Captor

The masked man appeared in Amarah's kitchen as she was struggling one-handed to make breakfast, nearly causing her to drop the carton of eggs she'd been attempting to open.

"Your supplies are inadequate," he stated, watching her fumble with the carton. His voice carried its usual cold authority, but something about his posture seemed... tense. Distracted. "Take the girl and get what you need. You have two hours."

Amarah set the eggs down carefully, trying to hide how her hands shook. "Two hours isn't enough time to—"

"Two hours," he repeated, cutting her off. "The girl comes as insurance. Try anything..." He made a gesture toward the living room where Naruto and Sasuke were sleeping. "Well, you remember what happened to your arm."

The broken limb throbbed at the reminder. "I understand."

"Sakura," he called, not raising his voice but somehow projecting it through the house. The pink-haired girl appeared in the doorway moments later, shoulders tense. "You're going shopping with our host. If she attempts to signal for help or exceed the time limit, you know what happens to your teammates."

Sakura nodded stiffly, moving to stand beside Amarah. The masked man studied them both for a long moment before adding, "Two hours. Starting now."

He vanished in that unsettling spiral, but Amarah knew better than to think they weren't being watched. She grabbed her purse, checking that her wallet was inside.

"We need to hurry," she said quietly. "Get your shoes."

The drive to the store was tense and silent. Amarah could see Sakura fidgeting with the hem of the borrowed t-shirt she wore – one of Amarah's old ones that hung like a dress on her small frame.

"Make a list in your head," Amarah suggested, trying to distract her. "What do the boys need?"

"Everything," Sakura said softly. "We only had what we were wearing when... when we arrived. And Naruto's jacket is torn from—" She cut herself off, but Amarah could fill in the blanks. From whatever the masked man had done to render them unconscious that first night.

"Okay," Amarah said, pulling into the parking lot of a discount department store. "Clothes first, then groceries. Stay close to me."

Inside, they moved quickly to the children's section. Sakura's ninja training showed in how efficiently she selected sizes, checking seams and material quality with practiced eyes.

"Dark colors," she murmured, picking out shirts and pants. "Easier to clean, harder to notice stains. And Sasuke-kun prefers them anyway."

"What about Naruto?" Amarah asked, noting how Sakura had selected mostly blacks and blues.

A ghost of a smile crossed Sakura's face. "He likes orange. But..." She glanced around cautiously before continuing. "Maybe not right now. Too noticeable."

They filled the cart with practical items: underwear, socks, basic toiletries. Sakura hesitated over a pack of hair ties, and Amarah added them without comment. Small comforts felt important, even now.

In the grocery section, they moved with similar efficiency. Rice, eggs, vegetables, protein. Things that could be prepared easily with one hand. Amarah noticed Sakura sneaking glances at the instant ramen but not reaching for it.

"Does Naruto like ramen?" she asked, remembering how the boy's eyes had lit up at the cheap packets she'd had in her pantry.

Sakura nodded. "It's his favorite. But we should get real food—"

"We can get both." Amarah reached for several packages, then paused as Sakura's eyes went wide with alarm.

"We have twenty-three minutes left," the girl whispered urgently.

Amarah's heart rate spiked. They rushed to checkout, Sakura helping to bag items while Amarah handled payment with shaking hands. The total made her wince – her resident's salary wasn't meant to suddenly support three growing children – but there was no time to worry about that now.

They made it home with seven minutes to spare. The masked man was waiting in the living room, watching as they carried in bags. Naruto and Sasuke were awake now, sitting unnaturally still on the couch under his supervision.

"Cutting it close," he observed coldly.

"The store was busy," Amarah said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We came straight back."

He said nothing for a long moment, then turned to Sakura. "Report."

"We didn't speak to anyone except the cashier," Sakura said immediately. "No signals, no messages. Direct route there and back."

He nodded once, apparently satisfied. "Put things away," he ordered, then added almost as an afterthought, "The boys can help."

He vanished again, but the tension in the room barely eased. Naruto and Sasuke practically leapt off the couch, rushing to help with the bags. Amarah noticed how they checked Sakura over with careful eyes, looking for any sign of harm.

"We're okay," Sakura assured them quietly. "Just shopping."

As they unpacked, Amarah watched the children's interactions with new understanding. Their teamwork was seamless, even in this simple domestic task. Naruto finding homes for groceries while Sasuke sorted clothes, Sakura organizing toiletries – all without needing to discuss who would do what.

But there was something else too, something in the way they moved. They were trained soldiers, yes, but they were also clearly children who had worked together before... whatever this was happened. The casual familiarity, the way Naruto would occasionally try to lighten the mood with a quiet joke, how Sakura would automatically hand things to Sasuke before he asked – these weren't behaviors learned under duress.

"Ramen!" Naruto's excited whisper broke through her thoughts. He was clutching one of the packages like it was made of gold, looking at Sakura with shining eyes.

"Amarah-san got it," Sakura said, a tiny smile playing at her lips. "Don't eat it all at once, okay?"

The normalcy of the moment made Amarah's chest ache. These were children who should be arguing over snacks and complaining about homework, not living under the thumb of a masked terrorist in another world.

Her broken arm throbbed, reminding her of the price of defiance. But watching these kids try so hard to maintain some semblance of normality, to protect each other in small ways... it strengthened her resolve. She might not be able to fight like they could, might not understand the powers at play, but she could provide this: a space where they could still be children, at least in these small moments.

Later that night, after the kids had changed into new clothes and eaten a proper meal, Amarah caught snippets of their whispered conversation from the guest room.

"—feels different here," Sasuke was saying. "Like the chakra is thicker, harder to mold."

"He's having trouble too," Sakura replied. "Did you see how he barely maintained the Sharingan while threatening us? Before, he could keep it active constantly."

"Good," Naruto growled. "Maybe if he gets weak enough—"

"No," Sasuke cut him off. "We need to be smart about this. Something brought us here, and he doesn't know what it was either."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because he's looking," Sasuke said simply. "When he thinks we're not paying attention. He's searching for something, testing the boundaries of whatever this place is. If he knew how we got here, he'd be focused on getting back, not searching."

"So we're all trapped," Sakura whispered. "Even him."

The conversation died down after that, but Amarah lay awake for hours, turning their words over in her mind. The masked man – their jailer, their tormentor – was as lost as they were. It should have been comforting, knowing he hadn't specifically targeted her, that this wasn't some grand scheme.

Somehow, it only made things more terrifying. Because if he was trapped too, desperate to find a way back to whatever world they came from... what wouldn't he do to achieve that goal?

She looked down at her broken arm, remembering how quickly he'd resorted to violence. That had been a warning, a demonstration of power. But if he grew truly desperate...

Amarah shuddered, pulling her blanket tighter around herself. In the quiet darkness of her living room, she could almost pretend this was all some elaborate nightmare. But the pain in her arm was real, and so were the children sleeping down the hall, and so was the masked man who watched them all from whatever shadows he commanded.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new threats, new attempts to navigate this impossible situation. But for now, she let herself take comfort in the small victories: full stomachs, clean clothes, moments of almost-normal childhood sneaking through the horror.

It wasn't enough. It could never be enough. But it was something to hold onto in the darkness, a reminder that even monsters couldn't take everything.

Not yet, anyway.