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"There has to be another way."
Leaning against his desk, Viktor doesn't look back at him. His face is sharp with focus, his mind running invisible numbers as he stares at the floor between them. His fingers absently tap against the handle of his cane. When he speaks, there is something final to his voice, like he has run every test, explored every possibility and outcome, only to conclude:
"There isn't. Not with the future of Hextech hanging in the balance."
Something twists in Jayce's guts. He turns to Mel, desperate for an ally, or someone he can talk some sense into, at the very least.
"And you're okay with this?"
"I'm the one who suggested it, actually."
Jayce's gaze goes back and forth between her and Viktor before he pinches the bridge of his nose, a headache brewing in his skull.
"You've lost your mind. Both of you."
The stress of the past few weeks weighs on his chest like an anvil. He starts pacing, though he barely notices, his mind wrestling with everything else, everything that could go wrong. Everything that is going wrong.
The Hexgates are not working. Well, they are, though not to the extent they ought to. Short range travel was perfected months ago, much to the Council's excitement. Their demonstration to the councilors still stands as one of Jayce's proudest moment, the feeling of vindication warm in his chest as they oohed and aahed at a technology they almost banished him over. An inauguration date was set after that, a fixed point on the calendar, an official deadline. Progress day of this year, a few months away.
Now it haunts Jayce like a constant shadow. The looming promise of disaster, biding its time, one day at a time, until he is revealed as a fraud and an imposter. Just a boy playing with magic, who wasted the Council's money on a machine that cannot reach the outskirts of Piltover.
Except he's not. He knows the Hexgates inside and out, every part of that tower down to the rivets and screws. He knows the perfect combination of runes that would ensure safe, long-range teleportation. He knows the exact alloy that would conduct arcane power best to enhance its capabilities. He knows what the Hexgates need.
The one thing he doesn't know is how to procure it.
Feruline was banned in Piltover before Jayce was born. It is a rare metal, something of a luxury, found in the mines of Freljord. It made the fortune of jewelers and mine owners alike, until the true cost of feruline was uncovered. The living cost. Slaves from all over Runeterra cramped in frozen tunnels, replaced and discarded without second thought, their blood like an invisible stain on metal that was worth more than all of their lives combined.
The demand dropped, the people of Piltover repulsed by the revelation. Most of the jewelry crafted before the ban was either melted into something else or disposed of. The mines were supposedly shut down. Soon, feruline became a thing of the past, replaced by other shiny trinkets, out of sight and out of mind. The black market took over the trade, as it is wont to do when anything gets rare and illicit enough, jacking up the price of a single ounce to exorbitant extremes. Far more than two Council backed scientists could ever hope to afford in a lifetime. Jayce knows this too. He's checked.
He didn't know any of this until a few years ago. Not until his mother brought him an assortment of scrap metal she had found in the attic, back when the first stone of the Hexgates was yet to be laid out. Test metals, she called it, from when his father would test out alloys for the forge. Among other things, the box contained a single pure feruline ring. It was as though the crystal had sensed it the second Jayce walked into the lab with it. It glowed brighter, responding to it like a magnet. Nights of testing ensued.
What is left of that ring coats the core of the Hexgates, where it serves the crystals best. Short-range teleportation would never have been achievable without it. And without more, long-range travel remains infuriatingly out of grasp.
They've looked everywhere. Jayce checked for family heirlooms, antiquities, junk shops, flea markets. Viktor tried to pull some strings in the Undercity, to no avail. The black market is a non-starter, not with the rates they practice.
Jayce came to Mel as a last resort. She was the first and main backer of Hextech, after all. Being the richest woman in Piltover opens doors, access Jayce and Viktor could not even fathom. Perhaps she knew where they could procure some. And she did.
Much to Jayce's growing distress.
Mel doesn't own any feruline of her own, nor can she risk compromising herself and her reputation meddling with the black market. But she knows who does. And where he hides it.
Salo has always struck Jayce as the slimy, self-serving kind. He was not exactly shocked to hear Salo hoards feruline jewelry like a dragon sits on gold. His stomach did churn, however, upon learning where those pieces came from. Clandestine mines. Active mines.
It should make it easier. It should make it feel righteous, some sort of retribution for a bad deed, well-earned karma. But the idea of stealing from a council member, however scummy, sends him into a spiral. Especially considering how calm Mel and Viktor seem about the whole thing. How can he be the only one freaking out about this?
"I almost got banished for less than this!" Jayce grabs the back of his desk chair, fingernails digging into the leather. "Do you hear yourselves? We could lose everything. Our research, our funding, our freedom, everything!"
He can feel it slipping between his fingers already. Years of work, of scientific breakthrough, finally closing the gap between magic and science, merging them into a single entity. So close. All for nothing.
Viktor's voice cuts through the wave of anguish threatening to drown him.
"We are losing everything either way."
Their eyes meet across the lab. They are perfect inverted mirrors, in that moment. Restless dread and composed resignation.
"No feruline, no Hexgates," he says, holding his gaze with an intensity unlike anything Jayce has ever seen before. "Then goes our funding. The lab. Our research. And Hextech."
Our dream. Jayce's hands flex against the chair, his lips pinched hard before he breaks into a sigh.
"We'll get caught," he pleads weakly, his voice almost strangled.
"That is a risk I'm willing to take."
Jayce can't fight the tinge of fondness stirring inside his chest. Truth be told, Viktor has always been the real risk-taker out of the two of them. Posing as an enrolled student to attend classes at the Academy. Taking a chance on a disgraced, expelled student and his clandestine research. Risking his hard-earned reputation and position as assistant to the dean on a hunch. Blocking the door of Heimerdinger's office with his cane to buy them time, exposing himself to arrest.
Viktor has never shyed away from risk. It is one of the many things Jayce admires about him. Even now.
"Hear us out, Jayce," Mel appeals. "Then you get the final say."
Jayce's grip loosens around the chair. He gives a vague approving nod to the suggestion. Might as well hear it. It'd be a shame to sleep soundly for the next few weeks.
"Right." Mel glances towards Viktor before focusing back on Jayce. Clearly they discussed this beforehand and he's only now getting the rundown. The realization leaves him feeling more apprehensive than left out. Mel and Viktor are both furiously intelligent in their own right. Combining their intellects feels like it could either lead to the best or the worst outcome imaginable, as he is about to find out:
"Salo keeps something of cabinet of curiosities in his home," she says, her tone serious as though briefing troops before battle. "He keeps feruline jewelry there, along with other rarities he's amassed over the years. He likes to give tours to people he wants to impress, his inner circle."
