She spotted Caitlyn as soon as her foot stepped onto the balcony.

Standing in the distance of the vast field, the young Kiramman was surrounded by a group of children. She was firing what Lyra could only assume was her birthday present. Aiming at practice targets, while a boy who could not have been much older, did the same from a shotgun at her right. The kids watched in awe and cheered at Caitlyn every time she made the mark, laughing teasingly at her opponent when he incessantly kept missing his.

Lyra could not help but chuckle when the little girl noticed her. Dressed impeccably into her luxuriously decorated dress, she waved at the student wildly, toothy grin beaming and stretching all the way up. What made Lyra's amusement grow, was the sight of the large muddied mountain-boots peaking from under the birthday girl's skirt. Most definitely something Cassandra forced her to wear so the daughter wouldn't slob up her good flats.

When Caitlyn was younger, and Tobias had just began introducing her to the family craft of rifle-shooting, the student was encouraged to join. Lyra was sixteen then, only recently adopted by the Dean of the Academy.

She believed that he introduced her to the family because he wanted her to make friends.

And he was hardly to blame, if she was honest, because she was anything but an easy child. She remembered being abnormally quiet during that period of her life. Stoic and empty-looking. Haunted by the recent events that had led her to Piltover to begin with.

But as time progressed, and more lessons were provided, she grew close to the family. And the pain simmered away just a smidge.

She also found, she quite enjoyed the signature hobby of the Kiramman household, and was always eager to join them during practices. So even that day, upon being beckoned, the student couldn't help but meet the young Kiramman into a prolonged shooting match. Unsurprisingly, Caitlyn won. But Lyra could confidently say they got very close to a tie. And she did, emphasising it incessantly through a playful smile while Caitlyn laughed and cheered at her own victory.

All in all, the activity lightened Lyra's spirits. The little girl's enthusiasm was endearing and extremely infectious, to the point the student's cheeks ended up tingling from the amount of smiling she was doing.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Lyra was actually laughing. It wasn't a loud laugh, more of a chuckle here and there.

But it felt good.

She'd forgotten how it felt to be even a little bit carefree.

The cake was brought out soon after, and Cassandra's calls from the balcony hauled her and the children inside. The whole room sang in honour of the Kiramman heir, candles were blown out, and the spongy vanilla dessert was eaten with readiness.

Lyra had it half in mind to return to the gardens. But despite her better wishes, an imperatively intoxicated Councillor Hoskel had bowled towards her.

She never would have thought a forty-minute praise of her designs could dull her quite like so.

When Lyra managed to finally slip away, she found her way back onto the balcony. Which is where she stood now, sipping leisurely at her glass, while watching Caitlyn practice in the field. The night had rolled in by then, so most of the children had left the party. The Kiramman girl, however, was above all that and resorted to running off to practice as soon as her mother's attention pivoted off her.

Lyra watched her as she relentlessly fired and reloaded her rifle, stance firm and concentrated, her focus unbreakable and aim exemplary even in the darkness of the night. The large grassy field was enveloped into dark-blue shadows by then, and whistling with a cool breeze. Lyra did not feel the cold though, the light buzzing from the alcohol flowing through her insides, making her warm and relaxed. She just stayed put, peaceful, listening to the distant bustling of people and the languid dragging of the orchestral waltz behind her, and the quietness of nature ahead. Elbows leaning on stone, a small smile playing on her lips in the partial darkness.

"Thought I'd find you here."

She cast a glance behind her shoulder and smiled a little more. "Hm, things were getting rather stuffy in there."

Jayce meandered towards her, falling heavily onto the railing with his front facing the room. She eyed him out of the corner of her eye, absentmindedly, before her gaze paused on him.

She raised a surprised eyebrow.

He was sporting a white suit, looking nothing short than dashing, freshly shaved, hair combed back neatly. But not quite neatly enough.

Like it had been ruffled, but attempted to be fixed by flailing fingers.

What confused her even more was how bashful he looked, eyes dazed and distant, lost somewhere in the depths of the room beyond the balcony.

"You seem uncharacteristically out of breath."

He flinched a fraction, eyes loosing track of their target and flickering in panic onto the nearby wall.

She didn't miss the way his cheeks suddenly flushed pinker, nor the cough he seemed to stifle.

