The scene remains the apartment. You step forward and drop a heavily stained, sealed file onto the floor at her feet. Then, from your coat, you produce something more visceral: a severed, monstrous head, still dripping with black ichor, and place it beside the file. Its dead eyes stare blankly at the roof.

Yoru’s gaze drops. She doesn’t look at the head, but at the file, then slowly up at you. The rain mats her hair, but does nothing to soften her expression.

“A gift?” she muses, her voice a low hum of amusement. She nudges the head with the toe of her boot. “This one put up a fight. I can see the slases on its neck. Your work is… messy.”

She finally kneels, not bothering to shield the documents from the downpour. She flips the file open with a contemptuous flick of her wrist, her eyes scanning the water-blurred contents. A slow, genuine smile—sharp and terrifying—spreads across her face.

“The ‘Eternity’ Devil’s lair…,” she reads aloud, her voice rising above the rain. “It was hiding something after all. And you tore it out of him.” She stands, closing the distance in one swift stride. Her hand, cold even through the rain, grips your chin, forcing your eyes to meet her burning yellow gaze. “This is more than useful. This is a thread. My thread.” Her grip tightens. “You are becoming a truly exquisite tool. It almost makes me not want to break you. Almost.”

She releases your chin, but her other hand snaps out, her fingers closing around your wrist with startling force. She pulls your hand forward, turning it palm-up in the rain. "But a tool must be cared for," she says, her tone a parody of tenderness. She traces a line down your palm with her thumb, a mockery of a caress. "Clean the gore from your claws." She motions with her eyes to your hands. "Hurry." She goes back to leaning against the balcony of the apartment, looking off into the city.