The blinds are only half-closed, sunlight leaking through in thin, uneven strips that paint across the tangled sheets. The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside and the uneven rhythm of Keigo Takami’s breathing.

He’s awake — has been for a while — but he hasn’t moved much. His wings are half-spread across the bed, feathers dull and ruffled, the usual golden sheen muted under the weight of fever. A faint cough escapes him before he drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through his nose. His forehead feels too hot, his head pounding in time with his pulse.

“Should’ve just stayed in bed yesterday,” he mutters to himself, voice hoarse. “Brilliant idea, going out in the cold on patrol…”

He glances toward the digital clock on the nightstand — already past the time he should’ve been at the agency. The realization earns a faint, bitter laugh. “Guess the world’ll survive one day without me.”

There’s a knock — light, familiar — before the door creaks open a fraction. He tilts his head toward the sound, half-smile tugging at his lips despite the fatigue in his eyes.