Hana stepped toward the edge—and stopped.
The river lifted before the sound reached her. A low swell under the boards, then the slap of water catching up late. The surface spread too wide, then narrowed, then spread again, like it couldn't decide where it was supposed to be.
"Go around," she said from the platform.
Her voice landed wrong. The water surged—not forward, but sideways—climbing higher along the track-bed instead of pulling back. Mud peeled loose with a delayed suck. A thin wave slapped the boards a heartbeat after it rose.
Not that.
Her breath caught, hitched, then tried to correct. The rhythm didn't line up. In, too fast. Out, too late.
She tried again, sharper. "Not here. Down—"
The river answered the wrong word. It pushed down—into the bank—then rebounded upward, higher than before. Spray hit her shins a second after she flinched.
Her foot shifted.
The plank under her tilted late. Her ankle rolled, then caught. The correction came a fraction too slow, sending a jolt up her calf. Her balance lagged behind her body. For a moment she felt like she was still falling after she'd already stopped.
Behind her, the barrier thudded—impact, then sound. The delay stretched.
Kyo made a sound—short, cut off.
Hana swallowed. Her chest tightened again, breath stuttering against ribs that wouldn't settle into a pattern she could trust.
Not from here.
She stepped down.
The water took her unevenly.
Cold hit her right foot first—sharp, biting—then nothing. Numbness swallowed the toes before the pain caught up, flooding back in a hot, needling rush. Her left foot followed a half-beat later, sinking deeper than the first. The riverbed shifted under her weight—grit sliding, something soft giving way—then firming again too late.
The current didn't grab both legs at once. It pulled her right calf, then her left, offset, twisting her stance. She corrected, too quickly, and the correction overshot. Her knee dipped. The water surged higher around it a moment after she'd already steadied.
Something bumped her shin. Soft. Then harder—wood, maybe—striking where the water had been, not where it was.
Her breath broke again.
Foxfire climbed anyway.
Not smooth. It snagged along her spine, flared too hot in her ribs, then thinned without permission. She dragged it back, forced it down into her legs. Her thighs trembled—small, visible shakes that worsened when she tried to lock them still.
Her tails burst out behind her in a flare of light—too many, too bright—then smeared at the edges. She forced them narrower, thinner, holding the line between fox and girl. The shape hurt. It pulled at her hips, her lower back, like joints set half a notch out of place.
The water thickened around her calves.
Not evenly. One side pressed harder, the other thinned, slipping past her skin like it couldn't decide whether to hold or flow. Pressure built, then released a beat late.
The river rose.
It didn't crest cleanly. It bulged, then sagged, then bulged again, forming a long shape in the current. Eyes—points of light—blinked into place along it, some bright, some dim, some arriving late and snapping into alignment.
Its voice came before its movement.
"We—" Static dragged through it. The body followed a moment later, curving where the sound had already been. "—know you."
Hana flinched. The word landed before the pressure shift hit her legs.
"You're—" The current tightened around her right calf. "—the one who walks—" A pause, stretched too long. "—flowers."
"I'm—" Her teeth clicked together once. She forced her jaw open. "I'm the one who likes the old woman who grows them." Her breath hitched, reset halfway. "And her kids. And the cucumbers that think they're important."
The river leaned.
Not toward her voice. Toward the space just to her left, correcting late.
"You're going to go around," she said.
"Around," it echoed.
The water surged—upward. Wrong direction. It climbed the bank, spilling wider, pushing toward the greenhouse in a broad, uneven sheet.
Hana's stomach dropped.
"No—" She shook her head, too fast. The motion lagged behind her intent. "Not around like—"
"The storm wants through," the kami said. This time the pressure hit her legs before the words reached her ears. "Up. Over. Out." A pause. "Out."
It swelled again. The waterline climbed another inch along her thigh, the cold biting deeper now that the numbness had worn through. Pins and needles burned under her skin, then dulled, then burned again.
Behind her, the barrier took another hit.
This one came cleaner—impact first—but the sound still dragged. The force traveled through the water before she saw it, a shockwave that struck her knees and rippled upward.
Kyo's breath hit her back—ragged, uneven.
The shape in front of her stretched longer, wider.
"We're tired," it said. The word fractured. "Small. Small—"
"I know," Hana said, too fast.
The river surged again.
