The hero sat alone at the bar, helmet on the counter, drink untouched.
That was how Rook recognized him.
Burnout had a posture. She knew it because she'd worn it herself—back when she'd still had a call sign that barely made the lower tiers of the registry and a costume no one remembered unless it tore.
She took the stool two seats down.
Did not look at him.
Ordered water.
---
"You're supposed to be off-duty if you're drinking in uniform," she said mildly.
The hero snorted. "You're supposed to be reporting me."
"Former hero," Rook replied. "Retired. Minor league. Nobody cared."
That got his attention.
He glanced sideways. "You don't look retired."
She smiled faintly. "That's because I healed."
---
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then he sighed.
"I'm tired," he said, like admitting defeat.
Rook nodded. "Yeah."
"They reassigned my team again," he continued. "No notice. No overlap. Just—'you're adaptable.'"
Rook winced. "That's what they told me when I broke my ankle stopping a warehouse fire."
He blinked. "You were frontline?"
"Low-tier disaster response," she said. "Floods. Fires. Evac corridors. The kind of work that keeps people alive but doesn't make headlines."
He nodded slowly. "Those are the ones that chew you up."
"Yes," she said. "They do."
---
He nudged his drink. Didn't touch it.
"I tore my shoulder last month," he said. "Healer patched it enough to send me back out. Physical therapy was 'non-essential.'"
Rook's jaw tightened.
"They said if I logged it again, I'd be sidelined without pay."
She turned then, eyes sharp. "You lose healthcare if you're inactive?"
He stared at her. "…You didn't?"
"No," she said. "I lost mine the moment they stamped me 'non-critical.'"
That silence hurt.
---
"I couldn't afford rehab," she continued quietly. "Or therapy. Or follow-ups. I healed wrong."
She tapped her ankle once, the faintest tell.
"Command told me I should be proud I'd served."
He swallowed. "That's what they say."
"Because it's cheaper than care," Rook replied.
---
He looked at her carefully now. "So what happened?"
"I stopped being useful," she said simply. "And I stopped pretending gratitude was the same as support."
Another pause.
"…And now?" he asked.
"Now I work for a villain," she said calmly.
He barked a laugh. "Of course you do."
---
She didn't rise to it.
"He offers healthcare," Rook said. "Full coverage. Active, inactive, retired. Physical, mental, chronic injuries. Therapy without command oversight."
The hero froze.
"…You're joking."
"I took six months off for rehab," she continued. "Paid. No guilt. No pressure to return early."
"That's insane."
"Yes," she agreed. "It's also why I can walk without pain."
---
"Villains exploit people," he said weakly.
"Some do," Rook replied. "Mine fixed my ankle."
"That's propaganda."
She smiled faintly. "I said this wasn't a pitch."
---
He rubbed his face, exhaustion leaking through the cracks.
"I can't even talk to a therapist without a superior present," he muttered. "They say it's for readiness."
"You don't heal under surveillance," Rook said softly.
That one landed.
---
"So what's the catch?" he asked.
"You don't get medals for martyrdom," she said. "You get told to rest."
"That's it?"
"And you're allowed to say no," she added. "To missions. To overtime. To pain."
He laughed quietly. "A villain who won't let you break yourself."
"Yes."
---
He stood, helmet under his arm.
"You're really not recruiting me."
"No," she said. "If I were, I'd give you my old hero speech. And I hated those."
He hesitated.
"…What happens if I just walk away."
"Nothing," Rook said. "You go home. You ice your shoulder. You sleep."
He studied her, searching for the angle.
Found none.
"…Thanks," he said quietly.
"Anytime."
---
He left.
Rook stayed.
She didn't follow.
That was the rule.
---
Across the city, a hero went home sober, booked a private healer despite the cost, and slept for ten uninterrupted hours.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, a dangerous thought took root:
If a minor hero mattered enough to be cared for… why didn't he?
Rook filed no report.
She didn't need to.
Recruitment under the Dark Lord did not begin with promises.
It began with proof.
With healthcare.
With rest.
With the radical idea that even small heroes were worth keeping whole.
And once someone learned that?
They never stopped noticing who treated them like they were replaceable.