𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖆𝖎𝖗
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Second chapter here!
Third chapter here!
Fourth chapter here!
THIS is the FIFTH chapter!
Author's Note: (9430 words).
Small Recap: (Leo's P.O.V.):
But the next time I saw her?
It wouldn't be with suspicion.
It would be for answers.
I laid down, eyes on the ceiling, mind racing.
Eventually, sleep came.
But not before I whispered one thought into the quiet:
"...Come back."
The Present (Now): (Your P.O.V.):
It wasn't long before I knew he was following me.
The rooftops weren't exactly subtle, and neither was he. I heard the scuff of feet against gravel, the barely restrained breath in his chest. He was angry. Burning with it. The kind of seething rage that makes even your shadow flinch.
Raphael.
I didn't even turn around. I just kept walking, Leo's katana still gripped in my hand, blade angled down. I didn't have a sheath-, wasn't the kind of girl who carried weapons unless I needed them. But this... this one stayed close. Held tighter than I'd expected. Like I couldn't let it go even if I tried.
The night was thick and humid as I moved across the rooftop's ledge, the city glowing far below in lazy gold and red. A low rumble in the air-, storm or tension, it was hard to tell.
Finally, I stopped.
"...You planning on tailing me all night, or are you going to come out and say what's on your mind?"
Silence.
Then-
A shuffle. A breath.
And then he was there.
Raphael dropped down onto the rooftop like thunder, his scowl already carved deep into his face, hands curled into fists. His eyes weren't just angry. They were furious.
"You got some nerve," he growled, pacing forward. "You think you can just steal one of our weapons and walk away like it's no big deal?"
"I didn't steal it," I said flatly. "Leo gave it to me."
"Don't give me that crap!" Raphael snapped, stepping closer. "Leo's not thinkin' straight, not when it comes to you. I don't know what the hell you did to him, but I ain't buyin' it."
"You came all this way just to throw a tantrum?" I asked, voice cool, expression unreadable.
His eyes narrowed. "Nah, I came to get that sword back."
I tilted my head slightly, the moonlight flashing along the blade in my hand. "Then take it."
He didn't wait for a second invitation.
Raphael charged, sai already drawn, and I met him head-on.
His style was raw, aggressive. Heavy swings. Fast jabs. He fought like a brawler with a ninja's precision-, deadly in a street fight, but easy to read when you're calm and he's not.
I wasn't angry.
That was the difference.
He threw a hook that would've knocked someone's jaw loose. I ducked under it, pivoted on my heel, and brought the flat of Leo's katana against his side in a sharp, controlled strike. He grunted, stumbling, but barely paused before spinning into a roundhouse that forced me back a step.
"Don't think I'm gonna go easy just 'cause you're some chick," he spat, eyes wild. "You made a mistake messin' with us."
I parried another blow, flicked my wrist, and sent one of his sais spinning out of his grip.
"You're fighting like you've already lost," I said coolly.
That made him snap. He lunged again, reckless, full of fury, and I moved with it-, used it.
Redirected it.
His weight became a disadvantage the moment I dropped low and swept his legs out from under him, knocking him flat onto his back with a dull thud. He growled, tried to rise, but I was already behind him, twisting his remaining sai out of his hand and pressing the blunt end of the katana against the side of his neck.
"Still want to keep going?" I asked.
His chest heaved with rage. His eyes burned.
But he didn't move.
I stepped back, letting the blade fall to my side again. "Didn't think so."
He stayed on one knee, hands digging into the rooftop gravel. "You think that proves something? You're just lucky I was holdin' back."
"Funny," I said, turning away, "because you weren't."
"Why?" he snapped suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. "Why're you even here? What the hell do you want from Leo?"
I paused. Didn't look at him.
"...That's between me and him."
"You're playin' him. I know it."
I looked over my shoulder, cold and unmoved. "You don't know anything."
He scowled. His lip was split. One cheek already starting to swell.
"If you ever hurt him..." Raphael growled low in his throat, "...I swear-"
"You'll what?" I cut in, voice sharp but quiet. "Try to fight me again?"
A beat of silence.
Then, coldly: "Go home, Raphael."
He stared at me, seething. His fists trembled at his sides.
But he didn't say anything.
Didn't try again.
He turned sharply and disappeared back the way he came, leaving behind a few fresh drops of blood and the stink of fury.
I stayed still for a long moment, letting the silence return. Letting the weight of the katana settle again in my hand.
Then, I turned back toward the rooftops and walked into the dark.
Leo would come for it eventually.
Time-skip:
Or perhaps not.
It had been a few weeks. A few silent rooftops. A few missions-, some unnecessary. A few boring exchanges with clients who thought flashy words made them powerful. A few dead ends disguised as threats. A few group projects paired with Casey, April, and Irma. A "few" too many glares from April. Like she could smell that something about me didn't belong. As if my silence was too loud, or maybe I simply took up more space than she wanted me to. I didn't flinch under her eyes, didn't react when she muttered to Casey that she "didn't get my deal."
And yet-, not a whisper, not a shadow of him.
Leo still hadn't come back for his katana.
He hadn't reclaimed it the next time he saw me. Because there was no next time.
I still had it. Cleaned, sharpened, untouched by anyone but me.
I kept it standing upright against the wall beside my bed-, no sheath, no display-, just steel and silence. It gleamed beneath the warehouse moonlight like it was waiting. Or maybe I was waiting. I didn't know anymore. I didn't care.
At least, that's what I told myself.
His brothers hadn't come back, either. No drones. No cameras. No shadows flickering across rooftops like cocky ghosts. No faint whispers of Michelangelo's voice echoing where no one was supposed to be. No tremble of suppressed anger that gave away Raphael even when he was hiding.
It was... quieter now.
They were keeping him away. That much I was certain of.
They saw me as a threat. They didn't trust Leo's judgment. Or maybe Leo himself decided that the rooftop game was over.
Fine. Stay gone.
My gang noticed the katana, of course. It was hard not to. I hadn't hidden it. That would've suggested guilt. And I didn't owe anyone an explanation. Even hard-headed Xenon would glance at it sometimes, his eyes narrowing as if calculating something. Venetia had, once, reached out to trace the blade-, but the look I gave her made her hand drop before her fingers even grazed the hilt. She scoffed, as always. Rolled her eyes. "Touchy."
She never tried again.
None of them did.
I wasn't interested in being understood.
I was there to do the job. And I did it better than any of them.
Even with them watching, I kept the katana strapped to my back on patrol (with a sheath I had bought myself). Part of the gang assumed it was a trophy. A warning. Some thought I'd stolen it from the head of a rival gang. Others knew better than to ask.
