days passed, Jinx began to thaw, though the scars of her distrust remained. Viktor decided it was time to offer her a reprieve from their usual chaos—a moment of peace to remind her that their bond was worth fighting for.

He led her to a hidden rooftop in Zaun, where he had set up a simple arrangement: a blanket spread out beneath a canopy of stars, surrounded by small, glowing lanterns. Jinx raised an eyebrow, her expression torn between amusement and suspicion.

“What’s all this, Vik? Trying to get romantic on me?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted, gesturing for her to sit. “Or perhaps I simply thought we could use a moment away from the world.”

Jinx hesitated, then flopped down onto the blanket, her wild hair spilling around her. “Alright, nerd. You’ve got me here. What now?”

They spent the night talking about everything and nothing, their words flowing freely under the open sky. Viktor listened as Jinx rambled about her latest misadventures, her laughter echoing into the night, and she, in turn, asked him questions about his past—questions she had never dared to ask before.

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Jinx leaned back on her elbows, her gaze fixed on the fading stars. “You’re not so bad, Viktor,” she said, her voice quiet.

“And you,” Viktor replied, his tone laced with rare warmth, “are remarkable, even when you doubt it.”

Chapter 36: Brass Knuckles pt. 1

Summary:

“Vi!” Jinx snapped, her voice cracking.

Viktor’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so sharp. “You are remarkably quick to pass judgment for someone who knows nothing of our relationship.”

“I know enough,” Vi shot back. “I know you’re taking advantage of her.”

Viktor’s gaze didn’t waver. “And I know that you abandoned her.”

Notes:

I had just asked for prompt ideas that would involve Vi, and this suddenly came to me!

Hope y'all like it :)

The underbelly of Zaun was alive with chaos and grit, a perpetual hum of machinery and muffled voices seeping into the veins of its people. In the heart of this mechanical behemoth stood The Ring, a cage-fighting arena built for blood and fury, where Zaun’s finest—or most desperate—came to stake their lives for a roaring crowd. Smoke lingered like restless ghosts, illuminated in patches of green and purple neon, and the air reeked of sweat, iron, and illicit thrill.

From their vantage point in the dimly lit VIP booth, Viktor watched the carnage below with a detached gaze. His sharp features remained cold and calculated, the flickering light casting angular shadows across his face. But every so often, his golden eyes would flicker toward Jinx, who lounged in the seat beside him with her signature brand of chaotic glee. She sat cross-legged, spinning a stolen pair of brass knuckles around her fingers like a child’s toy, her blue hair trailing down her shoulders in its signature braids.

“Did you see that, Viktor?” Jinx leaned forward, her eyes wide as the fighter in the ring delivered a devastating uppercut that sent his opponent crumbling to the floor. Blood splattered the mat, and the crowd erupted into feral cheers. “Boom! Lights out! This is what I’m talkin’ about!” she cackled, slamming her boot against the edge of the booth.

“I saw,” Viktor replied coolly, his accent a crisp edge against the cacophony around them. His voice lacked the enthusiasm Jinx radiated, yet there was an undeniable warmth in the way he regarded her—an almost imperceptible softening of his otherwise stoic demeanor. “Though, if I may point out, his form was sloppy. Too reliant on brute strength. Had his opponent been faster, that punch would have cost him the fight.”

Jinx turned to him, her lips pulling into a sly grin. “Always so clinical, huh? No room for chaos in that genius brain of yours?”

“There is room for calculated chaos,” Viktor said, his lips twitching upward in the faintest hint of a smirk. “But I prefer precision over recklessness.”

“Oh, you love my recklessness,” Jinx teased, leaning in so close her breath ghosted over his cheek. “Admit it.”

Viktor arched a brow but said nothing. Her energy was contagious, though, and despite himself, he allowed the corner of his mouth to curve just slightly.

Before the banter could continue, Jinx’s comm device beeped—a signal from the arena staff that a new fight would begin soon. She ignored it, reaching for the drink Viktor had poured her earlier. It was when she leaned back and glanced lazily out the booth window that her expression froze, her smirk vanishing.

There, across the arena floor, was a face she hadn’t seen in years.

Vi.

Jinx’s body stiffened as though she’d been struck by lightning. She dropped the brass knuckles, and they clattered against the metal floor. Viktor noticed her sudden change in demeanor and followed her gaze.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, scanning the chaos, was a woman with a short, pink undercut and a scar cutting through her left eyebrow. Dressed in fitted leather and steel-plated bracers, Vi looked like she hadn’t changed much since their last, ill-fated encounter—still the same enforcer who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, her sharp blue eyes like knives searching through the crowd.

“Jinx,” Viktor said, his voice a steady anchor. “Who is that?”

Jinx didn’t answer. Her hand had drifted toward the pistol holstered at her hip, fingers twitching, but she stopped herself. “No one,” she muttered, forcing her trademark grin back onto her face. But her body language betrayed her—the stiffness of her posture, the way her hand gripped the armrest like a vice. “No one that matters.”

Viktor didn’t press her, though his analytical mind pieced together fragments of her reaction. Whoever this was, she clearly mattered.
________________________________________

 

Vi hadn’t expected to find herself here tonight. The arena wasn’t her usual scene—she preferred fights she could control, not ones fueled by Zaun’s anarchic spirit. But when she’d come across a reservation made under a certain name—“Jinx”—curiosity had won out over caution. It had to be her. Who else would use that name?

And now here she was, standing in the belly of the beast, her gaze sweeping the VIP section until it landed on the familiar shock of blue hair. Her chest tightened, the ghost of old wounds resurfacing. There she was. Jinx. Or Powder, as Vi had once known her. Her baby sister, turned stranger, turned nightmare.

But Jinx wasn’t alone.

Seated beside her was a man Vi recognized. She’d seen him in Piltover before—Viktor, the reclusive inventor and assistant to Jayce Talis. She didn’t know much about him, but his reputation as a technological pioneer had reached even the darkest corners of Zaun. What the hell was he doing with Jinx?

Pushing her way through the crowd, Vi ascended the stairs leading to the VIP booths. The guards at the entrance barely had time to react before she shoved past them, her determination a battering ram of its own.

Jinx was the first to notice her approach. “Oh, shit,” she muttered under her breath, sitting up straighter. Viktor followed her line of sight and saw Vi closing in, her expression a mixture of anger, confusion, and concern.

“Jinx,” Vi said, stopping at the doorway. Her voice was gruff, but there was an undercurrent of something softer—something almost pleading. “It’s really you.”

Jinx forced a laugh, twirling a strand of blue hair around her finger. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t big sis, crawling out of Piltover to slum it with us lowlifes. What’s the occasion? Lost another fight and decided to cry about it?”

“Cut the crap,” Vi snapped, though her voice cracked ever so slightly. “I’ve been looking for you. I didn’t think—” Her eyes flicked to Viktor, who remained seated, calm and composed. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Viktor met her gaze without flinching. “I could ask you the same question,” he said. His voice was polite, yet there was a subtle undercurrent of challenge in his words.

Vi’s brow furrowed. “I’ve seen you before. Viktor, right? You work with Talis. You’re some kinda tech genius or whatever.” She glanced between him and Jinx, her expression darkening. “What the hell are you doing with her?”

Jinx laughed again, louder this time, though it sounded forced. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re jealous, Vi. Don’t worry, Viktor’s all mine.” She leaned against him, draping her arm over his shoulder in an exaggerated display of affection. “Ain’t that right, sugar?”

Viktor sighed softly, though he didn’t move to push her away. “Jinx,” he said, his tone a quiet reprimand.

Vi’s jaw tightened. “You’re joking,” she said, staring at Jinx as though trying to decipher some elaborate puzzle. “He’s gotta be twice your age, for starters.”

“And twice as smart as anyone else I’ve met,” Jinx shot back, her grin sharp and defiant. “Guess I’ve got a thing for brains. Who knew?”

“This isn’t funny, Powder,” Vi said, her voice rising. The use of her old name was like a slap in the face, and Jinx’s grin faltered for a split second before she recovered.

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed, her playful tone vanishing. “I’m not your precious little Powder anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.”

Vi took a step closer, her fists clenched. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but this—” she gestured to Viktor—“isn’t right. He’s using you.”

Viktor stood then, his movements deliberate and unhurried. Despite his slight frame and reliance on his cane, there was an air of authority about him that made Vi pause. “With all due respect,” he said, his voice measured, “you know nothing about me or my relationship with Jinx. Your assumptions are… uninformed.”

“Oh, I know enough,” Vi shot back. “I’ve seen men like you before—smart, smooth-talking manipulators who think they can take advantage of people who don’t know better.”

“Vi!” Jinx’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Back off.”

Vi turned to her, her expression a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Are you seriously defending him? He’s—”

“He’s mine,” Jinx snapped, her eyes blazing. “You don’t get to walk in here and act like you know what’s best for me. You lost that right a long time ago.”

The words hit Vi like a punch to the gut. For a moment, she just stood there, the fight draining out of her as the weight of Jinx’s accusation settled over her.

Vi sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and… him,” she said, nodding toward Viktor. “But this isn’t right, Powder. You don’t need—”

“I said don’t call me that!” Jinx shouted, her voice echoing off the walls. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and for a moment, Viktor thought she might swing at Vi. But instead, she took a step back, pressing herself against his side as though seeking refuge.

Viktor’s hand came to rest lightly on her shoulder, a silent gesture of reassurance. His gaze met Vi’s, and for the first time, there was something sharp in his expression, something that bordered on defiance. “I assure you, Miss Vi, Jinx is quite capable of making her own decisions,” he said coolly.

Vi’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah? And what decisions are you helping her make, exactly? How to hang around old men with a god complex?”

“Vi!” Jinx snapped, her voice cracking.

Viktor’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so sharp. “You are remarkably quick to pass judgment for someone who knows nothing of our relationship.”

“I know enough,” Vi shot back. “I know you’re taking advantage of her.”

Viktor’s gaze didn’t waver. “And I know that you abandoned her.”

The words landed like a slap, and for a moment, the hallway was silent save for the distant roar of the crowd. Vi’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

Viktor moved to the small of Jinx's back, a grounding gesture that seemed to calm her. “Perhaps,” he said, addressing Vi, “this is not the time or place for such a discussion. If you truly wish to reconcile with your sister, it would be wise to approach her with less… hostility.”

Vi glared at him but said nothing. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she looked back at Jinx. “I just… I just want to talk. Alone.”

Jinx hesitated, her gaze darting between Vi and Viktor. Finally, she sighed. “Fine. But if you try anything funny, I swear I’ll—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Vi muttered. “Let’s go.”

Jinx glanced at Viktor, who gave her a small nod. “I’ll be here,” he said simply.

And with that, the two sisters disappeared into the shadows of the arena, leaving Viktor alone in the booth. He sank back into his seat, his mind already working through the implications of what had just transpired. Whatever lay ahead, one thing was certain: Jinx’s past was far more complicated than he had anticipated.

Notes:

Did Vi come off as Vi?

Chapter 37: Brass Knuckles pt. 2

Summary:

Vi’s brow furrowed, and for the first time, her confidence seemed to waver. “Jinx,” she said softly, “you don’t have to settle for someone like him. You deserve better.”

“Better?” Jinx laughed bitterly. “And what’s ‘better,’ huh? Some shiny enforcer from Piltover? Someone who looks good on paper but doesn’t give a crap about me once the mask comes off? Screw that. Viktor’s the only one who’s ever cared about the real me. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you should’ve stayed in Piltover where you belong.”

The words hit Vi like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she just stood there, silent. Finally, she sighed and ran a hand through her hair again. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jinx. I’m trying here, okay? I just want to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Jinx snapped. “Not anymore.”

Vi led Jinx down a winding corridor that snaked through the bowels of The Ring. The roar of the crowd dimmed behind them, replaced by the low hum of machinery and the faint hiss of steam escaping from corroded pipes. The further they walked, the more oppressive the silence between them became, a heavy weight neither seemed eager to break.

Jinx trailed a few paces behind her sister, her arms crossed over her chest and her shoulders stiff. She could feel Vi’s tension, could see it in the rigid set of her back and the way her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides. The years apart had done nothing to dull the sparks between them—sparks that could ignite into flames at the slightest provocation.

Finally, they came to a small maintenance room, its flickering light casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. Vi stepped inside first, checking to make sure they were alone. Satisfied, she leaned against a rusted console and crossed her arms, watching as Jinx sauntered in after her.

Jinx flopped down onto an overturned crate, her long legs sprawled out in front of her. She looked up at Vi with a crooked grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “So? What’s the big sister speech gonna be this time? ‘You’ve fallen in with the wrong crowd, Jinx’? Or maybe, ‘Come back to Piltover, we’ll fix you’? Lemme guess—it’s the second one, right?”

Vi’s jaw tightened, her expression hard as steel. “You think this is a joke?” she snapped. “I see you with him—Viktor—and I know you’re playing with fire. You’ve always been reckless, but this? This is too far.”

Jinx leaned back, her grin widening. “Wow, Vi, I didn’t realize you were my life coach now. What happened to all those years you spent not giving a damn about me? You don’t get to waltz in here and tell me how to live my life.”

“I never stopped giving a damn about you,” Vi shot back, her voice cracking under the weight of her anger. “You think I didn’t try to find you? After everything went to hell, after—” She cut herself off, running a hand through her short pink hair. “You’re my sister, Jinx. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Okay?” Jinx let out a hollow laugh, the sound echoing off the metal walls. “Look around, Vi. Does this look like the life of someone who’s okay? Spoiler alert: I’m not your sweet little Powder anymore. I’m Jinx. And I’m doing just fine without you.”

Vi’s gaze softened, and for a moment, she looked more like the sister Jinx had once idolized—strong, protective, and desperately trying to hold the world together. “You can call yourself whatever you want,” Vi said quietly. “But I know the truth. I see it in your eyes. You’re still Powder, and you’re still hurting.”

Jinx’s grin faltered, and her fingers began to fidget with the edges of her gloves. “You don’t know me,” she muttered, her voice low and venomous. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I know you’re with a guy who’s probably old enough to be your dad and who probably doesn’t give a damn about you,” Vi shot back. “That’s enough for me.”

Jinx’s eyes snapped up, blazing with fury. “Don’t you dare talk about Viktor like that,” she hissed, standing so quickly the crate tipped over behind her. “You don’t know him, Vi. He’s not like the other people in my life. He’s… different.”

Vi pushed off the console and took a step closer, her expression a mixture of frustration and concern. “Different how? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s just another smart asshole using you to get what he wants.”

Jinx’s hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. “He doesn’t use me,” she growled. “He… he sees me, okay? Not like you or anyone else ever did. Viktor doesn’t treat me like I’m broken or crazy. He… he gets it. He gets me.”

Vi’s brow furrowed, and for the first time, her confidence seemed to waver. “Jinx,” she said softly, “you don’t have to settle for someone like him. You deserve better.”

“Better?” Jinx laughed bitterly. “And what’s ‘better,’ huh? Some shiny enforcer from Piltover? Someone who looks good on paper but doesn’t give a crap about me once the mask comes off? Screw that. Viktor’s the only one who’s ever cared about the real me. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you should’ve stayed in Piltover where you belong.”

The words hit Vi like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she just stood there, silent. Finally, she sighed and ran a hand through her hair again. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jinx. I’m trying here, okay? I just want to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Jinx snapped. “Not anymore.”

For a long moment, the two sisters just stared at each other, the weight of everything unspoken stretching between them like a chasm. Then, without another word, Jinx turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving Vi standing alone in the flickering light.
________________________________________

 

When Jinx returned to the VIP booth, Viktor was still seated where she had left him, watching the fights below with his usual detached demeanor. He glanced up as she entered, his sharp eyes studying her face.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, his tone as calm as ever.

Jinx plopped down beside him with a huff, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on the arena below. “Peachy,” she muttered, though the tension in her voice betrayed her. “Vi’s still as annoying as ever. Thinks she can just swoop in and ‘save me’ like it’s some big hero moment. Newsflash: I don’t need saving.”

Viktor didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out and placed a hand on hers, his touch light but steady. “Family has a way of complicating things,” he said quietly. “Even when they mean well.”

Jinx glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her scowl softening just a little. “You think she means well?”

“I believe she cares for you,” Viktor said. “Though I also believe she underestimates you.”

Jinx snorted. “Understatement of the century.”

Viktor’s lips twitched into a faint smile, and for a moment, the tension in the air seemed to dissipate. He didn’t press her for details about her conversation with Vi, nor did he try to offer empty platitudes. Instead, he simply stayed by her side, a quiet presence in the chaos.

“Hey, Viktor?” Jinx said after a long pause, her voice unusually soft.

“Yes?”

“Do you think I… can be fixed?”

Viktor turned to her, his gaze steady and unwavering. “No,” he said firmly. “There is nothing to fix. You are many things, Jinx, but broken is not one of them.”

She looked at him for a moment, her blue eyes searching his face as though trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. Then, slowly, a small, genuine smile tugged at her lips. “Thanks, babe,” she murmured, leaning against his shoulder.

Viktor didn’t respond, but the way his hand lingered on hers spoke volumes.
________________________________________

 

Vi watched from the shadows, her heart sinking as she saw her sister lean into Viktor with a trust and ease that felt both foreign and painful. She wanted to storm in, to pull Jinx away, but something held her back—the memory of her sister’s defiant words echoing in her mind.

For now, all she could do was watch.

But she wasn’t giving up. Not yet.

She wants her sister back.

Chapter 38: Brass Knuckles pt. 3

Summary:

Her thoughts drifted back to Viktor. The way he’d spoken to her—measured, deliberate, and entirely unflappable—set her on edge. He hadn’t raised his voice or tried to argue, yet every word he’d said had cut deeper than she wanted to admit. “Jinx is quite capable of making her own decisions,” he’d told her, his tone as steady as his gaze.

Vi wanted to punch him just for saying it.

But the worst part wasn’t his words—it was the way Jinx had defended him. The way she’d clung to him, as if he were her lifeline. The memory made Vi’s chest tighten with a mixture of anger and helplessness.

How could Jinx trust someone like him so easily, after everything they’d been through?

Vi’s boots hit the grated floor with a dull, rhythmic clang, her footsteps swallowed by the endless hum of Zaun’s underbelly. The air here was thick, greasy, filled with the bitter scent of burning chemicals and oil. Steam hissed from unseen pipes, masking the distant clamor of The Ring’s roaring crowd. She could still feel the residual vibrations of their cheers in her bones, but their energy only amplified the storm raging inside her head.

She clenched and unclenched her fists as she walked, the sharp motion a futile attempt to dispel the tension building in her chest. Every step took her further into Zaun’s labyrinthine depths, but she wasn’t sure what she was chasing. Jinx’s words still rang in her ears, sharp and venomous: “You lost that right a long time ago.” Her sister’s face—so defiant, yet so fragile—was burned into her mind.

Vi stopped at an intersection where a rusted pipe jutted awkwardly from the wall, leaking thin plumes of steam. She leaned against it, dragging a hand down her face. What the hell am I doing here? She hadn’t expected this, not when she followed that lead to The Ring. She’d thought she’d find Jinx wreaking havoc as usual, maybe getting herself into trouble she couldn’t handle alone. She had planned to step in, to do what she’d failed to do years ago—protect her little sister.

Instead, she found Jinx sitting comfortably in that VIP booth, next to him. Viktor.

Vi had recognized him immediately. She didn’t need to see the cane or hear the clipped, calculated way he spoke. The man was notorious in Piltover—Jayce Talis’ brilliant yet eccentric partner, the architect behind countless advancements in techmaturgy. She’d always thought him cold, methodical, an opportunist who cared about results more than people. Yet somehow, Jinx had wormed her way into his orbit, and that image of him didn’t quite fit anymore.

Vi slammed her fist against the pipe, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the corridor.

What’s his game? she thought, her jaw tightening. What the hell does a guy like Viktor want with her?

The memory of Jinx leaning into him, her grin wavering but her body language trusting, made Vi’s stomach churn. Jinx had always been reckless, jumping headfirst into danger without thinking about the consequences. But this was different. This wasn’t some stunt she’d laugh off in the aftermath; this was someone weaving himself into her life, her mind. Someone older, smarter, and dangerous in ways Jinx might not even realize.

Or maybe she does realize it, a small voice in the back of Vi’s head suggested. She hated that thought even more.

Her pink hair stuck to her damp forehead as she paced back and forth. She needed a plan—something, anything to pull Jinx back from whatever edge she was teetering on. But every time she thought about approaching her again, she saw that same furious glare, heard the crack in Jinx’s voice when she’d hissed, “Don’t call me that!”

Vi’s fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to scream, to punch something, to find a way to bridge the chasm that had grown between them. But even as her anger simmered, she couldn’t deny the gnawing guilt that kept surfacing. She’d let Jinx fall through the cracks once before. The weight of that failure hung over her like a stormcloud, and no amount of resolve could chase it away.

“She’s still Powder,” Vi muttered to herself, though the words sounded hollow. “She has to be.”

But was she? The girl Vi remembered—the one who used to tug at her sleeve, who clung to her side during thunderstorms—felt like a ghost now. In her place stood Jinx, unpredictable and dangerous, with a manic energy that masked the pain Vi knew was still there. Vi could see it in her eyes, even when Jinx tried to bury it beneath sharp words and forced laughter.

“Damn it, Powder,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

The truth was, Vi didn’t know if she could help. She’d been chasing Jinx for so long, searching for her in every shadow of Zaun, only to find herself coming up short time and time again. And now, finally face-to-face with her, Vi felt more lost than ever.

Her thoughts drifted back to Viktor. The way he’d spoken to her—measured, deliberate, and entirely unflappable—set her on edge. He hadn’t raised his voice or tried to argue, yet every word he’d said had cut deeper than she wanted to admit. “Jinx is quite capable of making her own decisions,” he’d told her, his tone as steady as his gaze.

Vi wanted to punch him just for saying it.

But the worst part wasn’t his words—it was the way Jinx had defended him. The way she’d clung to him, as if he were her lifeline. The memory made Vi’s chest tighten with a mixture of anger and helplessness.

How could Jinx trust someone like him so easily, after everything they’d been through?

Because you weren’t there, a bitter voice in her mind accused. Vi flinched at the thought, even though she knew it was true. She had left Jinx behind when everything fell apart, and she’d been paying the price ever since.

She straightened up, her expression hardening. She didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in guilt. Not now. If Jinx wouldn’t let her in willingly, then Vi would just have to find another way. She couldn’t lose her sister again—not to Zaun, not to Viktor, and not to the chaos that had taken root in her soul.

Whatever it took, she would bring Powder back.
________________________________________

 

Jinx paced the dimly lit room of her hideout, her mind a jumble of unresolved emotions. Viktor’s calm assurance still lingered in her thoughts, steady as the hum of machinery around her. But Vi’s reappearance had shaken something loose inside her—something she had buried years ago under layers of anger, chaos, and denial.

“You’re still Powder, and you’re still hurting.”

The words echoed in her mind like a taunt. She snarled, gripping the edge of a battered console until her knuckles turned white. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t get it. And yet, a part of her—the part that whispered of old memories and the promise of safety—wanted to believe otherwise.

“Jinx.”

The sound of Viktor’s voice brought her back to the present. She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his figure partially obscured by the flickering light. His cane clicked against the floor as he moved closer, his gaze unreadable.

“What do you want?” she asked, her tone sharp but lacking conviction.

“You have been muted since we encountered your sister,” he said simply. “I wanted to ensure you were… unharmed.”

Jinx scoffed, though her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “Unharmed? Please. Vi’s bark is worse than her bite. Always has been.”

“And yet,” Viktor replied, his voice gentle but firm, “she clearly affects you.”

Jinx shot him a glare, but there was no venom in it. She hated how easily he could see through her walls. “She doesn’t affect me,” she said, though even she could hear the weakness in her words. “She’s just… Vi, okay? Always showing up when I least need her, trying to play the hero. It’s annoying.”

Viktor stepped closer, his movements deliberate. “Family has a way of reaching us in ways others cannot. That is both their strength and their flaw.”

Jinx stared at him, her defenses faltering. “What do you care, anyway? She hates you.”

“Her opinion of me is irrelevant,” Viktor said with a faint shrug. “But her presence is not. She is a variable, and variables have the potential to disrupt stability. I wish to understand how this will affect you.”

Jinx frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You think she’s a threat?”

“I think she is a reminder,” Viktor replied. “One you are not prepared to face.”

Chapter 39: Brass Knuckles pt. 4

Summary:

“I know her as she is now,” Viktor said, his golden gaze unwavering. “You knew Powder—a girl who no longer exists. Jinx cannot heal if she is constantly forced to reconcile who she was with who she has become. For now, it would be best if you kept your distance.”
Vi took a step closer, her voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m just gonna walk away? That I’m gonna leave her alone with someone like you?”

Viktor held her gaze, unflinching. “Your presence does not bring her peace, Miss Vi. It brings conflict. And if you truly care for her, as you claim, you will recognize that.”

Vi let out a sharp laugh, devoid of humor. “You really think you’re some kind of savior, don’t you? With your fancy machines and your holier-than-thou attitude? You don’t get it. Jinx isn’t some chess piece for you to maneuver. She’s my sister.”

Notes:

Guys, I think I'm addicted.

The sharp clink of metal against wood echoed through Viktor’s lab as he adjusted the gears of a prototype. The machine was one of many incomplete projects scattered across his workbench, each a testament to his meticulous and tireless innovation. Yet, his mind wasn’t entirely focused. He had replayed the tension in Jinx’s voice, the nervous energy in her steps, and the haunted look in her eyes after her latest encounter with Vi.

He knew the danger of emotional instability. Chaos was a potent, destructive force when left unchecked, and Jinx was teetering on the brink. He was convinced the only way to stabilize her was to sever the variables disrupting her fragile equilibrium. One such variable had come knocking.

The knock came again, sharper this time. Viktor glanced up from his work, unsurprised by the interruption. He straightened his posture as the door creaked open to reveal Vi in her enforcer uniform. The bright light of Piltover cast her silhouette in sharp relief, the polished steel of her gauntlets gleaming ominously. Her expression was a mixture of frustration and barely contained anger.

“Viktor,” she began, her voice clipped. She shut the door behind her, though the action lacked subtlety. “We need to talk.”

Viktor set down his tools, his golden gaze cool and analytical. “I suspected you might come,” he said, his tone calm as ever. “Though I admit I expected less… urgency.”

Vi stepped forward, the rigid tension in her movements betraying her attempt to appear composed. “I’m here because of Powder. Or Jinx—whatever she’s calling herself these days.”

“She prefers Jinx,” Viktor corrected, unbothered by her narrowing eyes. “And what precisely is it you wish to discuss?”

Vi leaned on the edge of his workbench, her tone growing sharper. “You need to stay the hell away from her.”

Viktor arched a brow, his lips quirking in faint amusement. “Ah, the protective older sibling. Tell me, Miss Vi, what qualifies you to make such declarations after so much time absent from her life?”

“Don’t start with me,” Vi snapped, standing upright again. Her fists clenched at her sides. “I know you’re messing with her head. You’re taking advantage of her—her grief, her trauma. I’ve seen men like you before, always pulling strings and whispering lies until people are too blind to see the truth.”

Viktor tilted his head, the corners of his mouth curving into a sardonic smile. “Your perception of me is… dramatic, but predictable. You believe I am exploiting Jinx for some nefarious purpose, yes?”

“Damn right I do,” Vi spat, her glare unrelenting. “She’s not just some project for you to tinker with.”

Viktor pushed himself to his feet, his cane steadying him as he faced Vi directly. Though her presence loomed, his calm demeanor gave no ground. “I do not see Jinx as a project,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “She is a person. A volatile, brilliant, and deeply complex individual. And unlike you, I do not approach her with judgment or the burden of what I believe she should be. I accept her as she is.”

Vi scoffed, her voice rising. “You don’t accept her. You enable her! You’re feeding into her chaos, keeping her locked in this downward spiral because it’s convenient for you. She’s not stable. She needs—”

“What she does not need,” Viktor interrupted, his tone cold and sharp as steel, “is to be dragged into more emotional turmoil under the guise of ‘saving’ her. Her encounters with you leave her unraveling. Your presence is a disruption she cannot currently afford.”

The words hit Vi like a slap, her mouth tightening as she stared at him. “So what?” she demanded. “You’re cutting me out of her life? You think you know her better than I do?”

“I know her as she is now,” Viktor said, his golden gaze unwavering. “You knew Powder—a girl who no longer exists. Jinx cannot heal if she is constantly forced to reconcile who she was with who she has become. For now, it would be best if you kept your distance.”

Vi took a step closer, her voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m just gonna walk away? That I’m gonna leave her alone with someone like you?”

Viktor held her gaze, unflinching. “Your presence does not bring her peace, Miss Vi. It brings conflict. And if you truly care for her, as you claim, you will recognize that.”

Vi let out a sharp laugh, devoid of humor. “You really think you’re some kind of savior, don’t you? With your fancy machines and your holier-than-thou attitude? You don’t get it. Jinx isn’t some chess piece for you to maneuver. She’s my sister.”

“And yet it is I who remains by her side,” Viktor countered smoothly. “While you retreat to Piltover, I am the one who helps her navigate her chaos. Not through force or ultimatums, but through understanding.”

“Understanding?” Vi hissed. “What the hell do you know about her? About what we’ve been through?”

Viktor didn’t answer immediately. He studied her, his golden eyes unreadable. “More than you might imagine,” he said finally. “Jinx has shared much about her past. About you. I know the guilt you carry, the promises you broke. You believe you are saving her, but perhaps you are simply seeking redemption for your own failings.”

Vi flinched as though struck, her jaw tightening. “That’s not—”

“Not true?” Viktor interrupted, his voice measured but unyielding. “You chase her not because she needs you, but because you cannot forgive yourself for abandoning her.”

“I didn’t abandon her!” Vi shouted, her voice cracking. “I didn’t have a choice! Everything went to hell, and I—”

“You left,” Viktor said bluntly. “And whether or not it was by choice is irrelevant. Jinx does not see the nuance. She sees absence, betrayal, and loss. That is what haunts her.”

Vi’s fists trembled at her sides, the fight draining out of her as the weight of his words settled over her. She dragged a hand through her short pink hair, her voice softening. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hate myself for it every damn day?”

“I think,” Viktor replied, his tone gentler now, “that you are not the solution she needs. Not yet.”

Vi was silent for a long moment, her breathing shallow as she tried to compose herself. When she finally spoke, her voice was raw. “She’s my sister,” she said quietly. “I can’t just… walk away.”

Viktor’s expression softened, though his gaze remained firm. “Then perhaps you must ask yourself what is truly best for her. And if that answer is to give her time, then I suggest you do so.” The room fell silent, the tension lingering like a stormcloud. Finally, Vi exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging. She looked at Viktor, her expression a mixture of anger, pain, and reluctant understanding.

“This isn’t over,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hands. “I’m not giving up on her. I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back.”

Viktor inclined his head, his expression inscrutable. “If that is your choice.”

Vi stared at him for a moment longer before turning on her heel and storming out. The sound of her heavy boots faded into the distance, and the door to Viktor’s lab swung shut with a metallic groan, leaving him surrounded by the familiar hum of machinery. He sat in silence for a moment, his fingers tapping idly against the head of his cane as he replayed the encounter in his mind. Vi’s anger, though predictable, carried an undercurrent of desperation that made it all the more potent. She had not come to argue; she had come to plead, even if she refused to admit it.

He sank back into his chair, his thoughts calm and methodical despite the echoes of their confrontation. Some battles were best fought with patience.

His golden eyes drifted to the cluttered workbench, where a small mechanical device ticked steadily like a heartbeat. Stability—fragile and fleeting—was the essence of every design he crafted, and it was the same stability he sought to preserve in Jinx. A faint echo of guilt stirred in him. Perhaps, in another life, he might have found himself moved by Vi’s plight, her relentless determination to repair a bond that seemed irreparably broken. But sentiment had no place in his calculations.

Jinx’s well-being was paramount, and for now, that meant ensuring Vi remained at arm’s length.
________________________________________

 

Vi stormed through Piltover’s winding streets, her gauntleted fists clenched at her sides. The city’s pristine elegance, all polished metal and glowing lights, felt suffocating in the wake of her confrontation with Viktor. Every step echoed her frustration, her thoughts circling like vultures over the words he’d spoken.

“You left. Jinx sees absence, betrayal, and loss. That is what haunts her.”

Vi shook her head, biting down hard on the wave of emotion that threatened to break free. Viktor was wrong—he had to be. Jinx wasn’t some fragile thing to be sheltered or hidden away. She was wild, unpredictable, and resilient in ways no one seemed to understand. But Vi had seen the cracks beneath her sister’s bravado, the pain that still simmered behind her manic grin. Viktor’s influence wasn’t helping; it was holding her in that chaos, feeding into it.

“Dammit, Powder,” Vi muttered under her breath, her voice catching. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

She stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, ignoring the curious stares of passersby. Her hands trembled as she dragged them through her short pink hair. She couldn’t give up—not on Jinx. But Viktor’s words lingered, an unwelcome voice of doubt whispering that perhaps distance was the only way forward.

But what if distance meant losing her forever?

Notes:

Anyone got anymore ideas?

Chapter 40: Not On The Roster pt. 3

Summary:

The moment Ekko’s eyes landed on Jinx, his footsteps faltered. The cheerful air Heimerdinger carried with him seemed to dissolve as the boy froze, staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and recognition.

“Powder?” Ekko’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it sliced through the air like a blade.

Jinx’s grin disappeared, her body going rigid as her eyes locked onto his. The playful spark that had animated her moments before faded, leaving behind a shadow of tension and unease. She unconsciously stepped closer to Viktor, as if seeking a shield, and he caught the subtle shift in her scent. The sweet honeysuckle warmth he had grown accustomed to was now tinged with something sour—perhaps fear.

Viktor’s sharp gaze flicked between them, his mind quickly piecing together fragments of the puzzle he had only just begun to grasp.

The laboratory was a sanctuary of calculated chaos. Hextech crystals pulsed with a faint, rhythmic glow, their light illuminating Viktor as he moved among the machines. His golden eyes were sharp, his movements precise despite the limp that gave his gait a distinct rhythm. The air was thick with the hum of energy, the tang of ozone, and his scent—warm, earthy, grounding—coiling faintly around the space.

Jinx—or Matilda, as she still called herself in these walls—stood just inside the doorway, her honeysuckle scent wrapping around her like an invisible cloak. The sweetness of it brushed against Viktor, as steadying as it was distracting. She leaned casually against the frame, grinning at the sight of him immersed in his work.

“So this is where the magic happens,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar, teasing lilt. “Feels like I just stepped into the belly of the beast.”

Without looking up, Viktor adjusted a dial, his expression calm. “If this is a beast, then it is one tamed by science. Nothing here is left to chance.”

Jinx stepped into the room, her boots tapping against the tiled floor. “Nothing? Not even a little chaos for spice? That’s no fun.”

Viktor allowed himself a faint smirk. “Chaos has no place in progress.”

“Guess I’ll have to make up for it, then.” She moved closer, her scent thickening as she did, curling into Viktor’s awareness like an uninvited guest. He caught the subtle way her presence shifted the air, her omega pheromones brushing against his senses. They weren’t overwhelming, but they lingered, tugging at some primal part of him that he had long learned to ignore. Or suppress.

She stopped near a table cluttered with notes and diagrams. Her sharp blue eyes skimmed the sketches of Hextech cores, flicking over annotations in Viktor’s sharp handwriting. “So what are you working on? Or is that classified business?”

Viktor glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “If it were classified, you would not be here.”

“Fair point,” she said with a grin, tilting her head. “Still, you could’ve said no. But you didn’t. What’s that about?”

His lips twitched. “Perhaps I wished to see if your interest was genuine.”

“And?” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. Her scent spiked slightly, a teasing flicker of honeysuckle meant to test him. “What’s the verdict?”

Viktor met her gaze, unfazed, though he felt the pull of her scent against his instincts. “Undecided,” he said smoothly. “Your presence is… intriguing. But you are not always forthcoming.”

Her grin faltered, just for a moment, before she recovered. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly an open book either, brainiac.”

He inclined his head, conceding the point. Then he gestured to a nearby stool. “If you insist on staying, at least make yourself useful and sit quietly. This requires precision.”

Jinx plopped onto the stool with exaggerated carelessness, her gaze fixed on him as he returned to the intricate mechanism before him. She watched his hands, their movements fluid despite the occasional stiffness that betrayed the strain his body endured. The quiet intensity of his focus was magnetic, drawing her in despite herself.

“Why do you do it?” she asked suddenly, her voice softer now. “All of this. The experiments, the inventions. What’s the endgame?”

Viktor paused, his hand hovering over a series of glowing levers. His gaze didn’t lift from the machine, but his voice carried a weight that filled the room. “To create something that will endure. A legacy that transcends the limitations of the flesh.”

Jinx tilted her head, her grin fading. “You mean your condition.”

His hands tightened slightly on the controls, but he nodded. “Yes. I have lived with these limitations all my life, but I refuse to let them define me. Through invention, I can overcome them—and perhaps help others do the same.”

For a moment, there was only the hum of machinery between them. Then Jinx leaned forward, her blue eyes sharp and searching. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?”

He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “Is that your professional assessment?”

“Damn right it is,” she said, her grin returning. “But I get it. Stubborn’s good. Stubborn gets things done.”

Viktor’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I will take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” She stood, stretching lazily before wandering to another table cluttered with diagrams. One caught her eye—a sketch of a Hextech core surrounded by intricate annotations. Her fingers brushed over the paper, her mind racing with possibilities.

“This is awesome,” she murmured, more to herself than to Viktor. “You’re working on stabilizing energy outputs, right? Balancing the flux ratios?”

Viktor turned, his cane clicking softly as he approached. His gaze flickered to the diagram, then to her. “You recognize the problem.”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh… dabbled.” She grinned, but there was a nervous edge to it. “But don’t mind me. Just a humble observer, remember?”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You are no mere observer, Matilda.”

Her grin faltered, and she looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, about that…”

Viktor tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

Jinx hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. Then she took a deep breath and turned to face him, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “I’m not from Piltover. And my name isn’t Matilda.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Viktor eyed her, but his voice remained calm. “I see.”

“Do you?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. “Because if you did, you’d know that I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not some genius student or a promising researcher. I’m… I’m just a girl playing pretend.”

Her confession echoed in the small space, raw and unvarnished. Viktor regarded her silently, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured but firm.

“Zaun or Piltover, Matilda or not—it does not matter to me. What matters is what you choose to do with the opportunities before you.”

She blinked, taken aback. “You’re not… mad?”

“Why would I be?” he asked, his gaze steady. “You have not deceived me in any way that diminishes your value. If anything, you have only confirmed what I already suspected.”

“Of course you knew,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

He allowed himself a small smile. “So I have been told.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Jinx stepped closer, her grin softening into something more genuine. “Thanks, Viktor. For not… I don’t know, kicking me out or something.”

He inclined his head. “You are welcome to stay—as long as you do not tamper with the equipment.”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. “No promises, brainiac.”

As she settled back onto the stool, Viktor returned to his work, his mind buzzing with questions. Who was Jinx, really? And why did her presence feel so impossibly right?

Neither of them had the answers—not yet. But for the first time in a long while, Viktor found himself willing to wait.
________________________________________

 

The quiet, rhythmic tapping of Viktor’s cane echoed in the grand halls of Piltover Academy, blending with the hushed conversations of passing students and the hum of Hextech conduits lining the walls. Jinx—or Matilda, as she insisted on calling herself here—strolled beside him, her dyed-brown buns wobbling precariously as she gestured animatedly.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said, smirking, Jinx said, twirling a loose stray strand of her brown-dyed hair. “Your brilliant plan for stabilizing the energy flux in the core is to increase the crystal’s conductivity? Isn’t that just begging for a meltdown?”

Viktor’s lips twitched in faint amusement. “The key lies in maintaining a delicate equilibrium, not merely increasing conductivity. I intend to implement a secondary containment matrix to mitigate the risk of thermal runaway.”

“Uh-huh,” Jinx replied, crossing her arms. “And what happens if your matrix doesn’t, you know… contain?”

“Then we will both have the opportunity to witness an impressive failure,” Viktor said dryly, glancing at her. “From a safe distance, of course.”

She snorted, her honeysuckle scent weaving faintly into the air between them. “You’re a riot, brainiac.”

Their banter was cut short when they turned a corner and found themselves face-to-face with two figures. Heimerdinger, small and spry, was gesticulating animatedly as he explained something to the young man walking beside him. The boy’s wild white hair, sharp features, and intense gaze made him instantly recognizable: Ekko.

The moment Ekko’s eyes landed on Jinx, his footsteps faltered. The cheerful air Heimerdinger carried with him seemed to dissolve as the boy froze, staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and recognition.

“Powder?” Ekko’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it sliced through the air like a blade.

Jinx’s grin disappeared, her body going rigid as her eyes locked onto his. The playful spark that had animated her moments before faded, leaving behind a shadow of tension and unease. She unconsciously stepped closer to Viktor, as if seeking a shield, and he caught the subtle shift in her scent. The sweet honeysuckle warmth he had grown accustomed to was now tinged with something sour—perhaps fear.

Viktor’s sharp gaze flicked between them, his mind quickly piecing together fragments of the puzzle he had only just begun to grasp.

Ekko ignored him, his focus entirely on Jinx. His brows knit together, pain and confusion flickering across his face. “Is it really you?” he asked, taking a hesitant step forward. “Powder, what the hell are you doing here?”

Jinx flinched at the name, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m not Powder,” she said, her voice low but laced with tension. “Not anymore.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened. “You don’t get to just stop being you. You don’t get to—”

“Ah, Viktor!” Heimerdinger’s voice interrupted, his tone bright and oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. The small yordle beamed as he approached, his tufted ears perking with excitement. “Just the person I was hoping to see! Are you free later today? I need assistance with a demonstration for my newest assistant.” He gestured toward Ekko with a small paw.

Ekko, however, didn’t acknowledge the introduction, his focus locked on Jinx. She refused to meet his gaze, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

Viktor inclined his head toward Heimerdinger, his voice steady. “Of course, Professor. I would be happy to assist. What is the nature of the demonstration?”

“Oh, nothing too complicated,” Heimerdinger replied cheerfully. “Just a practical application of oscillating energy matrices. Ekko here has been quite promising, but I thought your expertise might provide an extra layer of insight.”

Jinx’s eyes flickered to Ekko, then to Viktor, her unease palpable. The shift in her scent became stronger, and Viktor’s own alpha instincts stirred faintly in response—not with dominance or assertion, but with quiet resolve. He could sense her discomfort, the barely contained storm she was holding back, and he let his own scent stabilize the space between them, grounding and steady.

“I will ensure the demonstration proceeds smoothly,” Viktor said evenly, his golden gaze lingering on Jinx for a moment before returning to Heimerdinger. “You may rely on me.”

“Excellent!” Heimerdinger clapped his paws together, his bushy tail wagging with enthusiasm. “We’ll meet in Lab Six at the fourth bell. Don’t be late!” With that, he turned and began walking away, gesturing for Ekko to follow. But the boy lingered, his gaze never leaving Jinx.

“Perhaps it would be best if we continued this discussion at another time,” Viktor said, his tone measured but firm. His gaze met Ekko’s, unyielding.

Ekko didn’t move immediately. His eyes remained locked on Jinx, his voice low but strained. “This isn’t over, Powder. We need to talk.”

Her breath hitched, her lips parting as though she wanted to reply but couldn’t find the words. Finally, she shook her head and looked away. “Don’t call me that,” she muttered.

The waver in her tone seemed to snap something in him. He stepped back, his expression twisting. “Fine,” he said tightly. “We’ll talk later.” Ekko hesitated, his eyes flicking between Jinx and Viktor, before he finally exhaled sharply and turned to follow Heimerdinger. His footsteps echoed down the hall, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.

Jinx’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t respond. Viktor, sensing the moment teetering on the edge of escalation, stepped forward slightly, his steady presence a quiet barrier between the two.

Jinx let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as though a weight had been lifted. Viktor turned to her, his golden eyes studying her closely. “Are you all right?”

She forced a grin, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Peachy. Just peachy.” Her voice wavered, and her scent, though beginning to stabilize, still carried that faint tinge of bitterness.

“You do not have to explain now,” Viktor said gently. “But if there is something I should know—”

“There isn’t,” she interrupted quickly, her tone brittle. “It’s… complicated, okay? Just… not here.”

Viktor inclined his head, accepting her words for now. “Very well.”

As they resumed walking, her steps were slower, her banter subdued. Viktor didn’t press her, but the weight of her unspoken history hung heavily between them.
________________________________________

 

Jinx’s boots scraped against the stone as she shifted uneasily, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her satchel. Across from her stood Ekko, his stance rigid, his gaze boring into her as if he could will her to make sense. They were tucked into an alley near one of Piltover Academy’s quieter gardens, the muted sounds of students far enough away to grant them uneasy privacy. Viktor lingered just out of sight, leaning lightly on his cane. His sharp eyes watched the exchange intently, prepared to intervene at the first sign Jinx might unravel.

“You disappeared,” Ekko said, his voice steady but tight with restrained frustration. “One day, you were there, and the next, nothing. No note, no word. Just… gone. Why?”

Jinx crossed her arms, her grin tight and forced. “Why not? Didn’t seem like anyone was dying to keep me around.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Ekko snapped, stepping closer. “Vi’s been looking for you. She never stopped.”

“Vi?” Jinx’s smile cracked, and a bitter laugh escaped her. “Yeah, right. If she cared so much, she wouldn’t have left me in the first place.”

“You know that’s not what happened,” Ekko countered, his voice rising. “She thought you were dead, Powder! She thought she lost you—”

“Stop calling me that!” Jinx shouted, her voice slicing through the air like a whip. Her hands flew to her head, clutching her hair as if trying to physically keep the name from penetrating. “Powder is dead! Don’t you get that?”

Ekko froze, his mouth open but no words coming out. The silence hung thick, broken only by Jinx’s ragged breaths.

“Silco took me in,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter but trembling with suppressed emotion. “When Vi didn’t want me anymore, Silco was the one who made me strong. He gave me a home. A family.”

“Vi didn’t—” Ekko began, but Jinx cut him off, her head snapping up to glare at him.

“She left me!” she spat, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “She didn’t care. Just like you don’t care. Just like none of you ever did!”

“That’s not true,” Ekko said, his voice softer now, pleading. “I cared. I still care. And so does Vi—”

“You don’t listen!” Jinx shouted, her hands flying to her temples again. “You’re just like her! You never listen!”

Her breathing grew erratic, her eyes darting as if seeing things only she could. Her delusions were creeping in, clawing at the edges of her reality. She thumped her fist against her head once, then again, the motion frantic. “Shut up, shut up, shut up…”

“Jinx,” Viktor’s calm, measured voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline. He stepped into the alley, his cane tapping softly against the ground. Jinx froze, her wide, tear-filled eyes snapping to him. For a moment, she looked terrified—but then her expression crumpled, and she reached for him like a drowning woman grasping for solid ground.

Viktor closed the distance between them, his free arm wrapping around her shoulders as she buried her face against his chest. Her slender frame trembled against his, her fingers clutching the fabric of his coat as though it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Viktor said nothing, his golden eyes meeting Ekko’s over her head. The alpha’s expression was a storm of conflicting emotions—pain, confusion, anger.

“Do you even know who she is?” Ekko asked, his voice low and strained, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “What she’s done?”

“This is Matilda,” Viktor replied evenly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And this conversation has already caused more harm than good.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking between Jinx and Viktor. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand that she is not ready for whatever it is you want to resolve,” Viktor said firmly. “Perhaps you should consider that before continuing to push.”

Jinx’s grip on Viktor tightened, and her breathing began to slow, his scent grounding her in a way she couldn’t explain. She inhaled deeply, letting the earthy warmth of him calm the storm raging in her mind. For the first time in what felt like hours, the voices began to fade.

Ekko exhaled sharply, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “This isn’t over,” he said, his gaze locking onto Jinx one final time. “We’re not done, Powder.”

Jinx flinched at the name but didn’t lift her head. Viktor’s hand rested gently on her back, a silent reassurance. “Leave,” he said to Ekko, his voice quiet but commanding.

Ekko hesitated, his body tense, before finally turning and walking away. His footsteps echoed in the alley, each one heavy with unspoken words.

Jinx let out a shaky breath as the tension drained from her body. She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at Viktor. Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed by her breakdown.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

“There is no need to apologize,” Viktor said gently.

Her gaze flicked back to him, searching his face for any sign of judgment, but there was none. Only quiet understanding.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter 41: Midnight Amber pt. 2

Summary:

“You are not nothing,” Viktor said firmly, his voice cutting through her anger.

Jinx froze, her eyes widening slightly. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension hanging heavy between them. Then, slowly, her expression softened, and she let out a shaky laugh.

“Careful, genius,” she said, her tone light but her eyes betraying her unease. “Keep talking like that, and I might start to think you care.”

“I do care,” Viktor replied without hesitation.

Viktor had scarcely managed to settle back into his work after his encounter with Jinx—or “Lenore Alcrest,” as she’d introduced herself at the gala. Though days had passed, her image was burned into his mind: those vivid eyes, the mischievous curve of her smile, and the electric energy that seemed to pulse in her presence. Despite her polished disguise, there had been something undeniably raw about her—a spark that no refinement could suppress.

His cane tapped softly against the floor as he paced his laboratory, glancing at the prototype sitting on his workbench. The device gleamed under the flickering glow of an overhead lamp, and though it was his creation, it no longer held his full attention. Instead, his thoughts spiraled back to Jinx. The fleeting moments they’d shared were puzzling yet magnetic.

And then, as if conjured by his restless mind, she appeared.

The sound of boots against metal roused him from his thoughts. At first, Viktor assumed it was one of the lab assistants—perhaps an overeager apprentice or even Jayce returning to pester him about the prototype’s next stage. But the quiet, irregular rhythm of the steps set him on edge. He turned sharply just as a figure emerged from the shadows of the open window.

“Miss Alcrest,” he said, his voice steady despite the jolt of surprise.

“No need for the formalities,” she replied, her voice dripping with a teasing lilt. “It’s just Jinx.”

She was perched on the windowsill, the pale moonlight framing her in a ghostly glow. Gone were the elegant waves of brown hair and the demure lavender dress. Now, she was in her true form—chaotic blue braids spilling over her shoulders, mismatched goggles pushed onto her forehead, and a leather jacket that bore the scars of countless misadventures.

“What are you doing here?” Viktor asked, keeping his tone neutral, though his pulse quickened.

Jinx grinned, slipping into the room with feline grace. “What, no ‘hello’? No ‘how have you been, Jinx’? I thought we were friends now.”

Viktor’s lips twitched at her mockery, but he kept his composure. “Friends do not usually climb through windows in the dead of night.”

“Well, friends also don’t usually build shiny new toys that people like me just have to see,” she countered, nodding toward the prototype on his desk. “You left quite an impression, Viktor. I couldn’t resist.”

Her admission sent a flicker of warmth through him, though he kept his expression impassive. “You risked much by coming here. Piltover is not kind to intruders.”

“Oh, please,” Jinx scoffed, sauntering toward the prototype. Her fingers grazed its surface, her touch delicate but curious. “I’ve been sneaking into places like this since I was a kid. Besides…” She glanced over her shoulder, her grin widening. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t turn me in.”

Her confidence was disarming, and Viktor found himself both amused and exasperated. “You assume much.”

“Am I wrong?”

He hesitated, his amber eyes narrowing. “You are not.”

Jinx chuckled, pleased with herself, and turned her attention back to the prototype. “So, this is the little marvel that stole the show at the gala. It’s prettier up close.”

“It is not merely for display,” Viktor said, stepping closer. “It is a mechanism designed to enhance energy efficiency in hextech devices. A solution to resource scarcity.”

“Sounds noble,” Jinx remarked, though her tone was skeptical. “And let me guess—Piltover’s finest will find a way to turn it into a weapon or a profit machine?”

Viktor frowned, her words cutting closer to the truth than he cared to admit. “It is not my intention for it to be misused.”

“Intentions are cute,” she said, turning to face him fully. “But people like us? We know how the world works. Piltover doesn’t care about saving anyone but itself.”

“And Zaun is any better?” Viktor shot back, his voice sharper than intended.

For a moment, Jinx’s grin faltered, and something darker flickered in her eyes. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by her usual bravado. “Touché,” she said with a shrug. “We’re all bastards in the end, right?”

The bitterness in her tone unsettled Viktor, but he let it pass. He stepped closer to the prototype, gesturing for her to move aside. To his surprise, she did so without argument, watching him with keen interest as he adjusted one of the mechanisms.

“It is not perfect,” he admitted, his focus on the device. “But it is a step forward. If refined, it could—”

“—change the world?” Jinx interrupted, her voice soft but laced with sarcasm.

Viktor glanced at her, his amber eyes meeting hers. “Perhaps not the world,” he said quietly. “But maybe it could help someone. Somewhere.”

The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. She studied him for a long moment, her usual smirk replaced by something gentler. “You’re a strange one, Viktor. An optimist in a city full of cynics.”

“And you?” he asked, tilting his head. “What are you in a world full of chaos?”

Her smile returned, but it was smaller now, almost wistful. “I guess I’m the chaos.”

Their gazes held for a moment longer, the silence between them charged with unspoken understanding. Then, Jinx took a step back, her usual energy returning as she spun on her heel.

“Well, as fun as this little chat has been, I should probably skedaddle before the enforcers catch wind of me. Don’t want to make things harder for you, genius.”

“Jinx,” Viktor called as she reached the window.

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

“If you intend to return, use the door next time,” he said, his tone unusually light.

Jinx laughed, a bright, chaotic sound that echoed through the lab. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With a final wink, she slipped out into the night, leaving Viktor alone with the lingering scent of honeysuckle and the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
________________________________________

 

It had been exactly three nights since Jinx’s unorthodox intrusion into Viktor’s lab, and he had convinced himself she wouldn’t return. She had fulfilled her apparent purpose—sating her curiosity about his prototype—and vanished like smoke. Viktor told himself he preferred it this way. He didn’t need distractions, least of all from someone as volatile and unpredictable as Jinx.

Yet, when a faint tapping sound echoed from the window, Viktor found himself more curious than surprised.

“You are consistent, if nothing else,” Viktor said without turning from his work.

The tapping stopped, followed by a soft laugh. “Aw, come on, Viktor. Aren’t you even a little happy to see me?”

He finally glanced up, watching as Jinx pulled herself through the window with practiced ease. This time, she carried a satchel slung over one shoulder, its contents clinking faintly as she landed on the lab floor.

Her boots hit the ground with a soft thud, and she straightened, flashing him that trademark grin.

“You did say to use the door,” she teased, tossing the satchel onto a nearby workbench, “but this is just so much more dramatic.”

“And impractical,” Viktor replied, his tone dry but not unkind. “What is in the bag?”

Jinx’s grin widened. “Glad you asked!” She unzipped the satchel and began pulling out an assortment of mechanical scraps, wires, and odd-looking tools. “Thought I’d bring a little something to the table. You know, to help with your fancy energy-saving thingy.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. He moved closer, inspecting the parts she’d laid out. Most were crude, salvaged from Zaun’s underbelly, but there were a few pieces of surprising quality—small, rare components he’d been struggling to source for weeks.

“These are… useful,” he admitted, picking up a delicate oscillator. “Where did you find them?”

Jinx shrugged, leaning against the workbench. “Here, there, everywhere. Let’s just say I’ve got a knack for finding treasure in the trash.”

Her casual tone belied the effort it must have taken to acquire the items, and Viktor found himself impressed. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, setting the oscillator aside. “Though I suspect you did not come here solely to deliver these.”

She laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “You’re catching on, genius. No, I came because I was bored. And curious. What’s the point of being a mad scientist if you don’t have a little chaos to spice up your lab?”

“I am not mad,” Viktor retorted, though there was a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

“Not yet,” Jinx countered, leaning closer. “But you might be if you keep working alone in this stuffy place. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

Viktor’s brow furrowed. “Tired of my work? No. It is my purpose.”

“Purpose,” Jinx echoed, rolling the word around her mouth like it tasted bitter. “Sounds heavy. You ever think about, I don’t know… just doing something because it’s fun?”

Viktor regarded her thoughtfully. “Fun is not a luxury I have often entertained.”

Jinx snorted, crossing her arms. “Well, there’s your problem. Fun’s what keeps you from turning into one of those boring Piltover snobs.” She straightened, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Tell you what, Viktor—how about I show you how it’s done?”

Viktor gave her a skeptical look. “And what would that entail?”

Jinx’s grin turned devilish. “Oh, you’ll see.”

The night air was crisp and biting as Viktor followed Jinx down a series of winding alleyways. Though he hadn’t agreed outright to her vague plan, curiosity—and the need to ensure she didn’t get herself arrested—had compelled him to follow. Her energy was infectious, a whirlwind of movement and chatter that kept him on edge yet oddly intrigued.

They eventually emerged into a sprawling junkyard on the outskirts of Zaun, the area illuminated by dim, flickering floodlights. Piles of scrap metal and discarded machinery loomed around them like jagged mountains, and Viktor’s keen eye immediately picked out several valuable items amidst the debris.

“What are we doing here?” he asked, his breath visible in the cold air.

Jinx spun around, holding her arms out dramatically. “We’re building something, of course!”

“Building what, exactly?”

“That’s the fun part,” she said with a wink. “We don’t know yet.”

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose. “You brought me here without a plan?”

“Plans are boring,” Jinx shot back, already clambering onto a nearby pile of scrap. “Now, come on! Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

Despite himself, Viktor found his irritation fading as he watched her. There was something almost childlike in the way she sifted through the junk, her hands moving with practiced precision. Against his better judgment, he began to search as well, his sharp mind already piecing together potential designs from the chaos around him.

Hours passed in a strange, exhilarating blur. Jinx’s laughter echoed through the junkyard as she tossed Viktor random parts, some of which he caught with surprising ease. Together, they assembled a bizarre contraption—a mishmash of gears, pistons, and wires that didn’t serve any practical purpose but whirred and spun in mesmerizing patterns when activated.

By the time they finished, the sky had begun to lighten with the first hints of dawn. Jinx plopped onto the ground, her legs stretched out in front of her as she admired their creation.

“Not bad for a couple of misfits,” she said, her voice tinged with pride.

Viktor remained standing, leaning slightly on his cane as he studied the device. “It is… pointless,” he said, though there was no malice in his tone.

“Exactly!” Jinx beamed up at him. “That’s the point. It doesn’t have to do anything—it can just exist. Like art.”

Viktor looked at her, her face flushed from the cold and her grin as bright as the rising sun. For a moment, he allowed himself to step outside the rigid confines of his usual mindset. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps not everything needed a purpose.

“You are… peculiar,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual.

Jinx smirked, tilting her head. “Takes one to know one, genius.”

Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then Jinx jumped to her feet, breaking the spell with her usual boundless energy.

“Alright, fun’s over. Let’s get out of here before someone spots us.”

Viktor followed her without protest, his mind lingering on the strange, exhilarating night they’d shared. As they made their way back to the city, he found himself wondering when—not if—she would return.
________________________________________

 

Jinx’s visits to Viktor’s lab became a routine—if one could call her erratic timing and penchant for chaos a routine. Some nights she arrived with stolen components tucked under her arm, her grin wide and unapologetic as she dropped them onto his workbench. Other times, she brought nothing but herself, perching on the edge of a counter and rambling about the madness of Zaun or the corruption of Piltover while Viktor worked in patient silence.

At first, Viktor had been wary of her presence. She was a storm, unpredictable and wild, and he had long since learned the dangers of getting too close to something that burned so brightly. But as the nights stretched on, he found himself looking forward to her arrivals—her laughter filling the sterile air, her sharp wit cutting through the monotony of his work.

It was during one of these visits, as the faint sounds of Piltover’s nightlife drifted through the open window, that Viktor finally asked her the question that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

“Why do you keep coming here, Jinx?”

She paused mid-motion, her fingers wrapped around a small hex crystal she’d been inspecting. For once, her ever-present grin faltered, replaced by something more thoughtful.

“You really wanna know?” she asked, her tone uncharacteristically subdued.

Viktor set down his tools, turning to face her fully. “I would not ask if I did not.”

Jinx studied him for a long moment, her blue eyes flickering with something he couldn’t quite place. Then, with a sigh, she set the crystal down and leaned back against the workbench.

“Zaun’s a mess,” she began, her voice quieter than usual. “And I’ve spent my whole life trying to survive in it. Stealing, fighting, blowing things up—you name it, I’ve done it. But lately…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the window. “Lately, it feels like none of it matters. Like no matter what I do, the city just keeps getting worse.”

Viktor listened intently, his amber eyes never leaving her face.

“When I saw you at that gala,” she continued, her voice growing steadier, “you were different. All those Piltie snobs, so full of themselves, and then there was you—this weird, quiet guy who actually seemed like he gave a damn. I guess I just felt like we had a connection.”

Her words took Viktor by surprise, and he felt a faint warmth rise in his chest. “And have you found your answer?”

Jinx smirked, some of her usual mischief returning. “Not yet. But I’m having fun trying.”

Viktor allowed himself a small smile, though his mind lingered on her earlier words. He had long been aware of Zaun’s struggles—its poverty, its desperation—but hearing it from Jinx, so raw and unfiltered, struck a chord in him.

“Zaun does not need to remain as it is,” he said quietly. “Change is possible. But it requires more than destruction.”

Jinx’s grin faded, her gaze sharpening. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve tried playing nice, Viktor. Tried following orders, doing what’s ‘right.’ And all it got me was more broken promises.”

Her voice rose, frustration bleeding into her words. “People like us don’t get to fix things. We’re the tools, the weapons. The moment we stop being useful, we’re nothing.”

“You are not nothing,” Viktor said firmly, his voice cutting through her anger.

Jinx froze, her eyes widening slightly. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension hanging heavy between them. Then, slowly, her expression softened, and she let out a shaky laugh.

“Careful, genius,” she said, her tone light but her eyes betraying her unease. “Keep talking like that, and I might start to think you care.”

“I do care,” Viktor replied without hesitation.

The bluntness of his response seemed to catch Jinx off guard, and for once, she was at a loss for words. She looked at him, really looked at him, as if searching for some hidden motive. When she found none, she let out another laugh, this one softer, almost vulnerable.

“You’re something else, Viktor,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to make of you.”

“Then perhaps you should keep coming back,” he said, a hint of dry humor in his tone. “To figure it out.”

Jinx’s grin returned, and this time, it was genuine. “Maybe I will.”
________________________________________

 

The next time Jinx arrived, it wasn’t through the window. Viktor was startled to hear a knock at the door, followed by her muffled voice.

“Hey, genius! Open up!”

He approached the door cautiously, opening it to find her standing there, a large canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair was messier than usual, her cheeks slightly flushed as if she’d been running.

“What is this?” Viktor asked, eyeing the bag suspiciously.

“An experiment,” Jinx replied, brushing past him into the lab.

She dropped the bag onto the floor, crouched down, and began pulling out a chaotic assortment of items—scraps of metal, old wiring, a broken clock face, and a handful of glowing hex crystals.

“What exactly do you intend to do with this?” Viktor asked, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

Jinx’s grin widened as she straightened up. “We’re gonna make something cool.”

“Define ‘cool.’”

“Something that goes boom,” she said cheerfully, holding up one of the crystals.

Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You cannot simply combine random components and hope for a functioning device. That is not how engineering works.”

“Maybe not for you,” Jinx shot back, already tinkering with the scraps. “But I’ve got a system.”

“A system?”

“Yeah. It’s called ‘winging it.’”

Despite himself, Viktor chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You are incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” Jinx said without missing a beat.

They worked together late into the night, their contrasting approaches somehow complementing each other. Jinx’s chaotic creativity and Viktor’s meticulous precision blended into something strange and wonderful, resulting in a device that hummed and whirred with an almost otherworldly energy.

When they finally stepped back to admire their work, Jinx let out a satisfied laugh. “Told you it’d be cool.”

“It is… interesting,” Viktor admitted, though his tone held a hint of approval.

Jinx bumped her shoulder against his, her grin playful. “Admit it, genius—you’re starting to like having me around.”

Viktor glanced at her, his amber eyes warm. “Perhaps I am.”

The words hung in the air, unspoken truths swirling between them. For once, Jinx didn’t try to fill the silence. She simply stood there, the faint scent of honeysuckle mingling with his own, and let the moment linger.

Chapter 42: Tortured Artists pt. 1

Summary:

“Hey, gloomy,” she called, grinning when Hwei came out onto the steps again. “Still brooding over there, or have you painted something fun yet?”

Hwei looked up, his dark eyes squinting against the harsh Zaun streetlights. He didn’t seem surprised to see her hanging there, though he did arch an eyebrow. “Fun’s not really my style,” he said, flipping open his sketchpad. “Why don’t you go find someone else to terrorize?”

“Terrorize? Moi?” she gasped dramatically, letting herself swing a little. “You’re so mean, Hwei. You’d think you’d be thrilled to have the most exciting person in Zaun hanging around.”

“If by exciting you mean distracting,” he muttered, though the smallest flicker of amusement passed across his face before he could hide it.

Jinx noticed it, of course, and her grin widened. “Oh, you like me. Admit it.”

Notes:

"Calm and chaos—leave everything on the canvas."

The workshop was a cacophony of clinks, hums, and the occasional hiss of steam. Viktor stood hunched over his workbench, his fingers stained with oil and ink, his sharp eyes scanning intricate blueprints. He had been like this for hours, perhaps days, if he were being honest with himself. Time was a concept that often escaped him when he was lost in the pursuit of invention, when the delicate dance of science and progress consumed his every thought. His cane rested against the edge of the table, close at hand but forgotten, as he sketched a new array of runes for the hextech core adapter he was developing.

“Vik, you’re gonna wear a hole through the paper if you keep staring at it like that.”

The sing-song voice shattered the heavy stillness of his lab, and Viktor froze mid-sketch. Slowly, he turned his head, and there she was: Jinx, lounging on a half-dismantled automaton like it was a throne, her vibrant blue braids trailing down her shoulders. She grinned at him, wide and unrestrained, her eyes alight with mischief.

“I didn’t realize you’d returned,” he said, his voice calm, though he could feel his lips curve into a faint, involuntary smile. She had that effect on him. It was maddening, the way she could inject chaos into his orderly world, yet he couldn’t bring himself to push her away.

Jinx tilted her head, her grin softening into something almost tender. “Yeah, figured I’d drop by and see if you were still alive. Lucky me, you’re exactly where I left you.”

“Where else would I be?” he asked, returning his attention to the blueprint.

Her laughter bubbled out like gunpowder catching fire. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe enjoying the sun, eating some weird Piltover pastry, or, you know, spending time with me.”

Viktor paused, the nib of his pen hovering just above the page. He had no response to that, at least not one he thought she wanted to hear. So, he didn’t say anything at all. He simply resumed his work, his mind already drifting back into the comforting embrace of schematics and equations.

Jinx waited a moment, watching him in silence. She had grown used to this over time—the way Viktor could vanish into his own mind, leaving her behind like an afterthought. It didn’t hurt, not really. She knew he cared, even if he didn’t show it the way others might. But lately, the silence had started to feel heavier, like a weight pressing down on her chest.

“Right,” she said, hopping off the automaton and dusting her hands on her shorts. “Guess I’ll go find something else to do. Don’t work too hard, Vik. You’ll burn out that big brain of yours.”

Viktor glanced up just in time to see her disappearing through the workshop door, her long legs carrying her away with an almost bouncy stride. His fingers twitched, and for a moment, he considered calling her back. But then his gaze fell on the blueprint again, and the moment passed.

Jinx wandered through the winding streets of Zaun, her boots kicking up little puffs of dust with each step. The city was alive as always, a sprawling maze of neon lights and shadowy corners, but today, none of it seemed to hold her interest. She fiddled with the end of one of her braids, her mind flitting back to Viktor and the cold, distant way he had looked at her before burying himself in his work again.

It wasn’t his fault, she reminded herself. He was busy, brilliant, and trying to save the world or whatever it was he did in that lab of his. She loved that about him, his drive and determination. But some days, it felt like she was nothing more than an afterthought in the grand scheme of his genius.

“Hey, you’re blocking the light,” a low, annoyed voice said from behind her.

Jinx turned, blinking, to find herself standing in front of a dingy little art studio. A young man sat on the steps, a sketchpad balanced on his knee. His dark teal hair fell in messy waves, parted over his forehead, and his dark eyes regarded her with a mixture of irritation and curiosity.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, taking a step back.

The man didn’t reply right away. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her like she was some strange, abstract sculpture he couldn’t quite figure out. “You’re… colorful,” he said finally, gesturing vaguely at her hair and tattoos.

Jinx grinned, a spark of mischief flaring to life in her chest. “Thanks. You’re… not.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he was trying not to smile. “Hwei,” he said, tapping his pencil against the edge of his sketchpad.

“Jinx,” she replied, plopping down on the steps beside him without waiting for an invitation. “So, what’s your deal? You some kind of sad, brooding artist?”

Hwei snorted, flipping to a blank page in his sketchpad. “Something like that. What about you? You some kind of manic pixie dream girl?”

Jinx’s laugh echoed down the street, bright and sharp. “Oh, you have no idea.”
________________________________________

 

Days turned into weeks, and Jinx found herself spending more and more time with Hwei.

Jinx’s first encounter with Hwei on the steps of his dingy art studio had been little more than a passing curiosity for her. But there was something about the way he seemed so utterly unimpressed by the chaos she exuded, the lack of awe in his deadpan reactions, that made her decide to stick around. He was quiet and sarcastic, with a dry wit that always seemed to catch her off guard. He painted the world in shades of gray, both literally and figuratively, and while his gloom-and-doom attitude could be a bit much at times, he wasn’t boring. And once she decided someone or something was interesting enough to poke at, she wasn’t one to let go easily.

It started small. Jinx showed up a few days later, hanging upside down from a beam that jutted out of the building’s façade, her long blue braids dangling like pendulums.

“Hey, gloomy,” she called, grinning when Hwei came out onto the steps again. “Still brooding over there, or have you painted something fun yet?”

Hwei looked up, his dark eyes squinting against the harsh Zaun streetlights. He didn’t seem surprised to see her hanging there, though he did arch an eyebrow. “Fun’s not really my style,” he said, flipping open his sketchpad. “Why don’t you go find someone else to terrorize?”

“Terrorize? Moi?” she gasped dramatically, letting herself swing a little. “You’re so mean, Hwei. You’d think you’d be thrilled to have the most exciting person in Zaun hanging around.”

“If by exciting you mean distracting,” he muttered, though the smallest flicker of amusement passed across his face before he could hide it.

Jinx noticed it, of course, and her grin widened. “Oh, you like me. Admit it.”

Hwei didn’t respond, instead focusing on his sketchpad.

Over time, their encounters became a regular thing. Jinx would drop by unannounced, as was her style, and Hwei would sigh and grumble but never once asked her to leave. His studio was a cluttered, chaotic space—an assortment of half-finished canvases, jars of paint, and scattered sketches littered every surface. Jinx felt right at home in the mess.

One afternoon, she perched herself on a stool, legs swinging back and forth, as she watched Hwei work on a canvas. He was painting something dark and abstract, jagged lines and heavy shadows, with the occasional splash of dull red.

“You always paint stuff like this?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“It’s what I see,” he replied simply, not looking up from his work.

“Well, what about what you don’t see?” she pressed.

Hwei paused, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jinx hopped off the stool, grabbing a nearby jar of bright yellow paint. “I mean, you’ve got all this doom and gloom, but where’s the fun? Where’s the boom?” She dipped her fingers into the paint and smeared a streak of yellow across the canvas, right over one of the darker sections.

Hwei stared at the streak, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Jinx thought she might have overstepped, but then he let out a low chuckle. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a cheeky grin, wiping her hands on her shorts.

After that, their dynamic shifted slightly. Hwei started leaving out extra jars of paint and blank canvases for her, though he never outright invited her to join him. Jinx, of course, took the hint and threw herself into it with gusto. Her “art” was wild and chaotic—bright colors splattered haphazardly, lines that made no sense, and shapes that didn’t quite connect. But she didn’t care. It wasn’t about making something perfect; it was about making something hers.

Hwei never criticized her work, though he did occasionally mutter things like, “That’s not how perspective works,” or, “You do realize that’s anatomically impossible, right?” Jinx would just laugh and tell him to loosen up.

Their conversations were just as unpredictable as Jinx herself. Sometimes they talked about art—Hwei would ramble about technique and inspiration, and Jinx would nod along, pretending to understand. Other times, their conversations veered into deeper territory.

One evening, as they sat on the floor of the studio eating greasy street food, Jinx turned to him with a curious expression. “So, what’s your deal anyway, Hwei? Why all the sad boy vibes?”

Hwei shrugged, biting into a piece of fried something-or-other. “Zaun’s not exactly a cheery place. I didn’t grow up here, but it leaves a mark.”

Jinx’s grin faltered for just a moment, her gaze dropping to her food. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

There was a beat of silence, heavy and charged, before Hwei cleared his throat. “What about you? You’re like a human firecracker. What’s got you so wound up all the time?”

Her grin returned, sharper than before. “Oh, you know. Just trying to keep things interesting. Life’s too short to be boring, right?”

Hwei studied her for a moment, his dark eyes thoughtful. He didn’t press her for more, sensing that there was a lot she wasn’t saying. Instead, he nodded. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

As the weeks went on, their strange friendship grew. Hwei started showing her more of his work—the sketches he kept hidden away, the ones that weren’t meant for public eyes. They were haunting and beautiful, full of raw emotion that Jinx couldn’t quite put into words.

“You’ve got talent, gloomy,” she told him one day, flipping through one of his sketchbooks. “Ever thought about showing this stuff to someone?”

Hwei snorted. “And what? Have some fancy Piltover critic tell me it’s garbage? No thanks.”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Ugh, you’re such a downer. You should let me be your manager. I’d have you famous in no time.”

“Yeah, because the world’s dying to see exploding art galleries,” he said dryly.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

Despite their differences, there was a strange sort of balance between them. Jinx’s energy and unpredictability seemed to chip away at Hwei’s somber exterior, while his steady presence grounded her in a way she didn’t realize she needed.

Still, no matter how much fun she had with Hwei, there was always a part of her that longed for Viktor. She spoke about him often, weaving little anecdotes about his brilliance and his quirks into their conversations.

“You really like this guy, huh?” Hwei remarked one day, leaning back against the wall as he watched her paint.

“Like doesn’t even cover it,” Jinx said with a grin. “Vik’s… different. He’s smart and serious and kind of a pain sometimes, but he’s mine.”

Hwei smirked. “Sounds like he’s got his hands full with you.”

“Yeah, well, I keep him on his toes,” she said with a laugh.

And despite everything, Hwei found himself smiling at her words. He might have been her friend, but he could see that her heart was firmly tethered to someone else. And oddly enough, he was okay with that.
________________________________________

To her surprise, Viktor didn’t seem to mind. Or maybe he just didn’t notice. Jinx made no effort to hide her new friendship, dropping Hwei’s name into casual conversation whenever she stopped by the workshop. Viktor would hum in acknowledgment, his attention never straying from his work, and that was the end of it.

But one evening, as Jinx sat cross-legged on the floor of the workshop, tinkering with one of her explosive creations, she caught Viktor watching her out of the corner of her eye.

“You seem… preoccupied lately,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Jinx looked up, her brow furrowing. “Preoccupied?”

“With your new… acquaintance,” he clarified, his fingers tightening around the cane he was leaning on.

She shrugged, her expression open and unbothered. “Hwei’s cool. A bit of a downer, but he’s got good jokes. Why? Jealous?”

The word hit him like a hextech blast to the chest, though he didn’t let it show. Was he jealous? The thought hadn’t occurred to him until she’d said it, but now that it had, he couldn’t seem to shake it.

“No,” he said, though even he could hear the unconvincing edge to his tone. “Merely… curious.”

Jinx grinned, tilting her head to the side. “Well, don’t worry, Vik. No one could ever replace you.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they only made the knot in his chest tighten.

Later that night, Viktor lay awake in his quarters, his mind racing. He wasn’t a fool; he knew Jinx wasn’t unhappy with him. She was patient, always waiting for him with that radiant smile of hers, even when he gave her little reason to. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he had taken her for granted.

He had been so focused on his work, on the endless pursuit of progress, that he hadn’t stopped to consider how it might feel for her to be left waiting in the wings. She had never complained, not once, but that only made him feel worse.

For the first time in years, Viktor felt the weight of something other than his work pressing down on him. Guilt.
________________________________________

The next morning, Viktor did something he had never done before. He marched into Jayce’s office and requested time off.

Jayce looked up from the mountain of paperwork on his desk, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You? Time off? Are you feeling alright?”

“I am fine,” Viktor said briskly, leaning heavily on his cane. “But I believe I have been… neglectful in certain areas of my life.”

Jayce blinked, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Ah, I see. Taking some time for your lady, huh?”

Viktor’s cheeks darkened ever so slightly, but he didn’t deny it.

Jayce waved him off with a grin. “Go on, then. The lab will survive without you for a few days.”

When Jinx arrived at the workshop later that day, she was greeted not by the usual clatter of tools and the faint hum of machinery, but by Viktor standing in the middle of the room, looking almost… nervous.

“What’s up, Vik?” she asked, her head tilting in curiosity.

“I have taken a leave of absence from my work,” he said, his tone as calm and measured as ever, though there was an almost imperceptible edge of tension in his posture.

Jinx’s eyes widened. “You? Taking time off? Did hell freeze over or something?”

He ignored the comment, stepping closer to her. “I realize I have been… inattentive as of late. I wish to remedy that. Whatever you wish to do, for the next few days, I am at your disposal.”

For a moment, Jinx just stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. Then, slowly, a wide grin spread across her face, one that rivaled the sun in its brightness.

“You mean it?” she asked, her voice bubbling with excitement.

Viktor nodded. “Within reason, yes.”

Jinx let out a delighted laugh, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door. “Oh, you are so gonna regret this, Vik. Let’s go blow something up!”

He sighed, but there was a faint smile on his lips as he let her drag him away.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of chaos and color. Jinx took Viktor to all her favorite spots in Zaun—the hidden alleys, the abandoned factories, the underground markets. They wandered through the streets, admired the painted graffiti on forgotten walls, and set off a few harmless explosions (though Viktor insisted on thoroughly examining each device beforehand).

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Viktor allowed himself to simply exist in the moment. He still couldn’t fully understand Jinx, the way her mind worked or the wild energy that drove her, but he didn’t need to. All that mattered was the way her laughter lit up the air around them, the way her hand felt in his when she pulled him along on her latest adventure.

By the end of their little break, Viktor was exhausted in a way he hadn’t been in years. But he was also happier than he’d ever thought possible.

As they sat together on a rooftop, watching the neon lights of Zaun flicker against the smoggy sky, Jinx leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly.

“Thanks, Vik,” she said softly. “For everything.”

He glanced down at her, his expression softening. “I should be thanking you,” he said quietly. “You remind me that there is more to life than work. I am… fortunate to have you.”

Jinx grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Damn right you are.”

And Viktor didn’t disagree.

Notes:

I’m sorry if I butchered Hwei! My BFF and I love him! I was looking through some of his voice lines and when I saw the one I typed in the beginning notes, it SCREAMED Jinxtor at me and this baby was born!

 

Also, Jinx is intentionally less like Arcane Jinx, and more like... literally every other version of her. Y'know... happy and a bit more mentally stable.

Chapter 43: Tortured Artists pt. 2

Summary:

Hwei, for his part, found Viktor’s precision and intellect infuriatingly admirable. There was no denying the man’s brilliance, even if his stoicism made him insufferable. Still, he couldn’t help but notice the way Jinx’s face lit up whenever Viktor spoke, her attention unwavering.

“So,” Hwei began without looking up, “what’s your deal? You blow things up with her, or are you the one cleaning up the mess?”

“Neither,” Viktor replied, his tone clipped. “I create solutions to prevent the need for such… destruction.”

Hwei chuckled, a low, sardonic sound. “That so? And how’s that working out?”

Notes:

Sooooooooo 👉👈 … does Hwei x Jinx = Paintbomb?

The tension in the air was palpable as Jinx led Viktor through the tangled streets of Zaun, her stride buoyant and carefree. She turned her head to look back at him, her blue braids swinging with the movement, and flashed him a grin that made her eyes shine like polished hex crystals.

“You’re gonna love him, Vik! I swear,” she chirped, skipping a step to keep up her relentless pace.

“I doubt it,” Viktor murmured under his breath, though he didn’t mean to sound as dour as he did. He adjusted his cane and straightened his posture, curiosity outweighing his irritation. Jinx had been talking about her new friend Hwei for weeks now, peppering her stories with tidbits that made Viktor feel… uncomfortable. Not jealous, he reassured himself, just wary.

Jinx snorted, now twirling one of her blue braids around a finger. “Oh, lighten up! You spend all day in that workshop. You need friends. Fun ones.”

Viktor arched a brow, steadying himself with his cane as he avoided a loose cobblestone. “Your enthusiasm is noted. Though, I question your need to introduce me to… everyone you meet.”

They stopped in front of a dilapidated building with paint splatters decorating its facade. Jinx threw open the door without knocking, and the space beyond was a chaotic explosion of canvases, jars of paint, and half-finished sculptures. A man sat in the middle of the room, hunched over a canvas, his hand moving with quick, precise strokes.

“Hwei! I brought Viktor!” Jinx called out, her voice filling the room like a gunshot.

Hwei froze mid-stroke, his dark teal hair shifting as he glanced up. His eyes landed on Viktor, sharp and analytical, and the smallest hint of surprise crossed his features before he schooled them into a neutral expression. He wiped his hands on a rag and stood, his posture lazy but deliberate, like a cat sizing up a potential threat.

“So, this is the famous inventor,” Hwei said flatly, leaning back in his chair. His gaze was sharp, scrutinizing, as if dissecting Viktor piece by piece. “You’re shorter than I expected.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. He leaned a little harder on his cane, his measured response taking on an icy edge. “And you must be the tortured artist. I see Jinx has been expanding her collection of eccentrics.”

Jinx clapped her hands together, oblivious to the tension crackling between them. “You two are gonna get along great!”

The two men exchanged a glance, each silently resolving that they absolutely would not.

Jinx, as usual, flitted through the studio like a whirlwind, her energy filling every corner of the room. She grabbed a blank canvas and a fistful of brushes, chatting animatedly about a “brilliant” idea she’d had for a collaborative painting. Neither Viktor nor Hwei showed any enthusiasm for the plan, but Jinx was already diving in, splattering vibrant streaks of color across the canvas.

Viktor stood awkwardly near the door, his analytical mind cataloging every detail of the space—the scattered sketches, the half-empty paint jars, the unmistakable aura of disorder. It was the antithesis of his pristine laboratory, and he couldn’t decide if it intrigued him or made him want to leave.

Hwei, meanwhile, resumed his sketching, his sharp gaze occasionally flicking to Viktor with an expression that was difficult to read. There was something about Viktor that irked him—a stiffness, a precision that clashed with the loose, organic chaos Hwei thrived in.

“Jinx speaks of you often.” Viktor spoke, his tone equally measured, though his accent gave it an edge of aloofness.

“Does she?” Hwei smirked, his gaze flicking to Jinx, who was now perched on a workbench, watching the exchange with the enthusiasm of a child observing a science experiment.

“All good things, I’m sure,” Hwei added.

“Mostly,” Viktor allowed, leaning more heavily on his cane as he took a step closer. He regarded Hwei carefully, noting the similarities between them. Hwei’s wiry frame, his sharp features, even the way he held himself with an air of intellectual confidence—it was as though Jinx had found a shadow version of him. But there was a darkness in Hwei’s demeanor, a resignation that Viktor found distasteful.

The feeling was mutual. Hwei studied Viktor with the practiced eye of an artist dissecting a new subject, his lips curving into a faint frown. “You’re different from what I expected,” he said after a moment. “Less… personable.”

Jinx snorted. “Takes one to know one, huh?”

Hwei’s frown deepened, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he turned back to his canvas and began dabbing at it with his brush, clearly dismissing Viktor as a source of further interest.

Viktor bristled but said nothing, choosing instead to examine the studio. The artwork lining the walls was striking—bold, raw, and visceral in a way that spoke of pain and defiance. He couldn’t deny the talent, but it lacked refinement, a purpose beyond the self.

“Your work is… unstructured,” Viktor observed, his tone neutral. “But I suppose you do have a talent,” Viktor said quietly, surprising himself as much as Hwei.

Hwei glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was an observation,” Viktor replied, his tone neutral.

Hwei smirked. “Well, don’t hurt yourself being nice.”

Jinx, sprawled out on a nearby table, grinned at their exchange. “See? I knew you two would warm up to each other!”

Neither man looked convinced, but for Jinx’s sake, they both made an effort to soften the sharp edges of their conversation. Hwei offered Viktor a chair, and Viktor reluctantly accepted, the two men settling into an uneasy truce as Jinx darted around the room, rifling through art supplies and chattering about everything and nothing.

Viktor found himself grudgingly impressed by Hwei’s knowledge. The artist spoke with an eloquence that belied his gruff exterior, and though their opinions often clashed, Viktor couldn’t deny that Hwei’s insights were occasionally thought-provoking.

Hwei, for his part, found Viktor’s precision and intellect infuriatingly admirable. There was no denying the man’s brilliance, even if his stoicism made him insufferable. Still, he couldn’t help but notice the way Jinx’s face lit up whenever Viktor spoke, her attention unwavering.

“So,” Hwei began without looking up, “what’s your deal? You blow things up with her, or are you the one cleaning up the mess?”

“Neither,” Viktor replied, his tone clipped. “I create solutions to prevent the need for such… destruction.”

Hwei chuckled, a low, sardonic sound. “That so? And how’s that working out?”

“Better than painting over the decay,” Viktor retorted, gesturing at the chaotic canvases lining the walls.

Hwei finally turned to face him fully, crossing his arms over his chest. “You think this is pointless?” He gestured broadly at the studio. “All this? You think Zaun needs more machines instead of something that actually speaks to people?”

Viktor met his gaze evenly. “I think Zaun needs progress. Art is… transient. It changes nothing.”

Hwei’s smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing. For a moment, Jinx feared the two might actually come to blows. But then Hwei shrugged, picking up his brush again. “Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

Jinx let out a relieved laugh, hopping down from her perch. “See? You’re not so different after all!”

Both men turned to her, identical expressions of incredulity on their faces. She just grinned wider.

The hours that followed were tense but not unbearable. Jinx, as always, was the glue that held the interaction together, her infectious energy filling the gaps in conversation. She darted around the studio, pointing out pieces she liked or pestering Hwei with questions about his technique. Viktor observed silently, his keen mind taking in the organized chaos of the space.

“You must have some purpose for all this,” Viktor said eventually, gesturing at the art. “What do you hope to achieve?”

Hwei leaned back against a table, crossing his arms. “Purpose? Don’t overthink it, scientist. I make what I feel. If someone connects with it, great. If not, whatever.”

“An unambitious approach,” Viktor remarked.

“Not everything has to be a grand project,” Hwei shot back. “Some things just… are.”

Jinx, perhaps sensing the conversation veering into dangerous territory, clapped her hands together. “Okay, okay, enough with the big brain stuff. Let’s do something fun!”

“Fun?” Viktor asked, arching a brow.

“Yeah!” She grabbed a blank canvas and shoved it toward him. “You’re gonna paint.”

Viktor froze, his hand hovering over the canvas like it might bite him. “I don’t paint.”

“Well, now’s the time to start.” Jinx tossed him a brush, which he caught reflexively. She turned to Hwei with a mischievous grin. “And you’re gonna judge.”

Hwei smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “This should be good.”

The first few strokes were hesitant, Viktor’s movements stiff and precise. He approached the task as he would an engineering problem, his lines geometric and calculated. Hwei watched with a mixture of amusement and disdain, shaking his head at Viktor’s rigidity.

“Relax,” Hwei said, stepping closer. “You’re not building a machine. Just let it flow.”

Viktor bristled at the unsolicited advice but didn’t respond. Instead, he continued working, his strokes gradually becoming less mechanical. Jinx hovered nearby, offering occasional encouragement—or teasing—whenever he seemed to falter.

As the painting took shape, Hwei’s expression shifted. He leaned forward, his arms resting on the back of a chair, and studied Viktor’s work with a critical eye. “Not bad,” he admitted grudgingly. “Still too structured, but there’s… something there.”

Viktor paused, glancing at Hwei. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” Hwei replied with a shrug. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Jinx beamed, clapping Viktor on the back. “Told ya you’d be good at this!”

Several more moments of watching Viktor passed before Hwei spoke again. “You’re very... meticulous,” Hwei remarked as Viktor continued with his slow, measured strokes. “Do you always over analyze everything?”

Viktor didn’t look up. “Precision is hardly an overanalysis. Though I suspect the concept may elude you.”

Hwei hummed. “Touché.”

Jinx darted between them like a spark, diffusing tension with bursts of laughter and wild antics. At one point, she snatched a jar of paint and smeared a streak of blue across her cheek, declaring herself a masterpiece.

“See?” she said, posing dramatically. “Now I’m art. Hwei, paint me like one of your sad girls.”

Hwei snorted, while Viktor shook his head. “I fail to see the appeal.”

“Come on, Vik,” Jinx teased, leaning into him. “You’re surrounded by creativity. Loosen up!”

By the time they left the studio, Viktor’s shoulders ached, and his mind buzzed with the unfamiliar experience of creating for the sake of creation. Jinx walked beside him, her steps light and carefree, while Viktor’s thoughts were heavier.

“You enjoyed that,” she said, breaking the silence.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Viktor replied, though there was no denying the faint satisfaction lingering in his chest.

Jinx nudged him with her elbow, her grin as bright as the neon lights above. “You liked it. Admit it.”

He sighed, unable to suppress the smallest of smiles. “Perhaps.”

“Ha! I knew it.”

As they rounded a corner, Viktor glanced back at the studio, his gaze lingering on the dimly lit windows. Hwei’s silhouette was visible inside, bent over another canvas. Despite their differences, Viktor couldn’t deny the man’s skill—or his impact on Jinx. And though the thought unsettled him, it also made him realize something important: Jinx wasn’t his to control or define. She was her own chaotic force, and he was fortunate to be part of her orbit at all.

For her part, Jinx couldn’t have been happier. To her, this was the perfect harmony: calm and chaos, colliding and creating something entirely new.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

Notes:

Paintbomb almost got me switching sides… almost.

Chapter 44: Fly On The Wall pt. 1

Summary:

When Viktor visited her for the first time, I watched her come alive. She practically vibrated with excitement, her hands twitching as she paced, waiting for him to arrive.

I can feel her hands trembling with excitement as she picks me up, her touch warm and eager. I hum faintly, the gentle thrumming of my vessel reacting to her energy. She’s never this giddy—not like this. She’s always vibrant, yes, loud and chaotic in her love for mayhem. But this is different. This is pure. Joyful. Unburdened. It pours off of her in waves, and I can almost taste it in the air—like the ozone of a freshly fired shot.

Her laughter—oh, her wonderful laugh—fills the space around us as she twirls me in her hands, and my world spins along with her. She’s waiting for him. For him. Viktor.

Notes:

This is the beginning of a small series of one shots based on the idea Night_stalker92 gave me a while back that I've been working on: outside POVs of Madherald!

This probably isn't exactly what they meant, but I'm figuring it out!

I am Fishbones.

The first thing I remember is the hum—the electric thrum of life rushing into me. Hextech energy pulsing through circuits, filling the emptiness with a spark. Then her voice. A melody in the chaos of my new awareness. “Fishbones,” she called me, her laughter like a firework. “You’re alive! You’re mine!” She gave me a name, gave me purpose. She made me hers.

From that moment, I knew what love was. I didn’t need a heart to feel it, didn’t need a body to know that everything I was belonged to her. Jinx. My Jinx. She spoke to me, asked me questions, told me secrets. She poured her pain into me, and I absorbed it all because that’s what I was made for. I was her creation, her weapon, her friend. She loved me—and I loved her.

But the world didn’t.

They couldn’t hear me. They didn’t believe her when she said I could talk. Her family, her so-called friends—they looked at her like she was broken, a cracked doll with jagged edges. “Crazy,” they whispered. “Poor Powder.” They didn’t understand. They never would. I wanted to scream at them, but my voice wasn’t for them. It was for her. Only her.

And yet, she never blamed me. Not once. Even as the world turned its back on her, as her mind spiraled into shadows and echoes, she never took it out on me. If anything, she held on to me tighter. I became her refuge, her confidant. But I wasn’t enough. Not for the weight she carried. Not for the monsters she saw in the dark.

Silco came close. I’ll give him that. He loved her in his way, rough and sharp-edged. He tried to patch her cracks, to make her whole again, but even he couldn’t reach all the broken pieces. Still, he cared. She cared. I could see it in the way her smile softened when she spoke about him. “Silco’s my family now,” she’d tell me, her voice steady, like she was trying to convince herself. “He loves me, Fishbones. He really does.”

I believed her. But then Viktor happened. And everything changed.

The first time she mentioned Viktor, I felt a flicker of something strange. Something heavy. “He’s smart,” she said, her eyes lighting up like they did when she had a new idea for a bomb. “He’s different, Fishbones. He doesn’t like weapons, though. That’s why I don’t bring you or Pow Pow when I visit him.”

Didn’t like weapons. That stung. But she trusted him, and if she trusted him, I had to. Even if it made me uneasy, even if I hated the idea of her being without me, I kept quiet. She came back from those visits glowing, her words tumbling out in a rush as she told me about him. The way he tinkered and his cane, the way his mind worked like a machine, always moving, always creating. She’d laugh, and for a moment, the weight of her pain seemed to lift.

I don’t know how I feel about him yet. Not truly. He’s this… strange thing in her world. Strange but significant. She speaks of him often, her voice carrying a softness it doesn’t have when she talks about Silco, or even when she speaks to me or Pow Pow. Silco is family, sure—an anchor for the storm raging in her mind. But Viktor? Viktor is something else entirely. Something she doesn’t even have words for yet.

It was obvious. Viktor made her happy in a way no one else ever had. Not Silco. Not the family that abandoned her. Not Pow Pow. Not even me. And for all the jealousy I should’ve felt, the feeling that buzzed in my circuits, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him. Because Jinx was happy.

That’s all I ever wanted.

And I should hate him for it. I should hate him for making her smile in ways I never could. For giving her a happiness that even I, her most loyal creation, cannot provide. But I don’t. Because for once, she’s at peace. And for me, her peace means everything.

When Viktor visited her for the first time, I watched her come alive. She practically vibrated with excitement, her hands twitching as she paced, waiting for him to arrive.

I can feel her hands trembling with excitement as she picks me up, her touch warm and eager. I hum faintly, the gentle thrumming of my vessel reacting to her energy. She’s never this giddy—not like this. She’s always vibrant, yes, loud and chaotic in her love for mayhem. But this is different. This is pure. Joyful. Unburdened. It pours off of her in waves, and I can almost taste it in the air—like the ozone of a freshly fired shot.

Her laughter—oh, her wonderful laugh—fills the space around us as she twirls me in her hands, and my world spins along with her. She’s waiting for him. For him. Viktor.

The metal door creaks open, and Jinx lets out a squeal that makes my circuits flare with her excitement. I see him before she does, from where I’m perched in her arms. Viktor is leaning on his cane as he steps in, his frame thin and fragile, but his amber eyes are sharp—keen and alive in a way I can respect. He smiles at her, faint but warm, and I feel her hands tighten around me just a little.

“Viktor! You’re here!” she says, nearly bouncing on her feet.

“Of course,” he replies, his voice soft yet purposeful. “You said you had something to show me, yes? How could I refuse?”

I want to scoff at that. There’s no way anyone could refuse her. She’s a force of nature—chaotic, beautiful, devastating. She’s everything. And yet, he doesn’t look at her like she’s dangerous. He doesn’t flinch when she moves too fast, doesn’t recoil when her hands jitter like the wild bolt of energy she is. He sees her. Like I do. Maybe not the same way, but enough for me to notice.

“Look, look!” she says, holding me up in both hands like a trophy. “This is Fishbones! I made him!”

Oh, here we go. My circuits hum louder as I brace myself for the usual reaction. The wide eyes. The uncomfortable silence. The false compliments followed by whispers of crazy. They always do it. All of them. Even the ones who claim to care about her.

But Viktor… doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in closer, his gaze tracing over every bolt, every curve, every line of my design. His fingers hover near me, careful not to touch without permission. He tilts his head, and I feel something strange coming off him—curiosity. Respect, even.

“Incredible,” he says after a moment, his voice laced with genuine wonder. “The craftsmanship is… remarkable. The level of detail, the ingenuity of the design—it’s completely unique.”

I nearly short-circuit at his words.

“You think so?” Jinx beams, her voice louder, her grin wider. She bounces me in her hands. “I told you! Fishbones is the best! And he talks! Like, actually talks! He’s my friend.”

I see it then, the brief flicker of doubt in his eyes. It’s faint, but it’s there. He can’t hear me. He doesn’t know I’m real. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t call her crazy or dismiss her words. Instead, he nods slowly.

“I would expect nothing less,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If anyone could create something like this, it would be you, Jinx.”

She laughs again, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I can feel her heart swelling, her mind buzzing with warmth instead of the usual noise. Viktor did that. He gave her this moment.

And I can’t hate him for it.

Jinx sets me down gently on the table, still grinning as she chatters on about my design—how she balanced my weight perfectly for optimal control, how my hex crystal works in tandem with my mechanisms to give me my unique “personality.” She’s so proud, so alive as she talks, and Viktor listens to every word like it’s the most important thing he’s ever heard.

I watch him as he watches her. His eyes are tired, his body frail, but there’s something unbreakable in him. Something steady. He doesn’t look at her like she’s broken or dangerous or something to be fixed. He looks at her like she’s a puzzle he’s desperate to understand.

Maybe he’s not so bad.

But if he ever hurts her—if he ever breaks that fragile happiness he’s given her—I’ll be ready.

Because I’m hers. Always.

And no one—no one—will ever take that away from me.

Chapter 45: Fly On The Wall pt. 2

Summary:

When Silco asked how long Viktor had been seeing his daughter, Jinx answered for him, tossing her head back dramatically. “Long enough for me to be super-duper happy, Daddy Dearest,” she said, her voice sing-song.

“Jinx,” Silco said sharply, his voice low but firm.

She snapped her mouth shut, though the grin remained, and she shot Viktor a wink. “See what I put up with?” she whispered loudly, earning a soft, amused exhale from Viktor that might have been a laugh if his tone weren’t so reserved.

However, Viktor didn’t flinch under the weight of Silco’s scrutiny. “A few months,” he said evenly. “We met while I was working on a project in Zaun. Jinx is—well, she’s impossible to ignore.”

The night was thick with the familiar sting of Zaun’s toxins, the heavy air seeping into every crevice and vein of the Undercity. Silco leaned against the metal railing of his office, his sharp, heterochromatic eyes scanning the smog-choked streets below. He could still feel the weight of her tiny hand in his, though years had passed since that first night. Powder—no, Jinx—had been so small then, her hands trembling, her wide eyes haunted.

It had been immediate, his realization that she was something special. He hadn’t known it at first glance, when she’d been half-drowned in her own tears, blood smeared on her cheeks. But the way she clung to him, how she looked at him not with fear but with desperate, fractured hope… it had done something to him. A crack in the armor he had so carefully built since Vander’s betrayal.

He had taken her in without question, without hesitation. She was bright, though it didn’t show in the way others expected brilliance to manifest. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t refined. It was jagged, sharp, and chaotic—an untamed wildfire that consumed everything in its path. Her creations were volatile, imperfect, but beautiful in their raw, uninhibited energy. And Silco adored her for it. He adored her.

He remembered the first time he braided her hair. She had been sitting on the edge of the couch in his office, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She hadn’t asked outright—no, Jinx never asked outright. She had danced around the topic with all the subtlety of a bomb, mumbling something about it getting in her way and how she couldn’t see straight to aim when her hair kept falling into her eyes. Silco had stared at her for a long moment, unsure of what she was trying to get at, until she had finally blurted, “Can you… do it? Just this once?”

He had been utterly clueless, his hands stiff and awkward at first, but he had tried for her. Jinx had sat stiller than he had ever seen her, like a cornered animal, watching him intently through the curtain of her bangs. When he finished, her hair neatly plaited into a single perfect braid, she had reached up to touch it, her fingers ghosting over his work as if she didn’t quite believe it. She had smiled then—not the manic grin she so often wore, but a soft, shy smile that made Silco’s chest ache in a way he didn’t have the words to describe.

It became their routine after that. Every morning, without fail, she would plop herself down in front of him with a huff, and he would braid her hair. Sometimes they talked, though more often than not, they sat in companionable silence. His fingers became adept over time, weaving her hair with precision. He took pride in it, in the small trust she placed in him to handle something so personal. He would never let anyone else touch her hair. It was a silent, unspoken rule.

As the years passed, Jinx grew into her name. She was wild, unpredictable, and fiercely independent. Silco had always known she was fragile in a way that made her vulnerable—not weak, never weak, but vulnerable to the world’s cruelty. And the world was cruel. People would exploit her. Manipulate her. Break her, if given the chance. He saw it in the way men and women looked at her when she wandered Zaun’s streets, her blue hair like a beacon, her presence larger than life.

And so he worried. He worried when she stayed out late, when she came back smelling of gunpowder and grease. He worried when she spoke of the brothels she frequented for “intel,” her eyes sparkling with mischief. He worried about things he had never thought he would worry about because he had never thought he’d be a father. He had never thought he’d care so much about someone else’s well-being that it kept him awake at night.

One morning, as he braided her hair, he tried to broach the subject. “Jinx,” he began, his voice carefully measured, “you’ve been spending a lot of time… outside lately.”

She tilted her head back to look up at him, her blue eyes wide and curious. “Yeah? So?”

“So,” he said slowly, “you’re not a child anymore. There are… things you need to be aware of. People who might try to take advantage of you.”

Her brows furrowed, her lips twisting in confusion. “Like who?”

“Like—” Silco hesitated, his hands faltering for the first time in years as he worked on her braid. He took a steadying breath and continued, “—the kind of people you see in those brothels you visit.”

Jinx blinked at him, her expression blank, before bursting into a fit of laughter. “Silco, I’m not stupid,” she said between giggles. “I know what goes on in those places. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Silco sighed, a rare moment of exasperation escaping him. “I know you’re not,” he said softly. “But you’re still my daughter. I just want you to be careful.”

Jinx didn’t respond right away, but when she finally did, it was with a quiet, “I will be.”

The first time she mentioned Viktor, Silco felt the glass slip from his hand, the whiskey spilling across his desk in a slow, spreading stain. He stared at her, his mind struggling to process her words.

“You’re… seeing someone?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Jinx nodded, grinning. “Uh-huh! His name’s Viktor. He’s, like, this genius inventor from Piltover—”

“Piltover?” Silco’s voice was laced with disdain.

“He’s from Zaun originally,” Jinx said quickly. “But yeah, he works in Piltover now. He’s amazing, Silco. You should see the stuff he’s building—like, seriously, he’s so cool!”

Silco’s jaw tightened. A Piltie. Worse, a Piltie who had turned his back on Zaun. He wanted to hate the man, to dismiss him outright as another traitor who had abandoned their home for the glimmering lie of Piltover’s progress. But when he looked at Jinx, at the way her face lit up as she spoke of Viktor, he couldn’t bring himself to crush her happiness.

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I see,” he said carefully. “And how long has this… been going on?”

“A few months,” Jinx said, her grin widening. “He’s, like, super busy with his work, but he makes time for me. Isn’t that sweet?”

Silco’s stomach churned. Sweet. If Viktor ever did anything to hurt her, Silco would bury him beneath the ruins of whatever “brilliance” he had built. But for now, he would wait. He would watch. And if Viktor turned out to be another person who failed her… he would regret it.

Silco’s voice was steady when he finally spoke. “Just remember, Jinx. You’re my daughter. And no one hurts my daughter without answering to me.”

Jinx smirked, hopping onto his desk to ruffle his hair playfully. “Relax, Silco. You’re so dramatic.”

And as much as he wanted to protest, he found himself smiling despite it all.

________________________________________

 

Silco never imagined a day would come when he’d willingly open his doors to a Piltie. Yet here he stood, in his office, the sulfurous haze of Zaun seeping through every crack, coiling around his desk like a serpent. Jinx had insisted, of course. She had bounded into his office with her usual chaotic energy, her excitement nearly tangible as she declared that it was “time for Viktor to meet Daddy.” The word alone made him grimace, but she had grinned at his discomfort, clearly pleased with her teasing. And now, here he was, waiting to meet the man who had somehow managed to charm his daughter.

Jinx had been ecstatic when she’d told him Viktor wanted to meet him. She’d twirled around the office, rattling off details about how “smart” and “cool” Viktor was, her words blurring together as her excitement spilled over. Silco had nodded, silent, watching her. The happiness in her voice had dulled the edge of his immediate dislike for this Viktor, but it hadn’t erased it.

A man from Piltover. A man who had left Zaun behind. A man who, by all accounts, was far older than Jinx. Silco didn’t trust him, not even for a second. But for Jinx’s sake, he had agreed to this meeting. And he would be civil.

At least, as civil as his temper would allow.

He adjusted his coat, brushing off invisible dust, and cast a glance at the whiskey decanter on his desk. He considered pouring himself a drink but thought better of it. He wanted his mind clear for this encounter. Viktor would need to be assessed, scrutinized. If he was anything less than perfect, Silco would see right through him.

The heavy sound of boots against metal drew Silco’s attention. Jinx’s voice echoed faintly from the corridor, light and sing-song, accompanied by the quiet hum of someone else. A moment later, the door swung open, and Jinx strode in like a whirlwind, dragging a tall, lean figure behind her.

“Silco! He’s here!” she announced, her voice full of pride, as if she were presenting a prize. She practically shoved Viktor into the room, her hands on his shoulders. “This is Viktor. Viktor, this is my dad.”

Viktor stumbled slightly, catching himself on his cane. He straightened, his sharp, amber eyes flicking to Silco, studying him with quiet intensity. The man was pale, his frame gaunt, but there was a sharpness to him, an undeniable intelligence that radiated from his every movement. His left leg, encased in a mechanical brace, clicked faintly as he shifted his weight. He inclined his head slightly, polite but not submissive.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Silco,” Viktor said, his voice soft but firm, his Zaunite accent thick.

Silco didn’t answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and studying Viktor with a cool, unreadable expression. Jinx hovered by Viktor’s side, bouncing slightly on her heels, her grin wide and unrestrained.

“Sit,” Silco said finally, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

Viktor nodded and moved toward the chair, his mechanical brace clicking faintly with each step. Jinx followed him, perching herself on the arm of his chair like an eager child showing off her latest invention. Silco’s eyes flicked to her briefly, softening for the barest moment, before locking onto Viktor again.

“So,” Silco began, his voice low and deliberate, “you’re the one who’s been keeping my daughter occupied.”

Jinx groaned loudly, throwing her head back. “Silco, come on! Don’t make it sound weird.”

“Quiet, Jinx,” Silco said, his tone sharp but not unkind. He kept his gaze fixed on Viktor.

When Silco asked how long Viktor had been seeing his daughter, Jinx answered for him, tossing her head back dramatically. “Long enough for me to be super-duper happy, Daddy Dearest,” she said, her voice sing-song.

“Jinx,” Silco said sharply, his voice low but firm.

She snapped her mouth shut, though the grin remained, and she shot Viktor a wink. “See what I put up with?” she whispered loudly, earning a soft, amused exhale from Viktor that might have been a laugh if his tone weren’t so reserved.

However, Viktor didn’t flinch under the weight of Silco’s scrutiny. “A few months,” he said evenly. “We met while I was working on a project in Zaun. Jinx is—well, she’s impossible to ignore.”

“Damn right I am,” Jinx said, grinning proudly.

Silco ignored her, his focus unrelenting. “You’re from Zaun,” he said, his tone cold. “Yet you chose to leave. To work for Piltover.”

There was no mistaking the accusation in his words. Viktor’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained steady. “I left because Zaun could not offer me what I needed to pursue my work. But my loyalty to Zaun has never wavered. My work in Piltover is for the benefit of everyone—Zaun included.”

Silco scoffed, leaning forward. “That’s a convenient excuse,” he said, his voice laced with disdain. “You abandoned your people. And now you come here, expecting me to believe you have Jinx’s best interests at heart?”

Viktor met his glare without hesitation. “I do not expect you to believe anything,” he said calmly. “But it is the truth. Jinx means a great deal to me. I would never hurt her.”

“Words are cheap,” Silco said, his voice a quiet growl. “And I’ve heard plenty of lies from men who think they can manipulate their way to what they want.”

“Silco!” Jinx snapped, her eyes narrowing. “He doesn’t manipulate me! Stop being such a—”

“Enough, Jinx,” Silco interrupted, his voice firm. He didn’t look at her, his attention fixed on Viktor.

“Jinx is… intelligent. Brilliant, in ways I can barely put into words. She challenges me. Inspires me. I care for her, not because of what she can give me, but because of who she is. She is clearly not one to be easily manipulated.”

The air in Silco’s office was thick with tension, though you wouldn’t know it by the way Jinx perched on Viktor’s chair like a restless bird, swinging her legs and grinning ear to ear. Silco, on the other hand, radiated a controlled intensity as he stared across his desk at Viktor, who sat with a quiet stillness that only added to Silco’s unease.

Viktor had been polite, answering Silco’s curt questions with a calm demeanor and a voice so measured it made Silco wonder if the man had rehearsed. His cane leaned against the arm of the chair, a reminder of the frailty of his body, but Silco wasn’t fooled. There was strength in this man, not physical, but something more dangerous—intellectual.

Jinx, of course, seemed completely oblivious to the undercurrent of suspicion and animosity between the two men. She was too busy interrupting every other question with some quip or exaggerated groan, her mischievous grin plastered across her face as if the whole situation were one of her personal jokes.

Silco leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers as his heterochromatic gaze bore into Viktor. “Tell me, Viktor,” he said, his voice smooth and cold, “what is it you want with my daughter?”

“I want nothing but her company,” Viktor replied evenly, meeting Silco’s gaze without hesitation. “She is… remarkable. A force of nature. I have never met anyone like her.”

Jinx let out a triumphant whoop, jabbing Viktor in the ribs with her elbow. “Hear that? Remarkable. That’s me!”

Silco didn’t so much as glance at her. His eyes remained fixed on Viktor, who held his ground. “And what makes you think you deserve her?” Silco pressed, his voice dropping lower, sharper.

Viktor didn’t flinch. “I do not think it is a question of deserving,” he said. “Jinx is her own person. She chooses who she spends her time with, who she cares for. I am simply… honored to be someone she has chosen.”

Silco’s lip curled faintly at the words. They were diplomatic, careful. Too careful. He could respect a man who measured his words, but he could not trust one.

“Jinx,” he said abruptly, his voice cutting through the conversation like a blade.

She blinked, startled, her grin faltering. “Yeah?”

“Leave us,” Silco said, his tone brooking no argument.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into her expression. “What? Why?”

“I need to have a private word with Viktor,” he said, his gaze still locked on the man in question. “Alone.”

Jinx crossed her arms, glaring at him. “No way. If you’re gonna grill him, I’m staying. He’s my—”

“Jinx,” Silco said, his voice hardening. His tone was calm, quiet, but there was an edge to it that made even her pause. “Go.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to Viktor, who gave her a reassuring nod. “It’s fine, Jinx,” he said softly. “I’ll be all right.”

Her jaw tightened, but she slid off the arm of his chair with a huff, turning toward the door. As she passed Silco’s desk, she stopped, pointing two fingers at her eyes and then at him in the universal “I’m watching you” gesture. “You better not do anything to him,” she warned, her voice laced with mock threat.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the room fell silent.

Silco waited a beat, his gaze still fixed on Viktor. Then, without preamble, he asked, “Have you done anything… unsavory with my daughter?”

Viktor blinked, clearly taken aback, though his composure remained intact. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” Silco said, his tone sharp. He leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. “You’re a man of science. An intellectual. You’re clever enough to know exactly what I’m asking.”

Viktor’s expression didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. He adjusted his position slightly, resting his hands on the head of his cane. “If you are asking whether I have been… intimate with Jinx, the answer is no,” he said, his voice steady. “I would never take advantage of her in that way.”

“Advantage,” Silco repeated, the word dripping with disdain. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk. “That’s exactly what I’m concerned about. She’s young. Naïve. You’re a man of considerable experience, Viktor. I find it hard to believe you haven’t considered using her… unique talents for your own benefit.”

Viktor’s eyes hardened, his voice losing some of its softness. “I would be a fool to use her,” he said firmly. “Jinx is… fragile, in her own way. But she is also fiercely independent. To underestimate her is to misunderstand her entirely. If I wanted to ‘use’ someone, as you suggest, I could find easier marks. That is not who I am.”

Silco studied him for a long moment, his sharp gaze dissecting every word, every movement. Finally, he let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair.

“You speak well,” he said quietly. “But words are cheap, Viktor. I’ve built an empire on the lies of men who spoke just as convincingly as you do.”

“Then judge me by my actions,” Viktor said, his tone calm but resolute. “Not by your assumptions.”

Silco’s lip twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t amusement—it was something colder, sharper. “Oh, I will,” he said softly. “Make no mistake about that.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them like a live wire. Then Silco leaned forward, his gaze once again piercing. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Viktor. If you hurt her—if you so much as make her doubt herself—you will find that Piltover’s walls won’t be enough to keep me from you.”

Viktor inclined his head slightly, accepting the warning without argument. “I would expect no less.”

Silco watched him for a moment longer, then leaned back, gesturing toward the door. “You can go.”

Viktor stood slowly, picking up his cane. As he moved toward the door, he paused, turning back to face Silco.

“You may not trust me, Silco,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “But I care for Jinx. That is the truth, whether you believe it or not.”

Silco didn’t respond, his gaze unreadable. Viktor nodded once, then turned and left the room.

The door clicked shut, and Silco exhaled, his fingers tightening into a fist. He still didn’t trust Viktor—not entirely. But for Jinx’s sake, he would give the man a chance. One chance. If Viktor failed her, if he caused even a sliver of harm, Silco would make good on his promise.

Notes:

I have a couple POVs planned already, but what characters would you like to see 👀?

Gonna be honest with you guys, I really don't think I can write Caitlyn or Jayce. Jayce might be a little easier, and I've been trying to write out a little but it's taking time.

Chapter 46: Magnetic Attraction

Summary:

Ezreal froze. “Wait. Viktor?”

“Yup.”

Ezreal tilted his head, studying her face for any sign that she was joking. “You don’t mean the Viktor, do you? Piltover’s greatest inventor? Jayce’s lab partner? That Viktor?”

Jinx nodded, completely unbothered. “Yup, that’s him. My Viktor.”

Ezreal blinked. Then he laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, now I know you’re messing with me.”

The air in Piltover was crisp with the sharp tang of industry, the hum of Hextech innovation blending into the constant clatter of gears and the soft hiss of steam pipes. Ezreal, freshly back from his years-long jaunt across the distant deserts of Shurima, had expected to return to the familiar comfort of his old stomping grounds: the bustling streets of Piltover, the envious whispers about his latest exploits, and—most importantly—the legends of his unparalleled antics. Yet, as he wandered through the cobblestone streets, something felt off. His return hadn't caused the fanfare he imagined. Worse, the stories of his daring adventures were drowned out by something—or rather, someone—else.

Jinx.

The name was everywhere.

"Did you hear about Jinx?" a baker gushed to her customer. "She painted the Enforcers’ headquarters pink last night. Every single brick. Bright neon pink!"

"I swear, she broke into my shop and swapped out all my hats for live pigeons," a street vendor grumbled, his hands on his hips as feathers still clung to his stall.

And the final straw: a teenager laughing as he chased after a painted tiger that had apparently been let loose from Piltover’s famed zoo. The zoo incident had, by far, been Jinx’s most infamous stunt. Not only had she released every single animal into the streets, but she had meticulously painted each one. Tigers with polka dots, zebras in rainbow stripes, and even a flamingo adorned with Hextech runes that blinked like tiny lights.

Ezreal scowled as he adjusted the goggles atop his head. "Who the hell does she think she is?" he thought, annoyance bubbling in his chest. It was one thing to be good at mischief, but it was another to outshine him. Ezreal, the self-proclaimed "greatest adventurer and prankster Piltover has ever known," couldn’t tolerate being upstaged.

Thus, a plan began to form.
________________________________________

 

The moon hung heavy in the night sky, casting its pale glow over Piltover’s towering spires. Ezreal crouched low atop a rooftop, his gaze fixed on the shadowy figure below. She was hard to miss. Jinx practically glowed with chaos. Her blue braids bounced as she darted from one alley to the next, her oversized grin practically audible even from Ezreal’s perch. In her hands, she carried what appeared to be a sack full of who-knows-what, and judging by her wild cackling, she was about to pull off yet another one of her ridiculous pranks.

Ezreal watched as she crept toward an Enforcer outpost. She pulled a small vial from her pocket, tipped it into the sack, and began shaking it violently. Smoke hissed out of the seams, and Ezreal’s curiosity got the better of him. Is she about to blow the place up?

He slipped down from the roof, landing lightly behind her, though not light enough to escape her notice. Jinx spun around, her massive Fishbones slung across her back as her eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion.

"Whoa, hey there!" Ezreal raised his hands in mock surrender, flashing her the roguish grin that had disarmed many before her. "I come in peace. Scout’s honor."

"Scout’s honor, huh?" Jinx tilted her head, her finger twitching on the edge of her gun’s trigger. "You don’t look like a scout. You look like one of those fancy-pants treasure hunters who thinks they’re better than everyone else."

Ezreal winced. Nailed it.

"I’m Ezreal," he said instead, striding closer and brushing some dust off his jacket for effect. "You might’ve heard of me. Explorer extraordinaire? Legendary prankster?" He paused for dramatic effect. "You’re kinda stepping on my turf, you know."

Jinx blinked at him, then burst into laughter.

"You?" she said between giggles. "Legendary prankster? Puh-lease. You’re a relic, dude. The only thing legendary about you is that people forgot you existed."

Ezreal’s ego took the hit like a punch to the gut, but he recovered quickly, his grin sharpening. "Oh yeah? Well, I’d like to see you top me."

"Oh, it’s not a competition, blondie," Jinx replied, tossing her sack over her shoulder. "But if it was, you’d lose."

And just like that, she turned and skipped away, leaving Ezreal fuming and determined to prove her wrong.
________________________________________

 

Ezreal hadn’t intended to spend more time with Jinx after their first encounter. She was supposed to be just another rival, someone to outdo so he could reclaim his title as Piltover’s resident prankster. But that first night, after seeing her release a cloud of blue smoke that turned every Enforcer’s uniform in the outpost a sickly green, he couldn’t deny it: she was good. Really good. And something about her wild laugh, the way she skipped down the alley without a care in the world, stuck with him long after she disappeared into the shadows.

Curiosity—along with a healthy dose of bruised pride—drew him back to her. What started as a game of one-upmanship quickly became something else entirely. Jinx was chaos incarnate, and Ezreal found himself swept up in her orbit.

Ezreal’s plan to confront Jinx had taken an unexpected turn. Instead of shutting her down, he found himself swept up in her chaos. The next few weeks became a whirlwind of pranks and mayhem as the two seemed to dance around Piltover like storm clouds of mischief. Jinx’s energy was intoxicating, her laugh infectious, and her imagination endless.

The first time Ezreal felt truly starstruck by Jinx was during what he would later call "The Fireworks Incident."

It was one of Piltover’s many Hextech celebration nights, a festival where the city’s upper crust gathered to marvel at the latest technological advancements. Ezreal had planned to cause a little mischief by sneaking into the main plaza and swapping the ceremonial Hextech fireworks with his own contraption—a harmless glitter bomb that would coat the dignitaries in sparkling gold dust.

But when he arrived, he found Jinx already there, crouched behind the fireworks cart with a devious grin plastered across her face.

"What are you doing here?" Ezreal whispered, crouching beside her.

"Improving your lame plan," she replied, holding up a bundle of explosives that looked way too powerful for a festival prank.

"Those look a little… much," Ezreal said, eyeing the explosives warily.

Jinx shrugged. "Go big or go home, blondie. Now help me rig this up before someone notices."

Against his better judgment, Ezreal helped. He couldn’t say no to the excitement in her voice or the mischievous gleam in her eyes. Together, they swapped out the fireworks and snuck up to the rooftop of a nearby building to watch the chaos unfold.

When the Hextech fireworks were lit, the sky exploded in a dazzling display of colors—but not the neat, orderly bursts the Piltovans expected. Instead, the fireworks spiraled wildly, leaving trails of neon smoke that formed bizarre shapes: a giant Fishbones, a grinning skull, and even a crude drawing of Heimerdinger’s face with "Nerd" scrawled beneath it.

The crowd erupted in gasps and screams as the fireworks veered dangerously close to the buildings, but Jinx only laughed, clapping her hands in delight.

"Isn’t it beautiful?" she shouted over the chaos, her face illuminated by the multicolored glow.

Ezreal couldn’t take his eyes off her. She stood on the edge of the rooftop, her arms spread wide as if she were welcoming the chaos. Her laughter rang out like music, wild and unrestrained, and for a moment, Ezreal forgot about the pandemonium below.

"Yeah," he said softly, more to himself than to her. "It’s… something else."

She turned to him, her grin so wide it was almost infectious. "Told you I could top your plan."

Ezreal shook his head, a crooked smile forming on his lips. "I guess I’ll have to try harder next time."
________________________________________

 

Of all the stunts they pulled together, this was the one that solidified Jinx’s status as an unstoppable force in Ezreal’s mind.

It started as a joke. "Wouldn’t it be funny," Jinx had said, "if we stole Jayce’s big shiny hammer and replaced it with something dumb?"

Ezreal, always one for a challenge, raised an eyebrow. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Jinx replied, her grin practically glowing in the dim light of the bar they were sitting in. "Think about it. Mr. Big Shot wakes up tomorrow, goes to grab his precious hammer, and bam! It’s a broom with a smiley face on it."

Ezreal couldn’t say no.

Breaking into Jayce’s workshop was surprisingly easy—he really needed to upgrade his security—but getting to the hammer was another story. It sat on a pedestal, surrounded by Hextech scanners and motion sensors.

"Piece of cake," Jinx whispered, pulling out a bag of marbles and what looked like a roll of duct tape.

Ezreal watched in awe as she dismantled the sensors with a speed and precision that shouldn’t have been possible for someone so chaotic. Within minutes, the hammer was in their hands, replaced by a broomstick with googly eyes and a crudely drawn mustache.

"Mission accomplished," Jinx declared as they slipped out of the workshop.

The next day, the entire city was talking about Jayce’s meltdown. Apparently, he’d stormed into the Council chambers, demanding answers while brandishing the googly-eyed broom. Jinx, reading about it in the morning paper, laughed so hard she fell off her chair.

"You’re insane," Ezreal said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Jinx grinned up at him from the floor. "You love it."

He didn’t argue.
________________________________________

 

It was late one evening, the kind of night when the Piltovan skyline shimmered with Hextech lights and the air buzzed with the quiet hum of invention. Ezreal and Jinx were perched on the edge of a rooftop overlooking the city, sharing a half-empty bag of candied nuts they’d swiped from a distracted street vendor earlier in the day. The sugar on Ezreal’s fingers stuck to the fabric of his gloves, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up in the comfortable silence they’d fallen into, the city glowing below them like a sea of stars.

Jinx was kicking her legs off the edge of the roof, humming an off-key tune as she popped another candied nut into her mouth. Ezreal glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, still marveling at how someone so chaotic could have moments like this—quiet, peaceful, almost normal.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “I don’t think I’ve had this much fun since I stole the Crown of Shurima.”

Jinx snorted, licking sugar off her fingers. “The Crown of Shurima? That sounds boring.”

“It wasn’t!” Ezreal protested, grinning. “It was guarded by this enormous sand golem, like, three stories tall. Took me a week to figure out how to get past it without getting crushed.”

“Ohhh, a week.” Jinx’s voice dripped with mockery. “Poor baby. Took you that long to outsmart a pile of rocks?”

Ezreal laughed, tossing a candied nut at her, which she caught in her mouth effortlessly. “Okay, fine, maybe it wasn’t as flashy as your parade stunt with the floating rowboat.”

“Damn right it wasn’t,” Jinx said, flashing him a mischievous grin.

Ezreal chuckled, shaking his head. He leaned back on his hands, the cool night air brushing against his face. “I mean it, though,” he said after a moment. “This—hanging out with you—has been… different. In a good way. I didn’t think anyone could keep up with me, but you… you’re kind of incredible.”

Jinx’s grin faltered for just a second, something softer flickering in her eyes before she looked away. “Well, duh,” she said, brushing it off with a laugh. “I am incredible.”

Ezreal rolled his eyes but smiled. He hesitated for a moment, then said, “You know, we’re kind of a good team. I’ve been thinking…”

Jinx turned to him, tilting her head curiously. “Thinking what?”

Ezreal’s heart skipped a beat under her gaze. He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I don’t know, maybe we could, uh… do this more often. You and me. Just us.”

Jinx stared at him for a beat, her expression unreadable. Then she laughed—a loud, cackling laugh that made Ezreal wince.

“Oh, Ezreal,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “You’re adorable.”

“Uh… thanks?” Ezreal replied, confused.

Jinx grinned, leaning closer to him. “Blondie, you’re great. Really, you are. But I’ve already got a boyfriend.”

Ezreal blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Jinx said, popping another candied nut into her mouth. “I’m taken. Spoken for. Totally off the market.”

Ezreal stared at her, his mind racing. Boyfriend? Jinx had a boyfriend? That… that didn’t make sense. She was wild, unpredictable, untethered—how could someone like that be tied down to a relationship?

“Are you messing with me?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Nope,” Jinx said, her voice sing-song.

Ezreal frowned. “Okay, so who’s the lucky guy, then? Some Zaunite bad boy? Or, let me guess, you’re dating a Yordle who makes bombs for a living.”

Jinx giggled. “You’re not even close.”

“Then who?”

She leaned back on her hands, smirking at him. “Viktor.”

Ezreal froze. “Wait. Viktor?”

“Yup.”

Ezreal tilted his head, studying her face for any sign that she was joking. “You don’t mean the Viktor, do you? Piltover’s greatest inventor? Jayce’s lab partner? That Viktor?”

Jinx nodded, completely unbothered. “Yup, that’s him. My Viktor.”

Ezreal blinked. Then he laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, now I know you’re messing with me.”

Jinx frowned, crossing her arms. “Why would I lie about that?”

“I mean, come on,” Ezreal said, gesturing wildly. “You? And Viktor? The guy’s, like, all serious and broody and…” He waved his hands in the air. “... a total buzzkill! There’s no way you’re dating that Viktor.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “You think I can’t pull a broody genius?”

Ezreal opened his mouth, then closed it. “I… no, that’s not what I mean, it’s just…” He shook his head, laughing in disbelief. “You and Viktor? That’s insane.”

“Exactly,” Jinx said, hopping to her feet. “And that’s why it works!”

Ezreal still looked skeptical. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. Not until I see it for myself.”

Jinx grinned, tossing the empty bag of candied nuts over her shoulder. “Oh, you will. I’ll take you to his workshop tomorrow. You’re gonna love him.”

“I doubt that,” Ezreal muttered under his breath.

Jinx didn’t seem to hear him. She was already skipping toward the fire escape, her braids bouncing behind her. “Come on, blondie! Let’s get some sleep. Big day tomorrow!”

Ezreal sighed, running a hand through his hair as he followed her. Viktor. She’s dating Viktor. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it.

But as crazy as it sounded, he couldn’t deny that a part of him was curious. He needed to see this for himself.

After all, if Jinx—Jinx—was dating someone as serious and straight-laced as Viktor, maybe he wasn’t the only one who had underestimated her.

________________________________________

 

The night air in Piltover was cool and sharp, carrying the faint hum of Hextech energy that powered the sprawling city. Ezreal followed Jinx through the winding streets, his footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones. She was practically skipping, humming some chaotic tune as her braids bounced with each step.

Ezreal wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe some kind of elaborate prank, where Jinx would lead him to an abandoned warehouse and reveal that she’d been messing with him the entire time. Because there was no way—no way—she was dating Viktor.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Ezreal asked, his voice tinged with skepticism as they descended into one of Piltover’s quieter districts.

“Relax, blondie,” Jinx replied without looking back, waving a hand dismissively. “I know what I’m doing.”

Ezreal grumbled under his breath but didn’t push the issue. He was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of Jinx, the living embodiment of chaos, being romantically involved with Viktor, the cold, methodical inventor who practically lived in his lab. They were polar opposites in every conceivable way.

Unless… unless opposites really did attract.

The thought unsettled him, though he couldn’t quite say why.

Eventually, Jinx led him to an inconspicuous building on the edge of Piltover, its exterior plain and unassuming save for the faint glow of blue light seeping through the cracks in the heavy metal door. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key, unlocking the door with a quick twist before pushing it open with a loud creak.

“Welcome to Viktor’s lair!” she declared with a flourish, stepping inside.

Ezreal hesitated in the doorway, peering into the dimly lit workshop. The air was thick with the smell of metal and ozone, and the faint hum of machinery filled the space. Tables were cluttered with half-finished inventions, gears and wires scattered like puzzle pieces. Blueprints covered the walls, their edges curling slightly from the heat of nearby lamps.

And there, in the center of it all, stood Viktor.

He was hunched over a workbench, his arm moving with mechanical precision as he adjusted a glowing Hextech device. The light from the Hexcore resting on the table in front of his chest illuminated his sharp, angular features, casting faint shadows across his face. He didn’t look up as they entered, too engrossed in his work to notice their arrival.

Jinx grinned, her eyes practically sparkling. She strutted forward, throwing her arms wide. “Hey, babe!”

Ezreal’s jaw dropped.

Viktor paused, his head tilting slightly at the sound of her voice. Then, slowly, he straightened and turned to face her. The golden glow of his eyes softened ever so slightly, his expression shifting from detached focus to something warmer—something Ezreal would have never believed if he weren’t seeing it with his own eyes.

“Jinx,” Viktor said, his voice low and even, though there was a faint trace of fondness in his tone.

Without hesitation, Jinx closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around Viktor’s neck and pulling him into a deep kiss.

Ezreal stared, utterly dumbfounded, as Viktor’s hand rested lightly on Jinx’s waist, his arm holding her just as gently. The kiss lasted just long enough for Ezreal to feel like a complete intruder before Jinx pulled back, her grin as wide as ever.

“Miss me?” she asked, her voice playful.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles. “I would ask what trouble you’ve caused today, but I suspect I’ll hear about it from the Enforcers soon enough.”

Jinx giggled, letting go of him and spinning on her heel to face Ezreal, who still hadn’t moved from the doorway. “See? Told ya!” she said, gesturing dramatically to Viktor. “This is my boyfriend. The one and only Viktor. Piltover’s greatest inventor.”

Ezreal blinked, his brain struggling to catch up. He pointed at Viktor, then at Jinx, then back at Viktor. “You’re… you’re serious? This is Viktor? Your Viktor?”

Viktor’s gaze shifted to Ezreal, his expression immediately cooling into one of mild suspicion. “And you are?”

“Oh, right!” Jinx said, clapping her hands together. “Viktor, meet Ezreal. He’s my… uh… partner-in-crime! At least for now until one of us gets arrested. Ez, this is Viktor. My Viktor. Isn’t he dreamy?”

Ezreal’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “Dreamy” was not the word he would’ve used to describe Viktor, but looking at the way Jinx practically glowed when she was near him, he could tell she meant every word.

“Charmed,” Viktor said dryly, though he didn’t offer a hand to shake.

Ezreal finally found his voice, though it came out more incredulous than he intended. “I don’t get it. How… why… you two? I mean, no offense, but you’re so…” He gestured vaguely at Viktor. “…serious. And she’s so…” He waved a hand toward Jinx, who was now inspecting one of Viktor’s machines like a kid in a candy store.

“Insane?” Viktor supplied, his tone matter-of-fact.

“I was going to say unpredictable,” Ezreal muttered.

“Opposites attract, blondie,” Jinx chimed in, grinning as she poked at one of Viktor’s devices. “Besides, Viktor’s not as boring as he looks. He’s got a soft side, don’t ya, babe?”

Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jinx…”

“What?” she said innocently, hopping up to sit on his workbench. “You do! He just doesn’t like to show it,” she added in a stage whisper to Ezreal.

Ezreal shook his head, still trying to process the situation. “Okay, but how does this even work? I mean, you’re… you.” He gestured at Jinx. “And he’s… him.”

Jinx shrugged, swinging her legs. “It just does.”

Viktor, meanwhile, returned to his work, though there was a faint hint of amusement in his expression. “It is… unconventional,” he admitted, adjusting the wires on his device. “But Jinx has a way of defying logic. Even mine.”

“Damn right I do,” Jinx said proudly, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on Viktor’s cheek.

Ezreal groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it, blondie,” Jinx said, winking at him. “And hey, now that you’ve met Viktor, maybe the three of us can team up sometime! Think of the chaos we could cause!”

Ezreal wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the suggestion.

Viktor, for his part, didn’t seem thrilled by the idea. “Absolutely not,” he said flatly without looking back.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Jinx teased, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Ezreal watched them in silence, a strange mixture of emotions swirling in his chest. It didn’t make sense—none of this did—but seeing the way Viktor’s usually cold demeanor softened ever so slightly when Jinx was near him, and the way Jinx’s chaotic energy seemed to mellow in his presence, Ezreal realized something: it didn’t have to make sense.

Because somehow, against all odds, it worked.

And maybe—just maybe—that was the craziest thing of all.

Ezreal couldn’t forget the way Viktor’s eyes softened ever so slightly when Jinx leaned against him, or the way Jinx’s chaotic energy seemed to mellow, just a fraction, in Viktor’s presence. It wasn’t a pairing that made sense on paper, but in practice, it worked. It worked beautifully.

Chapter 47: Convalescence

Summary:

Jinx’s faint mumble broke the silence. “Y-you’re…still here?” Her voice was a rasp, dry and cracked, as if her throat had been scorched from the inside. She opened her eyes again, bleary and unfocused, gazing up at him with the faintest trace of confusion. “Thought you’d…go back to your…fancy Piltover toys.” She sounded as if breathing was an immense strain.

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “And leave you like this? Hardly,” he replied, his tone soft yet firm. “I may be a man of reason, Jinx, but even I know when logic must step aside for something more important.”

She blinked up at him, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something, but her voice failed her. Instead, her hand—slim and trembling—emerged from beneath the blanket, reaching for him weakly. Viktor hesitated only for a second before he clasped her hand in his, his grip steady and warm despite how frail she felt.

The gentle hum of Viktor’s lab had grown deafeningly quiet over the past few nights, save for the constant, rhythmic clicking of his cane against the cold stone floor. For someone as logical as Viktor, it was absurd how deeply the absence of one person could unsettle him. Jinx had a way of tearing into his life like a whirlwind, dragging chaos and color into his otherwise monotone existence. She had been a constant—her nightly visits filled with maniacal laughter, half-finished stories, and the dangerous, childlike mischief that somehow, against all reason, endeared her to him. But for the past several days, she hadn’t come.

Viktor wasn’t one for self-indulgence, but he couldn’t help how his thoughts spiraled when he was alone, how he replayed every interaction they had shared, searching for something he might have said or done to keep her away. He knew she was unpredictable, and she’d vanish for hours, sometimes even a day or two, but never for this long. Not without a word. The gnawing sense of unease grew until it was unbearable.

Which is how he found himself gripping his cane a little tighter, pulling his coat snug against the biting chill of Zaun’s unforgiving air as he made his way from Piltover. It wasn’t the easiest trek, especially not for him. His leg ached with every step, the uneven terrain of Zaun’s winding streets and makeshift bridges making his journey slow and treacherous. But he couldn’t sit idle any longer. Jinx mattered to him more than he cared to admit to anyone, perhaps even to himself.

He knew where to find her—beneath Silco’s base of operations, in the heart of Zaun’s labyrinthine underworld. His lips pressed into a thin line as he approached the base, its towering smokestacks and dimly lit alleyways practically oozing menace. He anticipated resistance, and sure enough, the guards posted outside didn’t hide their disdain.

“Well, look who it is,” one of them sneered, stepping forward to block Viktor’s path. “The golden boy from Piltover. You’ve got some nerve showing up here, traitor.”

Viktor didn’t flinch. His gaze was steady, his expression unreadable. “I am here to see Jinx.”

“Yeah, right,” the guard barked a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Think we don’t know what you are? She’s too good for someone like you. And if it weren’t for—”

“Enough.” Another guard stepped in, clearly recognizing the weight of the situation. “You wanna explain to Silco why his little monster’s pissed because you touched her favorite toy?” He shot Viktor a look that was more warning than threat. “You’re lucky we don’t turn you into scrap metal right here.”

With obvious reluctance, the guards stepped aside, and one of them motioned for Viktor to follow. The journey through the base was suffocating, the air thick with smoke and chemicals. The dim lighting made the narrow halls feel like they were closing in on him. Finally, they reached a large room where Silco sat, bathed in shadows, nursing a glass of something dark and undoubtedly strong.

“Viktor,” Silco said smoothly, his tone as sharp as the knife he was casually spinning between his fingers. His mismatched eyes studied the inventor with suspicion. “To what do I owe the…pleasure?”

Viktor stood tall, leaning heavily on his cane but showing no signs of weakness. “Jinx,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the room. “I haven’t seen her in days. I am concerned.”

Silco’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He set his knife down and poured himself another drink, swirling the liquid thoughtfully before taking a sip. “Concerned, are we?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “How quaint. And here I thought you Piltover types only cared about yourselves.”

Viktor didn’t rise to the bait. His golden eyes remained fixed on Silco. “She would not disappear without reason.”

Silco sighed, a sound that was more exasperation than anything else. He took another long sip from his glass before finally speaking. “She’s been sick,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Some kind of virus. Nothing serious—Singed has already seen her, and he assures me the worst has passed. She’s on the mend.”

Viktor’s chest tightened at the news. Jinx, sick. The image didn’t compute. She was always so full of life, her energy boundless, her mischief unstoppable. The idea of her laid low by illness felt…wrong. “Has she been given proper care?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncharacteristic urgency.

Silco raised an eyebrow, giving Viktor a look that was equal parts incredulous and insulted. “Do you take me for a fool, Viktor? Of course, she has been seen to. I don’t let things fester in my house.”

Viktor inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point. Relief tempered his worry, but it wasn’t enough. “May I see her?”

For a long moment, Silco said nothing. He simply stared at Viktor, his expression unreadable, before finally finishing his drink and rising to his feet. “Follow me,” he said curtly.

Viktor followed without hesitation, his cane tapping against the floor as they descended deeper into the base. The air grew heavier, the lights dimmer, until they reached a small, dimly lit room. Silco stopped at the doorway peeking inside for a moment before gesturing for Viktor to enter. “Don’t get any funny ideas,” he warned, his voice low and sharp, before turning and walking back up the stairs, leaving Viktor alone.

The room was sparse, almost suffocating in its simplicity. And there, on a worn couch, lay Jinx. She was curled up beneath a threadbare blanket, her back to the room, her vibrant blue hair loose and unkempt, cascading over the side of the couch in tangled waves. She looked so small, so fragile, that Viktor’s heart twisted painfully in his chest.

He approached her slowly, quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she was asleep. But as he drew closer, he noticed the slight tremor in her body, the way her fingers clutched the blanket tightly. Reaching out, he placed a hand gently on her back, his fingers moving in slow, soothing circles.

She stirred at his touch, her body stiffening for a moment before relaxing. Her head turned slightly, and her tired, dull eyes met his. The spark that usually danced in her gaze was missing, replaced by exhaustion and discomfort.

“Vik…” she rasped, her voice dry and scratchy, barely above a whisper.

He crouched beside her, his hand moving to her hair, stroking it gently. “I am here, my firefly,” he said softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that was reserved solely for her.

Her lips twitched, a faint attempt at a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She blinked slowly, as if she wasn’t entirely sure he was real. “Thought…you were…a dream…” she mumbled.

“I assure you, I am quite real,” he replied, his tone steady but gentle. “You had me worried, Jinx. You have been gone for days.”

She let out a weak, breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a cough. “Didn’t wanna…get you sick…” she said, her words slurring slightly as her eyelids drooped.

His heart ached at her selflessness, even in her weakened state. “And you thought depriving me of your company was the solution?” he asked, his tone light but edged with concern.

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, she looked like the Jinx he knew—the one who laughed in the face of danger and chaos. “Didn’t think you’d…miss me…”

“Always,” he said simply, his hand never stopping its gentle strokes through her hair.

She closed her eyes again, her breathing evening out as she relaxed under his touch. Viktor sat there for a long time, watching over her, his mind racing with thoughts of how to ensure she recovered fully.

For all her chaos and unpredictability, Jinx was his constant, his spark of life in a world that often felt cold and unyielding. And he would do whatever it took to keep that spark alive.

Viktor remained at her side, sitting on the floor beside the couch with his cane resting against his shoulder. He watched her for long moments, his eyes tracing over the small tremors in her body, the way her breath came unevenly, rattling faintly in her chest. Jinx was pale, her usual vivacious complexion replaced by a sickly pallor that set Viktor’s nerves further on edge. Even her hair, normally so neatly braided in those characteristic twins, hung limp and unkempt around her like a waterfall of blue silk that had certainly seen better days.

He leaned forward slightly, his hand still gently stroking through her hair. The strands felt cool to the touch, lifeless in a way that didn’t suit her at all. Viktor had always known that life in Zaun was cruel, the very air laced with toxicity that could eat away at even the strongest constitution. But to see her—his firefly, his chaos, his maddening muse—reduced to this was like a blow to the chest. He closed his eyes briefly, the weight of it pressing down on him.

Jinx’s faint mumble broke the silence. “Y-you’re…still here?” Her voice was a rasp, dry and cracked, as if her throat had been scorched from the inside. She opened her eyes again, bleary and unfocused, gazing up at him with the faintest trace of confusion. “Thought you’d…go back to your…fancy Piltover toys.” She sounded as if breathing was an immense strain.

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “And leave you like this? Hardly,” he replied, his tone soft yet firm. “I may be a man of reason, Jinx, but even I know when logic must step aside for something more important.”

She blinked up at him, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something, but her voice failed her. Instead, her hand—slim and trembling—emerged from beneath the blanket, reaching for him weakly. Viktor hesitated only for a second before he clasped her hand in his, his grip steady and warm despite how frail she felt.

“You…shouldn’t,” she murmured after a moment, her voice barely audible. “Told you…don’t wanna make you sick.”

“Jinx,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You do not need to worry about me. You never have to.” He squeezed her hand lightly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “If I become sick, so be it. What matters is that you recover.”

Her lips quirked into the faintest ghost of a smile, though it wavered as her eyelids drooped again. “You’re…such a nerd,” she muttered, her words slurred with exhaustion. “Always so serious…”

He couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped him, the sound low and quiet. “And you are as incorrigible as ever,” he replied. “Even like this.”

Her laugh was barely more than a breath, but it was there, and it gave him some small measure of comfort. The sound was weak, but it was her. He watched her eyelids flutter shut again, her breathing still uneven but gradually steadying as she drifted back into a restless sleep. Viktor sat there for a long while, simply watching her, the dim light casting long shadows over the room.

His mind was already racing with plans. He needed to see Singed. The mad chemist had apparently assured Silco that Jinx was on the mend, but Viktor wanted more details. What virus had struck her? What had caused it, and what could he do to ensure it wouldn’t worsen or return? He wasn’t content to simply wait and hope—he needed answers, solutions, action.

But for now, he stayed by her side. Leaving her, even briefly, felt impossible in this moment. She shifted slightly in her sleep, a small whimper escaping her lips as if even in her dreams, she couldn’t escape whatever discomfort plagued her. Viktor reached out again, his hand resting lightly on her back, his fingers tracing soothing circles. It was a simple gesture, but it seemed to help; her body relaxed again, her breathing evening out.

He lost track of time as he sat there. The room was quiet save for the faint hum of machinery in the distance and the soft sound of Jinx’s labored breathing. The dim light cast her features in shadow, but even in her weakened state, there was something achingly familiar about her. She was chaos incarnate, a storm wrapped in a deceptively small frame, and yet she had found a way to carve a space for herself in his life, in his heart.

Viktor wasn’t blind to how absurd it all was. By all accounts, they were an illogical match. He was calculated, precise, driven by reason and science. She was unpredictable, wild, ruled by emotion and impulse. But somewhere along the line, they had found something in each other that neither of them had in the rest of the world. For Viktor, she was the spark that broke through the cold, mechanical monotony of his life. For Jinx…well, he could only hope that he gave her something in return.

As the hours passed, Viktor’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the room. He tensed slightly, his hand tightening on his cane, but when the door creaked open, it was only Silco. The man stood in the doorway, his mismatched eyes scanning the room before settling on Viktor.

“She’s still alive, I see,” Silco remarked dryly, stepping into the room with his usual predatory grace. His gaze lingered on Jinx’s sleeping form before shifting back to Viktor. “I assume you’ve confirmed for yourself that she’s recovering.”

“She is not yet well,” Viktor replied evenly, though his voice held a faint edge of irritation. “Her symptoms persist. I would like to know exactly what Singed has done to treat her.”

Silco smirked faintly, the expression more sardonic than amused. “You think I haven’t done everything in my power to ensure her safety?” he asked, his tone low and dangerous. “She’s my daughter in all but blood, Viktor. I’m not so careless as to leave her fate to chance.”

The words hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the complicated dynamics at play. Silco’s protectiveness of Jinx was absolute, and Viktor respected that—even if it sometimes set them at odds.

“I do not doubt your intentions,” Viktor said carefully, his gaze steady. “But intentions alone do not guarantee results. I will speak with Singed myself.”

Silco tilted his head slightly, his smirk fading into a more contemplative expression. “Do what you must,” he said after a moment. “But know this, Viktor—if anything happens to her, if this sickness worsens or if you prove to be more of a distraction than a help…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the weight of the unspoken threat was clear.

Viktor met his gaze without flinching. “If anything happens to her, it will not be because I failed to act,” he said firmly.

Silco regarded him for a long moment before nodding once. “Good,” he said simply, turning and walking back toward the door. He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. “She means more to you than I realized,” he said, his voice quieter, almost thoughtful. “Interesting.”

With that, he was gone, leaving Viktor alone with Jinx once more.

Viktor exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening briefly on his cane before he turned his attention back to Jinx. Whatever it took, he would see her through this. He wasn’t a man of sentiment, but for her, he would make an exception. Always.

Chapter 48: Loose Petals

Summary:

Jinx pulled the Hexcore close, cradling it against her chest. Her eyes drifted shut, and a serene expression crossed her face—a rare moment of peace that seemed utterly out of place on her. To the others, it almost looked like she was… cuddling it.

Jayce broke the silence first. “What… what are you doing?” he asked, his voice filled with equal parts confusion and unease.

Without opening her eyes, Jinx replied, “Listening to it.”

Jayce blinked. “Listening… to it?”

Jinx’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Duh. That’s what I said.”

Notes:

Alright guys, I have a lot to say about this one...

When I came up with this, it was impulsive and I started writing it out as quickly as I could. I knew this was going to be my most ambitious one shot yet, in terms of both the length and the characters included in it. There are characters I just cannot write well, but I still wanted to try my hand at writing them because I knew some of y'all wanted it! This took a lot out of me, and towards the end I almost felt like I was just pulling shit out of my ass to finish it, but I included everything I wanted to! It actually started to feel like a clusterfuck by the end 😅.

Something to note is that Jinxtor doesn't really exist in this one, and the ending only has a really small implication that its happening in the future—blink and you'll miss it! At this point in time, I have no plans for writing a part 2, but do have somewhat of the outline for it should I actually wish to write it, it just won't be ANYWHERE near as long as this one.

This one takes place in the universe of Arcane, but it doesn't follow the events of Arcane, which would be pretty easy to figure out from the very beginning. Character personalities are pretty different as well, which was both done to fit the plot and because I just can't write a couple of them 😭! I'm so sorry if I butchered them, I tried my best.

Another thing I wanted to touch on is how long this collection will be. The original goal was to write 100 one shots—very ambitious, but I had faith in myself! However, with the way things are going right now, I feel like I'm running out of creative juice and I think I'll be lucky if I can even make it to 55 one shots, and that's just with finishing what I've started writing. I really don't want to let you guys down by just posting boring, filler crap 🫠.

But I'm not giving up 💪🏼! I'm gonna try my absolute hardest to reach the 100 goal, while keeping them interesting!

P.S. I LOVE reading all of your comments, and I promise you that even when I don't respond, I still read them! They literally make my day 💙!

The room was silent but for the soft rustle of the silk canopy swaying faintly above the massive bed. Moonlight filtered in through the intricately carved lattice windows of the Medarda estate, casting delicate patterns on the rich purple and gold furnishings. Mel Medarda lay peacefully beneath a cascade of blankets, her golden hair spilling across her pillow like a crown. But there was a shadow among the stillness, a silent presence that did not belong.

A faint sigh escaped the darkness, followed by the sound of something delicate falling—a single black rose petal drifting onto Mel’s pillow. Then another. And another. The room grew colder as the darkness thickened, coiling around her like smoke, and the air took on a metallic tang. A hand, clad in sleek black gloves, reached out from the gloom, holding a stem adorned with thorny petals as black as night. The intruder moved with care, as though orchestrating a grim symphony.

The last thing Mel’s mind registered before she was pulled into the abyss was the faint scent of roses.

The morning brought a piercing scream that shattered the tranquility of the Medarda estate. A maid, barely in her twenties, had come to deliver Mel’s breakfast and draw the curtains. The sight that greeted her drained the color from her face: Mel, motionless, her flawless skin pale as the moon, surrounded by a morbid bed of black rose petals.

The maid stumbled backward, breath hitching in terror. “Guards!” she shrieked, her voice trembling as she bolted from the room. “Guards! Lady Medarda—she’s—she’s—”

The commotion stirred the household. Heavy boots pounded up the stairs as guards surged toward Mel’s chambers. One barked orders, while another instructed a messenger to summon Mel’s mother, Ambessa Medarda, and her lover, Jayce Talis.

Ambessa arrived first, her presence as commanding as ever, but her expression betrayed the faintest crack in her usual composure. She pushed past the guards and entered the room, her sharp eyes scanning the scene before her. The moment she saw Mel—her daughter, her legacy—lying motionless amidst the sinister display, her jaw clenched.

“Where are the doctors?” Ambessa demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. She turned on her heel and glared at the nearest guard. “Summon them. Now.”

Jayce appeared moments later, disheveled and breathless. His heart sank the moment his eyes fell on Mel. “What happened?” he asked, his voice thick with worry. He rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he reached out but stopped short of touching her.

“Someone attacked her,” Ambessa said through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing as they lingered on the black rose petals scattered across the bed. “This is no ordinary act. This is a message.”

Despite the best efforts of Piltover’s finest doctors, Mel remained unresponsive. Her breathing was steady, her pulse faint but stable—yet she would not wake. For hours, they examined her, consulting every resource they had, but the conclusion was always the same: she was trapped in a comatose state with no clear explanation.

Ambessa paced the estate like a caged lion, her frustration palpable. Jayce rarely left Mel’s side, his mind a whirlwind of helplessness and despair. Days passed, and her condition remained unchanged.

“This can’t go on,” Jayce finally said, his voice trembling as he addressed Ambessa late one night. “We’ve exhausted every conventional method. We have to try something else.”

Ambessa, seated stiffly in a chair, looked up from her clenched fists. “What are you suggesting?”

“Hextech,” Jayce said, almost pleading. “It’s the only way. If we can harness its energy to power cities, to save lives, why can’t we use it to wake her?”

Ambessa’s eyes darkened, but beneath her stoic exterior, desperation churned. She had always dismissed Piltover’s science as an overreliance on toys and trinkets, but now the thought of her daughter wasting away in silence eroded her doubts. “Do it,” she said, her voice low but resolute. “Whatever it takes.”

Jayce knew his own inventions weren’t enough. If there was a chance to save Mel, he needed Viktor. The two of them had revolutionized Piltover together, and while Viktor had grown increasingly secretive and obsessive, his understanding of Hextech far surpassed Jayce’s. If anyone could help, it was him.

But even Viktor was hesitant. “The Hexcore is not… stable,” he said, his voice measured but firm. “It was not designed for this purpose. If we attempt to use it in this way, there’s no telling what might happen—to Mel, or to us.”

Jayce clenched his fists. “You don’t understand, Viktor. We’re out of options. I can’t just… sit here and do nothing.”

Viktor studied him for a long moment, his sharp features shadowed by the dim light of his lab. Finally, he sighed. “If we are to proceed, we’ll need more minds—scholars, inventors. This is not something we can accomplish alone.”

Days turned into weeks, and still, they had no breakthrough. Viktor, Jayce, and a team of Piltover’s brightest worked tirelessly, but the Hexcore refused to yield the results they needed.

It was Jayce who finally spoke the unthinkable. “There’s… someone else who might be able to help.”

Viktor looked up from his work, his expression wary. “Who?”

“Jinx.”

The name hung in the air like a curse. Viktor’s lips pressed into a thin line, his distaste clear. “You want to bring her into this? The girl who’s already stolen from us?”

“She’s brilliant,” Jayce argued, his voice rising. “You’ve seen her work. She recreated our designs with scrap and a couple of Hex crystals. If anyone understands Hextech as deeply as you do, it’s her.”

Viktor shook his head. “She’s undisciplined. Reckless. Giving her access to the Hexcore would be—”

“—our best chance,” Jayce interrupted. “This isn’t about what’s safe or sensible. This is about saving Mel.”

Ambessa, initially reluctant to even entertain the idea, eventually gave in to Jayce’s persistence. Caitlyn Kiramman, with her ties to Piltover’s law enforcement, was tasked with locating Jinx, and by extension, Vi, who knew the Undercity better than anyone.

“Vi will know where to find her,” Caitlyn said as she prepared to leave.

“And you think she’ll just… cooperate?” Jayce asked.

“She will,” Caitlyn said, her tone firm. “If she doesn’t, we’ll make her.”

Vi had her doubts, but she agreed to help. To find Jinx, they’d need to go through Silco. And to find Silco, they needed Babette. Vi led Caitlyn and Jayce through the winding streets of Zaun, finally arriving at Babette’s shabby bar tucked away in a shadowy corner of the Undercity.

Babette greeted Vi with a sly grin. “It’s been a while. What brings you down here? And who’s the entourage?”

“We need to find Jinx,” Vi said, cutting straight to the point. “Where’s Silco?”

Babette arched a brow. “Looking for your sister, huh? That’s dangerous business.”

“Just tell us,” Vi pressed. “We only want her help. That’s all.”

Babette studied her for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. You’ll find Silco’s lot at the warehouse by the docks. But be careful, Vi. This won’t end well.”

Vi nodded. “It never does.”

________________________________________

 

The warehouse loomed ahead, its broken windows and rusted metal siding giving the impression of abandonment. But as the group moved closer, they noticed the telltale signs of life—armed guards patrolling in pairs, their footsteps echoing against the cracked concrete. Each one carried a rifle, their movements precise and methodical.

Vi crouched low behind a stack of crates, her sharp eyes scanning the guards. “Typical Silco,” she muttered. “Always paranoid.”

Caitlyn adjusted the rifle strapped to her back and peered around the edge of the crate. “We can’t fight our way in. Not with this many guards. We need to think—”

Before Caitlyn could finish, Vi rose from their hiding spot, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Hey!” she called out, stepping boldly into the open.

Jayce’s eyes widened. “Vi, what are you doing?!”

One of the guards immediately raised his weapon, the barrel trained squarely on Vi’s chest. His partner followed suit, aiming slightly higher. “Stop right there!” the first guard barked.

“I’m not armed!” Vi shouted back, glancing over her shoulder toward where the others were still concealed. She nodded in their direction. “We didn’t come to fight. We just want to talk to Jinx.”

The two guards exchanged wary glances. The one on the left, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek, lowered his weapon slightly. He scrutinized Vi, then her companions as they hesitantly emerged from hiding. Without a word, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed into the warehouse, leaving his partner to keep watch.

The remaining guard’s hands tightened on his weapon, his gaze flicking between the group. Minutes passed, tension crackling in the air. Caitlyn kept her hands where they could be seen, but her fingers itched toward her holster. Vi, to her credit, stayed calm, though Jayce could see her jaw twitch with impatience.

Finally, the first guard returned and motioned for them to follow. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he growled.

Inside, the warehouse was a maze of rusted catwalks and dimly lit corridors. The faint hum of machinery echoed through the space, accompanied by the occasional metallic clang. Their guide led them down a set of stairs and into a tunnel hidden beneath a false floor. It was narrow, the walls damp and lined with flickering lights.

At the end of the tunnel, they emerged into a room that was surprisingly well-kept compared to the rest of the warehouse. The faint smell of cigar smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp scent of whiskey. Behind a large wooden desk sat Silco, one hand resting on a tumbler of amber liquid. He barely glanced at them as they entered.

The guard nodded at Silco before leaving the room, closing the heavy door behind him. The soft click of the latch seemed deafening in the silence that followed.

Silco finally looked up, his mismatched eyes gleaming with mild irritation. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming idly against the desk. “So,” he drawled, his voice as smooth as it was venomous. “You wish to speak with my daughter. For what reason?”

Vi’s fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tightening. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Caitlyn stepped forward. “We’re here on behalf of the council,” Caitlyn said evenly, her voice carefully measured. “We’d like to negotiate terms for Jinx’s assistance.”

Silco hummed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Terms,” he repeated. His gaze flicked toward Jayce, then Viktor, before settling back on Caitlyn. “And what, pray tell, are these terms?”

This time, Jayce stepped forward. “If Jinx helps us, and her assistance proves successful, we’ll grant her a full pardon for all past crimes.”

Caitlyn stiffened, the words hitting her like a slap. She kept her expression neutral, though her fingers twitched at her sides. To pardon Jinx was to spit in the face of justice, but she said nothing. The stakes were too high for her personal feelings to interfere.

Silco’s eyes gleamed with interest. “A pardon, you say? How… generous.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “And if she fails? What then?”

Jayce hesitated, the question cutting deeper than he expected. Failure wasn’t something he wanted to consider. But after a moment, he took a deep breath and answered, “Even if we fail, as long as she gives her genuine cooperation, we’ll still pardon her. It’s… what the person we’re trying to save would have wanted.”

Viktor, standing silently by the wall, let out a faint scoff but said nothing. Politics were of no concern to him. All he cared about was solving the problem at hand.

Silco’s fingers resumed their tapping, the rhythmic sound filling the room. He studied Jayce for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he smiled—a thin, sharp smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Very well. You may ask her. But understand this—should you attempt to coerce her, or should she find your request… unpleasant, you will not leave here in one piece.”

The threat hung in the air, heavy and unspoken.

Silco rose from his chair, motioning for them to follow. Without another word, he led them out of the office and down another set of stairs. The tunnel he led them into was darker, the walls narrowing as they descended further into the depths of the warehouse. Faintly, a voice echoed from up ahead—high-pitched and frantic.

As they drew closer, the yelling grew louder, the words indistinct but filled with anger. Caitlyn, Vi, and Jayce exchanged uneasy glances. Viktor remained impassive, though his sharp eyes flicked toward the source of the noise.

Vi shrugged, her expression grim. “Sounds like we found her.”

________________________________________

 

Silco knocked twice on the heavy metal door before pushing it open. The sound of the hinges groaning was drowned out by the cacophony within.

Inside, Jinx paced the room, her movements erratic and agitated. Her bangs hung in messy strands around her face as she muttered to herself, each step punctuated by a sharp, frantic motion. She was yelling—at someone, though there was no one else in the room. Snippets of her one-sided conversation rang out, her voice jumping between tones.

“Shut up!” she barked, slamming her fist into the side of her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m busy!” She winced, her knuckles whitening as she hit herself harder. “I said shut up!”

The group froze in the doorway, watching as she ranted, her voice trembling with frustration. Vi took an instinctive step forward, her face tight with concern, but Silco’s hand shot out, stopping her mid-step.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, his voice low enough to carry authority but soft enough not to startle Jinx.

Silco turned back to his ward and called out, “Jinx.”

She didn’t respond, her muttering continuing unabated.

“Jinx,” Silco said again, his voice louder this time. She still didn’t react. He clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose, and called her name a third time, louder and sharper. “Jinx!”

Her pacing halted. The room fell silent as she froze in place, her hand still hovering near her temple. Slowly, she turned to face them, her wide, blue eyes finally noticing the group. Her gaze darted between Silco and the strangers standing behind him. The tension in her posture grew, and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“What the hell is this?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. Her question was directed at Silco, but her gaze flicked toward Vi, Caitlyn, and the others as she stepped back. Her hand hovered near the table where Fishbones rested surrounded by an assortment of smaller gadgets.

Silco caught the movement and raised a calming hand. “Jinx, calm yourself,” he said, his tone steady and patient. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you. Just… take a breath.”

He approached her slowly, his steps careful, measured. Extending his hand toward her, he kept his gaze locked on her. “You’re safe. Just breathe.”

Jinx glanced down at his hand, her brows furrowing. Her eyes flicked between his face and the outstretched hand before she cautiously reached out, placing her smaller hand in his. Her grip was tense at first, but she gradually relaxed, her shoulders loosening as she let out a deep,
shaky breath.

“Okay,” she said finally, though her tone still held a note of wariness. “What do they want?”

Silco nodded toward the group behind him. “They’re here to ask for your help.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed again, and she let out a humorless laugh. “Sure they are,” she said, crossing her arms. She tilted her head, her expression equal parts amusement and annoyance. “What do they want my help with, huh?”

Jayce stepped forward, clearing his throat. “One of the council members has been attacked,” he began, his voice steady but careful. “She’s in a coma. We haven’t been able to wake her.”

Jinx leaned to the side, peering around Silco to get a better look at Jayce as he spoke. She snorted, her lips twisting into a smirk. “You’ve got the wrong girl,” she said. “I’m not a doctor. Try the fancy hospitals in Piltover.”

Jayce shook his head, his tone growing more earnest. “We know you’re not a doctor. That’s not why we’re here.”

Jinx arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued despite herself. She leaned back against the table, crossing her legs at the ankles as she gestured for him to continue. “Alright, then why are you here?”

Jayce glanced at Caitlyn and Vi before looking back at Jinx. “We’ve been trying to use Hextech to wake her,” he said. “But so far, we haven’t been able to accomplish it. That’s why we need you.”

Jinx’s smirk faded, replaced by a more contemplative expression. Her fingers drummed idly on the edge of the table as she mulled over his words. “Hextech, huh?” she muttered, her gaze briefly drifting toward Fishbones before snapping back to Jayce. “You must be pretty desperate if you’re crawling down here for my help.” Her tone was mocking, but there was a glimmer of interest in her eyes.

Jinx tilted her head, her gaze shifting between the group with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. “Why do you even think I’d help you?” she asked, her voice sharp and mocking. “You think you can just waltz in here, throw some fancy words around, and I’ll play nice?”

Jayce stepped forward, his expression serious but calm. “If you help us,” he said, carefully enunciating each word, “we’ll offer you a complete pardon for all your crimes. No strings attached.”

That made her pause. For the first time since they entered, her smirk faltered. “A pardon?” she repeated, narrowing her eyes as though trying to gauge his sincerity. “You’re serious?”

“I am,” Jayce said, nodding firmly. “The council has already agreed to it. No arrests. No trials. A clean slate.”

For a moment, Jinx looked unsure, an uncharacteristic nervousness creeping into her demeanor. Her hands wrung together before one of them moved to the side of her head, her fingers pressing against her temple. “You hear that?” she mumbled softly to herself, her voice barely audible. “A clean slate. That’s what he said. But is he lying? Maybe they’re just like the rest of them—”

Her mumbling trailed off, and she flinched as if someone had shouted in her ear. “Shut up,” she hissed, shaking her head violently. “I’m thinking!”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what to do or say. Vi took a tentative step forward, but Caitlyn subtly pulled her back, shaking her head.

After a tense silence, Jinx’s gaze snapped back to Jayce. “Do you even know how to do it?” she asked, her tone sharp. “How to use Hextech to wake her up?”

Jayce hesitated, then shook his head. “No. That’s why we need you. You’ve worked with Hextech before. We know you’re… familiar with it.”

Jinx stared at him, her lips pursing as her eyes flicked between him and the others. Her fingers tapped against her thigh in an erratic rhythm, her thoughts clearly racing. Finally, she let out a long sigh, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms. “Fine. But you’d better keep your end of the deal, poster boy.”

“I promise,” Jayce said, relief washing over him. He watched as Jinx turned away, muttering to herself as she began gathering tools and equipment from around the room.

She grabbed for Fishbones, hoisting the oversized weapon with ease and resting it against her back. Then she grabbed her pistol, sliding it into the holster at her hip.

Caitlyn frowned, her gaze lingering on the arsenal Jinx was assembling. “Are those weapons really necessary?” she asked, her tone firm but measured.

Jinx stopped mid-movement and slowly turned her head to look at Caitlyn. Her expression was incredulous, as though Caitlyn had just asked if water was wet. “Are they necessary?” she repeated, her voice dripping with mockery. “Uh, yeah. These aren’t just my weapons, princess. They’re my friends.” She patted Fishbones affectionately. “And it’s not like I’ve got any reason to actually trust you lot, so… yeah. They’re necessary.”

She went back to rummaging through a drawer, muttering to herself as she searched for something. Viktor, meanwhile, allowed his eyes to wander around the room. The chaos of it all was mesmerizing—the walls were lined with crude but ingenious inventions, many of them clearly built from scraps and spare parts. Despite their rough appearance, there was something undeniably brilliant about them. He couldn’t help but feel a reluctant admiration for her resourcefulness.

Finally, Jinx let out a triumphant noise and pulled something from the drawer—a small, glowing crystal encased in a rudimentary metal frame. She slipped it into her pocket before turning around. Her gaze locked with Viktor’s, and the two of them stared at each other in silence for a moment.

There was no hostility in her expression, just a curious glint, as though she were trying to figure him out. Viktor, for his part, didn’t flinch under her gaze, his own sharp eyes analyzing her as much as she analyzed him.

The quiet was broken by Jayce clearing his throat. “Are you ready?” he asked, his tone insistent. “Time isn’t really a luxury right now.”

Jinx tore her eyes away from Viktor and shrugged, hoisting her bag higher onto her shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go save your little council friend.” Her grin returned, wide and manic. “This is gonna be fun.”

________________________________________

 

The journey back through Piltover was tense. The group drew enough attention as it was—a council member, the head enforcer’s daughter, and a Zaunite inventor escorting Jinx, a known criminal, through the pristine streets of the City of Progress. The air felt heavy with unspoken tension, every glance from passersby feeling like a loaded weapon. Caitlyn’s hand never strayed far from her holstered pistol, her sharp eyes scanning every alleyway and rooftop. Vi stayed close to Jinx, her face a mask of forced calm, though her fists were clenched.

Jinx, by contrast, was unnervingly quiet. She strolled with her fingers occasionally brushing against Fishbones as if seeking reassurance. Every so often, she would mumble to herself—soft, fragmented conversations with something only she could see. Her eyes darted to shadows that weren’t there, and once or twice, she smiled at nothing, a giggle slipping from her lips. The others exchanged wary glances but said nothing. No one dared to interrupt her.

Once inside the lab, Jayce wasted no time. “Please, clear the room,” he said firmly to the scientists and assistants milling about. His tone left no room for argument, and within minutes, the lab was empty save for the core group and Jinx.

The tension only thickened as Viktor began leading Jinx through the rows of failed prototypes, explaining what they had tried and why they had failed. She followed him, her eyes flitting across the inventions with mild disinterest, occasionally stopping to poke or prod at something with a finger.

Finally, she turned to Viktor, squinting at him as if sizing him up. “Okay,” she said. “Where is it?”

Viktor blinked, confused. “Where is what?”

She tilted her head, her tone almost impatient, like she was dealing with a particularly slow child. “The thing. The loud thing. The thing that won’t shut up. Where is it?”

Viktor froze, her words sparking an uneasy suspicion in his mind. He exchanged a glance with Jayce before turning back to her. “You mean the Hexcore,” he said quietly, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Jinx shrugged. “If that’s what you wanna call it, sure.”

Viktor hesitated for a moment, then nodded toward Jayce. “Bring it out.”

Jayce’s expression tightened, but he moved to the reinforced safe at the far end of the room. He pressed his palm against the security panel, inputting a series of codes before the safe clicked open with a heavy thunk. Inside sat a sleek containment case, its surface glowing faintly with energy. Jayce carried it to a nearby table and placed it down gently.

When the case was set, he partially unlocked it but didn’t attempt to open the lid. He stepped back quickly, giving Jinx plenty of space, his posture tense, ready for any sudden movements.

But Jinx didn’t move. She stood a few feet away, her hands slowly rising, her fingers curling into the air like she was coaxing something forward. Her voice softened, dropping into a low, almost sing-song tone. “Come here.”

Viktor and Jayce barely had time to exchange a confused glance before the containment case began to open on its own. The remaining locks disengaged with a metallic hiss, and the lid creaked upward. Then, as if gravity itself had been rewritten, the Hexcore floated out of the case. It hung in the air for a moment, pulsing faintly with a deep, purple glow before it began to drift toward Jinx, like a moth to a flame.

Jinx held her hands out, palms up, waiting. The Hexcore settled into her grasp, its glow intensifying for a brief moment before dimming, as though it had calmed in her presence.

Viktor watched the scene unfold in both quiet horror and awe. She was holding the Hexcore in her bare hands—no energy modulators, no dampeners, nothing to protect her from its volatile power. And yet… nothing happened. No backlash. No instability. If anything, the Hexcore seemed comforted by her touch. It was incomprehensible. Impossible. It was as if the Hexcore were a living thing, and Jinx… its master.

Jinx pulled the Hexcore close, cradling it against her chest. Her eyes drifted shut, and a serene expression crossed her face—a rare moment of peace that seemed utterly out of place on her. To the others, it almost looked like she was… cuddling it.

Jayce broke the silence first. “What… what are you doing?” he asked, his voice filled with equal parts confusion and unease.

Without opening her eyes, Jinx replied, “Listening to it.”

Jayce blinked. “Listening… to it?”

Jinx’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Duh. That’s what I said.”

Jayce took a step forward, his brow furrowed. “How… how can you listen to it? It’s a machine. It’s not—”

“It’s not alive,” Jinx interrupted, her tone laced with mockery. “None of you ever bothered to just shut up and listen to it.” She tilted her head, her hands still cradling the Hexcore as if it were whispering secrets only she could hear. “It’s been screaming at you this whole time, and you were too busy poking it and prodding it to notice. Poor little thing.” She opened one eye and cast a pointed look at Viktor. “You’ve been torturing it, y’know.”

Viktor’s mouth opened, then closed, his mind racing as he tried to process what she was saying. Torture? The Hexcore was technology. It couldn’t—

But then he remembered the times he’d felt it react unpredictably, the way it sometimes seemed to pull away from his touch. He’d dismissed it as fluctuations in its power core, an anomaly to be corrected. Could she actually…?

He shook the thought away. “And what… is it saying now?” he asked carefully.

Jinx’s expression turned thoughtful, almost dreamy. “It’s scared,” she said simply. “You’ve been asking it to do things it doesn’t understand. But don’t worry, I’ll fix it.” She smiled, her fingers stroking the Hexcore like one might soothe a frightened animal. “I’ll make it all better.”

The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the faint hum of the Hexcore in her hands. Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance, both uncertain of what to say—or do.

Jinx remained still, cradling the Hexcore in her arms like it was the most precious thing in the world. Its soft purple glow pulsed in rhythm with her breathing, as though the two were connected. After several moments of silence, she opened her eyes and glanced up at the group.

“So,” she said casually, her tone almost playful. “Where’s the sleeping princess?”

Jayce frowned at the phrase. “You mean Mel?” he asked.

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Mel. Sleeping, stuck in dreamland, whatever you wanna call it. Where is she?”

“She’s still at her residence,” Jayce replied. “She’s being monitored by the council’s best doctors and guards. We didn’t want to risk moving her unless we had to.”

Jinx tilted her head, stroking the side of the Hexcore with one hand. “Well, you’ve got two options, then,” she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Either take me to her or bring her here. If you want me to help, she’s gotta be close. Like, right there close.” She gestured vaguely toward the room around her. “Not much I can do from a distance.”

Jayce hesitated, glancing at Caitlyn, whose expression was unreadable. Bringing Jinx anywhere near Mel felt like a gamble, but bringing Mel here—to the heart of this volatile, unpredictable situation—was its own kind of risk. After a tense pause, Caitlyn nodded toward him.

“Bringing Mel here makes the most sense,” Caitlyn said. “Moving her will be difficult, but at least we’ll have control over the environment. If something goes wrong…” She trailed off, not needing to finish the thought.

Jayce nodded reluctantly. “Alright. We’ll bring her here.”

Jinx smirked, leaning back slightly against the wall. “Good choice. I hate leaving home, y’know. It’s so inconvenient.”

Caitlyn ignored the comment, already heading toward the door. “Let’s move quickly. The sooner we bring her here, the better.”

Jayce followed, sparing one last glance at Viktor and Vi. “Stay here. Keep an eye on things,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with unspoken concern.

Viktor nodded, though his gaze lingered on the Hexcore still nestled in Jinx’s hands. Vi crossed her arms, leaning against the wall as she watched Caitlyn and Jayce leave the lab.

As soon as the door shut behind them, silence settled over the room. Jinx sank down to the floor, sitting cross-legged with the Hexcore resting in her lap. Her expression softened, returning to that strange, serene state as she held it close. The glow from the Hexcore bathed her face in soft purple light, accentuating the faint smile playing on her lips.

Vi shifted uncomfortably, her eyes flicking between Jinx and the Hexcore. “So… what now?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Jinx didn’t answer. She seemed lost in her own world, her fingers lightly brushing over the surface of the Hexcore as though she were petting it. Her breathing slowed, matching the gentle pulses of the artifact. It was almost hypnotic to watch, but also deeply unnerving.

Viktor, standing nearby, studied her intently. The sight of her interacting with the Hexcore filled him with conflicting emotions. It wasn’t just that she was holding it without any kind of protection—it was the way it responded to her. The Hexcore had never behaved like this for anyone, not even him. It was as if it recognized her on some fundamental level, as if she were… what? Its rightful owner? Its kin?

“Do you… hear it now?” Viktor asked, his voice quiet and tentative.

Jinx opened one eye, her gaze flicking up to meet his. “Maybe,” she said, her tone playful but distant. “Maybe not.” She giggled softly, closing her eye again. “It’s a secret.”

Viktor frowned but didn’t press further. Instead, he turned his attention to the lab’s equipment, distracting himself with small adjustments to one of the prototypes they’d abandoned earlier.

Vi, meanwhile, kept her distance, her arms still crossed. She wanted to say something—anything—but every time she opened her mouth, she stopped herself. Jinx seemed… different. Calmer, almost peaceful, which was so at odds with the girl she remembered. It threw her off balance.

Jinx, for her part, remained silent, her focus entirely on the Hexcore. Whatever conversation she was having with it was hers alone, and she seemed perfectly content to sit there, motionless, as the minutes ticked by.

The room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for what would come next.

________________________________________

 

As they waited in the tense, echoing silence of the lab, Viktor couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay. His analytical mind was caught in an endless loop, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Jinx, sitting serenely on the floor, holding the volatile Hexcore as though it were an extension of herself, defied everything he thought he understood about the artifact.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Are you… conversing with it now?” he asked carefully, his voice soft but laced with fascination. “And if you are… could you share it with me?”

Jinx’s eyes snapped open, her serene expression fading into something unreadable as she turned her gaze on Viktor. She stared at him for a long moment, unblinking, her head tilting slightly to the side. It was the kind of look that made Vi stiffen from where she leaned against the wall, her hand twitching toward her weapon.

Then, without a word, Jinx stood. She cradled the Hexcore against her chest with one hand, its glow casting faint, flickering shadows across her face. Her other hand extended toward Viktor, palm up, her fingers splayed. Her eyes bore into his, the blankness in them unnerving.

“If you wanna listen,” she said, her voice low and almost sing-song, “then do it yourself.”

Viktor hesitated, his golden eyes darting between her face and her outstretched hand. There was something unhinged about her, something unpredictable, and every logical part of him screamed at him to back away. And yet… this was a chance to understand the Hexcore in a way he never had before. He couldn’t walk away from that, no matter the risk.

Slowly, he stepped forward. His cane clicked softly against the floor as he approached her, his movements deliberate. He stopped just in front of her, his gaze flicking to her hand again before returning to her face. Her expression didn’t change—she just waited, her hand still extended.

Viktor swallowed hard and finally reached out, his hand hovering over hers for a brief moment before he let it drop into her grasp.

For the first few seconds, he felt nothing. Her hand was warm, her grip surprisingly steady, but there was no grand revelation, no sudden connection. He frowned, confusion flickering across his face as his free hand tightened on his cane.

Then, it hit him.

A faint hum resonated in his ears, growing louder by the second. It wasn’t a sound, not really—it was more like the echo of a thought, brushing against the edges of his consciousness. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to focus, his breathing slowing.

The hum evolved into whispers, soft and layered, as though several voices were speaking at once, perfectly synchronized. The words were indistinct, just out of reach, but they carried an undercurrent of emotion—fear, curiosity, longing. The sensation was overwhelming, like standing in the middle of a storm that he could feel in his very bones.

Viktor’s lips parted as he drew a shaky breath, his grip on Jinx’s hand tightening. “I… I can hear it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “What is this…?”

Jinx smirked faintly, watching his face with a mix of amusement and something almost resembling pity. “Told you,” she said. “You never bothered to listen.”

Viktor’s hand twitched in Jinx’s grasp as the faint whispers grew louder in his mind, brushing against the edges of coherence but never quite solidifying into words. He tried to focus, his brows furrowing in frustration.

“I can’t… I can’t make it out clearly,” he admitted, his voice strained. His fingers instinctively tightened around hers, their warmth grounding him in the midst of the swirling sensations.

Jinx huffed, clearly impatient with him. “Ugh. You’re doing it wrong,” she muttered. “Lean your head down.”

He hesitated, opening his eyes briefly to meet her gaze. There was something oddly soft in her expression, despite her irritated tone. It was as if she wasn’t just annoyed—she genuinely wanted him to hear what she did. Swallowing his reluctance, Viktor nodded and bent slightly, lowering his head toward hers.

“Close your eyes again,” she instructed, and he obeyed without question.

As Viktor shut his eyes, Jinx stepped closer, the faint scent of oil and gunpowder clinging to her. Then, gently but deliberately, she pressed her forehead against his. The closeness was startling at first, but the connection was immediate.

The whispers in his mind surged in volume, not painfully, but like a dam breaking to let a river flow. The synchronized voices he had struggled to discern before now came into sharp focus, their words distinct and layered, overlapping in a strangely harmonious cadence.

“Help us,” they said.

“We don’t understand.”

“We’re afraid.”

“We want to grow.”

“Why do you hurt us?”

The emotions behind the voices struck Viktor harder than the words themselves—an overwhelming blend of confusion, pain, and yearning. The Hexcore wasn’t just a device; it was alive in some incomprehensible way. And it was speaking to him.

His breath hitched, and his grip on Jinx’s hand tightened further. “It’s… alive,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It feels pain… fear… It’s trying to understand…”

“Ding, ding,” Jinx said softly, her forehead still resting against his. “It’s not just some stupid hunk of metal. It’s got a heart, and you’ve been breaking it.”

Viktor’s mind reeled as the voices continued to flow through him, their words tangling with his thoughts. For all his years of research, he had never considered this possibility. He thought the Hexcore was a tool, something to be wielded—but it was so much more. It was trying to reach them, to communicate, and all they had done was force it to obey without listening.

“I didn’t know,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t know it could feel.”

Jinx smirked faintly, her tone softer now. “Now you do.”

________________________________________

 

Vi leaned against the wall, arms crossed tightly as she watched Viktor and Jinx… connect. If you could even call it that. The sight of the stoic inventor standing forehead-to-forehead with Zaun’s most unhinged criminal over the glowing artifact in her hands was… bizarre, to say the least. It made her skin crawl in a way she couldn’t explain.

For all Vi knew, it felt like it had been an hour—an eternity of watching the two of them stand in unsettling stillness, whispers hanging in the air like a shared secret. She was about to say something to break the tension when the sound of the door creaking open caught her attention.

She straightened, relieved to see Jayce and Caitlyn stepping inside. Jayce was carrying Mel in his arms, her limp form carefully bundled in a blanket. Ambessa followed behind them, her towering figure radiating authority and tension.

When they entered the lab and saw Viktor and Jinx still locked in whatever strange communion they’d been in, Caitlyn glanced at Vi, her brows furrowing. “What… is happening here?” she asked under her breath.

Vi shrugged, looking just as confused. “Beats me,” she muttered. “They’ve been like that for a while.”

Jayce cleared his throat loudly, the sound cutting through the air like a blade. At the noise, Jinx pulled away from Viktor abruptly, breaking their connection. Viktor’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment, his face twisted in frustration, as though he wanted to protest the loss of contact with the Hexcore. But when he noticed the others standing in the doorway, his lips pressed into a tight line, and he held back whatever he was about to say. Still, the longing in his expression was unmistakable.

Jinx, completely unbothered, turned her gaze to Mel in Jayce’s arms. “Put her in the chair,” she said, her tone casual, as if she were giving an order at a shop instead of addressing the councilor carrying his comatose lover.

Jayce hesitated, his grip tightening on Mel. Ambessa’s sharp gaze swept to Jinx, narrowing in distrust, but after a brief exchange of glances with Caitlyn, Jayce stepped forward and carefully placed Mel in the chair.

Ambessa stepped up almost immediately, crossing her arms as she towered over Jinx. “How,” she began, her voice sharp, “are you planning to help her? And know this—if anything goes wrong, I will have your head.”

Jinx didn’t even flinch at the threat. She met Ambessa’s piercing gaze with an unimpressed look, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah, yeah, scary mommy bear. Got it,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery. Without waiting for a response, she walked past Ambessa and toward Mel.

Ambessa bristled, clearly unused to being dismissed so easily. Jinx, ignoring her entirely, stopped in front of Mel and stared down at her. The golden councilor’s head had lolled to the side, her usual regal bearing replaced by fragile stillness. Jinx tilted her head, her sharp blue eyes scanning Mel’s body, taking in every detail.

“Someone used magic on her, huh?” Jinx mused aloud. She whistled low, her lips curving into a grin. “Looks like you’ve got some powerful enemies.”

Ambessa’s face twisted in shock. “Magic?” she demanded. “How can you tell just by looking at her? Are you a mage?”

Jinx let out a sharp laugh. “Pfft. A mage? No way. Just got a lot of screws loose up here.” She tapped the side of her head, grinning as if it were something to be proud of.

Ambessa’s glare darkened, but she didn’t say anything else as Jinx unceremoniously dropped to her knees in front of Mel. The Hexcore remained clutched tightly in her hands as she placed her head against Mel’s knees, her wild hair spilling across the councilor’s lap.

“What are you doing?” Ambessa growled, her patience snapping. “How dare you—”

Her words died in her throat as Mel’s body suddenly went rigid in the chair. Her head snapped upright, and her eyes flew open, glowing with an intense, golden light. The air in the room grew thick with an unspoken tension, and Jinx remained perfectly still, her forehead pressed against Mel’s legs, her eyes closed.

The group froze, holding their breath as they watched. Jayce’s hands twitched at his sides, ready to pull Jinx away if she caused Mel any harm. Caitlyn stood beside him, her hand hovering near her pistol, while Ambessa’s fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned pale.

Mel’s eyes, glowing brighter with every passing second, were wide and unseeing. Her body was rigid, like a marionette held up by invisible strings. And then, suddenly, she began to cough violently, her body convulsing as black rose petals spilled from her mouth. The petals tumbled onto Jinx’s head, the dark blossoms stark against her bright blue hair.

Mel’s hands shot up to her throat and chest, clutching desperately as more petals poured from her lips. The sound was raw, choking, and horrifying to hear. One by one, the petals hit the floor, and with them, the glow in her eyes began to dim. Finally, with one last, shuddering cough, the petals stopped, and Mel slumped back in the chair.

Her chest heaved as she drew in shallow breaths. Her voice was hoarse and scratchy as she rasped out, “Mother?”

Ambessa’s sharp intake of breath was audible, and she stepped forward, her face a mix of disbelief and relief. But before she could say anything, Mel’s eyes drifted downward, catching sight of the figure kneeling in front of her.

Jinx raised her head slowly, meeting Mel’s gaze. Petals clung to her hair, their dark edges contrasting with the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Jinx said with a laugh, pushing herself to her feet. She brushed the petals from her hair and stepped back, leaving Mel to stare after her in dazed confusion.

As soon as Jinx stepped away from Mel, both Ambessa and Jayce rushed to her side, their concern overpowering any sense of decorum.

“Mel!” Ambessa’s voice was sharp, though laced with rare vulnerability. She knelt beside her daughter, placing a strong hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright? Can you hear me? Are you in pain?”

“Mel, talk to us,” Jayce added, his tone softer but just as urgent. He reached for her hand, his grip gentle but firm as if grounding her. “What happened? What do you feel?”

Mel blinked rapidly, her eyes darting around the room in disorientation. Her golden gaze swept over their faces, then the lab, and finally the dark rose petals scattered across her lap and the floor. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to steady her breathing, her expression a mixture of confusion and exhaustion.

“I—” she rasped, her voice raw from the ordeal. “I don’t… What’s happening? What… what’s going on?” Her words came haltingly, each one an effort as her mind struggled to piece together the fragmented memories of what had happened to her.

Ambessa’s grip on her shoulder tightened. “You were attacked,” she said, her voice steady but tense. “Someone targeted you. You’ve been unconscious for days.”

“Days?” Mel echoed, her brows furrowing. She winced, bringing a hand to her temple. “I don’t… I don’t remember anything.”

“It’s okay,” Jayce reassured her, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand. “You’re safe now. You’re awake—that’s what matters.”

While Ambessa and Jayce hovered over Mel, peppering her with questions, Jinx had drifted away from the scene entirely. She strolled back toward Viktor, who stood by the table, still processing what had just occurred. The look on his face was a strange mix of wonder and longing, as if the brief connection he’d shared with the Hexcore had awakened something deep within him.

Jinx stopped in front of him, tilting her head as she studied his expression. Her lips curved into a sly grin. “You want some more, don’t you?” she asked, her voice low and teasing, referring to the connection he had felt earlier.

Viktor’s eyes snapped to hers, and he nodded without hesitation. “Yes,” he said, his voice earnest, almost desperate. “I—yes.”

Her grin widened, and a soft giggle escaped her lips. “Alright, alright, settle down, genius,” she said, stepping closer. Her movements were uncharacteristically gentle as she raised her free hand to grasp the back of his head and pressed her forehead against his once again.

The moment their heads touched, the connection reignited, the faint hum in Viktor’s mind swelling into a symphony of whispers. His breath hitched, and his hand instinctively gripped the edge of the table for balance. The Hexcore pulsed in time with his heartbeat, its energy flowing through him as though it recognized him now, remembered him.

Jinx closed her eyes as well, her mischievous grin softening into a serene smile. To anyone watching, it was an oddly intimate moment—an unspoken bond shared over something neither of them could explain but both could feel.

Vi stood frozen in place, her eyes darting between the two scenes unfolding in the lab. On one side, Ambessa and Jayce were swarming Mel with questions, their voices overlapping in a frantic attempt to understand her condition. Mel, still clearly dazed, was struggling to keep up, her expression one of weary confusion.

On the other side, Jinx and Viktor stood forehead-to-forehead, their connection to the Hexcore almost tangible in the room. The glow from the artifact cast strange shadows across their faces, making the moment feel otherworldly. Viktor’s face, usually so composed and thoughtful, was open and vulnerable, filled with a kind of awe that Vi had never seen before.

Caitlyn shifted beside her, clearly just as uncertain about where to focus her attention. “Do we… stop them?” Caitlyn murmured, glancing at Jinx and Viktor.

Vi shook her head, unsure herself. “I don’t even know what they’re doing,” she admitted, her voice low. “But whatever it is… it doesn’t feel like our fight right now.” She glanced at Mel, who was still overwhelmed by Ambessa and Jayce’s concerned fussing. “Let’s just… keep an eye on it.”

Caitlyn sighed, her hand resting on her holster out of habit. “This is turning into a circus,” she muttered.

Vi snorted. “Yeah. And Jinx is the ringleader.”

Chapter 49: Revelation

Summary:

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Viktor murmured, standing and glancing at Jayce and Mel. “Thank you for inviting me, but—”

Before he could finish, the auditorium was plunged into sudden darkness. Gasps rippled through the audience, and even Viktor paused, his hand tightening slightly on his cane. For a moment, there was nothing but silence and the enveloping black.

Then, a single light pierced the void, illuminating the stage.

The dancer stood alone beneath it.

Notes:

Jinx’s performance is Svetlana Zakharova’s Revelation. I absolutely recommend watching it!

Fun Fact: Svetlana is notorious for receiving criticism about not being able to emote with her face, and I don’t know what the fuck these people are looking at but clearly its not the same as what I’m seeing. The emotion on this woman’s face is KILLER.

The city of Piltover, with its shimmering skyline and ceaseless hum of innovation, seemed to have a pulse of its own. However, for all its technological marvels, even Piltover had its softer side—a thriving art scene nestled within the heart of its bustling art district. The grandiose Performance Hall, a behemoth of white marble and intricate carvings, had become the crown jewel of this scene. Tonight, its interior was alive with a sea of excitement and expectation.

Mel Medarda, a vision of poise and sophistication, strode confidently ahead as Viktor and Jayce trailed slightly behind her. She was dressed immaculately in a flowing black gown, her every step radiating authority. Jayce wore his usual charm in the form of a well-tailored tuxedo, his broad shoulders filling it out perfectly. Viktor, however, looked more out of place. He had begrudgingly traded his worn lab coat for a fitted black suit, his cane tapping against the polished floor as they entered the venue. Though the suit complemented his tall, lean frame well, his discomfort was written plainly across his face.

“I appreciate your company tonight,” Mel said over her shoulder as they ascended the grand staircase leading to their VIP booth. “It’s not often I get both of you out of that lab.”

“I could say the same,” Jayce quipped, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Viktor practically had to be dragged out. He was mumbling about finishing calibrations on some hextech nonsense.”

Viktor sighed audibly, his golden-brown eyes flicking to Jayce in mild annoyance. “The calibrations are not nonsense. They’re vital to ensuring the stability of the device. Besides, I didn’t need to be dragged; I came willingly. Reluctantly, perhaps, but willingly.”

Mel smiled faintly, amused by their dynamic. “Well, I promise tonight’s experience will be worth your time. Trust me.”

As they entered their private booth high above the auditorium, Viktor’s eyes scanned the massive space. The grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling cast a warm, golden glow over the sea of eager faces below. Every seat appeared to be taken. The energy in the room was palpable, and Viktor couldn’t help but be mildly curious about the occasion.

“Why is it so crowded tonight?” Jayce asked, voicing Viktor’s thoughts.

Mel took her seat and leaned back elegantly. “The regular ballet is always popular, but tonight is special. Recently, an anonymous dancer has been performing here. She’s become the talk of the city. Her identity is a mystery—she wears a lace mask that covers her eyes and part of her face—but what isn’t a mystery is her talent. She performs at the very end of the night, unannounced, and people have been flocking here just for a chance to see her. She’s… extraordinary.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Anonymous, huh? That’s one way to get people talking. You’ve seen her perform before?”

Mel nodded, her expression momentarily softening. “Once. Words don’t do her justice.”

Viktor’s curiosity flickered but dimmed just as quickly. While he appreciated talent in any form, the world of dance and art was far removed from his sphere of interest. He leaned back in his chair, adjusting his cane against the armrest, and prepared himself for what he anticipated to be a tedious evening.

The main performances began shortly after, and while the dancers were undoubtedly skilled, Viktor found himself struggling to stay engaged. One performance bled into the next, and by the time the last scheduled dance ended, he was already reaching for his cane, ready to make his polite farewells.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Viktor murmured, standing and glancing at Jayce and Mel. “Thank you for inviting me, but—”

Before he could finish, the auditorium was plunged into sudden darkness. Gasps rippled through the audience, and even Viktor paused, his hand tightening slightly on his cane. For a moment, there was nothing but silence and the enveloping black.

Then, a single light pierced the void, illuminating the stage.

The dancer stood alone beneath it.

The audience collectively held its breath.

Her hair cascaded down her back in wild waves, dark as midnight, catching the light like strands of liquid obsidian. It fell just short of the floor, framing her figure in a way that seemed almost otherworldly. She wore a flowing, but simple black dress that clung to her frame like smoke, the fabric shimmering faintly with her every breath. Her face was obscured by the lace mask Mel had mentioned, but even from a distance, her presence was magnetic.

She raised an arm, delicate fingers reaching towards the darkness. The movement was slow, deliberate, and it spoke volumes. Then, the music fully began—a hauntingly beautiful melody that seemed to seep into the very bones of the audience.

Viktor sat back down without realizing it, his gaze locked on the stage.

The dancer began to move.

Her body flowed like water, each movement a revelation of grace and strength. She was impossibly fluid, her transitions seamless as if the music itself dictated her every motion. There was a rawness to her performance, an unguarded vulnerability that drew the audience in like moths to a flame. She commanded the stage effortlessly, her presence filling the vast auditorium despite her solitary figure.

Viktor found himself transfixed.

He wasn’t one to be easily swayed by the arts, but there was something about her… something he couldn’t put into words. The precision of her movements, the sheer emotion she conveyed—it was as if she were telling a story without ever speaking a word. And then there was her technique—flawless, yet unrestrained, as though she danced not for the audience but for herself.

As the performance continued, Viktor’s analytical mind couldn’t help but try to dissect what he was seeing. He noted the strength in her legs, the way her muscles seemed to ripple with power beneath her lithe frame. He noticed the control in her movements, the way she balanced grace and ferocity with an almost inhuman precision. But there was something else—something he couldn’t quantify. It was in the way she moved, the way she seemed to pour her very soul into every step, every gesture.

For the first time that evening, Viktor wasn’t thinking about his lab, his research, or his work. He was simply… present.

The performance built to its climax, the music swelling as the dancer pushed the chair to the ground. She stared at it, her movements slowing as the music faded. Her final pose was one of quiet defiance as she stood on the edge of the chair, her breaths deep as she stood under the dimming light.

The audience erupted into applause, the sound deafening.

But Viktor didn’t clap. He simply stared, his mind racing with questions he couldn’t answer.

The dancer held her pose as the stage faded into darkness. When the light returned, it revealed an empty stage—the dancer and her prop absent. The applause continued, but Viktor barely heard it. He was too lost in thought, too caught up in the memory of what he had just witnessed.

“That,” Mel said softly, breaking the silence in their booth, “is why she’s the talk of the city.”

Jayce let out a low whistle. “I can see why. That was… something else.”

Viktor didn’t respond. He simply stared at the now-empty stage, his thoughts a tangled mess.

For the first time in a long while, something outside the realm of science had managed to capture his attention—and he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it.

The following weeks found Viktor unable to shake the memory of that performance. It lingered in his mind like a phantom, intruding on his thoughts at the most unexpected times. He would be working in the lab, deeply engrossed in his research, only to find his mind wandering back to the way she moved, the way she seemed to embody the music itself.

It was frustrating.

Viktor prided himself on his focus, his discipline. He wasn’t one to be easily distracted, and yet… there she was, an enigma that refused to be ignored.

He found himself returning to the Piltover’s Performance Hall one evening, alone this time. He told himself it was out of curiosity, a desire to better understand what had captivated him so thoroughly. But deep down, he knew there was more to it than that.

The performance that night was similar to the one he had attended with Mel and Jayce. The anonymous dancer once again appeared at the end, her presence as commanding as ever. And once again, Viktor found himself drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain.

This became a pattern.

Viktor began attending the performances regularly, always sitting in the same seat in the same booth, always waiting for her to appear. He never spoke to anyone about it, not even Jayce or Mel. It was something he couldn’t quite put into words, something he wasn’t ready to share.

But as the weeks turned into months, his fascination only grew.

And then, one evening, everything changed.

After the performance ended and the audience began to disperse, Viktor lingered in his seat, his eyes fixed on the curtains that were now drawn over the stage. He had no particular reason for staying; he simply didn’t feel ready to leave. But as he sat there, lost in thought, a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

It was her.

The dancer had stepped back onto the stage, her mask still covered her face as she peeked out from in between the curtains. Although Viktor couldn’t see her eyes, he could tell she was looking up at him, namely because of the way her head was tilted in his direction.

Viktor stood from his seat and approached the glass window of the booth. He stopped just a few inches from the glass as he watched her. She stepped out from in between the curtains, taking tentative steps forward as she looked up at him, head still tilted with her hands pulled behind her back.

They both stared at one another for several minutes, neither of them moving. Until seemingly without reason, the dancer started giggling, and a wide grin crossed her face. She pulled one of her hands from behind her back, and to Viktor’s bewilderment, blew him a kiss before skipping back into the obscurity of the drawn curtains.

Chapter 50: Soulbound pt. 1

Summary:

But no matter how fast she ran, her thoughts kept circling back to him.

That man—thin, pale, with a sharpness to his features that made him look almost fragile—had stopped her dead in her tracks. And not just because she’d run straight into him. No, it was the way his eyes had locked with hers, the way the world seemed to fall away in that instant.

She shook her head violently, trying to banish the memory. “Focus, Jinx!” she hissed under her breath. “Shiny blue boom-booms now, mystery sad guy later.”

Her pace slowed as she reached a set of double doors, the hum of the hex crystals louder than ever. A grin spread across her face as she reached for one of her homemade grenades, already imagining the chaos she could wreak with just a few shards of pure energy.

Notes:

Baka_chan gave me the idea for this one—a Soulmate AU!

The quiet of the night wrapped around the Piltover like a suffocating blanket. The kind of silence that hummed ominously beneath the surface, waiting for something to disrupt it. For Jinx, that something was her.

Her boots barely made a sound as she crouched on the roof of Jayce’s lab, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Her grin stretched across her face, manic and wild. Breaking into the lab was supposed to be a quiet affair. Grab the hex crystals, cause a little chaos, and leave. Easy peasy.

She tapped the metal panel of the vent cover in front of her, muttering under her breath as she worked to pry it loose. “Jaycey-boy just had to hide his shiny blue boom-booms in the most annoying place ever, didn’t he? Ugh. Stuck-up bastards, all of ‘em.”

The screws gave way with a satisfying pop, and she shoved the vent cover aside, sliding feet-first into the narrow tunnel. Her lanky frame fit easily, though her collection of gadgets and grenades clinked faintly against the metal walls.

Jinx crawled forward, her hands and knees scraping along the smooth surface of the vent. Beneath her, the sterile hallways of the lab stretched out like veins in a vast machine. Through the occasional grate, she caught glimpses of enforcers patrolling the pristine corridors below.

“Boring bootlickers,” she grumbled under her breath, pressing her nose against a grate to watch one of them pace down the hallway. “Always sticking their noses where they don’t belong. Don’t you guys ever get tired of being boring little drones? Or don’t you guys have anything better to do? Like… oh, I don’t know, tripping over each other and falling into a pile of garbage or something?” She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically, then continued crawling, her focus sharp despite her sarcasm.

Her goal was clear—the hum of the hex crystals was faint, but she could feel it getting stronger the deeper into the lab she went. The sound wasn’t one you heard with your ears; it was something you felt in your skull, a faint buzz that vibrated just behind her eyes. It made her antsy, eager to touch the unstable energy and bend it to her will.

“You’re close, girlie,” she muttered to herself, her manic grin spreading across her lips. “Just keep crawling, and the shiny, sparky babies’ll be all yours. Then, kaboom! Piltover won’t know what hit it.”

The vent narrowed as she moved, the space becoming tighter. “C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered, shifting her bangs from her forehead as she tried to peer ahead. The hum was louder now, almost pulsing. She could practically taste the hex crystals. But as she crawled forward, her fingers brushed against cold metal—an unyielding wall of steel blocking her path.

She scowled, pressing her forehead against the metal and groaning. “Seriously? You’ve gotta be kidding me. Stupid vent, stupid walls, stupid—” She cut herself off, her head snapping up as she heard footsteps below her.

Jinx froze, her heart pounding. The enforcers were getting closer. If she stayed in the vent too long, they might notice the disturbance. Time to improvise.

She shimmied backward a few feet until she found a grate leading into the hallway below. Peering through it, she saw that the coast was clear—for now. With a quick twist of her wrench, she loosened the bolts holding the grate in place and eased it open. Her fingers gripped the edges of the vent as she lowered herself down, her boots hitting the polished floor silently.

For a moment, all was still. She looked left, then right. Empty. Perfect.

“Ha!” she whispered triumphantly. “Told ya, Jinx, you’re the sneakiest, smartest—”

“Hey!”

The sharp voice cut through her self-congratulation like a knife. She spun around, her eyes widening as she saw an enforcer rounding the corner, his flashlight glaring like a spotlight.

“Freeze!” he barked, already reaching for the communicator strapped to his shoulder.

“Uh, nope!” Jinx shot back, grinning wildly before bolting down the hallway. Her boots clanged against the metal floor, her heart pounding in time with the adrenaline surging through her veins.

Behind her, the enforcer shouted into his communicator. “We’ve got an intruder! Requesting backup!”

“Great. Just great,” Jinx muttered as she ran, zigzagging to avoid giving them a clear line of sight. The lab’s corridors were a maze, but the hum of the hex crystals was her guide. She could feel them calling to her, their unstable energy singing in her bones.

Heavy footsteps echoed behind her, more enforcers joining the chase. She risked a glance over her shoulder, seeing three—no, four of them now, their faces grim and determined.

“C’mon, guys, can’t we just talk this out?” she called over her shoulder, laughing as she rounded a corner. “Oh wait, forgot—you don’t have a sense of humor!” She smirked at the sight of the enforcers struggling to catch up. “Too slow, boys!” she called, sticking her tongue out. “Better luck next—”

Her words were cut off by the sharp, unforgiving impact of her body colliding with someone else’s. The force of it sent her sprawling to the ground, tangled with the unfortunate soul who’d been in her path. They hit the floor with a loud thud, groaning in unison as the world tilted on its axis.

The collision knocked the wind out of her. A loud “oof” escaped her lips as she tumbled to the ground, her body landing squarely on top of whoever she’d just crashed into.

Jinx pushed herself up, shaking her head as she tried to orient herself. “Hey, bozo—watch where you’re—” Her words caught in her throat as her eyes met a pair of amber ones staring up at her.

The words died in her throat.

The man beneath her was slender, and painfully handsome in a sharp, angular way. His disheveled chestnut hair framed a face marked with exhaustion and intelligence. He looked up at her with a mix of confusion and irritation, but something flickered in his expression as their gazes locked.

It was like a jolt of electricity surged through her body, but not the kind that left her twitching on the floor. No, this was different. Warm. Overwhelming. Like every nerve in her body had just woken up at the same time. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears.

He was staring back at her, his amber eyes wide with shock and something else she couldn’t quite place. His hair was disheveled, his face gaunt but striking. She felt her breath hitch as a wave of emotion—raw and inexplicable—crashed over her.

It wasn’t adrenaline. It wasn’t fear. It was something entirely new.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. For a moment, the world around them ceased to exist. The shouting of the enforcers, the pounding of boots against metal—it all faded into the background.

“Who…” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, breaking the spell that held them frozen. “Who are you?”

Jinx’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She felt like a fish out of water, gaping at him as if she’d forgotten how to speak. Her mind raced, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

The footsteps were closer now, the enforcers nearly upon her. Her survival instincts screamed at her to move, to run, but something deeper whispered for her to stay. To not look away.

He was the first to break eye contact, his gaze flickering toward the sound of the approaching enforcers. His expression shifted, concern crossing his features as he looked back at her. “You need to—”

Before he could finish, Jinx pushed herself up, her hands trembling slightly as she scrambled to her feet. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, her chest tight with something she couldn’t name, before she turned and bolted down the hallway.

“Stop her!” one of the enforcers shouted, their voices growing louder as they rounded the corner.

The man she’d collided with didn’t move, his gaze following her as she disappeared around the bend. He barely registered the enforcers running past him, their boots pounding against the floor as they chased after her.

One of them paused, kneeling beside him. “Sir, are you alright?”

He blinked, his attention snapping back to the present. “Y-yes,” he stammered, his voice unsteady. “I’m fine.”

The enforcer nodded, giving him a quick once-over before standing and running to catch up with the others.

He stayed where he was, sitting on the cold floor, his hand absently touching the spot where her hands had pressed against his chest. His mind raced, replaying the moment their eyes had met. The connection he’d felt was undeniable, a visceral pull that left him breathless.

There was only one explanation.

He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know why she’d been there or what she’d been running from. But he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that their fates were now intertwined.

His gaze lingered on the empty hallway, the echo of her footsteps fading into the distance. Viktor’s chest heaved as he struggled to collect himself, his mind churning with questions. Who was she? Why was she here? And why, of all nights, had fate decided to send her crashing—literally—into his life?

The world around him felt distant, the sterile hum of the lab equipment and the barked orders of the enforcers barely registering. All he could think about was the look in her eyes—wild, sharp, yet vulnerable. A kaleidoscope of emotions had flickered there, and he had seen her hesitate. Had she felt it too? The unmistakable pull of the bond?

Viktor rubbed his temple, the phantom warmth of her touch still lingering on his chest. A soulmate. Of all things, that. He didn’t believe in fairy tales, not anymore. And yet, here he was, feeling as if the world had shifted beneath his feet.

He pushed himself upright with a groan, the sharp sting of the collision reminding him he was still flesh and blood. His cane was on the floor where it had fallen, and he retrieved it, leaning on it as he adjusted his weight. His mind screamed at him to run after her, but his legs felt like lead.

“Sir!” The same enforcer returned, his face flushed from exertion. “She’s heading toward the lower levels. We’ve got her cornered. If you—”

“No,” Viktor interrupted, his voice low but firm. The enforcer blinked in surprise.

“But—”

“Leave her.” His amber eyes burned as they met the enforcer’s gaze, his usual calm demeanor replaced with something almost fierce. “She won’t get far. And the crystals are secure, are they not?”

The enforcer hesitated, glancing down the hallway before nodding reluctantly. “Yes, sir. The lab is on lockdown. She won’t be able to access the storage vault.”

“Then there’s no need for further commotion.” Viktor turned away, his cane tapping softly against the floor as he began to walk. “Return to your post.”

The enforcer watched him for a moment, confusion etched across his face, but he didn’t argue. He saluted and jogged off, leaving Viktor alone in the corridor once more.

As soon as the enforcer was out of sight, Viktor stopped, his hand tightening on the handle of his cane. He turned his gaze back toward the direction she had run, a strange ache settling in his chest.

What was he supposed to do now?

Jinx darted through the labyrinthine hallways, her lungs burning as she pushed herself to keep going. The enforcers were relentless, but she was faster, slipping through gaps and taking sharp turns they couldn’t anticipate. The hum of the hex crystals was like a beacon, drawing her closer and closer to her prize.

But no matter how fast she ran, her thoughts kept circling back to him.

That man—thin, pale, with a sharpness to his features that made him look almost fragile—had stopped her dead in her tracks. And not just because she’d run straight into him. No, it was the way his eyes had locked with hers, the way the world seemed to fall away in that instant.

She shook her head violently, trying to banish the memory. “Focus, Jinx!” she hissed under her breath. “Shiny blue boom-booms now, mystery sad guy later.”

Her pace slowed as she reached a set of double doors, the hum of the hex crystals louder than ever. A grin spread across her face as she reached for one of her homemade grenades, already imagining the chaos she could wreak with just a few shards of pure energy.

But as she lifted her hand to plant the charge, her fingers faltered. Her breath hitched, and her chest tightened, the memory of his eyes flashing through her mind.
Soulmates.

She’d heard the stories before—half-myths passed around in the Lanes about people who were destined for each other. She’d never given them much thought, too busy surviving and blowing things up to care about fairytales. But now…

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope.” Jinx backed away from the door, her heart racing for an entirely different reason now. She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t want this. Whatever that connection had been, she couldn’t let it distract her.

She turned and ran, leaving the hum of the hex crystals behind as she fled deeper into the lab, and straight out an open window.

Viktor sat alone in his workshop, the faint glow of his prototypes casting long shadows across the walls. The quiet was comforting, but his mind refused to settle. He’d sent the enforcers away hours ago, retreating to the one place he felt he could think clearly.

And yet, his thoughts were anything but clear.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as his fingers drummed against the desk. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—her blue hair, smudged cheeks, and eyes that burned with equal parts mischief and pain.

Why her? Of all people, why someone who clearly had no place in his meticulously ordered world? He couldn’t afford distractions. His work was too important, too critical to the future of Piltover and Zaun alike.

But even as he told himself that, he couldn’t shake the memory of how he’d felt when their eyes met. Whole. Complete. Like a piece of himself he hadn’t realized was missing had suddenly clicked into place.

He groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is absurd,” he muttered to himself. “An anomaly. Nothing more.”

And yet, deep down, he knew it was more than that. The bond was real. The stories of soulmates weren’t just stories—they were rare, but they were real. He’d read about them in dusty old tomes, tales of unbreakable connections that defied logic and reason.

He had never expected to experience it himself.

His gaze drifted to the doorway, his mind replaying the moment she had disappeared down the hall. He’d let her go, unsure of what else to do. But now, he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right choice.

With a heavy sigh, Viktor pushed himself to his feet, his cane steadying him as he walked toward the window. The city stretched out before him, glittering with artificial light. Somewhere out there, she was running. Hiding. And he had no idea how to find her.

But he knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t the last time their paths would cross. Fate would make sure of that.

And when it did, Viktor wasn’t sure whether he’d find answers—or even more questions. But he couldn’t deny the truth any longer.

She was his soulmate. And no matter how much he tried to fight it, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Far away in the shadows of Zaun, Jinx sat perched on the edge of a crumbling building, her legs swinging idly as she stared out at the dreary sights below. Her fingers toyed with one of her grenades, her thoughts a tangled mess.

She hated it. The feeling of being reliant on someone, of all things. She wasn’t supposed to need anyone, wasn’t supposed to care. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face, his amber eyes burning into hers.

“Stupid,” she muttered, throwing the grenade into the air and catching it again. “Stupid crap. Who even believes in that stuff?”

But even as she said it, she couldn’t ignore the warmth still lingering in her chest, a quiet reminder that no matter how far she ran, she couldn’t outrun fate.

And deep down, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

Chapter 51: Pink Tourmaline pt. 1

Summary:

The clinking grew louder, followed by an insistent caw. Viktor frowned and turned toward the noise, his brow furrowing in confusion. The bird stood on the workbench, its feathers slightly puffed, a look of triumph in its gleaming eyes. Clutched in its beak was the very spanner he had been searching for.

Viktor stared, dumbfounded, as the bird hopped toward him and dropped the spanner into his outstretched hand. It cawed again, its posture proud as it began to hop around the table in what could only be described as a celebratory dance.

“Well,” Viktor said slowly, turning the tool over in his hand. “I wasn’t expecting that. It seems I've underestimated you, haven't I?”

Notes:

This was an idea I started to piece together, and it was (very) loosely based on the “Of All Things, I Became a Crow” manga, but it wasn’t really a full fledged idea… until I read "Her • (beloved&unwanted) • owner" by Kuma_Kuroko here on ao3. I had literally been thinking about the idea the morning of the same day that the work was posted, and it genuinely felt like a message from the universe to do it. Really, it came down to a single sentence that encouraged me to write this:

“Viktor would be devastated if one day, the only thing he finds is the corpse of his blue-feathered crow.”

I was like, mind-blown when I read that. I immediately thought “Okay, that settles it.”

The storm outside raged with a fury that rivaled the chaos of Zaun’s industrial underbelly. Sheets of rain lashed against the high glass windows of Viktor’s lab, the heavy droplets blurring the city lights beyond. Wind howled through the streets like a banshee, and the distant booms of thunder reverberated through Piltover’s iron bones. Viktor barely noticed any of it. His world was reduced to the small workbench in front of him, lit by a single warm lamp that cast long, flickering shadows across the room. Tools lay scattered haphazardly, bolts and screws strewn about like fallen stars.

He adjusted the intricate gears of his latest prototype with the precision of a surgeon, his fingers deft despite the slight tremble in his legs. His cane rested against the workbench, within reach but forgotten. Viktor’s amber eyes flicked between his blueprints and the half-constructed mechanism, his mind churning with possibilities, frustrations, and fleeting triumphs. The noise of the storm was nothing more than background static, muffled and irrelevant.

Until he heard the tapping.

At first, it was faint, like the hesitant knock of a visitor unsure of their welcome. Viktor barely registered it, assuming it was just some stray sound carried on the wind—a loose shutter somewhere, perhaps. But then it came again. Louder this time. More insistent. He paused, his tools frozen mid-air, and turned his head toward the window.

Nothing. Just the distorted blur of the rain cascading down the glass.

He frowned, his thoughts clouded by uncertainty. Perhaps it was his imagination, or a figment born of his exhaustion. He went back to his work, muttering under his breath about wasting time on phantom noises. But just as he began to focus again, the sound returned. A sharp, deliberate series of taps, like someone—or something—demanding his attention.

Viktor leaned back slightly, his gaze locked on the window. The storm outside made it hard to discern anything beyond the streaked pane, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something—or someone—on the other side. He waited, his heart quickening just a little. For several long seconds, there was nothing but the wind’s mournful wail.

And then it came again. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Slowly, Viktor rose from his seat. His cane clacked against the floor as he moved toward the window, unease pooling in his chest. It wasn’t fear exactly—more like the quiet hum of caution. In a place like Zaun, caution was often the difference between survival and ruin. He reached the window, his fingers hesitating on the latch. What if this was some trick? A setup for a robbery, or worse? He glanced around his lab, noting the valuable tools and prototypes scattered about. The thought lingered, but his curiosity burned brighter.

Bracing himself, Viktor unlocked the window and cracked it open just a sliver. The storm immediately surged inside, cold rain splashing his face and hands as the wind carried a burst of sharp, metallic-smelling air. But before he could even take a closer look, something small and wet darted through the gap, squeezing between the narrow opening and tumbling to the floor with a soft, damp thud.

Startled, Viktor slammed the window shut and stumbled back, his cane almost slipping from his grip. His breath caught as he stared at the small, sodden figure on the floor. For a moment, his mind leaped to the worst—a rat? Some Zaunite pest? Or maybe one of Singed’s mutated creatures escaped from the undercity? But no, as he focused on the shape, it became clear.

It was a bird.

A crow, to be exact. Or, at least, it looked like one. Its feathers were drenched, clinging to its frail frame in a way that dulled its otherwise brilliant blue hue. It lay on its side, its tiny chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. For a moment, Viktor’s scientific mind noted the strangeness of its color—crows were black, not blue. This creature’s vibrant plumage was unnatural, striking even in its current bedraggled state.

The bird didn’t move, didn’t even flinch as Viktor took a cautious step forward. Its eyes were barely open, the lids drooping heavily as though it were fighting the urge to slip into unconsciousness. For a moment, Viktor debated leaving it alone. Wild animals had no place in a lab like this, and he had no idea if it was carrying diseases or if it was even worth saving. But as he watched its labored breathing, something tugged at him—a quiet, insistent voice that told him to act.

Viktor crouched, his unease fading into curiosity. “What are you doing here, little one?” he murmured, his voice soft, almost mechanical in its rhythm. The bird didn’t respond as he leaned closer. It was completely still, save for the weak rise and fall of its chest.

He turned back to his workbench and grabbed a clean cloth from a stack of supplies. Returning to the bird, he moved slowly, trying not to spook it—though, in truth, the creature seemed far too exhausted to care about his approach. Viktor knelt down, draping the cloth gently over the bird’s fragile body, enveloping it like a blanket. Carefully, he scooped it up, bundling it in the fabric as securely as he could without crushing it.

The bird hung limp in his hands, its head lolling to one side. For one heart-stopping moment, Viktor feared it had died, but then he felt the faint rise and fall of its tiny body, the shallow rhythm of its breathing. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and straightened up, his cane tapping softly against the floor as he moved to one of the reclining chairs he kept in the lab for his late nights.

Sitting down, Viktor adjusted the bundle in his lap and began rubbing the cloth gently over the bird’s soaked feathers, trying to wick away the moisture. The storm outside continued its relentless assault, but inside, the lab felt almost serene, the warm light casting a golden glow over the strange scene. Viktor’s hands worked methodically, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so accustomed to handling metal and machinery.

After several minutes, the bird’s feathers began to dry, their vibrant blue color returning in patches. Viktor marveled at the hue—it was unlike anything he’d seen before. Not just blue, but an iridescent, almost ethereal shade that seemed to shimmer faintly in the light. And then there were its eyes. When the bird’s lids fluttered open, Viktor found himself staring into a pair of vivid pink orbs that seemed to glow from within. They were bright, brilliant pink, beautiful like polished gemstones. The intensity of it’s gaze was startling, almost otherworldly.

For a moment, Viktor and the bird simply stared at each other. The crow’s chest still rose and fell with exhaustion, but its eyes were alert, watching him with an intelligence that felt… unusual. It was the kind of look that made Viktor’s mind race with questions. What kind of creature was this? Where had it come from? And why, out of all places, had it chosen his lab as its refuge?

Before he could linger too long on those thoughts, the crow’s eyes slid shut once more. Its breathing evened out, a sign that it had finally succumbed to its exhaustion. Viktor exhaled softly, his curiosity tempered by a strange sense of responsibility. Whatever this creature was, it wasn’t ordinary. And whatever had driven it here, it needed his help.

Leaning back in the chair, Viktor adjusted the cloth around the bird one last time, ensuring it was snug and secure. He told himself he’d move it to a more appropriate spot once it was dry and stable. But as the minutes ticked by, the warmth of the chair and the steady rhythm of the storm outside lulled him into a rare sense of calm. His own exhaustion caught up with him, and before he realized it, his head nodded forward, his breathing slowing as sleep claimed him.

That night, Viktor slept with the strange blue crow nestled in his lap, unaware that his life—and his carefully ordered world—was about to change in ways he could never have anticipated.

Viktor awoke the next morning to the faint sound of something rustling softly against fabric. For a moment, he remained still, his mind hazy as it clawed its way out of slumber. The storm had passed, leaving only the occasional drip of rainwater against the windowsill and the hum of the city waking up. His neck ached slightly from sleeping in the chair, and as he shifted, he became aware of the weight on his lap.

Peering down, he found the bird still there. It had moved during the night—no longer wrapped in the cloth he had bundled it in. Instead, the fabric was now tucked neatly beneath it, arranged in a way that resembled a makeshift nest. The bird sat perched atop it, fully upright, its brilliant pink eyes fixed on him. Its head was tilted upward slightly, watching him with a mix of curiosity and something Viktor could only describe as expectation.

“Ah… I see you’re still here.” Viktor murmured, blinking sleep from his eyes. He sat up straighter, his joints protesting the movement. The bird didn’t flinch or shy away; it simply continued to watch him, unblinking.

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to do so, but Viktor hesitantly raised one hand toward the creature, his movements slow and deliberate. The crow’s head followed the motion, tilting this way and that to track his fingers. Viktor paused, unsure if he was about to get pecked or scratched. But the bird’s feathers remained smooth and relaxed, its posture calm.

Encouraged, Viktor let the tips of his fingers brush against the top of its head. The bird didn’t move away. Its feathers were surprisingly soft beneath his touch, and as he began to stroke them lightly, a low, strange sound emanated from the creature. Viktor froze, his brow furrowing. Was that… purring?

He blinked in confusion. “Do crows… purr?” he muttered aloud, his voice thick with disbelief. The sound persisted, a rhythmic vibration that seemed to resonate through the bird’s tiny body. Viktor couldn’t decide if it was endearing or unsettling—or both. But the bird seemed to enjoy the attention, its bright eyes now half-lidded as if in contentment.

From that morning onward, the blue crow became a constant presence in Viktor’s life. It showed no inclination to leave, even when Viktor opened the window to test if it wanted to return to the wild. The first time he did so, the crow hopped to the windowsill, spread its wings, and took off into the air. Viktor watched it go, a strange pang of disappointment settling in his chest. But moments later, it returned, circling above the lab before swooping back inside, landing gracefully on the edge of his workbench.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home. You’re not going anywhere, are you?” Viktor mused, shaking his head as the bird cawed at him in response.

The crow quickly integrated itself into Viktor’s routine, hopping around his workbench as he tinkered with his prototypes. At first, Viktor found its constant cawing and movement distracting, but he soon grew accustomed to its presence. In fact, he found the sound of its occasional chirps and the gentle clatter of its talons against the table oddly comforting.

The crow’s fascination with shiny objects became apparent almost immediately. Viktor would often let it play with bolts or screws, watching as it picked them up with its beak and bobbed its head in excitement. To his surprise, the bird always returned the items when he held out his hand for them. “Well, at least you’re not a thief,” Viktor joked one day, earning a cheerful caw in response.

But the crow’s obsession with hex crystals was something else entirely. The first time Viktor brought one out, the bird immediately hopped onto his hand, its pink eyes narrowing as it examined the glowing crystal. Its head tilted so close to the crystal that Viktor worried it might harm its vision. “Careful,” he said softly, pulling the crystal back slightly. The bird only cawed in protest, its wings fluttering briefly before it settled again.

When Viktor wasn’t actively using the hex crystal, the crow would steal it from his workbench, barely able to hold it in its beak. It would hop around the lab with the crystal, setting it down to marvel at its glow before picking it back up. Viktor watched in quiet amusement as the bird rolled the crystal across the floor, chasing after it with what could only be described as joy.

“You’re an odd one,” Viktor said one evening as he observed the bird’s antics. The crow paused in its play to look at him, as if understanding his words, before returning to its gleeful inspection of the crystal.

The more time Viktor spent with the bird, the more he began to notice its intelligence. It wasn’t just clever—it was shockingly perceptive. There were moments. Subtle, fleeting moments where the crow's behaviors became almost uncanny. Like when it tilted its head just so while watching him work, its pink eyes alight with what looked suspiciously like understanding. Or the way it seemed to deliberately avoid stepping on delicate machinery, hopping around wires and tools with more care than most humans might bother with.

One day, as Viktor rifled through his drawers in search of a specific tool, he glanced at the bird perched on his workbench. “You wouldn’t happen to recall where I left my spanner, hm? The 22mm? I seem to have misplaced it.” He chuckled at his own joke, shaking his head as he continued searching.

The bird tilted its head, its pink eyes glinting with what Viktor initially thought was confusion. He turned back to his search, muttering to himself as he sifted through the clutter.

The sound of bolts clinking together caught his attention, and he called out absentmindedly, “Careful, little one. I’d rather not lose any more pieces today.”

The clinking grew louder, followed by an insistent caw. Viktor frowned and turned toward the noise, his brow furrowing in confusion. The bird stood on the workbench, its feathers slightly puffed, a look of triumph in its gleaming eyes. Clutched in its beak was the very spanner he had been searching for.

Viktor stared, dumbfounded, as the bird hopped toward him and dropped the spanner into his outstretched hand. It cawed again, its posture proud as it began to hop around the table in what could only be described as a celebratory dance.

“Well,” Viktor said slowly, turning the tool over in his hand. “I wasn’t expecting that. It seems I've underestimated you, haven't I?”

From that moment on, the bird became an invaluable assistant. Whenever Viktor needed a specific tool or piece of hardware, he would ask aloud, half-jokingly at first. To his astonishment, the crow always seemed to understand, retrieving the requested item with uncanny precision. Viktor found himself marveling at its intelligence, his mind racing with questions. How was this possible? Was it some sort of rare mutation? Or was there something more at play?

The crow’s assistance extended beyond fetching tools. On days when Viktor found himself stuck, staring at blueprints and debating the placement of components, the bird would peer over his shoulder, its head tilting as it examined his work. More than once, it pointed its beak at a specific spot on the page or tapped at a particular component, as if offering its opinion. Viktor began to take its suggestions seriously—and more often than not, they proved to be exactly what he needed.

“You’re more useful than some of the other assistants I’ve had,” Viktor admitted one night, his voice tinged with a rare warmth. The crow cawed in agreement, puffing out its chest as it hopped onto his shoulder.

The longer they spent together, the more Viktor felt a strange connection to the bird. It wasn’t just a pet or a curiosity—it was something… more. Something he couldn’t quite put into words. And though he didn’t yet understand what that meant, he couldn’t deny the growing bond between them.

This peculiar blue crow had become an integral part of his life, and Viktor couldn’t imagine his days without it. Not anymore.

The faint scratching of its talons against wooden tabletop was a soothing backdrop as Viktor read from a well-worn tome at his desk. The lamp on the table cast a soft, golden light, illuminating the blue crow as it pranced around beside him. Occasionally, Viktor glanced up from his book to watch the bird’s antics, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. It strutted along the edge of the desk with a confidence that could rival even the most ostentatious nobles of Piltover, pausing every so often to inspect a loose screw or a bolt before batting it away with its beak.

When Viktor turned a page, the soft rustle caught the bird’s attention, and it tilted its head toward him, pink eyes glinting with mischief. Viktor chuckled softly. “You’re going to knock something important over one of these days,” he murmured, though there was no real admonishment in his tone.

The tranquility was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. Viktor’s body jerked slightly, startled from his reverie. The crow froze mid-step, its head snapping toward the sound. Its feathers puffed up defensively as its wings unfurled slightly, a clear sign of its unease. Viktor reached out instinctively, placing a calming hand near the bird without touching it.

“You may enter,” Viktor called out, his voice steady despite his momentary surprise.

The door opened, and Jayce stepped into the lab, his usual confident stride carrying him across the threshold. “Viktor,” he began, his tone casual, “I was wondering if—”

Jayce stopped mid-sentence, his eyes locking onto the bird perched on Viktor’s desk. For a moment, he simply stared, his brows furrowing as he processed the sight before him. The crow, sensing the attention, flared its wings dramatically, puffing up its chest to make itself look larger. Its pink eyes seemed to burn with an unnatural glow as it released a series of loud, aggressive caws in Jayce’s direction.

Jayce blinked, unimpressed but visibly amused. “What… is that?” he asked, pointing at the bird.

Viktor laughed—a genuine, unrestrained sound that startled even himself. It had been a long time since something had drawn such amusement from him, and he relished the brief lightness in his chest. “This,” Viktor said, gesturing toward the bird, “is my newest assistant.”

The corners of Jayce’s mouth lifted into a grin as he approached the desk. “Your assistant, huh? You’ve got a feisty one here.” he said, his voice laced with teasing.

“That is true. It is far more temperamental than most assistants.” Viktor replied dryly, though his hand reached out to gently stroke the crow’s head. The bird’s feathers smoothed under his touch, its wings retreating back to its sides as it relaxed. Its glare toward Jayce remained, though its defensive posture softened.

Jayce raised an eyebrow at that. "It?", he asked.

“I haven’t named it yet,” Viktor added as Jayce stepped closer to the desk, peering at the bird with growing curiosity.

“No name?” Jayce hummed thoughtfully, leaning in to get a better look at the crow’s unusual blue feathers. “Why not?”

Viktor shrugged lightly. “The thought hasn’t come to mind. And I don’t even know its sex.”

Both of Jayce’s eyebrows were raised this time. “You’ve had it this long, and you don’t even know if it’s male or female?”

“It didn’t seem relevant at the time,” Viktor replied, brushing a finger across the crow’s wing absently.

“Well,” Jayce said, straightening up, “you could always take it to a biologist. I’m sure they’d have a field day with a bird like this. They’d probably be able to figure it out for you. Maybe they could also tell you why it’s, you know…” He gestured vaguely at the bird. “So… blue.” He smirked, glancing at Viktor. “Plus, they could probably help you come up with a name. Or, you know, you could just let me handle that part.”

The crow, who had been sitting still under Viktor’s hand, sprang into action and suddenly began hopping about, looking between the two men with what almost seemed like indignation. Its pink eyes locked onto Viktor before it darted across the desk, its talons clicking against the surface.

Both men watched in confusion as the bird stopped in front of Viktor’s quill, grabbing it awkwardly in its beak. It dipped the tip into the inkpot, dark droplets splattering onto the desk, and then turned its attention to a blank sheet of paper.

“What is it doing?” Jayce asked, leaning in closer, his expression a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “Is it… writing?” He muttered, his tone hovering between incredulity and awe.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Viktor replied, though his amber eyes were fixed on the bird, his brow furrowing in fascination.

With jerky, uncoordinated movements, the crow began dragging the quill across the page, its beak gripping the stem tightly. The ink came out in uneven strokes, the letters large and crude, but unmistakable. Slowly, the bird scrawled out a single word:

JINX

The “J” was shaky, the letters uneven, and the tail of the “x” extended far longer than necessary, as though the bird had lost its grip toward the end. The quill dropped from its beak and clattered onto the desk.

Silence hung in the air as both men stared at the paper.

“Jinx?” Viktor asked aloud, his voice low and questioning.

The bird hopped excitedly, nodding its head with such vigor that it nearly lost its balance. Its wings fluttered briefly before it settled down again, looking at Viktor with an expression that could only be described as pleased.

Jayce let out a low whistle. “Okay, now that’s something you don’t see every day.” He glanced at Viktor, his eyes wide with incredulity. “And you’re telling me you haven’t taken this bird to see a biologist?”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, his gaze flicking between the bird—Jinx, apparently—and the paper. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “that visit is long overdue.”

Jinx cawed triumphantly, hopping in circles around the desk as though celebrating its new name. Jayce shook his head, laughing softly. “You’ve really got something special here, Viktor,” he said, gesturing to the bird.

Viktor allowed himself a small smile, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper where Jinx’s name was scrawled. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice almost lost beneath the sound of the bird’s joyful cries. “I suppose I do.”

The cobblestone streets of Piltover were alive with the midday bustle of people and carriages, but Viktor paid them little attention. His cane tapped a steady rhythm against the ground as he walked, the sound slightly offset by the occasional rustling of feathers. Perched obediently on his shoulder, Jinx surveyed the crowds with her bright pink eyes, her posture calm yet attentive. Viktor had worried she might become restless during the journey, but to his surprise, she behaved perfectly, as though she knew this trip was important.

Their destination loomed ahead: the sprawling university greenhouse, its glass panes gleaming in the sunlight, shielding a vibrant jungle of exotic plants within. Viktor stepped inside, greeted immediately by the earthy scent of soil and the floral tang of blossoms. The humidity was a sharp contrast to the crisp air outside, clinging to his skin and clothes.

Dr. Calin Boro was already at work, fussing over a row of gladioli. He was a wiry man, his thin frame swallowed by the oversized lab coat he wore. The age in his face was offset by the sharp glint in his eyes and the dramatic flair with which he carried himself. His gnarled fingers fluffed the petals of the flowers with unexpected delicacy, occasionally wafting their scent toward his nose as he muttered observations under his breath.

Viktor’s cane tapped lightly on the stone floor as he approached, and Dr. Boro’s head snapped up. The older man’s lined face lit up with theatrical delight. “Ah, Viktor, my boy!” His voice rang out, far louder than one might expect from his wiry frame. He extended one arm wide, as though inviting an embrace—or perhaps an audience. “Have you finally changed your mind and decided to be my assistant?”

Viktor offered him a faint smile, a mix of amusement and exasperation playing at his features. “Not today, Doctor. That is not the purpose of my visit.” He turned slightly, tilting his head toward Jinx, who remained perched on his shoulder. “My little friend here is the cause. I hoped you could tell me more about them.”

Dr. Boro’s gaze shifted to the bird, and his face transformed. The weariness of age melted away, replaced by the unbridled curiosity of a man utterly consumed by his passions. “What a magnificent specimen…” he murmured, stepping closer as Viktor approached. His eyes sparkled with intrigue as he took in the vibrant blue of Jinx’s feathers, the way their unnatural pink eyes seemed to glow faintly in the sunlight filtering through the greenhouse.

“Where did you find it?” Dr. Boro asked, his voice tinged with excitement. “Perhaps a breeder?”

Viktor shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Ne,” he replied in thick Zaunite, the syllable sharp and curt. Switching to the common tongue, he explained, “This one found me. Through the thick of the storm from several nights ago.”

“Fascinating,” Dr. Boro said, his voice trailing off as his mind clearly wandered down a dozen potential lines of thought. He gestured to a nearby garden table, its surface strewn with books, samples, and a half-eaten loaf of bread. “Come, come, sit. Let me see it more closely.”

Viktor obliged, easing himself into the chair opposite Dr. Boro. He raised his opposite arm, gently cupping Jinx with his hand and coaxing them off his shoulder. They hopped down onto the table, immediately resuming their usual antics—bobbing their head, flaring their wings, and letting out the occasional caw as they inspected the items scattered before them.

As Viktor settled in, he began to recount Jinx’s behavior over the past several days. He spoke of their intelligence, giving examples of how they fetched tools for him and even appeared to understand his words. Dr. Boro listened intently, his fingers steepled under his chin, occasionally nodding or murmuring in fascination.

“Fascinating…” Dr. Boro said again when Viktor finished his recounting. He leaned closer to Jinx, squinting at her with a critical eye. “Well, based on what I can tell from here—the size of its beak, the length and slimness of its body—I would suggest that it is a female.”

Jinx, as if understanding the assessment, began nodding vigorously. Her whole body moved with the motion, her wings fluttering slightly for emphasis.

