Not a sound disturbed the theater. In the darkness, Kurobane hunched forward, elbows digging into his thighs as he stared at the giant, empty screen. Row after row of empty seats faded into shadow like church pews.

  The moment replayed in his mind: Midori’s fingers sliding between Haruka’s, the way she’d leaned into him, their shoulders touching with a familiarity that spoke of countless moments he’d never witnessed. Anger should have ignited him—some primal fury to burn against the unfairness of it all. Instead, each spark turned inward, illuminating the one truth he couldn’t escape.

  He couldn’t forget how the knife had felt. Heavy at first, then suddenly weightless as it broke through the skin into the brain. Worst of all was her eyes finding his one last time, the corners of her mouth almost lifting, as if he’d given her exactly what she wanted.

  Footsteps broke the silence. Kurobane wiped his face with his palm.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Midori’s voice carried across the theater. “This is the fourth place I’ve checked. I almost gave up.” He said nothing, tracking Midori’s approach down the center aisle. The vacant seat beside Kurobane groaned as he settled into it. “Kind of peaceful. Good place to think.”

  Kurobane kept his eyes on the screen, refusing to meet his gaze.

  “Talk to me, man,” Midori said. “Like you used to. What’s going on in there?”

  “I killed someone today. You figure out the rest.”

  Midori’s lips parted, then pressed together in a bloodless line. The emergency light above pulsed red at steady intervals.

  Kurobane’s next words dropped to a whisper. “How long?”

  “How long, what?”

  “You and Haruka. Since when?”

  Midori bit his bottom lip. “If you’re asking when I asked her out, three days ago.” A pause. “But we’d been on a few dates before that...” A muscle twitched beneath Kurobane’s eye. “Are you kidding me right now?” Midori snapped, voice low but sharp. “We’re not children anymore, Kurobane. That promise you’re clinging to? It was made by kids playing forever. And you—” He leaned forward. “You could’ve had her, but you’re always so fucking stuck inside your head you couldn’t see it.”

  Rage flared inside him, a heat spreading across his face.

  “That look won’t work on me. I came to find you so that we could talk, like normal, reasonable adults. And here you are, same as always. Drowning in your own misery.”

  His hands shot out, twisting into Midori’s shirt and dragging him forward until their foreheads nearly touched. His breath came in ragged bursts, lips drawn back from his teeth.

  Midori didn’t flinch. “Go ahead.”

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  Kurobane’s vision flickered—he saw not the man before him now, but a gap-toothed boy with sun-browned skin, brandishing a stick, laughing as he declared himself the hero of their made-up world.

  The fury drained out of him. His grip slackened, and he collapsed back into the seat, chest heaving. “You always got to be the hero,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the blank screen. “I hated that.”

  Above them, the emergency light died, plunging the theater into a deeper dark.

  * * *

  Moonlight filtered through the fractured glass dome overhead, casting spiderweb shadows across the atrium floor. The third-floor offered a panoramic view of the plaza below, where survivors gathered in huddled clusters like islands in a dark sea. At the focal point stood Aki—sleeves rolled—as she conferred in hushed tones with Haruka, Midori, and several others. Off to the side, Reina sat with Lilly.

  Ren gripped the railing, stomach tight with anticipation for whatever news was coming. Movement near the stairwell caught his eye. From the shadows emerged Shion. The generator’s weak yellow glow traced the edge of her long skirt and dark hair. A knife glinted once at her hip before vanishing back into shadow.

  “Mr. Hanashiro.”

  “You can call me Ren,” he said. “All those formalities, I never quite got the hang of them.”

  Shion’s smile widened, eyes glinting. “May I?” She nodded to the space beside him, overlooking the atrium.

  He gestured, and she joined him at the railing, surveying the gathering below with careful attention. They’d never been so close. Her height surprised him, nearly eye-level. A faint sweetness filled the space between them.

  “I admire you, Ren.” His name lingered on her lips a moment too long, as if she were tasting it after years of silence.

  He turned, brow creasing. “Why?”

  She tilted her head. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. If you’ll indulge me for a moment, I’d like to share something with you.” He said nothing, and she took that as his consent. “I’ve been observing you, you see. That probably sounds unsettling,” she said, amused. “I tend to notice things other people miss. My father made sure of that.” Voices from below rose and fell.

  “My family wasn’t what you’d call normal. Then again, what family is? But I am grateful for what mine taught me. Most people believe in order, honesty. The truth. It’s a farce. Wear the right face, and nothing is forbidden. People lie. They wear masks, bend the truth. Except for you. You’re authentic, Ren. That’s what draws me to you. You’re your true self, and I admire that. You remind me what it means to be awake in a world still asleep.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Why hide it? What better time than now, here, at the end. We’re the same, you and I. Like calls to like. The world is ending,” she said softly, “and yet here we are. Together. Exactly as we should be.” She stared at him. “You have the most beautiful eyes…”

  He opened his mouth, uncertain what would come out.

  “Everyone, listen up!” Aki’s voice cut through. “A few days ago, someone came to us from outside the city. He brought news from the airport. He’s agreed to speak with you now.”

  A man emerged beside her, his military jacket hanging loose on his frame. “Sergeant Tatsuo Narasaki,” he said. “Former evacuation coordinator at Hanamizu Airfield. I’ll be direct. There’s been no communication from any outposts beyond city limits. Japan Self-Defense Forces have abandoned inland positions and retreated to coastal strongholds.” The crowd erupted in a wave of whispers. “Evacuation plans have been terminated,” Narasaki continued. “All military support has been withdrawn. Hanamizu has been designated for complete aerial incineration. Scheduled for execution in under forty-eight hours. The blast radius will encompass the entire quarantine zone. Survival within the boundary is zero.”

  Knots of people collapsed to the floor with fingers threaded through their hair. He found Aki. She was already watching him, a subtle tilt of her head signaling that she still intended to speak with him alone.

  “Your thoughts?” Shion asked him.

  “I think things just got a lot worse.”