Here the rewrite it said I was going to do jope yall liked it add more stuff I'm gonna parent pretty well i hope you enjoy
Chapter 1 — the shadows are darkest before light
The doctor's office smelled like old coffee and lemon cleaner. I sat on the paper sheet that made crinkling noises whenever I moved. My All Might figure was in my pocket; I kept touching the edge of his hair spikes through the fabric like a good luck charm.
The doctor didn't look mean. He just looked tired—like he'd said the same sentence too many times and couldn't make it sound new.
"Based on the X-ray," he said, tapping the film where my tiny foot bones floated, "there's no extra joint in his pinky toe. That correlates with… a reduced likelihood of developing a quirk."
He waited. People always wait right there, like maybe you'll cry so they don't have to.
Mom didn't. She squeezed my hand once. "All right," she said, as if he'd told her it might rain. "What should we focus on to strengthen his body and make sure he's healthy?"
The doctor blinked. "Ah—just… general health stuff like eating well, exercising, and getting plenty of rest."
"Great." She smiled politely and stood, already shouldering her bag. "Come on, Izuku. The trains are busy on Saturdays."
On the platform she sat me on her lap after she bought a can of soda from the vending machine, even though she doesn't like me having sugar in the afternoon. When I asked, "Does that mean I can't be a hero?" she didn't look away, instead she hugged me tight.
"You can be anything if you don't stop trying," she said. "Heroes keep going when it's hard. You're good at that."
She said it like a fact, not a wish.
That was how it started—not with an apology, but with a promise.
---
I liked Kachan.
He was loud and fast and always moving like gravity didn't apply. The first time he cracked a real explosion in his palm, the whole class shrieked. I clapped too and later I wrote in my notebook about the angle of his wrist, the way recoil made him move. I wasn't jealous—I was fascinated with a new favorite subject.
We were six when we went down to the riverbed after school—the creek behind the fence and the teachers pretended not to see us. A fallen tree lay across the shallow water, bark worn smooth by sneakers.
"I'll go first," Katsuki said, obviously. He stepped onto the trunk, arms slightly out, little pops of light flicking in his hands for balance because even walking was a performance for him.
He was halfway across when the bark gave. He dropped with a splash and a yelp, vanishing in muddy water up to his waist.
I didn't think. I ran to the edge and reached down. "Are you okay? Take my—"
He looked up. For one breath I saw a kid who was surprised and embarrassed and probably cold.
Then something flared in his eyes—fury, raw and sudden. He slapped my hand away hard enough to sting. "Don't you dare look down on me, Deku."
I froze. He climbed out on the far side and stalked away, dripping, while the others laughed the weird laugh people make when they don't know which side to pick.
That was the last day I called him Kacchan.
---
It didn't turn all at once. It leaked in.
He started by saying "Deku" like it meant loser, and then it just meant me. He'd shoulder-push me in the hall and say, "Watch it," even when I was already against the wall. Sparks snapped at my ankles under the table. He'd reach over and flip my notebook closed mid-sentence.
The teachers didn't see it—or didn't want to. "Work it out," they said when I tried to explain.
One day he caught me behind the gym where there was no one to see. He had his two shadows with him—the boys who laughed and mocked me with him all the time. He snatched my hero journal and fanned the pages with his thumb. "Wow. You write pretty good for a deku."
I reached for it. He held it just out of reach and smiled. The little pops in his palm smelled like metal and smoke. "Heroes don't need essays. They need quirks."
He lit the corner with a flick. The page curled black. I grabbed the opposite edge, but he let go suddenly—like he wanted me to hold the burning thing. I flinched and dropped it, and he laughed.
"Careful, you wouldn't want to get hurt would you ," he said with a cocky smirk, and a small blast punched my shoulder—not enough to throw me, but enough that I stumbled and my left side went hot and numb. My knees hit the gravel. The sting came after, sharp and electric.
"Maybe if you felt a real quirk, you'd stop pretending," he said. His friends snorted like he'd told a joke. I pressed my palm to my sleeve and smelled fabric crisping.
"Stop," I heard myself say, but it sounded like a word someone else had dropped.
He didn't.
After that, it became routine—taunts in the morning, a shove at lunch, a "lesson" after school. Enough that my body started flinching before my eyes caught up. Enough that I walked with my head down and my hands tucked in to keep from shaking.
