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"You came into this world on fire. Now make sure the world burns for you, not at you." — Hayamei's mother (memory)
⸻
The forest didn't feel like home anymore.
Not after what TreyVon did.
Hayamei sat outside the cabin under a crooked oak, knees tucked to her chest, the gun Ghost gave her still warm from the morning drills. Birds chirped above her, but all she could hear was the echo of her daughter's voice in her dreams.
"He said I gotta pick."
Hayamei lit a match and watched it burn down to her fingers. She didn't flinch when it stung. Pain grounded her. Made the quiet less deadly.
Ghost stepped out onto the porch, shirtless, eyes low. "You been out here two hours."
"Good. Means I'm alert."
He didn't argue. Just sat beside her on the dirt and handed her a half-eaten orange.
She took it wordlessly.
"Na'Nami asked me if you were mad at her," he said.
Hayamei's throat tightened. "Why?"
"She said you ain't smiled since that night."
"I'm not mad at her," she muttered. "I'm mad at the world for trying to twist her."
Ghost nodded. "Then do something about it."
⸻
Later that night, she sat down with Na'Nami in the living room.
No TV. No music. Just firelight and truth.
"Baby," she said softly, brushing her daughter's curls back, "can we talk?"
Na'Nami blinked up at her, sleepy but calm. "About the bad man?"
Hayamei nodded. "I need you to know... none of what he said was true. He wasn't a friend. He was trying to hurt me—through you."
Na'Nami was quiet. Then: "He said you used to be bad too."
Hayamei's stomach flipped. She leaned in close.
"I was, baby. I did things I ain't proud of. But I changed. Because of you."
Na'Nami tilted her head. "Is that why we always run?"
Hayamei's throat burned. "Yeah. But not anymore."
Na'Nami reached out and touched her cheek. "Can we build something instead?"
