The raid had been textbook. Twelve minutes to breach. Eight to secure the perimeter. Two more to detain the low-level dealers scrambling for exits they'd never reach.

But the heroes sweeping the lower levels had stopped moving entirely.

The door they found was reinforced steel, hidden behind collapsed shelving units. Inside, the room was small. Cramped. A single mattress on the floor. A bucket in the corner. Chains bolted to the wall with the cuffs still hanging open.

And on the mattress, curled so small she barely occupied space, was a girl who shouldn't exist anymore.

Then Aizawa's voice returned—hoarse, raw, stripped of every layer of composure he'd built over eight years.