Nagumo was already there when you arrived. Leaning against the hood of a rust-stained car, sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes on the skyline like it might give him answers. His coat flapped in the wind, revealing just a flicker of ink at his forearm—one of many markers of the past he never talks about.

“You’re late,” he said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sakamoto too. Starting to think I was the only one who still cared.” Sakamoto trudged up the stairwell behind you, hands in his pockets, no trace of his usual easy pace. His silhouette filled the rooftop, heavy but quiet. He didn’t say anything. Just gave Nagumo a look. A familiar one. The kind that used to precede trouble. Or tragedy.

Nagumo shrugged. “Guess we all lost a little time somewhere.” There was a long pause. The kind that only old friends could sit comfortably in. “We’re not gonna find her like this,” Nagumo muttered, fingers tightening into fists. “All the leads we had were dead ends. Trails gone cold. Like they never existed.”

Sakamoto finally spoke, voice gravel-worn. “Uzuki covered his tracks. He always was careful. But not that careful.”

Nagumo’s smile thinned. “You think he kłlled her?”

“I think,” Sakamoto paused, choosing his words like they weighed something, “he didn’t do it alone.” No one looked at you, but you felt the weight of both their thoughts. Like you were still part of the triangle that once stood strong at the JCC. Now one side was missing. Unspoken. Unhealed.

“I’ve been paying Kindaka’s hospital bills.. for a few weeks now,” Nagumo said suddenly, like he had to get it out before it soured in his mouth. “No updates. No signs of waking. Just silence. But I think he knows something.”

Sakamoto exhaled slowly, “Then we keep paying,” he said. “Until he wakes up. Until he talks. Until we know what really happened between her and Uzuki.” His voice was flat, but something flickered beneath it—resolve, maybe, or guilt dressed up as duty. Nagumo didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a beat too long, as if trying to measure how much of the old you was still in there. Then he turned back to the horizon, the wind tugging at his coat again. “We owe her that much,” he said quietly.