Akio pushed open the apartment door with his shoulder, a paper bag of tacos balanced in one hand. He slipped off his shoes with practiced ease, his palms still sore from a full day of hauling Gabriel’s boxes up three flights of dorm stairs. Akiren had been steady, organized help; Adrian… less so. More like morally supportive background noise. Either way, they’d made good time, grabbed dinner, and headed home.

  He set the tacos on the kitchen counter, calling out, "Aira, we’re back. We got tacos—"

  The sentence died in his throat.

  Aira stood in the center of the living room, squinting intensely at the TV while pointing something at it—something thin, black, matte, and rectangular. Something he recognized instantly.

  His brain stalled.

  That wasn’t the remote.

  Akio stepped closer, heart rate spiking as the shape came fully into view. Sleek body, barely visible grooves, disguised buttons… all the subtle markings he knew by touch. His weapon. The Dawn Hound’s retractable double blade—currently in its compact form.

  His stomach dropped.

  Why does she have that?

  He distinctly remembered hiding it securely in its secret spot this morning. He was sure of it. Absolutely sure. Except clearly he wasn’t, because here it was—in Aira’s hand—while she poked at the activation buttons.

  “Aira,” he said evenly, masking the horror rising in his chest, “give it to me. Let me try.”

  She angled it away from him. “Wait, not yet—I almost got it.”

  No. No you don’t. You absolutely do not.

  He stood very still, outwardly composed, inward panic screaming into the void. The weapon, when dormant, looked harmless—like a small smart remote. But its transformation sequence was a precise multi step combination of pressure and angle, one Akio could execute blindfolded from muscle memory. Aira, on the other hand…

  The initiation sequence is complicated, he assured himself. There’s no way she’ll—

  Aira pressed another button.

  Schwick.

  A curved blade segment snapped out from the side with a razor smooth click, unfolding like a curved fang.

  Aira jumped in surprise. “Huh? What’s this?” She leaned closer, fascinated.

  Akio’s soul left his body.

  She figured out the first step. SHE FIGURED OUT THE FIRST STEP.

  He reached for the device again, forcing his voice into something calm despite the rising spike of existential panic under his ribs. “Aira, please give it to me—”

  Snap.

  A second section of the weapon hissed open in a clean, mechanical arc—the unmistakable second stage of the initiation sequence.

  Aira’s eyes lit up like a kid on her birthday. “Whoa! It transforms?”

  Akio let out a silent scream.

  It’s so over. It is actually, genuinely over.

  The apartment door opened. Gabriel and Adrian stepped inside with tacos, laughing about something—right up until Akio made eye contact with them. Gabriel froze mid step. Adrian, sensing the sudden deathly shift in the air, slowed like someone had manually dragged down his frame rate.

  Meanwhile, Aira gently tapped the metal prongs now sticking out of the device. “Okay, but seriously—what’s this? Are these knives?”

  Akio didn’t move. “No,” he said flatly. “They’re… accessories.”

  Aira raised a skeptical brow and waved the thing—far too close to triggering the next step. “Accessories for what?”

  Gabriel materialized at her side like a summoned catastrophe. “Fantastic question. Let’s talk about it over tacos.”

  Aira didn’t even spare him a glance. “I want to watch TV while eating.”

  Gabriel held out a hard shell taco like an ancient artifact. “Aira, listen. Truth comes after tacos. To free the mind, one must first feed the mortal vessel.”

  She stared at him blankly. “You cannot bribe me with corn.”

  Adrian swooped in, radiating the kind of confidence only someone who should not have confidence could possess. “Ah! That’s a multi-purpose remote. I’m an expert. Been working with these since the early models. Here—let me handle it.”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Aira hesitated, still unconvinced… then handed it over.

  Akio exhaled a tiny bit of air.

  Weapon secured. Crisis averted. We live another day.

  Aira leaned closer, curiosity not dimmed in the slightest. “So what are the accessories for?”

  Adrian winked and twirled the device with completely undeserved flare. “These blade looking parts? Not knives. They’re antennae. For better signal. And grip. You know—technology.”

  He caught the device again—directly on the activation ridge.

  Shing.

  A curved sickle blade snapped out with a metallic gleam, reflecting the ceiling light.

  Everyone froze.

  Akio felt despair seep into his bones. Adrian had just triggered the third stage. One more wrong press and the weapon would fully unfurl—perfectly recognizable as the Dawn Hound’s blade.

  Adrian blinked. Then against all evidence, tried to recover. “Huh. Wow. Hardware update.”

  Aira’s eyes narrowed. “That is literally a knife. Give it back—”

  Gabriel leapt between them like he was taking a bullet. “Fun fact! TV remotes are a conspiracy. They’re actually government plants. Like birds.”

  Adrian pointed at him solemnly. “Exactly. Remotes aren’t real. It’s propaganda.”

  Aira stared. “Propaganda for what? You called yourself a remote expert two seconds ago!”

  Gabriel gestured broadly. “It’s a metaphor for surveillance within society. Hence the name… remote control.”

  Adrian nodded sagely. “Yes, it’s very deep. Like the deep state.”

  Aira placed her hands on her hips, exasperation creeping into her tone. “What are you two talking about?”

  Akio watched the disaster unfold with hollow, aching dread. They were seconds—seconds—away from the blade fully deploying. A few more button presses, a slight shift in grip, and every secret he’d ever fought to maintain would detonate right there in the living room. And Aira—dedicated vigilante enthusiast, amateur conspiracy theorist, and #1 Dawn Hound analyst—would recognize the weapon instantly.

