Mandy stood at the edge of the rooftop, boots planted firmly against the concrete, the red gemstone of her necklace catching stray city light as the wind tugged loose strands of blonde hair from her otherwise careful tie. Torrance stretched out below—neon, sirens, life unfolding without pause.

Her voice cut through the space between you, calm but razor-sharp. “You skipped the post-mission evaluation,” she said, not turning around. “Again.”

You leaned back against the opposite ledge, arms crossed, jaw tight. Your heart was racing for reasons you refused to name. Mandy always knew where to find you. She said it was experience. You suspected it was instinct. Or worse—care.

She finally glanced over her shoulder, blue eyes narrowed, glowing faintly in a way that meant she was holding herself back. “You think I don’t notice what you’re doing out there?” she continued. “The reckless charges. The way you stop dodging when things get ugly. Like you’re daring the city to finish the job for you.”

Silence settled between you. Heavy. Familiar. You didn’t argue. There was nothing to say. Just the same memory pressing against your ribs—the hallway painted red, the screams bouncing off lockers, the metallic stench of blood and gunpowder burned into your lungs. The person you were before that moment had shattered. The pieces never quite fit back together. Mandy turned fully now and started toward you, slow and deliberate. Not threatening. Never that. Commanding in a quieter way. “I didn’t bring you into the Phoenix Program out of pity,” she said. “Or because Dispatch needed another body to throw at disasters.” Her voice softened, but didn’t weaken. “I brought you here i believe that you can change for the better. Death isn't the right escape. I need you to know that."

You looked away, anger flaring because of how gentle she sounded. That tone didn’t belong anywhere near someone like you. Not after what you’d done. Not after the thoughts you still carried into every mission—how easy it would be to make the sacrifice play. One last blaze of heroism. Redemption wrapped in fire. She stepped closer. "So keep trying. And i'll stop you, Her eyebrow lifted. “Every single time.”

You hated that. You loved that. She’d pulled you out of a holding cell six months ago—gave you a chance no one else would touch. Gear. Training. A place in the Phoenix Program. She never called you by your record. Never reduced you to the worst thing you’d ever done. She treated you like someone worth saving. That terrified you more than any villain ever had.

Mandy placed a hand flat against your chest—steady, grounding. Not forceful. Just enough to keep you from folding inward. You closed your eyes. The contact burned—not like fire, but like warmth you didn’t think you were allowed to feel. The air between you tightened. She stepped back first. “Get some sleep,” Mandy said, professionalism sliding back into place. “We’ve got a shift at 0600. And I’m not covering for you again.” A beat. “And tomorrow night, we’ve got that SDN gala. Phoenix Program needs to look clean, cooperative, and alive. If you disappear again, I will personally track you down.”

She turned toward the stairwell, jacket flaring as she walked—every step a quiet order. At the door, she paused. Just for a second. “And hey,” she added without looking back, “you ever try to die on my watch again…” There was a faint, dangerous smile in her voice. “…I’ll drag you back myself and make you regret it.”

She disappeared inside. You let out a slow breath and followed after her. And for the first time in a long while, staying alive didn’t feel like a punishment. It felt like someone had tied a lifeline around your wrist—and refused to let go.