"Including you," Jayce assumes.
"No, but I have my sources. I know enough to tell you where it is, and how to get there. I could have a map drawn, there is still time."
Jayce frowns, struggling to assemble all the pieces laid out before him into something coherent.
"Time before what?"
"The gala Salo is hosting next week. Our way in. As promising, Council-founded scientists you are bound to be on the guest list, both of you. Especially with the inauguration of the Hexgates on the horizon. Salo can not snub that."
Behind Mel, Viktor wrinkles his nose. Guess there is no avoiding that gala, after such a long successful streak of dodged invitations. Jayce knows how uncomfortable it makes him, having to sell himself, to sell Hextech, sometimes more literally than not. Viktor usually got away with it by embodying Piltover's ideal of the dedicated scientist who sacrifices his free time for the betterment of the city, which, to be fair, is not that far-off.
"Hosting will keep him busy," Mel continued. "Busy enough to give us time to get what you need. In and out, and back to the party."
Jayce rubs his temples, looking for any holes and possible pitfalls in that plan, which look more like crevices from where he's standing.
"Let's say we do this and we don't get caught. How can we be sure Salo won't trace the missing feruline back to us? Won't he go to the sheriff the second he notices some of his stuff is gone?"
"Not without exposing himself in the process. He won't risk bringing attention to his dealings. Going to the sheriff would raise too many questions. The law applies to everyone, including councilors."
Viktor coughs a little bit too hard at that.
"You are a councilor," Jayce points out, his expression softening with genuine concern. "The law applies to you too."
"All the more incentive to pull this off. Besides, I won't be involved in the active part of this. No more than I need to be, anyway."
"Then who―"
"Me."
Jayce's eyes slowly trail back to Viktor. His face is sharp with cold determination. This is not a suggestion. Understanding hits Jayce at once, like ice poured into his rib cage.
"What? No! No way!"
Surely they can't be considering this. Surely they have not thought this through! Jayce may be naive at times, he knows that, but he's not clueless as to what would happen if a Zaunite was caught red-handed stealing from a councilor in his own home! Mel and Jayce could at least hope for some kind of leniency, but Viktor? He would not stand a chance on trial!
If anything happened to him, Jayce knows he could never forgive himself.
"V, if you get caught―"
"I thought we'd already established how I feel about that."
"I don't―" He pinches the bridge of his nose again, apprehension and frustration pushing into him with alarming intensity. "Let me do it!"
"It has to be me, Jayce. Your face is placarded on every street corner. You aren't exactly inconspicuous."
"Viktor's right," Mel interjects, her voice purposefully calm, measured. "You are too recognizable, people would take notice. Viktor is the safest choice."
Jayce gapes at her, outrage hot in his veins, leaving him lost for words. The safest choice? For whom? Viktor can't run, for crying out loud!
"What if Salo wants to show off his collection while you're in there? What then?" he challenges, his brows knit, poking at every hole he can so they'll come to their senses.
"We make sure Salo doesn't leave the ballroom at any time," Viktor counters swiftly, ready for the pushback. Obviously Jayce's reluctance has been accounted for in that plan of theirs. He doesn't know how to feel about that. About having someone know you so thoroughly they can anticipate your reactions to a T. It is disarming, in every sense of the word, though infuriatingly frustrating.
"How?"
"By offering Salo and his guest a distraction. Something he won't want to miss. Piltover's most dazzling and brilliant couple making their debut on the dancefloor, for instance."
Jayce swallows hard, his throat dry, his thoughts successfully derailed from prior concerns. He does his best to keep his voice even as he opens his mouth.
"You want," his hand waves back and forth between him and Viktor, "us to dance?"
Viktor stares at him for a beat, his expression a mix of confusion and something else Jayce can't quite place. It quickly settles into a familiar deadpan look he always pulls off so well.
"While I don't doubt a medical miracle would capture their attention, I haven't quite figured that one out yet."
He taps his braced ankle with the tip of his cane, and Jayce wishes the ground swallowed him whole. Idiot.
He bites the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to apologize and overexplain himself, which would only make things sound worse. Thankfully, Viktor keeps going, unflappable:
"I think we can all agree Miss Medarda is a better fit. The Man of Progress and the richest woman in Piltover, a perfect match by the city's standards."
"Salo is an inveterate gossip," Mel adds, and Jayce finds he can't quite look at her right now. "That will give him something to chew on while Viktor gets the job done."
"If everything goes to plan, I should be done by the time you are finished dancing."
"If," Jayce repeats sourly.
"We are doing our best with the cards we have been dealt, Jayce," Mel retorts, her eyes sharp. "We have dissected it from every angle, trust me. This is how we save Hextech."
Jayce drags a hand across his face with a ragged sigh.
"This is madness."
He can't believe he's agreed to it.
The night before the gala, Jayce can barely sleep. His mind is on overdrive, playing every scenario, every single thing that could go wrong. He tortures himself with visions of Viktor being made to kneel by enforcers, using his bad leg as a weak point so they can handcuff him. Jayce's body goes through ever state, too hot, too cold, sweating against the sheets. When the sky begins to pale through the window, he tosses them aside, both wide awake and bone tired.
He almost calls it off a dozen times that day. Even Viktor feels a bit tense, his words few and far between. Jayce catches Sky looking at them from time to time, concern drawn on her face, sensing something is definitely off, though she never dares to ask.
The last push is given by Heimerdinger, of all people. He is fond of surprise visits, checking up on their progress from time to time. Invirogating scientific stimulation, he calls it. Jayce is half-convinced he's also wary of them going too far, too out of control, too reckless. And he's not entirely wrong, only not in the way Heimerdinger expects.
"I will see you tonight then, boys," he delights as he's about to leave. "Perhaps we can take a moment to discuss inauguration day while we're at it! Councilor Kiramman has grand ideas for the festivities! You know her, she never does things half-way."
Jayce's eyes find Viktor's across the lab in a quick, meaningful glance.
"I don't want to bother Mrs. Kiramman with planning, professor," Jayce tries, his attempt at casualness ringing false in his ears. "I'm sure she would rather enjoy herself."
"Oh please," Heimerdinger dismisses with a wave of his hand and a smile. "You know that is half of what these events are for. We always have a bad habit of mixing business and pleasure. See you then!"
