The morning began like any other in Class 1-B: teacher talking, students half asleep, and Kaelan trying to look normal.

  But normality in Kuoh was a lie that grew harder to maintain with each passing day.

  It wasn’t some dramatic premonition.

  It was an accumulation of small details: hallways with fewer laughs, teachers cutting off conversations when someone approached, announcements that sounded too formal for an ordinary school. And beneath all of it, that sensation that the air was charged…

  like before an electric storm.

  Kaelan sat down at his desk with his back straight, trying to ignore the slight tremor in his fingers.

  It wasn’t cold.

  It was delayed awareness.

  The Resonance pulsed once.

  THM.

  It didn’t show him a vision. It didn’t throw him a warning.

  It simply… adjusted itself.

  Like an animal preparing for something inevitable.

  Koneko was near the window.

  Chocolate in hand, gaze still.

  When Kaelan sat down behind her, she didn’t fully turn around, but she spoke anyway.

  —Something enters today.

  Kaelan blinked.

  —What?

  Koneko bit into the chocolate as if the answer were obvious.

  —Something that shouldn’t be here.

  Kaelan swallowed.

  He didn’t ask what, because his body had already understood the concept: when Koneko said shouldn’t, she wasn’t talking about school rules.

  She was talking about forces.

  And that was what unsettled him most.

  Because Kaelan didn’t know what was coming.

  He only knew that canon—that track he thought he recognized—was doing something it wasn’t supposed to do.

  In his head, the pieces fit differently:

  Excaliburs first. Kokabiel after. Chaos. Injuries. And only then, at the end, them.

  Xenovia and Irina were not “a visit.”

  They were an ending.

  They were the sign that the disaster had already happened.

  So if they appeared earlier…

  Kaelan gripped the pencil hard.

  —No… —he murmured without realizing it.

  Koneko did realize.

  She turned her head slightly.

  —Don’t say it out loud.

  Kaelan looked at her.

  —What?

  —Your fear. If you name it… it becomes real.

  Kaelan wanted to answer, but the bell saved the conversation, and the classroom emptied with the usual chaos. Tatsu and Hiroshi reached him immediately, as always, carrying the weight of the ordinary so they wouldn’t feel the weight of the strange.

  —Kaelan! —Tatsu nearly slammed into him.— Dude, I heard there are “guests” in second year! But not like new students, okay? Like… meeting with the principal and everything. Super serious!

  Hiroshi, who always seemed less naive, frowned.

  —I saw two teachers with faces that said “don’t ask questions.” That’s never good.

  Kaelan tried to joke.

  It didn’t come out.

  The Resonance pulsed again.

  THM.

  This time tense. Precise.

  Like a thread pulling tight in his chest.

  Koneko appeared beside him without a sound.

  —They already came in —she said.

  Kaelan went still.

  —Who?

  Koneko didn’t answer immediately, as if choosing which part of the world was worth saying aloud.

  —The ones that smell like sword.

  Kaelan felt his stomach close up.

  Sword.

  It wasn’t a word.

  It was a symbol.

  It was the blood on the bridge. The shine in the mud. The body falling. The Excalibur wrapped in cloth. The burning in his hands.

  And the memory that wasn’t his.

  Kaelan swallowed.

  Don’t go, one part of his mind said.

  But another part—that damned part that always got involved where it shouldn’t—was already walking.

  Koneko went first.

  Kaelan followed her.

  The second-year hallway was crowded, but not with excitement.

  With restrained curiosity.

  With people who didn’t know why they were looking, but were looking anyway. Teachers at the corners. Students stopping short to pretend they were “just passing through.”

  And a strange silence: the silence of institutions when something external enters, and authority tries to maintain the illusion of control.

  Kaelan felt the pressure in his chest.

  THM.

  It wasn’t a warm pulse.

  It was a dry warning.

  When he turned the corner, he saw them.

  Not as students.

  Not as “new girls.”

  They were with adults. With papers. With that kind of formality that only exists when someone brings a written decision from above.

  Irina looked like she was smiling, but her smile had the fragility of something being held together by obligation.

  Xenovia was still, straight, blue gaze sharp, as if courtesy were a language she only spoke when strictly necessary.

  And then Kaelan felt it:

  The city was not neutral anymore.

  Not now.

  Koneko stopped one step behind Kaelan, as if she knew he needed space to process.

  Kaelan couldn’t move.

