Instincts Don’t Sleep
The noise was soft.
Too soft to be nothing.
Sakura’s eyes snapped open before her mind caught up, heart already racing. For a split second she thought it was a memory—boots on stone, metal shifting, the quiet before something went wrong. Her body reacted faster than thought ever could.
Beside her, K slept on, warm and solid, one arm slung loosely over Sakura’s waist. Sakura carefully shifted out of her grip, moving with practiced silence. She reached for the spear resting against the wall.
Training weapon or not, it was familiar. It steadied her hands.
She padded into the hallway, breath shallow, senses sharp. The light in the kitchen was on.
Sakura tightened her grip and stepped forward.
And froze.
Her mother stood there, cloak discarded over a chair, posture straight as ever. Izzy turned at the sound of Sakura’s footsteps, eyes immediately narrowing.
“You’re holding that wrong,” Izzy said flatly. “You’re disoriented.”
Sakura stared. “You—”
“I’ll be home for a few days,” Izzy continued, already moving past it like it meant nothing. “Royal matters concluded sooner than expected.”
Five months.
Gone for five months, and that was the first thing she said.
Sakura’s jaw clenched. “That’s all?”
Izzy’s gaze sharpened. “Watch your tone.”
Sakura felt heat rush to her face. “You disappear for almost half a year, and the first thing you do is criticize me?”
Izzy scoffed. “Being a queen is not a luxury, Sakura. One day, when you stop pushing your responsibilities onto Tom and Kit, you might understand.”
Something inside Sakura cracked.
“I haven’t pushed anything onto them,” she snapped, voice shaking despite her effort. “I’ve been holding this family together. Making sure Lou doesn’t spiral. Making sure Isaac eats. Making sure no one notices you’re gone because if they do, everything falls apart.”
Her vision blurred. She hated that part most.
Izzy’s eyes flicked to the tears, her expression hardening. “Pathetic,” she said. “A weakling.”
The slap echoed through the kitchen.
Sakura staggered back, more from shock than pain. She didn’t raise her weapon. Didn’t raise her hand. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
She didn’t know what she was apologizing for.
Izzy adjusted her sleeve. “Do better,” she said coldly. “Good night.”
Then she walked away.
Sakura sank to the floor, curling in on herself, arms wrapped tight around her chest. Her breaths came uneven, sharp, and she pressed her forehead against her knees, trying not to make a sound.
A presence filled the hallway.
“Sakura.”
She looked up.
K stood there, eyes dark, jaw tight—not angry at Sakura. At everything else.
“I heard everything,” K said softly.
Sakura broke.
She leaned forward, and K caught her without hesitation, pulling her close, one hand cradling the back of Sakura’s head. Sakura cried into her shoulder, silent and shaking, until the world slowed again.
K didn’t rush her. Didn’t say anything unnecessary. She just held on.
Eventually, Sakura’s breathing evened out.
“Come on,” K murmured. “Let’s go back to bed.”
Sakura nodded weakly.
They lay down together, K’s arms firm and protective, grounding Sakura in the quiet dark.
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