Fish, Thieves, and First Impressions (3)

The moon was high. The crickets were loud. And I couldn't sleep.

The futon was fine. The radish was… edible. But the quietness? That was the problem.

Out in the wild, silence meant safety. In a noble estate like this? It meant something was creeping under the surface, just out of sight. The kind of silence that choked you. So I did what any self-respecting ronin does when sleep won't come.

I snooped.

I slipped from my room. The hallways were lit by candles, their flames twitching. I didn't take my katana—not because I didn't need it, but because anyone who made me need it would hear me coming anyway.

I passed by rooms with closed doors and muffled whispers. Servants gossiping. Retainers grumbling. The usual palace rot.

Until I heard her voice.

Not Kiyomi.

Someone older. Smoother. Female.

And someone else: a man. Deep voice. Words clipped short.

I crouched beside the shoji screen and pressed my ear to the paper.

"—you can't be serious," the man hissed.

"She's already drawn attention," the woman said. Calm. Dead calm. "This is no longer an internal matter."

"She's a child."

"She's a symbol. And symbols must be...curated."

There was a pause. Then:

"And if the ronin becomes an issue?"

There was no hesitation in her answer.

"Then we remove the sword. Cleanly."

I stood. Slowly.

No name had been mentioned. But I'd heard enough. The girl had enemies in her own house.

Probably even in her own bloodline.

And now I had a decision to make.

I could march in there, katana or not, and demand answers.

Or—

I could find Kiyomi. Wake her. Get her out. Deal with the fallout after I knew she was safe.

I didn't like either option. But if I hesitated...

Someone else might make the choice for me.

I slid the door open.

The room was small—one table, two cushions, and a teapot no one was drinking from. The man sat stiff-backed, dressed in understated noble black, the kind worn by someone who didn't need color to scream power.

The woman? She didn't even blink. Late thirties, maybe, with hair tied in a crown braid and eyes unreadable, and way too calm for someone who just got caught plotting murder.

"I assume this isn't a scheduled audience," she said.

"Guess that depends," I replied, stepping in. "Is this where I sign up to be 'cleanly removed'?"

The man rose, hand drifting toward his hip. I tilted my head.

"Draw that sword," I said, "and you'll be eating with your feet."

He froze.

The woman didn't move. "You were listening."

"I was doing my job. That's what I was hired for, right?"

She sighed. "You're emotional."

"No, lady. I'm furious. You're planning something behind that girl's back—something involving corpses. Maybe mine. Maybe hers. And you didn't even have the guts to do it out in the open."

"Because the open," she said, standing slowly, "is where fools bleed."

I stepped in. Fast. Too fast.

One hand slammed on the table. The other hovered just above my hilt.

"Say one more thing like that," I said, low and cold, "and I'll make sure your next sentence is your last."

The silence thickened. The man shifted behind her. A servant peeked into the hallway, took one look, and backed the hell away.

Finally, she spoke.

"I see why she chose you."

I blinked. "What?"

"You're crass. Violent. Impossible to control." Her lips curled in something close to a smile. "Exactly what she needs."

I pulled back, just enough to breathe.

"What's your angle?"

"No angle. Just... contingency. The girl is walking into deep water. She won't like what she finds. We needed a knife that could float."

"You manipulated her."

"She's sixteen."

Those words hung in the air. Heavy. Sharp.

And that's when I realized, this wasn't some palace snake trying to off her.

This was her own family.

The kind that would stab you with one hand and hold you up with the other.

I backed toward the door, still watching them.

"She finds out about this," I said, "and I won't stop her."

The woman nodded.

"I'm counting on it."

I closed the door behind me slower this time. No point storming out of one snake pit just to wake another.

The woman's words followed me like a shadow:She's sixteen.

She was. Still a kid, by most standards. And yet she'd summoned stormwinds with her bare hands and stared down assassins without flinching. Whatever innocence she had, it was either buried or burned out of her already.

I reached her room. Slid the door open.

She was sitting up.

Not startled. Not sleepy. Just... still. Eyes wide open in the dark.

"I heard shouting," she said quietly. "Was it you?"

"No."

"Yes."

"...Which is it?"

I stepped inside. Closed the door behind me.

"You shouldn't be awake."

"I haven't slept in two nights." Her voice was brittle. "Every time I close my eyes, I see the ink swirling again. The spirit sigils. That man with the chain. I didn't know his name, but I remember the way his body fell. I remember the sound it made."

She turned to face me. Moonlight caught her eyes.

"I remember all of it."

I sat beside her futon. Not close. Just near enough that she didn't feel alone.

"You saved both of us," I said.

"Only because I lost control."

"Welcome to the club."

She gave a small breath. Not quite a laugh.

We sat there in silence. Not the awkward kind. The kind that sits between two people like an old friend who doesn't ask questions.

Eventually, she broke it.

"Toki…"

I looked at her.

"If something happens to me. If I... lose control again. If the spirits turn against me. You have to stop me."

Her hands were clenched so tight her knuckles were white. Her voice was firm. Final.

"You must swear it."

I looked at her.

At the sixteen-year-old noble girl bearing the weight of emperors, assassins and expectations. Trying to be more than what the world let her be. Terrified of failing and even more terrified of becoming something she couldn't come back from.

I reached over.

And gently took her hand.

"I've got your back," I said. "Not your leash."

She stared at me, eyes glassy, but didn't pull away.

The moon moved. The shadows shifted.

And somewhere, deep in the estate—a bell rang.

Kiyomi shot to her feet before the echo faded. I was already moving.

No armor. No retinue. Just me, half-awake and half-wrapped in cotton. Didn't matter. I was born in chaos. Raised in it. Carved by it.

The bell meant something had slipped through the estate walls.

And if the bell wasn't followed by shouting?

It meant whoever got in hadn't been found yet.

We moved through the corridor fast. Kiyomi tried to ask something—I silenced her with a glance. She didn't ask again.

Good girl.

When we reached the inner courtyard, I spotted movement: two guards on the ground. Not dead. Unconscious. Breathing shallow.

I crouched over one. Felt for a pulse. His eyes were rolled back like a broken doll.

Pressure point. Pinpoint accurate. Shinobi work.

"Toki," Kiyomi whispered, voice tight. "Why here? Why now?"

"Because you're out of time."

That's when I heard the scrape. Bare feet on wood. Someone too confident to run. Too precise to trip.

I turned just in time to see the intruder step into the moonlight.

They wore no mask. Just a deep hood and black robes lined with writing I couldn't read but sure as hell recognized.

Inkwork.

And across their back, a scroll case. Thick. Iron-bound. Sealed.

"Step aside," they said calmly, "and you'll keep your life."

I stepped forward.

They didn't repeat themselves.

I drew my katana like it was part of me. The weight settled in my hand. My stance lowered. I felt something stir in my chest—something old.

Pain. Rage. Fire.

"Toki—" Kiyomi started.

Too late.

I charged.

The sudden snap of air as steel flashed and wood shattered underfoot.

The ink-robed bastard moved fast. Parried faster. Their blade curved, almost ceremonial—but sharp enough to match mine.

"Keep them off the girl!" I shouted, blade clashing against theirs, sparks raining onto the polished floor.

Another shape dropped from the roof. A second intruder—smaller, leaner, with two sickle blades in hand, eyes glowing faint violet.

They darted for Kiyomi.