They left the crowd behind, slipping past a flickering emergency light into a service corridor lined with peeling holiday posters. Aki halted beside an abandoned coffee kiosk. She dragged both hands down her face. “It’s like I said. We clear the monorail wing tomorrow, anyone who volunteers. No one forced.” Without the gathering watching her, her voice lost its commander’s edge, revealing the exhaustion underneath. “The flares were supposed to bring more survivors to us before we made the move. And they did, but…”

  He glanced back toward the atrium. Maybe fifty people. Office workers. Students. Parents. Survivors hanging on by threads.

  Aki gestured weakly at the overhead wiring. “We’re on backup power. By tomorrow, these generators will be dead. We had it planned—two teams, one sweeping the monorail side, the other making a run for Tanizawa Electric a few blocks east. But now… your arrival changes our options.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “When Hayate first told us what he saw… I didn’t believe him. I thought he was delirious or drunk. But then I watched your wounds start to close, watched them stitch themselves together, and I started to believe him. I never pushed. Whatever you are, whatever you do, that’s yours to keep. All that mattered was that you needed us.” She hesitated, as if preparing to cross a line she’d sworn never to cross. “And now we need you. Tanizawa Electric. I can spare two escorts. One’s a tech—he knows the systems. They’ll get you to the doors, they won’t ask any questions. Once you’re inside… it’s just you. Make the power come back on. Without it, we’re dead.”

  She didn’t understand what she was asking. How close to empty he already was. How the void within him hungered for more than he could safely give. Aki read his hesitation instantly.

  “Ren… Tetsuya is there.”

  He recognized the sensation immediately—that treacherous companion that had betrayed him countless times before. Yet he felt himself leaning into its pull anyway. Something shifted inside him, scraping against everything he’d built to keep it still. Whispering again that this time might be different, that he could save someone he cared for instead. “I’ll go,” he said finally. “But I want something in return.”

  “Name it.”

  “Reina and Lilly stay off your volunteer list. Reina will fight it, but she stays here. The same goes for Midori and Haruka. Keep them out of it.”

  Aki studied him a moment before nodding once.

  “You have my word.”

  * * *

  Her mother was nowhere to be found. Across the atrium by the fountain, Sakura knelt beside trembling strangers, offering what comfort she could. Haruka stepped forward to help, hand half-raised, but Sakura’s dismissive gesture stopped her cold.

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  In that rejection, rage ignited inside her—demanding release. Her eyes scoured the crowd for Shigure’s face, that smug half-smile she’d come to despise. He’d been conspicuously absent during the announcement when everyone else had gathered to hear their fate.

  The mall’s labyrinth of corridors and shops had yielded no trace of him. She prowled through the atrium. A column draped with sagging Christmas tinsel marked her path as she checked each face, each shadow. There was no sign of him. Even the scent of his cologne, that cloying, expensive musk, was absent. He wasn’t lurking behind pillars, or slinking through corners, or watching from railings. He was gone.

  Her fingers brushed the cold metal of the pistol strapped to her thigh. She’d taken barely ten steps toward the east corridor when she spotted Amira, slumped against a shattered vending machine. Haruka cut toward her, every step deliberate as a blade drawn. “Where is he?”

  She looked up, exhaustion briefly replaced by irritation. “God, do you ever stop? Can’t you tell I’m not in the mood right now?”

  Haruka planted herself in front of her. “Tell me.”

  Amira’s eyes flashed. “We’ve just been told our best chance to escape a fiery fucking death is a suicide mission. Forgive me if I’m not ready for your emotional outbursts.”

  The reminder almost steadied Haruka—almost. Instead, it fanned the blaze spreading through her ribs. She leaned in, voice razor-thin. “Where. Is. He?”

  Amira’s lip curled into a snarl. “I don’t fucking know. After he threatened me, he vanished. Slithered into some dark corner. That’s his specialty. And what are you going to do anyway? Confront him? Hit him? He’ll twist it right back on you. He always does.” Each word inched the spark closer to a fuse. “I’m sure he’ll love it. A new audience. He’s probably somewhere dreaming up a little throne for himself—King of the New World—”

  Haruka’s fist slammed into the machine beside Amira’s head. The glass cracked, snapping nearby conversations into silence. Amira stiffened. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move. She leaned close enough to feel the other woman’s breath stutter against her skin. “I’ll make him answer for what he’s done.”

  The defiance drained from her eyes. “I honestly don’t know,” she said, voice stripped of its earlier edge. “But if I did—I’d point you straight to him. You’re not special. That man’s been spinning his web around all of us. Even at the farm…” she swallowed. “The drinking. That was his idea. He’s done this before.” Her voice shrank. “Target the vulnerable. I played along because I had to. My career. My reputation. He held all of it over my head like a fucking guillotine.”

  Haruka’s jaw tightened until pain pulsed along her teeth.

  “I never killed anyone,” Amira rushed out. “I’m not a murderer. But the things I did for him…” She wrapped her arms around herself, folding in. “I told myself little lies. That I was just playing along. That nobody got hurt. I helped him break people apart. And I never asked questions. Never wanted to know how deep it went.” Her gaze drifted somewhere over Haruka’s shoulder, dazed—haunted by memories she refused to fully name.

  “Too late for that now,” Haruka said, voice dropping to glacial calm. “The damage is done. But you still have a choice. Help me find him, and I’ll handle the rest.”

  Amira’s lips trembled, a confession or plea nearly forming. She swallowed it down. Her eyes, exhausted and dim, lowered to the floor. Haruka watched her a moment longer, letting cold judgment settle like frost between them before she turned sharply on her heel and walked away.