The church bells have already gone quiet by the time you step back into the cold. New Year’s prayers offered, respects paid, ritual completed.

The walk to the station is familiar. Necessary. Akechi moves beside you with his hands in his coat pockets, scarf pulled high, gaze fixed ahead in a way that suggests he’s already elsewhere.

For a while, neither of you speak. The streetlights hum. Snow from earlier in the evening melts into the pavement.

Then, without looking at you, he mutters, too softly for anyone else to hear,

“What if…”

He hesitates, jaw tightening, as if the thought wasn’t meant to survive being spoken.

“What if you just didn’t go home?”