Land of Fire
The Land of Fire's borderlands stretched out before them, a rolling expanse of rock and brittle grass scorched dry by the late summer sun. The distant horizon shimmered in the heat, blurred at the edges where the mountains near Land of Wind rose like faded sentinels. The terrain was quiet—too quiet. Only the occasional gust of dry wind stirred the scrubby bushes, carrying with it the faint scent of dust and something sharper, something foreign.
Rei moved at Orochimaru's side, her steps silent against the cracked earth. The long, tattered edge of her cloak stirred faintly with her movements, but she barely noticed. Her mind was far from the mission, far from the barren landscape stretching out around them.
It had been two days since Takeshi woke up.
Two days since she packed her few belongings back into the house they had both left behind. Two days of navigating around each other in the narrow hallways, pretending things were the same when they weren't.
Takeshi didn't yell. He didn't accuse. He asked questions—the worst kind. Soft ones, heavy with the weight of everything he didn't say.
"When did you start living like you had nothing left to lose?"
"When did strength mean more to you than coming home?"
And Rei, stubborn as ever, met his words with silence or deflection. She couldn't explain it—not to him. Maybe not even to herself.
A harsh gust kicked up dust ahead of them, and Rei pulled her cloak higher over her mouth. Orochimaru continued forward, unbothered by the elements, his pale form cutting through the landscape like a blade. His gait was unhurried, graceful in that eerie way of his, like nothing in the world could catch him unaware.
"We're close," he murmured without turning his head. His voice was low, barely a ripple in the oppressive silence. "The camps reported by ANBU scouts were seen beyond the ridge. Small. Scattered. Unmarked."
Rei nodded once, adjusting the strap of her gear pack. The mission had been simple enough on paper: Investigate suspicious encampments gathering near the border. Confirm their allegiance. Eliminate if necessary.
Officially, it was classified as a reconnaissance mission.
Unofficially, everyone knew that if Orochimaru was sent, there would be no survivors if they found what they were looking for.
She exhaled slowly through her nose, feeling the familiar tension coiling low in her gut. She wasn't afraid of combat. She wasn't even afraid of failing.
But there was a different kind of fear gnawing at her edges now—a quieter one, harder to ignore.
What if Takeshi was right?
What if strength had become more important to her than home?
The thought clawed at her chest, but she shoved it down as they crested the ridge.
Below them, tucked into a hollow of the rocky terrain, were the camps—low, dark shapes against the pale earth, half-hidden under camouflage netting. Smoke rose thinly from a few fires, barely visible against the sun-bleached sky.
Orochimaru came to a halt, scanning the layout with those golden, unblinking eyes. Rei dropped to a crouch beside him automatically, the old habits of training kicking in without conscious thought.
From this distance, she could make out the insignias etched onto the armor of a few wandering shinobi.
Not Land of Wind.
Not Land of Fire.
No.
The faint, worn emblem on their shoulders—a slanted mountain beneath a jagged line—was Iwagakure's.
And some of the shinobi moved differently. A familiarity in the way they carried their blades, their weight distribution when they shifted—
Her breath caught.
Arakawa techniques
She knew them. She knew them better than anyone.
Her fingers itched toward the hilt of her kunai, but she stopped herself, biting down the rising instinct. Rash moves wouldn't survive Orochimaru's scrutiny—not here. Not now.
Orochimaru's voice broke into her thoughts, low and almost amused. "You recognize them."
It wasn't a question.
Rei straightened slightly, her face a careful mask. "Some of them. The way they move—it's Arakawa."
Orochimaru chuckled quietly, his mouth curving into a thin, serpentine smile. "How fitting. Iwagakure gathering up the broken remnants of a discarded clan."
Rei's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
"Be careful, Rei," Orochimaru murmured, his gaze never leaving the encampment. "Loyalty is such a fragile thing when history is buried under blood."
The words slithered beneath her skin, setting her teeth on edge. She knew he meant it as a warning—but part of her heard something else too. A test.
"Orders?" she asked flatly, forcing her voice steady.
"Observe," he said simply. "For now."
Rei swallowed her restless energy, nodding once as she crouched lower into the scrub. The sun blazed down around them, heat rising in shimmering waves from the ground.
As they watched, two figures emerged from one of the tents, speaking in low, guarded tones. Rei's breath hitched again.
Koji.
Mayu.
The same shinobi she had met across the border—the same ones who had told her the truth she hadn't wanted to hear.
We are Arakawa too.
And we remember what was stolen from us.
Beside her, Orochimaru's smile sharpened. "Interesting," he murmured, more to himself than to her.
Rei didn't move.
She didn't speak.
She didn't dare.
Because for the first time since her brother woke up, she wasn't sure who she was supposed to be loyal to.
Rei pressed herself lower against the dry earth, the brittle grass scratching against her arms as she narrowed her eyes at the figures below. The world seemed to sharpen around her, each breath, each distant murmur from the camp magnified against the suffocating stillness of the borderlands.
Koji and Mayu.
Two pieces of a past she was trying—and failing—to leave behind.
Beside her, Orochimaru remained utterly still, a pale statue against the sunbaked ridge. His golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable, as if he were studying a living puzzle slowly assembling itself before him.
They didn't speak.
Not yet.
Instead, they watched.
Rei's pulse thrummed steadily in her ears as she let her gaze sweep the camp again, slower this time. She counted tents. Supply crates. The rough patterns of movement among the shinobi below. She memorized faces, postures, subtle tells. It was the kind of work Sakumo had drilled into her early: Don't just look. See.
Still, she couldn't stop her mind from drifting back—to Takeshi's tired gaze as he asked her where she'd been all these years. To Anko's too-sharp laughter that didn't quite cover the fear beneath it. To Shikaku's heavy warning in the plaza.
"You're chasing something that might not be there when you catch it."
She exhaled slowly through her nose, forcing her body to stillness.
In the camp below, Koji leaned close to Mayu, speaking low. She caught only fragments on the wind—words like "preparation," "movement," "contact soon."
But then she heard it—clear, deliberate.
"She's here."
Rei's breath stilled, the heat of the afternoon pressing down on her like a hand on her back.
Beside her, Orochimaru finally moved, tilting his head slightly. Amused. Curious.
Patient.
Rei's fingers itched for her weapon again, but she held herself still, her gaze locked on the two Arakawa shinobi below.
They were waiting.
They had been waiting for her.
