Tomorrow is Easter and I'm gonna be obligated all day, so I'm posting a day early! Enjoy!

Shirou wasn't more than a quarter of a mile from the grocery store when he realized that he was alone.

"You're keeping an eye out, right?" He asked over his shoulder as he walked. A couple people glanced at him askance, but no one wanted to be the one to ask the crazy, bruised teenager if he was okay. He'd turned his shirt inside out, which didn't exactly hide the brown smears of dried blood and dirt, but it made it all a little less obvious. At least he was clean. The voice he expected to hear, though, didn't respond.

He came to a halt on the busy sidewalk, frowning, as people veered around him like a lone island in a river. Nobody even looked at him as they passed. "Assassin?"

Nothing.

"That isn't great," he said, then kept walking. He was almost there, and besides, what Master would try to start a fight in broad daylight? It wasn't like he was going to be somewhere dark and secluded. It was a grocery store, after all. Nothing bad ever happened in a grocery store.

Inside the supermarket, it was easy to let the normalcy carry him away. Normally, he liked to shop local at a nearby market, where he could find all sorts of fresh ingredients, but he didn't exactly have a lot of cash at the moment. (It was kind of a miracle that his wallet had survived last night in one piece.)

The vibe here wasn't all that different from his usual spot, though. He didn't see anyone cheerily calling out for customers or greeting regulars, but… He saw people of all different shapes and sizes going about their lives, oblivious to the war bubbling just under the surface. Somewhere, lost in one of the aisles, a child cried; in his periphery, a pair of girls a few years younger than him laughed and nudged each other, their arms full of junk food. A young mother led a kid of no more than five or six around him as the boy looked up at him with wide eyes. Ignorant and blissful.

For a moment, he wished he was one of them.

The melancholy feeling passed quickly, though. It wouldn't do these people any good to bury his head in the sand. These were the ones who would suffer if the Grail's destructive power was unleashed. These were the people he was trying to protect, whether they knew it or not.

For now, protecting them meant staying on Tohsaka's good side; he needed an ally like her, and what she needed was a good meal.

That said, he was also a little more stressed than he wanted to admit, and cooking had always been calming for him, even when things got hectic in the kitchen. He was grasping at straws, and he knew it, but it seemed like something that might help.

He started with produce. Greens and mushrooms would go well in a stir-fry? Maybe it'll even be new to Tohsaka, he thought with a smile. Who knows what a person who doesn't even have soy sauce might have actually eaten before? He couldn't take anything for granted.

He hoped she wasn't a picky eater, but there would always be rice, he supposed. No one disliked rice, no matter how narrow your tastes were.

As he went down the list, he kicked plans around in his head. He'd need a soup, obviously, so he should probably figure out what he was in the mood for. A little of this. A little of that.

Rice. Tofu. Eggs. Bread. Essentials. It was nice to lose himself in something so mundane. Checking the carton to make sure none of the eggs were broken. Finding veggies that weren't bruised or overly dirty. His basket was just starting to get heavy when the woman ran into him.

His food went spilling everywhere, because his first reflex was to make sure that the stranger didn't hit the floor. "Sorry! I-I guess I wasn't looking where I was going," he stammered, releasing her elbows and bending down to get all his lost food off the ground. How fast had he been going, to hit that hard? He must really have been lost in thought.

Bubblegum popped somewhere overhead, and the youthful voice that responded sounded amused. "Oh yeah, kid. You were in a whole other world, weren't you?"

He straightened stiffly and found himself face to face with…

He wasn't really sure what he was face-to-face with, actually. A glittering tiara framed perfect, long pink hair, and most of the face was hidden behind wide, dark sunglasses. Her arms were crossed over her chest, accentuating the so-bright-it-almost-hurt white leather of her coat. She was also showing off a lot of leg.

A lot of leg.

He looked away, his face burning, and the woman laughed. "Never seen a pretty girl before, huh?" In his periphery, she brushed a long strand of her hair back, and she tittered. "I suppose women around here are pretty lame, huh?"

"N-no, I-"

Before he could get more than that out, her soft hands were on his arms, and she was steering him out of the center of the aisle. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to not to block the way? Honestly, you're not doing much to impress me." He wondered if he was sweating.

He was definitely sweating.

This was getting surreal in an entirely different way than the last day had been. "I-impress you?"

The woman pouted, and an unwelcome hand closed over Shirou's heart. "You meet the most gorgeous, most talented girl in the whole world, and you're not even interested in impressing her? What kind of a man are you?" She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "And don't tell me you're gay. I'm very good at sensing that kind of thing."