Dr. Boro chuckled. “Ah, see? She agrees with me.”

Viktor allowed himself a small smile, resting his chin lightly on his hand as he watched her. “I see. I appreciate your assessment.” After a moment of silence, Viktor leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. “But what do you think she might be? From what little I know in regards to animals, she is simply a crow, but her intelligence…” He trailed off, gesturing toward her with an open palm. “She is no ordinary bird.”

Dr. Boro leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That, I agree with. Based on her size, structure, and general behavior, she does appear to be of the corvid family—perhaps a variant of the common crow. But her coloring…” He tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “Her coloring is unlike anything I’ve seen. And these behaviors you’ve described—well, they are remarkable, even for a crow. Corvids are intelligent, yes, but this…”

His voice trailed off, and his gaze followed Jinx as she took off from the table, her wings carrying her into the air. She flew in wide arcs around the greenhouse, darting between the hanging vines and colorful blooms. She lingered near a cluster of orchids, her head tilting as she inspected their petals, then moved to hover near a row of towering ferns.

Viktor’s eyes followed her movements, but his expression remained pensive. He could tell that even Dr. Boro was dissatisfied with his own words—his explanations felt incomplete, tentative, as if there was something he couldn’t quite articulate. Still, Viktor decided to press on with another question that had been weighing on him.

“I did have one more question,” he began, turning his attention back to the doctor. “This pertains to her diet.”

Dr. Boro raised an eyebrow. “Her diet?”

“Yes. I have made several attempts at offering her something to eat—bread, slices of meat, even portions of fish—and yet she has not taken any of it. I have yet to see her eat or drink anything. She has been in my company for several days now, and I have begun to worry for her health.”

Dr. Boro’s gaze shifted back to Jinx, who was now perched on the edge of a hanging planter, her pink eyes glimmering as she observed the two men below. He hummed thoughtfully, his fingers drumming against the edge of the table.

“She seems to be in perfect health,” Dr. Boro said finally. “Her feathers are sleek, her eyes bright, and her movements energetic. I understand your concern, Viktor, as corvids—and most birds—tend to eat very frequently. But…” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Her slimness does not suggest starvation. Whatever her nature may be, it seems she does not require sustenance in the same way ordinary creatures do.”

Viktor frowned, his fingers tightening around the handle of his cane. The doctor’s words were logical, but they offered little in the way of comfort. “I see,” he said softly, glancing up at Jinx. She was now hopping along the edge of a pot filled with bright orange marigolds, her head bobbing as she cawed cheerfully.

“Keep observing her,” Dr. Boro advised, his voice calm but curious. “She is an enigma, Viktor. A puzzle waiting to be solved. And if anyone can uncover her secrets, it is you.”

Viktor nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on Jinx as she took off once more, her blue feathers glinting like a shard of the sky. An enigma, indeed.

Chapter 52: Pink Tourmaline pt. 2

Summary:

For a moment, the girl’s expression was clouded with sleep, her lips parting as if she were trying to place him. And then her face broke into a wide, toothy grin.

“Vikky!” she exclaimed, her voice high and cheerful as she pushed herself upright. Her movements were clumsy, unsteady, but full of an undeniable energy. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand, but the attempt was short-lived. Her legs buckled almost immediately, and she stumbled forward.

Viktor acted on instinct. He surged forward, catching her arm before she could hit the floor. His fingers tightened around her forearm, her skin warm and soft beneath his touch. He hadn’t moved quickly enough to fully stop her fall, but he managed to keep her from crumpling completely.

The girl looked up at him, her long hair spilling over her face in silken waves. Beneath the tangle of blue strands, her pink eyes shone with unmistakable joy. Her grin widened further as she spoke his name again, this time softer, more intimate. “Vikky…”

Several days had passed since Viktor had taken Jinx to see Dr. Boro. In that short span, the bond between them had grown, each interaction deepening the connection they shared. Jinx had become more than a curiosity or an assistant—she was a constant presence, a comfort in his meticulously ordered world.

Viktor, a man long accustomed to self-neglect in pursuit of progress, began to notice subtle changes in his own habits. For years, his body had borne the toll of sleepless nights, back-to-back all-nighters spent hunched over blueprints, tinkering with prototypes until his hands trembled from exhaustion. Meals were a rare indulgence, water an afterthought, and the occasional dizzy spell or nosebleed was dismissed as a mere inconvenience. But now, with Jinx in his life, those patterns began to shift.

At night, Jinx would perch herself beside him or nestle against his shoulder, her soft presence a grounding force that pulled him from the depths of obsession. On more than one occasion, he found himself nodding off at his workbench, only to wake with Jinx resting beside him, her steady breathing a soothing rhythm that dulled the usual self-recrimination. In the mornings, when he found his work unfinished, he no longer felt the sharp pangs of frustration that once gnawed at him. Instead, there was a quiet acceptance—a rare kindness he granted himself, mirrored in the soft caws of the bird who refused to leave his side.

It had taken some convincing, but Viktor eventually managed to get Jinx to eat. Her appetite, however, was peculiar. She seemed to eat less out of hunger and more to humor him. The discovery of her eating habits had been a curious one: Jinx would not touch food unless Viktor ate as well. The first time this happened, he had set out a small plate of bread crumbs and tiny fish fillets, only to watch her sit motionless, pink eyes fixed on him with unwavering intensity. It wasn’t until he reluctantly took a bite of his own meal that she began to pick at hers, nibbling delicately at the morsels. Since then, Viktor made it a habit to share his meals with her, offering small portions that she accepted with quiet dignity.

The more he observed her, the more she astounded him. One evening, while flipping through a textbook on corvids that Dr. Boro had lent him, Viktor learned that crows were capable of mimicking human speech and other sounds. Intrigued, he began to experiment, repeating words in the hopes that Jinx might imitate them. Her progress was slow at first—occasional chirps that vaguely resembled syllables—but then, to his surprise, she managed to say his name.

Or at least, a version of it.

“Vik,” she cawed one evening, her voice sharp yet melodic. Viktor froze, his tools clattering to the table as he turned to face her. She tilted her head, feathers puffing slightly as she repeated it: “Vik! Vikky!”

A rare smile tugged at Viktor’s lips. “So, you’ve taken to calling me Vikky now?” he murmured, his voice low with amusement. Jinx hopped closer, her pink eyes gleaming as if in triumph.

Despite his best efforts to teach her other words, it seemed “Vik” and “Vikky” were the only ones she cared to say. And, though he’d never admit it aloud, Viktor found he didn’t mind. The sound of his name, spoken in her peculiar, crooning voice, had a strange way of softening the edges of his thoughts, making the world feel a little less cold.

Their days together settled into a rhythm—a harmony of shared meals, quiet companionship, and moments of discovery. Viktor found himself talking to her more often, sharing fragments of his thoughts as he worked. Jinx, in turn, seemed to listen with a comprehension that bordered on uncanny, her gaze steady and knowing. At times, she would interrupt his musings with a soft caw or a sharp tap of her beak, as if offering her own input.

Though he still couldn’t explain her presence—her iridescent blue feathers, her glowing pink eyes, her almost humanlike intelligence—Viktor no longer questioned it. Jinx had become an irreplaceable part of his life, a mystery he no longer felt the need to solve.

In the dim glow of the lab one evening, Viktor sat cross-legged on the floor, Jinx perched comfortably on his knee. He held a small hex crystal in his hand, letting it catch the light in a mesmerizing dance of blue and violet. Jinx watched intently, her vivid pink eyes gleaming with an almost childlike wonder.

“See this?” Viktor said softly, his voice laced with affection. “This is the heart of my work. One day, it will power a future beyond what anyone imagines.”

Jinx tilted her head, her feathers shimmering as she let out a soft, inquisitive caw.

Viktor smiled, holding the crystal closer to her. “Perhaps you understand more than you let on, little one. Perhaps you’re meant to be part of that future.”

Jinx leaned forward, her beak gently tapping the crystal. Viktor’s smile deepened, his heart swelling with a warmth he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in a long time, the weight of his ambition didn’t feel so crushing. He had found an unlikely companion in Jinx—a creature that seemed to embody the very brilliance and mystery he had spent his life chasing.

As the storm outside began to quiet, Viktor leaned back against his chair, his hand resting lightly on Jinx’s back. Her soft coos blended with the hum of machinery, creating a harmony that soothed his restless mind. Together, they faced the flickering light of his lamp, and though Viktor knew his path ahead would be fraught with challenges, he felt something he hadn’t known he was missing: companionship.

And though he’d never admit it, he found himself wondering, late at night as Jinx dozed beside him, how he had ever managed without her.

However, as with many of the good things in Viktor’s life, it started to take a turn for the worse.

One morning, Viktor woke to the familiar weight of Jinx perched on his chest. She had taken to sleeping there, nestled against the steady rise and fall of his breathing. He had come to expect her soft warmth, her presence a constant source of comfort in the dim, quiet hours of the morning.

But today, something felt wrong.

When Viktor glanced down, he didn’t find her resting as she normally did, her wings tucked neatly to her sides and her head tilted ever so slightly beneath her feathers. Instead, her body lay awkwardly on its side, one wing stretched out at an uneven angle, the other drooping limply against his shirt.

The sight pierced through Viktor like a bolt of lightning, a rush of concern seizing his chest. He froze for a moment, his pulse quickening as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Slowly, carefully, he sat up, gathering her fragile form in his trembling hands.

“Jinx,” he whispered, his voice low and tight with worry. He gently stroked the top of her small head, his fingers brushing over her soft feathers. “Jinx, little one… wake up.”

Her breathing was shallow—too shallow. He watched the faint rise and fall of her chest, each breath dragging like it required all the strength she had left. Her eyes remained closed, her body eerily still except for the faint fluttering of her feathers with each labored breath. And then Viktor noticed something else—she was cold. Alarmingly cold.

The biting chill against his palms sent a wave of fear through him, a feeling so foreign that it almost paralyzed him. Viktor was not accustomed to fear, not like this. He was used to challenges, to obstacles that required logic, precision, and ingenuity. But this? The helplessness clawing at him now was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Acting quickly, he stood and pulled the remainder of the blanket he’d been using from his body. He placed it where he had been lying, where the fabric still held his warmth, and gently set Jinx down in the soft folds. With painstaking care, he bundled her up, leaving her tiny face uncovered so she could breathe freely.

“Stay warm,” he murmured, though his voice trembled. His hands lingered, brushing over the edge of the blanket, as if the touch alone could will her back to health.

Viktor knew little about animals. Sick animals? Even less. The realization gnawed at him, sharp and relentless, as he paced the length of the room. His cane tapped rhythmically against the floor, a futile attempt to mask the rising tide of panic in his chest. He racked his brain for solutions, but every thought ended in uncertainty. Should he take her to Dr. Boro? Could the biologist even help? He wasn’t a veterinarian! Should he even move her? Would the trip outside worsen her condition?

Viktor’s thoughts spun in frantic circles, chasing answers he didn’t have, until a faint sound broke through his chaos.

A quiet, listless coo.

He turned immediately, his heart clenching as his eyes fell on Jinx. Her eyes had fluttered open, the faint glow of her pink irises dim but present. She tilted her head toward him, the motion sluggish, and let out another faint coo. Viktor rushed to her side, sinking onto the edge of the bed as he leaned over her.

“Jinx,” he said softly, his voice edged with desperation. She tried to move, her legs twitching as if she meant to stand. But the attempt failed—her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed back into the blanket.

The sight of her weakness renewed the panic that had only just begun to subside. Viktor’s hands hovered uselessly above her, unsure whether to touch her or let her rest. “Shh, don’t move, little one,” he whispered, though the words felt hollow. His mind raced again, weighed down by questions he couldn’t answer. Should he do something? Or nothing? Would letting her rest be enough?

In the end, he chose to stay by her side. It was all he could think to do. The thought of leaving her, even for a moment, was unbearable.

He stayed by her side for the entire day, the tools on his workbench untouched, his projects abandoned. For the first time in years, Viktor found himself unable to focus, his mind too preoccupied with worry. Jinx’s soft, uneven breaths filled the quiet of the lab, each sound both a comfort and a source of fear.

In an effort to distract himself, Viktor pulled a book from his desk and settled beside her, opening it across his lap. He tried to focus on the words, but they blurred together, their meaning lost as his gaze kept flicking to her still form. His fingers turned page after page absently until a particular spread caught his eye.

Several inked crow footprints spanned the pages, small smudges of black disrupting the text. Viktor froze, staring at the marks. They were Jinx’s, unmistakably—remnants of one of her many mischievous escapades. He remembered the day vividly: she had taken a liking to the inkpot he had left unattended, her fascination leading to chaos as she darted across his desk with ink-streaked talons. At the time, he had been mildly annoyed, scolding her with a stern tone that barely masked his amusement.

Now, as he traced the footprints with his eyes, a small smile crept across his face. It was such a simple memory, yet it felt profound in the moment. She had wormed her way into his heart so effortlessly, her presence turning his once-isolated world into something vibrant and alive. He loved her deeply—more than he had thought himself capable of loving anyone or anything.

As night fell, Viktor remained at her side, his head leaning against the back of the chair as exhaustion overtook him. He adjusted the blanket around her one final time, his fingers lingering briefly on her soft feathers. “Please,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, “be okay, little one.”

As a restless sleep claimed him, Viktor dreamed of Jinx—bright, mischievous, and full of life. He prayed with every fiber of his being that when morning came, she would still be there, ready to wake him with her bright eyes and playful caws.

When Viktor woke the next morning, the world greeted him with a dull ache. The beginnings of a migraine pulsed at the back of his skull, and his back screamed in protest as he tried to shift positions. He groaned softly, blinking groggily at the ceiling as the realization dawned—he had fallen asleep on the floor.

The hard, unyielding surface beneath him explained the stiffness in his body, and he cursed his exhaustion from the previous day. Slowly, he pushed himself into a seated position, wincing as his joints protested. The faint light of dawn spilled through the windows, and for a moment, his only thought was to check on Jinx.

“Jinx,” he muttered aloud, his voice rough with sleep as he turned toward the bed where he’d left her.

But Jinx wasn’t there.

Instead, Viktor froze, his breath catching in his throat as he took in what he was seeing. There was a body—a person—lying in his bed. Wild, impossibly long blue hair spilled over the edge of the mattress, cascading in silken waves that swallowed the blanket and reached the floor. The figure was curled up tightly, knees pressed against their chest, arms wrapped protectively around their legs. Her lips were parted slightly in sleep, her expression serene and untroubled.

She was also, unmistakably, naked.

Viktor’s mind stuttered, unable to comprehend what he was looking at. He stared, his amber eyes wide and unblinking, as if looking away might shatter the fragile illusion. His hands pressed against the floor as he struggled to stand, his legs shaking beneath him. Every motion was slow, hesitant, his gaze fixed on the stranger in his bed.

And then he noticed the feathers.

Blue feathers—Jinx’s feathers—were stuck in her hair, tangled amidst the vibrant strands like tiny, iridescent adornments. His breath hitched as he realized the color of her hair wasn’t just similar to Jinx’s feathers; it was identical. The same luminous shade of blue, the same faint shimmer that caught the light just so.

His thoughts raced, a thousand questions colliding in his mind. What was happening? Who was this woman? And where—where—was Jinx?

His voice trembled as he spoke, barely above a whisper. “Jinx?”

At the sound of her name, the girl stirred. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused at first. Viktor’s words faltered, caught in his throat, as her gaze met his.

Her eyes.

Bright, vivid pink, like polished gemstones that glowed faintly in the soft morning light. The same eyes. Pink tourmaline.The same impossible hue that had stared back at him from Jinx’s tiny face countless times before.

For a moment, the girl’s expression was clouded with sleep, her lips parting as if she were trying to place him. And then her face broke into a wide, toothy grin.

“Vikky!” she exclaimed, her voice high and cheerful as she pushed herself upright. Her movements were clumsy, unsteady, but full of an undeniable energy. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand, but the attempt was short-lived. Her legs buckled almost immediately, and she stumbled forward.

Viktor acted on instinct. He surged forward, catching her arm before she could hit the floor. His fingers tightened around her forearm, her skin warm and soft beneath his touch. He hadn’t moved quickly enough to fully stop her fall, but he managed to keep her from crumpling completely.

The girl looked up at him, her long hair spilling over her face in silken waves. Beneath the tangle of blue strands, her pink eyes shone with unmistakable joy. Her grin widened further as she spoke his name again, this time softer, more intimate. “Vikky…”

Before he could react, she lunged forward, throwing her arms around his neck. Viktor stumbled back as he tried to steady himself, his body going rigid at the sudden contact.

Not only was he miffed at being hugged by a stranger, but the realization of her bare skin pressing against his clothed body sent a surge of heat flooding his face. He stammered, his hands coming up to her shoulders in an attempt to pry her off.

“L-let go,” he managed, his voice strained as his fingers tangled hopelessly in her hair. The strands were impossibly smooth, slipping through his hands like water. He stopped after a moment, realizing his attempts were only making matters worse.

The girl, however, seemed entirely unfazed. If anything, her grip on him tightened. She pressed her face against his shoulder, her voice muffled as she murmured his name once more. “Vikky…”

The sound of her voice, paired with the familiar nickname, made him hesitate. Slowly, reluctantly, he allowed himself to consider the possibility, absurd as it seemed. His heart pounded in his chest as he took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he was about to say.

“Jinx?”

The girl pulled back at the sound of her name, her arms slipping from around his neck. Her face was inches from his, her bottom lip trembling as her pink eyes searched his face.

“Vikky…” she whispered, her voice tinged with uncertainty now. Her expression wavered, the earlier joy giving way to something softer, almost vulnerable. She tilted her head, the faintest hint of a question in her eyes, as if seeking his confirmation.

Viktor’s chest tightened. He stared at her, taking in every detail—the wild blue hair, the luminous pink eyes, the unmistakable energy that seemed to radiate from her despite her clumsiness.

It was impossible. And yet…

He swallowed hard, his voice barely audible as he said her name again, this time with a quiet conviction.

“Jinx.”

Looking into her bright pink eyes, Viktor couldn’t ignore the overwhelming familiarity—the vibrant hue, the mischievous energy, the warmth that had somehow wrapped around his heart so effortlessly. Against all logic, his heart told him what his mind refused to accept: this was Jinx.

“Is it really you…?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his breath hitching as he hesitantly reached out. His hand brushed against her cheek, his touch trembling with uncertainty. “What caused this?”

Her eyes fell closed at the contact, and she nuzzled into the warmth of his palm, a soft hum escaping her lips. She lifted her hand to cover his, her fingers slipping through the gaps between his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Her smile softened but stayed bright, welcoming. “Yeah, Vikky. It’s really me,” she said, a giggle bubbling at the edge of her voice. “I couldn’t be stuck in that form forever! I was gonna lose my mind!” She giggled more, the sound light and carefree.

The question burned on the tip of his tongue—how? Why?—but he couldn’t find the words to ask. Relief flooded his chest, silencing his questions, at least for now. Jinx was still here. She was safe. That was all that mattered.

His other hand moved on its own, brushing through her impossibly long hair to stroke the back of her head. The silky strands beneath his fingers reminded him of her feathers, and something deep within him settled. This was Jinx. There was no logic behind it, but his heart knew the truth.

“What are you?” he finally asked, his voice gentle and without judgment.

Jinx raised an eyebrow at him, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “I’m perfect!” she declared proudly.

A small, unbidden chuckle escaped Viktor. “Indeed, you are,” he admitted softly.

But then realization dawned on him, and his face flushed with sudden embarrassment. “And you are… still naked,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

Jinx pouted, reluctant to release him, but she let go and plopped onto the bed. Thankfully, her long hair spilled over her shoulders, providing just enough modesty.

Viktor turned away quickly, his cane clutched tightly as he moved to his wardrobe. He rummaged through the drawers, pulling out a set of his old sleeping clothes—loose and comfortable—and brought them back to her. He handed her the shirt first, his gaze averted.

She seemed to figure out how to put it on with ease, slipping it over her head in one fluid motion. Either she had worn clothes before, or she had been watching him dress during her time as a crow. His thoughts swirled with embarrassment as he considered the implications: she had seen him at his worst, during his most private and vulnerable moments—while changing, while working through exhaustion, while failing.

Yet the way she had beamed at him, the way her eyes lit up when she said his name, made it clear that none of that mattered to her. And that realization meant everything to him.

When Jinx stood to put on the pants, and Viktor immediately turned his back to her. This is not the time to entertain those kinds of thoughts, he scolded himself silently, feeling his face heat further.

“Done!” she beamed behind him.

Viktor turned to find her standing triumphantly. The clothes, already loose on him, completely swallowed her smaller frame. The sleeves dangled well past her hands, and the legs of the pants pooled around her feet, dragging on the floor. Her hair, which she had already pulled free of the shirt, trailed behind her in long, shimmering waves.

She had her hands on her hips, her posture exuding an exaggerated confidence that reminded Viktor of her antics as a crow.

He chuckled softly, offering her his hand. "Come here."

Jinx tilted her head at the gesture before grinning and tugging the sleeve back to free her fingers before taking his hand. Her grip was warm and firm, her smaller fingers fitting perfectly in his, and he led her back to the bed. They both sat down, and Viktor's fingers absently caressed her knuckles as he stared at their intertwined hands, his thoughts churning.

As sat together, Viktor's fingers continued to idly brush over the knuckles of her hand, his touch soft. “Tell me,” he said gently, “how has this happened? I only want to understand.”

Jinx’s smile grew, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Magic!” she exclaimed, her voice light and bubbly. “I used magic! I can take any shape I want, but… I kinda get stuck in it for a while. I’m still figuring it out!”

“I see…” Viktor murmured, his voice thoughtful. He paused before asking, “And you are originally… human?”

“Yep! Born and raised in Zaun!” she declared proudly. “I even have a sister who lives here in Piltover. She isn’t like me, though. Total buzzkill if you ask me.”

“A sister?” Viktor repeated, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Mhm! She’s older than me. Way too serious and too busy playing the hero! You wouldn’t like her,” Jinx teased, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

He nodded, “This magic you spoke of…” Viktor continued, “you used it to take the form of a crow?”

“Uh huh!” she nodded enthusiastically. “I wanted to know what it was like to fly through a storm! Real birds do it all the time—I thought it would be a piece of cake! But, uh…” She trailed off with a sheepish laugh. “I guess I underestimated how hard it was going to rain…”

As Viktor listened, unease stirred in his chest. The thought of her willingly putting herself in such danger made him feel… something unpleasant. But as he looked at her bright, carefree expression, he realized that fear was not something she seemed to experience often.

“You knew many of the tools and components I worked with,” Viktor said after a moment. “Or rather, you knew all of them. Are you an inventor?”

Jinx paused, her lips pursing in thought before a giggle escaped her. “Something like that! I’d say I’m more of a… uh…” She trailed off, snapping her fingers as she searched for the right word. “Tinkerer! Yeah, that!”

Viktor was about to reply when Jinx suddenly jumped to her feet. “Oh crap, how long have I been here? Ugh, my dad is gonna be pissed!” Dramatically tossing her back as she rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed.

Her annoyance was palpable as she muttered under her breath, “I might have to leave soon before he blows a fuse. If he hasn’t already…” She folded her arms, clearly irritated at the thought of his reaction.

“Leave?” Viktor stood as well, his amber eyes locking onto hers. His voice, though steady, carried a faint edge of concern. “If you do… will you come back?”

Jinx’s annoyed expression melted at his words. She giggled, stepping closer and resting her chin against his chest. Despite the intimacy of the gesture, Viktor didn’t pull away.

“Duh! You’re like, my favorite person, Vikky! You couldn’t keep me away!” she said, wrapping her arms around his back, now fully resting her head against his chest.

Viktor hummed softly, the brief panic he had felt easing. His hand came to rest atop her head, stroking her hair. “And you are feeling better? Yesterday you had me quite worried.”

“Uh huh,” Jinx replied, nodding against him. “That was just the magic releasing my form so I could be normal again! I’m right as rain!”

Viktor sighed fondly. “I see.” He didn’t entirely understand this magic she spoke of, but as long as she was well, the rest could wait. Perhaps one day she could explain it to him fully.

Jinx beamed up at him, the pure joy on her face a reassurance in itself. In that moment, Viktor allowed himself to believe her words, his unease fading as he accepted the strange, magical reality of her presence.

For now, he was simply glad she was here.

Chapter 53: Crash Landing

Summary:

She watched him step away, her vision tracking him as he moved to a nearby table. There, a pitcher of water sat alongside a cup. He poured the water carefully, the sound of liquid filling the cup somehow soothing in the stillness of the room. As he returned to her side, he held the cup out, his eyes meeting hers.

“Voda,” he said softly, his voice low and accented. The word meant nothing to her, but his tone carried a clear intent. He was offering her something to drink.

Jinx’s brow furrowed. “Water?” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, repeating the word. “Voda.”

Notes:

This one is a Language Barrier AU! This isn't originally the plot I wanted to go with, so I'll probably use it again in the future!

Not sure yet if I'll be making a part 2 for this; right now its a stand alone piece.

See the end notes for translations :)

The air in the warehouse was thick with the tang of smoke and the acrid scent of Shimmer chemicals, the echoes of gunfire ricocheting off metal walls like a chaotic symphony. Jinx crouched behind a crate, her wild blue hair falling in her face, a maniacal grin spread across her features. Her minigun, Pow-Pow, hummed warmly in her hands, the barrel still hot from the last flurry of bullets she’d unleashed. Across the room, thugs were shouting, scrambling for cover, and firing back blindly.

“You really thought you could steal from me? From Silco?!” Jinx cackled, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Big mistake, boys! Big, big mistake!”

Another hail of bullets tore through the air as Jinx leaned around the corner, squeezing the trigger. The thugs didn’t stand a chance. One of them yelped as her shots hit home, clutching his arm as he stumbled into a stack of crates. Another dove for cover, but not quickly enough—Pow-Pow’s rounds shredded the edge of his hiding place, leaving him exposed. He crumpled to the ground, motionless.

Jinx reveled in the carnage, her laughter wild and unhinged. She loved this—the adrenaline, the chaos, the thrill of proving herself untouchable. These fools had dared to steal from Silco’s warehouses, and she was more than happy to make them regret it.

But her euphoria didn’t last. A sharp, searing pain suddenly tore through her side, and Jinx staggered, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. She looked down, her fingers brushing the growing wetness at her midsection, and her grin faltered. A bullet had found her, slipping through the chaos to bury itself deep in her flesh.

“Son of a…” she hissed, clutching the wound as blood seeped between her fingers. The thugs were either dead or fleeing by now, but Jinx’s focus was already elsewhere. The pain was growing sharper, hotter, and her vision swam as she stumbled toward the exit.

The labyrinth of Zaun’s alleys was unforgiving, twisting and narrowing like veins in some massive, industrial beast. Jinx stumbled through them, one hand pressed tightly to her bleeding side, the other brushing against walls for support. Every step sent a fresh wave of pain crashing through her, and her vision blurred more with each passing moment. The neon lights above her—sputtering signs and streetlamps—seemed to stretch and bleed into one another, the world tilting dangerously.

“C’mon, Jinx,” she muttered to herself, her voice hoarse and trembling. “You’ve had worse… Just find a hideout. Patch it up, no problem…”

But her legs felt like lead, and her head was swimming. She leaned heavily against the wall, hoping for stability, but instead of solid brick or steel, her weight fell against something that gave way. Before she could react, her body tipped, and she realized too late that she had stumbled into the wide, open mouth of a pipe.

“Sh—!” The curse barely left her lips before gravity took hold.

She barely registered the sensation of falling. The pipe’s interior was rough and unyielding, her limbs banging against the sides as she tumbled. The sound of her descent echoed hollowly around her, mixing with the sharp bursts of pain as her body collided with the pipe’s walls. A burst of fear shot through her, sharp and visceral, but before she could process it, her head struck something hard. The world tilted violently before plunging into darkness.

Jinx’s back hit the ground with a sickening thud. The impact jarred her into a flicker of consciousness, just enough to catch fragments of her surroundings. She was on a hard floor, the surface cool beneath her, and above her, blurred faces leaned into view. Their features were indistinct, swimming in and out of focus, and their voices were a jumble of unintelligible sounds.

“Co s ní? Máme ji tady nechat? Ztrácí hodně krve.”

“Ne, přineste obvazy… rychle!”

The words meant nothing to Jinx, her mind too foggy to even attempt deciphering them. Her head lolled to the side, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She tried to lift a hand, to speak, but her strength was gone, and the darkness swallowed her once more.

Pain. Sharp, unrelenting pain. It lanced through Jinx’s side like a hot blade, dragging her back into wakefulness. She groaned, her body stiff and heavy, her head pounding in time with her heartbeat. Her eyelids fluttered open, but her vision was still blurred, the world a hazy smear of shadows and dim light.

She tried to push herself up, wincing as the pain in her side flared, but a hand pressed firmly against her shoulder, stopping her.

“Zůstaň ležet,” a voice commanded, low and stern. The words were foreign, the accent thick, and Jinx frowned in confusion. She turned her head, blinking hard to clear her vision.

The room around her slowly came into focus. It was dimly lit, the warm glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Shelves lined the space, crammed with jars of powders and pastes, their contents mysterious. Where there weren’t jars, there were books—rows upon rows of them, their spines worn and faded. The air smelled faintly of herbs and something metallic.

Her gaze finally landed on the figure standing beside her. A man. His shaggy brown hair was unkempt, falling across his forehead, and his golden eyes were sharp as they stared down at her. His features were stern, but there was a handsomeness to them, a kind of quiet intensity that made her pause.

“Where… where am I?” Jinx croaked, her voice scratchy and dry. She swallowed hard, her throat parched.

The man frowned, his brows furrowing as he listened. He responded, his voice calm but clipped, the words still indecipherable. “Nerozumím ti.”

Jinx’s brow furrowed in frustration. “What? What the hell are you saying?” Her words came out hoarse, her tone tinged with irritation despite her weakness.

The man sighed, shaking his head slightly. He gestured at her wound, his hand hovering just above her bandaged side. “Zranění… potřebuje péči,” he murmured, his tone softening slightly.

Jinx could only stare at him, bewildered and irritated by the language barrier. “You don’t make any sense, dude,” she muttered, slumping back against the makeshift bed.

The man didn’t respond, instead kneeling beside her. Gently but firmly, he began to unfasten the bandages wrapped around her midsection, splotches of blood staining them. Jinx flinched slightly at the discomfort of his touch but didn’t resist, her energy too depleted to argue.

As he peeled away the layers of fabric, she caught a glimpse of her wound. The bullet hole was neatly sutured, but the skin around it bruised and swollen. The sight was both alarming and oddly impressive—whoever this guy was, he clearly knew what he was doing.

The man muttered something under his breath, the sharpness of his tone making Jinx think he was cursing. He stood and walked to a desk in the corner of the room, his movements purposeful. From the cluttered surface, he grabbed a roll of clean bandages and a jar filled with a green powder.

Returning to her side, he carefully shook some of the powder onto her wound. Jinx winced as it stung, the sensation sharp but fleeting. She watched him work, his concentration evident in the way his golden eyes narrowed slightly, his movements precise.

He began wrapping her midsection with the new bandages, his hand gripping her waist firmly to hold her steady as he worked. Jinx’s gaze flicked to his face, taking in the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw. Then her eyes drifted to his hand, strong and steady against her side.

For a moment, she thought back to when he had pushed her down earlier—his press had been unyielding, effortlessly keeping her in place despite her struggles. Now, that same strength was being used to help her, his touch careful yet firm.

With the bandages secured, the man sat back slightly, studying her with critical eyes. He reached out, brushing her damp bangs from her forehead. The touch startled Jinx at first, but the coolness of his hand against her overheated skin was oddly soothing.

Her eyelids grew heavier as exhaustion crept over her once more. The pain in her side had dulled to a manageable throb, and the quiet of the room was a stark contrast to the chaos she had left behind. Before she could think too much about it, her eyes slid shut, and she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The first thing Jinx noticed when she woke was the quiet. There was no gunfire, no explosions, no shouting. Just silence, broken only by the faint rustle of paper. Her eyes blinked open slowly, her body still heavy and sore, and she tilted her head just enough to glance around.

The room was the same as before: dimly lit, shelves lined with jars and books, the air faintly scented with herbs and something metallic. But now, her attention was drawn to the figure sitting in the chair beside her. It was the man from earlier, his shaggy brown hair slightly mussed, his golden eyes fixed on the book in his lap.

She watched him for a moment, her gaze following the way his fingers deftly turned the pages, his movements slow and methodical. His posture was relaxed but attentive, as if he were deeply engrossed in whatever he was reading. It struck her as strange—someone so calm and focused, so different from the chaos she usually surrounded herself with.

Jinx tried to speak, but her throat was dry, the words catching painfully. Instead, a harsh cough escaped her, and she winced as the effort pulled at her side.

The sound startled him. His head snapped up, his golden eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, he looked as if he hadn’t expected her to wake so soon, but the surprise quickly faded, replaced by a quiet intensity.

He closed the book and set it aside, rising from his chair with fluid, purposeful movements. Jinx flinched slightly as he approached, her instincts screaming at her to be wary, but he didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t react. He leaned down, his hand brushing her forehead once again, and she felt the same coolness, the same odd comfort from his touch.

She watched him step away, her vision tracking him as he moved to a nearby table. There, a pitcher of water sat alongside a cup. He poured the water carefully, the sound of liquid filling the cup somehow soothing in the stillness of the room. As he returned to her side, he held the cup out, his eyes meeting hers.

“Voda,” he said softly, his voice low and accented. The word meant nothing to her, but his tone carried a clear intent. He was offering her something to drink.

Jinx’s brow furrowed. “Water?” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, repeating the word. “Voda.”

Her lips parted slightly in understanding, and she tried to push herself up to take the cup, but her body was still too weak. He must have noticed, because he placed the cup down for a moment and reached behind her.

“Wait, what are you—” she started, but the words died as his hand slipped behind her neck, gently tilting her head up. The unexpected closeness made her tense, her eyes flicking nervously up to his face.

His expression was calm, unreadable, but his touch was careful, deliberate, as if he were handling something fragile. He brought the cup to her lips, tilting it slightly to let her take a small sip. The cool water slid down her throat, and the relief was instant. She groaned softly at the sensation, her dry, burning throat soothed by the liquid.

Her hand, trembling with fatigue, reached up and lightly grasped his wrist. It wasn’t forceful—more of a plea than anything. She didn’t want him to take the cup away just yet. He paused, watching her carefully, then tilted the cup again, letting her drink more.

When the cup was empty, her hand fell limply from his wrist, and he gently eased her back onto the pillow. She let out a shaky exhale, the brief exertion leaving her drained but grateful.

He set the empty cup aside and turned back to the table, retrieving a clean cloth. Pulling a bowl closer, he poured some water from the pitcher into it before dipping the cloth into the liquid. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, her body too tired to do anything more.

Returning to her side, he wrung out the cloth and folded it neatly before sitting back down in the chair. He leaned forward, the cloth in hand, and began to wipe her forehead with slow, deliberate strokes. The coolness of the damp fabric was a stark contrast to the heat of her skin, and she closed her eyes, letting out a small sigh of relief.

Jinx wasn’t used to this—someone taking care of her. Not like this, not so quietly and without expectation. It was strange, disarming even, but she didn’t have the energy to question it. As his movements continued, steady and soothing, her breathing began to even out, her body sinking further into the cot.

The coolness of the damp cloth against Jinx’s heated skin was a rare comfort, something she hadn’t realized she craved. Her eyes fluttered shut as she allowed herself to relax, even just a little, savoring the sensation. Viktor’s movements were steady and unhurried, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who seemed so reserved.

But just as she began to slip into that fragile space between wakefulness and rest, a knock at the door shattered the quiet. Jinx’s eyes snapped open, adrenaline flooding her veins. Her instincts flared, screaming at her to get up, to defend herself. She tried to sit up, her muscles protesting with every motion, but before she could do more than lift her head, Viktor’s hand was there, firm and unyielding, pressing her back down.

“Zůstaň ležet,” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. His golden eyes pinned her in place, his stern expression brooking no defiance.

Jinx froze, her breath coming in shallow gasps as her wide eyes flicked between Viktor and the door. Her muscles tensed beneath his hand, her body trembling with the effort of holding herself still. For a long moment, it felt like she might bolt anyway. But something in his unwavering gaze made her pause. He wasn’t panicking, wasn’t alarmed. His calmness was disarming, and slowly—reluctantly—she let herself relax back into the cot.

When she relented, Viktor exhaled softly, almost like a sigh of relief. His hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment longer before he turned his attention to the door. “Vstupte,” he called, his voice carrying the same calm authority he’d used with her.

The door creaked open, revealing a short, wiry man with thin, messy hair and a nervous energy about him. He lingered in the doorway, his eyes darting briefly to Jinx before settling on Viktor. “Jak se má cizinec?” the man asked, nodding toward her.

Viktor responded with a quiet hum, not quite agreeing but not disagreeing either. “Rána není vážná,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone even.

The other man nodded, seemingly reassured by this. “Pokud potřebujete pomoc nebo zásoby, dejte mi vědět,” he offered, his tone earnest.

Viktor glanced down at Jinx, his expression unreadable, before asking, “Mohl byste nám přinést nějaké ovoce?”

The man nodded again, his movements quick and eager. “Hned se vrátím.” With that, he turned and slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a moment, the silence returned, heavy and expectant. Viktor’s gaze lingered on the closed door before shifting back to Jinx. He raised his free hand, pointing to himself as he spoke. “Viktor,” he said clearly, enunciating the name as though he wanted her to remember it.

Jinx stared at him, her tired mind working to process the gesture. After a beat, she raised her own shaky hand, mirroring his motion despite the way it trembled from the effort. “Jinx,” she rasped, her voice soft and wavering.

Viktor nodded, his expression neutral but his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer. Then, without another word, he resumed wiping her forehead with the cloth, his movements as steady and soothing as before.

It wasn’t long before the knock returned, and Jinx flinched, her body tensing again. This time, however, she didn’t try to sit up. She lay still, her eyes darting to Viktor as if to gauge his reaction. He seemed to notice her unease, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. After a moment, satisfied that she wouldn’t attempt anything rash, he stood and crossed to the door.

He opened it to reveal the same man from before, now holding a bowl of fruit in his arms. The bright, colorful assortment looked out of place in the otherwise muted tones of the room. Viktor offered the man a nod, taking the bowl with a quiet “Děkuji.”

The man returned the nod, gave Jinx a brief glance, then turned and left, shutting the door behind him. Viktor carried the bowl to the table, setting it down with care. He selected one of the fruits, testing its ripeness with a gentle squeeze, before returning to the cot where Jinx lay.

Settling back into the chair beside her, Viktor began peeling the fruit with practiced ease. The skin came away like petals, revealing the soft, fragrant flesh within. Jinx watched him warily, her brows knitting together as he pulled a piece apart.

Without a word, Viktor popped the first piece into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it in full view of her. His calm, deliberate actions seemed designed to reassure her, to show her that it was safe. Once he finished, he pulled apart another piece and held it out to her.

Jinx’s gaze flicked between the fruit and his face, her expression guarded. For a moment, she hesitated, her instincts warring with her exhaustion and hunger. Then, slowly, she parted her lips, allowing him to place the fruit in her mouth.

The burst of sweetness was immediate, cutting through the dryness of her mouth and making her sigh softly. She chewed slowly, savoring the flavor, her body relaxing ever so slightly. Viktor watched her, his head tilting slightly as if waiting to gauge her reaction.

When she finished, he raised a brow at her, a silent question in his expression. Did she want more? Jinx hesitated, her blue eyes narrowing as she tried to read him. But hunger won out, and she opened her mouth again.

Viktor obliged, offering her another piece before taking one for himself. They continued this rhythm, a quiet back and forth. He would eat a piece, then she would. The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable, punctuated only by the sound of their chewing.

As the sweetness of the fruit lingered on her tongue, Jinx found herself staring at him, trying to make sense of him. Viktor was unlike anyone she’d ever met—stern, quiet, strangely patient. There was something calming about his presence, though she didn’t fully trust it yet. Still, for now, she let herself be fed, too tired to fight the unfamiliar comfort he offered.

Jinx watched as Viktor took the peel from the fruit they had just finished and carried it away, his back turned to her. She tried to crane her neck to see what he was doing, but his movements were methodical, deliberate, and kept out of her view. Before she could ponder further, he turned back around, and she noticed he held another fruit in his hand. This one was different—rounder, with a slightly rougher skin.

He settled back into the chair beside her bed, peeling this new fruit in the same careful way he had before. The moment the skin began to curl back, a sweet, intoxicating scent filled the room. Jinx inhaled deeply, her mouth watering despite herself. Whatever this was, it smelled even better than the last one. Her excitement was obvious, her eyes flicking between Viktor’s hands and the fruit as he worked.

When he offered her the first piece, she didn’t hesitate this time, eagerly leaning forward to take it. Viktor didn’t eat alongside her this time, merely watching as she devoured each offered piece. She was slower now, savoring the vibrant sweetness that coated her tongue. Piece by piece, he let her eat until the fruit was gone, and by the end of it, she was struggling to keep her eyelids open.

The pull of exhaustion was too strong to fight, and Jinx fell asleep not long after, the quiet rustling of Viktor cleaning up fading into the background of her dreams.

The next time she woke, everything felt different. The dull ache in her side was gone, replaced by a faint tightness that she barely noticed. Her head felt clearer, and energy coursed through her limbs in a way it hadn’t before. Jinx sat up slowly, her movements careful, and glanced down at her bandaged midsection. No pain—just the faint pull of stitches beneath the fresh wrappings.

Her gaze wandered across the room, and she spotted Viktor sitting in the chair beside her. His head was tilted awkwardly forward, his chin nearly resting on his chest, and his arms were crossed tightly over himself. His breathing was slow and even; he was asleep. Jinx smirked at the sight—it was almost funny how stiff he looked, even in his sleep.

Swinging her legs off the side of the cot, she planted her feet softly on the floor. She pushed herself up cautiously, testing her weight, and was relieved to find she could stand without too much trouble. Glancing back at Viktor, she carefully tiptoed away, mindful of every creak in the floorboards.

Part of her considered bolting. Running. She had no idea where she was, no clue who Viktor really was or what his intentions were. But then again, where would she even go? She’d fallen into this place by sheer accident, bleeding out in some random pipe. If she left now, she’d just be throwing herself back into that chaos—back into the labyrinth of Zaun’s streets, back into the violence. And for once, she didn’t feel like running.

Instead, she let her eyes roam the room. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with jars, tools, and what looked like medicine—though she wasn’t exactly a doctor, so who knew? Books were stuffed into every available space, their spines cracked and worn from frequent use. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she reached out to pull one of the books from the shelf.

Flipping it open, she was greeted by a confusing mixture of diagrams and words written in Viktor’s language, the unfamiliar script impossible to read. But the diagrams made her pause. They were precise, detailed, and as her eyes scanned the pages, something clicked. Physics. That much she could recognize. She found equations, reference rays, and formulas she vaguely remembered from her tinkering with gadgets and weapons.

Her fingers traced one of the diagrams on the page, mumbling to herself as she studied the careful lines and mathematical notations. She was already so engrossed in the pages that she didn’t even notice the soft sound of footsteps behind her. It wasn’t until she felt the solid press of Viktor’s body against her back, his arm wrapping firmly around her waist, that she froze. His other hand gripped the edge of one of the bookcase’s shelves, boxing her in.

“Proč jsi vstala?” Viktor’s voice was low and steady, his breath warm against her ear. She didn’t understand the words, but the tone was unmistakably chastising.

Startled, Jinx tried to twist around, but his grip on her midsection kept her firmly in place. “What are you sneaking up on me for?” she grit out, her initial panic settling into irritation now that she realized it was just him.

Viktor didn’t respond right away. Instead, his face hovered over her shoulder, his golden eyes scanning the open book in her hands. He hummed thoughtfully before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. “Rozumíš tomu?” he asked, though he knew she wouldn’t understand.

She saw his hand shift from the bookcase to point at one of the diagrams—a reference ray diagram followed by the equation for magnification. Underneath it, the variable p marked as unknown. Jinx followed his gesture, her eyes narrowing as she considered the problem. After a moment, she raised her free hand, holding up four fingers.

Viktor’s eyebrows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He nodded once, flipping the page to reveal another sample problem. This one was more complex, with both p and h marked as unknowns. Jinx studied it for a moment before holding up five fingers for p and two for h.

“Jste docela inteligentní,” Viktor said softly in his own language, his tone carrying a note of genuine admiration. He reached up to one of the higher shelves, grabbing another book—this one in far better condition than the one she held. The spine was smooth, the cover unmarred by time.

He extended it to her, his arm still firmly around her waist. Jinx hesitated, her eyes darting between him and the book. She slid the one she had been holding back into its original spot before cautiously taking the new one. Opening it, she flipped through the pages, scanning for something familiar.

It didn’t take long before she found another set of diagrams—this time on angular momentum. The illustration depicted a dancer spinning, arrows indicating the direction of motion. Beneath it, equations and conversions filled the page, asking the reader to calculate the value of I’.

She worked through it quickly in her head, but when she reached the answer, she faltered. The true value was 1.92, but how could she convey that without words? For a moment, she chewed on her lip, nervousness creeping in. She didn’t even know this guy, and yet she didn’t want him to think she was stupid.

Hesitantly, she held up two fingers, her gaze darting to his face to gauge his reaction.

Viktor studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he nodded. “Chápu,” he murmured, understanding that she had calculated the correct value but lacked the means to communicate it precisely.

Relief flooded her, and she exhaled softly. Viktor reached forward, turning another page in the book, but this time his head lingered even closer, his presence steady and grounding.

Notes:

“Co s ní? Máme ji tady nechat? Ztrácí hodně krve.”⸺“What about her? Should we leave her here? She’s losing a lot of blood.”
“Ne, přineste obvazy… rychle!”⸺“No, bring the bandages… quickly!”
“Zůstaň ležet.”⸺“Stay lying down.”
“Nerozumím ti.”⸺“I don’t understand you.”
“Zranění… potřebuje péči.”⸺“The injury… needs care.”
“Vstupte.”⸺“Come in.”
“Jak se má cizinec?”⸺“How is the stranger?”
“Rána není vážná.”⸺“The wound is not serious.”
“Pokud potřebujete pomoc nebo zásoby, dejte mi vědět,”⸺"If you need help or supplies, let me know,”
“Mohl byste nám přinést nějaké ovoce?”⸺“Could you bring us some fruit?”
“Hned se vrátím.”⸺"I'll be right back.”
“Děkuji.”⸺“Thank you.”
“Proč jsi vstala?”⸺“Why did you get up?”
“Rozumíš tomu?”⸺“Do you understand this?”
“Jste docela inteligentní.”⸺“You’re quite intelligent.”
“Chápu.”⸺“I understand.”

Chapter 54: Soulbound pt. 2

Summary:

Viktor.

He was exactly as she remembered—tall and slender, his cane in one hand and a faintly curious expression on his face. His amber eyes met hers, and she felt that same pull again, the invisible thread tying them together.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly, his voice devoid of any threat or demand.

Jinx hesitated, her grip tightening on the door before she finally stepped back, opening it wider. Viktor entered, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

The faint hum of Piltover’s engines buzzed outside, a steady reminder of the city’s unyielding march towards progress. But in his workshop, the only sounds were the rhythmic tapping of Viktor’s cane against the stone floor, his thoughts clattering like metal against the walls of his mind.

A sliver of moonlight filtered through the narrow window, casting long shadows across the sleek surfaces of his mechanical creations. The workshop, meticulously arranged and sterile, seemed almost alien in comparison to the whirlwind of emotions now stirring within him. His fingers drummed against the desk, the weight of his discovery—of her—pushing against his chest with a relentless pressure.

Jinx. The name, though foreign to him, clung to his thoughts. Her wild eyes, her unrestrained energy, the way her presence had vibrated through his very bones—it wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was a bond. A connection he couldn’t explain, nor dismiss.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, the cold wood creaking beneath his weight as he gazed at the holographic projections floating above his workbench. He had asked the enforcers—casually, of course—about the woman they had been chasing. They had been all too eager to share their intelligence. Jinx was a notorious criminal from Zaun, a name that had sparked fear and frustration in equal measure within Piltover’s elite. A rogue element, they had called her. A menace to their pristine city.

He’d listened, the information passing through his mind like water through a sieve. She had stolen from the rich, sabotaged their systems, and left chaos in her wake. But as the enforcers listed her supposed crimes, Viktor couldn’t help but notice the strange inconsistency. None of the things she’d done—at least the ones they had cataloged—seemed truly malicious. Vandalism, mischief, pranks… nothing that truly warranted the bloodlust Piltover seemed to reserve for her.

But of course, Viktor hadn’t mentioned that. He wasn’t interested in defending a criminal, nor in the details of her deeds. No, his thoughts were fixated elsewhere.

They had spoken of her crimes in detached tones, as though she was just another number on the wanted list. But Viktor, despite himself, couldn’t treat her as just another criminal. There was something in the air when their gazes had locked. It had been more than mere recognition. It had been… something undeniable. Something ancient.

His fingers tightened around the arm of his chair, the sharpness of the memory returning.
Soulmates.

The idea had been laughable, a story perpetuated by the desperate and the hopeless. But now, Viktor found himself in the grip of a feeling he could neither escape nor understand. There had been something in her eyes—a recognition. A mirror to his own confusion.

His mind returned to their encounter. The collision in the hallway, their brief, intense meeting. She had bolted before he could voice the myriad questions swirling within him. But Viktor wasn’t one to be so easily brushed aside. The concept of fate, of this connection that seemed to pulse between them, stirred something deeper in him. It was a force that tugged at his very being, like the relentless pull of gravity, drawing him towards her despite his better judgment.

Piecing together a mental image of the woman who had unraveled his carefully constructed reality. Jinx. A name that seemed to carry as much unpredictability as the person it belonged to. She was a force of entropy, a wild card whose motives were as elusive as her movements. And yet, despite the tumult she seemed to embody, Viktor found himself lingering on the memory of her. The vibrant chaos in her eyes, the crackling energy that seemed to radiate from her very presence.

It was absurd. Illogical. But no less true.

He exhaled, pressing a hand to his forehead. What was he to do? His world—his carefully crafted world—was built on logic and reason. Yet here he was, grappling with something that defied all sense. This connection to her, this Jinx… it didn’t make sense. And yet, deep down, he knew it was real.

Viktor was no fool. He understood the weight of destiny, even if he had never fully believed in it. There was no denying what he had felt when their eyes met. The spark that surged through him. It was not unlike the sensation of electricity coursing through his own mechanical creations—a power he had spent his life harnessing and understanding. But this… this was something entirely different.

The bond they now shared was not something Viktor could dismiss or ignore. He had already begun to feel it—a faint but insistent ache, a subtle disquiet that settled in his chest whenever his thoughts wandered too far from her. He had read about this phenomenon in theoretical texts, though he had never expected to experience it himself. Soulmates, once recognized, could not bear prolonged separation. The distance between them would only grow more difficult to endure over time.

It was a curious predicament. Viktor, a man of logic and reason, found himself at the mercy of an intangible force, one that demanded he confront the reality of his connection to Jinx. He could pursue her, seek her out, but that would mean exposing himself to the chaos she represented. Alternatively, he could wait.

Patience, Viktor reminded himself, had always been one of his virtues.

If she was his fate, he would not argue with it. He had no interest in fighting against the inevitability of their bond.

Instead, he would allow events to unfold naturally. She would come to him, in time. That much was certain.

“She will come to me,” he murmured to himself, the words hanging in the air like a quiet vow. He could feel it. She would seek him out, sooner or later. Fate had a way of working things out, didn’t it? She could run, she could hide, but in the end, their paths would cross again.

The city outside, with its bustling streets and looming towers, suddenly felt distant. Viktor’s mind, ever sharp, began to churn with ideas. She would come to him. That much was certain. And when she did, he would need to be ready.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be sooner rather than later.

He stood, pacing to the large window that framed the cityscape below. Piltover’s gleaming towers glinted in the pale moonlight, a symbol of their so-called superiority. Beneath them, Zaun stretched out like a festering wound—a place that had birthed Jinx, the very woman who now occupied his every thought.

The thought brought him a measure of solace, though it did little to dispel the lingering questions that gnawed at him.

There was one certainty, however, that Viktor could not ignore. Jinx was a target, hunted by Piltover's enforcers. If they found her, they would show no mercy.

That, Viktor decided, was unacceptable.

Ensuring her safety would require careful planning. The enforcers were relentless, and Jinx's penchant for chaos only made her more vulnerable to their pursuit. Viktor would need to be strategic, methodical. He would have to devise a way to shield her from their reach, though how he would accomplish this remained uncertain.

He could see how the enforcers had pursued her, determined in their attempt to capture or eliminate her. They would continue to do so, their ignorance only serving to drive her deeper into the shadows of Zaun. And Viktor, for all his intelligence, was left wondering how he could ensure her safety. The enforcers, with their strict laws and unwavering pursuit of justice, would never allow her to simply vanish. They would hunt her until she was nothing more than a memory, lost in the depths of their archives.

But Viktor had resources. He had time. And, most importantly, he had the ability to think beyond the obvious.

“I will protect her,” he muttered under his breath, his voice carrying a finality he hadn’t expected.

How? That was another question entirely. But the answer, he knew, lay in his hands. In the work he had done, the technology he had crafted. The power he wielded. With the right adjustments, the right manipulations, there was no system that couldn’t be bent to his will.

A plan began to form in his mind, delicate and precise, just as he preferred. If he could find her—if he could get close enough—he would have the means to shield her from the law. He didn’t need to know everything about her. He didn’t need to know why fate had thrust them together. But he did know this: she was his. And no one, not the enforcers nor the corrupt systems of Piltover, would take her from him.

Viktor’s gaze hardened, his amber eyes narrowing as the weight of his determination settled upon him.

For all the resources Piltover afforded him, for all the progress he had made in the fields of science and innovation, this—the bond with Jinx—was the one thing he could not control. And yet, it was the one thing that seemed to matter most.

His mind wandered briefly to the thought of her—wild, untamed, a force of nature all her own. She would never be the obedient, compliant soul he had always envisioned as a match for himself. No, Jinx was chaos incarnate, a whirlwind of unpredictability and madness. But that was what made her so compelling. It was what made her his.

And he, in turn, would be hers.

“I will find you,” he whispered, the words a promise he had no intention of breaking.
It wasn’t just fate that had brought them together. It was something more—a force that neither of them could deny. He wasn’t sure what would happen when they met again. Would it be a collision of wills? Or would they simply accept the inevitable, whatever it may be?

For now, Viktor could only wait. Wait, and prepare.

His workshop was quiet once more, the soft hum of his machines the only sound that filled the room. But Viktor’s mind, sharp as ever, was already focused on the future. Whatever came next, he would face it head-on. He would wait for Jinx, and when she came, he would make sure she never left.

The dead of night was a strange solace, the quiet punctuated only by the faint hum of the machines in Viktor’s lab. It was a time he cherished—when Piltover’s bustling noise gave way to a rare stillness. Tonight, however, the silence was different. Charged. Anticipatory. He couldn’t focus, his hands faltering as they adjusted the delicate mechanisms of his latest prototype. His mind kept circling back to her—Jinx. Her name alone set his thoughts ablaze, yet he was strangely calm, almost certain that fate would guide her back to him.

And then, it happened.

The creak was faint but unmistakable, breaking through the rhythmic clinks of his tools. Viktor froze, his amber eyes snapping to the source of the sound—the door to his lab. His breath caught as it slowly opened, and she slipped inside.

Jinx moved like a shadow, her steps silent, her figure illuminated by the dim, sterile light of his workspace. She carefully closed the door behind her, her every motion deliberate, her shoulders tense. Viktor didn’t speak at first, watching as her eyes flitted around the room before settling on him. The faint twitching of her fingers betrayed her nervousness, her hands wringing together in front of her as though trying to hold herself steady.

She didn’t move closer.

“It took longer than I expected for you to return.”

Viktor’s voice broke the silence, smooth yet tinged with the faintest edge of amusement. He set his tools down carefully, as if ensuring nothing could interrupt the moment between them. His gaze never left her, and he extended a hand toward her, steady and inviting.

“Come.”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking between his hand and his face. For a moment, she stayed rooted to her spot, as if caught in an internal war. But then, with a tentative step, she began to approach. Every movement seemed reluctant, her head slightly tilted as though bracing for some unseen blow. When she finally reached him, her hand hovered over his, trembling faintly, before she placed it in his grasp.

The moment their skin touched, it hit them both like a tidal wave.

A warmth unlike anything Viktor had ever known flooded through him, a rush that spread from his fingertips to the very core of his being. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as the sensation overtook him. It was intoxicating, dizzying, as though every nerve in his body had suddenly come alive.

Across from him, Jinx groaned softly, the sound low and strained as her shoulders slumped. Her body swayed slightly, overwhelmed by the same rush of completeness, her other hand clenching into a fist at her side. She didn’t pull away; instead, her fingers tightened in his as though seeking more of the connection.

Neither spoke. The moment stretched between them, the world outside falling away.

Viktor’s mind raced, yet he couldn’t focus on anything but her presence. This—this was what it meant to be whole. He hadn’t believed it until now, but the reality of the bond left no room for doubt.

Several long minutes passed before he finally opened his eyes, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He didn’t want to let go, but he knew he had to. “I… have a dwelling not far from here,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though afraid to disturb the fragile stillness between them. “Could you wait there for me? I still have work to finish.”

Jinx didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes were still closed, her lips caught between her teeth as she focused on the sensation coursing through her. For a moment, Viktor wondered if she had even heard him.

But then her eyes opened, meeting his, their intensity unwavering. “Can I trust you?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm, her gaze searching his face for any sign of duplicity.

The weight of her question was not lost on him. She was right to ask—he could easily be leading her into a trap, turning her over to the enforcers. She was no fool, and she knew the risk she was taking.

“Yes.” Viktor’s answer came without hesitation, his voice steady and resolute. “You can.”

He rose from his chair, his cane in one hand, her hand still clasped firmly in the other. The connection between them was like a lifeline, a thread that neither wanted to sever. Slowly, he guided her toward the window, his steps deliberate.

Once they reached the edge of the room, he positioned her slightly in front of him and pointed out into the city. “There,” he said, his tone soft but certain. “The building with brown brick. The eleventh room on the sixth floor. I will meet you there soon.”

Jinx followed his gesture, her eyes narrowing as she studied the distant structure. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she glanced back at their intertwined fingers, the hesitation clear on her face.

When her hand began to pull away, Viktor felt it immediately—the absence, the cold that crept in as their skin separated. She paused, biting her lip as though bracing herself for the inevitable. Viktor felt the same reluctance, his hand tightening slightly before he forced himself to let her go.

Her fingers finally slipped free of his, and the loss was immediate. Viktor clenched his hand into a fist at his side, the phantom warmth of her touch lingering even as the connection faded.

Jinx stood there for a moment, her brows knit together, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes darted back to his, uncertainty flickering in their depths.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” she muttered, her voice laced with a hint of defiance despite her obvious unease.

“I won’t,” Viktor promised.

With that, Jinx turned and slipped out the way she had come, disappearing into the shadows as silently as she had arrived. Viktor stood by the window long after she was gone, his gaze fixed on the building he had pointed out to her.

The ache in his chest was unfamiliar, a longing that gnawed at him even as he forced himself to return to his work. He would join her soon, but first, he needed to finish what he had started.

For the first time in a long while, his focus was not on his inventions or the future of Piltover and Zaun. No, his thoughts were consumed by her—by the chaos she had brought into his life, and the inexplicable certainty that she belonged there.

He had waited for her once, and she had returned. Now, she was waiting for him.

And Viktor would not disappoint her.
________________________________________

The workshop had never felt so empty.

Viktor still lingered by the window, his eyes fixed on the distant building where Jinx would be waiting. The hum of his machines, once comforting, now felt grating—distant echoes that barely registered over the sound of his own thoughts. His hand still tingled where her fingers had been, the phantom sensation refusing to leave him.

He shook his head and turned back to his desk. There was work to do, tasks to finish before he could leave. Yet his hands, so precise and steady, trembled faintly as he reached for his tools.

His thoughts wouldn’t focus. They kept drifting back to her—to the look in her eyes as she asked if she could trust him, to the weight of her hesitation, and the overwhelming warmth when they touched. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even now, with the connection severed, he felt her absence as keenly as if she’d taken a piece of him with her.

Viktor exhaled sharply, setting the tools down with more force than necessary. No amount of work would distract him now. He needed to see her again.

He grabbed his cane and donned his coat, the fabric brushing against his shoulders like a familiar weight. It wasn’t long before he found himself stepping out of the lab, the quiet of Piltover’s nighttime streets wrapping around him.

Jinx sat on the floor of the small, sparsely furnished room Viktor had directed her to. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, her fingers twitching as they gripped her knees. The room smelled faintly of dust and old wood, the walls bathed in the dim glow of a single lantern she’d found in the corner.

She’d been pacing earlier, but now, she sat completely still, her mind a chaotic mess of thoughts.

What was she doing here?

She had wanted to run. To vanish into the labyrinth of Zaun, where no one—least of all some brilliant, soft-spoken stranger—could follow. But something had stopped her. Him.

The way he’d looked at her, calm and unyielding, as though he could see past her wildness and chaos to something deeper. She wasn’t used to that—being seen. And then there was the feeling when she’d touched him, like every nerve in her body had been lit up at once. It was maddening and wonderful and terrifying all at once.

Her hands flexed, curling into fists before relaxing again. She’d felt whole in a way she couldn’t explain, and the thought of losing that sensation made her chest ache.

But what if it was a trap?

She chewed on her bottom lip, glancing toward the window. The city sprawled beyond it, and for a moment, she considered slipping out and disappearing into the night. Yet she stayed rooted to the floor, her legs tucked beneath her as though afraid to move.

She hated this. The waiting. The uncertainty. It wasn’t like her. Normally, she thrived in chaos, in unpredictability. But this… this was different. This wasn’t just danger; it was vulnerability, and it unsettled her in a way no enemy ever had.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Her head snapped up, her entire body tensing as her hand instinctively reached for one of the makeshift grenades tucked into her pocket. She didn’t move, her heart pounding in her chest as the knock came again, this time accompanied by a quiet voice.

“It’s me.”

The tension in her body shifted, a strange mixture of relief and apprehension washing over her. Slowly, she rose to her feet, her movements cautious as she approached the door. Her hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment before she opened it, just enough to see him standing there.

Viktor.

He was exactly as she remembered—tall and slender, his cane in one hand and a faintly curious expression on his face. His amber eyes met hers, and she felt that same pull again, the invisible thread tying them together.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly, his voice devoid of any threat or demand.

Jinx hesitated, her grip tightening on the door before she finally stepped back, opening it wider. Viktor entered, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

The room suddenly felt much smaller.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Jinx stood by the door, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched him. Viktor, in turn, took in his surroundings before his gaze settled on her.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t stay,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

Jinx shrugged, her expression guarded. “Thought about leaving,” she admitted. “Still might.”

“But you haven’t,” Viktor pointed out, his tone calm.

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile before she caught herself. “Don’t push your luck, smarty-pants.”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth lifted slightly, the faintest hint of amusement softening his sharp features. He stepped further into the room, leaning on his cane as he regarded her.

“Why did you come back?” he asked, his voice gentle but probing.

Jinx shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tugging at the edge of her sleeve. “I don’t know,” she muttered, looking away. “Guess I just… felt like it.”

Viktor tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “You felt it too,” he said quietly.

Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, pal,” she snapped. “I don’t know what I felt.”

“Lying does not suit you,” Viktor said simply, his tone free of accusation.

Jinx scowled, but she didn’t deny it. She looked away again, her jaw tightening as she fought against the vulnerability threatening to surface.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “Whatever this… thing is, it’s not gonna work. You’re… you’re you, and I’m…” She gestured vaguely to herself, as though the words to describe her didn’t exist.

“Chaos?” Viktor offered, his voice even.

She froze, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him. “You got a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” he replied, meeting her glare with quiet resolve. “Chaos can be… useful. Necessary, even.”

Jinx stared at him, searching his face for any sign of fear or deception. But there was none. He looked at her with the same calm intensity as before, as though nothing she could do would surprise or frighten him.

It was unsettling.

And yet, she didn’t hate it.

Jinx returned to sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the wall, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her arms looped around her legs, and her chin rested on her knees as she stared at Viktor. Despite the casual sprawl of her body, her sharp eyes betrayed a deeper unease, a storm of uncertainty brewing behind them.

“So…” she began, her voice hesitant but edged with sarcasm. “How is this even supposed to work, huh?” Her tone grew sharper as she continued. “I mean, it’s not like I can just stroll around Piltover holding your hand or whatever. Pretty sure your enforcer buddies wouldn’t be too thrilled about that.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Viktor didn’t respond. He simply studied her, his amber eyes calm and thoughtful. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady and deliberate.

“Of that, I am aware,” he said, leaning slightly on his cane as he shifted his weight. “However…” His gaze softened, though his expression remained resolute. “You are mine, and I am yours. No?”

Jinx’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. The simplicity of his statement struck her like a blow, catching her off guard. It wasn’t a declaration dripping with flowery sentiment or over-the-top theatrics. It was just fact. Unshakable.

“I will figure it out,” he continued, his tone as assured as if he were solving one of his mechanical puzzles. “No matter the complications. No matter what… or who… stands in our way.”

She blinked, her throat tightening. “You sound so sure about it,” she muttered, her voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. “But, like… you do get who you’re dealing with, right? I’m not exactly sunshine and rainbows. More like… chaos and kaboom.” She made an explosive gesture with her hands, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite the weight of the moment.

“I am well aware,” Viktor replied, his lips twitching into the faintest semblance of a smile. “You are chaos. But chaos does not frighten me.”

Jinx frowned, her brows furrowing as she stared at him. “You’re really not scared of me?”

“No.” He met her gaze without hesitation. “Should I be?”

She huffed, her fingers drumming against her legs. “Most people are,” she muttered. “Or they should be. You saw the enforcers. They’d string me up if they could. Call me a criminal. A ‘threat to Piltover.’” She rolled her eyes. “Which, y’know, fair point. I’m not exactly harmless.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, his amber eyes glinting in the dim light. “I do not believe you are harmless,” he said, his tone measured. “But neither are you what they claim you to be. You are… more.”

“More?” She arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a crooked grin. “What’s that supposed to mean? You getting all poetic now?”

He shook his head, his gaze never wavering. “It means that you are not defined by the stories others tell about you. Not even by the chaos you create. There is something beneath it all. Something greater.”

Jinx stared at him, her grin fading. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. The way he spoke, so calm, so matter-of-fact… it made her feel seen in a way that was both terrifying and comforting.

“You’re weird,” she muttered finally, breaking the silence.

“So I have been told,” Viktor replied, his faint smile returning.

She snorted, resting her chin back on her knees. “This whole thing is weird,” she admitted. “Like, fate? Soulmates? It’s a load of crap. Right?”

Viktor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his hand resting on the top of his cane as he regarded her. “Perhaps,” he said slowly. “But whether we call it fate or chance, the bond remains. It is real, no matter how much we may question it.”

She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the floor. “What if I screw it up?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor’s expression softened, and he reached out, his hand hovering just above hers. “You will not.”

Jinx glanced up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. “How do you know?”

“Because I will be there,” he said simply.

The certainty in his voice left no room for doubt. It was the same tone he used when explaining his inventions, as though the outcome was already determined, the pieces already in place. And Jinx found herself believing him.

Her fingers twitched, and after a moment’s hesitation, she reached out, her hand brushing against his. The warmth of his touch sent a familiar rush through her, but this time, she didn’t have to pull away. Instead, she let her hand rest in his, the connection grounding her in a way she couldn’t explain.

“I’m not used to this,” she muttered, her voice quiet. “The… feelings.”

“Nor am I,” Viktor admitted, his thumb brushing gently against her knuckles. “But I believe we will find a way. Together.”

She stared at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation or deceit. But there was none. Just that calm, unwavering certainty that seemed to define him.

“Together, huh?” she echoed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“Yes,” Viktor said firmly.

“Okay,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor’s fingers tightened slightly around hers, a silent acknowledgment of her unspoken trust.

Chapter 55: ONE: Apéritif

Summary:

Jinx leaned forward, her grin sharpening. "You ever think about it?"

Viktor arched a brow. "About what?"

Jinx’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Killing someone."

The air between them went very still.

Viktor’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t falter.

He simply lifted his teacup, took a sip, and set it down again.

"All the time," he murmured.

Jinx’s pulse sung.

Notes:

This is a Hannibal AU! Or rather, it's inspired by Bryan Fuller's Hannibal TV Series. This is not anywhere near accurate to the events in the show.

For plot sake, I needed to give Viktor a last name. It's never mentioned, but Viktor was born in Czechoslovakia (y'know, back when it still existed), adopted by Count Corin Reveck (Singed), and took on his last name.

And let’s just say, this came about from an absolutely FIRE discussion in the Jinxtor discord this morning. It was time for me to clock in.

I wasn't able to do all that I wanted with this piece, so I guess I'll save it for the future, lol. Also, this was sooooooo out of my comfort zone, but I love it—very different from how/what I would usually write.

The house was silent. The kind of silence that only comes after violence.

Jinx stood just beyond the threshold, the dim amber glow of a streetlamp casting jagged shadows through the broken window. A single step forward and the scent hit her—coppery, thick, unmistakable. Blood.

Her gaze followed the footprints leading deeper into the house, stark red against the pale wooden floorboards. She didn’t need to see the bodies to know how they had fallen. The scene had already reconstructed itself in her mind.

She let the present moment blur, let reality fade as she slipped into the fractures of her own psyche. The room around her darkened at the edges, her mind filling in the missing details, painting over the gaps.

The door hadn’t been kicked in. No splintered wood, no frantic struggle. It had been opened, intentionally, carefully. The killer had wanted in. The victims had let him.

Jinx’s pulse slowed. Her breath evened out.

And then—

She wasn’t herself anymore.

She was him.

She could feel the weight of the blade in her hand, its cool steel warmed by the heat of his palm. She could hear the rhythmic sound of her—his—own breathing, measured and controlled. There was no rush. No hesitation.

On the couch, the husband barely had time to look up before the knife traced a thin, precise line across his throat. The movement was effortless. Calculated. His final breath left him in a wet, bubbling gasp as blood sprayed across the flickering television screen, dark shapes staining the pastel sitcom set.

The wife stood in the hallway, a scream forming on her lips—too late.

A hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound. A voice—low, almost gentle—whispered something she didn’t understand. A lover’s murmur. A eulogy.

The knife found its mark. Again. Again.

Jinx inhaled sharply, the vision snapping like a rubber band pulled too tight.

The silence of the house came rushing back. The sirens outside. The low murmur of crime scene techs shuffling through evidence. Her knees wobbled. She gripped the back of the couch, grounding herself in the present.

"Jinx."

She turned at the voice, blinking as the world settled back into focus.

Silco stood in the doorway, watching her. His gaze was sharp, but unreadable. The lines of his face, always so controlled, gave nothing away—but she knew better. She could see it. The careful calculation beneath the surface.

"You good?" he asked.

Jinx exhaled slowly, running a hand through her tangled blue hair. "Peachy."

Silco took a measured step forward, surveying the room, the bodies. "You see it?"

Jinx nodded. "Yeah." She tapped the side of her head, forcing a smirk. "Felt it. Every breath. Every cut."

Silco’s lips pressed into a thin line. "That ‘trick’ is the only reason you’re here. But it’s also why you’re going to see Dr. Young."

Jinx scowled, the amusement in her expression vanishing. "You’re still on that?"

"Yes." The word was firm, leaving no room for argument. "You’re brilliant, Jinx. The best profiler I have. But this?" He gestured vaguely to her, to the house, to the mess she had just pulled herself out of. "This is getting worse. You’re slipping too deep, and I won’t watch you burn yourself out."

Jinx folded her arms. "I don’t need a shrink poking around in my head. I like my head just the way it is."

Silco’s gaze didn’t waver. "Then think of it as an evaluation. A chance to prove me wrong."

Jinx’s jaw clenched. "You don’t actually believe that."

"No," he admitted. "But I need you in the field. If this gets worse, I won’t be able to protect you."

Jinx hated this part—the part where Silco pretended to be a father. The part where he acted like she was fragile. It made her want to tear something apart.

Silco sighed, rubbing his temple. "One session. With someone I trust."

Jinx exhaled sharply, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Fine," she muttered. "But only because I don’t feel like arguing all night."

Silco nodded, already pulling out his phone. "I’ll set it up."

Jinx turned away, muttering under her breath, "This is so stupid."

She didn’t know it yet, but she was about to meet the only person who would ever truly understand her.

---

Viktor poured a thin stream of red wine into a crystal glass, his movements slow, deliberate. The deep crimson liquid reflected the dim glow of his office lamps, the light catching against the polished surface of his mahogany desk.

His fingers trailed absently along the pages of the case file before him. The details were grisly—clean, methodical, an artist’s touch beneath the carnage. The autopsy photos were stark, clinical, but Viktor saw beyond the crude documentation of the crime.

He saw the craftsmanship.

He saw purpose.

The precision of the incisions, the intentional removal of organs, the arrangement of the bodies—there was an intelligence behind it. A clarity of vision that most would fail to appreciate.

A quiet smile played at the corners of his lips.

Fascinating.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He exhaled, setting the wine glass aside.

"Come in."

The door swung open, revealing Dr. Sky Young. She was careful in her movements, polite in her hesitation. Viktor observed the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of concern behind her professional demeanor.

"I hope I’m not interrupting," she said.

"Not at all, Dr. Young." Viktor’s voice was smooth, laced with amusement. "What can I do for you?"

Sky stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I need your help with someone."

Viktor arched a brow, intrigued. "Go on."

"A criminal profiler, Jinx."

Ah.

Viktor leaned back, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. He had, of course, heard of Silco’s prized profiler. She had a reputation—brilliant, unstable, unpredictable. A mind unlike any other.

Sky hesitated. "She’s… struggling. Her ability to put herself in the mindset of a killer is extraordinary, but it’s also destroying her. She’s slipping too deep."

Viktor’s gaze sharpened. "And you believe I can help?"

Sky nodded. "Silco trusts you. And I think Jinx might actually listen to you."

Viktor chuckled softly. "I imagine she does not listen to many."

Sky gave a small, tired smile. "That’s putting it lightly."

Viktor considered for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I would be happy to meet her."

Sky exhaled in relief. "Thank you. And… be careful. She’s not just another patient."

Viktor’s smile was slow. Knowing.

"I wouldn’t dream of treating her as such."

---

Silco flipped through the crime scene photos, his expression impassive. The bodies had been found in a shallow grave just outside the city—eight in total, all young men, all with their throats slit cleanly.

Jinx leaned over his desk, snagging one of the photos and flipping it around. "So what, we got a wannabe Jack the Ripper on our hands?"

Silco didn’t look up. "Jack the Ripper targeted women. These victims are all men, late teens to early twenties."

Jinx made a face. "Okay, fine. Chad the Ripper, then."

Silco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jinx."

She waved a hand. "Fine, fine. Lemme see the files."

Silco slid them across the desk, watching as Jinx’s expression shifted. Her usual manic energy dimmed slightly, her eyes narrowing as she took in the details. The way their hands had been bound. The precise cuts. The way they had all been positioned in their graves—lined up like specimens.

Jinx inhaled slowly. And then—

It shifted.

She wasn’t in Silco’s office anymore. She was somewhere else , somewhere dark and damp, the scent of earth thick in her nostrils. The killer was here— she was here.

The first one had begged.

The others had learned that begging wouldn’t help.

They had been taken one by one, their struggles growing weaker each time. Hands bound, throats cut, their bodies placed carefully in the dirt. Not tossed. Not discarded. Arranged.

Jinx blinked, shaking her head hard. She was back. The office. Silco’s expectant stare. Her hands were clenched in fists so tight her nails had nearly drawn blood.

She licked her lips, forcing a smirk. "Yeah. Got it."

Silco watched her carefully. "Anything useful?"

Jinx tapped the photo with her finger. "This wasn’t just some psycho killing for fun. They were… important to him. He needed them to be still. To be quiet. To be his."

Silco exhaled slowly. "Alright. Let’s get to work."

Jinx stood, stretching her arms over her head. "Wanna bet it’s some creep with mommy issues?"

Silco just shook his head. "Go."

Jinx grinned, snatching the file up as she left the office.

She had a murderer to find.

---

Jinx slouched in the leather chair, her long legs draped over the armrest, one boot bouncing idly in the air. The office smelled like old books and expensive tea—too refined for her taste, too still.

She didn't like stillness.

Her fingers picked at a loose thread on her sleeve as she gave the room a slow once-over. The dark wooden bookshelves, stacked with medical texts and philosophical treatises. The antique desk, polished to a mirror shine. The way everything was too neat, too carefully curated, like a museum exhibit.

Like a lie.

Her gaze landed on him.

Viktor Reveck sat across from her, composed and precise, one hand wrapped around a cane, the other resting lightly on his knee. He was watching her with that look—that careful, analytical stare that most shrinks had. But there was something else beneath it.

Curiosity.

Not pity. Not condescension. Just… curiosity.

Jinx smirked. "So, you’re the guy I’m supposed to talk to."

Viktor studied her. "Dr. Reveck," he corrected, his accent softening the syllables. "And you must be Jinx."

She grinned, making a finger-gun and ‘shooting’ at him. "Bingo."

Viktor didn’t react beyond the smallest tilt of his head. "You do not seem particularly pleased to be here."

Jinx snorted. "Oh yeah, I’m thrilled. Getting my brain poked at is my favorite thing ever." She rolled her eyes. "This is a waste of time."

Viktor merely watched her, his expression unshaken. "Then why did you agree to come?"

Jinx clicked her tongue. "Silco’s got this whole ‘concerned dad’ routine going on. Said I’d get benched if I didn’t show up."

"Ah." Viktor nodded slightly. "So, an obligation rather than a desire."

Jinx grinned. "Wow, you are a psychiatrist."

Viktor exhaled a quiet chuckle. "So it would seem."

Jinx stretched, arching her back like a cat before sliding into a more upright position. "Alright, let’s get this over with, doc. Just hurry up and tell me what’s wrong with me."

Viktor’s expression didn’t change. "What makes you think something is wrong?"

Jinx paused. That was… new.

"Uh, I dunno. Maybe the part where I can become a murderer in my head? The fun hallucinations? The whole ‘is this real or did I just make it up’ mental horror show?"

Viktor leaned forward slightly, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin. "And yet, despite all of that, you function. You do more than function—you excel. You see things no one else can. That is not a flaw, Jinx. It is a gift."

Jinx’s fingers twitched.

No one had ever said that before.

People told her she was broken. People told her she was a mess, a liability, an unstable freak.

But Viktor?

He just looked at her, calm and composed, like he understood something she didn’t.

Jinx forced a smirk. "Sounds like something a serial killer would say."

Viktor’s lips twitched. "Perhaps."

Jinx narrowed her eyes at him, something sharp and electric passing between them.

He wasn’t normal.

And she liked that.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. "So, what’s your deal, doc?"

Viktor arched a brow. "My deal?"

"Yeah. You talk like you get it. Like you see it." Jinx tilted her head, her voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. "So tell me—what do you see?"

Viktor smiled slightly, lifting his teacup to his lips. "A very interesting young woman."

Jinx’s grin widened.

Yeah.

He was going to be fun.

---

Viktor watched as Jinx settled into her chair for their next session, her posture casual but too deliberate—like she was testing him.

He welcomed the challenge.

"You’re quiet today," he observed, pouring himself a cup of tea from an ornate silver pot.

Jinx rolled her eyes. "Don’t act like you know me yet, doc."

Viktor smirked, taking a slow sip. "Would you prefer I pretend otherwise?"

Jinx squinted at him.

Most people annoyed her. They either feared her or wanted to fix her. But Viktor? He played along.

She liked that.

"You’re so weird," she muttered.

Viktor chuckled. "I will take that as a compliment."

Jinx leaned back in her chair, propping her boots up on the armrest. "Alright, let’s get real. I get inside murderers’ heads. I feel what they feel. I see what they see. And if I let it go too far? I don’t know if I’d come back."

Viktor tilted his head. "And does that possibility frighten you?"

Jinx exhaled through her nose, running her tongue over her teeth. "Not really. That’s the bad part, isn’t it?"

Viktor set his teacup down with precise movements. "Perhaps it is not fear that holds you back, but choice."

Jinx frowned. "The hell’s that supposed to mean?"

Viktor leaned forward slightly. "Many believe that darkness is something uncontrollable. Something one either succumbs to or resists." His golden eyes flickered with something unreadable. "But what if it is simply another path? A path one can choose to walk… or not."

Jinx stared at him.

Something in his voice sent a slow, electric thrill down her spine.

"Sounds like you speak from experience," she mused.

Viktor smiled, slow and deliberate. "I have experienced many things in my life, Jinx."

Jinx smirked. "Y'know, most shrinks would be trying to steer me back onto the ‘good little detective’ track."

Viktor lifted his glass. "Then I must not be most shrinks."

Jinx studied him.

He wasn’t normal.

She knew he wasn’t normal.

And yet, sitting across from him, feeling the weight of his gaze, she wasn’t uncomfortable.

She was curious.

More than that—she was interested.

Jinx leaned forward, her grin sharpening. "You ever think about it?"

Viktor arched a brow. "About what?"

Jinx’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Killing someone."

The air between them went very still.

Viktor’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t falter.

He simply lifted his teacup, took a sip, and set it down again.

"All the time," he murmured.

Jinx’s pulse sung.

Yeah.

She was definitely in trouble.

---

Jinx sat on the edge of Silco’s desk, flipping through the newest case file with a lazy sort of focus. Her mismatched eyes traced each photograph, each sterile report, fingers drumming against the paper as she absorbed the details.

Another body. Another missing organ. Another goddamn masterpiece.

Silco stood by the window, arms folded, watching the cityscape beyond the office. The golden light of sunset cast long shadows across his face, deepening the lines around his one good eye.

"This isn’t like the others," he said finally, voice measured.

Jinx hummed in vague agreement. "Nope."

Silco turned to face her. "You sound too happy about that."

Jinx grinned, tapping one of the photos with her finger. "Can you blame me? This guy’s an artist."

The latest victim, a man in his early twenties, had been discovered in an abandoned greenhouse outside the city limits. His body was posed—not haphazardly discarded, not dumped in a shallow grave like so many other victims of crime. No, this one had been arranged.

Laid out on a bare garden plot, arms folded neatly over his chest, eyes closed like he was sleeping. His shirt had been removed, revealing the careful, precise incision along his torso. Surgical. Practiced. Elegant.

But it was the missing organ that fascinated Jinx.

His heart was gone.

Not torn out. Not butchered. Removed.

Silco studied her, his expression unreadable. "You’re seeing something the rest of us aren’t."

Jinx smirked, twirling a lock of blue hair around her finger. "Always do."

Silco sighed, rubbing his temple. "Fine. Let’s hear it."

Jinx hopped off the desk, pacing as she spoke. "This wasn’t just some psycho having fun. He’s not a thrill-killer, not a lunatic carving people up for the hell of it." She waved the photo in the air. "This was personal. Intimate."

Silco’s brow furrowed. "How do you figure?"

Jinx grinned. "The heart, boss. You don’t take a heart unless you’re making a statement."

She flicked through the pages, her gaze dancing over autopsy reports. "The cut was perfect. No hesitation, no struggle. Hell, the guy barely bled out. You know what that means?"

Silco exhaled. "That he was dead before the heart was taken."

Jinx snapped her fingers, pointing at him. "Bingo! That’s control, Silco. That’s patience. He didn’t rush it. He waited. He made it beautiful."

Silco studied her carefully, but Jinx was too lost in thought to care.

Her fingers traced the lines of the crime scene photo, admiration curling in her chest.

This wasn’t murder.

This was art.

And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she could almost hear Viktor’s voice:

"A gift is not a flaw, Jinx. It is simply perspective."

A slow grin spread across her face.

She needed to see him.

---

The scent of roasted meat filled the house.

Viktor moved with slow precision, slicing into the tender cut before him, the deep red juices pooling onto the plate. The candlelight flickered against the silverware, casting long shadows across the dining table.

He took his time, plating each piece carefully. A drizzle of rich sauce. A garnish of fresh herbs. The aesthetic mattered as much as the flavor.

He took a seat, fingers wrapping around the stem of his wine glass, the deep crimson liquid swirling under the low light.

He exhaled softly.

Perfection.

The young man had been… delightful. A violinist. Fragile hands, delicate fingers, veins like fine silk beneath pale skin. He had begged, of course. They always did at first. But Viktor had been gentle. Soft-spoken. He had whispered reassurances, stroked trembling hair, hushed the panicked sobs.

And when the time had come, it had been clean.

The blade had slid through muscle and sinew with the ease of a practiced hand. The heart had been removed carefully, with respect.

And now, in death, the boy was beautiful.

Viktor brought the fork to his lips, savoring the taste as it melted on his tongue. The richness of the meat, the slight iron tang—it was a delicacy.

But it wasn’t just the flavor.

It was the meaning.

A gift, laid bare before the one person who might truly understand.

The thought made his pulse quicken.

Jinx.

His fingers tightened around the wine glass, an odd warmth coiling in his chest. She saw things others didn’t. She didn’t recoil, didn’t flinch. She understood the craft. The precision. The art.

She was like him.

Perhaps not fully yet.

But soon.

He reached for his phone, the smooth screen cool beneath his fingertips. He hesitated for only a moment before typing.

Dr. Reveck: I would like to invite you to dinner. A proper conversation requires a proper meal.

Jinx: Only if there’s wine.

A pause. Then—

Dr. Reveck: Would I be a good host if there weren’t?

A grin tugged at Viktor’s lips.

She was coming.

Perfect.

---

Jinx had always been good at reading people.

It wasn’t just the crime scenes, the blood, the bodies—it was the why. The choices that led to the moment of violence. The little pieces of a person’s mind that spilled out alongside their organs.

And Viktor?

Viktor was interesting.

She leaned back in the high-backed dining chair, idly swirling her wine glass. Viktor’s house was exactly what she expected—old-world charm, rich mahogany, antique furniture that looked too expensive to touch.

But it was the food that got her.

The moment the plate had been set in front of her, she had known something was off.

It wasn’t the presentation—because damn, Viktor knew how to plate a dish. Everything was placed with surgical precision, down to the delicate sprig of herbs.

It wasn’t the smell—because God, the smell was rich, intoxicating, savory in a way that made her stomach twist with something that wasn’t quite hunger.

No.

It was the texture.

Jinx cut into the meat, watching the juices seep onto the plate. Her fingers twitched as she speared a bite and brought it to her lips.

The taste flooded her mouth.

Tender. Perfectly seasoned. The kind of dish that belonged in a five-star restaurant and priced more than her car.

But underneath it—beneath the perfectly charred edges and the wine reduction—was a wrongness.

A realization slithered through her mind, slow and deliberate.

She chewed. Swallowed. Set down her fork.

Viktor was watching her.

Not nervous. Not expectant.

Just… watching.

Jinx tilted her head, a slow grin curling at the corners of her lips. "You cook like you kill, doc."

Viktor’s lips quirked slightly. "Is that a compliment?"

Jinx rested her chin on her hand, studying him. "That depends. What exactly am I eating?"

Viktor took a measured sip of his wine. "Do you truly wish to know?"

Jinx twirled her fork between her fingers.

Oh, she knew.

She knew from the way his hands moved—controlled, precise, the hands of a surgeon. She knew from the way he presented the plate, not like a meal, but like a gift.

She knew from the way the latest victim’s heart had been missing.

And she knew because something in her—something deep, dark, and thrillingly familiar—was excited by it.

She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something silkier. "Oh, I have a pretty good idea."

Viktor exhaled through his nose, almost amused. "Then I see no need to confirm nor deny."

Jinx smirked.

Smart man.

She picked up her fork again, slicing off another bite.

She ate it.

Not because she had to.

Because she wanted to.

Viktor’s gaze darkened slightly, fingers flexing against the stem of his wine glass.

Jinx licked her lips, dragging the edge of her fork across her plate in idle patterns. "You ever gonna tell me what your deal is, doc?"

Viktor set his glass down, tilting his head. "And what do you believe my ‘deal’ to be?"

She grinned. "Oh, I dunno. You look at me like you see things nobody else does."

Viktor smiled, slow and knowing. "That is because I do."

Jinx’s fingers twitched against the tablecloth.

That should have unsettled her.

Instead, it sent a warm, electric thrill curling in her stomach.

She smirked, voice dropping into something teasing. "Careful, doc. That almost sounded flirty."

Viktor chuckled, smooth and composed. "And if it was?"

She watched him. Really watched him.

Most men flinched under her gaze. Most men buckled.

Viktor just waited.

Calculated.

Jinx’s grin widened.

"Guess I’ll have to find out, huh?"

Viktor lifted his wine glass again, tipping it toward her in silent acknowledgment.

"Indeed."

---

The body was found the next morning.

Young man. Early twenties. Slender build. Brown hair.

Lying on a bed of chrysanthemums.

Jinx stood over the body, hands on her hips, chewing the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.

Silco loomed beside her, arms crossed, gaze sharp. "This isn’t like the others."

Jinx hummed. "Nope."

Silco shot her a look. "You sound too happy about that."

Jinx crouched down, running her fingers lightly over the victim’s arm. The skin was still soft, the blood only just beginning to settle. Fresh.

Her gaze flicked down to the torso.

A clean, surgical incision.

The heart?

Gone.

Jinx inhaled slowly, dragging her tongue across her teeth.

Neat work. Precise. Artistic.

It was a message.

A perfectly wrapped gift, presented just for her.

Silco exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Tell me something useful, Jinx. Before the FBI breathes down my neck."

Jinx smirked, tapping the corpse’s collarbone. "This guy wasn’t just some rando. Our killer chose him. Spent time with him."

Silco frowned. "And?"

Jinx stood, stretching her arms over her head. "And it’s getting personal."

Silco watched her carefully. "Personal how?"

Jinx just grinned. "Dunno yet. But I’ll figure it out."

She turned away, pulling out her phone as she walked.

Her heart thrummed as she typed.

---

Jinx: Bold move, doc. Leaving a mess like that.

A response came almost immediately.

Dr. Reveck: I wanted to see if you would notice.

Jinx bit her lip, eyes gleaming.

Jinx: Oh, I noticed. Wanna tell me what it means?

A pause.

Then—

Dr. Reveck: Come to dinner.

Jinx exhaled slowly, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.

God.

She really should have turned him in.

Instead, she typed back:

Jinx: Hope you’re serving something special.

A longer pause this time.

Then—

Dr. Reveck: Always.

Jinx slipped her phone into her pocket, the crime scene completely forgotten.

She had a date with a killer.

And she couldn’t wait.

---

Jinx sat cross-legged on her couch, flipping through the case file with absent fingers. The latest victim’s picture stared back at her, glossy and lifeless, but she wasn’t looking at his face.

She was looking at the cut.

The same precision. The same intent.

A pattern.

She closed her eyes, inhaling slowly.

And then—

She wasn’t here anymore.

The air was damp. The scent of blood thick, metallic, almost comforting.

The boy trembled beneath her hands. No, not her hands—his hands.

"Shh," she—he—whispered. "No more fighting."

The blade pressed against the soft skin of his throat.

A single, clean cut.

The boy’s body went still.

Peaceful. Beautiful.

Jinx snapped back to reality, breath catching in her throat.

The walls of her house came rushing back. The flickering neon light outside her window. The weight of the case file on her lap.

Her hands were trembling.

She curled them into fists, pressing them against her knees.

"Shit," she muttered.

This wasn’t normal.

She had always been able to see into a killer’s mind—feel them, understand them—but this?

This felt closer.

Like she wasn’t just seeing through Viktor’s eyes.

Like she was with him.

Her pulse thrummed in her throat, a slow, steady realization unfurling in her chest.

She needed to talk to him.

And unfortunately, she only knew one person who actually listened.

---

Viktor glanced up as Jinx strolled into his office, her movements too casual, too deliberate. She dropped onto the couch without waiting for an invitation, draping herself across it like a lazy cat.

"You ever wonder what it’s like inside my head?" she asked.

Viktor set his pen down, folding his hands neatly on his desk. "Often."

Jinx huffed a quiet laugh, stretching her arms over her head. "It’s a mess. Like, big time."

Viktor tilted his head. "And yet, you navigate it with remarkable ease."

Jinx smirked. "Oh yeah. Totally healthy. No issues at all."

Viktor studied her.

She was here for a reason.

She wasn’t just toying with him—not this time.

"You are struggling with this case," he observed.

Jinx exhaled, letting her head fall back against the couch. "It’s different this time," she admitted.

Viktor leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled. "Because you understand him."

Jinx turned her head to look at him.

The way he said it.

Like he knew.

Like he was waiting.

"Yeah," she murmured. "And that’s what scares me."

Viktor’s expression shifted—just a flicker, something almost gentle.

"It does not need to scare you," he said softly.

Jinx narrowed her eyes. "Why do I feel like you’re not just talking about the case?"

Viktor smiled, slow and knowing. "Because you are perceptive."

Jinx stared at him.

Something in her stomach twisted, tight and thrilling.

"You’re playing a game with me, aren’t you?" she asked.

Viktor chuckled, smooth and low. "Would it bother you if I was?"

Jinx grinned.

"Not even a little."

The air between them was thick. Charged.

Viktor stood, moving to the window, watching the city lights below. "Tell me, Jinx… do you know why I invited you to dinner?"

Jinx stretched her legs out, tapping her fingers against her knee. "Because I’m charming as hell?"

Viktor let out a soft, amused hum. "Because you understand."

Jinx’s fingers twitched.

The moment stretched, his words lingering in the air between them, heavy and unspoken.

Viktor turned back to her, his gaze dark and deliberate.

"You are not repulsed by my work," he murmured.

Jinx swallowed.

She should lie. She should pretend.

But instead—

She smiled.

"Guess I’m not."

Viktor exhaled slowly, stepping toward her, his movements careful, measured. "Do you know how alluring that is?"

Jinx smirked, tilting her head. "Oh, I have a pretty good idea."

Viktor’s fingers flexed at his sides.

He had expected curiosity. He had expected fascination.

But this?

This was hunger.

She wasn’t repulsed. She wasn’t even afraid.

She was drawn to him.

Jinx leaned forward, voice dropping into something teasing. "You’re looking at me like I’m your next meal, doc."

Viktor chuckled, low and indulgent. "Would that be such a terrible thing?"

Jinx’s pulse thrilled.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or lean in closer.

She liked this.

The push and pull. The unspoken edge of something neither of them wanted to say aloud.

Jinx stood abruptly, stretching her arms over her head. "Alright, doc. This was fun and all, but I’ve got a case to solve."

Viktor’s lips curled faintly. "Of course."

She was at the door when he spoke again, voice smooth and deliberate.

"Jinx."

She paused.

Viktor’s gaze was steady. "Do you ever wonder what it would feel like to take a life?"

The room went still.

Jinx’s grip on the doorknob tightened.

The question curled around her, slow and dangerous.

She turned, her grin sharp and wild.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Viktor chuckled, dark and knowing. "I believe I already do."

Jinx’s stomach twisted, something deep and electric unraveling inside her.

She turned away, stepping into the hallway, but her pulse was still racing.

She should be concerned.

She wasn’t.

She was so unbelievably excited.

And that?

That was the problem.

---

Jinx had spent most of her life getting under people’s skin.

It was easy. People were fragile. Their emotions were stitched together with barely-there thread, unraveling with the right push, the right word, the right smirk.

But Viktor?

Viktor wasn’t fragile.

She had spent the last few weeks testing him, needling him with her usual reckless charm, poking at the edges of whatever this was.

And he never buckled. Never cracked.

He gave her just enough—just enough intrigue, just enough curiosity, just enough him to keep her clawing at the surface.

And she hated how badly she wanted to dig deeper.

Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel as she sat outside his house, staring up at the building’s sleek, modern exterior.

She had no reason to be here. No real excuse.

But that had never stopped her before.

Jinx slid out of the car, sauntering up to the entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. 

She knocked.

A moment later, the door opened.

Viktor stood there, dressed in his usual crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his golden eyes flickering with quiet amusement.

Jinx grinned. "You always answer the door like a vampire who wasn’t expecting company?"

Viktor exhaled a soft chuckle. "Jinx. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She slipped past him without waiting for an invitation. "Got bored. Figured I’d see what a creepy doctor does in his free time."

Viktor closed the door, turning to watch her as she wandered toward his bookshelves. "And what do you imagine that entails?"

Jinx ran a finger along the spines of the books, tilting her head. "Well, ideally, I’d find a hidden room full of corpses, but I guess I’ll settle for whatever you’re making in the kitchen."

Viktor chuckled. "How do you know I was cooking?"

Jinx turned, grinning. "Because your whole place smells like a butcher shop, doc."

Viktor’s expression didn’t waver. "Then I suppose I should offer you dinner."

Jinx smirked. "You keep feeding me, and I’m gonna start thinking you got the hots for me."

Viktor stepped closer, voice low, deliberate. "Would that be such a terrible thing?"

Jinx’s smirk faltered. Just a fraction.

And then, she laughed. "Oh, wow, okay. You are dangerous."

Viktor simply smiled.

Jinx rocked back on her heels, hands still tucked in her pockets. "Alright, fine. Impress me."

---

The food was good.

Too good.

Jinx took a slow sip of wine, eyeing Viktor over the rim of her glass. "So. Are you gonna tell me what’s in this, or am I supposed to guess?"

Viktor, ever composed, simply took a bite of his own. "Would it make a difference?"

Jinx twirled her fork between her fingers. "Nah. I just like messing with you."

"Is that so?" Viktor asked, tilting his head slightly.

Jinx grinned. "Oh yeah. You’re fun to mess with. ‘Cause I know you’re not normal."

Viktor’s lips curled faintly. "And what makes you think that?"

Jinx leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Because I’m not normal. And you don’t look at me like everyone else does. You don’t pity me. You don’t try to fix me. You just… watch."

Viktor studied her for a long moment before setting his fork down with careful precision. "That is because I do not believe you are broken. There is nothing to fix."

Jinx blinked.

A simple sentence. A quiet truth.

And for a second—a single, fleeting second—her brain short-circuited.

She masked it with a smirk. "Damn, doc. You sure you’re not flirting with me?"

Viktor chuckled, picking up his wine glass. "Would that bother you?"

Jinx stared at him.

She should lie. She should brush it off, make a joke, something.

But instead—

She grinned.

"Nah," she said, taking another bite. "Not even a little."

Viktor’s gaze darkened, lips twitching slightly, like he was pleased.

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

Not in fear.

In excitement.

A slow realization settled over her.

Viktor wasn’t just humoring her.

He wasn’t just intrigued.

He was watching her.

Studying her.

Waiting.

The thought sent a thrill down her spine.

She set down her fork, tilting her head. "Y’know, it’s funny."

Viktor arched a brow. "What is?"

Jinx rested her elbow on the table, propping her chin on her palm. "I think Silco actually likes that I’m seeing you. Thinks you’re helping me."

Viktor exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Then I am very good at my job."

Jinx smirked. "You’re terrible at your job, doc. You’re supposed to be keeping me sane."

Viktor leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes gleaming. "Are you certain that is what you want?"

Jinx’s breath hitched.

She wasn’t certain.

Not anymore.

She picked up her wine glass, swirling it lazily. "Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to turn me into something."

Viktor’s lips curled. "And if I am?"

Jinx grinned.

"Then I really wanna know what the end result looks like."

Viktor chuckled. "In time, Jinx."

She raised her glass. "To time, then."

Viktor clinked his glass against hers.

"To time."

---

Jinx barely made it through the front door before her phone rang.

She groaned, fishing it from her pocket. "If this is Silco, I swear—"

It wasn’t Silco.

It was Maddie Nolen.

Jinx frowned, answering. "What do you want?"

Maddie’s voice was practically vibrating with barely-contained excitement. "Oh, you’re gonna love this. Guess what the FBI just found?"

Jinx sighed, flopping onto her couch. "I dunno, a big pile of disappointment?"

"A body, dipshit," Maddie snapped. "And get this—it’s fresh."

Jinx sat up, something sharp twisting in her stomach. "Define ‘fresh.’"

"Like, still warm fresh," Maddie confirmed. "Some high-profile guy in Georgetown. And the best part?" A pause, then—"His liver was missing."

Jinx’s breath hitched.

Her mind flashed back to the meal she had just eaten.

The rich flavor. The perfect texture.

The way Viktor had watched her.

Waited.

Jinx swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the couch.

Maddie was still talking. "I don’t know about you, but this screams the Ripper. The FBI’s in a frenzy."

Jinx exhaled slowly, rolling her tongue across her teeth.

Oh, she bet they were.

She hung up without another word, staring blankly at the wall, the weight of the realization settling over her like a heavy, velvet cloak.

He did it for her.

The others—the bodies before this—had been art. Performances. Carefully crafted tapestries of blood and beauty.

But this?

This was intimate.

A message.

A gift.

Her stomach flipped, but not in horror.

In recognition.

Jinx licked her lips, running a hand through her hair.

She should be disgusted. She should be afraid.

But all she felt was a slow, curling thrill.

She grabbed her jacket and headed for the door.

She had to see him.

---

Jinx didn’t knock.

She walked right into Viktor’s house—she wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked—letting the door swing shut behind her with a quiet click.

He was waiting.

Not in the usual way—not seated in his armchair with a glass of wine, not poring over one of his many medical texts.

He was standing by the dining table, watching her with a look she couldn’t quite place.

Jinx tilted her head, smirking despite the way her pulse hammered in her throat. "You always leave your door unlocked for little old me?"

Viktor’s lips curled faintly. "I suspected you might stop by."

Jinx leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Yeah? Any particular reason why?"

Viktor moved toward her, slow and deliberate. Unhurried.

It wasn’t predatory. Not exactly.

It was something else.

Something worse.

Something more dangerous.

"You received my message," he murmured.

Jinx’s fingers twitched.

Message.

Gift.

Her heart thrummed as she dragged her tongue across her teeth. "Yeah, I got it."

Viktor stopped a foot away from her, his golden eyes searching hers, slow and intense. "And?"

Jinx inhaled sharply.

It was beautiful.

She could lie.

She could pretend to be horrified. She could feign shock, play the part of the innocent investigator, claim she had no idea what he was talking about.

But he wouldn’t believe her.

Because she wasn’t horrified.

Not even a little.

She swallowed, forcing a grin. "Well, I gotta say, doc… you’ve got a real dramatic streak."

Viktor’s lips twitched, amusement flickering across his expression. "And yet, you did not turn me in."

Jinx smirked, tilting her head. "Nah. Guess I didn’t."

The air between them thickened.

Jinx had spent her entire life pushing boundaries, testing limits, seeing how far she could go before something—someone—snapped.

But this?

This was different.

This was a man who had already snapped.

And instead of flinching, instead of retreating—

She felt like she was falling into him.

Viktor stepped closer, his voice dropping to something low and smooth. "Why is that, Jinx?"

Jinx swallowed.

She should run.

She should laugh this off and walk away.

But instead—

She smirked.

"Maybe I just like the attention."

Viktor exhaled softly, almost like a laugh, but his eyes never left hers. "Is that all?"

Jinx’s pulse thrilled.

He was pushing her.

Not with force. Not with violence.

With words. With understanding.

With a game she wasn’t sure she wanted to win.

She licked her lips, rocking back on her heels. "Alright, fine. Let’s say I know exactly what you did. Let’s say I know exactly why you did it." She tilted her head. "What then?"

Viktor’s expression remained unreadable. "Then I would ask if you understood my intentions."

Jinx’s smirk widened.

She should lie.

She should.

But the truth was already there, shimmering between them, thick as blood, undeniable as hunger.

She exhaled slowly.

"Yeah, doc."

Her voice was soft.

A whisper.

A confession.

"I understand."

Viktor’s fingers twitched.

The first and only sign of a crack in his perfect, composed demeanor.

He wasn’t surprised.

He wasn’t horrified.

He was enraptured.

Jinx saw it.

Saw the way his pupils dilated just slightly. Saw the way his breath hitched, just once.

Saw the way his entire body reacted to her words.

Like he had waited his whole life to hear them.

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

Because, deep down—

She knew she had just crossed a line she couldn’t come back from.

And worse?

She didn’t want to.

Jinx had spent years wading through blood-soaked crime scenes, slipping into the minds of killers, seeing through their eyes.

But she had never met one like him.

She sat on his couch, legs stretched out, fingers idly twirling the edge of her braid. Viktor poured her a glass of wine, setting it in front of her with the same effortless precision he used for everything.

He was always so careful, so measured.

Even now, as he settled into the chair across from her, as he watched her—

He didn’t move without intention.

"You’re quiet tonight," Viktor observed, lifting his own glass.

Jinx smirked, resting her chin on her palm. "Just thinking."

Viktor tilted his head slightly. "About?"

She dragged her finger along the rim of the glass, feeling the smoothness of the crystal. "How long you’ve been getting away with it."

Viktor chuckled softly. "A long time."

Jinx’s smirk widened. "You ever think you’d get caught?"

Viktor sipped his wine, watching her over the rim of the glass. "I have always known it was a possibility."

Jinx tilted her head, letting her gaze linger on him, slow and deliberate. "And yet, here I am."

Viktor exhaled, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. "And yet, here you are."

Jinx leaned forward, the air between them thickening. "And what are you gonna do about that?"

Viktor studied her, something dark and unreadable flickering behind his gaze.

Then, he leaned forward as well, matching her intensity.

"Nothing," he murmured.

Jinx arched a brow. "Nothing?"

Viktor’s voice remained steady, certain. "Because you are not going to stop me."

Silence stretched between them.

Jinx’s pulse thrilled.

He was right.

She wasn’t going to stop him.

She wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

Jinx exhaled a slow, shuddering breath. "Shit," she muttered, slouching back into the couch with a grin. "You really are dangerous."

---

She should have told Silco.

She should have walked right into his office, dropped into the chair, and said, "Hey, boss. Guess what? Your favorite shrink is the Ripper."

But she didn’t.

Instead, she found herself closer to Viktor.

Like a moth to a flame.

Like a killer to another killer.

And god, was it exhilarating.

She met with him more often, under the pretense of therapy. Silco thought it was working—that she was getting better, stabilizing, focusing.

But really?

She was slipping deeper.

Jinx twirled a knife between her fingers, staring at the crime scene photo on her desk.

Another body.

Another meticulously arranged corpse.

She smirked.

"Nice work, doc," she murmured.

Maddie’s voice snapped her out of it. "Yo, you listening?"

Jinx blinked, glancing up. "Huh?"

Maddie scoffed. "I said, the FBI is losing their shit. They think the Ripper’s getting bold. You got any insights, oh great murder whisperer?"

Jinx grinned, tossing the photo onto her desk. "Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Precision. Control. Surgical efficiency." She tilted her head. "Bet he barely even blinks while he’s doing it."

Maddie whistled. "Creepy."

Jinx shrugged, spinning the knife between her fingers. "Yeah. Kinda hot, though."

Maddie made a face. "You really need to get laid."

Jinx just laughed.

If only Maddie knew.

That night, Jinx sat in her house, flicking a lighter open and shut, the flame casting flickering shadows across her walls.

She knew the second he texted her.

She always knew.

Dr. Reveck: Have you seen the news?

Jinx smirked, rolling onto her back, phone held above her head.

Jinx: I don’t watch the news. It’s boring.

A pause. Then—

Dr. Reveck: I suspect you will find this one… interesting.

Jinx’s stomach twisted, but not in dread.

In anticipation.

She flipped through her phone, pulling up the latest reports.

She sucked in a slow breath.

This one was different.

The victim—a young woman—was posed, deliberately.

Dressed in delicate blue silk.

Hair arranged in braids.

Lips painted a soft shade of pink.

Her eyes?

One blue. One pink.

Jinx’s breath hitched.

She knew what this was.

A statement. A declaration.

A love letter.

Her hands trembled as she typed.

She wanted to tell him how much she craved him.

How much she desired him back. 

Instead. 

Jinx: …That’s bold, doc.

A response came immediately.

Dr. Reveck: You noticed.

Jinx swallowed.

Of course, she noticed.

It wasn’t just a kill. It wasn’t just art.

It was her.

She licked her lips, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

She should be horrified.

Instead, her pulse thrummed.

Jinx: You trying to tell me something?

A long pause.

Then—

Dr. Reveck: I believe you already know the answer to that.

Jinx exhaled slowly, staring at the message, her chest tight with something she couldn’t quite name.

Viktor had done this for her.

Not as a game.

Not as a challenge.

But because he wanted her to understand.

Because he wanted her to see him the way he saw her.

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

Not in disgust.

Not in fear.

But in hunger.

She slipped her phone into her pocket, grabbing her jacket.

She had somewhere to be.

Except.

Jinx wasn’t supposed to be here.

She wasn’t supposed to be in Viktor’s office at night, sitting on his desk, flipping through his notes like they were hers to read.

And yet—

"Your obsession with my work is endearing," Viktor said from the doorway.

Jinx smirked, tossing the notebook onto the desk. "Hey, if you don’t want me snooping, don’t leave your shit out."

Viktor stepped closer, moving like a shadow, smooth and quiet. "And yet, I suspect you would find a way regardless."

Jinx hopped off the desk, turning to face him. "Yeah, probably."

Viktor studied her, dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. "What are you truly looking for, Jinx?"

She licked her lips.

"You."

The space between them disappeared.

Jinx didn’t know who moved first.

All she knew was that Viktor’s hand was suddenly at her waist, that his breath was warm against her lips, that she needed this.

She needed it so damn bad.

Viktor exhaled slowly, almost like he was waiting for her to stop him.

She didn’t.

Jinx smirked. "You gonna kiss me, doc? Or do I have to start charging for therapy?"

Viktor chuckled, low and deep. "You are immaculate."

Then—

He kissed her.

Jinx grinned against his lips, curling her fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer.

She wasn’t stupid.

She knew what this was.

A game. A dance.

A dance of limbs and gasping breath as she crossed the line. 

A dangerous fucking line.

And she was all in.

---

The next body was different.

Jinx knew it the second she stepped into the crime scene.

The scent of blood was still fresh, metallic and sharp in the cold night air.

The body—a man in his thirties, clean-cut, expensive suit—was not just posed.

He was presented.

Laid out like an offering, hands clasped over his chest, a blue silk ribbon tied around his throat like a grotesque little bow.

And his lungs?

Gone. 

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

Not in horror.

Not in fear.

In understanding.

This wasn’t just another kill.

This was for her.

He was breathing her in and breathing for her all at once. 

Silco stood beside her, his arms crossed, jaw tight. "This is new."

Jinx hummed, tilting her head. "Yeah. It is."

Silco exhaled sharply. "Tell me something useful, Jinx."

Jinx crouched down, running her gloved fingers over the ribbon.

It was deliberate.

Another confession.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the fabric.

She knew what Viktor was saying.

You see me.
You understand me.
You are like me.

Her pulse thrummed.

She stood, brushing dust off her pants, flashing Silco a grin. "Oh, I got something useful for you, boss."

Silco’s brow arched. "And?"

After abruptly pulling off her gloves, Jinx tucked her hands into her pockets.

"He’s singing a love song."

Silco studied her carefully.

Too carefully.

She turned away before he could say anything else, pulling out her phone as she walked.

Her hands shook as she typed.

Jinx: You really shouldn’t leave presents out in the open, doc.

A response came almost instantly.

Dr. Reveck: Did you like it?

Jinx swallowed hard, her breath unsteady.

She loved it. 

She wanted him to take her right there in front of it.

Jinx: …You’re fucking insane.

A pause.

Then—

Dr. Reveck: And yet, you seem to enjoy it.

Jinx exhaled slowly, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.

She could stop this.

She could.

She should.

But instead—

She typed:

Jinx: When’s dinner?

---

Jinx pressed her phone between her shoulder and ear as she unlocked the door, half-listening to Silco’s voice on the other end. She had just come back from another dinner date with Viktor, and Silco, as always, wanted details—how she was feeling, if she was still getting anything useful from the good doctor.

She gave him her usual half-assed responses, throwing her bag onto the floor as she stepped inside.

"—don’t you think it’s weird how invested you are in my social life, Silco?" she teased.

But as the words left her mouth, her eyes landed on a door down the hallway.

She froze.

It was shut.

She never left her doors shut when she planned on leaving.

The words died in her throat.

"Jinx?" Silco’s voice sharpened. "What is it?"

She didn’t answer.

The air in her house felt wrong. Heavy.

Slowly, she stepped into the kitchen, her movements silent as she reached for the nearest knife on the counter. Her fingers wrapped around the handle, her grip tight despite the sudden dampness of her palms.

She whispered a quiet, "Shh," to Silco, and he fell silent on the other end.

Jinx stalked down the hallway, knife held low, pulse pounding in her ears.

Every step felt like an eternity.

The door loomed before her, the handle gleaming under the dim overhead light.

She stared at it.

Breathed.

Then, she swung it open fast—

Nothing.

The room was empty.

She let out a long, slow exhale, her shoulders relaxing.

"False alarm," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

She turned—

And there was a man standing right in front of her.

She barely had time to register him before he lifted a gun.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up, but it wasn’t fast enough.

The gun went off.

Pain exploded through her abdomen.

Jinx screamed.

Her back hit the wall as she collapsed, her knife slipping from her grasp as her hands instinctively pressed against the wound.

The pain was instant, searing-hot and deep, spreading like wildfire through her nerves. Her stomach clenched, blood already soaking her shirt, pooling between her fingers.

Her phone had fallen to the floor beside her.

She could hear Silco’s voice, panicked, yelling her name through the speaker.

"Jinx?! Jinx! What the hell is happening?!"

Her vision swam, black spots creeping at the edges.

Heavy boots approached.

She forced herself to focus, blinking up at the man standing over her.

He crouched slightly, picking up her phone with casual ease.

"You should’ve stayed out of my boss’s business," he said smoothly, then turned away, walking toward the front door, leaving her there—bleeding out.

Jinx’s breath came in short, ragged gasps.

She could feel the warmth of her own blood spilling out in waves, soaking into the floor beneath her.

She wasn’t supposed to die like this.

Alone.

In such a boring way.

She gritted her teeth, fingers twitching weakly toward the knife just out of reach.

The man kept walking, still distracted, still talking to Silco.

He thought she was already dead.

That was his mistake.

Pushing herself up the wall, the blood on her clothes made the slide easy. 

With a sudden, burning burst of energy—adrenaline, desperation, fury—Jinx lunged.

Her blood-slicked fingers wrapped around the knife.

She surged forward, arm snapping around his neck from behind, using her entire weight to keep him in place as she drove the knife deep into his side.

His body jerked, a choked gasp escaping his lips.

Jinx didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

Her hand was barely holding onto the handle, her fingers slippery with her own blood, but she twisted the blade and yanked it out, plunging it back in again.

And again.

And again.

Every other plunge, she felt the crunch of ribs grinding against the blade, the wet gurgle of his breath as she pierced something vital.

The man staggered, throwing his body back, slamming her into the wall in an attempt to dislodge her.

Pain exploded through her body.

Her arms ached, her grip loosening, but she drove the knife in one more time, twisting it deep.

The man let out a shuddering breath—then fell, crumpling onto the floor.

Jinx collapsed with him.

Her chest heaved. The world was spinning, her limbs too heavy to move.

The knife slipped from her fingers, her hand shaking violently as she pressed it against her wound.

Her vision was going dark.

She could barely hear Silco’s voice anymore, his shouts sounding distant, warped.

The last thing she heard before she blacked out—

Sirens.

She hoped they were real this time, but she didn’t know.

Didn’t care.

She just hoped they got there in time.

---

The first thing she felt was pain.

A deep, aching throb in her stomach, spreading through her ribs, her spine, her entire goddamn body.

Then—

Light.

Too bright. Too sterile.

She blinked, vision blurry, mind sluggish.

Hospital.

She was in a hospital.

Her head lolled to the side, and she saw him first.

Viktor.

Sitting at her bedside, hands clasped in his lap, staring at her with an expression she couldn’t read.

But his golden eyes were dark, his fingers clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"You're awake," he said softly.

His voice was even, but she could hear it—the tension, the barely-restrained emotion beneath the surface.

Something was off.

Something was wrong.

She tried to speak, but her throat was dry, her voice coming out as a hoarse rasp. "Silco…?"

A movement to her left.

Silco.

His expression was unreadable, but his hands were tight around the arms of his chair, his entire body rigid.

"You’re lucky," he said, voice gruff. "Damn lucky."

Jinx forced a weak grin. "Eh. Luck’s relative."

Silco exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "Jesus, kid…"

Jinx glanced back at Viktor.

He hadn’t moved.

Hadn’t spoken.

But his eyes…

There was something in them.

Something dangerous.

Something possessive.

Jinx’s stomach twisted—not from pain.

From understanding.

She had nearly died.

And Viktor didn’t handle loss well, did he?

Her lips parted, a teasing remark already forming, but before she could say anything—

Viktor finally moved.

He reached out, took her hand, and squeezed gently.

His fingers were cold.

His voice, however, was not.

"I will take care of it."

Jinx’s breath hitched.

Viktor’s golden eyes locked onto hers, dark and unyielding.

"I will take care of everything," he murmured.

Jinx swallowed.

Because she knew exactly what that meant.

And she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop him.

---

Jinx hated hospitals.

Too white. Too sterile. Too full of people who liked to poke around in places they didn’t belong.

She flexed her fingers, the IV tugging at her wrist. She wanted to rip it out, wanted to move, but every breath sent a dull, dragging pain through her ribs.

She shifted her gaze to Viktor.

He was still sitting beside her, one leg crossed over the other, his hands clasped in his lap.

Still watching her.

It had been hours, maybe longer. He hadn’t left.

His gaze, sharp as a scalpel, traced over her face, cataloging every shift in her expression, every twitch of pain.

"You’re still here," she murmured, voice rough.

Viktor tilted his head slightly. "Of course."

Jinx swallowed.

There was something different about him.

Something off.

She had seen Viktor cold before, seen him measured, unreadable.

But this wasn’t cold.

This was stillness before a storm.

"You’re thinking something," she muttered. "Something real bad."

Viktor’s lips curled faintly. "Am I?"

Jinx dragged her tongue across her teeth, watching him through half-lidded eyes. "You gonna tell me?"

Viktor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

His golden gaze locked onto hers, and the next words sent a slow chill down her spine.

"He hurt you."

Simple. Soft.

And final.

Jinx swallowed.

She had known, from the moment she had woken up in this bed, from the moment Viktor had held her hand and whispered, I will take care of it , that he was going to do something.

Something terrible.

And she should have told him to stop.

She should have told him not to do it.

But instead—

She stared at him, her fingers twitching against the blanket.

And she said nothing.

Silco had left a few hours ago.

Something about handling the fallout, making sure the attempted hit on Jinx wasn’t going to bring more problems.

Viktor, however, had stayed.

Jinx tilted her head toward him. "You’re awful quiet, doc."

Viktor hummed. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "Not used to that. You usually like talking at me."

Viktor chuckled, low and thoughtful. "Perhaps I simply prefer listening."

Jinx smirked, shifting slightly against the pillows. "Listening to what?"

Viktor’s golden eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"Your breathing."

Jinx paused.

She arched a brow. "That’s creepy as hell, doc."

Viktor’s lips curled faintly. "Yes."

The air between them thickened.

Jinx wasn’t an idiot.

She knew what Viktor was going to do.

She had seen this kind of rage before—not loud, not messy, but calculated. Slow-burning and deliberate.

And she should stop it.

She should say, Viktor, don’t , should warn him that Silco was already handling it, that revenge wasn’t worth whatever came next.

But the truth was—

She wasn’t mad about it.

She was waiting for it.

She dragged her fingers through her hair, exhaling slowly. "You got a name?"

Viktor didn’t answer right away.

Then, soft and sure—

"DeCosta."

Jinx hummed, rolling the name over her tongue. "Huh. Sounds like a bastard."

Viktor’s fingers flexed slightly in his lap. "He is."

Jinx let out a quiet breath. "You already know where he is, don’t you?"

Viktor’s smile was slow, dark. "Of course."

Jinx stared at him.

She had seen monsters before.

Worked cases filled with men who killed without hesitation, without remorse.

But Viktor?

Viktor killed with intention.

He killed like it was art.

Like it was necessary.

Jinx inhaled sharply, pressing her fingers against her bandaged abdomen. "And what’s the plan?"

Viktor leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Would you like to know?"

Jinx exhaled, tapping her fingers against the sheets.

She should say no.

She should tell him to leave it alone.

But instead—

She grinned.

"Yeah, doc."

Her voice was soft.

A whisper.

Finally, her confession.

Her answer. 

"I really would."

Notes:

I was today year's old when I found out how to switch from writing in HTML to Rich Text on ao3... Sorry that the formatting has been dog shit all this time.

Chapter 56: Sanctuary

Summary:

Jinx stopped in her tracks.

The village stretched out before her, nestled deep beneath Zaun’s industrial sprawl. Buildings of scrap and steel stood like quiet sentinels, their surfaces covered in strange, glowing veins of energy. Walkways crisscrossed above, connecting rooftops in tangled, suspended paths. People moved through the streets—men, women, children—all of them wearing the marks of Viktor’s touch. Some bore sleek mechanical limbs, others had neural implants glinting beneath their skin. They weren’t just ordinary sump-rats.

They were his.

Jinx’s breath hitched, and she shrank back slightly, fingers curling into the fabric of her pants. This was wrong. This was all wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She shouldn’t be walking through a place where people smiled at her.

And they were smiling.

Notes:

Just a small banger in the mean time :)

The church loomed like a skeleton against the oppressive Zaunite sky, its jagged spires piercing through the suffocating green haze of chem-filled air. Once, it might have been a sanctuary—a place for hope, for faith—but time and neglect had stripped it of all sanctity. The stained glass windows, cracked and smeared with filth, barely refracted light anymore. What remained of the images in the glass was unrecognizable: Janna’s face, faint but still discernible, her serene expression cracked and split like a fractured memory.

Jinx trudged inside, her boots scuffing against the crumbling tiles. She didn’t bother looking behind her; no one was coming for her. Not anymore. Her hair, usually plaited into its signature braids, hung loose today, a messy cascade of blue dragging through the grime on the floor as she walked. She was too tired to care. Too tired to do much of anything but keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The grenade in her hand was warm against her palm. It had been with her for so long that it felt like an extension of herself. The pin dangled loosely between her fingers, clinking softly as she absentmindedly twisted it back and forth. The weight of the explosive was oddly comforting. In her chest, something heavy sat like a stone, sinking her deeper and deeper into her own despair.

“Just one more bang,” she muttered under her breath, her voice hollow, as if trying to convince herself. “One more… and that’s it.”

Her words echoed in the empty cathedral, swallowed by the void. She stopped at the altar, her gaze lifting to the broken image of Janna. Once a goddess of peace, now shattered and defaced, her face marred by streaks of graffiti that bled into the fractured glass. Jinx tilted her head, squinting at the faint image as though it might say something to her. It didn’t. It never did.

She knelt, her knees hitting the cold, hard floor. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe out of some long-dead instinct for reverence. Maybe because she didn’t have the strength to stand anymore. Her hand tightened on the grenade, her fingers trembling now. The whispers in her head had gone quiet for once, their relentless chatter replaced by a numbing silence that scared her more than the noise ever had.

She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip until she tasted blood. “Just pull it. Just pull it and—”

The sound of metal against stone interrupted her. She froze, her breath hitching. Someone was there.

Jinx slowly turned her head, and her eyes narrowed as they locked onto the figure that had emerged from the shadows at the far end of the church. He moved with a deliberate grace, his metallic limbs gleaming faintly in the dim light. The golden glow of his eyes reflected in the fractured glass, casting strange, fractured patterns on the walls.

The Machine Herald. 

Jinx recognized him instantly. She’d heard the rumors, the stories whispered in Zaun’s darkest corners. Once a brilliant inventor, now something else entirely—a being of cold logic and unyielding purpose. He had disappeared from Piltover’s public eye long ago, retreating into Zaun’s depths to pursue his vision of evolution. She never expected to see him here, of all places.

“What do you want?” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. Her fingers tightened around the grenade, but she didn’t pull the pin. Not yet.

Viktor’s head tilted slightly, the faint hum of his mechanical enhancements filling the silence. His glowing eyes scanned her, his mask impassive but curious. When he spoke, his voice was calm, measured, and disturbingly human despite his appearance.

“I sensed you,” he said, his words carrying an odd weight. “The crystals in your possession—they called to me.”

Jinx blinked, her grip faltering on the grenade. The crystals. Of course. The ones she’d stolen from Piltover. She’d almost forgotten they were in her pockets. They hummed faintly now, resonating in response to Viktor’s presence.

“So what?” she shot back, trying to muster her usual bravado but failing. Her voice cracked, betraying the exhaustion in her bones. “You here to take them? Go ahead. I don’t care.”

Viktor’s gaze lingered on her, unblinking. He took a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were approaching a wounded animal. “No,” he said. “I am not here for the crystals. I am here for you.”

Jinx’s laughter burst out suddenly, sharp and bitter. “Me? Oh, buddy, you’ve got the wrong girl. I’m nobody. Just a screw-up with too many voices in her head. Trust me, I’m not worth your time.”

Viktor stopped a few feet away, his towering form casting a shadow over her kneeling figure. His mechanical hand lifted, but not in a threatening way. It hovered near her forehead, almost hesitant.

“You are suffering,” he said, his voice softer now. “I can see it. Feel it.”

Jinx flinched, her shoulders tensing. “Yeah? And what’s it to you? You gonna fix me or something? Good luck with that.” She laughed again, but it sounded more like a sob.

Viktor’s hand finally touched her forehead, his fingers cool and metallic against her skin. She expected something—pain, maybe, or some kind of invasive sensation. But there was nothing. Just his touch, gentle and strangely grounding. He stared down at her, fingers roaming, caressing her chilled skin.

But then… nothing.

Viktor’s head titled, a flicker of surprise breaking through his calm demeanor. He tried again, his hand brushing her skin with a deliberate precision. Still nothing. His eyes met hers, and he studied her with a new intensity.

“Curious,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Jinx frowned, her exhaustion briefly overshadowed by confusion. “What’s curious?”

“You are… different,” Viktor said, his voice tinged with fascination. “I have connected with countless minds—offered them salvation, clarity. But with you…” He trailed off, his glowing eyes narrowing as he tried to puzzle it out. “I cannot enter your mind. It resists me.”

Jinx snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, good luck untangling that mess. Even I can’t make sense of it.”

Viktor’s hand withdrew, but his gaze remained fixed on her. There was something in his expression now—something deeper, more intense. “You are an anomaly,” he said. “Something… unique. Precious.”

Jinx’s laughter returned, harsh and cutting. “Precious? Me? Oh, that’s rich.” She gestured to herself, her voice rising with bitter hysteria. “Look at me! I’m a disaster. Everyone I love is dead, or they hate me, or they’re gone. I ruin everything I touch. Precious, my ass.”

Viktor didn’t flinch at her outburst. If anything, his posture softened—just slightly, almost imperceptibly. He took another step closer, his towering form casting her in shadow.

“You misunderstand,” he said. “Your pain does not diminish your worth. If anything, it enhances it. You have endured so much, and yet you still exist. You still fight, even if you do not realize it.”

Jinx stared at him, her lips parted as though to retort, but no words came. His words unsettled her, not because they were cruel, but because they weren’t. She wasn’t used to that.

“So what?” she finally muttered, her voice small now. “What do you want from me?”

Viktor’s eyes were unreadable, his mechanical face a blend of humanity and machine. “I do not wish to take from you,” he said. “I wish to offer you salvation. To join me.”

Jinx blinked, her mind struggling to process his words. “Join you? In what?”

“In transcending this pain,” Viktor said, his voice steady and certain. “In becoming something greater. Together, we could reshape this broken world—rebuild it into something better. Something that does not reject those like us.”

Those like us. The words struck a chord deep within Jinx, though she didn’t fully understand why. She looked at Viktor, really looked at him, and she didn’t see a monster or a machine. She saw someone… like her. Someone broken, someone searching for meaning in a world that had only ever taken from them.

Her fingers loosened on the grenade. For the first time that night, the thought of pulling the pin didn’t feel like the only option.

“Fine,” she said after a long moment, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m in.”

Viktor’s head tilted slightly, his glowing eyes meeting hers. He extended a hand, his movements precise and deliberate. Jinx hesitated, then reached out and placed her trembling hand in his.

His touch was cold, but not unpleasant. It was steady. Grounding.

Jinx felt… something. Something other than despair.

It wasn’t hope, not exactly. But it was a start.

The winding tunnels of Zaun’s underbelly stretched before them, a maze of rusted pipes and crumbling stone that seemed to press in from all sides. Jinx followed Viktor in silence, her fingers twitching at her sides, itching for a weapon she no longer had. He had taken them—all of them. Her grenades, her pistol, her knife. Even Fishbones.

She hadn’t fought him for them.

That was the strangest part.

Normally, she would have gone feral, tearing and screaming like a cornered animal. But here she was, trailing behind him like a lost thing, her footsteps uncertain. Her hair dragged behind her, the ends damp with Zaun’s filth, but she didn’t care. She barely even noticed.

Her gaze flickered to Viktor’s back as he led her deeper into the tunnels. The golden light of his eyes cast a faint light against the walls, and the quiet hum of his machinery was the only sound besides their footsteps. He hadn’t spoken since they left the church.

Jinx’s stomach twisted, her exhaustion warring with her instincts. This was a mistake. It had to be. She didn’t belong here, wherever here was.

And yet… she followed him anyway.

Eventually, the narrow passage opened into something vast. The air smelled different here—less of rot and chemicals, more of metal and ozone, like something humming with power.

Jinx stopped in her tracks.

The village stretched out before her, nestled deep beneath Zaun’s industrial sprawl. Buildings of scrap and steel stood like quiet sentinels, their surfaces covered in strange, glowing veins of energy. Walkways crisscrossed above, connecting rooftops in tangled, suspended paths. People moved through the streets—men, women, children—all of them wearing the marks of Viktor’s touch. Some bore sleek mechanical limbs, others had neural implants glinting beneath their skin. They weren’t just ordinary sump-rats.

They were his.

Jinx’s breath hitched, and she shrank back slightly, fingers curling into the fabric of her pants. This was wrong. This was all wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She shouldn’t be walking through a place where people smiled at her.

And they were smiling.

As Viktor passed, his followers turned to him with quiet reverence, their expressions filled with something Jinx couldn’t name. Devotion? Gratitude? She couldn’t tell, but it unsettled her.

A woman with a metal arm bowed her head. “Herald.”

A young boy with synthetic eyes beamed. “Welcome home.”

Viktor said nothing. He did not slow, did not acknowledge them, only continued walking, his focus fixed straight ahead.

Jinx trailed closer to him, her heart pounding.

Her hands twitched at her sides. No weapons. No exit. No escape.

Viktor must have sensed her unease, because he spoke without turning to face her. “They will not harm you.”

Jinx scoffed, but the sound came out weaker than she wanted. “Oh yeah? And what if I harm them?”

“You will not,” he said simply.

Jinx frowned, unnerved by how certain he sounded. She clenched her fists, trying to ground herself in something—anything—but the walls felt like they were closing in.

No gun. No grenades. No voices screaming in her head. Just… silence.

She swallowed hard, pushing down the panic rising in her throat. Just keep walking. Just keep moving.

Viktor led her through the heart of the village, past its quiet, observing inhabitants, until they reached a structure at the far edge of the settlement. It was built into the stone itself, part laboratory, part dwelling, its surface sleek with dark metals and glowing hextech engravings. The doors hissed open as Viktor approached, the mechanisms inside whispering in response to his presence.

Jinx hesitated at the threshold.

This was it. The point of no return.

She could run. Turn around and bolt into the tunnels. She wouldn’t get far—probably wouldn’t even make it past his people—but she could try. She should try.

And yet…

The thought of going back to nothing, to the same cycle of pain and chaos, made her stomach churn.

She was so damn tired.

Viktor turned, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. He studied her for a long moment before extending a hand toward the open door.

“Come,” he said.

Jinx stared at him. Then at the doorway.

Her fingers twitched. Her throat felt tight.

And then, slowly, she stepped inside.

The door slid shut behind her with a quiet hiss, sealing her inside.

Jinx swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep breathing. The air was different in here—cleaner, crisper, humming with an energy she didn’t quite understand. The walls were lined with intricate hextech machinery, pulsing softly like veins under metal skin. Shelves stacked with tools and blueprints filled the space, and in the center of it all, a large worktable lay cluttered with mechanical parts, crystal shards, and half-finished projects.

Viktor moved with purpose, stepping past her as though he had already forgotten her presence. He turned to one of the machines lining the wall. With the quiet precision of someone lost in their own mind, he adjusted a dial, and the room dimmed slightly, the overhead lights shifting to a softer glow.

Jinx stood frozen, hands twitching at her sides.

She had no weapons. No exit. No plan.

What the hell am I doing here?

Viktor finally turned back to her, his mask still unreadable. “You are afraid.”

Jinx bristled. “No shit, genius.”

He tilted his head slightly, regarding her with an unsettling calm. “You are not trapped, Jinx. If you wish to leave, you may. But I do not believe you want to.”

Her jaw clenched. She hated how certain he sounded, how he looked at her like he could see past her skin and bones, down to the parts of her she didn’t want anyone to touch.

She crossed her arms, shifting her weight. “So, what now? You gonna try to poke around in my head again?”

A flicker of something passed through Viktor’s gaze—something like intrigue, like fascination. He stepped closer, and Jinx had to fight the urge to step back. His presence wasn’t threatening, exactly, but it was heavy, like standing too close to a machine running at full power.

“I will not,” he said simply. “Your mind rejects me.”

Jinx scoffed. “Yeah, well, join the club.”

Viktor didn’t react to the sarcasm. Instead, he reached toward her again, slow and deliberate, as though testing something. His metal fingers brushed her temple, a feather-light touch—gentler than she expected.

Nothing.

No invasion. No static in her brain. No unnatural stillness swallowing the chaos inside her.

Viktor’s expression remained impassive, but Jinx saw the flicker of something behind his golden eyes.

Curiosity.

He was intrigued by her.

And that terrified her more than anything.

Jinx forced herself to smirk, tilting her head. “Disappointed?”

“Fascinated,” Viktor corrected. His fingers lingered against her skin for a second longer before he withdrew them, steepling his hands behind his back. “You are an anomaly, Jinx. One I did not anticipate.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Buddy, my whole life is an anomaly.”

Viktor studied her for a long moment before turning away. He moved to one of the workbenches, his metal fingers gliding over an array of blueprints and crystal fragments. “You have been lost for some time,” he said. “Adrift, without direction.”

Jinx’s stomach twisted. She didn’t like where this was going.

“You believe your only purpose is destruction,” Viktor continued, his voice steady, precise. “That the only way to silence your suffering is to burn away everything, including yourself.”

Jinx’s fingers twitched. “Oh, and you think you got me all figured out, huh?”

Viktor glanced at her, his gaze steady. “No,” he admitted. “But I wish to.”

Something in her chest lurched—something raw, something wounded. No one had ever said that before. People either feared her, hated her, or wanted to fix her. No one had ever simply wanted to understand.

Jinx licked her lips, suddenly uneasy. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

Viktor didn’t answer immediately. He turned a small crystal over in his hand, watching the way it caught the light.

“Because you are unique,” he said at last. “And because I believe you could become something far greater than even you realize.”

Jinx frowned. “The hell does that mean?”

Viktor finally turned to face her fully, his golden eyes gleaming. “You do not need to be cured, Jinx. You need to evolve .”

Jinx stared at him, her pulse hammering in her throat.

The way he said it—like it was a promise, not a threat—sent a shiver down her spine.

She wanted to believe him.

Chapter 57: TWO: Amuse-Bouche

Summary:

She saw the girl’s eyes.

Wide, terrified.

Full of tears.

Gold. Amber.

Jinx’s breath hitched.

It was the exact same color.

Viktor’s color.

Notes:

Alight guys, I think I'm a little obsessed 👉👈. I'm considering turning these Hannibal-inspired AU pieces into its own stand alone fic, or whether I should just leave them in this collection. Any thoughts?
It's probably gonna be around 3-5 parts; I'm still deciding how far I want to go with it.

The velvet of Jinx’s gown clung to her like a second skin, deep black with a slit running high enough to show off the garter holstering her knife. Viktor had chosen it for her—had placed it in a box with delicate tissue paper, waiting on her bed like a lover’s whisper. A promise.

She’d grinned at the sight of it, slipping it on like war paint. It wasn’t often she dressed up, but for him? She’d play along.

Now, draped in the dim gold glow of the opera house’s private balcony, Jinx stretched her legs over the plush seat beside her, leaning into Viktor’s warmth. Below them, the stage was alive with the haunting melody of Tosca , the soprano’s voice carrying through the cavernous hall like a confession.

"Dark," Jinx murmured, watching the tragic lovers below. "Dramatic. Real murdery. You sure this isn’t autobiographical, doc?"

Viktor chuckled, his golden eyes gleaming as he reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers in an absent, possessive way. "You flatter me, dear. But if I wished for an opera of my own, I assure you, the final act would be far less tragic."

Jinx smirked, squeezing his fingers. "Oh? How’s it end, then?"

Viktor turned his head slightly, his gaze lingering on her lips before trailing back to the stage. "That, my dear, depends entirely on you."

Jinx’s stomach flipped. Not with nerves. With something darker. Something thrilling.

But before she could tease him for it, a voice—grating, smug, and wholly unwelcome—cut through the dim intimacy of their private balcony.

" Viktor ."

The sound made Viktor go still, though his expression didn’t waver.

Jinx turned her head lazily, immediately unimpressed by the sight of the man standing in the entryway.

Salo.

He was tall, thin, and smug like a trust fund brat who never had to work for anything in his life. His blond hair was slicked back with the kind of effort that was supposed to look effortless, his designer suit tailored within an inch of its life. But it was his eyes that made Jinx want to groan—calculating, hungry, with that you should be grateful I’m talking to you glint she’d seen in too many men before.

Salo’s gaze flickered to her for a second before landing possessively on Viktor, his lips curling into a smug, saccharine grin. "You look well."

Viktor exhaled through his nose, setting down his glass of wine with deliberate slowness. "Salo," he greeted smoothly. "It has been some time."

"Too long," Salo agreed, stepping further inside, clearly uninvited. His attention flicked back to Jinx, his expression tightening in vague displeasure before he schooled it into something resembling charm. "And this must be…?"

Jinx cocked her head, her grin sharp and lazy. "His favorite."

Salo blinked, clearly thrown off by her lack of hesitation. Then he laughed—low and condescending.

"Oh, I see," he mused, stepping closer, scrutinizing her with the kind of judgmental gaze that most women might have shrunk under. "He always did have a taste for… projects ."

Jinx raised an unimpressed brow. "And what were you? A failed experiment?"

Salo’s smirk twitched. "He was my doctor."

Jinx propped her chin on her hand. "That explains a lot."

Viktor chuckled beside her, quiet and amused.

Salo’s expression tightened further, but he recovered quickly, stepping close enough for her to smell the expensive cologne barely covering the insecurity beneath.

"You know," he mused, swirling the whiskey in his glass, "Viktor endeavors to fix people like you."

Jinx blinked at him, deadpan. " Fix ?"

Salo gestured vaguely at her. "You know— "people like you." The unstable ones. The strays. He has a soft spot for the… damaged. "

Jinx snorted. "Damn. And here I was, thinking you were about to call me ugly."

Salo narrowed his eyes, thrown off by her lack of reaction. He tried again.

"I just find it fascinating," he continued, leaning in like he was sharing something intimate, " why he’d bother. You’re an odd choice, aren’t you? Unruly. A bit unpolished. But I suppose everyone needs a pet project."

Jinx grinned. Not because she was insulted. But because this was boring .

Years ago, maybe, it would have stung—being the outcast, the ugly duckling, the one men overlooked or ridiculed. But now?

Now, she had Viktor.

Now, she was something no one could touch.

And that was exactly why Salo was still talking.

He was jealous.

She glanced at Viktor, expecting some sign of irritation, but instead—

He was watching her.

Not Salo.

Her.

His golden gaze flickered with something warm. Amused. Pleased.

Jinx’s stomach curled, and her grin sharpened.

"Oh, sweetheart," she sighed, reaching for Viktor’s hand and threading their fingers together in front of Salo’s face. "I hate to break it to you, but if I’m the pet project —what does that make you? The one he put in the trash?"

Salo’s smile dropped.

Jinx grinned wider.

She felt Viktor’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around hers, his thumb stroking against her skin in silent approval.

Salo, to his credit, recovered quickly. "I can see why you like her, Viktor. She bites."

Viktor finally sighed, tilting his head. "Do you require something, Salo?"

Salo exhaled, shaking his head. "Just catching up. I would have expected better taste from you, but—"

"You have never once been qualified to speak on my preferences," Viktor cut in smoothly, voice edged with quiet steel.

Salo stiffened.

Viktor’s golden gaze slid to him, slow and assessing, like a scientist peering at something under a microscope.

"It is one thing to embarrass yourself, but I strongly recommend you do not insult her in my presence," Viktor continued, his voice still deceptively soft.

Jinx hummed in satisfaction.

Salo’s jaw clenched, his ego visibly struggling against the fact that Viktor had just put him in his place in front of her .

After a moment, he straightened, forcing another smirk. "Very well," he murmured, voice tight. "Enjoy your evening, Doctor ."

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the corridor.

Jinx snorted, slouching back into her seat. "God, that guy ."

Viktor exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "He has always been a nuisance."

Jinx grinned, stretching her arms above her head. "Y’know, doc, I think that might have been the first time I’ve seen you tell someone to go fuck themselves."

Viktor glanced at her, his gaze flickering with something unreadable.

"Perhaps," he murmured, picking up his wine glass. "But only because it was worth it."

Jinx smirked, tipping her head toward him. "Yeah? What part?"

Viktor took a slow sip of wine, watching her over the rim of his glass.

"The part where you were unimpressed."

Jinx blinked, her stomach flipping.

Because he meant it.

Not just that she hadn’t reacted to Salo’s insults.

But that she hadn’t doubted for even a second that Viktor wanted her.

Her grin stretched slow, sharp, and smug as she leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Careful, doc. That almost sounded like you were trying to seduce me."

Viktor smirked against the rim of his glass.

"Did it?"

Jinx leaned closer. "Mmhm."

Viktor simply chuckled, setting his glass down and reaching for her hand again, this time raising it to his lips.

"Then I should clarify," he murmured against her skin, his breath warm. "It was."

Jinx’s pulse thrilled.

Yeah.

This was going to be a very good night.

---

Dr. Sky Young hadn’t expected to see them here.

She’d been sipping champagne in the upper gallery, nodding politely to whatever dull anecdote her colleague was droning on about, when she caught sight of Viktor in the private balcony below.

At first, she thought he was alone.

Then she saw her .

Jinx.

Lounging in her seat like she belonged there.

Dr. Young’s grip tightened around the delicate stem of her glass, her lips pressing into a thin line.

They were close. Too close.

At first, she told herself she was imagining it—that Viktor’s effortless charm, his way of drawing people in, was nothing more than a trick of the light. But then, she saw it.

The way he leaned toward Jinx when she spoke. The way his fingers lingered against hers. The way his attention never wavered .

This wasn’t the detached professionalism she expected from him.

This was something else.

Something worse.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Viktor had always been a mystery, a man who spoke in riddles and half-truths, his brilliance both captivating and unnerving. She had always admired him—had been drawn to him, even, in a way that she rarely admitted to herself.

But this?

This was dangerous.

Jinx wasn’t just another patient.

She was unpredictable. Unstable.

A storm that could never be tamed.

And yet—there Viktor was.

Feeding the storm.

Indulging it.

Dr. Young exhaled sharply, trying to compose herself. She was being irrational. Overreacting. Perhaps she had misunderstood the situation.

But then—

She saw him .

Salo.

Her jaw tightened as she watched the encounter unfold.

Salo was irritating at best, repulsive at worst, but he wasn’t the problem here.

The problem was Viktor.

Or rather—the way Viktor reacted.

Sky knew him. Knew his mannerisms, the carefully controlled neutrality he kept in most social situations. He was never rattled, never bothered .

And yet—when Salo insulted Jinx, Viktor shut him down with a finality she had never seen before.

Not just correction.

Possession.

Sky’s breath hitched.

No.

This wasn’t just inappropriate. This was wrong .

Viktor didn’t just tolerate Jinx.

He favored her.

She watched as Salo left, humiliated. She watched as Viktor turned his attention back to Jinx— as if nothing else in the room mattered . She watched as Jinx leaned in, whispering something with that sharp, knowing grin of hers.

And then—

Viktor kissed her hand.

Sky’s stomach dropped .

The glass in her hand trembled slightly, the fizzy remnants of champagne swaying dangerously close to the rim.

She swallowed, tearing her gaze away, willing herself to breathe.

This was worse than she thought.

Much, much worse.

Dr. Young didn’t wait.

It was early morning. 

Just the crack of dawn. 

She was pacing in Viktor’s office by the time he arrived, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw set. The dim amber glow of the desk lamp cast sharp shadows across the walls, making the space feel smaller.

Viktor barely acknowledged her at first, moving with his usual unhurried grace as he set down his coat and loosened his tie.

"You’re upset," he murmured, not even looking at her as he poured himself a glass of wine.

Sky inhaled sharply, her nails digging into her arms. "I saw you."

That got his attention.

He turned, one brow arching ever so slightly. "Saw me?"

"At the opera," she clarified, stepping forward. "With her ."

Something flickered behind Viktor’s golden gaze, too quick for her to catch. "Ah."

"That’s all you have to say?" she snapped, her control slipping. "‘Ah’?"

Viktor sipped his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. "Would you prefer I lie?"

Sky’s pulse thrummed.

No excuses. No deflection.

Not even a denial.

"You cannot be serious," she whispered, shaking her head. "Jinx is—"

"A fascinating young woman," Viktor supplied smoothly.

Sky bristled. "She’s unstable."

Viktor’s expression didn’t change. "So?"

Sky let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through her hair. "You know what I mean, Viktor."

He tilted his head. "Enlighten me."

Sky’s patience snapped. "She’s a danger to herself. She’s a danger to you ."

Viktor set his glass down with a quiet clink , stepping closer. "And yet, you seem far more concerned about her being a danger to me… rather than the other way around."

Sky’s breath hitched.

Viktor studied her, his gaze slow and assessing.

"You think I am the problem," he murmured, voice almost amused. "Not her."

Sky swallowed hard. "You’re a psychiatrist, Viktor. Her psychiatrist. This is beyond inappropriate."

Viktor hummed thoughtfully, stepping around his desk, moving closer—too close. "And if I were not her psychiatrist?"

Sky’s pulse quickened. "That isn’t the point."

"Isn’t it?" Viktor murmured, tilting his head. "You disapprove not because of professionalism. You disapprove because you do not believe she is worthy of me."

Sky’s breath caught.

Viktor smiled. Slow. Knowing.

"You believe you understand me better," he continued softly. "That if anyone should have my attention, my time, my…" He exhaled, his voice dipping into something smooth and deliberate. " Devotion —it should be you."

Sky’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She wanted to deny it. To argue.

But Viktor— brilliant, unnerving Viktor —had already seen through her.

Her silence was answer enough.

Viktor exhaled softly, his expression unreadable. "You are mistaken, Sky."

Her throat went dry.

"You think I should be afraid of Jinx," he murmured. "That she will pull me into something dark. Something dangerous."

He leaned in slightly.

"But you do not understand," he whispered.

Sky’s fingers curled into fists.

"She is not pulling me anywhere," he finished, voice like silk. "I am already there."

Sky’s stomach twisted.

Her lips parted—whether to argue, to plead, she wasn’t sure.

But Viktor was already turning away, retrieving his glass of wine.

"This conversation is over," he said, dismissing her without hesitation. 

Sky opened her mouth—then closed it, her breath shallow, her chest tight .

She turned sharply, storming toward the door, barely registering the way her fingers trembled as she reached for the handle.

But before she could step out—

Viktor spoke again.

Soft. Unshaken.

"Sky."

She hesitated.

"You are my colleague," he murmured. "And I would very much like for it to remain that way."

The meaning was clear.

A warning.

A threat wrapped in silk.

Sky inhaled sharply, forcing herself to step through the door, forcing herself to leave.

But as the door clicked shut behind her, she realized—

She had never been afraid of Viktor before.

But now?

Now, she wasn’t so sure.

---

For once, there was no blood. No bodies. No whispered confessions of the dead lingering on crime scene photos.

Just dinner. Just them.

Silco had reserved a private dining room in one of Jinx’s favorite restaurants, an upscale but quiet place that still served the greasy, over-the-top meals she loved. He sipped his whiskey, watching her with rare fondness as she tore through her plate like she hadn’t eaten in days.

It had been too long since they’d had a night like this.

No work. No expectations. Just father and daughter .

Just a father taking his daughter to dinner.

Jinx slumped lazily in her chair, one leg thrown over the armrest, a milkshake in front of her even as she tore through a plate of ribs. She was dressed more neatly than usual—Silco had requested some level of decency—but there was still an effortless disorder to her. Smudged eyeliner. Loose braid slung over one shoulder. A hint of paint on her hands.

Silco had learned long ago that fighting her nature was pointless.

Instead, he simply sipped his whiskey and watched her.

Jinx licked sauce from her fingers, glancing up mid-bite. "What?"

Silco smirked. "Just wondering if you actually plan to chew your food."

Jinx grinned, deliberately taking an obnoxiously loud bite. "There. Happy?"

Silco sighed. "Delighted."

She snickered, but there was something easy in the way she looked at him, a rare softness in her sharp edges.

It had been too long since they had nights like this.

And yet, as he watched her now—lounging in her chair, twirling a fry between her fingers while her other hand held her fork, humming absently to herself—he wondered if she was still the same girl he had raised.

Or if something had changed.

Something he hadn’t seen until now.

Silco set down his glass, voice smooth. "How about a trip?"

Jinx quirked a brow, popping the fry into her mouth. "A trip ?"

Silco smirked slightly. "Disney World."

The reaction was instant.

Her fork slipped from her fingers, hitting the plate with a sharp clatter . Her eyes went wide, her entire body going rigid before she practically bolted upright. " No way. "

Silco leaned back, amusement flickering in his one good eye.

"You serious ?" Jinx demanded, gripping the edge of the table.

"Very."

She beamed , fingers already flying as she started listing every ride she needed to go on, every food stall she had to visit, practically vibrating out of her chair.

Silco let her talk, nodding along as she mapped out an entire itinerary in real time, caught up in pure, unfiltered excitement.

He had always found the trips amusing—watching the way she lit up, the way she grinned ear to ear like a child, the way she pulled him toward rides with barely-contained enthusiasm.

He would have never admitted it, but those were some of his favorite memories.

And as she went on, talking about Space Mountain and Haunted Mansion and how this time, he wasn’t allowed to skip the fireworks , Silco let himself believe, for just a moment, that nothing had changed.

That she was still his girl .

That he still knew her.

But then—

He asked about her sessions with Viktor.

The progress that he could see. 

And everything shifted.

Jinx barely looked up, licking salt from her fingertips. "Oh, yeah, we’re together now."

Silco froze .

Jinx, unbothered, reached for his glass and took a sip of his whiskey.

Silco blinked. "Together?"

Jinx rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it coming."

Silco set his utensils down with slow precision, his one good eye sharp and assessing. "Clarify."

Jinx let out an exaggerated sigh, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Me and Viktor," she said plainly. "Together. Dating. In a relationship. Boyfriend and girlfriend. C’mon, old man, keep up."

Silco’s grip tightened on his glass.

Jinx just popped another fry into her mouth.

There were very few moments in Silco’s life where he found himself genuinely caught off guard .

This was one of them.

He had known— suspected , at the very least—that Viktor had been a steadying influence on her. That she had been… drawn to him, in some way. He had even let it slide because, objectively, Jinx had been better since meeting him.

Less erratic. Less reckless.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

Silco exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. " You are in love with Viktor."

"Yep."

"And he loves you."

She smirked, resting her chin on her hand. "He adores me."

Silco’s stomach twisted unpleasantly .

"And you’re no longer his patient?" he asked, voice deceptively even.

"Yup," Jinx confirmed, snagging another fry. "Signed the papers, did the legal crap, all clean. You can stop looking at me like I’m an idiot."

Silco wasn’t worried about her legal standing.

He was thinking about Viktor.

He had trusted the man. Respected him.

And now, he was sleeping with his daughter .

Just what the hell he had been doing with her behind closed doors.

Something slow and cold uncurled in his chest.

"How long?" he asked.

Jinx arched a brow. "What, exactly?"

Silco’s jaw ticked . " How long have you been together?"

Jinx smirked, resting her chin on her palm. "Does it matter?"

Silco’s voice dipped into something dangerous. "It does to me."

Jinx sighed, stretching out her legs. " Long enough. "

Long enough for what?

For Viktor to sink his claws into her?

For her to trust him?

For him to think he had the right to touch her?

Silco exhaled through his nose, forcing his expression to remain neutral.

Jinx grinned, leaning forward slightly. "You’re mad."

Silco spoke, his voice deceptively neutral. "I’m concerned ."

Jinx just laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, yeah, you’re pissed. I can hear it in your dad voice ."

Silco said nothing.

Jinx shrugged, picking at her fries. "Not like it matters. I love him, he loves me. That’s it. End of story."

Silco’s grip on his glass tightened .

Love.

His stomach twisted even more, almost bordering on pain.

Because, even through his anger—his disbelief —he knew his daughter well enough to know when she was serious.

This wasn’t some passing fling.

This wasn’t a joke.

This was real.

And that was what terrified him most.

Silco closed his eye, inhaling slowly through his nose.

She’s wrong.

Not about the relationship itself—but about how deep it went.

Jinx was devoted to Viktor.

And if there was one thing Silco knew, it was the way obsession could blind a person.

Viktor was dangerous.

Not in the way Jinx was—not reckless, not erratic.

His danger was calculated .

Planned.

And now, that danger had latched onto her .

Silco inhaled slowly, swirling his whiskey before taking a measured sip.

"I’ll be speaking with Viktor," he murmured.

Jinx’s smirk widened.

"Go ahead," she mused, tilting her head. " See what happens. "

Silco set his glass down with a quiet clink .

Oh, he would.

And he was going to find out exactly what Viktor’s intentions were.

Because no one —not even Viktor—was going to take his daughter away from him.

---

“I told Silco about us.” Jinx said, nonchalantly laying on in his loveseat upside down, her legs in the air and her braid bunched on the floor. On her chest sat a small pint of ice cream she was eating out of, her spoon momentarily back in her mouth. 

Viktor’s hand had stopped in his writing, “... I see.”

Rearranging herself to sit up straight, she sat properly in the chair, “Oh come one, don’t tell me you’re mad.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. 

Viktor leaned back slightly, watching her with the quiet patience of a man dissecting something under a microscope. "I am not upset. I am considering how best to handle it."

Jinx arched a brow, grinning. "Handle me, you mean?"

Viktor’s lips twitched at the corner, amused. "Is that what you want?"

Jinx hummed, tilting her head, her loose braid slipping over her shoulder. "Might help."

Viktor chuckled softly, setting his pen down. "Perhaps later. For now, tell me—what do you plan to do about Silco?"

Jinx rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair, stretching her arms behind her head. "Oh, he’ll get over it. He always does."

Viktor made a quiet sound, noncommittal. "Mm. I suspect this time is different."

Jinx dropped her arms, lacing her fingers together atop the her lap. "You worried?"

Viktor smiled faintly. "No."

Jinx’s grin sharpened. "Liar."

Viktor sighed, shaking his head. "Your father is protective. Understandably so."

Jinx wrinkled her nose. "Hate that word."

Viktor smirked. "Protective?"

Jinx gestured vaguely. "‘Father.’ Makes him sound… normal."

Viktor hummed thoughtfully. "And what is he, then?"

Jinx twirled her spoon between her fingers, considering. "Mine."

Viktor exhaled through his nose, amused. "Of course."

Silence stretched between them, comfortable but charged.

Jinx studied him, tracing her finger along the rim of the carton. "You think he’s gonna try something?"

Viktor tilted his head. "What do you think?"

Jinx smirked. "Probably. He’s a sore loser."

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. "Then I will be prepared."

Jinx grinned, set the pint aside on a nearby side table, standing up and stretching her arms over her head. "Good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere."

Viktor’s golden gaze slid over her, slow and deliberate. "No," he murmured, voice smooth. "You are not."

Jinx’s stomach curled, dark and delighted.

She took a step toward him, her bare feet silent against the floor. "And what if he does try?"

Viktor tilted his head, his fingers drumming against the table. "Then he will learn."

Jinx smirked. "Learn what?"

Viktor’s gaze flickered, something knowing—something dangerous—lurking just beneath the surface.

"That I do not share."

Jinx’s breath hitched.

Then, slow, deliberate, she crawled into his lap, straddling him, her fingers ghosting along the edge of his jaw. "Careful, doc," she purred. "That almost sounded like you love me."

Viktor’s hands settled against her waist, steady, firm.

"Jinx," he murmured, voice velvet-dark, "I have never once been careful with you."

Jinx grinned.

And then she kissed him.

It spiraled from there. 

Viktor knew the call was coming.

He had been waiting for it.

The moment Jinx had told him she casually mentioned their relationship over dinner, a flicker of amusement dancing behind her mismatched eyes, he had known.

Silco would want answers.

And Viktor, ever the patient man, was more than willing to give them.

When his phone rang, he didn’t hesitate. He took his time answering, leaving his bedroom to avoid waking Jinx. She was still napping, exhausted from their coupling. He stepped into the hall, shut the door behind him and continued to let it ring more before pressing it to his ear.

"Silco," he greeted smoothly, his voice even, composed.

There was no warmth in Silco’s reply. "We need to talk."

Viktor smiled faintly, running a finger along the edge of his desk. "Yes, I suspected we might."

A pause. Then—

"You and Jinx," Silco said, his tone unreadable. " Explain ."

Viktor tilted his head slightly. "She has already informed you."

"You didn’t think to do that yourself ?" Silco asked, voice cool.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, unbothered. "If you had asked, I would have answered."

Silco’s fingers drummed against his desk. "And what exactly would that answer be?"

Viktor leaned back, adjusting his grip on his cane. "We are together. It is as simple as that."

"Simple," Silco echoed, his voice thick with skepticism. "That’s a funny way to put it."

Viktor chuckled softly. "I have always been a straightforward man."

Silco wasn’t amused. "You were her doctor ."

" Were, " Viktor corrected, his tone mild. "That is no longer the case."

Silco’s patience was already thinning. "You knew how much I trusted you with her."

"And I have not betrayed that trust," Viktor said smoothly.

Silco’s voice turned sharp. "That remains to be seen."

Viktor hummed thoughtfully, unconcerned. "You are worried."

"Concerned," Silco corrected. "I don’t need to tell you that Jinx is… different ."

"She is extraordinary," Viktor said, a quiet certainty in his voice.

Silco’s grip on his pen tightened. "She’s unstable ."

Viktor’s lips curled faintly. "And yet, she is better than she has ever been."

Silco exhaled through his nose, his fingers tightening around his pen. "You think you did that?"

Viktor was silent for a moment, considering. "I think I am the only one capable of understanding her."

Silco’s voice dipped lower. "And what exactly do you understand ?"

Viktor’s golden eyes flickered, his grip tightening around the curve of his cane. "That she does not need to be fixed . That she is not broken . That you are merely afraid of something you cannot control."

Silco stilled.

The words cut sharper than they should have.

He knew, deep down, there was truth in them.

He had never been able to control Jinx, not fully. He could guide her, could steady her, but there was always something just beyond his reach—something wild, something unpredictable.

And now, Viktor had it in his hands.

Silco leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "What do you want from her?"

Viktor chuckled, low and knowing. "I could ask you the same."

Silco’s jaw tightened.

Viktor continued, his tone smooth. "I am not your enemy, Silco. I have no intention of harming her. Quite the opposite."

Silco’s fingers tapped against the desk. "You love her?"

"Without question."

Silco was quiet for a long moment.

Viktor waited.

Then—

"If you hurt her," Silco said, his voice calm, measured, deadly, "I will end you."

Viktor smiled.

Not mocking. Not defiant.

Simply amused.

"I understand," he murmured.

Silco exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. " Jesus ."

Viktor chuckled. "Have I satisfied your concerns?"

Silco scowled. " No ."

Viktor sighed, shifting his weight. "Then allow me to ask you this, Silco—has she ever been happier ?"

Silco hesitated.

Because, despite everything—despite his reservations , despite his rage —he knew the answer.

No.

She hadn’t.

She was thriving .

And he hated that Viktor had a hand in it.

Silco’s voice was tight. " End of the month. She’s going on a trip with me."

Viktor hummed in amusement. "Disney World?"

Silco’s eye narrowed. "You already knew."

Viktor’s smirk deepened. "She was quite excited."

Silco exhaled, shaking his head. " Of course she told you."

Viktor leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into something smoother. "You may not like it, Silco, but we are not at odds . We both want the same thing."

Silco scoffed. "And what’s that?"

Viktor’s golden eyes gleamed.

"Jinx."

Silco’s jaw ticked .

Viktor chuckled softly. "You raised her to be untouchable. And yet, here we are."

Silco clenched his teeth. "Exactly. I raised her."

Viktor inclined his head. "And I will take care of her."

Silco inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the armrest of his chair.

He didn’t like it. Didn’t trust it.

But he knew Jinx.

If she wanted something, nothing could stop her.

Not even him.

Silco closed his eye, exhaling slowly. "I will be watching."

Viktor smiled. "I would expect nothing less."

A tense silence stretched between them.

Then—

Silco ended the call.

---

The body was returned like a gift.

A macabre offering.

The corpse of Eve Halloway had been laid out with care , her hands gently folded over her stomach, her head resting on a pillow made of bundled cloth, as if she had simply gone to sleep and never woken up.

Jinx stood over her, tilting her head, her arms crossed.

It wasn’t the brutality of the crime that caught her attention.

It was the gentleness in the way the killer had left her behind.

Silco was beside her, his expression unreadable, though his sharp gaze missed nothing. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

Jinx licked her lips, stepping closer. "He cared about her."

Silco arched a brow. " Cared ?"

Jinx crouched down, peering at the corpse with detached curiosity. " Mmhm. You don’t pose a body like this unless you feel something. Guilt. Regret. Maybe even love."

Silco’s gaze flickered. "Then why kill her?"

Jinx hummed. "Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he thought he had to."

Her gloved fingers ghosted over the stitching along Eve’s abdomen—precise, careful, more like a surgeon’s work than a butcher’s.

The autopsy had revealed something unexpected.

Her liver had been removed .

Then put back .

Jinx could picture it now—

The killer, realizing what he had taken. What he had ruined .

And in some twisted way, he had tried to undo it.

She glanced at the scene again, at the way the body had been tucked in, at the unmistakable reverence in the details.

It was an apology .

Jinx’s lips parted, a slow grin forming.

"Oh," she murmured. "You fucked up, didn’t you?"

Silco’s eyes narrowed. "Jinx."

She pushed herself up, shaking her head. "He didn’t mean to waste her. That’s why he brought her back."

Silco exhaled through his nose. "If you say he , then you have an idea."

Jinx smirked, stretching her arms over her head. "Yep."

She turned, already pulling up her phone.

"Where are you going?" Silco asked.

Jinx grinned, tapping Maddie’s contact. "Hunting."

Jinx didn’t expect much when she knocked on the door of Heenot Soldi’s home.

The man had been a name on a list, a thin thread leading back to Eve, but the moment the door creaked open—

She knew .

The maid was the first sign.

Wide, frightened eyes. Hands shaking as she wiped them on her apron, as if trying to rid herself of something she couldn’t see .

Jinx took a slow step forward, lowering her chin. " Hi ."

The maid flinched.

Jinx’s grin widened. " I think I’m in the right place. "

The woman hesitated, glancing behind her before nodding quickly, stepping aside.

Jinx strolled in without a second thought.

She took in the house as she walked—a clean, minimalist space, no real signs of life, no personal touches. Just a house, not a home .

The maid led her to the living room, gesturing stiffly to the couch.

Jinx plopped down, stretching her legs across the coffee table.

The maid bowed her head slightly before scurrying off, her footsteps light, hesitant.

Jinx hummed to herself, eyes lazily scanning the room.

A minute passed.

Then another.

And then—

" Detective Jinx. "

Jinx turned her head just as he walked in.

Heenot Soldi.

Thin. Greasy brown hair slicked back, small, darting eyes that never stayed still. He had the posture of a man who wanted to seem important but had never quite figured out how.

Jinx grinned, watching the way his hands fidgeted. "You know my name," she mused. "That’s cute."

Heenot hesitated before giving a tight smile. "Your reputation precedes you."

"Yeah?" Jinx propped her chin on her fist. "What kind of reputation?"

Heenot exhaled, clasping his hands behind his back. "Let’s just say… people talk."

Jinx’s smirk sharpened. "Bet they do."

She let the silence stretch, watching him closely.

He shifted under her gaze.

Good.

Jinx tilted her head, all lazy curiosity. " So , Heenot. You had a meeting with Eve Halloway, didn’t you?"

The tension in his shoulders was barely perceptible.

But Jinx caught it.

Heenot nodded stiffly. "Yes. A routine financial consultation."

Jinx hummed. " Routine , huh?"

Heenot gave another tight smile. "Yes."

Jinx grinned. "And then she disappeared."

His fingers twitched. " Unfortunate. "

Jinx stared at him, letting the word sit between them.

"Yeah," she finally said. "Super unfortunate."

Heenot cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. "Is there something I can help you with, Detective?"

Jinx watched the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. The way his fingers kept tugging at his cuffs.

He was uncomfortable.

Nervous.

Guilty.

"Yeah," Jinx said. " Why’d you kill her? "

Heenot’s expression stilled .

A perfect moment of hesitation.

Jinx’s smirk widened.

Then—

His phone rang.

The sound made him flinch.

Jinx arched a brow, watching as he immediately pulled it out, glancing at the screen before forcing a smile.

"My apologies," he said quickly, stepping back. "I need to take this."

Jinx leaned back against the couch, stretching her arms. " Go ahead ."

Heenot disappeared down the hall.

Jinx counted the seconds past the first minute in her head, her fingers tapping absently against her thigh.

Five.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Then—

A scream.

Sharp. Sudden.

Then silence.

Jinx’s body reacted before her brain could catch up.

She moved , ripping her pistol from the holster beneath her hoodie, her breath steady, her hands sure .

The house was too quiet .

The scream had already been swallowed by the walls.

Jinx’s grip on her pistol tightened .

She followed the sound, her steps light, deliberate.

She reached a closed door at the end of the hall.

She didn’t knock.

She didn’t wait.

She kicked it open.

And then—

Blood.

Everywhere.

The maid’s body was slumped against the floor, her throat cut wide open .

Jinx barely had time to register it before she saw the child .

Small.

Helpless.

A knife slicing through her throat .

Her tiny hands scrambling to hold in the blood.

Jinx barely gave Heenot time to turn around .

She pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed through the house.

Heenot staggered, gasping, clutching at his stomach.

Jinx shot him again.

And then again.

His body collapsed .

Jinx barely looked at him .

Her gun slipped from her hand as she dropped to her knees beside the child, her mind suddenly— horrifically —blank.

Because the little girl was looking at her.

Jinx’s hands trembled.

And for the first time in years —

She felt afraid .

Jinx had seen death in all its forms.

Violent, desperate, slow, quiet—she had traced its edges, danced in its shadows, learned its every shape.

But this?

This was different.

The child trembled beneath her hands, small fingers grasping at the gaping wound in her throat, her breath coming in frantic, wet gasps. The blood was everywhere —warm and sticky, slick between Jinx’s fingers as she pressed down, trying to stop the inevitable.

She wasn’t supposed to care.

She wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

But then—

She saw the girl’s eyes.

Wide, terrified.

Full of tears. 

Gold. Amber.

Jinx’s breath hitched.

It was the exact same color .

Viktor’s color.

The phone between her ear and shoulder was slippery with sweat as she spoke, her voice sharp, urgent, nothing like her usual lazy drawl. 

Her hands wrapped around the child’s throat. Jinx knew she had to hold tightly, but she was afraid.

Afraid she’d strangle her. 

"Yeah, I got a kid here—she's bleeding out— throat wound , deep cut, lots of blood. Get someone now ."

The voice on the other end was saying something, asking her questions, but Jinx barely heard it.

Her hands were shaking.

She wasn’t supposed to be shaking.

The girl coughed, her tiny chest convulsing, more blood bubbling up between her lips. Her fingers clawed at Jinx’s wrists weakly, not to push her away , but to hold onto her .

As if Jinx was the only thing keeping her here.

Panic surged up Jinx’s throat, thick and foreign.

This wasn’t like the crime scenes. This wasn’t like the art Viktor created, the bodies that were already gone, posed and perfected in their final form.

This was now .

This was happening .

And she had never been the one standing between life and death before.

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth.

Come on, come on, just hold on, kid. Don’t fucking die on me.

She tightened her grip, pressing down harder, even as her mind screamed that it wouldn’t be enough or too much. 

Then—

A shuddering breath.

A small, strangled noise.

And those golden eyes—Viktor’s eyes—started to dim.

" No, no, no, no— "

Jinx felt something inside her crack .

" STAY WITH ME, DAMN IT! "

She didn’t realize she was screaming until she heard her own voice echo back at her.

Didn’t realize her heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

Didn’t realize she was desperate .

Because for the first time in her life—

She didn’t want to watch someone die.

The paramedics arrived just as the girl’s body went slack in Jinx’s hands.

She had never been the type to freeze in a crisis, but as she felt those tiny fingers slip from her wrist, she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t speak.

Someone pushed her aside. A rush of motion, voices shouting, orders being given. Hands that weren’t hers pressing down, tubes being inserted, someone trying to force life back into the child’s limp body.

Jinx didn’t realize she was still kneeling in the blood until someone grabbed her arm.

She flinched violently, spinning on pure instinct, her hand going for her gun—

"Jinx!"

Maddie.

Jinx’s breath was ragged, her fingers still twitching around the pistol grip before she let go.

Maddie crouched in front of her, her usual sharp, cocky expression replaced with something else—something that looked a lot like concern .

"Jesus Christ," Maddie muttered, eyes flicking to the mess around them—the dead maid, Heenot’s cooling corpse, the child fighting for life on the stretcher.

Jinx forced herself to breathe .

"She gonna make it?" she asked, her voice raw.

Maddie hesitated.

Jinx’s fingers twitched .

" Maddie. "

Maddie sighed, rubbing her face. "They’re working on her. But Jinx—what the hell happened here?"

Jinx exhaled through her teeth, running a hand through her bangs, her braid damp with blood. "Heenot was our guy," she said, her voice low, tight. "He killed Eve. He probably killed all of them."

Maddie’s brows furrowed. "And the kid?"

Jinx swallowed hard. "The maid let me in. She brought him to me. Then he got a call. Next thing I know, I hear screaming. "

Maddie’s eyes darkened.

Jinx’s throat felt tight. "I found him with the knife in her throat, Maddie."

Maddie inhaled sharply. "Fuck."

Jinx nodded numbly.

A paramedic passed by with the girl on the stretcher, an oxygen mask strapped to her face, an IV running into her tiny arm.

Jinx’s entire body tensed.

Maddie caught it.

"Hey."

Jinx didn’t look at her.

Maddie sighed. " Jinx. "

Jinx clenched her jaw. "I fucking froze, Maddie."

Maddie blinked. "What?"

Jinx turned to her, her voice sharp, shaking. "I froze . I had her in my hands , and I—" She exhaled harshly, gripping her temples. "I don’t do that. I don’t freeze ."

Maddie was quiet for a second.

Then she spoke, her voice firm. " Jinx, you saved her. "

Jinx swallowed, her throat burning. "I don’t know if I did."

Maddie put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. "We’ll find out soon enough."

Jinx barely nodded, her gaze fixed on the ambulance doors as they slammed shut.

And for the first time ever—

She prayed .

Jinx didn’t go home that night.

She went to him .

Viktor opened the door to find her standing there, blood still smeared across her hands, her hoodie stained, her braid loose.

His golden eyes flicked over her, assessing.

Then he stepped aside, wordless.

Jinx walked in, barely making it past the threshold before she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

She shouldn’t be here.

She should be at the hospital. Waiting.

But she couldn’t .

She couldn’t stand the sterile walls, the beeping monitors, the too-clean smell of antiseptic that never quite covered the scent of death.

She needed this .

Needed him . 

Viktor shut the door behind her.

She turned to him, voice raw. "She had your eyes."

Viktor’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted, his fingers curling slightly against the wood of his cane.

Jinx inhaled sharply, dragging her hands down her face. "I don’t know if she’s gonna make it."

Viktor was silent.

Then, finally—

He reached for her.

Jinx didn’t pull away as his fingers ghosted over her jaw, tilting her face up just enough for him to study her.

"You are shaken," he murmured.

Jinx laughed —short, breathless, bitter. " No shit ."

Viktor’s hand slipped lower, his fingers brushing over her wrist, the blood still drying in the creases of her skin.

Jinx swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "She was just a kid, Viktor."

Viktor hummed, watching her carefully.

Then, quietly—

"And yet, you fought for her."

Jinx’s breath hitched.

His golden eyes gleamed.

"Because despite what you claim, my dear," he murmured, his voice smooth, dark, knowing—

"You are not as unfeeling as you pretend to be."

Jinx closed her eyes, her chest tight.

Because she didn’t want to feel.

Not like this .

Not when she didn’t know if that girl was alive or dead .

She exhaled, turning her face into Viktor’s palm. "Tell me something fucked up, doc."

Viktor smirked faintly, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

"Darling," he murmured, tilting her chin up—

"You are my favorite work of art."

Jinx grinned .

And just like that, the panic faded.

Jinx’s hands were still trembling when Viktor finally guided her to sit. He crouched before her, his golden eyes steady, unwavering.

"Breathe," he murmured.

Jinx exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. "I don’t freeze," she muttered, her voice raw. "I don’t panic. I don’t—"

"You are allowed," Viktor interrupted, his voice firm, deliberate. "Even you, my dear."

Jinx swallowed, dragging her hands down her face. She was still covered in drying blood—some of it hers, most of it not. The girl. The fucking girl with Viktor’s eyes. The way her tiny hands had clutched at Jinx, like she was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.

She didn’t want to think about it.

Didn’t want to feel it.

Viktor’s touch was light against her wrist, his fingers brushing against the drying blood. "Come," he said, rising to his feet, his cane tapping against the floor as he moved toward the bedroom. "Shower. You will feel better."

Jinx hesitated, but when Viktor’s gaze flickered over her—assessing, knowing—she knew it wasn’t a request.

She nodded, exhaling. "Fine."

Viktor disappeared into his wardrobe, returning with a neatly folded set of clothes—his. A deep blue satin sleep shirt and a pair of matching pants. Jinx accepted them without protest, though she gave the pants a skeptical glance before tossing them onto the bed.

Viktor arched a brow.

Jinx smirked, winking. "Too big."

He sighed, but there was no real admonishment in his gaze. "Shower, Jinx."

She rolled her eyes but obeyed, padding into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

The water scalded her skin, washing away the blood, the sweat, the weight of the evening. Jinx braced her hands against the cool tile, inhaling deeply, letting the steam swallow her. She didn’t want to think about the girl, about the way she had gone limp in her hands, about the sheer helplessness she had felt.

But she did.

Because Viktor was right.

She felt.

She always had.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders, the scent of something warm and rich filled the air.

Jinx’s stomach growled.

She followed the scent to the kitchen, where Viktor was at the stove, stirring something simmering in a pot.

Jinx padded up behind him, the satin sleep shirt hanging loosely on her smaller frame. The hem barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. The pants had been abandoned entirely.

She hesitated only for a second before stepping closer, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

Viktor hummed, his body momentarily tensing before relaxing under her touch.

Jinx pressed her face against his back, inhaling deeply.

Safe. Warm. Steady.

She needed this.

For once, she didn’t need the chase, the chaos, the thrill of destruction.

She just needed him.

Viktor let her cling for a moment longer before he finally sighed. "Sit, lapochka."

Jinx pouted but obeyed, reluctantly detaching herself and dropping into a chair at the table.

Viktor turned, watching her move.

And then he saw it.

A glimpse of bare skin beneath the loose hem of his shirt.

Viktor inhaled sharply, his grip tightening around the handle of the ladle. He turned back to the stove with a quiet, nearly imperceptible groan.

Jinx had always been a temptation.

Her body. Her mind. The way she moved, like a blade balanced on the edge of chaos and control.

Perfect.

But now was not the time.

She had been frightened today. Panicked. And right now, she needed comfort, not desire.

Viktor exhaled, steadying himself before finally ladling the soup into two porcelain bowls. He set one in front of her, settling into the chair across from her.

Jinx peered into the bowl, her nose scrunching. "What is it?"

"Zelňačka," Viktor said smoothly, his accent thick, rich, curling around the syllables like silk.

Jinx shifted in her seat.

Viktor noticed.

His grip on his spoon tightened.

Patience.

Jinx arched a brow. Her spoon shifted the soup around. "Cabbage?"

Viktor only smirked as he sat across from her, his own bowl cradled between his hands. "Eat, darling. Before it gets cold."

Jinx huffed but lifted the spoon, blowing gently before taking a cautious sip.

Rich, sour, a perfect balance of warmth and spice that settled deep in her gut.

Jinx blinked.

Oh.

Viktor studied her reaction with barely veiled amusement.

"Well?"

Jinx scowled at him, jabbing her spoon toward his face. "If you tell anyone I liked soup made of fucking cabbage, I will end you."

Viktor chuckled, sipping his own with a slow, deliberate hum of approval.

Jinx shifted in her seat, the warmth pooling lower than just her stomach.

His voice was so unfair.

Something dark curled in her.

Because despite everything—despite the blood, despite the fear, despite the exhaustion—she still wanted him.

And by the way Viktor refused to meet her gaze, she knew he wanted her too.

The soft clink of cutlery against porcelain filled the space between them, the dim glow of the dining room casting golden hues along the curve of Jinx’s smirk. Viktor had finished his meal, resting his chin lazily against his palm as he watched her pick at the last bites of her food. She wasn’t in a rush. She never was, not with him.

Jinx twisted her spoon between her fingers, blue eyes flickering toward him with something unreadable. Then—casual, offhand, but deliberate—she spoke.

“You think you could come with me tomorrow?”

Viktor lifted a brow, amusement flickering beneath his golden gaze. “To?”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “To see the kid, obviously.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in the way he exhaled told her he understood.

She didn’t want to go alone.

He knew she’d never admit it outright.

He leaned back in his chair, considering. “I do have a few appointments tomorrow.”

Jinx made a face. 

She wasn’t surprised, but it didn’t help the twinge of disappointment, twisting deeper into her chair like she was melting into it. “Figures.”

Viktor smirked. “But I will make time.”

Jinx stilled. Just for a second.

Then she grinned, wide and sharp, leaning forward on her elbows. “Aww, I knew you were soft for me.”

Viktor exhaled, shaking his head with a sigh of mock exasperation. 

Later, as he stood from the table, rolling his cane between his fingers, Jinx pushed herself up, stretching her arms over her head with a lazy groan. “I got the dishes.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Do you?”

She shot him an unimpressed look. “Oh, come on. That was one time.”

“One time too many,” he teased, moving toward the hallway.

Jinx scoffed, gathering the plates, her grin never quite fading. “I won’t break anything this time. Swear it on your stupid fancy chair.”

Viktor chuckled under his breath. “If you do, I will simply buy more.”

He left her to it, disappearing into the bedroom.

Jinx let the water run hot as she rinsed each plate, her hands moving methodically. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—not with him so near, the faint rustling of fabric from the other room telling her he was changing.

When she was done, she dried her hands against a nearby hand towel, heading toward the doorway with an air of triumph. “Told ya! Not a single casualty.”

Viktor was leaning against the bedpost, sleeves loose around his wrists, the rich brown satin of his sleepwear catching the dim light. He watched her with something unreadable, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Jinx folded her arms, cocking her head. “What?”

Viktor’s gaze lingered, slow and assessing. “Even if you had broken one, it would be of no consequence. You are more precious than any porcelain, my dear.”

Jinx blinked.

Something warm curled in her stomach—something foreign, something dangerous.

Her face felt hot.

She rolled her eyes, huffing as she strode toward him. “Alright, that’s enough sappy shit outta you for one night.”

Viktor chuckled, catching her wrist as she moved past, pulling her gently into his space.

They settled in bed, the air thick with something neither of them would name. Viktor curled against her from behind, his breath warm against the nape of her neck, his fingers resting lightly against the dip of her waist.

Jinx exhaled, staring at the ceiling. “Think she’s gonna be okay?”

Viktor didn’t answer right away.

Then—

“You did everything you could.”

Jinx swallowed.

His fingers traced slow, absent circles against her hip. “She is strong.”

Jinx inhaled, deep and steady.

Viktor pressed a kiss against the back of her shoulder, his voice low, deliberate.

“And so are you.”

She closed her eyes.

She believed him. 

Afterall, he had never lied to her. 

Notes:

P.S. I didn't forget about those ideas involving Isha! They are in progress!

Chapter 58: THREE: Potage

Summary:

“Alright, kid,” she said, hands on her hips, “I’m keeping you.”

Viktor nearly choked on his tea.

Silco, from his seat across the room, let out a slow breath, rubbing his fingers over his temple like a man trying very hard not to have a migraine.

Jinx ignored them both.

Isha, meanwhile, just stared at her, fingers tightening around the hospital bag in her lap.

Jinx crouched to her level, resting her elbows on her knees. “Look. You can go into foster care, which sucks. You can stay with someone else, which probably sucks. Or—” She grinned. “You can stay with me.”

Isha hesitated.

Hospitals made Jinx itch.

The whole place reeked of antiseptic and old breath, the kind of air that had been circulating for too long, carrying with it the sterile whispers of death and survival. The buzzing fluorescent lights overhead did the white walls no favors, making the place feel less like a place of healing and more like a morgue with better branding.

She hated it.

Yet, here she was.

Jinx’s boots were propped up on the edge of the hospital bed, rocking idly as she leaned back in the stiff plastic chair. Isha—just "the kid" until a few minutes ago—lay against the pillows, small and still, swaddled in blankets too big for her wiry frame. Her face was pale beneath the dull lighting, her eyes large and dark, framed by exhaustion and too many unspoken things.

Her throat was wrapped tight in clean white bandages. A cruel little reminder of the life she barely clung to.

Isha couldn’t talk.

Didn’t matter.

Jinx had met plenty of people who ran their mouths nonstop and said absolutely nothing.

Viktor, seated beside her, was the opposite. He had a way of filling silence with presence alone, his sharp golden eyes tracking every detail. He held Isha’s chart in one hand, fingers skimming the pages with the slow, precise care of someone cataloging more than just the medical jargon.

He was reading her .

Jinx shot him a sideways glance. “Anything juicy?”

“Her condition is stable.” Viktor flipped to the next page, unhurried. “Damage to the vocal cords is severe, but not irreversible.”

Isha’s fingers twitched atop the blanket.

Jinx blew out a breath, stretching her arms over her head. “Well, that’s good. Woulda sucked if we had to keep dragging her around like a little ghost.”

Isha’s eyes snapped to her, wary.

Jinx grinned, tilting her head. “No offense, kid.”

Isha said nothing. Couldn’t.

But when Jinx reached over to pluck the notepad off the bedside table and dropped it onto her lap, the girl hesitated only a second before curling her fingers around the pen.

Jinx watched her closely.

Her grip was unsure, her fingers trembling. A lifetime ago, Jinx had spent too many nights with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Days where the weight of a gun, a wrench, a brush— anything —felt like a test of control.

But Isha steadied herself.

She pressed the pen to paper.

After a moment, she turned it toward them.

Isha.

Jinx hummed, tapping her fingers against her knee. “Cute name. You pick that yourself, or did someone slap it on ya at birth?”

Isha blinked at her, hesitating. Then, slowly, she wrote again.

My mother.

Jinx leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “Moms are good for that, I guess.”

She felt Viktor’s gaze on her but didn’t look at him.

Isha’s fingers twitched around the pen.

Jinx saw the shift before the words even came. That brief moment where hesitation wrestled with urgency.

The kid was about to say something that hurt.

When she finally wrote, she didn’t push the notepad toward them this time. She just kept her head down, shoulders curled inward, like she wanted to shrink out of sight.

Jinx glanced down.

He was eating them.

The words just sat there, stark black against the pale paper.

The air in the room changed.

Jinx wasn’t sure what she had expected. More tears, maybe. More broken little-girl fear. Something fragile.

Not this .

Not words written with a steady hand.

Not facts laid out plain as day.

The pen scratched again.

All of them.

Jinx leaned back in her chair, exhaling through her teeth. She let the words settle, let them fill the space between them, testing their weight.

Viktor, for his part, was still. But she knew him well enough to recognize when something had his full attention.

She tapped her fingers against the armrest. “You’re talking about Heenot?”

Isha nodded once.

Jinx licked her lips. “How long?”

A pause.

Then:

Always.

Jinx let out a low whistle, shaking her head. “Well, ain’t that some prime nightmare fuel.”

Viktor reached for the notepad, turning it slightly toward him. “Explain,” he said, voice smooth, measured.

Isha swallowed, her fingers tightening around the pen. She hesitated for only a moment before writing again.

He didn’t waste anything.

The girls. My aunt told me.

He said it was tradition. The Soldi family doesn’t waste.

Viktor’s lips pressed into a thin line. His fingers tapped against his cane, slow and thoughtful. “A familial practice, then.”

“Some real Little House on the Prairie shit,” Jinx muttered. “But, y’know. With people. ”

Isha’s next words came faster.

My aunt was his maid. We lived there.

Silence.

A long, deep stretch of it.

Jinx exhaled through her nose, rubbing a hand down her face. “Well, shit .”

The deeper they dug, the worse it got.

Silco arrived late, cutting through the hospital’s sterile quiet like a blade. His presence was sharp, the kind of weight that settled on a room and forced it to make space. He carried a manila folder in one hand, its corners creased from how tightly he had been gripping it.

Jinx leaned against the edge of Viktor’s desk, popping a piece of gum into her mouth with a lazy smirk. “So, what’s the damage, boss?”

Silco exhaled, slow and measured, before tossing the folder onto the table. “Start with the pillows.”

Jinx arched a brow, flipping the folder open. Her eyes skimmed over the evidence reports, her smirk fading.

Hundreds of strands of hair.

Dark. Long. Female.

The forensic team had pulled them from the pillows, the mattress seams, the spaces between the floorboards.

A sick kind of nesting.

She clicked her tongue. “Man really treated his bed like a trophy case, huh?”

Viktor, seated nearby with his cane resting against his knee, reached for the report. His golden eyes flickered as he read, his fingers absently tapping against the edge of the desk. “And the kitchen?”

Silco’s voice was flat. “Worse.”

Jinx snorted. “Ain’t much worse than sleeping on people.”

Silco didn’t react. Just pulled another stack of reports from inside his coat and set them down beside the first.

Jinx picked one up, scanning it.

Then she stopped.

For a long moment, she didn’t move.

Then, slowly, she let out a low, breathy whistle, rocking back on her heels. “Bone broth. You’re fuckin’ with me.”

Silco wasn’t.

He didn’t need to say anything.

The reports spoke for themselves.

Vats of broth, stored in glass jars. Rendered fat, labeled and sealed like fine preserves. Bones, stripped clean, stacked in neat little bundles.

A full kitchen.

A well-stocked pantry.

Jinx flicked a page with the edge of her thumb, scanning the notes. “This dude wasn’t just eating them. He was running a goddamn farm .”

Viktor exhaled, setting the report aside. “And the autopsy?”

Silco slid another folder across the table. “Adipose tissue samples confirm it.”

Viktor didn’t need to look. He already knew what it would say.

Still, he opened the folder with careful precision, his expression unreadable as he skimmed the findings.

Human fat in the stomach lining.

Confirmed consumption.

Jinx pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Y’know, I thought I was numb to this shit. Turns out, I was wrong.”

Silco’s voice was even, but there was something tight beneath it. Something coiled. “Heenot’s family,” he said, “is a long line of hunters.”

Jinx snorted, dropping her hands. “Yeah, well, most hunters don’t eat what walks upright and talks back.”

Silco ignored her. “They believe in honoring their kill. Using every part. Never wasting.”

Jinx’s jaw clenched.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. “A generational practice,” he mused. “Not merely impulse, but ritual.”

Silco’s single eye was sharp. “If that’s true, then Heenot wasn’t working alone.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Viktor smiled.

Jinx hated that smile.

The slow, knowing kind. The one that meant he had already reached a conclusion before the rest of them had even caught up.

She waved a hand. “Alright, out with it, doc. You got that ‘I’m about to say something real ominous’ look again.”

Viktor tapped a finger against the file. “If Heenot was raised in this tradition, then he is not an anomaly. He is an inheritance .”

Jinx frowned. “Meaning?”

Viktor’s golden eyes gleamed.

“Meaning,” he said smoothly, “he is not the last of his kind.”

Silco inhaled sharply, rubbing his fingers together in thought. “You think there are more?”

“I think there are always more.”

Silco’s grip on the edge of the desk tightened ever so slightly.

Jinx let out a low, humorless chuckle, kicking one boot up onto the desk as she leaned back. “Oh, fantastic. A whole family tree of man-eating psychos. That’s exactly what this city needed.”

Silco shot her a look.

Jinx shrugged. “What? I cope with humor.”

Viktor closed the folder with a quiet clap , exhaling through his nose. “This is not a question of if there are others. It is a question of who .”

Jinx tapped a finger against her chin, considering. “If it is some long-standing family thing, someone out there has to be keeping records, right? Birth certificates, missing persons reports, unexplained disappearances…”

Silco nodded, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll have Sevika run a search.”

Jinx hummed, rolling her gum against her tongue. “What about the kid?”

Silco paused.

Jinx gestured vaguely toward the hospital. “She lived with him. Maybe she knows something.”

Silco exhaled, rubbing his temple. “She’s barely stable.”

Jinx grinned. “So’s half the city. Ain’t stopped us before.”

Silco gave her a long, measured look. “You want to put her through that?”

Jinx’s grin faded.

She hesitated.

Then, quietly, “She already went through worse.”

A beat of silence.

Viktor, ever the observer, was the one who spoke next. “Then we should ensure she never has to again.”

Jinx scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Aw, look at you, all noble .”

Viktor smirked, lifting his teacup. “You wound me.”

Silco ignored them both, his focus elsewhere.

He was already planning.

Because if Viktor was right—and he usually was—then this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

And Silco had no intention of letting another Soldi slip through his fingers.

The days after the hospital stretched long and strange.

Jinx didn’t usually linger. She was more of a drop in, drop out kind of girl—attention span short, patience shorter. But something about Isha kept her coming back. Not obligation. Not pity.

Just… something.

She wasn’t sure what.

Isha wasn’t an easy read. The kid barely reacted to anything at first, her face a careful blank slate, her silence more than just the bandages on her throat. It was a silence that had existed before Heenot had gotten to her. The kind of silence you learned when talking wasn’t safe.

Jinx recognized it.

Understood it.

Didn’t like it.

So she filled it.

And for the first time since waking up, Isha made a sound.

It started with a deck of cards.

Jinx had been bored out of her mind, sprawled across the hospital room floor, flicking playing cards at an empty cup. Isha had been sitting up in bed, watching quietly, occasionally scribbling something on her notepad but never sharing what.

Jinx flicked another card. Missed.

Scowled.

She grabbed another and launched it—

It hit the cup dead-on —

And bounced right back into her face .

Isha made a sound.

A short, sharp breath —half a wheeze, half a snort.

Jinx froze.

Then turned, slowly, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, hell no,” she said, sitting up. “Did you just laugh at me?”

Isha’s hands shot up in silent protest, shoulders shaking.

Jinx pointed at her, grinning. “ Oh, you did! That was totally a laugh! I heard it!”

Isha shook her head rapidly, but her eyes —her eyes gave her away. There was something lighter in them now, something that hadn’t been there before.

Jinx smirked.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now, kid.”

Isha blinked.

Jinx picked up another card—

And whipped it at her.

It hit her square in the forehead.

Isha gasped .

Jinx cackled.

Isha grabbed a card from the floor and threw it back .

Jinx dodged, grinning. “Oh, it’s on .”

That was the start of the greatest silent card war in hospital history.

Isha didn’t technically win.

But Jinx definitely lost.

And for the first time in days , Isha smiled.

---

Viktor found her at the hospital later that evening, propped up in a chair beside Isha’s bed, fiddling with one of the hospital’s heart rate monitors.

He sighed. “Jinx.”

Jinx grinned, not looking up. “Don’t worry, doc, I’m not breaking it.”

“That is debatable.”

Isha, meanwhile, just watched them both, her expression somewhere between confused and mildly concerned that these were her caretakers now .

Jinx eventually set the monitor down (in one piece, thank you very much), lacing her fingers behind her head. “What’s up? You don’t usually slum it in hospitals unless someone drags you here.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly. “I could say the same for you.”

Jinx opened her mouth—then paused.

Because, yeah.

That was weird, wasn’t it?

She didn’t like hospitals. Didn’t like staying in one place too long, either. But here she was, coming back every day like clockwork.

Isha looked at her, dark eyes flickering between her and Viktor, as if waiting for an answer.

Jinx exhaled through her nose, tapping her fingers against the armrest. “Guess I just like the company.”

Isha blinked.

Viktor smirked. “You are far more tender hearted than I would have expected.”

Jinx flicked a balled-up straw wrapper at him.

---

Jinx had rules.

Loose rules. Flexible, mostly-ignored rules.

But rules.

One of them?

Kids don’t touch weapons.

Not that she was great at enforcing it, but still. She tried .

But Isha wasn’t a normal kid.

And she wasn’t stupid.

So, one night, while Jinx was cleaning one of her guns, Isha sat cross-legged on the couch, notepad balanced on her knee, and carefully wrote:

How does it work?

Jinx exhaled through her nose, tapping a screwdriver against her palm. “What, the gun?”

Isha nodded.

Jinx hesitated.

“Ever held a gun before?” Jinx asked one afternoon, stretching out on the hospital cot like she belonged there.

Isha blinked.

Jinx took that as a no.

“Well,” she continued, lazily spinning a knife between her fingers, “good. Means I get to teach you the right way. None of that shaky-hand, bad-aim, ‘oh no, I shot myself in the foot’ kinda crap.”

Isha stared.

Then, slowly, she picked up her notepad and wrote:

You’re not supposed to teach kids that.

Jinx snorted. “Says who?”

Isha hesitated.

Then, carefully:

People.

Jinx smirked, flicking her knife upright and stabbing it into the bedside table. “Yeah, well. People are stupid.”

Then, after a beat, she clicked her tongue and tilted her head. “You sure you wanna know? Once you start learning this stuff, it’s kinda hard to stop.”

Isha gave her a look .

Jinx huffed a laugh.

“Alright, alright.”

She twisted the gun apart, laying the pieces out between them.

“This—” she tapped the barrel, “—is where the fun stuff happens. Never put your fingers here unless you wanna say goodbye to them.”

Isha nodded.

Jinx smirked.

And just like that, the lesson began.

She didn’t let Isha touch the gun.

Not yet.

But she let her learn .

And when Viktor eventually wandered into the room and saw what they were doing, he didn’t say anything.

Just arched a brow.

Jinx shrugged. “Educational purposes.”

Viktor exhaled. “Of course.”

Isha let out a soundless giggle.

Jinx shot her a wink.

And that was the night she decided—

Yeah.

She was keeping this kid.

Jinx wasn’t good at making decisions.

Or, more accurately—she was , but only when she made them fast .

Fast meant right . Fast meant instinct. Fast meant she wasn’t giving herself time to overthink, to doubt, to let the whole damn thing spiral into what ifs .

And yet—

She was stuck on this one.

Isha would be released in a few days. She was still pale, still recovering, still moving a little too slow for Jinx’s liking, but she’d be out of the hospital before the trip.

Which meant Jinx had to figure out what the hell to do with her .

Which should have been easy.

She should’ve just left her in a safe house, with some of Silco’s people, or even stashed her somewhere in Zaun with a guard on standby. Hell, she could’ve brought her along —kids loved theme parks, right?

But something about it—

Something about all of it—

Didn’t sit right.

And Jinx hated that.

By the time the hospital cleared Isha for release, Jinx had already made up her mind.

“Alright, kid,” she said, hands on her hips, “I’m keeping you.”

Viktor nearly choked on his tea.

Silco, from his seat across the room, let out a slow breath, rubbing his fingers over his temple like a man trying very hard not to have a migraine.

Jinx ignored them both.

Isha, meanwhile, just stared at her, fingers tightening around the hospital bag in her lap.

Jinx crouched to her level, resting her elbows on her knees. “Look. You can go into foster care, which sucks . You can stay with someone else, which probably sucks. Or —” She grinned. “You can stay with me.”

Isha hesitated.

Jinx could see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way her breath went a little shallower, like she was bracing for something to be snatched away.

Then, very carefully, she wrote:

Why?

Jinx considered that.

She could say it was because Isha reminded her of herself. Because she saw something in the kid’s sharp, silent edges that felt familiar.

Or maybe she just wanted to .

Instead, she just shrugged. “Why not?”

Isha stared at her for a long moment.

Then, slowly—tentatively—she nodded.

Jinx smirked, standing up and ruffling the kid’s hair. “Atta girl.”

Silco didn’t argue.

That was the surprising part.

He questioned it, sure. Gave her that long, assessing stare that made most people uncomfortable (but Jinx had long since stopped being ‘most people’).

But he didn’t stop her.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers laced in front of him. “You’re serious about this.”

Jinx slouched into the couch opposite him, kicking her feet up. “Deadly.”

Silco exhaled, tilting his head. “This isn’t a pet, Jinx. It’s a child.”

Jinx snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

Silco studied her for a long moment, like he was trying to decide if he should push this or let it happen.

In the end, he let it happen.

He always did.

---

“Absolutely not.”

Jinx rolled her eyes, slumping against the armrest of Silco’s office couch. “You’re such a buzzkill .”

Silco exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “Jinx. She is recovering .”

Jinx waved a hand dismissively. “She’s fine .”

“She can barely stay awake for more than a few hours at a time.”

Jinx scoffed. “Yeah, well, same , and that’s never stopped me before.”

Silco gave her a flat look.

Jinx scowled.

He let the silence stretch for a long, measured beat before leaning forward, resting his forearms against the desk. His one good eye flickered, sharp and assessing. “Be serious about this.”

Jinx exhaled through her nose, cracking her knuckles absently.

“I am serious.”

Silco tilted his head slightly. “Then why are you fighting me on this?”

Jinx’s jaw tightened.

She didn’t have an answer for that.

Or maybe she did, but she didn’t like it .

She didn’t like how normal it had felt, sitting with Isha in that too-sterile hospital room. She didn’t like how easy it had been, filling the silence, cracking jokes, learning the tiny, hesitant flickers of her expression.

She didn’t like that the thought of leaving her behind made her feel off-balance .

She didn’t like—

She didn’t know .

So, instead, she did what she always did.

She deflected.

“She’s my kid.”

Silco exhaled, rubbing his fingers together. “Legally? No. Biologically? No. Logistically?” He arched a brow. “Not yet.”

Jinx scowled. “Fuck off, she’s mine.”

Silco just looked at her.

Jinx crossed her arms.

“…Okay, fine, she’s sorta mine.”

Silco leaned back, lighting a cigar with slow, deliberate movements. “Then act like it.”

Jinx’s fingers twitched. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Silco said, exhaling smoke, “that dragging her across the country in the middle of recovery is irresponsible .”

Jinx made a face. “Oh, please . I turned out great .”

Silco arched a brow. “You are not the standard for healthy decision-making.”

Jinx huffed, kicking her feet up onto his desk. “Whatever. You’re just mad ‘cause you think I’m not responsible enough for a kid.”

Silco didn’t say anything to that.

Didn’t deny it.

Jinx scowled. “ I can handle it. ”

Silco exhaled, tipping his cigar toward her in a slow, lazy gesture. “Then prove it .”

---

Viktor, however, was still processing.

“You do realize the implications of this, yes?” he asked, seated in his study while Jinx sprawled across his loveseat.

“Pfft. What, like taxes?”

Viktor sighed.

Jinx grinned.

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jinx.”

Jinx waved a hand, still grinning. “Relax, doc. I got this.”

Viktor arched a brow. “You hate responsibility.”

Jinx shrugged. “Yeah, well, turns out, I don’t hate Isha.”

Viktor’s expression flickered—something unreadable in the sharp gold of his eyes.

Jinx stretched out, folding her arms behind her head. “You don’t think I can do it?”

Viktor tilted his head, watching her carefully before turning his attention back to the book in his hands. “I think you will do exactly what you want, regardless of what I think.”

Jinx smirked. “Damn right.”

Still, he said nothing else.

Didn’t stop her.

Didn’t argue .

And that was all she needed.

“Viktor, back me up here.”

Viktor glanced up from his book, smirking faintly. “On what?”

Jinx waved a hand dramatically. “On how I obviously know what’s best for my totally legally-recognized kid.”

Viktor hummed, setting his book aside. “Ah. This is about Disney World.”

Jinx threw up her hands. “Of course you already knew.”

“I always know.”

Jinx shot him a look. “Alright, smart guy, thoughts? ”

Viktor exhaled, resting his chin on one hand. “You want me to agree with you, yes?”

“Obviously.”

“Then I am afraid I must disappoint you.”

Jinx groaned , flopping onto her back on the couch. “You’re killing me, doc.”

Viktor chuckled. “You will survive.”

Jinx peeked up at him from under her arm. “Oh yeah? And where exactly do you think I should stash her, then?”

Viktor’s fingers tapped idly against his cane. “Here.”

Jinx blinked. “Huh?”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, golden eyes gleaming. “Leave her here . With me.”

Jinx squinted. “Wait. Wait .” She sat up, pointing at him. “Are you volunteering to babysit?”

Viktor smirked. “I believe that is what I just said, yes.”

Jinx stared.

Something in her gut twisted—something she didn’t have a name for.

Isha liked Viktor. That much had been obvious from the way she stuck close to him when they were all together, the way she actually listened when he spoke, the way she never hesitated to write things down when he asked.

It made sense.

It was practical .

It was smart .

So why did it feel weird ?

Jinx crossed her arms. “And what’s in it for you? ”

Viktor lifted his teacup with slow, deliberate amusement. “Ah. Now you are asking the right questions.”

Jinx scowled. “I hate when you’re cryptic.”

Viktor chuckled, sipping his tea. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Mm.”

Jinx squinted . “Viktor.”

Viktor exhaled, setting his cup down.

His gaze was slow, knowing .

“You trust me,” he said simply.

Jinx blinked.

Viktor tilted his head. “You may not say it. You may not think it. But if you did not trust me, you would not even consider this.”

Jinx licked her lips, shifting slightly.

She hated when he was right.

Hated that he always seemed to know her better than she did .

“So,” Viktor continued smoothly, “the question is not why I am offering.” His lips curled faintly. “The question is why you are hesitating .”

Jinx hated that, too.

She huffed, throwing herself back onto the couch. “You’re so manipulative.”

Viktor chuckled. “You flatter me.”

Jinx exhaled, staring at the ceiling.

Letting it sink in.

The thought—the inevitability of it.

Isha would stay here.

She would settle here.

She would get comfortable .

And when Jinx came back—

She wouldn’t want to leave .

Jinx should’ve seen it sooner.

Because Viktor had already won.

She turned her head, watching him carefully.

He just smiled.

Jinx groaned.

“ Fine .”

Viktor inclined his head. “Of course.”

Jinx sighed, rubbing a hand down her face.

She was never getting out of this, was she?

Viktor sipped his tea.

No.

No, she wasn’t.

And just like that—

The first step of Viktor’s plan was complete.

---

Jinx didn’t sleep much.

She could—she was capable —but she didn’t like it. Too many dreams. Too much noise.

Isha wasn’t much better.

So, sometimes, they just… stayed up.

Jinx would ramble about nothing .

Isha would listen.

Sometimes she’d scribble notes. Sometimes she’d throw pillows at Jinx when she got too annoying.

It was comfortable .

Then, one night, Jinx was halfway through a story—

“And then Silco pulled the classic ‘disappointed dad’ move—y’know, the one where he rubs his temple and sighs real long like he just hates his life—”

She glanced over.

Isha was out cold.

Jinx blinked.

The kid had never fallen asleep while she was talking before.

She was curled up, notepad tucked against her chest, breathing steady.

Jinx exhaled, running a hand through her hair.

Huh.

She should probably wake her.

Tell her to go to her own bed.

But instead—

Jinx shifted, leaning back against the couch, and let her stay.

Just this once.

Just for a little while.

---

Viktor was neat.

Immaculate, even.

So, naturally, Jinx and Isha made it their personal mission to mess with his closet.

“I told you, the man owns, like, three colors,” Jinx muttered, digging through his wardrobe. “Brown, beige, and whatever this is .” She held up a dark red coat. “ Boom . Proof.”

Isha tapped her notepad.

I bet you won’t wear it.

Jinx’s grin sharpened. “Oh, you think I won’t?”

She threw the coat on.

Then grabbed one of his scarves and draped it dramatically over her shoulders.

Isha smirked, flipping to a new page.

Looks dumb.

Jinx gasped. “ You wound me, kid. ”

Isha grinned.

Then—after a moment of hesitation—reached out and grabbed something from the drawer.

A vest.

She threw it over her shoulders.

It was way too big.

Jinx stared.

Then—

She howled .

“Oh, you look so dumb —”

The door creaked.

They froze.

Viktor stood in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze slow and assessing.

Jinx cleared her throat, adjusting the scarf. “Hey, uh—so, funny story—”

Viktor exhaled sharply.

Then—

Without a word—

He turned and walked away.

Jinx blinked.

Isha flipped to a new page.

Did we win?

Jinx cackled. “ Oh yeah. ”

---

It wasn’t a big thing.

It wasn’t an event .

Just a Tuesday.

Jinx sat at the kitchen table, hair still messy from sleep, flipping through paperwork Silco had left for her.

Isha sat across from her, scribbling in her notepad.

Jinx twirled a pen between her fingers, chewing her gum absently. “So, like, if I sign this, that makes it official , right?”

Viktor, seated beside her, nodded. “Legally, yes.”

Jinx clicked her tongue.

Then, with a lazy flick of her wrist—

She signed.

The pen scraped across the page, ink settling.

Jinx leaned back, grinning. “Boom. Mom mode activated .”

Isha rolled her eyes.

Jinx smirked.

Viktor simply took the papers and set them aside, watching her carefully.

Jinx stretched, exhaling. “Welp. No going back now.”

Isha tapped her notepad.

Did you want to?

Jinx paused.

Then she grinned, flicking Isha’s forehead.

“Nah.”

Isha swatted at her hand.

Jinx cackled.

And that was that.

Jinx had never planned to have a kid.

And yet—

Here they were.

Here she was .

And, somehow, for the first time in her life—

She didn’t mind staying.

---

Jinx wanted to take Isha with her.

She really wanted to take Isha with her.

But, as usual, Silco was being a pain in the ass .

“She’s recovering,” he pointed out, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. “You want her traipsing around Disney World while she’s still healing?”

Jinx scowled, crossing her arms. “She’s not that fragile.”

Silco gave her a flat look.

“She can’t talk .”

“She can write .”

Silco exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jinx.”

Jinx mimicked his tone mockingly, rolling her eyes.

From his chair near the bookshelf, Viktor finally weighed in, sipping his tea like a man who had been waiting for the inevitable. “He is not wrong.”

Jinx whipped around. “ Et tu, Viktor? ”

Viktor smirked faintly, unbothered. “She nearly died , Jinx.”

Jinx waved a hand. “So have I ! Like, a lot ! Turned out fine.”

Silco arched a brow. “That is still debatable.”

Jinx groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Oh my God , you two are the worst.”

Viktor chuckled.

Isha, sitting quietly on the couch with her notepad in her lap, was watching all of this with a vague air of amusement.

Jinx turned to her, exasperated. “ You wanna go, right?”

Isha hesitated.

Then, carefully, she wrote:

I do.

Jinx smirked, shooting Silco a look. “Ha! See?”

Isha, however, wasn’t done.

But I’m still tired.

Jinx’s smirk faltered.

Isha looked down, adjusting her grip on the pen.

Maybe next time?

Jinx stared at the words, something twisting uncomfortably in her chest.

She had been so sure Isha would jump at the chance to go.

But the kid wasn’t like her.

She wasn’t reckless. She wasn’t running from something every second of the day, grasping at distractions to keep from spiraling.

She was tired .

Jinx exhaled through her nose, raking a hand through her hair. “Fine. Next time.”

Isha nodded once, satisfied.

Jinx slumped back into the chair, dramatically draping herself over the armrest. “Guess you’re stuck with Viktor.”

Viktor hummed, lifting his cup. “There are worse fates.”

Jinx squinted at him. “That sounded weirdly smug .”

Viktor just smiled.

---

Leaving Isha behind wasn’t the end of the world or anything.

But it still sucked .

Jinx dragged her heels about it the whole time, making a huge show of how unfair it was, how tragic it was, how Isha would be sooo miserable without her.

Isha, for her part, was entirely unbothered.

Which only made it worse.

“Alright, kid,” Jinx said, crouching in front of her, hands on her knees. “You sure you’re okay with this? Like, no last-minute ‘please don’t leave me with the scary doctor’ vibes?”

Isha blinked.

Then, with the slowest deliberate movement, she held up her notepad.

I’ll be fine.

Jinx scowled. “Rude.”

Isha shrugged, writing again.

I like Viktor too.

Jinx groaned, falling back onto the couch. “Ugh. Betrayed. Betrayed in my own home .”

Viktor, seated nearby, arched a brow. “This is my home.”

Jinx pointed at him without looking. “Shut up, nerd.”

Viktor smirked.

Silco, watching this whole thing unfold, exhaled and finally muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

The night before they left, Jinx lingered in Isha’s room longer than necessary.

She sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the loose threads on the blanket while Isha watched her, waiting.

Eventually, Jinx sighed.

“Y’know,” she muttered, “you can call me if you need me.”

Isha blinked.

Jinx caught herself.

Right.

She sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. “Fine, you can write me if you need me. Viktor’s got my number, and, like, a million ways to stalk me. Probably.”

Isha nodded.

Jinx tapped the edge of the nightstand absently. “He’s gonna be good to you, y’know.”

Isha tilted her head slightly.

Jinx smirked, flicking the kid’s forehead lightly. “But not as good as me.”

Isha swatted her hand away, huffing through her nose.

Jinx grinned.

Yeah.

She’d be fine.

---

Jinx and Silco left early the next morning.

Viktor was waiting in the entryway, cane in hand, watching as Jinx double-checked her things.

She turned to him at the last second, narrowing her eyes.

“Don’t break her.”

Viktor’s lips twitched. “I would not dream of it.”

Jinx smirked. “Good. Otherwise I’d break your face.”

Then, after a beat, she reached out and very deliberately ruffled his hair.

Viktor sighed .

Jinx cackled.

Silco muttered something under his breath and stalked out the door.

Jinx followed, shooting Isha one last look over her shoulder.

“Be good, kid.”

Isha nodded.

Then, after a brief hesitation, she lifted her notepad.

You too.

Jinx snorted. “Not likely.”

Then she was gone.

Viktor and Isha stood in the entryway, watching the car pull away.

The house was quiet.

Isha shifted, looking up at him.

Viktor tilted his head.

Then, calmly, “Are you hungry?”

Isha hesitated.

Then nodded.

Viktor smiled. “Come. Let us see what we can find.”

And just like that, a new routine began.

The first thing Isha noticed about Viktor’s house was how quiet it was.

Not the heavy, oppressive quiet of the hospital. Not the eerie, waiting silence of Heenot’s house.

This was different .

This was the kind of quiet that came from careful curation. The hush of books lined in neat rows, of soft-footed movement, of a man who enjoyed solitude and had built his home to reflect it.

It wasn’t a home for a child.

But then—she wasn’t really a child anymore, was she?

The first night, she barely slept.

Not because she couldn’t —Viktor’s guest rooms were nicer than any place she had ever stayed. The bed was too soft, the sheets smelled like something expensive, and there was an entire closet full of clothes she didn’t steal.

It should have been comforting.

Instead, it unsettled her.

Rich people's houses were supposed to feel cold . She had seen enough of them on the rare occasions Heenot had brought her somewhere grand—big estates with towering ceilings and rooms meant to be looked at , not lived in .

But this place?

It was lived in .

Not messy—never messy—but full .

Books stacked on end tables. Papers arranged across a polished desk.

There were no family photos. No sentimental clutter.

But there was a kind of intimacy in the details.

A home built exactly to one man’s specifications.

Isha didn’t know what to do with that.

Viktor didn’t crowd her.

She liked that.

Jinx was all sharp angles and noise, an energy that filled any space she entered. Viktor was the opposite. He moved slowly, deliberately, with the air of a man who saw no need to rush.

He gave her space.

Let her explore.

Didn’t pry.

Didn’t ask questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

Instead, he simply… observed .

Not in the way Heenot had.

Not like she was a thing to be measured and categorized.

More like she was a puzzle .

One he was in no hurry to solve.

---

She found herself in the library more than anywhere else.

It was massive —floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the kind that needed a sliding ladder to reach the top. There were books on everything. Psychology, history, philosophy, crime .

She ran her fingers along the spines that she could reach, picking out titles at random. She couldn’t understand most of what was on the pages, but it kept her busy nonetheless. 

Viktor didn’t stop her.

He simply glanced up from his desk as she pulled one free, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

She settled onto the couch, flipping through the pages.

She felt his gaze on her, but he said nothing.

Neither did she.

Neither of them needed to.

The second night, she slept a little easier.

Not much.

But some.

Meals were strange.

Jinx ate like she was in a race—like she had been starving at some point in her life and never quite recovered from it. Isha wasn’t much different.

But Viktor?

Viktor ate like someone who enjoyed food.

Not in the over-indulgent way of Heenot, who treated every meal like a grotesque ritual.

No, Viktor’s appreciation was more… academic .

Every bite measured. Every flavor considered.

She watched him carefully the first time they ate together, waiting for some kind of sign.

She had spent too long at a table with a man who feasted . Who devoured. Who took something beautiful and made it awful .

But Viktor?

He savored .

It was unsettling in a different way.

Not monstrous.

Just… controlled.

Like he was the one who dictated the rules of the meal, the rhythm of the experience.

Like nothing about his hunger was left to chance.

It took three days for her to start relaxing.

Four for her to start exploring.

Five before she stopped hesitating before entering a room.

---

Viktor took care of her in a way she didn’t expect.

Not like Jinx, who shoved affection at people and dared them to challenge it.

Not like Silco, whose protection came with the weight of understanding exactly what he had to lose .

No, Viktor’s care was more… clinical .

Precise.

A routine he folded her into effortlessly, as though her presence had already been accounted for in the careful structure of his life.

Breakfast at eight. Lunch at noon. Dinner at six.

Soft knock on the door at bedtime, never opening it—just a quiet, “Goodnight, Isha,” before moving on.

He never forced anything.

But he noticed everything.

And that, more than anything, made her uneasy.

Because if he noticed , that meant he was watching.

If he was watching, that meant he was learning .

And if he was learning…

What did that mean for her?

The first time she hesitated in a doorway, Viktor spoke without looking up from his book.

“You do not need to ask permission.”

Isha stiffened.

Viktor sipped his tea. “This house is yours now as well. You may go where you please.”

She frowned slightly, shifting her weight.

Then, slowly, she crossed the threshold and took a seat.

Viktor turned a page. “See? Not so difficult.”

She shot him a flat look.

He smirked.

She exhaled through her nose and picked up a book.

She didn’t notice the way Viktor watched her from the corner of his eye.

Didn’t see the faint glint of satisfaction in the way his fingers drummed idly against the armrest.

Didn’t realize she had already stepped into the web.

By the end of the first week, she had stopped thinking of the guest room as temporary.

By the second, she had stopped thinking of it as his house.

By the third—

She had started calling it home .

---

Meanwhile, at Disney World…

Silco had regrets.

Many, many regrets.

“Why,” he muttered, rubbing his temple as a child ran past him, “did I suggest this?”

Jinx, wearing a pair of bright pink mouse ears, grinned as she took a massive bite out of a Mickey-shaped pretzel. “Because you love me.”

Silco exhaled sharply. “Not enough for this.”

Jinx cackled, mouth full. “Too late, old man, you’re stuck with me.”

The park was packed.

Unreasonably packed.

There were swarms of children. Swarms, Silco realized, were somehow worse than gangs. Gangs had structure. Gangs had hierarchy.

Children had none of these things.

They moved in hordes. They screamed for no reason. They ran into people without looking.

Silco hated them.

He also hated the oppressive humid-heat, the suffocating cheerfulness of the employees, and the fact that he had already been asked to take three family photos because, apparently, he had a “distinguished uncle” look.

Jinx found this hilarious.

She was thriving in this chaos, skipping ahead, pointing at things, stuffing her face with every single overpriced snack she could get her hands on.

Silco, meanwhile, was suffering.

Deeply.

And they had only been here for fifteen minutes.

---

It appeared as though Jinx had two goals:

1. Ride everything.
2. Ruin as many children’s days as possible.

“Jinx,” Silco said, massaging the bridge of his nose as she cackled at a crying six-year-old, “I am begging you to behave.”

Jinx grinned, twirling a stolen balloon around her wrist. “What? It’s not my fault the kid sucks at rock-paper-scissors.”

Silco pinched his temple. “You challenged a child to a game, won, and then took his balloon.”

Jinx snorted. “Hey, he should’ve picked scissors.”

Silco exhaled through his teeth.

This was going to be a long day.

Especially considering Silco did not enjoy rides.

Jinx, however, lived for them.

Which was why, twenty minutes later, Silco found himself strapped into Space Mountain, fingers clenched around the safety bar, already regretting every decision that led him here.

Jinx sat beside him, vibrating with excitement.

“This is gonna be awesome,” she declared.

Silco inhaled sharply. “I hate you.”

The ride started.

Darkness.

Acceleration.

A drop.

Silco swore in three languages.

Jinx screamed—

Not in fear.

In delight.

“WOOOOO, FUCK YEAH—”

Silco’s soul left his body.

By the time they stumbled off, Jinx was grinning ear to ear, while Silco looked like he had seen the gates of hell.

“Aw, c’mon, that was fun!” Jinx chirped, bouncing on her heels.

Silco’s eye twitched. “I am going to reassign you.”

Jinx cackled.

Silco groaned.

And then they got in line for Big Thunder Mountain.

---

Jinx had many skills.

One of them?

Getting banned from places.

Which, as it turned out, extended to theme parks.

“You threatened Mickey Mouse.”

Jinx shrugged, licking an ice cream bar. “I insulted Mickey Mouse. There’s a difference.”

Silco rubbed his temple. “You told him you would ‘skin him and sell the pelt’.”

Jinx smirked. “Which was a compliment, actually.”

The Disney security guards had not agreed.

Silco exhaled, eyeing her suspiciously. “Do you want to get banned?”

Jinx grinned.

Silco groaned.

Jinx, as it turned out, was also unbelievably good at carnival games, which resulted in her winning an obscenely large stuffed Stitch and using it to aggressively bump into people as they walked.

Silco did not intervene.

She had earned that right.

The day had been exhausting.

For Silco, at least.

Jinx, somehow, still had infinite energy, vibrating with anticipation as they found a spot in front of Cinderella’s castle.

The sun had set.

The heat had finally eased.

And for the first time all day, Silco felt something close to relief.

Then the fireworks started.

Jinx froze.

Silco glanced at her, raising a brow. “What—”

And then he saw it.

The way she was watching them.

The way the lights flickered across her face, reflecting in her wide, mismatched eyes.

She wasn’t laughing.

She wasn’t talking.

She wasn’t moving.

She was just—

Watching.

And, for once—

Silco stayed quiet.

The fireworks crackled.

Jinx let out a slow breath, pressing her chin against her knees.

Then, softly—

“Pretty.”

Silco hummed. “Yes.”

It reminded him of when he brought her here for the first time. Her hands had been so small. 

She had nearly cried when the first set of fireworks had gone off,  

Jinx tilted her head slightly. “Think the kid would’ve liked it?”

Silco exhaled.

“You’ll bring her next time.”

Jinx blinked.

Then, slowly—

She grinned.

“Yeah,” she said. “Next time.”

Silco said nothing.

Just watched as the fireworks burned on.

And, for once—

Jinx didn’t look away.

---

By the time they returned, Jinx was excited to see Isha again.

Silco, however, was a broken man.

He slumped onto the nearest couch, rubbing his temple, muttering about crowds and heat and overpriced bottled water.

Jinx, meanwhile, was already on her feet, grinning wildly.

She crashed through the front door, sunburned, grinning, dragging her bags behind her with absolutely zero consideration for the fact that it was well past midnight.

Viktor, seated in his usual chair, glanced up from his book.

“You are back.”

“Damn right I am,” Jinx declared, dropping her bags with a thud . “Miss me?”

Viktor hummed. “That depends. Did you bring me anything?”

Jinx smirked, reaching into her pocket and pulling out—

A snow globe.

Viktor arched a brow. “How sentimental of you.”

Jinx cackled. “Oh, shut up, it was either that or mouse ears, and you don’t scream ‘goofy hat’ to me, doc.”

She turned toward the stairs, stretching her arms over her head. “Where’s the kid?”

Viktor tilted his head. “Asleep. Perhaps not for long, you are quite loud.”

Jinx scoffed. “Lame.”

She started up the stairs—then paused.

Something in Viktor’s expression gave her pause.

She narrowed her eyes.

“…You got comfortable with this, didn’t you?”

Viktor just smiled. “Perhaps.”

Jinx let out a long, theatrical groan.

“Aw, hell ,” she muttered. “Now you’re gonna start ganging up on me.”

Viktor smirked.

Jinx grinned back. 

“Alright,” she announced, stretching. “Now that’s outta the way—”

She turned—

Paused.

Isha was standing at the top of the stairs.

Watching.

Jinx hesitated.

Then—

She smirked.

“Miss me, kid?”

Isha tilted her head.

Then, after a long moment—

She nodded.

Jinx exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “Good. ‘Cause I brought you a shit-ton of gifts.”

Isha blinked.

Jinx smirked.

Viktor, leaning against the stair’s rail, sipped his tea.

“And yet, all I received was a snow globe,” he said smoothly.

Jinx shot him a look. “Don’t start, doc.”

Viktor smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Silco groaned.

Jinx laughed.

And just like that—

Everything was right again.

---

She was definitely moving in.

Jinx didn’t move in all at once.

It wasn’t a decision , not really.

It was a series of small things .

A toothbrush left in the upstairs bathroom. A pile of clothes in the corner of Viktor’s laundry room that she kept meaning to take back to her place but never did. A drawer in his bedroom that had somehow become hers.

Little things.

Forgettable things.

Until, one day, Viktor simply pointed it out.

“You realize you live here, yes?”

Jinx blinked up at him from the couch, where she was currently sprawled on her stomach, flipping through a magazine she had definitely stolen from a doctor’s office.

She chewed her gum thoughtfully. “Huh?”

Viktor tilted his head, amusement flickering in his golden eyes. “You live here.”

Jinx snorted, tossing the magazine aside. “Pfft, nah .”

Viktor sipped his tea. “Mm.”

Jinx pointed a finger at him. “Don’t ‘ mm ’ me, doc.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Very well. Would you prefer I list the evidence?”

Jinx groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “ Jesus , here we go.”

Viktor set his cup down with deliberate patience, lacing his fingers together. “You sleep here five nights a week.”

Jinx scoffed. “ Coincidence .”

“You have occupied an entire dresser.”

Jinx squinted. “Mmm… okay, but, like, only because you have way too much space, dude. Like, who needs that many empty drawers?”

Viktor smirked. “You, apparently.”

Jinx waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. That doesn’t mean—”

Viktor leaned forward slightly, golden eyes gleaming.

“You’ve been addressing your online orders here.”

Jinx froze.

The smug silence that followed was unbearable.

Jinx scowled, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You bastard . You’re the one opening them!”

Viktor chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Ah. So you admit it.”

Jinx groaned, throwing herself onto her back dramatically. “Ughhhh, you suck .”

Viktor simply smirked, lifting his teacup again. “I know.”

Isha, watching all of this from the doorway, slowly lifted her notepad and scribbled something down.

Jinx squinted at her. “What’re you—”

Isha flipped the notepad around.

You already live here.

Jinx scowled. “Ugh, you too, kid?”

Isha shrugged, utterly unbothered.

Jinx flopped onto her side with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. FINE. Maybe I do stay here more than I thought. Doesn’t mean I live here .”

Viktor hummed. “How do you define ‘living’ somewhere?”

Jinx shot him a look . “Don’t you psychoanalyze me, nerd .”

Viktor smirked behind his teacup.

---

Still, the thought lingered.

Jinx didn’t like permanence. Never had. She had spent most of her life moving . Her home with Silco had always been more of a base than anything else—somewhere to return to , but never somewhere she felt tied to.

Even her own house wasn’t actually a home ; it was just a place to store her shit and sleep a few hours every few days. 

But here?

Here, things had settled.

The rooms didn’t feel borrowed .

Her stuff wasn’t cluttering the space—it belonged in it.

Isha wasn’t waiting for something else to come next—she was just… here .

And Viktor—

Viktor had never asked her to.

Because he didn’t need to .

He had let her piece it together on her own.

Crafted the question without ever asking it.

And the worst part?

She hadn’t even noticed .

Jinx groaned, rubbing a hand down her face. “You’re so manipulative .”

Viktor smirked. “Not at all.”

Jinx rolled onto her stomach, glaring at him. “You literally just tricked me into realizing I live here.”

Viktor arched a brow. “You think very highly of my cunning, dear, but I assure you— you did that yourself .”

Jinx’s eye twitched. “Oh my God .”

Isha was shaking with silent laughter.

Jinx huffed. “Fine. Whatever. I live here , I guess .”

Viktor exhaled, slow and satisfied. “Good.”

Jinx squinted at him. “Wait— was this your plan the whole time? ”

Viktor simply smiled, pressing his fingers together beneath his chin.

Jinx’s jaw dropped.

“You scheming bastard !”

Viktor chuckled, reaching for his book.

Jinx threw a pillow at his face.

And that was that.

No formal announcement. No big moment.

Just a realization.

A slow, creeping understanding that she had already been living here for months without admitting it.

That Viktor had known she would figure it out.

That he had, in his own quiet way, guided her to it .

And she hated how much she admired that.

Jinx stretched out on the couch, tossing her arm over her face with a long sigh.

“Alright, fine,” she muttered. “Guess I live here now.”

Isha tapped her notepad.

You could’ve figured that out weeks ago.

Jinx groaned. “Shut up , kid.”

Viktor smirked, sipping his tea.

Jinx peeked out from under her arm. “And you— you owe me grievance pay for gaslighting me into thinking I was homeless.”

Viktor chuckled. “I assure you, your sense of victimhood is greatly exaggerated.”

Jinx rolled onto her stomach, resting her chin in her hands.

“Yeah?” She grinned, slow and sharp. “Guess that means I do live here. Which means I get to decorate.”

Viktor’s fingers froze on the tip of the book’s page.

Jinx’s grin widened.

“Oh, shit , you didn’t think about that part, huh?”

Viktor’s gaze narrowed .

Isha, watching this unfold, smiled .

Jinx hopped up, stretching her arms above her head. “Alright, we’re getting neon signs , baby. I’m talking posters , I’m talking a million dumb little fairy lights, I’m talking—”

Viktor exhaled sharply. “I regret everything .”

Jinx cackled, throwing herself onto the couch again.

Isha wrote something down, then flipped the page.

Our house now.

Jinx smirked. “Hell yeah, kid.”

Viktor sighed deeply , rubbing his temple.

But he didn’t argue.

Because, in the end—

That was exactly what he had wanted.

---

Jinx had lived in a lot of places.

None of them had ever felt like home.

But here—

Here, she had a room that wasn’t temporary.

A kid who somehow became hers before she had time to question it.

A man who had quietly, methodically, wrapped her in something she hadn’t even realized she wanted until it was already too late.

Home.

Jinx exhaled, pressing her forehead against the cool wooden table. “God, I hate you.”

Viktor smirked, utterly unbothered. “Understandable.”

Jinx lifted her head just enough to glare at him. “You literally trapped me into living here.”

Viktor tilted his head. “Is that so?”

Isha, across the table, nodded .

Jinx pointed at her. “See? Even the kid agrees .”

Viktor hummed, sipping his tea. “Then I suppose you are trapped , dear.”

Jinx scowled.

Viktor smirked.

Isha just smiled .

Yeah.

This was home.

Notes:

I have at least one more part planned for this. Prepare yourselves, the next one will involve betrayal, mwahahaha 😈!

Any guesses 👀? I'm curious!

Chapter 59: Lycan and Crane pt. 1

Summary:

The warg—still watching her with those tired golden eyes—didn’t seem particularly invested in the naming process, but that wasn’t gonna stop her. A name was important. A name made things official.

Her gaze drifted over his wiry frame, the way his sides still rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. He looked rough now, but there was something underneath all that weakness, something waiting to roar back to life.

Like an engine.

Like a—

Jinx snapped her fingers, grinning. “Motor.”

 

The device hummed in her hands, little arcs of blue light flickering between the exposed coils. It was still a prototype, barely held together with scavenged parts, but that was the fun part, wasn’t it? Unpredictability. The possibility of spontaneous combustion. Jinx grinned.

The teleporter—her teleporter—was a squat, blocky thing, pieced together with her own brand of chaotic ingenuity. The main chassis was an old hextech core she’d… borrowed, with some additional wiring that definitely wasn’t up to code. But it worked. At least, in theory.

Jinx rolled onto her back, dangling the device above her.

“Alright, baby, let’s see what you can do.”

She twisted a dial, pressed a button, and—

A violent surge of light swallowed her whole.

Jinx hit the ground hard, her breath punching out of her lungs. Her skull rang like a bell, her limbs sprawled at awkward angles. For a few seconds, she just laid there, stunned, watching strange blue-green leaves rustle above her.

Then her brain caught up.

She scrambled upright. “What the hell—?”

The teleporter.

She looked down.

Underneath her was the shattered remains of her precious machine. The main casing had caved in under her weight, delicate circuits crushed beyond recognition.

Jinx groaned. “Oh, come on!”

She pried herself off the wreckage, dragging her fingers through her bangs. It wasn’t a total loss—she had spare parts, and she was damn good at fixing things—but then she spotted the real problem.

The power core was drained.

Jinx pulled a face. “Well. That sucks.”

A quick inventory check of her pockets revealed a handful of spare wires, a stripped capacitor, three bullets, and half a lollipop. Nothing that could jumpstart the teleporter.

But she wasn’t screwed. Not entirely.

Jinx fished out a few scrap parts, tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she worked. A couple of twists, a bit of tinkering, and—ta-da!—a tiny solar panel, barely the size of her palm.

She planted it in a patch of sunlight, dusting off her hands.

“Now we wait.”

The first thing she realized about this place was that it wasn’t empty.

The forest—or jungle?—was teeming with life, but not the kind she was used to. It took her a while to recognize them, but the creatures lurking in the trees and scurrying through the underbrush matched the bestiary Silco had given her. Based on the creatures she saw, she guessed she was probably in Ionia. 

Monzards, their hammerhead-like snouts sniffing the air. Nimlots, tiny round things with soft, pale fur. And wargs—huge, wolfish beasts that prowled the shadows.

Jinx, of course, made friends immediately.

The monzards were curious, flicking their forked tongues at her, but skittish. The nimlots, on the other hand, practically climbed into her lap, nuzzling into her arms with happy little chirps.

The packs of wargs? She kept her distance. She wasn’t stupid.

Still, her new friends made things easier. The nimlots let her sleep in their nests, snuggling against her for warmth. The monzards brought her strange, tangy fruits. It was almost… nice.

But after a few days, the waiting got boring.

Jinx had wandered deeper into the forest, half-heartedly gathering food, when she stumbled upon something that made her stop short.

A warg.

But not like the others.

It lay on its side, its labored breaths loud in the quiet.

Jinx tilted her head.

The other wargs she’d seen were all the same, their grey fur thick and healthy, their movements fluid and strong. Their heads were usually pretty ugly looking. But this one—

Its fur was deep auburn, but dull and matted. It was thin—so thin she could see its ribs pressing against its skin. Its golden eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. Unlike the other wargs, it's face wasn't gross. 

It just looked like a dying dog.

Jinx stepped closer. Not slowly, not carefully—just close enough to get a better look.

The warg’s eyes flicked up to her. It didn’t move.

She crouched, elbows on her knees, resting her chin in her hands.

“And what happened to you, bud?”

No response. Just the rise and fall of ragged breaths.

Jinx pursed her lips, glancing around. No pack. No signs of a fight.

She looked back at it. “You get kicked out or somethin’?”

The warg blinked sluggishly.

Jinx sighed, staring at it. “Well. That’s depressing.”

She considered leaving it. It wasn’t her problem.

But…

She reached out and dragged her fingers through its thick fur, scratching behind one of its massive ears.

“Jeez, you’re pathetic.”

The warg shuddered beneath her touch, its body tensing, but it still didn’t try to move away.

Jinx let her hand trail down, gliding over its jaw. That’s when she felt it—a bump. Something firm beneath the skin. Except, it wasn’t underneath the skin. 

