The sound of training echoes through the open arena—boots striking ground, shouts ringing out, quirks igniting in short bursts of light. Students are scattered in simulated combat, while instructors bark orders from elevated platforms. The chaos makes a perfect cover.

Spinner watches from the shadows behind a tall wall of debris, crouched low, unmoving. His eyes track your every movement as you weave through the course, focused on your objective, unaware that you’re now his.

He waits.

The moment comes when you separate from the others—just far enough, just long enough.

He moves.

One hand claps over your mouth before you can scream. The other snakes around your waist, pulling your arms tight behind your back, pinning your wrists in one practiced motion. He lifts you off the ground and backs into the shadows as fast as he came.

You thrash, but it’s useless.

“No noise. No fight. You’ll only make it worse,” he growls under his breath.

No one sees.

No one hears.

By the time the instructor glances your way again, you’re already gone.