"Sorry, I-" He tried to pull away, but her grip had turned to iron. "I'm not interested in your, uh…" He swallowed. "Services?"

She inclined her head in disbelief, wide eyes judging him over the rim of the shades. "My servi- You don't have a lot of tact, do you? I've killed people for less that that."

Was she joking? She must be joking. She doesn't sound like she's joking. His eyes darted from one end of the aisle to the next, looking for help, but the other shoppers seemed to be avoiding them. He forced a laugh to defuse the tension, and even he could hear how false and probably patronizing it sounded. He tried to tug away again, but she wasn't letting him go. Her grip had turned to iron, her fingers digging deep into the flesh of his arm. If it wasn't for his shirt, he was pretty sure her nails would have broken the skin.

Her glare shifted into a sweet smile, and she leaned in close enough that her breath was warm on his cheek. "Would you like to try again?" she asked sweetly.

Shirou swallowed hard, wide-eyed as a deer in the headlights. "I-I'm not really in the market for…" Her face began to harden, and he backpedalled desperately. "A-a girlfriend! I'm not looking for a girlfriend!"

"Hmm," she hummed smugly. She leaned in closer. She smelled subtly floral and sweet, and her words tickled his ear as she whispered. "Then why is your heart beating so fast?" Delicate fingers caressed his cheek, but she still had one hand holding him tight.

Suddenly, he couldn't move. Even the parts of him that weren't in an iron grip. He was beginning to wonder if he should start yelling for help when an unexpected childish voice cut in. "Wow, guess now I know what kind of things Rider rides, huh?"

"Rider?" Shirou choked, at the same moment that the woman turned with a hiss. A few different emotions hit at the same time, but strangely, what came most to the forefront was relief. He was actually happy to see the person who had sent a monster after them the night before. That really hit home how fucked he'd been a second before, and how fucked he probably still was.

"Back off, little girl. You're not old enough to see this part."

"How old do you think I am?" Illyasviel von Einzbern asked in a singsong voice, one crooked arm propped on her hip. She was dressed in an entirely different purple ensemble that the one Shirou had seen, and there was a long, thin scab on her chin. "Anyway, you're embarrassing yourself. Onii-chan is too dumb for your charms to work."

The woman - Rider - gave him a sideways glance, then let go. Her syrupy expression had gone completely sour. Shirou scrambled backward, rubbing at the quickly forming bruises on his arm. "I'm starting to get that impression."

"Soooo," Illya continued. "Whatever you're going to do isn't a very good plan." She tapped her chin thoughtfully with one small finger. "Guess you must be getting pretty old, huh? And you're still so desperate for a boyfriend that you'd do something like this? That's sad."

"Listen, little girl-"

"Ah," Illya chided, holding up her index finger. "Two things. First, my name is Illyasviel von Einzbern, not 'little girl'. Second, you're obviously under orders not to make a scene, or Onii-chan would just be dead." She spread her arms wide, her smile joyful. "Me and Berserker don't really care about that, though. So if you try anything now, you're gonna get hurt real bad."

Rider tightened her hands into fists. "I don't sense another Servant. He's not here, is he?"

Shirou was busy standing very, very still, in the hopes that if he didn't draw attention to himself, the two of them would forget he was there and leave him alone.

Illya sighed dramatically at Rider, her eyes closed, and an intricate webwork of red lines pulsed over every inch of exposed skin. She cracked one crimson eye and smiled as they faded. "Do you think the heir to the Einzberns would be so weak that she couldn't hide something like that? Presence concealment is only hard for babies." She suddenly pressed her hands to her mouth, as though mortified and apologetic, but there was nothing but snide smugness in her voice. "Oh, I'm sorry, I should be more careful with my words. You must be working with a whole lot less than that. How far have the Makiris fallen, again?"

Rider waved a dismissive hand. "I'm sure that would hurt if I gave two shits about my Master's honor. He's a slimeball."

"Hee, fair enough," Illya chirped, linking her hands behind her back. "Now get out of here. I'm the only one who's allowed to kill him."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not here to fight," the pink-haired Servant said, putting up her hands in a bored gesture of placation. She took a few steps toward Illya, then stopped. "One thing, though."

Illya blinked up at her. "What is it? You've gotta know I'm not going to tell you anything."

"How do you think you'll beat the Assassin with the black armor? He's pretty strong, right?"

