It was simple. Deceptively so. You were perched on the weathered docks, your legs dangling over the edge where the splintered wood met the cerulean waters below. Steam rose in lazy spirals from your porcelain teacup—green tea with a hint of jasmine, your brother's favorite. The harbor bustled around you: fishermen hauling their morning catches, merchants setting up colorful stalls, seagulls circling overhead with their persistent cries. Your eyes, bearing the same piercing azure intensity as Gojo's (though you'd never admit the similarity), scanned the horizon with casual indifference—until they weren't.

The wanted posters appeared like sudden blooms of paper flowers—first one, then three, then dozens. Your face, rendered in stark black ink, stared back at you from every surface. Your companion, Red, a velociraptor-human hybrid with scales that shimmered crimson in the morning light, spotted them at precisely the same moment you did. Your gazes locked, hers filled with reptilian concern, yours with the characteristic Satoru family coolness that masked the storm beneath.

"Why do they want you?" Red asked, her clawed fingers twitching nervously at her side, tail swishing against the wooden planks. The scales along her neck flared slightly—a warning sign you'd learned to recognize during your months together.

You set down your teacup with deliberate slowness, the porcelain making a soft clink against the dock. The familiar weight of your cursed energy thrummed beneath your skin, ready to be unleashed if necessary—a birthright that had always connected you to your infamous brother, even when you tried to forge your own path.

"I don't know," you confessed, your voice carrying the same melodic cadence as Gojo's, though lacking his perpetual amusement. "I haven't done anything worth government attention. Unless it's the task force..." You trailed off, remembering the sterile walls of the headquarters, the missions, the expectations. "But I've been with them these past few days. I just needed to get away for a bit, take a breather—let my cursed technique cool down." Your fingers unconsciously touched the blindfold in your pocket, similar to your brother's but with patterns of your own design. "Maybe they didn't like that. Now they're plastering wanted posters all over the city like I'm some common criminal."

"We better get out of here then," Red said cautiously, her prehistoric eyes scanning the growing crowd with predatory precision. Her nostrils flared, taking in scents humans couldn't detect. "Don't you want to be found? Your brother could probably handle this with a snap of his fingers—literally."

"No," you muttered, a flash of that famous Satoru stubbornness crossing your features. "Not right now. I know what'll happen if I am—a lecture from Price I don't feel like hearing, then my brother showing up with that insufferable smirk, acting like he predicted this all along." You stood up, adjusting the special gloves that helped contain your particular variation of the Six Eyes technique. "We need to move. Now."

Red nodded, her movements fluid and prehistoric, and the two of you turned away from the harbor, unaware of the sniper scope trained right on you, its crosshairs following the distinctive shimmer of cursed energy that surrounded you like an aura—a telltale sign of your lineage.

"Found her," Ghost's voice crackled over the comms, the invisible curse technique user adjusting his position on a nearby rooftop. "She's with the hybrid. Cursed energy signature is fluctuating—looks like she's agitated."

Price's voice came through next, calm but firm, a stark contrast to the chaos of the search operation unfolding across the harbor district. "Good. Stay on her. Don't scare her. We're not here to hurt her—just to bring her home. Her brother is getting... impatient." The word hung heavy with implication. Everyone knew what an impatient Gojo Satoru meant.

"I'll try," Ghost replied, adjusting his scope. "But she's jumpy. Almost as perceptive as her brother, this one."

"She better be fine," Price growled, genuine concern breaking through his professional facade. "If anything happens to her on our watch, not even the special grade sorcerers could save us from him."

Back with you, Red pointed toward the array of vessels bobbing gently in the harbor—everything from sleek speedboats to weathered fishing vessels. "Should we take one?" she asked, her reptilian eyes narrowing. "Wouldn't that be too obvious? They'll track the engine signature."

You nodded, your mind calculating possibilities with that characteristic Satoru strategic brilliance. "Yeah. Too traceable." Your eyes briefly flashed with your power as you scanned the area. "I know another way off this island—one that doesn't leave a trail of cursed energy."

