Chapter 42.5: The Sound of Her Name.
She had never lied before.
Not once.
Not to anyone, and certainly not to her father.
Yet here she was, standing in the cold entryway of their house with her fingers twitching and her heart crashing against her ribs like waves during a storm.
"There was no one," she said.
Her father squinted past her, eyes searching the dim hallway.
"You're sure?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, steadying her voice. "I was just... cleaning."
A pause.
He narrowed his eyes, but then sighed, already tired from the day. He rubbed his temple.
"Next time, lock the damn door," he said.
She nodded.
"Of course."
And then he was gone-just like that.
The door to his room clicked shut.
Ryo didn't breathe until she heard the second lock slide into place.
"I lied," she whispered.
Ryuga stepped out from the shadows of the kitchen, silent as smoke.
"You didn't have to," he said.
"Yes, I did," she said, her voice still shaking.
He looked at her for a long moment.
"It's not a small thing," he said.
"I know," she said.
"I would've taken the fall," he said.
"I know," she said again.
She crossed her arms, more to steady herself than anything else.
"My father taught me to speak the truth, no matter what," she said. "He said the truth is what separates us from animals."
"Then maybe the animals are freer," he said.
She laughed softly. It came out broken.
"You're such a cynic," she said.
"I'm a realist," he said.
She looked at him-really looked. His hair was still damp from the rain, his clothes wrinkled, his presence an act of defiance just by existing in this space.
"And I'm a liar now," she said.
"No," he said. "You're someone who made a choice."
She didn't answer.
Instead, she walked toward him, the floor creaking under her feet.
"Do you regret coming here?" she asked.
"No," he said.
"Do you regret... meeting me?" she asked.
His eyes met hers.
"No," he said again, slower this time.
The silence stretched, not heavy but charged. A quiet space between the end of one truth and the start of another.
"You never use my name," she said.
He blinked. "I do."
"Not really," she said. "You just say 'hey,' or look at me."
"That's not true," he said.
"When have you ever said it?" she asked.
He didn't answer at first.
Then, carefully, like he was placing a fragile object down between them, he spoke.
"Ryo," he said.
She stilled.
The sound of it was the same-but it wasn't.
It came softer, like he wasn't just speaking to her but about her.
"Say it again," she said before she could stop herself.
He raised an eyebrow.
"You like hearing your name?"
"Only when you say it like that," she said.
He smirked slightly, but something gentler flickered behind his eyes.
"Ryo," he said again.
And there it was.
Not a name. A question. A promise. A memory of something not yet real.
She looked away.
"That's the first time anyone's ever said it like it meant something," she said.
He stepped closer.
"It does," he said.
Her breath caught.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you lied-for me," he said. "You betrayed your world-for me."
"I didn't do it for you," she said.
"No?" he asked.
"I did it for me," she said. "Because I wanted you here."
His gaze didn't waver.
"Same thing," he said.
She smiled then-small, but real.
"You're dangerous," she said.
"So are you," he said.
He took another step.
"And if you're going to lie," he said, "you might as well keep going."
She laughed, half-nervous, half-bold.
"Oh?" she asked.
"Tell them I was never here," he said.
"And what if they find out?" she asked.
"Then tell them I'm no one," he said.
She looked him over, all shadows and heat and impossible truths.
"No," she said.
"No?" he asked.
"I'll tell them your name," she said.
His lips curved slightly.
"You know it?" he asked.
"Ryuga," she said.
This time, it was her turn to say it like it meant something else.
Like it had weight.
Like it could hurt and heal all at once.
He looked stunned for half a second. Then he smiled-something rare, unguarded.
And in that cramped hallway with the door shut behind them, something changed.
Not loudly.
But enough.