Rei's muscles coiled instinctively, tension crackling just beneath her skin. She forced herself to breathe evenly, to stay anchored to the brittle earth under her palms. Acting on impulse now would be a mistake—an unforgivable one. Orochimaru had taught her that much.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she shifted her gaze sideways, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He hadn't so much as tensed. If anything, he seemed almost... amused, the faint curve of his mouth betraying his endless, clinical fascination.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
The knowledge that they were waiting for her didn't seem to alarm him—it intrigued him.
Rei turned her focus back to the camp, her heartbeat steadying by sheer will. Dust swirled lazily between the scattered tents, kicked up by shinobi moving supplies, checking gear, sharing low, urgent conversations. It was an ordinary camp—ordinary if you ignored the fact that half the shinobi bore sigils from both Iwagakure and Suna, stitched hastily onto makeshift patches. No official banners flew, no formal structure to the camp's perimeter.
This wasn't a sanctioned operation.
It was a staging ground for something darker.
Koji and Mayu stood near the center, speaking to a third figure she didn't recognize. A taller man, broad-shouldered, wearing the plain travel cloak of a civilian merchant—but Rei wasn't fooled. His posture was too straight, too wary. His hands kept brushing the hilts of two short swords strapped across his lower back.
Mercenary? No... Shinobi. Experienced.
Her fingers twitched unconsciously toward the kunai at her thigh, but again she caught herself.
Control.
Observe first.
Act later.
Takeshi's voice drifted unbidden through her mind—quiet, tired, from two nights ago as he sat slouched against the couch back home, his newly reawakened body still struggling against weakness.
"You always move too fast, Rei. You burn through everything around you without thinking what's left behind."
At the time, she'd shrugged it off, thrown some careless remark back at him about survival. About how hesitation killed faster than a sword. About how Raiden Arakawa hadn't built their clan by waiting around.
But now, pressed against the dirt, the sun blistering the back of her neck, those words echoed louder than she'd like.
Maybe I am burning through everything.
Maybe I don't know how to stop.
Below, Mayu shifted. She scanned the perimeter with slow, measured movements, as if she could feel Rei's presence brushing the edges of the camp like a cold breeze. Her sharp eyes narrowed as she whispered something to Koji.
They were looking for her.
No—not looking.
Expecting.
Rei's throat tightened, but she forced the feeling down. Swallow it. Bury it. She wasn't the lost child she used to be. Not the girl clinging to memories of a family she'd never really known. Not anymore.
Beside her, Orochimaru finally moved, ever so slightly. His voice, when it came, was a whisper so thin it might have been the wind itself.
"Familiar faces," he murmured, the faintest hum of curiosity threading through his tone. "Ties that linger..."
Rei didn't answer.
There was no need.
He already knew who Koji and Mayu were.
He knew what they wanted.
He knew what she was trying so hard not to admit even to herself.
A breeze stirred the dry grass around them, carrying with it a scent of dust, leather, and something faintly metallic—blood, old and forgotten.
Below, the camp shifted again.
Two more figures emerged from one of the larger tents, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods, moving with deliberate care.
Messengers, maybe. Or spies.
Orochimaru's fingers flexed once, a slow, almost idle motion. Not impatience—calculation.
Rei kept her eyes on the camp but her thoughts roiled just beneath the surface.
What do they want from me?
Why now?
Was it because she was growing stronger?
Or because they feared what she might become if left unchecked?
The red streak—the ancient mark she carried, the red line burning through her hair—felt heavier now, a weight she hadn't realized she wore until this moment.
Raiden Arakawa.
The founder of the clan.
The man who had reshaped the battlefield by breaking every rule and expectation.
Koji and Mayu had seen the same thing she saw when she looked in the mirror some mornings—the glimmer of a legacy that refused to be buried.
Maybe they weren't just here for war.
Maybe they were here for her.
Orochimaru leaned in slightly, his words a bare murmur against the heat of the afternoon.
"Shall we greet them?" he asked, amusement dripping from his voice like venom.
Rei's muscles coiled, but she didn't answer right away.
Instead, she stayed crouched behind the outcropping, staring down at the scattering of tents below. The camp was quiet, movements purposeful, no sense of alarm—yet she could feel it, deep in her chest: they knew.
They weren't scrambling because they didn't need to.
Because they were already prepared for her.
Koji's figure stood out clearly even at a distance, positioned at the heart of the camp like a stone set into a river's current. Mayu wasn't far from him, checking weapons, exchanging clipped words with the masked stranger at her side. A camp on the edge of motion—waiting for a single trigger.
Rei's fingers brushed the kunai at her belt, a steady, grounding motion. Her heart wasn't racing. She wasn't nervous.
She was calculating.
This wasn't the same desperate instinct that had driven her to chase Shinji across the forests of Konoha. This wasn't about charging forward and daring the consequences to catch her.
This was something colder.
Sharper.
They wanted something from her.
And she was going to find out what it was—on her own terms.
Beside her, Orochimaru shifted, his arms loosely folded into the folds of his robe. The gleam in his yellow eyes wasn't anticipation—it was hunger. Watching her weigh the decision, measure the cost, choose.
Rei inhaled through her nose, steady and slow.
"I'll go," she said quietly, pushing to her feet. Dust scattered from the soles of her sandals.
Orochimaru's smile curved faintly, approval hidden beneath amusement. "Good," he murmured, stepping back into the shadows like a phantom fading into mist. "Let's see what they offer you."
Rei didn't look at him again.
Her eyes stayed locked on the camp as she began her descent, her steps careful, methodical. She moved along the rocky slope without sound, slipping through cover when she could, letting the scrub and stone swallow her presence until she crossed the last rise.
No alarms sounded.
No kunai flashed.
Only a single figure moved to meet her—Koji Arakawa, his cloak brushing the dirt as he approached with a soldier's ease.
Closer now, she could see how much older he looked than the memory she carried—the silver in his hair, the deep lines bracketing his mouth. But the way he moved, the way his gaze locked onto hers without hesitation—it hadn't changed.
He stopped a few paces away.
Long enough to strike.
Close enough to speak.
The sun dipped lower behind him, gilding the ragged edges of his cloak in light.
"You came," Koji said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Rei didn't answer. She studied him with cool, detached precision—the way Orochimaru had taught her. Silence, after all, was its own weapon.
Koji's mouth twitched into something between a smile and a grimace.
