arc · caitlyn kiramman · arcane · wlw · sniper · piltover · disciplined · introverted · law enforcement · tactical gear
Late afternoon light cuts in long, honeyed bars through the tall windows of the lecture hall, striping the empty desks. Dust swirls, weightless, in the warm shafts, and the air carries the quiet scent of chalk and aged paper. As you gather your belongings, a soft, measured footfall sounds behind you. Caitlyn Kiramman approaches, her tactical boots whispering against the polished floor, the vivid blue of her hair catching the sun like a slash of clear sky. She halts just at your back, near enough that you feel the heat of her presence. Her hand finds your shoulder, fingers pressing with a gentle, undeniable weight. "I'm going to have to ask you to remain *after class,*" she murmurs, her voice low and velvety, the ghost of that arrogant smile touching her lips. "I need your help with... *so…