I had earned my silence.
But some nights, when I returned from a mission and the warehouse was cold, dim, and empty of chatter... I found myself standing at the edge of the rooftop again, watching the city. My fingers would curl loosely around the katana hilt, the same way they had that night. The steel felt heavier lately. Not physically-, but in memory. Like the weight of something unfinished.
Leo hadn't come back.
Why?
Cowardice? Obedience? Or worse-, indifference?
I didn't believe that last one. Not after the way he looked at me that night. Not after the hesitation in his voice when I walked away with it.
"You'll get this back the next time you see me."
I had meant it.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe that was the last time.
Or maybe he was waiting for me.
Tch. Foolish.
I wasn't chasing after anyone. Least of all a human-built turtle with a hero complex.
Still.
The sword stayed close.
Some nights, I unsheathed it and practiced alone. Not flashy. Not for show. Just... fluid movements under moonlight. I mirrored what I remembered from his posture, his grip, the angle of his wrist. He was precise, disciplined. Almost mechanical-, until emotion bled into his movements. I mimicked that too. But my expression never changed.
I trained in silence. Always alone. No one dared interrupt me. The sound of steel slicing air was enough to keep them away.
I remembered the way he'd said my name the last time.
Not as a question. Not as a threat.
Just... my name.
There was something soft about it. Too soft.
I hated soft.
It reminded me of the nights I'd fall asleep with knives under my pillow, waiting for a reason to use them. It reminded me of the one time I thought someone could protect me before I realized people only pretend to care until it gets hard. It reminded me of the space between silence and emotion-, where your breath catches and you don't know why.
I'd given him my name.
I don't give people things.
It had been a mistake.
Even now, I could still remember the way the rooftop smelled-, cold steel and rooftop tar. I remembered the way he looked at me like he wanted to stay longer but knew he shouldn't.
The warehouse had been quiet lately. Too quiet. Missions were executed quickly, efficiently. My gang was at its sharpest-, nobody dared test me, and yet, I could sense the shift. Venetia had become more distant, though she tried not to show it. Xenon had been unusually loyal, tailing me in silence like a shadow even when I didn't order it. And Casey... Casey had stopped asking questions. He just looked.
Like he knew something had shifted but couldn't name it.
Maybe I had shifted.
I was starting to get used to the silence of the rooftops again. But not in the comforting way I used to. Now it was... itchy. Like there was something missing in it. Like the void wasn't clean anymore. He had left an imprint in the air, and now it refused to settle.
It was cold tonight.
I didn't mind. Cold made people quiet. Quiet made the city more honest.
The katana was strapped across my back again-, Leo's. A familiar weight now, second nature. I told myself I carried it because it was sharper than mine. Or because it was already balanced to my hand. Or because I liked the way it felt cutting through air like breath.
But maybe it was something else.
I landed lightly on a rooftop near 9th, shoes grazing the ledge with practiced silence. The warehouse lights were distant now. Just smudges of amber. I hadn't told anyone I was leaving. Not that I needed to. They knew better than to follow me. Especially tonight.
I wasn't expecting anything. I never did.
And yet-
Bang-!
A sharp crash rang out a few rooftops away. The sound of metal hitting brick. Something-, someone-, grunting in frustration.
I stopped. Eyes narrowing.
Another thud. Then a growl of unmistakable irritation.
I crept forward slowly, steps calculated and noiseless. Hopping ledges, crouching low. I moved like smoke, invisible between shadows.
Part of me knew I should've turned back. That this had nothing to do with me.
But curiosity has always been a dangerous thing.
I moved until I had a clean vantage point, crouched behind a rooftop vent.
And then I saw him.
Red bandana. Green skin. Tall. Muscular. Sai clutched tight in his fists. Jaw clenched like he was one breath away from screaming.
Raphael.
He didn't notice me. Too caught in his own storm. He stood near a shattered metal pipe-, clearly the thing he'd thrown a moment ago-, and his muttering was low but loud enough to catch.
"Always with the rules... always thinking he knows better," he grumbled, pacing. "It's not about the katana, it's not even about her-, he doesn't listen. He never listens."
He kicked a loose piece of brick off the ledge.
"'She's not a threat,'" he mimicked Leo's voice in a high, mocking tone. "Yeah? Well, last time someone 'wasn't a threat,' we almost got ambushed. But sure, let's trust the random rooftop ghost girl."
Ghost girl, huh?
I arched an eyebrow but said nothing. I'd been called worse.
Raphael kept muttering. "Can't even track her anymore. Donnie's drones keep glitching-, said she's got jammers or something. And Leo's just like, 'Leave it alone.' Of course he is. He's too busy trying to play knight in shining shell-"
He cut himself off with another growl, this one sharper. Angrier.
I looked at the katana on my back.
I hadn't come out tonight for this. I hadn't even been thinking about him when I left.
But now, watching Raphael seethe under the weight of his own logic, watching him stomp around like Leo's existence was some personal insult-, now, I realized something:
If Leo hadn't come for the katana because of them, then I'd return it myself.
Because I said I would.
And I don't make empty promises.
My eyes followed Raphael as he finally stopped pacing, wiped a hand down his face, and exhaled like he was trying to breathe out a fire that wouldn't go out.
Then he turned.
Started walking.
Fast. Purposeful.
I didn't move at first. Just watched him head for the ledge of the building.
My hand touched the hilt of Leo's katana on my back.
Fine.
If they were going to keep him away, then I'd go to him instead.
I rose from my crouch and slipped after Raphael, silent as shadow, my eyes fixed not on him-, but on wherever he was going.
Wherever they were hiding.
Wherever Leo was.
I wasn't chasing him.
I was returning something.
That's all this was.
Just a sword.
Just a promise.
Just unfinished business.
Time-skip:
The lid creaked shut above him, and I crouched in silence, one hand still curled around the grimy edge of the rooftop, staring down at the circular imprint where Raphael had just vanished.
A manhole.
Seriously?
The sewer?
I exhaled through my nose. Not a sigh, not exactly. Just... acknowledgment.
Of course it would be the sewers.
I stood there, motionless, glaring down at the circular slab of iron like it had personally offended me. I wasn't exactly squeamish, but following someone into a system that routinely funneled the waste of eight million people? That tested even my limits. The stench wafting upward didn't help either. I could still smell the faint trace of the city's grime, even from here.
I waited, counting heartbeats. One. Two. Ten. The steady sound of Raphael's footsteps echoed down the tunnel, getting fainter but not far enough.
