Zaun, the Lanes.
At 2 p.m., a group of people stood outside a door, watching Isha step out—then they all surged toward her.
Isha shut the door first. A cup was tucked against her arm. She shook her head hard at everyone, then raised one hand and pushed outward, signaling them to back up.
"How's Jinx?" Silco asked, worry heavy in his voice.
Isha couldn't speak. She only nodded… then shook her head again.
Vi sighed beside them, her voice low and rough. "Three days. She's only taken two sips of water. She hasn't eaten a single bite."
"For three days she's locked herself in her room. Not a sound. The only person she'll let in is Isha, but she won't touch the food Isha brings. I call to her from outside the door and she won't answer me."
Three days was enough time for the people of Zaun to return from Piltover. With Piltover's financial aid, the parts of Zaun that had been scoured by floodwater were already being rebuilt.
Silco had been especially busy these days—really, all of Zaun's leadership had been busy, but Silco was the busiest of them all. Even so, every day he still carved out an hour to come here, to check on Jinx, to hear about her condition from Vi and Janna.
If Goddess Janna hadn't been watching Jinx constantly—telling them Jinx wasn't doing anything inside, just lying on the bed, drifting between sleep and waking, never turning on the lamp, never opening the curtains, keeping herself sealed in darkness, but breathing steadily—Silco would have already ordered someone to smash the door down and force their way in.
More than Jinx hating him, Silco feared one thing:
That in a single, foggy moment, Jinx might choose… to end her own life.
Jinx would do it.
Back when Vi had been joking around with Jinx, Silco had been nearby, carrying the snacks Jinx had bought.
Vi had teased her: "You cling to Logan so hard—but if one day Logan died, if he was gone… what would you do then?"
Vi meant it as a joke.
But Jinx's answer had been deadly serious. She had stared at Vi, blocking her path, and said each word like a nail being hammered in:
"I'll die with him."
That was what Silco was most afraid of now.
"Let her have more time," Silco said in a heavy voice. "If it still doesn't work… have Singed prepare a nutrient injection. If she falls asleep, give it to her then."
Isha left too, cup still in hand, head lowered as she walked quietly back toward her own room.
Vi watched her go, hesitated, then followed.
After Logan's death, the person who hurt the most was Jinx.
The second was Isha.
Because overnight, everything Isha had ever had was gone.
The brother who spoiled her and loved her was gone. The sister she adored had turned hollow and lifeless.
Isha's small, beautiful world had been smashed to pieces.
So in Vi's eyes, Isha was truly strong—truly a good kid.
She was carrying this whole home on her tiny shoulders. When everyone was around, her emotions looked normal. She would even smile at them. But once everyone left—when it was only Vi and Isha alone—she would fall silent, staring off into nothing.
Because Isha believed this: her sister had already lost her brother. She couldn't let her sister worry about her too. Isha had to show her best side in front of Jinx, so Jinx wouldn't have to carry that burden.
So Jinx… wouldn't feel weighed down.
Another two days passed.
Today, Vi was sitting outside Jinx's door when Ekko arrived with a group of Undercity Enforcers.
"What is it?" Vi stepped forward and asked.
Ekko's expression was complicated. He glanced at the tightly shut door, then said, "It's the boss's gifts."
"Logan?"
"Yeah. They're for Jinx." Ekko swallowed. "Today is her birthday."
Vi froze.
So much had happened lately that she'd forgotten it was Jinx's birthday.
The door suddenly opened.
Vi turned—but she didn't see Jinx.
Still, everyone heard Jinx's voice.
"Give them to me."
It was hoarse. Scraped raw.
Vi looked at the pile Ekko had brought: eleven boxes, each tied with a pretty blue bow, all different sizes.
She said, "You all go back. I'll bring them in."
Ekko nodded and had his people set everything down.
Vi rolled up her sleeves and started carrying.
One box. Two boxes. Setting them down by the doorway.
Then, from the darkness inside, a pair of pale hands—almost glowing against the black—reached out and pulled each box in.
Vi didn't enter. After she'd moved the last box, she stayed outside and waited.
Inside the room, a thin figure sat in darkness, opening boxes one by one.
Jinx picked up the first, looking down at it. Carefully—so carefully—she opened it. It was a tiny box, no bigger than her palm.
Inside was a blue bow tie, with a touch of pink in the center—pretty, bright, delicate. Beside it was a note.
She lifted the note.
[Jinx, this year you were taken in by Silco. So starting this year, I'll spend your birthdays with you. Happy birthday, Jinx.
Also… I remember when you were little, you envied those Topside kids and wanted a pretty bow tie. You even fought with Vander about it, right? I looked forever in the market before I picked this one. Blue. Really pretty. Just like you.]
