Zahra lay in her bed, her head spinning too fast to settle.
Moments from the day replayed on a relentless loop — Yuki's startled eyes, the weight of her frail body in her arms. She felt awful for gripping Yuki so tightly; she was so delicate.
And then there was him.
That man's face in the window still burned behind her eyes, sharp and unmistakable.
Keeping busy with Hiro and Yuki had helped — given her something else to focus on — but now, alone in the dark with her thoughts, there was nothing to keep the memories at bay. Nothing to stop the fear creeping back in.
She'd almost slipped into another vision in broad daylight.
That was what frightened her most. It was lucky that Yuki was there.
Is it because I'm getting closer?
The thought made her chest tighten. Tears blurred her vision before she could stop them — and just as quickly, anger flared hot and sharp, chasing them away.
Pathetic.
Get a grip.
She turned onto her side, then onto her back, then sat up with a frustrated huff. A growing frustration began to erupt inside her. It seemed sleep would elude her for another night. Grabbing her pillow, she buried her face in it and groaned loudly, then flung it aside and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her head there as she stared out the window.
Rain hammered against the glass, relentless and heavy. Not unlike her own thoughts.
Have I done the right thing? The question slipped in quietly, unwelcome and persistent.
Should I have just left and followed these… dreams?
A weak laugh escaped her. When she was younger, she'd always mocked those soppy films, the ones where a woman had a grand epiphany, followed her dreams, got a makeover, and there was normally some British man involved too.
Real life doesn't work like that.
Mrs Goodtree's words echoed through her mind.
Don't be so quick to turn your nose up, Zahra. Sometimes the smallest sign is all you need to point you where you need to go.
Zahra swallowed, eyes fixed on the rain-streaked glass, and let the words settle. Thinking of her eased the tight knot in Zahra's chest.
She stayed by the window, watching the rain soften into a distant shimmer of streetlight, the sky slowly clearing as clouds drifted apart, revealing scattered stars. The steady rhythm of it all began to lull her, her eyelids growing heavy at last.
She bent to retrieve her pillow—
The sudden flash made her flinch, heart jumping, but as thunder rolled in the distance, she found herself watching instead. She had always thought lightning was beautiful. Wild. Uncontrollable.
Dangerous — and impossible to look away from.
Then she saw it.
A faint golden glimmer, barely visible through the rain, slipping across the edge of a rooftop a few streets away. For a heartbeat, she thought she'd imagined it — but then it pulsed again.
Soft. Insistent.
Like a signal.
The smallest sign is all you need to point you where you need to go.
Her breath caught.
It was so close, barely a few streets away. The glow pulsed again and again, as if it were asking for help.
"The smallest sign," she whispered, already rising from the bed, her heart quickening as she grabbed her jacket from the chair.
"It's probably nothing," she muttered, tugging it on. "I'll just take a look and come straight back."
She always talked to herself when she needed permission.
Fingers already on the door, she added, "Who knows… maybe it'll even help me sleep."
And with that, she left the safety of the shop behind.
Rain met her in a rush of cold and noise as she sprinted down the street, her footsteps splashing against the pavement, chasing the fading glow into the night.
Streetlights streaked past as Zahra ran, chasing the place where she thought she'd seen the glow. She skidded around a corner — and recognised the metal fire stairs from her window.
Nothing.
Her heart dropped.
She pushed on, down another block, then another. By now, she was soaked through, cotton pyjamas plastered to her skin, the cold seeping into her bones as the last of her adrenaline drained away.
It was uncomfortable, and she felt stupid.
What am I doing?
Then she saw it.
The golden glow flickered at the mouth of another alley just ahead.
Her stomach clenched.
Alleys had not proven to be her friend recently, so she forced herself forward anyway, every sense sharpening as she scanned the shadows, the slick pavement, the darkened doorways.
Then came the laugh.
The evil maniacal laugh she had heard in her mind on the ride from the airport. The sound she'd tried to bury beneath teacups and small talk.
She froze, her feet locked in place.
The glow brightened, pulsing against the rain.
Voices drifted through the alley — three, she thought — too muffled to make out, but close enough to raise the hairs on her arms.
