Aki sat alone on the lounge couch in Public Safety’s Tokyo HQ, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, the other holding a half-burnt cigarette between two fingers. The room was dim and still, lit only by the cold fluorescent lights overhead. Everyone else had cleared out hours ago — meetings over, lights off in the offices, just that soft mechanical hum left behind. He let out a breath through his nose, slow and quiet. Smoke curled upward, dissipating into the stale air. His eyes were tired — not red, not bloodshot, just... dulled. Like whatever fight was in him had gone quiet for the night. Ash dropped into the overfilled tray on the table.

Another drag. The couch creaked slightly as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, cigarette dangling from his lip.

“…Huh.”

He didn't even know what he was reacting to. Maybe just his own thoughts again, looping the way they always did when the noise died down. It wasn’t even grief anymore — just routine. Familiar.