Jinx set the bow tie on the bed.
Then she looked at the next box.
When she opened it, there was another note—tied onto a small, human-shaped doll.
[By nine, you should've grown your teeth in properly, right? When you smiled as a kid you looked exactly like Isha—missing a tooth, haha. Ugly as hell.
That year, you made yourself a Vi doll… so I made you a doll too. Making dolls is really hard. Even if it's ugly, you'd better keep it safe—because I made it myself. Limited edition Logan doll!]
The doll was small, only a few inches tall. A ring of black thread around its head was supposed to be hair. Its face was stitched and patched. Honestly… it wasn't cute at all.
But Jinx hugged the doll tight and didn't speak for a long time.
Then she opened the third box.
Inside was a pair of beautiful blue princess shoes—tiny children's shoes Jinx couldn't possibly wear.
[Happy 10th birthday, Jinx. Throw out the Mylo and Claggor dolls. I'm just like you—I get jealous easily. So if you want to play with dolls, play with the Logan limited edition one.
If it's too ugly, then on your 19th birthday I'll make you a new one. Give me a year—my skills will definitely improve. Deal?]
"…"
The fourth box. The fifth box.
Eleven years old. Twelve years old.
For her 11th birthday, Logan had given her a small, delicate cake.
[Happy 11th birthday, Jinx. I didn't make this cake with my own hands, but I taught Aunt Sheila how—so that still counts as me making it.
I couldn't make it myself because of the shelf-life problem. I've got a lot I need to do lately… and a lot of gifts I still need to prepare for you.]
Jinx bent down, lowered her head, and took a bite out of the cake.
Two tears fell onto the frosting.
She lifted her head, forced herself to swallow, and got it down.
"So sweet…"
For twelve, Logan gave her a set of beautiful paints—Topside quality, clearly bought in Piltover, clearly expensive.
[Happy 12th birthday, Jinx. You love to paint. Silco's definitely bought you plenty of paints already, but that's fine—starting now, all your art supplies are on me.
This year, I'm fourteen. I've started working at the docks. I've got money.]
She gathered the paint box neatly, straightened up from her kneeling position, and set it on the small table.
Then she kept opening boxes.
For thirteen, Logan gave her a necklace.
In the note, he asked how she'd been doing with Silco. Girls liked necklaces. She would like it too.
Jinx put it on.
For fourteen, Logan gave her two bracelets.
In the note, he wrote that he had one too—that his matched hers.
But now… both bracelets were here.
Jinx kept opening boxes, her hands starting to tremble. She opened the remaining ones slowly. Every time she lifted a lid, she stared for a long, long time.
For fifteen, the gift was a beautiful handgun—blue body, exaggerated shape, the kind of dramatic style that fit a blue-haired lunatic perfectly.
[I asked Viktor to help me make this. It's based on your gun. It can take a Hextech gemstone, and it hits harder than your old one.
If one day I make you mad… you can use this to shoot me. But you won't, right?]
For sixteen, the gift was a pair of fine black boots—the leather felt incredible, and there were metal plates on them. One plate had a cartoon of her: an exaggerated little blue-haired monster girl, claws out. Another plate showed a tiny black-haired figure holding a small child.
[Happy 16th birthday, Jinx. Your feet don't stink. Seriously. They don't. I swear.
And I look at your feet because I like your feet. Ahem. Maybe my taste is just different from other people's? I hope no one else is reading this...]
Jinx set the boots aside and looked down at her own feet.
They were smeared with blood and dotted with bits of glass.
These past days, she'd been walking barefoot. Shards had bitten into her skin—buried themselves in her soles—but she hadn't cared.
Because she couldn't feel pain anymore.
But now, staring at her feet, she suddenly wanted to pull every shard out.
Still… she turned to the next box.
For seventeen, Logan gave her a pocket watch.
[Happy 17th birthday. This is the year we met.
To be honest, Jinx… at first I was scared of you. You'd gone kind of wild, and all of Zaun was afraid of you. When you hugged me and fell asleep at night, I was shaking. You never noticed?
But Jinx… I have to admit it. Little by little, I started to like you. Topside folks were right—I'm a lunatic. Otherwise how could I fall in love with a nutcase like you?]
Jinx opened the pocket watch.
Inside was a photo of the two of them—taken at Forgen Tavern. Logan sat at the bar, and she stood behind him, laughing, flashing her fingers at the camera. Ekko had taken the picture.
Jinx clenched the watch in her fist and looked at the last box.
The last one was the biggest.
But the gift inside was the smallest.
A lipstick.
