He smiles.
And that’s worse.
A smiling Kenji usually means he’s about to try to break something.
Before I can fully reset my stance, he moves.
A blur—faster than my eyes want to track.
First move:
He snaps forward with a knife-hand feint toward my throat. I parry—he wanted me to. Because the second I commit?—
Second move:
He pivots inside my guard, hooks his foot behind my ankle, and slams his elbow lightly—precisely—into the pressure point beneath my collarbone. Pain sparks down my arm. My balance breaks.
Third move:
He grabs my wrist, uses my own forward momentum, and sweeps my other leg clean out from under me.
I hit the ground flat on my back, breath punched from my lungs, the stars above me blurring for half a second.
The fight’s over.
I don’t need him to say it.
Every nerve in my body already knows.
Kenji steps into my vision, hands clasped neatly behind his back, breathing steady, not a single hair out of place. He tilts his head, assessing me the way he always has—like a craftsman checking his handiwork.
“It is good to see you, Saint,” he says softly before he turns and walks toward his house.
The endearment lands exactly where his elbow did—deep, precise, and impossible to ignore.
I suck in a breath, roll to my side, and try not to look as wrecked as I feel.
Kenji turns without a word and walks toward the main house.
Traditional wooden beams. Sliding shoji doors. Lantern light glowing soft and warm against the night.
I follow, boots quiet on the porch out of habit—because running or not, this place has rules.
Inside, the air smells like cedar and green tea.
He moves with his usual unhurried precision, pouring hot tea into two small cups. One is set in front of me. The other, he takes for himself. He sits.
“Your face is bruised,” he observes.
“My pride is bruised,” I mutter, raising the cup to my lips for a small sip.
His mouth twitches the barest fraction. “You are hunted.”
I exhale through my nose. “Theworld knows.”
“Yes.” He lifts his tea. “A dramatic way to announce one’s retirement.”
“Not my choice.” My voice goes tight. “I need help.”
