The air inside the warehouse was thick with the stench of blood and old metal. But amidst the silence, tiny cries began to bubble up again.
Raito stood over the group of infants in the corner. Emi was nestled calmly in one arm, her tiny fingers still gripping his shirt, her tear-streaked face finally relaxed in his presence.
The other babies, however, were not so lucky.
They whimpered, sniffled, and fussed, their innocent confusion echoing softly through the large, corpse-free space.
Raito crouched and, with a sigh, reached into the inner pocket of his coat.
He pulled out a handful of brightly colored lollipops, still neatly wrapped.
"…These were supposed to be for bribing Emi," he muttered dryly.
"You are an unstoppable killer, a demon's chosen partner… and you carry lollipops in your coat," Kurai chuckled inside his head. "Admit it. You're soft."
Raito ignored him.
He moved methodically, gently placing a lollipop into each baby's hand.
They didn't stop crying immediately—but the vibrant colors, the sudden sweetness, the unfamiliar distraction, slowly began to work their spell. Chubby hands gripped the candies. Sniffling turned to soft coos.
"...Good enough," he said under his breath.
He leapt—not ran, not climbed, but leapt—up onto the steel support beams crisscrossing the warehouse's high ceiling. Moving with practiced silence, he crept toward the office catwalk overlooking the floor.
One of the dead men had dropped his phone nearby.
Raito picked it up, wiped the screen with his sleeve, and began to dial.
Ring. Ring.
"This is Detective Yumi Aikawa."
He shifted his voice, deepened the tone, blurred the edges of his usual cadence.
"There's a group of babies near the west docks warehouse on Fifth and Argyle. No adults around. Looks… suspicious."
"What? Who is this? Wait—did you say babies?!" Yumi's voice was already sharp, curious, suspicious. "Can you tell me more? Are you—"
Click.
Raito ended the call before she could ask anything else.
"Very convincing," Kurai smirked inside his head. "Mysterious Good Samaritan. You should try radio drama."
Raito tossed the phone back onto the catwalk.
He walked to the back corner of the warehouse, lifted a loose panel in the ceiling, and jumped up into the crawlspace. From there, he slipped out through a utility hatch onto the rooftop.
He paused only once—to look back.
No traces of his presence. No corpses. No blood trails. No footprints.
Even the phone call was untraceable, made on a burner device with the signal rerouted through five different ghost towers.
The babies would be found.
The criminals were gone.
There would be no link to him.
Perfect.
He descended quietly down a fire escape, reaching his car parked in a dark alley behind the building.
Emi was asleep again in his arm, lulled by the security of his presence and the exhausting trauma of the day.
He secured her in the car seat and glanced once at his rearview mirror.
Nothing.
No eyes watching.
No tails.
Raito adjusted his collar and started the engine.
"So," Kurai mused, his tone amused and lazy, "you murdered a gang of traffickers, saved a dozen babies, bribed them with candy, and ghosted the cops. Raito, my dear, you're a better hero than half the ones in comic books."
"…I'm not a hero," Raito said flatly, steering the car into the dark streets.
"No," Kurai chuckled. "You're something much worse. And much more fun."
The city lights passed by.
Raito didn't look back.
He never did.