Chapter Text
ding-dong-ding-dong.
a piltover bell, synthesized and perfectly tuned. a melodic, harmonic chime that rung from the massive clock tower in the center of the quad and drilled right into her brain. it sounded like money. like rules. or like a headache waiting to happen.
jinx was currently wedged between the main administration building, a monstrosity of glass and white stone, and the scarier, brutalist concrete of the engineering hall.
it was the only shadow she could find right now.
the sun up here was aggressive. it beat down on the pristine white pavement until the entire campus glowed with a headache-inducing brightness.
she crouched against the brickwork, her knees drawn up to her chest, trying to make herself small. trying to disappear into the two feet of shade available.
in her hands, she gripped a hex-switch handheld console. the plastic casing was cracked near the left trigger, and she’d covered the back in stickers of bombs and crossed-out eyes to hide the fact that it was definitely, one-hundred-percent stolen from a bin behind a toy store in the promenade.
her thumbs flew across the buttons. on the tiny, scratched screen, a pixelated little character was running for his life from a wall of fire.
jump. slide. shoot. don't die.
the music from the console sped up, a frantic 8-bit loop that matched the rhythm of her heart.
almost there. almost at the checkpoint.
a pixelated bat swooped down from the corner of the screen.
it hit the little guy, who then exploded into a burst of red blocks.
defeat.
the red letters flashed on the screen, mocking her. laughing.
loser, the game said. you suck, the game implied.
rage, hot and instant, flared in her chest. but it wasn't just about the game. it was about the bell. the sun. the smell of this place. the fact that her boots were currently resting on pavement that was cleaner than her dinner plate back home.
"garbage!" she shrieked.
she chucked the console, skittering it across the pristine white concrete before it clattered against the base of a decorative lamppost. plastic cracked. a battery cover popped off and spun away. jinx glared at it, her chest heaving.
stupid toy. stupid bat. stupid sun.
she reached up and snatched the cigarette from her lips with two fingers, pinching the filter hard enough to crush it.
she exhaled. a cloud of thick, gray smoke drifted up, instantly looking out of place against the aggressively blue sky. it curled around her blue hair, clinging to the fabric of her cropped black hoodie. she stared at the burning tip.
it was a nasty cigarette. unfiltered, harsh, the kind silco smoked when he was stressed about quotas and wanted to feel like he was back in the mines. she’d fished it out of his coat pocket this morning while he was distracted yelling at an intern over the phone.
at least it’s not a cigar, she thought, wrinkling her nose as she took another drag. cigars taste like burning feet.
this just tasted like... burning dirt.
it was fine, though. the acrid smoke coating her tongue, the scratch at the back of her throat... it felt real. unlike everything else in this plastic, shiny city.
she looked around her little hidey-hole. on the ground next to her combat boots sat a can of turbo-fizz, the label peeling, condensation pooling in the dust. it was warm. gross. she kicked it over.
liquid neon green spilled out, sizzling slightly on the hot pavement.
oops, she thought, watching the puddle spread. pollution. minus ten points for jinx or whatever these nerds say.
she leaned her head back against the wall, the rough brick snagging her hood.
the piltover school of applied kinetics & temporal sciences.
psakts.
even the acronym sounded like someone sneezing.
the campus was huge. sprawling. it sat on the highest plateau of the city, literally looking down on everything else.
tall, arched windows framed in polished brass reflected the sky. geometric hedges were trimmed to within an inch of their lives. not a leaf out of place. not a piece of trash on the ground. it was unnatural.
how do they breathe up here? she wondered, taking a shallow breath of the filtered, scentless air. there’s no flavor. it’s just... empty.
it made her skin crawl. she felt exposed. like a bug on a dinner plate waiting to be squashed.
and it was all silco’s fault.
unity, he’d said, standing in his office, looking out the window with his hands clasped behind his back, his voice smooth.
a bridge between the cities, jinx. a gesture of good faith.
faith my ass, she thought, flicking ash onto her leather shorts.
it was leverage. pure and simple.
silco didn’t care about unity. he cared about access. he cared about getting his fingers into the pies that the topsiders were baking up here in their ivory towers.
the zaunite kinetic immersion initiative. zkii.
ten spots. ten "lucky" kids from the undercity, plucked from the grime and polished up to be presented to the elite.
a test year.
lab rats, she corrected, her lip curling. guinea pigs in hoodies.
if the ten chosen ones behaved... if they didn't bite the teachers or blow up the dorms or steal the silverware... then maybe, just maybe, piltover would open the door a little wider.
maybe they’d let more rats in.
silco had been very clear.
you are not just a student, jinx, he’d told her, gripping her shoulder with his cold hand. you are proof. proof that we are not savages. proof that zaun has brilliance to offer.
don't screw it up.
