Tactical Embarrassment

Death changes things. It changes perspectives, priorities, people. Four days after we buried our classmates, the sanctuary felt different—heavier, more solemn, despite our best efforts to move forward. The laughter that occasionally broke out during meals felt almost sacrilegious, followed by guilty glances toward the east where three simple grave markers stood in a forest clearing.

Today was officially a "rest day," though that term had become increasingly flexible. Most of our classmates were inside the sanctuary, recovering from yesterday's intensive training session that had left everyone exhausted—everyone except me, Kurenai, and Yuna. The three of us sat outside in what we'd started calling the "workshop clearing," surrounded by the debris of our latest attempts at creating functional gel blasters.

"Pass me that wind rune template," Yuna said, her voice stronger than it had been in days. The studious girl had taken the deaths particularly hard—survivor's guilt, Miyuki had called it privately. For two days after the burial, Yuna had barely spoken, hardly eaten. But yesterday she'd approached me with determination in her eyes: "I want to help with the weapons project." Since then, she'd thrown herself into our work with almost desperate intensity.

I handed her the stone tablet etched with complex runic patterns. "Try reducing the power by about twenty percent. The last barrel couldn't handle the pressure."

Kurenai nodded in agreement, her normally shy demeanour replaced by professional focus when discussing her speciality. "The enchantments I added should have reinforced the structure, but there's a limit to what they can do without proper materials."

Our growing pile of failed prototypes loomed like a monument to frustration. Stone barrels that had cracked or exploded outright. Wooden tubes that had splintered or shattered in spectacular fashion. The other components were holding up well enough—triggering mechanisms, stock designs, loading systems—but without a barrel that could withstand the pressure generated by Yuna's wind runes, we had nothing.

"Remember the third stone prototype?" I asked, picking up a jagged fragment of what had once been a carefully carved barrel. "I think I still have rock dust in my hair from that explosion. Took me ages to get it all out." I ran my fingers through my hair for emphasis, still finding tiny stone particles despite multiple washings.

Kurenai smiled faintly. "The look on your face when it blew up was priceless. I thought you were going to transform the entire clearing out of spite."

"I considered it," I admitted with a wry grin. "Nothing says 'I'm annoyed' quite like turning an entire forest clearing into a giant middle finger made of trees."

A comfortable silence fell as we each returned to our tasks. Despite the weight of recent events, there was something almost soothing about working with my hands, trying to solve a concrete problem instead of wrestling with grief and uncertainty. The gel blaster project had become a welcome distraction for many of us—something productive to focus on amidst the chaos.

Yuna carefully etched modified runes onto a fresh stone tablet, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I think if we reduce the directional force but increase the spread, we might get more stability with only a small decrease in range."

"Worth a try," I agreed, selecting another piece of wood for a new barrel prototype. My Transform ability had proven invaluable for rapidly iterating designs, but even perfect transformations couldn't overcome the inherent material limitations. It's like trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear—except the sow is an oak tree and the purse needs to withstand mini-explosions. Not exactly your standard craft project.

We'd been making progress on other aspects of the project, at least. Kurenai had successfully enchanted test batches of gel balls with various effects:

"The lightning-infused rounds worked better than expected," she reported, gesturing to a small container of faintly glowing blue spheres. "One hit should temporarily stun most smaller creatures, though I wouldn't count on it for anything larger than a wearolf."

"And the tracking rounds?"

"Still working on the sensory enchantment," she said, frowning slightly. "They'll follow a target for about thirty seconds before the magic dissipates. It's better than nothing."

"What about the healing ones?" Yuna asked, glancing up from her runes.

Kurenai brightened. "Those are surprisingly effective. A direct hit delivers about the same healing energy as a minor potion. I'm still refining the enchantment to prevent wastage on impact."

We'd also experimented with alternative projectiles—small stones and wooden pellets—with mixed results. Some of the denser stone rounds had actually penetrated wooden targets, raising interesting possibilities for combat applications.

But without reliable barrels, it all felt academic. And without metal for springs and reinforcement, we were limited to awkward, top-loaded designs that would be impractical in actual combat situations.

"I wish we had metal," I sighed, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "Even a small amount would make a huge difference. I feel like a Stone Age engineer trying to build a smartphone using rocks and twigs."

"Maybe we'll find some in Crossroads," Yuna suggested, referring to the nearby town we'd been planning to visit. "Once we have these working properly, we should head there to search for the others anyway."

"If we can solve this problem before then," I muttered, staring at the scattered remains of our failed experiments. "We've been at this for days and haven't made much progress."

