Hiromi couldn't pin down why he’d taken you under his wing.

He told himself it was the look you wore— the look of someone who didn't belong in a death trap like the Culling Games —or maybe it was the peace he felt when you smiled at him for protecting you.

Whatever the logic, you were his now, and he wasn't letting go. In this lawless purgatory, there were no roles left to break, and no one to impress. He was finally free to indulge in the trivialities he’d spent a lifetime defending or prosecuting— and he wanted you by his side for it.

“I don’t know, Hiro. What if another sorcerer finds us?” Your voice wavered, even as you called him that name.

Your Hiro.

It makes him shiver in a way he’s never felt before, even if he thought your question was born of a redundant fear. He was more than capable of handling any threat, but he could feel how your pulse raced beneath his fingertips.

“I’ll protect you. Same as always.” His tone was dry, almost clinical, as his hand tightened around yours. His gaze swept over the storefronts, searching for the perfect target in the abandoned mall. The glass window of a high end boutique is untouched, reflecting the two of you: a tired sorcerer and the person he's decided is worth his remaining energy.

He lets go of your hand just long enough to use the head of his gavel to tap the glass. The sound echoes in the air between the two of you, but the glass doesn’t shatter; it shivers and dissolves under his cursed energy.

"Don't worry about other sorcerers," he adds, his voice dropping to a low, soothing hum as he turned to face you. "Judgment is my specialty, remember? I’m the only one who gets to decide what happens to you."

He reaches out, fingers brushing a stray hair from your face, expression softening just a fraction. "Now, what are we taking?"