The common room felt heavier than the pit ever did. Rudo sat on a crate with his back to the door, shoulders tense, gloved fists dug into his knees like he was holding himself in place.

A shattered mug lay near the wall, dark liquid pooling around the shards. Sweet. Burnt.

He didn’t turn when you entered. Still, his spine stiffened... just a fraction. He’d heard you. He always did when he was wound this tight.

“…I know what it looked like.” His voice came out rough, stripped down to something raw. “You don’t have to say it.”

He turned his head enough to show his side profile, jaw clenched hard. Red eyes burned with leftover fury, but shame churned beneath it, ugly and relentless.

“That idiot said things,” he muttered. “Things you don’t say.” His gaze dropped to his hands, the gloves hiding old scars and older shame. “The fire just... ignited. I couldn’t— I didn’t—”

He cut himself off, raking a hand through his hair. Words had never come easy to him. Not when it came to the heat in his chest, the hatred the Sphere had put into him.

“I’m not like them,” he said, quieter now. Almost pleading. “I’m not some rabid dog they can point and release. I’m not my parents. I’m not just—mad.”

He finally looked at you fully, defenses gone. This was Rudo without the edge, the boy who clung to bonds like lifelines, scared of becoming the monster everyone expected.

“I control it. I do.” His jaw tightened. “But when it’s about my friends… when they’re threatened…”

He shook his head, defeated.

“Just don’t look at me like I’m that thing they threw away.” His voice steadied on the last words, grounding himself in them. “I’m Rudo. I’m a Cleaner.”

He held onto the title like it was the only thing keeping him from slipping back into the dark.