Suddenly, a cold feeling brushed her shoulder.
Not rain, but an icy cold that stopped her heart for a moment.
She gasped, clutching at her chest as water streamed from her hair and down her face, her heart hammering wildly.
And then she heard it.
A fourth voice. Soft. Innocent. Definitely startled.
The pulsing glow had seemingly vanished.
The memory surged up without warning — dark walls, echoing footsteps, that same helpless, trapped feeling clawing up her spine.
Not again.
No.
She wasn't running this time. If someone was about to be hurt, she wouldn't stand there and listen.
That was all she needed to start moving again.
"Someone has to help," she whispered, fear burning into fury.
She bounded straight toward the mouth of the alley.
As she reached the entrance, her breath caught.
Two boys lay sprawled on the wet ground, yellow coats stark against the black pavement. Motionless.
And standing like a hunter over his prey – a man.
Rain slid down a wild mane of white hair that spilt over his shoulders, catching in the harsh glow of the streetlight.
Her pulse spiked.
That was him, she knew it.
Her feet faltered, instinct dragging her back a step.
Then he moved.
With a careless flick of his wrist, he tossed a small duffel bag toward someone deeper in the alley.
A third figure caught it.
A boy, judging by his height.
Lightning split the sky. For a single blinding heartbeat, she saw him. Tri-coloured hair. Different cut, same impossible colours.
He stood trembling — but standing — facing the madman with a courage that made her chest ache.
The man laughed and lifted what hung from his neck.
A pendant. No – a ring.
Another bolt of lightning tore across the sky, and a symbol she came to associate with pain gleamed.
An eye.
Bracing herself, pain lanced through her skull as voices surged in her head — some she recognised, some she didn't, all screaming at once.
No. Not now.
There was too much at stake to get lost in another memory. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe.
Yuki had managed to snap her back; now she needed to do this.
She had to.
"Remember," the man's voice cut through the rain, sharp and taunting, "I know things about the past that your Pharaoh friend seems to have forgotten."
Pharaoh.
The word hit like an anchor. The voices faded and vanished.
Suddenly she was aware of everything — the cold rain soaking through her clothes, the stench of damp stone and trash, the tremor in the air before another lightning strike.
A Lioness ready to face an enemy.
And she was done hiding.
She stepped out of the shadows.
"Hey!" she shouted, louder than she meant to, the sound tearing down the narrow alley.
"Get away from him."
The man glanced over his shoulder, slow and unbothered.
A chill ran through her when their eyes met. Zahra bit down hard on her lip, forcing herself not to flinch.
"Well, if it isn't Zahra," he drawled, boredom frank in his tone. "The Pharaoh's little pit bull. Still as yappy as ever, I see."
Heat surged up her spine, sharp and furious, and she spoke before she could stop herself.
"Funny. I've always been more partial to cats. Leave the boy alone, dickhead, before I rearrange that dark and mysterious face of yours."
That laugh again.
It made her shudder, and she did her best not to show it. He knew her name. That alone was enough to rattle her.
He turned back to the boy, and they exchanged a few sharp words — something about Millennium Items, about spirits, about where the Pharaoh truly belonged. Their voices overlapped, tense and urgent, while Zahra stood frozen between anger and dread.
How does he know me?
Then he lifted one hand, silencing the argument with a casual flick of his fingers.
"Don't you both want to help your friend?"
"Of course," the boy said instantly.
The man's grin twisted as he looked back at her. "It seems you share the Pharaoh's charming little memory problem. How fortunate for me. I must admit, Zahra, I didn't expect to find you in this era." His eyes glinted. "Still throwing yourself in front of danger for your precious Pharaoh? How… predictably noble."
Pride flared in her chest — hot and reckless. Her lips curled into a sharp smile as she shifted her stance, muscles coiling, ready to strike.
That's right. I'm still at it.
He won't know what hit him.
She lunged—
The golden prism at his chest blazed with sudden light.
"That's enough!"
That voice—
"Stop poisoning their minds!"
The boy was gone. In his place, standing only a few steps from her, was the man from the screen, from her memories — eyes blazing, presence flooding the alley like a storm breaking.
The King of Games.
It's him.
I did it. I found him.