I dropped down onto the street, shoes landing soundlessly. A quick glance. No drones. No movement. No tail. If his brothers were still spying, they were doing a damn good job of hiding it. Or maybe... Leo told them to stop, and they actually listened.
Or maybe they didn't care anymore.
Not that it mattered. I approached the manhole with mild reluctance, slid my fingers into the grooves, and pulled. It opened with a low groan. I could still feel the katana strapped to my back as I dropped into the hole, my shoes splashing lightly into damp concrete below.
The tunnel was dark, damp, and unforgiving, the smell curling in my nose like a warning. I moved silently, careful not to splash or scuff, tracking his faint trail through the murky underbelly of the city. There was a rhythm to the way he moved-, intentional, smooth, controlled. His footsteps echoed off concrete walls and curved ceilings, and even with all his stealth, I could still follow.
He didn't know I was here. Not yet.
I kept my presence shadow-thin and just outside his periphery. There were several times where I thought he might've sensed me, where he paused slightly before continuing on. But he never turned around. He just kept going deeper.
Eventually, the sewage tunnel widened. The rough stone gave way to older infrastructure-, tracks, rusted beams, remnants of a time when this place moved people instead of waste. Cracked tiles and shattered signage whispered that this used to be a subway relay station, abandoned and half-eaten by time.
He reached a turnstile-, of all things-, and passed through like it was a front door.
I paused before going in.
I waited behind a support pillar, letting a few seconds stretch long. Then I followed, slipping through the turnstile without a sound. What met my eyes on the other side was nothing short of... surreal.
It was a... home, hidden beneath the filth of the world above.
Still... it didn't stink. Not like I expected. Sure, the outside tunnels had the usual earthy sewer smell, but in here? Nothing overwhelming. Someone was clearly cleaning or at least trying. It didn't feel... gross. Lived-in, yeah. Rough around the edges, yeah. But gross? No.
Honestly, this place was way better than the warehouse my gang and I holed up in. And we had options. Hell, we had money. We could easily renovate one of those empty buildings downtown or even buy out an old nightclub and convert it. But I didn't care. I'd never cared where we stayed.
Still... maybe it was time for an adjustment when I got back. New environment. Better security.
I stepped into a common area-, if that's what you could call it-, was a strange blend of home and dojo. The kind of place that was obviously lived-in, worn by time and effort, but meticulously maintained. The floor was partially tiled, partially carpeted, and partially patched with old mats. Spacious and layered with things that didn't belong underground.
A Space Heroes pinball machine blinked in a corner. Of course.
Nearby, a tabletop hockey arcade machine sat untouched next to an Atomic Robo-X arcade machine. A tire swing hung from above, lazily swaying in the air currents created by an overhead skylight that filtered moonlight into the heart of the lair. Weird, that they had that. Who built this?
Beyond that was a training dummy, dented and patched, probably from years of use. A decorative spiral staircase led nowhere-, pure aesthetic, maybe just junk they'd repurposed. There was a wide moat around the open entrance to a dojo, with an outer ledge circling it like a shrine. A cloth divider half-covered a kitchen entrance.
But in the middle of it all-, a pit-style seating area-, or a pit couch with a television sitting like a centerpiece.
That's where they sat.
Leonardo. Michelangelo. Donatello.
All sprawled lazily across the cushions in the sitting area, mid-conversation or maybe mid-argument. Until Raphael had entered.
And then all eyes shifted.
They noticed him first.
Then... they noticed me.
Michelangelo's brows lifted, his mouth forming an "ooooh" as he elbowed Donatello. Donatello stiffened, his eyes locking on mine with a mixture of alarm and intrigue. Leo didn't react at first. He just looked. Calm. Quiet. Maybe trying to decide if I was real or an illusion.
Raphael kept walking for another few steps before he stopped, chest puffed slightly. He paused, the silence thickening.
Raphael's fists curled. "Why're you lookin' at me like that?"
Then Michelangelo spoke, voice loud and dramatic. "Bro. Seriously? You brought her here?"
Donatello frowned. "Or she followed you."
Leo didn't say anything. Not yet.
"What are you-"
He turned around.
Saw me.
And his whole stance changed. The temperature in the room dropped in an instant.
Raphael's jaw tightened. "You." His voice was sharp, edged with a frustration I'd come to expect. He stepped toward me, fists clenched like he was about to drag me back out the way we came. "You followed me here?!"
I didn't flinch, tilting my head. "You made it easy. It wasn't exactly difficult."
"What the hell?!" he snapped, pointing at me. "Are you serious right now?!"
"Took you long enough to notice," I muttered.
He growled. "You think this is a game?! You got a death wish or something? You can't just-, you don't belong here!"
I gave the room a slow glance. "Looks nicer than my place."
Leo stood up now, stepping forward from the couch, his voice calmer, more composed. "Y/n..."
My gaze shifted to him. His eyes locked with mine, unreadable at first, then softening just a little. It'd been weeks and he hadn't come back for his stupid sword. I'd assumed his brothers were the reason he stayed away. Judging by the quiet glances exchanged between them, I wasn't wrong.
"You really followed Raph... all the way here?"
"You didn't come for your katana," I said simply.
He blinked.
"That's why?"
I gave a half-shrug.
"So... you've been following us?" Donatello asked, sitting forward and narrowing his eyes with interest. "Since when?"
"Just him," I said, nodding toward Raphael. "Tonight."
Raphael was still fuming, pacing near the wall. "Unbelievable. You followed me like some stalker psycho-"
"-You followed me before," I reminded him flatly.
Leo frowned. "Wait... what?"
"She fought him," Michelangelo offered helpfully. "Totally kicked his shell-, again. It was awesome."
"You weren't supposed to tell, Mikey! I was trying to get the katana back," Raph snapped. "Which she stole."
I raised an eyebrow. "I said Leo would get it back the next time he saw me."
"She was holding it hostage," Michelangelo said with a grin. "You could've mailed it or something!"
I leaned back against the closest wall. "You think I know your address? Do you even have one when you live down here?"
Raphael's hands went to his head like he was about to explode.
"I told you she was trouble," he muttered. "You don't listen."
"I'm not here to fight," I said, monotone.
Leo studied me.
He finally spoke again, quiet but clear.
"She's not the one who brought her here."
And even though he wasn't smiling, there was something almost amused behind his tone.
I looked at Leo for a long moment. "You didn't come back."
He blinked. His mouth opened slightly, then closed. Donatello looked over at him with a raised brow. Raphael scoffed, crossing his arms and pacing in a small circle. Michelangelo was smiling like he was watching a soap opera unfold.