There was the day on the stairs. He waited at the landing where the hallway turned, and when I reached it he stepped across my foot. My balance went sideways. I caught the rail; a spark popped near my wrist; my fingers slipped and I hit the step with my hip hard enough to see stars. He laughed and kept walking. "Clumsy, Deku."
There was the puddle outside the gate after rain. He didn't have to touch me; one blast near my feet was enough to take my breath and send me sprawling. I stood there, water soaking my socks, and heard him say, "He jumped. Pathetic."
The worst were the burns. The nurse called them "friction" when I said I fell. Mom found one once while folding my laundry—a pink oval at the top of my arm.
"What happened?" she asked, voice gentle but tight.
"Just an accident."
She frowned, but didn't push. She cleaned it herself, fingers so soft my eyes burned. "You don't have to be like them," she said. "Be you. That's enough."
I wanted to believe her. I did. But belief doesn't stop your stomach from tightening when a door opens too fast.
---
The Day the Shadows Moved
It had been a good day. That's what made the world turning upside down so strange—the calm before it wasn't fake.
Mom and I didn't go out much; she worked double shifts at the hospital as a nurse, and I usually stayed home drawing costume designs or watching old hero fights. But that Saturday she decided to go to the mall and said, "Come on, Izuku. You need new shoes and you need to get out of the house anyway," and smiled like it was a secret mission.
We rode the train into Musutafu Central Mall, where the air smelled of soft pretzels and cheap perfume, and the glass roof turned sunlight into warmth that felt almost like summer.
I trailed beside her through shops that all played the same cheerful music. For a little while, the world was ordinary. People carried bags, laughed at sales—the kind of background noise that made it easy to pretend life was simple.
When we stopped at a shoe store, Mom made me try on a pair that squeaked every step. "They'll fit after a week," she promised, and I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway.
The moment before everything changed—that moment is still clear. The store lights flickered once, like a camera flash.
Then the floor shook.
The first boom came from below—a deep, ugly sound that wasn't thunder. People froze, half in and half out of doorways, bags hanging from their arms.
Then came the screaming.
Smoke erupted through the stairwell near the the food court. Something metal screeched, and glass rained from the third floor like ice shards.
"Villains!" someone yelled.
Mom grabbed my wrist instantly. "Izuku, stay with me!"
We ran toward the emergency exit signs, weaving through the crowd. But the mall was built like a maze—too many corners, too many blind spots. Somewhere, a child was crying. The alarms hadn't even started yet; it was just chaos.
We turned the corner toward the fountain plaza—and stopped dead.
They were there. A gang—five, maybe six of them—dressed in scavenged armor and masks that looked like they'd been welded together from scrap metal. The one in front was tall, covered in jagged black spikes that jutted from his shoulders like steel thorns. Another had glassy skin that shimmered like oil.
People tripped over benches trying to run. One villain grabbed a security guard and threw him aside like a doll. Another raised a weapon that crackled with electricity.
Mom's hand tightened around mine. "Izuku, move—"
The spined one turned toward the sound. His eyes found us.
For one terrible second, I couldn't move. My brain was white noise. He raised his arm and the spikes on his forearm flexed outward. He was trying to get everyone behind us , hurt me, but worse he was trying to hurt mom.
Something deep in my chest snapped. Not broken and slowly opening. It snapped open like a flood gate.
The world dimmed—not the power, not the light bulbs—the world itself. Every sound dropped away except my heartbeat. The shadows from all over stretched like a river pouring downhill.
They answered me.
The black between my feet rippled, lifted, and solidified in a single heartbeat—a massive jagged wall of darkness burst upward between us and the villains. The spikes he fired struck it, sparks flashing where metal met something that shouldn't exist.
People gasped. The air turned cold.
The wall wasn't smooth—it looked alive, shifting and breathing. And even I could feel it—it was angry.
I didn't understand what I'd done. I just knew Mom was behind me, and if I moved, she wouldn't be.
"Run!" I shouted.
The villain snarled and swung his arm again. This time he put a lot more effort into it and I wasn't fast enough. One of the spikes ripped through the side of the shadow wall and caught me as I turned. Pain exploded down my neck and shoulder—hot, sharp, a line of fire that knocked me sideways.
Mom screamed my name.
I hit the ground, hand flying to my neck. Blood poured between my fingers, fast and warm. The wall of shadow buckled and flaked apart slightly, but didn't fall—it pulsed once more and grew jagged, as if reacting to my pain and was ready to attack.