"You heard us, didn't you?" he asked softly. "Up on the cliffs."
Still, Rei said nothing.
"I knew you would," Koji continued. "You had to. It's in your blood." His voice warmed slightly, almost gentle. "The red streak in your hair wouldn't let you ignore it."
Her pulse beat once, steady and deliberate.
Behind Koji, Mayu approached—slower, more cautious—but her face was open, eyes burning with a mix of longing and certainty that made Rei's stomach knot.
"You don't belong to them, Rei," Mayu said, voice carrying easily across the space. "You never did."
Another step closer.
Another heartbeat louder.
"You're Arakawa," Koji said, his tone almost reverent. "Not their pawn. Not their experiment. You're our future. You're his legacy."
Rei's jaw clenched.
Raiden Arakawa.
The name wasn't spoken, but it didn't have to be. She could feel it, like a chain rattling at the edge of memory. The founder—the storm—the reckless blaze that had burned too brightly to last.
And somehow, somehow, they saw that in her.
Koji extended a hand—not threatening, not demanding.
An offering.
"Come with us," he said. "We can show you what they won't. We can show you who you really are."
The wind shifted, carrying the faint scents of scorched earth and iron from the camp. Rei could taste the promise hidden beneath the words—the freedom, the bloodshed, the price.
Behind her, unseen but not forgotten, Orochimaru waited.
He hadn't intervened. He wouldn't.
This choice—this pull between blood and belonging—was hers alone.
Rei's hand hovered briefly at her side.
Then she spoke, her voice low and steady, cutting through the heat like a blade.
"I'm not anyone's weapon."
The words hit harder than any rejection, echoing between them like a thrown kunai finding its mark.
Koji's hand lowered slowly, sadness flickering across his face.
"Not yet," he said quietly.
Then, almost casually, he turned and walked back toward the camp—Mayu falling into step beside him, her posture rigid.
Neither of them looked back.
The sun was sinking behind them as they descended the ridge, its dying light bleeding across the sky in burnt gold and pale crimson. Trees thinned into spindly silhouettes. The wind was gentler here, quieter, rustling through the dry brush like breath.
Rei walked a few steps behind Orochimaru, her silence brittle as glass.
They had completed the mission. That was the official version. The investigation had turned up what Konoha had feared—hidden staging camps, unusual movements, whispers of cooperation between distant borders. But that wasn't what lingered in her mind.
It was the look in Koji's eyes.
The certainty in his voice.
The way he said her name like it already belonged to them.
Rei's shoulders tensed, her fingers curling into the edge of her cloak. She didn't want to think about it—but the memories kept pressing in from the corners. What they'd said. What they wanted. Who they thought she was.
Raiden Arakawa.
She didn't even know what that meant anymore. But they had looked at her like they did. Like her path was already written, and all she had to do was stop running from it.
Up ahead, Orochimaru walked with the ease of someone who knew exactly how much power he held. His movements were unhurried. Purposeful. And Rei knew, without needing to ask, that he was already deciding how to present the mission report. How much to reveal. What tone to use. What weight to place on her choices.
And that thought made her stomach twist.
She remembered what happened last time.
The way suspicion had taken root.
How everything—her reputation, her missions, her place in the village—had teetered because of what someone else said in a room she hadn't been allowed to speak in.
This time would be worse. Orochimaru wasn't Kakashi.
He wouldn't protect her.
"You're quiet," Orochimaru said suddenly, without turning.
Rei kept her gaze ahead. "I'm tired."
"A fair excuse," he replied. "Though not the truth."
She didn't answer.
"You're wondering what I'll say," he continued, almost amused. "To Sarutobi. To the council. About your encounter."
Rei's jaw tensed.
"I didn't go looking for them," she muttered.
"No," Orochimaru said. "But you listened."
That, apparently, was enough.
They said nothing more as the forest thickened again and the outline of Konoha emerged faintly in the distance. Lanterns were beginning to glow along the outer road. The gates would be waiting. So would the questions.
Rei stared ahead, her expression unreadable.
The gates of Konoha loomed before them, and even though she'd crossed them a thousand times before, tonight they felt different. Like a verdict. Like the village itself was watching. Judging.
She said nothing as they passed the guards—an exchange of quiet nods, nothing more. No questions. Not yet.
Orochimaru's cloak fluttered behind him as he moved with that signature serpent-like grace, a slow and confident glide that made it impossible to tell whether he was arriving as a war hero or slithering into the village as something far more dangerous.
Rei followed two steps behind.
By the time they reached the Hokage Tower, dusk had turned to night. The lanterns outside the council chambers burned low, casting flickering shadows across the walls. ANBU guards stood flanking the heavy doors, masked and silent, but Rei could feel their eyes on her—measuring her steps, waiting for a reason.
She didn't flinch as the doors opened.
The room inside was warmer than the chill air outside, but Rei felt nothing.
The two elders and Danzo were already seated near the far wall, Sarutobi at the center of them next to Sakumo. The Hokage's expression was thoughtful, not unkind, but weighed down by the thousand invisible threads pulling at every decision he made. His robes were still singed from his earlier mission review—a fire at the northern granaries—and now, this.
Orochimaru entered the room without ceremony, his pale cloak sweeping behind him like the trail of a dying flame. He bowed just enough to acknowledge protocol, though his gaze lingered not on the Hokage, but on the elders—particularly Danzo, whose visible eye narrowed at the subtle challenge. Rei followed several steps behind, her boots soundless against the polished floor. She felt like a shadow to his presence, even though she was the one being scrutinized.
Sakumo's eyes flicked to her briefly—sharp, searching—but he said nothing.
"You're late," Danzo noted curtly, fingers drumming once on the armrest of his chair.
Orochimaru's smile was faint, polite in the way a knife was polished. "Forgive me. The border roads are always longer when one's careful."
"Let's hear it," Sarutobi said, voice measured. "What did you find?"
Rei stood off to the side, jaw clenched, arms crossed over her chest. She kept her eyes forward but didn't dare look at Sakumo.
Orochimaru folded his hands behind his back, expression unreadable. "We arrived near the borderlands between the Land of Fire and Wind—close enough to feel the Suna air in our lungs. As anticipated, movement along the perimeter was more than routine." A pause, deliberate. "But it wasn't Suna alone."
Homura leaned forward. "Iwagakure?"
