Narita's departure lounge buzzed with tired voices and the smell of stale coffee. Ryunosuke stood near the security gate, his ticket folded twice in his hand, heavier than it should have been. He wasn't alone—Aiko and Mayu had insisted on escorting him this far, though neither looked eager to say goodbye.
Aiko adjusted her glasses, holding out a small flash drive wrapped in black tape.
"This is a copy of the PSIA files. Don't upload it from anywhere traceable, and don't trust anyone with it until you've gone through it yourself."
Ryunosuke turned it over in his hand, frowning. "What's on it?"
"Too much," she said. "That's the problem."
"Then why are you giving it to me? Wouldn't it be safer with you?"
Her expression tightened. "Because I won't be safe for long. None of us will. You're the only one outside their reach for now. That makes you the better bet."
Mayu gave a humorless laugh, crossing her arms. " 'Better bet,' she says. You're basically handing him a live grenade."
Aiko didn't deny it. "Call it insurance. If we disappear, the story doesn't."
Ryunosuke slipped the drive into his pocket, its weight far heavier than its size. He nodded once, though unease lingered in his chest.
The final boarding call echoed through the terminal. He wanted to say something—something to bridge the distance opening between them—but no words came. Instead, he gave them both a short bow, turned, and walked through the gate without looking back.
The flight blurred together. Twelve hours lost to the rhythm of engines and turbulence. He dozed in fragments, waking to plastic trays of food he didn't touch, staring out the window as the Pacific stretched forever beneath him. Somewhere between the half-sleep and the drone of the cabin, he thought of Amelia. Of Emily. Weeks had passed since he'd heard their voices. The silence only grew heavier the closer he came to home.
When the plane touched down at LAX, the cabin filled with the soft rush of passengers standing too soon, shuffling luggage, eager to return to lives waiting on the other side of customs. Ryunosuke stepped into the current of bodies, carried forward by its weight.
The air smelled different here—warmer, tinged with jet fuel and ocean salt. Announcements and footsteps blended into a constant murmur as he cleared customs, moved through the glass doors, and stepped into the arrivals hall.
Crowds pressed close, families reunited, taxi drivers shouting over one another outside. He let himself breathe once, deep and steady. It was good to be back, even if the city already felt sharper, more dangerous than when he'd left.
That was when she appeared.
Lilith slipped into step beside him, hands in her coat pockets, as if she'd been walking with him all along. She didn't look at him. She didn't need to.
"You're not rid of me that easily," she said, her tone light but edged with something unspoken.
He didn't ask how she'd gotten here. Didn't ask what she meant. He just nodded once, matching her pace as they moved toward the exit.
Outside, the LA night glowed against the glass, waiting for them both.
The flight blurred together. Twelve hours lost to the rhythm of engines and turbulence. He dozed in fragments, waking to plastic trays of food he didn't touch, staring out the window as the Pacific stretched forever beneath him. Somewhere between the half-sleep and the drone of the cabin, he thought of Amelia. Of Emily. Weeks had passed since he'd heard their voices. The silence only grew heavier the closer he came to home.
When the plane touched down at LAX, the cabin filled with the soft rush of passengers standing too soon, shuffling luggage, eager to return to lives waiting on the other side of customs. Ryunosuke stepped into the current of bodies, carried forward by its weight.
The air smelled different here, warmer, tinged with jet fuel and ocean salt. Announcements and footsteps blended into a constant murmur as he cleared customs, moved through the glass doors, and stepped into the arrivals hall.
Crowds pressed close, families reunited, taxi drivers shouting over one another outside. He let himself breathe once, deep and steady. It was good to be back, even if the city already felt sharper, more dangerous than when he'd left.
That was when she appeared.
Lilith slipped into step beside him, hands in her coat pockets, as if she'd been walking with him all along. She didn't look at him. She didn't need to.
"You're not rid of me that easily," she said, her tone light but edged with something unspoken.
He didn't ask how she'd gotten here. Didn't ask what she meant. He just nodded once, matching her pace as they moved toward the exit.
Outside, the LA night glowed against the glass, waiting for them both.
The city stretched beneath the glass like a circuit board, every street lit in steady rhythm, traffic flowing like current. From the top floor of the Navarro Tower, Los Angeles looked less like a city and more like a machine—predictable, mechanical, something that could be controlled if you understood the pattern.
