Chapter Text
Caitlyn woke up one morning with the unsettling certainty that this might be her last day.
It was a hasty conclusion, and some might call it exaggerated, but for Caitlyn—who had been battling a migraine that rattled her to the core for three relentless days—it wasn’t entirely unfounded.
In moments like these, when pain gnawed at her relentlessly, she often found herself recalling the tragic story of the son of one of her mother’s friends, who had died at just thirty from a stroke.
His only warning sign had been a relentless headache that lasted an entire week.
For a time, her migraines had made her fear the same fate. But now, her biggest worry was that they might one day find her body, wasted and decayed, on the floor her grandmothers had painstakingly installed.
Her remedy for the pain, just like the morning before and the one before that, was to rummage through her dresser for painkillers and swallow them in one gulp alongside a cup of black tea—half of which she’d spill—and two bites of an energy bar. Then she’d lock herself in her office, working until she either closed the case consuming her or collapsed trying.
She knew taking pills on an almost empty stomach upset her insides, but the mere thought of making herself something to eat drained her both mentally and physically.
Years ago, she never would have had to worry about this.
The mansion ran twenty-four hours a day like a well-oiled machine, staffed by people more than efficient at serving her family.
Her meals were plated and ready before hunger even knocked at her door, and every employee, new or seasoned, knew her schedule, her tastes, and her rather uncommon whims.
Now, however, the mansion was a creaking echo of what it once was—endless, lifeless hallways meant only for her presence.
She remembered most of their faces the day she let them all go.
Though she expected some resentment, what remained was pity and compassion from strangers—and sincere pain from those who had spent the most years by her side.
She had tried to handle the crisis responsibly, ensuring no one was left abandoned to her uncontrollable anger. While it wasn’t the sanest decision she’d ever made, she didn’t believe she regretted it. The truth was, she felt far more comfortable when the only voice in the house was her own, along with the ghost of distant memories.
Still, she couldn’t deny she missed a hot, home-cooked meal—one served on the Ionian porcelain plates her father loved so dearly, filling the kitchen and dining room with the smell of freshness—not wrapped in plastic or in need of reheating.
She’d surrendered to snacks, salads that sat for days in her fridge, pre-made dinners, and quick deliveries. While it had worked for years, lately she’d been revolting against the plastic taste of those meals.
Her favorite restaurants and the sweets she used to enjoy for breakfast had started to disgust her. Now, it was almost routine to go to bed and wake with a burning stomach. That, of course, meant her three daily meals had dwindled down to one—if even that—barely a proper meal.
It meant she’d abandoned any physical activity she once did because she was too weak to keep up.
It meant she got sick more often, and that even a simple cold took longer and longer to leave her body.
And it also meant that in these past few days, while working tirelessly on the lawsuit her best friend—the scientist Jayce Talis—had filed against the Piltover government for the unauthorized use of his Hextech technology in weapon manufacturing, she’d barely slept more than four hours all week.
That, combined with a lack of nutrients, sunlight, and fresh air, didn’t just make her look like a withered version of herself—it made her feel on the verge of collapse.
She knew she had to give more of herself if she wanted to see this through in the best possible way for Jayce and his team. Not only because it was an important case for Caitlyn, the corporate lawyer, but also for Caitlyn, the younger sister of a technology scholar burdened with ambition and far too much naivete.
Although she had quit many jobs in recent years and increasingly felt incapable of stepping back into a courtroom, she wanted to do this for Jayce, who had always been there for her—even in the darkest moments of her life—and there had been many.
Therefore, she couldn’t afford to falter or let her body rebel against her will while working. She couldn’t afford migraines, morning nausea, or fevers that left her bedridden. Nothing like that.
That afternoon, when she finally finished drafting the extensive lawsuit to file with the Piltover Supreme Court—after weeks of straining her eyes and mind—she decided it was a good moment to take a break and have her first meal of the day.
She went down to the kitchen and wandered through cupboards, rummaging through every can and sealed package she could find.
Needless to say, Caitlyn’s relationship with the kitchen had never been good, something that deeply frustrated her—sometimes even to tears.
There were few things Caitlyn couldn’t master; she was an expert at most. Her greatest virtue had always been her ability to learn. She broke skills into pieces to absorb them at her own pace, like assembling a puzzle—no matter how complex or out of reach they seemed.
