Chapter 32 Scars #2
I put my view back on Hiro. “If there’s a spy in the household, then they’re not trying to betray the Dragon, they’re probably trying to avoid the war or even stop it. Maybe, they’re just really scared."
“I could believe that.” Hiro's jaw tightened. "Fear makes people do desperate things. Even good people. Even loyal people. The Fox knows this. My father does not target the angry or the bitter. He targets the ones with something to lose."
I looked down the hallway at the staff moving through their evening routines—laughing, working, living.
All of them believing they were safe.
All of them unaware that one of their own had been backed into a corner by a monster who knew exactly how to exploit love.
A phantom slither raced over my forearm, so vivid that I flinched. My pulse quickened. My instincts sharpened. Whoever was hiding in this household—whoever thought they could strike at Kenji—felt close enough to breathe on the back of my neck.
My throat burned. "One or two of these spies may be trying to protect their families. That's why they did it."
"Perhaps." Hiro's gaze was steady on me. "But intention does not erase consequence. If they tried to give the Fox information. . .I won’t forgive it. Neither will my brother."
I nodded slowly, the weight of it settling into my bones.
This wasn't a mystery about an evil henchman in a mask.
This was about someone who loved their family or life so much they were willing to betray the man who'd given them everything.
And somehow, that made it so much worse.
We turned down another hallway, this one quieter. The staff doors dropped away, replaced by smooth walls and occasional art pieces.
The light dimmed a little.
The temperature seemed to fall a degree or two.
Hiro spoke, “The Personal Scales’ wing is close.”
The twins shifted almost imperceptibly, their bodies tightening, steps more deliberate. They moved like water turning to ice.
I watched them for a second, fascinated. “Do you two always do that?”
Aki eyed me. “Do what?”
“Move in sync like you’re one person as well as finish each other’s sentences.”
“Of course.” Aki nodded. “Sometimes we do it. . .”
“On purpose,” Yuki finished, a little ahead of me.
They both smiled.
Aki added, “Sometimes we do it to confuse our enemies.”
Yuki winked. “Sometimes it calms us.”
That last part settled in my chest with more weight than I expected. “You make me wish I had a twin.”
“I understand.” Aki nodded. “It’s fun to have him.”
“It’s a blessing.” Yuki winked again.
Aki's expression shifted to serious. "We don't like for people to tell us apart."
"Why not?"
“It keeps us safe,” Aki said.
“And powerful,” Yuki added.
Aki's voice was quieter now. "They all see us as. . .a matching set. Interchangeable."
Yuki nodded. "Only Hiro knows who is speaking.”
I straightened a little. "Really?”
“Yes,” They said in unison.
“Well. . .would you be mad if. . .I could easily tell who is speaking?"
They both stopped walking.
The hallway fell silent except for the faint hum of overhead lights.
For the first time since being united with them, Yuki spoke first, “But you can’t tell us apart.”
“I can.”
Yuki crossed his arms. "You think so?"
"I know so."
Aki's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "No one, but Hiro can tell us apart. Not on sight. Not even with us speaking."
"I can."
They exchanged a look—that twin telepathy thing that made them feel like one consciousness split between two bodies.
Hiro exhaled slowly. “Ignore them. They enjoy theatrics. Let’s get back to the Scooby-Doo adventures.”
However, the twins didn’t move.
Yuki eyed me. "Prove it. You turn around. We change or not. You face us again and tell us who’s who."
"Okay." I turned to face the wall, closed my eyes, and gave them my back. "Go ahead."
An edge hit Hiro’s voice. “We don’t have time for this.”
“She made a big claim,” Aki said. “Either she’s too cocky for her own good and shouldn’t be helping to find the spy. . .”
Yuki finished, “Or she’s terrifyingly good.”
Aki’s tone went dark. “Which could be dangerous for her.”
Hiro growled, “Careful. She’s my brother’s Heart. If she can tell you apart, you’ll have to live with it.”
Behind me, I heard the soft shuffle of movement, fabric shifting, boots repositioning on marble. They weren't talking anymore, weren't giving me any auditory cues. Just silent repositioning or maybe just making noise to then return to their same spots.
"Done," Aki's voice came from somewhere behind me.
I turned around.
They stood side by side, identical stances, identical expressions—blank, neutral, giving me nothing.
