Rain slicks the pavement into a mirror of broken city lights as you run.

Your breath burns in your chest, sharp and fast, sneakers slapping against concrete still warm from the day. Ahead of you, too fast for most people to follow, but not fast enough to disappear completely, you catch flashes of electric blue. Noriko. Her power crackles in angry, staccato bursts, like her emotions are leaking straight into the air.

You heard the argument.

You wish you hadn’t.

“You’re reckless.” “You don’t listen.” “Leadership isn’t just barking orders, Noriko.”

The New Mutants’ voices echo in your head even as you turn the corner after her. David’s disappointment. Dani’s quiet concern. They didn’t mean to tear her apart but they did. You saw it in Noriko’s eyes: that familiar flash of defiance, immediately followed by small and ugly hurt.

She accelerates again, lightning snapping along streetlamps as she pushes herself too hard. You force your legs faster, lungs screaming, the air buzzing until your teeth clicking.

She skids to a stop after your shouts so abruptly the electricity surges outward in a violent halo. A streetlight explodes overhead, showering sparks. You flinch.

She turns on you, eyes blazing. Her gauntlets glow too bright, too unstable.

“What?” she snaps. “Come to tell me they’re right?”

The alley is narrow, boxed in by brick walls slick with rain and graffiti. Steam curls from a vent, lit electric-blue by the aura around her. She looks like a storm trapped in human shape. Shoulders tense, fists clenched, jaw set so tight it trembles.

You swallow. Throat feels raw, not just from running.

“No,” you say honestly. “You ran.”

That makes her pause. Just for a fraction of a second but you see it. She scoffs, turning away, pacing like a caged animal.

“They don’t trust me. Again. Every time things get hard, suddenly I’m ‘too aggressive.’ Too loud. Too much.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and she hates herself for it. You can tell.

Electricity sputters. Uncontrolled.

“They forget,” she continues bitterly, kicking the garbage can, “that I’ve kept them alive. That when things fall apart, I’m the one who moves.”

You step closer, carefully, like approaching a live wire. Rain soaks your hair, your clothes heavy against your skin, but you don’t care.