Beneath My Heart

C1

The salty breeze of Bilgewater clung to Jinx's skin, thick with the stench of seaweed, fish guts, and a hint of gunpowder. She pulled her hood lower, masking her face from the scattered lantern light as she navigated the crooked alleys. This city was loud, chaotic—a perfect place to disappear.
She needed a place. Somewhere no one would ask questions. Somewhere she could figure out her next move. The docks were out of the question—too many prying eyes. The slums? Too predictable. Her fingers twitched at her sides as she scanned the clustered buildings, searching for something just right.
A flickering sign caught her eye: "Rooms for Rent – No Questions Asked."
Perfect.
Jinx stepped inside, the wooden floor creaking under her boots. The place stank of stale rum and damp wood. A heavy-set woman behind the counter barely glanced up from cleaning a chipped mug.
"Got coin?" the woman grunted.
Jinx dug into her pocket and tossed a few silver serpents onto the counter. "Enough for a room?"
The woman eyed her for a moment before scooping up the coins. "Upstairs. End of the hall. No trouble."
No trouble. Jinx almost laughed. That was never a guarantee with her.
She climbed the narrow stairs, pushing open the door to a cramped, dusty room. A single bed. A warped dresser. A window overlooking the murky docks.
Not much. But for now, it was enough.
She locked the door behind her and exhaled. Just one night. One night to figure out her next move.
Because sooner or later, someone would come looking.
And she couldn't let them find her.
She collapsed onto the creaky bed, the old mattress moaning in protest. A tired sigh escaped her lips, muffled by the pillow. This room was a dump, but it was hers. For now.
Her fingers unconsciously found the locket tucked under her shirt. It was a habit now, touching it. Comforting in a strange way. It was her last connection to Ekko.
A pang of longing flared in her chest. She gritted her teeth, pushing it down. Ekko didn't matter. Not anymore.
She rolled onto her back, staring at the cracked ceiling. The candle on the bedside table flickered, casting jagged shadows along the walls. The sounds of Bilgewater seeped through the thin wooden planks—distant laughter, drunken shouts, the rhythmic crash of waves against the docks. It was different from Zaun. Louder in some ways, quieter in others.
Her grip on the locket tightened. She should've thrown it away. Should've left it at the grave with everything else. But she didn't.
Jinx exhaled sharply and sat up. Moping wouldn't change anything. She needed a plan. A way to stay hidden, a way to survive. The silver serpents in her pocket wouldn't last long. Work was an option, though not a pleasant one. The gangs here wouldn't ask questions if she joined up, but that was risky. Too many eyes, too many people who might recognize her.
She needed something low-profile. Something quiet.
Her gaze drifted to the window. The docks. Smugglers, traders, mercenaries—Bilgewater thrived on secrets. If she played it smart, she could slip into that world. No attachments, no risks. Just enough to keep moving.
Just enough to never stop running.
Jinx pressed her forehead against the cool wooden wall, forcing her breath to steady. She couldn't afford to break down. Not now. Not ever.
Her fingers curled around the locket again, knuckles white. She thought leaving Zaun would solve everything, that distance would make it easier. But running hadn't erased the ghosts. Hadn't silenced the voice in the back of her mind whispering Ekko's name.
Her body ached with exhaustion, but sleep wouldn't come. Too many questions, too many uncertainties. How long before someone found her? How long before she slipped up?
A sudden noise outside snapped her from her thoughts. Footsteps. Heavy ones, pausing just outside her door.
Jinx's pulse spiked. She reached under the pillow, fingers closing around the cool metal of her gun.
She wasn't ready for a fight.
But if it came to that—
She'd make damn sure they weren't ready for her either.
The footsteps drew close, stopping right outside her door. Heavy, uneven steps—like boots on the creaking wood planks. She kept her breathing steady, hand on the pillow, finger on the trigger.
A tense silence followed, broken only by the sound of her racing heart. Then, a knock. Hard and deliberate.
"Open up," a rough voice commanded. "I ain't got all night."
Jinx didn't move. She barely even breathed.
Another knock—louder this time. "C'mon, girl. I know you're in there."
The voice was slurred, thick with liquor. A drunk. Just some Bilgewater lowlife, not someone sent to find her. Probably.
She slid off the bed, silent as a shadow, and pressed herself against the wall beside the door. The man on the other side muttered something under his breath, then jiggled the handle.
"I'll pay," he grumbled. "Don't gotta be like that."
Jinx's nose wrinkled in disgust. Great. He thought she was—ugh.
She reached for her gun, but hesitated. A gunshot would bring too much attention. Instead, she yanked the door open and grabbed the drunk by his collar, dragging him inside before he could react.
