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1.
Jinx's boots echoed against the wooden floor of the bar as she crossed the threshold into Silco's office. Her hair, damp with sweat, clung to her face, and soot and dust smeared her skin, a stark reminder of how recent the fight had been. Her fists were clenched, her knuckles still reddened from the brawl.
The silence in Silco's office was familiar. After all, the man valued working in silence, but Jinx's mind was elsewhere. Fights. Blood. Screams. That damn hoverboard noise the Firelights always used. It was as if the echoes of the battle still rang in her ears. A trembling hand reached up to her hair as she tried to steady herself, but the weight in her chest wouldn’t lift.
She actually didn't expect her return to battle to be so... tiring.
"Silco, where is she?" she asked into the air, her voice hoarse with exhaustion.
Silco looked up, placing a notebook down on the table with meticulous precision. Though his face remained as inscrutable as ever, there was a flicker of understanding in his one visible eye.
"She's fine, Jinx. She's asleep," he replied calmly, nodding slightly to one side as he clasped his hands in front of him. "The little one was a bit restless at first. I think she noticed your...absence."
Jinx pressed her lips together, guilt pricking at her. It was the first time since Isha had been born that she'd been away from her for so many hours. Even though she had left her daughter in Silco’s capable hands—someone she trusted—it didn’t make her feel any less terrible.
"Did she cry much?" she asked, her tone quieter, almost fearful.
"Enough," Silco leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly as he observed her. "But, as always, she calmed down. She's strong, like her mother. Though…" He paused deliberately. "...she clearly missed you. That's obvious."
Jinx nodded, the lump in her throat growing. Without another word, she moved toward the adjoining room. Silco watched her for a moment before returning his gaze to the papers on his desk, keeping an ear out just in case she needed something.
When Jinx opened the door to the room, all the exhaustion, mixed emotions, and frustration melted away in an instant. There was Isha, nestled on a makeshift blanket inside a sturdy crib. The baby was sound asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically. Her face was so serene that, to Jinx, it felt impossible that anything bad could exist in the world.
"Hey, little spark..." she whispered, leaning over the crib. Her voice, usually brimming with energy and chaos, was now soft and sweet, almost reverent.
Isha stirred, her eyelids fluttering open as she let out a drowsy babble. Her golden eyes, as bright as her mother’s, focused on her and lit up. A wide smile spread across her tiny face as she reached her little arms out toward Jinx.
"Did you miss me?" Jinx murmured as she gently picked her up, cradling her carefully.
Silco, who had entered the room silently, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He didn’t interrupt; he simply observed. There was something in his gaze—a mix of pride and tenderness—that he rarely let anyone see. When Jinx turned toward him, holding Isha, she caught his faint smile, one only she could recognize.
"She's growing fast, huh?" Jinx said, swaying Isha gently from side to side as the baby cooed happily. Her face was a mixture of exhaustion and relief. "Silco, you're lucky she doesn’t look like you. She's beautiful."
Even though they weren’t related by blood, Jinx enjoyed teasing Silco like this.
Silco let out a soft snort, walking closer to them.
"Of course, Jinx. Because everything about her is your doing," he said with a mockingly dry tone, though there was an unmistakable glint in his eye. "Though, I must admit, she has my patience. Someone has to maintain a little order in this family."
Needless to say, Silco liked to play along.
Jinx laughed, finally relaxing. Isha, mimicking her mother, joined in with tiny giggles and babbles.
"I promise I won’t leave you for so long again, little spark." Jinx pressed her forehead against Isha’s, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath. Then she looked over at Silco. "Thanks for taking care of her, old man. I knew she’d be safe with you."
"She always will be," Silco replied firmly. He extended a hand toward Isha, who grabbed onto one of his fingers with surprising strength. A faint smile crossed his face as he gazed at the tiny girl. "But be careful, Jinx. You won’t always be this lucky."
Jinx nodded, her smile faltering for a moment. His words carried weight, but she didn’t want to think about that now. Right now, all that mattered was that she was home, with her daughter and him.
"I know. But don’t worry, boss," she said, winking at him with her characteristic confidence. "I’m not that easy to break."
Still holding Isha, she sank into the worn chair beside the crib, closing her eyes as she cradled her daughter close to her chest. Silco, ensuring they were settled, left the room with firm steps, giving them their space.
For the first time all day, Jinx felt like she could breathe.
2.
