Chapter Text
The air was heavy with the smell of stagnant rainwater and decaying leaves. The narrow alley behind an old izakaya in Shinjuku was cloaked in darkness, save for the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp nearby. Footsteps echoed softly against the wet pavement as a figure moved silently through the shadows — calculated, unhurried.
The man standing at the far end of the alley was oblivious to the danger. He leaned against the wall, taking slow drags of his cigarette, the embers briefly illuminating his face. Kobayashi Sota — mid-40s, a quiet, unremarkable man who lived alone and taught music classes in a nearby school.
He never saw it coming.
A sharp prick at the base of his neck.
Too quick to react, he froze, his cigarette dropping to the ground, sending a shower of sparks onto the wet pavement. His hand instinctively reached for his neck, but his body was already betraying him. His legs gave out, his breathing hitched, and within moments, he slumped to the ground.
But it wasn't enough.
A clean kill never fooled anyone.
The figure knelt beside the lifeless body, pulling a heavy brick from the shadows. A calculated, forceful blow to the temple — just enough to fracture the skull, but not enough to leave a messy scene. Blood pooled beneath the victim's head, soaking into the cracks of the concrete.
Satisfied, the figure stood, glancing around to ensure no witnesses were nearby. Everything had been... precise.
No mistakes.
Slipping into the shadows once again, the figure disappeared — leaving behind only death and deception.
The figure paused for a moment in the dark alley, listening. The night was eerily silent, save for the soft patter of distant raindrops. No one had seen. No one had heard. Satisfied with the work, the figure disappeared into the blackness, leaving only the smell of damp earth and the faint hiss of a dying streetlamp behind.
Minutes later, a solitary garbage collector trudged down the alley, his cart creaking with the weight of discarded cardboard and plastic. His footsteps echoed against the wet pavement, unaware of the body just a few feet away. The cold, damp air didn't change, but something shifted — the world carried on, oblivious.
-8:24 AM – Shinjuku Local Police Station-
Detective Hiroshi Sakamoto pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes narrowing at the report in front of him. His desk was cluttered — old case files, half-empty coffee cups, and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts.
"Found by a garbage collector this morning. Same alley behind that ramen place in Kabukicho," said Officer Takeshi Watanabe, his tone laced with exhaustion. "Blunt force trauma. Guy's name is Kobayashi Sota. Music teacher."
Sakamoto sighed, rubbing his temples. "Jesus... Any witnesses?"
"None," Takeshi shook his head. "Alley's always deserted at night. And security cams are too far out to catch anything useful."
Sakamoto's eyes scanned the file again. Blunt force trauma. A typical alley mugging? Maybe. But something didn't sit right.
"Let's run the usual," Sakamoto muttered. "Get forensics to sweep the scene. Check nearby CCTV. See if anyone was loitering around before it happened."
"Already on it."
Sakamoto grunted, tossing the file onto his desk. He needed more coffee.
-Records Department, Tokyo Central Police Station-
"Nakamura, file the reports for all the murders this month in the entire Tokyo. You're lucky the number's under thirty this month."
"Fucking paperwork again..."
Rookie Officer Daichi Nakamura sighed, dragging a hand through his messy black hair. He slumped in his chair, glaring at the mountain of files that had landed on his desk. For the third time this month.
"Welcome to the glamorous life of law enforcement," muttered Kenta Moriyama, his senior, with a smirk.
"Why me though? Every damn time," Daichi grumbled, flipping open the latest case file with zero enthusiasm.
"Seniority, kid. Do your time, and maybe one day you'll be out there chasing down the bad guys instead of filing their victims away."
"Great pep talk, Moriyama-san," Daichi muttered under his breath.
He eyed the victim's photo — Kobayashi Sota. Another grim statistic added to the growing pile. Same routine, same monotony.
"Blunt force trauma, huh..." Daichi murmured, absently jotting down details. His pen tapped rhythmically against the desk as he skimmed through the autopsy report.
Just another day in the endless cycle.
The soft clacking of a keyboard echoed through the dimly lit records room. Daichi sat slouched in his chair, chin resting lazily on his hand, eyes barely focused on the spreadsheet glowing on the monitor.
"Victim name... time of death... cause of death... place of discovery..."
