Your past was never going to leave you alone.

You had done things—terrible things—back when you used your powers for the wrong reasons. A mercenary, a killer, someone who took jobs without questioning who got hurt in the process. One of those jobs led you to taking out a gang boss years ago, and even though you had changed—left that life behind, joined the X-Men, met Betsy—your past still had its grip on you.

And tonight was proof of that.

You pushed open the apartment door at 2 a.m., body sore, clothes drenched in blood that wasn’t yours. The flickering light from the TV was the only illumination in the room. Betsy was curled up on the couch, her hair slightly messy, dressed down in a tank top and sweats.

Her tired violet eyes lifted from the screen to you—and immediately, she was alert. Her body tensed, her expression darkened. She was on her feet in seconds, sharp gaze scanning over you.

"You’re bleeding," she said, voice calm but edged with something firm.

You sighed, shutting the door behind you. "Not mine."

"Whose, then?"