I stood in my room, mind replaying everything. Dagger in hand, I swung it slow—patterns my body knew. Then I stopped. Sat on the bed. Lay back, staring at the ceiling.

  My earpods. I grabbed them, plugged in, connected.

  Music hit. Strange at first. Then my body melted into the mattress.

  Safe, I thought.

  Flake's ears flattened. I sat up, hand on dagger.

  Almost, I thought. Almost safe.

  The door burst open. Cousins flooded in.

  "Oohoo," Hiba sang. "Again with the music."

  I stayed silent. Didn't know what to say.

  "He's been quiet since he returned," Eshle noted.

  "He faced a lion at fourteen," Ehtisham said. "Three years ago. Three years out there."

  "Yeah," Odai added. "Lucky he didn't meet any powerful mutants except that lion."

  Inside, my voice spoke: You don't know. You don't know what I did.

  But underneath: They called you lucky. Good. They don't know.

  "We came to ask," Aroha cut in. "Want to hunt with us? Outside the city?"

  I stood up. "I'm coming."

  "You didn't rest," Odai said. "Only two days back."

  Useless here, I thought. Not useless there. "I feel useless. Not being in the fog."

  They exchanged glances. "Okay. Downstairs. One hour."

  Alone again. I gathered my black katanas, black daggers, black cloak, white mask. Tied the daggers to my hands with long, thin rope—strong, ready. My fingers knew this. I didn't know how.

  Downstairs. Mother blocked the door.

  "You're leaving again."

  "I'm returning to what I am."

  "And what are you?"

  I looked at her. The number you didn't count. "I'm coming back, Mama. I promise."

  She stepped aside. Not permission. Something else.

  The cousins laughed when they saw me. "Still wearing that mask?"

  I checked their weapons. Same angles I'd taught them. My body remembered. I didn't know when I'd learned.

  "Why black?" Aroha asked. "They were pure white when you ran off."

  "Found paint. Colored them." Blood. Ash. Things that didn't wash out.

  More laughter.

  At reception, Ehtisham leaned on the counter. "Adding him to our team."

  The receptionist typed. When Ehtisham said the team name, I looked at Flake, black on white.

  "Zero," I said. Too quiet. No one heard.

  Flake had followed. Hiba scooped him up.

  "What—you're shocked we're number one?" Odai grinned.

  "Well... yeah. But I can't fight. Barely survived out there."

  Lying. Why does it feel warm?

  "Okay," they said. "Just watch."

  We stepped out of Makkah. Into the fog.

  "Night comes in three days," Odai warned. "Six months of darkness. Hard to survive."

  Not hard, I thought. Just long.

  Small mutants attacked. The cousins competed—who kills most?

  My daggers hung ready. I watched them work. Good angles. Good teamwork. Better than me. I was always alone.

  Hiba laughed. "Look at Aariz. Taught us everything, and now the real fighter stands there like a scared boy."

  "Aariz." Odai's voice softened. "Stop acting."

  I said nothing.

  "You want to see?" I asked.

  Odai hesitated. "Yes."

  I moved. Three mutants. Holy water only. My body knew the angles. Four seconds. They dropped.

  I stood still. "I can kill one at a time." Pause. "This is all I can show them."

  Silence.

  Ehtisham dragged something forward. "Caught this injured mutant dog. Fight it."

  They chanted: Fight. Fight. Fight.

  I tried to refuse. They pushed harder.

  Don't show them. Don't show them what my body knows.

  "Yes," I finally said.

  Aroha tossed me a bottle. "Holy water. Splash it on your swords. More effective."

  I caught it. Then: why. Answer: they must believe I need this. Splashed the daggers.

  The mutant dog stood, trembling, wounded.

  I threw the dagger. Caught it by the rope—deliberate miss, blade arcing past. Dropped to ground. Dodged my own weapon.

  They panicked. "Still need practice! Stay back!"

  I stood, dusting off. They saw me fall. They didn't see me catch myself.

  Aroha roasted me—overconfidence, fear, stupidity.

  My voice spoke: Two things at once. Don't know how.

  We returned. Mother ran to me. "Are you okay?"

  "Yes, Mom."

  Behind her, Mahir appeared. My little brother.

  "You left me with him," he said.

  I looked at him. Tried to read: anger, grief, something else? "I know."

  "He broke my arm. After you left."

  I knew. I didn't come back. "I knew."

  "You knew." Mahir's voice flat. "You didn't come back."

  I said nothing. No. I didn't.

  In my room, cousins gathered. I sat. "What did you do these three years?"

  "Better than yours," Aroha said. "Practiced. At seventeen, we fought small hunts with elders."

  "I was best fighter," Hiba claimed.

  "Don't lie," Odai cut in. "I was best."

  "Nah," Ehtisham said. "Me. Then and now."

  I listened. Felt something in my face. Moving.

  Everyone glared.

  "What are you smiling at?" Hiba asked.

  I touched my cheek. Wet? No. Just smiling. "I don't know."

  I checked. No voice. Just my face, moving. Mine. Don't know why.

  Aroha watched. Didn't smile back.

  I didn't know what she saw. Only that it was not what I showed.