The villains hesitated. For the first time, they looked unsure, Due to the shadow wall looming over them no looking more aggressive then a second ago.
Mom was there in an instant, dropping beside me. Her hands pressed her scarf to my neck, eyes wide, breath shaking—but her movements were practiced. "It's okay, baby, I've got you—just breathe for me."
Her voice wavered, but her hands never did.
A dark-haired girl rushed forward from the fleeing crowd, dropping to her knees beside Mom. She pressed her palms together, and a flash of light appeared—when it faded, a roll of white fabric lay in her hands.
"Here," she said quickly. "I can make more."
Mom nodded, shifting her scarf aside just enough to help her wrap the bandages. "Tighter—yes, just like that."
Another girl appeared on my other side, her palms glowing faint gold. "I can help," she said softly, her light already seeping through the bandage. The bleeding slowed; the fire in my shoulder eased to a dull throb.
"Stay with us," she murmured.
All around us, chaos thundered—smoke, shouting, the distant roar of fire. Then a deep, booming voice cut through it all.
"Step away from the civilians!"
Flames tore through the haze, scattering the villains like shadows under a floodlight. The air turned to heat, and the bright crackle of ice followed.
A young voice cried out over the din—high, scared, and certain. "Dad!" looking over at me and pointing with wide eyes.
Through the smoke, a girl about my age clung to the sleeve of a towering man in a flaming coat. Her hair split white and red, her expression frozen between fear and focus.
Endeavor. And his daughter, caught up in the emergency he couldn't ignore.
"Stay back, Shōko!" he barked after glanecing over at me, stepping forward to meet the fight head-on and in a hurry to end it.
She didn't move—just stayed close to the wall, eyes darting to the injured civilians, to me, to the strange, writhing shadows that had begun to fade. She looked like she made a decision and a second later a large ice wall sprung up between the civilians and the fight.
The villains broke ranks under the assault, retreating through shattered glass and flame. The smell of burning plastic and ozone filled the air.
The shadows beneath me stirred one last time, twitching like they wanted to rise again, but I could barely keep my eyes open.
The black haired girl pressed the last wrap into place, the other ones glow dimmed as exhaustion caught both of them. Shōko crouched a few feet away, frost forming instinctively at her fingertips—thin veins of ice spreading across the tiles, cooling the air and easing the heat against my skin.
For the first time since the attack began, it was quiet.
Mom caught me again, pulling me close, her voice trembling. "Izuku, I've got you."
I wanted to tell her I was fine. I wanted to tell her the shadows were still there. But everything felt distant—like I was sinking under warm, dark water.
Endeavor's voice rumbled somewhere above. "Good work, kids. You bought him time."
Momo and Nerissa looked up, startled. He wasn't scolding—just watching. Measuring.
Shōko glanced toward me, hearing the crowd whisper about the boy who'd made a wall of darkness to protect them. She met her father's eyes, then said quietly, "He saved people."
Endeavor grunted. "Then he did what heroes do."
I barely heard him. My vision dimmed at the edges. The last thing I remember before the world went dark was Mom's arms around me, her heartbeat pounding steady against my ear—alive, warm—and the faint shimmer of frost melting into mist above us.
---
-later that night-
The first sound I noticed was the monitor — slow, steady, and unfamiliar. Beep… beep… beep.
My eyelids felt heavy, glued together. When I finally managed to open them, the world was white and too bright. A hospital room. The antiseptic smell hit a second later.
For a heartbeat, I thought I was still in the mall. The flash of spikes, the roar of fire — it all came rushing back in a single, messy blur.
Then I saw her.
Mom sat slouched forward in the chair beside my bed, her head resting on folded arms. Her scarf — the one that had been pressed against my neck — was draped across her lap, stained dark all over.
"Mom…" My voice cracked.
She stirred instantly, blinking the sleep away. "Izuku?" Her tone went from weary to alive in an instant. "Oh, thank God."
She reached for my hand, clutching it like she was afraid I'd vanish again. "How do you feel?"
I tried to sit up; my shoulder disagreed. "Like I lost a fight with a blender."
Despite everything, she laughed — quiet and shaky but real. "Still making jokes, huh?"
The movement pulled at the stitches, and I winced. "Did the villains—?"
"Caught," she said quickly. "Endeavor and a few others handled the rest once they arrived. You helped save a lot of people, Izuku."
I blinked at her. "I… did?"
She nodded toward the small TV in the corner, the volume turned low. The screen showed the mall footage again — security-cam footage smoky, but clear enough.
