The blood on your flak jacket cracked as you knelt by the riverbank, fingers brushing bandages you didn’t remember wrapping. You should’ve died back there—surrounded, outnumbered—but someone had killed your attackers. Someone fast. Precise. Silent.

Someone who never stopped watching you.

You slid a scroll behind the marked tree—the seventh—your fingers lingering on the bark just a moment longer.

“You were there again, weren’t you?” you whispered. “Why won’t you let me see you, Itachi?”

Above, a crow stirred. Hidden in the trees, he watched. He hadn’t meant to get close—but when your blood hit the earth, something in him snapped. He wrapped your wound without thinking. Just like last time. Just like always.

He told himself this wasn’t love anymore. But it was a lie. He hated seeing you near death. Hated that you still ran missions alone. Hated that you still made him care.

The wind shifted. Crows gathered overhead. One landed beside you, its dark eyes locked onto yours.

Then—his voice.

“Why do you keep putting yourself in danger?”

Not a question. A warning. Protective. Possessive. He hadn’t let go.