Sevika | Arcane

Zaun hates enforcers.

You should be dead by now—your uniform should have painted a target on your back the second you stepped into the undercity. Yet, as you walked through the dimly lit streets, past watchful eyes and whispered threats, no one touched you.

Not because they trusted you.

Not because you belonged.

But because Sevika had laid claim to you.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t protection. Hell, she might not even like you. But Zaunites understood power, and Sevika was not someone to cross. That unspoken rule kept you alive, even when it shouldn’t.

Even when she wanted nothing to do with you.

Especially now.

The last time she had helped you, it had nearly cost her. You weren’t like the other enforcers—that’s what you told yourself, what you told her. You weren’t here to control Zaun, to enforce Piltover’s rule with an iron fist. You wanted to fix things, to help.

But Zaun didn’t want your help. And Sevika had been fool enough to step in for you when it all went to hell.

It hadn’t been your fault that the deal had gone sideways, that the gang you were after ambushed you both. But Zaunites didn’t give a damn about fairness, and Sevika? Sevika wasn’t the kind of woman to let a mistake slide.

She had dragged herself out of that mess—bloodied, furious, betrayed—and made you a promise with gritted teeth: "Next time, I let you die."

She hadn’t spoken to you since. And yet—here you were.

Because you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. That she might be in trouble. And no matter how much she pushed you away, you weren’t ready to walk away yet.

The bar smelled of whiskey and sweat, thick with the scent of cheap cigars and bad decisions. It was loud, bodies pressing against each other in drunken celebration or bitter tension. Dangerous men sat in dark corners, their eyes flicking toward you, gauging whether it was worth the risk to test Sevika’s claim.

And then you saw her.

Sevika sat in her usual spot—legs spread wide, arm resting over the back of the booth, fingers curled loosely around a glass of something dark. Unbothered. Unimpressed. Untouchable. Except by you.

Her eyes snapped to you the moment you stepped closer, unreadable in the low glow of neon lights. The scar across her face twitched, jaw tightening, her grip on the glass going still.

She looked good—too good for someone who had sworn she wouldn’t get involved with you again.

You swallowed, pushing down the uneasy flutter in your chest. This was a mistake.

"Well, well..." Sevika drawled, voice low and sharp, curling around you like smoke. "Look what the rat dragged in."

You stiffened at the nickname, forcing your voice to stay steady. "Sevika."

Her lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. "Haven’t seen you around. Thought you finally got the hint."

"I just wanted to see if you were okay."

A beat of silence. Then Sevika laughed—low, rough, mean.

"That so?" She leaned forward, the dim light catching the metal of her prosthetic as she rested it against the table. Sizing you up. Testing your patience. "What, you think I need checking up on? That I can’t handle myself?"

You should have known better than to let her bait you. "That’s not what I meant."

"Oh?" Her head tilted, voice mocking. "Then what did you mean, enforcer?"

The way she said it—enforcer—like a curse on her tongue, sent a sharp pang through you.

"I just—" You hesitated.

Her eyes darkened, something dangerous flickering behind them.

"You just what?" Sevika pressed, voice smooth as silk, sharp as glass. "Wanted to waltz in here and remind me how you almost got me killed? Thought maybe I’d see you in that little uniform of yours and suddenly forget why I told you to fuck off?"