The fire had long since burned out.
The warehouse was half-collapsed, the walls peppered with holes from gunfire and shattered glass. Rain still fell outside, tapping on the rusted sheet metal roof like a funeral march. The Crimson Ghost was gone—what remained of him had melted into smoke and synthetic ash. But his presence lingered.
Ryoji sat in silence, shirt stripped off, muscles tight with pain. His back was a roadmap of bruises, his ribs wrapped hastily in cloth. Miura crouched beside him, hands steady, though her breath still trembled with exhaustion.
"You were reckless," she muttered, stitching the deep gash on his shoulder with silent focus.
Ryoji exhaled. "It was either that, or let him reach Aiko."
A pause.
Miura's hands slowed. "Still… you could've died."
His eyes met hers—quietly, for just a moment. He said nothing. He didn't need to.
Aiko sat on the other side of the room, wrapped in a jacket far too big for her. Her fingers toyed with the radio Ryoji had taken off one of the Black Division corpses. The red light blinked. Still no signal. No rescue. No hope on the airwaves.
Miura finished the last stitch, tying it off. "Done."
She stood, but lingered.
Ryoji finally spoke. "Thanks."
Miura didn't answer. She looked at him longer than necessary… then walked away. Not far. Just enough.
In the corner, Aiko glanced between the two. Her voice came soft. "What do we do now?"
Ryoji slowly stood, wincing. "We move. Before the next wave finds us."
Elsewhere — Central Command, Division Zero HQ
In a towering chamber beneath the city's foundations, lined with steel and cold light, Shirow watched several monitors flicker—displaying scenes of the ruined warehouse, the destroyed agents, and the lifeless form of the Crimson Ghost disassembled by fire.
Behind him, a woman in a long black coat stepped forward. Her silver eyes gleamed like glass.
"We lost the Ghost," she said.
Shirow didn't flinch. "It was expected."
The woman tilted her head. "And the girl?"
"Still alive. But not for long."
Shirow tapped the glass. "We underestimated Ryoji. Won't happen again."
He turned to face her. "Activate Protocol Revenant. Mobilize the rest of the Black Division. I want them to feel hunted."
The woman nodded. "Understood."
Back in the city — Underground safehouse, Sector 9
Ryoji led them through an abandoned subway shaft, ducking beneath cracked concrete and rusted pipes until they reached a thick metal hatch. He punched a code in.
It hissed open.
The room beyond was dry. Dim. Safe. At least for now.
Aiko collapsed on a cot. Miura checked weapons, eyes scanning the place. Ryoji stood guard at the door, blade in one hand.
Miura finally looked over at him again.
"You always plan this far ahead?"
Ryoji smirked slightly. "Old habits."
She stepped closer. "You never asked for help back there."
"I didn't need to."
"Bullshit," she said gently. "You were bleeding out."
He didn't argue. Just looked at her. For once, his guard lowered.
Miura hesitated—then pulled a small piece of cloth from her pocket. Bloodstained. Torn from his sleeve.
"I kept it," she said. "Don't know why."
He stared at it.
"I'll watch her," she added, nodding toward Aiko.
"You should rest too," Ryoji said quietly.
"I will," she replied. "But not until you do."
Ryoji looked away. "Alright."
For a brief moment, there was silence.
Not the kind that meant danger was near.
But the kind that meant—for now—they'd survived.
To be continued in Chapter 26.....