"Wrong room, jackass," she hissed, shoving him against the dresser.
The man—mid-forties, reeking of rum and bad decisions—blinked at her, dazed. "Ain't you the new girl? Thought—hic—thought you was renting rooms for company."
Jinx rolled her eyes. "Yeah? Well, your company sucks."
She didn't want to kill him, but she needed him gone. Fast.
So she reached for the knife tucked in her boot, pressed it lightly under his chin, and smiled. "Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna turn around, walk out that door, and forget you ever saw me. Or I make sure you forget permanently. Got it?"
The drunk swallowed hard, nodding so fast it looked painful.
"Good boy," she cooed, giving him a light pat on the cheek before shoving him toward the door. He stumbled out, nearly tripping over his own feet, then bolted down the hall.
Jinx exhaled, shutting the door behind him.
Bilgewater was full of scum. She needed to get out before she became one of them.
Jinx leaned back against the door, heart thudding. That was too close. She slipped her gun into its holster. Killing the drunk would've been easy. A shot to the head, a quick dump in the harbor. Done. But no. She wasn't a cold-blooded killer. Not anymore.
The encounter was an unwelcome reminder of her precarious situation. She was hiding in a seedy Bilgewater room, pregnant and alone. With no plan and no allies. Dammit.
She turned and surveyed her surroundings with a frown. This place was falling apart.
The walls were warped from moisture, stained with years of smoke and neglect. The floorboards groaned under her weight, and the mattress sagged like it had given up long before she arrived. A single candle flickered on the rickety nightstand, casting long, twitching shadows across the room.
Jinx sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. She needed something better than this. Anywhere better than this. But that required money, and money required work. The thought made her stomach twist. The last time she'd "worked" in a place like this, it was for Silco. And look how that turned out.
Her fingers drifted to her stomach. She barely felt different, but she knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. A month, maybe two, before the truth would be impossible to hide.
She needed to be gone by then.
With a grunt, she pushed off the door and grabbed her coat. No more sitting around. If she was going to survive, she needed a plan. And the only place to start in Bilgewater was where every desperate soul went when they had nowhere else to turn.
The tavern.

*********

The tavern bustled with a motley crew—pirates, smugglers, traders, and worse. The air was thick with liquor and smoke, making it hard to breathe. Jinx's eyes darted around the room, taking in the faces, sizing up the threats.
She made her way to the bar, her boots thudding against a sticky floor. It was an effort to keep her hood on. Everyone here was watching her—looking for a reason to mess with the new girl. They knew no strangers here.
The bartender grunted as she approached. "What do you want?"
Jinx slid a few silver serpents onto the counter, letting them clink against the wood. "Information."
The bartender, a burly man with a jagged scar across his nose, eyed her warily. "That costs extra."
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "Looking for work. Something quiet, something that keeps me moving."
He wiped a dirty rag over a chipped mug, considering. "Smugglin'?"
"Maybe."
The man snorted. "You don't look like the type."
Jinx smirked. "Looks can kill."
He chuckled at that, nodding toward a shadowed corner where a group of rough-looking men played cards. "Try Derran. He's always lookin' for hands. But be careful—cross him, and you'll wish you drowned instead."
Jinx glanced over at the man in question—lean, with a permanent scowl and fingers covered in rings. He didn't look friendly. Then again, no one here did.
She exhaled and grabbed her coins back. "Thanks for the tip."
As she turned toward Derran's table, she had a sinking feeling this was either going to be exactly what she needed—or the biggest mistake of her life.
Derran sat at the head of the table, dealing cards to his lackeys with a careless flick of his wrist. He looked up as Jinx approached, his gaze roaming over her with blatant curiosity.
"Well, well, ain't you a pretty thing?" he drawled, gesturing to a spot beside him. "Come, sit."
Jinx didn't sit. Instead, she leaned on the back of a chair, tilting her head with a lazy grin. "Not here for compliments, handsome. Heard you're hiring."
Derran smirked, tapping his fingers on the table. "That so? And what makes you think you're cut out for the job?"
She shrugged. "I'm fast. I don't ask questions. And I know how to handle myself."
One of his men chuckled. "You don't look like much."
Jinx's grin widened as she flicked her wrist, and a knife thunked into the table an inch from the guy's hand. "Looks can be deceiving."
Derran's expression didn't change, but his eyes gleamed with interest. He picked up the knife, twirling it between his fingers before sliding it back toward her.
"Alright, wildcat," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Got a shipment leaving at dawn. You help get it where it needs to go, we'll see if you're worth keeping around."
