Aiko and Dynamo carried a limping Hiroto to the car. Moments later her uncle’s hand shook so violently his car keys rang like a dinner bell.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to drive,” Hiroto said, jaw tight against the pain.

  Aiko snatched the keys from him. “I’ve never driven before, but I’ll try.”

  Hiroto let out a short chuckle before a grimace bent his face. “No. We need to leave—now.”

  “Then I’ll do it. I don’t have a lot of experience, but I do have my license,” Dynamo said, holding out her hand.

  He passed her the keys with a look that mixed trust and desperation.

  I’ve seen her fight men twice her size, Aiko thought as she slid into the backseat, why is she nervous about driving a car?

  “Just get on the highway going north and stay in the right lane. You’ll be fine. Traffic’s thinning,” Hiroto said, lowering himself into the passenger seat.

  Dynamo adjusted the mirrors, hands white-knuckled on the wheel, and pulled them onto the road. Sirens screamed in the distance, swelling and fading as she pushed them onto the highway.

  For a while, no one spoke. The hum of the tires, the sweep of passing streetlights, the faint hiss of Hiroto’s ragged breathing—it all stacked into an uneasy rhythm.

  After twenty minutes, Dynamo’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “We need to get off. They’ll sweep the highway first.”

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  Aiko leaned forward. “But where will we go?”

  “Anywhere quiet,” Dynamo muttered, scanning the upcoming exits. She swung them off onto a darkened service road, the kind lined with overgrown hedges and old streetlamps that hadn’t been replaced in years. Houses loomed—some with lights, some black as stone.

  Then she spotted it. A crooked white sign staked into a lawn: FOR SALE. The place looked empty, the grass wild, curtains drawn tight.

  “That one,” Dynamo said. She pulled the car to the curb and cut the headlights.

  Aiko glanced around, pulse quickening. “What if someone’s inside?”

  “Then they’ll regret it,” Dynamo said flatly, already stepping out.

  She strode up the walkway, tested the door—locked. Without hesitation, she pulled a multitool from her boot, working the latch with the same calm precision she used when dismantling a rifle. Within seconds, the lock gave with a faint click. She pushed the door open and gestured them inside.

  The house smelled of dust and stale carpet. Empty walls, no furniture, just echoes. Perfect.

  “Safehouse,” Dynamo whispered, helping Hiroto across the threshold.

  She scanned each room, clearing it with quick, practiced movements before returning. “We’ll hole up here until morning.”

  Aiko pulled the blinds shut tight while Dynamo bolted the door behind them. Hiroto slumped into a corner, eyes closing, breath shallow. For the first time all night, Aiko let herself exhale.

  Then she noticed—Dynamo’s hands, still trembling faintly as she set her multitool on the windowsill. Her shoulders were taut, her jaw clenched. Not from the fight. Not from the break-in. From the driving, the escape, the weight of being responsible for all of them.

  Aiko blinked, stunned. She had always thought of Dynamo as indestructible, forged of stone and iron. But here, in the shadows of an abandoned house, she looked… human. Frightened, even.

  Aiko wanted to say something, but the words stuck. Instead, she reached out and brushed Dynamo’s arm lightly. Dynamo didn’t pull away. She only met Aiko’s gaze for a long, quiet moment—two fighters caught on the same edge, both realizing just how close they had come to falling.

  The house wasn’t home. But for now, it was sanctuary.