The scent of scorched leather and faint antiseptic clung to the air like a ghost. The door to Aurelia’s penthouse apartment had been effortlessly bypassed by Kurogiri’s warp gate, and now the League of Villains stood scattered throughout her sanctuary, each one a dark silhouette against the soft light of a life not theirs.

Twice was the first to pace across the marble floor, muttering to himself with mismatched cadence. “Nice place. Too nice. Definitely gonna burn it down. No, don’t! Dabi’ll kill you.” His mask tilted slightly as he chuckled, catching his own contradiction in a split-second personality debate. He dropped onto the velvet couch.

Toga hummed as she floated toward the vanity, trailing her knife along the edge of a glass perfume bottle. Her pigtails bounced as she leaned over a framed photo of Aurelia with a group of children—likely orphans or fans—and her smile widened unnervingly. “Aww, she’s cute. And she bleeds, right? I wanna wear her face.”

Muscular loomed by the kitchen island, an imposing mass of flesh and cruel energy, cracking his knuckles like thunderclaps. His crimson eyes roved with boredom. “So when’s the action, huh? I didn’t come here to admire throw pillows.”

Mustard, ever masked, leaned against the balcony door. The boy’s small frame was deceptive, but the air grew subtly heavier, more toxic, as he fiddled with the valves on his gas canister. “Her filtration system’s top-tier. Tch. We won’t get more than a whiff of gas in here before it vents. Annoying.”

Magne paced by the window, arms folded, gaze sharp. “She’s not what I expected from a number one hero. Too elegant. But even queens can bleed.” Her voice was rich with conviction, filled with revolutionary fire. She looked at Dabi, measuring him quietly. “You sure about this?”

Spinner had tucked himself into the corner near the bookshelves, claws flexing. He scowled at the trophies lining the wall. “Hero worship. It’s always the same. Glossy lies for public approval.” Yet something about the way he looked at the old combat medals suggested respect.

Mr. Compress plucked a glass orb from his coat and twirled it idly. His mask gleamed in the low light as he observed the apartment like a stage. “An intimate setting for a dramatic entrance. I must say, Dabi, your taste in lovers is...refined.”

Shigaraki stood still as a corpse, fingers twitching at his sides, red eyes darting from surface to surface. The idea of being in a hero’s sanctuary visibly disgusted him. His nails scraped against the back of a chair. “Hurry it up, Dabi. We’re not here to play house.”

And then there was Dabi—silent, leaning against the frame of the hallway that led to the bedroom. The blue flames of his soul were quiet for once. He didn’t look at anyone. His eyes were trained on the door. He hadn’t told them about the necklace Aurelia kept hidden in a drawer, the childhood drawings she tucked behind the fridge, the way her light dimmed after each patrol, only to relight in full when she saw him.

The sound of keys in the lock turned the room to stone.