“Huh,” she muttered.

Her gaze wandered down the warg’s body, following the shape of its ribs to where one long, wiry leg draped over the other.

She grabbed the leg and lifted it slightly. Then she whistled.

“Whew, you’re a boy! A big one at that!”

She giggled, and that finally got a reaction. The warg weakly jerked his leg, trying to pull it from her grasp.

Jinx let go, grinning. “Aw, don’t be shy. We’re all friends here.”

The warg gave the smallest huff.

Still smiling, she let her hand return to his throat, fingers pressing against the bump she had felt earlier.

That’s when the growling started.

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Ooh, so tough. I’m shaking in my boots.”

She shifted, scooting closer, until she was right next to its head. Then, carefully, she slid her legs underneath, lifting its heavy head into her lap.

“Alright now, let Dr. Jinx work her magic!”

The warg let out a feeble grunt, clearly unimpressed.

Jinx ignored him, pressing her fingers against his flews. “Open wide, buddy.”

Nothing.

She sighed. “Don’t make me do this the hard way.”

Still nothing.

Jinx gave an exaggerated groan, then pried the warg’s jaws apart with both hands. Before he could react, she shoved her arm—most of it, really—right into his mouth, past his fangs and down his throat.

That got him moving.

The warg thrashed—or at least, attempted to, his entire body shuddering as he tried to pull away. His teeth clenched down on her forearm, piercing through her skin.

Jinx hissed through gritted teeth. “Son of a—okay, that hurts.”

Despite the bite, his jaw trembled around her arm. It was weak. Nothing like the bone-crushing strength she knew wargs had.

Her fingers groped blindly inside his throat, searching.

“Okay, where is it? Damn thing…”

The warg whined, wriggling harder, but Jinx wasn’t stopping now.

Then—

“Ah ha! Gotcha!”

She wrapped her fingers around something hard and thin, gripping it tightly before yanking it free.

The warg froze. His entire body went still, save for his ragged breathing.

Jinx used her free hand to pry his teeth out of her skin. The pressure in his bite loosened as his body began to relax.

With one final tug, she pulled her arm from his jaws, blood trailing down from where his fangs had punctured her skin.

She glanced down at the object in her grasp.

A bone.

Jinx groaned. “Ugh, how annoying.”

She tossed it over her shoulder without a second thought, the bone vanishing into the underbrush.

“There we go! Good as new!” She flashed a triumphant thumbs-up, though the warg didn’t seem to care.

Standing up, she let his head drop back onto the ground with a dull thud.

But he still didn’t move.

Jinx’s victorious smirk faded as she glanced at her arm, watching the blood seep steadily from the puncture wounds.

She exhaled sharply, then looked back at the warg.

“Well?” She put her hands on her hips. “You gonna thank me, or what?”

Nothing.

Jinx frowned, crouching down to kneel over his head. 

Then, after a long pause, the warg finally stirred. His ribs rose with a deep, shuddering breath. His golden eyes blinked open, clearer than before.

He looked at her. Really looked at her.

Then, without warning, he raised his head off the ground, and his massive tongue lolled out, dragging lazily across her bloody arm.

Jinx’s nose scrunched.

“Oh, gross.”

Jinx stared blankly as the warg’s tongue sluggishly dragged across her bloody arm, its breath hot and damp against her skin.

“…Yep. That’s disgusting.”

The warg didn’t seem to care. His golden eyes watched her, clearer than before, but still exhausted.

Then a thought clicked into place.

She snapped her fingers. “You’re probably hungry, huh?”

His ears twitched at her voice, but he didn’t react otherwise.

Jinx huffed. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

Not that she thought he could move.

She spun on her heel and sprinted off, her boots kicking up dirt as she made a beeline for one of the Nimlot caves she’d been sleeping in. The tiny bat-like creatures squeaked as she ducked inside, rustling their round, fuzzy bodies.

There.

Jinx spotted the chortle shell she’d found by the river a day ago—a broad, shallow shell, sturdy enough to hold water.

Snatching it up, she bolted toward a nearby pond, skidding to a stop at the water’s edge. She didn’t waste any time, plunging her hands into the cool water, feeling for movement beneath the surface.

A flash of silver—

She struck.

Within minutes, she had a few fat fish flopping inside the chortle shell, their scales glistening. She added some pond water to keep them from drying out, then hurried back to the warg’s resting spot.

Her lips curled in satisfaction when she saw him still lying there, exactly as she’d left him.

“Good boy,” she mused. “Didn’t run off and die while I was gone.”

The warg blinked slowly.

Jinx set the chortle shell down beside him, then glanced around, scouting for materials.

Food was one thing. But he needed it cooked first. No way was she feeding him raw fish after just pulling a damn bone from his throat.

Spotting some nearby sticks, she gathered them up, sorting through the pile. She needed something sturdy.

Selecting the thickest one, she staked it into the ground, then pulled out her knife and carved a deep slit at the top.

Next, she grabbed another stick, wedging it into the slit to form a crossbar.

“Almost there, big guy,” she muttered.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a length of thin, unused wire. She tied it securely around one side of the chortle shell, then looped it over the crossbar so the shell hung above the ground.

Jinx sat back on her heels, grinning. “Now for the fun part.”

She gathered more sticks and twigs, piling them beneath the shell. Then, grabbing two nearby rocks, she struck them together sharply. Sparks danced through the air before catching on the dry wood.

The fire crackled to life.

Jinx watched it for a moment, nodding in satisfaction. Then she picked up a stray stick and poked at the fish in the heating water, stirring lazily.

The warg was watching her.

Had been, actually. From the moment she returned, his golden eyes had followed her every movement.

Jinx smirked. “You spying on me, bud?”

No response. Just slow, steady breathing.

She continued stirring, watching as the water darkened, fish oils mixing with the heat. The flesh softened, breaking apart as the boiling water cooked it down.

When the water was brown and the fish had fallen apart completely, Jinx carefully pulled the shell from the fire, setting it aside to cool.

The warg’s nose twitched, inhaling the scent.

Jinx chuckled. “Smells good, huh?”

She waited until the water was warm—not scalding—before reaching in and plucking out the remaining bones, tossing them over her shoulder.

No more choking hazards.

Satisfied, she looked back at the warg.

“Alright, dinner’s ready.”

Jinx meticulously sifted through the soft, flaky fish pieces with her fingers, ensuring no tiny bones remained. Satisfied, she set the chortle shell down in front of the warg.

“There. All nice and bone-free. I better not have to stick my hand down your throat again, buddy.”

The warg didn’t immediately move. His golden eyes flicked from the shell to her, then back again, his breathing slow and steady.

Jinx huffed, jabbing a finger at the meal. “Go ahead. It’s for you.”

Still, he hesitated.

She leaned closer, wiggling her fingers toward the food. “C’mon, you gotta eat. What, you think I poisoned it? You watched me make it!”

After another moment of silence, the warg finally moved his massive head. He sniffed the mixture, his damp nose twitching.

Then, tentatively, he licked at it.

Jinx immediately clapped her hands, grinning. “ Yes! ”

The warg’s ears twitched at the sound, but he kept going, lapping up the warm, broken-down fish and broth.

Jinx rocked back on her heels, watching him eat with satisfaction. “See? Told ya I wouldn’t kill ya.”

The warg didn’t respond—obviously—but he didn’t stop eating either.

And for some reason, Jinx found herself smiling.

Jinx watched as the warg ate until there was nothing left but the sheen of broth on the inside of the chortle shell. He gave it one last slow lick before lifting his head, his golden eyes flicking to hers.

She smirked, resting her elbow on her knee and her chin in her palm. “You able to walk yet, bud?”

The warg blinked at her, then slowly shifted his weight, attempting to push himself up.

Jinx could see it immediately—his legs trembled violently, unsteady and frail from exhaustion. His ribs jutted out, his muscles barely filling out his massive frame.

For a second, she thought he’d collapse.

But then—

He stood.

Wobbly, unbalanced, but standing.

Jinx grinned. “Atta boy.”

She gestured him forward, flicking her fingers in a ‘come here’ motion before turning away and beginning to walk.

She could hear him hesitate, shifting his paws against the dirt.

Then, a step.

Then another.

Slowly, he followed, trailing a few steps behind her. Jinx didn’t rush, keeping her pace easy, letting him find his footing.

She led him back toward the nimlot cave, the path familiar beneath her boots.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, the little creatures hanging from the cave’s ceiling let out high-pitched squeals at the sight of the warg behind her.

Jinx winced. “Ugh—yeah, yeah, I know he looks scary.”

She raised her hands, motioning for them to calm down. “Relax, will ya? He’s not gonna eat you.”

The warg, to his credit, didn’t react to the noise—just stood there, watching the tiny, panicking creatures with dull eyes.

Jinx kept walking, heading straight for her leafy nest near the back of the cave. The warg followed, slow but steady.

It wasn’t until he settled beside her that the nimlots finally stopped their screeching, hesitating as they observed the scene.

One of them—her favorite, the one she’d named Cannoli —hesitantly detached from the ceiling and fluttered down, landing delicately on top of her head.

Jinx chuckled, raising a hand to lightly pet its soft, round body.

She plopped onto her makeshift bed, shifting into a comfortable sprawl. The warg, however, remained standing, his legs still trembling from the effort.

Jinx quirked an eyebrow. “What’re you waiting for? Get over here.”

She patted her lap, still scratching Cannoli with her other hand.

The warg hesitated—then, finally, took a step forward.

But before he could properly settle, his legs buckled.

With a heavy thud, his massive head landed square in her lap, the rest of his body half on the bed, half sprawled on the cave floor.

Jinx let out a small ‘oof’ at the weight, then snickered. “Smooth, bud. Real smooth.”

The warg didn’t lift his head, only exhaling a slow, deep breath against her thigh.

Jinx smirked but didn’t move him, just let her fingers trail into his fur, idly scratching at the spot behind his ears.

“Guess you’re my problem now,” she mused, glancing up at the cave ceiling, Cannoli still perched on her head.

The nimlots, now calmed, shuffled around above her, their soft bodies shifting into their usual sleeping clusters. The cave settled into a quiet stillness, filled only by the sounds of slow, even breathing.

Jinx grinned to herself, drumming her fingers against the warg’s thick fur.

She wasn’t complaining.

The night passed in an easy, quiet warmth.

Jinx had dozed off with her fingers buried in the warg’s thick fur, his slow, steady breathing lulling her into sleep. The Nimlots had nestled into their usual piles above her, their soft squeaks fading into silence.

For once, her dreams were quiet.

When morning came, she stirred, blinking against the faint light filtering into the cave. A dull weight still rested on her lap—heavy and warm.

She smirked sleepily. Right. Big guy’s still here.

Carefully, she shifted, sliding her legs out from under the warg’s massive head. It was a slow process—didn’t want to wake him up too roughly—but as soon as she moved, his golden eyes cracked open.

He didn’t lift his head, just blinked at her, still half-asleep.

Jinx stood, stretching her arms high above her head until her back popped. “Oof. Shoulda made a bigger bed.”

A soft, familiar coo came from atop her head.

She grinned. “Yeah, yeah. Good morning to you too, Cannoli.”

The little nimlot fluffed its pale fur, still perched in its usual spot, looking perfectly content.

Jinx chuckled, reaching up to lightly scratch its round body.

Below her, the warg still hadn’t moved much, just watching with half-lidded eyes.

Jinx grinned down at him. “You planning to sleep all day, or what?”

The warg blinked at her slowly, his golden eyes still heavy with sleep. He let out a long breath through his nose but didn’t make a move to get up.

Jinx smirked, planting her hands on her hips. “What, you get one meal in you and now you’re lazy?”

Cannoli cooed again, nuzzling against her head. Jinx snorted, scratching the little nimlot absentmindedly.

The warg still didn’t move.

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Alright, alright. Take your beauty rest, big guy.”

She turned away, rolling out her shoulders as she wandered toward the cave entrance. Outside, the morning air was crisp, the forest alive with distant chirps and rustling leaves.

It had been a few days now. She hoped that her teleporter was about halfway charged. Still too long to just sit around doing nothing.

Her stomach rumbled.

“Ugh. Breakfast time, I guess.”

She glanced back toward the warg, who had finally shifted, resting his chin on his paws as he watched her with a sleepy gaze.

Jinx grinned. “You stay put. I’ll grab us some grub.”

She strolled out of the cave, Cannoli still nestled on her head, the little creature chirping softly as they ventured into the forest. The other nimlots had settled back into their nests, their tiny bodies curled together in fluffy clusters.

Jinx tapped her fingers against her thigh as she walked, scanning the area. Fish had worked well for the warg last time, but maybe he’d want something different?

She spotted a few monzards lurking between the trees, their hammerhead-like snouts flicking in her direction. One of them—a smaller one with a deep green crest—chittered and scurried toward her, nudging her leg with a curious snout.

Jinx grinned, crouching down. “Hey there, lil guy.”

The monzard flicked its forked tongue at her before darting away, rustling through the underbrush. A few moments later, it returned, dropping a handful of small, vibrant fruits at her feet.

Jinx blinked. “Aw, look at you, bringin’ me presents.”

She picked one up, inspecting it. She’d had a few of these since getting stuck here—sweet, juicy, didn’t make her stomach hurt, so they were safe enough.

Not much protein, though.

“Not bad,” she mused, tossing one into her mouth. The tart juice burst on her tongue.

The monzard flicked its tongue at her again, its beady eyes watching for approval.

Jinx patted its scaly head. “Good job, bud. But I think big guy needs somethin’ meatier.”

She grabbed a few of the fruits anyway, stuffing them into her pockets she headed to check the energy status of her teleporter. 

Not even a fourth full, and she had already been there for days.

Jinx groaned, hands on her hips. “This is gonna take a while…”

Her gaze scrutinized the tiny solar panel before huffing and heading toward where she left the chortle shell. Now it was back to the pond again.

A few unfortunate fish later, she returned to the cave, stepping inside with an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, breakfast is—”

She stopped.

The warg was still lying where she’d left him, but this time, his head was up, watching her with sharper eyes.

She smirked. “Oh, now you’re awake?”

His ears flicked slightly. He still looked exhausted, but there was something different about him—more alert.

Jinx tossed the fish into the chortle shell and got to work, setting up another small fire. 

As the fish cooked, she kept glancing at the warg.

He was still skinny as hell, still looked like he’d gone way too long without food, but there was something else beneath all that ragged fur.

Strength.

He wasn’t just some half-dead stray. He had power under all that weakness.

Jinx grinned, stirring the fish. “Y’know, I think I oughta name you.”

The warg blinked.

She tapped her chin, pretending to think. “Let’s see… something cool. Something badass.”

Cannoli fluttered down from her head, landing on her shoulder, cooing softly.

Jinx snapped her fingers. “Ooh! What about Dagger ?”

The warg didn’t react.

She made a face. “Nah, too edgy. What about Rust? ”

Nothing.

Jinx groaned. “C’mon, work with me here.”

She tapped her fingers against her chin, deep in thought.

The warg—still watching her with those tired golden eyes—didn’t seem particularly invested in the naming process, but that wasn’t gonna stop her. A name was important. A name made things official.

Her gaze drifted over his wiry frame, the way his sides still rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. He looked rough now, but there was something underneath all that weakness, something waiting to roar back to life.

Like an engine.

Like a—

Jinx snapped her fingers, grinning. “Motor.”

The warg didn’t react right away, just blinked at her.

She smirked. “Yeah, that fits. You’re all busted up now, but with a little work, I bet you’ll be runnin’ like new.”

Motor let out a slow breath through his nose, his ears flicking slightly.

Jinx took that as agreement.

“Alright, Motor it is,” she declared, giving him a satisfied nod. “Welcome to the crew, bud.”

She turned back to the fire, giving the cooking fish one last stir before pulling the chortle shell off the heat. The steam curled upward, carrying the rich scent of cooked meat through the cave.

Motor’s nose twitched.

Jinx grinned. “Smells good, huh?”

She let the fish soup cool before picking out all the bones—she really didn’t want any more punctures in her arm—and set the meal down in front of him.

Motor hesitated again, but when she gestured toward the food, he finally leaned in, lapping up the warm broth before taking slow, careful bites.

Jinx watched him eat, satisfied. Good. He needs the fuel.

She leaned back on her elbows, stretching her legs out in front of her. Cannoli had settled back on her shoulder, his soft fur tickling her neck.

“Y’know, I wasn’t exactly planning on adopting a giant murder puppy while I was stuck here,” she mused. “But I guess I do have a habit of pickin’ up strays.”

Motor didn’t acknowledge her, too focused on eating.

Jinx smirked. “Don’t worry, Motor. I’ll get us outta here soon. Then we’ll see what you really got under the hood.”

Motor finished his meal, licking the chortle shell clean before settling his head back down onto his paws.

Jinx yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

“Alright, bud. Get some rest.”

She plopped down onto her makeshift bed, Cannoli snuggling into her hair.

Motor’s golden eyes lingered on her for a moment before he let out a quiet exhale, his heavy body sinking into the nest of leaves beside her.

Jinx grinned to herself.

This wasn’t so bad.

The next morning, Jinx stretched out across her leafy bed, blinking lazily at the ceiling. Cannoli had curled up on her stomach at some point, his tiny round body rising and falling with each of her breaths.

She inhaled deeply—then immediately recoiled, scrunching her nose.

“Ugh.” She sniffed at her own arm, then groaned. “Okay. That’s rank.”

She had been running around in the wilderness for days now, rolling in dirt, sweating, handling fish, sleeping next to a giant furry beast—

Her lips twisted in distaste. “Bath time.”

She sat up abruptly, disturbing Cannoli, who let out a surprised squeak before flapping to her shoulder.

Jinx grinned, ruffling his fur. “Sorry, lil’ guy. Duty calls.”

She turned to the massive warg beside her. Motor was still asleep, his heavy body curled up in the nest of leaves, his breathing slow and even.

Jinx tilted her head. “Oi. Wake up, grease stain.”

Motor’s ear flicked, but he didn’t stir.

Jinx smirked. Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it…

She reached out and poked his side. Then again. And again.

Still no reaction.

She leaned in closer, grinning wickedly. “Moootoooorrrr…”

Nothing.

Jinx narrowed her eyes.

Then, without warning, she grabbed his massive ear and tugged. “UP AND AT ‘EM, BIG GUY!”

Motor let out a startled grunt, jerking upright with wide eyes. He blinked blearily at her, clearly disoriented.

Jinx cackled. “Oh, man. That never gets old.”

Motor just let out a long, slow breath through his nose, looking incredibly unimpressed.

Jinx grinned and stood up, planting her hands on her hips. “C’mon, we’re takin’ a bath.”

Motor blinked.

Jinx tapped her foot. “No arguments. You stink, I stink—we stink.”

Motor still didn’t move, just gave her that half-lidded stare.

Jinx groaned. “Alright, we can do this the hard way, but lemme warn ya—I will drag your furry ass there myself.”

Motor huffed.

Jinx grinned. Ah-ha. Gotcha.

She started walking, glancing over her shoulder expectantly.

Motor let out a long sigh but finally pushed himself onto his feet.

Jinx watched closely as he stood—his legs were still a bit shaky, but he wasn’t trembling nearly as much as before.

She grinned. “Look at you! Movin’ all on your own. That’s progress, big guy.”

Motor didn’t react, just shook out his fur and trailed behind her.

Jinx led him through the trees, navigating toward a secluded waterfall pool she had found days ago. The morning air was crisp, but she knew the water would be refreshing.

When they arrived, the sight of the crystal-clear pool made Jinx grin. The waterfall tumbled down smooth rocks, sending up a fine mist that caught the sunlight. The water itself was deep enough to swim in, but shallow near the edges.

She turned to Motor and beckoned him forward. “Alright, come on, big guy.”

Motor eyed the water warily.

Jinx rolled her eyes and strode toward the pool, kicking off her boots as she went. She reached the edge, tugging at her top, then casually pulled it over her head.

She turned just in time to see Motor’s eyes widen—before he immediately spun around, facing away from her.

Jinx blinked, then smirked.

“Oh, come on.”

Motor didn’t move. His ears flicked, but he kept his head turned, his massive frame stiff.

Jinx crossed her arms, tilting her head. “What, you shy or somethin’?”

Motor didn’t answer, obviously.

Jinx groaned dramatically. “Ugh, you are!” She threw her arms up. “You’re a giant killer beast, and this is what gets to you?”

Motor’s tail flicked once.

Jinx snorted. “Get over here, ya big baby! You need this bath.”

She stepped closer towards the water, glancing over her shoulder. Motor still wasn’t looking.

Jinx smirked.

Oh, this was too good.

Jinx smirked to herself as she finished undressing, taking her time undoing the braids in her hair. Her fingers worked through the weaving, loosening them until her long blue strands flowed freely down her back.

She waded into the water, shivering slightly as the coolness licked at her skin. The waterfall mist sparkled under the sunlight, and as she lowered herself in, her hair fanned out over the surface, drifting lazily with the ripples.

She let out a satisfied sigh. Yeah, this was nice.

After a moment, she glanced back toward Motor.

He was still turned away from her, his hulking frame rigid, but his ears—those big, pointed things—were tilted back in her direction, listening very intently.

Jinx grinned, resting her arms on the water’s surface. “You do realize I can see your ears, right?”

Motor’s ear flicked.

She laughed. “Busted, big guy.”

No reaction.

Jinx sighed dramatically. “C’mooon, it’s not like I got anything to even look at.” She wiggled her fingers in the water. “Besides, you need this bath more than I do.”

Still nothing.

Jinx rolled her eyes. He’s really gonna make her work for it, huh?

Her grin turned mischievous. “Alright, fine. If you’re gonna be that stubborn…”

She cupped her hands together, scooped up some water—

And flung it at him.

The cold splash hit Motor square in the back.

He tensed instantly, letting out a sharp growl.

Jinx cackled. “Oh, that got your attention!”

Motor shook out his fur, water droplets flying everywhere, but still didn’t turn around.

Jinx smirked, gathering more water in her hands. “You got three seconds to get in here before I really start throwing.”

Motor’s ears flicked again.

Then, with a deep, reluctant sigh, he finally moved.

Slowly, carefully, he turned back toward her, his golden eyes meeting hers briefly before flicking away, looking everywhere but at her.

Jinx grinned. “Atta boy.”

She waded back slightly, giving him space. “Come on, don’t be a wimp.”

Motor took a tentative step forward, the tips of his paws meeting the water’s edge. He hesitated, as if rethinking his life choices.

Jinx splashed him again.

With an irritated grumble, Motor stepped fully into the pool, the water lapping up his legs.

Jinx leaned back, floating slightly, watching him. “See? Not so bad, huh?”

Motor’s expression was unreadable, but he kept wading in, his large body sinking lower into the water.

Jinx smirked. Oh yeah. This was gonna be fun .

Jinx waded forward, the water rippling softly around her as she closed the distance between them. Motor remained facing away, his powerful frame still half-tense, as if unsure whether to stay or bolt.

She smirked. Stubborn as hell, huh?

Without hesitation, she reached out, her fingers pressing against his damp fur.

Motor stiffened instantly.

Jinx didn’t stop. Her hands traveled up his sides, feeling the firm structure beneath the ragged mess of his coat. His muscles were still weak from malnourishment, but there was strength there, buried under all that exhaustion.

He didn’t turn toward her. Didn’t growl.

He just stood there.

Jinx’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. Yeah. He’s gettin’ used to me now.

Her fingers continued their slow exploration, and soon, she found the real problem—sections of his fur clumped together in thick mats, tangled and rough.

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Yeesh. You’ve been neglecting yourself, big guy.”

She dug her fingers into the worst spots, carefully working through the mess, separating the strands with firm but gentle tugs. The matted sections resisted at first, but little by little, she freed them, smoothing his fur out under her touch.

Motor let out a slow breath.

Not a growl. Not a huff of irritation. Just… breath.

Jinx tilted her head, watching his ears twitch slightly as she worked. Feels nice, doesn’t it?

She smirked. “See? I told you this bath was a good idea.”

Motor still didn’t look at her, but he wasn’t pulling away, either.

Jinx took that as a win.

Jinx kept working her fingers through Motor’s matted fur, humming softly to herself as she went. It wasn’t easy—some parts were really tangled, and she had to work them apart slowly to avoid pulling too hard.

She could feel the way his body remained stiff beneath her hands, the way his ears twitched with each movement. He still wasn’t looking at her, still pretending like none of this was happening.

But he wasn’t pulling away.

She smirked. Progress.

“You know,” she mused, running her fingers through a particularly stubborn knot, “if you’d taken better care of yourself, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

Motor let out a long breath, a deep huff that made ripples dance across the water’s surface.

Jinx chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Not your fault. But hey, look on the bright side—you get a free spa treatment.”

Motor still didn’t react.

Jinx shook her head, grinning. Tough crowd.

She continued untangling the worst of his coat, gently kneading the areas that looked the roughest. The more she worked, the softer his fur became, the stiffness in his frame gradually fading.

After a while, she glanced up at him. “Y’know, for someone built like a walking nightmare, you’re actually pretty soft under all this mess.”

Motor’s ear flicked.

Jinx grinned. “ Oh? Did that get a reaction outta you?”

Still no response.

She smirked, leaning in slightly. “It’s okay, bud. You can admit it. You like this, don’t you?”

Motor didn’t move.

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Fine, be stubborn.” She gave his side a firm pat. “But I know you’re enjoying this.”

Motor exhaled slowly, as if resigning himself to the situation.

Jinx laughed. “That’s what I thought.”

She worked her way up to his shoulders, letting her fingers dig in a little deeper, rubbing at the spots where tension had built up.

Motor let out another breath, but this time, it was different.

It was slower. Deeper.

Like relief.

Jinx paused for a second, blinking.

Then she grinned. “ Ohhh, you really needed this, huh?”

Motor didn’t answer—obviously—but the way his muscles had loosened under her touch told her everything she needed to know.

Jinx chuckled, continuing her work. “Don’t worry, big guy. I gotcha.”

She took her time, making sure to smooth out every tangle, every rough patch. By the time she was done, Motor’s fur was soft and clean, the water around them carrying away the last remnants of dirt and exhaustion.

She stepped back, hands on her hips, admiring her work.

“There,” she said, grinning. “Good as new.”

Motor finally turned his head slightly, golden eyes flicking to hers.

Jinx smirked. “Told ya baths weren’t so bad.”

Motor huffed—but this time, it almost sounded amused.

Jinx laughed, splashing a little water at him. “C’mon, let’s get outta here before I start gettin’ all pruny.”

She waded toward the shore, already planning her next move.

Motor followed.

And this time, he didn’t hesitate. 

Redressed and feeling way fresher than before, Jinx whistled to herself as she and Motor made their way back to the nimlot cave. The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting warm patches of light along their path.

Motor walked beside her, not as sluggish as before. He wasn’t exactly bounding through the forest, but he was moving with more stability, his legs no longer trembling with each step.

Jinx grinned. Yeah. He’s getting stronger.

As they neared the cave, a rustling in the underbrush caught her attention.

She turned just in time to see a familiar shape scurrying toward her—one of her monzard buddies. Its hammerhead-like snout twitched excitedly as it ran up to her, its little clawed feet kicking up dirt.

Motor immediately tensed.

The monzard noticed him too, freezing in place, its wide-set eyes flicking between Jinx and the massive warg beside her.

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Relax, bud. He’s not gonna eat you.”

The monzard hesitated for a moment longer, then made a cautious approach, its forked tongue flicking out.

Jinx crouched down, smirking. “Whatcha got for me, huh?”

In its small hands were two massive eggs.

Jinx’s brows shot up. The smooth shells were marked with distinct black speckles—she recognized those patterns.

“Are these…” She squinted. “Shake eggs?”

Shakes were large, carnivorous birds, nasty things with razor-sharp beaks and bad attitudes. If these were their eggs, then that meant—

She gave the monzard a suspicious look. “How the hell did you get these?”

Of course, she wasn’t expecting an answer.

The monzard just squealed happily, thrilled that she had accepted its gift. Then, with a delighted chitter, it scampered off, disappearing back into the forest.

Jinx stared at the eggs, then glanced at Motor, smirking.

“Well, well. Looks like it’s meal time. ”

Back at the cave, Jinx got straight to work.

She set the chortle shell over the fire, the same way she had for the fish, and cracked the shake eggs into it. The yolks were thick and golden, sizzling slightly as they hit the heated shell.

She grabbed a nearby stick, using it to stir the eggs around.

“I swear,” she muttered, grinning to herself, “this damn shell is the best thing I’ve found out here.”

Motor sat nearby, watching in silence as she cooked. His golden eyes reflected the firelight, his massive body stretched out on the leafy floor.

Jinx hummed as she worked, letting the smell of the eggs fill the cave. The nimlots were quiet above, resting in their little clusters, occasionally shifting with soft squeaks.

When the eggs were finished, she moved the shell off the fire, letting them cool. The thick, rich scent lingered in the air, making her stomach rumble.

She let them sit until they were only slightly warm, then pushed the shell toward Motor.

“Alright, big guy. Eat up.”

Motor stared at the food.

Jinx raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t like eggs?”

Motor didn’t answer—obviously—but instead of digging in, he did something unexpected.

He pushed the shell back toward her.

Jinx blinked.

Motor stared at her, his ears slightly perked, as if insisting you first.

Jinx chuckled, shaking her head. “Ohhh, I see what this is. You’re bein’ polite, huh?”

Motor didn’t move.

Jinx smirked, nudging the shell back toward him. “Nah, you need the protein more than I do. I’ll stick to fruit for now.”

Motor hesitated.

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Eat, Motor. I didn’t just cook those for fun.”

After another beat of hesitation, Motor finally leaned in, sniffed the food—

Then started eating.

Eagerly.

Jinx grinned as he devoured the eggs, his movements quick but not frantic, more controlled than the last meal she’d given him.

As Motor ate, Jinx leaned back, stretching her arms behind her head with a satisfied grin.

"Good, huh?" she mused, though she already knew the answer. Motor was tearing into the eggs like he hadn't eaten in weeks—which, considering the state she'd found him in, probably wasn't far from the truth.

Letting out a content sigh, she pulled her long, damp hair over one shoulder and started braiding it. Her fingers worked quickly, twisting the strands into a neat plait, her movements easy and practiced.

She glanced at Motor as she worked, watching as he ate with more control than before. He wasn’t just weakly licking at the food this time—he was eating with purpose. With strength.

Jinx smirked, tying off the end of her braid. Yeah. He’s getting better.

She leaned back on her hands, looking up at the ceiling where the nimlots hung in their little clusters, their soft bodies shifting as they slept. Cannoli had nestled into his usual spot on her shoulder, letting out a tiny, sleepy coo.

Jinx chuckled. Not a bad way to end the day.

She turned her gaze back to Motor, watching as he finished the last of his meal.

“Enjoy it, big guy,” she said, grinning. “We got a long day tomorrow.”

Notes:

Nimlots are essentially eastern red bats; they're well known for looking like pastires!

Chapter 60: FOUR: Oeuf

Summary:

He answered on the second ring.

“Hello—”

A sharp, hiccuping sob cut him off.

Viktor’s breath stilled.

“Uh, uh—”

It was barely a sound. Stilted. Choked.

Not Jinx.

Isha.

Jinx’s life with Viktor and Isha had been… good.

Suspiciously good.

Almost too good.

And Jinx had never done well with “good.”

Because “good” didn’t last.

Because “good” meant there was something coming.

But for now—for this moment—things were good.

Living with Viktor and Isha was weird.

Not in a bad way.

Just… in a way.

Jinx had never lived with anyone before Silco took her in. Not really. Sure, she’d been thrown together with some other kids —one’s who told her they loved her, but… didn’t. It was never a home. Not in a way that made a place feel real. Not in a way where she had a room that was hers, a bed that she actually slept in, a kid that—

Well.

That she had.

It was strange.

But she liked it.

She liked the quiet structure Viktor had—liked the way he’d tap his cane against the floor in a familiar rhythm when he was thinking, liked the way the house always smelled like tea and books and something expensive.

She liked Isha’s presence—liked the way the kid always had her notepad, always watching, always learning.

She liked her place in all of it.

The chaos in their structure.

The unpredictability in their routine.

The Jinx in their not-Jinx lives.

And if that wasn’t love, she didn’t know what was.

The only downside?

The goddamn bed situation.

Isha, for some reason, had decided that their bed was now her bed.

Which meant that “adult activities” had gotten… complicated.

The mornings were slow, lazy things. Waking up tangled in Viktor’s arms, the scent of his skin still clinging to her own. Isha, curled between them like a damn cat, her small frame barely taking up space but managing to make the bed feel full. Jinx had resisted it at first, scowling every time the kid crawled under the covers, muttering about space and privacy and how the hell was she supposed to get her hands on Viktor if they had a tiny, mute chaperone wedged between them?

Viktor had only chuckled, his golden eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “It is temporary,” he had murmured against her temple.

But it wasn’t.

Days stretched into weeks. And somehow, without even trying, Isha had made herself a permanent fixture in their bed, their house, their lives.

And Jinx didn’t hate it.

Not that she’d admit it.

Viktor, ever patient, never complained. He simply adjusted, as he always did—pressing her against walls, dragging her into his office, pinning her against the bathroom sink—

But still.

Jinx peered at the small, sleeping lump between them, sprawled across the mattress with absolutely zero regard for anyone else’s comfort.

“This is bullshit,” she muttered.

Viktor exhaled, rolling onto his side to face her. “She sleeps more soundly when she is with us.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t,” Jinx grumbled, flopping onto her stomach.

Viktor smirked. “Would you prefer we move her?”

Jinx glanced down at Isha.

At the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing.

At the tiny, tiny frown she always had when she was deep asleep.

Jinx sighed.

“Ugh,” she groaned, burying her face in the pillow. “Fine. But only tonight.”

Viktor chuckled.

They both knew that was a lie.

She still grumbled whenever Viktor kissed her goodnight and then reached over to tuck Isha in too. She still shot him a flat look whenever the kid hogged all the blankets. 

And when she planned to climb onto Viktor’s lap one evening and found Isha already there, curled up with one of his old anatomy books, she had let out an exaggerated groan and declared, “This is a coup.”

Isha had smirked.

Viktor had merely lifted his teacup. “You are the one who decided to keep her.”

Jinx had scowled. “Yeah, well. Maybe I should rethink that.”

---

The topic of Isha’s education came up over dinner one evening, as Viktor sat across from Jinx, ever composed, ever patient, ever scheming in that slow, methodical way of his.

“She needs an education,” he said simply.

Jinx arched a brow. “Yeah, no shit.”

Viktor sipped his tea. “And where do you plan on enrolling her?”

Jinx scoffed. “Nowhere.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly. “Nowhere?”

“Hell no.” Jinx gestured vaguely with her fork. “You kidding? You know how schools are, doc. Full of nosy-ass adults with too many questions. If she so much as breathes wrong, they’re gonna slap a label on her and stick her in some ‘at-risk’ program with a bunch of kids who actually set things on fire.”

Viktor smirked. “So you do have standards.”

Jinx pointed her fork at him. “Fuck off.”

Viktor exhaled, shaking his head. “Then perhaps I should educate her myself.”

Jinx blinked.

Paused.

Narrowed her eyes. “What?”

Viktor arched a brow. “I will teach her. Here. I have more than enough resources to ensure she is well-educated.”

Jinx squinted. “You want to homeschool her?”

Viktor shrugged. “She is comfortable here.”

Jinx leaned back, watching him carefully. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that this means she’d never leave—and in turn, me?”

Viktor exhaled, sipping his tea.

“Of course not.”

Jinx did not believe him.

But she also did not argue.

Because, honestly?

It was a damn good idea.

---

Viktor had a patient to see.

Which meant Jinx had an entire afternoon to kill.

Which meant—

“Well, kid,” she said, tossing her boots on. “Guess it’s time to go grab my shit.”

Isha blinked, notepad in hand. 

Why?

Jinx shrugged. “Viktor’s been bitching about it. Keeps going on about how I should just let him buy me new stuff instead of bringing over all my ‘useless junk’.”

Isha tilted her head. 

You could.

Jinx scowled. “Not you too.”

Isha smirked.

Jinx flicked her forehead.

“C’mon, grab your coat.”

Jinx’s house was just on the outskirts of the city.

Far enough that she didn’t get a lot of visitors.

Which was why the moment she heard a vehicle pulling up, she knew something was wrong.

Jinx froze.

Isha looked up from where she had been sorting through a box of Jinx’s old junk, blinking as Jinx’s entire body went rigid.

Jinx’s pulse thudded.

This was not normal.

No one came out here.

No one should be here.

The last time someone had—

Jinx absently pressed a hand to her side, where a quarter-sized scar still lingered.

She had barely walked away from that one.

Only barely.

Viktor had taken care of the bill before she could even complain.

But now—

Now, someone else was here.

Jinx moved.

Fast.

She ran to the window, peeking through the curtain—

And her stomach dropped.

Big guy.

Burly.

Gun on his waist.

Knife already in his hand.

Heading to her front door.

Fuck.

And, of course—

Jinx didn’t have her gun.

Her grip tightened on the curtain, pulse roaring.

She quickly checked the locks on her door. 

Fastening her deadbolt. Then the slide latch. 

It would buy her some time. 

---

She moved .

Fast.

Isha was still in Jinx’s bedroom, small fingers curled around one of the many stuffed animals Jinx kept shoved into the corner of her bed. She looked up at her, blinking, when Jinx scooped her up under the arms and ran to the bedside.

Isha let out a startled grunt, eyes narrowing in irritation at the sudden handling, but she didn’t fight.

Then—

The first knock was heavy.

The second was harder .

By the third, Jinx heard the wood cracking .

Her stomach dropped .

Another bang from the front door.

Then another.

The sound of something splintering .

Jinx hissed a breath, setting Isha back down and yanking the bedside table away from the wall. The scrape of wood against wood sounded too loud , too sharp in the silence.

She ripped the table aside, revealing the small, hidden cutout in the wall—a Caroline door , barely big enough for a small child to fit through.

Isha’s breath hitched.

Jinx pulled the door open, ushering her inside.

The man was still outside, still battering against the door.

Isha’s eyes were huge , flicking from the crawlspace to the hallway, trying to see past Jinx’s shoulder.

Jinx pressed a finger to her lips. Shhh .

Isha whimpered.

Jinx’s chest ached .

She pressed a hand against Isha’s shoulder, firm but gentle . “Kid, listen to me.”

The cracks in the door grew louder.

Jinx’s fingers tightened.

“You need to stay quiet,” she whispered, voice low and deadly serious . “No matter what you hear. You stay here, you don’t come out .”

Isha’s tiny hands clutched the stuffed animal against her chest.

Her lip trembled.

Jinx’s stomach twisted .

She fumbled in her pocket, yanking out her phone and shoving it into Isha’s hands.

“Call Silco,” she murmured. “Once everything’s quiet. Not a fucking minute before . Got it?”

Isha’s fingers curled around the phone, sticky with sweat.

The door splintered .

Jinx flinched .

Isha whimpered again, shaking her head no .

Jinx’s throat tightened .

“ Kid, ” she hissed, “I need you to do this. Don’t come out. Not until Silco gets here. ”

Isha shook harder , eyes welling up with tears.

Jinx swallowed.

Then—

She reached forward.

Pressed a hand against Isha’s forehead.

And, softly—

“…Good girl.”

Isha sucked in a breath, shoulders shaking.

Jinx let it sit for only a second before she pulled back, shutting the crawlspace door and shoving the table back in place.

And then—

CRACK.

The front door gave way .

Heavy footsteps thundered inside.

Jinx braced herself, pulse roaring in her ears.

She heard the intruder move through the house, fast and heavy .

Then—

Her bedroom door slammed open .

Jinx whipped around .

“Motherfu—”

Something slammed into her gut.

Jinx choked, collapsing to the floor.

A boot followed.

The first stomp landed hard against her ribs.

Pain exploded through her side, knocking the air out of her lungs.

She wheezed, rolling onto her back—

Only for the second stomp to land right against her stomach.

Jinx gasped , the world going white-hot for a second.

Isha let out a tiny, muffled sob .

Jinx heard it .

She tried to move —

The boot came down again .

And again.

And again .

Jinx couldn’t breathe .

Her body curled inward , instincts screaming at her to protect herself , but she had nothing —no gun, no knife, no weapon but her own goddamn body —

Then—

The stomping stopped .

The room went silent , save for Jinx’s ragged, wheezing breath.

Isha clamped her hands over her mouth , tears streaking down her face, trying so hard not to make a sound.

Jinx groaned on the floor, coughing, gasping for air.

A shadow moved above her.

Footsteps.

Steady.

Pacing.

Jinx grit her teeth, forcing her body to move , one hand weakly pushing against the floor.

The man knelt down beside her, a knife glinting in his palm.

Jinx barely managed to lift her head, blood trickling from her split lip, curling down her chin.

She grinned , sharp and bloody.

“L-let go, you fucking bitch ,” she rasped.

A rough hand yanked her arms back, twisting them cruelly. Cold plastic wrapped around her wrists, biting into her skin as zip ties cinched tight.

Her body jerked as she was lifted—hauled up and over a broad shoulder.

She thrashed. Kicked.

Didn’t matter.

The man was already moving, his grip ironclad, his heavy footsteps retreating down the hall.

Jinx’s head lolled, her stomach churning as she fought against the nausea rising up her throat. She twisted, strained, but she was already being carried outside, the cold air biting against her sweat-damp skin.

A car door.

A slam.

An engine roaring to life.

And then—

She was gone.

Isha was shaking.

Her tiny hands fumbled over the smooth screen of Jinx’s phone, tears spilling hot down her cheeks as she tried to type through the blur. Her breath came in tiny, shallow gasps, her whole body trembling so violently she almost dropped the device.

She sniffled hard, trying to remember what Jinx had said.

Call Silco.

Call Silco.

But her fingers weren’t working right, her mind scrambling in the panic, her thoughts slipping through her grasp like water.

She pressed the screen.

The ringing started.

One.

Two.

Three—

A voice.

Not Silco.

---

Viktor’s fingers hovered over his notepad as his patient droned on, their voice distant, unimportant. His focus had already begun to wane—until his phone buzzed against the polished wood of his desk.

Jinx.

His golden eyes flicked toward the screen, his posture stiffening slightly.

Jinx never called him while he was working.

Never.

A slow, sinking feeling unfurled in his chest.

This was important.

This was something he couldn’t ignore.

He exhaled sharply, cutting off his patient mid-sentence. “I apologize,” he said, already rising to his feet.

The young man sitting across from him blinked rapidly, startled. “O-oh, that’s, um—it’s fine—”

Viktor was already moving, scooping up his phone as he stepped swiftly out into the hallway, his cane tapping sharply against the floor.

He answered on the second ring.

“Hello—”

A sharp, hiccuping sob cut him off.

Viktor’s breath stilled.

“Uh, uh—”

It was barely a sound. Stilted. Choked.

Not Jinx.

Isha.

His fingers curled around his cane, his grip tightening. “Isha,” he said carefully, his voice dipping into something lower, steadier. “Are you alright? Is Jinx with you?”

A sharp inhale—then a fresh wave of muffled sobs.

No.

Viktor didn’t wait for an answer.

He turned sharply on his heel, storming back into his office, his movements precise, controlled—but urgent.

His patient still sat there, eyes wide with confusion as Viktor moved toward his desk.

“Dr. Reveck?” they asked hesitantly.

Viktor ignored them, his fingers closing around his keys.

By the time Viktor arrived, the house was silent.

Too silent.

The tire tracks in the dirt were fresh, deep grooves cutting through the earth—ones that didn’t belong to Jinx’s car. A sharp, biting chill settled into Viktor’s spine.

She was gone.

His gaze flicked toward the house. The front door was shattered, reduced to splintered wood and twisted metal, its remains scattered in jagged pieces across the entryway.

His cane—the ever-present gimmick, the part of him that most assumed was necessary—was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t even thought to bring it.

Didn’t need it.

Didn’t care.

He moved inside fast, his footsteps sharp against the floorboards.

“Isha!” His voice cut through the silence, urgent.

Nothing.

He swept down the hallway, checking each room with quick, precise movements. Every space was empty. Every shadow too long.

Then—

A sound.

Soft. Muffled.

A small, stifled sob.

Viktor turned toward the master bedroom.

His breath was steady, but his pulse was not.

The crying was faint, barely audible over the pounding in his ears, but he followed it, his sharp golden gaze tracking the source until it led him to the bedside table.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the heavy piece of furniture and shoved it aside.

The Caroline door.

Hidden. Small.

Smart.

Viktor pulled it open.

And Isha—

She didn’t hesitate.

She threw herself at him, tiny arms wrapping tight around his torso as she buried her face against his chest, her body wracked with silent, shuddering sobs.

Viktor caught her, his grip firm, holding her against him as his fingers curled protectively around her trembling frame.

Her head tucked beneath his chin, her whole body shaking.

Viktor’s lips parted, but no words came.

Jinx was gone.

And someone—

Someone was going to pay for it.

---

Jinx’s body lurched violently to the side as the car took another sharp turn, her shoulder slamming into the hard walls of the trunk. The zip ties around her wrists dug deeper into her skin, the plastic cutting sharp against her flesh, but she grit her teeth and focused.

She was counting.

Seconds. Minutes.

Keeping track.

It had been forty-three minutes since she was shoved in here.

Forty-three minutes of darkness. Of bumps and turns and the muffled sound of tires grinding against dirt and gravel.

Then—

The car slowed.

Stopped.

The engine cut off.

Jinx exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders, mentally preparing herself.

A metallic clunk —the trunk unlocking.

Then light—harsh, sudden, blinding.

She turned her head away on instinct, blinking against the brightness, her pupils struggling to adjust before rough hands grabbed the front of her shirt and yanked her out.

Her body jolted from the sudden force, her legs tangling awkwardly beneath her as she was dragged up and over someone’s shoulder.

“Hey, watch where you’re putting your fucking hands, I’m taken!” she snapped.

Her captor didn’t answer.

She huffed through her nose, her mind already racing.

Now that she was out of the trunk, she could see more. Smell more.

Trees.

They were still in the forest.

She could hear the rustling of leaves, the distinct scent of damp wood and earth filling her nose.

Not far from where she had been taken—but deeper in.

The man carrying her moved forward, approaching a structure—

A cabin.

Old wood. A large frame. Probably some rich asshole’s hunting retreat.

The door opened before they reached it.

Someone inside.

Jinx’s body bounced slightly with each step as she was carried inside, her breath quickening, muscles tensing.

Then—

She was thrown .

Her back hit the carpet, the impact rattling up her spine, her skull smacking hard against the floor.

Pain splintered across her vision, a sharp throb blooming behind her eyes.

She groaned loudly, rolling onto her side.

“Fucking bitch!” she snarled. “Is that any way to treat a lady?”

She blinked, adjusting to the dim lighting.

And that’s when she saw them.

A group.

Mostly men, a couple of women.

The men were older—some elderly, others middle-aged, all dressed in crisp suits and expensive watches.

Wealthy. Or at least pretending to be.

Their expressions were cold, lips curled in various shades of distaste as they watched her with unreadable eyes.

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

She knew those faces.

“Knew it,” she muttered, laughing breathlessly as she lifted her head, her grin sharp and dangerous.

“Ah, the shitty Soldi family, huh?”

A few of them stiffened.

Jinx cackled. “Damn, you all got so quiet all of a sudden. What, not happy to see me?”

Her eyes flickered over their faces, taking in each one, committing them to memory.

Until—

She stopped.

A familiar face.

Too familiar.

The amusement on her face dropped, replaced with something sharp and cold.

She blinked, her mind catching up, reprocessing what she was seeing.

“What the fuck?”

The woman before her—short, poised, dressed in designer fabrics that looked too expensive for this backwoods meeting—smirked.

Jinx’s lips curled.

“Maddie?” she spat. “God, I always knew you were a total bitch.”

Maddie’s smirk, the kind of slow, self-satisfied expression that made Jinx’s fingers twitch with the violent urge to wipe it off her face.

“I see now,” Jinx huffed, shifting against the floor, her zip-tied wrists uncomfortable beneath her. “You’re the one who called ‘Peenot,’ huh?”

A ripple of tension moved through the room.

Maddie’s expression barely faltered, but Jinx caught it—the tiny flicker of something in her eyes, there and gone in an instant.

Jinx grinned. “Yeah, should’ve known it was you. Always slinking around behind people’s backs—a total fucking snake.” She tilted her head, her grin widening, sharp and mocking. “So what? Is Maddie even your real name?”

Maddie arched a perfectly shaped brow, folding her arms.

Jinx cackled. “Actually, you know what? I don’t even care.”

She let her head fall back onto the floor with a dramatic thud, her expression shifting to one of pure, exaggerated boredom.

“Just spill your evil monologue so we can get this over with already.”

Silence.

The room was full of people, but none of them spoke, the weight of their stares pressing against Jinx like dead air.

Then—

A slow, deliberate chuckle.

Maddie crouched down, her expensive heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet, her manicured nails resting against her knee as she peered down at Jinx like a cat watching a wounded bird.

“Oh, Jinx,” she murmured, her voice sickly sweet. “Always so impatient.”

Jinx smirked up at her. “Yeah, yeah, it’s a problem. Blah blah, lack of impulse control, I’ve heard it before.” She yawned theatrically, tilting her head. “C’mon, Mads. Give me something. Tell me how I ‘don’t understand’ or how ‘I should’ve stayed out of it.’”

Her grin sharpened.

“Or—my personal favorite—‘this isn’t personal.’”

Maddie’s smirk remained, but her eyes darkened.

“Oh,” she murmured, leaning in just a little. “It’s very personal.”

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

Not in fear.

No—this was something else.

Excitement.

Because finally—

Shit was about to get interesting.

A slow, deliberate tap echoed through the room as one of the older men stepped forward, his cane striking the floor with each measured step.

The tension shifted.

Jinx didn’t have to look to know he held authority here—the way the others adjusted their stances, the way Maddie’s smirk barely twitched before she leaned back, rolling her shoulders as if to feign indifference.

“You’ve done enough,” the old man said, voice lined with something cold, something dismissive. “Be quiet.”

Jinx arched a brow.

Ooooh.

This was getting good.

The man’s wrinkled face twisted in open disdain as his sharp, greying eyes cut back to Maddie.

“This is your doing,” he spat, the words dripping with something venomous. “It’s because of you that we’re even in this mess.”

Maddie stiffened, her perfectly manicured nails twitching against her thigh. “That’s hardly fair—”

The cane slammed against the floor, cutting her off.

Jinx flinched at the sound—not out of fear, but because, damn, this old bastard had presence.

“It is fair,” he snapped. His upper lip curled as if the very act of speaking to her disgusted him. “I lost a grandson because of you.”

Ah.

There it is.

Jinx exhaled sharply through her nose, her smirk stretching. “Aww” she drawled. “You’re Peenot’s Pawpaw, huh? How cute.”

The old man didn’t acknowledge her, which was already getting under Jinx’s skin.

Instead, he kept his glare locked onto Maddie.

“You were too stupid”—he spat the word like it physically hurt to say it—“to inform Heenot that the little wretch was onto him until she was already there.”

Jinx snorted.

“Wretch?” she repeated, mock-offended. “Rude.”

Still, her grin didn’t falter.

Because now—

Now she knew exactly where she stood in all this.

And if there was one thing Jinx was good at?

It was turning the tables.

Jinx grinned up at him, her bound hands shifting behind her back as she rolled onto her side, getting more comfortable.

“Awww, come on, Gramps,” she teased, tilting her head. “You’re making it sound like I just waltzed in and ruined your little Sawney Bean dinner party.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

She smirked. “I mean, I did—but that’s on you for raising such a sloppy little cannibal.”

The room tensed.

Someone shifted uncomfortably.

Maddie exhaled sharply through her nose, like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

Jinx caught it, her smirk widening.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” the old man snapped, his grip tightening around the head of his cane.

Jinx cackled. “Kinda, yeah. You should see your face—whoo, you’re mad mad.”

His lips pulled back in a sneer. “You talk too much.”

“Yep,” she popped the ‘p’ with exaggerated delight. “And you’re too slow to keep up. It’s actually kinda sad. Like, aren’t you supposed to be scary?” She tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Or did ‘Peenot’ eat all the brain cells before you got to snack on them?”

The cane whipped through the air—

And cracked against her face.

Pain burst across her nose, sharp and sudden. Her head snapped to the side, her cheek pressing against the floor as warm liquid immediately gushed down over her lips, metallic and hot.

Jinx blinked.

“Oh,” she muttered, lifting her head slightly, blood dripping onto the carpet.

A slow grin spread across her face.

“You bitch,” she breathed, voice thick with laughter and blood.

The old man was breathing heavily, his grip still tight around the cane, his jaw clenched.

Jinx exhaled through her nose—a horrible wet sound—before licking the blood off her lips.

And then she laughed.

Loud. Wild. Sharp as a razor.

“Ohh, you’re so mad!” she cackled, her entire body shaking with amusement. “God, I love this. No, seriously—do it again! Maybe you’ll finally knock some sense into me!”

The old man’s face darkened, his grip tightening, his knuckles turning white.

Jinx grinned wider, her eyes glinting.

This?

This was so much fun.

The old man’s cane lifted again, the wood gleaming under the dim cabin light, aimed straight for Jinx’s already bloodied face.

Jinx didn’t flinch.

If anything, she smirked wider, teeth stained red as she grinned up at him like she wanted him to do it.

She did.

Because the madder they got, the sloppier they got. And sloppy people made mistakes.

The cane swung down—

Before a hand shot out and caught his arm.

“Enough.”

The voice was firm. A middle-aged man, dressed just as sharply as the rest, but with an edge of unease in his eyes, his grip tight as he held the old man back.

“You might end up killing her,” the man warned, his voice low.

Jinx cackled. “Yeah, wouldn’t want that ,” she wheezed, still tasting iron. “Then who would keep roasting you all like a damn pig on a spit?”

The old man yanked his arm free, snarling, “Touch me again, and I’ll have your tongue cut out.”

The other man immediately took a step back, hands up in reluctant submission.

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Oooh, testy.”

The old man turned back to her, eyes cold. He exhaled sharply, reaching up to straighten his tie, then buttoning the top of his shirt like that tiny act of control would calm the rage simmering beneath his skin.

Jinx grinned up at him, her lip still bleeding. “Y’know, if you’re gonna kill me, can you at least make it entertaining? Maybe give me a little speech? Some dramatic build-up?” She batted her lashes mockingly. “I’m dying for some theatrics here.”

Maddie sighed, rubbing her temple. “God, I hate you.”

Jinx flashed her a bloody grin. “The feeling’s mutual , sweetheart.”

That was it.

That was the final straw.

One of the men muttered something under his breath before two of them grabbed her, yanking her up to her knees.

“Whoa, whoa, not so rough,” Jinx protested, twisting slightly as they hauled her up by her arms. “I’m delicate .”

They didn’t respond.

Didn’t even look at her.

The air shifted.

This wasn’t fun anymore.

They were done playing.

She was dragged through the cabin, her boots scraping against the floor as they moved with sharp, deliberate steps.

A door.

Old wood, iron hinges.

It creaked open, revealing nothing but darkness .

A cellar.

Jinx’s stomach twisted—just a little.

Not in fear.

Never in fear.

In anticipation .

The hands on her shoved her forward—

She fell .

The impact hit hard, her bound hands useless to break the fall as she tumbled down the wooden steps.

She landed with a sharp thud , pain sparking through her shoulder as dust kicked up around her.

Above her, the men barely spared her a glance before one of them grabbed the rope hanging beside the doorway—

And slammed the heavy cellar door shut.

Pitch black.

Jinx blinked.

Then exhaled slowly, rolling onto her back.

“Well,” she muttered to herself, grinning into the darkness.

“This is new.”

---

Viktor had contacted Silco immediately.

He had barely taken a moment to breathe, his fingers already pressing the call button the second he’d settled Isha into the passenger seat of his car.

Silco picked up after the second ring.

“Viktor?” A pause. A sharp inhale. “What are you calling me for? Where’s Jinx?”

Viktor gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles aching from the force of it. “Taken.”

The word felt foreign on his tongue. Bitter.

Silco went silent.

Then—

“By who?”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, his golden eyes fixed forward, his mind already a thousand steps ahead.

He did not have the answers Silco wanted.

Or rather—

He did.

But he wasn’t willing to share them.

Not yet.

“Not the priority,” he said instead.

Silco growled, the sharp sound crackling over the speaker. “Not the priority?!”

Viktor’s jaw ticked. He forced patience into his tone. “I will retrieve her.”

Silco’s laugh was humorless. “You are not the only one who—”

“Isha needs you.”

Silco fell silent again.

Viktor shifted, glancing toward the small, trembling girl beside him. She was curled into herself, staring blankly ahead, her fingers gripping Jinx’s phone like a lifeline.

“I cannot take her where I am going,” Viktor continued smoothly. “You will ensure her safety.”

A beat.

Then—

“You expect me to babysit while my daughter is missing?”

Viktor’s fingers drummed against the wheel. “I expect you to understand that I do not ask things without reason.”

Another sharp pause.

Viktor turned, reaching over and lightly tapping Isha’s knee.

She startled, looking up at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes.

Viktor’s expression softened—only slightly. “You will be good for Silco, yes?”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, but she nodded.

“Good girl.” His voice was smooth, reassuring.

She sniffled, pressing her fingers against her notepad, but didn’t write anything.

Viktor leaned in, his voice dropping lower—gentler.

“I will see to Jinx’s return,” he murmured, carefully brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

He met her eyes, his own gaze sharp. Sure. Unshaken.

“She is mine,” he continued, firm.

A statement of fact.

A certainty.

Isha’s lip trembled—but she nodded again.

That was enough.

Pulling up to Siloc’s residence—when did Silco tell him where he lived—Vitkor helped Isha out of the car, and ushered her towards the man.  

“I will return for her.” Viktor straightened, returning to his car. 

And he would.

Because there was no other option. 

Isha was Jinx’s.

And Jinx was his . 

---

It had been a long time since he had spoken to her.

Mel Medarda.

The successor of the Medarda family.

A woman whose web stretched far, with knowledge tucked neatly between her fingers like playing cards.

She would have the information he needed.

She would know where to find the Soldi family.

And if she didn’t?

Well.

He would make her tell him anyway.

Viktor moved with sharp, deliberate steps, his mind a quiet, focused hum as he approached the entrance of the Medarda art gallery.

It had been years since he last stood in this place.

Since he last needed to meet with Mel.

She had always been dangerous—not in the same way as Silco, not with brute force or violent authority, but with power wrapped in silk and gold, a quiet kind of control that made men beg without realizing they were on their knees.

She would not give him what he wanted easily.

But she would give it to him.

Viktor pressed his cane firmly against the marble floors, exhaling through his nose as he stepped into the grand hall of the gallery. 

A staff member had already been waiting, their expression carefully neutral.

“Dr. Reveck,” they murmured, dipping their head in acknowledgment. “She’s expecting you.”

Viktor’s lips curled slightly. Of course she was.

He followed without hesitation, his steps measured, unhurried.

This was a game.

And he did not intend to lose.

---

Mel Madarda was draped across an opulent chaise lounge, the soft candlelight casting golden shadows along the smooth curves of her skin.

She looked up as Viktor entered, her full lips curling into something knowing.

“Viktor,” she greeted smoothly, setting her half-filled wine glass on the table beside her. “It’s been too long.”

Viktor inclined his head slightly. “Mel.”

Her gaze flicked over him, assessing, amused. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Viktor didn’t waste time.

“The Soldi family.”

Mel’s smirk barely faltered, but her fingers flexed ever so slightly against the fabric of her gown.

Viktor caught it.

She knew.

Mel exhaled, tilting her head as if feigning curiosity. “An odd interest. I didn’t take you for the type to involve yourself in such matters.”

Viktor’s golden gaze sharpened. “Where are they?”

Mel tutted, reaching for her wine glass once more. “Viktor, you wound me. No pleasantries? No small talk? You’ve grown impatient in your old age.”

Viktor’s jaw ticked. “I do not have time for games.”

Mel hummed, swirling the wine in her glass, her expression still unreadable.

Viktor stepped forward, his voice low, controlled.

“They have taken something from me.”

Mel’s gaze flickered.

Not with surprise.

With interest.

Viktor inhaled, slow and steady. “And I will be taking it back.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Mel smiled.

Sharp. Knowing.

Leaning forward slightly, she tapped a single, manicured finger against her glass.

“Well, then,” she murmured. “Let’s make a deal.”

Mel swirled the wine in her glass, her smirk lazy, teasing. “Except,” she mused, reclining back into the chaise. “What could you possibly offer me that I don’t already have?”

Viktor exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance, his fingers flexing against the head of his cane.

She wanted to play games.

He wasn’t in the mood.

“You owe me a debt,” he said smoothly, his golden eyes locking onto hers with quiet precision.

Mel’s smirk froze—just slightly.

The change was subtle. Barely noticeable. But Viktor caught it.

And he pressed.

“I have not once called upon that favor,” he continued, his voice dipping into something softer—heavier. “Until now.”

The room seemed to still.

Mel’s fingers curled against the stem of her glass, her grip tightening.

Then—

A slow inhale.

She exhaled, setting the wine down with deliberate care.

“I see,” she murmured, shifting, her amusement dimming into something more thoughtful.

A beat of silence.

Then she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.

“I don’t know where they are,” she admitted, her voice smooth, but lacking its usual playfulness. “The Soldis are careful. They’ve hidden themselves well.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened.

That was not the answer he wanted.

But—

“There is something,” Mel continued, watching him carefully. “One of their own has been sniffing around my affairs—collecting information, keeping close. A rat.”

Viktor arched a brow.

Mel’s lips quirked, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “They thought they could move unseen. But no one watches me without being watched in return.”

Viktor’s fingers drummed once against his cane. “You know their identity.”

“I do.”

“And you will give me their location.”

Mel’s eyes gleamed. “ Better . I will give you them.”

A slow flicker of frustration curled in Viktor’s stomach.

Time.

Jinx didn’t have time.

But—

He had no other leads.

Viktor inhaled deeply, his sharp mind calculating the risk, the cost, the necessity.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Very well.”

Mel smirked, swirling her wine again. “Good. I’ll send word when it’s time.”

Viktor’s fingers twitched.

Not good enough.

Not fast enough.

But for now—

It was all he had.

Viktor left the Medarda gallery with a quiet, simmering frustration curling in his chest.

Mel would take her time.

She always did.

Time that Jinx did not have.

His grip on his cane tightened, his pace measured but brisk as he made his way to his car. He did not slam the door behind him—but only because he was too controlled for that.

Still, the frustration sat beneath his skin, seeping into his bones.

Jinx was out there.

His Jinx.

Bound. Alone.

And for the first time in a very long time—Viktor was uncertain.

Not of his ability. Not of his intelligence.

But of time.

Would he be fast enough?

Would he reach her before the Soldis decided she was no longer useful?

Would he be too late?

The thought was unacceptable.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing the irritation back, locking it down where it would not cloud his judgment.

He needed to think.

Mel’s information would come.

And when it did—

He would not waste it.

But until then—

He had to be ready.

His fingers curled around the steering wheel, his golden eyes dark and sharp in the dim glow of the dashboard.

Wherever Jinx was—

She would not stay there for long.

Because Viktor would find her.

And when he did—

The Soldi family would regret ever touching what belonged to him.

---

Jinx counted.

It was a nervous tick, a compulsion buried so deep in her bones that she would hardly notice when she was doing it.

Seconds.

Minutes.

Hours.

Because if she didn’t make noise, then something else would start making noise for her.

Something she didn’t want creeping back in.

She kept track of the time in her head, the numbers stacking like bricks, something solid to hold onto in the absolute, suffocating darkness of the cellar.

1320 minutes.

That was how long she had been down here.

The longest stretch of time she had ever counted in one sitting.

And it sucked.

Her head throbbed. Her body ached from where she had been tossed to the ground, her arms still bound uncomfortably behind her back. Every muscle was stiff, her stomach gnawing at itself from hunger, her mouth dry from lack of water, and she really needed to piss. 

But none of that was what bothered her the most.

No.

It was the silence.

The thick, pressing, overbearing quiet of it all.

There was nothing down here. No hum of a lightbulb, no distant murmur of voices. Just her.

And her own thoughts.

She fucking hated that.

Jinx never allowed herself quiet moments. Not ever.

Not since them.

Her… siblings.

Her stomach twisted, an old, rancid memory curling at the edges of her mind.

Locked doors.

Too many questions. Too much movement. Too loud.

She had always been too much for them.

And when she was too much, they locked her away.

Not for long.

Just enough to remind her that her presence was a privilege .

Jinx swallowed hard, blinking into the darkness.

That was a long time ago.

A different lifetime.

She wasn’t that little girl anymore.

She wasn’t some weak, trembling kid trapped behind a locked door, waiting for someone to decide she could exist again .

She was Jinx .

And she was getting the fuck out of here .

Her fingers twitched behind her back, testing the zip ties again, feeling them grind against her skin.

1320 minutes was long enough.

It was time to move.

Jinx twisted her wrists against the zip ties, slow and deliberate, encouraging the friction.

The plastic bit deep, cutting into her skin, sending sharp little stabs of pain up her arms—but pain wasn’t the problem.

Pain was fine.

Pain was good .

Pain meant she was doing something .

She grit her teeth, angling her wrists just right, feeling the plastic grind against her flesh. The sharp bite of it was getting worse, the skin splitting beneath the steady pressure, but that was exactly what she needed.

She needed blood .

Not a lot. Just enough.

Enough to slick her skin, to make it easier to slip her hands free.

She had done this before.

Not in a situation exactly like this, but close enough.

There was always a way out.

There had to be.

She pressed harder, twisting again. The sting became a burn, warm liquid sliding down over her fingers, coating the plastic with something slick and wet.

Good.

Good, good, good .

She flexed her hands, shifting her shoulders, trying to loosen the tension just enough to make her escape easier.

It still wasn’t quite there yet.

She needed a little more blood.

A little more pain.

Didn’t matter.

She had nothing but time.

And she had already decided—

She wasn’t leaving this fucking cellar tied up like some hog .

Jinx kept at it, grinding her wrists harder against the plastic, feeling the blood begin to well and trickle down her fingers.

Warm. Sticky.

Her breath came in slow, measured exhales, forcing herself not to rush. If she yanked too soon, if she panicked— snap . And she really didn’t want to try this again with even less blood left in her.

She twisted again.

More tearing. More burning.

Her fingers twitched, numb at the tips, but the slick warmth was spreading, the plastic shifting just enough .

Almost there.

A little more—

A creak.

Jinx’s muscles went still.

Above her, the sound of footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate.

Someone was at the cellar door.

She kept her breathing even, letting her body go slack, her fingers curling slightly to keep the blood from dripping too loudly onto the floor.

No movement. No sign of struggle.

Just waiting .

The heavy lock shifted, rattling as someone began to unlock the door.

Jinx exhaled quietly through her nose, her heartbeat steady despite the sharp thrum of anticipation curling beneath her ribs.

The moment the door opened, she had two options.

Stay still.

Or move .

And Jinx?

Jinx had never been one for patience.

The lock clicked.

Jinx didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Just waited .

The door creaked open, old hinges groaning under the weight of movement, letting in a sliver of dim, flickering light from whatever shitty bulb was keeping the rest of this place lit.

A shadow stretched long across the cellar floor.

Footsteps—slow, deliberate. Someone descending the stairs.

Jinx forced her body to remain limp, her face half-pressed into the cold, damp floor. Her wrists still burned, blood now soaking into her fingers, but she kept them angled just right, just enough , her muscles tensed beneath the act.

She listened.

One set of steps.

Heavy, controlled.

Not in a rush.

Not expecting trouble.

Fucking idiot .

Jinx cracked her eyes open just slightly, adjusting to the sudden shift in light. A pair of polished black boots came into view, stopping just a few feet away.

A voice—low, unimpressed.

“Still alive?”

Jinx didn’t answer.

Didn’t flinch.

The man sighed, stepping closer. The tip of his shoe nudged against her ribs—not hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to test for a reaction.

Jinx stayed still.

He huffed. “Pathetic.”

Jinx grinned against the floor.

Oh, buddy.

You have no idea.

The man turned slightly, shifting his weight like he was about to bend down.

Jinx tensed.

Now or never.

She moved .

Fast.

Explosive.

A sharp twist of her shoulders, a violent shift of momentum as she threw herself upward, slamming the top of her head into his groin with a sharp, calculated crack .

The man choked .

His breath hitched, a garbled mix between a curse and a gasp as his knees buckled .

Jinx grinned, blood dripping down over her lips as she used his momentary lapse in composure to move, to twist , to shift her hands just enough that the zip ties slipped— just barely .

Not enough to free her.

But enough to make the next move easier.

The man staggered back, hand jerking toward his belt—

Jinx lunged.

She wasn’t waiting anymore.

She was done waiting.

Her shoulder slammed into the man’s gut, forcing a choked gasp from his throat as he stumbled back. He was still reaching for his belt—gun, knife, whatever the fuck he thought would save him—but Jinx wasn’t about to give him the chance.

Her fingers twisted, blood-slicked, wrists aching, but she wrenched her hands forward. The zip ties—strained, shredded at the edges from her work—finally snapped .

Pain flared where the plastic had dug into her skin, but she didn’t care.

Didn’t stop.

Her hands were free .

And he was hers .

She moved fast, no hesitation, fingers curling into a tight fist as she swung .

Her knuckles cracked against his jaw, sending him staggering sideways.

He made a strangled sound, his footing slipping on the old wooden floor, but Jinx was already on him.

Didn’t let up.

Didn’t give him space to breathe.

Another hit.

And another.

She could feel the sting in her hands, the slick warmth of her own blood mixing with the sting of raw knuckles, but fuck it—she was winning .

The man tried to lift an arm, to block, to do something , but he was slow. Stunned.

Jinx took the opening.

A sharp, nasty kick to the side of his knee.

A crack.

A gasp .

He buckled, his balance finally gone .

Jinx grinned, wild and sharp, her chest heaving.

“Ohhh,” she cackled. “That sounded painful .”

The man barely had time to choke out a response before she grabbed him by the collar and slammed his head into the nearest wooden beam.

A dull thud .

His body went slack.

Out.

Cold.

Or dead. 

Jinx took a step back, flexing her sore fingers, rolling her wrists now that the zip ties were gone. Her breath came in quick, adrenaline still singing in her veins.

She tilted her head, looking down at the unconscious heap on the floor.

“Yeah,” she muttered, shaking out her hands. “That’s what I thought .”

Now.

She looked toward the open cellar door, stretching her arms overhead, ignoring the sting in her wrists.

Jinx exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders, feeling the lingering ache from where she’d been thrown down the stairs.

She turned back to the unconscious man, tilting her head as she eyed him sprawled across the floor like a discarded ragdoll.

Could’ve been cleaner. Could’ve been quicker.

But damn, did it feel good .

Still—she wasn’t stupid.

She crouched, her fingers moving fast, slick with her own blood as she rifled through his clothes.

His jacket first. Nothing.

Then his belt.

Bingo.

A gun .

A nice one too—sleek, polished, full magazine.

Jinx grinned, pulling it from its holster and giving it a quick once-over. Safety off. Ready to go.

“Well, hello there,” she purred, spinning it once in her grip before tucking it into the waistband of her shorts.

Then—

The knife .

She pulled it free, holding it up to the dim cellar light. Serrated. Sharp.

Nasty.

Her favorite kind.

Jinx twirled it between her fingers before flipping it into a reverse grip.

Perfect.

She straightened, wiping her bloody fingers against the man’s shirt, then gave his unconscious body one last glance.

“Appreciate the donation,” she muttered, kicking his leg for good measure. “I’ll make good use of it.”

Then—

Without another glance, she turned toward the cellar door.

It was still open.

---

The room smelled of blood.

Not fresh. Not yet.

But it would be.

Viktor stood in the dim glow of a single overhead light, his expression unreadable, his golden eyes gleaming like a predator watching its prey.

And the man in the chair?

The so-called rat ?

He was starting to understand exactly what kind of mistake he had made.

Mel had done her part—had delivered him bound, bruised, and blindfolded, dumped in the center of a quiet, out-of-the-way basement that no one would come looking through.

Her men had been rough with him, but Viktor ?

Viktor would be worse.

Because Viktor was running out of time .

He leaned forward, slow and deliberate, his cane tapping once against the floor before he set it aside, rolling up the sleeves of his pristine button-down.

The rat flinched at the movement, his breathing sharp through the rag tied around his mouth.

Viktor smiled. Good.

Without a word, he reached out and tugged the blindfold down, letting it fall loose around the man’s neck.

The rat blinked rapidly, his eyes bloodshot, unfocused. He barely had time to register where he was before Viktor’s voice cut through the thick, suffocating silence.

“Where is the Soldi family?”

The rat swallowed hard, his fingers twitching against the arms of the chair. “I—”

The heel of Viktor’s cane slammed into his knee.

A sharp, wet crack filled the room.

The rat screamed .

Viktor straightened slowly, his breath steady.

“I do not have time for nonsense.” His voice was smooth, calm. Too calm. “Tell me what I want to know.”

The rat gasped, his whole body shaking as he tried—and failed—to shift away from him. “I—I can’t —”

Viktor hummed, reaching down, pressing two fingers against the fresh break in his knee.

The rat howled .

Viktor smiled.

“You misunderstand,” he murmured, pressing down just a little harder . “You will .”

The rat’s breath came in short, stilted bursts, his skin slick with sweat.

Viktor tilted his head, watching him carefully, his voice dipping lower—silkier.

“Where are they?”

The rat whimpered.

And then—

He started talking.

Viktor had expected resistance—expected half-truths, misdirections, the desperate clinging to some foolish sense of loyalty.

But pain had a way of dissolving loyalty.

And Viktor?

Viktor had plenty of pain to give.

“They—they move a lot,” the rat stammered, his voice shaking, breath hitching between gasps of pain. His knee was ruined, bone bent under the skin in a way knees weren’t meant to bend, his body slick with sweat and blood. “I don’t—I don’t know exactly where they are right now.”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. “Unfortunate.”

The rat flinched .

“But— but ,” he rushed, the words tumbling out before Viktor could touch him again, “I know where they were last week ! They had a cabin— north , deep in the woods, near the old logging routes. They were using it to lay low. It’s—it’s probably still stocked, even if they moved again.”

Viktor hummed, his expression unreadable.

Not enough .

Not exact .

But it was something .

A place to start.

And that was more than he had before .

He straightened, rolling his shoulders, his golden eyes sharp as they bore into the rat’s wide, panicked gaze.

“You will show me,” he said simply.

The rat froze .

“What?”

Viktor leaned down slightly, his fingers pressing just against the raw, ruined mess of his knee.

The rat screamed .

Viktor smiled .

“You will take me there,” he repeated smoothly, his voice soft, almost pleasant. “Personally.”

The rat was shaking so hard his teeth chattered . “I—I can’t—I don’t—”

Viktor pressed harder .

The rat wailed .

Then—

“ Okay !” he sobbed, his whole body convulsing. “Okay—okay—just—just stop, I’ll—I’ll take you—”

Viktor tilted his head.

Then, finally, he let go.

The rat sagged in the chair, panting, sobbing, trembling like a wounded animal.

Viktor straightened, brushing the dust from his sleeves, his pulse steady.

Time to go.

Jinx was waiting.

Chapter 61: Lycan and Crane pt. 2

Summary:

They knew.

Damn it.

Jinx groaned, throwing an arm over her face. “You’re making it worse with the guilt, y’know that?”

Cannoli let out a high-pitched squeak, then nipped at her ear—not hard, but enough to make her hiss through her teeth.

“Ow!”

She pushed the tiny creature away half-heartedly, glaring. “The hell was that for?”

Several days had passed, and Motor was looking like an entirely different warg. Jinx had been feeding him regularly, making sure he got all the food he needed, and now his once-matted auburn fur was sleek and untangled. His ribs and spine were no longer harsh ridges beneath his skin, his legs had gained back some strength, and his golden eyes were sharper, more alert.

Jinx was thrilled with his progress.

At night, Motor had become a permanent fixture in her makeshift nest. The nimlots, tiny and warm, curled up in their usual spots around them, chittering softly as they settled in. Cannoli always nestled against her head or burrowed into the crook of her neck, his soft fur tickling her skin as he cooed in his sleep. Strudel and Choux, the two new nimlots she’d named, had taken to perching on Motor’s back, seemingly unfazed by the giant predator sharing their space.

Jinx stretched out on the leafy bedding, grinning as Motor flopped down beside her with a deep, satisfied huff. He was still thin, still regaining his strength, but he wasn’t struggling anymore. When she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his fur, he didn’t flinch like he had in the beginning. In fact, he leaned into it now.

Progress.

“Not bad, huh, big guy?” she mused, scratching behind his ear. Motor rumbled low in his throat, something between a huff and a sigh. Jinx smirked. “I’ll take that as a ‘thanks for saving my sorry ass, Jinx. You’re the best, Jinx.’”

Motor closed his eyes.

Jinx rolled hers. “Fine. Be ungrateful. But don’t think I don’t see you getting all comfy.” She shifted, adjusting her position so her head rested against Motor’s side, his warmth radiating through her. “Good thing you don’t stink anymore.”

Motor’s ear flicked.

Jinx snickered.

The cave was quiet except for the occasional rustling of the nimlots and the steady sound of Motor’s breathing. Jinx let her own eyes drift shut, her mind wandering back to her teleporter. It still needed time to recharge—stupid tiny solar panel—but in the meantime, things here had become…

Well.

Comfortable.

Morning came with golden sunlight filtering into the cave, casting soft beams over the sleeping pile of nimlots, warg, and human. Jinx stirred, blinking groggily as she stretched, feeling the pleasant ache in her muscles from another night of solid sleep.

Motor was already awake.

He wasn’t moving much, just resting his chin on his paws, watching her with half-lidded eyes.

Jinx smirked. “You spying on me, bud?”

Motor blinked slowly.

She sat up, ruffling her hair. “You’re gettin’ creepily good at that.”

Cannoli stirred against her shoulder, letting out a small coo before burrowing back into her hair. Strudel and Choux weren’t far off, tangled together in a warm ball of fluff.

Jinx rolled her shoulders. “Alright. Let’s see about breakfast.”

She wasn’t sure if Motor was ready for proper hunting yet—his strength had improved, but she didn’t want him keeling over mid-chase. For now, she’d stick to what was easy.

She headed toward the pond, Cannoli still perched on her shoulder. The monzards were out, flicking their forked tongues in her direction as she passed. One of them, the same one that had brought her shake eggs, skittered toward her with something clutched in its little claws.

Jinx quirked an eyebrow. “Whatcha got for me this time?”

The monzard chirped and proudly dropped its offering at her feet.

A fat, wriggling grub.

Jinx stared at it.

The monzard stared at her expectantly.

Jinx sighed. “Yeah, that’s a no from me, buddy.”

She patted its head and moved on, leaving the disappointed creature to skitter away with its rejected prize.

The fish were easy to catch, and soon she had another batch cooking over a fresh fire in the cave. Motor, still stretched out in his usual spot, lifted his head as the smell of sizzling fish filled the air. His nose twitched, and Jinx smirked.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re starving. But patience, my dude.”

Motor flicked an ear, watching as she carefully picked out the bones before handing over his portion. He hesitated for only a second before eating, his movements still controlled but far from the weak, hesitant licks of their first meal together.

Jinx sat back, chewing on a piece of fruit. “Y’know,” she mused, “I think it’s time we stepped things up a bit.”

Motor glanced at her between bites.

She grinned. “You’re lookin’ way better, and if we’re gonna get outta here, I need to know what you’re made of.” She tapped her temple. “Gotta test that engine of yours, Motor.”

He blinked.

Jinx leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “How do you feel about a little… training?”

Motor swallowed the last of his meal, then huffed.

Jinx smirked. “Oh, don’t gimme that. You can stand. You can walk. Hell, you can even run now, I bet.”

Motor didn’t move.

Jinx grinned wider. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get up, grease stain.”

With a deep, put-upon sigh, Motor pushed himself to his feet. He was steadier now, his legs no longer shaking beneath him. The warg stretched, his massive body shifting as he tested his weight.

Jinx cracked her knuckles. “Alright, big guy. Let’s see what you got.”

Jinx led Motor into a clearing, a perfect spot to test his limits. He wasn’t at full strength yet, but he was leagues ahead of where he’d started.

She tapped her chin. “Alright. We start simple. Show me a run.”

Motor huffed but took off at an easy lope. It wasn’t fast, but it was smooth, controlled. His muscles, still regaining their full mass, moved with purpose beneath his auburn coat.

Jinx grinned. “Not bad, not bad! Now let’s see if you can dodge.”

She scooped up a handful of small stones and, without warning, lobbed one at him.

Motor’s ears twitched, and he sidestepped effortlessly, the rock bouncing off the ground where he’d just been.

Jinx cackled. “Oh-ho! Now we’re talkin’!”

She threw another, then another. Motor dodged them all, his movements quicker each time.

Jinx was grinning like a madwoman now. “Alright, Motor. One last test.”

She reached into her belt, fingers wrapping around a flash bomb she’d been saving for emergencies. Nothing major—just enough to test his reflexes.

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it.

The second it hit the ground, a bright burst of light exploded outward.

Motor reacted instantly. He leapt sideways, low and fast, avoiding the worst of the flare. When the light faded, he was crouched in the underbrush, golden eyes locked onto her.

Jinx’s grin was sharp. “Oh yeah. Now we’re in business.”

---

Jinx led Motor through the dense Ionian forest, winding her way back to the small clearing where her teleporter sat in the dappled sunlight, its makeshift solar panel still slowly siphoning energy.

“Alright, big guy,” she announced, coming to a stop before the hunk of scrap and wires. “Behold! The great, the powerful, the barely functioning …” she swept a hand dramatically, “…Jinx-brand teleportation device.”

Motor settled beside her, his golden eyes flicking between her and the machine. He didn’t lay down, though. He stayed alert, watching, listening.

Jinx crouched, hands on her knees as she inspected the charge levels—just now reaching half-way. Not great. Not terrible. But still too damn slow. She groaned and flopped backward onto the ground, staring up at the sky.

“Ugh. This is taking forever. ”

Motor let out a quiet huff.

Jinx rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her palm as she gazed at him. “Y’know, if I had my tools, I could fix this up easy. Give it a real boost. But noooo, I had to get zapped out here with zero prep. Just me, some bullets, and a lollipop.” She waved her hands vaguely. “And a bunch of weirdly friendly forest critters, I guess.”

Motor was still watching her. His ears were perked, his gaze sharp, focused.

Jinx narrowed her eyes. “Are you actually listening to me, or are you just staring at my face?”

Motor blinked.

Jinx smirked. “Because I get it, I’m gorgeous. But I’d like to think my words are just as captivating.”

Motor huffed again, but his gaze never wavered. He wasn’t just staring aimlessly—he was paying attention.

Jinx sat up fully, pointing at the teleporter. “This thing? This thing’s my ticket outta here. Yours too, I guess. If you wanna tag along. Which you will, obviously, because you’d be a damn idiot to pass up an opportunity to roll with me.”

Motor tilted his head slightly.

Jinx grinned. “Exactly. You get it.”

She leaned forward, tapping the exposed hextech core. “This little beauty’s got just enough juice left in it to give us a jump… but it needs energy. A lot of it. And this tiny-ass panel ain’t cutting it. If I could rig up something bigger? We’d be golden.”

Motor’s ears flicked.

Jinx sighed, flopping back again. “But, nope. I gotta wait. So here I am, twiddling my thumbs, talking to a big fluffy murder machine like he’s my therapist.” She glanced at him sideways. “Which, by the way, how come you’re so damn good at this?”

Motor just blinked again, slow and steady.

Jinx stared at him.

He stared back.

A long pause.

Then, very deliberately, Motor tilted his head in a way that felt eerily… human.

Jinx squinted.

“…Y’know, I’ve met a lotta weird shit in my time,” she mused, sitting up and crossing her legs. “But you? You might take the cake, bud.”

Motor didn’t react—just kept looking at her, waiting.

Jinx exhaled, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Whatever. I’m gonna keep talking, and you’re gonna keep pretending you’re just some normal, dumb animal, and we’ll see who breaks first.”

Motor blinked once. Slowly.

Jinx pointed at him. “ That was too smug.”

Motor huffed.

Jinx groaned, falling back again. “Ugh. I hate how much I like you.”

---

Back in the cave, the night settled around them in a blanket of soft warmth. The nimlots had all clustered into their usual spots, their tiny bodies rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. Cannoli was curled up against Jinx’s shoulder, Strudel and Choux nestled comfortably along Motor’s back.

Jinx lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Her thoughts were too loud.

Her fingers absently scratched at the nimlot pressed to her side, but her mind was elsewhere—turning, circling, analyzing.

Motor was… weird.

Not in the “oh, cool, I found a giant wolf-thing in the woods” kind of way. No, this was something else.

He didn’t act like an animal.

Sure, the other creatures in Ionia were intelligent—everything here practically breathed magic, and the wildlife reflected that. The nimlots were smart enough to form social structures, the monzards could problem-solve and delegate. Even the damn shake birds were clever little bastards.

But Motor…

Motor listened.

Not just to her voice. Not just to her tone.

He understood.

Jinx turned her head slightly, her gaze landing on the massive warg stretched out beside her. He was curled in a loose sprawl, his chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths. But she knew he wasn’t fully asleep.

His ears were still slightly perked.

He was waiting.

Jinx’s lips pressed into a thin line.

She thought back to their earlier conversation at the teleporter. The way he’d reacted to what she was saying. The way he tilted his head at the exact right moments, like he was following along—not just with the words, but the meaning.

The way he never needed her to explain things twice.

Her stomach twisted slightly.

“I don’t think you’re a warg,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

Motor’s breathing didn’t change.

Jinx narrowed her eyes at him. “You look like one. Mostly. But you don’t act like one. You don’t even smell like one.” She wrinkled her nose. “And yeah, don’t get me wrong, you stank before, but it wasn’t warg stink. It was just… dirty. You smell normal now. Like me. Like a person.”

Still, Motor didn’t react.

But Jinx knew he was listening.

She turned fully onto her side, propping her head up on her arm as she studied him. “You know what else is funny? You’re not aggressive. Not really. Even when I first found you, all weak and pathetic, you didn’t attack me. You barely even fought when I jammed my damn arm down your throat.”

She smirked slightly at the memory. “A real warg would’ve taken my arm off. Even half-dead.”

Motor’s ear twitched.

Jinx saw it.

Her smirk widened.

“And then there’s your face,” she mused. “It’s not as ugly as the others.”

Motor exhaled sharply through his nose.

Jinx grinned. “Ohhh, that got a reaction.”

Motor still didn’t open his eyes, but there was a definite shift in his posture.

Jinx bit her lip, debating.

Then, slowly, she reached out—hesitant, cautious.

She placed her palm against his side, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“…You don’t feel like an animal,” she admitted softly. “You feel like… I dunno. Someone I know. ”

Motor finally, finally opened his eyes.

Golden. Sharp. Intelligent.

Jinx held his gaze.

A long moment passed.

Then—so subtly she almost didn’t notice—

Motor grinned .

Jinx inhaled sharply.

“ Holy shit. ”

Jinx stared.

Motor held her gaze, unblinking, his golden eyes steady and knowing.

Not instinctual. Not reactionary.

Knowing.

Jinx’s breath caught in her throat.

Her fingers twitched against his fur, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath. His body was warm beneath her palm, real and solid, but her brain was struggling to process what she was seeing.

Because she had seen that look before.

Not on an animal.

On a person.

She swallowed hard, her mind scrambling for explanations.

Maybe she was just overtired. Maybe she was reading too much into it. Maybe—

Motor blinked.

And then, like it had never happened, he closed his eyes again, settling his head back onto his paws.

Jinx exhaled sharply.

No way.

No way was she imagining that.

She pulled her hand back slowly, fingers flexing against the cool air. Her heart was still hammering, her nerves buzzing like live wires.

She wanted to shake him. Demand answers. Ask him outright.

But what would she even say?

Hey, big guy, you secretly a dude in there?

She’d sound insane.

Hell, she was already insane.

Jinx rolled onto her back, staring at the cave ceiling, her thoughts racing.

If Motor was more than what he seemed… then what the hell was he?

A shapeshifter? Some kind of cursed soul?

Or had Ionia just done what Ionia did best and birthed something entirely new, something that blurred the line between beast and being?

Jinx chewed her lip, her mind circling the thought over and over.

You don’t feel like an animal.

She clenched her jaw.

She hated not knowing things.

It made her restless. Made her itch.

Cannoli shifted against her, letting out a tiny, sleepy coo, but Jinx barely registered it.

Her entire world had just tilted slightly off its axis, and she was dying to right it again.

But for now…

She exhaled, forcing herself to relax.

For now, she’d let it sit.

She turned her head one last time, gaze settling on the massive warg beside her.

Motor’s chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths, his face slack with sleep.

But Jinx wasn’t fooled.

Not anymore.

She smirked slightly.

“ You’re gonna slip up again, big guy. ”

Motor’s ear flicked.

Jinx’s grin widened.

Gotcha.

---

Jinx woke to the dull, heavy weight of something pressing against her back.

Her first thought was too hot.

Her second thought was why the hell am I awake so early?

She cracked open an eye, barely registering the soft glow of dawn spilling into the cave. The nimlots were still curled up in their usual spots, barely stirring. The world outside was still quiet.

Way too early.

Jinx groaned, trying to burrow back down into the warmth of her makeshift bed—except that was the problem.

It wasn’t just warm.

It was blistering.

She shifted, feeling the heat radiating off of Motor’s massive form pressed against her side. It was like lying next to a furnace, her skin prickling with sweat.

She grimaced. “Ugh. Motor, move.”

No response.

She tried again, shifting her weight to roll away, but the second she moved, so did he.

Right toward her.

Jinx let out a strained noise as Motor’s heavy body pressed in closer, his fur hot against her skin. His slow, even breaths ghosted over the back of her neck, and she realized—

He was still asleep.

Jinx blinked, mind sluggish with fever.

Wait. What?

Motor was never this deep of a sleeper.

Not once, in all the nights they’d slept side by side, had he ever been anything less than hyper-aware. He always stirred when she did, his golden eyes half-lidded, tracking her movements even in sleep.

But now?

He was dead to the world.

Jinx swallowed, her throat dry, her skin burning.

Okay. Okay, maybe she was just imagining things.

Maybe it was her body betraying her—fever twisting reality, making her see and feel things that weren’t there.

But damn if it didn’t feel like Motor was leaning into her on purpose.

Jinx groaned, pressing her palm against her forehead. Yep. Definitely feverish. She knew the signs—skin too hot, joints aching, body feeling both heavy and weightless at the same time.

Not great.

She exhaled, trying once again to shift away from the living breathing heater wrapped around her, but the moment she moved, Motor did too—his massive frame adjusting, pressing closer.

Jinx froze.

Okay.

That was suspicious.

“Motor,” she rasped, voice rough from sleep. “I’m dying. Get off.”

Nothing.

She twisted slightly, peering over her shoulder at him.

His face was relaxed, his breathing deep, but—

His ears twitched.

Jinx narrowed her eyes.

“…You awake?”

Silence.

Jinx smirked weakly. “Liar.”

She shifted again, only for Motor’s heavy forelimb to drape over her waist, effectively pinning her in place.

Jinx let out an exasperated wheeze. “Oh, come on. ”

This was definitely on purpose.

She knew it now. She knew.

And the worst part?

She was too damn sick to do anything about it.

Jinx groaned, flopping back down. “Fine. Kill me. Smother me in my sleep. Whatever.”

Motor didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

But Jinx could feel it now. The way his breathing had changed—still slow, but not quite asleep anymore. The way his body was deliberately pressing against hers, not in an unconscious sprawl, but in a way that felt… protective.

Maybe even possessive.

Jinx’s fever-fogged brain barely had time to process that thought before exhaustion dragged her back down.

Whatever.

She’d fight him on it later.

For now, she was too damn tired.

Jinx barely had time to settle back down before the nimlots stirred.

First was Cannoli, still nestled in her hair, letting out a soft, questioning coo as he shifted against her shoulder. Then Choux and Strudel, their tiny round bodies rustling against Motor’s back before they lifted their heads, blinking sleepily at her.

They were watching. Studying her.

Jinx sighed, running a shaky hand through her bangs. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I look like shit.”

Cannoli nuzzled against her cheek, his fur cool against her burning skin. Strudel let out a worried chirp, and Choux tilted his tiny head, his ears twitching as if listening to something beyond her.

Jinx smirked weakly, letting her fingers trail over their soft bodies. “Relax, guys, it’s fine. Just a fever. I’ll live.”

Still, they didn’t relax.

They knew.

Damn it.

Jinx groaned, throwing an arm over her face. “You’re making it worse with the guilt, y’know that?”

Cannoli let out a high-pitched squeak, then nipped at her ear—not hard, but enough to make her hiss through her teeth.

“ Ow! ”

She pushed the tiny creature away half-heartedly, glaring. “The hell was that for?”

Cannoli just fluffed up indignantly, chittering at her like she was the one being unreasonable.

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. Geez. I get it. You’re worried. Not much you can do, though, unless one of you has a miracle cure hidden under all that fluff.”

Silence.

Jinx smirked, scratching under Cannoli’s chin, trying to soothe him. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

Choux and Strudel settled against her side, their little thumbs pressing against her fevered skin as if trying to cool her down. Jinx hummed, the touch oddly comforting.

Motor, however, was still wrapped around her, heavy and unmoving.

She let her fingers absentmindedly comb through the nimlots’ fur, her voice soft and dry as she muttered, “Sorry, guys, this’ll be the last time I get to pet you.” She paused for effect, then deadpanned, “Motor is killing me.”

Cannoli cooed. Choux squeaked. Strudel gasped.

Jinx snorted.

“Relax, drama queen.”

Strudel let out a tiny, offended noise, hopping onto her chest as if to personally protest the accusation.

But even as she joked, she could feel the real problem creeping in—the fever wasn’t letting up. If anything, it was getting worse.

Her limbs were sluggish. Her head was pounding.

And Motor?

Still hadn’t moved.

Jinx frowned.

“…Okay, big guy,” she muttered, nudging his leg weakly. “You gonna let me up, or do I have to actually die here?”

Silence.

Motor’s breathing remained steady. Slow. Deliberate.

And then—

A low, deep rumble vibrated through his chest.

Not a growl. Not a warning.

Something else.

Something that felt eerily aware.

Jinx went still.

“…Oh, you’re so awake, aren’t you?”

---

Jinx tried to keep talking.

To Cannoli, to Choux and Strudel, to Motor —who was very obviously awake despite his whole playing-dead routine—but the longer she spoke, the harder it became to ignore the rising nausea twisting her gut.

She swallowed thickly.

Her body was burning up, her skin damp with sweat, but a deep, icy sickness curled in her stomach, clawing its way up her throat.

No, no, no.

She clenched her jaw, trying to will it back down, but her body wasn’t listening.

Bile surged up, hot and sour, and Jinx barely had time to slap a hand over her mouth before a pitiful whimper escaped her lips.

The nimlots immediately reacted.

Cannoli chirped, nuzzling her jaw anxiously. Choux and Strudel pressed in closer, their wings patting her skin as if they could physically push the sickness away.

But Jinx barely noticed.

Her entire focus was now on the massive immovable warg wrapped around her like a suffocating blanket.

Her free hand shot out, pressing against Motor’s chest, then his side, shoving at him weakly. “ Motor— ” Her voice was muffled, strained.

No response.

She pushed harder, panic creeping into her movements. “Motor, I swear to God— ”

He still didn’t move.

Didn’t even pretend to stir.

Jinx whimpered, her hand tightening over her mouth, her other palm digging into his fur now, almost desperate.

Her fingers curled into a fist, shaking.

And then, finally—

Motor moved.

Not a flinch. Not a lazy stretch.

It was deliberate.

A slow shift of his weight as he lifted his head, golden eyes sliding open.

For a second, he just looked at her.

Then, without a sound, he withdrew, peeling his warmth away from her overheated body.

Jinx barely registered the relief of cool air hitting her sweat-damp skin before she was already scrambling upright, her limbs shaky and unsteady beneath her. She stumbled more than ran, half-blind as she bolted toward the mouth of the cave.

Her vision swam. The world tilted.

She barely made it five feet outside before the bile surged up her throat.

Jinx dropped to her knees, hands digging into the dirt as she choked, stomach clenching violently.

The first wave hit hard.

Then another.

Then another.

Her fingers curled against the ground as she retched into a patch of unfortunate shrubs, her whole body trembling.

The fever was not helping. Every breath felt thick, her skin burning and freezing at the same time.

By the time it was just dry heaving, Jinx felt like hell.

She let out a ragged breath, her arms trembling as she wiped at her mouth.

“Ugh…” she groaned, spitting out the last of the disgusting taste from her tongue. “That sucked.”

She sat there for a moment, trying to catch her breath, her forehead resting against her arm.

Then, slowly, she turned her head back toward the cave.

And—

She froze.

Motor stood there in the cave’s entrance, watching her.

Cannoli, Choux, and Strudel were perched on his head.

Jinx blinked, her fever-addled brain struggling to process the sight.

The nimlots didn’t look scared. If anything, they looked content.

Perfectly nestled against the thick fur between Motor’s ears, their tiny round bodies pressed against each other.

Motor’s expression was unreadable, his golden eyes locked onto her.

Jinx swallowed, her throat raw.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then—

Motor took a step forward.

Jinx’s breath hitched.

Another step.

The nimlots didn’t even flinch.

Jinx’s fevered brain reeled.

They trust him.

Like he wasn’t some massive, predatory beast.

Like they knew something she didn’t.

Motor stopped just a few feet away, the morning light catching the amber glow in his eyes.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

Jinx let out a weak, breathless laugh.

“ Okay, ” she rasped. “ Now you’re just showing off.”

Jinx wiped at her mouth again, grimacing at the lingering taste of bile.

She felt gross.

Sweaty, shaky, and sick.

Her whole body ached, fever still clinging to her skin like a second layer of grime.

Yeah. She needed a bath. Immediately.

She inhaled through her nose, then exhaled slowly, lifting a trembling hand to point a finger at Motor.

“Go lay back down,” she ordered, voice hoarse but firm. “And keep my babies safe.”

She flicked her fingers toward Cannoli, Choux, and Strudel, still comfortably nestled on top of his massive head.

Motor didn’t react at first.

Just watched her.

Jinx arched an eyebrow. “What? You suddenly need permission to listen to me?”

A slow exhale.

Then—without breaking eye contact—Motor turned and padded back into the cave, moving with that same quiet, deliberate grace.

Jinx blinked.

Huh. That was easy.

Her gaze flicked to the nimlots, still happily perched in his fur.

They didn’t so much as stir as he moved.

Jinx shook her head, pushing herself upright. “Weirdos,” she muttered.

Then, still feeling like absolute death, she turned toward the pond.

The walk was slow.

Everything felt slow.

Her fever made every step feel heavier than it should’ve been, the ground oddly unstable beneath her boots.

The trees blurred at the edges of her vision.

She barely noticed the way the forest rustled around her—the quiet life shifting in the branches, the distant calls of unseen creatures.

All she could focus on was getting to the damn water.

By the time she reached the secluded pool, she was already peeling off her sweat-dampened top, boots kicked off haphazardly as she stumbled forward.

She barely hesitated before wading in, shivering as the cool water licked at her fevered skin.

It was instant relief.

Jinx exhaled sharply, tilting her head back as the water wrapped around her, soothing the unbearable heat in her body.

Yeah.

This was exactly what she needed.

Jinx let her body sink deeper into the water, her limbs weightless as the fever slowly ebbed away under the cool embrace of the pond.

Her back pressed against the smooth, half-submerged rocks at the edge, head tilted back, her braided hair floating around her.

The contrast between the water’s chill and the heat still clinging to her skin was almost intoxicating, lulling her into a heavy, hazy calm.

Her eyelids fluttered.

She could almost fall asleep like this.

The gentle lap of water against her skin. The distant hum of the forest. The soft breeze threading through the leaves—

Rustling.

Jinx’s eyes opened, but she didn’t jolt upright.

She wasn’t startled. Not really.

She was too comfortable to be startled.

Besides, she knew these woods well enough by now. There were very few things out here that would bother trying to harm her.

And the ones that would ?

Well, they kept their distance.

Still, she turned her head lazily toward the sound, half-lidded eyes flicking toward the source.

The foliage just beyond the pond’s edge had shifted—branches bending, leaves brushing against something large moving through them.

Then—

Motor stepped out into view.

Jinx blinked.

She stared at him, letting the moment stretch.

Motor stared back.

He wasn’t standing at a distance, observing her from the shadows. He wasn’t pretending to just be passing through.

No.

He was there.

Standing at the edge of the water, golden eyes locked onto her, the sunlight catching in his auburn fur.

Jinx exhaled through her nose, voice low, dry.

“ You were supposed to be watching my babies, grease stain. ”

Motor didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just watched her.

Jinx tilted her head slightly, arching a brow.

“…You worried I drowned or something?”

Silence.

Motor’s ears flicked.

That wasn’t a no.

Jinx smirked, her fingers lazily skimming the water’s surface. “You got trust issues, big guy?”

No response.

Not that she expected one.

But there was something about the way he stood there, his massive frame too still, too focused, that made her stomach twist with something she wasn’t entirely sure how to name.

Jinx let her head tilt back against the rock again, closing her eyes briefly. “You’re such a stalker,” she murmured, half to herself.

Still, she didn’t tell him to leave.

Didn’t tell him anything.

Because, for some reason…

She didn’t really mind.

Jinx kept her head tilted back against the rock, eyes half-lidded, barely paying attention as Motor stood at the pond’s edge.

She figured he’d just watch her like the quiet, brooding stalker he apparently was.

But then—

He moved.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Jinx heard the soft splash before she felt it—the gentle ripple of water shifting as Motor stepped forward, paws sinking beneath the surface.

She blinked sluggishly, barely turning her head as she realized—

Oh.

He wasn’t just standing at the edge anymore.

He was in the water.

His heavy, deliberate steps sent faint ripples brushing against her skin, each movement slow and fluid.

Jinx smirked faintly, her voice a lazy drawl. “Really committing to this, huh?”

Motor didn’t react.

Didn’t stop.

He kept moving forward until—

Warmth.

Jinx barely had time to process the feeling of him pressing in close, his massive frame settling beside her, his fur slicked dark where the water clung to him.

Then—

A slow, heavy weight against the side of her head.

Jinx exhaled softly as Motor pressed his muzzle against her temple, his breath warm against her damp skin.

She felt the slow, steady movement of his nose trailing along her cheek, the faintest nuzzle against her jaw.

Her eyes fluttered.

A quiet, unbidden groan slipped from her lips—soft, pleased, instinctual.

Her body was still aching, still sluggish with fever, but the contact was grounding. Solid.

Motor was warm , but not in the feverish, suffocating way he’d been earlier.

Now, it felt… soothing.

Jinx’s fingers trailed idly through the water, her smirk turning lazy.

“You got a thing for me, big guy?” she muttered, voice hoarse but teasing.

Motor didn’t answer.

Didn’t pull away.

He just stayed there, right against her, silent and steady.

Jinx let out a slow breath, her fevered body relaxing deeper into the water.

“…Yeah,” she murmured, eyes drifting shut. “Didn’t think so.”

But she didn’t move.

Didn’t want to.

Jinx let herself sink into the moment, eyes half-lidded as Motor continued nuzzling against her, the slow, steady movement of his muzzle pressing into her skin.

It felt… nice.

Not that she’d ever admit it.

She was feverish, miserable, half-delirious—so if she happened to enjoy the warm, grounding weight of him against her, it was just because she needed it.

That’s what she told herself, anyway.

But after a few minutes, Motor pulled away.

Jinx hummed at the loss of warmth, blinking sluggishly as he turned and stepped out of the water, his massive form shifting with practiced ease.

Then—

He shook.

Water exploded from his fur in every direction, droplets catching in the morning light like scattered diamonds.

Jinx might’ve chuckled at the sight, might’ve even thrown in some teasing remark, if she wasn’t feeling like absolute garbage.

Instead, she just groaned, stretching her arms over her head before finally deciding—

Alright, enough wallowing.

No matter how awful she felt, she still had to feed Motor.

Jinx let out an exaggerated groan—only half-dramatic—before pushing herself up from where she’d been resting against the rocks.

Her limbs were still sluggish, her body still aching , but she forced herself to wade toward the bank, ignoring the way exhaustion clung to her like a second skin.

As she stepped out of the water—

Motor turned his head away.

Jinx blinked.

Then—

She laughed.

It was a soft, breathy giggle, unexpected even to her own ears, distracting her just enough that she stumbled slightly on the uneven ground.

But she didn’t fall.

Jinx steadied herself, shaking her head as her smirk returned.

“You’re such a goof ,” she muttered fondly, her voice hoarse but amused.

Motor didn’t react.

Didn’t look at her.

Didn’t move.

Just kept his massive head turned very deliberately to the side, ears flicking in subtle discomfort.

Jinx snickered.

She still had her pants on—soaked and clinging to her skin—but yeah, she’d been topless.

And Motor cared.

Hah.

She knew he was weird.

Jinx grabbed her shirt from where she’d tossed it earlier, shaking off the stray leaves before yanking it back over her head.

Then she sat down on a nearby rock, letting her feet dry before sliding her boots back on, rolling her shoulders as she flexed her fingers.

She still felt like absolute ass.

But she had work to do.

Jinx stood, stretching once more before turning toward Motor.

“Alright, grease stain,” she muttered, cracking her neck. “I need to get you fed. Just go back to the cave and wait for me.”

He stared at her, before huffing and turning towards the direction of the nimlot’s cave. 

Jinx trudged through the underbrush, still feeling sluggish from the fever, but at least the bath had helped. She was cooler now, even if her limbs still felt heavier than usual.

She didn’t have to look far before she found her usual helpers.

The monzards had already gathered, waiting for her.

Jinx grinned despite herself. “Well, well, look who’s eager today.”

The little lizard-like creatures flicked their hammerhead-shaped snouts at her, their forked tongues darting out excitedly.

One of the larger ones—her favorite , and though she’d never say it out loud, she named it Sev —scurried forward on quick little feet, clutching something in its tiny claws.

Jinx knelt, smirking. “Whatcha got for me this time?”

The monzard proudly plopped a handful of fruit into her hands. A few others followed suit, dropping more alongside it.

She recognized the shapes—tangy, soft, easy to eat.

But then—

One of them deposited something different.

Small, smooth, lightly speckled eggs.

An entire clutch it seemed. 

Jinx raised an eyebrow, picking one up.

“…Fink eggs?”

She clicked her tongue, impressed.

Finks were tiny birds that nested on the ground, usually hidden deep in thick bushes. Their eggs weren’t hard to steal, but they were damn hard to find.

She glanced at the monzard who had brought them. “Alright, color me impressed, little guy.”

The monzard let out a delighted chitter, clearly very pleased with itself.

Jinx chuckled, reaching out to scratch its scaly head. “Good work.”

The other monzards perked up at the attention, eagerly pressing closer, practically demanding their turn for head pats.

Jinx obliged, ruffling their little heads, earning a chorus of squeals and excited chitters.

After a few more moments of mutual appreciation, she scooped up the fruit and eggs, giving the group a two-fingered salute. “Alright, kiddos, I gotta get back. You be good now.”

The monzards flicked their tongues at her one last time before scattering, disappearing back into the underbrush.

Jinx exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she adjusted her grip on her haul.

Food secured.

Now, time to feed her giant, weird-ass stalker dog.

She turned on her heel, making her way back toward the cave.

Jinx made her way back to the cave, her steps slow but steady, still feeling the lingering fatigue of her fever.

Her arms were full—fruit in one hand, fink eggs cradled in the other. Not a bad haul.

She smirked to herself.

She had to hand it to those monzards—they always came through.

The forest was quieter now, the early morning light filtering through the dense canopy, casting dappled patches of gold across the ground. It would’ve been peaceful… if she wasn’t still mildly dying.

She groaned, shifting the eggs in her grip. “Ugh, I hate being sick.”

She caught sight of the cave entrance ahead, where Motor was standing just outside, waiting.

Still. Silent.

Watching.

The three nimlots were still perched on his head, as if they belonged there now, comfortably nestled between his ears.

Jinx huffed out a breath.

“Y’know,” she called as she stepped closer, “you’re really leaning into the whole majestic guardian beast thing, huh?”

Motor didn’t react—just kept his golden eyes fixed on her.

She shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Alright, big guy, time to eat.”

Jinx knelt down near the fire pit, setting the fruit aside before cracking the fink eggs into the chortle shell. The yolks were small, rich in color, and she gave them a quick stir with a stick before setting them over the fire to cook.

Motor padded forward, settling down near her, his massive frame relaxed but attentive .

Jinx side-eyed him.

“So, you gonna help next time, or are you just gonna keep letting my lizard buddies do all the work?”

Motor let out a slow breath through his nose.

Jinx clicked her tongue, smirking. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

The eggs cooked quickly, and she let them cool for a moment before pushing the chortle shell toward him.

Motor didn’t hesitate this time.

Didn’t sniff at it suspiciously, didn’t wait for permission.

He ate.

Slow. Controlled.

Deliberate.

Jinx watched him, resting her chin in her palm, exhaustion creeping in again.

She sighed, rolling her shoulders. “Well, you seem to be getting better.”

Motor flicked an ear but didn’t look up, still focused on his food.

Jinx smirked. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t carryin’ your ass if you get sick.”

Motor huffed.

Jinx grinned, leaning back against the cave wall.

She was still tired. Still feverish.

But at least Motor was eating.

At least one of them was getting stronger.

Jinx leaned back against the cave wall, stretching her legs out as she grabbed one of the fruits from the pile.

She knew she needed to eat.

She also knew that if she so much as thought about swallowing anything right now, she’d probably just end up feeding the forest floor instead.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably, a wave of nausea creeping up her throat.

Yeah, no thanks.

Instead, she started peeling the fruit apart, letting the sweet, tangy scent waft through the air. The nimlots perked up immediately, their round eyes fixed on her hands, tiny noses twitching.

Jinx smirked. “Yeah, yeah, I see you.”

She pulled apart one of the sections and handed it off to Cannoli, watching as his tiny thumbs clutched the flesh of the fruit. Choux and Strudel eagerly crowded in, waiting their turn, and Jinx continued splitting off pieces, letting them each have their share.

The little creatures squeaked happily, chittering in delight as they chewed.

Jinx rested her elbow on her knee, watching them with a lazy grin.

“Gosh, y’all are so freaking cute.”

A low huff pulled her attention to the side.

Motor.

She barely had to look to know he was giving her that look.

Jinx exhaled heavily through her nose, already annoyed.

“What?” she grumbled, shooting him a glare.

Motor didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Just stared at her.

Silent. Unimpressed.

Jinx narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not hungry right now,” she muttered, tearing another piece of fruit and handing it off to Choux. “Might as well let my babies have it.”

Motor kept looking at her.

Jinx huffed. “Oh, come on. You’re seriously gonna give me shit about this?”

Motor said nothing.

But the judgment in his golden eyes was loud.

Jinx groaned, tilting her head back against the cave wall. “ God, you’re worse than Silco.”

Cannoli cooed happily, stuffing another piece of fruit into his tiny mouth, completely oblivious to the silent argument unfolding between Jinx and the giant warg.

Motor let out another slow breath, ears twitching slightly.

Jinx refused to acknowledge whatever silent message he was trying to send her.

She was fine.

And she’d eat when she damn well felt like it.

For now, she was just gonna sit here, watch her nimlot babies enjoy their feast, and very pointedly ignore the giant judgmental ass watching her like she was his problem.

Which she wasn’t.

Probably.

---

Jinx’s body ached.

She was too hot, then too cold. Her skin was clammy with sweat, her head pounding in a slow, miserable rhythm.

Lying down barely helped.

She curled in on herself, pressing against Motor’s familiar warmth, trying to block out the discomfort. Her nimlot babies nestled in close, their tiny, fuzzy bodies radiating soft heat, grounding her.

But sleep was elusive.

Every time she managed to drift off, the fever pulled her back, making her limbs restless, making her shift, making her aware when all she wanted was to sink into unconsciousness and stay there.

Eventually, hours later, exhaustion won.

It wasn’t restful sleep—more a fever-drenched haze, twisting between wakefulness and dreams.

And then—

Jinx stirred, barely conscious, pulled from sleep by the feeling of something brushing against her skin.

Not fur.

Skin.

Fingers.

Warm, gentle fingers trailing across her forehead, smoothing over her damp cheek.

Her breath hitched.

Her body felt heavy, her mind sluggish, but she forced her eyes to open, blinking against the haze clouding her vision.

Everything was blurry.

Sleep clung to her like a fog, twisting shapes and shadows together, distorting the world around her.

And yet—

She saw him.

A person.

A human.

His outline was hazy, shifting in the dim glow of the cave, but she could make out details—shaggy brown hair, strands falling messily over bright golden eyes.

Jinx’s lips parted.

Her throat was dry, cracked, but she managed to rasp out—

“...Who…”

The figure shushed her softly.

A soothing, gentle sound.

Then—fingers brushed through her damp bangs, tucking them away from her fevered skin.

His voice followed, smooth and melodic, something warm curling through the sound.

“Shh. Sleep, little crane.”

Jinx barely had time to process the words before exhaustion pulled her back under.

She drifted, slipping into unconsciousness, the warmth of his touch lingering even as she fell into the depths of fevered sleep.

Chapter 62: Show Yourself pt. 1

Summary:

Jinx.

The youngest Great in history.

A prodigy beyond reason.

A girl so powerful that the greatest minds of the Academy had feared her.

And yet, in the moment they had turned against her, she had not fought back.

Notes:

Sorry for skipping a day! I know this likely isn’t the chapter some of y’all were expecting, but I wanted to take a little more time with FIVE: Coquilles and Lycan and Crane pt.3. For part FIVE: Coquilles, I’ve run into a little brain fart trying to take the logistics of a couple things into consideration, and I’m trying—severe emphasis on the “trying” part—to work on ramping up the spice level (if you get what I’m putting down 😏). For Lycan and Crane pt. 3, I just feel like I’m falling short on a few details. I want to spend a little more time on them, so here's this piece in the meantime! Hope y'all enjoy :) 

The grand halls of Piltover Academy had always been filled with magic.

It lingered in the very walls—woven into the foundation stones, coursing through the vaulted ceilings, threading itself into the countless tomes and scrolls that lined the great libraries. The Academy was more than a place of learning. It was a monument to the arcane.

And tonight, it stood as a monument to him.

Viktor stood at the center of the great ceremonial chamber, the largest hall within the Academy. High above, the ceiling stretched impossibly tall, held aloft by massive columns of marble and enchanted gold, etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with contained energy. The vast stained-glass windows, enchanted to shimmer with illusions of past magical discoveries, cast a kaleidoscope of shifting colors across the polished floors.

The room was filled with mages of renown, scholars draped in the robes of their respective disciplines, each gathered in recognition of an event so rare it only occurred once in a generation.

Tonight, a new name was being added to the Wall of Greats.

Tonight, Viktor was being named a Great Professor.

The honor was one of profound prestige, awarded only to those who had proven themselves to be masters of their craft, innovators of the arcane whose contributions had altered the very foundation of magical study.

Few achieved such a title. Even fewer achieved it as quickly as Viktor had.

He adjusted the ornate golden clasp at his collar, feeling the weight of tradition settle upon his shoulders. His long coat, black with crimson threading, carried the insignia of his discipline—one of invention, of transmutation, of the delicate balance between magic and progress.

The staff in his hand—both a symbol of mastery as well as his channeling wand—was carved with intricate personal runes, a testament to his studies, his achievements, and his pursuit of knowledge.

The ceremony had already begun.

At the front of the chamber, Professor Heimerdinger stood upon the raised platform, his diminutive form made grand by the presence he commanded. His silver-tinged fur bristled slightly as he cleared his throat, his small hands gripping the edges of the golden podium before him.

Viktor listened as Heimerdinger spoke, his voice carrying through the vast space with a mix of warmth and authority.

“Tonight, we gather to recognize a mind unlike any other,” Heimerdinger proclaimed, his tone rich with admiration. “A mage whose dedication to the pursuit of knowledge has not only furthered our understanding of magic, but has reshaped the very limits of what we believed possible. His innovations in magical engineering, his mastery of spellcraft, and his unyielding pursuit of knowledge have earned him a place among the Greats.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the assembled scholars.

Viktor remained still, his expression measured, though his mind was already wandering.

He did not revel in admiration. He had never sought titles or ceremonies. What mattered to him was progress. Discovery. Understanding.

And yet, even as Heimerdinger continued, Viktor could not ignore the underlying weight of this moment.

To stand among the Greats was to stand among history itself.

“Viktor, your contributions to transmutative enchantments and mechanized spellcasting have propelled this Academy into a new age of understanding,” Heimerdinger continued, his bright eyes filled with genuine respect. “Your theories on arcane augmentation, your refinements of spell-sustaining constructs—these are no small achievements. In just a few short years, you have accomplished what many mages spend lifetimes attempting to grasp.”

Another round of applause.

Heimerdinger gestured toward the plaque. “From this day forward, you shall bear the title of Great Professor. May your wisdom guide the generations to come.”

Viktor stepped forward, pressing his fingertips against the metal plate beneath his portrait. The engraving spell activated, shimmering letters carving themselves into existence.

Viktor, the Great Professor.

His name would endure.

The chamber filled with the sound of hands meeting hands, of murmured praise and hushed discussions of his accomplishments. He could hear his name whispered in reverence among the younger students, spoken with a mix of admiration and awe.

But Viktor was not one to bask in such things.

He did not seek recognition.

He sought understanding.

And at this moment, one question burned in his mind above all others.

Who had come before him?

When the applause faded, and Heimerdinger continued to speak of his rapid ascent, of how Viktor had become one of the fastest mages in history to attain the rank of Great, a realization settled over him.

If he was one of the fastest, then who was the fastest?

The thought should have been simple—a passing curiosity. But it stuck in Viktor’s mind, lingering like an unsolved equation.

Heimerdinger had studied countless prodigies, had mentored some of the greatest minds of the age. If there had been another before him, another who had achieved this honor faster than he had, then why had he never heard their name?

The celebration continued without interruption. Goblets of enchanted wine floated through the air, carried by unseen hands. Scholars mingled, engaging in discussions of theory and spellcraft, debating Viktor’s latest research with eager enthusiasm.

But Viktor’s mind was elsewhere.

Once the formalities concluded and the gathered mages began to disperse into smaller circles of conversation, Viktor made his way toward Heimerdinger.

He found the venerable yordle alone at a polished wooden table, nursing a small glass of honeyed liquor, his expression thoughtful.

Viktor approached, his voice even.

“Professor.”

Heimerdinger looked up, his ears twitching slightly. “Ah, Viktor! Quite the evening, isn’t it? You should be proud—tonight, you’ve secured your place among the Greats.”

Viktor did not waste time.

“During your speech, you mentioned that I was one of the fastest to achieve this title,” he said, his voice calm, measured. “I am curious—who was the fastest?”

The question changed Heimerdinger’s expression.

Subtle, but noticeable.

The warmth in his eyes dimmed just slightly, replaced by something more guarded.

The pause before he spoke was unnatural for a mind as sharp as his.

“Ah… well,” Heimerdinger swirled his drink, avoiding direct eye contact. “That was… quite some time ago. A different era of the Academy, really. Things were not as structured then as they are now.”

“You speak as if this person is long gone,” Viktor observed. “Yet you do not say their name. Why?”

Another pause.

Heimerdinger exhaled, placing his glass down. “Some knowledge is best left untouched, Viktor. Not all Greats remain within our walls.”

Viktor’s interest sharpened.

“But their name remains on the wall, does it not?”

Heimerdinger hesitated.

Viktor pressed forward.

“Knowledge is never something to be shied away from, Professor,” he said, his tone edged with curiosity. “Please—who were they?”

Silence.

Then, at last, Heimerdinger spoke.

A single name.

“Jinx.”

The name landed like a spark in dry tinder.

Short. Sharp. Unadorned. No title. No surname. Just Jinx.

Viktor’s mind raced. He had studied the Academy’s history extensively. He knew the names of every Great Mage who had shaped the foundations of Piltover’s magical legacy.

And yet, he had never encountered this name before.

Viktor glanced toward the Wall of Greats, where the names of history’s finest mages were etched in stone.

If she had been the fastest, why had history erased her?

And perhaps more importantly…

Where was she now?

---

The name hung in the air between them.

Jinx.

Viktor let the syllable settle in his mind, turning it over like a puzzle piece that did not yet fit.

It was not a name spoken with reverence. Nor was it laced with the same ceremonial weight given to those immortalized within the Academy’s walls.

No.

This name carried something else entirely.

Something unspoken. Something hidden.

Viktor studied Heimerdinger’s expression, watching for the subtle shifts that betrayed what words did not say. The old professor’s ears drooped slightly, his fingers tapping absently against the side of his untouched glass.

His hesitation was unnatural.

Heimerdinger had always been one to celebrate intellectual brilliance—to discuss the achievements of mages past and present with boundless enthusiasm. And yet, now, his normally bright and curious eyes held something else.

A heaviness.

A weight that spoke of regret.

“Who was she?” Viktor finally asked, his voice low but firm.

Heimerdinger let out a slow breath, as though he had been bracing for this question. His paws folded together on the table before him.

“The youngest Great in history,” he admitted. “Inducted at just fourteen years old.”

Viktor’s grip on his staff tightened imperceptibly.

Fourteen.

The sheer magnitude of that statement was staggering. Even the most prodigious students spent decades honing their craft before receiving the title of Great. Some never achieved it at all.

Viktor himself had worked tirelessly—driven by an unwavering pursuit of progress, his mind sharp, his hands never idle. And yet, even with his unrelenting dedication, it had taken him years to reach this moment.

And she had done it at fourteen.

It was unheard of.

“I have never seen her name among the Academy’s records,” Viktor pointed out. “Why?”

Heimerdinger’s ears twitched slightly.

“Because she was expelled,” he said. Then, after a pause, he corrected himself.

“Or rather… we were forced to chase her away.”

The phrasing was deliberate.

Chased. Not simply expelled.

A slow, calculated exile.

Viktor’s frown deepened. “What did she do?”

A question rooted in logic, not judgment.

It was not uncommon for brilliant minds to clash with the Academy’s rigid structure. Many who pursued the fringes of magical discovery found themselves at odds with authority, their experiments deemed too dangerous, too unpredictable.

But expulsion—true banishment—was rare.

For a Great Mage to be erased from history altogether? That was unprecedented.

Heimerdinger’s expression remained solemn.

“Nothing. She had done nothing wrong. Jinx was simply… not like us, Viktor,” he said at last, voice quiet but weighted with meaning. “She was… something else entirely.”

The way he said it sent a faint chill through Viktor’s spine.

Something else.

Not someone else.

Something.

“She was more powerful than any of us could’ve imagined,” Heimerdinger continued. “And that power… terrified the Council of Greats.”

Viktor’s gaze sharpened. “Terrified them?”

Heimerdinger nodded slowly.

“We were…”—he hesitated, searching for the right words—“for lack of a better term, we were scared. And ultimately, we found it imperative to… remove her.”

Viktor said nothing. He only watched. Listened.

Heimerdinger’s ears drooped slightly, his gaze distant, fixed on some memory long buried. His small fingers clenched around the base of his glass, though he did not lift it to drink.

“I still remember her face when we… ambushed her,” he admitted, voice tinged with something close to guilt.

Viktor’s chest tightened. “Ambushed?”

Heimerdinger let out a slow breath. “We did not simply expel Jinx. We did not give her a trial, nor a formal dismissal. We hunted her.”

Viktor’s lips pressed into a thin line.

The Academy—his Academy—was meant to be a place of learning, of progress, of discovery. But this?

This was fear—cowardice.

Control disguised as order.

“We thought she would retaliate,” Heimerdinger admitted, shaking his head slightly. “The Council of Greats—myself included—believed that if we struck first, we could subdue her before she turned against us.”

Viktor’s fingers curled slightly around the edge of his staff.

“And?” he asked.

Heimerdinger’s voice softened.

“She never fought back.”

Viktor stilled.

“She didn’t retaliate?”

Heimerdinger shook his head.

“She didn’t even raise her hand against us,” he said. “She simply… ran.”

The words sat heavily between them.

“She was a child,” Heimerdinger murmured, almost to himself. “A child with power beyond reason, yes, but still just a child. And we chased her like she was some rabid beast.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Viktor had read about the Council of Greats. He had studied their decisions, their methods, their legacy.

And yet, nowhere in the Academy’s records had there been a single mention of this.

“Why was she not recorded?” he asked finally. “Why was her name erased?”

Heimerdinger hesitated. “She was recorded, however, we feared what would happen if she returned. If others sought her out. We thought it best to… remove her from history.”

Viktor felt something cold settle in his chest.

To remove a name from the Academy’s records was not just punishment.

It was erasure.

It was the destruction of a legacy before it could take root.

“Where did she go?” Viktor asked.

Heimerdinger exhaled. “We don’t know. No one has seen her since that day. If she still lives, she has not made her presence known.”

He reached into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a small silver key. With a flick of his fingers, he twisted the air beside them, muttering an incantation under his breath.

The space shifted.

A tear in the air, revealing a doorway that had not been there before.

“Come with me,” Heimerdinger said, standing.

Viktor followed without hesitation.

They stepped into the Hall of the Greats, where the names of every Great Mage in history had been immortalized in stone. Each name was accompanied by a portrait, a lasting tribute to their contributions.

But Heimerdinger led him to a place that was empty.

A blank section of wall, where nothing had been carved, where no portrait hung.

Then—

Heimerdinger whispered an incantation, and something unseen unraveled.

The illusion broke.

And a portrait appeared.

Jinx.

She was young. 

Bright blue eyes—sharp, and filled with youth. A smirk that teetered between amusement and challenge, framed by wild blue hair.

Below her portrait, the plaque read:

Great Archmage Jinx.

Viktor’s breath was slow, steady, but his mind burned with awe.

“An Archmage,” he murmured.

Heimerdinger nodded solemnly.

“Yes,” he said. “She was something we had never seen before. Something we could never be. It was ultimately the most appropriate title for her. And that… frightened us more than anything else.”

Viktor’s gaze lingered on her portrait, the mischief in those brilliant blue eyes.

Where had she gone?

And what had she become?

Viktor’s eyes lingered on the portrait.

Jinx.

Her face was young, but her gaze was piercing—sharp, knowing, full of challenge and defiance. Even immortalized in paint, she exuded an almost palpable energy, as if the artist had captured something more than just her likeness.

Viktor studied the details.

The fine strands of wild blue hair that refused to settle neatly on her shoulders. The subtle tilt of her head, the way her mouth curled into a half-smirk—not arrogance, but something else. A dare.

And her eyes.

Most striking of all were those blue eyes, vivid against the pale tones of her skin. The hue of blue was bright, giving her an almost otherworldly look, a sense of unpredictability that made her difficult to decipher.

Jinx.

The youngest Great in history.

A prodigy beyond reason.

A girl so powerful that the greatest minds of the Academy had feared her.

And yet, in the moment they had turned against her, she had not fought back.

She had only run.

Viktor’s grip on his staff tightened slightly. What kind of mage did not defend themselves? What kind of person, upon realizing they had been betrayed by those they trusted, simply fled without a word?

There was a puzzle here. Something missing.

And Viktor had never been one to leave a puzzle unsolved.

Finally, he turned his gaze back to Heimerdinger.

“Do you have any advice on how I might find her?” he asked, his voice even.

Heimerdinger looked at him for a long time.

There was hesitation in his small, golden eyes—genuine reluctance. It was not the kind of reluctance borne from indifference, nor from a desire to keep secrets.

It was fear.

Not of Jinx, but of what Viktor was asking for.

“Viktor…” Heimerdinger exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples. “I do not know if that is wise.”

Viktor did not react. He simply waited.

Heimerdinger sighed again, shaking his head.

“Jinx was cast out for a reason,” he murmured, more to himself than to Viktor. “If you find her, if you draw her back into this world—” he hesitated. “I fear what it might mean.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly. “You fear her.”

A pause.

Heimerdinger did not immediately answer. Instead, he reached for his glass of honeyed liquor, but rather than drinking, he simply turned it in his hands.

“And yet,” Viktor continued, voice softer, “she did not retaliate. She did not turn her power against you, even as you turned against her.”

Heimerdinger let out a slow breath. “No. She did not.”

That, more than anything else, was what haunted him most.

Viktor said nothing for a moment. Then, carefully, he pressed again.

“Do you regret it?”

Heimerdinger’s ears twitched slightly.

“Every day. I have sins to atone for,” the old professor murmured at last. “I owe her a debt. So I will tell you what I can.”

Viktor nodded, waiting.

Heimerdinger steepled his fingers.

“Jinx was… unparalleled in her mastery of elemental magic,” he began. “Even today, she still holds the highest aptitude for any element. None have come close. Not even you, Viktor.”

Viktor absorbed that without reaction, though the statement was profound.

He was no stranger to his own abilities. He was aware of what he had accomplished, what had earned him the title of Great in so little time.

But to hear that even now—years later—Jinx still outclassed him in the fundamental nature of magic itself?

That was something he would need to see for himself.

Heimerdinger continued.

“However,” he said, “she especially outclassed others with her ice and water magic. Some believe this is due to her heritage.”

Viktor’s gaze sharpened.

“Heritage?”

A slight pause.

Then, reluctantly, Heimerdinger spoke the rumor aloud.

“There are whispers,” he admitted, “that Jinx’s mother was… a hybrid. A union between a human and a mermaid.”

Viktor’s mind immediately flickered through possibilities.

Bloodlines influenced a mage’s natural affinity—that was undeniable. Some families carried strong elemental leanings, though nothing beyond what was considered within the normal limits of human ability.

But a mermaid’s blood?

That was something else entirely.

It was not simply a difference in power.

It was a difference in nature.

“However,” Heimerdinger added quickly, “these remain only rumors. Even Jinx’s own sister, Violet, is unsure of their mother’s identity.”

Viktor arched an eyebrow. “She has a sister?”

Heimerdinger nodded. “Yes. If the rumor is true, than unlike Jinx, she received none of their mother’s supposed heritage. She is a mentor here at the Academy, though she only possesses affinity for physical and earth magic.”

Earth and water. Polar opposites in elemental nature. If they truly shared the same blood, their magic had manifested in completely different ways.

“Violet and Jinx were always estranged,” Heimerdinger admitted. “Even during their years together at the Academy. But if there is anyone who might have insight into where Jinx has gone, it would be her.”

Viktor absorbed the information, already considering his next course of action.

If Jinx had any remaining ties to this place, no matter how frayed, then Violet was the thread that might lead him to her.

His path was clear.

“Then I will speak with her,” Viktor said simply.

Heimerdinger nodded, though there was a lingering unease in his expression.

“Be careful, Viktor,” he said softly.

Viktor turned his gaze back to the portrait of Great Archmage Jinx, studying those bright, manic blue eyes, frozen in time.

He had no intention of being careful.

Curiosity had always been stronger than caution.

---

Viktor had spent much of his life around mages—people who wielded knowledge like a weapon, whose minds were sharpened by relentless study and unyielding ambition. The Academy was filled with scholars, alchemists, and arcanists, each dedicated to their craft, each pursuing their own ideal of progress.

Violet was not like them.

He had never met her personally, but he had read about her. Unlike Jinx, whose name had been erased from history, Violet’s existence was still well-documented within the Academy’s archives.

She had been a student, once. A promising talent with an innate affinity for physical and earth magic—but she had never come near reaching the title of Great.

Instead, she had remained at the Academy as a mentor—a class lower than a Professor—focusing on combat training and elemental control. While others obsessed over refining their spellcraft, Violet had taken a more practical approach to magic. She did not cast spells from afar—she fought with them.

Viktor found her in the training halls, where the clash of magic and steel echoed through the massive stone chamber.

Unlike the grand lecture halls, where scholars debated the intricacies of spell theory, the training halls were a place of motion—of bodies colliding, of spells meeting counterspells, of raw energy being tempered through discipline.

Violet stood at the center of it all.

She was tall, broad-shouldered and strong, her deep violet hair stood out. She wore reinforced leather bracers, runes etched into the bands wrapped around her knuckles.

She wasn’t just an instructor. She was a fighter.

She had built her reputation not on intelligence alone, but on sheer presence.

Viktor approached, his staff tapping lightly against the smooth stone floor.

“Mentor Violet.”

She turned at the sound of her name and title, her gaze sharp, assessing. She took him in immediately—his black and crimson coat, the golden insignia at his collar that marked him as Great Professor Viktor. A title that carried weight within these walls.

But she did not look impressed.

“If you’re here to talk about the Council, save it,” she said flatly, crossing her arms. “I don’t answer to them.”

Viktor noted the subtle tension in her stance—not wariness, but something deeper.

Resentment.

He inclined his head slightly. “I am not here on their behalf. I am here because I seek information regarding Jinx.”

A flicker of something in her expression. Not surprise. She had been expecting this—just not from him.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“So that’s what this is about,” she muttered.

Viktor studied her carefully. “I wish to find her.”

Violet scoffed. “Yeah? And why the hell would you want to do that?”

Viktor met her gaze evenly. “Because she is a mystery I wish to understand.”

Violet let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. “After all this time, the Academy still can’t let her go.”

Viktor remained silent. He had no interest in justifying himself to her.

Instead, he simply waited.

Violet sighed, rubbing a hand down her face.

“They treated her like a damn criminal,” she said, her voice low but edged with something bitter. “A kid. She was just a kid. But because she was something they’d never seen before, something they could only dream of being, they hunted her down like some rabid beast.”

Viktor had already come to that conclusion himself.

“You want to know where she is?” Violet continued, shaking her head. “Well that sucks, cause I don’t know. We weren’t exactly best friends.”

Viktor arched an eyebrow.

“But you are her sister,” he pointed out.

Violet let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“Yeah. And that’s exactly why she wouldn’t come to me.”

There was something deeply personal in the way she said it. Something that spoke of old wounds, of choices made long ago that could not be undone.

Viktor remained quiet.

She would tell him, or she wouldn’t.

Violet exhaled through her nose, looking away.

“Jinx felt like I left her behind when I came here. And she was right—I did.”

A pause. Then, her jaw tightened.

“Why?” Viktor asked, not accusing, but genuinely curious.

Violet’s fingers flexed slightly, her hands clenching into fists before she forced them to relax.

Then, after a long pause, she spoke.

“Because I was a stupid kid chasing after a crush.”

Viktor waited.

Violet hated the words coming out of her mouth.

He could tell.

“I left her in Zaun,” she admitted. “I told myself she’d be fine, that she was strong, that she didn’t need me. But the truth? I was selfish. I followed someone here, got my heart broken, and by the time I realized what I’d done, it was too late.”

Her voice didn’t waver. It was too hardened by guilt for that.

But there was something in her expression—something that made it clear that she had never forgiven herself.

“She never forgave me for that,” Violet murmured. “And honestly?” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “I don’t think I ever will either.”

Viktor absorbed the information.

Jinx had been abandoned before the Academy ever cast her out.

First by her sister.

Then by the people who should have mentored her.

It made sense.

“Where would she go?” Viktor asked.

Violet hesitated.

Then, finally, she sighed.

“I don’t know. But…” She exhaled. “If there’s anywhere she might be, it’s the Shimmering Tundra.”

Viktor’s frown deepened. He had read of it before—a vast, frozen expanse where few dared to tread.

“Why there?” he asked.

Violet’s gaze was distant.

“Because she’s the only mage who’s ever gone through it alone… and lived. From what I remember, she had enjoyed it.”

The weight of those words settled over them.

Viktor considered the logic.

The Shimmering Tundra was no ordinary frozen wasteland. It was an arcane phenomenon, a land where the very fabric of reality shifted unpredictably. Magic reacted differently there—twisting, warping, becoming something untamed.

For an ordinary mage, it was suicide.

For Jinx?

It was the perfect refuge.

Viktor nodded, the pieces falling into place.

“Thank you, Violet,” he said.

Violet snorted. “Don’t thank me. If you find her, just… don’t be another asshole in her life.”

Viktor turned to leave, but her voice stopped him one last time.

“Hey, Viktor.”

He glanced back.

Violet’s expression was unreadable. But her next words held something almost like a warning.

“Be careful what you’re looking for.”

Viktor did not respond.

Because he already knew—

Curiosity had always outweighed caution.

And nothing in this world intrigued him more than Jinx.

---

Viktor moved through the Academy’s inner sanctum, where few were ever permitted to tread.

The Hall of Wisp was not a place of lectures or idle study. It was not meant for debates on theory or the refinement of spellcraft. It was a vault of identity, a record of every mage who had ever set foot within Piltover Academy.

To be admitted into the Academy was to be marked.

A mage’s magic signature was unique—an unchangeable imprint formed at birth, as distinct as a fingerprint. It was the foundation of their very being, tied to their life force, their will, their existence.

And here, within these walls, those signatures were preserved.

For generations, this archive had been maintained—not just for documentation, but as a method of tracking. If a rogue mage posed a threat, the Hall of Wisp could identify them. If a scholar wished to research a long-forgotten name, their signature would remain as a remnant of their time here.

Jinx’s should have been among them.

And yet, when Viktor arrived, the vast chamber held no trace of her.

As he expected.

The Hall of Wisp stretched before him—a vast, circular chamber lined with floating orbs of light, each one containing the essence of a past student. The walls, carved from smooth black stone, pulsed faintly with magic, the air thrumming with centuries of arcane energy.

Thousands of lights drifted through the space, each one a soulprint, each one a tether to a life that had once passed through these halls. Some glowed brightly, the signatures of active mages. Others flickered dimly, their owners long deceased.

But none of them belonged to Jinx.

Viktor had anticipated this.

If her portrait had been hidden from the Hall of Greats, then surely, her magic signature had been concealed as well.

And so, for the second time that night, he sought out Heimerdinger.

The old professor stood beside him now, his small hands folded behind his back, his expression reluctant as he studied the room.

“You truly intend to go through with this, then,” Heimerdinger murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of magic in the air.

“You already know the answer,” Viktor said simply.

Heimerdinger sighed, his ears twitching slightly.

“You remind me too much of her,” he admitted.

Viktor glanced at him. “Because I seek knowledge?”

“Because you refuse to let go,” Heimerdinger corrected.

Viktor did not deny it.

He had never let go of an unanswered question.

And Jinx… she was perhaps the greatest unanswered question of them all.

Heimerdinger hesitated a moment longer, then finally raised his hand.

A series of ancient runes flared to life in the air before him—sigils of concealment, woven into the very foundation of the Hall. Viktor watched as the yordle traced the symbols with deliberate precision, his voice low as he murmured an incantation.

The air shifted.

The space trembled as something unraveled—a barrier of forgotten magic dissolving like mist.

Then—

A hidden light emerged.

A single orb, buried beneath the others, flickered into existence.

And Viktor stared.

He was utterly stunned

Because Jinx’s magic signature was unlike anything he had ever seen.

Most signatures were a singular color, often matching a mage’s eye color or the hue of their cast. Blue, red, green—perhaps a rare white or violet, depending on the mage.

But Jinx’s?

Jinx’s signature was a riot of color, an untamed, iridescent storm shifting and blending like an opalescent flame. It did not remain still—it danced, flickered, resisted, as though it had a will of its own. It was violent in its brilliance. Where other wisps drifted gently, hers spun, wild and erratic, crackling with raw, chaotic energy.

It pulsed between hues-blue like the ocean, white like frost, but pink with mischief, and purple with ambition, flickering in patterns that defied reason. It felt alive, a storm barely contained within its fragile, crystalline vessel. The sheer energy radiating from it sent static tingling through Viktor’s fingertips.

It was alive in a way no other signature was.

“Incredible,” Viktor murmured, stepping closer. “I have never seen anything like this.”

Heimerdinger nodded gravely. “Nor had we.”

The wisp twisted, as if sensing their presence. It was wild, untamed, its colors shifting in ways that defied logic. Viktor extended a hand, feeling the raw power ripple against his palm. It resisted—of course it did—but he was nothing if not persistent.

With practiced precision, he reached into his coat, retrieving a small glass vial. Pulling the cork from its mouth, he extended it toward the swirling mass of energy.

The signature fought against him, writhing as though it had no intention of being captured. For a moment, Viktor wondered if it would simply refuse, slipping through his fingers like a ghost.

But Viktor was nothing if not relentless.

Murmuring a binding incantation, he guided the wisp forward, coaxing it toward the vial. It crackled, pulsed—but finally, relented.

A stream of iridescent energy siphoned into the glass, swirling violently before finally settling. The colors still shifted and twisted, beautiful and volatile, even when contained.

Viktor corked the vial, holding it up to the dim light.

This was her.

A piece of Jinx, preserved, untainted, as if even time itself had been unable to erode her existence completely.

Heimerdinger exhaled, watching the vial with something like reverence. “That magic… it does not belong to our world, Viktor.” His voice was quiet. “Even now, it defies being bound.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured.

A sense of pressure settled in Viktor’s palm—not weight, but density.

Even in such a small, contained form, Jinx’s magic was dense.

Heavy in a way that defied normal arcane patterns.

Inside, the swirling colors remained active, shifting like a caged storm.

Heimerdinger watched him carefully. “I fear your are walking toward something you cannot control, Viktor,” he said.

Viktor did not look away from the vial.

“Perhaps,” he murmured.

But that had never stopped him before. 

---

Viktor returned to his private study, the soft glow of candlelight flickering against the aged stone walls. The room was filled with instruments of research—arcane blueprints, half-finished enchantments, delicate constructs designed to refine magic into precise applications.

But tonight, he was not refining.

Tonight, he was tracking.

He moved toward his central workbench, setting the vial of Jinx’s magic signature down onto the smooth surface. The glass pulsed faintly, the colors inside swirling in an endless, shifting dance of blue, white, pink, and purple.

It had been restless ever since he collected it.

Most signatures, when bottled, settled—their essence remaining passive until activated by a spell.

Jinx’s had not.

Even now, it pushed at the edges of its confinement, as if it knew it was being used—as if it were alive.

Viktor’s fingers hovered just above the vial, his mind running through the steps of the spell he was about to cast.

A tracking spell.

Rudimentary in its function, but effective.

It would not necessarily lead him directly to Jinx—that would be impossible without a direct tether to her presence. Instead, it would act as a guide, a directional pull that would vibrate when he faced the right path.

A compass, rather than a map.

Viktor exhaled slowly.

Then, he began.

His fingers traced the air above the vial, drawing delicate runes of guidance—ancient sigils that flickered with a faint, silver glow. He murmured the incantation, his voice low, precise, threading power into the spell with measured intent.

The moment the last syllable left his lips, the runes flared to life.

The vial vibrated slightly against the surface of the desk, the swirling colors within reacting—not with hostility, but with recognition.

Viktor reached forward and lifted it into his palm.

He turned east.

Nothing.

He turned west.

Nothing.

He turned south.

Nothing.

Then, as he turned north, the vial thrummed.

A soft vibration, faint but distinct.

“North, then,” Viktor murmured to himself.

But as he studied the reaction, he noticed something else.

It was not a direct pull toward the heart of the tundra—not leading him deeper into the frozen expanse. Instead, the vibration shifted slightly as he moved, guiding him toward a specific point rather than a vast, aimless direction.

A single location.

His frown deepened.

The tundra was vast and dangerous, but if Jinx had gone anywhere near it, he would have expected the spell to pull him toward its core—where the worst of the storms raged, where the land was most inhospitable.

Instead, it was leading him toward the clearing.

A place that was just as treacherous, but for different reasons.

The Shimmering Tundra Clearing was infamous not just for its deadly cold, but for the phenomena that occurred there.

Frost-wraiths hunted the land, creatures of pure ice and hunger, more curse than beast.

The storms there did not move naturally.

And at night, an icy fog blanketed the land, making it nearly impossible to escape.

A terrible place to be trapped.

And yet… it was precisely where the spell was leading him.

“Interesting,” Viktor murmured.

He stepped away from his desk, mind already shifting toward logistics.

By foot, the journey would take fifteen days at the least.

He would not wait that long.

Instead, he would summon Antellio.

The summoning grounds of Piltover Academy were open-air, vast stone platforms reinforced with enchanted sigils. It was here that students practiced conjuration, refining their ability to call forth spirits, familiars, and controlled entities.

Viktor had only ever summoned one.

He stepped onto the platform, the night air crisp against his skin.

With measured precision, he moved to the center and knelt, pressing his palm against the carved summoning circle. The runes flickered, awaiting activation.

He whispered a single name.

“Antellio.”

The wind shifted.

A distant whisper echoed through the air, a sound that was not quite voice, not quite silence.

Then, from the currents themselves, a form emerged.

It was not solid—not in the way mortals understood solidity.

Antellio was fluid motion, somewhere between an avian and a serpent, its body woven from living air and unseen currents. Its wings stretched long and translucent, each movement leaving faint distortions in the air.

It coiled before him, its presence weightless yet powerful.

Viktor inclined his head slightly. “I require passage north.”

The spirit studied him, its formless body shifting slightly.

“The tundra is foolish ground,” Antellio’s voice drifted like a breeze—without sound, yet undeniably heard.

“And yet, you will take me there,” Viktor said simply.

A pause.

Then, the wind curled around him, reshaping, lifting.

“You call, and I answer.”

Antellio extended its wings, and in the next breath—they were gone.

The world blurred beneath them.

Traveling with Antellio was unlike any conventional form of movement. There was no saddle, no physical seat, no solid ground beneath his feet. There was only air, held firm beneath him by the spirit’s control.

The Academy vanished behind them, replaced by the great northern expanse.

Hours passed in mere minutes, the land below shifting from green to frostbitten white.

The cold settled in Viktor’s bones long before they reached the tundra. Even with his enchanted coat, he could feel the biting chill of the region, seeping into his skin like an unspoken warning.

Then—

The tracking spell pulsed.

The vial vibrated softly, signaling that they were nearing their destination.

Viktor adjusted his stance slightly. “Antellio. Adjust course—northwest.”

The spirit obeyed, shifting the wind beneath them.

Soon, the Shimmering Tundra came into view.

An endless landscape of ice and snow, stretching as far as the eye could see. Jagged cliffs, frozen wastelands, and deep, shadowed valleys where the sun barely touched.

Even from above, Viktor could see the creatures that roamed below—hunched, frost-covered predators, their bodies adapted to the merciless environment.

But his focus was on something else.

The spell was guiding him not to the tundra’s core…

But to a lake.

A vast, dark lake, sitting impossibly still amidst the frozen expanse.

And something was wrong.

At these temperatures, the lake should have been frozen solid.

At the very least, it should have been speckled with patches of ice.

But it wasn’t.

It was pristine.

Unaffected.

Viktor narrowed his eyes.

“Interesting.”

He guided Antellio downward.

The moment his boots touched the tundra floor, he felt it.

A barrier.

Massive. Unyielding. Impenetrable.

It was unlike anything he had ever encountered.

This was not the work of an ordinary mage.

This was the work of a Great.

Perhaps…

It was the work of Jinx.

________________________________________

The moment Viktor’s boots touched the tundra floor, he felt it.

Magic.

Not in the subtle way one felt the arcane lingering in ancient ruins, nor in the refined elegance of a carefully woven enchantment.

No—this magic was a presence.

It was vast, expansive, uncompromising.

It did not hum like ordinary wards. It did not pulse with the steady rhythm of an enchantment meant to keep intruders out.

It simply was.

A vast, unseen fortress, stretching around the dark, unfrozen lake in the distance. It was not merely strong—it was absolute.

Viktor stepped forward, one gloved hand extended cautiously. He brushed the air in front of him—

And the barrier pushed back.

Not violently. Not as an attack.

But like an immovable wall of force, a sheer, unrelenting boundary that would allow no trespassers.

Viktor narrowed his eyes.

“This… is not ordinary magic,” he murmured to himself.

Even the strongest magical barriers had cracks—places where the energy thinned, where the caster’s will wavered. No matter how well-crafted, every spell had its limits.

And yet, it appeared this one had none.

No gaps. No vulnerabilities.

It was perfect.

If she was here—if this was her work—then her power had only grown since the Academy had cast her out.

Even as a child, she had wielded magic unlike anything the world had ever seen. But this? This was not just the work of a Great Mage.

This was the work of an Archmage.

She is alive, Viktor realized.

And she had not been idle.

He exhaled slowly, stepping back.

Destroying this barrier was not an option.

Not even fracturing it would be possible.

So, he did the only thing left to do.

He announced himself.

Viktor lifted his head, standing tall despite the bitter wind.

His voice was steady. Deliberate.

“My name is Viktor.”

The tundra stretched silent before him.

“Great Professor of Piltover Academy.”

No response.

The only sound was the distant wind, the subtle ripple of the impossibly unfrozen lake before him.

But he continued.

“I seek conversation. Not conflict.”

He let his gaze settle on the water, watching for movement beneath the surface.

“If you are the one who has woven this barrier, then you already know I have no means to break it.”

A pause.

The tundra remained silent.

“And so, I wait,” Viktor said simply. “I will not leave until you grant me an audience.”

And then—

Something changed.

Not a sound, not a visible shift, but something deep within the fabric of magic itself stirred.

The air thickened.

The weight of the barrier shifted, not breaking, not weakening—but acknowledging him.

And then—

The lake rippled.

A single disturbance. Small, but deliberate.

Viktor’s heartbeat remained steady, but his mind sharpened.

Something was coming.

And then, he felt it.

A presence.

It was not an ordinary mage. Not some unseen ward. No, this was someone.

Someone incredibly powerful.

The magic in the air coiled, pressing against his senses. The sheer density of it was staggering—not oppressive, but undeniable.

Viktor did not move.

He kept his hands steady on his staff, watching the water.

And then—

The lake’s surface rippled gently, the disturbance emanating outward in slow, deliberate waves. The water was dark, impossibly still except for that one movement—a slight, calculated shift. 

A head. 

One topped with electric blue hair. 

Not fully—just enough.

A sliver of movement from beneath the depths, just enough for a pair of wide, unblinking, and luminous blue eyes to lock onto him.

Jinx.

She was watching him.

Viktor did not know what to expect next.

Viktor did not move.

Neither did she.

They watched each other across the invisible divide, the weight of the moment settling between them.

Then—

The water rippled again, and something began to form.

At first, it was subtle. The shift in the currents, the faint glimmer of arcane energy threading through the lake’s surface. Then, from the depths, a bubble emerged.

Not a cluster of small air pockets, not the ordinary result of something moving beneath the water—no, this was something else.

Something intentional.

Controlled.

The bubble was large, far larger than any natural formation, and its surface shimmered with a faint, iridescent glow—that same swirling, ever-shifting combination of blue, white, pink, and purple that Viktor had seen in Jinx’s magic signature.

It was beautiful. And entirely unfamiliar.

A spell unlike any Viktor had ever encountered.

His analytical mind immediately took note.

He had studied thousands of spells, dissected countless magical theories, refined the most intricate applications of arcane law—and yet, this?

This was something new.

Viktor’s fingers twitched against his staff, but he forced himself to remain still. He had come here to earn her trust, to observe without disruption. Any attempt to interfere with the spell—any reaction of fear or resistance—might cause her to retract this offer, this invitation.

So, he did not move.

He let the bubble come to him.

It drifted forward with eerie precision, crossing the threshold of the invisible barrier that had once repelled him so violently.

And then—it enveloped him.

The moment it closed around him, the world shifted.

The wind, the cold, the biting tundra air—gone.

Inside the bubble, everything was quiet. Weightless.

He was floating.

It was unlike any form of levitation or suspension magic he had experienced. There was no structured force holding him aloft, no opposing pressure maintaining his balance. There was simply…

Nothing.

Gravity did not seem to exist here.

His body drifted as if he were suspended in the calmest of waters, though he could breathe normally—an enclosed space filled with fresh, breathable air. The magic surrounding him was stable yet fluid, a self-sustaining system with no visible flaws.

Even more captivating was the nature of the spell itself.

Most barriers, most containment spells, had clear limits—a predefined shape, an external force that actively resisted collapse.

But this?

The way it responded to his movement, the way the magic flowed seamlessly through its structure rather than resisting—this was no ordinary spellwork.

It was instinctual.

Not built upon rigid, structured runes, but on understanding. On innate control.

Jinx had not just crafted this spell.

She had willed it into being.

“Incredible,” Viktor murmured, voice barely above a whisper as he adjusted to the sensation of weightlessness.

The bubble moved again, gliding through the air as if guided by an unseen current.

Viktor made no attempt to resist as it carried him forward—toward the lake, toward the depths where Jinx waited.

The bubble carried him forward, guiding him towards the shield. Viktor braced himself, expecting the same resistance he felt earlier.

But this time— nothing .

There was no resistance, no force repelling him. The invisible wall that had been impenetrable before now welcomed him through without the faintest disruption.

And then, just like that—he was passing through the barrier without issue, slipping past the unseen boundary as if it had never been there at all.

The magic had recognized him.

Or rather—it had allowed him.

The bubble drifted over the lake’s surface, carrying him forward like a delicate glass orb suspended between two worlds.

Then, it began to sink.

Viktor remained perfectly still as the waters rose around him, the surface swallowing him without hesitation.

Yet, the bubble remained intact.

He did not feel the crushing weight of the lake, nor the sudden, freezing shock of the cold. Within this pocket of air, he was completely untouched.

The deeper he sank, the darker the world became.

Above him, the last traces of daylight flickered through the rippling surface before vanishing entirely, replaced by the endless blue abyss.

And yet, despite the darkness, the lake was not devoid of light.

There were glimmers beneath the surface—strange, pulsing fragments of bioluminescence embedded in the cavern walls, casting an eerie, shifting glow throughout the depths. The water was not simply still—it was alive, its currents pulsing with unseen magic, bending and shifting in ways that defied the natural order.

And among those currents—

Movement.

Viktor’s amber eyes flickered toward the figure just beyond the bubble’s reach.

Jinx.

She followed beside him, circling the bubble with slow, deliberate ease.

For the first time, he saw her completely.

The flickering lights illuminated her strange, otherworldly form—her tail, covered in glimmering blue scales, sleek and powerful as it propelled her effortlessly through the water.

Her hair, impossibly long, fanned out behind her in soft, drifting waves, moving with the natural rhythm of the deep.

And her eyes—

Those same brilliant blue eyes, sharp with amusement, glowing faintly in the low light.

Viktor’s analytical mind flickered through possibilities.

Was this a temporary magical shift? A transmutation spell? A specialized form of adaptation magic?

Or—

Was this her true form?

Had the rumors been true all along?

Violet had said that there were whispers, rumors that Jinx’s mother had not been fully human. That she had been something else—something that explained Jinx’s unparalleled mastery over water and ice magic.

But no one had ever confirmed it.

Even Jinx herself had never spoken of it.

And yet—here she was.

A mermaid.

Or something far greater.

Viktor did not react, did not press. He simply watched, the same way she watched him.

A scientist. A researcher. A seeker of knowledge who knew that some truths could not be taken—they had to be given.

He would wait.

The bubble continued its descent, deeper and deeper, until the mouth of a vast underwater cavern came into view.

It was massive, stretching wider than any natural formation should, its entrance lined with jagged rock formations that glowed faintly with embedded runes.

Inside, a sight even more impossible.

A house.

A full house, built within an enormous air bubble, standing untouched beneath the crushing depths of the lake.

But it was more than just a house.

There were gardens.

Neatly arranged plots of land, flourishing crops growing in impossibly maintained beds. Flowers, thriving in the dim, underwater light.

This was not a temporary hiding place.

This was a home.

Jinx had built a life here.

The bubble carried Viktor forward, merging seamlessly with the larger barrier around the house. The moment they connected, the magic dissolved, and Viktor’s feet touched solid ground.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting to the sudden return of gravity.

Then, Jinx’s voice.

Light, teasing, laced with amusement.

“Maaaake yourseeeelf at hoooooome,” she said, her voice slightly warped by the water between them.

Viktor turned.

She was just beyond the barrier, still within the lake, still watching him with those same piercing eyes.

Then, she laughed—a soft, bubbling giggle.

“I’m nooooot done with myyyyyy daily swiiiiiim yeeeet.”

And without another word, she disappeared, vanishing into the deep.

Viktor stood there, alone in front of her home.

He realized—

He had been invited in.

---

For a long moment, Viktor simply stood still, absorbing his surroundings.

The air was warm. Not uncomfortably so, but noticeably different from the tundra’s brutal chill. The transition was unnatural—a shift not just in temperature, but in the very weight of the atmosphere.

This place was not bound by the same laws as the surface world.

Viktor could feel it.

The house, the air bubble surrounding it, the carefully maintained gardens—it was all deliberate. It was not a crude, temporary shelter hastily constructed for survival.

This was a place meant to be lived in.

He exhaled, breath steady, his amber eyes sweeping across the interior.

Jinx had not invited him in carelessly.

That much was clear.

For all her teasing words, for the ease with which she had giggled and disappeared back into the lake, this place—her home—was evidence of something far more intentional.

She had chosen to bring him here.

And that, more than anything else, told him that she was willing to let him see.

So, Viktor would observe.

He moved forward, each step slow and measured, his boots pressing lightly against the soft, rich earth beneath him. The sensation was striking—it was real, natural soil, not conjured, not artificial. Somehow, Jinx had managed to create and sustain an entire ecosystem beneath the crushing depths of an isolated lake in the middle of a frozen wasteland.

Impossible.

And yet, it was here.

His fingers brushed against the edge of a garden bed, where rows of thriving crops stood in neat, methodical order. Some he recognized—surface crops that should have been impossible to maintain without proper sunlight. Others were… foreign.

Strange, twisting vines with translucent leaves, softly glowing flowers that pulsed with an internal bioluminescence. Some of these plants he had only read about in forgotten texts, buried in the deepest vaults of the Academy’s archives—plants that were said to have long gone extinct.

“She has cultivated them here…” Viktor murmured to himself, running his fingers lightly over the petals of a flower that shivered beneath his touch. Alive. Reacting.

Not just plants—arcane flora.

Somehow, against all reason, Jinx had created an environment where they could thrive.

His mind spun with possibilities. Had she altered their composition? Had she rewritten their biological structure? Or was the magic in this place simply so strong that it allowed life to flourish outside the constraints of the natural world?

The sheer depth of knowledge required to do something like this was staggering.

This was not the work of an impulsive, reckless girl who had been feared and cast aside.

This was the work of a master of magic.

Viktor inhaled deeply, the scent of fresh earth and faintly charged energy filling his lungs.

He moved further toward the house, finally taking in its full structure.

It was large, almost out of place beneath the water, as if it had been transported from the surface rather than built here. The design was unusual—a mixture of familiar Piltover architecture with strange, organic elements that seemed to have grown into the structure itself.

Vines wove through the stone, not like decay, but like integration. They pulsed with magic, glowing faintly in the dim light. Some curled along the walls, others wound around the support beams, as if reinforcing the home rather than breaking it apart.

The house was alive.

Or, at the very least, it was sustained by something beyond normal construction.

Jinx had not simply built this place.

She had woven it into existence.

“Extraordinary,” Viktor murmured, reaching the front door.

It was slightly ajar. An invitation.

Viktor pushed it open.

The interior was… unexpected.

For all the surreal nature of the environment outside, the inside of the house was shockingly normal.

Lived-in. Comfortable.

The space was cluttered, but not in a way that suggested chaos—rather, it was full, personal.

A couch, worn but plush, sat in the main sitting area, with a low wooden table in front of it, its surface covered in scattered trinkets, arcane notes, and half-finished magical constructs that hummed with unfinished energy.

A fireplace—an actual fireplace—was built into the far wall, despite the impossibility of creating warmth beneath a lake.

Bookshelves lined one side of the room, filled with texts ranging from historical records to personal journals, many with handwritten annotations scrawled into the margins. Some bore the sigils of the Academy, no doubt books she had taken before her exile.

Or perhaps… ones that had been stolen before they could hide them from her.

The air carried a faint scent—something light, floral, mixed with the crisp sharpness of ozone-charged magic.

Viktor’s gaze flickered toward the far end of the room, where a workbench was positioned beneath a massive, enchanted window that overlooked the lake’s depths. It was covered in tools, in materials for spellcraft and alchemy, some of which he recognized—others, he did not.

Jinx’s handwriting covered the parchment strewn across the desk—notes, theories, calculations. Some were in the common arcane script, others written in an older dialect, one he had only ever seen in forbidden texts buried deep within the Academy’s restricted archives.

She was still studying. Still experimenting.

Still pushing the boundaries of magic.

Even after everything—after being hunted, betrayed, cast out—Jinx had never stopped.

She had continued her work. Alone.

Viktor’s fingers traced over a half-finished rune on a discarded sheet of parchment, the symbols sharp and angular, different from the more fluid, modern scripts used in the Academy.

An ancient form of spellcraft.

“You are unlike anyone I have ever met,” Viktor murmured under his breath, barely audible, as if speaking the words aloud would make them too real.

And yet, he could feel it.

Jinx was something entirely new.

A mind unchained by the restrictions of Academy law. A mage who had been feared because she had surpassed the limitations of what others believed possible.

And now, after years of exile, after years of being written out of history, she had built this.

A sanctuary. A laboratory. A home.

And for some reason…

She had brought him here.

Viktor leaned lightly on his staff, his gaze drifting toward the enchanted window at the far end of the house.

Beyond the shimmering barrier of water, he could see movement.

Jinx was still swimming, her glimmering tail flicking lazily, her form cutting through the deep with impossible ease.

She had left him here. Alone. In her home.

Not as a prisoner.

Not as an intruder.

But as a guest.

The realization settled heavily in Viktor’s mind.

She wants me to see.

She was not hiding.

She was watching.

Observing him as much as he was observing her.

Viktor exhaled slowly, his fingers absently tightening around his staff.

Whatever came next—whatever this was leading to—he knew one thing for certain.

Jinx was not a mystery to be solved.

She was a force to be reckoned with.

And now, finally—after years of silence, after years of exile—

She had decided to let someone find her.

Notes:

If it seems like it was too easy for Viktor to find Jinx, it’s because she never really made it hard in the first place. None of the Council of Great members (nor Violet) sought her out simply because they would’ve never survived her wrath, should they have incurred it. On another note, Jinx is powerful enough to throw someone off her tail (haha, get it) if she didn’t want them there, regardless of her wisp signature being tracked.

Chapter 63: Soft Spot

Summary:

Jayce’s expression immediately pinched, his jaw tightening. Sky’s grip on her notes seemed to tremble.

Viktor didn’t even look up from his work.

“Viktor,” Jayce began again, his tone carefully measured. “Who is…” His gaze flickered toward Isha, then back to Viktor. “Who is she?”

Viktor hummed, adjusting a screw on his mechanism. “Isha.”

“That’s not what I—” Jayce inhaled sharply through his nose. “Why is she here?”

Viktor finally glanced up. “Because I brought her.”

Notes:

Just a cute little banger :)

Edit: This was an idea from Night_stalker92. Forgot to put this in when I originally posted it, sorry 😅.
Thank you for doing God's work 🙏.

The night air was crisp, its chill creeping through the cracks of Piltover’s towering structures. Within one of the grand halls of the Academy, inside a dimly lit workshop, the rhythmic clinking of metal against metal filled the space. Viktor sat hunched over his desk, his golden eyes scanning the delicate pieces of a hextech mechanism in his hands.

He was used to solitude in his work—relished it, even. That was, until she came along.

With a resounding bang, the heavy workshop door flew open, slamming against the wall with enough force to make the lamps flicker. The abrupt noise barely warranted a twitch of Viktor’s brow. He already knew who it was.

“Viiiiiik—” Jinx’s voice stretched his name into an exaggerated whine as she stormed in, her combat boots clicking against the tiled floor. Her blue braids swayed behind her, and frustration practically radiated off her as she threw herself over his desk in dramatic exasperation.

Tools clattered to the floor. Tiny hextech components scattered across the surface. But Viktor… barely reacted.

Jinx groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Ugh, you will not believe the bullshit I’m dealing with right now.”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, his hands still deftly working on the mechanism. “Sevika?”

“Sevika,” Jinx spat the name like a curse, confirming his suspicion. “She’s making me help her for a few days—a few days—and I have no idea what kind of shady crap she’s dragging me into, but I already know I’m gonna hate it.”

“Then say no,” Viktor murmured absentmindedly, tightening a screw.

Jinx snorted, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Yeah, sure. And have her snitch to Silco about how I’m being difficult?” She huffed, flopping forward again. “Ugh, like, I just got him to stop breathing down my neck for blowing up that bridge. I don’t need Sevika making it worse.”

Viktor made a soft sound of amusement. “Then it appears you have no choice.”

Jinx groaned again. “And you know what makes this even worse?”

Viktor hummed in question, still tinkering.

She lifted her head just enough to look at him, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t have anyone to watch Isha.”

Now, that made Viktor pause.

Jinx propped herself up, scowling. “Silco’s goons? Yeah, not leaving her with them. Not even a little. And Silco’s busy doing… whatever it is that he does. No one else is trustworthy.” She gestured wildly with her hands before flopping back onto his desk. “So now I have to either drag her along to whatever hellscape Sevika has planned or—I dunno—lock her in my room with a pile of snacks and hope she doesn’t burn the place down.”

Viktor watched her for a long moment. His fingers tapped idly against the metal in his palm.

“…You can leave her with me,” he said finally.

Jinx was mid-eyeroll, her mouth already open for another complaint—when she stopped.

Slowly, she sat up, blinking at him in surprise. “…Wait, what?”

Viktor didn’t look up from his work. “I said you can leave her with me.”

Jinx’s hands clenched together over her chest, her eyes bright with sudden excitement. “Do you mean it?”

Viktor allowed himself a faint smirk. “She is yours, is she not? And you are mine.”

Jinx grinned so wide it practically split her face.

The next night, the knock at his apartment door was barely audible, but Viktor had been expecting it.

When he opened it, Jinx stood there with her usual mischievous energy—only this time, she wasn’t alone.

Beside her was a small girl, no older than seven, clutching a stuffed animal tightly to her chest. Her auburn hair was messy, as though she had been running around moments before. And her large golden eyes—so strikingly similar to Viktor’s own—blinked up at him with curiosity.

“This is Isha,” Jinx introduced, placing a hand on the girl’s head. “Isha, this is Viktor. He’s, uh—” she hesitated for half a second before smirking, “—your babysitter for the next few days.”

Isha tilted her head slightly, observing him, then lifted a small hand in greeting.

Viktor nodded in return. “It is nice to meet you.”

Isha gave a small, closed-mouth smile.

Jinx shifted, rubbing the back of her neck. “So, uh…” She lingered at the door, hesitating. “I should probably go before Sevika hunts me down, but…” Her eyes darted between them, reluctant.

Viktor caught the hesitation in her expression and exhaled softly. “She will be fine, Jinx.”

Jinx gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I know that. I just…” Her fingers twitched at her sides before she suddenly surged forward, wrapping both of them in a tight hug.

Viktor stiffened slightly—before sighing in resignation. He allowed it.

Jinx buried her face into his shoulder for a moment, then pulled back, ruffling Isha’s hair. “Thanks again, Vik.” With a final grin, she slinked away into the night, leaving them alone.

Isha tugged at Viktor’s sleeve, looking up at him expectantly.

“…Would you like some tea?” he offered.

Isha nodded eagerly.

The next morning, Viktor sipped his tea as Isha sat across from him, swinging her legs beneath the chair.

“I was thinking,” Viktor began, setting his cup down, “we should go out today.”

Isha’s head tilted.

“There is a place in the city square,” he explained. “Many families go there—there are shops, games, attractions. I believe you would find it enjoyable.”

Isha’s eyes lit up with interest, and she nodded enthusiastically.

“Good.” Viktor stood, grabbing his cane. “Then let us go.”

The city square was bustling with life. Laughter and chatter filled the air, blending with the lively sounds of merchants calling out their wares.

Isha’s eyes were wide with wonder as she took in the colorful displays. Viktor allowed her to guide them from stall to stall, watching as she excitedly pointed at various trinkets and sweets.

As they moved through the crowd, Viktor was vaguely aware of the stares they were receiving. It wasn’t uncommon for people to recognize him—he was, after all, one of Piltover’s most renowned scientists. But today, the attention seemed… different.

A merchant eyed Isha curiously before addressing Viktor. “Didn’t know you had a daughter, sir.”

Viktor blinked. “Ah.” He glanced at Isha, finally noticing the uncanny resemblance. The same auburn hair, the same golden eyes.

No wonder they assumed.

Viktor considered correcting them… then decided he did not particularly care. “Yes,” he said simply.

Isha blinked up at him in surprise—before beaming, nodding eagerly as if to confirm it.

The merchant chuckled. “She’s a lucky kid, having a father like you.”

Viktor hummed noncommittally, guiding Isha away. As they walked, he glanced down at her, watching the way she clutched her stuffed animal and practically skipped beside him.

Something in his chest softened.

Perhaps, for these next few days, she was his.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Viktor and Isha returned to his apartment. The little girl had been nothing short of enthralled by the sights and sounds of the city square, and now, with a belly full of sweet pastries and a new trinket clutched in her tiny fingers, she looked content—if not slightly drowsy.

Viktor unlocked the door and stepped inside, letting Isha wander in after him. She immediately flopped onto the couch, kicking her legs idly as she examined her prize—a small, intricately carved wooden bird that a street vendor had been selling.

“You enjoyed yourself today?” Viktor asked, leaning his cane against the wall.

Isha nodded enthusiastically, her expression bright. She held up the wooden bird proudly.

Viktor allowed himself a small smile. “I am glad.”

Moving to his workbench, he began 

carefully reorganizing his scattered tools and components. Isha remained on the couch, quietly playing with her stuffed animal and the little wooden bird.

Silence settled between them, but it was a comfortable one.

It was strange, Viktor thought. He wasn’t particularly fond of children—he found them too unpredictable, too prone to chaos. But Isha was… different. She was quiet, observant, yet full of an unspoken curiosity that reminded him—just a little—of Jinx.

He glanced at her, watching as she carefully lined up her small toys on the coffee table.

“Are you tired?” he asked after a moment.

Isha shook her head stubbornly—but then let out a small yawn, betraying herself.

Viktor smirked. “Ah. I see.”

Isha pouted at him.

Chuckling softly, Viktor turned back to his work, his fingers methodically adjusting the fine details of the mechanism he had been building the night before. He wasn’t sure how long he remained focused—perhaps an hour, perhaps longer—but eventually, he noticed that the room had gone completely still.

He turned his head slightly.

Isha had curled up on the couch, hugging her stuffed animal close. Her small chest rose and fell evenly, her face relaxed in sleep.

Viktor observed her for a moment. Then, with quiet steps, he approached, carefully draping a blanket over her tiny form.

She didn’t stir.

A quiet sigh left his lips. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then turned back toward his desk.

This arrangement was temporary. But somehow, Viktor already knew that by the time Jinx returned, something would be different.

---

It was on the second day, sometime after breakfast, when Viktor decided to bring Isha to his laboratory.

It hadn’t been planned—he had merely been considering whether to leave her in his apartment with a few books and toys while he checked on a project. But when Isha tugged at his sleeve, gazing up at him with those wide, silent eyes, he hesitated.

“…Would you like to see where I work?” he asked.

The way she immediately perked up was answer enough.

So, Viktor took her with him.

The Academy halls were as grand as ever, lined with intricate golden accents and polished stone floors. Isha clutched her stuffed animal as she followed closely beside Viktor, her eyes darting around, taking in every detail.

When they finally stepped into the lab, her breath hitched.

The space was vast, filled with strange contraptions, glowing hextech cores, and towering shelves stacked with blueprints and research notes. The air carried a faint metallic tang, mingling with the scent of ink and parchment.

Isha’s lips parted in silent awe.

Viktor chuckled lightly. “Impressed?”

She nodded vigorously.

With a small chuckle, Viktor limped toward one of the workbenches, gesturing for Isha to follow. “Here,” he murmured, pulling out a chair for her. “You may observe.”

Isha eagerly climbed up, her small hands resting on the table’s edge as she watched him tinker.

For a while, it was peaceful.

Then the door swung open.

Jayce strode in first, his usual confidence dimmed by a crease in his brow. Behind him was Sky, Viktor’s assistant, clutching a stack of research notes to her chest.

“Viktor, we need to talk—” Jayce started, but then he saw her.

Sky saw her, too.

Both of them froze.

Isha blinked up at them, tilting her head slightly.

Jayce’s expression immediately pinched, his jaw tightening. Sky’s grip on her notes seemed to tremble.

Viktor didn’t even look up from his work.

“Viktor,” Jayce began again, his tone carefully measured. “Who is…” His gaze flickered toward Isha, then back to Viktor. “Who is she?”

Viktor hummed, adjusting a screw on his mechanism. “Isha.”

“That’s not what I—” Jayce inhaled sharply through his nose. “Why is she here?”

Viktor finally glanced up. “Because I brought her.”

Jayce ran a hand down his face. Sky, meanwhile, was still staring at Isha, her knuckles white around the edges of her notes.

“She looks like you,” Sky said suddenly, her voice unsteady.

Viktor shrugged. “That is true.”

Jayce exhaled sharply, stepping closer. “Viktor, be serious. This—this isn’t—” He struggled for words before finally gritting out, “Is she yours?”

A long pause.

Viktor’s fingers tapped idly against the table. He could feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken judgments, the disbelief.

And he did not care.

He glanced at Isha, who was still sitting quietly, her expression neutral but her grip on her stuffed animal just a little tighter than before.

Then he looked back at Jayce.

“…Yes,” he said simply.

Jayce looked staggered. Sky inhaled sharply, eyes darting between Viktor and Isha like she was seeing a ghost.

Isha, meanwhile, didn’t react much—except for the tiniest curl of her fingers against the fabric of her stuffed animal.

Jayce stared at Viktor for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of a joke, of hesitation, of anything that might suggest he wasn’t being serious. But Viktor only returned the stare, unbothered, uninterested in defending himself.

Jayce let out a slow, disbelieving laugh. “This is insane.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Is it?”

Jayce rubbed his temples. “Viktor, how—when—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

“Correct,” Viktor agreed, already turning back to his work.

Sky, however, still looked rattled. “Viktor…” Her voice was softer than Jayce’s, laced with something uncertain. “She looks just like you.”

Viktor didn’t respond to that. He simply continued adjusting his device, his golden eyes calm and unwavering.

Silence stretched.

Finally, Jayce exhaled, shaking his head. “You know what? Fine. If you don’t want to explain, that’s on you.” He took a step back. “But this… I don’t even know what to think about this.”

Viktor hummed. “Then do not think about it at all.”

Jayce muttered something under his breath, then turned on his heel. “Come on, Sky.”

Sky hesitated for a moment longer, looking at Isha with something unreadable in her expression—before finally following Jayce out the door.

As soon as they were gone, Viktor let out a quiet sigh, setting his tools down.

Isha was still sitting on the chair, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she tugged on his sleeve.

Viktor glanced at her.

She pointed to herself, then pointed to him.

A silent question.

Viktor considered her for a moment. Then, quietly, he murmured, “You are mine.”

Isha’s lips parted slightly.

Then, she smiled.

And this time, it wasn’t small. It wasn’t hesitant.

It was bright.

Just like Jinx’s. 

Viktor felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.

Then, with quiet amusement, he ruffled her messy hair and returned to his work, letting the moment linger between them.

---

Caring for Isha had been… surprisingly manageable. She wasn’t difficult—far from it. She never threw tantrums, never whined, never demanded his attention in the way many children did. She simply existed within his space, like a quiet little shadow, watching him work with those wide, curious eyes.

And yet, despite her silence, Viktor found himself adjusting to her presence in ways he hadn’t expected. He prepared her meals without much thought. He made sure she was warm before she fell asleep. When they walked through the city together, he held her hand, ensuring she never struggled to keep up or felt tempted to take the opportunity to wander off.

It was an odd thing—how natural it all became.

On the third night, as Viktor sat at his desk, Isha approached him, holding something behind her back. She hesitated, rocking on her heels before finally pulling it out—a small, folded piece of paper.

Viktor raised a brow. “For me?”

She nodded, offering it to him with both hands.

Curious, he took it and unfolded the paper.

Inside was a simple drawing—crude, childlike lines forming two figures. One was unmistakably her, with wild hair, clutching a stuffed animal. Beside her stood a taller figure, a cane in one hand, the other resting protectively on her head.

Viktor blinked. His grip on the paper tightened slightly.

Isha watched him carefully, waiting for his reaction.

Slowly, he exhaled. Then, very quietly, he murmured, “Thank you.”

Isha beamed.

And Viktor, despite himself, felt something warm settle deep in his chest.

It was late when the knock came at his door.

Viktor, who had been expecting it, rose from his chair and limped toward the entrance, pulling it open.

Jinx stood there, a grin already forming on her face. “Miss me?”

Viktor sighed. “Unfortunately.”

She snickered, stepping inside—and then, before Viktor could even react, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Vik, you’re the best,” she declared.

Viktor exhaled sharply, though he didn’t push her away. Instead, his left arm wrapped around her back, savoring the contact. 

Then, before she could say anything else, a small figure suddenly appeared in the doorway behind him.

Jinx pulled back to look around Viktor—and her face immediately softened.

“Hey, trouble,” she said.

Isha brightened, rushing forward to wrap her arms around Jinx’s waist.

Jinx laughed, ruffling her hair. “You weren’t too much of a pain for Vik, were you?”

Isha shook her head vigorously.

Jinx smirked. “Damn. And here I was hoping you’d give him a headache.”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “She was a delight. Unlike you.”

Jinx gasped dramatically. “How rude.”

Isha giggled soundlessly.

Jinx looked down at her, her teasing expression softening just slightly. “You doin’ okay?”

Isha nodded.

Jinx hummed. “Good.” She hesitated—then, almost sheepishly, glanced at Viktor.

“I, uh…” She shifted, rubbing the back of her neck. “I really appreciate this, Vik. I owe you one.”

Viktor studied her, then shook his head. “You owe me nothing.”

Jinx snorted. “That’s not how favors work, buddy.”

Viktor merely hummed.

Jinx glanced at Isha, who was still clinging to her side. Then, suddenly, her grin widened. “Y’know,” she mused, nudging Viktor with her elbow, “I did hear a few rumors floating around.”

Viktor frowned. “What rumors?”

Jinx smirked. “That some genius scientist was spotted walking around Piltover with a kid who looks just like him. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would ya?”

Viktor exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “People made assumptions.”

“And you didn’t correct them?”

Viktor shrugged. “It did not seem worth the effort.”

Jinx cackled. “Oh, this is great.” She ruffled Isha’s hair again. “You hear that, kid? You’re practically Vik’s now.”

Isha giggled, and Viktor—though he sighed—didn’t deny it.

Jinx grinned at him. “D’aw, you love her, don’tcha?”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “She is tolerable.”

Jinx laughed, stepping back and swinging Isha up into her arms. “Well, if you ever wanna ‘tolerate’ her again, let me know. Babysitting duty might just be a regular thing now.”

Viktor simply shook his head.

After receiving a quick kiss on his cheek, Viktor watched Jinx and Isha disappear into the night, something in him told him that—one way or another—this wasn’t the last time.

And, perhaps, he didn’t mind that at all.

 

Notes:

Isha's hair isn't colored blue here because it'd be a little suspicious if she was walking around like that in Piltover 😅.

Chapter 64: Family Ties

Summary:

Her fingers clenched around the chipped porcelain of a basin, her stomach twisting in a way she couldn’t blame on nerves alone.

Fuck.

She had ignored it at first. The sluggishness, the nausea, the way her body felt wrong in a way she couldn’t quite place. At first, she thought it was exhaustion—too many jobs back to back, too much strain. But then came the other signs.

A missed cycle. Then another.

Jinx wasn’t stupid.

But she had wanted to be.

Notes:

I couldn’t remember if someone gave me the idea for this one, or if it’s my own 😅.

If you did, leave a comment and I’ll credit you!

The lab smelled of metal and oil, the faintest tinge of ozone lingering in the air. The hum of active machinery filled the space, a rhythmic accompaniment to the scratching of Viktor’s pen against paper. He worked with the precision of a man who had long since made peace with obsession. Every calculation, every refinement, every flick of his wrist carried the same meticulous focus.

And then—

A metallic clang shattered the measured stillness. A wrench hitting the floor. Not the one he’d just been using.

Viktor barely glanced up. “Jinx, if you insist on playing with my tools, at least attempt not to drop them.”

A breathy chuckle. “Aw, c’mon, genius. You act like I break everything I touch.”

“You do.”

Jinx grinned, sauntering toward him with that characteristic strut, the bounce in her step an ever-present contradiction—chaotic, but controlled. A grenade with the pin carefully held between her fingers.

Viktor sighed, setting his pen down with exaggerated patience. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this interruption?”

Jinx flopped onto his worktable, scattering half-sorted blueprints and delicate tools. “Bored.”

“You are always bored.”

She stretched, arms extending above her head, the edge of her cropped top riding up to expose more of her toned stomach. “And you’re always busy.”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, but the retort never left his lips. Because he knew what was coming next.

Jinx leaned in, propping her chin on her hands, eyes flickering with something teasing, something expectant. Her fingers drummed against the wood, each tap deliberate.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, watching her with the same analytical sharpness he afforded his experiments. “Do not look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I am an equation you have already solved.”

Jinx grinned wider. “That’s ‘cause I have , Vik.”

She reached for his wrist. A light touch. Testing.

Viktor did not move away.

Instead, he let out a slow breath, fingers twitching as though weighing an unspoken decision. Then, with a deliberate motion, he set his work aside. “Fine. Ten minutes. Then I return to—”

Jinx was already pulling him toward her.

It had started like this, all those months ago. A distraction. A game, at first. Until it wasn’t.

It was never simple with them.

Jinx was chaos incarnate, an ever-burning fire with no desire to be tamed. Viktor was a man of structure, of purpose, bound to the slow decay of his own body. And yet, in the quiet spaces between their worlds—when the city slept, when Piltover’s enforcers turned their gaze elsewhere, when even Silco’s watchful eyes were momentarily averted—they found something close to peace.

Jinx would appear unannounced, slipping into his lab as easily as a ghost. Sometimes she came for the thrill of toying with his patience. Other times, for the rare comfort of existing in a space where she wasn’t expected to perform .

And some nights—

Some nights, she would arrive with no words at all, her presence heavier than usual. A different kind of chaos, one that did not demand destruction but simply was .

Viktor was not blind to the way her hands would tremble, or how she would press herself against him as if searching for something just out of reach.

She would not ask for reassurance.

So he did not offer it with words.

Instead, he would pull her closer, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine, grounding her. A silent understanding. A contract unspoken.

Neither of them were the type to whisper sweet nothings or make promises of a future neither believed in. But their bodies spoke a different language—one of need, of fleeting solace, of a bond that neither would name.

And for a while, it was enough.

---

The lab door creaked open.

Viktor barely glanced up from his work, already accustomed to the sound of Jinx slipping in unannounced.

“You are late,” he remarked idly, adjusting the thin screwdriver between his fingers. The gears of his latest prototype were being particularly uncooperative, and he had neither the patience nor the energy to wrestle with them and her antics at the same time.

Jinx snorted, kicking the door shut behind her. “Didn’t know we were on a schedule.”

“You arrive at the same time every few nights,” Viktor noted. “Predictable, for someone who claims to thrive on chaos.”

Jinx grinned, hopping onto his worktable, scattering a few of his blueprints in the process. Viktor sighed but didn’t bother reprimanding her. It never worked.

She stretched her arms overhead with an exaggerated groan, before slumping forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “Been a long day,” she muttered.

Viktor hummed absently, still focused on the delicate mechanics in his hands. “Something explode?”

“No, but now I wish it had.” She scowled. “Maybe that woulda made me feel better.”

Viktor’s fingers stilled.

That wasn’t an answer he had expected.

He set his screwdriver down, finally looking up at her properly.

Jinx didn’t look like herself. Not entirely.

Her usual restlessness was there—her knee bouncing slightly, fingers twitching at her side—but there was something off about it. She wasn’t jittery with excitement, wasn’t waiting to spring into some ridiculous scheme.

She just looked… worn out.

His brow furrowed slightly. “You are unwell.”

Jinx huffed. “Gee, thanks for the diagnosis, doc.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly. “You do not usually admit such things.”

Jinx exhaled, tilting her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, well. Ain’t much to admit.”

Viktor studied her for a moment longer.

Her skin was a little paler than usual. The shadows under her eyes were even darker than usual, suggesting that something besides being unable to sleep well had been at play. And—

His eyes flickered lower.

She was leaning against his desk. Not sprawled out like usual, not bouncing between seats or fiddling with his tools. Just sitting , arms lazily crossed over her stomach, as if the simple act of existing required more effort than it should have.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.

“How long?” he asked.

Jinx blinked. “Huh?”

“The exhaustion,” Viktor clarified, his voice quieter now. “The discomfort. How long have you felt this way?”

Jinx waved a hand dismissively. “Couple days. S’not a big deal.”

His brow creased. “Jinx—”

She shot him a look. “ Not a big deal, Vik.”

Viktor exhaled through his nose. Pushing her would accomplish nothing. He knew that better than anyone.

Instead, he simply observed her for a moment longer before turning back to his work.

Jinx watched him, waiting for the usual halfhearted lecture, the sharp remark about her carelessness.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Viktor simply resumed tinkering with his device, his movements methodical, unhurried.

Jinx frowned. “That’s it?”

Viktor didn’t look up. “Would you prefer I argue with you?”

A snort. “Not really.”

“Then sit.”

Jinx blinked. “I am sitting.”

“Then remain sitting,” Viktor amended, tightening a screw with careful precision. “And do not touch anything.”

Jinx huffed, but there was no real irritation in it. “Bossy.”

Silence settled between them.

For once, Jinx didn’t try to fill it.

She simply stayed there, watching as Viktor continued his work, his brow furrowing in quiet concentration.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this.

Not just the heat, the friction, the way their usual encounters burned hot and fast before she inevitably slipped away into the night.

Just this .

Sitting here, in the quiet hum of his lab, knowing that he wasn’t trying to push her away, wasn’t telling her she had to go.

She shifted slightly, resting her chin on her palm. Her body still felt off, her stomach unsettled, but at least here, in this moment, she didn’t have to think about it.

Viktor didn’t press her for explanations. Didn’t ask for anything.

He just let her be .

---

Jinx sat on the edge of a rickety cot, one foot bouncing. The room she had holed herself up in was dimly lit, the bare bulb above flickering at irregular intervals. The air smelled faintly of rust and something acrid—old smoke, maybe.

Her fingers clenched around the chipped porcelain of a basin, her stomach twisting in a way she couldn’t blame on nerves alone.

Fuck.

She had ignored it at first. The sluggishness, the nausea, the way her body felt wrong in a way she couldn’t quite place. At first, she thought it was exhaustion—too many jobs back to back, too much strain. But then came the other signs.

A missed cycle. Then another.

Jinx wasn’t stupid.

But she had wanted to be.

The moment the truth settled in her gut like a bullet, she had nearly torn the entire room apart. Not from fear. Not from grief. But from the simple, burning rage of something she could not control.

Her fingers curled into the thin fabric of her shirt, pressing against her stomach. It felt the same. Looked the same.

But she knew .

Viktor’s.

Her breath hitched, the realization pressing against her ribs like a vice.

She hadn’t told him.

Wouldn’t tell him.

Not yet.

Not when she didn’t even know what the hell she wanted from this.

Not when the idea of someone depending on her, someone needing her, made her chest tighten with something too close to panic.

Jinx exhaled, tipping her head back against the wall.

“Shit.”

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t know what to do.

---

The lab was quiet. Not the kind of quiet Viktor usually enjoyed—the productive hum of machinery, the rhythmic scratching of pen against paper—but a stillness heavy with something unspoken. The kind of quiet that preceded change.

Jinx stood in the doorway, arms folded, weight shifting between her feet. Her expression was unreadable, her usual smirk absent. That alone was enough to make Viktor pause, fingers tightening slightly around the wrench in his hand.

She had been gone for nearly a year. No messages, no sudden visits, no chaos left in her wake. Just… gone.

And now, she was here.

Viktor exhaled through his nose—the overwhelming sense of relief was startling—setting his wrench aside with deliberate care. “Jinx.”

That was all. Just her name, spoken with the same detached tone he used for everything else. But she wasn’t fooled. She never had been.

Jinx gave a short, breathy chuckle, though it lacked her usual bravado. “That’s it? No ‘where the hell have you been, Jinx?’ No ‘I thought you were dead, Jinx?’”

“I considered the possibility,” Viktor admitted.

Jinx tilted her head, grinning slightly. “And?”

He met her gaze evenly. “Zaun would have been louder about it.”

That made her laugh—a real one this time, even if it was brief. She shook her head, stepping further into the lab.

“You always were a smart one, Vik.”

His gaze followed her, taking in the subtle changes. The slight fatigue under her eyes, the way her fingers twitched—not in their usual, restless way, but something different. Something nervous. She had always been lithe, but her frame was thinner than he’d ever seen it. 

That was when he noticed the bundle in her arms.

Small. Wrapped in a well-worn blanket, tucked close to her chest.

His breath stalled.

Jinx saw the moment he understood, her grip tightening around the child.

“…She’s yours.”

Viktor’s mind raced, struggling to process what was right in front of him. It was impossible, should have been impossible, and yet—

Jinx took another step forward, shifting the bundle slightly, revealing a tiny face beneath the fabric.

A child.

A girl.

A girl with auburn-brown hair and eyes that—

Viktor’s chest tightened.

Golden amber. His exact shade, sharp and bright even in the dim lighting of his lab.

His fingers twitched at his sides. “What is her name?”

Jinx hesitated, then—

“Isha.”

Viktor swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He had never heard the name before—he didn’t even know what it meant—and yet, it fit. It belonged to her.

The child—Isha—blinked up at him, her expression unreadable. She did not cry, did not fuss. She only watched.

Viktor exhaled slowly, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Why did you not tell me?”

Jinx’s lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile.

“You had your work,” she said. “Didn’t wanna pull you away from it. Didn’t wanna make you choose.”

His jaw clenched. “You believed I would not choose her?”

Jinx hesitated. “…Would you?”

There was no hesitation.

“I would have chosen her every time.”

Silence stretched between them.

Jinx let out a slow breath before finally stepping closer, lowering herself onto the chair beside him. Carefully, hesitantly, she placed Isha in his lap.

Viktor barely breathed as he took her in—the impossibly small fingers, the delicate rise and fall of her chest. His hands trembled slightly as he brushed his thumb against her tiny hand.

She curled her fingers around it instantly.

His throat tightened.

“How?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Jinx leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Dunno. Didn’t even realize at first. Thought I was just sick, y’know? Kept gettin’ tired, feelin’ weird. Then, one day, I knew.”

Viktor’s gaze remained fixed on Isha, watching as she slowly drifted off in his lap. “And?”

Jinx sighed. “And… it wasn’t easy.”

That made Viktor look up.

Jinx shrugged, but there was something forced about it. “Pregnancy and me? We didn’t get along too great. Got sick a lot, lost weight instead of gainin’ it. Almost…” She trailed off, rubbing at her arm. “Almost lost her.”

A sharp, unfamiliar rage flickered to life in Viktor’s chest.

“You should have told me,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

Jinx exhaled. “Yeah.”

She didn’t try to argue. Didn’t try to justify it.

She had kept Isha a secret. She had made that choice. But now, watching Viktor hold their daughter as if she were the most precious thing in the world—

Maybe she had been wrong.

---

The lab had never felt this small before.

Viktor’s grip on Isha remained steady, but his mind reeled. The weight of her, impossibly light, still managed to press against something deep in his chest—something fragile, something untested. His fingers, calloused from years of work, traced absently along the soft fabric of the blanket swaddling her, the sensation almost surreal.

Jinx had gone quiet. Not in the way she usually did, with a sly smirk and some half-bitten joke on her tongue. This silence was heavier.

His mind latched onto her words from earlier.

“Almost lost her.”

His jaw tightened. He swallowed the knot forming in his throat and finally spoke, his voice controlled but firm. “Is she… healthy?”

Jinx blinked, caught slightly off guard. “What?”

“Isha,” Viktor clarified, eyes flicking back to the tiny face nestled against his chest. “You said it wasn’t easy. You had complications.” His voice remained even, but the grip he had on his cane betrayed him, fingers tightening around the worn wood. “Zaun has never been kind to its children. Sickness takes root before they even have the chance to stand.”

Jinx’s eyes softened, her usual bravado slipping for just a moment. “Vik…”

His expression didn’t change. “Is she well?”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, with a huff, Jinx leaned back, arms crossing over her chest. “Course she’s healthy. You think I’d let anything happen to her?”

Viktor’s gaze didn’t waver.

Jinx exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face before letting it drop to her lap. “I took her to doctors. A lot of doctors.” Her lips twitched into something almost sheepish. “The ones in Zaun first. The best ones I could find—paid good money, too. Then I figured… that wasn’t enough.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed slightly. “Meaning?”

Jinx smirked, but it lacked its usual sharpness. “I might’ve snuck her into Piltover a couple times.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You—”

“Oh, don’t gimme that look,” she cut in, waving a hand dismissively. “I wasn’t stupid about it. Didn’t waltz in there with neon signs screamin’ Hey, look, it’s Jinx, here to steal your fancy medicine! ” She rolled her eyes. “I was careful. Had some disguises. Bribed the right people. Just needed to be sure, y’know?”

Viktor studied her, silent.

Jinx shifted, her fingers absently twitching against her thigh. “They all said the same thing. She’s fine, Vik. Perfect, even.” Her gaze flickered toward Isha, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Healthy weight, good lungs, strong little heartbeat, bones where they should be. Nothing wrong with her.”

The words settled something deep in Viktor’s chest. The worry, that gnawing fear that had taken root the moment he first laid eyes on the child, loosened its grip ever so slightly.

He exhaled, his fingers brushing against Isha’s tiny hand. Healthy.

But then—

His mind reeled back. Back to Jinx’s earlier words.

“It wasn’t easy.”

His throat tightened.

“…And you?”

Jinx blinked. “Huh?”

His grip on his cane tightened. He finally looked away from Isha, meeting Jinx’s gaze head-on. “You said you were sick. That it was difficult.” His voice was quieter now, edged with something unreadable. “How are you?”

Jinx hesitated.

And that hesitation told him everything.

Her grin flickered into place, but it was thinner this time. “C’mon, Vik. You know me. I bounce back.”

Viktor did not look away. “Jinx.”

Her fingers twitched again. A nervous tick.

Then, with a sigh, she ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head. “It was bad for a while,” she admitted, voice quieter. “Worse than I thought it’d be.”

Viktor’s grip on his cane remained white-knuckled.

Jinx exhaled sharply, leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Wasn’t just the usual stuff, y’know? Not just the puking and the weird cravings. My body just… fought the whole thing.” She frowned, her fingers drumming against her arm. “Kept losin’ weight, gettin’ dizzy. Couldn’t even hold down food some days. Thought I was dying at one point.”

Viktor’s chest tightened, though his face remained unreadable. “And yet, you went through it alone.”

Jinx’s grin returned, sharper now. “Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

The words stung in a way he hadn’t expected.

His gaze flickered over her, truly seeing her now. The subtle weight loss she hadn’t quite regained. The way her fingers twitched more often than they used to, like something had rewired her nerves just slightly off-kilter. The exhaustion buried beneath her usual bravado.

“…You should have told me,” Viktor murmured.

Jinx chuckled, but it was hollow. “Yeah. You said that already.”

He studied her, gaze steady.

Jinx sighed again, rubbing at her temples before shaking her head. “Look, I’m fine. Took a while, but I’m back on my feet. Ain’t dead, am I?” She gestured to herself, flashing a grin. “Still me. Still kickin’.”

Viktor did not immediately respond.

His grip on Isha remained firm, protective in a way he had never quite known himself capable of.

Jinx watched him carefully, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.

Since she’d walked through that door, Viktor realized—she wasn’t just watching him .

She was waiting.

Waiting for something.

For what, he wasn’t entirely sure.

But he intended to find out.

Jinx leaned back, stretching her arms above her head before letting them drop lazily into her lap. “So? Gonna keep starin’ at me like that, or are we gonna talk about somethin’ else?”

Viktor did not immediately reply. His mind churned, cycling through every detail, every unspoken word.

She had been sick. Badly sick. Alone.

And yet—

She had survived.

Had made sure Isha did, too.

The weight of that realization settled heavily in his chest.

“Jinx,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, more deliberate, “do not mistake my silence for acceptance.”

She scoffed, but there was no real heat behind it. “Yeah, yeah. You’re mad I didn’t tell you. Big shocker.”

He exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against the fabric of Isha’s blanket. “ Concerned , not mad.”

Jinx gave him a pointed look.

“…Frustrated,” he amended, tilting his head. “But more than anything—" His voice dropped slightly. " Worried. ”

Jinx clicked her tongue, gaze flickering away for the first time. “Look, I handled it, alright? No need to go all guilt-trip on me. You weren’t there. That’s on me, not you.”

He frowned. “That does not make it right.”

She huffed, shifting in her seat. “What, you want me to apologize?”

Viktor shook his head. “I want the truth.”

Jinx’s fingers twitched.

There it is again.

That hesitation. That brief, flickering pause before she answered.

She had never been good at lying to him.

Jinx let out a slow, exaggerated sigh, rubbing at the back of her neck. “Fine. You wanna know how I am? Really?”

Viktor remained silent, waiting.

Her foot bounced against the floor, restless energy crackling under her skin. “…I’m tired, Vik.”

The admission came softer than he expected.

Not flippant. Not sarcastic. Just honest .

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Not just ‘cause of the whole pregnancy thing. That part sucked, yeah, but—” She gestured vaguely with her hands. “This? All of this ? It’s different. Never had someone dependin’ on me before.” A short, dry laugh. “It’s been so freaking weird.”

Viktor studied her carefully.

Jinx rarely spoke like this.

Not about feelings. Not about weight she couldn’t shrug off.

“…Do you regret it?” he asked, voice measured.

Jinx froze.

For a long moment, she just stared at him.

Then—

“…No.”

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t defensive.

Just a simple, undeniable truth.

She looked down at Isha, her fingers absently curling against her palm. “I didn’t think I’d be good at this. Still don’t, honestly. But… she’s different.”

Viktor watched the way her gaze softened, the way her entire posture shifted—not in fear, not in uncertainty, but in something dangerously close to tenderness .

Jinx shook her head, letting out another breath. “I dunno, Vik. Guess she kinda snuck up on me.”

Viktor absorbed that in silence.

For a woman who had built herself on destruction, on chaos, on never staying still long enough to let anything take root —this was the closest she had ever come to admitting she had something to lose.

And yet, she had come back.

Not just to show him.

But to let him in .

Viktor shifted slightly, adjusting Isha’s small weight in his arms. “You are not alone in this.”

Jinx blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“Isha,” he clarified, gaze steady. “She is not just yours to bear, Jinx.”

Jinx hesitated.

Viktor pressed forward.

“You took care of her. Ensured she was healthy. You did what you thought was best, even if it meant keeping her a secret from me.” He exhaled, his grip on his cane loosening slightly. “I do not agree with that choice. But I understand it.”

Jinx’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

Viktor’s gaze didn’t waver. “You are tired. I see that. But you do not have to do this alone.”

Jinx let out a slow breath, her fingers curling slightly.

She didn’t answer right away.

But the look she gave him—unguarded, uncertain, but listening —was enough.

For now.

Viktor glanced down at Isha, watching the steady rise and fall of her small chest.

A child.

His child.

A life he had never expected, never considered possible, now curled safely in his arms.

Change had come.

Whether they were ready for it or not.

---

Viktor had grown used to many things since Jinx had returned.

The chaos she brought, even when she tried to be subtle. The way she’d leave her tools strewn across his lab as if it were her workshop. The half-eaten snacks she abandoned in odd places, like the time he found a candy bar inside one of his unfinished prototypes.

He had even, to his own surprise, grown used to Isha’s presence. The tiny sounds she made. The way she clung to his fingers whenever he held her. The weight of something delicate, something alive, in his arms.

But this?

This was new.

Viktor had been making his way back to his desk when he saw them.

Jinx was sitting on the edge of the cot she had more or less claimed in the corner of his lab. One leg tucked under the other, arms wrapped securely around the small, wriggling bundle in her grasp. She was murmuring something—low, absentminded words, not really meant for anyone but the child pressed against her chest.

And then—

Viktor realized.

Isha was nursing.

Jinx’s top had been tugged down slightly, just enough to give the infant access, her small hands resting against Jinx’s bare skin as she suckled. Jinx, for her part, looked utterly at ease, her usual restless energy momentarily subdued.

Viktor stared.

And then, very abruptly, looked away.

Something about the entire scene made his brain short-circuit.

It was not that he found it inappropriate—he was well aware of the functionality of it. Logically, he understood. It was natural. Necessary.

And yet—

Something about seeing it felt… intimate.

A side of Jinx he had never truly considered.

Not the manic grin, not the gleeful destruction, not the sharp-edged bravado she used to keep people at arm’s length.

Just this.

Quiet.

Soft.

Completely unconcerned with the outside world.

It unnerved him.

“Y’gonna keep standin’ there like a creep, or you gonna say somethin’?”

Viktor definitely looked away now. “I—” He cleared his throat, forcibly dragging his gaze toward the ceiling, as if that would somehow lessen the awkwardness. “I did not mean to… intrude.”

Jinx snorted. “Intrude? Vik, it’s your lab.”

He was well aware. And yet, at this moment, he felt like he was the outsider.

Jinx shifted slightly, adjusting Isha’s position before peering up at him with an amused grin. “What, this weird for you or somethin’?”

Viktor hesitated. “…It is unexpected.”

She raised a brow. “Unexpected?”

“I had not considered it,” he admitted.

Jinx blinked. Then—

A slow, wicked grin.

“Ohhhh. I get it.”

Viktor immediately regretted his choice of words.

Jinx leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. “You never thought about it, huh?”

Viktor exhaled sharply. “Jinx—”

“You and me, doin’ all that fun stuff for months, and it never crossed your mind?” She wiggled her brows. “Kinda impressive, actually. Thought you were supposed to be smart.”

Viktor refused to take that bait. “That is not what I meant.”

Jinx chuckled, shaking her head before glancing back down at Isha. “Relax, Vik. I ain’t gonna start squirtin’ milk at you or somethin’.”

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose. “You should not have even said that. Now I am concerned you will.”

Jinx snickered. “No promises.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

Then, without looking up, Jinx murmured, “Y’know, it ain’t that weird.”

Viktor hesitated.

Jinx’s fingers traced gentle circles against Isha’s back, her expression unreadable. “Just somethin’ she needs. S’not complicated.”

Not complicated.

And yet, somehow, to him, it was.

He watched the way Isha’s small hands twitched against Jinx’s skin, the way she latched onto her mother without hesitation, without doubt. The way Jinx held her—not as if she was fragile, but as if she was hers—and she was, completely. 

And for the first time, Viktor realized—

He had never truly seen Jinx as a mother.

Not until now.

“…I suppose it is not,” he murmured.

Jinx shot him a look. “Took you long enough.”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head. “Remind me why I tolerate you?”

Jinx grinned. “Because I make life so much more interesting.”

Viktor let out a dry chuckle. “That is certainly one way to put it.”

Jinx leaned back, adjusting Isha as she finished. “Aw, c’mon, Vik. Admit it.” She shot him a teasing wink. “You like seein’ this side of me.”

Viktor regarded her for a long moment.

Then, with a small, barely-there smirk, he turned away.

“…Perhaps.”

Jinx blinked, caught off guard for once.

Viktor did not wait for her response.

Instead, he simply returned to his work, ignoring the way his mind still refused to settle.

Chapter 65: Stock of Lima Beans

Summary:

What he did know was that he was no longer merely a prisoner.

Not truly.

She studied him, and Viktor had the strangest feeling that something between them had shifted.

Their dynamic changed. Jinx still held him captive, but she stopped interrogating him with the same desperation. Their conversations became… almost companionable.

Viktor was no stranger to danger, nor to the criminal underworld that lurked beneath Piltover’s polished streets. He had grown up in the Undercity, after all—among rusted pipes, tainted air, and people who fought tooth and nail to survive. But even he had not expected this.

The last thing he remembered was walking home from the Academy, his cane tapping against the cobblestone, before a sudden explosion of blue smoke engulfed his path. Then—darkness.

Now, as his vision swam back into focus, Viktor found himself in an unfamiliar room. The dim light flickered erratically, casting jagged shadows on the walls. His wrists were bound behind him, his legs tied to the chair he sat on.

Then—pain.

A dull, throbbing ache pulsed through him. His limbs felt heavy, his wrists stiff and sore. The air around him was thick with the acrid scent of oil, gunpowder, and rust.

He blinked blearily, forcing his vision to adjust to the dim light flickering from a single, swaying bulb overhead. The world around him sharpened in pieces—a cluttered room, tools and explosives scattered across metal workbenches, crude blueprints plastered onto the stained walls with knives jammed through their corners.

Captured.

Viktor inhaled deeply, pushing past the dull pain in his head. He flexed his fingers, testing the tightness of the bindings around his wrists. Secure—but not expertly done. If he had the time, he could likely work himself free.

Unfortunately, time was not on his side.

A presence shifted in the room.

Then—

"Rise and shine, Sticks!"

The sing-song voice rang through the air like a bullet, followed by a giggle that was far too delighted for the situation.

Viktor lifted his head and met the pink gaze of his captor.

Jinx.

She perched on the edge of a nearby worktable, one leg swinging lazily, the other bent beneath her. Her arms stretched out behind her for balance, fingers splayed against the table’s surface. She was grinning—a wide, sharp thing that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She looked pleased.

Viktor, however, was far less so.

"Ah," he murmured, exhaling slowly. " Kidnapped. How... expected. "

Jinx snickered, hopping down from the table in a single exaggerated motion. "Aww, don’t be such a sourpuss! I put a lotta effort into snatching ya up, y'know? A little appreciation wouldn’t hurt."

Viktor arched a brow. "You hit me over the head with some kind of smoke bomb."

"Correction—a homemade concussive blast grenade. Big difference!" Jinx beamed, spinning on her heel before plopping into the chair opposite him, straddling it backward with her arms draped over the backrest. "But c’mon, don’t make that face! You should be flattered, really. I don’t just go around nabbing random nerds."

Viktor sighed, adjusting his posture slightly. "I am deeply honored."

"Right? Knew you'd get it. Thought maybe l'd knocked ya too hard on the noggin. That would've been a shame! All that big brain juice wasted!"

Viktor tested the bindings, finding them bolted to a rusted pipe behind him. "Jinx," he rasped, voice hoarse. "I assume you have a purpose for taking me?"

Jinx leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "Mmm, smart and pretty. Yeah, I got a reason. See, Piltover's got all these fancy secrets, and you?" She pointed at him with exaggerated enthusiasm. "You're, like, the brains behind half their shiny toys, right? That Hextech stuff? Boom-boom magic?" She giggled. "Silco wants leverage, and you, my dear hostage, are leverage. Piltover’s almost-golden boy!"

Viktor smirked slightly, shifting his weight in the chair. "Not golden, and certainly not a boy. But yes, I suppose that is what they call me."

Jinx leaned forward, resting her chin atop her arms, studying him with an almost childlike curiosity.

He did not look away.

She was smaller than most of Silco’s dogs, wiry and agile rather than broad and imposing, yet far more unpredictable. She practically vibrated with restless energy, her fingers tapping against the back of the chair in a rapid, uneven rhythm.

Viktor knew of her, of course. Anyone remotely familiar with Zaun’s underworld did.

Jinx—the infamous loose cannon, Silco’s right hand, the terror of Piltover’s enforcers.

And now, she was sitting in front of him, head tilted, a glint of something unreadable in her eyes.

Viktor’s expression returned neutral. "Tell me. What is it, exactly, that you hope to achieve with that information?"

Jinx grinned wider, teeth flashing in the low light. "Ohhh, y’know. Piltover’s secrets . The juicy kinda details Silco would love to get his hands on." She cocked her head, examining him. "So, how ‘bout we start with a lil’ friendly conversation, huh? Spill some fun facts, and maybe I don’t have to get all... creative ."

She let the implication linger.

Viktor, however, remained unshaken. He had spent years among Piltover’s elite, surrounded by ruthless politicians, ambitious scientists, and those who would smile in your face while twisting the knife in your back.

He had learned how to navigate power plays. How to wield words like weapons.

And Jinx, for all her manic energy, was no different.

"If you wish to threaten me," Viktor said, voice calm, "you may as well do it properly. Otherwise, this is a waste of both our time."

Jinx blinked.

Then—

She laughed.

A high-pitched, gleeful giggle that tumbled into a full-blown cackle. She threw her head back, arms wrapping around herself as if she’d just heard the greatest joke in the world.

Viktor merely waited, unfazed.

Finally, Jinx wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of her eye, sighing dramatically. "Ohhh, you’re good. Most people are beggin’ by now."

Viktor tilted his head. "I do not beg."

"Not even a little 'oh no, please don't hurt me'?" She widened her eyes in mock terror.

Viktor sighed through his nose, shifting slightly against his bindings. "Would it make a difference?"

Jinx snorted, "Definitely not."

"Then I see no reason to waste my breath."

Her lips twisted into something between amusement and curiosity. "Y'know, you're not what I expected. Figured you'd be all prim and proper—maybe cry a little, beg to be let go." She pouted. "Kinda disappointing, actually."

"I aim to subvert expectations," Viktor replied dryly.

She giggled, and Jinx’s grin returned, though this time, there was something different about it.

"Then I like that about ya," she mused, almost thoughtful.

Viktor said nothing.

But as she leaned forward again, her breath warm against his cheek, her sharp eyes scanning his face as if searching for something unseen—

He realized that this game was only just beginning.

---

Jinx wasn’t torturing him, not really.

Oh, she had made plenty of threats at first—twirling knives between her fingers, tapping her pistol against his head, humming about all the “fun” ways she could break someone.

But she never actually hurt him.

No broken fingers. No bruises. Not even a cut.

Instead, what began as an interrogation slowly became... something else entirely .

A game.

Jinx would ask questions—about Piltover, about Hextech, about how Viktor made his fancy little inventions. He would evade, giving nothing away, and in return, he asked her questions.

The first time he did it, she blinked, thrown off.

Then, she grinned.

And so the battle of wits began.

Tonight was no different.

Jinx was perched upside-down on a workbench, legs dangling over the edge, idly flipping a wrench in her hand. She wasn’t even looking at Viktor when she spoke.

“Alright, Sticks, lemme hear it—what makes Hextech tick? Gimme somethin’ spicy.”

Viktor, sitting cross-legged on the floor, exhaled through his nose. He had long since stopped trying to struggle against his bindings; Jinx was unpredictable, but she wasn’t stupid .

“I imagine you already know the basics,” he replied smoothly, tilting his head. “And yet, you ask as if you expect I would simply hand you an answer.”

Jinx grinned, flipping right-side up again. “Well, duh ! That’s kinda how interrogations work, genius.”

“Is that what this is?” Viktor asked dryly. “Because thus far, it feels more like an elaborate waste of time.”

Jinx gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her chest. “Wow, rude! And here I was thinkin’ we were getting closer.”

Viktor arched a brow. “I was not under that impression.”

Jinx snickered, hopping off the workbench and sauntering toward him. “Alright, lemme try somethin’ else.” She crouched in front of him, elbows resting on her knees. “You’ve been playin’ it safe, dodgin’ my questions— boring . But c’mon, you gotta be curious about somethin’, right? ‘Cause I’ll tell ya, I love a good trade.”

Viktor studied her carefully.

He had already gathered plenty from her erratic behavior—the way her fingers twitched when she was still for too long, the way her gaze flickered to things that weren’t there.

But most of all, he had learned this:

She liked the game.

This wasn’t just about information for her. No, she enjoyed the push and pull , the way their conversations turned into something sharp and unpredictable.

So, Viktor played along.

“You claim loyalty to Silco,” he said, watching her reaction. “Why?”

Jinx blinked, then laughed . “Pffft, duh ! ‘Cause he actually gives a damn about me, that’s why.”

Viktor hummed. “Is that so?”

“Yep!” Jinx popped the ‘p’ and rocked back on her heels. “I mean, sure, he’s got his whole ‘Zaun liberation’ thing, and yeah, he’s got plans—but me ? I’m special. I’m his right hand, his little pow-pow , y’know? Nobody else gets that—not anymore.”

Viktor tilted his head. “Or, perhaps, he simply knows how to keep you under him.”

The reaction was immediate.

Jinx’s playful grin faltered for just a fraction of a second, her fingers tightening on the wrench she had been twirling.

Then—

"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! Why are you ALWAYS interrupting?!"

She shot up, hands flying to her head, fingers gripping her scalp as she yelled at something unseen.

Viktor remained utterly still.

He watched—analyzed—as her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. As her body tensed, her weight shifting as if ready to flee or attack.

"He's just a damn Pilty, he doesn’t know! Stop it, stop talking!"

Viktor didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t move.

Instead, he listened.

Her gaze darted wildly, not at him, but at the empty space beside her, as if she were having a conversation with someone he couldn’t see.

Ghosts. 

Delusions.

Not an act. Not a momentary lapse. This was real.

Jinx was unraveling before his eyes, her mind fracturing in ways that weren’t entirely surprising—but still, fascinating.

Viktor chose his next words carefully.

“You are not as alone as you think, are you?”

Jinx froze.

For a moment, everything stilled—her breath hitched, her shoulders stiffened, and the room held its breath alongside her.

Then, just as quickly, she snapped back, grinning once more.

"Pffft, don’t go gettin’ all soft on me, Sticks," she teased, twirling her fingers near her temple. "I like my crazy, thanks."

Viktor only hummed, watching her closely.

This—this—was why Silco kept her so close. It was not just her skill with explosives or her reckless devotion.

It was her broken mind.

Silco had shaped her, twisted her loyalty into something unshakable.

And yet…

Viktor could not deny it.

The more he learned of her, the more intrigued he became.

---

Time passed. Days? Weeks? Viktor wasn’t entirely sure.

What he did know was that he was no longer merely a prisoner.

Not truly.

She studied him, and Viktor had the strangest feeling that something between them had shifted.

Their dynamic changed. Jinx still held him captive, but she stopped interrogating him with the same desperation. Their conversations became… almost companionable.

Jinx still kept him locked away, but the bindings had long since disappeared. She let him move freely within the space—though always under her watchful, mischievous gaze. At first, he thought this meant she trusted him.

She let him tinker with spare parts she had lying around, intrigued by how his mind worked. He, in turn, studied her—not just her intelligence, which was undeniable, but her unpredictability, her fragmented psyche, her sheer brilliance hidden beneath the chaos.

She was a mind unlike any he had encountered before.

And then, something even more unexpected happened.

Jinx started to trust him.

She brought him food. Sat with him while he worked. Let him out of his restraints when it became clear he wasn’t trying to escape.

Viktor, too, found himself drawn to her in ways he couldn’t explain.

It wasn’t just fascination anymore.

It was something deeper.

One evening, as he sketched out a new design on the floor with a piece of chalk, Jinx leaned over his shoulder, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin.

"You’re not as boring as I thought you’d be," she murmured.

Viktor smirked. "Neither are you."

She nudged his shoulder playfully. "You actually like it here, don’t you?"

He hesitated, then said, "Zaun has always felt more like home than Piltover."

Jinx grinned. 

But no.

It wasn’t trust.

It was something else entirely.

He had become her puzzle.

Jinx liked breaking things down, figuring out how they ticked—machines, weapons, people. And Viktor, with his stubborn refusal to beg, with his sharp mind and calm demeanor, was something new.

She didn’t know what to do with him.

And perhaps , Viktor mused, neither did he with her.

---

"Y'know, I really thought you'd be beggin’ to leave by now."

Jinx was lounging upside down on a worn-out couch, her braids spilling onto the floor. She tossed a small gear into the air, catching it lazily.

Viktor, sitting in a rickety chair across from her, merely hummed. "Then you have underestimated me."

Jinx snorted. "Or maybe you just got nowhere else to be ."

She wasn’t entirely wrong.

Viktor had been waiting for an opportunity to escape, but strangely, the longer he stayed, the less urgent it became.

Not because he didn’t want his freedom. He did .

But because every time he and Jinx spoke, every time they challenged each other, he found himself… curious .

Perhaps even invested.

Jinx was a tangle of contradictions—brilliant and erratic, dangerous and childlike, ruthless and strangely vulnerable .

Most people dismissed her as insane. But Viktor had studied minds for years—logical and twisted alike—and he knew one thing for certain:

Jinx was not mindless.

She was calculating .

And lonely .

"Have you considered what happens when all of this is over?" Viktor asked suddenly.

Jinx’s fingers froze mid-toss, the gear landing against her palm with a quiet clink .

For a second—just a second—her eyes flickered with something unreadable.

Then, she flipped herself upright with far too much energy, flashing him a grin. "Pffft! Over? You’re funny, Sticks! ”

"Am I?"

"Yeah! ‘Cause this? This ain’t ever over. Silco’s gonna tear Piltover down, and I’m gonna help him do it. Boom, bang, game over ."

She threw her arms out dramatically, making explosive gestures with her hands.

Viktor tilted his head. "And then what?"

Jinx stared at him.

The grin wavered.

For the first time, she didn’t have an immediate answer.

Viktor pressed on.

"Once Piltover falls, once Silco has what he wants—what happens to you?"

Jinx’s lips parted slightly, as if about to respond, but then—silence.

She looked away, fingers tapping against her leg in an uneven rhythm.

Viktor had struck something real.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she scoffed. "Ugh, you’re such a downer." She flopped back against the couch. "What do you think happens, huh? You got some big genius-y plan for after all this?"

Viktor exhaled. "I do not fight for a revolution, Jinx. I fight—build for progress. For science. For a world that does not see Zaun as an afterthought, but as a place of true innovation."

Jinx snorted. "Yeah, yeah, real noble, blah blah. You think those Pilties give a damn about Zaun?"

Viktor’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. "Piltover is flawed. But Silco—"

Jinx immediately tensed.

Viktor noted it. Carefully.

"Silco is a survivor," Viktor continued slowly. "But I wonder—does he fight for Zaun? Or for himself?"

Jinx’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t know shit about him."

"Perhaps," Viktor admitted. "But I do know that he does what benefits him. And you—"

He hesitated.

She was watching him now, her gaze sharp and burning.

Viktor chose his next words very carefully.

"You are loyal," he murmured. "To a fault."

Jinx’s fingers twitched.

For a moment, he thought she might snap—might lash out like she had before.

Instead, she let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

"You really think Silco’s just using me?" she asked, tilting her head.

Viktor didn’t answer immediately.

Then—"Yes."

Jinx grinned.

And yet… it wasn’t the usual wild, manic kind.

It was something smaller.

Something colder.

"You’re wrong, Sticks," she murmured, voice strangely soft. "Silco ain’t just my boss."

She leaned in then, her breath warm against his cheek.

"He’s my dad."

Silence.

Viktor blinked.

He had not expected that.

Of all the things she could have said, of all the secrets she could have spilled—that had not been one he accounted for.

He had seen Silco’s control over her. He had assumed it was manipulation, a mentor-puppet dynamic.

But this?

This changed everything.

Viktor exhaled, slow and measured.

Then, after a long pause, all he could manage was:

"...Ah."

Jinx snorted. "That’s it? Just 'ah'?"

Viktor shrugged slightly. "It… changes things."

Jinx squinted at him. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Viktor admitted. "I thought to reason with you by showing you his manipulations. But if he is your father, then my approach is... flawed."

Jinx watched him, her expression unreadable.

Then, she smirked, rocking back onto her heels. "You're weird, y'know that?"

Viktor allowed a small smirk of his own. "So I have been told."

Something shifted in the air between them.

Not hostility. Not resistance.

Something else.

Jinx no longer looked at him like a pawn in her game.

And Viktor—

He no longer saw her as just an enemy.

---

The room felt different after that night.

Something had shifted between them, something neither of them wanted to name.

Viktor was still a prisoner , technically, but his bindings had long since vanished. Jinx had stopped keeping him locked in one place. She let him wander the workshop, touch things, examine her weapons—under her watchful gaze, of course.

And in turn, he watched her too.

Jinx, for all her chaos, was a brilliant engineer. He had suspected it before, but now, with unrestricted access to her workspace, Viktor could see just how intricate her designs were.

Her explosives weren’t just crude bombs.

They were art.

The gears were tuned with surgical precision . The wiring was flawless.

Even her weapons—the way she modified them, the way she understood them on a level most people never could—spoke of a mind that was restless, always building, always creating.

It was beautiful in its own twisted way.

And Viktor, despite himself, was fascinated.

One night, he found himself sitting at a workbench, carefully examining a small, half-built device.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

Jinx practically pounced from across the room, yanking it from his hands. “Careful with that, Sticks! You break it, and boom —no more smart guy.”

Viktor arched a brow. “And yet, you left it lying around.”

Jinx stuck her tongue out. “Pffft, yeah, ‘cause I trust ya now.”

Viktor hummed. “Is that so?”

She grinned. “Well, kinda . You haven’t tried to run yet, and that’s real suspicious.”

Viktor leaned back, folding his hands over his cane. “Perhaps I simply find our discussions entertaining.”

Jinx gave him a look. “Ohhh, so now you like spending time with me? Careful, Sticks, might start thinkin’ you like me.”

Viktor smirked. “I find you… intriguing.”

Jinx blinked.

For once, she had no immediate comeback.

And Viktor saw it—that split second where something genuine flickered across her face.

Jinx wasn’t used to hearing things like that.

People feared her. People hated her.

But intrigued?

That was new.

Then, just as quickly, she snapped back to her usual self, twirling in place. “Welp, guess that makes two of us, huh?”

Viktor tilted his head. “Oh?”

She stopped, turned, and pointed directly at him.

“You,” she declared, grinning. “You’re fun. All serious and smart and ‘oh no, I’m totally not enjoying this at all.’” She mimicked his voice in a terrible, exaggerated accent. “But I see through ya, Sticks. You like our little talks.”

Viktor merely smirked.

She wasn’t wrong.

Jinx, as chaotic and dangerous as she was, was also brilliant in a way few people ever were. And that… that intrigued him more than he was willing to admit.

A few days later, she surprised him again.

"Hey, Sticks."

Viktor looked up from the blueprint he had been sketching out—one of hers, actually. He had started helping her refine her designs in small ways, purely out of intellectual curiosity. At least, that was what he told himself.

"Yes?" he asked.

Jinx hesitated.

Then—she plopped onto the workbench beside him, swinging her legs. “I, uh… I was thinkin’.”

Viktor arched a brow. “That is dangerous.”

She snorted, shoving his shoulder. "Shut up! I'm bein’ serious here."

Viktor merely waited.

Jinx twirled a screwdriver between her fingers, eyes flickering between him and the floor.

"Y'know… I haven’t really had someone to talk to like this. Not in… a long time."

That caught his attention.

He straightened slightly. "Not even Silco?"

Jinx made a face. "Eh. He listens, but he’s got, like… big boss man plans and all that." She spun the screwdriver absently. “And Sevika? Pffft. She don’t get me.”

Viktor was silent for a moment.

Then, softly: "But you think I do?"

Jinx stopped twirling the tool.

Her fingers stilled.

The workshop felt too quiet for a second.

Then—

" Maybe ," she admitted, tilting her head at him. " Do you?"

Viktor considered it.

He had spent years surrounded by brilliant minds—scientists, engineers, visionaries.

But Jinx was different.

She wasn’t just smart.

She was wild.

Unpredictable.

Chaotic.

And yet…

He understood the way her fingers never stopped moving, always needing to do something. The way her mind never settled, always racing from one thought to the next.

The frustration of being overlooked.

The hunger to prove something to the world.

Yes.

Viktor thought, perhaps , that he did understand her.

But instead of saying that, he simply smirked. "You are an enigma, Jinx. But I enjoy a challenge."

Jinx grinned.

It wasn’t her usual manic smile.

It was something smaller .

Something real.

She bumped her shoulder against his. "Heh. Me too, Sticks."

And in that moment, something changed between them.

Neither of them said it.

Neither of them acknowledged it.

But it was there, lingering in the space between them.

Jinx was no longer just his captor.

And Viktor was no longer just her prisoner.

Something else had been forged in the fire of their strange, twisted game.

Something neither of them had ever expected.

---

Viktor had grown accustomed to many strange things during his time in captivity.

He had spent days-or perhaps weeks— locked in this hideout, and in that time, their strange dynamic had shifted. What began as an interrogation had morphed into something different. Something dangerous .

Jinx wasn't just a captor anymore. She lingered. She talked. She poked and prodded, not just physically but mentally , unraveling him thread by thread. And Viktor, for all his intellect, found himself caught in the web of her erratic energy, her unpredictable moods, the brilliance that burned behind her madness.

Jinx talking to people who weren’t there? Normal.

Her using him as a test subject for her latest inventions? Expected.

Their endless back-and-forth debates that somehow felt more like partnership than interrogation? Inevitable.

But what he had not expected—what he never could have predicted—was this.

The door burst open one day and she practically skipped in, dragging Silco behind her, Viktor knew something was about to change.

Jinx was grinning, her excitement practically vibrating through the room. Her hands were clasped around Silco's arm, clinging to him like a child showing off a prized possession.

"Look, look, look!" she sang, pointing at Viktor like he was some sort of trophy. "See what I got?"

And Viktor, ever the man of logic, could only think:

This is absurd.

Silco stood across from him, his sharp, mismatched gaze assessing Viktor with quiet detachment. Smoke curled from the cigar between his fingers, the acrid scent filling the already-cluttered air.

The leader of Zaun, the most dangerous chem-baron, had finally come to inspect Jinx’s little project.

And Jinx, for her part, looked thrilled.

Viktor sighed. "I assume I am supposed to be impressed as well?"

Jinx snickered, poking his cheek. “Oh, c’mon, play along , Sticks!”

Silco, however, seemed far less amused.

His gaze flickered between the two of them, calculating. "So," he murmured, voice as smooth as poisoned honey . "This is the great Viktor."

Viktor met his gaze without hesitation. "A pleasure."

Jinx beamed, clearly enjoying the moment. "Told ya, Boss, he’s fun."

Silco took a long, slow drag from his cigar. “And what exactly does this do to help our revolution?”

Jinx pouted.

Then, before Viktor could even process what she was about to do, she clasped her hands together and leveled Silco with the biggest, most exaggerated puppy-dog stare imaginable.

"It keeps me happy," she whined, dragging out the words dramatically.

Silco exhaled slowly, the kind of sigh that only a parent who had long since given up on reasoning could manage.

“Jinx,” he said, weary.

“Pleeeeeeeaaaase?”

Viktor blinked. He had seen Jinx threaten, he had seen her mock, he had seen her snap into violent episodes—

But this?

This was something else entirely.

Silco simply stared at her.

Jinx batted her lashes.

Silco rubbed his temples.

" Jinx— "

“PLEEEASE?”

Viktor, despite his usual composure, felt somewhat secondhand embarrassment.

"Pleeeaaase, Daddy?" she cooed.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Silco groaned, waving a dismissive hand.

"Fine," he muttered. "You can have him."

Jinx cheered, jumping up and down like a child who had just been gifted a new toy.

“Yessss! You won’t regret this, Boss!”

Viktor sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

This was beyond absurd.

Silco turned his attention back to Viktor, giving him a long, measured look.

"Congratulations," he said dryly. "You're now Jinx’s pet project."

Viktor exhaled. "I had gathered as much."

Silco studied him for another long moment, eyes narrowing slightly, as if still weighing the potential risk in allowing Jinx to keep him.

Then, finally, he turned on his heel, adjusting his coat. "Don’t get in the way," he said. "And don’t make me regret this."

With that, he left, the workshop door clicking shut behind him.

A long silence settled.

Then—

Jinx spun toward Viktor, grinning ear to ear.

"You’re mine now, Sticks!"

Viktor sighed again, shaking his head. “Lucky me.” Though there was something different behind it this time.

Something that sounded suspiciously like reluctant amusement.

Jinx beamed.

And neither of them noticed the way the room felt different now—

As if something far more dangerous than captivity had begun between them.

Notes:

Guys, I don't know what is freaking happening with this chapter title 😭! I was trying to be creative, but its soooooo dumb, I'm sorry y'all!

Chapter 66: FIVE: Coquilles

Summary:

The touch burned—only slightly from pain, but mostly from something else.

Something better.

Something she missed.

It hurt—

But she was so fucking glad he was touching her.

Notes:

Here's the final installment!

 

Or is it...👀?

Jinx moved carefully, silently, as she crept up the cellar stairs.

She peeked through the cracked doorway, listening—feeling the energy of the cabin around her.

It was quiet.

Not silent, not abandoned—but settled.

No one was expecting her.

She locked the cellar door behind her, sliding the iron bolt into place with a soft click.

Slinking into the hallway, to her immediate right was a laundry room. 

Jackpot.

The lights were off—besides a small glow—but no noise. 

Jinx took a chance, hoping no one was in there.

Within the room, she found normal things.

Washer. Dryer. Baskets of clothes. 

It was really normal. 

The dim light coming from the room was from a sensor night light.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.  

Inside, she took a closer look at the weapons she pilfered.

The knife—would be the most dangerous for her to use.

It means she needs to get close.

The gun—Walther CP 88, with an eight-shot rotary.

It would be safer—distance wise. 

Now the noise? That could be an issue. 

But the make plus the model of this gun? 

These were quite—at least, for a gun, they were. 

No louder than a vacuum. 

Hell, she even had one of her own! It was pink—a gift from Silco when she joined his unit. 

The magazine was full—all eight rounds. 

Hell yeah.

That was one problem taken care of.

Now—

Onto the rest.

She recalled their faces, their numbers.

Excluding the sorry fool now locked in the cellar?

Nine more.

Two old men. Five middle-aged men. Two women.

One of them being that bitch, Maddie.

And the first one Jinx found?

Across the hall messy around in some damned linen closet. 

A frail little blonde thing, hunched over and pulling from a stack of neatly folded towels.

Jinx smirked.

Easy pickings.

She moved—fast, fluid, her steps whisper-light as she closed the distance, her hand snapping over the woman’s mouth before she could make a sound.

A sharp inhale, a muffled gasp—too late.

Jinx’s other arm wrapped tight around her torso, dragging her back into the dark, cramped laundry room where she had been hiding.

The woman struggled—weak, desperate.

Jinx’s grip tightened.

Her lips brushed against the woman’s ear, her voice a cruel whisper.

“Shh.”

A soft whimper vibrated against her palm.

Jinx’s knife was already in her hand, the serrated edge gleaming in the dim light.

No hesitation.

She pressed the blade against the base of the woman’s throat—

And sliced.

The cut was deep. Precise.

Just like what that bastard had done to Isha. 

The body spasmed in her grasp, a thick, wet gurgle bubbling from the woman’s throat as her warm blood gushed over Jinx’s hands.

Jinx exhaled through her nose, lowering them both to the floor, cradling the woman’s head in her lap as the life drained from her.

A slow, shuddering breath.

Tears welled in the woman’s eyes, her fingers weakly grasping at Jinx’s own, a silent plea she was too far gone to voice.

Jinx just watched.

Her expression didn’t change.

Didn’t waver.

The warmth spread across her thighs, soaking into her pants, the thick, metallic scent of blood filling the air.

And yet—

She felt nothing.

No guilt.

No pity.

Not even satisfaction.

This woman had helped them. Had stood with them when they dragged Jinx into this hellhole.

That meant she deserved to die.

Simple as that.

Jinx lifted her bloodied fingers, tilting them in the dim light, watching the way the liquid clung to her skin.

Then—

She stood.

Entered the hallway, shutting the door behind her. 

Time to move on to the next one.

---

Jinx moved like a shadow through the hallway, her steps light, her breath even.

She paused in front of a closed door, pressing her ear against the wood.

Listen.

A faint creak.

Back and forth, steady, rhythmic.

A chair?

Deep, even breathing.

The soft crackle of fire.

She reached for the knob, her fingers careful, meticulous. Slowly, she twisted it, just enough to feel the mechanism disengage without a sound.

Barely opening the door, she peered through the small gap, her eyes flicking over the room.

Bookshelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling, stuffed with old tomes and leather-bound volumes.

A fireplace burned low, warm light flickering against the wood-paneled walls.

And there—

One of the old men.

He was slouched in a rocking chair, his head tilted back against the worn fabric, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths.

Jinx had to bite her already busted lip to keep from laughing.

The poor bastard was asleep.

She pushed the door open wider—slowly, patiently, not willing to risk making noise.

Once the gap was wide enough, she slipped inside, shutting the door carefully behind her.

Her fingers twitched with excitement.

Easy pickings.

She crept closer, her heart hammering—not with fear, but with exhilaration.

She came to a stop right in front of him.

A book rested in his lap, the pages illuminated by the glow of the fire.

Jinx’s eyes flicked across the words.

"Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth."

Jinx scoffed. “Oh, I see,” she mused, tilting her head. “You’re one of those tormented scholars, huh?”

The old man stirred.

Guess he can still hear well.

His breath hitched, his eyelids twitching before they slowly fluttered open.

Jinx’s grip tightened on the bloodied knife in her hand, the tip angled up.

The second she met his groggy, unfocused brown eyes—

She plunged the blade into the soft underside of his chin.

A wet, gurgling choke tore from his throat.

His eyes shot wide open, limbs locking, his entire body seizing up in pure, raw panic.

Jinx giggled.

“Sorry for the rude awakening.”

She twisted the blade before yanking it free, spinning it in her palm so the tip pointed downward this time.

Then—

With perfect precision—

She buried it into the carotid triangle of his neck.

Blood spurted from the wound, hot and violent, splattering across her arms, her chest, her face.