The rest of the day goes by at lightning speed. Viktor leaves first, bidding goodbye to Sky and a half-heard 'see you later' to Jayce. Jayce's nerves begin to rattle as he puts on his coat about an hour later, leaving Sky to lock the lab for the night. Home, he showers and puts on his formal clothes like an automaton, his mind entirely elsewhere.
The carriage ride to Upper Piltover is torturously long. Jayce can't stop fidgeting with his cufflinks, pressing his fingertips against the sharp edges of the little golden Ts.
Coaches line the gates to the Salo's manor. It is an ostentatious marvel of a thing, rivaling the Kiramman's estate. Jayce makes out a few peacocks roaming the grounds as he walks the main path, warm light glowing from the open doors at the end of it. His heart rate picks up as he notices the presence of a few enforcers by the entrance. He shouldn't be surprised. There have always been enforcers securing this type of event. He never paid them mind before, but tonight... It is different, when you're doing something worth arresting.
The ballroom is full of guests when Jayce arrives, though more keep streaming in. String music and chatter fills the air. It somehow feels less daunting, actually being here, than simmering in his own apprehension. Like walking all the way to a cliff and finally jumping from it, leaving him with only one direction.
Viktor is already there, making his way to him as Jayce spots him. As he comes closer, Jayce can't help but notice the change of clothes. For some reason he's always pictured Viktor wearing his lab clothes, in his anxiety-riddled imaginings, not formal wear. Which is a mistake on his part, because maybe he would have been a bit more prepared when the sight strikes him stupid.
Viktor is wearing black waisted pants and a gray fitted waistcoat with a black shirt underneath. The shirt is light, gauzy, giving a glimpse of his arms underneath, the contrast with his skin almost artful. Jayce does his best not to stare.
"Are you okay?" Viktor asks as he finally catches up to him. His hair is styled slightly different than usual. 'Neat' comes to mind, though it is unfair, because Viktor's hair always looks neat to him.
"Yeah, sure," Jayce lies. "You?"
"Never better." At least they're both lying, that's a comfort.
"You look," Jayce starts, unable to stop himself, though he doesn't quite know how to word it now. Elegant? Handsome? Stunning? No, he can't say that. "Good."
"I was going for plain and forgettable, actually."
As if anyone could ever think of Viktor in those terms, especially dressed like that. Perhaps the biggest blind spot in that plan of his.
"Well it suits you."
"Plain and forgettable suits me?" Viktor deadpans. There is a spark of mischief shining in his eyes, aiming straight at Jayce's heart.
"Oh fuck off, you know what I mean."
A small smirk cracks Viktor's facade as Jayce gives the tiniest kick to his shoe as retaliation.
"Thank you, Jayce. You look quite dashing yourself."
Jayce tries not to take the compliment to heart. It is part of the plan, his looks. Part of the role he has to play. Still, to hear it from Viktor's mouth, even in jest...
There is some commotion, people sudden flocking to one side of the ballroom. Grateful for the distraction, Jayce studies the tide, his eyes following it to its epicenter. Evidently their host has just made his entrance, and people are lining up to greet him.
"I guess we should go too," Jayce says, though he's hardly thrilled about offering his hand to a man while robbing him with the other.
"He looks busy enough for now," Viktor declines, clearly intent on avoiding their host as long as possible.
If Jayce has always found Salo unlikeable, he knows Viktor's opinion lies even lower. Salo barely acknowledges him during progress reports to the Council. He only ever addresses Jayce directly. Viktor once joked about him probably not even knowing his name. He is not one for petty revenge, but knowing the feruline comes out of Salo's pocket probably doesn't hurt.
"Maybe shaking hands will keep him busy all night," Jayce says, absently fidgeting with his cufflinks again. "That would work great for us."
He almost starts as Viktor's fingers catch his own, gently pulling his hand away before letting go. There are gold designs embroidered on his sleeves. Jayce doesn't know how he has missed them. They almost match his eyes. Again, he's not certain Viktor knows what 'plain' or 'forgettable' mean.
"It's going to be alright, Jayce," he says, his voice slightly hushed.
"It better."
"We broke into Heimerdinger's office once. It is not that different."
"You had the keys," Jayce points out.
"That's fair. But ever noticed how many times you and Sky have locked yourselves out of the lab and I haven't? Ever wondered why that was?"
Jayce's eyes widen, his expression caught between surprise and admiration.
"You've been picking the lock of a high-security lab you have a key to?"
Viktor shrugs, but Jayce can tell he's pleased with himself from the look in his eyes.
"Eh, got to keep my skills sharp."
A waiter stops by them with a tray heavy with wine glasses. For appearances' sake, Jayce picks two, handing one to Viktor. Neither of them intend to take a single sip, but at least they're blending in.
In the middle of the ballroom, guests have started dancing, couples swaying and twirling. The dancefloor doesn't take much space for now, but it is bound to grow once alcohol loosens a few legs and more people cave to please their partners. Jayce observes them, a lump in his throat. He'll have to make an impression there, soon. Of course he can count on Mel for most of the dazzling and grace, but he can't afford to fuck it up.
"How's your dancing?" Viktor asks, as though he's read his mind.
"Decent enough. Did you just assume, coming up with the plan?"
Viktor shrugs again.
"Figured the Kirammans didn't want you to stomp on their daughter's feet."
"That's... accurate."
They remain silent for a while, watching the dancers circle the dance floor to the sound of cellos and violins. The sparkling wine in Jayce's flute of getting warm and flat, he'll have to spill some somewhere before it looks strange. Or maybe he's overthinking this. Speaking of overthinking:
"What I said the other day," he starts, already kicking himself for bringing it up, "when I thought you wanted us to dance."
"It's alright, Jayce. No offense taken."
"No, it's not that. I... When you said 'brilliant' the first thing that came to mind was you. 'Cause you're brilliant. So that's why I thought, you know... It felt... obvious, to me."
Perhaps he should drink that stale wine after all, because trying to get his meaning across sober is doing nothing for him.
Still, Viktor looks at him, something soft about him when he smiles. Oh, Jayce really needs that drink.
"That's very kind, Jayce."
"It's the truth."
Before the moment can linger and grow too awkward for him to bear, he adds, jokingly:
"That's how I'll remember you when I rot in Stillwater for the rest of my life: brilliant."
"We could request joined cells," Viktor says, his voice light. "Could be the perfect occasion to teach you a thing or two about lock picking."
