The television flickered faintly blue across the dim apartment.
The city outside slept, neon dreams drifting beneath the weight of concrete and smog.
Inside, Howard lounged on the worn couch, legs lazily stretched out, white T-shirt wrinkled from wear, short pants hanging loose against the hum of the fan.
A controller in hand, he furrowed his brow, focusing intently on the screen as digital bullets danced through a rain-slick battlefield.
The console—a stolen luxury from some black market stand—was one of his few indulgences.
A brief retreat from reality.
The crack of gunfire echoed through the speakers, a synthetic adrenaline high for the sleepless.
He was midway through a high-score run when he sensed a shift behind him. Light footsteps.
"Yo," came a chipper voice, easy and smooth.
"Didn't peg you for the shooter game type."
Howard glanced over his shoulder.
Exusiai stood there, halo faintly glowing like a tired light bulb.
Dressed down in an oversized tee and shorts, she padded barefoot into the room, wings flicking lazily behind her as she watched the screen.
"I thought everyone was out cold," Howard said, lips tugging in a faint smirk.
"Can't sleep?"
She shrugged, plopping down beside him.
"You ever try sleeping after spending the week running between Lungmen and Laterano? My spine has opinions."
He passed her the second controller.
"You want to join?"
"Don't mind if I do." Her smile was instant, warm.
"Been forever since I fried some pixels."
They loaded into the next match, a two-player deathmatch.
For a while, it was quiet save for gunshots and the occasional curse under Howard's breath.
That was, until Exusiai began absolutely dominating the game.
Quickscope.
Double headshot.
Grenade bounces into a triple kill.
"Wait—what?" Howard blinked.
"I didn't think you were this good."
Exusiai leaned back, wings twitching with smug satisfaction.
"I am, after all, the winner of the 84th intercity cybersecurity preparatory course of St. Theodore Comprehensive School! This isn't anything but sweets."
Howard chuckled, defeated.
"Thanks, by the way. For covering for me earlier."
She blinked.
"Oh? You mean the thing with Ch'en?"
"Yeah," he said, eyes on the screen.
"I figured she'd get suspicious. Hoshiguma left that letter just in case."
Exusiai nodded. "No problem. Honestly, I'm surprised you were surprised I stuck around."
"Figured you'd go back to work."
"Nah." She smirked.
"Been nice getting away from all the packages for once in a while. And besides," she added, tapping a button for a reload, "you're a good guy to hang around."
Howard's brow lifted slightly.
"Really?"
"Yeah," Exusiai said without hesitation.
"You're not like the detectives I'm used to seeing. Most of them are obsessed with justice, rules, or showing off. You? You actually listen."
"You work with folks like us without acting like you're better than us. That's rare."
A small grin tugged at Howard's lips.
"I don't feel like a real detective," he said after a moment.
" I solve things too fast. No aura of mystery, no trench coat drama. And... I've stuck my hands too deep in the underworld to be seen as righteous. Worst of all—I'm always a step behind when it matters."
Exusiai paused mid-button press. She looked over at him, quiet, halo gently flickering.
"As a Sankta," she said softly, "I can feel when other Sankta are happy. Or in pain. Or grieving. I used to pray for them. Still do, sometimes. But deep down, I know no miracle's going to change what they are in."
Howard watched her, eyes dark.
"We're supposed to be understanding," she continued, "but that doesn't mean we know how to talk to people. No one but another Sankta could appearently understand."
"But being stuck in that world was not what I wanted. That's why I decided to search myself even more..."
"I found it's better I'd cling to happiness. No matter what. Whether in the worst missions or the lowest days, I smile."
She leaned forward now, fingers still moving on the controller.
"And you—whether or not you wear a badge or a coat or solve things in thirty seconds flat—you save people. You solve cases. That's all that matters."
Howard didn't speak. Her words sank deep—too deep.
"So what if you're one step behind?" She said, eyes locked on the screen, tone gentle but sure.
"Then take five more steps forward. Get ahead. But don't keep killing yourself holding onto secrets. Tell the people you care about the truth. Let them help carry it too."
Howard stared at her.
He blinked.
"I'm an idiot," he muttered.
Exusiai grinned. "Took you long enough."
The next round began. But something had changed.
Howard was different.
He moved fast—too fast.
Grenades exploded with pinpoint accuracy.