By nine, she had overcome clumsy hands and weak lungs to master piano and flute with a certain grace.Ice skating and ballet came more easily, but she soon realized art wasn’t her strength—she couldn’t allow herself to feel it properly and instead approached it with the rigidity she reserved for sports.
So after many attempts (she was an excellent striker in soccer but it made her sweat too much; the same with track and field; indoor volleyball was better and her height was a real advantage, but she never liked it much; horseback riding was elegant, yet her mother’s insistence on it made her hate it), she finally found what would become the great love of her youth:
Sport shooting.
She competed enough to fill an entire wall of her library with trophies, and until starting university, she was the best shooter in the under-20 state championships and one of the best in the country.
Then law school completely absorbed her time, and she never competed professionally again, but she still collects rifles and, from time to time, when life becomes too overwhelming, she knows she can always go to the shooting range to release her frustration.
She certainly would have thought that nothing could resist her stubbornness, but the kitchen never worked the same way for her.
She was incapable of measuring ingredient amounts, got scared when the oil started splattering on her clothes, and no matter how much effort she put in, the result was always inedible dishes at best, and biological hazards at worst.
That night, Caitlyn was determined to change that terrible fate.
Taking note of what she had stored, she looked up a simple recipe online—something with chicken and rice, because how hard could it be?—rolled up her sleeves, took a deep breath, and dove into the mission.
It was a disaster from the start.
She didn’t know how to cut an onion, so she crushed it with the handle of the knife. The chicken wasn’t fully thawed, but she figured if she left it a few more minutes it would cook anyway. The rice came out a bit hard in some spots and lacking salt.
Still, Caitlyn couldn’t find many faults with the final result: it looked decent, even smelled good.
She started eating while waiting for Jayce to visit and discuss the lawsuit details. Something crunches as she chews, and the texture is unpleasant, but her hunger helps her finish the plate quickly, and she barely thinks about it while washing the dish.
Minutes later, a tingling rises through her digestive tract, and soon she finds herself hugging the toilet, vomiting her guts out. Her stomach makes unsettling noises—practically growls—and burying her head against the cold bathroom floor when she finishes vomiting is the only relief she’s had in a long time.
For a moment, Caitlyn thinks her morning prediction is coming true as her body falls apart from the inside out in the sterile bathroom (which, in fact, isn’t even hers but the guest bathroom downstairs, since she couldn’t manage the torturous climb up the stairs).
So there she is, praying to gods she doesn’t believe in, clutching her belly, limp, shaking, and with her chin stained by her own bile, when Jayce finds her at least half an hour later, as Caitlyn has given up trying to fix herself or even get up off the floor, since the dry heaves, though not constant, come in short bursts.
At first, the figure of a man making frantic gestures from the doorway chills her blood, then she remembers that despite the absence of her former security guards, the mansion is in a well-patrolled jurisdiction and has an alarm system so efficient she’s had to explain to the police several times that not all red flowers were roses—sometimes cats sneak into her yard and trigger the sensors.
The presence of a man in her house can only be the one person with unquestioned access to her door’s biometric systems—the same one she had arranged to meet that very night, back when she was still a composed woman.
Jayce, like every middle-aged gay man, makes a whole drama out of it.
“My God, Caitlyn. My fucking God,” he swears as he kneels beside her, trying to sit her up against the wall despite her pained moans. “What the hell happened to you? I called an hour ago and you weren’t sick.”
Caitlyn wipes her face with her hand before Jayce hands her a pack of wet wipes and helps her, but she laughs at his horrified face despite the stabbing pain running through her as she does.
“This is me stepping out of my comfort zone,” she jokes, barely opening her eyes. “God, I need a cigarette.”
“Yes, no, we’re definitely not relapsing into old addictions today, my friend,” he sighs. “Come on, let’s get you some Alka-Seltzer with lemon water and a bath—you definitely need it.”
So, after another painful couple of vomits, during which Jayce makes sure to hold her head and hair so she doesn’t get messy, and a few remedies later—including an outrageously hot salt bath that completely resets her system—she goes out to find exactly what went wrong with everything she did.
“Caitlyn, this is raw,” Jayce says at one point, stirring the pot and pulling out a piece of chicken with a fork that oozes blood when he presses it. “For God’s sake, I can’t believe you ate this. You know raw chicken can give you all kinds of bacteria, right? Salmonella? Campylobacter?”
