The crime scene was a mess. Splatters of electric-blue paint—Jinx's handiwork. Small craters in the metal marked where Zapper's bullets had struck. A puddle of crystallized amber mineral, hard as glass, was all that remained of the Firelight grenade. And in the spot where Kaen had knelt, the ground was strangely discolored, fine burn marks branching out in a spiderweb from a central point, as if a tiny lightning bolt had struck from the inside out.
The Enforcers had come and gone. They'd cordoned off the area, taken notes, and left with more questions than answers. No suspects, just inexplicable chaos.
But one man remained.
Sheriff Marcus stood at the edge of the dock, his coat barely visible in the fog. He stared down into the black water, at the reflection of his haggard face. His mind wasn't on the report he'd have to file with the Council. It was on his daughter's face the last time he saw her. On Silco's visit to his home. On the promise he had made. On the tightening noose of lies and compromises pulling tighter around his neck.
Quiet footsteps across the planks pulled him out of his spiral. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Silco emerged from the mist, flanked by two of his bulkier thugs, their threatening silhouettes bracketing his lean, imposing figure. He didn't look at Marcus. His eyes swept across the scene, absorbing every detail.
"Silco," Marcus began, his voice hollow, tired. "My men combed the area. There's no trace of them—"
Silco raised a hand, a sharp, cutting gesture that ended Marcus's report. "I don't care about your report, Sheriff."
He walked along the dock, his leather shoes narrowly avoiding a puddle of blue paint. He crouched, running his fingers along a bullet mark in the ground. He recognized it instantly. Jinx's work.
"Where is she?" Silco asked, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that cut through the fog. "Did you see Jinx?"
"No," Marcus admitted. "By the time we got here, everyone was already gone."
Silco stood. His gaze drifted across the dock, then out toward the depths of Zaun, the maze of alleys and walkways he knew like the back of his hand. If Jinx had fled, there would have been a trail. He had sent his best men searching the second he heard of the disturbance. But they'd found nothing. No sign of her at her workshop, not at the Last Drop, not in any of her usual hideouts.
It was as if she had vanished.
A cold, terrifying conclusion began to form in his mind. Jinx hadn't come home. She wasn't hiding in Zaun.
"She's not here," Silco muttered, more to himself than to Marcus. His gaze shifted toward the vast, dark Pilt River, the border that separated his world from Piltover's.
With sudden urgency, he turned to leave, his bodyguards moving with him. He had already wasted too much time.
"What do you want me to do?" Marcus asked, a note of desperation in his voice.
Silco stopped, but didn't turn around. "Do your job, Sheriff. Pretend you're in control."
He paused, fog swirling around him. "And Marcus," he added, his voice drained of all emotion, cold as steel. "The white-haired boy. If you find him before I do…" Silence stretched for a moment. "…don't touch him."
And with that cryptic order, Silco and his men melted back into the mist, leaving Marcus alone on the dock. He remained there, the weight of a city on his shoulders—and now a new, terrifying mission that had nothing to do with the law, and everything to do with fear. Fear of what Silco was capable of to find the two people lost to the night.
...
The hum of Heimerdinger's boat engine had long since gone silent, leaving the small craft to drift aimlessly through the thick broth of fog that was the Pilt River. The world had shrunk to this tiny floating stage of wood, cut off from both Zaun and Piltover. The only sounds were the gentle lap of water against the hull and the steady breathing of its two passengers.
Kaen had recovered from his strange episode on the dock. The sensory overload had faded, leaving behind a persistent buzz at the edge of his mind. For now, however, he chose to ignore it in favor of a nap. He lay sprawled across the boat's floor with a kind of lazy elegance that defied his recent violent collapse. He had found a coiled mooring rope to use as a pillow, his long legs stretched out, heavy boots crossed over a toolbox. Eyes closed, face serene. To any observer, he looked like a man enjoying a peaceful boat ride.
Jinx, on the other hand, was on high alert, seated right beside him. Very right beside him. Her knees brushed his hip, her focus divided between the rudder—handled with tentative motions—and constant surveillance of the man stretched out next to her. Her blue eyes flicked between the fog and his still form, scanning for any sign he might "break" again.
She had shifted from chaotic partner to fiercely possessive guard cat. Every few seconds, she leaned over and jabbed his arm with a finger.
Pok.
Kaen didn't move.
Pok.
She jabbed harder. "Hey."
Kaen opened one eye and turned his head slowly, his violet gaze meeting hers. "If you keep doing that, I'll start charging you. One gear per poke. It's my 'do not disturb the artist' policy."
"Just checking if you're still working," she shot back, her whisper sharp, stripped of her usual mockery. Beneath it lay raw, genuine worry. "You… broke. You were glowing. On the dock. And then you collapsed. Like a wind-up toy that ran out of string."
