❛  CHAPTER SIX ❜
Ptolemaea

( cw; references to murder
and human trafficking, shitty
pacing sorry xo )

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   GUILT TAINTS THE FIRST SUNRISE Enyo has seen in years; raw and red like ribbons of shredded carrion, leaving a bitter aftertaste to toil over her gums.  

   A cardinal stretch of morning clouds flutter over Piltover, spilling volcanic light across all the ivory facades and gilded eaves. The early birds shake sleep from their plumes, nesting atop their ivory towers as the city bustles to life in the terraced streets below. Sunlight crests the horizon with a gentle touch that scalds the wakening earth — the hand of a creator, soft and warm, yet scintillating with a deadly power.

   Enyo swipes her palms over the backs of her knees, blood pooling betwixt the raggedy seams of her black trousers. Her breathing is erratic in her ears, her arms burning from the strain of overpowering a man and then scaling his four story mansion with sin slicked hands. The lingering memory of his lifeless eyes weighs like a barbell on her chest, her breath struggling back into her lungs under its overbearing pressure. It's looking like there's another sleepless night in store for her. . .

  She pops her top buttons to rub at her clavicles and quell her quickening pulse, her free hand unlatching the clasp of her bag to stare down at the evidence she had just risked her life for. Her eyebrows knit as she tries to discern recognisable letters amongst his fancy handwriting — in all honesty, she'd only learned half of the Piltovan alphabet before. . . before she had to start working.

  Enyo digresses. The files in her satchel, swiped from a desk drawer while the Piltie perpetrator was left to exsanguinate, won't bring her justice through the typical means. The police in Piltover won't do shit to help her, but she learned how to take matters into her own hands a long time ago. How to take down the names of new targets, to underline her bloodsport for the week in a thorny halo of red ink.

She smudges her thumbprint over a line, studying the scrawl through narrowed eyes. There are lines of names she doesn't recognise paired with their crippling indentures, countless people like her reduced to memories on a piece of crumpled paper. Yet, amongst the lives signed away like livestock, she can make out a few surnames and fanciful titles. Credited at the bottom in the fine print.

More of the men in charge. New targets.

   Sirens ring out, discordant against the chirping birdsong and idle perfection of Piltover. It jolts her from her daydream back into her waking nightmare, drenched in blood that isn't her own and hardly any closer to redemption. She's wasted too much time already. . .

   The shadows have started to dwindle in the sunrise. Her chance to escape is fleeting like smoke tendrils cusped between crooked fingertips, dissipating as the tall ivory buildings begin to close in on her. Enyo ignores her burning muscles and pushes herself to her feet, scrambling over the roof tiles to slide off the edge and land on wobbly legs. She'll be damned if this mess is what sparks her downfall.

Her callouses catch on the pipes as she clambers down into the underbelly of the city, slipping off of the roof tiles and squashing herself between the cracks in alleys. She keeps one hand secure over the burlap flap of her satchel, the stolen files crumpling together carelessly in her hurry to get away.

Though, the end is in sight. She rounds a street corner and delves into the untouched shadow of an alley, kicking open the lid of a storm drain to squeeze inside. The rainwater is bound to scrub the blood from her clothes and the wide pipes make for a good getaway, underlining her imperfect crime as the Enforcers pace the streets above cluelessly.

   As she wedges her legs inside first, Enyo can't help but look over her shoulder for one last glance at the daylight. The sun is almost at its full height, smudging an array of colours across the sky like a watercolour painting left out to dry, a warmth that's foreign to her eye.

It reminds her of the days when mother would always scold her for staring directly at the sun, a chastising that was parroted every time they'd make their trips up to the craggy skyline. It was the only place in Zaun that can catch daylight on a good day, a hideaway lost to her childhood.

She begins to turn her back on the sun, jaw ticking. Her mother isn't around to admonish her anymore and burning her eyes won't be enough to bring her back. It seems that the sunrise is nauseatingly bittersweet to Enyo now that she's got nobody to admire it with.

