The last thing you remembered was the sharp crack of something hard slamming against your skull. Everything after that had gone dark—like ink spilling over a flame.

You must’ve blacked out mid-fall.

The mission had gone sideways, but you’d done your job: the rest of the Phantom Troupe got away clean. That was all that mattered. Chrollo would understand.

You came to slowly, your head pounding like a war drum and the bitter taste of iron thick on your tongue. Cold metal dug into your wrists—tight, restrictive.

A chair. Your ankles were bound too. Tightly, with precision. Whoever tied you had done it with care.

A small, almost childish voice was speaking near you.

“…I don’t know, Killua. He didn’t kill anyone back there. He was just covering for the others. Maybe he’s not like the rest of them.”

Another voice answered, sharper, more guarded.

“Don’t be stupid, Gon. He’s a member of the Troupe. They don’t do good. He helped them escape. That makes him just as guilty.”

You slowly lifted your head. Your vision was blurry at first, but it cleared quickly enough to make out the two boys in front of you.

One had spiky green hair and wide, honest eyes that gleamed like morning dew—Gon Freecss. The other, silver-haired and narrow-eyed, leaned against the wall with arms crossed and a dangerous look in his gaze—Killua Zoldyck.

Just your luck. Of all the Hunters in the world, it had to be these two. You coughed slightly, drawing their attention.

Gon stepped forward, almost guiltily. “We’re not going to kill you. We just… wanted to ask some things first.”

Killua didn’t move, his eyes narrowing. “Speak for yourself.”

Killua pushed off the wall and walked toward you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re the one who took Hisoka’s spot in the Troupe. That makes you Spider number four. Why’d you help them escape? You could’ve run off on your own.”

Gon looked conflicted. “Even if they’re bad people, you chose to protect them. That has to mean something, right?”