The breakfast place didn't ask questions, which made it perfect.
They occupied a corner table—five people who'd robbed an empire and somehow lived to eat overpriced eggs about it. The food was decent, the coffee strong, the atmosphere exactly what criminals needed: anonymity and acceptance.
"So," Ekko said, pushing eggs around his plate. "Three months until the Broker's first job. What do we do until then?"
"Live," Samira said. "That's what we do. Actually live instead of just surviving."
"Deep," Graves muttered around his coffee. "You practice that?"
"I'm Noxian. We're naturally profound." She smiled slightly. "But I'm serious. We spent weeks planning to steal the past. Now we have futures. Seems wasteful not to use them."
TF watched them interact—the easy banter, the comfortable silences, the way they'd evolved from strangers with ulterior motives into something resembling friends. The heist had forced them together. The choice to destroy the Chronolith had bound them.
"I'm rebuilding in Zaun," Ekko said. "The Firelights need me. And I need to design a Z-Drive that won't explode when I need it most." He looked at TF. "But if you call in three months—if the job's worth it—I'll come."
"Appreciated." TF pulled a card—Seven of Pentacles. Investment and patience. "What makes a job worth it?"
"Helping people who can't help themselves. Fighting systems that crush the powerless. The kind of thing that matters beyond just money." Ekko grinned. "Or really cool tech. I'm shallow that way."
"Noted."
Seraphine had been quiet, sensing emotions around the table. Now she spoke. "I'm staying in Piltover for a while. My foundation needs me present, not touring. And I need to learn who I am when I'm not performing." She looked at TF. "But I want to be part of this. Whatever this becomes. You helped me see that my parents' deaths weren't my failure. I want to help others see their pain isn't pointless."
"The crew therapist," Graves said. "We need one of those."
"Someone has to keep you from drowning in toxic masculinity."
"I don't drown. I swim in it. It's called style."
Samira laughed—genuine, warm, surprising everyone including herself. "I'm taking contracts in Shurima. Hunting war criminals, protecting refugees, doing the work Noxus should do but won't. Defining honor on my own terms, like you said." She looked at TF. "Three months. I'll be there if the cause is right and the pay is fair."
"Both can be arranged." TF turned to Graves. "And you?"
Graves was quiet. Studied his coffee like it held answers. Finally: "I'm staying in Bilgewater. Taking jobs, rebuilding reputation, figuring out what partnership means when you actually choose it instead of stumbling into it." He met TF's eyes. "Three months isn't long. Not long enough to forget five years. But maybe long enough to see if you stay different or slide back."
"Fair."
"If you slide back, I walk. Permanently. No second chances after this."
"Understood."
"But if you don't—if you keep being someone worth trusting—" Graves shrugged. "Maybe we see where that goes."
It wasn't forgiveness. Not completely. But it was possibility. And possibility was more than TF deserved.
They finished breakfast in comfortable quiet. Paid with stolen money that felt less dirty after being used for something normal. Stepped outside into Bilgewater morning—humid, salty, alive with commerce and crime.
"So this is where we part ways," Samira said. "Temporarily."
"Temporarily," TF agreed. "Three months. Then we see if this was just a crew or something more permanent."
"Something more permanent," Ekko echoed. "Like what? A team? A company? The world's most dangerous found family?"
"All of the above," Seraphine suggested. "We could be all of those things."
They stood in a circle—five people who'd started as strangers, evolved into crew, might become something else entirely.
"Before we go," TF said. "I need to say something. All of you—thank you. For coming. For trusting me enough to risk everything. For being willing to die for this. For showing up when the Broker came." He pulled cards, shuffled nervously. "I've spent my life using people. You let me be used by something better. Made me part of something that mattered."
"Don't get sentimental," Graves said. "It's weird."
"Let him be sentimental," Seraphine said. "Growth includes feelings."
"I hate feelings."
"We know. It's very Bilgewater of you."
Ekko extended his hand to the center of their circle. "To the crew that stole the impossible."
Samira placed her hand on his. "To the people who chose growth over comfort."
Seraphine added hers. "To found family, even if we're still figuring out what that means."
Graves sighed but placed his hand in the pile. "To not dying stupidly. Yet."
They looked at TF.
He placed his hand completing the circle. "To three months. And whatever comes after."
"Three months," they echoed.
Then the moment passed. Hands separated. The circle broke.
Ekko left first—heading to the docks, catching a smuggler ship to Zaun. He waved once, grinning, already thinking about his next invention.
Samira went next—efficient, direct, off to arrange transport to Shurima. She clasped TF's shoulder briefly. "Don't waste this. You earned it. Don't let it go."
"I won't."
"See that you don't." Then she was gone, disappearing into crowd with professional ease.
Seraphine lingered. "TF? Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Do you think we're better people now? After everything?"
