Dinner at the Butterfly Mansion was usually quiet.

  Not because anyone demanded silence, but because the house itself seemed to breathe more softly at night. Lantern light pooled gently along the wooden floor, and the wisteria outside whispered against the paper walls like a lullaby meant for people who no longer slept well.

  Tsukiko sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring down at the food in front of her.

  She hadn’t touched it.

  Across from her, Shinobu watched.

  Not like a Hashira.

  Not like a doctor.

  Like someone holding onto a fragile hope she was afraid to name.

  “You don’t have to eat if you’re not hungry,” Shinobu said gently.

  Tsukiko shook her head. “I should.”

  She lifted her chopsticks, hesitated, then set them down again. Her hands trembled faintly.

  Shinobu noticed.

  “How long have you been alone?” Shinobu asked quietly.

  Tsukiko blinked. “Alone?”

  “You never speak of anyone waiting for you,” Shinobu continued. “No home. No letters. No destination.”

  Tsukiko stared at the table for a long moment.

  “…Since the night my house was destroyed,” she said.

  Shinobu’s breath caught — just slightly.

  Tsukiko didn’t look up. She spoke slowly, as if each word had to be carried out of her chest by hand.

  “I was very young,” she said. “Demons came at night. Everything burned. My sisters tried to protect me, but the forest… it was chaos.”

  Her voice wavered.

  “I fell. I don’t remember how far. I just remember waking up somewhere else.”

  Shinobu listened without interrupting.

  “There was someone there,” Tsukiko continued. “Someone who shouldn’t exist. He saved me. Trained me. He told me my sisters survived.”

  Her grip tightened around her sleeves.

  “So I believed him,” she whispered. “I had to.”

  Shinobu felt something twist painfully in her chest.

  “I stopped sleeping,” Tsukiko said. “Stopped dreaming. Every breath was training. Every day was for one purpose.”

  She finally looked up.

  “I was going to find them,” she said, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Both of them. I was going to protect them this time.”

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  Her composure cracked.

  “I thought… if I became strong enough… I could undo that night.”

  Her voice broke.

  Shinobu stood without thinking and moved closer, kneeling beside her.

  Tsukiko’s hands came up to her face, fingers digging into her skin as tears spilled freely.

  “I missed them,” she sobbed. “Every day. I missed Kanae so much. She always stood in front of me. She always smiled first.”

  Shinobu’s heart hammered violently.

  Kanae.

  The name fell between them like a blade.

  Tsukiko wiped her face roughly, ashamed of her tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

  Shinobu shook her head. “No. Don’t stop.”

  Tsukiko swallowed hard.

  “My name,” she said quietly, “is Kocho Tsukiko.”

  The room seemed to tilt.

  Shinobu froze.

  Kocho.

  She had heard it already — but now, hearing it like this, wrapped in grief and devotion, it felt different. Dangerous.

  “…Kocho,” Shinobu repeated.

  Tsukiko nodded. “That was our family name.”

  Our.

  Shinobu’s hands began to shake.

  “Your sisters,” Shinobu said carefully, voice unsteady despite her effort. “What were their names?”

  Tsukiko didn’t hesitate.

  “Kanae,” she said instantly.

  Shinobu’s breath stuttered.

  “And… Shinobu.”

  The sound that escaped Shinobu’s throat wasn’t a word.

  It was fear.

  Pure, choking fear.

  Tsukiko frowned, confused. “Why—?”

  Shinobu stood up abruptly, stumbling back a step.

  “No,” she whispered. “No… that’s not—”

  Tsukiko rose too, panic flaring. “What’s wrong? Did I say something—?”

  Shinobu laughed once, hysterical and broken.

  “That’s my name,” she said hoarsely.

  Tsukiko stared at her.

  “…What?”

  “I’m Shinobu Kocho.”

  The world shattered.

  Tsukiko’s knees buckled.

  She caught herself on the table, breath tearing out of her lungs as if the air had been ripped away.

  “No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible.”

  Shinobu stepped forward, tears flooding her eyes now.

  “We buried you,” she said. “We searched for you until dawn. The forest was gone. There was blood everywhere.”

  Tsukiko shook her head violently.

  “I was alive,” she cried. “I was training. I was coming back.”

  Shinobu grabbed her hands.

  “I know,” she sobbed. “I know.”

  They collapsed into each other, clinging desperately, crying like children who had finally found something they were never supposed to lose again.

  “I missed you,” Tsukiko sobbed. “Both of you. I thought about you every day.”

  Shinobu’s chest heaved. “I never stopped hoping.”

  For a moment — just a moment — it felt like the world had given something back.

  Then Tsukiko pulled away.

  “…Where is Kanae?”

  Shinobu froze.

  Tsukiko’s voice was small now. Afraid.

  “She should be here,” Tsukiko said. “She wouldn’t let you be alone.”

  Shinobu closed her eyes.

  “Kanae…” she whispered.

  Tsukiko’s heart began to pound painfully.

  “No,” she said. “Don’t say it like that.”

  Shinobu opened her eyes.

  “She died.”

  The words destroyed everything.

  Tsukiko screamed.

  The floor cracked beneath her feet.

  Lanterns burst. Paper walls trembled violently. A pressure exploded outward — wild, uncontrolled, fueled purely by grief.

  “I WAS COMING BACK!” Tsukiko cried, staggering backward. “I WAS TRAINING FOR HER!”

  Shinobu rushed forward, wrapping her arms around Tsukiko despite the pain tearing through the air.

  “Breathe!” Shinobu begged. “Please, Tsukiko—breathe!”

  Tsukiko shoved her away and ran.

  Out of the room.

  Out of the hall.

  Out of the mansion.

  Barefoot. Crying. Begging the night to undo what she had just heard.

  Shinobu chased her, heart in her throat.

  “Tsukiko, stop!”

  Tsukiko collapsed outside beneath the wisteria, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “I failed,” she cried. “I took too long. I was supposed to protect her.”

  Shinobu knelt beside her, holding her as tightly as she could.

  “She never blamed you,” Shinobu whispered. “She believed in you.”

  Tsukiko shook violently.

  “I don’t care,” she sobbed. “I don’t care about anything else.”

  Her voice went dangerously calm.

  “I will kill the demon who took her from us.”

  Shinobu felt terror flood her chest.

  “That demon is an Upper Moon,” she said urgently. “You can’t go alone.”

  Tsukiko looked up, eyes red, hollow, burning.

  “I didn’t survive for nothing,” she said.

  And in that moment, Shinobu realized the most frightening truth of all:

  Her sister had not returned to be saved.

  She had returned to end something.