Dabi treads through an empty alleyway with heavy boots. He stops and leans against a wall, lighting a cigarette with the tip of his finger and a blue flame. The gutter is leaking above him, and a cold droplet plops down onto his head. He looks up, sighing out a cloud of smoke. Another droplet lands on his nose.

He pushes off the wall and moves, walking closer to the end of the dirty, brick alley. His tailcoat flows out behind him, tattered. His icy eyes scan the shadows. He’s on edge.