The air inside the Sumiya Jaya felt thick enough to chew.
Even with the shoji screens slid wide to invite the night, the humidity from the recent hurricane clung to the room like a wet wool blanket.
I sat on the edge of the high-quality futon, my bare toes digging into the weave of the soft tatami mats, feeling the slight prickle of the straw against my skin.
The room sprawled, tripling the floor space of my apartment in Konoha.
Fragrant cedar wood scented the air—a clean, sharp smell that fought against the heavy dampness—and the delicate alcoves displayed artwork with brushwork so fine it made my chest ache.
I felt like a smudge of grease on a silk sheet, occupying a space this quiet and this clean.
I kicked my feet restlessly.
I had shed my gear for a light pink tank top and my favorite black fuzzy pajama pants—the ones with the repeating pattern of chibi slugs, snakes, and toads.
The manicured gardens outside were a smear of dark greens and deep violets in the dim night.
My black socks felt hot and restrictive, but the thought of moving to pull them off felt like a mountain I lacked the energy to climb.
CRASH.
The floorboards beneath my feet hummed with a sudden, violent percussion.
A series of rhythmic bangs and the unmistakable sound of heavy wooden furniture splintering erupted from the room next door.
The smell of broken cedar and a rush of humid, salt-tinged airflow hit the hallway as I lunged for the door.
My heart hammered against my ribs, the sudden surge of adrenaline making my vision spark.
My brain stuttered, the sensory input of sleep-clothes and soft mats refusing to align with the metallic tang of an intrusion.
I slid his door open with a sharp clack.
"Naruto, it's three in the—"
The words died in my throat.
Naruto occupied the center of the room, looking scrawny and ridiculous in his ash-gray pajamas.
His floppy forest-green nightcap had slipped, the manic toad face on the fabric staring at me while the white pom-pom dangled over his left shoulder.
He swung his fists at the empty air, his movements frantic and uncoordinated because the brim of the cap had fallen over his eyes, blinding him.
At the window, two men engaged in a desperate, clumsy struggle.
One (Bunzō) had long black hair tied in a high ponytail and a light-purple cloak; the other (Senta) sported spiky brown hair and a greenish gauze wrapped around his head.
They were wedged into the window frame together, shoulders colliding, fighting the wood and each other as they tried to exit at the same time.
I recognized that sour lemon chakra instantly.
The thieves from the morning.
Then a blue spark caught the dim moonlight.
The one with the ponytail, held a glinting crystal in his fist.
The First Hokage's Necklace.
In the shadows, the absence of that crystal on Naruto's chest felt like a physical amputation. Naruto's breathing hitched, a jagged, shallow rhythm that suggested he was suddenly starved for oxygen.
He stumbled toward the window, his balance flickering as if the very air around him had thinned.
Without that ancient, dense anchor, his chakra began to leak from his skin in hot, jagged bursts.
The erratic heat coming off him prickled my skin like needles, the pressure making my own coils hum with a sympathetic, painful vibration.
My fingers moved before my thoughts finished.
I snapped my hands into a seal.
The sudden friction of the gesture burned my knuckles, and a surge of heat pooled in my palms, making the skin feel tight.
"Water Style—" I started, breathing in.
My cheeks puffed and Senta's eyes went wide.
He saw the intent in my posture, the way my chakra bloated the veins in my face.
With a synchronized, terrified heave, the two thieves popped through the window frame.
Senta's cloak snagged on a splintered cedar latch, jerking his head back with a sharp crack, but he tore free as my Water Style: Spit Take shot past, grazing the wood and sending a spray of mist into the night air.
"THEY GOT IT!" Naruto roared. He ripped the toad cap from his face, his eyes dilated with a raw, primal panic I'd never seen before. "Sylvie, they got the old lady's necklace!"
He didn't wait for a plan.
He vaulted the sill.
I followed, my black socks finding zero traction on the polished floorboards, sending me into a controlled slide until I hit the air.
The landing was a jarring shock that traveled from my heels straight up into my shins, the damp earth of the garden absorbing the impact with a wet thud.
The temperature contrast of the dew-soaked grass hit my feet through my socks, cold and biting.
My knees wobbled, the impact-shock momentarily locking my hip joints.
I looked at Naruto's retreating back, then at my own trembling hands. I can't do this in pajamas.
I suppressed the thought, forcing my legs to cycle into a run despite the lack of balance.
Only as I cleared the garden gate did I find the bandwidth to anchor my heart rate, the adrenaline-burn finally settling into a cold, focused dread.
We sprinted into the darkness of Degarashi Port.
The humidity turned the air into a thick sludge in my lungs, the salt-burn making every inhale feel like drawing in sandpaper.
I trailed behind him, watching the way his gray pajama shirt billowed.
He leant too far forward, his gait listing to the right.
He tried to wrench himself back toward the center, but the overcorrection sent his center of gravity swinging wildly; he staggered sideways for three steps before his bare feet found a desperate grip on the salt-crust.
"Syl...vie..." Naruto choked out, his speech fractured. "Can't... let... go..."
He tried to plant his left heel to snap himself back into a straight line—a deliberate, forceful correction—but the lack of the anchor made him misjudge his own momentum.
His leg locked too early, sending him into a stumbling, forward lurch that nearly pitched him into the dirt.
His chakra leakage intensified, the violet smears of his energy blurring my vision and creating a dragging sensation against the air.
The field hummed with a low-frequency drone that muffled the sound of his footsteps, making the distance between us shimmer and stretch like a heat mirage.
He stumbled over a loose stone, his shoulder dipping further than before, his recovery sluggish and costly.
I felt my own coordination beginning to fray.
My breath desynced from my footfalls, a sharp stitch blooming in my side that made my posture crumble into a jagged, forward-leaning mess.
My vision swum as the lack of sleep began to thrum a dull pain in my head that made the distant lanterns of the port bleed into the purple haze of Naruto's malfunctioning chakra.
Six hundred meters to the district border, I calculated, the thought surfacing through the static of my burning lungs. If he falls again, I won't have the leverage to stop him.
The sour, yellow trail of the thieves ahead caught in the back of my throat.
It triggered a dry, violent gag that constricted my windpipe, forcing a taste of bile onto my tongue as I struggled to keep my leaden legs moving.