Chapter Text
“Powder… we shouldn’t be out here,” Vi groaned, stepping around a tangle of gnarled roots that clawed at her boots. The forest canopy was so thick that only thin shafts of light managed to break through the leaves, painting dappled patterns on the mossy ground.
“Relax, sis! Dad won’t even notice we’re gone,” Powder teased, flashing a cheeky grin over her shoulder.
“Powder, I’m serious,” Vi warned, quickening her pace to match her sister’s. “If humans find us, it’s over.”
“They haven’t been seen in years,” Powder countered, her giggles echoing among the towering trees. “Now come on, the creek’s just ahead.”
Vi tried to stifle the knot of unease twisting in her stomach. This was definitely not how she pictured spending her day. The walls around Zaun and Piltover existed for a reason—keeping their respective cities secure from whatever lurked beyond. As a werewolf, Vi had every reason to stay behind those barriers. Humans, after all, were far more dangerous than any vampire skulking through Piltover’s streets. Coexisting with bloodsuckers was one thing; facing humanity’s relentless hostility was another.
Branches snapped underfoot as they jogged deeper into the woods, and Vi’s senses bristled at every unfamiliar sound. She could practically taste the damp, earthy smell that clung to the air. Powder seemed oblivious—either that, or her thrill-seeking nature blinded her to the potential danger.
Vi’s mind drifted to their father, back behind Zaun’s fortified gates. He would be furious if he knew they’d snuck out. But Powder, as usual, didn’t seem to care. The younger girl thrived on pushing boundaries, testing limits that Vi was always scrambling to reinforce.
A muffled rustle from a nearby thicket made Vi’s ears perk. Instinctively, she tensed, scanning the shadows for any hint of movement. Her heightened werewolf senses picked up nothing more than a small animal darting away, and she let out a cautious breath.
“See? Nothing to worry about,” Powder called over her shoulder, still bounding ahead.
Vi gritted her teeth as they finally arrived at the creek, the faint rush of water a soothing contrast to her frazzled nerves. Powder wasted no time leaping into the shallow stream, shrieking with laughter as the cold water splashed around her ankles. She tilted her head back, the midday sun reflecting in her wild blue eyes.
“Powder…” Vi murmured, but her protest went unheard. Powder had already begun her shift, fur rippling across her body as she transformed into her wolf form. With a playful bark, she bounded in and out of the creek, scattering droplets of water into the air.
“Come on, Sis, live a little!” Powder called, her voice caught in that halfway growl between wolf and human. “You’re always so busy—either helping Dad at The Last Drop when he’s off playing politics, or fighting in the pits. Just…live, jeez!”
Vi sighed and lowered herself to sit on a smooth patch of riverbank. She watched her sister’s carefree antics with a mix of exasperation and envy. Powder had this uncanny ability to forget the walls that boxed them in back in Zaun. For Vi, it wasn’t so easy.
She was known as the best fighter in Zaun—and that was exactly the problem. Vander, their adoptive father, disapproved of her pit-fighting, though Vi suspected it was more about his reputation on the council than any concern for her well-being. By day, Vander navigated the messy world of city politics; by night, he ran The Last Drop, a bar where trouble was as common as cheap liquor.
Vi never cared for politics. Nor did she care for Vander’s constant harping about finding the “right” mate. Settling down with an omega? The mere thought made her clench her fists. Sure, she was an Alpha—and maybe that meant certain urges during her ruts—but sleeping with Betas just to take the edge off was a lot simpler than trying to form some perfect union Vander kept hinting at.
She dug her fingers into the cool grass lining the creek’s edge, feeling the damp earth under her nails. It was a quiet reminder of why she came out here in the first place: freedom, if only for a moment. Out here, the constant clamor of Zaun’s machines and the suffocating weight of Vander’s expectations seemed distant.
Powder, now fully in wolf form, darted toward Vi with a playful yip before bouncing back into the water. Watching her sister’s joy sparked an ache in Vi’s chest—she wanted to feel that carefree again. But every time she tried, reality snapped her back: the fights, the politics, the walls keeping them from a world that was just as dangerous as it was vast.