Red backed up, her expression suddenly uneasy, scales rippling with anxiety. "We... I can't swim." The admission seemed to physically pain her, her predator's pride wounded.

"You can," you insisted with that familiar Satoru confidence—the unwavering certainty that had defined your family for generations. "All dinosaurs can. It's in your genetic memory. Just like my technique is in mine."

"Well, I can't," Red snapped, baring teeth that could tear through steel. "I never got the training. They kept me in containment until the escape."

"What? Weren't you trained to kill?" you asked incredulously, your eyebrow raising in that same infuriating way your brother's did.

"Exactly," Red said, her voice tight, a low growl building in her chest. Her claws extended involuntarily, scraping against the wooden dock. "They never took us near water. Me and my sisters, we're land predators—engineered for speed and lethality on terra firma—and so are you, with your cursed technique. You're not meant for hiding; you're meant for confrontation, just like him."

"I can swim," you shot back, a flash of rebellion in your eyes that anyone who knew your brother would recognize instantly. "I don't have to be a kaiju for that. I don't have to be defined by my abilities or my family name."

Red glared, her reptilian pupils contracting to slits. "We might as well be half-dolphin for all I care—but we're not going underwater. Not with my density and certainly not with the way your cursed energy lights up like a beacon when it touches water."

"It's the only way they won't track us," you countered, already formulating a domain expansion that could potentially shield both of you beneath the waves, something you'd been developing in secret—away from your brother's knowing gaze.

Red lashed her powerful tail against a nearby crate, splintering it instantly. "I'm not falling for it. Not even for you."

"Fine," you sighed, that same dramatic exasperation that had made your brother infamous among jujutsu sorcerers. "Go your own way, then. Split up—it'll give us both a better chance. I'll meet you in Valentine."

Red stiffened, her prehistoric frame going rigid with surprise. "Valentine? We're not going all the way to America. Even your brother couldn't cross that distance without being noticed."

"We are in America," you reminded her with that signature Satoru condescension, tapping your temple knowingly. "And yes, we're going all the way. There's someone there who can help mask our signatures—even from my brother's Six Eyes."

"I'm not taking a thousand planes for this," Red hissed, her patience visibly thinning.

"You won't have to," you replied cryptically, a dangerous smile playing on your lips—one that would have reminded anyone of your infamous sibling. "You know which ones to take. The ones that don't check for cursed techniques or...prehistoric DNA."

You nudged her again and, without another word, adjusted your blindfold over your eyes, channeled your cursed energy into a protective barrier around your body, and dove into the water, disappearing beneath the surface in a shimmer of blue light that momentarily brightened the harbor before fading into the depths.

It didn't take long for you to reach the coast of Valentine—your cursed energy had propelled you through the water with uncanny speed, the same way your brother could move through space as if the laws of physics were merely suggestions. The city materialized before you like a mirage rising from the haze: a dusty, old-fashioned cowboy town with weathered wooden buildings that seemed to sag under the weight of their own history. Saloon doors creaked on rusty hinges, horses' hooves clattered against the packed dirt streets, and the faint scent of wood smoke hung in the air like a persistent memory.

You'd been here before, back when your brother was the talk of the town—Gojo Satoru, with his enigmatic smile and perpetual sunglasses, charming every woman within a five-mile radius and getting cursed at by half the men. You remembered how he'd laughed it off, that carefree arrogance that somehow made people both hate and adore him.

Now, Valentine felt emptier. Quieter. As if the town itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

You trudged up from the shore, azure cursed energy dissipating from your skin in wisps of vapor that intermingled with the seawater dripping from your clothes. Your blindfold hung loosely around your neck now—the Six Eyes technique momentarily dormant—as you shook yourself off like a disgruntled cat. The familiar weight of your special gloves felt reassuring against your palms, the intricate warding symbols embroidered into the fabric pulsing faintly with your family's distinctive power.