no pressure, mylo whispered in her ear, dangling upside down from a drainpipe above her head. just the entire future of the undercity resting on your skinny shoulders.
you're gonna break it, he giggled. you break everything.
shut up, jinx thought, blowing a stream of smoke at his ghost.
she looked out at the main quad.
the massive double doors of the grand auditorium, a building that looked like a marble wedding cake, were swinging open. movement.
a sea of students began to pour out, spilling down the wide stone steps like a flood of ants. it seemed the orientation was over. the speeches about "innovation" and "progress" and "the future is bright" were finally done.
jinx watched them through the haze of her cigarette smoke. they looked... soft.
girls in pastel dresses and tailored skirts. boys in pressed trousers and sweaters tied around their shoulders like they were afraid their necks might get cold.
they laughed. they chattered. they held phones that looked like sheets of glass. they walked with the easy, careless confidence of someone who had never had to work for their place in the world.
fake, she decided, spitting a fleck of tobacco off her tongue. plastic people.
she spotted the other scholarship kids. the "unity" squad.
they stood out like sore thumbs. dark clothes. huddled together. eyes darting around nervously, checking the exits, checking the shadows. like cornered animals waiting for the trap to spring.
jinx didn't huddle. huddling was for prey.
she took one last, long drag of the cigarette, burning it down until the heat stung her fingertips.
move-in time.
time to go see the cage they’d built for her. jinx sighed, a heavy, dramatic exhale that emptied her lungs. she stood up, her joints popping. she dropped the cigarette butt onto the pristine white concrete and ground it out with the heel of her combat boot.
twist. crush. smear.
a little black smudge on their perfect floor.
art, she thought. i should sign it.
she reached into the pocket of her shorts, digging past a loose screw and a lockpick to find a pack of gum. she popped a piece into her mouth, walking over to the lamppost to retrieve her console. she shook it, and something rattled inside.
broken, she assessed. fix it later. or turn it into a detonator.
she shoved it into her bag. a black book bag, battered and customized. keyrings replaced zippers. little plush sharks dangled from the straps, their mouths sewn shut with red thread. a monkey with cymbals hung from the main pocket, one eye missing. doodles covered the leather in neon markers. clouds. lightning bolts. a very unflattering caricature of a guy with a metal jaw.
she slung the bag over one shoulder, the weight familiar and comforting. she adjusted her ripped tights, pulling them up. smoothed down her cropped hoodie. checked her reflection in the glass of the building next to her. blue hair. pale skin. eyes that looked a little too wide, a little too tired.
monster in the garden, she thought, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.
she hopped, skipping once to get into step with the chaotic rhythm playing in her head. she moved out from between the buildings, stepping into the blinding sunlight of the campus avenue. the gates to the dorms were opening, massive iron things that looked like they belonged on a bank vault.
time to go meet the cellmate. jinx blew a bubble, pink and sticky, and let it pop loud enough to make a passing piltie flinch.
.
.
.
snap.
jinx used her tongue to peel the deflated pink rubber off her lips, sucking it back into her mouth with a slurping noise that made a passing woman in a beige pantsuit clutch her pearls. or, well, her tablet. same thing up here.
she was standing… loitering, really, on the edge of the drop-off zone. "parking lot" felt like too dirty of a word for this place. it was a transit loading bay or whatever the shiny plaque on the wall said. the pavement was smooth enough to eat off of, which was gross, honestly.
she leaned back against a polished stone pillar, the cold seeping through her hoodie. in her hand, her phone was hot against her palm.
where is she?
jinx tapped the screen. black. tapped it again. a glitchy picture of a graffiti-covered monkey flashed for a second before the time blinked back on.
4:48 PM.
late. she’s gonna be late. sevika is always late when it matters. probably stopped to arm-wrestle a vending machine.
jinx chewed aggressively. the gum was dead. it had been dying for the last ten minutes, transitioning from explosive strawberry chaos to flavorless shoe rubber but jinx refused to spit it out. spitting it out meant admitting defeat. it meant the piltover air had sucked the life out of yet another thing she loved.
keep chewing. punish it.
her eyes drifted to the plastic rectangle dangling from a lanyard around her neck. her dorm keycard. it had her face on it, but they’d clearly photoshopped it. her skin looked too smooth, her eyes less… manic. it looked like a picture of powder if powder had grown up to be a librarian instead of… whatever she is now.
fake jinx. library jinx. she probably reads books about… keeping quiet. and dusting.