Illya's eyes widened almost imperceptibly in recognition. Rider grinned wide and clapped her on the shoulder. "Thanks, doll. I've got what I came for now." As she walked away, bouncing on her heels, she turned to face Shirou, and without looking where she was going blew him a kiss.

Then she was gone.

"Damn it," Illya said as Rider disappeared. "I didn't mean to do that."

"Language," Shirou said in a daze.

Illya gave him the kind of look one might give a particularly stupid cat who had just pulled a glass of water off a table onto itself.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. His arm was beginning to ache, so he set the basket down. He followed it down a moment later, sitting on the floor with his back to a freezer.

Illya considered him for a few moments, then sat down next to him, hugging her knees to her chest. This close, he could also see the tip of a dark bruise peeking out over her collar. "Coming out alone was pretty stupid, Onii-chan."

Shirou let the back of his head clunk gently against the cold glass. "Yeah, I'm starting to think that maybe I didn't think this whole thing through very well."

"Thinking isn't your strong suit, huh?" She giggled, and Shirou was struck by how normal she seemed in that moment. Schoolyard teasing, without any malice behind it.

The desire for mundanity washed over him again, but he was still on edge; he'd been accosted by a Servant, and he hadn't even realized what was happening until he'd been rescued. Maybe he was having a hard time adjusting to this whole Grail War thing. "What are you doing here, Illya?" he asked softly.

She sighed, looking vaguely disappointed. "I wanted to meet you." There was a wistful look on her face that Shirou just didn't understand.

"We already met," he reminded her. "You tried to kill me."

The girl looked genuinely confused. "Of course I did," she said. "We're enemies. That's what we're supposed to do. How many times did you hit your head, Onii-chan?"

Shirou blinked at her. "Then why are we talking right now? Why save me? If Rider was about to try to get me alone to do something to me, she'd just be taking down the competition, right?" It seemed like the kind of logic that people used in this war; besides, he was still shaken from Berserker's mad rush the night before.

Illya's shrug looked especially childish. "Like I told her, I'm the only one that gets to kill you." She looked down at the floor, tracing idle circles with her finger. "And… I wanted to understand."

"Understand what?"

"You…" She seemed unsure how to put whatever she was thinking into words. "Last night. You had Assassin with you that whole time, even though I thought he was gone. I couldn't sense him at all. While Archer was fighting Berserker, he was distracted, and he was doing a good job with that. You could have had Assassin kill me, and you didn't. It would have been easy." She looked up at him, and her eyes were wide and guileless. "Why didn't you?"

Well, he can't show up without hurting me, and I didn't have a lot of time to think. But no, those weren't the reasons Illya was still alive. Not really. The lights hummed high overhead, and people were returning to the aisle. Mostly, they ignored the two of them, but every now and then they'd get a dirty look; a pair of kids taking up space where they shouldn't be. Shirou smiled apologetically at one such passerby. "I don't want anyone to die," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to get involved in this, but I am involved. I'm not running from that. But that doesn't mean I have to give up everything I believe in. I don't want to kill people. Especially not in such an… underhanded way."

Illya was frowning. "That's silly," she said simply.

Shirou laughed wryly. "I've been getting that a lot lately." You and Tohsaka and Archer. Even Assassin's thinking it.

Where the hell was Assassin?

She scratched at a bit of dirt on the floor as she spoke. She seemed fascinated by it. "You'll never win if you won't get your hands dirty. If you won't, someone else always will." She glanced back at him, and she smiled. There was no animosity in it, and it was almost like they were discussing fun, meaningless things, rather than why they hadn't murdered each other in cold blood. "I think I get it now. You're just an idiot."

That hurt a lot more than it should have. "Hey, no," he protested, shaking his head. "Listen. I just…" He fumbled for the words. "Other people are important."

She gave him a blank look.

"Everybody is a person," he said, with a little more conviction.

Illya blinked slowly, not comprehending. "Yeah, so? Sometimes you've gotta kill to do what needs doing."

How did you explain to someone that they should care about other people? That the people you passed in the street had their own lives? Their own struggles and joys and sorrows that were unique? You're just as much a human being as anyone else in the world, he thought, but that didn't feel right to say. Somehow, he didn't think that would mean much to Illya. "Never mind. Maybe it is stupid." He blew out a tired sigh. "Maybe none of it matters."

"Everyone dies eventually," Illya said. "Why does it matter when they go?"