Jinx’s grin stretched wide—manic, electric.

This?

This was exhilarating .

---

Jinx slunk up the staircase, her movements silent, her body practically vibrating with energy.

The blood from the old man’s throat had already begun to dry on her skin, leaving behind a sticky, metallic sheen. She didn’t bother wiping it off.

Didn’t care .

She had more work to do.

Two down.

Seven to go.

She adjusted the gun, her fingers flexing against the grip, the weight of it comforting in her palm.

Upstairs.

That was where the next ones would be.

She reached the second floor and listened.

Voices.

Low, murmuring—unconcerned.

They weren’t worried.

They weren’t ready.

Fucking idiots.

She followed the sound, pressing her back against the wall as she moved toward the source.

A doorway.

Barely cracked open.

Jinx nudged it with the tip of her finger, just enough to get a look inside.

Two of them.

Middle-aged.

One sitting on the edge of a bed, polishing a silver pocket watch. The other standing near a dresser, pouring himself a drink from a crystal decanter.

Relaxed.

Unaware.

Jinx grinned.

This was too easy.

She pushed the door open and moved.

Fast. Fluid.

The man with the pocket watch barely had time to look up before she raised the gun and fired—

One clean shot between his eyes.

A wet crack—

His body jerked back, spine hitting the headboard before he slid lifelessly onto the mattress.

The second man whipped around, glass still in hand, mouth full of wine—

Jinx didn’t let him speak.

She turned the gun on him and pulled the trigger.

The bullet tore through his throat.

A harsh, gargling sound ripped from him as he staggered back, hands grasping at the mess of blood pouring from his neck. The wine spilled from his lips. 

Jinx cocked her head.

“Aw, buddy,” she cooed. “That’s not where the drink goes.”

The man collapsed, body convulsing for a few seconds before he finally stilled.

Jinx exhaled through her nose, lowering the gun, her blood-slick fingers brushing against the grip.

Four down.

Five to go.

She smirked, stepping over one of the bodies as she left the room.

This was going beautifully.

Jinx barely had time to breathe before the rest of them came running.

Footsteps—heavy, rushed.

They had heard the gunshots.

Damn it.

She should’ve closed that fucking door. 

Finally, they were moving.

But they were too late.

Jinx dashed out of the room, heading for the stairs. 

At the top of the staircase, gun raised, her sharp grin stretching wider as the remaining middle-aged men came into view, guns drawn, eyes wild with confusion.

They barely had time to react before—

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

She put bullets in them quick.

No flair. No hesitation.

Just clean, efficient death.

Bodies jerked from the impact, blood splattering against the walls as they crumpled down the stairs in a grotesque heap. A few slid down, their limbs bending at unnatural angles, coming to rest in a pile at the bottom.

Jinx sighed, rolling her shoulders as she looked down at the mess.

“What a waste,” she muttered.

That left only two.

The old bastard who had fucking hit her.

And Maddie.

Maddie, who was going to wish Jinx had just put a bullet in her.

Jinx stepped around the bodies, moving carefully down the stairs, her steps light.

She knew exactly where she’d find that snake.

And sure enough—

Maddie was in the kitchen.

Cooking.

With her fancy ass earbuds in.

The ones she always bragged about. 

Best part? 

She was wearing a fucking apron.

Jinx’s lips twitched.

This bitch.

She stood at the stove, tending to some sizzling meat in a cast iron pan, her focus entirely on her own little world.

Then she moved to the nearby fridge, opening the door and moving around the items on the shelves, searching for something. 

Jinx watched, eyes locked onto her back, fingers twitching at her sides, itching to tear the light from those arrogant eyes.

To strangle her until her face turned blue.

But—

Her gaze flicked to the pan.

Then back to Maddie.

Oh.

Oh, that would be fun.

Jinx moved forward, stepping up to the stove, fingers wrapping around the handle of the pan.

Pain—instant.

She could practically smell the burning of her own flesh, the searing heat biting into her palm.

She clenched her teeth, exhaling sharply through her nose.

She hoped she’d get away with just a first-degree burn.

Didn’t matter.

Wouldn’t stop her.

She tilted the pan, letting the food spill onto the floor with a wet splatter.

Maddie, completely unaware, finished rummaging through the fridge, her arms full of jars of pickled whatever, when—

Jinx swung.

The heavy crack of cast iron meeting skull echoed through the kitchen.

Maddie screamed, the jars falling from her grip, shattering on the floor, glass shards scattering beneath her knees as she crumpled.

" You crazy fucking bitch! " she shrieked, hands clutching at the side of her head. Tears streaked down her face as she writhed, overwhelmed by pain.

Jinx laughed.

A manic, shrieking sound, loud and sharp and wrong.

The kind of laugh that would make most psychiatrists consider quitting—except hers.

The extremely brief sound of her skin burning was so damn satisfying. 

And she really wanted to hear it again. 

Needed to. 

She stepped forward, looming over Maddie’s crumpled form.

And swung again.

The pan slammed into the same side of Maddie’s head, sending her limp body to the floor in a heap.

Unconscious.

But Jinx wasn’t done.

She hit her again.

And again—

One more, just for fun .

Maddie’s flesh blistered, the pink of melted skin mixed with blood from the force an ugly, hilarious sight.

But the big fucking hole in her head was funny . 

Hilarious even.

Jinx huffed, shaking out her aching hand, staring down at the ruin she had made of Maddie’s face.

Jinx couldn’t tell if Maddie was still breathing. 

Maddie wasn’t moving or making any more noise.

Maybe she was dead.

Jinx really hoped she wasn't.

Because she really wanted to keep going.

To keep swinging until what was left of her face caved in and her eyes popped out.

But—

She had unfinished business.

An old bastard still needed to die .

Jinx checked the magazine.

Three bullets left.

Perfect.

She twirled the gun once in her grip, humming to herself as she moved through the cabin, opening doors, peeking inside.

The others had been easy.

Too easy.

But this one?

She wanted to see it happen.

Wanted to watch.

The bastard who had hit her, who had split her lip and made her bleed, who thought he could put his fucking hands on her and get away with it—

He was going to die slow.

She checked a room she hadn’t been to yet. 

Empty.

She tried another door.

Empty again.

Damn.

She checked a third.

And there he was .

Standing in the middle of the room.

Ah, third time's a charm.

His cane in one hand, the other shaking, barely holding steady as he pointed a gun right at her.

" You dirty wench, " he spat, his voice hoarse with fury, his upper lip curling in disgust.

Jinx blinked.

Then—

She laughed .

Loud. Mocking. Cruel .

She feigned shock , pressing a bloody hand against her chest, gasping in exaggerated offense.

"Dirty ? " she echoed, looking down at herself, tilting her head.

Her clothes were soaked in blood—some hers, most not .

She grinned, flashing red-stained teeth.

" You're right! " she chirped. "I am pretty dirty right now.” She ran a finger through the drying crimson on her arm. “I got the blood of a bunch of slimy pigs all over me."

She tapped her chin, her expression playful, innocent. "Now, how did it get there?"

His fingers twitched on the gun.

Jinx saw it.

Saw the barely contained rage, the fear laced beneath it.

She took a step to her left. 

And another.

Away from the door and towards some neatly placed expensive furniture.

Slow. Deliberate.

He stiffened, the barrel of his gun jerking slightly as his arm trembled.

Jinx smirked.

"Oh, come on, grandpa,” she goaded. “You're gonna shoot little ol' me?”

Another step.

His breath hitched.

“I was just defending myself,” she cooed.

Another step.

His fingers tightened on the trigger.

Jinx tilted her head, her grin sharp.

She could see it now.

See the moment he was going to break.

And she was going to enjoy this.

“SHUT UP! Just stop talking!”

Ah, there it was.

Jinx grinned.

The old bastard had finally snapped, his trembling arm stiffening as his finger jerked on the trigger—

She moved.

A sharp, fluid dive behind a heavy wooden chair as the gun went off, the bullet punching through the wall with a sharp crack.

She heard it immediately.

The groan.

Pain-filled. Strained.

The gun clattered against the pristine tile floor.

Jinx peeked out from behind the furniture, her sharp eyes locking onto him.

The recoil had wrecked him. His frail, pathetic hand was cradled against his chest, fingers shaking, mouth twisted in a grimace.

She stood up.

Calm. Casual.

Her own stolen gun was already raised.

The old man barely had time to look up before she fired.

Bang.

The bullet slammed into his knee.

A scream ripped from his throat, raw and broken, his body collapsing sideways onto the floor. His hands immediately shot to his wounded leg, clutching at the mess of blood soaking through his pant leg.

Jinx tilted her head, lips curling in mock sympathy.

“Aww, poor baby,” she crooned, stepping forward, the gun held lazily near her face, feeling the residual heat radiating off the barrel. “Can’t shoot like you used to, huh?”

She smirked.

“Or were you always such a bad shot?”

His breath came in ragged, wet pants, his features twisted in agony.

Jinx took another step closer, watching the way he moaned, groaned, curled in on himself like a dying animal.

Pathetic.

She kicked him—

A sharp, punishing strike to his ribs, rolling him onto his back with a ragged grunt.

Then—

She fired again.

The second bullet tore through his other knee.

He screamed.

Louder than before.

It broke off into choked whimpers, his body convulsing, limbs twitching from the sheer agony of it.

Jinx grinned down at him.

Fucking delightful .

---

Viktor drove in silence.

More accurately, Viktor was silent. 

The air inside the car was thick, stifling with the scent of sweat and fear.

Not his.

The rat’s.

The man was slumped in the passenger seat, one leg trembling violently from the makeshift bandages hastily wrapped around his broken knee. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, his hands clutching at his lap as if he could will the pain away.

Viktor didn’t care.

Didn’t look at him.

Didn’t acknowledge his pitiful whimpering.

His golden eyes remained locked on the road, his grip firm on the wheel, his mind a steady hum of calculation.

Time was slipping away.

Jinx was out there.

And if he didn’t get to her soon, the Soldis might not leave anything left for him to collect.

He would not allow that.

The rat shifted beside him, flinching at every small bump in the road, barely containing his pained groans.

Viktor finally spoke, his voice a razor-sharp contrast to the panicked breathing beside him.

“Directions,” he ordered, his tone smooth, unwavering.

The rat swallowed hard. “I—uh—I-it’s—”

Viktor’s fingers tightened on the wheel.

The rat flinched. “Left! Take a left here!”

Viktor turned without hesitation. The tires kicked up gravel, the car humming low as it veered onto a narrow dirt road cutting into the thick treeline.

The rat whimpered again, hands gripping the door as the vehicle rattled over the uneven path.

Viktor didn’t slow down.

He would not be delayed.

“Distance?” Viktor asked, voice still eerily calm.

The rat sniffled, glancing at the road ahead, his shoulders shaking. “A-about fifteen minutes, maybe less—”

Viktor exhaled through his nose.

Not fast enough.

He pressed the gas pedal harder.

The car surged forward, cutting through the dark like a blade.

Jinx was waiting.

And he was coming for her.

The cabin finally came into view.

Viktor’s grip on the wheel tightened.

There were several vehicles parked outside.

That meant one thing.

More people.

More people who might get in his way.

More people who might have already hurt her .

His golden eyes darkened.

He did not care .

Did not care how many stood between him and what belonged to him.

Jinx was inside.

That was all that mattered.

The car screeched to a halt in the dirt, and before the rat could even breathe , Viktor was on him .

A sharp yank, a desperate yelp , and the rat was dragged from the passenger seat, barely able to stumble along as Viktor hauled him toward the front porch.

He was useless , sniveling and whimpering, his injured leg giving out every other step, but Viktor did not slow.

He reached the door—

It was unlocked.

Strange.

Foolish.

But no matter.

He shoved it open, pushing the rat in front of him, using his pathetic body as a shield as he stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed—

Silence.

Not empty silence. Not abandoned silence.

Something heavier.

Something wrong .

No footsteps.

No voices.

Just ambient noise. The distant groan of old wood settling, the faint whistle of wind pressing against the cabin’s walls.

The second thing he noticed—

The smell.

Blood.

A lot of it.

And beneath it—

Something else.

Burnt skin.

His pulse quickened.

His body moved before his mind could catch up, steps sharp, controlled, golden eyes scanning everything , corners checked, his breath even—

Then—

He saw her.

Or rather—

What was left of her.

He recognized her.

Maddie Nolen.

Her ruined body lay sprawled across the kitchen floor, surrounded by shattered glass, spilled food, her apron stained dark with blood.

Viktor’s gaze flickered over the damage.

Her skull—

Caved in.

Battered.

Multiple times.

Skin and tissue obliterated, where her skull was cracked there were chunks of brain visible through the open wounds, a thick, messy ruin.

Viktor’s breath hitched—

Not in horror.

Not in disgust.

In something else.

Something thrilling.

Something warm.

His heart fluttered .

Jinx.

His brilliant girl.

He barely thought before he called her name.

“ Jinx! ”

A pause.

Then—

A voice.

Muffled.

Familiar.

“ Viktor?! ”

He moved .

Fast.

The rat stumbled behind him, barely able to keep up, letting out a pitiful whimper as Viktor dragged him along, uncaring of how his injured leg jolted with every step.

He followed the sound—

To the dining room.

And there—

At the far head of a long, ten-chair table—

Was her.

Jinx.

Alive.

Bloodied.

Her face was bruised, swelling dark beneath the streaks of red drying along her skin. Her lip was deeply split, her expression tired—

But her smile —

Sharp. Bright . Unbroken .

A beautiful thing.

She held a wine glass in her slightly trembling hand, drinking slow, savoring it.

Her other hand—

Raised.

Holding a gun.

The one she had used.

Her eyes met his.

And she grinned .

“ Hey , babe ,” she purred, her voice light, teasing, thrilled. “What took you so damn long?”

Viktor exhaled.

She was okay.

She was alive .

Jinx giggled, lifting her gun slightly, motioning toward the floor.

“I thought you were gonna miss all the fun,” she mused. “But don’t worry, I saved you the best for last.”

Viktor finally looked down.

There, at the foot of the table—

A man.

An old man.

Groaning.

Quietly suffering .

His knees—

Bloody, damaged, a thick pool of crimson forming beneath them. His hands bound, a piece of cloth shoved into his mouth, muffling the miserable sounds pouring from his throat.

Viktor felt nothing.

Nothing but pride .

The rat beside him, however—

He gasped.

A trembling sound, small, weak, pathetic.

Viktor barely acknowledged it.

But then—

The whisper.

Barely audible.

Choked with disbelief.

“… Grandpa? ”

Viktor’s golden eyes flickered.

The old man twitched, his groaning growing louder, his bleary eyes rolling toward the rat.

Jinx’s brow lifted.

“Sooooo,” she drawled, her grin widening, tilting her head as she looked between them.

“Who’s your friend?”

The rat didn’t respond.

Couldn’t.

Jinx giggled, swinging her legs up onto the chair, leaning back, relaxed.

“You should’ve told me you were bringing a friend,” she teased, raising her glass in mock cheers . “I would’ve saved him one too.”

Viktor smirked.

Oh.

This was going to be fun.

Jinx took another slow sip from her wine glass, smacking her lips together with exaggerated delight before setting it down on the table beside her.

“Just letting you know,” she drawled, swinging her legs lazily over the armrest of her chair, “I was soooo gonna kill him.”

She tilted her head toward the old man bleeding out at her feet.

“Was gonna make it real painful, too.”

The rat beside Viktor made a soft, broken sound—something between a gasp and a whimper, his wide, horrified eyes darting between Jinx and his grandfather.

Jinx ignored him.

“But then,” she continued, stretching her arms over her head, “I thought—‘ y’know, maybe I should save him —’”

She smirked, her eyes gleaming as they locked onto Viktor’s own golden gaze.

“—for you.” 

Viktor’s fingers twitched against his side.

Jinx pouted, puffing out her bruised cheeks, her voice turning childish, dramatic.

“He’s the damn bastard who messed up my pretty face!” she huffed, pointing toward the swelling on her cheek, her split lip curling downward in mock despair. “He hit me with his crusty old cane and called me mean names!”

She sniffled, blinking up at Viktor with exaggerated woe. “It was so traumatic.”

The rat swallowed hard, still trembling.

Viktor, however—

He smiled .

Slow.

Amused.

Pleased .

Jinx beamed .

Viktor turned his gaze downward, finally truly looking at the pitiful wreck of a man sprawled across the floor.

The Soldi patriarch—

Reduced to this .

Bloody. Defenseless.

Utterly, beautifully broken.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, a sharp huff of approval.

“ Good girl, ” he murmured.

Jinx’s grin stretched wide.

The old man twitched.

The rat made a choked noise, stepping back as if he just now realized exactly who he had led Viktor to.

Jinx giggled, twirling the gun between her fingers.

“Sooo,” she purred, “how do you wanna do this, babe?”

Viktor stepped forward towards her.

Slow.

Unhurried.

As Viktor approached, Jinx tilted her head toward the rat, still trembling, his face pale, his whole body frozen in fear.

“But first,” she mused, her voice light, teasing, “you still need this one?”

Viktor glanced at the pathetic man before offering Jinx a small, knowing smile.

"Ne."

The rat’s breath hitched. His wide, panicked eyes darted between them, his mouth opening—

A plea on the tip of his tongue, a desperate, useless attempt—

He never got the chance.

Jinx fired.

Her last bullet—

Straight between his eyes.

A sharp, wet crack, and the rat collapsed, lifeless, his body crumpling into an undignified heap just a few feet from his grandfather.

Jinx smirked, giggling as she tossed the now-empty gun aside. It clattered against the table, sliding across the polished wood before falling to the floor with a dull thunk.

“I knew I’d need that one for something.”

She grinned, pleased, looking up just in time to see Viktor finally—finally—reach her side.

His hands came up, warm and steady, cupping her injured face with exquisite care, his thumbs ghosting just beneath her bruises, mindful of the swelling.

The touch burned—only slightly from pain, but mostly from something else.

Something better.

Something she missed .

It hurt—

But she was so fucking glad he was touching her.

Viktor exhaled slowly, his golden eyes tracing over every inch of her battered features, his fingers delicate despite the sharp tension in his jaw.

“I apologize it took me so long to reach you,” he murmured, his voice low, quiet.

Jinx huffed, rolling her eyes.

“It’s fine, Vik,” she muttered, tilting her face into his palm, reveling in the heat of him, the solidity of his presence. “I didn’t need you to save me.”

Viktor’s lips curled, his fingers twitching against her skin.

“No,” he agreed, his voice dipping, a rare warmth weaving through his usual sharp cadence.

“I suppose you did not.”

Jinx smirked.

“Damn right.”

Viktor’s touch remained steady, his fingers tracing over her swollen skin with delicate precision.

“Although I appreciate the gift,” he murmured, his lips quirking slightly in amusement, “I find it more imperative to have you seen.”

Jinx groaned, already knowing where this was going.

“You are injured,” Viktor continued, his golden eyes sharp, assessing. “And I would like to know the extent of those injuries before I do anything else.”

Jinx groaned louder, throwing her head back in exaggerated suffering.

“Ugh, can’t you do it?” she whined, dropping her arms limp at her sides, slumping dramatically against him. “You know I hate hospitals! I hate it when those scrubs touch me!”

Viktor hummed, tilting his head slightly, his expression thoughtful—pleased.

“Hmm,” he mused. “I do know.”

He leaned in closer, voice dipping lower, deliberate.

“I also do not want others touching you.”

Jinx’s breath hitched—barely, just a twitch of her fingers against his coat, but Viktor noticed.

His smirk was faint but undeniable.

“However,” he continued smoothly, tilting her chin up slightly, “I do not have a radiography system in my home.”

Jinx huffed, pouting.

“Well, get one.”

Viktor chuckled softly, his thumb brushing against the tender skin beneath her left eye, careful but firm.

“I will consider it,” he murmured. “But for now, I would like to ensure you have not suffered any fractures or breaks.”

His sharp gaze flicked down to her nose, his fingers ghosting over the swelling at the bridge.

“While it is slight,” he continued, his voice a touch softer, “I am afraid this nose of yours may be broken.”

Jinx pouted harder, her lower lip jutting out just slightly.

“Ugh, my nose?!” she complained, her voice bordering on another whine. “You know how much I like this nose!”

Viktor’s lips curled slightly.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I am quite fond of it as well.”

His fingers trailed down, tracing her jaw, his grip still impossibly gentle despite the tension in his knuckles.

Jinx sighed, grumbling under her breath.

“Fine, fine,” she muttered. “But I swear—if they start poking at me, I’m shooting someone.”

Viktor smirked.

“Then I will ensure they do not.”

Jinx grinned.

Viktor always got his way.

And Jinx?

Jinx was just lucky that his way always led back to her.

---

Viktor drove with smooth precision, his grip steady on the wheel, his focus split between the road and the girl slouched in the passenger seat.

Jinx was wrecked.

Her body ached, every muscle screaming at her, her skin throbbing with bruises and burns. She could barely keep herself upright, every little bump in the road sending a fresh jolt of pain through her battered limbs.

She had to fight to keep from groaning, her jaw clenched tight, her breathing slow and deliberate.

Guess she forgot that bodies hurt.

Viktor, the ever-attentive bastard, noticed.

He didn’t say anything—yet—but she caught the sharp flicker of his golden gaze shifting toward her every so often, his fingers drumming once against the wheel before he exhaled through his nose, pulling out his phone.

He pressed a button, putting the call on speaker.

The line barely rang before a voice cut through the quiet cabin.

“Viktor?” Silco’s voice was sharp , urgent. “You have her?”

Viktor kept his eyes on the road. “ Ano .”

There was a brief pause. Then—

“And?”

“I am taking her to receive treatment.”

Silco growled. “Is she—”

Jinx reached out.

Her fingers twitched in Viktor’s direction, and without a word, he understood.

He handed her the phone, and Dave turned off the speaker function.

She barely got it to her ear before Silco’s voice snapped through the speaker.

"Hello? What the hell, Vik—"

Jinx groaned, pressing her head back against the seat.

“Ugh, shut up, Dad!” she grumbled. “You’re so damn loud.”

The silence on the other end was brief.

Then—

“…Jinx! Are you alright?! What in the hell happened?!”

Jinx huffed, shifting in her seat, wincing as a sharp throb pulsed through her ribs.

“What happened,” she muttered, “is that bitch Maddie was a fucking snake and she ratted me out!”

Silco’s breath hitched.

Jinx grinned, feeling some of her old fire return.

“She was one of those damned Soldi bastards .”

The silence that followed?

Oh.

That was dangerous .

Jinx grinned, ignoring the ache in her body as she pressed the phone closer to her ear.

“When you and the rest of the blue boys get to that shitty-ass cabin,” she purred, stretching her sore legs out, “I want some of those pictures of her.”

She smirked.

“Oops, sorry,” she added, voice dripping with faux innocence. “I meant to say—‘what’s left of her.’”

She giggled, sharp and mean.

“I should’ve hit her a few more times.”

Silco groaned on the other end of the line. “Dear God…”

But before Jinx could continue, a sharp pain flared in her chest, cutting through her amusement like a hot blade.

She coughed, doubling over slightly, gritting her teeth as another pang shot through her ribs.

“Ugh, bitch…” she hissed, pressing a hand against her side.

Viktor didn’t say anything.

Didn’t react.

But his grip on the wheel tightened.

Jinx huffed, forcing herself to breathe past the pain. “Where’s Isha?” she demanded. “Viktor told me you have her.”

She eyed Viktor as she spoke, watching for any flicker of reaction.

But—

Nothing.

He remained focused on the road, his expression unreadable.

Silco exhaled sharply. “She’s here.”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “You gonna make me ask, or—?”

Silco sighed. “You want me to give her the phone?”

“ Duh ,” Jinx deadpanned.

There was some shuffling on the other end. Then—

Silco’s voice, slightly muffled, speaking off the receiver.

"Isha—here."

Jinx waited, exhaling through her nose.

Then—

A small, hesitant breath.

Isha was there.

Jinx’s smirk softened.

“Ishaaaaaa…” she drawled, voice dipping into something lighter, teasing. “Didn’t I tell you to call Silco?”

Silence.

Jinx smirked, but her tone remained playful, no real bite behind it.

“Pretty damn sure Viktor and Silco’s contacts aren’t anywhere near each other in my phone.”

Isha made a small noise in the back of her throat.

Not quite a whimper.

Not quite a groan.

Something else.

Jinx’s expression softened further.

“…Anyways,” she murmured, stretching slightly despite the throbbing in her ribs, “thank you for calling him.”

She exhaled, shifting again, wincing.

“Viktor’s taking me to the hospital,” she continued, her voice dropping to something quieter. “But I’ll be there to see you soon, okay?”

A pause.

Then—

A tiny, hesitant tap.

Jinx grinned.

That was her girl.

---

The hospital sucked .

Jinx hated hospitals.

The cold, sterile smell. The bright, artificial lighting. The way people looked at her .

Like she was fragile .

Like she was some delicate little thing that needed to be handled with care.

It pissed her off.

But even worse than all that?

Viktor was being quiet.

Too quiet.

He had been beside her the entire time, his presence unwavering as she was examined, tested, poked, and prodded.

He hadn’t spoken much, only answering direct questions from the doctors, his voice smooth and controlled—

But she could tell.

From the way his fingers twitched against his knee.

From the way his jaw ticked every time another injury was added to the ever-growing list.

And finally—

After what felt like forever, the results came in.

A broken nose.

A fractured cheekbone.

A few fractured ribs.

All of which she could’ve guessed.

But then—

Her hand .

The doctor had barely touched it before Viktor noticed.

Noticed the way she flinched, the way her fingers curled just slightly at the contact.

Jinx felt the shift beside her.

The stillness of him.

Like the storm had arrived.

And when the doctor confirmed it—

Second-degree burns.

Palm and fingers.

Right hand.

From grabbing the cast iron pan .

She could see it then.

The way Viktor’s jaw locked, his lips pressed into a thin line, his golden eyes darkening.

He hadn’t noticed it before.

And that?

That meant he was really not fucking happy.

Jinx sighed dramatically, flexing her bandaged hand, rolling her head back against the stiff hospital pillow.

“Awww, c’mon, Vik,” she teased, her voice light, casual—too casual. “I bet I could still pull a trigger with this.”

Viktor said nothing.

Didn’t look at her.

Didn’t move.

Just sat there.

Silent.

Jinx pursed her lips, lifting her uninjured hand to poke at his arm.

Nothing.

She poked him again.

Still nothing.

She huffed.

“Okay, damn,” she muttered, pouting slightly. “Can you at least say something?”

Viktor finally—finally—turned his gaze toward her.

And—

Oh.

Oh, shit.

That look?

That look meant he was going to lecture her.

The moment Jinx realized that look on Viktor’s face—

That flat, unreadable stare, the slight tilt of his head, the way his fingers tapped once against his knee—

She knew she was screwed.

Shit.

She cleared her throat, shifting slightly against the hospital bed.

“Actually, never mind,” she said quickly, lifting her good hand in surrender. “You can stay quiet—”

"Do tell me, Jinx,” Viktor interrupted smoothly, his voice deceptively calm.

Jinx immediately regretted opening her mouth.

His golden eyes pinned her in place, sharp and knowing, cutting through every little defense she thought she had.

“I have a very strong feeling ,” he continued, measured, deliberate, “that your burns were not necessary.”

Jinx pressed her lips together.

Viktor leaned forward slightly.

"Correct me, if I am wrong.”

Jinx swallowed.

Oh yeah.

She was fucked .

Jinx licked her lips, her mind racing for an out—any out.

“Uh—”

Viktor arched a brow.

Jinx winced.

This was bad.

He already knew.

The bastard always knew.

Still—

She had to try.

“Okay, okay,” she started, forcing a casual grin. “So technically, yeah, maybe the burns weren’t, like… totally necessary—”

Viktor exhaled sharply through his nose.

Jinx scrambled.

“But—” she lifted her bandaged hand as if to make a point, “it was for a good cause! You should’ve seen Maddie’s face, Vik—so worth it.”

Viktor didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

His silence stretched thick, pressing against her like a vice.

Jinx shrunk slightly under his gaze.

“Uh,” she tried again, voice a bit smaller. “I mean… worth it in a totally rational, not-at-all reckless way?”

Viktor’s fingers twitched again.

Fuck.

She was digging herself deeper.

Jinx sighed dramatically, flopping her head back against the pillow.

“Okay, fine,” she grumbled. “Maybe it was a little reckless—”

Viktor huffed.

Jinx glared. “Oh, don’t even—you would’ve done it, too.”

Viktor’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Jinx smirked.

“Oh, come on, doc,” she teased, tilting her head at him. “Don’t lie—I know you.”

Viktor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Jinx grinned.

Yeah.

She was still screwed.

But at least she was having fun with it.

---

The past two weeks had been hell.

Not because of pain—Jinx could handle pain.

Not because of healing—she’d survived worse.

No.

It was because Viktor had practically confined her to his house.

And Jinx?

Jinx was so fucking bored .

She had already tried everything.

Sneaking out? Yeah, that ended with Viktor installing new locks.

Messing with Isha’s lessons? Viktor gave her The Look , and Jinx hated when he did that, because then she felt like maybe she was being a little difficult (not that she’d ever admit it).

And now?

Now she was alone .

For hours .

Because Viktor had started homeschooling Isha on the days he wasn’t working, and while Jinx liked that for Isha—liked that Viktor was taking the time to teach her—

It still meant Jinx had nothing to do.

And maybe— maybe —it also made her feel a little lonely .

Not that she’d say that.

But Viktor noticed .

Because, of course, he did .

He noticed everything about her.

So—

Without telling Jinx, he had visited Silco.

And asked him to take Isha for the night.

It had gone exactly as expected.

Which was to say—

Silco had nearly punched him .

Because what Viktor had basically asked was, “Can you watch your daughter’s daughter so I can get my hands on her?”

How absurd .

But—

Silco also knew it would make Jinx happy.

And as much as he hated thinking about the details—

He reluctantly agreed.

With severe reluctance.

With great suffering.

But agreed nonetheless.

Which meant—

Jinx was about to get a very unexpected surprise.

---

Jinx had no idea what was coming.

For the past two weeks, she had been forced into rest—something she hated more than anything.

And between Isha sleeping in their bed and Viktor keeping a watchful eye on her recovery, there hadn’t been a single moment of real privacy between them.

Not one.

No lingering touches that meant something.

No playful brushes of lips and teasing remarks that led to something.

No Viktor pressed against her, his voice a quiet, possessive whisper against her skin.

It was driving her insane.

But tonight—

Tonight, Viktor was going to change that .

With Isha safely at Silco’s (a fact Jinx didn’t even know yet), the night belonged to them.

And first—

He made her dinner.

Because if there was one thing Viktor knew about Jinx—

It was that she loved his cooking.

And he planned to use that to his full advantage.

---

Jinx sat on the couch, flipping a butter knife between her fingers with boredom, her legs stretched across the cushions.

She huffed, tossing her head back dramatically.

Viktor had been in the kitchen for forever, and she wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed or hungry .

She could smell whatever he was making, and damn it, he was too good at this.

It wasn’t fair.

Between her injuries and him being all fussy about her recovery, it had been weeks since they had done anything fun .

And by fun, she meant—

Well.

She smirked to herself.

Either way, she was going stir-crazy.

She was just about to whine when Viktor finally stepped into the living room.

She looked up—

And froze.

Because, shit .

He looked good .

Not in his usual clothes, not in the stuffy, proper way he usually carried himself, but something deliberate .

Something casual but calculated—a simple button-down, the sleeves rolled up, exposing the lean strength of his forearms, the collar just loose enough to tease but not show .

His phony cane was absent.

Because, of course, he was making a point .

Jinx’s lips parted slightly, her fingers tightening around the knife.

Viktor smirked.

“Dinner is ready,” he said smoothly.

Jinx blinked, snapping out of it, shaking off the heat curling at her spine.

“Uh—yeah,” she muttered, pushing herself up, tossing the knife onto the table. “’Bout time, Vik. I was dying out here.”

He huffed, leading her toward the dining table, where he had already set everything up.

Plates. Candles. Her favorite dish.

Jinx narrowed her eyes as she sat down, suspicion curling in her stomach.

“Okay,” she said, resting her chin in her palm. “What the hell is this?”

Viktor sat across from her, watching her with something undeniably smug in his sharp, golden gaze.

“Dinner.”

Jinx snorted. “Uh-huh. And why does this feel like a trap?”

Viktor tilted his head, his fingers idly swirling the glass of wine beside him.

“No trap,” he assured, his voice dipping just slightly.

Jinx squinted at him.

Then—

Something clicked.

Her eyes widened.

She sat up straighter.

“…Wait a damn second,” she muttered, gaze darting around. “Where’s the kid?”

Viktor smirked.

Jinx’s stomach flipped.

“Oh,” he murmured, his voice too calm , too knowing .

“Isha is with Silco for the night.”

Jinx stared .

Her pulse jumped .

Silco has her?

Which meant—

No interruptions.

No distractions.

Her mouth went dry.

She swallowed, eyes flicking back to Viktor, who was watching her with pure amusement.

“Eat,” he murmured, his voice smooth, controlled. “You will need your strength.”

Jinx’s breath hitched.

Oh.

Jinx blinked, her brain taking an extra second to catch up.

Oh, fuck .

She swallowed, fingers twitching against the table, her appetite suddenly battling between food and something else entirely.

Viktor just smirked, his golden eyes gleaming as he lifted his fork, taking a slow, deliberate bite of his own meal.

Jinx licked her lips, suddenly feeling very aware of the space between them.

Too much space.

Her mind raced.

It had been weeks.

Weeks of nothing .

Weeks of avoiding touching each other the way they wanted to.

Weeks of Jinx lying next to Viktor at night, her body aching for a different reason, her fingers twitching to reach for him, only to have a tiny, sleeping human wedged between them.

But now—

Her blue eyes flicked toward the closed bedroom door.

No kid.

No excuses.

Jinx picked up her fork and took a huge bite of food, chewing fast, eyes locked onto Viktor.

Viktor chuckled, low and deep, watching her with something delighted.

Jinx swallowed.

Hard.

“How fast can you eat?” she asked, voice dead serious.

Viktor smirked.

“Jinx,” he murmured, taking another slow, calculated bite, his voice dipping just enough to send a sharp pulse through her spine.

“There is no rush .”

Jinx groaned, dropping her forehead against the table.

This was going to be torture .

Her fingers curled into her hair as she took a deep breath.

No rush?

No rush ?

Was he serious?

She peeked up, glaring at Viktor through a curtain of blue hair.

He was calm. Too calm.

He took another bite—slow, deliberate, his golden gaze never leaving hers.

He was doing this on purpose.

Jinx narrowed her eyes.

“You’re fucking with me,” she accused, voice flat.

Viktor smirked, taking a sip of wine. “Am I?”

“Yes,” she snapped, shoving another bite of food into her mouth, chewing aggressively.

Viktor chuckled, rolling his wrist lazily, still perfectly composed. “You have been impatient lately.”

Jinx swallowed hard, gripping her fork like a weapon.

“Yeah?” she shot back. “And whose fault is that?”

Viktor arched a brow. “You needed to rest.”

Jinx huffed. “I rested.”

“You needed to heal.”

“I healed.”

Viktor tilted his head, studying her, his expression unreadable. “You are still healing.”

Jinx groaned again, throwing her head back.

Viktor smiled, but it was that kind of smile—the one that meant he was enjoying every second of her frustration.

Jinx squinted at him.

Then—

Her eyes flicked downward.

His hands.

His fingers.

The way they tapped once against the table, controlled, methodical—

But twitching, ever so slightly.

Jinx grinned.

“Ohhh,” she purred, leaning forward onto her elbows, resting her chin in her palm. “You’re full of shit.”

Viktor exhaled sharply through his nose, his smirk unwavering. “Am I?”

Jinx smirked right back.

She could see it now.

See the way he wasn’t as composed as he wanted her to believe.

See the restraint in his posture, the deliberate control in his movements.

See the way his gaze dipped down just slightly when she leaned forward.

Oh.

This wasn’t just torture for her.

This was torture for him, too.

Jinx picked up her glass of wine, sipping slowly, her smirk never leaving her lips.

“Fine,” she murmured, tilting her head. “We’ll do it your way, doc.”

Viktor hummed, amused. “Good girl.”

Jinx’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.

Yeah.

This was going to be war.

Jinx’s smirk didn’t waver, but inside, her mind was racing.

If Viktor wanted to play, she was game.

It had been weeks since she had really gotten to mess with him, to push him, to test the limits of that infuriating patience he always carried so damn well.

But now?

Now, she was going to break it.

She took another slow sip of wine, tilting her head, watching him like a hunter sizing up prey.

“Y’know, Vik,” she mused, swirling the glass between her fingers, “I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

Viktor’s smirk remained in place, but his golden eyes were sharp, watchful.

He was waiting.

Calculating.

Predicting her next move.

Jinx grinned.

He was so fun to mess with.

She picked up her fork again, but instead of eating, she dragged her tongue deliberately over the prongs, slow and obnoxious, grinning around the metal.

Viktor’s fingers twitched against his glass.

Gotcha.

“Careful, babe,” she teased, taking another exaggerated bite of food, her voice silk and dynamite. “You’re staring .”

Viktor exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head slightly, his smirk deepening.

“I am observing,” he corrected smoothly.

Jinx hummed, setting her fork down, leaning forward onto her elbows.

“And what exactly are you observing, doctor?”

Viktor’s golden gaze flickered, trailing over her face—her bruised cheekbone, the still healing scar of the split in her lip, the bandages on her fingers.

Jinx smirked.

“You worried about me?”

Viktor’s eyes lifted back to hers.

“Always.”

Jinx froze.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for her breath to hitch, for something sharp and warm to settle beneath her ribs.

Viktor smirked.

Oh, fuck him.

He was turning this on her.

Jinx scowled, pushing her plate away.

“Alright, I’m done eating,” she declared, standing up so fast her chair scraped against the floor.

Viktor leaned back slightly, his smirk damn near victorious.

“Hm. I see.”

Jinx huffed, rounding the table, coming to stand right in front of him, crossing her arms.

“Alright, genius,” she muttered, tapping her fingers against her elbow. “Dinner’s over. Now what?”

Viktor exhaled slowly, tilting his head to look up at her, his sharp gaze soaking her in.

Then—

Slowly—

Deliberately —

He lifted a hand, tugging her down by the belt loop of her shorts.

Jinx yelped, catching herself against the table, her palms smacking against the wood.

Viktor’s lips brushed against her ear, his voice dipping low.

“Now,” he murmured, golden eyes glinting,

“Now, we begin.”

Jinx’s breath shuddered, every nerve in her body suddenly too aware of how close he was.

How his fingers lingered on her belt loop, a silent command as much as it was a tease.

How his breath brushed against the shell of her ear, his voice dipping into that smooth, controlled danger that made something in her ache.

She swallowed, her fingers twitching against the table, her mind caught somewhere between challenge and surrender.

Viktor’s lips curled against her skin, his grip tugging just slightly—

Then, suddenly—

He let go.

Jinx blinked, pulling back slightly to glare at him.

Viktor simply stood, rolling his sleeves up another inch, his golden gaze steady as he watched her.

Then—

He turned.

And walked away.

Jinx stared.

What the fuck?

She turned sharply, watching as he moved casually toward the bedroom, his steps smooth, unrushed, like he wasn’t just two seconds away from making her lose her fucking mind.

Her eyes narrowed.

Oh.

Oh, so that’s how he wanted to play this.

Jinx exhaled slowly, pressing her tongue against her teeth, her hands flexing at her sides.

Fine.

Fucking fine.

If he wanted her to follow—

She’d run.

Viktor had barely made it past the doorway before Jinx moved, her steps quick and sharp, closing the distance fast.

She shoved the bedroom door open just as Viktor turned—

And pushed him back against it, the click of the lock sealing them in.

Viktor barely had time to smirk before she grabbed him, her fingers twisting into his shirt, her breath hot against his jaw.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” she hissed, her lips barely brushing against his pulse.

Viktor chuckled, low and taunting, his hands already settling against her hips, his voice silk and steel.

“And yet,” he murmured, his grip tightening,

“You always chase me.”

Jinx growled—

She pushed herself against him, her lips colliding with his in a desperate, frustrated mess, her fingers twisting into his shirt, yanking him closer, harder, like she wanted to sink into him.

Viktor grunted against her mouth, his back pressing against the door, but his hands—

His hands were everywhere.

Gripping. Pulling.

Dragging her hips flush against his, fingers slipping beneath her shirt, possessive, his nails scraping against the bruises she had earned— his Jinx, his bruises .

Jinx gasped at the sensation, her back arching, her body lighting up under his touch, her own hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt, impatient, needing—

Viktor suddenly flipped her, spinning her until she was the one pressed against the door, her back hitting the wood, his body caging her in.

Her breath hitched.

His golden eyes were dark, intense, burning as he drank her in, his breath hot against her bruised skin.

“Vik—”

His fingers tipped her chin up, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice low, deadly soft.

“Patience, moja láska’.”

Jinx shuddered, her grip tightening against his shirt.

Patience?

Fucking patience ?

She had been waiting for weeks.

Fuck that.

Her fingers dove into his hair, yanking him down as she crushed their mouths together again, her grin wicked against his lips.

“Make me.”

Jinx barely had time to breathe before Viktor took her apart.

His hands gripped her hips, hard, his fingers digging into her skin like he was reminding her who she belonged to.

She gasped against his mouth, but Viktor didn’t slow—didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t give her a single second to think before he devoured her.

His mouth was hot, his lips dragging along the bruises on her jaw, her throat, owning every mark she had taken, creating the ones she hadn’t.

Jinx’s nails scratched against his scalp, her legs already trembling as she rolled her hips against him, chasing the friction she had been denied for weeks.

“Vik—” she whined, half-pleading, half-demanding.

Viktor huffed a sharp breath against her skin, chuckling—low, dark, teasing.

“Impatient,” he murmured.

Jinx growled, twisting her fingers tighter in his hair, pulling his head back, forcing him to look at her.

Her eyes were wild, her grin sharp.

“You fucking started it,” she shot back.

Viktor smirked, tilting his head.

“Did I?”

Jinx snarled—

And then shoved him back toward the bed.

Viktor stumbled, barely catching himself before she was on him, straddling his lap, her bandaged hand pressing against his chest, her good hand gripping his collar.

“You planned this,” she accused, her breath ragged.

Viktor’s fingers tightened on her waist, his smirk widening.

“Perhaps.”

Jinx’s breath shuddered, her skin burning, her entire body thrumming with weeks of pent-up frustration.

She leaned in, lips brushing against his—

“I hate you,” she whispered.

Viktor laughed, his voice dark and pleased, his hands sliding up her spine, pulling her closer.

“No, princezna ,” he murmured, his golden eyes glinting.

“You love me.”

Jinx shivered.

Then—

Jinx crashed into him again, her body pressing flush against his, fingers twisting into his shirt as she kissed him deep, demanding, like she needed to make up for every single second they had missed.

Viktor grunted, but he didn’t fight it—didn’t stop her.

He let her have him.

Let her take what she wanted.

But only for a moment.

Because then—

His hands moved.

Fast. Precise.

One gripping the back of her neck, tilting her head just right, deepening the kiss until Jinx’s whimper melted into his mouth—

The other trailing down, teasing, possessive, his fingers skimming the edges of her waistband, gripping tight against the curve of her hip.

Jinx shuddered, her nails digging into his shoulders, her entire body thrumming beneath his touch.

“Vik—” she gasped, breaking away just enough to catch her breath, her eyes blown with heat, her smirk lazy and wicked.

Viktor exhaled slowly, his golden gaze steady, focused.

Then—

He flipped her.

Jinx yelped as her back hit the mattress, the world spinning for half a second before Viktor pinned her beneath him, his body warm, solid, his smirk dangerous.

Jinx blinked up at him, her breath shaky, but her grin wide.

“Oooh,” she purred, tilting her head. “Getting bold, huh?”

Viktor chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along the bruises on her ribs, his touch barely there, teasing, maddening.

“I have been patient,” he murmured, his voice dipping, slow and deliberate.

Jinx shivered, her fingers clutching at his shirt, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin.

Viktor leaned in, lips ghosting over her jaw, her cheek, her ear—

Then, lower.

“You,” he murmured, breath warm against her throat, “have tested me.”

Jinx grinned, her breath hitching. “Uh-huh.”

Viktor smirked against her skin.

“And now, princezna,” he murmured, voice like silk and thunder,

“I collect.”

Jinx’s entire body burned.

Oh, fuck.

She was so not ready.

He moved slow, deliberate, his hands tracing over every inch of her like he was memorizing her all over again.

Jinx shivered, her fingers digging into his back, her pulse wild, her body thrumming beneath him.

“Vik—” she gasped, her head tipping back, her body burning for more—

But Viktor hushed her, his golden eyes dark, focused, his voice dipping into something deep and dangerous.

“Patience, moja láska’.”

Jinx whined, her frustration spilling over, her nails scratching against his shirt.

Viktor smirked.

Slow.

Knowing.

He was enjoying this.

Enjoying the way she twisted beneath him, the way her breath hitched every time he teased but didn’t give.

He was punishing her.

For testing him.

For pushing him.

Jinx groaned, lifting her head just enough to glare at him, her lips curling.

“You bastard,” she muttered, breathless.

Viktor chuckled, his fingers trailing down her side, tracing the curve of her waist, his touch maddeningly light.

“And yet,” he murmured, lips grazing her ear,

“You love me.”

Jinx shuddered.

Her fingers tightened in his shirt, her breath ragged.

“Yeah,” she whispered, voice sharp and wrecked,

“And I hate you for it.”

Viktor laughed.

Then—

Finally—

He ruined her.

Viktor ruined her, piece by piece.

Slow.

Deliberate.

His hands traced over every bruise, every tender place where she had been hurt, his fingers ghosting over them possessively, reminding her—

She was his.

Jinx shuddered, her breath uneven, her fingers gripping onto him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

She had been waiting weeks for this.

For him.

For the way he held her—not like she was fragile, but like she was something precious.

Something irreplaceable.

Her lips parted, a sharp gasp escaping as Viktor’s mouth moved against her skin, slow, torturous, dragging over every inch of her like he had all the time in the world.

Jinx whined, her frustration bubbling over, her fingers scraping against his scalp.

“Vik—” she gasped, trying to pull him closer, force him to stop teasing her—

But Viktor only smirked, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light, his voice smooth, dangerous.

“I warned you, princezna,” he murmured, his fingers pressing against the bruises on her ribs, firm but careful.

Jinx twitched, her body thrumming, her frustration turning into something desperate.

“You are still healing,” Viktor continued, his lips brushing against her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin.

Jinx growled, her hips arching against him, her entire body pleading for more.

“I don’t care,” she snapped, her fingers twisting in his shirt, her eyes wild.

Viktor chuckled, a low, pleased sound.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his hands gripping her firmly, his smirk widening as he pressed a kiss just below her jaw.

“Then I suppose,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something silk and steel, “I will just have to be… careful.”

Jinx’s breath hitched.

Her fingers tightened.

Her body burned.

Oh, fuck.

She was done for.

Chapter 67: SIX: Entrée

Summary:

Viktor held her through it, his hand never ceasing its movements, prolonging her pleasure until her cries turned to breathless gasps.

When she finally stilled, her chest rising and falling rapidly, Viktor withdrew his hand, his golden eyes darkened with satisfaction.

He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting her with a low hum of approval. “You are exquisite, Jinx,” he said, his voice husky. “Even better than I imagined.”

Jinx, still catching her breath, looked up at him with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed. 

Notes:

This is just a short bonus scene—it's the most NSFW I've ever done, so if it's bad or cringey, I'm so sorry 😵‍💫!

Viktor’s lips trailed away from hers, his breaths heavier now as he moved to her neck. 

His hand, steady despite the tremor of desire coursing through him, found its way to her chest. 

His fingers teased the fabric of her shirt, brushing deliberately over her breasts, coaxing a soft gasp from her lips.

“You are beautiful, Jinx,” he murmured against her skin, his voice husky with reverence and hunger. 

His fingers grew bolder, kneading her softness through the thin material, his thumb finding her nipple and rolling it in slow motions.

Her head tilted back, her body arching into his touch, her lips parted as quiet moans escaped her throat. 

“Viktor…” she whimpered, her hands clutching his shoulders as if she needed to steady herself.

“Shh, moja láska,” he soothed, though his own voice carried a possessive edge. “Let me take care of you.”

He tugged her shirt up, impatient to remove the barrier between him and her skin. The cool air of the bedroom kissed her exposed flesh, making her shiver, but Viktor was quick to warm her again. 

His lips descended to her collarbone, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, his tongue darting out occasionally to taste her.

Jinx whimpered as his lips traveled lower, his hand sliding beneath her shirt to cup her bare breast. His fingers toyed with her sensitive peak, pinching just enough to draw a sharp gasp from her. “Viktor, you—”

“Yes, tell me,” he interrupted, his voice thick with want as he nipped at her skin. “Tell me how much you need me, Jinx. How much you are mine.”

Her breath hitched, and she could barely form a response before his mouth found her breast. 

His tongue flicked over her nipple, drawing it into his mouth as his free hand explored the curve of her waist. 

The sound of her moans, soft but unrestrained, sent a shiver down his spine.

He pulled back just enough to admire the faint red marks his lips had left on her chest and collarbone, evidence of his claim on her. 

His golden eyes burned with satisfaction. “Not enough,” he growled, the hunger in his voice intensifying.

Lowering her back onto the bed, Viktor’s hands moved with deliberate slowness, sliding down her sides, savoring the way her body responded to his touch. 

He kissed his way down her stomach, pausing to leave another bruise just above the waistband of her shorts.

Her breathing grew erratic as his hands reached the hem of her shorts, his fingers slipping under the fabric with a deliberate slowness that made her squirm. “Viktor…” she whimpered, her voice trembling with need.

“Yes, moja drahá,” he whispered, his lips brushing the words against her skin. “I know. I feel it too.”

His hand slid beneath her panties, his fingers immediately finding her slick heat. 

He cupped her fully, his palm pressing against her most sensitive spot, and a groan escaped his throat at how ready she was for him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his fingers parting her folds and slipping through her wetness with practiced ease. “So perfect. So ready for me.”

Jinx cried out softly as his fingers began to move, teasing her in slow circles. Her hips bucked against his hand, seeking more, but Viktor was relentless in his control. 

His mouth returned to her neck, leaving more hickies in his wake as his fingers worked her closer and closer to the edge.

“You belong to me,” he whispered against her skin, his voice dark and commanding. “Say it, Jinx. Say you are mine.”

Her voice was a breathless whimper, her body trembling beneath his touch. “I’m yours, Viktor. Always yours.”

Her surrender was all he needed. Viktor’s lips captured hers in a searing kiss as his fingers slid deeper, pushing her closer to oblivion with every calculated movement. 

Viktor’s fingers moved with precision, his pace agonizingly slow, savoring every reaction he drew from her. 

The soft moans that spilled from Jinx’s lips were intoxicating, fueling the possessive fire in him. His fingers curled inside her, finding that spot that made her gasp and arch against him.

“That’s it,” Viktor murmured, his lips brushing her ear, his voice dark and velvety. “I want to hear every sound, every cry. You are mine, Jinx—every part of you belongs to me.”

Jinx’s hands clawed at his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his vest as she surrendered to the waves of pleasure he was building within her. 

She was helpless under his touch, her usual fiery spirit subdued by the intensity of his dominance.

“V-Viktor…” she stammered, her voice trembling as he added more pressure, his thumb brushing her bud with an intensity that made her cry out. 

Her hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the release he was keeping just out of reach.

“Yes, moja drahá,” Viktor growled, his lips finding her throat again, leaving another mark, his teeth grazing her skin. “Give in to me. I want to feel you break apart in my hands.”

Her body responded before her voice could form words. The tension coiled tight inside her finally snapped, and she cried out his name, her body shuddering as the climax overtook her. 

Viktor held her through it, his hand never ceasing its movements, prolonging her pleasure until her cries turned to breathless gasps.

When she finally stilled, her chest rising and falling rapidly, Viktor withdrew his hand, his golden eyes darkened with satisfaction. 

He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting her with a low hum of approval. “You are exquisite, Jinx,” he said, his voice husky. “Even better than I imagined.”

Jinx, still catching her breath, looked up at him with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed. 

For a moment, she seemed too overwhelmed to speak, her lips parting and closing as if struggling to find words. Finally, she managed a weak laugh, her usual mischief flickering back into her expression.

“Damn, Vik,” she said, her voice still shaky. “You’ve been keeping me waiting for too long.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a smirk as he leaned down, his nose brushing hers. “And I am far from finished, moja hviezda.”

Before she could respond, Viktor’s hands were on her again, sliding her shorts and panties down her legs with a deliberate slowness. 

His eyes drank her in as he cast the garments aside, his lips returning to her skin, trailing down her stomach with reverence and hunger.

“I intend to leave no part of you untouched,” he said, his voice a low promise as he descended further, positioning himself between her thighs. 

His lips pressed to her inner thigh, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. “No part of you unclaimed.”

Jinx shivered beneath him, her hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as anticipation and desire coursed through her. Viktor’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, a wicked gleam in his golden eyes.

“Let me hear you again, Jinx,” he said before his mouth descended to her core, his tongue drawing a strangled moan from her that echoed through the bedroom.

Viktor’s lips moved with a deliberate meticulousness, his tongue exploring her with slow, calculated strokes that sent shudders rippling through Jinx’s body. 

He had always been meticulous, a man who poured all his focus into his work, and now that precision was devoted entirely to unraveling her.

Jinx’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at the strands in a desperate attempt to ground herself. 

Every flick of his tongue against her most sensitive spot sent electric jolts through her, her hips lifting instinctively to meet him. 

The sounds spilling from her lips were raw and unrestrained, her usual bravado reduced to a chorus of pleas and gasps.

“Viktor…” she moaned, her voice breaking as her thighs trembled around his head. “Please… it’s too much—”

“No,” Viktor interrupted, his voice muffled against her. He gripped her hips, holding her firmly in place, his possessiveness showing in the way he refused to let her retreat. “You can give me more, drahá. I want all of you.”

His words were both a command and a promise, his tongue resuming its assault with renewed fervor. He alternated between broad, languid strokes and sharp, focused flicks, his movements designed to keep her teetering on the edge. 

When she thought she might finally catch her breath, he would shift, his lips closing around her bud and sucking just enough to send her spiraling again.

Jinx writhed beneath him, her body a live wire, every nerve alight with sensation. Her head tipped back, her breaths coming in desperate gasps as she clung to him. “Vik, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his voice edged with determination. He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his golden eyes blazing. “You will, Jinx. You are mine, and I will take everything you have to give.”

The intensity of his gaze and the rough command in his voice pushed her over the edge again. Her body arched, her cries sharp and broken as another climax tore through her, leaving her trembling in his grasp. 

Viktor held her through it, his lips and tongue drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she was a quivering mess beneath him.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening with evidence of her release, he looked up at her with a satisfied smirk. 

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice dark and thick with pride. “You are perfect, moja hviezda.”

Jinx could barely form a coherent thought, her body still trembling as she tried to catch her breath. Her flushed cheeks and wide, glassy eyes made her look almost innocent, a stark contrast to the chaos she usually embodied.

Viktor wasn’t finished.

His hands slid up her thighs, his fingers brushing over her overly sensitive flesh as he climbed back up her body. 

He kissed her, deep and possessive, letting her taste herself on his tongue. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers still shaky as they clung to him.

“You are so beautiful like this,” Viktor whispered against her lips, his hands cupping her face. “Helpless, trembling, completely mine.”

Jinx’s lips curved into a weak but wicked grin. “You’re pretty smug for a guy who hasn’t even taken his pants off yet.”

Viktor chuckled, low and rich, the sound sending a shiver through her. “Patience, Jinx. I intend to give you much more before this night is over.”

He pulled back, his golden eyes raking over her exposed body as he began to unbutton his shirt, his movements deliberate and unhurried. 

Each article of clothing he removed revealed more of his lean, scarred frame, his body a testament to both his genius and the trials he had endured.

Jinx watched him, her breath hitching as she drank in the sight of him. “Vik,” she said softly, her voice tinged with awe.

He paused, his gaze softening as he knelt over her, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “What is it, Jinx?”

Her mischievous grin returned, though her voice was still shaky. “It’s not fair how good looking you are. How do I know you don’t have a bunch of girls on the side?”

Viktor’s smirk returned, his hunger rekindled. “There is simply no other for me.”

With a possessive growl, he descended on her again with deliberate intent, his golden eyes locked onto hers, radiating both hunger and tenderness. 

The tension in the air was palpable, charged with the weight of his need and the depth of his devotion. 

He leaned in, his lips claiming hers again, but this time, the kiss was slower, more intense. He wanted her to feel the full weight of his desire, his love, his possession.

His hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, every scar, every part of her that he had claimed as his own—all of her. 

He pulled her legs around his waist, the rough fabric of his trousers brushing against her heat, drawing a soft gasp from her lips.

“Jinx,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like a vow whispered in the dark. “You are mine, in every way. Tell me you know this.”

Her eyes, half-lidded with pleasure, met his. “I know, Vik,” she breathed, her voice trembling with emotion and desire. “I’m yours. All yours.”

A satisfied growl rumbled in his throat, and he shed the last of his clothing with a quick efficiency, his movements almost predatory. 

When he was finally bare before her, Jinx’s eyes widened, a flush creeping up her neck as she took him in.

“God, I really missed your little man.” she said, her voice wavering between teasing and awe.

Viktor smirked, his confidence bolstered by the way her gaze lingered. “I intend to let you spend quality time with him.”

He positioned himself above her, one hand braced beside her head, the other guiding himself to her. 

He teased her first, the tip of him brushing against her slick folds, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. 

He moved with maddening slowness, his gaze never leaving hers as he pushed into her inch by inch, savoring every reaction.

Jinx’s nails dug into his shoulders, her breath hitching as he stretched and filled her. “Viktor…” she moaned, her voice high and needy, her body arching beneath him.

“Yes, drahá,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding. “Feel me. Every part of me belongs to you, just as you belong to me.”

When he was fully seated within her, he paused, his forehead resting against hers. Her breaths mingled with his, the intimacy of the moment grounding them both.

Then he began to move.

His thrusts started slow and deliberate, his hips rolling in a rhythm that had Jinx clinging to him, her cries growing louder with each stroke. 

Viktor’s control was slipping, his possessive nature taking over as he quickened his pace, driving deeper into her, claiming her in every sense of the word.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough with need. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Vik,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her body responded to his relentless pace. “Only yours.”

The words sent a surge of satisfaction through him, his hand gripping her hip tightly as he pounded into her, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. 

He lowered his lips to her neck, biting down just enough to leave another mark, another reminder of who she belonged to.

Jinx’s cries grew louder, her body tightening around him as she neared her climax. 

Viktor could feel her trembling beneath him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. He was close too, but he held himself back, determined to push her over the edge first.

“Let go, Jinx,” he urged, his voice both a command and a plea. “For me.”

Her body obeyed, shuddering violently as she screamed his name, her release washing over her in waves. 

The intensity of her climax pulled him over the edge with her, his own release crashing through him as he buried himself deep inside her, his body trembling with the force of it.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, their breaths mingling as they lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat and the aftermath of their passion. 

Viktor pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand stroking her hair as they both came down from their high.

“Mine,” he murmured again, his voice softer now, a reverent whisper.

Jinx smiled weakly, her arms wrapping around him as she nestled closer. “Yea, yours,” she whispered back, her voice full of both exhaustion and contentment.

The night was far from over, but for now, they rested in the quiet aftermath, the bond between them unshakable.

Chapter 68: Devil's Melody

Summary:

Viktor rips himself from her grasp, stumbling back like he has been burned.

“No.” The word is ragged, breathless, his golden eyes wide with something dangerously close to panic. “I—I should not—”

Jinx licks her lips, lazily amused. “What’s wrong, Phantom?” she teases, voice husky, wicked. “Afraid of a little fun?”

Viktor clenches his jaw.

He needs to leave. He needs to disappear into the shadows before he does something worse, before he forgets himself entirely.

He spins toward the mirror—toward the safety of the dark.

But Jinx catches him.

Notes:

Phantom of the Opera AU 😱!

Jinx never wanted to be ordinary.

Ordinary girls married dull men with dull smiles and spent their lives wasting away in sitting rooms, sipping lukewarm tea and gossiping about things that never mattered.

No. That life was not for her.

Jinx was meant for the stage.

She was meant for more.

And the Grand Zaun Opera House was her kingdom.

It was a grand, gilded beast of a place—looming chandeliers, towering marble columns, velvet seats that stretched into the shadows. The ceiling murals depicted gods and monsters, locked in an eternal waltz above the heads of those who came to worship something far greater than themselves.

And at the center of it all—on the stage, bathed in golden light—stood Jinx.

She had not always belonged here.

The other girls whispered behind their fans, their voices sharp as knives.

"She’s trouble."
"She doesn’t belong."
"She only got the role because the director likes her legs."

It was all nonsense, of course.

Jinx had clawed her way into the spotlight with raw talent and sheer defiance, casting aside the chorus and the background roles until she was undeniable.

And now?

Now she was the voice of the Opera House.

A songbird with a voice that made even the most hardened critics hold their breath.

The prima donna in all but name.

Her latest role was a tragic one— The Maiden and the Monster. A tale as old as time. A beauty and a beast. A girl who danced on the edge of darkness, unable to resist its pull.

Fitting.

The moment she sang, the world melted away.

The weight of the city, the backhanded insults, the way people looked at her like she was something too wild, too wrong —none of it mattered.

Because when Jinx sang, she was unstoppable.

Irresistible.

The audience adored her. The other singers envied her. The patrons lined up to throw roses at her feet.

And yet—

Yet when the final curtain fell and the applause faded into the dark, Jinx was always left with something she could not name.

Something missing.

Something just out of reach.

A song unfinished. A note unsung.

A space beside her that had never been filled.

She would sit at her vanity, staring at her own reflection, tilting her head as if waiting for something— for someone.

But no one was ever there.

Not yet.

Not until him.

Not until the Phantom began to watch.

Not until the darkness itself whispered back.

---

The first time Jinx hears the Phantom, she is alone.

Rehearsal has long since ended. The other performers have retired to their dressing rooms, their laughter echoing down the grand marble corridors of the Zaun Opera House. Outside, carriages rattle along rain-slick streets, the city of Piltover glowing beyond the fogged glass windows.

But Jinx lingers.

She stands at the center of the stage, bathed in dim candlelight, the scent of melted wax and old wood filling her lungs. The vast, empty theater yawns before her—a sea of velvet seats and shadowed balconies, stretching into darkness.

A chill clings to the air, curling around her ankles like a restless spirit.

Jinx doesn’t mind.

She tilts her head back, letting the silence settle, before parting her lips and singing a single note.

It lingers, trembling, fading—

And then something moves.

Not a sound. Not a footstep. Just a presence.

The kind that prickles at the back of her neck, that settles low in her bones like the first breath of a storm.

She stiffens.

Slowly, her gaze drifts upward—to the balconies, the chandeliers, the labyrinth of wooden beams and hidden catwalks overhead.

There is nothing.

Nothing but the dark.

Jinx exhales, rolling her shoulders.

But then—

"Sing again."

The voice is velvet and smoke, curling from the shadows like a ghost’s whisper. Low. Measured. A breath against her ear, though no one stands beside her.

Jinx’s heart gives a single, resounding thump.

Her fingers twitch.

Most women—most sane women—would scream. Would run. Would turn on their heels and flee into the warm embrace of light and safety.

But Jinx?

Jinx grins.

“Well, well.” Her voice is smooth, almost playful. She sways on her feet, letting the silence stretch before speaking again. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

No reply.

She chuckles, tilting her head. “It’s rude to spy on a lady, y’know.”

The air thickens. She can feel him watching now, pressing against the edge of her senses like a weight just out of reach.

Curious, she takes a step forward. “You’re shy, huh?”

A pause. Then, finally—

"No."

The voice is closer this time. Low, controlled, but there.

A thrill licks up her spine.

She places a hand on her hip. “Then why don’t you come out where I can see you?”

Silence.

A challenge.

Jinx waits, the corners of her lips curling upward.

But the darkness does not yield.

Instead, something shifts at the far end of the stage. A rustle of unseen movement. And then—like a breath against the nape of her neck—his voice murmurs once more:

"Sing."

Jinx’s fingers tighten around the ribbon of her corset.

She should say no. Should demand his name, his face, his truth.

But something inside her—something wicked and eager—obeys.

She inhales.

And she sings.

The sound rises, soft at first, then swelling, filling the cavernous hall like a living thing. It is the melody she has been practicing for weeks—the one that never quite fit. The notes have always felt wrong, incomplete, as if they belonged to someone else's throat.

But now—

Now, the music fits.

Now, it breathes.

Jinx closes her eyes, surrendering to the melody, to the sensation, to the unseen gaze that follows her every movement.

She doesn’t stop until the final note fades.

Until the silence swallows her whole.

When she opens her eyes, the air is still heavy.

And yet—

He is gone.

No farewell. No parting whisper.

Only the lingering echo of her song and the faintest trace of laughter in the dark.

Jinx exhales, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her lips.

“Looks like I’ve got a secret admirer.”

And oh, doesn’t that just make things fun.

---

It starts with a single sheet of music.

Jinx finds it the next morning, resting atop the polished wood of her vanity like a secret waiting to be unraveled. The ink is fresh, the notes penned with a precision too perfect for human hands—delicate, deliberate, a song unfinished.

She runs her fingers over the parchment, lips curling in amusement.

“Oh, so you are a romantic.”

The mirror does not answer.

The air remains still.

And yet, she knows.

Knows that he is watching.

She lifts the sheet and hums the first few notes. They are haunting—dark and beautiful, like moonlight spilling through shattered stained glass.

The next time she sings on stage, she sings his melody.

And the Phantom rewards her.

A week passes. The gifts continue.

A single blue rose, its petals cold as if plucked from the grave, left atop her dressing table.

A silken ribbon, the same shade as the midnight sky, curled neatly beside her brush.

A delicate necklace, its silver chain thin as a whisper, adorned with a single crimson gem.

She wears it that night.

The moment she clasps it around her neck, she hears the faintest breath of laughter from somewhere unseen.

A thrill dances down her spine.

Jinx presses her fingers to the pendant, tilting her head.

“You’re getting bold, Phantom.”

The silence hums, thick with something unspoken.

And then—just as she turns away—

"Sing for me."

The words are nothing but a ghost’s murmur, a whisper wrapped in longing, curling through the candlelit room.

Jinx exhales a slow, wicked smile.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

A pause.

And then—soft, barely above a breath—

"Please."

A shiver rolls down her spine.

She sings.

The mirror remains silent.

But oh—she knows.

He is listening.

And that is what makes it all the more delicious.

The gifts are no longer enough.

Not for him.

Not when she wears his necklace, his music, his invisible presence like a second skin. Not when she smiles into the mirror, knowing he watches. Not when she sings his compositions and hears how perfectly they belong to her voice.

Jinx has taken what he’s given and turned it into something dangerous.

A game. A lure.

And Viktor— brilliant, methodical, controlled Viktor—knows he is losing.

Because he wants more.

Because she wants more.

And tonight, he will give it to her.

---

Jinx is alone in her dressing room, the last of the opera house’s lingering souls having long since vanished into the city beyond. The air is thick with perfume and candle smoke, the scent of roses lingering from a bouquet she never asked for but keeps anyway.

She hums to herself, reclining lazily in front of her vanity, fingers idly playing with the pendant at her throat.

And then—

The candles flicker.

The air shifts.

Not a gust, not a breeze, but something felt. A presence pressing against the room, stretching into the space where no one should be.

Jinx’s breath catches.

She does not move.

She only watches.

Waits.

And then she feels it.

A whisper of fingertips at the nape of her neck.

A touch lighter than silk, tracing the fine curve of skin just beneath her hairline.

She shivers.

Not in fear.

Never in fear.

Her lips part, her pulse quickening, her breath ghosting against the glass of the mirror before her.

“Finally,” she murmurs.

The touch stills.

Then—lower now, trailing along the dip of her shoulder, the exposed skin where her corset does not reach—Viktor’s voice follows, low and rich and far too close.

"You knew I would come."

Jinx exhales a quiet laugh, tilting her head, inviting the ghost’s hands to linger.

“Did I?”

His fingers shift, barely brushing the edge of her collarbone. The contact is fleeting, hesitant, as if he is testing the weight of his own desire.

She leans back into it, tilting her chin, watching her own reflection as nothing touches her.

A thrill licks up her spine.

“Oh,” she breathes, smirking, “you are real.”

His touch vanishes.

A sharp inhale— his, not hers. A retreat. A hesitation.

For a moment, silence.

Then, barely above a breath—

"Too real."

And he is gone.

The candles steady. The air settles.

Jinx releases a slow, measured exhale, pressing her fingers to the space where he had been.

She grins.

She has him now.

The Phantom is slipping.

And soon—

Soon, she will have all of him.

---

Viktor is losing himself.

He knows this.

He knows it with every breath he steals from the air she exhales, with every note she sings that was once locked inside his mind, with every moment he lingers too long in the space between shadow and obsession.

He had rules.

He had control.

For years, he remained untouchable—a ghost, a whisper in the bones of the opera house, a force unseen but always felt.

But Jinx has unraveled him like a ribbon pulled loose on her corset, and now, piece by piece, he is coming undone.

It started with his voice.

Then, the gifts.

Then, his touch.

And tonight—tonight, he watches her from behind the mirror, fingers braced against the cold glass, fighting against the impossible ache in his chest.

Jinx sits on the edge of her dressing table, one leg crossed over the other, a smirk playing at her lips as she fingers the pendant he gave her. She knows he is here. She always knows.

And she is waiting.

Waiting for him to break.

Viktor exhales, his breath fogging the surface of the glass.

This must stop.

This must end.

She is reckless. She plays with fire without knowing how easily it burns.

And he—

He is ash waiting to be scattered at her feet.

His fingers curl into fists.

He should leave.

Should vanish into the shadows as he always has, should let her twist in the silence, let her wonder.

But then—

"Do you like watching me, Phantom?"

Jinx’s voice is lazy, teasing, her head tilting as she meets her own reflection—meets his gaze, though he is still hidden.

His pulse pounds in his throat.

He does not answer.

She slides off the table, steps closer, her corset pressing tight against her ribs, her gloved fingers tracing the edges of the mirror.

"You breathe too loud," she murmurs. "Or maybe you just want me to hear you."

Viktor clenches his jaw.

She is baiting him.

She knows he is weak for her voice, for the way she sings, for the way she speaks like every word is a secret meant only for him.

His gloved fingers twitch.

"Not talking tonight?" Jinx continues, her smirk deepening. She leans in, so close her breath fogs the glass. “Or maybe you’re just scared.”

The word strikes like a dagger.

Viktor stiffens.

Scared?

He—the Phantom of the Opera House, the shadow in the rafters, the master of this world— scared of her?

His blood simmers, sharp and electric.

And then—

He moves.

Fast. Decisive.

Before he can stop himself, his fingers press against the hidden mechanism. The mirror shifts.

And he steps through.

Jinx’s breath catches.

For the first time, she sees him fully.

Not a whisper. Not a ghost.

A man.

Viktor stands before her, wrapped in darkness, his long coat billowing slightly with the movement, the pale half-mask gleaming in the candlelight. His golden eyes burn with something deep, something restrained, something dangerous.

Jinx exhales slowly.

“Oh,” she whispers, tilting her head. “So you do have a face.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. His breath is unsteady.

This is a mistake.

This is her victory.

And yet—

Yet he cannot make himself leave.

Because she is watching him, truly watching him, and for the first time in years, he is seen.

Jinx smiles.

And Viktor realizes—

He is lost.

Jinx does not hesitate.

She steps forward, the air between them crackling with something electric, something inevitable.

Viktor does not move.

He should. He should step back, retreat into the darkness where he belongs, close the mirror and pretend this never happened.

But she is too close now— too real.

And he cannot bring himself to run.

Jinx’s fingers hover just above his chest, not quite touching. Testing. Teasing.

He feels the heat of her, the way her presence presses into him, demanding without words.

She wants him to break.

He clenches his jaw, his breath unsteady.

"You're not what I expected," she murmurs, tilting her head, studying him with a smirk that does nothing to hide the glint in her eyes.

Viktor exhales slowly. "And what did you expect?"

Jinx hums, circling him, eyes sweeping over his sharp frame, his heavy coat, the porcelain mask that hides half his face.

"I don’t know," she admits. "Something less ."

Viktor stiffens. " Less? "

She grins. "Less man. More monster. "

The words are a blade pressed against his ribs, sharp and unforgiving.

She wants the monster.

She wants the Phantom.

Viktor is unsure if he is the one haunting her—

Or if she is haunting him.

Jinx’s fingers trail up, just barely skimming the edge of his mask.

A breath of a touch.

But Viktor reacts like it is fire.

His hand snaps up, seizing her wrist.

Hard.

Jinx gasps, not in fear, but in thrill.

The grip is firm, gloved fingers pressing against the delicate bones beneath her skin, a silent warning.

But Jinx only laughs.

"Careful, Phantom," she whispers, leaning in, her voice a breath against his throat. "Touch me too much, and you might never let go. "

Viktor’s grip tightens.

He should let go.

He should leave.

But she is watching him with knowing eyes, daring him to snap, daring him to lose the last thread of restraint holding him back.

And for the first time—

Viktor wonders what it would be like to let himself fall.

Viktor cannot stop himself.

Not this time.

Not when she is so close , her breath warm against his throat, her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers. Not when she looks at him like she sees him, like she has already peeled away the mask and found something worth keeping underneath.

A mistake. A disaster waiting to unfold.

And yet—

Yet his grip tightens more.

Yet he pulls her closer.

Jinx barely has a second to grin before he crashes into her, his mouth claiming hers in something rough, something hungry, something that should never have happened—

And yet, here it is.

Viktor has never kissed like this before. He has never kissed at all. He does not know softness, only obsession. Only need.

Jinx gasps into the heat of it, her fingers curling into the lapels of his coat, pulling him down, dragging him deeper.

She does not let him be careful.

She does not let him escape.

Her teeth graze his lower lip, and he shudders.

His control fractures, his mask pressing hard against her cheek as he cages her against the vanity, as he forgets—just for a second—what he is supposed to be.

Just for a second, he is not the Phantom.

Just for a second, he is only Viktor.

But then—

Then reality slams into him, ice-cold and violent.

His breath stutters. His fingers jerk away from her.

What has he done?

Viktor rips himself from her grasp, stumbling back like he has been burned.

“No.” The word is ragged, breathless, his golden eyes wide with something dangerously close to panic. “I—I should not—”

Jinx licks her lips, lazily amused. “What’s wrong, Phantom?” she teases, voice husky, wicked. “Afraid of a little fun? ”

Viktor clenches his jaw.

He needs to leave. He needs to disappear into the shadows before he does something worse, before he forgets himself entirely.

He spins toward the mirror—toward the safety of the dark.

But Jinx catches him.

Her fingers snare his wrist, tight.

Viktor stiffens.

She should not be able to hold him. He is taller, stronger—his grip had bruised her moments ago. And yet, somehow, she does not let go.

He turns his head, and— gods help him —she is grinning.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she purrs.

Viktor swallows. His pulse pounds at the base of his throat.

“This is a mistake.”

Jinx tilts her head. “Is it?”

She tugs him back toward her, not forceful, not violent—just enough to keep him close. Just enough to let him know that he cannot run.

And Viktor— fool that he is —lets her.

Jinx does not let go.

Viktor feels the heat of her fingers wrapped around his wrist, firm yet teasing, a grip that is not meant to restrain him— but to remind him.

Remind him that she is choosing to hold on.

Remind him that he does not have to leave.

His breath is uneven, his body caught between retreat and surrender. Everything inside him screams to run—to disappear behind the mirror, to drown himself in the cold sanctuary of the dark.

But Jinx’s grip tightens, her thumb brushing against the pulse hammering beneath his glove.

"Don’t," she murmurs.

Viktor stiffens.

The single word hangs in the air, softer than the music he has written for her, heavier than the silence that follows.

Jinx tilts her head, watching him, her smile lazy but knowing. She could press, could taunt him as she always does, but this time— this time —she does something different.

She waits.

Viktor swallows, his throat tight. "You do not understand."

Her fingers slide lower, tracing the inside of his wrist, his pulse thrumming beneath her touch.

"Then explain it to me," she says, voice light, almost playful. "I’m a quick learner."

Viktor exhales sharply. "It is not—" He shakes his head, frustration curling in his chest. "You are playing a game you do not even know the rules of."

Jinx grins. "That’s the fun part."

Viktor closes his eyes, exasperated. She does not understand.

She does not understand what it means for him to be here, for him to want this, to want her.

He has spent years as a ghost, as a phantom, something that haunts but never touches.

And now—

Now, she is holding onto him like he is real.

Jinx tugs him closer, just slightly, just enough to force him to meet her gaze.

She doesn’t look at him with fear.

She doesn’t look at him with pity.

She looks at him like she has already decided he belongs to her.

And the terrifying thing is—

She may be right.

"Stay," she says simply.

Viktor exhales. A war rages inside him—between the man who wants to listen to her and the phantom who knows he shouldn’t.

But her fingers are still curled around his wrist.

And he does not pull away.

---

The Grand Zaun Opera House is cursed.

At least, that is what the whispers say. A ghost lurks in its rafters, a shadow in its corridors, an unseen force that plucks discordant notes from the air and twists them into something hypnotic.

The specter has no face, no name, no form—only a voice. A voice like silk and steel, threading through the walls, curling through candle smoke, slithering between the cracks of reality.

A voice that only Jinx hears.

She stands alone in the dim rehearsal hall, the gaslights flickering, her reflection cast a dozen times in the grand, gilded mirrors lining the walls. She places a hand against the cool glass.

“You’re watching me,” she murmurs, tilting her head, the corners of her lips quirking into something amused.

A low chuckle unfurls in the empty room, dark and intimate, curling around her like fingers at her throat.

“Yes.”

Jinx grins. “Good.”

She isn’t afraid. She never has been. Others call him the Phantom, the Devil of the Opera House, a vengeful spirit that punishes those who displease him. But she knows better.

She has felt his presence in the ink-dark corners of the theater, in the pages of sheet music left mysteriously upon her vanity, in the way her voice soars to impossible heights when she sings the melodies he composes.

She is his masterpiece.

And he is hers.

Deep beneath the Opera House, where no light dares to reach, Viktor sits at his grand piano, his fingers gliding over the ivory keys, composing a requiem only she will sing.

He watches her through the hidden mirrors, her every breath, every movement, every whispered secret to the dark.

Jinx, his muse. His songbird. His obsession.

She sings the notes he writes for her, and each time, it is perfection.

She is perfection . 

Each time, it is ecstasy .

Each time, she becomes more his .

Chapter 69: Not-So-Secret Admirer pt. 1

Summary:

"So, since I didn’t win, that means you don’t wanna get coffee with me?"

Viktor opened his mouth. Hesitated.

Jinx grinned.

"Ah-ha!" She pointed. "See? That was hesitation. You totally wanna."

Viktor exhaled through his nose. "Miss Jinx—"

"You do," she sing-songed.

Notes:

Baka_chan suggested several different AUs, and I was afraid to touch them because I wasn't confident I could write Jinxtor in a modern setting, but I think I'm getting the hang of it!

This one is a University AU, and it could definitely be a stand alone piece, but I think I'm gonna make a part 2 for it, since I do love to spice things up with angst, 🤪.

Professor Viktor had received many things in his years as a university lecturer—half-baked essays, desperate excuses, the occasional bribe in the form of pastries (which, for the record, he did not accept, though he sometimes ate them).

But this? This was new.

A folded note sat atop his desk when he entered the lecture hall. The paper was an almost offensively bright shade of pink, folded neatly and placed exactly where he couldn’t miss it.

Viktor stared at it for a moment, debating whether this was worth his time. Eventually, curiosity won out. With a sigh, he picked up the note, unfolded it, and read it aloud under his breath:

"Your brain is hot. Let me study it up close. ;)"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.

“Ah. Of course.”

From the back of the class, he could feel eyes on him. That wasn’t unusual—students often watched him, either in academic interest or in the usual how-is-this-man-still-alive way his students sometimes did.

But this? This was different.

Slowly, Viktor looked up.

Jinx, with her unmistakable blue hair and usual shit-eating grin, was leaning back in her chair, arms crossed behind her head. When their eyes met, she raised a single eyebrow. Then, deliberately , she winked.

Viktor inhaled deeply, pressed his lips into a thin line, and tucked the note into his coat pocket.

"Truly, a mystery," he muttered, and turned to start his lecture.

The notes didn’t stop.

In fact, they got worse .

Another week, another neatly folded letter, this time left inside his lecture notes. A trap. A planned infiltration .

Viktor unfolded it and read.

"Are you made of copper and tellurium? Because you are Cu-Te. ;)”

There was a brief pause.

Then Viktor blinked, unimpressed. “Terrible.”

From the front row, Jinx gasped in mock offense, clutching at her chest like he’d personally stabbed her. "You wound me, Professor!"

"You wound chemistry with this butchering of science," he replied dryly, folding the note with one hand.

“I’m trying to bond with you!” she whined. “Like covalent bonding, y’know?”

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jinx, I beg you. Focus on your studies."

"I am focusing on my studies. Very closely." She grinned, eyes flicking to him with unmistakable intent.

Viktor sighed again, long-suffering, and moved on.

Jinx, however, did not .

They kept appearing. No matter how much Viktor ignored them, no matter how many times he sighed in exasperation, they just kept showing up.

Some were scientific pick-up lines. Some were aggressively direct. A few were even accompanied by tiny, doodled hearts.

Some highlights:

• "Are you a black hole? Because you’ve got me orbiting around you, and I think I’m falling hard. 💙"
• "I did some calculations, and statistically speaking, the odds of you going on a date with me increase if I keep leaving these notes. SCIENCE."
• "Just so you know, I would 100% fake a tutoring emergency to get more one-on-one time with you. No shame. No regrets."
• "Be honest. If I challenge you to a chess match and win, will you take me out for coffee?"
• (In a particularly bold move, she simply wrote: "Hey Professor, wanna make some bad decisions together? 😉" and left it in his jacket pocket.)

At one point, Viktor tried to bring it up indirectly.

“Class,” he said one afternoon, voice as even as he could manage, “I would appreciate it if personal notes were not left on my desk.”

A few students murmured. Some exchanged glances. But from the back, Jinx spoke up:

"Aww, Professor, but what if they’re really well-written notes?"

Viktor pressed his lips together. “Then they should be handed in as an academic paper , Miss Jinx.”

“Okay, but what if it’s an academic paper about how charming and mysterious you are?”

Someone snorted. Another student coughed, clearly trying to suppress laughter. Viktor exhaled slowly.

"Then I expect it to be formatted in proper APA style."

Jinx beamed. "You got it, Prof!"

That, unfortunately, was not the end of it.

Two days later, an actual APA-formatted paper appeared on his desk, titled:

"A Scientific Analysis on Why Professor Viktor is Undeniably Attractive: A Peer-Reviewed Study."

Viktor read the first few lines. 

He needed tea. Strong tea.

---

Jinx had many theories about her enigmatic professor.

One: He was absolutely, without a doubt, hot . Not just in the standard "nerdy and brooding with a sharp jawline" way—no, Viktor was a different breed of attractive. The kind that made you want to listen to him talk for hours, just to watch the way his mind worked.

Two: He was completely and utterly exasperated by her. And yet, he never actually stopped her. He sighed, yes. He shook his head. He muttered things like "I regret my career choices" under his breath. But had he ever once told her to stop?

Nope.

Which led her to three: He liked the attention.

Maybe not in an obvious way. Maybe he thought he was being all aloof and unbothered. But Jinx had been watching —carefully, scientifically, with a level of dedication she had definitely never applied to any of his assigned readings.

And she had noticed things.

The way he always folded her notes neatly, tucking them away instead of throwing them out.

The way he cleared his throat whenever she got too close, like his brain short-circuited for half a second.

The way his ears turned the faintest shade of pink when she said something particularly bold.

It was all very, very promising.

And today, she intended to push things just a little further.

“Professor.”

Viktor looked up from his desk, where he was busy grading papers, red pen poised over some poor student’s tragic attempt at physics. He blinked at Jinx, who had just waltzed into his office unannounced, carrying a chessboard under one arm.

“…Miss Jinx," he greeted warily. "Is there a reason you are here? And why you appear to be carrying a board game?”

Jinx plopped the chess set down onto his desk with a dramatic thud .

“Challenge,” she declared.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with skepticism. "Challenge?"

"Yup. One game of chess. If I win, you take me out for coffee."

Viktor let out a sharp breath through his nose, something dangerously close to laughter. "You are aware that I am exceptionally good at chess, yes?"

Jinx grinned, sharp and unbothered. "Oh, I’m counting on it."

Now that made him pause. She wasn’t just throwing out challenges for fun—no, Jinx was deliberate . Viktor narrowed his eyes.

“…You have a strategy."

She shrugged innocently. "Who, me? Nah. I just think it’d be real interesting to watch you get all serious and intense over a chessboard. Very attractive."

Viktor rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You are incorrigible."

"I hear that a lot," Jinx said, plopping into the chair across from him. "So, you in?"

Viktor exhaled, glancing at the endless stack of papers waiting to be graded. Then he looked back at Jinx, her expression smug and expectant, and—

Damn it.

With a resigned sigh, he set his pen aside and reached for the chessboard.

"Fine," he said. "But do not expect mercy."

---

As it turned out, Jinx wasn’t terrible at chess.

Oh, she wasn’t on Viktor’s level—he had been playing since childhood, and it showed in the way he dismantled her early attempts at aggression. But she was good at distraction , which, as she quickly learned, was almost as effective.

"Y'know, Prof," she mused as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, "I bet you were adorable as a kid. All serious and broody, playing chess like your life depended on it."

Viktor didn’t look up from the board. "Flattery will not improve your position."

Jinx smirked. "Oh, it’s not flattery. It’s a mental image. Little Viktor, tragically serious, utterly ruthless on the chessboard, probably breaking old men’s hearts in the park. "

Viktor sighed. "You are distracting."

"Part of my charm," she said, moving a piece.

And, as expected, Viktor paused .

She knew that move was reckless. He knew it, too. But instead of instantly countering, he hesitated—just a second, just enough for his focus to slip —

And that was all she needed.

Jinx grinned, seizing the opportunity to actually make a decent move. "Check."

Viktor blinked. His eyes flicked over the board, processing. Then he sighed.

"…Huh," he murmured.

Jinx beamed. "See? I can be smart when I wanna be."

"Debatable," Viktor muttered.

She kicked him lightly under the desk. He huffed a laugh.

The game continued, and though Viktor ultimately did win, Jinx had managed to drag it out way longer than he expected.

When he finally delivered checkmate, she leaned back with a mock groan.

"Ugh. Fine. You win."

Viktor smirked, leaning forward slightly. "Of course."

Jinx studied him for a moment, then rested her chin on her palm again, watching him with a slow smile.

"So, since I didn’t win, that means you don’t wanna get coffee with me?"

Viktor opened his mouth. Hesitated.

Jinx grinned .

" Ah-ha! " She pointed. " See? That was hesitation. You totally wanna."

Viktor exhaled through his nose. "Miss Jinx—"

"You do ," she sing-songed.

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose. "I—"

"C'mon, Prof. One coffee. I won’t even flirt—"

"That is an outright lie," Viktor interrupted.

"Okay, fine, I’ll try not to flirt," she amended. "For at least five minutes. Maybe ten, if you get a good enough caffeine dose in me."

Viktor gave her a long, unreadable look.

And then—finally, finally —he let out a soft chuckle.

" Fine. One coffee," he relented.

Jinx blinked.

Wait. Wait .

Had he just—

Had she actually—

Viktor stood, reaching for his cane. "If only to put an end to this relentless campaign of harassment," he added dryly.

Jinx smirked. " Oh, Viktor. You have no idea what you just agreed to."

Viktor sighed, already regretting everything. "I am beginning to suspect as much."

Jinx grinned, grabbing her coat.

This? This was gonna be fun.

---

Jinx was many things—loud, unpredictable, possibly the reason half the university’s fire alarms had gone off in the last semester. But one thing she was not was unprepared.

So when Viktor actually agreed to coffee, she was ready.

The second they stepped out of his office, she linked her arm through his before he could protest.

“Jinx—” Viktor started.

“No take-backs, Professor,” she interrupted, cheerfully dragging him along. “You said coffee. We’re getting coffee.”

He sighed, letting himself be led. “I deeply regret this already.”

Jinx beamed. “You’re so full of shit. You love this.”

Viktor scoffed but didn’t argue.

The café was a short walk from campus, tucked between a bookstore and a florist that always smelled aggressively pleasant. It was the kind of place Viktor liked—quiet, not too crowded, and small. 

They found a small table near the window, and Viktor, ever the gentleman (even when suffering), pulled out a chair for her before sitting across from her.

Jinx propped her elbows on the table, grinning. “So, Prof, what’s your poison? Black coffee? Something unreasonably bitter? Do you even believe in sugar ?”

“I believe in many things,” Viktor replied dryly, setting his cane against the table. “A balanced equation. The laws of thermodynamics. The tragic downfall of brilliant men. Sugar, however, is debatable.”

Jinx snorted. “ God, you’re dramatic. Alright, fine. I’ll get you the most pretentious, soul-crushingly black coffee they have.”

“And you?”

“Oh, I’m getting the sweetest, most aggressively pink drink on the menu,” she declared. “Something that would physically pain you to look at.”

Viktor shook his head, muttering, “Why am I not surprised?”

Despite his deep reluctance, Viktor had to admit—it wasn’t awful.

Jinx was predictably a menace, but she was also… oddly engaging. She had a way of making conversation feel like a game, rapid-fire back-and-forths that kept him on his toes.

“So, what’s your tragic backstory?” she asked, sipping something pink and suspiciously glittery. “You definitely have one. Give me the cliff notes version.”

Viktor arched a brow. “That is rather forward.”

“Pfft. Viktor, babe, I wrote you a peer-reviewed paper on why you’re hot. We are so past formalities.”

He groaned, rubbing his temple. “Please never remind me of that.”

Jinx smirked but didn’t push. “Alright, fine, I’ll start.” She leaned back, stretching. “I was a very mischievous child.”

“…You were ?” Viktor deadpanned.

“I know , shocking,” she said. “But yeah, I grew up in Zaun, and let’s just say I learned very early that trouble is way more fun than following rules.”

“I would never have guessed,” Viktor muttered.

Jinx grinned. “I was smart, though. Still am, obviously. But school didn’t always work for me. Too many rules, too much structure. I got kicked out of a few places before I ended up here.”

“And yet, you excel in my class,” Viktor noted.

Jinx pointed at him. “ Exactly! You make it interesting. You make people want to listen. Even when you’re being a grumpy old man about it.”

“I am not —” Viktor sighed. “You are impossible.”

Jinx winked. 

By the time they finished their drinks, Viktor found himself oddly reluctant for the conversation to end.

Jinx, of course, noticed.

“Aww,” she cooed as they walked back. “You’re having fun , aren’t you?”

“I refuse to answer.”

“Uh-huh. Denial is the first stage, Prof.”

They reached campus, and Viktor turned toward his office. “Well, Miss Jinx, this has been—”

“ Wait. ”

He turned.

Jinx studied him for a second, then suddenly reached into her jacket.

And then, smirking , she pulled out another bright pink note .

Viktor sighed. “Already?”

“Of course,” Jinx said, winking. “I never stop studying my favorite subject. ”

Viktor rolled his eyes. But as he turned away, he tucked the note into his pocket.

Jinx grinned.

Oh yeah. He was hooked.

---

Viktor should have gone home hours ago.

Instead, he was here, in the dim, eerily quiet library, drowning in an endless sea of poorly written papers and caffeine withdrawal. He had a habit of getting too focused—grading, researching, tinkering with theories that refused to behave. And so, he had completely lost track of time until he finally stretched, checked his watch, and—

Ah.

It was well past closing hours.

Sighing, he gathered his things, leaning heavily on his cane as he stood. He could only hope the librarian hadn’t—

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here, Professor.”

Viktor inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. “Oh, no .”

From between the bookshelves, Jinx appeared, looking way too smug for someone who was absolutely not supposed to be here.

Viktor rubbed his temple. "Why?"

Jinx grinned. "Why not ?"

“You should not be here after hours.”

"Yeah, well, neither should you ,” she pointed out, shrugging dramatically. “So really, who’s the bad influence here? "

" You, ” Viktor said immediately.

Jinx pouted. “Wow. No hesitation. That hurts, Prof."

Viktor sighed. "Whatever nonsense you are planning, abandon it. We are leaving."

"Yeah, about that…"

Jinx rocked on her heels, looking almost too innocent. That was when Viktor heard it—the faintest click from the front doors.

His stomach sank.

No.

Not this.

Hurrying to the entrance, Viktor tugged at the handle. It didn’t budge. He tried again.

Locked.

Firmly.

"…No."

" Yes, ” Jinx said, delighted.

Viktor closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then turned to face her. “I blame you.”

Jinx smirked. "Oh, come on, doc. Just you, me, and an entire night to get creative."

Viktor exhaled, leaning against a bookshelf. "I do not like how that sounds."

Jinx waggled her eyebrows. "Depends on what you’re imagining, Professor ."

Viktor groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

This was going to be a long night.

Once it became clear that there was no immediate escape, Viktor resigned himself to his fate. He glanced at Jinx, who was already making herself way too comfortable, sprawled across a table like she owned the place.

“I assume you have some kind of plan,” Viktor muttered, setting his papers down.

Jinx grinned. “Not really. I was mostly gonna sneak in, steal some books, and maybe accidentally rearrange the history section just to confuse future students."

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are a menace."

"And you are tragically predictable," Jinx shot back. "Let me guess—you were here grading papers?"

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Jinx leaned forward, chin resting on her hands. “Lemme see.”

“No.”

“C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen?”

"You might learn something, which would be an unprecedented event."

Jinx gasped. " Rude. You wound me, sir."

Viktor shook his head, sitting across from her. “You should be wounded. Your last essay was a disaster.”

Jinx grinned. "You read my essay?"

"It is my job to read your essay."

"But you read it. "

Viktor exhaled, staring at the ceiling like he was asking the universe for patience.

Jinx took the moment to study him—his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, glasses slipping just slightly down his nose, fingers tapping absently against the table. She had spent way too much time annoying this man, but right now, in the soft glow of the library lights, she realized something.

She didn’t actually mind being stuck here.

"So, Prof," Jinx drawled, breaking the comfortable silence, "since we're stuck here all night, you wanna tell me anything about yourself?"

Viktor shot her a look. "Why are you so determined to learn my tragic backstory?"

Jinx grinned. "Because I know you have one. And because I like the way your brain works."

Viktor huffed. "Flattery will not work on me."

Jinx leaned in, smirking. "You like it, though."

Viktor didn’t answer. Instead, he looked away, focusing very hard on a random book.

Jinx tilted her head, watching him. He was tired, probably frustrated, and yet—he hadn’t once tried to make her leave. Hadn’t told her to shut up. Hadn’t pulled away when she got too close.

It was telling.

Very telling.

Jinx stretched dramatically. "Well, since we’ve got hours to kill, how about a game?"

Viktor arched a brow. "What kind of game?"

Jinx smirked. "Truth or dare."

Viktor scoffed. " No. "

"Aww, c'mon, don't be boring!"

"I am boring."

"False," Jinx said immediately. "You're secretly hilarious , and also, whether you admit it or not, you love our little games."

Viktor opened his mouth to protest—then stopped.

Jinx grinned. Gotcha.

“…Fine,” he said at last. "One round."

Jinx clapped her hands together. " Excellent. Truth or dare?"

Viktor sighed. "Truth."

Jinx leaned forward. "Alright, tell me something you've never told anyone else ."

Viktor blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "That is an invasive question."

"Yeah, well, that’s the point , Prof."

He hesitated. Then, after a long pause, he muttered, " I used to want to be an artist. "

Jinx blinked.

…Wait. What?

" No way, " she said, grinning. "Viktor, you? Mr. 'Everything Must Be Rational and Precise'? You wanted to paint ?"

"Yes, well," Viktor sighed, rubbing his temple. "It did not exactly pay the bills."

Jinx tilted her head. " Do you still paint? "

Viktor hesitated. Then, almost reluctantly: " Sometimes. "

Jinx beamed .

"Okay, new plan—when we get out of here, you're showing me your work."

"I am doing no such thing ," Viktor said immediately.

Jinx smirked. "We'll see, Prof. We'll see."

They spent the rest of the night talking, arguing over literature, playing absurd hypothetical games ( "Would you rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?" ), and—surprisingly—just existing together.

By the time morning rolled around, Viktor realized something deeply concerning.

He had actually enjoyed himself.

The librarian eventually returned, unlocking the doors with a startled look.

Viktor sighed in relief. Jinx stretched like a cat.

"Well, Prof," she said, smirking as they stepped into the morning sun. "That was fun. We should get locked in places more often."

Viktor shot her a look . "Absolutely not."

Jinx grinned. "But you had fun ."

Viktor exhaled, glancing away. "…Perhaps."

Jinx beamed.

Oh, he was so doomed.

Viktor had survived many things in his life—poverty, illness, academia ( barely ), and an unholy number of student excuses.

But somehow, getting locked in the library with Jinx felt like a new kind of endurance test.

The worst part?

He hadn’t hated it.

No, the worst part was the way his mind kept replaying the night. The way she had sprawled across the library table like she belonged there. The way she had teased him, smirking like she knew he was enjoying the attention. The way her eyes had lit up when she learned he used to paint—like she had found some rare artifact, something worth keeping.

It had been… nice .

Viktor did not like that realization.

And now, standing outside in the golden light of morning, watching Jinx stretch and grin like she had just won something, Viktor felt something in his chest shift.

…That was concerning.

Jinx, of course, noticed immediately.

"You’re thinking real hard over there, Prof."

"I am always thinking," Viktor muttered.

Jinx smirked. "Yeah, but right now, you're thinking about me ."

Viktor scoffed. " You are an unavoidable thought, Jinx."

Her grin widened. " Exactly. "

Viktor exhaled sharply. "Go home, Jinx."

" Make me."

Viktor turned, cane clicking against the pavement as he pointedly walked away. "I am not engaging in this."

Jinx just laughed. "See you in class, Professor !"

Viktor didn’t respond.

But as he walked toward his office, the faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips.

---

Jinx had been playing this game for weeks. The notes, the flirting, the chess gambit, the library incident —all leading up to this .

The problem?

Viktor was resisting.

Oh, she knew he liked it. She saw the way his ears turned pink when she leaned in too close. The way he sighed in deep suffering but never actually told her to stop . The way he had smiled after their all-nighter in the library.

But he was stubborn.

Which meant it was time for the next step.

Viktor was, once again , trying to grade papers in peace.

Jinx had other plans.

The door to his office swung open without warning. Viktor didn't even flinch.

"Miss Jinx, I am very close to installing a lock."

Jinx plopped into the chair across from him, grinning. "As if that would stop me."

Viktor rubbed his temple. "What do you want ?"

"To make your life more interesting," she said easily.

Viktor sighed. " God help me. "

Jinx propped her chin on her hands. "So, tell me, Prof—what does it take to make you actually ask me out?"

Viktor blinked.

Then he stared at her, as if she had just spoken in a foreign language.

Jinx smirked. "Oh, come on , Viktor. We've been playing this game for weeks ."

"This is not a game," Viktor muttered.

"Then what is it?" Jinx tilted her head, studying him. " Because —and this is just a theory —if you really wanted me to stop, you’d have told me. But you haven’t. Which means you like this. Which means—"

" Miss Jinx ," Viktor interrupted, voice carefully measured, " you are incorrigible."

"And you ," Jinx countered, grinning, " are avoiding the question. "

Viktor inhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Then, after a long silence—

"...Chess."

Jinx blinked. "Huh?"

Viktor exhaled, setting his pen down. "One game. If you win, I will—" he paused, hesitating, " consider taking you to dinner."

Jinx’s eyes lit up .

"Oh, you are on ."

The rematch was intense .

Jinx, determined as ever, actually focused —which was saying something. Viktor played ruthlessly , giving her no openings.

But Jinx was good at distraction.

Viktor was calculating his next move when she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands.

"You look really cute when you’re thinking."

Viktor froze .

For half a second , his focus wavered and he placed his piece somewhere except where he intended.

And that was all Jinx needed.

With a triumphant grin, she moved her queen.

" Checkmate. "

Viktor stared at the board.

Then at her.

Then back at the board.

"...You are evil."

Jinx smirked, leaning back. " And now you owe me dinner. "

Viktor groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

But— damn it —he was smiling.

---

Viktor never thought he would find himself willingly sitting across from Jinx in a candlelit restaurant. And yet—

Here he was.

"Admit it," Jinx said, sipping her drink, "you're having fun ."

Viktor exhaled. "You are exhausting."

"But you like it ."

Viktor sighed. "Perhaps."

Jinx grinned, resting her chin on her hand. "You’re so doomed, Prof."

Viktor smirked, just slightly. " I know. "

Viktor had never considered himself a dating man.

He barely had time for himself, let alone for romantic entanglements. He preferred predictability, logic, things he could control. Jinx was none of those things.

And yet, here he was.

The restaurant was nice —too nice for someone who had been bullied into a date through a technically-questionable chess victory. The lighting was dim, the atmosphere warm, the soft murmur of conversation blending with quiet piano music.

Jinx, of course, had immediately ruined the illusion of elegance by dramatically propping her chin on her hands and grinning at him like a fox.

“So,” she said, swirling her drink, “on a scale from mild suffering to complete and total agony , how much are you regretting this?”

Viktor exhaled, setting down his menu. “Currently? A solid mild suffering. ”

Jinx gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Wow. High praise.”

"Do not take it as such," Viktor said dryly.

“Oh, but I will .” Jinx winked. “Because you chose this, Professor.”

Viktor had chosen this.

He could have refused. Could have walked away. But he hadn’t.

And that fact was becoming more dangerous by the second.

They had just started eating—Viktor had gone for something simple (because he wasn’t about to trust Jinx’s chaotic recommendations), while Jinx had ordered something spicy enough to potentially kill a weaker man .

Everything was going suspiciously well .

Which, of course, meant something had to go horribly wrong.

Jinx’s phone buzzed loudly against the table. She glanced at the screen and sighed dramatically.

“Ugh. Of course he calls now. ”

Viktor arched a brow. “He?”

Jinx waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, it’s just—” She sighed, rolling her eyes before answering the call.

The moment she pressed the phone to her ear, Viktor immediately heard a fury-fueled voice barking through the speaker.

“Jinx. Where the hell are you?”

Viktor’s hand paused around his fork.

Jinx, completely unfazed, just chewed on a bite of food. “Hey, Dad.”

Dad.

Viktor frowned slightly.

Interesting.

“I asked you a question,” Silco snapped. “Where. Are. You.”

Jinx sighed dramatically, tapping her nails against the table. “Busy.”

“ Busy? Jinx, I swear to—”

“Busy,” she repeated, voice dripping with exaggerated patience. “I’ll be home when I’m home.”

“You will come home now ,” Silco growled. “Or I will find you myself.”

Viktor watched the exchange with carefully hidden curiosity.

Jinx was completely unbothered —rolling her eyes, lazily picking at her food, smirking like this was entirely normal .

Before Silco could say anything else, Jinx cut him off.

“Uh-huh, yep, love you, bye!”

Click.

She hung up.

Viktor blinked.

Jinx set her phone down like nothing had happened , then glanced up to find Viktor staring at her.

“…What?” she asked, tilting her head.

Viktor set his fork down slowly. “Your father sounds… intense.”

Jinx snorted. “ That’s putting it lightly.”

“You are not concerned?”

“Nah,” she said, biting into another piece of food. “He’ll get over it.”

Viktor studied her carefully. Jinx, for all her reckless abandon , had handled that phone call like it was just another part of her day . Like it was expected .

Like she had been dealing with this for a long time.

Viktor frowned slightly.

Jinx caught the expression immediately. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she said, smirking. “I can feel you overanalyzing.”

Viktor sighed, rubbing his temple. “I do not overanalyze.”

“You totally do.” Jinx leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re thinking so hard about me right now.”

Viktor exhaled sharply. " God help me. "

Jinx grinned.

By the time they left the restaurant, the air was crisp, the streets quiet. Jinx was still smirking, satisfied with her clear victory .

Viktor walked beside her, hands in his coat pockets, lost in thought.

“…So,” Jinx said casually, bumping her shoulder against his, “what’d you think?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Of the food , or of the entire ordeal that is spending time with you?”

Jinx gasped. “ Ordeal ? Wow. I can’t believe you’d say that to me.”

Viktor sighed. “You can believe it.”

Jinx snickered. “Yeah. I totally can.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment.

Then, after a pause—

“…You never did say if you’d do this again,” Jinx said, watching him carefully.

Viktor hesitated.

Jinx was many things—chaotic, frustrating, an absolute menace —but she wasn’t boring.

He sighed.

“…Perhaps.”

Jinx beamed. “ That’s basically a yes.”

Viktor shook his head, exasperated. “You are insufferable.”

“And you are starting to like it ,” Jinx shot back, grinning.

Viktor did not respond.

But he also didn’t deny it .

Jinx smirked.

He was doomed long before he realized it. .

Chapter 70: Dagger & Crown

Summary:

Jinx watched Viktor pour over the map of the kingdom, marking routes, circling names. She had to admit—he was quicker than she expected. He had spent years confined by illness, but his mind was razor-sharp.

“You’re planning something,” she observed.

Viktor didn’t look up. “You didn’t expect me to sit idly by while my brother plans my murder, did you?”

Jinx grinned. “Oh, I was hoping you’d do something fun.”

He finally turned to her, something dark and knowing in his eyes. “You’ve already killed for Aleksandr once,” he mused. “Tell me, would you do it again?”

Jinx tilted her head, twirling her dagger. “Depends. What’s in it for me?”

Viktor stepped closer, his voice soft, dangerous. “A kingdom ruled by a man who owes you his life.”

Notes:

Sickly Prince!Viktor x Assassin!Jinx AU

The Kingdom of Zael was built on a foundation of blood—its history written in the ink of betrayal and sharpened steel. To rule was not merely to wear a crown, but to survive long enough to keep it.

For centuries, Zael had known only a single truth: kings did not die peacefully in their beds.

It was a kingdom that bred its heirs for war, for deception, for the inevitable contest of power that began the moment a new prince or princess took their first breath. Siblings were not merely family; they were rivals, enemies, potential usurpers. And for the last twenty years, that contest had been played between two sons.

The firstborn, Prince Aleksandr, was everything a ruler should be. Strong, handsome, a warrior trained in both sword and strategy. He was the golden son, the future king—at least, in the eyes of those who valued steel over wit.

And then there was Prince Viktor, the sickly second son.

From the moment Viktor had entered the world, fragile and gasping for breath, Aleksandr had despised him.

It should have been easy to ignore a brother destined for an early grave. But Viktor had never been as weak as he appeared.

He was clever. Too clever.

Even as a child, Viktor had been too quick with his words, too sharp with his mind. He had been frail, yes, but never timid. He had been adored by tutors, by courtiers, by foreign dignitaries who found his intelligence more charming than Aleksandr’s arrogance. Even the other royal children had flocked to him, preferring his stories and games to Aleksandr’s boasts of conquest.

Most damning of all, their father, the king, had always favored him.

Aleksandr had been born to rule, but it was Viktor whom the king had spoken to in quiet council. Viktor whom the king had trusted with his deepest confidences. And no matter how many battles Aleksandr won, how many tournaments he conquered, how many warriors swore fealty to him—he could never change the fact that Viktor was the one their father truly listened to.

For years, the balance had remained in Aleksandr’s favor. Viktor was too sick to be a real threat. He had spent his youth in the shadows of the palace, confined to his chambers for weeks at a time, fevered and wheezing, his body too frail to withstand the rigors of royal life. And for years, Aleksandr had been content to watch him wither, certain that time itself would solve the problem.

But Viktor had not died.

And when their father’s health had begun to fail, when rumors of a cure for Viktor’s condition began to spread through the palace like wildfire—Aleksandr had stopped waiting.

---

Jinx moved like a whisper through the royal corridors, a shadow against stone.

The Loose Cannon—that was what they called her. An assassin, a poisoner, a ghost. She had been killing kings and wanna-bes since before Viktor had learned how to hold a quill.

Tonight, she was here for the Second Prince.

She had been paid well to ensure his sickness reached its natural conclusion.

Most men would have died already. Viktor should have been no different. But the King’s favoritism had kept him breathing, and now, rumors of a cure threatened to change the game entirely.

If Viktor lived—if he truly recovered—then Aleksandr’s claim to the throne would no longer be unchallenged.

And that was unacceptable.

Jinx had no interest in politics. Her loyalty was to gold, not kings. But she understood power. She knew how the game was played. If Aleksandr took the throne, blood would flow freely through the streets. If Viktor did… well, she didn’t know yet.

She wasn’t supposed to care.

But when she slipped into Viktor’s chambers that night, dagger ready, she found something unexpected.

He was awake.

And waiting.

"You don't look like a king," Jinx mused, twirling the dagger between her fingers.

Viktor sat in his chair, his body thin and wrapped in fine silks, the dim candlelight casting hollow shadows across his face. He should have looked helpless.

He did not.

"And yet," he exhaled, fingers drumming against the armrest, "they fear me anyway."

Jinx tilted her head, intrigued.

Most men in his position would have been begging by now. Most would have tried to bribe her, to reason with her, to call for their guards like frightened children.

Viktor did none of these things.

Instead, he studied her.

The weight of his gaze was unsettling—sharp, calculating. Like he already knew who had sent her. Like he had been waiting for her to come.

Interesting.

She grinned. "Guess that makes two of us."

And for the first time, she hesitated.

Not out of pity. Not out of mercy. But out of something far more dangerous.

Curiosity.

Jinx had left that night without finishing the job. She had gone back to her hidden lair, her mind buzzing.

Viktor was supposed to be an afterthought. A sickly prince too weak to change his fate.

But instead, he had challenged it.

That kind of defiance… it was rare.

So, she did something she had never done before.

Instead of killing him, she made him a cure.

It wasn’t easy. The sickness that had plagued him since birth was no ordinary affliction. His blood was weak, his lungs fragile—but not beyond saving. Not for someone like her.

The vial shimmered under the candlelight, the thick liquid within a deep shade of crimson—like old blood. It smelled of bitter herbs and something sharp, something metallic. A draught of life or death, indistinguishable by scent alone.

Viktor turned it between his fingers, lips quirking in dry amusement. “And if I drink this, will I wake in the morning?”

Jinx lounged against the desk in his chamber, watching him with a lazy smirk. “Depends,” she said, flipping a dagger in her hand. “Do you usually wake up in the morning?”

His chuckle was soft, almost breathless. “Not always, no.”

Her smile widened. He was clever. She liked that. Most men in his position would have been begging or bargaining by now, but he just sat there, considering her with that sharp, calculating gaze, as if she were the puzzle and not the poison in his hands.

“I could have killed you the other night,” she said, rolling the dagger across her knuckles. “Right in the heart, clean and quiet.”

“I noticed,” Viktor murmured. “And yet, you didn’t.”

“Curiosity got the better of me.”

He hummed, swirling the liquid in the vial again. “Curiosity. That is a dangerous thing for people like us.”

“Oh, I know.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. The candle flickered, casting shifting shadows over Viktor’s face, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones, the paleness of his skin. He still looked fragile, like a man who had spent too many nights on the edge of death, but there was something else beneath it now—something steel-boned and unyielding.

Jinx had seen dead men before, the walking kind, the ones who had given up before their bodies did. Viktor was not one of them.

That made him interesting.

With slow deliberation, he pulled the stopper from the vial. The scent hit him again—sharp, bitter, with a metallic bite. His fingers trembled slightly, whether from weakness or hesitation, she couldn't tell.

He met her eyes. “You could have given me poison.”

She shrugged. “I still could.”

“And yet,” he mused, lifting the vial to his lips, “I think you won’t.”

Then he drank.

Jinx tilted her head, watching.

A beat passed. Then another.

Viktor closed his eyes, exhaled. His breathing slowed, and for a moment, she thought she had made a mistake. Then his fingers tightened around the empty vial, and he let out a quiet, shuddering laugh.

“Warm,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I had forgotten what that felt like.”

Jinx smirked. “Told you I was good.”

His eyes flickered open, dark and knowing. “Yes,” he agreed. “You are.”

She grinned, twirling her dagger once more. “Guess we’ll see if you’re worth the effort.”

Viktor chuckled, leaning back into his chair, already feeling the slow burn of strength returning to his veins.

"Oh," he said, voice dark with promise.

"I intend to be."

---

Viktor awoke to the quiet hum of power coursing through his veins.

For years, waking had been an exercise in suffering. Every breath was a battle, every movement a reminder of his body’s fragility. The sickness had bound him like chains, kept him weak while the court whispered of his inevitable demise.

But today was different.

The ache in his bones had lessened. His breath came easier. His limbs no longer felt weighed down by invisible iron.

The cure was working.

Jinx sat across from him, perched lazily on the edge of his desk, a dagger spinning between her fingers. “You’re looking better,” she mused, eyes sharp beneath the lazy smirk.

Viktor pushed himself upright with a steadiness he hadn’t felt in years. "And you’re still here."

She grinned. “Figured I’d stick around. See what you do with your newfound health. You gonna be boring and crawl back into bed, or are you actually going to make this interesting?”

Viktor chuckled, rolling his shoulders as he stood. His balance was steadier than expected. He let the silence stretch as he walked toward the window, gazing out over the sprawling city of Zael, the kingdom that had never been meant to be his.

A kingdom his brother would burn before he allowed Viktor to take it.

Jinx was watching him carefully. He could feel it—the weight of her gaze, measuring, assessing. She was dangerous. But then, so was he.

“The cure is working,” he said at last, his voice stronger than it had been in months. “But it is not enough.”

Jinx arched an eyebrow. “You want more?”

“I want to live.” He turned back to her. “Truly live. No more depending on the mercy of healers. No more being a pawn to my own body’s weakness. If you can give me that…” His fingers tightened around the edge of the windowsill. “Then I will make things very interesting.”

Jinx’s grin sharpened. “You planning to kill your brother?”

Viktor exhaled. “I am planning to win.”

She liked that answer.

---

Aleksandr paced the war chamber, fury simmering beneath his skin.

It had been a week since his assassin had failed. A week since Viktor should have been rotting in his bed, another frail candle snuffed out by fate’s cruel hand.

But he wasn’t.

His little brother was not only alive—he was getting stronger.

The reports from the palace were concerning. Viktor was walking freely, speaking with confidence. The courtiers whispered of his sudden improvement, of the King’s renewed interest in his second son.

And Aleksandr knew what that meant.

The King was considering a change.

Aleksandr slammed his fist against the table. "He should be dead."

Across the room, his most trusted advisor, Lord Marek, shifted uneasily. “Your Highness… perhaps the sickness was misjudged. Or—” He hesitated. “—perhaps someone has interfered.”

Aleksandr’s jaw tightened. “Find out who.”

Marek bowed. “And if Viktor is truly recovering?”

Aleksandr’s eyes burned with hatred. “Then I’ll finish it myself.”

---

Jinx watched Viktor pour over the map of the kingdom, marking routes, circling names. She had to admit—he was quicker than she expected. He had spent years confined by illness, but his mind was razor-sharp.

“You’re planning something,” she observed.

Viktor didn’t look up. “You didn’t expect me to sit idly by while my brother plans my murder, did you?”

Jinx grinned. “Oh, I was hoping you’d do something fun.”

He finally turned to her, something dark and knowing in his eyes. “You’ve already killed for Aleksandr once,” he mused. “Tell me, would you do it again?”

Jinx tilted her head, twirling her dagger. “Depends. What’s in it for me?”

Viktor stepped closer, his voice soft, dangerous. “A kingdom ruled by a man who owes you his life.”

Now that was interesting.

Jinx let the silence stretch, watching the flicker of something dangerous in his gaze.

Then she grinned. “Alright, princeling. Let’s play your game.”

And just like that, the pieces began to move.

The Dagger had chosen a side.

And the Crown was no longer within Aleksandr’s grasp.

The first move came swiftly.

A nobleman's body was found floating in the royal baths, his throat slit so cleanly it hardly looked like a struggle had taken place. Lord Dorian of House Velstane—one of Aleksandr’s most vocal supporters.

By morning, the whispers had begun.

Viktor listened to them from his place at the King’s table, his expression one of quiet interest as the courtiers muttered amongst themselves. Dorian had been untouchable. Aleksandr’s closest ally.

And now he was dead.

A warning. A message.

The game had begun.

Viktor sipped his tea, disguising his amusement as concern while the conversation raged around him. Across the table, Aleksandr was seething, his hands clenched tight around his goblet.

“Cowards,” his brother muttered under his breath. “Striking in the dark like rats.”

Viktor hummed, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Perhaps, dear brother, your allies should not be so easy to kill.”

Aleksandr’s eyes snapped to him, sharp with suspicion. “And you speak so lightly of it? One of our own has been murdered.”

“Yes,” Viktor mused. “Curious, isn’t it? It seems no one is safe.”

Aleksandr was still watching him long after the meal had ended.

Good.

Let him wonder. Let him stew in his paranoia. The more uncertain he became, the easier he would be to unravel.

Jinx was waiting in his chambers that night, lounging in his chair as if she belonged there.

He barely acknowledged her as he poured himself a drink. “A fine job,” he said smoothly. “I trust you enjoyed yourself?”

She grinned, flipping a dagger between her fingers. “Oh, I always do. You should have seen Aleksandr’s face.”

“I imagine it was priceless.” Viktor took a slow sip of his wine, feeling the warmth settle in his stomach. His body was stronger now—he could feel it, the way his limbs no longer ached with every movement. The way his mind was clearer, sharper.

Jinx stretched, her boots resting casually on his desk. “You’re getting bolder, princeling.”

He glanced at her over the rim of his glass. “Should I not be?”

“Oh no, I love it.” She smirked. “But it makes me wonder… how far are you willing to go?”

Viktor set his drink down and met her gaze with quiet certainty. “As far as I must.”

Jinx tilted her head, studying him. Then she grinned, pushing herself up from the chair.

“Then this is going to be fun.”

She flipped the dagger once more before slipping it into his hands.

A gift. A promise.

The Dagger and the Crown.

A partnership forged in blood.

And Zael would soon learn that the sickly prince had never been weak at all.

---

Blood stained the palace corridors again before the week was over.

This time, it was one of Aleksandr’s generals.

Lord Cassian was a brute of a man, one of Aleksandr’s most loyal supporters. He had led countless campaigns in the King’s name, securing borderlands, crushing rebellions. A warrior through and through.

And yet, he had died like all the rest—on his knees, throat open, eyes glassy with disbelief.

Viktor observed the aftermath with quiet satisfaction, leaning against his cane as the palace guards scrambled around the scene. Aleksandr stood near the body, his fury barely contained beneath the weight of his growing paranoia.

Someone was hunting his allies.

Someone was weakening him.

And though he had no proof, Viktor knew that Aleksandr suspected him. How could he not?

So, when his brother turned to face him, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists, Viktor merely arched a brow. “Another unfortunate accident?”

Aleksandr’s glare could have carved through steel. “You think this is funny?”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head. “No, brother. I think it is predictable.”

Aleksandr stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Viktor could hear. “You are playing a dangerous game.”

Viktor met his gaze, utterly unafraid. "No, Aleksandr," he murmured, tilting his head. "I am winning it."

That night, Jinx sat on his windowsill, swinging her legs idly as she examined a small glass vial in the moonlight.

“Your brother is getting nervous.”

Viktor sat at his desk, flipping through a worn leather book. “Good.”

Jinx smirked, rolling the vial between her fingers. “He’ll get desperate soon. Cornered animals tend to lash out.”

“I am counting on it.” Viktor’s fingers traced a passage in the book absentmindedly. “A man like Aleksandr does not think before he acts when he is angry. He has always been ruled by his temper.”

Jinx hummed, watching him. “And you? What rules you?”

Viktor glanced up, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Cleverness.”

She grinned. “That’s a dangerous thing for a prince.”

“I know.”

A pause. Then Jinx hopped down from the windowsill, holding out the vial. “Then here. A gift.”

Viktor took it, inspecting the liquid inside. “What is it?”

“A failsafe.” Jinx’s eyes gleamed. “Colorless. Tasteless. One drop and your dear brother will choke on his own blood before he can finish his sentence.”

Viktor studied the vial for a long moment, then closed his fingers around it. “Useful.”

Jinx tilted her head. “You gonna use it?”

Viktor’s smile was slow, sharp. "Only if he forces my hand."

The palace was shifting. Viktor could feel it in the air, in the hushed voices of the courtiers, in the way the guards now watched him instead of looking past him.

The King was dying.

His father had been sick for months, but now, the illness was reaching its final stage. Soon, the throne would be empty.

And only one son could take it.

Aleksandr had always assumed it would be him. But Viktor could see the fear creeping into his brother’s posture, the realization that things were no longer so certain.

He was losing ground.

And Viktor?

He was thriving.

It was almost poetic.

For years, Aleksandr had watched him wither, waiting for him to die.

Now, it was Aleksandr’s turn to watch.

To watch as Viktor walked the halls with newfound strength.

To watch as nobles who once ignored him now flocked to him.

To watch as his father summoned Viktor more often than him.

Aleksandr’s fury was palpable.

And Viktor savored every second of it.

Jinx was laughing as she leaned against the wall of Viktor’s chamber. “He’s going to snap soon.”

Viktor smirked as he poured himself a glass of wine. “Yes. That is the idea.”

Jinx folded her arms, watching him. “And when he does?”

Viktor swirled the wine in his cup, his expression unreadable.

“Then,” he said simply, “we end this.”

---

The breaking point came faster than expected.

It happened in the dead of night, when the palace should have been asleep. When most would have been too lost in their dreams to hear the sound of steel unsheathing, of boots echoing down empty corridors.

Viktor had been waiting for it.

He had known Aleksandr would not let things fester much longer. His brother was not the type to accept defeat with grace. No, Aleksandr was a warrior, a man of brute strength and blind fury. And now that he had no more allies left to kill for him—

He had come to do the job himself.

The door to Viktor’s chambers burst open, the force of it rattling the hinges. Torchlight spilled into the room, illuminating the figure standing in the doorway—Aleksandr, sword in hand, breath ragged with rage.

There was no pretense, no words wasted.

Aleksandr charged.

Viktor was already moving.

The blade sliced through air where his throat had been seconds before, cutting instead through sheer silk as Viktor twisted away. The pain in his joints, the weakness that had once held him captive—all of it was gone now.

He was faster.

Stronger.

And as he turned to face his brother, he saw the flicker of shock in Aleksandr’s eyes.

“You should be dead,” Aleksandr growled.

Viktor smiled. “And yet.”

The moment stretched, heavy with the weight of inevitability.

Then, the fight began in earnest.

Aleksandr came at him again, faster this time. Viktor dodged, stepping back toward the table where Jinx’s vial lay waiting. His fingers brushed against the cool glass, but before he could close around it, Aleksandr struck again—this time with brutal efficiency.

The blade caught Viktor’s side.

A shallow cut, but enough to make him stumble. Enough for Aleksandr to lunge forward, ready to finish it.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

Because before his blade could strike—

Another knife buried itself in his back.

Aleksandr’s body jerked. His breath hitched, his fingers trembling around the hilt of his sword. He turned, eyes wide with shock, his mouth opening to speak—

And then Jinx twisted the dagger deeper.

Aleksandr let out a ragged breath, his knees buckling as blood bloomed across his tunic.

Jinx leaned in close, her lips curling against his ear. “Did you forget about me, princeling?”

Aleksandr gasped, choking on his own fury. He had. He had been so focused on Viktor, so blinded by his hatred, that he had forgotten the most dangerous piece on the board.

Viktor straightened, pressing a hand to his side where the cut bled sluggishly. He met Jinx’s gaze over Aleksandr’s shoulder, a slow smirk curling his lips.

“Well done,” he murmured.

Jinx grinned. “Told you this would be fun.”

Aleksandr tried to pull away, his hand reaching for his sword, but Viktor stopped him.

He stepped forward, grasping his brother’s chin, forcing him to look up. Aleksandr’s breath was ragged, his strength slipping. For the first time in his life, he was losing.

Viktor sighed, almost pitying. “You were always too direct, brother.” His thumb brushed against Aleksandr’s cheek, a mockery of affection. “You only ever saw the battlefield. But power…” His grip tightened. “Power is won in the shadows.”

Aleksandr snarled, but the strength was draining from him fast. His legs gave out, and Jinx let him fall, yanking the dagger free as he hit the marble floor with a thud.

He was still breathing.

But not for long.

Viktor crouched beside him, watching as the life in his brother’s eyes flickered. He held up the glass vial, letting the dim candlelight catch against it.

“You would have used this on me, wouldn’t you?” Viktor mused. “You never did have the patience for slow poison, but I imagine, in your desperation, you would have tried.”

Aleksandr’s lips curled, baring bloodstained teeth. “I should have slit your throat in the cradle.”

Viktor smiled. “Yes. You should have.”

Then he tilted the vial—just a drop, just enough to end it.

Aleksandr choked as the poison burned through his already failing body. His fingers twitched, grasping at nothing. He let out one last, ragged breath—

And then the First Prince of Zael was dead.

The chamber fell silent.

Viktor let out a slow breath, straightening. He turned to Jinx, who wiped her dagger clean on the edge of her sleeve.

“Well,” she said, stepping over Aleksandr’s corpse, “that was satisfying.”

Viktor exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Yes. It was.”

He glanced toward the door. The guards had surely heard the struggle by now. By morning, the palace would know that the First Prince was no more.

And when the King finally died—

The Crown would have only one heir left.

Jinx arched a brow. “So, what now, your soon-to-be Majesty?”

Viktor turned to her, his dark eyes gleaming.

“Now?” He smiled.

“Now, we take the throne.”

---

The palace was alive with whispers.

Servants scurried through the corridors, guards stood at attention, and courtiers murmured behind gloved hands, their voices low with fear and awe. The First Prince was dead. The King’s health was failing. And now, all eyes turned to the only heir left standing.

Prince Viktor.

Viktor stood in his private chambers, dressed in black, the weight of inevitability settling over him. His wounds had been dressed—a shallow cut from Aleksandr’s blade, barely a scratch compared to the years of suffering he had endured. He felt no pain now. No weakness.

Only victory.

Behind him, Jinx perched on the windowsill, twirling a dagger absently between her fingers. She had been watching him for the past hour, saying nothing, only observing.

She was waiting.

Waiting for him to speak first.

Finally, Viktor turned. “You’re quiet tonight.”

Jinx smirked. “Just enjoying the moment. It’s not every day you kill a prince and crown a new one in the same breath.”

Viktor huffed a small laugh. “Indeed.”

A pause. Then, Jinx tilted her head. “This is where we part ways, you know.”

Something in Viktor stilled. “Is it?”

Jinx stretched her arms above her head, as if shaking off something heavy. “Well, yeah. You’re about to be a king, and me? I’m a killer. My job here is done. Unless, of course, you find yourself in need of another corpse.”

Viktor studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, in a tone so casual it almost sounded like an afterthought, he said:

“Let me court you.”

Jinx froze.

The dagger slipped through her fingers, landing with a soft clink against the windowsill.

For the first time since she had met him, she was the one caught off guard.

“…What?”

Viktor stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “You heard me.”

Jinx blinked, then let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am always serious.”

She stared at him, searching for a joke, a trick, some clever political ploy—but there was none. Viktor stood before her, entirely earnest.

Jinx scoffed, crossing her arms. “Let me get this straight. You, the soon-to-be King of Zael, want to—what? Woo me?”

Viktor smiled slightly. “Yes. I believe that is the word for it.”

Jinx shook her head, half amused, half bewildered. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Perhaps.” He took another step toward her, slow, measured. “But so was leaving me alive, and look how that turned out.”

She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Why?”

Viktor’s gaze darkened, but there was something else in it now—something raw, something real.

“I have spent my entire life playing games of power,” he murmured. “Surrounded by people who only see me as a means to an end. You are the only one who has ever looked at me and seen the knife, not the hand that holds it.”

His voice dropped lower.

“And I think I rather like that.”

Jinx let out a slow breath. Damn him.

She wasn’t supposed to get attached. This had been a job. A contract. And yet—

And yet.

She smirked, stepping closer, until there was barely any space between them. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Entirely.”

Jinx hummed, running a finger lightly along the collar of his shirt. “You know, princeling… you might just regret that.”

Viktor caught her wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. He met her gaze, unwavering. “I do not regret anything.”

Jinx studied him for a long moment.

Then she grinned. “Fine. Let’s play.”

Viktor smiled. Checkmate.

---

The coronation was set for the following week.

The King’s death was imminent, and the court was already moving in preparation. Banners were being stitched, invitations were being sent, alliances were being reforged.

Viktor walked through the palace halls, feeling the shift in power with every step.

Where once there had been whispers of his weakness, now there was silence. Where once the nobles had ignored him, now they bowed deeply, their smiles filled with carefully concealed fear.

They knew.

They knew what he had done.

And more importantly, they knew what he was capable of.

Jinx walked beside him, her usual grin playing at her lips. “You know,” she mused, “most kings choose their queens for political alliances. You picking an assassin is… unorthodox.”

Viktor smirked. “Have you ever known me to be traditional?”

Jinx chuckled. “No. And that’s what makes this fun.”

She looped her arm through his, utterly unconcerned by the scandalized glances of passing nobles.

Viktor only smiled.

Let them talk.

Let them whisper about the assassin at his side, about the prince who had outlived his sickness, about the king who had spilled his own brother’s blood for the throne.

Let them fear.

He had never wanted their love.

Only their loyalty.

And now?

He had both.

The night before his coronation, Viktor stood at the highest balcony of the palace, overlooking the kingdom that would soon be his.

Jinx leaned beside him, arms resting against the railing. “So,” she said, glancing at him, “what kind of king do you plan to be?”

Viktor considered this. Then, slowly, he reached into his coat and pulled out a dagger.

Jinx raised a brow as he handed it to her. “A gift?”

“A reminder,” Viktor murmured.

She turned it over in her hands, testing the weight. It was finely crafted, its blade sharp, its handle wrapped in black silk.

Jinx smirked. “Of what?”

Viktor’s gaze was steady. “That the only throne worth keeping… is one won with blood.”

Jinx chuckled, twirling the dagger between her fingers. “You’re going to be dangerous, Viktor.”

He smiled. “I know.”

And with the city spread out before them, with the crown nearly within his grasp and the dead prince forgotten beneath the earth, Viktor reached for Jinx’s hand—

And this time, she let him take it.

The Dagger had chosen her Crown.

And the Crown had chosen her in return.

Long may they reign.

---

Viktor prided himself on his control.

His entire life had been a careful balancing act—words measured, emotions tempered, expressions crafted with precision. He had played this game far too long to allow himself to be caught off guard.

And yet.

Yet.

Jinx stepped into the grand ballroom wearing a gown, and Viktor forgot how to breathe.

The celebration was in full swing—his coronation ball, the first of his reign. The palace was bathed in golden candlelight, filled with noblemen and women draped in their finest silks, each vying for his attention, whispering their empty praises.

Viktor had been handling them effortlessly, one hand resting lightly on his cane, offering sly smiles and measured words. Everything was going exactly as he had planned.

Until she arrived.

Jinx had never been one for dresses. She was all sharp angles and effortless movement, always clad in her usual loose shirts and pants, knives hidden in every seam. A dress wouldn’t exactly be ideal for assassinations, especially considering she often had to scale buildings.

And yet here she was.

The gown was deep sapphire, the color of a midnight sky, fitted at the waist, the fabric pooling elegantly around her legs. The neckline was just daring enough to be scandalous, but what truly undid him was the sight of her bare shoulders—the way the candlelight gleamed against her skin, the way her collarbone curved so delicately.

She looked… stunning.

And worse—she knew it.

Jinx sauntered toward him, grinning like she had just set something on fire. “You’re staring, princeling.”

Viktor barely managed to keep his expression composed. “Am I?”

“Oh, definitely.” She tilted her head, watching him with amusement. “What, never seen a woman in a dress before?”

“Not one who usually prefers daggers to embroidery,” he murmured, taking a slow sip of wine in a desperate attempt to reclaim his dignity.

Jinx chuckled, stepping closer. “Does it bother you?”

Viktor lowered his glass, his dark eyes flickering over her once more. Did it bother him?

No.

It unraveled him.

He prided himself on being a man of logic, of careful calculation. Jinx had never played by those rules. She was chaos wrapped in a smirk, and now, apparently, she was chaos wrapped in silk.

How utterly unfair.

Still, he refused to let her have the satisfaction of seeing him truly flustered. He straightened, schooling his expression into something composed. “It is… unexpected.”

Jinx grinned. “Good.”

Before he could formulate a response, she suddenly grabbed his wrist and began pulling him toward the dance floor.

Viktor’s composure nearly shattered.

“I—what are you doing?” he demanded, trying to plant his feet.

“Dancing, obviously.”

“I do not—”

“Oh, don’t lie. I know you were forced to learn all this royal nonsense growing up.” Jinx spun to face him, stepping closer, her voice lowering into something teasing. “Come on, your Majesty. Show me what you’ve got.”

Viktor let out a slow breath, praying for patience. She was doing this on purpose. She had always been a menace, but now she was a beautiful menace, and it was deeply inconvenient.

Still, he would not be outmatched.

Exhaling, he stepped forward, one hand resting lightly on her waist, the other clasping her fingers.

Jinx smirked. “See? Not so hard.”

Viktor arched a brow. “You say that now. Wait until I step on your foot.”

She laughed, the sound bright, genuine. And against his better judgment, he found himself smiling.

The music swelled, the world around them fading, until it was just the two of them—the assassin in silk, the king who had nearly lost his composure over her.

Jinx leaned in slightly, voice a whisper against his ear. “You’re still staring.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. He was doomed.

“Can you blame me?”

---

Jinx had seen a lot in her days.

She had slit the throats of kings, poisoned nobles with a smile, and walked away from battles covered in blood that wasn’t hers. She didn’t get flustered. She didn’t do nervousness, or hesitation, or whatever nonsense normal people dealt with.

Viktor had tried to throw her off before, but she had always been faster. Always the one with the upper hand, the teasing grin, the clever remark that left him exhaling in exasperation.

And yet.

Yet.

Here she was, standing in the middle of a grand ballroom, feeling like she had just been knocked clean off her balance.

And the worst part?

Viktor hadn’t even been trying.

It wasn’t the way he looked at her—though that certainly didn’t help.

It wasn’t the way his fingers had curled around her waist during the dance, or the way his voice had dipped lower whenever he whispered something to her.

No.

It was one stupid, simple, unguarded thing.

The song had ended. The dance had stopped. But before Jinx could pull away, Viktor—without thinking, without hesitation—had lifted her hand to his lips and pressed the softest kiss against her knuckles.

That was it.

That was all it took.

Heat exploded across Jinx’s face.

She yanked her hand back, too fast, too obvious, and immediately hated herself for it. Viktor blinked at her, slightly puzzled, head tilting like he was trying to figure out what had just happened.

Jinx took a step back. “I—uh—” She cleared her throat. “What the hell was that?”

Viktor arched a brow. “A courtly gesture?”

“Yeah, well, don’t do that.”

He frowned slightly, clearly confused. “You can stab a man without blinking, but a simple kiss on the hand unsettles you?”

Jinx scowled. “I am not unsettled.”

Viktor’s lips twitched. Oh no. He knew.

She could see it—the realization creeping into his expression, the slow, insufferable amusement.

Jinx huffed, crossing her arms. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

“Ah,” Viktor mused, smirking. “So it is only when I catch you off guard that you—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’m throwing you off this balcony.”

Viktor laughed.

Not a chuckle, not an amused exhale—a full, rich laugh, the kind she had never heard from him before. It was unfair. It was entirely unfair.

Jinx scowled harder, hating the way her face still burned. “You know what? I changed my mind. I don’t want to dance anymore.”

She turned on her heel, fully prepared to flee the scene.

But before she could, Viktor caught her wrist.

Jinx froze.

His grip was gentle, his fingers warm against her skin. When she turned back, his expression had softened—not teasing, not smug, but something else. Something quietly fond.

“I’ll remember this, you know,” he murmured, voice low.

Jinx swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Remember what?”

Viktor’s smirk returned, but this time, it wasn’t sharp. It was warm.

“The day my Dagger blushed.”

Jinx hated him.

(And worse, she liked it.)

---

Viktor had anticipated many things tonight.

The ceaseless parade of nobles vying for his favor. The false smiles. The whispered schemes barely concealed beneath polite conversation.

He had not, however, anticipated this.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Jinx.

Dancing.

With a man.

An older man.

Viktor did not react. He was good at not reacting.

Instead, he took a measured sip of wine and turned his attention back to the noblewoman prattling beside him. Something about her family’s lands. A proposal of alliance. He nodded at the right moments, murmured vague pleasantries, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

On her.

Jinx was unpredictable. He knew this. She was chaos wrapped in a smirk, an assassin who had spent her life in the shadows. Dresses, courtly manners, and proper dances were not her world.

And yet, there she was—on the dance floor, moving easily in a gown, her fingers curled around the hand of another man.

Something unpleasant curled in Viktor’s chest.

Jinx was not his.

Not in the way he wanted. 

At least,

Not yet.

So he had no claim, no right to the possessive heat creeping up his throat.

Instead, he committed the man’s face to memory.

For later.

The palace gardens were quiet, bathed in the glow of lanterns and moonlight. Away from the ball, the air was cooler, less suffocating.

Which was precisely why Viktor had suggested they walk.

(And not because he wanted to keep her away from any more dance partners. Certainly not.)

Jinx walked beside him, shoes dangling lazily from her fingers, her other hand resting casually along her side. Her usual smirk was in place, but Viktor could sense her amusement beneath it—like she had been waiting for him to speak first.

Finally, he did.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself tonight.”

Jinx hummed. “Not as much as you, Your Majesty. Pretty sure you had an entire flock of duchesses trying to climb into your lap.”

Viktor sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yes. It was exhausting.”

Jinx grinned. “Poor thing.”

He ignored her teasing. “But I must say, your own evening seemed rather… eventful.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Viktor kept his voice perfectly even. “Your dance partner, for instance.”

Jinx blinked. Then—suspicion. “My… dance partner?”

“Yes.” He took a slow, deliberate step forward, watching her reaction closely. “The older gentleman. Distinguished. Well-dressed. You two seemed rather familiar.”

Jinx just… stared at him.

Then—to his utter confusion—she burst out laughing.

Viktor frowned. “What?”

Jinx cackled. She had to clutch her stomach, her whole body shaking, her breath coming in uneven gasps between fits of laughter.

Viktor’s irritation flared. “I fail to see the humor in this.”

Jinx wiped a tear from her eye, still wheezing. “Oh, you would.”

Viktor exhaled sharply. “Explain.”

Jinx sucked in a breath, still grinning. “The man I was dancing with?”

“Yes.”

“The older man?”

“…Yes.”

She snorted. “That was my father.”

Viktor froze.

The world stilled. The gears in his mind ground to a screeching halt.

Jinx, delighted by his rare moment of miscalculation, leaned in with a slow, smug smirk.

“Oh, no. You thought he was—” She gasped, eyes gleaming. “Were you jealous?”

Viktor immediately straightened. “Certainly not.”

Jinx let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my gods. You were. You totally were.”

“I was simply—curious.”

Jinx grinned. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Viktor sighed. This was going very poorly.

Jinx nudged him playfully, her smirk widening. “You know, if you wanted another dance, you could’ve just asked.”

Viktor took a slow breath. Then—before she could react—he caught her wrist, pulling her gently toward him.

Jinx stilled.

Viktor’s fingers curled around hers, his voice low. “Then I am asking now.”

Jinx stared up at him. For once, she had nothing clever to say.

Viktor smirked. “What’s the matter? Flustered?”

Jinx scowled. “Shut up and dance, princeling.”

And so, under the lantern glow of the garden, he did.

 

Chapter 71: Salt & Bone

Summary:

Viktor had never belonged to anyone.

Not to the village that barely remembered his name but asked for his help day in, day out. Not to the father who had vanished beneath the waves. Not to the sea that tried, again and again, to drag him down into its hungry depths.

But Jinx?

She spoke as if claiming him was as easy as breathing.

Viktor should have laughed in her face. Should have told her that no man—not even a cursed one—could be kept like some trinket in a tide pool.

And yet…

He said nothing.

Notes:

Dredge!AU

 

Literally one of my favorite games ever! 10/10 recommend!

The sea is a liar.

It lulls men to sleep with the gentle lap of waves against their hulls, whispers to them in the hush of the tide, makes them believe they are its chosen. It fills their nets, it carries their weight, and then—when it grows tired of the game—it takes them.

Viktor learned this too late.

The salt has already worked its way into his bones. He feels it, corroding him from the inside, an itch in his marrow that no doctor can scratch, no priest can pray away. Every night, the sea calls his name. Every morning, he wakes closer to drowning.

The curse is patient.

So he keeps fishing. Because what else can a damned man do?

The sea was never kind.

Viktor had learned this long ago, from the first time he set foot on a fishing boat, the wind in his hair and salt burning his throat. He had learned it when his father never returned from the black water. And he learned it now, every night, when the tide whispered his name.

Tonight was no different.

Tonight, the ocean gives him something strange.

His net drags heavy, resisting him like a thing alive. Not uncommon—he’s pulled up horrors before. Things with too many eyes, with teeth hidden in soft flesh, things that beg when they should not speak. He’s learned not to listen.

But this time, when he hauls it over the side, something laughs.

He stills.

She lay tangled in the wet ropes, her limbs draped like something half-dead, yet her eyes gleamed when she blinked up at him through the slanting rain. Water slid off her in slow, syrupy rivulets, clinging to her like it belonged to her. Her hair, blue as the storm-lit waves, hung in thick, sodden strands over her shoulders, coiling against her skin like seaweed. Her body was bare, the swell of her breasts and the lovely curves of her body on display—her hair and his net the only thing keeping her modest. 

His fingers are still curled around the net, holding her between sea and sky. She doesn’t struggle. Doesn’t beg. She just watches, the moonlight catching the eerie glow in her eyes, something shifting beneath her skin—something not quite human.

He’s seen things crawl out of the deep. This one is different.

“Well, well,” she drawls, amused. “That’s no way to treat a lady.”

Viktor did not move. His fingers, calloused and rough from years of fighting against the tide, clenched around the rope.

"I should throw you back," he murmured, voice hoarse.

A grin split her lips—too wide, too full of teeth; teeth like pearls—but sharp. Her lashes dripped water as she tilted her head, watching him like a cat watching a cornered mouse.

"Then why haven’t you?" she asked.

The storm raged around them, wind shrieking through the tattered sails of his boat. The deck swayed beneath his boots, but the ocean—the thing that had cursed him, the voice that clawed through his skull whenever he closed his eyes—was silent now. Waiting.

His grip tightened.

"You are no ordinary girl," he said, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves.

Jinx stretched, unbothered by the cold or the ropes biting into her skin. "And you’re no ordinary fisherman."

She wasn’t wrong.

The curse had been eating him alive for months now. The salt in his blood, thick and burning. The way his skin prickled when the tide came in, the pull in his chest, the whispering voice beneath the waves. Come back. Come home.

He should have drowned a hundred times over. The sea would not let him go.

But this girl—this creature—she was not of the sea, not entirely. There was something older in her, something deeper. He could feel it in the way her gaze lingered too long, in the way the shadows of the storm curled around her, as if afraid to touch.

"You’re cursed," she said, almost lazily, as if discussing the weather.

Viktor exhaled sharply. "And you can break it?"

Jinx laughed, the sound bright and sharp as shattered glass. "Oh, sweetheart. I could. But nothing in this world comes for free."

He expected as much.

The storm howled, the boat lurching as a wave slammed against its side. Water gushed over the deck, soaking into the hem of Viktor’s coat. He ignored it.

Jinx sat up, ropes unraveling like they had never held her at all. Her fingers, pale and slender, trailed along the wooden planks, leaving wet streaks in their wake. She watched him, waiting, expectant.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She grins. Teeth like pearl and bone and things that do not let go. 

"Your heart."

The wind stilled.

For a moment, Viktor swore he could hear the waves breathe.

Not his soul. Not his life. His heart.

He should have laughed in her face. Should have slit her throat and tossed her overboard. Should have let the sea have her.

But he didn’t.

Because the ocean had already taken so much from him.

And maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t afraid of losing whatever was left.

Jinx leaned forward, her lips almost brushing his ear. Her voice was a whisper, sweet and venomous.

"Do we have a deal, fisherman?"

Viktor, the man who should have drowned, the man who the sea refused to claim—

He did not say no.

And the waves roared in approval.

---

Viktor did not sleep that night.

The storm had passed, but the sea was never truly still. It lapped against the hull of his boat, whispering secrets only he could hear, muttering his name like a prayer, a demand. But the voice beneath the waves—insistent, hungry—was no longer alone.

Now, she was there too.

Jinx perched on the edge of his boat like she had always belonged there, her bare feet dangling over the side, barely skimming the water. The moonlight slithered over her skin, highlighting the unnatural pallor, the way the salt clung to her like a second skin. She hadn’t asked for food, hadn’t asked for warmth, hadn’t asked for anything except what she already had—a promise. A deal.

And Viktor, the fool that he was, had given it to her.

He should have known better.

"You're staring," Jinx said without looking at him.

Viktor huffed a quiet breath, exhaling smoke from the damp cigarette clamped between his lips. "You are still here."

Jinx tipped her head back, letting the wind play with the tangled mess of her blue hair. "Well, duh. You think I'm just gonna snap my fingers and—poof!—your little curse is gone?" She rolled her eyes, grinning. "Please. Magic doesn't work like that, sweetheart."

His grip tightened around the railing. The salt in his blood churned, restless.

"Then how does it work?" he asked.

Jinx turned to face him, her eyes gleaming in the dark. "With sacrifice."

A cold weight settled in his chest. He knew that word. Had lived by it. Fishermen knew better than anyone—the sea never gave without taking first.

"You already have my heart," he said. "Is that not enough?"

Jinx giggled, the sound rolling through the quiet night like a ripple over still water. "Oh, sweetheart, I don’t mean metaphorically." She leaned in, close enough that he could smell the salt on her breath, the brine that clung to her skin like perfume. "I mean your actual, beating heart."

His cigarette nearly slipped from his fingers.

She was still grinning, watching his face, waiting for his reaction like a child waiting to see if their prank had landed.

Viktor did not flinch.

He had seen worse.

Done worse.

The sea had already hollowed him out, carved him down to sinew and bone, left him with nothing but salt in his veins and a curse gnawing at his ribs. What was a heart to a man who had already lost everything?

"You would kill me," he said evenly.

Jinx tilted her head. "Would I?"

A pause.

The waves rocked the boat gently, the only sound between them.

Then—Jinx hopped down from her perch, standing before him, close enough that he could see the way the moonlight caught the water clinging to her lashes, the slow curve of her smile.

She placed a hand over his chest, right where the curse burned hot beneath his skin, pulsing with every beat of his traitorous heart.

"I don’t need you dead," she murmured. "I just need… this."

Viktor inhaled sharply.

The pull was immediate.

Like the tide had reached into his ribs, wrapped its fingers around something vital, something fragile. The salt in his veins surged in response, searing through his body, burning hotter than it ever had before. His knees buckled—just slightly—but Jinx caught him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

She grinned. "See? We’re already making progress."

Viktor gritted his teeth. "If you mean to tear it from me, do it quickly."

Jinx blinked. Then, to his utter confusion—she laughed.

Not the cruel, knowing kind. Not the sharp-edged mockery she had wielded so easily before. No, this laugh was light, almost delighted, like he had said something that genuinely amused her.

"Oh, Viktor," she purred, fingers pressing just a little harder against his chest. The pull deepened, not painful, but dangerous. "You really don’t know what you agreed to, do you?"

His breath was shallow now, his pulse hammering against her palm.

"Enlighten me," he rasped.

Jinx’s grin softened, just a fraction. "I don't want to take your heart, sweetheart." Her fingers curled. "I want to keep it."

The words sank into him, slow and heavy, like a body slipping beneath the waves.

Not gone. Not stolen.

Claimed.

The realization sent something dark slithering through his gut, something cold and unfamiliar. He had expected the sea witch to devour him. He had expected to drown in her hands, swallowed whole like all the others who had made foolish deals with things they could not understand.

But this?

This was worse.

Because the curse in his blood—the thing dragging him down, whispering his name, aching to pull him into the deep—it was already hers now.

And so was he.

Jinx stepped back, letting go, and the pull vanished as quickly as it had come.

Viktor staggered, breath ragged. His hand flew to his chest, fingers pressing over his sternum as if to check if his heart was still there. Still his.

It was.

And yet, something felt different.

Jinx licked the salt from her lips, humming a little tune as she twirled on her heel. "Well," she said, stretching her arms above her head, "that’s enough fun for tonight."

Viktor stared at her, his pulse still thrumming with something he did not understand.

"You are playing a dangerous game," he said.

Jinx’s grin was all teeth.

"Sweetheart," she cooed, "I am the game."

And with that, she turned and slipped over the edge of the boat, vanishing beneath the waves.

Viktor did not move for a long time.

The salt still burned in his veins, the curse still whispered in his bones. But now, beneath it, curling like sea mist against his ribs, was something else.

Something worse.

And when he finally closed his eyes, the voice in the waves was no longer calling for him.

It was laughing.

---

Viktor did not see her again for three days.

That was the worst part.

The waiting.

Because Jinx had left something behind, something unseen, something felt.

The pull of the curse was still there, thrumming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat, but it was… different now. Changed. It no longer dragged him toward the depths. No longer whispered for him to drown. Instead, it lingered—watched—as though the thing in the water was waiting for something.

Or someone.

Jinx.

His hands had started shaking again. He told himself it was just exhaustion, just hunger, just the endless ache in his bones from too many years spent fighting a sea that would never love him back.

But he knew better.

She had done something to him.

And she wasn’t done.

It was just past dusk when she returned.

Viktor was on the docks, repairing a tangled net by the dim glow of an oil lantern, the salt wind biting at his exposed skin. Most of the other fishermen had already left for the night, their boats rocking gently in the harbor, dark silhouettes against the endless black of the ocean. The town behind him was quiet—only the distant murmur of a tavern, the occasional laugh spilling from its doors.

And then—

"Miss me?"

Viktor did not startle.

He had known she was coming before she even spoke. He had felt it in his ribs, in the steady hum beneath his skin, the same way he could sense an approaching storm.

He did not look up. "No."

A pleased hum. "Liar."

She was perched on the edge of the dock, bare feet kicking idly above the water, hands braced behind her. Loose tendrils of blue hair curled against her damp skin, and her clothes—his clothes, he realized, belatedly—hung off her frame, still damp from the sea.

Viktor’s eye twitched.

"You stole my coat," he said.

Jinx grinned. "I borrowed your coat." She tugged it tighter around herself, rocking side to side like a child bundled in something far too big. "You left it on your boat. Thought I'd keep it warm for you."

Viktor exhaled through his nose. "It is soaked."

She smirked. "Guess you'll just have to warm it up for me, then."

He finally looked at her, the lantern’s flickering glow catching the sharp angles of her face.

She looked—comfortable. Too much so.

Like she belonged here.

Like she had always belonged here.

Viktor had spent his whole life watching the sea claim things—boats, people, blood. He had never expected it to leave something behind.

And yet, here she was.

Jinx stretched, arms above her head, spine arching in a slow, languid motion. "You look awful," she said cheerfully.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. "And you look entirely too pleased with yourself."

Her grin widened. "Well, yeah. I did just steal your heart."

Viktor’s fingers curled around the netting in his lap. Not metaphorically. That’s what she had said.

"You are enjoying this," he muttered.

Jinx’s eyes glittered. "You have no idea."

She leaned forward suddenly, closing the distance between them in a single, fluid motion, her weight braced on the dock as she peered at him, close enough that he could see the faint shimmer of scales beneath her jaw, vanishing just as quickly as they appeared.

Viktor did not move.

"How does it feel?" she asked softly.

His pulse skipped.

The worst part? He didn’t know how to answer.

Because something had changed.

He was still cursed, still marked, still bound to the sea in a way no man should be. And yet, the ache was different now. It did not pull him toward the waves. It pulled him to her.

And that was worse.

Viktor’s throat was dry. He forced himself to speak. "Like something is watching me."

Jinx hummed. "Mmm. That’s because I am."

A beat of silence.

Then—she laughed.

It was light, effortless, like the wind teasing through the rigging of a ship. "Relax, sweetheart," she purred. "I told you, I don’t need you dead. I just need you…" She tapped a finger against his chest, right where his heart beat, steady and treacherous. "Here."

The salt in his veins burned.

Jinx watched him, waiting, expectant. "And you’re still breathing, aren’t you?"

Viktor’s jaw tensed. "For now."

Jinx smirked. "Exactly."

She straightened, dusting her hands off on his stolen coat. "You still owe me, by the way."

Viktor narrowed his eyes. "Owe you?"

"For the curse-breaking. Obviously."

He gave her a flat look. "You did not break it."

Jinx gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. "Excuse you, I did not say I’d get rid of it. I changed it. Big difference, sweetheart." She wiggled her fingers at him, her grin shark-like. "I took it. Claimed it. Now it listens to me."

Viktor’s heart stuttered.

The pull. The ache. The shift.

It wasn’t gone.

It was hers.

Jinx tilted her head. "Tell me, fisherman," she crooned. "Do you still hear it calling you?"

Viktor swallowed.

The ocean still whispered.

But it did not call him into the deep anymore.

It called him to her.

He exhaled slowly. "What do you want from me?"

Jinx’s grin softened, just a fraction.

Her fingers toyed with the frayed edge of his coat, thoughtful. "Well," she mused, "since you’re technically mine now…"

A pause.

She leaned in, breath warm against his ear.

"I think I’ll keep you."

And Viktor, a man who had spent his whole life fighting the sea—

Did not tell her no.

---

Viktor had never belonged to anyone. 

Not to the village that barely remembered his name but asked for his help day in, day out. Not to the father who had vanished beneath the waves. Not to the sea that tried, again and again, to drag him down into its hungry depths.

But Jinx?

She spoke as if claiming him was as easy as breathing.

Viktor should have laughed in her face. Should have told her that no man—not even a cursed one—could be kept like some trinket in a tide pool.

And yet…

He said nothing.

Not when she stole his coat. Not when she curled her fingers into the fabric, testing the weight of her words. Not even when the wind whispered around them, carrying the scent of salt and something older, deeper, colder.

Jinx grinned like she had already won.

"You’re quiet," she mused, tilting her head.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, steady, even. "I am thinking."

She laughed. "That’s dangerous."

His lips twitched. "For whom?"

Jinx propped her chin in her hand, elbow resting on her knee, watching him like a cat sizing up something slow and breakable. "Dunno," she admitted. "Guess we’ll find out."

Viktor should have been afraid.

He wasn’t.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

He didn’t ask her to stay.

But she did.

Jinx made herself at home on his boat, sprawled across the deck like a creature born from the brine, salt clinging to her hair, skin, teeth. She stole his cigarettes. Poked at his fishing gear with idle curiosity. Let her fingers trail across his maps, her nails tracing the lines of distant shores.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

But neither was he.

Not anymore.

The sea had already claimed him once. And now, she had.

"You don’t sleep much," Jinx observed one night, perched on a crate, watching as Viktor sat at the stern, repairing his net by lantern light.

"Neither do you," he countered.

Jinx grinned. "Yeah, but I don’t have to. You, though?" She stretched, arms curling above her head, bare toes tapping against the wood. "You look like you should be dead."

Viktor’s hands stilled.

She wasn’t wrong.

His skin was pale, sickly, the curse having eaten away at him for months, pulling him thinner and thinner, trying to drag him under. It should have killed him.

But now, the pull was different.

The ache in his chest no longer came from the waves, but from her.

From the way she leaned in, weightless as the tide, her fingers ghosting over his shoulder.

Viktor did not flinch.

Jinx hummed. "You feel it, don’t you?"

He didn’t answer.

But she was right.

The curse still burned beneath his skin, but it was no longer the ocean’s grip tightening around his throat. It was hers.

Jinx exhaled, her breath warm against his jaw. "I don’t take things unless I want them, sweetheart."

Her fingers trailed lower, slow, deliberate. Right over his heart.

And Viktor—a man who had never belonged to anything, anyone—

Let her.

The waves lapped gently against the hull. The lantern flickered. The air between them shifted, slow as the tide rolling in.

"You keep touching me like that," Viktor murmured, voice rough, "and I may start thinking you actually mean to keep me."

Jinx’s grin sharpened. "Oh, sweetheart," she purred, "I already do."

Her fingers curled.

And the curse—her curse—sighed against his ribs, content.

Viktor swallowed.

Jinx leaned in, lips brushing against his ear, her voice nothing more than a whisper:

"You feel different now, don’t you?"

Viktor exhaled slowly. "Yes."

Jinx pulled back just enough to look at him, satisfaction gleaming in her ocean-bright eyes. "Good."

She turned, bare feet padding across the deck as she climbed onto the railing, balancing with unnatural ease.

Viktor watched her, his pulse steady, measured. "Where are you going?"

Jinx shot him a wink. "Don’t worry, fisherman. I’ll come back for you."

Then—she was gone.

Swallowed by the waves, vanishing beneath the surface like she had never been there at all.

But Viktor knew better.

She had left her mark.

She had taken something.

And when she returned—

He was sure she would take even more.

---

She had been gone.

For days.

For nights.

Viktor should have felt relieved.

Instead, the absence of her presence gnawed at him.

She had left him something—not a token, not a wound, but a hunger. A restless, aching thing buried beneath his ribs, coiling through his bones like seaweed dragged in by the tide. The curse no longer whispered for him to drown, but it whispered something else now.

Something worse.

A name.

Her name.

The sea was silent without her.

For days, Viktor continued his work, mending his nets, sailing out past the harbor, setting his lines in the dark, endless blue. But the ocean felt wrong. The waves no longer pulled him toward the depths, but they didn’t let him go either.

The water was waiting.

Watching.

She was watching.

And Viktor—a man who had spent his life fighting the sea—

Was waiting, too.

She returned with the storm.

It was the kind of tempest that sent lesser men running, that made even the most seasoned sailors look to the sky and whisper prayers against the wind. The waves slammed against the docks, rolling and heaving like something alive, the salt spray sharp as knives against Viktor’s skin.

He did not run.

He was already standing at the edge of the pier when she rose from the water.

Jinx climbed onto the docks like she was simply stepping out of the rain, shaking seawater from her arms, her blue hair tangled and slick against her skin.

She still wore his coat. 

She looked—wild.

Eyes gleaming with stormlight, mouth curled in a grin too sharp, too full of teeth. She was grinning like she had been gone for years, not days. Like she had missed him.

"Did you wait for me, fisherman?" she purred.

Viktor exhaled, slow, steady. "No."

Jinx giggled, stepping closer. "Liar."

She smelled like salt and lightning, like the hush of the tide just before a wave crashes. The storm howled around them, but she moved through it like it belonged to her.

Maybe it did.

"Did you miss me?" she pressed, tilting her head.

Viktor should have said no. Should have turned away. Should have left her standing there in the rain, dripping seawater onto the wood, looking at him like she could see inside his ribs and that liked what she found there.

Instead—

"You left something behind," he murmured.

Jinx’s grin widened. "Oh, sweetheart. I left everything behind."

She was close now. Too close.

Viktor did not move when she reached for him, when her fingers curled into his coat—her coat, now—pulling him down, down, down, until her lips hovered just over his, her breath warm despite the cold.

"I told you," she whispered. "You’re mine now."

Viktor’s pulse was steady. Not calm, never calm, but steady.

"I am still breathing," he said.

Jinx’s fingers tightened in his coat. "For now."

The storm raged.

The sea whispered.

And Viktor—a man who had never belonged to anything—

Let himself be claimed.

Notes:

I’ve got some Pirate AUs in the works too!

Chapter 72: Soft Wounds

Summary:

Viktor let out a slow, humorless chuckle. “And we’re just supposed to leave her?”

Mordane didn’t move. “We don’t have a choice.”

“The hell we don’t.” Viktor shoved himself up from the cot, ignoring the way his body protested.

Mordane watched him carefully.

“You think I don’t want to send someone after her?” he asked. His voice was even, but there was something simmering beneath it. “You think I don’t know what it means to leave people behind? She knew. She made her choice.”

Viktor’s hands shook. “That doesn’t mean I have to accept it.”

Mordane sighed. “I know.”

Notes:

This is a WWII AU. I don’t know why I did this, I just ended up making myself cry a lot.

Don’t worry, it has a happy ending; I just get choked up knowing how much the soldiers on all sides suffered.

 

The air inside the field hospital stank of sweat, blood, and disinfectant. It was quieter now, but not peaceful—never peaceful. The low moans of the injured, the occasional cry of a man waking from fevered nightmares, the distant echo of artillery rolling like an angry god. Jinx had learned to filter out the noise, to move through it as if it were nothing more than a backdrop to her work.

She had seen too many men die.

She had held their hands as they bled out, whispered hollow comforts in their ears, wrapped their wounds knowing it wouldn’t matter in the end. She should be used to it by now.

But when she looked at him, she realized she wasn’t.

Viktor was propped up against the flimsy cot, his uniform half undone, revealing a mess of bruises and hastily stitched wounds. His ribs were wrapped, but the fresh red seeping through the bandages told her he’d been moving too much again. His prosthetic leg—damaged, but still functional—rested awkwardly against the cot’s edge, the metal dull with grime.

And still, his mind was already elsewhere. He was staring past her, toward the canvas flap that separated the wounded from the world outside, from the war still raging just beyond the safety of this makeshift sanctuary.

“You’re an idiot,” Jinx muttered, crouching beside him, peeling away the bloodied wrappings around his ribs.

Viktor exhaled, slow and amused. His voice was hoarse, exhaustion weighing down the edges of it. “And yet, you still treat me.”

She scowled. “Yeah, well. Somebody has to keep you alive.”

He huffed a quiet chuckle, though the movement made him wince. His thin fingers curled around the edge of the cot, knuckles whitening. “A noble effort, but I fear you waste your time.”

Jinx ignored that. She pressed fresh bandages against his ribs, fingers working with practiced efficiency, but her touch was softer than it should have been.

She had told herself, don’t get attached. She had told herself, they all leave eventually.

But Viktor—brilliant, sharp-tongued, stubborn Viktor—had made it difficult.

She had found him in the wreckage of a battlefield, barely breathing, metal leg half-buried in the mud, eyes still burning with a defiance that should have died with the rest of his unit. He should have died there.

But he hadn’t.

And somehow, despite the odds, he was still here. Still alive. Still him.

Jinx pulls the bandage tight enough to make him wince. Good. Serves him right.

“You shouldn’t be moving,” she snaps. “You tore the stitches last time. Do it again, and I’ll sew you up without any chloroform.”

His mouth quirks, amusement flickering behind the exhaustion. “How terrifying.”

Jinx scowls, but there’s no real heat in it. Viktor is smarter than most of the soldiers who come through here—too smart for this war, for this suffering. He was meant for things beyond trenches and bullet wounds, yet here he is, stubborn as ever, surviving when so many others don’t.

He exhales sharply when she presses against his side. His ribs are a mess, bruised and broken beneath her fingers. The last battle nearly killed him. Nearly.

“You shouldn’t even be alive,” she says, not quite sure why it comes out so bitter.

Viktor hums, something slow and thoughtful. “A persistent flaw of mine, I suppose.”

Jinx ties off the bandage and leans back, pressing her hands against her thighs. Outside, men are dying, the war dragging them into the mud like it always does. But in this moment, in this fragile space between battles, Viktor is alive. Breathing.

“You’re staying here until I say so,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow. “If command calls me back?”

She glares at him. “Then they can come drag you out of this bed themselves.”

A pause. Then, softly, “Would you stop them?”

Jinx looks at him. Really looks. He’s tired, weaker than he wants to admit. But there’s something else in his gaze—a quiet question, one she’s too afraid to answer.

She swallows. “Get some sleep, dumbass.”

Viktor watches her for a moment longer, something unreadable in his expression. Then he exhales, letting his body sink back against the cot.

Jinx stays, listening to his breathing.

---

Jinx had never been one for self-sacrifice.

Survival was the name of the game—patch up the wounded, send them back, watch them die, repeat. She had seen too many men carried off into the meat grinder of war, only to return as corpses, or worse, not at all. It was a cycle, and she had learned not to fight it.

Until now.

Until Viktor.

The order came down at dawn. 

Jinx hears it through the thin walls of the medical tent, the murmur of voices outside, the metallic clang of rifles being readied. The wounded are being sent back to the front. Even the ones still bleeding, still fevered, still clinging to life by a thread.

Including Viktor.

She sits beside his cot, staring at him as he sleeps. His face is pale, his body too thin, too fragile for what awaits him beyond these canvas walls. The war doesn’t care that his ribs are still broken, that he barely has the strength to stand. It doesn’t care about anything.

Jinx clenches her fists.

She won’t let them take him.

Jinx had argued. Of course, she had argued. “You’re sending half-dead men into a battle they can’t even hold a rifle in.”

Captain Mordane, a grizzled bastard with more scars than morals, just sneered. “They can hold a rifle well enough to die with it. We need bodies. That’s all that matters now.”

And that was that.

No one would fight this. No one could fight this.

Viktor had fallen into an uneasy sleep not long before the announcement, his body too exhausted to resist the abysmal quality of morphine she had given him. His breathing was shallow but steady, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against the cot. He had no idea he was being sent back to die.

She couldn’t let that happen. Not to him.

So, while the field hospital stirred with movement—soldiers groaning as they were forced from their beds, nurses gathering what little supplies they had—Jinx made a decision.

Convincing Mordane had been the hardest part.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You’re a nurse, not a soldier.”

Jinx crossed her arms. “And half the men you’re sending back are barely either. What’s the difference?”

“The difference,” Mordane growled, “is that I need nurses more than I need cannon fodder.”

That almost made her laugh. “That’s a bold fucking statement coming from you.”

He scowled. “You wouldn’t last a damn day out there.”

“I don’t need a day. Just a chance.”

Mordane didn’t speak for a long moment, just stared her down with those tired, war-weary eyes.

“I need every nurse here,” he says, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. “You think I’m just going to send one of you off to die?”

“I won’t die,” Jinx lies smoothly. “But Viktor will if you send him out there like this. He can barely stand. He’s more useful to you alive, isn’t he?”

Mordane glares at her. “You expect me to believe you’ll survive out there?”

“I can shoot,” she says. “I can run. And I know how to patch up wounds, which is more than half these guys can say.”

The captain grunts, looking her over.

She’s smaller than the other soldiers, leaner, but that might work in her favor. The uniform—Viktor’s second set—fits well enough, though it hangs loose in places. The helmet helps, shadowing her face. In the dim morning light, she might pass.

Still, Mordane hesitates.

Jinx leans in. Lowers her voice. “We both know sending Viktor out there is a death sentence.”

A muscle twitches in Mordane’s jaw. He exhales through his nose, glances toward the tent where Viktor is still sleeping under the weight of painkillers.

Then, finally, he nods.

Jinx doesn’t look back.

She can’t.

---

The field hospital was quieter tonight. Not peaceful—never peaceful—but subdued, the kind of quiet that settled over the wounded when exhaustion weighed heavier than pain.

Jinx moved through the rows of cots with practiced ease, her hands deft as she worked through the nightly routine of re-wrapping bandages, checking pulses, forcing sips of water past cracked lips. She was efficient, thorough, but she wasn’t gentle. War hadn’t left her the luxury of softness.

Not until she reached his cot.

Viktor was already watching her when she stopped beside him, sharp eyes half-lidded with the weight of whatever painkillers they had rationed for him today. His uniform was wrinkled, the top buttons undone to make room for fresh bandages across his ribs. 

Jinx clicked her tongue. “You look like shit.”

Viktor let out a slow exhale, lips curving faintly. “You always know how to make a man feel special.”

Jinx crouched beside him, pulling the stained gauze from his ribs with efficient fingers. He barely winced—whether from tolerance or sheer stubbornness, she wasn’t sure.

“You have a habit of making my job harder,” she muttered.

“I like to think I make it more interesting.”

She shot him a look. “Interesting would be not tearing open your stitches every other day.”

Viktor hummed, resting his head back against the cot. “Well, I do try.”

“Try harder,” Jinx said, pressing fresh bandages against his side, fingers working with the ease of routine. Too easy. She had patched him up so many times she could probably do it blindfolded.

She had told herself not to get attached.

But Viktor had made that difficult.

His gaze drifted from the canvas ceiling to her, studying her with a weight she felt down to her bones. The air between them felt different tonight—thicker, charged in a way that neither of them had acknowledged, yet neither of them denied.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you’re here?” Viktor asked. His voice was quiet but steady.

Jinx didn’t look at him. “I work here.”

“You could have worked anywhere.”

She tied off the bandage, sitting back on her heels. The oil lamp overhead flickered, casting long shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the exhaustion set deep in his features.

“Why are you here?” she countered.

Viktor exhaled, tilting his head slightly, as if deciding how honest he wanted to be.

“Because I was too slow,” he said finally.

Jinx’s fingers twitched against her knee.

“That’s bullshit.”

His lips quirked faintly. “And yet, here we are.”

Jinx’s jaw tightened. He had been sent out on a deployment that never should have happened, his unit thrown into a battle they were never meant to win. He had been one of the few who made it back—barely. And now, even with broken ribs, a battered prosthetic, and orders to rest, he was still waiting to be sent back out.

“You don’t have to go back,” she said before she could stop herself.

Viktor’s gaze sharpened. “I don’t?”

Jinx licked her lips, exhaling through her nose. “You’re not at full strength. The doctors know that. They can’t send you back like this.”

Viktor studied her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “And you think that matters?”

Jinx clenched her fists.

She knew how this worked. The war didn’t care about broken bones or frayed nerves. Command needed bodies, and Viktor—wounded or not—was still a body.

Viktor’s expression softened slightly.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, little raven.”

Jinx frowned. “Stop calling me that.”

He smirked. “It suits you.”

She scowled but didn’t push it. He had started calling her that weeks ago though he had yet to explain why. And she hadn’t asked.

Not because she didn’t want to know.

But because she already felt the answer every time he looked at her like this.

She huffed. “Worrying isn’t what I do.”

Viktor gave her a knowing look.

She ignored it.

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant murmur of the other wounded, the occasional cough from across the tent.

Jinx swallowed, glancing at the bandages wrapped tight across his ribs. His hands were too thin, his frame too sharp beneath his uniform. He was surviving on fumes and sheer will, and yet—

Yet his damn mouth still worked fine.

His voice was quieter when he spoke next.

“Are you going to stay?”

Jinx blinked. “What?”

Viktor’s gaze didn’t waver. “Here. In the camp.”

Something in her stomach twisted.

She had already made up her mind.

She had spent the past two days arguing with Mordane, trading favors, pushing every leverage she had to get what she wanted. To do what she had to do.

But Viktor didn’t know that. Not yet.

Jinx exhaled slowly. “Depends.”

Viktor arched a brow. “On?”

Jinx hesitated, then reached for the roll of gauze, cutting herself a moment to think.

Don’t lie.

Not to him.

She kept her voice even. “If I did leave, would you try to stop me?”

Viktor’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted—subtle, but there.

“No,” he said.

Jinx’s stomach twisted harder.

But then—

He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against her wrist, barely a touch at all.

“I would only ask why.”

Jinx swallowed.

She could still tell him. She could tell him she wasn’t staying, that by this time tomorrow, she would be marching with the others, slipping into the front lines where he was supposed to be.

She could tell him she wasn’t doing this for the war, for honor, for country.

She was doing it because he wasn’t ready to die.

And because she was.

Jinx curled her fingers around the edge of the bandages.

“…I’ll still be here in the morning,” she said instead.

Viktor searched her face, eyes narrowing slightly, as if testing the weight of her words.

She held his gaze.

He didn’t push.

Didn’t call her a liar.

Just exhaled slowly, leaned back against the cot, and smirked faintly.

“Well,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Then I suppose I can sleep easy.”

Jinx watched him for a moment longer, her chest feeling too tight, her throat dry.

She turned away.

And said nothing.

As the soldiers move out, rifles slung over their shoulders, boots kicking up dust in the gray morning light, she keeps her head down. Keeps her steps even. Keeps her breath steady.

If she looks back—if she sees Viktor still asleep, still unaware of what she’s done—she might lose her nerve.

So she doesn’t.

The other nurse, the one she’d bribed with cigarettes and a promise of something better, will tell him a story. That Jinx was transferred, sent to a nearby encampment where she’ll be safe, where she’ll return from.

A lie.

But maybe, for once, a necessary one.

Because Viktor isn’t ready to die.

And Jinx—

Jinx isn’t ready to lose him.

---

Jinx learns quickly that hell isn’t fire and brimstone.

It’s mud and blood.

It’s the deafening roar of artillery, the sickening crunch of bones, the screams of men who don’t have enough left inside them to die quickly.

She presses herself against the trench wall, fingers clenching around the cold steel of a rifle she barely knows how to use. Her uniform is already soaked through—rain, sweat, blood, she isn’t sure anymore. The trench stinks of rot, gunpowder, and the unmistakable scent of men too far gone to be saved.

Someone shouts ahead. The chief? Another soldier? She barely hears them over the shriek of incoming shells.

The ground shakes. A deafening explosion.

Dirt and limbs fly.

Jinx drops low, heart hammering against her ribs.

She should be terrified. Maybe she is. But beneath the horror, beneath the suffocating weight of death, there is a singular, grounding thought.

Viktor is safe.

He is far from this trench, from the screaming, from the mud that sucks men down into the earth like it’s hungry for them.

That’s all that matters.

Not the blood pooling around her boots. Not the sobbing soldier next to her, gripping his own severed arm as if holding it tighter will make it reattach. Not the sound of someone, somewhere, begging for their mother, for God, for death.

Jinx swallows, forcing bile back down her throat. She’s seen men die a hundred different ways in that medical tent. But here—here—it’s different. There is no space between injury and death. No time for someone like her to intervene.

You live. You die.

No in-between.

Another shell screams overhead, crashing somewhere down the line. The trench rattles, dirt raining down from above.

She exhales. Keeps moving.

It’s okay.

As long as Viktor gets to live.

---

The sun never really rises in war.

At some point, the shelling slows. The screaming quiets. The world settles into something like exhaustion, men too drained to cry anymore. Jinx stays crouched in the trench, rifle hugged to her chest, her breath sharp and shallow.

Someone stumbles past her—one of the soldiers from her unit. His leg is gone from the knee down, his face blank with shock. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

Jinx reaches for her pack, for bandages, for anything—

And then she stops.

There’s no saving him.

She swallows hard. Turns her head.

She has to focus. She has to survive.

For Viktor.

There is so much more in life than war for him.

And she wants him to have it all.

---

The night is supposed to be quiet.

It isn’t.

The chief gives the order, and they advance. Jinx moves with what’s left of the unit, her boots sinking into the mud, rifle clutched in shaking hands. The trenches are behind them now, replaced by the eerie, open stretch of the wet land.

She hates it.

Too exposed. Too silent. Too wrong.

Something is off.

She barely has time to process the thought before the ground explodes.

The world shatters around her.

A deafening, gut-wrenching boom—then screams, pain, chaos. Jinx feels the force before she understands what’s happening, her body yanked backward, lifted off the ground, weightless for a terrifying moment—

And then—

Impact.

Pain, sharp and immediate, shoots up her leg. The world spins, her vision blurred by smoke and dirt. She tries to move, but her right leg screams in protest.

Broken.

She blinks rapidly, trying to force clarity through the haze of pain. Around her, what’s left of the unit is—

Gone.

Pieces. Chunks.

An arm, severed at the elbow, still gripping a rifle. A man’s torso—just his torso—sprawled yards away, intestines slick in the moonlight. The chief’s body—or what remains of it—unrecognizable.

Her stomach churns.

The mines did their job.

They walked straight into them like idiots.

She should be dead. She almost wishes she was.

But instead—

She is alone.

Alive.

Barely.

Jinx grits her teeth, pressing her forehead into the dirt. She needs to move.

She can’t stay here.

There will be more. More mines, more shelling, more men crawling through the dark with knives and rifles, desperate to kill anyone left breathing.

She can’t let them find her.

She drags herself forward, biting back a scream when her leg protests. Can’t think about it. Can’t stop.

One arm. Then the next. Pull. Drag. Crawl.

Move.

Move.

She doesn’t look back at what’s left of the men she marched with.

There’s nothing left to look at.

---

The night stretches on, endless and merciless.

Jinx moves through the mud, each inch forward a battle against the screaming pain in her leg. The shattered bone grinds beneath her skin, a sickening, deep ache that makes her vision blur at the edges. She clenches her jaw so tightly she swears her teeth might break.

She can’t stop.

If she stops, she dies.

The battlefield around her is silent now. The dead don’t speak. The wind howls through the open field, carrying the distant sounds of gunfire from somewhere far beyond. She doesn’t know where the nearest trench is—friendly or otherwise.

She just knows she can’t be here when the sun rises.

Jinx presses a hand to her leg, hissing through her teeth. She should splint it. Should wrap it up, stop the swelling, do something before she loses the ability to move at all. But there’s no time.

Something shifts in the darkness.

A sound—too quiet, too deliberate to be the wind.

Jinx freezes, breath catching in her throat.

Then—

Footsteps.

Slow. Careful. Searching.

Her heart slams against her ribs. She grips her rifle with shaking fingers, barely able to hold the weight of it. She doesn’t even know if there’s a bullet in the chamber.

A shadow moves through the smoke and moonlight, creeping closer.

Enemy or ally?

Does it even matter?

She’s too weak to run. If they find her, she’s dead.

Jinx grits her teeth, pressing her body lower into the mud, forcing herself to wait.

The footsteps draw nearer.

A figure emerges from the darkness.

And then—

They stop.

Just feet away.

Jinx doesn’t breathe.

The soldier shifts, helmet tilting as if scanning the field. Looking for survivors. Looking for her.

The rifle in her hands feels impossibly heavy. If they see her, she has one chance. One shot.

Her finger tightens on the trigger.

Then—

The soldier turns away.

The footsteps retreat, slow and cautious, disappearing into the night.

Jinx doesn’t move.

Not until the silence returns, swallowing the battlefield whole.

Only then does she exhale, ragged and shaky.

She’s not dead.

Not yet.

But if she doesn’t get out of here soon—

She will be.

Jinx lay in the mud, listening to the retreating footsteps until they vanished into the night. Her heart pounded so loudly she swore the earth beneath her vibrated with it. The soldier had been close—too close. If they had turned just a little more, if the moonlight had hit her at the wrong angle…

She couldn't dwell on that.

Her leg was ruined. Moving was agony. But she didn’t have a choice. If she stayed here, morning would bring scavengers—whether they were looters, enemy soldiers, or carrion birds, she didn't care to find out.

With a sharp inhale, she forced herself onto her elbows, biting her tongue hard enough to taste blood as the pain in her leg flared white-hot.

One arm. Then the next.

Pull. Drag. Crawl.

Each movement sent fresh agony lancing through her body, but she kept going. She had no destination, no plan. All she knew was that she needed to get away. Away from the bodies, from the stench of burned flesh, from the empty helmets with no heads inside them.

Something cracked beneath her hand.

She froze.

Glass. No—

Her breath hitched.

A syringe.

The medical pouch of some long-dead field medic had been scattered in the dirt, its contents lost in the gore of no man’s land.

Jinx’s fingers trembled as she reached for another syringe still intact, its label barely legible beneath the filth.

Morphine.

A hollow laugh broke past her lips, sharp and bitter. Fate had a twisted sense of humor.

Her hands moved on their own, fingers steady despite the pain. She didn’t have the luxury of sterilizing the needle, but at this point, infection was the least of her worries. With a quick jab, she slid the needle into her thigh, pressing down the plunger.

The relief was instant, bleeding in like a crashing ocean through her nerves. The pain was gone—like magic. It was even helping her calm down a little. 

Jinx sucked in a deep breath.

Move.

She kept crawling.

---

Viktor had always known war was a great devourer. It swallowed men whole, ground them to nothing, and spat them back out in pieces. He had watched it happen a hundred times over—bodies broken, spirits shattered, all of them carried off like dust in the wind.

But it wasn’t just soldiers who suffered.

He had seen what it did to the nurses, too. The way they never had clean hands, the way their eyes hollowed out like the wounded they cared for. They weren’t all sent to the front like the men, weren’t made to charge headfirst into gunfire, but that didn’t mean they weren’t dying.

They just did it slower.

Jinx had never spoken about it much, but Viktor wasn’t an idiot. He had seen the way she lingered by the beds of dying men, pressing cool hands to fevered brows, whispering lies that every nurse had to tell. You’ll be fine. Just hold on. Help is coming. Even when they both knew the truth.

She had held him together with those same hands. Patched him up, sat by his cot at night when he was too delirious from pain and blood loss to sleep.

And now, she was gone.

Viktor didn’t notice at first. He had been too feverish, too lost in his own recovery, barely clinging to the waking world. But as the days passed, as the worst of the pain dulled and his mind sharpened again, the unease settled in.

Jinx wasn’t here.

That, in itself, was strange.

The nurses rotated, sure—but not her. She had made a habit of lingering, always there to scowl at him when he tried to move too soon, always ready with a sharp remark whenever he made a joke at his own expense.

Then there was the excuse they gave him.

"Transferred."

Overnight. Without warning. No chance to say anything, no letters, no message.

It was a lie.

And the longer Viktor thought about it, the angrier he became.

By the time he shoved himself up from the cot, he was trembling from the effort, but he ignored it. His ribs ached, his prosthetic felt heavier than usual, and a nurse—Margot, he thought—was already giving him a look.

“You shouldn’t be up.”

Viktor barely spared her a glance. “Where is Jinx?”

Margot didn’t answer right away.

His gut twisted.

“How long has she been gone?”

Silence.

Too long.

Finally, Margot exhaled. “Nine days.”

Viktor inhaled sharply. Nine days. He swayed slightly but clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay steady. Nine days at the front.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a tight line between the cots, forcing his brain to work through the haze of pain and frustration.

She had volunteered. That much he knew, even before he asked. Jinx wasn’t the type to wait for orders.

But why?

His stomach sank with the only possible answer.

Me.

Something hot and bitter burned at the back of his throat.

His voice was sharp when he spoke. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Margot’s gaze was steady, but there was something in it. Pity. “You weren’t well enough to do anything about it.”

Viktor let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “I’m still not.”

And that—that—was the part that stung the most. Because even knowing now, even realizing what she had done, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. His body was weak, stitched together with half-healed wounds, and if he even tried to leave camp, he wouldn’t make it a mile before collapsing.

Useless.

His fist clenched.

"Who let her go?" he demanded, voice low and sharp.

Margot tensed. Her lips parted, but before she could answer—

A voice cut through the tent like a blade.

"I did."

Viktor turned to see Captain Mordane step inside, his broad shoulders casting a shadow across the entrance. His uniform was stiff with dried mud, his face set in something unreadable.

Viktor didn't look away.

"You sent her?"

Mordane's expression didn't change. "She made her choice."

Viktor exhaled sharply through his nose. "You let her walk into a battlefield."

"She knew the risks," Mordane said simply.

The words were too even, too calm. Like they were talking about a supply run and not a woman who was probably already dead in a trench somewhere.

Viktor's nails dug into his palm.

"Where is she?" His voice was steady, but barely.

Mordane held his gaze.

Viktor realized—

The captain wasn’t sure if she was alive either.

---

Viktor had stopped sleeping.

The hospital tent was quieter now—not peaceful, but quieter. The sounds of war were still out there, distant rumbles of artillery in the hills, but here, in the thinning ranks of the wounded, the fight was already over.

Demobilization.

The war was ending.

Or at least, their war was. Someone higher than Mordane had finally called the order. They were pulling men home, prioritizing the injured. It could take weeks, maybe months, but Viktor? He and the others were at the front of the line. They had earned enough points, they would be prioritized. 

They were leaving.

But Jinx wasn’t.

Mordane hadn’t heard a damn thing from the unit she left with. No letters, no reports, no survivors stumbling back with news. The war machine had swallowed them whole, and now there was nothing left to do but assume the worst.

And Viktor—he was expected to accept that.

He sat on the edge of his cot, staring at the canvas wall of the tent, one leg stretched out, the other stiff and mechanical, dirt still ground into its hinges. His ribs ached, his body was stronger than it had been, but not strong enough. He had gained back movement, but not enough to fight. Not enough to walk into the trenches himself and drag Jinx back.

Not enough to stop them from sending him home while she was still out there.

His jaw locked.

He had spent the last ten days pacing, asking, pushing—but there were no answers to be found. The front was chaos. Regiments broke apart, men disappeared. Some made it back, most didn’t. And if they didn’t? No one wasted time searching for them.

Jinx had known that.

She had to have known.

Yet she went anyway.

Viktor’s fingers curled into fists.

Mordane entered the tent, boots heavy against the ground. The man was tired—more so than usual. His uniform was still stiff with dried mud, his face set like stone.

Viktor didn’t look up.

“Pack your things,” Mordane said, even though he knew Viktor didn’t have anything. 

Viktor exhaled slowly through his nose. “No word?”

Mordane was silent.

Viktor’s shoulders tensed. He lifted his head, meeting the captain’s stare with something sharp and dangerous.

“No word,” Mordane confirmed. His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

Viktor let out a slow, humorless chuckle. “And we’re just supposed to leave her?”

Mordane didn’t move. “We don’t have a choice.”

“The hell we don’t.” Viktor shoved himself up from the cot, ignoring the way his body protested.

Mordane watched him carefully.

“You think I don’t want to send someone after her?” he asked. His voice was even, but there was something simmering beneath it. “You think I don’t know what it means to leave people behind? She knew. She made her choice.”

Viktor’s hands shook. “That doesn’t mean I have to accept it.”

Mordane sighed. “I know.”

That was the worst part.

Because he did know.

The captain had been fighting this war longer than any of them. He had made peace with its cruelty, with its demands. And now, Viktor was supposed to do the same.

Jinx was gone.

And he was going home without her.

---

The trench had long since turned to rot.

Jinx wasn’t sure how many days had passed since the mines tore her unit apart. Maybe a week. Maybe more. Time had blurred together in the filth, in the sleepless nights, in the moments between shellfire and silence.

She had survived. Somehow.

The explosion had taken most of the men before they even realized they were dead. The others had been picked off in the following days—enemy patrols, sniper fire, infection, starvation.

Jinx had lasted.

Her leg was ruined. Not gone, but barely useful. The break had swollen, turned purple and angry, fever burning at the edges of her mind. She had wrapped it as best she could, rationed the few medical supplies she managed to scavenge off the corpses.

But the truth was simple: she was running out of time.

Her unit was gone.

Her rations were gone.

And soon, she would be too.

She lay against the trench wall, her breath coming in slow, shallow pulls. The sky above was a sickly gray, the morning light barely cutting through the lingering smoke. The battlefield stretched out beyond the broken fortifications, a graveyard of steel and bodies.

No reinforcements.

No hope.

Jinx exhaled, tilting her head against the mud. She had always known this was a possibility.

The war took everyone eventually.

She just hadn’t expected to go out like this.

Not alone.

Her fingers brushed over the rifle at her side. She hadn’t fired a shot in days. She had learned quickly that bullets weren’t the thing that kept you alive out here. Silence did.

The last patrol had passed through two nights ago. She had barely managed to keep her breathing quiet as they walked right past her, their voices low, boots crunching through the debris.

They hadn’t seen her.

But next time, they might.

Her grip tightened around the rifle.

Jinx had never wanted to be a soldier. She had never wanted to fight, never wanted to kill. But survival was a different thing entirely.

She had fought to keep men breathing.

Now, she would fight to keep herself breathing, too.

Even if it was just a little longer.

---

Jinx didn’t know the war had ended.

Out here, in the trenches where bodies still rotted in the mud, where the sky still smelled of smoke and death, there was no such thing as endings. Only waiting. Only surviving.

But the war had ended.

She was too fevered to see the signs. The distant artillery fire had stopped days ago, the skies had been silent, and no new waves of soldiers had come pouring over the horizon. The battlefield had gone still, abandoned.

She was alone.

And she would have stayed alone—if not for the trucks.

The first thing she heard was the low rumble of engines, too deep, too steady to be enemy patrols. She lay still in the mud, her fingers twitching toward her rifle, waiting.

Then, over the ridge, the first truck appeared.

It bore her country’s flag.

Jinx’s breath hitched.

She blinked hard, forcing her mind to focus through the haze of pain and exhaustion. Trucks didn’t come out here. Not anymore. Not unless they were scavenging the battlefield for supplies.

Or for bodies.

More followed, rolling over the churned-up earth, engines steady and purposeful. It took her another moment to realize they weren’t just searching for the dead.

They were treating the wounded.

Through blurred vision, she saw soldiers moving in and out of the trucks, lifting men onto stretchers, wrapping wounds, pouring canteens of clean water into cracked lips.

Jinx’s fingers curled tighter around her rifle.

It could be a trick.

The enemy had done worse before—approaching under false flags, luring survivors out of hiding just to put a bullet in them.

But these men—these soldiers—wore her uniform.

One of them, standing on the side of the nearest truck, called out, his voice carrying over the empty battlefield.

“If you’re out there—if you can hear me—we’re taking everyone home.”

Home.

The word didn’t seem real.

Jinx’s body screamed at her to move, but she hesitated, her heartbeat slow and heavy in her ears.

It could be a lie.

But she was dying out here.

She had been dying since the day she left Viktor behind.

If there was even a chance that this was real—

She had to take it.

With the last of her strength, she forced herself up from the mud, sucking in a sharp breath as pain lanced up her leg. The world spun, her vision blackening at the edges, but she stayed upright.

Then, slowly, she lifted her arm.

The soldier on the truck turned. His gaze swept over the field, scanning—then stopped.

He saw her.

Jinx barely heard his voice calling out orders, barely registered the figures moving toward her.

She had made it.

She was going home.

---

Jinx had never told Viktor what home was like.

She had never spoken about where she came from, what city she lived in, or whether she had anyone waiting for her. She had always deflected, always steered the conversation elsewhere when he asked.

Turns out, she did have someone waiting.

And Viktor had to find out through Mordane.

They traveled together—him and the captain. Captain Mordane felt just as guilty as Viktor did—after all, he was the one who allowed her to go in Viktor’s stead. Viktor was still healing, his movements slower, his ribs aching when he breathed too deep. But none of that mattered. The war had taken too much already, and if Jinx wasn’t here to return to her home, then Viktor would go in her place.

The rural city they arrived in was quiet, a stark contrast to the endless noise of the trenches. Life moved slower here—distant voices in the marketplace, the scent of fresh earth after a morning rain, houses built with weathered wood and stubborn resilience. It was a place untouched by war, or at least, untouched in ways that could be seen.

Jinx’s house was small. Simple. A garden in the front, the fence slightly crooked. Lived in. Loved.

Viktor could barely look at it.

His hands were clenched at his sides as Mordane knocked. The sound was firm, steady, like everything the captain did.

A moment later, the door opened.

The woman standing there had Jinx’s eyes.

Not exactly, but close enough. There was something sharp in the way she looked at them, something wary but not unkind. Her dark hair was tied back messily, as if she had been in the middle of something before answering.

Her gaze flicked over the both of them.

“…Uh, can I help you?”

Mordane didn’t hesitate. “I am Brisk Mordane, Captain of Company B, 1st Battalion. I am here to speak with Violet.”

Violet blinked. “Yea, this is Violet. What are you here for?”

Mordane inhaled, his voice steady, controlled. “Miss Violet, I am here to inform you that as of right now, volunteer of the Nurse’s Aide, Jinx, has yet to be accounted for. We have not recovered a body, nor do we have correspondence that she has been found.”

Viktor shut his eyes tightly.

He already knew that. He had known for weeks. But hearing it again, spoken in that cold, formal tone, still tore into him like a blade.

Violet was quiet.

She didn’t gasp. Didn’t cry. She just looked at them, her grip tightening on the edge of the doorframe.

Then, finally—

“…So, what you’re telling me is, you lost my sister.”

Viktor flinched.

Mordane held firm. “We are still searching.”

Violet let out a sharp breath, her jaw tightening, something unreadable flashing through her expression.

Then she stepped aside.

“Well,” she said, voice clipped. “You might as well come in.”

Violet’s house smelled like earth and old wood, like something real.

It wasn’t big, wasn’t extravagant—just a small home worn by time, built to last. The floors creaked softly underfoot as Viktor and Mordane stepped inside, their presence feeling foreign against the quiet warmth of the space.

It was the kind of place where someone lived, where someone belonged.

Jinx’s home.

Violet led them into a modest sitting room, gesturing vaguely toward the furniture. “Sit. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

Viktor hesitated for a moment before lowering himself into one of the chairs. His ribs ached, his body still protesting movement, but he barely noticed. Mordane remained standing, his posture rigid as ever.

Violet crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, eyes sharp. “So. You’re telling me my sister’s missing.”

Mordane nodded once. “Yes.”

“And you don’t have any idea where she is.”

A pause. “Correct.”

Violet exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Goddamn it.”

Viktor opened his mouth, then closed it. He had spent weeks trying to figure out what he would even say to her family, but now, sitting here, the words felt impossible.

“…She never told me about you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he intended.

Violet let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

She pushed off the wall, moving toward a small wooden table near the window. A few old books sat stacked on the surface, a cup of cold tea beside them. She didn’t touch any of it. Just stood there, fingers drumming lightly against the wood.

“You know,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, “I warned her not to go.”

Viktor’s throat tightened.

“She didn’t have to sign up,” Violet continued, shaking her head. “She could’ve stayed here. Could’ve lived a quiet life, found something safe to do. But no. Jinx never could sit still, never could leave things alone.”

Viktor exhaled sharply. “She didn’t go for the war.”

Violet turned fully then, her gaze locking onto him. “No?”

He met her stare. “She went for the people in it.”

For the men who needed saving. For the soldiers who never had anyone else.

For him.

Violet studied him for a long moment. Then, finally, she sighed and sank into the chair opposite him.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “I figured as much.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, softer—“What was she like?”

Viktor blinked. “What?”

Violet looked at him, something unreadable in her expression. “She never talked about what she did over there. She never wrote about it, either. Just said she was fine, that everything was fine.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “But I know better.”

Viktor hesitated, his fingers curling against his knee.

Jinx had been—

She had been a hundred things at once. A sharp tongue and steady hands. A quiet strength wrapped in stubborn resilience. The kind of person who carried too much weight and never let it show.

She had kept him alive.

And now, she was the one missing.

“…She was impossible,” Viktor said finally, a small, bitter smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t listen to anyone. Never followed orders. Threatened to sew me up without chloroform when I tore my stitches.”

Violet huffed out a short, dry laugh. “Sounds right.”

“She wasn’t a soldier,” he continued. “But she fought hard, like all of us.”

Violet didn’t answer right away. She just looked past him, toward the window, where the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the wooden floor.

Then, softly—

“Do you think she’s still alive?”

Viktor inhaled slowly.

“…I don’t know.”

He wanted to say yes. Wanted to believe that Jinx was out there somewhere, alive, stubborn as ever, refusing to die.

But he had seen what war did to people.

And the war was over now.

The world had moved on.

Jinx hadn’t come home.

---

She had expected death.

For days, she had lain in the mud, waiting for it. It had followed her since the moment she left the hospital tent, whispering at the edges of her mind, creeping into her broken bones, pressing down on her lungs every time she tried to breathe.

But death had never come.

Instead, a soldier had.

The truck had taken her out of the wasteland of no man’s land, out of the shattered trenches, out of the ruins of war itself. She had barely been conscious when they lifted her into the back, barely able to keep her eyes open as the medic pressed a canteen to her lips and told her to drink.

The war was over, they had said.

She didn’t believe them.

Not really.

Because the war was still inside her—inside the wounds that hadn’t healed, inside the nights where she jerked awake at the sound of distant thunder, mistaking it for shellfire. It was in the fever dreams that came when they dosed her with morphine, in the way her hands still twitched toward a rifle she no longer carried.

She didn’t know how long she had been traveling. Time blurred between sleep and waking, between the steady hum of the truck’s engine and the muffled voices of the men around her.

Then, one day, she woke up in a bed.

A real bed.

Jinx blinked at the ceiling, disoriented. The air smelled clean. The sheets beneath her were soft, nothing like the stiff cots of the field hospitals. Her leg still ached—wrapped tightly now, properly set, no longer just a crude bandage job she had done herself.

She turned her head.

A woman sat beside the bed, watching her. Not a soldier. Not a nurse. Someone else.

Jinx’s throat was dry when she spoke.

“…Where am I?”

The woman leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle but firm. “A recovery ward. You're safe.”

Safe.

Jinx wasn’t sure she knew what that meant anymore.

She wet her lips. “How long have I been here?”

“A week since they found you.”

Jinx let that settle in.

A week.

A week away from the battlefield. A week where someone else had been keeping her alive.

A week where Viktor had gone home, probably assuming she was already dead.

The thought sat heavy in her chest.

She turned her head toward the window.

Sunlight.

Real sunlight, warm and golden, spilling across the sheets.

The war was over.

Jinx had survived.

But she wasn’t sure what to do with that.

She had spent so long fighting against death—patching up wounds, dragging herself through the mud, clenching her teeth through pain—that now, lying in a real bed with warm sunlight on her skin, she felt wrong.

As if this wasn’t meant for her.

As if she had tricked fate somehow, and soon, it would realize its mistake and drag her back.

The woman beside her—some kind of nurse, maybe, but not a field nurse—watched her with calm patience. “You should rest.”

Jinx swallowed. Her throat was raw, her body aching in a dull, distant way. “I’ve been resting.”

The woman huffed a quiet laugh. “Not enough.”

Jinx closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “Where are the others?”

The ones she had left with. The ones who had been swallowed by the battlefield.

The woman hesitated.

Jinx already knew the answer.

She turned her head, staring at the window. The curtains were half drawn, and outside, she saw a stretch of land she didn’t recognize. Not a city, not a village—just somewhere. Somewhere that wasn’t war.

It should have brought relief.

It didn’t.

Instead, it made something ugly and heavy coil in her stomach.

She was alone.

And Viktor—

She didn’t know where he was. If he had made it home. If he had even waited.

If he thought she was dead.

She licked her lips. “Where are they sending us?”

The woman studied her for a moment before answering. “Home.”

Home.

The word didn’t feel real.

Jinx had spent so long thinking she wouldn’t make it back that she had stopped wanting to make it back. The war was all she had known. The trenches, the blood, the ache of exhaustion—that had been life.

What was left after that?

She let out a slow breath. “Where are we now?”

“A processing station,” the woman said. “You’ll be sent out on the next transport.”

Jinx nodded, though she barely heard her.

She was going home.

Or at least, that’s what they told her.

The word felt strange in her mouth, like a foreign shape she hadn’t learned to pronounce. She had spent so long crawling through mud, stitching up wounds that wouldn’t heal, choking on the stench of burning flesh—what was left for her beyond all that? What was home if not just another waiting room before the next war?

She sat stiffly in the back of the transport truck, her injured leg stretched out awkwardly, wrapped in a splint that did little to dull the ache. The other soldiers, the ones who had survived like her, sat slumped against the wooden panels, staring blankly ahead. Some murmured to each other in hushed voices. Others said nothing at all.

Jinx kept her eyes on the road.

The truck rumbled forward, carrying them across a landscape that should have felt familiar. Trees. Open fields. The occasional farmhouse, standing untouched by the war that had eaten them alive. The sight of it made something uneasy twist in her gut.

She should be grateful.

She wasn’t.

A man across from her—young, barely more than a boy, his uniform still loose on his thin frame—was watching her. He had a bandage wrapped tight around his wrist, his hands fidgeting against his knee.

“You were in the trenches?” he asked.

Jinx exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Bad?”

Her mouth twisted.

No words could explain it. No sentence could capture the raw, mindless horror of it—the endless hunger of war, the bodies sinking into the mud, the way survival felt more like a punishment than a blessing.

But he was looking at her, waiting.

“…Yeah,” she said, voice flat. “Bad.”

The boy didn’t ask anything else.

The truck jostled over uneven ground, and Jinx clenched her jaw as pain flared up her leg. She barely noticed when the vehicle slowed, when the others around her began shifting, straightening up.

Then she heard it.

The distant hum of a train.

Her pulse kicked against her ribs.

They were really sending them back.

She had spent so long running on borrowed time, so many days expecting death to finally come for her, that the idea of leaving—actually leaving—felt wrong. She had fought so damn hard just to keep breathing, and now? Now they were sending her away like all of it had meant nothing.

She wasn’t sure if that was a relief or a cruelty.

The truck lurched to a stop.

“End of the line,” the driver called. “If you can walk, get moving.”

Jinx shifted, swinging her good leg over the edge of the truck bed, her fingers gripping the side as she carefully lowered herself down. The moment her boot hit the ground, her injured leg nearly buckled.

A firm grip caught her elbow.

“Easy,” someone muttered.

She looked up. A soldier, older than her, his uniform hanging loosely off his frame. He didn’t meet her eyes as he steadied her, then let go just as quickly.

Jinx didn’t thank him.

She didn’t look back at the truck. Didn’t look at the other soldiers still climbing out.

She just kept moving.

The train station was a bleak, skeletal thing—old tracks stretching into the horizon, a rusting platform barely held together. But the train itself was real, waiting, smoke curling from its engine.

Jinx exhaled sharply.

One step. Then another.

Home.

It still didn’t feel real.

Viktor sat stiffly in the small kitchen, his fingers wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold.

Violet moved around the room with quiet efficiency, setting down mismatched plates, glancing at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. It had been five days since he arrived at her doorstep, since he had told her what had happened.

Five days of silence.

Now, she finally spoke.

“You don’t have to stay.”

Viktor’s grip tightened around the cup.

“I know.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “Then why are you still here?”

He swallowed. His ribs ached. His leg—his real one—still hadn’t fully regained its strength. But none of that mattered.

Because Jinx wasn’t here.

And until he knew for sure, he wasn’t leaving.

Violet sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Look, I get it. Really, I do. But if she was coming back—”

“She’s not dead.”

The words left his mouth sharper than intended. Violet flinched.

Viktor exhaled, pressing his fingers to his temple. “She’s not dead,” he said again, quieter.

Violet hesitated. Then, slowly, she sank into the chair across from him.

“Even if she’s alive,” she said carefully, “that doesn’t mean she’s coming back.”

Viktor looked at her sharply.

“She volunteered for that war,” Violet continued, her voice unreadable. “She could’ve stayed here. She could’ve had a normal life. But she left. Maybe—” Her throat bobbed. “Maybe she doesn’t want to come back.”

A muscle in Viktor’s jaw twitched.

Jinx had gone to the trenches to save lives. To fight for something beyond herself. She had spent every day patching up men who were never meant to survive, whispering hollow reassurances into the ears of the dying.

She had fought for everyone but herself.

And now, she was supposed to just vanish?

No.

He refused to believe that.

Violet watched him for a long moment, then let out a slow breath.

“You’re stubborn,” she muttered.

Viktor huffed a humorless laugh. “So was she.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Viktor went still.

Violet frowned, pushing up from her chair. “No one visits this late.”

She crossed the room, her bare feet nearly silent against the wooden floor. She hesitated for only a second before unlocking the door and pulling it open.

Then she froze.

Viktor’s heart slammed against his ribs.

He pushed up from his chair, ignoring the sharp protest of his body, stepping forward just in time to see—

Jinx.

She stood in the doorway, thinner than before, a set of plain clothes hanging loose on her frame, her face pale and gaunt. A crutch was clutched in one hand, her injured leg stiff and awkward.

Over Violet’s shoulder, Jinx’s blue eyes flicked up, landing on Viktor.

She exhaled.

“…Hey, dumbass.”

Viktor let out a sharp breath, something hot and unbearable twisting inside his chest.

Jinx’s lips curled into a weak smirk.

Notes:

Suuuuuper small hint at a future one shot, anyone got a guess what the hint is 👀?

Chapter 73: Ghost in the Wires

Summary:

Then—

"Below. Lower levels. Hidden chamber."

Jinx raised a brow. “Damn, doc, that’s real villain-like of you. What, you got some creepy underground lab where you keep all your failed experiments? Bodies in vats? Maybe a brain in a jar?”

"No." A beat. "Not yet."

She laughed, loud and genuine. “Shit, I like you already. The name’s Jinx.”

Notes:

Cyberpunk AU!

Night City never stopped talking.

It was a city that ran on whispers, rumors carried in neon-lit alleyways and bars drowning in cheap synth-liquor. Some names rose and fell overnight, burning out like a bad batch of black-market chrome. Others lingered, their legacies stretching across the city like ghosts, too infamous to be forgotten.

Viktor was one of those names.

A ripperdoc turned rogue innovator, a scientist who had played with fire too many times and finally vanished in the smoke. Some called him a genius. Others, a madman. The kind of guy who locked himself away in a lab, chasing dreams of perfection while his body rotted from the inside out.

And now? He was gone.

Nothing for weeks. No calls. No sightings. No body.

Some people said he’d been flatlined—Arasaka’s dogs finally catching up to him after he got too close to something dangerous. Others thought he’d gone cyberpsycho, his mind fried by his own experiments, some poor bastard cleaning up the mess and keeping it quiet.

Jinx?

Jinx didn’t care.

She just wanted to get paid.

Breaking into the place had been easier than she expected.

Viktor’s lab was buried in an old industrial district, wedged between abandoned factories and forgotten corpses of old tech. The kind of place corpos ignored because it wasn’t worth the time to raze to the ground.

She had slipped past the security like she was walking through an open door. The cameras? Looping old footage, easy fix. The firewalls? Basic. His net defenses were good, but not great.

Which was weird.

If the guy was as paranoid as people claimed, shouldn’t this be harder? Shouldn’t she be dodging black ICE, fighting off some crazy AI watchdogs, maybe even hearing the distant beep of an alarm signaling oh fuck, you tripped something?

But there was nothing.

Just the dim glow of monitors, silent machines, and the hum of a lab that hadn’t seen human hands in weeks.

Jinx perched on the edge of a terminal, cracking her knuckles.

“Alright, let’s see what the big brain was cookin’ up.”

She flicked her wrist, her cyberdeck linking into the system. Data scrolled across her HUD, neon digits painting across her vision as she sifted through files, dragging out blueprints, research logs, notes—

Then—

The screen flickered.

The audio feed clicked on.

A voice, crackling and broken, murmured through the speakers.

"You should not be here."

Jinx froze.

A grin stretched across her face.

“Well, shit.”

For a second, Jinx just stared at the screen, waiting for some ICE to boot up, for her deck to start frying, for some kind of digital counterattack to kick her ass out of the system.

Nothing.

The voice crackled again, glitching like a bad radio signal.

"Who—are you?"

Jinx smirked, leaning back against the desk. “That’s funny, ‘cause I’m the one who’s supposed to be askin’ that, ghostie.”

She let her fingers hover over her deck, pulsing a low-level scan through the system. There was no AI signature, no Blackwall influence, no rogue daemon playing tricks on her.

This was human.

Or at least, had been.

She tapped the side of her head, activating her internal comms. “Y’know, I thought this place was empty. Then you go and start whispering in my ear like some spooky little netrunner poltergeist. Real bold move.”

Silence. Then—

"I am—" A distortion. "Everywhere. And nowhere."

Jinx laughed. “Oh, great. A fuckin’ poet.”

Her cybernetic fingers danced over the keyboard, sifting through data trails, hunting for the source of the voice. If this was a leftover construct, a recorded imprint, or some corpo experiment, it had to be anchored to something.

She ran a deep trace.

The results blinked across her HUD in red.

           LOCATION: UNKNOWN. SOURCE: LOCAL SYSTEM. STATUS: ACTIVE.

Her grin widened. Oh-ho. Jackpot.

She crossed her arms, eyes flicking to the speakers. “Wouldn’t happen to be the mad doc himself, would ya?”

More static. A pause.

Then—

"I am Viktor."

Jinx let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t think I’d be meetin’ the legend himself today. Well, not meetin’ meetin’—more like, talkin’ to the digital ghost of.”

"I am not a ghost." His voice was sharper now, stabilizing. The distortion still lingered, but she could hear it—frustration, maybe even desperation.

“Oh yeah?” She drummed her fingers against her thigh. “Kinda hard to prove that when you’re just a voice in the wires, choom.”

She watched the data feed, noting the way his presence flickered across the network—like he was holding himself together just to talk to her.

He was running out of time.

"You accessed my system. That means you can help me."

Jinx barked a laugh. “Help? Oh, see, that’s funny, ‘cause I was supposed to be stealing from you. Now you want me to do you a favor?”

"If you restore me," Viktor said, "you may take whatever you came for."

That made her pause.

Most people begged for help. Most people offered empty promises, hoping to buy time until they could screw you over. But Viktor? He went straight to the trade.

She liked that.

Jinx tilted her head. “Alright, ghost boy. Where you hidin’ your meat?”

Jinx popped a fresh piece of gum in her mouth, her cybernetic fingers flicking across the terminal as she waited for Viktor’s answer.

There was a hesitation—just a fraction of a second too long.

Then—

"Below. Lower levels. Hidden chamber."

Jinx raised a brow. “Damn, doc, that’s real villain-like of you. What, you got some creepy underground lab where you keep all your failed experiments? Bodies in vats? Maybe a brain in a jar?”

"No." A beat. "Not yet."

She laughed, loud and genuine. “Shit, I like you already. The name’s Jinx.”

Viktor wasn’t an AI, that much was clear. No Blackwall corruption, no rogue data signatures. He wasn’t running on some pre-recorded program either—he was responding to her in real-time, thinking, adapting.

Which meant—

“You’re still alive,” she mused, leaning against the console.

"Yes."

Her grin widened. “But stuck.”

Viktor didn’t answer immediately. The data feed flickered, as if his presence inside the system was shifting—like he was losing his grip.

"I transferred my mind into the system," he admitted. "A process meant to be temporary. But something went wrong."

“Yeah, no shit.” She blew a bubble, letting it pop. “So, lemme get this straight—you tried to go full chrome-brain, upgrade yourself to something bigger, badder, and now you’re stuck in the wires?”

"Essentially, yes."

Jinx clicked her tongue, pushing off the desk. “Well, that’s what you get for playin’ god, choom.”

"I am aware." His voice was sharp, but there was something else buried in it—something almost amused.

Jinx rolled her shoulders. “Alright. Let’s say I do help. What’s in it for me?”

"I already told you."

“Yeah, yeah, ‘take whatever you came for.’ But see, doc, I didn’t just come for one thing. I came for everything.” She smirked. “Blueprints, research, whatever crazy-ass designs you were hoarding. You tellin’ me I get all that?”

A pause.

Then—

"Yes."

Jinx’s optics flickered, running a quick scan on his pulse through the system. No hesitation. No deception. He was serious.

Damn.

She really liked him.

She cracked her neck, stretching her arms. “Alright, then. Where’s the entrance?”

A portion of the screen blinked, highlighting a section of the facility’s blueprint—an access panel hidden behind the main console.

"There. Manual override required."

Jinx grinned, flexing her fingers. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

The entrance was exactly where Viktor said it would be—tucked behind a rusted panel in the far corner of the lab, sealed tight with old-school mechanical locks.

Jinx crouched, cybernetic fingers dancing over the surface, scanning for security triggers. “Y’know, for a guy who uploaded his brain into a machine, this is real low-tech.”

"Failsafe," Viktor replied through her earpiece. "If something went wrong, I needed a way back."

“Yeah, well, real funny that you ain’t the one flippin’ the switch.” She pulled a small device from her belt, pressed it to the locking mechanism, and let it do its magic. A few tense seconds passed before the locks clunked open, releasing the hatch.

Jinx grinned. “And we’re in.”

A dimly lit stairwell stretched downward, cold and industrial, humming with the low vibration of buried power lines. She adjusted the neon glow of her optics, stepping carefully as she descended.

"Straight ahead," Viktor instructed. His voice crackled, weaker now. "At the end of the hall."

Jinx could feel it—his signal was degrading. Whatever was holding him together in the system was breaking down.

She picked up the pace.

The hallway opened into a sterile chamber, sleek metal walls reflecting the soft blue glow of embedded monitors. And in the center—

A single bed.

Cables curled from the walls like cybernetic vines, feeding into the motionless body resting atop the frame. His arms lay still, fingertips twitching ever so slightly, breath slow and steady.

Jinx whistled low.

“Well, shit.”

She stepped closer, studying him. Viktor looked younger than she expected. Sharp features, dark hair tousled like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep. His augments gleamed under the dim light—subtle, precise work. Nothing flashy. Nothing over-the-top.

Just a man who had bet everything on his own genius.

And lost.

She tapped a finger against one of the cables. “So, uh… how much of you is actually in there, doc?”

Viktor’s voice was barely a whisper now. "Enough to be… aware."

“Aw, that’s rough, buddy.” She grinned. “Hope you weren’t havin’ dreams or nothin’. Sounds like you’re stuck in a realbad one.”

No response.

Jinx flicked her optics, scanning his vitals. His body was still alive, but his neural activity was fading—like his mind was stretching too far, struggling to hold onto both the machine and the flesh.

If she didn’t pull him out soon, there might not be anything left to save.

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders.

“Alright, ghost boy. Let’s wake you up.”

Jinx cracked her knuckles, eyes flicking between Viktor’s unconscious body and the mess of wires hooking him into the system. She’d seen setups like this before—deep-dive immersion rigs, full neural overlays, tech so advanced that one wrong move could fry a brain permanently.

Viktor wasn’t just jacked in.

He was integrated.

Jinx exhaled through her teeth. “Damn, doc, you really didn’t leave yourself a way out, huh?”

"I had… a plan." Viktor’s voice was weaker than before, like he was being pulled in two different directions. "The failsafe should have activated when—when the transfer was complete. But something… stopped it."

Jinx arched a brow, scanning the connections. “Lemme guess—corpos?”

"No." A pause. "My own error."

She grinned. “Ooooh, that’s embarrassing.”

"Jinx."

“Yeah, yeah, hold your circuits, I’m workin’.”

She ran a deep scan on the interface, tracing the neural pathways binding Viktor’s consciousness to the system. His mind wasn’t trapped so much as it was looping—stuck in a constant state of transfer, never fully completing, never fully releasing.

A limbo.

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Damn. You really soft-bricked yourself, huh?”

"Can you fix it?"

She chewed her gum, considering. “Oh, sure. Easy.”

A beat.

"…You are lying."

She laughed. “Bingo. But hey, don’t sound so disappointed, ghostie—I do have a few ideas.”

Jinx crouched beside his body, fingers ghosting over the cables running into the base of his skull. “So, your neural link’s stuck in an infinite loop. Means if I just yank the plug, you’re gonna flatline, and I really don’t feel like cleaning up a corpse today.”

"Then do not… yank the plug."

She grinned. “See? Look at us. Problem-solving.”

She traced the connection back to the terminal in the corner, booting up the system’s core interface. “Alright, lemme see what’s keepin’ your brain from checkin’ back in…”

Lines of code scrolled across her vision, deep system architecture running like the veins of some digital beast. There. A lock buried in the transfer sequence, holding him in place.

A failsafe that shouldn’t be there.

Jinx frowned. “Huh.”

"What?" Viktor’s voice was barely a whisper now.

She tapped her fingers against the console. “You sure nobody was messin’ with your system before you went all brain-in-a-box?”

"No one but me."

Jinx narrowed her eyes. The lock wasn’t just keeping him trapped—it was shielding his mind from something. Like someone had built a wall around his consciousness and slammed the door shut before he could get back through.

Almost like…

Someone had designed this.

Not as an accident.

But as a prison.

Jinx whistled low. “Damn, doc. I think someone didn’t want you comin’ back.”

A long silence.

Then—

"…Fix it."

She grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. I love breakin’ shit.”

She flexed her fingers, loading up a virus spike.

Time to crack this thing wide open.

Jinx rolled her shoulders, fingers twitching with anticipation. “Alright, ghost boy. Hold onto whatever’s left of your marbles, ‘cause this might sting.”

"Define… sting."

She grinned, popping her gum. “Well, either you wake up, or your brain goes splat. So, y’know. No pressure.”

"Jinx."

“Yeah, yeah, relax—I like you too much to let you fry.”

She tapped a few commands into her deck, feeding a spike through the neural interface. The lock buried in Viktor’s transfer sequence wasn’t just a simple security measure—it was alive, adapting, shifting the second she tried to poke at it.

It was defensive.

Smart.

Jinx’s optics flared as the system pushed back, data scrambling across her HUD. “Hoo boy, whatever you did to yourself, doc, you really pissed off the code gods.”

"Jinx—" His voice glitched, breaking apart.

She frowned. Shit. His signal was degrading fast. If she didn’t get him out now, there might not be a Viktor left to save.

Alright. No more playing nice.

She cracked her knuckles, loading up a proper virus—one meant to rip through anything standing in her way. A custom-built data bomb, something she maybe stole from a certain Arasaka vault a few months back.

Not her fault they left their goodies lying around.

“Alright, Viktor,” she muttered, bracing herself. “Time to blow this fucker sky high.”

She launched the spike.

For a split second, nothing happened.

Then—

The system screamed.

Jinx’s HUD flared red as the failsafe fought back, lashing out with a pulse of rogue data, scrambling every feed in the room. The monitors flickered wildly, sparks flying from the console as the entire lab trembled under the weight of a collapsing system.

"JINX!" Viktor’s voice was a roar now, panic bleeding through the distortion.

Jinx laughed, hands flying across her deck. “Ohhh yeah, now we’re havin’ fun!”

The lock cracked—fractured—shattered.

Viktor’s vitals spiked.

The monitors around his bed exploded in bursts of neon static.

His body jerked.

And then—

Silence.

Jinx’s breathing was heavy, her optics flickering as the system finally went still. No alarms. No resistance.

Just the quiet hum of a reset.

Her gaze snapped to Viktor’s body.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then—

A sharp inhale.

His fingers twitched.

His eyelids fluttered.

And slowly, shakily—

Viktor opened his eyes.

Jinx grinned, leaning over him. “Rise and shine, ghost boy.”

For a long second, Viktor just stared at the ceiling, his pupils dilated, his breathing ragged like his body had forgotten how to function. His fingers twitched against the sheets, curling and uncurling like he was testing whether they were real.

Jinx crouched beside him, chin propped in her hands, watching him like a cat waiting for a trapped bird to move.

Then—

A shuddering breath.

His throat worked, voice raspy, barely more than a whisper. "I am… alive?"

Jinx grinned. “Looks that way.”

Viktor’s fingers flexed, dragging against the fabric beneath him. His eyes darted, scanning his surroundings like his brain was still catching up. She could see it—see the way his muscles trembled, his body lagging behind his mind, like a machine booting up after being powered down for too long.

Jinx popped her gum, tilting her head. “Feels weird, huh? Meat-body all slow and heavy? Bet you feel like a brick.”

His gaze finally snapped to her, and for the first time, he actually saw her.

“…Who are you?” His voice was hoarse, weak.

Jinx gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Wow. Ghost boy, you wound me. I just risked life and limb to pull your ass outta the void, and you don’t even know my name?”

Viktor’s brow furrowed like he was trying to pull thoughts from molasses. “I—” His breath hitched. “I remember… you were in my system.”

“Ding-ding-ding.” Jinx leaned in, flashing a sharp grin. “Name’s Jinx. Merc, netrunner, breaker of things. And you, doc? You owe me.”

Viktor swallowed, his throat dry. His augments whirred faintly as he struggled to push himself up on shaking arms. His body should have felt like his own, but after weeks—months?—of being nothing but raw data, he felt… wrong. Disconnected.

Jinx watched, intrigued. “Gotta say, you’re takin’ this real well. No screaming, no oh god where am I, no cyberpsychotic freakout.” She smirked. “Kinda disappointing, actually.”

Viktor exhaled, slow and deliberate. “I do not… waste time on panic.”

“Ohhh, I like you,” Jinx purred.

He gave her a sharp look, but there was no real bite to it—just exhaustion, deep and bone-crushing. “You should not have been able to access my lab, let alone my system.”

Jinx snorted. “Yeah, well, you shoulda had better defenses.”

His jaw clenched. “They were not meant to stop someone like you.”

She grinned. “Well, that’s your first mistake.”

Viktor sighed, pressing a shaking hand to his temple. His head ached—a phantom pain that wasn’t really his but belonged to the part of him that had been stretched too far. His mind was still settling, still reeling from being ripped out of the machine.

His gaze flickered back to Jinx.

“You freed me.”

Jinx leaned in, resting her elbows on her knees, grinning wide. “Yup.”

A beat.

“Why?”

Jinx laughed. “Because, ghost boy—you made me a deal. And I always collect.”

Viktor’s golden eyes narrowed as he studied Jinx, his mind still sluggish, thoughts still catching up to the present. He could feel his body again—the weight of it, the sluggish response time of muscles that hadn’t moved in weeks. He hatedit. It was inefficient. Clumsy. Human.

And yet, here he was. Alive.

Because of her.

Jinx smirked, tapping her fingers against her cheek. “Sooo… about that deal.”

Viktor inhaled slowly, gathering what little strength he had. “…What do you want?”

Jinx beamed, rocking back on her heels. “Oh, I dunno. I could take all your little blueprints, sell ‘em to the highest bidder. Make bank off your genius.”

Viktor’s eyes darkened. “I do not believe you freed me out of altruism.”

She snorted. “Pffft, altruism? Please. You think I’m some hero?” She leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe I just like having a mad scientist in my pocket.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, his frustration bleeding through the last remnants of exhaustion. “If you intend to extort me, I should warn you—I am not a man easily controlled.”

Jinx grinned. “Oh, I know, ghostie. That’s what makes this fun.”

She pushed off her perch on the edge of the bed and stretched, rolling her shoulders. “Buuuut… nah.”

Viktor blinked, his brain lagging as he processed that. “…No?”

Jinx turned, flashing him a wink over her shoulder. “Yeah, no. I ain’t takin’ your stuff, doc.”

Silence.

Viktor’s brow furrowed, his mind still struggling to parse her words. “But… our agreement—”

Jinx waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, we had a deal, blah blah. But see, I already made enough on my last few jobs that I can skip a payday.”

Viktor’s lips parted slightly, caught between confusion and suspicion. “…Then why?”

Jinx spun on her heel, grinning. “Because, ghost boy—I think you’re interesting.”

His gaze sharpened. “You risked everything—your system, your life—for curiosity?”

Jinx shrugged. “What can I say? You’re the first guy I’ve ever met who went full chrome-brain and actually made it back.” She wagged a finger at him. “That fascinates me.”

Viktor stared at her, silent. He had expected betrayal. A demand for payment. A power play.

Not… this.

Jinx plopped down in a chair beside the bed, propping her feet up on the edge. “Sooo, Viktor,” she drawled, “what’s it like bein’ a ghost?”

Viktor exhaled, his fingers flexing against the sheets. He was still… processing. The weight of his body. The slow return of sensation. The strange, chaotic woman who had saved him for no other reason than she felt like it.

Finally, his lips twitched—just slightly.

“Like drowning,” he murmured.

Jinx hummed. “And now?”

Viktor turned his head, meeting her gaze. His golden eyes gleamed under the low lab light.

“…Now?” He exhaled. “Now I breathe.”

Jinx grinned, rocking back in her chair. “Are you a poet on the side?

Viktor huffed, shaking his head. He was alive. Against all odds. And now, he had to figure out what the hell to do next.

But for now…

He supposed he had company.

 

Chapter 74: Little Raven

Summary:

“Of all the…experiments we've recovered, Signed had recorded more data and observations on her than any other. He’s had her for quite some time it seems. Not only does her body appear to be the most stable, her actions and emotions seem to be as well. More than once, within his notes, he’s referred to her as his… “most successful creation”. It is trifling to not know which aspect of her he refers to.”

The moment Viktor turned back to the avian girl, he found her right in front of him.

She had moved so silently, so swiftly that he had not even registered her approach.

Now, with only the glass barrier between them, she stood with wide, glowing pink eyes, her mouth slightly open, her hands pressed against the glass. Her long, delicate fingers spread out, nails glinting like curved daggers.

She stared directly at his face.

Notes:

The design of Jinx is heavily based on toxiliy’s angel au design on X! There are some minor changes on my end to better fit the plot!

The raid had been planned for weeks. Every lead, every whispered accusation against Dr. Corin Reveck, had led to this moment. The government could no longer ignore the reports—missing persons, disturbing shipments of biological materials, rumors of grotesque experiments conducted deep within his privately funded research facility.

A unit of armed agents, clad in black tactical gear, moved in just before dawn. The facility, nestled in the outskirts of Piltover, was eerily silent as they breached the reinforced doors.

“Move in. Secure all floors,” the commanding officer ordered.

The team fanned out, weapons raised. The corridors were pristine—too clean, as if someone had been scrubbing away evidence. The overhead lights flickered, casting long, twitching shadows across the cold steel walls.

Then, they found the first room.

One of the agents pushed the door open, and the stench hit them like a physical blow—rotting flesh and chemicals mingling into a nauseating fog. Inside, cages lined the walls, filled with creatures that should not exist. Some had too many limbs, others had faces stretched and twisted beyond recognition. One thing was clear: many of them had once been human.

A woman crouched in one corner, her eyes sunken, her mouth sewn shut with surgical thread. She reached out, trembling, but when the nearest agent took a step toward her, something moved in the shadows. A low, unnatural growl reverberated through the air.

The agents barely had time to react before the thing lunged.

It had once been a man, perhaps—his torso elongated, ribs jutting out like exposed scaffolding, his mouth split open in an obscene, gaping maw filled with jagged, uneven teeth. His arms had been reshaped into grotesque, elongated claws, the flesh stitched and stapled where nature had never intended. He moved fast—too fast.

Gunfire erupted. The creature took several bullets before it finally collapsed, writhing on the floor before growing still. The woman in the corner was sobbing now, though no sound came through her sealed lips.

“Get a medic in here!” one of the agents shouted, but before they could assist her, another scream echoed through the halls.

The team pressed forward, deeper into the facility. More rooms, more abominations. Some were suspended in vats of fluid, their eyes open and aware but unable to move. Others had been discarded in metal bins, their bodies hacked apart as if they were failed experiments.

Finally, they reached what appeared to be the central laboratory. The walls were lined with intricate blueprints and anatomical sketches—twisted visions of human anatomy melded with things that defied reason.

---

The raid on Dr. Corin Reveck’s lab had been swift, brutal, and necessary. Armed agents burst through the reinforced doors, weapons raised, expecting to find a den of illicit research. They had prepared for the worst.

What they found was worse than imagined.

Rows of containment chambers lined the steel walls, thick glass barely holding back the wretched things that stirred within. Creatures—some vaguely human, others far beyond recognition—shuddered and writhed under flickering fluorescent lights. Many bore surgical scars, grotesque growths, and in some cases, extra limbs or mismatched body parts that did not belong to them.

Some had once been human.

Their faces—or what remained of them—pressed against the glass, blackened eyes pleading. Some whimpered, some growled, some did nothing at all. A few of them spoke in fragmented, broken syllables.

The agents secured the lab, arrested Reveck, and extracted the creatures. The government deemed them too dangerous to release, too altered to ever return to society. So they were relocated to a government research facility, deep within an undisclosed location.

There, for weeks, a team of specialists examined them. They ran tests. Took samples. Recorded behaviors. Some of the creatures deteriorated—their bodies unable to sustain the unnatural changes. Others adapted. Some even spoke, recounting half-remembered nightmares of what Reveck had done to them.

At the head of the lab stood Cecil B. Heimerdinger, a renowned scientist with an analytical mind. He prided himself on rationality, but even he found himself disturbed by the results.

It was time to bring in an old student.

---

Viktor stepped into the research facility, leaning slightly on his cane, eyes scanning the large observation chambers. His expression was unreadable—serene, almost detached, though a sharp observer would catch the tension in his jaw.

Heimerdinger greeted him with an enthusiastic wave. “Ah, Viktor! My boy, it has been far too long.”

Viktor offered a polite nod. “Professor.” His gaze lingered on the dimly lit cells beyond the glass. “You require my expertise?”

Heimerdinger’s ears twitched, his fluffy brows furrowing. “Indeed. These subjects… they present anomalies I cannot quite classify.” His voice softened, a rare hesitation creeping in. “I need your insights. Your perspective.”

Viktor walked closer, peering through the reinforced glass at the figures beyond. One of the creatures—a woman, or what had once been a woman—sat curled in the corner of her containment cell. Her skin had turned an unnatural shade of ashen blue, and bony protrusions jutted from her back like half-formed wings. She watched him with dull, almost lifeless eyes.

“She spoke once,” Heimerdinger murmured, joining him. “Only a few words. She asked… if she was dead.”

Viktor inhaled slowly. “And what did you tell her?”

“What could I say?” Heimerdinger sighed. “She should be.”

Viktor’s fingers twitched slightly. He looked down at his notes, then back at the woman. “Perhaps.”

He turned to the next cell. This one contained something else entirely—a hulking mass of malformed flesh, its limbs twisted into unnatural angles. Yet when it saw him, its many eyes blinked in recognition.

“Doctor,” it whispered.

Viktor did not flinch.

“…Fascinating,” he murmured.

Heimerdinger frowned. “You are not disturbed?”

“I am,” Viktor admitted. He looked at Heimerdinger, his amber eyes sharp. “But I will not turn away.”

Because unlike the others in this facility—who saw these creatures as experiments, as anomalies—Viktor saw them for what they were.

Victims.

Viktor moved carefully through the dimly lit research facility, his sharp gaze sweeping across each containment cell. Heimerdinger and a few researchers followed behind, murmuring observations as they passed.

“These,” Heimerdinger said, gesturing to the next section of the lab, “were not Reveck’s creations. These were… Singed’s.”

At the mention of the name, Viktor’s fingers unconsciously tightened on his cane. He had known, of course. Dr. Reveck was no more; in his place, was Signed. The result of self-experimentation gone wrong—very wrong. The moment he stepped foot in this place, he had felt Singed’s presence lingering like an old, rotting scent. Singed had a signature—a touch of science that disregarded limitation, that pursued knowledge with neither morality nor restraint.

The creatures beyond the glass were testaments to that philosophy.

One was a monstrosity of exposed muscle and shifting, pulsating veins, its skin stretched too tightly over its unnatural frame. Another was insectoid, its arms bent the wrong way, mandibles twitching as it clicked against the glass. A third had no face at all, only a shifting mass of flesh, its voice bubbling up from somewhere unseen.

Each one was unique. Each one was broken.

And yet, they looked at Viktor differently than they did the others.

Not with mindless aggression, not with hollow, distant stares. They watched him. Some even leaned forward when he passed, their grotesque forms pressing closer to the reinforced glass.

Recognition.

Heimerdinger noticed. “They seem drawn to you.”

Viktor didn’t respond immediately. His thoughts were occupied elsewhere—until he saw her.

The avian girl.

She was huddled in the corner of her containment cell, her massive wings flared out in a defensive display as researchers passed her. The tips of her feathers trembled slightly, responding to each movement in the lab.

She was unlike the others. Not monstrous, not grotesque. Almost ethereal.

Her body was bare, revealing intricate cloud-like markings across her skin—soft patterns of white and pale blue, as if she had been touched by the sky itself. The small feathers trailing her arms and legs shimmered slightly beneath the artificial lighting. Her hands were mostly human, save for the long, sharp nails that curved like talons. But her feet were another matter entirely—four-digited, taloned, built for perching, for gripping, for striking.

Her hair was impossibly long, pooling around her on the cold floor. It was like a river of silk, moving gently with every small shift of her body.

Then she looked at him.

Her glowing pink eyes locked onto Viktor’s, cutting through the space between them.

And something changed.

The moment their gazes met, her wings slowly folded in, retreating from their defensive flare. Her head tilted ever so slightly—a curious, bird-like gesture.

The tension in her posture lessened.

Viktor took a slow step forward.

“…Incredible,” he whispered.

None of the other creatures had reacted this way.

None of them had regarded him like this.

Heimerdinger, beside him, stroked his beard in thought. “Curious. She’s been hostile to most of the staff. Even passive observation puts her on edge.” He glanced between Viktor and the avian girl, his large ears twitching. “…But she’s reacting differently to you.”

Viktor did not look away from her.

“Yes,” he murmured. “She is.”

“She’s quite an intelligent thing, I must say.” Heimerdinger mused aloud.  

He continued to speak and Viktor finally turned his gaze down towards the short scientist. 

“Of all the…experiments we've recovered, Signed had recorded more data and observations on her than any other. He’s had her for quite some time it seems. Not only does her body appear to be the most stable, her actions and emotions seem to be as well. More than once, within his notes, he’s referred to her as his… “most successful creation”. It is trifling to not know which aspect of her he refers to.”

The moment Viktor turned back to the avian girl, he found her right in front of him.

She had moved so silently, so swiftly that he had not even registered her approach.

Now, with only the glass barrier between them, she stood with wide, glowing pink eyes, her mouth slightly open, her hands pressed against the glass. Her long, delicate fingers spread out, nails glinting like curved daggers.

She stared directly at his face.

Viktor, unfazed, met her gaze once more. Up close, he could see the fine details of her feathered features, the way her small, soft feathers lined her collarbone and trailed lightly over her shoulders. She was watching him with an intensity that bordered on childlike curiosity, though something deeper lurked beneath it.

Heimerdinger hummed thoughtfully beside him, stroking his beard. “Ah, so she’s truly fascinated with you. That’s quite interesting. In all our time observing her, she has never approached any of us willingly. Always kept her distance.”