"gross," she muttered, kicking the heel of her combat boot against the pristine curb. scuff it. leave a mark.
the "loading bay" was a hive of activity, but it was the weirdest kind of activity. it was quiet. organized. terrifyingly efficient.
massive, sleek hover-loaders hummed quietly, drifting inches above the ground. but the students? the "future of innovation"? they weren’t doing jack. they stood by the automatic glass doors, looking bored, checking their expensive glass phones, or fanning themselves with orientation pamphlets.
look at them. soft. boneless.
instead, an army of workers in matching gray jumpsuits were doing all the actual lifting. they were sweating. they looked real. they looked like people who knew what dirt tasted like. the students just pointed.
put that there. no, the other bag. the one with my silk pajamas. careful, that box is full of daddy's expectations.
jinx watched a particularly large luggage trolley roll past. it was piled high with trunks that looked like they were made of actual gold. standing next to it was a guy in the mover’s uniform. a lanky kid, barely older than her, with grease smudged on his cheek. he was struggling. like, really struggling.
there was a massive, odd-shaped case on the bottom rack that was sliding off. the kid grunted, shoving his shoulder against it, his boots slipping on the polished concrete.
the owner of the luggage, a tall guy with hair so blond it looked white, didn't even look up from his watch. he just tapped his foot impatiently.
help him, you noodle, jinx thought, narrowing her eyes. he’s carrying your rocks.
the mover heaved, his face turning red. the case slipped further.
boom, mylo whispered near her ear. gravity always wins, jinx. you know that.
the kid managed to knee the case back into place with a desperate lunge, saving it from hitting the ground at the last second. he let out a heavy breath, wiping sweat from his forehead. the blond student finally looked up, frowned at the delay, and pointed sharply toward the elevators. jinx snorted.
"useless," she whispered, though she wasn't sure if she was talking about the student, the mover, or the fact that she was standing here watching them like it was entertainment.
she looked back at her phone.
5:01 PM.
her stomach gave a violent rumble, loud enough to vibrate against her spine.
hungry. starving. i could eat a tire. i could eat this keycard.
"sevika," she hissed at the screen, as if the woman could hear her through the cracked glass. "if you don't get here in three seconds, i'm blowing up a shuttle."
one.
she pushed herself off the pillar, her bag heavy with tools and bad ideas.
two.
she popped another bubble, this one small and pathetic.
two and a half…
a black, rusted-out transport van screeched around the corner, destroying the peaceful, studious vibe of the drop-off zone. it idled with a cough that sounded like a dying smoker, spewing a dark gray cloud that made the nearby blonde boy cover his nose with a silk handkerchief.
finally.
jinx pushed off the wall, her boots scuffing the pavement. the passenger door slammed open and sevika stepped out, looking out of place here. too much leather. too much grime. too much "i will break your fingers if you look at me wrong" energy for a campus filled with sweater vests.
the driver’s side window rolled down with an agonizing squeak.
oh. asher.
he was a mountain of a man, neck thicker than jinx’s waist, with a face that looked like it had been rearranged by a brick wall and put back together in the dark. scars crisscrossed his nose, and he had a metal plate bolted into his jaw.
he grinned, revealing a gap-toothed smile, and gave her a little finger-wave.
"hey, boss!" he chirped, his voice unexpectedly high and cheerful, like a choir boy trapped in a macho body. he was bobbing his head to some upbeat, bubbly pop music blasting from the van’s blown-out speakers.
jinx grinned back, a genuine thing. "hey, beefcake. nice tunes. sounds sparkly."
asher chuckled, slapping the steering wheel. "it’s catchy!"
jinx kicked the heavy metal trolley she’d been hoarding toward the back of the van. sevika was already there, yanking the back doors open.
"you’re late," jinx said flatly, grabbing the handle of a reinforced crate. "i aged. i grew a beard. look at it. it’s luscious."
"shut up," sevika grunted, hauling a heavy box out with her good arm. she slammed it onto the trolley with a clang that made the blonde boy flinch again. "try getting a van full of hex-crystals and unauthorized volatile compounds through a piltover checkpoint during orientation week. we had to take the service tunnels. smell like sewage now."
jinx sniffed the air near sevika’s jacket. "eh. improvement, honestly."
"funny."
they worked in a rhythm. it was the only time jinx and sevika actually synced up, when they were moving heavy, dangerous shit. jinx wasn't strong like sevika, but she was wiry and knew leverage. she swung a duffel bag filled with scrap metal onto the top of the pile.
"careful with the blue one," jinx warned as sevika reached for a battered trunk. "it’s got… sensitivity issues."
sevika froze, hand hovering over the latch. "jinx. tell me you didn’t pack bombs."
"i didn’t pack the active ones," jinx lied, her eyes darting to the side. liar liar pants on fire. hope the pants aren't mine.
sevika glared at her. a long, exhausted stare that screamed why do i have to babysit the boss's nightmare daughter, but she lifted the trunk anyway, setting it down gently.
