The faint light of the brazier flickered against the paper walls of Miura’s chamber, its warmth cocooning her and Sabrina in a fragile peace. Miura lay with her back against the futon, her dark hair spilling over the embroidered coverlet. Sabrina’s arm rested loosely across her waist, her breath steady and soft against Miura’s shoulder.

For once, the storm outside was quiet. But inside Miura’s mind, the tempest raged on.

Her eyes fluttered open and closed, her body heavy with exhaustion. Sleep came in fragments, pulling her between the waking world and the realm of dreams. In one moment, she was floating in the soft warmth of Sabrina’s embrace; in the next, she was dragged back into memories she had fought so hard to bury.

She was thirteen again, crouched in the garden of the teahouse where she had trained. The plum blossoms were in full bloom, their petals falling like whispers onto the mossy stones. She could see her fellow apprentice–Aya–laughing softly as she reached for a fallen blossom. Aya’s smile was the first beauty Miura had ever truly known, a beauty that made her heart ache in a way she didn’t yet understand.

The memory blurred, darkened. The laughter faded, replaced by the sharp whispers of the elder courtesans. “Disgraceful. Foolish girl.” The sting of their reprimands echoed in her chest, their words branding her as something shameful before she even had the chance to give it a name.

Miura stirred in her sleep, her brow furrowing. Sabrina shifted beside her, murmuring something unintelligible. The sound brought a momentary calm, pulling Miura from the depths of her subconscious. But the dreams pulled her back under, relentless.

She was older now, wearing the silks and paints of a fully trained courtesan. Her lips were painted red, her eyes framed by kohl, her every movement choreographed to perfection. She stood before a man–a daimyo, powerful and cruel. His touch made her stomach turn, his breath heavy with sake as he pressed her down.

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“It’s your duty,” the elder had told her. “A courtesan’s body is her art, her service. You belong to them.”

Belong. The word had haunted her ever since. It had stripped her of her agency, her desires, her truth. And yet, she had endured. She had survived.

But she hadn’t lived. Not until Sabrina.

Miura’s eyes fluttered open again, the present bleeding back into her awareness. The weight of Sabrina’s arm across her waist was grounding, real. Miura turned her head slightly, gazing at the woman beside her. Even in sleep, Sabrina carried an intensity, her features softened but not diminished by the shadows of the room.

For the first time in her life, Miura felt truly seen. Sabrina had not asked her to perform, to pretend. She had offered her something Miura had never dared to hope for: love both pure and unrestrained. And it terrified her as much as it healed her.

Her eyelids grew heavy once more, and the dreams shifted. This time, she was on the deck of The Frosted Lantern, staring out at the horizon. The sea was calm, but she could feel the storm brewing behind her. She turned, and there he was–Robert. His aquamarine eyes burned with contempt, his smirk a dagger aimed at her heart.

“You think you can keep her safe?” his voice sneered, echoing like thunder. “She’s mine to protect. Mine to control.”

Miura’s fists clenched, frost spiralling from her fingertips. The dream was vivid, her power surging as she faced him. “She doesn’t belong to you,” she hissed, her voice sharp and cold. “And neither do I.”

Robert laughed, the sound cutting through her like a blade. “Then prove it, Courtesan.”

Miura jolted awake, her breath shallow and quick. Sabrina stirred beside her, her blue eyes opening slowly. “Miura?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

Miura hesitated, her chest tight with the weight of everything she couldn’t say. “Just a dream,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from Sabrina’s face. “Go back to sleep.”

Sabrina frowned, her gaze searching Miura’s. “Are you sure?”

Miura nodded, forcing a faint smile. “I’m fine.”

But as Sabrina drifted back to sleep, Miura stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. The dream lingered, sharp and vivid, as if it had carved itself into her soul.

She thought of Robert–his arrogance, his cruelty, his power. He was everything she had fought against her entire life, a man who believed he had the right to control, to claim. And he had hurt Sabrina, the one person who had given Miura a reason to hope, to fight, to live.

Her hand brushed against the dagger hidden beneath her pillow, its cold steel a comfort in the darkness. She knew what she had to do.

For Sabrina. For herself.

Robert had to die.