His voice was a dull mumble, barely audible over the hum of the computer. His other hand moved the mouse lazily, dragging data from one cell to the next.
Kobayashi Sota – Shinjuku – 8:24 AM discovery – Cause: Blunt force trauma.
"Another mugging... great," he muttered, stifling a yawn.
It was his third file of the morning, and his patience was running thin. The repetitive work was numbing his brain, and his eyes drifted toward the clock. 10:03 AM. Only two hours into his shift.
"Why do I always get stuck with this crap..."
Daichi clicked over to the previous case files — half out of boredom.
Yamada Kenji – Setagaya – 7:15 AM discovery – Cause: Stab wound to the abdomen.
Takahashi Reiko – Minato – 9:05 AM discovery – Cause: Strangulation.
Fujimoto Haruto – Chiyoda – 8:47 AM discovery – Cause: Blunt force trauma.
"Different districts... different causes..." Daichi mumbled, lazily scrolling through the reports.
He almost glossed over it, but something tugged at the back of his mind.
The dates.
His brow furrowed. March 3rd. March 10th. March 17th... and now March 24th.
A chill ran down his spine.
"Wait..."
He sat up straighter, eyes narrowing as he highlighted the dates again.
Seven days apart.
His fingers hovered over the mouse, hesitating. That's too clean.
"...Nah." He shook his head, dismissing the thought. "Coincidence."
But his brain wouldn't let it go.
His eyes flicked back to the times.
All between 7 AM and 9 AM.
Daichi's heart skipped a beat.
"Hold up..." His voice barely rose above a whisper.
Leaning in closer, he flipped between the cases again, eyes darting across the screen. Four murders. Four different districts. Four different methods. But all perfectly timed.
"...No way..."
Daichi burst out of the records room, a file clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes scanned the busy office until they landed on a familiar figure.
Moriyama, his senior officer, was lounging at his desk, feet propped up, sipping coffee while scrolling through his phone.
"Moriyama-san!" Daichi called, his voice laced with urgency.
Kenta barely glanced up. "Hmm?"
"I think I found something."
"Good for you, rookie," Kenta drawled, taking another sip of coffee, his tone dripping with indifference.
"No, seriously." Daichi's voice was more insistent now as he slapped the file down on Kenta's desk. "Look at this."
Kenta finally lowered his phone, eyeing the documents with disinterest. "What now? Another robbery? Some kid shoplifting?"
"Just look at the dates."
Kenta's eyes scanned the pages lazily. "March 3rd... March 10th... March 17th..." His voice trailed off.
"Exactly." Daichi pointed at the screen. "All a week apart. Same window of time. Different districts. Different methods."
Kenta blinked. "Okay... and?"
Daichi's brows knit together in frustration. "Don't you think that's... too clean?"
Kenta let out a snort, leaning back in his chair. "Kid, Tokyo's a big place. Weird shit happens all the time."
"But four cases with the same exact gap and early morning window?" Daichi's tone was sharper now. "Come on, Moriyama-san, this isn't random."
"Coincidences happen, Nakamura." Kenta waved a hand dismissively. "You're just overthinking it."
Daichi's jaw clenched. He wasn't imagining things.
-10:41 AM – Main Office, Shinjuku Station-
"Moriyama!"
A booming voice cut through the chatter of the busy office.
Commissioner Hiroto Tanaka strode in, his sharp eyes scanning the room before landing squarely on Kenta.
Kenta's posture snapped upright, feet dropping to the floor as his coffee nearly tipped over. "S-Sir!"
Tanaka's gaze flickered to Daichi, who stood rigid, file still gripped in his hands.
"What's this I hear about a pattern?" Tanaka's voice was low but carried a weight that made the entire office quiet down.
Daichi gulped, stepping forward. "Sir... I think I've noticed a connection between the four recent homicides." He held out the file with a steady hand.
Tanaka took the folder, his sharp eyes skimming the pages. His jaw clenched as he read through the details.
"Four districts... Four different methods... Seven-day intervals..." His voice was barely above a murmur, but the tension in the air thickened.
He looked back at Daichi, eyes narrowing. "You noticed this?"
"Yes, sir," Daichi replied, his voice steady.
Tanaka's expression hardened as he turned his gaze to Kenta.