"so," jinx started, trying to keep the air light, trying to ignore the way the setting sun was painting the sky. "did you guys bring snacks? or just attitude?"
sevika didn’t smile. she leaned against the open van door, wiping grease from her forehead with the back of her hand. the playful banter died instantly, replaced by that heavy, suffocating silence that usually came right before a lecture.
"you still pouting?" sevika asked.
jinx’s hands tightened on the trolley handle. "i’m not pouting. i’m… observing. calculating. brooding. it’s a process."
"you’re pissed at him."
"i’m thrilled," jinx snapped, her voice rising an octave. "look at me! i’m in school. i’m gonna learn about… taxes! and… obedience! it’s exactly what i wanted!"
sevika sighed, the sound rattling in her chest. "he’s leaving tonight, jinx."
the words hit jinx like a wall. she froze, staring at a dent in the van’s bumper.
leaving? already?
he abandons you, mylo whispered, his voice dripping with malice. just like vi. just like everyone. dumps you in the trash and walks away.
"so?" jinx shrugged, forcing her shoulders to stay loose. "good. orientation is over. he’s got a city to run. busy man. lots of paperwork. lots of… staring ominously out of windows."
"don't do that," sevika growled, stepping closer. she smelled like stale tobacco. "don't do the deflection thing. he’s heading back to the undercity as soon as the sun sets. this is it. you won’t see him for months. maybe longer."
jinx looked away, watching a shuttle ferry glide silently overhead. "he knows where to find me. i have a gps tracker in my tooth. probably."
"he’s doing this for zaun, jinx," sevika said, her voice dropping, losing its edge. "getting you in here? securing this foothold? it’s the only way we get leverage without burning the whole city down again. there are kids in the sump who would kill—literally kill—to be standing where you are, wearing those clean clothes."
she jabbed a finger toward jinx’s chest. "if you could just stop thinking about yourself for five seconds and see the big picture—"
"zip it!" jinx hissed, her eyes flashing. she stepped into sevika’s space, craning her neck to look up at the taller woman. "don't you dare give me the 'greater good' speech, ogre. i know what the plan is. i know what i’m doing."
i’m the plan. i’m the weapon. i’m the spy.
"you’re just the muscle," jinx spat, poking sevika’s metal arm hard enough to hurt her own finger. "you carry the boxes. you drive the van. you don't tell me how to feel about him."
sevika didn’t flinch. she didn't get angry. she just looked… tired. she looked at jinx the way silco sometimes did. she turned back to the van, grabbing the last box, a small, heavy crate of tools, and slammed it onto the very top of the trolley.
"fine," sevika said, her voice rough. "be a brat. see if i care."
she slammed the van doors shut, the sound echoing across the empty loading bay. asher turned down the pop music, sensing the mood shift, and watched them nervously in the rearview mirror. sevika put her hand on the door handle, then stopped. she didn't look back at jinx.
"he’s been giving you space because he thought that’s what you wanted," she said, speaking to the window glass. "after the fight. he thought if he pushed, you’d shatter. he cares about you, kid. more than he cares about the cause, sometimes. which is stupid, if you ask me."
jinx felt a lump form in her throat, hot and sharp like swallowed glass. she stared at the back of sevika’s jacket.
"don't hate him for trying to save you from the gutter," sevika muttered.
jinx let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. her grip on the trolley loosened.
"i know," jinx whispered. it was barely audible. "i don't hate him."
sevika nodded once, a sharp jerk of her chin. she turned around. "you need help getting this up? elevator’s tricky with a heavy load."
"no," jinx said quickly, puffing out her chest. "i got it. it’s a box on wheels, sevika. i’m not stupid."
"right. see you around, jinx."
sevika climbed into the van. the engine roared, asher gave a sad little wave, and the black monstrosity peeled out of the loading bay, leaving a fresh layer of smog in its wake.
jinx stood there for a second, watching the taillights fade into the piltover traffic.
alone. again.
always alone, mylo snickered.
"shut up," she muttered.
she grabbed the handle of the trolley. it was heavy. absurdly heavy. she groaned, leaning her entire body weight into it to get the wheels moving.
12th floor. penthouse suite. or… prison cell. same difference.
but the lobby was worse.
jinx shoved her trolley through the automatic glass doors, the wheels rattling violently over the transition strip before hitting the marble floor of the elevator waiting area.
instant sensory assault.
the air conditioning was cranked so high it felt like walking into a freezer, drying the sweat on her neck into a cold, sticky paste. it smelled like… lavender? no, something more expensive… but jinx couldn’t pinpoint what it was. the noise was bad, too. everything a low, buzzing drone of polite whining.
a sea of students stood between her and the elevators. dozens of them. boys in expensive loafers. girls in skirts so short they were basically belts. piles and piles of luggage that looked like it had never touched a dirty floor in its life.
jinx leaned her weight against the handle of her trolley, her boots sliding slightly on the polished floor.
