Rain streaked the window like claw marks.
Akira stood in the dark of his apartment, phone buzzing in his hand, the screen glowing with an unfamiliar number. The sound cut through the quiet sharper than any siren. He didn't answer it. Not yet.
He already knew what it meant.
Instead, he pressed a name he hadn't needed in months.
Ichigo.
The call connected instantly.
The world split in two.
On one side, Akira—still, tense, Yokosaki's neon bleeding through the glass behind him. On the other, Ichigo pacing the concrete floor of an old warehouse hundreds of miles north, rain leaking through rusted seams in the ceiling.
"Ichigo," Akira said. "I need you to gather everyone. The Red Ash is needed."
Ichigo didn't ask why. He never did.
"…Understood," he replied, already moving. "Everyone's ready. What's our first move?"
"We meet," Akira said. "Then we figure out who remembered the Red Ash… and why."
Ichigo stopped pacing.
"Two hours," he said. "Move fast."
The call ended.
Across the northern city, engines turned over quietly. Doors opened. Bags were slung over shoulders. Old instincts woke up without needing explanation.
The Red Ash was moving again.
The warehouse sat at the edge of an industrial district, surrounded by rain-slick streets and dead factories that hadn't breathed in years. Sodium lights buzzed overhead, casting sickly halos across puddles and cracked asphalt.
One by one, they arrived.
Ichigo came first, hood up, eyes scanning rooftops before his boots touched the concrete. He paused only long enough to confirm there was no tail.
Eino slipped in next, silent, already checking comms and equipment like muscle memory had never faded.
Desiree and Cameron arrived together—stretching, cracking knuckles, exchanging a nod that said same as always.
Aiden vaulted a short fence with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes this time.
Richard and Mike followed, murmuring to each other, already mapping routes and fallback points.
Sean dropped from above, landing light, alert, laughing once under his breath like gravity still amused him.
Hinami and Minami appeared from opposite shadows, rejoining like mirrored ghosts—eyes sharp, minds calculating.
Seguen arrived last.
He didn't speak. He never needed to.
Inside, the warehouse felt alive again—filled with movement, quiet voices, purpose.
A screen flickered on at the far end of the room.
Akira's face appeared, lit by Yokosaki's glow.
Everyone straightened.
"Everyone here," Ichigo said. "Let's hear it. Akira—what's the situation?"
Akira's voice came through calm, steady.
"Someone remembered the Red Ash. And they want answers."
The room shifted.
"Start with the call," Akira continued. "Trace it. Follow the patterns."
Ichigo nodded once.
"Then we move."
The warehouse turned into a nerve center.
Screens lit up. Maps spread across metal tables. Rain drummed against the walls as if trying to listen in.
Ichigo and Eino hunched over encrypted feeds, fingers flying, peeling back layers of surveillance like scar tissue.
Desiree and Cameron split off, leaning on old contacts, pressing quietly for information while securing safe routes in and out of the district.
Aiden studied graffiti sprayed across nearby blocks—symbols too deliberate to be random. Messages hiding in plain sight.
Richard and Mike pieced together movement patterns, marking anomalies that didn't fit the usual chaos.
Sean, Hinami, and Minami ghosted through side streets, tails switching seamlessly, reflections slipping through glass and rain.
Seguen took position near the high windows, eyes never leaving the skyline.
Across the country, Akira watched Yokosaki with the same intensity.
He noticed it immediately—shifts in behavior, movements that echoed patterns he'd seen before. Someone was testing the island. Quietly. Carefully.
Small confrontations flared and died without witnesses. Akira handled them without noise, without scars. Just absence.
"They know us," Ichigo said over comms. "Precise. Calculated."
Akira exhaled slowly.
"The past doesn't whisper," he said. "It tests you before it strikes."
The connection revealed itself piece by piece.
A location surfaced—an old route, once used by Red Ash years ago. Too familiar. Too intentional.
At the same time, Akira spotted it in Yokosaki—a lone figure moving with the same rhythm, same discipline. A mirror.
Both sides began to move.
Rain blurred headlights. Footsteps echoed through alleys. Eyes narrowed.
Everyone felt it.
This wasn't coincidence.
This was a message.
The warehouse went quiet again.
Red Ash regrouped, standing together beneath flickering lights, rain dripping steadily through the ceiling like a ticking clock.
On the screen, Akira watched Yokosaki's skyline in silence.
Ichigo crossed his arms.
"Red Ash," he said. "We're ready."
Akira's voice came softer now—but heavier.
"Whatever this is… we face it together. Or it consumes us all."
The screen faded.
Rain kept falling.
And somewhere between past and present, the embers began to glow again.