Let the Sun Be Seen; Kenji Kishimoto

𝗙𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗔𝗥 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘

The sight that greets me is nothing alarming—just a rough patch of unkempt terrain. No animals, no threats. It's a messy, ordinary spot. It's annoying to waste time, but Ingrid's words echo in my mind: better safe than sorry.

As the reassurance washes over me, it'a overruled by the sharp pain from the thorns. Something was out here to get me. Who knew old weeds could cut so deep? Wincing, I wipe the blood on my arm with my thumb. My injury doesn't hurt, but the thought of infection makes my skin crawl. It's gross.

Adam's house should have a medical kit, if not, there's definitely something around there we could use. We last used it when James scraped his knee pretty badly while playing around. It was pretty funny at first until the tears came.

"Okay, I'm coming back! It was nothing," I shout to James, wrapping my arms around myself to guard my body. Now feeling regretful for wearing short sleeves, but at the same time—the hot sun gave me no other choice.

The thought of pushing through the prickly bush again makes me uneasy, but there's no other way.

As I prepare to re-enter the bush, a hand grabs my wrist, freezing me in place. The grip tightens, and my body goes still with fear.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

There was something here? How could I miss it. I couldn't have, there was nothing to be seen. Who even is this, and how didn't I hear him approach? They don't look familiar—not like I can see much from their approach.

Oh God. James. Is James safe? Panic claws at my mind, but I force it back. Don't think, just fight.

With a surge of adrenaline, I turn to face my captor. A man, towering and dressed in dark, worn clothing, looms over me. His grip on my arm is vise-like, his presence imposing.

Every muscle tenses as I prepare to confront this new threat, my thoughts racing. This isn't just about survival anymore—it's about protecting James, and I can't afford to fail.

The idea that the person grabbing me could be a stray or a guard doesn't skim my mind at the slightest.

If they really wanted something from me, they should've just asked. It's their fault, not mine. Excuses tumble through my mind, one after the other, as I try to maintain control, try to not appear as scared as my mind.

Using my free hand, I swing wildly, aiming for their face. My weak punch connects with the side of their nose, barely slowing them down but delaying their next move.

Desperation fuels my struggle as I kick at the dirt beneath me, creating a cloud of dust that makes the man cough, but it's not enough. He doesn't seem scathed at all.

"JAMES—Get the fuck off me!" I shout, my voice trembling with fear and anger.

"Rome, it's just me—" the man shouts back, trying to restrain my flailing arms without hurting me. He's on the defensive, as if more concerned with stopping me than inflicting harm.

I can hear James yelling, his voice faint and muffled by the blood pounding in my head. As much as I need help, I hope and hope he stays where he is.

If I can't handle this, what can he do?

The man holding me looks around, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if expecting someone or something to appear. In a split second, his gaze locks onto mine, and he pulls down the hood obscuring his face.

My knees go weak, and my hands drop. "It's just me, I didn't mean to scare you," Adam says, his voice heavy with exhaustion. He moves his hands to my elbows, steadying me to prevent me from collapsing.

If I wasn't already grasping onto Adam as an Anchor, I would've collapsed from the relief that floods through me at the sight of his familiar face, even though it's beaten and bruised.

A nasty mark on his cheek has turned purple and yellow. I know I'm not the weakest, but saying I'm strong enough to land a good punch on Adam is an overstatement. He relatively still looks the same as when he left, just more battered.

I stare at him, taking in breaths as anger starts to replace the initial solace. "What—you're kidding, right? You can't just grab me like that! What's wrong with you?" I huff, my breath coming in short, furious bursts.

Adam's expression hardens, his brow furrowing with irritation. "I can't explain now. Where's James?"

Disbelief surges through me at his audacity. He scares me half to death, and now he wants to ask questions? The man who's been gone for months on end, approaches me in all black and expects me to be what—calm?

I step back, the bush pricking my back as I put distance between us. "Adam, you basically gave me a heart attack, and now you want to ask me questions? James can wait."

Adam groans, staring off into the distance muttering under his breath about how he's "just trying to get this over with" and how he "should've just waited."

Waited for what?

"Rome, look, I know this isn't the best situation. Just trust me, okay? I'll explain everything, but I need you to bring me to James," he pleads, desperation evident in his clenched fists and the strain in his voice. He's never asked for much, especially not like this.

As if guided, James suddenly appears then, rustling through the leaves with yelps of pain as thorns scratch at him. He emerges from the bush to my left, bumping into me with a humpf all while holding a big stick, the basket nowhere in sight.

"Rome! Are you—oh," his voice trails off as he sees Adam standing a few feet away from me. He looks between us, me to Adam, Adam to me, his eyes wide with confusion.

James hasn't seen his brother in months. I've been keeping him company, caring for him alongside Ingrid. Despite his age, he handles himself well, but he clearly misses Adam dearly. He's his brother, his blood, the only family he has left.

James drops the stick with a thud and runs to his brother, wrapping him in a crushing hug. Adam reciprocates, holding him just as tightly.

As much as I want answers, I don't interrupt their reunion. I can wait, unlike others. Adam whispers something to James, who nods along with wide, tear-filled eyes.

I lower my gaze to my wrist, the skin still red and throbbing from Adam's grip. The pain now cuts through the adrenaline, sharp and hot. I press my other hand against it, trying to numb the ache.

Their moment ends too quickly as realization dawns on Adam's face. "Look—I know this is crazy to process right now," he says, his voice shaky. He glances between me and James, but his gaze lingers on his brother, avoiding mine. He's hiding something; it's obvious.

"But I have someone you need to meet."