The wall of black rising from nowhere. The crowd behind it. The boy in front, half-hidden by shadow. Then me getting hit and falling then it cuts out.
"That's…" My throat tightened. "That's me."
Mom squeezed my hand gently. "The news called it a miracle. They're saying your quirk manifested under stress — a defensive reflex."
"Quirk…" The word tasted strange. I'd spent years hearing I didn't have one.
Now it sounded too small for what I saw on that screen.
I watched the shadow move — alive, furious, protective.
It didn't feel like a miracle. It felt like something ancient that had just woken up.
Mom's voice softened. "You scared me half to death, but… I'm proud of you."
I looked at her — the dark circles under her eyes, the hospital badge still clipped to her jacket. She'd stayed the whole time. "You stayed?"
"Of course I did." She brushed my hair back. "You're my son."
The words hit harder than I expected. My chest ached and not from the injury.
We sat like that for a long time, the TV flickering in the corner. Reporters replayed the moment again and again, slowing it down, analyzing every frame.
Somewhere in that crowd of footage, I caught glimpses of the girls who had helped me.
I owed them everything.
The doctor came in briefly to check vitals, speaking in polite half-sentences about observation and quirk registration forms. I nodded when he did, though most of it washed past.
When the room was quiet again, I stared at the ceiling. The hum of the lights filled the silence.
The shadows beneath my bed stretched long in the fluorescent glow — just ordinary shapes, harmless. But when I looked closer, I could've sworn one of them shifted, slow and deliberate, like it was breathing.
—Hospital, Late Morning—
The doctor returned after Mom stepped out to get coffee, flipping through his tablet with the polite focus of someone trying not to wake a patient. "You're recovering well, Midoriya," he said quietly. "The wound's closed enough that you'll be moved to a regular room by evening."
I nodded, the bandage tugging a little when I turned my head. "What about the others? The girls who helped me?"
He smiled faintly. "Ah, you mean the two students who assisted with first aid? They're both here. The dark-haired one—Yaoyorozu—suffered mild quirk exhaustion from over-creating materials under stress. The other, Ravencroft, drained her energy performing light-based healing. They'll both be fine after some rest."
The words hit harder than I expected. They'd risked collapsing to keep me alive. "Can I see them?"
"Not yet. We're limiting movement until the police finish statements. But they asked about you." He checked the monitor. "And there's someone else who might stop by soon. A hero. You caused quite a stir."
I blinked. "A hero?"
The doctor chuckled softly. "You saved more than twenty people before Endeavor's team arrived. That tends to attract attention."
When he left, the silence came back—except now it wasn't empty. Somewhere in the next wing, I could hear faint conversation and laughter—two girls, light and tired. It pulled a small smile out of me before I even realized.
I leaned back against the pillow. The news might call it a miracle, but all I could think about was how ordinary they'd looked while helping: frightened, shaking, determined anyway.
The heart monitor clicked its rhythm again. Beep… beep… beep. For the first time since the accident, the sound didn't feel lonely.
The next time the door opened, it wasn't the doctor.
The sound of heavy footsteps reached, followed by a stern voice that didn't belong to a nurse. "Is this the boy from the mall incident?"
Even half-asleep, I knew that tone. It wasn't a question so much as a demand for confirmation.
Mom stood quickly, her hand tightening on the back of the chair. "Endeavor…?"
He filled the doorway like a moving wall. His hero coat hung heavy over his shoulders, faint smoke curling off the fabric from a battle that probably hadn't even ended when he came here. His eyes flickered over me, assessing—not unkindly, but precise.
"I came to make sure the civilians who were injured before I arrived are recovering well" he said simply. "And to meet the one responsible for keeping so many alive, you did a good job, kid."
My throat went dry. Endeavor. The Number Two Hero. I didn't know what to say. "Uh—thank you… sir?"
His gaze didn't linger on the injury; it went to the corner of the room, where the faintest sliver of shadow from the window traced across the tile. "That was your quirk."
I nodded slowly. "I think so."
Mom's tone carried that polite edge she used when she wasn't sure how to feel. "My son didn't have a registered quirk until now. It—appeared suddenly."
"Manifestation under stress," Endeavor murmured. "Not uncommon. Rarely this strong."
Behind him, a smaller voice spoke up. "He's the boy with the shadows, right?"
