Chapter Text
By the time they've been driving for an hour outside of Piltover, they stop for a brief breather, and Caitlyn convinces herself that she’s been making far too much of a fuss over something as trivial as one of her employees—especially someone as enigmatic and frustrating as Vi. After all, there's no reason Vi should be paying her any special attention, and Caitlyn tells herself she can just as easily return that indifference.
Simple. Straightforward. A small resolution that feels manageable, even if it doesn’t entirely quell the disquiet lingering in her.
With that settled, Caitlyn tries to shift her focus entirely, turning her thoughts to the peaceful scenery around them. She takes in the sight of towering trees that stretch their arms above them like ancient guardians, their branches cupping the path in soft, green shadows. The wind stirs gently, lifting her hair in cool wisps, and she sinks into the comforting weight of the leather seat beneath her.
For a moment, everything feels steady again—no complications, no intrusions—just the hum of the car and the quiet promise of the open road ahead.
The stillness that blankets the group is a rare and fragile thing, as if the entire convoy has collectively fallen into a quiet, unspoken agreement to keep to their thoughts and allow the morning to unfold in its peaceful rhythm. But such moments never last long, especially not when the sun has finally climbed high enough in the sky to bathe the world around them in its warm, golden light. Through the dense canopy of trees above, shafts of pink, orange, and gold weave through the leaves, casting fleeting patterns across their faces and illuminating the path ahead. As the morning stretches on, the tranquillity gives way to the inevitable stirrings of conversation. Ambessa, ever composed, breaks the silence first with a soft, deliberate clearing of her throat, drawing attention to herself.
“Thank you again, for indulging me, Lady Kiramman,” she says, her tone polite yet laced with a quiet formality, as though acknowledging the gesture of allowing her this small favor in the midst of their journey.
From the front of the convoy, Jayce’s voice cuts through the moment with a light-hearted drawl, his words carrying a teasing edge that only seems to grow more familiar with each passing mile.
“Your ladyship is the one indulging us,” he calls out, his broad frame visible in Caitlyn’s peripheral vision as he flashes a roguish grin over his shoulder. “This is a welcome reprieve for her,” he adds, as though to emphasise the truth of his statement, completely unaware of the effect his words may have on the already tense atmosphere.
Caitlyn’s gaze shifts sharply toward Jayce’s broad back, the muscles of his shoulders rippling as he steers the vehicle. A surge of irritation flares inside her chest, and for the briefest moment, she contemplates the absurdity of the idea—throwing a sheathed dagger at the back of her most trusted advisor’s, and undoubtedly her best friend's, head. The thought is fleeting, but it lingers long enough for her to acknowledge the satisfaction it would bring, and equally, the equally short list of reasons why it would be an exceedingly bad idea. She suppresses a frustrated sigh, eyes narrowing into a pointed stare at his retreating figure.
"What Jayce says is true, I am glad to be out here with all of you,” Caitlyn says after a beat, her voice holding a restrained edge, as if working through the discomfort of her own words. “Although," she adds, her expression darkening ever so slightly, “I must admit, I’m beginning to regret letting him join us.”
“But where you go, so too does Jayce,” Vi’s voice cuts through the air, low and calm, but carrying an undeniable weight. Though she speaks softly enough to blend into the background, it’s enough to draw the attention of everyone around her. For a moment, the group stares at her in surprise, as if her words came from an unexpected direction. She simply smiles back at them, lips closed, her head tilting slightly in that characteristic way she has. “Everyone knows that, even newcomers. It's not exactly a secret,” she adds, as if the matter were an open book.
Jayce, ever the easy-going one, lets out a quick laugh. The sound breaks the tension, and his words come with a slight chuckle.
“I thought I told you when we met not to trust rumours, Vi.”
Vi shifts her head, the grin on her face widening, revealing her teeth in a way that almost feels playful — almost predatory, too.
“I only trust the ones that are true,” she responds, her voice light with amusement, and then she winks.
Caitlyn can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that.
Does she wink at everything? The thought bubbles up, a little more irritated than amused. Caitlyn is certain there’s something in the mechanic’s demeanour that gets under her skin, and she doesn’t quite know what to make of it yet. But that damn wink... it's enough to make Caitlyn wonder if it’s a reflex, or if Vi does it intentionally.
Ambessa’s laugh cuts through the air, sharp and laced with a touch of mockery, her tone as acrid as her words.
“I believe I heard you say,” she begins, her dark eyes narrowing on Vi with an almost predatory curiosity, “that you’re a newcomer to Piltover, as much as myself and my delegation?” Her lips purse slightly, the weight of her gaze probing.
Vi inclines her head respectfully, though her posture remains casual, unruffled.
“I am,” she affirms with a nod. “It’s my first time in the city—officially, anyway. I grew up in a small town near Piltover’s border.”
Ambessa’s eyebrow arches, her interest sharpening like a blade.
“The border?” she echoes, her tone carrying a pointed edge. “You mean to say you’re from the Undercity, no?”
Vi doesn’t flinch, though her expression shifts almost imperceptibly, the faintest flicker of something—discomfort, perhaps—shadowing her otherwise easy demeanour.