"Yes, well, I was running about trying to find you, obviously. A-and it's hot in there."

"Hm."

Twisting minimally on herself, Lyra craned her neck to look into the fit crowd of people. Her eyes caught nothing out of the ordinary at first. Not until they latched onto a rather equally reddish-looking form. A young woman wearing a pink gown, who stumbled from out a deserted hallway and was currently rather aggressively fanning herself, while throwing sultry glances in the direction of the balcony.

The grin that spread on Lyra's lips looked nothing less than shit-eating, and she whirled to look at Jayce like a cat who was given milk.

He flushed redder. "Don't give me that look."

Her grin only stretched more, eyebrows wagging. "Hmmmmmm."

"Lyra."

"Seems you did not go gentle into that good night."

"Stop." He whined, pitifully, hand flying to cover his now positively crimson face. She cackled silently to herself, shoulder shaking with the motion. After a second and a peak her way, Jayce could not stop himself from reluctantly following suit, and the two students stood quietly giggling amongst themselves in the unlit exterior.

"What you guys talking about?"

Their attention moved to Caitlyn, who had apparently at some point stopped her practicing and sauntered towards them, up the steps leading from the gardens onto the terrace. Her rifle was held in her hand, and she leaned it against the railing before falling into the spot on Lyra's side.

The young student grinned at the youngest Kiramman. "Jayce took up jogging."

Caitlyn rose a confused eyebrow. Then, looked forward into the crowd, clever blue eyes skimming over it. Before her grin smeared into one similar to Lyra's.

"Hmmmmm." The youngest member beamed, rotating to throw Jayce the same, redolent look.

He shook his head, wheeling to face away from the chandelier-lit room and towards the gardens, forearms settling on the banister beside Lyra's own.

"Both of you, I swear." He muttered, frustratedly, trying to hide his embarrassment.

The two girls only chuckled quietly beside him.

After a moment, when the girls had finally settled, Jayce turned to give the grinning young student next to him an assessing look. "Why are you out here?"

Lyra shrugged. "There's people in there."

"That checks out. What about you? It's your birthday party."

Caitlyn scoffed, joining the two in looking away from the bustling crowd. "Barely. The place is filled with stuck-up know-nothings. I'd have a more intellectually challenging conversation with that bush."

"That checks out too. Nice gun. Did your friends leave?"

"Yeah, sadly."

"I liked them." Lyra spoke up, giving Caitlyn an approving smile. "They seem nice. Though that boy, Frederick, was a terrible shot."

The youngest Kiramman snickered. "I agree."

"That's because you kept hogging the second rifle. Poor kid barely had enough time to practice."

Lyra looked at Jayce in mild surprise. "You saw that?"

"The whole party did." He nodded, chuckling, plucking the champagne glass out of her hands before she had the time to snatch it, proceeding to take a sizeable sip.

"They started placing bets at some point, on how many shots you two would actually score on target."

Lyra blinked, amused. "Did you bet?"

"Yeah, against Tobias."

"Who won?"

The response came in the form of a prolonged, silent sip.

At which Lyra and Caitlyn shared a satisfied look. "Nice."

"You know." Jayce cleared his throat, and the two girls rolled their eyes at his unsubtle attempt at rerouting the conversation. "I could've sworn even your mother and Heimerdinger had one going on. Though, I'm not sure who won that one. That new professor of yours seemed less keen on chipping in, so it actually may have ended in a draw."

Lyra's eyes widened a fraction.

She blinked, processing the information, and was unpleasantly surprised when she felt heat slowly mount her cheeks.

Viktor had seen her shooting? She didn't know how to feel about that.

She didn't like how her stomach felt tighter, though.

Nor the way she swallowed thickly.

Had...

Had he been...

...impressed?

As soon as the thought appeared, Lyra shot straight, surprising her companions at the haste motion.

That does it. She needed to lay off the champagne.

She wheeled on herself to face the room, clearing her throat softly in the process. The readiness with which that dangerous question slithered into her head appalled her.

But it was the champagne.

It had to be the champagne.

Jayce and Caitlyn's brows rose slightly. Noting how their friend now seemed a little stiffer. But they did not think much of it, not when the girl proceeded to lean back onto the railing between them and relax once more.

