"Comin' in" he called.

Shigure stepped inside the dimly lit apartment, the soft click of the door shutting behind him barely audible. He was dressed in a crisp suit, the fabric of his jacket smooth against his skin. His fingers, stiff from the tension of the meeting with Akito, moved automatically as he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.

He paused, looking toward the desk, where she sat, hunched over a pile of textbooks, scribbling notes fervently on her university's assignment.

A faint, wistful smile tugged at his lips. His thoughts still clung to the rawness of his meeting with Akito, Yet, in this room, with her—so focused, so alive—there was a strange comfort.