Footsteps In The Dark

The morning light sliced through the gap in the curtains, drawing a thin line across Ayame's face. She opened her eyes slowly, the weight of yesterday's argument with Mikey still pressing against her chest—heavier than his arm draped across her waist. She shifted carefully, sliding out from under his possessive embrace, the memory of his words about Izana, about the coming war, about her needing protection, all of it replaying in her mind like a stubborn melody she couldn't shake.

Ayame sat at the edge of the bed, her bare feet against the cool wooden floor. The house was quiet except for the distant sound of Mikey's grandfather moving around downstairs. Three days had passed since the Intel Toman meeting, but time hadn't diluted the tension that had flared between them. She rubbed her eyes, feeling the grit of exhaustion beneath her fingertips.

Behind her, Mikey's breathing remained deep and even. His blond hair splayed across the pillow, making him look younger, more innocent than the boy who had stood before her, fists clenched, eyes hard with resolve as he'd told her about his plans to confront his half-brother.

The memory pulled her backward, as vivid as if she were living it again.

"You can't just declare war on your own half-brother," Ayame had said, her voice low but cutting. Ayame had been folding laundry, a domestic task that felt absurdly normal against the violence of his words. Her hands had stilled on one of his T-shirts. "It's not just about Toman anymore, Mikey. It's family."

Mikey had been standing by the window, moonlight carving his silhouette into something harder than she recognized. "Izana stopped being family when he threatened mine." "And blood doesn't mean loyalty. You should know that better than anyone."

The barb had stung, a deliberate reference to her own complicated family history. "That's not fair."

His hands were shoved into his pockets, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. "Fair doesn't win fights." He'd moved toward her then, taking the shirt from her hands and tossing it aside. "And I'm not asking your permission. I'm telling you so you understand why you need protection."

"Protection?" The word had tasted bitter on her tongue. "I told you, I don't need a babysitter. I've been taking care of myself long before I met you, Mikey."

"This isn't about what you need. It's about what I need." His voice had been steady, matter-of-fact. "Kisaki is out there, and he's made it clear you're a target. I'm not losing you too."

Mikey's voice had hardened further. "Draken and Chifuyu have already agreed to take shifts.

"Since when do you make decisions for me?" She'd pulled away from him, anger rising like mercury in a thermometer. "I've managed to stay alive this long without an entourage."

"This is different." His fingers had caught her wrist, gentle but insistent. "Izana knows what you mean to me. That makes you a target and Kisaki has made threats. Specific ones. About you."

"So what? He makes threats all the time."

"Not like this." Mikey had turned then, and his eyes held something she rarely saw there—fear, quickly masked. "Chifuyu and Draken will take shifts. It's already arranged."

The presumption had ignited something in her. "You arranged this without talking to me first? Who exactly do you think you are?"

"Someone who won't let anything happen to you." His voice had hardened then, patience fraying. "Tenjiku isn't playing games, and neither am I. Izana and Kisaki want to take everything from me."

"And you going to war with them makes me what, exactly? Collateral damage?" Her voice had risen, louder than she'd intended. "Think about what you're doing, Mikey. Think about Emma, your grandfather—think about me!"