The police decided it was time to pierce the heavy silence that had settled over the city. The missing boy's case had quickly escalated from unsettling whispers to public anxiety, and the longer Chief McKay withheld details, the more volatile the public mood became. McKay gave the final, reluctant order.
"Thirty minutes. Prepare the official statement. Get everything set with the media."
By the time the cameras were positioned and the throng of journalists had gathered, McKay stood before them in his dark suit, his face a mask of official gravity. His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes, though heavy with sleepless exhaustion, maintained a fierce intensity. Flashbulbs erupted in blinding bursts, and microphones extended toward him like hungry metallic limbs.
"Good Afternoon," he began, his voice firm and steady despite the storm raging beneath his composed facade. "As you know, our city has been plagued by a series of unsettling crimes, with confirmed deaths of various people over the past few months. These incidents have not only increased in frequency but now pose a direct, escalating threat to the safety of our citizens."
Meanwhile, across town, in the lively, scented warmth of the restaurant, the small television above the counter flickered to life, its volume momentarily dominating the clatter of plates.
Kenzo, who was chewing thoughtfully on his sandwich, suddenly gasped, his eyes wide. He pointed an accusatory finger at the screen.
"Mom, look! It's Dad!"
Rina's mother turned quickly, the familiar, stern image of her husband causing her face to tighten instantly. Sanemi followed their gaze, and for the first time, he saw him—Chief McKay, the man Rina had casually mentioned, the voice on the phone. Her father. His hunter.
The entire atmosphere at their table dissolved. All conversation ceased, all eyes fixed on the television broadcast.
McKay's voice, amplified and chillingly impersonal, carried into the quiet restaurant. "Information regarding a young man who was reported missing a few days ago has, unfortunately, come to light. He has been found dead, his body having been discovered in a sewer."
Sanemi's stomach plummeted, a cold, heavy weight pressing against his chest. Things are about to go down, he thought, the phrase echoing in his mind like the tolling of a desperate bell. They are talking about my last clean-up. They are talking about me.
McKay continued, the words sharp and surgical. "He was just a young college student who lived with his mother. Preliminary investigations show that he had been violently attacked and strangled prior to his death. However, we have not yet found any definitive clues to help us determine the motive for this savage treatment, or who is directly responsible. We ask the public to remain calm while the intensive investigation continues. We will bring the perpetrator to justice."
The restaurant had gone unnervingly silent, every patron absorbing the grim announcement. Sanemi shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a burning heat rising in his body even as his palms grew ice-cold and slick with sweat. What have I done? By foolishly allowing himself to be drawn closer to this family—the nucleus of the very force hunting him—he hadn't just put himself in danger; he had essentially sat down at a table set for his own execution.
He forced himself into a rigid stillness, his expression carefully neutral, devoid of any discernible emotion. He couldn't allow them—Rina, her mother, or even the sharp-eyed little brother, to detect the catastrophic storm raging in the epicenter of his being.
The meal concluded, and they lingered only for a short, strained while before standing to leave. Rina looked at him with a hesitant vulnerability, her lips slightly parted as though she desperately wanted to ask him to stay, to prolong this safe moment.
"Didn't you enjoy yourself?" she asked, her voice quiet, a thread of worry woven through it. "Your face… it doesn't show any joy."
Sanemi managed a small, forced smile, shaking his head gently. "Don't worry about it. We'll have another time." The promise felt hollow and potentially fatal.
She nodded, though her eyes lingered on him longer than necessary, searching his face for an answer he couldn't give, before she finally got into the car with her family. Sanemi stood on the pavement, watching the vehicle pull away, feeling heavier and colder than he had been moments before Mia's silk-robed confrontation.
He turned slowly, walking down the street, feeling profoundly alone. Who do I even tell my problems to? The sheer weight of the secrets he was carrying—murder, a manipulative target, a police chief's daughter—was crushing. I'm carrying too much. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over Vito's number.
It rang once, twice. The line clicked.
"Hello? Hey man, hello—" Vito's voice came through, warm and genuinely concerned, instantly breaking through the cold professionalism Sanemi had been enduring.
But Sanemi stayed silent. His throat tightened, locking down any coherent word. He wanted to confess, to scream the entire, horrifying truth, but the Watcher's warning—If you screw up, you will take their responsibilities—resounded in his ears. After a few agonizing seconds, he pressed the end button without uttering a single sound. The silence was deafening.
When he finally reached home, he opened the door to an unexpected, terrifying scene.
Laughter—warm, domestic, and utterly normal—floated from the sitting room. His mother's voice. And Mia's.
They were seated together on the cream-colored couch, a perfect, cozy picture, chatting like old, comfortable friends, bright smiles painted across their faces.
"Oh, you're back!" his mother exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with genuine pleasure.
Sanemi forced a smile that felt brittle and strained, nodding quickly. He didn't dare trust his voice. The sight of Mia in his house, near his only refuge, was too much. Without a word, he turned sharply and walked straight to his room, the sound of their easy, innocent laughter echoing behind him like a threat.
He closed the door gently, yet decisively, and leaned against the wood, his breath heavy and shallow. His pulse hammered violently in his ears. Why is she here? he thought, staring blankly at the opposite wall. What in God's name is she planning to do with my mom?
He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, running both hands through his hair in frustration. The laughter from the sitting room still carried faintly through the walls, no longer warm, but mocking and menacing. Is she trying to get close to me through her? Or is she just watching me, making sure I don't slip out of line now that the police are public?
His chest tightened, squeezing the air from his lungs. No… this isn't coincidence. This is deliberate. She knew exactly what she was doing. Sitting there. Smiling. Laughing. Making herself part of the family.
He gritted his teeth, a muscle ticking violently in his jaw. If she's the target, then why does she act like this? And if she isn't… then what terrifying game is this CEO playing?
The room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating him. Sanemi lay back on the bed, staring desperately at the ceiling, but the questions didn't stop. She's dangerous. I know she is. But to my mother… she looks like a kind neighbor. That's the trap. That's how it starts.
His hands clenched into rigid fists beneath his head. What do I do now? The 16-hour deadline seemed less like a countdown to murder and more like a countdown to his own complete psychological breakdown.