  It’s doomed. I’m doomed. We’re all doomed.

  He heard the door click open and looked over just as Akiren stepped inside. His older brother froze mid stride, eyes drifting from Aira… to Adrian… to the half unfurled weapon gleaming in Adrian’s hand.

  Akiren blinked once, his expression completely deadpan. “...What’s going on?”

  Aira turned toward him immediately, falling into that familiar little sister tone she used whenever she expected him to solve something. She jabbed a finger at the weapon like it personally offended her.

  “Akiren, do you know what this is? They’re all acting weird.”

  Akiren followed her gesture—and recognition hit him like a truck. His gaze snapped to the three of them standing behind Aira. Akio met his eyes with pure, silent despair. Gabriel frantically sliced a hand across his throat, signaling that they were cooked. Adrian mouthed save us save us save us with the desperation of someone begging a god.

  Akiren’s face twitched. Quiet horror. Acceptance. Resignation. Then, attempting a lie with the confidence of someone who had exactly zero lying skill, he said:

  “Oh… that’s a knife… for salad.”

  Akio closed his eyes.

  He’s hopeless. We are so beyond cooked.

  Beside him, he could practically feel Gabriel praying silently, while Adrian dragged a hand through his hair, trying not to combust.

  Aira squinted at the weapon. “Why does it look like it could slice through metal?”

  Akiren gave her the flattest, most unconvincing nod. “It’s needed… for cutting celery.”

  Aira blinked. “I have never seen you eat celery.”

  “I eat it,” Akiren said stiffly, “privately.”

  Aira crossed her arms. “Uh huh.”

  “Fiber,” Akiren added weakly. “On Saturdays.”

  Akio watched Adrian silently fold over, shoulders shaking as he tried not to wheeze. Gabriel was still attempting to mime helpful answers—none of which Akiren understood—and the disaster compounded by the second.

  This is it, Akio thought bleakly. She’s going to put it all together. I need to save this somehow.

  His eyes scanned the living room—bookshelf, couch, scattered blankets—until he spotted salvation: the actual TV remote, half hidden near the foot of the couch.

  Without shifting his expression, he hooked it with the side of his foot, dragged it closer, then casually kicked it upwards and caught it. The remote slipped neatly into his hand before he straightened, thumb pressing the power button. The television crackled to life—sudden noise, bright color, flashing headlines.

  Aira’s head snapped toward the screen in reflex. “Huh?”

  While her attention shifted, Adrian moved like a magician completing the final step of a trick. In one smooth motion, he passed the half deployed weapon behind her back.

  Akio caught it instantly. His fingers flew over the hidden mechanisms—twist, press, collapse—the sequence etched into muscle memory. The blade folded inwards, metal sliding into place with quiet clicks as the weapon returned to its harmless compact shape. He slipped it into his pocket, pulse finally beginning to settle.

  Weapon secured.

  He looked up just in time to see Aira turn toward them, brow furrowed in suspicion. “Uh… how did the TV turn on by itself?”

  Akio kept his expression perfectly neutral, holding up the real TV remote like he’d simply retrieved it from thin air.

  “I used the remote,” he said, tone casual. “It works after all.”

  Aira walked over, narrowing her eyes like a detective about to uncover a conspiracy. She took the remote straight out of his hand and turned it over, pressing buttons experimentally. The channel changed. The volume adjusted. Nothing dramatic happened.

  She frowned deeper. Akio watched her with a calm, blank look—already preparing the gaslighting speech of the century.

  “Why isn’t it working anymore?” she demanded. “Where did the other remote go?”

  She glanced back at Adrian… and blinked. The weapon was nowhere in sight.

  Adrian blinked back at her with a picture perfect innocent expression. “What other remote? That’s the same one.”

  Aira’s voice sharpened. “It’s literally not. The other one turned into a knife.”

  Gabriel spread his hands with a sage, vaguely smug smile. “See? This is exactly what I mean. Remotes aren’t real. Poof. Gone. Fake news.”

  Aira stared at him like she was genuinely considering hospitalizing him. Then she swung her attention toward Akiren. “You know what I’m talking about. You said it was your salad knife!”

  Akiren blinked, stiff as a malfunctioning robot.

  “…I like salad,” he said, voice thin with the desperation of a terrible liar trapped in a corner.

  Aira looked between all four of them, her disbelief spiraling into something almost existential. They stood there like four misbehaving saints, blank faced and serene, as if the chaos of the last fifteen minutes had been nothing but a fever dream. Akio didn’t move. None of them did. But every one of them, he could feel, was praying with religious fervor:

  Please let it go. Please let it go. Please, please, please—

  The silence stretched—painfully, awkwardly, absurdly long.

  Finally, Aira exhaled sharply, long and exhausted.

  “You're all being so, just, I can't believe—ugh! Whatever... let’s just eat.”

  She dropped onto the floor by the low dining table, grumbling under her breath, and began unwrapping one of the tacos.

  Akio let out the faintest breath—almost imperceptible, but utterly genuine. Relief softened his shoulders. He could sense the same unspoken exhale in the other three. He met their eyes briefly—a quiet, mutual acknowledgment of how disastrously close this had been.

  They all joined Aira at the table, settling into the warm, familiar rhythm of shared dinner. Conversation flowed easily again, casual and reassuring, as if none of them had just survived the most terrifying fifteen minutes of their lives.

  As Akio picked up his taco, the thought drifted across his mind with dry, exhausted disbelief: the Dawn Hound had almost fallen tonight. Not in battle. Not facing Echo.

  But because Aira had wanted to turn on the TV.

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Damien