She just leaned back in the metal chair outside the diner, crossed her legs, and said, "Then I guess they're still breathing."
⸻
Ghost joined her outside twenty minutes later.
He tossed a small burner phone on the table. "Intercepted three pings near Na'Nami's school. One was traced back to a landline registered under the name 'Tova Wells.' That name ring a bell?"
Hayamei's eyes narrowed.
Tova Wells was one of the many aliases Zora used during her days playing good.
"She's not dead," Hayamei muttered.
Ghost nodded grimly. "I knew it."
⸻
Back at the house, Hayamei loaded up a whiteboard they kept hidden in the garage.
Names. Timelines. Movement.
She wrote her father's name in red. Zora's in black.
Underneath, she drew a jagged circle and wrote: "They're watching. So we perform."
⸻
From that day on, everything shifted.
Hayamei didn't just keep moving—she started training again. Morning runs. Knife drills. Firearm inspections. Even Na'Nami started noticing.
"Why do we have so many flashlights now?" she asked one night while brushing her teeth.
"In case the power goes out," Hayamei said.
"But why six?"
"Because some darkness takes more than one light to beat."
⸻
The town began to notice, too.
Hayamei was still sweet, still present—but sharper. She didn't flinch when men raised their voices. She didn't hesitate to step between an angry landlord and a struggling mother at the grocery store.
Rumors started to spread: That new girl's military. I heard she used to be a bounty hunter. Someone said she burned down a whole house full of gang members.
Hayamei didn't correct them.
Let the stories grow. Let the shadows shake.
⸻
One night, Ghost found her sitting on the porch, boots unlaced, rifle across her lap.
She was staring out into the trees.
"What are you waiting on?" he asked.
"A mistake," she said softly. "Theirs."
Ghost sat down beside her. "You think they'll show?"
"They already have. That toy wasn't just a tracker. It was a message."
"What message?"
"That I've still got something they want. And they're not just watching. They're preparing."
Ghost ran a hand over his face. "You think it's your father?"
"I think it's bigger than just him. He taught Zora. And Zora? She's the one who always knew how to break people without touching them."
⸻
The next day, Hayamei drove three hours out of town and met with a woman named Imani.
A war nurse turned arms dealer. Someone Hayamei saved once in Mexico when things went sideways.
Imani greeted her with a hug and a loaded pistol tucked in her apron.
"Been waiting on you," she said.
"How'd you know I was coming?"
"Pain makes noise, Hay. And you're screaming in silence."
Hayamei laid out what she knew—about the trackers, the eyes on Na'Nami, the buried enemies rising again.
Imani didn't flinch.
She just opened a locked shed behind her trailer and said, "Take what you need."
Hayamei chose four lightweight rifles, twelve flashbangs, three burner laptops, and one encrypted sat phone.
"Planning a war?" Imani asked as she packed the gear.
"No," Hayamei said. "But I'm done losing them."
⸻
She returned to town just after midnight.
Na'Nami was asleep. Ghost was cleaning his blade.
They didn't say anything when she walked in. Just nodded. They could feel the shift.
This wasn't survival anymore.
This was counterattack in slow motion.
⸻
The next morning, Hayamei made a list.
Not a kill list—not yet.
A vulnerability list.
Where they kept supplies.
Where Na'Nami would be safest if they had to leave.
Who they could trust. Who they couldn't.
She circled three names in red—people she hadn't heard from in months. One of them was her childhood nanny, rumored to still be alive in Baton Rouge. If anyone knew her father's next move, it might be her.
She planned to visit.
Alone.
Ghost didn't like it, but didn't argue. He knew her silence meant strategy, not recklessness.
⸻
On her way out, Na'Nami tugged her shirt.
"Where you going, Mama?"
"Just out for a bit."
"You gonna come back?"
Hayamei kneeled in front of her, kissed her forehead.
"Always."
Na'Nami looked unsure. "Is the war starting?"
Hayamei smiled, but her eyes burned.
"No, baby," she said. "The war already started. Now it's our turn."
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