One controlled breath out.
Then he straightened the map's edge and continued as if nothing had interrupted his thoughts. But the vein in his temple was visible now, pulsing against the skin in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the Fox or Yoshiwara.
Fine, Reo. I understand.
I made a mental note to have a conversation with my Roar when this was over. Not to apologize, but to acknowledge that I would be making his job tough by not letting him know my secret plans.
Then, I thought of Nyomi. "Give me an hour. I have to say goodbye to my Tiger."
Hiro smirked. "You meanwehave to say goodbye toourTiger."
I rolled my eyes and walked off.
Chapter twenty-eight
Fear and Steam
Nyomi
Something is wrong.
The thought didn't hit me in the shower. It hit me the moment Reo and Hiro walked in wearing all black. The shower was just where I let myself feel it.
Hot water pounded against my skin. Steam rose in thick clouds around me. But my body had already made its decision before my mind caught up.
And it wasn’t just that I was good at reading people. I was a Black woman with that skill that many of us had. That instinct honed from years of walking into spaces we were not welcome in, and immediately knowing the temperature.
Knowing who was safe.
Knowing who was pretending.
Knowing when the energy shifted before a single word confirmed it.
My mother called it discernment. My grandmother called it the gift. My girls back home just called itfuck-around-and-find-out-energy.
Regardless, Iknewsomething was wrong the second I saw Reo's clothes and boots.
Those weren't his usual shoes. Plus, they were laced tight for speed.
For running.
For kicking.
The tactical pants had reinforced knees, and one didn’t wear pants like that unless they were expecting to hit the ground. His shoulders had been pulled up near his ears, his jaw had been grinding behind closed lips, and worry sat in the corners of his eyes.
Reo was a man preparing for violence.
And Hiro had validated that by walking in and wearing the same combat gear with that black lollipop between his teeth.
Warm water beat down on my shoulders.
I pressed my palms flat against the tile and let the heat sink into my hands. My breathing was steady but my mind was racing, sorting through everything I'd seen in those few seconds, cataloging it the way I always did — automatically, compulsively, because the alternative was being caught off guard, and so many Black women in this world didn’t survive so much by being caught off guard.
Reo had told me about the movie theater. The popcorn machine. My hairstylist waiting in the VIP section. He'd said it gently, but I'd heard what he didn't say.
We need you somewhere contained where we know exactly where you are when shit goes down.
The movie theater wasn't entertainment. It was a holding pen dressed in kindness.
