The streets outside were quieter than usual when Seigi left the station. Tokyo at night always breathed, but tonight it felt like it was holding that breath. The neon lights hummed softly, reflections smeared across rain-slick pavement, and the traffic in the distance seemed muted, like the city was listening.
He walked without aim, his steps heavy with thoughts he hadn't sorted. The thread. The shimmer. Hana's eyes. Renji's hurried departure. All of it tangled in his mind like a knot that only pulled tighter the more he tried to loosen it.
"You don't hide obsession well, Seigi."
Her voice came like a ripple in still water.
Hana leaned against the rail of a pedestrian bridge, streetlights painting her in gold and shadow. No lab coat now—just a simple jacket, hair tucked behind her ears, hands deep in her pockets like she'd been waiting longer than she'd admit.
"You knew I'd follow," Seigi said.
"I knew you'd feel followed," she corrected. A faint smile flickered, small but deliberate. "That's the difference."
Seigi stepped closer, suspicion sharp in his chest. "What do you want with me? You've been watching."
"Not watching," she said softly. "Keeping track. There's a difference there, too."
He raised an eyebrow. "You like differences, don't you?"
Hana tilted her head, amused. "I like accuracy. It's why Sato trusts my reports."
That almost drew a laugh out of him, though he bit it back. "So, what am I to you then—an observation? A report?"
Her eyes caught the lamplight, dark but glinting with something beyond human patience. "More like a test I already know the answer to."
He bristled. "Why?"
"Because you've touched the thread," she said. Her voice carried no hesitation. "And because the moment you deleted that footage, your path stopped belonging only to you."
Seigi's blood chilled. "You… you knew about that?"
"I know more than you'd like," she admitted, though her tone wasn't threatening—it was protective, almost kind. "I've seen you trying to carry this alone. You'll break before you bend it."
Seigi shook his head, defiant. "I can handle it."
"Maybe," she allowed, studying him for a long moment, and for once he couldn't read her. Then she pushed off the rail, stepping close enough that her voice was only for him.
"There's a place where the impossible isn't a rumour. Where people like you aren't accidents—they're trained, sharpened, understood. If you want answers, if you want to live with this instead of letting it eat you alive… come with me."
Her nearness stirred something in him. Not just intrigue, not just the burn of curiosity, but something softer. He wondered, absurdly, if she always stood this close when making her case.
Seigi's heart thudded. "And if I say no?"
"Then we'll pretend this conversation never happened," Hana said simply. Her lips curved in something that was not quite a smile. "And you'll keep pretending you can wrestle shadows alone."
For a beat, silence stretched between them. The hum of the city below, the faint honk of a distant taxi, the rattle of a vending machine in the corner—they all seemed smaller than this choice.
Seigi thought of Sato's warnings. Of Renji's sudden disappearances. Of the cloaked man at the docks who had looked at him like prey. And then, beneath all that, he thought of himself at twelve years old, standing bloody in a schoolyard, whispering, Heroes don't stay down.
Finally, he whispered, "Show me."
Hana's faint smile returned, but this time there was gravity in it. "Then don't be late. Tomorrow night. The abandoned subway station under Shinjuku. Come alone."
She walked past him, leaving the scent of smoke and rain in her wake. Seigi didn't turn to watch her go.
He just clenched his fists, steadying the burn in his chest. The shadows weren't secrets anymore. They had a name, a path, and a door.
And Hana had just opened it.
---
The walk home was longer than it needed to be. He cut through side streets, letting his shoes scuff against the wet pavement. A neighbour smoking outside his balcony spotted him and waved.
"Working late again, Detective?" the man called.
Seigi managed a smile. "Always."
The man chuckled. "City never sleeps. Neither do its shadows."
Seigi nodded politely and moved on, the words lingering heavier than the neighbour intended.
A stray cat brushed against his leg at the corner, meowing up at him. He crouched, scratching behind its ear, the rumble of its purr grounding him for a fleeting second.
Then his phone buzzed.
Renji's name lit the screen.
Seigi answered with a tired laugh. "Shouldn't you be home by now?"
On the other end, Renji chuckled, but it was thin, strained. "Shouldn't you? You sound like hell."
"I've had worse nights." Seigi leaned against a lamppost, watching the cat slink into the alley. "You bringing me coffee tomorrow again?"
"Maybe," Renji said. There was a pause, the faint hum of traffic in the background. "Seigi… if I ever—" He stopped himself. A breath, sharp in Seigi's ear. "Never mind. Forget it. Just… don't run yourself into the ground, yeah?"
Seigi frowned. "You're the one who sounds like he's writing a will."
Another strained laugh. "Yeah, maybe I am. Go get some sleep, Hero Boy." And before Seigi could press, the line clicked dead.
Seigi stared at the screen, unsettled. Renji's voice had carried something between apology and fear. Something that didn't belong to idle chit-chat.
Then—a sound.
A bottle toppled in the alley to his left, the clatter sharp in the silence. Seigi's head whipped toward it, heart spiking. The alley was dark, still, the shadows layered too thick to see into. Nothing moved.
He lingered, watching. Listening. The cat pressed against his ankle again, insistent. Finally, he exhaled and turned away, climbing the stairs up to his apartment.
At his door, Seigi hesitated. He couldn't shake the sense that the city's eyes had followed him all the way home. He let himself in, the lock clicking shut behind him, but the silence inside his apartment felt no safer than the streets.
---
Across the city, Hana stepped into a quiet payphone booth tucked between shuttered shops. The glass was fogged with condensation, the receiver cool against her ear as she waited for the line to connect.
When the other end picked up, she spoke softly, her voice steady but threaded with something uncharacteristically warm.
"He'll come," she said. "He doesn't know it yet, but he will. He's stubborn, reckless… but he's touched the thread already. It's there in him, clear as light through glass."
A pause. She listened, her free hand absently tracing the seam of her jacket.
"Yes. He'll need guidance. More than most. But I have hopes for him." Her tone softened, almost wistful. "Maybe too many."
She hung up before the voice could answer, stepping back into the neon glow. For a moment she lingered under the streetlight, eyes narrowing as though she could still feel Seigi's restless determination somewhere out there in the city's veins.
Then she walked away, disappearing into the night that carried them both.