Just as Jayce was about to roll his gaze forward, Caitlyn caught his eye. Subtly, minimally, the Kiramman girl motioned to the inside of ballroom with a tilt of her head. Quizzical, Jayce followed the direction, and his eased expression dropped into a prompt scowl. "Ah. I see Narcissa is here. Charming."

By then, Lyra's eyes had unconsciously landed on the form of the raven-head too. She was standing a distance away, conversing with a group of people the student did not recognise. Elegant as ever, Nerissa laughed, head tipping back, thick black hair following the movement in soft, cascading waves. Slender fingers laid at her collarbone, as diamond earrings sparkled and shimmered in the light of the chandeliers.

Lyra grimaced at the scene.

"You okay?"

She scoffed softly in reply. "Me, Nerissa and okay? As if that's ever been a feasible scenario."

"Yeah, no shit." Caitlin deadpanned, and the two adults shot her a mildly displeased look which she promptly ignored.

"Why is she even here?" Jayce asked, whirling around and crossing his arms over his chest with distaste. Caitlyn followed the motion too, and the three levelled the COO inside with discontented looks.

Lyra shrugged, not too ecstatic at the turn the conversation had taken, but grateful to be provided with the distraction.

It was better than her earlier thoughts.

"She said she's come as an Astraois representative."

"You're here, so that's one already. Surely that's enough?"

Lyra threw Jayce a cynical smile, "It would be, but I'm not that lucky. Besides, I can't exactly tell her to leave. She's my boss."

"Surprised you're letting that stop you."

"But then again, fair enough." Jayce added on to Caitlyn's statement. "I'm more surprised her majesty was able to tear her gaze off her own reflection for once and make an effort to show."

Lyra sighed, tiredly. "I think she does it to spite me."

The older student and young Kiramman girl couldn't help but hum in agreement from either of her sides.

"I did tell you."

Lyra rolled her eyes in Jayce's direction. "You speak so much that some of the information has to be erased. Lest I spontaneously combust."

"It was a bad idea. I did tell you. And I was right."

"Thank you for that painfully reoccurring reminder." She glared at him, pointedly. "It never gets old."

Out of her peripheral, Lyra spotted Caitlyn shaking her head in disapproval of Jayce's quip. But before she could deign it with a snicker, her brown eyes got abruptly entangled into emerald ones. A pearly, crimson-painted smile was shot her way right after, elegant arm raising to wave her inside.

For fucks sake.

"Oh-oh." Jayce deigned Lyra with a teasing grin. "She summons. Good luck with that."

Groaning, Lyra pushed off the stoned banister, and Jayce rolled into her spot to face away from the crowd once more. The silver-haired student resorted to brushing out the creases of her dress, long curls falling off her shoulder and obscuring her momentarily from the people inside. She fired him an uncharacteristically desperate look then, lips twitching at the corners. "If I don't return in ten minutes, please help." She muttered, uneasily.

Jayce only shrugged, amused, taking another sip from her champagne glass which he now settled on keeping. "Meh. You reap what you sow."

Lyra's eyes narrowed into a glare, before she straightened, brushed her hair aside, and forced a signature smile to her face. "I'll remember that next time you ask me for a favour." She gritted out through a tight smile, before she took off.

Heels clicking against the laminated floor, Lyra walked inside, elegantly weaving her way through the crowd. Pulled forward by a pair of deviously twinkling green eyes.

When the student was close, Nerissa reached and snuck a hand into the crook of her elbow, gently pulling her into the midst of the group. Lyra's smile twisted, discomfort shooting through her at the physical contact. But she did not have the time, nor the means to protest.

"Honourable ladies and gentlemen." Nerissa called, voice drawing all eyes to her at once. "May I present to you Astraois' most famous protege. Lyra Velaryon. The visionary behind the new engine mechanics attached to all your airships to date. The revolutionary who reinvented air navigation as we know it in just under four years. A beacon of trade and prosperity, for our great city of progress."

"Good evening." Lyra smiled, a practiced motion she reserved for instances like these.

She realised that the group was significantly larger than she had previously thought; people dressed in lavish animal suits, elegant gowns, feathers, top hats and monacles. Diamonds, rubies and emeralds sparkled all around, as their owners' attention turned languidly to the silver-haired student in scrutinising evaluation.

