JINX POV

Jinx had been in bed for three days. The curtains were closed, plunging the room into a darkness that seemed to suffocate her. The air was saturated with the acrid smell of tobacco and badly extinguished joints. The ceiling seemed to move away and come closer to the rhythm of the disordered beating of her heart. She had built nothing since her return, tinkered with nothing. Her tools lay in a corner, abandoned like memories of a version of herself she no longer recognized.

She stared at the faded patterns on the ceiling, unable to detach her mind from this scene.

Powder.

The name still echoed in her head like a cold blade sliding against her skin. She closed her eyes, hoping to escape, but it was worse. Vi's face appeared, intense, desperate, as if she had really wanted to find her.

"No..." Jinx whispered, gritting her teeth.

She took a drag on her joint, the taste burning in the back of her throat, but it didn't calm anything. Nothing could silence that little voice. A weak voice, buried beneath layers of anger and pain. A voice that asked: Why? Why now? Why her?

She clutched her arm in her fingers, her nails digging into the flesh. The pain was an anchor, a distraction, but it didn't last. Blood beaded to the surface, a thin red trickle sliding down her pale skin.

"It's not real. She's not here."

But she was here. Jinx knew it. And it terrified her.

A knock at the door startled her. She sat up halfway, the joint slipping from her fingers and into an overflowing ashtray.

"Come in," she growled, her voice hoarse and broken.

Silco entered, a shadow that took up all the space, his silhouette silhouetted against the doorframe. The cold light of the hallway made him look even more stern than usual. She forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed, her back hunched and her hands clasped together, her nails digging nervous furrows into his skin. He closed the door behind him, scanning the chaos of the room. His expression was neutral, but Jinx could sense the tension.

"You look pitiful like this, Jinx," he began calmly, his tone filled with measured contempt. "You haven't been out in days."

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze.

"I needed to think."

He stepped closer, his footsteps echoing softly on the floor. His eyes fell on her, penetrating. Jinx held his gaze, but she felt a shiver run down her spine. He knew she was lying, she was certain of it.

"You know, secrets always betray us," he murmured, his voice soft and sharp as a blade.

She didn't answer, looking away to stare at an invisible point on the wall. Silco was silent for a moment, as if waiting for a confession, but eventually backed away.

Silco crossed his arms, continuing in a more matter-of-fact tone, "The school burned down. A tragedy, yes, but they found a solution."

Jinx frowned, finally looking up to meet his gaze.

"A solution?"

A smirk played on Silco's face, but it wasn't warm.

"Oh, they're not going to let a mere ruin keep the 'poor children of Zaun' from getting an education," he said, with a hint of sarcasm. "Heimdinger... or whatever his name is... has decided that you'll transfer."

She arched an eyebrow, wary.

"Transferred where?" "Piltover High," he answered, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Jinx opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She finally shook her head in disbelief.

"What? No. It's stupid. They hate us."

"Exactly," Silco agreed, a cruel smile gracing his lips. "But it's their idea, not mine. And you're going to comply, Jinx."

She stood abruptly, her fists clenched.

"Why me? Why do I have to go?"

He leaned in slightly, his face close to hers, his eyes burning with icy intensity.

"I didn't raise a coward, Jinx."

He trailed off, then turned and left the room without another word, leaving her alone with her swirling thoughts.

EKKO'S POV

Ekko stood on the roof of a dilapidated building, peering down at the street below. The angry crowd surged like a tumultuous tide, waving placards and shouting slogans. Police officers in blue and gold Piltover uniforms struggled to contain the protesters, their shields an imperfect barrier against the shouts of rage.

"No place for Zaun's trash!"

"Protect our children!"

The words made him want to vomit. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

Heimerdinger, the campus director, had announced the news a few days earlier: the Zaun students would be transferred to the private Piltover high school, located within the grounds of the prestigious university. The goal, he said, was to promote "social cohesion" between the two cities. But to the people of Piltover, it was an invasion.

Ekko sighed, his jaw clenched.

"Social cohesion, my eye," he muttered to himself. "All they want is to keep Zaun under control."

He looked away from the crowd to the high school, or rather, what was left of it. The building, blackened by the flames, was nothing more than a skeleton of concrete and metal. And yet, even after such destruction, tensions between Zaun and Piltover continued to grow.

A hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him abruptly from his thoughts. He turned to see Scar, his best friend, his eyes dark and worried.

"You shouldn't hang around here, Ekko. It's dangerous."

"All of Zaun is dangerous," he retorted with a smirk. "Why should this street be any different?"

Scar sighed, annoyed, but didn't answer. He just crossed his arms, looking down at the crowd below.

"Do you think they'll really let us into their school?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

Ekko shrugged.

"They won't have a choice. But it's going to be hell."

He felt a surge of anger rise within him, but he suppressed it. What was the point? Things were tense enough as it was.

As the chants continued to echo through the streets, Ekko couldn't help but think about what this would mean for Zaun. Maybe this mixing of the two worlds was the worst possible idea. Or maybe it was their only chance to prove that they were better than Piltover thought they were.

POV VI

Vi shuffled along the path lined with bright streetlights that led to the Piltover University campus. The place had an atmosphere that she found almost oppressive: clean, well-organized, almost perfect. So different from Zaun that she wanted to turn back.

