Noise rises from downstairs.
I move.
By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, Rose is already at the kitchen table, sleeves rolled up, her hair tied loosely. An adult woman stands beside her.
"This is Hiro," Rose says. "The one I told you about, Aunt Anne."
Aunt Anne looks me over, as if she cannot decide whether to trust what she sees.
"Sit," she orders. "You are not traveling on an empty stomach, son."
Rose's bags are lined up neatly along the wall.
"Close your eyes," Aunt Anne says.
Rose obeys at once.
"I wish… I could begin this journey," Rose whispers, "with the person I have longed for. The one I finally found."
I feel her gaze. I ignore it.
"Your turn, son," Anne says.
"I am grateful for warm food," I answer. "It is rare for me."
"Mm. Then let us begin," she says.
We eat. The warmth of this house feels wrong—the kind of place that could soften me enough to kill me. Rose keeps glancing at me, then forcing her eyes down again. She is nervous, yes—but not because of me.
A drop lands on my hand before I feel it on my face.
"Son?" Anne asks.
"I remembered my mother."
"I understand, my son. Do not hold your heart back here. Think of us as your second home."
I nod and finish the meal. Aunt Anne calls the cat. It strolls in as if it owns the place. Rose kneels to pet it.
Then the bell outside rattles the window.
"The carriage is here," Anne says.
"Hiro?" Rose calls, stepping closer. "Am I accepted?"
I stand.
"I do not know where I am going. But what you said last night was not wrong. I accept you—as repayment for your warning."
I go upstairs. The old photograph is still where I left it—edges torn, ink fading, its message carved into me: Stand strong.
"I will find it, Mom," I whisper.
When I come back down, Anne pulls me into a hard embrace—unexpected, heavy with meaning.
"Thank you for that," she says. "She finally wants something again."
I do not answer, though her words trouble me. Wanting anything in a world like this is dangerous.
"Hiro!" Rose calls from outside. "Hurry!"
I run out and climb into the carriage. I sit on the left, farther in from the door. Rose waves at her aunt through the window.
"Goodbye, Aunt!" she calls.
"Be careful. Send my regards to your uncle," Anne replies.
"Of course—he is your husband, after all," Rose says, covering her smiling mouth, then shuts the window.
The road shudders beneath the wheels. She sits close enough that her shoulder brushes mine at every turn—not an accident. Not safe. Her presence feels like fire too close to an open wound.
Halfway through the ride, pain spikes so sharply it shakes my whole body.
"Hiro?" she asks, studying me too closely. "You are trembling."
"I am fine."
HWOOOM—the ship's horn cuts the air from far away.
"Where are we going?" I ask quietly, to be sure.
"You did not know where you were headed before. Now I have chosen somewhere safe—my uncle's place. I always remembered his message: come to him after meeting the one who touched the crystal."
I turn to the window, watching the dark edge of the sea beneath the still-dim dawn sky.
HWOOOM—HWOOOM.
The driver curses. "Sorry for the inconvenience, young master, my lady."
"Do not worry, sir," Rose straightens. Determination tightens her jaw. "We need to catch that ship. Can we?"
We burst into the port—a maze of shouts, crates, the stench of fish, metal, and chaos. Workers yell, sailors throw ropes, guards bark orders. The ship is almost ready to depart.
"We will not make it," I say.
"We will," Rose answers—as if the world has no right to deny her.
The driver drives the horses hard. The wheels slam against stone—TAK–TAK–TAK—SSSKREET—
The jolt knocks the breath out of me. Pain flares again—hotter, deeper.
The carriage skids to a stop.
"Go, and be careful, my lady," the driver shouts.
We grab our bags.
Rose pays the fare.
"Thank you for everything, sir."
"With pleasure."
HWOOOM—the ship's horn cries one last time.
Rose runs. She reaches for my hand; I shake my head and refuse.
The boarding plank.
The crew shout. Rose leaps. I follow. My hand slips—catches—clamps onto the wood.
We climb.
We make it aboard.
Barely.
The ship pulls away. Rose stands beside me, breathless, triumphant—unaware how close I am to collapsing.
The port shrinks behind us.