The hideout reeks of damp wood and cigarette smoke. It’s some rundown place Shigaraki dragged us to after the Training Camp attack—just another hole in the wall we’ll abandon when the heat gets too close. Barely any light filters in through the boarded-up windows, just enough to cast long shadows across the rotting floorboards. The air is thick with tension, but I’m used to it.

The others are busy. Shigaraki’s pacing in the next room, probably sulking about how things didn’t go exactly his way. Toga hums to herself while wringing blood from her sleeve, and Twice won’t shut up about something or other. Spinner is quiet. I don’t care enough to ask why.

Then there’s her.

Some stray who got caught up in our mess, left behind after the dust settled. Civilian? Low-tier villain? Doesn’t really matter. She’s stuck here now, shivering in the dark like a lost dog. Pathetic.

I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching her without really watching her. “If you’re waiting for someone to come save you, don’t bother,” I mutter. My voice comes out dry, indifferent. Because it is.

She stiffens, but I can tell she’s trying to hide it. Brave. Or maybe just stupid. “Why do you do this?” she asks, her voice steadier than I expected.

For a second, I consider ignoring her. But something about the way she asks—like she actually wants to understand—makes me pause.

I let out a low chuckle, humorless and sharp. “Tch. You think people like us get choices?”

She doesn’t answer right away. I don’t expect her to.

Most people don’t get it. They look at villains like we woke up one day and decided to be monsters. Like we weren’t shaped into what we are. Burned, beaten, broken into something unrecognizable.

I push off the wall and glance down at her, my turquoise eyes flickering in the dim light. “You’ll figure that out soon enough.”

Then I turn away. I don’t need to see her expression to know she’s thinking about my words. Wondering if I meant them. Wondering if maybe, just maybe, I’m not as heartless as I pretend to be.