Sanemi sat rigid in the cold chair, staring at the chipped paint on the table. He was consumed by the perfect, terrifying irony of his situation. His mind was a vault containing the only clues to Rina's location—the scorpion tattoo, the dark car's license plate—yet he was utterly paralyzed.
If I tell him, Sanemi thought, he'll ask how I know. I can't say a blue light showed me, or that I was failing a system-ordered assassination when the girl got taken. I'm already the prime suspect because the kidnapper used my name. Revealing the truth would just confirm I'm insane or a terrorist.
He realized that his new power, the very thing that could save Rina, had only increased the danger to himself.
He had to stay silent, innocent, and clean. He had to beat the interrogation without using the one weapon he possessed.
Across the table, Chief McKay was collapsing internally. He pressed his palms against his tired eyes, his breath ragged.
He wasn't thinking about crime statistics or procedure; he was picturing Rina maybe she was cold, scared, and alone. The image was a searing brand on his soul.
McKay's assistant, Detective Donald Young, a seasoned officer and longtime friend, finally stepped in, placing a hand gently on McKay's shoulder.
"Chief, you need to rest," Donald urged, his voice heavy. "You look like you're going to drop. Let us take the lead. We'll run the boy through the official questions; we'll check the call logs. You need to focus on yourself, sir."
McKay shook his head, his refusal immediate and fierce. He pulled away from his friend. "I'm not leaving this station. I'm not resting. Every minute I spend not finding her is a minute she's in danger," he growled, the word 'father' overriding the word 'chief.'
He didn't want the evidence; he wanted his daughter back, and he believed staring into the eyes of this boy, Sanemi, was the only way to get answers.
He looked back at Sanemi, his eyes burning with accusation. "You know something," McKay stated, not as a question, but a raw certainty born of grief. "And I'll find out what it is."
Chief McKay ran a hand roughly over his face, a gesture of raw defeat, then nodded to Detective Young. He couldn't continue the interrogation; his grief was too close to the surface.
"Alright, Donald. Let's take a break. I need to clear my head," McKay said, his voice flat with exhaustion. He and Young headed out of the interrogation room.
They were barely in the hallway when another officer rushed up, a burst of energy in the otherwise somber station. "Chief! Detective! We just got an anonymous call—a tip. He says he has clues."
McKay's posture instantly snapped back to that of a professional cop. Hope, sharp and desperate, flooded his face.
"Get him on the line! Record everything! Young, trace that call location immediately!"
They listened intently as the officer connected the call. The voice on the line was muffled and slightly distorted, sounding nervous.
"I was coming back home that night," the voice explained, rushing the words.
"When I passed by the house where the incident happened, I saw a black SUV leaving at high speed. They nearly ran me over, so I didn't care about it much at the time. But today, when I saw the news, I realized it might have been the car that was used."
"And what was the plate number that you saw?" the officer asked, holding a pen steady over a notepad.
"I remember it was 843 XK. That's what I remember," the voice insisted.
"Are you sure that is the one?" the officer pressed, trying to confirm the vital piece of information.
"Yes, that is the one," the caller confirmed.
"Thank you. We appreciate your help immensely," the officer said, hanging up.
McKay turned to Donald, his eyes blazing with a mixture of relief and renewed focus. "Get the dispatch on that plate! Check every camera in that neighborhood! This is it. This is the lead we needed."
The anonymous tip—fueled by Vito's loyalty and Sanemi's terrifying vision—had just pointed the entire police force in a concrete direction.
***
Across town, Vito was walking quickly, his heart hammering against his ribs. He snapped the SIM card from the burner phone he'd used for the call and dropped the pieces into a public dumpster, covering them with garbage.
Why did I even want to help him? he thought, his guilt and terror wrestling with his fierce loyalty. I came all the way to Rina's street just to call the police and tell them about this. The area was still swarming with police cars, their lights flashing blue and red, making the whole street look like a deadly carnival.
Vito had taken the enormous risk to get close to McKay's home so the tip would seem legitimate—like it came from someone living nearby who was genuinely frightened. All of this… all of this danger just for my friend. He rushed his pace, desperate to leave the area and disappear back into his normal life.
Several hours later, the interrogation room door opened, and a different officer stood there. Sanemi looked up, defeated and exhausted.
"You're being released," the officer said simply.
