Ten hours later.
Turnpike Police Station, Drovspire City.
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow across the tiled floor and weary faces.
In one corner of the station, Soho clung tightly to Renji, her arms wrapped protectively around the boy as if afraid he might vanish again.
Her shoulders trembled with silent sobs, her relief and pain tangled together in a mother's heartbreak.
Renji didn't say much.
His face was pale, his eyes unfocused, still reeling, either from guilt or the drugs.
Maybe both.
Venzel stood a few steps away, leaning quietly against the wall.
He said nothing, arms crossed loosely over his chest, gaze flicking from the boy to the officer behind the desk.
Next to him stood Uncle Ryu, speaking in a low voice with a man in uniform, Inspector Haran.
The two seemed to know each other, exchanging words with the ease of long-time acquaintances.
"Ryu," the inspector said, folding his arms as he exhaled heavily. "You need to talk to the boy. He's not the worst I've seen, but this…"
He gestured toward the logbook on the table. "Hearthstreet isn't a place for kids to play. That area's poison now. Has been for years now."
Uncle Ryu rubbed a hand over his face. "I thought he was just acting out… skipping study groups, talking back. I never imagined it would come to this."
Inspector Haran looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "None of us do. Until it's too late."
He paused, then added, "Your nephew here—he's clean, responsible. You might want him to stay close to Renji for a while. Some kids listen more to their friends than their parents."
Venzel blinked, caught off guard by the comment.
Me? A role model?
He didn't respond aloud, but a small thought planted itself quietly in his mind: If you leave Renji to me, I'd probably have him work at the farm....
Haran continued, his voice dipping into something firmer.
"The stuff we found in his system wasn't your regular street junk. It's synthetic, lab-made, cheap, addictive, and ten times worse in the long run. We've been tracking a few dealers on Hearthstreet, but they're ghosts. New faces every week. New ruins to clean up every month."
Uncle Ryu's voice was tight now. "We should've noticed earlier. He's been withdrawn. Shutting down. I thought it was just the usual teenage mood swings."
"Don't beat yourself up," Haran said gently. "We all want to believe the best in our kids. But sometimes we miss the signs. It's what you do next that matters."
Beside them, Venzel glanced again at Renji, now sitting quietly in the crook of his mother's embrace, eyes staring at the floor.
How did it come to this? Venzel wondered. What kind of pain makes a kid choose that route?
"Thanks, Haran," Uncle Ryu said quietly, offering a tired nod. "We'll take it from here."
The inspector clapped his shoulder. "And Ryu… tell Soho I still remember her fried pumpkin dumplings. Best thing I ever ate on night shift."
Uncle Ryu managed a small laugh. "If I get out of this alive, I'll bring you a batch myself."
As they turned to leave, Venzel fell into step beside his uncle, stealing one last glance at Renji.
Just then, a worn-down car sputtered to a stop in front of the Turnpike Police Station, its engine coughing twice before falling into silence.
The doors flew open almost immediately.
Aoki stepped out first, tall and sharp-eyed, his broad frame taut with tension.
He didn't wait for anything, he just started moving.
Behind him, Tsuki emerged, clutching the hem of her dress in one hand, her phone still gripped tightly in the other.
They both ran over.
Venzel watched from the station entrance, the glass door swinging gently behind him.
It's like a family reunion, he mused, a half-laugh curling at the edge of his lips.
But the heaviness of the situation pulled him back in line, and he quickly pinched his lips together, swallowing the chuckle.
Now wasn't the time.
Tsuki reached the steps first, her eyes darting anxiously.
"Where's the boy?" she asked, breathless, the urgency clear in her voice.
Just thirty minutes ago, Venzel had sent her a short message.
We found Renji. We're at Turnpike Station.
That was all it took. Now here she was, her usually calm demeanor replaced by quiet panic.
Venzel stepped forward to meet them. "Mom, he's inside. The police said we can take him now. We should head to the hospital first."
Tsuki didn't hesitate. She nodded, once, sharply.
Her lips pressed together, as if holding back a storm of emotions, but her eyes softened when they met her son's.
At that moment, the station doors opened again.
Soho appeared, her face pale and drawn, still streaked with tears.
One hand clutched her son's, the other gripping Ryu's arm for support.
Renji shuffled beside her, leaning heavily into his father's side.
He looked smaller than usual, his shoulders hunched, eyes sunken, skin ashen beneath the fluorescent lighting.
Whatever defiance he once wore like armor had cracked and crumbled. Now he just looked… tired.
Ryu supported his son with care, a quiet strength beneath his sadness.
When his gaze lifted and met Aoki's, a flicker of something familiar passed between them.
A small smile, worn and exhausted, but genuine.
Aoki returned the look with a silent nod, saying nothing.
But he stepped forward and gently replaced Soho at Renji's side, slipping his arm under the boy's to help shoulder the weight.
The gesture was simple, unspoken.
Soho sagged a little, both from exhaustion and relief.
Tsuki walked over and wrapped her arms tightly around her sister.
No words.
Just the firm, comforting presence of family, one woman holding up another.
Soho's face crumpled as she buried herself into her sister's shoulder, and for the first time since the call, she let herself cry again.
Ryu let out a quiet breath and stepped back slightly, watching his wife and son with tired, grateful eyes.
Venzel remained by the entrance, watching them all, his family.
A little broken, a little battered, but still here, standing together.