Orochimaru inclined his head slightly. "Indeed. Not officially, of course. The flags were missing, the uniforms inconsistent—but I've seen their tactics before. Makeshift camps hidden just well enough to evade patrols, relay stations buried in abandoned merchant routes. It was quiet... but intentional."
"And?" Danzo asked, voice sharp. "What of the shinobi themselves?"
Orochimaru's golden eyes glinted. "Two individuals in particular stood out. A man and a woman. Strong chakra presence, evasive in movement, yet deliberate in territory. I couldn't get close enough to confirm allegiance." He paused, then added, "Both had streaks of red in their hair."
The room went still.
Rei didn't move.
Danzo's gaze flicked to her in a single, sharp cut. "That's the second report referencing such a trait," he said. "Once during her mission with the Hatake boy. Now again."
Orochimaru raised a single brow. "It's an unusual feature. And chakra resonance was... familiar. Almost familial. I wonder—do we know of any bloodlines capable of passing that trait so precisely?"
He didn't look at Rei.
He didn't need to.
"The Arakawa were thought wiped out," Homura said slowly, fingers steepled. "Or reduced to what little remains here in the village."
"They've been hiding in plain sight, perhaps," Orochimaru mused. "Or gathering under a different flag. Iwagakure has always had a fondness for reappropriated weapons."
Sarutobi's gaze was unreadable. "And the camps?"
"Abandoned now. They sensed our proximity before we could engage. But left behind were coded messages—routing symbols that connect them to a larger chain running east. This wasn't an isolated group." He paused again. "They're preparing."
Sakumo spoke for the first time, voice calm but edged with steel. "And Rei's performance?"
Orochimaru turned to her at last, smiling like he'd rehearsed it. "Unflinching. Obedient. Efficient. She followed every instruction and exceeded the expectations of a genin. I was... impressed."
Rei's stomach twisted.
Danzo's eye narrowed. "And did she demonstrate... restraint?"
Orochimaru gave the smallest of nods. "More than some Jōnin I've led into worse."
"Your opinion carries weight," Sarutobi said. "But the council must still determine how to proceed. This situation grows more complicated by the week. If Suna and Iwa are aligning—secretly or otherwise—we need to consider the broader implications."
"And the girl?" Koharu asked bluntly, gesturing slightly toward Rei.
The room fell quiet again.
"She's useful," Danzo said at last, flat and final. "But unstable. As she grows stronger, her ties to the village must be reinforced—or severed before they snap on their own."
"No," Sakumo said quietly, but firmly. "She belongs here."
Rei's eyes flicked toward him, just once.
Danzo's mouth twitched, but he didn't argue. "Then let's hope she stays convinced of that."
Sarutobi leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Dismissed."
Orochimaru gave a final nod, then turned. Rei followed silently behind, her thoughts a war of tension and fury.
Only when the doors closed behind them did Orochimaru speak again.
"You held yourself well," he said lightly, as though the weight of the conversation hadn't just cast a noose around her neck.
"They're going to come after me again," Rei said quietly, her voice flat.
"They never stopped," he replied, voice smooth. "You're just more valuable now."
He glanced sideways at her, smile faint and unreadable. "That's the price of power, Rei. The moment they fear what you might become... is the moment they try to contain you."
The door creaked open as Rei stepped back into the quiet of the house.
Gone were the polished floors of the Hokage Tower, the calculated tension of a war room cloaked in authority. In their place was the hum of something domestic: the clatter of chopsticks, the soft sizzle of something reheated. Home, as much as this place could still be called that.
She slipped off her sandals, her movements automatic. The scent of grilled fish lingered faintly in the air—burnt at the edges, overcooked by someone who was out of practice. She followed the smell into the kitchen, where she found Takeshi sitting at the small table, a half-finished plate in front of him and a steaming bowl of miso he hadn't touched.
He looked up as she entered, his expression neutral—but not unreadable. Not to her.
"You're back late," he said, his voice steady. "Long mission?"
Rei nodded, moving to the counter to pour herself a glass of water. "Yeah. A-rank."
Takeshi raised a brow. "A-rank? You're not even a Chūnin."
"I went with Orochimaru," she said shortly, not turning around.
He set his chopsticks down. "Right."
The silence stretched until he asked, "So? What happened?"
Rei leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. "Border camps. Suna and Iwa are building up near the edge. We found signs of collaboration." Her voice lowered slightly, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I saw Koji and Mayu again. From before."
She felt his reaction rather than saw it—the subtle shift in energy, the tension that coiled into the air like a blade waiting to be drawn.
"I know who they are," Takeshi said quietly. "Sakumo told me."
Rei's gaze snapped up. "What?"
"Said they're former Arakawa. Defected. Dangerous. And that they want something from you."
Rei pushed off the counter. "They're not dangerous. Not to me."
Takeshi stood slowly, his weight still uneven from recovery but his presence no less solid. "They're not friends, Rei. They're not family either. They left Konoha. That makes them traitors."
"They left because they were betrayed," Rei snapped. "Because they were used. You saw the records in the study—don't pretend you didn't."
"I saw enough," Takeshi said tightly. "Enough to know that nothing justifies what they've done since."
Rei took a step forward, her fists clenched. "They're the only ones who've told me the truth."
"And Orochimaru hasn't?" he asked sharply. "The man who hides behind riddles and smiles while he leads you into more and more danger? You think he's the one who's going to save you?"
"I don't need to be saved," Rei shouted.
Takeshi stared at her, hard. "You think this is strength? Running yourself into the ground every night, pushing away everyone who actually gives a damn?"
"I'm doing what I have to," she said, breath shaking. "You wouldn't understand."
"I do understand," he said, stepping closer. "More than you think. I spent years on the other side of this. I watched our parents destroy themselves for this village, and now you're doing the same."
"I'm nothing like them!"
"Then stop acting like you've already died for a cause you don't even believe in!"
The words hit too close, too fast. Rei's face twisted with something raw, something half-formed. "You don't know anything!" she hissed. "You weren't there—you were asleep while I fought for everything!"
Takeshi froze.
Rei immediately regretted it, but the words were already hanging between them, like blood in water.
He didn't move.
She turned before he could say anything, bolting past the kitchen, the hallway, the front door. Her hands trembled as she shoved her sandals on, the night air crashing into her lungs like a wave of glass.
She didn't stop.
She couldn't.