Victor Navarro stood at the window with a glass of whiskey in his hand. The ice clinked once as he swirled it, the amber liquid catching the neon glow of the skyline. Behind him, the elevator chimed softly, and one of his aides entered.
"Sir," the aide said, voice clipped, deferential. "Confirmation just came in. He's back."
Victor didn't turn. "Where?"
"Los Angeles International. He landed an hour ago. He's traveling light."
Victor sipped the whiskey, savoring the burn before answering. "And the girl?"
The aide hesitated. "…Unconfirmed. But some of our observers reported someone matching her description beside him."
Finally, Victor turned. His expression was unreadable—sharp eyes, calm mouth, no hint of surprise. "So he wasn't buried under Gamma after all. I suppose I should be impressed."
The aide shifted uneasily. "Orders, sir?"
Victor walked to his desk, setting the glass down on a leather coaster. The desk itself was immaculate—no clutter, no papers out of place. Only a carved chessboard sat at the center, each piece in its opening position.
He reached out and moved a single black pawn forward.
"Apply pressure," Victor said. "Not enough to kill him. Not yet. I want him desperate. Desperation makes people sloppy. It makes them reveal who they trust."
"Yes, sir."
Victor leaned back in his chair, hands folded, eyes fixed on the board. "Find Amelia and Emily. Take them somewhere quiet. Somewhere, he'll notice they're gone. Let him think it's his fault."
The aide nodded, making quick notes on a tablet. "And the boy's allies?"
"Keep them nervous. A man who has to hold up his friends will stumble faster."
Victor picked up the white king and examined it, turning it slowly between his fingers. "He's already in play. He just doesn't know which piece he is yet."
The aide waited, but Victor didn't elaborate. He simply set the king back down and waved his hand in dismissal.
When the aide was gone, Victor returned to the window. The skyline blinked back at him, a thousand lights forming a thousand weak points.
He raised his glass once more.
"To the fire," he murmured. "Let's see if it burns them… or me."
The door stuck before it opened, the swollen wood scraping against the frame. Ryunosuke pushed harder than he meant to, the sound loud in the hallway. He stepped inside, his bag sliding to the floor with a dull thump.
The apartment smelled faintly of Amelia's perfume, the floral kind that lingered in curtains and upholstery. But beneath it was another smell—stale air, undisturbed. He froze, eyes sweeping the space.
Everything was in place: the couch with its worn throw blanket, the neat stack of unopened mail on the counter, the picture frames lined along the wall. But the house felt hollow, as though its pulse had stopped.
"Where are they?" he whispered.
Lilith slipped in behind him, her coat whispering against the floorboards. She didn't answer. Instead, she walked slowly through the living room, her fingers trailing across the furniture, pausing at small details—the chipped corner of the dining table, the spine of a cookbook left on the counter, the silver frame of a wedding photo.
She lingered on one picture: Amelia and Riku on the opening day of the restaurant, both smiling with tired pride. "This place remembers them," she said softly, violet eyes unreadable. "But memory isn't presence."
Ryunosuke pulled the landline from its cradle, dialing Amelia's number with stiff fingers. It rang until the voicemail clicked. He hung up and tried Emily's. The same. He called again, holding the phone too tightly, until finally he slammed it down.
The silence pressed heavier with each unanswered call.
A sharp knock jolted him. Three deliberate raps against the door.
He reached instinctively for the kitchen drawer—nothing but dull utensils. Lilith tilted her head toward the door, her voice quiet but certain. "It's them."
He opened it.
Lucas and William stood awkwardly in the hallway. Lucas wore his usual half-smile, but it wavered when his eyes slid past Ryunosuke into the apartment. William didn't bother hiding his suspicion—his gaze went straight to Lilith, jaw tightening.
"Invite us in?" Lucas asked, voice light but edged.
Ryunosuke stepped aside. They entered, shoes squeaking against the floor.
"This is her, huh?" William muttered, eyes fixed on Lilith.
Lilith didn't move. She remained by the photographs, studying them as though their judgment meant nothing to her.
"Yeah," Ryunosuke said quietly. "That's Lilith."