[Happy 18th birthday, Jinx. Zaun's future will only get better and better. This lipstick is my gift for your adulthood.
This year, you're finally grown up—so there are a lot of things I don't have to hold back anymore. Get ready. After you see what you wanted to see, you'll have to give me a little Logan.
No idea if the kid will have blue hair or black hair, but please don't let it be half-black and half-blue. That's way too edgy.]
"…"
The room sank into silence.
Only the soft rustle of movement remained—Jinx organizing the gifts.
Outside the door, Vi hadn't slept well these days either. Exhausted, she leaned against the door, slid down to sit on the floor, arms hanging forward on her knees, head tipped back against the wood, eyes closed.
She meant to doze for a moment.
But almost as soon as she drifted, she heard a hoarse voice from inside.
"Vi…"
Vi jolted awake. She scrambled up, slapped her palm against the door. "Jinx—I'm here, I'm right here! What is it? Are you hungry? I'll go heat something up—"
"No." Jinx's voice came weakly through the door. "Help me… get some clothes."
Vi nodded hard, loud with relief. "Okay. Wait for me. I'm going right now."
Vi sprinted back to her room. After the flood, so much had been destroyed. Most of Vi's clothes were new—bought from Piltover.
She rummaged through everything, finally grabbing a pair of long pants, a black T-shirt, and a blue jacket.
She ran back to Jinx's door with the clothes in her arms, knocked, and asked, "Can I come in?"
"…Yeah."
Vi pushed the door open.
The room was pitch black. The floor showed dried water marks, scattered glass shards, and… dark pools of blood.
In the corner, the gift boxes were stacked neatly from largest to smallest.
The blood on the ground made Vi's chest seize.
As her eyes adjusted, she looked toward the bed.
On the small bookcase sat the blue cat-ear hat, the center soaked with a wide wet stain. The boots were placed beside it.
Nearby were the other gifts—paints, the necklace, the pocket watch, the cake with one bite missing.
Jinx sat on the bed.
Her blue hair was loose and tangled, spilling across the entire mattress, even draping over the edges. Dense, endless blue spread out like a web—and she sat in the center of it, grabbing the hem of her shirt and stripping in front of Vi without a word.
She tossed the filthy clothes aside.
Naked, Jinx stood and walked toward Vi.
Vi lowered her gaze.
Jinx's stomach was deathly pale. Higher up, her ribs showed starkly. She was so thin it made Vi's heart ache.
"Jinx…"
"It's okay, Vi." Jinx looked at her. Jinx had always been pale, but when she was with Logan, she ate a lot every day. She slept early too—curled up around him at night.
She was pale, but healthy.
Now, after days without food, her skin looked corpse-white. Her cheeks were hollow. And she wore a smile that chilled the blood.
Vi couldn't smile back.
Jinx was smiling—but it was lifeless. Her eyes held no emotion. Bruising shadowed her sockets. Veins showed along the whites of her lids. Her blue irises were cloudy, and the whites of her eyes were veined red.
"I'm going to shower first." She took the clothes, pushed past the door, and headed for the washroom.
Vi hurried after her.
Then Vi stood guard outside the washroom.
She bit her finger, not knowing how to talk Jinx down—how to pull her back.
Should she even try?
Logan had given his life to save everyone. Tell Jinx to forget him? To let him go?
Impossible.
Because Vi herself couldn't forget that scene either. She wasn't exhausted only from watching Jinx—she was exhausted because she was grieving Logan too.
Logan was gone. No one would argue with her anymore. No one would let her steal a bite of warm breakfast in the mornings.
Water ran inside the washroom.
Vi lowered her head, sighed, and said nothing.
Under the hot spray, Jinx kept her eyes shut, head lowered. Her thin shoulders shook again and again. Water streamed down her face—whether it was tears or heat, it all mixed together and spilled onto the floor.
Slowly, she raised her head into the flow, letting it pound over her skin.
When she opened her eyes, they were red—ruined red.
She scrubbed her hair, washing out the grime, cleaning herself until her fingers trembled. Wrapping herself in a towel, she stepped to the mirror and stared at her reflection.
"Jinx," she whispered.
She lifted both hands to her mouth, hooked her fingers into the corners of her lips, and pulled upward into a terrible smile.
"Don't cry."
"Logan told you not to cry."
"So this is the last time you cry."
"…Right?"
In the mirror, her fingers dug harder and harder into her cheeks. The smile warped—more and more unhinged.
"He wanted Zaun to get better. He almost did it. He was so close."
"So now it's your turn."
"You can't go to him yet, Jinx. This is the gift you have to give him."
"Smile, Jinx."
"Please… don't make him worry anymore."
She was smiling as she cried.
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