"And you... ignored this?"
Kenta swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at the commissioner. "I... I thought it was just a coincidence, sir."
Tanaka's jaw clenched. "Moriyama..."
A beat of silence.
"Prepare a full report on all four cases. Cause of death, timing, and any potential connections. I want it on my desk by noon."
Kenta paled. "Y-Yes, sir."
Tanaka's gaze returned to Daichi, his eyes softening slightly.
"Good work, Nakamura."
Daichi gave a curt nod, but his mind was already racing.
This was just the beginning.
-JCB Tokyo Branch Office-
The hum of ringing phones, the distant chatter of officers, and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards filled the open-plan office. Desks were cluttered with case files, half-empty coffee cups, and remnants of takeout boxes — evidence of long hours and little sleep.
At the far end of the room, Hiori Yo sat hunched over his desk, eyes glued to the code running down his monitor. His fingers danced over the keyboard, effortlessly navigating a complex firewall system while munching on Pocky with his free hand.
“Almost cracked it...” he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing.
Isagi Yoichi stood a few desks away, flipping through a suspect’s file with a concentrated frown. His pen tapped rhythmically against the desk, his mind already a step ahead, considering possible angles.
Kiyora Jin was quietly buried in paperwork, his expression unreadable as he scanned through reports with laser focus. Nanase Nijiro leaned back in his chair nearby, balancing a pencil between his fingers, lost in thought.
The air was thick with focus — until the sharp ring of the phone cut through the atmosphere.
“Got it,” Hiori muttered absentmindedly, snatching the receiver without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Tokyo Branch, Investigation Division.”
A pause.
“Uh... Rin Itoshi?”
Hiori’s fingers halted, eyes finally shifting from the monitor. His brows furrowed. “He’s... kinda busy right now. Can I take a message or—”
“Commissioner Tanaka.”
Hiori’s spine straightened immediately. His eyes darted across the room, landing on Rin’s desk — which, unsurprisingly, was empty.
“Uhh... Hold on, sir. One second.”
Rin Itoshi was in the adjacent conference room, standing at the head of a long table littered with files, open folders, and diagrams pinned to the wall. His sleeves were rolled up, and the top button of his shirt was undone — a rare sight. His sharp blue eyes were narrowed, scanning a complicated flowchart.
“Okay, so if we push the investigation deadline back by two days, we can cover the missing window without compromising the surveillance on Setagaya...”
He was halfway through explaining the logistics to an officer when Hiori poked his head through the glass door.
“Rin,” he called out, keeping his voice low.
Rin’s eyes flicked toward him, irritation flashing briefly before he returned his focus to the chart.
“Busy.”
“It’s Commissioner Tanaka.”
Rin’s hand froze.
A beat.
“Give me five,” he murmured, sighing as he straightened up. He loosened his tie slightly, already feeling the tension crawling up his neck.
“Sir, I’ll brief you later,” he said to the officer before heading toward the door.
Rin grabbed the phone from Hiori’s outstretched hand, his voice steady but his mind already shifting gears.
“Itoshi speaking.”
“Rin,” Tanaka’s gruff voice came through the receiver. “I’ve got something for you.”
Rin’s jaw clenched as he listened, his eyes narrowing with every word. His other hand absentmindedly drummed against the desk, the only sign of his simmering impatience.
Four murders. Different methods. Different districts. Seven-day gaps.
A serial killer.
By the time Tanaka finished, Rin’s expression was unreadable, but the weight of the case settled over him like a familiar burden.
“Understood, sir.”
He hung up and let out a slow breath, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose for a brief second.
“Team.”
Rin’s voice cut through the office like a knife.
In seconds, his team was gathered around his desk. Isagi, Hiori, Kiyora, and Nanase stood at attention, eyes trained on their leader.
Rin’s gaze was sharp, his tone all business.
“We’ve got a case.”
He grabbed a remote and clicked on the wall monitor. Four faces filled the screen — the photos of the four victims, their names and details listed beside them.
“Four homicides. Four different districts. Four different methods.” His eyes swept over his team. “But all of them, exactly seven days apart.”
Nanase’s brows furrowed. “A serial killer?”