   Still, she watches the light skim the horizon for a few fleeting moments before ducking into the perpetual blackness of Zaun, relishing in the way it casts heat over her bloodied face. She allows herself this for a few more seconds until footsteps begin to round the corner, the telltale metronome of leather boots on polished cobble. Her muscles collapse in exhaustion as she tugs the storm drain shut behind her, landing with a splash in the water beneath and holding her breath to keep herself silent.

When the stifling smog penetrates her lungs and her body shudders with coughs, she knows that she's made it home safe.

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   "YOU'RE LATE."

   A harbinger of bad omens, cloaked in the Undercity's midnight tinge; Silco hardly looks delighted to see her. Then again, Enyo doubts that he's ever been delighted about anything in his life.

   "I'm sorry, sir," she says, her breaths a little ragged from taking the stairs two at a time. "I was—"

   "I know where you were," he interjects snippily. "There's blood on your sleeve."

  Enyo hazards a glance down at her arm to see a stray spatter of red seeping through the fabric. Her jaw grinds in frustration and she tips her head up to bite back her aggravation, challenging his stare in a dying attempt to patch up the cracks in her armour.

   He doesn't react. Crossing his ankles leisurely, Silco only leans back in his throne of mahogany and brittle enamel, puffing on a cigar until his office is shrouded by a heavy cloud of smoke. He sneers at the her over the top of some shady looking document, his disfigured eye shining like ruby hellfire in the low lamplight.

He sets it down with a withering sigh that wracks his whole body like rainwater shaking through a gutter. His fingertips steeple beneath his chin as he considers her, his oppressive glare raking goosebumps across her flesh. She just continues to hold his gaze and tries not to blink.

   "You're lucky that I struck a deal with the Enforcers," Silco says pensively. "Otherwise, there'd be a bullet between your eyes by now."

   Enyo swallows, shame flourishing across her face. "It won't happen again, sir."

   His head tilts patronisingly. "Won't it?"

She blinks away her surprise. "I'll be more careful next time," she corrects herself.

"Even if you were to swear on your own cousin's life, I wouldn't believe that," he replies. He sounds more bored than anything, as if he's giving a lecture to a petulant child. "If you're going to go on a rampage in Piltover, at least try to be discreet. Remember that I pay you for your stealth. Don't let yourself become a liability, or I assure you that the Enforcers will be the least of your problems."

Enyo feels like her entire body is on fire. She's mortified, picking at the blood encrusted on her sleeve to thwart the evidence.

"I don't—"

"I didn't call you here to discuss your hobbies," Silco continues in a low drawl. He sighs heavily, sinking down in his seat as he rubs his temples. "There's a shimmer shipment that I've orchestrated for tomorrow—"

   She can't stifle her incredulous scoff. "On Progress Day?"

He leans forward, eyes flashing in warning. "Are you questioning me, Enyo?"

Her shock slackens into severity. "No, sir."

   Silco sends her a withering look before continuing. "I know it's not usually what I ask of you, but I need all hands on deck for this one and I'm sure you have it in yourself follow basic instructions. The stakes are high," he pauses to take a long drag from his cigar, "but it's a risk I'm willing to take. You'll stick with Sevika and stay out of the way — step in only when necessary. Understand?"

  "Huh?" she squawks. Not again. . .

He huffs. "Think of it as shadowing her for the day. After all, you two have been working well together," Silco states and Enyo can't help the way she stiffens. He arches an eyebrow at her rigid body language. "You shall continue to do so, yes?"

Her silence is deafening — you could hear a pin drop. Enyo resists the urge to meet Silco's eyes, forcing herself to stare down at the ring of condensation that had been left by his sweating whisky glass. He, on the other hand, appears wholly unimpressed by her silence.

"Well? I asked you a question?"