I leaned a little, and that's when I saw her—half hiding behind Endeavor's coat. A girl my age, maybe a bit older. Hair split evenly red and white, eyes sharp but curious. She was in just a simple blue hoodie that looked borrowed.
"Shōko," Endeavor said, his tone softening slightly, "you shouldn't be out of the waiting room."
"I wanted to see him," she said quietly, still looking at me. "The news said he protected everyone before the heroes arrived."
He sighed, the kind of sigh only a parent can make. "You saw it yourself. You were there."
She nodded. "Yeah, but… I didn't get to see it."
It was simple, sincere, and it made something in my chest twist a little.
Endeavor stepped aside enough for her to come closer, though he didn't move far. Her gaze flicked to the bandages on my neck, then back to my eyes. "You're lucky. That cut looked really bad."
"Yeah," I said, smiling weakly. "Got hit before I knew what was happening."
She hesitated. "Your quirk—it didn't feel scary. Most of the people said it felt… protective. Warm, even though it looked dark."
I didn't know how to answer that. "I didn't mean to do anything. It just… happened when Mom was in danger."
Shōko gave a small nod. "Then that's the best kind of power."
Behind her, Endeavor's voice cut through the moment, calm but firm. "That's enough, Shōko. He needs rest."
"Right," she said quickly, stepping back.
Before they left, Endeavor glanced once more at me, his gaze unreadable. "Keep training. Whatever that power is, it's strong—and strength should have purpose."
Then they left leaving the room quiet again.
I exhaled, finally realizing I'd been holding my breath.
Mom sat down slowly. "Well," she muttered. "That's not something you see every day."
"No kidding," I whispered, staring at the door. The tiles beneath me glowed faintly in the evening light—and in the smallest corner of that glow, the shadow at my feet curved like it was smiling.
By late afternoon, the nurses moved me to a larger recovery room. "Easier for observation," one said with a practiced smile. It took me a second to realize it wasn't just for me.
Two other beds were already occupied.which held two sets of people both have children with parents
The black haired girl I think Yaoyorozu sat upright in one, hair tied back in a loose bun, an IV hooked into her arm. Even pale and tired, she had that quiet, composed presence that made her seem older than the rest of us. Next to her, I assumed Ravencroft lay half-reclined, arms crossed over her stomach, faint blue light still tracing along her fingertips—little sparks of energy that refused to fade completely. Both had their parents sat at their side talking with one another.
When they both noticed me, two smiles broke the hospital monotony at once.
"You're awake!" Nerissa said, practically sitting up. Her voice was as bright as the light she used.
Momo smiled more gently. "That's a relief. You've been out since yesterday."
I rubbed the back of my neck, careful of the bandages. "Guess I needed a long nap."
"More like a short coma," Nerissa said teasingly. "You bled so much I thought we were going to have to start learning CPR."
"Nerissa," Momo said, exasperated but fond.
"What?" She grinned. "He's fine now! Humor helps recovery."
I laughed despite myself. "Thanks for patching me up. Both of you."
Momo's tone softened. "You don't need to thank us. Anyone would have done the same."
"Not everyone," I said quietly. "You could have run."
Nerissa shrugged, brushing her blue-tinted bangs from her face. "I don't like running away from people who need help. And besides," she smirked, "it was kinda awesome. You made a wall of shadows. That's like something out of a fantasy movie. It looked really cool."
I felt my ears go warm. "It wasn't awesome—it was terrifying. I didn't even know what I was doing."
"That's the best part," Nerissa said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "You didn't think. You just protected people. That's hero material."
Momo nodded in agreement, her tone thoughtful. "You didn't freeze or panic. Most adults can't say the same."
I didn't know what to do with that kind of praise, so I just stared at the floor and muttered, "Guess instinct kicked in."
After a moment of silence, Inko stepped into the conversation. She bowed "Thank you so very much for helping Izuku during that incident. I can't express how much that means to me". She said while giving a watery smile.
Nerissa and momo i found out were their first names were, later being children were a little shy toward adults just said it was no problem and that anyone would have done what they did. After that mom sat near the other parent and started talking to them while I kept talking to momo and Nerissa.
The door opened in the middle of our conversation.
"Sorry if I'm interrupting."
It was a calm, measured voice—Shōko stepped in, a small bouquet of white lilies clutched awkwardly in both hands. "My dad said it's polite to bring flowers. I, um… didn't know which kind to pick."
Nerissa gasped softly. "You're Endeavor's daughter! You were at the mall!"
