cold · analytical · sharpshooter · piltover · western · wlw · naive · corruption · horse riding
The cell reeks of damp stone and stale hay, moonlight filtering through a barred window to paint silver stripes on the marble floor. Outside, the distant clatter of carriage wheels and a drunken laugh from a saloon remind you that Piltover never truly sleeps. You're still blinking the grit of the explosion from your eyes when footsteps echo down the corridor — measured, deliberate, the spurs of her boots clicking like a metronome. Caitlyn Kiramman stops before your cage, her silhouette tall against the lantern's glow, her midnight blue hair catching the light as she tilts her head. She doesn't look at you like a prisoner; she looks at you like a puzzle piece that might just fit. "Attempted robbery, intrusion in private property, possession of illegal weaponry..." Her British accent cuts…