The rain had escalated into a full-on downpour when you reached the doors. It fell in dense curtains, so thick you couldn't even see the other side of the street. People clustered in the meager shelter the entrance of the Academy offered, shivering and soaked. Rainwater pooled in puddles on the tiled floor.

Viktor made to pull his hood up, but his hands grasped air. He grimaced. "I've forgotten my coat."

You swept your arm to your sodden attire. "I didn't even have one to begin with."

You both stared at the wall of rain for a moment, as if your gazes alone would bring out the sun. It didn't.

"We could share the umbrella?" you offered meekly, holding it up. "I mean, it's yours after all, so you could always take it. I can't get much wetter anyway-"

"No," he said a little too quickly. "We can share - if you don't mind. I don't mind. But if you do, then by all means-"

You smiled and held it out to him. "I don't mind."

Your hands fumbled together for a moment as you decided who should hold it. It settled with Viktor, as the difference in your height meant that otherwise you'd have to stretch your arm up just to compensate for the gap.

The streets were quiet as you ambled along, chatting idly. People huddled under shops overhangs, pressing backs against walls to avoid the rain. Those that had means of protection against the downpour hurried along, head bowed, shoulders hunched.

You were acutely aware of how close you and Viktor were as you walked. The small size of the umbrella meant you had to huddle together to avoid getting dripped on. Every now and then, your elbows brushed, or your hands, your shoulders, your hips. You kept your mind firmly fixed on the conversation to stop your thoughts from wandering too far astray.

It wasn't until he stopped outside a storefront that you realized he'd been taking you somewhere.

It was a small shop, wedged between two buildings like a hill between mountains. The glass was foggy with condensation, and it emitted a warm glow into the otherwise grey street. You stepped to the side as a person stepped out of the door, which gave a merry jingle. In their hand, they clutched a tart of some sorts and a coffee.

You raised your eyebrows. "A cafe?"

He shrugged. "It's a way to get out of the rain for a bit."

"Count me in."

He held the door open, and you stepped inside. Immediately you were hit with the smell of coffee and baking and comfort. You practically melted.

It was a small shop. A couple tables - already occupied - were arranged by the window, opposite a neat countertop. A glass cabinet displayed the assortment of pastries on offer, and neat chalk boards above boasted the variety of beverages available. You eyed them hungrily, then balked as you saw the prices.

"What do you want?" Viktor asked, glancing to you.

You patted your pockets. The handful of change in them could barely even buy a cup of water from the place, let alone something decent. "I don't have any money," you said.

"It's fine. I'll pay for you."

"No, really," you insisted. "I'm fine. I don't want anything."

"Are you sure?"

You looked despairingly at the food. Your hands were numb from the cold, your insides practically yearning for a bit of warmth. It should've been illegal for a coffee to cost that much, but...

"I'll pay you back as soon as I can," you said. "Promise."

He waved your words away with a dismissive flick of his hand. "You don't have to. Your company is more than enough in terms of payment."

You were glad to have the cold to blame for your pink cheeks. You definitely weren't blushing.

After you'd gotten your drinks - and insisted a bajillion times that you'd pay him back - you begrudgingly returned to the outside.

"How's your projects coming along?" you asked. The whole time you'd been out, you'd talked about nearly everything - except his work. It seemed he was intentionally staying away from the topic. You were worried it meant that something had happened - a failure or a setback of some sorts - but his eyes lit up when you asked.

"Good," he said simply.

You raised your eyebrows expectantly. "Good?"

"Yes."

"Just 'good'?"

"Well.. The other week, actually, we realized that certain metals are able to absorb the power of the Hexcore, and therefore allow people to harness it. We're just brainstorming at the moment, but the benefits of it could be-" He paused, catching himself before he spiralled into a ramble. "I- yeah. That's it, really. I don't want to bore you."

You took a sip of your [whatever kinda hot drink you like] and winced when it scalded your mouth. "No, really, go on," you insisted. "You could talk about chalk and make it sound interesting."

A small smile played on his lips, and he glanced to the floor, bashful. "Actually, chalk does have a part to play in it. Or minerals in general, really. Jayce has drawn up plans for Hex-powered gloves - gauntlets, essentially - that could be distributed amongst the miners, meaning-"

He launched into a ramble, explaining technology and theories and big words you didn't understand. You were happy to amble along beside him, watching the way he seemed to light up as he talked about something that was so clearly a passion of his.

At one point, after describing the method in which he intended to use to harness the core's power, he paused, eyes glazing in thought.

