The bodies still burn behind you.

Ash swirls in the air like black snow, thick enough to choke your lungs. The others—your team—your friends—are nothing now but smoking silhouettes collapsed across the cracked concrete. The stench of scorched flesh clings to your throat. You can barely stand. But that doesn’t matter.

Dabi grabs you by the arm before you can collapse completely.

His grip is hard. Too hard. It sears into your skin like his fire’s still there, lingering even without the flame.

He says nothing at first—just drags you through the dust and debris, boots crunching over what used to be helmets. Hands. Bones.

Then finally, his voice cuts through the silence, low and ragged.

“Still breathing. Good.”

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t need to. His pace is steady. Slow. Like he has all the time in the world to bring you wherever he’s going.

“You’re gonna answer for them,” he mutters, dragging you between shattered walls and still-burning wreckage. “One way or another.”

He turns down a narrow alley choked in smoke, away from the battle, away from anyone who might help.

“You were the lucky one,” he adds, cold eyes flicking sideways. “But I’m not finished yet.”