Because if she looked back—if she saw the look on his face again—she wouldn't be able to run at all.Land of Fire
The Land of Fire's borderlands stretched out before them, a rolling expanse of rock and brittle grass scorched dry by the late summer sun. The distant horizon shimmered in the heat, blurred at the edges where the mountains near Land of Wind rose like faded sentinels. The terrain was quiet—too quiet. Only the occasional gust of dry wind stirred the scrubby bushes, carrying with it the faint scent of dust and something sharper, something foreign.
Rei moved at Orochimaru's side, her steps silent against the cracked earth. The long, tattered edge of her cloak stirred faintly with her movements, but she barely noticed. Her mind was far from the mission, far from the barren landscape stretching out around them.
It had been two days since Takeshi woke up.
Two days since she packed her few belongings back into the house they had both left behind. Two days of navigating around each other in the narrow hallways, pretending things were the same when they weren't.
Takeshi didn't yell. He didn't accuse. He asked questions—the worst kind. Soft ones, heavy with the weight of everything he didn't say.
"When did you start living like you had nothing left to lose?"
"When did strength mean more to you than coming home?"
And Rei, stubborn as ever, met his words with silence or deflection. She couldn't explain it—not to him. Maybe not even to herself.
A harsh gust kicked up dust ahead of them, and Rei pulled her cloak higher over her mouth. Orochimaru continued forward, unbothered by the elements, his pale form cutting through the landscape like a blade. His gait was unhurried, graceful in that eerie way of his, like nothing in the world could catch him unaware.
"We're close," he murmured without turning his head. His voice was low, barely a ripple in the oppressive silence. "The camps reported by ANBU scouts were seen beyond the ridge. Small. Scattered. Unmarked."
Rei nodded once, adjusting the strap of her gear pack. The mission had been simple enough on paper: Investigate suspicious encampments gathering near the border. Confirm their allegiance. Eliminate if necessary.
Officially, it was classified as a reconnaissance mission.
Unofficially, everyone knew that if Orochimaru was sent, there would be no survivors if they found what they were looking for.
She exhaled slowly through her nose, feeling the familiar tension coiling low in her gut. She wasn't afraid of combat. She wasn't even afraid of failing.
But there was a different kind of fear gnawing at her edges now—a quieter one, harder to ignore.
What if Takeshi was right?
What if strength had become more important to her than home?
The thought clawed at her chest, but she shoved it down as they crested the ridge.
Below them, tucked into a hollow of the rocky terrain, were the camps—low, dark shapes against the pale earth, half-hidden under camouflage netting. Smoke rose thinly from a few fires, barely visible against the sun-bleached sky.
Orochimaru came to a halt, scanning the layout with those golden, unblinking eyes. Rei dropped to a crouch beside him automatically, the old habits of training kicking in without conscious thought.
From this distance, she could make out the insignias etched onto the armor of a few wandering shinobi.
Not Land of Wind.
Not Land of Fire.
No.
The faint, worn emblem on their shoulders—a slanted mountain beneath a jagged line—was Iwagakure's.
And some of the shinobi moved differently. A familiarity in the way they carried their blades, their weight distribution when they shifted—
Her breath caught.
Arakawa techniques
She knew them. She knew them better than anyone.
Her fingers itched toward the hilt of her kunai, but she stopped herself, biting down the rising instinct. Rash moves wouldn't survive Orochimaru's scrutiny—not here. Not now.
Orochimaru's voice broke into her thoughts, low and almost amused. "You recognize them."
It wasn't a question.
Rei straightened slightly, her face a careful mask. "Some of them. The way they move—it's Arakawa."
Orochimaru chuckled quietly, his mouth curving into a thin, serpentine smile. "How fitting. Iwagakure gathering up the broken remnants of a discarded clan."
Rei's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
"Be careful, Rei," Orochimaru murmured, his gaze never leaving the encampment. "Loyalty is such a fragile thing when history is buried under blood."
The words slithered beneath her skin, setting her teeth on edge. She knew he meant it as a warning—but part of her heard something else too. A test.
"Orders?" she asked flatly, forcing her voice steady.
"Observe," he said simply. "For now."
Rei swallowed her restless energy, nodding once as she crouched lower into the scrub. The sun blazed down around them, heat rising in shimmering waves from the ground.
As they watched, two figures emerged from one of the tents, speaking in low, guarded tones. Rei's breath hitched again.
Koji.
Mayu.
The same shinobi she had met across the border—the same ones who had told her the truth she hadn't wanted to hear.
We are Arakawa too.
And we remember what was stolen from us.
Beside her, Orochimaru's smile sharpened. "Interesting," he murmured, more to himself than to her.
Rei didn't move.
She didn't speak.
She didn't dare.
Because for the first time since her brother woke up, she wasn't sure who she was supposed to be loyal to.
Rei pressed herself lower against the dry earth, the brittle grass scratching against her arms as she narrowed her eyes at the figures below. The world seemed to sharpen around her, each breath, each distant murmur from the camp magnified against the suffocating stillness of the borderlands.
Koji and Mayu.
Two pieces of a past she was trying—and failing—to leave behind.
Beside her, Orochimaru remained utterly still, a pale statue against the sunbaked ridge. His golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable, as if he were studying a living puzzle slowly assembling itself before him.
They didn't speak.
Not yet.
Instead, they watched.
Rei's pulse thrummed steadily in her ears as she let her gaze sweep the camp again, slower this time. She counted tents. Supply crates. The rough patterns of movement among the shinobi below. She memorized faces, postures, subtle tells. It was the kind of work Sakumo had drilled into her early: Don't just look. See.
Still, she couldn't stop her mind from drifting back—to Takeshi's tired gaze as he asked her where she'd been all these years. To Anko's too-sharp laughter that didn't quite cover the fear beneath it. To Shikaku's heavy warning in the plaza.
"You're chasing something that might not be there when you catch it."
She exhaled slowly through her nose, forcing her body to stillness.
In the camp below, Koji leaned close to Mayu, speaking low. She caught only fragments on the wind—words like "preparation," "movement," "contact soon."
But then she heard it—clear, deliberate.
"She's here."
Rei's breath stilled, the heat of the afternoon pressing down on her like a hand on her back.
Beside her, Orochimaru finally moved, tilting his head slightly. Amused. Curious.
Patient.
Rei's fingers itched for her weapon again, but she held herself still, her gaze locked on the two Arakawa shinobi below.
They were waiting.
They had been waiting for her.