    Enyo hesitates for a few seconds too long before she decides that her pay check is worth much more to her than a bruised ego, so she swallows the last fragments of her pride and huffs a breath to anchor herself.

   "Of course, sir," she answers tersely.

   "Good." He leans back in his chair, steepling his slender fingers beneath his chin. "I want you here tomorrow morning, six on the dot. Be on time. If you're as late as you were today, I won't be so forgiving." 

  Enyo deflates at the news of yet another early start. Her body aches with the urge to collapse and sleep for the next decade at least.

  "That's all," Silco says, waving a hand. 

   On that note, she takes a step toward the door, floorboards barely creaking beneath her purposeful footfalls — a force of habit. Though, when she finally reaches the threshold and twists the handle, Enyo hesitates.

Silco looks up from his paperwork. His grip loosens as he peers over at her, his glare burning holes in the back of her head. She swallows thickly, face scrunching in a regretful wince.

   "You're lingering," Silco comments, unimpressed. "What is it?"

   Enyo hesitates again. She mulls over her question, weighing the slim possibilities of him actually taking her seriously and eventually deciding that she's in too deep to back out now.

    "The payments, sir—"

    Silco stops short, looking at her with impatience ticking in his expression. "What of them?"

   Her mouth goes dry. She's never been one for confrontation, let alone asking favours, especially when it comes the most powerful man in Zaun. Immediately, Enyo decides that this was a terrible idea and wishes that the ground would open to swallow her whole.

"Spit it out," Silco snaps. "I don't have all day."

   Enyo's fingers curl into the tough fabric of her jacket, callouses splintering. Her stare darts up from the floor; imploring, pleading.

"The, er, the situation at the brothel is worse than I had imagined," she chokes out, rubbing her nape. "I know it's a lot to ask, but considering the type of work I've been doing—"

    "You've been here for a week or so and you're already demanding an advance on payments?" He laughs cruelly. "I've got to admire your audacity, Enyo."

    She feels her cheeks heating with embarrassment. What had she expected?

    "Sorry," she mutters, drawing away to step closer to the door. "I shouldn't have said anything."

   He hums thoughtfully, flicking embers from the tip of his cigar and watching as they smoulder on his cluttered desk. Slowly, he retires it to the homemade ashtray Jinx had decorated for him, twisting it back and forth in a fluid motion until it's been put out completely.

   "Prove yourself to me and you might receive a different answer," Silco calls after her, stopping her dead in her tracks. "Good things come to those who wait."

   Enyo gnaws on her split lip. "Yes, sir."

   "I'll see you tomorrow," he says, his tone mockingly conversational as he immerses himself in studying a file. "You're dismissed."

Enyo's head is buzzing as she leaves his office and turns down the corridor. Her boots are sticky with spilled beer by the time she makes it onto the pavement, her knees wobbling and her head swimming in frustration that she couldn't even stand her ground for five minutes. She froze up under Silco's scrutiny and it cost Abel a dozen more nights in that prison.

   Way to go, Enyo!

   Her scoff echoes in the alley as she kicks a discarded can across the pavement, watching as it rolls off the kerb and shatters.

She then looks to the sky, blackened by charcoal and soot, wondering if the stars are smiling back down at her through the impenetrable haze. ( It's hard to say whether it's day or night when living in perpetual darkness. ) She looks to the invisible cosmos for invisible answers, the same way her mother had taught her to when she was young. Her cheeks puff with a sigh, her hands wriggling into her pockets to curl around the twin knives hidden in the fabric lest they whisper truth back into the pads of her fingers.

Tomorrow, she tells herself. You just need to get through tomorrow.

   Easier said than done. . .

AUTHORS NOTE

i fear i gave up on this halfway through i hate this chapter

this chapter was a massive filler and a total yap fest i'm sorry, but the sevika content in the next chapter will hopefully make up for it ^^

love you all stay safe mwah mwah