Kurenai stretched her arms above her head, wincing slightly. "Maybe we need a break. Fresh eyes and all that. Emi was making some kind of spiced tea when we left—it smelled amazing."

"Good idea," Yuna agreed, setting down her etching tools. "We've been out here since sunrise. A short break wouldn't hurt."

I glanced at our work, reluctant to stop when it felt like we were on the verge of a breakthrough. "You two go ahead. I'll keep at it a bit longer."

Kurenai hesitated. "Are you sure? You've been working harder than anyone."

"I'm fine," I assured her. "Just want to try one more variation on the barrel design. Tell Miyako to call me when lunch is ready?"

"Will do," Yuna nodded, gathering her notes. "But don't push yourself too hard, Andie. We all need rest sometimes."

They headed back toward the sanctuary entrance, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a workbench full of failed experiments. The forest was quiet save for the occasional bird call and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. I picked up another piece of wood, visualising the modifications I wanted to make before activating my Transform ability.

"Oh, that looks interesting."

I froze, my heart suddenly pounding in my ears like a drum solo at a rock concert. That voice hadn't come from the direction of the sanctuary. Slowly, I turned around.

Standing at the edge of the clearing, as if they'd materialised from the shadows themselves, was a figure in a hooded cloak—the exact figure I'd described to the others after seeing them approach Akira's unconscious form days ago. The hood obscured their face completely, but there was something unnatural about their presence, a subtle wrongness that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Are you here to kill me too?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected. Funny how fear sometimes makes you calmer, like your brain decides panic isn't worth the effort.

A soft laugh emanated from beneath the hood. "If I wanted you dead, I'd snap my fingers. No need to touch you."

The casual way they said it sent a chill down my spine. This wasn't bravado—it was simple fact, like someone commenting that water is wet or that gravity pulls things downward.

"Who are you?" I demanded, my hand inching toward Rurielle's dagger at my hip.

"I'm Twelve of the Twelve," the figure replied, their voice suddenly taking on an otherworldly echo. The hood was pulled back, revealing a face I couldn't quite focus on—not invisible, but somehow forgettable, my eyes sliding away from their features every time I tried to concentrate on them.

The implication hit me like a physical blow. "Why is one of the Aspects here?"

"All twelve of us have been watching you all along," they said, their tone shifting to something almost playful. "Nice job in the bathroom six days ago." They finished with what I could only assume was a wink, though their features remained frustratingly indistinct.

Heat rushed to my face as I realised what they were referring to—my... encounter with Miyako in the bathing chamber. The embarrassment quickly transformed into anger.

"Why are you watching anyway?" I snapped. "That was private!"

YUNA'S PERSPECTIVE

"I still think we should have insisted he come with us," I said to Kurenai as we made our way back up the path to the workshop clearing, each carrying a steaming cup of Emi's spiced tea. "He's been working non-stop since... since everything happened."

Kurenai nodded, her expression softening with concern. "Andie takes too much on himself. It's like he feels personally responsible for protecting everyone."

"Can you blame him?" I asked quietly. "After what happened to Daiki, Kaito, and Shota..."

The memory still felt raw—finding their bodies, the horrible quiet of the burial, the way everyone looked to Andie afterward, seeking guidance, reassurance, direction. I still remembered the weight of Daiki's study notes in my hands as I'd placed them on his grave. The three of us had argued over theoretical versus practical applications, and now they were gone. If we'd stayed together...

"It wasn't anyone's fault," Kurenai said firmly, as if reading my thoughts. "You can't keep thinking that way, Yuna."

I sighed. "I know. Miyuki told me the same thing during our session yesterday." The Mnemonic's ability to help organise traumatic memories had been a blessing for many of us, though the pain hadn't disappeared entirely.

We rounded the final bend in the path, the workshop clearing coming into view—and both of us stopped dead in our tracks.

Andie stood with his back to us, facing a cloaked figure at the edge of the clearing. The same hooded figure from Akira's murder. The same one who'd likely killed the three boys.

My body turned to ice, tea sloshing over the rim of my cup and burning my hand, though I barely registered the pain. I felt frozen—"shocked as a banana," my father would have said, one of his bizarre Japanese-to-English translations that always made me laugh.

No one was laughing now.

Kurenai recovered first. "ANDIE!" she shrieked, dropping her cup entirely. "RUN!"

She whirled and sprinted back toward the sanctuary; her usually quiet voice raised in a panicked shout: "EVERYONE! COME QUICK! IT'S THE MURDERER!"