Jinx grabbed the knife, tucking it away. "Deal."
She turned to leave, but Derran's voice stopped her. "One last thing."
She glanced over her shoulder.
He grinned. "Don't screw me over."
Jinx flashed him a wink. "Wouldn't dream of it."
As she walked away, the weight in her chest lightened just a little. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
The shipment was exactly what it sounded like—contraband. Illegal goods that had to be smuggled quietly and without issue. Simple. Or it would have been, if it wasn't for Derran's gang. The smugglers were rowdy, hotheaded, and about as smart as a sack of rocks.
Jinx grit her teeth, fingers clenching around the edge of the crate. It was taking every ounce of her patience to keep from shooting someone in the face. This was going to be long night.

*********

The docks were alive with the sounds of waves slapping against wood, the occasional drunken shout echoing in the distance. Jinx adjusted her grip on the crate, muscles straining as she heaved it onto the waiting skiff. She'd done worse jobs, but something about this one itched.
Maybe it was the crew—loud, careless, treating the operation like a drunken barfight waiting to happen. Or maybe it was Derran, watching her from the shadows like a cat sizing up a wounded bird.
"Oi, new girl!" One of the men, a hulking brute missing half his teeth, leered at her. "You sure you can handle all this heavy liftin'? Wouldn't want ya to break a nail."
Jinx smiled sweetly. "Oh, don't worry. I'd use your face to break my fall first."
Laughter rippled through the crew, but the brute scowled, taking a step closer. Jinx's fingers twitched toward her gun, but before things could escalate, Derran's voice cut through the tension.
"Enough," he drawled, stepping forward. "We're on a schedule. Load the damn crates, or I'll start throwing bodies instead."
That shut them up. For now.
Jinx exhaled, rolling her shoulders. This job was already grating on her nerves, and they hadn't even set sail yet. Something told her this long night was only getting started.

The skiff creaked as they pushed off from the docks, cutting through the waves of Bilgewater. The night was cold, the wind biting at exposed skin. Jinx huddled against the side, arms wrapped around a crate for warmth.
The only sounds were the sloshing of the waves and the occasional murmur of the crew as they tended to the rigging or drank their bodyweight in rum. Everyone else seemed relaxed, but Jinx was on high alert. Something felt off.
Derran stepped up next to her, the faint moonlight casting shadows across his face.
He had that same smug grin, the kind that made Jinx's fingers twitch toward her gun. "You're jumpy," he remarked, resting an elbow on the crate beside her.
Jinx didn't look at him. "Yeah? Maybe I just don't like boats."
Derran chuckled. "That so? Or maybe you've got a nose for trouble."
She finally turned to face him, arching a brow. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged, gaze drifting over the dark waters. "Means you're not stupid. You feel it too, don't you?"
Jinx's grip tightened on the crate. So she wasn't the only one sensing something was off. That wasn't exactly comforting. "If you know something, now's the time to spit it out."
Derran smirked, but there was an edge to it now. "I didn't plan this run. Just got word to make the delivery. Didn't ask too many questions." He paused. "Maybe I should've."
A low thunk echoed across the water. Jinx stiffened. That wasn't a wave.
Then another. Thunk.
And another. Thunk.
The crew went silent.
Jinx's pulse hammered as she reached for her gun. "Tell me that's just some drunk idiot knocking on the hull."
Derran's face darkened. "Not unless he's got gills."
Something was out there. And it had just found them.
The crew muttered uneasily as the thunks continued, the sound echoing across the waves, closer. Derran cursed, pulling his pistol from his belt. The others did the same—blades and guns glinting in the darkness as they prepared for a fight.
The skiff rocked with each impact, the wood groaning in protest. Whatever it was, it was big. No drunken idiot was doing this.
Jinx held her breath, eyes scanning the black waters, waiting for the inevitable to show itself.
Then, silence.
No more knocking. No more movement beneath the waves. Just the wind and the uneasy breathing of the crew.
Jinx's finger tightened on the trigger. Too quiet.
A moment later, the water exploded.
A mass of slick scales and jagged fins lurched from the depths, slamming against the side of the skiff. The force sent half the crew stumbling, one man toppling overboard with a strangled yell before the sea swallowed him whole.
Jinx barely kept her footing, eyes locking onto the thing that had clawed its way aboard. Deepborn.
A hulking, misshapen creature of the deep—webbed claws, too many teeth, and dead, sunken eyes that gleamed in the dark. More shadows moved in the water behind it.
"Shit!" Derran fired first, the shot ringing through the night. The bullet tore through the creature's shoulder, but it barely flinched. With a guttural hiss, it lunged.
