The atmosphere in Kimiko’s lavish sitting room was relaxed—at least on the surface. The fireplace crackled gently, classical music drifted from a corner speaker, and the smell of fresh tea and lemon pastries lingered in the air. But beneath it all, tension hung like perfume—subtle, clinging, and inescapable.

Zane sat sprawled on a velvet armchair, one leg dangling off the side, dramatically staring at the crystal chandelier above.

“This place is starting to feel like a five-star prison,” he muttered.

Kimiko, perched on the piano bench, raised a brow. “A five-star prison with silk sheets and truffle risotto. You poor thing.”

“Seriously, though. I’ve been here so long, I’m starting to name the furniture.”

“Okay, let’s hear it,” she smirked, crossing her arms.

Zane pointed lazily. “That’s Gerald, the armchair. We’ve been through a lot together. Emotional support chair.”

“And what about that one?” Kimiko asked, pointing to the fainting couch.

“Oh, that’s Veronica. She’s a bit dramatic. Always fainting.”

Kimiko snorted. “You’ve officially lost it.”

“I’m telling you, another day in here and I’ll start having full conversations with the espresso machine. At least it listens.”

“It only listens because it’s terrified of your coffee orders. I’ve never seen anyone ask for ‘existential dread in a cup.’”

Zane grinned. “It’s an acquired taste.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Which is exactly why I’m suggesting we go out. Fresh air. Real food. Civilization.”

Zane leaned forward. “We’ll be subtle. Low-key. Just a normal outing. It’s not like anyone’s actually looking for me.”

Kimiko gave him a look. “That’s not the point. The incident at the school was pinned on a freak lightning strike and a blown generator, but we know what really happened.”

“Exactly. No one suspects a thing. I could walk past a cop, and they’d just think I was a handsome bystander.”

She didn’t laugh. “This woman wanted to kill you, Zane. She might still be out there. You think she’ll care about official reports?”

“I mean… I’d hope she respects the power of bureaucracy.”

Kimiko crossed her arms, tone flat. “This is serious.”

Zane leaned forward. “We can wear hats and even fake mustaches.”

“You think a hat’s gonna hide you? You would look like a walking meme.”

“Flattered. But that doesn’t change the fact that we need a break. Let’s call it a date.”

Kimiko blinked. “A what now?”

“A date. You, me, questionable food. Maybe a tragic karaoke decision.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And who’s paying for this date? Because I’m not funding your wasabi addiction again.”

“I’ll have you know that was a medical emergency.”

Kimiko shook her head, laughing. “Fine. But I’m choosing the restaurant. I would like a place where the menu talks back to you.”

Zane smirked. “Come on, that animatronic band at Captain Chuckle’s Pizza Planet was kind of charming. Sure, one of them blinked sideways, but that just adds to the mystery. And why do you get to speak for this anyway?

Kimiko scoffed, crossing her arms. “Because I still have emotional scars from the time that robotic duck winked at me and offered relationship advice. Never again, Zane. NEVER. AGAIN.”

Zane groaned, throwing his head back. “Ugh. Last time you picked, we ended up eating something that looked like it could bite me back. I’m still processing the trauma of that octopus incident.”

Kimiko grinned, unbothered. “That octopus was a delicacy, Zane. You’re just mad it had more personality than you.”

Zane leaned back, hand on his chest. “Wow. Betrayed by dinner and my date. Cold world.”

Kimiko smirked, arms crossed. “You screamed.”

Zane gasped, feigning offense. “I did not scream. I made a tactical noise.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You climbed onto the table.”

“Tactical elevation,” Zane shot back, pointing a dramatic finger like he was presenting evidence in court.

She smirked. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, sushi boy.”

“You’re mad the octopus liked me more,” Zane said with a grin that could’ve melted glaciers—or infuriated heiresses.

Kimiko narrowed her eyes. “No, I’m mad because you flipped a bowl of miso on my dress.”

“It was a bold fashion choice,” he said without missing a beat, gesturing grandly. “Avant-garde.”

She groaned. “You get away with so much because I am into it.”

Zane froze mid-retort, one brow lifting like a curtain rising on drama. “Was that a confession?”

Kimiko looked away—too fast. “Slip of my tongue. Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late,” he said, leaning back with mock gravity. “I’m already writing the fanfiction.”

Her face dropped. “Oh god.”

“Chapter one,” Zane began, adopting a narrator’s voice. “The brooding heiress and the dangerously charming rebel. Forbidden feelings. Ninja assassins. Lots of dramatic slow-motion walks.”

Kimiko tossed a cushion at him. He caught it with one hand, still grinning.

“Seriously though,” he said after a beat, more softly, “I need to swing by my place. Just to grab some clothes. Can’t show up to a date in yesterday’s apocalypse.”

Her smile faded. “You’re not going out alone.”

Zane scoffed, pushing up from the couch. “It’s a ten-minute trip.”

“And that is ten minutes too much.” She shot back.

Zane shrugged, offering a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You worry too much.”

“Because you don’t worry at all,” she snapped, standing. “We don’t know who’s out there. What they want. You’ve been targeted once already.”

Zane sighed. “Look, I’ll be careful. I’ll take the back roads. Maybe even wear a fake moustache.”

“Stop promoting the moustache,” Kimiko said, her voice sharp and unwavering.

Zane held up a finger. “It’d be a little funny.”

She didn’t even blink. “Yamada’s going with you.”

Zane groaned. “Oh, come on.

Zane looked at her—really looked—and softened. “Alright. Fine. He can tag along. But he stays in the car. No shadowy butler/​bodyguard hovering while I grab my socks.”

Kimiko folded her arms. “Deal. But if you get ambushed again, I’m stuffing a GPS chip in your neck.”

Zane tilted his head with a mock-thoughtful look. “The first time someone offers to stick something in me. Should I be flattered about it?”

Kimiko stared at him, expression completely flat.

“…Too soon?” He added, already regretting it.

“Way too soon,” she muttered, turning away before he could push his luck further.

Moments later, Zane and Yamada were in a sleek black car, pulling away from the estate. Zane slouched in the backseat, fiddling with his phone, while Yamada drove in stoic silence.

Zane peeked at the rearview mirror. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Yamada didn’t respond.

“…Okay, but we won’t be listening to Taylor Swift or something?”

Still silence.

Zane sighed. “Great. Even Gerald had better banter than this.”