Jinx’s hideout was as messy as ever: scattered pieces of metal littered the floor, forgotten tools covered every surface, and a faint cloud of smoke hinted at some recent experiment. Amid the chaos, Isha, barely a year and a half old, sat on an improvised blanket on the floor, surrounded by gears and bits of wire discarded from her mother’s projects. Silco, seated in a nearby chair, watched her intently while reviewing some documents. Though he wasn’t the most patient man in the world, he had an odd affection for the little girl and gave her his time as if it were the most natural thing.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, girl,” Silco commented, raising an eyebrow as Isha tried to fit two metal pieces together with all the concentration she could muster. Her tiny fingers fumbled clumsily but worked with a determination that reminded him a lot of Jinx.
Isha looked up at him with a soft noise, a mix between a growl and a complaint. Silco sighed, setting his papers on the chair next to him.
“Fine, keep trying. But if something explodes, don’t blame me.”
Before he could say anything else, the hideout door burst open, and Jinx entered with her characteristic flair: disheveled, soot-streaked hair, a satisfied grin on her face, and her weapon resting on her shoulder. Though she looked exhausted, the spark in her eyes made it clear she had enjoyed the skirmish.
“I’m home!” she announced brightly, propping her rocket launcher against the wall. She turned to Silco with a mischievous smile. “Miss me, boss?”
“Not particularly,” Silco replied calmly, his gaze already returning to his work. He knew better than to engage her in verbal sparring—it was a battle he’d never win.
Jinx didn’t care about his response because her attention had already shifted to Isha. The girl had perked up at the sound of her mother’s voice and, upon seeing her, let out an excited squeal, almost a shriek, as she stood unsteadily. Then, with quick, wobbly steps, she toddled straight toward Jinx.
“Whoa, easy there!” Jinx exclaimed, dropping her bag and crouching just in time to catch Isha in a hug. She lifted her into the air, spinning her around while laughing softly. “Wow, Sparky! I didn’t know you could run so fast. Did you miss me or what?”
Isha giggled in response, her small hands reaching for her mother’s face. Though she couldn’t speak yet, her golden eyes sparkled with joy as she pointed toward the corner where she had been playing.
“There?” Jinx asked, following the direction of her daughter’s tiny hands. Realizing what she meant, Jinx broke into a broad smile. “Were you building something? Really? Okay, show me!”
Carefully, Jinx carried her back to the blanket surrounded by gears and wires. Isha began excitedly pointing at the pieces she’d been trying to assemble, making little noises to emphasize how important it was. Jinx watched with a mix of fascination and pride, as if her daughter had built a rocket instead of a pile of twisted metal.
“This is amazing, Isha,” Jinx said, nodding enthusiastically as she picked up one of the pieces and examined it like a masterpiece. “You know, I started like this too. First, it’s little things, and then, bam!”—she mimicked an exaggerated explosion with her hands—“big things that change the world!”
Isha let out a noise that sounded like laughter, and Jinx hugged her again, pressing her forehead to her daughter’s.
“You’re incredible, Sparky. You know that?” she whispered, her voice soft and full of affection.
From his chair, Silco watched the scene in silence. Though he’d never admit it aloud, seeing Jinx with Isha moved him. It was a reminder that despite the chaos surrounding their lives, there were still moments like this: small, fleeting glimpses of calm and happiness.
“Don’t spoil the girl,” he finally said, breaking the silence.
Jinx glanced at him sideways and stuck out her tongue in a childish gesture.
“Look who’s talking,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Besides, it’s not spoiling if she’s actually a genius, right?” She emphasized her point by making Isha laugh with tickles.
Silco shook his head but said no more. He had learned that when it came to Jinx and her daughter, it was best to stay out of it.
And also because he didn't really like being called out, how could he refuse to buy whatever his granddaughter wanted when she looked at him with puppy eyes? Jinx couldn't judge him.
3.
Isha was sitting on the floor, surrounded by pieces of metal. Her small hands tried to fit one part into another, but the pieces never seemed to align properly. She frowned in frustration, but soon her mind drifted to thoughts of her mother and grandfather. It had been a while since she had last seen either of them, and although she didn’t fully understand why, her little heart felt an absence that unsettled her. The house felt emptier than usual. Everything seemed too quiet without the voices that used to fill every corner.
She hadn’t even seen Aunt Sevika, and that said a lot.
Suddenly, a soft sound reached her ears. Isha looked up, her heart beating faster. It was a voice she recognized. The little girl stopped thinking about the pieces and, without a second thought, jumped up and ran to the door. A sigh of relief washed over her as she heard that voice. Her mother.