A train rumbled into the station at the far end of town, its whistle cutting through the afternoon stillness, when you spotted Red sprinting toward you. Her reptilian form moved with unnatural grace despite her obvious agitation, her crimson scales catching the sunlight and throwing off ruby-colored reflections. Her expression was one you'd come to recognize all too well—trouble.

"I think Soap tagged us," she blurted out, her breathing sharp and controlled like the predator she was engineered to be. Tiny plumes of condensation escaped her nostrils in the cool coastal air.

You frowned, your expression mirroring the one your brother wore whenever someone challenged his judgment. "That's not possible. I checked your gear last night." Your fingers instinctively brushed against the hilt of the tanto blade concealed beneath your jacket—a gift from your brother on your sixteenth birthday, though he'd never admitted to leaving it outside your door.

Red shoved a worn canvas bag into your hands with enough force to make you step back, then yanked something out, holding it up between her clawed fingers. The afternoon sun glinted off its metallic surface—a tiny, blinking tracker no larger than a fingernail, its red light pulsing with malevolent purpose. She crushed it in her claws without hesitation, the reinforced metal crunching between her fingers like aluminum foil, circuitry sparking briefly before dying.

"We need to be even more careful," she hissed, her voice dropping to a whisper as her prehistoric instincts clearly assessed the surroundings. The scales along her neck rippled with tension, catching the light in hypnotic patterns. "If they start shooting, civilians are gonna drop like flies. Remember Kyoto?"

You scowled, the expression transforming your features into something that would have made your brother proud—that perfect blend of confidence and contempt. "They won't shoot innocents. Price has standards, even when he's angry."

Red scoffed, her reptilian laugh devoid of humor as her tail swished against the sandy ground. "Then those innocents better scatter fast, 'cause when it starts, it's us they're aiming for. I've seen how the Task Force operates when they're desperate—collateral damage becomes 'acceptable losses' real quick."

You adjusted the special bracelet on your wrist—another containment measure for your overflowing cursed energy. "They're not here to kill me, Red. Price and the task force—they just want me back in the fold. At worst, it'll be a tranq dart to the neck and a stern lecture from the commander." The confidence in your voice wavered slightly, betraying the doubt creeping in like an unwelcome shadow.

"Yeah, well, think a little, genius," Red snapped, her prehistoric eyes narrowing to slits. Her clawed fingers flexed unconsciously, leaving shallow grooves in the wooden post she leaned against. "You're supposed to be a T. rex right now."

"I am," you countered, chin lifting with that unmistakable Satoru pride.

"Then act like it. Stop playing human and start stomping. I'm done with this back-and-forth routine of yours—all that Satoru heritage flowing through your veins, and you're still acting like some rookie trainee fresh out of basic." Her scales flushed darker with emotion, the crimson deepening to the color of spilled blood. "Your brother wouldn't hesitate."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in a gesture so reminiscent of Gojo that anyone who knew him would have done a double-take. "We can't bolt. Not yet. We've already pissed Price off enough to warrant the wanted posters." Your fingers brushed against the blindfold around your neck, the fabric humming with suppressed power. "If we escalate this, he'll have no choice but to bring in the heavy hitters."

"Good," she growled, baring teeth that could slice through concrete. "Let's piss him off some more. Maybe then he'll stop playing games and show us what this is really about. Because it's not about you taking a 'vacation' from the task force—we both know that."

You both headed deeper into town, keeping to narrow alleys and shadows, your cursed energy signature dampened to the barest flicker—a technique your brother had taught you during one of his rare moments of actual mentorship. Eventually, you found an old inn on the outskirts, its weathered sign swinging lazily in the breeze: The Valentine Rest.

You tossed a hefty bag of cash to the innkeeper—a grizzled man with eyes that had seen too much and asked too little—and took the ancient iron key to a creaky room on the second floor with a lopsided bunk bed and faded wallpaper peeling at the corners.