  Because his head was screaming something simple and monstrous:

  They shouldn’t be here yet.

  Irina saw them first.

  —Koneko-chan! —she greeted, relieved and nervous at the same time, as if seeing a familiar face lowered her tension.

  Xenovia looked at Kaelan.

  Not with surprise.

  With cold recognition.

  As if she had marked him mentally the first time.

  Kaelan felt a chill.

  Not because she was powerful.

  But because she was living proof that the timeline he knew was already correcting itself…

  or breaking.

  —Arverth —Xenovia said directly.

  Kaelan clenched his jaw.

  —Don’t call me that like you… —he cut himself off. He didn’t know what he was going to say. Like I’m a case file. Like you own this. Like this is normal.

  Xenovia didn’t argue. She just spoke.

  —We have temporary authorization of supervision.

  Supervision.

  The word landed like a stone.

  Irina, with desperate kindness, translated it into human language:

  —It’s not that we… joined the school, it’s just that… the situation changed.

  Kaelan felt his back go cold.

  —Changed? —he repeated, and it came out lower than he intended.

  Irina hesitated for a second.

  Xenovia did not.

  —There is an active Excalibur in Kuoh.

  Kaelan felt his heart drop one level.

  It wasn’t surprise.

  It was confirmation.

  Confirmation that that—the wrapped sword, the mud, the blood—had not been merely “an incident.”

  It had been a trigger.

  Xenovia continued without softening it:

  —An Excalibur in devil territory is an intolerable variable. And if it is also “contained” by people without jurisdiction… then the mission ceased to be recovery. It is now strategic containment.

  Koneko tensed slightly, but did not answer. Her expression stayed flat.

  Kaelan felt the urge to say something defensive.

  But defense wasn’t what he felt.

  It was fear.

  Because that sentence meant: the Vatican is looking at Kuoh as a crisis zone.

  And if the Vatican is looking, others are looking too.

  Irina lowered her voice.

  —We came because… if something goes wrong, Kuoh becomes a graveyard. And nobody wants that.

  Kaelan wanted to say I already know.

  But he couldn’t.

  Because what scared him wasn’t the graveyard.

  It was the graveyard arriving too early.

  Kaelan inhaled deeply, and in doing so he felt the edge in the air.

  Another presence approached.

  Not new.

  Not surprising.

  But inevitable.

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  Kiba arrived from the other side of the hallway.

  His posture was the same as always: controlled. Decent. Polite on the outside.

  But Kaelan already knew how to read him: every time Excalibur was near, Kiba became a walking wound.

  Xenovia looked at him.

  Not in discovery.

  In that friction that had already settled between them since the bridge, since the restaurant.

  Like two people who owe each other nothing…

  and yet are forced to coexist because war does not ask permission.

  —Kiba —Xenovia said, dryly.

  Kiba didn’t answer immediately.

  When he did, he didn’t raise his voice:

  —I didn’t come to talk about faith.

  Irina lowered her gaze, as if that sentence hurt her for the second time.

  Xenovia did not flinch.

  —Perfect. I didn’t come to talk about faith either. I came to make sure this doesn’t spiral.

  Kiba looked at her for one second more, and Kaelan saw something there: not pure hatred, not theatrical revenge. Something more dangerous.

  Exhaustion.

  The kind of exhaustion that, if it breaks, turns into violence.

  Kiba spoke, clipped:

  —I don’t care about your temporary authorization. If you’re going to be in Kuoh, don’t get in the way.

  Irina opened her mouth to soften things.

  Xenovia didn’t let her.

  —I do not get in the way. I watch.

  Kiba took half a step, as if that word scraped a scar.

  —Then watch your swords.

  Silence.

  Kaelan felt a pulse.

  THM.

  Not a threat.

  The world holding its breath for half a second.

  Koneko spoke, low:

  —Enough.

  She wasn’t saying it to Kiba.

  She was saying it to the air.

  To the tension.

  To the possibility of everything exploding in a school hallway.

  Irina nodded quickly.

  —Yes. Please. Not… here.

  For the first time, Xenovia looked around. She noticed the human eyes on them. She noticed the context.

  And she took a step back.

  Not out of cowardice.

  Out of control.

  —Today we are only establishing presence —she said.

  And in her mouth, that phrase sounded like a sentence.

  Kaelan felt emptiness in his stomach.

  Establishing presence.

  That meant: we are going to stay long enough that you cannot ignore us.