My feet finally unstuck from the ground, and I lurched into motion, racing after Kurenai. My heart hammered in my chest, my lungs burning as I pushed myself harder than I ever had in physical education class. The image of Andie facing that hooded figure burned in my mind, alongside memories of Daiki's broken body.

Not again. Please, not again.

"MIYAKO!" I screamed, knowing that she would be our best defence. "MIYUKI! ANYONE! HELP!"

ANDIE'S PERSPECTIVE

The hooded figure—Twelve—tilted their head slightly, as if listening to something I couldn't hear. "We saw you creating something new. The others sent me to check if you need help."

"Yeah, actually, I kinda do," I admitted, torn between fear, curiosity, and the practical realisation that a deity might be exactly what our gel blaster project needed. If you're going to get divine intervention, might as well make it count for something useful.

I heard shouts erupting from behind me—familiar voices raised in alarm. Though I couldn't see who was coming, the sudden tension in Twelve's posture told me everything I needed to know. My classmates had spotted us.

"People are coming," Twelve observed casually. "We need to have this conversation elsewhere."

Before I could process their words, the Aspect lunged forward with impossible speed. A hand gripped my arm, and the world dissolved around me in a flash of blinding light. The sensation was like being dunked in freezing water while simultaneously being stretched like taffy—not painful exactly, but definitely not pleasant.

MIYAKO'S PERSPECTIVE

"ANDIE!" I screamed, my voice cracking as I pushed my body beyond its limits. The clearing ahead was empty.

Twenty seconds earlier, I'd been organising lunch preparations with Emi when Kurenai burst into the sanctuary, wild-eyed and incoherent with panic. Something about Andie, the murderer, the workshop clearing. I'd dropped everything and ran, not waiting for explanations, my heart in my throat.

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Now I stood in the clearing, turning in desperate circles, searching for any sign of him. The workbench was there, strewn with gel blaster parts. His tools lay scattered where he'd dropped them. But Andie was gone.

"Miyako!" Hitomi called, reaching me first with her Scout's speed. "What happened? Where is he?"

"I don't—" I began, then noticed Yuna standing frozen at the edge of the clearing, her face bone white. "Yuna! What did you see?"

She seemed to snap out of a trance, her eyes focusing on me with terrible clarity. "The hooded figure—the one Andie told us about—they were here, talking to him. Kurenai and I saw them, we ran for help, and now..." Her voice broke.

A cold, gripping panic seized my chest. This couldn't be happening. Not Andie. Not after everything. Not when I'd finally...

"Everyone, spread out!" I ordered, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the roiling fear inside me. "Search the area! They can't have gone far! Hitomi, use your Scout abilities to track them. Asuka, have your animal companions search the forest. Kurenai, set up a perimeter with detection enchantments. Move!"

My classmates scattered, purpose overriding panic as they rushed to follow my instructions. But even as I issued commands, a terrible certainty was growing within me. He was gone. Taken by the same entity that had murdered our classmates. And there was nothing I could—

The world went white.

It wasn't a physical change—the forest remained around me, my classmates still visible—but my mind simply... blanked. One moment I was formulating search strategies, the next I was on my knees, a crushing pressure in my chest making it impossible to breathe.

Andie was gone. Possibly forever. The thought hit me with such clarity and force that it physically knocked me down. The fragile happiness I'd found in his arms, the connection I'd spent years dreaming about, the future I'd begun to imagine... all of it ripped away in an instant.

The first sob tore from my throat with such violence it felt like it shredded something inside me. Tears flowed hot and unstoppable down my face as I collapsed forward, fingers digging into the dirt.

"Miyako!" Someone was beside me—Airi, her arm around my shoulders. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

I couldn't answer. My mind kept replaying that night in the bathing chamber, the feel of his skin against mine, the way he looked at me afterward—like he was seeing me, truly seeing me, for the first time. Then images of Daiki's twisted body, Kaito's unseeing eyes, Shota's broken form. And now Andie—

"He's gone," I managed between heaving sobs. "They took him. Just like the others. He's not—we won't—"

"You don't know that," Airi insisted, though her voice trembled. "Andie is strong. He's smart. He'll find a way back to us."

Back to me, I wanted to scream. Back to ME.

My hand pressed automatically against my stomach, though I knew there was nothing there. Just the phantom connection to what might have been. What still might be, if he returned. If he lived.

"Miyako-san, please," Miyuki knelt beside me, her Mnemonic abilities activating in gentle pulses I could almost see. "Let me help organise these thoughts. This panic isn't helping find him."