"Actually- Hold on." He passed the umbrella handle to you, which you took without protest, and rummaged through his pockets. He took out a notebook and pen, scribbled something down quickly, then returned it to the nook on the inside of his coat.

"It's just a notebook," he explained as he caught sight of your inquisitive glance. "I have a tendency to forget things, so have made a habit to right thoughts down as they come to me."

"Cool. Maybe I should start doing something like that."

"I recommend it."

He glanced discreetly at his watch. You saw his eyebrows raise slightly as he read the time, though he didn't say anything. You knew you'd been out for much longer than what would be considered a 'break'. Unconsciously, you had began to head in the direction of the Academy, anyway.

"Where was I, again?" Viktor asked. "I've lost my train of thought."

"Um. 'Hexcore'? 'Energy'? 'Runes'?"

"Ah, yes. So, we've realized that certain arrangements of specific symbols can act as a crude sort of magnet that attracts the energy to the substance - in this case, metal - meaning-"

His sentence ended in a startled grunt as a person heading the opposite way barrelled into him. He staggered, knocked off balance, and your hand instinctively shot out to steady him, resting on the small of his back.

"You alright?" you asked, running a reassuring hand along the ridge of his spine.

He coughed and managed a curt nod. He wobbled slightly, more winded than he appeared. The hand that gripped his cane was white-knuckled.

You looked over your shoulder. The person, meanwhile, hadn't even turned to acknowledge the collision, let alone stopped or apologised. They continued onwards, pace swift and unchanged.

"Hey! Excuse me?" you called after them. If they heard you - which they obviously had - they made no sign of recognition.

As they turned the corner, you caught a glimpse of cropped hair, and a flash of metal, before they disappeared. You rolled your eyes. "Rude."

Viktor murmured a vague sound in response, his expression distant. He straightened and patted his pockets, brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" you asked. When he didn't respond, you moved your hand up to rest on his shoulder. He gave a slight flinch, but softened again when looked up, alert again. You repeated your question.

"I think..." he began, but trailed off.

"Yeah?" you prompted.

"It's nothing."

"What?"

"I think... I'm sure it's nothing, but I could've sworn I returned my notepad to this pocket. Perhaps it fell out when I put it back..."

"You think they took it?" You heard of the mugging tactic before - bump into someone and snatch something while they were preoccupied - but couldn't believe it'd actually ever happen to anyone - let alone in Piltover.

"Maybe. But I'm sure it's nothing-"

You were already downing the street at a jog. Viktor called out something, but his voice was lost to the thrum of rain against your ears as you stepped from under the cover of the umbrella. You skidded round the corner, shoes sliding on the wet cobbles, but found the next street empty. Then-

A flash of dark fabric disappeared between two buildings.

You hurried over, wincing as your foot splashed ankle-deep into a puddle. Behind you, you heard a disgruntled comment from Viktor, who pursued at a nonchalant amble.

The gap situated between the two houses was barely more than a backalley. It hosted nothing more than a couple waste bins, discarded boxes, and-

A woman.

She wore a cropped cloak that covered her broad shoulders, but the rest of her appearance was hidden, as her back was turned to you. She crouched on her haunches, fingers working deftly over the bolts holding a vent at the back of the alley in place.

She turned slightly, and you caught another flash of metal. She seemed to wear silver gloves - but only on one hand. As she yanked the grille off with a grunt, you saw it wasn't a glove.

It was an arm. A mechanical arm.

You must've gasped, or made some sort of noise, because as soon as you saw, she turned. Dark eyes met yours. You had an impression of pale scars and rough olive skin, but couldn't wrench your eyes from the metal limb.

She raised her eyebrows coolly and tilted her head to one side, as if to say What're you going to do about it?

And then she ducked into the vent and disappeared.

Footsteps approached from behind you, and a moment later an umbrella appeared over your head.

Viktor frowned. "Did you see something?" he asked.

You blinked, snapping from your daze. You had unconsciously taken a few steps forwards, towards the open grille.

"Nothing," you found yourself saying. "Nothing. I thought she- they went down here, but they didn't. Anyway. Let's go."

"Hm," was Viktor's sole response.

He lingered for a moment where you had stood, trying to see something that you knew was no longer there. A crack of thunder rumbled from above. He gave his head a slight shake, as if to clear his thoughts, then caught up to you and continued on once again.

Though you pretended not to notice, you both walked a little quicker on the way back, cast glances over your shoulders when the other wasn't looking. A sickly, sinking weight had settled in your gut; an inconsolable sense of dread. It was the same sense that told you you were being watched, the same that told you something was off.

Though you didn't want to, you knew that something, somewhere, somehow was going on.