The heat felt sharper today. Shizume stepped out of her room before Raizō or Taren emerged from theirs, closing the door with a soft click. Her hood was already up, her expression unreadable. She descended the stairs alone, not waiting for either of them. Raizō noticed immediately. Taren, rubbing sleep from his eyes, frowned.

  “Morning to you too…”

  She didn’t respond. When they reached her, she stood a few paces ahead, arms folded, gaze fixed on the street as if she couldn’t stand being near them. Raizō lifted a brow. Taren mouthed, What happened to her? She didn’t look back. They walked through Aseran’s morning bustle, but their usual formation was gone. Shizume stayed ahead. Taren drifted uncertainly between them. Raizō hung back, watching her shoulders stiffen with every step. Taren finally sped up to walk beside her.

  “Hey. You good?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sound like Raizō when he’s lying.”

  “I am not lying.”

  “You totally are—”

  “Taren,” Raizō called quietly.

  He sighed. “Fine…”

  But he kept glancing at her. She didn’t glance once at him. As they pushed through a crowded intersection, a hurried laborer brushed past Shizume too forcefully, shoulder knocking into hers. She barely reacted outwardly, but her cloak shifted. Something thin and sealed slipped out and fluttered onto the stone street behind her. Shizume kept walking, oblivious. Raizō slowed and bent to pick it up. A black wax seal. Taren peered over his shoulder.

  “What’s that? A letter?”

  “I don’t know,” Raizō murmured. “It looks… ordinary enough.”

  They exchanged a look, concern, not suspicion. Raizō tucked it into his cloak.

  “We’ll return it later,” he said.

  Taren nodded nervously. They said nothing to Shizume. Midmorning found them escorting a spice merchant toward the western stalls. It should have been a simple task, mind the crowd, fend off the occasional aggressive vendor, keep the cart steady over uneven stone. But Shizume felt… wrong. Cold. Silent. Rigid. Normally she mirrored Raizō’s pacing without thinking, adjusting whenever he slowed or scanned the area. Today she refused to acknowledge him at all. When a cart rolled too close behind them, Raizō shifted out of the way, Shizume walked on as if she hadn’t noticed. The merchant tripped. Raizō steadied the crate. Shizume didn’t move. Taren stared at her.

  “…You didn’t even look.”

  “I am focused on the front.”

  “That wasn’t focus,” he muttered. “That was— I don’t even know what that was.”

  Shizume didn’t answer. Raizō watched every movement she made, every non-movement too. There was no softness today. No hesitation. No instinctive teamwork. Just distance. Thick, sharp distance. At midday, they stopped in a shaded alley for water. The air shimmered with heat, but Shizume didn’t sit. She stood apart, leaning against the wall, hood still drawn low.

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  Raizō approached slowly.

  “You’re quiet.”

  “I’m always quiet.”

  “Not like today.”

  She said nothing.

  “Did something happen last night?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Her tone was flat, practiced, too practiced. He noticed the faint tremor in her fingers, quickly hidden when she folded her arms.

  “Shizume—”

  “I’m fine.”

  She pushed off the wall and walked ahead before he could speak again. Taren groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

  “What did we do? Did we do anything? Did I say something stupid? I probably said something stupid.”

  “You didn’t,” Raizō said.

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  Raizō watched her disappear around the corner.

  “That.”

  Later that evening, after returning to the inn, Shizume excused herself almost immediately. No arguing. No teasing. No routine moment where she lingered near the stairs. She climbed to her room with a sharp, deliberate stride. Taren watched her go.

  “Something is seriously wrong.”

  Raizō didn’t disagree.

  Shizume’s room was dim when she entered. She closed the door quietly behind her and leaned against it for a long, trembling breath. Her hood slipped back, hair sticking slightly to her forehead from the day’s heat. She crossed to her bed, sat stiffly, and stared at her hands. Her fingers still felt cold.

  The letter wasn’t in her pocket, she had hidden it deep inside her travel bag earlier. Or so she thought. But she could feel it anyway. Its presence clung to her skin, to her breath, to every thought she tried to silence.

  Verrin’s words tore through her like a blade every time they resurfaced.

  Failure. Compromised. Eliminate the targets.

  She forced her breathing steady. This wasn’t fear. Assassins didn’t fear. This was calculation. Discipline. Obedience. That’s what she told herself. But her chest hurt, and she hated that the pain felt familiar. She laid back on the bed, turning her face away from the door, and away from the place where her bag was tucked beneath the table. She closed her eyes. Pretended to sleep. Tried to shut everything out.

  Downstairs, Taren paced.

  “She’s not okay. She’s absolutely not okay. What do we do?”

  Raizō didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the stairs, thoughtful, troubled.

  “She’s hiding something,” he said quietly.

  “Well, yeah,” Taren said. “She’s always hiding something. But this is different. This feels… bad.”

  “It is.”

  Taren froze. “What do you mean it is?”

  Raizō finally pulled the envelope from his cloak.

  Taren’s eyes widened. “The letter she dropped?”

  Raizō nodded and broke the seal. They both read.

  Taren’s voice cracked as he finished reading:

  “You are to eliminate both targets immediately and return for your next assignment. Any delay will be taken as defection.”

  Taren stared at the page as if it were burning him.

  “She… was supposed to kill us.”

  His voice rose, raw and furious.

  “She walked with us. Ate with us. Helped us. And now THIS? Are you kidding me?!”

  Raizō folded the letter quietly.

  “If she wanted to kill us,” he said softly, “we would already be dead.”

  “That doesn’t make it BETTER!” Taren snapped.

  “What if she changes her mind? What if this Verrin guy forces her hand? What if— What if she’s deciding RIGHT NOW—”

  “She’s afraid,” Raizō said.

  “And she’s alone with it.”

  Taren paced, fists clenched.

  “Do you trust her?”

  Raizō didn’t hesitate.

  “More than the one who sent this.”

  Taren swallowed hard. After a long, trembling breath, he muttered,

  “…Fine. But I don’t know if I can.”

  Raizō slipped the letter beneath his cloak again.

  “Let’s return it.”

  They reached her door. Raizō opened it quietly. Shizume sat at the window, still as stone, head turned slightly as if resting in uneasy sleep. Lantern light flickered against her silhouette. She didn’t move. Raizō stepped forward and placed the letter gently on the table beside her pack. A quiet, respectful gesture. Taren lingered, anger softening only into hurt. Under his breath, he muttered:

  “Don’t expect me to watch my back twice.”

  Shizume didn’t respond. Didn’t turn. Didn’t breathe. Raizō stepped out. Taren followed. The door closed softly. For several breaths, nothing moved.

  Then—

  Shizume slowly opened her eyes. They locked onto the letter. Fear, conflict, and something breaking inside her flickered behind her calm expression. Her fingers curled in her lap. Her chest tightened. And she exhaled, shallow, unsteady. The lie of safety she’d built around herself cracked.