“Either way, Kenji. You must give her an answer today.”
I let out a long breath and left the window. “I’ll think of something to say to her later, but for now. . .let’s go. We have the fucking Lion to deal with. Where is he anyway?”
“Right next to the pyre.”
“What?”
"The Lion looked at the pyre and said, ‘A barbecue? Delicious. I want to get a closer look.’”
“Of course he would.”
Reo adjusted his jacket one final time, hiding the damage beneath layers of fabric and discipline. When he looked up again, his expression had shifted—back to the Roar, back to the strategist, back to the man who would walk into a room full of enemies at my side without hesitation.
I moved toward the door.
Reo fell into step beside me, and despite the bruises blooming beneath his shirt, his stride was steady. Measured. The kind of walk that told anyone watching he had nothing to prove and nothing to fear.
I opened the door.
The Fangs were waiting.
Kaoru and Yoichi straightened immediately, eyes snapping to my face, reading my expression.
Rin materialized from wherever he'd been standing—silent, white suit pristine against the dark wood of the corridor.
Satoshi was last, pushing off the wall with a controlled exhale. His gaze went over Reo once, before settling back on me.
You see, Satoshi? I didn’t hurt your friend.
We moved as a unit down the corridor without footsteps falling into rhythm against the polished floors. The mansion felt different now—quieter, heavier, as if the walls themselves understood what waited outside.
Like in my bedroom, I could smell the greasy sweetness of burning flesh before we reached the doors.
My jaw tightened.
We passed through the main hall.
Satoshi moved ahead to open the main doors.
Light spilled in—gray and wrong through smoke.
I stepped through, and heat hit me in the face.
Yesterday, this island had been paradise. Cool ocean breezes. White sand beaches where my men's children built sandcastles while their wives lounged in the shade. Laughter echoed across the water.
The war had probably felt distant, held at bay by the beauty of this place, and for a few precious days, we'd all been able to breathe.
Now the island was a battlefield.
The air was thick with smoke, heavy and gray, pressing down on everything like a burial shroud.
Even though it was morning, the sky was dark, choked with ash.
I coughed and covered my mouth with my hand. The smoke burned my throat, my lungs, coated the inside of my mouth with the taste of death.
Since my argument with my Tiger, the pyre had grown.
My men had been feeding it all morning, adding wood and fuel, keeping the flames hungry. Bodies near the bottom had burned down to bone and char, but at the top of the pile, newer additions were still recognizable.
