Tokyo never sleeps.
But tonight, the silence was wrong.
Kira lay still in bed, her breath shallow, ears straining for something—anything—familiar. No honking taxis. No muffled conversations from the apartment next door. Just an unnatural stillness pressing against the walls like a held breath.
Her fingers tightened around the sheets. She never woke up before her alarm. She never slept through it either.
Her gaze flicked to the digital clock on her nightstand.
6:00 AM.
Exactly when it was supposed to go off.
Then why hadn't it?
A cold prickle ran down her spine. Slowly, she reached for her phone and unlocked the screen.
A message.
"Did you sleep well?"
Her stomach clenched. The number was unsaved, but she didn't need to check. She already knew.
The same presence that had been slipping into her life for weeks—unseen but never unnoticed. Rearranging files. Shifting timestamps. Leaving subtle, taunting reminders that he could reach her anytime he wanted.
But this?
This was different.
This was closer.
She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay calm. Don't react. Don't let him know he's getting to you.
Throwing the covers aside, she moved to the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her—pale skin, dark circles under tired eyes. She barely recognized herself anymore.
Then—
A glitch.
A tiny flicker in the glass, like a frozen frame in a corrupted video.
Her breath caught.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
No. Not again.
She spun away, heart hammering. She needed something normal—coffee, the news, anything to drown out the unease slithering under her skin.
She stepped into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee, and switched on the TV.
Static.
Then the news.
Then—
The screen froze.
Not buffering. Not a weak signal. Just... stuck.
The news anchor's face was locked mid-sentence, lips parted.
Kira's fingers tightened around her coffee mug.
Something was wrong.
She grabbed the remote, pressed buttons. Nothing. The image didn't flicker, didn't refresh. It just—
Stayed.
Then—
The lights flickered.
Her breath stalled.
A power issue? No. The fridge was still humming. The clock on the wall still ticked.
Then, as suddenly as it started, the TV resumed. The broadcast continued like nothing had happened.
But Kira knew better.
She reached for her phone again, her skin ice-cold.
No new messages.
No notifications.
Yet that silence didn't mean he wasn't there.
Taking a slow, steady breath, she whispered,
"It's fine. It's just in your head."
Then—
"You're not alone, Kira."
Her blood ran cold.
The voice wasn't coming from the TV.
It was coming from her phone.
Her fingers trembled as she looked down. The screen displayed a call in progress.
00:01
00:02
00:03
She never answered.
Slowly, she lifted the phone to her ear, her pulse hammering.
Silence.
Then—
A whisper.
"You should be more careful, Kira."
Her grip turned white-knuckled.
"Go to hell."
A soft chuckle, low and unbothered.
"We both know that's not possible."
The call ended.
The screen flickered back to normal. The apartment returned to stillness.
But Kira knew better.
This wasn't over.
He was getting closer.
And she was running out of places to hide.
---
A FEW DAYS EARLIER – KAIROS WATCHES LUNA
In a dimly lit room, multiple monitors glowed in the darkness—lines of code running like veins across the screens.
Kairos leaned back in his chair, watching.
On his monitor, a girl was singing.
Her voice was flawless. Haunting. A melody that crawled under his skin and refused to leave.
He tracked every underground artist worth his time. But he had never seen her before.
Her name on the broadcast: Luna.
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.
Another enigma.
His fingers moved over the keyboard, pulling data, running scans.
No real name. No history. Just a voice that could bring a city to its knees.
Interesting.
Then—his phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
He picked up, voice low. "Talk."
"We need you to track someone."
His gaze stayed locked on the screen. "Who?"
"Yukimura Kira."
For the first time, his attention shifted.
"Send me everything."
The line clicked dead. Seconds later, files poured onto his screen—photos, locations, a digital trail of the girl he was meant to stalk.
Kairos scrolled through the images.
Long, strawberry blonde hair. Sharp eyes.
A girl wrapped in secrecy.
Something about her felt... off.
His fingers drummed against the desk as his gaze flicked between Luna on stage and Kira's photos.
Two different lives.
Two different people.
Or so he thought.
Because the more he looked...
The more the pieces didn't add up.
And Kairos never liked an unsolved puzzle.
---