I woke to silence that felt real.
Not the heavy, watching quiet I'd learned to fear - but a softer one, like the world had decided to let me breathe. Pale light slipped through the curtains, warm and steady. For a moment, I forgot where I was.
Then I remembered.
The shadow.
The chase.
Ronin staying.
I sat up slowly. The couch from last night was gone, replaced by a narrow bed tucked against the wall. Someone had folded a blanket at the foot, neat and deliberate. The room was small but calm, like it existed only to keep things out.
I stood, half-expecting the air to shift or the walls to move.
Nothing did.
In the kitchen, Ronin was already awake.
He stood by the window, one hand resting on the frame, eyes scanning the street below like he was listening to something I couldn't hear. He didn't turn when I stepped closer.
"You slept," he said.
"Barely," I replied. "But I didn't run."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "That counts."
I leaned against the counter. "You said questions could wait. They've waited."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he turned - not fully toward me, but enough. Careful again.
"Ask one," he said. "Just one."
I swallowed. I had so many. Why me? What was chasing me? What was he?
Instead, the question that came out was simpler.
"Why can't it follow me here?"
His eyes darkened slightly. Not fear - focus.
"Because this place doesn't belong to the same rules," he said. "And neither do I."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the safest version of one."
I didn't push. Something in his tone warned me not to. He wasn't refusing. He was measuring how much truth wouldn't break me.
I changed the question.
That should've scared me more than it did.
Instead, it grounded me.
"So what now?" I asked. "Do I just… hide?"
"No," he said immediately. "You live. You go to school. You laugh with your friends. You don't let the night decide who you are."
"And when it comes back?"
Ronin stepped closer - not touching, but near enough that I felt steady again.
"Then you listen to your instincts," he said. "The same ones that brought you to the rooftop. The same ones that ran instead of freezing."
I frowned. "You make it sound like this is my fault."
"It's not," he said firmly. "But it is your choice."
That word again.
Choice.
I looked around the room, at the light, the quiet, the way nothing here felt wrong. "You planned this," I said softly. "Didn't you?"
He didn't deny it.
"I hoped I wouldn't need to," he said. "But hope isn't strategy."
"Have you done this before?" I asked.
His silence answered me.
"Did they survive?" I whispered.
Ronin's jaw tightened. "Some did."
That was enough truth for now.
A sound drifted through the window - morning traffic, distant voices. Normal life, still moving. Waiting for me.
"You won't stay," I said.
"No."
"But you'll watch."
"Yes."
I nodded. It wasn't a comfort . But it was honesty.
My fingers brushed against something on the table.
A thin bracelet lay there - dark metal, simple, warm, like it had been worn recently.
"What's this?" I asked.
Ronin hesitated. "It won't protect you," he said. "But it will let me know when you're in danger."
"And if I wear it?"
"Then the night will know you've stepped into it willingly."
I wrapped the cord around my wrist.
Ronin's eyes sharpened - not fear. Respect.
"Be careful, Rivena," he said. "The night doesn't like being noticed."
I met his gaze. "Neither do I."
For the first time, he smiled fully.
When I stepped outside, the city looked the same.
But I wasn't.
And somewhere behind the quiet, the night was already paying attention .