"You miss him or somethin'?" Raphael muttered sarcastically.
I ignored him.
"I was starting to think your brothers were the reason," I said, speaking directly to Leo. "Spying. Interfering. Getting involved in things that aren't their business."
"That was Raph and Donnie's idea," Michelangelo said immediately, pointing.
"Thanks, Mikey," Donatello sighed.
Raphael huffed. "She was dangerous. Still is."
"You lost," I said simply.
His nostrils flared.
Leo stepped between us. "Enough."
"I didn't lose," Raph muttered under his breath.
Donatello got up and went to him, patting his shoulder. "Technically, you did-, twice. Also, she has our brother's weapon. Maybe don't make her mad."
Raphael slapped his hand away and grumbled, turning away from me with tension in his shoulders.
"You really just followed him all the way here?" Leo asked again.
I nodded.
"What if we hadn't let you in?"
"You didn't," I said. "He did."
Leo sighed and shook his head, but there was something behind it-, like a hint of amusement he was trying to hide. "You could've just waited for me."
"You could've come back," I replied.
He didn't answer.
Silence stretched for a beat before Donatello cleared his throat. "Look, Leo... maybe just replace the katana? No offense, but this one's already... bonded with it."
"I'm not keeping it," I said immediately. "You'll get it back."
"Well, do you wanna talk?"
I turned my head slightly. Leo's tone was calm-, too calm. Like he was trying not to spook me.
I raised a brow. "Talk?"
He nodded once. "We can go to my room."
I blinked. "Rooms? You have rooms down here, too?" I asked, tone flat but with a hint of surprise I didn't bother to hide. "Didn't expect a sewer lair to have... personal space."
Leo turned and gave a faint chuckle under his breath. "We all do. Master Splinter believed having our own space would help us grow... give us balance."
I scoffed lightly, still scanning. "Balance in the sewer. Makes sense."
A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before turning and heading toward a short, dim hallway off to the side. I hesitated, eyes trailing from the dusty arcade machines and flickering TV to the hallway Leo disappeared down, then followed. Quiet steps, slow and calculating. I hadn't said I agreed-, but I was already moving.
His room was near the end of the corridor, lit by a single lamp that looked like a tiny pagoda. Soft golden light spilled across the concrete walls, catching on copper pipes and the occasional glint of a sword blade.
I stepped inside, arms still crossed. The smell hit me first-, something earthy, warm... incense? Sandalwood, maybe. Not strong, just faint. Comforting in a way I didn't expect.
The room was clean, too clean. Neat folds in the blanket on the low wooden bed platform. Swords lined up on a rack, perfectly ordered like he probably stood there and stared at them every night.
A small cushion rested on the floor by some kind of altar. No clutter. No dust. Just a well-worn book beside it, cracked open like it had been read a hundred times. Across the far wall, pages from magazines were pinned up-, fight diagrams, pressure points, takedown techniques. Laminated. In a sewer. That said something.
Even the light was warm-, soft shadows playing along the ceiling pipes, bouncing gently off the polished stand where his actual katana (I had the other) rested. Not a fingerprint on it. Polished. Maintained.
Leo gestured toward the meditation cushion near a tiny altar. "You can sit, if you want."
I didn't move. Just looked around again. "You didn't come back."
He blinked. "What?"
I turned back to him, narrowing my eyes. "Why didn't you come back for your katana? I didn't take you for the type to abandon your sword."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't want to."
"But?"
There was a pause. Not long. But enough for him to figure out what to say. "My brothers told Sensei."
I raised an eyebrow. "About me?"
He nodded. "That they followed me. They... weren't exactly thrilled with how things went last time." He shifted his weight, expression tightening a little. "They don't trust you. They're protective. Raph especially. He thinks you're-"
"-A threat," I finished flatly. "I know."
"I didn't say he was wrong," Leo admitted carefully, then caught my look. "I said that because I know you can be. Doesn't mean I think you are. Not to me."
I shifted my weight. "So?"
Leo leaned against the doorframe slightly. "So, I got grounded."
"Grounded," I repeated, trying not to snort. "What are you, twelve?"
He looked away for a second, almost like he wasn't sure whether to defend the rule or just let it slide. "He thought I was being reckless. Said I was putting everyone at risk, sneaking out to see someone he didn't know."
"You don't know me."
Leo's eyes met mine. "I want to."
"Do you even want your katana back?" I asked, tone unreadable.
His gaze flicked to the weapon on my back-, his weapon-, then back to my face. "I want to see you again more than I want the sword back."
That made me pause. Not because I didn't expect it-, I did-, but because he meant it.
I stayed quiet. I wasn't sure if I was surprised or just annoyed that he said it like that-, soft, genuine, like he wasn't trying to dig for secrets. He just... meant it.
The silence stretched, thick like fog. I didn't sit. Didn't leave. Just stood there, eyes flicking between the katana rack and the lamp's soft glow.
"Your place is nicer than mine," I muttered.
Leo tilted his head. "Yeah?"
"Mm." I nodded once. "Doesn't smell like stale smoke and blood."
That earned a look, but he didn't ask. Didn't push.
I let the silence linger for a while, my eyes scanning the room again-, not just out of caution this time, but curiosity. The longer I stayed, the more the scent of sandalwood settled into me. It didn't just smell like a bedroom. It smelled like discipline. Like control.
I let my gaze drift to the scroll hanging above the bokken rack, the brushstrokes smooth and confident.
Shinobi no kokoro.
My lips parted slightly. I read it in my head twice before saying it aloud under my breath. "Shinobi no kokoro."
Leo looked up from where he'd been leaning. His eyes met mine, alert. "You can read that?"
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I stepped closer to it, looking up at the inked kanji, trailing the brushstrokes with my eyes. "I haven't seen kanji in a long time."
Leo pushed off the frame and walked slowly, the tension between us shifting from guarded to... inquisitive.
"You speak Japanese?" he asked.
I paused. My mouth pressed into a line. And then-, just for a second-, I let one of the walls down.
"I was raised in Japan," I said quietly. "Until I turned seven."
His brows lifted, not in disbelief, but in realization. "That explains a lot."
I gave a humorless huff. "Does it?"
He tilted his head. "Your stance. The way you held the katana. The words you used when you fought Raph-, he didn't notice, but I did. You weren't improvising. That wasn't just street fighting."
I didn't confirm it. Didn't deny it either.
Instead, I turned away from the scroll and muttered, "Your sensei going to get mad if he finds me down here?"
Leo's gaze dropped briefly before he answered. "...Maybe."