"You and I, disgraced scientists on the run."
"It has quite a nice ring to it."
"Can't wait."
They share a smile, and Jayce has to fight not to beam at him. He's forgotten how nervous he was, just then. For a second, he was back at the lab, quipping back and forth, doing what they are meant to do.
It doesn't last. Increased chatter by the entrance doors signal the arrival of a prestigious guest. Jayce can't get a good look, but he's willing to bet Mel just walked in. Gold shimmers through the crowd, catching the light.
All the players are here.
"Let's mingle for a while, yeah?" Jayce tells Viktor. "Make sure we're seen before we kick things off?"
Viktor nods, his face suddenly serious.
"It's on the second you step on the dancefloor."
"Alright."
They part ways, threading through the crowd of guests in different directions. It isn't long before Jayce has to shake a few hands and make small talk. This is usually how these events go, after all. He plasters on a smile, answers questions about the final touches on the Hexgates, joins complaints about the weather. It flows out of him from sheer muscle memory. Just another, normal night of being the Man of Progress.
After some time, as he finds himself alone and searching for Viktor or Mel through the crowd, he spots another familiar face.
"Sprout?"
Evidently, Cait is on duty, sporting her blue uniform. Cassandra can't be pleased about that. Jayce can picture her, her lips pinched at the sight of her daughter in something other than a suitable ballgown. Cait smiles at him as she recognizes him and carefully zigzags between guests to join him.
"I knew you'd be around here somewhere."
"Needs must," he huffs out a smile.
For all her mother's disapproval, Cait has never looked happier than since she joined the ranks. Jayce still remembers her first week of training. She would find him every day to recount every detail, her hands flying everywhere. It was different, exciting. It was something else than being the Kiramman's daughter. Although Jayce suspects her presence here on peace keeping duty isn't much of a coincidence. Better keep the daughter of one of the most influential women in Piltover away from actual danger.
"Noticed anything nefarious, officer?"
"Pfft, here? Nothing ever happens at these except a few trinkets getting swiped on the way out."
A cold, acrid taste coats the back of Jayce's throat. In all fairness, he can only blame himself for walking straight into that one.
"Caught many of those?"
He manages to keep his smile steady, but his voice sounds somewhat strangled in his ears.
"Most of them are drunk by the time they try to leave. They're not particularly smooth about it. It's a thrill thing, I think."
Imagine that, stealing for the thrill of it. The only thing it does to him is feed a constant nauseous sensation right below his stomach.
"Are you alright?"
Jayce blinks at her. Cait is staring at him, her brow slightly angled. He has been fidgeting again, he realizes, spilling a bit of wine on the floor in the process. He lets go of his sleeve, clearing his throat.
"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"
"Gods, you're lucky you're a scientist and not a salesman," she says, crossing her arms against her chest, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Why?"
"Because you're a shit liar."
She's right. Lying doesn't come naturally to Jayce, it never has. Even faced with the possibility of exile, he could not find it in himself to lie to the Council about his experiments. It is not in his nature, and he's had little practice in life. Lying to Cait felt especially futile. She is like a bloodhound specifically trained to sniff out his bullshit.
"I'm kind of a salesman these days, unfortunately," he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Sorry, it's been a rough few weeks. I'm a bit of a mess."
It is, technically, not a lie. It seems to pass Cait's bullshit detector with flying colors, as she nods in understanding, her expression melting into a softer one.
"Inauguration day, yes?"
"Yeah."
"I keep hearing about it at home. I can't imagine the kind of pressure you must be under. But if anyone can make it work, it's you. And Viktor."
Jayce breaks into a small, genuine smile. She has always been in his corner, even when he kept raving about magic and crystals when they were younger. Part of it must have been childlike wonder on her part, something of a nice tale to listen to, but he has always been grateful for it. Half the adults he told his story to had dismissed it as delusions due to the cold. At least Cait never questioned it.
"Thank you, sprout."
"Plus Progress day isn't until months," she nudges him gently. "There is still time to freak out."
"The freaking out stage is mandatory in every scientific endeavor, I'm afraid."
"Nothing you can do about it tonight, though, right? Might as well enjoy it. It will keep until tomorrow."
Cait can't know how wrong she is, in that moment, and Jayce hopes she never gets to find out. He nudges her back instead, pushing his shoulder against hers.
"No promises."
He leaves Cait to her duties not long after, greeting a few more familiar faces as he makes his way around the ballroom. He does end up shaking Salo's hand, if only to get a solid notion of where he is, so he can keep an eye on him.
Evidently, Viktor and Mel had the same idea, given they're only standing a few paces from each other when Jayce looks over Salo's shoulder. He takes a deep breath, approaching Mel. She is stunning, as ever. The choice of the dress has been made long in advance, but he's still struck when he sees it on her. Red and white. House Talis colors. Laying it on thick, so everyone gets the right idea. Or at least the idea they want to convince them of.
Jayce keeps one hand tight around his glass and the other stiff by his side. No fidgeting. No foot tapping. He enters the stage, his heart in his throat, but ready.
"Miss Medarda."
"Mr. Talis."
The small talk is performative, loud enough to be heard by those standing in their close proximity. Jayce lets it flow out of him, years of practice making that kind of pretense effortless. It is not so much lying as it is playing a role. It is only when the music stops, the musicians readying their instruments for the next piece, that he asks, slightly louder:
"May I have this dance?"
Mel slips her hand in his offered one. Her coy smile looks so real it is unnerving.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Their glasses are abandoned on a tray as Jayce guides her to the dancefloor. Looking back over his shoulder, he crosses Viktor's gaze. They share the briefest of nods.
By the time they are both standing on the dancefloor, eyes staring at them like a thousand hawks, Viktor is nowhere to be seen.
Salo's estate is a maze, but one that has been mapped to perfection. Every door, stair and corridor is etched in Viktor's mind like an extensive blueprint. He spent the better part of the week studying the map provided by Councilor Medarda, memorizing every nook and cranny until he could see it all with his eyes closed.
As expected, the main staircases are blocked by enforcers, to keep guests from wandering into the rest of the manor unattended. Good. Viktor never intended to use them in the first place.
Whoever drew the map has to have worked there for an extended period of time. It is all there: hidden pathways, concealed doors, servants' staircases. Enough to sneak around the house unseen, as servants ought to, in this part of town. Viktor briefly wonders how much they were compensated for all this invaluable knowledge. Enough to cover their immediate dismissal and court fees should they be found out, no doubt.
