(Dazai's POV)
The rain had been steady all morning, a thin curtain between Yokohama and the gray sky. It clung to the Agency windows—soft enough to fade into the background, but constant enough to keep the city damp and uneasy.
I ignored the stack of case reports Kunikida left on my desk—he pretends they're for "review," but we both know he just doesn't want to read the messes I've made. Instead, I was halfway through another book when the knock came.
Three taps.
Pause.
Two taps.
Not a client. Not the postman.
A code. One I hadn't heard in years.
I set the book down slowly, feeling the air in the office shift. Kunikida glanced up from his desk, brows tight, but I gave no explanation. Some doors you open without witnesses.
When I pulled it open, she was standing there—hood drawn, rain dripping from the edges, eyes that hadn't softened since the last time I saw them.
"Osamu," she said. No smile. No warmth.
"Emmaly," I answered, flat as ever.
Behind her, the hallway was empty, but the tension she carried filled the space like smoke.
"You're not supposed to be here."
"And yet," she stepped past me, "here I am."
Kunikida's hand twitched toward his pen. "Care to explain?"
"No," I said, shutting the door.