"Because it's all the stuff in the middle that matters, and we shouldn't be cutting that short!" Frustration bubbled in his chest; it was all so clear to him, but when it came to putting it into words, he always came up short. "If someone dies young, and they never had a chance to smile… isn't that sad? Doesn't everyone deserve a chance to have their own life?"

Illya looked completely lost. "You're weird, Onii-chan."

Shirou rubbed his eyes. The exhaustion was setting back in, but he had a long way to go before he could sleep. An idea occurred to him. "Do you care about Berserker?"

"Berserker's my best friend!" she chirped proudly.

That was a little weird, but he wasn't one to judge. He closed his eyes, enjoying the cool on his back. Maybe I'm overdoing it. "Everyone in the world is someone's Berserker, Illya," he said quietly, then took a stab in the dark. "Wouldn't he be sad if you died?"

For a while, there was only the chatter of indistinct voices and the rattle of shopping carts. They sat there like that for a while; he didn't open his eyes, and she didn't speak, but he could feel her presence beside him the whole time.

It was… nice. It was a pleasant silence, while it lasted.

In the end, there was a rustling noise, and he opened his eyes. Illya was back on her feet, and she was brushing dust off of herself. There was a pensive, faraway look in her eyes. "It's getting late. I need to go home. Berserker's waiting, and he's probably worried sick."

Shirou tried to imagine the great beast pacing and fretting, and his mind simply refused to conjure the picture. "You were bluffing?"

She nodded, and gave him a sad smile. "He doesn't like busy places, and it's hard for him to dematerialize. I hope he's not too lonely, all by himself."

"You live alone?" The moment he said it, it felt obvious, like saying the sky was blue, or that gravity was a thing that existed.

Illya shrugged, tapping the tip of her shoe on the ground. "Yeah."

There was something upsetting about that notion. "Don't you get lonely?"

She laughed, and gave a little twirl. "Not at all! I can do whatever I want, and there's nobody to stop me." If she was hiding angst about it, she was doing an amazing job. She bent over, putting her face level with his. "I had a nice time, Onii-chan, so here."

Two tiny, warm hands rested on his cheeks, and she closed her eyes. Before Shirou could do much more than blink in surprise, a pleasantly cool feeling coursed through him. The closest analogy he could come up with was the way cold water felt in your throat after a long day of work in the summer sun, but… everywhere. She whispered a word he didn't know, and all at once, the pain receded a little.

She stepped back, then opened her eyes once more. She was smiling softly.

"What was that?" Shirou asked, raising a hand to touch his cheek. The bruises still hurt, but they weren't nearly as tender. He could see out of his swollen eye again, too.

She shrugged, looking away, as if embarrassed. "You just looked so sad and pathetic, I felt like I had to do something. It's just a little healing spell that my…. that someone taught me a long time ago." There was a touch of red in her cheeks that Shirou didn't think had been there before.

He beamed at her, and this smile hurt a little less than all the ones that came before it today had. "Thank you, Illya."

She blushed more furiously, her brows knitting together in frustration or anger. In the end, though, what she said was, "I should go. Thanks for talking. I think I might be sad when you die."

He blinked, taken aback by the innocent brutality in that statement."How are you getting home?" he asked instead.

She seemed as confused by the sudden change in topic as he did. "I'm gonna walk?"

"Hold on," he said, then dug into his pocket for his wallet. He flipped through it, thinking, and in the end pressed a few bills into her dainty little hands. "Here. Get a cab, okay? Do you know how to do that?" Hopefully it was enough; he didn't know how far she had to go.

Illya nodded slowly, looking at the money as though she wasn't sure if it wasn't secretly cursed. "You're weird, onii-chan," she said again, but she kept the money as she walked off.

She was almost out of sight when he leapt to his feet and ran to her. "Illya!"

"Huh?" She turned back to him, confused.

"I don't like the thought of you all alone at a time like this." He grabbed one of her hands in both of his, and his mouth was moving faster than his brain. "Come back with me. I'm making a big dinner tonight, and I can make enough for you, too."

Her face was unreadable, her body still as a statue. Was she annoyed? Angry? Sad? He couldn't tell. Finally, she slowly pulled her hand away, a sad smile on her lips. "Goodbye, Onii-chan. I'll see you soon."

Then she was gone, too, and Shirou was alone again, a dull ache that he couldn't identify throbbing in his chest.

Churches are supposed to be welcoming, aren't they?