"I didn't break. I… recalibrated," he replied, closing his eye again. "It was an unexpected upgrade. Better reception now."
Pok.
"Stop poking me," he added, opening both eyes this time to look at her. "I'm fine. More than fine, actually. I feel—"
"I don't care how you feel!" she hissed, leaning closer. "You stay still."
He saw it in her eyes. The fear in her voice wasn't for herself—it was for him. On the dock, she had been the one unraveling, and he, the anchor. Now, in her eyes, he was the fragile one, glass about to shatter. The reversal of roles struck him as… oddly endearing.
He sat up, stretching his back with a crack. "I appreciate your concern for the structural integrity of your idol," he said lightly. "But I assure you, I'm fully operational. In fact, I've never felt better. That… experience… was enlightening."
"Enlightening?" she repeated, skeptical. "It looked like someone was electrocuting your brain."
"Exactly. Shock therapy for the soul," he said. "It gave me clarity. Renewed purpose." He rose to his feet, the boat rocking slightly. He stared into the fog toward Piltover. "My mission isn't over. In fact, it's more important than ever."
Jinx jumped up, panic flashing in her eyes. "Mission? What mission? No. No way. You saw what happened—you nearly collapsed! You need rest! It could happen again!" She moved closer, protective as a cornered wolf.
"Rest is for mediocrity," Kaen dismissed with a flick of his hand. "The main quest—my true calling—is to investigate that hum. The song calling me from over there." He gestured vaguely toward Piltover. "I must find its source. It's my artistic destiny."
"Your artistic destiny is ending up as a shiny puddle on the floor if you pull that stunt again!" she snapped, planting herself between him and the bow. "You're not going anywhere! I'll drag you back to the workshop, tie you to the sofa if I have to, and blast my music at you until you give up this stupid idea."
Kaen arched a brow, face unreadable. "I understand your fear. It's natural for a fan to worry about the safety of her muse. Touching, really. But you don't get it. That hum is calling me. If I don't go, I'll go insane." He paused. "More insane, I mean."
"No!" Jinx shouted, her voice firm, resolute. She squared up to him, expression shifting from worried to defiant.
He didn't move. Just stared, violet eyes locked on hers. "I'll go," he said, voice flat but unyielding. "With or without you. Preferably with. But I'll go either way."
Kaen studied her for a moment. He saw her unshakable determination. And, if he was honest with himself, the idea of going alone was far less entertaining.
Jinx searched his face for doubt. There was none. She saw his resolve, the same stubborn fire she felt whenever she obsessed over a new project. And she realized she couldn't stop him. The thought of him going into Piltover alone, chasing that strange hum that nearly made him explode, was unbearable. The idea of him collapsing again—but this time without her there—was unthinkable.
She let out a guttural growl of pure frustration. "Stupid, stubborn, dead-fish, terrible musician!" she ranted, pacing in the cramped boat. "Fine! Fine! I'll go with you!"
"Excellent," Kaen said with a magnanimous nod. "You'll act as my tactical support and demolitions expert. But for the record, I allow this begrudgingly."
Jinx stopped and jabbed a finger at him. "But! I'm your bodyguard. I'll be watching you every second. And if you start glowing again, I'll smack you with this oar until you stop. Got it?"
A faint grin curved his lips, flashing a hint of fang. "Perfectly. A pleasure doing business again, Bodyguard Number One."
Relief and triumph bloomed across Jinx's face. Without realizing it, she had just promoted herself to his self-appointed guardian.
With the dispute settled, a new sense of purpose took root. Jinx, reluctant but determined, gripped the tiller, and the little engine coughed back to life.
"So," she said over the rattle. "Where are we going, captain of this suicide mission?"
"We're going to find the source of my new favorite song," Kaen replied, gaze fixed on the fog.
...
The small boat pushed on through the haze, leaving behind the ambiguity of the river and drifting toward Piltover. Jinx, with her natural knack for machinery, had already mastered the tiller, guiding them with instinctive confidence. The air changed gradually. Zaun's chemical stench faded, replaced by damp stone.
At last, they reached a small landing dock, part of a forgotten canal system running beneath the residential districts. The contrast was jarring. Zaun's murky fog gave way to clean stone and lamplight.
Jinx cut the engine, and the boat drifted to rest beside a staircase rising into shadow. "Here we are," she whispered. "The belly of the beast."
She hopped onto the steps, agile as ever, but stopped when she realized Kaen hadn't followed. He stood frozen at the bow.
"What now?" she asked, impatient. "Stage fright?"
Kaen lifted a finger for silence, eyes closed. "I'm tuning in," he murmured dramatically. "The signal's stronger here. I can feel it."