As Red sniffed around the room's perimeter with predatory thoroughness, checking for bugs or surveillance devices, you leaned against the wall, watching dust motes dance in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the grimy window. "Look... I'm sorry I dragged you into this," you said finally, your voice softer than usual, stripped of the Satoru bravado.

She shrugged, her powerful shoulders rippling with the motion. "It's what happens when you're friends with an army brat cursed with famous blood. I'm just a test subject, remember? Nobody's coming for me specifically. My brother made that clear last mission when he left without a backward glance. He's got bigger business in Tokyo."

"Yeah," you muttered, twisting the special ring on your finger—yet another tool to help contain your overflowing power. "He's training some foreign squad, right? The special jujutsu force?"

"Yup," Red said, plopping down on the lower bunk which creaked ominously under her dense, prehistoric frame. Her tail curled around her legs with practiced precision. "Why aren't we headed there, by the way? Your brother could keep us outta the task force's reach with a flick of his finger. One domain expansion and we'd be untouchable."

You shook your head, a bitter smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "Because he'd hand me over in a heartbeat if it meant keeping his perfect reputation intact. He doesn't want the American military breathing down his neck for something I did—or may have done. We've... never been close. No sense starting now." The admission carried the weight of years of complicated emotions—living in the shadow of a prodigy, carrying the burden of the same bloodline, the same expectations.

Red sighed, the sound somewhere between a growl and human exasperation. "Maybe it's time to fix that. Family is family—even if they're insufferable know-it-alls with god complexes."

You didn't answer, your gaze fixed on the distant horizon visible through the window, where the sun was beginning to set in a blaze of oranges and reds.

"We could go to New York," she suggested after a moment of heavy silence, her claws idly picking at a loose thread on the worn blanket. "They never chase anyone to New York. They hate that city—too many vigilantes and superheroes mucking up operations. Price complained about it constantly during training."

You huffed a laugh, the sound eerily similar to your brother's when something genuinely amused him. "Yeah, they do. But I don't know... even if we made it there, it wouldn't fix anything. We'd still be running."

"It might," Red insisted, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming with reptilian intensity. "We could find Spider-Man, maybe Venom—they keep to the shadows. Hell, even S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't want to get mixed up in this particular interagency clusterfuck. It's not every day a jujutsu sorceress goes AWOL."

You gave her a sharp look, your eyes momentarily flaring with the same electric blue that characterized your brother's when he was irritated. "I'm not dragging Spider-Man or Venom into a standoff between me and my friends. This isn't their fight."

"You might have to," she said darkly, her voice dropping an octave, reverting to the guttural tones that emerged when she was stressed. "You don't know what kind of force they'll send next. This isn't a game anymore, Satoru. If they find us... we might not walk away this time."

"They're not going to kill us," you snapped, but the uncertainty had crept into your voice like a poison. "Not Price. Not after everything we've been through together."

Red leveled her gaze at you, her prehistoric eyes filled with the ancient wisdom of a predator that understood survival at its most primal level. "You sure about that?"

And for the first time since this started—since the wanted posters and the chase and the desperate swim across the bay—you weren't. The realization settled over you like a cold shadow, reminiscent of the darkness that occasionally crept into your brother's voice when he spoke of the future and what it might hold for those with the Satoru bloodline.

Morning came heavy and gray, a leaden shroud settling over Valentine like a curse. The old inn smelled of damp wood and regret, with undertones of decades-old whiskey and gunpowder. You barely stirred until something cold nudged your cheek—the blunt tip of Red's snout, her scales cool as river stones against your skin.

"We'd better move," she murmured, her reptilian voice pitched low enough that it wouldn't carry beyond the paper-thin walls. The vibrations from her throat made her scales shimmer iridescently in the weak light filtering through the grimy window. "Staff's already grumbling about us."

You groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the heel of your palm. The special rings on your fingers—cursed energy suppressors—clinked softly against each other. "What now? What did we do?" Your voice carried that same imperious Satoru annoyance that your brother wielded like a weapon.

"I don't know," Red said, her voice low and sly, prehistoric teeth glinting as her lips pulled back in what passed for her smile. "Maybe it's the fact we dragged half the military into their saloon last night." Her tail swished with dark amusement, knocking over the rickety bedside table with a crash that made you wince.

She was out the window before you could answer, her lithe form coiling through the narrow opening with reptilian grace that defied her muscular bulk. You cursed under your breath—a creative string of expletives you'd picked up from Gojo during one of his rare unguarded moments—grabbed your gear, and followed her out. Your boots landed with a soft splash in the muddy street below, your cursed energy automatically cushioning your fall with an instinct that came as naturally as breathing.

The town was eerily still—no cowboys, no dogs, not even the usual string of curses that typically peppered the morning air. Just the low groan of wind against old wooden boards and the occasional creak of a swinging sign. The atmosphere felt charged, as if the very air was waiting for something to happen.

"Let's go," Red said, already hoisting herself onto a weary-looking palomino, her powerful legs and tail helping her mount with surprising elegance despite her predatory anatomy. The horse nickered nervously but remained steady—animals had learned not to bolt from Red unless they wanted to trigger her hunting instincts. You gave a disapproving whiny under your breath at her choice of mount, but let her have it, swinging yourself onto a sleek black mare a moment later. Your special gloves protected the reins from the occasional flare of cursed energy that sometimes leaked from your fingertips when your emotions ran high.

The two of you took off at a brisk gallop, the horses' hooves thundering against the packed dirt road, leaving Valentine behind in a cloud of dust and unresolved questions. The Six Eyes technique throbbed behind your eyelids, demanding to be used, but you resisted—using it would light up your spiritual signature like a beacon to anyone with the ability to track such things.

You'd hoped this place would be safe.

But you knew better.

Those boys—the Task Force—had ways. Trackers, implants, hell, for all you knew they'd wired something into your damn brain during one of those "routine checkups" that Price had insisted upon. You'd already torn out every bug and gadget you could find on your person, cursed energy crackling around your fingers as you'd ripped them free, but it never felt like enough. You could still feel the hunt on your back, that prickling sensation between your shoulder blades that your brother had once told you never to ignore.

Later, as the sun arced across the sky, you stopped by a stream to water the horses. The day was already leaning toward dusk, the horizon staining purple and orange in that peculiar way that reminded you of cursed energy signatures. That's when you saw him—an old man sitting by a dead tree, laughing to himself with a wheezing chuckle that seemed to contain secrets older than the mountains themselves. You couldn't tell what about. There wasn't much here to laugh at, unless you counted the cosmic joke that was your current predicament.

Red pulled up beside him, tilting her head in that prehistoric way that made her look both curious and threatening. "Hey, buddy. You alright?" Her clawed hand rested casually on her thigh, inches from the custom-made blade she carried—just in case this wasn't the harmless encounter it appeared to be.

The man waved a hand, grizzled and worn, with fingers gnarled like ancient tree roots. "I'm fine. Don't you worry 'bout me." His eyes, sharp despite their milky cataracts, lingered a moment too long on Red's reptilian features, then flicked to you with an unsettling knowing look that reminded you, just for a moment, of your brother's penetrating gaze behind his sunglasses.

She eyed him warily, nostrils flaring slightly as she scented the air around him. "Where you headed?"

"Nowhere worth mentioning," he shrugged, shoulders moving beneath a coat that had seen better decades. "But you folks look like you're runnin'. You lookin' for safe?" The way he said "safe"—like it was a place rather than a state of being—caught your attention.

You slowed your horse beside Red's, the mare whickering softly as your cursed energy instinctively probed the area around the old man, searching for threats or signs of spiritual techniques. Finding none, you met his gaze directly, something few people ever managed to do with a Satoru. "Yeah. You know somewhere?"

