Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
The kitchen felt quieter suddenly.
"Some men kill fast." Hiro snapped his fingers. "Efficient. Clean. One strike, target's down, they're already moving to the next objective. No wasted motion. No lingering."
"And that means they're. . .practical?"
"Good. Yes. But,” He raised one finger. “It also means death is only a task to them. A job. Something that needs doing and then it's done."
I considered that. “And. . .what else would they say?”
"That these men compartmentalize well. They don't carry death with them. They sleep fine at night. Good soldiers. Steady. Reliable in a crisis because they don't let the weight of it slow them down."
"Okay." I crossed my arms, truly intrigued. "Tell me more, please."
"Some men are slow with the kill. Intentional. They want the target to see them. To understand what's happening and why." Hiro's voice stayed even. "These men believe in justice. In lessons. In making sure the death has meaning."
"That sounds like cruelty."
"Sometimes, but sometimes it's the opposite." He made a weighing gesture. "A man who kills a traitor quickly—is that mercy? Or is it letting him off easy?"
I didn't have an answer.
"Some men kill angry. Some kill cold. Some kill sad—and those ones are the most dangerous, by the way.”
I widened my eyes. “Why?”
“A man who grieves while he takes your life is a man who's made peace with what he is." Hiro's eyes drifted. "You can read everything about a person in how they deal death. Their values. Their wounds. Their relationship with power. Whether they see themselves as predator or protector or something in between. Or just. . .something very fucked up."
The words settled into me.
Heavy.
True in a way I didn't want them to be.
I let silence stretch between us.
Never in my life had I thought about death this way. About what it revealed. What it exposed. That death could be a mirror. That the way a man killed could tell me more about his soul than anything he said or did in daylight.
It was haunting.
It should have made me want to leave this kitchen.
This island.
But instead, I leaned in closer, yearning to learn more.
And that made me question what kind of person I was becoming.
"Thank you." My voice came out softer than I expected. "For taking the time to explain this to me. You didn't have to."
"Yes, I did." Hiro shrugged like it was simple. "You're trying to see the Claws. Really see them. The least I can do is give you the right eyes."
I nodded slowly.
"Also. . .you get my respect."
“For what?”
He tilted his head. "You're not running."
"Should I be?"
"Most people would."
"I'm not most people."
Warmth flickered in his expression. "No. You're not."
The air between us shifted. A wall came down, and understanding rose in its place.
I looked down at the sketchpad, but I wasn't seeing the page anymore. I was letting everything Hiro said settle into places in my brain that I didn't know existed.
Death as a mirror.
Killing as a confession of the person’s soul. The truth of a man laid bare in the moment he takes a life.
My heart began to pound.
If that was real—if I believed it—then what did that say about the man I had fallen in love with?
I thought about the pyre and looked up. "When Kenji burned those traitors. . ."
Hiro went very still.
"What does that say about him?" I cleared my throat. "Using your way of understanding someone."
For a long moment, Hiro didn't answer. He just looked at me.
Measuring.
Deciding.
"You really want to know?"
"I need to know."
He nodded slowly. "Then I'll tell you. But remember—you asked."
I braced myself.
"Fire is absolute."
“Okay.”
"It doesn't wound. It doesn't warn. It erases. Completely. Totally.”
I parted my lips.
“Not quick like a blade. Not clean like a bullet. Fire is slow. Consuming. A man who chooses fire doesn't want his enemies dead—he wants them unmade. Reduced to ash so complete there's nothing left to bury. Nothing left to remember."
My heart boomed in my ear.
"My brother sees betrayal as unforgivable. Not just punishable. Erasable. Because even the memory of it is a threat." Hiro's jaw tightened. "Those traitors didn't just die, Nyomi. They were deleted. Removed from existence."
My fingers found the edge of the sketchpad and gripped it. "That's. . .terrifying."
"Or safe?"
I didn't answer.
"Because here's what you're missing. He did it publicly. In front of everyone."
"And that matters."
"Because it wasn't just punishment. It was a promise." Hiro spread his hands. "Every loyal man on this island saw those flames and understood: this is what the Dragon will do to anyone who tries to hurt us.”
“And us is?”
“Everyone on the island.”
“I thought so.”
“The pyre strengthens all as a family. That pyre says this is how far the Dragon will go if anyone messes with us. This is the line—and anyone who crosses it gets erased."
I thought about the Claws and Fangs. The way they looked at Kenji. The devotion in their eyes. "So. . .most of his people who saw that pyre today. . .they weren't traumatized?"