Rei's muscles coiled instinctively, tension crackling just beneath her skin. She forced herself to breathe evenly, to stay anchored to the brittle earth under her palms. Acting on impulse now would be a mistake—an unforgivable one. Orochimaru had taught her that much.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she shifted her gaze sideways, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He hadn't so much as tensed. If anything, he seemed almost... amused, the faint curve of his mouth betraying his endless, clinical fascination.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
The knowledge that they were waiting for her didn't seem to alarm him—it intrigued him.
Rei turned her focus back to the camp, her heartbeat steadying by sheer will. Dust swirled lazily between the scattered tents, kicked up by shinobi moving supplies, checking gear, sharing low, urgent conversations. It was an ordinary camp—ordinary if you ignored the fact that half the shinobi bore sigils from both Iwagakure and Suna, stitched hastily onto makeshift patches. No official banners flew, no formal structure to the camp's perimeter.
This wasn't a sanctioned operation.
It was a staging ground for something darker.
Koji and Mayu stood near the center, speaking to a third figure she didn't recognize. A taller man, broad-shouldered, wearing the plain travel cloak of a civilian merchant—but Rei wasn't fooled. His posture was too straight, too wary. His hands kept brushing the hilts of two short swords strapped across his lower back.
Mercenary? No... Shinobi. Experienced.
Her fingers twitched unconsciously toward the kunai at her thigh, but again she caught herself.
Control.
Observe first.
Act later.
Takeshi's voice drifted unbidden through her mind—quiet, tired, from two nights ago as he sat slouched against the couch back home, his newly reawakened body still struggling against weakness.
"You always move too fast, Rei. You burn through everything around you without thinking what's left behind."
At the time, she'd shrugged it off, thrown some careless remark back at him about survival. About how hesitation killed faster than a sword. About how Raiden Arakawa hadn't built their clan by waiting around.
But now, pressed against the dirt, the sun blistering the back of her neck, those words echoed louder than she'd like.
Maybe I am burning through everything.
Maybe I don't know how to stop.
Below, Mayu shifted. She scanned the perimeter with slow, measured movements, as if she could feel Rei's presence brushing the edges of the camp like a cold breeze. Her sharp eyes narrowed as she whispered something to Koji.
They were looking for her.
No—not looking.
Expecting.
Rei's throat tightened, but she forced the feeling down. Swallow it. Bury it. She wasn't the lost child she used to be. Not the girl clinging to memories of a family she'd never really known. Not anymore.
Beside her, Orochimaru finally moved, ever so slightly. His voice, when it came, was a whisper so thin it might have been the wind itself.
"Familiar faces," he murmured, the faintest hum of curiosity threading through his tone. "Ties that linger..."
Rei didn't answer.
There was no need.
He already knew who Koji and Mayu were.
He knew what they wanted.
He knew what she was trying so hard not to admit even to herself.
A breeze stirred the dry grass around them, carrying with it a scent of dust, leather, and something faintly metallic—blood, old and forgotten.
Below, the camp shifted again.
Two more figures emerged from one of the larger tents, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods, moving with deliberate care.
Messengers, maybe. Or spies.
Orochimaru's fingers flexed once, a slow, almost idle motion. Not impatience—calculation.
Rei kept her eyes on the camp but her thoughts roiled just beneath the surface.
What do they want from me?
Why now?
Was it because she was growing stronger?
Or because they feared what she might become if left unchecked?
The red streak—the ancient mark she carried, the red line burning through her hair—felt heavier now, a weight she hadn't realized she wore until this moment.
Raiden Arakawa.
The founder of the clan.
The man who had reshaped the battlefield by breaking every rule and expectation.
Koji and Mayu had seen the same thing she saw when she looked in the mirror some mornings—the glimmer of a legacy that refused to be buried.
Maybe they weren't just here for war.
Maybe they were here for her.
Orochimaru leaned in slightly, his words a bare murmur against the heat of the afternoon.
"Shall we greet them?" he asked, amusement dripping from his voice like venom.
Rei's muscles coiled, but she didn't answer right away.
Instead, she stayed crouched behind the outcropping, staring down at the scattering of tents below. The camp was quiet, movements purposeful, no sense of alarm—yet she could feel it, deep in her chest: they knew.
They weren't scrambling because they didn't need to.
Because they were already prepared for her.
Koji's figure stood out clearly even at a distance, positioned at the heart of the camp like a stone set into a river's current. Mayu wasn't far from him, checking weapons, exchanging clipped words with the masked stranger at her side. A camp on the edge of motion—waiting for a single trigger.
Rei's fingers brushed the kunai at her belt, a steady, grounding motion. Her heart wasn't racing. She wasn't nervous.
She was calculating.
This wasn't the same desperate instinct that had driven her to chase Shinji across the forests of Konoha. This wasn't about charging forward and daring the consequences to catch her.
This was something colder.
Sharper.
They wanted something from her.
And she was going to find out what it was—on her own terms.
Beside her, Orochimaru shifted, his arms loosely folded into the folds of his robe. The gleam in his yellow eyes wasn't anticipation—it was hunger. Watching her weigh the decision, measure the cost, choose.
Rei inhaled through her nose, steady and slow.
"I'll go," she said quietly, pushing to her feet. Dust scattered from the soles of her sandals.
Orochimaru's smile curved faintly, approval hidden beneath amusement. "Good," he murmured, stepping back into the shadows like a phantom fading into mist. "Let's see what they offer you."
Rei didn't look at him again.
Her eyes stayed locked on the camp as she began her descent, her steps careful, methodical. She moved along the rocky slope without sound, slipping through cover when she could, letting the scrub and stone swallow her presence until she crossed the last rise.
No alarms sounded.
No kunai flashed.
Only a single figure moved to meet her—Koji Arakawa, his cloak brushing the dirt as he approached with a soldier's ease.
Closer now, she could see how much older he looked than the memory she carried—the silver in his hair, the deep lines bracketing his mouth. But the way he moved, the way his gaze locked onto hers without hesitation—it hadn't changed.
He stopped a few paces away.
Long enough to strike.
Close enough to speak.
The sun dipped lower behind him, gilding the ragged edges of his cloak in light.
"You came," Koji said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Rei didn't answer. She studied him with cool, detached precision—the way Orochimaru had taught her. Silence, after all, was its own weapon.
Koji's mouth twitched into something between a smile and a grimace.
