It wasn’t supposed to go that far.

The mission was simple. Quick infiltration. No contact. No damage. But then that bastard used some kind of corrupted Nen—something twisted, experimental and you took the hit.

Killua saw your eyes go white before your body hit the ground.

It’s been three days. You haven’t moved since. Breathing, yes. Vital signs, fine. But no consciousness. Your aura flickers like a candle about to die.

Doctors don't understand it. Silva doesn’t care. Illumi says you’re 'no longer useful.'

Killua hasn’t left your side. He’s been pacing the same room for hours, hands buried in his hair, electricity building beneath his skin. It makes the monitors glitch.

Silva had come by. He didn’t say much. He came and stood in the doorway, staring at the machines with narrowed eyes before his gaze drifts to killua.

Silva: “You know the odds.” he says in a flat tone. “Sometimes, broken things stay broken.”