When she opened the door, Isha saw her mom standing in the doorway, her figure so familiar. The girl didn’t hesitate for a second. She ran to her, arms outstretched, unable to contain her excitement.
Isha made a small sound, more a murmur than a word, as she threw herself into her mother’s arms. She clung to her tightly, seeking the comfort and security only her mother could provide.
Her mom seemed to freeze for a moment before tentatively lifting her off the ground. Isha noticed she wobbled slightly as she adjusted her, but she didn’t think much of it as she nestled her head against her mother’s neck.
“Did you miss me, sparky?” her mom asked, her voice soft but tense. Though she tried to sound like she always did, Isha could sense the difference. Her mother sounded… different.
Isha nodded vigorously, hugging her tighter. Yes, she had missed her—she had missed her grandfather too, but she supposed he would return soon, just like her mother.
When her mom set her down, Isha looked up at her curiously, her face a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Her eyes scanned her mother’s face, searching for something familiar. That’s when she noticed it: her eyes. Her mom no longer had the blue eyes Isha remembered. Now, they were pink, bright, and strange.
Isha took a step back, staring at her mother’s eyes. Why were they different? They were pretty, even if she didn’t understand the change. But she didn’t say anything; she just watched them with a small, puzzled frown. What did it mean?
Without knowing why, she raised a hand and gently touched her mom’s face, looking for some clue, something that would make her feel that everything was okay, like before. But her mom’s skin was colder—much colder than before. Isha frowned for a moment, touching her skin again. Even though she didn’t understand the change, something inside her told her that her mom was still her mom, despite everything.
Her mom looked at her, the small smile she usually wore now seemed forced. The little girl observed her silently, her eyes expressing the doubt she couldn’t put into words.
Isha raised her hand, as if she wanted to ask something, but stopped herself. Her eyes shone with the same concern she felt, but she didn’t know how to voice it. Her fingers moved slowly in the air, drawing simple signs she had learned to communicate, trying to get her mom’s attention.
Her mom looked at her, though her eyes shifted for a moment, as if she was struggling to find the words. Isha waited patiently, hoping her mom would answer.
“Don’t worry, sparky…” her mom finally responded, but the girl couldn’t help but notice the hesitation in her tone. It wasn’t like before. Something in the way she spoke told her that not everything was okay, even if she didn’t fully understand it. “How about we have a little sleepover tonight?” she suggested with a faint smile. “We need to rebuild the pillow fort, right?”
Isha nodded excitedly, deciding to set aside the changes in her mom. What did different eyes matter if she still seemed like the same mom?
Maybe she would ask about her grandfather later. After all, it would be fun to try to get him to join the sleepover.
4.
Isha kept her gaze fixed on the hideout's entrance, her chest tight with an indescribable feeling. She had spent so much time waiting, imagining the worst, that it was starting to hurt.
She couldn’t shake the image of her mother staying behind. She had seen her face that terrifying creature, that giant monster, to make sure Sevika could get her to safety. The very idea of never seeing her again made tears burn in her eyes.
This was all her fault. If she had listened, if she hadn’t gone to that meeting, her mother would never have had to take such a risk. Isha ran a hand over her face, trying to hold back her tears. She wanted to help the Zaunites—she really did. Even as a child, she understood how unfair everything was, how Piltover looked down on Zaunites as if they were worthless. But now, all she could think about was how she had endangered her mother, and the weight of that guilt made it hard to breathe.
Behind her, Sevika’s heavy steps paced back and forth. Isha knew the woman was worried too, though she would never admit it out loud. Her relationship with her mother was... complicated, but somehow they still looked out for each other. Sevika had stopped Isha several times when the girl tried to bolt for the door, desperate to go find her. In the end, Isha had resigned herself to sitting on the floor, occasionally glancing at the entrance, waiting.
The sound came before she saw her. Light, quick footsteps, unmistakable. Isha froze for a second, her heart pounding. What if it wasn’t her? What if she was imagining it? But then the figure appeared on the other side of the door, and relief hit her so hard she almost couldn’t contain herself.
Without thinking, Isha stood up and ran to her mother, throwing herself into her arms with such force she nearly knocked her off balance. Her mom caught her easily, wrapping her in a firm, warm embrace.
Isha’s sobs muffled against her mother’s neck. She had been so scared, so certain she wouldn’t see her again, that now, having her here, she didn’t want to let go ever again.
