Marked By the Dragon

Myiah's pov- The bus ride was long. Too long. Every crack in the road jostled the seat, every neon sign that blinked past the dirty window reminded her she was still too close to the world she wanted to forget. Her sister's soft breathing was the only steady thing left in her life. Myiah hadn’t slept in two nights. Her stomach ached, tight with nerves and emptiness. She’d eaten half a granola bar sometime yesterday and had saved the other half for Emiko. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be full. Safe. Seen. The bus screeched to a halt in downtown Osaka. She didn’t move. People rushed past her, grumbling, eyes tired and unaware. But she stayed frozen until the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and said, not unkindly, “Last stop.” That’s what this was, wasn’t it? Her last stop. The address was still in her pocket—creased, smudged, and damp with sweat. She pulled it out slowly and stared at the letters. Ryujin. The name alone felt dangerous. Mythical. A dragon's name. She could barely remember the face of the boy who had written it down. Takuya. He had always been trouble. Tall, cold-eyed, older than her by two years, with hands that bled violence even when he didn’t move. Back then, she’d been too shy to speak around him, always hiding behind Reiji’s shoulder or ducking behind her locker whenever Takuya came into the room. He never said much. But his silence felt loud. Important. Now she was crawling back to him. Not because she wanted to. Because she had to. She adjusted Emiko’s weight in the carrier and stepped off the bus. The city swallowed her whole.The streets were different here. Louder. Grittier. She could hear the pulse of bass from blocks away, feel the heavy gaze of strangers who looked too long and too close. This wasn’t the side of the city you passed through. This was where people disappeared. And yet… she walked straight into it. Ryujin. The building stood tall at the end of the street like a godless temple. The windows glowed red. The doors were lined with brass, carved with dragons and smoke and warning. No one lingered on the steps. No one ever lingered here. She walked up slowly. Emiko stirred against her back, moaning softly in her sleep. Myiah tightened her arm around her sister’s legs. Her heart pounded in her throat. She rang the buzzer. Nothing. Again. Nothing. She looked behind her. A man was watching. Tall. Thin. Grinning. Another man came out of the shadows across the street. She pressed the buzzer harder. "Please," she whispered. The door cracked. A voice. Sharp. Dismissive. "Closed. Come back tomorrow." She swallowed her panic. “I’m looking for Takuya,” she said, barely loud enough to carry. Silence. Then the door slammed shut. Her heart dropped. This was it. She had no one left. No backup. She was out of money, out of favors, and almost out of time. The man across the street started walking her way. His smile widened. She turned and ran. One step. Two. The door behind her swung open with a violent clang.He smelled her before he saw her. The scent was faint, but familiar. Like jasmine and rain. Like sweat and fear. Like home, if home was something he let himself believe in. Takuya was standing at the top of the stairwell, watching the security feed on his phone. He had ignored the first buzz. Then the second. He assumed it was a drunk or some girl looking to sleep her way into the lounge. But when he heard the name… “I’m looking for Takuya.” He froze. He hadn’t heard that voice in years. Not in real life. Only in his head, and only on nights when the guilt hit too hard and the whiskey wasn’t strong enough to keep it quiet. He went to the door before he could stop himself. And there she was. Smaller than he remembered. Thinner. Her eyes wider than they had ever been, and darker too. She was pale. Malnourished. Her mouth trembled. And she was carrying a child. He opened the door all the way. She took one step back before recognizing him. That was new. She had never feared him before. She should’ve. But she never did. Now, even with her face white as snow and her voice shaking, she met his eyes. “Takuya.” He nodded once. She looked like she might cry. Or faint. Or both. “Please,” she whispered. “I don’t have anywhere else.” He didn’t need more. He stepped aside.The club was warm. Too warm. The air smelled like smoke and sandalwood, and the lights were dim enough to feel like dusk. Takuya didn’t speak. He didn’t ask questions. He just walked beside her in silence, his hand resting on the small of her back—not forceful, not possessive, but steady. Grounding. He led her past a row of locked doors and up a narrow staircase that opened into a quiet hall. The room he brought her to was nothing like what she expected. It wasn’t gaudy. It wasn’t cold. It was soft, lived-in, like someone had tried to make it feel human. The bed was king-sized. The blankets were thick. There was a small couch in the corner and a clean bathroom fully stocked. “This is yours,” he said. She blinked. “Just like that?” “I don’t owe you an interrogation.” “But you should. After everything—” “You left. So did I. That’s not a crime.” His voice was level. His face unreadable. She looked down at Emiko, who was now half-awake, eyes groggy and clinging to Myiah’s shirt like a second skin. “Is she…?” “My sister.” He nodded once. “She’ll be safe here.” “And me?” That’s when he looked at her again. Not just with his eyes. With everything. “You’re not the one in danger anymore.” He sat on the rooftop, cigarette in one hand, phone in the other. He hadn’t called Reiji. Hadn’t said a word to Emiko. Not even to Yuto, who was usually the first to sniff out trouble. He didn’t know what to call this yet. Myiah had shown up out of nowhere, holding onto her sister like the world was ending. And maybe for her, it had. He couldn’t ask what happened. Not yet. But the bruises on her wrists spoke louder than anything. The scars on her back. The way she jumped when he touched her shoulder too suddenly. Someone had broken her. And that made his blood boil. He didn’t realize he was gripping the edge of the railing until his knuckles cracked. He tossed the cigarette and exhaled through clenched teeth. He would fix this. Not because he was a hero. Because he owed her that much. And maybe—if he was lucky—he’d get to see her smile again. The real one. Not the ghost she wore now.