It was a woman who addressed her first, standing directly opposite in the vast circle. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear." Her chestnut hair was fixed into a thick chignon and adorned with white diamonds, long satin-white gloves holding a champagne flute. "You are quite the talk of the party."

"Yes, Hoskel, that old goat, has barely shut up about putting a personal order through to the great Lyra Velaryon herself." Spoke a larger man from the right far-side of the group, and Lyra's eyes flickered to him.

She vaguely recognised him as Baxter Torek, head of the Torek House, owner of a few factories on the Northern borders of Piltover. A powerful house. They had not previously met, but she had seen him at a few galas, and had made a note of his name and aspect. He stood dressed in his tuxedo, holding a glass of swirling dark liquid, a drastically younger woman spilling over his arm.

Lyra smiled, diligent, eyes as charming and brazen as Nerissa's often were. "And I can confidently say he will not be disappointed."

He grinned at her response, golden tooth glimmering in the light. "No doubt there, dear."

"And what an excellent shot." Another, much slender man added. He reminded her distantly of Councillor Salo, and she wondered briefly if they were related. "I was surprised to find myself short of several Golden Washers after that unexpected performance."

"Well." Lyra smiled, "You should know never to underestimate me, Sir."

He smirked back, eyes sparking with mirth. "Touché, darling."

The chattering stretched on for what felt like hours.

At first, Lyra was eager to comply. Public image, albeit redundant, was important in her line of work. Networking led to connections, connections led to commissions, and commissions led to projects she could bury herself in during the long night she couldn't sleep.

She stood looking charming and docile, conversation being passed from person after person, all whom she politely entertained with dazzling smiles and sharp quips. Meanwhile, Nerissa did the same with the people on their left.

As the hour stretched on, the raven-head made it a habit to subtly pass Lyra a new drink whenever it was running dry. Every few minutes, she'd pluck two new glasses off a passing catering tray; one for herself, and one for Lyra. The student did not comment at first, simply giving the COO a warning glare. But all Nerissa did, as was usual, was smile innocently and move on without a word. Though Lyra did not necessarily appreciate the persistence, or Nerissa's definition of 'caring', she could admit that the alcohol made it easier to carry on with the conversations.

And so drink rolled after drink, and as time passed, her eyes became more dazed, her vision more vignetted, her head a little more buzzed. The alcohol mixed with her tiredness and boredom, and suddenly she was fighting the temptation to fall asleep right where she stood.

Still pretending to be very much engrossed into whatever the woman on her right was currently saying, Lyra wrangled with herself to reign in the minimal sway her form was now giving.

In the back of her mind, she faintly registered Nerissa's arm gently tightening around hers. And before Lyra knew it, or even understood what she was doing, she was leaning into the woman's familiar touch.

The student could not say for certain, but she swore Nerissa threw her one of her looks then. Not her usual, charming razzle-dazzle.

That other, familiar look Lyra knew a little too well.

Filled with deep pride.

Satisfaction.

As if Lyra were a shining jewel that she wore for all to see.

Her prized possession, but an object, nonetheless.

Typical.

Lyra made to push away at some point throughout the night, but the hold solidified, a fleeting but stern glance being thrown her way. Commanding her to stay put.

And at that point the student was too tired and buzzed to fight, or even care. So she stayed, draped over the COO's arm like a lap dog, yapping practiced smiles and witty remarks at all those who approached.

She was only startled out of her drowsy faze when the woman she had mumbled a mindless reply to threw her head back in a rigorous, piercing laugh.

"Oh dear, you are an absolute riot!" Lyra's hand was swatted softly, eyes shimmering at her with coveted mischief. "Such a charming young presence! I admit, I had it half in mind of sponsoring that other, aspirant little project debated here tonight. But after meeting you? Needless to say, I have changed my mind quite entirely."

Lyra blinked, confused, suddenly a little more awake.

Her smile, which by now looked like plastered carton rather than an actual flesh and bone, faltered minimally.

"Project?" Genuine confusion brimmed her voice.

"Oh, Athena, you are such a rotten idealist." Baxter Torek chuckled from afar, and Lyra's eyes snapped to him. He was staring at the woman with a playfully chiding smile, but Lyra suppressed a shiver at just how uncomfortable a feeling the expression gave her. "Just like you to invest into an unprofitable cause."

Most had paused their private conversations when Baxter spoke up, aware of his importance. They now listened, carefully, attempting to conceal their interest.

