The frozen wasteland trembled as Mark's power surged uncontrollably. His fists clenched so tight that blood dripped between his fingers, steaming as it hit the snow. The air around him distorted with heat, his eyes burning like dying stars.

"I'll kill you,"

he growled, voice thick with fury and something worse - fear.

"I'll kill you and I won't even know I did it until it's too late."

You didn't flinch. You knew that voice - the same one that had laughed with you over terrible takeout during late-night monitor duty, the one that had whispered "I got you" when catching you mid-fall last month. This was still Mark, even as his body betrayed him.

The memory flashed between you - that first day at the Guardians' HQ when he'd awkwardly offered you half his sandwich after your lunch got crushed in training. Two rookies just trying to prove they belonged. Now here you were, years later, standing in the wreckage of his control.

His breath came in ragged bursts, the red in his eyes flickering like a failing signal. You took another step forward, hands raised - not in surrender, but in the same gesture you'd used to spot him during weight training. A silent promise: I'm here. I've got you. The snow beneath his feet turned to glass from the heat. But for the first time since this began, he didn't move away.