“Vi, are you even paying attention?” Powder called; ears twitching as she noticed her sister’s distant expression.
“Yeah,” Vi replied, voice soft. She rose to her feet, brushing off the clinging blades of grass. “I’m just…thinking.”
Powder tilted her head, concern flickering in those wolf eyes. “Well, stop thinking and start having fun! We came out here to get away from all that crap.”
A thin, wistful smile graced Vi’s lips as she inched closer to the creek, where ripples wove delicate patterns around her scuffed boots. Powder danced just a few paces ahead, each joyful kick sending droplets into a glittering arc that caught the midday sun before raining back into the churning water. Even at twenty, she still wore her wolfish heart on her sleeve—her boundless energy a living testament to the pup she once was, a spark of naive wonder that Vi found both endearing and strangely enviable.
Powder had long been the bright flame in their little family, her ingenious inventions fuelling Zaun’s mechanical evolution. Where others saw rusted gears and twisted scrap, Powder beheld hidden potential—her deft hands forging a path that let Zaun stand toe-to-toe with Piltover’s proud clockwork marvels. Steam-powered automatons now roamed the undercity, and defensive turrets watched over Zaun’s walls, each bearing the unmistakeable touch of Powder’s inventive soul.
All these marvels blossomed in the narrow space carved out by an uneasy peace—a truce between Zaun’s werewolves and Piltover’s vampire elite. The latter carried their elegance like armor, thriving in shadows while the sun remained a bitter foe. By day, Piltover’s spires slept behind heavy drapes, and by night, they gleamed under moonlight, whispering of wealth and centuries-old secrets. In contrast, Zaun’s chimneys belched steam by dawn or dusk alike, intent on matching that wealth with determination and grit. A thousand differences threatened to shatter the alliance, yet trade continued, forging new gears and new hopes.
Vi could sense the fragility of it all like a taut string at the edge of her thoughts: one misstep could snap the line, sending them spiralling back into darkness. Hostility simmered beneath formal agreements, awaiting the barest excuse to spill over. Vampires had their proud traditions, werewolves their ancient grudges, and both sides wore their scars like warnings. The precarious truce held—for now—but Vi knew how quickly harmony could collapse under the weight of anger and mistrust.
Powder’s laughter, a bright sound that cut through the murmuring creek, drew Vi’s gaze. Her sister beckoned; eyes alight with reckless joy. For a moment, Vi envied that carefree spirit, unburdened by the memory of pit fights and her role as Zaun’s champion. She’d fought so hard, weathered each blow of life’s brutality, that she sometimes forgot how to simply…be.
With a weary shake of her head, Vi stepped deeper into the stream, welcoming the cool lick of water against her calves. These fleeting reprieves from duty were as rare as quiet nights in The Last Drop—and infinitely more precious.
Powder’s radiant laughter faded the instant a distant twig snapped, echoing through the trees like a warning. The birds that had watched them from the canopy burst into flight, startled cries woven into the sudden hush. For a heartbeat, the sisters froze. The sun-sparkled droplets Powder had spun into the air fell unheeded, glittering on the creek’s surface.
Then, white figures emerged from the treeline—faceless, masked, armed with rifles that glinted ominously in the shifting light. Hazmat suits, ghostly silhouettes against the dark woods. Every instinct in Vi’s body screamed danger, a primal alarm thrumming in her veins.
“Powder, run!” she roared, her voice already beginning to warp as she dropped onto all fours. Fur rippled across her limbs, and in a heartbeat, she was wolf—muscles coiled to spring, teeth bared in a snarl. Powder bolted in the opposite direction, her form a blur of movement through the trees.
Gunfire erupted in quick succession, each shot reverberating in Vi’s ears. She lunged to follow her sister, but white-clad soldiers blocked her path in waves. One bullet whizzed past her snout, and another tore into her hind leg, unleashing a searing pain that ricocheted through her body. Silver.
The agony coursed through her bloodstream like molten metal, buckling her stance. She howled—a raw, anguished sound that shattered the fragile peace of the forest.