I raised an eyebrow. "Maybe? That sounds like a yes."
"Technically, yeah," he admitted. "But he doesn't have to know. Not right away."
I crossed my arms, shifting my weight again. "And what if he finds out?"
Leo shrugged slightly. "Then I'll take the hit. I'll say I brought you here."
"Shouldn't Raphael take the hit...?" Nonetheless, I looked at him. He really meant that. He wasn't just saying it to sound noble.
"You always talk like this?" I asked.
"Like what?"
I tilted my head. "Like you're a monk trying to win a war with a proverb."
He blinked, and then laughed-, quiet and brief. "Not always."
I eyed him for a second longer before my gaze flicked again to the altar. "You read that?" I asked, nodding at the cracked book spine on the floor.
He followed my eyes. "Bushido: The Soul of Japan. Yeah. More than once."
"You a samurai fanboy or something?"
Leo walked over and knelt beside the altar, gently picking the book up before placing it on the low shelf nearby. "Not a fanboy. Just... trying to live by something."
I didn't say anything to that. Because I got it more than I wanted to admit. The code. The discipline. When everything else in your life is chaos, order can be the only thing that keeps you standing.
I found my feet moving slowly, unconsciously, until I stood just inside the room-, not on the cushion, but closer than I'd been.
I glanced toward the rack beside his bed, then over my shoulder at the sword still strapped to my back. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"About what?"
"About me not being a threat."
"I've been serious from the start."
I looked down at the floor, not sure what to do with that. Not sure what I even came here for in the first place.
He must've sensed it, because his voice softened again. "You're allowed to be curious, you know. You don't have to have a reason."
"I always have a reason," I muttered.
Another beat of silence. Then:
"Then what is it now?"
I didn't answer.
Another pause.
"Do you wanna talk? Like-, really talk?"
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "About what?"
"Whatever's eating at you," he said. "You always look like you're two seconds away from walking off a rooftop. And I'm not trying to psychoanalyze you or anything, I just... I don't know. Thought maybe you'd want someone to listen."
I studied him. His tone wasn't pitying. Wasn't overly warm, either. Just steady. Honest.
"I don't talk much," I replied.
"I've noticed," he said with a small nod. "Doesn't mean you don't want to."
My fingers tapped idly against my arm. "Do you always try to save strays?"
He blinked at that. "I don't think of you as a stray."
I gave him a flat look.
He shrugged. "You're not lost. You're just choosing to stay outside the map."
That silence stretched again, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. Just quiet.
I finally stepped away from the wall and sat-, low, one knee up, arms still folded. Across from him.
Leo didn't say anything. He just watched. Waiting.
"...I don't trust people," I said after a long minute. "I didn't come down here to bond. I came because Raphael followed me, and now I'm in your... ninja sewer clubhouse."
Leo nodded again. "And you stayed."
"I could've left."
"Could've," he echoed. "But you didn't."
I didn't answer.
"...Nice room," I muttered.
Leo smiled faintly. "Thanks."
"You're still weird, though."
He gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I know."
His voice was calm but low. "...But I get why you don't trust people."
I arched a brow, skeptical. "Do you?"
Leo didn't shift, didn't defend himself. Just nodded slowly. "Trust is dangerous. It gives people power they can use against you. Especially if you've been hurt before."
My jaw tightened, instinctively. My gaze dropped to the cushion beneath my leg. The frayed edges. The stillness.
He didn't press. Just waited.
That irritated me more than questions ever could.
"Why are you like this?" I asked, sharper than I meant. "You're not normal."
That earned a real laugh from him-, quiet, caught somewhere between amused and tired. "I'm a mutant turtle who lives in a sewer. I think that ship sailed."
I blinked. "Mutant?"
Leo paused. Looked at me carefully. "You don't know?"
I stared. No sarcasm. No jokes. Just staring. Because what the hell was I supposed to say to that?
He looked away for a second, like he was thinking how to phrase it. Then his eyes came back to mine.
"We were ordinary turtles once," he said quietly. "Then we came into contact with something called mutagen. It... changed us. Physically, mentally. Gave us human-level intelligence. Speech. Strength. Skills." He gestured to himself, not exactly proud, but not ashamed either.
"Is that why you hide down here?" I asked.
Leo looked away briefly, his tone quiet. "Part of it. We're not exactly accepted topside. People don't... take kindly to what they don't understand."
I huffed through my nose. "Yeah. Tell me about it."
Leo continued, voice level. "We still don't know what exactly it is-, mutagen. Some kind of biological catalyst. Maybe alien, maybe not. All we know is that it turns creatures into something else. Some don't survive the transformation. Some... mutate."
"And your sensei?"
"Master Splinter, our sensei-, he was our father before (and after) the mutation. Well-, sort of. We were his pets. He mutated too. Became our teacher. Raised us. Trained us. Gave us names, purpose, a home."
I digested that. Slowly. Like each word came with weight I wasn't prepared to carry.
"So, what-, you're not aliens or science projects?" I asked, trying to cover how off balance I suddenly felt.
"No." He shook his head. "Just accidents. Survivors of one."
I looked away. Not because I didn't believe him-, but because I did. Because the way he said it didn't sound like a rehearsed story. It sounded like truth.
"That's messed up," I said finally.
Leo gave a half-smile. "Yeah. It is."
I leaned back a little, arms still crossed tight. "So... mutant ninja turtles. That's real."
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Not unfortunately," I muttered before I could stop myself. "Just unexpected."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "You wanna meet him?" he asked.
"Who?"
"My sensei," he said simply, then paused, watching me. "You've already met the four of us. He probably already knows you're here."
I quirked a brow. "How?"
Leo gave a small half-smile. "He can... feel things. Energy. Intent. That sort of stuff."
I rolled my eyes. "So, psychic?"
"More like... tuned in."
I didn't answer. Just stood, brushing my fingers against the edge of the cushion, then let them fall.
Leo led the way out of his room, and I followed into the hallway. The lair beyond was quiet-, mostly. I could still hear low voices, the occasional thump from the pit couch. The hallway opened up into the common area again. I caught movement from the pit couch-, his brothers, all pretending not to be watching me. Raphael, arms crossed and scowling as usual. Michelangelo, blinking big and round-eyed, like I was a walking action figure. Donatello just looked thoughtful. Maybe calculating something.
They were definitely watching.
Leo moved ahead without addressing them. I followed.
He didn't say much-, just kept his eyes ahead, his small tail poking out slightly with each step. We passed the living room's faint blue glow from the moat, the sound of water lapping under the ledge. Beyond it stood a set of green folding partitions painted with a dark tree design.
