Raizen buttoned the last button with hands that felt too steady.
That was what bothered him most.
He stood in front of the small mirror in their temporary house and stared at his own reflection like it belonged to someone else. Elegant black shirt. Clean collar. Black pants that sat straight on his hips, no wrinkles, no dust, no blood. He looked like he was going to a formal event.
Not a death.
He adjusted the fabric at his wrist, then paused, as if his body expected the same old routine - blades, straps, gear. His ribs still ached when he breathed too deep, but it was getting better every day. Just a constant reminder that yesterday and today were not separate things.
Outside the door, footsteps shifted. Someone exhaled softly.
Saffi was waiting for him.
Raizen opened the door and stepped out.