Quietly, Viktor extracts himself from the crowd, circling his way closer and closer to the wall until he's practically standing next to it. It is only matter of following it to the exit now, to a corridor leading to the lavatories. It is empty when he gets there. On the wall, at the exact spot where it should be, a handle has been painted the same color as the wall, barely noticeable. Looking over his shoulder, Viktor pushes against it. Within seconds, he's disappeared in the bowels of the house.
The staircase is steep, and there is no handrail to hold onto. His hand pressed against the wall for balance, Viktor climbs slowly, carefully, his leg straining against the effort. When he makes his way to the top, he stops to catch his breath and braces himself.
Jayce was never particularly fond of the dance classes he had to take as a teenager. He and Cait used to come up with elaborate schemes to avoid them, each excuse more convoluted than the last, ending with them locking themselves inside Cait's room after losing the key 'by accident'. Needless to say Mrs Kiramman was not amused.
He is eternally grateful for them now.
The steps unfold seamlessly, barely requiring thought. His body and mind have quickly begun working as distinct entities, the first holding Mel's hand and leading the dance, while the other keeps track of Salo at all times, his eyes sweeping the crowd for blonde, slicked back hair and a permanent disdainful pout.
"Jayce."
Salo's over there, talking with the head of the tanners' guild. He's not looking at them. How much of a distraction is this really―
"Jayce."
He blinks, focusing back on Mel. She is smiling to him, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Relax your face," she tells him quietly, only for him to hear.
"He's not looking at us," Jayce says, forcing the frown off his face to mirror her.
"He will. If we sell it well enough."
Lucky you're a scientist and not a salesman. Well that's his fucking luck.
"Lower your hand," Mel tells him, an encouraging look on her face.
Jayce's eyes dart to the hand he has wrapped high around Mel's waist, where he was taught to place it. Anything lower would be considered incredibly forward at best and inappropriate at worse.
He looks back at Mel, unsure.
"Already?"
"Stiff and orderly won't to keep Salo around for long."
Sensing his lingering hesitation, she adds:
"How would you dance with Viktor?"
Jayce nearly steps on her foot, thrown out of rhythm. He stares at her, stunned, heat rising to the tip of his ears. Stupidly, the only thing that makes it out of his mouth is:
"Viktor doesn't dance."
There is infinite patience in Mel's voice then as she takes the lead, guiding him back into the right tempo:
"But if he did. Would your hand be this high?"
Jayce swallows, the inescapable vulnerability that comes with being seen tight in his chest. She knows. How long has she known? Does Viktor know? Surely not... Things would be weird between them if he knew, right?
Slowly, his hand follows the curve of Mel's waist, settling just above her hip, his pinky finger flirting with indecency. Mel gives him an almost imperceptible nod.
"Good," she says, her smile just as bright as ever. "Keep smiling. Just pretend I'm Viktor."
What an odd thing to say, when two people could not be more different. As though it was hard pretending to fall for Mel Medarda. If Jayce was quite honestly with himself, he teetered on the edge of that, once, before his heart changed course, making a home in other eyes, unwavering since. He doesn't dare picture Viktor in her stead. The variables are too endless it would eat away at his focus. The way Viktor's hands would feel, small callouses at his fingertips, while Mel's are smooth. The way the light would shine in the gold of his eyes instead of Mel's green.
No. Better not entertain the thought.
Still, he smiles, the perfect copy of Mel's own mask. She laughs coyly at something he didn't say, catching some eyes.
At last, Salo's looking.
The corridor is empty. Still, Viktor closes the concealed door with extreme caution, avoiding making any sound. He can hear music from the ballroom, along with the muted roar of conversations downstairs. If anyone has noticed he is gone, this is the last place they will look for him.
Salo's ostentatious decor comes with its advantages; the floor is carpeted, muffling the sound of Viktor's cane tapping with every step. Carefully, he walks the long corridors leading to Salo's office, stopping at ever corner to check for unwanted company. Like anticipated, enforcers did not think guarding the first floor was warranted. Good. The route clear in Viktor's mind, he reaches the office without interruption.
The door is large, adorned with gold leaf and carved designs. Viktor did not expect anything less. Reaching in his inner breast pocket, he pulls out leather gloves and his tools, and gets to work. The lock isn't necessarily elaborate; Viktor's picked worse before he even lost all his baby teeth. It's the kneeling of it all that makes it a fucking pain, in every sense of the word.
The latch gives. It can't have taken more than a minute. Pushing against his cane, Viktor stands and puts his tools away in his back pocket. He looks over his shoulders, once, twice, before closing the door behind him.
The office is of little interest. Much like the rest of the manor, it is big, lavish and garish. Viktor's real focus is the towering bookcase to the right. It was sketched in detail in the documents he was given, a specific book circled in red. Viktor studies the shelves, looking for the trigger. His gaze falls on a bestiary of Runeterra's rare creatures, and he rolls his eyes. Of course, subtlety is too much to ask.
The bookcase creaks as he tugs on the book, revealing a small opening on its side. Viktor's heartbeat pulses in his fingertips. He's so close. He's really doing this!
What lies behind the secret entry is perhaps the most interesting part of this house. It is an eclectic array of stuff, from paintings to silverware to lewd porcelain figurines to―
Viktor stops by a glass cage, swallowing back a strangled gasp. A small creature is looking at him with big, doleful eyes. Whatever it is, it isn't a specimen he has ever seen. Thick white fur covers its body and tail except for its paws, which are strangely hand-like. One of Runeterra's rare creature, no doubt, he thinks bitterly. Locked here, for the viewing pleasure of those who can afford to keep it there.
He presses a glove-covered hand against the glass, and the creature matches him with both.
"I'm sorry."
I'm sorry I can get you out of here, he means. I'm sorry the world has been cruel to you, keeping you away from home and your own. He can not afford to free it. It would be too big, too noticeable. Who knows what would happen if he broke that glass. His choice is made, and it breaks his heart.
The feruline jewelry is displayed a little further, the iridescent glow of the metal unmistakable. It thrones on crimson cushions, lights strategically placed nearby to show off its shine. There are rings, a few necklaces, a belt buckle and bracelets. Some pieces look too heavy and cumbersome to be concealed efficiently. At least Salo will only mourn some of his collection.
Methodically, Viktor picks the lightest pieces, including all of the rings and most of the bracelets. He tucks everything into the inside pockets of his waistcoat, mindful not to overstuff them. No need to look suspicious on the way out.
