The man in the black coat sat in a room with no windows. Honestly, it didn't even feel like a room, more like a box. The air was stale, kind of damp, smelled like old wood and cigarettes. A lamp sat on the desk but it wasn't enough, the corners still looked like shadows were dripping off them. The table itself was cheap, scratched up like someone had been carving words into it years ago and then gave up.
There was some stuff on it—a busted radio, a notebook, and a pile of cash held together by a rubber band that looked too thin to even hold. He tapped the radio once and said, in this flat voice:
"Bring him."
The door creaked open and two guys shoved in another man. This one looked like hell. Dirty beard, eyes like he hadn't slept in weeks, lips cracked. His jacket wasn't even a jacket anymore, just a piece of cloth clinging to him. But under the mess, you could still see the tattoo on his forearm. Faded but clear enough—it belonged to one of Alitera's old street crews. The kind of mark that gets you into trouble just by being visible.
Black coat leaned back, lit a cigarette, flicked the ash on the floor 'cause there wasn't an ashtray.
"You want food, right? A place to sleep. Something for your brothers too." He shoved the money forward.
The man stared at it like it might disappear. "What do I have to do?"
"Go to City General tomorrow," black coat said. He pushed a folded jacket across. "Wear this. There's a button in the pocket. Press it when the time comes. That's it."
The man's lips twitched. "And if I don't?"
Black coat blew smoke. "Then you go back where you came from. Alleys. You know what that means."
The silence dragged. Finally the man grabbed the cash and held it like he thought someone might rip it out of his hands. He nodded, tiny nod, like he was nodding at himself more than them.
"Tomorrow morning," black coat said. That was all.
Morning showed up too bright. Aya hadn't slept. She looked weak, eyes hollow, skin pale. By noon the doctor didn't sugarcoat anything anymore. "She has to be admitted. Today. Not later."
Akira's jaw was tight but he smiled at her anyway. He held her hand like he could carry the weight for her. Ren was at the door, shaking his head.
"You'll stay with Aunt Naomi," Akira said.
Ren's voice cracked. "No. I'm going."
Aya touched his face, smiling even though it looked painful. "Let him come. He'll be fine."
Akira sighed. "Alright. We all go."
Hospitals never felt right. Too white, too many buzzing lights. Aya was wheeled through the big double doors while a nurse blocked Akira and Ren. "Wait here."
They sat on a bench that felt like stone. Ren kept kicking the leg, bump-bump-bump. Akira kept looking at the clock, then the doors, then at Ren, then back at the clock.
"She's strong," Akira said finally. "You're strong too. That's why she'll be okay."
Ren nodded, but his eyes were wet. "What if—"
"She's strong," Akira cut him off.
Time crawled. Could've been an hour, maybe more. Then the doctor came out, eyes tired but smiling.
"Congratulations. A girl."
Akira stood so fast the bench groaned. "A… girl." He laughed once, like it slipped out of him.
Aya was pale, sweaty, but smiling. In her arms was a tiny bundle. The baby's face looked like it had been made out of glass, so fragile.
Ren crept close, almost scared. "She's so small."
Aya nodded. "Small doesn't mean weak." She guided his hand. "You'll protect her. Promise me."
Ren puffed his chest out, wiped his tears quick. "I promise."
Akira kissed Aya's forehead, then the baby's. "Welcome, little star."
For a little while, it felt like nothing else mattered.
But across town, the man with the jacket sat on a staircase, staring at the floor. He kept folding and unfolding the jacket. His hand brushed the button inside the pocket, and every time it did, he flinched.
"They'll eat," he whispered. "Tonight they'll eat."
He pressed the button once, too lightly to set it off. Then again. Then stopped. His hand was shaking.
Finally he stood up. Put the jacket on. Didn't look at himself in the mirror. Just went.
By the time Aya was resting, Akira had Ren humming nonsense to the baby. She scrunched up her face like she didn't like it. Aya laughed weakly.
"She's strong," Aya whispered.
"Like her mother," Akira said, brushing her hair back.
The fire alarms went off before either of them could say more.
The first explosion shook the floor. The lights flickered. Someone screamed in the hall. Smoke bled in through the cracks of the door.
Akira grabbed the bed. "Ren, stay with your sister." His voice was sharp now.
Sprinklers turned on, water dripping on Aya's hair as nurses shouted and pushed everyone toward the crossover bridge. The wheels squeaked as Akira shoved the bed.
Another blast. Walls cracked. Doors slammed shut from the shock.
"Almost there," he muttered, teeth clenched.
The bridge glowed orange from fire below. They rolled fast. But the second they hit the other side, the ceiling gave way.
Akira shoved the bed. The slab fell.
And he didn't move again.
Aya's scream broke the air. Ren froze, then scrambled, clutching the baby tight against his chest.
A man was already in the room, standing in the shadows. Not a rescuer. He smiled.
Aya's voice dropped low, calm like ice. "Ren. Take your sister. Go to the wall. Cover her with your jacket. Don't look back."
Ren shook his head. She gripped his arm harder. "Now."
He did. His small body curled around the baby. He whispered into her ear like magic words: "I'll protect you. I'll protect you."
The fire pressed closer. It licked at his face. He screamed as skin blistered.
"Child! This way!" a rescuer's voice broke through. They hacked through debris until they found him.
Ren didn't let go until someone pried him free. He was half-burned, but alive. The baby too. Aya wasn't.
Outside, sirens painted everything in red and blue. Smoke climbed into the sky like the city itself was crying.
"Five-year-old, severe burns. Newborn stable. Separate them."
The ambulance doors slammed shut. Ren's small hand was still holding the blanket.
And far away, on a rooftop, the man in the black coat lit another cigarette.
"It's done," he said into the radio.
The reply came smooth, calm. "Not murder. Just a tragedy. The city will weep, but they won't know the truth."
Black coat didn't answer. He just stood there, watching the smoke drift. Then he turned and walked away.