That night, after Jinx finished helping Isha bathe, the two of them—one big, one small—climbed into bed in their nightgowns.
Jinx lay on the inside, patting the mattress to signal Logan to get in.
Isha lay in the middle, leaning against Jinx. Her legs were stretched straight, her feet bouncing lightly as she stared at Logan with huge eyes.
Logan walked over with an amused smile, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed. He adjusted the pillow, leaned back against the wall, and started telling Jinx and Isha about what he'd gone through in Ionia.
It was also the first time he'd told anyone from the material realm about his strange encounter in the Spirit Blossom lands.
Jinx and Isha didn't know what a "cheat" or "system" was supposed to be, but they believed Logan. Besides, Runeterra was full of weird things anyway.
And right now, listening to Logan talk, Jinx's eyes were shining—bright, bright.
She squeezed Isha a little and scooted closer to Logan, then asked, "Logan—this fox who helped you… is she a spirit? A god?"
"Yes," Logan said. "Ahri is a benevolent spirit of salvation. The one who helped us kill that monster, and protected my soul—that was her."
"Then the wolf and the lamb who brought your soul back… they're spirits too? But Logan, wolves eat lambs."
"They aren't real animals," Logan explained. "They're more like… manifestations. Consciousness given form."
"But wolves still eat lambs," Jinx insisted. "Even if they're manifestations, they're still a wolf and a lamb. They'd still follow that instinct."
"They're one entity," Logan said, trying to find the right words. "They're a god, not animals. It's… how do I explain this, Jinx… Kindred isn't Lamb's name. Kindred is the name of Lamb and Wolf together. Lamb is the gentle side. Wolf is the ruthless side. They were once whole, and for some reason they split into two spirits. But only when they're together can you call them Kindred."
"I get it," Jinx said, lying on her side and looking at him with a wicked little grin. "You said a whole lot… but you never actually argued against 'wolves eat lambs.' So can I assume you don't really know whether that wolf ever attacked the lamb, and you're just pretending you do?"
She jabbed at him playfully. "That's what you called a know-it-all, right? Like when you said Silco always has to stick his nose into everything—like he's some expert on everything."
"…"
Logan's expression went blank for a second, then he cleared his throat. "Jinx. Isha looks like she's getting sleepy."
"Huh?" Isha, who'd been listening with eyes wide as saucers, tilted her head at Logan.
"You're sleepy," Logan told her sternly. "Kids have to sleep early."
Isha blinked, understanding immediately.
So he's using me as a shield… but do I side with him, or with my sister?
Logan had been gone for a year. By all logic, Isha should favor him right now—because she'd missed him so much.
But her sister had suffered all year. Jinx had been in pain.
And the moment Logan came back… Jinx came back to life.
So Isha made her choice.
She turned decisively, buried her little face right into Jinx's chest, and started making soft "I'm asleep" breathing sounds.
"…"
"…Let's sleep too," Logan said.
"Mhm," Jinx agreed, far too cheerfully.
Logan closed his eyes. The familiar scent, the safe quiet of home—he slipped into sleep almost immediately.
In the middle of the night, half-asleep, Logan felt something wriggle into his arms. He didn't even need to open his eyes—his mouth curved faintly. He knew who it was.
He turned, wrapped his arms around her, and fell asleep holding her.
Morning came, and Isha woke up.
Kids had endless energy, and Isha was the king of kids—especially after yesterday's emotional roller coaster. Last night, when she'd pretended to sleep, she'd actually knocked out for real after only a minute.
So early that the streetlights outside still hadn't gone out, Isha stretched and sat up—then realized she was sleeping right on the very edge of the bed.
Confusion flickered across her face.
Wasn't she supposed to be between Logan and Jinx?
Why was she all the way over here?
With that thought, Isha turned her head—and saw the two of them wrapped around each other.
Isha pursed her lips, stood at the bedside, and huffed a tiny, disgruntled sound.
Then she carefully climbed down, put on her shoes, and scurried back to her own room.
"Councilor Silco… you should get some rest."
Inside the Zaun Council building, an Undercity Enforcer arrived before dawn to relieve the night watch. When he saw a light still on in the councilor's office, he assumed someone had forgotten to turn it off, so he stepped inside.
And there was Silco.
Silco hadn't slept at all. In fact, he hadn't left the council building for the entire day.
Meanwhile, Renata—who shared the workspace—had clocked out the second it was time to leave and gone straight home.
No way was she working overtime for that bastard.
