Samurai.
Three of them, emerging from the darkness withkatanasalready drawn, their faces hidden behind the fearsome masks of the Imperial Guard.
“Kazashita, First Mate ofTheEmperor’s Worm,” the lead guard called out, his voice carrying across the park with practiced authority. “By order of His Imperial Majesty, youare commanded to surrender yourself for crimes against the Empire. The Emperor will not have pirates in his capital.”
Kazashita’s hand went to where his sword would be—an instinct, nothing more. He was trapped, we both knew it. Three trained Samurai against one half-starvedwako—they were impossible odds, even for him.
“Run,” I whispered.
He looked at me, confusion mixing with the heartbreak still raw on his face.
“Run!” I shoved him, hard, toward the alley behind us.
The guards charged.
Kazashita ran.
And despite everything—despite what I’d just told him, despite the truth that burned between us—I ran, too.
Because I couldn’t watch him die.
Not here. Not like this.
Not when some part of me recognized what it had cost him to love me so completely.
We sprinted down an alley, our feet pounding against packed earth. Behind us, the guards’ armor clanked and rattled—they were fast despite the weight they carried.
My training with Sakurai had taught me to move in shadows, to climb and hide and observe; but this—this was different. This was flight, desperate and graceless.
“Left!” I grabbed Kazashita’s arm, yanking him into a narrow passage between buildings.
We emerged onto another street, momentarily free of pursuit, but Kazashita was already struggling, heaving, gripping his back. Years aboard ship as Kichi’s first mate hadn’t prepared him for this. The year of deprivation that followed only made things worse. His body, ravaged by guilt and whatever he’d done to reach Bara, couldn’t maintain the pace.
He stumbled. I caught him, pulled him upright.
“Can’t—” He gasped, chest heaving.
“You can and you will.”
The guards’ voices echoed behind us, closer now.
They called out positions, coordinating, hunting us like wolves.
“Oath breaker!” one shouted.
We ran again, Kazashita’s breathing increasingly ragged beside me. I knew these streets, had memorized every curve, every bend during my nights training with Sakurai.
There—a stack of crates against a building’s wall.
“Up,” I commanded, already climbing.
Kazashita followed, his movements clumsy where mine were fluid.
His fingers slipped on the third handhold. I grabbed his wrist and hauled him up through sheer will. Kazashita collapsed immediately, his legs trembling.
“Get up,” I hissed, pulling at his arm. “We have to keep moving.”
“Why?” He looked up at me, his face gaunt in the moonlight. “Why are you helping me?”
