The RV rumbled softly as it sped along the desolate road toward Yokohama, the faint hum of the engine the only sound in the oppressive quiet. The air inside was heavy, suffused with grief and anger that none dared voice. Ashiro lay unconscious on the makeshift cot at the back, his face pale, his breathing shallow. Shikaku sat nearest to him, his bloodshot eyes staring blankly out the window, hands trembling faintly as they rested on his knees. Lady Naga gripped the steering wheel tightly, her jaw clenched in silent torment.
Hanabi and Suguru sat at the far end, their heads bowed as if the weight of what had transpired threatened to crush them. Kyoto, leaning against the wall, kept fiddling with his bio-pistols, his hands fidgeting as his lips pressed into a thin, bitter line. No one spoke; they didn't need to. The memory of Kaguya's final moments was still too raw, too vivid, her screams echoing in their minds like a haunting dirge.
