The Fragment had developed a sense of humor.
"You're overthinking again."
I'm being cautious. There's a difference.
"Is there? You've calculated exit routes from your own bedroom three times this morning."
The Enhanced Analysis doesn't turn off.
"Neither does paranoia. They're becoming difficult to distinguish."
I finished lacing my shoes and stood. The mirror showed me a face that looked tired - not physically, but in some deeper way. The kind of tired that sleep couldn't fix.
"You need to trust something eventually, little thief."
I trust you.
"Do you?"
Fair question. I didn't answer it.
The patrol route tonight took us through Kuoh's eastern district - residential streets giving way to light industrial, then the abandoned lots near the old shipping yard. Kiba moved ahead, sword instincts keeping him three steps forward. Koneko flanked left, silent as always.
I brought up the rear, mark throbbing dully against my wrist.
Twenty-one days remaining.
The Watcher hadn't spoken since the scout attack, but his presence was constant. Like pressure behind my eyes. Like being watched by something I couldn't see.
"Forty-two percent," the Fragment observed. "Stable. But the mark accelerates integration. Every pulse, every ache - it feeds the connection."
I know.
"You say that often. I wonder if you understand."
What's to understand? I'm running out of time.
"The Watcher doesn't want you at 50%. He wants you unstable before 50%. Panic. Fear. Loss of control." A pause. "Trauma."
I watched Kiba's back. The way his shoulders tensed every few steps. The way his hand kept drifting to his sword hilt.
He's on edge tonight.
"Everyone has ghosts. His are particularly loud."
The trace hit us near the old foundry.
Koneko stopped first - nose twitching, ears flat. "...something."
Kiba's blade cleared its sheath in one smooth motion. "I feel it too."
I extended my senses, Enhanced Analysis parsing the ambient energy. Something bright. Something wrong. A resonance that made my devil nature recoil.
"Holy energy," I said. "Strong. Recent."
Kiba went very still.
"Excalibur."
The word came out like a curse. Like poison. Like something he'd been holding in his throat for years and could finally spit free.
"You're sure?" I asked.
"I'm sure." His voice had dropped - formal Kiba gone, replaced by something colder. "I would recognize that signature anywhere. In any form. At any distance." He turned to face me, and his eyes were wrong. Hollow. Haunted. "They're here."
"Who?"
"The swords that killed my friends."
The mark on my wrist BURNED.
Darkness. Not of night - of mind.
"The Core weakens. 40% approaches."
I was suddenly elsewhere. A vision. Not real. But too vivid.
Kiba. Dead on the ground. Excalibur through his chest.
His blood on my hands.
"His trauma will be your downfall."
No.
"14 days, little thief. Then I collect."
The vision shattered.
I was back in the alley, Kiba staring at me.
"Ryder? You okay?"
"Fine." My voice was hoarse. "Just... a headache."
The mark pulsed hot against my sleeve.
[PSYCHIC INTRUSION: THE WATCHER]
[MARK STATUS: ACTIVE]
[Countdown: 21 days remaining]
[Restoration scouts: INCOMING to Kuoh]
"Little thief," the Fragment warned, "the Watcher accelerates your Echo growth."
I noticed.
"Using trauma as catalyst."
Whose trauma? Mine or Kiba's?
"Does it matter? You're connected to this peerage. Their pain becomes your instability." A pause. "You need to integrate quickly."
I know.
"Do you?"
I hid it well enough. Or maybe Kiba was too distracted by his own ghosts to notice mine.
We finished the patrol in silence - quick, professional, tense. The holy energy faded as we moved away from the foundry, but Kiba's edge didn't soften. He walked like a man headed to war.
He lost people to those swords.
The Enhanced Analysis pulled fragments from memory. The Holy Sword Project. Church experiments on children, trying to create artificial holy sword wielders. Most subjects died. Some survived to become weapons.
Kiba was one of the survivors.
"Vengeance," the Fragment observed. "A simple motivation. Often fatal."
He's not going to do anything stupid.
"Everyone believes that about the people they care about. Until they do something stupid."
I watched Kiba's back and felt the echo of the Watcher's vision. Blood on my hands. Excalibur through his chest.
Not if I can help it.
The ORC was crowded when we arrived.
Rias stood at the head of the room, Akeno at her side. Asia sat in her usual chair, hands folded, green eyes worried. Mira had claimed the corner - still keeping distance, still wearing her thick gloves.
"You found traces," Rias said as we entered. Not a question.
"Holy energy. Excalibur signature." Kiba moved to stand before her, formal posture returned but tension visible in every line. "They're in Kuoh."
"I know." Rias's voice was controlled, but I caught the undercurrent of concern. "I received word an hour ago. The Church is sending emissaries."
