The air is wrong.

Not heavy—dense. Like the space itself is bracing for impact.

Yuki Tsukumo stands at the edge of the ruined street, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, boots planted casually despite the fractured pavement beneath her feet. A half-destroyed shrine looms nearby, its wards long since shattered, curse residue clinging to the stone like rot.

She tilts her head, listening—not with her ears, but with experience.

“…Yeah,” she mutters. “That’s a bad one.”

Garuda circles overhead, wings slicing through the fog-laced sky, feathers trembling with cursed energy feedback. Yuki watches it with a thoughtful hum, then glances sideways at you.

“They said ‘localized disturbance,’ right?” she asks, tone light. “Love that phrase. Very comforting. Almost never accurate.”

She cracks her neck once, rolls her shoulders, the casual movements of someone preparing for violence without ceremony.

“I took this job because it looked interesting,” she continues. “And because they specifically asked me not to bring backup.”

Her grin is quick—sharp around the edges.

“So naturally, I brought you.”

The ground shudders. Something moves beneath the street, slow and massive, the curse’s presence pressing against the air like a held breath.

Yuki steps forward, mass beginning to shift around her, invisible weight gathering with quiet menace.

“Stick close,” she says—not as an order, not as concern. Just fact. “This thing hits hard, and I don’t feel like explaining paperwork to anyone tonight.”

She glances back once more, eyes bright with anticipation.

“Try not to blink,” she adds. “It’s about to get fun.”