The old man scratched his beard, the sound like sandpaper against wood in the quiet afternoon. "Valentine's quiet these days. But if you want real safe..." he pointed one gnarled finger toward the distant purple smudge of mountains on the horizon, "you head up into the mountains. Not many folks go there. 'Cept the dogs. Big ones." His lips pulled back in a toothless grin. "They don't bother good people."

The way he emphasized "good people" made you wonder exactly what his definition of "good" might be, and whether you and Red—a renegade jujutsu sorceress and a lab-created dinosaur hybrid—would qualify.

He let out a sharp whistle that cut through the air like a knife, and a battered but proud Arabian trotted up from behind the hill as if conjured from thin air. Its coat was once pure white—now dusted with dirt and age, much like its master—but its eyes shone with an intelligence that reminded you of cursed beasts.

"This here's Lucky," the man grinned, patting the horse's neck with obvious affection. "And he's earned the name." The horse nudged the old man's shoulder with surprising gentleness, almost like a familiar.

He swung into the saddle with surprising ease for his years, a fluidity of movement that made your cursed energy hum with suspicion. No ordinary old man moved like that. "C'mon. I'll get you close 'fore nightfall."

"Thank you," you said, nudging your mare into a trot, one hand casually resting near the concealed tanto blade at your hip—the one your brother had given you. Red cast one last glance over her shoulder, her prehistoric eyes narrowing at the horizon with predatory focus.

Nothing.

No shadows.

No soldiers.

But she still felt it—that electric tingle of being hunted that was encoded in her very DNA.

And so did you, the cursed energy in your blood singing with that same ancient recognition of danger that had kept the Satoru bloodline alive through centuries of conflict.

You kicked your horse into a faster pace, the special bracelet on your wrist warming against your skin as it struggled to contain the surge of power that fear always triggered. You followed the old man toward the mountains, toward the mysterious dogs, and away from the ghosts that wouldn't stop chasing you—wondering, not for the first time, if running had been the right decision after all, or if, like your brother often said, some confrontations were simply inevitable.

You and your companions reached the mountains by nightfall, the steep trail winding through ancient pines whose branches clawed at the darkening sky like gnarled fingers. The air was sharp and thin up here, carrying the mingled scents of frost, pine resin, and distant wildflowers that somehow survived the harsh altitude. Darkness rolled down the slopes like a living tide, swallowing the world in a heavy silence that pressed against your ears. Your cursed energy stirred beneath your skin in response, a faint blue glow occasionally pulsing beneath your special gloves—as if your power, like your brother's, had its own consciousness and was wary of this primeval darkness.

"I'd better stay," the old man said, tugging his threadbare coat tighter around his rail-thin frame. Frost had already begun to crystallize in his beard, sparkling like diamond dust whenever he moved. "Ain't no telling what sort of danger's up here after dark." His voice was gruff, weathered by years and hardship, but there was a kindness buried in it—the same sort of quietly protective tone that your brother sometimes used when he thought you weren't listening.

He nudged Lucky toward a crooked hitching post—little more than a gnarled stump with a rusted iron ring hammered into it—and you followed suit with your horses. The animals pawed at the frozen ground nervously, ears flicking at distant, unseen sounds that your human ears couldn't detect, though the cursed energy in your blood made you acutely aware of something watching from the shadows between the trees.

You set up a small camp near a cluster of massive boulders that looked as though they'd been scattered by some ancient giant in a fit of rage. A meager fire crackled between you, the flames casting elongated shadows that danced across the rock face behind you like primitive cave paintings coming to life. It wasn't much, but it beat the biting cold that had already turned the tips of your fingers numb despite your special gloves.

"We're in the tundra now, aren't we?" you asked, glancing up at the snow-dusted peaks that loomed above like silent sentinels. Your breath escaped in delicate plumes of condensation that reminded you of the wisps of cursed energy that followed your brother's movements when he fought.

