The door shut with a soft click, the bolt sliding into place, and with it the noise of the city outside seemed to finally dim as they made themselves comfortable.
Tandy looked around the house, her eyes roaming the small space. The house was plain but clean. The floorboards were scuffed from years of wear, the walls pale but bare of decoration.
A thin rug lay in front of the couch, its corners frayed. Nothing in here spoke of luxury or abundance, only survival.
Tyrone pulled his hoodie off and tossed it onto the back of a chair, rolling his sore shoulders. His knuckles stung sharply, the split skin raw from the beating he had given the thug, though it was slowly regenerating.
He flexed his fingers, ignoring the blood dried into the creases. He could wash it off later.
"You hungry?" he asked suddenly, glancing back at Tandy who still nervously was petting Artio.
Her head lifted quickly, eyes widening slightly as if the simple question startled her. Hunger was written all over her, though, her cheeks faintly hollow, her lips pale.
She tried to shake her head, but then....
GRUMBLEEE!
A loud, noticeable grumble echoed from her stomach, making Tandy blush as she finally hesitantly nodded, as if ashamed to admit it.
Tyrone exhaled through his nose, wordlessly moving toward the tiny kitchen tucked into the corner of the house. He opened the cupboard doors, frowning at the bare shelves.
Tomorrow was supposed to be shopping day so he didn't have much on hand at the moment. A couple of canned goods, half a loaf of bred in a plastic bag and a few cup noodles. That was it.
"Not much," he muttered, mostly to himself. He grabbed the bread and a can of soup anyway, setting them down on the counter.
The can opener squeaked as he twisted it, and without any usual struggle, the metal lid effortlessly came free with a dull pop. Soon the faint smell of chicken and vegetables filled the kitchen as he warmed the soup on the old stove.
Behind him, he heard Tandy shifting, finally stepping further into the living room. Artio had followed her faithfully, brushing her thick fur against the girl's leg as if sensing her nerves and also being attracted to her very presence.
Tandy crouched beside the couch, one hand stroking through the Malamute's fur, her shoulders rising and falling with each unsteady breath.
When Tyrone carried the steaming bowl out a few minutes later, he found her sitting there with Artio's massive head resting on her lap. Tandy's fingers traced through the fur absentmindedly, her eyes unfocused, lost somewhere else entirely.
"Here."
She blinked and looked up, her gaze falling on the bowl he held. Her stomach growled audibly, betraying her, and she flushed pink as she took it carefully from his hands.
"Thank you," she whispered, looking at him and noticing he didn't bring one for himself.
Tyrone, as if noticing that, just said, "I don't feel hungry,"
Tandy nervously nodded as she dipped the spoon and took the first sip, a strange silence filling the room except for the soft clink of metal against the plate and Artio's quiet breathing.
When she set the bowl down briefly, Tyrone spoke, his tone steady but probing. "How'd you end up with them? Those guys?"
Tandy stiffened, her spoon hovering halfway to her lips. She didn't answer right away. Her gaze flickered around the room, the chipped coffee table, the patched cushions, the faint lines of dust on the shelves.
A life of scraping by, of holding things together with bare hands. So different from her world of marble floors and velvet curtains.
"I…" she started, her voice small, almost fragile. She tightened her grip on the spoon, "I ran away. From home."
Tyrone's brows furrowed slightly. She said it as if the words carried a heavy baggage she didn't want to unpack at the current moment.
"They picked me up not long after," she added quickly, her voice sharper now, final. Her eyes darted down, avoiding his. "That's all."
He studied her for a long moment, but didn't press further, recognizing that she was not comfortable saying more. Instead, he simply nodded.
"You don't have to explain more," he said quietly.
Her shoulders sagged, as if relieved, and she returned to her food. Bite by bite, the tension seemed to bleed out of her frame, her trembling easing as warmth filled her stomach.
By the time the bowl was empty, her eyelids had begun to droop, exhaustion catching up with her after everything that had happened.
Artio shifted onto the couch beside her, her large body curling protectively at Tandy's side. The girl hesitated only a moment before leaning into the dog's thick fur, resting her head against the gentle rise and fall of Artio's breathing.
Tyrone watched silently as Tandy's lashes fluttered closed, her hand still resting lightly on the dog's back. Within minutes, her breathing evened, soft and steady, her lips parting slightly as she surrendered to sleep.
For a long time, he didn't move. He sat there in the dim light of the single lamp, his gaze drifting between the sleeping girl and the loyal dog. His fists ached. His chest still throbbed faintly with the hunger that had nearly consumed him earlier.
Tyrone finally pushed himself up from the chair, his hands were sticky, knuckles dark with dried blood. He flexed them once more, grimacing at the crust cracking in the creases of his fingers. He needed a shower.
The bathroom was small, barely large enough for the chipped sink, fog-stained mirror, and the narrow tub with a curtain hanging slightly off its rail. He stripped down, his hoodie and shirt sticking faintly to his back, and stepped under the spray of lukewarm water.
The blood loosened immediately, swirling in rust-colored threads down his arms and spiraling into the drain. The heat worked its way into his shoulders, and Tyrone tilted his head back, letting the water run over his face, his eyes closed.
When he finally glanced down at himself, he froze.
His chest rose and fell steadily, the water outlining muscles that hadn't been there before. Defined ridges of abs, the firm line of his shoulders, the carved shape of his arms.
He had never trained for this. Especially after the death of his father and brother, he'd been like a zombie, spending most of his time either going to school, or doing the bare minimum online work to sustain himself.
Yet here he was, different, stronger. He touched his abdomen, running a hand over skin that felt tighter, leaner. Taller, too, he could see it in the mirror beyond the shower's steam, the way his frame filled more of the cramped space.
Before, he was around 6'1, but now he was around 6'5 or maybe a slight bit taller.
And then there was the hunger, or the lack of it. for material goods. The thought of bread or noodles from the cupboard brought no reaction, no pang of desire.
Instead, when he pictured Tandy, asleep on the couch, her chest rising and falling in soft rhythm… he felt it. The faint thrum inside him, the thing that had been clawing earlier, now soothed by her very presence.
Not food. Not water.
Her light.
He braced himself against the tile wall, droplets trailing down his arms. The realization was faint, half-formed, but undeniable.
He remembered something, scraps from a Marvel wiki he'd scrolled in his past life.
Cloak.
A hero wrapped in darkness, feeding on light. He had thought it was just another edgy comic book character back then and moved on with his life. The character wasn't that important to him at all, and the only reason he remembered him was because he was a duo with another hero.
Dagger.
Now, seeing himself and Tandy, Tyrone knew he had, somehow, become half of that duo while in the DC Universe, and that caused a-lot of thoughts to swirl in his mind.
When he stepped out, he toweled himself dry and pulled on fresh clothes, the fabric hanging differently against his taller, leaner frame. He padded back into the living room where the lamp still glowed faintly, washing the space in soft gold.
Tandy hadn't moved much. She lay curled against Artio, her lips parted in the slack peace of exhaustion, one hand still threaded through the dog's fur. The sight tugged something in him, a quiet tension he couldn't name.
He lowered himself onto the floor beside the couch, tugging the thin blanket from its backrest over his own shoulders.
The hardwood pressed into his side, but the nearness of her made the ache inside him ease. He closed his eyes, feeling the faint radiance she gave off like warmth against the edge of his shadows.
It wasn't food, but it was enough.
And with the sound of Tandy's quiet breathing above him, and Artio's steady huff of canine sleep, Tyrone let the dark take him. Not the devouring kind that waited in the pit of his powers, but a softer, merciful dark that let him rest.