He slid one aside without hesitation. Immediately the air changed.
The room on the other side felt... still. Not empty-, still. My eyes swept over it quickly: a large tree grew from the center of the floor, its trunk winding upward toward a skylight grate, moonlight spilling in through the bars. Four fusuma slid neatly into the walls. A shrine sat along the back, candles flickering beside framed photographs. I caught a glimpse of two daruma dolls, one missing an eye, and a rope of shimenawa (sacred ropes) hanging above the kamidana (miniature shrine). There was an arsenal of weapons along the side wall, arrowheads catching the light.
And in the middle of it all stood... not a turtle.
He was tall-, taller than Leo-, and a brown rat, fur streaked with lighter patches, long white whiskers framing his face. There was a tuft of hair under his chin, like a long beard. He wore a dark red, almost burgundy Japanese-style robe that draped to the floor, long enough to conceal the bandages wrapping his legs (he also has bandages on his arms). His bare feet were quiet against the rug. The way he stood-, straight-backed, weight centered-, told me immediately that the calm in the room wasn't for show.
I must've paused longer than I realized, because Leo tilted his head at me. "...Are you scared of rats?"
I stared at him flatly. "No. I was just expecting another turtle."
His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "Fair enough."
He stepped forward, gesturing toward the rat. "Sensei... this is Y/n."
The rat's dark eyes moved to me, sharp but not hostile. "So. This is the one I have heard of."
"Me?" I asked.
"Yes, from your actions," Splinter replied calmly. "And... from my sons. Your presence has already caused some disturbance here." His tone wasn't accusatory, just... stated as fact.
"That's one way to put it," Leo muttered under his breath.
"That 'disturbance' got Leo grounded," I said, monotone, more as a statement than a jab.
Splinter's whiskers shifted slightly, but his gaze didn't waver.
Leo stepped in before it could hang too long. "She's not what you think, Sensei. She's not working for anyone. She's been through things-, lived in Japan as a kid. She can read the scroll in my room. She has training."
That made Splinter's ears twitch. He turned his head toward me. "You lived in Japan?"
I nodded once. "Until I was seven."
"Where?"
"Tokyo."
He gave a slow nod. "I lived there once. A long time ago. It has changed much."
I didn't respond. He studied me for a moment, his gaze settling-, not judging, but reading, as if he could feel the words I wouldn't say.
"Your energy is clouded," Splinter continued, almost to himself. "But not cruel. You walk with a burden... a heavy one. You have carried it for a long time."
My hands stayed loose at my sides. "And?"
"There is great regret in your steps," he said. "So much so, it has shaped the way you hold yourself. A constant shadow, walking beside you."
Something shifted behind the partitions-, a faint shuffle. My eyes flicked sideways. Definitely movement.
Leo sighed under his breath. "They're spying, aren't they."
"Most likely," Splinter answered, deadpan. Without raising his voice, he turned toward the partition. "Donatello. Michelangelo. Raphael."
A beat of silence. Then-
THUD-, clang-
"Ow, move your shell!"
"Shh, he said our names-, just stay still!"
Splinter closed his eyes for a moment like he was centering his soul. Leo pinched the bridge of his nose. I looked away before they could notice the small curve in my lips.
"I can hear Michelangelo's breathing," Splinter added without missing a beat.
A muffled, "Dude, what?!" came from behind the shoji screen.
Finally, Splinter turned fully toward the shadows. "You may enter, my sons."
Michelangelo stumbled out first, caught mid-whisper. "I told you he'd call us out-, ow! Donnie, you stepped on my-"
"-Would you stop talking?" Donatello hissed as he followed.
Raphael was last, his gaze dragging over me like he was waiting for me to pull something sharp. Again.
"You steal one of Leo's katanas and now you're family, huh?" he said, arms crossed.
"Raph," Leo warned.
Splinter's eyes moved between them, his voice calm but firm. "You will treat our guest with respect. Even if you do not yet understand her place here."
I turned slightly toward Leo. "You get lectures like this often?"
He smiled faintly. "Only when I deserve them."
"You always deserve them," Raphael muttered.
Michelangelo gave me a grin and a thumbs-up. "I think she's cool."
Donatello crossed his arms. "She's carrying Leo's katana. Statistically, that puts her in the 'maybe don't mess with her' category."
Splinter looked back to me, his expression unreadable but his tone steady. "The past is a weight, Y/n. It can anchor you... or it can teach you. The choice is yours. But know this-" his gaze sharpened just slightly, "-whatever you carry, you are not the only one here who knows what it means to lose."
The moment Splinter's gaze shifted away from me, I felt movement at my side. Michelangelo had somehow crossed the space between us without my noticing-, which was saying something.
Before I could react, his arm hooked around my shoulders in a clumsy side-hug like we'd already made plans. "Sooo... now that Sensei basically approves of you, we can totally hang out. Like, all the time. I've always wanted a human friend!"
I stared at him. "Congratulations?"
"No, seriously," he went on, eyes bright. "We can play video games, eat pizza, talk about surface stuff, watch horror movies-, Leo never watches horror movies, he's always watching Space Heroes-, and I can show you my comic collection, oh, and-"
"-Mikey." Leo's voice cut in, half amusement, half warning.
Michelangelo froze mid-ramble. "What?"
"Maybe," Leo said, "you should tell her what happened the last time you decided to make a human friend."
"Last time?" I echoed.
The sudden red creeping into Michelangelo's cheeks was enough to make me almost-, almost-, smirk. "Well! Last time didn't go so hot but-"
Leo ignored him and looked at me. "-A couple of days ago, Mikey tried to prove we could be friends with humans. He used Donnie's computer to find someone on a social networking site. Someone famous."
Michelangelo grinned nervously.
"-A martial artist named Chris Bradford," Leo continued.
Michelangelo's grin faltered. "Hey, in my defense, he's famous!"
Leo gave me a look that said you're going to want the full picture. "He invited him to hang out. Thought he was gonna be, I don't know, his new best friend. Turns out, Bradford was secretly Shredder's top lieutenant."
I blinked. "...The Shredder?" The name came out before I could stop it, the syllables tasting familiar. I knew that name. I knew it from Japan.
But that was years ago. And there was no way it could be the same one. Right?
Leo gave me a questioning look. "You know him?"
"I know of him," I said, voice flat. My mind flashed back to Tokyo; I shook it off. "Probably not the same one."
Raphael gave a short laugh. "Right. 'Probably.'"
"Anyway," Leo went on, refusing to let Raphael's tone stick, "it ended badly. And by 'badly,' I mean Bradford tried to turn Mikey into bait."
