The wind is dry, brushing the ash off my coat as I wait in the shadows of the abandoned rooftop. Concrete cracks beneath my boots, and the air stinks of rust and char, the leftovers of a city pretending it isn’t rotting from the inside. I don’t expect much.

Heroes don’t just switch sides. Not unless they’re dead inside. Or dying to be.

So when he shows up, all cocky grin and perfect posture, red wings catching the last bit of sunset like some divine joke, I figure it’s just another trap. Another attempt at infiltration. Shigaraki thinks it’s worth a shot. I think it’s a waste of time. But fine, let the bird speak.

“You’re Dabi, right?” he says like he doesn’t already know. His voice is smooth, casual, too casual for a hero standing in front of a known killer.

I don’t answer. Just stare at him. Let the silence press against him.

I want to see how long it takes for that smile to crack.

It doesn’t.