The store stayed quiet after that. The only sound was Hana's breathing and the soft clink of plastic from the bottles when someone shifted. The shutter rattled a few times when the wind ran down the street, then the night settled again, heavy and watchful.
Riku watched for a long time. He didn't count minutes, just breaths. When he was sure the street outside had gone still, he let his shoulders drop one notch. Not relaxed, never relaxed—just less tight.
"Try to rest," he murmured.
No one argued, but no one slept either. The girls sat near each other in a little knot behind the counter, trading heat through the thin blankets. They didn't speak. It was enough to hear each other breathe.
Eventually, the dark gray at the edges of the taped glass shifted toward pale. Dawn came slow and colorless, like a dirty sheet being pulled over the street. The city's noises thinned, and the cold changed. Riku felt it on his face before he saw it.
"We made it," he said quietly.