"You heard us, didn't you?" he asked softly. "Up on the cliffs."
Still, Rei said nothing.
"I knew you would," Koji continued. "You had to. It's in your blood." His voice warmed slightly, almost gentle. "The red streak in your hair wouldn't let you ignore it."
Her pulse beat once, steady and deliberate.
Behind Koji, Mayu approached—slower, more cautious—but her face was open, eyes burning with a mix of longing and certainty that made Rei's stomach knot.
"You don't belong to them, Rei," Mayu said, voice carrying easily across the space. "You never did."
Another step closer.
Another heartbeat louder.
"You're Arakawa," Koji said, his tone almost reverent. "Not their pawn. Not their experiment. You're our future. You're his legacy."
Rei's jaw clenched.
Raiden Arakawa.
The name wasn't spoken, but it didn't have to be. She could feel it, like a chain rattling at the edge of memory. The founder—the storm—the reckless blaze that had burned too brightly to last.
And somehow, somehow, they saw that in her.
Koji extended a hand—not threatening, not demanding.
An offering.
"Come with us," he said. "We can show you what they won't. We can show you who you really are."
The wind shifted, carrying the faint scents of scorched earth and iron from the camp. Rei could taste the promise hidden beneath the words—the freedom, the bloodshed, the price.
Behind her, unseen but not forgotten, Orochimaru waited.
He hadn't intervened. He wouldn't.
This choice—this pull between blood and belonging—was hers alone.
Rei's hand hovered briefly at her side.
Then she spoke, her voice low and steady, cutting through the heat like a blade.
"I'm not anyone's weapon."
The words hit harder than any rejection, echoing between them like a thrown kunai finding its mark.
Koji's hand lowered slowly, sadness flickering across his face.
"Not yet," he said quietly.
Then, almost casually, he turned and walked back toward the camp—Mayu falling into step beside him, her posture rigid.
Neither of them looked back.
The sun was sinking behind them as they descended the ridge, its dying light bleeding across the sky in burnt gold and pale crimson. Trees thinned into spindly silhouettes. The wind was gentler here, quieter, rustling through the dry brush like breath.
Rei walked a few steps behind Orochimaru, her silence brittle as glass.
They had completed the mission. That was the official version. The investigation had turned up what Konoha had feared—hidden staging camps, unusual movements, whispers of cooperation between distant borders. But that wasn't what lingered in her mind.
It was the look in Koji's eyes.
The certainty in his voice.
The way he said her name like it already belonged to them.
Rei's shoulders tensed, her fingers curling into the edge of her cloak. She didn't want to think about it—but the memories kept pressing in from the corners. What they'd said. What they wanted. Who they thought she was.
Raiden Arakawa.
She didn't even know what that meant anymore. But they had looked at her like they did. Like her path was already written, and all she had to do was stop running from it.
Up ahead, Orochimaru walked with the ease of someone who knew exactly how much power he held. His movements were unhurried. Purposeful. And Rei knew, without needing to ask, that he was already deciding how to present the mission report. How much to reveal. What tone to use. What weight to place on her choices.
And that thought made her stomach twist.
She remembered what happened last time.
The way suspicion had taken root.
How everything—her reputation, her missions, her place in the village—had teetered because of what someone else said in a room she hadn't been allowed to speak in.
This time would be worse. Orochimaru wasn't Kakashi.
He wouldn't protect her.
"You're quiet," Orochimaru said suddenly, without turning.
Rei kept her gaze ahead. "I'm tired."
"A fair excuse," he replied. "Though not the truth."
She didn't answer.
"You're wondering what I'll say," he continued, almost amused. "To Sarutobi. To the council. About your encounter."
Rei's jaw tensed.
"I didn't go looking for them," she muttered.
"No," Orochimaru said. "But you listened."
That, apparently, was enough.
They said nothing more as the forest thickened again and the outline of Konoha emerged faintly in the distance. Lanterns were beginning to glow along the outer road. The gates would be waiting. So would the questions.
Rei stared ahead, her expression unreadable.
The gates of Konoha loomed before them, and even though she'd crossed them a thousand times before, tonight they felt different. Like a verdict. Like the village itself was watching. Judging.
She said nothing as they passed the guards—an exchange of quiet nods, nothing more. No questions. Not yet.
Orochimaru's cloak fluttered behind him as he moved with that signature serpent-like grace, a slow and confident glide that made it impossible to tell whether he was arriving as a war hero or slithering into the village as something far more dangerous.
Rei followed two steps behind.
By the time they reached the Hokage Tower, dusk had turned to night. The lanterns outside the council chambers burned low, casting flickering shadows across the walls. ANBU guards stood flanking the heavy doors, masked and silent, but Rei could feel their eyes on her—measuring her steps, waiting for a reason.
She didn't flinch as the doors opened.
The room inside was warmer than the chill air outside, but Rei felt nothing.
The two elders and Danzo were already seated near the far wall, Sarutobi at the center of them next to Sakumo. The Hokage's expression was thoughtful, not unkind, but weighed down by the thousand invisible threads pulling at every decision he made. His robes were still singed from his earlier mission review—a fire at the northern granaries—and now, this.
Orochimaru entered the room without ceremony, his pale cloak sweeping behind him like the trail of a dying flame. He bowed just enough to acknowledge protocol, though his gaze lingered not on the Hokage, but on the elders—particularly Danzo, whose visible eye narrowed at the subtle challenge. Rei followed several steps behind, her boots soundless against the polished floor. She felt like a shadow to his presence, even though she was the one being scrutinized.
Sakumo's eyes flicked to her briefly—sharp, searching—but he said nothing.
"You're late," Danzo noted curtly, fingers drumming once on the armrest of his chair.
Orochimaru's smile was faint, polite in the way a knife was polished. "Forgive me. The border roads are always longer when one's careful."
"Let's hear it," Sarutobi said, voice measured. "What did you find?"
Rei stood off to the side, jaw clenched, arms crossed over her chest. She kept her eyes forward but didn't dare look at Sakumo.
Orochimaru folded his hands behind his back, expression unreadable. "We arrived near the borderlands between the Land of Fire and Wind—close enough to feel the Suna air in our lungs. As anticipated, movement along the perimeter was more than routine." A pause, deliberate. "But it wasn't Suna alone."
Homura leaned forward. "Iwagakure?"