Lucas flopped onto the couch, folding his hands together. "Well, you weren't exaggerating. Things got complicated overseas."
Ryunosuke sat across from him and began talking. He didn't tell them everything—the violet flashes, the fire that reshaped steel—but he gave them the bones: the leaks, the ambush, the massacre at Gamma, the escape. Lilith's presence. The stakes that followed him across the ocean.
Lucas listened, expression unreadable. William's frown deepened with every detail, his glances at Lilith sharpening like small knives.
When Ryunosuke finally stopped, the room was heavy with silence.
Then Lucas leaned back and exhaled. "So… we're screwed. But at least we're screwed together."
The quip cracked something open. Ryunosuke laughed—short, unsteady, but real. Even William smirked reluctantly, the tension easing just a fraction.
They pulled papers and drives from Ryunosuke's bag, spreading them across the dining table. The single lamp overhead buzzed softly, casting the room in pale gold. Hours passed in the quiet rhythm of turning pages, scribbling notes, cross-checking maps.
Lucas muttered as he worked, tapping his pen against the table. "Half this stuff looks like garbage. Numbers stacked on numbers. But…" He squinted at one file, cross-referencing with a survey map. "Look here. These aren't shipping logs. They're geothermal readings."
Ryunosuke leaned over. "From where?"
Lucas traced the coordinates with his finger, his smirk returning. "San Gorgonio Mountains. East range. Middle of nowhere."
William frowned. "Geothermal spikes? That could just be volcanic activity."
Lucas shook his head. "Not like this. These aren't natural. Someone wanted this buried in the data, which means it matters."
Ryunosuke felt the weight of it. The third relic—no longer rumor, but a direction.
Lilith finally spoke, her voice calm, steady. "If that's where it lies, Victor already knows. He'll burn everything between us and it."
The silence that followed was not empty this time. It carried weight, a path laid bare in front of them.
For the first time all evening, Ryunosuke didn't feel lost. He felt pointed somewhere—dangerous, yes, but real.
The dining table was still cluttered with papers when Lucas and William finally stood. Both looked drained, their movements stiff after hours hunched over maps and files.
Lucas shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket. "We'll head back. Better to move in daylight if we're gonna dig into these mountains." He glanced at Ryunosuke, then at Lilith, his smirk returning faintly. "And… uh, maybe keep her out of sight? She's got the kind of presence that makes neighbors nervous."
William didn't joke. He muttered a flat goodbye, his eyes cutting toward Lilith one last time before following Lucas out.
The apartment door clicked shut. Silence spread, thin at first, then filling the space like water into a glass.
Ryunosuke stayed at the table, elbows resting on the edge, staring at the map pinned with Lucas's red marker. The coordinates burned in his mind, but so did the absence of Amelia and Emily. The apartment felt colder without them, though all their belongings remained—a museum of the lives that should've been here.
He heard Lilith before he saw her. The faint brush of her coat. The shift of her weight near the window. She stood with her back to him, framed by the glow of the streetlamps outside. From here, she looked almost like a silhouette cut from shadow.
"You're quiet," she said without turning.
"So are you."
He pushed back from the table and crossed the room. She didn't move as he came to stand beside her. The glass pane was cool against his skin when he leaned forward, looking down at the sparse traffic below. Sirens wailed faintly somewhere in the distance.
After a while, he spoke. "Stay with me tonight."
She tilted her head, violet eyes catching the reflection of city light. "I don't sleep."
He almost smiled. "Liar."
For the first time since they'd landed, she hesitated. Just a flicker, but enough.
Ryunosuke reached out, fingers brushing hers. Her hand was colder than he expected, but she didn't pull away. "I want you here," he said. "Not because of what you can do. Because you're you."
Her gaze softened, though her lips curved into something between mockery and surrender. "You're dumb," she whispered.
Then she kissed him.
Not the fiery, desperate kind. A slow kiss, weighted with everything unspoken—the fear, the secrecy, the fragile comfort neither wanted to admit they needed. She leaned into him, her hand pressing lightly against his chest, as though to steady herself.
Outside, the city moved on, unaware. Inside, the two of them stood at the window, framed in silence and streetlight, the weight of absence heavy but no longer unbearable.
For tonight, at least, they weren't alone.