Athena only shrugged, innocently. "I'm afraid I have one too many— idiosyncratic propensities for my own good."

She flashed Lyra a hidden smile at that, but the student did not care to acknowledge the flirtatious note in it.

"May I inquire as to the nature of this other project?" The student pressed instead. Her posture had straightened at some point, and in so doing, had shifted her a little further from Nerissa.

Which the raven-head noticed, emerald eyes narrowing a fraction. But Lyra did not see the motion, focused solely on Athena.

The blonde blinked, smiling daftly. "Why, haven't you heard?"

"Don't mind her."

Lyra's gaze shifted to Baxter yet again. His hollow eyes were now focused on the student, giving a sweep to her completion in a way she did not like. "It's a silly little thing by one of Heimerdinger's old students. Nothing worth anyone's time."

Realisation shot through Lyra, "The hydraulic filtration for the Undercity."

"Mmh! Indeed!" Baxter hummed in agreement in between sips of brandy. "Like I said, nothing worth contending."

"It might just be that some of us contemplate the notion of morality slightly more than you, Baxter."

Much like everyone else's, Lyra's attention diverted to the middle-aged woman when she spoke. She was older than most, wearing a luxurious purple gown, a dark Bindi adorning her forehead. She had not spoken to the student, but Lyra vaguely remembered seeing her enter with a little boy, who then joined Caitlyn's troops in the gardens.

If she could recall correctly, his name was Rohan.

Baxter scoffed through a devious grin. "Bold of you to assume I contemplate morality, Amara."

"Yes, that was rather my point." She brushed off, in jest. Her eyes moved to the general circle, and she spoke extravagantly, "The boy's got ambition, a decadent quixotic spark. How can one not be enraptured by those delectable qualities?"

"Simple. You use your brain."

"Baxter, you silly old oaf." Amara chuckled, teasingly reprimanding.

"What! We are all clever people here, so lets speak plainly. That boy's project got its appeals, I'll admit. But it is worthless! Complete and utter garbage! If you're interested in satisfying masochistic tendencies, you may just well enough go outside and directly throw money to the wind. That ought to be faster, and much less nerve-wracking." Baxter laughed, taking yet another languid sip of his drink before he shook his head, "No, no, no. You'd be a fool to invest into a project like that. Loosing money, precious money that could be put to much better use. And, be beneficial to your business. In the end, dearest ladies and gents — what better venture could you ever embark upon, more satisfying than making a profit?"

"Saving lives."

Lyra wasn't sure who'd spoke.

Still dazed by the alcohol, she thought that the barely-audible voice echoed somewhere from afar. Or that she'd dreamt it, merely another idealistic thought running rampant through her mind.

But when Baxter's eyes moved to her, Lyra knew it had been her own words, and she'd spoken them out loud.

Her heart skipped a beat and she gulped, stiffly.

"What was that, dear?"

Something in the back of her mind was screaming at her to shut up, be quiet, back down now. But that voice was swimming in the golden depths of all the champagne she'd consumed in the past few hours, and could barely be heard.

Lyra straightened, eyes drawing Baxter as its target, calculating but relaxed. "A project like that could change millions of lives. Prevent unnecessary deaths."

The head of the Torek household raised a surprised eyebrow her way. "And what would there be in it for us?"

Lyra blinked, suddenly dumbfounded at his words. Then, her eyes hardened a little more. "The satisfaction of knowing that you have helped people in need."

He scoffed, turning to display his amused expression to their audience. "Is that all?"

And suddenly Lyra's smile fell completely. Forgetting where she was, who she was with, spurred on by the liquor in her veins, she frowned.

"There are people down there." She ground out, eyes ablaze. "Real people, that go living their whole life without so much as one sip of fresh water. Mothers, fathers, children die daily. Families are devastated. They are crippled, infected, ravaged and permanently maimed because of something so simple as needing to drink. And that's not even talking about other aspects of their lives. Forced to butcher each other out of hunger for a crumb of bread, stitching filthy rags together during winter to stay warm, constantly breathing the toxic gases that permeate the air. All things that could be easily avoided through the sponsorship of projects like these."

Everyone in the circle had fallen quiet, and were watching her outburst with remote surprise. But, for the most part, with utterly blank eyes.

