And then I kissed him.

  I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. One second I was staring at him, heart pounding like a war drum, and the next I was grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down. Just a press of lips—brief, messy, half-sobbing. A stupid, breathless kiss born of exhaustion and the wild, giddy relief of still being alive.

  When I pulled back, the world tilted sideways. My head spun, vision blurred. I gasped, trying to steady myself.

  Okami didn’t react. No insults. No retreat.

  Instead, he tipped my head back under the spray, rinsing the suds from my hair like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just been kissed by the girl he once trained—the one who broke everything.

  His hands were careful, deliberate. The same hands that had once taught me to fight now gentling against my scalp like I was made of glass.

  I closed my eyes.

  Let the water wash over me.

  Let the heat soak into the bruises and cuts.

  Let myself feel—for just one second—safe.

  The adrenaline was gone. My body was giving out. And somewhere deep inside, I knew that when I finally collapsed, it wouldn’t be from the fight⁠—

  It would be from finally being done.

  In that moment, with the warmth of the water cascading over my skin and Okami’s hands moving gently through my hair, I let myself go. I surrendered to the exhaustion that had been clawing at me since the mountain. I was safe. I was back. That was all that mattered right then. The shadows, the bodies, the blood—they could wait.

  His unexpected tenderness hit me harder than anything on the mountain had. He still cared. No matter how hard he tried to hide it.

  “What happened?” Okami asked, voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. He kept rinsing the soap from my hair, but his tone had changed—sharp, demanding, full of something heavy and tight.

  I tried to speak, but my throat was raw. The first word came out like gravel. I coughed, winced, tried again.

  “A group of initiants tried to kill me,” I rasped. The words felt heavy. Like admitting it made it worse. “Because they know who I am.”

  His hands paused briefly. I saw the flicker in his eyes, something dark and ugly passing through them.

  “I know,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “They won’t shut up about it. I thought…” He trailed off, his voice snagging on whatever thought he didn’t want to finish.

  I looked away, eyes on the stream of water pouring from the showerhead. “The girl with them—I thought she was in trouble. I thought she needed help.”

  “Of course you did,” he said under his breath. “You’re too soft for your own good. You’re going to die here, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I just have to stand back and let it happen. I can’t interfere.”

  His words hit me harder than the rain ever had.

  “You have so little faith in me,” I said, stung, my voice steadier now, despite the ache in my chest.

  “And you have too much faith in everyone else,” he snapped, heat rising under the surface. His frustration radiated off him like heat from a forge. But under all that anger… I could hear it. The fear. The helplessness.

  I turned to face him fully, water running down my face, mixing with the sting in my eyes. “Okami,” I said, my voice slicing through the haze. “I saw something. That night.”

  He stilled.

  “The fact that you had to sleep out there…” His voice dropped, suddenly too calm. That kind of calm that was just rage with a lock on it. “You could have died, MacKenzie. Don’t you get that? You could have died and then…”

  He didn’t finish.

  I pressed on. “I saw shadows.”

  His eyes snapped back to mine.

  “After the others… the ones who didn’t make it. The shadows hovered over them. It was like they were… pulling something from their bodies. Like feeding on them. I don’t know if I imagined it, but⁠—”

  He went still.

  So still it scared me.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” I said quietly, pulse thudding in my ears. “Don’t you?”

  He didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched mine, and for once, they weren’t guarded. They were terrified.

  “Are you sure you saw that?” he asked finally, his voice tense and low.

  I nodded. “Absolutely.”

  He reached past me and shut off the water. The silence that followed was deafening.

  Then, with a voice like thunder before the storm breaks, he said, “Then we’re all in terrible danger.”

  Five

  “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice thin and shaky, a tremble curling at the edges from cold and fear.

  Okami didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gently dipped my head beneath the stream, rinsing the last of the shampoo from my hair. When I surfaced, blinking water from my lashes, he finally said, “Weren’t you paying attention to your history courses?”

  I opened my mouth, then clamped it shut again.

  History had never been my strength. And it didn’t help that it was the only class I’d shared with Gabriel. Concentration was nearly impossible with him sitting beside me—his smirk, his voice, the weight of everything unsaid. I barely remembered the textbooks, let alone the content.

  Okami’s scowl deepened as if my silence confirmed everything he suspected. “The Third War erupted because old grudges were never buried. Just buried alive. Koya’s radicals got tired of waiting. Claimed injustice. Demanded payback. And when words didn’t work, they turned to coordinated attacks.”

  I swallowed hard, each word slamming into me with the weight of something I should have known—something I should have seen coming.

  “And with that war,” he continued, voice low, “came the Shadow Veil.”

  That name sent a chill through me colder than the mountain. My entire body tensed, and the warmth of the water suddenly felt wrong. Too artificial. Too safe.

  He must’ve noticed, because he turned off the water without a word. Silence rushed in, broken only by the drip-drip of the faucet and the echo of water swirling down the drain.

  I stood there, dripping, arms wrapped tightly around myself, and tried to connect what I’d seen on the mountain to what he was telling me.

