It had started off as a vague idea, a whisper of a plan. We'd been watching people for weeks—faces in the shadows, coded messages, deals made in hushed voices at the edge of town. There were patterns to their chaos, a rhythm in their secrecy, and slowly, we pieced it together. It was all connected: Kaito, the threats, the strange pressure surrounding us like invisible hands tightening their grip.
And then we found out about the meeting.
A gathering of the ones pulling the strings—people even Kaito had feared. It was happening at the old warehouse, a building swallowed by rust and time, hidden near the industrial graveyards of the city. This was it. The center of the storm. And for once, we couldn't sit and watch anymore.
Isamu and I had always been the cautious ones—measured, careful. But not tonight.
Tonight, we were all in.
We reached the warehouse just after midnight, the streets empty, the moon pale behind a veil of thin clouds. My breath fogged in the cold air, and every nerve in my body screamed that this was a mistake. But I followed him anyway. Because this was bigger than us. Because the silence had gone on too long. Because someone had to stand up.
We crouched behind a dumpster coated in grime and rust, the scent of oil and old metal heavy in the air. I could hear my own heartbeat—erratic and loud. Isamu looked at me, his expression unreadable but eyes sharp.
"This is it, Taichi," he whispered. "No turning back now."
I stared at him. His voice was calm, but his hand trembled as it adjusted the strap on his bag. We both knew the risk. We both knew this could end badly.
"I don't like this," I muttered. "It feels off."
"It is off," he replied. "But we don't have a choice."
He wasn't wrong.
The warehouse door creaked as we slipped inside, shadows swallowing us whole. It smelled of dust, oil, and something metallic—something old and dangerous. The light inside was dim, just a single overhead bulb swinging slightly from the breeze that filtered through the cracks in the walls. It flickered, casting shadows that danced like ghosts across the floor.
We stuck to the edges, moving slow, almost silent. Every creak of the floor made my skin crawl.
Then we saw them—five men around a table. Suits, ties, and an aura that screamed power. One of them stood out—taller, older, colder. We'd seen him before, in photos, in the background of things we were never meant to see. His phone sat on the table like a crown, unassuming but holding everything. Names. Transactions. Threats. Evidence.
Isamu leaned closer to me. "That's it."
I nodded.
But before we could move, a voice cut through the silence.
"Who's there?!"
Time shattered.
I froze. The shadows no longer protected us.
"Go," Isamu mouthed. His voice was barely a breath.
Then it all erupted.
I pushed through the door, sprinting toward the phone. Everything felt like it was happening underwater—shouts, footsteps, the scuffle of chairs scraping concrete. Someone grabbed me from behind, yanking me to the ground. My head slammed against the floor, and I tasted blood in my mouth. But I saw the phone, just inches away. I reached, fingers stretching—
And then I had it.
But the men were on us now, closing in like wolves.
"Taichi!" Isamu's voice was sharp, pained. I looked over to see him fighting two at once, fists swinging, breath ragged. One of them landed a punch to his gut, folding him in half. Another grabbed his shoulder, slamming him into the wall.
