[~1500 Words]
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"Mom, where have you been?" Kudo Shinichi frowned. "You said you'd be back in twenty minutes, but you've been gone for ages."
Kudo Yukiko forced a casual smile. "Just a little traffic delay. Nothing serious."
If only that were true.
She had meant to return sooner, but after that reckless race with Fujiwara Takuya, she'd lost track of time—and nearly her life.
She'd underestimated him. Badly. Who would've thought Takuya Fujiwara would be that… intense? That dangerous?
He'd knocked her unconscious leaving her dazed, her body still humming with the aftermath. The memory alone made her pulse quicken.
Why is there such a difference between men?
Yusaku Kudo, her husband, was brilliant, yes, but he lacked that raw, electrifying edge. If Takuya had been her husband instead… would she have spent all these years feeling so hollow? So alone?
The thought was traitorous. Decades of love shouldn't unravel so easily. And yet—
Shinichi, oblivious to her turmoil, was still brooding. "Officer Fujiwara wasn't even here today. What a shame. I was looking forward to beating him."
His words were half taunt, half genuine frustration. Takuya had bested him twice before. A third loss would've been unbearable.
Eri Kisaki's irritation flared.
This brat.
First, he drags Ran into this mess, then he has the nerve to provoke herTakuya?
"You're welcome to try," Takuya smiled at Shinichi and saif, "but if you ask me, you're no match for me in anything—not brains, not speed. But I can get someone killed with that reckless driving of mine."
Yukiko's fingers twitched. Nearly killed? She'd been the one knocked senseless, not killed—though Takuya's strength had been alarming. And now he was bragging about it? In front of Shinichi?
[T/N: there´s some mix up with the para´s. But I couldn't make them make sense so I just edited it out.]
"Enough," she cut in, voice clipped. "I have things to do. You all take the car back."
She couldn't let Takuya keep goading her. One more word, and she'd—
Eri hesitated, torn between concern for Takuya and the need to check on her own daughter. "Ran, you three go to my place first. I've some work to do."
Shinichi, however, had other plans. "Ran, you go ahead. I'll walk Mom home."
Something was off about his mother Yukiko. He couldn't pinpoint what, but he wasn't leaving her side until he figured it out.
Takuya watched Shinichi abandon Ran without a second thought and raised a brow. "Childhood sweethearts, huh? Leaving her here like that? Pathetic."
Ran's face burned. Damn it. She was his childhood sweetheart—so why did it feel like she was the last thing on his mind?
"Pathetic is right," Eri muttered. "If that's what 'childhood sweethearts' look like, count me out."
She shot a glare at Takuya. As if she'd ever believe in that nonsense.
Look at her—carrying his child while he still had a girlfriend back home.
What was she, then? A mistress? A convenience?
The thought stung.
The taxi ride was tense. Ran clutched the handkerchief Vermouth [Sharon Vineyard] had given her—until a sudden gust of wind tore it from her grip.
"Stop the car!" she cried. "I have to get it back!"
"Are you insane?" Eri lunged for her. "It's just a handkerchief! This isn't some safe neighborhood—"
"It's Miss Sharon's! I have to find it!" Ran was already out the door before Eri could stop her.
Takuya sighed and followed, keeping his voice low. "Eri, take the others to the hotel. I'll bring our daughter Ran back."
Eri's breath hitched. Our daughter. The words were dangerous—careless—but the way he said them, so naturally, sent a thrill through her.
If only.
She forced herself to focus. "Be careful. That killer's still out there."
Takuya nodded and stepped into the alley.
The buildings here were old, the streets poorly lit—no cameras, no witnesses. The perfect hunting ground for a murderer.
And standing at the alley's mouth, blocking his path, was Shuichi Akai.
The FBI agent's sharp gaze locked onto him. "Fujiwara Takuya."
Takuya smirked. Ah. The ex-boyfriend.
Akai had once loved Miyano Akemi—until he'd suspected her of cheating. Until he'd betrayed the Organization to protect her, only to lose her anyway.
