Ambusher

The light in the corridor seemed to have its throat squeezed shut, barely clinging to life. There was only one dim yellow lamp every three steps, and thick dust coated the shades, filtering the light into a murky haze. Footsteps on the rough stone slabs sounded impossibly loud, echoing through the deathly silent passage like a countdown.

Boruto walked at the front. Sarada followed, escorting Yamada. No one spoke; only their breathing and footsteps mingled.

Boruto felt as though something was missing inside him.

It wasn't the kind of emptiness that made him lose his balance. It was more like a tooth that had just been pulled. His tongue kept unconsciously probing the gap, trying to confirm something, to touch something, but in the end, all it found was a void filled with wind. This was already the twelfth time—he unconsciously called out to "Shiki" in his mind, wanting to confirm some tactical data, wanting to hear that calm, "Your assessment is correct."

The only answer was deathly silence.

He forcibly suppressed the urge to turn back. His pace never faltered—in fact, he walked even faster.

"There's movement ahead." Sarada's voice suddenly rang out, low and sharp, like a blade slicing through silk.

Boruto had sensed it long ago. The Sharingan gave her better perception, but he had the advantage of instinct—it wasn't the natural flow of air. Someone was deliberately slowing their breathing, shrinking their presence to a minimum.

More than one.

"How many?" Boruto asked, his voice steady.

"Five, possibly six. One lying in wait on each side of the exit, and three in blind spots above. There's one more..." Sarada paused, her gaze piercing through the wall. "Hiding very well, in the rocky shadows ten meters behind your father."

Boruto glanced back at Yamada. The former researcher's