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Naia found Ronin on the back porch in a wicker chair, staring down at his feet, deep in thought. His arm laid extended with a needle prodded into the crook of his elbow. A thin, clear tube attached to it drained blood into a glass jar.

The muscles in Naia’s chest spasmed at the sight of the viscous liquid filling the bottom, a pool of melted rose petals.

Pieces of Ronin’s hair slipped into his eyes as he lifted his chin to look at her. The soft glow of the porch light illuminated his strong, edged features. Her chest softened, watching him assess her for any signs of discomfort.

That morning, when they’d woken up, he’d kissed her on the forehead and invited her to help him make breakfast. She’d cut her finger open several times while chopping the tofu for the miso soup, and it pained him so much to witness her barely-there cut stitch itself back together that he retracted the job. Instead, he put her in charge of rinsing the rice.

After breakfast, he forcefully stared at her until she gave in and downed a few swigs of the horrible potion. He made her a decaf cup of coffee to wash it down with.

They hadn’t spoken since.

She needed to talk things over with him and know they were on the same wavelength again.

“May I?” Naia gestured to the chair beside him.

He nodded, dropping his gaze back down to a singular point on the porch.

Naia’s first instinct was to scoot away to avoid the metal essence of blood coating her nostrils. But doing so seemed insensitive and selfish. This was Ronin’s reality, and soon, it would be her child’s. If she wanted to be involved, she had to overcome her squeamishness.

If you will be a part of it.

She was overwhelmed with doubt as she rolled her lips together.

It was likely Cassian would raise their child in the Land of the Dead.

Dismissing the thought, Naia peered into the backyard. Dusk was settling on the island, draping dusty silhouettes over the trees and the cliff side peaks in the distance. The Kahale residence was tucked away in a cove, a short distance from the town, secluded and cushioned by trees around their property. It was a side of the island Naia had never explored during her time with Kaleo.

“I do not wish to skirt around the subject any longer,” Naia said quietly, her hands joining in her lap to keep from fidgeting. “You are upset, and I can feel it.”

“I’m not upset at you,” he clarified.

“I know.”

He raised his head to look at her.

“I imagine through your entire life all you’ve ever heard about deities is how they take,” Naia said. “How they slaughtered your clan, how they fear what they do not understand, and how, if they were to meet you on the street, they would not hesitate to end your life because of the blood in your veins. It is why Yuki remains on this island with Akane, yes? Because the island has the touch of my father.”

She glanced over at him.

He drew circles on the knee of his pant leg with his forefinger. “According to our ancestors, the gods refrain from visiting the island because they believe it brings those great misfortunes who step on its soil.”

Naia chuckled softly, darkly amused by how the truth spun into a blatant rumor after all these years. “It was the place Lord Cassian cursed my parents and Solaris’s mother, so I suppose they are not wrong.”

“The High Goddess of Fate does not dictate which of us to keep safe,” he explained. “Only one of each gender must always survive. Yuki never wanted to gamble with Akane’s life on that.”

“And now you have a son, it is your life up for gamble.”

“Both of our lives are.” Ronin’s eyes fell onto her stomach. “Mine and his. Only one of us needs to be here, according to Fate’s rules.”

“He is protected. Nobody can harm what…” Naia licked her lips to give herself time to work the reality up her throat. “Nobody can harm what belongs to Lord Cassian.”

Ronin grimaced.

Naia wanted to grab his hand, seek unity, and remind him of their connection, to express he wasn’t alone in this either. However, it seemed wrong to reach out and touch him while he bled into a jar.

“You are upset with the gods for the situation we are in with our child,” Naia said.

He ground his jaws. The finger drawing circles on his knee curled into his palm, balling his hand into a fist. Blood flowed more rapidly from the tube connected to his arm.