  Kiba turned away.

  He left without looking at anyone.

  Not as theatrical rejection.

  As someone avoiding a place where he knows he will break.

  Irina watched him go with guilt.

  Xenovia watched him go with calculation.

  Kaelan watched him go with secondhand fear.

  Because he knew what came after Kiba.

  Kiba, when left alone, does not “process.”

  Kiba arms himself.

  Teachers cleared their throats. Papers shifted. The school tried to return to the theater of everything normal.

  Irina smiled again, fragile.

  —We have to go to a meeting room. To sign things. Protocols.

  Kaelan held her gaze for a second.

  —This… wasn’t in my… —he cut himself off.

  Irina tilted her head.

  —In your what?

  Kaelan clenched his teeth.

  —Nothing.

  Xenovia looked at him as if that interruption had said more than he wanted.

  —Arverth —she said.— I’m going to see you today.

  Kaelan felt cold run down his spine.

  —See… how?

  Xenovia was direct:

  —Confirmation.

  Kaelan didn’t know whether that meant evaluation. A test. A judgment.

  Probably all three at once.

  When Xenovia and Irina left with the adults, the hallway breathed again.

  But not the way it had before.

  Koneko looked at Kaelan.

  —Now you understand.

  Kaelan swallowed.

  —Yes.

  Koneko tightened her grip on the chocolate.

  —If they are here early… it’s because something changed.

  Kaelan felt the world tilt by a millimeter.

  Something changed.

  Yes.

  And he knew exactly what.

  Tatsu and Hiroshi came running.

  —Woooooow, Kaelan! You already talked to the new girls?! How did you do that?! —Tatsu said.

  Hiroshi added:

  —Did you see that? One of them practically stabbed you with her eyes. Was that a declaration of war or love?

  Kaelan sighed.

  —I’m… having a weird day.

  Koneko tugged his arm.

  —Come with me. Don’t listen to them.

  —Who? —Hiroshi asked.

  —Hey, hey, hey! —Tatsu exclaimed, pointing at Koneko.— You can’t take away ALL your boyfriend’s attention! We were his friends first!

  Kaelan blinked.

  —My what?

  Hiroshi nodded with exaggerated solemnity.

  —Your girlfriend, obviously. Koneko-chan follows you everywhere. Defends you. Drags you around. Looks at you weird. That is pure teenage love. Come on, don’t be shy.

  Kaelan opened his mouth to deny it, but it wasn’t necessary.

  Koneko stopped walking.

  Very slowly.

  She turned her head toward Tatsu and Hiroshi.

  Her shadow stretched over them like that of an ancient demon with millennia-level hatred.

  And with chilling calm, she said:

  —Kaelan… is… not… my boyfriend.

  Silence.

  Tatsu swallowed.

  Hiroshi was already trembling.

  Koneko narrowed her eyes, twisting her neck slightly in a threatening gesture.

  —And if you say that stupidity again… —she raised one hand and cracked her fingers— …I’ll use you as weights in gym class.

  Tatsu raised both hands.

  —Sorry sorry sorry sorry!

  Hiroshi said:

  —Miss Koneko, I retract my words, retract my thoughts, and retract my sins.

  —Better —Koneko said, continuing forward as if nothing had happened.

  Kaelan, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, murmured:

  —I think you overreacted a little…

  Koneko took his arm and pulled without looking back.

  —Come on.

  —Where? —Kaelan asked.

  —Away from them —she replied.

  Tatsu and Hiroshi hugged each other like they had survived a war.

  —Man… —Tatsu whispered with tears in his eyes.— His girlfriend is going to kill us.

  Hiroshi grabbed his shoulders.

  —Don’t say girlfriend. Don’t think girlfriend. She can sense the fear.

  From ahead, Koneko replied without stopping:

  —I heard that.

  Both of them let out strangled yelps.

  Kaelan sighed while massaging his forehead.

  The Resonance vibrated faintly.

  THM.

  A warm pulse. Amused.

  As if it were laughing.

  But then Kaelan glanced for one second toward the empty 2-A classroom…

  and saw several children in white gowns staring at him from inside.

  Motionless.

  Eyes dim.

  Faces tense.

  One of them raised a hand, as if trying to touch the window.

  Kaelan froze.

  He blinked.

  Looked again.

  Nothing.

  Empty classroom.

  Lights off.

  Silence.

