Lucien's POV.
The rooftop had become her throne.
She didn't say it, didn't call it anything, but that's what it was. A queen perched above a kingdom of rust and concrete, draped in sunlight like it owed her rent.
She didn't look at us when we stepped up from the stairwell.
But we knew she knew we were there.
Araragi moved to the far edge, leaning on the railing like he needed to think out loud but didn't trust the silence not to answer back.
I stayed closer to the door.
Half-in, half-out.
That was starting to feel like my natural state.
"You returned without incident," she said.
Araragi rolled his eyes. "Sorry for not dying dramatically enough."
"You'd be surprised how many people fail at the simple task of staying alive," she replied, calm as fog. "It's disappointing, really. I always expect more creativity."
"Disappointing," I echoed. "Coming from the woman who got taken apart by three guys and a pair of rosary beads."
She turned her head at that.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Her eyes narrowed—not in anger, but appraisal.
"You've grown bolder," she said.
"Or maybe I've always been this way and you just didn't notice," I said. "It's hard to tell when you only look at people like they're tools or time bombs."
"Are you suggesting you're neither?"
"I'm suggesting you're a bad judge of people."
Her mouth curled—not quite a smile. Not quite not.
Araragi turned his head slightly. Watching. But not intervening.
Kiss-shot tilted her chin. "That's a bold tone to take with someone who could end you with a thought."
"If that were true, you'd have done it by now."
That got a pause.
A real one.
Like a heartbeat caught mid-step.
She stood slowly and walked toward me.
Each step was silent. Small feet on weathered concrete. She stopped two feet away—just far enough that I couldn't feel her breath, but close enough that I could feel the gravity she dragged behind her.
She looked up at me—barely coming to my chest in this form.
But her presence made her ten stories tall.
"You're afraid of me," she said. "But not like he is."
I didn't answer.
She tilted her head. "You're not afraid of what I'll do. You're afraid of what you'll become."
I stared at her.
Hard.
"You don't know what I am," I said.
She nodded. "Not yet. But I will."
Araragi broke the silence.
"You two ever think about getting matching friendship bracelets?"
I blinked. He was still by the railing, his back turned, arms resting on the bar like none of this bothered him.
Kiss-shot actually chuckled.
"You deflect with sarcasm," she said.
"I deflect with sarcasm," he replied, "because it's easier than admitting I don't like watching you two circle each other like wolves waiting to decide who gets to bite first."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Araragi turned to me now.
His eyes were tired. Not unkind. Just done.
"You're hiding something," he said bluntly.
I said nothing.
He didn't push.
"Whatever it is," he added, "just make sure it doesn't get me killed."
I nodded.
That was fair.
Kiss-shot sat again.
But this time, not at the edge.
She stayed closer.
"You both think you have choices," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "And maybe you do. But this world—these people, these rules—they don't care about your awareness or your secrets. They only care about what bleeds."
"You're awfully philosophical for someone who drinks people like boxed wine," I muttered.
"And you're awfully self-righteous for someone who's not even real," she said without missing a beat.
I froze.
She didn't blink.
Araragi stiffened.
But the moment passed.
And she looked away.
"I wonder," she whispered, "if you've already broken something just by being here."
She said it like a passing thought.
But it landed like a curse