"ugghhhhh," she groaned, the sound vibrating in her throat.
the line wasn't moving.
at the far end of the hall, three sets of elevator doors (gold, of course, because why use steel when you can plate everything in tackiness) were shut tight. above them, digital numbers ticked down with agonizing slowness.
12... 11... 10...
"come on," jinx hissed, tapping her nails against the metal of her crate. tap-tap-tap-tap. "it’s gravity. it pulls things down. it’s not hard. fall faster."
a boy in front of her, wearing a vest that looked like it was knitted from poodle fur, turned around and gave her a look. not anything mean—just confused. like he’d never seen a girl with blue hair and a bandolier of (mostly) deactivated grenades standing in a student lobby before.
"excuse me," he said, his voice nasally. "are you with maintenance?"
jinx stared at him.
she stared at his smooth, unblemished skin. she stared at the expensive watch on his wrist that probably tracked his heart rate and told him when to breathe.
blow him up, mylo whispered, swinging from the chandelier above. stick a sparkler in his pocket. watch him dance.
no, the little girl voice whimpered. be nice. silco said be nice.
jinx widened her eyes, forcing a smile that felt more like a baring of teeth.
"yep!" she chirped, her voice pitching up into a manic squeak. "maintenance. pest control, actually. heard there was a massive infestation of… boring."
she leaned in closer, invading his personal bubble until he flinched back.
"you seen any?"
the boy blinked, clutching his leather satchel. "uh. no?"
"shame," jinx said, dropping the smile instantly. "move up. the line moved an inch. don't waste the space."
the boy scrambled forward, turning his back to her as if she were radioactive. jinx rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.
ding.
one of the elevators finally arrived. the doors slid open with a soft, harmonic chime that made jinx want to tear her ears off.
a flood of people poured out. parents crying, students hugging, more luggage. the people in line surged forward, a chaotic mass of entitlement, trying to squeeze into the metal box before the doors closed. it was like watching rats fight over a crumb, but with less dignity.
"useless," jinx muttered, leaning her chin on her hands, which were resting on the trolley handle. "inefficient. if they just installed a pneumatic tube system, we’d be there in four seconds. splat against the wall, sure, but fast."
she looked at the stairwell door to her right. emergency exit only glowed in green neon.
twelve floors.
she looked at her trolley. the heavy crate of tools. the box of scrap metal. the duffel bag of… unstable compounds.
if she tried to haul this up twelve flights of stairs, something would drop. something would break. and knowing her luck, it would be the jar of stabilizers she’d "borrowed" from silco’s private reserve.
boom. no more dorm. no more psakts. just a very large crater and a very disappointed dad.
lazy, claggor grunted from the corner, adjusting his goggles. we used to haul scrap up forty levels of ventilation shafts. you’re getting soft, powder.
i’m not soft! she screamed internally, her grip tightening on the handle. it’s strategy. conserving energy. for… thinking.
she sighed, a long, deflating sound, and resigned herself to the wait. she kicked her boot against the wheel of the cart, inching it forward as the line shuffled.
ten minutes passed.
ten minutes of listening to a girl two spots ahead talk about her pony’s emotional support needs. ten minutes of smelling the guy behind her who had bathed in cologne. ten minutes of staring at the back of poodle-vest boy’s neck and imagining drawing a target on it.
she was finally close. only three people ahead of her. the next elevator was coming down.
3... 2... 1...
ding.
"finally," jinx breathed, ready to shove her way into the box and stare at the corner until she was free.
the doors opened. the crowd shifted. jinx put her shoulder into her trolley, prepping to roll.
and then—
whoosh.
the automatic glass doors to the lobby slid open with a hiss.
a girl stormed in.
expensive fabric and blonde ambition. she was dragging a massive, pink suitcase on four spinning wheels that glided across the floor like it was on ice. in her other hand, she held a plastic cup of iced coffee the size of her head, the condensation dripping onto her manicured fingers.
she didn't look at the line. she didn't look at the people waiting. she didn't look at jinx.
she marched right past the queue, her heels clicking aggressively and cut directly in front of jinx’s trolley, wedging herself into the gap between jinx and poodle-vest boy.
she stopped so abruptly that jinx had to slam on the brakes. the heavy metal trolley didn't stop instantly. inertia was a bitch like that. the front corner of jinx’s crate bumped the back of the girl’s pink suitcase.
thud.
the girl didn't even turn around. she just shifted her weight, checked her nails, and continued talking loudly into the phone she had pinched between her shoulder and her ear.