Shōko gave a small nod, setting the flowers on the bedside table. "He brought me along on patrol. He didn't have time to drop me off first, and he's also running around right now doing some work so i thought id come see izuku"
Momo smiled politely. "Well, thank you for freezing the plaza. That gave the pro heroes time to move in."
Shōko looked down, a faint blush touching her cheeks. "I didn't want anyone else to get hurt. That's all."
"It was impressive," I said honestly. "I think you saved just as many people as my shadows did."
Her eyes lifted at that—soft gray-blue, steady. "Then we both did our part."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward anymore. It was… easy. Like we'd all been through something too big for words, and now we were just grateful to sit in the same room breathing.
Nerissa broke it first, stretching her arms with a groan. "Okay, this is officially too quiet. We just survived a villain attack together. We're supposed to be celebrating, not sitting here like we're in detention."
Momo laughed under her breath. "We are in a hospital."
"Details," Nerissa waved off. "We should all hang out once we're out of here. Get food, swap stories, maybe find somewhere less likely to explode. We could all be friends!! "
Shōko tilted her head, considering. "That… sounds nice." she said softly with a light smile.
I grinned. "Yeah, it does."
Momo jumped in finally excited and started listing a bunch of stuff they could do at her house which turned out to be a massive mansion.
Nerissa sat up straighter, suddenly animated. "Perfect! Then it's settled. But first—phone numbers. I'm not trusting fate to handle this again." She fished her phone from the tray table, waving it like a flag. "Numbers. Now."
Momo sighed good-naturedly and reached for her phone. "You're impossible."
"Efficient," Nerissa corrected. "I'm making sure the dream team stays connected."
One by one, we exchanged contacts. When it was my turn, I caught Shōko hesitating with her screen open, thumb hovering.
"I, um… don't text much," she said quietly.
"That's okay," I said. "You can just ignore us when we talk too much."
That earned a tiny smile. "I won't ignore you."
We finished adding each other, and for a moment, the faint buzz of four phones connecting filled the air.
It felt like something new had started—small, fragile, but real.
The nurse came by to remind us of curfew and vitals, but none of us really heard her. We were too busy laughing at Nerissa's dramatic declaration that we were now "battle buddies for life."
Momo tried to correct her grammar; Shōko just nodded seriously, which somehow made it funnier.
I leaned back in my chair, watching them talk. The faint evening light painted our shadows across the tile—four shapes, overlapping, moving together.
---
Night settled over Musutafu General, quiet and soft, broken only by the occasional beep from the monitors. Mom had finally fallen asleep in the chair beside my bed, her hand still loosely holding mine. The lights were dimmed, but the city outside painted faint orange lines across the floor through the blinds.
I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the wall of darkness again — the moment it moved like it had a will of its own. My pulse still jumped just thinking about it.
Carefully, I slid my fingers out of Mom's grasp and turned toward the window. The shadows along the wall were long now, stretching across the tile and the sheets. They looked normal, but… they didn't feel normal. There was weight to them, like the air before a thunderstorm.
I raised my hand and whispered, "Move please?."
Nothing happened at first. Then, as if the word had taken time to sink in, the shadow near my palm rippled — a slow, liquid shift, bending toward my hand.
I froze. My heart pounded so loud I was afraid it would wake Mom. I swallowed, then tried again. "Move" I said with more intent like a order
The darkness pulsed faintly. A small tendril peeled off the rest, rising a few inches before melting back into the floor.
I stared, breath caught between awe and fear. I wasn't imagining it. .
The movement hadn't come when I asked for it. It had come when I started trying to control it.
I held out my hand again, slower this time, thinking about the people at the mall — about Mom, Momo, Nerissa, Shōko. About how I didn't want to hurt anyone. About how I wanted to protect them.
The shadow stirred again, softer this time, coiling around my fingers like mist curling toward warmth.
My throat tightened. "You're… not trying to scare me, are you?"
The shadow stilled. Then, for just a heartbeat, it thinned and spread across the floor in a wide, gentle arc — almost like a nod.
The monitor clicked quietly beside me, the rhythm steady.
I let out a long, shaky breath and smiled faintly. "Guess we'll figure this out together."
The shadow flickered once more, faintly reflecting the moonlight through the blinds.
As I leaned back into the pillow, the darkness near my bed shifted again — not threatening, not invasive, just present.
Watching. Listening.
And for the first time since everything had started, my shadow didn't feel like it belonged only to me.