Devil didn’t believe in omens. He believed in facts. Tactics. Patterns. Signs were for the naïve.
But the feeling in his chest wasn’t going away.
It had started the morning after that talk with Haru—the talk. The one where she told him she was not angry, not with anger, but with frightening calm. The kind of calm that came when someone had already made a decision they wouldn’t share.
He hadn’t seen her cry once. Hadn’t seen her waver. And that terrified him more than if she had screamed or thrown something at him.
She was sleeping on the far edge of the bed now, curled up like a cat. Some nights she slept in the guest room again. Some nights she came back. It was always her decision. He never asked why.
That morning, she made them eggs. Smiled faintly when he offered her tea. Touched