And then, the moment his boots touched Piltover stone, he transformed.
His posture shifted entirely. The lazy calm was replaced by exaggerated secret-agent tension. He crouched low, pressing his back to the wall as if expecting an ambush. His movements became slow, deliberate, and utterly ridiculous.
Jinx, watching from above, raised a brow. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Shhh," Kaen hissed, creeping up the steps to join her. "We've crossed into enemy territory. From this moment on, we operate in total stealth mode. Operation Cat's Shadow."
"Operation Cat's Shadow?" Jinx repeated, making no effort to lower her voice. "You're making this up."
"All great spies have animal-named protocols," he shot back in a loud whisper. "Standard procedure. Now follow me. Quietly."
They slipped out onto a cobbled street, pristine and silent. This was one of Piltover's cleanest residential districts. Geometric architecture, marble and white stone gleaming under gas lamps. The silence broken only by the faint hum of the city.
Kaen pressed himself against a building wall, scanning both ends of the empty street before motioning Jinx forward.
She folded her arms. "Seriously?"
"The enemy could be anywhere!" he whispered urgently. "Enforcers on rooftops, motion sensors in flowerpots, spy cats!"
He scuttled across the street in a crouch, darting from one lamppost shadow to the next, before rolling dramatically behind a flowerpot full of perfectly kept tulips. He peeked out from behind a leaf.
Jinx followed normally, her heavy boots clacking loudly on cobblestones. "You're an idiot. It's three in the morning. Everyone's asleep. The only thing giving us away is you trying to be quiet."
"Agent Jinx, report," Kaen whispered dramatically from behind his tulip. "Any signs of the enemy?"
"No, Captain Dead Fish," Jinx answered loud and clear, exasperated amusement in her tone. "No enemies. Just a fat cat staring at you like you're insane."
"Shhh! They could have ears everywhere!" he warned. "From now on, we communicate only with hand signals."
He proceeded to make a series of complex, nonsensical gestures clearly being invented on the spot: a pinch, a fluttering wave, then a finger pointing at his own eye.
Jinx sighed, watching him crawl along the street, using every bush and column for cover. Her exasperation slowly melted into amusement. It was so ridiculous. So… him.
She couldn't resist.
When Kaen, now crouched behind a fountain, flashed a hand signal that looked like a bird having a seizure, Jinx joined the game. With a completely serious face, she replied with a crude gesture—but executed with the precision of a trained agent.
The game had begun.
Kaen nodded solemnly, as if she'd transmitted vital intel. He responded with another gesture. Jinx replied. Soon, their advance through Piltover's pristine streets had devolved into a silent parody of a spy movie.
Jinx played along with gusto. She pointed out an "enemy patrol"—which turned out to be the fat cat, now licking a paw. Kaen crouched lower, cautiously assessing the "threat."
"Looks like a seasoned agent," Kaen whispered. "Stay vigilant."
Further along, sprinklers hissed to life in a garden.
"Laser security grid!" Jinx signaled frantically.
Kaen nodded gravely. Dropping to the ground, he crawled beneath the arcs of water like he was navigating a deadly laser web, soaking himself in the process. Jinx had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
They passed a lone milk bottle on a porch.
"Sleeper agent," Jinx pointed out, eyes gleaming.
"Neutralized," Kaen signaled with a thumbs-down.
They came to a bronze statue of one of Piltover's founders, a stern man with an imposing mustache. Kaen froze.
"Suspicious," he whispered, edging closer. "Stoic expression, probably hiding a transmitter. I'll interrogate him."
Jinx rolled her eyes but posed as lookout, scanning the empty street.
Kaen leaned in toward the bronze ear. "Alright, Mister Mustache," he murmured. "I'm only going to ask once. Where's the party? I know you know something. Your silence speaks volumes." He waited. "Not talking? Fine. We'll do this the hard way." He started tickling the statue's bronze armpits.
Jinx, watching, couldn't hold it in. A muffled snort of laughter escaped before she quickly schooled her face back into serious spy mode. "Perimeter clear, Captain Dead Fish," she reported. "Statue isn't cooperating. Suggest more… colorful persuasion." She spun a paint grenade in her hand.
"Negative, Agent Jinx," Kaen replied, standing tall again. "We must maintain a low profile. Stealth is an art." He gave the statue one last look. "You got lucky this time, bronze man. But I'll be watching you."
Through this absurd game, their guard dropped completely. The tension of the dock, the weight of the mission—all of it melted away. They became two kids playing in the neatest, dullest playground in the world. In his strange way, Kaen was showing Jinx a way to face a hostile world that didn't always mean destruction and pain. He was teaching her how to play. And for the first time, Jinx realized chaos could be fun—without anyone getting hurt.