Chapter 35 : The silence between shadows

The city had begun to dim, swallowed slowly by the creeping hand of twilight. Mikuya and Sora moved carefully through the alleyways, cloaked in shadows and silence. The cold bit at their skin through the fabric of their clothes, and their breaths came out in soft clouds as they searched for shelter—somewhere safe, somewhere forgotten.

“I think we’ve lost the tail,” Sora whispered, his eyes scanning the street ahead.

Mikuya nodded, but her gaze lingered over her shoulder, always watching. “For now,” she murmured. “But we need to find cover before they pick up our trail again.”

Block by block, street by street, the two wandered deeper into the heart of the city, where buildings rose like the bones of giants long buried. There, nestled between two collapsed skyscrapers, stood a tall, hollowed-out structure—an office building, long abandoned and marked by time and decay.

Sora pointed. “There. It looks stable enough for the night.”

They climbed the rusted steps quietly, glass crunching beneath their boots. Each floor was colder than the last, and the halls echoed with memories of a time before the world fell apart. On the twelfth floor, they found a room with a half-collapsed wall, facing the cityscape. The wind whispered through the cracks like a lullaby for the broken.

Sora dropped his bag in the corner, letting out a breath. “Let’s rest here. Just for tonight.”

Mikuya nodded, but said nothing. She walked over to the broken window and sat down, her eyes tracing the lights flickering across the horizon. Sora watched her from a distance—how still she sat, like the world had stopped turning inside her. The silence stretched, heavy and thick.

Finally, Sora spoke. “Back in the alley… when you saw that boy and his sister…”

Mikuya didn’t respond.

“You were thinking about him, weren’t you?”

Her eyes darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. She looked away, as if ashamed to let him see the pain flicker behind her expression. Her silence answered more clearly than words.

Sora stood and walked toward her, kneeling beside her and gently lifting her chin. His smile was soft, reassuring—one not often seen on his usually guarded face. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” he said. “I’m here. Always.”

Mikuya blinked. His warmth was unfamiliar, almost foreign—like sunlight through a cold fog. She stared at him, startled by the tenderness in his voice.

“You’re my little sister, remember?” he said, trying to make her smile. “I may be a mess, but I’m your mess.”

Mikuya’s cold expression faltered. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes softening as though some invisible weight had lightened. But then, she slowly reached up and removed his hand from her chin. She turned her gaze downward once more.

Sora sat back, disheartened. “I guess… I still don’t know how to cheer you up.”

A few seconds passed in silence. Then, quietly, barely audible above the wind, Mikuya spoke.

“…Thank you.”

Sora blinked. His heart skipped a beat. He turned to her, surprised.

She didn’t look at him, but there was something new in her eyes. Something vulnerable. A single word—but one that held weight, meaning, and a flicker of trust.

He smiled.

And in that moment, the city outside seemed a little less cold.

---

Across the city, the streets buzzed with the last remains of daily life. Neon lights blinked to life, and people wrapped their scarves tighter as winter’s grip began to settle in. Among them walked a girl with a red scarf wrapped warmly around her neck—Yuka Fujiguro.

She kept her head low, her steps slow, tired.

The air was sharp, but not sharp enough to erase the ache inside her chest. She turned the final corner to her house—a modest apartment tucked between the shadows of two larger buildings.

As she stepped through the door, darkness greeted her. No lights. No voices. Just silence.

Yuka reached for the switch, but the hallway bulb flickered weakly, casting dim, trembling shadows across the walls. Her eyes landed on the living room—and the scattered shards of glass on the floor.

A broken vase. Again.

Her breath caught. She didn’t need to ask what had happened.

Another fight.

She stepped carefully over the mess and walked toward the only lit room at the end of the hall. Her father’s study. The door was closed. She could hear faint muttering inside, followed by the clink of a bottle on the desk.

She didn’t bother knocking.

Her footsteps led her to her room, where she opened the door, dropped her schoolbag with a heavy thud, and collapsed onto the bed. She buried her face in the pillow, the warmth of her scarf still clinging to her neck like a shield against the cold.

Then—without warning—a tear slipped from her eye. Then another.

She didn’t sob. She didn’t scream. She just lay there, silent, as the tears came and kept coming.

Because no one would hear her anyway.

The walls were too used to anger. Too deaf to sadness.

Her mother loved her—Yuka knew that. But even her warmth couldn’t shield her forever. Not from the constant shouting. Not from the silence that followed.

She clutched her pillow tighter.

She had smiled that day at school. She had joked with her friends. She had laughed.

But now, in the dark, none of it felt real. Just masks. Just survival.

She wanted to be strong like Mikuya. Brave. Untouchable.

But tonight… she was just tired.

Just a girl trying to hold herself together in a house that was falling apart.

---

Outside her window, the stars blinked faintly through the clouds. In another part of the city, Mikuya stood at the broken window, watching the same stars, her eyes reflecting the quiet pain of a girl who’d seen too much.

Both girls, in their separate worlds, were fighting to survive the night.

Both unaware that soon—very soon—their paths would converge in ways that would change them forever.