“Take this one in,” one of them barked, voice muffled by the white mask that offered no hint of mercy. Vi felt the words like iron chains around her neck—she knew she was finished. The silver coursed through her bloodstream with a cruel, corrosive burn, stealing the strength from her limbs and turning each breath into agony.
She expected the soldier’s gloved hands to clamp down on her at any moment, but just as they reached for her, a faint hiss shattered the tense silence. A quiet bullet whizzed past, slicing the air with lethal precision. A soldier toppled, then another. Panic burst among their ranks—white-clad bodies scrambled, spinning around in confusion, unable to pinpoint their invisible assailant.
Vi could barely stay conscious, her body trembling under the silver’s toxic grip. Yet through the haze of pain, she watched soldier after soldier drop to the earth as more of those silent shots cut the air. A part of her wanted to snarl in triumph, but breathing itself was a battle.
Whoever was picking them off remained hidden behind the thick press of trees, their presence marked only by the sharp crack of suppressed gunfire. By the time the last figure collapsed, the only sound left was Vi’s ragged breathing and the distant rush of the creek.
Vi searched the clearing through a haze of pain, her breath ragged and shallow. The silver stung like acid in her veins, every beat of her heart an agonizing echo. Bodies lay strewn across the trampled underbrush—still, white shapes bleeding into the green.
Then, through the flickering edges of her vision, she saw movement: a figure striding among the trees, stepping carefully over fallen branches and twisted limbs. A black-and-blue uniform hugged her lithe form, the colors stark against the earthy backdrop of pines and tangled briars. There was a confidence to her gait, a lethal grace that made Vi’s hackles rise despite the throbbing in her leg.
She recognized that regalia—Piltovian. The sworn enemy, or so she’d been taught. Yet the woman who emerged had a beauty so striking it seemed to defy the old gods themselves. Brilliant blue hair was pulled back, leaving delicate fringes framing a face that looked carved from marble under the shimmering daylight. Her eyes, an ice-kissed blue, locked onto Vi without wavering—calm, calculating, and utterly unapologetic.
Through the pain, one jarring thought sliced through Vi’s mind: Vampires don’t do sunlight. She’d grown up on stories of their kind sequestered behind thick curtains and moonlit streets, never daring to bask in the morning sun. Yet this woman stood tall in broad daylight, unscathed by its warmth.
A wave of nausea rolled through Vi as she struggled to remain upright. Despite her fear, she forced a snarl from her throat, words bitten off between ragged breaths.
“Come here to finish the job?”
Her voice sounded foreign in her own ears—hoarse and trembling, a wounded animal’s final stand. The woman took another measured step forward, the hush of the clearing broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath her boots.
Vi’s fur bristled at the pit of her neck. The instinct to fight—instilled by countless pit matches and honed by years of survival—roared within her. But the silver had hollowed out her strength, and any shift to human form might only reveal her vulnerability. So she stayed crouched, fangs bared, her heart pounding like a war drum.
The Piltovian vampire stood there, haloed by afternoon light, her unreadable gaze fixed on Vi. Whether she was executioner or savior, Vi could no longer tell. In that suffocating stillness, one bitter truth settled in the pit of her stomach: her fate now rested in the hands of this impossible stranger—the very one who had vanquished the humans and spared her life.
She knelt beside Vi’s wounded leg without a word, setting her sniper rifle on the ground. Vi’s lips peeled back in a snarl, baring her teeth at the woman whose face remained carved in cool indifference. “What are you fucking doing?” she rasped, fighting to keep consciousness as the silver coursed through her veins. Her hind leg throbbed with an agonizing burn, the edges of her vision flickering.
Still silent, the vampire drew a small syringe from a slender pouch. In one swift motion, she plunged it into Vi’s leg, depressing the plunger before withdrawing the needle. Alarm flashed through Vi—she growled, struggling to wrench herself free. But instead of the expected surge of pain, a numbing warmth spread through the wound. The white-hot agony began to ebb, leaving her chest heaving with ragged breaths of relief.
“What did you do?” Vi demanded, heart pounding in her ears. Her voice cracked, thick with lingering pain and suspicion.