When her gaze brushed over them, she almost scoffed, appalled at the sight. "You could be impacting millions of lives—"

"Worthless lives."

Her eyes propelled to Baxter. He was smirking. But it was a derisive smirk, accompanied by dark, heedful eyes.

A warning.

"Do not forget. We are still talking about the Undercity."

The woman on his arm was burning holes into Lyra, shifting upward and squaring like a lion guarding territory.

But Lyra did not dignify her, nor anyone else with her attention.

Throwing all crumbles of caution out the window, the student's distasteful eyes narrowed, chin tipped up.

"I believe we have a very different notion, of what qualifies as worthless." She then spoke, voice strong and ridden with conviction.

The grip on Lyra's arm tightened, but she took no notice of it.

She only stared, as Baxter chuckled. His dark eyes slit in assessment; snidely, mocking. "Now now, dear, it almost seems like you're trying to flatter me."

"How clumsy of me." Lyra's lips stretched into a scathing smile. "I meant to insult you."

Baxter's smirk twitched.

Then it fell completely.

All that was left was that uncomfortable shadow that made her skin crawl with physical disgust.

"Know your place, sweetheart." He spat, measured scowl distorting his features. "How would you like to be permanently out of a job?"

"I'm not sure, Baxter. How would you like dirt in your brandy?"

The crowd stood quiet. Blinking dumbfounded, gazes flickering from the industrialist to the student in morbid elation. Eager to listen to their most favoured form of entertainment — petty drama.

Lyra ignored them.

So did Baxter.

They were levelling each other with hard glares, his eyes now positively crimson with rage.

By then, the hand gripping Lyra's forearm was steely, threatening to bruise. But her head was still buzzing with alcohol and left over anger, so she barely acknowledged or even register it.

The student willed all emotion to drain from her expression at once. Before she straightened and threw a stiff nod to the crowd.

"Excuse me." She spoke, before spinning around swiftly, with subtle strength, arm slipping from the net of Nerissa's limbs.

Then she walked off just as elegantly as she'd come, aware of the numerous sets of eyes following her back.

Her chin held high, Lyra's heels strutted forward with determination. Weaving her way through the labyrinth of bodies. Shrugging off feathers that slashed at her cheeks, eyes hidden under deeply sinking brows. The sides of her jaw hurt. She had clenched her teeth so hard the muscles felt stiff.

She didn't care.

Lyra strode until she found herself on the other side of the room, next to the same tables that she'd contemplated as her hiding spot just mere hours ago. She stopped before them, fingers splaying softly on table cloth. She exhaled, minimally, and startled herself with how much the sound of it quivered.

Lyra felt hot, but the tips of her fingers were freezing cold. Her other hand balled into a fist, dangling by her side rigid and tight.

Leaning forward slightly, tentatively, as if moving to get another glass, she allowed her mane of hair to fall forward and obscure her briefly from the crowd.

And then all at once, her eyes shot wide.

She breathed in.

Then out.

In.

Then out.

The anger boiled. It ran through her veins and vessels with searing heat, and she attempted to reign in the heaving her chest so desperately wanted to indulge in.

It was that word again.

Worthless.

Worthless.

That disgusting word that pressed on her so heavily.

She wanted to tear something open with her own damn hands. She wanted those sneering looks to be bathed in fear. So that they would know, just how worthless they could become at the hands of a Trencher.

Bastards.

Cowards.

In.

Out.

Breathe in.

And—

"Are you alright?"

Lyra jumped, startled.

Her wide eyes shot to the source of the voice and she blinked, daftly.

"I'm fine."

She had not heard him approach. Hell, she'd thought he'd left a long time ago. But there he stood, leaning on his cane, unreadable eyes watching her intently.

Her gaze skimmed across his features. The angular curvature of his cheekbones, the splay of his shoulders, the lean fingers drooping by his side. He looked a tad too dashing in a tux, and Lyra was a tad too drunk. This was a dangerous situation and a stale mate if she'd ever seen one.

She pried her eyes away from him, wrestling them with difficulty into the direction of the remnant glasses of champagne. Despite her better judgment, she reached forward and took a sizeable sip. She was very much aware she was already going to be privy to a raging hangover in the morning. So what bad could one more glass do at that point?

Somewhere in her sober, conscious mind, Lyra realised her fingertips were not cold any longer. In fact, everything felt very, very hot.

