HOLLOW – CHAPTER 23
— GOJO'S POV —
The room had emptied twenty minutes ago.
He was still standing.
The cursed wax had gone out, burned to the bone. The only light left came from a paper lantern in the corner — dim, flickering, and old enough to remember when these meetings were called for war, not containment.
Gojo flexed his fingers once, slow.
They'd stopped shaking an hour ago.
They hadn't shaken because of fear.
They'd shaken because for the first time in a long time, the room hadn't looked at him like he was the most dangerous thing inside it.
And that meant someone else was.
He didn't like how that felt.
He didn't hate it, either.
He walked slowly toward the scroll still lying on the table. The one they hadn't bothered to retrieve. The one that still smelled like talisman ink and reluctant truth.
XAVIER — STATUS: ESCALATED
Gojo stared at it.
Then laughed. Just once.
Quiet. Sharp.
"Of course they escalated him," he muttered.
He traced the edge of the scroll with one finger.
The ink was still fresh.
"Escalated," he murmured again. "That's what they always say when they don't understand something."
He leaned on the table with both hands.
"They said it about me, too."
The room didn't answer.
It never did.
Gojo tilted his head, blindfold catching a sliver of that paper lantern glow.
He didn't regret standing up for Xavier.
He regretted that he had to.
They'd never planned to protect him. Only to use him until he either broke or made someone else break.
Same as Yuji.
Same as him.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, then stood upright again.
"They're going to come for him," he said quietly.
Not a question.
Not a theory.
A certainty.
And when they did… they wouldn't come openly.
They'd send knives that smiled.
He reached into his coat.
Not for a phone.
For something older.
A charm case — disguised as a cigarette tin. He hadn't carried cigarettes in years.
He flipped it open. Four talismans, each coded to bypass surveillance threads.
He chose the one with a spiral burn mark through the middle.
"Let's see if you're still listening," he muttered.
He pressed two fingers to the ink, whispered a single word, and let the cursed energy carry it.
The paper pulsed once.
Twice.
Then went still.
The connection had been made.
She answered five seconds later.
Not with a voice.
With a laugh.
"You only call me when someone's in danger. Or when you're about to piss off a room full of old men."
Gojo smiled.
"Can't it be both?"
"It always is with you."
He exhaled. Serious now.
"I need you to find someone."
"You need a hit or a favor?"
"A favor. Big one."
A pause.
Then: "…Who is he?"
Gojo looked down at the scroll again.
"Someone the system's going to try to kill."
— XAVIER'S POV —
He hadn't slept.
Not out of fear. Not anymore.
Out of motion.
His body didn't want stillness the way it used to. Rest felt like forgetting — and he couldn't afford to forget anything right now.
The bunker was colder than he thought it would be.
Old stone. Rusted vents. Power routed through scavenged jujutsu tech that Keiki had wired together from three different sites.
It didn't hum like the city.
It breathed.
He sat on the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by maps, open ration packs, and a cup of tea that had gone cold hours ago.
Keiki was out scouting one of the old exits.
She'd left without a word.
He didn't need one.
She trusted him to hold the space.
He was still trying to believe he deserved to.
He set the cup aside.
Let his hands rest palms-down against the floor.
It was rough stone. Uneven. Cold.
He closed his eyes.
And breathed.
Not the way they taught in combat training. Not the way you learn to brace before recoil or impact.
Just… slow.
Present.
Whatever lived inside him — the thing that had erased spirits, bloomed flowers, terrified trained sorcerers — it didn't surge forward.
It listened.
And then it moved.
A gentle shift in his chest.
Not power.
Permission.
His hands warmed.
Not burned — just warmed. Like something recognizing its shape for the first time.
He opened his eyes.
There was no glow.
No burst.
But beneath his fingertips, the floor was clean. Dust-free. Smoothed.
Purified.
It had listened.
And done what he asked.
He sat back on his heels.
Stared at the cleared patch of stone.
And for the first time in a long time…
He felt something close to peace.