"By the time I felt something was wrong with you, you had already bound the ghost." Her fingers moved slightly against his chest.

"And then the ghost started talking and I heard the girl’s name. I understood what you would need next. So I found her for you." She lifted her head and looked at him.

Her red eyes were direct and open.

"I know you, Kai."

He looked at her face. The loose bun. The strands across her cheek.

The red eyes watching him like he meant the world to her.

"You did the right thing," he said.

The corners of her eyes tightened slightly. She held his gaze for one second. Then she put her head back down on his chest.

They were quiet.

"By the way," he said. "How did you get me through the door. The talisman."

She smiled. He felt it against his shirt.

"I asked a passerby for help," she said.

.

.

Sora was still on the concrete, both palms over her face, her shoulders shaking.

Shizuka looked at her for a moment. Kaito was unconscious against her shoulder, his weight settled across her arm.

She crouched down in front of Sora without letting go of him.

"Hey."

Sora lowered her hands.

Her eyes were red and wet.

"What you saw tonight," Shizuka said. "Keep it to yourself."

Sora looked at her. Then at Kaito. Then back.

She nodded.

Shizuka stood.

She looked at Hana on the concrete.

She bent and lifted her under one arm, then shifted Kaito higher over her other shoulder and turned toward the parapet.

She stepped up, looked down at the street, and stepped off.

They dropped with her.

She landed without slowing, set Hana’s body down on the pavement beside the apartment entrance, and kept walking.

A woman across the street stopped.

Looked once at Hana. Then again. Her phone was already in her hand by the time Shizuka turned the corner.

Good enough.

.

The walk back took twenty minutes. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

She carried Kaito properly once they were away from the building.

In both her arms.

He did not stir.

His face in the streetlight was loose and pale, the tension of the fight gone from it.

She looked at it more than she looked at the road.

She reached the house.

She stood at the front gate. Then she shifted Kaito’s weight, fished his keys out of his jacket pocket, walked up to the door, and slid the key into the lock.

Zapp!

"Gh—"

She jerked back, hand snapping away from the handle.

"Damn talisman."

She shook her hand once and glared at the door.

Then she tried again.

Zapp!

"Gah!"

Her whole arm flinched this time.

She stared at the door.

Then at the key.

Then back at the door.

"Annoying."

She lifted her foot and kicked it.

Zapp!

"Fuck!"

"I want to burn you down."

She stood on the front path with Kaito unconscious against her, staring at the door like it had personally insulted her.

A man was walking past on the street outside the gate. Middle-aged, work bag, heading home. He glanced in.

Shizuka straightened, adjusted Kaito so he was upright against her side, his arm draped over her shoulders, her arm around his waist, and opened the gate.

"Excuse me," she said.

The man stopped and looked at them suspiciously.

She was wearing a black crop top and a short skirt and thigh highs.

Kaito looked like he had been in a fight, which he had.

She looked at the man with her red eyes and her silver hair loose around her face.

Her expression was perfectly pleasant.

"My husband had too much to drink," she said. "Could you help us with the door?"

"..."

She was hot, and his suspicion dulled.

He opened the gate, took the key from her hand and unlocked the door.

"Thank you," Shizuka said. "You’re very kind."

The man handed back the key and left without saying anything, glancing back once before walked away.

Shizuka carried Kaito inside and closed the door behind her.

.

She put him on his bed.

Straight down, on his back, his arms loose at his sides.

She unlaced his boots and pulled them off, then his socks.

Stood back and looked at him.

Kaito had held those chains for a long time.

She had watched the whole thing from the rooftop of the building across the street. Close enough to see everything. Far enough to stay out of it.

That had been the agreement she made with herself.

Stay out of it. Let him work.

Every time the ghost threw him she had felt it in her hands.

The first time he hit the concrete she had moved forward automatically and stopped herself.

The second time.

The third.

By the fourth she had both hands flat against the ledge and her knuckles had gone through the concrete without her deciding to do it.

She had watched him get back up every time.

That was the part.

Not the technique.

His technique was desperate and creative and barely holding together at every stage.

Not the power.

He had none left, not after months of not training.

What she had watched was him getting up.

Every single time.

Jaw split. Ribs cracked. Vision failing. Spiritual energy at empty.

He got up.

Tried something else.

When that failed he got up again.

When he grabbed the ghost’s ankles she exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours.

She looked at his sleeping face.

The bruise along his jaw.

The scraped hands on the mattress.

The slow rise and fall of his chest.