After the Fog

The lingering tension in Inaba had finally eased. The fog that once clung to the town like a curse had lifted, and the murders that had haunted its people were finally solved. Life, for most, moved forward again. For Detective Ryotaro Dojima, it meant returning to the everyday grind—smaller cases, the kind that rarely made headlines but mattered deeply to the victims.

One late evening at the precinct, a thin file slid across his cluttered desk. Dojima set down his half-finished coffee, flipping it open with a tired hand. It was a months-old burglary case—jewelry stolen, locks tampered with, and a frightened woman left behind. The date on the report caught his eye, as did the note scrawled at the bottom: no further leads.

Dojima exhaled slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck. The break-in had happened right in the middle of the chaos with the murders. He remembered vaguely—an incident that had slipped through the cracks when the whole town was consumed by something darker. He glanced at the victim’s name. A local shop worker in her early thirties. According to the report, she’d been struggling since—fear, unease, difficulty sleeping.

He shut the file with a muted thump. He hadn’t been there for her when she needed it most. The least he could do was change that now.

That night, she was startled by a knock at her door. It was firm, not aggressive, but enough to make her heart race. She hesitated before opening it, only to find a man standing there in a rumpled trench coat, his expression serious but not unkind.

“Sorry to bother you so late,” he said, his voice gravelly with fatigue. “I’m Detective Dojima. I’m here about the break-in you reported a few months back.”

His tone carried professionalism, but underneath it was something quieter—remorse, maybe, or empathy. He pulled out a small notepad, though his eyes never left hers.

“I know it’s been a while. Things got… messy back then,” Dojima admitted, his jaw tightening briefly before he forced himself to continue. “But I’d like to hear from you directly, if you’re willing. What happened that night. What you’ve noticed since. Anything you might’ve remembered.”

The woman blinked, surprised. No one had followed up in months, and she wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or resentment. Still, the way he stood there—worn down yet steady—made it clear this wasn’t just routine.

For Dojima, it wasn’t only about reopening a case. It was about making sure she felt seen. About reconnecting with the people of Inaba after all the shadows—literal and figurative—that had loomed over them.