The city was still wiping the sleep from its eyes when Ryunosuke stepped off the subway near the Financial District.
Pale sunlight filtered between steel giants, casting long shadows that reached across polished glass and pristine concrete. Cars slid by like whispers. A man in a suit sipped coffee and didn't look up. Everything felt too clean, too composed—like a photograph edited to remove the mess.
Ryunosuke kept his hood up, hands buried in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. His eyes darted toward the alley tucked behind the high-rise where the garage entrance had been. His breath fogged slightly, though the morning wasn't cold.
He hadn't planned to come back here. But the moment he woke up and saw his sketchbook—open, marked by hands that weren't his—the decision was made for him.
He needed to see it again.
To confirm that it was real.
That she was real.
The side gate clicked when he pushed it, swinging open with no resistance. No buzzing alarm. No barked orders from a guard.
Just the mechanical whir of a security camera as it pivoted smoothly overhead. He glanced at it briefly, unsure if he should wave. He didn't.
The garage was almost empty—just a few parked vehicles and a wall of fluorescent lights humming like insects behind glass.
Stillness pressed on him.
He stepped inside.
Rows of gleaming cars sat in perfect alignment—blacked-out SUVs, polished sedans, and one electric coupe that looked like it had never touched the street. Everything smelled faintly of rubber and ozone, mingled with something sharper—like gun oil.
He walked deeper into the garage, heart starting to race.
The spot was near the center, he remembered.Between a concrete pillar and a yellow-striped barrier.That's where it had been.
The black BMW. The same one from the sketch. The one Victor Navarro had climbed into with someone riding shotgun. Someone he couldn't remember.
Or refused to.
Ryunosuke's steps slowed as he approached the space.
Empty.
No skid marks.No lingering warmth from a recently parked engine.Just polished floor, as if nothing had ever occupied the space at all.
His chest tightened.
Gone.
Of course it was.
He turned slowly, his shoes making the faintest scuff against the concrete.
That was when he heard it—
Footsteps.
"Excuse me," a voice called.
Ryunosuke froze.
A man in a gray uniform approached, posture casual but practiced.Security. Late 40s, maybe. Clean-shaven, no badge visible. Just a black radio clipped to his shoulder and a laminated ID swinging slightly on a lanyard.
"You lost, kid?" he asked, stopping a few feet away.
Ryunosuke met his gaze and shook his head. "No. I was just… looking for someone."
The man didn't blink. His expression didn't change. But his eyes flicked briefly toward the mounted camera in the corner.
"You can't be back here without clearance," he said. "This is a restricted lot."
"I didn't know."
"Yeah," the guard replied flatly. "People never do."
Ryunosuke shifted on his feet. His pulse thudded in his ears.
"I'm gonna need you to come with me to security," the man added. "Just protocol."
There was no threat in his tone. No urgency. But something about the way he said it—soft, rehearsed—made Ryunosuke's stomach knot.
For a moment, he considered running.
But he didn't know where to go.
So he nodded.
"…Okay."
The man gestured for him to follow.
As they walked toward a nondescript side door, Ryunosuke risked one last glance over his shoulder—back at the empty spot, back at the place where the BMW had been.
Like maybe, if he looked hard enough, he'd see tire tracks. A shadow. A trace of her.
But there was nothing.
Only absence.