Robinn hadn’t planned on going inside the warehouse. The mission was to gain information without drawing attention, certainly not to put herself in danger.

  And yet... here she was. In danger. Probably.

  There was no way to be sure. She couldn’t reform, not without risking someone spotting her, and she didn’t even know if she was fully inside the building or if she’d miscounted her steps.

  According to her quick mental map of the street, she should’ve barely crossed the door. To check, she stretched her right arm back, swinging it around as far as she normally could, then shifted her fingertips back into flesh.

  Cold metal brushed against her skin. A wall. She was inside. She quickly dissolved her fingertips back into air before anyone could notice the disturbance, and waited.

  The longer she waited, the less likely someone would be close to the door.

  After what felt like forever, maybe thirty seconds, maybe five minutes, she risked shifting her eyes back.

  The sensory backlash hit like static through her nerves, though it wasn’t as bad in the dark. Still, without eyelids or sockets to shield them, her bare eyes burned against the air.

  She forced herself to focus, scanning the room quickly.

  She was in the far-left corner of a spacious warehouse. A few battered couches and a flatscreen TV sat four meters ahead, where three men were sprawled out watching. Another figure lingered by a plastic table in the far-right corner, hunched over what looked like a halfhearted mix between a dinner spread and a meeting setup.

  Her gaze lifted. A second floor covered half the warehouse, rickety metal stairs curling up toward what looked like a makeshift office.

  No sign of Buzzsaw. No sign of the hostage.

  But she knew what she’d heard. Back in the alley, just as these men opened the door, a female voice had cried out. Desperate. Terrified. That single cry had pushed Robinn inside before she’d thought it through.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The men were distracted now, absorbed by their TV and their sandwiches. No way she could double back to the door unnoticed. Her best bet was to gather as much intel as she could before slipping away.

  And that office upstairs screamed intel.

  Of course, it was also directly above the plastic table where one of the goons sat, chewing his sandwich without a care in the world.

  Her eyeballs stood out too much against the metal walls, so she adjusted them, shifting them to a dull steel-grey. Better camouflage but costly. Even such a small bit of metal drained her stamina. The clock had started ticking.

  She moved carefully. Steps only when the men were distracted. A cough covered one stride, laughter another. Their attention remained fixed on their own little worlds.

  By the time she reached the base of the stairs, the goon at the table had finished his meal. He leaned back in his chair, gaze wandering lazily across the room, straight into her direction.

  Her breath caught.

  She studied the stairs intently, memorizing every creak and gap, then melted into air once more. No senses now. No sight, no sound, no touch. Just the mental picture she’d built, guiding her step by step up the rickety staircase.

  When she judged herself at the top, she reformed her head. Pain flared sharp and bright as her senses slammed back in. But from here, none of the men could see her.

  She peeked into the room. It was set up like a temporary office, papers and suspicious packages stacked haphazardly on desks. Bundles of cash gleamed faintly in the dark. At the far end was a closed door.

  Her eyes widened. A muffled cry came through it, the same girl, her voice weak but still fighting.

  Robinn’s whole body shifted back into its normal form as she slipped inside. She was alone, but not for long. The girl was louder now, joined by a second voice. Rough and male. Buzzsaw.

  Her hand turned the knob before she could stop herself.

  The room was dim, lit only by a window across from the door. A wooden table stood in the center, heavier and more ornate than the plastic junk outside.

  Buzzsaw stood beside it, his head jerking up when the door opened. Surprise flashed across his scarred features. A circular sawblade spun in his arm, raised high above his head.

  Robinn’s eyes snapped to the table.

  A girl, maybe twenty at most, was strapped to it. Each limb tied to a corner. She wore nothing but torn underwear. Her skin bore bruises and cuts, her gag muffling the panicked scream in her eyes.

  Robinn moved instantly, stepping forward, fist cocked, every muscle locked on Buzzsaw.

  He moved just as fast, swinging his saw-hand down until the blade hovered a hair’s breadth from the girl’s throat. The victim whimpered through her gag, thrashing against her restraints.

  Buzzsaw’s grin stretched wide and cruel.

  "I don't know what yer doing, but I wouldn't move another inch closer if I were you, or she's dead," he rasped, his voice like gravel dragged across metal.

  Robinn froze, glaring daggers at him, every nerve vibrating with rage.

  Buzzsaw chuckled at her obedience, the sawblade still spinning inches from flesh. "Well, at least you ain't dumb." His eyes crawled down her body. "That looks like a U.A. uniform, is it not? What are you, a student?"

  She said nothing, just kept glaring, brain racing for any possible angle.

  "Speak up, little lady," he pressed, nudging the blade closer.

  Her jaw tightened. Her words came out clipped. "Yes. I'm a U.A. student."

  Buzzsaw tilted his head, the realization dawning ugly across his face. "Wait a minute. You're that stupid girl who said she'd be the next All Might!" He barked out harsh laughter, the blade twitching dangerously with each spasm. "Just my luck! Got miss hero here stickin’ her nose in my business."

  His leer deepened, crawling with malice. "You're a sweet-lookin’ lady. I'll have my way with you after I'm done with this one." He jabbed his weapon toward the hostage. "So be a good girl, and tie yourself up."

  Robinn stepped forward despite herself, fury tightening her throat. She hadn’t felt anger this raw in a while, it clouded everything, boiling hot and blinding.

  The blade pressed harder into the hostage’s skin, a bead of blood sliding down her neck. Robinn froze again, her heartbeat hammering.

  "I said not another step, missy," Buzzsaw crooned, his grin spreading wider, darker.

  And the smile never left his face.