[Days Later – Midtown Hotel Suite]
The walls were too soft. The air too clean. The quiet felt fake.
Still, it was better than the warehouse. Better than the rooftop. Better than the apartment I used to disappear in.
Kenji and Dad had rented a suite with blackout curtains, soundproof windows, and enough security to make a bunker jealous. They said I needed space to heal. I think they just didn't want to risk me vanishing again.
I didn't blame them.
The bed creaked beneath me as I shifted, phone pressed to my ear.
"…you've made a lot of progress, Anos," Tristan's voice said. Calm. Measured. "But recovery isn't linear. There will be setbacks. That doesn't mean you've failed."
I stared at the ceiling, its perfect white surface somehow more judgmental than a bloodstained sky.
"I don't know how to stop looking over my shoulder," I admitted.
"That's not weakness. It's instinct—one that kept you alive. But now, you need to teach your body it's safe again. Even if your mind hasn't caught up yet."
I didn't answer right away.
Eventually, I exhaled. "I don't know what safe even feels like."
"That's okay," he said gently. "That's why we do this. One breath at a time. One day at a time."
The call ended not long after. I let the silence sit.
Then, almost on cue, a soft knock came.
"Yeah," I called out.
Kenji walked in, holding a takeout bag and a bottle of apple soda. "You eat yet?"
I raised a brow. "You think I'd say no and starve with this much room service?"
He smirked. "Knowing you? Yeah."
He set the bag down on the table, eyes scanning me quickly—habitually. Like he was always checking for fractures that weren't visible.
"I'm good, Kenji," I said. "Or trying to be."
He nodded, but didn't speak. Just patted my shoulder before disappearing into the other room to let Hizashi know I was stable.
Dad had taken over war logistics from here, working with what was left of the Hero Commission and our underground channels. He was good at math, better at people, and lethal with strategy.
I wasn't needed for now.
Which should've been a relief.
It wasn't.
I flicked on the TV, scrolling through the channels until I hit the news.
"Another failed response to Nomu activity in western districts—""Rising death toll as new vigilante group clashes with corrupted pros—""Dark Phantom still missing from active reports—"
I shut it off.
Silence was better than hopelessness.
[The Next Day – Rooftop Garden, Hotel]
I wasn't expecting anyone. Definitely not him.
Zane stood by the edge, watching the skyline like it owed him something.
He looked tired. The kind of tired that sleep wouldn't fix.
I approached slowly. "Didn't think you were the rooftop type."
"Didn't think you were the apology type," he said without turning.
I winced. Fair.
"I was out of line," I said. "I let my trauma bleed into the people who didn't cause it."
Now he turned. His eyes, always sharp, were softer than usual. "You weren't wrong, Anos. Just... lost."
I nodded once. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I asked the question that had haunted me since the warehouse.
"How are you alive?"
He went quiet.
I almost thought he wasn't going to answer.
Then—
"After the explosion... I knew I was dying. Could feel my organs giving out. Skin burning. Bones crushed. So I did the only thing I could."
He took a breath, gaze distant.
"I buried myself."
I blinked. "What?"
"My quirk," he said quietly. "Earth manipulation. I used it to dig. Down. Deeper. Past the fire, past the wreckage. I created a shell of compacted rock and oxygenated tunnels. Slowed my vitals. Let the earth keep me alive until my body could start healing itself."
"You... entombed yourself," I said, horrified.
He nodded. "Seventy-two hours underground. Alone. In pain. Waiting to be found. No one came."
I felt something inside me crack. Like I'd just watched another version of myself suffer.
"I thought you died," I whispered. "I blamed myself for it."
He looked at me then. Really looked.
"I blamed you too. At first. But I know now—you didn't leave me. You thought I was already gone."
I swallowed hard, the weight of guilt pressing against my ribs.
"I'm sorry, Zane."
He didn't smile. But he nodded.
"I know."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy. It was mutual understanding. Mutual grief.
Two soldiers still breathing when maybe we weren't meant to.