Two weeks had already passed since that night. The words Kaitlin had spoken at the Last Drop—"Just this once"—had long since vanished into thin air. Silas stood before the old inn on Clockwork Alley, gazing up at the sky. The faint light trickling down from the upper levels blurred through the gray haze, looking like a smudged, dirty moon. (*How many times has it been now?*) He asked himself the question in the back of his mind. Five times. Maybe six. Counting had started to feel pointless. "[sarcastic] Well, well, Silas. Our valued regular, back again." The innkeeper—a small, graying man who'd been running his business on Clockwork Alley for twenty years—poked his face out from behind the counter. A thick ledger rested in his hands. "[angry] Shut it. Just give me the usual key." Silas brusquely placed a silver coin on the counter. The innkeeper grinned, jangling a ring of keys as he began to search through them. Then, with deliberate slowness, he picked up his pen and opened the ledger. "Let's see now… this month alone, that makes five visits. Lucky for you we had a good room open. As a valued customer, I really must record this properly." "[angry] Don't write it down." Silas reached across the counter and pressed his hand down on the ledger's page. The innkeeper didn't flinch. "If I don't write it down, the books won't balance. That's how a business works, you see—" "[angry] Like I care. What a pain." "My, my, in such a hurry. Worried someone might see you?" "[angry] Quiet. Hand over the key. That's all you need to do." The two glared at each other. Outside the inn, Kaitlin leaned against the wall, waiting. She pulled out a small notebook—the official record book of an enforcer—and ran her pen across the page. *'Currently: Investigating suspicious transactions in eastern Zaun (ongoing).'* She glanced at what she'd written and let out a small, private laugh. (*Investigating, huh.*) A lie like this should fool no one. But right now, that lie was protecting everything she had. She closed the notebook. Her crimson hair swayed in Zaun's damp wind. From inside, the sound of arguing voices still carried. "[angry] I said don't write it—" "You're a difficult customer. Alright, how about this? I'll just write 'long-term merchant stay' in the ledger. Will that do?" "…Do whatever you want." In the end, Silas relented. The innkeeper ran his pen across the page with satisfaction and held out the key. "Enjoy yourselves. Though, the walls are thin, so keep it quiet." "[angry] Shut up!" Silas snatched the key and stepped outside. His eyes met Kaitlin's as she leaned against the wall. She tucked her notebook away and tilted her head slightly. "You took a while." "[sarcastic] The old man at the counter kept trying to write unnecessary crap. We're officially regulars now." "[surprised] …Regulars?" Kaitlin blinked for a moment, then let out a sudden laugh. "It's not funny. Do you have any idea what happens if people find out an enforcer's been coming to a place like this?" "I know exactly. That's why I come at night. Under the pretense of an investigation." "An investigation, huh. Looks like a real fun investigation." "[gentle] …Idiot." Laughing, she lightly smacked Silas's arm. The two of them climbed the narrow staircase. Inside the dimly lit room. The only light came from a small lamp by the bedside. The stains on the wall, in the shifting light, looked almost like human faces. Silas took off his jacket as usual and sat down on the edge of the bed. Kaitlin remained standing beside him, her hand moving to the buttons of her clothes. "Wait." "…What?" "Today… something's different." He'd spoken without fully understanding it himself. But it was true—the air felt different today. Not just the usual collision of bodies, but something else entirely… Kaitlin silently sat down beside him. Her hand reached out, her fingertips tracing across Silas's chest. Hidden beneath his clothes, the old scar from a blade. A wound from back when he'd left Kozlov's crew. "[whispers] …This." Her voice trembled faintly. "[angry] Stop." Silas instinctively grabbed her wrist. But Kaitlin didn't pull her hand away. Held in his grip, she stared steadily into Silas's eyes. Her golden irises gave off a strange light in the dim room. "[gentle] Who did this to you?" Silas didn't answer. Instead, he buried his face against the nape of her neck. From her pale skin rose a faint, flower-like scent. A scent that didn't belong to Zaun—it was the air of the world above. "[whispers] …You don't want to talk about it." She let out a resigned breath and wrapped her free hand around Silas's back. "Someday… tell me." The whisper in his ear sent something racing down Silas's spine. Clothes fell away. Their skin touched. This time, it wasn't like the roughness before. It was slower, mingled with something deeper. Silas pressed her shoulders down, sinking her slowly into the bed. Kaitlin's crimson hair melted across the white sheets. Their hips overlapped, rocking gently as if confirming each other's warmth. Sweet sighs escaped Kaitlin's small lips, and each one tightened something deep in Silas's chest. "[whispers] Ah… Silas…" For the first time, she clearly called his name. On the tangled sheets, the two clung close together, their