The underground passage was cold and damp, the air filled with the scent of mildew and rust. Aiko's footsteps echoed against the stone walls, her breath catching in her throat with every step. She clutched the scarf tightly, the embroidered lotus now glowing faintly, as if alive. Kaito walked ahead, his posture tense, his hand gripping the hilt of his blade.
"Where are we going?" Aiko's voice wavered, her fear barely contained.
"To a safehouse," Kaito replied without turning. "We'll be hidden there long enough for me to explain everything. But we need to move quickly. They won't stop."
"They?" she pressed. "Who are they? And why are they after me?"
Kaito sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he slowed his pace. "The Black Lotus Syndicate. They're a shadow organization—mercenaries, thieves, and assassins. They hunt artifacts and objects of power, like that thread. It's rumored to be the most valuable of them all."
Aiko felt a chill run down her spine. "But why me? I didn't even know what this thread was until tonight."
"That doesn't matter," Kaito said sharply. He turned to face her, his expression hard. "You used it. That binds you to it. And now, you're a target."
Aiko stared at him, her heart pounding. She wanted to argue, to demand answers, but the fear in his eyes was undeniable. "How do you know all this?" she asked softly. "You said you were once like them. What does that mean?"
Kaito hesitated, his gaze flickering to the glowing lotus on her scarf. "I used to work for them," he admitted finally. "I was trained to find and retrieve objects of power. But I left when I realized the cost—how many lives they were willing to destroy for their goals."
Aiko's grip on the scarf tightened. "And now you're helping me because you feel guilty?"
His jaw clenched. "Because it's the right thing to do. Whether you trust me or not, I'm your best chance at staying alive."
They continued in silence, the only sounds the distant dripping of water and the faint hum of the glowing scarf. Aiko's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of information Kaito had given her. She glanced at the silver thread, its sheen now dim in the darkness.
"Why does it glow?" she asked quietly. "What is this thread, really?"
Kaito glanced back at her. "It's ancient," he said. "No one knows exactly where it came from, but legends say it was woven by a celestial being—a deity of fate. It binds souls that need each other, but it also amplifies their desires and intentions. That's why it's dangerous. In the wrong hands, it can twist those desires into something destructive."
Aiko shivered, her thoughts swirling. She had always believed in the beauty of creation, in the way a simple thread could transform fabric into art. But this thread was different—it was alive, a force beyond her understanding.
As they reached the end of the passage, Kaito stopped abruptly, holding up a hand. He pressed his ear against the metal door, his expression tense. After a moment, he nodded and pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with scattered furniture and stacks of books. The walls were lined with maps and diagrams, and a faint smell of incense hung in the air.
"This is the safehouse?" Aiko asked, stepping inside.
"For now," Kaito said. He closed the door behind them and locked it with a series of latches. "It's one of many I've used over the years."
Aiko sank onto a worn couch, her hands trembling. She felt overwhelmed, the weight of the thread and its implications pressing down on her. "What happens now?" she asked.
Kaito sat across from her, his expression unreadable. "We plan our next move. The Syndicate won't stop, but if we can find the right people, we might have a chance to fight back."
"Fight back?" Aiko's voice rose in disbelief. "I'm a college student. I embroider scarves, not… fight shadowy organizations."
"You don't have to fight them," Kaito said firmly. "That's my job. Your job is to stay alive and keep that thread out of their hands."
Aiko's gaze dropped to the scarf in her lap. The lotus shimmered faintly, its petals almost pulsing with light. She felt a strange connection to it, as if it were a part of her now. "What if I destroy it?" she asked suddenly. "Wouldn't that end this?"
Kaito shook his head. "It's not that simple. Destroying it could have… consequences. The thread binds more than just souls—it weaves destinies. Cutting it could unravel things you can't imagine."
Aiko's stomach turned. She felt trapped, caught in a web she hadn't meant to weave. "I didn't ask for this," she whispered.
"I know," Kaito said softly. "But sometimes, fate doesn't ask. It just happens."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them. Aiko stared at the scarf, her mind churning with questions. Who had she bound herself to? Was it Kaito? Or was there someone else out there, waiting for her?
"This place doesn't seem like you," she said after a moment.
Kaito glanced over his shoulder, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "And what do you think seems like me?"
Aiko frowned, unsure how to answer. "I don't know. Something sharper. Less… soft."
His smile widened as he set two steaming mugs on the table. "Even I need a little softness sometimes."
The admission surprised her. She picked up a mug, thought if it's poisoned. "Do you live here?"
"Not always," Kaito replied, sitting across from her. "Safehouses aren't meant to be permanent. But this one's… special."
Aiko studied him, trying to decipher the layers beneath his calm exterior. "Special how?"
Kaito hesitated, his gaze dropping to the scarf between them. "It's a place where things feel simpler. Where I can remember what it's like to be… normal."
"You don't seem normal to me," she said arrogantly.
He looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. "And what do I seem like to you?"
Aiko softly took his mug and gave him hers and replied as she's sipping "Untrustable"
Kaito chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver through her. "Fair enough." He sipped from her mug, it wasn't poisoned.
They sat in silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the faint crackle of the lantern. Aiko sipped Kaito's tea, her thoughts swirling. She wanted to ask more—about the thread, about the Syndicate—but the questions felt too heavy for this moment.
Instead, she reached for the scarf, running her fingers over the glowing lotus. "It doesn't feel dangerous," she murmured. "It feels… alive."