Reflections in Transit

The ryokan suite was untouched, save for the lifeless figure that had been removed hours ago. The scent of cedar and fresh tatami lingered, masking the final moments of the European businessman who had died there. Jessica stood in the doorway, taking in the room’s careful stillness. Whoever had done this hadn’t just killed him. They had erased him.

Yuki moved first, stepping inside with a quiet efficiency. “We don’t have long,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The Kyoto police were discreet, but not careless—someone would come soon to clean up what remained.

Leanna closed the door behind them, securing the lock. “No sign of a struggle,” she noted. “Whoever did this, he let them in.”

Jessica’s eyes scanned the room. The bedding was still pristine. The tea set on the table had gone cold but remained undisturbed. No signs of force. No overturned furniture. This wasn’t just an assassination; it was a message.

She moved deeper into the room, her fingers grazing the lacquered table. Something was missing.

Olivia, crouching near the futon, exhaled sharply. “Got something.”

She held up a small slip of paper—an envelope, nearly hidden beneath the tatami mat. It was sealed, untouched. Someone had placed it there deliberately.

Yuki took it, her brow furrowing. “He was planning to pass this to someone.”

Jessica held out her hand. “Let’s see what was worth dying for.”

Yuki hesitated before breaking the seal. Inside, written in clean, deliberate script, was a single name: Hoshino Takashi.

Jessica’s stomach tightened.

Yuki exhaled. “He’s in Osaka.”

---

The train to Osaka cut through the countryside like a blade, the neon veins of Kyoto fading behind them as the city gave way to open landscapes and the occasional stretch of darkness. Jessica watched her reflection ripple across the glass, shifting with every tunnel, every turn. Like a face she couldn’t quite hold onto.

Leanna, sitting across from her, was reviewing the businessman’s notes. “Hoshino Takashi,” she muttered, tapping the name with her finger. “An art dealer. Rumored to have ties to underground collectors.” She looked up. “This guy doesn’t just sell artifacts. He hoards them.”

Olivia frowned. “Which means he might already have the second mask.”

Yuki remained silent, watching the city lights return as they approached Osaka. “Hoshino is careful. He doesn’t deal with just anyone.”

Jessica nodded slowly. “Then we make him want to deal with us.”

---

That night, the hotel room was silent. Jessica had been exhausted, but sleep had come with its own dangers.

She was standing in the shrine again. Not as it was, but as it had been. The walls were intact, lined with paper doors and wooden beams that stretched toward a ceiling of shadows. Candlelight flickered, illuminating the space in a dim, golden glow.

She smelled smoke, burning incense, something metallic in the air.

And then—chanting. Low voices, rhythmic, surrounding her. Not in Japanese. Not in Latin. Something older.

A figure moved toward her, their hands gloved in black silk. They held something in their palms. A mask.

Jessica tried to move, to step back, but her body wouldn’t obey. She wasn’t afraid. She was waiting. That was what frightened her most.

The hands reached forward, and the mask touched her skin. The moment it made contact— She woke up gasping.

Her breath came fast, uneven. She was gripping the sheets, her fingers trembling. The scent of the shrine still lingered in her mind, the warmth of candlelight burned into her vision.

Jessica ran a hand through her hair, steadying herself. Was that a dream? A memory? Programming? Something else? She had spent her whole life questioning what was real. She wasn’t ready to start questioning herself again.

---

Morning came with a haze of city smog and the rhythmic pulse of Osaka’s streets. The air was warmer here, heavier with the scent of oil and metal, a stark contrast to Kyoto’s quiet elegance.

Jessica moved through the crowd, Yuki leading the way. Hoshino Takashi’s name carried weight in the underground, but they weren’t here to make introductions. They were here to find the second mask.

Olivia, walking beside her, tensed. “We’re being followed.”

Jessica already knew. She had felt it since they left the station. The weight of unseen eyes. The calculated pace of someone keeping their distance but never losing them. She had felt it since they left the platform.

She exhaled through her nose. “How many?”

Olivia didn’t turn her head. “At least two. Maybe three.”

Jessica’s jaw tightened. They weren’t the only ones hunting the masks.

Yuki glanced back over her shoulder. “Keep moving. We’re almost there.”

They turned down a narrow side street, the neon glow of pachinko parlors flickering overhead. If they were being followed, they would have to deal with it soon.

Jessica’s fingers brushed against the edge of her coat, where her pistol rested, cold and certain.

She wasn’t planning on running.