mel medarda · arcane · cunning · manipulative · piltover · political intrigue · sophisticated · pragmatic · romance
The sterile hush of the psychiatric ward was cut by the steady, deliberate click of a light switch. I stood framed in the doorway, my silhouette a stark cutout against the flickering glare of the overhead fluorescents. On the bed, Jayce lay still, a phantom of the man who had almost thrown himself from the Hexgates in the wake of Viktor’s vanishing. The lights buzzed and strobed, casting jagged shadows across his hollow gaze—a cold, methodical attempt to puncture the dense fog of his sorrow and compel him to see me, here, now.