ragged breathing gradually quieting. Kaitlin's hand still rested against Silas's scar. How much time had passed? Sharing a single thin blanket, they lay staring at the ceiling in silence for a while. "[whispers] I heard the Ash Wednesday compensation was rejected by the council again this year. I understand the council is in a difficult position, but…" Kaitlin murmured it casually. In that instant, Silas's body went rigid. "[angry] …What did you just say?" His voice dropped low. Kaitlin flinched and turned toward him. "Ah, I—" "[angry] A difficult position? Four thousand people died! Four thousand! Kids, old people, pregnant women—all of them! And you call that a 'difficult position'?!" Silas kicked off the blanket and stood up. The bed groaned under the sudden movement. "[angry] That's how the people up there have always treated us down here! Like insects! No apology, no compensation—for twenty years! That's how it's always been!" Kaitlin caught her breath for a moment, then quietly sat up. There was no trace of defensiveness on her face. "[sad] …You're right. That was a terrible way to put it. I'm sorry." She looked straight at Silas and apologized, simply and briefly. The honesty of it drained the venom right out of him. His ragged breathing slowly steadied. "[whispers] …………My old man and my mother. They died that night too." Before he knew it, the words were wrenched out of him. Something he'd never told anyone before. Kaitlin silently climbed off the bed and sat down beside him. Her hand gently rested on top of his. Silas didn't shake it off. "[whispers] My mother… she got Graylung. Died two years later. My old man was dead, the money was gone, couldn't buy medicine. All I could do… was watch." His voice trembled. But no tears came. They'd dried up long, long ago. "[sad] …I hate the upper levels. So much." Kaitlin spoke the words quietly. "That glittering city, the adults who lie without a second thought, the system that never changes—all of it. There are times I even hate that I was born there." Silas lifted his head. Kaitlin's golden eyes were wavering. "[whispers] I've never told anyone that. Becoming an enforcer was the only path I had. I thought… maybe I could change something, even a little. But in the end, nothing…" "[gentle] …You were alone too, huh." The words slipped out before he could stop them. Kaitlin gave a small nod. Until dawn, for the first time, they kept talking—honestly. About the past. About anger. And about loneliness. It was the first night they'd ever truly shared something with another person. The next morning. Through the gray haze, the morning light filtered in faintly. Kaitlin straightened her clothes and stood at the door of the room. "[gentle] …Will you come again? The day after tomorrow?" Realizing she'd been the one to ask first, her cheeks flushed faintly pink. Silas was still on the bed, the tangled blanket wrapped loosely around his waist. "[sarcastic] …Come if you want to." He answered curtly. But. The moment Kaitlin closed the door, the corner of Silas's mouth softened, just slightly. A gentle smile. —But it vanished just as quickly. The street outside the inn. From the shadow of a merchant's stall, a man watched Kaitlin's retreating figure through a pair of binoculars. His silver, close-cropped hair was immaculately neat. Cold gray eyes narrowed. Deacon Murdock. He opened a notebook and carefully ran his pen across the page. *'Time: early morning. Location: Clockwork Alley, "Traveler's Rest" inn. Entered and exited with a man. Confirmed.'* He closed the notebook and gently stroked the scrap of blue cloth tucked inside—an old hair tie Kaitlin had dropped. "[whispers] Soon now. Soon, you'll belong only to me." His expression utterly unchanged, he disappeared into a narrow alley. Piltover. Enforcer Headquarters, "Whitehall." Kaitlin walked briskly down the corridor of the massive alabaster building. No one could know what had happened yesterday. But. Two fellow enforcers approached from the other end of the hallway. "Good morning, Enforcer Fails." "…Yes, good morning." When she returned the greeting, the two awkwardly averted their eyes. The moment Kaitlin passed by, she caught a hushed voice. "…Did you hear the rumors? She's been making strange moves in Zaun—" She didn't catch the rest of the sentence. But she understood the meaning. Kaitlin clenched her back teeth and kept walking as if she'd heard nothing. The break room. Normally, a few colleagues would call out to her, but today no one approached. When Kaitlin rose from her seat, people drew back like a receding tide. She returned to her own office. On her desk lay a single sealed letter. The red wax bore the seal of the Internal Affairs Committee. The stated reason: *'Regarding multiple solo operations in the Zaun sector and irregularities in communication records.'* The sender's signature was her direct superior. The summons was for tomorrow morning. She opened it, read it through, then quietly slipped it into a drawer. "[whispers] …I can't tell Silas." She murmured the words softly and looked out the window. The glittering cityscape of Piltover. But that light never reached the darkness beneath her feet. Her position. Her love. Both now stood undeniably on the edge of a cliff.