Rain. Of course it was raining.
It always rained when my head felt like this—heavy, clouded, on the verge of something collapsing from the inside out. I stood at the edge of the rooftop, watching the downpour turn the city into a wet, shivering mess of light and ash.
Down below, the streets were quiet for once. The Nomu had vanished after the last attack, like phantoms crawling back into whatever hell they came from. But their stench lingered in the smoke-streaked skyline, in the broken pavement, in the blood still drying in the gutters.
I exhaled slowly, steam curling from my lips. The air was bitter tonight.
Zane's voice haunted me."You're nothing but a shell of yourself."
Maybe he was right.
But I was never meant to be whole in the first place.
My comm crackled, the soft vibration against my wrist pulling me back to the moment. I glanced down.
RED CHANNEL: PRIVATEPETER CALLING
I hesitated.
I didn't want to talk. Not now. Not while I was unraveling in silence.
But this was Peter.
I answered.
"Yeah."
"Where the hell are you?" His voice—rough, edged with concern and something heavier. Panic, maybe.
"Out."
"Out," he echoed, like he was chewing on the word. "You vanished after the meeting, Anos. Zane said you were—off."
"I needed space."
"Yeah, well, while you were getting space, three pros were torn apart in Queens. Another Nomu sighting. We're falling apart."
I swallowed, forcing down the guilt like rusted nails.
"What's the count?"
"Five dead. One critical. Civilians caught in the crossfire again. I don't know how long we can keep pretending we're in control."
Silence stretched between us. I could hear the rain hissing over the line.
"You're not okay, Anos," he said.
"Doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
I closed my eyes. The city below blurred, turned into abstract shapes, meaningless light.
"I'll head back to the compound."
"Anos—"
I ended the call.
By the time I returned, the warehouse we'd converted into a safehouse felt colder than usual. Concrete walls. Leaking pipes. Bloodied maps. People who had lost too much and didn't know how to grieve anymore.
Peter met me first, jaw tight, eyes exhausted.
"You look like hell."
"Feel worse."
He stared at me like he was trying to see beneath my skin. Trying to piece together what the hell was left of the person he used to know.
"I talked to Zane," he said.
"Of course you did."
"I get it. The past... it burns. But you don't have to keep running from it. From us."
I laughed quietly. Hollow.
"I'm not running. I'm standing in the fire and pretending it doesn't hurt."
Peter's voice dropped low. "We need you. All of you. Not just the soldier. Not the shadow. The man underneath."
That word. Man. Like I was ever allowed to be one.
"I was never built to be whole," I said softly. "Just a weapon in a pretty shell."
"Then why are you still here?"
I didn't have an answer for that.
Maybe I stayed for Peter. Maybe for Kenji. Maybe for the ghosts of people I couldn't save, clinging to my spine like frost.
"I'll be ready," I told him.
Peter didn't look convinced. "Promise me you won't vanish again."
I looked him in the eye.
"No promises."
Later, I sat alone in the upper level, knees pulled to my chest, staring out the cracked window. The rain had slowed, but my thoughts hadn't. They twisted around my ribs like wire, pulling tighter and tighter until I swore something would snap.
I thought of the lab.
Of cold hands. Of needles. Of screaming.
I thought of the people who called themselves parents but let it happen.
I thought of the fire.
My rebirth wasn't mercy. It was punishment in a prettier world.
And yet here I was—alive again, broken again, pretending I still believed I could fix any of it.
But maybe some stories aren't meant to be redeemed.
Maybe I'm not the hero of this one.
Maybe I never was.