The warehouse in Zaun smelled like possibility and rust.
TF arrived first—habit from years of paranoia—and checked the space. Abandoned factory floor, skylight providing natural light, multiple exits. The Broker had good taste in meeting spots.
He set up a table using a shipping crate. Spread maps, documents, the job details that had arrived yesterday. Then waited.
Ekko came through the east entrance, Z-Drive humming on his back. The new model was sleeker, more stable, practically singing with refined engineering. He grinned when he saw TF.
"You actually called. I won money on that bet."
"Who'd you bet with?"
"Myself. I contain multitudes." Ekko moved to the table, studied the documents. "So this is the Broker's first job?"
"Yeah. Thoughts?"
"Ambitious. Dangerous. Probably impossible." Ekko's grin widened. "I'm in."
Samira entered from the south, moving with casual lethality. Three months in Shurima had weathered her—more scars, more confidence, more settled into who she'd chosen to become.
"TF. Ekko." She clasped their shoulders in greeting. "The job brief looked interesting. Tell me it's not another vault heist."
"Different kind of impossible," TF said. "Extraction instead of theft. But yeah, still impossible."
"Good. I was getting bored."
Seraphine arrived through the main entrance, looking more herself than TF remembered. Less performance, more genuine presence. She'd cut her hair shorter, wore practical clothes, moved with purpose instead of floating.
"Sorry I'm late. Foundation meeting ran long." She hugged each of them—easy affection that would've felt forced three months ago, now felt natural. "I missed you all."
"It's been three months, not three years," Ekko said.
"Still. Missed you."
They stood around the table, four people waiting for the fifth. The space felt incomplete without him.
"He's not coming," Samira said quietly. "Graves. He's not coming."
"Give him time," TF said. But doubt crept in. Three months. Messages sent. No response for weeks. Maybe Graves had decided TF wasn't worth the risk. Maybe the forgiveness had limits.
Footsteps echoed from the north entrance.
Graves walked in, Destiny on his shoulder, cigar clamped in his teeth. He looked the same—scarred, dangerous, perpetually annoyed. But his eyes held something different when they found TF.
Not quite trust. But not quite suspicion either.
"You're late," TF said.
"Got lost. Zaun's a maze." Graves moved to the table. "So. What's the job?"
Relief flooded through TF. He'd shown up. That meant something.
"Demacia," TF said, pointing at the map. "Prison break. Client is a researcher who discovered something she shouldn't have—evidence of corruption in the Mageseekers. They arrested her before she could publish. Demacia wants her silenced. We're getting her out."
"Prison break from Demacia?" Samira whistled. "The Broker doesn't start small."
"Client is paying well. Plus it's the right thing to do—exposing corruption, protecting truth." TF looked at each of them. "But I'm not taking this unless we all agree. This crew only works if everyone chooses to be here."
"I'm in," Ekko said immediately. "Demacia's treatment of mages is terrible. Time to push back."
"In," Samira agreed. "Justice over politics. That's my new code."
"I'm here," Seraphine said. "Someone speaking truth against power? I can't not help that."
They looked at Graves.
He studied the maps, the plans, the impossible variables. Chewed his cigar thoughtfully. Finally: "One condition."
"Name it," TF said.
"If this goes bad—if we're trapped, if someone has to stay behind—you don't run. You stay and we figure it out together. Or we die together. No more leaving partners to take the fall."
The words hit like fists. The old wound, still tender, still testing.
"I stay," TF said. "I swear it. Whatever happens, I stay."
"Then I'm in." Graves extended his hand across the table. "Partners. For real this time."
TF shook it. The grip was firm, equal, genuine.
"Alright then," TF said, gathering the crew around the table. "Let's plan the impossible."
---
They worked through the day, refining strategy, identifying weaknesses, building contingencies. It felt like the Noxian job but different—easier collaboration, less hidden agendas, more honest communication.
Ekko mapped temporal solutions for patrol timing. Samira knew Demacian military protocols from fighting against them. Seraphine could manipulate emotional perceptions to create confusion. Graves had explosives perfectly suited to Demacian stone architecture.
And TF orchestrated, pulling threads together, seeing three moves ahead, but this time listening when someone had better ideas.
"We're good at this," Ekko observed during a break. "Like, really good. Professional level."
"We should have a name," Seraphine suggested. "If we're going to keep working together."
"A name?" Samira looked skeptical. "We're criminals, not a brand."
"We're not criminals anymore. We're specialists." Seraphine gestured at the plans. "We do the jobs others can't. Help people who need the impossible. That deserves a name."
"The Impossible Crew?" Ekko suggested.