TF considered. "I think we're more honest people. Whether that's better—ask me in three months."
"Fair." She smiled. "I'll see you then. Try not to get killed doing something heroically stupid."
"No promises."
She laughed and left, heading toward the docks where a legitimate ship waited. Even without her performance attire, people noticed her—that otherworldly presence impossible to hide.
TF and Graves stood alone in the street.
"So," Graves said.
"So."
"Three months."
"Yeah."
Graves shifted Destiny on his shoulder. Looked at TF with those scarred, knowing eyes. "You meant it? About choosing who you want to be?"
"I did. I do."
"Good. Because if you didn't—if this was just another con—I'd have to kill you. And I don't want to kill you anymore. Mostly."
"Mostly is progress."
"Yeah. It is." Graves extended his hand. "Partners. Maybe. Eventually. We'll see."
TF shook it. The grip was firm but not punishing. Trust offered conditionally. Honestly.
"See you in three months, Malcolm."
"See you, Tobias." Graves started to walk away, then stopped. "And TF? The person you've become? The one who destroyed the Chronolith instead of using it? That person is worth the wait."
He left before TF could respond.
TF stood alone in the street, cards in hand, future uncertain, past accepted.
Five years ago, he'd run from this city carrying guilt and a score. Three weeks ago, he'd returned carrying desperation and a debt. Today, he stood carrying possibility.
He pulled a card. Glanced down.
The World. Completion. New beginning. Journey's end and start.
Perfect.
---
TF spent the next three months deliberately.
He worked legitimate jobs—consulting for merchants who needed security, teaching card tricks to street kids, even dealing at a high-stakes game where nobody tried to kill him. Accumulated money honestly. Built reputation differently.
He wrote to the crew. Short messages, nothing profound. Ekko sent schematics for impossible devices. Samira sent stories from Shurima—bad jokes about deserts and war criminals. Seraphine sent concert tickets he'd never use and foundation reports he actually read. Graves sent nothing, which was its own form of communication.
He practiced card magic. Refined techniques, developed new tricks, explored the Magician card's capabilities. If the Broker wanted impossible jobs, TF would be ready.
He thought about the Chronolith. About what it had shown him. About the death he'd avoided by choosing growth. About the life he'd gained by accepting consequences.
He thought about Graves. About partnership earned through honesty instead of convenience. About forgiveness as a process, not an event.
He thought about the crew. About how five damaged people had become something stronger than their individual parts. About found family forged in fire and choice.
Mostly, he thought about who he wanted to be. Not who he'd been or who he might've been, but who he was choosing to become.
Someone who assembled crews and brought them home. Someone who took impossible jobs and made them work. Someone who used his skills for things that mattered beyond just survival.
Someone worth trusting.
The weeks passed. Bilgewater continued its eternal dance of commerce and violence. TF remained, working, growing, waiting.
Two months in, he got a package. No return address. Inside: a modified deck of cards. The Magician card had been enhanced—infused with magic he didn't recognize, humming with potential.
A note accompanied it: For the first job. Don't waste it. —E
Ekko had been thinking about him. About the crew. About whatever came next.
TF shuffled the enhanced deck into his regular one. The magic settled, integrated, became part of his arsenal.
Two and a half months in, Seraphine sent a message: The foundation is working. We saved three families last week from chem-exposure. Your money is doing good things. Thank you for letting me be part of something that matters.
Samira's message came a week later: Caught the Butcher of Nerath. He won't hurt anyone else. Justice feels better than revenge. Still expensive though. See you soon.
Graves's message arrived on day eighty-nine, exactly two days before the three-month mark: Still considering. Don't make me regret it.
TF smiled and wrote back: I won't.
On day ninety, the Broker's letter arrived.
Black wax seal, elegant script, simple message:
Your first job awaits. Assemble your crew. Details follow tomorrow. Don't disappoint me.
TF held the letter and felt something he hadn't felt in five years.
Anticipation. Not fear, not desperation—genuine excitement for what came next.
He pulled his cards, shuffled, felt their familiar weight and magic. The enhanced Magician card pulsed against his fingertips. The World card sat at the bottom of the deck, reminder of journeys ended and begun.
Three months of growth. Three months of honest living. Three months of proving he'd changed.
Tomorrow, the proof would be tested.
TF walked to his window. Looked out at Bilgewater—the city that had witnessed his running, his returning, his rebuilding.
Somewhere, Ekko was inventing. Samira was hunting. Seraphine was healing. Graves was considering.
And TF was waiting.
Not running. Not hiding. Not conning his way through life.
Just waiting for tomorrow. For the job. For the chance to prove that five criminals who'd destroyed the past could build a future worth having.
He smiled and shuffled his cards.
The heist was over.
The real work was just beginning.