The halls were quieter than usual, filled only with the low hum of wind brushing past the stone walls. Most had gone to rest—or pretend to. You moved silently through the corridor, mission report in hand, headed toward the meeting room Itachi and Kisame had claimed hours earlier.

As you neared the door, voices leaked through the cracks. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

“You’re gonna die like this, Itachi,” Kisame’s voice rumbled low, uncharacteristically serious. “And no one’s gonna know why you did it.”

A pause.

“They’re not supposed to know.” Itachi’s voice was quiet, strained—like someone holding up a collapsing ceiling with their bare hands. “If I fall apart, so be it. That was always the deal.”

You froze, breath caught in your throat. The air felt heavier somehow.

Then—a soft creak beneath your foot. It was almost nothing, but enough.

Inside, silence fell.

A few seconds passed before the door slid open. Itachi stood there in the doorway, his eyes shadowed—but not unreadable this time. There was something raw beneath the calm.

He looked at you.

“...Did you need something?”