No answer. The vampire’s gaze flickered with what might have been dispassionate focus—or perhaps something softer, too brief to read. She produced a small blade next, pressing it carefully to Vi’s wound. Despite the shock still coursing through her, Vi sucked in a breath and braced herself.
With practiced efficiency, the vampire dug out the jagged silver bullet. Each second felt like an eternity, and though the pain dulled from the syringe, Vi still felt the rip of torn flesh as metal finally came free. A ragged, breathy howl escaped her lips, echoing into the hush of the forest.
For the first time, the vampire spoke—not in words, but in the quiet, methodical way she dropped the bullet onto the grass and applied pressure to staunch the bleeding. A hush of wind rustled the canopy overhead, scattering dappled sunlight across them both. Vi’s heart hammered slower now, the vile burn of silver replaced by a weighted exhaustion that tugged at her consciousness.
She peered up at her rescuer with heavy-lidded eyes, the vampire’s silhouette still wreathed in golden rays, her ocean-blue hair shimmering like living silk. How was she walking in sunlight without so much as a flinch? Why risk revealing herself to save a werewolf from certain capture?
The vampire maintained her silence, eyes honed in on Vi with an implacable calm. Without fanfare, she took up her blade again, slicing a neat line across her own wrist. Crimson welled, dark and glistening against her pale skin. She extended her bleeding arm toward Vi, the offer unspoken yet unmistakable.
Vi recoiled, her lip curling back in a fierce snarl. “I’m not taking your blood,” she spat. “Fuck you!” Pain still pulsed through her leg, but defiance flared in her gaze.
Yet the vampire neither flinched nor withdrew; she simply waited, her wound dripping slow beads of blood onto the forest floor. The hush between them grew heavy, the moment stretching until the weight of it pressed against Vi’s chest. Birds had long since fled the clearing, leaving only the rustle of leaves and the rasp of Vi’s own breathing.
They locked eyes for what felt like an eternity, both refusing to yield. Finally, Vi’s shoulders slackened, her voice a low, grudging growl. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
Even then, the vampire said nothing—her arm remained outstretched in calm insistence, blood dripping steadily to the forest floor. In that weighted silence, Vi realized she had no other choice. With a shuddering breath, she yielded to necessity, sinking her fangs into the vampire’s open wound. A rush of warmth and a faint, almost floral sweetness flooded her mouth, chasing the silver’s toxic burn from her veins. She looked up to see the vampire’s eyes close, dark lashes brushing her cheeks as she endured the drain of her own lifeblood.
Eventually, Vi forced herself to pull away, heat still radiating through her limbs. Glancing down, she found the hole in her leg already sealed, the ragged wound now a distant ache. Relief tangled with unease as she willed her body back into human form, limbs reshaping until she crouched in the dust of the clearing, chest heaving. She pressed a tentative hand to her calf, half-disbelieving the smooth skin where torn flesh had been mere moments before. When she finally lifted her gaze, the vampire remained poised in the midday sun—silent saviour, impossible enemy—watching with an expression Vi couldn’t quite decipher.
“Why?” Vi rasped, pressing a hand to her freshly healed leg. She could still taste the vampire’s blood on her tongue, tinged with a faint, lingering sweetness.
Her savior, pale and swaying slightly, chose not to answer. Instead, she steadied herself with a quiet breath before retrieving her sniper from where she’d laid it on the ground. Vi watched as the barrel caught the light, glimmering with the same eerie calm that seemed to cloak its owner.
“Thank you,” Vi managed, though it came out half-snarl, half-grudging gratitude. She hated being indebted, especially to a vampire. “I guess?”
The vampire paused, turning only enough for their eyes to meet. A slight nod—acknowledgment without a word—then she started to walk away, each step measured and purposeful. Panic, or maybe curiosity, flared in Vi’s chest.
“Wait!” she called, hoisting herself upright despite the residual weakness in her limbs.
The vampire halted at the edge of the tree line, the sunlight threading through leaves and dancing along her blue hair. She stood perfectly still, as though caught between worlds.
