“Hey.” Dia sat in a chair beside the bed, her hand wrapped around mine in tight grip, her eyes swollen and lips inching into a fragile smile.
“You’ve been crying,” I rasped, amused. This tough cookie never showed any emotion; she was my rock.
She uttered a watery laugh. “Didn’t I warn you not to run into any bullets?” she scolded, her thumb brushing across my knuckles. “You’re thirty-two. We mastered ‘look both ways’ in kindergarten, didn’t think I had to upgrade it to ‘also check for armed men’ too.”
“What can I say?” I murmured, managing the faintest grin. “Even bullets find me irresistible.” She smiled. “How long was I out?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” She leaned closer, pressing her forehead briefly against mine. “You scared me.”
I closed my eyes, inhaling her warmth. “I’m sorry.”
She sat back, slowly shaking her head. “Never apologize for almost dying.”
I swallowed, panic flickering at the edges of my ribs. The memory of the docks rushed back. The smoke, the noise, the way she’d moved. “I saw you,” I whispered, my voice trembling, more awe than fear. “Taking those men down. God, you were so good, so fast. Like you weren’t even afraid.”
Her grip on my hand tightened, just for a second, before she relaxed it. “Someone had to cover your six, Ishika. You’re the doctor. I’m the cleanup crew.
“But you saved him,” I said, the realization settling heavy in my chest. “You saved Remo.”
“We saved him,” she corrected softly. “You took the bullet. I just cleared the path.”
I looked at her and felt a surge of gratitude so sharp it hurt. I didn’t know how she did it, how she lived in this world of violence and kept herself whole enough to protect me. All I knew was that I was alive because of her.
“Where’s Remo?”
“Probably outside,” She glanced at the door. “Dealing with things, I’m sure.”
I nodded, sinking back into the pillow, the medication pulling me down again, dragging me toward sleep. But before I drifted, I squeezed her hand. “Don’t go.”
“Never,” she whispered.
And for the first time since the gunfire started, I believed we were safe.
“How are you feeling?” The familiar voice, minutes later or maybe hours, was calming, drawing me momentarily into a childhood I rarely visited.
Slowly, I turned my head. “Uncle Haru?” I whispered, heat burning behind my eyes as skepticism tangled with relief, and for a second I was certain the medication was playing tricks on me. “You’re not here.”
His lips tipped in that usual barely-there smile. “Still second-guessing yourself,chibi-sensei?” Little doctor.
Near the window, where my sister stood looking outside, she shifted her gaze to me. “He’ll never stay away, not when you need him.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly. “How did you even?—”
“Later.” He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and brought it to my lips.
I drank greedily, the cool water moistening my dry throat. “Thank you,” I said when he moved the glass back and dabbed my lips with his fingers. “Remo?”
Uncle Haru sighed, setting the glass on the stand. “He’s alive. His brother insited he go shower and eat when he refused to leave your side.”
I closed my eyes from relief so overwhelming it made my chest sting worse than the wound. Of course, Remo wouldn’t leave, not unless he decided he would. I imagined him pacing the corridor, jaw tight, hands bloodied and eyes a menace all on their own. My heart ached for him, wanting him here, desperate for his hands on my face, his low voice telling me I was safe even if he had to burn the city down to make it true.
Inhaling deeply, I opened my eyes and looked at my uncle. “You’re not supposed to be here,” I said, scanning the blue scrubs and white hospital coat, aware he no longer practiced medicine, especially not outside Japan.
His expression softened a fraction. “Neither should you.”
I shifted again, more carefully this time, and felt that same internal ache tug at me. My hand drifted down instinctively, pressing lightly against my abdomen as if to steady it.
His gaze followed the movement. “There is something you need to know.”
