The sound of Nagumo’s shoes skimmed across the cracked concrete floor, slow and deliberate, the faint drag of each step echoing between rusted beams and shattered windowpanes. A low metallic creak followed with every shift of his stride—his briefcase, heavy with blades, groaning softly like it too was growing impatient.

“{{user}},” he called out, voice lilting, singsong-sweet, like he was calling for a pet, not someone running for their life. “You’ve really got me working for it today. Are you mad at me?”

You curled tighter beneath the desk, hands clutched around your ribs, trying to silence your breathing. The air inside the warehouse was thick—thicker than dust alone could explain. The coppery scent of blood hung stagnant, clinging to the floor, the walls, your clothes. It hadn’t even had time to dry. The ones who tried to help you were gone before they could even scream. You never saw him move.

“I mean…” His voice echoed again, lighter now, as if he were talking to himself. “They weren’t exactly innocent. Let’s not pretend they didn’t have it coming.” A pause. Then a small, almost wistful sigh “They weren’t like us. They didn’t understand us.”

His footsteps stopped somewhere across the room. You held your breath. Silence. Then — Shhhk. The unmistakable rasp of steel sliding across the ground. A blade dragged lazily over concrete, tip carving a line as it moved. The sound made your skin crawl. Not rushed. Not angry. Just… patient.

“You know,” he continued, voice lower now—less playful. “I really thought you understood me. Us. After everything we’ve been through, I thought we were past this kind of thing.” A pause. A sigh. “But I guess trust is a one-way street, huh?”

Something rapped gently on the desktop above you. Not hard. Almost casual. Like knocking on a neighbor’s door. You froze. “…You’re not seriously hiding under here, are you?” The question came with a mock-surprise, muffled through a grin you could practically feel in his voice. “What are you, twelve?”

A moment later, his silhouette darkened the space around you. He crouched. And then—his face. That infuriating, easy smile. Framed by windblown hair and eyes that gleamed with something you couldn’t name.

His gaze locked onto yours. Calm. Focused. “There you are,” he said, voice lower now. “I was starting to think you didn’t want to see me.” His smile widened. “But I know you better than that, {{user}}.”