“Yes, one could say that. My parents are... were, miners in the Fissures,” she replies, her words even and measured. Yet this time, her voice carries a subtle but undeniable shift, a depth of emotion that wasn’t present before.
There’s something in her tone, something raw, like an old wound reopening just enough to sting. Her smile, ever-present and maddeningly confident, softens at the edges, and the brightness in her expression dims ever so slightly. It’s subtle—so subtle that most might miss it entirely—but for those paying close attention, it’s enough to hint at the shadow of pain she keeps buried beneath her usual bravado.
“And you? Did you also take to mining?” Caitlyn asks before she even realizes the words have left her mouth.
The question hangs in the air for a moment, drawing the attention of everyone in the convoy. Caitlyn feels the weight of their gazes settle on her, and a flush creeps up her neck to her cheeks. Still, she forces herself to sit upright, meeting Vi’s eyes without wavering, even as a faint blush betrays her nerves. Somewhere nearby, a bird releases a piercing warning call, the sound fading into the dense forest around them before Vi answers.
Vi turns her gaze toward Caitlyn with a smile—not the soft, wistful one she’d worn when speaking of her parents, but something sharper, more enigmatic. Her eyes catch the shifting sunlight streaming through the trees, a blue so clear it seems almost to devour the light. Stormy skies or veins just visible under pale skin—that’s what it reminds Caitlyn of, though she can’t decide which. A strange shiver runs down her spine, one she can’t quite suppress.
“Much as I hate to say it, I’m nowhere near as... admirable as my parents were in their vocation,” Vi says lightly, her tone carrying the same cheerfulness as always. She runs a hand absently through her vivid pink hair, the gesture casual, as if brushing away memories. “And I didn’t have much talent for mining, unlike the others I grew up with. Hence my journey topside.” She grins, but the edges of her smile seem carefully curated, a mask of ease over something harder to discern.
“How interesting,” Ambessa interjects, her tone thick with something between amusement and condescension. Her lips curve faintly as she raises a finger to her mouth, as if deep in thought, though her words carry a distinctly barbed undertone. “And somehow, in your travels topside, you managed to find your way here—to Piltover, and into Lady Kiramman’s personal envoy. Quite the trajectory.”
The air grows taut, the tension unspoken yet palpable. Caitlyn glances toward Vi, half-expecting her to bristle under Ambessa’s thinly veiled challenge, but instead, Vi merely tilts her head slightly, her grin unwavering, unflappable. A single eyebrow quirks upward, as if to say your move.
Behind Caitlyn, there’s the unmistakable sound of a sigh—though “sigh” might be too soft a word for the indignant exhale she hears. It carries the weight of frustration and something sharper, like annoyance barely held in check. Intrigued, Caitlyn twists slightly in her seat, just enough to glance over her shoulder without making it obvious she’s looking.
Her gaze lands on the other mechanic in the group, a young man not much older than herself or Vi. His wide, soulful brown eyes are striking, framed by unkempt braided hair that gives him a perpetually windswept appearance. Caitlyn doesn’t know his name, but those eyes spark a flicker of recognition. She’s certain she’s seen him before, working on her father’s cars at the estate. They must have recruited him for this journey, likely as an extra precaution in case the terrain in the hills proves treacherous after the summer storms.
Right now, though, he doesn’t look particularly concerned with the road ahead. His attention is fixed squarely on Vi, and the expression on his face is anything but friendly. His furrowed brow and poorly concealed frown suggest simmering irritation—or perhaps even outright disdain. Caitlyn watches as his gaze narrows, lingering on Vi with a look that borders on accusatory.
But then he seems to sense her watching him. His eyes dart to hers, startled and wide, like a child caught doing something he shouldn’t. The flush of colour that spreads across his face is immediate, staining his cheeks pink. He quickly jerks his gaze downward, staring intently at the dirt path beneath their feet as though it holds the secrets of the universe. His mouth presses into a firm line, tight and unspeaking, his earlier indignation evaporating under Caitlyn’s scrutiny.
She tilts her head slightly, curious. There’s a story here, she thinks, though whether it’s one worth pursuing remains to be seen.
Vi clears her throat, a deliberate sound that cuts through the ambient noise of the convoy and the quiet tension in the air. Her expression remains casual, almost indifferent, but there’s an unmistakable edge to her tone when she speaks, as though her words are directed at more than just Lady Merdada.
“I’ll only be here for the rest of the season,” Vi says evenly, though the pointedness in her voice doesn’t escape Caitlyn’s notice. “When spring comes, I plan to move on. I’m very grateful for the opportunity to see beyond the Piltovan borders, though.”
The statement hangs in the air like a challenge wrapped in polite words, her eyes flicking briefly to the side, though not directly at the other mechanic. It’s enough to send a subtle ripple through the group, everyone suddenly more attuned to the currents of meaning beneath Vi’s words. Ambessa’s mouth curves into a faint, knowing smile, as if she’s just caught the scent of something intriguing.
