❝I need to put me first❞ | Being back home isn't as good as Rose thought it would be, living surrounded by a family she doesn't know is taking a toll on her. As Rose tries to deal with her amnesia while she also comes to terms with trying to find ou...
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I adjust my stance in the dimly lit safehouse, the faint hum of Tokyo's nightlife seeping through the cracked window. Elle stands across from me, her posture tense but eager, her eyes tracking my every move. She's young, scrappy, and determined. A lot like I was, or so Han tells me.
Teaching Elle self-defense feels like a way to ground myself, to give her something I wish I'd had when I was lost.
"Keep your elbows in," I tell her, circling her. "You're not throwing punches in a bar fight. Precision matters." I sound a little more like Owen than I'd like.
I snap a quick jab at the air, and Elle mimics me, her movements clumsy but improving. "Better. But you're still telegraphing. Han's no help here; he fights like he's allergic to coordination."
Elle laughs, relaxing for a moment. "He said you kicked his ass once."
I raise an eyebrow, a vague flicker of that fight crossing my mind. "Yeah, well, I was on the wrong team then. My old crew didn't exactly prioritize fair play."
Stepping closer, I adjusted her stance. "Point is, you don't need to be big or strong. You need to be smart. Use their momentum against them. Like this." I grab her arm, pivot, and flip her gently onto the mat.
She lands with a soft thud, groaning but grinning. "Teach me that one again," she says, hopping up like an excited puppy.
I spend the next hour drilling techniques—throws, holds, and how to break a grip. Elle's a quick learner, and something akin to pride swells in me watching her improve.
It's the closest thing to making myself a family, this makeshift crew in Tokyo. Han's been my anchor since I left Shaw's world. The kids were annoying, but a soft spot was forming... and now with Elle. It all just hit me out of left field; I didn't come here for a family.
I shake it off, focusing on Elle's next move.
"Alright, that's enough for today," I say, tossing her a towel. "You're getting good. Keep practicing, and you'll be flipping Han in no time."
She laughs, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Thanks, Rose. You're a badass."
I shrug, hiding a smile at her compliment. "Go shower. You smell like a gym locker."
As Elle heads to the bathroom, I glance at Han, who walks out of the kitchen. He nods at me, and I reciprocate. We're doing well, sort of raising this kid.
I grab my jacket and step into the neon-lit Tokyo night. The walk to Han's garage is short, but I take my time, letting the city's chaos wash over me. The streets hum with life, motorcycles roaring, people shouting, the glow of signs reflecting off wet pavement.
I'm almost at the garage when I spot him. A man lingering near a streetlight, his face half-shadowed but achingly familiar. My heart skips, not from fear but from something I can't name. I've seen him before, not in person, but in a photo.
