The city never truly slept; it just changed its rhythm. When the neon lights dimmed and the factories went silent, the alleys came alive with whispers. Deals were made in shadows, blood was traded for silence, and truth was the rarest currency of all.
Reiji walked through the industrial district, his boots echoing against cracked concrete. The fog was heavier tonight, thick enough to swallow shapes whole. Only the glint of his blade occasionally caught the faint light, a reminder that in a city built on betrayal, trust was a luxury no one could afford.
He was hunting someone—or something. The Silent Court had given him a name: "The Broker."
A ghost who trafficked information between rival factions, selling secrets about the Court itself.
That was enough to mark him for execution.
Reiji didn't need to know why. Only who.
And where.
He stopped near an abandoned tram line, where the fog curled like smoke around the rusted rails. A single lamp flickered overhead. From the shadows emerged a silhouette—tall, confident, moving like a man who wasn't afraid to die.
"You must be the errand boy," the man said, voice dripping with mockery. "The Court sends dogs now?"
Reiji said nothing. His hand stayed near the hilt of his blade, hidden beneath the folds of his coat.
"Silent, are you?" The man laughed quietly. "They said you were different. The famous Shinomiya Reiji. The Shadow who doesn't miss."
Reiji's gaze hardened. "And you must be the Broker. The man who sells loyalty by the ounce."
The Broker smirked, stepping closer. His face came into view—scarred, eyes pale like glass, and smile too calm for someone standing at the edge of death.
"Information keeps the world alive. Without people like me, the Court would choke on its own lies."
"Maybe," Reiji replied, "but tonight, it chokes on you."
The Broker spread his arms. "Go ahead then. Kill me. But when I die, my words don't. I left copies. Every secret, every name. You kill me, they all go public."
For a moment, the air between them froze. The fog seemed to thicken, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
Then Reiji moved.
The sound was soft—steel slicing through mist. His blade cut cleanly across the space where the Broker had been standing, but the man was fast. He ducked, pulling a compact gun from his coat and firing twice. Bullets sparked against metal pipes as Reiji rolled behind a pillar, his blade gleaming faintly.
"Still quick," the Broker taunted. "But not quick enough."
Reiji didn't answer. He counted the rhythm of the man's breathing, the slight tremor of his voice. Fear hid behind the arrogance.
A breath.
A shift in the fog.
A heartbeat.
Reiji moved again—fast, silent, surgical. The blade pierced the mist, and this time, it found flesh.
The Broker's gasp was sharp, followed by a wet cough. He staggered back, clutching the wound near his ribs.
"You… you don't understand… they'll come for you next…"
Reiji caught his shoulder, pushing him down slowly, almost gently.
"I know," he said softly. "They already have."
The man's eyes widened. Then, the light left them.
The fog reclaimed him, as it did everyone in this city. No graves. No witnesses. Just the endless silence of the forgotten.
---
By the time Reiji returned to headquarters, the storm had begun again. The Safehouse lights flickered as the power grid strained under the rain. Inside, Kaede sat at her console, her expression dark.
"You shouldn't have gone alone," she said quietly.
"I work better that way."
"You don't work better," she corrected. "You just bleed alone."
Reiji took off his coat, hanging it by the door. "The Broker's dead. But he wasn't lying. He said he left copies."
Kaede froze. "Copies of what?"
"Everything," Reiji replied. "Files about the Court. The archives. Even names."
Her voice dropped. "That can't be true. Those files are sealed."
Reiji gave her a look. "You and I both know nothing stays sealed in this city."
Kaede turned back to her monitor, her fingers flying across the keys. "If he left data traces, I can find them."
"Do it quietly," Reiji said. "If Arata knows, he'll erase you along with the evidence."
Her lips tightened, but she nodded. "Understood."
As she worked, Reiji stared out the cracked window. The rain blurred the lights into ribbons of color, painting the city in streaks of crimson and silver. Somewhere out there, another player was already moving, another hand reaching for the same secrets he'd just killed to protect.
"You ever wonder," Kaede said softly, not looking up from the screen, "what we're even protecting anymore?"
Reiji's answer came after a long pause.
"Not the truth. Just survival."
She sighed, the glow of her screen reflecting in her tired eyes. "That's the saddest thing you've ever said."
He didn't argue. The truth rarely sounded noble in places like this.
---
Hours later, Reiji found himself walking again—this time through the old district. The rain had stopped, leaving behind puddles that mirrored the fractured skyline. He passed by a wall covered in faded graffiti, half-hidden under grime. The message was almost unreadable, but he traced it with his eyes anyway:
"Freedom is not a gift. It's a debt."
For some reason, those words lingered.
His commlink crackled.
"Reiji," came Arata's voice. "The Court requires your presence tomorrow. Don't be late."
Reiji looked up at the fog swallowing the moon. "What's it about?"
"The Broker's death," Arata replied. "And your next target."
The line went dead.
Reiji stood there for a moment, the chill of the night seeping through his gloves. Somewhere deep inside, a thought he didn't want to admit took shape—what if the next target wasn't an enemy at all?
He turned away from the empty street, the echo of his footsteps fading into the mist.
The fog moved like a living thing around him, whispering faintly in the silence.
And for a moment, Reiji wondered if it was whispering his name.