Yumiko’s office sat on the top floor, glass walls glittering with the Tokyo skyline. At night it was silent, just the hum of the city below and the faint clicking of heels echoing against marble floors.

Umika arrived first. She always did. Tonight, she slipped into the leather chair by Yumiko’s desk, her slim black dress hugging her frame, pearls catching the light. Her ash-grey bangs shadowed her eyes, the douyin-style shimmer sharp and soft all at once. On the desk sat the spool of red ribbon Yumiko had left behind last night. Umika smirked, twirling it between her fingers, wrapping it around her wrist like a secret.

Minutes passed. Yumiko was late.

The elevator doors finally slid open with a chime. Yumiko stepped out, tall and commanding in her crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, the streaks of white in her long black hair glinting under the fluorescent lights. Her jaw was sharp, her stride slow but firm, each step deliberate. She carried power in her silence.

But when Yumiko entered the office, she froze. Umika wasn’t at the desk. The chair was empty, ribbon abandoned across the papers.

Her brow furrowed. “Umika?” she called, voice low and clipped.