Silence became the third occupant of the luxury apartment. After their confrontation, Kaito retreated behind a wall of cold professionalism. He kept to his office during the day, took his meals alone, and spoke to Aiko only when necessary, his words clipped and impersonal. It was clear he intended to keep her at arm's length, a prisoner under his roof but not a presence in his life.
Aiko, fueled by a stubborn mix of resentment and a desperate need for normalcy, focused on creating her own small world within the cage. She unpacked her few belongings, arranging her worn paperbacks on a sleek, minimalist bookshelf where they looked hopelessly out of place. She spent hours talking to Mochi, who seemed to be the only creature in the apartment happy with the current arrangement. And she brewed tea. Lots of tea, using her grandmother's old pot, the familiar ritual a small act of defiance against the sterile luxury that surrounded her.
It was during one of these quiet, solitary tea sessions that she first felt it.
A flicker. A wrongness. Like a single note played off-key in a silent room.
She was sitting on the floor by the window, Mochi curled in her lap, watching the city lights ignite as dusk fell. The teapot sat beside her, warm and comforting. Suddenly, a shiver traced its way down her spine, despite the apartment's perfect climate control. The air in the far corner of the room, near a large, abstract painting, felt... cold. Not just physically cold, but spiritually empty. Dead.
She dismissed it at first. Stress. Imagination. The sheer weirdness of her situation catching up to her. But the feeling returned the next day, stronger this time. A persistent, nagging sense of unease emanating from that corner.
She finally gathered the courage to mention it to Kaito that evening. He was reviewing reports on a tablet, barely acknowledging her presence.
"Ishikawa-sama," she began, hating the formal title but knowing he preferred it now. "I think there might be something... wrong. In the corner of the living room. It feels cold."
He didn't look up. "The climate control is state-of-the-art. If you are cold, I can have the temperature adjusted."
"No, it's not like that," she insisted. "It feels... empty. Wrong."
He finally lowered the tablet, his gaze impatient. "Tanaka-san, you are in a stressful situation. It is understandable that your imagination might play tricks on you. There is nothing in this apartment that is not accounted for. You are perfectly safe." His tone was condescending, dismissive. He clearly thought she was being hysterical.
Anger flared in her chest again. He might be her captor, but he wouldn't treat her like a child. Fine. If he wouldn't listen, she would figure it out herself.
The next day, while Kaito was occupied in his office, Aiko approached the corner. The abstract painting depicted swirling grey and black shapes. As she got closer, the feeling of cold intensified. It wasn't just empty; it felt... hungry. Like something was trying to draw warmth, draw life, from the room.
She reached out a hesitant hand towards the wall behind the painting. Her fingers brushed against the cool, painted surface. Nothing. But the feeling persisted. She ran her hand along the wall, searching for... she didn't know what. A draft? A loose panel?
Her fingers snagged on something. A tiny, almost invisible tear in the expensive wallpaper, right at floor level, hidden by the painting's shadow. Driven by pure instinct, she knelt and carefully peeled back a small corner of the paper.
Beneath it was not plaster, but dark, old wood. And scratched into the wood, almost completely faded but still visible, was a symbol. A crude, spidery shape she didn't recognize. It pulsed with a faint, cold, malevolent energy that made her snatch her hand back as if burned.
Unbeknownst to her, Kaito stood silently in the doorway of his office, watching. He had heard the faint rustle of the wallpaper. He saw her kneeling, saw her recoil. He saw the flicker of fear – and intense curiosity – on her face as she stared at the wall. He couldn't see the symbol from his position, but he could see her reaction. She wasn't just imagining things. She had found something. Something he hadn't known was there.
The dismissive clan leader felt a flicker of grudging respect, quickly followed by a cold unease. What secrets did his own safe house hold? And more importantly... how had she been the one to find them?