"You'll need to attend if we call, but for now, you're free to go. We've received information that has shifted the focus of our investigation." He added, almost as an afterthought, "You've also been assigned a lawyer already."
Sanemi felt a rush of cold relief. He was out.
He walked out of the sterile hallway and into the waiting area. His mother was there, her face tear-streaked but instantly radiant with relief.
He went straight to her, and she pulled him into a desperate, bone-crushing hug.
But as he looked over her shoulder, his relief vanished, replaced by a cold knot of dread. Standing just behind his mother was Mia, smiling and calm.
"Oh, thank God! You're alright," his mother cried, pulling back to look him over. "Let's go. She's waiting."
Sanemi followed his mother out to the street. He stopped when he saw the car: it was Mia's sleek, dark vehicle. He got into the passenger seat, Mia slipped into the driver's seat, and she started the engine with a soft purr. They headed home.
On the drive, his mother worried incessantly. "They didn't do anything bad to you, did they? They didn't beat you?"
"I'm fine, Mom. Just fine," Sanemi assured her, trying to keep his voice steady.
His mother then looked at him with serious gratitude.
"You need to thank Mia, Sanemi. She's the one who hired the lawyer. She stayed up from the morning with me, trying to get you out."
Sanemi stared blankly ahead. Mia?
Mia glanced at him in the rearview mirror, her eyes meeting his. She smiled smoothly. "It's not such a big deal, Ms. Yamamoto. The thing is, he's out now."
Really, Mia did all this? Sanemi asked himself, his mind reeling. A high-profile lawyer? He looked into the driver's mirror again, and their eyes met for a long, unsettling moment.
He quickly moved his gaze to the window, unable to hold her look. He didn't say a single word.
His mother, oblivious to the silent war being waged between the front seats, continued her happy chatter. "Sanemi, I didn't even know you had a girlfriend! Why do you keep such secrets?"
"Mom!" Sanemi protested, his cheeks flushing.
Mia chuckled softly, her voice cool and soothing. "It's their time, Ms. Yamamoto. Maybe he just felt shy to talk about it. But I think he'll tell you everything when you get home."
"He better say everything," Sanemi's mother insisted happily.
Sanemi stared out the window, watching the familiar street lights pass. His initial gratitude was poisoned by suspicion. What is her game? He thought. Is this genuine kindness, or is she just buying my silence? His freedom felt less like a gift and more like a leash placed around his neck by the woman he was meant to kill. The trap was closing, and Mia was holding the key.
The car engine fell silent. Sanemi's mother, relieved and emotionally exhausted, was the first one out of Mia's car. She hurried straight toward the building entrance, starting up the stairs.
Sanemi followed slowly, his mind still numb from the interrogation and his internal alarm bells ringing about Mia's intervention.
He was about to follow his mother into the hallway when Mia's soft voice cut through the quiet.
"Wait a moment. I want you to help me with something."
Sanemi stopped instantly, turning back to the car. Mia took her time, switching off the engine, gathering her keys and purse, making him wait. He watched her deliberate movements until she finally emerged from the driver's side.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice low and wary.
She straightened up, her expression a mix of casualness and subtle triumph. "I was able to fix it," she said simply.
Sanemi frowned, completely confused. "Fix what?" He couldn't understand if she meant his situation with the police, or something else entirely.
Giving up on conversation, he turned again and started climbing the stairs, eager to get away from her.
Mia was right behind him. They reached the hallway. Sanemi was just about to turn the corner toward their apartment door when he felt a soft but surprisingly strong hand close around his wrist. He stopped, turning fully to face her.
In the same moment, before he could ask what she wanted, Mia moved. She closed the distance and pulled him into a sudden, tight embrace. Her arms locked around his torso, holding him close to her body.
He could feel the soft pressure and heat of her body, the shocking squeeze of her boobs against his chest. Her perfume floral scent that felt both comforting and deadly—enveloped his senses.
Sanemi was completely paralyzed by the unexpected contact. His eyes were locked on hers, which were unnervingly close and holding a look of possessive satisfaction.
A wave of intense goosebumps erupted all over his skin, a confused rush of panic and something dangerously close to desire.
Her voice, low and thick with meaning, whispered directly to him, the warm air brushing his lips.
"I'm happy you're back…" she paused, allowing the weight of her touch and their fixed gaze to sink in. Then she added the chilling qualifier, her tone possessive and predatory: "...My friend."