The moment Raito turned the corner and saw the empty crib where Emi had been playing less than half an hour ago, a cold weight sank into his stomach.
Little Lambs Drop-Off Center was still bustling with harmless energy—other parents chatting politely, children crying over toys, caretakers fluttering about like brightly dressed butterflies. But something was off. The second Raito stepped back into the room, coat still draped over one shoulder, a subtle hush seemed to ripple through the staff. The girl at the front desk, the same one who had taken Emi earlier, looked up at him—and paled slightly.
Raito's steps were quiet. Purposeful.
He reached the counter and rested his gloved fingers on the edge.
"I'm here for Emi," he said flatly.
The girl blinked. "Emi?"
Raito's brow twitched.
"My baby sister," he clarified, his voice not rising—yet. "You took her. About thirty-five minutes ago."
Now the girl really did panic. She quickly motioned to one of the others, who came over with a clipboard. They both flipped through pages, murmuring to each other, the tension building like a kettle on a slow boil.
"I—I'm sorry, sir," the second caretaker stammered. "It says here that Emi was already picked up."
The words didn't register for a second.
Then they did.
Raito blinked once. Slowly.
"Picked up… by who?" he asked, voice razor-thin.
The two looked at each other again, exchanging the kind of glance that only came with we seriously messed up.
"Well… a woman came in—she seemed really sweet and said she was Emi's guardian. She even knew her name."
Raito's jaw clenched.
"You let her take Emi without ID?" he asked quietly.
The first girl flinched. "She, uh, she seemed very—"
"You let her take Emi," Raito repeated, his tone dropping an octave, "without. ID."
The air around him grew still. The easy atmosphere of the drop-off center began to crack like ice under weight. Every muscle in Raito's body remained composed, but his expression had begun to shift—not into anger, but something worse.
Something silent.
"Oooh, they're dead," Kurai whispered with a grin in his voice. "They just don't know it yet."
The manager stepped in now, a middle-aged woman who immediately sensed the danger. "Sir, I deeply apologize. This… this is highly irregular protocol. I'll contact the police immediately and—"
"No."
The word cut through her sentence like a scalpel.
Raito's voice was cool. Too cool.
"I don't want police involved," he said.
There was a long pause. The staff stared at him, unsure if they'd heard correctly.
The manager hesitated. "But sir—"
"No," he repeated, this time with steel.
He didn't need flashing lights and press questions. He didn't want to explain to Yumi. Or worse—have this lead to Kurai's existence being exposed.
He inhaled slowly, controlling the storm boiling under his skin. His temples pulsed. His hands stayed still. But his eyes—dark and sharp as obsidian—glinted with the weight of promises not yet spoken.
"…Do you have camera footage?"
The manager nodded quickly, clearly eager to offer anything that might calm him.
"Yes! Yes, we have full coverage. It's backed up locally. I'll take you to the back office right away."
He followed her through the squeaky-clean hallway, leaving behind the nervous staff. Some of the children began to cry, seemingly picking up on the unsettling energy in the room.
"How adorable," Kurai murmured, "You're barely holding it together."
Raito said nothing. But in his mind, the darkness was swirling. A brutal, gnawing pressure that hadn't surfaced like this in a long time.
Whoever took Emi… would regret it.
In the cramped security office, the manager fumbled with the system, hands shaking slightly as she fast-forwarded the footage from the past hour. Raito stood over her shoulder, arms folded, eyes unblinking.
And then—there.
At 1:42 p.m.
A woman entered the frame. Average height. Hoodie, cap, sunglasses. Her hair was tied back, her posture loose and natural. She walked in without hesitation, leaned in toward the girl at the desk, and said something. The staffer turned to retrieve Emi.
The baby, ever trusting, reached up toward the woman's arms.
The stranger smiled faintly. Not kindly. Not maliciously.
Just enough.
She picked Emi up, turned, and walked out the front door.
"That's it," the manager whispered. "She didn't even look worried. It was like…"
"Like she'd done it before," Raito finished grimly.
He leaned forward, studying the footage closely—trying to catch a license plate through the glass, a passing detail, anything.
Nothing yet. But it didn't matter.
He'd find her. Whoever she was. Because she took Emi.
And if there was one line Raito didn't tolerate being crossed—it was that one.
As the footage ended, Kurai finally spoke again.
"Well, well…"
A long pause. The voice in his head lowered.
"…Someone's going to be trouble."
And Raito, eyes still locked on the screen, replied under his breath:
"Not for long."