The sea groans beneath the ship as dawn breaks, thin light scraping across the horizon like a blade. I stand at the railing, breath sharp in my chest. Rose stands beside me, arms wrapped around herself, shivering hard.
She isn't built for cold.
I am. Unfortunately.
"You're freezing," I say.
"No, no—just a little…" Her voice shakes. Her smile is weak, defensive. She wants to pretend she's fine. She isn't.
I pull my cloak off and settle it over her shoulders before she can protest. She tenses. When I draw her closer—because the wind cuts too deep—her breath stutters against my chest.
"Warm up," I say.
"…You're too close," she whispers.
"Only option."
She falls quiet, caught between wanting distance and needing warmth. That imbalance sits between us like a live wire.
The sun lifts higher. A thin band of gold spreads over the water.
"Hiro," she says, "there's something you should know before we reach my uncle."
"About what?"
"The Sun and the Moon. The crystal inside you."
I don't breathe.
She begins explaining—calm, rehearsed, like someone who has clung to this story for too long.
A war.
A god's punishment.
Lucifer cast down.
The Moon murdered.
A crystal shattered, stolen.
Power meant for no human soul.
"And now it's in you," she finishes. "The next vessel. The next target everyone will look for."
My ribs pulse under the bandages. A slow, slicing burn. Not healing. Worsening.
A ticking fuse.
A wound carved by the man who knew exactly what he was doing.
Rose studies my face. Her fear isn't for herself—
It's for me.
That's the dangerous part.
"Don't look at me like that," I say.
"Like what?"
"Like I matter."
She flinches. Not from the cold. From me.
Breakfast passes in silence. The canned food she brought tastes fine, but my stomach refuses it. Guilt knots tighter with every bite she forces herself to swallow just to keep me company.
When she packs everything away, her hands tremble—not from the cold anymore, but from whatever she isn't saying.
"Rose."
"Hm?"
"I'm a burden."
She answers instantly. Too quickly.
"No. I chose this. I chose you."
"That's the problem."
Her eyes widen. Her grip on the can freezes. The wind whips her hair, but she doesn't look away.
"You… you don't want me here?" she asks.
"That's not what I said."
"It is," she whispers.
The tension snaps tight between us—dangerous, breathless, a step from breaking.
The sea shifts. The ship creaks. My ribs burn again, deeper, sharper, like something inside is cracking open.
"Hiro—you're hurting." She reaches for me.
I move away before she can touch me. Too fast. Too instinctive.
She stares, wounded.
"You act like I'm a threat," she says softly.
"You don't understand what's inside me."
"And you don't understand what you are to me."
Her words hit harder than the cold wind. I look away first—coward or survivor, I can't tell anymore.
We talk about my mother. My father. The map. Lumineth. A dream that feels too gentle for someone like me.
Rose listens as if every detail is a thread tying me to her. Her hope is reckless. Her closeness is dangerous. And for a moment, dangerously… I let myself want it.
When she finally dozes off against my shoulder, whispering my name, something in my chest tightens—hard enough to steal breath.
My ribs pulse again.
Cuts reopening.
Not healing.
Not intended to heal.
A curse.
A mark.
A time bomb.
The wind howls across the deck.
I stare ahead—at the endless water, at the path I never chose, at the girl leaning on me with all her trust.
And all I can think is:
If she stays any closer… she won't survive me.