Inside, the clothes of a stranger. Stiff, cheap jeans. A coarse, dark hoodie. Scuffed sneakers. A baseball cap.
I stripped. The fine wool of the suit felt like a dead man's skin. I shoved it into the duffel, my movements frantic.
I pulled on the new identity. The fabric was abrasive, alien. I pulled the cap low over my eyes.
When I stepped out, I felt hollowed out. Erased.
"Good," one of the men grunted. "Move."
I followed them to a different car... a gray, bland sedan. We got in. The engine turned over.
And that's when I saw him.
Kaito.
Leaning against a rusted light pole, a cigarette dangling from his lips, laughing with one of Sato's men as if they were at a backyard barbecue.
My blood turned to ice water in my veins.
What is he doing here?
The car stopped. The men gestured for me to get out.
I stood on the broken pavement, my entire being focused on Kaito. He turned. His eyes met mine. That smile... a slow, cruel curl of his lip.... spread across his face.
