Page 76 of Emperor of Havoc

I sink into one of the armchairs, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.

“It’s not that simple,” I admit, my voice low.

Hana tips her head, her expression softening slightly. “It never is with you.”

I glance up at her, my lips twisting. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not necessarily,” she says. “But it’s dangerous. For you. For her.”

I don’t respond, just let the silence stretch between us, my thoughts poking around the dark corners of my mind where I keep the things I’d rather not examine too closely. My obsession with Katarina is one of those. It’s a fire that burns brighter than anything I’ve ever felt, and I don’t know how to control it.

It’s not just about wanting her. It’s aboutneedingher. Her fire, her defiance, her darkness. She’s everything I’ve ever craved, and everything I’ve ever feared, and I hate her for it almost as much as I want her because of it.

Hana lets out a soft sigh. “Just... Be careful, Tak. Whatever this is, don’t let it consume you.”

I look up at her, my expression hard. “I don’tgetconsumed. I do the consuming.”

Later, after Hana leaves to FaceTime Damian in New York, I stand by the window, whiskey in hand, my mind drifting back to Katarina and the way she looked at me that night in the mansion, her eyes ablaze with a mix of fear and defiance.

I’ve never met anyone like her. And I hate that she’s under my skin in a way I can’t shake. She’s dangerous, not just because of who she is, but because of how she makes me feel.

No matter how I try to push her out of my mind, she’salways there. In the shadows, in the silence, in the dark corners of my soul where I keep the things I don’t want to face.

She’s a mirror, reflecting all the shit I’ve tried to bury.

And that terrifies me.

22

KATARINA

The air feels heavier tonight,pressing on my skin.

Tokyo is alive with its usual chaos, the streets humming with the noise of traffic, chattering passersby, and faint music spilling out fromizakayasand shops.

Beneath it all, there’s a tense edge that keeps me glancing over my shoulder.

I’m walking briskly through a narrow alley, my heels clicking against the pavement. The glow of neon signs reflects softly off the rain-slicked ground, casting distorted shapes that shift and flicker with every step I take.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m beingfollowed.

It started a few blocks ago: just a prickling awareness at the back of my neck. At first, I told myself it was nothing—just paranoia brought on by the stress of the last few days. Now, I’m not so sure.

I pause at the mouth of the alley, letting the crowd swallow me for a moment as I surreptitiously scan the area. Nothingstands out; no shadowy figures lurk in the dark. Still, the feeling persists, coiled in my gut like a warning.

My fingers brush against my phone in my pocket. I consider messaging Nina or Ryu, who are nearby, still in the restaurant I just snuck out the back door of while pretending to need the bathroom.

However, calling them means explaining why I’m out here alone after sneaking away, not to mention lying to them in the first place.

My contact reached out to me last night, clearly via a throwaway email account, with just a three-line message:

I have information concerning Takeshi Mori’s real motives. Your life depends on hearing it. Meet me tomorrow at Moshi Moshi Café, Nihonbashikakigaracho, Chuo City.

I should have said no. Or just not responded at all.

But curiosity is a terrible thing.

That’s what had me suggesting to Nina and Ryu that we move our business meeting to the ultra-exclusive Sugita restaurant in the same Tokyo neighborhood as the cutesy bubble tea shop my mysterious contact proposed.

---