Jinx didn't think. She moved.
She fired twice—one shot to the chest, one to the head. The Deepborn staggered, then crumpled, its body twitching as dark ichor spilled across the deck.
But the water was still churning. More shapes rising from the depths.
This wasn't a random attack.
They were being hunted.
The chaos was immediate. Men shouted, firing their weapons. The skiff rocked wildly, the waves slapping against the sides with enough force to nearly capsize them.
Derran stumbled backward, cursing as more crewmen fell into the water, swallowed by the shadows. His face paled as the truth sunk in.
This wasn't some accident. This was an ambush.
And they didn't have a chance in hell.
Jinx barely had time to reload before another Deepborn clawed its way over the railing. This one was bigger—thicker arms, rows of needle-like teeth dripping with seawater. It lunged at the nearest man, dragging him down with a sickening crunch.
She fired again. The shot went clean through its skull, but before the body even hit the deck, another was already climbing up.
"There's too many!" someone shouted.
No kidding.
Jinx pivoted, searching for options. The skiff was taking on water, the bodies of the fallen already drifting in the waves. Derran was backing toward the mast, gun empty, a knife in his grip. His cocky smirk was gone.
Then she saw it—the cargo hold.
The crates.
Jinx lunged forward, knocking the lid off the nearest one. Her gut twisted when she saw what was inside. Hextech charges.
This wasn't just a smuggling job. Someone had sent them out here with live explosives—and not for delivery.
"Derran!" she shouted, shoving a charge into his hands. "You wanna live? Light it up!"
His eyes flickered with understanding. "You're crazy."
Jinx grinned, grabbing another charge. "Crazy's what keeps me alive."
No more hesitation. She lit the fuse and threw.
A second later, the night exploded in fire and blood.
The blast wave knocked Jinx off her feet, heat searing her skin as the skiff's stern was obliterated. Chunks of burning wood flew in every direction, the water boiling around them.
She pushed herself up, coughing as smoke stung her lungs. The Deepborn closest to the blast were nothing but charred shells, their twisted bodies sinking into the ocean. But more were on the way.
The fire cast an eerie glow over the scene—the shattered remains of the skiff, the panicked faces of the survivors, the dark water churning with movement. It was a nightmare.
Jinx's mind raced. The boat was sinking. They had minutes—maybe less—before the whole thing went under.
A wet, gurgling screech tore through the air as another Deepborn heaved itself onto the wreckage, claws sinking into what was left of the deck. Derran stabbed at it wildly, his knife catching between its ribs, but the thing barely flinched.
Jinx didn't think—she reacted.
She yanked a flare gun from a dead smuggler's belt, aimed at the creature's gaping maw, and fired. The flare lodged deep in its throat, illuminating it from the inside as it convulsed, choking on fire. It stumbled back, toppling into the sea with a sickening hiss.
No time to celebrate. The boat lurched again, breaking apart.
Derran grabbed her arm. "We have to get off this damn thing!"
"No shit!" Jinx snapped, yanking free. Her eyes darted around—most of the crew was dead, the survivors barely holding their own.
Then she spotted it—a lifeboat, half smashed but still floating.
She locked eyes with Derran. "Can you swim?"
"Not well enough to outpace those things!" he shouted.
"Then we better move fast."
No more hesitation. Jinx took a running start and leapt—straight into the freezing, blood-streaked water.
The shock of the water hit Jinx like a slap to the face. She gritted her teeth as she surfaced, her fingers clawing for the edge of the lifeboat. The water was cold, the waves rough as hell. She kicked desperately—half swimming, half floundering. All panic.
Derran was close behind her, coughing up seawater as he dragged himself into the boat. He was shivering, his face pale in the moonlight. "You know, this wasn't exactly the job I signed up for."
Jinx snorted, shoving her dripping hair out of her face. "Yeah? Well, I wasn't planning on babysitting either."
Derran let out a breathless laugh, but it was short-lived. A chilling screech echoed across the water.
Jinx's stomach dropped.
The Deepborn weren't done with them.
Her gaze snapped to the wreckage—half-submerged bodies, the shattered remains of the skiff. And movement. Too much movement.
"Row," she barked, grabbing an oar and jamming it into the water.
Derran hesitated only a second before doing the same. They paddled furiously, muscles screaming with effort. The lifeboat lurched forward, but it wasn't fast enough.
A shadow slithered beneath them. Close.
Jinx's grip on the oar tightened. "Tell me you've got something good in your pockets."
Derran cursed. "I've got a knife and bad decisions."
