The darkness inside the pantry was absolute. Aiko pressed herself against the cool, metal shelves, her breathing shallow, the gun held tight in her sweating hands. Mochi, sensing her terror, was a silent, warm weight against her ankles. Outside the pantry door, the vast, luxurious apartment was a hunting ground, and she was the prey.
For a long time, there was only silence. A thick, heavy silence that felt louder than any noise. She strained her ears, listening for footsteps, for the sound of the front door being forced. Nothing.
Then, a voice. It came from the laptop she held cradled in her other arm, a distorted, metallic sound from its speakers.
"Clever girl. Turning off our eyes."
Aiko flinched, her heart leaping into her throat. It was a man's voice, laced with a cold amusement.
"But we know you're in there, little mouse," the voice continued. "Hiding in the dark. Did you really think your protector was coming back for you? He's walking into a slaughter. By the time they find his body, we'll be long gone. And so will you."
It was psychological warfare. They were trying to break her. To make her panic, to make her scream, to make her run. She thought of Kaito, his face grim as he walked out the door. She thought of his promise. I will not allow it. She squeezed her eyes shut, clutched the gun tighter, and stayed absolutely silent.
"No answer?" the voice on the laptop taunted. "No matter. We're patient."
The voice cut out. The silence returned, now filled with a new, sharper dread. They weren't leaving.
Then she heard it. A new sound from the living room. A faint, high-pitched whining. A drill. They were drilling the lock on the front door. The sound was a slow, deliberate violation of her sanctuary. The impenetrable fortress was being breached.
Panic, cold and sharp, threatened to overwhelm her. Her finger tightened on the trigger. She imagined the door bursting open, men flooding in. She pictured Kaito, bleeding in some dark alley. The walls of the pantry felt like they were closing in.
Suddenly, the drilling stopped.
It was replaced by a series of muffled, wet thuds from the hallway outside the apartment, followed by a sharp, choked-off cry. Then, another thud, heavier this time.
And then, silence once more. A dead silence.
Aiko stood frozen, her mind racing. What had happened? Was it Kaito's men? Was it a different enemy? Her ears strained, listening for any clue.
She heard it. The soft, familiar sound of a key sliding into the lock.
Her entire body tensed. Was it a trick? Had they gotten his keys?
The door swung open. She heard heavy, tired footsteps enter the apartment. One person. Then, a voice, strained and rough, called her name.
"Aiko?"
It was Kaito.
A wave of relief so powerful it almost buckled her knees washed over her. She fumbled for the pantry doorknob, her hands shaking so badly it took her two tries to open it.
She stepped out into the dim light. Kaito was standing in the middle of the living room. He was alone. His suit was disheveled, and there were fresh scrapes on his knuckles, but he was standing. He was alive. His eyes found her immediately, sweeping over her and then stopping on the gun she still held in her hand.
His expression was a complex storm of emotions. Relief, exhaustion, and something else she had never seen before. Awe. Respect.
He had left a terrified civilian hiding in a luxurious prison. He had returned to find a survivor, armed and ready, who had held the fortress on her own.
He walked slowly towards her, his eyes never leaving hers. He stopped in front of her and gently took the heavy gun from her trembling fingers, his own hand warm and steady as he disengaged the safety. He didn't ask if she was okay. He didn't ask what had happened.
He looked at her, at the fierce, terrified resolve in her eyes, and made a simple statement of fact, his voice filled with a quiet, profound understanding.
"You didn't call."