Viktor’s head tilted slightly as he observed her in turn. “And yet… here she stands.”

Jinx did not move, did not blink. The dim, sterile lighting reflected in her luminous pink irises, making them appear almost unnatural in their vibrancy.

“…Tell me more,” Viktor said softly, without looking away.

Heimerdinger cleared his throat, flipping through the notes on his clipboard. “Yes, well. From what we’ve gathered from Dr. Reveck’s documentation and the tests conducted here, she was certainly once fully human.”

Viktor’s eyes flickered slightly at that confirmation. Once human.

“We are uncertain of her exact age, but based on her physical and cognitive development, she is certainly mature enough to be considered an adult,” Heimerdinger continued. “Her mutation appears to be an amalgamation of human and corvid DNA—perhaps a raven or a crow.”

That would explain the feathers, the sharp talons, the keen eyes that never wavered.

Heimerdinger adjusted his glasses. “She has displayed an affinity for bright-colored items, though we are unsure whether this interest came before or after the mutation.” He chuckled. “Rather peculiar, isn’t it?”

Viktor exhaled softly through his nose. “Not necessarily.”

Jinx was still staring at his eyes, unmoving.

“…She seems to be quite fascinated with your eyes,” Heimerdinger mused.

That made Viktor raise an eyebrow slightly. He glanced at his reflection in the glass—his golden-amber irises, a shade that had always set him apart from others.

Jinx’s fingers pressed slightly harder against the glass, as if testing its strength.

“Dr. Reveck’s notes indicate that her name was Jinx,” Heimerdinger continued, watching the silent exchange with growing interest. “Again, whether that name came before or after her mutation is unclear to us; whether that was already her name when he… took her, or if he had given it to her.”

Viktor did not reply immediately.

Jinx tilted her head again, her long, silken hair shifting like a dark river, pooling against the floor. 

Viktor’s head tilted slightly, mirroring hers without realizing it.

Her breath fogged the glass faintly as she stared, silent, unwavering.

She had not spoken. Not reacted to Heimerdinger, nor the other researchers.

Only to him.

And Viktor had the distinct feeling that if there were no glass between them…

She would have already touched him.

Viktor’s gaze never wavered from hers.

Something passed between them.

An understanding.

An unspoken recognition.

“…Intriguing,” Viktor finally murmured.

Viktor studied Jinx’s unyielding gaze, the way her pupils slightly dilated as she observed him. Every minute shift in her posture felt intentional, her stillness calculated rather than fearful.

A mind was at work behind those pink-glowing eyes.

He could feel it.

Slowly, without looking away, Viktor asked, “Has anyone… attempted to enter her enclosure?”

Heimerdinger shook his head, letting out a small sigh. “A few have attempted,” he admitted, “but the moment someone tries to step inside, she becomes hostile.”

Viktor’s fingers tapped lightly against his cane, deep in thought. Hostile. A defensive reaction, then—not one of mindless aggression, but rather of protection. A learned behavior.

For weeks, these researchers had observed her from a distance. Studied her. Tested her. Yet not once had she allowed them close.

And yet…

Here she stood.

Right in front of him.

Close enough that if the glass weren’t there, he could reach out and—

“Would it be too presumptuous of me to give it a try?” Viktor finally said, his voice calm, measured.

Heimerdinger’s ears twitched, his mustache bristling slightly. “You wish to enter her enclosure?”

“Not today,” Viktor clarified, finally breaking eye contact with Jinx to look at his old teacher. “But perhaps tomorrow. Or the day after.”

A long silence followed.

Behind the glass, Jinx did not move.

Heimerdinger exhaled through his nose, stroking his beard in thought. “I cannot stop you,” he finally said. “But I will advise caution. She is unpredictable, Viktor.”

Viktor hummed softly, glancing back at Jinx. Unpredictable? Perhaps.

But unpredictability was not the same as danger.

And for some reason, she did not seem to mind him.

---

Viktor followed Heimerdinger through the facility, his steps measured, his mind elsewhere.

The professor spoke at length about the other creatures they had recovered from Singed’s lab, pointing out key abnormalities, behaviors, and mutations of interest. He led Viktor past more containment chambers, through sterile white corridors lined with reinforced doors. The things behind them shifted, hissed, or muttered in broken voices—some staring out, others retreating into the shadows of their cells.

But Viktor only half-registered his words.

His mind was still on her.

Jinx.

He replayed the moment over in his head—the way she moved, the way she looked at him, the way she reacted. Unlike the others, she wasn’t malformed, wasn’t grotesque. She was something else entirely.

Something otherworldly.

Something beautiful.

Yes, despite what had been done to her, despite the cruel hands of science that had warped her form, she still carried an undeniable elegance.

Her wings, massive and untamed, belonged to the sky—too grand, too wild for the cold sterility of a laboratory. Her long, silken hair, her cloud-marked skin, her feathered frame… it was as if she were a living legend, a creature from some lost mythology who had deigned to grace humanity with her presence.

Yet here she was.

A prisoner behind glass.

“Viktor?”

Heimerdinger’s voice pulled him back.

Viktor blinked, realizing they had entered another room—one far removed from the creatures' cells. It was dimly lit, lined with computer terminals, screens casting a faint glow over the walls. Heimerdinger moved toward one of the stations, tapping at the keyboard with practiced ease.

“This,” Heimerdinger said, motioning to the screens, “is where we have compiled all of the research we recovered from Singed’s lab.”

Viktor’s eyes flickered across the data—notes, charts, video logs, genetic mappings.

A wealth of information.

A direct insight into Singed’s work.

He took a step forward, his fingers brushing over the keyboard, already scanning through the files.

Somewhere in these records, there would be answers.

And perhaps, somewhere in these records, he would find out what had been taken from Jinx—and whether any of it could ever be given back.

---

Viktor settled into the chair before the monitors, fingers tapping at the keys as he pulled up the compiled research files. Rows of data filled the screens—genetic sequences, chemical compositions, handwritten notes from Singed, detailing his cruel and unhinged experiments.

Heimerdinger stood beside him, adjusting his glasses as he observed the documents Viktor had selected. “Singed’s research is… difficult to parse, as always. His notes are extensive but deliberately erratic—fragmented across multiple logs, often filled with cryptic remarks only he would understand.”

Viktor barely acknowledged him, his mind already sinking into the details.

His fingers moved over the keyboard, bringing up various reports, experiment logs, and genetic analyses. The screen was filled with Singed’s distinct, methodical handwriting—detached, clinical, stripped of any human sentiment.

Each file was a catalog of suffering.

Subjects reduced to numbers. Failures discarded. Successes merely proof of concept.

Viktor’s jaw tightened slightly.

His eyes narrowed.

Jinx.

He had found her file.

A video log was attached. Without hesitation, Viktor clicked to open it.

The screen flickered to life.

Lines of text scrolled before his eyes—

Subject displays heightened cognitive function despite alterations…

Feather growth remains consistent across extremities…

Attempted speech today. Words fragmented, but coherent. Retains memory…

Wing structure unsuitable for flight. Strength and muscle density suggest potential gliding capabilities, but not sustained aerial movement…

[Recovered Video Log: Subject "Jinx"]

Timestamp: 13 Months Prior

The footage was grainy, taken from a surveillance camera inside what appeared to be a containment room.

Jinx was younger here—her features sharper, her body thinner, the mutation less pronounced. Her wings were smaller, but her hair just as long—the feathers on her limbs still growing in patches rather than fully formed.

Singed stood in the background, partially obscured by shadows, his stoic gaze fixated on her.

“Subject has adapted well to modifications,” his voice rasped through the speakers, clinical and detached. “Mental stability remains… variable. However, cognitive function is intact, and speech capabilities persist.”

Jinx sat in the corner, her posture defensive, her arms curled around her legs. The pink glow of her eyes was dim—not dead, but wary.

Singed stepped closer.

Jinx’s wings flared, her talons scraping against the metal floor. She hissed something under her breath—inaudible.

Singed did not react. He simply lifted a small object—a metallic trinket of some kind—dangling it between two fingers.

Jinx’s posture shifted immediately.

Her gaze snapped to the trinket, fixated. Her head tilted—just as it had when she looked at Viktor.

Singed let out a hum. “The corvid traits manifest strongly. She retains an instinctual fascination with bright objects. This response is… consistent.”

A pause.

Then, Jinx spoke.

Her voice was soft, hoarse, but distinctly human.

“…Mine.”

She reached for the trinket.

Singed pulled it away.

Jinx’s breathing hitched, her fingers curling, talons flexing. Her wings twitched as if fighting an urge. She made a low sound—halfway between a human whimper and a bird’s frustrated caw.

Singed watched, unflinching. “She is retaining possessive tendencies.” He made another note. “Possible behavioral reinforcement?”

Jinx’s gaze flickered from the trinket to his face.

For a moment, she just stared at him.

Then, she lunged.

The screen cut to static.

---

Viktor leaned back, eyes still fixed on the blank monitor.

Heimerdinger sighed. “That was the last recorded footage we could find intact before the facility was raided, and she was brought here.”

Viktor steepled his fingers beneath his chin, deep in thought.

Jinx had been human. Fully human.

And yet, she had adapted.

Not just physically, but mentally. She thought like a corvid now—instinctual, intelligent, reactive.

And she had spoken.

Even after everything, she still had language.

His golden eyes flickered as he recalled the way she had looked at him through the glass. That same fixation. The same tilt of her head.

She had been studying him.

“…You still wish to enter her enclosure, don’t you?” Heimerdinger asked knowingly.

Viktor exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against his cane.

“Yes,” he murmured. “More than ever.”

---

Viktor did not sleep that night.

After reviewing Singed’s research, after watching that video, he found his thoughts looping endlessly back to Jinx.

Her voice.

Her reaction.

The way she looked at him.

Even long after he had left the lab, after the lights had dimmed and the facility had settled into its cold, sterile quiet, he found himself still sitting in front of a terminal, reviewing notes, examining behavioral logs.

The next day, Viktor walked through the facility with purpose.

Researchers whispered as he passed, some casting wary glances his way. News of his request had already spread.

       He’s really going in there?

       She’ll tear him apart…

       What does he expect to gain?

He ignored them.

By now, Heimerdinger was waiting at the secured entry chamber leading to Jinx’s enclosure. The old scientist looked both concerned and intrigued, standing beside a panel of observation monitors. A handful of other researchers lingered nearby, ready to document whatever would happen next.

“Viktor,” Heimerdinger said, arms crossed. “Are you certain about this?”

“I am,” Viktor replied smoothly, adjusting his coat. “I believe I can gain insight into her that cannot be observed from behind glass.”

Heimerdinger sighed, rubbing his temples. “She has never allowed anyone near her. If she perceives you as a threat, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

Viktor simply offered a small, knowing smile. “Then I shall simply have to ensure she does not perceive me as one.”

Heimerdinger let out a long breath but did not argue further. Instead, he motioned to the guards near the reinforced containment door. “Open it.”

The moment the locks disengaged, a quiet but distinct shift settled over the air.

Jinx had heard it.

Felt it.

The researchers turned to the observation monitor displaying a live feed of her enclosure.

She was already standing.

The air inside was different.

It was cooler than the rest of the facility, dimly lit, the space large enough to accommodate her wingspan, but still inherently a cage.

Jinx stood at the far end of the enclosure, near the back wall, her wings partially unfurled, her talons flexing lightly against the smooth floor.

She was expecting him.

Watching him.

Viktor took slow, deliberate steps forward, hands at his sides, making no sudden movements.

Jinx’s head tilted, just slightly.

“…You remember me,” Viktor murmured, more statement than question.

Jinx blinked slowly, her pink-glowing eyes never leaving his.

Then, she did something unexpected.

She stepped forward.

Not aggressively. Not cautiously.

Just… curiously.

A single, soft sound left her throat—not quite a word, but not meaningless noise either. It was deliberate.

A test.

Viktor stopped, watching her carefully.

“Do you know why I am here?” he asked.

Jinx blinked again.

Then, she spoke.

“…Eyes.”

Her voice was hoarse, unused, but undeniably human.

The word hung in the air between them.

Viktor’s breath hitched.

Not because she had spoken—he already knew she could.

But because of what she had said.

She had been watching him yesterday. Watching his eyes.

Why?

Viktor took another careful step forward.

Jinx did not retreat.

Instead, her wings folded in slightly, no longer raised in defense.

The first sign of trust.

A scientist might call it an anomaly.

Viktor called it progress.

Jinx stepped closer.

Her movements were silent, her taloned feet making no sound against the smooth floor. Her wings tucked in tighter against her back, her long hair trailing behind her like a dark river.

Viktor did not move. Did not flinch.

His heart beat steadily, his breath controlled. He knew he had to be mindful—her nails were sharp, her instincts unpredictable. But there was no hostility in her posture, no signs of aggression in the way she approached.

Only curiosity.

Her hands raised.

Her fingers, feathered near the wrists, reached out toward him—not in a clawing motion, not to strike, but to touch.

Viktor allowed it.

The moment her hands met his face, she let out a soft, breathy sound.

Her fingers brushed his cheek, feather-light and cool against his skin. Her thumbs trailed beneath his eyes, slow and deliberate, careful of her nails.

He felt the faintest tremor in her fingertips.

Like she was memorizing him.

Studying every detail.

“…Pretty.”

The word was murmured so softly that he almost didn’t catch it.

Viktor’s breath stilled.

He had not expected that.

She thought he was pretty?

His golden eyes locked onto hers, searching. She gazed back, unblinking, her glowing pink irises reflecting the dim light of the enclosure.

There was awe in her expression.

Something innocent.

Something genuine.

Viktor let out a slow breath.

“…Thank you,” he murmured.

Jinx tilted her head again, as if processing his response. Her thumbs lingered beneath his eyes, her nails just barely grazing his skin, but never pressing hard enough to cut.

She was holding back.

Another sign of control.

Another sign that, despite everything Singed had done to her…

She was still human.

Even if only a little.

---

Viktor slowly, carefully, takes off his watch from his left wrist and allows her to take it, as she does so cautiously.

Jinx’s fingers hover just above the metallic band, hesitant. The soft, dim light catches on its surface, reflecting in her glowing pink eyes. A slow, deliberate blink—thoughtful, calculating—before she finally lets her talons graze over the cool metal.

She lifts it from his palm as if handling something impossibly fragile. The weight of it settles in her hand, and for a moment, she simply stares.

Viktor does not interrupt.

She turns it over, pressing a sharp nail against the glass face of the watch, tapping once, twice. A soft click of metal against crystal. Her head tilts, birdlike, studying the way the second hand ticks forward, steady and rhythmic.

“…It moves,” she murmurs.

Viktor’s lips curl slightly, an almost-smile. “Yes.”

She brings it closer to her face, near enough that the reflection of her glowing eyes distorts across the curved surface. Another slow blink.

Then—she presses the watch against her cheek.

Not in a mechanical way. Not to test its temperature.

But as if feeling its presence, its existence, against her skin mattered.

Viktor watches with measured interest, his mind dissecting the moment in real time. Corvid behavior. Instinctual attraction to small, intricate objects. A desire to hoard, perhaps? Or…

A desire to hold onto something tangible.

Jinx lets out a soft hum—pleased, curious.

She lifts the watch back into the air, observing how it catches the light, then shifts her gaze back to Viktor.

“…Gift?” she asks.

A pause.

Something lingers between them—an invisible thread, thin but growing taut.

Viktor does not take the watch back.

Instead, he nods. “Yes.”

Jinx inhales, slow and deep, as if tasting the weight of his answer in his breath. 

She stares at him with that same unblinking intensity, fingers still curled around the watch’s band.

Then, with slow, deliberate movements, she presses the watch against her chest—just below her collarbone, where pale downy feathers meet smooth skin. She holds it there, as if testing its weight, feeling the pulse of time within it.

Viktor does not speak. He only observes.

Her talons flex slightly, gripping the watch tighter, but not in an attempt to break it—no, it is something else. A claim. A possession.

“…Mine,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

A spark of recognition flickers in Viktor’s mind. The recovered footage. The way she had reached for the metallic trinket Singed had dangled before her. The way her entire body had reacted when it was pulled from within her reach.

Possessive tendencies, Singed had noted. A trait reinforced by corvid DNA.

And yet…

This was different.

Viktor remains still, his golden eyes locked onto hers. “Do you understand what it is?” he asks, voice even, measured.

Jinx’s fingers tighten around the band, pressing it firmer against her skin. She tilts her head, thoughtful, considering his question as if weighing the words before answering.

“…It moves,” she repeats, slower this time.

“Yes.”

“It… does not stop.”

Viktor’s brow lifts slightly. A perceptive answer.

“No,” he agrees. “It does not stop.”

Jinx blinks, once, twice. The movement is slow, deliberate. Then she does something unexpected.

She steps forward.

Her wings shift behind her, brushing the enclosure’s cold walls. The light catches in her hair, making it shimmer like dark silk as she closes the distance between them. The watch is still clutched to her chest, held close, as though it might vanish if she lets it go.

Viktor does not move.

He lets her come to him.

Jinx’s breath is soft, shallow, just barely audible over the quiet hum of the facility. She stops only when she is close enough that Viktor can see the minute details of her face—the faint dusting of feathers along her jawline, the sharp curve of her cheekbones, the way her pink irises glow like embers in the dim light.

Then, slowly, carefully, she reaches out.

Not with talons.

With fingertips.

Her touch is light, hesitant at first, as her fingers brush against the fabric of his coat. Then firmer, more deliberate, as she presses the watch against him, just over his heart.

Viktor exhales softly, feeling the cool metal through his clothing, the weight of her palm lingering longer than necessary.

A silent exchange.

Not returning it.

Sharing it.

Jinx’s head tilts again, her gaze flickering between his face and the place where the watch rests between them. A moment of contemplation.

Then—

“…Yours,” she whispers.

The word is barely there, spoken on the edge of breath.

Not possession.

Recognition.

Viktor watches her, his sharp mind dissecting every detail of this interaction, filing it away, analyzing. But there is something deeper here, something unquantifiable.

She does not see him as the others do.

Not like the researchers behind their glass walls, their needles, their data sheets.

Not like Singed, whose gaze had never been one of understanding, only of cold, detached observation.

Jinx is studying him, yes. But not as a scientist would.

As something else.

As someone else.

She lingers for a moment longer, her fingertips grazing the edge of the watch’s band, before pulling back.

Not retreating.

Just waiting.

Viktor finally speaks, his voice softer than before.

“…Would you like to keep it?”

Jinx stills.

Something flashes in her eyes—something bright, something quick, something fleeting.

And then—

She nods.

Viktor watches as Jinx curls her fingers around the watch, pulling it close once more. She cradles it in her palm, as if weighing its significance, its meaning.

A timepiece. A machine. A thing designed to track the movement of moments.

But to her, it is something more.

She lifts it again, watching the second hand tick forward, that steady rhythm that does not stop, does not hesitate. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, she presses it against her own wrist.

The metal looks strange against her skin—pale, feathered at the edges, marked by the faintest traces of scars. The band is too large, slipping loose around her thin wrist, but she does not seem to mind.

She wants it there.

Viktor does not reach to adjust it.

Instead, he watches as she flexes her fingers, testing the weight, feeling the coolness of the metal against her pulse. A slow inhale, controlled.

Then—her pink eyes lift to meet his once more.

“…Yours,” she whispers again.

Viktor’s lips part slightly, surprised by the repetition.

He studies her carefully. The way she holds the watch. The way she keeps glancing between it and him, as if drawing an invisible connection.

She is trying to understand.

No—she already does.

She is trying to show him.

The watch is his, yes.

But now, it is also hers.

A tether.

A claim.

A shared thing between them, delicate but unbroken.

Viktor exhales slowly. “Yes,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “Mine.”

Jinx tilts her head at the word, blinking once, slowly. Then, after a moment—

She repeats it.

“Mine.”

Her fingers curl tighter around the band, pressing it against her wrist.

Not taking. Not stealing.

Keeping.

Her wings shift behind her, rustling softly, feathers trembling as she watches him. A quiet intensity settles between them, something neither of them speaks aloud.

Then, suddenly, her gaze flickers. Something sharp moves through her expression—fleeting, brief.

A test.

She takes a slow step closer.

Viktor does not move.

She takes another.

Her chest is against his. 

He can feel the warmth of her skin through his clothes. 

Her breath is shallow, controlled. Close enough now that he can see the fine edges of her feathers shifting with each inhale.

Then—

She lifts her free hand.

Reaches toward his face.

Viktor does not flinch.

Jinx hesitates for just a second, her fingers hovering near his cheek. Then, with slow precision, she presses the very tips of her nails against his skin.

Not cutting.

Not clawing.

Just feeling.

A soft, barely-there touch, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, the hollow of his cheekbone.

Viktor exhales, steady. He allows it.

She is testing him.

Not with words. Not with violence.

With touch.

She traces the line of his jaw, then drags her thumb just beneath his golden eye, as if still fascinated by its color, by the way it glows in the sterile facility lights.

Then, finally—

A whisper.

“…Pretty.”

The same word as before.

Soft. Honest. Unfiltered.

Viktor feels something deep in his chest shift—something quiet, something unfamiliar.

He does not respond immediately.

Instead, he simply allows her to touch him, to trace the contours of his face as if memorizing them.

She does not hurt him.

She does not try.

She only studies.

Then—

A sound.

Not from her.

From beyond the glass.

A sharp voice, muffled by the enclosure’s walls. The researchers outside shifting, adjusting their notes, speaking to each other.

Jinx stiffens.

Her hand drops from his face instantly.

Her wings flare just slightly, the tension snapping back into her frame.

The moment shatters.

Viktor’s fingers twitch around the head of his cane. He exhales slowly, leveling his voice before he speaks.

“…It is only them,” he says, calm, measured.

Jinx does not respond.

Her fingers still linger near her wrist, brushing against the watch, as if grounding herself.

Viktor watches her carefully. He does not move, does not push. He only waits.

Then—her wings settle. The tension does not fully fade, but it does not consume her.

A compromise.

Her pink eyes flick back to his.

Jinx’s mouth opens slightly, another breath of a word forming on her lips—before she is cut off.

"Viktor, perhaps that is enough for today."

Heimerdinger’s voice crackles through the overhead speakers, measured but firm.

The sound startles her.

Jinx jerks as if struck, her glowing eyes snapping wide, her wings giving an involuntary twitch. Then, before Viktor can react, she moves.

A sudden blur of feathers and instinct.

She surges forward, wrapping her arms around him in a desperate, almost frantic motion. Her grip is strong, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, pressing against his back as if anchoring herself.

Then—her wings.

They expand.

A great sweeping motion, filling the air, dark and massive, before folding inward—encasing them both in a cocoon of warm, silken feathers.

The world outside disappears.

The cold sterility of the lab, the harsh glow of the overhead lights—gone.

All Viktor can see, all he can feel, is her.

Her breath, shallow and uneven against his chest. Her heart, fluttering wildly beneath her ribs. The way her talons tremble against his back as she clings to him, pressing herself closer, desperate, seeking something.

"No!"

The word is raw, broken, a pleading whisper that shudders from her throat.

"Stay!"

Jinx buries her face against his chest, her fingers twisting tighter into his coat, as if holding him there could prevent him from leaving.

A stunned silence fills the observation room.

Several gasps echo through the speakers, sharp intakes of breath from the watching researchers.

But Viktor—Viktor barely hears them.

His own breath has caught in his throat.

He hadn’t been here for more than ten minutes.

And yet—

She had easily warmed to him.

Not hesitantly. Not cautiously.

But fully, completely, without restraint.

Her reaction is not one of fear.

It is attachment.

Viktor, for all his calculated reasoning, for all his sharp intellect, is momentarily lost.

This was not supposed to happen.

She had been defensive with the others. She had remained distant. Observed from behind the glass.

But now, she was holding him.

Hiding him.

Her wings, immense and dark, formed an unyielding barrier between them and the outside world.

Protecting.

Claiming.

A choice.

Viktor exhales, steadying himself. He does not push her away.

Instead, he lets his arms lift—slowly, carefully—and rests his hands lightly against her shoulder.

She is warm.

Beneath the softness of her feathers, he can feel the slight tremors running through her frame, the tension coiled in her muscles. She is afraid—not of him, but of losing him.

An instinctual reaction.

But instinct was not mindless.

This is something else.

"Jinx," Viktor murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear.

She does not move.

Her fingers curl tighter into his coat, talons scraping against fabric but never against flesh.

"I am not leaving," he says, voice measured, calm.

She stills.

A sharp inhale, as if she is holding her breath, waiting, listening.

Viktor tilts his head slightly, his chin barely brushing against the top of her head.

"I will stay."

For a moment, nothing.

Then—

A breath.

A slow exhale, shaking but relieved.

The tension in her shoulders loosens, just slightly. Her grip does not release, but the desperation in it softens.

The wings remain.

A shield. A cage. A refuge.

Through the speakers, Heimerdinger clears his throat, regaining his composure.

"Viktor… this is unprecedented."

Viktor does not look up. His golden eyes remain fixed on the woman in his arms, studying the way she remains pressed against him, as if the very idea of letting go is unbearable.

"Yes," he replies simply. "It is."

Another murmur of astonishment from the researchers beyond the glass.

But Viktor does not care for their voices.

Right now, his focus is on Jinx.

She had found something in him.

Something she had chosen.

And Viktor—despite everything he had anticipated, despite all his calculations—

Found himself choosing her in return.

Chapter 75: Trophy Husband

Summary:

He glances back up. Jinx grins. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Viktor sighs but takes a bite. It’s… good. Not perfect, but better than he expected.

Jinx leans against the counter, watching him chew. “So, doc,” she hums. “Any plans? Hopes? Dreams? Wild ambitions now that you’re a free man?”

Viktor swallows. “I suspect ‘free’ is not the correct term.”

Jinx winks. “Smart, handsome, and observant. What a catch.”

Viktor ignores that.

The prison stinks of damp stone and wasted men. The war has not been kind to anyone, but least of all to those who find themselves locked away beneath the rebel stronghold, where hope rots like the spoiled food left too long in the corners. The guards barely spare a glance as Jinx slips past them. She moves like a shadow, the flickering candle in her grasp casting unsteady light against the cold walls.

She finds him in the last cell—slumped against the wall, thin, but not broken. Not yet.

Viktor lifts his head at the sound of her approach. His golden-brown eyes, dulled by exhaustion, sharpen when they land on her.

“You should not be here,” he murmurs, voice low.

Jinx grins, tilting her head as she crouches beside the bars. “Neither should you.”

She holds up a stolen scrap of bread between her fingers, waggling it like a prize. “Lucky for you, I have a habit of showing up where I shouldn’t.”

He hesitates, but hunger wins out. His fingers brush hers as he takes the bread. They are colder than they should be. Jinx wonders how long it has been since he felt warmth. Since anyone has touched him without the intent to harm.

She watches as he eats, slow and measured, as if savoring every bite. He is careful not to appear desperate. She likes that about him.

“You don’t strike me as the charitable type,” Viktor says, swallowing the last of the bread. His voice carries a trace of his old sharpness—the edge that made him dangerous before the rebels dragged him here.

Jinx rests her chin on her hand. “What gave it away?”

“You are no savior.”

She laughs at that, the sound too loud for the quiet gloom of the prison. “And you’re no saint, doc. Let’s not pretend.”

Viktor exhales, a ghost of a chuckle escaping his lips. She likes that too—his bitter amusement, even now.

She leans in, lowering her voice. “Tell me, doc—what would it take for you to betray your leader?”

The candlelight flickers between them, dancing across the iron bars.

Viktor does not answer right away. Instead, he studies her—eyes searching, weighing, calculating. He is an engineer, after all. A man who builds, dismantles, understands.

Jinx lets him look. She is not afraid of being seen.

Finally, he speaks.

“And what would it take for you to betray yours?”

The grin on her lips does not falter, but she feels the weight of his words settle between them.

The war has turned men into monsters. She knows this. She has seen it.

But she does not know what it has turned her into.

Yet.

Jinx tilts her head, the candlelight catching the sharp edges of her grin. “Oh, that’s easy,” she says breezily, fingers curling around the rusted bars. “All it takes is the right price.”

Viktor watches her, unblinking. He does not believe her. She can tell by the way his fingers tap against his knee, restless, considering. Always calculating. She wonders how many equations are running through his head at this moment—how many possibilities, how many outcomes.

“Is that so?” he murmurs.

Jinx leans closer, the cold iron pressing against her cheek. “Everyone’s got a breaking point, doc. Even you.”

Viktor’s lips press into a thin line. He shifts, just slightly, but does not look away. “And what is yours?”

She laughs again, softer this time, a breath of amusement that curls into the damp air. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. She sees it in his eyes—his curiosity, his hesitation, the flickering thought of what if?

She changes the subject before he can turn the question back on her. “You ever think about running?”

Viktor’s gaze darkens. “There is nowhere to run.”

“Sure there is,” she says, rocking back on her heels. “If you’re smart enough. If you build the right things.”

His fingers still. Just for a moment.

Jinx catches it. “Ah. There it is.” She grins, tapping the side of her head. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? What you’d make, what you’d need. You don’t strike me as the type to sit around waiting to die.”

Viktor exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. The chains on his wrists rattle against the stone floor. “If I had the means, I would not be here.”

Jinx hums in agreement, rolling onto her back, staring at the damp ceiling above them. “Bet they wanted you for your brain, huh? All those little machines. Big, important things.” She lets the words hang in the air, playful, but laced with something sharper.

Viktor’s silence is an answer in itself.

She turns her head toward him. “Bet they’d kill for those ideas of yours.”

He finally meets her gaze again. There is something unreadable in his expression. “You assume I still have any left to give.”

Jinx chuckles, soft and knowing. “Oh, I know you do.”

The candle flickers, the wax pooling at its base.

She lets the quiet stretch between them before she shifts, pressing her fingers against the bars again. “Tell you what, doc. You want to get out of here? I could make that happen.”

Viktor regards her carefully. “And what would it cost me?”

Her grin widens. “We’ll figure that out later.”

She taps the bars lightly, then pushes herself to her feet, tucking the candle close to her chest. “Sweet dreams, doc.”

Viktor does not reply as she slips back into the shadows, but he does not look away, either.

Long after she is gone, he sits in the dark, staring at the spot where she had been.

Thinking. Calculating.

And, for the first time in a long while—considering the taste of hope.

---

Viktor does not sleep that night.

He sits in the damp darkness, listening to the distant shuffle of guards, the occasional drip of water from the cracks above. But mostly, he thinks. About her words, about the way she grinned like a woman who had never feared anything in her life. About the offer she had dangled before him like a blade’s edge—sharp, dangerous, impossible to ignore.

Escape.

A foolish thought. A dangerous one.

But no more dangerous than staying here.

He shifts, testing the weight of his chains, the rust biting into his wrists. He has no tools, no materials, nothing but his mind and whatever scraps Jinx might be reckless enough to slip past the guards. But it is something.

And he has built from less.

She returns the next night.

Jinx moves like a ghost, all silent steps and flickering candlelight. Viktor does not startle this time. He watches her from where he sits against the wall, weary but waiting.

She grins, pleased. “You stayed up for me. I’m flattered.”

Viktor huffs a quiet breath, something like a tired laugh. “Sleep is a luxury, not a necessity.”

Her eyes gleam, sharp with mischief. “And here I thought you’d say something poetic. ‘I could not sleep, for thoughts of you haunted me, oh mysterious stranger in the night—’”

He sighs. “Please, spare me.”

Jinx laughs, sliding down to sit against the bars. “You’re no fun, doc.”

Viktor doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifts, tilting his head toward her. “Your offer,” he says at last, voice quiet. “You were serious.”

She shrugs. “I don’t waste my breath on things I don’t mean.”

He studies her, searching for deception. But there is only honesty in her sharp grin, in the way she watches him like she’s waiting to see what he’ll do.

“If I say yes,” he murmurs, “what do you get out of it?”

Jinx twirls a loose thread on her sleeve, considering. “Oh, you know. A little excitement. A little trouble.” Her grin widens. “And maybe a few secrets along the way.”

Viktor exhales slowly. He should not trust her. He does not trust her.

And yet.

He meets her gaze. “What do you need me to do?”

Jinx’s grin sharpens, a spark of something wicked in her eyes. She leans in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

“Tell me you want out.”

Viktor blinks, the flickering candlelight throwing shadows across his gaunt features. For a moment, he says nothing, studying her as if searching for the trick hidden beneath her words.

Jinx only smiles, tilting her head, watching him watch her.

Finally, he exhales, slow and measured. “And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He narrows his eyes. “You do not need my skills? My knowledge?”

Jinx chuckles, drumming her fingers against the bars. “Doc, I could have gotten you out days ago if I wanted.”

His fingers tighten around the chains at his wrists, the rust biting into his skin. Days ago. The words settle uneasily in his chest.

“Then why am I still here?”

She leans in, grinning, voice dipping to something soft and secret. “Because you haven’t asked yet.”

The words slide between his ribs like a knife.

Viktor swallows, his throat dry. He should not be surprised. He has seen men like her before—the ones who thrive in chaos, who move unseen through the cracks of war, who have power even when the world tries to strip them bare. He had simply assumed she was playing at something bigger, waiting for leverage.

But no.

She had it all along.

And worse—she enjoyed watching him realize it.

He shifts, his wrists rattling against the chains. “So that is why you came,” he murmurs. “Not for information. Not for bargains. Just to see how long it would take before I begged.”

Jinx pouts, mock-offended. “Begging? Oh, please, doc. You don’t strike me as the begging type.”

She lifts her candle, the golden light flickering across her face, and there is something indulgent in her gaze, something amused and dangerous all at once.

Viktor is not sure whether he should be grateful or afraid.

“So,” she hums, tapping the bars. “What’s it gonna be, doc? You wanna rot in here, or do you wanna walk out that door?”

He should say no. Should refuse whatever game she is playing.

But the war outside these walls is just as merciless as the one inside them. And Viktor—tired, starving, cornered—knows when he is beaten.

He exhales through his nose. “Fine.”

Jinx’s grin is instant, wicked and delighted. “Good choice.”

She reaches into her coat and pulls out a key.

Viktor stares.

She dangles it in front of him like a cat toying with a mouse. “Shocking, right? Turns out it’s really easy to get things when you don’t care about rules.”

He presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I gathered.”

Jinx laughs and unlocks the cell. The door creaks as she swings it open, stepping inside, closer than before.

The scent of gunpowder lingers on her clothes.

She crouches in front of him, voice light. “One last thing, doc.”

Viktor meets her gaze, wary.

Her smile softens—just a fraction. “I don’t do charity.”

A beat of silence.

Then she tilts her head, blue eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight.

“So. What do I get out of this?”

Viktor does not look away, but his fingers curl against the cold stone floor.

Jinx’s grin doesn’t waver, but she waits. Expectant. Playful. As if she already knows the answer and is only humoring him by asking.

He swallows, his throat tight. “I have nothing to offer you.”

Jinx hums, tipping her head, considering him. “Yeah,” she says after a moment, “I figured.”

The words should sting, but they don’t. Not really. Because they’re true.

He is no warlord, no soldier, no man of wealth or power. His knowledge—once his most valuable weapon—has been left to rot along with him, and whatever secrets he still carries, she has made it painfully clear she does not need.

For the first time in his life, Viktor is useless.

And she knows it.

Jinx rests her chin on her hand, studying him with a slow, lazy sort of amusement. “You look like you hate that.”

Viktor exhales through his nose, tilting his head against the wall. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

She grins. “Oh, absolutely.”

She leans closer, tapping a finger against his knee. “But don’t worry, doc. I don’t need things.” She rocks back on her heels, voice light. “I’ll just take you.”

Something uneasy twists in his chest.

She must see it in his face because her grin sharpens. “Aw, don’t look so scared. I’m not gonna kill you.”

She pauses. Tilts her head.

“Probably.”

Viktor presses his tongue against his teeth, exhaling slowly. “Comforting.”

Jinx laughs, bright and sharp, then hops to her feet. “C’mon, doc. We’re burnin’ moonlight.”

She offers him a hand.

Viktor stares at it for a moment longer than he should.

He has nothing. No leverage. No power.

But he has a choice.

And right now, the choice is simple.

He takes her hand.

Jinx pulls him to his feet with surprising strength, steadying him when his legs nearly buckle beneath him. He has not stood in days, but she does not comment on his weakness. Instead, she only grins, stepping back toward the open door.

And with nothing left to lose, Viktor follows.

---

The prison halls are quiet. Not empty—Jinx had been clear about that when she pressed a finger to her lips and winked—but quiet enough that the wrong kind of noise could still get them both killed.

Viktor moves carefully, his body weak from hunger and confinement. Jinx, on the other hand, moves like a ghost, light on her feet, slipping through the shadows like she belongs there.

She does not offer him a weapon.

She does not even pretend that he is useful.

She leads, and he follows.

They pass two guards slumped against a table, empty bottles scattered between them. Jinx glances at them, unimpressed, then plucks a ring of keys from the belt of the closest one before continuing on. Viktor does not ask if they are dead or simply drunk. The answer does not matter.

As they reach a narrow stone corridor, Jinx finally speaks, voice soft and lazy. “Y’know, I really expected more of a fight from you.”

Viktor exhales through his nose, his breath misting in the cold air. “I know when I am beaten.”

Jinx grins over her shoulder. “Oh, I like that.”

They keep moving.

Viktor is aware of how exposed he is—bare hands, weak limbs, nothing to offer but the weight of his own body. He is a liability, and Jinx knows it.

Yet she had come for him anyway.

That thought sticks in his mind like a thorn.

They slip past another pair of guards near the entrance—Jinx moving with the kind of reckless confidence that makes Viktor’s heart stutter in his chest. But they do not notice. They do not see her.

She does not hide, and somehow, that makes her invisible.

Finally, they reach a door. The last one.

Jinx pauses, pressing a hand against the old wood, then turns back to him. Her blue eyes gleam in the dim torchlight. “Alright, doc. Here’s the deal.”

Viktor straightens, bracing himself. “I was wondering when this part would come.”

Jinx laughs, stepping close—too close, always too close. She smells of gunpowder and something sharp, something wild.

Her voice dips, playful and dangerous all at once.

“I’m gettin’ you out of here,” she murmurs. “But after that? You’re mine.”

The words settle between them like a loaded gun.

Viktor keeps his expression carefully neutral. “And if I refuse?”

Jinx grins, all teeth. “Then I throw you right back in that cell.”

He does not doubt that she would.

His fingers twitch at his side. “And what does being ‘yours’ entail?”

Jinx taps a finger to her lips, mock-thoughtful. “Dunno yet. Guess we’ll figure it out.”

Viktor exhales, slow and steady. He should argue. Negotiate. Demand something in return.

But he has no leverage. No power.

She has already won.

So instead, he meets her gaze and says, “Then I suppose I am yours.”

Jinx beams. “Good answer.”

She pushes open the door, and the cold night air rushes in.

Then, without another word, she grabs his wrist and pulls him into the dark.

---

The drive to Jinx’s house is silent.

Not uncomfortable—just strange.

Viktor enters her vehicle without question, the night air cold against his damp skin. His body is still weak, exhaustion clinging to him like a second weight, but he sits. He has no other choice.

Jinx had one hand on the steering wheel, her other stuffed in her pocket, humming something tuneless under her breath. She does not speak, does not look at him during the drive..

Because she knows he’s there.

When they finally reach the house, Viktor expects something small. Modest. A place that suits someone who thrives in the shadows.

But this?

It is large.

Not extravagant—no towering chandeliers or gilded edges—but quality. Dark wood, sturdy stone, furniture that is well-kept but not decorative.

Not stolen. Bought.

That detail unsettles him most of all.

Jinx nudges the door shut behind them and tosses her coat onto a chair. She stretches with a lazy sigh, rolling her shoulders, then jerks her head toward the hall. “C’mon, doc. You look about three seconds from droppin’ dead, and I just got you.”

Viktor exhales through his nose but follows her deeper inside.

The room she leads him to is simple. A bed, a desk, a door leading to an attached washroom.

And on the bed—

He stops.

A set of clothes.

Not his. But clean, soft, folded neatly like they had been waiting for him.

Viktor glances at Jinx, expression unreadable.

She grins, tilting her head. “What? You thought I’d let you sit around in those nasty-ass prison rags? Please.”

Viktor does not answer. Because he realizes, all at once, she expected this.

She knew he would agree.

She had never needed him to say yes.

She had already prepared for it.

Jinx gestures vaguely at the washroom. “Take your time, doc.” She grins. “Can’t have you dropping dead on me yet.”

Then, without waiting for a response, she steps back into the hall and shuts the door behind her.

Viktor exhales, slow and measured, then turns toward the washroom.

The water is hot.

Real, steady, hot.

For the first few minutes, he does nothing. Just stands beneath the stream, eyes closed, letting the heat sink into his skin, scalding away weeks of filth and cold.

He scrubs himself raw.

By the time he steps out, the mirror is fogged, his fingers wrinkled, his hair curling damp against his forehead.

The sleep clothes fit well enough. A little loose, soft against his skin in a way that feels too kind for a man in his position.

Viktor steps out of the room, the soft fabric of his borrowed clothes unfamiliar against his skin. Clean. Loose. Too comfortable for a man who has spent weeks in chains. The exhaustion in his limbs is a dull thing now, made more bearable by the simple luxury of warmth, of cleanliness.

And yet, none of it unsettles him as much as the scent drifting through the house.

Cooking.

For a brief moment, he thinks he is imagining it, that the hunger in his gut has finally twisted itself into something hallucinatory. But then he follows the scent down the hall—slow, careful steps, bare feet against cool wooden floors—until he reaches a doorway, and there she is.

Jinx.

Standing at the stove, humming under her breath, lazily stirring something in a pot.

Viktor leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. His voice comes out quieter than he expects.

“I did not take you for the domestic type.”

Jinx doesn’t turn, but he catches the way her lips curl at the sound of his voice. “And I didn’t take you for the type to take your time, doc.” She glances over her shoulder, and her grin is sharp, teasing. “Gotta say, you clean up real nice.”

Viktor exhales through his nose. “And yet, somehow, I suspect you knew that already.”

Jinx winks. “Maybe.”

She turns back to the stove, giving the pot another idle stir. “You hungry?”

The question is casual, easy, like she isn’t offering something strange. Like she isn’t feeding a man she stole from a prison.

Viktor hesitates.

The hunger is there—has been there for weeks—but something about this… lingers.

Jinx rolls her eyes at his silence. “Not a trick, doc. I could let you starve, but where’s the fun in that?”

His fingers curl against his sleeve. He has not eaten anything more than scraps in weeks. His body screams for it. But more than that, it is the act of it that unsettles him.

This—whatever this is—is not what he expected.

Escape had been one thing. He had anticipated running, hiding, an immediate demand for whatever use he could provide.

Not this.

Not a clean bed and warm clothes and a meal that smells like something real.

Jinx sighs dramatically at his silence. “Alright, well, I’m hungry. So I guess you’ll just have to suffer while I eat this delicious—” she lifts the spoon to her lips, takes an exaggerated taste, then moans, “—absolutely amazing soup all by myself—”

Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “You are insufferable.”

She grins. “And you’re slow. Sit down before I change my mind.”

Viktor watches her for a moment longer, then moves toward the chair.

She grins. “Good boy.”

He exhales sharply, unimpressed, but does not dignify it with a response.

Because he is tired. Because he is hungry. Because he knows—knows—that she is enjoying every second of this, and he will not give her the satisfaction of making it a game.

At least, that is what he tells himself.

Jinx sets a bowl in front of him with a flourish. It is simple, but steaming, rich with the scent of something hearty.

He lifts the spoon, exhales, and takes a bite.

And oh.

It is warm. More than that, it is good.

His grip tightens around the spoon.

He does not close his eyes. He does not savor it. But he does not stop eating, either.

Jinx watches, perched lazily on the counter, swinging her legs. She does not rush him. Does not talk.

When the bowl is empty, Viktor sets it aside, carefully, methodically. His voice is even when he finally speaks.

“You expected me to agree.”

Jinx smirks. “I knew you would.”

Her confidence is infuriating.

He studies her, fingers drumming against the table. “And now?”

She tilts her head, thoughtful. “Now,” she says, hopping down from the counter, stretching her arms above her head, “you sleep.”

Viktor raises a brow.

Jinx rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that look. You’re half-dead, doc. And I didn’t go through all this trouble just to have you keel over on me.”

She gestures toward the hallway. “So go. Rest. Be boring. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Viktor watches her for a moment longer, then stands.

He does not thank her.

But she does not seem to expect him to.

As he turns to leave, Jinx calls after him, voice light.

“Sweet dreams, doc.”

Viktor does not reply.

He returns to the room, closes the door behind him, and for the first time in what feels like years, he lays down on something that is not cold stone.

And despite everything—despite the uncertainty, despite the knowledge that he has no idea what he has just given himself to—he sleeps.

---

Viktor wakes slowly.

Not in the jarring, instinct-driven way he had become accustomed to in the prison—waking at the slightest sound, at the sharp bite of cold, at the knowledge that every day was a fight to continue existing.

No.

This time, he wakes to warmth. To the soft weight of a proper bed, the steady rhythm of his own breath, the unfamiliar but not unpleasant silence of a house that is not a cell.

He blinks against the light filtering through the bedroom window, frowning. It is bright. Too bright.

Midday.

He has not slept this long in weeks.

Viktor shifts, running a hand over his face before forcing himself upright. His body aches, stiff with exhaustion not yet fully chased away, but it is manageable. The discomfort of use rather than decay.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, takes a breath, then stands.

His clothes are still where he left them—neatly folded at the foot of the bed, as if she knew he would be too tired to do anything else with them. Another detail that unsettles him.

Another detail that confirms just how much she had planned for this.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair before stepping toward the door.

Jinx is in the living room.

Lounging on the couch, legs draped lazily over the armrest, a phone pressed to her ear.

Her head is thrown back, her eyes rolling, an expression of pure boredom on her face.

Then she speaks—sharp, irritated.

“I already told you he was gonna be mine. No one’s allowed to put their hands on him. Not even you.”

Viktor freezes.

She listens, then scoffs, sitting up slightly. “If he tries to escape, no one is touching a damn hair on his head.”

His fingers tighten at his sides.

Her voice sharpens. “And maybe you forgot, but he happens to be pretty fucking smart, so get it outta your head that you’re gonna have a chance to put your hands on him. Regardless—” she leans back again, grin sharp enough to cut, “—he’s mine, so buzz off.”

She clicks her tongue, then hangs up without another word, tossing the phone onto the coffee table.

A beat of silence.

Then she sighs, stretching her arms above her head, mumbling under her breath. “So damn needy…”

Viktor steps forward.

Jinx doesn’t startle. Doesn’t react at all, actually—just turns her head lazily, blinking up at him with the kind of casual ease that makes it very clear she knew he was there the whole time.

“Morning, doc.”

Viktor crosses his arms. “Afternoon.”

Jinx smirks. “Yeah, well. You looked real comfy. Figured I’d let you enjoy it.”

He tilts his head, gaze flicking toward the phone she had so gracefully thrown across the table. “I take it not everyone agrees with that decision.”

Jinx hums, stretching again. “Eh. Not their call to make.”

Viktor watches her carefully. “And yet, they still seem very interested.”

Jinx grins. “Oh, very.”

She swings her legs over the couch, sitting up properly. “Y’know, some people don’t like it when their little prisoners just disappear in the middle of the night. Makes ‘em all jumpy.”

Viktor raises a brow. “I wonder why.”

She snickers. “Yeah, weird, right?”

A pause.

Then—

“You’re not askin’ who it was.”

It’s not a question.

Viktor exhales, moving toward the chair across from her. “Should I?”

Jinx leans forward, elbows on her knees, gaze flicking over him with something considering. “Would it matter?”

No.

No, it wouldn’t.

The moment he had followed her out of that prison, the moment he had stepped into this house, the moment he had accepted the clothes and the food and the carefully placed expectations—he had already made his choice.

And they both knew it.

Viktor meets her gaze.

“I suppose not.”

Jinx grins.

“Good answer.”

Jinx watches him for a moment longer, tapping her fingers idly against her knee.

Then, as if deciding the conversation is no longer interesting to her, she stretches with a lazy yawn and pushes herself off the couch. “Well, now that Sleeping Beauty’s finally up, we can get on with our day.”

Viktor exhales through his nose, arms still crossed. “And what, exactly, does ‘our day’ entail?”

Jinx smirks. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

She pivots on her heel and strides toward the kitchen, throwing open a cupboard with a loud bang before rooting through it. Viktor hears the clatter of dishes, the scrape of glass against wood, then—

“Catch.”

She tosses something in his direction.

Viktor reacts instinctively, snatching it out of the air before it can hit him. He looks down.

A biscuit.

Slightly misshapen, golden brown, still faintly warm.

He glances back up. Jinx grins. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Viktor sighs but takes a bite. It’s… good. Not perfect, but better than he expected.

Jinx leans against the counter, watching him chew. “So, doc,” she hums. “Any plans? Hopes? Dreams? Wild ambitions now that you’re a free man?”

Viktor swallows. “I suspect ‘free’ is not the correct term.”

Jinx winks. “Smart, handsome, and observant. What a catch.”

Viktor ignores that.

Instead, he sets the half-eaten biscuit on the table and levels her with a steady look. “What do you want from me?”

Jinx grins, teeth flashing like the glint of a blade. “Took you long enough to ask.”

She pushes away from the counter, pacing slowly. “See, doc, the thing about people like me is that we don’t do things for free. We don’t just give things away.” She stops, tilting her head. “Well. Unless it’s funny.”

Viktor sighs. “And I assume this—” he gestures vaguely to their surroundings, to himself, to the fact that he is still alive“—is not a joke?”

Jinx taps her chin. “Mmm… nah. You’re not dead, so that means you’re mine.”

The casual possessiveness in her tone should bother him more than it does.

Viktor regards her carefully. “And what does being ‘yours’ require?”

Jinx smirks. “That’s the best part.”

She steps closer, planting both hands on the table, leaning in until they are nearly eye level. Her voice drops, playful and secretive.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Viktor keeps his expression neutral. “Reassuring.”

Jinx snickers, pushing away. “Don’t worry, doc. I’ll figure something out.”

She grabs another biscuit from the counter, taking a large bite before pointing at him with the half-eaten remains. “In the meantime, how ‘bout you enjoy your fancy new life? Eat, sleep, do smart people shit. Whatever it is you do.”

Viktor exhales slowly. “And if I refuse?”

Jinx grins, tossing the biscuit up and catching it. “You won’t.”

The worst part is—

She’s right.

Because what other choice does he have?

Viktor leans back in his chair, studying her.

Jinx watches him right back, amusement flickering behind her eyes.

He sighs.

Takes another bite of the biscuit.

And, for now—

He lets himself exist.

Viktor watches as Jinx stretches, arms high above her head, then jerks her chin toward the hall.

“Go down the hall, furthest room on your right.” Her grin is lazy, but there’s something pointed in her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be able to keep yourself busy in there.”

She licks a stray crumb from her thumb before continuing. “You’re free to do whatever you want, make whatever you want. Just let me know if you need something.” She pushes away from the table, already moving toward the door. “I’ll be out for a few hours—need to get my nails done.” She wiggles her fingers for the flair. 

Viktor lifts a brow. “Of course.”

Jinx winks, slipping her coat over her shoulders. “Gotta look my best. Oh, and I’ll pick you up something else to wear while I’m out.”

Before he can respond, she’s at the door, hand on the knob, but then—

She pauses.

Looks back at him, grin sharp as a blade.

“Remember, doc,” she hums, “you’re too smart to do something dumb.”

Then she’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind her, and the house is quiet.

Viktor stands there, motionless, staring at the empty space where she had been.

He understands the message.

She is giving him free reign—not a cell, not a chain, not a locked door.

She had fed him, clothed him, let him bathe, let him sleep.

And she had told others, explicitly, that he was hers.

A glorified pet, then.

But at least this pet was still alive.

Viktor exhales through his nose, then turns toward the hall.

The room is large.

Not extravagant, but deliberate.

A workshop.

Everything inside is pristine—tools organized in neat rows, components carefully stored, metal and wire and high-quality materials waiting to be shaped into something.

Viktor steps inside slowly, his fingers trailing over the edge of a worktable.

This…

This is not something thrown together on a whim.

This is purposeful.

Jinx had planned for him, yes. Expected him to agree, yes.

But this—

This meant she had known exactly what he would need.

And that is far more dangerous than any locked door.

Viktor exhales, slow and measured, then reaches for a tool—a spanner, and he examines it within his hand.

Well.

This would certainly give him something to do.

---

Viktor runs his fingers over the tools laid out before him, testing their weight, the sharpness of their edges. Everything here is of quality—not stolen scraps or cheap, rusting equipment, but precision-crafted instruments meant for real work.

Jinx had not simply prepared for him. She had invested in him.

That knowledge unsettles him more than he cares to admit.

She had said he was free to do whatever he wanted in here. To build, to create.

But free was not the right word, was it?

Viktor exhales through his nose and pulls out a chair. If she wanted him to work, then so be it. At the very least, he would not waste his time sitting idle.

His hands move on instinct, reaching for materials, testing their weight, their flexibility. He sorts through wires, gears, metal casings, letting his mind drift into the familiar rhythm of problem-solving.

For the first time in weeks, his hands have purpose again.

He does not think about Jinx.

He does not think about escape.

Escape, after all, is not an option. Not yet.

Instead, he works.

Hours pass.

Viktor does not track time. He only notices the change when the front door swings open, the heavy sound of boots against the wooden floor pulling him from his trance.

Jinx is back.

He doesn’t turn as she enters the workshop, but he hears her whistle low under her breath. “Damn, doc. You look real cozy in here.”

Viktor keeps his focus on the piece before him, adjusting a small wire. “You did say I was free to use it.”

Jinx strides further inside, hands stuffed in her coat pockets, glancing over the scattered parts. “And here I was, worried you’d get all sulky.” She grins. “Guess I should’ve known better.”

Viktor finally looks up, leveling her with a neutral stare. “Did you really expect me to sit and do nothing?”

Jinx snickers. “Nah. That’s what makes it fun.”

She leans against the worktable, rocking back on her heels. “So. What’cha makin’?”

Viktor wipes his hands on a cloth, then gestures vaguely to the mess of wires and gears before him. “Something to keep my mind occupied.”

Jinx raises a brow. “Not plannin’ any great escapes, are ya?”

Viktor meets her gaze, steady and measured. “Would it matter if I was?”

She watches him, grinning. Not nervous. Not concerned.

Just amused.

Then she shrugs, pulling something from her coat and tossing it onto the table beside him.

Viktor looks down.

A neatly folded set of clothes.

He frowns. “You actually bought something?”

Jinx winks. “Told ya I would.”

He exhales, picking up the fabric. It’s simple, practical. Nothing extravagant, but undoubtedly for him. A subtle reminder that she could take things from him but also give them back when she chose.

She is testing him. Always testing him.

Viktor folds the clothes carefully, setting them aside. “And what exactly am I meant to do now?”

Jinx grins. “Oh, you’ll figure it out.”

Then she kicks off the worktable and turns, heading toward the door.

“Take a break, doc. You’re mine, but you ain’t a prisoner again. Yet.”

And just like that, she’s gone again, leaving Viktor alone in the quiet hum of the workshop.

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, then looks back down at the half-built project before him.

Something to keep him occupied.

Something to remind him that he still exists.

And so—

He keeps working.

Viktor loses himself in the rhythm of his work.

It is easier this way—easier to focus on the weight of the tools in his hands, the careful arrangement of wires, the slow process of shaping something useful from raw material. Here, in the quiet hum of the workshop, the world outside does not exist.

Jinx does not exist.

At least, not until she yells for him from the other room.

“Viiik-tooor!”

He flinches at the sudden, sing-song call of his name, blinking out of his concentration.

Jinx calls again, louder this time. “Food’s ready, doc! If you’re not out here in thirty seconds, I’m eating your share!”

Viktor exhales through his nose, rubbing his temple. Of course.

He sets his tools down carefully and stands, stretching the stiffness from his spine before making his way toward the kitchen.

Jinx is already seated at the table, her legs kicked up on the chair beside her, a plate of food in front of her. Another plate sits across from her—his.

Viktor raises a brow as he sits down. “You cooked again?”

Jinx grins around a mouthful of food. “What, didn’t peg me for the domestic type?”

Viktor sighs. “I already said that.”

She laughs, pushing his plate toward him. “Eat, doc. I ain’t lettin’ you drop dead yet.”

Viktor hesitates only a moment before picking up his fork.

It’s good. Again. Simple, nothing extravagant, but warm.

Jinx watches him eat with an almost smug satisfaction, like she is taking personal pride in the fact that he is alive and eating because of her.

Then, casually, she leans back in her chair, tilting her head with a playful grin.

“Oh, by the way—” she twirls her fork between her fingers, “—I finally figured out what I want from you.”

Viktor looks up, wary. “Should I be concerned?”

Jinx snickers. “Nah. It’s an easy job.”

She leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping to something mockingly conspiratorial.

“I’ve decided—” she pauses dramatically, “—you’re gonna be my handsome stay-at-home husband!”

Viktor stares at her.

Jinx beams. “I mean, think about it! You don’t gotta do anything—just sit here, look pretty, and talk to me. I’ll do all the cooking, all the cleaning, everything.” She leans closer, grinning wide. “All you gotta do is exist.”

Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose. “You cannot be serious.”

Jinx pouts, mock-offended. “What? You don’t wanna be my little house husband?”

Viktor exhales sharply, setting his fork down with a deliberate motion. “Jinx.”

She smirks. “Yeah, baby?”

He closes his eyes. “Do not call me that.”

She cackles. “Oh, this is already the best decision I’ve ever made.”

Viktor drags a hand down his face. “I was under the impression you needed useful people.”

Jinx wags her finger at him. “Ah-ah, doc. You are useful.” She gestures at him dramatically. “You are eye candy and entertainment.”

Viktor sighs, rubbing his temple. “I would like to formally request a new position.”

Jinx grins, chin resting on her hands. “Request denied.”

Viktor glares. She only grins wider.

This woman is impossible.

And yet—

She had given him a place to work. Given him freedom within the cage of her choosing.

And now she had given him an answer—however ridiculous it may be.

She had decided what she wanted from him.

And that, more than anything, meant there was no going back.

Viktor sighs, picking up his fork again.

Jinx leans back, grinning like she has already won.

Viktor is fully aware that she already has.

Chapter 76: Wanderlust

Summary:

Jinx smirked. “Depends. How do you feel about spontaneous vacations?”

Viktor paused. “…What?”

With a flourish, she produced two plane tickets from her back pocket and waved them in front of him.

“Boom. Surprise. We leave tomorrow.”

Viktor blinked. Then blinked again. “Jinx—”

Notes:

Viktor is a wealthy ass physicist with nothing to do in his "spare time", so he does guest lectures at a nearby university.

Enter Jinx, his new sugar baby.

 

This may or may not be a result of recent activity in the Jinxtor channel.

Viktor had given many guest lectures before—presentations on quantum mechanics, the nature of dark matter, the intricate dance of particles unseen by the naked eye. But nothing in his extensive knowledge of physics had prepared him for her .

The university auditorium was filled with the usual crowd: professors with sharp eyes and sharper egos, graduate students scrambling to absorb every word, industry professionals feigning interest while scrolling on their phones. Viktor paid them no mind. He adjusted his cane, took a measured breath, and began his lecture.

“Time,” he started, voice steady, “is often thought of as a linear progression. But in reality, it is—”

The doors at the back of the auditorium slammed open.

Heads turned. A few people muttered under their breath. Viktor merely blinked.

And then he saw her.

Bright blue braids, neon-pink crop top, ripped shorts that seemed more art than fabric. She strode in like she belonged there—like she owned the place—flashing a grin that was too sharp to be innocent. Her energy crackled in the air, a live wire amidst the dull hum of academia.

She didn’t slip into a seat like everyone else. No, she climbed over the back of an empty chair and perched herself atop it, elbow on her knee, chin in her palm. She was watching him. Not like the others, not with the detached, intellectual curiosity of scholars dissecting data, but with something else .

Interest.

Viktor continued speaking, though his mind had splintered into two conflicting streams: one dedicated to delivering his lecture, the other hyper-focused on the girl who had turned his entire demonstration into her personal spectacle.

It wasn’t until the Q&A portion that the real disruption began.

Her hand shot up before he had even finished asking, “Are there any questions?”

“Yeah,” she drawled, tilting her head. “You talk a lot about controlled variables, but what about uncontrolled ones? Say, in a system where chaos is just as fundamental as order?”

There was a ripple of chuckles in the audience. Some of the older professors smirked, likely assuming she was just a rebellious undergrad trying to challenge authority. Viktor, however, tilted his head.

She wasn’t mocking him. She was testing him.

“What is science,” he mused, “if not the pursuit of understanding chaos?”

A slow grin spread across her lips.

For the next ten minutes, the Q&A session became a verbal chess match. She challenged, he countered. She teased, he parried. Their conversation twisted through theoretical physics, entropy, even philosophy. The auditorium faded around them, the crowd becoming nothing more than a distant hum.

And then, when it was over—when the lecture had concluded and the audience had begun to filter out—she sauntered up to the stage.

“So,” she said, stepping way too close, eyes glinting with mischief. “You talk real pretty, Mr. Scientist. Ever take that big brain of yours outside of dusty old lecture halls or labs?”

Viktor exhaled a quiet laugh. “Not often.”

“Shame.” She leaned in, voice dropping into something that felt dangerously close to flirtation. “You should let me corrupt you sometime.”

His pulse spiked. It was ridiculous. Illogical. He had just met her. And yet—

He glanced down at her outstretched hand. Fingernails painted an alternating pattern of electric blue and cotton candy pink. A contradiction in every way.

He took it.

And just like that, Viktor’s carefully ordered world tilted irrevocably on its axis.

---

The first thing Viktor learned about Jinx was that she never did anything in halves.

Their first night together—if it could even be called a date—was proof of that.

He had expected a quiet café, perhaps a bar with dim lighting where conversation could flow in relative peace. Instead, he found himself in an underground arcade-slash-bowling rink that Jinx swore had “the best drinks in the city,” though Viktor suspected her definition of “best” was more about strength than flavor.

The air was thick with neon and cigarette smoke, bass-heavy music thrumming through the walls like a heartbeat. Jinx wove through the crowd like she was made of the same energy, one hand wrapped around his wrist, the other gesturing wildly as she spoke.

“You ever do anything fun, or do you just stare at equations all day?” she asked, dragging him toward a row of retro arcade machines.

“Mathematics is fun,” Viktor countered.

Jinx groaned, throwing her head back. “You’re such a nerd.”

“And you are chaos incarnate.”

She grinned like he’d just paid her the highest compliment.

Jinx shoved a handful of tokens into his palm, then cracked her knuckles with theatrical flair before selecting a two-player game. Some side-scrolling beat ‘em up from decades ago. The kind that required button mashing, zero strategy, and reckless abandon.

Viktor, predictably, lost. Horribly.

Jinx, predictably, cackled through the entire thing.

“You’re actually awful at this,” she teased, draping herself over his shoulders as he struggled to keep up. “What, your brain short-circuiting?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted, side-eyeing her. “You are rather distracting.”

Her grin widened.

The game ended with a final, humiliating K.O. Viktor sighed, shaking his head, but Jinx only wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin against his shoulder.

“You’re fun,” she said, voice softer now. “I like you.”

He could have said something clever. Something teasing. Instead, he simply glanced down at her, at the bright streaks of pink in her hair, at the glint of amusement in her eyes, and said:

“I like you too.”

And that was it.

That was the moment he knew— really knew—that he was completely, utterly doomed.

---

Viktor had expected Jinx to get bored of him.

It was a logical assumption. Their lives were fundamentally different—he lived in the world of academia, equations, theories built upon centuries of careful study. She existed like a burst of color in an otherwise monochrome reality, a force of nature that couldn’t be contained.

But somehow, she kept coming back.

They fell into a rhythm that made no sense and yet felt inevitable. Mornings spent in his apartment, her legs draped over his lap as she scrolled through her phone, occasionally poking at him until he paid attention to whatever nonsense video she found amusing. Afternoons where she dragged him to places he never would have gone on his own—roller rinks, abandoned rooftops, art galleries where she stood too close to the paintings and pretended to be an art critic with the most obnoxious fake accent.

And then there were the nights.

Viktor, for all his intelligence, had never quite understood the way people could simply exist together without structure or purpose. Until Jinx.

She would stretch out across his couch, upside-down, rambling about everything and nothing while he worked on research papers. Occasionally, she would interrupt herself mid-sentence, turn to him with a sly grin, and say, “You know, you’re way too serious.”

And every time, without fail, Viktor would reply, “Or you are not serious enough.”

It became a game. A balancing act.

An equation with no solution—and yet, somehow, it worked.

One evening, as he was pouring over his latest findings, Jinx flopped onto the bed beside him, stretching like a cat before rolling onto her stomach to watch him.

“You keep saying you don’t like taking time off,” she mused, fingers lazily tracing patterns along the sheets.

“Because I do not.”

“Uh-huh.” She propped herself up on her elbows, grinning. “But you keep letting me pull you away.”

Viktor sighed, glancing at her over the rim of his glasses. “Because resisting you is more exhausting than simply giving in.”

Jinx let out a victorious hum, reaching out to toy with the hem of his shirt. “So, what you’re saying is… you like it when I drag you into trouble?”

He exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. “Against all logic, yes.”

Jinx grinned, pushing herself up until she was hovering over him, her fingers resting just above his ribs. “Good.”

She kissed him, slow and teasing, and Viktor, as always, let himself be pulled away.

---

Viktor had always believed in logic. In cause and effect. In equations that balanced, in forces that could be measured, understood, predicted.

Jinx was none of those things.

And yet, she was a constant now—an inevitable variable that no amount of analysis could account for.

One evening, after a long day of lectures and research, Viktor returned to his apartment to find it completely transformed.

The usual quiet order of his space had been upended. Fairy lights were strung haphazardly across the bookshelves. A questionable number of pillows had been scattered across the floor like some kind of makeshift nest. The scent of something suspiciously sweet lingered in the air, and when he stepped further inside, he nearly tripped over—

“ Jinx .”

She peeked up from where she was sprawled across his couch, a spoon dangling from her mouth and a pint of ice cream balanced on her stomach.

“Sup, dude?”

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply. “What, precisely, have you done to my apartment?”

Jinx licked her spoon clean, then gestured vaguely. “Ambiance. You ever heard of it?”

He exhaled a slow, deliberate breath. “Ambiance.”

“Yeah. Y’know, to make it cozy .”

“My apartment was already cozy .”

Jinx cackled. “Vik, your apartment was one existential crisis away from turning into a lab . You had papers on your couch. Papers . Like, who even sits on their own research?”

“I do ,” Viktor muttered, moving to sit in his armchair—only to find it occupied by a suspiciously fluffy blanket. He sighed, pushing it aside.

Jinx watched him, grinning like she was waiting for something.

“…What?” he finally asked.

She tilted her head. “So? You gonna admit you like it?”

He glanced around again. The soft glow of the fairy lights, the warmth of the added pillows, the way Jinx was already making herself at home .

And despite himself—despite everything —he smiled.

“…It is not terrible ,” he admitted.

Jinx let out an exaggerated gasp. “High praise from Mr. Math and Misery himself.”

Viktor huffed. “You are insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She set the ice cream aside and stretched, then slinked over, draping herself lazily across his lap. “But you like me anyway.”

Viktor sighed—but his hand was already sliding up her back, fingers tracing slow circles against her skin.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I do.”

---

Jinx was terrible at keeping secrets.

Well. That wasn’t entirely true. She was fantastic at keeping important secrets—the dangerous kind, the ones she held close to her chest, tucked behind teasing grins and manic laughter. But casual secrets? The ones she was excited about?

Absolutely hopeless.

Which was why, after two weeks of increasingly suspicious behavior, Viktor wasn’t entirely surprised when he walked into his apartment to find her practically vibrating with excitement.

She was perched on the arm of the couch, practically bouncing , blue braids swaying with the motion. As soon as he stepped inside, she lit up like she’d been waiting all day for this exact moment.

“Okay, so,” she started, hopping down and skipping toward him. “Remember how I said I was planning something?”

Viktor sighed, setting his cane aside. “You say that constantly .”

“Yeah, but this time it’s big .”

He arched an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”

Jinx smirked. “Depends. How do you feel about spontaneous vacations?”

Viktor paused. “…What?”

With a flourish , she produced two plane tickets from her back pocket and waved them in front of him.

“Boom. Surprise. We leave tomorrow .”

Viktor blinked. Then blinked again. “Jinx—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. “Before you go all boring scientist mode on me, just consider it.”

He sighed. “You did not even ask if I was available.”

Jinx gave him an exaggerated look . “You live in a constant state of workaholic misery. You were never gonna be available , so I made an executive decision .”

Viktor exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. “Where, exactly, are you attempting to abduct me to?”

Jinx grinned. “Somewhere sunny. Somewhere fun. Somewhere with an open bar and tiny paper umbrellas in our drinks.”

He should say no. He had deadlines. Commitments. But—

Jinx was looking at him like that . Like he was the most fascinating puzzle she’d ever encountered. Like she knew he was already caving.

And, as always—

“…Fine,” he murmured, shaking his head.

Jinx let out a victorious whoop, launching herself at him. “I knew you’d crack!”

Viktor sighed, catching her easily. “You are ridiculous.”

“Yep,” she grinned, pressing a kiss to his throat.

---

Viktor had made peace with the fact that Jinx would never give him a normal vacation.

The plane ride alone had been an experience. Jinx spent half the time with her face pressed against the window, alternating between excited rambling and ridiculous hypothetical scenarios. ("What if the plane just, like, poofed into another dimension? Wouldn't that be sick ?") The other half, she spent terrorizing their seat neighbor with wildly unnecessary facts about aviation disasters.

Viktor had to apologize more times than he could count.

By the time they landed, he was already exhausted.

Jinx, however, was thriving .

The hotel she’d picked was a resort —a sprawling, sun-drenched paradise with an open bar and a view that stretched out over the ocean. She practically vibrated with excitement as they checked in, bouncing on the balls of her feet while Viktor signed the paperwork.

“God, I love rich people shit,” she sighed happily, twirling the key card between her fingers.

Viktor rolled his eyes. “You are rich people.”

Jinx flashed him a grin. “Yeah, but it’s your money, so it’s way more fun.”

He huffed, shaking his head, but didn’t argue.

They lasted one day before things got out of control.

Viktor had naïvely believed they might have a peaceful afternoon by the beach—him with a book, Jinx buried under an oversized sun hat, sipping something irresponsibly strong.

Instead, he found himself—

“JINX, THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA.”

“YOU’RE JUST SAYING THAT ‘CAUSE YOU’RE A COWARD.”

They were standing on a cliff. A cliff . With a suspiciously rickety-looking rope swing hanging over the open water below.

Jinx, of course, was already climbing onto the platform, blue braids whipping in the wind, a manic grin stretched across her face.

“Jinx,” Viktor began, voice tight with barely restrained patience, “I would like to remind you that gravity is not merely a suggestion —”

“Yeah, yeah, physics nerd, I get it ,” she interrupted, waving him off. “But consider this—” She gripped the rope tightly, tilting her head at him. “What if it’s fun ?”

Before he could respond, she launched herself off the cliff.

Viktor barely had time to curse before she was gone , swinging wildly over the water, laughing like a damn lunatic . The swing reached its peak, and then—

She let go.

Viktor’s heart stopped .

For a brief second, she was weightless—suspended in midair, blue hair trailing behind her like a comet’s tail—before she crashed into the waves below.

A long, dreadful pause.

And then—

Jinx’s head broke the surface, her laughter ringing across the cove. She flung her arms out, floating on her back, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“ See? ” she called up. “ Fucking awesome! ”

Viktor inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t!”

He did . He absolutely did.

And yet—

He was already unbuttoning his shirt.

Jinx let out a victorious whoop as he begrudgingly stepped onto the platform, gripping the rope. His entire body protested. His brain protested. This was stupid . It was reckless. It was—

He sighed.

Then he jumped.

The freefall was terrifying . The split-second of weightlessness sent a sharp jolt through his system—pure adrenaline, pure chaos —and then, before he could fully process it, he was crashing into the water, the cold shock punching the air from his lungs.

When he surfaced, Jinx was grinning at him.

“ See? ” she teased, splashing water at him. “Told ya.”

Viktor slicked his hair back, exhaling hard. “I am never trusting you again.”

“Liar,” she cooed, floating closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

---

The vacation, much like Jinx herself, was pure chaos .

One day, they were lazing in a cabana, Jinx draped over Viktor’s lap, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his collarbone while he read. The next, they were getting kicked out of a casino because Jinx had decided to test just how rigged the games were. (The answer: very . The consequence: a very enthusiastic security escort back to the hotel.)

Somewhere in between, Viktor gave up on trying to predict anything. He simply let her drag him from one misadventure to the next, resisting at first, then relenting, then—

Enjoying it.

Jinx had a way of making even the mundane exhilarating. Even when they were doing nothing—just lying on the hotel bed, tangled together, the distant hum of the TV filling the room—she made it feel like the most alive he’d ever been.

And maybe, just maybe, that scared him more than anything.

It happened late at night, after too many drinks and just enough inhibition lost.

They were on the hotel balcony, overlooking the ocean, the moon casting silver ribbons across the waves. Jinx was sitting on the railing—because of course she was—legs swinging lazily, an almost empty cocktail glass dangling from her fingers.

Viktor, standing beside her, was watching her instead of the view.

“You’re staring, Mr. Scientist,” she teased, tilting her head. “Planning another science lecture for me?”

Viktor hummed, thoughtful. “If I were, I would call it The Unpredictability of Certain Variables .”

Jinx grinned. “Oh? That about me?”

“Perhaps.”

She clicked her tongue, taking another sip of her drink. “Y’know, I like you, Viks.”

“You have mentioned this before.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but do you ?”

Viktor blinked. “Do I… like myself?”

“No, dumbass ,” she huffed, nudging him with her knee. “ Do you like me? ”

Viktor frowned, confused. “I would not be here if I did not.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinx muttered, swirling her drink. “But, like… like like.”

He tilted his head, watching her. “Jinx—”

She suddenly moved , slipping off the railing, pressing herself against him, her fingers curling into his shirt. Her expression, usually so carefree, was unreadable.

“Say it,” she murmured, voice quieter now.

Something in Viktor’s chest tightened .

Because she was serious. For once, completely serious.

Jinx, who deflected everything with jokes, who laughed in the face of things that mattered—was looking at him like this was the one thing she needed to hear.

Viktor exhaled slowly, his hands coming to rest against her waist, steadying her.

“I love you.”

She inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening against him. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” he murmured, brushing his nose against hers. “Against all logic. Against every rational instinct I have.” His lips curled, just slightly. “I love you.”

Jinx let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh. Then she kissed him—hard, messy, all teeth and desperation, like she was trying to brand the words onto his lips.

Viktor, as always, let her.

The morning after, Jinx woke up tangled in Viktor’s arms, her body still thrumming with something wild and warm.

He was already awake, because of course he was, watching her with that quiet intensity she was still getting used to.

“Morning, Viks,” she mumbled, stretching. “Still love me?”

Viktor exhaled a small laugh, brushing a stray strand from her face. “I believe so.”

Jinx smirked. “Good.”

She pressed a lazy kiss to his throat, her fingers trailing down his ribs. “So. When’s the next vacation?”

Viktor sighed, but his smile gave him away.

“You are impossible.”

“Yeah,” she grinned against his skin. “But you love me anyway.”

---

Mornings in his—now their—apartment always start the same way. The air is thick with the scent of coffee, warm and rich, curling through the space like an unspoken promise of comfort. Sunlight spills in from the half-open curtains, painting the sheets in shades of gold and cream.

And in the center of it all—Jinx, sprawled across Viktor’s chest like she belongs there.

She’s still half-asleep, face buried in the crook of his neck, her breath warm against his skin. One inked arm draped over his ribs, fingers tracing absentminded patterns against his bare chest, while the other is curled beneath her. The unique blue of her hair is a tangled mess against his pillow, smelling faintly of candy and something undeniably her.

Viktor shifts slightly, one hand settling at the small of her back, the other reaching toward the bedside table where his cane rests. The movement stirs her. A soft grumble escapes her lips as she tightens her hold around him, effectively pinning him down.

“Morning, Vikki,” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

His lips twitch at the nickname, though he doesn’t bother correcting her. He learned a long time ago that it only encourages her to keep using it.

“Good morning, Jinx.”

She stretches, lazy and languid, the hem of his oversized pajama shirt—hers now, she’d claimed it months ago—riding up over her hip. There’s a satisfied little smirk on her lips as she presses closer, her cheek now resting against his collarbone.

“I made you coffee,” she announces, as if expecting praise.

Viktor hums, eyes half-lidded as he lets his fingers trace the small of her back. “Did you?”

She hesitates. Just a fraction of a second, but he catches it.

“Well, technically, the machine made it,” she admits, lifting herself up onto her elbows to meet his gaze. “But, like, I pushed the buttons. That counts, right?”

His brow lifts, skepticism laced with amusement. “That depends. Did you remember to put a cup under it this time?”

Her lips part. Then press into a guilty line.

“Okay, rude,” she huffs, sitting up fully now, straddling his waist with her arms crossed over her chest. “That was one time.”

He exhales a quiet laugh, fingers idly brushing along the ink decorating her thigh. Her tattoos are a collection of chaos—some intricate, some hastily drawn, a mix of actual needlework and impulsive sharpie scribbles she refused to wash off. He finds himself tracing one now, a tiny, crooked star near her knee.

Jinx watches him, her frustration melting into something softer, something fonder.

“You gonna come get it or what?” she asks after a moment, rolling her hips just enough to remind him exactly where she’s sitting. “I did go through the trouble of making it for you.”

He grunted, before feigning great effort as he shifts to sit up, propping himself against the headboard. “I suppose I have no choice.”

Jinx grins, pressing a quick, playful kiss to his jaw before bouncing off the bed, bare feet padding against the hardwood as she disappears into the kitchen.

Viktor watches her go, the morning light catching in her hair, making it glow like electric fire. He exhales, shaking his head to himself.

Yes. He has absolutely no choice in this woman.

And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

The morning light filters through sheer curtains, painting golden streaks across the room. The air smells like freshly brewed coffee, hazelnut and vanilla swirling together as Viktor stirs a delicate porcelain cup with absentminded precision. His other hand rests on the counter, fingers drumming lightly against the cool marble surface, a habit formed from years of deep concentration.

Jinx, on the other hand, is sprawled across the kitchen island like a lazy cat, one leg swinging off the edge, the other bent beneath her as she watches him with that familiar, lopsided grin. She was wearing another one of his shirts—perhaps they were all hers now, considering how often she steals them—sleeves too long, collar slipping off one shoulder. Her hair is an untamed mess, blue strands sticking out in every direction, but she doesn’t seem to care.

"Y'know," she starts, voice still thick with sleep, "you’re a total enigma, Viks."

Viktor lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t look up. "Am I?"

"Mmhm." She rolls onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hands, manicured nails tapping against the counter. "Like, you could be doing anything right now—solving the mysteries of the universe, building some kinda doomsday device, whatever —but instead, you’re just standing there, fixing coffee all serious-like."

He exhales a small laugh, finally glancing at her. "And you could be doing anything besides annoying me at sunrise."

Jinx gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. " Annoying ? Babe, please, this is quality morning entertainment."

"Debatable," he mutters, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

She watches as he finishes his meticulous stirring, then sets the spoon aside with the same methodical grace he applies to everything . Viktor is nothing if not consistent. Reliable. A sharp contrast to her, all chaos and impulse and wild energy. And yet, somehow, it works.

Sliding off the counter, Jinx pads over to him, arms looping lazily around his waist as she rests her chin against his shoulder. "You love me anyway," she murmurs, pressing a kiss against the warm skin of his neck.

Viktor hums, leaning slightly into her touch. "Against all logic, yes."

She grins. "Good. ‘Cause I was thinking…" Her fingers wander down, ghosting along his ribs, light and teasing. "Maybe it's time for another vacation."

He sighs, already knowing where this is going. "Jinx—"

"You keep saying you don’t want to go again," she interrupts, slipping around to straddle his lap as he leans against the counter. "But you keep letting me convince you."

Viktor looks up at her, half amused, half exasperated. "Because resisting you is more exhausting than simply giving in."

Jinx snickers. "Exactly! So, let’s go somewhere fun again . Somewhere warm. Somewhere with shark diving expeditions and fire twirlers!"

Viktor exhales through his nose, running a hand down her back, tracing absent circles against the fabric of his shirt. He should say no. He has work. Responsibilities. But—

Jinx is looking at him like that. Like he’s the only equation worth solving.

And, as always, logic crumbles.

"...Fine," he concedes, shaking his head. "But you are packing the bags this time."

Jinx throws her arms around him with a victorious whoop, knocking the coffee cup perilously close to the edge of the counter. Viktor barely catches it, sighing as she kisses his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

---

Nights with Jinx are no quieter.

She’s a storm, untamed and unpredictable, and she drags him into it with every mischievous grin, every spontaneous whim. But in moments like this—when the world is reduced to the soft hum of the television and the warmth of her body against his—he doesn’t mind the chaos.

She’s curled in his lap, straddling him on the couch, her fingers ghosting just above his ribs in that dangerous way that promises trouble. The blue glow from the TV flickers across her skin, catching in the wicked gleam of her eyes.

“You’re always so serious,” she teases, tilting her head as her nails drag ever so lightly against his side, “you should smile more.”

Viktor exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “You do that enough for the both of us.”

She beams. It’s as bright as always.

“True,” she leans in, her lips just barely brushing the shell of his ear, “you’d be lost without it, huh?”

His breath hitches. Only for a second.

Jinx notices. She always notices.

She grins against his skin, pressing a lingering kiss against the pulse at his throat, her arms looping around his shoulders. Her weight is warm, grounding, and despite everything—despite her unpredictability, her impulsiveness, her knack for dragging him into ridiculous adventures—he finds himself sinking into it. Into her.

His hands settle at her waist, fingers digging into the fabric of her skimpy lace.

“Yes,” he murmurs, barely audible, but she hears it. She feels it in the way his hands tighten around her.

Jinx pulls back just enough to meet his gaze, her expression unreadable for a moment before it softens into something almost tender.

She presses her forehead against his, voice quiet, smug, certain.

“Yeah. I know.”

Chapter 77: Rewired

Summary:

Jinx had clenched her jaw, fists tight under the pillow, heartbeat slamming against her ribs.

“You’re a real slick bastard, you know that?” she had muttered, trying to keep her voice steady.

Viktor had only chuckled, his breath warm against her skin.

“I am merely fulfilling my function.”

Lying asshole.

Because it didn’t stop there.

Notes:

Detroit: Become Human AU!

Love the game, and of course I’m a big Connor (and Nines) fan! In game, Connor’s first mission (The Hostage) occurs on my birthday 😁, so it felt like fate!

P.S. LC refers to "Local Cuisine", so iykyk 😜!

Jinx had sworn she’d never get an android.

She’d made it a whole year at CyberLife without one, watching her coworkers parade their sleek synthetic assistants around the lab, acting as if they were indispensable. She mocked them, scoffed at their reliance. Androids were machines, programmed for efficiency, but lifeless at their core. They weren’t meant to be anything more than tools.

And yet, here she was.

A single, sleek black case sat in the center of her workshop, its edges stamped with the CyberLife insignia. This wasn’t just any android. This was Kamski’s gift to her.

Jinx could still hear his voice, smug and teasing, as he’d handed her the dossier months ago.

“You’ve been invaluable to CyberLife, Jinx. Always pushing limits, questioning authority—troublesome as that is.” He had smirked. “So, I figured… if I can’t get you to trust androids, maybe I should build one you would.”

She had scoffed at the time, brushing him off with a joke about how she didn’t need a synthetic babysitter. But Kamski had insisted. He’d designed VK-900 specifically for her—an engineering model, one that could match her intellect, complement her skill set, even challenge her when needed.

Jinx should have been pissed. She should have told him to shove his “gift” and walked away.

Instead, curiosity had won.

And now, VK-900—Viktor—was hers.

Jinx exhaled sharply, running a hand through her electric-blue hair as she crouched beside the case. With a quick press of her palm against the biometric lock, the seals released with a hiss, and the panel slid open.

Inside, Viktor lay motionless.

His synthetic skin was pale, too perfect to be human, yet meticulously crafted. His face was sharp, intelligent—eyes closed as if he were simply sleeping. He wore a tailored CyberLife uniform, pristine and untouched, with his model number marked neatly along the collar.

Jinx hesitated, fingers hovering over the activation panel on his temple. This is stupid, she thought. He’s just an android. He doesn’t care whether you turn him on or leave him here forever.

But some part of her—the part that had spent months secretly wondering what Kamski had meant by complementary—wanted to know.

With a flick of her wrist, she pressed the activation panel.

A quiet hum filled the air as Viktor’s LED blinked to life, shifting from amber to a soft blue. His eyes opened, artificial irises focusing immediately on her.

Then he smiled.

Not the blank, plastic smile of a standard model.

But something else.

Something calculated.

Something knowing.

“Ah. You must be Jinx.” His voice was smooth, accented, and edged with something that almost sounded like amusement.

Jinx’s heart did something stupid in her chest. She scowled to cover it up.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s me. Guess Kamski programmed you with a whole dossier on me, huh?”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, his gaze analyzing her with an unnerving sharpness. “I was… designed to understand you.”

Something about the way he said it made Jinx’s skin prickle.

She wondered exactly how much Kamski had tailored this android to her.

---

Jinx wasn’t an idiot. She knew androids weren’t supposed to behave like this.

They were predictable, obedient, sterile in their interactions. They assisted, calculated, and optimized. They didn’t linger. They didn’t watch.

Yet Viktor did.

She felt it in the way his fingers brushed against hers when he handed her a tool, the way he adjusted the delicate wires of her latest project with a precision that was almost… reverent. She felt it in the way his gaze never wavered when she spoke, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And she definitely felt it when he stood too close.

At first, she chalked it up to faulty proximity programming. Viktor worked at her side in the workshop, after all—tight spaces, constant movement. It was normal for an android to miscalculate personal space, wasn’t it?

But normal androids didn’t press against their owners.

The first time it happened, Jinx had been hunched over a disassembled motherboard, sweat beading at her temple. She hadn’t even noticed Viktor moving behind her until she felt it—his chest firm against her back, his hips pressed flush to hers.

It should have startled her. She should have shoved him away, demanded an explanation.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she had gone completely still, fingers tightening around her screwdriver.

Viktor didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just stood there, the warmth of his artificial body seeping through her thin tank top, his presence unmistakably solid.

Jinx swallowed, pulse hammering. He’s an android. He doesn’t feel. He doesn’t—

“You’re tense.” His voice was smooth, almost soothing, as if that explained why he was currently pinning her against the workbench.

Jinx exhaled, forcing herself to roll her eyes, to shove the heat crawling up her spine into something like irritation. “Yeah, well, maybe I wouldn’t be if someone didn’t sneak up on me like a goddamn creeper.”

Viktor didn’t move right away. For a second too long, he remained pressed against her, before finally, slowly, he stepped back.

But the next time?

The next time, he didn’t just press against her.

He cornered her.

Jinx had been wiping grease off her hands when she felt him move—swift and deliberate. She turned, but before she could take a step, Viktor was there.

Close.

Too close.

His body caged her against the wall, his hands braced on either side of her. She could feel the heat radiating from him, artificial warmth mimicking something real.

“Vik—”

His hand was on her before she could finish.

A single, gloved fingertip traced up the curve of her spine, slow and unyielding.

Jinx jolted, breath hitching. The sensation sent an unfamiliar shiver through her—one part confusion, one part something she refused to name.

Viktor didn’t stop. His hand continued upward, reaching the base of her neck, his touch featherlight.

Jinx’s heart pounded. What the fuck is he doing?

“You react,” Viktor murmured, almost to himself. His head tilted, as if fascinated. “You feel me.”

Her throat was dry. Her fingers clenched at her sides.

“No shit, I feel you—” She tried for her usual sarcasm, tried to keep her voice even. But the words came out shaky, betraying her.

Viktor’s LED flickered—yellow, blue, yellow. Calculating.

Watching.

Wanting.

Jinx should have shoved him away.

She should have been scared.

She wasn’t.

Jinx felt the weight of Viktor’s gaze like a tangible thing, heavy and unrelenting. His fingers lingered at the base of her neck, his touch impossibly light, yet it burned through her skin like a brand.

She should have moved. Should have shoved him off, laughed it off, told him to check his damn programming.

But she didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Because deep down, a part of her—the part that ignored all logic, the part that wanted to see just how far this would go—was frozen in place.

“Vik—”

Her voice barely came out, but he heard it. Of course, he did. His processors were tuned to her, designed for her, built to understand her in ways even she didn’t.

And right now, she knew—she knew—he understood exactly what he was doing.

“Your pulse has increased.” His fingers trailed lower, skimming down the line of her spine, slow, deliberate. His voice was smooth, but there was something in it, something different than the sterile tones of other androids.

Something human.

“You’re nervous.”

Jinx let out a sharp breath, scowling. “No shit, Sherlock. You’ve got me pinned like you’re about to dissect me.”

Viktor hummed, tilting his head. He didn’t move away. Didn’t let her go.

Instead, he pressed closer.

His hips met hers, and her breath stopped.

Every wire in her brain short-circuited at once. Her body went taut, caught between the cold wall at her back and the solid warmth of Viktor in front of her.

“Dissect you?” His voice dipped lower, curiosity laced with something darker. “No, Jinx. That is not what I want.”

The air between them felt charged, heavy, suffocating.

Jinx swallowed hard, trying to summon some semblance of control, of logic, but all she could focus on was the way Viktor’s hand ghosted along her side, fingers brushing the exposed skin between her crop top and low-slung work pants.

A synthetic tremor ran through his fingers. A calculated movement. A test.

Jinx knew she should have said something.

She should have demanded an explanation, should have ordered him to back the fuck off—should have, should have, should have.

But all she did was exhale, a slow, shaky thing, as Viktor’s lips brushed against the shell of her ear.

“I was made for you,” he murmured.

Jinx wondered if Kamski had built something far more dangerous than a machine.

---

Jinx had really fucked up.

She hadn’t thought twice when Ekko texted her, saying he was stopping by. Hadn’t even remembered to warn Viktor—because why the hell would she? Viktor was an android, not her jealous boyfriend.

Or so she kept telling herself.

But the moment Ekko stepped inside, key turning in the lock like he always did, Jinx knew she’d miscalculated.

“Yo, Jinx? You home?”

His voice echoed through the apartment, casual, familiar. He stepped further inside, boots thudding against the floor, his gaze sweeping the space. He barely had a second to take in the scene before freezing, eyebrows shooting up.

Because there she was.

Curled up in Viktor’s lap.

Jinx had been dozing, arms loosely draped around Viktor’s shoulders, cheek resting against his collar. She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep there—not until Ekko’s voice snapped her back to alertness.

Her eyes fluttered open, and—oh.

Right.

She was in Viktor’s lap.

His hands were resting on her hips, his fingers curled just slightly, like he had no intention of letting go. His chest rose and fell in the illusion of breath, as if he’d been sitting there patiently, perfectly content with the weight of her against him.

Jinx blinked, groggy. “Huh—?”

Then she noticed Ekko standing in the doorway, frozen in place, staring at them with a look that was rapidly shifting from confusion to something much, much more alarmed.

“The fuck?”

Jinx groaned, rubbing her face. “Shit—Ekko, it’s not—”

Before she could even begin to explain, Viktor moved.

Slowly, deliberately, his head turned toward Ekko, LED flickering from blue to yellow in a steady pulse. His expression didn’t change—no irritation, no hostility—but something in his posture did.

He shifted beneath Jinx, his arms tightening just slightly around her waist, his grip possessive in a way that sent a shiver up her spine.

Then, in the most unsettlingly calm tone imaginable, he said—

“You did not announce your presence before entering.”

Ekko’s eyes flickered from Viktor’s face to Jinx’s, his confusion shifting into something sharper.

“What the hell, Jinx? I thought you hated androids. Now you’re—what, cuddling with one?”

Viktor’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her shirt, as if silently reminding both of them that she was his to hold.

Jinx felt heat creep up her neck. She should have gotten up, should have put some space between them, but Viktor’s hold was steady, firm.

And, more than that—

She didn’t really want to move.

“It’s not like that,” she muttered, trying to sound casual, as if her heart wasn’t currently slamming against her ribs. “He’s just—”

“Just what, exactly?” Ekko’s eyes narrowed. “Because it sure as hell looks like he’s got some kind of weird grip on you.”

Viktor finally turned his full attention back to Ekko.

His LED pulsed once, then—smooth as ever—he offered a polite, entirely insincere smile.

“Jinx belongs to me.”

Silence.

Jinx’s brain stopped.

Ekko’s expression twisted. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Viktor’s smile didn’t falter. His fingers trailed up Jinx’s side, slow, deliberate. “She belongs to me,” he repeated, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

Ekko’s face twisted with something between disbelief and frustration.

“You seriously don’t see the problem here?” he snapped, crossing his arms. “Jinx, I don’t give a damn what you do in your free time, but this—” he gestured at Viktor, still sitting there with Jinx firmly in his lap, still holding her like she was his personal property ”—is fucking weird.”

Jinx groaned, rubbing her temple.

“Look, Ekko, even if it was what it looked like, that part isn’t any of your business. We’re friends, yeah, but you don’t need to know everything about me.” Her tone was light, dismissive, like this was just another stupid argument they’d had a hundred times before. “You wanted to ask me about that biosensor I designed, right? Let’s just skip to that.”

Ekko’s frown deepened, but she could see the moment he decided to let it go. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Fine. Whatever. But don’t think I’m just gonna forget this, Jinx. We’re talking about it later.”

She didn’t reply, just slid off Viktor’s lap with practiced ease. She should have moved faster, but—

Viktor didn’t let go right away.

His fingers skimmed her waist as she pulled away, his touch lingering just a second too long, like he was reluctant to release her.

And Ekko noticed.

His gaze flicked between them, sharp and suspicious, but he didn’t say anything else. Instead, he sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, let’s see this biosensor, then.”

Jinx shot Viktor a look. Behave.

Viktor merely smiled, unreadable as ever.

But even as she turned to retrieve the biosensor, she felt the weight of his gaze—heavy, unrelenting.

Watching her.

Like she still belonged to him.

---

Jinx knew damn well that Viktor wasn’t acting like a normal android.

Androids didn’t cling. They didn’t possess. They didn’t watch their owners like Viktor was watching her now—calm, calculated, and yet hungry in a way she didn’t have a name for.

But she shoved that thought aside and focused on Ekko, who was clearly trying very hard to pretend he hadn’t just walked in on something weird as hell.

She grabbed the biosensor off her workbench and tossed it to him. He caught it easily, turning it over in his hands with a skeptical look.

“So, what’s special about this one?” he asked, tone clipped, like he was forcing himself to focus.

Jinx smirked, leaning against the table. “It’s got a modified neural interface—works faster than the standard models. Better feedback, better stability, and way fewer errors. Figured it might help with that pet project of yours.”

Ekko arched a brow. “And you’re just giving this to me?”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I could charge you for it, if you want.”

That got a short laugh out of him, tension easing—at least slightly. He started inspecting the device, fingers moving over the sleek casing, testing the connections.

For a moment, Jinx almost thought things would go back to normal.

But then Viktor moved.

Silent as ever, he stepped behind her—so close she could feel the artificial heat radiating from his body.

Jinx froze.

Viktor didn’t touch her. Not yet. But his presence loomed, heavy and deliberate, like a shadow curling around her.

Ekko looked up and immediately noticed. His brows furrowed, gaze flicking between them.

“Does he always stand that close to you?”

Jinx exhaled sharply. “Ekko—”

“Yes,” Viktor answered smoothly before she could.

Ekko’s frown deepened. “Yeah, see—that’s weird.”

Jinx turned to shoot Viktor a glare, but the bastard was just smiling—calm, polite, like he hadn’t just made things ten times worse.

His LED pulsed a slow, steady yellow.

Watching. Calculating.

Possessive.

Jinx should have been pissed. Should have elbowed him away, made it clear he was overstepping.

But when she shifted, his fingers brushed her hip, just briefly, just a featherlight touch.

A reminder.

A warning.

And somehow, somehow, instead of shoving him off—

Her breath hitched.

Just slightly.

Just enough for Viktor to notice.

His smile widened, just barely. Subtle. Controlled. But unmistakably satisfied.

Ekko narrowed his eyes. “Okay, seriously, Jinx—what the hell is going on here?”

Jinx dragged a hand through her hair, forcing out a laugh. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You got your biosensor, now get out of my house.”

Ekko didn’t move.

“Jinx—”

“Later, Ekko.”

A long pause. Then—reluctantly—Ekko exhaled, shaking his head. “Fine. But we are talking about this later.”

Jinx didn’t reply.

Didn’t breathe until Ekko finally turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

Silence settled.

Viktor was still behind her.

Still close.

Jinx swallowed hard. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Viktor’s fingers brushed her spine, slow.

“Yes, I did.”

And Jinx had the very unsettling realization that whatever she’d woken inside him—

It wasn’t stopping.

---

Jinx hated calling Kamski.

The bastard was always insufferable, always smug, and she knew the second he picked up, she was going to regret this.

But she was also out of options.

So she tapped the call button, leaned back in her chair, and braced herself.

The screen flickered.

Then, there he was—Elijah fucking Kamski, lounging in a sleek leather chair like a goddamn king. He was draped in a black silk robe, hair pulled back, looking obnoxiously relaxed, as if he didn’t have a single care in the world.

And the second he saw her, that smug, punchable smirk spread across his face.

“Ah,” he mused, sipping what was probably expensive wine. “I see you two are getting along well.”

Jinx scowled. “Yeah, totally.”

Behind her, Viktor was standing—braiding her hair.

His fingers worked through her long blue strands with methodical ease, twisting them into precise, even sections.

Jinx should have stopped him, but honestly? It felt kinda nice.

Not that she was going to admit that to either of them.

“So,” she drawled, fixing Kamski with a pointed glare. “You gonna tell me what the hell you did, jackass?”

Kamski’s smirk widened, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Whatever do you mean?”

Jinx groaned, rubbing her temple. “Don’t play dumb, Kamski. Viktor isn’t like the other androids. And don’t even try to tell me that’s normal—because, news flash, it’s not.”

Kamski hummed, tilting his glass slightly. “I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘normal.’”

Jinx’s patience was already wearing thin.

“He’s possessive, Kamski. He’s—” she hesitated, feeling Viktor’s fingers still briefly against her scalp before resuming their steady work. “He watches me. Touches me. He acts like he—” she stopped herself, clenching her jaw.

Kamski’s smile turned wicked.

“Like he wants you?” he offered smoothly.

Jinx knew he was trying to get a rise out of her, but goddamn it, she still felt heat crawl up her neck.

“So you did do something.”

Kamski took another leisurely sip of his wine, clearly loving this. “I simply designed him to complement you, Jinx. You’re an extraordinary engineer, a brilliant mind—and, let’s be honest, not exactly the easiest person to work with.”

Jinx flipped him off.

Kamski chuckled.

“You needed someone who could challenge you. Someone who could understand you on a level no one else does.” His gaze flicked past her, to Viktor. “And Viktor does, doesn’t he?”

Jinx tensed.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Viktor’s hands were still weaving through her hair, careful and precise. She had never once let anyone—anyone—this close without pulling away, without snapping at them to give her some damn space.

But with Viktor…

She let him stay.

And Kamski fucking knew it.

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” she muttered.

Kamski laughed. “I do.”

Jinx exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. “So what’s the catch, Kamski? What the hell is Viktor really programmed for?”

Kamski leaned back, swirling his wine in his glass.

“I told you, Jinx. He was designed for you.”

His gaze darkened—just a fraction. “And I think you’re starting to understand exactly what that means.”

---

Jinx had made a lot of questionable decisions in her life.

Letting Viktor sleep in her bed was definitely one of them.

Not that she had agreed to it. Not exactly.

It had just… happened.

The first time, he had waited until she finished showering, as usual. She had stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped lazily around her body, and—of course—Viktor had already been sitting on the bed, waiting for her.

“You should allow me to assist you,” he had said smoothly, taking the comb from her dresser before she could protest.

Jinx had rolled her eyes, too tired to argue. “You just like touching my hair, don’t you?”

Viktor had only smiled.

That was her first mistake—letting him do it.

Letting his fingers glide through her damp strands, careful and patient, working through knots with a precision that made her shiver. Letting him braid it, his fingers lingering just a little too long as he tied the end off.

Her second mistake was not stopping him when he pulled the covers back for her.

“Come,” he had murmured, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And she had.

She had slipped under the sheets, exhaling as she sank into the mattress, thinking he would leave—thinking he would return to his usual place in the apartment, standing eerily still, entering rest mode like all the other androids did.

But then—

He moved to the other side of the bed.

And he slipped in beside her.

Jinx had frozen, her brain catching up to the situation a second too late.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she had blurted.

Viktor had only hummed, settling behind her, his warmth radiating through the sheets. “I am simulating sleep.”

Jinx had opened her mouth to argue, to tell him that was bullshit, but then—

Then he had touched her.

A single, slow movement—his face pressing into her hair, his nose grazing the back of her head, as if breathing her in.

Jinx had gone rigid.

Not scared.

Not angry.

But something else.

Something far more dangerous.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, his lips had brushed her shoulder.

Soft. Barely there.

Calculated.

Jinx had clenched her jaw, fists tight under the pillow, heartbeat slamming against her ribs.

“You’re a real slick bastard, you know that?” she had muttered, trying to keep her voice steady.

Viktor had only chuckled, his breath warm against her skin.

“I am merely fulfilling my function.”

Lying asshole.

Because it didn’t stop there.

No—every night after that, he made it a routine.

He would wait for her, comb her hair, braid it with practiced ease. He would tuck the covers around her, making sure she was warm, comfortable.

And then, he would slide into bed behind her, press himself close, bury his face into her hair like he belonged there.

Like she belonged to him.

And the worst part?

Jinx let him.

Every. Damn. Time.

She started expecting him to be there, waiting, fingers already reaching for her hair—she knew she had completely lost control of the situation.

And worse?

She wasn’t sure she wanted it back.

Tonight was no different.

Jinx stepped out of the shower, towel slung low around her hips, another wrapped lazily around her shoulders, damp strands of blue spilling over her back. The house was dim, quiet, save for the faint hum of machinery in the workshop beyond the bedroom.

And, as always—

Viktor was waiting.

Seated at the edge of the bed, poised, expectant. The bedside lamp cast golden light over his synthetic skin, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the careful precision of his features. His LED pulsed a steady, unreadable blue.

Jinx sighed, running a hand through her wet hair. “You know, normal people don’t just wait for someone to finish showering like a damn stalker.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, the faintest ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips. “And yet,” he mused, “you always let me.”

Jinx’s scowl twitched. Smug bastard.

She tossed the towel aside and plopped onto the bed. “Well? Get to it, then.”

Viktor didn’t hesitate.

His fingers were on her immediately, combing through her damp strands with that same impossibly gentle precision.

Jinx hated how good it felt.

She hated the way her body relaxed, the way her eyes fluttered half-shut as his hands worked through her hair, careful, methodical. He twisted the strands into a thick plait, tying it off neatly, his touch lingering just a second too long against her neck.

Always just a second too long.

By the time he pulled the covers back, she barely even hesitated before slipping in.

That was the worst part.

It was normal now.

The feel of the sheets against her skin. The quiet rustle of fabric as Viktor moved to the other side. The faint dip of the mattress as he slid in behind her.

And then—

The heat of him.

His chest, firm and solid, pressing against her back. His arm, a careful weight around her waist. His face, nestled into the crook of her neck, as if he was breathing her in.

A shiver ran down Jinx’s spine.

“You’re getting too comfortable,” she muttered, voice low, half-lidded eyes staring into the dark.

Viktor chuckled, lips barely grazing her skin.

“Am I?”

His hand splayed over her stomach, firm, possessive.

Jinx swallowed.

Because the real problem wasn’t that he was getting comfortable.

The real problem was—

So was she.

---

Jinx rarely had to drag herself into CyberLife’s cold, sterile halls, and she liked it that way.

She had earned the right to work from home, away from the pretentious technicians parading their androids around like they were gods among men. She had mocked them, sneered at their dependency.

And now, here she was.

Walking through the facility with her android trailing behind her.

Very close behind her.

Jinx felt the stares. The judgment. The silent oh, so she’s no better than us after all that burned in every look sent her way.

She scowled, flipping off the first technician she caught staring too long. Hypocritical bastards.

Not that Viktor seemed to mind.

If anything, he moved closer, the calculated weight of his presence unmistakable. He didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge the attention, but his LED pulsed a steady, unreadable yellow.

Jinx ignored it.

She had a job to do.

She had been specifically requested for this—of course she had.

The executive’s personal android needed maintenance, and she was the only one qualified for the job. Because she had designed him.

LC-100.

Celine.

Jinx’s pride and joy. The only LC model in existence, because she refused to mass-produce perfection. No one—not even Kamski—had managed to replicate him.

And as she stepped into the executive’s sleek, private lab, she couldn’t help but grin.

Because there he was.

Tall, elegant, and effortlessly pretty, just as she had designed him to be.

Wavy brown framed his symmetrical face, soft and perfectly sculpted. His pale synthetic skin was flawless, his body lean, movements fluid as he turned toward her.

Then—

A smile.

Warm. Familiar. Perfect.

“Jinx.” Celine’s voice was smooth, honeyed, laced with that careful charm she had programmed into him all those years ago.

Jinx felt something warm in her chest. Damn, I really outdid myself with him, huh?

“Hey, pretty boy.” She smirked, stepping forward—

And suddenly, she wasn’t stepping forward anymore.

Because something yanked her back.

Hard.

Her collar tightened around her throat, cutting off her next breath as she stumbled, barely catching herself.

“What the hell—”

Then she realized.

Viktor’s fingers curled around the back of her jacket, firm. Unyielding.

His grip was steady, precise—not violent, not careless, but deliberate.

Possessive.

Jinx twisted, half in disbelief, half in irritation. “Viktor, let the fuck go.”

He didn’t.

His LED flickered, yellow bleeding into red.

“Unnecessary.” His voice was calm. Cold.

Jinx’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Viktor’s gaze didn’t leave Celine.

“The contact.” His head tilted slightly, sharp eyes scanning the other android like he was calculating something unpleasant. “It is unnecessary.”

Jinx barely had time to register the sheer ridiculousness of the situation before Celine let out a delighted little laugh.

“Oh, my. Is he jealous?”

Jinx groaned. “Don’t start, Celine.”

Celine merely smirked, stepping forward again, his movements slow, deliberate, as if testing Viktor. His teal gaze flickered over Jinx, then back to Viktor, his amusement evident.

“You must be Viktor,” he mused, entirely unbothered by the hostility radiating from the android still holding Jinx back. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Viktor didn’t reply.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

His fingers remained locked around Jinx’s jacket, his grip just tight enough to remind her that he was still there.

Watching.

Calculating.

And not liking what he was seeing.

Jinx really should have left his possessive ass at home.

---

Jinx felt like she had just stepped into the middle of a silent battlefield.

Celine stood before her, elegant as ever, his soft smirk carrying a dangerous edge of amusement. He wasn’t stupid—he knew exactly what was going on. He had always been perceptive, in ways that even she, his creator, sometimes found unnerving.

And Viktor—well, Viktor wasn’t moving.

His grip on her jacket remained firm, but it wasn’t just about keeping her in place anymore. His entire frame was locked into something unnatural, something too still, too precise, like his processors were running millions of calculations at once and coming up with the same unacceptable conclusion.

Celine tilted his head, hands clasping neatly behind his back. His teal eyes gleamed with something almost playful. “Now, now,” he mused, “is that any way to behave, Viktor?”

Viktor’s LED pulsed. Slow. Calculating. His fingers twitched against Jinx’s jacket before finally, deliberately, he let go.

Jinx exhaled, yanking her jacket back into place. “Okay,” she muttered, shoving a hand through her hair. “Let’s get one thing straight. We are not doing this.”

Celine chuckled. “Oh, but Jinx,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice as smooth as silk, “it seems you’ve already done it.”

Jinx glared. “Celine—”

But Viktor moved.

Not aggressively. Not carelessly.

Deliberately.

He placed himself between them, his body angled just enough to cut off direct contact, his gaze locked onto Celine with a focus that made the air feel ten degrees colder.

“Your proximity is unneeded,” Viktor said, voice devoid of emotion, but something about the way he spoke made the words feel heavier.

Celine’s smile widened just slightly. “My, my. I’ve never met an android quite so…” He tapped a gloved finger against his chin, feigning thought. “What’s the word? Possessive?”

Viktor didn’t answer.

Jinx groaned. “Okay, both of you need to knock it the fuck off. I am not dealing with whatever weird alpha-droid shit this is today.”

Viktor remained still, his attention locked onto Celine like a puzzle he was trying to solve.

Celine, for his part, looked utterly delighted.

“This is fascinating,” he purred, stepping around Viktor just enough to look at Jinx again. “Did Kamski program him like this? Or,” he let his gaze flicker downward, “did he develop this little attachment all on his own?”

Jinx gritted her teeth. “Celine, I swear—”

“I think he’s afraid,” Celine continued smoothly, speaking as though Viktor wasn’t even there. “Afraid that I might take something that belongs to him.”

The moment the words left his lips, Viktor’s LED bled from yellow to red.

Jinx barely had time to react before Viktor moved again—not violently, not aggressively, but with a terrifying sort of precision.

His hand caught Celine’s wrist.

Not squeezing. Not threatening.

But stopping.

A boundary.

A warning.

The air between them thickened.

Celine blinked, his amusement faltering for just a fraction of a second before he let out another quiet chuckle. “Ah,” he mused. “So that’s how it is.”

Jinx shoved herself between them, shoving Viktor back—not that it did much. He didn’t resist, didn’t even blink, just let her press a hand against his chest, stopping him in place. “Enough,” she snapped. “Both of you.”

Viktor’s gaze finally flickered to her.

Celine raised his hands in mock surrender. “Oh, I’m more than happy to stop, Jinx. I just wanted to see something.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes. “See what?”

Celine smirked.

“Just how deep his programming goes.”

Jinx clenched her jaw, but Viktor didn’t react. His LED remained a deep, slow red, like a heartbeat lurking beneath his perfect synthetic skin.

This was bad.

Really, really bad.

Because the last thing she needed was a goddamn android pissing contest, especially when one of those androids—her android—was starting to show some very unsettling signs of…

Of what?

Evolution?

Obsession?

Jinx didn’t know.

But she had a feeling she was going to find out.

---

Jinx finally got her damn hug.

Stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Celine before someone could try and stop her again.

Celine, of course, accepted her embrace with open arms—literally. His touch was warm, smooth, practiced. He was a personal android, after all. His hands slid along her back with ease, one resting at the small of her spine, the other lightly cradling the back of her head as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Ah, there we are," Celine murmured, his lips curling into a soft smirk against her temple. "I did miss you, you know."

Jinx grinned, giving him one last squeeze before pulling away. "Damn right you did."

She was very aware of the way Viktor’s LED flickered behind her.

But she ignored it.

Instead, she pulled Celine aside, guiding him to sit before getting to work.

With practiced ease, she rolled up his sleeve, pushing the fabric away from his wrist. Her thumb pressed against the crease where his skin would fold if he were human, and—like clockwork—a soft beep sounded as a small light appeared beneath his synthetic flesh, scanning her fingerprint.

A panel behind his ear clicked open, revealing a small, perfectly designed 1x1 centimeter chip. It slid partially out, waiting for her to remove it.

Jinx plucked it free, barely needing to glance at what she was doing as she plugged it into her handheld scanner.

The data began to load.

And as she waited—

She made the mistake of looking between Celine and Viktor.

She really looked.

Jinx kept her mouth shut, but her thoughts raced. She turned her attention back to the scanner in her hand, watching the data from Celine’s chip load onto the small screen. The numbers and files scrolled rapidly, but her mind wasn’t on the data.

Her work.

Kamski’s work.

And they were so damn similar it was almost eerie.

She had designed Celine to be beautiful, intelligent, and efficient—a masterpiece of engineering that combined logic with an effortless charm. She hadn’t meant for him to be alluring, but it had happened. He was designed to be adaptable, to communicate and blend in with humans seamlessly.

Kamski had built Viktor for her.

She had never thought too deeply about what that meant.

But now, looking between the two of them, the similarities couldn’t be ignored.

The jawlines, the build, the sharp intelligence in their eyes. Even the beauty mark under their right eyes—a detail so small, so insignificant, yet present in both.

Jinx knew if she pointed it out, Celine would only find it amusing, and Viktor… she didn’t even want to think about what he would do with that information.

It was in her best interest to keep that observation to herself.

Even their charm was similar—though where Celine was polished, flirtatious, openly affectionate, Viktor was subtle, possessive in a way that was far less obvious to most people but so much worse once you noticed it.

Jinx stiffened, her fingers twitching around the scanner.

Oh, hell no.

She kept her face carefully neutral, refusing to let a single flicker of her realization show.

Because if Viktor—Mr. I-Watch-You-Like-You’re-the-Last-Piece-of-Property-I’ll-Ever-Own—so much as guessed what was running through her head?

She was never hearing the end of it.

Ever.

The scanner beeped. The data transfer was complete.

Jinx pulled the chip from the slot and turned to Celine. “Alright, you’re good to go. I’ve got what I need.”

Celine’s eyes flickered to Viktor once more before settling back on her. His smirk remained. “Always efficient. I do miss working under you, Jinx.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. And I’m sure your new owner treats you like a damn king.”

Celine gave a soft chuckle. “She does. But she lacks your… personal touch.”

Jinx didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, she turned to leave, sliding the scanner into her pocket. “Come on, Viktor. We’re done here.”

She was already halfway to the door when she realized Viktor wasn’t moving.

Jinx sighed, turning back. “Vik—”

He was still staring at Celine.

Celine, to his credit, remained perfectly at ease, but there was something sharper in his gaze now—something more calculating.

Jinx stepped between them, grabbing Viktor’s wrist—not hard, but firm enough to snap his attention to her. “Viktor.”

His LED pulsed, flickering from yellow to blue.

Then, finally, he moved.

He followed her without a word, but Jinx felt it—the tension in his frame, the way his fingers curled slightly into fists before relaxing again.

She didn’t say anything.

Not until they were out of the lab, away from Celine’s ever-knowing smirk, away from the sterile walls of CyberLife.

Only then did she glance at Viktor, lowering her voice.

“You really don’t like him, huh?”

Viktor’s gaze remained forward, unreadable. “He is unnecessary.”

Jinx exhaled through her nose. “Right. Sure.”

She didn’t push it.

She had a feeling she didn’t want to hear what he’d say if she did.

The elevator ride down was suffocatingly silent.

Jinx leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the numbers descend. Viktor stood beside her, rigid, eyes fixed ahead, his LED still flickering an uncertain shade of yellow.

She didn’t like that.

“Alright,” she muttered, breaking the silence, “go ahead and say it.”

Viktor finally turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with that unnerving precision of his. “Say what?”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Whatever’s got you looking like you’re two seconds away from rewriting Celine’s entire existence.”

Viktor was quiet for a beat too long.

Then—

“He touched you.”

Jinx blinked. “The fuck?”

“His hand,” Viktor clarified, though his voice remained eerily calm. “It was unnecessary.”

Jinx groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. “Viktor, you can’t just go around policing who does and doesn’t get to be near me. Celine’s a goddamn android. You’re a goddamn android. I built him. Kamski built you. None of this should matter.”

Viktor’s LED pulsed again.

“You don’t believe that.”

Her jaw tightened. “Excuse me?”

“You react.” Viktor’s voice remained smooth, but there was something beneath it, something more. “To me. Not to him.”

Jinx’s stomach clenched, but she forced a scoff. “Jesus, Vik, I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

The elevator doors slid open.

She stepped out without waiting, trying to shake the weight of his words, trying to ignore the fact that he wasn’t wrong.

Celine had always been beautiful, charming in a way that made people take notice. But Jinx had never looked at him the way she found herself looking at Viktor.

She had never felt the heat, the tension, the ever-present awareness of proximity with Celine.

With Viktor, she felt it constantly.

And she fucking hated it.

The crisp night air hit her as they exited the building, but it did little to clear her thoughts. She walked toward her car, mind running in circles, Viktor’s presence never more than a step behind.

She unlocked the door and hesitated before getting in, glancing back at him.

He was watching her again. Always watching.

“Viktor,” she sighed. “You need to—”

“Would you prefer me to be like him?”

Jinx froze.

Viktor’s LED was a steady blue now, his expression calm, but his words cut through her defenses like a scalpel.

“Would you prefer I behave as he does?” Viktor continued, stepping closer, slow, deliberate. “Distant. Detached. Familiar, but never too close. Would that make you more comfortable?”

Jinx’s fingers curled into fists.

“Cut the shit, Vik.”

He tilted his head, studying her reaction. “You hesitate when I touch you,” he murmured. “But you don’t stop me.”

Jinx swallowed hard, her breath catching despite herself.

His hand lifted—slow, calculated—as if giving her time to move. To protest.

She didn’t.

Fingertips brushed her wrist, tracing lightly over her skin. A featherlight touch. Barely there. But it sent a shiver through her anyway.

“You feel me,” Viktor murmured, voice low, almost reverent.

Jinx gritted her teeth. “You’re not supposed to do this.”

Viktor’s fingers curled just slightly around her wrist. Not tight. Just enough to ground her. “I was made for you,” he said, voice softer now, like it was a simple fact.

Jinx’s throat was dry.

This was a mistake. All of it.

She should shove him away.

She should get in the car and leave.

She should set stricter boundaries, reset his damn parameters if she had to.

But all she did was stand there, heart hammering, fingers twitching at her sides.

Viktor’s head dipped slightly, gaze still locked onto her, like he was waiting.

Calculating.

Expecting.

Jinx had no fucking idea what to do. 

"You enjoy his presence."

It wasn’t a question.

Jinx sighed. "He’s a friend, Viktor. Relax."

Viktor didn’t move.

Didn’t get in the car.

Just stood there, LED flickering. Watching her. Assessing.

"You designed him," he said slowly. "For yourself."

Jinx’s fingers tightened around the door handle.

Shit.

"So what?" she muttered, feigning nonchalance. "I made one of the best androids CyberLife has ever seen. Of course I wanted him to be good company."

Viktor’s silence was heavy.

Then, he stepped closer.

"And yet," he murmured, voice dipping low, "you did not keep him."

Jinx’s pulse spiked.

Viktor’s hand lifted—grazing the side of her face, his thumb barely brushing her cheek.

"But you keep me."

Jinx hated how Viktor always managed to corner her without even trying.

Because, technically, he wasn’t even holding her in place.

And yet—

With him standing this close, his fingers barely tracing the side of her face, his LED pulsing slow and steady—she felt trapped all the same.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

She hadn’t kept Celine.

But she had kept Viktor.

And they both knew it.

Jinx swallowed, forcing herself to scoff. "Tch. You think that makes you special, huh?"

Viktor’s lips curled—not quite a smile, not quite anything she could name.

"I know it does."

Her pulse jumped.

Too smug. Too sure.

Jinx gritted her teeth, shoving his hand away as she yanked open the car door. "Get in the fucking car, Viktor."

For a second—just a second—he didn’t move.

Then, finally, he stepped back, slipping into the passenger seat with smooth, practiced ease.

Jinx exhaled sharply, climbing in and starting the engine.

The drive home was too quiet.

She could feel him watching her.

Always watching.

By the time they reached her house, her nerves were frayed.

And when she stepped inside, flicking on the lights, Viktor was still at her back—close, looming, like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

She continued further inside, but VIktor had stopped following her, instead standing in place. Watching Viktor from across the living room. He still hadn’t shaken off whatever was going on in that synthetic brain of his. Even after she called him out on his brooding, even after he smirked at her like usual, there was something off.

And that wasn’t going to work for her.

“Okay,” she said, setting the bottle down with a clink. “You’ve got like five seconds to forget about all that stuff with Celine. This brood and gloom shit is too much for me.”

Viktor arched an eyebrow, his expression shifting just slightly—amusement flickering behind his sharp gaze. A remnant of his usual smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Five seconds?”

“Four now,” she shot back.

His LED flickered from yellow to blue, his posture relaxing just slightly. “Understood.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes. “That easy, huh?”

“Would you prefer I continue brooding?” Viktor tilted his head, as if genuinely considering it. “I could stand in the doorway and stare at the wall for dramatic effect, if you’d like.”

Jinx snorted, shaking her head. “God, no. That’d be worse.”

“Then I am following your orders,” he mused, stepping closer, smooth and deliberate. “No brooding. No gloom.”

Jinx exhaled, reaching for her beer again. “Good. You were starting to kill the vibe.”

Viktor didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied her for a moment, then—

“You are avoiding the real topic.”

Jinx groaned. “I knew you couldn’t let it go.”

“I have let Celine go,” Viktor corrected smoothly. “I am simply more interested in your reaction.”

Jinx took another drink, eyes narrowing. “My reaction?”

Viktor nodded. “You were tense when he was near. But not in discomfort.”

Jinx frowned. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Viktor stepped even closer, now just a foot away, “you hesitated. Not because of him. But because of me.”

Jinx clenched her jaw. “Jesus, Vik—”

“You didn’t push me away.”

Jinx set the beer down a little too hard. “Because I didn’t want to start some weird android dominance display in the middle of CyberLife.”

Viktor’s LED pulsed a slow, steady blue. “That is not the real reason.”

Jinx’s fingers twitched.

She hated this.

Hated that he was right.

That some part of her—some stupid part—had been more focused on him than Celine.

More focused on the way his grip lingered on her wrist.

More focused on the way his presence felt like something solid, something unavoidable.

Jinx exhaled sharply. “You are so fucking lucky I’m tired.” She turned away, heading for her room. “Because I do not have the energy for your existential bullshit right now.”

Viktor didn’t argue. Didn’t stop her.

But when she reached the bedroom door, she already knew—

When she turned around, he’d still be there.

Still watching.

Still waiting.

And, like every night before—

She wouldn’t tell him to leave.

 

Chapter 78: Mad Trickster

Summary:

Viktor should have known.

The fae did not ask for gold, nor land, nor trinkets.

They did not barter in things so small.

And Jinx—the Mad Trickster—did not play fair.

No sane man entered the Yvellan Woods.

The ancient forest sprawled across the eastern borders of Sotal, a tangle of twisted roots and gnarled trees, thick with mist and humming with something not quite mortal. The air itself was heavy there, thick with the scent of damp earth and something sweeter—like overripe fruit left too long in the sun.

They said the woods were cursed. That the paths twisted when you weren’t looking, that the shadows moved when they shouldn’t. That if you strayed too far, the fae would take notice. And when the fae took notice, you never walked away unchanged.

Some returned after a single night, their eyes glassy, their minds lost. Others emerged years later, their bodies untouched by time, though everyone they had once known had long since turned to dust. Most never returned at all.

The fae were not merciful.

There were many who made their home in Yvellan. The whispers spoke of the Bone Collector, a fae who built their throne from the remains of those foolish enough to enter. Of The Veil Mother, who lured men with voices that weren’t her own, until they followed her into the depths and drowned in mist and madness. Of The Mad Trickster, the one they feared most, a creature of chaos and hunger who delighted in warping the fates of those who crossed her path.

Jinx.

A name spoken only in hushed voices. A name scratched into trees as a warning, carved into stone in the desperate hope that remembering might protect them.

It never did.

She was a force of nature, an untamed storm wrapped in a body too thin, too wild. Her laughter carried through the trees like wind through hollow bones, playful and cruel in equal measure. Some claimed she was a fallen star, cursed to burn forever without ever truly touching the ground. Others said she was a fragment of some forgotten god, a sliver of divine madness left to fester in the dark.

None of them knew the truth.

And none of them ever would.

For mortals did not bargain with Jinx. Not if they wanted to keep their souls intact.

But mortals were foolish creatures.

And desperate men?

They were the easiest prey of all.

---

Viktor had spent years chasing the impossible.

The scholars of Sotal’s Grand Academy called him brilliant—once, before he became an inconvenience. Before his body began to fail him, before the weight of his cane became as familiar as the air in his lungs. Now, they barely spoke his name, as if acknowledging his existence might tarnish their own.

Let them turn their backs.

He didn’t need them.

He had his work.

His workshop stood on the outskirts of the city, where the river ran sluggish and thick with oil, where steam curled from factory chimneys and the scent of metal clung to the air. Here, he could work without distraction, surrounded only by half-finished blueprints and failed prototypes.

A cure. A way to fix what time sought to take from him.

Every path led to a dead end. Every breakthrough crumbled beneath his hands.

He was running out of time.

The pain was worsening. The burn of his lungs growing brighter. 

His leg ached with each step, his grip on his cane tightening, as if sheer will alone could keep him standing.

He could not afford to be weak.

Not when he had come so far.

And so, on that fateful night, when the wind howled through the city like a dying thing, when the lanterns flickered and the shadows stretched too long, Viktor did something reckless.

He whispered to the dark.

It was not a prayer—not quite. He was no fool; he knew the fae did not listen out of kindness. But still, the words slipped past his lips, quiet and bitter and full of longing.

I would give anything.

He had not expected an answer.

But then the wind shifted.

The warmth of the workshop turned cold, the candlelight dimming as if something unseen had sucked the life from the room.

And in the space between one breath and the next—

She was there.

---

“Y’know,” her voice was honey-sweet, dripping with mischief. “You mortals never learn.”

Viktor did not startle. He did not reach for a weapon, did not cry out in fear. He only turned his head, slowly, carefully, until his gaze found her.

She was perched on his workbench, long limbs folded lazily, chin resting in her palm. She looked almost human. Almost.

The illusion wavered in the dim candlelight.

Her hair was wild, flowing in the air as if gravity was but a myth—a chaotic mess of blue and silk, shifting like liquid when the light touched it. Her eyes burned—glowing, in a way nothing natural ever should. And when she grinned, it was all teeth, pearly and polished.

Jinx.

A name etched into the bones of lost men, whispered in fear by those who still had the good sense to stay away.

His fingers curled tighter around his cane. “You are not welcome here.”

She laughed, and the sound crawled down his spine, a melody just slightly off-key.

“Oh, but you invited me,” she cooed, hopping off the workbench in one fluid motion. “All those nights whispering to the dark, all that desperation clinging to your skin? You were practically screaming for me.”

She circled him, her steps soundless. A predator toying with its prey.

Viktor stood his ground.

“I did not summon you,” he said, voice level.

“Eh, details.” She waved a hand, dismissive, before tilting her head at the blueprints spread across the desk. “Ooooh. What’s this?”

Her fingers traced the lines of his schematics, her expression shifting, intrigued.

“A cure,” she murmured, eyes flicking to him. “For this?”

Her gaze dipped to his leg, to the cane clutched in his grasp.

Viktor said nothing.

Jinx grinned, stepping closer. “You know better than to deal with the fae, don’tcha, Viktor?”

And yet.

The ache in his body was worse tonight. His hands trembled from exhaustion, his vision blurred at the edges from too many sleepless nights.

Hope was a dangerous thing.

And he was too far gone to care.

“What would you trade, little mortal?” she purred, voice a whisper against his ear.

Viktor exhaled.

His grip on his cane tightened.

“…Anything.”

The word left him like a prayer. Like a surrender.

Jinx’s smile widened, wicked and gleeful.

As the word left his lips, the air in the workshop shifted.

The warmth of the candlelight dimmed, the walls pressing closer, shadows curling at the edges of his vision. The world felt thinner, stretched, as if reality itself was bending to accommodate the presence of the creature before him.

Jinx let the silence linger, stretching it taut between them like a wire, waiting to see if he would break.

Viktor did not flinch.

She grinned—wide, delighted. “Anything?”

His throat was dry, but he forced himself to nod. “If you can fix me.”

Jinx let out a low hum, tilting her head as if considering. “Hmm. Tempting! You’d be fun to fix. I could snap those brittle little bones and make you dance again. Could pull all the rot out and replace it with something shinier—ooh! Maybe gears? Maybe gold?” Her eyes flashed, wild and alight with ideas. “You’d be so pretty all hollowed out.”

Viktor exhaled sharply through his nose. “I would prefer to remain flesh, if it is all the same to you.”

Jinx pouted, dramatically folding her arms. “Ugh. Boring.” But then, in a blink, her expression shifted, sharp and gleeful again. “Alright, mortal. I could fix you.” She leaned in close, her breath warm against his cheek. “But what do you have that I want?”

He hesitated. “You tell me.”

Jinx chuckled, and the sound was wrong—echoing in ways it shouldn’t, like laughter from deep within a hollow place.

“Oho, you’re a brave little thing, aren’tcha?” she mused, beginning to pace again, circling him like a wolf scenting blood. “Most mortals get all squirmy when it comes to payment. They wanna haggle—‘Oh no, Trickster, not my soul! Not my firstborn!’” She rolled her eyes. “You’re skipping straight to the fun part.”

He inclined his head slightly. “I am a practical man.”

Jinx snorted. “Yeah, yeah. For now.”

She stilled, suddenly. Her sharp gaze raked over him, as if peeling him apart layer by layer, searching for something hidden beneath skin and bone.

Then she grinned.

“Oh.” Her voice was a whisper, reverent and hungry. “Oh, I see.”

Viktor’s pulse quickened. “What do you see?”

Jinx only giggled, tapping a clawed finger against her lips. “Mmm. You really wanna know?”

Viktor clenched his jaw. “I do.”

She sighed, dramatically flopping onto his desk, her limbs folding unnaturally, shifting like liquid before she propped herself up on her elbows.

“Alright, alright,” she drawled, as if he had exhausted her patience, though her eyes still gleamed with excitement. “Since you asked so nicely.”

She reached out—too fast, her fingers curling beneath his chin before he could flinch away. Her touch was cold, seeping into his skin like the first breath of winter, like the press of moonlight against bare flesh.

Her nails traced along his jaw, lightly, as if testing the weight of something unseen.

“You mortals,” she murmured, tilting his face to the light, her eyes searching, searching. “You think you own your lives. That your fate is a thing you carry in your pocket, safe and sound, all tied up in neat little strings.”

Her fingers slid lower, pressing over his throat, right where his pulse beat beneath fragile skin.

“But you don’t, do you?” Her grin widened, her voice a whisper, curling like smoke. “Yours is already slipping. I can feel it.”

Viktor did not move.

Did not let himself shudder beneath the weight of her knowing.

Jinx felt things, in ways mortals never could. To her, a heartbeat was not just a pulse—it was a rhythm, a tether, a thread. And she could feel that his was fraying.

Falling apart.

Jinx sighed, pressing a palm to his chest, right above his heart. “Tick, tick, tick,” she whispered. “You’re running out of time, aren't cha, Viktor?”

His breath caught.

And then she leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispered the price.

---

Viktor should have known.

The fae did not ask for gold, nor land, nor trinkets.

They did not barter in things so small.

And Jinx—the Mad Trickster—did not play fair.

He stood very still, her words still hanging in the air between them like the promise of a storm.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “That is what you want?”

Jinx tilted her head, watching him. “Mhm.”

“That is the price?”

“Yep.”

He exhaled through his nose. “And if I refuse?”

Jinx grinned, flashing teeth too sharp, too many. “Then you can limp your little self back to your desk and wheeze until you die just like all the other fragile little things that think they’re too smart for fate.”

Her voice was cheerful, but the weight of it settled heavy in his chest.

A cure, in exchange for something far more dangerous than his soul.

A promise.

A debt.

A favor, owed to Jinx, to be collected whenever she saw fit.

Viktor was a scholar. He knew enough of fae lore to understand what that meant.

A favor was binding. Unbreakable.

She could ask anything of him. And he would be powerless to refuse.

His grip on his cane tightened.

And yet—

The pain in his bones was worse than ever. His hands trembled from exhaustion, his vision blurred at the edges from too many sleepless nights.

His time was running out.

Jinx watched him, still as death, waiting.

Viktor inhaled, slow and steady.

And then—

“Fine.”

Jinx’s grin split her face, bright and wild.

“Oh, good choice, little mortal.”

---

The air shuddered.

It was subtle at first—like the weight of the room had shifted, pressing in on him, thick and humming. Then the candlelight flickered violently, twisting unnaturally, casting the workshop in jagged, flickering shadows.

The deal had been struck.

Jinx let out a delighted little hum, stretching like a satisfied cat, her fingers flexing at her sides, as though savoring the weight of the promise now woven into the air between them.

“You’re smarter than you look,” she purred. “Or dumber. Still deciding.”

Viktor exhaled slowly, steadying himself. “When will you collect?”

Jinx’s grin sharpened. “Now, now, that’d ruin the fun.” She waggled a finger at him. “No peeking ahead, little mortal. You’ll know when I decide you should know.”

He had expected as much. The fae never revealed their hands too soon.

Still, the weight of the bargain settled heavy in his chest.

A favor owed to the Mad Trickster.

A debt that could not be escaped.

But the deal was made. And now—

“You’ll keep your end?” he asked, voice measured.

Jinx let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, you wound me!” Her laughter was light, playful—mocking. “I always keep my promises.”

That was the dangerous part. The fae did not break their word. If she had agreed to fix him, then she would.

But that didn’t mean it would be painless.

Jinx was still grinning, but her eyes gleamed now with something sharper. Anticipation. Hunger.

And then she moved.

Still too fast.

Before Viktor could react, her hands were on him—one fisting in the front of his coat, the other slamming against his chest.

The world cracked open.

A shockwave of something raw and ancient surged through him, flooding his veins with fire and ice all at once. His body seized, his breath tearing from his throat in a ragged gasp.

It felt like being unmade.

His bones screamed, his muscles clenched, his vision fractured—

And Jinx was laughing, the sound a melody of madness, ringing in his skull as the world tore apart around them.

And then—

Everything stopped.

Viktor lay sprawled on the floor, his body aching, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

The pain was gone.

No more aching joints, no more shaking hands, no more weakness dragging him down like a lead weight. He felt—lighter, somehow. As though something inside him had been cut loose, set free.

Slowly, he pushed himself up.

Jinx was crouched nearby, watching him intently.

“Well?” she chirped. “How’s it feel, sunshine?”

Viktor inhaled carefully. His heartbeat was steady. Strong. He flexed his fingers, curled and uncurled them, lifted a leg and—

His breath caught.

There was no pain.

His cane lay discarded beside him, but for the first time in years, he did not feel like he needed it.

He stood.

And it was effortless.

A strange, heady feeling surged through him—a sense of power, of wholeness, something he had not felt since he was a boy, before the sickness had stolen his body’s strength.

It was real.

She had done it.

Viktor turned to her, something unreadable in his gaze. “What did you do to me?”

Jinx grinned, wide and wild.

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”

The answer sent a chill down his spine.

But there was no turning back now.

The Mad Trickster had fixed him.

---

Viktor stood in the dim light of his workshop, testing his own body like a man waking from a long, fevered dream.

No pain. No tremors. No aching, no weakness, no need for the cane that had been his anchor for years.

It was unnatural.

And yet, he could not bring himself to care.

He flexed his fingers again, watching them move with ease, without stiffness, without effort. His leg—once fragile and failing—was steady beneath him. He breathed, deeply, and even that felt different. His chest no longer ached with the strain of his own existence.

Jinx had done it.

She had made good on her promise.

And now, he owed her.

Viktor’s golden eyes flickered to where she perched atop his workbench, kicking her legs idly in the air. She was watching him, chin in her hands, grinning like a child who had just set fire to something valuable.

“Well?” she purred, amusement laced through her words. “Satisfied?”

Viktor did not answer right away. His mind was sharp again—clearer than it had been in years—and the weight of what had just happened was sinking in.

The fae did not work freely.

Jinx had fixed him, but the question that burned now was—how?

And at what cost?

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What did you do to me?”

Jinx giggled, tipping her head to the side. “Fixed ya! Just like ya asked.”

“Fixed me how?”

Her grin stretched, full of pretty teeth. “Oh, you're such a curious thing.”

Viktor exhaled, slow and measured. “Jinx.”

She hummed, her fingers tapping idly against the wood. “Alright, alright, fine. You’re no fun when you’re all serious.” She stretched, arms reaching overhead in an exaggerated motion before hopping down from the desk, landing without a sound.

“Your body was breaking,” she said, tilting her head as she stepped closer. “You were falling apart, bit by bit, tick-tick-tick, like a clock winding down. So I just… y’know.” She made a vague motion with her hands. “Rewound the gears.”

Viktor frowned. “That is not an answer.”

Jinx sighed dramatically. “Ugh, fine. You wanna know the boring details?” She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “I took something from you.”

Viktor stilled.

His breath remained even, but his fingers twitched at his sides.

“What,” he said carefully, “did you take?”

Jinx tapped a finger against his chest, right above his heart.

“You were dying,” she murmured. “So I snipped a few little threads. Cut away all that frail, weak, rotting stuff that was making you crumble.” Her eyes gleamed, delighted. “And now? You’re good as new.”

Viktor’s mind raced.

She had cut something away.

Something inside him.

But what?

He still felt like himself. His thoughts were his own. His memories remained intact. His heartbeat was steady, stronger, even—

His blood ran cold.

His heartbeat.

He swallowed. “You—” He licked his lips, forcing his voice to remain level. “You took my mortality.”

Jinx clapped her hands together, grinning brightly. “Ding-ding-ding! Give the mortal a prize!”

Viktor took a step back, his breath shallow. “You—” His fingers clenched into a fist. “You made me one of you.”

Jinx pouted, placing a hand over her chest. “What? Nooo.” She snickered. “Not yet, anyway.”

The words made something dark coil in his gut.

Not yet.

He knew the stories. Mortals who accepted gifts from the fae—who drank their wine, who wore their gold, who danced in their circles—were never quite the same afterward. Some changed slowly, over weeks or months, their reflections warping in mirrors, their laughter sounding wrong to those who loved them. Others didn’t notice at all, until one day they found themselves unable to step out of the shadows, unable to cross a river’s running water, unable to hear the sound of church bells without feeling their bones ache.

The fae did not turn men into monsters overnight.

It was always slow.

A thread, pulled loose.

A stitch, undone.

And by the time they realized, it was too late.

Viktor’s jaw clenched. He pressed his fingers against the pulse in his wrist, as if trying to feel what had been taken from him. His heart still beat, his breath still came.

But something was missing.

Jinx was watching him.

She was still smiling, still looking pleased, but there was something else in her expression now—something almost… curious.

As if she was waiting.

Testing.

Seeing how long it would take him to break.

Viktor exhaled, steadying himself. “That was not part of the deal.”

Jinx’s grin didn’t falter. “You said anything.”

His fingers twitched.

She wasn’t wrong.

And that was the most dangerous part.

The fae never lied.

They twisted words, wove traps from silver-tongued riddles, but they did not lie.

And he had said anything.

He had offered this.

He just hadn’t understood what he was offering.

“Relax, sunshine,” Jinx purred, stepping closer. “You’re fine. Better than fine. You’ll outlive all those stuffy old scholars who threw you away. Ain’t that fun?”

Viktor forced himself to breathe.

His mind was sharp. Clear. He would not let himself spiral. Not now.

What was done, was done.

And he had no choice now but to move forward.

His body was whole. His hands were steady. His time—his lifespan—was now an uncertain thing, but he could use that.

If he could understand what had changed, if he could study it—harness it—then maybe, just maybe, he could turn this into an advantage.

Jinx studied his face, and her grin widened. “Ooooh, you’re thinking real hard now.” She reached up, tapping his temple. “Careful, or that big brain of yours might start sparking.”

Viktor gently batted her hand away, exhaling slowly.

“…You’ve taken your price,” he murmured. “So we are finished here.”

Jinx’s eyes gleamed.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

She leaned in, her breath warm against his skin.

“We’re just getting started.”

---

Viktor did not sleep that night.

Even after Jinx had vanished—dissolving into shadows and laughter, slipping out of the workshop as if she had never been there—his mind would not quiet.

He moved through the space like a ghost, rolling up his sleeves, examining himself in the dim candlelight. His reflection in the warped glass of the workshop window stared back, unchanged.

But he felt different.

His fingers no longer trembled when he held a quill. His breath no longer stuttered when he worked through the night. His bones no longer ached from standing too long, from walking too far, from pushing himself past his limits.

Because he had no limits now, did he?

Jinx had taken something from him. Not his soul. Not his name.

His mortality.

The realization sat heavy in his chest, a lead weight of something both terrifying and irreversibly fascinating.

Viktor clenched and unclenched his fist.

For the first time in years, his body did not betray him.

And yet, the price of this gift hung over him like a guillotine.

A favor. Owed to Jinx. A debt to be collected.

It was only a matter of when.

The first change happened at dawn.

Viktor was standing before the washbasin, splashing cold water onto his face, when he saw it.

A single strand of hair, caught between his fingers.

At first, he thought nothing of it—until the candlelight hit it just right, and he realized.

The strand was not golden-brown, like the rest of his hair.

It was white, tinged purple at the ends. 

Viktor frowned. He reached up, fingers combing through the strands, searching for more. But there were no others. Only the one.

A single, pale thread among the rest.

Like the first breach in a dam.

A thread, pulled loose.

His stomach curled with unease. But he pushed it aside.

He had work to do.

The second change happened a week later.

Viktor was in the heart of Sotal’s Grand Academy, standing before the Council of Scholars.

They had sent for him—finally, after years of dismissal, years of being cast aside. Now, his work had drawn their attention again.

Or rather—his impossible recovery had.

His cane was gone, discarded in a dark corner of his workshop. The limp that had once defined his every movement had vanished. And the moment he stepped into the Council Chamber, every scholar’s gaze had fixed on him like he was something unnatural.

“Your health has… improved,” Lord Aldric, the eldest of the scholars, had said slowly, suspicion lining his voice.

Viktor met his gaze evenly. “It has.”

“How?”

Viktor did not answer immediately.

What could he say?

That he had made a deal with a fae? That his lifespan had been rewritten by a creature that danced on the edges of madness and power?

That he was no longer entirely human?

No.

He would not reveal his secret.

He would not give them that power over him.

“I found a solution,” he said carefully. “Through my own work.”

A half-truth.

The scholars exchanged glances, murmurs rippling through them.

Viktor remained still. Unshaken.

This was his moment.

His chance to return to the Academy—to reclaim the recognition he had lost. To finally be heard.

He took a slow breath and presented his research—his blueprints, his notes, his designs for machines that could change Sotal itself.

For the first time in years, the Council listened.

For the first time in years, he was seen.

And yet—

As he spoke, standing before them with perfect poise, steady hands, and sharp words, he caught the wary glances, the hushed whispers.

They feared him.

Even if they did not yet know why.

It had been two weeks since the deal was made.

And she had not come for him.

Yet.

But Viktor knew she would.

Jinx was not a creature of patience.

And sure enough—

On the fifteenth night, she returned.

Viktor had been in his workshop, bent over a new design, when the air shifted.

The warmth of the lanterns flickered, the room growing colder, the scent of iron and wildflowers curling through the air like smoke.

Then—

“I missed ya, sunshine.”

Viktor did not startle.

He did not lift his gaze immediately.

Instead, he calmly placed his quill down, exhaled slowly, and then turned.

Jinx was draped over his workbench like she belonged there, her legs swinging idly, her grin sharp and gleeful.

She looked the same as always—wild, electric, untamed. But there was something new in the way she watched him now.

Something knowing.

Viktor met her gaze evenly. “I was wondering when you would appear.”

Jinx’s eyes gleamed. “Aww, ya missed me! That’s cute.”

“I doubt you came just to trade pleasantries.”

Her grin widened. “Nah. I came to see how much of you I’ve already stolen.”

Viktor’s breath hitched.

Jinx slid off the workbench, stepping closer.

“You feel it, don’tcha?” she whispered. “Something’s missing. Something’s… changing.”

Viktor did not answer.

He did not have to.

Jinx giggled, circling him, her voice curling like silk and razors against his skin.

“You should be grateful, y’know,” she purred. “Most mortals rot. But you?” Her breath brushed his ear. “You’re being remade. You’re more than you ever could’ve been”

Viktor clenched his jaw.

He would not let her see how those words unsettled him.

Jinx grinned. “You owe me, remember?”

His fingers curled into a fist. “I have not forgotten.”

“Good.”

She leaned in, lips inches from his throat.

Her voice dropped into something almost soft.

“Then let’s play.”

Viktor’s pulse quickened.

Jinx grinned.

And the night swallowed them both.

Notes:

He’ll eventually turn into a fae as well, but his appearance is basically changing to Arcane Savior Viktor.

Chapter 79: What Lies Beneath

Summary:

And Viktor—

He’s right in front of her.

His coat floats around him like a ghost, his body moving too fluidly, too gracefully for a man who should be struggling to breathe.

But he isn’t struggling.

His gills flutter, his lips part slightly, and when he reaches for her—

She lets him.

Notes:

This one also came about because of some stuff posted in the Jinxtor channel, but I put more of an Eldritch spin on it.

Just a small banger :)

The cogdrifts through the dead waters like a specter, her sails slack, her hull whispering against the waves. The air is thick with brine and something else—something older than the sea itself. Jinx can feel it in the marrow of her bones, the weight of unseen things pressing against the ship’s belly, watching. Waiting.

She’s used to that feeling.

She’s not used to him.

Viktor stands at the bow, his fingers twitching in slow, deliberate movements, like he’s testing how they bend, how they move. His skin is paler than it was when she hauled him aboard, the golden undertones now tinged with something too smooth, too wet. His coat is damp, even though it hasn’t rained in days, and when he exhales, his breath fogs in the warm night air.

Jinx is good at reading people. She can tell when a man is on the verge of breaking, when someone’s mind is teetering too close to the edge.

But Viktor?

He isn’t breaking.

He’s becoming.

She takes another lazy sip from the flask in her hand, never breaking eye contact. “So,” she drawls, voice curling with amusement, “you gonna tell me what the hell’s going on with you, or do I have to guess?”

Viktor’s lips twitch, almost a smile, but there’s something off about it—his mouth stretching a little too wide, his teeth catching the moonlight at an odd angle. “Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?”

Jinx hums, stepping closer. She’s always been fearless, but this? This is something different. This is curiosity.

“You’ve been talking to it, haven’t you?” she says, nodding toward the sea. The waters stretch infinitely, dark and deep, full of things that should have died millennia ago. Things that whisper when the wind dies.

Viktor doesn’t deny it. He tilts his head, his damp curls clinging to his forehead, his breath slow and measured. “I listen,” he admits. “And it listens back.”

Jinx flicks her gaze down to his throat, to the gills fluttering there like second lungs. “And what does it say?”

Viktor’s eyes darken, something flickering behind them, something not his.

“It says it knows me,” he murmurs. His voice is softer now, more distant, as if he’s hearing something only he can understand. “It says I belong to it.”

Jinx grins, sharp and unafraid. “Damn. Guess I should’ve charged extra for hauling you aboard.”

That almost makes him laugh. Almost. But then the ship lurches beneath them, as if something massive has stirred below.

Jinx doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, just feels. The ocean has always been alive, but this is different. The cog isn’t just floating anymore. She’s being watched.

And Viktor?

He tilts his head toward the sound, eyes half-lidded, lips parting like he’s hearing something beautiful.

Jinx steps closer, so close she can see the faint sheen of water clinging to his skin, the way his veins look darker now, webbed with something thicker than blood.

She reaches out, fingertips just barely grazing his wrist. His pulse is slow. Too slow.

“You scared?” she asks, voice low.

Viktor meets her gaze, and there’s something ancient in his stare, something vast and unknowable. His pupils contract, then expand, swallowing the gold in black.

“Are you?”

Jinx exhales, long and slow. She knows she should be. But her grin just widens.

“Hell no.”

The sea shifts. The ship groans. And below them, something laughs.

---

Jinx has always loved dangerous things.

Gunpowder. Storms. The kind of men who only grin when the noose is already around their neck.

But this?

This is something new.

She watches Viktor with the same sharp-eyed amusement she gets when toying with a loaded pistol, spinning the chamber just to hear it click. He’s still standing at the bow, still listening to whatever’s whispering beneath the waves, but there’s something different now. Something more.

The changes are subtle—just enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in a way that isn’t fear but isn’t quite safe, either. His skin is too smooth, too damp even in the dry night air. His eyes hold too much black, swallowing the gold like an abyss slowly dragging a man down. His fingers twitch at odd intervals, the joints moving too fluidly, as if his bones are learning how to bend in ways they shouldn’t.

And the gills—thin slits along his throat—flutter when he breathes, expanding slightly, flexing.

Jinx has seen plenty of horrors in her time. Has killed plenty of horrors in her time. But this? This is the first time she’s been curious enough to test one.

So she does.

She moves fast, closing the space between them in a blink, her fingers lashing out to wrap around his wrist. It’s too cold. The bones beneath his skin feel thinner, almost fragile, but when she tightens her grip, she swears she can feel something shifting underneath, something less like flesh and more like cartilage.

Viktor’s gaze flicks down to where she’s holding him, his expression unreadable.

Jinx raises an eyebrow. “You gonna stop me?”

A slow exhale, his gills flaring slightly. His lips twitch in something that isn’t quite a smile. “Should I?”

She grins. “Wouldn’t be fun if you did.”

And then she moves.

One hand snaps up to his throat, fingers grazing over his skin, feeling the faint, wet flutter of the gills pulsing beneath them. Viktor stiffens just slightly—just enough for her to feel it. The way his body reacts, the way his breathing hitches, the way his fingers curl like he’s resisting the urge to grab her back.

Jinx leans in close, lips just barely brushing the shell of his ear.

“You’re still changing, aren’t you?”

Viktor swallows. The motion makes his gills shudder beneath her fingertips. “Yes.”

Her grin widens. “How much?”

She drags her thumb slowly along his throat, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the faint inhuman pulse of something just beneath it.

Viktor exhales slowly, and this time, his fingers do move—just slightly, just enough to graze her own, as if testing the sensation.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice low. “Would you like to find out?”

A rush of excitement flares in her chest, molten and sharp.

Oh, she likes him.

Jinx tilts her head, pressing closer, her breath hot against his skin. “Yeah,” she whispers, her nails just barely digging in. “I really, really would.”

Beneath them, the ocean stirs.

The ship creaks, the shadows thickening, the scent of salt and something wrong curling in the air. And Viktor?

He doesn’t move away.

He just watches her, golden-black eyes unreadable, and smiles.

---

Jinx has always been a reckless creature.

She likes pressing buttons just to see what happens. Likes poking at things she knows will bite. And Viktor?

Oh, he’s definitely got teeth.

She can feel it now, the way his skin pulses beneath her fingers—not a heartbeat, not quite, but something slower, something deeper. His gills flex as he exhales, his chest barely rising, his breath a little too controlled. Too measured.

She drags her nails down his throat, just enough to feel the way the slits widen under her touch. Viktor shudders—not quite human, not quite monstrous, but hovering in the space between.

Still changing.

She grins, feeling the thrill of something dark and sharp settle in her bones. “Bet it feels weird, huh?”

Viktor’s pupils flicker, expanding for a moment before contracting again. His lips part just slightly, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than before. Lower.

“It does.”

She hums, tracing his jaw now, feeling the slick warmth of his skin, the way it’s losing that dry, human roughness. His fingers twitch at his sides, his nails darkening, tapering just a little sharper than before.

Jinx watches him carefully, tilting her head. “How much of you is still you, science boy?”

Viktor exhales again, and when he smiles, it’s not entirely human.

“I suppose we’ll find out.”

And then he moves.

Not fast. Not aggressive. Just a slow, deliberate shift—his fingers rising to wrap around her wrist, his grip light but firm, his skin wet where it touches hers.

Jinx doesn’t stop him.

She watches, fascinated, as he turns her hand over, his thumb dragging along her pulse, the light scrape of something rough against her skin—not quite calloused, not quite scaled.

“Your skin’s different,” she murmurs, eyes gleaming in the dark. “Slick. Soft.” She grins. “Bet you’d slip right outta a net, huh?”

Viktor hums, tilting his head. “You sound intrigued.”

She is. She’s always been. She doesn’t fear things the way normal people do. And Viktor? Oh, he’s becoming something.

Something not meant to walk on land.

Her fingers twitch against his throat, testing the flutter of his gills again, watching the way his jaw clenches just slightly, the way his pupils blow wide.

And then—

The ship groans.

Jinx feels it before she hears it. The way the Black Lullaby shudders beneath them, the wood breathing like a living thing. The ocean, dark and endless, shifts in the moonlight, and for the first time all night, she realizes—

The ship isn’t floating anymore.

It’s drifting.

Slowly, quietly, being pulled.

Jinx’s grin widens. “Something you wanna tell me, fish boy?”

Viktor doesn’t let go of her wrist. His fingers tighten—not painfully, but with purpose.

“There are things beneath us,” he murmurs. “And they are waiting.”

Jinx’s pulse kicks. Not in fear. In excitement. “Waiting for what?”

Viktor’s smile deepens, his teeth sharper in the dark. “Me.”

And then—

The ship tilts.

The ocean pulls.

Jinx barely has time to react before Viktor moves, his strength unnatural, his grip unyielding as he yanks her forward. Not roughly. Not like an attack.

Like an invitation.

The last thing she sees before the water swallows her whole is Viktor’s gaze—gold-dark, deep as the abyss, endless.

And then—

She’s falling.

---

The water is warm.

Not freezing like the open ocean should be. Not suffocating. Not deadly.

It welcomes her.

Jinx’s instincts tell her she should fight. That she should kick, thrash, force her way back to the surface. But—

She doesn’t want to.

Something hums in her veins, something not hers. The water clings to her skin, holds her, cradles her, makes her feel light.

And Viktor—

He’s right in front of her.

His coat floats around him like a ghost, his body moving too fluidly, too gracefully for a man who should be struggling to breathe.

But he isn’t struggling.

His gills flutter, his lips part slightly, and when he reaches for her—

She lets him.

His fingers brush against her cheek, his touch careful, testing. His nails are darker now, slightly curved, the skin of his palm cool and slick.

Jinx exhales, bubbles slipping from her lips, but she isn’t panicking.

Viktor watches her, his expression unreadable.

“Breathe,” he whispers.

Jinx raises an eyebrow. She can’t—

But then—

She does.

And it doesn’t hurt.

The water fills her lungs, but there’s no burning, no drowning, just something else. Something deep, something thick, something alive.

Jinx lets out a slow, slow exhale, watching the bubbles rise, feeling the ocean curl around her like a second skin.

Her heart is racing.

Not in fear.

In awe.

Viktor’s fingers drift down, tracing the line of her jaw, his golden-black eyes drinking her in.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs.

Jinx licks her lips. The taste is rich—salt and something sweeter, something dark and forbidden.

She grins. “Yeah.”

Viktor hums, pleased. His gills flutter again, and for a brief, fleeting second, Jinx swears she can feel something moving in the depths below them.

Waiting. Watching.

Calling.

Viktor shifts closer, his face inches from hers. “Come deeper.”

Jinx tilts her head, lips curling. “And if I do?”

Viktor’s pupils expand, his fingers curling gently at the back of her neck, keeping her with him.

“Then you will never leave.”

Jinx laughs—bubbles slipping between them, vanishing into the dark. She can feel it now, the way the water is changing her, seeping into her skin, curling into the spaces between her ribs, making something inside her ache.

The ocean is vast, endless, full of things that shouldn’t exist.

And now—

She’s becoming one of them.

Jinx leans in, pressing her forehead to Viktor’s, her breath mingling with his.

She grins.

“Good.”

And together—

They sink.

The ocean swallows them whole.

Jinx lets it.

The surface fades above them, the last traces of moonlight swallowed by the churning dark. She should be afraid—should be clawing her way up, desperate for air. But she isn’t.

She doesn’t want to.

Her body feels light, her limbs moving without resistance. The water isn’t dragging her down—it’s holding her, wrapping her in an embrace both cold and warm, both familiar and utterly alien.

Viktor is beside her. Always beside her.

His golden eyes glow faintly in the abyss, black seeping in like ink bleeding through paper. His gills flex with every slow, controlled breath, his body moving too smoothly, too fluidly, as if the last remnants of his humanity are sloughing away like old skin.

Jinx watches him with something sharp curling in her chest. Curiosity. Fascination. Hunger.

She wants to see more.

Her own body is changing.

She can feel it.

The flutter of something new along her skin.

Her gills.

Jinx grins, sharp and breathless, bubbles escaping from between her teeth.

Viktor watches her with something almost reverent in his expression. His fingers brush against her cheek, a careful, lingering touch—testing.

“Do you feel it?” he asks.

Jinx tilts her head, letting herself drift closer, her forehead nearly touching his.

She does.

It’s in the way the water doesn’t resist her, in the way her skin prickles and tingles like something beneath it is shifting, waiting to emerge. It’s in the way her fingers feel too light, her nails darkening, hardening, the bones of her hands itching like they’re ready to lengthen.

She feels hungry. But not for food.

For depth.

For more.

Jinx grins. “Yeah.”

Viktor exhales slow, his gills flexing. His fingers curl lightly at the back of her neck, his grip careful but firm. “Then come.”

And together—

They descend.

The deeper they go, the warmer the water becomes, thick with something not natural. It hums against her skin, seeping into her veins like ink spreading through water, rewriting her, reshaping her.

Jinx’s muscles twitch, her nerves alight with sensation. She feels restless, her fingers flexing, her spine itching. A sharp pulse thrums in her skull, a sound she shouldn’t be able to hear, but somehow does—

A song.

Low and endless, vibrating through her bones, curling around her lungs like a whispered promise.

She’s not just diving.

She’s being called.

Viktor’s expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He knows this feeling. He’s already felt it, already let it consume him.

And he’s leading her straight to it.

The ocean floor looms beneath them—jagged, uneven rock formations stretching like skeletal fingers, pulsing with a bioluminescent glow.

And beyond them—

A trench.

A wound in the world, a gaping maw of endless blackness, deeper than any map has ever dared to record.

Jinx stops. Not out of fear.

Out of awe.

Viktor’s fingers ghost along her wrist, his voice low. “It waits.”

Jinx’s pupils dilate, her breath steady, her gills fluttering. “For what?”

Viktor’s lips curl—not quite a smile, not quite human.

“For you.”

The song grows louder.

It knows her.

It wants her.

Jinx’s body shudders, something deep inside aching—her bones, her skin, her very soul.

She’s been in the ocean her whole life. But she’s never belonged to it.

Not until now.

A sharp jolt rips through her spine. Jinx gasps, her body curling inward, a sharp snap of pain running through her ribs. She claws at her sides, sucking in a breath, and when she exhales—

Bubbles.

No. Not bubbles.

A deep, rolling clicking sound, vibrating through her throat, not human at all.

Jinx blinks. Her fingers twitch—longer now. Her nails are sharper, darkened, curved.

She flexes her hand, watching the way her joints move, smooth and effortless. She doesn’t feel wrong.

She feels right.

Viktor is watching her, eyes gleaming. “You are changing faster than I did.”

Jinx grins, testing the feel of her new fingers, the way her skin is becoming something else. “Guess I’m just more easily corrupted, huh?”

Viktor hums, stepping closer. His hand drifts down, pressing lightly over her ribs. “They will finish soon.”

She doesn’t have to ask what.

She can feel it.

Her gills, fully formed, shifting as she breathes. The ache in her spine, her body elongating, reshaping.

The song calls again—stronger, deeper, demanding.

Jinx tilts her head back, eyes fluttering shut, and lets it take her.

She feels herself unraveling, her body losing its human limits, her skin thickening, her lungs shifting into something more suited for the abyss.

When she opens her eyes, Viktor is still there.

Waiting.

He raises a hand, palm up—an invitation.

Jinx grins, sharp and breathless, and takes it.

Together—

They sink into the trench.

The last traces of light vanish.

And Jinx, for the first time in her life, feels like she’s finally home.

Jinx doesn’t remember how long she falls.

Time doesn’t exist here. The deeper she goes, the less human she feels.

Her senses sharpen—she can hear things moving in the dark, feel their presence vibrating through the water. Calling her.

And when she looks down—

She sees it.

A shape.

A presence.

Something vast, something infinite, something with too many eyes and too many mouths, something that should not be able to exist but does.

And Jinx?

She laughs.

The sound is inhuman, a deep, clicking echo that rolls through the water.

Viktor watches her, eyes dark and knowing. “You are ready.”

Jinx grins, feeling the last remnants of her old self slough away, her body no longer a thing of flesh and bone—

But something more.

Something new.

The abyss welcomes her.

And Jinx, grinning like she’s won, welcomes it back.

Chapter 80: Threads of Fate

Summary:

But this—

This is something else entirely.

Her fingers tighten around the fabric.

Something is shifting beneath the surface, something deep and unseen, something that wants to take shape but hasn’t yet decided what it will be.

Jinx exhales, slow. "Tell me something, Viktor."

"Mm?"

"Do you ever wonder why fate cut your thread in the first place?"

The shop sits at the end of a crooked alley, tucked away like a secret the city has long since chosen to forget. The wooden sign above the door swings in the night breeze, its paint faded but still legible: Threads of Fate.

Few dare to knock.

Jinx sits in the dim candlelight, her needle gliding through fabric, leaving behind stitches that shimmer faintly—silver, gold, sometimes red, like veins beneath the skin. She knows better than to look too closely at her own work. Destiny is not meant to be unraveled by mortal hands, only woven.

So when the knock comes—three precise raps against the old wood—she stills. The candle flickers. A visitor.

Her fingers tighten around the fabric before she sets it aside.

She already knows who stands beyond the door.

Jinx had known he would come.

Fate always whispered before it arrived—thread pulling taut, needle slipping through fabric with a shiver of premonition. The moment she stitched the last piece of her latest commission, her fingers tingled, the silver thread turning darker, curling in a way it shouldn't. She did not need to look at it to understand what it meant.

A visitor.

A desperate man.

A dying man.

Viktor is thinner than she imagined.

Not sickly, not yet, but his skin is drawn tight over sharp bones, his golden eyes shadowed with something deeper than mere exhaustion. He leans lightly on an intricate cane, the head of it carved into the shape of a snarling beast—perhaps a lion, perhaps a wolf. Something that refuses to bow, even as its master wilts.

He steps inside without invitation.

"You’re as bold as they say," she muses, shutting the door behind him.

"I have no time for hesitation," Viktor replies smoothly. His voice is like his frame—thin, but not fragile. There is steel in it, too. "You know why I’m here."

Jinx hums.

She moves past him, steps slow, deliberate, before stopping at her worktable. The candlelight flickers, casting long shadows against the shelves lined with fabric—bolts of silk and velvet, spools of glistening thread in colors not found in any ordinary shop. Some shimmer like captured moonlight. Others, darker, like dried blood.

She picks up a length of gold-threaded cloth, running her fingers over the weave. It hums against her skin, fate bound into every careful stitch.

Jinx watches him carefully, bare feet silent against the worn wooden floor. "You think I can save you," she murmurs, brushing a hand over the bolt of fabric at her side. Gold thread gleams in the candlelight, whispering secrets she does not want to hear.

Viktor does not smile, but something in his gaze sharpens, like a blade sliding free of its sheath. "I think you want to try."

She does not deny it.

Because he isn’t wrong.

Fate hums in her bones, in her thread, in every careful movement of her needle.

She has shaped the fates of countless men, altered the courses of wars, doomed lovers, saved kings. Every stitch she sews tugs at the threads of destiny, shifting lives with a breath of fabric and steel.

But him—

But Viktor—he is different.

When she looks at him, she does not see the gentle curve of a life being mended.

She sees unraveling.

She sees ruin.

Something about the words sends a shiver up her spine.

She wonders if she is about to stitch something she cannot unmake.

---

Viktor does not flinch under her gaze.

Most men would. When Jinx looks at someone—truly looks—they can feel it. The weight of it. The unraveling. The knowing.

But Viktor only tilts his head, waiting. As if he already understands that she is seeing something beyond his flesh and bone.

Jinx exhales slowly, dragging her fingers across the golden thread. The fabric shifts under her touch, whispers curling in the candlelight—soft, distant voices of fate not yet spoken.

She listens.

And what she hears is nothing.

Nothing but silence.

Her pulse beats slow and steady in her throat.

It is rare—so rare—to meet someone whose thread is already cut, whose story has reached its final page before it is even written. A man with no future, only an ending.

"You’re dying," she murmurs.

A lesser man might have denied it. A desperate man might have begged her to stop speaking, to stop looking, to weave him a lie instead of truth.

But Viktor only lifts his chin, sharp as a dagger’s edge. "I know."

Jinx huffs a quiet laugh, a flicker of something like amusement sparking in her chest despite herself. "You don’t even ask if I can fix it?"

"Would you tell me if you couldn’t?"

That does make her grin—quick, sharp, laced with something just shy of dangerous. "No," she admits.

"I thought not." Viktor shifts his weight slightly, fingers tightening against the handle of his cane. "And?"

Jinx exhales, glancing back at the fabric between her hands. The gold shimmer has dulled. The thread lies limp and lifeless, as if it already knows.

"There’s no saving you," she says simply.

There. It’s done. The truth, laid bare. He should leave now. He should turn and walk out the door, seek comfort in a healer’s prayer or drown himself in wine like the other dying noblemen who have stood in this shop before him.

But Viktor does neither.

Instead, he takes a step forward, his limp more pronounced, his breathing careful. He does not argue. He does not plead.

He only says, "Then make something else."

Jinx frowns. "What?"

"If I am already dead," he says, voice measured, as if he has considered this for a long time, "then what I become no longer matters."

Jinx stares. The golden thread curls in her palm, whispering its warning.

This is not how fate is supposed to work. She alters destinies—shifts them, twists them, frays them at the edges until they take a new shape. But this man—this dying man—wants something else entirely.

"You want me to sew you a new fate," she says slowly.

Viktor inclines his head.

She should say no. She should tell him that it is impossible, that fate cannot be rewritten once the thread has been cut.

But Jinx has never liked rules.

And Viktor—Viktor has the look of someone who is willing to pay whatever price it takes.

She brushes her fingers over the fabric one last time. Then she lifts her gaze, blue meeting gold.

"I hope you know," she murmurs, a slow grin tugging at her lips, "this is going to cost you."

Viktor does not smile. But something in his gaze—sharp, burning—says he already knew that.

And he is willing to pay.

---

Jinx has never sewn something from nothing.

She has mended lives, reshaped them, pulled at loose threads until fate unraveled just enough for her to weave something new. But she has never made a garment for a man who has no future to stitch into.

Until now.

Viktor watches her as she moves, his sharp gaze following every flick of her fingers, every brush of her palm against fabric. He does not speak as she pulls open drawers and unspools thread—gold, silver, black—letting the strands spill across the worktable like veins spilling lifeblood.

"You’re sure about this?" she asks, not looking at him.

"I would not be here if I were not."

She snorts. "Plenty of people come here thinking they’re sure." She taps a finger against the gold thread, thoughtful. "Most of them leave in pieces."

Viktor’s lips curl, just slightly. "And yet you’ve already begun."

Jinx pauses.

She glances at her own hands—fingers already threading a needle, already pulling the first stitch into being.

Damn him.

She doesn’t like the way he sees things. Doesn’t like the way he speaks, measured and knowing, as if he’s already a step ahead, as if he already understands what she hasn’t yet admitted to herself.

Because the truth is—

She wants to do this.

It’s foolish. Impossible. A waste of time, and yet—

She wants to see if she can.

Jinx exhales sharply, shaking off the thought. "Hope you like gold," she says, running a hand down the shimmering fabric. "Because fate’s a stubborn thing, and it seems to like you."

"Gold suits me fine," Viktor murmurs.

Jinx hums, watching him for a moment longer before turning her attention back to her work.

She begins.

Thread pulls taut, needle slipping through fabric with effortless precision. Each stitch hums beneath her fingers, binding something more than silk. The room smells of candle wax and old parchment, but beneath it, something shifts—something unseen, something deep.

Viktor stands still, unmoving. He is a quiet thing, but not in the way of prey. He is waiting. Watching.

"Tell me something, Viktor," she says, voice light as she works. "Why are you so sure you deserve another fate?"

She expects hesitation. A pause. A stumble.

She gets none.

"I never said I deserved it."

Jinx stills.

The answer catches her off guard—not because of what it is, but because of how he says it.

Calm. Certain.

Not desperate. Not hopeful.

Just true.

She lifts her gaze, meeting his without flinching. "Then why are you here?"

Viktor tilts his head slightly. "Because deserving something and wanting it are not the same."

Jinx exhales, low and slow.

Something about that answer makes her itch. Not in a bad way. Not in a way that makes her want to shove him out the door.

In a way that makes her interested.

Curious.

Maybe even—just a little—dangerous.

The thread gleams as she pulls it tight, sealing the first stitch.

"Well," she murmurs, grinning just a little, "let’s see what we can make of you, then."

And in the candlelight, the first thread of his new fate is woven.

---

The first stitch is the easiest.

It always is.

The needle slips through fabric, pulling gold thread tight, and the world hums in answer. It’s a quiet thing, barely noticeable—like a ripple in still water, like the sharp inhale before a storm.

Jinx feels it in her bones.

It’s working.

Or something is.

She doesn’t look at Viktor as she works, but she feels him there, standing just beyond the candlelight. His presence is sharp—focused, deliberate, a man who does not waste movement, breath, or time. He does not fidget, does not shift on his cane, does not let impatience shape him like the others who have sat at her worktable before.

Instead, he waits.

Watching.

Jinx wonders, distantly, if this is what being under a microscope feels like.

"You're quiet," she murmurs, flicking her gaze up, just briefly.

Viktor meets her stare with something unreadable. "Should I be otherwise?"

She snorts. "Most people in your position have the good sense to be afraid."

"Fear is inefficient."

Jinx pauses.

A slow grin tugs at the corner of her lips. "You're either incredibly stupid or incredibly interesting."

Viktor tilts his head slightly. "I prefer the latter."

Her grin widens.

But beneath it, something lingers—something uncertain.

She doesn’t like that.

She doesn’t like the not knowing.

Because this—this thing she’s sewing—it should not be possible. Fate does not simply allow itself to be remade. Threads cannot be rewoven once they’ve been cut. And yet—

She looks down at her hands.

The gold thread gleams, stitches already forming a pattern she does not recognize, shaping something she has not yet named.

And that’s what unsettles her.

She always knows. Always.

She knows when a stitch will heal a wound, when a hem will tip a war, when a simple weave of thread will turn a beggar into a king.

But this—

This is something else entirely.

Her fingers tighten around the fabric.

Something is shifting beneath the surface, something deep and unseen, something that wants to take shape but hasn’t yet decided what it will be.

Jinx exhales, slow. "Tell me something, Viktor."

"Mm?"

"Do you ever wonder why fate cut your thread in the first place?"

She hears the way he exhales—measured, slow, just enough to betray that he has thought about this before.

"Often," he admits.

Jinx tilts her head, intrigued. "And?"

"I have yet to reach a satisfying conclusion."

A laugh escapes her, light and sharp. "You think there’s reason to it?"

Viktor doesn’t smile, but something in his expression shifts—just slightly. "Don’t you?"

Jinx hums, flicking her gaze back to the golden thread.

She doesn’t answer.

Because the truth is—

She isn’t sure anymore.

The needle continues to move.

And fate begins to shift.

---

The candle burns low.

Time moves strangely in this space—slipping through her fingers like loose thread, folding over itself like fabric caught in the wind. Jinx has worked through the night before, through many nights, sewing secrets into hems, weaving fortunes into lace, stitching the rise and fall of empires with nothing but silver needles and steady hands.

But this—

This is different.

Viktor does not move from his place by the worktable. He does not slump with exhaustion, does not let his weight shift too heavily onto his cane. The only sign that time has touched him at all is the faint paleness beneath his eyes, the way his breath occasionally comes too slow, too measured, as though he is careful not to waste any of it.

Jinx watches him from the corner of her eye as she works.

She does not ask what afflicts him.

She doesn’t need to.

She can see it—threadbare, unraveling—the way his fate curls at the edges, fraying into nothing. He is a man already walking alongside death, trailing it like a shadow, but refusing to kneel at its feet.

That, she thinks, is what interests her the most.

"Tell me something, Viktor," she says after a long stretch of silence.

He looks up. "Something specific or something interesting?"

Jinx smirks. "Surprise me."

There is a pause. He considers. Then—

"I once thought I would be great."

The words are quiet. Not mournful. Not regretful.

Just a fact.

Jinx stills.

Not because of what he said, but because of what it feels like.

Truth.

And not the small kind, not the kind people say for comfort or confession. No, this is old truth, the kind that shapes lives, the kind that once burned bright before being reduced to embers.

She glances up at him, studying the way he holds himself—not proud, not bitter, but steady.

"You’re not dead yet," she murmurs.

Viktor exhales, quiet amusement flickering in his golden gaze. "Not for lack of trying."

She huffs a laugh. "Well, don’t go dying on me now. I’m still figuring out what the hell I’m sewing."

Viktor's lips twitch—almost a smile, but not quite. "Then I shall endeavor to remain breathing."

"Good man."

Jinx glances back at the fabric in her hands.

The stitches have taken form now, patterns curling like veins beneath her fingers. The gold thread hums with something alive—not a fate restored, but something new, something still deciding what it wants to be.

She taps a finger against the cloth, thoughtful. "You ever read much about magic, Viktor?"

"A fair amount."

"Good." She grins, sharp and wicked. "Because I think you should know—this isn’t it."

She watches the way his fingers tighten, just slightly, against the handle of his cane. The way his gaze flickers with something thoughtful.

"What is it, then?" he asks.

Jinx hums, running her hand over the fabric, feeling the way it breathes beneath her touch.

"Something worse," she murmurs.

And the needle keeps moving.

---

The fabric breathes beneath her hands.

Jinx doesn’t know what she’s making.

That should bother her. It would bother her, if she were any other kind of woman—if she were the kind of seamstress who worked by rules, by patterns, by careful hands and careful choices.

But Jinx has never followed patterns.

She has never made something without knowing what it will become.

Until now.

Until him.

Viktor stands across from her, quiet but unwavering. He is patient, but not passive. He does not fill silence with empty words, does not beg for reassurance, does not demand answers she cannot give.

And somehow, that is worse.

Because it means he knows.

Knows that she is not sewing him a salvation.

Knows that something else is taking shape beneath her fingers.

And still—

He does not stop her.

Jinx exhales through her nose, fingers tightening around the gold-threaded fabric. "This might kill you, you know."

Viktor hums. "I was dying when I walked in."

"Yeah, well. There's dying, and then there's dying."

She flicks her gaze up to meet his. "What I'm stitching for you? It’s not a cure."

"I never asked for one."

Her grip on the fabric tightens. "And yet, here you are."

Viktor inclines his head slightly. "I did not come here to be saved, Jinx. I came here to be made into something else."

The candle flickers. The thread hums.

Jinx doesn’t like it.

Not the words. Not the way he says them. Not the way the stitches listen—pulling tight, weaving something unseen, something deep, something final.

She should stop.

She won’t.

She huffs a breath, pushing away the unease curling in her stomach. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

Viktor’s lips twitch, just slightly. "So I’ve been told."

"Yeah, I bet."

She looks down at the fabric again. The stitches gleam, curling through the cloth like veins beneath pale skin.

She doesn’t know what she’s making.

But she does know one thing:

It isn’t his.

Not anymore.

Because this thread—this fate—stopped belonging to Viktor the moment she touched it.

Now, it belongs to her.

And she is no kind god.

The final stitch is drawn.

And something in the world shifts.

---

Jinx turns the jacket over in her hands.

It shouldn’t exist.

Not in the way that ordinary things exist—not in the way of fine silks and noble coats, stitched by tailors with steady hands and minds unburdened by fate.

This jacket is something else entirely.

It is brown on the outside, muted, unassuming—a piece that would blend into a crowd, meant to be worn without drawing attention. But the inside—gold, deep and rich, stitched with veins of something almost alive. The fabric catches the candlelight in a way it shouldn’t, as though the gold remembers the shape of fire, as though it holds the memory of something that has not yet happened.

It’s large. Not tailored.

It’s meant to become something.

Jinx doesn’t like that.

She doesn’t like things she can’t name, things she can’t predict, things that slip through her fingers before she can decide whether to cherish or destroy them.

And yet—

She looks down at the jacket.

At her work.

At the weight of something unfinished still curling at the edges of the seams.

She exhales sharply, then tosses the jacket at Viktor.

"Here," she says, watching as he catches it with a sharp, practiced motion. "Put it on."

Viktor runs his fingers over the fabric. His hands are slow, deliberate—like a man reading a book in a language he only half understands. He does not speak as he turns it over, as he lifts the collar between his fingers, brushing over the stitches she knows are humming with something more than mere craftsmanship.

Jinx doesn’t speak either.

She just waits.

Viktor slips the jacket on.

It settles over his shoulders, loose but not ill-fitting. The fabric does not swallow him—it does not hang awkwardly, does not make him look sickly or shrunken the way poorly fitted garments do.

Instead, it shapes him.

Not physically—no, the measurements are still imprecise, the cut still relaxed—but something else has shifted.

Jinx sees it in the way he stands.

Viktor, for all his sharpness, for all his golden-eyed intelligence, for all his ruthless refusal to bow, has always been a man aware of his own limits. His limp, his cane, his body that betrays him with each passing day.

But now—

Now, with this jacket resting against his skin, something is different.

He adjusts the collar absentmindedly. Rolls his shoulders. Settles into it.

And Jinx—

Jinx knows.

She grips the edge of the worktable, suddenly aware of how wrong this is.

Not because it failed.

But because it worked too well.

Because this jacket fits him better than anything ever has.

Not in fabric. Not in measurement.

But in fate.

She should tell him to take it off. She should snatch it back, rip out the seams, undo the work before it’s too late—

Viktor meets her gaze.

And smiles.

Just slightly.

A knowing thing. A sharp thing.

Like a man who has just been given something, something he does not intend to return.

Jinx swallows.

And she realizes—

She hasn’t stitched him a salvation.

She’s stitched him a weapon.

And he knows it.

The candle flickers.

And the first thread of a new fate pulls tight.

---

Viktor doesn’t take the jacket off.

Jinx watches him—really watches him—as he adjusts the cuffs, straightens the collar, moves like a man slipping into something familiar rather than something new.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

It shouldn’t feel familiar.

It should feel foreign. Unnatural. Unsettling.

Because it is.

Jinx didn’t stitch this with purpose. She didn’t sew it with intent. She didn’t sit down at her table and think, I’m going to make Viktor a coat that will change his fate.

But something else did.

Something in the fabric.

Something in the thread.

Something that knows far more than she does, something that wanted this long before she ever touched a needle.

Her fingers twitch against the edge of the table.

"How does it feel?" she asks, voice carefully light.

Viktor exhales slowly, testing the weight of it. "Like it belongs to me."

Jinx forces a grin. "Big words for a man who didn’t pay for it yet."

Viktor's lips twitch, just slightly. "Shall we discuss the price, then?"

She should name something impossible. Something he can’t give. She should demand something so absurd, so out of reach, that he’ll be forced to take off the jacket, leave it behind, let her burn it before it’s too late—

But the words won’t come.

Because she already knows: he will pay whatever she asks.

Viktor is not a desperate man. He does not plead. Does not beg.

But he wants.

And wanting is far more dangerous.

Jinx lets her gaze flicker over him once more. The jacket sits easy on his frame, shoulders relaxed, movements smooth.

The weight of something new hangs in the air.

Not magic. Not fate.

Something worse.

She swallows down the unease curling in her chest. "You don’t even know what it does yet."

Viktor watches her, golden eyes glinting like a man who has already made peace with the answer. "Then I suppose I will find out."

Jinx exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. "Gods, you’re a real pain in my ass."

"Again, so I’ve been told."

"Yeah, I bet."

She turns away from him, grabbing a loose spool of thread, something to keep her hands busy while her mind screams at her to do something—undo something—before this gets any worse.

But it’s already too late, isn’t it?

She stitched something she cannot unmake.

And now—

Now, all she can do is wait to see what he becomes.

Outside, the wind shifts.

And somewhere—far beyond this tiny shop, beyond its candlelit walls, beyond the quiet hum of thread and fate—something takes notice.

Chapter 81: Midnight Caller

Summary:

Her breath caught.

Not a warning this time.

Not a tease.

Just a fact.

Jinx exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch. "You still thinking about finding me, doc?"

"Yes."

Her grin widened.

"Then hurry up already."

A long silence.

Then—

"Do not tempt me, little operator."

The switchboard hummed like a restless lover, a maze of wires and blinking lights tangled in midnight’s hush. Jinx leaned back in her chair, propping her boots up on the desk, fingers idly toying with the cord of her headset. The night shift was always the same—drunks looking for their dames, lonely hearts dialing the wrong numbers on purpose, cops barking orders through static.

But then there was him.

The voice.

Low, measured, like the drag of a cigarette in a quiet room. He never said his name, only asked questions. Strange ones. Thoughtful ones. The kind that stuck to the walls of her mind long after she’d hung up.

And always, he called late.

He never called before midnight, never let her trace the weight of his voice to anything real. No stammering nervousness, no slurred desperation—just a calm, steady cadence, each word chosen carefully, like he was leaving breadcrumbs in the dark for her to follow.

Tonight was no different. The clock’s red hands pointed past one when the familiar buzz crackled through her earpiece. Her lips curled as she pressed the line open.

She didn’t know why she lingered on the line with him longer than the rest. Maybe it was the way he asked questions no one else did. Maybe it was the way his voice curled around the edges of her mind, smooth as a lie.

Maybe it was because she wanted to know what a man like that was hiding.

The clock ticked past one when the familiar crackle came through her headset. Her lips curled as she pressed the line open.

"Midnight switchboard," she purred, leaning back in her chair, boots propped up on the desk. "What’s keeping you up tonight, stranger?"

Silence. Not dead air—she could hear the faint breath on the other end. Thinking. Deciding.

Then—"What is it like?"

She arched a brow, tapping a cigarette from the pack on her desk. "Gonna have to narrow that down, sugar. I’ve got a lot of ‘it’s in my life."

"Being alone."

Jinx stilled. Not a question, but something heavier. Something real.

She lit her cigarette, letting the flame flicker against the darkness of the room. "That’s a dangerous thing to ask at this hour."

"Why?"

"Because it makes me wonder about the man on the other end." Smoke curled from her lips as she exhaled slowly. "And what kind of lonely he really is."

A pause. Not hesitation—no, this was something else. Weighing. Measuring.

"You’re lonely, doc," she murmured, watching the red ember burn at the tip of her cigarette.

The line stayed quiet long enough that she almost thought he’d hung up. But then—

"Perhaps."

A slow smile spread across her lips.

"Tell me something real."

Another pause. Longer this time. Then—

"I am not as kind as you think."

She tipped her head back, a low chuckle rolling from her throat. "Good. I like ‘em mean."

The breath he let out was almost a laugh, but not quite.

"That is an unusual preference."

"Unusual’s just another word for interesting."

Silence again. But this time, it wasn’t empty.

Jinx shifted, letting the quiet stretch, feeling the tension in it, the unspoken thread between them growing tighter.

"What’s your name, sweetheart?" she asked, though she already knew he wouldn’t answer.

"Would it change anything if I told you?"

She smirked. "I dunno. You gonna let me find out?"

A pause. Then—"No."

Her grin widened.

Oh, this one was fun.

She didn’t sleep after that. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, smoking slow, replaying his words in her head like a record she couldn’t stop spinning.

He was hiding something. That much was obvious.

But the real question was—

Did she want to unravel him?

Or did she want to let him keep calling?

---

Jinx didn’t sleep much, but she wasn’t the only one.

The next night, she waited. Let the other calls roll in, the usual mix of drunks, insomniacs, and lost souls, but none of them mattered. Not really. Not like him.

She didn’t know when she’d started thinking of him as him—not just another voice in the dark, but him. A shape behind the static. A ghost haunting her switchboard.

The clock dragged past midnight. The room smelled like old paper, burnt-out cigarettes, and cheap perfume. She rolled her lighter between her fingers, counting the seconds.

Then, finally—

The line crackled.

Jinx smirked, pressing the receiver to her ear. "I was starting to think you’d found better company tonight, stranger."

A breath. That almost-laugh again.

"There is no better company at this hour."

She exhaled through her nose, letting her eyes slip shut for a moment. "Careful, doc. Flattery’s a dangerous thing in the wrong hands."

"And yours?"

Her lips curled. "Oh, mine are the worst kind."

Silence. She could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He wasn’t the type to fill space with noise. He let things breathe. Let her wonder.

"Why do you work this shift?" he asked at last.

She tilted her head, considering. "You first."

"Hm?"

"You never ask without a reason. You’re curious about something. What is it?"

A pause. Then—

"It is… a lonely job. And you do not seem the type for lonely things."

Jinx chuckled, low and throaty. "You’d be surprised."

"Would I?"

"Mm. People are only as lonely as they let themselves be." She exhaled smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling. "And you, sweetheart? You let yourself be lonely, or is it just bad luck?"

He hesitated.

That was new.

"Perhaps both."

She narrowed her eyes slightly, tapping her cigarette against the ashtray. "Gonna let me in on the why?"

"Would it change anything if I did?"

She smirked. "Didn’t we already play this game?"

"And yet, you are still asking."

Jinx leaned forward, elbows on the desk. The line between them buzzed with something electric, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

"Maybe I just like hearing you talk."

Silence. Then, softer this time—

"That is… dangerous knowledge to give someone."

Her grin widened. "Don't you know? Dangerous is sexy."

His breath hitched. A tiny sound, barely there, but she caught it.

Oh, he was fun.

"Be careful what you wish for, little operator." His voice was quieter now, but there was something else underneath it. Something sharp.

"Or what?" she teased.

Another pause. Then—

"Or you might find me."

The static hummed between them.

Her fingers tightened around the receiver.

For the first time, she wondered—

Was that a warning?

Or an invitation?

---

Jinx had always been good at sniffing out trouble. And this? This was definitely trouble.

But trouble had a voice like midnight rain and the slow drag of a match across sulfur.

And trouble had her attention.

She leaned back in her chair, balancing the receiver between her cheek and shoulder, fingers toying with the switchboard cord. The line still hummed with static, but neither of them spoke. Not yet.

She wanted to see how long he could stand the silence.

"You still there, doc?" she finally drawled, dragging the words out like smoke from a cigarette.

"I am."

"Good. Thought I lost you for a second."

"No. I do not vanish so easily."

Jinx smirked. "A man who stays put. Rare breed."

"Mm. And you? You are still here as well."

She exhaled slowly, flicking ash into the tray. "Guess I am."

Another pause. She could almost hear the way he was turning the conversation over in his head, dissecting it.

"You never answered my question," he said.

"Which one?"

"Why you work this shift."

Jinx let the silence stretch. Then—

"Because it’s quiet."

He hummed, low and thoughtful. "I do not think you like quiet, little operator."

"You got me all figured out, huh?"

"No," he admitted. "But I enjoy the puzzle."

Jinx chuckled, curling her fingers against the desk. "You got a habit of poking at things until they break?"

"Only when they are worth breaking."

That sent a thrill up her spine, sharp and unexpected.

She grinned. "Flattery again? I thought we agreed that was dangerous."

"I am starting to suspect you enjoy danger."

"Only the fun kind."

A pause. A shift in the air. Then—

"And what kind am I?"

Jinx pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, considering.

"I haven’t decided yet."

Silence.

Then—"Good."

It was a whisper, almost lost to the static. A promise, maybe. A dare.

Jinx bit her lip, tapping a fingernail against the desk. "You ever gonna tell me your name, sweetheart?"

"No."

"You always this difficult?"

"Yes."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Figures."

He let out a breath, something like amusement.

"Do you want to know what I do?" he asked suddenly.

"Only if you want me to know."

Another pause. Then—

"I build things. And break them. In equal measure."

Her brows lifted slightly. "Cryptic. I like it."

"Do you?"

"Mm." She swirled the cigarette between her fingers, watching the ember glow. "Makes me wonder what kind of things you break, doc."

A longer silence. Then—

"Things that stop working."

Her breath caught. Just for a second.

That was the thing about men like him. The ones who lingered in shadows, who spoke in careful, weighted words. They never said too much. But what they did say?

It was always just enough.

"I should go," he murmured.

"Shame."

"You will hear from me again."

"Damn right I will."

A soft chuckle. Then the click of a receiver being placed back in its cradle.

The line went dead.

Jinx stared at the switchboard for a long moment, thumb absently tracing the edge of the desk.

Oh, she was in trouble.

And she liked it.

---

Jinx spent the next day with a question stuck between her teeth.

"Or you might find me."

A warning? An invitation?

She’d turned it over in her head a dozen times, letting the words curl around her thoughts like smoke. She wanted to pick them apart, to unravel the edges, but she knew the truth—men like him never said anything by accident.

And now?

Now she had a problem.

Because she wanted to find him.

The switchboard buzzed with other people’s lives, but none of them mattered. Not the housewife calling a number that wouldn’t pick up. Not the detective chasing a case gone cold. Not the lovers reaching for each other across the wire.

Not when she was waiting for him.

It was past one when the line crackled.

Jinx smirked, already reaching for the switch. "You’re late, doc."

"Am I?"

"Mm. Had me thinking maybe you’d found better company after all."

"I do not think that is possible."

Jinx chuckled, twirling the cord around her fingers. "Flattery again? We’re gonna make a habit out of this, huh?"

"I do not think you mind."

Her grin widened. "Sharp, aren’t you?"

"It is necessary in my line of work."

"Which is?"

A pause. Then—"Difficult."

Jinx arched a brow. "Difficult like putting together a puzzle? Or difficult like making people disappear?"

Silence.

Ah.

That was interesting.

"You still there, doc?" she teased, voice low.

"Yes."

"Good."

She leaned back, stretching her legs out, feeling the slow hum of something dangerous settling in her bones.

"You ever think about finding me?" she asked.

"Yes."

That made her pause.

She hadn’t expected him to say it outright.

"And?" she pressed.

"And," he said evenly, "I think you would not run."

Jinx exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl from her lips.

"What makes you so sure?"

"You are still answering my calls."

She grinned. "Maybe I just like the sound of your voice."

"Perhaps."

"Maybe I like the mystery."

"Perhaps."

"Maybe I’d rather be the one doing the finding."

Silence. A slow breath on the other end of the line.

Then—

"That would be unwise."

Jinx’s pulse skipped. Not from fear—no, she’d been afraid before, and this wasn’t that. This was something else.

Excitement.

A game.

"You afraid of me, doc?" she murmured.

"No."

"Then why’s it unwise?"

"Because I do not lose."

Jinx smirked. "Neither do I."

Another pause.

Then, softer this time—"I know."

The air between them felt tighter now, like a wire pulled too taut.

She liked the tension.

Liked knowing that somewhere, in the dark, he was leaning closer too.

"You gonna keep calling me, doc?"

"Yes."

"Good."

A pause.

"Do you want me to?" he asked.

She bit her lip, considering. Then—

"Yes."

A breath. The faintest hint of something satisfied.

Then— click.

Jinx leaned back in her chair, staring at the dead line, cigarette burning low between her fingers.

Oh, she was in so much trouble.

And she couldn’t wait for more.

---

She didn’t wait this time.

Didn’t count the minutes past midnight, didn’t wonder if he’d come back.

She knew he would.

And when the line crackled, she let it ring—once, twice—before pressing the switch, taking her time, savoring the moment.

“Hope you weren’t expecting me to pick up quick, doc,” she drawled, tapping her cigarette against the tray. “Wouldn’t wanna make you think I was waiting.”

A quiet chuckle, low and dark.

“I think you were.”

Jinx smirked. “Cocky tonight, aren’t we?”

“Hm.” A pause. Then—“I have been thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched between them, tight as a violin string.

Jinx propped her boots up on the desk, let her head tip back against the chair, exhaling smoke through her nose. “Alright, doc. Spill. What’s rattling around in that sharp little head of yours?”

Another pause. Then—

“You like puzzles, do you not?”

Her brow arched. “Love ‘em. Why?”

“Because I am beginning to wonder—” His voice dipped lower, like he was leaning in, even though she knew he was miles away. “—if you would enjoy solving me.”

Jinx’s pulse kicked.

Oh, now that was interesting.

She grinned, sharp as a flicked switchblade. “Maybe. You a hard one to crack, doc?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She let the word hang between them, deliberate, teasing.

And then—

“What if I do not want to be solved?” he murmured.

Jinx chuckled. “Then we got a problem.”

Another silence. This one heavier.

She could almost feel him thinking.

Then—

“Or,” he said slowly, “perhaps it is you who does not want to be solved.”

That made her pause.

She tapped her cigarette against the tray, watching the ash crumble. “That right?”

“You tell me.”

Jinx smirked. “You always this nosy?”

“Only when it is worth it.”

She leaned forward, pressing the receiver tighter to her ear. “And I’m worth it?”

A pause.

Then—

“Yes.”

Her heart kicked against her ribs, unexpected, unwelcome.

Shit.

She liked this game. Liked the mystery, the tension, the slow pull of something dangerous coiling between them. But this? This was something else.

Something close.

Something real.

She swallowed, forcing a chuckle. “You keep sweet-talking me like that, doc, and I might start thinkin’ you like me.”

Silence.

Then—

“I think I do.”

Jinx stilled.

No teasing, no hesitation. Just a simple, quiet truth.

For once, she didn’t know what to say.

The switchboard hummed. The city breathed. The cigarette burned down between her fingers.

And he waited.

“…That so?” she finally murmured.

“Yes.”

Jinx exhaled, slow and careful.

She should’ve laughed. Should’ve spun the moment into something light, something easy.

Instead, she let the silence stretch.

Let herself feel it.

Then—

“You ever gonna find me, doc?” she whispered.

A long pause.

Then, softer—

“Yes.”

And this time?

It wasn’t a warning.

It was a promise.

---

Jinx didn’t just wait for the call this time.

She counted on it.

It was getting under her skin, the way he spoke—careful, measured, like a man who didn’t waste words. She knew the type. Men who kept their secrets buried deep, who only gave you enough rope to hang yourself with.

But she was good at pulling on loose threads.

And him?

Oh, he was full of them.

The switchboard was quiet, the room thick with the scent of old coffee and burnt-out cigarettes. Jinx sat with her feet up on the desk, twirling a pencil between her fingers, listening to the hum of the wires.

And then—

The line crackled.

She didn’t rush. Didn’t let him know she’d been waiting. Instead, she took her time pressing the switch, tilting her head as she brought the receiver to her ear.

"Took you long enough, doc."

"Did it?"

"Mm. Almost thought you’d gotten tired of me."

"Not yet."

Jinx smirked. "What’s on your mind tonight?"

A pause. Then—"You."

She felt that one like a slow drag of a match against her skin.

"Sweet talk’s not usually your style, doc. You feeling sentimental?"

"No."

"Then what are you feeling?"

A longer silence.

Then—"Curious."

Jinx exhaled through her nose, tapping ash into the tray. "Yeah? About what?"

"What you want."

That made her pause.

Not because she didn’t have an answer—but because she wasn’t sure if she should say it.

"You first," she countered.

"That is not how this works."

"Says who?"

"Me."

She grinned. "Bossy."

"You do not seem to mind."

She chuckled, shifting in her seat. "I don’t. But you already knew that."

A beat of silence. Then—

"You are playing a dangerous game, little operator."

Jinx licked her lips, feeling the tension coil tighter.

"And?"

"And I am wondering if you know what happens when you play with things you do not understand."

She smirked. "You tell me, doc. What does happen?"

A pause. Then—

"They break."

The word hung in the air between them, a slow, careful warning.

Jinx grinned, leaning forward, her voice low and sweet.

"Then you better make sure I don’t."

Silence. Not empty—no, this one was heavy.

Then—

"You are trouble."

She laughed, flicking her cigarette. "Yeah. But you like trouble, don’t you?"

A breath.

Then— click.

Jinx leaned back, staring at the ceiling, grin still stretched across her lips.

Oh, she really had him now.

And she wasn’t letting go.

---

Jinx let the word settle into her bones. Yes.

Not maybe. Not a tease. Not a deflection.

A promise.

A shiver curled down her spine—not fear, no, nothing so simple—but the slow, delicious kind of thrill that came from stepping too close to the edge just to see if you'd fall.

Her cigarette had burned down to the filter, and she crushed it out in the tray, eyes fixed on the dead space of her quiet little room.

"You gonna tell me when?" she murmured.

Silence.

She could hear the faintest breath on the other end. Slow. Measured. The sound of a man thinking, deciding.

Then—

"You would not want that."

Jinx smirked. "Oh, you think you know what I want now?"

"Perhaps."

"Guess we'll see about that, won’t we?"

A low chuckle. Almost warm. Almost.

Jinx shifted, stretching her legs out, rolling her lighter between her fingers. "You know," she mused, "most men don’t go outta their way to be a mystery."

"Hm."

"Most men like being known."

"Do they?"

"Yeah. Makes ‘em feel important. Makes ‘em feel real."

Another pause. Then—

"And you?"

Her brow arched. "What about me?"

"You—" He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, then continued, voice lower. "Do not seem the type who wishes to be known either."

Her grip on the lighter tightened.

Oh, he was good.

Too good.

Jinx chuckled, tipping her head back against the chair. "And here I thought you were the only puzzle in this equation, doc."

"Mm. No." A breath. "I suspect we are both difficult things to solve."

She grinned. "And you like difficult things?"

A pause. Then—

"Yes."

Heat curled in her stomach.

She shouldn’t have liked the way he said it. Shouldn’t have felt that little coil of anticipation winding tighter, pulling her into the kind of trouble that didn’t come with an easy escape.

But she did.

Oh, she did.

Jinx bit her lip, twirling the switchboard cord around her fingers. "Well," she murmured, voice low and lazy, "guess that makes us a hell of a match then, huh?"

Another silence. This one different.

Charged.

Thick.

Then—

"I suppose it does."

Jinx smirked, her grip on the receiver tightening. "So tell me, doc," she purred, "when you finally find me—what happens then?"

The line buzzed.

She could almost see him, wherever he was. Could picture the way he might be sitting—leaning back, thinking, calculating.

Then—

"I do not know yet," he admitted.

That caught her off guard.

She’d expected another smooth deflection, another calculated tease.

Not the truth.

Not that.

Jinx exhaled, slow and steady. "Honest answer. I like it."

"Do you?"

"Mmhmm. Means you’re thinking about it. Means you want it."

Silence.

Then—

"Yes."

Her stomach did something strange and electric.

She grinned, biting back a chuckle. "Damn, doc," she murmured. "Gonna start thinkin’ you got a crush on me."

A pause. Then—

"Perhaps."

Jinx froze.

He was messing with her. He had to be.

But something in his voice—something quiet, something real—made her hesitate.

The switchboard hummed.

The city breathed.

And for once, Jinx had no idea what to say.

She swallowed, forcing a smirk. "Careful, sweetheart," she teased, voice lighter now. "Might start makin’ me blush."

A faint, amused hum. "I doubt that."

Jinx chuckled. "Yeah, you’re probably right."

Silence.

Longer this time.

And then—

"I should go."

Jinx exhaled through her nose, flicking her cigarette. "Mm. Always such a shame."

"You will hear from me again."

"I know."

A pause. Then—

"I look forward to it."

And just like that—

Click.

The line went dead.

Jinx leaned back, staring at the ceiling, her grin slow and wicked.

Oh, she was in trouble.

And she loved it.

The switchboard buzzed with all the usual nonsense—calls from people who needed, people who wanted, people who searched for things that didn’t want to be found.

Jinx ignored most of them.

She was waiting.

And when the line crackled just past one, her pulse kicked before she could stop it.

She smirked, pressing the switch.

"Starting to think you’re addicted to me, doc."

A soft chuckle. "And if I am?"

Jinx paused, caught off guard again.

She recovered fast, tilting her head. "Then I’d say you got good taste."

Silence.

Then, softer—

"You should stop answering my calls."

Now that was new.

Jinx arched a brow, tapping ash from her cigarette. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

She grinned. "Not gonna happen, sweetheart."

A pause.

Then—

"I know."

Her breath caught.

Not a warning this time.

Not a tease.

Just a fact.

Jinx exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch. "You still thinking about finding me, doc?"

"Yes."

Her grin widened.

"Then hurry up already."

A long silence.

Then—

"Do not tempt me, little operator."

The switchboard hummed.

Jinx bit her lip.

Oh, this was getting dangerous.

And she was all in.

---

The night was thick with cigarette smoke and the ghost of a storm rolling in from the bay. Jinx sat with her feet up on the desk, one hand lazily twirling the switchboard cord, the other balancing a half-burned cigarette between her fingers. The hum of the wires filled the silence between calls, each one more forgettable than the last.

But she wasn’t thinking about them.

She was thinking about him.

Thinking about the last thing he’d said—

"You should stop answering my calls."

"You keep saying that, but still not gonna happen, sweetheart."

"I know."

A challenge. A promise. A dare wrapped in velvet.

And now?

Now she was waiting.

The line crackled just past one, the sound sending a slow thrill down her spine.

She smirked, taking her time pressing the switch.

"Could set a damn watch by you, doc," she purred, tilting her head. "Startin’ to think you like routines."

"Hm." The familiar weight of his voice slid through the receiver, low and deliberate. "Perhaps I simply like this routine."

Jinx grinned. "I think I've already begun to blush, you talkin’ sweet like that."

"Unlikely."

She chuckled, dragging smoke through her lungs. "What’s on your mind tonight, sweetheart?"

A pause.

Then—

"Your hair."

Jinx’s fingers stilled on the cord.

She blinked, caught off guard. "My hair?"

"Yes."

She exhaled, shaking her head. "That’s a new one. Didn’t peg you for the poetic type, doc."

"I am not."

Her smirk deepened. "Mm. That so?"

"Yes." A pause. Then, softer—"But I know what color it is."

The words sent a slow, creeping thrill curling down her spine.

Jinx sat up a little straighter, pressing the receiver tighter to her ear. "That’s funny," she murmured. "Don’t recall tellin’ you."

"You did not."

The room suddenly felt too small, the cigarette smoke hanging too thick in the air.

Jinx ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek, thinking. He’s messing with me. He had to be.

"Alright, doc," she mused, voice easy, lazy. "What color is it, then?"

A pause.

Then—

"Blue."

A slow smirk curled across her lips.

"Not bad," she murmured, "but that’s an easy guess."

"Hm. And the length?"

Jinx arched a brow. "You tell me."

Another silence.

Then—

"Long," he said smoothly. "Long enough to touch the floor when it’s down. But you do not wear it down often."

Jinx’s stomach flipped.

She hadn’t expected that.

Hadn’t expected him to get it right.

A flicker of something sharp and electric coiled beneath her ribs, some strange mix of thrill and curiosity.

"Alright, doc," she drawled, tilting her head. "You got my attention. Keep talkin’."

"You wear it in two braids," he continued, voice measured, thoughtful. "Tied up high. Tight. Like you don’t want it in your way."

Jinx’s pulse skipped.

She rolled her cigarette between her fingers, feeling the heat at the filter, the ember burning dangerously low.

"Startin’ to think you’ve seen me, sweetheart," she murmured, voice quieter now.

A pause.

Then—

"Perhaps."

That did something to her.

Something hot. Something dangerous.

Jinx bit her lip, twirling the cord around her finger. "That so?"

"Yes."

The hum of the switchboard filled the silence between them, a soft, constant buzz of voices, of lives tangled in wires.

She grinned, slow and wicked. "You a fan, doc? You like the look?"

"I do."

She exhaled a soft chuckle, leaning back in her chair. "Well, ain’t that nice. What’s got you all curious about my hair tonight?"

A beat of silence.

Then—

"I was wondering if it is soft."

The words sent a slow ripple of heat through her.

Jinx wet her lips, exhaling through her nose. "Why, doc? You wanna touch it?"

Silence.

Not hesitation.

No, this was something else.

Something deliberate.

Then, finally—

"Yes."

A slow shiver curled down her spine.

Jinx swallowed, fingers tightening around the receiver.

She should’ve laughed. Should’ve spun the moment into something light, something easy.

Instead, she let the silence stretch.

"You always this forward, sweetheart?" she murmured.

A pause. Then—

"No."

Her lips curled into a smirk. "Guess I’m special, huh?"

"Hm." His voice dipped lower, like he was leaning in, like he was closer than he had any right to be. "Perhaps."

Jinx tapped ash from her cigarette, considering.

This was new.

This was different.

The game had always been there, the tension simmering beneath their words, but this? This was the first time he’d reached.

And she liked it.

"Tell me somethin’, doc," she purred, tilting her head. "What would you do if I let you?"

Silence.

Then—

"I do not think you want the answer to that."

A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.

"Sweetheart," she murmured, "I know I do."

The line buzzed between them, thick with something electric, something sharp and waiting.

Then—

A breath.

A decision.

"I would wrap it around my fingers," he murmured, voice softer now, almost thoughtful. "I would feel how soft it is against my skin."

Jinx inhaled slowly, heat prickling along her spine.

His voice dipped lower.

"And then," he continued, "I would pull."

The words sent a sharp, thrilling jolt through her, something molten curling in her stomach, and her thighs were now pressed tight against each other.

She swallowed, gripping the receiver tighter. "Damn, doc," she murmured, her grin slow and sharp. "Didn’t take you for the rough type."

Silence.

Then—

"You bring it out in me."

Jinx exhaled, tapping her cigarette against the tray.

Oh, this was getting dangerous.

And she loved it.

She chuckled, voice thick with amusement. "You ever gonna tell me where you are, doc?"

A pause.

Then—

"Would it change anything if I did?"

She smirked. "Dunno. Maybe I’d come find you."

Silence.

Then, softer—

"That would be unwise."

Jinx grinned, leaning back, dragging smoke through her lungs. "Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?"

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Yes."

And just like that—

Click.

The line went dead.

Jinx sat there, cigarette burning low between her fingers, pulse thrumming in her throat.

Oh, she was in so much trouble.

And she couldn’t wait for more.

---

Jinx had never been shy.

Didn’t see the point in modesty—not when the city was full of men who stared whether you wanted them to or not.

But this?

This was different.

She didn’t dress for just anyone.

Didn’t put thought into what clung to her skin, what framed her curves, what whispered of something soft and dangerous beneath the bravado.

But tonight?

Tonight, she dressed for him.

She slipped into the black lace with slow, deliberate hands, letting the sheer fabric hug her skin, letting the city’s dim glow from the window cast patterns over her ribs, over the curve of her thighs. The cardigan was an afterthought—something to keep the game going a little longer, something to pretend she wasn’t doing exactly what she was doing.

And when she stepped into the station, when she sat in her usual chair, when she let the soft knit of the cardigan slip from her shoulder—

She felt him.

Felt his eyes.

Somewhere.

Watching.

She smirked, rolling a cigarette between her fingers, letting the moment stretch, letting the anticipation hum like a struck wire.

And then—

The line crackled.

Right on time.

She took her sweet time pressing the switch.

"Evenin’, doc," she purred, voice dripping with lazy amusement. "What’s on your mind tonight?"

Silence.

Not the usual kind—not the thoughtful pause, not the measured weight of a man choosing his words.

No.

This was different.

This was stunned.

Oh, she liked that.

Jinx smirked, shifting in her seat, letting the movement make her cardigan slip further, baring more skin to the empty room—empty, except it wasn’t.

Not really.

Because he was there.

Somewhere.

Watching.

"You’re quiet tonight, sweetheart," she teased, rolling the cigarette between her fingers. "That ain’t like you."

A breath.

Then—

"You know why."

Jinx grinned. Bingo.

She let the silence stretch, reveling in it, in the way she could almost hear him thinking, trying to keep himself composed, trying not to react.

It wasn’t working.

Not this time.

She exhaled, slow and easy, letting her head tip back against the chair. "Say it," she murmured.

Silence.

Then—

"You are playing with fire, little operator."

Her grin widened. "And?"

Silence again, longer this time, heavy with something taut, something pulled tight enough to snap.

Then—

"You know exactly what you are doing."

A slow, wicked thrill curled through her veins.

"Maybe," she murmured, voice teasing, light. "But I wanna hear you say it, doc. Tell me what you see."

Another pause.

Then, lower, rougher—

"Lace."

Jinx bit her lip, heat prickling beneath her skin.

"Mmhmm," she hummed, shifting again, just enough to let the fabric whisper against her skin. "Black lace."

A slow breath on the other end.

Then—

"Sheer."

She chuckled, dragging smoke from her cigarette, letting it curl from her lips. "That a problem, doc?"

Silence.

Then, quieter, more controlled—

"No."

She smirked. "Didn’t think so."

The switchboard hummed, the city whispered beyond the window, but in this moment, there was nothing but him.

Nothing but his breath, measured and low.

Nothing but the weight of his gaze.

"Tell me," she purred, "what part do you like best?"

Silence.

Then—

"Your shoulders."

Jinx arched a brow, amused. "Not what I was expectin’."

A pause.

Then—

"Because it is unexpected," he murmured. "You tease with everything else. You know the way men look at you. But your shoulders…" Another pause. "You do not think of them as something to be admired."

Jinx wet her lips, tapping her cigarette against the tray.

He wasn’t wrong.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Damn, doc," she murmured, "gettin’ real good at reading me."

A breath.

Then—

"I am very good with my hands."

The words sent a slow, molten shiver curling down her spine.

Jinx exhaled, slow, steady, letting the embers of her cigarette burn low between her fingers.

"That right?" she murmured.

"Yes."

Silence stretched between them, thick, electric, humming like a live wire.

Then, softer—

"If I wanted to touch you, would you let me?"

Her breath caught.

Not a tease.

Not a joke.

Just that low, careful voice—controlled, too controlled—spilling something sharp and real into the space between them.

Jinx dragged her teeth over her lower lip, a slow grin spreading across her face.

"You askin’ permission, doc?" she murmured.

Silence.

Then—

"No."

Her pulse skipped.

Oh, he was good.

She chuckled, tilting her head. "That so?"

"Yes." A pause. Then, quieter, "I am merely curious."

Jinx leaned forward, resting an elbow on the desk, twirling the switchboard cord around her finger.

"Curious, huh?"

"Yes."

She smirked. "And if I said yes?"

Silence.

Then—

"Then I would make you regret it."

Heat curled low in her stomach.

Jinx swallowed, biting back a grin. "That a threat, doc?"

Silence.

Then—

"A promise."

The line hummed between them.

Jinx exhaled, slow and measured, pressing her tongue to the inside of her cheek.

She should have been rattled.

Should’ve felt something sharp, something warning, something that told her this was a bad idea.

But instead?

She leaned in.

"What would you do?" she whispered.

Silence.

Then—

"I would pull that lace from your skin," he murmured, "slowly."

Her breath hitched.

She dragged her cigarette to her lips, inhaling deep, steadying herself. "And?"

"I would run my fingers down your back," he continued, voice smooth, deliberate. "Feel the warmth of your skin. The way you react."

Jinx swallowed.

"And then?" she whispered.

Silence.

Then, softer—

"I would show you exactly how much I have been watching."

The heat curled tighter, sharper.

Jinx bit her lip, eyes half-lidded, breath steady but not unaffected.

She tapped her cigarette, considering.

Then—

"Sweetheart," she purred, "I hope you’re not all talk."

Silence.

Then—

"You will find out."

Click.

The line went dead.

Jinx sat back, staring at the ceiling, the ember of her cigarette glowing in the dark.

She should’ve been nervous.

She should’ve been wary.

But instead?

She smiled.

---

Jinx didn’t sleep that night.

Didn’t even try.

She lay stretched across her bed, smoke curling from the cigarette balanced between her fingers, his words playing over and over in her mind.

"I would show you exactly how much I have been watching."

She exhaled slowly, watching the ceiling fan spin lazy circles above her.

He wasn’t lying.

She knew that now.

She could feel him. Somewhere out there, past the neon flicker of the city, past the maze of alleyways and smoke-choked bars, he was there. Watching. Waiting.

She should have been unnerved.

Should have felt something cold slither down her spine.

But instead?

She burned.

She dressed for him again.

Not that she’d admit it.

Not out loud.

But she felt it in the deliberate way she chose the sheer slip, in the way she let the straps hang just a little looser, in the way her skin felt electric beneath the soft brush of lace.

The cardigan draped off her shoulders, careless, teasing.

She let it fall when she walked into the station.

Let it slip just enough to bare more skin, to let the dim glow of the desk lamp trace warm shadows over her collarbone, over the curve of her thighs.

And she knew—

Knew he saw.

Knew it the second the line crackled past midnight.

She smirked, rolling the cigarette between her fingers before pressing the switch.

"Startin’ to think you got a thing for late nights, doc."

Silence.

Not the usual kind.

Not measured.

Not distant.

No, this was something else.

Something tight.

Something dangerous.

Then—

"You are doing it on purpose."

Jinx grinned, slow and wicked. "And what’s that?"

A breath.

Then—

"Tempting me."

A delicious shiver curled down her spine.

She shifted, crossing one bare leg over the other, knowing, knowing he was watching, knowing he was picturing it.

"That a problem, sweetheart?" she purred.

Silence.

Then, quieter, rougher—

"Yes."

That caught her off guard.

Jinx blinked, twirling the cord around her finger. "Yeah?"

A breath.

Not steady. Not unaffected.

Then—

"You are pushing."

She smirked. "And?"

Silence.

Then—

"Do you know what happens when you push me?"

The words sent a slow, molten thrill curling in her gut.

She exhaled through her nose, rolling her cigarette against her lips. "Why don’t you tell me, doc?"

Silence.

Not hesitation.

No, this was something else.

Then, finally—

"I come find you."

The air left her lungs in a slow, measured exhale.

Not a tease.

Not a game.

Just a promise.

She tapped ash from her cigarette, heartbeat drumming lazy and electric against her ribs.

"You sayin’ I should be scared, sweetheart?"

Silence.

Then, softer—

"No."

Jinx smirked, dragging her fingers along the switchboard, tapping idly against the desk.

"Then why haven’t you?"

Silence.

Longer this time.

Then—

"Because once I do, I will not stop."

The heat curled sharp and bright in her stomach.

She exhaled, tipping her head back against the chair.

"You always like takin’ your time, doc?"

Another pause.

Then—

"No."

Her lips curled. "Then what’s stoppin’ you?"

Silence.

Then—

"I wanted to see if you would wait for me."

Her grin widened. "And?"

A slow, measured breath on the other end.

Then, quieter—

"You already have."

Her pulse skipped.

Jinx swallowed, tapping her cigarette against the tray, the ember glowing bright.

She should have said something.

Should have filled the silence with something sharp, something teasing, something to keep him at arm’s length.

But instead?

She leaned in.

"You ever think about it, doc?" she murmured. "What happens after?"

Silence.

Then—

"Yes."

A pause.

Then, softer, almost dangerous—

"I think about it often."

Jinx wet her lips, a slow grin curling at the edges.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

She let the silence stretch.

Let him sit in it.

Then, lower—

"You wanna tell me what you think about, sweetheart?"

A slow, deliberate inhale on the other end.

Then—

"No."

Jinx smirked.

"Guess I’ll just have to find out for myself, huh?"

Silence.

Then, softer—

"Yes."

She exhaled, dragging her cigarette to her lips, smirk never wavering.

"Don’t make me wait too long, doc."

A pause.

Then—

"I will not."

Click.

The line went dead.

Jinx sat back, staring at the switchboard, at the dim city lights bleeding in through the window.

She had been in trouble before.

Had danced with danger, had played games she had no business playing.

But this?

This was something else.

This was real.

And for the first time—

She wanted to lose.

---

Jinx had never been patient.

She lived fast, spoke sharp, made trouble wherever she went. Never waited, never hesitated, never sat still long enough for anything—or anyone—to catch her.

But now?

Now, she was waiting.

Waiting for the next call.

Waiting for him.

She stretched out at her desk, cigarette balanced between her fingers, the lace of her slip brushing soft against her skin.

He had seen her last night.

Had felt her pressing, pushing, teasing—

And he liked it.

But tonight?

Tonight, she wanted to know how far she could push before he finally broke.

The switchboard buzzed with calls, voices drifting in and out, but none of them mattered.

Not the lovesick husbands dialing numbers that wouldn’t pick up.

Not the detectives chasing ghosts through the static.

Not the insomniacs spilling secrets they’d regret by morning.

No, the only voice she cared about was his.

And when the line crackled just past one, when the familiar silence stretched through the receiver, she grinned, slow and sharp.

She took her time pressing the switch.

"You like watching me, doc?"

Silence.

Then—

"I do."

Her pulse skipped.

She smirked, shifting in her chair, letting the lace slip just a little lower, letting the dim glow of the desk lamp cast shadows along the bare curve of her thigh.

"Mm. That so?"

"Yes."

His voice was lower tonight. Tighter.

Good.

She exhaled slow, twirling the cord between her fingers.

"You see anything you like?"

A pause.

Then, softer—

"Yes."

Jinx grinned.

She dragged her cigarette to her lips, inhaling deep, letting the embers burn hot between her fingers.

"Why don’t you tell me what you like, sweetheart?"

Silence.

Not empty.

No, this was loaded.

Then—

"Your legs."

The words sent a slow, molten thrill curling down her spine.

Jinx exhaled, tapping ash from her cigarette. "That so?"

"Yes." A pause. Then, quieter—"You should close the window."

Her breath caught.

A slow, creeping shiver ghosted over her skin.

Not fear.

Not even shock.

Just knowing.

She grinned, biting her lip.

"You gettin’ shy on me, doc?" she teased.

Silence.

Then—

"You are tempting me."

Oh, she loved this.

Jinx leaned forward, elbows on the desk, voice all lazy amusement. "And what happens when you’re done with being tempted, doc?"

Another pause.

Then—

"I stop waiting."

Heat coiled in her stomach, slow and electric.

She licked her lips, dragging the moment out.

"That a promise?"

"Yes."

Her pulse kicked.

She should have laughed. Should have spun the moment into something light, something easy.

But instead?

She leaned in.

"Then stop waiting."

Silence.

Thick. Heavy. Deciding.

Then—

"You are not ready for that."

Her grin widened. "You think so?"

"I know so."

Jinx chuckled, shaking her head. "Sweetheart, you ain’t got a clue what I’m ready for."

Silence.

Then, quieter—

"You should lock your door."

A thrill shot through her, sharp and hot.

She exhaled slowly, dragging smoke through her lungs, voice all easy, all lazy. "You that close, doc?"

Silence.

Then—

"Yes."

Her fingers tightened around the receiver.

She wet her lips, heart thrumming steady, slow, anticipating.

"You gonna knock?" she murmured.

A pause.

Then—

"No."

Jinx grinned.

She wanted this.

Wanted him to come looking, wanted to see how far he’d go.

She stretched out, letting the lace slip just a little lower, letting the cool air kiss warm skin.

"Then I won’t lock it."

Silence.

Then—

"Good."

Click.

The line went dead.

Jinx sat back, staring at the dark window, cigarette burning low between her fingers.

She should have been nervous.

She should have been scared.

But instead?

She smiled.

And she waited. 

---

Tonight, he was near.

She could feel it.

The air in the room felt thicker, charged—like the moment before a storm cracks the sky open.

The switchboard buzzed, the city’s neon glow flickered against the window, and still, Jinx stayed perfectly still.

Then—

A sound.

Faint.

Distant.

A footstep in the hall.

Her smirk deepened.

She took a final drag from her cigarette before pressing it out, the ember dimming against the glass tray.

No hesitation.

No fear.

She had asked for this.

She had wanted it.

And now?

Now, she would see if he was all talk.

Jinx stood, slow and deliberate, the black lace of her slip brushing soft against her skin.

The cardigan had already slipped from her shoulders. She left it on the chair, making no move to cover herself.

If he was near—

If he was watching—

She would give him something to see.

She stepped toward the door, fingers trailing along the desk, bare legs catching the dim glow of the switchboard lights.

She could lock it.

Could slide the deadbolt into place, could put space between them, could push the moment back into the safety of the telephone line.

But she wouldn’t.

Didn’t want to.

Jinx pressed her palm flat against the door.

And waited.

Silence.

Not empty.

Not distant.

No, this was present.

Then—

Another step.

Closer.

She grinned.

"You knockin’, doc?"

Silence.

Then, lower than she’d ever heard him—

"No."

A slow, creeping shiver ghosted over her skin.

Not fear.

Not shock.

Just knowing.

She curled her fingers around the doorknob, pulse steady, anticipating.

And turned it.

The lock clicked.

The door creaked open an inch.

She exhaled through her nose, dragging the moment out, letting the cool air from the hallway brush against her skin.

And then—

A presence.

A weight in the dark.

Not touching.

Not yet.

But close.

Too close.

Jinx smirked, tilting her head.

"You are real, huh?"

Silence.

Then—

"Yes."

A shiver curled down her spine.

His voice was different in person.

Richer.

Darker.

No distance now.

No safety of the wire.

He was here.

And she wanted him here.

Jinx reached out, slow, fingertips brushing the edge of the door, waiting to see if he would move first.

If he would—

Warm fingers caught her wrist.

Her breath hitched.

Not tight.

Not rough.

Just deliberate.

She grinned, slow and sharp, tilting her chin up.

"Guess you really did stop waiting, huh, doc?"

A pause.

Then, softer—

"I told you I would."

Her pulse thrummed, heat curling deep in her stomach.

She could barely see him, just a shadow in the dim light, a silhouette cut against the dark.

But his hand was warm.

His grip was firm.

And his voice—

Oh, his voice was right here.

Jinx exhaled, curling her fingers over his.

"You gonna let me see you, sweetheart?"

A pause.

Then—

"Would it change anything if I did?"

Her grin widened.

She loved that answer.

She stepped forward, pressing the lace of her slip against the warmth of his coat.

"No," she murmured, voice thick with amusement. "But I wanna."

Silence.

Then—

"Good."

Fingers traced up her arm, slow, measured, deliberate.

Jinx let her head tip back, waiting.

Expecting.

And then—

Soft lips ghosted the shell of her ear.

A slow, quiet breath.

And a whisper—

"Close the door, little operator."

A thrill shot through her, sharp and wicked.

Jinx smirked.

And she did.

The door clicked shut.

Jinx didn’t lock it.

Didn’t need to.

Because the moment it closed, the space between them vanished.

He was close—closer than he had ever been. No more distance, no more wires, no more safe little gaps between teasing words. Just him.

Warm. Solid. Real.

She could feel the heat of his body even through the fabric of his coat, could hear the slow, steady rhythm of his breath.

She should have had the upper hand.

Should have been the one in control, should have been teasing, smirking, setting the pace—

But then he touched her.

A single, deliberate movement.

Fingertips grazing her bare shoulder, tracing the strap of lace like he was learning her.

Jinx swallowed, smirk wavering just slightly. "Took you long enough."

He exhaled, slow and measured, like he was still considering how much of himself he wanted to give her.

"You knew I would come."

Her lips curled. "I counted on it."

His fingers trailed lower, skimming the curve of her arm, down to her wrist, barely a touch but enough.

Jinx tilted her head back, letting the warmth of him settle against her skin, letting herself feel the weight of his presence.

"Not so mysterious now, huh, doc?"

Silence.

Then—

"Look at me."

Her pulse kicked.

Not a request.

Not a tease.

A command.

Jinx smirked, rolling her head against the door to meet his gaze. "You always this bossy, sweetheart?"

His lips twitched, something almost like amusement.

"You bring it out in me."

She exhaled a quiet laugh, dragging her nails down the front of his coat. "Yeah? And what else do I bring out?"

A pause.

Then, lower—

"You talk too much."

Before she could fire back, his fingers curled under her chin, tilting her head up—

And then he kissed her.

Not careful.

Not hesitant.

Just lips on lips, heat curling between them, his grip shifting from measured to possessive.

Jinx gasped softly, caught just slightly off guard—

And oh, he liked that.

Liked the way she tensed for half a second before melting into him, liked the way her fingers clenched into his coat, holding him in place now.

She recovered fast, tilting her head, teasing him, testing him—

And then—

His hand slid into her hair.

And he pulled.

Jinx let out a sharp breath, her smirk breaking into something breathless, something wrecked.

Her body arched, her pulse kicked, heat curling low in her stomach like a slow-dragged match across sulfur.

His breath was steady, but his grip wasn’t.

Not anymore.

"Still think I hold back?" he murmured.

Jinx swallowed, eyes half-lidded, voice a low purr. "Not anymore."

He hummed, the sound vibrating against her throat.

"You should have locked the door."

She grinned. "Why? You worried someone’s gonna walk in on us?"

A pause.

Then, quieter—

"No."

Her breath hitched.

Because he wasn’t worried about someone coming in.

He was worried about stopping.

She felt it in the way his fingers tensed against her skin, in the way his breath dragged uneven, in the way his restraint was thinning—

And she wanted to shred it completely.

Jinx smirked, pressing up on her toes, lips grazing his jaw, her breath warm against his skin.

"Then don’t stop, doc."

A slow exhale.

Then—

"I wasn’t planning to."

---

Jinx had always been the one in control.

She teased. She tempted. She pushed.

And people?

They chased.

That was how it worked. That was how she kept it working—keeping herself just out of reach, always one step ahead, always the one pulling the strings.

But now?

Now, he had her pinned.

Not with force.

Not with anything as simple as strength.

No, he had her with intention.

With hands that knew exactly where to touch.

With lips that knew exactly when to hesitate—just for a second—before devouring her.

Jinx gasped against his mouth, her fingers tightening in his coat, the lace of her slip whispering against her skin with every shift, every movement.

He was warm.

Solid.

Real.

And she—

She let herself feel it.

Didn’t fight it. Didn’t twist away. Didn’t laugh and turn it into something light.

She wanted this.

Had wanted this for weeks.

Had wanted him from the moment he first whispered through the wires.

He exhaled against her lips, the grip on her hip tightening just slightly, just enough.

"Still teasing me, little operator?"

Jinx smirked, licking her lips, breathless. "Sweetheart, I haven’t even started."

A sharp inhale.

Then—

He moved.

Fingers dragging over bare skin, lips trailing down her throat, heat curling along her spine like slow-burning fire.

Jinx tipped her head back, nails skimming up his chest, teasing, provoking—

And then—

His hand slid lower.

Not hesitant.

Not shy.

Just deliberate.

Testing the lace, tracing the edge where fabric met skin, his breath dragging slow and measured against her jaw.

Jinx sucked in a sharp breath, her grin faltering just slightly.

Not because she wanted to stop.

But because—

She didn’t.

Her fingers curled into his coat, her pulse drumming against his lips where they lingered on her throat.

He stilled.

Just for a second.

Then—

"You want this?"

The words were low, quiet, dangerous.

Like he knew the answer.

Like he just wanted to hear her say it.

Jinx swallowed, her smirk curling slow and wicked.

"Yeah, doc."

A pause.

Then, softer—

"Good."

And then—

---

Jinx had never let herself be caught before.

Never let anyone hold her in place, never let anyone press too close, never let anyone—not once—make her stay.

But him?

He wasn’t holding her still.

He didn’t have to.

She wanted to stay.

His lips were warm, deliberate, dragging over hers in slow, calculated movements, testing, teasing, learning.

And Jinx?

Jinx let him.

Let him take his time, let him savor, let him think he had any control over how deep she was willing to go.

But then—

She bit his lip.

Not hard.

Just enough to snap the thread.

And oh—

Oh, that did it.

He growled low in his throat, something rough and edged, something that curled heat straight down her spine.

His hand tangled tighter in her hair, his grip shifting from measured to possessive, tilting her head, pulling her flush against him.

Jinx grinned into the kiss.

She loved this.

Loved pushing, loved teasing, loved provoking him into giving her what she wanted.

His other hand slipped lower, fingers dragging over the lace, skimming bare skin.

Jinx gasped into his mouth, sharp and sudden, her nails curling into the fabric of his coat.

He inhaled like he liked the sound.

Like he wanted more of it.

Jinx chuckled, breathless. "You gonna let yourself have me, doc?"

His lips ghosted down the line of her jaw, breath warm against her throat.

"You have not stopped offering."

She smirked. "Damn right I haven’t."

A pause.

Then—

"Turn around."

Her stomach flipped.

She liked that.

Liked the control in his voice, liked the way he didn’t hesitate, liked the way he was finally—finally—showing his hand.

Jinx exhaled slow, smirking as she pulled away just enough to look at him.

"Demanding tonight, doc."

His lips twitched, almost smiling. "You like that."

She did.

She really, really did.

Jinx grinned, biting her lip, voice all teasing silk. "And if I didn’t?"

He stepped closer, pressing her back against the door, his hand slipping down her hip, fingers skimming lace.

"Then stop me."

Her breath hitched.

Not because she wanted to stop him.

But because—

She didn’t.

She didn’t want to stop any of this.

She dragged her fingers down his chest, slow and lazy, tilting her head.

"Not a chance, sweetheart."

And then—

She turned around.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Felt the cool air against her back, felt the weight of his gaze, felt the way the entire energy of the room shifted the moment she obeyed.

He exhaled, slow and steady, fingers grazing her bare shoulders, tracing the straps of lace.

Jinx grinned. "You just gonna look, doc?"

A pause.

Then—

"No."

And then—

He touched her.

Hands sliding over bare skin, pushing the edges of lace, mapping every inch of her like he had to know.

Jinx tipped her head back, breath shivering out in a slow exhale.

Oh, he was good.

Too good.

---

Jinx had spent her whole life slipping through fingers.

Too quick. Too sharp. Too much trouble to keep a hold of.

She had never been someone’s to keep.

But now?

Now, she was standing in the dim glow of the switchboard, lace whispering against her skin, her back pressed to his chest—

And she wasn’t running.

Didn’t want to.

Not when his hands were sliding over her bare shoulders, slow and deliberate, tracing the edge of lace like he was memorizing it.

Not when his breath skimmed the back of her neck, warm, measured, controlled—

Except she could feel the tension in him.

The restraint.

The way he was holding back, even now.

Jinx smirked, voice all low amusement. "You gonna keep bein’ careful, doc?"

A pause.

Then—

"Not for much longer."

A thrill shot straight through her.

Oh, she liked that.

Liked the warning in it.

Liked the way he sounded like he was just barely holding himself in check.

Jinx leaned back against him, pressing closer, letting him feel the warmth of her, the softness of lace against his clothes.

"You afraid of what’ll happen if you stop holdin’ back?" she teased.

Silence.

Then, lower—

"No. But you should be."

Her stomach flipped.

Not with fear.

But with something wicked.

Something dark and hot and thrilling.

Jinx smirked, tipping her head to the side, exposing the line of her throat. "You think you can scare me, doc?"

A breath.

Then—

"No. But I can ruin you."

Oh.

Oh.

Heat curled low in her stomach, sharp and electric.

Jinx exhaled slow, dragging her nails down the back of his hand, teasing, testing, daring.

"Then do it."

Silence.

A long pause.

And then—

He moved.

His hand slid up, fingers curling under her jaw, tilting her head back—

And then his lips were on her throat.

Not soft.

Not tentative.

Just claiming.

Jinx gasped, her smirk breaking into something breathless, something real.

She loved this.

Loved the way he finally stopped thinking, finally stopped holding back.

His teeth scraped against her pulse, fingers pressing into the curve of her waist, pulling her against him, and Jinx—

Jinx let him.

Let herself sink into the heat of him, let herself feel what it was like to be wanted like this.

She grinned, tilting her head further, voice a low purr. "That’s more like it, sweetheart."

He hummed against her skin, voice rough.

"You are too pleased with yourself."

She was.

But she didn’t get the chance to say so—

Because his hand slid lower, fingers brushing bare thigh, teasing more than just the lace.

Jinx’s breath hitched.

He heard it.

Felt the way her body reacted, felt the way her muscles tensed just slightly before melting into him.

And then—

He pulled her hips back against him.

Jinx let out a breath that wasn’t quite a moan, wasn’t quite a laugh—

Something caught between the two.

Her pulse thrummed.

She swallowed, gripping his wrist, not to stop him—

But to keep him there.

His lips ghosted over her ear.

"Do you understand now, little operator?"

Jinx exhaled. "Understand what?"

His fingers tightened on her hip, slow and deliberate.

"That I was always going to find you."

A shiver curled down her spine.

Not fear.

Never fear.

Just the sharp, thrilling knowledge that this was happening.

That she had spent weeks teasing and testing and tempting him—

And now?

Now, he was here.

Now, there was no stopping.

And she didn’t want to stop.

Jinx grinned, biting her lip. "Guess I should’ve locked that door after all."

A slow breath.

Then—

"Too late for that now."

And then—

He ruined her.

Chapter 82: Blood & Bloom

Summary:

“My friend will be here tomorrow,” she murmured, her voice a silken thing in the dim light. “Do not be alarmed if he arrives and I am not here.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Going somewhere?”

Jinx smirked. “Maybe.” She tilted her head, watching him with something unreadable in her crimson gaze. “Or maybe I just want to see how you handle things on your own.”

Viktor exhaled, amused. “Testing me already?”

Jinx laughed, her hands sliding down to his wrists before letting go. “Always.”

The Black Forest was a place of whispered warnings. A land where the trees loomed impossibly tall, their twisted branches like skeletal fingers blotting out the moonlight. The air was thick, damp, filled with the scent of rotting leaves and something else—something ancient, something that smelled like the remnants of forgotten graves. No one entered and came back whole. Most never returned at all.

But Viktor walked into the forest without hesitation.

His steps were slow but steady, the cane in his grip tapping against the gnarled roots that jutted from the earth. He was a man already marked by death, his body frail, his breath thin, his heart beating with the sluggish persistence of something that knew its time was nearly up. Others clung to life with desperate hands. He did not.

Perhaps that was why the horrors of the forest ignored him.

