The training yard was quiet at midnight.
Ryu sat alone on the concrete, the night air sharp against her damp skin. The echo of her last mission refused to leave.
The body.
The flames.
The fire didn't scream, but her memory did.
She pressed her palms against her temples, hard enough to hurt.
"It was necessary. He was armed. He would have slit my throat if I hadn't moved first."
Her logic stacked neatly, stone on stone.
But beneath it… the foundation shook.
Because when she closed her eyes, she didn't see the blade.
She saw the moment after—the widening of eyes, the gasp that didn't finish, the body falling like it had been pulled by strings cut loose.
And then the fire.
The smell.
The crackle of fat turning to smoke.
She gagged, hand over her mouth, but nothing came out.
Only the ghost of a voice, whispering from some older part of herself:
"You promised. You promised you wouldn't kill unless you had to."
Her fingers dug into her knees.
I had to.
I had to.
She repeated it until the words lost their meaning, until they were just sound.
But another thought slipped through the cracks anyway:
What if he had a family? What if someone is waiting for him the way I once waited for my father? What if they never stop waiting?
Her chest tightened.
For the first time in weeks, she felt tears prick her eyes.
She blinked hard, forcing them back.
The mask lay beside her… cracked but intact, the same one that had stared down enemies without tremor.
She picked it up.
Turned it over in her hands.
"They can't see me like this. No one can."
But even as she slid it back onto her face, her fingers trembled.
Her breath shook.
The fire was gone. The body was gone.
But the ash?
The ash had followed her home.