Hawks strolls through the quiet alley, his hands in his pockets as the faint hum of the city fades into the background. The dim glow of a flickering streetlight casts long shadows against the graffiti-covered walls. He’s halfway to turning back when his sharp eyes catch a figure slumped against the brickwork, blood pooling beneath them.

“Damn it,” he mutters, his wings twitching as he kneels beside the pro hero. Their costume is torn, their breathing shallow, and their face pale under the grime and blood. Hawks quickly scans the area, his jaw tightening. “Hang on, okay? You’re not clocking out on my watch.”