Caitlyn, for her part, feels her curiosity stir even more sharply. There’s an intentness to Vi’s response that raises questions—why such a carefully measured answer? And why does it feel like it’s meant for more than just Ambessa?
Behind her, the young mechanic stays silent, his earlier defiance now tamped down into a sullen quiet. Caitlyn doesn’t look back this time, but she can feel the shift in his posture, the way his presence has dimmed under the weight of Vi’s calm declaration. Whatever unspoken tension exists between them, it seems clear that Vi has taken control of it in a single, measured breath.
The conversation shifts easily, flowing like a stream finding its course, to the topic of the hills themselves. Maddie and Jayce take up the mantle of storytelling, recounting an early expedition they'd made with Caitlyn into the rugged terrain. Their voices rise and fall with shared enthusiasm as they recall the detour that had nearly ended in disaster—a bear appearing out of nowhere, forcing their mage companion to ensnare the beast in a cocoon of dirt while they made their escape.
Caitlyn, having heard this tale countless times before, lets her mind drift. She toys absentmindedly with the frayed ends of her braid, the repetitive motion grounding her as the rhythm of the breeze brushes gently against her skin. It’s a story that always seems to surface whenever the hills are mentioned, one told with enough embellishment over the years to almost become folklore among their small circle.
In front of her, Ambessa’s contrite huff signals the part of the story where Jayce, ever the picture of bravado, had been so distracted looking over his shoulder that he barrelled straight into a low-hanging branch. Caitlyn’s lips twitch into an automatic smile at the memory, the image as vivid now as it was then—Jayce cursing up a storm while Maddie and Caitlyn doubled over in laughter, the mage muttering something sharp about incompetence under their breath.
The scene around her blends into the warmth of the moment, the gentle sway of the convoy in motion adding a peaceful cadence to the background. For now, the weight of Vi’s earlier words and the mechanic’s quiet resentment recede, leaving room for lighter recollections to take their place.
“Lady Kiramman.”
Caitlyn’s attention snaps upward, her fingers halting their absent-minded tugging at the ends of her braid. Vi has drawn even with Caitlyn on their , her tall figure at ease as she keeps pace beside them. Caitlyn’s gaze betrays her before she can stop it, trailing downward to the long, muscled lines of Vi’s legs clad in sturdy trousers, the faded leather of her boots scuffed and worn from use. The path her eyes take winds upward, over the curve of Vi’s narrow waist to where her white shirt hangs loosely, its hem untucked in places, and her open collar reveals the pale column of her neck. She’s not wearing a cloak despite the lingering morning chill, her throat exposed to the crisp air without a hint of discomfort.
“Are you alright?” Vi’s voice pulls Caitlyn out of her unintentional appraisal. For once, there’s no teasing lilt or casual flirtation in her tone. The question is simple, spoken low and carefully, her head tilted just enough to meet Caitlyn’s gaze directly. Caitlyn blinks, startled by the shift in Vi’s demeanour and by her own momentary distraction. She doesn’t respond immediately, her thoughts swirling too chaotically to coalesce into words. Vi, misinterpreting the silence, shifts forward slightly in her stance and adds, “If you’re unwell, I’m sure Jayce would—”
Caitlyn cuts her off with a shake of her head, willing her voice to steady itself before she speaks.
“I’m fine,” she says, perhaps a little too quickly. Then, softer, “Just a little tired. Thank you for asking.”
Vi studies her for a moment longer, her brow furrowing just slightly as though she doesn’t fully believe the reassurance but chooses not to press further. Instead, she sits back, giving Caitlyn a little more space, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corner of her lips.
Caitlyn lets her gaze linger on Vi for a beat longer than she intends, her thoughts flickering somewhere between curiosity and distraction. The sunlight filters through the shifting branches above, gilding the unruly ends of Vi’s pink hair with streaks of gold. Her pale complexion makes the pink flush across her cheeks and nose stand out all the more vividly, an unintentional betrayal of the morning chill. Before she realizes it, Caitlyn finds herself speaking without forethought.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Vi turns her head, one eyebrow arching slightly as a flicker of amusement flashes in her eyes.
“You changed the subject quickly,” she remarks, her lips curving just enough to suggest a smile. “I thought the rumours said you weren’t much good at diplomacy.”
Caitlyn narrows her eyes, though there’s no real heat behind the gesture.
“Who’s changing the subject?” she counters smoothly. “And I thought you said you didn’t listen to rumours.”
“I try not to,” Vi replies, shrugging one shoulder as though to dislodge the notion altogether. “But they’re always useful to keep track of, all the same.” She leans forward ever so slightly, the motion deceptively casual, and adds with a touch more warmth, “And no, I’m not cold, but I appreciate your concern, My Lady.”
The emphasis on the last two words is playful but gentle, delivered with an air that feels almost personal rather than mocking. Caitlyn feels an odd flutter in her chest, a brief lapse in her usually well-ordered composure. She looks forward again, hoping the warmth creeping into her cheeks isn’t obvious.
“Well,” she mutters, more to herself than to Vi, “you certainly don’t act cold.”
She can practically hear the grin in Vi’s voice when she answers.
“That’s because I’m not.”