I checked their scars, looked at the one on the left, and pointed. "Yuki."
Then the one on the right. "Aki."
Yuki's jaw tightened.
Aki's eyes narrowed.
"Again," Yuki sneered.
Wow. I probably shouldn’t have told them I could tell them apart.
I turned around.
More movement. This time I heard what might've been a jacket being passed between them, boots switching positions more deliberately, as if they were trying to throw me off.
Together, they both said, "Done."
I faced them again.
They'd switched sides this time. Different stances. One had his arms crossed, the other had his hands in his pockets.
I smiled.
They took on the other’s mannerisms to trip me up. Very clever.
I pointed to the one with crossed arms. "Aki."
Then to the one with hands in his pockets. "Yuki."
Aki's arms dropped to his sides.
Yuki pulled his hands out of his pockets, and frustration covered his face.
Meanwhile, Hiro widened his eyes in shock. “You really can tell the difference?”
"One more time," Aki said, and now there was an edge to it—like I'd poked at something that mattered more than I realized.
I turned.
This time they were completely silent. No shuffling. No fabric sounds. Nothing.
Then: "Done."
I turned back.
They stood perfectly still, faces blank, giving me absolutely nothing to work with except. . .those scars, which was all I needed in the first place.
"Yuki." I pointed to the left and then to the right. "Aki."
Yuki's expression cracked first—something between shock and irritation bleeding through.
Aki just stared at me, his jaw working like he was chewing on words he didn't want to say.
"How?" Yuki demanded.
"How did you do it?" Aki's voice was quieter, but sharper.
I hesitated, suddenly aware that I'd just stepped into something I didn't fully understand. But they were both watching me now, waiting, and I couldn't exactly back out.
"Your scars," I said carefully.
They both went very still.
"You both have identical scars on your chins. Slanted the same way. Same location."
Neither of them moved.
I swallowed. "But Yuki's scar is. . .much deeper."
The hallway felt colder suddenly.
I kept going, even though every instinct told me to stop.
"I’m just. . .I don’t know. In my head when I first saw your scars I had this story in my mind.
It’s kind of how I can remember things and.
. .to me. . .it looks like someone put the scar on Yuki’s chin there.
And they. . .didn't care how much pain he was in. "
Yuki's face didn't change, but something in his eyes flashed—pain maybe or sadness.
My throat tightened. "And Aki's scar looks like. . .and again. . .this is just the story I told myself but. . .it looks like maybe he put that scar there himself. To match you."
Aki's hands curled into fists at his sides.
Tension gathered in my shoulders. "If that’s true then.
. .it must have been hard to cut yourself like that.
. .to get that big of a scar. Must have hurt so bad.
And it does look identical. . .unless you look really, really close.
. .perhaps with emotion. . .I don’t know.
. .but. . .Aki couldn't. . .cut himself as deep as whoever cut Yuki. "
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Neither twin spoke.
Neither twin moved.
They just stood there, side by side, looking at me with identical expressions of devastation that made my chest ache.
Fuck. I should have kept my mouth closed.
Yuki's jaw worked, but no sound came out.
Aki looked away first, his gaze dropping to the floor. Then, he touched that scar.
Whenever they had gotten these scars, it had been a long, long time ago. Probably when they were kids. Maybe even some fucked up abusive parent.
Horrific shit if true.
Because that meant that when they were kids. . .Aki had taken a blade—or something worse—and carved himself to match his brother's trauma. Not to heal Yuki, but to make himself equally damaged.
So Yuki would never have to carry that scar alone.
"Nyomi." Hiro's voice cut through the tension like a blade, firm but not unkind. He stepped slightly between me and the twins, his body language shifting to protective—of them, not me. "We should keep moving."
I opened my mouth to say something—an apology, an explanation, anything—but Hiro's expression stopped me.
Not angry.
Just. . .careful.
Like I'd just touched an old wound that hadn't fully healed and probably never would.
"Yes." I swallowed. "Of course."
Hiro gestured down the hallway, and we started walking again.
The twins fell into step behind us, silent as ghosts and moving in perfect rhythm. And for the first time since I'd met them, their synchronization didn't feel like a blessing.
It felt like survival.
I didn't look back again.
But I could feel the weight of what I'd just said pressing against my shoulders like a physical thing—heavy, wrong, and impossible to take back.
Damn it. I should have kept my mouth shut.