It was beautiful; an intricate structure of stone and wood and glass, reaching aspirationally for the heavens. Carvings dotted the exterior, and even the great iron gate, open before her for visitors, was gorgeously wrought. No, there could be nothing sinister about such a place, and that meant that the cold, slippery aura of distrust she felt pouring off of the holy place was because of her. Because of the kind of person she was. It wasn't that the church wasn't welcoming; it was that she wasn't welcome.

There was comfort in understanding her own nature so well.

Stepping through the gates, she shivered, goosebumps tickling the back of her neck. She was being watched. Not just by one pair of eyes, either. A thousand eyes watching and weighing and judging. She already knew what their judgement would be, so why didn't they just hurry up and get it over with? Just smite her and be done. A petulant, whiny thought. Not worth any more than all the other times she'd idly wished for oblivion. Still, nothing reached down from on high to stop her from pushing the heavy wooden doors open and entering.

The main room (hall? She'd never been in a church before) was empty and solemn. Rows of old, polished wooden benches lined a central aisle of luxurious red carpet, framing a stone altar at the rear. That's where the Father would give his sermons, she imagined, preaching the word of God to whatever patchwork Christian congregation he'd scraped together here in Fuyuki. She'd never met him before; all she knew was that he was some kind of… overseer for the War. Grandfather didn't like him very much, from the way he talked about him, but Grandfather didn't like many people, so that didn't help much. The priest was the one who was supposed to keep it all aboveboard, and out of sight of regular people.

Normal people. The kind of person she wished she was, but not the kind of person she deserved to be. Churches were meant to be houses of healing, but even with magic, some injuries were terminal. Stains didn't always come out in the wash. There was no redemption for her here.

If the good Father wasn't here, though, that left her unsure what to do. Going to Rider had been a mistake, that was clear now; if Senpai was a Master, she'd only be looking for ways to hurt him. Sakura could threaten Nii-san (in extraordinary circumstances like these, perhaps, but still), but not her. If Sakura wanted to help Senpai, she had to do so herself, though the fear might swallow her up and leave her an empty husk. The Father might know where Senpai is, and she might be able to find him herself. To warn him, or to help him, or… she didn't know what. It was hard to imagine what she'd do when she found him. She just knew that she had to.

With a gentle sigh, she sat down on one of the pews, folded her hands over her lap, and resolved to wait. Seconds ticked by, becoming minutes, until-

Her dreams are never gentle. Her sleep is never peaceful. Her rest is never restful.

She stands in the dark.

The dark presses against her and suffocates her and becomes her.

A flash of blinding light. She cannot see.

She cannot see, but she is covered in blood.

She knows this because she can smell that distinctive metallic sting, and she can feel a thick blanket of it drenching her from head to toe where she stands.

She cannot move.

She shouldn't move.

She cannot move.

She will not move.

She cannot move.

Another flash of light, and this one doesn't blind her, but in that moment she sees writhing horrors in the dark, grasping arms and bloody hands reaching for her, and she is in darkness again but the world flashes again and the shadows are closer they are coming for her and she tries to scream but all she can manage is a pained whistle before-

flash

and there is blood in her mouth that is not hers and her hands are around his neck. He chokes and scratches, but she is too strong. No one is as strong as her.

She's had this dream before.

She isn't sure what's worse when she has this dream; the confusion on his face, or how she feels absolutely nothing until she awakens. The guilt always comes, but in those first few moments, when it still feels so real, there is void.

flash

She is wreathed in black flame, and the boiling void pours from her heart.

flashflash

Once more she cannot move because she is bound. Upside down, suspended by her ankles, naked, wrapped in chains upon chains upon roaring flame and blackening skin. The iron bites deep into her skin. Exquisite pain that should mark the end of everything she is, but it does not upset her; it feels right. It feels like the end she deserves. It feels like-

A hand, firm and cold, cuts through the flame, dragging her away from her deserving end, back to the mortal world of real pain and sorrow and loss and she

screamed and leapt to her feet, adrenaline flooding her body like cruel acid.

"Are you alright, child?" A deep voice said calmly from behind her, as the hand withdrew from her shoulder, and she forcibly reminded herself that there was not laughter bubbling in that voice, that she was only being cruel and paranoid and imagining the worst in someone she didn't even know. Fighting to get her gasps under control, she turned, slowly. The man who stood there must have been the priest himself; who else would dress in robes like that?

She gave him a deep bow, shame rising like bile in her throat. "Y-yes, Father. I'm sorry, I only meant to wait for you to arrive. I didn't mean to… fall asleep..."