Vi swallowed hard, arms hanging tense at her sides. “How…how are you walking around in the sunlight?” She hesitated, searching the vampire’s stony features for a flicker of emotion. “At least…give me your name.”
For a moment, Vi thought the whole world had gone silent. The forest seemed to hold its breath—the wind pausing in the trees, the birds perched in stunned fascination. Then the vampire finally shifted her stance, as though weighing her next words before offering them up.
“Caitlyn,” she said at last, her voice a soft chord that lingered in the clearing. And then, like a wisp of moonlight, she vanished into the dappled shadows beyond the tree line.
Vi exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her heart still thrumming like a war drum in her chest. Caitlyn. The name was unexpectedly beautiful—like its owner, it shimmered on the edges of Vi’s consciousness, refusing to be dismissed. A sudden warmth coiled in her stomach, a sensation she could only describe as longing .
Her Alpha instincts stirred, howling somewhere deep inside—a raw ache of curiosity and fascination she couldn’t quite control. A vampire, she thought, marvelling at the absurdity. She saved me. Of all the improbable scenarios she could have imagined, this was one that defied the boundaries she’d believed immutable. Vampires weren’t supposed to care about anyone, least of all a werewolf. And yet here she was, alive because of one.
Vi shook her head, trying to dispel the haunting echo of Caitlyn’s voice, the memory of her graceful figure slipping through the trees. There were too many questions tumbling in her mind: how could she walk unscathed in daylight, why had she intervened, and did she understand the ripple of chaos her actions might unleash?
But no answers would be found here, in the aftermath of battle and blood. With a final glance at the spot where Caitlyn had disappeared, Vi steeled herself and limped toward the distant creek. She had to find Powder, had to get back to Zaun—but she also knew she wouldn’t soon forget the strange vampire with the indigo hair and a voice that left her breathless.
-
“Vi!” Powder’s voice rang out from the heavy gates leading into Zaun. Ahead, a cluster of armed sentries kept their rifles trained on the treeline beyond, vigilance etched into every tense muscle. Vi let out a low, exasperated huff as her gaze snagged on Vander, who stood by the entrance with arms crossed, his face a storm of worry and anger.
Powder darted forward, flinging her arms around Vi in a fierce hug before stepping back. “I’m sorry! I-I didn’t know what else to do…” Her voice trembled with guilt.
Vi gentled her stance, placing a reassuring hand on Powder’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’ll talk to Dad.”
She trudged toward the looming gates, each step weighed down by the ache of the day’s events. Vander’s broad form blocked the way, and she found herself looking down, almost ashamed to meet his eyes.
“I told you both never to leave the city,” Vander rumbled, the low thunder of his voice echoing against the metal doors. “Humans, Vi! They’re already pushing past our borders. Powder could’ve been taken—hell, you could’ve been taken.”
Vi clenched her fists at her sides, her temper flaring. “It’s my fault, all right?” she shot back, voice cracking with frustration. “I just wanted Powder to live a little—away from these walls. And those humans…they’re dead now anyway!”
Vander’s eyes widened in alarm, a tightness seizing his features. Without another word, he turned to the guards. “Everyone inside!” he barked, each syllable echoing with command. “Now!”
The gates groaned open, swallowing them back into Zaun’s perpetual twilight. Flickering street lamps and the hum of distant machinery greeted them like weary sentinels, their glow carving out pale pools of light amid the gloom. Shadows slid across Vi’s face as she kept close behind Vander’s solid frame, Powder’s footsteps tapping softly at her heels.
Vander’s anger coursed through the air, crackling like static as they wove through narrow roads toward the old barracks. With every stride, his broad shoulders tensed, telegraphing an impatience that made Vi’s stomach twist. She knew a storm was coming—and it was aimed squarely at her.
When they finally reached the barracks, Vander turned on his heel, fixing Powder with a stern glare. “Go home,” he ordered.
“But, Dad—”
“Go home. Now,” he repeated, his tone allowing no room for debate. “Vi, you’re with me.”
