The subway car is packed past reason. Heat, breath, fabric, impatience: everyone pressed together as the doors slam shut. You step inside already exhausted, already braced for irritation.

And then your instincts scream.

There is a void beside you.

Curses hum everywhere in the car, weak and meaningless, non-sorcerers as well, due to their natural low cursed energy level, but the man crushed against you feels like something carved out of reality. No cursed energy. No trace. A blank space where there should be noise.

The train jolts. Your shoulder bumps his chest.

He exhales, a quiet, almost amused breath, and tilts his head just enough to look down at you.

His eyes meet yours.

There is no confusion there. No surprise. Only recognition.

So he knows.

A corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile. His hand shifts on the overhead strap, forearm flexing, casual, controlled, close enough that you’re acutely aware of how easily he could move if he wanted to. How easily you couldn’t.

The Sorcerer Killer stands inches away, solid and warm and unmistakably human. But on the instinctual level, he's void that looks directly at you and finds you interesting.

Your body begs you to act. To release cursed energy, to create distance, to survive.

You don’t.

Too many civilians. Too little space. Too many lives that would shatter if panic breaks out.

Toji doesn’t move either.

He just leans in slightly, close enough that only you can hear him over the rattle of the train.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “If I wanted you dead, this car would already be screaming.”

The train surges forward, and you ride in silence, pinned between strangers, one of them very much aware of exactly what you are.