She should have moved in days ago, but she had preferred to squat in Loris's old bar in Zaun, where the nights were drowned in fat laughter and the smell of cheap alcohol. There, at least, she knew what to expect. Here, she was an anomaly. A stain on their immaculate picture.

The student room that awaited her in one of the campus residences was supposed to be a blessing, a step toward a rehabilitation she hadn't asked for.

Vi had only a small backpack on her shoulder, containing everything she owned. A few worn clothes, a toothbrush, an old half-torn notebook. That was all. She entered the building with heavy steps, letting her gaze slide over the immaculate walls and the spiral staircase covered in beige carpet.

"Room 213," she murmured, looking at the piece of paper the administration had given her.

She took the stairs two at a time, not very motivated to discover her new living space. But as soon as she opened the door, a strange feeling took hold of her. The space was larger than she had imagined, but austere. Two twin beds framed the room, each accompanied by a light wood desk. A window looked out onto a peaceful courtyard, where students were chatting under a tree.

The other bed was already occupied. A neatly arranged bag rested at the foot of the bed, and a few technical books were stacked on the neighboring desk. Vi frowned.

"Great," she muttered to herself. A shared apartment.

Vi closed the door to the room behind her with a heavy sigh. Her new life was starting here, in the heart of the Piltover campus, and she already hated everything about it. The hushed silence of the corridors, the chemical smell of the cleaning products, the clinical perfection of the place... Everything sounded false, foreign.

She didn't have time to complain further before a figure entered the room. A thin boy with pale skin limped slightly as he walked. He carried a discreet cane, which he leaned on with each step, and his brown hair was disheveled.

"Hello," she said hesitantly.

He looked up at her briefly, before looking away immediately.

"Viktor," he said simply, in a low voice.

He nodded and returned to his desk, as if she were nothing more than a shadow. Vi raised an eyebrow. This guy seemed even more withdrawn than Hector, one of the guys she knew from Zaun, and that was saying something.

"Vi," she answered.

She tossed her bag onto the half-made bed and looked around the room. Viktor, her roommate, was sitting at his desk, poring over a thick book full of diagrams and equations she didn't understand. Piles of other books were stacked neatly around him.

"So where are you from?" she tried, deciding to break the silence.

"Piltover," he answered without looking up.

"Yeah, of course," she grumbled, sitting down on her bed.

She opened her bag and began to take out her things, trying not to pay attention to the tense atmosphere. The boy seemed lost in thought, his eyes glued to a notebook where he was scribbling complex diagrams. She couldn't help but glance sideways at him.

Vi took the time to examine his profile: thin, almost fragile, with a cane resting next to him. His messy brown hair and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed sleepless nights. But what struck her most was his accent. Slightly rough, like a familiar echo that didn't fit with Piltover.

"Have you always been this talkative, or is it special for me?" she finally asked with a smirk.

This time, Viktor really looked at her, but only for a second before shrugging.

"Not very good at pointless conversations," he admitted.

Vi shook her head, half-annoyed, half-amused.

"You know what? Good. It suits me," she replied, before lying on her back.

She closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would take her quickly, but only one thought haunted her. She was in Piltover, in a dorm room, trying to play the rehabilitation card. Meanwhile, Powder, her little sister, was somewhere in Zaun. Maybe working for Silco, maybe causing trouble...

Powder's face flashed through her mind, that mixture of anger and pain that had hit her like a punch. Vi clenched her fists.

"Are you really from here?" she said abruptly, breaking the silence.

Viktor turned his head slightly, his hazel eyes settling on her with polite curiosity.

"Yes. Why?" he asked in a low voice,

Vi raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know... You don't look like a kid from Piltover, that's all. Too many books, too many things working in there," she said, pointing to the complicated diagrams on the desk.

He gave a barely perceptible smile and straightened up slightly.

"Maybe I'm not like the others," he replied, his accent dragging over the words.

Vi scrutinized him for a moment, trying to unravel the mystery. She had learned to sniff out lies, and something in his answer rang false.

"You're a damn genius, aren't you?" she blurted, changing the subject to catch him off guard.

Viktor shrugged, returning his attention to his notebook.

"I'm just doing what I can."

Vi shook her head, half amused, half frustrated. This guy wouldn't give up, she could tell. Yet, something in his accent reminded her of Zaun. The nuances in his way of speaking, the tone... He came from there. She would have bet her life on it.

"And why are you stuck with me, then? A guy like you should have a private room, right?" she said, stretching on her bed, trying to find out more.

"Maybe we wanted to put you with someone who wouldn't be too disruptive," Viktor replied with a hint of irony, without looking up.

Vi burst out laughing, a real laugh, almost sincere.

"Yeah, that's for sure."

A comfortable silence settled, interrupted only by the sound of Viktor's quill scratching against the paper. Vi looked at her things. She had nothing, barely enough to fill a drawer. Viktor, on the other hand, had a whole world around him: books, plans, tools. Pure genius, you could tell. But there was a coldness about him, a distance she didn't yet know how to break.

She would figure him out later. For now, she had to focus on the essentials: holding on.