The last fireworks fizzled out, leaving the workshop air heavy with the scent of gunpowder. The gramophone reached the end of the record, the aggressive music giving way to the soft hiss and crackle of the needle spinning in the empty groove. Jinx, still buzzing with the leftover energy of her celebration, collapsed onto the battered old sofa, clutching Boom-Boom, the defiled Poro.
Kaen—having survived the ordeal of the forced dance—turned to what he considered a far more important task: exploring the shrine of his number-one fan. He walked slowly across the metal turbine blades, his shoes making a hollow clank on the steel. His violet eyes, expressionless yet curious, took in everything.
He passed the workbench, an altar to creative chaos. Scribbled blueprints on napkins, gears of every size, colored wires spilling like spaghetti, and a half-finished gun prototype that looked far more likely to explode in the user's hand than fire a bullet.
"A chaotic but prolific mind," he murmured to himself. "The environment of an unpolished genius. Needs a mentor." He pointed a thumb at himself, as if the conclusion were obvious.
His gaze landed on the dolls. Mylo seemed to judge him from the couch. The plush Claggor dangled from a beam, its shadow swaying gently. Kaen studied them for a moment.
"You must've enjoyed the show," he told them in his monotone. "My performance was sublime, wouldn't you say? Though my co-star did steal a bit of the spotlight with her colorful explosions. We'll have to work on that."
From the couch, Jinx watched him with an amused smile. "Are you talking to my boys?"
"I'm getting feedback from my audience," Kaen corrected without turning around. "They're a bit quiet, but their silence speaks volumes. Clearly impressed."
He stepped up to the wooden rocking horse shaped like a rhino, giving it a gentle push with his foot. It creaked back and forth with a mournful squeal. Kaen considered it."The rhino. A symbol of brute strength and unrefined aggression. A metaphor for your own artistic psyche, I suppose."
"Or maybe it's just a wooden horse," Jinx said, getting to her feet. The euphoria had settled into a feverish focus. She moved to the workbench, shoved a pile of scrap aside, and spread out the stolen research notes. She set the Hextech gem in the center, its blue glow washing over the papers and her face in an ethereal light.
"Okay, okay, enough of your nonsense," she said, her tone sharpening. She leaned over the papers, her fingers tracing diagrams, equations, and runes. "Now the real work begins."
Kaen stepped closer, looking over her shoulder. The notes were a tangle of Hextech physics and crystalline theory—probably Jayce's handwriting. Complex and dense, but for someone who'd spent time in Singed's lab, not entirely incomprehensible.
"Do you understand any of that?" Kaen asked with genuine curiosity.
"Of course I do!" Jinx snapped, a little defensive. "It's… complicated. Full of stretched-out Pilty words. 'Harmonic resonance matrix,' 'runic theory'—blah, blah, blah! Why not just call it 'the thing that makes the shiny thing not explode'?"
"Precise terminology is the foundation of reproducible science," Kaen replied, sounding exactly like a textbook. "If you call it 'the thing,' another scientist might confuse it with 'that other thing,' and then boom—you've got a contained singularity eating your lab. It's a communication problem."
Jinx frowned at him. "You're weird. You talk like a book, but act like you ran away from a circus."
"I'm multifaceted," he said. "Like a diamond. Or a very complicated Rubik's Cube. Now—what's the plan, evil genius? Building a giant laser to write your name on the moon?"
"Don't be stupid! That's a waste of energy!" Jinx said, though the idea clearly amused her for a second. "I'm going to… perfect it." She gestured at the gem. "Jayce uses it for his stupid tools. I'll use it to make weapons. Real weapons. Weapons that always work. Weapons that make me… strong."
The last word lingered in the air, carrying the same insecurity she'd shown on the bridge. She bit her lip, eyes fixed on the schematics.
Kaen watched her, his gremlin brain already processing the situation. She had a killer workshop, full of interesting things, and a couch that looked—at minimum—less uncomfortable than a pile of pipes. He, on the other hand, had a bass, dirty clothes, and the prospect of sleeping in yet another alley. The solution was obvious.
"Hm. A noble and destructive goal," Kaen commented. "But a project of this magnitude requires a stable environment. Support. Constructive criticism. And someone to make sure you remember to eat… or to stop you from accidentally blowing yourself up."
Jinx looked up from the papers, narrowing her eyes. "Where are you going with this, Dead Fish?"
Kaen leaned casually against the workbench, resting his hands on a pile of gears. "Where I'm going, my dear collaborator in crime and art,"—he made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the workshop—"is that you're missing one crucial element. The single most important piece in any great endeavor."
"And what's that?" she asked, crossing her arms, skeptical.
"Me," Kaen said, his face a mask of absolute seriousness. "Think about it. I'm your muse. Your musical advisor. Your resident art critic. And most importantly, I have nowhere to sleep tonight. It's a symbiotic arrangement. You give me a roof and protection from the elements and angry Enforcers, and I give you my invaluable presence and occasional commentary on your choice of explosives."
Jinx stared at him, mouth slightly open. The sheer audacity. The shamelessness. He was outright asking to move into her secret hideout—not as a favor, but as if he were doing her the favor.
"You're… asking me to let you stay here?" she said in disbelief.
"I'm not asking, I'm proposing a long-term strategic partnership," he corrected. "An artist residency, if you will. That couch—" he pointed at the decrepit piece of furniture "—looks infinitely superior to my current suite at the 'Brazen Rat Alley, Leaky Pipe Suite.'"
Jinx glanced at the dolls—the only company she usually had. Then back at Kaen, this strange, exasperating idiot who, somehow, had managed to silence the voices in her head twice in one day.
The idea was insane. This was her space. Her sanctuary.
But the thought of having someone around whose own chaos was a welcome distraction… was tempting. And the idea of waking up to find him sleeping on her couch like some strange, lazy pet she'd adopted… was funny.
A slow smile spread across her face. "Alright, Dead Fish. You can stay. For now."
"Excellent," Kaen said, nodding as if he'd never doubted the outcome.
"But!" she added, raising a finger. "Rule number one: don't touch my projects without permission. Rule number two: don't tell me how to make my explosions—unless it's to make them bigger. And rule number three—" her grin widened "—if your music wakes me up, I'll use your bass for firewood."
Kaen placed a hand over his chest, feigning horror. "Firewood? My 'Beast of Noise'? Savage! But I accept your terms." He extended a hand. "Partners?"
Jinx eyed his hand. Instead of shaking it, she slapped him a high five so loud it echoed in the workshop.
"Partners," she confirmed, a dangerous spark in her eyes.