Hanako crouched behind the glass wall of the greenhouse, watching the forest. Something was moving out there—something large enough to make the trees shake. The vine-creatures inside the greenhouse had gone still an hour ago, their tendrils pulled close to their bodies. They knew. Hanako pressed one flowering hand against the glass and felt the cold seep through. This was different from before. This wasn't someone running away from danger. This was danger coming here, to the one place Hanako had ever felt safe. And no one else knew yet. Then the thing stepped into view between the trees. It was massive, made entirely of stone—boulders stacked into the shape of something alive. Orange eyes glowed in its rocky head. Each footstep left a scatter of pebbles behind, a trail leading straight toward the greenhouse. Hanako stood. The vine-creatures couldn't fight something like that. They'd come here for shelter, just like Hanako had once. The stone creature took another step closer. Hanako moved to the greenhouse door and pushed it open. The cold air hit her face. She stepped outside, putting herself between the creature and the glass walls. Her hands shook as she raised them in the pose she'd practiced a hundred times alone—feet apart, arms crossed, then spread wide. The creature stopped. It stared down at her with those burning eyes. Hanako held the pose, held her ground. This was the moment. Not the one she'd imagined, but maybe the one she needed.

The night passed slow. Hanako held the pose until her arms shook, then lowered them and held still in another. The stone creature did not move. It stood frozen between the trees, rocky shoulders dusted with frost, orange eyes dimmer now but still fixed on her. Petals fell from her dress with every small tremor — pinks, yellows, blues scattering around her feet like a quiet record of the hours. Dawn crept gray through the branches. Hanako's chest tightened. Soon someone would come down the path and see a flower-thing standing between a greenhouse and a mountain with teeth. They would scream first and ask questions never. Boots crunched on the frosted ground. Hanako froze. A woman in pale blue and crystal stepped out from the trees, one hand already raised, light gathering at her palm. Maria Fuyuki's eyes moved from the stone creature to Hanako, then to the ring of fallen petals around Hanako's feet. The gathered light dimmed. "You've been standing here all night," she said. Not a question. "Between it and the glass." Hanako nodded, throat tight. Maria lowered her hand the rest of the way. "Then you're not what I came to fight." She stepped forward, slow and even, placing herself beside Hanako — not in front, beside. "Hold the line a little longer. We'll move it together, you and I. Whatever you are, you did good work tonight." Hanako's knees almost gave. Someone had looked at her. Someone had stayed.