The morning mist clung to the ground like a warning.
Ash emerged from the bunker first, scanning the tree line. The storm had broken in the night, leaving behind branches torn from trees, damp leaves underfoot, and a silence that felt too sharp — like something was listening.
Haru joined her moments later, quieter than usual. Maybe it was the wound in his arm, maybe it was something else. He didn't speak, just kept his hand close to his weapon and his eyes on her.
They moved north. The next red-thread marker was high up on a birch tree, this time knotted in a spiral pattern.
Phoenix signal: meeting point ahead. Unknown status. Proceed with caution.
Ash frowned at it.
"We should slow down," she said.
Haru nodded.
It wasn't paranoia — not anymore. It was instinct.
By midday, they reached the clearing.
A crumbling structure sat nestled in the overgrown meadow — a small warehouse from a time before the war. Half the roof had collapsed, and moss covered what was left of the concrete steps.
Ash motioned for Haru to stay back as she approached the door. Her hand brushed the side of the rusted handle — then she heard it.
Footsteps behind the door.
Just one person.
Then it opened.
And there he was.
Jin.
Same dark clothing. Same unreadable gaze. But something in him had shifted — not visibly, not immediately. But Ash felt it like a second heartbeat.
"Phoenix got your signal," he said, voice low. "You weren't supposed to take this long."
Ash narrowed her eyes. "Things changed."
"I know."
She stepped inside. Haru followed, slower.
Inside, a small fire burned in the center of the room, surrounded by metal chairs. Maps were pinned to the wall. It looked like a mobile war room.
Jin gestured for them to sit, but no one moved.
Ash folded her arms. "Talk."
Jin didn't flinch. "Phoenix leadership is splitting. Some think you should be protected — others think your footage gave us enough momentum, and you're no longer essential."
"'No longer essential,'" Haru repeated bitterly. "So now she's disposable?"
Jin ignored him. He looked at Ash.
"They're scared of what happens if you speak again. What happens if you pick a side they're not on."
Ash's voice was cold. "They want me silent."
"Some do. Others just want control."
"And you?"
That hung in the air.
Jin's jaw tightened.
"I want you alive."
Silence.
Haru stepped forward then, his voice calm but sharp-edged.
"She's not your responsibility anymore, Jin."
Jin didn't rise to the bait. "She never was. I just didn't trust anyone else to keep her breathing."
Ash's eyes flicked between them.
This wasn't about her safety — not entirely.
It was about her.
Haru's voice lowered. "What exactly are you doing here?"
Jin met his gaze. "Trying to stop a war before it uses her as a flag."
"She doesn't need your permission to exist."
"No. But she might need someone to remind her who she is when everyone else tries to claim her."
That was too far.
Ash stepped between them, her voice a cut through the tension.
"Stop it. Both of you."
They fell silent instantly.
She looked at Jin. "I appreciate what you've done. But don't speak like you know who I am."
Then she turned to Haru. "And don't act like you have to defend me like I'm fragile."
A pause.
Ash exhaled slowly. "I'm tired of being the symbol between two sides of the same damn war."
Jin lowered his eyes.
Haru stepped back, hands raised in quiet apology.
Then Ash asked the question neither of them wanted to hear.
"Who leaked our position?"
Jin hesitated — just for a second.
But it was enough.
"It wasn't me," he said. "But I know who it might've been."
Ash's voice sharpened. "Say it."
Jin looked away. "There's a splinter cell forming within Phoenix. They call themselves The Ember Circle. They want to go public. Explosive tactics. No more whispers. If someone told DaeCorp where you were, it was probably them."
Haru's tone darkened. "So Phoenix is turning on itself."
Jin nodded. "Fast."
The room felt colder now.
Ash sat finally, elbows on knees, staring at the flickering fire.
"What happens if I speak again?" she asked.
Jin didn't answer.
So Haru did.
"They'll come for you."
"They already did."
He stepped closer. "Then we burn the ones who try again."
Ash looked up at him — not with fear, or hesitation. But with something fiercer.
Hope.
That night, they stayed in the warehouse.
Ash didn't sleep. Neither did Jin. But Haru did — one arm resting lightly across the small space between them.
And when the fire died to embers, Ash whispered something to the night.
"I don't belong to anyone."
But even as she said it, she wondered if it was still true.