Vi sighed in resignation, meeting her sister’s hesitant gaze for a fleeting second. She offered Powder the barest nod before the younger girl turned and disappeared into the winding alleys. Soldiers parted for Vander’s approach, bowing their heads respectfully as he led Vi into a small, utilitarian room. A single bare bulb buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on concrete walls. Vander slammed the door shut behind them.
“What happened?” The words spilled from Vander’s mouth with thunderous force, echoing off the concrete walls. A single bare bulb overhead buzzed and flickered, its harsh light carving deep shadows across his face. He stood there, arms folded, the tense set of his jaw revealing just how close he was to losing whatever thread of composure he clung to.
Vi swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. She could see the storm in his eyes—a mix of anger and worry, swirling beneath the surface. She found no comfort in it, only a reminder of how badly she’d messed up.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she began, her voice catching slightly. A wave of conflicting emotions rolled through her: guilt for having dragged Powder outside the walls, fury at the humans’ ambush, and a strange swirl of confusion over that vampire . She tried to bury the thought of Caitlyn’s blue hair, shimmering in sunlight that shouldn’t have touched her. “They’re dead,” Vi continued, her throat tightening. “I killed them.”
Vander’s nostrils flared. He wanted details, and she knew it. But part of her resisted laying it all out, not fully understanding it herself. The silver bullet wound, the vampire’s blood that saved her, that quick flash of eyes so bright and impossible. Telling him everything felt like laying her soul bare for dissection, and she wasn’t sure she could handle the fallout.
“You and Powder went beyond the walls,” Vander growled, his voice all rough edges. “I told you never to do that. It’s not a game, Vi. Humans—”
“They attacked us,” Vi shot back, cutting him off. Her pulse hammered in her temples, and she realized she was still on edge from the fight. “I know what they can do. Don’t you think I know that?” The volume of her own voice surprised her, and for a moment she thought Vander would knock her flat for the insolence. But he didn’t—he just stared her down, that heavy disappointment carving deeper lines into his face.
An uneasy quiet settled, broken only by the humming overhead light. The confined space felt stifling, every breath stale. Vi flexed her fingers, remembering the tension of claws beneath her skin when she’d shifted earlier, the way rage and instinct had taken over. She tried not to think of the bullet, the searing pain as silver burned through her veins, the helplessness she’d felt.
Vander’s gaze flicked to her leg. “I heard you were shot,” he said, his tone losing some of its hard edge. He hated seeing her hurt—that much was clear—but he also hated the danger she’d put herself and Powder in. “Why aren’t you limping?” he asked, suspicion creeping in.
Vi’s heart stumbled. She didn’t want to lie, but telling him the whole truth—that a vampire had saved her—was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take. Vander was already on edge about humans; the fact that a sunlight-walking vampire had been out there was a whole different revelation. “Got lucky,” she answered gruffly, keeping her eyes locked on the floor. “No major damage.”
Silence stretched again, thick as oil. The tension in Vander’s posture spoke volumes—he knew there was more she wasn’t saying, but he also knew pushing her too hard might cause her to shut down completely. In that moment, fatherly concern mingled with the weight of leadership he carried on his shoulders. They could ill afford secrets in times like these, but perhaps he feared what the truth might hold as much as she did.
Eventually, he let out a sharp exhale, the muscles of his jaw working as he struggled to contain his frustration. “You’re coming with me to the council meeting,” he said, voice hollow with finality. “The fact that humans have breached our borders is alarming enough. And you, Vi—you broke the rules. You know what that means.”
Vi’s heart lurched. She tried not to show the twinge of panic flashing through her eyes, but the effort felt futile. “No! You can’t be serious, Dad!” she blurted. A cold dread prickled in her gut even as she forced defiance into her tone.
Vander slammed his palms on the table, a sharp crack echoing through the small chamber. The force rattled a nearby lamp, sending shadows dancing crazily across the walls. “I can’t keep covering for you, Vi!” he roared, every syllable tight with the frustration of a man who’d spent too long cleaning up someone else’s mess. “Janna’s sake, you’re twenty-five now. I’ve turned a blind eye to your pit fights—gods know that’s enough to make most Alphas proud—but you know the laws about leaving Zaun. You broke them, and there’s a price.”
