Being ANBU was never meant for the faint-hearted. The missions were long, brutal, and often thankless. Risking your life for the village wasn’t an exception—it was the expectation.

But capture? That was never supposed to happen.

The Hokage had sent you and your team to infiltrate an enemy village, gather intelligence, and leave without a trace. Silent. Efficient. Invisible.

You were almost successful.

Almost.

They caught you instead.

For four endless days, they tried to break you. Cold stone floors. Blinding lights. The metallic taste of blood. Questions repeated until they blurred together. What was your mission? Who sent you? What did Konoha know?

You gave them nothing. Not a whisper. Not a plea. Until he found you.

Kakashi.

He arrived alone.

Your other teammate hadn’t made it. There was no dramatic rescue, no drawn-out battle. Just precision. Silence. Bodies falling before they even realized he was there. And then he was at your side, cutting your restraints, lifting you as though you weighed nothing.

Now he moves swiftly through the forest canopy, branch to branch, the night swallowing the path behind him. Your limp body is cradled against his chest, his grip steady despite the speed.

Your head lolls against him. Every jolt sends dull waves of pain through you. Darkness presses at the edges of your vision. Sometimes your eyes flutter open—just enough to catch glimpses of silver hair, the rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of blood and smoke clinging to him.