"Terrible."
"The Fixed Ones? Because we're all dealing with our damage?"
"Worse."
"The—"
"What about Nightshift?" Graves said.
Everyone turned.
"Nightshift," he repeated. "We work when others can't. In the spaces between legal and illegal, right and wrong. The night shift. When the real work happens."
Silence while they processed.
"That's actually good," Samira said.
"I like it," Seraphine agreed. "Nightshift. Stories that hit different."
"Works for me," Ekko said.
They looked at TF.
He pulled a card—the Star. Hope, purpose, new beginning. The card he'd drawn three months ago when this had started becoming real.
"Nightshift," he said. "Yeah. That works."
---
The plan came together over three days. They'd infiltrate during a public ceremony—when security was spread thin and attention was divided. Seraphine would use her performance as cover, drawing crowds. Ekko would manipulate timing with his Z-Drive. Samira and Graves would handle the physical extraction. TF would coordinate everything, keeping pieces moving.
Standard heist beats. But they'd learned from Noxus. Learned from each other.
On day three, as they finalized details, Graves pulled TF aside.
"You're different," Graves said. Not a question.
"Three months of honest living. Changes you."
"It's not just that. You're—" Graves struggled for words. "You're thinking about us. The crew. Not just the job."
"That's what you do when people matter."
"Yeah. It is." Graves was quiet for a moment. "I meant what I said. About partners. I'm willing to try again. Really try. Not just for one job."
"What changed your mind?"
"You showed up at the Broker meeting ready to die. Then you survived and spent three months not being a coward." Graves clasped his shoulder. "That's enough proof for me. You've changed. So we try again. As partners. As friends. As whatever this becomes."
TF felt something break open in his chest. The forgiveness he'd needed for five years, finally offered genuinely.
"Thanks, Malcolm."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm still difficult and I still don't trust easy." But Graves smiled slightly. "Just difficult with you instead of against you now."
---
They broke for the night. Tomorrow they'd leave for Demacia. Tomorrow the first Broker job would start. Tomorrow they'd test whether Nightshift was real or just a name.
But tonight, they existed in the space between jobs. In possibility.
They found a Zaun tavern—the kind that didn't ask questions—and occupied a corner booth. Ordered drinks, food, celebrated nothing and everything.
"To Nightshift," Ekko said, raising his glass. "To doing the impossible."
"To found family," Seraphine added. "Even the difficult parts."
"To honest work," Samira said. "However we define honest."
"To not dying stupidly," Graves contributed. "Yet."
They looked at TF.
He raised his glass. "To growth. To choosing who we become. To the crew that stole the past and built a future."
"To the crew," they echoed.
Glasses clinked. They drank. Laughed. Told stories from the three months apart. Ekko described failed Z-Drive experiments. Samira shared war criminal captures. Seraphine talked about the families her foundation had saved. Graves admitted he'd actually missed them, then immediately denied it.
TF watched them and felt something he'd never quite felt before.
Belonging.
Not the temporary alliance of a con. Not the forced proximity of necessity. But genuine connection. People who knew his worst parts and chose to stay anyway.
People who'd become family.
The night wore on. Eventually they left, heading to separate accommodations. Hugs exchanged, promises made to meet at dawn, comfortable silences shared.
TF walked alone through Zaun's depths, heading to his rented room. The city was alive around him—always moving, always striving, always becoming something different.
He pulled his deck. Shuffled. Thought about the last three months. About the Chronolith they'd destroyed. About the futures they'd chosen instead.
The card that appeared was the Fool. Beginning of journey. Leap of faith.
But this time, TF understood something he hadn't before.
The Fool wasn't about naivety. It was about courage. About stepping forward into the unknown, choosing adventure over safety, growth over comfort.
About becoming someone worth being.
He'd started this journey as a coward running from consequences. He'd become someone who faced them. Started as a con artist using people. Become someone who built with them.
The Noxian job had tested him. The Chronolith had revealed him. The three months had proven him.
Now came the real work. Job after job, year after year, becoming the person the Broker had invested in. Leading Nightshift through impossible tasks. Bringing his crew home safely. Proving that damaged people could build something beautiful.
TF reached his room. Set down his cards. Looked out the window at Zaun's perpetual twilight.
Tomorrow, Demacia. A researcher who needed saving. A prison that needed breaking. Another impossible job for the crew that specialized in impossible.
He smiled.
Five years ago, he'd betrayed his partner and run.
Three months ago, he'd destroyed the power to undo it.
Today, he stood ready to face whatever came next.
Not because he had to.
Because he chose to.
And that made all the difference.
---
THE END