Emma steps into the dim corner where Kane sits, the single bulb throwing half his face into shadow. He looks smaller than she remembers — not weaker, just raw, like a wound that's finally being cleaned.
She drops down on the crate opposite him without ceremony. For a moment she watches him, silent.
"Did you finally do it?" she asks matter-of-factly. No triumph, no venom — just a scalpel of a question.
Kane swallows. His voice is flat. "I didn't kill him." He looks up, eyes tired. "We took them. Names, receipts, routes. I made them talk. I—" He struggles for the word. "I made sure they can't do it again."
Emma nods once. The faintest softening touches her features — a small, almost invisible approval. "Good," she says. "That was the right way."
She leans forward, elbows on knees, and her tone goes softer but still sharp. "Now don't make this about revenge. Make it about her. Make it about everyone who can't fix themselves. Get stronger for them. Train harder. Learn to keep people alive instead of dying for a moment."
Kane's jaw tightens. "I don't know how not to hit."
"You learn," Emma replies. "You listen, you practice, you breathe through it. Use anger as fuel, not as the hammer." She taps the table once. "Diana'll keep breaking you down and rebuilding you. Mostang will teach you how to hold a line. Valeria will teach you how to move like a weapon. I'll teach you when to end a thing."
He laughs, small and rough. "Sounds like a full curriculum."
"It is," Emma says. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the torn photograph they'd taken of Mira's sleeve — a small, faded corner. She slides it across to him. "Keep this. Not as a reason to die, but as a reason to live right."
Kane takes it with shaking fingers, palms closing over the paper like a promise. He nods, something like resolve settling over his features.
Emma stands, dusts her hands. Before she leaves she looks back once, quieter than before. "We're not saints, Kane. We're not clean. But we can choose which things to dirty our hands with. Choose well."
He watches her go, then breathes out, small and steady. The night hums around the hideout — wounds, plans, and the slow, hard work of getting better.
----
Diana leans against the doorway, arms crossed, her expression unreadable as she listens to Kane's question. The room is dimly lit — only the flickering light from a broken lamp and the faint hum of the rain outside fill the silence.
Kane repeats, quieter this time.
"What's Emma's story?.."
For a moment, Diana doesn't answer. She looks down, breathing through her nose. Then, she pushes off the wall and walks over, pulling up a chair beside him.
"You really wanna know?"
Kane nods.
Diana exhales slowly. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
She looks away for a second, her voice steady but tinged with something darker.
"Emma wasn't born like this. The calm, cold, smart killer thing — it's not natural. She was just… a kid. Just like you once were."
Kane listens, eyes narrowing.
"When we were kids, Emma used to be quiet, but… not cold. She liked birds, remember? She'd feed them during recess while everyone else laughed or fought. And when someone bullied another kid, Emma was the one who stood up. She wasn't strong — not yet — but she was brave."
Diana's eyes darken. "Then one day… she didn't show up to school. That was the day her life was taken away."
Kane looks up, confused. "Taken away how?"
"There was a man. Vencor." Diana's voice hardens, venom dripping from the name. "He forced her to kill her own parents. Watched it. Recorded it. Said it was her 'initiation.' After that, he kept her — trained her — turned her into his personal weapon. She killed whoever he pointed at. Men, women… even kids."
Kane's breath catches. "She— killed kids?"
Diana nods slowly. "Yeah. She didn't want to. But she did. She had no choice back then. And it destroyed her. Bit by bit. Until there was almost nothing left."
She looks up at him. "When she escaped, she didn't smile again. Not once. Everything she does now — fighting, building this team, saving people — it's not about glory. It's redemption. She's trying to clean a stain that never fades."
Kane stares down, fists tightening. "…No wonder she said that to me."
"What did she say?"
Kane murmurs, almost to himself, "She asked if I wanted to die like my sister."
Diana nods faintly. "Yeah. That's her way of saving people. Harsh, cold, real. Emma's not good at comforting — she's good at surviving."
Silence fills the air. Rain hits the metal roof.
Finally, Kane looks up. "Then… why's she still fighting?"
Diana gives a small smile. "Because she still believes she can save what's left of herself. And maybe… us too."
The room falls quiet again. Kane looks toward the door Emma had left through, eyes burning not with pity — but with understanding.