"Some storms burn slow and quiet before they strike."
The village was behind them now—a quiet hush replacing the chaos they'd left behind. Their small group had made camp deeper into the forest, where the trees offered thick cover and a stream bubbled nearby. It was the first night in days they hadn't had to sleep with one eye open.
Lena sprawled out on a woven blanket, humming to herself as she picked herbs from her pouch and tried to label them correctly.
Nala sat a little farther off, sharpening her blade with steady rhythm. The tension in her shoulders hadn't left, but it had dulled, like the ache after a bruise.
Hikaru was uncharacteristically quiet that evening. He hadn't spoken much after they set camp. He didn't even make his usual snarky remark when Lena burned the rice again.
Nala noticed it. Of course she did.
He was off to the side, watching the fire, jaw set like he was trying not to think too hard. She knew that look. She wore it herself more often than not.
"You alright?" Lena asked him, flicking a pine needle at his boot.
Hikaru blinked out of his thoughts. "Hm? Yeah. Just... thinking."
Lena grinned. "Dangerous thing for you, thinking."
He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted a little.
Later that evening, after a quiet dinner and a rare moment of laughter (Lena mimicked Kenjiro's grumpy face with surprising accuracy), the three of them took turns for night watch.
Lena had the first, claiming she didn't mind. Nala took the second. Hikaru, the third.
But he didn't sleep.
Nala could sense it from her spot across the fire. His breathing was too even, too controlled. The kind of stillness that meant thoughts were louder than rest.
Eventually, she stood. "I'll take third watch too," she muttered.
Hikaru raised a brow. "Trying to keep an eye on me?"
"Just making sure you don't fall asleep and let a raccoon steal your sword."
He snorted. "Ruthless little things."
She sat across from him. The fire crackled low, casting warm shadows across the lean angles of his face. He wasn't beautiful in the delicate way some men were. His was a sharper kind of handsome—cheekbones cut like obsidian, jaw stubborn, eyes that always looked like they were calculating.
He caught her staring.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing." She looked away.
Hikaru smirked faintly, then turned back to the fire.
They didn't speak again for a long while.
But they didn't need to.
The forest was still. Mist clung to the ground in soft curls, and the sky was only beginning to stretch into pale gold when Nala slipped from her bedroll.
Sleep hadn't come easy. Not with the quiet. Not with him so close.
She needed movement. Air. Something other than the sound of her thoughts scratching at the back of her mind.
She didn't mean to follow the sound of footsteps, not really. But the rhythmic thuds and grunts were unmistakable—measured, controlled, sharp.
Nala ducked between trees until she reached a clearing tucked behind a veil of foliage, framed by mossy rocks and thin streams of light through the canopy.
And then she saw him.
Hikaru moved like flame.
No shirt. Just the loose black pants he always wore low on his hips, a sheen of sweat glinting along his shoulders. His back flexed with each twist of his blade, muscles long and carved, built from discipline rather than vanity. There was something wild in the way he fought the air—every movement held a purpose, a memory, a ghost. He was graceful without trying, deadly without effort.
Nala wasn't easily impressed.
But this...
She crossed her arms, pretending she hadn't just watched for longer than was necessary. "You're up early."
He turned at the sound of her voice, breathing steady. A hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If that's what you call sword training."
"Your stance is wide. Makes you slower."
"Oh?" he said, tossing her a wooden practice blade from the stump nearby. "Show me how it's done then."
She caught it mid-air, raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want that?"
"Are you?"
Their blades met with a snap. She lunged low, testing him, and he parried easily—but she saw the flicker of surprise. She wasn't just fast—she was clever. Sharp. She moved like someone who'd fought to survive, not just training in luxury.
He grinned between blocks. "You fight dirty."
"Better than fighting pretty."
Wood clacked again and again, their footsteps shifting across the dirt, drawing circles around each other. He feinted left, but she anticipated him, catching the strike and twisting away.
"Where'd you learn that?" he asked, sweat dripping from his brow.
"From not dying," she said, panting. "You?"
He didn't answer right away. Just stared at her—like he could see straight through the attitude. "From someone who isn't around anymore."
The silence crackled for a beat before Nala broke it. "You gonna let that distract you?"
"I'm not the one getting distracted."
She scowled—and lunged. But this time, he caught her arm mid-strike and twisted her off balance, just enough to send her tumbling forward.
Her foot caught the edge of a tree root—momentum tipping her forward.
But instead of hitting the ground, strong arms swept around her. Hikaru caught her like it was nothing, one arm behind her back, the other pressed against her hip. Their faces hung inches apart. His grip was steady, but his breath hitched ever so slightly as her hand instinctively braced against his bare chest.
"Careful," he said, voice low. "Wouldn't want to bruise that ego."
Nala tilted her head slightly, eyes locked on his with dangerous calm. "That so?" she said, voice soft as silk and just as cutting.
Then—without breaking eye contact—she let her fingers graze lightly down his chest before pushing off him to stand upright.
His jaw flexed.
She dusted off her pants like nothing happened. "Try not to fall for me next time."
The silence between them crackled.
Hikaru's smirk twitched, faltering for just a breath. "Tch. In your dreams."
She spun the practice blade once and readied herself again, cool and collected. "Then you better hope you're not in mine."
This time, she lunged first.
And this time, he was the one who hesitated.
The forest settled into stillness as night stretched overhead, stars blinking like distant sparks in the dark. Hikaru sat perched on a rock near the edge of their camp, one hand resting on the hilt of his blade, the other tracing idle patterns in the dirt with a stick.
The fire behind him had dimmed to a quiet glow. Nala and Lena had both gone quiet—Nala under her cloak, unmoving, Lena curled like a cat with a faint snore.
His eyes scanned the treeline, alert... but his mind drifted elsewhere.
She was fast. Strong. Strategic.
And she was a problem.
He let out a slow breath, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
What are you doing? he thought. She's part of the mission—off-limits, untouchable.
But that wasn't entirely true, and he hated how aware of it he was.
A low breeze stirred the trees. The stars blinked.
Behind him, someone shifted. He turned—just slightly—and saw Nala sitting up, staring into the fire.
She didn't speak. Neither did he.
They didn't need to.
They just sat in the hush of the night, a quiet truce between warriors too tired to fight the silence.