Night fell heavy over the ruined store. The day's battle had left the world outside eerily quiet, as if even the mutants held their breath. Wind hissed through broken glass and skeletal beams, carrying the faint stench of blood.
Inside, the group sat in a fragile circle of lantern-light. Their breaths were uneven, their silence thicker than the shadows.
Saya stayed curled in Imura's lap, her small frame trembling from the memory of claws nearly raking her. Her fingers knotted into his shirt as though she could hold herself in existence that way. Every now and then, she whispered his name like a mantra. "Imura… don't ever let go… promise me…"
He stroked her hair, calm, the steady rhythm of his hand quieting her sobs. "I won't. You're mine. No one touches what's mine."
The words soothed her instantly, her tears easing even as her grip tightened. She nuzzled closer, clinging with desperate devotion.
Across from them, Natsumi sat apart, her knife set aside, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The fight had stripped the sharpness from her. She could still hear the mutant's screech, still feel her useless slash against its flank. Her pride was raw, torn.
She glanced at Imura more than once, lips parting as if to speak, but every time she swallowed the words, shame drowning her tongue. When her gaze drifted to Saya, her face twisted—envy, regret, hunger—all tangled into a knot she couldn't loosen.
And Rin… Rin was unraveling.
She sat with her back to the wall, arms folded tight across her chest, her gray eyes shadowed but unblinking. She hadn't spoken since the fight. Her jaw was clenched, her body trembling faintly no matter how hard she forced it still.
Imura's eyes slid to her, calm, deliberate. "You moved when it mattered."
Her shoulders stiffened. She didn't look at him. "It wasn't for you."
His smirk was faint, but it lingered. "Doesn't matter why. You acted because you couldn't watch me fall. You're tied to me now, whether you admit it or not."
Her fists clenched, knuckles white. "You're wrong."
"Am I?"
His voice was quiet, steady, the kind that echoed inside the chest long after the words fell.
Rin's heart thudded painfully. She wanted to scream at him, to spit the truth she clung to—but nothing came. Her throat burned, her eyes stung, her silence betraying her.
Natsumi flinched at the tension, her gaze shifting between them. Saya stirred, whimpering softly, pressing closer to Imura as if to shield herself from Rin's sharpness.
Imura didn't push further. Not yet. He leaned back, letting his presence weigh on them instead of words. The silence filled with everything unspoken—Saya's devotion, Natsumi's shame, Rin's cracking denial.
The night dragged.
Saya eventually fell into restless sleep, her head pillowed on his chest, her breath shallow. Natsumi curled near the lantern, pretending to doze though her eyes flickered open each time he shifted.
Rin stayed rigid, wide awake, every sound amplified in the silence. She heard Saya's soft whimpers, Natsumi's shaky breaths, and above all—she felt his gaze. Not constant, not pressing, but always there, brushing against her like heat against her skin.
And when he finally murmured, soft enough that only she could hear, it sank straight through her.
"Soon."
Her breath hitched violently. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her face into her knees as if she could block him out.
But her heart wouldn't stop pounding.
And deep down, she knew—she was already losing.