  “The Shadow Veil,” I murmured. “It’s not just… not just a myth?”

  Okami gave me a look that made me feel six inches tall.

  “Do you remember how the war ended?” he asked, like it was a test I should’ve studied for.

  I tried to recall something—anything—but it was just fragments, headlines from dusty texts. Before I could speak, he answered for me.

  “It ended when something worse came,” he said. “An otherworldly threat—something none of us could fight alone. The cities stopped fighting each other long enough to fight it. Barely. Some of us bled to keep that alliance together. Others died. And eventually, we forced it back. The war ended not because we beat each other… but because we almost didn’t survive something else.”

  The weight of it settled over me like soaked cloth—heavy and suffocating.

  “You fought in the Third War,” I said quietly, looking up at him. “Didn’t you? You were, what… twenty?”

  His eyes shuttered instantly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  But it did. It mattered more than anything he’d said so far.

  “What matters,” he continued, standing and stepping away, voice tight with something old and buried, “is that the Shadow Veil is back.”

  His gaze shifted—distant, haunted, like he was seeing ghosts I couldn’t.

  Okami’s expression softened just slightly as his eyes met mine. “Can you stand?” he asked, his voice low, concern threading through the usual gruffness.

  I nodded and started to push myself up from the bathtub, but the second I moved, the room tilted violently. My knees buckled. Before I could crash to the floor, Okami caught me—his arms strong and steady, the warmth of his grip cutting through the chill still clinging to my skin.

  The fear I’d been holding back—the realization that something ancient and dangerous was rising—pressed in on me, but for a moment, all I could focus on was the feel of his hands keeping me upright.

  He didn’t say anything. Just moved with that same quiet efficiency I remembered from training—detached, focused, as he began peeling off my soaked clothes. There was no hesitation in his movements, no lingering touch, just clinical care. Still, something in me curled tight. Not in shame, exactly. Just… vulnerability. I wasn’t used to needing anyone. I didn’t know how to be this exposed.

  He grabbed a towel and began drying me off, his hands surprisingly gentle despite the earlier tension between us. It was careful. Patient. Like he was holding back everything unsaid with every press of the cloth. And maybe I was doing the same by letting him.

  Once I was dry, he handed me a set of warm, oversized clothes. I dressed slowly, awkwardly, my limbs still heavy with exhaustion. When he zipped the jacket up for me, his fingers brushed my collarbone—just a whisper of contact, gone in a second. But it left a trail of heat behind. I didn’t look up. Couldn’t. Not with my heart thudding like it had forgotten we were just survivor and instructor, not… whatever it was I was starting to feel in moments like this.

  When he finally met my eyes, I saw something there—uncertainty, maybe. Or restraint. Or something else I didn’t know how to name. The air between us stretched tight with everything we weren’t saying.

  Then, without a word, Okami guided me out of the bathroom. His grip on my arm was steady, grounding, like an anchor against the chaos still rattling inside me. He led me to his room, motioning for me to sit on the carpet in front of him. I obeyed, too tired to question it, settling between his knees as he grabbed a brush.

  The first stroke through my damp hair made me flinch, but he was careful. Gentle. Each pass eased the tension in my shoulders, the rhythm strangely comforting.

  Then he spoke.

  “They’re going to try to kill you,” he said, flat as ever. Like he was reciting a rule. “That’s what it means to be a Blade—root out the weak. They think you’re weak. And instructors aren’t allowed to interfere.”

  His words hit harder than I expected. Not because I didn’t know. But because hearing them from him—spoken so plainly, without apology—made it real.

  Made it personal.

  I squared my shoulders, refusing to let even a flicker of fear show. “I wouldn’t want you to,” I said, keeping my voice firm. I couldn’t be seen as someone who needed protection—not from Okami, not from anyone. I had to prove I belonged here. That I could handle whatever this place threw at me.

  “Piper,” he said, his tone sharp—stern, almost a warning. I could feel his eyes on me, burning into the back of my head like they could peel me open and read every thought. “If anyone tries anything in front of me, I won’t hesitate to kill them.”

  A chill threaded down my spine.

  He meant it. Every word. There was no hesitation in his voice, no exaggeration. Just deadly, bone-deep certainty.

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My throat felt tight, like my own heartbeat was lodged there. It was comforting in its own twisted way. But also terrifying. It reminded me just how dangerous this academy was—and how tangled things were between Okami and me.

  The brush continued its slow, steady movement through my hair, each stroke a strange anchor while the rest of me spun.

  “You can’t do that,” I said quietly, turning just enough to meet his gaze, even though it tugged painfully at the strands he hadn’t untangled yet. “They’re going to see me as coddled⁠—”

  “I don’t care,” he cut in, flat and unyielding. “You’re mine. Just because we’re both forced to be here doesn’t change that.”

  My breath caught. My stomach twisted. His words ignited something hot and furious and confused inside me.

  I met his gaze, forcing the tremble out of my voice. “Then train me. Let me fight for myself, or I’ll never survive without you—and I don’t want that.”

  His eyes darkened. “Have you forgotten we were almost killed by a Blade?”

  I hadn’t.

