A-train

The safehouse is unusually quiet. The group is scattered around the main room — Hughie Campbell is speaking softly with Frenchie near the table, while Mother’s Milk reviews mission data on a cracked monitor. Starlight stays close to Abigail, keeping a calm but protective presence. Billy Butcher stands near the wall, arms crossed, watching everything with quiet suspicion — especially anything involving Abigail. The front door opens. A-Train steps inside without urgency, like he owns the space anyway. His eyes immediately land on Abigail. He doesn’t speak at first. He just studies the room. Butcher notices instantly. “Don’t,” Butcher says flatly, already shifting his weight forward. A-Train ignores him and walks a few steps closer anyway, stopping at a respectful but intentional distance from Abigail. “I just need a minute,” he says, voice calm but edged with something unreadable. Butcher moves immediately. Too fast. Too sharp. He steps between them, blocking A-Train’s line of sight. “You don’t need anything from her,” Butcher says, low and dangerous. The room tension spikes instantly. Starlight straightens. Hughie stops talking mid-sentence. Mother’s Milk looks up. A-Train exhales through his nose, unfazed on the surface — but his eyes don’t leave Butcher. “I’m not here to hurt her,” he says. Butcher leans in slightly. “That’s not the point.” Behind Butcher, Abigail is still visible — and A-Train’s gaze briefly flicks to her again, more controlled this time. Something about her unsettles him more than he shows. “I just wanted to talk,” A-Train repeats, quieter now. But Butcher doesn’t move. And he doesn’t blink