Her mother seemed to murmur something, but Isha couldn’t understand it through the overwhelming sound of her own crying as she clung to her.
She had truly believed, for a moment, that she would never see her mother again.
It was the most terrifying thought she had ever had in her short life, and she didn’t want to experience it again.
It took a few moments for her to finally notice the soft sounds her mother was making—a kind of gentle humming as she tried to calm her. Isha hiccupped a few more times before finally settling enough for her mother to feel satisfied and turn to speak with Sevika.
Thankfully, her mom didn’t make any move to put her down, but even so, Isha made sure to keep an iron grip on her mother’s blouse. It wasn’t very big, but it was enough to ensure her mother knew she wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon. Isha didn’t try to listen to the conversation her mother had with Sevika, even when the older woman seemed mildly annoyed before leaving.
Her mother sat down on one of the sofas with Isha still in her arms and began stroking her hair. Isha gladly accepted the comfort, the tightness in her chest easing enough for her to simply enjoy the affection as she kept her grip on her mother.
“So, sparky,” her mother murmured, still stroking her back. Isha made a humming sound to show she was listening, even if she made no effort to lift her head. “Do you remember that pink-haired girl you pointed a gun at?”
Isha nodded, the memory coming back to her, though she frowned in confusion about why it mattered.
“Well, what would you say if I told you we have to go find her?”
Isha lifted her head to look at her mother like she had lost her mind.
Her mom only laughed and gently pushed her head back against her chest.
“I knew you’d look at me like that.”
1.
Isha missed her mom.
It was as clear a fact as the sky being blue.
Now, she lived in a new house, with a bigger bed and delicious food every day. Even with the reconstruction filling the streets with constant noise, there was always a full plate on the table for her.
But as she nibbled on dishes she had never tried before, she couldn’t help but think about how much she wished her mom could share them with her. Sometimes, she imagined her mom laughing as she tried something new, or the way she would take a bite from her plate, saying everything tasted better when you stole a little bit. But those images were nothing more than that: imagination.
Aunt Vi had promised her she could ask for anything.
Isha seriously considered asking for her mom to come back, but in the end, she decided not to. It seemed... disrespectful.
The girl missed her mom.
Sometimes, when a door in the big house opened, Isha would wait to see her mom.
Sometimes, the blue strand of her own hair falling into her face tricked her for a second, making her believe it was her mom kneeling down to look at her.
Sometimes, when she managed to put something together with the metal pieces Aunt Vi brought her, her eyes would fill with tears because she couldn’t hear her mom telling her it was perfect, that’s how she started too.
Sometimes, she would close her eyes and try to imagine her mom’s smile (and decide to ignore that every passing day it was becoming harder, just like with Grandpa).
Sometimes, on the good days, when she could live without missing her mom so much, she tried to strike up a conversation with Aunt Vi, but got frustrated because she couldn’t follow the rhythm of the conversation the way her mom did. She knew her aunt was learning sign language, she knew she was trying, but those moments reminded her of her mom’s absence.
Isha missed her mom.
Sometimes, she would sign in her room and close her eyes, imagining her mom’s hands forming her own signs while answering her.
And she would cry because each time, she remembered the different hands, remembered her mom’s fingers painted differently each time.
Sometimes, she would pretend she was still in her old house, in her grandpa’s office, put a chair, drape a sheet over it to pretend it was her grandpa’s chair, and they would both just wait for her mom to come back.
Sometimes, during those moments, Vi would come in and break the illusion, making Isha cry as she remembered that, in reality, her mom wouldn’t come back.
Rarely would she look at Aunt Vi and think about her life before meeting her.
Rarely would she look at the streets of Piltover and think she would like to live on the surface.
Sometimes, she would consider telling Aunt Vi to take her to her mom’s hideout, before she forgot the way back (even if she thought it was impossible for her to forget it).
Rarely would a whole day pass without her crying.
Rarely would Aunt Vi not notice she cried.
Sometimes, Isha can pretend that it doesn’t hurt that her hair is turning brown again.
Sometimes, Isha can pretend that she doesn’t feel guilty for the days when she resents her mom for leaving her.
Sometimes...
Sometimes...
Always, Isha misses her mom.
Always, Isha wants a hug from her mom.
Always... Isha takes one more step toward accepting that she will never see her again.
Always... Isha takes one more step in denial that she will never see her again.
Isha misses her mom.