If only she could dash to a nearby window, towards the breeze. Or better yet, toss herself out it and avoid this situation entirely.

Shame they were on the ground floor.

"That was quite the conviction."

Pulled out of her thoughts, Lyra looked at him in question.

"What you said."

She blinked, registering his words, as well as the barely-there jud his head gave sideways. Into the direction she had come from.

Her eyes widened.

He'd heard her? Had he listen to the whole conversation?

Her cheeks felt hotter than they should have in that temperature.

"Yes, well." She muttered, absently, attempting to appear nonchalant, but being wildly aware that she was failing at it miserably. "Whoever's ventured to build that filtration system is a stuck-up degenerate fancying himself a martyr. But he's made something good." Lyra shrugged, before tipping her head backward and emptying the drink at once.

She did not look at him, but was very much conscious of his eyes. Their amber colour shimmered in her peripheral, sharp and incredibly inviting. But she ignored the urge to look, reaching forward and depositing the glass on the table instead. It made a quiet thud at the contact, and she stared at it a moment longer that necessary. A moment longer than any sober person would.

Too busy trying to drown out the orchestral music playing in the fading distance, along with the quietly simmering anger inside her.

"You haven't been coming to class."

Lyra snorted, softly. "Surprised you noticed."

She wasn't sure if you could physically feel someone hesitate. But she could've sworn that was what happened.

Lyra turned her gaze to him, before her body followed suit and she was facing him fully. For the second time that evening, she spied his Adam's apple bop minimally. He paused, surprised to suddenly have her complete, undivided attention. For a second she almost thought he looked uneasy.

But she was not that deluded.

Still, she stood, waiting for him to say whatever he was holding back, eyes expectant but patient.

The sudden painful reminder of the last of their conversation clawed at the back of her mind, and was happy that the liquor was there to push it aside.

Instead, her eyes focused on his face. Watching in morbid fascination as he pursed his lips, and faint crease rumpled the skin astride his brows.

She counted him blink a total amount of six times before his lips finally parted.

"Miss Velaryon. I—"

"Darling, there you are!"

Before Lyra even had the time to process what had happened, Nerissa slithered into the spot by her side. That well-manicured hand sneaked and laced around her waist, settling on her hip. Lyra resisted the urge to scowl, instead resorting to throw Nerissa an openly heartfelt glare. Fuck manners and aristocratic facades, she was too inebriated to find herself uncomfortably plastered against this specific person.

Buy Nerissa's eyes shimmered at her with what could only be described as unrestrained delight.

Were it not for the minimal twitch at the corner of her lips, Lyra might've actually believed it was sincere.

The raven-head's gaze lingered on her own a moment longer, before she wheeled it over into Viktor's direction. Who had by then gently cleared his throat, and straightened a little further, politely regarding the appearance of a new presence.

Nerissa's eyes sparkled with interest. "Oh! Is this that lovely professor you've been blabbering about nonstop? So good to see you again so soon. Viktor, was it?"

Lyra's glare could not have sharpened more. Standing stiff as a plank, she watched Nerissa reach forward and shake Viktor's hand languidly, smiling that ever dangerously misconstruing smile.

Lyra noted that Nerissa seemed to magically, conveniently remember his name now. She almost laughed.

"Nerissa Faizan, Chief Operating Officer of the Astorois company. You have yourself a very talented young student here, Sir, an intellect unmatched on the modern engineering scene." The COO spoke, eyes deigning Lyra with a look, that look from earlier, before they shifted again and the student was left staring downwards in coveted rage.

If Viktor wasn't uncertain before, he almost definitely sounded it now. Eyes shifting between the raven-head and the fuming student by her side in confusion. "Indeed." He then muttered, absently.

Nerissa's smile only widened. "Lyra was just telling me how much she enjoys your classes!"

"Somehow I doubt that."

The student stole a glance at him then, and was surprised that he had done the same. Amber met brown briefly, before each owner looked away.

"But thank you." Viktor nodded at Nerissa in polite acknowledgment.

"Of course! It is so good of you to join us! I heard all about you from our gracious Academy Dean. He truly holds you in the highest of considerations, which is not an easy task to accomplish. Believe me, I've tried. And that filtration system of yours sounds like a genuine marvel! The engineering, inspired!"

