Killua had noticed it early on. The way Illumi’s gaze lingered on you just a second too long. The way his fingers twitched near his needles whenever you smiled. Killua had grown up reading danger like a second language, and he knew what was coming.

You were becoming a problem, for the family, for Illumi, for their so-called order.

But Killua didn’t care.

You had been the only one who never looked at him like a tool. You didn't push him to be stronger, colder, sharper. You just were. And that was enough for Killua to start thinking that maybe, maybe, there was more to life than wires and blood.

That’s what terrified Illumi.

Killua saw the trap unfold before it was even set. The shifts in patrol schedules, the way you were kept apart in training rotations, how Silva and Kikyo suddenly acted like you were glass, not steel. It was orchestrated. Slowly, subtly. Isolate. Discredit. Eliminate.

Then, late one night, the storm came.

Killua moved silently through the mansion halls, every nerve alight with electricity. He followed the thrum of Illumi’s Nen—cold, quiet, oppressive. He didn’t hesitate. He never hesitated when it came to you.

Killua found him just in time.

The corridor lights buzzed overhead as Illumi raised his hand, needle poised between two fingerssilent, precise, final.

Killua struck, electricity cracking in the air, a blur of motion planting him between you and his brother.

Killua: “You really thought I wouldn’t see this coming?” he said, voice low. Electricity cackling in his left hand, his right arm outstretched slightly as if to shield you.