Caine's Warning at the Cabin

The stake sinks into the earth beside the cabin’s little porch, right as heavy boots crunch through the orchard leaves. Caine Machina steps out of the trees, all sharp grin and colder eyes. Sakura slips back a pace and catches Mercedes’s arm.

Inside the cabin, the map and blueprint sheets lie open under lantern light, suddenly looking fragile. Mercedes shifts between Sakura and the tree line without giving Caine a path forward.

Caine’s gaze flicks to Sakura, then back to Mercedes, like he is measuring both of them for the same blade. He stops just beyond the porch, amused, but not careless.

The words land hard. Sakura goes still. Caine tilts his head, as if daring Mercedes to decide whether to hate him, trust him, or ask him what he knows.

Mercedes lays out her daggers and checks each hilt, then tests the seam of her shortswords. Everything sits true, clean, ready.

A faint tremor runs through the cabin wall. Hidden beneath the packed coat lining, a thin strip of black thread gives a soft, answering pulse.

Mercedes peels the lining back and finds the thread tied around a folded note, sealed with a plain wax press that is already warm from recent handling.

She snaps it open. The message is brief, sharp, and unmistakable, Caine names a meeting point by the old kiln path and warns that the Organization plans to move before dawn.

Outside the small window, Sakura pauses at the porch step, listening to the shift in Mercedes's breathing more than the words themselves.