No More Graves, Part II

The sirens didn't wail.

They whispered.

Two black sedans pulled up to the curb in silence twenty minutes later—unmarked, engine hums too clean, tires wet but precise on the slick pavement. The flashing lights Emily had expected never came.

Amelia sat on the couch, her shoulder wrapped in a kitchen towel soaked crimson. Emily sat beside her, clutching a warm mug with both hands, though the tea had long gone cold. Neither of them spoke. Not since the embrace.

Not since the gunshots.

The apartment door—what was left of it—opened quietly.

A man in a raincoat stepped inside, followed by another in a charcoal blazer and black gloves. Their shoes left no sound on the floor. One flashed a badge, barely.

"Federal," he said.

Amelia didn't move. "No shit..."

The agent didn't respond. He knelt beside the body, pulling the intruder's mask back carefully. The corpse's eyes were still open, the back of his skull gone.

He stood and pulled out a slim communicator.

"Code black confirmed. Status: neutralized. Civilian defender uninjured but armed. Cleanup protocol in progress."

The second agent scanned the room with gloved hands in his coat pockets, gaze cold and detached. "We're going to need to relocate you. Tonight."

Emily's brow furrowed. "Relocate?"

Amelia leaned forward, her tone razor-sharp. "We defended ourselves. Who the fuck are you?"

"We're here because the people behind this won't stop," the man said. "You were flagged after the leak your son distributed. This wasn't random."

Emily's eyes widened. "This is because of Ryunosuke?"

Amelia didn't answer. She already knew.

The second agent moved into the kitchen and retrieved the revolver without flinching. He checked the cylinder, then slipped it into an evidence bag—but returned it to Amelia without a word.

"You'll need it again," he said.

Amelia stood, wincing but tall. "Where are you taking us?"

"Riverside. Quiet. Monitored. You'll be protected."

Emily looked to her, but Amelia gave a nod that said: We don't have a choice.

The agents stepped out to finalize transport.

Alone again, Emily looked around the wrecked apartment—blood, broken furniture, a photo of Ryunosuke fallen from the fridge and lying face down on the floor.

Everything they knew was gone.

Amelia picked it up, brushed it off, and slipped it into her coat.

"We're not running," she said. "We're repositioning."

Emily didn't speak.

But she stood beside her.

Ready to follow.

The black sedan slid down the freeway like a shadow with headlights, steady and silent beneath the orange glow of early dawn. Rain still dotted the windows, turning the blurred lights of Los Angeles into streaks of molten color.

Emily sat in the backseat, curled against the door, arms wrapped around her knees. She hadn't spoken in the last half hour—not since they'd passed the familiar skyline and left it behind. The city was disappearing behind them, bit by bit, as if it had never belonged to them in the first place.

Amelia sat upright, her jacket slung over her injured shoulder, a fresh gauze wrap peeking from underneath. She kept her eyes forward, her breathing even. Focused.

One of the agents—clean-shaven, late thirties, looked more like an accountant than a federal officer—drove in silence. The other sat in the passenger seat, reviewing a tablet lit faintly by the dashboard's blue glow.

"You're not taking us to a police station," Amelia finally said.

"No, ma'am," the driver replied. "The LAPD doesn't have the clearance. Neither do half the suits in the Bureau."

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "So who do you work for?"

"Joint task force," he replied. "Officially: Homeland Security, the FBI, and several international entities. Unofficially? We're the team that keeps civilians from being erased by the kind of things that don't officially exist."

Emily looked up, voice thin. "Like that man in our apartment?"

The man in the passenger seat turned slightly. "That wasn't a man. That was a problem sent by someone with a lot to lose."

Amelia leaned forward. "So, my son..? He pissed off Kanda."

Neither agent confirmed nor denied it.

The driver continued. "Your son's leak rattled more than a few cages. The file was wiped within minutes, but Kanda's infrastructure, and more than few people here in the states have been in panic mode since. People are disappearing. Records are vanishing. And then, out of nowhere… someone targets you."

He looked at Amelia through the rearview mirror. "They couldn't get to your son, so they tried hurting him without touching him."

Emily swallowed hard.

Amelia didn't blink. "Well. He failed."

"Which is why you're being moved," the agent replied. "The house in Riverside is reinforced, private, and off-grid. Only two people in this car know where it is."

Emily returned her gaze to the window. The city lights were gone now. Replaced by the blurred outlines of hills and sleeping trees.

"Will we ever go back?" she asked.

Amelia didn't answer immediately.

Then: "Not until this is over. I love my son, but I swear to god I'm going to slap him."