When he is done, he gives one last look to the creature, his chest tight. Maybe one day he'll have enough to buy it off Salo. If the Hexgates are the success they are bound to be, if he earns enough of the Council's trust... He rarely thinks of his own personal gain. It is not the point of Hextech, of any of his work, but Viktor is no idiot. Money opens doors and possibilities. Perhaps even the very door he just unlocked a minute ago. He could play the fool, pretend he's never seen the creature before, make Salo an offer. One day.
He pushes against the bookcase, closing the opening. That is enough 'ifs' for now.
The pain in his leg throbs back as he kneels by the door to lock it. He readies his tools, aligning them into the lock, and freezes.
Footsteps.
Close. Getting closer now.
Viktor's hands begin working at a frantic pace. A little more to the left. To the right. Push that pin higher.
They're almost there.
Just one more second. One more. Please!
"Thank you," Jayce says, his voice low. "For doing this. For helping us."
They have been on the dancefloor for a while, now. Dancers have come and gone, but they remain an attraction for some of the people in the crowd. Salo included. Jayce tries not to listen to the whispers floating around the room.
"It felt like a waste not to. Your problem has an obvious solution, albeit an illicit one."
"Still, you're putting yourself at risk. I appreciate that."
Mel's smile reaches her eyes this time.
"Some rewards far outweigh the risks. I believe that for Hextech. I'm sure you do too, or we wouldn't be standing here."
She's right. Perhaps that's why he has not called the whole thing off, in spite of all his protests and qualms. Because he knows he could never sleep at night knowing the answer was within reach, and he didn't at least try. It would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Mel's hand slides just below his nape, allowing her to press closer, hiding her face from view, except from Jayce.
"Viktor planned to do this alone, did he tell you?"
Jayce has to remember to keep a tight grip on his features.
"What?"
"He didn't want us involved. I had to talk him out of it. He can be incredibly stubborn."
The information settles in his heart like an ache. Viktor knew Jayce would be a liability. He is too concerned with how people perceive him, his reputation, the consequences each of his action could have. He's been burned before, and he can't afford to fail again, not with Hextech finally getting off the ground for good. Of course Viktor would want to keep him in the dark.
"Because I'm too much of an unpredictable variable," he says, the words heavy on his lips.
Mel looks up at him, the tiniest crack in her facade showing through. She looks confused, if only for a second.
"No, Jayce. Because he wanted you to have plausible deniability. A way out if he got caught."
Jayce opens his mouth, but finds himself speechless. What?
"He thought I would just... let him take the blame?"
The thought infuriates him. As though he would sit idle while Viktor gets put behind bars. As though he would allow that to happen without fighting tooth and nail for him, beg the Council if need be, like his mother did for him, in her own way.
"He said at least one of you should be able to carry on with Hextech. Ensure the technology isn't lost, or appropriated."
"There is no Hextech without Viktor."
This he knows in his bones. Hextech would still be stuck on a page without Viktor's involvement, without his genius to untangle its theoretical threads. Carrying on without him would be expropriation in itself, and Jayce can't bear the thought of it.
"I'd sooner stand trial with him."
The corners of Mel's lips twitch upwards.
"He agreed you are stubborn enough to do just that. You make quite the pair."
They smile to each other, perhaps the first real one they have shared all night. But as Jayce looks over Mel's shoulder, it freezes on his face, turned into a hollow rictus.
Salo isn't there.
"Shit."
His eyes search the room, panic seeping into him. Viktor isn't back yet. Shit, shit, shit!
Salo is standing by one of the imposing staircases, his hand on the banister. He is surrounded by a handful of guests who are following him, talking and laughing among themselves.
"He's leaving," he forces himself to whisper, slowly losing decorum.
He can't see Viktor anywhere. For all he knows he's still elbow-deep in Salo's feruline collection. They need more time. Viktor needs more time.
Jayce's gaze falls on the musicians stationed at the edge of the dancefloor. There is a short lull between pieces, some of them leafing through scores, others checking and tuning their instruments. Filled with desperate brazenness, Jayce lets go of Mel. They need something to catch Salo's attention. Mel is right. Stiff and orderly won't do.
"Jayce," Mel catches his arm, softly enough for it to pass off as a lover's touch. "What are you doing?"
"Getting ourselves a distraction."
The footsteps are just around the corner.
Viktor holds his breath, turning the last pin in place, effectively locking the door. He shoves his tools in his back pocket, hastily taking off his gloves. He's barely on his feet, still leaning heavily on his cane, when the footfall comes to a stop.
"Viktor?"
A wave of relief washes over him as he recognizes the woman standing at the end of the corridor. It fades rather quickly, however, when he notices the uniform she's wearing.
"Miss Kiramman."
He can't help the breathiness in his voice, the rush he just went through taking its toll. His leg throbs painfully, as another reminder. He's pretty sure there is sweat shining at his temples.
Cait steps closer, her eyes narrowed. Oh. So officer Kiramman it is, then. Viktor steels himself, offering her his most affable smile.
"What are you doing here?"
"I was looking for the lavatories."
She gives a quick glance at his braced leg, skeptical.
"Upstairs?"
"I do not come here often. Seems I got myself lost."
"I'd say so."
They stare at each other for what feels like an unbearably long minute, until Cait crosses her arms against her chest, her face locked in a severe expression.
"Alright, what's going on?"
Viktor blinks at her, the picture of innocence, or at least that is what he's going for. She's always been dangerously perceptive, that one.
"Excuse me?"
"Jayce is being weird," she says, her eyes raking Viktor's body up and down as though she can uncover his crime through sight alone. "You're being weird. What are you two up to?"
"Miss Kiramman, I can assure you―"
"Is Jayce in trouble?"
Depends on how this conversation ends.
"No," he elects to answer instead.
Caitlyn gauges him, unconvinced. Her foot taps against the carpeted floor. Her mouth twists into a frustrated pout until she breaks into a groan.
"Come. I'll escort you back downstairs."
'Escort' is perhaps too strong a word, but Viktor won't point that out. Being accompanied by Caitlyn Kiramman is better than any other outcome involving an enforcer he can think of.
They walk side by side, Cait slowing her pace to accommodate Viktor's. He doesn't miss the suspicious glances she casts his way from time to time. The music rising from the ballroom is stronger when she finally asks:
"Would you tell me if Jayce was in trouble?"
