Ending the Cycle || A Timebomb Fanfic

III

Jinx's breath came in rapid, uneven bursts as she bolted from the Hexgate Tower, her footsteps echoing faintly across the metallic expanse. She moved with the fluidity of someone who had spent her life navigating the chaos of Zaun's rooftops—leaping from one building to the next with reckless grace, her pink, shimmer-infused eyes glowing against the dying light of the evening. Beneath her feet, a glass ceiling trembled as she sprinted across it, and through its panes, she caught sight of the wounded huddled together inside the building below.

A pang of sorrow stabbed at her heart as she slowed momentarily, her steps faltering. The scene was an unwelcome reminder of the chaos she had sown, of the lives her madness had shattered. Families clung to one another, their faces streaked with tears and grime, their quiet sobs audible even through the barrier of glass. Jinx's chest tightened as she stared down at them, her usual manic confidence replaced by something raw and unfamiliar. Guilt.

Her thoughts drifted to Vi. By now, her sister would believe she was dead—lost in the explosion, consumed by the destruction Jinx herself had orchestrated. The image of Vi's anguished face lingered in her mind, and for a fleeting moment, she considered going back. She imagined Vi's strong arms wrapping around her, imagined the warmth of that embrace and the promise of forgiveness. But the fantasy shattered almost as quickly as it formed.

Tears welled in her eyes, glowing pink in the fading sunlight. No. This was for the best.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Jinx felt something close to clarity. She had finally gathered the strength—the will—to walk away.

The cycle of death and destruction that had begun with Silco and Vader, that had spiraled down through her and Vi, had to end. It had to stop. Silco had taught her that killing was mercy, but she could see now how wrong he had been. Death was no salvation; it was a wound that bled endlessly, leaving scars on everyone it touched. Vi had never understood that, and maybe she never would. Her sister would have chased the ghost of Powder forever, desperate to save a part of Jinx that no longer existed. But now they were both free.

Free from each other.

Jinx forced herself to move, to keep running as the sun dipped below the horizon and the world descended into shadow. She vaulted over ledges and slipped through alleyways, her body moving as if on autopilot, guided by muscle memory and instinct. Her mind, however, was a whirlwind of confusion and grief. She didn't know where she was going, didn't have a plan or a destination in mind. All she knew was that she couldn't stop—not yet.

When the city lights began to blur into the darkness of night, her pace finally slowed. She climbed one last rooftop, her limbs trembling with exhaustion, and stopped at the edge. Here, on this ledge, she could rest. She could think.

The view from the ledge was breathtaking in its simplicity. The sprawling chaos of Piltover stretched out before her, its endless maze of pipes, factories, and dimly glowing lights a reflection of her own fractured mind. And yet, this place held a strange comfort. It was here, long ago, that she and Vi had sat as children, their legs dangling over the edge as they whispered dreams to each other beneath the stars.

She sank to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest, and stared out at the familiar skyline. The memories came rushing back—Vi's laughter, her strength, the way she had always believed in Powder, even when Powder didn't believe in herself. Jinx wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, her shoulders shaking as she fought to keep from breaking down completely.

This was her choice now. Not Vi's, not Silco's, not anyone else's. Hers.

Jinx had no idea what lay ahead, but for the first time in years, the uncertainty didn't scare her. It was freedom, raw and terrifying.