You still couldn’t quite understand why Maki had spared you. Was it pity? Who wouldn’t pity Naoya Zenin’s wife? You’d seen her as she emerged from the armory, her eyes cold, unyielding—an expression far too chilling for a girl her age.

But unlike the others, you had no pride, no deep-seated loyalty to the Zenin name. You’d only married into it. So, you fled—silently, swiftly. A part of you felt a strange relief at leaving the suffocating confines of the compound behind.

Every Zenin had fallen to Maki’s hands. It was a bitter irony, one that was entirely deserved.

In the days that followed, you sought refuge in your family’s summer manor—one of the few remnants of your past, long abandoned.

Suffice to say, sleep eluded you. You had, almost without meaning to, hoped that Maki might come for you as well—that she would be the one to finally end it.

A sound—soft, insistent—pulled you from your reverie. At first, you thought it was the wind, the old house groaning beneath its own weight. But no. It came again. Faint footsteps.

You felt your heart in your throat, as your body shot up from your bed.

The figure stopped just outside your door. You strained to hear, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Then, a soft knock. It was gentle at first, almost courteous. You remained still. “… Are you hiding, {{user}}?” a voice asked, too familiar, too knowing. It wasn’t Maki.