When I opened my eyes and saw that dog mask hovering over me, the terror of the chase came roaring back—along with the awful, floating uncertainty of whether I’d actually survived.

  I tried to sit up.

  Failed.

  My chest was tight and aching, a sharp reminder that lungs aren’t meant for water.

  “Easy, Maki. Don’t be afraid.” The man in the black suit caught my shoulders and guided me back down onto what I realized was a bed.

  For a second, I thought the world had gone still—like I was still trapped down there, at the bottom of the lake.

  Only the sound of someone else breathing pulled me back to reality.

  The air smelled like ripe fruit, old wood, and aging books. Beneath it all was a faint citrus note. The whole scent—warm and strange—reminded me of ancient temples, or dreams that felt too real to shake.

  “Who is Akuma?”

  I couldn’t see his face, but I was certain he made a face under that ridiculous pug mask.

  The silence that followed was so dense I could hear my pulse in my temples.

  He didn’t answer. He only turned his head slightly—and the dimness in the room seemed to draw in with him.

  I couldn’t tell if Akuma’s name made him angry or afraid, but something shifted in the air, like the word itself carried a curse.

  Before he could respond, the cat I’d seen earlier padded into the room, jumped onto the bed, and planted herself on my lap.

  Her blue-black fur held a dull sheen, as if it drank the light instead of reflecting it. Her eyes—two tiny moons—looked through me more than at me. The slow, measured sweep of her tail was… almost human.

  Her presence made the air vibrate with something hard to name: irony, danger, and the kind of wisdom that comes with too many years.

  “Those aren’t questions a child should be asking,” she said coolly. “If you don’t want more trouble, you should leave while you still can.”

  Her voice was soft, but it cut. The cadence didn’t belong to an animal. There was something ancient in the way she shaped each word—as if she carried centuries of knowledge and cynicism in a single sentence.

  If I hadn’t been so stunned by the fact that a cat was talking, I would’ve told her to mind her own business. And who was she to warn me, anyway?

  I looked to the man in black, searching for support—trying to read something beneath that absurd pug mask, trying to understand what kind of eccentric person he was.

  He remained still, barely more than a silhouette against the dark, and yet everything about him felt precise. Controlled.

  There was a stillness to him that demanded respect. The kind of composure only someone who has watched a thousand seasons change can carry.

  The mask didn’t match his voice. It was grotesque—almost comical—and yet every word he spoke held an old, unshakable steadiness.

  I didn’t know if he was hiding a kind smile or a scar.

  But his voice made me feel safe.

  He didn’t carry the sinister, rotting aura of the man in white. His presence was different—quiet, grounded.

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  For reasons I couldn’t explain, it felt protective. Like being pulled into the arms of someone you trust.

  It had been a long time since anyone spoke to me with that kind of ease. It wasn’t just the tone.

  It was the way he said my name.

  And in that moment, without understanding why, I wanted to believe him.

  I caught myself wishing I could stay there, doing nothing but listening.

  Part of me knew better than to trust strangers—especially one wearing a dog mask—but another part of me yielded to the promise of peace in his voice.

  I wondered how many more times in my life I would ever feel something like this again.

  A quiet that hurt.

  A quiet that was dangerous precisely because it was too good to last.

  “Maki. You need to leave.” The masked man rose and stepped out of the room.

  It wasn’t an order.

  But his voice went dry, final.

  I stayed there, listening to the echo of his words even after his footsteps faded down the hall.

  It was ridiculous, but I had the feeling he knew things about me that I didn’t even know myself.

  The cat gave a low, amused laugh and looked at me like I was a joke she’d already heard.

  I would’ve left if I could. But I had too many questions—questions that needed answers. And besides… how was I supposed to leave?

  Beyond the “front door” was a whole body of water.

  How was that even possible?

  The silence stretched between us. The cat watched me with that blend of mockery and pity that only something that’s seen too many human mistakes can afford.

  Everything about this place felt suspended between worlds. Not dry, not wet. Not real, not dream.

  “Your questions will be answered in due time,” the cat said, licking a paw. “But if you want answers now, you need to ask the right questions.”

  I thought for a second. Closed my eyes. Weighed my options.

  Then I took the risk.

  “Why does Akuma want to kill me?”

  “No dancing around it. I respect your style.”

  Something like amusement flickered in her eyes. The more she spoke, the harder it was to think of her as just a cat. There was intelligence there—sharp and ironic—and, buried under all the claws, the faintest hint of warmth she pretended not to have.

  I grabbed her by the scruff and lifted her until her face was inches from mine. She wriggled, offended, but didn’t manage to break free.

  “Already fighting and you’ve barely met,” a voice said from the doorway. “We should move—now.”

  The masked man stepped back into the room and tossed a bundle onto the bed. The cat and I stared at it. Then we stared at each other. Then back at him.

  He paused beside the bed. The dim light traced the outline of his mask, and I noticed the way his shadow stretched across the floor until it touched my feet.

  “Don’t ask too many questions today,” he added, voice low. “Sometimes answers arrive before you’re ready to understand them.”

  He glanced at the cat.

  “And, by the way—the stubborn cat is Zenhaff.” A beat. “And in case you forgot, my name is Toshihiro.”

  Then his tone sharpened just slightly.

  “Don’t just sit there staring at me. Put on what I brought. I’ll be waiting in the foyer.”

  Zenhaff hopped down without taking her eyes off the bundle and tore it open.

  Inside was an old two-piece outfit in a faded ivory tone—almost yellowed with age.

  The fabric smelled strangely familiar, though I couldn’t have said why. It carried the soft scent of things stored away for a long time—safe from the world, safe from memory.

  When I ran my fingers over it, I felt something subtle.

  A faint current.

  A vibration that traveled over my skin like a greeting.

  Despite its worn, plain appearance, the cloth was unbelievably soft—and strangely elastic, cool against my fingertips like a breath of winter air.

  When I put it on, I expected it to feel stiff.

  Instead, it fit with unsettling ease. Every seam seemed designed to mold to me, to hold me with exactness—like it had been made for my body.

  I caught my reflection in an oval mirror tucked into the corner and shuddered.

  It wasn’t just the clothes.

  Something about me looked… different.

  As if the outfit had adjusted more than fabric—my presence, my breathing, the way I held my shoulders.

  For one second, it felt like I wasn’t looking at myself.

  It felt like I was looking at someone who’d been asleep inside me for a long time.

  When I was ready, I looked to Zenhaff. She was already in the doorway. At my movement, she turned and headed down the hall—so I followed.

  Zenhaff padded a few steps ahead, her fur gleaming with a blue-black sheen that slid along the walls as she moved.

  The corridor smelled like salt and dried herbs. Each turn of the staircase felt taller than the last. The air grew thicker—vibrant, almost alive.

  “Stop shaking, human,” Zenhaff muttered, her tail flicking with disdain. “If you drown again, I’m not rescuing you.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh…

  or worry.

  At the end of the hallway, the light moved.

  Not lamplight.

  Not candlelight.

  Someone was waiting.

  The glow trembled, throwing shadows across the walls in a ghostly rhythm.

  I barely breathed.

  A silhouette emerged from the radiance.

  Tall.

  Still.

  For a moment I couldn’t tell if it was Toshihiro…

  or someone else.

  And the air tasted like a storm about to break.