  He had never been in a Church laboratory.

  He knew that.

  But his knees trembled anyway, as if his muscles were no longer capable of distinguishing between his own memory and borrowed memory.

  He kept walking with Koneko without saying a word.

  The Resonance pulsed once more.

  THM.

  Cold.

  Not laughter this time.

  An echo.

  The sun was already sinking when Kaelan finished his club duties.

  The classrooms were emptying with that false Friday speed: quick laughter, backpacks over shoulders, conversations that meant nothing. Kuoh was dressing itself up as normality again.

  But Kaelan couldn’t lie to his body.

  Since Excalibur had entered his life, the world had sharper edges. And since Issei’s talk with Xenovia and Irina—that absurd meeting in a family restaurant—one fact had lodged itself like a splinter at the base of his skull:

  The Church already knew.

  Not by rumor.

  By necessity.

  And when an institution like the Vatican knows, it does not send letters.

  It sends people.

  Koneko walked beside him with a bag of milk and chocolates, her steps short and steady. She did not look tired. She did not look worried. But Kaelan knew her well enough to notice the detail:

  she was walking slightly closer than usual.

  Guarding.

  —You were… strange today —she said without looking at him.

  Kaelan let out air through his nose, a faint laugh that never fully escaped.

  —Strange how?

  Koneko took two seconds to answer, as if choosing a word she disliked.

  —Like you wanted to fight something… even though it wasn’t there.

  Kaelan wanted to deny it.

  What came out was a mediocre lie.

  —No… I’m just tired.

  Koneko huffed.

  It wasn’t a funny sound.

  It was a don’t sell me smoke.

  They kept going.

  The sky was orange, but it no longer warmed. The shadows of the buildings stretched like long fingers. And then, on some random corner, the city became too orderly.

  No footsteps.

  No bicycles.

  No voices.

  An empty street in Japan was normal…

  unless your instincts had already learned that absences were also signals.

  The Resonance pulsed.

  THM.

  Short.

  Dry.

  A blow that was not fear, but warning.

  Kaelan stopped.

  Koneko looked up in the exact same instant, not asking him anything. Her pupils narrowed slightly.

  Then they felt it.

  Not a demonic presence.

  Not a heavy aura.

  It was something else: a cleanliness that cut. An invisible blade moving through the alley like a scalpel.

  Kaelan swallowed.

  —Don’t jump to conclusions —he muttered, more to himself than to Koneko.— I don’t want problems with anyone from the Church.

  Koneko did not answer.

  She just moved half a step in front of him.

  Imperceptible.

  But clear.

  The alley’s shadows split.

  Irina appeared first.

  A smile trying to be human. Light eyes… tense. As if her own cheerfulness were balancing over an abyss.

  —Kaelan-san… Koneko-chan… good afternoon.

  Then Xenovia stepped out.

  Straight. Silent. The Kuoh uniform fit her like a badly placed lie. She was not carrying the large sword in plain sight, but Kaelan didn’t need to see it:

  he could feel it in the way she walked, as if the ground owed her permission.

  Xenovia fixed her gaze on Kaelan with clinical precision.

  It wasn’t hatred.

  It was evaluation.

  —Arverth —she said.— I need to confirm something.

  Kaelan’s stomach closed like a fist.

  —Confirm what?

  Xenovia did not answer with words.

  She took a step forward.

  Without asking permission.

  Without theatrics.

  She drew out a fragment of Excalibur Destruction. Only a piece of the blade, enough to turn the air into something else.

  The sacred metal did not shine like “light.”

  It shone like cold.

  And Kaelan…

  stopped breathing.

  Not because he wanted to dramatize.

  Because his demonic body reacted exactly as it had on that rainy night: immediate rejection, burning skin, an ancient nausea.

  And the instant he saw it—

  the Resonance opened.

  Not like a beautiful vision.

  Like an intrusion.

  Children in white robes. A classroom without warmth. A priest with empty eyes speaking as if reading from a script. The sound of a blade cutting something that should not be cut. Screams… without throats. A small hand clutching a set of bars.

  Kaelan blinked.

  Reality did not fully return.

  —…Kaelan? —Koneko said, detecting the micro-tremor in his breathing.

  Kaelan clenched his teeth.

  —I’m… fine.

  He wasn’t.

  Xenovia raised the Excalibur fragment slightly higher, as if bringing a flame closer to paper.

