Kazuki carried Hime in his arms, his footsteps deliberate and measured as he moved through the darkened streets. The soft glow of distant streetlights barely illuminated his path, but his focus never wavered. The city around them was alive with faint sounds—distant sirens, the hum of passing cars far from their secluded route—but Kazuki moved as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
The weight of her trembling body in his arms was a stark reminder of her fragility—something he found unnervingly foreign when it came to her. Hime, who was always composed, calculating, and untouchable, felt unnervingly fragile now. It gnawed at him in a way he didn't fully understand, but he shoved the thought aside, keeping his mind on the task at hand.
The antiseptic smell still clung to her, mingling with the faint metallic tang of her blood and the damp chill of the night air. Her weight was nothing—he could carry her for miles—but the tremors coursing through her body were unbearable. It wasn't just pain. There was something deeper beneath it, a breaking point she was fighting to keep hidden.
Kazuki glanced down at her. Her face, so pale it was nearly translucent under the weak light, rested against his shoulder. Her dark lashes fluttered faintly, her shallow breaths brushing against his collar. Her silence, however, was the loudest thing of all. The quiet wasn't calm—it was heavy, suffocating, and it seemed to carry a thousand unsaid words. It made him uneasy. Hime was never silent like this.
He stopped beneath an old stone archway, the kind that once framed grand entrances but now stood as a forgotten relic, weathered and cracked. Adjusting his grip on her, he crouched slightly to shift her weight, ensuring she was more comfortable. The brush of her coat against his arm was almost imperceptible, but it grounded him in the moment. He could feel the slight tremor in her breathing as if her entire body were fighting to stay in control.
With one arm supporting her securely, Kazuki pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. His movements were methodical, but his grip on the device was tense. The cool screen reflected the faint light of the streetlamp above them as he held it to his ear.
"Ivan," he said, his voice low but commanding, each word clipped with urgency. "I need a car at these coordinates. Somewhere quiet. They can't see us."
The line was silent for a moment before Ivan's calm but questioning voice came through. "Understood. ETA?"
"Now," Kazuki snapped, his impatience cutting through the air like a blade. "And send Petrov to the vet. Quietly clean up any mess. No loose ends."
There was another pause, a barely perceptible hesitation before Ivan replied, "Got it." The line went dead with a soft click.
Kazuki slipped the phone back into his pocket with a precise motion, his gaze immediately returning to Hime. Her head lolled slightly against his shoulder, her breath hitching in a way that made his chest tighten. She wasn't just exhausted; she was unraveling. The fortress she had always so carefully maintained was crumbling before his eyes.
Her face was still pale, almost ghostly under the dim light. Her lips were slightly parted, as though she wanted to speak but couldn't find the strength to form the words. Her breathing was steady but shallow, each exhale brushing faintly against his neck. He felt the storm raging within her—the fear, the exhaustion, the unspoken turmoil. It radiated off her in waves, even though her body remained limp and silent.
The street around them was unnervingly still. The distant hum of the city seemed a world away, muted by the weight of the moment. The breeze carried the faint scent of rain, mingling with the stale dampness of the archway. Kazuki's sharp eyes darted across the shadows, scanning for any sign of movement. He didn't trust the quiet, but for now, it was his only ally.
He adjusted his grip on her once more, his arm tightening protectively around her. "You're not allowed to fall apart," he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to her. The words were soft, almost inaudible, but they carried a weight that even he didn't fully understand.
Hime didn't respond, her silence hanging heavy in the air. She rested against him, unmoving, but Kazuki could feel it—the quiet plea buried beneath the cracks of her carefully constructed armor. It wasn't a cry for help; it was something far more vulnerable. It was trust.
And that, more than anything, was what drove him forward.