The car pressed onward into the dark, the only sound the hum of tires on wet asphalt and the quiet resolve building in the back seat.

The tires crunched over gravel as the sedan rolled to a slow stop in front of a modest, single-story house nestled at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. No neighbors. No streetlights. Just the faint glow of dawn brushing across the hills behind them and a single porch light flickering like it wasn't quite sure it was needed.

Emily blinked against the outside air as the rear door opened.

The silence out here was deeper. Heavier. Not like the city's noise vacuum—but real stillness. The kind that made every creak of a floorboard feel like a declaration.

Amelia stepped out first, her gaze sweeping across the yard. A mailbox with no label. Security cameras tucked behind hedges. A faint hum from the roof where thermal sensors rotated slowly. It looked like a house—but only at first glance.

One of the agents walked ahead and keyed in a code at the front door. It clicked open, and he stepped aside for them to enter.

Inside was too clean.

Neutral.

The furniture was unused. The walls bare. The kitchen stocked with vacuum-sealed food and government-labeled water. The kind of place meant for disappearing.

Emily stepped inside slowly, hugging herself.

"This is... safe?" she murmured.

The other agent—now removing his earpiece—nodded. "As safe as it gets. Cameras are on a closed loop. The windows are mirrored from the outside. And only this unit has the door codes."

He handed a card to Amelia. "This has the location encrypted. Do not store it digitally. You burn it when you've memorized it."

Amelia pocketed it without blinking.

"We'll have a clean team sweep the apartment in L.A.," the agent continued. "But from now on, this is your home."

The two men gave a final nod and left without ceremony.

The door shut. Locked.

Silence returned.

Amelia exhaled, letting her jacket slip off her good shoulder as she moved through the living room, assessing every angle of the house. She opened drawers. Checked sightlines. Her old habits returning like muscle memory.

Emily wandered into the hallway, hand brushing along the smooth drywall. She peeked into one of the bedrooms. Clean sheets. A small desk. A single framed photo on the dresser—FBI agents in uniform, standing beside a helicopter.

She frowned and turned the photo down.

In the living room, Amelia sat on the couch and pulled the revolver from her waistband. She unloaded it slowly, then reloaded it again. Click. Click. Smooth. Certain.

Emily returned, hovering near the entryway.

"This doesn't feel like hiding," she said quietly.

"It's not," Amelia replied. "They didn't even put us somewhere far away."

Emily hesitated. "What if they come again?"

Amelia didn't look up.

"They'll find out I'm a lot harder to kill the second time."

Amelia set the revolver on the coffee table, the cold metal resting beside a government-issued manila folder she hadn't yet opened. Her movements were calm, deliberate—the same way she used to fold napkins during prep in the restaurant, except now every gesture carried weight.

Emily stood nearby, arms wrapped around herself.

She wasn't shaking anymore.

But she hadn't moved much, either.

The quiet of the house pressed in—walls too sterile, air too still. It didn't smell like home. It didn't even smell like somebody else's home. Just... blank. Like a waiting room in limbo.

"I feel like I'm in someone else's nightmare," Emily said quietly, looking around.

Amelia leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Yeah... Sorry about all of this, Emily."

Emily walked toward the couch and sat down beside her. Not touching, not speaking at first—just sitting there, listening to the hum of power under the walls, the tick of some internal timer echoing faintly through the house.

After a long pause, she asked:

"…Do you think we'll be okay?"

Amelia looked over at her. Not with empty promises or forced smiles—but with something steadier.

"I don't know," she said. "But I know we're not victims."

Emily nodded slowly.

A beat passed. Then she added, quieter:

"Back there, when he came through the door… I froze."

"You lived," Amelia said simply. "That's what matters."

"But you fought," Emily insisted. "You—" her voice broke. "You saved me."

Amelia turned slightly, finally facing her. Her voice dropped low.

"I wasn't always this person, you know. I used to think being strong meant being silent. Enduring. But that was before Ryunosuke was born. Before I had people to protect."

She paused.

"I've already buried one love. I'm not digging any more graves."

Emily looked away, wiping her eyes again. "So what do we do now?"

Amelia picked up the revolver, checked it once more, then slid it beneath the cushion beside her.

"Now?" She leaned back. "We wait. We watch. And when the next shadow moves—we move faster."

Emily leaned against her then, not crying this time. Just there. Present. Heavy with exhaustion, but anchored.

Amelia rested her hand on her niece's head.

They didn't need more words.

Not tonight.

Just a line in the sand—

—and the promise that this time, they wouldn't lose anyone else.