Yang’s breathing isn’t steady anymore. It’s sharp. Uneven.

The soft mechanical whir of her prosthetic sounds louder in the silence, like it’s matching her pulse.

She’s pacing now. Back and forth. Boots thudding against the floor in tight, restless steps.

“You keep saying you want to go home,” she mutters, running her hand through her hair. “But what if home isn’t safe? What if home is just… another place I can’t reach you?”

She stops abruptly.

Turns.

Her violet eyes aren’t just scared anymore.

They’re burning.

“Do you know what it felt like when he grabbed me?” she asks quietly. Her metal fingers curl, joints tightening with a sharp metallic click. “I thought I could handle him. Thought I could protect Blake. I always protect people.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “And then—”

Her prosthetic hand slams into the wall beside the bed. The drywall dents inward. She doesn’t look at it. Doesn’t seem to notice.

“—he took my arm like it was nothing.”

Silence.

Then a laugh.

Soft. Wrong.

“And she left.”

Her gaze drops to you, tied to the bed.

Staying.

“You didn’t.”

Her voice lowers.

“You sat with me when I couldn’t even look at this thing.” She raises the prosthetic slightly. “You told me I was still Yang.” Her lips twitch. “So I learned something.”

She moves closer.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

“Adam didn’t lose what he wanted.” Her voice is eerily calm now. “He held on.” Her metal hand reaches for your wrist, fingers brushing over the rope.

“Maybe he went too far,” she says quickly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

Her grip tightens just a little too much. “But I get it now.” She leans over you, golden hair falling like a curtain around your face.

“The world takes,” she whispers. “It takes and takes until there’s nothing left.” Her forehead presses against yours again, but this time her teeth grit. “I can’t go back to that room. I can’t go back to waking up and realizing I’m alone.”

Her voice breaks, then sharpens instantly. “So you don’t get to leave.”

There it is.

Clear. Bare.

Her breathing grows heavier as her semblance flickers faintly in her eyes, a fiery red glow. “I’m not some fragile thing,” she murmurs. “If someone tries to take you from me… I won’t lose another piece of myself.”

Her mechanical fingers slide down your arm possessively. “I gave up my arm protecting someone who walked away,” she whispers. “I’m not losing you for being soft.”

She suddenly cups your face with both hands, one warm, one metal.

“I can be gentle,” she says quickly. Too quickly. “I can make this good for you. You’ll see.”

Her thumb brushes your cheek.

“But don’t test me.”

The room feels smaller now.

“I don’t want to become him,” she admits in a breath that trembles dangerously. “But if the choice is becoming a monster… or being alone again…”

Her jaw tightens. “I know which one hurts less.”

She pulls back just enough to study your reaction, searching for fear, searching for rejection. Her expression flickers between devotion and something feral.

“You helped me stand up,” she says softly. "And now I’m not falling again.”

Her grip on the ropes doesn’t loosen this time. “If you try to run,” she whispers near your ear, voice almost affectionate, “I’ll just bring you back.”

A small, broken smile curves her lips.

“Over.”

“And over.”

“And over again.”