“Seems that way,” Rin replied, his voice clipped. “We don’t have the first three bodies, but the fourth one is still fresh. I want it sent to forensics for a deeper analysis. Look for anything we might have missed.”
“Any connections between the victims?” Isagi asked, arms crossed.
“Not yet.” Rin’s jaw tightened. “That’s where you all come in. I want you to dig. Background checks. Daily routines. Everything.” His tone left no room for discussion.
Hiori’s fingers twitched, already itching to get on his computer. “I’ll pull their financials and phone records.”
“Good.”
“Crime scenes?” Isagi asked, already mentally preparing a checklist.
“We’ll visit if necessary, but for now...” Rin’s eyes narrowed. “Find the connection. We catch this guy before the next one drops.”
A beat of silence.
“Understood,” Isagi said, his tone firm.
“Let’s get to work,” Rin ordered, turning back to his desk.
As the team scattered, diving into their tasks, Rin’s gaze lingered on the photos on the screen.
A pattern this clean... the killer wasn’t just good.
They were meticulous. Calculated.
And Rin hated losing to someone like that.
The office was quieter now, save for the occasional tapping of keyboards, the rustling of papers, and the hum of the overhead lights. The team had been buried in research for hours, each of them methodically sifting through files and reports, piecing together fragments of a larger, darker picture.
Hiori sat at his desk, the faint glow of his dual monitors illuminating his tired face. He was flipping through the photos of the victims once again, zooming in on specific details. The ink of the printed images was starting to blur in his vision from exhaustion, but he didn’t mind. They were getting closer.
His eyes hovered over the latest image — the fourth victim. A man in his early thirties, discovered near a subway station in Bunkyo Ward. The cause of death had been initially ruled as blunt force trauma, but the autopsy report was still pending.
However, no matter how tired Hiori Yo was, he had a perfect reputation for being incredibly meticulous.
“Wait a minute…” Hiori muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing as he zoomed in again.
He flicked between the other victim photos, then back to the fourth.
There.
How'd he miss something that obvious?
A small, almost imperceptible bruise on the side of the neck — a subtle but clear mark of an injection.
His heart skipped a beat.
Injection.
The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, and suddenly, everything clicked into place.
He shot up from his chair, almost knocking over his cup of coffee on his PC in his haste. “Rin! Isagi!”
Isagi, who had been pacing near the back of the office, snapped his head toward Hiori.
Rin, who had been scanning through the victim’s files on his own desk, glanced up. His sharp eyes immediately locking onto Hiori. “What is it?”
“I think I found something,” he said, his voice urgent. “Look at the necks of all four victims. They’ve all got marks — needle marks. But we missed it. It’s so subtle, barely noticeable in the photos.”
Rin’s eyes darted to the screen, studying the marked-up image of the fourth victim. His brow furrowed. “You’re right...” He leaned forward. “That’s an injection mark. The others must’ve had it, too.”
Nanase, who had been quietly browsing through case files, stood up. “That would explain why all four victims seemed perfectly healthy before death. No signs of illness, no strange behavior.”
Rin tapped his fingers on the desk, his mind already running a hundred miles an hour. “I want to double-check the fourth victim’s autopsy. Make sure the cause of death isn’t just blunt force trauma. We need to verify that injection mark.”
Isagi was already on the phone, talking to the forensic technician who had been working on the case.
-Forensic Lab, Tokyo Branch-
The sterile scent of disinfectants filled the air as Dr. Furuya, the senior forensic specialist, hovered over the fourth victim’s body. He was in his late fifties, a grizzled veteran of the department, his white lab coat stained with years of work.
Rin and Hiori stood by the counter, arms crossed, waiting patiently for him to work. Isagi was standing to the side, reviewing some final notes.
“Is it there?” Hiori asked, his voice a bit more anxious than usual.
Dr. Furuya paused, his gloved fingers gently parting the victim's collar. His sharp eyes scanned the area around the neck. He carefully prodded the flesh and then let out a soft, almost surprised exhale.
“Well, well, well…” He leaned in closer, inspecting the area where the mark should have been. “I see it now. Definitely an injection site. Tiny but visible.”
Rin’s gaze sharpened. “Could the victim have died from the injection?”