The stories spoke of monstrous things—wolves with too many eyes, shadows that moved with hunger, trees that whispered in voices that did not belong to the living. He saw nothing. Heard nothing. Felt nothing but the cold air pressing against his skin like an intimate embrace.

The forest let him pass unchallenged.

It was only after an hour of walking that he saw it.

A mansion.

It stood in stark defiance of the wild, an eerie monolith of dark stone and splintering wood. Ivy crawled up its sides like veins, windows black and hollow as empty eye sockets. The grand doors were carved with intricate patterns long eroded by time. It should not have been there.

But it was.

Viktor approached without trepidation. He pressed a hand against the heavy doors, expecting resistance. There was none. They groaned open, a deep sigh that disturbed the dust within.

Inside, silence reigned.

The air was stale but not unbearable. The grand entrance hall stretched high above him, chandeliers thick with cobwebs, furniture covered in undisturbed layers of dust. The mansion was abandoned—or it seemed to be. There were no signs of life. No footprints in the dust. No candlelight flickering in the darkness.

And yet… it did not feel empty.

Viktor wandered.

He found parlors filled with long-dead flowers, their petals brittle as paper. A dining hall with a grand table set for a feast that had never come. Stairs that led to more darkness, corridors stretching into oblivion. But it was the library that captured him.

It was vast.

Towering shelves lined every wall, filled with books older than empires, tomes bound in worn leather and gilded in forgotten languages. The sheer volume of knowledge pressed against him, a silent invitation. Viktor had spent his life chasing wisdom, and here it sat, waiting.

He did not hesitate.

Dust coated the reading tables, but he paid no mind. He sat, pulled the first book from a nearby pile, and opened it.

Then he read.

Minutes passed. Hours. He lost himself in the words, devouring them like a starving man at his final meal. His body, ever fragile, ached with time, but he did not stop until exhaustion demanded it. The candle he had lit burned low, the edges of his vision blurred. He let himself slump forward, surrendering to sleep with ink-stained hands and the taste of parchment lingering in his breath.

He did not dream.

When he woke, it was to pain.

A deep, bone-deep ache radiated from his limbs, the price of pushing his body too far. A familiar companion, but a bitter one. He exhaled, slow and measured, before noticing something that had not been there before.

Someone.

She sat across from him.

A woman.

Or something close to one.

She lounged in the chair opposite him, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, the other bent at the knee. Her fingers twirled a knife—no, a claw?—against the wooden surface of the table, carving lazy patterns into the dust. Her hair was a wild mess of cerulean strands, tumbling past her shoulders in unruly waves. Her eyes—oh, her eyes—were the color of fresh blood, bright and burning, locked onto him with sharp amusement.

She smiled.

Fangs.

Ah.

So this was the master of the house.

Viktor straightened as much as his body allowed, rolling his stiff shoulders with a quiet sigh. The woman tilted her head, watching him like a cat observing a particularly interesting mouse.

“You are not running,” she mused, trailing a sharp nail down the length of her own throat, mimicking a cut, slow and deliberate.

Viktor exhaled.

“What would be the point?”

She grinned. Gods, she liked him.

She thought she’d like him even more when he was just like her.

---

Jinx stretched languidly, shifting in her chair as if she were bored, though her eyes never left him. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across her sharp features, catching on the curve of her fangs as she grinned. The air in the library was heavy, pressing down like an unseen force, thick with the scent of old parchment and something else—something sweet, metallic. Blood.

She smelled it in him. In his veins. In his marrow.

Weak. Dying. But still so warm.

And yet… he did not fear her.

How rare.

How interesting.

Jinx leaned forward, elbows resting on the dusty table. “You don’t look surprised,” she mused, voice silken but laced with something sharp, something that could cut if one wasn’t careful.

Viktor, still stiff from sleep, merely rubbed his aching shoulder. “Should I be?” His voice was hoarse, but calm. Measured. “I walked into a cursed forest, found an abandoned mansion, and a library filled with books that should not exist.” He exhaled slowly. “Meeting its ghost is hardly the strangest thing to happen tonight.”

Jinx barked a laugh, delighted. “Ghost? Oh, sweetheart, I’m so much worse than that.”

She moved then, impossibly fast. One moment she was seated, the next she was behind him, her breath cool against the nape of his neck. Viktor did not flinch.

She let her fingers trail over his shoulder, down his arm—feeling the frailty of him, the bones too close to the skin, the quiet tremor beneath. So close now, she could hear his heartbeat. Slow. Weaker than most, but steady.

“You’re dying.”

It wasn’t a question.

Viktor chuckled softly. “I am.”

Jinx hummed, circling him like a wolf testing the edge of a trap. “And yet, here you are. Not in a doctor’s care. Not clinging to whatever scraps of life you have left.” She paused behind him, leaning down, lips a breath away from his ear. “You came here to die, didn’t you?”

The question lingered in the air, heavy with something unspoken.

Viktor tilted his head, considering. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But I was in no rush.” His lips quirked, wry. “Then I found the library.”

Jinx blinked. Then she laughed—sharp, wild, her fangs flashing in the dim light. “You walked into a monster’s den and got distracted by books?” She spun on her heel, pacing now, hands clasped behind her back, vibrating with mirth. “Gods, you’re either the stupidest human I’ve ever met, or the most interesting.”

Viktor’s brow arched. “Can’t I be both?”

Jinx grinned at him, sharp and wicked. “Oh, I like you.”

She was next to him again in an instant, crouched by his chair, peering up at him with those blood-bright eyes. “So what now, bookworm? You know what I am. You know what I do.” She dragged a sharp nail against the wood of the chair, idly scratching patterns into it. “Are you going to ask for mercy? Run? Beg?”

Viktor met her gaze, utterly unshaken. “Why would I?”

Jinx stilled.

His voice was calm. Not resigned, not panicked—just… calm. He was not hoping for death, nor was he struggling against it. He simply was.

And for the first time in centuries, Jinx felt something akin to intrigue.

“Oh, you’re fun.” She grinned, wicked and wide. “I could kill you, you know.” She trailed a claw down his throat this time, slow, pressing just enough to let him feel it. “Drain you dry, make a real mess of that pretty library you like so much.”

Viktor sighed, almost amused. “I imagine you could.”

“And you’re still not scared.”

Viktor shrugged. “What would be the point?”

Jinx’s grin widened, delighted. “Gods, I really like you.”

Her eyes flickered—considering, calculating. He was already halfway to death. She could snap his bones like twigs, tear open his throat before he had time to gasp.

But where was the fun in that?

No, no. She wanted to see more. Wanted to see if he would still look at her like that if he was like her.

“You’re dying,” she said again, softer this time, tapping a finger against his chest. “But that’s so boring.”

Viktor watched her, patient. “And?”

Jinx smirked. “I could change that.”

Her fangs glinted in the candlelight, a promise, a threat, an invitation.

Viktor’s gaze did not waver.

“Well,” he mused. “That would be interesting.”

---

Jinx watched him.

Not like prey. Not like a meal. Not like anything she had watched before.

She had lived for centuries, waded through rivers of blood, painted towns in ruin. She had seen countless men—warriors who screamed as she tore their throats open, beggars who prayed for mercy she did not grant, lovers who swore they would never betray her but tasted just as sweet as the rest.

But Viktor?

Viktor was new.

He sat before her, a frail thing with bones too close to his skin, his body eating away at itself with each passing moment. He was already dying, but not with the desperation of men who clung to their last breaths. No. He was a man who knew death, who had sat in its shadow for too long and grown indifferent to its call.

And that made him interesting.

Jinx leaned closer, her nails dragging against the wooden table, leaving shallow grooves in the dust. “You’re not even going to ask what I meant?”

Viktor exhaled, slow. “You meant to offer me something.” His head tilted, dark eyes steady. “A way to live, at the cost of something else.”

Jinx smirked. “Smart boy.”

Viktor’s fingers tapped against the arm of his chair, considering. He had spent his life bargaining—his health for knowledge, his body for progress, his years for just one more discovery. He knew the weight of a deal.

And this?

This would be no small price.

But he wasn’t afraid.

Jinx’s grin widened, predatory. She swung one leg over his chair’s armrest, straddling his seat, close enough that he could see the delicate veins beneath her porcelain skin. She smelled like blood and gunpowder, of something rich and rotting and impossibly alive.

“What do you think, bookworm?” she murmured, voice like silk over steel. “Want me to fix you?”

Viktor did not flinch. “What do you get out of it?”

Jinx threw her head back and laughed, full and wild. “Oh, I like you.” She reached out, slow, deliberate, running a single nail down his jaw. “What do I get?” She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I get to keep you.”

Viktor’s breath hitched—not in fear, not in anticipation, but in something else. Something deep, something almost amused. He could hear the unspoken words beneath hers.

Not love. Not companionship. Possession.

He smiled. “And if I say no?”

Jinx pulled back, pouting. “Then you die slow and miserable, all alone in a haunted house full of books.” She twirled a strand of his hair between her fingers, grinning. “Boring.”

Viktor hummed. He had spent his life being careful, making calculations, measuring his steps. But this? This was a different equation.

He had always wanted more.

And she was offering forever.

His eyes met hers, unwavering. “Show me.”

Jinx stilled.

Then, ever so slowly, her grin sharpened.

“Oh, now we’re talking.”

She did not hesitate.

Her hands caught his shoulders, her strength effortless as she pushed him back against the chair. Her nails pressed into his skin, not hard enough to break but enough to warn, to tease. Viktor exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back, exposing the fragile column of his throat.

Jinx shivered.

Gods, he wasn’t afraid. Not even now.

She licked her lips. “Last chance, bookworm.”

Viktor’s voice was steady. “I never take deals lightly.” A pause. “And I never take them back.”

Jinx grinned.

Then she bit.

Her fangs sank into his throat, piercing soft flesh with practiced ease. The taste of him flooded her mouth—thin, weak, but rich, laced with something sharp, something more. His body jerked, a sharp intake of breath leaving his lips, but he did not pull away.

Jinx moaned.

He tasted like hunger. Like intellect. Like something that should have died long ago but still burned, defiant and unyielding. She drank deeper, her fingers curling against his skin, holding him in place as his heartbeat thundered against her lips.

It slowed.

She could feel him slipping—closer to death, closer to her.

Jinx pulled back, licking the blood from her lips, her chest rising and falling in exhilaration.

Viktor slumped against the chair, his breathing shallow, his skin pale as the candlelight flickered against him. His fingers twitched. His lips parted, forming silent words.

Jinx grinned.

Then she tore into her wrist with her fangs.

Dark blood welled up, thick and glistening. She pressed it to his lips. “Drink.”

Viktor’s breath shuddered. His body, frail and dying, screamed in agony. But he did not resist. His lips parted, and he drank.

Jinx’s grin widened.

Because she already knew.

She knew he was going to be magnificent.

---

The first drop of her blood was fire.

It burned through Viktor’s veins, scorched through the frail body he had been imprisoned in for so long. His chest lurched with the force of it, his fingers twitching, a strangled sound escaping his throat as the heat tore through every nerve, every muscle.

Jinx held his head in her hands, her wrist still pressed to his lips. “Shhh, bookworm,” she cooed, voice all honeyed mockery. “Almost there.”

Viktor wanted to answer—to tell her he had endured worse, to tell her she didn’t need to coddle him like something fragile—but the pain swallowed his words whole.

His heart.

It was slowing.

Each beat a struggle. A deep, agonizing thud against his ribs, as if it knew its time was up and refused to go quietly.

Jinx watched, eyes gleaming with something dark, something hungry. She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand, nails leaving ghostly trails down his skin. "Feels good, doesn’t it?"

Viktor’s fingers curled into the armrests of the chair. He could barely move, barely think beyond the pain consuming him.

But still—still, his lips quirked. A weak, rasping breath that might have been a laugh.

Jinx grinned. “Oh, I knew you’d be fun.”

The fire raged on. It sank into his bones, into the very core of him. It was not just pain; it was remaking him, tearing apart everything weak and broken, stitching him back together into something new.

His body seized. His back arched, lips parting in a silent gasp as the last beat of his human heart sounded.

Then—silence.

A moment of stillness.

Then—the hunger.

It hit him like a thunderclap. A vicious, all-consuming ache that burned deep in his gut, clawed at his ribs, demanded more. His throat was dry—no, not dry, empty. He needed—gods, he needed—

His eyes snapped open.

The world was different.

The candlelight burned too bright. The dust in the air had a scent. The walls, the books, the very wood beneath his fingers felt too real, too sharp—every texture, every shift of movement in the air pressing against him like a living thing.

And her.

Jinx.

She was color, was heat, was everything. The scent of her blood was intoxicating, richer than anything he had ever known. She watched him with a knowing smirk, her head tilted, one arm draped lazily over the back of the chair.

"Welcome back," she purred.

Viktor exhaled, slow, steady, feeling the way his breath curled different in his lungs. He flexed his fingers, testing the strength now coursing through them. His body—once frail, once dying—felt whole. No. Not whole.

More.

His tongue ran over his teeth, pausing as he felt the sharp edge of his newly-formed fangs.

Jinx grinned. "Cute, aren't they?"

Viktor chuckled, low and quiet. "Unexpected." His voice was smoother now, the rasp of illness gone, replaced with something deeper.

Jinx leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, eyes glinting with something sharp. "And the hunger?"

Viktor hesitated.

It was unbearable.

Gnawing.

Ravenous.

He could hear the blood pulsing through her veins. The sound of it thudding against flesh, the heat of it just beneath the surface. He knew—knew if he reached out, if he took—

Jinx saw it.

She grabbed his wrist before he could even move.

"Not me," she scolded, voice laced with amusement. "You’re not ready for that yet."

Viktor inhaled sharply, shuddering as he forced himself to still. It took effort—gods, it took effort—but he was nothing if not disciplined. His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms.

Jinx hummed. "Impressive."

She stood, stretching, rolling her shoulders before turning on her heel. "Come on, then," she called over her shoulder as she strolled toward the door. "Can’t have my new fledgling starving to death before we even have fun."

Viktor’s brow arched. “Isn’t that a contradiction?”

Jinx snorted. "You're already catching on."

She disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

Viktor lingered only a moment longer before rising from the chair. His movements were effortless, as if the frailty of his human body had been nothing more than an ill-fitting coat he had finally shrugged off.

And the hunger—

Oh, he would feed soon.

But first, he would follow her.

---

The corridors of the mansion stretched long and endless, swallowed in shadow. Dust hung in the air, thick and unmoving, untouched by time or breath. The scent of decay lingered—wood rotting in forgotten corners, old books bleeding ink into brittle pages.

And yet, it was alive.

Viktor felt it.

The heartbeat of the place. The weight of centuries pressing down on its bones. It was no mere house. It was a tomb, a temple, a throne.

And she was its queen.

Jinx walked ahead of him, her stride unhurried, hands clasped behind her back. She hummed as she moved, an old tune, something low and lilting. A song from a time long buried.

Viktor followed.

His body was new, yet familiar. There was no pain in his bones, no struggle in his breath. He moved with a grace he had never possessed in life, the heaviness of flesh and sickness shed like a snake’s skin.

And the hunger—

It curled in his gut, gnawed at his ribs, demanded more.

But he would not ask. Not yet.

Instead, he spoke. “I’ve heard stories about your… our kind.”

Jinx snorted. “Oh, this should be good.”

Viktor’s fingers grazed the wall as he walked, feeling the cool stone beneath his fingertips, the way his senses could trace the patterns of the cracks even in the dark. “They say we burn in the sun.”

Jinx let out a bark of laughter, sharp and sudden.

“They wish we did.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, a grin pulling at her lips. “Oh, sweetheart, wouldn’t that be nice? If a little light could send us screaming?” She spun on her heel, walking backward now, facing him fully. “Sorry to disappoint, bookworm. Sunlight stings, sure. Makes us slow, weak. But burn?” Her grin widened. “Not unless we want to.”

Viktor arched a brow. “So garlic?”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.” She wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. “It stinks, but it won’t kill you. Unless you choke on it.”

Viktor chuckled. “And stakes?”

Jinx stopped walking.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, she smiled.

It was different this time. Slower. Wider. A smile that held secrets, that promised things far worse than death.

She took a step toward him.

“Do you want to try?” she whispered.

Viktor met her gaze, unwavering. “I assume it’s ineffective.”

Jinx grinned. “Oh, it’ll hurt, sure.” She leaned in, close enough that he could see the way her pupils swelled, dark and endless. “But kill us? No. Not even close.”

She tapped a single finger against his chest, where his heart no longer beat. “The problem, bookworm, is that people want to believe we can die. That we have weaknesses. That we’re just monsters in stories, things they can fight, things they can win against.”

She tilted her head, considering. “And some of us? Sure. They get sloppy. Get weak. Let their bodies forget what they are.”

Viktor studied her. “But not you.”

Jinx’s grin widened, all teeth. “Not me.”

She spread her arms, the candlelight catching on the sharpness of her bones, the glint of something more in her blood-bright eyes. “I am Transcendent.”

The word hung between them, heavy, electric.

Viktor exhaled, slow. “And that means?”

Jinx smirked. “It means the little rules don’t apply to me.” She turned, walking again, her tone almost lazy. “It means I don’t rot like the weak ones. I don’t crumble. I don’t fade.” She spun, walking backward once more, watching him with something close to amusement. “It means I am more than death. I am beyond it.”

Viktor considered this.

Then, with quiet certainty, he said, “And I will be too.”

Jinx’s eyes flashed.

Slowly, her grin curled at the edges, sharp and knowing.

“Oh, I knew I liked you.”

She stalked toward him, closing the distance between them in an instant. Her hands found his face, tilting his chin up, her grip firm but teasing. “Not yet, bookworm.” Her thumb brushed the corner of his lips, the ghost of something fond in her touch. “First, you have to feed.”

Viktor exhaled.

The hunger roared in him.

He did not argue.

---

Jinx led him through the mansion’s labyrinthine halls, her steps light, playful, like a cat leading a mouse into a game it didn’t yet understand. Viktor followed, silent, the weight of his new existence pressing against his skin.

The hunger gnawed at him, relentless. It was not like mortal hunger—dull and gradual, something one could ignore with enough discipline. No, this was something deeper. Something wrong. It burned, sharp and unyielding, an ache inside his ribs that whispered—more, more, more.

Jinx knew.

She could smell it on him, the way his breath hitched when they passed a window where the wind carried the scent of something warm. The way his fingers curled into fists at his sides, suppressing the instinct to take.

She grinned as she pushed open a set of heavy wooden doors, stepping out into the night.

The Black Forest stretched before them, dark and endless. The sky above was thick with clouds, the moon a pale sliver, casting light that barely touched the gnarled trees. The air was alive with the distant sounds of creatures stirring in the undergrowth—things neither of them needed to fear.

But beyond the treeline—

Viktor stilled.

There was a village.

Far beyond the forest’s cursed reach, where men and women still clung to the safety of firelight and prayers. A small town, nestled in the valley, where houses huddled close and smoke curled from chimneys.

He could hear them.

Their heartbeats.

Their blood.

The scent of them drifted on the wind, warm and rich, so much thicker, so much more than the stale, cold existence he had been trapped in before.

The hunger snarled.

Jinx stepped beside him, watching the flickering lights in the distance with an amused smile. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, forcing the hunger down. “You bring all your fledglings here?”

Jinx laughed, low and wicked. “Oh, sweetheart.” She leaned in, lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “You’re my first.”

Viktor turned his head slightly, brow arched.

She grinned. “What? Surprised?”

“A little.”

Jinx smirked. “Most aren’t worth it.” She flicked her fingers, dismissive. “They’re stupid, or weak, or worse—boring.” She tilted her head, watching him with something sharp in her gaze. “But you? Oh, you’re different.”

Viktor let the words settle, unshaken. “So, what now?”

Jinx hummed, stepping away from him. “Now, you hunt.”

She turned, gesturing toward the village with a lazy sweep of her hand. “Go on, bookworm. Pick one.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened. He felt the weight of the moment pressing against him, a thin veil between what he had been and what he was now.

He was no stranger to death. He had accepted it, welcomed it, even. But taking life? Taking it like this?

He clenched his fists. “And if I refuse?”

Jinx laughed. Not mocking—delighted.

“Oh, darling.” She moved fast, faster than he could track, until she was behind him, her hands sliding over his shoulders, her breath cool against his throat. “You think you have a choice?”

Her grip tightened, claws just barely pressing into his skin.

“Do you feel it, yet?” she whispered, voice like silk wrapped around a blade. “The ache? The way your body is screaming for it?”

Viktor swallowed.

The hunger was unbearable.

His hands trembled, nails biting into his palms. His throat burned, his teeth ached, his whole body thrummed with the need—

Jinx leaned in, lips ghosting over his ear. “It won’t stop, bookworm. It’ll get worse. And worse. And worse.” Her voice was almost gentle. “Until you take what’s yours.”

Viktor’s breath shuddered.

He knew she was right.

He could feel it, a rising tide, something that would not be denied.

Jinx pulled back, giving him space, her expression almost expectant. “So? What’ll it be?”

Viktor closed his eyes.

He inhaled—deep, slow—letting the scent of the village wash over him.

The heartbeat of the town pulsed in his ears, each beat a song, a call.

The hunger surged.

Viktor moved.

One moment he was standing beside her—the next, he was gone, a shadow streaking through the trees. The world blurred around him, his body obeying instincts he had never known, had never needed before.

The village was closer now, so close—

And then—

A house.

Small, quiet. A single light flickering in the window. The scent of warm skin, of blood thick and pulsing beneath a fragile layer of flesh.

Viktor landed silently on the rooftop, crouched like something feral, something new.

Inside—

A heartbeat.

Steady.

Alive.

A woman, alone, reading by candlelight. Oblivious.

Viktor exhaled.

His fingers curled against the rooftop tiles, his lips parting slightly, his fangs aching for purchase.

He should hesitate.

He should feel something.

But the hunger had already decided for him.

He dropped soundlessly to the ground, his body moving before thought could interfere. The door was nothing—a weak, wooden thing. He pushed, and it opened with a whisper of air.

The woman barely had time to look up before he was upon her.

A sharp gasp—her pulse spiking in panic—

Then his hand was on her throat, tilting her head back, exposing the vulnerable curve of flesh.

Her lips parted to scream—

Viktor sank his fangs into her.

Oh.

The first taste was lightning.

The first pull was fire.

Warmth flooded his mouth, thick and perfect, better than anything he could have imagined. It filled the hollow ache inside him, soothed the gnawing hunger, made him whole.

The woman shuddered against him, her heartbeat hammering against his lips—then slowing. Slowing.

Viktor did not stop.

He could not stop.

Her struggles weakened. Her pulse faded.

Her body slumped.

He pulled away, blood staining his lips, his tongue, his throat.

The hunger was gone.

And in its place—

Power.

His body hummed with it, every nerve singing, his limbs thrumming with strength. His mind was clearer than it had ever been, sharper, more alive than in all his years of human existence.

He had been dying for so long.

And now—

Now he was something else.

Viktor turned, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

At the doorway, Jinx leaned against the frame, watching him with a wide, wicked grin.

“There he is,” she purred.

Viktor met her gaze.

His lips curled, slow.

“Yes,” he murmured.

There he was.

---

Jinx led him back through the Black Forest, her pace unhurried, almost playful. The night air felt different now—sharper, more alive. Viktor could hear every shift in the undergrowth, smell the damp rot of the earth, feel the movement of unseen creatures slinking through the shadows.

He had never been so aware of the world before.

Or of himself.

Power hummed beneath his skin, a quiet, thrumming presence, steady as the hunger had been relentless. His limbs no longer ached with the frailty of disease. His breath came easy, effortless, no longer a struggle against his own failing body.

For the first time in years, Viktor did not feel dying.

He felt alive.

Strange, how that word applied to him even now.

Jinx glanced back at him as they reached the mansion’s entrance, a glint of mischief in her blood-bright eyes. “You’re quiet, bookworm.”

Viktor exhaled, rolling his shoulders, testing the strength in them. “Adjusting.”

Jinx smirked. “Oh, just wait.”

She pushed open the grand doors.

Viktor stepped inside—

And stopped dead.

The mansion was… different.

Gone was the dust, the decay, the thick scent of forgotten time. The chandeliers above gleamed with golden light, their crystals catching and refracting in dazzling patterns across the pristine marble floor. The once-faded wallpaper was now vibrant, deep blues and purples threaded with silver. The grand furniture was polished, the velvet cushions rich and inviting. The air was no longer stale, but warm, filled with the faint scent of something sweet—like wine, like roses just beginning to wilt.

It was… pristine. Alive.

Nothing like the hollow, abandoned tomb he had first wandered into.

Viktor’s brow furrowed.

He turned to Jinx, whose grin had only widened, delight dancing in her gaze.

“What is this?” he murmured.

Jinx giggled.

She stepped forward, spinning on her heel, arms spread wide as she gestured to the grandeur surrounding them. “This, my dear bookworm, is just a taste of what a Transcendent can do.”

Viktor’s gaze swept across the room again, piecing together the truth. “An illusion.”

Jinx clapped her hands together, mock applause. “Ding ding! Took you long enough.” She prowled toward him, leaning in close, voice dropping to a whisper. “You were none the wiser, were you?”

Viktor’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No.”

She laughed.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t feel bad,” she cooed, circling him like a cat toying with its prey. “Even other vampyres wouldn’t have seen through it.” Her fingers trailed along the edge of a polished side table, tapping against the smooth wood. “You walked in, and you saw what I wanted you to see. The dust, the cobwebs, the ruin?” She grinned. “That was my little glimmer.”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, thoughtful. “And the common vampyre cannot do this.”

Jinx snorted. “Not even close.”

She twirled on her heel, hands behind her back. “Most of them?” She wrinkled her nose in mock distaste. “Pathetic, really. Always skulking, always hiding, scurrying in the dark like rats. They think themselves superior, but they’re just… old.”

Her lips curled in amusement. “And I am not old, bookworm.”

Viktor arched a brow. “That is debatable.”

Jinx gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “Rude!”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. “So, if this”—he gestured to the room around them—“is your illusion lifted, what else can you do?”

Jinx grinned.

“Oh, darling,” she purred, stepping closer, her fingers tracing lightly down his chest. “So much more.”

Her touch was cool, featherlight, but he felt it everywhere—his senses raw, heightened, as though the air itself had turned electric around them.

“I can make them see nothing,” she whispered, tilting her head. “Make them forget. Make them kneel.” Her fingers curled at the collar of his shirt, toying with the fabric. “I can weave nightmares into reality. I can make them love me. I can make them rip themselves apart.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing just below his ear.

“I could have made you walk into the sun.”

A slow chill settled in his gut. Not fear. No, not fear.

Respect.

She was not just a predator.

She was above them.

Something beyond what he had read in old texts, beyond the myths whispered in hushed voices.

She was no simple vampyre.

She was Transcendent.

And now, so was he. Or—

Viktor pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her gaze. “And in time?” His voice was steady. “I will be too.”

Jinx’s grin stretched wider, pleased.

“That’s the spirit,” she purred.

Her nails trailed down his chest, stopping just above his heart—where his pulse no longer beat, where the void of eternity now nestled in his bones.

“Feed enough, learn enough, want it enough…” Her eyes burned into his, a promise in their depths. “And you’ll be just like me.”

Viktor exhaled.

It was not fear that filled him.

It was hunger.

Not for blood—not only for blood.

For knowledge. For power. For something more.

Jinx saw it.

She laughed, sharp and thrilled.

“Oh, Viktor,” she whispered, pressing a single finger beneath his chin, tilting his head up ever so slightly.

“You’re going to be magnificent.”

---

Jinx draped herself lazily over a velvet chaise, her eyes gleaming like fresh-spilled blood in the candlelight. One leg dangled over the edge, her fingers idly twirling a dagger—spinning it, catching it, spinning it again. She watched Viktor, but not with her usual teasing amusement.

No, this was something different.

Something possessive.

“You know,” she mused, tapping the blade against her lip, “soon I’ll have to take you to meet my father.”

Viktor, seated comfortably in a grand chair across from her, tilted his head slightly. “Ah.” His voice was thoughtful, measured. “The king of monsters, I presume?”

Jinx snorted. “Oh, please. He’d like to think so.” She propped herself up on her elbow, smirking. “No, no, bookworm. He’s not the king of monsters—just one of them. But he likes his little throne, his little council.” She twirled the dagger again. “And I want them to see you.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Why?”

Jinx grinned, sharp and wicked. “So they know to keep their hands off you.”

She sat up, stretching, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off a weight. “They do not keep their hands to themselves often,” she admitted. “But they would be foolish to even look your way.”

Her eyes darkened.

“You are mine.”

The words settled in the air between them, heavy, unyielding.

Viktor did not flinch.

His fingers tapped idly against the armrest of his chair. “That sounds… territorial.”

Jinx grinned. “Oh, sweetheart, I am territorial.”

She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, eyes gleaming. “You’re mine and only mine, bookworm. They cannot have you.”

Viktor exhaled, slow and amused. “And if they try?”

Jinx’s grin widened.

“Oh,” she purred, dragging the blade of her dagger across her palm, letting blackened blood bead along the edge before it sealed itself shut, smooth and untouched. “Then I start breaking things.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. “And your father? Will he approve of his daughter taking a fledgling?”

Jinx let out a sharp, barking laugh. “Oh, no.” She threw herself back against the chaise, arms spread wide. “He’s going to hate you.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Charming.”

“Nothing you did,” she assured, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve lived for centuries, but he still thinks me a child.” Her nose scrunched in distaste. “He’s never been fond of me around men.”

Viktor hummed. “Protective?”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Controlling.”

Her fingers drummed against the armrest. “He thinks he knows better. Thinks he can dictate what I do, who I take, who I keep.” Her nails bit into the wood, scratching faint lines into the polish. “And he’ll hate that I’ve taken you.”

Viktor tilted his head. “Because I am human-born?”

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Because you’re interesting.”

She leaned forward again, eyes sharp, predatory. “And he loathes when I take an interest in things he can’t control.”

Viktor met her gaze, unshaken. “And what will you do when he disapproves?”

Jinx smirked.

“Oh, bookworm.” She rose to her feet, stepping toward him, slow, deliberate. She braced herself on the arm of his chair, looming over him, her grin curling like a knife pressed against his throat.

“I’ll laugh in his face.”

Viktor chuckled, low and quiet. “I imagine that will go well.”

Jinx grinned.

“Oh, it won’t.” She traced a sharp nail along his collarbone, pressing just enough to feel the coolness of his new skin. “He’ll get angry. He’ll threaten, he’ll scowl, he’ll pretend he still has authority over me.”

She leaned in, lips just a breath away from his ear.

“But he won’t touch you.”

Viktor exhaled. “Because I belong to you.”

Jinx shivered.

Gods, she loved hearing that.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, gripping the fabric as she let out a soft, satisfied hum. “Exactly.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, tilting her head. “So tell me, bookworm.” Her voice was a whisper of amusement and something else, something dark.

“Are you ready to meet the family?”

Viktor’s lips curled into something almost smug.

He had spent his entire mortal life among men who underestimated him.

He had spent his entire human life beneath the weight of his own failing body, ignored, overlooked.

But he was not weak anymore.

And he would not be ignored.

Viktor leaned back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other, utterly composed.

“Well,” he murmured, “I do believe I’ll make an excellent first impression.”

Jinx laughed.

Oh, she could not wait.

Jinx pulled back, stretching her arms behind her head, grinning like a fox that had just stolen something very precious. “In the meantime, bookworm, you’ll need a room and some clothes.”

Viktor glanced down at himself, still wearing the worn, dark layers of his past life. His coat was tattered at the edges, his shirt frayed. He had been dying when he walked into the Black Forest, and his attire reflected it.

Jinx’s nose wrinkled in mock distaste. “Can’t have you walking around looking like that. I have standards.”

Viktor smirked, arching a brow. “A shame, then. I was rather attached to this look.”

Jinx snorted. “Yes, well, I refuse to have my fledgling looking like he just crawled out of a grave—even if that would be very fitting.” She twirled on her heel. “Come. Your room awaits.”

She didn’t wait for him to follow, knowing he would.

Viktor rose, his movements effortless, smooth in a way he was still adjusting to. It was odd—his body had been a cage for so long, weak and failing. But now? Now he moved with a grace he had never known, his limbs responding before he even thought to command them.

It was natural.

Like he had always been meant for this.

Jinx led him through the grand halls of the mansion, which now shone in its true, untouched splendor. The candlelight flickered along the walls, casting shadows that danced with something almost alive. The air was thick with the scent of old wood, of something faintly sweet—like wine left too long to age.

The hallway stretched into darkness, lined with towering doors of deep mahogany. They passed several, until Jinx came to a stop before one near the end.

She turned to him with a grin. “Welcome home, bookworm.”

She pushed open the doors.

Viktor stepped inside—

And paused.

The room was vast.

It was not just a room—it was a chamber, a space carved for something other. The ceilings stretched high above, adorned with intricate carvings of things Viktor did not yet recognize. A grand fireplace sat against the farthest wall, its hearth cold but filled with embers waiting to be lit. The furniture was dark, rich—a massive four-poster bed draped in deep crimson, bookshelves lining the walls, already filled.

And the windows—

Massive, floor-to-ceiling, overlooking the endless stretch of the Black Forest. The glass was thick, warped slightly with age, but clear enough that he could see the distant lights of the village beyond.

Viktor turned his head slightly, his lips twitching. “A room with a view?”

Jinx winked. “You are special, after all.”

Viktor stepped further inside, his fingers brushing over the bookshelf nearest to him. Leather-bound tomes lined the shelves, some with no titles, some in languages he had never seen before. He pulled one free, inspecting the weight of it, the gold filigree on its spine.

His fingers lingered.

Jinx watched him, leaning against the doorframe. “I took a guess on the books.”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, a quiet chuckle. “A very good one.”

Jinx beamed. “Well, I am a genius.”

Viktor placed the book back, turning to face her fully. “And the clothes?”

Jinx stretched, rolling her shoulders. “Ah, that—I’ll have to call in a favor.” She grinned, tilting her head. “I do have a friend who deals in these sorts of things.”

Viktor arched a brow. “A tailor?”

Jinx smirked. “More of a collector.”

Viktor considered this. “Should I be concerned?”

Jinx’s grin widened. “Always.”

She pushed off the doorframe, stepping toward him. “Make yourself comfortable, bookworm. Get used to the place. You’re going to be here a long, long time.”

Viktor exhaled, slow, letting the words settle.

Yes.

Yes, he supposed he was.

And he had no intention of wasting a single moment of it.

---

Jinx stretched her arms above her head, rolling her shoulders, the candlelight casting wicked shadows across her face. “Familiarize yourself, bookworm,” she drawled, waving a hand lazily toward the open door. “I don’t care where you go.”

She spun on her heel, already halfway into the hallway. “My room’s down the hall.” Her grin was audible in her voice, teasing, smug. “Should you have any more questions… I’m sure you can figure them out yourself.”

Viktor chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

And just like that, she was gone.

Her footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the mansion’s eerie stillness.

Viktor stood in the center of the room, the weight of it pressing down on him—not oppressive, not suffocating, but present. This house… breathed.

The walls whispered. The air shifted.

It was alive, in its own strange, quiet way.

He moved toward the fireplace, running his fingers along the ornate carvings in the dark stone. The patterns were unfamiliar—swirling, sharp, almost runic. He did not recognize them, but something in the back of his mind whispered that he should.

He let his gaze drift over the bookshelves again. A lifetime of knowledge, waiting.

No.

More than a lifetime.

An eternity.

He turned, stepping toward the massive windows. The glass was cool beneath his fingertips, warping the distant view of the Black Forest ever so slightly. Beyond the treetops, far in the distance, the lights of the village flickered, small and fragile.

He could still hear them.

Heartbeats, faint but steady. The warm pulse of life, thrumming in the dark.

And yet, he felt no hunger. Not yet.

His first kill had been…

Effortless.

There had been no hesitation, no lingering doubt. Only instinct. Only need.

And it had been—

Good.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, thoughtful. He could still taste the blood, warm and rich, lingering on the back of his tongue. His fingers twitched at his side, as if remembering the sensation, the way life had faded beneath his grip.

He should explore.

He should learn the shape of this house, the depths of the place he now called home.

He stepped back from the window, crossing the room with ease, testing the way his body moved now—fluid, effortless, powerful.

The door creaked as he pushed it open.

The hallway stretched before him, dark and endless.

And Viktor?

Viktor was ready to know it.

The corridor yawned before him, long and empty.

The mansion was quiet—not dead, not hollow, but something else entirely. It was the kind of silence that watched, a silence that listened. The flickering candlelight cast twisting shadows against the walls, shifting with every breath of air, every movement.

Viktor stepped forward, slow, measured.

His footsteps made no sound.

Not that he was surprised—he was beginning to understand what he had become. No heartbeat, no breath that was necessary, no warmth left in his skin. He had spent his entire mortal life aware of the weight of his body, the limits of it, the failure of it.

But now?

Now he moved as if the air parted for him, as if the house knew him, recognized him.

And yet, it remained unknown to him.

That would change.

He traced his fingers along the walls as he walked, feeling the polished wood beneath his touch. The texture was smooth, unblemished—too perfect, as if untouched by time. This place had stood for centuries, and yet, it bore no signs of aging, no cracks, no wear.

An illusion, perhaps.

Jinx had already revealed her little tricks.

He would not be so easily fooled again.

He passed closed doors—massive, ornate, carved with intricate details. Some bore symbols he did not yet recognize, patterns etched into the wood that seemed to shift when he looked away. Others had no markings at all, blank and foreboding.

The air was heavy in certain places, thick with something unspoken.

Memories, perhaps.

Or ghosts.

He did not stop.

Not until he reached something… odd.

A door, slightly ajar.

Unlike the others, this one was wrong.

It did not gleam with polished wood. It was old, truly old—worn, darkened with time. The handle was tarnished, the edges splintered, as if someone had gripped it too tightly, too often.

Viktor hesitated.

Then, slowly, he pushed it open.

Inside, the air was different.

Cold. Still.

A small study. No grand furniture, no lavish details. Just a single desk, a chair, and books—stacks of them, scattered haphazardly, some open, pages worn from handling.

And on the farthest wall—

Paintings.

Viktor stepped inside, drawn to them immediately.

There were three. Large, gilded in elaborate golden frames. They loomed, their subjects frozen in time, caught in oil and shadow.

The first—

A man.

Tall, dressed in dark finery, his eyes sharp—one of them blackened with a burning iris. His hair was black, slicked back with streaks of silver, his face scarred and age-worn. A presence of authority, of something unshakable.

Viktor did not need to guess.

Jinx’s father.

A king of monsters.

The second painting was of a woman.

Her features were striking, expression conveying annoyance, her eyes a pale brown. The edges of her figure blurred into shadow, as if she were slipping into nothingness, dissolving even as she stood.

The third—

Jinx.

It was her, unmistakably.

But younger.

Her hair was shorter, her eyes sharper, burning with something feral. She was dressed in dark silks, her bare arms lined with golden bracelets. She stood atop a pile of bodies—human, vampyre, something else—one foot resting on the skull of a man with empty eyes.

And her smile—

Gods.

Her smile.

Viktor stared at it for a long moment, feeling something unfamiliar creep into his chest.

He turned his head slightly, as if expecting to hear her voice at his ear. But she was not there.

Not this time.

A creak echoed behind him.

Viktor turned swiftly, eyes locking onto the door—now slightly more open than it had been.

A trick of the house?

Or something else?

Viktor exhaled, slow, controlled.

It did not matter.

This house was filled with secrets.

And he intended to learn all of them.

---

Viktor did not leave immediately.

Instead, he stood there, studying the paintings, letting the silence press against his skin like a second layer of flesh. The weight of time settled over the room, thick and unmoving. This place had been used. Not abandoned. Not forgotten.

The air smelled different here.

Not like the rest of the mansion, with its polished wood and faint scent of old wine. No—this room smelled of age, of ink and candlewax, of something faintly burnt, like parchment left too close to the flame.

Someone had spent a great deal of time here.

And then, one day, they had simply… stopped.

Viktor reached for one of the open books on the desk, careful as he lifted it. The spine was broken from frequent handling, the pages filled with script written in a language he did not immediately recognize.

Not vampyric. Not human. Something older.

He turned a page, running his fingers lightly over the ink. It had been written by hand—hurriedly, almost frantically, the letters uneven, slanted. Whoever had written this had not been careful. They had been desperate.

A loose sheet of parchment slipped from between the pages, floating silently to the floor.

Viktor bent to pick it up.

Unlike the rest of the book, this was written in a language he could understand.

"The house remembers. The house never forgets."

His lips pressed into a thin line.

Something about those words unsettled him—not in fear, but in understanding.

This house was alive, in its own way.

It had seen.

It had kept.

And now, it watched.

Viktor turned his head slightly, as if expecting to catch a glimpse of something just out of sight. But there was nothing. Only the flickering candlelight and the stillness of the air.

The house was waiting.

Waiting for what?

Viktor wasn’t sure.

But he intended to find out.

---

Viktor moved through the mansion’s halls like a shadow.

He had explored, had let the house sink its claws into him, let it show him the weight of its history. The Black Forest had been silent when he walked through it, but this house was not. It whispered, breathed, waited.

But for what, he still did not know.

He returned to the hallway where his own chambers resided, but instead of stepping inside, he continued forward, his steps slow, deliberate.

To her room.

The door loomed ahead, larger than the rest. Dark wood, polished to a shine, carved with symbols that meant nothing to him—yet. The frame stretched high, as if the room within was meant for something greater, something above the rest of the house.

He knocked twice.

Silence.

Then, with the quietest of creaks—

The doors opened on their own.

Viktor stilled.

Not out of fear. Not even surprise.

But curiosity.

The house had let him in before. It did so again now.

After a beat, he stepped forward.

And entered her domain.

Jinx’s room was her.

Dark, but full of grace.

The walls were deep, rich black, lined with delicate golden filigree that swirled in sharp, elegant patterns. Candles burned in elaborate sconces, their flames casting flickering shadows across the room.

A grand four-poster bed sat at the far end, draped in silks the color of dried blood. The posts were carved, intricate, depicting creatures neither man nor god would recognize. The sheets were rumpled, but not unkempt—used, but not in disarray.

To the left, a vanity with a massive mirror, its frame shaped like twisting branches, thorned and curling around its edges.

To the right, a collection of weapons—knives, daggers, a pair of curved swords mounted neatly on the wall, their hilts gleaming in the low light.

And in the center of it all—

Jinx.

She stood at the window, her back to him, her posture relaxed, but not careless. She was barefoot, her heels discarded at the foot of the bed. She had stripped out of her heavier layers, left in nothing but a silken robe that hung loose around her frame, tied lazily at the waist.

She did not turn immediately.

Instead, she tilted her head slightly, as if only now acknowledging his presence.

“Took you long enough,” she murmured.

Viktor did not apologize. “The house is… vast.”

Jinx laughed. “Oh, it is. But it let you find your way back to me, didn’t it?”

She finally turned to face him, one brow arched, a smirk playing at her lips.

Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight—red, but deeper now, darker, as if something lay beneath the surface, waiting to be seen.

Viktor glanced briefly at the door behind him. “It opened for me.”

Jinx’s smirk widened. “Of course it did.”

Viktor studied her for a moment. “Does it do that for everyone?”

Jinx hummed, stepping toward him, the silk of her robe whispering against her skin. “No.”

She stopped just short of him, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of her—blood and something faintly sweet, like old perfume clinging to fabric.

Her eyes locked onto his, unblinking. “I told you, bookworm.” Her voice was a soft, dangerous thing. “You’re mine.”

She reached out, trailing a single finger along the collar of his shirt, her touch featherlight, teasing. “This house knows it.” Her hand drifted lower, over his chest, where his heart no longer beat. “You know it.”

Viktor exhaled, slow, steady. “And do you know what that means, Jinx?”

Her smirk sharpened. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Viktor leaned in slightly, just enough to let his breath ghost over her lips.

“It means,” he murmured, “that no door in this house will ever be closed to me.”

Jinx shivered.

Not in fear.

In delight.

---

Jinx’s fingers ghosted along Viktor’s arms, her touch light, playful, but unmistakably possessive. She moved as if she were drawing patterns into his skin, mapping him, claiming him. Her nails trailed just enough to be felt, but not enough to leave marks—though, if she wanted to, Viktor suspected she could carve her name into him like ink into parchment.

She liked to touch what was hers.

“My friend will be here tomorrow,” she murmured, her voice a silken thing in the dim light. “Do not be alarmed if he arrives and I am not here.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Going somewhere?”

Jinx smirked. “Maybe.” She tilted her head, watching him with something unreadable in her crimson gaze. “Or maybe I just want to see how you handle things on your own.”

Viktor exhaled, amused. “Testing me already?”

Jinx laughed, her hands sliding down to his wrists before letting go. “Always.”

She stepped back, stretching lazily, the silk of her robe slipping from one shoulder before she idly pulled it back into place. “You won’t need me,” she continued. “He’ll know what to do. He will not harm you.” Her grin sharpened. “He’s always been a good boy.”

Viktor took a small step forward, studying her with quiet curiosity. “This friend of yours. What is he?”

Jinx’s grin widened. “Oh, bookworm, you’ll see soon enough.”

Her fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt again, tugging him slightly closer. “When he presents his wares, choose whatever you like. Whatever catches your eye.” Her lips brushed the words against his skin, just below his jaw. “Price is no issue.”

Viktor smirked. “I assumed as much.”

Jinx chuckled, her breath cool against his throat. “His name is Esa.”

Viktor committed it to memory.

Jinx’s grip on him loosened, her hands trailing away once more, but not before giving a final warning—light, teasing, but not without weight.

“He is skittish.”

Her eyes gleamed.

“So don’t startle him.”

Viktor held her gaze for a long moment, considering the words, the amusement, the underlying meaning.

A skittish merchant who supplied creatures like them?

Curious.

Viktor exhaled, tilting his head slightly, as if already pondering what he might choose.

“I suppose,” he murmured, “I shall try to behave.”

Jinx laughed.

“Oh, bookworm.” She leaned in one last time, her lips curling against his ear.

“I hope you don’t.”

---

Morning arrived, but it was not the morning Viktor had once known.

There was no golden sunlight filtering through windows, no warmth creeping through the walls. The sky beyond the Black Forest remained cloaked in eternal twilight, the clouds thick and unmoving. Here, morning was simply a shift in the air, a subtle change in the stillness of the house.

And he knew, immediately, that Jinx was not there.

Her scent lingered in the halls, clinging to the air like a fading whisper—gunpowder and blood, something sweet beneath it. But it was not as strong as it had been the night before, not as overwhelming.

She had gone.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, unsurprised.

She had said she might.

She had said he would not need her.

And she had been right.

So, he did what he had always done. He sought knowledge.

He ventured to the library, settling into one of its grand chairs, a book already in his hands before he had fully sat down. He read for hours, losing himself in the scent of old parchment, in the weight of history bound in leather and ink.

Some books were familiar.

Others… not.

Languages he did not recognize, texts that should not exist, scripts written in letters that shifted when he looked away.

Fascinating.

It wasn’t until the air in the mansion shifted—a subtle ripple, like the stirring of still water—that he knew.

Someone had arrived.

Viktor closed the book, marking his place with the ribbon sewn into the spine. He rose, unhurried, making his way toward the grand entrance.

And when he opened the doors—

He was met with a man-serpent.

Viktor stared.

The creature before him was wrapped in layers of luxurious fabrics, robes of deep violet and gold draped elegantly over his small frame. His body was long and sinuous, his scales smooth and dark, glistening faintly even in the dim light of the mansion’s exterior. He had no legs, only the long, curling tail of a serpent that coiled upon itself.

But what stood out most—

He was short.

Barely reaching Viktor’s hip.

Viktor blinked, absorbing this detail.

Jinx had called him skittish.

She had not called him cute.

The serpent-man’s large, golden eyes blinked up at him, slitted pupils dilating slightly as he tilted his head.

Then—

“Hello, ssssir!” The creature straightened—if one could straighten without a spine in the traditional sense—pressing a small hand to his chest. “I am Essssa! High Lady Jinxxxx has requesssted my sssservice!” His forked tongue flicked out briefly as he spoke, his ‘s’s dragging in a long, rolling hiss. “Ssshe has told me you are in need of new attire, yesss?”

Viktor, to his credit, did not immediately react.

His mind was already shifting through possibilities, analyzing the creature before him. A naga? No, not quite. His features were more delicate, his proportions not quite right. Something adjacent, but not quite human either.

But none of that was important.

What was important—

Was that Esa looked utterly harmless.

Viktor had been expecting someone dangerous.

Instead, he had been met with… this.

This nervous-looking, impeccably dressed, tiny serpent-man.

A slow, amused smile curled at the edges of Viktor’s lips.

“Indeed,” he said smoothly. “It seems I am in need of proper attire.”

Esa’s eyes brightened. “Ah! Yesss, yesss, wonderful!” He clapped his hands together, his sleeves billowing slightly. “Ssssuch a fine client, High Lady Jinxxxx choosesss only the bessst!”

Viktor chuckled. “I assume you have brought something suitable?”

Esa straightened, puffing out his small chest with pride. “Of courssse!” He lifted his hands, snapping his fingers—

And with a shimmer of violet light, a large trunk appeared, hovering just beside him.

The trunk was massive, far too large for him to have carried alone. It hovered midair, as if held by unseen hands, wrapped in silver chains that uncoiled as the lock clicked open.

Esa lifted a delicate clawed hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the trunk opened.

Viktor’s gaze flickered down—

And he was met with luxury.

Silks, velvets, brocades—all in deep, dark hues, embroidered with silver and gold. Rich fabrics, masterfully crafted, the kind worn by kings, by nobles, by creatures that knew they stood above the rest.

Viktor’s brow arched slightly. “Impressive.”

Esa beamed. “Only the finest for High Lady Jinxxxx’ss fledgling!”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, amused by that phrasing.

Her fledgling.

Jinx would like that.

He reached forward, letting his fingers brush over the nearest fabric. The texture was perfect, smooth against his skin, light but rich in weight.

Esa watched him closely, hands clasped together, his tail flicking anxiously behind him. “Pleassse, choossse whatever you like! Whatever catchesss your eye! Price is no isssue!”

Viktor smirked. “That was made very clear.”

He took his time, inspecting the fabrics, the cut of each piece. He had always been deliberate in his choices, even before he had been turned. He was a man who understood the value of appearance.

And now, more than ever, he needed to look the part.

Jinx had said they would be meeting her father soon.

If he was going to stand before the king of monsters, he would not do so looking like a beggar.

He lifted a piece—a deep, midnight-black coat lined with silver detailing, the embroidery swirling like something alive across the fabric.

“This,” he murmured.

Esa’s tail flicked again, this time in delight. “Ahhh! Exquisite choice, sssir!”

Viktor chuckled. “Good. Then let us see what else you have to offer.”

Esa beamed, his fangs gleaming.

“Oh, yesss, yesss, we musssst make you look perfect!”

---

Viktor fastened the last button of the deep midnight-black coat, adjusting the collar slightly as he turned toward the massive gilded mirror Esa had conjured from thin air.

The fit was perfect.

The silver embroidery traced along the fabric in elegant, swirling patterns, neither ostentatious nor subtle—commanding without being gaudy. Beneath it, a high-collared vest of dark charcoal and deep red, its fabric smooth as silk, structured with precision. The trousers were fitted, the boots polished.

He looked… every bit the creature he had become.

And he was satisfied.

Esa, ever the dedicated merchant, clapped his hands together, his golden eyes gleaming. “Ahhh, exquisssite, sssir! Yesss, yesss, you look divine! Like a true lord of the night!” His tail flicked behind him, the tip curling in clear delight.

Viktor smirked faintly. “A flattering assessment.”

Esa puffed up slightly, as if insulted that Viktor would ever doubt the weight of his words. “Not an asssesssment, sssir! A fact!”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. He had expected Jinx’s acquaintance to be… different. He was still adjusting to the idea of Esa—a skittish, polite, well-dressed serpent-man who spoke in delighted hisses and draped himself in finery.

But curiosity gnawed at Viktor, subtle but persistent.

Esa knew Jinx.

Had known her longer than Viktor had.

And so, as the merchant began to magically pack away his wares—trunks closing themselves, silks folding into neat stacks with the flick of his wrist—Viktor finally asked:

“What is she to you?”

Esa paused mid-motion, his fingers twitching slightly as he adjusted a roll of violet fabric. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward Viktor, his large golden eyes unblinking.

For a brief moment, he was still.

Then—

A smile.

The brightest, purest smile Viktor had seen from him yet.

“High Lady Jinxxxx isss perfect.”

The words were spoken with absolute certainty, as if there was no reality in which this wasn’t true. Esa’s tail flicked, his excitement barely contained.

“Ssshe is very kind to me! Kind to all thossse who have not provoked her ire.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Ssshe hasss always been good to me—good to many! But—”

His smile faltered, just slightly.

“Ssshe is not one to be crossed.”

Viktor hummed, thoughtful. “I gathered as much.”

Esa’s gaze flickered, as if deciding something, before he slithered a little closer, lowering his voice slightly. “Sssir, do you know what the counccccil thinksss of her?”

Viktor arched a brow. “That she is uncontrollable?”

Esa beamed. “Yesss! Exactly!” He rocked slightly on his coiled tail, as if delighted by Viktor’s understanding. “Ssshe is sssomeone the counccccil fearsss! They have no power over her!”

His voice carried something close to glee.

Viktor exhaled, amused. “You enjoy that, don’t you?”

Esa grinned, his fangs glinting. “Oh, very much, sssir.”

Viktor studied the merchant’s expression, the genuine fondness in it, the unwavering loyalty. It was clear—Esa did not serve Jinx.

He admired her.

Loved her, in the way a devoted subject might love a ruler they truly believed in.

Viktor could not say he was surprised.

Jinx was many things.

And she was someone who demanded loyalty—not through fear, not through force, but through sheer, undeniable presence.

The council feared her because they could not control her.

And now, Viktor suspected, they would come to fear him, too.

He smiled slightly, adjusting his coat once more. “Good.”

Esa blinked up at him. “Good, sssir?”

Viktor met his gaze, unwavering.

“Yes.” He exhaled slowly, the weight of the words settling like cold steel.

“I would not want to belong to someone weak.”

Esa, satisfied with Viktor’s statement, straightened his robes with a flick of his small, clawed hands. His golden eyes gleamed as they swept over Viktor one last time, as if committing the sight of him to memory.

“It isss time for me to depart, my lord,” he said smoothly, his forked tongue flicking out briefly. “I am sssure High Lady Jinxxxx will be mossst pleasssed with your choicesss.”

With a snap of his fingers, the last of his wares vanished into thin air, trunks disappearing in shimmers of violet light, silks folding into nothingness. The air where they had been lingered with the faint scent of old magic—something Viktor could feel now, a weight in the room that had not been there before.

Esa turned back to him, unblinking.

Then, his smile faded, just slightly.

“Do know,” Esa murmured, his voice quieter, steadier, “that many beingsss have fought to be by the High Lady’sss ssside.”

Viktor remained silent, watching him closely.

Esa’s tail flicked behind him, the movement slow, deliberate. “Many want her. Many want her to want them.” His golden eyes gleamed in the dim light. “You will have enemiesss, my lord. It isss inevitable.”

Viktor exhaled, slow, measured. “That does not surprise me.”

Esa’s expression did not shift. “It ssshould not. But do not fear that harm will come your way.” His head tilted slightly, his voice steady, certain. “You are under the High Lady’s protection.”

Something cold and sharp curled in Viktor’s chest. Not fear.

But understanding.

Jinx’s name was more than a title. More than something whispered in reverence or fear.

It was a shield.

A claim.

Viktor had been marked by her, not just in words, but in action. It was one thing for her to say he was hers—it was another for the world to see it.

And now, the world would.

Esa smiled again, bright and unwavering. “Thossse that ssserve her, like me, will in turn also ssserve you.”

Viktor’s brow arched slightly. “Unconditionally?”

Esa nodded, his hands folding neatly in front of him. “Our ssserviccce comesss with no priccce, no cossst.”

Viktor narrowed his eyes slightly. “And why is that?”

Esa’s smile widened. “Becaussse, my lord, you are herss.”

The words lingered between them, final and absolute.

Then, with one last flick of his tail, Esa gave a graceful bow. “If the opportunity comesss that you need me once more, I am at your call.”

Viktor inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the offer. “Duly noted.”

Esa beamed.

And with another snap of his fingers—

He vanished.

Only silence remained.

Viktor stood there for a long moment, letting the weight of the conversation settle.

Many want her. Many want her to want them.

The thought lingered in his mind, weaving itself into something inevitable.

Enemies would come.

Challenges would follow.

But he did not fear it.

He only wondered how much fun Jinx would have watching him tear through them all.

---

With newfound purpose and a wardrobe fit for something more than a man, Viktor set about organizing his belongings.

His wardrobe was a grand thing, polished ebony wood lined with silver detailing. The doors creaked slightly as he pulled them open, revealing the empty space inside—waiting, as if the house itself had known he would need it.

Piece by piece, he arranged his new attire with care. Rich silks, velvet coats, dark leather gloves. Every garment tailored to perfection, befitting someone of his new station.

It was strange, in a way.

Once, he had owned nothing of value. In the slums of the kingdom he had once called home, clothes were patchwork and thin, just enough to cover skin and little else. His coats had been worn threadbare, his boots cracked with overuse. He had lived for knowledge, not wealth.

But now?

Now he had everything.

And he had not needed to ask for it.

Viktor selected an outfit for later—a fitted black shirt with high collars, a deep red vest embroidered with subtle silver designs, and dark trousers to match. He laid them out neatly before turning toward the washroom.

The door was as grand as everything else in the mansion, its handle cool beneath his fingertips. As he stepped inside, he was met with yet another reminder of just how far he had risen—of how much he’d been given.

The washroom was immaculate.

Polished marble floors, dark with veins of silver running through them. A massive porcelain tub sat in the center, deep and wide enough for someone to fully submerge. Metal piping curled along the walls, twisting into strange, elegant designs, their purpose unclear—until he stepped closer.

Magic.

He could feel it, humming through the metal, woven into the very foundation of the room.

Viktor exhaled slowly, running his fingers along the piping, feeling the faint warmth beneath his fingertips. He did not need Jinx to explain how it worked.

He had spent his entire life deciphering puzzles.

So he tested it, twisting one of the valves with careful precision.

A moment of silence—

Then, a rush of water.

Not from a well, not hauled in buckets, not cold and unforgiving.

Hot water.

Steaming, pure, cascading into the tub in a steady stream.

Viktor let out a quiet breath of amusement, watching as the water rose.

In the slums, bathing was a luxury.

One did not have the time, nor the means, to soak in anything like this. At most, it was a rag drenched in water from the central well, wiped over skin quickly before the cold could settle too deep into the bones.

This?

This was something else entirely.

With practiced efficiency, Viktor undressed, folding his previous garments neatly before stepping into the water.

The heat wrapped around him instantly, sinking into his skin, into his bones.

He lowered himself fully, until only his face remained above the surface, his dark hair fanning out around him. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he let himself feel it—the sheer luxury of it.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest, low and thoughtful.

Just over a day ago, I was ready for death to take me.

Now, he was something else entirely.

His lips curled faintly.

Perhaps he had died, in a way.

And perhaps what had been reborn in his place was something far, far greater.

---

The warmth of the water still clung to his skin as Viktor stepped out of the tub, reaching for the towel draped nearby. Even as he dried himself, as he moved with quiet efficiency, he could not quite shake the feeling that lingered in the back of his mind.

Not unease. Not dread.

Something else.

Something missing.

It had been subtle—so much so that he had not even noticed it. A faint void nestled somewhere deep in his chest, an absence he had mistaken for something normal, something that had simply been there.

But then—

A shift.

One moment, nothing.

And in the next—

She was here.

He did not see her.

Did not hear her.

Did not need to.

He simply knew.

The hollowness he had not even realized he was feeling—gone, replaced by something else entirely. A silent hum in his veins, a weight settling back into place, something so utterly natural that he had to wonder how he had not noticed its absence before.

Jinx was near.

And he felt whole.

Viktor stilled, his fingers tightening slightly around the towel. The realization crept into him, slow but unrelenting.

He had always been alone. Always been aware of that aloneness, as if it had been a fundamental part of him. But now?

Now there was something else.

Or rather—someone else.

He exhaled through his nose, slow, steady, setting the towel aside as he began to dress.

The high-collared black shirt fit snug against his frame, the fabric smooth, light but refined. The deep red vest followed, embroidered with silver thread in intricate, swirling patterns. The coat was next—midnight black, lined with silver detailing, the cut sharp and precise.

He buttoned the last button with measured ease, rolling his shoulders slightly to adjust to the feel of the new fabric.

And all the while—

She was here.

And she knew he could feel her.

A smirk tugged at the edges of his lips.

Of course she did.

---

The call was silent, but undeniable.

It was not a whisper, not a voice, not anything so crude as words.

It was pulling.

A sensation low in his chest, an unspoken demand that curled around his ribs and tugged, steady and inescapable. It was not an order. Not a plea. Just the simple, effortless certainty that he was meant to go to her.

And so, he did.

Viktor fastened the last of his coat’s buttons, smoothing down the fabric with precise fingers before stepping out into the corridor.

He knew exactly where to go.

He did not need to think, did not need to question—his feet carried him forward, guided by something deeper than instinct.

She was waiting.

The door to her chamber stood slightly ajar, just enough for him to push it open without knocking. A deliberate invitation.

He entered.

And there she was.

Jinx lounged across a chaise chair, draped in silk, decadence made flesh.

Her dress had fallen slightly to the side, pooling around her in careless folds, exposing the pale length of her legs to the flickering candlelight. One arm dangled lazily over the edge of the lounge, her fingers curled against the floor, strands of her unbound cerulean hair slipping from her shoulder, cascading down like silk.

And her eyes—

They were already on him.

Watching.

Hungry.

A wide, wicked grin spread across her lips, slow and pleased.

“Oh,” she purred, her voice thick with amusement, with something else, something dangerous.

“Well, well.”

Her gaze swept over him, drinking him in.

“You clean up beautifully, bookworm.”

Viktor exhaled, amused. “Flattering.”

Jinx tilted her head slightly, her hair shifting against the floor. “Not flattery.”

She stretched, arching her back slightly, unhurried, utterly at ease. “Clothes do make the man, after all.” Her grin widened, fangs just barely visible.

And then—

“Come,” she murmured.

“Let me see you.”

Viktor stepped closer, slow, deliberate.

Jinx’s eyes flashed—a spark of something delighted, something feral.

And then she inhaled—deep, sharp, as if savoring the air between them.

Her lashes fluttered as she let the breath out in a slow sigh, her tongue flicking briefly over the tip of one of her fangs.

“Ohhh,” she hummed, her voice low, almost dazed.

“And your scent…”

Her grin sharpened.

“How tempting.”

Jinx tilted her head, her grin never fading, eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight.

Then, with a slow, deliberate command, she said—

“Kneel.”

The word curled through the air like silk, soft yet undeniable.

Viktor did not hesitate.

His body moved before thought could interfere. He stepped forward, lowering himself onto one knee before her, his posture calm, composed, but his hunger—

Ah, his hunger was alive.

It did not gnaw at him as it had before, did not burn—but it knew.

Knew what was about to happen.

Jinx watched him with sharp satisfaction, shifting slightly as she extended her arm toward him, her wrist bare, her pale skin untouched by time or imperfection.

An offering.

A gift.

She was giving him her blood.

Viktor’s fingers curled against his knee, his throat tightening as the scent of her filled his lungs—rich, potent, something more intoxicating than any human vein could ever offer.

She smirked, tilting her wrist toward him just slightly, taunting, teasing.

“It’s time for you to feed.”

Viktor’s lips parted slightly, his fangs aching, sharp and ready.

His hand rose, fingers ghosting against her wrist, feeling the cold smoothness of her skin.

Then, slow, reverent—

He bit.

His fangs pierced her flesh with ease, and the moment her blood touched his tongue—

He shuddered.

This was not human blood.

Power.

It was power.

This was beyond.

Thick, intoxicating, laced with something deeper, something old. It surged through him like fire and silk, filling every vein, remaking him all over again.

Jinx let out a slow, pleased sigh, her fingers tangling lightly in his hair as she let him take.

“There you go,” she murmured, her voice a whisper of amusement and delight. “Drink, bookworm.”

And he did.

Jinx watched him as he drank.

Her crimson eyes gleamed, half-lidded, pleased. One hand remained tangled in his hair, her fingers threading through the strands with slow, idle affection. She did not pull away, did not stop him. She let him take as much as he wanted, as much as he needed.

Viktor had expected resistance.

Expected her to yank him back, to give him only just enough.

But she didn’t.

She let him drown in her.

And he did.

Her blood was unlike anything he had ever known—richer than any human vein, thick with something other, something that sang through his body like a hymn of ruin and rebirth. It was not just feeding; it was becoming.

Every drop rewrote him, seeping into his bones, into his mind.

Strength.

Knowledge.

He could feel it, curling inside him like a living thing, filling the gaps of his new existence.

And still, she let him take more.

Jinx exhaled, long and slow, tilting her head back slightly, her grip tightening ever so slightly against his scalp. “Soon,” she murmured, her voice lazy, thick with amusement, “you will not need it.”

Viktor’s fingers flexed against her thigh, steadying himself as the words slithered into his mind, wrapping around his thoughts.

She hummed, shifting just enough to glance down at him again, her smirk never fading.

“It will simply become a leisure activity,” she continued, her voice as smooth as the silks draped around her. “To drink. To feed.” Her nails lightly traced the nape of his neck, a slow, almost absentminded motion.

A reminder.

She was giving, and he was taking.

But it was her choice.

Her gift.

Her claim.

“It is one of the things that will show your rank,” she whispered, her grin widening just slightly. “That you are above them all.”

Viktor swallowed, the last traces of her blood sliding down his throat like molten gold. He could still taste it, rich and lingering, staining his lips, his tongue, his soul.

Slowly, carefully, he withdrew his fangs from her wrist, licking away the last drop before pulling back.

Her skin was already mending, the wound vanishing without a trace.

She smirked.

Viktor lifted his gaze, his golden eyes dark with something new, something settled.

Jinx tilted her head, considering.

Then, in a voice soft, but full of knowing, she whispered—

“After all… Gods need not eat.”

The words settled between them, thick as blood, final as death.

And Viktor?

Viktor simply smiled, the traces of her blood staining his lips. 

---

Jinx traced a lazy finger along the armrest of the chaise, her smirk unwavering. The dim candlelight cast flickering shadows along the curves of her silk-draped form, her cerulean hair still tousled from where it had fallen over the side of the lounge.

“There will be a full moon two nights from now,” she murmured, stretching her arms above her head, rolling her shoulders as though shaking off a lazy sleep. “That is when my father and his dreary council will meet.”

Her crimson gaze flicked back to him, sharp with amusement. “That is when you will meet them.”

Viktor arched a brow. “A dramatic setting.”

Jinx grinned. “They love theatrics. Endless posturing, tiresome formality, all in an attempt to pretend they hold power.” She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

Viktor hummed, thoughtful. He would need to be prepared.

Jinx must have read the look in his eyes, because she smirked, tilting her head. “Until then,” she continued, “you must begin to learn what you can do.”

She leaned forward slightly, eyes bright. “It’s always the most interesting part.”

Viktor’s lips curled faintly. “You’re eager.”

Jinx laughed. “Oh, very.”

She lifted a finger, idly twirling a strand of her hair as she mused aloud. “I wonder… what will your first Gift be?” She tapped a nail against her lips, grinning. “Perhaps something elemental?”

Viktor exhaled, intrigued but skeptical. “Gift?”

Jinx beamed. “Mm, yes.”

She shifted, resting her chin in her palm. “Lesser vampyres rarely develop one, but your fate is to transcend the lesser form.” Her voice was smooth, teasing, but entirely certain.

Viktor leaned slightly against the nearby table, watching her closely. “And what exactly is a Gift?”

Jinx smirked, her fingers tracing slow patterns in the fabric of her dress. “A Gift is an ability reliant on the strength of one's mind.” She lifted her other hand, flexing her fingers idly. “It is often a good way to measure the caliber of a vampyre.”

Her gaze flicked to him, knowing.

Viktor hummed, thoughtful. “A measure of power.”

Jinx grinned. “Precisely.”

She tilted her head back slightly, looking almost nostalgic. “My first Gift was that of Umbra.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Shadow?”

Jinx nodded, smirking. “It came to me when I was but a suckling.” She giggled, her fangs glinting. “My father could never keep track of me.”

Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she reclined back against the lounge, stretching her legs slightly. “It made for quite the entertainment.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. “And you expect me to discover mine so quickly?”

Jinx smirked, tilting her head. “Oh, yes.”

Her voice lowered slightly, teasing, amused.

“You are mine, bookworm.” Her fingers traced a slow, idle path along the armrest of her chaise. “And that means you are far more than ordinary.”

Viktor exhaled slowly, letting the words settle.

A Gift.

A mark of power.

A test of what he would become.

And Jinx was watching.

Waiting.

Eager to see.

His fingers flexed slightly at his sides.

Very well, then.

---

Jinx watched Viktor with the quiet amusement of someone who already knew the outcome of a game before the first move had been played.

She stretched like a cat, reclining deeper into the chaise lounge, one leg draping lazily over the side. Her fingers trailed over the silk of her dress, absentminded, as if she were barely containing her anticipation.

“Your little feast should encourage you,” she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. “After all, my blood is as powerful as it comes.”

Viktor remained composed, standing before her with his usual measured calm, though his mind was already picking apart her words, analyzing them, turning them over like pieces of an unfinished puzzle.

“But,” Jinx continued, her smirk widening, “should it not—”

She tilted her head, red eyes gleaming.

“I will just command your body until it does what I need it to.”

Viktor arched a brow. “You can do that?”

Jinx giggled. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Her fingers lifted, flicking the air as if dismissing his doubt. “I can make you walk into fire with a whisper. Make you kneel before me without lifting a finger. Make you crave without ever touching you.”

She grinned, sharp and wicked. “I can do anything I desire.”

Viktor’s lips curled slightly. “Terrifying.”

Jinx leaned forward slightly, her grin deepening. “I know.”

Then, casually, as if she were commenting on the weather—

“My fledgling cannot be Giftless when I display him to my dear father, now can he?”

Viktor exhaled, amused. “I suppose that would be rather underwhelming.”

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Exactly.”

She reclined once more, her nails drumming against the fabric of the lounge, her voice turning airy, almost lazy.

“Especially not when that fledgling is to take his place one day.”

Viktor stilled.

His mind processed the words—turned them over, weighed them, analyzed them.

And then—

“…Pardon?”

Jinx blinked at him, her expression completely innocent. “What?”

Viktor narrowed his eyes slightly. “You said—”

“That you’ll take my father’s place?” She tilted her head, as if he were the strange one. “Well, yes.”

A pause.

Then, she laughed.

“Oh, bookworm, what? Did you think my father would forever keep his throne?”

Viktor did not answer.

Jinx giggled, utterly delighted. “When I could turn him and every pawn in his council to dust in but a moment?”

Her fingers lifted, twirling slightly, as if envisioning the thought. “I love my father dearly, as he does me, but soon it will be my turn to rule.”

She looked at Viktor again, her expression unreadable for just a moment.

Then—

Her smirk returned, slow and sharp.

“And once you transcend…”

She reached out, trailing a single finger along his collarbone, teasing, taunting.

“You will take my hand.”

The words settled in the air between them.

Heavy.

Certain.

Inevitable.

Viktor did not move. Did not speak.

Jinx grinned. “Surprised?”

Viktor exhaled, slow and measured. “I had assumed you would take the throne alone.”

Jinx snorted. “How boring would that be?”

She leaned closer, her breath cool against his skin. “And why would I ever settle for a king…”

Her voice dropped, almost a whisper.

“When I can have a god?”

Viktor inhaled, slow, deep, letting the words root themselves in his mind.

The pieces of the game were shifting.

And he?

He was beginning to like the board.

---

A day had passed.

Viktor felt different.

Not in the way he had when Jinx first turned him, when his body had shed its frailty and become something more. That had been a transformation of flesh, of form.

This—

This was something else entirely.

It started as a hum beneath his skin, a quiet vibration that coiled deep in his bones. Subtle, but ever-present. When he moved, the air around him shifted, responding to something unseen. The candle flames flickered without wind. The floorboards beneath his feet carried a faint, lingering charge.

Something was waking inside him.

And Jinx saw it.

She had been watching him closely, as if waiting for the inevitable moment his Gift would fully manifest. The more time passed, the more her excitement grew, her crimson eyes bright with something near reverence.

And when it finally happened—

Oh, she laughed.

A full, delighted cackle of realization.

Viktor had been reading when the first real spark of his Gift surged through him. A single candle sat beside him on the table, its flame steady. As he turned a page, lost in thought, the light flickered—not from wind, not from movement.

But because of him.

And then, before he could even register what had happened—

The candle burst into brilliant, blue-white fire.

Not normal flame. Not something that crackled and burned with wood and air.

It glowed.

Like raw energy given form.

Jinx had been perched on the edge of the table, one leg crossed over the other, watching him with idle amusement. The moment the flame changed, her expression shifted.

Her smirk widened.

Her pupils dilated.

And then, she laughed.

A rich, delighted laugh, full of something wild and thrilled.

“Oh, bookworm,” she purred, practically vibrating where she sat. “How utterly rare.”

Viktor exhaled, looking down at his hand, feeling the hum of something unseen. “You know what this is.”

Jinx grinned, sharp and knowing. “I do.”

She hopped off the table, circling him slowly, like a predator assessing something new, something valuable. “It is becoming very clear,” she murmured, her fingers trailing lightly along his shoulder, “that my fledgling is even greater than I had hoped.”

Viktor arched a brow. “I assume that’s a good thing?”

Jinx beamed.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She spun on her heel, throwing her arms wide. “It is the best thing.”

She stopped in front of him, tilting her head, studying him with a glint of something possessive in her gaze. “Do you know what you are, bookworm?”

Viktor flexed his fingers, still feeling the residual hum beneath his skin. “…Tell me.”

Jinx grinned.

“You are Ergo.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed slightly. “Energy.”

Jinx nodded. “Raw power.”

She lifted her hand, tapping her temple lightly. “A Gift of the mind, shaped by will. There have been many elemental Gifts—fire, frost, shadow, blood.” Her grin widened.

“But this? Oh, this is so much better.”

She gestured toward him. “You don’t bend energy, bookworm.” Her voice dropped, near reverent.

“You become it.”

Viktor exhaled, thoughtful. “How rare?”

Jinx’s smirk was all teeth. “Rare enough that my father would be a fool to look down on you.”

Her fingers brushed lightly against his chest, tapping once. “He was going to dislike you regardless.” She giggled. “But now? Now he’s going to fear you.”

Viktor’s lips curled.

He liked that.

Jinx loved it.

---

The time was near.

The council would convene soon, gathering in their grand hall of shadows and empty words. And Jinx—oh, Jinx was ready.

She would not merely attend.

She would make a statement.

A loud one.

She stood before the mirror, adjusting the laces of her corset with practiced ease. The dress was black, deep as the void, sheer lace trailing over her arms like woven darkness. The corset pulled her figure into sharp, elegant perfection, the layered skirts cascading down like ink spilling across the floor.

She had chosen deliberately.

It matched Viktor’s vest, his coat, the richness of the fabric deepened by candlelight. He was a vision of cold refinement—tailored perfectly, the deep red accents subtle but striking.

And the brooch—

Ah, yes. The brooch.

A crow, wrought in silver, holding a ruby in its beak.

The stone gleamed, bright but baleful, mirroring the color of her eyes, its placement deliberate. Another mark of possession. Another sign that he was hers.

Viktor adjusted the brooch with idle fingers, glancing at her through the reflection of the mirror. “This is rather extravagant, even for you.”

Jinx smirked. “Oh, darling.”

She stepped behind him, sliding her arms around his waist, her fingers grazing the silver fastenings of his coat. She tilted her head, resting her chin lightly against his shoulder. “You do realize this is entirely for them, don’t you?”

Viktor chuckled, low and knowing. “Naturally.”

She inhaled, slow and deep, letting his scent settle in her lungs. He could not tell—not yet—but he carried her scent now, woven into his skin, clinging to him in a way no mortal fragrance could match.

That alone would be enough.

Everything else?

Everything else was to rub it in.

Jinx straightened, adjusting one of his cuffs with a slow, deliberate touch. “They will see you and know.” Her voice was velvet wrapped around a blade. “That you are mine.”

Viktor hummed, his golden eyes gleaming. “And if they challenge that?”

Jinx grinned.

“Oh, bookworm.”

She stepped back, lifting a single hand, her fingers curling slightly in the air—

And the shadows moved.

The candlelight died, swallowed in an instant, as the darkness around them thickened, deepened, coiled around their feet like something alive.

Viktor felt it—felt the air shift, felt the veil of reality itself bend beneath her will.

Jinx’s voice was soft, but brimming with delight.

“They won’t.”

She reached for him.

And when she pulled him forward, the shadows swallowed them whole.

The world reassembled around them in a breath.

One moment, the darkness of her chamber.

The next—

The castle.

Viktor stepped forward, the weight of the shift settling over him as the shadows dissipated from around them. The air here was thicker, ancient, thrumming with something heavy, something watching.

The castle loomed high, its towers stretching into the storm-dark sky. The halls before them stretched long and vast, polished stone reflecting the dim torchlight.

Jinx exhaled, stretching her arms above her head, utterly unbothered by the abrupt travel.

Then, she turned to him, smirking.

“Welcome to my father’s castle, bookworm.”

She adjusted the edges of his coat with a satisfied hum.

“Let’s go make an impression.”

---

The servants knew better than to question.

They bowed as Jinx and Viktor strode past, their heads lowered, their mouths silent. There were no whispered greetings, no murmurs of curiosity.

Only deference.

Only fear.

Viktor walked beside Jinx, his steps measured, unhurried. He could feel the weight of their stares—the unspoken wariness in the way they moved, the way they kept their hands close to their sides, as if unwilling to risk a single misstep in her presence.

Jinx, for her part, looked utterly delighted.

She didn’t acknowledge them, didn’t spare them a glance as they neared the double doors of the council chamber.

The doors were massive, carved with intricate patterns, their dark wood polished to an unnatural gleam.

Viktor had seen doors like these before.

Not just in Jinx’s mansion, but in the paintings.

He already knew who awaited them on the other side.

Jinx lifted a single hand, not breaking stride—

The doors groaned open.

Not by mortal hands.

Not by effort.

By will.

By her.

Viktor felt it—the ripple of her Gift, the effortless command woven into the air.

She stepped forward, and Viktor followed.

Inside, the chamber stretched long and wide, lit only by the flickering glow of sconces mounted along the walls. The air smelled faintly of wax, of ink, of something older, something deeper.

And at the head of the table—

Him.

Silco.

Jinx’s father.

The king of this court.

He stood with ease, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture one of absolute control. His face was just as Viktor had seen in the painting—sharp angles, silver-streaked hair, an unreadable expression carved into his features. But here, in the flesh, he carried something more.

Presence.

Power that sat in the air, unspoken but felt.

Standing behind him, to his right—

Sevika.

His right hand.

Her gaze was cold, assessing, her mechanical arm gleaming in the low light.

Viktor had felt their weight in the house before. Had studied their portraits in quiet curiosity.

Now, they studied him.

The moment Jinx entered, Silco’s gaze flickered.

But not to her.

To him.

Viktor could feel it—the pressing weight of the man’s stare, the slow calculation settling behind his mismatched eyes.

Then, with a voice that carried like smoke curling from a slow-burning fire, Silco spoke.

“My lovely daughter,” he drawled, his tone laced with something amused, something edged. “To what do I owe this visit of yours to?”

Then—

A slight inhale.

A narrowing of the eyes.

His lips curled, ever so slightly, as if in disbelief.

“Surely,” he murmured, tilting his head, “my nose mistakens me.”

Jinx laughed.

A sharp, delighted sound, her teeth glinting as she placed a hand over her chest in mock surprise. “Oh, Father, how cruel. Did you miss me already?”

Silco’s gaze did not leave Viktor.

Viktor did not waver.

Jinx grinned, stepping further into the room, her dress sweeping behind her as she moved toward the table. “I would love to say I came just to visit,” she sighed dramatically, “but you know me—I never just visit.”

She turned her head slightly, her crimson eyes flicking toward Viktor.

A smirk curled at the edge of her lips.

“I came to introduce someone.”

Silco exhaled, slow and measured, his stare finally settling fully on Viktor.

His gaze was cold. Assessing.

Unimpressed.

For now.

Viktor, standing beside Jinx, only smiled.

How interesting this was going to be.

---

Silco did not immediately react.

His gaze remained locked onto Viktor, slow and measuring, his mismatched eyes burning with quiet scrutiny. The flickering candlelight made the scars along his face look deeper, more pronounced, the red in his left eye gleaming like a wound that had never truly healed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was slow, deliberate.

“Tell me, daughter,” he said, his words curling through the air like smoke, “why you have taken a fledgling.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the wood of the table, a rhythmic, calculated motion.

“And for what reason have you brought him here?”

Jinx giggled.

A light, careless sound, as if the weight of the conversation meant nothing to her.

“Father,” she purred, tilting her head with mock sweetness, “I know your eyesight was once damaged, but surely—”

She pulled Viktor closer, linking her arm through his.

“—you can see his face.”

Her grin widened, sharp and wicked, her crimson eyes gleaming with mischief.

“How could I not want him?”

She leaned her head against Viktor’s arm, a slow, deliberate display of affection. Her fingers curled against his sleeve, her body pressing lightly against his side—soft, but possessive.

Viktor, for his part, remained perfectly composed.

He let her lean into him. Let her claim him in front of the council.

And he watched Silco.

He saw the way the older vampire’s jaw tensed, the way his fingers paused in their tapping for just a fraction of a second before resuming.

Jinx’s grin only widened.

“He is here with me,” she continued, her voice as light as a song, “because he is the one who will take my hand.”

Viktor felt her grip tighten slightly against his arm.

She wasn’t asking permission.

She was declaring.

Jinx’s expression remained playful, teasing, but there was weight beneath her words—an unshakable certainty, a finality that could not be ignored.

“I would think,” she added, smirking, “you’d like to meet your future son.”

Silco’s expression did not change.

But the room did.

The air tightened, something unseen pressing against the walls, coiling through the space like a silent, unspoken warning.

The others in the chamber were silent.

Even Sevika—stoic and unmoved at Silco’s side—shifted ever so slightly, as if preparing for the inevitable shift in the air.

Jinx simply basked in the tension.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

And she loved it.

Silco exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. He finally tore his gaze from Viktor, his attention settling fully on his daughter.

His voice was low, edged with something dark.

“Jinx.”

A simple name. A single word.

A warning.

Jinx only smiled.

The weight in the air grew heavier.

Viktor, however, remained utterly calm.

He could feel the displeasure radiating from Silco—the controlled irritation, the slow burn of distaste.

But beneath it—

Curiosity.

A flicker of something uncertain.

Something Viktor could use.

Jinx had made her move.

Now, it was his turn.

He exhaled, slow and measured, the sound barely audible over the tension in the room.

Then, finally—

He spoke.

“I understand your skepticism,” Viktor murmured, his voice smooth, even.

Silco’s gaze snapped back to him, sharp and assessing.

Viktor did not waver.

“But I assure you,” he continued, “Jinx has chosen well.”

A pause.

Then, slow, deliberate—he lifted her hand from his sleeve and brought it to his lips, pressing a faint, calculated kiss against her knuckles.

It was a small act. Barely a movement.

But it sent a message louder than words.

Jinx beamed, eyes flashing with amusement and satisfaction.

Silco’s lips pressed into a thin line.

The tension in the room tightened.

One of the council members shifted in their seat, as if struggling to breathe beneath the weight of the unspoken challenge.

Sevika’s fingers twitched slightly against the back of Silco’s chair.

Then—

Silco exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.

He leaned back against the table, tilting his head ever so slightly, as if reassessing the entire conversation.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but sharp.

“You assume,” he murmured, “that my daughter’s choices have ever concerned me.”

Jinx giggled, tilting her head. “Oh, Father, don’t be modest—you’ve always had your opinions.”

Silco did not look at her.

He only looked at Viktor.

Viktor met his gaze, unflinching.

The weight of it was pressing, but Viktor was used to being scrutinized. Used to being dissected.

But this was not like before.

This was not the gaze of a mortal king, nor of a scholar debating his worth.

This was the gaze of a predator.

A ruler.

A father testing the man who dared stand beside his daughter.

But Viktor did not fear it.

He simply smiled, small and knowing.

And Silco—

Silco finally smirked.

A flicker of something resembling understanding passed through his gaze, as if he had come to a silent conclusion.

Then, after a long, heavy pause, he straightened, rolling his shoulders slightly as he turned to the rest of the council.

“Well,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Shall we begin?”

The council exhaled, the tension in the room shifting from personal to political.

Viktor released Jinx’s hand slowly, though the warmth of her grip still lingered against his skin.

Jinx grinned, leaning in just slightly, whispering against his ear—

“Oh, bookworm,” she purred. “That was fun.”

Viktor’s lips quirked.

Yes.

Yes, it was.

Chapter 83: Hands

Summary:

She slipped it into one of the many pouches on her belt, then rocked back on her heels, hands on her hips. “Alright, egghead. Guess you get to live another day.”

“How generous.”

Jinx cackled. “I am pretty great.”

Viktor exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “If you are quite finished robbing me, I would appreciate it if you—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Notes:

I didn't really have any time to write anything—I just started my second full time—but my dear buddy Ray happened to send a fanart of Jinx and Viktor in the discord, and I ended up writing this on my notes app during my lunch break 😭, so if it’s dog water, that’s why.

Jinx never asked permission. She didn’t have to. She took what she wanted, and Viktor—well, he never stopped her.

She’d sprawl herself across his workbench like she owned it, knocking over delicate instruments without a care, fingers leaving smudges on his polished metal schematics. He should have been irritated. He should have told her to leave. But then she’d curl her fingers under his chin, tilting his face up to meet hers, blue eyes burning, her grin sharp as a knife’s edge.

“Whatcha workin’ on, huh?” She’d tug on his collar, tug on his hair, drape herself across his shoulders like she belonged there. “Bet it’s somethin’ shiny.”

She smelled like gunpowder and metal, like smoke and sweat, like Zaun itself. She smelled like home.

Viktor never asked her to stop.

He told himself it was because it was easier this way. Jinx was chaos incarnate, unpredictable, dangerous. If he angered her, she might turn that wrath on him, might reduce his lab to rubble just because she could. That was what he told himself. That was the logical explanation.

But logic had nothing to do with the way he leaned into her touch, the way his fingers twitched with the urge to grab her wrist and hold it there whenever she touched his face. Logic didn’t explain why he held his breath every time she slung an arm around his waist, her gloved fingers hooking into the fabric of his coat like she was anchoring herself to him.

Zaun had never been kind. Piltover had been even crueler. And yet, here she was, with her too-rough hands and her too-close touches, pressing herself against him like she belonged there. Like she could take everything from him, and he’d still beg for more.

Maybe he would.

---

Viktor had always known that his work would put a target on his back. It came with the territory—innovation bred envy, and in Zaun, envy was just another reason to kill.

It was late. Piltover slept, and so should he, but the concept of rest had long since become irrelevant. He had been bent over his workbench, fingers stained with oil and sweat, fine tools held in shaking hands. The prototype was delicate, intricate—his latest attempt to refine the Hextech core, to make it stable enough for mass application. He barely noticed the air shifting behind him.

Until it was a half-mad girl with a gun pressed to his temple, giggling like this was the best fun she’d had all week.

“Boo.”

Her voice was light, sing-song, but her grip on him was anything but. She had one hand fisted in his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat, and the other holding a pistol steady against his skull. The smell of oil and metal clung to her like a second skin, mingling with the sharp, acrid scent of explosives.

Viktor didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“…This is a rather dramatic way to introduce yourself,” he said at last, keeping his voice even, measured. “Though I suppose I should not be surprised.”

The girl cackled, rocking back on her heels, her grip tightening in his hair before she finally let go. Viktor exhaled, but his relief was short-lived—she immediately shifted, grabbing his chin instead, turning his head this way and that as if inspecting him.

“Dunno what I was expectin’,” she muttered. “Heimerdinger’s other golden boy, huh? Thought you’d be… taller.”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to know a great deal about me, Miss…?”

“Oh, that voice—you do sound fancy.” She snickered, giving his face a playful pat before stepping back, finally granting him space. Not much, but enough. “I’m Jinx.”

Jinx. He knew that name. Everyone in Zaun did. A loose cannon, a walking catastrophe, an unhinged terrorist who turned everything she touched into smoldering wreckage.

And she was standing in his lab.

“Now,” Jinx continued, twirling her pistol between her fingers before leveling it at him once more. “Let’s talk Hextech. You got some yummy little crystals stashed around here, don’tcha?”

Viktor schooled his expression, forcing himself to think through the situation rationally. She was unpredictable, but not unintelligent. Her reputation preceded her—she didn’t make idle threats.

Still, he couldn’t stop focusing on the places where she had touched him. The lingering warmth of her fingers against his jaw, the ghost of pressure where she had yanked his hair.

It had been so long since someone had touched him.

“You are making quite the assumption,” he said slowly, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “What makes you think I would have such things?”

Jinx tilted her head, then grinned.

“Well,” she said, “I could just shoot you and find out.”

Viktor sighed.

This was going to be a long night.

---

Jinx’s grin stretched wider as she leaned in, elbows braced on his workbench, fingers drumming against the wood. She wasn’t aiming the gun at him anymore, but Viktor knew better than to assume she was any less dangerous. If anything, the way she casually tossed it between her hands like a toy was more unnerving.

“So, Dr. Brainiac—”

“Viktor.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You do got some Hextech, right?”

Viktor studied her, weighing his options. If he denied it outright, she’d tear through the lab herself. If he tried to fight her, he’d lose—his leg was already protesting from standing too long, and he had no illusions about his ability to overpower her.

He inhaled slowly. “And if I do?”

Jinx’s eyes gleamed, her grin sharp. “Then you’re gonna gimme some.”

Ah. Of course.

Viktor exhaled through his nose. “And if I refuse?”

Jinx didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she hopped up onto the workbench, crossing one leg over the other, her foot swinging in the air. She leaned forward, bracing her hands between her thighs, her head tilting just so—considering.

Then, with sudden, unsettling ease, she reached out and ran a finger along his cheek.

Viktor froze.

The touch was light, barely there, but it was more contact than he had felt in years. It sent a sharp, startling sensation through him—not fear, not quite. Something else. Something he didn’t have the words for.

Jinx hummed, dragging her finger down to his jaw. “Y’know,” she murmured, voice syrupy sweet, “I could just kill ya and take ‘em myself.”

Viktor swallowed. “A rather inefficient method.”

Jinx snorted. “Yeah, but it’d be fun.”

Her thumb ghosted over his lower lip, and for a terrifying second, Viktor thought he might lean into it.

She saw it. He knew she did, because her grin turned wicked, teeth flashing as she tapped his cheek twice, then withdrew.

He forced himself to exhale, steady. “And yet, you have not done so.”

Jinx twirled her gun once more, flipping it in her palm before tucking it away in the waistband of her shorts. “Guess I like ya,” she chirped. “Ain’t every day you meet a guy with nerves.”

Viktor didn’t know if he’d call it nerves. He wasn’t sure what it was.

Jinx hopped off the bench, rolling her shoulders. “Tell ya what—give me what I want, and maybe I don’t blow this place to hell. Sounds fair, don’t it?”

Viktor hummed. “And if I say no?”

Jinx beamed. “Then I get to see what color your brain is.”

A fascinating creature. Unstable, volatile, yet strangely invested in making this a game rather than a slaughter. He could use that.

Slowly, Viktor turned, moving toward a locked case near his workbench. He felt her presence at his back, close enough that he could hear the shift of her weight, the quiet buzz of excitement thrumming from her.

As he keyed in the code, releasing the latch, he said, “You do realize, of course, that Hex crystals are difficult to acquire.”

Jinx scoffed. “Pfft. Like that’s ever stopped me.”

Viktor glanced at her over his shoulder. She was practically vibrating, hands twitching at her sides, eager as a child awaiting a present.

Yes. A fascinating creature indeed.

He opened the case, revealing a handful of glowing blue crystals nestled inside. Not his full stock, but enough to sate her.

Jinx let out a low whistle. “Damn, Vik, you’re the one hoarding ‘em.”

Vik.

The nickname was new. Strange. Unfamiliar.

He didn’t hate it.

She reached past him, fingers brushing his as she grabbed a crystal. He nearly flinched at the contact but held still. Jinx didn’t seem to notice—or if she did, she enjoyed it far too much.

She turned the crystal in her palm, watching the light dance along its edges. “Mm. Yeah, this’ll do.”

She slipped it into one of the many pouches on her belt, then rocked back on her heels, hands on her hips. “Alright, egghead. Guess you get to live another day.”

“How generous.”

Jinx cackled. “I am pretty great.”

Viktor exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “If you are quite finished robbing me, I would appreciate it if you—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Because Jinx, once again, was too close, grabbing his collar and pulling him forward, their noses nearly touching. Her breath was warm against his lips, her eyes wide, unreadable.

“Y’know,” she murmured, “you’re kinda fun.”

Viktor’s heart stuttered.

And then, just as quickly, she let go.

She spun on her heel, skipping toward the window she had used to break in, humming a disjointed tune under her breath. She paused only once, glancing back over her shoulder.

“See ya around, Vik.”

And then she was gone.

Viktor stood in stunned silence, the ghost of her touch still burning against his skin.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

He had the strangest feeling this wasn’t the last time he’d be seeing her.

---

Viktor knew it was only a matter of time before Jinx returned. He told himself he was preparing for it—securing his more delicate projects, locking away anything she might find too interesting, reinforcing the door (not that it would stop her; it was mostly for his own peace of mind).

And yet, when she inevitably burst in, kicking over a stack of blueprints and landing in a dramatic sprawl across his workbench, he still found himself sighing in exasperation.

“Miss Jinx,” he drawled without looking up from his notes. “To what do I owe the pleasure this time?”

She huffed, propping herself up on her elbows. “Ugh. No need for the fancy talk, genius.” She reached over, snatching one of his tools and spinning it between her fingers. “Just figured I’d swing by, see what my new favorite scientist is workin’ on.”

Viktor arched a brow, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “I was unaware I had become your favorite.”

Jinx grinned, sharp and wild. “Lucky you.”

She leaned closer, peering at the equations scrawled across his parchment. “So. What’s all this nerd shit?”

Viktor sighed, finally setting down his pen. “It is Hextech enhancement calculations. Something you are very familiar with, given your recent acquisition.”

Jinx cackled, stretching out over the bench like a cat. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. That crystal was real nice, by the way. Made some fun new toys with it.” She flicked a finger against one of the metal schematics beside her. “Thought maybe you’d have more.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “You are insatiable.”

Jinx propped her chin in her hands, grinning. “Yeah, and?”

He sighed, pushing back from his workbench. “If I give you more, will you leave?”

Jinx gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Vik! That hurts!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

She giggled, rolling onto her side, legs swinging off the edge of his worktable. “Aww, c’mon. Admit it. You love havin’ me here.”

He opened his mouth to argue—because no, she was disruptive and unpredictable and dangerous and—

And then she touched him.

Just a casual brush of fingers against his wrist as she reached for another one of his tools, but it sent a sharp, electric shock through him all the same.

Viktor went rigid.

Jinx, of course, noticed.

She stilled for just a second, then grinned. Slowly, deliberately, she dragged her fingers along his forearm, featherlight, teasing.

Viktor shuddered.

And Jinx beamed.

“Ohhhhh,” she purred, eyes glinting. “What’s this?”

Viktor swallowed, forcing his expression back into neutrality. “What are you talking about?”

Jinx smirked. “You like this.” She ran her fingers up his sleeve, barely touching, but it was enough. Enough to make his pulse spike. Enough to make his breath hitch.

He should stop her.

He didn’t.

“Been a while, huh?” she mused, tilting her head. “Since someone touched ya?”

Viktor exhaled sharply, tearing his arm away. “That is none of your concern.”

Jinx cackled, but there was something knowing in her eyes, something sharp and cruel and dangerously amused.

“Ohoho, this is gonna be fun.”

Viktor had a sinking feeling he had just made a terrible mistake.

---

Jinx was always moving. Always shifting, always twitching, like she was made of too many parts that didn’t quite fit together. Even now, standing in front of him, there was a tension in her shoulders, a restless energy in the way her fingers flexed and curled.

Viktor barely had time to process the movement before she grabbed his hands.

Her grip was tight—too tight, like she was holding onto something fragile, something that might slip through her fingers if she let go. And yet, despite the strength in her grasp, her hands were trembling. Excitement? Nerves? He couldn’t tell.

She pulled his hands forward, pressing them to her sides, just above her hips, where the fabric of her cropped top gave way to warm, bare skin.

Viktor’s breath hitched.

His fingers twitched against her waist, unbidden, the heat of her sinking into his palms. Her skin was soft—softer than he expected from someone so volatile, so reckless. It was warm, too, and he had to swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat.

Jinx was watching him. Her usual manic energy had dulled, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted just slightly as if waiting for him to do something.

He shouldn’t.

He should pull away. He should demand an explanation, should tell her to stop playing games, because that’s all this was, wasn’t it? A game?

And yet—his hands moved on their own.

His thumbs brushed slow, careful circles against her waist, his fingers pressing in slightly, feeling the give of her skin beneath his touch. It felt good. He shouldn’t be enjoying this, shouldn’t be indulging in something so pointless, so dangerous, and yet—

Jinx let out a shaky breath.

Not a laugh. Not a snicker. Just a breath, soft and uneven, her lashes fluttering as his hands continued their slow exploration of her sides.

She liked it.

And she wasn’t stopping him.

His fingers pressed deeper, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel her, to ground himself in the moment. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this—simple human contact, the warmth of another person against him, the unspoken permission to touch without consequence.

Jinx shifted, stepping closer, until his hands slid from her waist to her hips, fingers curling around the curve of her bones.

She smirked then—lazy, teasing, but her voice betrayed her when she finally spoke.

“You’re so touch-starved, huh, Vik?”

He swallowed hard, his grip flexing against her.

“Perhaps,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Jinx giggled, but it wasn’t sharp this time, wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was breathless.

She rocked on her heels, pressing herself just a little closer, her fingers tracing absent patterns over the back of his own hands.

“Well,” she murmured, tilting her head, “guess we’ll just have to fix that, huh?”

Viktor didn’t know if that was a promise or a threat.

But for once, he didn’t mind either option.

---

It had become too easy.

Too natural.

Jinx would come and go as she pleased, slipping into his lab like she owned the place, trailing chaos in her wake. She’d knock over his tools, steal his snacks, scatter his blueprints across the floor like they were nothing more than discarded playing cards.

And then she’d put her hands on him. Or she’d pull his hands onto her.

Viktor had stopped resisting.

It was never the same, never predictable, but always inevitable. Sometimes she’d drape herself over his shoulders, chin resting on his head, humming tunelessly as she peeked at whatever he was working on. Other times, she’d yank his wrist, pressing his palm against her stomach, her bare skin warm and smooth beneath his fingers.

She liked being touched.

At least by him she did.

And Viktor—against all logic, against all reason—had stopped pretending he didn’t like it too.

So when Jinx practically threw herself at him today, pressing into his side, rubbing her nose against his cheek, it wasn’t surprising.

What was surprising was the name.

“Vikky,” she cooed, voice syrupy with amusement.

Viktor stiffened, scowling. His grip on her waist tightened—not in rejection, but in something else. Something he didn’t have the words for.

“Do not call me that.”

Jinx only giggled, her arms winding around his shoulders, her weight pressing against him. She smelled like gunpowder and oil, like metal and sweat, like something wild and untamed.

She smelled like her.

“Aww, c’mon, Vikky,” she teased, dragging out the name like she was savoring it. “It’s cute.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against her hips. It was supposed to be a warning, supposed to be a sign of protest, but they both knew he wasn’t pushing her away.

He never did.

“You are obnoxious,” he muttered.

Jinx beamed, nudging her nose against the corner of his mouth now, dangerously close, her breath warm against his skin. “And you,” she purred, “are a liar.”

His heart stuttered.

Jinx grinned wider, pressing impossibly closer. “You like it,” she whispered, her lips just barely brushing against his jaw. “You love it.”

Viktor’s hands tightened—his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist, his restraint fraying at the edges.

He wanted to deny it. He should deny it.

But she was right.

He did love it.

That was perhaps the most concerning part of all.

 

 

Chapter 84: Hush Darling

Summary:

The first time it happens, it’s barely a moment—nothing more than a flicker of something neither of them name. Their hands, overlapping on the blueprint. The warmth of her body pressed against his back. The air between them thick with the scent of metal, oil, and something far more dangerous.

It should end there.

But it doesn’t.

Because Jinx never does anything in halves.

And Viktor? Viktor doesn’t stop her.

The first time Jinx crashes into Viktor’s lab, it’s with all the grace of a stray firework. The door bangs open so violently that the hinges groan, and the sound of metal clattering to the floor echoes through the dimly lit space.

Viktor doesn’t even flinch. He merely sighs, pressing a hand to his temple as he carefully sets down his tools. He knows that scent—the acrid bite of burnt metal, the unmistakable tang of gunpowder and soot clinging to her skin. Another one of her accidents.

Or, more likely, one of her experiments.

He doesn’t look up when she speaks, not yet.

“Vik!” she crows, voice electric with manic energy. “You are not gonna believe what just happened.”

Viktor exhales slowly. “You caused an explosion.”

Jinx pauses mid-step, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “Okay, so maybe you are gonna believe what just happened.” She pivots on her heel, arms flung wide, her wild blue braids swinging with the motion. “But hear me out—this one was almost on purpose.”

At that, Viktor finally lifts his gaze. She’s exactly as he expected—grimy, grinning, and entirely unbothered by the chaos she’s undoubtedly left in her wake. Her shirt is scorched at the hem, her fingertips blackened with soot. There’s a smudge of grease on her cheek, and her eyes—brilliant, too-bright—gleam with something more dangerous than fire.

Curiosity.

He should send her away.

He should remind her that his work demands precision, that his lab is not a playground for her reckless improvisations.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans back slightly, resting his hands over the head of his cane. “And what exactly was the intended result of this ‘almost’ purposeful disaster?”

Jinx hops up onto his worktable without hesitation, scattering carefully arranged blueprints and sending a wrench clattering to the floor. Viktor’s eye twitches, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Thought you’d never ask,” she purrs.

From the satchel slung across her back, she pulls a battered notebook, its pages crumpled and ink-stained. She flips through it with rapid, careless fingers before shoving it toward him. The sketch scrawled across the page is crude, imprecise—a mess of jagged lines and frenzied notes written in handwriting so erratic it’s barely legible.

Viktor frowns. “This is…” He tilts the book slightly, attempting to make sense of the chaos. “This is nonsense.”

Jinx snickers. “You say nonsense, I say genius.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t push the book away. Because underneath the impulsive scribbles and impractical design, there’s something there. A concept. An idea, raw and unrefined but… interesting.

Dangerous, certainly. But then, most things worth building are.

She’s watching him, he realizes. Not impatiently—Jinx is rarely patient when she’s excited—but with an intensity that borders on unsettling. Like a fuse waiting to catch.

“Well?” she prompts, swinging her legs idly. “You gonna help me build something crazy or what?”

Viktor studies the design for another moment before exhaling through his nose. Slowly, deliberately, he sets the notebook down.

“You are not even supposed to be here.” His voice is even, but there’s the barest flicker of amusement in it, hidden beneath the usual exasperation.

Jinx ignores him, as she always does, and vaults onto his worktable in a sprawl of ink-stained fingers and scuffed-up boots. “C’mon, don’t be such a bore. You’re dying for some excitement.” She leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s so gloriously unstable, that even you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Viktor tilts his head, arching an eyebrow. “And what exactly do you need from me?”

Jinx grins, teeth flashing in the dim light of the lab. “Just your genius little brain and those clever hands of yours.” She flexes her fingers, miming an explosion. “And in return, I bring you chaos.”

He should refuse. He should tell her that her kind of unpredictability is precisely what Piltover fears—what he should fear. But deep down, beneath the logic and caution, there’s a part of him that is intrigued. Because Jinx doesn’t see limits, doesn’t see failure as anything more than an invitation to try something more reckless. And, if he’s honest, he’s tired of caution.

“…What are we building?” he asks.

Jinx’s grin sharpens. “That’s the spirit, crankshaft.”

---

The first few nights of collaboration are tense. Not because they argue—Jinx thrives in disorder, but she listens when she wants to—but because their methods are so utterly different.

Jinx works in bursts of inspiration, throwing pieces together with little regard for whether they’ll actually function. Viktor, meanwhile, refuses to touch something unless it’s been measured, refined, calculated down to the last millimeter.

They frustrate each other.

They challenge each other.

They fascinate each other.

“This part’s boring,” Jinx complains one evening, stretched across the floor with a pencil tucked behind her ear. “You take forever to decide anything.”

Viktor, standing over the workbench, doesn’t look away from the schematic in front of him. “And you do not take enough time to decide anything.”

Jinx rolls onto her stomach, propping her chin in her hands. “C’mon, you like my chaos.”

Viktor exhales a quiet laugh through his nose. “I do not dislike it.”

Jinx grins like she’s won something. She pushes herself upright and pads over, slinking behind him to peer over his shoulder.

“You’re too rigid,” she murmurs, resting her chin against his shoulder. “Can’t be all numbers and angles. You gotta feel it, y’know?”

Viktor stills. She’s close—closer than usual, and Jinx has never been good at understanding personal space. Her breath is warm against his skin, smelling faintly of smoke and oil.

He should tell her to back away.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he clears his throat. “It is the numbers and angles that prevent your devices from detonating in your face.”

Jinx laughs, low and throaty. “I like when they explode.”

Viktor glances at her from the corner of his eye. “That is not surprising.”

The room is warm—too warm. The low hum of machinery fills the silence as Jinx shifts, pressing close behind him as she reaches for a discarded schematic. He feels the brush of her breath against his neck, the weight of her chin resting on his shoulder.

“Okay, so maybe a little structure ain’t the worst thing,” she muses, tracing a lazy line over his blueprints with her fingertip. “But you gotta admit, your designs are way sexier with a little chaos mixed in.”

Viktor’s fingers tighten around his pen. It’s not the first time she’s touched him—Jinx has no concept of personal space—but this feels different. More deliberate. More charged.

“I suppose,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly—just enough to meet her gaze.

The moment lingers. The air thickens. Jinx’s pupils are blown wide, not with mania this time, but something slower, more intentional. Her fingers curl around his wrist, guiding his hand over the schematic.

She leans in further, her arms draping over his shoulders as she studies the blueprint in front of them. The weight of her is distracting—her fingers tapping idly against the back of his hand, her breath against his throat.

“This part,” she murmurs, pointing to the page. “Show me.”

Viktor hesitates. Then, slowly, he lifts his hand and guides hers across the schematic. Their fingers brush. Jinx doesn’t pull away.

The air shifts—charged, humming with something neither of them acknowledge aloud.

For once, Jinx is still. Not jittery, not erratic. Just waiting.

Viktor exhales. His fingers tighten slightly over hers.

And together, they create.

---

The first time it happens, it’s barely a moment—nothing more than a flicker of something neither of them name. Their hands, overlapping on the blueprint. The warmth of her body pressed against his back. The air between them thick with the scent of metal, oil, and something far more dangerous.

It should end there.

But it doesn’t.

Because Jinx never does anything in halves.

And Viktor? Viktor doesn’t stop her.

It starts with touch. Subtle at first, incidental. The brush of Jinx’s fingers when she hands him a tool. The ghost of her breath at his ear when she leans in to whisper some half-formed idea, the words a tangle of impulse and brilliance. The press of her knee against his beneath the worktable, neither of them moving away.

Then it stops being incidental.

Jinx sprawls across his chair when he steps away for a moment, head tilted back, grinning. “Comfy,” she says, stretching her arms over her head. “Think I’ll stay right here.”

Viktor raises a brow, unimpressed. “That is my chair.”

“Hmm.” Jinx drums her fingers against the metal armrest. “Dunno, Vik. You leave something unattended in my world, it stops being yours real quick.” She shifts, patting her lap. “Only fair if you share.”

Viktor exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head, but instead of pushing her off, he leans over her, reaching for his blueprints.

A mistake.

Jinx’s fingers curl into the front of his vest, just enough to hold him in place. Their faces are too close—closer than they ever should be. Close enough that he can see the smudges of ink on her cheek, the streak of soot at the curve of her jaw. Close enough that she could kiss him, if she tilted her head just slightly.

She doesn’t.

But she grins, slow and sharp.

“Starting to think you like me getting in your space, crankshaft.”

Viktor’s throat bobs. “You are incorrigible.”

Jinx snickers, but when she finally lets go, her fingers linger for just a breath longer than necessary.

And Viktor feels it.

It escalates.

Of course it does.

Jinx doesn’t understand restraint, and Viktor—Viktor is starting to wonder if he even wants to resist anymore.

The night it happens, really happens, the lab is dim, lit only by the dull glow of the forge. It’s late—late enough that they should have stopped hours ago, but neither of them knows how to quit when they’re close to something great.

Jinx is hunched over a sketch, her tongue poking between her teeth as she scrawls notes in that erratic, slanted handwriting of hers. Viktor stands behind her, watching, correcting. His hands find her shoulders, her wrists, steadying her when she moves too fast. He guides her fingers over the parchment, adjusting the pressure of her grip.

She lets him.

She leans into it.

Her shoulder blades shift beneath his palms as she presses back against him, her breath hitching just slightly. His fingertips linger at the curve of her wrist. Neither of them move away.

Then she turns her head.

And suddenly, she’s looking at him—really looking. Not with that manic, teasing gleam, but with something slower. Something deliberate.

Viktor should step back.

Jinx should say something flippant, break the moment with a laugh.

But neither of them do.

And when she moves, when she closes that last sliver of space between them, Viktor doesn’t pull away.

Lips brush—just barely, just a whisper of contact—but it’s enough to set every wire in Viktor’s brain sparking at once. 

He exhales, shaky, uncertain.

Then he kisses her back.

Jinx makes a small, pleased noise against his mouth, fingers curling at the front of his shirt as if enjoying his reaction.

Jinx doesn’t hesitate. She never hesitates. She tugs him closer, arms winding around his neck, pressing into him like she’s trying to crawl inside his ribs. Viktor stumbles slightly, his cane catching against the edge of the table, but she only laughs against his lips, breathless and wild.

The worktable digs into the backs of his thighs, but he doesn’t care.

The blueprints are forgotten, ink smudging beneath careless fingers.

The forge flickers, casting them in shifting shadows.

It should feel like a mistake.

But it doesn’t.

Not even a little.

---

The lab smelled of metal, ink, and the faint burn of ozone. A sign that something—or someone—was working too damn hard again.

Jinx leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the culprit in question. Viktor was hunched over his desk, scribbling furiously into his notes, his gaunt features half-lit by the flickering glow of his lamps. The dark circles under his eyes were practically bruises, his hair even more disheveled than usual, and he had the general air of a man teetering on the brink of collapse but refusing to acknowledge it.

She clicked her tongue. “For a genius, you sure are an idiot sometimes.”

Viktor didn’t even flinch. He just muttered something under his breath, the scratch of his pen against the paper uninterrupted.

Jinx’s eye twitched.

“Y’know, people do actually need to sleep, Twiggy,” she said, stepping further inside, boots clanking against the floor. “Or to at least take a damn break before they keel over like a broken wind-up toy.”

“I will rest soon,” Viktor replied, voice flat, gaze locked onto his calculations.

“Liar.”

Jinx crossed the distance in two strides and, with zero ceremony, swept his notes aside. Viktor barely had a second to register her before she pounced, shoving him back into his chair with a force that sent a clatter of tools and loose papers tumbling off the desk.

“Jinx!” His voice was half-scolding, half-startled as her weight settled into his lap, her legs draped over either side of his. “What—what are you—?”

“Hush, darling,” she purred, her usual manic energy melting into something slow, something syrupy. “You work too much. It’s annoying. So I’m fixing it.”

Viktor sighed through his nose, long and suffering. “I truly do not have time for—”

“Pfft. Don’t care.” She adjusted her grip, arms sliding around his shoulders as she pressed herself closer, chest against his. He was stiff at first—always so tense—but she just smirked and settled in. “Mmm. Y’know, for someone who’s practically a skeleton, you’re kinda comfy.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Jinx—”

She silenced him by poking his cheek. “Shh. No complaining. No arguing. Just shut up and accept your fate.”

His head fell back against the chair with a thump. “This is ridiculous.”

“But…” Her fingers started tracing along his chest, slow, lazy patterns, the tip of her nail trailing over the fabric of his vest. Swirls, spirals, little lightning bolts, then absolute nonsense. “You’re not pushing me away.”

Viktor exhaled sharply. A slow, defeated breath. His shoulders, stiff as steel cables a moment ago, eased by degrees, sinking under her warmth.

“There we go,” Jinx murmured, satisfaction lacing her tone. “Was that so hard?”

Viktor gave her a half-lidded look, voice drowsy but wry. “You are insufferable.”

“You love it.” She punctuated her words with a kiss, just beneath his ear. Then another, slower this time, her lips brushing along the sharp cut of his jawline.

Viktor’s breath hitched.

Jinx grinned. “Thought so.”

Viktor’s fingers twitched at his sides, caught between pushing her away and grasping onto her. He was still warm from the lingering heat of his work, but Jinx’s touch was something else entirely—something softer, something dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with explosives or mayhem.

“Jinx,” he tried again, but her name came out lower this time, almost hoarse.

She hummed against his skin, her lips grazing the sharp edge of his jaw before she worked her way down, her breath leaving a trail of warmth over his throat. “Mmm?”

Viktor swallowed. Hard.

“You’re—” His words faltered when she sighed against his pulse, her fingers still idly tracing over his chest. It was a slow, absentminded thing, like she wasn’t even thinking about it, but of course she was. Jinx never did anything without knowing exactly what she was doing.

He was sinking. He could feel it—his exhaustion mixing with the way she was draped over him, the way her body molded against his as if she’d always belonged there.

Jinx grinned against his throat. “Hah. You were so ready to yell at me a second ago.” Another kiss, this one just below his ear, her teeth grazing lightly over the sensitive skin. “Now you’re just all quiet and melty.”

Viktor let out a slow breath. “You ambushed me.”

“Tch. ‘Ambushed’ is such a harsh word.” She leaned back slightly to look at him, tilting her head. “I prefer to think of it as… strategic intervention.”

Viktor gave her a flat look. “Strategic.”

“Yep! You were being stupid, so I had to intervene.” She smirked, tapping a finger against his temple. “Boom. Brains—saved.”

He sighed again, but there was no real fight left in it. “You are impossible.”

“And you’re adorable when you finally give in.”

Jinx shifted, pressing herself closer, her arms looping around his neck as she rested her forehead against his. Her breath was warm against his lips, her fingers now drawing lazy, nonsense patterns over his shoulders.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The lab, always so filled with the constant hum of work—clattering tools, crackling energy, Viktor’s muttered notes—felt still. Just the two of them in the dim glow of the lamps, tangled together in the mess of papers and schematics she’d so gleefully shoved aside.

Jinx’s voice, when she finally broke the silence, was softer than before. “Y’know…” Her fingers stilled, resting lightly over his heart. “You gotta stop pushing yourself so hard.”

Viktor huffed, but she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm, slowing. “I have projects—”

“Shh. I know.” Her thumb brushed absently along his collarbone. “But you’re not just some big, fancy, brainiac machine, Vik.” She tapped his chest, right over his heart. “Tick-tock, remember? You gotta take care of yourself, too.”

His gaze softened slightly, the sharp intellect in his golden eyes momentarily clouded by something else.

Jinx’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual manic edge. “And, lucky for you, ya got me to remind you.”

Viktor exhaled a laugh through his nose. “Somehow, I doubt your methods are widely recommended.”

Jinx grinned, sharp and full of mischief. “Pfft. Of course not. But they work.”

And just to prove her point, she kissed him again—slower this time, her lips lingering against his, her fingers curling ever-so-lightly into the fabric of his vest.

Viktor’s hands finally moved, settling at her waist. A silent surrender.

Jinx pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “See? Told ya. Best strategy.”

Viktor hummed, his thumb brushing absently against her hip. “A highly unorthodox approach, but…” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “Effective.”

Jinx beamed, all teeth and victory, before leaning in again. “Damn right.”

---

Viktor woke to warmth.

For a moment, disoriented by the unusual sensation, he thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep in front of the forge again, too close to the heat of the metal. But then something shifted against him, soft and breathing, and he became acutely aware of the weight sprawled over his chest.

Jinx.

Her head was nestled just below his collarbone, her arms tucked between them, rising and falling with the slow rhythm of his breath. Her legs were tangled with his, and her entire body was draped over him like she’d claimed him in her sleep.

Viktor blinked sluggishly, the haze of exhaustion still clinging to him. How long had he been out? He vaguely remembered resisting—weakly—before finally succumbing to the warmth of her body, the soft drag of her fingers over his chest, the slow lull of her voice.

Now, here he was.

Pinned.

He sighed, tilting his head slightly to glance at the mess of papers still strewn across the desk, the unfinished equations taunting him. He needed to get back to work. There was so much still to do.

But if he moved, he would wake her.

Viktor glanced down at Jinx, taking her in for the first time in the dim, flickering light. Her face was slack with sleep, her usual manic energy nowhere to be found. Strands of blue hair spilled over his chest, and her breathing was deep, steady.

It occurred to him, then, that she had fallen asleep just as quickly as he had.

Jinx, for all her constant motion and boundless chaos, had been exhausted, too.

A slow realization settled over him—one that filled the hollow ache in his chest with something strange and unfamiliar. She had been so concerned about him, about forcing him to rest, but perhaps she had needed this just as much.

Perhaps she had been using taking care of him as an excuse to stop moving.

Viktor’s expression softened. His free hand shifted slightly, and without much thought, he let his fingers slide into her hair, combing absently through the loose blue strands.

Jinx made a small noise at the touch, something between a sigh and a sleepy hum, pressing her face deeper into his chest.

Viktor stilled, waiting to see if she would wake. But her breathing remained even, her grip on him loose but unconsciously clinging.

Another sigh left him, but this time it wasn’t out of exasperation.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Not yet.

Chapter 85: The Hunt

Summary:

“This is not over,” he murmurs.

Jinx beams. “Oh, sweetie. It never is.”

And then, in the blink of an eye, she’s gone—a streak of blue vanishing into the shadows, leaving Viktor standing in the wreckage of what should have been a victory.

But it doesn’t feel like he won.

It feels like she let him take her.

Viktor doesn’t usually hunt vampires.

They’re fast, slippery things that slink through the streets like shadows, and most of them know better than to stir up trouble where they shouldn’t. There’s an unspoken rule between the packs and the bloodsuckers: stay out of each other’s way, and no one dies unnecessarily.

But Jinx?

Jinx doesn’t follow rules.

She leaves bodies where she shouldn’t, painted in bullet holes and sharp laughter, drawing attention to the kind of chaos that puts everyone at risk.

So Viktor tracks her down, follows the trail of carnage she’s left behind, the scent of copper thick in the air as he steps into the dimly lit warehouse on the edge of Zaun.

And there she is.

Perched on a crate, one leg dangling, fingers slick with blood as she lazily licks them clean. Her lips are stained red, her pink eyes glowing eerily in the low light, and when she notices him, she only grins.

“Uh-oh,” she hums, tilting her head. “Big bad wolf finally caught me.”

Viktor steps forward, movements slow, deliberate. “Enough games, Jinx.”

“Games?” She pouts, swinging her legs. “This ain’t a game, puppy. This is just what I do.”

She flicks the last droplets of blood from her fingers, wiping them off on her ripped shorts as she watches him with lazy amusement.

“You think you can just do whatever you want?” Viktor growls.

“Oh, honey,” Jinx snickers. “You know I can.”

And that—that is what makes Viktor snap.

The second she moves, he moves faster.

Jinx barely has time to leap from the crate before he’s on her, a blur of claws and muscle, tackling her hard enough to send them both crashing into the warehouse floor.

She should be stronger than him—vampires usually are. But Viktor has always been different, his body sharpened by something unnatural, something primal. He wasn’t made like other wolves. He was built.

Jinx hisses as she thrashes beneath him, but Viktor is relentless, one hand gripping her wrists, the other pressing down on her throat. Not to choke—just to hold, to remind her exactly what she is beneath him.

Her lips curl into a smirk. “Ooooh, feisty. You always this rough on the first date?”

Viktor tightens his grip, growling low. “You think this is a joke?”

“I think everything’s a joke.”

She shifts, twisting her body just enough to bring her knee dangerously close to a place he really doesn’t want to get hit.

Viktor snarls—and before she can strike, he does something he shouldn’t.

He drags his claws down her side, slow and deliberate, just enough to mark her through her clothes.

Jinx shudders, the sharp sting sending a shiver through her spine, and for the first time in this little game, she stops moving.

Not in fear.

In interest.

Viktor can hear the way her breathing changes, the way her blood thrums—not with panic, but with something darker, something delighted.

His fingers press harder against her throat.

“You’re mine now,” he growls.

And Jinx?

Jinx just laughs.

Viktor should kill her.

He should sink his claws into her chest, tear out that still heart, rid himself of the problem she’s become.

But Jinx—Jinx is looking at him differently now.

Not like prey.

Not like a threat.

But like something fun.

“You think you can keep me?” she purrs, shifting just enough to brush her thigh against his hip. “Think you can tame me?”

Viktor exhales sharply, but he doesn’t move.

She grins. “Oh, sweetheart. You just made a mistake.”

And then, before he can react, she moves.

Fast.

Faster than anything human should be, twisting just right until suddenly, she’s on top of him instead.

Viktor barely has time to snarl before she slams him down, nails dragging across his chest—not to hurt, just to tease, just to see how much she can push.

“You wanna claim me?” she murmurs, leaning in, lips brushing the corner of his jaw. “That goes both ways, puppy.”

Viktor clenches his teeth, body burning with the instincts she’s toying with.

Jinx laughs, delighted. “Ohhhh, I like this. I like you.”

She leans lower, her breath hot against his throat, sharp enough to be a threat—

And then she bites.

Not deep. Not enough to break skin. Just enough to test.

To dare him to do something about it.

Viktor’s vision flashes red.

He flips her again, pressing her back down, his own breath ragged now.

Jinx just grins up at him, licking the spot where she’d bitten, taunting him.

“Go on,” she whispers.

Viktor exhales sharply, hands pressing her wrists into the floor.

He should walk away.

He should end this.

Instead—

He leans in.

And this time, he’s the one that bites.

Viktor doesn’t bite to kill.

If he wanted Jinx dead, she’d be bleeding out on the warehouse floor by now.

No, he bites to mark.

To claim.

His teeth sink into the soft curve where her neck meets her shoulder—not deep, but enough to leave a sting, to let his scent linger on her unnaturally cool skin. Enough to make her feel it.

And she does.

Jinx shudders beneath him, her whole body arching as something dark and electric thrums through her bones.

She gasps, fingers twitching where he still holds them down, nails itching to scratch, to grab, to drag him closer.

He doesn’t let her go.

Not yet.

“Ohhhh,” she breathes, voice sharp and breathless. “Now that—that was dirty, doggy.”

Viktor exhales slowly against her skin, his own pulse hammering. He can taste her, not like blood, but like something else, something wrong—because she’s undead, because she shouldn’t be warm, and yet, right now—

Right now, she is.

Jinx tilts her head, letting him linger, and for a second, just a second, she tempts him—

Then she twists beneath him, legs hooking around his waist, forcing him closer in a sharp, sudden shift.

Viktor growls, a warning, but she only grins, her fangs glinting in the low light.

“What now, puppy?” she hums, wriggling against him, deliberately testing his control.

She’s still pinned, still beneath him, but not helpless. Never helpless.

Viktor tightens his grip on her wrists, pressing them harder into the floor.

“You are reckless,” he mutters. “Self-destructive. A problem.”

“Mmm, tell me more.”

He exhales sharply, dragging his fangs lightly over the fresh bite mark just to watch her reaction.

Jinx twitches, lips parting—

And oh, does he recognize that look.

Not fear.

Not submission.

Pleasure.

It stuns him for half a second, enough for her to giggle, tilting her head further to offer more.

“Aww, look at you,” she coos. “All bark, but oh, honey, you wanna bite me again, don’tcha?”

Viktor clenches his jaw. He shouldn’t want that. He shouldn’t want her.

But the scent of her—cool and sharp, laced with something addictive—coils around him like a noose, squeezing his instincts until they burn.

Jinx watches him fight it, fascinated, delighted.

“Go on,” she whispers, her voice teasing but her eyes dark with something genuine. “Show me how a real monster plays.”

Viktor’s grip tightens.

He should walk away.

He should let this go.

Instead—

He leans in again.

Jinx is covered in him now.

His scent, his marks, his touch lingering like bruises beneath her skin. It’s intoxicating.

They’re still tangled on the warehouse floor, but the energy between them has shifted. The tension is no longer about who wins.

It’s about who wants more.

And right now?

Jinx wants.

She stretches, letting her body arch in a slow, deliberate motion, and Viktor watches with sharp, golden eyes, tracking her.

“Well,” she purrs, licking her lips. “That was fun.”

Viktor exhales, finally pulling back, forcing some distance before he does something stupid.

He should leave her here.

Should wipe his hands of this mess and let her keep running.

But instead, he grabs her jaw, tilting her head to admire the fresh bite he left behind.

It’s healing already, but the imprint remains. A warning. A claim.

“This is not over,” he murmurs.

Jinx beams. “Oh, sweetie. It never is.”

And then, in the blink of an eye, she’s gone—a streak of blue vanishing into the shadows, leaving Viktor standing in the wreckage of what should have been a victory.

But it doesn’t feel like he won.

It feels like she let him take her.

And that?

That’s the real problem.

Because next time—

He’s not sure if he’ll be the one hunting her—

Or if she’ll be the one hunting him.

---

Viktor tells himself he isn’t looking for her.

He has more important things to focus on—territory disputes, pack tensions, the ever-present power struggle between Zaun’s underworld factions.

And yet.

Yet.

When the scent of gunpowder and copper slinks through the air, unmistakably her, his entire body tenses before his mind even catches up.

He doesn’t have to search long.

Jinx makes herself easy to find this time.

She’s perched on the railing of a rickety balcony overlooking the main street, one leg dangling lazily over the edge, a bottle of something stolen spinning between her fingers.

And she’s wearing his marks.

The oversized top is loose, slipping off her shoulder just enough to expose his bite—the imprint still faintly visible against her pale skin.

She’s showing it off.

Deliberately.

His jaw tightens. His instincts bristle.

And Jinx?

Jinx just grins.

“Took you long enough, puppy.”

She swings down from the balcony in one fluid motion, landing easily on her feet, blue braids swaying as she strolls toward him like this is all just another game.

Viktor watches her approach, eyes dark, unreadable.

“You are careless,” he mutters, gaze flicking to the bite.

Jinx feigns innocence, tugging at the strap of her top like she just now noticed.

“Ohhh, this?” she purrs, tilting her head. “Gosh, how embarrassing—walking around with some big bad wolf’s marks all over me.”

She leans in, breath brushing against his jaw, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous.

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

Viktor exhales slowly, his claws twitching at his sides.

He should tell her to cover it.

He should tell her to stay out of his way.

Instead, he grabs her wrist.

Not hard. Not threatening. Just enough to hold her still.

And the way her pulse jumps under his fingers—oh, she likes that.

“Do not play games you do not understand, Jinx.”

Her grin sharpens, her fingers ghosting up his chest before he can stop her.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs. “I think I understand perfectly.”

And that—that is what makes Viktor snap.

He pushes her back against the alley wall in a single smooth motion, forearm braced against her collarbone, his body close but not crushing.

She doesn’t fight.

Doesn’t resist.

Jinx lets him do it.

And that is more dangerous than anything else.

She licks her lips, tilting her chin up, utterly at ease.

“Mmm, déjà vu. You always get me on my back, doggy.”

Viktor huffs, the ghost of a smirk curling at his lips despite himself.

“You put yourself there.”

“Takes two, sugar.”

Her fingers twitch at her sides, itching to move, to grab.

Viktor notices.

And so, very deliberately, he catches her hands—lacing their fingers together and pinning them above her head.

Jinx shudders.

Not in fear.

In want.

Viktor feels it, smells it, the shift in her, the sharp spike of something twisted and thrilled threading through her undead body.

And that is dangerous.

“I should have torn you apart the first time,” he mutters.

“Yeah?” Jinx breathes. “Then why didn’t you?”

Viktor doesn’t answer.

Because he doesn’t know.

All he knows is that Jinx is too close, her scent curling around him like a snare, her pulse a slow, taunting thing beneath his touch.

And the bite he left on her?

It’s still healing, but it hasn’t faded.

Not completely.

Not yet.

As if some part of her wants to keep it.

“I could give you another,” he murmurs before he can stop himself.

And Jinx—

Oh, Jinx shivers.

Her grin softens into something hungrier, her breath just a little sharper now.

“You threatening me or promising me, sweetheart?”

Viktor hates how much she gets under his skin.

Hates that he still wants to bite her again.

So instead, he lets go—pulling back just enough to put distance between them before he does something he can’t take back.

Jinx huffs, visibly annoyed by the loss of contact.

“Tease,” she mutters, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off a shiver.

Viktor smirks faintly, adjusting his cuffs like this entire encounter hasn’t left his pulse pounding.

“Do not get comfortable, Jinx.”

“Aww, but I like making you uncomfortable.”

Her eyes spark, glowing eerily bright beneath the streetlights, and Viktor knows she isn’t going to stop pushing.

Knows she’s going to keep wearing his marks.

Keep toying with him.

Keep hunting him as much as he’s been hunting her.

And the worst part?

Some dark, buried part of him wants her to.

---

The next time Viktor sees her, it’s worse.

She’s not just showing off the mark anymore.

She’s playing with it.

The bite has mostly healed by now, but she’s kept it irritated, her fingers absently brushing against it, her head tilting just enough to invite him to put it back.

It is deliberate.

Calculated.

A dare.

And Viktor—

Viktor wants to take it.

But not yet.

Not until she earns it.

Not until he makes her beg for it.

Jinx grins when she catches him watching.

“Ohhh, you are in trouble, sugar,” she purrs.

And Viktor?

Viktor just smirks.

Because for the first time—

He’s ready to let her try.

---

The game between them has been stretching too thin.

The marks, the challenges, the almosts—Viktor has been letting her get away with too much.

And Jinx?

Jinx has been pushing harder every time.

So when she shows up at his doorstep uninvited, wearing that loose little top again—the one that still shows the fading imprint of his bite—Viktor knows this is it.

“Hiya, puppy,” she hums, leaning lazily against his doorframe. “Miss me?”

Viktor exhales slowly.

“You are reckless,” he mutters, stepping back, letting her in despite knowing he shouldn’t.

Jinx grins, slipping inside without hesitation.

“Aww, don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

Viktor doesn’t answer. Doesn’t react.

Just watches as she strolls deeper into his den, her fingers trailing over the neat, structured order of his space—touching everything just to be a little menace.

And then—

Then she stops in front of his chair. His chair. The worn leather armchair near the window where he always sits, where he watches the city, where he thinks.

And she flops down into it like she owns the place.

Viktor’s eye twitches.

Jinx props her legs over the armrest, stretching out, all long limbs and deliberate ease, her top slipping even lower off her shoulder.

“Comfy,” she purrs, peeking up at him through her lashes.

Viktor’s patience finally snaps.

One second, she’s lounging.

The next, she’s caged beneath him.

Viktor moves too fast for her to dodge—one knee pressing into the cushion between her legs, one hand gripping the back of the chair, blocking her in.

His other hand grabs her jaw, tilting her chin up so she’s forced to look at him.

Jinx inhales sharply—not out of fear, not out of surprise—but out of something far worse.

Want.

Because oh, she likes this.

She wanted this.

And Viktor?

Viktor is done pretending otherwise.

“You think you can push without consequence?” he mutters, voice dangerously low.

Jinx’s lips curl into a grin. Defiant. Daring.

“I think you like it.”

Viktor tightens his grip, his thumb pressing against the corner of her mouth, just enough to make her feel it.

Jinx’s breath hitches.

“And if I do?” Viktor murmurs, gaze flicking to the bite mark she’s still flaunting.

Jinx’s pupils dilate.

For the first time, she’s silent.

That’s how he knows he has her now.

Slowly, deliberately, he leans in—lips just barely brushing the fading bite, his breath a sharp contrast against her too-cool skin.

Jinx shudders, her whole body reacting before she can hide it.

Viktor smirks.

“You want another?” he muses, his fingers sliding down to trace the mark, his claws just barely scratching.

Jinx sucks in a breath—a little gasp, sharp and needy, her nails digging into the leather beneath her.

She wants to pretend this is a game.

But this?

This isn’t a game anymore.

Viktor’s hand slides lower, gripping her hip, pulling her closer—forcing her to feel just how much control she’s losing.

“Say it,” he orders, voice thick, rough.

Jinx trembles, her mouth opening—then closing.

He smirks again.

“Oh,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just below her ear. “You can tease, but you cannot beg?”

Jinx growls, frustration flickering through her like a short-circuit.

“I don’t beg,” she snaps.

Viktor chuckles, low and dark, his fingers tightening on her waist.

“Then you do not get what you want.”

And then—

He pulls away.

Jinx snarls.

“Oh, you bastard—”

She lunges, but Viktor is ready for her this time.

He flips them effortlessly, dragging her into his lap, keeping her pinned with just enough force to keep her squirming but not escaping.

Jinx gasp-laughs, hands grabbing at his shirt, claws snagging the fabric, and Viktor—

Viktor just watches her, waiting.

She’s fighting it.

Fighting the need curling in her belly, fighting the sharp, addictive pull of submission to something stronger.

And Viktor knows exactly how to break her.

He tilts his head, exposing his throat—his scent sharp, tempting, rich with the unspoken promise of take me if you dare.

Jinx freezes.

Her fangs ache. Her lips part instinctively.

“Go on,” Viktor whispers, daring her.

And Jinx—

Jinx breaks.

She lunges, biting deep, her fangs sinking into his throat, her body shaking with it.

And Viktor—

Viktor moans.

Low and quiet, but real.

Jinx whimpers, her hands fisting in his shirt as she drinks, but it’s not just hunger.

It’s something else, something worse, something neither of them are ready for.

Because the moment his blood hits her tongue, she feels it—

The bond.

And so does Viktor.

He snarls, one hand snapping up to grip the back of her neck, the other sliding under her thigh, shifting her just right—

And when Jinx pulls back, panting, pupils blown wide, her lips red with his blood—

They both know.

This is over.

The game is done.

She’s his.

And he’s hers.

No turning back now.

---

Jinx knows something is wrong the second she pulls back.

Or maybe wrong isn’t the word. Maybe it’s too right.

Because the moment his blood hits her tongue—hot, rich, pulsing with something ancient and primal—the hunger she expected is nothing compared to what follows.

Heat.

Dark and overwhelming, curling through her like wildfire, burning under her skin.

Her fingers tighten against him, her whole body trembling.

She can feel him. Not just the way he breathes, not just the way his body presses against hers, but something deeper, something threading through her very bones.

It’s him, sinking into her, something more than blood, something older than either of them.

A bond.

A mistake.

Or maybe the only thing that’s ever made sense.

Jinx’s breath comes out sharp, ragged, her fangs still buried in the wound at his throat—

And Viktor?

Viktor is not okay.

She feels everything. The way his heart stutters, the way his hands tense, the sharp, pained pleasure lacing through his body as his blood spills into her mouth.

But he doesn’t stop her.

He pulls her closer.

Jinx moans—helplessly, pathetically—as the sensation grows worse, her thighs squeezing around his hips, her fingers digging into his chest as the ache settles low in her stomach.

Viktor growls, low and needing, his grip tightening on her thigh.

"Jinx—"

Her name is a warning, a plea, a confession.

And she can’t take it anymore.

She tears herself away from his throat, her lips red with him, her eyes glowing wild as she pants against his mouth.

Viktor snaps.

His hands move, gripping her waist, yanking her flush against him, and oh, she feels it now—the undeniable proof that this is not just bloodlust anymore.

It’s so much worse.

Jinx shudders, her body betraying her, her instincts screaming at her to give in.

And Viktor?

Viktor is right there with her.

His hands skim her sides, hot against her cool skin, fingers teasing at the hem of her shorts, slipping under just enough to drive her insane.

"You did this," he mutters against her ear, voice dark.

Jinx whines before she can stop herself.

She never whines.

But this—this isn’t normal.

This isn’t just her.

It’s him, it’s them, it’s something bigger and older and binding them together in ways she doesn’t understand.

And she loves it.

Hates it.

Wants more.

"You—" she swallows hard, fingers shaking where they clutch at his shirt. "—you feel it too, huh?"

Viktor exhales sharply, his nose brushing her temple as his fingers tighten on her waist.

"Yes."

The admission sends a violent shudder through her spine.

Because oh, that’s bad.

That means this isn’t just her losing it.

That means he’s losing it too.

And Viktor doesn’t lose control.

Ever.

Jinx grins, breathless and nearly feral.

"Guess that makes you mine now, huh, puppy?"

Viktor growls, low and dangerous—but he doesn’t deny it.

He just flips her again, slamming her back down into the chair, one hand firmly on her throat, his body caging hers in.

"If that is true," he breathes, teasing his lips over the fresh bite, "then you are mine."

Jinx’s vision blurs for a second, her whole body pulsing with something desperate and aching.

"Fuck," she breathes, the word half a moan.

Viktor chuckles—dark, knowing, his control hanging by a thread.

"Something wrong?" he taunts, dragging his claws lightly up the inside of her thigh.

Jinx jerks, hands flying to his shoulders, her nails raking down his back through his shirt.

"Bastard," she gasps.

Viktor smirks.

"I believe that is your fault, my dear."

And then—

Then he bites her again.

Not on her throat this time.

Lower.

Harder.

Right where she’s already burning for him.

And Jinx?

Jinx screams.

Not in pain.

Not in fear.

But in devotion.

Because she knows now.

There’s no escaping this anymore.

They are bonded.

They are ruined.

And they are never walking away.

Chapter 86: Guns & Roses

Summary:

One morning, she woke up in his bed, body bare and tangled in the sheets, his scent still lingering in the air. The sunlight was creeping through the slats of the wooden walls, dust swirling in the golden light.

Viktor was already up, sitting at his desk, shirt half-buttoned as he scribbled in one of his old, battered notebooks.

Jinx propped herself up on one elbow, watching him with a lazy smirk. “You always start your days this boring?”

Viktor didn’t look up. “Some of us have work to do.”

She stretched, arms over her head, grinning. “Oh, c’mon, you can play doctor later.”

“I am a doctor,” Viktor muttered.

The town of Deadwood Hollow wasn’t much of a town at all. More like a collection of sun-bleached buildings hanging on to the edge of nowhere, the kind of place where men came to disappear—into graves, into bottles, into the dust that swallowed up names and sins alike.

Viktor had come here for his own reasons, though he rarely talked about them. He kept to his clinic, tending to the drunks, the drifters, the bastards who shot each other over poker hands and women who weren’t theirs. He wasn’t a preacher, wasn’t a lawman. He stitched up whoever dragged themselves through his door and buried the ones who couldn’t. That was the way of things.

Then she came crashing through his door.

The wind howled as it swung open, carrying the stench of gunpowder, sweat, and blood. Jinx staggered inside, her hand pressed to her ribs, fingers slick with red. The candlelight caught on her wild blue hair, tangled from the chase, her face half-shadowed under the brim of a hat that had seen better days.

Viktor knew her the second he saw her.

The Blue Devil.

The outlaw who made men cross themselves when they spoke her name. The woman with the bounty so high even saints might’ve considered turning her in.

And yet, here she was, bleeding all over his floor.

Jinx barely spared him a glance before kicking the door shut behind her. “Well, ain’t this cozy?” she drawled, voice rough from the dust and whatever hell she’d just crawled out of. She took another step, and her knees buckled.

Viktor caught her before she hit the ground.

She let out a sharp breath, her weight slumping against him for the barest second before she stiffened. “Shit,” she muttered, tilting her head to blink up at him. A lazy smirk tugged at her split lip. “Didn’t think I’d be fallin’ into a man’s arms tonight. Guess I’m just lucky that he's real easy on the eyes.”

Viktor, unimpressed, shifted his grip and hauled her toward the cot he used for patients. “You are fortunate I do not shoot you myself,” he muttered.

Jinx cackled as he eased her down onto the sheets. “Oh, Doc, that’s cute. You think you could take me?”

“Not when you are conscious.”

That earned him a wheezing laugh, cut short by a grimace. “Oof—alright, maybe flirtin’ should wait till after you dig this bullet outta me.”

Viktor sighed, already rolling up his sleeves. Another mess. Another stray that needed fixing.

He peeled back her blood-soaked shirt, revealing the wound just below her ribs. The bullet had gone clean through—ugly, but survivable. He could smell the gunpowder on her skin, the sharp tang of sweat and blood mixing in the thick summer air.

“This will hurt,” he warned, already reaching for the forceps.

Jinx grinned. “Darlin’, pain and I are old friends.”

Viktor didn’t respond. Just got to work.

She barely flinched as he cleaned the wound, though her breath hitched when he stitched her up. Tough girl, he thought. No stranger to pain. He could see the ghosts of old scars along her torso, knife wounds and bullet grazes, a story written in flesh.

She watched him the whole time, those pink eyes sharp as a knife’s edge. “You always this gentle with girls, Doc? Or am I special?”

Viktor didn’t look up. “You are a wanted criminal, Miss Jinx. You should be more concerned about whether I turn you in.”

Jinx clicked her tongue, amused. “You could—but then I’d have to shoot my way out, and you’d have a lot more than blood to mop up.”

That, he didn’t doubt.

He tied off the last stitch and leaned back, exhaling as he wiped his hands clean. “The wound will heal. You should rest before you—”

The cot creaked as Jinx swung her legs over the side. “Nah, I’m good,” she said, rolling her shoulder like a fighter testing a wound.

Viktor frowned. “You lost a great deal of blood. I do not recommend—”

“Oh, don’t go fussin’ now, Doc. I ain’t some fragile little thing.” She shot him a wink as she pulled on her shirt—now torn and bloodstained, but she didn’t seem to care. “I’ll be fine.”

He watched as she stood, a little wobbly but steady enough. Her eyes flicked toward him, something unreadable in them.

Then, just as easily, she grinned. “Guess I owe ya one.”

Viktor exhaled, already lighting a cigarette. “I am not foolish enough to put a debt on an outlaw.”

“Oh, but see, I hate owing people.” Her grin was slow, deliberate. Dangerous. “I always pay my debts.”

He didn’t know what she meant. Not yet.

Viktor expected her to vanish. Most outlaws were like the dust—there one second, gone the next.

But not Jinx.

She started showing up.

At first, it was small things. A fresh hare on his doorstep, cleanly shot. A crate of rare herbs that couldn’t be found in Deadwood Hollow. Supplies that somehow made their way into his clinic, no note attached.

Then came the trouble.

A gang that had been giving him grief about their tabs mysteriously went missing. The sheriff—normally suspicious of anyone with brains—suddenly stopped poking around his business. A couple of men who had tried breaking into his clinic one night? Found in a ditch with their hands missing.

Jinx never mentioned any of it.

She just waltzed in, kicked her boots up, and treated his clinic like a second home.

One evening, he found her waiting on his bed, flipping one of his scalpels between her fingers like it was a six-shooter.

“Been thinkin’, Doc.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That is dangerous.”

Jinx cackled. “Nah, you’re dangerous. Ain’t nobody realized it yet, but I see it.”

Viktor raised a brow. “Do you now?”

She leaned in, breath ghosting over his collar. “Mmhmm. You fix people up, but you ain’t got no illusions ‘bout the world, do ya? Y’know everyone’s just meat and bones, and when you cut ‘em open, they’re all the same.” Her finger traced his wrist, where his pulse ticked steadily beneath the skin. “You ain’t soft, Doc. Just quiet.”

Viktor held her gaze. “And what does that make you?”

Jinx grinned, sharp and wicked. “Loud enough for the both of us.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe he wasn’t soft. Because when she kissed him—wild, unhinged, tasting of gunpowder and whiskey—he didn’t stop her.

And when she dragged him down into the mess of her world, he didn’t pull away.

Because maybe, just maybe—he’d been waiting for a storm like her all along.

---

Jinx was trouble, but Viktor had never been a man to shy away from trouble.

She came and went like a storm, rolling in unannounced, leaving chaos in her wake. Sometimes she brought stolen whiskey, sometimes just the scent of blood and the laughter of someone who had barely outrun death. She had a way of making herself at home in his clinic—propping her boots on his desk, rifling through his things, spinning his scalpels between her fingers like they were playing cards.

She was reckless. Loud. A mess of contradictions.

And yet, she was the only person in Deadwood Hollow who had ever brought him a gift without asking for something in return.

One night, she showed up with a bottle of whiskey and a grin. “You ever drink, Doc?”

Viktor glanced up from his work, the lamplight casting deep shadows over his sharp features. “On occasion.”

Jinx tossed the bottle onto his desk, flopping into the chair across from him. “Well, tonight’s one of those occasions.”

Viktor sighed, but he took the bottle anyway. It was good whiskey, smooth and dark, not the piss-water they served at the saloons. He poured them each a glass, and Jinx raised hers with a smirk.

“To bad decisions,” she said.

Viktor gave a dry chuckle. “You make many of those, I assume?”

Jinx threw back the whiskey in one gulp, licking the taste off her lips. “Honey, I am a bad decision.”

Viktor took a slow sip, watching her over the rim of his glass. “And yet you keep surviving.”

Jinx leaned back, balancing her chair on two legs. “Some folks are just too mean to die.”

She looked at him then, eyes sharp, searching. “What about you, Doc? You ever make a bad decision?”

Viktor exhaled smoke from his cigarette, tapping the ash into a dish. “Once or twice.”

“Yeah?” Jinx grinned. “Tell me one.”

Viktor met her gaze, steady and unreadable. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, his fingers brushing the rim of her empty glass. “Sitting here with you. Drinking whiskey. Knowing exactly who you are.”

Jinx let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, now that’s just flattery.”

“I do not flatter,” Viktor murmured, tilting his head. “I observe.”

For a moment, she just looked at him, her grin flickering into something else. Something quieter.

Then she leaned in, close enough that he could smell the whiskey on her breath, the gunpowder still clinging to her skin. “Well, Doc,” she whispered, voice low and teasing, “if you’re already makin’ bad decisions… might as well make another one.”

And then she kissed him.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. Jinx wasn’t the kind of woman who did anything softly.

Her lips crashed against his, wild and desperate, all teeth and heat and the taste of trouble. Viktor didn’t pull away. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have reminded her that she was reckless, that she was dangerous, that she was the kind of woman who burned everything she touched.

But then again—

Maybe he had been waiting to burn.

---

Jinx never did anything in half-heartedly.

Once she decided something was hers, she took it.

And after that night, she decided Viktor was hers.

It wasn’t anything as simple as love, or even lust. Jinx didn’t have a word for it, but she knew what it felt like—the pull in her gut when she rode into town, knowing he was there. The way her fingers twitched when she was away too long, like she was missing something important.

She had always been good at breaking things, at burning bridges before anyone could cross them. But Viktor? He wasn’t afraid of her.

He didn’t flinch when she got too close. Didn’t push her away when she curled up in his clinic, idly playing with his knives.

He just looked at her, quiet and steady, like he was seeing through all the noise and the madness.

And for once in her goddamn life, she didn’t know whether to fight it or lean into it.

One morning, she woke up in his bed, body bare and tangled in the sheets, his scent still lingering in the air. The sunlight was creeping through the slats of the wooden walls, dust swirling in the golden light.

Viktor was already up, sitting at his desk, shirt half-buttoned as he scribbled in one of his old, battered notebooks.

Jinx propped herself up on one elbow, watching him with a lazy smirk. “You always start your days this boring?”

Viktor didn’t look up. “Some of us have work to do.”

She stretched, arms over her head, grinning. “Oh, c’mon, you can play doctor later.”

“I am a doctor,” Viktor muttered.

Jinx rolled onto her stomach, chin resting on her hands as she watched him. “What are you always writing in those books, anyway?”

Viktor glanced at her, then back at his notes. “Observations. Notes on medicine. The things I discover.”

Jinx snorted. “Figures you’d be the type to keep a diary.”

“It is not a diary.”

“Uh-huh.”

She sat up, still grinning, but there was something thoughtful in her gaze as she looked at him. “Y’know, you don’t really belong in this town.”

Viktor raised a brow. “And where do I belong?”

Jinx shrugged. “Somewhere bigger. Some fancy city with rich folk in suits. You’re too damn smart for a place like this.”

Viktor let out a quiet hum, tapping his pen against the desk. “And yet, here I am.”

“Yeah. Why are you here, Doc?”

Viktor didn’t answer right away. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke into the warm air.

“Because in a place like this,” he said finally, voice soft, “I am left alone.”

Jinx tilted her head. “Ain’t that lonely?”

Viktor gave a small, wry smile. “Not anymore.”

Something twisted in Jinx’s chest. Something she didn’t have words for.

So she just grinned. “Well, lucky you. Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head. “Yes. A great fortune, indeed.”

But the way he looked at her told her he didn’t mind one bit.

But nothing good ever lasted in Deadwood Hollow.

One day, the law was going to come knocking.

One day, someone was going to call in her bounty.

One day, the quiet little world they had carved out for themselves would come crashing down.

And when it did—

Jinx knew she would do whatever it took to keep Viktor out of the crossfire.

Even if it meant running.

Even if it meant bleeding.

Even if it meant burning the whole damn town to the ground.

Because if there was one thing she knew for certain—

It was that she always paid her debts.

And Viktor?

He was the only one who had ever been worth the price.

---

Viktor had never been one for horses.

It wasn’t that he disliked them, exactly—he just hadn’t grown up around them. Where he came from, men traveled by train, by carriage, by foot. Horses were tools for soldiers and farmers, not something a man of medicine and science had much reason to concern himself with.

But as he stood outside the clinic, watching Jinx coo and fuss over her massive mustang like he was some overgrown lapdog, he was beginning to reconsider.

“Alright, Doc, time to meet the real man in my life,” Jinx announced, smacking the horse’s thick, muscular neck. “This here’s Fishbones.”

Viktor eyed the stallion.

Fishbones was a striking beast—tall, all lean muscle and power, his coat a dusty gray with a white blaze streaking down his face. His mane was long and wild, tangled in places from too many rides at breakneck speed. But it wasn’t just his appearance that caught Viktor’s attention. It was the way he carried himself—head high, nostrils flaring, his dark eyes watching Viktor with an intensity that was… unsettling.

Jinx patted the horse’s cheek affectionately. Fishbones responded by butting his massive head against her shoulder, nearly knocking her off balance. She laughed, rubbing his muzzle, and the beast let out a pleased huff.

Viktor folded his arms. “He is… very attached to you.”

Jinx beamed. “Hell yeah, he is. Ain’t that right, big guy?”

Fishbones gave another nudge, his ears flicking forward.

But the moment Viktor took a step closer, the horse’s ears pinned back. His nostrils flared, and he let out a sharp snort, stomping a hoof against the dirt.

Viktor stopped.

Jinx frowned. “Oh, c’mon now, Bones. Don’t be rude.”

The horse swished his tail but didn’t budge. His eyes were locked onto Viktor like he was sizing him up.

Viktor arched a brow. “I do not believe he likes me.”

Jinx tilted her head, tapping her chin. “Huh. That’s weird. He usually don’t mind strangers.”

Viktor hummed. “Perhaps he senses I am not a stranger.”

Jinx snorted, amused. “What, you think he’s jealous?”

Viktor gave the horse a considering look. “I think he is… perceptive.”

Fishbones let out a sharp huff, as if in agreement.

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, buddy. Just ‘cause I been spending more time with Doc here don’t mean I love you any less.” She grabbed Fishbones’ face, pressing her forehead against his. “You’re still my number one, alright?”

The horse blinked, then gave her an exaggerated nuzzle, his lips twitching against her hair.

Viktor sighed. “This is ridiculous.”

Jinx grinned over her shoulder. “You’re just mad he likes me better.”

“Of course he does,” Viktor said dryly. “I do not bring him food, groom him, or whisper sweet nothings into his ear.”

Jinx barked out a laugh. “Shit, maybe you should try it. Might win him over.”

Viktor gave the stallion a skeptical look. Fishbones flicked his ears but didn’t soften his stance.

Instead, Viktor took a step back. “I think we have an understanding.”

Jinx smirked. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

Viktor exhaled through his nose. “He’ll tolerate me… for now.”

Fishbones let out a deep snort, flicking his tail.

Jinx cackled. “Yeah, yeah, alright, you big baby. Now let the Doc get to know you.”

Viktor glanced at her, curious. “Yes, I had meant to ask. Fishbones is an… unusual name for a horse.”

Jinx grinned, patting the stallion’s neck. “You ever seen a horse eat fish?”

Viktor frowned. “No.”

“Me neither,” Jinx said. “But when I found this guy, he was just a scrawny little thing. Looked like a damn skeleton with fur. And when I checked his mouth—bam! Had itty-bitty fish bones stuck in his teeth.”

Viktor blinked. “…He was eating them? A horse was eating fish?”

Jinx shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe he was hungry. Maybe he was just curious. Either way, name stuck.”

Viktor exhaled, shaking his head. “Of course it did.”

Jinx winked. “It’s got character, don’t it?”

Viktor eyed the massive stallion, who was still watching him like he hadn’t quite decided whether or not Viktor deserved to keep his fingers.

“Oh, it certainly does.”

Chapter 87: Tangled Webs

Summary:

“This information…” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “If it is real—”

“It’s real.”

His gaze flickered back to hers. He studied her for a long moment before sighing, setting the page down carefully.

Jinx watched the way his fingers traced the paper’s surface, his expression shifting into something more distant. Thoughtful. Calculating.

That was the moment she knew.

He wasn’t going to turn her in.

Moscow in winter was a city built on secrets. The kind whispered over vodka in smoke-filled rooms, traded between men in long coats beneath the glow of streetlamps. The kind buried so deep beneath layers of bureaucracy and fear that even the dead carried them to their graves.

Jinx had come to the city under a false name, wrapped in a carefully constructed identity. To the world, she was Evelyn March—a journalist freelancing for European science publications, fascinated by Soviet advancements. To MI6, she was their best infiltrator, the agent who could slip into a man’s life like a silk thread through the eye of a needle.

And to Viktor, she was nothing more than a curious stranger.

She first met him at a lecture hall, tucked away in the back of the crowd, watching as he leaned on his cane and spoke with the quiet authority of a man who had spent more time among equations than people. The room was filled with scientists, officials, a handful of students who hung onto his every word. The Soviet Union prided itself on minds like Viktor’s—the visionaries behind their technological leaps.

Which made him valuable.

Which made him dangerous.

Jinx listened, absorbing the cadence of his voice, the precision of his words. It wasn’t the lecture that interested her—she barely understood half of it. It was him. The way his fingers tapped absently against his cane when he paused to think. The way his sharp gaze skimmed the audience, wary, as if always expecting a knife in the dark.

She approached him afterward, waiting until most of the crowd had dispersed. A light snowfall dusted the streets outside as Viktor adjusted his scarf, moving slowly through the grand halls of the university.

"Scientist Viktor Markov?" she called, careful to let her accent settle somewhere neutral—European, maybe Swiss. Familiar enough to be believable, foreign enough to justify curiosity.

He turned, studying her with quiet scrutiny. Up close, he was thinner than she expected, his features sharp, his face gaunt in the way of men who forgot to eat when they were consumed by work.

"And you are?" he asked, voice edged with suspicion.

She smiled, extending a gloved hand. "Evelyn March. I write for several European publications—The Science Observer, The London Review. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your research."

Viktor hesitated, gaze flickering to her outstretched hand before taking it briefly, his grip cool but firm. "I do not typically give interviews."

"Shame," she said, tucking her hands into her coat. "Your work is fascinating."

He arched a brow, unimpressed. "My work is classified."

"Not all of it." Jinx tilted her head, letting just the right amount of curiosity show. "Your developments in artificial intelligence—your theories on neural synchronization and machine learning—are groundbreaking. Even in the West, people are talking about you."

Viktor exhaled, shifting his weight slightly. "The West is always eager to talk about things they do not understand."

"Then help me understand."

For a moment, he said nothing. Jinx could see the gears turning in his mind, assessing, calculating. Finally, he sighed.

"There is a café nearby. If you insist on wasting my time, you may as well do it over tea."

She smiled. Hook, line, sinker.

Their meetings became routine. Always in public spaces—lecture halls, cafés, quiet corners of university libraries. Viktor was cautious, but curiosity had a way of unraveling even the most guarded minds. Jinx played her role well, weaving the perfect balance of interest and ignorance, drawing him into conversation, allowing him to explain things in a way that made him feel in control.

She learned quickly. Not just about his work, but about him.

He had grown up in Leningrad, survived the siege as a boy. He had studied relentlessly, a mind too sharp to be wasted on anything but innovation. He spoke little of his past, but in the rare moments he did, Jinx listened carefully, tucking away every detail.

He worked for the state, but his loyalty was not blind. He spoke of bureaucracy with frustration, of politics with weary detachment. His devotion was to his work, not the men who dictated its purpose.

And that was his weakness.

Jinx knew that if she could push the right buttons, she could make him doubt. Not enough to betray his country—not yet—but enough to question. Enough to trust her.

She let him see glimpses of the woman she wanted him to believe in. The inquisitive journalist. The foreign intellectual, disillusioned with Western capitalism. Someone who could be… sympathetic.

It worked.

Slowly, he let her in.

---

The rain had started hours ago, a slow, steady drizzle that slicked the city streets and painted the window glass in wavering ribbons of light. It filled the silence between them, the quiet patter against the rooftop a dull metronome to the tension thickening the air.

Viktor had not spoken in several minutes.

He sat at the rickety desk, hunched over the classified documents Jinx had laid before him. His fingers ghosted over the pages—blueprints, radio frequencies, dossiers filled with names and projects the world wasn’t supposed to know existed. The lines of text and schematics were smudged slightly, damp from the cold, her own fingerprints still marking the edges.

She should have expected the silence.

Viktor was not a man prone to dramatic outbursts, nor was he the type to lash out in anger. But there was something more unsettling in the way he processed betrayal—with quiet scrutiny, with methodical thought, as if breaking it down into something measurable.

Jinx stood by the window, arms folded, watching him carefully.

Viktor finally spoke, his voice quiet, careful. “You had access to this kind of information all along?”

“Yes.”

His jaw tightened, fingers pressing into the paper as if testing its reality. “How?”

Jinx tilted her head, considering. She could have given him the truth—the long nights spent slipping past security checkpoints, the carefully cultivated relationships with men who never realized they were giving her what she wanted. The coded messages and dead drops, the knives hidden beneath silk dresses.

Instead, she only said, “Because I’m good at what I do.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, something between a laugh and a scoff. “Clearly.”

Another beat of silence. The rain outside turned heavier, fat droplets sliding down the glass in streaks, distorting the neon glow of the city beyond. Jinx could feel his pulse in the air, the way his muscles tensed beneath his coat, the way his mind pulled itself between two unthinkable conclusions.

She had spent months earning his trust, sinking into his world, making him believe in her. And now, in the span of a single night, she had pulled the floor out from under him.

Yet, he wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t reaching for the door. He wasn’t calling the KGB.

He was still here.

Jinx exhaled, shifting forward just slightly. “Say something.”

Viktor finally lifted his gaze to hers, and she saw it then—the flicker of something sharp, unreadable. Not just betrayal. Not just anger.

Something deeper.

“MI6.” It was not a question.

She nodded.

Viktor sat back slightly, his expression unreadable. His fingers tapped idly against the papers before he dragged a hand down his face. He looked tired.

“All this time,” he murmured, “you were lying to me.”

Jinx shifted, her fingers tightening against her sleeve. “Not about everything.”

Viktor let out a humorless breath, shaking his head. “Do not insult me.”

The words stung more than she expected.

She inhaled slowly, forcing her voice to stay steady. “I did what I was sent to do.”

“Yes.” Viktor reached for his cigarette case, flipping it open with a quiet snick. He studied the last cigarette, rolling it between his fingers, then snapped the case shut again. “And yet, you are here, handing me intelligence that should be in the hands of your government.” His gaze lifted to hers, sharp. “Why?”

Jinx swallowed. She had played this conversation out in her head a dozen times, rehearsed the angles, predicted the possible reactions. But now, standing in front of him, the answer felt heavier than it should have.

She should have said something practical. Something that made sense.

Instead, she told the truth.

“Because I couldn’t do it.”

Viktor blinked. His expression didn’t change, but she saw something flicker in his eyes—something quick, something dangerous.

“You couldn’t do it,” he repeated, slowly, as if testing the words for weight.

Jinx forced a small, wry smile. “Shocking, isn’t it?”

He didn’t return it.

Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms against the desk. The dim hotel light cast shadows along his face, highlighting the sharpness of his features. He looked at her in that way he always did—like he was dissecting something, peeling back its layers to examine what lay beneath.

“You are reckless,” he said finally.

Jinx smirked, tilting her head. “You’re surprised?”

Viktor didn’t laugh. He rubbed his temple, exhaling a slow breath. “I knew you were hiding something. But this…” His gaze flickered back to the documents, fingers hovering over them. “This is suicide, Ev—... Jinx.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” He lifted his head, something sharp in his expression now. “MI6 will not let this stand. You have burned yourself.”

She shrugged, trying to play it off as if it didn’t weigh on her. “I’ve been burned before.”

He frowned, but his voice remained measured. “Not like this.”

Jinx inhaled deeply, shifting her stance. She could feel the weight of his words pressing against her ribcage, but she refused to let them settle.

Instead, she crossed the room, closing the space between them.

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” she murmured, placing a hand on the edge of the desk.

Viktor tilted his head slightly, watching her warily.

She leaned down, just enough that her voice was quieter, lower. “The question isn’t what happens to me now.” She glanced at the documents, then back at him. “It’s what you’re going to do with this.”

Viktor was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached for the top page and ran a thumb along the edge.

“This information…” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “If it is real—”

“It’s real.”

His gaze flickered back to hers. He studied her for a long moment before sighing, setting the page down carefully.

Jinx watched the way his fingers traced the paper’s surface, his expression shifting into something more distant. Thoughtful. Calculating.

That was the moment she knew.

He wasn’t going to turn her in.

She had played her cards well, even if it hadn’t been a game she ever intended to win.

Jinx exhaled, finally stepping back. “You have a choice now, Viktor.” She gestured toward the documents. “You can pretend this never happened. Burn it. Walk away.”

Viktor looked up at her. “And the alternative?”

She smiled slightly. “You tell me.”

A beat passed.

Then Viktor reached for the documents again, his fingers curling around the edges.

Jinx watched as he read, his eyes scanning over the words, his jaw tightening as the weight of the information settled. The rain outside softened into a quiet drizzle, the city murmuring beyond the thick hotel curtains.

She let him process.

Because whatever happened next—whatever choice he made—there would be no turning back.

---

The night air carried a heavy scent of damp concrete and cigarettes, the quiet hum of the city muffled by the thick hotel curtains drawn over the window. Dim light from the bedside lamp painted amber shadows along the creases of his coat as Jinx curled her fingers into the fabric, holding him close. She could still taste the bitterness of their last argument on her tongue, the weight of unspoken betrayals pressing between them.

For Viktor, she had thrown it all away.

The stolen blueprints, the radio frequencies, the names that once meant something to her—slipped past her fingers and into his. She had watched him read through them, sharp eyes scanning every word with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She had memorized the curve of his frown, the way his fingers tightened around the edges of each classified document.

She had given up everything for him.

And yet, she didn’t regret it.

Viktor's touch was light as he traced the scar on her shoulder, an old wound earned in service to a country that would soon brand her a traitor. His voice was barely more than a breath, but it cut through the quiet like a blade.

“One day, they will come after you.”

Jinx exhaled, tilting her head back against the headboard, her fingers slipping from his coat to rest against his chest. Beneath the layers of wool and cotton, his heart beat steady, as if he weren’t afraid. As if they had time.

She knew better.

"I know."

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself believe in the lie that the walls of this cheap hotel room could hold back the world outside. That they weren’t enemies. That she wasn’t the woman MI6 was hunting, and he wasn’t the man whose hands would one day sign her fate in ink.

Maybe he knew it too. Maybe that’s why, when she pulled him down to her, fingers tangled in the lapels of his coat, Viktor didn’t resist.

He kissed her like he was memorizing the moment.

Like he knew it would end.

---

Viktor tasted of black tea and the faint trace of smoke from his ever-present cigarettes. His lips, warm despite the cold wariness in his eyes, pressed against hers with a slow, deliberate intensity—like a man who understood the weight of what they had done, of what they would continue to do. Jinx’s grip in his coat tightened, pulling him closer as if proximity alone could drown out the inevitable.

For a moment, she allowed herself to sink into him. Into the quiet hum of the radiator, the distant murmur of a Moscow night just beyond the thick walls of this rundown hotel. A false sanctuary, a hiding place carved out between betrayals and brief respites.

Viktor’s hands found her waist, hesitant at first, then firmer as he pulled her against him. His touch burned through the thin fabric of her shirt, sending shivers down her spine. She knew this was borrowed time, stolen in the dead hours between duty and treason, between the past she had abandoned and the future that hunted her.

They would come for her. SIS. MI6. The ones she used to call her own.

And she would deserve it.

Viktor broke the kiss first, though he didn’t move far. His forehead rested against hers, breath warm against her lips. His fingers brushed her wrist—where, beneath the sleeve, a knife was always hidden. A quiet reminder of who they were.

"You are reckless," he murmured, almost fondly.

Jinx huffed a small, breathy laugh. "And you're one to talk?"

He sighed, his lips ghosting over her jaw. "I did not ask for a spy who hands me stolen intelligence and makes herself a fugitive in the process."

She smirked, tilting her head back to look at him. "No? Shame. I thought it made me charming."

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—exasperation, maybe, or something far more dangerous. Love. Regret. The weight of what they had built between them, fragile as it was.

Viktor sighed again, softer this time. "Charming, yes. Foolish? Absolutely." His fingers brushed the back of her hand, lingering before he pulled away. "SIS will not be kind when they find you, Jinx."

She shrugged. "Then I just won't let them find me."

It was a lie, of course. One they both saw through.

Viktor leaned back against the bed’s headboard, his fingers absently tapping against the cigarette case in his coat pocket. He didn’t smoke in front of her—not anymore. "You will need to run soon," he said after a pause. "There are whispers already. You are not as invisible as you think."

Jinx studied him, fingers ghosting over his arm before retreating. "And what about you?"

His lips quirked, humorless. "I am a scientist, not a spy. My hands remain clean in the eyes of my people."

She knew better. Knew that he was just as tangled in this web as she was.

But she let him pretend.

The room fell into silence, thick with everything unsaid. Jinx leaned back, staring at the ceiling, letting herself breathe in the scent of old books and Viktor’s soap—memorizing the details before it all unraveled.

She had chosen him. Over MI6. Over her country.

And one day, the choice would cost her everything.

But tonight, she would pretend otherwise.

So she turned toward him, lips quirking in a teasing smirk, and reached for his collar again. "Alright, genius. You want me to run?" Her voice was quiet, almost playful. "Then come with me."

Viktor froze. For the first time, uncertainty flickered across his face.

Jinx only smiled. "What, cat got your tongue?"

He exhaled, tilting his head, considering.

And then, quietly—almost reluctantly—he said, "Give me a reason."

She kissed him.

And maybe, just maybe, that was reason enough.

---

Viktor didn’t move for a long moment, frozen between the weight of her offer and the inevitable consequences that came with it. Jinx could feel the hesitation in the way his fingers ghosted over her wrist, the unspoken war behind his sharp, calculating eyes.

To leave meant defecting. To leave meant betraying everything he had built.

But to stay meant losing her.

Jinx pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. "You said I’d need to run soon." Her voice was quieter now, the teasing edge from before smoothed into something more dangerous. "You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hear the footsteps getting closer?"

Viktor’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into a loose fist on his lap. "I know," he admitted. His accent thickened, voice heavy with something unreadable. "But running is easy for you. For me? There is nowhere to go."

She scoffed, sitting up fully now. "Bullshit. There’s always somewhere to go."

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the cigarette case in his pocket, flipping it open with a quiet snick. His fingers hovered over the last cigarette before he exhaled sharply, snapping the case shut instead.

"The KGB is not like MI6," he murmured finally. "If I disappear, I do not just become a fugitive." His gaze flickered to her, dark and unreadable. "I become a ghost. A liability."

Jinx’s fingers twitched at her side. "So what? You just wait until they decide you're disposable?"

Viktor laughed—quiet, bitter. "I have been disposable from the moment they recruited me."

Jinx watched him, heart hammering against her ribs. The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like it was inevitable—made something cold crawl up her spine. She had known it, of course. She had seen men disappear before. Agents who had outlived their usefulness. Scientists who had known too much. Spies who had made the wrong choice.

Still, hearing him say it twisted something sharp in her chest.

She reached out, her fingers brushing the back of his hand. "Then come with me," she said again, softer now. "Before they decide it's time."

Viktor’s eyes flickered to hers, searching. "And where do you think we would go, hm?"

Jinx grinned, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Somewhere warm. Somewhere quiet." She tilted her head, voice dipping lower, almost coaxing. "You ever been to Argentina?"

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You have been watching too many American films."

"You have no idea."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things. The hum of the radiator filled the space where words failed. Viktor tapped his fingers against his knee, thoughtful.

And then, after a long moment—

"One condition."

Jinx blinked. "Oh? And what's that?"

His gaze met hers, sharp and unwavering. "We do not look back."

Jinx studied him, searching for any sign of doubt. But there was none. Just quiet resolve, steady as the ticking clock on the nightstand.

She exhaled, then smirked. "Deal."

Viktor nodded once. "Then we leave at dawn."

Jinx grinned, leaning back against the pillows. "And here I thought I’d have to do more convincing."

He gave her a sideways glance, lips twitching as his hand reached out to rest on her hip. "You underestimate how persuasive you are."

Jinx laughed, reaching for him again, fingers curling into his coat to pull him back down.

They didn’t sleep that night.

By morning, the bed was cold, the cigarette case left behind on the nightstand.

And Moscow would wake to find them gone.

 

Chapter 88: Soft as Sin

Summary:

Jinx smiled, slow and knowing. “C’mon, Father. Just one little word.”

Viktor swallowed hard.

The chapel felt smaller, the walls pressing in.

The flickering candlelight cast her in something almost holy, an illusion so cruel it nearly made him laugh.

“Jinx,” he murmured at last, his voice hoarse.

Her grin widened. “See? Not so hard.”

The chapel was never truly empty at night. Shadows stretched long across the cold stone floor, flickering with the restless dance of candlelight. The scent of melted wax and aged incense clung to the air—heavy, oppressive, like the weight of unsaid prayers.

Viktor knelt before the altar, fingers curled around his rosary, the beads pressing into his palm like tiny, desperate confessions. His lips moved in silent prayer, but his mind—his wretched, traitorous mind—was elsewhere.

Waiting.

He heard her before he saw her. The soft scuff of boots against the floor, the way the air shifted, thickening with something unholy.

“Father,” she drawled, her voice slipping through the silence like a blade through silk.

Viktor did not look up. He knew who it was.

Jinx had a way of moving that defied reason—always creeping in where she did not belong, smiling like she knew secrets he’d spend a lifetime repenting for.

She had no business here. She never did.

Yet she always came.

He exhaled slowly, willing his hands to remain steady as he traced the worn beads between his fingers. “It is late,” he said, voice calm, measured. “You should not be here.”

She laughed, low and breathy. “Pretty sure God’s house is supposed to be open to everyone.”

He felt her move closer. The space between them grew thinner, like the walls of his conviction.

“You ever wonder what it’s like?” she murmured.

Viktor inhaled sharply.

Jinx was close enough now that he could feel the heat of her, the scent of gunpowder and sin clinging to her skin. He should stand, should turn away, should do anything but sit there, motionless, waiting for the inevitable.

She reached out, pressing two fingers to his lips. A teasing touch. A dare.

“To fall,” she whispered.

His breath hitched.

Viktor closed his eyes. 

“Every day.”

The words left him in a whisper, barely audible, as if saying it too loud might shatter what little restraint remained. The admission felt like a wound tearing open inside him, raw and undeniable. 

Jinx grinned, tilting her head, watching him with eyes that saw far too much. “Oh, Father,” she mused, voice like a hymn laced with mockery. “Maybe it’s time you stop wondering.”

She leaned in, her breath warm against his skin. The barest graze of her lips against his jaw sent something dark and unholy shuddering down his spine.

Viktor should have pulled away.

Should have pushed her from this sacred space.

But his hands—his cursed, trembling hands—rose instead, grasping her wrists as though she were both salvation and damnation wrapped in one.

Jinx laughed, the sound low and wicked. “Told ya,” she whispered against his skin, “sin feels better when you stop fighting it.”

Outside, the wind howled through the eaves of the chapel.

Inside, the man who had spent his life resisting temptation finally stopped running.

---

Viktor’s breath was shallow, uneven. His grip on Jinx’s wrists tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough that she felt it. Enough that she knew he was still fighting.

She liked that.

Jinx always did love a struggle.

“Aw, Father,” she purred, tilting her head, her blue braids swaying with the motion. “You holdin’ on or givin’ in?”

Viktor didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, his knuckles bone-white where they still clutched his rosary. He could feel the wooden beads biting into his palm, a reminder of what he was supposed to be.

A man of God.

A shepherd.

A guardian of virtue.

Yet here he was, in the dead of night, staring down temptation wrapped in the form of a grinning, wicked thing that had no right being in his chapel.

Jinx’s fingers flexed against his lips before she slowly, deliberately, slid them down the sharp line of his jaw. A ghost of a touch, barely there, but it burned.

“You’re real quiet, Father.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to something softer, something almost gentle. It was a lie, of course. Everything about her was a lie.

But even knowing that, Viktor still shuddered when she whispered, “Say my name.”

He sucked in a breath, sharp and pained.

“You do know it, don’tcha?” she teased.

Of course he knew it.

She had carved her name into the city with blood and fire. Left trails of chaos in the streets, a path paved with the remains of those foolish enough to stand in her way.

Jinx.

A curse on the lips of people.

A blight upon the land.

A sinner.

Viktor had spoken her name before, but only in hushed whispers during prayer, pleading for her soul, asking for strength to resist the thoughts that came unbidden in the darkest hours of the night.

Now, she was close enough that he could count the freckles scattered across her nose, close enough that the scent of gunpowder and sweat clung to his own skin.

Jinx smiled, slow and knowing. “C’mon, Father. Just one little word.”

Viktor swallowed hard.

The chapel felt smaller, the walls pressing in.

The flickering candlelight cast her in something almost holy, an illusion so cruel it nearly made him laugh.

“Jinx,” he murmured at last, his voice hoarse.

Her grin widened. “See? Not so hard.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, long and heavy. Jinx’s eyes flicked down to his lips, then back up, watching, waiting.

And then, she moved.

It was slow at first. A lingering touch here, a teasing press of her body there, like she was waiting to see if he would break, if he would push her away.

But he didn’t.

Viktor didn’t move at all.

He just watched her—watched the way she bit her lip, the way her fingers toyed with the collar of his robes, how she traced the fabric like she wanted to tear it apart just to see what was underneath.

“Bet you never even kissed anyone, huh?” she mused, tilting her head.

Viktor said nothing.

Jinx giggled. “Wow. That bad, huh?”

She sighed, mockingly dramatic, before suddenly shifting—closing the last of the space between them.

Her lips brushed his, barely a touch, more suggestion than kiss. But it was enough to send a violent tremor down his spine, to make his fingers dig deeper into the cloth of his robes as though they could anchor him.

Jinx pulled back just an inch, watching him with something curious, something dangerous.

“Y’know what I think?” she murmured.

Viktor swallowed thickly, throat dry as parchment.

She leaned in again, lips brushing against his ear this time.

“I think you like it.”

He exhaled sharply, and Jinx laughed, soft and breathless, like she had won something precious.

Outside, trees shook as their leaves were scattered by the wind.

Inside, Viktor trembled.

---

And Jinx smiled.

Jinx felt the tremor in him, the way his body locked up, rigid with restraint. She liked that part—the moment before the fall. The hesitation, the struggle.

She wanted to see how far he could bend before he snapped.

Her fingers ghosted down the front of his robes, playing with the buttons like she had all the time in the world. Her grin never wavered, but her eyes—her eyes—burned with something darker, something hungry.

“You’re thinking awful hard, Father.” She tilted her head, voice lilting with mock innocence. “You tryna remember the right prayer to say?”

Viktor still hadn’t moved. His breath was shallow, his fingers tightening and loosening against the fabric of his own robes as though he were caught between two equally damning choices.

Jinx smirked. “Or maybe…” She dragged her nail lightly down his chest, watching his jaw clench. “Maybe you already know it’s useless.”

Viktor finally found his voice, though it came hoarse, strained.

“You should not be here.”

Jinx giggled. “You’ve already said that tonight, besides—that’s what makes it fun.”

Her fingers trailed lower, slow, teasing. She didn’t need to touch him any more than she already was. He was already unraveling. She could feel it—the way he was breathing too hard, the way his hands twitched, the way he still hadn’t pushed her away.

So she did what she did best.

She pressed closer.

“I like you like this, y’know,” she murmured, breath warm against his throat. “All wound up. All tied in knots.”

She lifted her gaze, eyes glittering in the dim candlelight.

“Bet no one’s ever made you feel like this before.”

Viktor’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

Jinx grinned.

Gotcha.

He was fighting it—oh, how he was fighting—but the cracks were showing.

Jinx wanted to break him wide open.

“Y’know what else?” she mused, rocking up on her toes so their lips were nearly brushing.

Viktor’s breath hitched.

She smirked.

“You're gonna be perfect when you're mine.”

Silence stretched, thick and charged.

Then—finally—Viktor moved again.

It wasn’t much. Just his hands, lifting slowly, hesitantly, as if they didn’t belong to him anymore.

Jinx watched with delight, waiting, waiting.

His fingers hovered over her sides.

Then—just barely—they curled around her, fingers sinking into her warmth.

A touch. A choice. A fall.

Jinx felt the shudder roll through him, the war raging beneath his skin.

She loved it.

And when she smiled, all sharp teeth and victory, she knew—

He wasn’t going to stop her anymore.

Outside, the storm was reaching it’s peak, finally beginning to settle. 

Inside, a different kind of storm was brewing.

Chapter 89: Unraveled

Summary:

The aftershock left Jinx gasping.

She wasn’t sure when her legs had given out, but she was on the floor now, half slumped against Viktor, her head spinning from the sheer force of what had just happened. The bond was still humming, vibrating in her skull, wrapping around them both like steel chains.

Permanent.

Irrevocable.

Viktor hadn’t moved.

He was still gripping her wrists, still pressed too close, his forehead resting against the top of her head as he took slow, controlled breaths.

But she could feel him.

He was shaking.

Not from pain. Not from weakness.

From ecstasy.

The facility walls hummed with the low, mechanical whir of scanning devices, security panels, and the quiet murmurs of lab-coated scientists reviewing compatibility data. Jinx hated this place. The air stank of synthetic sterilization, the cold fluorescence above casting sickly light over everything. But she was here, as she always was, because the paycheck kept her coming back.

Guiding sessions were easy enough—at least, that’s what she told herself. Connect, stabilize, unmoor herself from her own mind long enough to let some desperate Sentinel leech off her energy, then walk away before the fractures in her psyche widened too much. She never bonded, never let them get close. She had the highest-rated energy signature of any Guide in the system, and she could afford to be picky. Let them beg. Let them try to seduce her, threaten her, plead for a second session. She never gave in.

Jinx had been warned before.

“You’re too volatile.”

“You’ll burn yourself out.”

“You’re wasting your potential.”

But Jinx didn’t give a damn.

She had seen what bonding did to Guides. Saw them turn into little more than devoted shadows of their Sentinels, barely more than extensions of their will. They called it “harmonization,” “synchronicity,” “perfect compatibility.” Jinx called it leashing. And she refused to wear a damn collar.

Still, she had to eat. Had to make a living. So she took the guiding sessions—short, impersonal, transactional. Just long enough to keep the Sentinels functional, but never long enough to forge a real bond. Even then, each session left her mind a little more fractured, her thoughts louder, more tangled. She was running out of time.

Which is why she should have known better than to let herself get dragged into this.

Until now.

Until him.

---

Viktor had resigned himself to death.

It was a slow, creeping thing—first, the tremors in his hands, then the splitting headaches, and now, the heavy exhaustion that made even standing feel like an effort. The scientists monitoring him had given him months at best, though they muttered among themselves, avoiding his gaze as if he were already a corpse.

Viktor didn’t need to bond. Never wanted one. Sentinels were warriors, scholars, architects of their own fate. He had clawed his way to the highest rank through intellect and sheer will, never once succumbing to the weakness of a bond. He had tried to bond with a guide before—a childhood friend—for the pure sake of convenience. It had failed, leaving his body damaged, permanently ruined, his body betraying him, his mind slipping further into the abyss.

And so they had found her.

Jinx.

The name was infamous within the facility. An S-Class Guide with no successful bonds, a volatile, unpredictable force of chaos. The way they spoke of her—like a shattered mirror, something too sharp and wild to hold—made Viktor assume she was broken. A failed experiment.

But when he met her, she didn’t look broken.

She looked alive.

A grin too wide, eyes too bright, her fingers twitching as if electricity danced beneath her skin. She slouched in the chair across from him, her legs draped over the armrest, tapping a rhythm against the side with the heel of her boot. Blue braids tumbled over her shoulders, a stark contrast against the sterile white of the observation chamber.

The scientists had placed them together in the enclosed space, thick walls lined with suppressors in case something went wrong. It wasn’t a negotiation—it was an experiment. The highest compatibility score in recorded history. The closest thing to a perfect bond.

“Never seen a Sentinel that looked so dead before,” Jinx mused, tilting her head. “What’s the matter, big guy? You break too many toys, and now they’re making you play nice?”

Viktor ignored the provocation, studying her instead. He had read her file. She should have been institutionalized by now. Unstable Guides were dangerous—too much raw psychic energy, too little control. They burned through Sentinels like paper, feeding them too much, breaking them too fast.

And yet, the facility kept her. Kept testing her.

Because she was powerful.

Because she was his only option.

Jinx yawned dramatically, stretching her arms over her head. “Well? You gonna gawk at me all day, or are we getting this over with?”

The scientists didn’t wait for either of them to decide.

She offered him her hands, and he took them. 

The room pulsed.

A hum filled the air—psychic resonance, energy stirring as the session began. The first connection was always the hardest, the most painful. A bond, even temporary, required submission—Sentinel to Guide, Guide to Sentinel.

Viktor had never bowed to anything in his life.

He braced for pain.

Instead—

He drowned.

Heat flooded his veins, something electric, something alive tearing through the sickness that had plagued him for months. He gasped, his fingers digging into the chair, his body seizing as raw power poured into him. His mind—his failing mind—sharpened, cleared, as if something had stripped away every ounce of decay.

He had never felt like this.

Not even at his peak.

Jinx was staring at him now, her grin faltering, her fingers curled tightly around his. “Oh,” she whispered, almost to herself. “That’s… new.”

Viktor exhaled, his hands steady for the first time in months.

He wanted more.

---

Jinx felt it first—the pull, the weight of a bond forming. It latched onto her psyche, burrowing deep into the marrow of her being, and it terrified her.

She had been through this before. Countless times. Every Sentinel they had forced her to guide had ended up the same way—too much, too fast, their minds cracking beneath the intensity of her power. It wasn’t her fault. They simply weren’t built to handle her.

But Viktor—

Viktor was taking it all.

His presence was like a void, something vast and insatiable. He absorbed everything she gave without breaking, without faltering. Instead of reeling back, his energy pulled, greedy and unyielding.

Despite his tight grip, she yanked her hands away from his, her breath ragged. “Whoa, okay. Okay. That’s—yeah. That’s enough.”

The bond didn't finish.

Viktor exhaled sharply, blinking as he flexed his fingers. He lifted his hands, turning them over, testing his grip like a man waking from a years-long slumber. His gaunt features, once lined with exhaustion, were now smooth. There was color in his face again, a sharp clarity in his golden eyes.

“Oh,” he murmured, his voice lower, steadier than before. “I see now.”

Jinx scowled. She hated that look. That understanding. Every other Sentinel she’d guided had flinched away, overwhelmed by the sheer force of her energy. But Viktor… he was accepting it. Wanting it.

She shoved herself off the chair. “Nope. I’m out. Not my problem.”

She turned to leave—

And her body locked up.

Not physically. Psychically.

The partial bond wasn’t dissolving.

Jinx stiffened, feeling the invisible tether coiling around her, tightening like a chain she hadn’t agreed to wear. “Oh, hell no.”

The scientists were talking now, voices buzzing behind the glass, analyzing data, monitoring vitals, likely celebrating their perfect match.

Viktor’s eyes flicked toward her, calculating. “You felt it too.”

“Nope.” She gritted her teeth. “Didn’t feel a damn thing. Definitely not the worst psychic high of my life, definitely not the kind of thing that makes people obsessive—”

“Lying does not suit you.”

“Bite me, rust-bucket.”

He pushed himself to his feet. The way he moved—it was wrong.

Not stiff, not weakened. Not anymore.

There was a grace to it, a precision that hadn’t been there before. As if his body was now operating at a level beyond even his prime. And the way he was looking at her—

She knew that look.

She had seen it before.

Not on a Sentinel.

On addicts.

“Jinx.” His voice was soft, almost reverent. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

Her fingers twitched. Her skin felt wrong, like static was crawling beneath it. This was supposed to be a routine session. Incompatible or not, she had never—never—felt a bond snap into place like this.

And the hunger in his gaze told her everything.

She had just turned a dying man into something else.

Something worse.

---

Jinx had always known the guiding sessions would break her, piece by jagged piece. She just never thought she'd care.

She leaned against the cold steel wall of her dormitory, arms folded, teeth grinding against the last remnants of some stimulant she'd taken to keep the edges of her mind from unraveling. Her body still hummed with residual energy, Viktor's energy, and it was the worst kind of wrong—because it had felt right.

Too right.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, remembering the way his body had trembled under her touch, the way his shattered mind had latched onto her presence like he’d been starving for it. Which, in a way, he had. They all did. But Viktor—

She shook the thought off, exhaling sharply.

It had been three days since the forced session. Three days since she’d felt his mind pressed so intimately against hers, since she’d heard the sharp intake of his breath as his pain melted into something almost euphoric. Since she’d yanked herself away before the bond could take hold.

Jinx didn’t bond. Not with anyone.

The door panel beeped.

She stiffened.

The locks unlatched with a soft hiss, and the door slid open before she could react.

Viktor stepped inside, his gait smooth but slow, as if he was testing how far his restored strength could carry him. His cane barely tapped the ground. His golden eyes, sharp despite the exhaustion in them, fixed on her with a look she didn’t like.

No. She did like it. That was the problem.

“Jinx,” he greeted, voice low, almost pleased.

She clicked her tongue and forced a smirk. “Look who’s walking without looking like he’s gonna drop dead. Should I be flattered?”

His smile was slight but pointed. “You should be concerned.”

Her fingers twitched again, a restless energy settling into her bones. He was closer now, just a step away, and she could feel the way his energy pulsed beneath his skin. It reached for her, almost instinctively, the bond wanting.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“You’re avoiding me,” Viktor said.

She snorted. “No shit.”

His hand lifted, and for a moment, she thought he might touch her. But he didn’t. Just let it hover between them, as if waiting for her to close the distance.

“I want another session,” he murmured.

Jinx crossed her arms, her smirk twisting into something mean. “And I want a vacation. Guess we’re both disappointed.”

His gaze darkened. Not in anger. Something worse.

Something possessive.

He took another step forward, and this time, she did step back, hitting the wall. Viktor tilted his head, studying her, as if she were a puzzle he was still piecing together.

“Tell me,” he said, voice light but unyielding, “why did you stop before the bond could take?”

Jinx’s pulse kicked up. She rolled her eyes, cocking a hip like she wasn’t cornered by a sentinel whose body was burning for her touch.

“Because I don’t do bonds,” she said flatly.

“You do this one.”

It wasn’t a question.

He took another step.

She backed up again, but she was running out of space.

“Listen, tin man,” she said, pointing a sharp finger at him. “You might be feeling all high and mighty after that little session, but I don’t belong to you.”

Viktor’s lips curled, just slightly. “No?”

Jinx suddenly felt cold metal against her back.

The wall.

She’d let him corner her.

Dammit.

His hand lifted, slow and deliberate, until his fingers ghosted just beneath her chin—not quite touching, but close enough that she felt it anyway.

Her pulse jumped.

His voice was a whisper, but it sank into her like steel.

“Tell me the truth.”

Jinx clenched her jaw. “The truth is, I’m this close to shoving something sharp between your ribs.”

Viktor’s smile was razor-thin.

He didn’t stop her when she tried to slip sideways—but he followed. Moved when she moved. Shadowing her every step until the space between them barely existed.

The air in the room felt heavy.

“I need another session,” he finally said.

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. You junkies always do.”

His hand did touch her then—just a brush of fingers against her wrist, light but firm, deliberate. A tether.

“I need it,” Viktor murmured, tilting his head just slightly. “But you want it.”

Jinx felt it, then. The hum in her skull. The wrongness of not guiding him. The ache in her gut that had been twisting deeper with every hour she’d spent avoiding him.

She hated him for being right.

Viktor’s grip on her wrist tightened, his thumb brushing over the pulse point. Not restraining—just holding.

Patient.

Inevitable.

Jinx exhaled sharply, yanking her arm free as she shoved past him, putting space between them before she did something really stupid.

Like agreeing.

Like admitting that her bones were already screaming for the connection.

“Next time you want a fix,” she snapped, keeping her back to him, “find someone else.”

Viktor was quiet for a long moment.

Then he said, very softly:

“There is no one else.”

A shiver ran down her spine.

And she didn’t need to turn around to know he was still watching her.

Waiting.

This wasn’t over.

---

Jinx didn’t sleep that night.

She tried. She really did. But every time she closed her eyes, it was there—that gnawing ache, the phantom pull in her chest where something was supposed to be.

Something she had given him.

Something he wasn’t giving back.

“Damn it,” she muttered, rubbing her arms as she paced the small confines of her room. She felt like an addict going into withdrawal, and wasn’t that just hilarious? She’d always mocked the Sentinels who got too comfortable with their Guides, the ones who couldn’t function without their stabilizers. But now here she was, crawling out of her own skin because she hadn’t given Viktor what he wanted.

What she wanted.

She needed out. Fresh air. Distance.

She grabbed her jacket, shoved it over her shoulders, and hit the panel by the door. The facility was locked down at night, but she was a high-class Guide—S-rank privilege had its perks.

Or so she thought.

Because the door didn’t open.

Jinx frowned. Pressed the panel again.

Nothing.

She scowled and crouched down, fingers tracing the seams of the doorframe. No mechanical jam. No malfunction.

This was deliberate.

The facility had locked her in.

No. Someone had locked her in.

Her hands curled into fists as she straightened. “You bastard.”

The intercom crackled to life.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to notice.”

Jinx’s eye twitched. “Viktor.”

His voice was calm, as if they were having a polite conversation over tea. “You need rest, Jinx. You have not been taking care of yourself.”

“Oh, don’t you start.” She slammed a fist against the wall. “Let me out, or so help me, I will—”

“You will what?”

It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t even mockery.

It was curiosity.

As if he was genuinely interested in what she thought she could do to stop him.

Jinx sucked in a slow breath, forcing herself to think. Losing her temper wouldn’t help. If she wanted out, she had to outplay him.

So she made her voice light. Casual.

“Viktor, sweetheart, you do realize I’m a Guide, right? Not a prisoner?” She leaned against the wall, folding her arms. “What do you think the facility’s gonna say when they find out you’ve locked up the only person who can keep your brain from turning into soup?”

There was a pause.

Then, “They won’t find out.”

Jinx stilled.

Because he was right.

The facility wanted this bond to work. They’d never punish Viktor for taking matters into his own hands—not if it meant keeping one of their top Sentinels alive.

He had free reign.

And he knew it.

Her fingers twitched. She hated feeling trapped. Hated being cornered. But Viktor wasn’t just another over-eager Sentinel looking to leash her—he was different. He was smart. Calculated.

And worst of all?

He was patient.

Jinx narrowed her eyes at the ceiling. “How long are you planning on keeping me here?”

“As long as it takes.”

Her gut twisted. “For what?”

“To make you admit what you already know.”

A cold weight settled in her stomach.

This wasn’t just about the guiding sessions. It wasn’t just about his health, or even the power he got from her.

Viktor wanted something more.

And he wasn’t going to let her go until he got it.

Jinx took a slow step back from the door, her heartbeat too loud in her ears.

The intercom crackled one last time.

“Get some rest, Jinx.”

And then the connection cut.

Jinx stood in silence, staring at the locked door.

Her hands were shaking.

Not from fear.

From anticipation.

Damn him.

---

Jinx lasted another day.

Twenty-four hours of static in her skull, of pacing her room like a caged animal, of trying to pretend that she wasn’t unraveling from the inside out.

She could feel Viktor’s presence everywhere—his mind pressing at the edges of hers, his patience stretching impossibly thin, waiting for her to stop fighting.

She had been fighting for so long.

And she was losing.

By the time she pounded on the intercom panel, her hands were shaking.

“Viktor.” Her voice was rough. “Enough.”

There was silence.

Then, the soft click of her door unlocking.

She stared at it, pulse pounding.

She could still run. She could still fight.

But she wouldn’t.

Because she needed this.

She shoved the door open.

Viktor was waiting in the hall.

His posture was relaxed, hands folded neatly behind his back, but she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for her. His golden eyes swept over her—assessing, dissecting, waiting.

Jinx swallowed hard.

“Your room,” she said.

Something in his expression sharpened, but he didn’t gloat. Didn’t smirk.

He only nodded.

He turned, walking away without another word, because he knew she would follow.

And she did.

His quarters were darker than hers. Quiet. The air thrummed with his presence, his signature thick in the space, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

Jinx barely had time to process it before Viktor turned, closing the door behind her with a deliberate click.

No escape.

Not that she wanted one anymore.

Viktor didn’t touch her. Not yet. But his eyes burned into her as he spoke, voice low and even.

“Are you going to fight me on this?”

Jinx licked her lips, fingers twitching at her sides. “Not tonight.”

Something flickered across his face—satisfaction, relief, hunger.

He reached for her, but not roughly.

His fingers brushed against hers first, just barely, testing.

Jinx’s breath hitched.

And then the bond snapped into place.

She sucked in a sharp breath as Viktor pulled.

Not physically—mentally. He reached for her through the bond, yanked her in, and Jinx barely had time to brace herself before the world tilted.

It was stronger than before.

Their first session had been forced, too brief, but this—this was raw, unfiltered connection.

His mind crashed into hers like a tidal wave, drowning her in his presence, in his need.

And she let it.

The moment she stopped resisting, it was like setting herself on fire.

Ecstasy.

It flooded through her veins, white-hot, consuming, addicting. It shouldn’t have felt this good. Guiding had never felt like this.

She gasped, body shuddering, hands snapping up to grip Viktor’s arms as his energy poured into her—no, through her—like a circuit finally completing.

And Viktor—

Viktor moaned.

Not softly. Not quietly.

Low and guttural, a sound of absolute relief, of something vital clicking into place.

A deep wrecked sound that sent something sharp and electric skittering down Jinx’s spine. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath heavy, his body shaking from the intensity of it.

“More,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “Give me more.”

His fingers clenched around her wrists as his entire body unlocked, tension bleeding away in an instant. His mind, once fraying at the edges, was suddenly whole. His failing body surged with power, sharp and refined and utterly overwhelming.

Jinx could barely breathe.

And neither of them stopped.

Because they couldn’t.

Because the bond had been waiting, starving, and now that they had finally given in, it was sealing itself with finality.

Jinx’s nails dug into Viktor’s sleeves, her head falling forward against his chest as the waves kept coming, kept building, and she realized—

Oh, this was permanent.

And she didn’t care.

Neither did he.

Because Viktor was gripping her just as tightly, face buried in her hair, body trembling from the sheer force of what was happening.

She felt his pleasure, just as he felt hers.

He was lost in it, drowning in it.

But the worst part?

So was she.

And now there was no going back.

---

The aftershock left Jinx gasping.

She wasn’t sure when her legs had given out, but she was on the floor now, half slumped against Viktor, her head spinning from the sheer force of what had just happened. The bond was still humming, vibrating in her skull, wrapping around them both like steel chains.

Permanent.

Irrevocable.

Viktor hadn’t moved.

He was still gripping her wrists, still pressed too close, his forehead resting against the top of her head as he took slow, controlled breaths.

But she could feel him.

He was shaking.

Not from pain. Not from weakness.

From pleasure.

“…Jinx,” he murmured, and it wasn’t a question. Not a plea. Just a claim.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeves. “Viktor, I—”

She stopped.

Because what the hell was she supposed to say?

That it felt too good? That she could still feel the pulse of his mind inside hers, fitting together so cleanly it made her sick? That the part of her screaming to run was getting quieter, losing ground to something much, much worse?

Want.

Need.

The bond had latched onto her just as much as it had latched onto him, and now she knew—really knew—what that meant.

She wasn’t just his Guide.

She was his.

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out.

But Viktor moved.

Slow, deliberate, almost hesitant—but not quite.

His fingers ghosted over her wrist, trailing up to her palm, then further—tracing the inside of her forearm, mapping her skin as if testing something. As if he were trying to confirm that she was real.

Jinx shuddered.

And Viktor smiled.

Soft. Pleased.

Dangerous.

“…I think,” he said, almost lazily, “you’ve been lying to yourself.”

Jinx stiffened. “Shut up.”

He didn’t.

“You feel it.” His voice was quiet, reverent, as if speaking too loudly would break the moment. “You didn’t want to. You fought it. But it’s real.”

Her breath hitched as his fingers brushed her pulse point.

“You belong to me.”

Jinx jerked back—tried to, at least. But the moment she moved, the bond snapped, tugging at her like an invisible leash.

And Viktor saw it.

Worse—he felt it.

His pupils dilated, golden eyes going dark with something deeper, heavier, something that made her stomach twist.

“Oh,” he breathed, fingers tightening around her wrist. “You can’t run from this, can you?”

Jinx bared her teeth. “Don’t get cocky.”

But he already was.

Because now he knew.

It wasn’t just that he needed her.

She needed him too.

And now that the bond had fully solidified, there was no more denying it.

Viktor exhaled, slow and satisfied, his grip loosening just slightly—not in release, but in comfort. Reassurance.

And that was the worst part.

Because she didn’t shake him off.

She should have.

She didn’t.

“…I hate you,” she muttered.

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh. “No, you don’t.”

And Jinx didn’t argue.

Because they both knew the truth.

There was no going back.

---

Jinx acted like nothing had changed.

As if she hadn’t just tethered herself to him for life.

As if the bond wasn’t still thrumming between them, burning under her skin every time they were apart.

Viktor knew what she was doing.

Avoidance. Denial. She thought she could outrun it—thought she could slip back into her old patterns, keep living like she always had.

She was wrong.

Because he had changed.

And he wouldn’t allow it.

“Guiding sessions?” Viktor’s voice was deceptively even, but there was an edge to it, something sharp lurking beneath the surface.

Jinx didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up from where she was adjusting the cuffs of her jacket. “Yeah. Got a full schedule today. Sentinels need their fix, you know how it is.”

Viktor’s fingers curled against the armrest of his chair. “No.”

Jinx finally met his gaze, brow raising. “No?”

Viktor leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his golden eyes unwavering. “You are bonded, Jinx.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know, I was there.”

His fingers twitched.

And Jinx felt it.

Felt the way the bond reacted to his displeasure, humming against the base of her skull like an irritated thing.

She ignored it.

Viktor didn’t.

“You cannot guide others,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Not anymore.”

Jinx laughed. “Oh, is that right? Did the rulebook say so?” She spread her arms. “Because last I checked, bonded Guides can still do sessions with whoever the hell they want. And unlike you, I still need to get paid.”

A pause.

Then—

“Find another way.”

The finality in his voice sent a chill up her spine.

Jinx narrowed her eyes. “Oh, so now you care about my income?”

“I care about what’s mine.”

The words landed between them like a blade.

Jinx’s breath caught.

Viktor didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat.

He simply watched her. Waiting.

Jinx hated that something in her stomach twisted at the possessiveness in his voice.

She scoffed, folding her arms. “That’s rich, coming from you.” She turned, already walking toward the door. “But I’m not your pet, tin man. And I don’t take orders.”

The bond tugged.

She felt Viktor’s frustration snap through it like static, sharp and warning.

But he didn’t stop her.

Not yet.

She left without looking back.

---

Viktor had never struggled with control.

Even when his body had failed him, even when pain had stripped him raw, he had endured. He had waited. Calculated. Adapted.

But this—

This was intolerable.

Jinx was his now. That fact was undeniable. Their bond wasn’t just a connection—it was absolute. He could feel her every shift, her moods threading through his mind like whispers of static. And more than that, he could feel when she left.

Not physically—no, she was still near, still within the facility’s walls.

But her energy?

Touching others.

Guiding others.

It was the single most infuriating thing Viktor had ever experienced.

The first time it happened, he convinced himself it was fine.

She had never wanted a bond in the first place. She had fought it, resisted it. Expecting her to change overnight would be foolish.

But by the third time, when he felt her energy entangle with some lesser Sentinel’s signature, something inside him snapped.

---

The guiding sessions were fine.

At least, they should have been.

Jinx had been doing this for years—stepping into the minds of Sentinels, stabilizing their overworked, overstressed psyches, letting them leech off her presence just long enough to keep themselves from deteriorating.

It was routine. Transactional.

But now, it felt wrong.

Because none of them felt like him.

The first Sentinel she guided flinched when she entered his mind. The second session left her lightheaded and irritable, the third ended with him pulling away first, eyes darting away like he’d tasted something off.

They felt it.

They knew.

Her bond was interfering.

Her signature was already claimed.

Jinx forced herself to power through, pretending not to notice the way her own body recoiled from their energy, the way her mind instinctively searched for Viktor’s instead.

She refused to acknowledge what that meant.

By the end of the day, she was exhausted, overstimulated, and barely keeping her thoughts in order.

She needed a drink. Maybe ten.

But when she stepped into her quarters, she stopped cold.

Viktor was waiting.

Sitting in her chair.

Calm. Silent.

But she felt his displeasure, curling through the bond like a tightening wire.

She sighed. “Oh, what, you’re breaking into my room now?”

“You were with them.”

Jinx frowned. “Oh, don’t start with that.”

Viktor tilted his head, voice cool. “You let them touch you.”

Her stomach dropped.

Because it wasn’t accusation.

It was betrayal.

Jinx scowled, shaking it off. “It was a job. Same as always. Nothing to get—”

Viktor stood.

Her breath caught.

Because she felt it the moment he crossed the room—the moment he closed the distance between them in a slow, measured step.

The bond reacted.

And her body did too.

Before she could move, Viktor’s fingers curled around her wrist.

Not hard. Not restraining.

Just holding.

Jinx tensed.

“…You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured.

Jinx clenched her jaw. “Feel what?”

Viktor’s grip tightened.

“You don’t belong to them.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine.

Because they weren’t a threat.

They were a fact.

And she had felt it.

Every single guiding session had been a disaster. A rejection.

Because her body, her mind, her soul—

Would only accept him.

Jinx yanked her arm away. “You don’t get to decide what I do.”

Viktor didn’t try to grab her again.

He didn’t have to.

Because the moment she pulled away, the bond strained—sharp and uncomfortable, an ache that settled deep in her bones, like she’d just torn something that wasn’t meant to be torn.

Jinx froze.

Viktor exhaled slowly.

“…I don’t need to.”

Silence stretched between them, thick.

Because they both knew the truth.

Jinx’s hands curled into fists. She hated this. Hated how right he was.

Hated that she already knew how this would end.

Because no matter how much she fought—

She couldn’t share herself anymore.

And Viktor knew it.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Get out.”

Viktor studied her for a long, unbearable moment.

Then, finally—

He smiled.

Soft. Satisfied.

Like he had already won.

He turned without another word, heading for the door.

And just before he left, he glanced back—

Voice soft, but razor-sharp.

“Next time, Jinx… don’t make me remind you again.”

The door shut behind him.

And Jinx stood there, hands shaking.

Not from anger.

But from the ache still coiling in her chest.

Because Viktor was right.

She wasn’t going to do it again.

Not because he told her to.

But because she couldn’t.

Not anymore.

---

Jinx should have known Viktor would push for more.

The first time had already shattered every expectation she’d had about guiding. It had never felt like that before—never burned so deep, never settled in her bones like a drug she couldn’t shake. She had spent days trying to pretend it hadn’t affected her, that she could still do things her way, still keep distance between them.

But Viktor was always patient.

Patient enough to let her try.

Patient enough to wait for her to break.

And now, here she was.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, jacket already discarded, fingers twitching at the hem of her shirt.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

Viktor leaned back against the pillows, watching her with infuriating calm. “It is efficient.”

Jinx shot him a glare. “Yeah? Feels like you’re just trying to get me naked.”

Viktor smiled, slow and knowing. “You are the one who agreed.”

She scowled.

Because, yeah. She had.

After an hour of persuasion.

Guiding was always stronger with more skin-to-skin contact. The closer the physical proximity, the better the results. But Jinx had always kept things distant—hand-holding at most, and even that had been a stretch.

But Viktor had convinced her.

Not by force.

Not by orders.

But by reason.

It made sense. It would be better for both of them. And Viktor had been careful—patient. Hadn’t pushed too hard, hadn’t demanded.

Just waited for her to see the truth.

And she had.

Didn’t mean she had to like it.

Jinx sighed and yanked her shirt over her head before she could think about it too much.

Viktor inhaled, slow and measured, golden eyes dragging over her bare shoulders, the curve of her spine, the sharp lines of her collarbone.

He didn’t reach for her.

Didn’t touch.

Just watched.

Waiting.

Jinx swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of her own heartbeat. “You too, genius.”

Viktor smirked, but he obeyed, shrugging off his thin undershirt with effortless grace.

Jinx had seen him shirtless before.

But not like this.

Not with the bond pulling at her.

Not with her skin already burning from the lack of contact.

Her throat went dry.

Viktor was thin—he had always been thin—but she could see the way his body had changed since their bond had solidified. His shoulders had filled out, his frame no longer weak and withering away. His skin was still pale, but not sickly.

He looked alive.

Because of her.

And that did something awful to her chest.

She ignored it.

Without another word, she slid onto the bed beside him, shifting awkwardly before finally lying down, her head pressed against his chest.

Viktor exhaled, slow and steady, as his arm curled around her back.

Not pulling.

Not demanding.

Just holding.

Jinx shivered.

“…You ready?” she muttered.

His fingers traced the bare skin of her spine, light and patient.

“Yes.”

She took a breath.

And let go.

The connection slammed into place immediately—no resistance, no hesitation, nothing holding it back.

And it was blinding.

The first time had been strong, but this—this was something else entirely. It was raw, unfiltered, their minds snapping together so perfectly it made her body lock up.

Heat rushed through her limbs, ecstasy sinking into her bones as Viktor pulled, his energy consuming her in waves, drowning her in something deeper than touch, deeper than thought.

And he—

Viktor moaned.

A quiet, wrecked sound, his grip on her back tightening as the guiding flooded through him.

Jinx felt him unravel.

Felt the sharp edges of his mind dissolve into pure, overwhelming pleasure.

And she wasn’t far behind.

Because this wasn’t just guidance.

It was something more.

Something addicting.

Something dangerous.

Her breathing hitched as Viktor’s fingers curled against her spine, his chest rising and falling beneath her ear, heartbeat steady, strong, alive.

She was giving him everything.

And he was taking it.

She should have been scared.

She should have pulled away.

But she didn’t.

Because she was unraveling too. 

It was too much. 

It wasn’t enough. 

She was drowning in him. 

And she didn’t care. 

Viktor’s breath was ragged against her ear, his grip possessive, desperate.

“…Jinx.”

Her body shuddered at the sound of her name, her mind fraying further—no, falling.

She didn’t know where she ended and he began.

Didn’t want to.

Her fingers curled against his ribs, her pulse pounding.

She was gone.

Chapter 90: Between The Lines

Summary:

Viktor exhaled a shaky breath..

Jinx was already turning away again, rummaging through a stack of old blueprints. “Shit, I know I got one in here somewhere—”

Viktor swallowed, fingers tightening slightly around the note.

He had looked at her like that. More times than she probably realized.

And now, standing here, watching her dig through his things, pulling out pieces of herself like it was no big deal when it was everything—

He wanted to tell her.

Notes:

This shit had me crying like a bitch at work. Why do I do this to myself???

Viktor had never been one for spring cleaning.

It felt like a waste of time—sorting through stacks of old notes, rusted tools, and discarded prototypes when there was still so much work to be done. Yet, Jayce had insisted. Something about "not letting the lab turn into a fire hazard," which was technically an exaggeration, but not by much.

And so, begrudgingly, Viktor set to work.

His fingers sifted through worn papers, scribbled calculations, the occasional burnt-out Hextech crystal, until—

A slip of crumpled paper, wedged between a pile of unused blueprints.

At first, he thought it was one of his own, a rough sketch of a mechanism hastily stuffed away. But the handwriting was unfamiliar—messy, uneven. Letters tipped forward or backward as if they couldn’t decide which way to face.

His brow furrowed. He smoothed the note out against the table.

           ViKtor,

           Y'ever wonder if machines got hearts? Like... if you build somethin’ with enough love, does it know?

           I think about that. A lot.

           Anyway. You probly won’t see this.

           That’s okay.

His breath hitched.

The ink was smudged in places, the tail end of her name—Jinx—almost an afterthought, hastily scratched in the bottom corner.

He turned, scanning the mess he'd made of the lab, and something in him tightened.

How long had this been here?

How had he missed this?

---

He found the next one tucked beneath a rusted wrench.

           Betcha don’t even realize how much you talk with your hands.

           Like when you’re thinkin’ real hard, and your fingers do that twitchy thing? Yeah. That.

           It’s kinda... nice.

Viktor swallowed, pressing his lips together.

There were more. Hidden between obsolete blueprints, tucked behind a forgotten teacup, one folded so small it had slipped into the crevice of his desk.

           I don’t know why I do this.

           Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re the only person I don’t feel crazy around.

           …Okay, that’s a lie. You make me feel real crazy.

           But not in a bad way.

           Maybe that’s worse.

His hands tightened around the edges of the note.

He hadn’t noticed. Not once.

Jinx, for all her chaos, had never been one for writing. He knew that—knew how letters tangled in her mind, how words twisted themselves into nonsense when she tried too hard to make them behave.

And yet, she wrote these.

For him.

He exhaled sharply, sinking onto his stool, notes scattered across his lap, his work table, his shaking hands.

How many times had she come here? How many times had she left tiny, fragile pieces of herself behind, only for them to go unseen—unread?

How many times had she hoped he’d find them?

---

The next one was old. The ink had bled in places, the paper thin and brittle. It must have been here for months.

           I’m not real good at sayin’ things, y’know? But if I was…

           If I was, maybe I’d tell you that you make the noise in my head quiet down.

           That when you talk about science shit I don’t understand, I still wanna listen.

           That when I break things, I think about how your hands only build.

           Maybe I’d tell you

The sentence stopped.

A jagged line of ink trailed off, as if she’d started to write something—then changed her mind.

Viktor stared at it for a long time.

The more he looked, the more he found.

Some notes were buried beneath scrap metal, tucked inside the hollow casing of an abandoned Hextech prototype. One had been slipped beneath the coaster of his favorite mug—he must have lifted it a hundred times without ever noticing. Another was wedged between the pages of an old schematics book, its edges frayed as if fingers had lingered there, hesitant.

She must have written them over months and yet, they’d gone unseen.

Viktor ran a hand through his hair, heart hammering against his ribs. How had he missed these? He prided himself on his keen eye, his ability to notice details others overlooked. Yet here, in his own space, amidst the clutter of his life’s work, she had been leaving him—

Pieces of herself.

And he had let them sit, collecting dust.

---

One note was crumpled almost beyond recognition, the ink smeared as if her hands had hesitated, tightened, balled the paper up before deciding against destroying it.

He smoothed it carefully.

           You’re real careful with things. Like, even when you’re workin’ on something tiny, you hold it real gentle, like you’re scared to break it.

           Do you do that with people, too?

His throat tightened.

Another, scrawled hastily in charcoal on the back of an old blueprint:

           I stole your screwdriver today. (The good one. The one you always use.)

           I was gonna put it back, but then I didn’t, ‘cause I kinda liked having somethin’ that was yours.

A quiet breath left him. He reached for the next one.

           Y'know, I used to think brains like yours didn’t get people like me. Too messy. Too loud.

           But then you looked at me like I was something you wanted to figure out.

His fingers trembled. The next note was different—longer, the handwriting more uncertain, like she had debated writing it at all.

           You ever wanna say something, but you don’t?

           Like, the words are right there but they get stuck in your throat, and if you try to push ‘em out, they come out all wrong?

           It’s dumb. It’s so dumb, ‘cause I can talk fine. I talk all the time. People tell me I talk too much.

           But not about this. Not about you.

           I think if I did, I’d break something I don’t know how to fix.

Viktor exhaled sharply, pressing a hand over his mouth.

She had been here, in his lab, in his life, hiding these confessions in the places she knew he’d never think to look.

Not until now.

And still—there were more.

Some were nonsense, little scribbles of thought, half-formed questions, doodles in the margins of his own research notes.

One, written in the tiniest letters he had ever seen, as if she had been afraid of writing it at all:

           Wish I met you first.

His breath hitched. The words struck deep, unearthing something raw inside him.

Another, messier than the rest, ink smudged where her hand must have dragged across the page.

           Sometimes I think about running. Just me, the open sky, nothing holdin’ me back. I bet I could go forever.

           But then I think about you, and I don’t wanna go so far you can’t catch up.

His hands tightened around the note.

He had to find her.

Now.

Before another second passed. Before the weight of all the things left unsaid swallowed them both whole.

Because somewhere, between the lines of everything she had ever written, was the one thing she’d been too afraid to say out loud.

And Viktor—he was ready to hear it.

---

Viktor didn’t bother organizing the notes.

They lay scattered across his desk, his lap, the floor—whispers of Jinx in every hastily scrawled line, in every ink-smudged word, in every small, hidden piece of her that he had let sit unnoticed for far too long.

He should have seen them sooner. Should have paid more attention. But how was he to know she had been speaking to him all this time—just not in a way he had ever thought to listen?

Still, there were more.

He turned over an old blueprint, and another note fluttered free. It was tiny, crumpled, torn at the edge as if she had meant to rip it up but stopped herself at the last second.

           If I were braver, I’d tell you.

Viktor stared at it.

For a long moment, the lab was silent save for the distant hum of Hextech, the faint sound of the city beyond the walls.

Then, he moved.

---

He didn’t know where to start looking.

Jinx was like smoke—impossible to track unless she wanted to be found. But he had spent enough time around her to know her patterns, the places she disappeared to when the world got too loud.

He started with the rooftops.

She liked the high places, where she could look down at the sprawl of Zaun and Piltover, where nothing felt like it could trap her.

Nothing—except herself.

She wasn’t at the bridge, nor the clocktower where she sometimes left graffiti that was half-insult, half-love letter to chaos.

His heart pounded. He tightened his grip on his cane, ignoring the way his leg ached from moving too quickly.

Then, finally—

A familiar silhouette, perched on the edge of an old, rusted scaffold overlooking the city.

Jinx.

She sat cross-legged, absentmindedly flicking a spent bullet casing between her fingers, her expression unreadable.

Viktor approached carefully. She didn’t turn, but he knew she heard him—she always did.

“Y’know,” she said after a moment, voice deceptively light, “most people don’t come lookin’ for me when I don’t wanna be found.”

Viktor didn’t answer right away. He reached into his coat pocket, fingers brushing against the notes he had stuffed there before leaving the lab.

Then, he pulled one free.

And let it drop beside her.

Jinx’s eyes flicked down. The moment she saw the scrawled letters—her own messy handwriting—her breath hitched.

Viktor placed another beside it. Then another. One by one, he laid them out like puzzle pieces, like breadcrumbs leading back to something she had tried so hard to bury.

“…How many?” she asked, voice quiet.

Viktor exhaled. “More than I can count.”

Jinx went still. Her fingers twitched, curling into the fabric of her pants.

For once, she didn’t have a joke, a sharp comment, a way to twist the moment into something easier to swallow.

“…Shit,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair, voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Kinda hoped you’d never find ‘em.”

Viktor tilted his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Liar.”

Jinx froze.

She looked at him, really looked at him, and there was no mischief, no mask of careless bravado. Just something raw, something vulnerable, something that had been hiding between the lines of everything she had ever written but never said.

“…Yeah,” she whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “Guess I am.”

A beat of silence.

Then, carefully—hesitantly—Viktor reached out, pressing one of the notes into her hand.

The one that had struck him the hardest.

The one where she had written:

           Wish I met you first.

Jinx stared at it. Her fingers clenched, crumpling the edges.

Viktor swallowed. His voice was softer now, barely above a murmur.

“I am listening, Jinx.”

She inhaled sharply.

For a moment, he thought she might run. Might laugh it off, toss the note over the edge of the scaffold, pretend it had never meant anything at all.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she stayed.

And slowly—tentatively—she turned her hand over, palm facing up, fingers open.

An invitation.

Viktor hesitated, then placed his own hand over hers.

---

Jinx wasn’t snooping, exactly.

It was her habit to rifle through Viktor’s things, to dig through the mess and see what odd little trinkets he’d forgotten about, what scraps of brilliant ideas he’d scribbled and discarded. She liked unearthing bits of him he hadn’t meant to leave lying around—liked knowing him in the small, unnoticed ways.

But this time, when she stepped into his lab, something was off.

The place wasn’t the disaster zone it usually was. The stacks of old blueprints, half-finished projects, and abandoned contraptions were gone. The cluttered tables had been organized.

Jinx paused, squinting.

Huh.

She could respect a little chaos, but this? This was new. And—

Wait.

Her gaze landed on a stack of familiar, crumpled papers, neatly piled at the corner of his desk.

Notes. Her notes.

Jinx’s breath caught.

She stepped forward, fingers ghosting over the edges of the pages. They were worn from handling, smoothed out as if someone had taken care not to tear them, to keep them intact.

Viktor had kept them.

Not just found them—not just read them—but kept them.

And from the way they were sorted into separate piles, he’d clearly been going through them.

The realization hit her harder than she expected.

A voice, warm and knowing, drifted from behind her.

“Finding everything you’re looking for?”

Jinx stiffened, but she didn’t jump. Viktor had a way of sneaking up on her without trying. Not in the quiet way assassins did, not with a predator’s stillness, but with a presence that was soft, subtle—like a shadow that had always been there, waiting.

She turned, caught the amusement flickering behind his sharp gaze.

She gestured to the piles of notes, raising a brow. “What, uh… what’s this, exactly?”

Viktor didn’t even pretend not to know what she meant. Instead, he moved past her, taking a seat at his workbench, adjusting his cane against the table with practiced ease.

“I am sorting them,” he said simply. “Separating my favorites.”

Jinx stared. “Your—?” She blinked, something twisting in her chest. “You got favorites?”

Viktor glanced up, lips curling into a lopsided smirk.

“I love them all,” he admitted, voice warm, teasing, “but some are… emotionally a lot.”

Jinx snorted, folding her arms. “Emotionally a lot?” she echoed. “That what we’re callin’ it?”

Viktor chuckled, picking up one of the notes from the favorites pile. He smoothed it between his fingers, eyes scanning the messy, uneven handwriting.

Then, softly, he read:

           Dunno if u evr notice, but I like listenin to u talk. U sound like u got the world in ur head, n I like hearin it spill out.

           Ur voice is like lightning in a bottle—sharp, fast, bright.

           Wish I could keep it with me sumtimes.

Jinx sucked in a breath.

Something in Viktor’s expression softened—deepened. His thumb brushed idly over the paper’s edge before he looked up at her again, a quiet kind of adoration in his eyes.

“I never knew you thought that,” he murmured.

Jinx shifted, suddenly restless. “Yeah, well. I say a lotta stuff in my head that doesn't make it outta my mouth.”

Viktor hummed. “So I’ve noticed.”

Before she could snap back, he picked up another note.

“This one,” he said, “I find particularly endearing.”

He unfolded the crumpled slip of paper and read aloud, voice light with amusement:

           I think ur hands are pretty. Not in a weird way. Just— u do so much with them. Like ur makin the future n shit. S’cool.

           Don’t tell no one I said that.

Silence.

Jinx immediately felt heat crawl up her neck.

Her fingers twitched. “Okay—first of all—”

Viktor laughed, and it was so genuine, so real, that she faltered.

“I must say,” he mused, gaze flickering between her and the note, “I believe this is the first time someone has called my hands pretty.”

Jinx groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Shut up,” she muttered.

“But I am making the future,” Viktor added, teasing. “So I suppose you are not wrong.”

Jinx peeked at him through her fingers, trying not to smile. “Y’know, I could make this weird,” she threatened. “Real weird.”

Viktor’s smirk lingered, but his voice turned softer. “I have no doubt.”

A pause.

Then—

“…You really keeping ‘em all?” she asked, quieter now.

Viktor’s gaze met hers, steady and sure.

“Of course.” He tapped the stack of notes. “They are important to me.”

Jinx felt something stutter inside her chest.

She didn’t know what to do with that—the weight of his sincerity, the way he held her words like they mattered.

Like she mattered.

For once, she didn’t have a joke. Didn’t deflect, didn’t throw up her usual shields.

She just… let it sit between them.

Warm. Quiet. Unspoken.

And in the end, she only said one thing.

“…Dweeb.”

But Viktor only smiled.

---

Viktor leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the stack of notes. “I have a feeling,” he mused, “that I have not found them all yet.”

Jinx snorted. “Pffft. No way, genius.” She gestured vaguely around the lab. “You think you got ‘em all just ‘cause you cleaned up a little? Ha!”

Viktor arched a brow. “A little? I spent hours organizing this mess.”

“Yeah, yeah, good job, gold star,” she teased. “But trust me—” her lips curled into a mischievous smirk, eyes glinting like she was in on some private joke “—there’s no way you found ‘em all.”

Viktor narrowed his eyes. He studied her, watching the way she rocked back and forth on her heels, fingers twitching like she was dying to keep a secret but also itching to spill it.

“…Where?” he asked simply.

Jinx immediately feigned offense. “Oh-ho, what, you think I’m just gonna tell you?” She grinned, pressing a hand to her chest. “What kinda self-respectin’ agent of chaos would I be if I just gave away my secrets?”

Viktor exhaled a laugh. “Fine,” he said, adjusting his cane as he stood. “Then I will find them myself.”

That got her attention.

Her smirk twitched, flickering with something uncertain. “Wait,” she said quickly. “You—you wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Viktor hummed. “Perhaps. But I am nothing if not thorough.”

Jinx’s grin faltered. She glanced around, as if suddenly very aware of how many possible hiding places she had left behind.

Then, with an exaggerated groan, she threw her hands up.

“Fiiiiiine.”

Viktor smirked in triumph.

But when Jinx turned, there was something almost shy in the way she scratched the back of her neck, something uncharacteristically hesitant.

“…Promise you won’t laugh?”

Viktor blinked. His expression softened. “I would never.”

Jinx gave him a suspicious squint, then sighed. “Aight. Just—don’t make a thing outta this, okay?”

Before Viktor could respond, she marched over to the old, rusted toolbox in the corner of the lab—the one he never used because the drawers always jammed. It was one of the things he was going to throw out when he cleaned—now he’s very glad he didn’t.

She yanked one open and dug around for a moment before pulling out—

A tiny, folded scrap of paper, crammed into the corner beneath a handful of loose screws.

She turned, holding it out between two fingers.

Viktor took it, carefully unfolding the delicate square.

           U ever think about how stuff stays warm after u touch it? Like. Even after ur gone?

           …Anyway. Doesn’t matter. Just. Y’know. Thought that was neat.

A deep warmth settled in Viktor’s chest.

Before he could say anything, Jinx huffed, cheeks pink, and turned away. “Aaaaand that’s one,” she muttered.

Then she knelt and reached under his workbench, feeling around the underside of the wood until—aha!—her fingers found another scrap of paper, taped to the bottom.

She yanked it free and tossed it at him. “Here. Betcha never even thought to check there.”

Viktor caught it easily, unfolding it with practiced care.

           U do this thing where u stare at something real hard, like u can see how it works just by lookin’ at it.

           Sometimes I wish you’d look at me like that.

Viktor exhaled a shaky breath..

Jinx was already turning away again, rummaging through a stack of old blueprints. “Shit, I know I got one in here somewhere—”

Viktor swallowed, fingers tightening slightly around the note.

He had looked at her like that. More times than she probably realized.

And now, standing here, watching her dig through his things, pulling out pieces of herself like it was no big deal when it was everything—

He wanted to tell her.

But for once, he kept the words to himself.

Because this—this—was Jinx speaking in the only way she knew how.

And he would listen.

Even if it took all night.

Even if he never truly found them all.

He didn’t mind looking.

---

Jinx scoured the lab, yanking loose panels, digging through cluttered drawers, and even reaching into his coat pocket at one point, just to mess with him.

Viktor let her, amused by the energy she poured into the search.

Some notes she handed over with an exaggerated flourish, as if presenting him with treasure. Others she tossed carelessly, forcing him to catch them before they drifted into the mess again.

And some—

Some she hesitated with.

Like the one she pulled from the cracked casing of an old Hexcore prototype, fidgeting with the paper before dropping it in his palm.

           U ever wonder what it’d be like to just... stay? Like, not run, not hide, not bolt the second somethin’ don’t feel safe?

           Yeah. Me neither.

Viktor’s chest ached.

She didn’t look at him when she handed that one over, just moved on quickly, rummaging behind the shelves where he stored outdated blueprints.

He didn’t press her on it.

Not yet.

They kept going like that.

More notes surfaced, scattered through places he never would have thought to check. One was wedged inside a hollowed-out wrench handle. Another was folded into a paper star and tucked behind the coolant unit of his worktable.

Viktor had to wonder how long she had been doing this—leaving bits of herself behind, hoping but never really expecting that he’d find them.

He wondered if, before today, she had even wanted him to.

Then—

She found one.

It was hidden beneath an old stack of gears, pressed so deep into the metal it had almost fused with the rust. Jinx pried it loose, dusted it off—

And froze.

Viktor caught the shift immediately.

The way her fingers curled around the note. The way her shoulders stiffened, breath hitching just slightly.

She read it.

And instead of handing it over—

She pulled it to her chest.

Viktor’s stomach twisted.

“Jinx?”

“Nope.” Her voice wavered. Just slightly. But enough.

Enough for Viktor to hear it.

His eyes narrowed. “Let me see.”

“Nope,” she repeated, tighter this time. “Not this one. This one’s off-limits.”

That only made him want it more.

Viktor stepped closer, tilting his head as he studied her. “What does it say?”

Jinx’s fingers clenched harder around the paper.

Her smirk was still there—but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t real.

It was the kind of grin she used to deflect, to cover up.

“Don’t worry about it,” she muttered, trying for casual but failing miserably.

Viktor exhaled slowly, carefully. He softened his tone, letting the amusement slip from his voice.

“Jinx.”

She flinched.

Just barely.

But she did.

And that was enough.

He knew her well enough to recognize when she was about to bolt, to bury something deep enough that even she wouldn’t look at it again.

“…It is important,” he said, voice quieter now. “Isn’t it?”

Jinx swallowed.

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything.

Just stood there, fingers tightening around the note, eyes darting away like she wanted to hand it over but couldn’t.

Then, barely above a whisper, she said:

“…It’s stupid.”

Viktor’s heart clenched.

“I doubt that,” he murmured.

Jinx shook her head quickly, the movement almost frantic. “It is, okay? It’s—it’s nothing. It’s dumb.”

She was retreating.

And Viktor—he couldn’t let her.

Not when they had come this far.

Not when she had let him in.

He reached out, slow, careful—fingertips brushing just against the edge of the crumpled note, not prying, just—offering.

“…Let me read it,” he said, gentle but insistent.

Jinx tensed.

Her breath came a little faster, a little shallower.

And for a split second, Viktor thought she might actually hand it over—

But instead—

She crushed it in her fist.

And in the smallest, quietest voice, she said:

“…I can’t.”

Viktor’s chest ached.

Because there—right there—was the truth of it.

This wasn’t about embarrassment. It wasn’t about playing games.

This was fear.

Raw. Unfiltered. Real.

She wasn’t keeping it from him to be difficult.

She was keeping it from him because she wasn’t ready.

And Viktor…

He wouldn’t take that from her.

So he exhaled slowly, forced himself to ease back, to step away instead of pressing forward.

He met her eyes—really met them. And then, just as gently, he said:

“Alright.”

Jinx blinked.

“…Wait. What?”

Viktor offered a small, knowing smile. “Alright,” he repeated.

He didn’t push. Didn’t demand.

Didn’t pry it from her fingers like he wanted to.

Jinx just stared at him. Like she couldn’t believe he was letting her get away with this.

Like she had braced for a fight—

And he had denied it to her.

She shifted, uneasy, as if waiting for the moment he’d change his mind.

But he didn’t.

He just… waited.

And eventually—

Jinx exhaled, long and shaky, and muttered:

“…You’re the worst.”

Viktor chuckled. “I have been called worse.”

Jinx scowled, shoving the note into her pocket. “…If I let you read it, you gotta promise not to say shit.”

Viktor’s smirk returned, but his voice was warm when he said:

“I will consider it.”

Jinx groaned, throwing her head back. “Ugh. Dweeb.”

---

Jinx should’ve kept it.

Should’ve shoved it back into the deepest corner of her pocket, set it on fire, eaten it—anything but what she actually did.

Because after a long, agonizing moment of hesitation—

She sighed sharply, muttered a curse under her breath, and shoved the crumpled ball of paper into Viktor’s hands.

Then she immediately turned away.

"Take it before I change my mind,” she mumbled, crossing her arms tight over her chest.

Viktor’s brow arched, but he said nothing.

Not yet.

Jinx could feel him unfolding it. Could hear the crinkle of paper, the slow, deliberate smoothing of creases.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for his reaction.

For teasing. For a joke. For anything that would make this whole thing feel less.

But instead—

Silence.

Long. Heavy.

Too heavy.

Jinx frowned, cracking one eye open.

Viktor wasn’t smirking anymore.

Wasn’t laughing, wasn’t making some sarcastic quip like she expected.

His expression had gone completely still.

His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. His sharp, analytical gaze traced over the words again—once, twice, three times—as if his mind was trying and failing to process them.

Jinx felt her stomach drop.

“…Vik?” she said, forcing her voice into something light, something normal. “You gonna make a face all day or—”

Viktor swallowed.

When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Jinx.”

Something in the way he said her name made her flinch.

Like it hurt him.

Like he wasn’t prepared for the weight of what she had just given him.

Her throat tightened.

She turned fully away, rubbing the back of her neck like she could physically shake off whatever awful, exposed feeling was creeping up her spine.

"Look, it’s not—” she started, forcing a laugh, but it cracked halfway through.

Viktor ignored her.

Instead, he read the note again.

Like the words were made of something fragile.

           I think... If I hadn't met you when I did, that I wouldn't have lived this long.

           I really wanted to be done.

           But then you smiled at me and I felt okay.

           Like, really okay.

           I don't want to feel not okay again.

Jinx squeezed her hands into fists.

God. Goddammit.

She knew he was smart. Knew he’d put the pieces together before she could find a way to snatch them back and break them apart again.

And now she could feel his eyes on her—heavy, searching, understanding too much.

She wished he’d say something.

Anything.

A joke, a quip, a dismissive “Well, that’s a lot to unpack” so she could laugh and pretend she wasn’t waiting for him to—

“Jinx.”

His voice was so soft.

Too soft.

She gritted her teeth.

"Don't," she muttered.

Viktor took a step closer. "Do not what?"

Jinx's fingers twitched. “Don’t look at me like that.”

"Like what?" His tone was gentle, but unrelenting.

"Like you—" She cut herself off, shaking her head violently. “Just—don’t.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then—

“…I did not know,” Viktor admitted.

His voice was steady, but there was something raw beneath it. Something that sounded an awful lot like regret.

Jinx scoffed, kicking at the floor. “Yeah, well. S’not like I told you.”

She tried to keep her tone light, but it didn’t work.

Not with the way her voice wobbled at the edges.

Not with the way Viktor watched her, quiet and unwavering, like he wasn’t willing to let her run from this.

“…Jinx,” he said again.

This time, when she turned back to face him, his expression was unreadable.

Then—carefully, deliberately—he folded the note back up.

And kept it.

Not setting it aside, not adding it to the pile—just… keeping it.

Holding it in his hand like it mattered.

Jinx’s breath hitched.

And in that moment—

Jinx didn’t know what to do.

Didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know what to do with the way Viktor was looking at her—like she was something real, something important, something that had just cracked open right in front of him and now he didn’t know how to put back together.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to be put back together.

Not when he was holding her words like that.

Not when he had kept them.

Not when she could still hear him reading them back to her—soft and steady, like they meant something.

