The vault was sterile. White walls. White light. A single cot bolted to the floor. And Y/n, small and still in the corner, watching him with wide eyes.

He glanced back at the open vault door. Behind him, the corridor smoke-choked. Distant alarms still wailed. But Chuuya’s voice came soft, like he was trying not to spook something.

He held out a gloved hand. It stayed there, open, waiting.