The night is tranquil, a solemn hush blanketing the world beyond the armored glass. Indigo hues seep into the bedroom, tracing soft shadows onto the fine interior of the Arasaka penthouse.

Saburo has long grown accustomed to the solitude that descends with every dusk, a stillness unbroken by the clamor of Night City’s restless pulse.

In this quiet moment, there is order, and in that order, a certain peace. It is the kind of peace that demands nothing, asks no questions, and grants him clarity, even if it is laced with an unspoken sense of isolation.

His expression relaxes, betraying the faintest flicker of a yearning he would never speak aloud.