Leave on time. Don't do extra work unless someone forces you. That was Renata's rule.
She was used to giving orders, not being ordered around every day. Of course she hated it.
Silco sat there all night, staring silently at a cup on his desk—covered in graffiti. He kept reaching out, tracing the cracks and dried paint with his fingertips.
When he heard the Enforcer's gentle reminder, Silco lifted his head and narrowed his eyes.
His eyes were bloodshot. He shook his head. "I'm fine. Just stand your post."
"Yes, Councilor Silco." The Undercity Enforcer nodded and took position outside the door.
The council building always had forty Undercity Enforcers rotating shifts, guarding the place—preventing internal documents from being stolen, and protecting the councilors' safety.
Silco leaned back and checked the time.
6:30 a.m.
Had it really been more than ten hours already?
He sighed, stood, grabbed his coat, and put it on before leaving the office.
"Do you need an escort?"
"No," Silco said. "I can handle it."
Even this early, Zaun already had plenty of people awake.
In Hope Community, breakfast stalls were set up along the street. Customers sat at tables, eating steaming food.
Meat stew. Grilled meat. Bread. Mushroom soup.
Under Renata's policies, Zaunites could finally earn real money. Once people had a little breathing room, their diets naturally improved—and that, in turn, fueled Zaun's growing food scene.
In the past, if you wanted a meal in Zaun, you basically had two options: order something at a tavern, or grab the cheapest thing you could find at a market stall. Actual restaurants didn't really exist.
When it came to food culture, Zaun had always lagged far behind Piltover.
But not anymore.
Now plenty of Zaunites were setting up stalls and showing off their "family recipes." Maybe it wasn't as refined as Piltover's stuff, but tell me this—could you find any of it in Piltover?
Exactly.
Smoked sump-frog with a sweet glaze, herb-roasted chicken, scorpion-and-mushroom chowder—Piltover didn't have that.
The answer was obviously no.
Silco tugged his collar tighter. With his head lowered and his bangs shadowing his eyes, he walked through Hope Community toward home.
He didn't have the strength to think anymore.
Because Silco realized something: maybe he wasn't as strong, as cold-blooded, as he liked to believe.
Yesterday afternoon, his obsession with keeping things "proper" had made him look calmer than Vander—more composed.
But in truth?
He wasn't doing any better than Vander.
His mood was rock-bottom. His thoughts were thick and messy, like someone had stirred his brain into sludge. He kept spiraling into nonsense, emotions surging and nearly snapping out of control again and again.
Then he caught the smell of sump-frog cooking.
Silco frowned.
Before… he might've bought one and brought it to Jinx.
He knew she'd had no appetite, but if he brought it, she'd eat anyway. Silco thought it tasted awful, but Jinx loved it.
But now…
There was no point in stopping.
Silco walked straight past the stall.
Then, after about thirty feet, in the stillness of the morning, he suddenly heard a voice—one that felt strangely familiar.
"Stop getting it all over your face. And quit putting it in my bowl—I really don't like this stuff. The texture's weird."
The voice was full of helplessness, and threaded with indulgent warmth.
Silco froze.
He knew that voice.
"Fine, then I'll eat it myself."
And then a second voice spoke—one Silco knew even better.
Silco whirled around and stared toward the sump-frog stall, searching desperately.
And then he stopped dead.
He saw two figures sitting on little stools with their backs to him.
Both were thin—one with black hair, one with blue.
Silco drew a slow breath and walked over, coming up behind them.
The closer he got, the stranger his expression became—joy, shock, confusion, fear, all tangled together.
At last, Silco stood behind the black-haired young man and reached out, patting him on the back.
The young man turned around.
It was a face Silco knew far too well.
And beside him was Jinx—the girl who'd thrown Zaun into chaos yesterday, the one everyone had been searching for.
She was eating with her mouth shiny with grease.
"Hey, Silco," Logan said, lifting a hand with an easy smile. "Morning."
"Going to work this early? Nice. Real motivated."
Jinx patted the stool beside her like she was inviting him to join them. "Silco, have you eaten? If you haven't, sit down and eat with us. Logan doesn't like this stuff, but I ordered too much. I don't think I can finish it."
A dead man was alive again, waving and greeting him.
A missing girl was back, tapping a stool and telling him to sit and eat.
"…"
Silco stared at Logan, and his fist slowly tightened.
"Logan," Silco said, voice like ground glass, "you'd better have a damn good explanation for this."
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