The precinct was already alive when Seigi arrived, the hum of voices and phones weaving into the steady rhythm of the day. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, giving the office its usual washed-out glow. The stale smell of burnt coffee lingered in the air, blending with printer toner and old paper.
Hana was already at her desk, coat draped neatly on her chair, hair pulled into a tidy knot. Her glasses caught the light as she scribbled notes into a case file. Without looking up, she slid a cup of coffee across the desk toward him.
"You're late."
"I'm on time," Seigi muttered, easing into his chair with a groan. His bruised ribs disagreed with the movement. "The city's just early."
Hana finally glanced at him, unimpressed. "You look like someone ran you through a dryer."
He smirked faintly, raising the cup in mock toast. "And you look like you've been awake since yesterday. Fair trade."
She allowed the corner of her mouth to twitch upward before returning to her work.
Renji swaggered in not long after, humming a half-tuned pop song. His tie hung loose, jacket slung over one shoulder. He carried a pink bakery box, which he plopped down on the desk between them.
"Breakfast of champions," he announced. "And before you ask—yes, I already ate three."
Seigi raised an eyebrow. "That explains the sugar rush."
"Explains the singing too," Hana added dryly.
Renji clutched his chest like he'd been struck. "You two wound me. I bring gifts, and all I get is cruelty." He flipped the box open. "Go on, before I eat the rest."
Seigi reached for one but paused, noticing the faint tremor in Renji's hand as he set down his coffee. It was gone in a blink, replaced by Renji's easy grin, but Seigi filed it away.
"You okay?" Seigi asked casually.
Renji blinked, too fast. "What? Yeah. Fine. Why?"
"You just look… tired."
Renji laughed it off, loud and carefree. "Kids, man. One nightmare, and suddenly no one sleeps. You'll see someday. Makes Shades look like a vacation."
Hana tilted her head slightly, watching him longer than necessary. But she didn't press.
By late morning, they were knee-deep in a burglary case. Hana stood over the evidence board, sharp eyes tracing patterns in dust photos and printouts.
"Here," she said, tapping one with her pen. "These smudges aren't random. The suspect moved the vase twice—first searching, then staging the scene. Clumsy."
Seigi scribbled notes, though his mind kept wandering. He could still see Kurogami's circles of light from the night before, hear the word myth in his ears.
"Zoning out again," Hana said under her breath, leaning closer so only he could hear. "Stay with me."
"Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't sleep."
She gave him a long look, then turned back to the board. "Then stop killing yourself in training."
He didn't respond. His pen scratched the page, but his chest was tight.
Renji slipped out after lunch without a word. By the time Seigi noticed his empty chair, Hana was already frowning.
"He's been doing that more lately," she said. "Coming in late, ducking out early. Distracted."
"Family stuff?" Seigi offered.
"Maybe," Hana said softly. "Or maybe not."
The unease in her voice stuck with him the rest of the day.
That evening, the Guild's lower training hall smelled of sweat and burning incense. The floor was scarred with old battles, stone gouged where Aether had struck too hard.
Riku was already there, bouncing on his heels like a caged animal. "Finally," he muttered. "Thought you two were gonna make excuses again."
"Unlike you, we actually have day jobs," Hana said coolly.
Riku grinned. "Don't need jobs when you've got speed." He vanished in a blur, reappearing across the hall in a crack of displaced air.
Aya, seated calmly on a bench, didn't even look up from the book in her lap. "Your ego's faster than your feet, Riku."
"Jealous," he shot back. The grin faltered when her eyes lifted, sharp as blades. He muttered something under his breath and turned away.
Seigi stretched, feeling every bruise protest. He summoned threads, silver arcs sparking to life, weaving into a crude shield. They wavered, unstable.
"You're pushing too hard again," Hana whispered beside him.
"I need to keep up."
"With who? Riku? Or Kurogami?"
Her eyes locked onto his, firm. The training hall noise faded for a heartbeat. Seigi swallowed, throat tight, before turning away.
Training was brutal. Shinzo barked orders, Aya corrected form, Riku showed off until Aya tripped him mid-dash. Mei appeared halfway through, tossing playful jabs, her fireballs crackling like fireworks until Shinzo snapped at her.
Hours later, the hall emptied. Seigi lingered, chest heaving, sweat soaking his shirt. Threads sparked weakly in his palm before dying out.
Hana crouched beside him, voice softer now. "You don't have to prove yourself every second."
He gave a bitter laugh. "Feels like I do."
"Not to me. Not to them either." Her gaze held his, steady. "Figure out who you're trying to prove it to before someone else decides for you."
Her hand touched his arm, warm, grounding. For a moment, the knot in his chest loosened. Then she pulled away quickly, standing briskly. "Come on. You'll be late for paperwork if you collapse here."
Seigi smiled faintly, dragging himself up.
Later, alone in his apartment, the city hummed beyond his window. Neon light bled through the blinds, casting fractured shadows across the room. He dropped his jacket on the chair and sank onto the bed, phone buzzing in his hand.
A message from Hana:
"Don't forget: you're not alone in this. See you tomorrow, partner."
His chest ached as he read it. She always meant what she said. Always.
He set the phone down on the table, eyes heavy. That was when he saw it—something shifting at the edge of his vision.
The curtains stirred though the window was shut. A shadow slipped across the glass, gone in an instant.
Seigi's pulse spiked. Threads flared to life in his palm, silver arcs cutting light through the dark apartment. The glow revealed only silence. Empty space.
He stood there, heart hammering, every nerve screaming. Slowly, the threads unraveled back into his skin.
"Jumping at ghosts," he whispered, though the words felt hollow.
Because deep down, he knew better. Ghosts weren't the problem.
Shadows were.