  —Your aura reacted to this in the restaurant —she said.— I want to confirm it without intermediaries.

  Koneko stepped forward, her bag of chocolates crinkling like a warning.

  —Don’t touch him.

  Xenovia didn’t even look at her.

  —If he represents a risk to the mission, I have to measure him.

  —Measure? —Kaelan spat the word without meaning to.— What am I? A defective weapon?

  Irina took a quick step forward, almost desperate.

  —Xenovia, no… this isn’t necessary like this. We already have permission to be here. We’re not at war with them.

  The word permission landed heavily on Kaelan.

  There it was.

  Not “tourism.”

  Not “exchange.”

  Authorized access.

  Xenovia did not argue.

  She attacked.

  A quick, contained slash, meant to provoke a response.

  Kaelan moved on instinct.

  His arm came up and, before his mind understood it, a shield of energy appeared like a shining crust.

  CHING.

  The sacred metal struck.

  The shield shattered like wet glass.

  Kaelan stumbled back, his arm numbed, as if someone had struck the bone from the inside.

  Koneko’s eyes widened slightly.

  Xenovia raised an eyebrow.

  —Interesting. Combat reflexes… without formal training against holy weapons.

  The Resonance struck again.

  THM. THM.

  As if Excalibur were a magnet for his worst shadows.

  Kaelan raised both hands, palms open.

  —I’m not going to fight you.

  —I don’t want to “fight” either —Xenovia said coldly.— I want data.

  She attacked again.

  This second strike carried the intent of forcing a pattern: speed, response, load, failure.

  Kaelan dodged by centimeters.

  The blade sliced through the air and the concrete behind him exploded into shards, as if it had cut the world instead of the wall.

  Irina raised her voice.

  —Xenovia! Stop! We didn’t come to kill devils!

  —I am not killing —Xenovia replied without taking her eyes off Kaelan.— I am confirming.

  Koneko moved forward, and for the first time her tone lost its neutrality.

  —He’s not an experiment.

  Xenovia looked at her then. Cold, but with real respect.

  —Your loyalty is… curious, Toujou.

  —It’s not curious —Koneko said.— It’s simple. Stop provoking him.

  Kaelan breathed hard. His chest burned, not from exhaustion, but from the internal conflict: his body wanted to flee, his mind wanted control, and the Resonance wanted to answer.

  —I don’t want to fight —he repeated, firmer.— I’m not interested in your mission.

  Xenovia turned the fragment of Excalibur between her fingers.

  —Your existence is already too close to the mission.

  And she charged a third time.

  This time it was no longer “measurement” without cost.

  It was a cut meant to break self-control.

  Kaelan stood there, breathing hard, trembling.

  A cut opened on his arm. The blood came out dark at first, then red, as if his body were hesitating over what color it ought to bleed before a holy weapon.

  The wind from the strike pulled his sleeve lower.

  A little.

  Enough.

  Xenovia did not attack.

  She did not speak.

  Her eyes dropped slightly, following the thread of blood…

  and stopped.

  Beneath the shifted cloth there was no clean skin.

  There were marks.

  Old cuts, irregular. Burns imperfectly closed. Scars that did not follow the logic of training or honorable duels. Layered signs, as if the body had learned to receive damage before learning to avoid it.

  Xenovia frowned.

  Not in anger.

  In interrupted calculation.

  Irina drew in breath without realizing it.

  Her fingers closed around the cross.

  Neither of them said anything.

  Kaelan lowered his arm a little farther without noticing. The sleeve slipped another inch. One more mark appeared. And another.

  Silence.

  The blood kept falling to the ground, marking the broken concrete.

  Xenovia clenched her teeth.

  —That wasn’t demonic defense —she said at last.— That was… something else.

  Kaelan lowered his arm. His skin burned. The vision was still stuck in the back of his eyes like a burned image.

  And the Resonance…

  pulsed like a caged animal.

  THM.

  A blue-red glow surfaced under his skin, brief, like a heartbeat that should not exist.

  Xenovia felt it. Smelled it with the instinct of someone raised to detect threats.

  —That thing inside you… —she said slowly.— It isn’t demonic. It isn’t human. And it isn’t sacred.

  Kaelan took one step, and his voice came out lower, more dangerous, as if it belonged to the part of him he did not know.

  —Don’t pick a fight with me —he said.— Because I don’t know how much longer I can keep choosing to hold back.

  The air thickened.

