The house felt different once the decision was made.
It was no longer a home. It was a memory in the process of being abandoned.
Bags lay open across the floor, clothes folded hastily, essentials chosen with trembling hands. Reina moved from room to room with mechanical focus, her eyes glassy but determined. Akari packed quietly, unusually silent, clutching her bag as if it were a lifeline.
Kaito didn't pack.
He didn't touch his clothes. Didn't open drawers. Didn't hesitate in front of old photographs.
He was staying.
Instead, he carried bags. One by one, he lifted them and brought them to the car, his movements steady, controlled, like a man who refused to let his body betray his heart.
Veyron noticed.
"You're not bringing anything," he said quietly.
Kaito didn't look at him. "I don't need it."
The words landed heavier than they should have. As the night dragged on, memories filled the empty spaces between actions. Reina stopped in the hallway, fingers brushing the wall.
"This is where you learned to walk," she said softly, looking at Veyron. "You kept falling, but you'd laugh every time. You never cried."
Veyron swallowed. "You used to panic every time I bumped my head."
"Because you were reckless," she replied with a faint smile. "Still are." Akari sat cross-legged on the floor, listening.
"You know," Kaito added, leaning against the doorframe, "before Akari was born, it was just us three. Reina barely slept. She thought every cough meant something was wrong."
Reina laughed quietly through tears. "You were worse. You'd stand by his crib all night like a guard."
Akari looked up. "What about me?"
Reina turned to her immediately. "You were different. You were small. Fragile. You cried so much I thought the house would collapse."
Akari smiled faintly. "You always carried me like this," she said, mimicking being held.
"And you refused to sleep unless Veyron was nearby," Kaito said. "You trusted him more than us."
Veyron looked away, throat tight. Hours slipped by unnoticed. The clock on the wall ticked toward morning. By the time the sky outside began to pale, it was 4:50 AM. They stood in the living room, bags packed, coats on, the house stripped down to silence. Every familiar sound was gone. No laughter. No arguments. Just breathing.
They had decided to go to Reina's roots. Her family lived beyond the borders. Somewhere the Red Level couldn't easily reach. Somewhere safer. Maybe.
They hugged in the doorway.
Akari clung to Kaito the longest.
"Don't disappear," she whispered.
He kissed the top of her head. "I won't. I promise."
Reina held him next. Her grip was tight, desperate. "You come back," she said. Not a question. A command.
Kaito nodded. "I will."
Then Veyron stepped forward. They didn't say anything. They just embraced. It was enough. They got into the car. Reina took the driver's seat. Veyron sat beside her, staring ahead. Akari climbed into the back, alone, hugging her backpack to her chest. For a moment, no one moved. The engine hummed softly. At exactly 5:13 AM, Reina tightened her grip on the wheel.
"Ready?" she asked.
No one answered.
The car rolled forward.
They didn't look back.
The first few minutes passed in silence. Streetlights slid by. Familiar roads faded into unfamiliar ones.
Then Veyron saw it.
In the side mirror.
Kaito Okami stood at the end of the driveway, shoulders shaking, one hand covering his face. He was crying openly now, the restraint gone, the weight too heavy to hold alone.
Akari noticed too.
She pressed her forehead against the glass. Reina's jaw tightened, but she didn't stop. This had to be done. The car kept moving.
Two hours passed in near silence.
The highway thinned into city roads, concrete replacing open space. They crossed through smaller districts, then larger ones, buildings stacking higher, closer. By the time the sign for NEOTERRA slid past the windshield, dawn had fully arrived.
Neoterra was one of the four great cities of the country. Not the largest, not the loudest, but dense. Compact. A place where too many eyes existed, even when most of them were closed.
It was 7:40 AM.
Saturday morning.
Most of the city slept.
The streets were empty in a way that felt unnatural, storefronts dark, traffic lights blinking lazily over vacant intersections. The car moved through it like an intruder. The air felt… thick. Heavy. As if pressure had increased without warning.
The windows were open.
That heaviness crept inside.
Akari had fallen asleep in the back seat at some point. That alone should have felt wrong. She was always the last one awake, always restless. But now she sat slumped against the door, breathing shallowly, unmoving.
Veyron turned in his seat slightly.
"Akari," he said, keeping his voice low. "Is it cold back there? I can close the—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
There was something in her neck.
A small arrow.
Thin. Precise.
It glowed faintly green.
For a fraction of a second, his brain refused to process it. Then everything clicked at once, violently, horribly.
She wasn't asleep.
She'd been shot.
Veyron's head snapped toward the right window.
On the rooftop of a nearby building, silhouetted against the pale morning sky, stood a man. Grass-green outfit, designed to blend, tight and efficient. A red bandage wrapped around his right arm. In his hands was a sniper rifle unlike anything Veyron had ever seen—long, dark metal, sleek and heavy, like it belonged in a future that shouldn't exist yet.
The man was already adjusting his aim.
"DRIVE LEFT!" Veyron screamed. "LEFT, NOW!"
He ripped the sun visor down and tore it free, slamming it against the side window just as something struck it.
Impact.
The visor jolted violently.
Another green-glowing arrow pierced partially through, stopping inches from his face.
Fear hit first.
Then relief.
The car lurched hard as it veered left, tires screaming against the asphalt. Reina hadn't said a word, but she had reacted instantly. She had heard him.
She had turned.
Good.
Veyron sucked in a breath and turned to look at her.
Her head dropped forward.
It struck the steering wheel softly.
A thin green arrow protruded from the side of her neck.
Time stopped.
His lungs forgot how to work.
"No…" he whispered.
The realization settled like ice in his veins.
There wasn't one shooter.
There never was.
"There's more than one of them," he thought numbly.
This wasn't an accident. This wasn't a rogue attack. This was coordinated. Organized. Surgical.
The car, now uncontrolled, smashed into the front of a small store. Glass shattered. Metal screamed. The impact sent his body forward, then back, stars exploding across his vision.
Before he could recover, shadows moved. Ten of them. They came from alleys, rooftops, doorways.
Some wore tactical gear. Some looked like ordinary civilians—jackets, hoodies, caps—people you would pass on the street without a second glance. But every single one of them had the same thing.
A red bandage on their right arm.
Hands grabbed him.
Pulled him from the wreckage.
The world blurred, sounds stretching and warping, as if reality itself had lost its grip. His vision ghosted, images overlapping. Akari. His mother. The soldiers. The sky. They laid them on the ground. One by one.
A man knelt beside him, pulling out a small device. It looked like a compact electro-shocker, but it didn't fire. Instead, green-blue energy pulsed across its surface, faint sparks dancing like static lightning.
The device was pressed against his chest.
A soft hum.
Data scrolled across a tiny screen.
Veyron tried to move.
Couldn't.