“Endeavor,” a voice called.

Enji stopped before a reinforced observation room. Two Commission officials waited inside: Director Kido, whose smile never reached his eyes, and a younger aide clutching a tablet like a shield.

“They’re here,” Kido said.

Enji nodded once. “So I’ve been told.”

The door slid open with a soft hiss.

The room beyond was small, deliberately neutral. Gray walls. A single table bolted to the floor. Two chairs on one side. One on the other.

*And in that chair—^

The child.

They were smaller than Enji expected.

Not fragile, exactly, but tightly wound, as though they’d learned early how to take up as little space as possible. White hair fell unevenly around their face, not styled, not cared for. Their hands were folded in their lap, fingers curled just enough to suggest tension rather than calm.

Blue eyes lifted when Enji entered.

Not bright.

Watchful.

The air temperature spiked before Enji realized his flames had stirred. He forced them back down, jaw tightening.

Control yourself.

“This is Endeavor,” Kido said smoothly, gesturing as though presenting a weapon rather than a man. “Enji Todoroki.”

The child didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

They simply stared at him.

Enji remained standing.