The morning fog thinned by the time Riku roused them. He didn't have to shout; he never did. One word, sharp and low—"Up"—was enough.
Suzune was already awake, rolling her shoulders, adjusting the sling on her rifle. Ichika muttered curses under her breath but obeyed, rubbing her eyes and snapping the walkie on to check for static. Miko folded Hana's blanket neat, tucking it back into their pack before helping the girl sit upright.
Kenji hovered close to his daughter. Yui stirred weakly, eyes glassy but open this time, watching strangers move around her like figures in a dream.
"We move," Riku said, voice flat as concrete.
Nobody argued.
They packed quick, routine drilled into muscle. Jugs strapped down in the Rezvani's rear, weapons checked, packs cinched. Suzune swept the garage one last time while Riku gave Yui a steady look. She was small, fragile, too hot under her skin. Miko was right—leaving her would have been walking away from a child. But taking her slowed them.
