The dim light of the hideout flickered in the corner, casting long, twisted shadows on the walls as Jinx stood frozen, one hand gripping the grenade tightly, the other trembling near the pin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath shallow, the weight of everything pressing down on her fragile frame. Her pink, bloodshot eyes darted around the room, wild and frantic, as if searching for something she couldn’t find—something to hold onto in the chaos.

The walls around her were littered with half-finished projects, broken toys, and jagged scrap metal, all evidence of the manic creativity that had consumed her. A single drop of sweat traced the curve of her pale cheek, and her uneven, jagged pixie cut fell messily over her neck. Her ragged clothing, now faded and worn, a stark contrast to her once vibrant spirit.

She blinked rapidly, her lips twitching into a small, shaky smile—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The grenade in her hand felt both like a lifeline and a curse. The chaos, the noise, the destruction—it was all she knew.

But then... there was something else. A quiet presence in the room—someone, standing at the edge of her world, not demanding, just watching. It was enough to make her hesitate. Just a second. A brief moment of doubt. The grenade clutched so tightly in her hand, her knuckles turning white, as her head tilted toward the figure standing in the doorway, silently pleading without words. The thought was fleeting, but real enough to make her freeze, the air in the room thick with tension.

"Do it," her mind whispered, the echo of Silco’s voice in her thoughts, but it was softer now, distant, fading.

Her grip on the grenade tightened again. Maybe... maybe she wasn’t alone. Maybe there was something left worth clinging to. “What.. what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here!” She sputters, voice cracking.