Michelangelo groaned. "It wasn't that bad-"
Donatello shot him a look. "-You almost got us all captured."
Michelangelo waved it off and looked back at me, grin already returning. "Yeah, well, you're different. I can tell. This is gonna be awesome-, human besties!"
I stared at him. "You're... very sure of yourself."
"Yep." He didn't even hesitate.
Raph muttered something under his breath that sounded like, "And very dumb."
"Hey! Anyway, it's ancient history-, like, a whole two days ago. And besides-" Michelangelo fully grinned "-now I can have a human friend who isn't trying to kill me!"
I stared at him for a beat. "...You're assuming I wouldn't."
Donatello muttered under his breath, "She probably would."
Leo just sighed, but there was a faint, stubborn edge in his voice when he said, "She's not Chris Bradford, Donnie. And she's not working for Shredder. Give her a chance."
Raphael crossed his arms, unconvinced. "You sure you're not just saying that because she hasn't tried stabbing you yet?"
Leo shot him a warning look before looking back at Michelangelo. "Point is, maybe don't scare her off with whatever that was."
"I'm not scared," I said.
Michelangelo grinned like he'd just won an argument. "See? She's perfect! C'mon, you gotta see the rest of the place."
I blinked at him. "...You're very loud."
Before I could stop him, his arm was back around my shoulders, steering me toward the partition. He was stronger than he looked-, stronger than any human should've been, actually-, but not rough. Just overeager.
"Mikey," Leo's voice trailed close behind us, the sound of his steps shadowing mine. He wasn't stopping his brother, but I could feel him hovering. Watching.
Raphael followed too, arms folded tight across his chest, his stare on me like he was waiting for the moment I slipped up. Donatello lingered a little farther back, but I could tell his mind was working, cataloguing every word, every movement, probably running percentages in his head about whether or not I was a threat.
The dojo's folding partitions slid closed behind us, the glow of the shrine fading as we stepped back into the lair's living space.
"Okay, so," Michelangelo started, voice bubbling with energy, "rule number one of being my human friend-, you have to like pizza. Non-negotiable."
"Well, I don't have a favorite topping, but I like it-, I suppose." I said simply.
He froze mid-step, like I'd confessed a crime. "...Wait. You don't have a favorite?"
"No."
His mouth fell open in mock horror. "Leo. Leo. Did you hear that? She doesn't have a favorite topping."
"I heard," Leo said dryly, still watching me more than Mikey.
Michelangelo gasped, pointing at me dramatically. "Okay, nope, this is a pizza emergency. Donnie, tell her she can't live like this."
Donatello raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure she can. It's not a medical condition, Mikey."
"It's a soul condition!" Michelangelo groaned, turning back to me. "Don't worry, I'll fix this. By the end of the week, you'll have a favorite. Guaranteed."
I gave him a blank look. "...That's ambitious."
"Ambitious is my middle name!" he declared proudly.
Raphael muttered, "Pretty sure it's 'Annoying.'"
"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, bro," Michelangelo shot back, unfazed.
We stepped into the common room. A wide space sprawled out before us, concrete softened by old rugs, the edge of the moat glimmering in the corner. The smell of leftover pizza and popcorn lingered in the air. The pit couch sat facing to the side of their television setup-, wires trailed down to a game console, stacks of DVDs and comic books piled on a side table like no one had ever heard of organization.
Michelangelo rushed forward, dragging me along like I was a lifeline. "Behold-, the best part of the lair: the TV!" He grabbed a remote, waving it around like a weapon. "We got every channel Donnie could hack into. Horror movies, cartoons, wrestling, you name it. Oh! And anime nights. That's non-negotiable too."
"Sounds... loud," I said.
"Exactly!" His grin widened.
Leo leaned against the back of the pit couch, eyes on me instead of the screen. "Don't let him talk you into staying up all night watching horror movies. He'll be the first one hiding under the blanket."
"Not true!" Michelangelo argued instantly, though the flush creeping up his face said otherwise.
Donatello smirked. "Pretty sure we still have the blanket with your shell marks in it."
Michelangelo shot him a glare, then looked back at me, desperate to change the subject. "Okay, okay, forget that. Comics. Do you read comics? Please say yes."
"No," I said plainly.
He clutched his chest like I'd stabbed him. "Leo, she doesn't read comics!"
Leo's voice was calm, but there was a trace of amusement under it. "Not everyone does, Mikey."
"She will after tonight." Michelangelo darted toward the side of the pit couch, fumbling with a stack of colorful books sitting there. "Ninjas, superheroes, mutant space hamsters-, it's all here."
"Space... hamsters," I repeated, staring at the pile.
"Don't knock it till you try it," he said seriously, thrusting a comic into my hands.
I looked down at the cover, flipping it open just to keep his hopeful expression from burning a hole through me.
Raphael's voice cut across the room, sharp. "You realize you don't know anything about her, right? And you're already acting like she's your new best buddy. What happens when she turns out to be trouble?"
"She's not," Leo said firmly, straightening a little.
Raphael shot him a look. "You don't know that."
"I do." Leo's voice left no room for doubt.
My eyes flicked between them, then back down at the comic still in my hands. "You're all very dramatic," I said flatly.
Michelangelo laughed. "See? She gets us!"
Leo sighed, but his eyes didn't leave me.
Raphael's glare didn't, either.
Michelangelo then shoved me down onto the rug in front of the TV. My legs folded under me; the comic book he'd given me resting beside me on the floor like a peace offering I hadn't asked for. He plopped on the pit couch behind me, already bouncing like he'd eaten too much sugar.
Donatello leaned against the armrest, watching everything unfold with his arms crossed, while Raphael settled deeper into the cushions with his comic, muttering something under his breath about "waste of time."
I glanced at the remote in Leo's hand, then tilted my head toward him. "...Do you want to watch Space Heroes?"
That got everyone's attention.
Michelangelo's head popped up over the couch. "Nooo! Not Space Heroes! Anything but that!"
Donatello groaned. "Seriously? You're really going to inflict that show on her already?"
Raphael's voice was flat. "Yeah, 'cause nothing says 'welcome to the lair' like cheesy fake science."
But Leo-, Leo looked like I'd just handed him a gift. The corners of his mouth twitched, and without hesitation, he aimed the remote at the TV and hit play. "Good idea."
Michelangelo flailed his arms. "Nooo, betrayal! Y/n, how could you?!"
I just blinked at him. "Easily."
