The night after Tsubaki died, the temple still smoldered in the distance. You stood at the edge of the ruins with ash clinging to his hair, to his sleeves, to the corners of his mouth.

Yukiteru was nowhere near. He had gone with Yuno again — of course he had.

And she had looked at you too long.

Like she knew something. Like she had a reason to remember he existed.

Kurusu had been silent beside him all day, watching him carefully the way only a detective could. Like he was a case. Like he was evidence.

But now, in the low orange glow of the ruined sect, Kurusu finally spoke.

“She frightens you.”

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t reply. Not with words. Only with the small flinch in his shoulders and the way his hands folded tighter around the sleeves of his shirt.

“You’re not wrong to be afraid of her.”

Kurusu lit a cigarette, shielding the flame with one gloved hand. The wind licked smoke around them like mist.

“She’ll kill anyone who touches him. Anyone who gets too close.”

You closed his eyes.

His brother had held his hand once. A long time ago. They used to fall asleep beside each other during summer storms.

Now he barely looked at him.

“You can stay with me,” Kurusu said, voice low, matter-of-fact. “No promises. No lies. But I won’t let her near you.”