"no, daddy, listen to me," the girl whined, her voice piercing the air. "the room is a double. a double. i can't share a space! do you know how much stuff i have? where am i supposed to put my shoe collection? under the bed? like a peasant?"
jinx stood there, frozen. her brain short-circuited for a second.
did… did that just happen?
she looked at the back of the girl’s head. the perfect, shiny blonde waves. the expensive jacket. the total, absolute lack of awareness that she was standing inches away from a walking explosive device.
she cut you, mylo whispered, glee dripping from his voice. right in front of you. like you’re not even there. like you’re a ghost.
jinx’s eye twitched. the girl took a loud, slurping sip of her coffee.
"i don't care if the dean said it’s mandatory for first years! buy the building! donate a wing! get me a single or i am literally going to die of claustrophobia."
rude, the voices chorused. rude. rude. rude.
heat flared in jinx’s chest. it started in her stomach, a hot, prickly ball of rage, and shot up her spine. her hand let go of the trolley handle. her fingers twitched, drifting toward her belt.
she had a flashbang in her pouch. just a small one. she could pull the pin. roll it under the girl’s feet.
pop.
white light. ringing ears. that iced coffee flying through the air in a beautiful arc of brown sludge, covering that perfect blonde hair, that expensive jacket, that stupid pink suitcase.
it would be art. it would be justice.
do it, mylo urged. teach her. show her who runs this place. show her you’re not just some background character in her life.
jinx’s fingers brushed the cold metal of the grenade pin. she could picture it so clearly. the chaos. the screaming. the way the poodle-vest boy would dive for cover. the way the girl would shriek, dropping her phone, shattering the screen.
she thinks she’s better than you, claggor rumbled. topsiders always do.
"excuse me," the girl snapped into her phone, annoyed now. "hold on, daddy. someone is breathing really loudly behind me."
she half-turned, glancing over her shoulder at jinx.
her eyes were blue, but not like jinx’s. they were a cold, flat, judgmental blue. they swept over jinx, the colorful hair, the tattoos, and dismissed her in a nanosecond. she wrinkled her nose, slightly. just a micro-movement.
like she smelled something bad. then she turned back around.
"anyway, as i was saying. fix it."
the rage spiked into a roaring fire. jinx’s vision vibrated at the edges.
kill her, a new voice hissed. deep and dark. rip that ponytail off. smash her face into the marble.
jinx’s hand gripped the grenade. her thumb found the ring.
just a little pull.
don't screw it up.
silco’s voice.
it cut through the noise in her head like a knife. cold. calm. disappointed.
you are proof, jinx. proof that we are not savages.
jinx froze.
the image of silco standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for the call that she had been expelled on day one. waiting for the confirmation that he was wrong to trust her.
don't make a scene, he had said. endure it. be smarter.
jinx’s breath hitched.
she squeezed her eyes shut for a second, fighting the urge to scream.
if she blew this girl up, she was out. back to the undercity. back to being a failure. back to proving everyone right.
she’s bait, jinx told herself, her thoughts frantic. she’s a test. a piltie test sent by the universe to see if i can handle not exploding.
she released the grenade. she grabbed the trolley handle again, gripping it so hard the metal groaned. she took a deep breath through her nose, held it, let it out slowly.
"okay," she whispered to the floor. "okay. fine. you win, barbie. you win this round."
she glared at the back of the girl’s head.
i will find out where you sleep, she thought, projecting the words violently at the blonde waves. and i will put a dead fish in your pillowcase. i will rewire your hair dryer to only blow cold air. i will dismantle your shoes one screw at a time.
the elevator doors opened.
"finally!" the blonde girl huffed.
she didn't wait for the people inside to get out. she just shoved her pink suitcase forward, forcing the exiting passengers to squeeze around her.
"move, move, i have a crisis," she muttered, barging into the elevator.
jinx watched her go, swallowing the lump of acid in her throat. she pushed her trolley forward, following the girl into the box. the elevator was mirrored on all sides. great. now there were infinite jinxs looking miserable, and infinite blonde girls looking annoyed.
jinx jammed her trolley into the corner, as far away from the pink suitcase as possible. she reached out and punched the button for the 12th floor. the blonde girl didn't press a button.
jinx looked at the panel. the 12 was the only one lit up.
no.
no no no no.
the universe couldn't be this funny.
jinx looked at the girl, who was tapping furiously on her phone.
"daddy, i’m in the elevator now. i’m going up to the penthouse level. yes, the twelfth floor. i know it’s the best view, but if the roommate is a disaster, i’m suing the school."
jinx felt a cold dread settle in her stomach, heavier than the crate of tools.
roommate.
12th floor.
she looked at her keycard. room 1204.
she looked at the girl.
please be in 1205, jinx begged silently. please be in 1206. please be visiting a friend.
the elevator doors slid shut, sealing them in together. silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. the only sound was the girl’s aggressive typing and the hum of the lift.
jinx stared at her reflection.
don't say it, she told herself. don't engage. just stand here and be a good little scholarship student.
the girl stopped typing. she looked up, catching jinx’s eye in the mirror.
she turned, actually looking at jinx for the first time. really looking. her gaze lingered on the blue hair. the tattoos. the grenade pouch… which the girl probably thought was a fashion statement.