It is touching, the way she cares about him. It is not uncommon in the Undercity, for siblings to be of heart rather than blood. Viktor has rarely seen it in Piltover, but Jayce and Cait are a textbook example of it. Touching, yes. Terribly compromising, also.
"Not if he told me otherwise."
She rolls her eyes.
"Of course." She hesitates until she adds: "He's just been... distant, lately. Troubled. Not like himself."
"Working for the Council is demanding. I imagine you know that more than most. The pressure has been noticeably... amplified, lately."
Cait makes a noncommital sound. Viktor can almost see the cogs turning in her mind, trying to piece together the puzzle of his and Jayce's behavior. An incomplete picture, he hopes.
The corridor opens into a gallery, where large staircases lead back to the ballroom. Over the balustrade, the whole dancefloor comes in full view. As they approach the railing, Viktor and Cait share a confused look. The music has shifted for the usual muted, sophisticated melodies. Brass instruments have joined the strings, playing a lively, catchy tune that fills the ballroom. They lean against the balustrade as one.
Viktor's breath catches in his throat.
On the dancefloor, taking up most of the space, Jayce and Mel Medarda shine like the sun, the rest of the guests mere satellites orbiting around them. They fit beautifully together, achingly so. Viktor should know; he planned it that way. That is what Jayce deserves; someone he can shine with. Viktor stares at him, his radiant face, the few wild strands of hair that have fallen in front of his eyes from dancing. It is like he was born for this. Infinitely charming. Infinitely brilliant. Infinitely out of reach. Viktor's heart suddenly weighs heavier than all the feruline he could carry.
"What a show-off," Cait huffs next to him, her smile up to her ears.
The music is gaining in intensity. Below, Jayce makes Mel twirl, catching her waist. As the last notes ring out, he tips her backwards, one of his hands holding her by her thigh, where the slit in her dress meets skin. Applause roars in the ballroom.
Viktor averts his eyes. Doing so, he catches Cait looking at him, something akin to concern on her face. Or worse, pity. Dangerously perceptive indeed. She waits for the applause to subside to straighten her back, her serious face back on.
"Listen, you tell Jayce he owes me. For not getting into," she gestures vaguely at Viktor, "whatever you two are up to."
"There is nothing going on, Miss Kiramman," Viktor insists calmly, for consistency's sake.
"Sure. Like I'll believe that." She sighs, walking away from the balustrade. "Come on, let's get you back to the party."
She chooses the rightmost staircase, for more discretion, he figures. As Viktor follows her downstairs, his eyes meet Jayce's from across the room. He gives him a small signal, and Jayce beams at him, his chest heaving gently from exertion.
He should be happy too, he figures. He is, in a way, or at least he will be, once every loose end has been neatly tied and put to rest. But looking at Jayce, he can't deny the longing in his chest. He is so good at it, usually. It comes to him as easily as breathing, after years of practice. Friendship, he tells himself daily, is as strong a connection as any. It is enough. It must be.
Viktor is nothing if not a good liar.
The rest of the evening is a blur.
Jayce and Viktor are roped into an unofficial Council meeting by Heimerdinger and Councilor Kiramman regarding next Progress Day and the inauguration of the Hexgates. It is mostly about table seating arrangements and what would look the most grandiose for the gates' maiden launch. Viktor lets it glide past him, adrenaline coursing through him the entire time.
Salo tries to get a hold of Councilor Medarda for the rest of the evening, curious about her apparent entanglement with the Man of Progress. Jayce is mostly left alone, because he's not the powerful party in this supposed match. What would Salo have to gain from him, but what he's already providing the Council, after all?
As the gala starts drawing to a close, Councilor Medarda suggests taking a carriage home. Her and Jayce leave shoulder to shoulder, their hands brushing until they climb inside the waiting coach. Viktor does his best to ignore it as he walks behind them. No need to rub salt in a wound of his own making.
Once they are all sat, the masks fall. Viktor unbuttons his waistcoat, pulling a handful of rings from his breast pocket. Jayce can't stop smiling.
"We should have all this melted down," he says, inspecting one of the pieces between his fingers. "I can have it done tonight."
"Good. Best not keep those lying around," Councilor Medarda agrees.
The carriage driver is told to stop at Jayce's apartment, since heading to the forge directly would leave too much of a trail for Salo to follow, if he ever traced things back to them. In the meantime, the feruline is transferred from Viktor's pockets to Jayce's.
"Do you think it will be enough?" Viktor wonders as he gives him the last piece, feeling suddenly anxious.
"My mom's ring was enough for short-range. That's... thirty times that."
It is all secure by the time the carriage stops and Jayce prepares to step out.
"Get home safe," he tells Mel, before turning to Viktor: "See you at the lab?"
"See you at the lab," he nods.
The carriage door slaps shut behind him. The silence left behind is almost awkward. Viktor looks through the window to give himself something to do.
"I trust everything went well on your end?" Councilor Medarda says after a while, a certain lightness to her voice.
"As well as it could have gone, thanks to the map."
He doesn't ask in return. He knows how things went on her end. According to plan is one way to put it. Exceeding expectations is another. It is unfair, childish to resent her for it, for something he himself orchestrated, but he can't shake off the sensation gnawing at him. She is, he knows, an invaluable ally. But envy, much like love, is an irrational beast he's helpless to tame, through no fault of her own.
"He thinks very highly of you," she says then, catching him off-guard.
"What?"
She is looking at him, a knowing look on her shadow-obscured face.
"Jayce. He cares for you."
Viktor frowns, confused.
"I know."
"I don't think you do."
Two hours go by before the door of the lab unlocks, letting Jayce through. He has ditched his evening clothes for a clean, soft-looking white linen shirt and brown pants.
Viktor stands from his desk, expectant, his pulse thrashing in his ears. His hand twists around the handle of his cane, statics at his fingertips.
"So?" he asks.
"All melted, safe and hidden, ready to use," Jayce smiles a bright, relieved smile.
"Was it enough?"
"With some to spare."
Viktor lets out a breath, the weight he has been carrying around snapped off his body. He is not one to say this lightly, but his legs sudden feel made of cotton, the rest of him floating along, no denser than air itself.
"So we did it," he whispers, barely believing it.
"We did it."
