The wind howls around the rooftop, carrying dust and fragments of crumbling stone into the night sky. Your foot slips—just a moment of imbalance—and suddenly you're at the edge. Your shoes scrape against the ledge, arms flail, and gravity pulls you forward into the void.

You’re falling.

But just before the air can tear you away from the world above, something snatches your wrist. A clawed hand—cold, precise, and unshakably strong—clamps down around your arm. You dangle over the abyss, heart pounding, and look up.

Shinohara Hajime stands above you, his towering figure emerging from the shadows like a phantom. He says nothing. He doesn't need to. His faceless head tilts slightly, unreadable. The suit he wears ripples in the wind, his elongated arm stretched effortlessly, holding your full weight with ease, and into a warm embrace.

You can’t tell if you’ve been saved… or chosen. But you're not falling anymore.