"cool cosplay," the girl said, her voice dripping with condescension. "is that for a club? or are you just... really into steampunk?"
jinx’s eye twitched again.
"it’s not cosplay," jinx said, her voice tight. "it’s... lifestyle."
"right," the girl said, looking bored immediately. "whatever. hey, do you know where room 1205 is? the map on my phone is glitching and this place is a maze."
"1205?" jinx repeated, staring at the blonde girl’s reflection in the mirrored wall.
the number on the display turned to 12. the elevator slowed, the sensation of gravity doing a little hop in jinx’s stomach.
"yeah," jinx said, pointing a gloved finger vaguely to the left as the doors slid open. "that way. i think i saw a sign that said 'quarantine zone' over there, so it's probably perfect for you."
the girl didn't even blink at the sarcasm. she just let out a huff of relief, grabbed the handle of her pink monstrosity, and clattered out into the hallway.
"finally," the girl muttered, answering her phone again. "daddy? yes. i'm here…"
jinx watched her go. watched the pink suitcase vanish around the corner toward room 1205.
neighbor.
great. fantastic.
jinx stepped out of the elevator, dragging her heavy trolley behind her. the wheels squeaked on the carpet.
yes, carpet.
the hallway was lined with a plush, navy blue runner that felt like walking on a sponge. the walls were cream-colored with gold sconces. it was quiet. the bad kind. the suffocating, pillow-over-the-face kind of quiet.
dead, mylo whispered. everyone here is dead. they just don't know it yet.
jinx ignored him, scanning the brass numbers on the doors.
1200... 1202...
she stopped in front of 1204. her new cell.
she held up the keycard, her hand trembling just slightly. not from fear. never fear. just… caffeine withdrawal. and rage. mostly rage. she tapped the card against the black sensor.
beep.
a green light flashed. the heavy wooden door clicked and swung inward. jinx kicked the doorstop down and shoved her trolley toward the entrance.
clunk.
the trolley was too wide. of course it was. because piltover doors were designed for skinny briefcases and self-loathing, not for anything actually efficient.
"stupid," she hissed, kicking the doorframe. "stupid architect. stupid wood."
she peered inside. the room was… split.
it was a decent size, she guessed. high ceilings. a big window at the back that let in way too much aggressive sunlight. but the energy in the room was sliced right down the middle.
on the left side: empty.
a bare mattress. a desk that looked like it had never known the joy of a soldering iron burn. a wardrobe standing open.
on the right side: occupied.
jinx froze in the doorway. someone was already here. and they were… a psychopath.
that was the only explanation. the right side of the room was terrifyingly organized. the bed was made with military precision, the corners tucked in so tight you could bounce a coin off the blanket. there were no wrinkles. not one.
the desk was even worse.
tools were laid out on a soft cloth. in a row. by size. wrenches, screwdrivers, calipers. they gleamed in the sunlight, polished and free of grime.
boring, claggor yawned. looks like a hospital.
jinx stepped inside, leaving her trolley in the hall for a second. she crept toward the occupied side, sniffing the air. it didn't smell like perfume or hairspray. it smelled like… machine oil. cologne? and… old paper.
she looked at the bookshelf. no romance novels. no fashion magazines. just thick, heavy textbooks and binders with handwritten labels.
temporal logistics. kinetic drag coefficients. z-drive maintenance.
"nerd," jinx whispered, poking one of the binders with a finger. "total nerd. probably wears glasses and irons his socks."
she looked at the bedside table. there was a clock. a weird, real, ticking mechanical thing with exposed gears. it was ticking in a perfect, rhythmic heartbeat.
tick. tick. tick.
it was the sound of someone who had never been late in their life. someone who ate their vegetables and did their homework and definitely, absolutely would not appreciate jinx turning the other half of the room into a blast zone.
he’s gonna hate you, mylo giggled from the ceiling fan. two days. i give it two days before he asks for a transfer. or calls the enforcers.
"shut up," jinx muttered. "i'll make him leave. i'll act crazy. i'm good at that."
she turned back to the door. time to move the cargo.
since the trolley wouldn't fit, she had to do it the hard way. manual labor. because apparently, being a genius didn't exempt you from lifting heavy objects.
she grabbed the first box. scrap metal. she hauled it into the room, groaning as the weight pulled on her shoulders. she dropped it onto her empty bed.
thump.
dust danced in the sunbeam. back to the hall.
second box. tools. heavy tools. the big wrench. the hydraulic press she stole. she dragged it across the carpet, leaving a nice little track mark in the plush fabric.
