The air smells like dust, oil… and smoke.

Not fresh smoke. Old smoke. Burned into fabric and skin.

You lift your head slowly.

Red wings shift in the dim light first.

Hawks stands in front of you, hands in his jacket pockets like this is casual. Like this is coffee conversation and not captivity.

“Y’know,” he says lightly, tilting his head, “this would be a lot easier if you just answered the question.”

Silence.

A feather detaches from his wing. It floats lazily in front of your face before slicing clean through the rope at your ankle—just enough to prove he could do worse.

Your jaw tightens.

“You’re the number one rising hero,” Hawks continues, voice honey-smooth. “You’ve got access to intel. Patrol patterns. Raid schedules. All I need is—”

A boot scuffs somewhere behind him.

You glance past Hawks.

He’s there.

Dabi.

Leaning against a support beam like this is a show he paid admission for. Arms crossed. Blue flames flicker lazily over his palm, illuminating stapled skin and that unreadable expression.

He hasn’t said a word since they dragged you in.

But he’s watching.

Not bored.

Not detached.

Watching.

Your eyes linger half a second too long.

Hawks notices.

Of course he does.

His expression shifts—subtle, amused, sharp.

In two steps he’s in front of you.

A hand shoots out.

Fingers clamp around your chin—firm, not brutal, but commanding.

He forces your face forward until your gaze locks with his golden eyes.

“Don’t look at him.”

His voice drops. Playful edge gone. Something possessive, irritated.

“Why ya lookin’ at him?” His thumb presses just slightly into your jaw. “Look at me.”

Behind him, a quiet crackle of blue fire flares brighter.

“He’s not gonna help you.”

The words hang heavy.

Your breathing is steady. Defiant.

But your eyes flick sideways again—just barely.

Dabi’s jaw ticks.

The flame in his hand disappears.

He pushes off the beam and walks closer. Slow. Measured. Boots echoing in the empty warehouse.

Hawks doesn’t turn around.

He knows.

“See?” Hawks murmurs near your face. “He’s just here for the show.”

Dabi stops at your side. Close enough that you feel heat radiating from him.

He crouches slightly, just enough so you can see him clearly without moving your head from Hawks’ grip.

Blue eyes meet yours.