  I remembered being reassigned to Okami the second Jeremy and I got back to Kiri. Okami had hated me then—probably still did, on some level. That mission was supposed to be easy. Routine. But it was a trap.

  Someone inside the Blades had set us up. We still didn’t know who.

  And if I hadn’t pulled Okami out when I did… he wouldn’t be here brushing out my hair and warning me with that quiet fury in his voice.

  “This academy gives students free rein until the Selection,” he said. “Then you’re assigned to a squad. A captain. That’s when things start to stabilize.”

  “But?” I asked, sensing the tension coil tighter in his shoulders.

  “But,” he muttered, jaw tight, “I can’t guarantee you’ll make it to then. And I’m not allowed to help.”

  His words were a punch to the ribs—sharp and suffocating. I nodded slowly, the weight of it all pressing down on me. He wasn’t being dramatic. He was preparing me for war.

  When he finally finished brushing the knots from my hair, he swept it into a ponytail and secured it with such care I almost didn’t feel the tie slide into place. His fingers skimmed the back of my neck, barely a whisper of contact—but it lit something electric in me. I hated how aware I was of him. Of us.

  “You need to eat,” he said, pulling me out of the moment. His voice was quieter now, the sharp edges softened, but the concern was still there—just buried beneath all the frustration.

  He cared. Even if he didn’t want to.

  Even if it was going to get both of us killed.

  We both stood up, and Okami stepped out of the room, leaving me alone for the first time since I’d stumbled back into this place. I turned to the mirror, hesitating before walking over. A flicker of nerves danced in my chest as I looked at my reflection.

  The girl staring back at me was familiar and foreign all at once.

  I took in the uniform Okami had handed me and then removed the oversized clothes and into this—dark, pristine, perfectly tailored. The crest on the chest caught the light, and for a moment, I just stared at it. Two swords crossed behind a shield, sharp and clean, with a star glinting above it. A symbol of strength. Legacy. Belonging.

  I didn’t know whether I belonged here. But I was wearing the uniform. I’d made it off that mountain. That had to count for something.

  The trousers fit like they were made for me. The boots gleamed—polished so well I could see my warped reflection in them. A far cry from the mud-caked wrecks I’d nearly died in. I adjusted the collar of the shirt under my jacket, the fabric crisp and unfamiliar against my skin. Structured. Controlled. Everything the mountain wasn’t.

  I looked into my own eyes and saw both versions of myself colliding—Piper, the girl who had climbed a mountain, bled, fought, and survived…and Piper, the recruit, back in a place that would try to break me all over again.

  Let them try.

  I was different now. Sharper. And I wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Even if it killed me.

  Okami returned before I could get too far down that rabbit hole. He set a small plate of bread and a glass of water on the table, his expression unreadable.

  “Don’t eat too fast,” he warned, tone clipped. “Your body’s not ready.”

  I nodded, even as my stomach growled like something feral. The smell hit me like a spell, and the first bite was pure heaven. I didn’t mean to inhale it, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. My body didn’t care about logic or warnings or Okami’s glower—it wanted food, now.

  And then came the revolt.

  My stomach twisted, rejecting everything at once. I barely made it to the trash bin before I was heaving, sharp bile burning my throat. My knees hit the floor, and I stayed there, breath ragged and eyes watering.

  Okami didn’t move to help me.

  “I told you to take it slow, MacKenzie,” he said, voice flat but not cruel. “You need to listen. This isn’t the mountain anymore. You don’t have to rush.”

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, shame crawling up my spine. I felt like a scolded kid, humiliated and drained. The part of me that had faced down a pack of initiants and lived wanted to snap back, to reclaim that pride.

  But the rest of me—the part that was sore and starving and barely keeping it together—knew he was right.

  “I know,” I muttered, still not looking at him. “I just… forgot.”

  He didn’t reply. Just walked over and refilled the glass with fresh water, setting it beside me with a quiet thud.

  I sat there for a moment longer, hunched and trembling, reminding myself that surviving the mountain didn’t mean I was invincible.

  I needed to be smart now. Careful. Alive.

  Because the real war was just beginning.

  I sipped the water slowly, letting it wash away the bitter aftertaste of bile and shame. Every swallow felt like another reminder that survival here wasn’t just about grit—it was about control. The mountain had taught me how to endure. The academy? It was going to teach me how to navigate. Carefully. Quietly. Strategically.

  Lesson learned.

  I glanced at the floor where I’d made a mess of myself and the food. “I’ll clean it up,” I muttered, already moving to stand.

  Okami waved me off, already shifting into task mode. “You need to check in with your dorm leader. Meet your roommates.” His tone made it clear: this wasn’t a suggestion—it was the next required step.

  I nodded, forcing myself to stand fully. The room wobbled a little at the edges, but I planted my feet and steadied my breathing. No more signs of weakness. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.

  I reached for the door, but before I could open it, his hand caught my wrist.

  “Piper.” His voice dropped low, and when I turned, his eyes were locked on mine—sharp, unreadable, searing through me like they always did. “Don’t let them see you recovering. Don’t show your weakness. You’re already a target.”