The words did not quite register in her head at first. Not immediately.

However, when they did, her face drained completely of colour.

Eyes blowing wide, jaw slacking involuntarily, Lyra propelled her expression upward.

His project.

It was his project.

Of course, it was his project. It was the most obvious, most logical explanation, yet she was dumb enough not to realise it.

The same project that Lyra had just feverishly defended in front of half of Piltover's upper class. Most likely damaging her image, and her career with it.

And there was also the matter that she had candidly and promptly called him, the inventor, a degenerate and a wannabe martyr.

All in all, simply fucking amazing odds playing in her favour.

Viktor did not glance her way, only smiled minimally at Nerissa. "Thank you."

But for once Lyra stood gaping at him, shamelessly. All the colour that had left her face rolled back in with impressive speed, and she was left standing frozen, looking the shade of a pastel pink parasol.

"Of course, darling, why it's the talk of the town!" Nerissa chuckled, taking a pointed sip of her champagne. "And the criticism is all sign of brilliance, I assure you, a necessary milestone. You cannot truly say you are successful if your name has not being dragged through the mud at least once at a party like this. If I may inquire, whatever did spur such a marvellous idea?"

Viktor paused for a moment, in fleeting contemplation. She did not know if she had imagined it, but his lips suddenly seemed to twitch upward ever so slightly. Then his lips parted, and he spoke.

"I'm afraid, I am a stuck-up degenerate. Fancying myself a martyr."

His eyes flickered to Lyra without a warning, but only for a fraction of a second. Just in time to see her dumbly snap her mouth shut like a gold-fish, pink cheeks morphing into a positively fuchsia shade.

He looked away.

But she could have sworn she saw a faint glimmer of amusement skim in the depths of his irises.

That absolute fucker. He was enjoying this.

"Smart, handsome and charming!" Meanwhile Nerissa leered at the man from Lyra's side, and the student swallowed thickly before her eyes daftly, stutteringly shifted to her.

For once in her life, the silver-haired woman found herself barely registering Nerissa's presence. Which was an extremely surprising and uncharacteristic turn of events.

"Delightful!" Nerissa praised. "You simply must join us for a drink."

"Actually..."

All eyes shifted to the student when she spoke.

Lyra swallowed thickly under their attention.

She forced her hammering heart to quieten, and her breath to sound more steady in her own ears.

"I think I might call it a night." Lyra spoke. Slowly, carefully, she stepped back, Nerissa's hand dripping off her hip at the movement.

Lyra dared a glance up, and found the pair watching her.

Nerissa's eyebrow was coked upwards, but the student could see the veiled displeasure dancing in her eye under that well-practiced smile.

Viktor, whom Lyra glanced at last, stood still.

And again, he seemed almost uncertain. Hesitant.

Lyra forced her eyes back to the ground. "I have classes in the morning. If you will excuse me." She muttered, nodded, and left.

Her mind was on autopilot when she searched for Cassandra and Tobias.

Mechanically going through the motion of saying her goodbyes and thank yous, before giving a hug to Caitlyn and Jayce. None of them suspected much, presuming her to be simply tired and on a little too much sauce. They let her go with beaming smiles, wishing her a good night, warning her to get home safe.

Gaze low and focused on her feet, Lyra found her way outside the estate, and slipped slowly into one of the awaiting carriages. Her head was buzzing by the time the drive began, the vehicle proceeding with caution down the cobblestone.

As Lyra relaxed into her seat, the alcohol allowed her thoughts drift.

Over Nerissa, over Viktor, over what had happened that night.

Over Caitlyn and Jayce, over Heimerdinger, and over her current life and choices.

She thought about it all even when at last she'd managed to make her way to her room and crawl into her bed. But when she closed her eyes, and the world faded away, her last thought was a humming an old song, that whirred and stirred at the back of her mind.

An old, familiar tune, sung by the miserable and wretched of the Undercity, to their dearest friend across the river.

||

Bam. I'm on fire. This chapter was almost done so, I decided to finish it.

A few cameos here too! Amara is the lady from that one scene in the tv show, where Jayce begins negotiating with nobility during the concert. Thought I'd insert it here.

Thank you so. So. So damn much for the comments. Honestly, you have no idea how much they make my day. Please, if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask!

Until next time :)