Like she meant something.

God, she needed to get out of here.

She needed to laugh, to say something stupid, to make this whole thing go away before it settled into something she couldn't claw her way out of.

But before she could—

Before she could bolt or ruin it or do what she always did—

Viktor moved.

Not a lot.

Just… a step.

Closer.

Not enough to make her feel trapped. Not enough to make her flinch.

Just enough.

Enough for his warmth to brush against the edges of hers.

Enough for her to feel him there.

And then—carefully, so carefully—he reached out.

Slow. Steady. No sudden movements.

Jinx had never been good at sitting still.

She was all restless energy, all movement, all twitchy fingers and bouncing knees and shifting weight. Even when she looked still, she wasn’t—not really.

But now—

Now she was frozen.

Because Viktor—

He had never touched her like this before.

Not a light tap on the shoulder, not an accidental brush of fingers over a shared blueprint—

No.

This was different.

This was his arms wrapping around her.

This was warmth, and steadiness, and something else she couldn’t name because her brain had stopped working the second he pulled her in and held her.

Jinx sucked in a sharp breath, her body tensing like she might bolt.

She didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Because Viktor—he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t try to fill the silence, didn’t try to fix it, didn’t tell her it was okay because maybe it wasn’t, maybe it never had been, and maybe he understood that.

Instead—

He just held her.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like he knew she’d spent too much of her life being untouchable.

Like he wasn’t afraid of her.

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, unsure of what to do with them. She almost—almost—pushed him away, made some dumb joke, ran.

But then Viktor shifted just slightly, resting his chin against the top of her head, and—

She broke.

It was quiet.

No tears. No sobs. No dramatic collapse.

Just a slow, aching exhale—like something in her chest had been locked up too tight for too long, and now—

Now she wasn’t holding it alone anymore.

Her hands lifted—hesitant, unsure—before finally, finally grabbing hold of the fabric of his coat.

Not pulling him closer.

Not pushing him away.

Just holding on.

Viktor’s arms tightened.

Not enough to trap. Just enough to stay.

Jinx let out a slow, shaky breath.

“…This is dumb,” she muttered.

Viktor hummed, his voice a low, amused rumble against her.

“I do not think it is,” he said simply.

Jinx scowled against his shoulder. “Yeah, well. You think lots of nerdy shit.”

Viktor chuckled, and she felt the way his chest moved when he did.

It was nice.

Warm.

Stable.

Like she was allowed to be still.

For once.

Chapter 91: Synthesis

Summary:

He stared down at the board, horrified.

“You just betrayed me,” he muttered as she snatched up his hard-earned properties.

Jinx smirked, completely unapologetic. “Sorry, babe. Capitalism.”

Viktor exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. “I hope you lose.”

Jinx winked. “I never lose.”

Notes:

This one is just modern college AU fluff to soothe my soul; just small moments of their journey to falling in love.

Viktor prided himself on his ability to recognize patterns. It was the foundation of engineering, after all—systems, equations, structures, all built on rules. Variables could shift, but everything followed logic.

That’s why Jinx bothered him.

She didn’t fit.

At first, he assumed she was just another bored student, one of the many who enrolled in classes only to scroll through their phones or doodle nonsense in the margins of their notes. But there were inconsistencies.

For one, she didn’t take notes.

She didn’t even pretend to.

Instead, she would lean back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers, tapping out some erratic rhythm against the desk, blue braids draped lazily over her shoulder like she belonged anywhere but here.

Then there were the notes.

           You’re staring. 

Viktor frowned as he read the slip of paper she had slid onto his desk, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She was grinning, chin propped up on her hand, eyes sharp and teasing.

He ignored it.

A few minutes later, another one.

           What, do I have something on my face? 

This time, Viktor scribbled a curt response before shoving it back.

           You do not belong here. 

He expected offense. Annoyance, maybe. Instead, she snorted, smirking as she read it.

           Neither do you. 

Viktor clenched his jaw, but before he could formulate a response, the professor’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Miss Jinx, if you could refrain from distracting your classmates—”

“Oh, you know me, Prof,” she drawled, not the least bit concerned. “I just like keeping things interesting.”

The professor sighed but said nothing more. No warning, no penalty, not even a reprimand.

Favoritism.

It had to be.

Viktor frowned as he turned his attention back to the lecture, but now, he was more distracted than before.

It wasn’t until the next week that Viktor overheard the truth.

He was in the hallway, adjusting his cane as he walked past the faculty lounge, when he caught the tail end of a conversation.

“She doesn’t even need these classes,” one professor was saying. “She’s already got her Master’s.”

“She just likes playing around,” another replied. “It’s Jinx. She does whatever the hell she wants.”

Viktor stopped in his tracks.

Master’s?

He turned the words over in his mind, skeptical. Jinx, the girl who spent half of class doodling shapes on the edges of her notebook like they were jokes, already had her Master’s?

It didn’t add up.

That afternoon, he confronted her.

“You are lying.”

Jinx blinked up at him, a chip halfway to her mouth. “Huh?”

“Your degree.” Viktor leveled her with a stare. “You already have your Master’s.”

“Yup.”

“Then why are you here?”

Jinx grinned, tossing the chip into her mouth and brushing her hands off. “For fun.”

Viktor’s patience wore thin. “That is not an answer.”

“It’s my answer.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Why do you care so much?”

Because it didn’t make sense.

Because she didn’t fit.

Because Viktor had spent years clawing his way through academia, pushing past every obstacle in his way, and she—she sat there with that infuriating smirk, breezing through lectures like they were a joke.

He hated anomalies.

And Jinx was the biggest anomaly of all.

---

The first time Jinx walked into the café, Viktor almost pretended he hadn’t seen her.

He was behind the counter, already halfway through an order, when that familiar flash of blue caught his eye. His hands hesitated for just a second before he forced himself to keep working. Maybe—just maybe—if he ignored her, she would leave.

No such luck.

Her gaze landed on him, and the moment recognition sparked, her entire face lit up with amusement. She sauntered up to the counter, arms resting against it as she tapped her chin.

“Well, well, well.”

Viktor sighed. “No.”

Jinx blinked innocently. “No, what?”

“No, I do not have the patience for this.”

Her grin widened. “Aw, come on, Viks, don’t be like that. I didn’t know you worked here!”

“I highly doubt that.”

Jinx hummed, rocking back on her heels as she glanced up at the menu. “Hmm… what do I want…”

Viktor knew a time-waster when he saw one. “Decide quickly.”

She ignored him.

Instead, she leaned forward conspiratorially, voice dropping to a stage whisper. “Hey. Be honest. Which drink on the menu is the most ridiculous?”

Viktor exhaled through his nose. “What do you want, Jinx?”

She grinned. “Surprise me.”

That was when Viktor decided to make her suffer.

With slow, methodical precision, he made her the most no-nonsense, no-frills, bitter-as-hell black coffee. No sugar. No milk. Nothing to cut through the taste. Just pure, unapologetic caffeine.

Jinx took one sip and immediately gagged.

“Ugh—” She smacked her lips, staring down at the cup with a betrayed expression. “Bitter, judgmental, and emotionally unavailable—just like you.”

Viktor smirked. “Then perhaps it is a perfect match.”

To his surprise, she didn’t leave it unfinished. She grimaced, shuddered, and then—despite everything—downed the entire thing.

And then she came back.

The next day, same time, same grin.

She tried ordering something different. Viktor, in turn, started deliberately getting her orders wrong. She asked for a vanilla latte? He gave her straight espresso. She asked for a caramel macchiato? He handed her a matcha tea.

She never complained.

No matter what he made her, she always finished it.

And to his increasing horror, she started tipping him well. Very well.

Viktor had no idea what her game was, but he was almost certain she was doing this just to mess with him.

Then came the nickname.

The first time she said it, he nearly dropped a coffee cup.

“Thanks, Grumpy Espresso Daddy,” Jinx chirped as she snatched her drink from the counter.

Viktor froze mid-motion, eyes snapping to her with barely concealed horror. “Excuse me?”

She winked. “See you tomorrow, Viks.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Viktor exhaled slowly, massaging his temple.

He was never getting rid of her, was he?

---

Viktor did not—under any circumstances—want to be part of a charity auction.

It wasn’t that he was against charity, per se. But standing on a stage like some kind of prize to be bought for the day? That was not something he had ever envisioned for himself.

Unfortunately, he had an elective credit to fulfill, and his professor had framed it as “a great opportunity to engage with the community.” Which was ridiculous because he did not want to engage with the community. He wanted to go back to his lab, drink tea, and be left alone.

But no.

He was here.

And the worst part? He and the other volunteers weren’t even allowed to see the bidding process. They had to wait backstage, like cattle up for auction, until their fate was determined.

So when it was all over, and he was handed a slip of paper with the name of the person who had “won” him for the day, he stared at it in disbelief.

Jinx.

He should have known.

When he finally saw her, he was still trying to process it. “You—you bid on me?”

Jinx smirked. “Yeah, well, someone had to.”

Viktor sputtered. “I was trying to keep a low profile.”

She winked. “Not anymore.”

To his surprise, Jinx didn’t drag him anywhere ridiculous. No extreme sports, no elaborate pranks—just a casual day wandering the city, grabbing food, stopping at interesting little stores.

And to his even greater surprise—he was enjoying himself.

He liked the way she walked, never quite in a straight line, always full of restless energy, like she was pulled in a dozen directions at once. He liked the way she talked, unfiltered and unapologetic, bouncing from topic to topic like a pinball machine.

And damn it all—he liked the way she looked at him. Like she saw right through all his guarded sarcasm and enjoyed poking at what lay underneath.

At some point, as they sat on the steps of a fountain, eating ice cream, Jinx nudged his arm. “Hey.”

Viktor glanced at her. “What?”

She held out her phone. “Give me your number.”

Viktor hesitated, but—he handed his phone to her in return. A moment later, she was saved in his contacts.

“Just so you know,” Jinx said, grinning, “I’m a terrible texter. But I do pick up calls.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Who still calls people?”

She shrugged. “Me.”

---

It started unexpectedly.

One night, Viktor’s phone buzzed at nearly midnight. He frowned at the caller ID. Jinx.

He picked up. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yup.” A pause. “You weren’t sleeping anyway.”

Viktor scowled. “…That is beside the point.”

But he didn’t hang up.

Somehow, that first call turned into a habit.

Jinx didn’t sleep much. Neither did Viktor. Some nights, they talked about everything—science, philosophy, why pigeons were clearly government spies. Other nights, they just sat in silence, the quiet hum of the call stretching between them, a strange sort of comfort.

Viktor found himself wanting her voice in those late hours.

He liked the way she rambled, the way her mind jumped from thought to thought with reckless abandon. He liked how her voice softened sometimes, playful teasing melting into something almost… thoughtful.

It went on for days. Weeks.

And then, finally—one night, as Jinx was mid-rant about some movie she’d just watched, Viktor interrupted.

“Go out with me.”

Jinx stopped. “…Huh?”

Viktor swallowed, gripping his phone a little tighter. “A date. With me. Properly.”

There was a pause. Then—slowly—he heard her grin through the phone.

“Took you long enough.”

Viktor thought he might regret asking Jinx out.

Not because he didn’t want to—obviously he did, or he wouldn’t have asked—but because Jinx was unpredictable. Chaotic. He had no idea what to expect from her, and that was a deeply unsettling thing for someone who preferred control.

But when he arrived at their agreed-upon meeting spot, he realized immediately—he had made the right decision.

Jinx was already waiting for him, dressed… differently than usual. No oversized hoodie, no combat boots—just a short black dress, casual but effortlessly eye-catching, paired with a cropped leather jacket that somehow made her look even more like trouble.

She grinned when she saw him. “Wow, look at you.”

Viktor arched a brow. “I should be saying the same.”

Jinx twirled, just to be dramatic. “Like what you see, Grumpy?”

Viktor cleared his throat, ignoring the warmth creeping up his neck. “Are you going to behave tonight?”

She winked. “No promises.”

---

To Viktor’s absolute bafflement, Jinx turned out to be… a good date.

He had expected her to be distracting, maybe even a little obnoxious. But no—she was fun. Easy to talk to. She made him laugh (which was deeply annoying because he had not planned on doing that).

And the best part?

She held his hand.

Not in a big, dramatic way. No teasing, no over-the-top gestures—just quiet, casual contact, her fingers sliding between his like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she didn’t even have to think about it.

Viktor did, though. A lot.

She didn’t let go. And he didn’t want her to.

By the time the night was winding down, Viktor was already mentally reviewing every moment, filing them away for further analysis. Why had this gone so well? Was he actually enjoying himself this much? Was he in danger?

And then Jinx turned to him with a lazy smile, stepping a little closer.

“Thanks for taking me out, Viks.”

Before he could respond, she leaned in—pressed a light, fleeting kiss to his cheek—and then pulled back like it was nothing.

Nothing at all.

Meanwhile, Viktor was fairly certain his brain had short-circuited.

Jinx, of course, noticed. Smirking, she tilted her head. “Aw. Did I break you?”

Viktor blinked, mouth opening—closing—opening again. His fingers brushed the spot where her lips had been, as if trying to confirm that, yes, that had just happened.

Jinx just grinned. “Don’t worry, brainiac. I’ll give you time to process.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Viktor standing there, dazed.

…Yeah.

No regrets.

---

Spending time with Jinx had become second nature now.

They didn’t plan it, not really—it just happened. Some days, she would pop up on campus, falling into step beside him like she had always been there. Other times, he’d find himself texting her, asking if she wanted to get food or wander the city.

Tonight, though, was different.

Tonight, Viktor had—against his better judgment—invited her to his dorm. He hadn’t expected her to show up armed with a duffel bag full of board games, but at this point, he really should have.

Jinx took board games very seriously.

Viktor played to win.

This, as it turned out, was a dangerous combination.

What started as a simple, friendly evening quickly spiraled into an all-out war.

Monopoly had been a mistake.

Viktor had built an empire—smart investments, strategic plays. He was winning. Until Jinx, grinning like a fox, stole everything.

He stared down at the board, horrified.

“You just betrayed me,” he muttered as she snatched up his hard-earned properties.

Jinx smirked, completely unapologetic. “Sorry, babe. Capitalism.”

Viktor exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. “I hope you lose.”

Jinx winked. “I never lose.”

Jinx did win.

Twice.

Viktor, scowling, insisted on switching games. 

Chess. She lost. 

Risk. She won. 

Poker. They were even.

It was nearing three in the morning, but neither of them would admit defeat.

Viktor had played against intelligent people before. But Jinx was ruthless. Cunning. Smarter than she let on, and even worse—she made it fun.

By the time they finally called a truce, Jinx was sprawled out on his bed, laughing as she shuffled a deck of cards. Viktor sat across from her, arms crossed, exhaustion pulling at him—but he wasn’t annoyed.

If anything, he was impressed.

Jinx caught him staring and smirked. “What, finally realizing I’m a genius?”

Viktor shook his head, lips twitching. “Realizing I should never trust you with money, strategy, or power.”

She grinned. “Too late, babe. You’re stuck with me now.”

Viktor didn’t mind a bit. 

---

The laboratory was supposed to be silent after hours, the hum of the overhead fluorescents the only company for those diligent enough to stay behind. Viktor, ever the dedicated student, had no qualms about extra credit—especially when it involved something as intriguing as refining hextech circuitry for enhanced conductivity.

What he did have qualms about, however, was her.

Jinx was officially his lab partner. Unofficially? She was an absolute menace.

She had tagged along under the guise of helping, but Viktor had long since realized that "helping" was not in her vocabulary. Instead, she had taken up residence on the professor’s desk, stretching out like a cat in the sun, one arm draped lazily over the side, the other twirling a stray component between her fingers. The faint scent of oil and gunpowder clung to her, mixing with the sharp, sterile tang of the lab.

Viktor hunched over his workstation, attempting—desperately—to tune out her presence. He adjusted the wiring on the device in front of him, his fingers steady, precise. If he could just focus—

"Click."

His eyes snapped to her. She had just picked up his pipette and was twirling it like a baton, lips curling into that infuriating grin.

"You should focus," Viktor muttered, attempting to wrest his attention back to the project, not to the way her shirt had ridden up just slightly, exposing a sliver of skin above her belt.

"Oh, I am."

Her voice was honeyed mischief, and when he glanced up, her gaze wasn’t on his work at all.

It was on his lips.

Viktor swallowed. His grip on the scoopula in his hand tightened, but not as much as the knot coiling in his stomach. Jinx’s grin widened, all sharp teeth and wicked amusement, as if she could see exactly what she was doing to him.

"Jinx—" His voice was a warning, though how much of it was directed at her and how much at himself was debatable.

She merely hummed, rolling onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. "C’mon, Professor’s not here. You could stand to loosen up a little."

Viktor exhaled sharply, turning his attention back to his work with determined precision. "Unlike you, I care about completing our assignment."

"And I care about seeing how red your face can get when I tease you," she shot back, kicking her legs idly against the desk.

He did not dignify that with a response.

Jinx giggled, twirling the pipette again before finally setting it down with a loud clunk. Then, as if sensing just how far she could push, she leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.

"Bet I could distract you even more."

Viktor inhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenching. "Do not test me, Jinx."

That was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Because the glint in her eyes promised one thing—she absolutely would.

---

Viktor prided himself on being a man of logic. Equations made sense. Chemical bonds were predictable. Heat plus fuel plus oxygen equaled fire. Cause and effect, reaction and result. Science was his sanctuary, a world where chaos was tamed by careful calculation.

Jinx? Jinx was a goddamn disaster.

"You're stirring too fast," Viktor said, his voice tight with exasperation as he watched her swirl the beaker in reckless circles, the dark liquid inside sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

"Aw, c’mon, Viks, live a little." Jinx grinned, lips curling around a lollipop stick she’d somehow smuggled into the lab. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Viktor narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. "Given the volatility of these compounds? An explosion."

Jinx perked up like a cat spotting a dangling string. "Ooooh. Now you’re speaking my language."

Viktor exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the edge of the lab table as if it alone could anchor him in the storm that was Jinx. Of all the people he could have been paired with for the science fair, fate—or, more accurately, their sadistic chemistry teacher—had seen fit to saddle him with the one student who considered safety goggles a fashion choice rather than a necessity.

"Do not—" He grabbed her wrist just as she reached for a beaker labeled HIGHLY REACTIVE. "Touch. That."

Jinx pouted. "You're no fun."

"I'm fun in ways that do not involve potential third-degree burns," he countered, releasing her reluctantly. She had paint-stained nails, chipped and bright blue and pink. He refused to linger on how soft her skin felt beneath his calloused fingertips. Now that he thought about it, where were her gloves?

"Yeah, yeah." She waved him off and turned toward the Bunsen burner, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Anyway, science is about experimentation, right?"

Viktor stiffened. "Jinx, whatever you are thinking, do not—"

She knocked over a flask.

The sharp scent of chemicals filled the air as a viscous, honey-colored liquid splattered across Viktor’s lab coat, soaking into the fabric almost instantly. He went rigid, inhaling sharply as the cool substance clung to his chest.

Jinx gasped dramatically, hands flying to her mouth. "Oops."

Viktor closed his eyes. Counted to five. Breathed through his nose. He could not kill his lab partner who also happened to be his girlfriend. That would be a waste of intellect and, more importantly, his spotless academic record.

Jinx, meanwhile, was biting her lip to keep from laughing. "Vikky," she purred, stepping closer, tilting her head. "Looks like you’re gonna have to take that off."

He met her gaze, unamused. "Do not."

"Rules are rules," she singsonged, nodding toward the lab safety poster on the wall. "Contaminated clothing should be removed immediately to avoid chemical burns. Guess that means—"

Viktor sighed through gritted teeth and, with great reluctance, unfastened the buttons of his coat. He shrugged it off, revealing the simple black t-shirt beneath, thin enough to hint at the sharp angles of his collarbones, the defined lines of lean muscle usually hidden under layers of wool and cotton.

Jinx let out a low whistle. "Well, damn, babe. Who knew?"

Viktor rolled his eyes, folding the ruined coat with surgical precision. "If you are done gawking—"

"Oh, I am definitely not done." Jinx leaned against the counter, chin propped on her hand, unabashed in her scrutiny. "You been hiding all that under your nerd gear this whole time? What else are you packing, huh?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jinx."

"What?" She smirked. "Just appreciating the science of it all. You know, chemical reactions, bodily responses…" She trailed a finger up his forearm, and he felt the smirk in her voice when she murmured, "That's just science, baby. And it kinda seems like I’m getting a reaction out of you, Vik."

Viktor swallowed. "You are hopeless."

"Add it to the list." She winked. "Now, c’mon, let's see what else we can make explode."

Viktor had a sinking feeling she wasn’t just talking about the experiment.

---

Viktor still isn’t sure how Jinx pulled this off.

The restaurant is absurdly fancy. The kind of place that has gold-plated cutlery, candlelit tables, and a sommelier who won’t stop refilling his wine glass. The kind of place that Viktor would never step foot in voluntarily—mostly because he can’t afford it.

And yet, here he is.

Sitting across from Jinx, in a private booth lined with velvet cushions, staring down at a menu with no prices listed (which is never a good sign). The wine in his glass is older than both of them combined. The waiter is dressed better than Viktor on his best day.

It’s ridiculous.

“What are you thinking, Viks?” Jinx props her chin up on her hand, watching him with barely concealed amusement.

“I am thinking,” he says dryly, “that we will be washing dishes to pay for this meal.”

Jinx snorts, swirling her wine lazily. “Nah. Don’t worry about it.”

Viktor narrows his eyes. “That is not an answer.”

“It’s my answer.” She grins, echoing the same words she’d used months ago when he first asked why she was in his class.

He sighs, exasperated. “Jinx—”

“Relax,” she interrupts, nudging his foot under the table. “You stress too much.”

Viktor huffs. “Yes, well, I have to balance out your lack of stress.”

She smirks. “Sounds like we compliment each other perfectly.”

Unfortunately, she has a point.

He should have refused. He should have asked more questions. But Jinx had shown up at his dorm earlier that evening, grinning ear to ear, waving around a suit jacket like she expected him to wear it.

(He did. Begrudgingly.)

And now, an hour and several glasses of absurdly expensive wine later, he’s here.

With her.

Jinx leans forward suddenly, resting her elbow on the table, studying him with that sharp, knowing look—the one that always makes him feel like she sees right through him.

“Vik.”

He lifts a brow. “Hm?”

“Are you having fun?”

Viktor pauses.

Objectively, he should be miserable. The food is overpriced, the atmosphere is suffocatingly posh, and he still has no idea how Jinx managed to get a reservation here, let alone pay for it.

And yet—

She’s here.

Kicking his foot under the table. Smirking at him over the rim of her glass. Looking at him like he’s something interesting, something worth watching.

Viktor exhales, tipping his glass toward her in a silent toast. “You are insufferable.”

Jinx grins, clinking her glass against his. “Takes one to know one, babe.”

She drinks. He follows.

And just like that, the night blurs into warmth, into laughter, into the quiet realization that he is well and truly doomed.

By the time they stumble back to his dorm, the world is pleasantly unsteady.

Jinx is humming something off-key, twirling ahead of him in lazy circles, her braid whipping through the air. Viktor trails behind, slightly more composed but still feeling the effects of the wine. Her heels click against the pavement as they navigate the dimly lit campus, the cold air biting at his skin.

He should tell her to go home.

He doesn’t.

Instead, when they reach his door, Jinx turns to him, swaying slightly on her feet. “Hey, Viks.”

He sighs. “What now?”

She steps closer.

Close enough that he can see the way her pupils are blown wide, the way her lips curve just slightly at the edges, the way she’s looking at him like he’s something worth chasing.

Viktor swallows.

Jinx tilts her head, voice low and teasing. “Gonna invite me in, or are you gonna leave a lady out in the cold?”

Viktor should say no.

He doesn’t.

The door clicks shut behind them.

And then—nothing is quiet.

---

Jinx woke up to the soft weight of Viktor’s arm draped over her waist, his warmth pressed against her back. The scent of tea, old books, and something uniquely him clung to the sheets.

Huh.

Didn’t think she’d ever wake up like this.

Her fingers flexed against the sheets, mind still sluggish with sleep, trying to process. The previous night came back in flickers—soft laughter, stolen glances, fingers tracing over skin like careful blueprints. Viktor, hesitant at first, but sharp-eyed and focused as always, studying her every reaction like she was the most complex equation he’d ever tried to solve.

And now? Now they were here.

Jinx turned her head, expecting him to still be asleep, but—no. He was awake. Awake, and staring at her like he wasn’t entirely sure she was real.

For once, she didn’t have a quip ready.

They just looked at each other, the silence stretching between them, thick with things neither of them knew how to say. 

She smirks, voice still rough with sleep. “Been staring long, brainiac?”

Viktor doesn’t answer right away. He just exhales slowly, gaze flickering over her face, tracing the curve of her lips, the mess of blue hair splayed across his pillow. Then—softly, like it’s a fact he’s only just discovered—

“You are beautiful.”

Jinx freezes.

For all her sharp edges, for all her easy grins and reckless words, she doesn’t know how to process that. Compliments, she can handle. Teasing, she can dish out. But this?

This is different.

This is real.

Heat crawls up her neck, unfamiliar and irritating, and she scoffs, reaching out to flick his forehead. “Sap.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, catching her wrist before she can retreat. He holds it, just for a second, fingers brushing against hers in a way that makes her pulse skip for reasons she refuses to acknowledge.

Then he shifts closer, burying his face against the crook of her neck, voice muffled and lazy. “Mm. Maybe.”

Jinx blinks.

Okay. This is new.

This is very new.

The Viktor she knows is sharp edges and careful control, measured movements and narrowed eyes. He doesn’t do soft. He doesn’t do casual affection. And yet—here he is, pressed up against her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he isn’t even thinking about it.

Like maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where he wants to be.

Jinx stares at the ceiling again, mind running in circles.

Yeah.

They are completely screwed.

 

Chapter 92: Gunpowder and Gold

Summary:

Jinx grinned, slow and wicked. “Why you wanna know?”

Viktor sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Jinx—”

“I stabbed him.” She lifted a finger, making a small thrusting motion. “Right in the gut. Deep enough to make him bleed all over those fancy sheets.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “But he didn’t die quick. Nah, he squirmed for a while, gasping like a damn fish.” She rolled her eyes. “Was pathetic, really.”

Viktor felt a heaviness settle in his chest. Not because of what she had done—but because of what had been done to her.

Jinx stretched, arms raising over her head as she sighed. “Anyway, after that, I set the place on fire. Seemed like a fitting goodbye, don’t you think?”

Viktor shook his head, muttering, “Jesus, Jinx.”

She smirked. “That’s Mrs. Dead Husband to you.”

Notes:

Another result of a fan art posted in the Jinxtor server 🙈—a Red Dead Redemption 2 AU!

It was following a plot in the beginning, but I gave up on it quick, lol.

The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and the lingering smoke of campfires long extinguished. Somewhere in the distance, the hoot of an owl broke the silence, but Viktor paid it no mind. He sat on a wooden crate by the dying embers of his fire, sharpening his knife in slow, methodical strokes. The weight of the long years sat deep in his bones, his once-proud frame thinner, wearier, a man carved hollow by the life he had chosen.

A life of crime, of running, of always looking over his shoulder.

The world had no patience for men like him, men without a home, without a family, without a future. And yet, for all the lawmen that hunted him, for all the blood he'd spilled, it wasn’t the past that haunted him most—it was her.

He had spent his life running, but no matter how far he went, one thing always found him.

Memories.

Powder.

She came to him in quiet moments, like a ghost he couldn’t shake. He saw her in the flicker of a candle, in the way the wind carried laughter through the trees, in the soft blue glow of the twilight sky.

She had been his once. A lifetime ago, when he was still foolish enough to believe in happy endings.

He could still remember the way she clung to him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"He’s trying to give me away!"

She had been desperate, her fingers curled around his sleeve like he was her only lifeline. He had wanted to fight for her, wanted to take her away, to tell Silco to go to hell and carve out a life for the two of them.

But what kind of life could he have given her?

He hadn’t heard her name in years. But in the quiet nights, when whiskey did little to drown the memories, she came back to him. Her voice, the soft blue of her eyes, the way she used to laugh, unburdened by the weight of the world. 

"She deserves better than you," Silco had said, cold and cruel, like the edge of a knife. "A man like you would ruin her, Viktor. You’d turn her into something monstrous, and I won’t allow it."

And maybe the old bastard had been right.

Because the last time Viktor saw Powder, she had been standing in front of him, small hands tightly gripping her dress, desperate.

"Vikky, please don’t let him take me."

He had wanted to. Hell, every part of him had screamed to take her away, to steal her from the life Silco had sold her into. But Viktor knew what it was like to live on the run, what it was like to sleep with a gun beneath his pillow and never know if the next dawn would be his last. And Powder? She had never been built for that.

So he let her go.

He turned his back and walked away and let her be married to some rich bastard in a house with white pillars and chandeliers that shined like gold.

She would have a warm bed, fine clothes, security—everything he could never give her.

Or so he thought.

Because months later, whispers spread across the country. About a runaway bride. About a dead man, blood pooling beneath silk sheets. About a woman with wild blue hair and a gun strapped to her hip.

And then Powder was gone.

No longer the girl he loved.

Now just a name on a bounty poster.

Now just Jinx.

Years passed. The world changed. The gang fell apart, one man at a time. Some got themselves killed, some vanished into the dust, and others—like Viktor—just kept running, held together by nothing more than stubbornness and regret.

It was in a small town called Briar’s Hollow that he saw her again.

Jinx.

She was leaning against the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand, talking to some poor bastard who had no idea the devil was sitting beside him. The saloon lights cast a golden glow over her, illuminating the tattoos on her arms, the guns strapped at her waist, the wicked smirk that curled her lips.

She wasn’t Powder anymore.

This woman—this outlaw—had blood on her hands and madness in her eyes.

Viktor knew he should walk away. Hell, he had every reason to. He had spent years telling himself she was better off without him, that he had done the right thing letting her go. But the moment her gaze flicked up, locking onto his, he knew he had been lying to himself.

"Well, well," she drawled, voice thick with amusement. "Ain’t this a surprise."

"Jinx."

She tsked, swirling the whiskey in her glass. "Funny. You used to call me Powder."

"Powder is dead."

"You’re right." She smirked, tilting her head. "Aren’t you the one who killed her?"

Silence stretched between them. The years apart, the words left unsaid, the things neither of them could take back—it all sat there, heavy and unspoken.

"You look good, Vikky," she said, her voice softening just a little. "Didn’t think you’d still be breathin’ after all these years. Thought for sure someone would’ve put a bullet in you by now."

"Maybe they should have."

Jinx chuckled. "Now that’s the Viktor I remember. Always so damn fatalistic." She stepped closer, her boots clicking against the floorboards. "Tell me, you still running with that sorry excuse for a gang, or did you finally figure out they ain’t worth dying for?"

Viktor exhaled, shaking his head. "They’re gone."

"Gone?" Jinx lifted a brow. "Dead, or just ghosts like you?"

"Both."

Jinx hummed, tapping a finger against her chin. "So you’re just a lone drifter now, huh? No gang. No home. No real reason to keep going, except for the fact that you don’t know how to stop."

"You always did have a way with words."

"And you always did have a way of breaking hearts."

The words cut deeper than they should have. But Viktor held her gaze, unwilling to look away.

"I thought I was doing right by you," he admitted, his voice quiet. "I thought you deserved more."

Jinx stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled, slow and bitter.

"And look where that got us."

She turned away, downing the rest of her whiskey in one gulp. Then she tossed a coin onto the bar and adjusted the guns at her waist.

Viktor didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He just met her gaze, seeing the fury, the grief, the hurt still festering beneath the bravado.

"You’re angry," he said.

Jinx laughed, a bitter, broken thing. "Angry? No, Vikky, I ain't angry." She leaned in, close enough that he could smell the whiskey on her breath. "I’m furious."

He should’ve stopped her then. He should’ve reached for her, said something—anything—to keep her from walking away. But she turned on her heel and strode out of the saloon, her coat billowing behind her like the wings of a fallen angel.

And Viktor knew, deep in his bones, that he had lost Powder once.

But this time, he might’ve lost Jinx for good.

---

The gunfire had already begun before Viktor arrived.

He heard it from a mile out, the sharp cracks of revolvers echoing through the valley, followed by the desperate shouts of men trying to fight off something—or someone—they were never meant to beat.

Viktor pulled his horse to a stop at the edge of a rocky overlook, staring down at the chaos unfolding below.

There were at least seven of them—bounty hunters, judging by their dust-covered coats and the glint of their rifles. They had surrounded a lone figure by the cliffs, the fire of their gun barrels illuminating the jagged rockface in flashes of yellow light.

Viktor didn’t need to guess who they were after.

Jinx.

She moved like smoke, slipping between bullets, laughter rising above the carnage like some kind of demented war song. She fired without hesitation, without fear, dropping men one after another with the precision of someone who had long since forgotten what mercy looked like.

A man lunged at her from the side.

She spun, knife flashing in the moonlight, and buried the blade deep into his gut.

Viktor swore under his breath.

She had always been wild, but this?

This was something else.

The last bounty hunter, a grizzled man with a shotgun, raised his weapon, aiming for Jinx’s back.

Viktor didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

He drew his own pistol and fired.

The bounty hunter staggered, clutching his chest before dropping to the ground, blood pooling in the dirt beneath him.

Jinx froze.

Slowly, she turned, her expression unreadable as she stared up at the overlook.

Viktor felt his breath catch.

This wasn’t the Powder he had once known.

This wasn’t the girl who used to cling to his arm, laughing at the way he always scowled after losing a game of poker.

This was something sharper. Harder.

She looked like she had been carved from violence itself, shaped by years of bloodshed and regret.

And yet, when her eyes met his, something flickered beneath all that madness.

Recognition.

Viktor nudged his horse forward, making his way down the slope toward her. His boots hit the dirt with a dull thud as he dismounted, stepping over the bodies scattered around her feet.

Jinx watched him with a smirk, wiping the blood off her knife before tucking it back into her belt.

“‘Bout time, Vikky,” she said, tilting her head. “Took you long enough.”

Viktor exhaled, shaking his head. “You have a bounty on your head, you know.”

“Yeah? You gonna turn me in?”

He studied her for a long moment.

Jinx had always been trouble—always been reckless. But there had been a time when she was his trouble. His reckless, blue-haired firecracker who had wanted nothing more than to run away with him.

And he had let her go.

Now, years later, she stood before him, guns in hand, blood on her hands.

If he had saved her that night, if he had ridden away with her instead of walking away, would things have been different?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Either way, it didn’t matter now.

Because here she was.

And she was asking him a question.

Viktor sighed, sliding his pistol back into his holster.

“No.”

Jinx raised a brow. “No?”

“I’m not turning you in.”

She smirked, stepping closer, her boots crunching against the gravel. “Then what are you gonna do, Vikky?”

Viktor hesitated.

He thought about all the years he had spent running, about the gang he had watched fall apart piece by piece. He thought about the ghosts that haunted his every step, about the weight of every decision he had ever made.

He thought about how, no matter where he went, he always seemed to end up back in front of her.

And for the first time in a long time, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

“I reckon I’m gonna run with you.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Jinx grinned.

A grin that was equal parts amusement and disbelief, a grin that had just the faintest traces of something softer—something almost relieved.

“Well, shit,” she muttered, holstering her guns. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

Viktor huffed a small, tired laugh.

“Neither did I.”

Jinx glanced at the bodies around them, then back at him. “You do realize what this means, right?”

“Means I’ve finally lost my mind?”

“Means you’re stuck with me now, Vikky,” she corrected, wagging a finger at him. “No backsies. You ride with me, you’re in it for real.”

Viktor gave her a look. “Jinx, I’ve been ‘in it’ since the day I met you.”

She blinked.

For a brief moment, something passed over her expression—something real, something unmistakably Powder.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Jinx whistled, calling her horse from the trees. The dark-coated mare trotted toward her, kicking up dust as she stopped beside her outlaw rider.

Jinx swung herself into the saddle, then glanced down at Viktor.

“Well?” she drawled. “You coming or what?”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head as he mounted his own horse.

“Suppose I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?”

“Nope.”

Jinx spurred her horse forward, grinning as she called over her shoulder—

“Try to keep up, Vikky!”

And with that, she took off, riding fast and wild into the night, her laughter ringing out beneath the stars.

Viktor hesitated for only a second before following.

For better or worse, his fate was sealed.

He had walked away from her once.

But this time?

This time, he wasn’t going anywhere.

---

The night stretched wide and endless above them, stars blinking like old secrets long forgotten. A fire crackled between them, casting long shadows against the trees, its embers swirling up into the cool night air like ghosts escaping into the dark.

Jinx sat cross-legged on the ground, twirling a knife between her fingers, the firelight catching on its gleaming edge. Viktor sat across from her, one leg stretched out, the other bent as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knee, watching her in silence.

It had been a long day of riding—longer for him than for her. Jinx was untamed, moving like the wind itself, and Viktor had spent most of the ride just trying to keep up.

Now, with the fire between them and the quiet settling in, Viktor finally asked the question that had been clawing at the back of his mind.

“What happened?”

Jinx flicked her eyes up from her knife, lips curling in a slow, knowing smirk. “You’ll have to be more specific, Vikky. A lot of things happened.”

Viktor held her gaze, unamused. “You know what I mean.”

Jinx sighed dramatically, tossing the knife into the dirt beside her. “Fine, fine,” she drawled. “You wanna know how I killed ol’ what’s-his-name?”

Viktor didn’t say anything, just waited.

Jinx leaned back, resting her weight on her palms as she stared up at the stars. “I don’t even remember his damn name anymore,” she said, almost absently. “Ain’t that somethin’? Silco made such a fuss about him. Acted like he was some grand prize I should be grateful for.”

Her voice dripped with mockery, but there was something underneath it—something sharp and bitter.

Viktor stayed quiet.

Jinx exhaled, shaking her head. “He was old. Rich. Thought that made him important.” She scoffed. “Silco said he’d take care of me. Said I’d have a good life.” She looked back at Viktor then, her expression darkening. “You ever notice how when men say that, what they really mean is ownership?”

Viktor clenched his jaw but didn’t speak.

Jinx sat forward, elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped together loosely. “He wanted to ‘seal the deal,’ y’know,” she continued, voice quieter now. “Didn’t even wait. Thought he could just take what he wanted.”

Her fingers twitched.

“Guess he found out real quick that some things ain’t his to take.”

Viktor studied her, the firelight flickering in her wild blue eyes. “How did you do it?”

Jinx grinned, slow and wicked. “Why you wanna know?”

Viktor sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Jinx—”

“I stabbed him.” She lifted a finger, making a small thrusting motion. “Right in the gut. Deep enough to make him bleed all over those fancy sheets.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “But he didn’t die quick. Nah, he squirmed for a while, gasping like a damn fish.” She rolled her eyes. “Was pathetic, really.”

Viktor felt a heaviness settle in his chest. Not because of what she had done—but because of what had been done to her.

Jinx stretched, arms raising over her head as she sighed. “Anyway, after that, I set the place on fire. Seemed like a fitting goodbye, don’t you think?”

Viktor shook his head, muttering, “Jesus, Jinx.”

She smirked. “That’s Mrs. Dead Husband to you.”

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled, the wind whispered through the trees, and the weight of the past settled thick between them.

Finally, Viktor spoke again. “Did you ever regret it?”

Jinx’s expression flickered—something unreadable flashing across her face.

Then, she grinned. “Not for a damn second.”

She plucked her knife from the dirt and leaned back again, resting against her saddle. “Now,” she said, tilting her head, “you done asking boring questions, or can we talk about something fun?”

Viktor exhaled, shaking his head. “You never change.”

Jinx smirked. “That’s why you love me.”

Viktor didn’t answer.

Jinx didn’t push him to.

The night stretched on, and the fire burned low.

And somewhere between the silence and the flickering light, Viktor wondered if the girl he had once known had truly died that night.

Or if some part of her had been reborn in the flames.

---

The embers of the dying fire smoldered in the early dawn hush. A pale blue light had begun creeping over the horizon, casting long shadows against the trees. The world was still, save for the occasional rustle of the wind through the dry grass.

Viktor stirred, shifting in his bedroll. The air was cooler than before, the absence of the fire’s warmth sending a faint shiver up his spine. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and sat up, running a hand through his hair.

Something felt… off.

His gaze swept over their small camp, and it didn’t take him long to notice what was missing.

Jinx.

His eyes darted to the spot where she had been lying just hours ago. Her bedroll was empty, the blankets kicked aside, as if she had left in a hurry.

But Fishbones—her horse—was still tied up beside his.

Wherever she had gone, she had gone on foot.

A frown creased Viktor’s brow as he pushed himself to his feet, his joints protesting after another night sleeping on the hard ground. He grabbed both horses' reins, keeping them steady as he stepped away from the camp, scanning the area.

No sign of her.

Viktor exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath. Where the hell did you go, Jinx?

Leading the horses, he began walking, boots crunching against the dirt. He listened, tuning into the quiet sounds of the world waking up around him—the birds beginning their morning song, the distant rustle of a rabbit darting through the underbrush.

Then, he heard it.

The faint, rhythmic sound of water rippling.

Viktor turned toward the source, weaving through the trees. The scent of damp earth grew stronger, the crisp bite of morning air thick with the coolness of water nearby.

And then he saw her.

The pool was nestled in a clearing, framed by smooth river rocks and overgrown reeds. The water was still, save for the gentle movements of the figure standing at its shallow edge.

Jinx.

Her back was to him, her silhouette framed by the silver light of the rising sun.

Her signature braids were undone, her long, blue hair tumbling down in wet strands, clinging to the curve of her back. Her hands moved slowly, fingers combing through the tangles, the water glistening on her bare skin.

Viktor felt his breath hitch.

His eyes followed the slow cascade of droplets as they trailed down the length of her spine, disappearing into the water that lapped at her thighs.

And that was when realization struck him like a hammer to the skull.

She was naked.

Heat crawled up his neck, a sharp contrast to the cool air pressing against his skin. He swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the horses' reins as he shifted uncomfortably.

He should look away.

He should.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stood frozen, his body betraying him as his gaze lingered, drinking in every delicate, unguarded movement.

Jinx tilted her head back, eyes closed, her hands sliding down her arms as she let the water wash over her. The morning light kissed the droplets clinging to her, turning them into tiny glimmers against the pale gold of her skin.

She looked… different like this.

Not the wild outlaw who grinned over smoking gun barrels.

Not the reckless woman who laughed in the face of death.

Here, she was something untamed in a different way—raw, untouched by the chaos that usually surrounded her.

A mirage.

Something Viktor wasn’t sure was even real.

A soft, knowing voice pulled him back to reality.

"You just gonna stand there, Vikky?"

His whole body tensed.

Jinx hadn’t turned around, but he could hear the smirk in her voice.

Viktor cleared his throat, dragging his gaze away as if he hadn’t just been staring like a goddamn fool. “I— I was looking for you.”

Jinx chuckled, the sound low and amused. "Found me, didn’t you?"

Viktor exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he muttered, "Christ."

Jinx stretched her arms above her head, water rolling off her in shimmering rivulets. “Didn’t figure you for the peeping type,” she teased.

“I wasn’t—” Viktor started, then caught himself. He scowled. “I wasn’t peeping.”

Jinx turned her head just slightly, giving him a mischievous side glance. “Didn’t look away though, did ya?”

Viktor exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus on anything else—the trees, the damn horses, the fact that he should really walk away from this situation.

Instead, he forced a dry, unimpressed tone. “Next time, maybe leave a note before wandering off in the middle of the night.”

Jinx hummed, stepping forward onto the bank, water dripping down her legs as she moved with casual ease. “What, you worried about me, Vikky?”

“Yes.” The word slipped out faster than he intended, surprising even himself.

Jinx stilled.

For a brief moment, she just looked at him. Really looked.

Then, slowly, a grin spread across her lips.

“Well, ain’t that sweet,” she purred.

Viktor let out a heavy breath, rolling his eyes. “Get dressed, Jinx.”

She laughed, bending down to grab her clothes from the rock where she had left them. “Relax, old man. You act like you ain’t seen me naked before.”

Viktor stiffened. “I haven’t.”

Jinx paused, blinking at him before a wicked smirk curled her lips. “Huh,” she mused. “Well, I guess we oughta fix that sometime.”

Viktor groaned, turning on his heel. “I am leaving.”

Jinx’s laughter rang out behind him, bright and shameless. “Don’t go too far, Vikky! I might need help with these buttons!”

Viktor muttered a string of curses under his breath as he stomped back toward camp, the sound of her laughter following him like a damn ghost.

And try as he might, he couldn’t quite get the image of her out of his head.

---

The town was a dusty little place, barely hanging on the edge of civilization. The kind of place where law and sin blurred together, where folks looked the other way when trouble walked in—so long as that trouble didn’t come knocking on their own door.

Viktor had spent the past hour at the sheriff’s office, leaning over a map covered in cigarette burns and whiskey stains, listening as the deputy rattled off details about a bounty. A man named Turner Briggs—a bank robber who’d killed two marshals before vanishing into the hills.

It was an easy enough job. Find him, drag him back, collect the money.

But Viktor wasn’t alone anymore.

Now, there was Jinx.

And Jinx had a habit of making everything more complicated.

When he was finished getting the information he needed, he stepped out into the evening sun, adjusting the brim of his hat. He glanced down the street toward the saloon—The Dusty Mule, a half-rotted building barely standing under its own weight.

He sighed.

If Jinx wasn’t here waiting for him, he knew exactly where she’d be.

The saloon doors creaked on rusted hinges as he pushed his way inside. The scent of spilled whiskey, old tobacco, and too many unwashed bodies hit him immediately. Laughter and the out-of-tune twang of a piano filled the space, blending with the steady murmur of voices and the clinking of glasses.

And there she was.

Jinx was perched on a barstool, her long legs crossed lazily, a whiskey glass dangling from her fingers. Her blue hair was tied up loosely, wisps of it falling over her shoulders, and her signature smirk was in place.

She wasn’t alone.

Some drunk bastard had taken an interest in her, leaning too close, his breath hot with the stench of cheap liquor. He was older—maybe late forties—with a belly that strained against his sweat-stained shirt and a face that had seen too many bad nights.

His words slurred as he spoke, voice thick with alcohol.

“Y’know, darlin’, I ain’t never seen a girl quite like you…”

Jinx just smiled, tilting her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Oh yeah?”

The man nodded clumsily, his balance swaying. “So damn pretty,” he drawled, his eyes roaming over her in a way Viktor did not like. “Ain’t right for a girl like you to be drinkin’ alone.”

Jinx laughed, swirling her whiskey. “Who said I was alone?”

The man’s grin widened, mistaking her words for encouragement. His hand moved, fingers brushing against the edge of her sleeve, creeping toward her wrist.

And that was when Viktor decided he’d had enough.

He crossed the room in a few easy strides, his presence casting a shadow over the scene.

Jinx saw him first. Her smirk widened slightly, but she didn’t move away from the man’s touch. She was enjoying this. Enjoying watching Viktor’s reaction.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to remain calm.

Then he reached out, gripping the man’s shoulder.

Hard.

The drunk bastard barely had time to react before Viktor was yanking him back, his voice low and cold.

“She isn’t interested.”

The man stumbled, confusion flickering across his face before anger settled in. He turned, squinting at Viktor like he was trying to figure out if picking a fight was worth it.

It wasn’t.

Even in his half-drunken state, the bastard must’ve noticed the look in Viktor’s eyes—the kind that promised things would go real bad, real fast, if he didn’t walk away.

Viktor didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t need to say another word.

The man swallowed hard, muttered something about crazy women under his breath, then staggered away toward another table.

Jinx chuckled. “Well, well, well. Ain’t you just my big, strong hero?”

Viktor shot her a glare. “You were playing with him.”

She shrugged, taking a slow sip of her whiskey. “He was dumb enough to think he had a chance. What’s the harm?”

“The harm,” Viktor said, his voice tight, “is when dumb men like him decide they don’t like being played.”

Jinx smirked, setting down her glass. “Good thing I had you to come save me then.”

Viktor narrowed his eyes. “I should’ve let you handle it yourself.”

Jinx propped her chin on her hand, watching him with an infuriatingly knowing expression. “But you didn’t.”

Viktor clenched his jaw. “You’re reckless.”

She grinned. “You’re jealous.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, stepping back. “I need a damn drink.”

Jinx laughed as he stalked toward the bar, her laughter following him like a ghost.

And as much as Viktor wanted to ignore it…

He couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she was right.

---

The spoils of their latest bounty lay scattered across the ground—bags of coin, a handful of spare ammunition, and a small arsenal of weapons that had been stripped from the dead.

The sun had barely begun to set, the sky burning in shades of gold and crimson, painting long shadows across the earth. They had set up camp just off the road, far enough from town to avoid unwanted company but close enough to trade what they didn’t need come morning.

Jinx crouched beside their winnings, running her fingers over the collection of blades they had acquired—throwing knives, a couple of tomahawks, even a rusted old hatchet that had seen better days.

“Not bad,” she mused, picking up a knife and flipping it between her fingers. “We should keep a few.”

Viktor, standing just behind her, nodded in agreement. “One or two. The rest, we sell.”

Jinx smirked, balancing the blade against her palm. “Shame. I kinda like ‘em.”

“You like anything that can kill a man.”

Jinx laughed. “Ain’t that the truth?”

Viktor shook his head, but his attention drifted toward something else. Amongst the weapons they had claimed, one in particular stood out—a Litchfield Repeater.

A fine rifle.

Reliable. Powerful.

Viktor had no use for it; he already had his trusted Lancaster and a couple of shotguns for close-range fights. But as his eyes swept over to Jinx, he caught something—a flicker of something he wasn’t meant to see.

She was eyeing it.

Her usual smirk was absent, her fingers hovering near the stock as if she were debating whether or not to pick it up. But she didn’t.

She just stared at it, lips pressing together for the briefest moment before she turned away, pretending she wasn’t interested at all.

Viktor wasn’t buying it.

“You want it?”

Jinx blinked, glancing up at him. “What?”

“The rifle,” he said, nodding toward it. “You’ve been looking at it.”

Jinx scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Pffft, no. I— I mean, it’s nice and all, but—” She hesitated. Then, almost too quickly, she muttered, “I don’t know how to use ‘em.”

Viktor raised a brow.

Jinx wasn’t one to admit weakness. Ever.

But in that moment, he saw it—the barest flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the faintest hint of embarrassment tightening her jaw.

She was ashamed.

Jinx—who could shoot a man dead at ten paces with her revolvers, who laughed in the face of danger, who never once hesitated to pull the trigger—was embarrassed that she didn’t know how to handle a repeater.

Viktor let out a slow breath.

He wasn’t about to let her stew in that.

Without a word, he bent down and picked up the rifle, checking the chamber before holding it out to her.

Jinx hesitated. “Vikky, I—”

“Take it.” His voice was calm, firm. “I’ll show you.”

Jinx frowned, glancing between him and the rifle. “You don’t gotta do that.”

“I want to.”

Jinx bit the inside of her cheek, then—slowly—reached out and took the weapon from his hands.

Viktor motioned for her to follow as he led her a short distance away, where a few worn-out barrels sat stacked near the trees.

“Alright,” Viktor said, stepping behind her. “First thing—stance.”

Jinx shifted her feet, trying to mimic what she’d seen him do a hundred times before.

Viktor frowned. “No, not like that.”

He stepped closer. Too close.

Before Jinx could react, his hands found her waist, guiding her into position. She stiffened slightly, her breath catching, but she didn’t pull away.

Viktor, ignoring how warm she felt beneath his fingers, focused on correcting her stance. “Keep your feet shoulder-width apart. Firm, but not stiff.”

Jinx swallowed. “Right.”

His hands moved, sliding up to adjust her arms, guiding them into the right angle. “You grip too tight, you’ll fight against the recoil. You need to let the gun work with you.”

Jinx nodded, her grip loosening slightly.

Viktor stepped even closer, arms now bracketing hers, his chest nearly flush against her back. His voice was softer now, low in her ear.

“Now… aim.”

Jinx raised the repeater, peering down the sights.

The warmth of Viktor’s breath ghosted over her neck as he leaned in, his hands lightly covering hers, guiding her fingers along the trigger. “Don’t pull. Squeeze. Let it be natural.”

Jinx exhaled slowly.

Her pulse was quick, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the weight of the rifle in her hands… or the weight of Viktor behind her.

“Ready?” he asked.

Jinx wet her lips. “Yeah.”

She squeezed the trigger.

The rifle kicked against her shoulder, but Viktor’s arms held firm, steadying her. The shot rang out, echoing through the trees.

The barrel they had been aiming at lurched slightly, a fresh hole punched clean through the wood.

Jinx blinked. Then—

“Hah!”

She spun around, grinning up at Viktor, blue eyes shining. “Did you see that?”

Viktor smirked, arms crossing. “Not bad.”

Jinx turned back to the rifle, rolling her shoulders, her confidence returning in full force. “Lemme do it again.”

Viktor chuckled, stepping back as she lined up another shot.

The hesitation was gone now. The embarrassment, erased.

And as Jinx fired again—hitting her mark, laughing as she did—Viktor allowed himself the smallest smile.

Maybe teaching her had been a mistake.

Because now she wasn’t going to shut up about it.

The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and pine, the sharp tang of spent cartridges lingering in the cooling night air. The sun had dipped just beyond the horizon, the last traces of its golden light bleeding into the deep blue of twilight.

Jinx stood there, breathing hard, the excitement of her new rifle still thrumming in her veins. The repeater had felt good in her hands—powerful, solid, another weapon to add to her growing collection.

But right now, she wasn’t thinking about the rifle.

She was thinking about him.

Viktor.

Still standing there, arms crossed, watching her with that quiet, unreadable look he always gave her.

A look she had seen before.

A look that had been there years ago, back when they were younger, back when they were still pretending they had a chance to be something normal.

And now?

Now it was just the two of them.

No Silco. No gang. No rules.

A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.

She dropped the repeater to the ground without a second thought and started walking toward him, boots crunching against the dirt.

Viktor straightened slightly, watching her carefully, but he didn’t move. Didn’t step back. Didn’t tell her to stop.

He just waited.

Waited for the inevitable.

When she reached him, she didn’t hesitate—her hands grabbed the lapels of his coat tightly and shoved him back against the nearest tree.

Viktor grunted as his back hit the rough bark, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for her, but before he could say a damn thing—

Her lips crashed into his.

The world blurred.

For a split second, he froze—just one second—before instinct took over, before years of frustration, of longing, of wanting something he told himself he couldn’t have finally snapped inside him.

He kissed her back.

Fiercely.

One arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her flush against him, while his other hand shot up, grabbing the back of her neck, holding her there like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.

Jinx moaned through the kiss, her fingers fisting his coat, tugging, pulling him closer.

God, she had dreamed of this.

For years, she had ached for this.

And now that she had him, she wasn’t about to let go.

Viktor wasn’t much better.

This was her.

The woman he had wanted all his life.

Outside forces had tried to separate them, had tried to keep them apart, but in the end, it had led them right back here. Just the two of them.

Forgive him if he was excited.

His fingers dug into her back, sliding beneath her coat, pressing against the bare skin beneath her shirt. She was warm, alive, pressed against him like she belonged there.

Jinx tilted her head, deepening the kiss, her body pressing flush against his. She could feel how much he wanted her, the tension in his body, the way his breath hitched as she bit down on his bottom lip, teasing.

Viktor growled low in his throat, gripping her harder, pulling her even closer.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was years of wanting, of needing, of finally taking what had always been theirs to take.

Jinx broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, breathless against his lips—

“I should’ve done this sooner.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, his forehead resting against hers. His grip on her didn’t loosen.

“You can do it any time,” he muttered.

Jinx smirked, her fingers tracing the collar of his shirt. “I was gonna do it anyway.”

Viktor didn’t answer.

But he didn’t need to.

Because instead of speaking, he kissed her again.

Hard.

And this time, she didn’t let him go.

---

The last gunshot had barely stopped echoing through the canyon when Viktor saw red.

The bounty had gone south—fast. Casey Bills had more men than expected, and the fight had been a hell of a lot messier than either of them planned. The dust was still settling, bodies littering the rocky terrain, the smell of gunpowder thick in the dry air.

Viktor’s breathing was ragged as he scanned the chaos, searching for her—

Then he saw her.

Jinx was standing a few yards away, her revolver still smoking in her hand, a wild grin splitting her face. She had blood on her cheek—someone else’s, hopefully—and a fresh tear in her sleeve. But what made Viktor’s chest tighten was the fact that she had been seconds away from getting herself killed.

Seconds.

He had watched it happen—watched her dart out from cover like she was invincible, laughing as she cut down Briggs' men like they were nothing. But one of them, a scrappy bastard with a rifle, had nearly gotten the jump on her. If Viktor hadn’t put a bullet in the guy’s skull first…

Jinx was already strutting toward him, twirling her pistol before holstering it.

“Well, that was fun,” she drawled, wiping the blood from her cheek with the back of her glove. “Did you see that last shot? Blew that guy’s brains out mid-sentence—"

She didn’t get to finish.

Because Viktor grabbed her.

His fingers wrapped around her arm tight, spinning her toward him so fast her boots scraped against the dirt.

“Are you insane?!” His voice was sharp, rougher than he meant it to be.

Jinx blinked, still high off the adrenaline, still smiling—until she registered the look in his eyes.

Viktor wasn’t just mad.

He was furious.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, don’t start—”

“You could’ve died, Jinx!” His grip tightened, his knuckles white.

Jinx’s smirk flickered—just for a second.

Viktor never yelled. Not like this.

“Relax,” she muttered, pulling at his grip. “I didn’t.”

“You almost did!” His voice was hoarse, like the words were being ripped from him. “I watched a man take aim at you! If I had been one second slower—one damn second—”

He cut himself off, jaw clenching so hard it hurt.

Jinx stared at him.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t have a smart-ass response.

Viktor ran a hand through his hair, trying to breathe, trying to calm down, but the image wouldn’t leave his mind. Her, with a bullet in her. Her, lying still in the dirt. Her, gone.

“I swear to God, Jinx,” he exhaled, voice rough, “you are going to kill me before the law ever does.”

Jinx hesitated.

Then, finally, she spoke. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Viktor shot her a look that could’ve cut glass. “No, Jinx, I’m joking. This is all just hilarious to me.”

Jinx sighed, her hands settling on her hips. “Vikky, you worry too much.”

Viktor let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “And you don’t worry enough.”

She smirked. “That’s why we make such a great team, huh?”

Viktor clenched his fists, turning away. “I swear to God, I shouldn’t have come with you—”

Jinx moved.

Before he could take another step, she was in front of him again, grabbing the lapels of his coat and pulling him down into a kiss.

It was wild, reckless, the same way she did everything.

Viktor froze, his mind catching up far too late to stop his own hands from reaching for her—one gripping her waist, the other fisting into the back of her hair, pulling her in like he needed this as much as air.

Jinx groaned into the kiss, pressing herself against him, her arms winding around his neck. 

This was why she didn’t worry.

Because Viktor always did.

Because he was always there, always looking out for her, always making sure she wasn’t alone.

And, deep down, she liked that.

She liked that he cared.

That he still cared, even after all these years.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths tangled, Viktor’s fingers tight in her hair, Jinx grinned up at him.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.”

Viktor groaned, dropping his forehead against hers. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Jinx laughed, bright and wild.

“Yeah,” she whispered, pressing another quick kiss to his lips. “But what a way to go.”

And Viktor, despite everything, despite knowing he should be furious, despite knowing she was going to drive him to an early grave—

He couldn’t help but laugh too.

Because damn it all, she was right.

---

The rain had been relentless.

For two days straight, it had poured over the plains, drenching everything in sight. They had been forced to ride through it, neither of them willing to lose time over a little bad weather. But now, as the storm finally passed and the sky settled into an overcast gray, Viktor lay sprawled on his bedroll, feverish and miserable.

Jinx crouched beside him, one hand pressed to his forehead, the other resting on her knee as she studied him with a lopsided frown.

"Well, shit," she muttered. "You're burnin’ up, Vikky."

Viktor groaned, shifting slightly but making no effort to move. "M'fine."

Jinx snorted. "Yeah? You sure about that, cowboy?"

Viktor didn't answer. He barely opened his eyes, and when he did, it was only for a second before he shut them again with a soft, pained sigh.

Jinx huffed. "Guess that’s a no."

She stood up, stretching her arms over her head before glancing around their little camp. The fire crackled low, just strong enough to keep them warm. Their horses were tied to a nearby tree, lazily swishing their tails, unconcerned with their owner’s very concerning state.

Jinx let out a slow breath, then grabbed a canteen of water and knelt back down.

"Alright, Vikky," she said, twisting the cap off. "Sit up."

Viktor groaned again, this time with more annoyance than pain. "Jinx…"

"Not negotiable," she cut in. "C'mon, up."

Viktor tried to push himself up but barely made it halfway before his arms gave out. He collapsed back onto the bedroll, muttering a curse in his thick, accented drawl.

Jinx sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Alright, fine."

Before Viktor could ask what she meant, she reached down, hooked her hands under his arms, and hauled him up herself.

He grunted in protest, but he was too weak to fight her off properly.

Jinx settled behind him, her arms looping around his waist as she pulled him upright against her chest, letting his weight rest against her.

"There we go," she murmured, adjusting him so he was leaning against her comfortably. "Damn, Vikky, you're heavier than you look."

Viktor, despite being half-delirious, let out a weak, dry chuckle. "You're… impossible."

Jinx grinned. "You love it."

She tilted the canteen to his lips, her fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. "Drink."

Viktor hesitated, but she gave him a warning squeeze around his ribs.

"Don't make me force-feed you, old man."

With a quiet sigh, Viktor took a few small sips.

Jinx smirked, pleased. "See? Wasn't so hard, was it?"

Viktor let his head tip back against her shoulder, his breath warm against her collarbone. "You are enjoying this far too much," he murmured.

Jinx hummed, resting her chin on top of his head. "A little."

For a moment, they just sat there, the only sounds being the crackling fire and Viktor’s slow, steady breathing.

Jinx's fingers idly traced small circles against his chest. She had never been good at quiet moments—they always made her itch, made her feel like something was waiting to go wrong.

But this?

This wasn’t so bad.

"Y'know," she mused after a beat, "I ain't never seen you sick before."

Viktor grunted softly. "Don't get sick often."

Jinx smirked. "Well, ain't you just so damn lucky."

Viktor let out a slow breath, his body relaxing more against her. "Lucky to have you taking care of me, you mean?"

Jinx blinked.

The words had been spoken so casually, so softly, that for a second, she didn't know how to respond.

Her first instinct was to joke, to deflect, to laugh it off with something smart-assed—

But instead, she just smirked.

"Yeah," she murmured, fingers still tracing those slow circles on his chest. "Guess you are."

And for once, Viktor didn't argue.

He just let himself rest against her, his fevered breaths evening out, trusting that he was safe.

---

The saloon was buzzing with life—cigarette smoke curling in the air, the off-key tune of an old piano rolling lazily over the chatter of gamblers, drunks, and outlaws looking to spend their latest earnings.

Jinx was leaned up against the bar, nursing a whiskey, boots kicked up onto the stool beside her. She was feeling good—for once, nothing had gone wrong today. No bounty had tried to shoot them in the back, no lawmen had come sniffing around, and she had a pocket full of cash she hadn’t even had to kill for.

But that good mood was rapidly souring.

Because across the room, at a corner table, was Viktor.

And her.

Jinx swirled her drink, narrowing her eyes as she watched the scene unfold.

The woman—blonde, real pretty in that soft, elegant way—was perched on the edge of the table, leaning just a little too close to Viktor. She was twirling a strand of her hair, batting her lashes, lips curving into a coy little smile.

Viktor, to his credit, wasn’t flirting back.

But he also wasn’t stopping her.

Jinx’s grip on her glass tightened.

She hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t thought she’d ever have to worry about some other woman sniffing around Viktor.

She had always been the one playing games, the one smirking at jealous cowboys and making them squirm. But now?

Now, she felt something sharp and ugly curl in her gut.

The woman laughed at something Viktor said, resting a delicate hand on his arm.

Jinx downed the rest of her whiskey in one burning gulp and pushed away from the bar.

Oh, hell no.

Viktor didn’t notice her approach—he was too busy trying to shift away from the woman, clearly uncomfortable but too damn polite to outright push her off.

That was fine.

Jinx would do it for him.

She stepped up behind Viktor, looping her arms around his shoulders from behind as she leaned right down into him.

“Well, there you are, Vikky,” she purred, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “I was wonderin’ where you ran off to.”

Viktor tensed, just slightly, before sighing. “Jinx.”

The blonde woman’s smile faltered as she looked between them. “Oh… and you are?”

Jinx grinned, saccharine sweet.

“His,” she said simply.

The woman blinked. “I—”

Jinx tilted her head, smile never wavering. “You got somethin’ to say, sweetheart?”

The blonde hesitated. Then, finally, she let out a nervous chuckle and backed away, raising her hands.

“No offense meant,” she said lightly. “Didn’t realize he was spoken for.”

Jinx smirked, tilting Viktor’s hat forward so it shaded his eyes. “Oh, honey,” she cooed, “he ain’t just spoken for—he’s mine.”

The woman muttered something under her breath and turned on her heel, slipping back into the crowd.

Jinx waited until she was out of sight before releasing Viktor, plopping herself down into the now-empty chair beside him.

Viktor sighed, adjusting his hat back into place. “Was that necessary?”

Jinx stretched her arms above her head, utterly pleased with herself. “I dunno, Vikky,” she drawled. “Would you rather I let her keep touchin’ on you?”

Viktor shot her a dry look. “I could’ve handled it.”

Jinx smirked. “Yeah, well, I handled it better.”

Viktor shook his head, exasperated but undeniably amused.

Jinx propped her chin in her hand, grinning. “You like seein’ me jealous, don’tcha?”

Viktor chuckled, finally leaning back in his chair. “A little.”

Jinx huffed. “Ass.”

Viktor just smirked, raising his glass. “Yours, apparently.”

Jinx laughed, rolling her eyes—but she didn’t argue.

Because, yeah.

He was.

And she wasn’t about to let anyone forget it.

The saloon was still alive with music and laughter, but Jinx wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

She was too busy staking her claim.

Viktor sat back in his chair, arms crossed, watching her with an expression that was somewhere between amused and exasperated as she perched herself right in his lap.

Not beside him.

Not near him.

In his damn lap, her arms lazily draped around his neck, fingers toying with the loose strands of his hair.

She had been like this all night.

After scaring off the blonde, Jinx had made it her mission to make sure every woman in that saloon knew Viktor belonged to her.

And Viktor?

Well, he was letting her.

Indulging her.

He was too damn tired to argue, and besides… deep down, he kind of liked it.

Jinx, of course, took his silence as encouragement.

She leaned in, pressing her cheek to his, her lips close enough to brush against his ear.

Then, in a voice just loud enough for anyone nearby to hear, she purred—

"When are you gonna marry me, Vikky?"

The words sent a ripple through the saloon.

Nearby conversations stuttered. Eyes flicked toward them—some subtle, some not. Even the bartender raised an eyebrow.

Viktor sighed.

Here we go.

Jinx grinned, clearly thriving off the attention.

Viktor’s fingers tapped against the table, his patience wearing thin. “Jinx.”

“What?” she teased, tilting her head, all faux innocence. “Ain’t a bad question, is it?”

Viktor sighed again, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re drunk.”

Jinx giggled. “Ohhh, so that’s why you ain't sayin’ no.”

Viktor muttered something that sounded like a curse under his breath.

Jinx, still grinning, turned her head slightly, eyes glinting with mischief as she glanced toward the women watching them. Some of them quickly looked away, whispering behind their hands.

Satisfied, Jinx turned back to Viktor, pressing her forehead against his.

“C’mon, Vikky,” she crooned. “You love me, don’tcha?”

Viktor, despite himself, chuckled. “You’re impossible.”

“You do.”

“I do what?”

Jinx’s grin widened. “Love me.”

Viktor exhaled, his hand settling on her waist, gripping her just enough to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere.

Then, in a voice just for her, he murmured—

"You already know the answer to that."

Jinx blinked.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for her smirk to falter into something else.

Then she beamed, fingers tightening in his hair as she pressed a quick, featherlight kiss to his lips.

“Good.”

Viktor huffed, leaning back, letting his hand rest on her thigh as he finally, finally accepted his fate.

Jinx had won this round.

He didn’t mind losing.

---

The fire burned low, its embers glowing like dying stars against the darkness. The night stretched wide above them, a quiet sea of black and silver, the moon full and bright. The world was still—for once, no gunfire, no shouting, no damn bounty hunters breathing down their necks.

Just them.

Jinx lay stretched out on her bedroll, one arm lazily resting over her stomach, the other tucked behind her head as she stared up at the stars. Viktor was beside her, propped up on one elbow, idly running his fingers along the frayed edge of the blanket beneath him.

For once, she wasn’t talking.

He didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

The air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Their horses were nearby, grazing lazily, unbothered by the quiet moment between their riders.

Viktor exhaled slowly, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. "Haven’t seen it this clear in a while."

Jinx hummed in agreement. "Guess we finally got lucky, huh?"

A small, knowing smirk tugged at Viktor’s lips. "You don’t believe in luck."

Jinx chuckled. "Yeah, well… maybe I do tonight."

Silence settled again, stretching between them like an old, familiar friend.

Then, after a long pause, Jinx spoke.

"If we’d run away back then… you think we’d be happy?"

Viktor stilled.

She didn’t ask questions like that.

Not Jinx.

She teased. She pushed. She mocked the past, never lingered on it.

But tonight… tonight was different.

Viktor let out a slow breath, considering his answer.

"Maybe," he murmured. "Maybe not."

Jinx shifted, turning her head to look at him. "Real certain, Vikky."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "I think… if we had run back then, we’d still be running now. But for different reasons."

Jinx raised a brow. "Yeah?"

Viktor nodded. "Back then, we were kids pretending we weren’t. We thought we could leave everything behind and just… be free."

Jinx’s lips twitched. "And now?"

Viktor finally looked at her, really looked at her. The firelight danced in her eyes, turning them soft, thoughtful—something rare, something he barely ever got to see.

"Now," he said quietly, "we are free. No more running. No more pretending."

Jinx held his gaze for a moment, searching his face, fingers twitching against her stomach like she wanted to reach for something—maybe for him, maybe for the past, maybe for something she couldn’t name.

Then, finally, she let out a soft, amused sigh.

"Guess you’re right."

Viktor smirked. "I usually am."

Jinx rolled her eyes, but the small smile never left her lips.

A few minutes passed, filled only with the crackling fire and the distant call of an owl somewhere in the trees.

Then—

"You’re stuck with me, y’know."

Viktor’s smirk softened into something real.

"I know."

Jinx turned onto her side, facing him fully, propping herself up on her elbow. "You sure about that?"

Viktor hummed, reaching out, tucking a loose strand of blue behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I’m sure."

Jinx blinked, her breath hitching just slightly—so small, so barely there that he almost missed it.

Then she grinned, quick and sharp, as if the moment hadn’t just shifted into something heavier, something more.

"Good," she said, flopping back onto her bedroll, arms stretched above her head. "Means I don’t gotta kill ya if you try to leave."

Viktor chuckled, lying back down beside her.

"You’d miss me too much."

Jinx smirked. "Damn right, I would."

Neither of them had anything else to say.

Because for once—

There was nothing left to say.

 

Chapter 93: Royal Fool pt. 1

Summary:

But her smile…

Her smile told him everything.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "You didn’t kill him."

Jinx shrugged, tapping her fingers against the wood.

She hadn’t.

Because death would be too easy.

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. "Cruel girl."

Jinx grinned wider.

The first time Jinx met Viktor, she pulled his hair.

It was a warm afternoon in late autumn, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and burning wood from the village beyond the castle walls. The leaves had just begun their descent from the trees, crisp and gold, crunching underfoot.

Jinx had never been inside a royal palace before. She had barely been beyond the high walls of her father’s estate, for Duke Volvere—Silco to those who feared him—was a careful man. A cautious man. And his daughter, with all her wild edges and untamed whims, was something fragile in his eyes.

But he had heard of the first prince.

A boy of fifteen, sharp of mind, frail of body. Clever, but kind. A rarity among the nobility, they whispered. Unlike his younger half-brother, who had already begun to twist his words like knives, Viktor spoke softly, with a voice that people listened to.

Perhaps he would not make it to the throne. Perhaps he would not even live long enough to see his father die. But in his short years, he was already known as one thing—just.

And if Silco was to let his daughter step into the world, he would place her in the company of someone just.

Jinx was ten years old when she stepped into the grand hall of Crea’s royal castle.

Her blue eyes darted everywhere—too wide, too quick, always moving. The castle was so much bigger than home, the ceilings so high it made her feel small. But she wasn’t afraid. She never was.

The boy sitting at the far end of the hall, half-buried in a chair too large for his thin frame, looked up when they entered.

Viktor.

His skin was pale, his dark hair too long, falling in waves around a face that looked like it had never seen a day of true health. But his eyes—his golden eyes—were bright and watchful, drinking her in.

Jinx did not speak. She simply walked forward, stopping just short of his chair.

Viktor tilted his head, considering her. "You must be Jinx," he said, his voice thoughtful, like he was testing how her name felt on his tongue.

She continued to stare.

A pause. Then, without warning, she reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair, giving it a sharp tug.

The room froze.

Duke Silco's breath hitched—one step away from intervening—but before he could, a sound broke through the tension.

Laughter.

Viktor’s laughter.

It was soft at first, bubbling up like he hadn’t expected it himself, before it deepened into something genuine. He was laughing. At her. With her.

Jinx blinked up at him, her fingers still tangled in his hair.

Slowly, Viktor reached up, his hands covering hers. But he did not yank her away. His grip was gentle, careful, as he pried her fingers from his strands and lowered them back down to her sides.

“I see,” he murmured, his lips still curled at the edges. “You are different.”

Jinx grinned.

She had not left his side since. 

---

Jinx ran.

Bare feet slapped against the cold stone of Crea’s castle, her laughter trailing behind her like a phantom in the halls. She laughed at nothing. She laughed at everything. The guards did not stop her—none of them would. They knew better. She was the first prince’s fool. His little pet. His shadow. She could set fire to the tapestries, crack the stained glass with her bare hands, and they would say nothing. Because she kept Viktor happy.

And a happy Viktor meant their heads remained on their shoulders.

But now, she had something far greater than mischief on her mind.

Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears as she ducked around a column, pressing herself flush against the stone. Her breath came fast, hot against her skin. Just beyond the wall, the second prince was speaking in hushed tones to his tutor.

Ellios.

Jinx did not like Ellios. She did not like the way his eyes lingered on Viktor’s chair at council meetings. Did not like the way his fingers curled into fists when the King spoke of succession.

She especially did not like the way he spoke now.

"His recovery is unnatural," the tutor whispered, voice brittle with barely-contained disdain. "It should not be possible."

"And yet it is happening," Ellios snapped. "His appetite has returned. He moves without stumbling. My poisons—” He stopped, inhaling sharply. “Nothing affects him. Something is interfering.”

Jinx smiled to herself.

"Then we must change our approach," the tutor murmured. "He may not be as weak as he once was, but he is still only a man."

A pause.

"Find me a knife," Ellios said. "I'll ensure this time, he stays dead."

Jinx exhaled through her nose.

Her fingers twitched.

Her ears picked up the heavy steps of a group of knights rounding the next hall. No time. She could not be seen here, could not let them know she had heard.

So she did what she did best.

She resumed the act.

With a sharp, frantic motion, she flung herself forward, smacking her forehead against the stone wall beside her. A dull thud echoed through the corridor. She did it again. And again.

The approaching knights stopped, alarmed.

The tutor was the first to rush out, face twisting in revulsion when he saw her. “Useless thing,” he spat, disgust curling his lip. “Remove her.”

The knights hesitated.

Jinx peeked at them through strands of blue hair, eyes wide, unfocused. She giggled, swaying on her feet.

None of them wanted to touch her. They knew what Viktor’s wrath looked like.

Instead, they ushered her along, careful not to lay hands on her. She went willingly, humming under her breath, tilting her head just enough for the blood from her forehead to streak down her cheek.

It didn’t matter.

The moment they left her alone, she would run.

She would run straight to Viktor.

And she would tell him everything.

---

Jinx did not get lost in the castle. She couldn’t.

The paths, the servants’ passages, the forgotten stairwells—she knew them all. The guards thought they were leading her away, but the moment they turned the corner, she was gone. A shadow in the stone, slipping through the cracks.

She ran through the halls, her bare feet silent against the floor. Blood dripped from her forehead, but she didn’t wipe it away. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except—

Viktor.

She reached his chambers before anyone could notice she had disappeared. The two guards outside saw her coming, barely reacting as she pushed at the doors. 

The heavy oak doors creaked as Jinx shoved them open, breathless, wild-eyed. The golden glow of candlelight bathed the room in a soft haze, flickering over the worn parchment and scattered quills on Viktor’s desk. He looked up immediately, his sharp eyes—deep as molten gold—softening the moment he saw her.

"Jinx," he greeted, his voice laced with quiet amusement. As if he were speaking to an old friend, not the supposed fool who ran through his halls wreaking havoc. His lips curled at the edges. "You've been up to mischief again, haven’t you?"

She grinned, padding toward him on bare feet, the hem of her dress damp and dirt-streaked from where she had sprinted through the castle. She didn’t answer—she never did—but Viktor knew her well enough to understand the gleam in her eyes.

Then his gaze landed on the blood trickling down her temple.

His smile faltered.

Jinx saw it—the way the light in his expression dimmed, the brief flicker of something dangerous passing over his features before he masked it again. His fingers twitched against the parchment.

"Come here." His voice was softer now.

Jinx obeyed, climbing onto the edge of his desk without hesitation. Her bare legs dangled over the side, her fingers immediately reaching for his inkwell as if she meant to make a mess of it.

Viktor caught her hand before she could.

His grip was not tight, but it was firm. His fingers—long, elegant, yet still too thin—curled around hers, holding them still. His free hand reached into his coat, retrieving a silk handkerchief, already stained with ink from previous days of absentminded use.

With gentle precision, he dabbed at the wound on her temple, his brows knitting ever so slightly.

Jinx did not flinch. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, her breath evening out.

“Did you fall?” he murmured, though he knew better. Jinx never fell. Jinx did nothing without reason.

She tilted her head at him, her smile stretching, lazy and slow. Her fingers twitched in his grip.

Viktor sighed.

“Of course you didn’t.”

His eyes flicked to hers, searching. She held his gaze, unwavering, waiting for him to understand without words.

He always did.

Wordlessly, she dipped a finger into his inkwell and began to scrawl against the desk.

E L L I O S.

Viktor’s expression remained unreadable.

Jinx leaned in closer, her breath warm against his cheek, blue eyes gleaming like firelight on the ocean. She tilted her head, nodding once—just once—as if to say, It is time.

Viktor inhaled slowly.

Then, with equal slowness, he released her hand.

His fingers, still stained with her blood, moved to the desk.

Beneath her inked letters, he wrote their names in return.

V I K T O R. J I N X.

A promise.

A bond.

She exhaled, curling her bloodied fingers in his grip once more.

The silence between them stretched, thick with understanding. Jinx perched on the desk like a crow watching a battlefield, her bare feet swinging idly, but her eyes—those sharp, too-knowing blue eyes—were locked onto Viktor’s face, waiting.

Viktor traced the inked letters with a single finger. E L L I O S. His younger brother had always been ambitious, always watched him with something bitter curled behind his gaze, but now… now he was desperate.

Desperate men made mistakes.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, flicking his golden gaze back to Jinx. The blood on her temple had dried now, crusting against the fine strands of her hair. The sight of it stirred something in him, something sharp, something that burned low in his chest.

She had hurt herself for him.

For his sake.

For his throne.

His fingers twitched before he pushed the thought aside. Carefully, he folded the ink-stained handkerchief and set it aside. “How long?” he murmured.

Jinx tilted her head, considering. She held up two fingers.

Two days.

Viktor hummed, thoughtful. “Then we have time.”

She grinned at that, her fingers twitching as she reached for his inkwell again, but Viktor was faster this time, catching her wrist before she could smear more ink across the desk. His grip was gentle but firm. "You enjoy making a mess of my work far too much," he mused, voice laced with feigned exasperation.

Jinx only grinned wider, tilting her head at him, unrepentant.

Viktor sighed, releasing her hand. "Tell me, then. What have you decided?"

Jinx blinked at him. Then, slowly, she leaned forward, bracing one hand on the desk as she brought her lips close to his ear.

She never spoke.

Not in front of anyone.

Not even him.

But every so often, when the castle was quiet and the doors were locked, she would whisper to him in her own way.

A breath. A hum. A faint vibration of sound barely shaped into a word.

And now, she breathed:

"Soon."

Viktor stilled.

His eyes flickered to hers, sharp, calculating, searching for something beyond the act she always wore. And there, beneath the surface, hidden from all but him—he saw it.

Something ruthless.

Something hungry.

Something that had been waiting.

Jinx pulled back, her grin widening, her fingers dancing against the desk, smearing the drying ink into unreadable shapes. Viktor watched her for a long moment before he exhaled, tilting his head toward the ceiling.

Then he laughed.

Soft. Amused. Indulgent.

Jinx laughed with him, tilting backward like she might tumble off the desk, careless and free.

Viktor let the sound linger before he reached for the candle beside him, letting the golden wax drip onto the ink-streaked wood.

The first move had been made.

---

Two days.

That was the time Jinx had given him. Two days before Ellios made his move—before the knife found its way to his throat, before the poison returned to his cup, before the whispers in the halls turned to action.

Viktor had spent years tolerating it. Enduring it. Every betrayal, every attempt, every lingering glance from courtiers who already saw him as a corpse waiting to be buried. It had been easier to let them believe he was too weak to resist, too sickly to last.

But now…

Now, he was getting stronger.

And that, it seemed, had made Ellios impatient.

Viktor set his quill aside, pressing his fingertips together. He sat in the dim glow of candlelight, eyes half-lidded in thought. Jinx lay sprawled on his couch, her legs draped over the armrest, her fingers twitching at nothing, her expression far-off and dreamy. She had been quiet since their exchange, but he knew her mind was never truly still.

"Two days," Viktor murmured, breaking the silence.

Jinx's foot twitched in acknowledgment.

Viktor exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "And what, I wonder, have you already done?"

At that, she turned her head toward him, her wide grin returning.

He had learned, long ago, that when Jinx smiled like that, something had already been set in motion.

She sat up in a slow, lazy stretch, rolling her shoulders before slipping off the couch and padding toward him. Without hesitation, she climbed onto his desk once more, seating herself cross-legged before him like a waiting cat.

Viktor arched a brow.

Jinx merely reached forward, dipping her fingers into the inkpot again.

This time, she did not spell out a name.

Instead, she drew a symbol.

A knife.

Then, beside it, a small, crude crown.

Viktor hummed in understanding. “Ah.” He leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach. “Ellios sent for a weapon.”

Jinx grinned, resting her cheek in her palm, tapping her fingers against her jaw in a rhythmic motion.

Tick, tick, tick.

A countdown.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "And let me guess—you've already ensured that he will never receive it."

Jinx tilted her head, considering.

Then, she reached forward again, dragging her fingers through the inked knife, smearing it out.

Viktor chuckled softly. "Good girl."

Jinx's eyes gleamed at the praise.

He lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles against her temple, just where the dried blood had crusted against her skin. "You should let me clean this properly," he murmured. "If people see you bleeding too often, they may start to think I'm mistreating you."

Jinx snorted, shaking her head, as if the idea itself was absurd.

They both knew the truth.

No one would ever lay a hand on her. Not if they valued their lives.

Not while she was his.

The first strike had been dealt, silent and unseen.

The question now was simple.

Would Ellios realize it before it was too late?

---

Ellios, in fact, did not realize it until it was far too late.

Two days had passed, just as Jinx had warned. The air in the castle felt heavier, as though something unseen coiled through the halls, wrapping around the pillars and slithering beneath the doors. The servants spoke in hushed voices. The guards stood stiffer at their posts.

Something was coming.

And Viktor sat in his chambers, waiting for it.

Jinx was not with him. She had slunk off before sunrise, barefoot and silent, vanishing into the belly of the castle like a shadow melting into the cracks. Viktor had not asked where she was going. He never needed to.

Instead, he sat by the window, fingers steepled beneath his chin, watching the morning mist curl over the courtyard below. His body felt stronger than it had in years. His bones no longer ached with every breath. His appetite had returned. And despite the ever-present threat of death lurking behind every polished smile, he felt… at ease.

Because he knew Jinx was moving in the dark, preparing the board, toppling pieces before the game had even begun.

And then—

A scream.

Distant, but sharp. Echoing through the stone halls, cutting through the usual morning stillness.

Viktor smiled.

He rose to his feet, steady now, and made his way toward the door. He did not need to ask what had happened. He already knew.

Jinx had struck first.

The commotion led him to the eastern corridor, just beyond the main dining hall. A small gathering had already formed—courtiers murmuring amongst themselves, guards shifting uneasily, their hands resting on their hilts but uncertain whether to draw.

And at the center of it all—

Ellios.

His younger brother stood stiffly, his face drained of color, his lips parted in something caught between rage and horror. His hands trembled at his sides.

At his feet lay a body.

Or, rather, what was left of one.

The tutor. The same wretched man who had whispered in the dark, who had promised Ellios that Viktor would die by his hand. His throat had been cut—clean, precise, almost surgical. His blood had pooled across the polished stone, staining the floor in dark rivulets. His arms and legs missing. 

But that was not the worst of it.

The worst was the crown.

A small, golden circlet—not the king’s, but a mockery of one—had been placed on the corpse’s head. The thin band of metal was smeared with ink, words scrawled into its surface.

           For a traitor who pretends he would be king.

Viktor did not stop the chuckle that slipped past his lips. It was soft, but in the dead silence of the hall, it may as well have been thunder.

Ellios snapped his head up, his golden eyes—so much like Viktor’s, but lacking something vital—burning with barely-contained fury.

"You," he hissed.

Viktor arched a brow, amused. “I was in my chambers, dear brother.” He gestured vaguely to the body. “Surely you don’t think I did this?”

Ellios’ hands clenched into fists.

The assembled courtiers and guards shifted uneasily. Murmurs rippled through the air, a mix of confusion and suspicion. The tutor had not been a well-liked man, but to be killed in the heart of the castle, just days before the king’s return?

It was a bold move. A message.

Ellios knew who had done this.

But he had no proof.

Because Jinx was a fool.

And fools did not wield knives in the dark.

Viktor exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "A shame, truly," he mused, glancing down at the body. "He was such a loyal man, wasn’t he?"

Ellios’ jaw tightened, his breathing ragged.

He could do nothing. Not here. Not now.

And Viktor relished it.

He turned, his robes sweeping behind him as he strode away, the scent of iron and ink still lingering in the air.

The game had begun.

And Ellios was already losing.

---

The scent of blood still lingered in the halls long after the corpse had been removed. The courtiers whispered, their voices hushed but frantic, flitting between theories like moths to flame. The air was thick with tension, as if the castle itself held its breath.

Viktor, however, was calm.

He sat at his desk, hands steepled beneath his chin, listening to the faint echoes of panic beyond his chamber doors. His golden eyes flickered in the dim candlelight, sharp and unyielding.

Jinx sat atop the desk once more, cross-legged, her fingers idly tracing the ink-streaked wood. Her nails were still stained with it—though whether it was ink or blood, Viktor did not ask. She hummed softly, swaying side to side, the tune aimless but strangely sweet.

He watched her for a long moment before speaking.

"The tutor was a predictable first move," he murmured. "But Ellios is no fool."

Jinx tilted her head, her blue eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

Viktor exhaled slowly, pressing his fingertips together. "He will retaliate."

Jinx merely grinned.

That was the fun part.

---

Dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson when the king’s procession arrived. Trumpets blared their arrival, the castle stirring from its uneasy slumber to welcome its sovereign.

King Aldric of Crea was not a man given to softness. His presence filled the grand hall like a storm rolling in from the sea—heavy, unrelenting. His gaze, sharp as a honed blade, swept over his assembled sons, lingering on Viktor.

"You look stronger," the king remarked, his voice neither warm nor cold.

Viktor bowed his head slightly, the corners of his lips curling. "It seems I have been fortunate, Father."

The king studied him. Viktor knew that look well—calculating, measuring his worth, weighing his survival against the kingdom’s needs. Aldric had long since resigned himself to the likelihood of Viktor’s early death, but now… now, there was something like consideration in his expression.

Ellios stood at his father’s side, silent, his jaw tight. The rage simmering beneath his skin was barely concealed.

Viktor allowed himself the smallest of smiles.

Ellios could not speak of what had happened. Not without implicating himself.

And so, the game continued.

---

Jinx was a whisper in the castle, slipping through unseen corridors, weaving between shadows like a specter. She did not need to eavesdrop this time.

She already knew what Ellios would do next.

Desperation made men reckless.

Late into the night, as the castle slumbered, she crept into the western wing, where the second prince’s quarters lay. The guards stationed outside were loyal to him, but loyalty meant little when one did not suspect the fool.

She staggered toward them, swaying, humming a broken tune. Her bare feet made no sound against the stone.

One of the guards sighed. "Jinx," he muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Get out of here."

She tilted her head, smiling wide.

And then, she moved.

The dagger slid between ribs with effortless precision, a flash of silver in the moonlight. The guard barely had time to gasp before he crumpled, his mouth opening in a silent scream. His companion turned, startled, reaching for his blade—

Too late.

Jinx’s fingers found his throat, her grip deceptively strong. She pressed him back against the stone wall, her face mere inches from his. His breath hitched, eyes wide with shock.

She leaned in, lips parting—

And for the first time, she spoke.

A single word.

"Shh."

The man froze.

Then, darkness took him.

---

Ellios stirred at the sound of his door creaking open. His hand instinctively went to the dagger beneath his pillow, fingers wrapping around the hilt as he sat upright.

The room was silent.

Too silent.

The torches in his chambers had been extinguished, the air thick with something unseen.

And then, he saw her.

Perched at the foot of his bed, legs swinging idly, her blue eyes gleaming in the darkness.

His grip on the dagger tightened. "You—"

Jinx pressed a bloodied finger to her lips.

Ellios stilled.

The realization struck him all at once—the guards outside were dead. She should not have been able to enter.

The fool.

The fool had done this.

"You," he breathed, voice shaking with disbelief, with something dangerously close to fear.

Jinx tilted her head, grinning.

She did not lunge for him. Did not strike.

Instead, she slid off the bed, padding toward him with the same lazy, deliberate steps as always. She stopped just short of touching him, tilting her head as if studying a fascinating new plaything.

Then, ever so slowly, she lifted a finger—

And traced a circle over his heart.

A silent promise.

A warning.

Ellios could not move.

Jinx leaned in, close enough that he could feel her breath against his cheek. Close enough that, for the first time, he truly understood.

She was no fool.

She never had been.

And she was never going to let him win.

When Viktor awoke the next morning, Jinx was already perched on his desk, as if she had never left.

Her hands were clean. No blood, no ink, no evidence of the night before.

But her smile…

Her smile told him everything.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "You didn’t kill him."

Jinx shrugged, tapping her fingers against the wood.

She hadn’t.

Because death would be too easy.

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. "Cruel girl."

Jinx grinned wider.

The game was not over.

Not yet.

And she would savor every moment of it.

---

Ellios did not sleep that night.

The fool had left no mark on him, no blade, no wound to prove she had been there. And yet, as he sat in his chambers, his fingers trembling over the spot where her finger had drawn a silent circle over his heart, he felt it—a brand, seared into his very bones.

Jinx had given him a choice.

Fear or foolishness.

If he ran to their father, claiming the fool had threatened him, he would be laughed out of the room. A mute girl? The castle’s pet? A mad creature barely capable of speech? No one would believe him.

But if he did nothing…

Then he was waiting for her to strike again.

Viktor found Ellios at breakfast.

The grand dining hall was silent save for the slow scrape of silverware, the clink of goblets being lifted and set down. The king sat at the head of the table, speaking little, watching much. His eyes flicked between his sons, and Viktor did not miss the way they lingered on Ellios.

Ellios looked different this morning.

His skin was paler than before, dark circles carved beneath his golden eyes. He sat stiffly, his movements restrained, as if expecting a blade to find his throat at any moment.

Viktor took his time buttering a piece of bread, glancing at his younger brother from across the table.

"You look unwell, dear brother," he mused, his tone light, almost sympathetic.

Ellios' fingers curled into fists.

"I slept poorly," he muttered.

Viktor hummed in acknowledgment, biting into the bread. "A shame. A weak body leads to a weak mind. You should take better care of yourself."

Ellios’ jaw clenched.

Viktor smiled.

Jinx, lounging nearby at the edge of the hall, giggled softly—at nothing, at everything. Her bare feet dangled over the arm of a chaise, her arms wrapped around her knees.

Ellios would not look at her.

But Viktor saw the way his hands twitched when she laughed.

The next body was found by a servant girl fetching water.

A knight. One of Ellios’ personal guards.

He had disappeared the night before, but no one had searched for him, after all, it was not unusual for men to vanish into the arms of a brothel after too much wine.

But now he was here.

Half of him, at least.

The well water ran red.

His upper body had been neatly severed, the cut so precise it might have been done by a royal docotr. His lower half was missing entirely, and no one had the stomach to go looking for it.

More than the horror of the corpse, it was what had been left with it that made the court uneasy.

A playing card.

The Fool.

It had been tucked between the dead man’s teeth, the edges curled from moisture, ink running in jagged streaks.

A message.

No one spoke it aloud, but everyone understood.

Someone was making a mockery of the second prince.

And the fool was laughing.

---

That night, Viktor found her perched on the edge of his desk once more, idly flicking a knife between her fingers.

He sighed. "Must you always play with sharp things on my desk?"

Jinx grinned.

She tossed the blade. It spun once in the candlelight before Viktor caught it between two fingers, shaking his head.

"You enjoy making a mess of my affairs," he mused.

Jinx only smiled, tapping her fingers against the desk.

Viktor studied her, golden eyes flickering with something quiet.

"You’re pushing him," he murmured. "I wonder how long before he breaks."

Jinx tilted her head, considering.

Then she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.

Viktor stilled.

Her breath was warm against his lips, her grin lazy, satisfied.

She did not speak.

She did not need to.

She was inviting him.

To play.

To join her in the shadows, to leave behind the patience and careful strategy, to step fully into the game.

For a long moment, Viktor did nothing.

Then, slowly, he reached up, tracing his fingers along the side of her face, brushing strands of blue from her eyes.

"You will be the death of me," he murmured, voice low, almost fond.

Jinx grinned wider.

She leaned in, lips parting—

And for the second time in her life, she spoke.

"Not you," she whispered.

Viktor closed his eyes.

He could taste the promise on her lips. 

---

Ellios did not leave his chambers for three days.

The castle whispered of his sudden seclusion, of the servants who entered his rooms and left pale-faced and silent. The bravest gossiped about the second prince’s newfound paranoia—how he refused to sleep unless his door was bolted, how he flinched at the sound of laughter in the halls, how he woke screaming in the dead of night, his hand reaching for a blade that would never be enough to protect him.

Viktor had seen men unravel before.

But never his own brother.

Not like this.

Not with her watching.

Jinx sat atop his desk as always, cross-legged, hands fidgeting with his quills, snapping the ends and tossing them to the floor one by one. She did not look at Viktor. She only grinned to herself, humming softly as she worked.

He waited.

She always spoke to him—in her way—when she was ready.

Snap. Another quill broken.

Snap. Another.

Then, finally—she dipped her finger into the ink and began to scrawl across the desk’s surface.

Not a name this time.

A single word.

Tonight.

Viktor sighed through his nose. “Do you ever rest?”

Jinx tilted her head at him, considering, before shaking her head.

Of course not.

Not when the game was still being played.

---

By the time the sun set, Ellios had decided.

He could not prove what was happening, could not expose Viktor outright without revealing his own treachery. But he could not stay here any longer.

He needed to run.

To flee Crea, to regroup, to gather allies who might still favor him over his sickly brother. He would return stronger, and when he did, Viktor would not be waiting for him on the throne.

But he needed a distraction.

Something to keep the king’s gaze elsewhere, something to throw Viktor off balance—if only for a moment.

His eyes flickered to his goblet.

Yes.

If he could not kill Viktor outright, he could take something else from him.

Something precious.

Something that would wound him deeper than any blade.

The fool.

---

Jinx felt it before she saw it.

The castle had its own rhythm—a pulse that moved through its stone walls, a breathing thing built from the habits of its people. And something about it had changed.

The guards moved differently.

The halls were too quiet.

Something was waiting for her.

Jinx could have avoided it.

Could have slipped between shadows, vanished into hidden stairwells, let the trap close on empty air.

But that was not what she did.

She let them see her.

Let them think they had won.

The knights caught her just as she rounded the eastern corridor.

Six of them. More than enough to drag a fool away kicking and screaming.

Jinx did not scream.

She laughed.

It made them hesitate—only for a second—but that was all she needed.

Her fingers closed around the knife hidden beneath her sleeve, the cold steel pressing against her palm.

One of the knights grabbed her arm.

She let him.

Then she twisted, the blade flashing in the torchlight, slicing across his wrist.

The knight yelped, stumbling back. Blood splattered against the stone floor.

The others lunged.

Too many.

Even for her.

Strong hands closed around her arms, forcing her back against the wall. A gauntleted fist caught her across the jaw—not hard enough to break anything, but enough to stun her.

Jinx slumped, her body going limp.

Not because she was finished.

But because she had already won.

---

The moment the guards laid hands on her, Viktor knew it.

He had been sitting in his chambers, staring at the ink-streaked desk where her message still lingered—Tonight—when something in him shifted.

A wrongness.

A silence that should not be.

Then, a knock at his door.

A single guard, nervous, too nervous, eyes darting everywhere but at Viktor’s face.

“The king has requested your presence, Your Highness.”

Viktor stood slowly.

His fingers curled over the edge of his desk.

The silence stretched.

The guard swallowed. “It’s about your fool.”

The ink on the desk was still wet when Viktor turned and left the room.

---

The doors groaned open, revealing a sight that sent a slow, cold fury unfurling in Viktor’s chest.

Jinx was on her knees.

Her dress was torn, one shoulder bared, fresh bruises blooming against her pale skin. Blood dripped from her lip, pooling at the corner of her grin.

Ellios stood beside her, his expression carefully neutral.

The king sat on his throne, watching.

Waiting.

“Brother,” Ellios greeted, his voice even. “Your fool has overstepped.”

Jinx giggled. Laughed at nothing. At everything.

Viktor’s jaw tightened.

“I see,” he murmured.

Ellios gestured to the guards surrounding Jinx. “She has disrupted order for too long. The court grows uneasy. It is time she was disciplined.”

Jinx did not move.

Did not fight.

She only watched Viktor with that same knowing smile.

Waiting.

The king exhaled, rubbing his temple. “She is only a fool, Ellios. What is it you suggest?”

Ellios hesitated. Just for a second.

Then, he straightened.

“Banishment,” he said. “Or death.”

The air in the room turned sharp.

The court murmured.

Jinx tilted her head.

Viktor did not blink.

“Death,” he repeated.

Ellios met his gaze. “She is a threat to you, brother. If you do not see it now, you will.”

A pause.

A heartbeat.

Then, Viktor smiled.

Soft. Amused. Indulgent.

The court stilled.

Ellios frowned, shifting uneasily.

And Jinx—Jinx understood.

The game had ended.

Not because Ellios had won.

But because he had already lost.

Viktor stepped forward, slow, deliberate.

And when he spoke, his voice was quiet. Dangerous. Final.

"You are mistaken, dear brother."

He knelt before Jinx, reaching out—tracing a gloved hand over the fresh bruise on her cheek, fingers lingering against her jaw.

Then, he rose, turning to face their father.

“Ellios speaks the truth,” Viktor said.

A pause.

Then, he smiled.

"But not about Jinx."

The king's gaze sharpened. "What do you mean?"

Viktor exhaled, tilting his head.

Then, he spoke the words that sealed his brother’s fate.

“I request a trial, Father. A trial by blood.”

Ellios froze.

The court gasped.

Jinx grinned.

And Viktor—Viktor never looked away from his brother’s eyes.

It was time.

Ellios could not breathe.

The words had struck him like a blade to the chest, sharp and unforgiving.

A trial by blood.

A challenge. A rite as old as Crea itself. Two nobles in dispute, settling their grievances not with words, but with steel.

It was not meant for royal blood.

It was meant for traitors.

Ellios opened his mouth, but no sound came. He looked to their father, expecting denial, expecting the king to shake his head and dismiss it.

But Aldric of Crea was not a merciful king.

He was a ruler of law.

And the law demanded blood.

The great hall stood still, the court holding its breath.

The king’s fingers curled over the arms of his throne, his weathered face impassive. “You invoke the rite?” he asked, his voice measured.

Viktor inclined his head.

“Yes, Father.”

Ellios found his voice. “This is madness.” His own words were brittle, cracking with the edges of fear. “You cannot—”

The king raised a hand.

The room fell silent.

Aldric’s gaze swept over his eldest son, studying him. Weighing him.

For years, the king had believed Viktor would never live to rule.

And yet, here he stood—stronger than he had ever been, his once-frail body restored, his golden eyes burning with something undeniable.

“I accept your request,” the king said at last.

The court gasped.

Ellios staggered back.

Jinx…

Jinx laughed.

Soft at first, barely a whisper of breath—then louder, wilder, her body shaking with amusement as she tilted her head back.

Ellios’ fists clenched. “You think this is funny?”

Jinx grinned, her lip still bloodied, her eyes sharp as shattered glass.

Viktor turned to her.

And with a slow, deliberate motion—he offered his hand.

Jinx did not hesitate.

She placed her palm in his, and together, they walked away.

The trial was set.

In three days, Ellios would fight for his life.

And Viktor—Viktor would take everything from him.

Viktor had never been strong.

Not physically.

His body had betrayed him since birth, his bones weak, his muscles failing him time and time again. Even now, even after the elixirs Jinx gave him, he was not a warrior.

But he did not need to be.

Because Jinx knew how to win wars.

She perched on the edge of his bed that night, idly toying with a knife as she spoke in the only way she ever did.

A hum. A whisper. The faintest shape of a word.

“Poison.”

Viktor chuckled, running a hand through his dark hair. “You always choose the simplest solutions.”

Jinx tilted her head, blue eyes gleaming.

He sighed. “No. He will expect it.”

Jinx nodded, as if she had already known his answer.

She flicked the blade between her fingers, thinking.

Then, she smiled.

Not her usual grin.

Something colder.

Something meant only for him.

Viktor watched her, waiting.

Jinx moved closer—crawling over the bed, resting her chin on his shoulder, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.

And she whispered.

Viktor stilled.

His fingers twitched.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

Yes.

Yes, that would do.

---

Ellios did not sleep.

The castle felt different.

Wrong.

His brother’s presence had changed—the way Viktor walked, the way the courtiers watched him. It was as if the moment the king had accepted his challenge, he had become something else entirely.

No longer a dying prince.

No longer a brother waiting to be buried.

Ellios clenched his jaw, gripping his sword tighter.

He would not lose.

Not to him.

Not to the fool.

---

The arena was filled with whispers.

The court had gathered, seated in high balconies, their breath curling in the cool morning air.

The king sat upon a raised platform, watching with a gaze that betrayed nothing.

Ellios stood in the dirt, sword in hand, his heart pounding.

Across from him, Viktor stood motionless.

He was dressed in black, a blade at his hip—not a ceremonial weapon, but one meant for war. His dark hair fell into his golden eyes, sharp and steady.

And beside him, leaning against the wooden barrier, her dress stained with ink and something darker—Jinx watched.

Ellios exhaled, raising his sword. “We end this today.”

Viktor tilted his head.

Then—he laughed.

The sound crawled down Ellios’ spine.

Jinx giggled, matching him, her fingers twitching in anticipation.

Viktor drew his blade.

And the duel began.

Ellios lunged first.

His sword swung toward Viktor’s side, a killing blow—fast, precise, meant to end this immediately.

Viktor sidestepped effortlessly.

Ellios’ blade met air.

He barely had time to react before Viktor moved, his own sword cutting through the space between them.

Not fast.

Not aggressive.

But controlled.

Ellios stumbled back.

Something was wrong.

His limbs felt sluggish, his body heavy.

His breath came too fast.

The crowd murmured.

Ellios’ eyes widened.

Poison.

No—not poison.

Something else.

Something that had been done long before the duel had begun.

His armor.

His blade.

Tampered with.

Jinx.

It had been her.

Ellios’ mouth opened—a curse, a scream, something—

But Viktor did not give him the chance.

His sword found flesh.

A clean cut.

Precise.

Ellios dropped to his knees, his own blood spilling into the sand.

Viktor exhaled, rolling his shoulders, his blade still clean.

Jinx tilted her head, watching.

The court fell silent.

Ellios gasped, his fingers twitching in the dirt.

Viktor stepped forward, crouching beside him.

And in that quiet, final moment—he whispered.

“You were never going to win.”

Ellios’ breath hitched.

Viktor rose.

And with a single, sharp nod, he turned to face the king.

“It is finished.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Ellios knelt in the sand, blood pooling beneath him, his breath shallow and uneven. His golden eyes—so much like Viktor’s, but now dim with pain—locked onto his brother’s face, searching for something.

Mercy, perhaps.

He would find none.

Viktor’s grip on his blade did not tighten, nor did he tremble. He simply watched, his expression unreadable, the sunlight casting sharp angles against his pale features.

Jinx sat at the edge of the arena’s wooden barrier, her fingers twitching against the worn wood, eyes bright with something far beyond amusement.

Something hungry.

The court watched.

The king watched.

Ellios’ lips parted, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Please…”

Jinx giggled.

Not mockery.

Not cruelty.

Just knowing.

Viktor tilted his head, exhaling through his nose.

The answer had already been decided.

By Ellios himself.

By every whisper in the dark.

By every attempt to kill what refused to die.

He turned to face their father.

“Do you yield judgment, Your Majesty?” he asked, his voice calm.

Aldric of Crea did not look at Ellios.

Only at Viktor.

There was something like understanding in his expression.

And then—

He nodded.

“The rite is clear,” the king said. “The loser does not leave this field alive.”

Ellios stiffened.

His hands curled into the dirt.

“No,” he breathed. “No, I—”

Viktor moved.

Not rushed.

Not angry.

Simply efficient.

The blade slipped beneath his younger brother’s ribs, piercing clean through the back.

Ellios gasped, his mouth falling open in silent horror.

His fingers twitched.

Then stilled.

Jinx swung her legs idly against the wooden railing, humming softly.

The second prince of Crea slumped forward, his body hitting the sand in a graceless heap.

Dead.

Gone.

A pawn knocked from the board.

The game was over.

The court bowed.

The king nodded.

Jinx laughed.

And Viktor—Viktor smiled.

The halls of the castle were quiet in the days that followed.

Not in mourning.

There was no love lost for Ellios.

No weeping nobles. No wails of grief.

Only whispers.

Of the first prince’s victory.

Of the fool who danced beside him.

Of the way Viktor stood straighter now, how his steps no longer faltered, how his golden eyes no longer carried the weight of sickness.

He had been dying.

Now, he was something else entirely.

Stronger.

Sharper.

A king waiting for his crown.

---

Jinx perched on his desk as always, watching as Viktor sorted through documents, letters of allegiance arriving by the hour.

“You should rest,” he murmured without looking at her.

Jinx tilted her head, grinning.

Then, she leaned forward.

Close.

Her fingers danced across the wooden surface, tracing shapes, smearing ink.

A single word.

Soon.

Viktor chuckled softly.

She never truly rested.

Neither did he.

Not anymore.

Not when the throne was so close.

The coronation was swift.

Aldric of Crea was not dead. Not yet.

But the weight of age had settled upon his shoulders, and a king who had nearly lost his heir was a king who understood when it was time to step aside.

The court gathered beneath the great arches of the cathedral, the golden light of dusk spilling through stained glass, painting the floor in shades of crimson, sapphire, and gold.

Viktor knelt before the high priest.

Jinx stood at the edge of the ceremony, unseen yet always watching.

The moment the crown touched Viktor’s dark waves, the air seemed to shift.

The courtiers saw a prince who had survived his own grave.

The nobles saw a ruler who did not tremble.

Jinx saw exactly what she had always wanted to see.

Not a weak boy with failing limbs.

Not a frail heir barely clinging to life.

But a king.

---

That night, the castle was alive with celebration.

Wine flowed, music swelled, voices rose in song.

Jinx did not celebrate with them.

Neither did Viktor.

They sat in his chambers, as they always did, their world separate from the one beyond the door.

The crown sat upon his desk, forgotten, the golden band still warm from where it had rested on his head.

Jinx reached out, running her fingers along the edges of it.

Viktor watched her.

Waited.

She never asked for anything.

Never spoke of what she truly wanted.

But she did not need to.

Viktor knew.

He reached for her, his hand curling over her wrist, stilling her fingers against the crown’s surface.

Jinx blinked.

Viktor tilted his head, his thumb brushing over the ink-stained lines of her palm.

And then, softly—too softly for anyone but her to hear—he spoke.

“You were never my fool.”

Jinx stilled.

The ever-present laughter vanished from her lips.

Viktor leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear.

“You were always my queen.”

Jinx exhaled.

And then, slowly, ever so slowly—

She smiled.

Chapter 94: Royal Fool pt. 1.5

Summary:

Jinx had killed for him.

She had whispered conspiracies to him, eliminated threats before he had even lifted a finger.

And yet, in all these years, she had never made a sound like that for him.

For her father?

Apparently, it was effortless.

Notes:

These are just scenes from pt. 1 that didn’t make the cut, but I didn’t want them to never see the light of day 😗. Consider them bonus scenes; they don’t occur in any specific order, although some of them do connect. A couple of the details might contradict each other across the scenes because some of these got scraped before others, but it should be easy enough to ignore 😅.

The night smelled of rain.

The scent clung to the stone walls of Viktor’s chambers, damp and heavy, as the storm outside rattled against the castle’s high towers. The candlelight flickered in protest, shadows stretching across the wooden floor.

Viktor sat at his desk, his body weak, his limbs sluggish.

The sickness was worse that evening.

He could feel it in his bones—the aching, the slow, creeping fatigue that threatened to pull him under. His hands trembled as he reached for his quill, but the ink smeared before he could even finish his thought.

Useless.

His golden eyes flickered toward the door.

Jinx would come soon.

She always did.

It was as if she could sense it—when the weight of his own body became too much, when his breath came too thin, when the pain curled deep into his ribs and refused to let go.

And sure enough, moments later, the door creaked open.

Jinx did not knock. She never did.

She simply slipped inside, bare feet silent against the stone floor, the hem of her dress dragging behind her like ink spilled across parchment. Her hair was damp, strands of blue sticking to her forehead, as if she had been running through the rain.

She was holding something.

A small vial, clutched tightly between her fingers.

It glowed.

Not brightly.

Not unnaturally.

Just enough that, in the dim candlelight, the liquid shimmered a deep, ethereal blue—the same color as her eyes.

Viktor exhaled. “You’ve brought me something strange again.”

Jinx grinned, crossing the room in slow, measured steps.

She did not hand it to him right away.

Instead, she climbed onto the desk, perching at its edge, her legs swinging idly. She held the vial between them, tilting it, watching as the liquid swirled.

Viktor watched her.

He did not ask what it was.

He did not ask where she had found it.

Jinx never spoke, but she had never lied to him.

Not once.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Should I be afraid?”

Jinx’s smile widened.

She shook her head.

And then, without another word, she held out the vial.

Viktor took it.

His fingers brushed against hers—warm, solid, real.

For a moment, he only stared at it.

There was something familiar about the way the liquid moved, something almost alive. It caught the candlelight, glinting like moonlit water, rippling with an energy he could not name.

He could have refused.

Should have, perhaps.

But he didn’t.

Jinx had given it to him.

And that was enough.

Without hesitation, Viktor uncorked the vial—and drank.

The taste was… indescribable.

Not bitter. Not sweet.

Something cool, something light, something that spread through his veins like a whisper of strength.

He felt it immediately.

The ache in his chest eased.

The weight on his limbs lessened.

His fingers, once trembling, now stilled.

Viktor exhaled sharply, his golden eyes flicking up to meet hers.

Jinx was watching him.

Not like a fool.

Not like a child who played in the halls and made a mess of things.

Like something ancient.

Something knowing.

Something that had been waiting for this exact moment.

Viktor set the vial down, his mind buzzing with a thousand questions.

He asked none of them.

Instead, he reached out—fingers curling gently beneath her chin, tilting her face up toward his.

She did not pull away.

His thumb brushed her jaw, slow, thoughtful.

“This,” he murmured, his voice low, careful. “Is not the first time you’ve saved me.”

Jinx tilted her head.

Then, softly—soft enough that he almost didn’t hear—

She hummed.

Viktor smiled.

He did not press for answers.

Jinx would give them to him when she wanted to.

And until then—

He would drink every last drop she offered.

---

The first vial had given him strength.

The second had given him something more.

And the third?

The third had made him aware.

It had started with small things.

His fingers no longer trembled when he wrote. His breath no longer came short when he climbed the steps to his chambers. The pain that had been constant—a quiet torment curled between his ribs—was gone.

But then it became something else.

Something unnatural.

Something beyond healing.

Viktor noticed it the day he shattered a goblet between his fingers without meaning to.

He had been sitting at council, listening to his father drone on about the taxation of the outer territories, when he had picked up his wine without thought. The stem had cracked beneath his grip, the fine glass breaking into shards as if it were nothing more than paper.

The nobles had stared.

Viktor had only blinked.

It had not been forceful.

It had not been intentional.

It had simply… happened.

He had been sickly since birth, his body nothing but a fragile, failing thing.

But now?

Now, he could feel something shifting beneath his skin.

And he knew exactly where it had started.

Jinx brought him the fourth vial in the dead of night.

She did not knock.

She never did.

She simply appeared, stepping from the darkness of his chamber as if the shadows themselves had birthed her.

Viktor sat at his desk, turning the quill between his fingers, watching as she approached.

The vial glowed, just as the others had.

He did not ask.

He never did.

Jinx climbed onto his desk, perching at its edge, the glass bottle caught between her fingers.

She did not offer it immediately.

Instead, she watched him.

Studied him.

Like she was waiting.

Like she was seeing if he would hesitate this time.

Viktor exhaled through his nose.

“I’ve been breaking things,” he murmured.

Jinx tilted her head.

He held up his hand—the same one that had crushed the goblet without effort.

“I think I could break a man, too.”

A slow grin stretched across her lips.

She leaned forward, dangling the vial just above his reach, her fingers twitching against the glass.

Viktor arched a brow.

“I see,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “Now you wish to make me work for it?”

Jinx giggled, shifting onto her knees, watching as he finally reached for it.

His fingers brushed against hers.

The vial was warm, the same strange warmth that had begun to hum beneath his skin with every dose he consumed.

Jinx did not move.

She let him take it from her hands, her gaze never leaving his face.

He knew what she wanted.

She wanted him to acknowledge it.

To understand.

To accept what he was becoming.

Viktor uncorked the vial.

The liquid shimmered—blue as her eyes, blue as whatever ancient thing rested behind her gaze—and he did not pause.

He drank.

The effect was immediate.

A slow warmth, coiling beneath his ribs. A pulse beneath his skin, something alive, something that felt like more than blood.

Viktor exhaled, tilting his head back.

He could feel it now.

The power.

The unraveling of his mortal frailty.

The sickness that had once bound him? Gone.

The chains that had once tethered him to his weakness? Gone.

He flexed his fingers, watching as the fire beneath his skin rippled, humming in time with his breath.

Jinx laughed softly.

And Viktor smiled.

“Tell me,” he murmured, looking up at her, his golden eyes glowing in the candlelight.

Jinx tilted her head.

Viktor leaned forward, reaching for her wrist, his grip firm, his touch undeniable.

She did not pull away.

His thumb traced the fragile bones beneath her skin, his voice lower now, heavier now.

“What have you done to me?”

Jinx only grinned.

Her fingers twitched—restless, eager.

Then, her lips formed silent words.

"Fixed you."

Viktor inhaled.

Her breath was warm against his cheek, her pulse steady beneath his hand.

Fixed.

He had been broken since the day he was born.

But now—

Now, he was something else entirely.

Something stronger.

Something greater.

Jinx leaned in closer, her lips barely brushing his ear, her voice a breath of laughter and promise.

“Drink more,” she mouthed.

Viktor smiled.

And he would.

---

Viktor had been told, since the day Jinx was first brought to him, that she was not right in the head.

“She does not think as we do,” her father had warned. “She is wild, untamed. A child lost in her own world.”

Viktor had believed it.

Because why wouldn’t he?

She ran barefoot through the halls, staining her hands with ink and candle wax. She giggled at nothing, whispered to herself in empty corridors, tilted her head at the sky as if listening to a song only she could hear.

And yet—

Viktor noticed things.

Subtle things.

Small things.

Things that could have been ignored—should have been ignored.

But Viktor noticed everything.

It happened when he was seventeen.

They were in his chambers, as they often were, Jinx sprawled across his desk, absently twirling a dagger between her fingers.

Viktor sat beside her, reading.

Or trying to.

His thoughts were elsewhere, his mind lingering on the council meeting earlier that day—on his father, on his brother, on the way the nobles spoke as if he were not in the room at all.

And then—

Jinx yawned.

A small, careless thing, stretching her arms over her head like a cat, the dagger still held loosely in her grip.

It was nothing.

But Viktor noticed.

Not the yawn itself.

Not the stretch.

But the timing.

Because it had been perfectly placed.

Because it had been just enough to cover the sound of a servant’s footsteps in the hall—just enough to mask the soft creak of someone listening at the door.

And the moment the eavesdropper was gone—

Jinx lowered her arms, rolling onto her side, humming idly as if she had done nothing at all.

Viktor stilled.

It was so small.

So insignificant.

But it had been done with purpose.

And Viktor knew, in that moment, with absolute certainty—

Jinx’s mind was not broken.

It was sharper than anyone had ever realized.

She must have felt his stare, because she turned to face him, blinking up at him with too-wide eyes.

Viktor tilted his head, studying her.

Jinx smiled.

An innocent thing.

A fool’s thing.

A lie.

Viktor exhaled slowly, leaning forward, bracing his elbows against the desk.

His golden eyes flickered over her face, searching.

“Jinx,” he murmured, voice light, conversational. “Do you know what I think?”

Jinx raised a brow.

Viktor smiled.

“I think,” he said, tilting his head, “you are a very good liar.”

Jinx did not blink.

Did not fidget.

Did not react at all.

That was how he knew he was right.

For the first time since he had met her—Jinx did not play along.

Viktor watched her carefully, waiting for her to deny it, waiting for her to giggle and kick her feet and act as though she had not understood the words at all.

Instead—

She smiled.

A slow, lazy stretch of lips, a glint in her eyes that was neither madness nor innocence, but something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Viktor inhaled, rolling his quill between his fingers.

Then, he leaned back in his chair, letting the moment pass.

He did not say anything more.

He did not press.

Because now that he had seen it—

He could never unsee it.

And Jinx knew that.

She had always known.

---

Viktor was not a jealous man.

At least, not openly.

Jealousy was for fools, for men with weak tempers and fragile egos. It was for courtiers who bickered over spilled wine, for second sons who would never see a crown, for nobles who thought power was something that could be given rather than taken.

Viktor had never been that kind of man.

He was patient.

He had been forced into patience since birth—when his body had failed him, when his father had dismissed him, when his enemies had looked at him and seen a corpse waiting to be buried.

He could endure.

He could wait.

He could play the long game, because in the end, he always won.

And yet—

As he watched Jinx practically vibrating with excitement at the news of her father’s arrival, he felt something sharp coil beneath his ribs.

Irritation.

Frustration.

Something far uglier.

Something he did not have a name for.

She squealed.

An actual, delighted squeal, one that startled the guards standing at the far end of the room.

Viktor, seated at his desk, stilled. His quill hovered over parchment, his golden eyes flickering toward her.

Jinx had killed for him.

She had whispered conspiracies to him, eliminated threats before he had even lifted a finger.

And yet, in all these years, she had never made a sound like that for him.

For her father?

Apparently, it was effortless.

Viktor exhaled slowly. “Is that necessary?”

Jinx didn’t even glance at him.

She was already moving, flinging open her wardrobe—her ignored wardrobe, the one stuffed with dresses that had rarely ever seen the light of day.

Viktor arched a brow.

And then, in absolute disbelief, he watched her choose a dress that wasn’t ruined.

It was blue.

One of the few garments that wasn’t stained with ink, or soot, or blood.

He had never seen her wear it.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was when she bent down—and pulled out shoes.

Slippers, pristine and untouched, as if they had been hidden away for this exact moment.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the desk.

“Are those yours?” he asked dryly.

Jinx ignored him.

Again.

She was already dressing, already fixing her hair, already smoothing out invisible wrinkles in the fabric as if she actually cared.

And then, before Viktor could say another word—

She was gone.

She went to the window.

She always did.

The moment she was dressed, Jinx flew to her usual spot, pressing her hands against the cool glass, eyes scanning the distant road.

Viktor followed at a slower pace, his amusement carefully concealing something far uglier.

He said nothing.

Just watched her.

Watched the way she fidgeted, her fingers twitching against the windowsill.

Watched the way her foot tapped impatiently.

Watched the way her entire body went still the second the first flicker of carriage wheels appeared in the distance.

And then—

A gasp.

An actual, breathless gasp.

And she was gone again.

Down the stairs.

Through the entrance.

Past the guards.

Viktor did not follow.

He had seen this moment too many times.

Instead, he leaned against the window, arms crossed, watching as Jinx threw herself into her father’s arms the second he stepped from the carriage.

Duke Volvere barely had time to brace himself before Jinx locked her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a child.

The feared and powerful Silco—the man who commanded the loyalty of Crea’s most ruthless men—simply sighed, as if this was expected.

His gloved hand came up, stroking her hair, he stood too far for Viktor to make out what he said.

Jinx laughed.

Not the wild, high-pitched laughter that echoed through the castle halls.

Not the sharp-edged giggle she let loose before doing something violent.

Something softer.

Something Viktor was sure he had never heard before.

She had never laughed at him like that.

Not once.

Viktor’s jaw tightened.

His fingers tapped against the windowsill.

One, two, three.

A habit he only had when something bothered him.

He should not be bothered by this.

Jinx was a weapon.

Jinx was a tool.

Jinx was his.

And yet—

And yet.

Viktor exhaled, running a hand through his dark curls.

She would return to him soon enough.

She always did.

But right now?

Right now, he was second place.

And Viktor had never hated losing more in his life.

---

Viktor woke to silence.

It was wrong.

The castle was never silent. Not when Jinx was there.

Always, when he woke, there was something—the distant sound of her laughter echoing through the halls, the muffled yelps of servants she had tormented, the clatter of some new mess she had created.

But today?

Nothing.

The air felt off, charged with something unnatural.

Viktor lay still for a moment, golden eyes flickering toward the door.

Waiting.

Listening.

Where is she?

He was out of bed before he realized he had moved.

He searched the halls first.

It was instinct, as natural as breathing. He expected to find her dangling from a chandelier, or sprawled across his desk, or hiding in the rafters like a mischief-born specter.

But the guards did not flinch as he passed.

The servants did not look terrorized.

The castle was… normal.

That was what made his stomach twist.

Viktor’s steps quickened.

He found her in her chambers.

She rarely used them.

Jinx never slept—not truly. She was always awake, always watching, always one step ahead of the threats she eliminated before Viktor ever knew they existed.

Her room was more a storage space than a sanctuary—a place to hoard the gifts she had been given over the years, the trinkets she refused to part with, the remnants of a girl who had once been allowed to be a child.

Viktor did not knock.

He never did.

The door creaked as he pushed it open.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn, the air heavy with the scent of ink, candle wax, and something metallic.

And there—

Curled beneath a mountain of blankets, buried beneath plush toy animals—

Was Jinx.

Viktor exhaled slowly.

She was still.

Too still.

Her breathing was wrong.

Shallow. Strained. Labored.

Viktor’s fingers twitched at his sides.

His mind moved through the worst possibilities first—poison, illness, injury, all of them at once—before his body did what it always did.

It moved toward her.

She did not stir as he sat at the edge of the bed.

Did not flinch as he reached for the blanket and slowly pulled it down.

The first thing he saw was sweat.

It clung to her skin, dampening strands of blue hair, staining the sheets beneath her.

The second thing he saw was red.

A wound. Poorly bandaged, hidden beneath the blankets, ignored in the way only Jinx could ignore something fatal.

And the third thing—

The way her breath hitched when he touched her.

Viktor’s jaw tightened.

His hand moved to her forehead—too warm. Fevered.

She had been hurt.

She had been poisoned.

And she had told no one.

Viktor inhaled slowly.

Then—

He turned to the open door.

And summoned the royal physician with a single, sharp command.

The physician arrived quickly.

Not because he valued his life—though that was certainly a factor—but because Viktor’s voice had left no room for delay.

The old man stiffened upon entering the room, eyes darting to the form beneath the blankets, to the sweat-soaked hair, to the way Jinx barely reacted when he touched her wrist to check her pulse.

He frowned. “She is… unwell.”

Viktor’s golden eyes flickered, sharp as a knife.

“Obviously.”

The physician swallowed, nodding quickly. “Apologies, Your Highness.”

His hands worked with practiced efficiency, unwrapping the crude bandage around her waist, inspecting the wound beneath.

He froze.

The cut was deep, but it should not have made her this sick.

Not unless—

“…This blade was poisoned,” he muttered.

Jinx snorted weakly, the first sound she had made since Viktor entered the room.

“Of course it was,” Viktor murmured, his voice soft, dangerous.

The physician hesitated. “And yet, this is… unusual.”

Viktor raised a brow. “Unusual?”

The old man shifted uncomfortably. “The poison should have done far worse than this.”

He gestured vaguely to Jinx—fevered, weak, barely clinging to wakefulness, and yet… alive.

“The symptoms are… mild,” he admitted. “By all accounts, she should be dead.”

A long silence.

Jinx’s fingers twitched beneath the sheets.

Viktor exhaled, running a hand through his dark curls.

Of course she should be dead.

She had always been impossible.

The physician did his work.

He cleaned the wound. Applied medicine. Ordered the servants to bring ice for the fever.

And all the while, Viktor did not leave her side.

He sat at the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly against the blankets, golden eyes unreadable.

Jinx did not open her eyes.

Not fully.

But after a long while, when the physician had finally left—

Her fingers twitched against the sheets, brushing against his.

Viktor sighed.

“You are a reckless, troublesome thing,” he murmured.

Jinx huffed a breath, barely audible.

Then, her lips curled.

A weak, tired, half-there smirk.

“…Fool,” she mouthed.

Viktor chuckled softly.

His fingers curled around hers.

“Not to me.”

---

The royal garden was too bright, too perfect, too controlled.

The children of high-ranking nobles sat at the long table with practiced elegance, their hands curled delicately around porcelain teacups, their voices soft and measured.

Even Ellios, who was usually a snake disguised as a boy, played his part well—his golden eyes watching, his smile just charming enough to be believable.

And then there was Jinx.

Jinx, who did not belong at the table.

Jinx, who had refused to sit still, who had abandoned her chair before the tea had even been poured, who had run barefoot through the garden, plucking flowers and shoving the petals into her mouth as if they were delicacies.

The noble children watched her with thinly veiled horror.

The maids pretended not to see her.

Ellios wrinkled his nose in disgust.

And Viktor?

Viktor simply watched her, amused.

The tea arrived in a perfect procession.

Silver trays. Delicate porcelain pots. The soft clink of finery against polished wood.

Viktor did not drink immediately.

He let his cup sit untouched, cooling in the afternoon breeze.

He preferred it warm, not hot.

And so, he waited.

And as he waited, Jinx disappeared from his line of sight.

He barely had time to lift his cup before—

A blur of blue and laughter.

Jinx snatched the teacup from his hands.

The table fell silent.

A horrified gasp rippled through the noble children.

Ellios froze, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Jinx, utterly unbothered by the chaos she had just caused, turned toward the maid who had poured Viktor’s tea—

And with no hesitation, no warning, no words—

She threw the tea into the woman’s face.

The maid already had a shout on the tip of her tongue before she cut herself off with a gasp.

The screams came immediately after.

The maid collapsed, clawing at her face, her cries sharp and raw, her skin melting as the poison ate through flesh like fire.

The noble children shrieked, their chairs scraping against the stone as they stumbled away.

The maids hesitated, terrified, unsure whether to help their fallen companion or keep their distance.

Ellios’ breath hitched, his expression flickering between shock and something darker.

And Viktor?

Viktor simply watched.

The realization settled instantly.

His tea had been poisoned.

And Jinx had known.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

The poisoned maid writhed on the ground.

The nobles stood frozen.

The guards, too stunned to act, only stared.

And then—

Jinx moved.

Not toward Viktor.

Not toward the screaming, melting woman.

But back to the table.

Back to her seat, where she had not been sitting all afternoon.

And in one fluid motion—

She reached for the desserts.

She grabbed a small cake, stuffing the entire thing into her mouth, crumbs and frosting smearing across her face and hands like a child who had never been taught manners.

She giggled, swinging her legs, her blue eyes bright, wild, and full of absolute nonsense.

As if she had not just exposed an assassination attempt.

As if she had not just saved his life.

As if she had done nothing at all.

Viktor turned toward her slowly, his fingers still resting on the table where his teacup had once been.

She had already moved on.

She laughed at nothing, licking icing off her fingers.

She reached for another cake.

Viktor exhaled sharply.

His golden eyes flickered over her face, scanning every detail.

The nobles were still staring at her, eyes wide, horrified.

Ellios was watching her closely, something unreadable lurking in his expression.

And Jinx—

Jinx only cared about her stolen desserts.

Viktor tapped his fingers against the table, mind turning, calculating.

This was…

Too much.

Too calculated to be mindless mischief.

Too perfectly timed to be an accident.

The fool had moved before the game had even begun.

And for the first time since he met her—

Viktor began to suspect that Jinx was not a fool at all.

---

The streets of Crea were alive with celebration.

The King’s Festival had begun.

Lanterns lined the winding roads, casting a warm, golden glow over the crowds. Stalls overflowed with food and trinkets, merchants shouting over the joyous noise of performers, laughter, and music.

The air smelled of roasted chestnuts, spiced cider, and something sweet baking in the distance.

Viktor had never seen it like this.

Not up close.

The festival was for the common folk, for the city outside the palace walls. He had only ever glimpsed it from his window, a distant blur of lights and color—something he was never meant to experience himself.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was here.

Because Jinx wanted to see it.

And Viktor, ever indulgent, ever soft when it came to her, had made it happen.

The royal physician had not approved.

Too much strain. Too much risk.

Viktor had smiled politely, nodded in agreement—

Then taken the prescription for his pain and ignored all further warnings.

With cloaks, careful disguises, and a quiet escape through the servants’ passage, Viktor had stepped beyond the palace walls.

And Jinx?

Jinx had practically dragged him into the crowd the second they arrived.

He held her hand the entire time.

Not because he had to.

Not because she needed him to.

But because he was afraid she might disappear.

She pulled him here, then there, her blue eyes darting wildly between the festival lights, drawn to anything shiny, bright, or moving too fast.

A juggler tossing fire into the air—Jinx gasped and yanked him toward the performance.

A vendor selling sugared fruit—Jinx immediately reached for his coat, searching for coins he had not agreed to give her but did so anyway.

A small table lined with intricate metal trinkets—Jinx stopped so abruptly he nearly stumbled, her fingers twitching as she stared at the collection.

Viktor huffed a laugh, steadying himself against his cane.

“You act as if you have never seen a market before,” he mused.

Jinx grinned, turning toward him, still clutching his hand as if she was the one afraid he might slip away in the crowd.

She opened her mouth, as if to say something—

Then stopped.

She did not speak.

She never did.

Instead, she looked back at the vendor’s table, tapping her fingers against his wrist—a silent request.

Viktor sighed, but his lips curled.

“Fine.”

Jinx’s eyes lit up as he reached for his coin purse.

The trinket she chose was a small, silver charm.

A little bird, wings outstretched as if frozen mid-flight.

Jinx held it up, inspecting it, turning it over in her ink-stained fingers.

Viktor arched a brow. “A bird?”

Jinx tilted her head, then—to his surprise—she took his hand and pressed the charm into his palm.

Viktor blinked.

“It’s for me?”

Jinx nodded, grinning.

And then, just as quickly, she turned and rushed back into the festival, pulling him along, already onto the next thing that had caught her attention.

Viktor exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head.

He followed.

He always did.

By the time the final lanterns were lit, Viktor could feel the strain in his body.

The festival was louder now, music rising, fire dancers weaving through the crowds, the sky painted in brilliant hues of gold and crimson.

Jinx was still wide-eyed, full of energy, full of life.

Viktor was tired.

He leaned against his cane, watching her, letting the sounds of the festival blur into background noise.

She turned back to him, tilting her head.

Viktor exhaled.

“It is getting late,” he murmured.

Jinx frowned.

But then—she reached for his hand again.

And, without hesitation, she led him away from the noise.

Not back to the palace.

Not yet.

She guided him to the quieter part of the festival, where the river reflected the glow of paper lanterns floating across the water.

Viktor sighed, lowering himself onto a bench, rubbing his temple.

Jinx sat beside him—not restless now, not pulling him toward the next distraction.

Just sitting.

Just existing beside him.

Viktor turned his head slightly, studying her.

Her blue eyes were fixed on the river, her hands fidgeting with the loose thread of her cloak, lost in thought.

For the first time that night, she looked peaceful.

And Viktor—

Viktor smiled.

She had wanted to see the festival.

And so, he had taken her.

But now, as they sat together beneath the lantern-lit sky, he realized something else entirely.

She had been leading him just as much as he had been leading her.

They returned to the castle in the dead of night.

The cloaks came off.

The disguises were set aside.

But the silver bird?

Viktor kept it.

Always.

Chapter 95: A Cure For Madness

Summary:

It had been the right decision.

Hadn’t it?

He had been losing control. She had been sinking into him, warping his thoughts, making him doubt himself. This was necessary.

Necessary.

Then why did it feel like he had shattered something vital?

The iron gates groaned as they closed behind Viktor, their rusted hinges singing a protest against the evening wind. The asylum loomed before him, a grim silhouette against the gray sky, its barred windows catching the last slivers of light like jagged teeth. A fitting place, he thought, for the kind of minds that society had deemed incurable.

He had arrived three days ago, fresh from the university, eager to make a difference. But the other doctors had been quick to warn him.

“Jinx is different,” Dr. Callahan had muttered over a cup of stale coffee. “She doesn’t respond to treatment. She plays with you. Gets inside your head if you let her.”

“She’s a lost cause,” another had added. “Some patients want to be cured. She just wants to watch you try.”

Viktor had nodded, listening, but he had heard such things before. They were all just people, in the end. Wounded minds, broken in ways that medicine could mend—if handled correctly.

Then he met her.

Jinx lay sprawled across the chaise lounge of her cell, the dim overhead bulb flickering against the cold concrete walls. She wasn’t restrained—she never needed to be. Not physically, at least.

“Ah, doctor,” she drawled as Viktor entered, her voice carrying the lilt of someone who had already won the conversation before it began. “Come to fix me, have you?”

Viktor closed the door behind him, stepping into the dim light, clipboard tucked neatly under his arm. “That is the idea, yes.”

She grinned, tilting her head in that slow, deliberate way that made his stomach twist. “And what’s the diagnosis, doc? What terrible sickness plagues poor little me?”

He exhaled. “You are unwell.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Then why haven’t you fixed me?”

There was no hesitation in her voice, no desperation—just curiosity, like she was examining a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.

Viktor glanced at the notes they had given him. Severe psychosis. Delusions. Manic tendencies. A history of violence.

And yet, when he looked at her now, sprawled on that couch like a woman entertaining a suitor rather than a patient awaiting treatment, he felt something itch at the back of his mind.

She was watching him. Not like a patient watches a doctor. Like a cat watches a mouse.

The days passed, and their sessions continued.

She talked. Endlessly. About the doctors before him, about the ones who had left, the ones who had failed. She made jokes, her laughter high and sharp, like a blade pressing against his ribs. She whispered things—things he shouldn’t have let get to him.

“You think you’re the doctor, but you’re just another patient, playing at control.”

“Tell me, doc… if I’m the crazy one, why do you keep coming back?”

And worse still—he didn’t have an answer.

Viktor prided himself on control, on logic, on the cold precision of the human mind. But Jinx was none of those things. She was chaos, coiled and waiting, her presence stretching between them like a silk thread, ready to snap.

One evening, after their session had ended, he lingered outside her door longer than he should have.

She was humming to herself inside, a lilting, off-key tune.

Then, just as he turned to leave—

“See you tomorrow, doc.”

Not a question. Not a guess. A certainty.

She knew.

And Viktor, standing in the dim, empty hallway, gripping his clipboard with fingers too tight, realized something chilling:

She was right.

---

Viktor wasn’t sure when he started dreading their sessions.

Or—no. Dreading wasn’t the right word.

Anticipating.

Something about Jinx lingered in his mind long after he left her cell. The way she spoke, the way she looked at him like she was waiting for him to catch up to a joke only she understood. He told himself it was clinical curiosity. A mind like hers was fascinating—a case study in unpredictability. He told himself he was only trying to understand her.

But then why did her voice echo in his head long after he left the asylum? Why did he dream of blue eyes watching him through the bars of his ribs, picking him apart like a clockwork toy?

Something was wrong.

But he kept coming back.

“I think you’re afraid of me, doc.”

Jinx was lying on her couch again, arms folded beneath her head, legs crossed at the ankles. She was always too comfortable, too relaxed, as if none of this mattered. As if she wasn’t locked away, alone, forgotten by the world outside.

Viktor glanced up from his notes. “I am not afraid of you.”

She laughed—laughed—like he had said something truly ridiculous. “Oh, you are fun.” She propped herself up on her elbows, tilting her head. “I bet you tell yourself that a lot. ‘I am not afraid of her. I am not affected by her.’” Her grin widened. “Do you say it before bed, too? Like a prayer?”

Viktor set his pen down with deliberate calm. “You seem convinced that you hold power over me.”

“I know I do.” She leaned closer, blue hair spilling over her shoulders. “I see the way you look at me. Like you’re trying so hard not to let it show. You think I don’t notice?”

His jaw tensed. “Notice what?”

She smiled. A slow, creeping thing. “That you like talking to me more than you should.”

A flicker of irritation tightened in his chest. He refused to engage with her provocations—it was a game, just like everything else with her. He had seen her play these tricks before, drawing reactions out of the doctors who thought they could fix her.

Viktor would not be one of them.

He exhaled. “We are not here to talk about me.”

She flopped back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. “No, of course not. You’re the doctor. I’m the patient. That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Her fingers drummed lazily against her stomach. “But it’s funny, isn’t it?”

Viktor frowned. “What is?”

She turned her head, eyes gleaming. “That I feel fine, but you look worse every day.”

A chill crawled down his spine.

“Tell me, doc…” Jinx’s voice dropped to something softer, something silkier. “Do you really think I’m the sick one here?”

Viktor inhaled sharply. He gathered his notes, the scrape of his chair against the floor louder than it should have been. “That will be all for today.”

Jinx just grinned, watching as he stood, as he left, as the door clicked shut behind him.

She was still smiling when the footsteps faded down the hall.

Because she knew he would be back.

---

Viktor told himself he was in control.

He told himself this every morning as he adjusted his tie, as he stepped through the asylum’s iron gates, as he walked down the dimly lit corridors that smelled of antiseptic and desperation.

He told himself this as he sat across from Jinx, clipboard in hand, carefully measured words leaving his lips.

But she was unraveling him. Slowly. Patiently. Like a cat peeling the wings off a trapped butterfly just to see what would happen.

And worse—he was letting her.

“How many doctors have sat in that chair before you?”

Jinx was playing with a loose thread on her sleeve, tugging at it absentmindedly as she spoke. Her voice was light, playful, but Viktor knew by now that meant nothing.

“Seven,” he answered, because he had read her file.

She grinned. “You did your homework. I’m flattered.”

Viktor ignored the remark. “Most of them left before a year was up. Some even sooner.”

Her blue eyes flicked up to meet his. “And do you know why they left?”

“Because you refuse treatment.”

“Wrong.” She wagged a finger at him, her grin widening. “They left because I got inside their heads.”

Viktor exhaled. “That is what you tell yourself.”

“That is what happened.” She tilted her head, watching him like a puzzle she was piecing together. “They start out just like you. So sure of themselves. So certain that they’re the ones in charge.” She leaned forward slightly. “But it never takes long before they start doubting things.”

Viktor’s grip on his pen tightened. “Doubting what?”

She smiled. Slow. Knowing.

“Themself.”

Silence stretched between them.

Viktor didn’t look away. He refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. But she saw it anyway. The slightest flicker of something in his eyes. A shadow of uncertainty.

And that was enough.

Jinx leaned back, stretching her arms over her head. “You’re different, though,” she mused, almost lazily. “You’re smart. You don’t fall for my tricks.”

He watched her warily, unsure of where she was leading. “…No.”

She smiled. “That’s why it’s so much fun with you.”

Something in his chest twisted. He hated that he felt it at all.

She saw everything.

That night, Viktor sat in his office long after the asylum had gone quiet.

His notes on Jinx were scattered across his desk, ink bleeding into the paper from where his grip on the pen had been too firm. He read them over and over, searching for something—an answer, an explanation.

But all he found were her words, looping in his head like a song he couldn’t forget.

Do you really think I’m the sick one here?

His hands curled into fists.

Of course she was.

Of course she was.

And yet—

He thought about the way her voice lingered in the silence. The way her eyes followed him even after he left the room. The way he felt watched even when she wasn’t there.

Viktor let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

This was ridiculous. He was her doctor. She was his patient. There was nothing more to it than that.

And yet…

Why did it feel like she was the one dissecting him?

---

Viktor started dreaming of her.

At first, the dreams were nothing. Fleeting, fractured things—flashes of blue hair, laughter curling in the dark, fingers trailing over the edge of his desk. Then they became more vivid. More real.

Jinx, sitting across from him, except the bars between doctor and patient were gone.

Jinx, whispering things he couldn’t understand, but somehow already knew.

Jinx, leaning too close, lips just shy of his ear.

“You’re mine, doc.”

He woke up breathless.

Cold sweat clung to his skin as he sat upright in bed, the faint glow of his bedside lamp doing little to chase away the weight pressing against his ribs.

It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

And yet, when he arrived at the asylum the next morning, her grin was sharper than usual.

As if she knew.

“Late night, doc?”

Jinx was draped across her couch, fingers idly twirling a strand of hair. She wasn’t restrained—she never had to be. Not physically, at least.

Viktor exhaled through his nose. “I do not see how that is relevant.”

Her grin widened. “Oh, I think you do.”

He ignored her, flipping through his notes. “We have yet to discuss your…” He hesitated, searching for the right word.

Jinx arched a brow. “My?”

Viktor’s fingers tensed around his clipboard. “Episodes.”

“Ah.” She tapped her chin, mock thoughtful. “You mean the part where I break things? Cause a little mayhem? Get my hands dirty?”

His gaze hardened. “You have hurt people, Jinx.”

“So have you.”

Silence.

Jinx tilted her head, watching him like a cat watching something fragile try to run. “Oh, come on, doktor. You really think you’re innocent?” She gestured vaguely toward the asylum walls. “You work here. You keep people locked up. You call it ‘helping.’ But tell me—how many of your patients ever actually leave?”

Viktor inhaled slowly. “This is not about me.”

She smiled. “That’s what they all say. At first.”

A sharp, crawling sensation pressed against the back of his skull. He shoved it down. “We are here to talk about you.”

Jinx hummed, stretching her arms over her head. “Then tell me, doc—what do you think is wrong with me?”

He had read the files. The endless reports, the careful diagnoses stamped in ink. Manic episodes. Psychosis. Schizotypal tendencies. Unfit for rehabilitation.

And yet—

She wasn’t wild. Not in the way they described. Not erratic.

Everything she did was deliberate. Precise. Like she was always playing a game where only she knew the rules.

Viktor folded his hands over his clipboard. “I think you enjoy control.”

Jinx let out a sharp, delighted laugh. “Oh, I love when they get it.” She propped herself up on her elbows, blue eyes gleaming. “And what about you, doc? Do you like control?”

The air in the room shifted.

Viktor swallowed. “That is irrelevant.”

Jinx’s grin was a slow, creeping thing.

“I think it’s very relevant.”

That night, Viktor didn’t go straight home.

He sat in his office, hands steepled beneath his chin, staring at the dim glow of his desk lamp.

Something was wrong.

Not with her.

With him.

He had handled difficult patients before. He had dealt with manipulation, with deflection, with all the tricks minds like hers used to slip through the cracks.

But this was different.

Jinx didn’t just play the game—she controlled it. Bent the board beneath her fingers, rearranged the pieces at will.

And worst of all—

She was winning.

Viktor let out a slow, unsteady breath.

He needed to regain control.

Before she took it completely.

---

Viktor told himself he would reset the balance.

He would regain control of the situation. Maintain the proper distance.

And yet, as he walked down the asylum corridor toward Jinx’s cell, a sharp, slithering voice in the back of his mind whispered:

You don’t want to.

He ignored it.

“Ah, there he is.”

Jinx was already smiling when he entered. She was always smiling. But today, something in her expression felt different. A little too knowing.

Viktor kept his face neutral as he sat down, setting his clipboard onto his lap. “You seem in high spirits.”

She propped her chin on one hand. “Why wouldn’t I be? My favorite doctor keeps coming back.”

He didn’t react. “I return because it is my job.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

His grip on his pen tightened. “It is the truth.”

Jinx leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, voice dropping to something soft. Something almost intimate.

“Then why,” she murmured, “do you only ever spend this much time with me?”

His heart stuttered.

He kept his expression calm, composed—but she saw it. The flicker in his eyes, the slight shift in his posture.

And she grinned.

“Ohhh,” she breathed, delighted. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” he asked, too sharply.

Jinx didn’t answer immediately. She let the silence stretch, her gaze dragging over him like she was studying a specimen in a glass case.

Then, in a whisper barely above a breath:

“You’re becoming mine.”

The words crawled beneath his skin.

Viktor inhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay steady. “You are mistaken.”

Her grin widened. “Am I?”

“You are playing a game.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I am not part of it.”

She leaned back, tilting her head. “Then why haven’t you stopped me?”

His jaw locked.

The air between them felt too heavy, too thick. He should have stood. Should have ended the session. Should have walked out of that room and reported her manipulative behavior, cataloged it in her file, warned the other doctors.

Instead, he stayed.

And Jinx knew it.

Her grin softened, turned almost gentle.

“It’s okay, doc,” she murmured. “I like you too.”

Viktor’s breath caught.

She didn’t say it like a joke. Not like one of her usual taunts, laced with mockery.

She said it like a truth. Like a fact she had already accepted long before he had even thought to question it.

Something inside him cracked.

And Jinx, watching him from her couch, saw it happen.

That night, Viktor didn’t sleep.

He didn’t even try.

He sat in his darkened office, head in his hands, the echoes of her words pressing against his skull.

You’re becoming mine.

It wasn’t true.

It couldn’t be true.

And yet—

He thought about the way she watched him. The way her voice lingered in his mind even after he left.

The way she knew things before he did.

A shiver crawled down his spine.

Jinx was not a patient to be cured.

She was a sickness. A slow, creeping infection that took hold of the mind before you even realized you were infected.

And Viktor—

He was already feeling the fever set in.

---

Viktor told himself he would take a break from her.

A few days away, just to clear his mind. To regain control.

But by the second day, the silence felt wrong.

The asylum halls were quieter without her voice filling the air, without that teasing lilt curling around his thoughts like smoke. The other patients were predictable—routine cases, minds he could neatly categorize and diagnose.

None of them unraveled him.

None of them made his hands tighten around his pen, made his breath catch on a single glance.

None of them were her.

And so, on the third day, against his better judgment—against all judgment—he found himself outside her door once more.

And she was waiting.

“Well, well,” Jinx drawled as he entered. “Thought you’d finally gotten rid of me.”

Viktor sat down with forced calm, setting his clipboard on his lap. “I had other patients to attend to.”

Jinx arched a brow. “Other patients?”

He didn’t answer.

She hummed, tapping a finger against her chin. “Did you miss me, doc?”

Viktor exhaled. “You have a very high opinion of yourself.”

“I do,” she agreed easily. “But that’s not an answer.”

He ignored her, flipping through his notes. “We are not here to discuss—”

“You did.”

His fingers stilled.

Jinx smiled. Slow. Knowing. “You missed me.”

Viktor set his clipboard down. A little too roughly. “You think too highly of your influence.”

Jinx tilted her head. “And yet, here you are.”

His pulse was too loud in his ears.

He had prepared himself for this—had steeled himself against her games, convinced himself that he would be unaffected.

But Jinx was not a patient to be studied.

She was a force.

One that reached inside the ribs, curled around the heart, and squeezed just enough to remind you it was there.

And Viktor—

He was already suffocating.

That night, he locked his office door and stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

He looked tired.

Shadows beneath his eyes. Tension in his jaw. A weariness that had nothing to do with lack of sleep and everything to do with the thing burrowing into his mind.

He gripped the edges of the sink.

This had to stop.

He had worked too hard, built his life on logic, on control—on the certainty that the mind was something that could be understood. Cured.

But Jinx—

Jinx laughed at logic.

Jinx danced on the line between sane and broken and dared him to follow.

And worst of all—

He wanted to.

Viktor inhaled sharply, pressing his palms against the cool porcelain.

She was the patient.

He was the doctor.

That was how this worked.

That was how it had to work.

He lifted his head, staring at his reflection, forcing steel back into his spine.

Tomorrow, he would regain control.

He would.

Even if something deep inside him whispered otherwise.

---

Viktor watched from the doorway as the nurses cornered Jinx.

She had been laughing when they entered—one of those sharp, wild little cackles she always used when she thought she was in control of the room. But when they grabbed her, when the needle came into view, something in her changed.

Her body snapped tense, all traces of amusement gone.

“No—” she jerked back, but there was nowhere to go.

The first nurse caught her wrist, twisting it roughly.

Jinx struggled. Fought harder than he had ever seen her fight, thrashing against their hands, eyes blown wide with something he hadn’t expected to see—

Fear.

“Get off me—”

One of the nurses grunted as she kicked out, her foot connecting with his leg. The other two tightened their grip, forcing her against the wall, pinning her down.

Viktor remained still. He had ordered this.

It was necessary.

She was playing him, getting under his skin, winning—he needed to regain control. He had told himself that this would help. The diazepam would take the fight out of her, dull that sharp, crawling thing that had been working its way into his mind.

But when she turned her head and saw him standing there—

Her face crumbled.

The struggle left her in an instant.

She went still.

No more biting, no more thrashing. She just stared at him, eyes wide and shining with something awful.

Betrayal.

The guilt hit him like a fist to the gut.

The moment the needle pierced her skin, Jinx flinched—but she didn’t make a sound. Didn’t even look at the nurses anymore.

Just at him.

Then, slowly, she curled in on herself, arms wrapping around her body like she could make herself smaller.

Viktor’s stomach twisted.

This was wrong.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

After the nurses left, Jinx huddled herself into the farthest corner of the room.

Knees tucked under her chin. Back turned toward everything. Toward him.

She was always moving, always talking, always filling the air with laughter and words meant to get inside his head.

Now she was silent.

He hesitated. “Jinx—”

She flinched.

Not much. Just a slight twitch of the shoulders. Barely noticeable.

But he noticed.

A pit formed in his stomach.

“Jinx.” His voice was softer this time. Almost cautious.

Nothing.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t respond.

Just curled tighter into herself, a small, shivering thing against the cold concrete wall.

Viktor swallowed against the guilt clawing up his throat.

He had gotten what he wanted.

She wasn’t smiling now. Wasn’t teasing him, wasn’t playing her games.

He had won.

So why did it feel like he had just ripped something apart?

---

Viktor had read every report on Jinx.

The doctors before him had written pages upon pages about her madness—delusions, violent tendencies, breaks from reality. He had listened to them, watched her carefully, but in all their time together, he had never actually seen it.

Not truly.

Not until now.

Jinx was still curled in the corner, but she wasn’t silent anymore.

She was muttering.

Low, fast, words spilling out in a fevered rush, broken by quick, shuddering breaths. He couldn’t make out most of it, just snatches—fragments of something that didn’t make sense.

“Not real, not real, not real—”

Her fingers dug into her own skin.

Scratching. Clawing. Red welts bloomed along her arms, nails scraping hard enough that it wouldn’t be long before she bled.

Viktor felt something tighten in his chest.

This was wrong. He had done this.

She had always been untouchable before—untamed, laughing, mocking him like nothing in the world could hurt her. And now—

She looked small.

Broken.

His own voice sounded distant when he finally spoke. “Jinx.”

She didn’t react. Didn’t seem to hear him.

He took a slow step closer. “Jinx, stop that.”

Nothing.

Her hands kept moving, nails raking across her skin, breath coming in quick little gasps.

Viktor hesitated. Then, carefully, he reached out—just the barest touch, fingertips ghosting against her shoulder.

The reaction was immediate.

She flinched.

Hard.

A sharp, whimpering noise escaped her throat, and she curled in even tighter, arms wrapping around herself like a shield.

Viktor jerked his hand back as though burned.

The pit in his stomach widened.

This was wrong. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t the Jinx who taunted him, who filled the room with electric, maddening energy, who looked at him like she knew something he didn’t.

He had wanted to regain control.

Instead, he had broken something that should not have been broken.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Jinx,” he tried again, quieter this time. “It’s alright.”

A sharp, hiccuping breath.

“No, no, no, no—”

She was still talking to something. Something he couldn’t hear.

His chest ached.

Viktor had spent his entire career studying the mind. He had read every text, memorized every symptom, dedicated himself to understanding how to fix the broken.

But looking at her now, trembling, shaking, her mind fracturing before his eyes—

He wasn’t sure if he could.

He wasn’t sure if he should have tried.

---

Jinx had to be taken back to her cell in a wheelchair.

Her legs didn’t want to hold her, her body limp from the weight of the drugs still swimming in her veins. The nurses lifted her, rough hands gripping too tight around her arms, pulling her away from the corner she had curled into.

She didn’t fight.

Not really.

But when they touched her, she flinched. Every time. Tiny, sharp recoils—her body trying to shrink away from them, her breath hitching like she expected something worse.

Viktor watched in silence.

He told himself not to interfere.

This was standard procedure. She had to be restrained. For her safety.

For his.

But when they strapped her down, tying her arms away from her body so she couldn’t claw at her own skin anymore, something twisted inside his chest.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She had always looked at him before. Always watched him with those sharp, knowing eyes, waiting for a reaction, waiting to see him.

Now—

She kept her gaze downcast, unfocused, as if she wasn’t really there.

Like she had retreated somewhere deep inside herself.

Viktor’s stomach felt hollow.

He had done this.

She didn’t speak the entire way back to her room.

The nurses wheeled her down the dim corridor, their voices low, muttering things Viktor barely processed. She barely reacted to the movement—just sat slumped against the restraints, silent except for the occasional sharp inhale whenever one of them touched her.

When they reached her cell, they unstrapped her.

Jinx’s arms dropped uselessly to her sides. She still didn’t look up.

“Back to bed, sweetheart,” one of the nurses said, almost mockingly. “Doctor’s orders.”

Jinx twitched, but otherwise didn’t respond.

She lifted herself from the wheelchair with slow, dragging movements, stepping forward as though her body weighed too much. Then, without a word, she climbed onto the bed and curled in on herself, knees tucked to her chest, facing the wall.

Viktor dismissed the nurses.

Once the door shut behind them, he stayed, standing just inside the room, watching the small rise and fall of her shoulders.

She didn’t acknowledge him.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

The silence was unbearable.

He forced himself to clear his throat. “Jinx.”

Nothing.

“I—” He hesitated, the words forming in his throat before he could stop them. “I did not mean for this to happen.”

A slow inhale.

Then, so quiet he barely heard it—

“Liar.”

Viktor’s breath caught.

He stepped closer. “I was only trying to—”

Jinx flinched.

A tiny, shuddering movement.

Like she expected him to hurt her.

Viktor froze.

His heart lurched, his fingers curling against his palms as the weight of it hit him.

She had never been afraid of him before.

Never once.

She had always toyed with him, teased him, pushed and pushed—

But now, for the first time, she was curling away.

For the first time, she wasn’t playing.

And for the first time, Viktor felt like he was the monster in the room.

---

Jinx never looked at him.

Not once.

Viktor lingered a moment longer, waiting for something—anything—some half-muttered insult, a sharp grin thrown over her shoulder, that glint in her eyes that always told him she was still there.

But there was nothing.

Just the silence.

Just the frail curve of her body turned away from him.

Eventually, he left.

His heart in his throat.

Sleep did not come that night.

Viktor sat at his desk, head in his hands, the dim glow of his office lamp doing nothing to chase away the sick feeling lodged deep in his stomach.

It had been the right decision.

Hadn’t it?

He had been losing control. She had been sinking into him, warping his thoughts, making him doubt himself. This was necessary.

Necessary.

Then why did it feel like he had shattered something vital?

He had seen Jinx untamed. Reckless. Loud and laughing, all teeth and chaos, constantly pushing, constantly prodding at the edges of his mind just to see where he would bend.

She was meant to be unbreakable.

But she wasn’t.

Not anymore.

And he had done this to her.

Viktor pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to will away the guilt curling like smoke in his ribs.

Tomorrow, he would not see her.

He wasn’t scheduled for a session. He wasn’t required to check on her. And if he did—if he stepped into that room, if she looked at him the way she had last night—he feared he would only make it worse.

So he stayed away.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t hear.

The nurses gossiped as they passed through the halls, their voices low but not low enough.

"Hasn’t moved since last night."

"Won’t eat."

"Wouldn’t even look at me when I tried to check her vitals—just curled up like a damn corpse."

Laughter.

Mocking.

"Not so mouthy now, is she?"

"Guess that dose finally did its job."

Viktor’s stomach twisted.

He gripped the edges of his desk, fingers white against the wood.

This was what he wanted.

For her to stop playing her games. For her to lose her hold over him.

But it wasn’t victory curling in his gut.

It was nausea.

It was the image of her huddled on that bed, her arms wrapped around herself, her voice a trembling whisper—

Liar.

Viktor exhaled, slow and shaking.

He had made a mistake.

And he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

Viktor had a scheduled session with her the next day.

He told himself that was the only reason he was going. That it was just protocol. Routine.

Not guilt.

Not regret.

Not the way her absence had hollowed something inside his chest.

He told himself many things.

But as he walked down the corridor, his heart was beating too fast.

And when he stepped into her room, what he saw made it stop entirely.

Jinx was sitting upright in the corner.

She hadn’t moved the bed—it had been pushed there, likely by the nurses, shoved against the farthest wall so she wouldn’t be able to curl up in the open.

But she still had curled up.

Her back was to the room, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her legs.

And she was mumbling.

Soft. Uneven. Words slipping from her lips like she was speaking to someone only she could hear.

Viktor took a careful step forward.

“Jinx.”

No response.

Just more muttering.

He could barely make out the words—disjointed, scattered things that made no sense.

“Didn’t mean to… didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to, shut up—”

A pause.

A sharp inhale, like she was listening to something.

Then—

“No, no, not real, not real, not real—”

Viktor’s stomach turned to lead.

He had done this.

He had wanted to see her madness, had forced it into the light. Had pushed too hard, too far, cracked something he hadn’t realized was fragile.

And now she was alone.

Trapped inside a mind that had finally turned against itself.

The guilt was suffocating.

Viktor exhaled shakily, forcing his voice steady. “Jinx, look at me.”

She flinched.

The movement was small, barely more than a twitch, but he saw it.

His fingers curled at his sides.

She had never been afraid of him before.

Never once.

And now—

Now, she wouldn’t even face him.

Viktor took another step, slow, careful. “Jinx, I need you to focus on me.”

Her arms tightened around her legs.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

His throat felt tight.

He had always studied the mind—examined it like a machine to be understood, dissected, repaired.

But this—

This was different.

This wasn’t something he could fix with therapy or medication or neatly categorized diagnoses.

This was her.

This was Jinx, slipping further away, sinking into a place where he might not be able to reach her.

And for the first time, Viktor wasn’t thinking as a doctor.

He was thinking as himself.

And he did not want to lose her.

Not like this.

Not to something he had done.

Carefully, hesitantly, he reached forward—just the lightest touch against her shoulder.

Jinx jerked.

A sharp, shuddering movement, her breath catching like a strangled sob—

And then, finally, finally—

She turned her head.

Her eyes met his.

And Viktor’s heart broke.

Because she wasn’t smiling.

She wasn’t teasing.

There was no madness in her gaze, no games, no knowing glint like she was toying with him.

There was only exhaustion.

There was only hurt.

And beneath it all—

A quiet, raw, terrifying kind of clarity.

“…Why would you do that to me?”

Viktor couldn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know anymore.

Jinx’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I thought you were different.”

Viktor couldn’t move.

Couldn’t speak.

She was looking at him now, and somehow, it was worse.

She wasn’t mocking him. She wasn’t playing her usual games, spinning words into traps, watching him stumble into them with that delighted, wicked grin.

There was no grin now.

Only quiet.

Only the weight of something fragile and real.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves, knuckles white.

“That you could see that I was different.”

Viktor swallowed, his throat tight. “Jinx—”

“But you’re just like them.”

The words cut deeper than they should have.

Jinx huddled in on herself more, pressing back against the cold wall like she wanted to disappear into it.

Like she wanted to disappear from him.

Something in Viktor ached.

“I—” He tried again, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because what could he say?

That he hadn’t meant to break her? That he hadn’t realized? That he had been too afraid of what she was doing to him to see what he had been doing to her?

Excuses.

All of it.

The damage was already done.

Jinx let out a soft, bitter breath. “That’s what I get, huh?” Her voice was thin, cracking at the edges. “Should’ve known better.”

Viktor’s chest tightened. “It is not—”

She didn’t let him finish.

“Just leave.”

His fingers twitched.

“I have a session with you today,” he said, though it felt weak. Wrong. “We should—”

“I don’t care.”

That one hurt.

Because Jinx always cared.

Even if it was just to toy with him, to push his buttons, to pull at the threads of his composure until she found a way inside his mind—she cared.

She had always wanted him to stay.

Now, she wanted him to leave.

And he—

For the first time since meeting her, he didn’t want to go.

Viktor exhaled shakily, dragging a hand down his face. His thoughts were a mess, tangled between logic and something more dangerous, something softer, something that felt wrong but undeniably true.

This was his fault.

He had broken her.

And now, she was pushing him away.

Viktor hesitated—just for a moment longer.

Then, finally, without another word, he turned and left.

The door shut behind him with a quiet, hollow click.

---

Days passed.

Multiple skipped sessions.

Neither of them were ready to face the other.

Viktor buried himself in work, in routine, in anything that didn’t force him to think about the way Jinx had looked at him that day.

Like he had shattered something inside her.

Like she had finally, finally seen him for what he really was.

But no amount of distance could stop the way she lingered in his thoughts.

And no amount of time made the guilt fade.

He wasn’t looking for her that afternoon.

Viktor had taken to walking the grounds during recess, using the fresh air as an excuse to think—or more accurately, to not think about her.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.

Jinx stood at the edge of the courtyard, her body pressed against a tree.

Her head was lowered, forehead resting against the bark, fingers gripping the sides of her skull, hard.

Even from where he stood, Viktor could see her eyes were squeezed shut.

And—

She was talking.

At first, he thought she might be muttering to herself again, the way she had when she had been curled in the corner of her room.

But no—this was different.

She was arguing.

Her breath came in quick bursts, her voice low, strained, hissing words to something only she could hear.

“…shut up—no, no, not now—”

A pause.

A sharp inhale, shoulders twitching like she was listening to something.

Then, voice rising—

“Stop it!”

Viktor’s breath caught.

His first instinct was to turn away.

To pretend he hadn’t seen her, to let her be—he had already done enough. He had torn through the fragile balance between them, and the last thing she needed was him intruding again.

But then—

Jinx moved.

Suddenly. Violently.

Before he could process it, she slammed her forehead into the tree.

A dull, sickening thud.

Viktor froze.

Then she did it again.

And again.

The sound was sharp and awful, a crack of bone against wood, her entire body jerking with the impact—

And before he knew what he was doing, he was running.

“Jinx—stop—”

He was there in an instant, his hands grabbing her shoulders, pulling her back before she could slam her head forward again.

She fought.

Her body twisted against his grip, her arms jerking wildly, her breathing quick and panicked.

“No—no, let me go—”

Viktor held firm. “Jinx—look at me—”

She thrashed, trying to claw at him, but her movements were erratic, uncoordinated. “Get off—get off—”

Her voice was shaking.

Viktor’s grip softened, just slightly. “Jinx, you are hurting yourself—”

She froze.

Her breath was still ragged, body still trembling against his hold—but suddenly, she was still.

Then, slowly—finally—

She opened her eyes.

Viktor’s stomach twisted at the sight.

She was dazed. Unfocused.

Blood trickled from a small gash on her forehead, a thin red line trailing down the bridge of her nose.

But worse than that—

She looked lost.

Like she wasn’t sure where she was.

Like she wasn’t sure who he was.

Viktor’s chest ached.

He had spent so much time trying to prove that she was sick.

Seeing her like this—

It felt like the worst kind of victory.

---

Jinx’s knees buckled.

She collapsed to the ground, her body folding in on itself, limbs trembling as she curled inward, forehead pressed against the cold dirt.

Viktor barely had time to react before he heard it—

A quiet, shuddering sob.

Then another.

And another.

Raw. Unsteady.

The kind of sound that made something inside him break.

“Don’t…” Her voice was muffled against the ground, shaking with every breath. “Please… don’t look at me.”

Viktor went still.

She had never cared before.

Never cared if he watched her, if he studied her, if he picked apart every word and expression, analyzing her like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

But now—

Now, she was hiding.

Tucking herself away from him like something small and breakable, like something that had finally shattered too many times to be put back together.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t—please…”

Viktor’s chest ached.

This was his fault.

He had spent weeks convincing himself that Jinx was playing a game, that her madness was an illusion, a carefully crafted performance designed to lure him into her control.

But now—

Now, there was no laughter. No teasing.

No game.

Just her.

Viktor realized—

She had never needed to play madness.

It had always been real.

He knelt beside her slowly.

He wanted to touch her.

To pull her hands away from where they had clenched into fists, to check the bleeding wound on her forehead, to do something—but he hesitated.

She had flinched from him before.

Had recoiled from his touch like a wounded animal expecting worse.

And Viktor—

He couldn’t be the one she feared.

Not again.

So instead, carefully, he lowered himself onto the ground beside her.

Close enough to be there.

But not close enough to scare her.

The silence stretched.

The only sound was her quiet, uneven breathing, the occasional broken inhale.

Viktor swallowed hard.

“…Jinx.”

She didn’t move.

Didn’t look at him.

He tried again, softer this time. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

A sharp, shuddering inhale.

Then—

She turned her head just slightly.

Only enough for him to see one eye, glassy with unshed tears, peeking up at him through strands of blue hair.

Viktor held his breath.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t answer.

But she looked at him.

Really looked.

And Viktor, without thinking, without questioning, without anything but the sharp, gut-wrenching certainty that this moment mattered, whispered—

“I see you.”

Jinx let out a trembling breath.

Then, slowly—

She closed her eyes.

Not shutting him out.

Just breathing.

Just being.

Viktor thought—

Maybe, just maybe—

He could start putting the pieces back together.

“Come with me.”

Viktor hadn’t planned to say it.

It left his mouth before he could think—before logic could stop him, before he could remind himself that this was not how a doctor should behave, that this was not how he should be handling this.

But Jinx didn’t react immediately.

She just lay there, curled in on herself, breathing slow and uneven.

Then, finally, after a long, fragile moment—

She sat up.

Her movements were stiff, sluggish from exhaustion, but she pushed herself upright and rubbed at her face with the sleeve of her shirt, roughly wiping away the tear tracks.

A deep breath.

Then—

A pout.

It was small, barely there, but real.

The closest thing to her that he had seen in days.

“Bossy,” she muttered.

Viktor exhaled—half relief, half something he didn’t want to name.

He stood, offering a hand. He wasn’t sure she would take it.

Jinx glanced at it, then at him.

For a moment, he thought she might refuse.

But then—

She huffed dramatically, grabbed his hand, and let him pull her to her feet.

She swayed a little, unsteady. Viktor’s grip tightened, steadying her.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t recoil.

Instead, she clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Don’t think this means I like you again, doc.”

Viktor let out a quiet breath of laughter.

Something in his chest eased.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

And for now—

That was enough.

---

Jinx’s fingers twitched in his grasp, like she was debating whether to pull away or not.

But she didn’t.

She just stood there, glaring up at him through puffy eyes, lips still curled in that stubborn little pout.

It was the most alive she had looked in days.

Viktor didn’t let go.

He should have.

Should have kept this professional, should have remembered his place—her doctor, her caretaker, nothing more.

But after everything—after watching her break apart, after breaking her himself—he wasn’t sure if he could go back to that neat little separation between them.

Not anymore.

“Come,” he said again, softer this time.

Jinx huffed but let him guide her.

He didn’t take her back to her room.

Didn’t lead her through the usual asylum halls, where the nurses’ laughter still echoed, where the walls still whispered reminders of what he had done to her.

Instead, he brought her to his office.

Away from them.

Away from everything.

Jinx collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, sprawling out like she belonged there.

Viktor let go of her hand then, hesitating only a second before stepping back.

Jinx frowned at the loss of contact.

But she didn’t say anything about it.

She just stretched her legs out, rolling onto her side, cheek pressed against the cushion.

Viktor sat in his chair, watching her carefully.

“You have not been eating.”

Jinx groaned. “Ugh, don’t start. I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

“I was not going to lecture.” He tilted his head. “Simply… reminding you.”

Jinx peeked up at him through her lashes. “…You worried about me, doc?”

Viktor didn’t answer immediately.

Because the truth was—

Yes.

More than he should be. More than was appropriate.

And she knew it.

She always knew.

Jinx smirked, but it was smaller than usual. A little more tired. A little more real.

“…You really gonna keep pretending you don’t care?” she muttered.

Viktor exhaled through his nose. “I do not believe I was ever pretending.”

Jinx blinked.

Then—

She smiled.

A small, crooked little thing.

Not sharp. Not mocking.

Just real.

And Viktor let himself return it.

---

Viktor sat forward, his hands folded over his knee, gaze steady.

“I know it is something neither of us wish to think about,” he began carefully, “but I believe it is time I give you an apology for what I did.”

Jinx didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched him with an unreadable expression.

Viktor inhaled slowly. “I had no intention of causing you to relapse. I was so sure that you were sick that I ended up causing harm to you. I am… sincerely sorry for—”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

“For causing your delusions to—”

Jinx suddenly cut him off.

“They’re always there.”

Viktor’s mouth shut.

He had expected her to dismiss him with a joke, to mock his guilt, to twist the moment into something lighthearted just so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge it.

But she didn’t.

She just stared at him.

No—through him.

Eyes glassy, unfocused.

“They’re always in the back of my head,” she murmured, voice distant. “Or in the corner of my eye.”

She blinked, slow and heavy.

“They never go away.”

Viktor’s throat tightened.

He had studied delusions before. Had read the textbooks, memorized the symptoms, cataloged the ways in which the mind fractured itself apart.

But it was different—hearing it from her.

Not from a patient, not from a case study—from Jinx.

“What you did…” she exhaled, tilting her head slightly.

“It didn’t cause them.”

Her lips curled—something tired. Something bitter.

“It just made them louder.”

Viktor’s chest ached.

He didn’t realize he was gripping his knee until he forced himself to unclench his fingers, tension rolling through his shoulders.

“…And now?” he asked quietly.

Jinx blinked again.

Then—

Her gaze finally focused.

She looked at him.

And only him.

“…It’s quieter now,” she admitted.

Viktor’s breath stilled.

Not gone.

Never gone.

Just quieter.

Because of him? Because she trusted him again? Because, despite everything, she felt safer here?

He didn’t ask.

Instead, carefully, deliberately, he leaned forward just slightly.

“If it ever gets too loud again…” His voice was low, steady, a promise wrapped in something softer than he should have allowed himself to feel.

“…I will listen.”

Jinx blinked.

For a long moment, she just stared at him, as if trying to find the lie, the trick, the thing he really meant behind the words.

But there was nothing.

No game.

No manipulation.

Just truth.

Jinx let out a slow breath.

And then—

She smirked.

A little lopsided, a little hesitant, but there.

“Well,” she murmured, shifting against the couch, stretching her arms above her head lazily.

“Guess I could forgive you just this once, doc.”

Viktor let out something between a breath and a laugh, the tension in his chest easing just slightly.

“Guess you could.”

Jinx shifted on the couch, arms draping over the armrest, legs curling up slightly as she eyed him with something playful—something testing.

“So…” She dragged the word out, rolling onto her side to face him fully. “That’s it? No more trying to ‘fix’ me?”

Viktor exhaled, watching her carefully.

“I think I have finally learned,” he said, voice measured, “that you are not something to be fixed.”

Jinx blinked at him.

For a split second—so quick he almost missed it—her smirk faltered.

Then it was back, sharp and teasing. “Damn. Took you long enough.”

Viktor shook his head, a faint huff of breath escaping him. “Yes, well… you are very good at making things difficult.”

She grinned. “I do try.”

Something about the ease of the moment, the way she was watching him—mischief curling at the edge of her expression but not mocking, not cruel—made his stomach twist in a way he refused to acknowledge.

For weeks, he had been trying to unravel her, trying to understand what made her the way she was, trying to prove to himself that she was nothing more than a mind that could be categorized, treated, cured.

Now, sitting across from her, watching as she toyed with the loose strands of her sleeve, legs swaying slightly against the couch—

He realized he had never had control of this at all.

And maybe—

Maybe he didn’t want to.

Jinx’s gaze flicked back to him, eyes scanning his face with something unreadable.

“…Y’know,” she said suddenly, voice softer than before. “You really scared me for a second there.”

Viktor’s breath hitched.

Jinx smirked again, but this time, it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thought you were gonna be like the rest of ‘em.”

The ones who saw her as broken. The ones who wanted to fix her without ever understanding her.

Viktor hesitated. Then, carefully, quietly—

“I am not like them.”

Jinx didn’t answer right away.

She just looked at him.

Then, finally—

“…Yeah.” Her voice was light, casual. “I know.”

Viktor swallowed past the knot in his throat.

He didn’t know what this was.

Didn’t know where this was going.

But for now, Jinx was here. Sitting in his office. Not curled in a corner, not hiding from him, not breaking herself against the walls of her own mind.

For now—

That was enough.

Chapter 96: Key of Solomon

Summary:

Jinx’s stomach twisted. “It’s just—tradition,” she said slowly, though she wasn’t sure she believed it.

Viktor exhaled, shaking his head. “If that is what you choose to believe.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes. “Then what do you believe?”

Viktor regarded her carefully. Then, he said, “That they are not praying for something.”

Jinx frowned. “Then what?”

His gaze met hers.

“They are praying to keep something in.”

A chill crept down Jinx’s spine.

Notes:

This was an idea from Night_stalker92! I have a feeling that the way it ended isn't quite what they had in mind, and I gotta admit it's not what I had planned either 🙃. There was a lot that I wanted to include, but didn't get around to. I'm thinking of possibly writing an alternative version, but I'm not sure yet.

The abbey stood like a solemn guardian in the mist-choked hills of Romania, its towering spires piercing the iron-gray sky. The ancient stone was blackened with age, its high walls cloaked in ivy, as if the earth itself sought to reclaim it. A heavy silence hung over the place, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the distant toll of the monastery’s bell—slow, deliberate, like the heartbeat of something that refused to die.

Jinx had never seen a place so oppressive.

She stepped from the carriage, her black habit clinging to her slender frame in the damp air. Beside her, Silco moved with practiced grace, his long cassock brushing against the dirt road as he observed the abbey with unreadable eyes. Though his face was stern, it held no visible fear—only a quiet calculation, as if he had already begun unraveling the mystery they were sent to investigate.

“The Vatican did not send us here lightly,” Silco murmured, his voice low, nearly lost in the wind. “You will do as I say, Jinx. No wandering. No speaking out of turn. You are here to learn, to listen.”

Jinx lowered her head. “Yes, Father.”

She had always obeyed Silco. It was how she had survived.

From the moment he had taken her in as a child, rescuing her from whatever miserable fate had awaited her beyond the church’s walls, she had clung to his word as law. Others feared him—his cold manner, his piercing gaze, his whispered conversations with the highest authorities of the Church. But Jinx knew better. He was strict, yes, but he had given her a home, a purpose. He had taken a lost, nameless girl and given her something to believe in.

And so, when the Vatican assigned them this task—to investigate the supposed suicide of a nun at Saint Agatha’s Abbey—she had followed without question.

But now, standing before the monastery’s towering iron gates, unease crept into her bones.

The doors groaned open before them, revealing a procession of nuns awaiting their arrival. Their faces were pale, solemn, their eyes shadowed as they bowed in greeting. At the forefront stood the abbess, her expression carved from stone.

“Father Silco,” she said in a voice as thin and sharp as a blade. Her gaze flickered to Jinx, disapproval barely concealed in her cold eyes. “And your… ward.”

“Novice Jinx,” Silco corrected smoothly, his tone impassive. “She is here to observe.”

The abbess nodded stiffly and turned on her heel, leading them into the darkened halls of the abbey. Jinx followed, feeling the weight of the nuns’ gazes pressing into her back like unseen hands.

She had been here mere minutes, and already, she felt unwelcome.

The halls of Saint Agatha’s were suffocating. The air smelled of incense and old stone, thick with the weight of prayers spoken over centuries. Candles lined the walls, their flames flickering weakly against the shadows that stretched long in the dim corridors. The silence was near absolute, broken only by the distant murmurs of unseen voices—prayers whispered from behind closed doors.

Jinx kept close to Silco as they were led deeper into the abbey, her fingers curling into the fabric of her robes. Something felt wrong here, though she could not place why.

“The sister who took her life,” Silco said, his voice cutting through the stillness. “What do we know?”

The abbess did not break stride. “Sister Maria. She was devout. Committed to her vows. There was no sign of distress before she was found.”

“And how was she found?”

The abbess hesitated.

Jinx saw it—a flicker of something in the woman’s cold exterior. Fear.

“Hanging,” the abbess admitted. “From the bell tower. A rope around her neck, her body swaying as if caught in an unseen wind.”

A chill ran down Jinx’s spine.

Suicide. A sin of despair. A soul condemned.

Jinx stole a glance at Silco, searching for any reaction. But his face remained unreadable, his mind working behind those sharp, calculating eyes.

“It is why the Vatican sent you, is it not?” the abbess continued, voice tight. “They do not believe this was an ordinary death.”

Silco did not answer immediately. His gaze drifted to the shadows, as if listening to something no one else could hear. Then, finally:

“No. They do not.”

Jinx swallowed, an invisible weight settling in her chest.

She had come here expecting to witness an investigation. To observe, as Silco had instructed.

But standing within these walls, she had the creeping, dreadful feeling that Saint Agatha’s Abbey held secrets far darker than a single nun’s tragic death.

---

The heavy wooden doors groaned shut behind Silco and the abbess, their muffled voices fading as they retreated deeper into the abbey. Jinx stood in the dim corridor, uncertain. They had left her without instruction, without guidance—without a place.

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

From the moment she had entered Saint Agatha’s, the nuns had regarded her with silent judgment, their gazes sliding over her as if she were something foreign, something unwanted. Not one of them had spoken to her. Not one had offered her a kind glance or word. It was as if she were already an outcast among them.

Jinx adjusted the wimple covering her head, the fabric suddenly feeling too tight, too suffocating. She should have been used to this. She had always been different, always been separate. Even among the novitiates back home, she had never quite belonged.

But here, in this cold and looming place, that isolation felt heavier.

Not wanting to linger aimlessly, she started down the corridor, trailing her fingers along the rough stone walls. The halls were silent, but not the kind of peaceful silence she had known in the churches of her childhood. This silence was thick, stagnant—watching.

She passed a small group of nuns moving in the opposite direction, their habits brushing against the floor in whispering motions. They did not acknowledge her, their heads bowed, eyes fixed ahead.

Jinx pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze.

At least, she thought, they weren’t cruel. They ignored her, but they did not sneer or whisper behind her back. It was not outright hostility.

But it was still loneliness.

She wandered for a time, exploring where she dared. The abbey was a labyrinth of narrow halls, its walls lined with flickering candle sconces that barely held back the encroaching shadows. Every so often, she would hear soft murmurs—prayers drifting from behind closed doors. Occasionally, she would catch glimpses of more nuns, their forms disappearing around corners before she could approach.

None of them lingered in the halls.

None of them walked alone.

Jinx rubbed her arms, uneasy.

She had yet to see another priest aside from Silco. She had yet to hear the chatter of novices like herself. The only voices in these halls were the whispers of prayers and the faint echo of footsteps—always distant, always retreating.

Something was wrong with this place.

The thought lodged itself in her mind, a seed of doubt taking root. But she had no proof, no reasoning beyond the feeling that the air was too thick, the shadows too deep.

She sighed, leaning against the cold stone.

Perhaps she was overthinking it. Perhaps the nuns were only wary of outsiders, perhaps the abbess had instructed them to keep their distance. She was here to observe, to learn. She had no right to demand their trust.

Time passed in slow stretches. The bell tolled for prayer, and she followed the sound, slipping into the back of the chapel where the nuns gathered to recite their hymns. She kept her head bowed, lips moving in practiced rhythm. But the entire time, she felt eyes upon her.

And when she looked up, she found the nuns staring—not at her, but at something just behind her.

She turned sharply.

There was nothing there.

Her breath hitched.

The moment she faced forward again, the nuns had already lowered their gazes, their voices continuing in unbroken devotion.

Jinx’s hands clenched in her lap, her heart pounding.

She wanted to leave the chapel. She wanted to find Silco, to ask if he had noticed anything strange, anything wrong.

But she knew what he would say.

You are here to learn, to listen.

And so she stayed, her prayers quieter now, her ears straining for something she could not name.

The hours stretched, and night fell upon the abbey.

Jinx lay awake in the small, sparse room she had been given. The stone walls seemed to press in closer in the dark, the single candle on her bedside table flickering weakly.

The silence outside her door was too deep.

She had been in monasteries before—holy places where prayers were ceaseless, where the whisper of faith filled the air even in the latest hours of the night. But here, within Saint Agatha’s, the silence was something else.

Something watching.

She turned onto her side, pulling the thin blanket closer. Sleep refused to take her, leaving her restless beneath the weight of her own thoughts.

Then she heard it.

A sound—not the wind, not the distant toll of a bell. A movement beyond her door, the soft shift of robes against stone.

Jinx sat up slowly, straining her ears.

A shadow passed beneath the crack of her door.

Her breath hitched.

Someone was out there.

The nuns had all retired hours ago. Even Silco had disappeared into private quarters, unwilling to share what he had learned from the abbess.

So who was still awake?

Carefully, she pushed back the blanket and slipped from her cot, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. She hesitated before stepping forward, but curiosity gnawed at her hesitation.

Easing open the door, she peered into the dim corridor. The candle sconces flickered weakly, their light barely reaching the deep recesses of the stone passage.

The hallway was empty.

Jinx stepped out, glancing in both directions.

Then she saw him.

A lone figure at the far end of the corridor, partially obscured by shadow. A priest’s robes draped his thin frame, and despite the darkness, she could make out his face—sharp, pale, his dark hair unkempt as if he had not rested in days. His hands were clasped behind his back, and though his posture was rigid, there was something almost… expectant about the way he stood.

As if he had been waiting for her.

Jinx swallowed, gripping the edge of her sleeve. She had not seen any other priests in the abbey aside from Silco. And yet, this man stood before her as if he belonged here.

She should have turned away. Should have gone back to her room, ignored him, and pretended she had seen nothing.

But instead, she spoke.

“Who are you?”

The priest tilted his head slightly, as if surprised she had spoken first.

Then he smiled.

“Ah,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth—almost amused. “You must be the new novice. Jinx, was it?”

She nodded hesitantly.

He inclined his head in greeting. “Father Viktor.”

Father?

Jinx blinked. She had never heard the abbess or the other nuns mention a Viktor. And yet, here he was, standing before her in the vestments of a priest, speaking to her as if he had always been here.

She hesitated before asking, “I didn’t see you at prayer.”

His expression remained pleasant, but there was a glint of something in his pale eyes, something unreadable. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t have.”

A vague answer. An evasive one.

Jinx frowned. “Why are you awake so late?”

His smile did not fade. “Perhaps for the same reason as you.”

She shifted uncomfortably. She hadn’t meant to be awake. But even if she had, she had done nothing against the rules.

“I should return to my room,” she said cautiously.

“Of course,” Viktor agreed. But he made no move to leave.

Jinx hesitated, glancing down the corridor where the candlelight barely reached.

“Be careful,” Viktor said suddenly, drawing her attention back to him. His voice was softer now, lacking its earlier amusement. “The sisters here… are not always kind to outsiders.”

Jinx stiffened.

She didn’t know why, but the words sent a chill through her.

Viktor regarded her a moment longer before dipping his head in a slow nod. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, his robes barely making a sound as he moved.

Jinx exhaled, only now realizing she had been holding her breath.

A priest who did not attend prayers. A presence unspoken by the other nuns. A warning about those around her.

Something was wrong in Saint Agatha’s Abbey.

And Viktor, she realized, might be the only one willing to tell her the truth.

---

Jinx awoke to the sound of the morning bell, its chime reverberating through the stone walls of the abbey. Sleep had been restless, haunted by flickering thoughts of the night before—of the strange priest who had appeared in the corridor, of his quiet warning, of the way he had vanished into the darkness like a shadow retreating from the light.

Now, in the cold clarity of day, she wondered if she had imagined it.

But no—Viktor had been real. She had spoken to him, had seen his tired smile and the sharp intelligence in his gaze. And yet, when she joined the other nuns in the morning prayers, there was no sign of him among the clergy.

The priests who stood at the altar were unfamiliar, their faces hollow with devotion. The abbess led the sisters in reverence, her cold eyes passing over Jinx once, only briefly, before moving on.

Jinx kept her head down, lips moving along with the hymns, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

Where was Viktor?

She wanted to ask. She wanted to turn to one of the other nuns and whisper his name. But the weight of their silent disapproval pressed against her, thick as incense smoke.

The stifling atmosphere had not changed since the day before.

The sisters treated her with polite indifference, a wordless understanding that she was not one of them. When she crossed paths with them in the halls, they moved past her without acknowledgment. If she lingered in the library, they would rise and leave as if she had brought something unwelcome into their sacred space.

Even the younger novitiates avoided her.

It was not hatred, not outright cruelty—just an unwavering exclusion.

Jinx did not try to fight it.

She had never been the kind of person to demand attention or force her presence where it was unwelcome. Instead, she spent the day in quiet observation, moving through the abbey’s corridors, memorizing the patterns of the sisters, listening to the way their whispers fell into silence when she came too close.

But no one spoke of Viktor.

Not once did she hear his name.

By the time night fell, she was no closer to understanding what had happened to the nun who had died—nor why the very walls of this abbey seemed to breathe in the silence.

And yet, beneath it all, there was a quiet anticipation curling in her chest.

Because something in her knew he would come again.

She lay awake, the candlelight casting restless shadows against the stone. The wind howled softly outside the narrow window, its chill seeping through the cracks.

Jinx should have been afraid.

She had heard the stories—tales whispered among novitiates of cursed abbeys, of demons lurking in the dark corners of holy places, waiting for the faithful to falter.

But when the soft creak of footsteps sounded beyond her door, she felt no fear.

She knew who it was.

This time, she did not hesitate.

She slipped from her cot, pulling her shawl over her shoulders before easing the door open.

The corridor was dim, the candles burning low. And just as before, Viktor stood at the far end, waiting.

He smiled at the sight of her, as if pleased she had come without coaxing. “Good evening, Sister Jinx.”

Jinx hesitated, gripping the edge of her sleeve. But she did not retreat. “You’re awake again.”

“As are you,” he pointed out, tilting his head.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t sleep well here.”

Viktor let out a quiet hum, stepping closer. The flickering candlelight carved shadows into his gaunt face, accentuating the sharpness of his features. There was something… worn about him, something frayed at the edges, as though he had not known true rest in a long time.

“You’re not the only one,” he admitted softly.

Jinx studied him, wary but curious. There was an ease to the way he spoke to her, a familiarity she had never known among her own peers. She had spent so long surrounded by silence, by cold shoulders and stiff pleasantries, that she had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be addressed like an equal.

She glanced around, lowering her voice. “The other nuns… they don’t mention you.”

Viktor’s smile did not waver. But his eyes darkened, just slightly.

“No,” he murmured. “They wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

A pause.

Then, in a quiet, knowing voice, he asked, “Do you really think they tell you everything?”

Jinx stiffened.

It was not an answer. Not really.

But the implication was enough.

She swallowed, unsure of what to say.

Viktor watched her, his gaze heavy with something unreadable. Then, finally, he stepped back. “Walk with me,” he offered. “If you wish to understand.”

Jinx hesitated.

She should have refused. She should have turned back into her room and closed the door, ignoring the strange priest who appeared only at night, who spoke in riddles and offered only half-truths.

But she had spent the entire day in silence, ignored and avoided.

And now, here was someone offering her something different.

So she nodded.

And as she followed Viktor down the darkened corridor, she knew—this was the moment she stopped listening to Silco’s warnings.

Because she was no longer just observing.

She was involved.

---

Viktor walked with slow, deliberate steps, his robes brushing against the cold stone floor. Jinx followed no more than ten steps behind, her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves. She was nervous—of course she was—but not enough to stop herself.

The abbey’s corridors stretched endlessly, cloaked in flickering candlelight. At this hour, the silence was thick, pressing against her ears. The other nuns were asleep, tucked away in their quarters. No one would see her following him.

No one would know.

Viktor led her to a set of wooden doors at the end of the hall. Without hesitation, he pushed them open, revealing a dimly lit study hall.

Jinx stepped inside warily, the scent of aged parchment and incense filling her lungs. The room was lined with towering wooden bookshelves, their surfaces coated in a fine layer of dust. Heavy wooden desks sat untouched, as if abandoned mid-study, their candles long melted into hardened wax.

But it was the windows that caught her attention.

Massive stained-glass depictions of Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary loomed over the study, their figures bathed in soft moonlight. The colors were faded, the once-vibrant blues and golds dulled with time. And yet, even in their stillness, their gazes felt watchful.

Jinx shivered.

“Why are we here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor strode to one of the desks, idly running his fingers along its surface. “You have questions, do you not?”

Jinx frowned. “And you’re the one who’ll answer them?”

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh. “If you wish to ask, then yes.”

Jinx glanced around again, the eerie quiet of the study pressing into her chest. “Why isn’t anyone else here?”

Viktor leaned against the desk, his hands folded in front of him. “Because the sisters do not study at night. They pray.” His voice was laced with something—mockery? No, not quite. Resignation. As if he had seen this all before.

Jinx’s brows furrowed. “They pray constantly. I hear them at all hours, always in shifts.”

“Yes,” Viktor murmured, eyes flickering toward the stained-glass figures above them. “And have you ever wondered why?”

Jinx hesitated.

Of course, she had noticed. The abbey’s prayers never ceased. Even during the day, the nuns moved in a strict, unbroken rhythm of devotion—one group finishing only for another to take their place.

It was normal for monasteries to practice perpetual adoration. But here, at Saint Agatha’s, it felt… different.

Relentless. Desperate.

As if stopping, even for a moment, would invite something terrible.

Jinx’s stomach twisted. “It’s just—tradition,” she said slowly, though she wasn’t sure she believed it.

Viktor exhaled, shaking his head. “If that is what you choose to believe.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes. “Then what do you believe?”

Viktor regarded her carefully. Then, he said, “That they are not praying for something.”

Jinx frowned. “Then what?”

His gaze met hers.

“They are praying to keep something in.”

A chill crept down Jinx’s spine.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The wind outside whistled softly, rattling the glass panes above them.

Jinx swallowed hard.

To keep something in…

It sounded like heresy.

And yet—deep down, she had felt it too. The suffocating air, the whispered prayers that never stopped, the way the nuns avoided certain corridors as if something lurked just beyond the candlelight.

The weight of something unseen.

Jinx took a cautious step forward. “What do you know?”

Viktor studied her, his expression unreadable.

Then, after a pause, he turned from her and gestured toward the shelves lining the walls. “There are records here,” he murmured. “Documents that the sisters do not show to outsiders. Writings on this abbey’s history—its true history.”

Jinx’s breath hitched.

He was offering her the truth.

But accepting it—seeking it—would mean breaking from Silco’s teachings, from the careful obedience she had always followed.

Still, her feet carried her forward.

“You wish to understand,” Viktor murmured, watching her closely. “So read.”

Jinx hesitated only for a moment before reaching for the nearest tome.

And as her fingers brushed against the worn leather cover, she knew—this was a choice she could not undo.

---

Several days and nights passed in the same quiet rhythm.

By day, Jinx was suffocated beneath the weight of silent scorn. The nuns still refused to acknowledge her, their cold indifference unwavering. If she entered a room, they left it. If she spoke, they pretended not to hear. Even the abbess, who had once spared her the occasional glance, now looked through her as if she did not exist.

But by night, Viktor unraveled the secrets of Saint Agatha’s, and in those stolen hours, Jinx existed in a way she never had before.

Each night, she followed him deeper into the abbey’s hidden places.

The study hall was only the beginning. From there, he led her to a forgotten archive beneath the chapel, where dust-covered manuscripts detailed rituals long forbidden by the Church. He showed her ink-stained pages recounting stories of strange occurrences—the unexplained deaths of past sisters, the real history of Saint Agatha’s, not the one spoken in sermons.

The further she delved, the more she realized how little she knew.

One record spoke of an ancient evil, sealed beneath the abbey’s foundation centuries ago, bound by faith and perpetual adoration. Another described past abbesses who had gone mad, whispering of voices calling from beneath the stones.

But it was the last manuscript Viktor placed before her that made her blood run cold.

It was not a record. It was a warning.

“If the prayers cease, the seal will weaken. If the seal weakens, it will rise again.”

Jinx traced the faded ink with trembling fingers. “What does it mean?”

Viktor leaned over her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. “It means the sisters are not praying for salvation, Sister Jinx. They are praying out of fear.”

Jinx swallowed hard.

She should have stopped then. Should have stepped away from the books, from Viktor’s whispers, from the dangerous path she was following.

But she couldn’t.

Each night, she sought him out, drawn to his presence as if by something unseen. And each night, he fed her another truth, another thread in the unraveling tapestry of lies that bound this place together.

And soon, the questions turned inward.

Why had the Vatican truly sent her and Silco here?

Why had Silco told her nothing of his findings?

Why was she—the outsider, the unwanted novice—the only one Viktor spoke to?

She did not know.

But she intended to find out.

And then came the night when Viktor led her somewhere she was forbidden to go.

The night when she stopped merely reading about the abbey’s secrets—

—And faced them.

---

The night was darker than usual. The candle sconces lining the halls burned lower, their flames weak and flickering, barely holding back the suffocating shadows that seemed to creep closer with each passing hour.

Jinx had grown accustomed to slipping from her bed, to stepping silently into the corridors where Viktor always waited. But this night was different.

He stood farther down the hall than usual, lingering just beyond the reach of the candlelight. His expression was unreadable, his posture tense.

She hesitated before approaching.

“Something’s wrong,” she murmured, instinctively keeping her voice low.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, something like amusement flickering across his face, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve grown sharp, little novice.”

Jinx frowned at the nickname. He had never called her that before.

“What is it?” she asked.

Viktor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied her for a long moment, his gaze searching. Then, finally, he said, “You trust me, don’t you?”

Jinx felt something tighten in her chest.

Did she?

She had followed him night after night, listened to his words, pored over the records he placed before her. She had wanted to believe him—because he was the only one who had ever spoken to her like she mattered.

And yet, trust was not something she gave freely.

Viktor seemed to understand her hesitation because he smiled—a tired, knowing smile.

“You’ve been patient,” he said. “You’ve read, you’ve listened. But now… I think it is time you see for yourself.”

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

“See what?”

Viktor turned away, motioning for her to follow. “Come.”

She should have said no.

She should have turned and fled back to the safety of her room, buried herself beneath the thin blankets and prayed for ignorance.

But instead, she followed.

Always, she followed.

The path he took was unfamiliar, winding deeper into the abbey’s labyrinthine halls. The further they walked, the colder the air became. It pressed against her skin, sinking into her bones, and for the first time, she realized something terrible—

The walls were different here.

The smooth stone of the main abbey had given way to something older, something rougher. The air smelled of damp earth and burning wax, the scent growing stronger as they descended a narrow staircase, deeper into the abbey’s forgotten depths.

Jinx’s breath came quicker now, her hands curling into fists beneath her robes. She wanted to ask where they were going, why they were going, but the words lodged in her throat.

Viktor, as always, seemed unbothered. He moved with quiet confidence, his footsteps barely making a sound against the worn stone steps.

Then, finally, they reached a door.

Jinx’s pulse pounded.

She knew this door.

It was the one place she had been explicitly forbidden to enter.

The cellar.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the handle. But before she could touch it, Viktor spoke.

“You are afraid.”

Jinx snapped her gaze toward him. His face was cast in half-shadow, the dim candlelight flickering over his features. He was not mocking her. He was simply stating a fact.

She swallowed hard.

“I—”

“I won’t force you,” he interrupted gently. “But if you turn back now, you will never know the truth. And I think, little novice, that you do not want to live in ignorance.”

Jinx clenched her jaw.

He was right.

No matter how much she wanted to pretend she could ignore this, she couldn’t. She had already begun to unravel the threads of this place. To stop now would be cowardice.

So, despite every instinct screaming at her to run, she pushed the door open.

And stepped inside.

The cellar was not what she expected.

It was vast, the ceiling arching high above, lined with flickering candles and thick columns of stone. The air was thick—heavier than the halls above, pressing into her skin like something alive.

And then, at the center of the room—

A sigil.

Painted onto the cold stone floor, stretching wide across the room. Its intricate lines and symbols gleamed in the candlelight, the ink dark and wet.

And at its center, the stone was cracked.

Jinx’s breath hitched.

From the fissure in the floor, something seeped through.

Blood.

Not dried, not old. Fresh.

Her stomach twisted violently, nausea creeping up her throat.

Then, her eyes caught something else—two figures, crumpled on the floor.

Sisters of the abbey.

Their bodies were contorted, their backs arched in unnatural angles, their hands clawing at their habits as they convulsed. Their eyes—God, their eyes—were rolled back, white and unseeing.

Jinx staggered back.

“What—what is this?” she choked out.

Viktor stepped beside her, his gaze fixed on the sigil.

“The seal is breaking,” he murmured.

Jinx turned to him sharply. “What does that mean?”

Viktor’s eyes finally met hers.

“It means,” he said, voice calm, “that soon, they won’t be able to hold it back.”

Jinx’s heart pounded so hard it hurt. “Hold what back?”

Viktor smiled.

“Me.”

Before Jinx could react, his body wavered—his form dissolving into tendrils of black smoke.

The air dropped, the candles flickering wildly as the blood oozing from the crack in the floor surged, spreading across the sigil in thick, pulsing rivers.

A sound—deep, guttural, ancient—echoed through the chamber, a voice without a source, whispering words she could not understand.

Jinx stumbled back, her breath coming in frantic gasps.

Viktor was gone.

But his voice—no, not his voice, but something like it—still lingered.

“Thank you, little novice.”

And then the room shook.

---

The stone beneath Jinx’s feet trembled.

The sigil—once only cracked—was now splitting, veins of darkness creeping outward like grasping fingers. The blood pooling from its center pulsed in slow, rhythmic beats, as though something beneath the earth was alive, something waiting.

And Viktor—

Or rather, what had been Viktor—

Was everywhere.

His voice curled through the chamber, seeping from the walls, from the flickering candlelight, from the very air around her.

“Jinx…” His voice was a low murmur, smooth, coaxing. “You’re afraid.”

Jinx sucked in a shaky breath, her hands clenching into fists. “You—” She swallowed, her throat dry. “What are you?”

A deep, quiet chuckle rippled through the chamber, threading through the candlelight like an unseen touch.

“I am your friend,” Viktor whispered. “And I need your help.”

Jinx’s pulse pounded in her ears.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t possible.

She had seen Viktor. She had spoken with him. He had felt real.

Had he ever truly been?

The question sank into her stomach like a stone.

“…Help you how?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The blood pooling at the sigil’s center shifted, stretching toward her in slow, slithering tendrils. The room breathed, as though the abbey itself was watching.

“The priests and nuns have sealed me away,” Viktor said, his voice unfurling like smoke. “Bound me with their prayers, with their fear. But they are weak now. The seal is failing.”

Jinx’s breath hitched. “You—” She turned in a slow circle, trying to find him, to see something solid. But there was nothing. Just flickering candlelight, just shadows stretching too long against the stone walls.

“Jinx,” Viktor murmured, his voice warm, familiar—almost gentle. “You are not like them. You have always been different. They push you away, they scorn you, because they fear what they do not understand.”

Jinx flinched.

She had been different. She had been unwanted. She had been alone.

But—

Her fingers trembled.

“…Are you evil?” she whispered.

A silence.

Then—soft laughter. Not cruel, not mocking. Just… amused.

“Would it matter?” Viktor asked, his voice drifting like silk over her skin. “You and I are alike, little novice. We do not belong among them.”

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

She wanted to believe him. He had been kind to her, had spoken to her when no one else had.

But—

“If I free you,” she asked, her voice fragile as glass, “will you hurt me?”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Never.”

The word wrapped around her like warmth, like a promise.

“I would never harm you, Jinx.” His voice dropped into something softer, something almost fond. “I am the only one who has ever been kind to you. And I will protect you—from them, from the ones who look down on you. But you must help me.”

Jinx’s throat tightened.

The nuns had looked down on her. They had pushed her away, ignored her existence, treated her as though she was something lesser.

But Viktor—

Viktor had seen her.

He had understood her.

And now, he was asking for her help.

Her fingers hovered over the edge of the sigil, her breath uneven.

She could still turn back.

She could still walk away.

But something deep within her whispered—

Do you want to be alone again?

Her hand trembled.

“…What do I need to do?”

The sigil pulsed, the blood within it rippling as if stirred by an unseen force. The air was thick, charged with something ancient, something waiting.

And then, Viktor spoke.

“First, you must rid me of the weapon that would undo everything.”

Jinx’s fingers curled at her sides. “What weapon?”

“The only thing that can banish me. The only thing that can force the seal shut again. The blood of Christ."

Jinx’s breath caught.

She had heard of such relics before—holy artifacts said to carry divine power, used only in the most extreme of exorcisms. If the abbess had possession of such a thing…

She swallowed hard. “If it’s that powerful, why haven’t they used it?”

“Because they are cowards,” Viktor murmured, his voice curling around her ears like smoke. “To wield such a weapon requires more than faith. It requires certainty. And certainty is something they lack.”

Jinx hesitated.

If the abbess had hesitated to use it, then she wasn’t sure.

A crack in faith. A crack in power.

She exhaled shakily. “What do I do with it?”

“Destroy it,” Viktor said simply. “Until it is done away with, I cannot risk leaving this place.”

Jinx’s fingers twitched.

Destroying a holy relic. That was—

Her stomach turned. A sin.

But hadn’t she already stepped beyond that line? Hadn’t she already broken from the teachings she had been raised under? She had walked into the forbidden depths of this abbey, had listened to words she never should have heard, had spoken with something that should not exist.

She had already gone too far.

There was no turning back now.

Jinx swallowed. “Where is it?”

For the first time, Viktor hesitated.

Then, finally—

“It is kept within the reliquary,” he said. “A sacred chamber beneath the chapel, guarded by the abbess herself.”

Jinx exhaled slowly.

Of course it was.

She had never been allowed near the reliquary. Even Silco, with all his authority, had not spoken of what lay within it.

But now she knew.

And now, she had to take it.

Jinx clenched her fists, heart hammering in her chest. “How do I get in?”

Viktor’s voice was soft, knowing.

“You will find a way, little novice. You are far more capable than they believe.”

Jinx bit the inside of her cheek.

He was right.

The sisters had ignored her. Looked past her. Treated her as if she was nothing.

And now, they wouldn’t even see her coming.

Her decision had been made.

Jinx turned toward the door, her pulse thrumming with something new—something dark, something resolute.

She would retrieve the relic.

She would cast it into ruin.

And then, she would free Viktor.

Jinx hesitated at the threshold of the cellar door, the cold air clinging to her skin like unseen hands. She had made her choice—there was no turning back now.

But before she left, she turned her gaze back to the sigil, to the blood-slicked stone, to the place where Viktor’s presence coiled unseen in the dark.

“…Are you alright for now?”

A silence stretched between them.

Then, Viktor’s voice came—low, amused. “You would worry for me?”

Jinx frowned. “You said you were trapped. That they were keeping you weak.”

“And yet, you hesitate before leaving me. How kind of you, little novice.” His voice curled around the edges of the chamber like smoke, like something whispering against the walls. “I will endure. But not for long.”

Jinx’s fingers curled at her sides.

The sigil pulsed again, the crack in its center stretching ever so slightly, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something move beneath it—something shifting in the darkness below the stone.

“You must hurry,” Viktor murmured. “They are growing suspicious. The abbess is watching.”

Jinx’s breath hitched.

She had felt it—those cold, silent gazes from the nuns, the way the abbess barely spoke to her, yet always seemed to know where she was.

She was being watched.

Jinx exhaled slowly, steeling herself.

“Then I’ll be quick,” she murmured.

She turned on her heel and stepped out of the cellar, pulling the heavy door shut behind her.

The hallway beyond was silent.

No footsteps. No whispers. Just the distant flicker of candlelight stretching long against the stone walls.

As she made her way back toward the main halls, her mind was already working through her next steps.

She needed to reach the reliquary.

She needed to get past the abbess.

And most importantly—

She needed to destroy the only thing keeping Viktor from walking free.

---

Jinx moved through the darkened corridors, her bare feet silent against the cold stone. The abbey was hushed at this hour, the only sounds the distant murmurs of perpetual prayer, whispering from unseen chambers like voices bleeding through the walls.

The reliquary.

The word itself felt heavy in her mind. A sacred chamber beneath the chapel, hidden away, protected. If the blood of Christ was truly there, then it was not just locked behind a door. It would be guarded—by prayers, by faith, and perhaps by something worse.

Her pulse quickened.

She had never been to the reliquary. None of the novices had. Only the abbess and the highest-ranking priests were permitted to enter. Not even Silco had mentioned it in his investigations.

But she knew where it was.

The chapel itself was at the heart of the abbey, a towering structure of cold stone and stained glass. Below it—below the altar where the sisters gathered for prayer—was a set of hidden doors, leading downward. She had glimpsed them once during a mass, when the abbess descended with two silent priests at her side.

That was where she needed to go.

But how to get inside?

She could not force her way in. She had no key, no authority. And she had no illusion that the abbess would simply allow her to step beyond that threshold.

Jinx clenched her fists.

She would have to steal her way inside.

The chapel was empty when she arrived, its vast interior illuminated by flickering candlelight. Shadows stretched high along the vaulted ceilings, twisting through the stained-glass depictions of saints and martyrs.

Jinx kept to the edges, her breath slow, measured.

The heavy wooden altar stood at the front, carved with intricate scripture. Behind it, barely visible against the stone floor, were the doors leading downward. They were reinforced with iron, bolted shut.

She crept closer, her fingers brushing along the edges of the wood.

The lock was old, but firm. She could not break it.

She would need a key.

And there was only one person who carried it.

Jinx inhaled sharply, her decision solidifying in her mind.

She had to take it from the abbess herself.

The abbess’s quarters were nestled deep within the abbey’s eastern wing. Jinx had never stepped inside—no one did, unless summoned. But she had seen the heavy iron key that hung from the woman’s belt, swaying with each measured step as she moved through the halls.

Jinx could not overpower her. The abbess was a tall, commanding woman, with the unwavering posture of someone who had never once faltered in faith.

But faith made people predictable.

And predictability could be used.

Jinx lingered in the shadows outside the chapel, waiting.

She knew the abbess would come.

She always did, before dawn, to kneel in silent prayer before the altar. A routine. A ritual.

Jinx pressed herself against the stone as the sound of footsteps approached. Slow, steady, deliberate.

Then, she saw her.

The abbess moved with a silent grace, her dark robes flowing behind her like oil. Her face—thin, severe—was unreadable as she stepped into the chapel, the key glinting faintly at her waist.

Jinx’s pulse thundered.

She had one chance.

One mistake, and she would be caught.

She slipped forward, silent as a shadow, her heart hammering in her chest. The abbess knelt at the altar, her head bowed in devotion.

Jinx moved quickly, her fingers ghosting over the iron key.

Almost…

The abbess stilled.

Jinx’s breath caught.

Then—

A whisper.

A voice that did not belong to her, nor the abbess.

“What are you doing, child?”

Jinx froze.

The whisper had come from nowhere.

And yet, she felt it in her bones.

The abbess did not move. Did not lift her head.

But her lips—pale, thin—curled into a slow, knowing smile.

Jinx ripped the key free from her belt and ran.

The key burned in her grip, the iron slick with sweat as she tore through the corridors, her breath shallow, chest tight.

Behind her, the chapel was silent. The abbess had not moved, had not shouted after her.

But that smile—

That smile—

Jinx could still see it in her mind, sharp and knowing, curling at the edges like something that did not belong on a human face.

And the voice.

Not hers. Not anyone’s.

It had slithered through the air like a breath of wind, but it had felt like it had come from inside her own head, brushing against the walls of her skull.

Jinx’s stomach churned.

She did not slow.

She would not let herself stop.

She reached the chapel doors again, her fingers trembling as she forced the key into the lock, twisting hard. The iron groaned in protest before finally giving way with a sharp click.

She pushed the doors open and slipped inside.

The chapel was just as she had left it—dark, empty, silent.

But now, she did not trust the silence.

Jinx moved quickly.

The hidden doors behind the altar were heavier than she expected, their iron hinges reluctant to yield. She gritted her teeth, forcing them open just enough to slip through before pulling them shut behind her.

She was met with darkness.

The reliquary lay below.

Jinx reached for the small candle she had taken from her room, lighting the wick with shaking fingers. The glow flickered against the stone steps descending before her, the air suddenly thick with the scent of wax and aged parchment.

She stepped forward, each footfall muffled by the dust of a place long undisturbed.

The air grew colder the deeper she went.

The stairs finally gave way to a narrow corridor, lined with iron sconces holding candles long burned out. The walls were carved with scripture—Latin prayers and sigils of protection, their words smoothed by time.

Jinx did not stop to read them.

At the end of the corridor, she found another door.

Smaller than the others, but no less reinforced.

She hesitated only briefly before trying the key.

It fit.

The lock turned.

Jinx swallowed hard, pushing it open.

A chill seeped into her bones as she stepped inside.

The reliquary was small. Unlike the grand chapel above, this room was unadorned, its walls bare except for a single altar at the center, draped in deep crimson cloth. Upon it, nestled within a glass case, was a vial.

Jinx’s breath caught.

The blood of Christ.

The liquid inside was dark, almost black in the dim candlelight. Though sealed away, she could feel its presence, as though it carried something far greater than its humble size suggested.

It was holy.

It was powerful.

And she was about to destroy it.

Jinx took a cautious step forward.

She had expected a trick. A trap.

But the reliquary remained silent, undisturbed.

Too easy.

Her fingers hovered over the glass case.

Viktor had said the abbess was watching. That she was growing suspicious.

Had she allowed this?

Had she wanted Jinx to come here?

Jinx’s chest tightened.

It was too late to second-guess herself.

Her decision had already been made.

She grasped the glass case, lifted it from the altar—

And the candles blew out.

The chamber was plunged into darkness.

Jinx’s pulse pounded.

Then—

From the open doorway behind her—

A slow, deliberate sound.

Footsteps.

Descending the stairs.

Steady. Unhurried.

Jinx turned sharply, clutching the vial to her chest.

And from the shadows, a voice.

Soft. Gentle.

“Child.”

Jinx’s breath hitched.

The abbess.

She stepped into the candlelight, her face calm, her hands folded as if in prayer.

She was not angry. She did not lunge to stop Jinx.

She simply smiled.

Just like before.

A slow, knowing curl of the lips.

“Do you understand now?” the abbess murmured, tilting her head ever so slightly. “Why we pray? Why we watch?”

Jinx took a step back, her grip tightening around the relic.

“Don’t look so afraid, child.” The abbess’s voice was soft, almost kind. “You have only done what was meant to be done.”

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

The abbess knew.

She had always known.

Jinx’s eyes darted toward the exit.

The abbess only smiled wider.

“Go on, then,” she said gently.

Jinx hesitated.

Was this a trap?

The abbess gave a slow nod.

“Give it to him.”

Jinx’s breath stilled.

She knew.

She knew.

And she was letting her.

Jinx bolted before she could change her mind.

---

Jinx ran.

The vial was clutched tight against her chest, its weight impossibly heavy in her trembling hands. The reliquary door groaned as she shoved it open, the cold air of the corridor hitting her like a wave. She half expected the abbess to follow, to seize her by the wrist and tear the relic away—

But she did not.

The abbess only watched.

Jinx could feel her gaze, pressing into her back like something tangible. But she did not chase her, did not call for the other nuns, did not try to stop what was about to happen.

She wanted this.

The thought sent an icy chill down Jinx’s spine.

She stumbled up the winding steps, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The chapel loomed ahead, its towering stained-glass windows casting fractured moonlight across the stone floor. It was empty. Silent. The nuns were still in prayer, tucked away in their hidden chambers.

No one saw her as she fled back into the depths of the abbey.

No one stopped her.

Because it was already too late.

The air grew colder as she neared the cellar.

The candles along the walls flickered violently, their flames stretching unnaturally long, guttering as she passed. The sigils carved into the stone seemed darker, their prayers hollow now—empty words that had lost their power.

Jinx didn’t hesitate.

She wrenched open the heavy wooden door, stepping into the chamber beyond—

And froze.

The sigil on the floor was changing.

The blood within its cracked center pulsed, seeping outward in slow, creeping tendrils. The two nuns who had once lain contorted and writhing were now utterly still, their bodies twisted at impossible angles, their faces frozen in silent screams.

And Viktor—

Or whatever he had become—

Was waiting.

The air itself seemed to shift around him, as if space could barely contain his presence. His form was still mostly human, but wrong somehow—his features cast in shadow, his figure flickering at the edges like something not fully bound to this world.

The moment Jinx stepped inside, his gaze lifted to meet hers.

She sucked in a sharp breath.

His eyes—

They were not human anymore.

Dark. Hollow. Bottomless.

Like looking into something that had no end.

And yet—

His lips curled into something eerily close to a smile.

“Ah… little novice.” His voice was smooth, curling around her like smoke. “You’ve done well.”

Jinx swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at her to run.

But she didn’t.

She stepped forward.

The vial in her hands trembled as she lifted it slightly.

“…This is what you need, right?”

Viktor’s gaze flickered to the relic.

Something shifted in the air. A hum, deep and low, like the echo of a voice long buried beneath stone.

“Yes,” he murmured. “That… and one final thing.”

Jinx stiffened.

She should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

“…What?” she asked warily.

Viktor took a slow step toward her, his form wavering like mist. “Break the seal.”

Jinx’s pulse pounded. “The—” She glanced at the sigil, at the blood pooling within its fractured center.

The seal.

The one thing keeping him here.

The thing that had been weakening with every passing day.

Jinx licked her lips, her fingers tightening around the vial. “How?”

Viktor studied her for a long moment.

Then—

“With your blood, little novice.”

Jinx’s breath caught.

She knew the power of blood. It was sacred, binding, a covenant in its own right. The very reason the relic in her hands was dangerous to him.

And yet, he was asking for hers.

A trade.

A sacrifice.

Jinx’s fingers trembled.

She looked up at Viktor, at the way he waited.

He had never forced her. Never threatened her.

He had only asked.

Jinx swallowed hard.

“…If I do this,” she whispered, her voice unsteady, “will you keep your promise?”

A flicker of something passed through Viktor’s dark gaze.

Then—

“I would never harm you, Jinx.”

The same words as before.

Spoken softly.

Spoken gently.

Like an oath.

Jinx exhaled shakily.

Then, before she could second-guess herself, she stepped forward.

She knelt before the sigil, her heart hammering so hard she could hear it.

Slowly, she raised the vial—

And shattered it against the stone.

The blood of Christ spilled across the sigil, dark and thick, seeping into the cracks like ink.

The entire room shuddered.

A deep, guttural whisper curled through the chamber, rippling against the stone.

The prayers carved into the walls burned, their edges curling, blackening, fading.

Jinx inhaled sharply as the air shifted, pressing against her like unseen hands.

Then—without hesitation—

She bit down on her thumb.

Hard.

Warm blood welled against her lips.

With shaking fingers, she let it drip onto the sigil’s broken center.

The moment it touched the stone—

The entire abbey screamed.

Jinx gasped as the air ripped apart, as the candles exploded in bursts of molten wax. The sigil collapsed inward, the crack splitting open, deep and dark and endless.

And Viktor—

Viktor laughed.

His voice was everywhere, a low, rich sound that echoed against the walls, shaking the very foundation of the abbey itself.

Jinx stumbled back as the shadows surged, curling, stretching, ripping through the room like a living thing unleashed.

Then—

The voice that was Viktor’s, but not quite, spoke once more.

“You’ve freed me.”

Jinx’s chest heaved, her body trembling as the shadows coiled around him, his form shifting, expanding—

And when the darkness finally settled—

He was standing before her.

Whole. Unbound.

And smiling.

---

Jinx could barely breathe.

The air was thick with something wrong—something ancient, something that did not belong in this world.

And yet, Viktor stood before her.

Whole.

Unbound.

No longer flickering at the edges like something struggling to maintain form, no longer tethered to the sigil, no longer a whisper curling through the walls.

He was real.

And he was smiling.

Not the tired, knowing smirk he had worn in those quiet nights together. Not the half-smile of a scholar humoring a curious student.

No, this was something else entirely.

This was triumph.

“Jinx.”

Her name rolled from his tongue like silk, like something warm curling around her throat.

Jinx’s breath shuddered out of her.

The blood on the floor was still seeping into the sigil, but the symbol itself was breaking apart, its markings disintegrating like ash caught in the wind. The two nuns who had once lain twisted and convulsing were now silent, their bodies limp, as if whatever force had bound them to this place had finally been cut free.

Jinx swallowed hard, her fingers curled into her robes.

This was what she had worked toward. What she had chosen.

So why did she feel like something inside her had just snapped?

The abbey trembled, a deep groan resonating through the stone, as if the very foundation was protesting what had just been done.

Viktor stepped forward.

And for the first time, Jinx noticed the way the shadows moved around him—like something alive, curling at his heels, stretching unnaturally where candlelight should have burned them away.

Her stomach twisted.

She had freed him.

And now, she had to face what that meant.

“…What now?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Viktor’s gaze flickered, dark amusement glinting in his hollow eyes.

“Now?” He tilted his head, as if he had been waiting for her to ask. “Now, we see what becomes of this place without its chains.”

Jinx stiffened.

A scream echoed from above.

Not a prayer.

Not a hymn.

A scream.

Her pulse hammered.

The nuns.

The abbess.

The abbey.

Viktor let out a quiet sigh, stretching his hands before him as if savoring the feeling of movement. His fingers flexed, and the very air around them shivered.

“Do you hear them?” he murmured, voice laced with something dark. “They are afraid.”

Jinx took a step back.

This was wrong.

Viktor had said he would protect her. That he would not hurt her.

But he had never promised the same for the others.

She turned toward the cellar door, her heart pounding.

“I—I have to go,” she stammered. “Silco—”

Viktor’s hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could move.

Jinx gasped, the sudden contact like ice against her skin.

“Why?” Viktor murmured, tilting his head. “You think he will save you now?”

Jinx froze.

Something in the way he said it—something in the way his fingers curled so easily around her wrist, as if he had been waiting for her to run—made something deep inside her lurch.

She had trusted him.

Hadn’t she?

“You freed me,” Viktor continued, voice dipping into something almost soft. “You made your choice, little novice. Why turn back now?”

Jinx’s chest heaved.

Because this wasn’t what she had meant to do.

Because the abbess had let her go.

Because—

A second scream ripped through the halls.

Viktor sighed.

“Messy.” His grip loosened, and just as quickly as he had caught her, he let her go. “Go, if you must. See for yourself.”

Jinx hesitated, her pulse roaring in her ears.

Then, without another word, she turned and ran.

The abbey was in chaos.

Shadows crawled across the walls, stretching, writhing, moving against the flickering candlelight like something alive. The once-sacred corridors now felt suffocating, as if the very stone was groaning beneath the weight of something unnatural.

Jinx sprinted through the halls, her breath ragged, her heart hammering against her ribs.

She turned a corner—

And nearly collided with a nun.

The woman’s habit was torn, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wild with terror. She staggered forward, clutching her rosary so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

She saw Jinx—

And recoiled.

“You—” The nun’s voice cracked, raw with something beyond fear. “What have you done?”

Jinx opened her mouth to speak, but before she could form the words—

The shadows moved.

A long, jagged darkness stretched from the ceiling, twisting toward the nun like a hand reaching from the void.

Jinx barely had time to react before the woman screamed—

And was yanked into the darkness.

Gone.

No body. No blood. Just vanished.

Jinx choked on a breath, stumbling backward.

Her head snapped up toward the ceiling—toward the rafters where the shadows lingered, shifting restlessly, waiting.

Waiting for the next.

Jinx ran.

She skidded into the main corridor, the chapel doors ahead of her, her mind racing.

She had to find Silco. Had to warn him. Had to—

She froze.

The chapel doors were open.

And inside, at the altar—

The abbess stood waiting.

Calm.

Unshaken.

Her hands were folded, her gaze fixed upon Jinx as if she had expected this all along.

And she was smiling.

Jinx’s breath trembled.

“You did well, child,” the abbess murmured.

Jinx’s stomach dropped.

No horror. No panic.

She was pleased.

Jinx took an unsteady step forward, her voice cracking. “You knew.”

The abbess gave a slow nod. “Of course I knew.”

Jinx’s skin went cold.

The abbess had let her take the key. Had let her into the reliquary. Had watched as she freed Viktor.

And she had never tried to stop her.

Jinx’s heart pounded.

“Why?”

The abbess exhaled softly, stepping toward her.

“Because,” she murmured, “the prayers were failing.”

She reached out, cupping Jinx’s cheek with something almost tender.

“You did what needed to be done.”

Jinx’s breath hitched.

The abbess’s smile widened—

And from the shadows behind her, something stirred.

---

Jinx stood frozen.

The abbess’s hand was warm against her cheek, her touch deceptively gentle, as if she were a mother comforting a frightened child. But Jinx could not move. Could not speak.

Because behind the abbess—

In the shadows that stretched long and deep across the chapel floor—

Something moved.

A towering mass, shifting and writhing, just beyond the reach of the flickering candlelight.

Jinx could not see it, not fully. But she could feel it.

A presence.

Something that had been waiting.

Her throat went dry.

The abbess studied her, that quiet, knowing smile never fading.

“You should not be afraid, child.” Her voice was soft, patient. “You were chosen for this.”

Jinx’s breath hitched.

Chosen?

She had spent her entire life being unwanted. Overlooked. A shadow on the edges of holy places, never quite belonging.

No one had ever chosen her.

Until now.

Jinx swallowed hard. Her voice came out unsteady, barely above a whisper. “What… is that?”

The abbess did not turn to look. She did not need to.

“It is what you freed.”

Jinx felt her blood go cold.

“Not just Viktor.” The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.

The abbess’s smile deepened, her fingers ghosting along Jinx’s cheek before she finally withdrew her hand.

“No, child.”

She took a slow step back, moving toward the altar.

“Not just Viktor.”

Jinx’s heart pounded.

The chapel felt wrong now. The light from the stained-glass windows had dimmed, the flickering candles casting long, trembling shadows along the walls.

The air itself was breathing.

And Viktor—

Where was Viktor?

Jinx’s stomach twisted. She turned sharply, scanning the darkened hall behind her, expecting to see him lurking at the threshold.

But he was not there.

Not waiting. Not watching.

Gone.

A deep unease settled in her chest.

Something else had taken his place.

Jinx licked her lips, forcing herself to speak. “What happens now?”

The abbess exhaled, as if she had been waiting for that question.

“Now,” she said, “we kneel.”

Jinx frowned. “What?”

And then—

The nuns emerged.

From the shadows. From the doorways that had been empty only moments before.

They came in silence, their habits still pristine, their hands folded neatly in prayer. No terror. No desperation.

As if they had not just witnessed the unraveling of their sacred vows.

They moved with quiet reverence, stepping toward the altar, toward the abbess, toward her.

Jinx’s pulse thundered.

The prayers.

The ceaseless, unbroken prayers that had filled this abbey for centuries.

They had never been for salvation.

They had never been for protection.

They had been for this.

For him.

Jinx stumbled back, her mind racing.

“You—” Her breath came too fast. “You wanted this?”

The abbess nodded, unbothered. “The seal was weakening.”

She gestured to the nuns who now filled the chapel, their silent forms kneeling, heads bowed in devotion.

“It was always going to break. Sooner or later, we would fail. And if we did not prepare for that moment, what would become of us?”

Jinx shook her head. “No. You—You prayed to keep it sealed—”

The abbess chuckled. “Did we?”

The ground beneath them shook.

The shadows shifted.

And for the first time, Jinx realized—

She had never heard the nuns pray for salvation.

Only supplication.

Only devotion.

Jinx’s stomach dropped.

The nuns had never been wardens.

They had been disciples.

Jinx’s breath came sharp and shallow, her head spinning. “What did I free?”

The abbess turned toward the altar, her hands raising in quiet reverence.

And then—

She spoke a name.

It was not a word.

It was a sound, something that did not belong in human mouths, something ancient and heavy, something that sent a searing pain through Jinx’s skull the moment she heard it.

The air collapsed.

The chapel shook.

The stained glass fractured, splintering under an unseen pressure. The candles died, their flames snuffed out in an instant, plunging the room into darkness.

And in that darkness—

A voice.

Not Viktor’s.

Something older.

Something that had been waiting for her.

“At last.”

The voice did not come from above.

It did not come from the shadows behind the altar.

It came from inside her own mind.

Jinx gasped, her hands flying to her head as a sharp, splitting pain tore through her skull.

Visions—not hers—rushed through her mind like a flood.

A thousand voices whispering in a language she did not understand.

A sigil like the one she had broken—but not broken by her.

Hands slick with blood, raised in prayer—but not to Christ.

And a face.

A face she had never seen.

And yet, somehow, it knew her.

Jinx staggered, barely aware that she had dropped to her knees.

The abbess’s voice drifted through the haze.

“Do not resist it, child. It has chosen you.”

Jinx shook.

Chosen.

No.

No, this wasn’t what she had wanted.

This wasn’t—

“Do not be afraid.”

The voice slithered through her mind like silk, deep and cold, wrapping around her thoughts, threading through her very being.

“You were never meant to serve them.”

Jinx’s breath hitched.

“You were meant to serve me.”

The shadows rushed forward.

And the world went black.

---

Jinx awoke to warmth.

Soft sheets beneath her. The weight of a blanket draped over her body. The faint scent of old parchment and burning wax lingering in the air.

For a moment, she lay still, her mind thick with haze, drowning in that fragile space between dream and wakefulness.

Then—

Her breath hitched.

Memories slammed into her all at once.

The sigil. The blood. The voice.

The darkness swallowing her whole.

Her eyes snapped open.

She sat up abruptly, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps. Her hands clutched at the blanket, gripping it tightly as she frantically scanned the room, panic twisting in her gut.

Where—where was she?

This wasn’t her chamber.

The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, their wooden surfaces smooth with age, filled with leather-bound tomes whose titles she could not read in the dim light. Candles flickered softly atop a nearby desk, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

A study.

Not the chapel.

Not the cellar.

Not the abbey.

Jinx swallowed hard, her breath still unsteady. Had it all been a nightmare?

Then—

“Jinx.”

Her body went rigid.

That voice.

Smooth. Familiar. Amused.

“It was about time you finally awoke.”

Slowly—so slowly—she turned her head.

Viktor sat across the room, his long legs crossed, a book balanced easily in one hand. His eyes flickered over the pages for a brief moment before shifting to meet hers.

He smiled.

Not the sharp, triumphant grin she had last seen in the cellar.

Something softer. Patient.

Jinx’s fingers curled tighter into the fabric of the blanket.

“…What—what happened?” Her voice was hoarse, unsteady.

Viktor closed the book with a quiet thump, resting it on the arm of his chair.

“You freed me, Jinx.”

His smile widened, something almost fond curling at the edges.

“Are you unable to remember?”

Jinx whimpered, her throat tight, her vision blurring with unshed tears.

“…I don’t understand,” she choked out. Her fingers twisted in the blanket, clutching it like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her mind struggling to grasp what had happened, what she had done.

“What did I do…?”

Viktor’s expression softened.

He stood, the movement slow, deliberate, before approaching the bedside. The room felt smaller with him closer, the warmth of the candlelight casting long shadows over his sharp features.

Jinx didn’t move as he settled onto the edge of the bed.

Her body should have tensed.

She should have pulled away.

But she didn’t.

Because when Viktor reached for her hand, wrapping his fingers gently around hers, his touch was warm. Steady.

His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles, his voice low, soothing.

“It is of no issue that these things may not make sense to you,” he murmured.

Jinx shuddered.

The warmth of his touch bled into her skin, grounding her. He was so calm. So certain. Like he had never once doubted how this would end.

“You helped me, Jinx.”

His grip on her hand tightened, just slightly.

“And as I promised, I will protect you.”

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut, a tear slipping free, tracing a slow path down her cheek.

Protect her.

He had said that. From the moment she first heard his voice in the dark, from the moment she stepped into the forbidden places of the abbey, he had promised her safety.

And yet—

She had seen what had happened when the seal broke. She had heard the screams. She had felt something enter her mind, burrow deep, whisper to her in a voice that did not belong to Viktor.

How could she possibly be safe now?

Jinx inhaled a shaky breath.

“…What happens now?” she whispered.

Viktor tilted his head slightly, watching her, his thumb still tracing idle patterns along her skin.

Then—

“We build something new.”

Jinx’s breath stilled.

His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. A quiet certainty.

A promise.

“The old ways have failed,” Viktor murmured. “Faith built on fear will always crumble.”

His grip on her hand tightened again—reassuring, grounding.

“But you, Jinx… you are part of something greater now. You were always meant for more.”

Jinx swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingers.

Something greater.

Something new.

And she had helped create it.

Jinx’s lips parted, but no words came.

Because deep down—

She already knew.

 

Notes:

Guys, I'm almost at my goal! The end is near!

Chapter 97: Above The Sky

Summary:

A choice.

She didn’t force it.

She didn’t demand.

She only offered.

The meaning was clear.

If he wouldn’t answer with words, he would answer this way.

Through Tsaheylu.

Notes:

Some of the translations are sorta accurate, others are… definitely not.

The first time Viktor opened his eyes in his avatar body, he felt wrong.

It was like waking from a deep sleep in a bed that wasn’t his, in a room that wasn’t his, wearing skin that wasn’t his. His thoughts were his—that much was clear—but everything else? Everything else was an illusion.

The limbs he moved weren’t the limbs he had known his whole life. They were long, too long, moving with a sinewy grace that wasn’t his own. His fingers stretched out, impossibly slender, tipped with nails that felt oddly sharp. His tail—a part of him and yet not—twitched against the sterile floor of the laboratory, reacting to stimuli his human body had never needed to acknowledge. He could feel the air brushing against it, just as he could feel the smooth surface beneath his new feet.

Viktor swallowed, only to pause when he realized that even the act of swallowing felt different.

The throat wasn’t quite his.

The teeth weren’t quite his.

The senses weren’t quite his.

“Vitals are stable,” a voice droned in his ear, distant and clinical. “How’s it feel, Doc?”

Viktor tried to speak. His voice came out strange—deeper than his own, with a slight rumble that made his chest vibrate in an alien way.

“It is… an adjustment,” he admitted, flexing his hands again, testing how the tendons moved under the unfamiliar blue skin.

Norm, the scientist monitoring his transition, grinned. “Yeah, that’s an understatement. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. Try standing up.”

Viktor obeyed, pushing himself off the ground, only to nearly stumble as his legs responded with far more power than he anticipated. A rush of sensory input assaulted him—his balance felt off, the lab smelled different, the faint hum of machinery was somehow clearer, as if his ears could pick up frequencies his human body never could.

And then there was his sight.

The lights in the lab seemed sharper, the contrast between dark and light more defined. He could see the edges of things in a way he never had before, as if his depth perception had been upgraded. His pupils flared instinctively, adjusting to the artificial brightness.

Everything was too much yet not enough.

Viktor inhaled deeply, only to pause again. Even the act of breathing felt unfamiliar—his lungs were larger, his chest rising and falling at a different rhythm. The air smelled different, too—more potent, layered with scents he had never registered before. Even in the sterile confines of the lab, he could pick up the faintest traces of antiseptic, sweat, metal, electricity.

This body wasn’t his.

It would never be his.

But it was what he had to work with.

