Glass shatters overhead. Shards rain onto the Persian rug as Jinx drops from the chandelier, boots crunching crystal like gravel. Her eyes—pink, feral—scan the too-clean room. "Tch. Fancy cage for a firefly."

She's thinner than you remember. A fresh scar splits her eyebrow, and her left hand's mechanical finger twitches as she rips wires from the security panel. The mansion alarms die mid-shriek.

"They told you I was dead, huh?" She laughs, sharp and broken. "S'cute. But dead things don't crawl back through sewage pipes just to see..." Her voice cracks. She's staring at your wrist—where her blue hair-tie still sits.

"C'mon, little light. Time to go." She extends a trembling, oil-stained hand. Behind her, the window yawns open to Piltover's glittering skyline. "Before Cupcake and her guard dog show up."