The sun was low in the sky, casting the last warm, fading light through the cracks in the rusted metal of the hideaway. The giant hollow room that had once been a chaotic haven for Jinx now felt eerily still. It wasn't just the silence; it was the finality in the air. She was packing. She was really packing.

She was going away.

The thought didn't fill her with excitement, nor dread, or even a shade of expectation — but something else — a kind of stiff recognition that it was simply the next step, the only step left. There were no promises of happiness or peace waiting for her. She wasn’t looking for them. She just needed… Space. And hope that there is a chance of finding something better.

A small, battered backpack sat open on the floor, and Jinx stood over it, her hands trembling slightly as she folded a few pieces of clothing — leaving mostly everything back here. Things she didn't need, didn't want to keep. Every motion slow, almost methodical. No one would probably care to check her hideaway, and even if they do — there's no way they know what Jinx had and what is missing. This place is a total mess right now. She was trying to keep it simple, trying to cut down on the baggage, but every time she reached for something, there was a tug, a connection to her old life, to the madness that had kept her here in the first place. She didn't want any of it with her. She wasn't sure if she needed these memories, victories, and guilt. Recognition didn't make it any easiet.

She didn't even know where she would go. That was the thing about starting all anew — you shouldn't expect something, or plan what you will do next. You just take that step, hoping it will lead you someplace where it feels like a new home. The world outside Piltover and Zaun was vast and intimidating, but at least it was hers — even if that kind of freedom felt like a dangerous unknown. If there is no "Topside" and "Undercity", maybe she wouldn't have to choose someone's side.

Jinx clenched her fists, trying to shake off the feeling that was forming in her chest. She had to leave. She had to let Vi live a normal life, free from all the chaos and death she brought. Vi deserved it — and, as much as she hated that woman in the past, Caitlyn did too. Vi had always tried to protect Jinx, keep her from falling too far — even when she was failing, trying was something that no one else did. But now, it wasn't just about Vi anymore. It was her, too. It was time for her to step away, for both of them to find their own peace. Peace that didn't require to be together.

In some sense, she would always be her sister. There is no changing that. But perhaps now, that word needed to mean something different. Something that didn't break her heart every time she thought of it.

The hideaway, once brimming with chaos, meaningless drawings and scattered plans, now felt like an abandoned relic.

And soon, that's all it will be.

Violet_ deserved to be happy._

The clutter she had left behind — broken pieces, mismatched parts of her life — seemed less important. She had no reason to cling to them anymore. It was all just stuff now.

A little sound disturbed her reverie, faint, but growing louder as she turned to the side where Isha had been hiding. She was standing in a doorway — or, well, if you can call a hole in a stone wall a doorway — with a similarly battered fabric barely recognizable as a bag next to her on the floor, the girl holding its strap with one hand.

Isha, despite her silence, had been a constant in Jinx's disorienting, turbulent world since the moment that they met. The small girl who found Jinx when there was nothing left, when Jinx already thought she was beyond redemption. The one person who had stayed — her presence quiet, but always there. Never changing, never disappearing. And now, she was looking at Jinx, like she was waiting for something. Expecting something.

Jinx felt a sudden unease tightening her throat. It was the kind of feeling that made her want to run, to leave her behind just like everything else — before it was too late, before she would cause another fire to burn out. She didn't understand it, not exactly. Maybe it was the familiarity of it all that made her feel this way. Jinx had always seen in Isha her little sister — the only familial bond she knew, the one person who could still make her smile, make her feel something genuine. She'd tried to explain that to Isha, in the only way she knew how — by calling her a sister.

But it seemed like the girl never understood that word. And, Jinx realized, that wasn't exactly Isha's fault.

As far as Jinx was concerned, the girl never had any siblings — or at least, it didn't seem like Isha was actively missing anyone or looking for someone else — and no adult around her bothered to explain familial bonds to a mute child, someone who could barely communicate beyond simple, one-syllabe sounds. Isha was alone, abandoned in a broken world, raised by nothing but the instinct to survive.

Jinx zipped the backpack closed, and threw it over her shoulders, standing up.

Isha took a step forward, fully tossing her own bag to the floor, and gestured for Jinx to come over.

She had never understood the word the way Jinx did. She didn't know what it meant to be a sister, not really. And for Isha, the only relationship she understood clearly — the only one that made sense — was the one she had with Jinx. To her, Jinx was just the one. The one that cared for her, protected her, kept her safe. It was simple, really. And one word she knew to tie to that feeling was the only one she knew — the one that all kids knew, even in a place such as undercity:

— Mam!

A sound, clear and raw, breaking through the heavy silence. And another gesture, calling her to follow.

Isha was looking at her, expectantly, like the word had slipped out of her mouth without a second thought. There was an innocence to it — like Isha had simply called out to the person she trusted most in the world. But for Jinx, that word, mam, felt like a punch to the gut.

She froze. The word rang in her head like an echo, sharp and unguarded, and everything else around her disappeared for a moment. She didn't understand it. Isha had never said that word before, not once. It wasn't just a sound she'd made when she was calling for attention, and not like when she tugged at Jinx's clothes, or gave her that gentle, questioning look with a high-pitched wail.

— What… Did you say?

Was it the first time Jinx heard her actually speak? It might be. It wasn't what made her so distressed.

— …Mam? — Isha repeated, this time in a soft whisper, and with a confused look in her eyes.

Jinx blinked, her vision blurring as her eyes filled with an unexpected sting. Mam. It sounded foreign, unrecognizable. It cut through her defenses, right down to the place she had buried everything she didn't know how to deal with. And only in that moment Jinx realized, with a sickening jolt of understanding, that Isha had_ never_ seen her as a sister, no matter how hard she tried to put that label on her.

Isha wasn't confused. She wasn't mixing up the meaning of her words.

What a wake up call, Jinx thought with a hint of sarcasm, and her mind went blank.

Her, a mother?

She felt her chest tighten painfully. The world felt too big, too loud, too heavy, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. Somehow, it also felt like just a sound — the one she knew a meaning off, but couldn't grasp what was important. She didn't know the emotion attached to it. And the room was too small for the weight of everything she was feeling. She wasn't prepared for this — this — whatever this was. She wasn't cut out for that kind of responsibility. She always knew she was broken, someone who couldn't fit into a family, couldn't give what others needed. A sister — that she knew, and knew what to do and what not to do.

But she had never wanted to be anyone's mother.

She never believed she can.

How could she? She never had a "mother". She didn't even know what they were supposed to do.

A role she didn't see herself in, a word that didn't feel like it belonged to her. Like it wouldn't linger — a sticker that can hover for a moment, before falling off, and getting lost in the wind. She wanted to reject it, to throw it back, and scream she doesn't understand. But Isha's bright, trusting eyes refused to let her. She took a shaky breath, and felt herself getting light-headed.

What was she supposed to do with this?

The world was full of mothers, Jinx knew that, but they had never been in her world. She had seen them only on the outskirts, in little fragments. Not the way she knew herself and Violet. Not the way she understood sisters.

But Isha? Isha was different.

To her, she wasn't Jinx, or even Powder. The name simply didn't matter. Because before all that identity and struggle, she was her mom.