Chapter 28: The Friction of the World

Leaving the forest is harder than entering it. When I pulled us here, I bypassed the physical distance. Now, we have to walk every inch of it. We trek through the dense undergrowth for hours, moving downhill until the trees begin to thin and the smell of pine is replaced by the smell of exhaust and asphalt.

We emerge onto a lonely mountain road under the cover of darkness. The transition from the natural world to the human world is jarring. The silence of the woods is gone, replaced by the distant hum of a highway and the buzzing of streetlights.

We need transport, Hitane says. She stands by the side of the road, her thumb out.

I look at her, surprised. Hitchhiking? Is that safe?

It is random, she explains. The Cleaners track patterns. They track digital tickets, credit card usage, facial recognition cameras at stations. A random car with a stranger is a variable they cannot predict easily.

Minaki looks nervous. She pulls her dress tighter around her. I can feel the anxiety radiating off her.

I will filter, she whispers to herself. I am a riverbed.

A truck rumbles down the road, its headlights cutting through the night. It slows down and pulls over. The driver is a middle-aged man with a tired face.

Where to? he asks, rolling down the window.

West, Hitane says smoothly. Towards Kyoto.

Hop in. I am going as far as Otsu.

We climb into the back seat. I sit in the middle, acting as a physical barrier between the girls and the world. Minaki sits on my left, pressing her shoulder against mine. Hitane sits on my right, watching the road with the intensity of a hawk.

The truck cabin smells of stale coffee and cigarettes. The radio is playing a low, mournful ballad.

I close my eyes and focus on my anchor. I visualize the chain dropping from my chest, hooking into the frame of the truck. We are here. We are just three travelers. We are invisible.

I try to extend my stability to the others. I try to make us feel small, insignificant, part of the background noise of the universe.

Minaki squeezes my hand. I can feel the tremors in her fingers. The driver's emotions are washing over her. His exhaustion. His worry about his delivery schedule. His missing wife. It is a flood of mundane human sorrow.

Breathe, I whisper to her. Let it flow.

She nods, her eyes squeezed shut. She is fighting a silent battle against the empathy that threatens to drown her.

The journey takes hours. We switch cars twice. First the truck, then a family van driven by a cheerful mother who asks too many questions, and finally a silent, brooding young man in a sports car who drives too fast.

By the time we reach the outskirts of Kyoto, the sun is rising. The city sprawls before us, a grid of gray concrete and flashing lights. To me, it looks like a labyrinth. To Hitane, it is a battlefield. To Minaki, it is a screaming chorus of millions of voices.

We cannot go into the city center, Hitane says as we get out of the car at a rest stop. The surveillance grid is too dense. The Weaver lives on the coast, to the north. We need to skirt the perimeter.

We walk. We walk until my feet blister and my legs burn. We stick to the back roads, the alleys, the paths that run along the drainage canals. We are like rats scurrying in the shadows of giants.

At noon, we stop under a bridge to rest. Minaki collapses onto the concrete, pale and shaking.

It is too loud, she gasps. There are so many of them. So much anger. So much fear.

I kneel beside her. I place my hands on her shoulders. Look at me, Minaki.

She looks up. Her violet eyes are blown wide, swimming with unshed tears.

Focus on me, I say. Just me. I am here. I am solid.

I push my anchor into the ground. I create a bubble of stillness around us. I push the noise of the city back, creating a few feet of silence.

It is better, she whispers. Thank you, Juiro.

Hitane watches us, her expression unreadable. She checks her stolen map.

We are close, she says. Another ten miles.

Ten miles, I repeat. I stand up and offer my hand to Minaki. We can do this.

We have to, Hitane says. She looks at the sky, where a drone buzzes lazily in the distance. They know we are moving. I can feel the timeline shifting. They are closing the net.

We start walking again. I keep my anchor deep, dragging it through the earth like a plow, determined to hold my family steady against the friction of the world.