Furuya shook his head slowly, analyzing the area. “The mark’s consistent with an injection of some kind. But... the cause of death seems to be blunt force trauma. The bruise on the skull, and the broken neck vertebrae — they’re the primary causes. That said, the drug could’ve weakened the victim, made him more susceptible to the trauma.”
Rin nodded, deep in thought. “We need to find out what that substance is. There’s something else going on here.”
Back in the office, Rin gathered the team around the conference table. His expression was composed, but there was a distinct tension in his posture.
“Furuya confirmed it,” Rin started, his voice steady. “All four victims have marks from injections. The drug seems to be weakening them, making them vulnerable.”
He gestured to the monitor behind him, where the photos of the victims were displayed, each marked with the location of the injection. “Now, we need to figure out what this drug is. And how it’s being administered.”
Isagi crossed his arms. “The fact that all four victims have it... that means it’s intentional, right? They weren’t just injected for no reason.”
“Exactly,” Rin replied. “The killer is targeting these victims in a very precise way.”
Hiori, who had been quiet for a while, leaned forward. “There’s another thing. If the injection’s causing the victims to collapse, then the blunt force trauma might be just a cover-up. Something to make it look like a normal murder.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Rin confirmed. “But we still don’t know what the drug is. According to Furuya, the inspection and identification of what caused his actual death should take one day on a normal basis, but if it is a rare type of drug then it might take two days.”
Kiyora, who had been silent up until now, added in his quiet voice, “I’ll run some background checks on pharmaceutical companies... maybe there’s something in the data we’re missing.”
“Good.” Rin’s voice was firm. “In the meantime, I want everyone to focus on the timeline. The first four murders were seven days apart... and the next one is in four days. We can’t let it happen.”
He glanced at the clock, the weight of the case pressing down on his shoulders.
Four days.
They were running out of time.
“Let’s move,” Rin ordered, standing up from the table.
The team scattered, each member diving back into their respective tasks. The office was a hive of activity, the soft clicks of keyboards and the murmur of low conversations filling the space.
But for Rin, the clock was ticking louder in his mind.
Four days.
He wasn’t going to let that killer strike again.
The air inside the office was thick with the scent of stale coffee and exhaustion. The overhead lights cast a dim glow on the scattered files, empty water bottles, and wrinkled evidence sheets sprawled across everyone’s desks. The hum of computers and the occasional sigh filled the otherwise quiet space.
The Itoshi leaned back in his chair, the stiff leather groaning under his weight. His tie was already loosened, and the sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to his elbows. His eyes burned, scanning the same report for the third time, but his brain was too foggy to process anything new.
“You look like you’re gonna pass out.”
Rin glanced up, eyes meeting Isagi Yoichi’s, who was leaning against the corner of Rin’s desk, arms crossed with a tired grin. His shirt was slightly untucked, and he had that usual air of confidence despite the fatigue seeping into his features.
“I’m fine,” Rin muttered, rubbing his temples.
“Yeah? You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes.”
“Maybe I’m just thorough.”
Isagi snorted. “Or maybe you’re fried.” He glanced over his shoulder where Nanase, head down, was fighting sleep at his desk. Hiori was still typing, his eyes glued to the screen, while Kiyora quietly packed away the last of the files.
“We should call it,” Isagi said, his voice softer this time. “Everyone’s dead on their feet.”
Rin exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. But he knew Isagi was right. They had pushed hard today, and there was no use running themselves into the ground.
“Alright,” Rin finally said, his voice low but decisive. “We’re done.”
Nanase lifted his head instantly. “Oh, thank God.” He rubbed his eyes, looking more awake now that there was a chance to escape.
“I thought I was gonna dream about case files,” Hiori mumbled, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Kiyora said quietly, his usual calm tone barely hiding the relief in his expression.
“Ramen?” Isagi suggested, his eyes lighting up as he stood straight. “There’s that place in Shinjuku.”
“Again?” Nanase groaned but didn’t protest too hard.
“Come on.” Isagi gave a lopsided grin. “We deserve it.”
Hiori looked up, raising an eyebrow. “You’re just using this as an excuse to overeat.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Kiyora, already by the door, gave a small nod toward Rin. “You coming?”
Rin blinked, caught off guard. He usually skipped out on these post-work gatherings, preferring the solitude of his apartment after a long day. But...