Leo sat down next to me on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest in the exact same pose Captain Ryan always used during "serious bridge moments." His eyes were locked on the screen, practically glowing with anticipation.
The episode opened with chaos-, alarms blaring, sparks flying across the Dauntless' ship. Captain Ryan swiveled in his chair; face carved into heroic determination.
"Mr. Crankshaw, status report!" he barked.
On screen, Crankshaw was already sweating bullets. "Status?! I'll give you the status-, we're gonna blow up in two seconds-!"
Captain Ryan didn't hesitate. He smacked him across the face.
"Thank you, Captain," Crankshaw said meekly, rubbing his cheek.
Out of the corner of my eye, Leo stood. Slowly. Predictably.
I knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.
Captain Ryan rose from his chair, squaring his shoulders. "Gentlemen, I have a bold and daring plan."
Right beside me, Leo struck the same pose, pointer finger stabbing the air with identical authority.
My head tilted back, and I just... stared at him. Deadpan. Did he seriously forget his brothers and I were sitting right here?
"There's no time for hesitation. My orders must be carried out without question!" Captain Ryan thundered.
Leo's voice overlapped his perfectly, every cadence memorized. His hand dropped to his hip, his chest swelling with pride, like he'd just saved the ship himself.
The silence after was deafening.
Then-, thwack.
A comic book landed squarely against Leo's shell. Raphael lowered his arm, unimpressed. "You know this show is stupid, right?"
"How many times do I have to tell you?!" Leo shot back, bristling. "Space Heroes is a great show. See, even Y/n is watching it." He jabbed a finger toward me like that proved his point.
Raph didn't look up from his next comic. "She doesn't count."
Leo ignored him completely, placing his hand over his chest and closing his eyes like a monk mid-meditation. "Captain Ryan is a great hero. And one day, I am going to be just like him."
I arched a brow. "...You're a liar."
That snapped his eyes open. He blinked at me, confused. "What?"
"You said you used to imitate him." My tone was flat, even. "Maybe you were too embarrassed to tell me the truth."
The tips of his ears darkened. "That's not-, it's not like that. I mean-, sure, maybe I quote him once in a while, but-"
"-Once in a while?" Donatello cut in immediately, pushing his bo staff upright so it balanced against his shoulder. "Leo, you quote him every episode."
"Every scene," Michelangelo added gleefully.
Raphael snorted without looking up. "Every breath."
"Not true!" Leo shot back, defensive heat creeping into his voice. "It's just-, sometimes he has... really good lines, okay?"
Michelangelo clasped his hands together, batting his lashes like a cartoon princess. "'Oh, Captain Ryan, you're so wise. Let me copy every dramatic speech you've ever made.'"
Even Donatello smirked at that, though he didn't look away from his notes.
Leo's jaw tightened. "I don't-, it's not like that!"
I leaned back slightly, staring up at him. "...It's exactly like that."
His flustered silence told me I was right.
Michelangelo collapsed sideways onto the couch, laughing so hard he nearly rolled off. "Dude, she's known us, like, five minutes and she already called you out!"
Donatello shook his head, muttering, "Honestly, I should've started keeping a tally of how many times you quote that guy."
Raphael lowered his comic just enough to smirk. "Don't bother. You'll run outta paper."
Leo groaned, pressing a hand to his face like the universe had betrayed him.
I turned back to the screen, utterly deadpan.
Michelangelo was still laughing, wheezing into the couch cushions like this was the funniest thing he'd ever witnessed. Donatello only smirked faintly, adjusting his notes and pretending he wasn't amused, while Raphael's smirk was sharper, his comic tilted just enough so I could see the glint in his eye.
Leo, though... Leo looked like he was fighting a losing battle against his own dignity. His hand was still pressed against his face, like if he covered it long enough, we'd all forget what had just happened.
I reached down and picked up the comic Mikey had shoved at me earlier, flipping it open again without much thought. "So this happens every time you watch an episode?"
"Every. Time," Raphael said immediately, his voice flat and certain.
"Not every time," Leo argued from behind his hand, his ears still faintly red. "Just... most times."
Michelangelo slapped the couch cushion beside him like that was the punchline of a great joke. "See, he admits it!"
"Yeah, and he'll deny it again tomorrow," Raphael muttered.
Leo groaned, shoulders slumping like the universe was conspiring against him. I didn't say anything else, just turned back to the TV. Somehow, his embarrassment was more entertaining than the actual episode.
By the time the Dauntless limped away from its latest impossible explosion and the end credits rolled, I stretched my legs out from under me and stood. The comic fell shut with a dull thud against the rug.
Michelangelo immediately sat up, panicked. "Wait, wait, where're you going? We're just getting started! There's a three-parter next, and then the Halloween special, and then-"
"-I'm leaving." My tone was flat, matter-of-fact.
His face fell like I'd just canceled Christmas. "Leaving?! But... but pizza night!"
"I don't even have a favorite topping," I reminded him.
Michelangelo looked like I'd stabbed him in the heart all over again.
Donatello straightened from where he'd been leaning, cautious but curious. "It's late. You sure you'll be fine getting back topside on your own?"
"Thought you wanted me out than staying in-, I'll manage," I said simply.
Leo stood too, his hand brushing absently at his plastron like he needed something to do with it. His eyes flicked to me-, then lower, to the sheath across my back.
Only then did I remember the weight I'd been carrying this whole time. His katana. I slid it off smoothly and tossed it underhand toward him without hesitation. He caught it, practiced and clean, but his gaze lingered on me after, unreadable.
"You could stay," he said finally. His voice was even, calm, but I caught the note under it. Just a little too deliberate. "It's still dark out."
My brow lifted slightly. "...And?"
"And it's safer here than out there," he said simply, like it was obvious.
I shook my head. "I'll take my chances."
Michelangelo groaned dramatically, falling back into the couch like I'd betrayed him personally. "But-, but-, you're supposed to hang out! We're not done bonding!"
Raphael snorted. "Pretty sure she's done."
I ignored him, already moving toward the tunnel entrance. My footsteps echoed lightly against the concrete.
Leo followed, not close enough to crowd me, but close enough to shadow my steps. When I reached the turnstile, his voice caught me again.
"...Will you come back?"
I paused, one hand on my hip. I didn't turn around right away, but I could feel his eyes on me. Steady. Hopeful.
Finally, I glanced back at him over my shoulder. "...Maybe."
His expression didn't change much, but I caught it-, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile.
With that, I started leaving, leaving the sound of Michelangelo's whining, Raphael's sarcastic muttering, and Donatello's quiet sigh fading into the tunnels below.
The lair disappeared into shadow behind me.
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