"It's okay." I shook my head. “I can do it."
The younger guard shifted uncomfortably.
Hiro's voice came out hoarse. "That will never happen again. My grabbing you like that in my sleep. I have your scent now. It’s locked down in my brain."
“What?”
“It means, my brain catalogs smells while I sleep. If it registers an unknown, it triggers a defensive sequence. If it recognizes a known. . .it doesn’t.”
“That’s how your brain works?”
“Yes. Doctors in Kyoto gave me a name for it—Olfactory Sentinel Response. OSR for short. Think of the lion-dog statues that guard shrine gates. They are sentinels that never fully sleep.”
I repeated it under my breath, “Olfactory Sentinel Response.”
“It’s rare. Most people, even trained people, don’t keep the switch half-on all night.” His jaw ticked. “But. . .uh. . .I do. . .”
Again, I wanted to know how someone ended up like that.
Could it have been trauma?
Did it teach his body to become a fulltime sentry?
I thought of the ink across his back—cherry blossoms torn by storm, the wave swallowing faces, koi fighting upstream. A story carved into him that matched this confession too well.
“This is so intriguing.” My voice came out steadier now. Almost normal. The adrenaline was finally ebbing. “How does it feel to sleep like that?”
“Well. . .” He considered, then spoke as if translating from a language only his body knew. “There’s a moment when you dive into the ocean, and you go deep into the water. Can you see it?”
I imagined myself plunging into the blue depths of an ocean. The world eerily quiet around me. The pressure of the water pushing in from all sides. I could almost taste the salty water on my lips, feel the coolness seeping into my skin. “Yeah. I can see it.”
“Once you’re deep in the ocean, you’re in the world, but you’re also not. Your ears stop hearing and start measuring. Pressure. Current. Distant sounds. That’s what it is when I’m asleep. But, then someone comes near or a sound is made and the water changes. A molecule of air moves wrong. A floorboard creaks. An unrecognizable scent pivots, and my body moves before the story catches up.” He frowned. “By the time the story saysthat’s a woman you know, the blade is already out and at the neck, the wrist is already pinned.”
“And if I had shouted your name sooner?”
He shook his head. “Words are slow. Scent is fastest.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Yeah but. . .it’s dangerous.” He nervously ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are. I can see it all over you.” I shrugged. “Anyway, I'm. . .steadier. Still shaky, but I'll be okay. I just need—" I lookedat the kitchen. "I need something normal to do. Tea. Cooking. Something familiar."
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “Let’s talk while I do. If you have the time. I don’t want to bother you.”
“No. You’re not bothering me at all. What do you want to talk about?”
“Anything.”
“Well then. . .” His eyes perked up immediately. "Has Kenji talked to you about the Claws and my grievances?"
I blinked. "No. What's going on?"
He smiled—actually smiled—and it transformed his exhausted face into a boyish expression. "There's a hierarchy around Kenji when it comes to his inner circle."
"Okay. Can you tell me more about this?" I leaned against the counter, genuinely curious. “I want to learn everything."