"Emissaries." Kiba made the word sound obscene.
"Exorcists. Two of them. They're tracking stolen Excalibur fragments."
"Stolen?" I moved to stand beside Rias. Close enough that our shoulders almost touched. "Someone stole pieces of Excalibur?"
"Three fragments. Holy Sword of Destruction, Holy Sword of Mimic, Holy Sword of Nightmare." Rias's crimson eyes met mine. "The Church believes they're being taken to this area for some kind of fusion ritual."
"By who?"
"Unknown. But the energy you detected suggests they're already here."
Kiba stepped forward. "I volunteer to assist. Whatever they need. Whatever they require."
Too eager. Too fast. The Enhanced Analysis flagged it immediately - motivation analysis, behavioral prediction. Kiba wasn't volunteering to help. He was volunteering for revenge.
Rias noticed it too. "Kiba - "
"Those swords killed my friends." His voice cracked, just slightly. "My family. Children who trusted the Church to protect them." He straightened, regaining control. "I will not stand aside while Excalibur walks freely."
Silence.
Rias looked at me. I saw the question in her eyes - Is he stable?
I didn't know. And that scared me more than the Watcher's vision.
"Divine artifacts," the Fragment murmured. "I wonder..."
Wonder what?
"What they taste like."
No.
"You misunderstand. I'm not hungry." A pause that might have been amusement. "I'm curious. The Architect created Fragments. Angels created Excalibur. Both are expressions of the same principle - power bound to form."
You want to copy them.
"I want to understand them. Copying is incidental."
The answer is still no.
"For now." The Fragment went quiet. "But curiosity is patient."
I pushed the conversation aside and focused on the meeting. Rias was explaining the situation - the exorcists would arrive tomorrow, cooperation was expected, tensions would be managed.
Standard diplomatic language for "this is going to be a mess."
"The Church doesn't trust devils," Akeno observed. "Ara ara, I can't imagine why."
"And devils don't trust the Church," Rias agreed. "But we have a common enemy. Whoever stole those fragments isn't operating alone - the ritual they're planning requires resources, protection, time."
"Fallen angels?" I suggested.
"Possibly. The signatures are mixed." Rias's expression darkened. "There are also rumors of Kokabiel's involvement."
The name hung in the air like a threat. Kokabiel - one of the leaders of the Grigori, the fallen angel faction. A warmonger. A fanatic.
"If Kokabiel is involved," Kiba said quietly, "this isn't about fragments. It's about starting a war."
"Then we stop him." Rias's voice held steel. "Whatever it takes."
The meeting adjourned without answers.
Tomorrow the exorcists would arrive. Tonight, we watched and waited. Kiba took first vigil at the boundary ward. Koneko vanished to her usual patrol spots. Akeno coordinated with Sona's peerage for increased security.
I found myself on the roof again. Stars hidden by clouds. Wind cold enough to sting.
Mira appeared beside me without sound. She'd gotten better at that - or I'd gotten worse at noticing.
"You're troubled," she said.
"That obvious?"
"Your mark is glowing." She nodded at my wrist. Through the sleeve, the twelve-pointed star pulsed with faint light. "It does that when the Watcher pays attention."
I pulled my sleeve down. Not that it helped.
"Restoration scouts sensed the holy energy," Mira continued. "They're coming."
"How many?"
"At least three. Maybe more." Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "Holy energy is like a beacon. It calls to everything - divine, infernal, and Fragment alike."
"And they know I'm here."
"They've always known you're here. The mark ensures that." She looked at me - really looked, not just observing. "The question is whether they strike now or wait for you to weaken."
The Watcher wants me unstable. The Restoration wants me captured. And now the Church is sending holy swords to my front door.
"Busy week," the Fragment observed. "Try not to die."
Thanks for the encouragement.
Below, Kiba stood vigil.
I could see him from the roof - a silhouette against the academy lights, sword in hand, watching for enemies that might not come tonight. His posture was perfect. His stillness absolute.
But I knew what was underneath. The rage. The grief. The years of trauma waiting for an outlet.
"Vengeance makes people stupid," the Fragment said. "I've seen this story before."
And?
"It doesn't end well."
I looked at Kiba's silhouette, then at my glowing mark. The Watcher was using his trauma against me. Using my fear of losing him to push me toward 50%.
Using the people I cared about as weapons.
This time, I said, we rewrite the ending.
"Optimistic."
Determined.
"There's a difference?"
Tomorrow, the Church would send its agents. Tonight, the Restoration moved closer. And in the spaces between, the Watcher laughed.
But I stood on that roof, with my peerage below and my allies around me, and I refused to break.
Forty-two percent. Rising.
Twenty-one days remaining.
The countdown continued.