The door creaked open.
I didn't flinch. Didn't even look.
Footsteps—two sets. One lighter, one heavier. Familiar rhythms.
Kenji and...
"Anos?" my dad's voice. Hizashi. Soft. Scared.
I didn't respond.
Kenji stepped inside first, scanning the room like it might bite him. "This where you've been hiding?"
I said nothing.
Hizashi came in behind him, rain still dripping off his hood. His eyes found me instantly. "Peter called," he said, like that explained everything. "Said he couldn't reach you. Said you looked like you were falling apart."
"Didn't know I had to check in," I muttered.
"You don't," Kenji said, crouching down across from me. "But disappearing in the middle of a warzone without a word? That's not you."
"Isn't it?" I looked up, and they both froze at whatever they saw in my eyes. "Maybe it is."
Hizashi stepped forward slowly. "Anos…"
And just like that, the past dragged me under.
FLASHBACK – Age 9
The restraints bit into my wrists.
Cold metal. Sterile light. A needle slid into my arm, followed by a burn that made my veins feel like they were screaming.
"Subject 9 holding steady," a voice said. Male. Flat. Like I wasn't human.
I wasn't.
Not to them.
"Begin cellular compression test."
A jolt of energy crashed through my chest. I arched off the table, mouth open in a silent scream. They hadn't even numbed the pain this time. Said I was adapting too fast. Said suffering helped the process.
The woman with silver glasses leaned over me. "You'll be perfect," she whispered. "Or you'll be nothing at all."
I wanted to cry. I wanted to beg.
But I'd learned early—crying didn't stop the needles. Didn't stop the fire. Didn't stop them.
So I stayed silent.
Even when it hurt.
Even when I broke.
PRESENT
I blinked.
The rain outside was louder now. Kenji was frozen. Hizashi's face had gone pale.
"You remembered," Kenji said quietly, voice trembling. "They did that to you. When you were—how young were you?"
"Too young," I whispered.
Hizashi dropped to his knees, hands shaking as he reached out—then stopped short like touching me might shatter something sacred.
"That's why you never talked about it," he murmured, eyes glassy. "Why you always changed the subject. Why you flinched at hospitals. At needles. At people raising their voices."
I looked down.
I'd never told him. Not because I didn't trust him—but because I loved him. And love was a dangerous thing when you were a broken weapon pretending to be a son.
Kenji sat beside me now. Quiet. Steady. Not trying to fix it—just there.
"I'm sorry," Hizashi said, voice cracking. "I should've seen it. I should've protected you."
"You didn't know," I said, finally meeting his eyes. "They made sure no one did."
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it wasn't my fault.
That maybe I didn't have to carry this alone anymore.