The Tokyo dawn painted the alley in muted grays, the drizzle a soft hiss against the warehouse's rusted walls. Ruoxi stepped over a puddle, her boots crunching on shattered glass from the skylight above, her mind still replaying the fight—blades flashing, Yukang's lethal grace, the glowing flicker of her tattoo. She flexed her wrist, the itch now a faint memory, but the unease lingered like a shadow she couldn't shake.
Jiang Yukang walked ahead, his coat flapping in the breeze, the mask tucked away but its presence a weight between them. Blood still stained his sleeve from the cut he'd brushed off, and Ruoxi fought the urge to check it again. He was fine—always fine, or so he claimed. Xiao Zheng trailed behind, laptop hugged to his chest like a shield, his sharp eyes scanning the alley for threats. The sirens had faded, but the air crackled with the tension of a city waking to their mess.
