Natsuki Subaru's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

Natsuki knelt at the sealed glass case, her hands trembling above the locked frame. Through the clear panels, her mentor's handwriting waited, folded and patient. She reached for the metal seam, ready to break it open. Her fingers wouldn't close. The memory came without warning. Concrete dust. The roar of a towering beast with vibrant fur and claws like curved knives. She had lunged. It had swung. Her body flew, slammed through a wall, and landed wrong. She remembered the cracks spreading across the floor beneath her, the same shape as claw marks gouged into cement. She remembered knowing, before the pain, that her legs would never carry her again. Her breath shook. The case blurred. She pressed both palms flat against the glass and pushed her forehead down against it. Fifteen years of silence pressed back. She had survived that beast. She could survive a letter. Natsuki pulled a small chisel from her bag, fit it to the seam, and struck once, hard. The glass split clean. She lifted the letter out with steady hands and unfolded it on her lap. The first line read: "If you're reading this, you didn't listen. Good."