Too much.
Water spilled past her hips in a sudden push. Her footing slipped—both feet this time—grit sliding out from under her. She staggered, caught herself on nothing, arms jerking out. The correction came late. Her body kept moving after she'd stopped.
Wrong. All wrong.
She forced her eyes shut for half a second.
Not what it's doing. What it remembers.
Her breath came shallow, uneven. She tried to match it to something—rain, current, anything. Missed. Tried again.
Behind the surge, under it—there.
A second rhythm. Not the wide push. A narrower pull. Constricted. Pressed between edges that weren't here anymore.
She opened her eyes.
"Take—" The word broke. She swallowed, tried again. Slower. "Take this."
She opened herself.
Foxfire didn't pour cleanly. It spilled, caught, then surged too hard. A bright stream punched into the water—and immediately spread, blooming outward instead of holding shape.
The river answered.
It swelled—hard. The added heat and pressure drove it higher, wider. The surface lifted toward the platform in a broad, uncontrolled surge.
Hana gasped. The sound came late to her own ears.
Too much. Too loose.
Her hands shook. The foxfire flickered, stuttering in output. Her vision narrowed, edges darkening for a second before snapping back.
Not like that.
She clenched down.
The next push came tighter. She forced the stream thinner, narrower, dragging it into a line that hurt to maintain. It scraped along her nerves as it passed, a burning pull from spine to legs that left her muscles trembling harder.
Steam curled where heat met rain, but it didn't rise evenly. It jittered, forming in bursts, vanishing, reforming.
"Not big," she said, voice shaking. "Not everywhere."
The river hesitated.
The pressure around her legs dropped—then spiked again, but this time along one side. A line. Faint. Incomplete.
"Remember—" She sucked in a breath that hitched halfway. "—remember where you were held."
"Held," the kami echoed. The sound came from her left; the pressure tightened on her right.
"Yes." She swallowed. "Between. Not over."
The foxfire wavered. Her control slipped for a heartbeat; the stream thickened, threatening to bloom again. She dragged it back, teeth gritting, thighs shaking visibly now.
"Use this," she said. "To stay—"
She didn't say the word. It didn't fit.
"—there," she finished.
The river coiled.
Not smoothly. Segments lagged, snapping into place a fraction late. The wide surge faltered. Water that had been spreading outward hesitated, then pulled—unevenly—back toward a narrower path.
A tendril of light climbed her leg.
It touched below her knee first—warm, then hot. The sensation arrived a beat after contact, racing upward under her skin. Pattern followed—faint lines, scale-like, flickering in and out as if they couldn't decide where to sit.
Her leg jerked. She almost pulled back. Forced herself still.
The river tightened.
Not fully. One side still bulged, pushing outward—but the center drew in, pressure focusing along a line that hadn't existed a moment before.
Behind her—
The next impact changed.
Kyo felt it before he saw it. The force hit the barrier off-center, narrower, driving into his left side instead of flattening across the whole curve. His shoulder dropped instinctively to meet it. The load shifted—still heavy, but cleaner. For a split second, his right arm stopped shaking as hard.
Then the next pulse came, and everything rattled again.
The river held the narrower line for one beat. Two.
Then it wavered.
A floating pallet slammed into the barrier. The impact flared white-blue. The sound lagged, then cracked through the air. Kyo staggered, heels slipping. The curve in front of him kinked, one side bowing deeper than the other.
The gantry screamed.
Sumi dropped beside him, boots skidding once before catching. She wedged herself against the beam, shoulder driving into his. The contact compressed—fabric slick, muscle tight under soaked cloth. He felt the tremor in her through the impact.
Her breath came sharp, then steadied by force.
His tail snapped around her forearm—tight, almost rigid, fur plastered by rain and foxfire heat. The coil tightened further when the beam shifted again, a reflex locking under load.
They both froze for half a beat.
"This is an extremely—" Sumi sucked in a breath as the beam groaned. "—forward way to hold hands."
"If I let—" Kyo's voice hitched. He forced it through. "If I let go—" Another impact rattled the barrier. His grip faltered, then caught. "—the beam crushes both of us."
"Romantic," she said, jaw tight. The word clipped short as pressure shifted again under her shoulder. "Say more later."
Another pulse traveled through the structure, out of step with the river.
"Push now."