I walked.

  Killed when I had to. Avoided when I could. The fog taught you that: move through it, don’t meet it head-on.

  The earth trembled ahead.

  A scream cut the air.

  I dropped without thinking. Breath short. Listening.

  Heavy feet shifted. Something large veered away.

  I counted to three before moving.

  I never asked why I counted. I just did.

  I picked up Flake and tucked him into my cloak.

  “Makkah,” I said. Almost home.

  I ran until my lungs burned, then walked. The cliff where I had fallen—the place with the lion—had gates now. Towers. Fewer mutants.

  My eyes found the guard rotations before I realized I’d looked. Good coverage. Weak eastern approach. I looked away.

  A guard stepped in front of me. “You an outside stepper?”

  My hand went for my ID.

  He swung. The blade met mine before thought finished the sentence. ID up, dagger between us. His eyes went to metal, not me.

  “Sorry—sorry—” he stammered.

  I walked past. Didn’t sheath the dagger until I was ten steps clear. Felt wrong to do it sooner.

  Nostalgia hit—strange and heavy. I kept the mask on. I didn’t know who I’d be without it.

  The street smelled different. Familiar buildings, unfamiliar life. I slowed.

  A man passed. I stepped where he couldn’t see my hands. “Directions. Society near Makkah. Starts with T.”

  His eyes dropped to the daggers. I sheathed them. He breathed easier.

  “Thakher Makkah,” he said.

  I nodded and kept walking.

  Our house sat quiet. Three years empty. I stood at the gate longer than I planned. My hand found the dagger hilt. I pulled it back.

  I rang. Counted to thirty. Rang again.

  A voice from above shouted, “They moved! Famous family now!”

  Window closed. Irrelevant.

  Flake rubbed my leg. “You know where they are,” I told him. He bolted. I followed.

  Small villa. New paint. I checked the walls automatically—climb points, blind spots—then stopped. Why map walls at home?

  I rang.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Who is it?”

  “Aariz.”

  Silence. Then the gate opened.

  Hasham stood there—cousin, same face with less mischief. He saw the cloak, flinched. “R-run— I’ll call—”

  I took the mask off. Air felt wrong on my face.

  “Hasham. It’s me.”

  He stared. “You—you look—”

  “I know.”

  He screamed.

  Doors exploded open. Aunts shouted. Uncles moved. “Who is that? Get out!”

  My mother appeared in the doorway. Her voice broke. “Aa… Aariz?”

  I smiled. The motion felt borrowed—muscles I hadn’t used. It hurt like a new word.

  “Mama. I’m back.”

  She collapsed into me. I caught her. Held her. My body moved before I decided. My other hand hovered near my belt. I forced it down.

  Later, on the sofa, questions came in a dozen directions.

  “Why did you do that?”“We were so scared—”“You shouldn’t have—”

  Uncle Shahzad demanded, “What happened? Full story.”

  I watched my mother’s fingers around mine. She didn’t need truth. She needed calm. I gave them a story that fit.

  “Long version later. Short: I fell. Got lucky. The lion—I hid until it left. After that, I wandered. Met things. Hid. Ran. Allah was watching.” Smooth. Soft. Enough.

  “Never?” Uncle Shahzad pressed.

  “Never.” The word slid out small and tight.

  They believed it. Relief eased their shoulders. That was the point.

  “First—” my mother said, voice steadier, “take off the bag. The weapons.”

  I set them down slowly. My fingers lingered on the dagger until I made them let go. I didn’t mean to hold on; the hand moved itself.

  Bathroom. Steam. Water hit skin and felt thin. I stared at my reflection until the face shifted away from me. Fresh clothes—smaller, folded. I washed the cloak, hung it to dry, eyes flicking to the window. Distance to ground. Angle to wall. I didn’t know why I checked. I placed the weapons near the bed. Within reach. Not in my hand. Close enough for comfort.

  Hasham hovered, still uncertain.

  “Don’t tell anyone I’m back yet,” I told him. My voice was flat. “Let Mama rest.”

  He nodded, unsure.

  The bell rang. I moved before the others. Stood behind the gate, not hidden—positioned. Hasham opened it.

  People filtered in: Odai loud as always, Eshle pretending not to stare, Ehtisham tucked in a corner, Hiba whispering. Then Mahir—my brother—came last. He didn’t stare like the others. He just watched, trying to line up the boy he remembered with the man before him.

  Flake wound between their legs and leapt into my lap. Aroha stopped when she saw him. Her eyes climbed to mine and didn’t come back down to fear. She looked like someone cataloguing a new thing.

  Silence stretched. Aroha spoke first. “You don’t blink anymore.”

  Eshle sniffed. “You smell like the fog.”

  Odai asked, “What did you do out there?”

  “Survived.” The word felt tinny, but it was all I had.

  From the doorway, my father saw me, froze, then crossed the room and crushed me against him. “I shouldn’t have— I hit you— I—” He sobbed.

  The belt. The running. The fear. “It’s okay, Papa.”

  My hand rose. I patted his back once. Twice. Three times. I don’t remember deciding to count those pats. They happened and then the motion stopped.

  I stepped back because the room grew heavy. “I need to check on Flake,” I said. Not to leave—it was to get quiet.

  In my room I checked the window out of habit. Stopped halfway. I didn’t need exits tonight. I needed sleep. Still, I dragged a chair near the door and left it there—because the gesture mattered more than the reason.

  My mother came to the doorway. “You’re leaving again,” she said, not asking.

  “When the road calls, Mama.” I answered.

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Then I’ll stay.”

  She didn’t look convinced. She hugged me anyway. This time both my arms wrapped around her. No hand near my belt.

  The cousins filed in—curious, awkward. Hasham lingered near the wall, watching me like someone fearing I’d vanish. Mahir stood closer. My brother didn’t measure me the way the others did. He tried to reconcile memory and present. For a moment, I almost looked away. Instead I gave him a small nod—careful, controlled.

  He swallowed. Then he nodded back. Closer this time.

  Aroha looked at my hands. They weren’t still. They were shaking. I felt it—an internal tremor I had no name for. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t know what it meant.

  But I kept them open.

  They saw what they needed to see.