The report finished compiling before dawn.
A single red indicator pulsed at the corner of the screen, slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat that refused to be ignored.
ANOMALY DETECTED.
Yasha stood alone in the debrief chamber, coat draped over the back of a chair he hadn't bothered to sit on. The walls were smooth, pale, and soundproof—designed to remove distractions, emotions, and excuses.
He stared at the holographic projection in front of him.
> Operation Code: 7-CR-112
Executor Assigned: Yasha
Status: Incomplete
Reason: External Interference
External interference.
The words felt heavier than they should have.
"Explain."
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Seimei did not appear physically. He never did unless absolutely necessary. His presence manifested instead as a distortion in the light, a subtle pressure in the room that made breathing feel like a conscious decision.
Yasha straightened slightly. "Crimson Bloom intervened."
"That was expected," Seimei replied calmly. "Your hesitation was not."
The anomaly indicator pulsed brighter.
Yasha did not respond immediately.
He replayed the moment in his mind—the warmth that disrupted the contract sigil, the way the air had shifted around her, the steadiness in her voice when she placed herself directly in his path.
You'll have to go through me.
"It was a tactical decision," Yasha said finally. "Civilian risk escalated."
"Incorrect."
The word landed without anger. Without accusation.
That made it worse.
Seimei continued, "Containment protocols allow for collateral adjustment. You chose delay."
Yasha's jaw tightened.
Silence stretched between them, thick and deliberate.
Then another voice joined the channel.
"Architect."
Susabi's tone was neutral, analytical. "Permission to present additional data."
"Granted."
A second projection appeared—this one displaying power fluctuation graphs, contract resonance patterns, and temporal anomalies.
Susabi's voice followed the visuals. "At the moment of interference, the Executor's contract interface registered destabilization. Not from Crimson Bloom's side."
Yasha's gaze snapped to the data.
"Explain," Seimei said again.
"The disruption originated externally," Susabi continued. "From the target of protection. The Heartbearer."
A pause.
Not a technical one. A human one.
"Clarify," Seimei said.
Susabi didn't hesitate. "Momo's presence altered the contract field without formal binding. The system reacted as if recognizing an authority it does not account for."
The red anomaly indicator pulsed once.
Then twice.
"That is impossible," Yasha said before he could stop himself.
Susabi's tone softened—only slightly. "That is why it matters."
Seimei was silent for a long moment.
Then: "Crimson Bloom has always been an irregularity. This changes the nature of the threat."
Yasha exhaled slowly. "What are my orders?"
The answer came immediately.
"You will continue enforcement operations," Seimei said. "However—"
There it was.
"—you will not be reassigned."
Yasha looked up. "Architect?"
"You will remain attached to Crimson Bloom-related cases," Seimei continued. "Your proximity to the anomaly has been noted."
Susabi added, almost thoughtfully, "Observation through exposure."
Yasha understood the subtext perfectly.
They didn't trust him.
"Understood," he said.
"Dismissed."
The pressure lifted. The projections vanished.
Yasha remained standing for a moment longer, staring at empty air.
---
Crimson Bloom's sanctuary was never in the same place twice.
Tonight, it occupied the upper levels of a derelict shopping complex—half-flooded, structurally unsound, and completely invisible to human authorities thanks to layered misdirection wards and pure audacity.
Momo knelt beside a makeshift cot, adjusting the blanket around the shikigami they'd rescued. His breathing had evened out, the frantic tremors gone.
"You're safe," she said softly, more to herself than to him.
Around her, the sanctuary buzzed with quiet activity.
Yuki Onna distributed warm talismans to a group of frightened Seeds huddled near the wall. Higanbana leaned against a broken pillar, watching everything with unsettling interest.
"Protocol boy didn't finish the job," Higanbana remarked lazily. "That's new."
Momo stood, smoothing her sleeves. "He chose not to."
Shuten, sprawled across a collapsed escalator railing, snorted. Shuten Doji tipped his bottle toward her. "Careful. You're starting to sound like you trust him."
"I don't," Momo replied immediately.
That was true.
Mostly.
"What I trust," she continued, "is that he heard me."
Higanbana's smile sharpened. "Oh, he heard you. The question is what the city heard."
As if summoned by the thought, the lights flickered.
A subtle shift rippled through the air—familiar, cold, precise.
Yuki Onna's expression changed instantly. "Night Protocol."
Ibaraki materialized at Momo's side, already bristling. Ibaraki Doji rolled his shoulders, eyes glowing faintly. "Figures. They never know when to quit."
"It's not an attack," Momo said quietly.
They looked at her.
She closed her eyes, focusing.
The warmth stirred again—faint, instinctive, like a pulse she hadn't fully learned to control.
"One," she said. "Just one presence."
The shadows at the edge of the sanctuary peeled back.
Yasha stepped forward.
He did not draw his weapon.
He did not activate a sigil.
That alone sent a ripple of tension through the room.
"Relax," Shuten drawled. "If he wanted us dead, we'd already be paperwork."
Yasha ignored him. His gaze went straight to Momo.
"You are under investigation," he said calmly.
Ibaraki growled. "Touch her and—"
"This is not an arrest," Yasha continued, cutting through the threat without raising his voice. "It is an evaluation."
Momo met his eyes.
"By whose authority?" she asked.
"Night Protocol," he replied. "And the city."
She took a step forward, unafraid. "Then say it clearly. What do you want from me?"
For the first time since entering, Yasha hesitated.
"Your compliance," he said finally. "Voluntary observation. Limited interaction. No binding."
Shuten blinked. "Wow. That's… almost polite."
Higanbana laughed softly. "Careful, Executor. That kind of request sounds like fear."
Yasha did not deny it.
"If you refuse," he said, "enforcement will escalate."
Momo considered him.
The sanctuary. The frightened Seeds. The weight of every choice she'd ever made pressing down on her shoulders.
She nodded once.
"I'll cooperate," she said. "On one condition."
Yasha's eyes narrowed. "State it."
"You don't touch anyone here," Momo said. "Not without me present."
Silence.
Then Yasha inclined his head slightly.
"Agreed."
Something shifted.
Not visibly. Not dramatically.
But the night felt different afterward—tenser, alert, like a city that had just realized the rules were changing.
Momo watched Yasha turn to leave, her heart pounding for reasons she refused to name.
This wasn't a victory.
It was an opening.
And somewhere deep within the contract system, unseen and unheard, another anomaly began to form.