The tall priest blinked slowly, then smiled warmly. "Interesting."

"I-interesting…?" Her voice still shook. Stupid.

"I am merely unaccustomed to being shown respect by one such as you, Sakura Matou." His voice was slow and smooth, but it was unmistakable— there was a kind of laughter in the words. "My name is Father Kotomine. What brings you to me?"

How does he know who I am? Was he watching her? New paranoia mingled with the bitter taste of shame and she wanted to vomit. You're being stupid, Sakura. You are a Master, whether you like it or not, or you were. It's his job to know you. "What do you mean… one such as me?" Her nerves buzzed, as her stomach roiled and burned.

His eyes were so cold, two points of black ice set into an expression of comfort and understanding. "A sinner, of course." It wasn't an accusation, but the words were like cruel fishhooks tearing through her skin, a fishing line wrapping around her throat tight enough to draw blood.. He can see me. He knows, he knows, he knows, he-

Hands pressed to her chest, her fingernails dug deeply into her palm. Pain buzzed welcomingly, clearing her head enough to speak. "I… I need your help, Father."

With a magnanimous spread of his hands, he inclined his head for her to continue. "If it is within my power as supervisor. All are welcome within my flock, no matter how fallen, you see."

The fishhooks lodged within her each yanked a different direction, the garrote tightened, but she would not be torn apart. Not yet. She could fall apart later. "Shirou Emiya," she whispered, and saying the name aloud felt like blasphemy. "I need to find him. I..." Steel entered her voice. "I think he's in danger."

The smile didn't leave the priest's face as he crossed his arms. "What you ask of me is no small favor, Sakura Matou. I am sworn not to involve myself in the affairs of the Holy Grail War, after all." He was laughing at her. He wasn't laughing but he was laughing at her.

Something hot and wet ran down her wrist. Her knuckles ached. "I'd give anything. Please. Is he safe?"

The Father seemed to consider this for a long moment, and the tension built and built and built until she was sure she'd die before he spoke. "I cannot tell you where Shirou Emiya is, but I will tell you where I was when you came to my door." He lifted one hand, palm up. There was fine dust on his skin. "Part of my duties involve making sure that no trace is left that might draw innocent people into the conflict. Last night, there was a battle that left…" He was still smiling. "...Quite a trace. I am not a powerful magus, but it took nearly all the spare magical energy I had to clean up the rubble. It's truly a miracle more people were not hurt."

Sakura gasped. "Are you saying… Senpai was part of that battle?"

Father Kotomine tilted his head gravely. "I will not engage in speculation, Sakura Matou."

Her hands were shaking again. She was so weak. She would have to conclude that she was too weak to protect Senpai if she couldn't even handle this conversation. "Then why tell me that at all?" she asked quietly.

"Because I will share one more piece of information with you." He did not continue. She felt like a starving dog having a piece of raw meat dangled just out of her reach, and hopelessness like desperate hunger chewed her gut until she was sure she must be nothing but bloody, undifferentiated meat on the inside.

Bloody meat and the thing that fed there and her vision wavered and static filled her head and she would not give in to weakness right now.

"Tell me," she said, and her voice was as small as she felt.

"My sources did catch a glimpse of young Shirou Emiya last night, in the company of another Master." His expression was sad, but Sakura was beginning to realize that the priest's face was not his face, but a mask. A mold of skin stretched over something… inhuman.

Something like me.

"Was he…" She swallowed. "Was he okay?"

"My information is old, Sakura Matou, and I will not speculate. However, in the early hours of this morning, Shirou Emiya was, and you understand that I cannot be specific, of course, being moved without consent to a location that was not his home, by a Master that… Well. I cannot name names, but it was a Master that you share a special bond with."

There were only two other Masters she knew of, and she'd already ruled Shinji out. Her blood ran cold, and her vision became a tunnel. Rage pulsed at the edges of her vision. If it wasn't Shinji, then it must be… She was almost out the door before she even realized that her legs were moving.

"Sakura Matou," the Father said, raising one large hand. She paused, one foot out the door. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, as if saying the words were causing him intense pain. You're enjoying this. You're enjoying stringing me along, she thought, but she had no spare emotional room for anger. "You may also be interested to know that Shirou Emiya was unconscious and covered in his own blood as she carried him away."

Sakura Matou already knew she was a bad person, but in that moment, she was not flesh and bone but murderous intent made manifest in human skin, and that scared her more than anything else she could imagine.

Next Chapter: Homecoming

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