---
Akira's eyelids fluttered open, the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room swimming into focus. The sharp scent of antiseptic stung his nose, and the dull ache in his body pulsed in time with the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor beside him. He turned his head—slowly, painfully—and saw **John**, slouched in a chair by the bed, idly flipping a pocketknife between his fingers. The blade caught the fluorescent light, glinting like a predator's eye.
**"Where am I?"** Akira's voice was rough, stripped raw.
John didn't look up. **"Takamochi Hospital,"** he said, as if commenting on the weather. **"Congrats. You're still alive."**
A knock at the door. **Kento** stepped in, his police uniform crisp, his gaze sharper.
**"You woke up,"** Kento said, voice flat.
Akira's body moved before his mind could catch up—he shoved himself upright, IV tearing free from his arm. A thin trail of blood snaked down his skin. **"Where's Hinata?"**
Kento crossed his arms. **"Locked in her room."** A pause. **"Safe."**
Akira exhaled, sinking back into the pillows. His ribs screamed in protest. " Want to know something?"
John stood, tucking the knife into his pocket. **"I don't want anything,"** he said, glancing at Kento. **"But he does."**
Then he left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Silence. The heart monitor beeped.
Kento's eyes lingered on Akira's bandaged torso, the wrappings barely containing the mess beneath. **"Those scars on your back,"** he said finally.
Akira smiled—just a flicker. **"Gifts."**
Kento's jaw tightened. **"Who the hell gives that kind of gift?"**
Akira turned his head toward the window. Outside, children played hopscotch, their laughter floating up like something from another world. **"My brother."**
Kento sat beside the window, the afternoon light cutting his face into jagged shadows. **"Why do you kill people?"** he asked, voice low.
Akira met his gaze. **"I feel… peace."**
Kento stood abruptly, chair scraping. **"One day, you'll be behind bars."**
Akira rose too, bandages straining, fresh blood seeping through. **"Good luck with that."**
---
The nurse caught his arm as he limped toward the exit. **"You're in a full cast—where do you think you're going?!"**
Akira pulled free. **"I heal better at home."**
---
The apartment hallway was dim, the air thick with the scent of old wood and something faintly metallic. Kento walked beside him, the silence between them taut as a wire.
At the door, Kento stopped. **"Hinata's waiting,"** he said, then turned and left without another word.
Akira knocked. No answer.
Inside his room, he grabbed his phone. The screen lit up, casting a ghostly glow over his face as he marked **52nd Street** on the map.
He changed into all black—every stitch a shadow, every seam a promise.
The door clicked shut behind him.
On the desk, his phone screen still glowed, the map open beside a photo of a boy whose face is covered.