  Koneko moved forward like a white shadow.

  —Don’t touch him again —she murmured without shouting.— Or this stops being “measurement.”

  Irina stepped between them all with a desperation that was no longer courtesy:

  it was genuine fear that the Vatican’s “permission” could become irrelevant in a second.

  —That’s enough! —she said, trembling.— This isn’t a Vatican field. There are people… they’re watching us.

  And it was true.

  Two students at the corner.

  A neighbor carrying a shopping bag.

  An old woman with her dog.

  Humans who understood nothing, but felt the change in the air the way one feels a storm before thunder.

  Xenovia put the fragment away.

  Not because she wanted to.

  Because she recalculated.

  Her eyes did not leave Kaelan.

  —I am not satisfied —she said.— But I withdraw… for now.

  Kaelan felt cold travel down his spine.

  Xenovia turned, giving him half her face.

  —If something in you changes… if something breaks… I will know.

  And she left.

  Irina followed, but looked one last time at Kaelan’s wounded arm before lowering her gaze.

  —I’m sorry —she murmured.— Truly.

  They left.

  The alley became an alley again.

  The sun kept setting.

  Humans kept walking.

  But Kaelan no longer felt like he was “in a city.”

  He felt like he was on a board that had already begun to move.

  Koneko looked at him in silence from his side.

  —Are you okay? —she asked at last.

  Kaelan lowered his gaze to his bleeding arm. To his trembling fingers.

  —No.

  The word came without drama.

  Like a diagnosis.

  —Something… is moving inside me.

  Koneko lifted her gaze to the sky.

  Kaelan did too.

  They saw nothing.

  But the Resonance did.

  THM.

  A cold, distant pulse, like a presence with wings watching from above.

  It wasn’t a sword.

  It wasn’t the Church.

  It was something else.

  A cruel curiosity.

  As if, somewhere high over Kuoh, someone were smiling without appearing yet.

  And Kaelan understood the worst part:

  They were not watching him because he was “new.”

  They were watching him because he was an error.

  And in a world of Fallen Angels, noble devils, and sacred relics, errors were the one thing someone like Kokabiel truly enjoyed breaking.

  The thought did not finish.

  Because the Resonance did not let it.

  THM.

  It was not a normal pulse.

  It was a fall inward.

  As if the ground opened under his feet without moving.

  Kaelan closed his eyes on reflex—

  and the world changed all at once.

  An underground corridor.

  White surgical light, too clean for what it illuminated.

  Stained metal.

  Crosses driven into the floor as if someone had tried to sanctify a slaughterhouse through repetition alone.

  Stretchers. Chains. Instruments that had once been sacred until someone decided what to use them for.

  The smell arrived before the images: old disinfectant mixed with dried blood and something else, something with no name in any human language.

  Only in the language of things that should never have been done and were done anyway.

  Kiba.

  On his knees among the remains of a shattered stretcher.

  Breathing in broken blows.

  Cuts across his body. A sword trembling in his hand, as if it too were afraid.

  Kaelan did not see him.

  He felt him.

  Not as witness.

  As if they shared ribs.

  And above, behind a black cassock that prayed without believing—

  shadow.

  Weight.

  Two black wings like a mutilated eclipse.

  The yellow eyes opened.

  And looked beyond the scene.

  Straight at him.

  It was not a threat.

  It was interest.

  The voice arrived without moving, without needing distance:

  —What an interesting error you are…

  The Resonance screeched.

  Kaelan saw Kiba attack.

  Saw sacred hands shove him.

  Saw light tear through his side.

  Saw the brightness die in his eyes.

  And lodged there like a needle that was not going to come out on its own, the final thought of someone who was not him:

  They didn’t let me break it…

  Then—

  nothing.

  A dry emptiness. A future that did not exist.

  Kaelan sucked in air violently.

  The alley returned. The sun. Koneko at his side.

  Everything too real and too late at the same time.

  His hands were shaking.

  Not from fear.

  From knowing.

  Koneko looked at him.

  She did not ask what had happened.

  She simply placed one steady hand on his arm, like an anchor.

  —When? —she said.

  Kaelan swallowed.

  —I don’t know yet.

  A lie.

  He knew.

  Canon had dates, had logic, had a sequence he had once read as story and was now living as countdown.

  Kokabiel had seen him.

  And the worst part was not that.

  The worst part was that, in the vision, Kiba was already alone.