Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
"I’m really sorry." His voice was barely audible. "I didn’t. . .I wasn’t—"
"I know."
He looked at my scattered notebook on the floor next to my phone that now had a cracked screen. “Fuck.”
He picked everything up and placed them on the counter. "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm. . .I'm sorry." I shook my head.
He studied me for a moment. Sadness crossed his face. Then he glanced at the guards and gave them a short nod.
The other guards came over and assessed me quickly making sure the knife didn’t puncture my neck. Once satisfied, they went back to their positions and put up their guns.
I couldn't help myself and had to ask Hiro a question. "How were you able to sense that I was close to you while you were asleep and then act so quickly?"
"It's something I had to learn as a kid." The words came out flat, final, like a door slamming shut on that conversation.
But I saw it—the flash of despair in his eyes, the tightness around his mouth.
What kind of child had to learn to defend themselves while sleeping?
What kind of life had he lived before this?
My chest ached.
Hiro and Kenji were brothers, but clearly their childhoods had been vastly different. Where Kenji carried violence like a crown, Hiro wore it like scar tissue—trauma that had been carved into him against his will.
Hiro continued to watch me. "What are you doing in here?"
"I was going to make some tea and maybe something quick to eat."
The guards stirred and exchanged glances.
The scarred one spoke carefully, "Nyomi, perhaps we should escort you back to your room. We can have the chef prepare tea and bring it to you."
I could hear what he wasn't saying: Please let us get you away from Hiro. He’s crazy.
But. . .I looked at Hiro.
Really looked at him.
His shoulders were rigid, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. But it was his eyes that got me. They were filled with such raw horror, such devastating shame, that my chest ached.
This wasn't a dangerous man.
This was a broken one.
And all I could do was wonder why.
"It's okay." I shook my head. “I can do it."
The younger guard shifted uncomfortably.
Hiro's voice came out hoarse. "That will never happen again. My grabbing you like that in my sleep. I have your scent now. It’s locked down in my brain."
“What?”
“It means, my brain catalogs smells while I sleep. If it registers an unknown, it triggers a defensive sequence. If it recognizes a known. . .it doesn’t.”
“That’s how your brain works?”
“Yes. Doctors in Kyoto gave me a name for it—Olfactory Sentinel Response. OSR for short. Think of the lion-dog statues that guard shrine gates. They are sentinels that never fully sleep.”
I repeated it under my breath, “Olfactory Sentinel Response.”
“It’s rare. Most people, even trained people, don’t keep the switch half-on all night.” His jaw ticked. “But. . .uh. . .I do. . .”
Again, I wanted to know how someone ended up like that.
Could it have been trauma?
Did it teach his body to become a fulltime sentry?
I thought of the ink across his back—cherry blossoms torn by storm, the wave swallowing faces, koi fighting upstream. A story carved into him that matched this confession too well.
“This is so intriguing.” My voice came out steadier now. Almost normal. The adrenaline was finally ebbing. “How does it feel to sleep like that?”
“Well. . .” He considered, then spoke as if translating from a language only his body knew. “There’s a moment when you dive into the ocean, and you go deep into the water. Can you see it?”
I imagined myself plunging into the blue depths of an ocean. The world eerily quiet around me. The pressure of the water pushing in from all sides. I could almost taste the salty water on my lips, feel the coolness seeping into my skin. “Yeah. I can see it.”
“Once you’re deep in the ocean, you’re in the world, but you’re also not. Your ears stop hearing and start measuring. Pressure. Current. Distant sounds. That’s what it is when I’m asleep. But, then someone comes near or a sound is made and the water changes. A molecule of air moves wrong. A floorboard creaks. An unrecognizable scent pivots, and my body moves before the story catches up.” He frowned. “By the time the story says that’s a woman you know, the blade is already out and at the neck, the wrist is already pinned.”
“And if I had shouted your name sooner?”
He shook his head. “Words are slow. Scent is fastest.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Yeah but. . .it’s dangerous.” He nervously ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are. I can see it all over you.” I shrugged. “Anyway, I'm. . .steadier. Still shaky, but I'll be okay. I just need—" I looked at the kitchen. "I need something normal to do. Tea. Cooking. Something familiar."