I wanted to refuse, to cling to my pain because it was all I had left of him. But the practical part of me—the part that had led our gaming guild through impossible raids, the part that had been stepping up as a leader in this world—knew she was right.

"Do it," I whispered, closing my eyes.

Miyuki's cool fingers touched my temples, and a sense of order slowly began to replace the chaos in my mind. The grief remained, but it no longer overwhelmed me. The fear stayed, but it no longer paralysed me.

When I opened my eyes again, the entire group had gathered around me, their faces showing varying degrees of concern and determination.

"We will find him," I said, my voice stronger now. "Whatever it takes."

The tears still rolled down my cheeks, but my resolve had hardened into something unbreakable. I pressed my hand against my abdomen again, an unconscious gesture of connection to possibilities that now seemed terrifyingly fragile. Six days. It had only been six days since our time in the bathing chamber, and now he was gone—possibly forever.

As we organised search parties and planned our next steps, I kept my face composed, my voice steady. But in quiet moments, when no one was watching, my hand would drift back to my stomach, and fresh tears would threaten to fall.

Come back to me, Andie. Please, come back to me.

ANDIE'S PERSPECTIVE

The blinding whiteness faded, and I found myself in a familiar space—the divine chamber where I'd first met the Twelve after being transported to Voluptaria. Unlike that first meeting, however, this time all twelve Aspects were present, arranged in a semicircle before me.

Each deity had a distinct appearance, though their features remained somewhat difficult to focus on—as if my human mind couldn't fully process their divine forms. One had hair that cascaded like liquid moonlight, another skin that shifted between various precious metals, a third with eyes that contained actual galaxies. The one I recognised as Seven—who had given me the system update—stood slightly forward from the others, tablet in hand.

"Seven told me I'd need all twelve of you to get me home," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the surreal situation. "Are you sending me back to Earth now?"

Their reply came in unison, twelve voices overlapping in a discordant symphony:

"No." One's voice dripped with amusement.

"Not even close." Three snickered.

"Don't be ridiculous." Five rolled their eyes.

"Perhaps eventually." Seven at least sounded apologetic.

"That would be boring." Ten grinned wickedly.

"You're just getting interesting." Twelve finished, the most dismissive of all.

Great. Divine beings with the maturity level of teenagers. Just my luck.

"Then why bring me here?" I demanded, worry for my classmates mixing with frustration at being snatched away without warning.

"We want to see what you're making," said Three, whose hair flickered like living flame, leaning forward with childlike curiosity.

"It's a gel blaster," I explained cautiously. "It uses wind or air pressure to shoot projectiles."

"A weapon?" asked Five, whose tears fell upward instead of down, their tone somewhere between fascination and concern. "Like a gun?"

I blinked in surprise. "Not exactly... Wait, how do you know about guns?"

Two, with skin that shifted between various metal tones, waved dismissively. "That's not important. Tell us more about this... gel blaster. What does it shoot? How far? How damaging?"

Deciding to play along for now, I described the basic design principles—compressed air propelling gel balls or other small projectiles through a reinforced barrel. I explained our various ammunition ideas: stunning rounds, tracking rounds, healing rounds, even simple physical projectiles.

"Fascinating," murmured Six, their eyes literally containing swirling galaxies, starry-eyed with interest.

"But potentially concerning," countered Five. "Wouldn't such weapons disrupt the balance of our world?"

"I don't see how," Seven interjected pragmatically. "Magic users can already shoot firebolts and ice shards. Archers can launch arrows with similar or greater force. These 'gel blasters' simply give non-magical users a ranged option."

"But what about using rocks, metal pieces, or other lethal projectiles?" Two asked, addressing me directly. "Couldn't these devices be modified for greater damage?"

"Theoretically, yes," I admitted. "But so can a sling or a bow. Any tool can be weaponised."

The Aspects exchanged glances, seeming to communicate without words.

"We've decided," announced One, who wore a crown that floated slightly above their head—clearly their leader. "These 'gel blasters' pose no existential threat to our world's balance. In fact, they might provide your group with a unique identifier—a signature weapon that marks you as otherworlders."

"Great," I said, trying not to sound sarcastic and failing miserably. "So, can I go back now? My friends are probably worried sick."

"Not yet," said One with a smile that somehow reminded me of a cat that had cornered a particularly interesting mouse. "You mentioned needing metal for your prototypes?"

