Sakura found her pacing outside the makeshift infirmary. “She’s resting now, you should too.” She’d said.

  Haruka couldn’t rest. Her boots tapped across cracked tile as she walked. “Keep your grip firm, Haru.” Her grandfather’s voice slid through memory. “A gun isn’t for scaring. It’s for killing.” Weekends at the range by the river, the sharp report of gunfire ricocheting off water. Her mother would tag along sometimes, arms crossed, hiding her smile when she hit the center of a target. She exhaled slowly, watching ghosts of her past dissolve.

  Distant voices carried from the atrium, survivors murmuring too softly to make out. Mizuhana Mall had become unrecognizable. The banners, the music, the perfume counters, all gone. Tarps hung from railings, tents clustered around the decorative globe, and the same sour stench she was slowly growing used to.

  She wandered through the ruins. Stories clung to every shadow, stories she had no desire to know. Her thoughts leapt between fragments: her father and grandfather, Kuro’s face when he killed Yuka, Shigure’s vile smirk, and Ren—the bridge, concrete twisting, the absurdity of it. As if some unseen force had obeyed him. It was ridiculous. She’d been running on fear and adrenaline, her mind inventing monsters.

  Yet the image wouldn’t fade.

  It had always unsettled her, the way he appeared. One day she heard her mother saying the name like an old family friend; the next, he was in their kitchen, quiet, polite, perfectly at ease.

  At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it. And despite his unusual looks, he never caused trouble. Helped when asked, listened more than he spoke, and smiled in that way that hid more than it revealed. When he enrolled at Seiryo, she’d brushed it off as her family helped him get a new start. She treated him like anyone else and eventually stopped wondering where he came from. But now, in this hollowed-out mall with death stalking every corridor, her mind circled back to those questions.

  The way he’d appeared from nowhere. The way her family had accepted him without hesitation. Thoughts she’d once dismissed crept back. Runaway? Test subject? Some military experiment? An alien? A bitter smile tugged at her mouth. Pure nonsense. What am I even thinking? She nearly laughed.

  Shaking her head, Haruka moved into a corridor where half the fluorescent lights had surrendered. Her fingertips ghosted along the pistol’s grip, tracing its familiar shape for comfort.

  “I’ve had enough of you asking these stupid fucking questions! Know your place before you are reminded of it!” The words cracked like a whip, echoing from a storefront ahead. Not a moment later, Shigure emerged—shoulders tight, rage flickering before vanishing behind a polished mask. A slow, practiced grin unfurled. “Well,” he said, tone dripping contempt. “Enjoying the show? Sorry, but the theater’s closed.”

  He slammed a shoulder into hers as he passed, knocking her off balance. Heat surged through her chest, her hand found the pistol before she realized it. Another hand stopped her. It was Amira. Her expression was taut with anger, but her eyes pleaded. “Let it go,” she said quietly. “He’s baiting you.”

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  Haruka’s teeth ground together. “What was that about?” she hissed.

  Amira exhaled, a sound that carried more fatigue than air. “Come with me.” Behind a jewelry counter, where sunlight fractured through, Amira stopped. “Sumire Haruka,” she said, leaning against stained wallpaper. “This was never really about you.”

  “What do you know?”

  “More than I’d like. You’re just one thread in his web. There were others. Classmates, teachers, even the dean with his gambling problem.”

  “He never controlled me,” Haruka remarked. “And I was close to exposing him.”

  Amira’s mouth curved in a humorless smile. “You were close? I don’t think so, honey. Tell me, have you ever asked yourself why you’re his favorite?”

  “…It’s my dad, isn’t it?”

  “Bingo! See, he and I share a father,” Amira said, frowning. “We’re half-siblings. His mother got the wedding, mine got the affair. Our father was a shitty guy, and he ran with dangerous, shitty men. Yakuza ties, bribes, money laundering. When one of those bosses finally faced charges, your father—the police chief—made sure the evidence stuck. The boss went to prison. Your dad became a hero, our dad lost everything. He cursed your family until the day he died. That grudge? The sick bastard passed it on to his favorite son.”

  “Months of threats and mind games, all because my dad upheld the law?”

  “To him, people like us, we’re just a blemish. But I’m not like him.”

  “I don’t care about your excuses. What were you two arguing about?”

  “I won’t pretend I didn’t take what I could,” Amira said. “But there are lines even I won’t cross...”

  “What line? What are you talking about?”

  Amira’s gaze flicked toward the door. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely there. “I knew he was a bastard. But this time, he’s gone too far…”

  Haruka stepped closer. “What did he do?”

  “The fire. Those people dying…” Her throat worked visibly. Her next breath came ragged, as if even saying it out loud cost her something she couldn’t spare. “It was because of him.”

  * * *

  On a blanket worn thin with age, Reina sat cross-legged while Lilly’s head rested in her lap. She threaded her fingers gently through her sister’s hair. “Try to sleep.”

  “I will,” Lilly said, voice faint. “It’s easier now. Knowing you’re here.”

  Reina’s mouth curved slightly. The air smelled faintly of potting soil—the stubborn plants still alive, refusing to die. It almost smelled like home.

  The dinners. The clinking glasses. Her parents’ smiles—so sharp they could cut. She’d spent years perfecting the act: polished, pleasant, untouchable. The perfect daughter who said the right thing, laughed on cue, and buried her real thoughts and feelings. Kindness had become her disguise—and her penance. She’d told Ren that. Told him more than she’d ever told anyone.

  “I’m from another world!”

  It sounded insane, the kind of thing she’d teased Lilly for reading in her fantasy novels. And yet… she couldn’t unsee it: Tomoe’s headless body. Genji’s remains smeared across the floor. And him—drenched in blood. Reina’s chest tightened. She didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until Lilly stirred.

  “Are you alright?” her sister’s voice floated up, drowsy but concerned.

  “Yeah. Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  Lilly’s eyes searched her. “Everything, I think,” Reina said, resuming the slow rhythm of her hand through her sister’s hair. “I’m scared our luck might run out.”

  “It wasn’t just luck. We’re with good people.”

  Reina’s gaze drifted toward the cracked skylight. “You’re right,” she said softly. Her thoughts were filled with quiet memories: Ren walking beside her through crowded halls, his laughter when he teased her. That same face, later, splattered red.

  “Reina?”

  “Hm?”

  “You stopped.”

  She combed another lock through her fingers. The repetition soothed them both. Soon, Lilly’s breathing deepened, her hand sliding from Reina’s arm to the blanket below, fingers uncurling. Her eyes lifted to the trembling canopy. Every so often, the leaves caught a stray breeze. A single leaf caught the light, spinning lazily before settling near her.

  “No more half-truths.”