Kenji crossed the room and came to stand at my side. He brushed the small of my back with his big palm. It was a simple pass of heat, but it anchored me.
I breathed in his scent and let it calm my nerves.
I had so many damned questions, but his men were now in the room. I didn’t want to barrel him with my hysteria. I needed to play the part of the Dragon’s Heart—confident, strong, and capable of whatever the fuck this was.
On the left side of the room, Reo leaned against the wall. Even half-shadowed, he looked unfairly gorgeous—like a mafia nerd that had been dragged out of an expensive library.
He wore traditional black Japanese pajamas. They weren’t the cotton button-downs and drawstring pants Americans called pajamas, no plaid flannel or cartoon prints.
Zo had something similar and told me they were calledjinbei, a two-piece set cut like a short kimono on top with matching pants.
The top overlapped left over right across Reo’s chest, held by narrow inner and outer ties instead of buttons. Reo’s jinbei hung open just enough to reveal the ladder of his collarbones. The sleeves were half-length and loose. The pants were straight-legged.
It was all elegance disguised as sleepwear.
Reo looked freshly woken too—hair mussed, a shadow of sleep at the corners of his eyes—but the faint smile playing on his mouth for some reason said he’d been waiting for this moment and was super excited that it was about to happen.
Reo flipped the notebook open and clicked a pen. Then, his gaze caught mine. He winked. “You will do just fine, Nyomi.”
I swallowed hard, wondering if he’d actually be scoring me like some professor grading a student on an exam.
Reo’s smirk definitely said he knew something I didn’t, and the notebook in his hand wasn’t for records—it was also for leverage.
But how, why, and leverage with whom?
At my side, Kenji’s hand tightened at my waist. “Tora, I want you to look at these three men. Take them in, and then let me know when you are done.”
What am I supposed to be looking for?
I wasn’t sure if Kenji was testing my skill or my soul, but either way, I wanted to win.
Alright. Let’s see. . .
I dragged my gaze to the three men Kenji had brought in. They were three shadows solidified into muscle, danger, and flesh.
I knew one of them.
Kaoru.
His long pink hair was a neon slash in the room. The first time I’d seen him was on Kenji’s and my first date. He’d been sweet and a tiny bit flirtatious.
Definitely a ladies’ man.
However, now all that charm was off, folded away with the same efficiency as a weapon cleaned and cased. The angles of his face were too beautiful and too sharp all at once—cheekbones cut by a vindictive god, a mouth that could ruin hope. His suit perfectly hugged his body.
However, even at rest, Kaoru appeared ready to kill.
Got him. Now who’s next?
I put my view on the other two men.
The man on the left—broad through the chest, narrower at the hips, posture welded straight. His hair was buzzed close at the sides, left slightly longer on top, combed flat like a habit he didn’t have to think about.
Shoes matte, not glossy.
Combat ready.
There was angry scar tissue on his knuckles and neck.