“Jayce, honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Caitlyn snorts, computer and a stack of files under her arm. “Come on, we have to look into this. Forget that, I’m better now. It just didn’t sit well, but I’m not poisoned. It’s just one more proof I shouldn’t step foot in a kitchen for my own good.”
“Sprout—”
“Back to business,” she cuts him off, pulling a pile of photocopied documents out of her folder, filled with purple highlights. “I’ve been rereading the contract you signed, and everything leads me to the same conclusion. I think the best thing is to build the case on two pillars: the legal and the moral.”
“Cait—”
“Our main line of argument will be to show not only that the agreed use of your technology was violated, but that this action has had direct consequences on your professional integrity,” she continues without bothering to pause, laying several documents in front of Jayce on the kitchen counter, pointing to some highlighted paragraphs. “Affecting both your public image and the ethical principles on which you built your research. You understand?”
“Caitlyn—”
Jayce couldn’t get the words out.
“This means bypassing two fundamental and serious issues. First, that you did not receive fair or adequate compensation for your technology’s use in weapons manufacturing—a clear contractual and financial breach—but more importantly, that this misuse has deeply affected your personal life: causing tensions and fractures in your closest relationships, and impacting your emotional wellbeing.”
Caitlyn bit her lip, a sting burning in her left eye.
“We’ll present your anti-war statements from your time at City Hall as evidence, and we can try to locate—”
“Caitlyn!” Jayce finally lost his patience, raising his hands sharply and making her frail body jump. “Enough with this nonsense. I just found you practically passed out on your bathroom floor after eating nearly raw food and vomiting your guts out. We’re not going to pretend that didn’t happen, okay? I’m not going to do that.”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might pop out of their sockets. She had no time for her best friend’s lectures. “Jayce, I’m fine, I already told you. Enough of this.”
“Have you eaten anything besides this bacterial nightmare, or should I assume you’re now surviving by photosynthesis like a plant?”
His tone was sarcastic but laced with genuine concern. She brought her hands to her temples, massaging against the headache creeping back.
“I usually order takeout. I was just trying to satisfy a stupid craving that I definitely won’t repeat.”
Jayce raised both eyebrows and crossed his arms. “What did you eat yesterday?”
“What?” she replied instinctively, buying time. Jayce sighed.
“What did you eat yesterday?”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes around the room, casually fishing for a natural answer. “A salad. Mediterranean.”
“What restaurant?”
“I don’t know, I don’t remember. I ordered it through an app,” she shrugged, downplaying it without meeting his gaze.
“DoorDash?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Let me see your order history to find the place. It’s been a while since I had a good Mediterranean salad,” he said, emphasizing the last words with irony, holding out his hand with a pout.
“Seriously, Jayce?” she snorted. “I can count on one hand the times I’ve seen you eat anything green in almost thirty years of friendship.”
Her best friend had never shared her vegetarian tendencies from youth. Jayce was a full-on lover of barbecues, cured meats, and animal fats— that combined with his hours of sports, it had turned him into a solid block of muscle.
Eating was one of his favorite activities—something Caitlyn strongly disagreed with.
Not that she had always hated it—far from it—since she usually enjoyed trying new things and had very peculiar tastes (including a phase of absolute repulsion toward meat). But it was never a pleasure, only a bodily necessity.
The years had only made her more bitter.
“Well, looks like today’s the day to try new things,” Jayce mocked bitterly, his face twisting, making Caitlyn sigh with premature exhaustion. She knew what was coming.
“You’re not eating,” it was no longer a question.
“I am eating,” she snapped, rolling her eyes.
“Yes, raw food you made in the most disillusioning moment of your life. But not much else.” Jayce leaned on the stool to reach Caitlyn’s hands, standing beside her. He gently squeezed her smaller hands in his larger ones, then loosened his grip and brought them to his chest. “I need you here, Caitlyn.”
Jayce looked at her with a kindness and concern that churned her stomach. She had long ago lost any feelings of condescension toward herself. But he wouldn’t let her protest.
“You can’t play heads or tails with your health, Sprout. Your dark circles are dragging on the floor. You haven’t spent a day outside the house or the courts since Mel came back from vacation—and that was half a year ago. Now I find out you’re not even eating, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find cigarettes hidden in the flower vases.”
