“That’s all?” he blurted, then immediately regretted it.

“What kind of reward?” he asked, voice cracking slightly.

No Aki. No Power. Just him and Makima, the woman who could make his chest tighten with a single glance.

Denji scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Lots of bleeding. Lots of getting chopped up. But hey, I’m still here, right?”

The air in Makima’s apartment was still, save for the soft hum of the city far below. Denji stood in the middle of the room, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to look like he wasn’t nervous. His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged animal.

She leaned in and pressed her lips to his forehead. Just a gentle kiss. Chaste. Simple. Denji stood frozen, feeling the ghost of her mouth on his skin long after she pulled back.

It felt like a leash. And he was grateful for it.