The woman burst through the door of her modest apartment, slamming it shut behind her with trembling hands. Her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps as her pulse thundered in her ears. She fumbled with the deadbolt, locking it as she whispered curses under her breath.

"Damnit," she hissed, her voice tight with fear.

The dim light of the room barely illuminated her pale face, her carefully styled hair now disheveled and plastered to her forehead with sweat. She leaned against the door for support, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to regain her composure.

"Calm down, Jane," she murmured to herself, though her voice wavered. Her words felt hollow, even to her. "Think. Think of a way to escape."

Her eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for an option, any option. Then her gaze landed on the small window at the far end of the room. She pushed herself off the door, her heels clicking against the wooden floor as she hurried to it.

"It's only two stories," she whispered, as if saying it out loud would make the prospect of jumping seem less terrifying.

Her fingers gripped the window frame, tugging it upward. The cool night air rushed in, biting against her flushed skin.

Her hands froze when she heard it—a sound that sent a chill down her spine.

Jane turned slowly, her heart sinking as she saw the door to her room buckle under an unseen force. The locks groaned in protest before the wood gave way entirely, splitting into jagged shards. The remains of the door clattered to the floor, leaving the entrance wide open.

Two figures stepped into the room, their faces obscured by intricately crafted masks. The first wore a black mask shaped like a cat, its carved whiskers sharp and sinister. The other donned a mask resembling a mouse, though its exaggerated teeth and sharp contours gave it a predatory air.

The woman stumbled backward, her back pressing against the open window. The man in the cat mask tilted his head slightly, his gaze fixed on her.

"Mrs. Prosecutor," he drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with menace. He stepped further into the room, his movements deliberate and unhurried. "Where d'ya think yer going?"

Her throat tightened as panic surged through her. "Y-you..." she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

The man in the cat mask chuckled, the sound low and humorless.

"You—the corps will kill you for this!" The woman shouted suddenly, her voice rising in desperation. "Filthy Espers!"

The man's laughter grew louder, filling the small room with its cold mockery. He stopped just a few feet from her, tilting his head again as if amused by her outburst.

"Hear that?" he said, glancing at his companion in the mouse mask. "Pretty funny, for a trash."

Before the woman could react, a black blade materialized in his hand. It shimmered faintly, its jagged edges appearing almost alive as they pulsed with dark energy. The weapon exuded an aura of malice, and her knees buckled as he raised it.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Prosecutor," he said in a low, almost mocking tone.

The woman's scream echoed briefly in the night, but it was cut short.

...

The soft glow of morning sunlight filtered through the windows of the house, casting a golden hue over the kitchen. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of toast and eggs, but the boy barely noticed. He sat at the table, hos eyes glued to the television perched on the counter.

The news anchor's voice filled the room, steady and grave.

"...and in a shocking development last night, Jane Alden, a prominent prosecutor known for her strict stance against rogue Espers, was found murdered in her apartment. Authorities report severe damage to her room, but curiously, there were no signs of forced entry. Witnesses claim to have seen two masked individuals fleeing the scene..."

The screen flickered, displaying images of the crime scene. Yellow police tape cordoned off the area, and officers in black-and-red corps uniforms milled about, their faces grim.

"Elijah," a voice called from across the table, but he didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed on the television, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Elijah," the voice said again, louder this time.

Still, he didn't react.

Finally, a hand snatched the remote from the table and switched off the television.

"Elijah Blackwood," the voice said firmly, though there was a playful lilt to it.

Elijah blinked, snapping out of hsi trance. He turned to see his older brother, Augustus, standing beside the table. Augustus was dressed sharply in a tailored red suit, his short wolf-cut hairstyle adding to his striking appearance. His confident stance and faint smirk made him look like a character out of a corporate drama.

"Listen to your brother when he's talking, please," Augustus said, crossing his arms.

"Sorry," Elijah mumbled, realizing how deeply engrossed he had been in the news.

"I've never seen you so invested in the news before," Augustus remarked, sitting down across from him. He leaned back in his chair, the smirk on his face widening. "They air Esper murders every week, you know. Though I'll admit, the victim today is a little unusual. A prosecutor, huh? That's not the kind of person they usually target."

Elijah's grip tightened on his glass of water, but he said nothing.

"It's a shame, really," Augustus continued, his tone casual despite the grim topic. "They broke into that poor woman's home, murdered her, but left her family unscathed. What, did they go soft right at the end?"

Elijah's lips thinned as he stared at his sister.

"They said she had two kids, didn't they?" Augustus mused, swirling his coffee cup. His voice turned colder, his smirk fading slightly. "When you uproot the weeds, you have to snip the buds before they bloom."

Elijah chest tightened at his brother's words, but he forced himself to stay silent.

Augustus glanced at him, and a flicker of amusement crossed him face. He leaned forward, his tone lightening. "Right, isn't today the big day? You're taking the Esper Test, aren't you? Once the test comes back positive—"

"I'm not an Esper!" Elijah snapped, cutting him off. His voice was sharp, louder than he had intended.

The glass of water in his hand slipped from the table, shattering on the floor.

"Even if I was," he continued, his voice trembling with anger, "I wouldn't be like you."

The smile vanished from Augustus face as Elijah shot up from his seat. Grabbing his backpack from the corner of the room, he turned on around and stormed toward the door.

"Elija—" Augustus began, but his brother was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Augustus sat in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed on the broken glass. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

"Good luck, little brother," he murmured to himself, taking a sip of his coffee.