If only he'd known the truth.
That the man Akemi had actually been with was standing right in front of him.
But Takuya kept his expression blank. None of your business.
"Looking for someone?" he asked, voice smooth.
Akai's fingers twitched toward his gun. "I could ask you the same."
The air between them crackled—two predators, each with their own secrets.
And somewhere in the shadows, a silver-haired killer watched.
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Shuichi Akai recognized Fujiwara Takuya immediately.
He'd heard the name before—Fujiwara Takuya, the underworld's most infamous cop—but seeing him here, of all places, was unexpected.
"Officer Fujiwara." Akai's voice was low, measured. "What brings you to this alley?"
Takuya didn't slow his stride. "A friend's daughter—Mouri Ran—went in alone. I'm getting her out." He brushed past Akai without another word.
Akai watched him go, his sharp eyes narrowing. He could stop him. Should, even. But something held him back.
Fujiwara Takuya isn't a threat. Not to the mission, at least. And the alley had already been swept clean.
Besides… if Takuya was here for something else, Akai would know soon enough.
The abandoned apartment building loomed ahead, its broken windows like hollow eyes in the dark. Ran pushed open the creaking door, stepping into the suffocating blackness.
A gust of wind howled through the empty rooms, carrying the scent of damp wood and rust. The only light came from a sliver of moonlight, barely cutting through the gloom.
Ran's breath hitched. This is where the handkerchief landed.
She forced herself forward, fingers trembling.
"Ran!"
Takuya's voice cut through the silence. He caught up in seconds, Glock already drawn. "What the hell are you doing? This place isn't safe."
Ran turned, clutching the handkerchief. "I—I found it! I just need to—"
A floorboard groaned.
Then—movement.
A figure lunged from the stairs, silver hair glinting in the dim light. Blood seeped through the killer's fingers, staining his shirt crimson.
Ran froze.
This is him. The Silver-Haired Killer.
The man raised his gun—
The figure exhaled, voice low and strained. "I didn't expect you to find me. Don't blame me for this. Blame yourself for coming here."
But then—hesitation.
The killer's fingers twitched toward their pocket, pulling out a silencer. Vermouth.
Before she could attach it, the rusted railing behind her groaned—and snapped.
She stumbled backward, arms windmilling—
Takuya moved.
Not to strike. Not to fight.
He caught her shoulder.
Ran lunged a second later, gripping Vermouth's other arm.
For a heartbeat, the three of them hung suspended—two pulling, one caught between salvation and ruin.
Then Vermouth moved.
She twisted midair, rolling into a crouch with feline grace. When she rose, her gun was still in hand, but her aim wavered.
"Why?" Her voice was raw. "I was going to kill you."
Ran's grip on her tightened. "Do you need a reason to save someone?"
Vermouth had no answer.
Then Ran's knees buckled.
Takuya caught her before she hit the ground.
"Damn it." He'd known she was unwell, but he hadn't expected her to collapse like this.
He adjusted his hold, already turning to leave—but paused.
Looked back at Vermouth.
"I don't know what you've been through," he said, voice quiet. "But you're not the only one who's lost. And you're not the only one who deserves a way out."
Then he was gone, carrying Ran into the night.
Vermouth stood frozen.
Angels.
She'd spent a lifetime in the dark—betrayal, blood, the Black Organization's endless night.
And yet.
Twice now, they had saved her.
The handkerchief fluttered to the ground, forgotten.
The taxi was still idling by the curb.
Eri threw the door open the second she saw Takuya emerge, Ran limp in his arms. "What happened?! Was it the killer?!"
"Just a fever," Takuya said, sliding into the backseat. "She overdid it."
Eri's shoulders sagged in relief. Just a fever. Not bullets. Not blades.
Then—
Gunfire.
A sharp crack split the air.
The taxi driver floored the gas.
Eri's blood ran cold.
Silver hair.
He's still out there.
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