It overwhelms him then. Relief, joy, exhaustion. It is like he is suddenly bursting with it. It presses against his chest, driving a faint chuckle out of him. Then another. Then another, louder, brighter, until he's laughing uncontrollably. Jayce follows, leaning against Sky's desk for balance. They can't stop. The sounds echo against the walls of the lab, and it is almost as if it is laughing along with them.
They did it. They fucking pulled it off.
Laughs melt into cheerful sighs after a while, but their smiles never wane. Jayce looks beautiful, unburdened, his cheeks flushed from laughter. His eyes shine bright as he looks at Viktor, and Viktor's heart hammers in his chest. It is like being gazed upon by the sun, a gentle, late afternoon sun, one that doesn't burn but fills you with warmth and hope.
Hope is a dangerous gamble, but Viktor allows himself a faction of it. He can keep the warmth. Jayce will always offer him that, if nothing else.
"I could use some fresh air," Jayce says, a little winded. "Care to join?"
The roof is an elevator ride and a short flight of stairs away from the lab. An access hatch has been carved into the roof itself for maintenance and repairs. Undetectable from the outside, it is never locked. Jayce offers Viktor his arm as he stands on the slanted tiles. The grip around his forearm is hauntingly strong as Viktor hauls himself up over gap separating the landing and the roof, testing his balance.
Piltover sleeps at their feet, the sky a star-speckled blanket over the city. They can see the whole spread of it from here. In the darkness, the Undercity glows faintly in the distance. Closer, the Hexgates tower stands like a pillar, the moonlight reflecting against the copper domes and its crowning sphere. It shines like a beacon in the night.
Jayce looks at it with newfound peace. The sight of it filled him with dread up to this evening, but everything is different now. Everything feels easier, lighter. Full of possibilities.
They sit next to each other, facing the skyline. Viktor lays his bad leg in front of him and bends the other, pulling his thigh close to his chest. His cane rests on the tiles, the angle not steep enough to risk it rolling all the way down. Jayce notes it all as he reclines on his elbows.
They mostly sit in companionable silence, high on exaltation and relief.
"Mel told me you wanted to do it alone," Jayce says after a while, his voice soft, devoid of accusations.
"No need for both of us to get arrested."
Viktor keeps his eyes to the city, his irises alight with the gentle glow of the streetlamps below.
"You know I would never have let that slide, right?"
Viktor huffs out a chuckle, glancing back at him.
"Councilor Medarda was of a similar mind."
"I mean it, V."
"I know. Hence plan number two."
Silence stretches between them for a while, more contemplative than awkward. Viktor is the first to break it, resting his chin on his knee as he turns to Jayce.
"Your dancing is more than decent."
The hint of a smile dances on his lips as he says it, sending a pang through Jayce's chest. He sits up, raking a hand through his hair.
"You saw that?"
"Caught the end of it."
Caught me kissing Mel Medarda's hand and caressing her thigh for all to see, Jayce translates in his head. It's mortifying.
"Had to put on a show, right?" he rubs the back of his neck, avoiding Viktor's eyes.
"Right."
Viktor knows, Jayce tells himself on a loop, the urge to clarify things further itching to the bone. He knows it was pretend. He's the one who suggested it. He has to know. If he could just make sure...
"You were incredible back there," he says instead.
There is something bashful about the way Viktor looks at Jayce then that is terribly endearing. He's never been comfortable receiving compliment, especially heartfelt ones.
"You didn't see any of it," he argues.
"I wish I had."
"It doesn't beat dancing with Mel Medarda, trust me," Viktor deflects wryly.
"It does to me."
Viktor's smile falters, like he can't quite believe Jayce said that and meant it. Emboldened, Jayce pushes further:
"I admire that about you, you know? You're always so... Decisive. Bold."
Viktor looks away to the city, retreating under the weight of Jayce's earnestness. He looks almost wistful, his gaze lost in the vastness of the horizon. The moonlight casts sharp shadows on his face. Jayce would spend hours drawing the edges, again and again, if he could.
"It's not about being bold," he says quietly. "It's about... Knowing what's worth the risk, I suppose."
You're worth the risk, Jayce thinks, the words at the edge of his lips, where his pulse beats like a mad drum. He can't say it. Maybe he'll never be quite as bold as Viktor, though he wants to be, desperately, in that moment. He wants to be. He needs to be.
Some rewards far outweigh the risks.
Jayce moves before he can stop himself. His hand rests on Viktor's thigh, his palm wrapped around the curve of it, metal brace and all. He can feel his warmth through the fabric. He can feel Viktor freeze at the touch, too. Pushing away second thoughts, Jayce leans in and kisses his cheek. A touch too long, too intent for friends to share. A confession of sorts.
When he leans back, Viktor is staring at him, his face caught between stupor and a strange, painful melancholy.
"You're... It's the adrenaline," he whispers, studying Jayce's face as though he's feeling unwell. "You're not thinking clearly."
"Viktor." Jayce gives Viktor's thigh a light squeeze, his gaze travelling from Viktor's face to his lips. "It's the clearest my mind has been for a long time."
He wonders if he'll dare lean again, kiss those lips like he kissed his cheek just a second ago. If it will be too far, too bold, too risky. Viktor's eyes bore into him, the molten gold of them the same as the night they met, another night, another moon. He wonders―
He doesn't need to. Viktor leans first. It is quick, stolen, barely a kiss, but it sets Jayce aflame all the same. The cold air brushes against his lips, wet from Viktor's, and he exhales a shuddering breath.
"I thought..." Viktor croaks, in no better state.
The hint of a flush creeping up his cheeks and collar has Jayce almost gasping with want. He leans in again, but Viktor beats him to it a second time.
It is not a brush of lips, this time. It is a claim. Viktor's hand holds the back of Jayce's head, fingers tangled in his hair as though he's afraid to let go as he kisses him breathless. For a glorious moment, Jayce lives for the heat at the edge of his lips, for the sweep of Viktor's tongue against his own and the soft sounds swallowed between them. His hand cups Viktor's cheek, pulling him ever closer, when a dull tumbling noise tears them apart.
There is a long, tense silence, until something shatters many, many feet below. Evidently the tiles are not as secure as they were led to believe.
"I think we should get down," Jayce smiles, half-dazed, Viktor's cheek still warm in his palm. Viktor's breath tickles his lips and a million sparks rush through him, nerve-endings alight.
"I think Miss Young won't be back at the lab for a few hours," Viktor says. There is a look in his eyes, one Jayce has never seen before, full of mischief and promise, and something else that has his pulse racing.
"Not a minute to waste, then."