I leaned against the car, my phone pressed to my ear. Yuko's voice was sharp when she answered, but she didn't argue—just a curt "I'll be down" before the line went dead. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and waited, my gaze fixed on the apartment building's entrance.
Twenty minutes later, the door of the building swung open, and Yuko stepped out.
She had changed.
Gone was whatever she'd been wearing before—replaced now by a fitted black top that clung just enough to hint at the curves beneath, the fabric thin but not revealing. Her jeans were dark, slightly distressed at the knees, hugging her legs in a way that made it clear she wasn't trying to hide—just to armor herself.