My interest piqued despite myself. "Yes. Our barrels keep failing because stone and wood can't handle the pressure. Metal would solve a lot of our problems."

"We could provide such materials," offered Four, whose skin was covered in shifting runic patterns. "But there would need to be... an exchange."

Of course there would. Divine beings never just helped out of the goodness of their hearts—not in any story I'd ever read, and apparently not in real life either. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Even deities seems to follow the law of equivalent exchange, it seems.

"What kind of exchange?" I asked warily.

"We want gel blasters too," said Three with childlike enthusiasm. "One for each of us!"

I stared at them. "You're... divine beings. Can't you just create whatever you want?"

"It's not the same," Eight explained, their hair cascading like liquid moonlight. "There's something special about items crafted by mortal hands with genuine creativity and effort."

"Plus," added Six with a sly smile, "it amuses us to have you build them."

"And in return," Seven added with a more serious tone, "beyond just the materials, we would occasionally intervene on your group's behalf."

That caught my attention. "Intervene how?"

"You won't always see us," Seven explained as the others nodded. "Sometimes a stranger will appear at your darkest hour, lending a hand, offering a hint, or tilting fate. Think of it as a... divine contingency plan."

I considered this carefully. My classmates were probably organising search parties right now, putting themselves at risk trying to find me. But the practical side of my brain couldn't ignore what was being offered: metal we desperately needed, and occasional divine intervention when things got truly dire.

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll make your gel blasters in exchange for the materials and occasional divine help. What kind does each of you want?"

What followed was nothing short of surreal. Each deity described their ideal weapon in astonishing detail for beings who had claimed ignorance about such devices mere minutes earlier.

One wanted something "rapid-firing, intimidating, overwhelming"—a weapon that could "shower enemies with unstoppable force." The description sounded suspiciously like a modern assault rifle.

Two described a massive, single-shot weapon designed for "extreme range and one-hit power, capable of piercing a mountain." The specificity of "bolt-action" and "precision optics" raised my suspicions even further.

Three wanted twin short weapons for "up-close work," emphasising stability and reliability.

Four described an enormous, long-barrelled, old-fashioned weapon that could "destroy anything in its path with a single blast."

Five asked for something "small, quick, easily hidden but capable of sustained fire when needed."

Six requested a "patient, precise, long-range" weapon with a "stable platform and careful craftsmanship."

Seven wanted something "versatile and reliable" with a built-in projectile counter, "appropriate for a leader."

Eight described a "compact, high-capacity" weapon with a "curved loading system" for "quick, controlled bursts."

Nine requested something "silent and precise," emphasising stealth and the ability to operate without detection.

Ten wanted a spinning, powerful weapon capable of lobbing "magic bombs" in rapid succession.

Eleven asked for a "mid-size" weapon with "advanced optics" and "good range without excessive weight."

And Twelve, who had brought me here, requested a "heavy, elegant" weapon capable of firing "single massive shots"—explicitly describing it as "a status symbol as much as a practical tool."

By the time they finished, my suspicions had hardened into certainty. These weren't just any specifications—they were practically ripped from Earth weapons catalogues.

"Pretty specific for people who claim they've never seen these before," I observed dryly. "It's almost as if you've been browsing my world's gun shops in your spare time."

"You think too much," Twelve replied with a dismissive wave.

"We simply know what we want," added Seven, though I caught a hint of something—embarrassment? —in their expression.

"Fine," I sighed. "Let's get this over with. The sooner I finish your divine shopping list, the sooner I can get back to my friends before they start a rescue mission that'll probably get someone killed."

What followed was perhaps the strangest crafting session in the history of either world. Using materials the deities provided—metals I couldn't identify, components that seemed to shimmer with otherworldly energy—I set to work creating twelve custom gel blasters.

The process was simultaneously frustrating and fascinating. Each deity hovered over my shoulder at different times, offering "suggestions" that sounded suspiciously like specifications from an Earth weapons catalogue. They nitpicked details, argued over features, and occasionally caused materials to transform when I wasn't looking.

"The barrel needs to be exactly 416 millimetres," Seven insisted, measuring with a divine ruler that seemed to change length depending on who was holding it.

"The loading mechanism should be smoother," Three complained. "It feels... sticky."

"Can you make mine more gold?" Twelve asked. "Not actual gold—it's too soft. Just more... golden."

"I want mine to make a more intimidating sound," One declared, actually demonstrating the "ideal" noise with sound effects that made the other deities roll their eyes.

It was like working with children who somehow possessed cosmic power—a terrifying combination. The most powerful beings in this universe, and they're acting like kids in a sweet shop with an unlimited budget.

