Caitlyn stood in the middle of the living room, the devastation spread out around her like evidence on a crime scene. A vase lay in shards on the rug. Pillows were strewn across the floor, stuffing peeking like guilty confessions. And the skirt—her favorite one—was twisted into a knot somewhere near the couch, obviously worn wrong on purpose.
"This is not a living space, Vi," Caitlyn said, voice clipped but measured, like she was dictating a report. "This is a containment breach with throw pillows."
Vi lounged across the couch, arms folded, one boot hooked over the edge, grin sharp and amused. She watched Caitlyn catalog each transgression like an inspector watching a criminal confess in slow motion.
"You invited a walking OSHA violation into your penthouse," Vi said lazily. "This one's on you."
Caitlyn jabbed a finger at the chaos. "The vase. The mess. The cursing. The way she absolutely stole the skirt and wore it wrong. On purpose."
From somewhere in the apartment, Jinx's voice echoed faintly, carrying the kind of mischief that made a person want to roll their eyes and punch something at the same time.
"I heard that," she said.
Caitlyn didn't look up. She didn't need to. She could feel Jinx's presence like the static before a storm—impatient, unpredictable, and buzzing just under her skin.
"Enough talk," Caitlyn said finally, the irritation in her voice tempered so it could be mistaken for flirtation. "Let's settle this the civilized way."
Vi's grin widened. "Oh? Civilized? You planning a tea party?"
"A shooting contest," Caitlyn said, precise. "Marksman versus marksman. Piltover range. Clean rules. No tech nonsense. Winner decides the loser's punishment."
Vi's eyes sparkled. "Referee?" she asked, already leaning forward.
Before Caitlyn could reply, Jinx's voice rang from the other room, sharp and delighted.
"Wow. A contest where I get to humiliate a cop and get punished if I lose? You're really spoiling me today."
Caitlyn let herself smile—small, sharp, lethal.
"Yes," she said softly. "That's the plan."
Vi laughed, low and approving. "This is going to be fun."
The room held a tense, electric beat of anticipation. Caitlyn catalogued the chaos once more, but this time, she did it with the thrill of a plan just set in motion—and the knowledge that someone, somewhere, was about to learn what discipline really looked like.
The shooting range sat above Piltover like a lie you could almost believe.
Up here, the air was clean enough to bite. Wind slid along the concrete parapets in careful, regulated currents, tugging at the posted banners with a politeness that felt engineered. The city below was a lattice of motion and noise—traffic lanes stacked like veins, neon burning through the smog in stubborn, artificial stars—but at this altitude it softened into something ornamental. Distance made chaos aesthetic.
Caitlyn liked that.
She stood straight-backed at her lane, boots squared, rifle braced into her shoulder like an extension of bone. The world narrowed to the line of sight, the measured rhythm of breath, the quiet hum of calibrated machinery. Her gloves fit perfectly. Of course they did.
Behind her, something clanged.
"Wow," Jinx said, voice echoing just a little too loud in the open space. "Very murder-chic up here. Do they sell merch? Like little commemorative bullets?"
Cait didn't turn. She didn't need to. She could feel Jinx the way you felt pressure changes before a storm—unpredictable, intrusive, buzzing just under the skin.
"It's a regulated range," Cait said evenly. "Please don't touch anything you don't understand."
Jinx leaned against the divider between lanes, rifle slung carelessly over one shoulder, weight cocked onto one hip like gravity was optional. She wore a cropped jacket over a tangled mess of straps and belts, braids pulled back just enough to keep them from interfering with the weapon but still wild, still unmistakably hers. Blue tattoos curled over her arms like they were trying to crawl away.
"Ouch," Jinx said. "Didn't realize understanding was a prerequisite for fun."
Vi was perched on the bench behind them, arms folded, watching the exchange with the expression of someone who had front-row seats to a very specific kind of disaster and had already accepted her fate. Her boots were kicked out in front of her, one heel hooked around the bench leg. She looked relaxed, but the way her eyes tracked both women said otherwise.
"Cait," Vi said, tone mild but pointed. "Just shoot."
Cait exhaled through her nose, steadied herself, and raised the rifle.
The shot cracked clean and sharp. The recoil was familiar, grounding. The target rang, metal singing back its approval. She fired again. And again. Each impact landed exactly where she intended, the grouping tight enough to be satisfying without being showy.
She lowered the rifle and turned.
Jinx clapped slowly, exaggerated, her grin sharp enough to cut glass. "Damn. Sheriff Fancy-Pants doesn't miss."
Vi huffed a laugh. "Yeah, okay. Your turn, Powder."
Jinx's grin twitched at the name, then smoothed right back into place. She stepped up to the line, rolling her shoulders, spinning the rifle once before settling it into position with an ease that was irritatingly natural.
Cait watched her hands.
She fired.
The shot hit dead center.
Cait's jaw tightened a fraction.
Jinx fired again. And again. The impacts chimed in a neat, almost mocking rhythm. The grouping was perfect. Too perfect. Not wild genius, not chaotic luck—controlled in a way that made Cait's skin prickle.
"That's not regulation," Cait said before she could stop herself.
Jinx glanced back over her shoulder, eyes bright. "Neither is your face, but we all make exceptions."
Vi leaned forward. "Jinx."
"What?" Jinx said. "I'm winning."
Cait stepped closer, gaze narrowing. "You're compensating post-discharge," she said. "Micro-correcting trajectory after the round leaves the barrel."
Jinx blinked. "Wow. You say that to all the girls, or just the ones who make you nervous?"
Cait didn't smile. "Disable it."
Something flickered across Jinx's face—fast, gone just as quickly—but Vi caught it.
"Hey," Vi said. "Don't be a dick about it."
Jinx sighed theatrically and flipped a switch on the rifle. The faint harmonic whine died instantly. "There. Happy?"
"Contest's over," Vi said. "Nobody wins."
"That's bullshit."
"That's life."
Cait let out a slow breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Thank you."
Jinx rolled her eyes. "God, you two are exhausting. Let's go before I start shooting the rules out of spite."