Hime bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but she wasted no time. Fear and panic coursed through her veins, but she buried them beneath cold, calculated focus. Calmness was her armor; precision, was her weapon. Every second counted.
Hime moved swiftly, dismantling Mars. The bathroom mindmap came down in torn sheets, its cryptic notes and diagrams reduced to a pile of shredded paper. She carried them to the fire pit in the courtyard. There, she added her few belongings—Kazuki's clothes from that morning, along with her own. She watched the flames devour them, the acrid smoke curling into the night sky. It stung her nose, but she welcomed the discomfort.
Her tablet, phone, and a stash of emergency cash were packed into her crossbody sling bag. Her fingers hesitated over Kazuki's red shirt. Practicality screamed at her to leave it behind—it was a liability, a trace she didn't need. But her hand lingered, gripping the fabric tightly. She shoved it into the bag, disgusted with her sentimentality. This wasn't the time.
Finally, she set the timer on the microwave. The explosive device she'd planted months ago would create just enough damage to destroy the room and any lingering evidence.
As she dressed—a black high-neck top, a cropped white jacket, and jeans—an uneasy sensation clawed at her chest. She tied her hair into a high ponytail, fingers trembling despite herself. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she lingered by the coffee table, her eyes scanning the remnants of her sanctuary. For the first time, she felt as though she was running instead of moving forward.
Berkeley should have been safe. She had calculated for it, planned around his absence. But something was off. The hunters had arrived faster than she'd anticipated. She had misjudged.
The thought curdled in her stomach. Panic threatened to bubble up, but she crushed it with forceful resolve.
Her thoughts were shattered by the sharp crash of the door breaking open.
Berkeley hit the ground with a sickening thud, his bloodied face a mask of pain. Hime's heart twisted as she took him in: the swollen eye, the split lip, the way his body barely moved with each shallow breath. For a moment, her composure cracked, and dread seeped through the cracks. But only for a moment.
Sliding to her knees, she grabbed the dagger hidden beneath the coffee table. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped it, every muscle taut with tension.
The Venus Hunters filed in with eerie precision, their movements calculated. Their leader—a lean, imposing man with a chilling stare—surveyed the room.
"Where is she?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence, as sharp as the edge of a blade.
Hime froze, the cold steel of fear slipping beneath her calm facade. Her heart pounded in her chest, loud and unrelenting, but her expression remained neutral—a mask she had perfected over years. She let her gaze drift to the leader, her voice trembling just enough to sound believable.
"Who are you talking about?" she asked, her tone tinged with confusion and just the right hint of fear. "Who… who are you guys?"
The leader's gaze narrowed, suspicion flickering in his steely eyes. He studied her, his silence louder than words. Behind him, the other hunters moved methodically, scanning every corner of the room. Their movements were fluid, precise, almost inhuman. The synchronization sent a chill down Hime's spine, but she forced herself to stay in character, her hand tightening imperceptibly around the dagger hidden behind her.
"We're looking for Venus," he said finally, his words deliberate and weighted.
Hime's breath hitched, but she quickly masked the reaction, letting a nervous laugh escape instead.
"Venus?" she echoed, feigning ignorance. "I have no idea who or what that is. I'm just… squatting here. This place has been abandoned for years. I don't even know what you're talking about."
The leader tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as though peeling back the layers of her lie. The silence stretched between them, suffocating and oppressive.
"You've never heard of Venus?" he pressed, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous undercurrent.
"No," Hime replied, her voice wavering just enough to seem genuine.
She allowed her gaze to dart nervously between the hunters, as though she was sizing up her chances of escape. "I don't know who you're looking for. I'm just trying to survive out here. Please, I don't want any trouble."
The leader stepped closer, his presence towering and oppressive. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Funny," he said, his tone laced with quiet menace. "You seem too calm for someone caught in the middle of a hunt."
Hime's pulse thundered in her ears, but she forced her trembling hands to stay hidden behind her back.
"I've had to survive a lot," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "You learn to keep calm… or you don't make it."
His lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile. "Maybe," he said, straightening up. "But I'll be the judge of that."
As he turned to signal his men, Hime exhaled softly, her mind racing. Something about them was wrong—eerily precise, too controlled. Whoever they were, they weren't just hunters. They were something far more dangerous. And they weren't leaving until they got what they wanted.
The sharp ping of the microwave timer shattered the tension. The explosion that followed was deafening, throwing the room into chaos. Smoke and debris filled the air, the acrid scent of burning plastic and wood choking her lungs.
A searing pain tore through her left thigh. Hime gasped, biting down on her lip to stifle a scream as warm blood seeped through her jeans. Shrapnel had embedded itself deep, and the sharp, throbbing agony made her vision blur. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth as she forced herself to move.
Berkeley groaned nearby, barely conscious. Hime crawled to him, every movement sending fresh jolts of pain up her leg. "Get up," she hissed, gripping his arm. Her voice wavered, a mix of urgency and fury. "We're leaving."
The forest around the temple was their only hope. Hime's steps were uneven, her injured leg dragging slightly with each step. Her breath came in short, labored gasps, but she forced herself forward, guiding Berkeley through the dense trees. The earthy scent of damp soil and crushed leaves filled the air, mingling with the coppery tang of her blood.
"Move," she urged, her voice tight with pain. Her thigh burned with every step, the wound pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She could feel the sticky warmth of blood soaking her jeans, threatening to slow her down. The hunters were gaining—they could hear the rhythmic crunch of boots against the forest floor behind them.
Hime spotted the rusted sewer grate half-buried in overgrown foliage. Grabbing Berkeley, she yanked it open, her fingers slick with sweat. "Inside," she ordered.
Berkeley slid in first, followed by Hime, who gritted her teeth against the pain as she pulled the grate shut behind her.
The darkness was absolute, save for the faint glimmers of moonlight filtering through tiny gaps above. The air was thick and suffocating, reeking of damp stone and stagnant water. Every step echoed, the sound amplified by the narrow tunnels.
Hime leaned against the cold, wet wall, her breath ragged. The sharp, throbbing pain in her thigh made it difficult to think. Her fingers brushed against the wound, coming away slick with blood. She couldn't stop the bleeding here, not without drawing attention.
"Are they gone?" Berkeley rasped, his voice hoarse and strained.
"For now," Hime said, her tone cold but wavering slightly. Her eyes darted to the faintly glowing entrance behind them, every sense on high alert.
Her mind raced. The hunters' timing, their unnervingly coordinated movements—it wasn't a coincidence. Someone had orchestrated this, and that someone had accounted for Berkeley.
The realization hit her like a fresh wound, slicing through her confidence. She tightened her grip on the dagger, her knuckles white against the dark handle.
"We're not safe," she muttered, half to herself. The faint sound of water dripping in the distance seemed to mock her, each drop a reminder of the ticking clock.
As they moved deeper into the tunnels, the suffocating air pressed down on them. Hime's leg felt like dead weight, her vision swimming with each step. But she pushed forward, her mind focused on one thing: survival.
"Keep going," she whispered, her voice a mere shadow in the cavernous space.
In the silence of the sewer, her thoughts churned. This wasn't over. The hunters wouldn't stop. They were too precise, too deliberate. Someone was pulling the strings, and Hime intended to cut them. But first, she had to get out alive.
The darkness swallowed them, the echoes of their steps fading into the abyss.