Logan lay flat on his back, floating on the surface of the sea, with Jinx sitting on him. Her hands—braced on his chest at first—slowly crawled up until they reached his face. Then, carefully, almost fearfully, Jinx stroked his cheeks.
"Am… Am I dead…?" she whispered, staring at him.
The next second, her eyes filled with joy. Even though she'd been convinced she'd died, she looked so happy she could barely contain it, shouting, "Logan, you really came to find me?!"
"I knew it! Writing letters actually works!"
"Did you get the 393 letters I burned for you? Did you?!" Jinx's small hands cupped his face as she leaned close, staring straight into his eyes, demanding an answer.
"The hell? 393 letters?" Logan said, amused. "By the timeline, shouldn't you've burned 374 letters for me? Where'd the extra dozen come from?"
"Because those days… I missed you really bad," she answered, completely serious.
Logan's expression softened. He reached up—not to flick her nose, not to caress her cheek—
But to be a menace.
He pinched her nose.
Just lightly—enough to cut off her breathing—while he stared at her.
Jinx didn't even mind. She just stared back, blankly, until she finally couldn't breathe, her face turning red. Then she opened her mouth and gulped air, panting hard, and said in confusion, "Why do dead people still have to breathe?"
"Jinx," Logan said, exasperated by her delayed reaction, "why does it have to be you being dead and coming to find me? Can't it be me winning my comeback match and coming to find you?"
Even now, she still thought her effort had paid off—that she'd died and met him.
She was insanely smart…
So why was she sometimes this hopelessly dumb?
Logan squeezed her cheeks, enjoying the feel of her face, then frowned. "You got thinner. There's no meat on you at all. That's not okay. You need to eat properly and put some of that softness back on your cheeks. You're so skinny you look like a praying mantis—doesn't look good."
"Your hair…" Logan's voice softened again. "If you like it short, that's fine. You look great with short hair. And when we sleep, I won't crush it anymore—so you can stop blaming me for making you lose hair."
"And Janna told me you left Isha with Viktor? I don't know… Viktor doesn't exactly look like someone who knows how to raise a kid."
"And—Janna said you built some insanely good weapons. Next time something like Styraatu shows up, everyone in Zaun can actually help if they've got the gear. That's amazing, Jinx."
"Oh—also. Is Silco really pursuing Renata? It feels weird. Don't you think they're basically the same person? Them together… can that even work? I mean, it's like watching me date myself."
Logan rambled on. He'd listened to Jinx talk nonstop the whole way—now it was his turn to talk to her.
"When the seawater dries it's going to feel awful. We get back, we're taking a real shower. Oh—our place didn't get wrecked by the flood, right?"
"You haven't eaten my cooking in forever. You missed it, didn't you? Tonight I'm making you something good—really good—"
A fat tear splashed onto Logan's cheek.
Then another.
His lips moved—then stopped. He looked at Jinx, who had grabbed his collar with both hands, lowered her head, and buried her face into his neck as she cried.
Logan slid one hand to the back of her head, the other rubbing her bony, too-thin back, and whispered, "It's okay, Jinx. I'm back."
"I promised you I wouldn't leave you."
"Even death can't make me break that promise."
Jinx didn't answer.
She just cried—hard, ragged, wrecked. She cried until her voice went hoarse, until it felt like she was emptying out an entire year of hurt in one breath.
Logan was back.
So she didn't have to wear a smile anymore.
She could finally stop pretending she was fine.
Old Rog walked through the Entresol, Zaun's biggest trading market.
As a Bilgewater man, Old Rog should've known Zaun well. Years ago, when he'd still been a dock worker, Zaun ships came to Bilgewater all the time—selling Shimmer booze and weapons.
But for some reason, starting two years back, Zaun had stopped trading with Bilgewater so much. It felt to Old Rog like Zaun had suddenly decided to go straight.
Now that he was here in person, Old Rog was full of emotion—stunned by Zaun's economic strength, and by its population.
He'd assumed a city-state that dealt with Bilgewater so often would look like Bilgewater on the inside.
But this… wasn't Bilgewater at all.
Zaunites wore happiness on their faces. The streets were clean. There were people everywhere whose job was to manage and protect civilians. Buildings stood tall. Even the "toxic, disgusting air" that Bilgewater travelers used to complain about—
Was a lie.
Sure, the air smelled a bit like engine oil, but honestly? Old Rog felt Zaun's air quality didn't lose to Bilgewater's at all. Bilgewater's air was "good," but it still had a weird smell too—the sharp reek of salt and fish.
He kept walking, looking for shops and merchants to sell his goods to.
Then a crewman beside him suddenly grabbed his arm.
"Boss—look! That statue!" the man said, face full of shock, pointing.
Old Rog turned—
And froze.
At the center of the plaza stood a black statue more than ten meters tall. It stood perfectly upright. On its head sat a strange hat—a cute blue cat-ear hat. One hand extended, pointing straight ahead.
Old Rog stared at the statue's side profile.
It felt familiar.
He hurried forward, moving around to the front.
Looking up at the face, he saw craftsmanship so lifelike it was unsettling—especially the eyes. The eyes looked almost alive, carrying warmth and kindness.
"Th—" Old Rog recognized the face. He swallowed, suddenly unable to speak.
He lowered his gaze to the plaque beneath the statue.
Old Rog could read it. Languages across Valoran were mostly shared—aside from some Demacian dialects—so he understood the words clearly.
—Pay tribute to Zaun's eternal master.
In an instant, Old Rog's mind filled with the image of a black-haired young man—gentle, always smiling.
"Old Rog, once we're in Zaun, it's my turf. To thank you for buying me drinks these past few days—if you ever need anything, just tell me."
"Why don't you believe me? I really am Zaun's leader. They all call me the Lord of Zaun."
"Come on—fine, don't believe me, but don't take the grilled fish! It's your fish, sure, but I grilled it!"
What had Old Rog said back then?
"You're the Lord of Zaun? Then I'm the Pirate King of Bilgewater!"
Back in the present, Old Rog's mouth twitched. For a long time, he couldn't say a word.
In the name of Miss Fortune… what the hell.
That kid really was the Lord of Zaun?
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