His sniper shots never missed. His movement was liquid, deliberate, and precise.
"Wait—what the hell—HEY!" Exusiai gawked.
"How'd you get this good all of a sudden!?"
Howard just laughed, rising to his feet with the controller still in hand.
"Guess I just needed to hear that."
He turned away, stretching his arms.
For the first time in a long while, he felt something unshackled inside him.
Like a weight he didn't know he carried had quietly slipped off.
"Thanks," he said over his shoulder, voice light.
Exusiai blinked, stunned for a moment.
Then smiled.
"Anytime!"
***
Howard stepped into the small bathroom of the apartment, the faint hum of the city seeping through the walls.
The room was cramped, its tiled walls a faded white, the single bulb above the sink casting a harsh light that reflected off the cracked mirror.
He turned on the faucet, the cold water rushing out with a soft hiss, and cupped his hands, splashing his face.
The icy shock cleared his mind, washing away the fatigue of the day.
As the water dripped from his chin, his thoughts sharpened, turning to the next target in his intricate plan—a key figure in Lungmen's underworld, someone tied to the Yan Yansheng.
He knew what he had to do, the path ahead clearer now, each step a calculated move in the game he was playing.
He lifted his head, water still clinging to his face, and froze as his gaze met the mirror.
Behind him, reflected in the glass, stood a figure—a woman with an ethereal presence, her long blue hair cascading over her shoulders, streaked with hints of white that shimmered like starlight.
Her horns, a subtle curve of black, marked her as a Sankta, but the halo above her head flickered faintly, a sign of something broken, something fallen.
Her piercing blue eyes locked onto his through the reflection, and she held a staff in her hand, its intricate design glowing with a soft, ominous light, the air around it crackling with latent Arts energy.
Howard turned sharply, his instincts kicking in, but before he could speak, the woman raised her staff, her voice calm but commanding as she greeted him.
"Hello, Howard."
Her tone carried a weight of inevitability, and in a swift motion, she closed the distance between them, the staff's glow intensifying.
She activated her Arts, a temporal distortion that enveloped Howard in an instant.
His body locked up, his muscles refusing to obey, his mind slowing to a crawl, trapped in a stasis that left him unable to move or think.
He was a statue, frozen mid-turn, his eyes wide with shock.
The woman's arts lifted him off the ground, his body floating helplessly as she moved with a graceful ease.
She approached the small bathroom window, its frame rusted but functional, and pushed it open, the cool night air rushing in.
With a fluid leap, she jumped through, her blue hair trailing behind her like a comet's tail, Howard's floating form following in her wake.
They descended slowly, her Arts controlling his descent as they floated down to the alley below Ch'en's apartment building, the neon lights of Lungmen casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the pavement.
There, waiting in the shadows, stood five Sankta, their halos glowing faintly in the dim light.
Four of them had their faces covered, their black masks obscuring their identities, their wings folded tightly against their backs.
But the one beyond the four stood apart, his face uncovered, his presence commanding despite his stoic demeanor.
He was tall and lean, his white hair cropped short, his grey eyes sharp and unyielding, a halo of pure light hovering above his head, its glow steady and unbroken.
His wings, a pristine white, were folded neatly, and he wore a dark coat adorned with Laterano insignia, a firearm holstered at his side—a Sankta executor, a hunter of the law, his expression devoid of emotion as he surveyed the scene.
The blue-haired woman spoke, her voice steady as she confirmed to the white-haired Sankta.
"It's him."
The white-haired Sankta nodded, his golden eyes narrowing as he stepped forward, inspecting Howard's immobilized form.
"Confirmed," he said, his voice cold and precise, a man of duty with no room for doubt.
He gestured to the others, who moved with practiced efficiency, opening the trunk of a sleek, black transport vehicle parked in the alley.
They lifted Howard's floating body, placing him inside the trunk with mechanical precision, the thud of his form against the metal muffled by the woman's Arts.
The trunk slammed shut, the sound echoing in the quiet alley, and the Sankta climbed into the vehicle, their halos dimming as they prepared to depart.
Howard's eyes, still frozen in their wide stare, twitched slightly—a faint movement, a flicker of awareness breaking through the temporal stasis, but it was too late.
The vehicle's engine roared to life, its headlights cutting through the darkness as it sped off into Lungmen's labyrinthine streets, leaving the alley empty, the night swallowing the echoes of their departure.