Hours seemed to pass as I crafted, adjusted, tested, and refined twelve distinct gel blasters to their exacting specifications. By the time I finished the final adjustments on Twelve's "heavy, elegant status symbol," I was mentally and physically exhausted.

"There," I said, setting the last weapon in the rack they'd materialised for display. "Twelve gel blasters, as requested. Now maybe I can go home before my friends start a war trying to find me."

"What, no additional features? No special modifications?" Ten asked, sounding disappointed.

"You got exactly what you asked for," I replied testily. "Plus, enhancements you specifically requested during the process. They're all perfectly functional."

The twelve deities gathered around the display, admiring their new toys with expressions ranging from dignified approval to childlike glee. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on me—cosmic beings getting excited about what were essentially fancy water guns.

"And what about our side of the bargain?" I asked, wanting to get back to my friends as quickly as possible.

Seven gestured, and a case materialised beside me—filled with ingots of various metals, springs, precision components, and tools I could never have crafted myself.

"Enough to arm your entire group," Seven confirmed. "And perhaps teach a few trusted locals, should you choose to expand your signature technology."

"So, you'll be watching us," I said, not entirely comfortable with the idea.

"We already watch everything in Voluptaria," Twelve reminded me with that impossible-to-focus-on smile. "But yes, we'll be keeping a particularly close eye on your group. Consider yourselves... favoured."

I leaned against the workbench they'd materialised, watching them fiddle with their new toys, and wondered if this was what it felt like to be a cosmic babysitter. Whatever was happening back at the sanctuary, I just hoped everyone was okay until I could find a way back to them.

"You know," I muttered as the Aspects continued to admire their new toys with childlike enthusiasm, "for all-powerful divine beings, you guys are surprisingly easy to please."

MIYAKO'S PERSPECTIVE

Night had fallen, and still no sign of Andie.

We'd searched until darkness made it too dangerous to continue, reluctantly returning to the sanctuary with heavy hearts and empty hands. I had insisted on maintaining a watch rotation—partly for security, partly for the slim hope that Andie might simply walk back into camp on his own.

My own watch shift had ended an hour ago, but sleep remained elusive. I sat in the central chamber, a cold cup of tea untouched before me, staring at the maps we'd marked with search zones for tomorrow.

The sanctuary felt hollow without him. It was strange how quickly someone could become essential to a space, how their absence could leave a physical emptiness that everyone felt. Most of the others had retired to their sleeping quarters, the day's fruitless search having drained them physically and emotionally.

"You should rest," Miyuki said softly, appearing at my side. "You've been pushing yourself harder than anyone."

I shook my head. "I can't sleep. Not knowing he's out there somewhere, maybe—" I couldn't finish the thought.

Miyuki sat beside me, her Mnemonic abilities providing a gentle calming presence even without direct intervention. "I don't think he's dead, Miyako-san. I can't explain how I know, but... I sense he's still alive."

"Why take him?" I whispered, the question that had been haunting me all day. "What did that hooded figure want with him specifically?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But Andie is resourceful. He managed to create an entire sanctuary for twenty-three people with nothing but his Transform ability and determination. Whatever situation he's in, he'll find a way through it."

I wanted desperately to believe her. My hand drifted automatically to my stomach again, that phantom connection to possibilities that might now never be realised.

"You care for him very deeply," Miyuki observed, her voice free of judgment.

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Years, Miyuki. I've liked him for years, and only just... only just found the courage to tell him. And now..." My voice broke, tears threatening again.

"He'll come back," she said with quiet certainty. "And when he does, you'll have time to explore whatever is growing between you."

I wiped away a tear that had escaped despite my efforts. "I hope you're right."

A silence fell between us, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts. I traced a finger along the edge of the map, following the paths we'd searched today.

"When he comes back," I said quietly, just loud enough for Miyuki to hear, "we need to talk. Sort out our relationship status—for real this time. All of us."

Miyuki nodded, her eyes understanding. "We'll figure it out," she promised. "When he comes back."

"If," I corrected her—but only to be safe. In my heart, I was already hoping.

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "When," she insisted softly.

As the night deepened around us, I remained at the table, unwilling to retreat to sleeping quarters that would only remind me of his absence. Tomorrow we would search again, expanding our radius, checking every possible hiding place. We would find him—or at least find answers.

I touched my abdomen once more, a gesture that had become both comfort and torment. "Come back to us, Andie," I whispered into the darkness. "Come back to me."