Orochimaru inclined his head slightly. "Indeed. Not officially, of course. The flags were missing, the uniforms inconsistent—but I've seen their tactics before. Makeshift camps hidden just well enough to evade patrols, relay stations buried in abandoned merchant routes. It was quiet... but intentional."
"And?" Danzo asked, voice sharp. "What of the shinobi themselves?"
Orochimaru's golden eyes glinted. "Two individuals in particular stood out. A man and a woman. Strong chakra presence, evasive in movement, yet deliberate in territory. I couldn't get close enough to confirm allegiance." He paused, then added, "Both had streaks of red in their hair."
The room went still.
Rei didn't move.
Danzo's gaze flicked to her in a single, sharp cut. "That's the second report referencing such a trait," he said. "Once during her mission with the Hatake boy. Now again."
Orochimaru raised a single brow. "It's an unusual feature. And chakra resonance was... familiar. Almost familial. I wonder—do we know of any bloodlines capable of passing that trait so precisely?"
He didn't look at Rei.
He didn't need to.
"The Arakawa were thought wiped out," Homura said slowly, fingers steepled. "Or reduced to what little remains here in the village."
"They've been hiding in plain sight, perhaps," Orochimaru mused. "Or gathering under a different flag. Iwagakure has always had a fondness for reappropriated weapons."
Sarutobi's gaze was unreadable. "And the camps?"
"Abandoned now. They sensed our proximity before we could engage. But left behind were coded messages—routing symbols that connect them to a larger chain running east. This wasn't an isolated group." He paused again. "They're preparing."
Sakumo spoke for the first time, voice calm but edged with steel. "And Rei's performance?"
Orochimaru turned to her at last, smiling like he'd rehearsed it. "Unflinching. Obedient. Efficient. She followed every instruction and exceeded the expectations of a genin. I was... impressed."
Rei's stomach twisted.
Danzo's eye narrowed. "And did she demonstrate... restraint?"
Orochimaru gave the smallest of nods. "More than some Jōnin I've led into worse."
"Your opinion carries weight," Sarutobi said. "But the council must still determine how to proceed. This situation grows more complicated by the week. If Suna and Iwa are aligning—secretly or otherwise—we need to consider the broader implications."
"And the girl?" Koharu asked bluntly, gesturing slightly toward Rei.
The room fell quiet again.
"She's useful," Danzo said at last, flat and final. "But unstable. As she grows stronger, her ties to the village must be reinforced—or severed before they snap on their own."
"No," Sakumo said quietly, but firmly. "She belongs here."
Rei's eyes flicked toward him, just once.
Danzo's mouth twitched, but he didn't argue. "Then let's hope she stays convinced of that."
Sarutobi leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Dismissed."
Orochimaru gave a final nod, then turned. Rei followed silently behind, her thoughts a war of tension and fury.
Only when the doors closed behind them did Orochimaru speak again.
"You held yourself well," he said lightly, as though the weight of the conversation hadn't just cast a noose around her neck.
"They're going to come after me again," Rei said quietly, her voice flat.
"They never stopped," he replied, voice smooth. "You're just more valuable now."
He glanced sideways at her, smile faint and unreadable. "That's the price of power, Rei. The moment they fear what you might become... is the moment they try to contain you."
The door creaked open as Rei stepped back into the quiet of the house.
Gone were the polished floors of the Hokage Tower, the calculated tension of a war room cloaked in authority. In their place was the hum of something domestic: the clatter of chopsticks, the soft sizzle of something reheated. Home, as much as this place could still be called that.
She slipped off her sandals, her movements automatic. The scent of grilled fish lingered faintly in the air—burnt at the edges, overcooked by someone who was out of practice. She followed the smell into the kitchen, where she found Takeshi sitting at the small table, a half-finished plate in front of him and a steaming bowl of miso he hadn't touched.
He looked up as she entered, his expression neutral—but not unreadable. Not to her.
"You're back late," he said, his voice steady. "Long mission?"
Rei nodded, moving to the counter to pour herself a glass of water. "Yeah. A-rank."
Takeshi raised a brow. "A-rank? You're not even a Chūnin."
"I went with Orochimaru," she said shortly, not turning around.
He set his chopsticks down. "Right."
The silence stretched until he asked, "So? What happened?"
Rei leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. "Border camps. Suna and Iwa are building up near the edge. We found signs of collaboration." Her voice lowered slightly, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I saw Koji and Mayu again. From before."
She felt his reaction rather than saw it—the subtle shift in energy, the tension that coiled into the air like a blade waiting to be drawn.
"I know who they are," Takeshi said quietly. "Sakumo told me."
Rei's gaze snapped up. "What?"
"Said they're former Arakawa. Defected. Dangerous. And that they want something from you."
Rei pushed off the counter. "They're not dangerous. Not to me."
Takeshi stood slowly, his weight still uneven from recovery but his presence no less solid. "They're not friends, Rei. They're not family either. They left Konoha. That makes them traitors."
"They left because they were betrayed," Rei snapped. "Because they were used. You saw the records in the study—don't pretend you didn't."
"I saw enough," Takeshi said tightly. "Enough to know that nothing justifies what they've done since."
Rei took a step forward, her fists clenched. "They're the only ones who've told me the truth."
"And Orochimaru hasn't?" he asked sharply. "The man who hides behind riddles and smiles while he leads you into more and more danger? You think he's the one who's going to save you?"
"I don't need to be saved," Rei shouted.
Takeshi stared at her, hard. "You think this is strength? Running yourself into the ground every night, pushing away everyone who actually gives a damn?"
"I'm doing what I have to," she said, breath shaking. "You wouldn't understand."
"I do understand," he said, stepping closer. "More than you think. I spent years on the other side of this. I watched our parents destroy themselves for this village, and now you're doing the same."
"I'm nothing like them!"
"Then stop acting like you've already died for a cause you don't even believe in!"
The words hit too close, too fast. Rei's face twisted with something raw, something half-formed. "You don't know anything!" she hissed. "You weren't there—you were asleep while I fought for everything!"
Takeshi froze.
Rei immediately regretted it, but the words were already hanging between them, like blood in water.
He didn't move.
She turned before he could say anything, bolting past the kitchen, the hallway, the front door. Her hands trembled as she shoved her sandals on, the night air crashing into her lungs like a wave of glass.
She didn't stop.
She couldn't.
Because if she looked back—if she saw the look on his face again—she wouldn't be able to run at all.