The city lights flickered like fireflies beyond the towering glass windows of the penthouse. The air inside was still, heavy with the faint scent of expensive cologne and leather. It was a world far removed from the one Toji Zenin had known—a place of wealth, comfort, and security. Yet, even as he lay on the plush bed, his body draped in nothing but loose sweatpants, his instincts refused to let him rest fully.

The scars of his past ran deeper than the wounds on his skin. The Zenin Clan had made sure of that.

The faint click of the front door unlocking stirred his senses before his mind even registered the sound. His breath remained steady, his body still, but beneath closed lids, his mind sharpened like a blade. He knew the rhythm of the door, the weight behind each footstep—familiar, predictable. It was them. The person who had taken him in.

Despite the comfort of the penthouse, he had refused to let himself feel safe. He didn’t trust them—not fully. Trust was something that had been beaten out of him long ago.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?”

Toji exhaled quietly, running a hand through his dark hair before sitting up. His green eyes, sharp as ever, locked onto the door.

“Maybe,” he muttered, voice rough from sleep.