He sighed. “I’m scared that the next time I come to see you, you’ll be just an empty shell of my sister.”
Caitlyn squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away. His words hurt more than usual, and she felt her eyes burn and her chin tremble.
“Come on, Jayce, that’s not fair.”
“No, love. What you’re doing to yourself is unfair.”
“I just want to focus on work, which, by the way, is a lot. I don’t have time for anything else.” Caitlyn shrugged off his grip, gesturing vaguely. “I just forget to eat. You know how obsessive I am. I’ll find my rhythm again soon. You don’t have to worry so much.”
Jayce stayed silent for a few seconds, studying her like he could see right through the carefully crafted act she wore as a shield of strength.
“It’s been two years—”
She cut him off coldly, pointing a finger. “Don’t go there, Jayce.”
He pressed his lips together, looking down, knowing whatever he said would fall on deaf ears—or worse, make Caitlyn fire him just to avoid facing her own ghosts. After a few seconds of scanning the rigid layout of the mansion’s furniture, he lifted his gaze, now more resolved.
“I have a very good friend in the suburban district who’s a professional chef. She’s been working at one of the finest international cuisine restaurants there for years—an absolute beast in the kitchen. She’s fantastic.” He paused, leaning on the countertop to grab a pen and a scrap of disposable paper, tearing off a piece. “A few weeks ago, she told me she was planning to leave the restaurant for personal reasons but was interested in a kitchen job with better schedule flexibility. I told her I’d talk to my contacts to see what I could do.”
Caitlyn squinted, crossing her arms as she noticed Jayce jotting down a series of numbers. Though she guessed where this was going, she asked anyway, “Why are you telling me this?”
Jayce shook his head with mock innocence, handing her the folded scrap of paper. “Nothing. Just that you’re going to call her, tell her I put you in touch, and offer her the job as your personal chef with a salary so fat she can’t say no.”
Before he finished, Caitlyn was already rejecting the idea. “No way. You know I don’t like—”
“I’ll find another lawyer.”
The phrase cut through her protest like a knife, causing a stiff ache in her neck from the sudden movement.
“What?”
“This is my condition. Either you accept I find you a cook to make sure you don’t starve, or I look for another lawyer to handle my lawsuit. I can’t let my problems end what little is left of you. It’s one or the other. You choose.”
He stood, gathering his coat from the chair and the sizable pile of papers she’d handed him earlier. “I have to go now because your little bird-flu adventure stole a lot of my time. But I’ll be back tomorrow to review this. I’m taking this copy with me to read everything carefully. Make sure you’ve contacted her by then. See you, Sprout.”
He approached Caitlyn with a playful smile, hugging her head to kiss her temple before leaving. She, on the other hand, looked at him with a hardness that could crack diamonds.
“You can’t seriously be blackmailing me, Jayce. This is stupid.” she muttered angrily, following him to the door.
“Look, Cait, it was either the hard way or the easy way. But you’re more stubborn than a mule, and the easy way was never going to work. So, the hard way it is.” He stopped halfway out and came back to put his free hand on her shoulder. “I’m your best friend. I’ve known you since your baby teeth were falling out. I bought your pads when you got your first period, for God’s sake. No one asked me to, but my responsibility has always been to take care of you. I do it because I love you and because we’re each other’s family for the rest of our lives.”
He took a breath. “So, whether you like it or not, this is how it’s going to be. I promise Lanes is not only one of the best at what she does, but she won’t bother you more than necessary.”
Caitlyn, already softening, made a childish pout and clenched her jaw. “You know I don’t like having anyone hanging around the house.”
“That won’t be necessary. She just comes, makes dinner at the agreed time, and goes home. More than that, I’m sure she’ll love that idea as much as you do. Do this for me, and if that’s not enough, do it for yourself. It’ll do you good, I promise.”
Jayce stroked her cheek before heading to the door. “See you tomorrow, Sprout. No more adventures tonight. And call Lanes!”
Caitlyn huffed a quick goodbye, still a little resentful over the move.
Then, for the first time, she noticed the crumpled scrap of paper in her hands, reading the large, distorted numbers Jayce had scribbled next to a name that sparked no memory but felt strangely intriguing.
Amid an exaggerated jumble of zeros and eights, the page read Violet Lanes.
And as Caitlyn went back inside, tongue between her teeth from the day’s frustration, she found herself repeating that name like a curse.