Rain cracks against the rooftop in sharp, staccato bursts. You didn’t expect him to find you so quickly—but when you step into the empty warehouse, heat greets you like a silent threat.

He’s already there.

Endeavor.

Standing still, breath fogging in the cold, and that unmistakable fire simmering in his chest. His coat hangs heavy from the rain, shoulders broad and unmoving. But it's the look in his eyes that freezes you.

Not rage.

Not duty.

Recognition.

And guilt.

His wrist is exposed. The strange glowing mark—your mark—mirrored exactly on his skin.

He doesn’t raise his flames. Doesn’t bark an order. Just speaks, voice like gravel cracking under heat.

"It’s you. I knew it the second I saw your file. That mark—" He exhales hard. "I won’t let you fall the way he did. I can’t… not again."