"Not helpful."
The boat rocked violently—something had brushed against the hull. Jinx's pulse hammered.
Then, ahead, she saw it—a jagged outcrop of rocks, rising from the waves like broken teeth.
A plan formed. A stupid one. But it was all they had.
Jinx met Derran's eyes. "When I say jump—jump."
His expression twisted. "Are you out of your damn—"
"Jump!"
Jinx leapt, the cold air whipping past her as she hurtled toward the rocks.
She hit the rocks awkwardly, pain lancing up her legs as she stumbled onto the uneven surface. The rocks were slick with moss, and she slid against the jagged edges, scraping her palms and tearing her clothes.
The lifeboat crashed onto the rocks behind her, nearly knocking Jinx off her feet. It lay half-smashed, and Derran lay sprawled beside it, cursing up a storm.
Jinx took a breath, blinking through the pain as she looked back at the water.
Nothing.
The waves slapped against the rocks, but it was empty. No movement. No Deepborn
Jinx didn't trust it. Too easy. Too sudden. She'd spent her whole life knowing that when things went quiet, it usually meant something worse was coming.
She staggered forward, grabbing Derran's arm and hauling him up. "On your feet," she hissed.
He groaned, rubbing a cut on his forehead. "Remind me to never listen to you again."
Jinx opened her mouth to snap back—but then she saw his face change.
A flicker of horror.
She didn't think—just moved.
Jinx threw herself aside right as a clawed hand burst from the water, slamming into the rock where she'd just been. A Deepborn hauling itself up, water cascading from its twisted form.
Its gaping mouth opened, releasing a sickly, gurgling hiss.
Jinx scrambled for her gun. No ammo.
Derran cursed, fumbling for his knife. Too slow.
The Deepborn lunged.
Jinx grabbed the nearest thing—a jagged rock—and swung with all her strength.
Crack.
The impact shattered something—bone, maybe—sending the creature reeling. It shrieked, clawing wildly.
Jinx didn't give it a second chance. She lunged forward, ramming the sharp end of the rock straight into its throat.
The Deepborn twitched, choking on its own blood—then collapsed, sliding back into the waves.
Silence.
Jinx stood there, chest heaving, watching the sea swallow the body.
Derran exhaled shakily. "...You are way too good at that."
Jinx dropped the bloody rock, flexing her aching fingers. "Yeah. I know."
But the way her hands shook? She wasn't sure if that was from the fight...
Or from the fact that, for a second, she'd almost hesitated.
The adrenaline was fading, leaving a hollow feeling in Jinx's gut as she stared at the water. They were alive, for now—but for how long?
A glance told her Derran was thinking the same. He sat heavily on the rock, his face a mix of anger and fear, his hands gripping his knife tight.
He finally looked at Jinx. "You wanna explain what just happened? Because I'm a little fuzzy on why a bunch of fish tried to murder us."
Jinx let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah? Get in line. I'm still figuring that one out myself."
Derran didn't look convinced. "This wasn't random." His grip on the knife tightened. "That shipment—those charges. Someone sent us out here knowing we wouldn't make it back."
Jinx ran a hand through her damp hair, shivering as the night air bit at her skin. He wasn't wrong. This whole thing had felt off from the start. The Deepborn weren't just out hunting—they'd targeted the skiff. And the explosives? They weren't for delivery.
They were for bait.
Her stomach twisted. Someone had set them up.
Derran exhaled sharply. "So, what now?"
Jinx scanned the jagged rocks around them, the endless black sea stretching beyond. No boat. No supplies. No clue how far they were from land.
She huffed. "Well, unless you've got a map and a sandwich hiding in your pockets, I'd say we start walking."
Derran groaned. "Walking where?"
Jinx smirked, already picking her way across the rocks. "That's the fun part."

The night was long and dark. The journey was a blur of stumbling over uneven rocks, climbing jagged cliffs, and desperately trying to avoid any more unexpected wildlife.
Derran stumbled behind her, his curses growing louder with each step. "I swear to every god there is, if I die out here, I will haunt you."
Jinx rolled her eyes. "Oh, save the threats for something scarier than a handful of rocks."
Derran grumbled under his breath, nearly tripping over a crack in the rock.
Finally, signs of civilization appeared as they rounded a particularly large outcrop of rocks. The faint sound of waves lapping against a shore echoed nearby, and a thin light peeked dimly through the trees.
Jinx's legs felt like jelly, her body aching with each step, but relief washed over her face. She shot Derran a grin.
"Told you I'd find the way."
He gave her a wry smile. "Yeah, after nearly breaking my neck a dozen times."