The man gave a slow nod, his joints creaking audibly in the silence, reminding you of just how old he truly was. "Yeah. It's safer up here. No predators worth their teeth come this high. Wolves, maybe. A bear or two. But they don't bother folks without guns." His eyes caught the firelight in a way that made you wonder, for just a moment, if there was more to this weathered guide than met the eye.

You exchanged a look with Red. Her scales had already darkened to a deeper crimson—an adaptation you'd noticed whenever temperatures dropped—and her prehistoric eyes gleamed with intelligence that no natural dinosaur could have possessed. She gave a sly grin, needle-sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. "We don't need guns."

And right there, before the old man's eyes, she let her form unravel. The semi-human shape she'd been maintaining slipped away like water through fingers, scales and claws emerging in their full glory like a waking nightmare given flesh. Her spine elongated with a series of soft clicks, her humanoid face stretching into a raptor's snout, wickedly curved talons extended from her hands and feet, and her already sharp, intelligent eyes became even more predatory—focused, cold, and utterly alien.

The old man blinked. Then chuckled softly, a sound like dry leaves rustling underfoot. "Well, ain't that the damnedest thing I've seen this side of the Rockies." There wasn't an ounce of fear in his voice—only a quiet appreciation, as though he were witnessing something rare and beautiful rather than terrifying.

He tipped his hat back and leaned against a stone, his movements casual despite having just witnessed a human transform into a prehistoric predator. "I'll head back after dusk tomorrow. My people won't like me gone too long." The way he said "my people" made you wonder who exactly waited for him back in Valentine—and whether they, too, carried secrets that would make ordinary folk shudder.

You both nodded, grateful for his company and the unquestioning acceptance he'd shown—a rare commodity in a world where anomalies like you and Red were typically met with horror, fascination, or worst of all, scientific curiosity.

Later, as the fire burned low and the sky filled with stars that seemed close enough to touch, Red edged closer to you, her sleek scales catching the flicker of dying flame in hypnotic patterns. The cold didn't seem to bother her as much in this form—another genetic modification, you supposed.

"Do you ever think we'll be rid of them?" she asked quietly. Her voice, though different in this form—more guttural, with a strange harmonic undertone that vibrated through the air—carried the same weight it always did.

You sighed, staring into the dying embers, your breath forming crystalline clouds in the frigid air. The special bracelet on your wrist hummed softly against your skin, struggling to contain your cursed energy that seemed to expand in the cold, like it wanted to burst free and light up the mountain with that signature Satoru blue glow. "No. Not really. Once Task Force 141 has a name... they don't let it go easy. Especially when that name's mine." You didn't add what you were both thinking—that your surname likely amplified their determination tenfold.

She nudged your shoulder with her snout, the scales surprisingly warm against your cheek, a small, silent gesture of solidarity that said more than words ever could. "I'm sorry you have to be their target."

You shook your head, reaching up to touch the blindfold around your neck—a habit you'd picked up during those rare moments of vulnerability. "They're good men. Just... stubborn. Loyal to a fault. And maybe a little obsessed." Your fingers traced the embroidered patterns on the fabric, identical to your brother's in design if not in color. "Price saved my life once. Ghost, twice. I owe them more than this."

Red sighed, a sound like steam escaping a pressure valve, and curled her long body into a tight, defensive coil around you—a protective gesture straight from her prehistoric DNA. "Guess we've both got our ghosts."

You didn't reply. There wasn't much to say. The wind howled low through the peaks, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the uncertainty churning in your chest. The night settled around you both like a heavy, cold blanket woven from shadows and doubts.

As the fire died to nothing but scarlet embers, the stars watched from their cold, distant perch—indifferent witnesses to your flight. Sleep came uneasy, haunted by dreams where your brother's knowing smirk transformed into Price's disapproving frown, and hands reached for you from the darkness—some to help, others to harm, and you couldn't tell which was which.