She looked up as I approached, and I saw the problem immediately. Her left cheek showed the faint outline of a handprint. Someone had hit her. Hard enough to leave marks that hadnât faded completely.
Rage moved through me like voltage, pure and white-hot. Someone had put their hands on the person whoâd been protecting us for weeks. Misato was untouchable in my mindâthe steady foundation that kept our chaotic squad functional. Seeing her marked like this triggered protective instincts I didnât know I possessed. The kind that made me want to find whoever did this and introduce them to Overclock at point-blank range.
"Who?" The word came out flat and dangerous, stripped of its usual casual edge.
"It doesnât matter." Her voice carried that same defeated quality Iâd heard on the stairs.
"Like hell it doesnât." I unlocked my door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let her enter. The hinges made their usual faint squeak. "Someone hit you. That matters. That matters a lot, actually."
She followed me into the apartment, moving with none of her usual confident grace. My living space suddenly felt too small, too intimate for whatever conversation was about to happen. Hikaru was at evening training, leaving us alone with the weight of unspoken problems.
Misato settled onto my desk chair while I perched on the edge of my bed. The distance felt necessary. Professional. Safe.
"Blair asked me to spy on you," she said without preamble. "Wanted intelligence about your abilities, your improvement, anything her father could use against you."
I processed Misatoâs answer for several seconds. Johnathan Davenport asking questions was dangerous. Blair trying to turn my own squad captain into an informant crossed a different line entirely. The betrayal stung more than it should have, which meant Iâd made the mistake of trusting Misato. Actually trusting her, not just working alongside her in some temporary alliance.
"What did you tell her?"
"Nothing useful." Those lime green eyes found mine and held them. "I said you earned first place fairly. That your squad worked like a unit while hers fought like five different people wearing the same house colors."
Something in my chest loosened a fraction. Misato had protected us when it meant taking a hit herself. When refusing Blair came with the kind of consequences that left visible marks on her face.
"She hit you for that?"
"Her
sister
hit me for telling the truth." Misatoâs laugh sounded hollow, brittle around the edges. "Blairâs terrified you might actually be better than her. Terrified of what happens when Daddy dearest figures out she lost to someone he considers genetic trash. So sheâs taking it out on anyone close enough to reach."
I let that sit for a moment. Blairâs behavior started making more sense if I looked at it through the filter of panic instead of pure arrogance. She wasnât just defending her territory. She was fighting for survival in a family that probably devoured its own the moment they showed weakness.
That didnât make hitting Misato acceptable. Nothing in the world made that acceptable.
But her
sister
?
"Are you okay?"
The question seemed to break something inside her. Misatoâs carefully maintained composure cracked, and for the first time since Iâd known her, she looked genuinely lost.
"I donât know." Her voice came out smaller than Iâd ever heard it. "Blair pays for everything. My tuition, my housing, my food, my equipment. Without her familyâs support, I canât afford to stay at the academy. But I canât keep working for someone who treats me like property she owns."
The full scope of Misatoâs situation crystallized. She wasnât just our squad captain. She was Blairâs paid employee, dependent on Davenport money for her entire future. Refusing Blairâs orders meant risking everything sheâd worked for.
And sheâd done it anyway. To protect us.
"There have to be other options," I said. "Scholarships, grants, work-study programs."
"For a girl from the slums whose mother has a criminal record?" Misato shook her head. "Blairâs family gave me a chance when no one else would. The hunter academies donât exactly recruit from my neighborhood."
The bitterness in her voice cut deep. Misato had clawed her way up from nothing, only to discover that her success came with strings attached. Strings that someone could yank whenever she stepped out of line.
"What do you need from me?"
The question hung between us. Misato studied my face like she was trying to solve a complex equation. Looking for something I wasnât sure I could provide.
"I need to know this is worth it." Misatoâs voice was quiet but steady. "Protecting your squad. Refusing Blairâs orders. Risking everything Iâve built. I need to know youâre not going to disappear when things get difficult."
The weight of her trust pressed down on me like gravity had doubled. She was asking me to be someone worth sacrificing for. Someone who wouldnât bail when the situation turned ugly.
Problem was, I didnât know if I
was
that person yet. The Divine Milking System had made me stronger, sure. Given me abilities I hadnât earned. But strength without character was just another flavor of weakness. And my character was still figuring itself out.
"I canât promise I wonât screw up," I told her honestly. "Iâm still learning who the hell Iâm supposed to be in all this. But I wonât abandon you. Any of you. Not after everything youâve done for us."
Her shoulders dropped half an inch. Something about my answer had satisfied whatever test sheâd been running.
"Blairâs bringing reinforcements," she said. "Her sister Cassandra is at the academy. Diamond-tier ability user. Sheâll investigate you directly, try to find something her father can use."
My stomach dropped through the floor.
A Diamond-tier hunter asking questions about my rapid improvement would be catastrophically bad. That level of perception could probably see through the Systemâs influence, identify exactly what was happening to me. See the threads of power connecting me to every woman Iâd extracted from.
The world and everything it had to offer. Thatâs what Iâd told Jordan I wanted.
Time to prove I could actually reach for it when things got dangerous. When the stakes were more than theoretical and the consequences were real.
"Weâll figure it out," I said. "We always do."