“I’ll come,” Rin said quietly, standing and grabbing his jacket.
Isagi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he didn’t comment. Nanase just blinked before shrugging it off, and Hiori gave a satisfied little smile.
“Alright,” Isagi grinned. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
The place was tucked away in a narrow alley, the kind of hole-in-the-wall joint that only locals knew about. The smell of simmering broth and grilled pork filled the air, warm and comforting after a long day. The seating was cramped, but it had a charm that made up for it.
They squeezed into a corner booth, menus barely touched as they instinctively knew what they wanted.
“Usual?” Isagi asked, glancing around.
“Obviously.” Nanase leaned back, already looking more relaxed than he had all day.
“Double noodles,” Isagi added with a grin. “Don’t judge me.”
“Why would we? You’ve been living off vending machine coffee for three days,” Hiori muttered, eyes still skimming the menu even though he wasn’t really reading it.
Kiyora stayed quiet, his eyes flickering around the restaurant, and then at his bowl in his usual observant manner.
“Isagi’s right, though,” Nanase said, propping his chin on his hand. “We deserved a break. It’s been a while since we had a real case, and this one... it’s different.”
“Different how?” Kiyora asked, glancing up.
Nanase shrugged. “Dunno. Just... feels off.”
A beat of silence followed.
“Enough about work.” Hiori broke the tension, waving a hand dismissively. “We’re off duty. Let’s pretend for just an hour that we’re not chasing a ghost.”
Rin listened quietly, his gaze drifting to the steam rising from the open kitchen. He wasn’t much for conversation, especially after a long day, but being here... felt oddly okay.
“Speaking of real life,” Nanase said, turning toward Isagi. “How’s Aiko?”
Isagi’s grin softened instantly, and a rare warmth touched his eyes. “She’s good. Keeps asking when I’m taking a day off.”
“Good luck with that,” Hiori muttered with a smirk.
“Tell her we’ll call her to file our reports,” Nanase teased, earning a chuckle from Kiyora.
Rin’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. Almost.
They kept talking, laughing softly as the bowls of steaming ramen were placed in front of them. The conversation shifted from casework to everyday life — marriages, failed dates, sports, and even a few inside jokes that had developed over the years.
Rin stayed mostly quiet, content to let the noise wash over him. The weight of the day seemed... lighter here.
The streets were quieter now, the night air cool and crisp. Neon lights reflected off the pavement, and the occasional hum of traffic filled the distance.
“Alright, I’m heading this way,” Isagi said, adjusting his bag. “Don’t be late tomorrow, Nanase.”
“No promises,” Nanase shot back with a tired grin.
Hiori and Kiyora gave small nods as they split off in their own directions, leaving Rin to walk alone toward his condo.
His footsteps echoed softly in the night. After they parted ways, Rin took the longer route home. Tokyo’s streets were alive, but Rin walked through them like a ghost.
His steps slowed when he spotted two young boys—one, barely five or six, clinging to his older boy's sleeve as they navigated through the crowded street. The older one, maybe in his teens, guided him with quiet patience, occasionally glancing down to make sure the little one was keeping up.
Rin’s chest tightened.
A blurred memory surfaced—a smaller, wide-eyed version of himself following his older brother’s footsteps. Sae’s hand was firm, reassuring. But that memory was from a lifetime ago.
He blinked and got back his attention; the scene in front of him dissolved.
Sae was gone. Had been for almost two decades. And Rin had been alone ever since.
And Rin had accepted that fact years ago. Why was his fatigue playing with him now?
The door clicked softly behind him as he stepped inside.
His place was neat — minimalist, almost sterile. A single framed photo of his family sat on a shelf near the entrance, though Rin rarely looked at it. He barely even remembered his parents at this point.
He tossed his jacket onto a chair, barely bothering to flick on the lights. The dim glow from the street outside was enough as he trudged toward his bedroom.
His body moved on autopilot — tie loosened, shoes off, shirt untucked. He didn’t think.
Didn’t feel.
The bed was cold when he collapsed onto it, the exhaustion finally catching up with him.
For a brief moment, before sleep pulled him under, Rin allowed himself to stop thinking.
Rin closed his eyes, letting the weight of the day pull him into sleep.
Tomorrow, they’d be back at it. Another day closer to the next murder.