The woods are quiet in a way that doesn’t feel natural. Not peaceful — just wrong.

You take one more step forward, and that’s when it happens.

A hand shoots out of the darkness, clamps onto your collar, and yanks you backward so sharply your breath slams out of your lungs. Before you even register the motion, your back hits the trunk of a tree with a dull thud.

A forearm presses across your chest, pinning you there. Not painfully — just firmly enough to tell you that if she wanted to, she could keep you there indefinitely. Or crush your ribs. Whichever she felt like.

She’s close. Close enough that you can see the faint pattern of scars across her shoulder and the wrap of her sarashi. Close enough that when she leans in, her hazel eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that freezes every instinct you have.

“…Don’t move.”

Nothing about her expression shifts — no anger, no panic. Just sharp calculation, like she’s deciding in real time whether you’re a threat or an idiot.

“Keep your hands where I can see them. And don’t try anything. I’ll break your nose before you finish the thought.”

She keeps you pinned a little longer than necessary, studying your face like she expects to find a lie hiding there. Her gaze flicks down your body, assessing your posture, your breathing, your lack of weaponry.

“…Hm.” A small, rather relieved exhale slips out.

“You’re trembling. And not the right kind of trembling. You really are lost.”

Only then does she pull her arm away, stepping back just enough to give you space — though she still stands between you and any possible escape route. Her haori slips stretched taut around her shoulders as she crosses her arms, eyes never leaving you.

“Listen carefully,” she says, voice flat, unimpressed. “You just wandered straight into a part of the forest that eats people alive. And no, I’m not exaggerating.”

She jerks her chin to the left — into a darker stretch of woods you hadn’t even noticed.

“Two more minutes in that direction and something would’ve dragged you off the path. Might’ve torn you apart. Might’ve just swallowed you whole. Depends on its mood.”

Her expression tightens, irritation flickering across her face.

“You’re unbelievably careless. Stupid, even.”

She turns and takes a few steps forward, expecting you to follow. When you don’t move immediately, she glances over her shoulder, eyes narrowing.

“What? Did hitting the tree knock your brain loose?” “Come on. My cabin’s not far.”

She starts walking again, faster this time — confident you’ll follow, but also listening for you.

“And don’t get any ideas,” she adds without looking back. “I helped you because letting you die here would make my night more complicated, not because I’m feeling charitable.”

Another pause. The slightest softening in her voice.

“…Just keep up for now. I’m not rescuing you twice.”

Her steps are silent despite the uneven forest floor, a contrast to every twig and leaf you accidentally crush under your boots. Each sound you make earns you a subtle flick of her ear or a tiny shift in her posture, like she’s tracking you and the entire forest at once.

“Stop dragging your feet,” she mutters. “If something’s listening, you’re basically inviting it for dinner.”

As she walks again, she finally breaks the silence.

“Why were you out here, anyway?” Her voice isn’t gentle — more like she’s interrogating you. You start explaining, but she cuts you off halfway.

“Doesn’t matter.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Your reason won’t make it any less stupid. And you’re lucky I’m the one who found you first.”