Tsuki stepped with a quiet intent. The alley smelled faintly of burnt paper and damp stone. Faint scratches marked the ground—dragged crates maybe. A smudge on the wall suggested something had been pinned there recently and ripped down.
Across from Tsuki, Geo knelt near a dusty grate. He brushed it with the sleeve of his cloak.
"Burnt parchment," he muttered, "probably whatever they were looking at. Nothing left of it. They probably assumed we'd come back."
"Not amateurs it'd seem," Hatori said. He stood in the pit of a shadow near a broken window shutter. His green eyes were the only feature Tsuki could make of his face.
She stepped further into the alleyway, eyeing a half loose metal pipe produced from the side of a wall—its interior coated in black soot.
"They funneled smoke through here. A controlled burn, they knew how to erase a footprint," Tsuki exhaled.
A brief silence followed. Then—
Knoxx stomped on the stone in frustration. "Dammit, I was hoping to beat someone's face in today. Now I'm stuck playing detective in the dirt!"
He shouted a little too loud, the echo carried across the encircling area.
"Frustration won't help," Danzo scolded. "Keep your wit, Knoxx. And quiet it too."
Just then, a metallic clink hit the ground from somewhere in the alley. Tsuki froze in place.
She wasn't the only one.
Everyone turned—slowly, deliberately—toward the surrounding rooftops.
A figure stood on the edge of the nearest building, just barely lit by the dying light of the evening sun. Cloaked in a dark coat with a high collar, face shadowed beneath a wide-brimmed hood, they looked more like a silhouette than a person. A silver medallion swung slightly from their neck—too far to identify. He didn't move.
He spoke—clear and cold. "You're far from home, Memento."
The words echoed down like a drip of water. The voice had a hint of sharpness—unclear if it was from friend or foe.
"Who are you?" Danzo asked, stepping forward.
"Someone who knows when to walk away from the fire," he replied. "You'd be smart to do the same."
Geo locked eyes—or where he thought the figures' eyes would be. His dark hood masked anything on his face. "Or what?"
A pause.
"You're poking a beast that sleeps under your floorboards—and it's beginning to stir."
"What do you mean? Who's The Lantern?" Azumi shouted.
The figure stood still and remained silent. He gave a faint nod as he spoke. "Turn around, go home. Riche doesn't belong to you."
Just like that, he stepped backward—and vanished. No footsteps followed—wasn't a trace he had even been there.
Tsuki stepped forward, her eyes remaining where the figure had been. "...That was a warning."
Knoxx grit his teeth and mashed his fist into his opposite hand. "Yeah, well, here's mine; we don't scare easy."
Danzo shook his head. "Doesn't matter. They knew us, and knew where to find us. They have more than we do, and I don't like it."
He turned to the rest of the squad. "We move carefully from now on. This isn't politics anymore. We're in the Lanterns web now."
The air was thick in the main streets of Riche. Judgment had found an inn along the plaza with enough rentable rooms for the squad. It was a quiet place—very cozily built with wooden beams and a stone base. It sat between a bakery and a smithery that was still awake in the dead of night.
One by one the members turned in for the night, but Tsuki remained restless. She sat on the edge of her bed, knees drawn to her chest, and stared blankly at the wall. The shadows from the lantern flickered like ghosts.
Her thoughts churned. The truth of the APC… the lies they'd built her world around… the blood on her hands.
She shut her eyes—
But the past forced itself in.
She found herself in a fragmented memory. She was younger, and standing in attention at the Stalker Academy. The painted white walls she didn't miss—and an instructor's voice that cut through the room.
"Obedience is survival," the instructor said, her voice firm and unforgiving. "Question nothing, empathy is weakness."
A girl, her classmate and one of few friends she had ever made in the academy raised her hand.
"What about the conflict in Jon? Isn't that wrong? To treat people that way?"
Tsuki remembered the teacher's scowl. She remembered her own thoughts.
Why did you ask that? Now you'll disappear too.
And she did. The girl wasn't ever in class again. Erased from ever officially existing.
Two days later, Tsuki was with two others—Jianka and Gatch—in a mission briefing.
"Eliminate the target. He's a threat to national order," the voice called. Tsuki looked at her squad. She saw the way Jianka and Gatch stood nervous, like her. Their eyes doubtful—nothing like they were in Galion.
The target was eight. A boy… an innocent boy. She remembered the way he looked at her. When she found him alongside his family… the tears that ran down her face, and a faulty commitment to the cause.
But most of all—
She remembered the way she ended a life she could've saved.
She snapped back to the present, and again, tears flooded her eyes. The memory was one she couldn't forget, and wouldn't let herself.
"How many lies did I follow," she asked herself in a whisper. She stood with her head down, grabbed her cloak, and walked out the door.
The plaza was silent at the hour, illuminated by only the dim lanterns and faint moonlight that was now mostly covered by clouds. The fraction that wasn't overtaken reflected off the Richelle River nearby. Tsuki sat at the edge of a weathered stone fountain, watching the water ripple.
Her hands still trembled in her lap. A voice called out, breaking the silence.
"Tsuki!"
She was caught off guard, snapping her head to the sound. Geo walked over with a kind smile, his hands deep in his pockets.
"Geo! What're you doing up this late?" She blinked.
He shrugged, stepping closer. "Couldn't sleep. Too much going on up here," he said, pointing to his head. "The paranoia and crushing pressure of responsibility's got me in a chokehold."
"I get it," Tsuki whispered. "Whole district seems wired. It isn't the normal recon mission we figured it'd be."
Geo nodded. He took a seat next to her, and sprawled out across the available space. "Would be nice if Tona was here," he joked. "He'd punch the sewer walls and get the truth."
She chuckled at that. A purehearted laugh that temporarily removed the tension she had inside. Her eyes caught his—then instantly looked away.
"I…" she began, struggling to come to words. "I was thinking on my past."
Geo looked over curious. "What about?"
She hesitated, letting the words come. He understood.
"I don't remember anything before the academy. Never had anything like family… had a few friends, but none that stayed. I just… existed. For war, to follow orders. Gave you a weapon and called you a soldier."
"And gave you nothing in return," Geo said quietly.
"I didn't know what love was, or what it could be," she continued. "The APC gave us squadmates and said it was enough. That was our 'family.' It wasn't real though—never was."
Her voice cracked—Geo didn't interrupt.
"Geo, I… killed a child. I ended his life because I was told—and I can't forgive myself for it. I won't ever be able to."
Tears rolled down her eyes. Geo's eyes widened, but he didn't falter. He grabbed her hand, and used his thumb to trace the top.
"I… saw him. The same boy, in Galion. The night I disobeyed—the child, Nokosaki… I couldn't do it. I refused."
Her tears dropped to the ground.
"I don't know who I am. I don't deserve the home Memento gave me… the sins I've committed…"
Geo remained quiet a moment longer. His hand rose to her face, and brushed the tears away. His gaze didn't leave her eyes.
"Tsuki, listen to me. If Memento was all perfect people, we wouldn't have been here. But, it's because we've done wrong, and we see wrong…"
His hand fell back down to hers.
"That we do what it takes—what we can to fix those wrongs. Not to live with regret, but to learn, and to correct our mistakes."
Her lips trembled into a soft smile. One that broke through years of sorrow.
He wrapped his arms around her gently, letting her lean into him. They stayed like that, tucked beneath the stars and the soft hush of the fountain, two broken pieces beginning to mend together.