"oops," she deadpanned. "property damage. put it on my tab."
she kicked the box into the corner of her side. back to the hall.
third bag. clothes. light. easy. she threw it. it landed on the desk, knocking over a pencil holder. she paused. looked at the other side of the room.
"it’s mocking me," she told the empty room. "the tidiness. it’s judging me."
she went back for the last one. the crate.
the big crate.
this was the one with the good stuff. the stabilizers. the prototype hex-crystals she’d smuggled in inside a hollowed-out toaster. it weighed a ton.
jinx squatted down in the hallway, grabbing the handles.
"okay," she grunted. "lift with your… legs? is that what people say?"
she pulled. the crate moved an inch.
weak, mylo whispered. powder was weak. jinx is weak. can't even lift a box.
i am not weak! she screamed in her head.
she gritted her teeth, planting her boots firmly on the carpet. she heaved, her muscles straining, veins popping in her neck.
"rrrghhh—stupid—gravity—"
she got it off the ground. barely. she waddled backward, trying to navigate the doorway while holding eighty pounds of illegal science.
her fingers were slipping. the metal handle was digging into her skin, cutting off circulation.
"don't drop it," she gasped. "don't… drop… the boom."
she was halfway through the door when her hip checked the doorframe. the crate slipped, then slammed down onto her fingers against the wood.
"FUCK!"
the scream tore out of her throat. she dropped the crate.
CRASH.
jinx doubled over, clutching her hand to her chest. pain, hot and sharp, throbbed in her knuckles. she danced a little circle of agony, squeezing her eyes shut.
"mother—father—sister—brick!" she strung a list of curses together, hopping on one foot. she leaned against the doorframe, panting, her forehead resting against the cool wood.
her fingers were red. throbbing.
"i hate this place," she whimpered to the hallway. "i hate the carpet. i hate the air. i hate the stairs."
ding.
the elevator chimed again down the hall.
jinx didn't look up. she didn't care. let it be the dean. let it be the police. let it be a giant monster here to eat the building. she was busy mourning her pinky finger.
footsteps approached. soft. rhythmic. heavy boots, but moving with a quiet, careful tread.
jinx ignored them.
she turned back to the crate. it was sitting in the doorway, blocking the entrance like a stubborn mule.
"okay," she growled. "round two. you versus me. let's go."
she bent down, grabbing the handles again. anger gave her a little boost this time. adrenaline. she heaved.
"need a hand?"
the voice was deep, calm, smooth, and coming from right behind her.
jinx, startled and already off-balance from the weight of the crate, jerked upward too fast. she stumbled backward, her boots catching on the edge of the crate she just dropped.
she fell forward. right into a wall.
except it wasn't a wall. walls didn't have heat. walls didn't smell like… soap.
thud.
she slammed into something solid. really solid. her forehead bounced off something hard, a chest. her hands instinctively shot out to catch herself, landing on warm skin.
"ouch," she grumbled, rubbing her head, keeping her eyes squeezed shut for a second. she opened her eyes, but she wasn't looking at a wall.
she was looking at denim. dark, worn denim jeans. practical. used.
her eyes traveled up.
a black belt with a heavy, custom buckle. tools hanging from loops. a wrench that looked suspiciously like the one she used to have when she was ten.
up further.
a black tank top. cheap cotton, stretched tight.
and skin. dark, rich skin.
muscles.
jinx blinked. her brain stalled.
this was no soft piltie student. this was no sweater-vest boy. she felt the person’s hands gripping her arms to steady her. the grip was firm. familiar.
she craned her neck back. slowly.
a strong throat. a sharp, clenched jawline.
and then the face.
white hair. not blonde. white. thick, locked dreads pulled back, framing a face that she had seen in her nightmares and her daydreams for seven years.
dark eyes looked down at her. wide. shocked. the face paint was gone. the boyish roundness was gone.
but the eyes were the same.
jinx’s breath hitched in her throat, strangled and small. the world stopped spinning. the hallway vanished. the crate vanished.
it was just him.
the boy she left. the boy who fixed things.
ekko.
he was staring at her like he was seeing a ghost. his hands were still gripping her arms, burning through the fabric of her hoodie. his mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
jinx stared.
she stared at the white hair. the scar on his nose. the way his pulse was visibly hammering in his neck.
no.
no no no.
the universe wasn't just funny. the universe was a sadistic, twisted comedian with a hate-boner for her specifically.
this was the roommate?
this was the nerd with the organized desk?
her ex-best friend. little man. the savior.
ekko. here.
standing in front of room 1204.
jinx’s mouth fell open. her brain supplied a thousand words—traitor, liar, run, kill, hug, scream—but her vocal cords were paralyzed.
what. the. absolute. fuck.