The morning sun filtered through the curtains of the Hyūga home, painting the walls with a soft golden hue. Hana sat quietly at the edge of the dining table, her hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea that had long since lost its steam. Ren and Sakura's laughter echoed faintly from the other room, while Ryouji busied himself in the garden, trimming the hedges as if nothing in the world could disturb the peace.
But Hana's thoughts were elsewhere.
She had not slept well the night before. The image of a man standing across the street—silent, watching their home—kept replaying in her mind. She had pretended not to notice, masking her unease with the same warm smile she always showed to her children. Yet, the shadow of that gaze still lingered.
Her hand trembled slightly as she lifted the cup to her lips. Was it just my imagination? Or has the past finally caught up to us?
A faint creak of the floorboards pulled her back. Ren padded into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.
"Mom? You're up early."
Hana forced a smile. "I couldn't sleep, sweetheart. Want some breakfast?"
Ren shook his head, settling into a chair beside her. For a moment, his curious eyes studied her face. "You look… worried. Did something happen?"
Her smile faltered. Children were sharper than adults gave them credit for, and Ren was especially perceptive. Hana hesitated, then reached over to ruffle his hair. "It's nothing. Just tired, that's all."
But even as she said it, her heart ached with the lie.
---
Later that afternoon, Hana walked to the local market. It should have been a routine trip, blending into the rhythm of everyday life. Yet every corner she turned seemed heavier with silence, every stranger's glance lingering too long. She tightened her grip on the basket in her hand, forcing herself to breathe steadily.
And then, she saw it—no, him. A figure leaning casually against the wall near the butcher's stall, head low, face partially hidden under a cap. He wasn't looking directly at her, yet something about his presence screamed familiarity. Her heart skipped.
Memories surged unbidden. Blood on white sheets. The sterile smell of antiseptic in the hospital she once worked at. A man being wheeled into her ward, his body riddled with wounds not from accidents but from violence. She had tried to treat him, tried to save him. But in saving him, she had unknowingly stepped into a world of shadows she had never wished to see again.
Hana bit her lip and forced her legs to keep moving, pretending not to notice. But she could feel it—the weight of being watched, the same heavy gaze from last night.
---
When she returned home, she found Ryouji in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as he washed vegetables. The sight of him—calm, ordinary—should have been comforting. Yet the unease in her chest refused to fade.
"Ryouji," she said softly.
He looked up, sensing something in her tone. "What's wrong?"
Hana set the basket down, her hands lingering on the counter as if steadying herself. For a moment, she debated telling him. But the children's laughter drifted in from the living room, grounding her in hesitation.
"I…" She stopped, eyes lowering. "Nothing. Just tired."
Ryouji studied her, his gaze sharp but gentle. He knew her well enough to realize when she was hiding something. Yet he didn't press further. Instead, he dried his hands and touched her shoulder lightly. "Get some rest. I'll handle dinner tonight."
Hana nodded, though the words she wanted to say screamed louder inside her. Someone is watching us. The past we've tried to bury is stirring again.
---
That night, sleep eluded her once more. Hana sat near the window, staring at the dimly lit street outside. Every shadow seemed to stretch longer, every flicker of movement drawing her heart into her throat. She pressed her hands together, whispering to herself like a prayer.
"Please… let me protect them this time."
Memories of her hospital days returned, of helplessly watching people torn apart by violence, of Ryouji walking in wounded but alive, carrying a darkness she could barely comprehend. She had chosen him despite it, chosen the family they built together. But now, she feared that choice might cost them everything.
As the clock struck midnight, Hana caught a glimpse of movement outside the house—a fleeting figure disappearing into the shadows. Her breath caught. It wasn't imagination.
The watcher was real.
And the peace of the Hyūga family was cracking, one silent night at a time.