The aroma of rice porridge dragged Maria from the deep, dreamless void. Her eyes snapped open, blazing with an alertness that belied her recent unconsciousness. Every muscle tensed, ready to spring, but a quick scan of her surroundings registered a small, unfamiliar apartment, meticulously tidy. And then, her gaze fell upon it: the long bag, lying right beside her on the bed. A wave of relief, potent and swift, washed over her, allowing the tension to drain from her shoulders.
But the calm was short-lived. Light footsteps approaching from what sounded like a kitchen. She instinctively went rigid again, her senses flaring, listening to the soft shuffle.
Kaito entered the small living room, a steaming bowl of porridge in his hands. He'd noticed her stirring just moments ago, a subtle shift in her breathing, a twitch of her fingers around the bag. It was why he'd hurried with the food, a simple, comforting gesture for someone who had clearly been through hell.
He paused when he saw her eyes, wide open and fixed on him, a strange intensity in their green depths. Her long, blonde hair, a pale halo around her face, was tangled from her ordeal, but even so, it framed features that were sharp and striking.
"Oh, you're awake," Kaito said, a relieved smile touching his lips. He set the bowl on a small coffee table nearby. "How are you feeling? I made some porridge. It's easy on the stomach."
Maria said nothing, her gaze unwavering. Her mind raced, not about the pain, which was surprisingly dulled, nor the confusion of her surroundings. No, her thoughts were entirely consumed by a single, perplexing question: How?
Her psychic barrier should have been absolute. A subtle, hard to detect ward she had erected around her unconscious form, designed to deter ordinary individuals, to make them subconsciously choose another path, or simply not see her in that alleyway. Yet, this boy, this seemingly ordinary high school student, had not only approached her but had carried her all the way to his apartment. It defied her logic and training.
Caution warred with a deep, unbidden wave of gratitude. He had, after all, saved her. He hadn't called the authorities nor left her to bleed out. He had simply... helped.
"You don't have to say anything if you don't feel like it," Kaito continued, misinterpreting her silence. "Just... try to eat something. You lost a lot of blood." He pushed the bowl a little closer, the steam curling invitingly.
Maria's gaze softened almost imperceptibly. Her questions could wait. For now, there was only the warmth of the porridge, the kindness of a stranger, and the quiet, bewildering anomaly of Kaito Tanaka. She reached out a still-shaking hand for the spoon, the warmth of the porridge a small comfort against the lingering chill in her bones. She took a tentative sip, the bland taste surprisingly welcome. She looked up at Kaito, his concern genuine.
"Thank you," she said, her voice a low murmur, a little hoarse. "For… everything." She paused, then added, "My name is Maria."
Kaito's smile broadened. "Kaito," he replied, giving a small, polite bow of his head. "Kaito Tanaka."
Maria nodded, taking another spoonful of porridge. Her mind, however, was already racing, piecing together the events that led her to this unexpected sanctuary. The auction house, the intense pursuit, the desperate escape. She was certain now: the Order and the Circle—two ancient, rival factions vying for control of powerful artifacts—would have locked down London. Their resources were immense, their reach extending into every facet of society, from finance to even the arts. Their networks were so vast, they could make a city or two disappear if they wanted to.
Her squad. A grim knot tightened in her stomach. They wouldn't have made it. The Order's enforcers, and the Circle's elusive operatives, were merciless. If not killed outright in the chaos, they would have been captured. And so, she knew their protocol: suicide. A clean, silent exit to protect information. She envisioned their final moments, a chilling certainty.
That meant she was alone. And they were undoubtedly after her and Durandal. The sword, still nestled in its bag beside her, was a beacon to them. So far, she'd been using her "Aurora Weave"—a specialized aspect of her psychic abilities—to mask its unique energy signature. It was a delicate, constant effort, like pulling a fine silk cloth over a roaring fire, designed to deter passive detection. But it wasn't foolproof. The more focused their search, the more powerful their trackers, the higher the risk she'd be pinpointed. The faint thrumming she felt from the blade confirmed it was indeed a magnet for attention.
Kaito, noticing the subtle tension that had returned to her shoulders, the flicker of worry in her eyes, spoke softly. "You look troubled, Maria. I… I don't know what happened, but if you need a place to stay for a while, just until you're better, you can. I live alone. It's not much, but it's safe here." He gestured vaguely around his tidy, modest apartment.
Maria hesitated. Her immediate instinct was to refuse, to flee, to protect him from the danger she carried. He was an innocent, a kind boy who had inexplicably bypassed her defenses. But then she felt the dull ache of her wounds, the lingering exhaustion that made every movement a monumental effort. She was weak. Too weak to move, too weak to fight, too weak to run effectively. However, for the sake of the missions, she had no option left.
She looked into Kaito's earnest eyes, weighing the risk against her desperate need. "I… I accept," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Kaito."