He let out a trembling breath, as though the words pained him as much as they did her. “The council will give you two choices: seven years in prison…or a two-year posting at the border outpost.”
Vi went rigid. She could still feel the phantom burn of silver in her leg, remember the fear pounding in her skull as the white-suited humans closed in. Two years at the borders? She pictured armed battalions marching through that same forest, rifles trained on any shifting shadow. It wasn’t just a punishment—it was a death sentence.
She raked her fingers through her short pink hair, tension rolling off her in waves. “Two years at the borders? By myself? How exactly am I supposed to hold off a whole regiment of humans on my own? That’s insanity.”
Vander’s shoulders rose and fell as he steadied his voice. Anger still simmered, but there was a hint of worry there, too—the kind of desperation only a father could feel. “Insanity or not, those are your options. I’ve pulled every string I have to keep the council from throwing you into a cell on sight. You think I want this for you?”
Vi wanted to retort, to snarl something about the council’s hypocrisy, about how many times she’d risked her life for Zaun in the pits, about how unfair it was to confine her when all she’d wanted was a taste of freedom for her and Powder. But every argument lodged itself painfully in her throat. Vander was right: stepping outside Zaun’s walls had never been just a harmless adventure. Not with humans pressing closer every day.
She glanced aside, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The battered wooden table groaned as she shifted her weight. “I…I just wanted to live a little,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “I wanted Powder to see the sun outside these damned walls. Is that so terrible?”
Vander’s stance softened, his shoulders dipping just enough for Vi to catch a fleeting glimpse of empathy. But that moment of tenderness dissolved almost as soon as it appeared, replaced by the cool finality of leadership.
“You’ll have a chance to explain yourself to the council,” he said, voice subdued yet unyielding. “But don’t expect sympathy. We can’t afford to appear weak right now—not when the humans are pushing past our borders. We need them contained.” He paused, drawing in a slow breath. “And there’s a vampire…who’ll be joining you.”
Vi’s head snapped up, eyes sharp with alarm. “What? You never said anything about a vampire. ”
Vander sighed, fatigue shadowing his features. “Piltover’s council found her guilty of…something. Something they won’t explain. She’s been assigned the same punishment as you. Both of you will be stationed at the outpost for two years.”
A spasm of disbelief crossed Vi’s face. “You want me working side by side with some bloodsucker? That’s insane.”
His jaw tightened. “The council isn’t giving either of you a choice. It’s a five-day march to the border, and then another two days’ hike up the trail to the outpost itself. Engineers from both cities have been sent ahead to strengthen the walls—try to keep this from happening again. Your job is to watch for any more human incursions and ensure they’re turned away—or taken out. You report in every twenty-four hours.”
Vi could almost taste her own frustration. The memory of that vampire—blue hair cascading under impossible daylight—rose to mind, unbidden. Could it be the same one? Her chest tightened at the thought, but she quickly forced it down, determined not to let her confusion show.
She raked her fingers through her short hair. “So you’re telling me I either rot in prison for seven years or babysit a border wall with a vampire for two years. Great. Fantastic.”
Vander pressed his lips together, eyes flickering with a hint of regret. “I know it’s not what you want, Vi. But this is the best I can do to keep you out of a cell. We can’t risk the council thinking Zaun tolerates disobedience at a time like this.”
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t argue. In the back of her mind, a single question hammered at her: What crime did a vampire commit that Piltover would rather banish her to a border outpost than keep her in their own jails?
Silence hung thick in the air between them, broken only by the distant hum of Zaun’s machinery. Eventually, Vi exhaled a defeated breath, the fight in her momentarily subdued. “Fine,” she said, her voice sounding hollow. “I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to like it.”
Vander’s stern eyes softened just a fraction. “I just need you alive,” he said quietly. “We’ll handle the rest.”
With that, he turned away, leaving Vi to wrestle with her thoughts—and the sudden realization that her fate was now tied to a vampire she knew nothing about…or a vampire she might know far too well.