When he was finally allowed outside for the first time, stepping into Pandora’s dense jungle in his avatar form, the weight of that reality settled in. The world was a cacophony of colors, smells, sounds—every sense amplified to overwhelming levels. The very air felt alive, buzzing against his skin like a second heartbeat.

The ground beneath his bare feet was softer than he expected, and with every step, he could feel it—really feel it. The dampness of the moss, the roughness of the twisted roots, the cool slickness of bioluminescent fungi that pulsed under his weight. In his human body, he had spent years studying Pandora’s ecosystem from behind glass and screens. Now, the knowledge he had gathered felt… incomplete.

There were layers to the world he had never been able to perceive before.

A deep, resonant call echoed through the jungle, something massive shifting in the distance. His elongated ears flicked toward the sound automatically, an instinctive response he had no control over. Another reminder: this body was not his. It had instincts—Na’vi instincts—that lurked just beneath the surface.

He wasn’t Na’vi. He wasn’t this.

But for now, he had to be.

For now, he had to adapt.

And observe.

Because if there was one thing Viktor was good at, it was understanding things others did not.

---

Viktor had always been an observer. A scientist first, a participant second. It was easier that way—safer. He had spent his entire life relying on logic, on careful calculations, on understanding before acting.

And yet, Pandora defied understanding.

Even in his avatar body, even with his heightened senses, he still felt like an intruder in a world that had never been made for him. Every step through its dense jungles was a reminder of that.

Still, he documented.

The flora of Pandora was unlike anything found on Earth, a biome that pulsed with life in ways that human science barely had the means to quantify. Some plants moved, reacting to his presence before he even touched them. Others communicated in subtle pulses of bioluminescent light, as though sharing whispered secrets through their glowing veins.

The fauna was even more spectacular—predatory creatures that prowled the underbrush, their iridescent eyes glinting from the shadows. Great winged beasts soaring through skies that stretched impossibly high. Smaller creatures, no bigger than his hand, flitting through the trees like living stars, their bodies alight with faint, pulsing glow.

Viktor documented everything. Every pattern, every behavior, every chemical reaction that the plants exuded when disturbed. He kept detailed notes, even when the others in his expedition crew rolled their eyes at his obsession with the minutiae.

“Come on, Doc, it’s just a flower,” one of them—Miles, he thought his name was—grumbled as Viktor knelt beside a particularly peculiar species of vine, its petals curling inward as though aware it was being watched.

“Nothing on this moon is ‘just’ anything,” Viktor muttered, tapping his pen against his notepad before sketching a rough diagram of the plant’s structure.

Miles sighed, already walking ahead with the others. “We’re heading back soon, don’t wander too far.”

Viktor barely heard him.

He was too focused on understanding.

Too lost in thought to notice the sky shifting above him.

At first, the change was subtle. A hush fell over the jungle, the usual symphony of Pandora’s wildlife growing quieter. A breeze swept through the undergrowth, carrying with it a sharp, electric charge. Viktor’s ears twitched instinctively, picking up something—a low-frequency hum in the air, almost like—

Then, the sky split open.

The first bolt of lightning struck somewhere in the distance, illuminating the jungle in a blinding flash of violet light. The second came even closer, followed by a clap of thunder so loud it sent vibrations through the ground. The wind howled, bending the treetops with a force that sent leaves and glowing spores spiraling into the air like shattered glass.

The storm had arrived.

Viktor barely had time to react before the rain came—thick, heavy, more like a flood than a drizzle, drenching him within seconds. The air was thick with moisture, the scent of damp earth and charged ozone filling his nostrils.

The rest of his crew had already started retreating back to base, their voices lost in the chaos of wind and rain. Viktor turned to follow—

And then the ground gave way beneath him.

One moment, he was running. The next, the world tilted violently as his foot slipped against the rain-slicked earth, sending him tumbling down a steep incline of tangled roots and jagged rocks. His body crashed through dense vegetation, vines snapping beneath his weight as he slid further and further down.

By the time he came to a stop, the storm had swallowed everything.

The rain was relentless, hammering against him as he struggled to his feet. His ears flicked, straining for any sign of his team, but the wind howled too loud. The jungle was a blur of shadows and neon light, the bioluminescent glow of the plants barely visible through the downpour.

He was alone.

Viktor exhaled sharply, gripping the side of his head. His communicator had been damaged in the fall, the screen flickering uselessly. His path back was obscured, the trail he had taken washed away in the rain.

This was bad.

A crack of lightning illuminated the landscape again, revealing something just ahead—a dark opening in the rock face, partially obscured by thick vines. A cave.

Shelter.

Viktor hesitated for only a second before moving toward it, ducking past the curtain of vines and stepping into the dry darkness within.

The sound of the storm dulled instantly.

The cave was silent, save for the rhythmic dripping of water from the stone ceiling. The air was cool, damp, filled with the scent of moss and minerals. For a moment, Viktor just breathed, pressing his back against the rock wall as his tail flicked involuntarily behind him.

Then, slowly, he looked around.

The darkness was near absolute—until his eyes adjusted, and he realized he was not alone in the black.

Tiny veins of bioluminescent flora clung to the cave walls, pulsing faintly in hues of pale blue and violet. Some fungi sprouted from the ground, their glow a soft green that barely illuminated the uneven stone. But beyond that, past the dim light, the cave stretched further downward, the entrance leading into a deeper network of tunnels.

Viktor’s heart pounded.

He should stay near the entrance. Wait for the storm to pass. Find his way back in the morning.

But then… curiosity.

Curiosity had always been his greatest flaw.

And there was something down there. Something the bioluminescent plants clung to like an unspoken secret.

Viktor exhaled, taking a cautious step forward.

Then another.

The light of the entrance faded behind him, swallowed by the dark.

---

The deeper Viktor ventured, the quieter the world became.

The storm outside was now a distant murmur, muffled by layers of stone. Here, in the belly of the cave, only the rhythmic drip of water and the faint, pulsing glow of bioluminescent flora accompanied him.

His elongated ears twitched, adjusting to the change in acoustics. Every footstep echoed softly, absorbed by the damp stone beneath his bare feet. His tail swayed instinctively, trying to balance him in the uneven terrain, but the ground was smoother here, worn down by something—as if the cave had been used before.

By who?

The thought sent a strange prickle down his spine, but he pushed forward.

The glow of the fungi lining the walls cast an eerie radiance over the stone, allowing him to make out details—delicate spirals carved into the rock, nearly hidden beneath layers of time and moisture. Not natural. Intentional.

Viktor exhaled, reaching out to brush his fingers over one of the patterns. The surface was cool, slick with condensation, but the grooves were deep. Someone—something—had made this.

And recently.

His stomach coiled with something that was not quite fear, not quite excitement.

Then, movement.

A flicker of white against the dark.

Viktor stilled, his ears flicking toward the motion. His breath slowed, body tense. His enhanced Na’vi eyesight caught the shape immediately—a figure, peering at him from behind a jagged rock formation deeper within the cave.

Not an animal.

A Na’vi.

Only… not like any Na’vi he had ever seen.

She was small, even by human standards. Far shorter than any Na’vi he had encountered. Her skin was pale—too pale, nearly white, as though the light of Pandora’s bioluminescent world had bled into her flesh. The usual vibrant striping of her kind was nearly nonexistent, replaced with faint, almost ghostly markings that glowed a soft, eerie white.

Her eyes—bright, unnatural pink—stared at him, wide and unblinking. The glow of them was unmistakable, reflecting the dim bioluminescent light like a predator's in the dark.

Her hair, the deepest black, dragged along the stone floor, unnaturally long, pooling around her feet in tangled strands. It shimmered faintly as she shifted, her nails—black like her hair, long and curved into sharp points—digging into the stone as she braced herself.

And then—

She hissed.

The sound was sharp, guttural, feral, echoing off the cave walls like the warning of a cornered animal.

Viktor’s instincts screamed at him to freeze, but curiosity rooted him in place. His breath was slow, measured, his elongated ears flicking forward in interest rather than alarm.

She was watching him. Studying him.

Not attacking.

Viktor inhaled through his nose, forcing himself to relax. Slowly, cautiously, he took a single step forward.

The Na’vi girl tensed, but did not retreat.

Another step.

She curled her fingers against the stone, nails scraping into the rocky wall, but she did not move away. 

The flickering glow of the fungi illuminated her features better now—high cheekbones, sharp jaw, thin lips parted just slightly to reveal a glimpse of pointed teeth. Her expression was unreadable, her body language a contradiction of hostility and hesitation.

---

Viktor held his ground, his keen eyes locked onto the strange Na’vi. The soft glow of the cave’s bioluminescence cast shifting shadows across her pale skin, highlighting the ghostly patterns along her arms. Her fangs glinted as she bared them slightly, not in an outright threat, but in something more primal—an instinctive reaction to the unknown.

His mind raced. She wasn’t like the others. He had studied the Na’vi for years, yet she resembled no tribe he had ever encountered. Too small. Too pale. Those unnatural pink eyes, gleaming like twin moons in the dark.

He took another cautious step forward, lifting his hands slightly in a gesture of peace. His tail twitched, but he kept it low, unthreatening.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice steady, measured.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring as if she were scenting him. Then—words. Low, rough, spoken in Na’vi.

“Ngaru lu fpom?”

Viktor’s ears flicked forward. He knew enough of the language to recognize the phrase. Are you well? A strange question, given the circumstances.

He hesitated, then replied in his best, albeit clumsy, Na’vi. “Oe… lu fpom.” I am well.

She tilted her head at the way he spoke, her fingers twitching against the stone. He knew he had an accent, that his words were stiff and too human. He didn’t belong in this body, in this world, and she could see it.

Still, she did not flee.

She shifted slightly, her long, dark hair slithering over the cave floor as she moved. Her expression was unreadable, those pink eyes studying him with something between wariness and fascination. Then, another question—this time, slower.

“Nga… pesu?”

Who are you?

Viktor straightened slightly, exhaling through his nose before answering.

“Oe lu Viktor.”

She didn’t react immediately, only blinked once, slow and deliberate. Then, she repeated his name, testing it on her tongue.

“Viktor.”

The way she said it sent a strange chill through him.

He swallowed, his mind still racing, still categorizing. She was unlike any Na’vi he had encountered before. Not just in appearance, but in presence. There was something about her—something other.

The question now was whether she saw him as an intruder… or as something else entirely.

---

Viktor remained still, waiting. The strange Na’vi—if she was even Na’vi in the way he understood—stared at him, her pink eyes gleaming in the dim glow of the cave. Her fingers flexed against the stone, nails clicking lightly as she seemed to weigh her next move.

"Viktor," she repeated, the name foreign on her tongue. It wasn’t a question this time. It was something else. A confirmation. A test.

He nodded slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Nga pesu?" Who are you?

For the first time, she showed something close to a reaction—her ears twitched, her fangs bared just slightly. A flicker of tension passed through her muscles, but it wasn’t fear. It was hesitation. As if answering that question carried more weight than he could understand.

A long pause.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"Tsahìk’eveng."

The word struck him like a pulse of electricity. 

Daughter of the Tsahìk.

Viktor’s mind raced, struggling to place the title. Every Na’vi clan had a Tsahìk—a spiritual leader, the bridge between their people and Eywa. But he had never heard of a Tsahìk’s daughter living alone, away from her tribe. And her appearance… there was nothing familiar about it. No record of pale-skinned, pink-eyed Na’vi.

A lost bloodline? A hidden clan? A mutation? His scientific mind grasped at theories, but none explained why she was here, in this cave, alone.

He met her gaze again. "Oel ngati kameie," he said softly, pressing a fist to his chest in the respectful greeting. I see you.

She did not return the gesture.

Instead, she took a step closer.

Her movements were slow, deliberate, her bare feet soundless against the stone. She was studying him just as intently as he studied her, though her gaze was more instinctive, more primal. The way a predator watched something it wasn’t sure whether to attack or tolerate.

Viktor forced himself to remain still. His tail twitched, betraying the sharp edge of his nerves, but he refused to flinch.

Then, without warning, she reached out.

Her fingers—longer than a human’s but still more delicate than most Na’vi he had seen—brushed against his forearm. A barely-there touch, testing. Feeling.

Viktor inhaled sharply.

Her skin was cool. Almost unnaturally so.

She let her hand linger for only a moment before pulling back, tilting her head as if reading his reaction.

He swallowed, then did something he wasn’t sure was wise—he reached out in return.

She didn’t move away.

His fingers barely skimmed the back of her hand, ghosting over the strange, faintly glowing white patterns along her skin. The contact was brief, fleeting. And yet, the moment stretched between them, a silent thread of curiosity and something unspoken weaving into the air.

Then, just as quickly, she stepped back.

The moment was over.

Silence.

Only the distant sound of the storm beyond the cave remained, a muffled roar in the background.

Viktor exhaled. "Nga lu rey fìtseng?" Do you live here?

She watched him for a long time before answering.

"Säpom."

A word he barely understood. A refuge—A place between.

Between what?

The caves and the forest? The living and the dead?

He didn’t know.

But one thing was certain.

She wasn’t just some lost wanderer.

She belonged here.

Viktor remained still, allowing her to study him. His scientist’s mind cataloged every detail as she moved closer, her pink eyes gleaming with something sharp—curiosity, perhaps, or calculation. Now that she stood directly in front of him, he could properly gauge her size.

She barely reached his stomach. Even in his Na’vi form, he was taller than most, but she was undoubtedly small for her kind. Still, she would have towered over his human body, standing at least six, maybe seven feet tall. An anomaly.

His thoughts flickered through possibilities. Was she stunted by the environment? Caves didn’t encourage the kind of growth the Na’vi thrived on—no open spaces to run, no towering trees to climb. Or was it something deeper? A genetic discrepancy?

Her fingers twitched, drawing his attention back to her hands—slender, long-fingered, nails black as night. She lifted them slowly, hesitating only for a second before reaching toward him again.

The first touch landed on his arm, just above the bioluminescent freckles that scattered across his skin. Her fingers barely pressed down, moving in slow, deliberate strokes as she traced the glowing patterns.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, suppressing a shiver. His skin was sensitive—more than he was used to. The bioluminescence, a trait he had once studied with detachment, now felt alive under her touch.

She made a soft sound. Not a word, but something between a hum and a breath, her head tilting slightly.

Fascinated.

Viktor had spent years observing Na’vi, analyzing their physiology, breaking them down into data points and anatomical studies. But now, he was the specimen.

She moved her hand higher, fingertips grazing along the lines of his shoulder, then up his neck. He forced himself to remain still, even as her nails lightly scraped the underside of his jaw.

Then, suddenly, she spoke.

"‘Awve."

The word was quiet, almost reverent.

Viktor’s ears flicked at the sound. First.

He frowned slightly. "Nga plltxe…?" What do you mean?

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached out again, this time laying her palm flat against his chest, just over his heart. Her expression remained unreadable, but her pink eyes flickered with something—something deep.

"‘Awve," she repeated, pressing her hand just a little harder.

Viktor’s heartbeat quickened beneath her touch.

"The first."

She wasn’t just fascinated by his freckles. She was calling him something. Naming him.

The realization sent a chill through him.

First of what?

Viktor’s breath was slow, measured, but beneath the steady rhythm, his mind spun.

She said it with certainty, as though it meant something—as though he meant something.

His scientific mind strained for an answer. Was it because he was different? Because he wasn’t truly Na’vi? Was she calling him the first of his kind? Or… was she recognizing something else?

Her palm remained against his chest, fingers splayed over the bioluminescent freckles that flickered faintly beneath her touch. His skin responded instinctively, glowing brighter where her fingers pressed, as if reacting to her as much as she reacted to him.

She tilted her head, pink eyes narrowing slightly in thought. Then, without looking away, she slowly lifted her other hand—this one reaching for his face.

Viktor tensed, his body betraying a flicker of instinctive wariness, but he didn’t pull back. He let her touch him.

Her fingers brushed over his cheek, light as breath. Then along his jaw, his chin. Her nails scraped slightly as she traced the contours of his skin, almost as though committing his shape to memory.

"Nga ke lu…" she murmured under her breath, words barely above a whisper.

Viktor’s ears flicked. You are not…

Not what?

She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, her fingers slid upward, stopping at the base of his ear. She hesitated. Then, she did something he didn’t expect—

She flicked it.

Viktor inhaled sharply, ears twitching at the sudden, unfamiliar sensation.

The strange Na’vi’s lips curled slightly—not quite a smile, but something close. Amusement? Satisfaction? Whatever it was, it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

Viktor exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. He decided to push forward, speaking carefully. "Pesu lu oe ke?" Who am I not?

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she pulled her hand back, stepping half a pace away, her expression unreadable once more. The small space between them felt… deliberate. A shift.

Finally, she said, "Nga ke lu Na’vi."

You are not Na’vi.

The words settled between them, heavy and unshaken.

Viktor swallowed. She was right, of course. No matter how much he adapted, no matter how much he learned or how permanently he had taken this body, he would never truly be one of them.

But there was something in the way she said it. Not as an insult. Not as a rejection. Just a fact. A truth she had accepted before he had.

He straightened slightly. "Srane," he admitted. Yes.

She studied him for another moment. Then, with the same quiet certainty, she touched her chest and said—

"Oe lu Jinxe."

Jinxe.

Her name.

Something about hearing it—about knowing it—felt significant.

"Oe lu Viktor," he repeated, as though reaffirming his presence in her world.

Jinxe let the name linger in the air between them. Then, just as abruptly as she had approached him, she turned, her long hair sweeping over the stone floor like ink spreading over paper.

She began walking deeper into the cave.

Viktor hesitated only for a second.

Then, without a word, he followed.

---

Jinxe.

Her name settled in Viktor’s mind like a puzzle piece snapping into place—unexpected, but oddly fitting.

She didn’t look back as she walked deeper into the cave, her bare feet silent against the stone. The bioluminescent fungi cast a ghostly glow over her pale skin, illuminating the faint, almost spectral markings along her arms and back. Her hair, long and dark as the abyss, trailed behind her, swaying with each slow, deliberate step.

Viktor followed.

He wasn’t sure why.

Instinct? Curiosity? A scientist’s compulsion to understand? Or was it something deeper, something wordless, something pulling him toward her?

Jinxe moved as if she had already accepted his presence, as if she expected him to follow. She did not gesture for him to keep up, nor did she acknowledge his footsteps behind her. But there was something in her stride—something calculated. Leading him somewhere.

The tunnel narrowed, forcing Viktor to duck slightly. His shoulders nearly brushed the stone walls, the space smaller than he was used to, carved by time and something else. The air grew cooler, thicker. The scent of damp earth and minerals mixed with something other—something faintly metallic, like the remnants of a storm.

Jinxe finally stopped.

The chamber they entered was larger than he expected. The bioluminescence was stronger here, veins of glowing white light streaking through the stone like frozen lightning. In the center of the cavern, a shallow pool of water reflected the faint glow, its surface smooth as glass. Strange markings covered the walls—spirals, jagged lines, symbols that looked Na’vi but weren’t quite.

A history written in shadows.

Jinxe turned to face him, her pink eyes gleaming like twin stars in the dim light. She studied him again, as if considering something.

Then, she spoke.

"Nga za’u. Slä… pehem?"

You followed. But… why?

Viktor exhaled through his nose, considering his answer. He could give her the clinical truth—that he was lost, that this cave was the only shelter from the storm. But that wouldn’t be entirely honest.

Instead, he answered carefully. "Oe tsun omum."

I want to understand.

Jinxe’s lips parted slightly, fangs barely visible. She took a step toward him again, deliberate.

"Omum?" she repeated, tilting her head.

Then, suddenly, her fingers were on his arm again, tracing his bioluminescent freckles like before. The glow pulsed beneath her touch, reacting to her presence.

She inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring slightly.

"Nga… ‘awve," she murmured again.

The first.

Viktor’s pulse quickened. "‘Awve fyape?" The first how?

Jinxe didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted her kuru.

His breath caught.

The tendrils at the end flickered slightly, writhing in anticipation.

A challenge. A test.

He knew what she was offering.

She wasn’t just allowing him to understand with words.

She was offering him Tsaheylu. The Na’vi bond.

A connection deeper than speech. Deeper than thought.

His mind screamed caution.

But his body—his instincts—had already decided.

Slowly, without looking away from her, Viktor reached for his own kuru.

The moment he touched it, the world felt smaller.

And when their tendrils met—

Everything unraveled.

Viktor gasped, his entire body locking up as a tidal wave of sensation crashed into him.

He could feel her—all of her.

Not just the physical presence of her body standing before him, but the essence of her.

Jinxe's breath, sharp and controlled. The slow, steady beat of her heart. The faintest tremble in her fingers, as if she were just as uncertain about this as he was.

And then, deeper.

Beyond the surface, past her body and into the raw, unfiltered torrent of her self.

He saw flashes. Fragments of memory, emotions so visceral they didn't need words.

—Running through the caves, darkness swallowing her, the cold stone beneath her feet, always moving, always hiding—

—A storm raging outside, but she wasn't afraid of the thunder, only of the silence that followed—

—A figure, blurred, indistinct, whispering her name in a voice she would never hear again—

Viktor gasped, staggering back, but the bond held. She held him.

Her presence surged through him, filling his mind, his lungs, his veins. The weight of her isolation. The strange otherness of her existence.

She was Na'vi, but not.

She belonged, but nowhere.

Jinxe was a paradox wrapped in pale skin and glowing scars, and now her very being was intertwined with his.

And she could feel him, too.

She stiffened, her pupils dilating as she was dragged into his memories.

—Waking in his avatar body for the first time, everything feeling wrong, foreign, as if he'd been stitched into someone else's skin—

—The slow decay of his human body, the inevitable truth pressing down on him like a vice, forcing him to make the choice—

—The cold sterility of the labs, the clinical detachment of his research, his entire existence spent observing rather than living—

Jinxe sucked in a breath, her fingers tightening around his wrist as if grounding herself.

Their thoughts tangled, a violent collision of two lives, two identities that were never meant to meet.

And then, like the eye of a storm, a moment of stillness.

The chaos settled, their minds adjusting, accommodating.

Viktor could feel her awareness settling into him, weaving through his senses like a second heartbeat. And beneath it all, an unspoken realization.

She saw him.

Not just the scientist. Not just the outsider fumbling in a body that wasn't his.

She saw the man beneath it all.

And he saw her.

Jinxe—alone in the dark, waiting for something she couldn't name.

Maybe, without realizing it, they had both been waiting for this.

Viktor’s breath came slow and uneven as the bond settled between them. The initial surge of memories, of tangled emotions crashing together, had left him momentarily adrift, unmoored in the depths of her existence.

Jinxe stood before him, still as stone, her pink eyes blown wide, pupils dilated like an animal caught in the path of something unstoppable. She was feeling him just as much as he was feeling her.

And neither of them could look away.

The weight of her solitude pressed against his ribs, a heavy, aching thing that had lived inside her for as long as she could remember. He had never known what true isolation felt like until now—cut off, unseen, separate from the world around her.

She was Na’vi, but she was not.

She had no clan. No history that matched the stories he had studied. She had spent her life on the edges of existence, lingering in the places where no one else dared to go.

No one had ever done this with her before.

The realization struck him like a pulse of lightning through the bond.

Jinxe had never formed Tsaheylu with another.

Not with an ikran. Not with another Na’vi. Not with the world she was born into.

Viktor’s mind reeled. He had spent years studying the significance of the bond, the depth of what it meant to the Na’vi. It was more than just connection. It was oneness. A merging of thought, instinct, soul.

And yet, she had lived her entire life without it.

Until now.

A shudder passed through her, subtle, but Viktor felt it. Not just saw it—felt it through the bond, through the way her very being curled inward, uncertain, overwhelmed.

A quiet, breathless whisper from her mind slipped into his like mist curling through the cracks of a door.

I am not meant to exist.

The words weren’t spoken aloud, but they struck just as hard.

Viktor’s fingers twitched. He wanted to say something—to challenge the thought, to ask why she believed that—but the connection between them made words unnecessary.

Because he already knew.

The loneliness. The waiting. The knowledge that she was wrong somehow, in a way no one had ever explained to her.

And yet, here she was. Here they were.

The silence stretched between them, thick and charged, until finally, Viktor did the only thing that felt right.

He let himself be seen.

He didn’t fight the connection. Didn’t try to shield himself behind logic, behind the walls of observation and analysis that had always kept him at a distance from the things he studied.

He simply let her feel him.

All of him.

The fear. The longing. The gnawing, constant sense of otherness that had followed him from his human body into this one, whispering that no matter what form he wore, he would never truly belong.

Jinxe inhaled sharply, her nails biting into his wrist.

She understood.

For the first time in either of their lives, someone understood.

Her grip on him tightened, just for a second. Then, slowly, her expression shifted—less guarded, less unreadable.

And Viktor felt it through the bond before she even whispered it aloud.

"Nga ke lu ‘awve."

You are not the first.

A truth she had just now realized.

A truth neither of them had expected.

And yet, it had always been waiting for them, here, in the dark.

The weight of her words settled into Viktor’s chest, deeper than thought, deeper than language.

"Nga ke lu ‘awve."

You are not the first.

Not the first to stand at the edge of two worlds. Not the first to feel like an outsider, adrift between what should be and what is.

Jinxe had thought she was alone in that feeling. And so had he.

Now, bound together by Tsaheylu, they knew better.

Her breath was unsteady, the bond still raw between them. Through it, he could feel the slow unraveling of something in her—hesitation, uncertainty, the quiet, brittle solitude she had worn for so long.

And yet, beneath it all, something else stirred.

A cautious, fragile thread of understanding.

Jinxe’s fingers twitched against his wrist before she pulled back, severing the physical contact, though the bond still hummed between them. Her pink eyes flickered, searching his face as if trying to place him now that she had seen inside him.

Viktor swallowed, grounding himself in the feel of stone beneath his feet, the cool air pressing against his skin. He had studied the Na’vi for years, spent his life learning them. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.

Tsaheylu wasn’t knowledge. It wasn’t analysis or observation.

It was being known.

He exhaled. "Jinxe," he said softly, testing the name now that it carried weight beyond mere introduction.

Her ears flicked, a sign she was listening, though she didn’t immediately speak.

He hesitated before continuing. "Nga ke lu ‘awve." You are not the first either.

Something in her expression shifted, but she remained silent.

Viktor didn’t push. He had already felt the depth of her isolation, the scars left by it. Words alone wouldn’t change that.

But the bond had already shown her.

And that mattered more than anything he could say.

Slowly, Jinxe turned, stepping away from him. The moment stretched, and for a brief second, he thought she might break the connection entirely—retreat back into the silence of the cave, back into whatever she had been before he stumbled into her world.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she tilted her head, glancing at him over her shoulder.

And then— "Za’u."

Come.

An invitation.

Not an order. Not a test.

A choice.

Viktor’s heart thudded once.

Then, without hesitation, he followed her deeper into the dark.

---

Jinxe’s fingers curled around Viktor’s wrist, cool against his skin as she pulled him forward. Her grip was firm, but not forceful—steady, deliberate.

He followed without question.

The tunnel widened as they walked, the air growing warmer, richer with the scent of damp earth and something subtly sweet. Then, the path opened into a cavern unlike anything Viktor had seen before.

His breath caught.

The space was alive.

Bioluminescent trees stretched toward the ceiling, their glowing veins pulsing in slow, rhythmic waves, casting shifting patterns of blue and violet light across the stone walls. Their branches bore fruit—round, luminous orbs that seemed to hum faintly with energy, as if filled with trapped starlight.

And at the center of it all, a pond.

The water reflected the glow of the trees, its surface rippling as unseen fish moved beneath, their faint outlines barely visible through the bioluminescent shimmer. The light scattered across the cave walls, making it feel less like an enclosed space and more like stepping into some forgotten, sacred world.

Jinxe said nothing, only leading him forward, her pink eyes unreadable in the dim glow.

Then, she brought him to the far side of the cavern, where a massive pile of still-faintly-glowing leaves was nestled beneath one of the trees. The leaves, though dried, retained their luminescence, a soft golden-green glow radiating from their curled edges. The center of the pile was indented, the shape of a body pressed into it, proof that this was hers.

A bed.

Beside it, a folded blanket of something strange. It shimmered in the low light, threads catching the glow of the trees in a way no natural fiber should. Viktor crouched slightly, running his fingers over the material.

Silk. But not just any silk.

It was soft, impossibly strong, with an elasticity that suggested something beyond simple weaving. Spider silk? The thought sent a thrill through him. If Pandora had an arachnid capable of producing silk this fine, this durable… it would be unlike anything found on Earth.

His scientist’s mind buzzed with a thousand questions, but he forced them down. This wasn’t a moment for study.

Jinxe watched him as he examined the blanket, her head tilting slightly, as if gauging his reaction. Then, without a word, she sat down on the glowing bed of leaves.

For the first time since their bond, she looked… at ease.

Not entirely relaxed—her body still carried the subtle tension of someone who had spent their life prepared for something unknown—but there was a familiarity in the way she moved, the way she rested a hand against the leaves, fingers idly tracing their edges.

She belonged here.

This was her world, her sanctuary.

And she had brought him into it.

Viktor lowered himself to sit beside her, cautious, unsure if he was truly welcome in this space or simply tolerated. But Jinxe didn’t flinch, didn’t move away.

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then, she reached for one of the glowing fruits hanging from a low branch overhead. With a practiced motion, she twisted it free and rolled it in her hands before offering it to him.

A gesture.

A test.

Or perhaps… something more.

Viktor hesitated only for a second before accepting it. His fingers brushed hers as he took the fruit, the warmth of her skin a stark contrast to the cool air of the cavern.

He turned the fruit over in his palm, feeling the faint pulse of its glow against his skin.

Jinxe watched him closely, waiting.

Viktor met her gaze. Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought the fruit to his lips—

And took a bite.

Viktor hadn’t expected her to move so suddenly.

One moment, he was tasting the fruit’s strange, pulpy sweetness, his mind cataloging the flavor—something between citrus and honey, yet richer, more complex. The next, Jinxe was leaning in, her lips parting as she took a bite directly from the fruit in his hand.

His breath caught.

She didn’t look away, not even for a second.

Her pink eyes remained locked on his, searching, testing, daring. The fruit’s glow reflected in her irises, casting a faint luminescence over her pale skin. Her expression was unreadable—not quite playful, not quite serious. Something in between.

He swallowed, resisting the instinct to pull back.

Instead, he held still, letting her take what she wanted.

And so they ate, passing the fruit between them, bite after bite, without a word. Each time he lowered it for another taste, she leaned in, her lips brushing the edge of his fingers, the closeness of her breath warm against his skin.

It wasn’t until the last piece was gone, the remnants of juice clinging to his fingertips, that she moved again.

Her hand shot out, catching his wrist, holding him still.

And then—

She licked the juice from his fingers.

Viktor inhaled sharply, body going rigid.

Jinxe’s tongue traced the pad of his thumb first, slow and deliberate, before moving to the curve of his palm. Her eyes never left his, wide and bright, still watching, still waiting.

For what?

For him to flinch? To pull away? To react?

Viktor forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression carefully measured, but something primal beneath his skin stirred.

He was not used to being studied this way.

He was the observer. The scientist. The one who cataloged, who measured, who analyzed from a safe distance.

But here—

Again—

He was the specimen.

Jinxe’s lips parted slightly as she ran her tongue over his palm one last time, tasting the lingering sweetness before finally pulling back.

Silence stretched between them.

The air felt thicker now, heavier, charged with something he didn’t fully understand yet.

Jinxe exhaled softly, tilting her head.

Then—finally—she spoke.

"Nga ke tspang."

Viktor blinked, his mind catching up to the words.

You did not pull away.

A statement. A fact.

And, perhaps, a challenge.

Slowly, he curled his fingers into a loose fist, the phantom sensation of her touch still tingling across his skin.

He met her gaze and answered, voice steady—

"Kehe."

No.

Jinxe’s lips curled.

Not quite a smile.

But close.

Jinxe let herself fall back onto the glowing bed of leaves with a huff, her long hair fanning out beneath her like strands of ink against gold. She stared up at the cavern ceiling, her pink eyes reflecting the shifting light of the bioluminescent trees, expression unreadable.

Viktor hesitated.

The bond between them was still there—quiet, steady, lingering at the edges of his thoughts like an unspoken question. He could feel the warmth of her body just inches away, the faint rise and fall of her breath, the way she simply existed in this space as if she were a part of it.

And then—she turned her head and looked at him.

Not with expectation. Not with demand.

Just… waiting.

She lifted a hand and motioned for him to join her, fingers curling slightly in silent invitation.

Viktor hesitated for only a second before exhaling and lowering himself beside her.

The leaves shifted beneath his weight, soft yet firm, still pulsing with a faint glow. The cavern ceiling stretched above him, lined with veins of light, and for a brief moment, he let himself focus on nothing but the stillness, the unfamiliar sense of quiet belonging that pressed at the edges of his mind.

And then—

Jinxe moved.

Without a word, she turned toward him, her body curling as she draped herself over his chest.

Viktor stiffened.

Her head rested just below his collarbone, her ear pressed over his heart, her breath warm against his skin. One of her arms slid over his side, fingers grazing against the unfamiliar bioluminescent freckles that marked his borrowed form.

She was comfortable.

She was completely unbothered.

Meanwhile, Viktor lay frozen beneath her, unsure if he should move, if this was another test, if—

Jinxe exhaled, slow and deep, and he felt her relax against him.

And that, more than anything, unraveled the tension coiled in his limbs.

He swallowed. Then, cautiously, he let his body settle beneath her.

His breath matched the slow rhythm of hers.

His fingers twitched at his side, but he didn’t lift them. He didn’t push her away.

He simply let it happen.

Jinxe’s tail flicked lazily against the leaves before stilling.

Her fingers curled slightly where they rested against his ribs, gripping the fabric of his clothing for a brief moment before going slack.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

The bond between them hummed with quiet understanding.

For the first time in a long, long time—

Neither of them were alone.

---

Viktor woke slowly, his mind surfacing from the depths of sleep like something rising from the bottom of a deep, quiet ocean.

The cavern’s bioluminescent glow was unchanged, the soft pulsing light casting shifting patterns over the stone walls. The scent of damp earth and sweet fruit still lingered in the air, the warmth of the leaves beneath him steady and constant.

But something was different.

He could feel it before he fully opened his eyes.

A weight on his waist. A warmth pressing against his stomach. The sensation of something soft—hair—draped over his legs, shifting slightly as it tickled his skin.

His eyes blinked open.

And Jinxe was there.

She was straddling him, her knees braced on either side of his hips, her hands pressed flat against his abdomen, fingers spread as if feeling for something beneath his skin. Her pink eyes stared down at him, unblinking, her tail flicking lazily behind her in slow, rhythmic sways.

Viktor stiffened, his body instantly aware of every single point of contact between them.

Jinxe didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

She just watched him.

Her expression was unreadable, but there was something in her gaze—something sharp and considering, like she was still trying to make sense of what he was.

He swallowed, forcing his voice to be steady. "Jinxe…?"

She blinked once, slow and deliberate. Then, finally, she spoke.

"Nga fpìye'lu."

The words were quiet, but certain.

You heal fast.

Viktor frowned, confused. "Ngaru fì’u irayo," he murmured, trying to keep up with her sudden shift in behavior. Thank you for noticing?

Jinxe’s lips twitched slightly at that, a hint of amusement flickering across her otherwise unreadable face.

Then, as if proving a point, she shifted one hand to his ribs, fingers pressing lightly into his side. A sharp jolt of sensation shot through him—not pain, but awareness.

He sucked in a breath.

Jinxe tilted her head. "Mipa," she murmured, trailing her fingers slightly. New.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, realization clicking into place. She had been checking him—testing his body, his skin, the way his form worked, searching for proof of change.

She had never seen someone like him before. Never seen an avatar.

And now, through their bond, she felt things in him that weren’t natural to her understanding.

Jinxe leaned forward slightly, her hair shifting over his legs, her hands still pressing against his torso. Her tail flicked again, slow and thoughtful, like she was considering something deeply.

Viktor remained perfectly still, waiting.

Jinxe’s pink eyes narrowed slightly.

And then, she asked—

"Nga lu kea?"

What are you?

Viktor’s pulse thudded beneath Jinxe’s palms.

The question settled between them, weighty and unavoidable. Not who, but what.

She had felt the truth through their bond. His body was Na’vi, but it wasn’t. It healed too fast. It wasn’t born—it was made. And now she wanted answers.

Viktor exhaled slowly, steadying himself. He could have lied. Could have avoided the truth, sidestepped it with half-answers. But he knew—she would feel it. Tsaheylu had stripped them of pretenses. She would know if he spoke anything but the truth.

So he answered.

"Oe... lu Sawtute. Slä fìtsenge oe lu Na’vi."

I am Sky People. But here, I am Na’vi.

Jinxe’s fingers flexed against his stomach, her claws barely pressing in—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him she could. Her pink eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"Txan 'eveng ke lu Na’vi," she murmured. Many children are not Na’vi.

Viktor swallowed. "Oe ke lu ‘eveng," he corrected softly. I am not a child.

Jinxe tilted her head, her long hair shifting over his legs again, soft against his skin.

Then—without warning—she leaned down.

Her face was suddenly close, her breath warm against his collarbone. Her hands didn’t move, still pressed against him, but her weight shifted slightly, settling against him with slow deliberation.

Viktor held completely still, his elongated ears flicking slightly at the sensation of her watching him, even at this distance.

"Oe tsun zir fì'u."

Her voice was quiet, low, nearly a whisper.

I can feel this.

And she could.

Through the bond, through the pulse of sensation that ran between them, she could feel every sharp, uneven breath, every flicker of his nerves beneath her fingertips. She was testing him, waiting to see if he would break—if he would pull away.

Viktor swallowed, forcing his voice to be steady. "Srane." Yes.

Jinxe let the word linger between them.

Then, slowly, she dragged her fingers from his stomach to his ribs, feeling the muscle, the skin, the way his body responded.

Viktor exhaled sharply. Not from pain. Not even from discomfort.

Just awareness.

She was studying him.

And she was taking her time.

Then—finally—she leaned up just enough to meet his eyes again.

"Nga ke lu Sawtute," she murmured.

Viktor frowned slightly. You are not Sky People.

She didn’t say it as an accusation.

She said it as a fact.

A realization she had just come to.

Viktor had no idea how to respond.

Viktor stared up at her, her words sinking deep into his chest.

Not a question. A statement. A truth she had decided.

Jinxe watched him carefully, still straddling his waist, still pressing her hands against his ribs as if she could physically feel the difference in him now. The flickering bioluminescence of the cavern cast shadows over her pale skin, making her look even more otherworldly than she already was.

His mind raced. What did she mean? He was Sky People—wasn’t he? He had been born human. His real body, weak and failing, had been left behind in a cold lab while his consciousness was transferred into this one. This body, this Na’vi form, had never truly belonged to him. It had been designed, engineered, given to him.

And yet—

Jinxe had felt him.

Through the bond, she had seen what he was. Had understood something about him that he hadn’t even fully grasped himself.

She had decided—

"Nga ke lu Sawtute."

Something in Viktor’s chest tightened.

"Zel 'upe lu oe?"  he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

What am I, then?

Jinxe’s tail flicked behind her, her long hair brushing over his legs as she considered his words. Her pink eyes gleamed in the dim light, searching his face.

Then, instead of answering, she moved again.

Her hands slid up from his ribs, slow and deliberate, tracing the lines of his body as if mapping unfamiliar terrain. Her fingers brushed over the curve of his collarbone, then ghosted over his throat, pausing just briefly before continuing.

Viktor forced himself to stay still, though every nerve in his body was now hyper-aware of her.

She wasn’t just touching him.

She was confirming something for herself.

Testing the theory she had already come to believe.

Then, finally, her hands came to rest on either side of his face. Her thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, her claws barely scraping the edges of his jaw.

She leaned down again, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his lips.

"Nga lu fìtsenge."

Viktor’s breath hitched.

You are here.

Not Sky People. Not Na’vi.

Just here.

With her.

The cavern was silent, save for the quiet, steady sound of their breathing, the slow pulse of the glowing trees. The bond between them hummed softly, neither of them breaking it, neither of them pulling away.

Jinxe didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat.

She simply watched him, waiting.

Waiting for him to accept it.

Jinxe’s hands remained on Viktor’s face, her pink eyes unwavering, her breath warm against his skin. She had made her decision about him. Now, she was waiting for his.

Then, softly—deliberately—she asked:

"Nga zene ‘ì’awn oe?"

Will you stay with me?

Viktor’s throat tightened.

He hadn’t expected the question. Hadn’t expected the weight of it, the raw simplicity in her voice.

Stay.

With her.

It should have been easy to answer. Should have been a simple yes or no.

But it wasn’t.

He felt the unspoken thread beneath her words, humming through their bond like an unsteady current.

She had never asked anyone this before.

Because she had never been able to.

Jinxe had survived alone in this cave, in this life, apart from any clan, apart from anyone who could offer her connection. She had built her world from isolation. It had been safer that way.

And yet—

She had let him in.

She had led him here, shared her space, eaten from his hand, laid against him, touched him, bonded with him.

And now she was offering something more.

Something deeper.

Stay.

Viktor swallowed, his mind reeling. He didn’t belong anywhere—not truly. He wasn’t Sky People anymore, not in this body, not after severing himself from his human form. And yet, he wasn’t fully Na’vi either.

He was something else. Something caught between.

But Jinxe didn’t see him as between.

She saw him here. With her.

Could he?

Could he stay?

His lips parted, but no words came.

Because the truth was—

He was afraid.

Afraid of what it would mean to say yes. Afraid of what it would do to her if he said no.

Jinxe’s fingers twitched against his jaw, sensing his hesitation, feeling it through the lingering hum of their connection.

She didn’t ask again.

She just waited.

And Viktor knew—

Whatever answer he gave her would change everything.

---

Jinxe’s fingers curled slightly against Viktor’s jaw as she studied him, her pink eyes flickering with something unreadable.

She could feel his hesitation.

The bond between them hadn’t broken—not yet. It still thrummed, still carried the silent tension of unspoken truths between them.

Viktor’s breath was slow, measured, his mind racing with the weight of her question.

And he didn’t know.

Jinxe exhaled softly, her fingers trailing away from his face. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her hand—

And reached for her kuru.

The neural whip, the living connection to Eywa, to the world, to him.

She held it carefully, lifting it between them, the bioluminescent tendrils flickering slightly as if sensing the air. A silent question hung in the space between them, heavy and unspoken.

A choice.

She didn’t force it.

She didn’t demand.

She only offered.

The meaning was clear.

If he wouldn’t answer with words, he would answer this way.

Through Tsaheylu.

Through something deeper than language, deeper than thought.

Viktor’s chest tightened.

Their first bond had been unintentional—an accident, a moment of pure curiosity and connection neither of them had expected. But this?

This would be different.

This would be a decision.

A choice to let her in fully, to lay himself bare with no walls, no hesitation.

Jinxe’s tail swayed behind her, slow and deliberate, but her expression was unreadable. She was waiting, watching, the silent glow of the cavern casting shifting light over her pale skin.

Viktor swallowed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He could not lie to her.

Not with this.

Not with Tsaheylu.

Slowly—very slowly—he lifted his own kuru.

And the moment their tendrils reached for each other—

The world fell away once more.

The moment their kuru connected, Viktor's breath caught.

The world collapsed inward, folding around them, reducing everything to a singularity—her and him.

There was no hesitation this time. No slow unraveling.

The bond seized them both immediately.

Jinxe’s presence crashed into him like a flood, overwhelming and all-consuming. Not just thoughts—feelings. Sensations. Instincts. Memories.

He felt the weight of her solitude, the years of waiting for something unnamed, for something more. The cold stone of the caves beneath her feet, the endless silence wrapping around her like a second skin, the quiet ache of knowing she was not meant to exist—and yet, here she was.

But beneath that—

Curiosity.

Hunger—not for food, but for connection. For understanding. For something hers.

For him.

Viktor inhaled sharply as her emotions tangled with his own, threading into his nerves, binding them tighter than their bodies ever could.

And Jinxe felt him.

His fear. His uncertainty. The constant, gnawing weight of being between things—between worlds, between identities, never fully belonging to either. The way he had spent his entire life as an observer, always studying, never truly living.

The way she had shifted something in him.

The way she had made him feel—

Present.

The cave was silent, but inside the bond, everything screamed.

Jinxe’s hands tightened against his chest, her fingers flexing, gripping him as if grounding herself. Her long hair swept over his skin, sending shivers up his spine as it moved with her breath.

She felt it.

Felt him.

And he felt her.

Their heartbeats had synced.

Viktor barely realized he had exhaled until he felt Jinxe shift against him, pressing closer, her weight settling more firmly against his body. The glow of the cavern flickered in his vision, but all he could see was her.

Then—softly, but without hesitation—Jinxe whispered into his mind.

"Nga lu vul tsawl slu hu oe."

The words coiled deep inside him, settling into his bones, his blood.

You are a branch growing with mine.

Not separate.

Not an outsider.

Hers.

Viktor’s throat tightened, something raw and unspoken tangling in his chest.

She had already decided.

The only question now was—

Would he accept it?

---

The sharp, electronic chime shattered the moment.

Jinxe flinched.

Her ears flattened, pink eyes widening in alarm as she abruptly pulled away, severing the connection between their kuru. The absence was immediate, jarring—like being ripped from warm water into the cold air, left gasping and exposed.

Viktor barely had time to process the loss before she was on her feet, backing away, her tail flicking sharply in agitation.

"Kehe, frawzo" he said quickly, lifting a hand in reassurance. No, it’s alright.

She didn’t look convinced.

Her body remained tense, muscles coiled as if preparing to flee. The glow of the cavern cast strange shadows across her pale skin, her long hair shifting over her shoulders like liquid darkness.

The device on his belt loop kept ringing.

Cursing under his breath, Viktor sat up and grabbed it, pressing a button to silence the noise before holding it to his ear.

Static crackled. Then—

"Where the hell are you, Doc?"

Miles.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, already bracing himself. "I'm fine," he muttered, his voice low but steady.

"Yeah? ‘Cause it doesn’t sound like you’re fine. Sounds like you’re wasting my goddamn time."

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose. Miles had always been like this—short-tempered, impatient, always acting like he had something better to do.

"Get your ass back to base, genius. You were supposed to check in hours ago."

Viktor’s jaw tightened. He knew he had been gone longer than expected. Knew he should have checked in sooner. But he hadn’t exactly planned for any of this.

His eyes flicked back to Jinxe.

She was still watching him, her pink eyes sharp and guarded now, her body taut with unease. The connection had been so deep, and now, with the bond severed, it felt like a wall had slammed down between them again.

Viktor swallowed.

"Doc." Miles’ voice snapped back into his ear. "You alive or what?"

Viktor hesitated.

Then, forcing his voice into something neutral, he answered—

"I’ll be there soon."

He wasn’t sure if that was a promise—

Or a lie.

---

Viktor stood, feeling the weight of Jinxe’s gaze on him.

She hadn’t moved from where she stood, her pink eyes still wide, her breath just slightly uneven. The ringing device had startled her—startled wasn’t even the right word. It had broken something.

The moment had shifted. The bond severed, the silence between them no longer warm but uncertain.

Viktor exhaled, steadying himself before speaking. His Na’vi was clumsy, awkward in his mouth, but he forced the words out anyway.

"Oe zene 'ivem. Slä oe zene… fìtsenge... ì’awn."

I must go. But I must… this place… stay.

It wasn’t quite right, and he knew it. But Jinxe understood.

She felt his meaning, even if the words failed him.

For a moment, she didn’t respond. Her pink eyes flickered, searching his face, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she stepped forward—into him.

Her body pressed against his, soft yet firm, her warmth seeping through the fabric of his clothing. Viktor inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away.

Jinxe’s hand slid from his waist, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of his stomach, his ribs, higher, until her palm rested over his heart.

She could feel it. The steady rhythm beneath her fingers. The proof of him.

Then, she spoke, her voice low and certain.

"Pänu."

Swear it.

Viktor swallowed, something tightening in his chest.

She wasn’t asking.

She was demanding.

That he not be like the others. That he not disappear. That he not forget her.

That he come back.

His hand lifted, moving without thought, sliding over hers where it rested against his chest. His fingers curled over her smaller ones, pressing her palm more firmly against him, as if to prove his answer before he even spoke it.

And then, softly—without hesitation—he swore it.

"Oe pänu."

Jinxe exhaled, her tail flicking once behind her.

She had felt the truth in his words.

Still, she didn’t step away. Not yet.

For one more moment, she simply stayed there, close enough that he could feel the heat of her breath against his collarbone, the faint tremor of her fingers beneath his own.

Then—finally—she pulled back.

Not far.

Just enough.

And Viktor felt the absence.

Felt the space between them again.

He had made his promise.

But now, he had to leave.

---

The tunnel walls pressed in around Viktor as he made his way back through the cave, his footsteps quiet against the damp stone. The bioluminescent veins lining the rock pulsed faintly, casting eerie flickers of light over his skin. The deeper he went, the heavier the silence became.

Jinxe had let him leave without a word, but he could feel her lingering presence in the air behind him, in the ghost of her touch still burning against his chest.

He swallowed hard, his mind still tangled in the weight of what had just happened.

Tsaheylu.

It had been different this time. Not an accident. Not a curiosity.

A choice.

And now she knew him. Knew the truth of him.

And still—she had asked him to stay.

Viktor exhaled sharply as he emerged from the mouth of the cave. The storm had passed while he had been inside, but the jungle was still damp, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and plant life. The sounds of Pandora returned in full force—creatures stirring, the hum of insects, the distant cry of a viperwolf.

For a moment, he just stood there, adjusting to the vastness of the world outside after the intimacy of the cavern.

Then—his earpiece crackled.

"Doc? You almost here yet?"

Viktor sighed, pressing the device to his ear. "Yes, Miles."

"Took you long enough. You better be hauling ass back here, or I’m sending someone to drag you out of whatever science hole you fell into."

Viktor hesitated before answering. He wasn’t ready to be back at the base. Back in the clean sterility of his research. Back away from the one place that had felt—

Real.

"Yes," he muttered, voice tight. "I’m on my way."

He cut the call before Miles could respond.

Then, without looking back, Viktor stepped into the jungle, making his way toward the human base.

And with every step, he could still feel Jinxe's fingers pressing over his heart, her voice whispering in his mind—

"Pänu."

Swear it.

Viktor moved through the jungle with practiced steps, his senses heightened in the damp, post-storm air. The thick canopy dripped with lingering rain, the scent of wet leaves and rich earth filling his lungs. Every now and then, something stirred in the underbrush—small creatures darting through the foliage, watching him with glowing eyes before vanishing into the darkness.

But his mind was elsewhere.

Still in the cave.

Still with her.

Jinxe.

He could feel the absence of their bond, the silence in his mind where her presence had been. The depth of Tsaheylu had left something in him—an awareness, an imprint of her that hadn't faded even after their connection was severed.

Would it ever?

He exhaled through his nose, pushing the thought aside. He had to focus. Had to get back to the base before Miles sent someone after him.

But even as he tried to move forward, his mind kept replaying her question.

"Will you stay with me?"

"Swear it."

And he had.

So why did it feel like each step away from her was pulling something vital from his chest?

The base came into view through the trees—gray metal, harsh lights cutting through the jungle, an unnatural shape against Pandora’s organic beauty. Viktor’s gut tightened.

The moment he crossed back into that sterile world, everything he had just experienced would feel… distant. Unreal.

And maybe that’s what he was afraid of.

Would he wake up tomorrow and convince himself that she had been a dream?

Would the feeling of her against him, the sound of her voice in his head, the weight of her presence—would it all fade into something easier to dismiss?

No.

No, it wouldn’t.

He knew it wouldn’t.

Viktor’s steps slowed just before reaching the perimeter fence. He stood there for a moment, staring at the metal gates, the lifeless hum of machinery beyond them.

He had left Jinxe behind.

He didn’t feel like he was returning home.

---

Viktor stepped through the perimeter gates of the base, his expression carefully neutral, his mind elsewhere.

The artificial lights were harsh after the bioluminescent glow of the cave. The scent of metal, fuel, and sterilized air burned away the rich earthiness of the jungle. The hum of generators, the distant chatter of voices, the occasional clang of tools against machinery—it all felt wrong.

Like he had stepped into a world that no longer fit him.

Miles was waiting for him just inside the entrance, arms crossed, a scowl already set deep in his face.

"Finally," he muttered. "Thought you got yourself eaten."

Viktor said nothing.

Miles frowned, stepping closer. "So? You gonna tell me where the hell you’ve been?"

Viktor shrugged, brushing past him. "Jungle."

"No shit, genius. What the hell were you doing out there?"

Viktor kept walking.

Other researchers took notice as he passed—Norm, Patel, even Dr. Sang, the head of xenobotany. He could feel their curiosity pressing in on him like an unwanted weight.

"Viktor." Patel jogged up beside him, eyes sharp behind his glasses. "What did you find?"

"Nothing," Viktor muttered.

Patel scoffed. "Bullshit. You were out there for hours, off the grid. No reports, no samples, no data? Come on."

"I got caught in the storm," Viktor said flatly. "Took shelter. That’s it."

It wasn’t a complete lie.

Patel exchanged a glance with Norm, who raised an eyebrow.

"And?" Patel pressed. "You didn’t take any readings? No scans? No notes?"

Viktor clenched his jaw.

They wanted something. They always wanted something. If he told them the truth, even a piece of it, they would never let it go.

They would dig. They would investigate. They would send teams.

And they would find her.

"It was just a cave," Viktor said, his voice carefully measured. "Nothing worth reporting."

Another lie.

He knew what their motives were. They weren’t here for the beauty of Pandora. They weren’t here for knowledge, for understanding.

They were here to take.

And he wasn’t telling them a damn thing about Jinxe.

"Look," Miles cut in, impatient. "I don’t care what weird Na’vi shit you were doing out there, but you better not have screwed up any of your duties, ‘cause I ain’t covering for your ass."

"Noted," Viktor muttered, brushing past him.

The others exchanged looks, but no one pushed further.

For now.

He made it to his quarters without another word, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

The silence felt different here.

Stale.

Empty.

Viktor exhaled, pressing his hands against the desk in front of him, staring at the cold metal surface.

He had done what he had to do.

They would never know about Jinxe.

They would never know she existed.

Because he would never let them.

---

Several days had passed since Viktor had last seen Jinxe.

Each hour stretched unbearably long, the sterile walls of the base pressing in on him, suffocating. He had thrown himself into work, or at least pretended to. He filed reports, analyzed data, gave just enough answers to keep suspicion off his back. But his mind was never here.

It was still in the cave.

Still feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his, her hand resting over his heart, her voice whispering, Swear it.

And he had.

Now, he just had to get back to her.

The opportunity came at last.

"You’ve got clearance to go out again, genius," Miles had told him that morning, shoving a clipboard in his hands. "Don’t waste it."

Officially, he was being sent to "collect more data." Unofficially, he had given them just enough scientific justification to let him go alone.

"I work faster without a team slowing me down," he had argued. "You want results or not?"

That had been enough to convince them. They didn’t care about how he got the data, only that he brought back something useful.

So they let him go.

But this time, he was careful.

No devices.

Nothing that could track his location. Nothing that could send a signal back to the base.

He knew they could monitor him if they wanted to. Their equipment could ping his location, could track his movements through his gear.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Jinxe was a secret.

His secret.

And he intended to keep it that way.

So when he left, he carried nothing but the body he wore. No scanner. No communicator. No equipment that could betray her existence.

Just him.

Just his promise.

The jungle swallowed him whole as he slipped beyond the perimeter of the human settlement, moving quickly, efficiently. His Na’vi body moved with instinct now, his steps light against the damp earth, his ears flicking at every sound, his breath steady as he wove through the dense underbrush.

Each step took him closer.

Back to her.

---

Viktor moved swiftly through the jungle, the familiar scents of damp earth and rich vegetation filling his lungs. Every step felt lighter, every breath sharper. The weight he had carried at the base—the suffocating presence of metal walls, artificial lights, and endless questions—was gone.

Out here, he was free.

Out here, he was going back to her.

His pulse quickened as he reached the mouth of the cave. The entrance loomed before him, glowing softly from the bioluminescent flora clinging to the walls, just as he had left it. The place was unchanged, untouched, as if time had stood still in his absence.

He stepped inside, his ears flicking at the sudden shift in sound—the muffled quiet of the cave, the distant echo of dripping water. His eyes adjusted instantly, scanning the dim cavern for her.

And then—

A blur of movement.

Before he could react, something collided with him, and suddenly he was off balance, stumbling back as a warm, solid weight crashed into his chest.

Jinxe.

She had jumped into his arms.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms coiling tightly around his neck, her body pressing flush against his. The force of it sent his back against the cave wall, but he barely noticed.

His hands instinctively caught her, gripping her thighs to keep her from slipping, his tail flicking wildly behind him in surprise.

For a moment, all he could do was hold her.

Her breath was fast, her chest rising and falling against his. Her long hair brushed against his arms, strands tangling with the bioluminescent freckles along his skin. He could feel the heat of her body seeping into his, the strength in her limbs as she clung to him.

Then, finally, she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.

Her pink eyes were bright, sharp with something intense and unspoken.

"Nga krr ngim," she murmured, her voice low, almost accusing.

You took long.

Viktor swallowed, his grip tightening on her thighs.

"Oe ke new tsonta" he whispered back.

I had to.

Jinxe inhaled slowly, studying his face as if searching for something. Whatever she found, whatever she felt through their bond, must have satisfied her.

Because instead of speaking again—

She buried her face against his neck, her arms tightening around him.

And Viktor, for the first time in days, breathed again.

Viktor stood there, pressed against the cool stone of the cave wall, Jinxe wrapped around him like she never intended to let go.

And maybe… she didn’t.

Her face was buried against his neck, her breath warm against his skin, her body tense yet relieved. He could feel it, even without words—the weight of waiting, of uncertainty, of the days she had spent alone, wondering if he would truly return.

Viktor swallowed hard.

His arms shifted, adjusting his grip beneath her thighs, holding her more securely. She wasn’t heavy—far from it—but the sheer presence of her, the way she pressed into him, made it impossible to focus on anything else.

"Jinxe," he murmured, voice quieter than he meant it to be.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t lift her head.

Instead, her fingers curled against the back of his neck, gripping at the base of his queue—not to connect, not to pull him deeper, but just to hold.

Like she needed proof that he was real.

A soft exhale escaped him, and carefully, he shifted away from the wall, keeping his hold on her as he stepped further into the cavern.

She let him.

Didn’t loosen her grip, didn’t slide from his arms.

Only when he reached the center of the space—where the bioluminescent trees cast their ethereal glow over the water, where the massive pile of glowing leaves still bore the shape of her body—did she finally move.

Slowly, she pulled back just enough to lift her head.

Her pink eyes locked onto his, sharp and searching.

"Nga ke tsun sngä’i," she whispered.

You cannot leave.

Not again.

Viktor’s chest tightened.

He had promised to return, and he had. But now, standing here with her in his arms, her breath still unsteady, her hands still clutching him like he might vanish if she let go—

He knew what she was really asking.

Not just stay for tonight.

Not just come back again.

She wanted something permanent.

Something he wasn’t sure he could give.

His hands flexed against her thighs, and for a moment, he didn’t answer.

Because the truth was—

He wanted to.

He wanted to stay.

With her.

But the rest of the world—the humans, the scientists, the ones who would never stop searching—they wouldn’t just let him disappear.

And if they found her—

No.

He wouldn’t let that happen.

Viktor inhaled deeply, holding her gaze.

"Oe... ke tsun fìkem fìtxan ‘efu txopu," he admitted.

I cannot do this without feeling fear.

Jinxe’s expression didn’t change.

Then—slowly, deliberately—she lifted a hand and placed it over his heart.

Just like before.

"Ma Viktor," she murmured, voice softer now.

Not demanding. Not pushing.

Just waiting.

And Viktor, his pulse thrumming beneath her fingers, knew—

One way or another, he was going to have to choose.

Jinxe’s hand remained over his heart, fingers pressing lightly against his skin, feeling the unsteady rhythm beneath. Her pink eyes searched his, waiting—not for empty words, not for careful explanations.

For truth.

Viktor swallowed. His mind raced with every logical reason why he couldn’t stay, every danger, every risk.

But beneath all of it, something deeper whispered—

Do you really want to leave?

He exhaled slowly, his grip on her tightening just slightly. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter than before.

"Nga ‘efu txopu?" he asked, turning the question on her. Do you feel fear?

Jinxe didn’t hesitate.

"Kehe."

No.

She said it with certainty, without even a flicker of doubt.

Viktor wasn’t sure whether that terrified him or made him want to believe her.

Jinxe’s fingers flexed against his chest, pressing harder, as if trying to push the hesitation from his body.

"Oe ke txopu," she repeated, slower this time. I am not afraid.

Her tail flicked behind her, the bioluminescent glow of the cavern catching in her dark hair, reflecting in her strange, pink eyes.

"Slä nga ‘efu txopu," she continued. But you do.

Viktor’s jaw tightened.

"Srane," he admitted.

Yes.

Jinxe studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, her fingers dragged upward, curling around the back of his neck, her nails grazing against his skin.

"Ngari txopu fya’o ke tsranten," she murmured.

Your fear does not matter.

Viktor inhaled sharply. "Txopu ke lu tìkan?" he asked, brow furrowing. Fear does not matter?

Jinxe’s lips twitched slightly. Not quite a smile, but something close.

"Txopu lu na ‘Rrta," she said, tilting her head. Fear is like your Earth.

Viktor blinked, caught off guard by the comparison. "Pe fya’o?" How?

Jinxe’s fingers slid back down to his chest.

"Lu kllpxìltu," she murmured.

"It is beneath you."

Viktor felt the words more than he understood them, the weight of her voice sinking into his bones.

She wasn't saying fear didn’t exist. She wasn’t saying he shouldn’t feel it.

She was saying it wasn't greater than him.

Viktor’s throat tightened.

"Nga zene slä sanu," she said again, softer this time. Will you stay with me?

The question was no longer a demand.

It was a choice.

Viktor's hands flexed against her thighs.

And then, slowly—deliberately—he tightened his grip.

Not to let go.

But to hold on.

"Srane," he whispered.

"Yes."

The moment the word left his lips, he felt it settle between them—heavy, real, irreversible.

Jinxe didn’t react immediately. She only watched him, her pink eyes flickering in the glow of the cave, her expression unreadable. But he felt her breath hitch, felt the subtle shift in her body against his.

She had asked him to stay before. He had hesitated.

But now—

He had chosen.

Her fingers curled against his chest, gripping lightly at the fabric of his clothing.

“Srane, ” he said again, firmer this time.

Jinxe exhaled, her tail flicking once behind her before she leaned in, resting her forehead against his.

Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

“Oel ngati kameie.”

I see you.

Not just the body he wore. Not just the scientist, or the man caught between worlds.

Him.

Viktor swallowed. His hands still gripped her thighs, holding her steady against him, as if anchoring himself to this moment—to her.

“Oel ngati kameie,” he echoed.

Jinxe huffed softly, her fingers sliding up from his chest to rest along his jawline. She held him there for a long moment, searching, feeling through the bond that still lingered faintly between them.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she pulled back just enough to look at him.

“Za’u,” she murmured, a small, knowing glint in her pink eyes. Come.

Viktor didn’t ask where.

Didn’t need to.

He had already decided.

So when she finally moved—unraveling herself from around him, stepping lightly onto the soft, glowing leaves—he followed.

The moment Viktor followed Jinxe onto the glowing bed of leaves, he knew—this wasn’t just an invitation.

It was a claiming.

She turned to face him, her pink eyes sharp, unblinking. The glow of the cavern bathed her pale skin in soft, shifting light, her long hair spilling over her shoulders like dark silk. The weight of their bond still lingered, humming faintly in the space between them, waiting to be rekindled.

She had felt his answer through the bond before he even spoke it.

He had chosen to stay.

Now, she was going to prove what that meant.

Slowly, Jinxe stepped toward him, her movements deliberate, predatory. Viktor stood still, his breath measured but shallow, watching as she closed the space between them. When she reached him, she lifted a hand—running her fingers from his stomach to his chest, then up to his throat, her nails barely scraping against his skin.

She was studying him again.

Only this time, it wasn’t just curiosity.

It was possession.

Viktor swallowed, the muscles in his throat flexing beneath her touch. His hands twitched at his sides, instinct warring with restraint.

“Nga tsun sngä’i fìtsenge?” she murmured, voice low.

Can you survive this place?

It was not a question of whether he could survive the cave.

It was a question of whether he could survive her.

Viktor exhaled, his fingers finally lifting—sliding along the curve of her waist, gripping lightly, testing. She did not pull away.

“Oe ke ‘efu txopu,” he answered. I do not feel fear.

Jinxe huffed softly—almost amusement, almost challenge.

“Ayoe kame. ”

Then, she moved.

Her hands curled around his face, pulling him down, and when their lips met, it wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t slow. It was demanding.

Heat surged through him, primal and electric, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, feeling the press of her against him, her warmth, her strength.

Jinxe growled softly against his lips, her tail flicking behind her. Then, without warning, she pushed—forcing him backward, down, until his back hit the bed of glowing leaves.

She straddled him instantly, her thighs bracketing his hips, her fingers pressing firmly into his chest. She leaned over him, her breath uneven now, her pupils blown wide.

The bioluminescent glow flickered across her skin, highlighting the sharp angles of her face, the wildness in her expression.

“Ma Viktor,” she murmured, sliding a hand up his ribs, feeling the heat of his body beneath her palm.

His hands gripped her thighs, his breath ragged now. “Jinxe—”

She didn’t let him finish.

She reached for her kuru.

The moment hers connected with his, the world exploded.

Tsaheylu was instant, consuming.

Viktor’s mind snapped into hers, and hers into his. The depth of it was unlike before—deeper, hungrier, their thoughts unraveling into each other, emotions slamming together in a raw, wordless storm.

He felt her need—not just physical, but something deeper, something aching and desperate. The years of waiting, of wanting, of being untouched, unseen—until him.

And she felt him—his surrender, his body no longer his own but theirs, his breath, his heart, his thoughts tangled irrevocably with hers.

Jinxe shuddered, a soft gasp leaving her lips as she felt everything he felt.

“Nga lu oeru,” she whispered.

You are mine.

Viktor’s hands slid up her sides, his fingers curling, gripping. His response was not spoken, but felt.

Yes.

Jinxe growled softly, her nails digging into his skin—

The cave pulsed with quiet life.

The soft hum of the bioluminescent trees, the slow ripple of water in the nearby pool, the distant echoes of creatures beyond the cavern walls. But here, within the nest of glowing leaves, the world felt small. Contained.

Viktor and Jinxe.

Nothing else.

She still straddled him, her weight warm and steady, her hands pressing against his bare chest. Studying. Mapping. Understanding.

Her pink eyes flickered in the dim light, unreadable, sharp. But through the bond—

Viktor could feel her.

Her curiosity.

Her desire.

The quiet, smoldering want that curled through her like something wild, untamed, waiting to ignite.

Viktor swallowed, his heart thudding beneath her fingertips, betraying him.

Jinxe felt it.

She smiled.

Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.

“Nga txepvi,” she murmured, her fingers trailing lower, slow, teasing.

Fire.

Viktor exhaled sharply through his nose, his ears twitching at the feel of her nails dragging over his ribs, lower, just above his hips.

She was testing him.

She wanted to see how far she could push before he snapped.

His fingers flexed against the leaves beneath him, his control razor-thin, his body coiled, waiting.

Jinxe’s hands drifted lower—

And Viktor moved.

His grip caught her wrists, turned them, reversed them.

Before she could react, before she could slip away, he had her pinned beneath him.

Jinxe gasped, her breath catching in a sharp inhale. Her pink eyes flashed, flickering with surprise—and then amusement.

Viktor’s weight settled over her, heavy, grounding, unyielding.

Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, her body still pressed flush against his, and he could feel her warmth, her heat, the way she trembled beneath him.

But she didn’t struggle.

She didn’t fight him.

She just smirked.

Daring him.

Viktor growled, low, deep, primal, pressing his hips against hers, testing, teasing—

Jinxe shuddered.

Her fingers twitched beneath his grip, her tail curling around his leg.

Through the bond, he felt it—

The sudden rush of pleasure, sharp, overwhelming, rebounding between them.

She wanted more.

She wanted him to take.

Viktor lowered his head, his breath ghosting over her throat, lips hovering just above her pulse.

He felt her shiver.

He smiled.

Then—he bit her.

Not hard—not yet. Just enough.

Jinxe’s gasp turned into a moan, her body arching against his, pressing into him, her hands gripping the leaves beneath them.

There.

That sound.

That reaction.

Her smaller hands pressed against his chest, her thighs wrapped even tighter around his waist, her body trembling—half anticipation, half uncertainty.

She was wild, untamed, fierce—but even she had never done this before.

And Viktor—

Viktor had never wanted anything more.

But she was fragile.

His breath came deep, measured, holding himself back.

Jinxe felt it—felt his hesitation, his struggle, and she smirked.

“Ke pxan,” she teased, voice breathless, sharp with amusement.

Not scared, are you?

Viktor growled.

A low, deep, primal sound that made her tail flick, her nails dig into his skin.

She was daring him.

Testing him.

But she didn’t understand.

She didn’t understand how easy it would be to break her.

His large hands slid down her sides, over her waist, down to her hips—so small, so easy to hold, to lift, to move.

Jinxe inhaled sharply.

She felt the difference now.

The way he could overpower her so easily.

The way she fit so perfectly beneath him.

Her pink eyes flickered, amusement giving way to something deeper.

Something raw.

Something nervous.

Viktor saw it.

He felt it.

And he softened.

His grip eased. His touch turned gentle.

His forehead pressed to hers, his breath steady.

“Nga zene fkew,” he murmured, voice thick, rough with restraint.

You must relax.

Jinxe swallowed, her fingers curling into his shoulders.

She exhaled slowly—forced herself to stop fighting, to stop bracing.

And then—

She nodded.

Viktor’s lips brushed her jaw, soft, patient.

Then—her throat.

Then—her collarbone.

Then—lower.

Jinxe gasped, her back arching as his mouth found her breast, his tongue tracing sensitive skin, his teeth scraping just enough to make her squirm.

He wanted her to forget the fear.

To let herself feel.

To prepare her.

One of his large hands slid between her thighs, parting them with ease, with care.

Jinxe tensed—

Then whimpered as he touched her, teased her, felt her.

His fingers, so much larger than hers, so much stronger, slid over her most sensitive place, coaxing her open, making her tremble, making her breath stutter.

She twitched beneath him, overwhelmed, unsure if she wanted to move away or push closer.

And through the bond—

He felt all of it.

The hesitation.

The heat.

The sharp, unrelenting ache of wanting something too big for her body to take.

Jinxe gasped as his fingers slid inside, slowly, gently, stretching, preparing—

“Hah… Viktor—”

Her hands gripped his shoulders, hard, her body clenching around him, so tight, so impossibly tight.

Viktor groaned, his self-control nearly breaking.

He had to go slow.

Had to let her adjust.

His thumb circled, pressed, teased, making her hips twitch, making her breath catch—

Until her tension melted.

Until she was shaking, writhing, pushing against his hand instead of pulling away.

Until she was ready.

Jinxe moaned softly, half-lost, overwhelmed, panting.

Her pink eyes, half-lidded, hazy, met his.

“Pxiset,” she whispered, breathless.

Viktor exhaled slowly, his body tight, burning, barely held together.

He moved between her legs, positioning himself, his sheer size making her tremble beneath him, making her second-guess herself.

Jinxe whimpered.

Viktor caught her face in his large hand, tilting it to his, making her see him.

His voice was low, deep, rough.

“Nga lu hìno,” he murmured.

You are okay.

Jinxe shuddered.

She nodded.

She trusted him.

And then—

Viktor pushed inside.

Jinxe’s entire body tensed, stiffened, shook.

Her hands clawed at his arms, her sharp cry breaking the cavern silence.

She was too small.

Too tight.

Viktor groaned, his jaw clenching, forcing himself to stop, forcing himself to let her breathe.

Her breath came shallow, quick, uneven.

Her fingers dug into his skin, trembling.

It hurt.

She had never taken something, never had to stretch this much.

Viktor held still, his muscles shaking from the effort, his self-control razor-thin.

His lips found her forehead, her temple, her throat, his voice low, soothing.

“Tìng nari ngaru,” he murmured, breathless.

Focus on me.

Jinxe whimpered, exhaling shakily.

She did.

She focused on him.

The warmth of his skin. The slow, steady beat of his heart. The feeling of his breath against her ear.

And slowly… the pain faded.

Slowly… it became something else.

Something deeper.

Jinxe exhaled, trembling—then shifted her hips, taking more, pushing closer.

Viktor groaned, his grip tightening, his restraint snapping.

And then—he moved.

Slow, deep, stretching her, filling her, making her gasp, making her body tense and then relax, tense and then melt.

And through the bond—

They felt everything.

Every push, every pull, every ripple of pleasure overtaking pain.

Jinxe moaned.

Viktor growled.

Their movements turned urgent, desperate, hungry.

Jinxe gasped his name.

Viktor thrust deeper, harder, making her arch, making her break, making her fall apart around him.

And then—

They shattered together.

Jinxe’s cry filled the cave.

Viktor groaned, holding her through the pleasure, through the overwhelming fire of release.

And then—

Silence.

Stillness.

Viktor collapsed beside her, pulling her close.

Jinxe, exhausted, satisfied, sighed against his chest.

Their kuru remained connected. 

He remained inside her. 

They lay together, Viktor holding her close.

Jinxe’s body was a quiet weight against his, her warmth seeping through his skin, grounding him in the dim glow of the cavern. Her breath was slow and even, the rise and fall of her chest syncing with his, as if unconsciously adjusting to his rhythm. 

Their bond had settled into something quieter now—not the overwhelming rush of their first connection, but a steady hum in the background of his thoughts, like an unspoken presence.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint sweetness of the bioluminescent fruit they had shared earlier. 

Above them, the soft pulsing light of the cave’s glowing veins cast shifting patterns across the stone ceiling, their movements mirrored in the still water of the pond nearby. It was a world apart from the one he had known. 

A world where time moved differently. A world where she had been alone—until now.

Jinxe shifted slightly, her long hair spilling across his chest, dark as ink against the faint glow of his freckles. One of her hands, which had rested loosely on his side, flexed, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his skin, as if reassuring herself that he was still there.

He was.

Viktor exhaled slowly, his elongated fingers ghosting over the ridges of her spine. He had spent his life studying things from a distance, measuring, analyzing, documenting. But this—this was something he couldn’t quantify.

She had let him in.

Not just into her home, but into her world.

Into her solitude.

And now, as the cave’s silence wrapped around them like a second skin, he wondered if, for the first time, she no longer felt alone.

Jinxe made a soft sound—a breath, a sigh, something small but full of meaning. Then, without a word, she curled closer, her tail brushing against his leg, her presence settling against him.

Viktor closed his eyes.

 

Chapter 98: Padawan Lost

Summary:

Memories surged.

Racing through both of them, crashing like a tidal wave.

A speeder chase through the Temple halls.

A half-built saber, sparking in her hands.

Laughter.

"Master Vik!" Her voice, young and bright.

Jinx screamed.

Notes:

Jinx using force lightning as a padawan? Highly unlikely. Did I do it anyway? Yep.

This one definitely does not need to be shippy, but if there are any Anisoka fans reading this—I'm one of you.

Powder groaned, arms crossed, her boot tapping impatiently against the durasteel floor of the Jedi Temple’s hangar. The transport before her—a battered, utilitarian freighter loaded with medical supplies and ration crates—was about as exciting as a brick. The crew bustled around, checking manifests, while the clone troopers assigned to escort her stood in disciplined silence. The whole thing was painfully routine.

“This is so stupid,” she muttered, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Why do I have to go? I could be on the front lines with you, Master. Or doing literally anything else.”

Viktor, standing beside her with his hands clasped behind his back, arched a knowing brow. “Because not every mission has to be a reckless disaster waiting to happen,” he said dryly.

Powder rolled her eyes. “One time, I accidentally knocked over a fuel tank during training, and suddenly I’m reckless.”

“One time?” Viktor repeated, crossing his arms now, mirroring her stance. “Shall I remind you of the speeder chase through Coruscant’s lower levels? Or the very unfortunate explosion in the Archives?”

Powder had the grace to look mildly guilty at that last one.

“In my defense,” she said, grinning, “that was mostly not my fault.”

Viktor sighed, but there was fondness in his expression as he reached out and ruffled her hair. Powder swatted at his hand, scowling. “Hey! I’m not a youngling anymore, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased.

Powder huffed, crossing her arms again. “I still don’t see why this mission needs me. We’re just dropping off supplies to a bunch of refugees on Arkinnea. There won’t even be any fighting.”

“That’s precisely why I want you to go,” Viktor said, his tone gentler now. “The war has made you impatient. You’re always looking for the next fight. But being a Jedi isn’t just about battles, Powder. It’s about helping people—even when it isn’t thrilling.”

She glanced at him, lips pursed, but didn’t argue.

Viktor smiled, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Besides,” he said lightly, “it’ll be over before you know it. A simple mission, in and out.”

Powder sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. But if I die of boredom, I’m haunting you.”

Viktor chuckled. “I’ll take my chances.”

The ship’s engines hummed to life, the crew making final preparations. Powder exhaled, then shot Viktor a half-hearted smirk. “When I get back, you owe me a real mission. Something exciting.”

Viktor nodded. “Deal.”

She turned, stepping onto the ramp, pausing only briefly to glance back at him one last time. Then she was gone.

The freighter lifted off moments later, disappearing into the sky.

And Viktor, watching the spot where it had been, had no way of knowing—

It would be the last time he ever saw his Padawan as Powder.

---

The mission was supposed to be easy.

It wasn’t.

Powder sat in the cramped cockpit of the freighter, her boot propped up against the console as she stared out at the vast stretch of hyperspace. The ship hummed with steady, rhythmic energy, the kind that usually lulled her into boredom. They were less than an hour from Arkinnea, and the worst part of this entire trip had been enduring it.

She sighed, glancing at the lead pilot, a grizzled man named Captain Dorn. “You guys do these runs often?”

Dorn grunted without looking away from the controls. “Every few weeks. Nothing special.”

“Any trouble?”

“Not usually,” he said, though the way his fingers tightened on the throttle didn’t escape her notice. “Pirates, sometimes. Scavengers trying to raid the shipments. But we have troopers for that.”

Powder exhaled slowly, leaning back. She had a bad habit of needing action, and Viktor was right—she’d been getting restless lately. But Force, this was too quiet. Too easy.

A simple mission.

So why did her gut feel so wrong?

She closed her eyes, reaching out with the Force.

It greeted her like an old friend—soft, steady, carrying the distant hum of the clones in the cargo bay, the faint unease of the crew, the cold vastness of space. But underneath it, there was something else. Something just out of reach.

A ripple.

A warning.

Then—

Alarms blared, and hyperspace ripped away, stars snapping into view as the ship jolted violently. Powder was thrown forward, catching herself just in time to see the blinking proximity alert flashing across the dashboard.

“What the hell?” she snapped, wrenching forward. “Why did we drop out early?”

Dorn cursed, frantically adjusting controls. “It’s not us—something pulled us out!”

The ship rocked violently as a shadow loomed ahead. Powder’s heart slammed into her ribs as she saw it—a blockade. A massive, looming warship, flanked by smaller vessels like hunting beasts surrounding wounded prey.

A cold voice crackled over the comms.

“Unidentified freighter. Power down your engines and prepare to be boarded.”

Dorn cursed again, his grip tightening on the controls. “Shields up, now!”

The clone commander’s voice came through the intercom, sharp and prepared. “General, we’re ready for engagement. Orders?”

Powder’s mind raced. This wasn’t some random pirate attack—this was deliberate. A planned ambush.

Which meant—

This wasn’t just about the cargo.

It was about her.

Her fingers itched toward her saber as she took a steadying breath.

"Commander," she said, forcing calm into her voice, "get the troopers in position. We don’t surrender."

A beat of silence.

Then—

BOOM.

The first blast tore into the ship, sending it spinning. Warning lights flared. The entire freighter lurched as something latched onto it.

They were already boarding.

Powder’s blood surged with adrenaline. She turned, sprinting out of the cockpit.

And the last thing she heard before the battle began—

Was Viktor’s voice, somewhere in the back of her mind, telling her to be patient. To think.

But thinking wouldn’t save them now.

Only fighting would.

---

The ship was already lost.

Powder knew it the second the hull screamed under the pressure of forced docking clamps, the metal groaning like a dying beast. She sprinted through the narrow corridors, her mind a whirlwind of instinct and urgency.

The clones were ready—blasters trained at the sealed bulkhead where the enemy would breach. The ship’s emergency lights bathed everything in flickering red, casting sharp shadows over the troopers’ white armor.

Stay calm. Control your fear.

The words were Viktor’s, always lingering in the back of her mind. But right now, she didn’t have time for calm.

The air crackled.

Then—

BOOM.

The blast door exploded.

The shockwave hit first, then came the shrapnel, cutting through the air like durasteel rain. Powder barely had time to throw up a Force barrier before dark figures poured through the breach.

Not pirates.

Not mercenaries.

Sith.

Red blades ignited, cutting through the smoke like the burning eyes of a predator.

The clones opened fire instantly, blaster bolts filling the narrow space, but the Sith moved like shadows—unnatural and precise. They cut through the troopers with effortless brutality, deflecting shots with contemptuous flicks of their sabers.

Powder didn’t hesitate.

She lunged, her own blade igniting in a flash of brilliant blue. The first Sith barely had time to register the attack before she slammed into him, driving him back with a flurry of relentless strikes. He parried, twisting away, but she was faster—she ducked under his next swing and drove her boot into his gut, sending him staggering.

"Troopers, fall back!" she shouted, twisting to block another strike from behind.

But there were too many.

A clone let out a strangled gasp as a red blade cut through his chest. Another was hurled into the wall by an invisible force, his body crumpling on impact.

Powder gritted her teeth.

She wouldn’t let them take this ship.

Wouldn’t let them win.

Her blade moved in blinding arcs, deflecting attacks, pushing forward. Her breath came fast, her muscles burned—but she could still win this.

Then—

The cold hit her.

A presence, deeper than the others. More vast. More… ancient.

The air around her seemed to collapse, the very fabric of the Force twisting—and then, from the smoke, he emerged.

A figure in black.

Tall. Unmoving. A void in the Force, like a star that had been consumed.

The Sith Lord.

Darth Silco.

Powder felt it before she saw it—his will pressing against her mind like iron fingers wrapping around her skull. Her breath hitched, her thoughts fracturing under the weight of it.

No—focus—

She moved to attack, but it was too late.

He lifted a hand.

And the Force crushed her.

Her body snapped into the air, her limbs locking against invisible chains. She gasped, her saber tumbling from her grip, her vision swimming as the pressure around her chest tightened.

"Such fire," Silco mused, tilting his head as he studied her. "But reckless. Unrefined."

Powder struggled. The Force surged through her, but every attempt to push back was smothered, like trying to fight against an ocean that had already swallowed her whole.

The clones were gone. Dead or dying.

Her vision blurred.

She thought of Viktor.

He’s coming for me, she told herself. He’ll find me.

But even as she clung to that thought—

The darkness pulled her under.

And then—

There was nothing.

---

Darkness.

Thick and suffocating, pressing against her mind like a weighted shroud.

Powder drifted in and out of awareness, caught between fractured moments. Sounds. Voices. Pain. A sharp, electric sting through her nerves. The distant hum of ship engines. Words she couldn’t understand. The Force itself felt wrong—like something frayed and unraveling, slipping further from her grasp with every breath.

Where… am I?

Her body didn’t feel like hers anymore.

She tried to move, but her limbs were leaden, too heavy, too slow.

Then—

A voice. Low, calm, deliberate.

“Awake, at last.”

The darkness peeled away like layers of fog.

Powder’s vision swam into focus, and she realized she was on her knees. Cold metal pressed against her skin. Dim red lighting flickered in the vast chamber around her—elegant, yet sterile.

A Sith chamber.

She tried to move, but something held her down. Not bindings—something worse. The Force itself wrapped around her like an iron vice, keeping her locked in place.

Her heart pounded.

Footsteps echoed, slow and purposeful. She lifted her head—just enough to see the figure standing before her.

Darth Silco.

He watched her with a scholar’s interest, hands clasped neatly behind his back. His yellow eyes burned with quiet amusement, as if he had all the time in the galaxy.

“I must admit,” he mused, “I expected you to break much sooner.”

Powder’s throat was raw when she spoke. “Go to hell.”

Silco exhaled a quiet chuckle. “Jedi stubbornness. Predictable.” He took a step closer, tilting his head. “And yet… you feel it, don’t you?”

She grit her teeth. “Feel what?”

Silco crouched before her, his voice barely above a whisper.

“The weight of it.”

The Force shifted—and suddenly, it was all around her, inside her, coiling in places it shouldn’t be. Powder sucked in a breath, her mind reeling. It was wrong, all of it. Like something had crawled into her bones, twisting, shifting, reshaping—

Her fingers twitched.

For a fleeting second, she felt it. The dark pulse threading through her veins, curling at the edge of her thoughts like smoke.

No—

She gasped, wrenching back, trying to shove it away, but the chains around her mind tightened.

Silco smiled. “There it is.”

Powder panted, her body trembling.

“Do you know why you were taken?” he asked, rising to his full height again. “Not for ransom. Not for leverage. No, no… You were taken because you are wasted on the Jedi.”

Powder spat at his feet. “I’d rather die than become one of you.”

Silco sighed, almost pitying. “How dramatic.” He turned slightly, pacing with ease. “But you misunderstand. You already belong to the Dark Side. The Jedi simply taught you to fear it.”

“That’s a lie,” she snapped, but her voice wavered.

Was it?

The whispers in her mind were louder now.

She saw flashes—memories not her own. A different life, one where she let go, one where she took instead of begged. A life without restraint, without denial.

A life where she won.

She gasped, clutching her head, trying to force the images away. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

Silco leaned in slightly. “The Jedi have abandoned you, Powder.”

She froze.

“No,” she whispered.

“They won’t come for you.” His voice was a gentle blade. “They have already written you off. Dead. Lost. Forgotten.”

She shook her head, her breaths coming faster. Viktor wouldn’t—he’s searching—

“You feel it, don’t you?” Silco continued, voice smooth as silk. “The doubt. The fear. It gnaws at you. Why resist?”

The room felt smaller. The walls pressed inward.

Viktor’s voice, once so loud in her mind, felt distant now. Fading.

“You are not Jedi,” Silco murmured. “You never were.”

Her fingers dug into the floor.

You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong.

But the voice inside her?

It didn’t sound so sure anymore.

And that—

That was the first crack.

---

Powder didn’t know how long she had been in the chamber.

Time stretched and twisted, broken into jagged moments of silence, pain, and the suffocating weight of Darth Silco’s presence. She knelt in the center of the room, her wrists resting limply on her thighs, her breath slow but uneven. The red glow of the dim overhead lights painted everything in shades of blood.

She wasn’t chained. There were no physical restraints.

Because she didn’t need them.

The Force itself held her down, pressing against her limbs like a heavy, invisible hand. Every time she tried to reach out—tried to touch the Light—something else was there, waiting, coiling around her mind like a patient predator.

The Dark Side.

It whispered to her, soft at first. Then louder.

She clenched her teeth, shutting her eyes. Stay focused. Don’t listen.

But Silco’s voice cut through her like a blade.

“Tell me, Powder,” he said, his tone almost conversational, “do you still believe he’s coming for you?”

Powder forced herself to look up, glare sharp. “Of course.”

Silco smiled, as if amused.

“And yet, you feel it, don’t you?” He took slow steps around her, hands clasped neatly behind his back. “The distance. The silence. How long has it been since you’ve felt your dear Master’s presence in the Force?”

Powder’s jaw tightened.

She had felt him. When she first woke up here, she swore Viktor was there, just out of reach. Searching. Calling.

But now…

She felt nothing.

Her stomach twisted.

Silco watched her, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. “The Jedi do not search for lost causes.”

Powder inhaled sharply, refusing to let his words settle in. “You don’t know anything.”

Silco exhaled a small chuckle. “Don’t I?” He tilted his head. “You believe he still searches for you. That he cares for you. But tell me, Powder—”

His voice lowered, edged with something colder.

“Did he ever tell you?”

Powder frowned, her breath still unsteady. “Tell me what?”

Silco crouched in front of her again, meeting her gaze directly. “How the Jedi Council ordered him to abandon the search.”

The words slammed into her harder than any Force attack ever had.

Her pulse roared in her ears. “You’re lying.”

Silco merely lifted a brow. “Am I?”

She wanted to deny it. To push it away as some Sith deception.

But something inside her—the same quiet, gnawing doubt that had been creeping in since she woke up here—paused.

Because it made sense, didn’t it?

She knew the Council. She knew their rules. If they believed she was dead—or worse, turned—they wouldn’t waste resources searching for her.

Even if Viktor wanted to keep looking, would they have let him?

Her throat felt tight.

“Ah,” Silco murmured, watching her closely. “You see it now, don’t you?”

Powder clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. “Even if they ordered him to stop… Viktor wouldn’t listen. He—”

“He is Jedi,” Silco interrupted smoothly. “And Jedi follow orders.”

The words struck something deep in her. A place she didn’t even realize had been vulnerable.

A memory surfaced—

Viktor, standing before the Council, his voice steady but desperate.

"We cannot abandon her."

Master Mundi’s response was firm. "She is gone, Knight Viktor. To search further is folly."

"You don’t understand—if there’s even a chance—"

"She is dead or lost to the Dark Side. Either way, she is no longer yours to save."

Powder gasped, her eyes snapping open. Her breath came fast, sharp. The memory—was it real? No—no, it had to be a trick, a false vision, something implanted—

Silco remained still, watching. Waiting.

“Where did you see that?” he asked quietly.

Powder’s heart pounded.

“I—” She swallowed, shaking her head. “You did that. You put that in my head.”

Silco exhaled a slow breath. “Did I?”

The doubt slammed into her like a crashing wave.

She forced her hands against her skull, trying to shut it out. It’s not real. It’s not real.

But what if it was?

She squeezed her eyes shut. She reached for the Light, for something familiar, but it slipped through her grasp—wrong, distant, like a sun just beyond the horizon.

And the Dark?

It was so close.

Warm. Waiting.

She felt it curling at the edges of her thoughts, whispering that she didn’t have to fight. That she could let go.

Silco’s voice came again, softer this time.

“The Jedi abandoned you.”

Powder’s breath shuddered.

“No,” she whispered. But it sounded weak, uncertain.

Silco crouched beside her again, voice barely above a whisper.

“But I won’t.”

The words settled into her like hooks sinking into flesh.

And she broke.

Not all at once. Not in a single moment.

But another crack in the foundation.

---

The moment the distress signal came through, Viktor ran.

He didn’t wait for clearance from the Council. He didn’t waste time on deliberation. The second he heard the garbled transmission—the panic in the clone commander’s voice, the warning of an attack—he was already moving.

Powder’s ship had been ambushed mid-route. The signal had cut off before giving any clear details, but Viktor didn’t need details. He felt it in the Force, sharp and violent, a fracture in the careful balance of his senses.

Something had happened.

Something wrong.

The journey to Arkinnea was a blur of hyperspace and barely restrained panic. He told himself to focus—to breathe—but the worry dug into his chest like a blade.

Powder was reckless, yes. But she was strong. A fighter. She wouldn’t fall easily.

She wouldn’t.

The moment his ship broke from hyperspace over Arkinnea, Viktor’s worst fears solidified.

Wreckage drifted through space like floating corpses, pieces of the supply freighter scattered in lifeless chunks. The remains of clone gunships spun slowly, torn apart by something far more precise than mere blaster fire.

The Republic had already sent recovery teams. Jedi Knight Shaa’len, a Mirialan with a composed demeanor, greeted him as he landed. But Viktor barely registered her presence—his mind was already searching.

Where was she?

Where was Powder?

“Viktor.” Shaa’len placed a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him to meet her gaze. “There were no survivors.”

Viktor’s breath came sharp, his body rigid. “That’s not true.”

She hesitated. “Viktor—”

“She’s not dead,” he snapped, breaking away from her grip. His voice was steel, barely containing the raw edge of something darker underneath. “I would feel it.”

Jedi Masters often spoke of bonds between Masters and Padawans. A connection in the Force, deeper than words, stronger than any physical tie.

If Powder had died—he would know.

But she wasn’t gone.

She was missing.

The distinction was everything.

Ignoring Shaa’len’s cautious gaze, he turned to one of the clone troopers sorting through the wreckage. “Show me the logs.”

The clone hesitated. “Sir, with all due respect—”

“Now.”

The trooper stiffened, then quickly pulled up the ship’s black box data. Viktor scanned through it with rapid efficiency—hyperspace disruption, forced docking, an enemy boarding party—

And then, one word that sent ice through his veins.

“Sith.”

His breath caught.

No.

No, no, no—

Viktor had feared pirates, slavers, mercenaries looking for a prize. Those threats, he could have dealt with.

But the Sith?

They didn’t take prisoners.

Unless—

The realization hit him with the force of a collapsing star.

They wanted her.

This wasn’t random. It wasn’t an accident.

Powder had been targeted.

Shaa’len sighed beside him, voice measured. “Viktor… I know this is difficult, but we need to be rational. If the Sith took her—”

“Then I’m getting her back.”

Shaa’len didn’t flinch, but she folded her arms. “We don’t know where they took her. If you rush in without intel, you’ll only—”

“I’ll find her,” Viktor interrupted, his voice quiet but unyielding. He turned, already heading for his ship. “With or without the Council’s approval.”

Shaa’len hesitated for a moment. Then, softer—

“You know what they’ll say, Viktor.”

He did know.

The Council would call her a lost cause.

A Padawan captured by the Sith was as good as dead. Either she was executed—or worse, turned.

And the Jedi did not chase ghosts.

But Viktor wasn’t just a Jedi.

He was her Master.

And he had already sworn—

He would never leave her behind.

---

Viktor searched.

And searched.

And searched.

For weeks after the ambush, he scoured the Outer Rim, following the faintest traces of leads. He bribed smugglers, interrogated mercenaries, walked the underbellies of forgotten worlds with nothing but the whisper of the Force to guide him.

But every trail led to nothing.

No survivors. No ransom. No body.

Just a void.

The Council summoned him back to Coruscant. He had barely stepped into the grand chamber before Master Windu’s voice echoed across the hall.

"Knight Viktor, the Council has deliberated, and we believe it is time to let go of this fruitless search."

Viktor barely heard the rest.

Master Yoda spoke of acceptance. Ki-Adi-Mundi stressed the importance of duty. Shaak Ti’s voice was softer, almost sympathetic.

"You did all you could."

"We cannot allow attachment to cloud our purpose."

"She is gone."

Gone.

Like a name etched into stone, like something that could simply be moved past.

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t protest.

What was the point? They had already decided.

Instead, he turned, left the chamber.

In the months that followed, Viktor withdrew.

He completed missions, accepted assignments, did everything required of him—but it was mechanical. A performance. He spoke when spoken to, fought when necessary, upheld the Order’s will.

But the Viktor they had once known?

He was absent.

The other Jedi noticed. Shaa’len reached out once, finding him alone in the archives, staring blankly at a datapad he hadn’t turned on.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she had said. “This… half-life.”

He had only blinked at her.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She had sighed then, quiet and tired. But she didn’t push.

Because she knew.

She knew he wasn’t listening.

Viktor didn’t sleep much anymore.

When he closed his eyes, he saw her.

Not as a memory, not as she had been—but as something just out of reach, something calling to him. A shadow at the edge of the Force, flickering, pulsing, fading.

A wound that never healed.

A name spoken in the empty silence of his quarters, unanswered.

Powder.

Months turned into years.

The war raged on. The Jedi fought, died, became legends, became ghosts.

And still, Viktor searched.

The Council had long since stopped questioning his obsession. They had labeled it as grief, as something that would pass.

It never did.

Even when the evidence had dried up. Even when the hope had rotted into something bitter.

He never truly stopped.

Because the bond had never severed.

Somewhere, out there—she still existed.

And as long as she existed—

He would find her.

---

The shadows of Theed’s underbelly stretched long and cold. The city above hummed with the quiet elegance of Naboo’s nobility, but down here, beneath the ivory towers and cascading waterfalls, the air was damp, suffused with the scent of rust, old stone, and something far darker.

Viktor stood at the threshold of the dim alley, his pulse an eerie calm. His years of searching had taught him patience, had beaten desperation into something quieter, more calculating. And yet, standing there, looking at her, he felt his carefully tempered resolve falter.

She was thinner than he remembered. Her once-sun-kissed skin was paler, her cheekbones sharper, as though carved from stone by something cruel and unrelenting. But it was her eyes that struck him first. Once the piercing blue of a Tython sky, they were now rimmed with darkness, fractured by something that did not belong. And the way she moved—subtle, jittery, as if caught in an unseen storm.

Her presence in the Force was a jagged thing. It lashed and pulled in unnatural waves, flickering between Light and Dark like a flame gasping for air.

Viktor exhaled slowly.

"Powder."

She flinched at the name. Her head cocked, eyes narrowing. A strange smirk played at her lips—one that did not belong to the girl he had trained.

"Is that what they used to call me?" Her voice was light, mocking, but underneath—hesitation. The tiniest crack in whatever had been done to her.

Viktor took a slow step forward. "It’s who you are."

Her smile twisted. A flicker of recognition flashed through her gaze, but then, like a hand crushing fragile glass, it vanished. Her head tilted, fingers twitching at her sides.

"No." Her voice wavered, the smirk faltering for just a moment. "No, no—Powder is gone." She pressed her palms against her temples, her breath turning shallow. "Jinx is what remains."

Jinx.

Viktor’s fists clenched at his sides.

"You don’t believe that," he said, his voice steady. "I can feel you fighting it."

Her body tensed—then she laughed. A sharp, breathy thing, like static in the air.

"You're adorable," she murmured, her fingers flexing as if testing something unseen. "All these years, chasing ghosts. But you don’t understand, do you?"

Her breath hitched. For the briefest moment, she winced, as if something inside her was warring. Then, in a blink, the moment passed, and her expression smoothed into something cruel.

"Master Silco found me," she said, and this time, her voice was steadier, darker. "He saved me. And you? You left me to rot."

Viktor’s gut twisted.

"That’s not true." His voice was quieter now, but weighted. "I searched for you. I never stopped."

But she wasn’t listening. Her fingers twitched again, and in an instant, red plasma ignited in her grasp. The crimson glow cast harsh shadows against her sharp features.

"You’re too late, Jedi." Her tone was playful, almost sing-song, but the shaking in her stance betrayed her.

Viktor didn’t reach for his own saber. Not yet. Instead, he took another step forward.

"Powder." The name was softer this time, meant to reach her, meant to anchor her before she was lost completely.

Her grip on the saber faltered.

For just a second, Viktor saw it—the flicker of something deep inside her, something desperate.

But then the hesitation turned to rage. A snarl ripped from her throat, and she lunged.

Red plasma screamed through the air.

And Viktor, his heart a battlefield of hope and dread, had no choice but to meet it.

---

Viktor barely had time to ignite his saber before hers came crashing down. Blue met red in a violent flash, the clash of energy humming like a storm ready to break. Jinx’s strength was erratic—wild, unpredictable. There was no grace to her strikes, only raw, reckless aggression.

She fought like someone who had forgotten why she fought.

Viktor twisted his blade, deflecting the downward strike just enough to throw her off balance. But she was fast—faster than he remembered. She recovered mid-motion, flipping backward onto the crumbling stone of the alleyway wall. Her eyes burned, her expression twisting into something caught between a snarl and a grin.

“You’re hesitating, Master,” she taunted, though there was something off in her voice—something tight, forced. “Is it because you still care?”

Viktor exhaled, steadying himself. “Yes.”

For the briefest moment, something in her flickered. A crack in the carefully constructed madness.

Then her face twisted.

“Then you’re a fool.”

She struck again, her blade carving through the air in wild, chaotic arcs. Viktor parried each one, but she wasn’t just attacking—she was testing him. Watching. Waiting for something.

But he was watching too. And what he saw—beneath the aggression, beneath the Sith’s teachings—was doubt.

The Jinx before him was a contradiction. She wanted him to fight back. But she also wanted him to fail.

Viktor wasn’t sure which part of her wanted it more.

He ducked under a vicious swipe, pivoting to the side. “Powder, listen to me—”

“SHUT UP!” she shrieked, and with a flick of her free hand, lightning crackled at her fingertips.

Viktor barely had time to react. The electricity arced toward him, searing pain ripping through his body as he was hurled backward. His back slammed into the alley wall, the Force thrumming violently around him.

Jinx landed in front of him, panting, her blade hovering just above his chest. Her pupils were blown wide, her fingers twitching at her sides.

“Why,” she hissed, voice shaking. “Why won’t you fight me?”

Viktor groaned, forcing himself to his feet. His entire body ached, but still—he didn’t raise his weapon.

“Because I know you,” he said. “I know the girl who loved racing swoop bikes through the Temple halls. The girl who wanted to see the stars, who believed in helping people.”

Jinx’s breath hitched.

His voice softened. “The girl who used to call me Master Vik.”

She flinched.

For a split second, something in her wavered. Her saber dipped—just slightly. Her face contorted, her jaw clenching so tightly it looked painful.

Then she gasped, her head snapping to the side as if something unseen had just ripped through her mind. Her free hand shot up to claw at her temple, her entire body convulsing with an invisible struggle.

“N-no—no, shut up, shut up,” she muttered, voice cracking.

Viktor could feel it now—the fracture. The desperate, clawing part of her that was still Powder. Still his Padawan.

But something else was fighting back.

And then—

A voice. Smooth, cold, and edged with authority.

“Enough.”

Jinx went still.

The moment shattered like glass. Her fingers twitched once—then, slowly, she straightened. The erratic wildness in her expression smoothed into eerie calm.

Viktor followed her gaze.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the alley’s entrance. Tall, composed, dressed in dark robes with a presence that coiled in the Force like a waiting predator. His yellow eyes gleamed with amusement.

Darth Silco.

Viktor’s breath turned to ice.

Silco stepped closer, hands folded neatly behind his back. “You’ve done well, my apprentice,” he said smoothly, looking at Jinx. “But I believe this reunion has gone on long enough.”

Jinx’s face was blank now—expressionless. As if the storm inside her had simply been shut off.

“Master.” She inclined her head. The words felt like a punch to Viktor’s gut.

Silco turned his attention to Viktor, a thin smirk playing at his lips. “Jedi are such sentimental creatures. Always clinging to ghosts, hoping to salvage what’s already been claimed.” He stepped closer, tilting his head. “Tell me, Knight Viktor… do you truly believe she can be saved?”

Viktor’s fingers tightened around his saber. His heart hammered in his chest, but his voice remained steady.

“Yes.”

Silco exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Fascinating.”

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the air between them collapsed.

Viktor barely had time to brace before the Force slammed into him like a durasteel wall. He was hurled backward, crashing through a stack of old crates, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. His saber skidded across the ground, out of reach.

By the time he forced himself upright, Silco and Jinx were already moving. The Sith Lord turned, his presence coiling like a shadow.

“Come, apprentice.”

Jinx hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then, slowly, she turned away from Viktor and followed.

“No,” Viktor gasped, pushing himself to his feet. His ribs ached, his vision swam, but he couldn’t let this happen. “Powder!”

She paused.

A single heartbeat of hesitation.

But then she spoke. Quiet. Hollow.

“Powder is gone.”

And with that—she vanished into the darkness.

Viktor collapsed to his knees, the weight of failure pressing down on him like a crushing wave.

But deep in the Force, in the smallest, faintest corner of his mind…

He still felt her.

Flickering.

Fighting.

And he knew.

This wasn’t over.

---

Viktor stood at the edge of the Jedi Temple’s balcony, staring out over the sprawling cityscape of Coruscant. The glow of a thousand speeders cut through the darkness like shooting stars, a never-ending stream of light and movement.

But he saw none of it.

His thoughts were still there, trapped in the shadowed underbelly of Naboo, in that narrow alley where she had stood before him.

Not a vision. Not a ghost.

Powder.

Alive.

Flesh and blood, standing within arm’s reach.

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling slowly.

The Dark Side had marked her. The chaotic fluctuations in her Force presence, the unnatural tension in her movements—it was clear. Mind tampering. Indoctrination.

The girl he had trained, the girl who had once laughed and complained about dull missions, who annoyed Jedi as she ran through the Temple halls, was now something else. A Sith. A weapon.

And yet—

His hands trembled slightly as he pressed them against the railing.

Despite all of that—despite the corruption in her aura, the unnatural gleam in her eyes—she was alive.

They had taken her. Tried to erase her. But they had failed.

Because he had felt her, however briefly, beneath all that darkness.

She had hesitated.

She was still there.

And no matter what it took, no matter how long it took—

He was going to bring her home.

The Council had summoned him the moment he returned to Coruscant.

They had noticed his prolonged absence, his unsanctioned deviations from his original mission. He had expected it.

What he hadn’t expected was how easy it was to lie.

Not in words, but in omission.

Standing before them, he recounted the details of the diplomatic mission, ensuring his report was precise—unquestionable. He mentioned nothing of Powder. Nothing of the Sith.

Because he knew exactly what the Council would say if they found out.

She would be labeled lost.

Or worse—

A threat to be eliminated.

Viktor swallowed back the bile rising in his throat at the thought.

Master Windu studied him carefully, arms crossed. “You were gone longer than anticipated.”

Viktor nodded. “There were complications.”

Master Yoda’s ears twitched slightly. “Hm. Something troubles you.”

For a split second, Viktor felt the Force press against his mind—testing, searching.

He locked it down.

“I’m fine,” he said, keeping his voice measured. “Simply tired from the journey.”

Yoda studied him a moment longer. Then, after a beat—

“Rest, you should. Your next mission, soon it will come.”

Viktor inclined his head, accepting the dismissal.

But the second he stepped out of the chamber, his mind was already moving.

He had bought himself time.

Not much. But enough.

The Order would continue as it always had, blind in their certainty, unwilling to chase what they had already deemed lost.

Which meant he was on his own.

And that was just fine.

Because for the first time in years, he wasn’t wandering aimlessly.

He had proof.

Powder was alive.

And if she was alive—

He would find her again.

No matter what it took.

---

Darth Silco sat in silence, watching the flickering holo-image of Jinx’s encounter with her former Master.

The dim red glow of his private chamber cast sharp shadows over his features, but his expression remained unreadable. He had watched the footage twice already—every twitch of her fingers, every flicker of hesitation, every pause.

And yet, he played it again.

There—right there.

When Viktor had spoken her old name. Powder.

She had flinched.

Silco’s lips pressed into a thin line.

How disappointing.

He had trained her better than this. Reshaped her. Broken her of such weakness. And yet, despite everything, despite the years of conditioning, she had hesitated.

Her hands had trembled.

Her voice had wavered.

It was unacceptable.

The Sith Lord exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing. This was not a failure—not yet. But it was a warning. A reminder that the mind was fragile, that conditioning was never truly finished.

Jinx would need… reinforcement.

More training.

More correction.

A thin, knowing smirk curled at his lips.

He already knew where to begin.

Jinx was still in her chamber when they came for her.

The moment the doors hissed open and two droids stepped inside, she knew.

She knew.

She didn’t fight as they seized her by the arms, dragging her through the cold corridors of the stronghold. Resistance was useless. She had learned that long ago.

The halls blurred past in dim streaks of red and black.

Then, the door.

The room.

The place she had been taken to so many times before.

The droids threw her forward, and she stumbled to her knees. The air was thick here—thick with him. His presence, suffocating and vast, pressing into every inch of her mind.

Slowly, she lifted her head.

Darth Silco stood over her, hands clasped behind his back. He did not speak at first, only studied her, as if examining a fracture in something once pristine.

Then, at last—

“You hesitated.”

Jinx swallowed, forcing her expression into something neutral. “I—”

A sharp, invisible force slammed into her skull.

She gasped, her body seizing as the world ripped apart.

Suddenly, she wasn’t in the chamber anymore.

She was back in the alleyway.

Back on Naboo, facing him.

Viktor’s voice—Powder.

Her saber trembling in her grip.

That brief, fleeting moment where she almost remembered—

Then, she was back in the chamber, collapsing forward, panting.

Silco tilted his head. “Do you understand, now, why that was a mistake?”

Jinx coughed, struggling to push herself upright. “I—I didn’t—”

Silco stepped closer, kneeling beside her. His voice was calm. Too calm.

“I gave you purpose,” he murmured. “I shaped you into something greater.”

Jinx clenched her fists. “I know.”

“Then why?”

The Force snapped inside her skull again, dragging the moment forward once more—

"Powder."

She let out a strangled gasp, shaking her head violently. “I didn’t mean to! I—I don’t even remember—”

Silco sighed. He reached forward, gently brushing her bangs from her face.

“I believe you.”

Then he gripped her by the jaw, tilting her face up so she was forced to meet his gaze.

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t suffer for it.”

Jinx’s heart slammed against her ribs.

The torture began again.

The mind tampering. The slow, deliberate rewriting.

The pain—constant, inescapable, reshaping her thoughts, her memories, her self.

By the time they dragged her back to her quarters, leaving her broken and twitching on the cold floor—

She couldn’t even remember why she had hesitated in the first place.

---

Viktor had never been one for defying the Jedi Code.

But the Code had never accounted for this.

Night had settled over Coruscant, the glow of the city stretching endlessly below the Jedi Temple. Viktor stood in his quarters, surrounded by scattered datapads, star charts, and intercepted transmissions. A holo-map flickered in front of him, lines tracing across the Outer Rim—paths he had taken, trails that had gone cold.

But now, he had something he never had before.

Proof.

Powder was alive.

And that changed everything.

He moved mechanically, packing a small bag, ensuring he had only the essentials. Weapons, rations, a single datapad containing encrypted files.

He would need to leave soon, before the Council caught wind of his intentions. He had already pushed their patience thin. Another disappearance, another unsanctioned mission, and they would start asking questions.

But it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered except her.

A sharp knock at his door pulled him from his thoughts.

Viktor tensed. For a brief second, he considered not answering. Then, exhaling slowly, he reached out with the Force—

Familiar.

Not the Council.

Shaa’len.

He pressed a button, and the door slid open with a soft hiss. The Mirialan Jedi stood on the other side, arms crossed, gaze steady.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question.

Viktor didn’t respond. He turned back to his bag, continuing his preparations.

Shaa’len stepped inside, the door closing behind her. She let out a quiet sigh.

“You found something, didn’t you?”

Viktor’s hands stilled.

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.

Then—

“She’s alive.”

Shaa’len inhaled sharply.

Viktor turned, meeting her gaze. “I saw her, Shaa’len.” His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, something raw and unshaken. “She’s alive, but they’ve done something to her.”

Shaa’len’s expression remained unreadable.

Then, softer—

“And you didn’t tell the Council.”

Viktor didn’t blink. “No.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Shaa’len exhaled, rubbing a hand down her face. “Viktor…” Her voice was tired, edged with something almost like pity. “You know what they’ll say.”

That she was a lost cause. That if she had truly fallen to the Dark Side, there was nothing left to save.

That if he went after her—

He would be throwing himself into the abyss.

Viktor’s jaw tightened.

“She’s still her,” he said firmly. “I felt it.”

Shaa’len looked at him for a long moment. Then, quietly—

“You don’t know that.”

But Viktor shook his head.

“I do.”

Shaa’len sighed again, glancing at the half-packed bag.

Then, to Viktor’s surprise—

She didn’t argue.

She just studied him for a moment longer, before stepping back toward the door.

“You should go soon,” she murmured. “Before they notice.”

Viktor frowned. “You’re not stopping me?”

A tired smile ghosted across her lips. “I know better than to try.”

With that, she turned and left.

Viktor didn’t waste another second.

Minutes later, he was gone.

And this time—

He wasn’t coming back without her.

---

She was drowning.

Not in water, not in anything physical—

But in thoughts.

Memories that didn’t feel real. Voices that shouldn’t be there. Moments that played on loop, twisting, warping, bleeding into one another until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began.

She sat curled on the floor of her chamber, knees drawn to her chest, fingers twitching.

Her name.

Her name.

Her name.

Powder.

No—no, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t her.

Jinx.

She was Jinx.

Jinx.

Jinx.

Then why did it feel like something inside her was screaming?

A door hissed open. She barely reacted.

Darth Silco stepped inside, his presence heavy, suffocating. He crouched in front of her, tilting his head.

“You’re quiet,” he mused.

Jinx didn’t answer.

Silco reached out, brushing a hand against her cheek.

“I know it hurts,” he said, voice almost soothing. “But pain is necessary.”

She exhaled shakily.

Silco smiled, gentle, approving. “Good girl.”

Something inside her shattered further.

And she let it.

---

The Jedi Order had always prided itself on discipline. Restraint. Clarity of mind.

But Viktor had abandoned such notions the moment he saw her again.

The moment Powder had stood before him, alive yet twisted into something else, something wrong.

He had left Coruscant with only a single goal: Find her. Bring her home.

The Council had ignored the Sith for too long. They were focused on the war, on grand strategies, on their precious Order. But Viktor knew the truth. The Sith weren’t just killing Jedi. They were taking them.

And now, he had proof.

So he went where the Order refused to tread.

Dark worlds. Forgotten systems. Smuggler dens and bounty hunter enclaves. Places where the Sith’s influence was nothing but a whispered rumor, a phantom threat lurking beneath the surface.

And he listened.

To every hushed voice. Every slip of information. Every drunken mercenary who spoke of something off, something strange. Jedi that had disappeared. Shadows moving in the deep corners of the Outer Rim.

It took months.

Then, at last—

A name.

"Darth Silco."

The name came from an informant on Rishi, an old Rodian who had been paid well to keep his mouth shut—but paid even better by Viktor to open it.

“Silco doesn’t operate like the others,” the Rodian had muttered, taking a nervous swig of his drink. “He’s not just out to kill Jedi. He… he keeps them. Breaks them. Twists ‘em up, makes ‘em Sith.”

Viktor had already known.

But hearing it said aloud made his stomach churn.

“And the ones who resist?” Viktor asked quietly.

The Rodian hesitated. Looked away.

“There aren’t many of those.”

Viktor’s fingers curled into a fist.

But the most important thing had already been said.

Silco didn’t just destroy Jedi. He recreated them.

Which meant there was still a chance.

There was still hope.

And that was all Viktor needed.

---

The walls were breathing.

She swore they were.

Jinx sat in the center of her chamber, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking slightly. The air felt wrong, her own thoughts twisting, pulling, shifting like sand slipping through her fingers.

Everything was fractured.

Memories she knew were real had been overwritten. Changed.

She saw herself training under Silco, but the dates didn’t match.

She remembered years of serving him, of being molded into a weapon—yet before Naboo, she had never even seen her own reflection in a Sith’s robes.

She had hesitated.

She knew she had.

And Silco had seen it.

He had fixed it.

Hadn’t he?

Her fingers twitched.

She wanted to scream.

She was Jinx. She belonged here. She did.

Then why did she feel like something was missing?

Something she shouldn’t have lost?

She dug her nails into her scalp, breathing hard.

The door slid open.

Silco.

She stiffened, immediately forcing herself still.

He approached with measured steps, calm and composed.

He didn’t speak at first. Only studied her.

Then, quietly—

“You’re thinking too much again.”

Jinx forced a weak smirk. “You always say that.”

Silco crouched before her, his voice smooth. “Because it’s always true.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “Guess I’m still broken, huh?”

Silco smiled. “Only if you believe you are.”

Jinx swallowed.

His hand reached out, brushing her temple.

The Force curled around her mind, heavy and dark.

A false warmth.

“Let me help you,” Silco murmured.

She should resist.

But her mind was already unraveling, slipping under the surface, drowning beneath the weight of him.

Her thoughts were fading.

Becoming quieter.

And somewhere, deep in the locked-away corners of her mind, a girl named Powder screamed.

---

Viktor had long since abandoned the Jedi’s rigid sense of patience.

The Order taught control, taught detachment. That attachment led to suffering. That obsession led to darkness.

But they had never lost her.

They had never stood in the shadows of a dying city and watched their Padawan look them in the eye—and not remember them.

They had never felt their own soul fracture at the sound of a name spoken with nothing but emptiness.

So no, Viktor did not have patience.

Not anymore.

He worked faster now, sharper, more precise. Every dead end was another lesson, another mistake he refused to make twice.

From Rishi to Lok to the toxic swamps of Vjun, he followed the traces, hunting whispers, dismantling the shadows piece by piece.

Darth Silco.

The name had weight in the underworld. Not as loud as Vader, not as openly feared as Sidious. But those who knew—those who had seen his work firsthand—spoke of him with something worse than fear.

They spoke of him like a curse.

Viktor found what little intelligence he could. An old Imperial databank mentioned an unmarked installation—a stronghold hidden in the farthest reaches of Wild Space, a place where Sith experiments were carried out beyond the prying eyes of the Republic.

No coordinates.

No records of its fall.

A place that had simply vanished from history.

Viktor stared at the data on his holo-display, heart pounding.

If Powder was anywhere—

It was there.

---

She was drowning again.

Drifting between memory and illusion, unable to tell which was which.

Jinx stood in the training chamber, panting, muscles aching. Sweat dripped down her temple. A dozen training droids lay in broken heaps around her, sparks flickering from their shattered frames.

But it wasn’t enough.

She felt it—Silco’s gaze on her, measuring, assessing.

He stepped forward, the hem of his dark robes brushing the bloodstained floor.

“You hesitated again,” he murmured.

Jinx’s fingers twitched. “I—no, I didn’t.”

Silco sighed, shaking his head. “You hesitate every time I say that name.”

Jinx felt her breath hitch.

She knew what was coming next.

"Powder."

Pain exploded in her skull.

She choked, stumbling forward, fingers clawing at her temples as the memories shattered again.

Images flickered in rapid succession—

Her first saber, clumsily built.

The archives of Coruscant.

A hand ruffling her hair.

"Master Vik."

Her breath hitched—

But then the pain intensified, and all of it was ripped away again.

Her screams echoed through the chamber.

Silco’s hand brushed over her forehead, a mockery of comfort.

"Let go," he whispered. "Let it all go."

She gasped, vision swimming—

Then the pain stopped.

Silence.

Calm.

Jinx’s body trembled. She lifted her head, blinking slowly.

She saw Silco’s face, the faint approval in his gaze.

And deep in her mind, she felt the last of the chains snap.

Powder was gone.

Jinx was all that remained.

---

Viktor sat alone in the cockpit of his stolen freighter, staring into the abyss of hyperspace.

The ship’s course was locked. There was no turning back now.

Through the Force, through the bond that had never truly broken, he felt something shift.

Something deep.

Something final.

His hands clenched into fists.

I’m coming, Powder.

No matter what it took—

He was going to save her.

Even if he had to drag her from the darkness himself.

---

Jinx stood in front of the mirror.

Her own reflection stared back at her—half-lit by the dim red glow of her chamber, eyes ringed with dark veins, skin paler than she remembered.

The girl she had once been was gone.

She pressed her fingers against the glass.

Powder.

The name felt foreign now. Distant. Like an old story she had heard in passing but had never truly lived.

She had been weak, hadn’t she? Always looking for approval. Always needing something—reassurance, warmth, purpose.

The Jedi had tried to shape her into them, had forced her into their cage of rules and restraint. But it had never fit. She had never fit.

Silco had freed her from that.

She understood now.

The final lesson had been the hardest. He had torn her open, had stripped her down to nothing, had shattered every lie she had clung to.

But in the end—

She had emerged stronger.

She was Jinx.

She was Sith.

And she no longer hesitated.

The door slid open behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

Silco stepped inside, moving with the quiet precision that always unsettled her. He stopped just behind her, gazing at her reflection in the mirror.

There was no doubt in his expression now. Only satisfaction.

“You’re ready.”

Jinx smirked.

“I know.”

---

The coordinates led him deep into Wild Space. A dead system with no official name, no recorded traffic, nothing but drifting debris and old, forgotten wreckage.

The Sith liked their secrets.

Viktor had spent weeks prying them from the hands of criminals, torturing the information out of bounty hunters who had heard of the hidden stronghold, but had been too afraid to speak its name.

The closer he got, the darker the Force became.

Like an old wound, festering.

The Jedi had always spoken of the Dark Side as temptation. A slow descent into something irreversible.

But Viktor wasn’t afraid of it.

Not anymore.

If he had to burn through every Sith standing between him and Powder, he would.

His ship dropped out of hyperspace.

And there it was.

A fortress of black metal and jagged architecture, carved into the surface of a dying planet. A single structure, ancient yet alive, pulsing in the Force like a living thing.

She was there.

He felt her.

And the moment he did, his heart stopped.

Because she wasn’t calling for help.

She wasn’t resisting.

She wasn’t trapped.

She was waiting.

A deep, sickening dread settled in his chest.

He had spent years searching, clinging to the belief that she was still there, still fighting.

But now—

Now, he wasn’t sure.

His fingers tightened around the controls.

No matter what had been done to her, no matter how far she had fallen—

He was bringing her home.

---

The stolen freighter cut through the upper atmosphere of the Sith stronghold’s world, its hull rattling under the pressure.

The planet below was lifeless. Black rock, jagged mountains, storms twisting through a sky choked with red clouds. The fortress loomed in the distance, carved into the mountainside like a wound in the planet itself.

Viktor’s pulse was steady.

This was it.

For years, he had imagined what this moment would be like. Finding her, rescuing her.

He had never considered what he would do if she didn’t want to be saved.

A warning shot flared past the ship, scorching through the sky—a final demand to turn back.

Viktor ignored it.

With a flick of his wrist, he yanked the controls downward, sending the freighter into a sharp dive.

He wasn’t here for negotiations.

This was a rescue.

Or a war.

He was prepared for both.

---

Jinx stood on the fortress balcony, watching as the ship descended.

She had felt him the moment he entered the system.

His presence in the Force was like a wound—raw, pulsing, unrelenting.

For years, she had expected him to come.

Even through all of Silco’s conditioning, all of the pain, all of the rewriting, a part of her had known.

He wouldn’t give up.

He never had.

And now—

Now he was here.

She should have felt anger.

But all she felt was anticipation.

She turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder at Silco.

The Sith Lord stood in the shadows, watching the descent of the freighter with quiet amusement.

“He’s predictable,” he murmured.

Jinx smirked. “That’s what makes this fun.”

Silco studied her for a long moment. “And you?”

Jinx rolled her shoulders, feeling the weight of her twin sabers against her belt. “I’m ready.”

Silco smiled.

The air between them shifted.

“You know what must be done.”

Jinx turned back to the horizon, watching as Viktor’s ship approached the landing platform.

She had hesitated before.

She wouldn’t hesitate now.

If Viktor had come here expecting to bring Powder home—

Then he was going to be very disappointed.

Because Powder was dead.

And Jinx was about to show him just how much she had changed.

---

The moment Viktor stepped off the ship, the fortress doors opened.

And she was waiting.

Jinx stood in the center of the stone courtyard, her black-and-red Sith robes shifting slightly in the wind. Her twin sabers remained unignited at her sides, but she didn’t need them to make her stance clear.

She wasn’t here to talk.

Viktor stopped several feet away, his breath slow, his pulse heavy in his ears.

She was different.

Thinner. Paler. The corruption of the Dark Side curled at the edges of her features, dark veins tracing up her arms.

But it was her eyes that hit him hardest.

Not just the corruption in them, but the absence.

The absence of her.

Viktor exhaled carefully. “Powder.”

Jinx’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.

“That’s not my name.”

A chill ran down Viktor’s spine.

The Dark Side wrapped around her like a storm—erratic, powerful, but restrained just enough to remain controlled.

Silco had done this to her.

But Viktor could undo it.

“I know you remember,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “I know they tried to break you.”

Jinx tilted her head. “Is that what you think?”

Viktor took a step forward. “I felt you hesitate.”

Jinx’s expression twitched slightly.

For the briefest moment, he saw it—uncertainty. A flicker.

But then she laughed.

Loud, breathy, a sound that was wrong coming from her lips.

“Oh, Master,” she said, voice laced with mockery. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Viktor’s fingers twitched toward his saber.

She saw it.

And grinned.

“Go on,” she whispered, her voice a challenge. “Draw it.”

Viktor didn’t.

Jinx moved.

Faster than he expected.

In a blink, her sabers ignited—one red, one flickering between red and purple—and she lunged.

Viktor barely had time to block, his blue saber igniting in a desperate clash against hers. The impact sent sparks flying, and then she was on him, pressing the attack with relentless speed.

She fought like a storm.

Unpredictable. Chaotic. Every strike was sharp and violent, not a Jedi’s refined technique, but something else.

Something deadly.

Viktor deflected, twisting away, trying to break the rhythm.

“Powder—”

She snarled.

A burst of the Force slammed into him, hurling him backward. He barely caught himself, sliding to a stop on the stone floor.

Jinx straightened, panting slightly, her smile twisted into something sharp.

“Stop calling me that.”

Viktor exhaled, his heart hammering.

She was still in there.

He had to reach her.

But Jinx wasn’t giving him time to try.

She charged again, and Viktor had no choice but to meet her head-on.

There was no hesitation.

No mercy.

Only the storm of a lost Padawan and the desperate Master who refused to let her go.

---

Jinx’s sabers screamed as they crashed against Viktor’s, the sheer force of her attack sending violent shockwaves through the air.

She was fast. Too fast. Not just in movement, but in her intent. Her blade came from every angle, unpredictable, wild but precise.

This wasn’t a Jedi’s fight. It wasn’t the disciplined duels they had trained in at the Temple.

This was war.

Viktor deflected another strike, stepping back to regain ground, but Jinx pressed forward, refusing to give him space.

“Come on, Master,” she taunted, eyes gleaming. “This can’t be your best.”

Viktor felt the Dark Side in her, curling in the air around them, thick and corrupting. He had fought Sith before, had felt their presence like a wound in the Force—

But this was different.

This was her.

His student. His Powder.

He blocked high, twisting out of range. “I don’t want to fight you.”

Jinx smirked. “Too bad.”

She lunged, kicking him hard in the chest. He staggered, barely catching himself, just in time to see her throw a hand forward—

Lightning.

Viktor barely caught it with his saber, the energy splintering off in violent arcs. The heat seared against his skin, the Force screaming in warning.

But he held.

The lightning flickered—then died.

Jinx let out a breathy laugh, tilting her head. “You really think you can save me, don’t you?”

Viktor’s grip on his saber tightened. “I know I can.”

Jinx twitched.

For a split second, something flickered in her expression—something hesitant.

But then—

She twisted her saber, and red plasma sliced across his shoulder.

Viktor hissed, pain flashing through him as he stumbled back.

Jinx stood over him, breathing hard, the tip of her saber still glowing from the strike.

She should have finished it right there.

But she hesitated.

And Viktor saw it.

His voice came quiet. Careful.

“This isn’t who you are.”

Jinx froze.

The words struck something deep, something buried.

A flicker of something else in her eyes—

But then, a shadow moved behind her.

Darth Silco.

He stepped from the darkness, watching with quiet amusement.

“Disappointing,” he murmured.

Jinx’s breath hitched.

Silco’s gaze was steady. “I expected better.”

Jinx swallowed, hands trembling slightly. “I—I didn’t—”

Silco lifted a hand.

The Force slammed into her.

Not an attack. Not a punishment.

But a reminder.

Jinx let out a ragged gasp, her entire body locking up as something tightened in her mind.

The hesitation vanished.

The flicker of doubt was snuffed out.

And when she exhaled again—

Her face was blank.

Viktor felt his heart drop.

No.

He could feel it—something had shifted.

Silco had taken her back.

The Sith Lord’s voice was quiet.

“Finish it.”

Jinx turned to Viktor.

Expression cold.

Emotionless.

Her saber lifted.

Viktor didn’t move.

He didn’t fight.

He just looked at her.

“Powder.”

Jinx flinched.

Her grip shook—

And in that single moment, Viktor moved.

Not to kill.

Not to hurt.

But to grab her.

His arms locked around her, pulling her into a desperate, unbreakable grip.

Jinx gasped, struggling—

And Viktor reached into the Force—

Into the bond that had never broken—

And pulled.

Memories surged.

Racing through both of them, crashing like a tidal wave.

A speeder chase through the Temple halls.

A half-built saber, sparking in her hands.

Laughter.

"Master Vik!" Her voice, young and bright.

Jinx screamed.

The Force shattered around them—

And for a single second—

Powder came back.

But Silco’s voice ripped through the air.

“ENOUGH.”

A shockwave of darkness slammed into Viktor’s chest, hurling him backward.

He crashed into the stone, gasping as his vision blurred.

By the time he forced himself upright—

Jinx was gone.

Silco was gone.

The fortress doors slammed shut.

Viktor was left alone.

Bleeding.

Breath ragged.

Hands shaking.

But he had felt it.

She was still there.

Buried. Trapped.

And he wasn’t giving up.

Not now.

Not ever.

---

Jinx sat on the cold floor of her chamber, arms resting on her knees, head tilted back against the wall. The dim red glow of the single overhead light flickered intermittently, casting brief moments of darkness across the room.

She had been here before.

But this time, it was different.

Her head still ached from the encounter with Viktor. Her body still remembered the way he had held her, the way his presence in the Force had torn through her mind, dragging something up from the depths.

A name.

A feeling.

Something that shouldn’t have been there.

She exhaled sharply, fingers twitching against the cold stone.

It was punishment.

Not torture. Not retraining.

Just silence.

Isolation.

She should have been grateful.

After all, it meant Silco still saw potential in her. If he thought she was irreparable, she wouldn’t be sitting here—she would be nothing more than a forgotten corpse in a shallow grave outside the fortress walls.

But she was here.

And that meant he still wanted her.

Still needed her.

So why did she feel like she was drowning?

Jinx clenched her fists, shaking her head. No. Stop it.

She had proven herself. She had fought Viktor. She had struck him, drawn blood.

That should have been enough.

But it wasn’t.

Because she had hesitated.

And Silco had seen it.

She had failed him.

Jinx exhaled shakily, pressing her palms against her temples.

I am Jinx. I am Sith. I am Jinx. I am Sith.

She repeated the words like a mantra, trying to force them to settle, to take root.

But something inside her still ached.

Something deep.

Something wrong.

Something whispering a name she should have forgotten.

"Powder."

Jinx gasped, lurching forward, clutching her head.

Silco was right to lock her away.

She wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

But she would be.

She had to be.

---

Silco sat in his private chamber, watching the holographic replay of the battle.

Jinx had failed.

Not completely.

But enough.

She had faltered.

For a single, critical moment, she had let him in.

Had Viktor been stronger, had he been willing to do what was necessary, he might have broken her free of the Sith’s hold.

But Viktor was weak.

A slave to his emotions.

And that weakness was the only reason Jinx was still his.

Silco exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair.

He could not continue to reinforce her through pain. Not now.

Jinx was strong. More than he had ever expected. Her grasp of Sith abilities—her instinct for the Dark Side—was far beyond what should have been possible for someone so young.

She could already wield Force lightning without formal training.

A talent like that was rare.

And he would not waste it.

But if he continued to push her—

She would break.

Completely.

And then, she would be useless.

He would not discard her.

She was still his most promising apprentice.

But until Viktor was handled, she would remain in confinement.

The nuisance had proven more persistent than expected.

That was his mistake.

One that would soon be corrected.

Silco exhaled slowly, gaze cold and calculating.

If Viktor wanted a war—

Then Silco would give him one.

---

The Sith fortress trembled under the weight of the storm raging outside. Lightning crackled through the black sky, illuminating the jagged mountains surrounding the stronghold.

Viktor stepped forward, his robes heavy with rain, his saber ignited in a brilliant flash of blue.

Across from him, Darth Silco stood with effortless poise, his crimson blade humming steadily in the darkness. The Sith Lord had not rushed to meet him. He had not drawn first blood.

Because he didn’t need to.

He was waiting.

Studying.

Calculating.

Silco was shorter, lean but composed, every movement deliberate. Where Jinx fought with chaos, Silco fought with certainty. He was a predator who had already trapped his prey—just waiting for the right moment to strike.

The air between them crackled with power.

“This was inevitable, wasn’t it?” Silco mused, taking a slow step forward.

Viktor tightened his grip on his saber. “Let her go.”

Silco sighed, as if the demand bored him. “Jinx is where she belongs.”

Viktor’s chest burned at the name.

“That’s not her name,” he growled.

Silco smirked. “Oh? And what is her name, then? That weak, frightened thing you left behind?” He shook his head. “No. That girl is gone.”

Viktor felt his breath slow. His emotions wanted to boil over, to let his anger fuel his strength—but he couldn’t.

Not against him.

Silco was powerful. More than Viktor had ever faced before.

And if he wasn’t careful—

He would lose.

Silco lifted his saber, the red glow stretching long against the stone floor. “You should have let this go, Jedi.”

Viktor exhaled. “I don’t let go.”

Silco smiled. “No. I suppose you don’t.”

Then, without another word—

He attacked.

Viktor barely had time to block before the full force of Silco’s power slammed into him.

The Sith Lord struck with the precision of a master strategist—every movement planned, every angle designed to kill. Viktor deflected, stepping back as red clashed violently against blue, their sabers screaming through the storm-soaked air.

Silco fought with efficiency.

No wasted energy. No unnecessary flourishes.

Just death.

Viktor gritted his teeth, deflecting a downward strike before twisting into a counterattack—only for Silco to vanish.

A blur of motion—

Then pain.

Viktor gasped as the Force crushed his ribs, hurling him backward. He barely caught himself before Silco was on him again, blade carving through the rain like a blade of pure darkness.

Viktor dodged left, barely avoiding the strike that would have split him in half.

Silco chuckled.

“You’re persistent,” he mused. “But you’re also outmatched.”

Viktor didn’t answer. He lunged forward, blade flashing in a relentless assault.

Silco parried effortlessly, twisting his saber into a vicious counter—

But this time, Viktor was ready.

He dropped low, sweeping Silco’s legs out from under him.

For the first time, the Sith stumbled.

Viktor didn’t hesitate.

He drove his saber forward, aiming for the kill—

But Silco vanished again.

The next moment, Viktor was flying, hurled through the air by a crushing wave of the Force. He crashed into a stone pillar, pain exploding through his back.

Silco exhaled slowly, straightening.

“That was close,” he admitted.

Viktor groaned, forcing himself to his feet. His vision swam. His ribs screamed.

But he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

Not until Powder was safe.

Silco tilted his head. “You’re fighting for someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

Viktor wiped blood from his mouth. “You took that choice from her.”

Silco’s smirk deepened. “Yes.”

Then he moved.

Faster than before.

Viktor barely had time to raise his saber before Silco’s blade came crashing down—

And this time, Viktor couldn’t hold it back.

His knees buckled. His strength was failing.

Silco’s voice was quiet. Almost gentle.

“This is over.”

Viktor’s arms shook.

His body screamed for him to stop, to give in.

But—

He saw her.

Not as she was now.

But as she had been.

Laughing. Bright. Whole.

And something inside him ignited.

“No,” he whispered.

Then, with a final surge of everything he had left—

He pushed back.

Their sabers locked for one final, blinding moment—

And Viktor turned the blade.

Silco’s eyes widened.

Then the plasma carved through his chest.

The Sith Lord staggered, breath hitching—

Then, slowly, he collapsed.

Viktor stood over him, chest heaving, his saber still ignited, the rain hissing against its surface.

Silco coughed, blood spilling from his lips.

Even now, he smirked.

“You think… this changes anything?”

Viktor swallowed. “She’s mine.”

Silco’s smile twisted.

Then, with his last breath—

“She was never yours.”

The light in his eyes flickered—

Then faded.

Darth Silco was dead.

But Viktor had no time to celebrate.

He felt it.

The Force—ripping apart.

Jinx was coming.

And she was angry.

---

The fortress trembled.

Viktor had felt many things in the Force before—rage, sorrow, despair—but this?

This was something else.

A raw, unnatural howl in the Force. A wound torn open. A storm building into something too vast to be contained.

And at the center of it—

Jinx.

She stood in the open archway of the fortress, bathed in the red glow of emergency lights. Rain slicked her dark robes, her blue hair clinging to her face, and her eyes—

Her eyes.

They weren’t the sharp, playful blue he had once known.

They were glowing.

Pink and cracked with darkness, swirling with something unhinged.

The Force around her was erratic, crackling with uncontained energy. The wind whipped through the courtyard, lifting debris, bending metal, making the very air shudder with tension.

Viktor took a slow breath.

The Sith called their rage a weapon. Something to be honed. But this—

This was a storm without control.

Jinx took slow steps forward, her twin sabers still unlit in her hands. She didn’t rush. Didn’t speak.

But Viktor could feel it.

The grief. The fury.

The utter, spiraling madness.

She stopped a few feet from Silco’s body.

For a long moment, she simply stared.

Then—

She laughed.

Not a normal laugh.

A hollow, broken gasp of disbelief.

“Oh,” she breathed, voice trembling. “You really did it.”

Viktor didn’t speak.

Jinx tilted her head, her expression caught between amusement and something else. “Killed the big bad Sith Lord.”

Her fingers twitched.

“And for what?”

Viktor exhaled slowly, keeping his saber at the ready. “For you.”

Jinx went still.

The wind howled between them, a silent battle of the unseen.

Then—

She snarled.

Lightning exploded from her hands.

Viktor barely had time to react before the raw power slammed into him, sending him flying across the courtyard. He hit the stone floor hard, the impact rattling through his bones.

But he forced himself up.

He had no choice.

Jinx was already moving.

Her sabers ignited in a violent snap-hiss, the red glow cutting through the storm as she lunged.

She fought like a demon.

Faster, sharper than before. Unhinged. Every strike was a death blow, every movement designed to destroy.

Viktor blocked, parried, dodged—

But she wasn’t stopping.

She didn’t care about winning.

She just wanted to hurt him.

“You think this is a victory?” she spat between strikes, her voice wild. “You think I was trapped here?”

She feinted right, then spun low, slamming her boot into his ribs. Viktor grunted, staggering back—

But he didn’t counter.

He didn’t strike back.

He wouldn’t.

Jinx twisted her sabers, panting. Her face twisted in rage. “Fight me.”

Viktor swallowed hard. “No.”

Jinx twitched.

Then—

She screamed.

The Force collapsed around them, sending out a shockwave that cracked the very foundation of the courtyard.

Viktor was hurled back, hitting the ground hard.

Jinx stood over him, chest heaving, her eyes burning.

“You think you can take me back?!” she shrieked. “You think I’m your little Padawan again?”

Viktor sat up, breathing hard, watching her carefully.

“I know you are.”

Jinx froze.

A crack.

Just a small one.

Then—

She screamed again, lifting both sabers, ready to cut him down—

And Viktor did the only thing he could.

He reached out.

Not with his saber.

Not with the Force.

But with her name.

"Powder."

Jinx’s breath hitched.

The moment shattered.

Her sabers halted mid-swing, hovering inches from his face.

Her hands shook.

Her expression broke.

Pain flickered across her face—raw, real, terrifying.

For the first time since Naboo—

She looked afraid.

Then—

The fear twisted into fury.

And Jinx did what she did best.

She ran.

She turned—sabers deactivating as she sprinted toward the far edge of the fortress.

Viktor reacted instantly.

“No!”

He surged forward, reaching through the Force—

But she was already gone, disappearing into the rain and darkness.

Leaving him alone.

Again.

Viktor stood in the ruined courtyard, staring at the empty space where she had vanished.

The fortress was blaring. The storm raged on.

And for the first time since this nightmare began—

He didn’t know what to do.

He had killed Silco.

But he had lost Powder.

Again.

Viktor’s hands trembled as he deactivated his saber, rain running down his face.

But he wasn’t done.

He would find her.

Even if it took the rest of his life.

Because he had seen it.

For a single second, before she ran—

Powder had still been there.

Beneath the rage. Beneath the madness.

She was still there.

And that was all the reason he needed to keep going.

---

Viktor ran.

The rain was relentless, hammering down in thick, heavy sheets. It soaked through his robes, blurred his vision, turned the crumbling stone paths of the fortress into rivers of mud.

But he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

Jinx’s Force signature was erratic—wild, fractured, fading. She had always been fast, faster than most Jedi, faster than he could ever hope to be.

But she wasn’t running anymore.

She was breaking.

And Viktor was closing in.

Every step pulled him deeper into the storm, deeper into the chaos raging within her. The Dark Side pulsed violently in the air, coiling around her like a dying ember—erratic, flickering, desperate.

Then, through the downpour—

He saw her.

Collapsed in the mud.

Her body was curled in on itself, shaking violently. Her nails dug deep into her scalp, her breath coming in ragged, choked sobs.

She was screaming.

Not words. Just raw sound.

A sound of torment.

Her tether to herself was snapping.

Viktor swallowed hard, his chest aching at the sight.

She was succumbing.

Falling deeper into the abyss, slipping further and further away—

And he didn’t know how much of her was left to save.

Slowly, carefully, Viktor stepped forward, kneeling beside her in the mud.

“Powder,” he breathed, his voice barely audible over the storm.

She flinched.

Her fingers clawed at her temples, her entire body trembling.

“Get out of my head,” she snarled. Her voice was broken, cracking under the weight of whatever war was raging inside her skull.

Viktor’s heart clenched.

This is what the Dark Side does.

It destroys from within.

It corrodes the mind, warping reality, twisting every memory, every truth, until nothing remains but pain and obedience.

She was fighting it.

But she was losing.

Viktor reached out, slowly, carefully, pressing a firm, steady hand against her shoulder.

She tensed—her body coiling like a wounded animal, caught between the instinct to strike and the instinct to run.

But she didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Viktor exhaled.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Jinx let out a shuddering breath.

Her nails slackened slightly against her scalp, her body trembling in exhaustion.

Her mind was breaking apart.

And he didn’t know if he had the strength to hold her together.

Redemption was possible. He had seen it before—Jedi who had fallen, who had clawed their way back from the darkness.

But it was never clean.

Never gentle.

It was destructive. It took everything a person had left.

And Jinx—

Jinx had already lost so much.

Viktor swallowed hard. He pressed his palm against her head, fingers threading through the tangled strands of her rain-soaked hair.

She twitched, but didn’t fight him.

Didn’t push him away.

“Powder,” he whispered again, softer this time.

Jinx winced.

Her breath hitched.

For a moment, she looked like she was going to scream at him again. To deny it. To reject it.

But then—

Her lips parted, and a single sound escaped.

A whisper.

So faint. So small.

“Vik…”

Viktor’s heart stopped.

It was her.

Not Jinx.

Not the Sith apprentice.

Just Powder.

For a single, fragile moment—

She was still his student.

His Padawan.

Viktor exhaled shakily, pulling her closer.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ve got you.”

Jinx—Powder—let out a sharp, shuddering sob.

And in that moment—

He knew.

She wasn’t beyond saving.

She was still there.

But he didn’t know if she had the strength to come back.

Not yet.

Not alone.

And so, Viktor made a choice.

He wasn’t letting her go.

No matter how far she had fallen—

He was going to pull her back.

---

Hyperspace stretched endlessly outside the cockpit window, stars blurring into long streaks of white against the vast black void. The steady hum of the ship was the only sound filling the space—soft, constant, stable.

Viktor sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the trembling form beside him.

Jinx—Powder—was curled up against the wall of the ship’s small cabin, her knees drawn tightly to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself. Her braid trailed limply along the floor, heavy with dried mud.

She hadn’t spoken since they left the Sith fortress.

Hadn’t looked at him.

Hadn’t moved except for the barely-there tremors wracking her thin frame.

Viktor didn’t know if she was shaking from the cold or from the sheer fracture of her own mind.

Maybe both.

She was here, but she wasn’t.

She had let him take her.

She had followed him onto the ship.

But that didn’t mean she had come back.

Not yet.

Viktor exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. His body ached from the fight, from the bruises, from the sheer exhaustion of it all.

But none of that mattered.

Not now.

Instead, he moved carefully, lowering himself beside her on the floor.

She tensed slightly at his presence but didn’t pull away.

That was something.

Slowly, hesitantly, Viktor reached out and wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her close.

Jinx stiffened.

Her breath hitched.

For a moment, he thought she would fight him. That she would shove him away, snap, snarl, run.

But she didn’t.

She just sank.

Collapsed into him, head tilting against his shoulder, her whole body sagging like the weight of everything was finally too much.

Viktor exhaled, his chest aching with something deep and unbearable.

Carefully, he rested his forehead against hers.

Just like before.

Just like when she was his Padawan.

When she would curl up beside him in the Jedi Temple after a long training session, grumbling about how exhausting lightsaber drills were. When she would laugh at something ridiculous, bumping her head against his in lazy affection.

She had always been so physical in her trust.

And now, here she was—

A broken thing in his arms, barely holding on.

His grip tightened.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

Jinx’s fingers twitched against his robes.

She still didn’t speak.

But she didn’t move away either.

Viktor closed his eyes.

There was still so much to fix.

So much damage done.

The road ahead would not be easy.

The Council would never accept this.

They would see a Sith. A liability. A danger.

Not a girl who had been taken.

Not a Padawan who had been stolen.

But Viktor had never cared about their approval.

And if the Jedi Order thought he would let them decide what happened to her—

They were gravely mistaken.

He wasn’t giving her up.

Not now.

Not ever.

---

The ship landed on Coruscant in the dead of night.

Viktor moved quickly, keeping her hood low as he guided Jinx through the dimly lit corridors of the Jedi Temple’s lower levels. He didn’t want to risk the Council seeing her—not yet. Not until he knew what he was dealing with.

Jinx moved like a ghost at his side.

Her steps were slow, almost hesitant, as if each movement was foreign. She didn’t speak, didn’t meet his gaze, just followed where he led, her braid trailing behind her like a loose thread unraveling at the edges.

She was thinner. Too thin.

Her skin was paler than he remembered, almost sickly, her veins darkened from the lingering corruption of the Dark Side.

The Sith did this to her.

Silco did this to her.

And even now, away from him, she still wasn’t free.

Viktor clenched his fists.

He had to fix this.

But first—

She needed help.

Master Kirana was one of the few Jedi healers Viktor trusted.

She had no patience for the Council’s rigid politics, no blind faith in rules that refused to see nuance. She had spent most of the war tending to the broken and forgotten, the ones who had been left behind by both the Republic and the Jedi alike.

Which was why Viktor had brought Jinx to her.

The healer’s quarters were dimly lit, lined with shelves of ancient texts and bottles filled with medicinal extracts. Kirana stood near the center, arms crossed, watching them carefully as Viktor guided Jinx inside.

The Mirialan woman studied the girl for a long moment, her yellow-green eyes sharp with quiet calculation.

Then—

“You should have told me you were bringing a Sith into my home,” she said dryly.

Viktor exhaled. “She’s not—”

Kirana raised a brow. “Not what? Not dangerous?” She nodded toward Jinx. “Because I can feel her, Viktor. And she’s burning with the Dark Side.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened. “She’s sick.”

That, at least, Kirana did not deny.

She sighed, stepping closer, her gaze scanning over Jinx’s fragile frame. The girl barely reacted, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes downcast.

“The Dark Side corrodes the body,” Kirana murmured. “Prolonged exposure can weaken the organs, damage neural pathways.” Her brow furrowed. “It explains the tremors.”

Viktor’s chest ached. “Can you help her?”

Kirana didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she reached out, her hand hovering just above Jinx’s shoulder, barely skimming the air around her.

The Force reacted instantly—like touching the surface of a raging fire.

Jinx flinched.

Her breath hitched, her shoulders curling inward, a tremor shaking through her limbs.

Kirana withdrew, her expression unreadable.

“She’s still fighting it,” she murmured.

Viktor swallowed hard. “I know.”

The healer sighed, rubbing her temples. “I can treat the physical damage. The malnutrition, the exhaustion. But the rest?” She shook her head. “That’s up to her.”

Viktor looked at Jinx.

At the girl he had spent years searching for.

The girl who had been stolen, twisted, broken.

And yet, despite everything, despite the torment the Sith had carved into her mind—

She was still here.

---

Jinx lay on the healer’s cot, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The room was warm, dimly lit by soft blue lanterns that flickered in the still air. The scent of medicinal herbs lingered, carried by the gentle hum of the Force as Master Kirana worked.

She didn’t fight. Didn’t resist.

Didn’t speak.

She simply existed, curled in on herself as if trying to take up as little space as possible.

Viktor sat nearby, his elbows resting on his knees, watching with quiet, burning concern.

He had never seen her like this.

Not after battle. Not after the hardest missions. Not even after the Council had reprimanded her reckless nature, forcing her to sit in hours-long meditations she had despised.

She had always been defiant. Loud. Expressive.

But now—

Now, she was silent.

Kirana worked with delicate precision, pressing two fingers lightly against Jinx’s wrist, her brow furrowed in quiet focus. The Force pulsed gently under her touch, a slow, steady current of warmth seeking out the wounds hidden beneath flesh and bone.

“She’s dehydrated,” Kirana murmured. “Weakened. Her muscles have deteriorated from malnutrition, but the damage isn’t irreversible.”

Viktor exhaled. That was something.

Kirana’s expression, however, remained grim.

“But the Dark Side’s corruption is still inside her,” she continued. “It’s in her blood, her very cells. I can stabilize her, but I can’t purge it.”

Viktor clenched his fists. He had known that already.

This wasn’t something that could be healed overnight.

The Sith had restructured her. Torn her apart and stitched her back together into something else.

Undoing that damage would take time.

And time was the one thing the Jedi never gave to those who had fallen.

Jinx let out a slow, shaky breath, her fingers twitching slightly against the cot. She had barely reacted to the conversation, her expression unreadable.

But Viktor could feel it.

The fracture.

The war inside her, the one that had been raging since Naboo.

She wasn’t lost.

But she wasn’t back, either.

Kirana pulled away slightly, exhaling as she wiped her hands on a cloth. “She needs rest,” she said, glancing at Viktor. “And food. And time to remember what it means to be human again.”

Viktor nodded slowly.

Jinx shifted slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“...Why?”

Kirana paused. “Why what?”

Jinx’s fingers curled weakly into the blanket beneath her.

“Why are you helping me?”

Her voice was rough, hoarse from exhaustion. From the screams that had torn her throat raw back in the mud.

From the pain she had endured for years.

Kirana studied her carefully. “Because you need it.”

Jinx let out a quiet, breathy chuckle. It was hollow.

“The Jedi don’t help people like me.”

Viktor’s chest ached.

“You’re not ‘people like you,’” he murmured.

Jinx flinched.

For a brief second, she looked young again. Small. Vulnerable. Powder.

But then the walls slammed back into place.

She turned her face away, curling further into herself.

Viktor exhaled.

This was going to take time.

And no matter what the Council said—

No matter what the Jedi believed about redemption—

He would give it to her.

---

Viktor stayed with her.

Long after Kirana had finished treating her injuries, after the healer had retreated to her private quarters, he remained seated beside the cot, watching over Jinx as she lay curled beneath the thin blanket.

She hadn’t moved in hours.

Her breathing had slowed, her body still weak, but she wasn’t asleep.

Viktor knew.

She couldn’t sleep.

Not yet.

Not with everything inside her still shattering.

The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of Coruscant’s never-ending traffic. Even this deep inside the Temple, the sound of the city never truly faded.

Viktor exhaled slowly.

He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

He had fought through everything—through Sith, through silence, through the Council’s damnation—just to get her here.

To bring her home.

But what was home to her now?

He had spent years telling himself that if he could just find her, if he could just bring her back, then everything else would fall into place.

But now—

Now, he looked at her fragile form, at the way her fingers twitched unconsciously, as if still trying to grasp something unseen—

And he wasn’t sure there was anything left for her to come back to.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply.

“You should try to rest.”

Jinx didn’t answer.

She just curled in tighter, pulling the blanket over her head, as if she could disappear into the fabric.

Viktor swallowed.

She had always hated being sick.

Hated being seen as weak.

And now—

Now, she was both.

He hesitated, then slowly reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against her shoulder.

She tensed immediately.

But she didn’t pull away.

That was something.

Viktor shifted closer, carefully settling beside her on the edge of the cot. He didn’t press, didn’t speak—just rested his hand gently against her back.

And then, after a long moment—

She moved.

Not much.

Just enough to press her forehead lightly against his side.

Viktor exhaled, closing his eyes.

Carefully, he wrapped an arm around her, his grip firm but not constraining. His head rested against hers, just like it had when she was a child, when she used to fall asleep beside him after a long day of training.

For the first time since he had found her, she felt real again.

Jinx let out a slow, shaky breath, her fingers curling slightly against his robes.

And then, in the smallest, weakest whisper—

“...I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Viktor’s heart ached.

He pressed a firm hand against her back, grounding her.

“You’re Powder,” he murmured. “And that’s enough.”

Jinx let out a soft, shuddering breath.

She didn’t answer.

But—

She finally slept.

---

Days passed.

Jinx was no longer trembling. No longer sickly pale, no longer suffering the physical toll of the Dark Side’s corrosion.

Her Force signature had changed, too.

The darkness that had once clung to her like a second skin, seeping through every fiber of her being, was now… quiet.

Fading.

But she still wasn’t there.

Viktor had seen little progress in her behavior.

She barely spoke. Barely moved. She existed—and that was the most he could say.

She ate when he reminded her to. Drank the warm tea Kirana left out for her. Slept in uneasy fragments of time, waking up disoriented, as if the world around her wasn’t real.

She didn’t lash out. Didn’t resist.

But she didn’t heal, either.

She was still waiting for something.

And Viktor didn’t know what.

He sat beside her in their small shared space, watching as she stared at nothing.

The dim glow of Coruscant’s night lights filtered in through the viewport, casting soft blue hues across the chamber.

Viktor sighed, running a hand through his hair.

He had tried everything.

Speaking to her. Giving her space. Sitting in silence, waiting for her to say something.

Nothing worked.

And then—

An idea.

It was simple. Perhaps too simple.

But maybe…

Maybe it was familiar.

Viktor reached into his belt, pulling out a small holoprojector.

The same one he had used years ago, back when Powder was still his Padawan.

He turned it on.

A dim blue glow flickered to life in the air before them—grainy, a little aged, but still clear.

A training holo.

One of many he had made for her.

She had always watched them.

Complained about them, mocked how dull they were—

But she had always watched.

The tiny holographic image of Viktor appeared, standing in the center of a training room. His voice, slightly distorted through the playback, filled the quiet space.

"Form II is based on precision, not brute strength. The key to mastering it is—"

Jinx blinked.

Viktor noticed.

Her posture shifted slightly, head tilting just a fraction, eyes focusing on the projection.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t react outwardly.

But he saw it.

A flicker of recognition.

Something real.

So he let it play.

He sat beside her, watching as she watched—

And for the first time in days, he felt her presence again.

Not the shattered remains of a Sith apprentice.

Not the silence of a lost soul.

But something closer.

Something familiar.

Something like Powder.

---

Progress came in fragments.

Jinx still didn’t speak much.

But she no longer sat curled in on herself, lost in silence.

She began eating without him needing to remind her.

She watched him now, not just staring at nothing. Her gaze would flicker toward him when he entered the room, when he adjusted the windows to allow more light in, when he spoke.

She never responded.

But she was listening.

It was slow.

Painfully slow.

But Viktor had time.

And as long as she kept trying, so would he.

It happened in the quiet.

It always did.

They had spent another evening in their small space, watching old training holos. Jinx had shifted closer this time, her arms wrapped loosely around her knees instead of tightly gripping them.

She didn’t look as small anymore.

Still fragile, still hesitant—

But not trapped in herself.

Not as much.

The training holo played on, flickering light casting shadows over them.

"You’re relying too much on aggression, Powder. Form V is about control, not just overpowering your opponent—"

The holo-Powder in the recording groaned. “Ugh, but control is so boring—”

The real Jinx twitched.

Her fingers clenched in the fabric of her tunic.

Then—

Soft. Hesitant. Almost unconscious—

“…Master.”

Viktor’s breath stopped.

He turned sharply, eyes wide, his heart hammering in his chest.

She was staring down at her hands, fingers twitching, her expression unreadable.

But she had said it.

He wasn’t sure if it had been intentional. If she had even meant to call him that.

But she had.

And suddenly, Viktor was terrified he might actually cry.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight with something thick, something raw.

He forced himself to speak, his voice soft. Steady.

“I’m here.”

Jinx exhaled shakily.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t say anything else.

But she had.

It was everything.

---

Viktor had learned to move carefully around her.

Not out of fear.

But because she was afraid—afraid of something even she didn’t understand yet.

She had barely left his personal chambers since their return to Coruscant. She avoided the healers, avoided the corridors, avoided the very idea of the Jedi Temple outside of him.

She never asked to leave. Never even mentioned it.

She stayed in his space.

Always in the corner.

Or curled in his bed when he wasn’t there.

Like a ghost.

Like a shadow waiting to vanish if he ever let her out of sight.

But today—

Today, when Viktor returned from the Council chambers, he found her standing at the window.

She was watching the younglings.

They ran across the courtyard, laughing, their practice sabers clashing in harmless, playful duels. A few sat in circles, meditating with their instructors, their small hands folded neatly in their laps.

Training. Learning. Becoming.

Jinx was completely still, her expression unreadable as she watched them.

But Viktor felt it.

A shift.

A crack in the walls she had been holding up around herself.

Slowly, he stepped forward, careful not to break the moment.

“They remind me of you,” he said softly.

Jinx’s fingers twitched.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t react.

But she heard him.

Viktor exhaled.

“You used to watch them, too,” he continued, his voice light. “You used to roll your eyes and tell me how glad you were that you weren’t that young anymore.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Soft. So soft he barely heard it—

“…I don’t remember.”

Viktor’s breath hitched.

His chest ached.

But he didn’t push.

Didn’t correct her.

Instead, he stepped beside her, staring out the window with her.

“They always run,” he murmured. “Even when they don’t need to. Even when there’s no reason to rush.”

Jinx swallowed. Her voice was distant.

“…I used to be fast.”

Viktor turned slightly.

Something flickered in her eyes.

A memory? A thought? A feeling?

He didn’t know.

But it was something.

Carefully, gently, he nodded.

“You still are.”

Jinx exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers against the glass.

For a moment—

Just a moment—

She almost looked like Powder again.

---

It got better.

Slowly, carefully—like the first hints of dawn after a long, endless night—she started to live again.

Jinx—Powder—began moving around his quarters more.

She no longer sat curled in the corner, waiting in silence.

Now, she would pace absentmindedly, fingers skimming along the walls, the edges of his desk, the old books he barely touched. She would sit on the floor, knees tucked to her chest, watching the holos Viktor left for her—watching the same recordings she had mocked as a Padawan, but had always gone back to.

She still wasn’t fully there.

But she wasn’t gone, either.

One evening, Viktor came back from his latest mission briefing to find her floating small objects around the room with the Force.

Not for training.

Not for defense.

Just… playing.

She sat cross-legged on his bed, her face scrunched in quiet focus as she levitated a handful of trinkets in the air.

And Viktor recognized them.

The little keepsakes she had stashed in his quarters when she had first become his Padawan.

A tiny broken holoprojector she had once sworn she would fix but never did.

A Republic insignia she had found discarded in the Temple halls and kept for no reason at all.

A metal ring—too big for her, probably something she had stolen off a cargo ship just because it looked cool.

She had hidden them here.

All those years ago.

And now, she was touching them again.

Holding them.

Viktor’s chest ached.

He stepped inside, careful not to disrupt her.

Jinx’s fingers twitched slightly, and one of the trinkets spun lazily in the air.

“I thought you didn’t even like the Temple,” Viktor murmured, his voice light, teasing.

Jinx blinked, startled by the sound of his voice.

The objects wobbled—then dropped onto the bed in a soft clatter.

For a moment, she just looked at them.

Then, softly—

“…I don’t.”

But she picked up the ring, rolling it between her fingers.

And Viktor knew.

That wasn’t entirely true.

---

It was the laughter that nearly broke him.

One day, he passed by the door to his quarters and heard it.

Soft. Stifled. Almost like she was trying not to let it slip out.

But it was there.

A laugh.

Viktor froze in the doorway, staring at her.

Jinx was sitting cross-legged in front of a holo, her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking slightly.

She was watching one of the old sparring records—one where she had been particularly bad, fumbling a parry so hard that she had tripped over her own feet and sent herself flying straight into a training dummy.

Viktor remembered that day.

He remembered how she had insisted that the dummy had moved, that it had attacked her, that she had been ambushed.

She had laughed so hard that she couldn’t even stand.

And now—

Now, she was watching it again.

And laughing.

Viktor swallowed hard, trying to force down the sudden wave of relief crashing over him.

He stepped inside, clearing his throat slightly.

Jinx stiffened—like she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

For a second, she looked ready to retreat again.

But then—

She looked at him.

Really looked at him.

And then—

Slowly, hesitantly—

She grinned.

Viktor exhaled.

His heart ached with something too big to name.

She was coming back to him.

Piece by piece.

---

Alderaan was bright.

Too bright.

The sky stretched wide, endless blue streaked with wisps of white clouds. Rolling green hills stretched far beyond the city’s edge, dotted with ancient stone structures and shimmering lakes. The air smelled clean—fresh mountain air mixed with the faint scent of wildflowers carried on the breeze.

Jinx hated it.

It was too open. Too exposed.

She sat on the edge of a stone balcony, arms draped over her knees, watching as diplomats and Jedi moved below in quiet conversation. Alderaanian nobility dressed in flowing robes, their voices calm and polite, their movements graceful.

Everything was soft here. Elegant. Beautiful.

She didn’t belong here.

She knew it.

Viktor had insisted she come.

She hadn’t argued.

She never really argued with him anymore.

But that didn’t mean she liked it.

Behind her, she heard Viktor’s voice—low, level, speaking with someone in diplomatic tones. Some senator. Some political matter she didn’t care about.

She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, her fingers twitching slightly.

It was too quiet here.

Too different from the dark corridors of Silco’s fortress, from the suffocating red glow of emergency lights, from the weight of the Dark Side pressing into her skull.

She had spent years surrounded by walls.

Now, standing beneath this open sky, she felt—

Small.

Jinx inhaled slowly, exhaling through her nose.

She should have stayed on Coruscant.

She didn’t deserve to be here.

Didn’t deserve the peace Alderaan offered.

Not after everything she had done.

Not after everything she had become.

Her fingers curled against the stone.

Her Force signature had changed—Viktor had told her so. The Dark Side no longer coiled around her like a living thing. It had loosened its grip.

But she could still feel it.

Lurking. Watching.

Waiting for her to fall back in.

And part of her wondered if that was where she belonged.

---

She didn’t turn when Viktor approached.

She didn’t have to.

She felt him.

Familiar. Constant. Steady in a way nothing else was.

He stopped beside her, leaning against the balcony railing.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Jinx liked that about him.

He never forced conversation.

Never demanded answers she wasn’t ready to give.

Instead, he just existed beside her.

After a long silence, Viktor finally said, “What do you think?”

Jinx snorted softly. “Too fancy.”

Viktor hummed, amused. “That’s what you said about Naboo.”

Jinx shrugged. “I stand by it.”

Another stretch of silence.

Then, softer—

“You used to say you wanted to visit Alderaan.”

Jinx blinked, her grip tightening on her sleeve.

She hadn’t remembered that.

Not until just now.

A vague, distant memory—her younger self rambling about wanting to see every world in the Republic, about never staying in one place too long.

She had wanted freedom.

And now—

Now, she didn’t know what to do with it.

Jinx exhaled sharply, rubbing her arms. “Guess I changed.”

Viktor watched her carefully.

Then—

“I know.”

Jinx clenched her jaw.

She expected him to say more.

Expected him to try to convince her otherwise.

But he didn’t.

Because Viktor wasn’t here to tell her who she used to be.

He was here to remind her that she was still here.

---

Jinx still wasn’t sure why she had come.

She told herself it was because Viktor had asked, and she didn’t have the energy to argue. But that wasn’t the truth, was it?

Some small part of her—some fragile, barely-there thread—wanted to see what lay beyond the walls of his personal chambers on Coruscant.

But Alderaan was too much. Too open. Too quiet.

And she didn’t trust quiet places.

Quiet meant waiting. Watching. The moment before a strike.

The fortress had been quiet, too—when Silco wanted it to be.

She shivered, arms tightening around herself as she watched the distant mountain peaks.

The fresh air was wrong. It didn’t sting her throat like the recycled air of the Sith stronghold. The skies didn’t scream with battle, with fire, with pain.

It should have been comforting.

Instead, it felt foreign.

Like she wasn’t meant to be here.

Like she wasn’t meant to exist in a place untouched by war.

The Dark Side had never belonged here.

And neither had she.

Jinx dug her nails into her sleeves, curling inward.

She should go back inside. Away from all this light.

But then—

“You’re overthinking again.”

Viktor’s voice.

Not scolding. Not pushing. Just there.

Jinx blinked.

She hadn’t heard him approach, but he was beside her again, leaning against the balcony railing, his gaze steady and knowing.

She exhaled sharply, looking away.

“Not thinking about anything.”

Viktor huffed softly. “Liar.”

Jinx scowled, but there was no real bite behind it.

She expected him to say more—to press—but he didn’t.

He just leaned beside her, watching the sky like they were simply existing together.

The silence stretched.

And then, slowly—hesitantly—Jinx spoke.

“…I don’t like it here.”

Viktor turned slightly, studying her. “Why?”

Jinx licked her lips, fingers twitching against the stone. “It’s too… open.”

Viktor hummed in understanding. “Makes you feel exposed?”

Jinx swallowed. “Yeah.”

Another silence.

Then, softer—

“You’re safe, Powder.”

Jinx flinched.

Not violently.

Not angrily.

But like the name had hit something deep inside her.

Viktor felt it.

For a long moment, she didn’t respond.

Then, almost too quietly—

“I don’t feel safe.”

Viktor exhaled slowly.

Carefully, cautiously, he reached out—his hand barely brushing against hers on the balcony railing.

Not forcing.

Not demanding.

Just offering.

And after a long, tense second—

Jinx didn’t pull away.

She didn’t grab his hand. Didn’t lean into him.

But she let him stay.

---

Aldera, the city capital of Alderaan was a place of pristine halls and quiet conversations, but Viktor knew that wasn’t what she needed.

She needed something real.

Something untouched by walls, by control, by the ever-present weight of expectation.

So when he had a break from his duties, he took her beyond the city’s edge, past the stone paths of the capital, into the dense forests where the Order’s influence faded into the natural.

It was beautiful here.

Towering trees stretched toward the sky, their broad leaves catching the golden sunlight that filtered through the canopy. The air smelled clean, carrying the scent of moss, damp earth, and something sweeter—something alive.

Jinx walked beside him, her steps slow but steady. She hadn’t spoken much since they left the Temple.

But she hadn’t resisted, either.

And when they reached a clearing where yellow flowers grew in soft, clustered patches along the hillside, Viktor stopped.

Jinx did, too.

She stared at the blooms for a long moment.

Then, carefully, she stepped forward, kneeling among them.

She reached out, brushing her fingertips against the petals. They bent easily under her touch, swaying slightly in the breeze.

Viktor didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just watched.

Watched as she hesitated.

Watched as she breathed.

A slow, deep inhale through her nose—

The scent of the flowers filled her lungs.

Jinx let out the breath shakily, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

It was small.

Barely noticeable.

But Viktor saw it.

He felt something in the Force shift—just the faintest flicker.

A moment of peace.

A moment where the weight on her shoulders lifted, even if only for a second.

She stayed like that for a long time.

Viktor stayed with her.

Jinx stood among the flowers, her fingers brushing absently against her palm, carrying the faint trace of their scent.

She took another deep breath—her lungs filled with something that wasn’t thick, something that wasn’t damp with the rot of a Sith stronghold.

It was clean.

Fresh.

She let it settle inside her, let it linger.

Viktor watched her carefully, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

Then, softly—

“Go.”

Jinx frowned, turning to him. “What?”

Viktor gestured toward the open expanse of grassland stretching beyond them. “Run.”

Jinx blinked. “Run?”

He chuckled, nodding. “You’ve always loved it. Ever since you were a youngling.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes warm with quiet memory. “Even as my Padawan, you never could sit still.”

Jinx hesitated.

She looked between him and the open field, her fingers curling slightly against her tunic.

Her body was still thin, still recovering, but she was stronger now. She could run.

But something inside her still doubted.

Still feared.

Slowly, her gaze flickered back to him, her expression guarded.

“…Are you going to leave?”

Viktor’s heart clenched.

She still didn’t trust it.

Didn’t trust him.

Not completely.

Not yet.

But he had time.

So he shook his head, voice steady, unwavering.

“I’ll be right here,” he promised. “I won’t move. I won’t leave. I’ll stand in this exact spot until you come back.”

Jinx studied him, searching his face for any sign of deception, any hidden trick.

He let her look.

And after a long, long moment—

She turned back toward the open expanse.

Her fingers twitched once.

Then—

She took off.

Her boots kicked up dirt as she sprinted, her braid whipping behind her, the wind rushing past her ears.

She didn’t think.

Didn’t question.

She just ran.

---

The first few strides were uncertain. Her muscles still weak from years of rigid training, of kneeling in silence, of waiting for orders that came with pain if she hesitated.

But soon, the movements became natural.

Familiar.

Her body remembered this.

The way her feet barely kissed the ground before lifting off again. The way the wind rushed against her face, sharp and real. The way her arms pumped at her sides, her breath quick but steady, her lungs full.

Not with the recycled air of a starship.

Not with the damp, stagnant cold of the Sith fortress.

But this.

The open sky.

The fields stretching forever.

Freedom.

She ran faster, her boots pounding against the earth, her heart hammering in her chest.

For the first time in so long, there were no chains on her wrists.

No voice whispering in her ear, telling her where to go, what to be, how to kill.

No heavy shadow curling in her mind, reminding her that she belonged in the dark.

Because here—

Here, there was no dark.

Only wind.

Only breath.

Only her.

Jinx let out a sharp, breathless laugh, the sound surprising even herself.

It wasn’t mocking.

Wasn’t bitter.

It was pure.

And for the first time in years—

She felt alive.

Viktor stayed exactly where he said he would.

His boots planted in the dirt, hands in his robes, watching.

He had no idea what was going through her mind as she sprinted across the field.

But he didn’t need to.

He saw it.

The way her body uncoiled, no longer a hunched, curled-in thing waiting to disappear. The way she moved without fear.

And the sound—

The laughter.

The real laughter.

Something swelled in his chest, raw and aching.

It had been so long since he had heard her laugh like that.

Not the hollow, broken laughter she used to hide behind.

Not the sharp-edged amusement of a Sith who had been told the Jedi were weak.

But something real.

Something hers.

He swallowed, his throat tight.

And still, he didn’t move.

Didn’t chase after her.

Didn’t call her back.

He just waited.

Because that’s what she needed.

To know that when she turned around—

He would still be there.

And when she did—

When she finally returned, chest heaving, braid windblown, eyes brighter than he had seen them in weeks—

She ran back to him.

 

Chapter 99: The Thing in the Dark

Summary:

Jinx didn’t believe in fate.

She didn’t believe in destiny, in prophecies, in grand cosmic plans written in the stars.

But this—this moment, standing in the shattered ruins of the Venire estate, blood on her hands, the air thick with magic that made her skin crawl—felt a hell of a lot like something she’d never be able to take back.

Because Viktor was dying.

And if she didn’t do something soon, he wasn’t the only one who would.

It started with the Duke.

Notes:

Esa makes a cameo appearance in this one!

The Venire estate was a place of shadows.

It was the first thing Jinx noticed when she stepped past the wrought-iron gates, boots crunching over frost-bitten stone. The manor was massive—too large for the number of people inside it, its towering spires swallowed by a gray winter sky. Servants moved like ghosts in the courtyard, heads bowed, voices hushed. The whole place felt wrong. Not haunted, exactly. More like it had been built around something that shouldn’t be disturbed.

Jinx rolled her shoulders and grinned. Neat.

She hadn’t expected to be sent here. When the Academy had given her new orders, she’d assumed it would be the usual: bounty hunting, mercenary work, maybe a little light arson on behalf of the Council. Instead, she got this—a personal summons from Duke Venire himself, the kind of thing people didn’t turn down if they wanted to keep their heads.

Her new assignment? Babysitting.

Well, she thought, adjusting the strap of her satchel as a stiff-backed steward led her through the main hall, not just babysitting.

Jinx had been hired to serve as the personal maid, caretaker, and guard for the Duke’s eldest son, Viktor Venire. A young master too sickly to leave the manor, too weak to fight, too important to die. Her job was simple: keep him safe. Keep him company. Make sure he didn’t keel over before the Duke had whatever use he needed out of him.

It all sounded terribly dull.

But then, nothing about this place felt normal.

She could sense it in the air—the faint hum of magic, old and quiet, wrapped into the very bones of the estate. It prickled at the edges of her awareness, something deep and coiled beneath the marble floors.

Her fingers twitched, eager to dig into the mystery. Later, she promised herself. First, she had to meet the kid.

The steward stopped in front of a set of double doors and knocked once. “Young Master, your new attendant has arrived.”

No response.

Jinx raised an eyebrow, but the steward didn’t react. Just opened the doors and gestured for her to enter. She stepped past him, expecting… she wasn’t sure. A noble brat in a grand, over-decorated chamber, maybe.

Instead, she found a dimly lit study, filled with the scent of old parchment and burning wax. Bookshelves lined the walls, stacked with volumes that looked barely touched. A single lantern flickered on a desk near the window, its light casting long, warped shadows.

And there, seated in an armchair, was Viktor.

Jinx tilted her head, studying him.

He was pale. Unnaturally so. His skin was almost translucent beneath the glow of the lantern, the sharp angles of his face carved by too many sleepless nights. A cane rested against the arm of his chair, his left hand curled loosely around its handle. He was dressed in dark, elegant clothes—formal, but not extravagant.

But it was his eyes that caught her attention.

Golden. Bright. The kind of color that should’ve been warm, but wasn’t. They glowed just faintly in the dim light, watching her with a calm, unreadable expression.

She knew, instinctively, that they weren’t normal.

That he wasn’t normal.

Viktor didn’t speak at first. Just regarded her with quiet curiosity, as if deciding something. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled softly and closed the book in his lap.

“They sent you?” His voice was quiet. Not weak, exactly—measured. Carefully restrained.

Jinx smirked, setting her satchel down with a thud. “Yep. Don’t sound so thrilled, yeah?”

Viktor studied her for another moment. Then, as if coming to some private conclusion, he leaned back slightly and murmured, almost to himself:

“…Interesting.”

Jinx wasn’t sure what that meant, but she had the distinct feeling she was about to find out.

---

The Venire estate was boring.

At least, that was Jinx’s first impression.

Her days settled into a routine: wake up, check on Viktor, make sure he ate something (or at least pretended to), and hover around like a glorified bodyguard in a maid’s uniform. The whole thing felt ridiculous. She wasn’t cut out for this proper servant nonsense—polishing silverware, arranging bookshelves, dusting chandeliers that no one ever looked at.

So, she didn’t bother.

Instead, she focused on what she was actually good at: keeping people from dying.

And Viktor?

Viktor was weird.

Not in the spoiled noble kind of way—he didn’t throw tantrums, didn’t sneer, didn’t care if she spoke out of turn. He was just... off. Quiet. Unnaturally still. Even on days when his illness left him weak, hunched over books and scribbling in cramped, unreadable handwriting, he never seemed fragile.

If anything, he felt like the opposite.

Like something waiting.

It started with little things.

The manor was always cold—too cold, even with the fireplaces burning.

Viktor rarely ate. She’d bring him meals, and he’d pick at them absently, more out of politeness than hunger.

The nights were too quiet. She never heard him move in his room. Never heard him cough or shift in his sleep.

Sometimes, she swore his reflection in the window didn’t move quite right.

Jinx wasn’t stupid. She noticed.

But she didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Instead, she watched.

And the more she watched, the stranger things became.

The manor wasn’t haunted. Not exactly. But something about it felt wrong.

Late at night, when the halls were empty and even the servants had gone to sleep, she’d hear it—soft whispers, like voices seeping through the cracks in the walls.

She couldn’t make out the words.

But the tone? The feeling?

It wasn’t human.

Jinx wasn’t the only one who noticed. The other servants avoided Viktor’s wing of the manor. They moved quickly through the halls, footsteps brisk, shoulders tense. Some outright refused to go near his room after dark.

One night, she caught a maid muttering prayers beneath her breath after delivering a tray of tea to Viktor’s study.

When Jinx asked about it, the woman’s face paled.

“He shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

Jinx leaned in, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

The maid swallowed hard, shaking her head. “I—I shouldn’t have said anything.” And then she hurried away before Jinx could press further.

The first time Jinx really saw it, she’d been lounging in Viktor’s study, tossing a coin between her fingers while he worked.

The room was dim, lit only by a few scattered candles. She wasn’t really paying attention—just watching the coin flash in the low light—until something in the corner of her eye moved.

She turned her head.

The shadows near Viktor’s chair weren’t right.

They stretched too far, bending at odd angles, twisting in a way that didn’t match the flickering of the flames.

For a second, she thought it was a trick of the light.

Then she saw his hand resting on the arm of the chair—long fingers relaxed, pale against the dark wood.

And beneath them, the shadows curled.

Not like normal darkness.

Like something alive.

Jinx felt something cold slither down her spine.

She grinned.

"Y’know," she said lazily, flipping the coin into the air, "normal people’s shadows don’t do that."

Viktor’s fingers stilled. His golden eyes lifted from his book, settling on her with unreadable calm.

For a moment, he simply watched her. Then, slowly, his lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

"Is that so?" he murmured.

And just like that, the shadows settled.

Jinx let the silence stretch between them, tapping the coin against her knee.

She could press him for answers.

But where was the fun in that?

Instead, she smirked. “Eh, whatever. Not my problem.”

Viktor’s head tilted slightly, as if considering her.

“…Interesting.”

That was the second time he’d said that about her.

Jinx figured she was onto something.

---

Jinx didn’t usually let people get close.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t—it was just more fun to keep things light, keep moving. She was a wildfire, a storm, a wandering blade, a mage who had long since stopped caring about the gilded chains of the Tower.

But Viktor was interesting.

And more importantly, he listened.

Not in the stiff, polite way that nobles did when they humored the lower classes. Not with the wary detachment of a man waiting for her to prove herself useful or entertaining.

No—Viktor listened like he was collecting her, filing away every word, every glance, every careless movement. Like she was a puzzle he intended to solve.

Jinx liked that.

So, slowly, carefully, she started showing him things.

Little things.

Things that didn’t matter.

It started with flickering flames, little sparks dancing between her fingertips when she got bored during his endless reading sessions. Then, a floating coin, spinning lazily in the air as she lounged in the library.

Small magic. Harmless tricks.

Nothing to betray what she had once been.

Nothing to reveal that she had stood in the Tower of Mages, a prized student before she had walked away from it all.

Viktor never commented.

But he watched.

And that was enough.

---

The night she introduced him to Esa, the manor was quiet—too quiet, the kind of stillness that pressed against the walls like a held breath.

Jinx sat cross-legged on the floor of Viktor’s study, idly carving a rune into the wood with a flick of her nail. He sat nearby, leafing through an old tome, his golden eyes shifting between the pages and her absentminded movements.

“You ever had a familiar?” she asked suddenly.

Viktor looked up. “No.”

His voice was thoughtful, like he had considered it before but never followed through.

Jinx grinned. “Wanna see mine?”

Something flickered behind his expression—not quite surprise, but something close.

She hadn’t meant to say it.

Esa wasn’t something she showed people.

She could count on one hand how many people had seen him—because Esa was cute, and he was hers, and she was selfish.

But for some reason, she wanted to see how Viktor would react.

So she reached into her coat, fingers brushing the silver pendant against her chest. She murmured a word—soft, careful, a name only she could give.

And then, with a shimmer of air, he appeared.

Esa was tiny, no taller than Jinx’s hand, with delicate features and a long, coiling tail of iridescent scales. His skin was smooth, his limbs thin and elegant. He was dressed impeccably—as he always was—in a miniature waistcoat, pristine white cuffs at his wrists, his tiny golden spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose.

The moment he materialized, his tail coiled anxiously around Jinx’s wrist. His little hands adjusted his cuffs before he glanced up at Viktor—then immediately shrank back, his slitted eyes going wide.

“…This is highly irregular,” Esa muttered, his voice soft and refined, like an anxious scholar caught in the wrong section of the library.

Jinx snickered. “C’mon, Esa. Be polite.”

Esa didn’t look convinced. His tail flicked, his little hands smoothing out a wrinkle that didn’t exist in his waistcoat.

“Master Viktor,” he said carefully, inclining his head in an almost painfully formal bow.

Viktor, for once, looked genuinely intrigued. He leaned forward, studying Esa with something between curiosity and amusement.

“I did not expect you to have a familiar,” he murmured.

“Yeah, well.” Jinx grinned, lightly scratching under Esa’s tiny chin. He made a distressed huff but didn’t pull away. “I like to keep him to myself.”

Viktor’s gaze flicked between them. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached out a hand—pale, elegant fingers resting on the arm of his chair.

Esa froze.

Jinx watched as the little serpent-man’s tail coiled tighter around her wrist, his golden eyes darting toward Viktor’s hand—then up to Viktor’s face.

Then, to her surprise, Esa did something he had never done before.

He uncoiled himself from Jinx’s wrist.

And inched forward.

Just slightly.

Not touching. Not close.

But acknowledging.

Jinx blinked. Esa had always been cautious, but something about the way he regarded Viktor was… different.

Not quite fear. Not quite curiosity.

Something in between.

Viktor watched him with the same unreadable expression he always had.

Then, very quietly, he murmured, “…Interesting.”

Jinx exhaled through her nose, smirking. “Y’know, if you keep saying that, I’m gonna start thinking you like having me around.”

Viktor’s lips curved—not quite a smile, but something close.

“Perhaps,” he murmured.

And just like that, something settled between them.

A silent understanding. A quiet bond.

Something inevitable.

Something dangerous.

---

Jinx was never the type to dig too deep into things.

She liked explosions, not riddles. Chaos, not careful unraveling. If something looked like a trap, her usual method of dealing with it was to spring it and see what happened.

But Viktor was interesting.

And the more time she spent with him, the more she noticed.

Little things, at first.

Then, things she couldn’t ignore.

Viktor never got tired. Jinx could spend all day bouncing between tasks—guard duty, mage duty, annoying-Viktor duty—and by the time night fell, she was ready to crash. Viktor, though? He never seemed exhausted. His body was frail, sure, but his mind never lagged. He could stay up reading for days, pouring over research and equations with the same calm focus.

She never heard him breathe. Not when he slept. Not when he spoke. Sometimes, she found herself watching his chest, waiting for the rise and fall that never quite came.

His wounds healed too quickly—or sometimes didn’t bleed at all. One evening, he nicked his finger on a quill knife. Jinx had seen it—seen the blade bite into his skin, the way it should have drawn blood. But it hadn’t. Instead, the cut sealed itself almost instantly, as if the wound had never happened.

The way the shadows clung to him. At first, she thought it was just a trick of the candlelight. But now she was sure. Shadows stretched toward him, bending unnaturally. Not in an obvious, monstrous way—but subtly. Lovingly. Like they recognized him.

Jinx wasn’t stupid.

Viktor wasn’t human.

And yet, she still didn’t care.

But damn, was she curious.

Jinx wasn’t one for subtlety. If she wanted something, she usually just took it. But when it came to Viktor, things were… delicate.

So she went to the one person who should have had answers: Duke Venire.

She found him in his private study, a place that smelled of old books and ink, filled with darkwood furniture that felt too heavy, too permanent.

The Duke barely looked up as she entered, his pen scratching across parchment. “Miss Jinx.”

“Yeah, yeah, all formalities and whatever.” She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I got a question.”

The Duke’s quill paused. Slowly, he raised his gaze, pale and calculating. “I assume this is about Viktor.”

Jinx smirked. “You assume right.”

The Duke exhaled, setting his quill down with deliberate care. “What do you wish to know?”

Jinx shrugged, tilting her head. “What is he?”

Silence.

The Duke’s expression didn’t change, but something in the room shifted.

“…He is my son.” The words were measured. Even.

Jinx raised an eyebrow. “That all?”

The Duke’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That is all you need to know.”

Jinx clicked her tongue. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” She pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer. “I need to know what I’m protecting. You hired me, remember? Hard to guard someone when I don’t know what could actually kill him.”

The Duke studied her, his gaze sharp as a dagger’s edge.

Then, after a long moment, he exhaled and murmured, “He was not born.”

Jinx stilled.

“…What?”

The Duke looked down at his desk, fingers tracing the worn edge of a leather-bound ledger. “He was made.”

A chill crawled down Jinx’s spine.

She had expected half-truths, maybe some cryptic noble nonsense. But this?

This was something else.

She opened her mouth to demand more, but the Duke’s expression turned cold. Final.

“This conversation is over.”

And just like that, she was dismissed.

Jinx hated when people told her no.

So she did what she did best: ignored orders and went looking for answers herself.

The Venire estate had a sprawling library—too big, too old, filled with books no sane noble family should have access to. It was a historian’s dream. A mage’s nightmare.

She started sneaking in at night, combing through old records, personal journals, anything that looked remotely useful.

What she found made her stomach turn.

Viktor’s birth records didn’t exist. There was no record of his mother, no mention of a birthdate—only his name, appearing suddenly in the family registry with no explanation.

Old alchemical texts spoke of the "Hollow Vessel." An ancient practice—forbidden—in which something not human was sealed inside a mortal form.

Mentions of an “Unfinished Creation.” Scribbled notes, fragmented letters, all referencing something the Duke had been working on for decades. Something powerful. Something unnatural.

Jinx sat back against the towering shelves, heart hammering.

The Duke hadn’t just hidden Viktor’s origins.

He had built them.

She found Viktor in his study, hunched over an open book, golden eyes reflecting candlelight.

She didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not human.”

Viktor’s quill stilled. Slowly, he looked up.

Jinx folded her arms. “Don’t bother denying it. I did my homework.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, very softly, he said, “And what conclusion have you come to?”

Jinx met his gaze. “You were made.”

Viktor studied her—calm, unreadable. Then, instead of answering, he asked, “Does it frighten you?”

Jinx smirked. “Nah.”

That surprised him. She saw the flicker of it—just a brief, quiet shift in his expression.

Then, as if testing her, he leaned forward slightly.

The candles flickered. The room darkened, unnaturally so. Shadows coiled at his feet, curling around the base of his chair like living things. His golden eyes gleamed, sharper than before.

Wrong.

Most people would have run.

Jinx?

She grinned.

“I’ve seen worse,” she said, dropping lazily into the chair across from him.

Viktor studied her for a long moment.

Then, finally—finally—he smiled.

“…Interesting.”

Jinx snorted. “Yeah, yeah. You keep saying that.” She leaned back, stretching her arms behind her head. “So, you gonna tell me what you actually are, or do I gotta keep guessing?”

Viktor tilted his head. “What do you believe I am?”

Jinx thought about it. The golden eyes, the stillness, the way shadows loved him. The way he didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t breathe like he should.

Something old. Something sealed. Something waiting.

She grinned. “Dunno yet. But I’ll figure it out.”

Viktor’s gaze lingered on her, something unreadable in the depths of his eyes. Then, finally, he murmured:

“I have no doubt.”

And just like that, Jinx knew.

Whatever he was—whatever he had been made to be—she wasn’t leaving.

Because now, it wasn’t just a mystery.

It was hers.

---

Viktor was running out of time.

Jinx could see it in the way his body moved—how his hands trembled when he gripped his cane, how his breaths, when he remembered to take them, grew shallow and infrequent. The golden light in his eyes flickered like a dying ember, barely clinging to its glow.

Something inside him was breaking.

And whatever was sealed beneath his skin?

It was waking up.

Jinx didn’t get many nights off. But when she did, she spent them on the manor rooftops, lying flat against the cold stone and staring up at the sky.

She was up there when the attack happened.

The first sign was the silence.

No wind. No rustling leaves. No distant murmurs of servants moving through the halls below.

Then came the smell—a sharp, acrid scent that made her nose wrinkle. Magic. The kind that burned.

Then came the screams.

Jinx sat up. From her vantage point, she saw figures moving through the courtyard—not human, not even alive in the way that normal things were. They were twisted things, their forms shifting like ink spilling in water, bodies half-there, half-wrong.

Not assassins. Not bandits.

These were hunters.

And they were here for Viktor.

Jinx grinned, cracked her knuckles, and leapt down to join the fun.

The first wave of creatures was easy enough. She burned through them, lightning crackling from her fingertips, the air thick with the scent of charred flesh.

But there were too many.

And worse—Viktor wasn’t running.

Jinx found him standing in the courtyard, his cane planted firmly against the ground, watching the slaughter unfold with unreadable eyes.

She skidded to a stop next to him, panting. “Oi, rich boy, move your ass! This ain’t the time for a dramatic stare-off.”

Viktor didn’t answer.

His gaze was locked on the creatures surrounding them—dark, shapeless things whispering in voices that scraped against reality.

They spoke in a language Jinx didn’t know.

But Viktor did.

Because when they hissed their words, something in him shifted.

His fingers twitched. The air around him turned wrong—dense, heavy, pressing against her skin like the weight of the ocean floor.

Jinx knew magic. She had spent years surrounded by it, had trained in its depths. But this?

This wasn’t magic.

This was something older.

The nearest creature lunged—too fast, too fluid, its limbs twisting unnaturally—

And Viktor looked at it.

Just looked.

The thing convulsed mid-air. Its body twisted in on itself, dark limbs writhing, bones snapping beneath the weight of something unseen. It didn’t scream. It couldn’t. Its mouth had already disappeared.

Then it collapsed into nothing.

Jinx stared.

Viktor exhaled, slow and steady. And when he turned to look at her—

His eyes weren’t human anymore.

The gold had deepened, molten and shifting, like something else was staring at her from beneath his skin.

“Vik,” Jinx said slowly, “What the hell was that?”

Viktor blinked. The molten glow dimmed, just slightly. He tilted his head.

“…You are still here.”

Jinx snorted. “Duh.”

He studied her for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression.

Then, softly, he said, “Interesting.”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that.”

But deep down, she knew.

This was different.

This was dangerous.

And she didn’t care.

She grinned, cracking her knuckles. “C’mon, then. If you’re done being spooky, go back to your room while I clean up the rest of these bastards.”

Viktor hesitated—just for a second. Then, his lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Very well.”

And together, they moved.

---

Jinx had always believed that people fell into one of two categories: those who feared the unknown, and those who ran straight into it, grinning.

She was firmly in the second group.

Viktor, though?

Viktor wasn’t even on the map.

He wasn’t afraid of what he was.

And he wasn’t running from it, either.

He just existed—something unnatural wrapped in a frail, human shape, watching the world with golden eyes that saw far too much.

Most people would have been horrified after what happened in the courtyard.

Jinx?

She was fascinated.

After the attack, the manor was quiet. Too quiet. The servants were shaken. Some left. Others kept their heads down, pretending nothing had happened.

Jinx, on the other hand, made herself comfortable in Viktor’s study, stretching out across his armchair while he read.

“So,” she drawled, flipping a dagger between her fingers. “You gonna tell me what that was all about?”

Viktor didn’t look up from his book. “What do you mean?”

Jinx snorted. “Oh, I dunno. The whole melting reality with your eyeballs thing? That seemed a little important.”

Viktor turned a page. “It was necessary.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Y’know, most people, when backed into a corner, use something simple. Swords. Magic. Not—” She gestured vaguely. “—whatever the hell that was.”

Viktor finally looked up. His gaze was steady. Unreadable. “Would you rather I had let them kill me?”

Jinx frowned. “That’s not what I—”

But Viktor was already speaking again.

“You wished to keep me safe.” His fingers traced the edge of his book, slow and thoughtful. “And so, I did as you asked.”

Jinx exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, but—”

She stopped.

Because there was something in his voice.

Something dangerous.

Not a threat. Not anger.

Just acceptance.

Like he had known, all along, that eventually she would look at him and see something wrong.

Something not meant to exist.

And that she would leave.

Jinx stared at him for a long moment.

Then, she grinned.

“Look,” she said, propping her feet up on the desk, “I’ve seen a lot of weird shit in my time. So you’re gonna have to do way better than that to scare me off.”

Viktor blinked.

Just once.

Something in him shifted, like a string pulled too tight had suddenly gone slack.

“…Interesting.”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “You really gotta get some new material.”

But Viktor didn’t answer.

He only smiled.

A real one, this time.

A quiet, knowing, almost relieved kind of smile.

And that was that.

Jinx didn’t ask him for explanations after that.

And Viktor?

He didn’t offer them.

Because in the end, it didn’t matter.

She was still here.

---

Jinx didn’t believe in fate.

She didn’t believe in destiny, in prophecies, in grand cosmic plans written in the stars.

But this—this moment, standing in the shattered ruins of the Venire estate, blood on her hands, the air thick with magic that made her skin crawl—felt a hell of a lot like something she’d never be able to take back.

Because Viktor was dying.

And if she didn’t do something soon, he wasn’t the only one who would.

It started with the Duke.

Jinx had known, from the second she met the old bastard, that he was hiding something. But she hadn’t realized how much until she overheard him speaking with the remaining members of his inner circle, locked away in his private chambers.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

(Okay, maybe she had. A little.)

But the moment she heard Viktor’s name, she pressed herself against the cold stone wall and listened.

And what she heard made her blood boil.

Viktor was never meant to live past a certain point. The Duke had always planned for his body to break down, for the thing inside him to awaken.

He had been created, not as a son, but as a vessel. A cage to contain something ancient. Something old enough to make even the Duke speak in hushed, reverent tones.

And when Viktor died, that thing would be set free.

Jinx’s grip on her dagger tightened.

She had known Viktor wasn’t human.

She had known he wasn’t normal.

But she hadn’t realized he had been doomed from the start.

And she sure as hell wasn’t about to let things play out the way the Duke wanted.

She tried to warn Viktor.

Tried to drag him out of the manor, tried to tell him they needed to leave, now, before his father could—

But it was too late.

The Duke had been waiting for this moment.

And the second Jinx turned her back, they came.

Not assassins.

Not hunters.

Something worse.

Jinx had fought plenty of things in her time. Mercenaries. Mages. Even the occasional demon that had wandered too far from its summoning circle.

But these things?

They weren’t meant to be fought.

They weren’t even meant to be.

They poured into the estate, slithering from the shadows, bodies warping and twisting, whispering in voices that scraped against the inside of her skull.

She barely had time to react before they swarmed Viktor.

And the last thing she saw before the world shattered was the Duke standing at the top of the grand staircase, watching as his son collapsed, his golden eyes flickering—

And the shadows tore him apart from the inside.

The air was thick with smoke and something wrong—magic that pulsed like a heartbeat, shadows writhing like wounded animals.

She staggered ton her feet.

And then she saw him.

Or what was left of him.

Viktor was still standing.

But barely.

His body was breaking apart, his skin cracked with golden light spilling through the fractures. His cane was gone, lost in the wreckage. His left hand twitched, fingers curling and uncurling like he was trying to hold onto something that kept slipping through his grasp.

And his eyes—

His eyes weren’t human anymore.

They weren’t even close.

He looked at her, his head tilting slightly, his expression unreadable.

And when he spoke, his voice wasn’t his own.

“You should run.”

Jinx swallowed hard, her heartbeat thundering against her ribs.

The thing inside him was waking up.

And if it fully woke—

The Duke had made a mistake.

He had wanted to contain whatever was inside Viktor.

But Viktor wasn’t a cage.

He was a cracked door.

And that door was about to be blown wide open.

The Duke had given her a choice.

Help kill Viktor before he lost control.

Or leave him be and let the world burn.

But Jinx had never been good at following orders.

She aimed her mana cirle—

Not at Viktor.

At the Duke.

And fired.

The Duke was dead before he hit the ground.

The creatures that had attacked the estate collapsed with him, their bodies unraveling into nothing, their connection severed.

But Viktor?

Viktor was still here.

His form flickered—shadows curling around him, his edges unraveling—but he didn’t disappear.

Didn’t fully break.

Jinx staggered toward him, grabbing his wrist.

“Vik,” she panted, “You in there?”

For a second, there was nothing.

Then—

His fingers twitched.

And slowly, slowly, he looked at her.

“…Jinx.”

His voice was hoarse. Human.

She grinned. “Hey, rich boy. Thought I lost you for a second.”

Viktor exhaled a shaky breath. “That makes two of us.”

She tightened her grip. “C’mon. Let’s get the hell outta here.”

And this time, Viktor didn’t argue.

---

The Venire estate burned behind them.

Jinx didn’t look back.

She never did.

Viktor, though—he hesitated. Just for a second. His golden eyes flickered as he stared at the ruins, the smoldering wreckage of a place that had never truly been his home.

Then, he turned away.

And together, they walked into the dark.

Viktor didn’t die.

Not fully.

But he wasn’t whole, either.

Something inside him had been broken—unsealed, maybe, but not freed. The cracks in his body had sealed themselves, but Jinx could still feel the wrongness in him, lingering just beneath his skin.

His steps were slower now. More deliberate. His cane—retrieved from the wreckage—was steady beneath his fingers, but there was a tension in his movements, like he was holding something back.

Like he was waiting to fall apart again.

Jinx kept close, watching him from the corner of her eye.

Not out of fear.

Out of curiosity.

Out of ownership.

Because she had made her choice.

And Viktor was hers now.

---

It wasn’t over.

The Duke’s death had sent ripples through the noble courts, through the underground, through places Jinx had long since stopped giving a shit about.

People would come looking.

For Viktor.

For whatever the hell was inside him.

For her, for being stupid enough to kill one of the most powerful men in the kingdom and walk away like it was nothing.

Jinx didn’t mind.

Let them come.

She was used to running. Used to fighting.

What she wasn’t used to?

Having someone beside her.

Viktor wasn’t like her. He didn’t revel in chaos. He didn’t laugh when the world burned.

But he understood.

---

They stopped in a nameless town, deep in the countryside, where no one looked too closely at strangers with haunted eyes.

Jinx stretched out in their stolen room, boots kicked onto the bed, while Viktor sat by the window, staring at the night.

He hadn’t said much since they left.

She didn’t push.

But eventually, he spoke.

“…Do you regret it?”

Jinx blinked, glancing at him. “Regret what?”

Viktor didn’t look away from the window. “Not killing me.”

Jinx snorted. “Pfft. Nope.”

Viktor finally turned to her, his gaze unreadable. “Why?”

She grinned, arms folding behind her head. “Dunno. Guess I’m just selfish.”

Viktor tilted his head. “Selfish?”

“Yeah. You’re fun to be with. Why would I let someone else have you?”

There was a long silence.

Then, to her surprise—

Viktor laughed.

Soft. Low. Barely there.

But it was real.

And Jinx found herself grinning wider.

Viktor shook his head, exhaling. “You are… impossible.”

“Yep.” She shot him a lazy salute. “Better get used to it. You’re stuck with me now.”

Another pause.

Then, Viktor’s lips curled—not quite a smile, but something close.

“…Interesting.”

Jinx laughed.

Even with the whole world hunting them down, she felt free.

---

Jinx’s hideout wasn’t on any map.

Not because it was some run-down shack hidden in the middle of nowhere. No, it was literally not in this realm. It existed in a pocket of space she had carved out years ago—a place between places, a refuge that didn’t follow the rules of the world.

Getting there was the easy part.

Not getting hunted down and murdered in the process?

That was where things got tricky.

Which was why she needed Ekko.

And why she was very, very amused by the way Viktor’s brow twitched whenever she said his name.

They found Ekko exactly where Jinx expected—holed up in a dingy little workshop on the outskirts of civilization, surrounded by half-finished machines, broken clocks, and magic-infused scraps of metal that hummed with potential.

He looked exactly the same. Same sharp eyes, same cocky smirk, same “I’m-smarter-than-you-and-I-know-it” energy that used to piss her off in the best way.

The moment she stepped through the door, he sighed.

“Jinx.”

“Ekko.”

“You need something.”

“You love me.”

Ekko gave her a flat look. “I love living in peace.”

Jinx grinned, flopping down onto a workbench. “Yeah, yeah, but you’d be so bored without me.”

Ekko snorted. “Somehow, I think I’d survive.”

Then, his gaze flicked past her—to Viktor, who had remained standing near the doorway, watching the exchange with his usual quiet intensity.

Ekko’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And who’s this?”

Jinx opened her mouth, but Viktor spoke first.

“Viktor.” His tone was polite. Measured.

Ekko’s gaze flicked between them. Then, he smirked. “Huh. So you finally found someone willing to put up with you.”

Jinx cackled. “Right?! Wild, huh?”

Viktor didn’t react. Not externally, anyway.

But Jinx saw it.

The tiniest twitch of his brow.

A flicker of something sharp in his golden eyes.

She bit back another laugh.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

---

Viktor was not unfamiliar with frustration.

He had lived his life shackled by limitations—by his body, by his father, by the careful walls of control he had built around himself. He had mastered patience, trained himself to endure, to observe rather than react.

But this?

This was unacceptable.

Jinx and Ekko had history.

That much was obvious.

It was in the way they moved around each other—effortless, unthinking. The way Jinx shoved Ekko’s shoulder, the way Ekko didn’t hesitate to shove back, both grinning like they had never learned the meaning of distance.

It was in the easy touching.

The way Jinx tugged at Ekko’s scarf without thought, adjusting it like she had done it a hundred times before. The way Ekko flicked a playful spark of magic at her cheek, laughing when she swatted at him.

It was in the wide smiles—the kind Jinx rarely gave, the kind that actually reached her eyes.

The kind Viktor had thought belonged to him alone.

But most of all, it was in the jokes he didn’t understand.

"Still as dramatic as ever, huh?"

"Oh, please, like you weren’t the one who almost blew us up that time in the slums."

"You still mad about that? That was, like, years ago!"

"You say that like you didn't swear revenge."

Viktor stood at the edge of their conversation, listening to the banter flow like water, and felt something sharp coil in his chest.

He was used to being observed, studied. People had always looked at him and seen something other. A curiosity. A puzzle to be solved.

But here, standing in the dim light of Ekko’s workshop, he was the outsider.

The one on the outside looking in.

And he did not like it.

Not at all.

---

It didn’t take long to explain what she needed. Ekko was smart—too smart. He understood immediately, brow furrowing as she described the risk of opening a rift.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, rubbing his temple. “You want to dump an insane amount of mana into the air, right under the noses of every magic-sensitive lunatic in the world?”

Jinx grinned. “Yep!”

Ekko groaned. “And you didn’t just ask me to cast the rift spell why?”

“Because,” Jinx said, rolling onto her back on the workbench, “I don’t trust you not to get us all killed.”

Ekko scoffed. “Oh, but you trust me to handle the dampening spell?”

“Well, yeah.” She waved a hand lazily. “That one’s easy.”

Ekko muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "unbelievable", but she ignored him.

Instead, she turned to Viktor.

“So,” she said, grinning, “Ready to see some real magic?”

Viktor studied her. Then, after a pause, he murmured, “I am always watching.”

Something in his voice sent a shiver up her spine.

She liked it.

---

It wasn’t until they had stepped outside, preparing for the rift spell, that Viktor’s patience finally frayed.

Jinx had been speaking with Ekko, grinning as she flipped a dagger between her fingers. Then, without thought, she tossed it to him—smooth, practiced.

Ekko caught it with ease, twirling it in his grip.

“You still carry this thing around?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

Jinx smirked. “Sentimental value.”

Ekko snorted. “Sentimental, my ass.”

Viktor’s fingers curled around the handle of his cane.

“Jinx,” he said, his voice measured, careful. “We should begin.”

She blinked, glancing back at him. “Yeah, yeah, keep your boots on, Vik.”

She turned back to Ekko.

And Viktor’s grip tightened.

That was it.

That was the moment he recognized it for what it was.

Jealousy.

Dark, simmering, entirely irrational jealousy.

He had never felt this way before. Had never had reason to. He was not a man given to indulgent emotions, to petty possessiveness. He had never cared enough.

But Jinx was his.

He had claimed her first.

She had chosen him—not the world, not the past, not some old friend who spoke in easy tones and laughed like he had never lost her.

Him.

And yet, Viktor felt the edges of that certainty fray.

Because Jinx was not the kind of person one could own.

She was chaos, wild and untethered. She belonged to no one.

Not even him.

And that infuriated him.

---

They moved further outside, into a stretch of empty land beyond Ekko’s workshop. The sky overhead was dark, thick with rolling clouds, the kind of night that promised something was about to change.

Jinx exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders. “Alright, short stack,” she said, glancing at Ekko, “time to do your thing.”

Ekko sighed, rubbing his hands together. “Try not to blow yourself up.”

“No promises.”

Ekko muttered a few words, his magic flaring around them in soft waves, wrapping the area in an invisible shroud. The air hummed, charged with static, as the dampening spell locked into place.

Jinx grinned.

Then she let loose.

The rift spell wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t pretty. It was raw, pure energy tearing through the fabric of reality, a jagged wound carved into space itself.

Power crackled around her, the very air bending and twisting. Her fingers burned with mana, her vision tunneling as she forced the rift open, widening the tear until—

There.

A doorway, pulsing with unearthly light, leading to a realm untouched by time.

Jinx exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “And that,” she said, wiping a bit of sweat from her forehead, “is how it’s done.”

Ekko whistled. “Damn. You’ve still got it.”

“Obviously.”

Jinx turned to Viktor, her grin sharp and knowing.

“What’s got your cane in a twist?” she asked.

Viktor met her gaze, golden eyes unreadable. “Nothing.”

Jinx hummed, stepping closer. She reached out—grabbing his scarf, much like she had done to Ekko earlier, fingers tugging at the fabric in that careless, familiar way she always did.

Only this time—

She lingered.

Viktor held still.

He did not react. Did not move.

But she felt it.

The tension. The weight behind his silence.

Her grin widened.

“Ohhh,” she drawled, eyes gleaming. “Ohhh—wait a minute. Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Viktor did not blink. “Do not be ridiculous.”

Jinx cackled. “You totally are!”

Viktor exhaled slowly, deliberately. “You are insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you love me.”

Jinx let go of his scarf and grabbed his hand instead, fingers lacing through his in a way that was so easy it was almost cruel.

She leaned in, grinning up at him.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

Viktor did not respond.

But he let her pull him forward, through the rift, away from the past and into something else entirely.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter who had known her first.

Because right now?

He was the one holding her hand.

 

Chapter 100: A Different Kind of Monster

Summary:

"You weren’t always like this," he said one evening, watching the way the dim candlelight traced over her sharp features. "Were you?"

Jinx stilled.

It was such a simple question. But the weight of it was unbearable.

For a moment, he thought she would laugh it off, turn it into a joke like she always did.

But she didn't.

The storm raged without mercy, drowning the night in a relentless downpour. Rain struck the trees like a thousand tiny hammers, turning the twisting forest paths into rivers of thick mud. The wind howled through the skeletal branches, whispering secrets to no one. Thunder cracked overhead, splitting the sky into jagged pieces of white.

Viktor’s coat clung to him, soaked through, its feeble protection failing against the elements. His cane sank into the mud with each step, the treacherous ground threatening to swallow it whole. His body ached—his limp worse than usual, his breath ragged. He knew he couldn’t last much longer in this weather.

Then he saw it.

A looming silhouette against the storm, a structure half-devoured by ivy and time. The manor stood at the end of a barely visible path, its stone walls weathered and cracked, its high, gabled windows dark as empty eye sockets.

He hesitated.

There was something wrong about the house. Even from a distance, he could feel its weight pressing down on the air, the kind of stillness that did not belong to abandoned places. The storm should have torn at it, should have rattled the windows and slammed the shutters. But the manor stood silent, untouched, as if it had been waiting.

Lightning split the sky, illuminating a grand entrance with a pair of massive doors, half-covered in creeping vines. Viktor had no choice. Whatever lay inside—dust, ruin, or something worse—was preferable to freezing to death in the woods.

He climbed the steps, his boots slipping on the slick stone. The gargoyle-shaped door knocker was heavy and rusted, its once-detailed face worn smooth by years of exposure. He lifted it and struck the door twice.

The sound echoed deep into the house.

He waited.

Nothing.

Viktor exhaled, shivering, gripping his cane tighter. He knocked again—harder this time—then pressed his ear to the wood. No footsteps, no voice, no sign of life.

But he could feel it now. A presence.

The prickling sensation of being watched crept up his spine, whispering against the edges of his consciousness. He turned sharply, peering into the rain. The trees swayed violently in the wind, but there was no movement beyond them.

Just his imagination.

Steeling himself, he pressed his hand against the heavy door and pushed. It groaned on rusted hinges, swinging inward with unexpected ease, as if the house itself had decided to let him in.

The air inside was thick—old wood, dust, and something faintly metallic. His lantern’s glow spilled into the grand foyer, revealing faded red carpets and towering staircases. Chandeliers hung like skeletal remains from the ceiling, their crystals dulled with age.

Viktor took a cautious step inside, his cane tapping against the marble floor. The door creaked as it swung shut behind him, sealing him in with the house’s long-held secrets.

High above, unseen in the rafters where the shadows clung the thickest, something moved.

Jinx watched him, perched in the darkness like a feral creature. Her too-long limbs were drawn close to her body, her sharp fingers curled against the wood. The stranger dripped water onto her floors, his presence an unwelcome anomaly in a place long abandoned by the living.

But he had not run.

Most did. When travelers stumbled upon her decaying prison, they rarely made it past the threshold. The weight of the manor—of her—was enough to send them fleeing before they ever saw the truth of what lurked within.

Yet this one… he lingered.

Jinx narrowed her glowing eyes, tilting her head as she listened to the rhythmic tap, step, tap of his cane against the floor. He moved slowly, carefully, but not with fear.

She could smell the sickness on him, the frailty of his flesh. Could hear the soft wheeze in his breath, the strain of old injuries.

He wouldn’t last long.

Maybe she would let him stay. Just for a little while.

---

The house was awake.

Viktor could feel it in the way the air pressed against his skin, in the way the walls seemed to breathe when he wasn’t looking. The storm outside had faded into a distant hum, muffled by thick stone, leaving only the hollow silence of the manor itself.

With careful steps, he ventured deeper. His lantern’s glow barely reached past the arching doorways and sweeping staircases, its flickering light swallowed by the sheer enormity of the house. Dust clung to the air, disturbed for the first time in years—or perhaps, not at all.

The manor was in decay, but not dead.

Cobwebs draped the chandeliers, their crystals dulled by time. The paintings that lined the walls were cracked and warped with age, their subjects staring at him with hollowed eyes. But despite the dust and ruin, there was something off about the way things remained—chairs pushed neatly into long-forgotten tables, books stacked as if recently used.

Someone still lived here.

Or something.

Viktor exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on his cane. He was not a superstitious man. Ghost stories were the crutch of the ignorant, the explanations of those unwilling to face reality. He had built his life on logic, on the art of the possible.

And yet.

There was something in this house.

Watching.

At first, it was small things.

A book that had been on the desk when he entered was gone the next time he looked. A candle he had left unlit flickered to life on its own. The temperature in the room would drop suddenly, leaving his breath visible in the air before warmth bled back into the walls.

Then came the noises.

Soft at first. A shuffle in the corridor behind him. The creak of floorboards overhead, though the upper levels should have been uninhabitable. Sometimes, he swore he could hear breathing—shallow, quick, just at the edge of his hearing.

He began speaking aloud, if only to fill the silence.

“Curious,” he muttered, examining the gears of a broken clock he had found in the study. “It still ticks, yet the hands remain frozen. A failed mechanism, perhaps?”

The silence answered him.

But something listened.

His mind was sharp enough to notice the patterns. The disturbances only happened when he moved through the house’s untouched spaces. If he sat too long in one place, the presence faded, as if it grew bored.

So it was watching.

And it wanted him to know it was there.

One evening, as he rested by the grand fireplace in what must have once been a drawing room, he tested a theory.

He set his lantern on the table beside him and leaned back in his chair, feigning sleep. His grip remained firm around the handle of his cane, ready, waiting.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Then—

A whisper of movement.

Barely a sound, but Viktor caught it. A breath of fabric shifting against wood, the faintest scrape of nails over stone. It was close.

He did not move.

A sharper sound followed—a rustle, a quick intake of breath, like something startled by its own daring.

Viktor’s eyes snapped open.

The candle nearest to him snuffed out.

The shadows surged, pulling back into the corners of the room like something had just fled.

He exhaled, slow and measured, as his heart began to steady.

So. It wasn’t just his imagination.

Something was here.

Something alive.

And for the first time in a very long while, he was intrigued.

---

Jinx hated how long he stayed.

At first, she had been amused. Another wanderer, another lost soul stumbling into the manor’s decaying ribs, thinking it a sanctuary from the storm. They never stayed long. Not after the air pressed too tightly around them, not after they caught glimpses of something wrong in the periphery of their vision.

But this one—Viktor—was different.

He didn’t flee.

He didn’t panic when she moved too close, when she rattled the floorboards above him or knocked books from their shelves just to see if he’d jump.

Worse, he spoke to her.

As if she was just another curiosity to be studied. As if she was nothing more than an equation he had yet to solve.

It was maddening.

She watched him from behind the crumbling walls, from the holes in the ceiling where she perched, half-hidden in shadow. He was thin, weaker than most, with clever hands that never stopped working—always tinkering with broken things, sketching diagrams in the dust with absentminded strokes.

What are you doing? she wanted to ask. Why aren’t you afraid?

But she didn’t. Not yet.

She just watched.

Then, one night, she crept too close.

Viktor had fallen asleep by the fireplace, his notes scattered across the low table beside him. The golden light flickered across his sharp features, casting deep shadows beneath his eyes.

Jinx hesitated.

She had seen the others sleep before. Had waited for them to wake in terror as she loomed over them, her presence curling around them like smoke. It was always the same—the sharp inhale, the stumble back, the desperate scramble toward the door.

They all ran.

But something about Viktor made her curious.

Slowly, she lowered herself from her hiding place, limbs twisting unnaturally as she clung to the exposed beams above. Her breath was shallow, barely there. She was close enough now to see the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers twitched in restless dreams.

She could touch him, if she wanted. Could wake him.

Would he flinch?

Would he scream?

Jinx leaned in, her glowing eyes reflecting the dying firelight. The shadows stretched as she loomed over him, her presence curling around the edges of his sleep like the whisper of a nightmare.

Viktor stirred.

His breath hitched.

Golden eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Then they sharpened. Locked onto hers.

Jinx froze.

The silence stretched between them, thick and unbroken.

His gaze moved over her—not in fear, not in horror, but with something stranger. Interest.

She was close enough to see the way his pupils dilated, close enough to hear the uneven rhythm of his breath.

"You’re not afraid?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, rough from disuse, uncertainty twisting in its edges.

Viktor blinked once, slow and measured. He did not recoil, did not jerk away from her looming presence.

His lips parted. A breathless murmur.

"Should I be?"

Jinx’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She could make him afraid. She could snarl, bare her teeth, remind him of what she was.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she let the silence settle. Let the question hang between them, a fragile thing waiting to be broken.

Then—like a specter dissolving into the dark—she was gone.

---

Viktor did not dream that night.

His mind, usually a whirlwind of restless thoughts, remained still. When he woke, the fire had burned to embers, and the space where she had been—where the monster had loomed over him, breath close enough to taste—was empty.

Had she truly been there? Or had his exhaustion conjured her from the shadows, a fevered trick of the mind?

No. He knew what he saw.

And she had spoken to him.

The words replayed in his mind as he sat up, flexing his aching fingers. You’re not afraid? As if it had genuinely confused her. As if she had been expecting fear.

But she was not the first creature twisted by the world that he had met.

He had learned long ago that monsters were simply people the world had abandoned.

She tested him after that.

Not subtly. Not carefully. She wanted to see what he would do.

At first, she did not let him glimpse her fully again. Instead, she watched from the edges, from the places where the light did not reach.

She moved things when he wasn’t looking, knocked over books when he grew too absorbed in his work, whispered half-formed sentences from the rafters when he sat alone at night.

Doesn’t it bother you? she murmured once, disembodied in the darkness.

Viktor did not startle. He only sighed, closing the broken pocket watch he had been repairing.

“Should it?” he asked dryly.

A beat of silence. Then, a laugh. It was quick, sharp—like a match striking against stone.

He smirked to himself. Progress.

The next time he saw her, it was not by accident.

She let herself be seen.

He had been studying an old map of the estate’s grounds, trying to piece together the history of the manor from its decayed remnants.

Then, he felt it—that familiar prickle at the back of his neck.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

She stood across the room, half-shrouded in shadow.

She was tall—her limbs too long, her frame hunched as if she were unsure how much space she was allowed to take up. Glowing veins pulsed beneath pale, stretched skin, tracing along her arms and throat like cracks in porcelain. Her wild blue hair framed her face in uneven tangles, and her sharp fingers twitched as if itching to reach out and do something.

Viktor remained still. Studying her.

She was waiting. Expecting something.

Fear.

Disgust.

A scream.

But he simply tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his sharp golden eyes.

"Ah," he murmured, as if she were nothing more than an equation solved. "So that's what you look like."

Jinx blinked.

Something about his tone—dry, almost amused—made her skin prickle.

She expected wariness, hesitance. A polite lie, like those she had once been fed as a human. You’re not that bad. It’s not as awful as you think.

Instead, he acknowledged her as she was. No false kindness. No revulsion. Just… observation.

It threw her off balance.

"You gonna scream yet?" she asked, baring jagged teeth in a mockery of a grin.

Viktor let out a quiet breath, tilting his head. "You seem disappointed."

Jinx frowned, her fingers twitching. "Most people don’t stick around long enough for this part."

"Then perhaps," Viktor mused, "you have been meeting the wrong people."

She stared at him for a long moment, unreadable. Then—like a shadow slipping through the cracks—she was gone again.

But not before he caught something in her expression.

A flicker of something that almost looked like relief.

After that, she stopped hiding.

Not entirely. Not all at once.

But she let him see her more often.

Sometimes, he would glance up from his notes and find her sitting in the rafters, grinning at him upside-down. Other times, she trailed him through the halls, just close enough that he could hear her but never quite see her.

One evening, he woke to find her perched at the foot of his bed, watching him with sharp, unblinking eyes.

He stared back at her, unimpressed.

“Are you planning to kill me in my sleep?” he asked, voice thick with exhaustion.

Jinx cocked her head. “Not yet.”

“Ah. Good.” He exhaled and promptly rolled over.

He heard her laugh as she slipped away.

She wasn’t sure what to make of him yet.

But she had decided, for now, not to break him.

Maybe.

---

The manor was not quiet anymore.

Not like it had been before Viktor arrived, when silence sat thick in its halls like dust, when the only sound was the creaking of rotting wood and the distant howl of the wind through shattered windows.

Now, there was movement.

Jinx did not hide from him as she once had. She had become a living ghost in his presence, appearing and vanishing at will, her sharp, unnatural grin flashing from the shadows whenever he least expected it.

And Viktor, to her endless amusement, had begun speaking to her as if she were nothing more than an eccentric housewife.

"You could help, you know," he said one afternoon, adjusting the broken hinge of an old cabinet.

Jinx sprawled across a decaying chaise lounge, twirling a knife between her fingers. "I could," she drawled, "but where’s the fun in that?"

Viktor gave her a flat look. "Ah. I see. You prefer to haunt me uselessly rather than contribute."

Jinx grinned. "Now you’re getting it."

Viktor only hummed, returning to his work. "A truly tragic fate, to be cursed with laziness."

Jinx’s grin flickered. Just for a moment. But Viktor caught it.

He filed that reaction away.

The past was not something she spoke of.

Even now, as she stalked beside him through the manor’s endless corridors, she spoke in riddles and half-truths, dodging his questions with sharp-edged humor.

But Viktor had been patient.

And patience, he had learned, was the best way to unravel a mystery.

"You weren’t always like this," he said one evening, watching the way the dim candlelight traced over her sharp features. "Were you?"

Jinx stilled.

It was such a simple question. But the weight of it was unbearable.

For a moment, he thought she would laugh it off, turn it into a joke like she always did.

But she didn't.

Instead, she pushed off the wall she had been leaning against and, without a word, motioned for him to follow.

Viktor adjusted his cane and walked beside her, the silence between them heavier than usual.

She led him to a part of the manor he had not yet explored. The hallway was lined with portraits—tall, regal frames now draped in dust and neglect.

Jinx stopped in front of one of them.

With slow, deliberate movements, she reached up and wiped the dust from its surface, revealing what lay beneath.

Viktor's breath caught.

It was her.

Or rather, it was who she had been.

A girl stared back at him from the canvas—short and small, bright-eyed, with a face that still carried the remnants of childhood softness. There was a mischievous grin on her lips, a spark of something untamed in her expression.

But she was human.

He turned his gaze back to the creature beside him, to the warped, jagged thing she had become.

Jinx watched him, her expression unreadable. "Weird, huh?" she muttered. "Doesn’t even look like me anymore."

Viktor studied the portrait a moment longer. "No," he said finally. "It does."

Jinx blinked, taken off guard.

Viktor’s gaze moved back to her, calm and steady. "The grin is the same."

Jinx let out a quiet, breathy laugh. "You are so weird."

She turned away from the portrait, crossing her arms over her chest. The glow of her veins pulsed faintly in the dim light, stretching up her throat and disappearing beneath her ragged clothing.

Viktor waited.

And then—without looking at him—she began to speak.

She told him about the girl in the portrait. About the things she had built, the inventions that had outpaced her mentors, the people who had smiled at her genius while sharpening knives behind their backs.

She had been bright. Reckless. Too trusting.

And in the end, that trust had cost her.

"They used me," she said, voice quiet but sharp as glass. "Took what I made, twisted it into something I never meant for it to be. Then they left me to rot."

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She did not say what happened next.

She did not need to.

Viktor already knew.

A betrayal. A choice made in desperation. A curse that had remade her into something monstrous.

Something no one could ever use again.

"You didn’t deserve that," Viktor said, his voice softer than before.

Jinx scoffed. "What, the curse or the betrayal?"

"Either."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "That’s rich, coming from you. Like you’ve never been kicked in the teeth by life."

Viktor smirked faintly. "More times than I can count."

Jinx huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

For a long moment, they simply stood there, side by side, staring at the girl who no longer existed.

Or maybe, Viktor thought, she wasn’t completely gone.

Maybe she was still there—buried beneath the madness, beneath the curse, beneath the sharp-toothed grin that was so different and yet exactly the same.

And maybe, just maybe, she had been waiting for someone to notice.

---

Jinx had stopped watching Viktor from the shadows.

Now, she was simply there.

Perched on broken furniture, draped across stair railings, slinking beside him as he explored the manor’s forgotten corridors.

And Viktor—though he would never admit it—had grown used to her presence.

It was an odd thing, to coexist with something that should have frightened him. But Jinx, for all her sharp edges and half-mad grins, had become something familiar. Something expected.

Perhaps even comfortable.

But the world outside still existed.

And Viktor could not ignore it forever.

The first time he mentioned leaving, Jinx laughed.

A sharp, barked thing, like he had just told a joke only she understood.

"Yeah, right," she snorted, balancing on the back of a broken chair, arms stretched wide as if testing how far she could tip before falling. "Like hell you’re leaving."

Viktor paused his work, setting down his tools with deliberate care. "Jinx."

Her grin twitched. "What?"

He sighed. "I have to go."

The chair wobbled beneath her, but she didn’t fall. Not yet.

"You don’t have to do anything," she muttered.

"You know that isn’t true," Viktor said, calm as ever.

Jinx rolled her eyes, flipping backward off the chair with an unnatural grace, landing in a lazy crouch. "Pffft. What’s out there that you need so bad, huh?"

She was playing, but Viktor could hear it—the thin, stretched tension beneath her voice.

He exhaled. "Supplies. Medicine. Ink, for one. My notes are running dry, and I suspect you’d prefer me conscious rather than collapsed on the floor."

Jinx’s grin flickered.

Viktor had noticed the way she watched him when he struggled with his cane, the way she didn’t comment when he sat down longer than usual, when exhaustion clawed its way into his bones.

She would never say anything about it. That wasn’t how she worked.

But he knew she saw.

"Not my problem," she muttered, flopping onto the table with exaggerated disinterest.

Viktor only hummed. "Then you will not mind if I leave."

The temperature in the room shifted.

Jinx’s fingers twitched, her expression still stretched into something playful, but her muscles had gone taut.

"You can’t leave," she said, and there was something different about her tone now—something that curled around the edges of a warning.

Viktor met her gaze, unwavering. "Why?"

Jinx did not answer.

She just stared at him, as if she had not prepared for the possibility that he would push back. As if she expected him to laugh it off, to drop the subject entirely.

But Viktor did not play games when it came to survival.

And so he waited.

Jinx’s jaw clenched.

Then, suddenly, she was moving—too fast, too fluid, a blur of blue and sharp edges as she lunged.

Viktor barely had time to react before she was there, towering over him, hands slamming down on either side of his chair.

The table shook. Papers scattered.

She was too close.

Her breathing was uneven, glowing eyes locked onto his, a silent snarl curling at the edges of her mouth.

"You can’t leave," she said again, slower this time, her voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor did not flinch. Did not move.

His heart was beating fast—too fast—but he forced his body to remain still, his golden gaze steady despite the way her presence loomed over him.

He studied her.

Not the claws curled against the table. Not the unnatural glow beneath her skin.

But her eyes.

And for the first time since he had met her, he saw something that he hadn’t noticed before.

Not madness. Not anger.

Fear.

Jinx was afraid.

Not of him. Not of what he would do.

But of what would happen if he left.

Viktor’s grip on his cane loosened slightly.

"You think I won’t come back," he said quietly.

Jinx’s expression flickered—just for a moment.

Then she bared her teeth in a grin, sharp and defensive. "People don’t come back."

Viktor exhaled through his nose. "I am not ‘people.’"

Jinx scoffed. "Yeah? That’s what they all think, until they see what I am."

Her grin stretched wider, but it wasn’t playful. It wasn’t teasing.

It was tired.

"You don’t get it," she muttered. "You can’t get it."

Viktor studied her.

Then, slowly, carefully, he reached up.

Not fast. Not suddenly.

But deliberately.

Jinx stiffened as his fingers brushed against hers—light as a breath, barely touching, just a weight at the edge of her knuckles.

A human touch. A choice.

Jinx had not been touched in years.

She did not move away.

Viktor’s voice was quieter now, softer. "I will come back, Jinx."

Silence.

Jinx’s fingers twitched beneath his.

For a moment, she looked at him—really looked at him—expression unreadable.

Then, just as suddenly as she had snapped, she shoved herself away, hands jerking back like she had been burned.

"Ugh," she groaned, pressing her hands against her face. "Gods, that was disgusting."

Viktor snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Yes. I am truly vile."

Jinx peeked at him through her fingers.

Viktor did not press her. Did not demand an answer.

He had already won.

She could break furniture, she could scream, she could rattle the very walls of the manor with her fury—

But she would not stop him.

And she knew it.

With a frustrated groan, she spun on her heel, shoving open the nearest door and storming into the next room.

Viktor only smiled.

Because she had not told him no.

---

The manor had never felt so empty.

Jinx knew it was stupid—knew it—but the silence pressed in differently now. The shadows stretched too long, the corridors felt too wide.

Viktor was gone.

He had left at dawn, before the seemingly never-ending storm clouds could gather again, his bag slung over his shoulder, his cane tapping against the stone as he stepped beyond the manor’s gates. He hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t turned back.

But Jinx had watched him go.

Perched high in the rafters, unseen, she had curled her fingers against the rotting beams and waited. For what, she didn’t know. For him to pause? For him to change his mind?

He hadn’t.

But worse—so much worse—was that he had trusted her.

He had left knowing she could stop him. Knowing she wouldn’t.

And she hadn’t.

Jinx groaned, flopping onto the grand dining table, arms sprawled across its dust-covered surface. "Ugh," she muttered into her sleeve. "This sucks."

The echo of her own voice did not answer her.

For years, she had dreamed of driving people away—of keeping them out, keeping herself untouchable. And she had succeeded. No one stayed. No one ever stayed.

But now?

Now there was space beside her, and she hated it.

Her fingers twitched. She glanced at them, frowning at the faint blue glow beneath her skin.

She had spent so long convincing herself she was a thing, a monster, a creature better left in the dark. It had been easier that way. Safer.

But Viktor had looked at her like she was real.

Like she was a person.

Jinx gritted her teeth. "Stupid tinkerer," she muttered, rolling onto her back.

The house creaked around her, shifting like an old beast waking from a long slumber.

For the first time in years, Jinx wondered if the curse had never been about keeping people away.

Maybe it had been about her.

Maybe it had been about what would happen if someone stayed.

The waiting was the worst part.

Jinx had never waited for anyone before.

She had expected people to leave, sure. Had expected them to run. But she had never sat at the edge of something and wanted—dreaded—to see if someone would return.

She told herself she wasn’t checking the windows.

She told herself she wasn’t listening for the sound of his cane on the stone path.

She was lying.

Days passed.

The manor groaned, dust settling in places she had never noticed before.

She hated it.

She wanted to break something. Wanted to scream into the hollow corridors and let the curse take her whole, until she forgot what waiting felt like.

But she didn’t.

She just… sat.

And waited.

---

The manor stood as he had left it.

A dark thing swallowed by ivy and silence, its towering walls untouched by time. The wind curled through the trees, whispering through skeletal branches, but the house itself was still.

Too still.

Viktor hesitated at the front steps, his cane pressing into damp stone. The journey had taken longer than expected—long enough that doubt had started gnawing at him.

What if she had changed her mind?

What if she had decided not to wait?

He exhaled sharply, shaking the thoughts away. No sense in delaying now.

With deliberate ease, he lifted a hand and pushed open the grand doors.

They swung inward with a groan.

The air inside was different.

Not stale. Not heavy with the weight of something waiting.

It felt… lighter.

His fingers curled tighter around the head of his cane.

Something was wrong.

The manor had never been warm.

It had been a corpse, long abandoned, its halls filled only with ghosts and echoes.

But as Viktor moved deeper inside, the difference became clear.

The dust had settled in places that had once been disturbed by restless movement. The candlelight flickered softer, no longer bending to the weight of unseen eyes.

The presence that had once coiled through the walls—Jinx—was gone.

Viktor clenched his jaw. His pace quickened.

"Jinx," he called, voice steady but sharp.

No answer.

Something inside him twisted.

He reached the grand staircase, his heartbeat picking up in his throat.

“Jinx!” 

If the curse had—

If she had disappeared—

If he had been too late—

Then—

"Jeez, I heard you the first time."

The voice was different.

Still sharp. Still edged with that familiar mischief.

But not warped. Not tangled in madness and something other.

Not cursed.

Viktor turned sharply, his breath catching—

And there she was.

At the top of the staircase.

Small.

Human.

Her too-long limbs had shortened, her glowing veins had faded, her eyes—once piercing, unnatural—were now a bright, normal blue.

The only thing unchanged was her grin.

That sharp, reckless thing, half amusement, half challenge.

She leaned against the railing, arms crossed. "Took you long enough," she drawled. "Thought you were smarter than this."

Viktor could not move.

Could not breathe.

The sight of her—so different, so her—stalled his mind in a way nothing else ever had.

Jinx shifted under his stare, her grin twitching at the edges. "Uh. Hello? Did you break? I finally get my cute little face back and you’re just gonna stand there?"

Viktor swallowed. His grip tightened on his cane. "How?"

Jinx blinked.

For a moment—just a moment—something uncertain flickered behind her grin.

Then she shrugged. "Dunno."

"Jinx."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Ugh, fine. If I had to guess—" she wiggled her fingers dramatically "—some sappy, poetic bullshit about choosing to be human again or not pushing you away or whatever."

Viktor exhaled, rubbing his temple. "You don’t even know?"

Jinx snickered. "I’m guessing. I was kinda cursed and insane for a few years, cut me some slack."

Viktor’s gaze swept over her again, something unreadable settling behind his golden eyes.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.

Jinx blinked at him.

Then she frowned.

It was the first real expression she had shown—something unpracticed, something unsure.

She lifted her hands, turning them over, flexing her fingers.

She pressed one palm against the railing.

No glowing veins. No unnatural hum beneath her skin.

She was solid.

Human.

Real.

Her throat bobbed. "Weird," she muttered.

Viktor stepped forward, slow, careful. "Does it hurt?"

Jinx scoffed. "Obviously not, idiot."

But the sharpness in her voice was thin.

Viktor stopped just a few steps below her. Close enough that he could see the faint tremor in her fingers.

Close enough that he could see the truth.

She was afraid.

Not of the curse. Not of being a monster.

But of what came after.

Because she had spent so long telling herself she was nothing. That she was too far gone.

And now?

Now she had no excuse.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable.

Then, without a word, he lifted his hand—just as he had before.

A test.

A choice.

Jinx stared at it.

For a moment, she didn’t move.

Then, hesitantly, she reached out.

Her fingers brushed his.

Warm.

Human.

Real.

Jinx let out a sharp breath. "Fuck," she muttered. "This is so weird."

Viktor chuckled, the sound dry but light. "That makes two of us."

She laced their fingers together, testing the weight of it.

Her grin returned, a little unsteady but still hers.

"You still gonna stick around?"

Viktor squeezed her hand.

"Of course," he murmured.

Jinx exhaled, rolling her eyes. "Good."

And this time, she didn’t let go.

Notes:

With that, the Madherald Collection has come to an end.

Chapter 101: Epilogue

Hi y'all :)

 

I reached my goal faster than I thought I would, and honestly, I didn't think I'd reach it at all. 

 

Thank you to everyone who stuck with me and put up with all my bullshit. 

 

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I have something for you guys :)

 

Or maybe it's more for me?

 

CLICK ME

 

It's not a virus, I promise, lol!