"Hold your breath," Gojo advised, though he didn't give her a second to comply.
He reached out, his hand closing around her upper arm. The touch was firm, but there was a strange buffer between his skin and her fabric, the Infinity. It felt like being held by a static charge rather than a human hand.
"Wait, I'm not read—"
The world folded.
It wasn't like the first jump from the interrogation room to the rooftop. That had been a blind panic, a blur of motion. This time, Miyuki felt the mechanics of it. With her awakened eyes, she saw the space between Tokyo and Kyoto not as a distance of kilometers, but as a fabric. Gojo didn't travel; he simply pinched the fabric together, bringing two coordinates into a single point.
The sensation was violent. It felt like her intestines were being reorganized by a blender. The roar of the wind vanished instantly, replaced by the stale, quiet air of a closed apartment.
Miyuki stumbled, her knees hitting the wooden floorboards with a thud. She gagged, fighting the bitterness rising in her throat.
"You... gave no warning..." she gasped, clutching her stomach, her vision swimming with afterimages of the warp.
"We're here," Gojo announced cheerfully, releasing her arm. He looked around, whistling low. "So this is where a dormant Six Eyes lives. It's... surprisingly normal. A bit small, though."
Miyuki took a deep breath, forcing the nausea down. She looked up. They were in her living room in Kyoto. Books were stacked in precarious towers against the walls, everything from Edo period poetry to modern architectural theory. The air smelled of old paper, dust, and faint jasmine tea.
It was her sanctuary. Or at least, it had been.
Now, looking at it through her new eyes, it was a nightmare of information. She could see the termite damage deep inside the support beams. She could see the residual heat signatures on the tatami mats from three days ago. She could see the microscopic dust mites floating in the sunbeam slicing through the window.
"My home," she whispered, a pang of grief hitting her chest. "It looks different."
"Everything looks different now," Gojo said, his voice unusually soft. He walked over to a stack of books, picking up The Pillow Book by Sei Shonagon, and flipped through it. "You'll get used to filtering it out. Eventually. Or you'll go crazy. It's a coin toss."
Suddenly, a low, guttural growl emanated from the shadows under the kotatsu table.
Miyuki's eyes widened. "Soseki!"
She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the dizziness, and dropped to her knees by the table. "Soseki! Are you okay? I'm so sorry!"
A pair of disdainful, icy blue eyes peered out from the darkness. Slowly, a large, fluffy, snow-white cat emerged. He didn't look starved. The automatic feeder in the corner was empty but clearly had done its job until recently, and he looked furious.
"Mrraow," Soseki complained, his tail flicking with irritation.
"I know, I know," Miyuki cooed, reaching out to stroke his head. "I didn't mean to leave you. Bad men took me away."
Gojo crouched down to inspect the beast. Soseki turned his head slowly toward him. The cat froze. Animals often had a sixth sense for cursed energy, and Gojo Satoru was basically a walking nuclear reactor. Most animals ran from him in terror.
Soseki, however, hissed, a long, venomous sound, and swiped a claw at Gojo's nose.
The claw stopped centimeters from Gojo's face, blocked by the Infinity. Soseki blinked, confused, his blue eyes widening. He swiped again. Nothing.
"Wow," Gojo breathed, his eyes lighting up with delight. He pointed between himself and the cat.
"White hair? Striking blue eyes? Incredibly handsome and dangerous attitude? Miyuki-chan, did you get this cat because he looks exactly like me? I'm flattered!"
Miyuki scooped Soseki up, hugging the heavy, white cat to her chest. He grumbled but allowed it, burying his face in her torn cardigan.
"He looks nothing like you," she snapped, her cheeks flushing slightly in anger. "Soseki is dignified. You look like a giant, annoying Q-tip."
"Denial is the first stage of admiration," Gojo laughed, standing up and poking the air in front of the cat's nose. Soseki bit the air, frustrated. "I like him. We're basically twins. Does he also have a sweet tooth?"
"You are not twins," Miyuki hissed. "His name is Soseki. Like the author. He eats fish, not sugar."
"Pretentious. I love it. Hurry up and pack, Arima. We can't stay long. The barrier here isn't secure, and your energy is leaking like a broken faucet. If a curse catches the scent, this whole apartment complex goes boom."
The reality of the situation crashed back down on her. Miyuki stood up, still holding the cat, who was still glaring at his human doppelgänger.
"What should I take?" she asked, feeling helpless.
"Essentials," Gojo said, leaning against the doorframe, checking his phone. "Clothes, toiletries. Don't worry about furniture. And bring the cat carrier. I'm not warping with a claw-machine loose in my arms."
Miyuki moved like a ghost. She went to her bedroom, grabbing a duffel bag. She packed mechanically. Underwear. Shirts. Her favorite dark green sweater. She hesitated at her bookshelf. She wanted to take them all, but she knew she couldn't. She grabbed a first edition of Kokoro and shoved it deep into the bag.
She walked into the bathroom to grab her toothbrush and stopped in front of the mirror.
For the first time since the interrogation, she saw herself clearly. Her black hair was a mess, tangled and dull. Her face was pale, smeared with soot from the destroyed table. And her eyes...
Her eyes were glowing. Literally. A faint, emerald luminescence pulsed from her irises, casting an eerie light on her cheekbones.
"Monster," she whispered to her reflection.
"Sorcerer," Gojo corrected from the hallway. He hadn't moved, but he heard her. "There's a difference. Sometimes."
Miyuki gripped the sink, her knuckles turning white. She shoved the toothbrush into her pocket and marched out. She wrestled a protesting Soseki into his travel carrier, threw her bag over her shoulder, and faced Gojo.
"I'm ready," she said, though her voice trembled.
"Say goodbye," Gojo said, gesturing to the room.
Miyuki looked at the sunlight hitting the dust motes. She looked at her books. She looked at the silence she had curated for twenty-six years.
"Goodbye," she whispered.
Gojo placed a hand on her shoulder and the other on the handle of the cat carrier.
"Next stop: Tokyo."