The office door clicked shut, and the survivors didn't know what he was doing in there. To them, it looked like the strange boy who had arrived with military-grade weapons, fought like a soldier, and claimed leadership without hesitation had now locked himself away, leaving them to wonder what schemes brewed behind those closed doors.
Down in the basement, the atmosphere was brittle. The fifty-five survivors huddled in groups, voices hushed but tense, eyes flicking often toward the stairwell that led up to the main floor. Every now and then, someone muttered Riku's name like a curse. Others kept silent, but their silence carried its own sharp edge.
Murata sat against the wall with three of the older men who had been with him from the beginning. His hands were clasped, elbows resting on his knees, his jaw tight as he listened to the murmurs ripple around them.
