I keep watching that mother’s despair. I fill another cup with cold water and approach her. She was trembling, desperate. I gently touch her shoulder and offer the cup.

I saw death in her eyes. As if her very being was dying day by day without news of her son.  

And that… is something I know all too well.

I look at the policeman beside her and tell him to let me talk to her. He nods in agreement.

I gently guide her to sit down. She kept trembling, her eyes swollen — clearly from so much crying. I sit beside her, trying to look less broken than I really am.

— When did your son go missing?

— It’s been a month — the mother answers, taking another sip of water. Her hands trembled, as if her mind wandered through her son’s memories. She looks at me, and her gaze carries obvious irritation.

— But what’s the point of saying that? It’s been a month without news, and you’ve done nothing. He’s just another missing child. My son has been reduced to a mere statistic.

She breaks down in tears.

Honestly? Since I lost Emi, I haven’t felt much of anything. But seeing someone suffering the same as me… it tightens my chest.  

It was as if I were talking to myself. As if I were consoling myself.  

And that gives me an empathy I never thought I’d feel again.

A tear runs down my cheek without me even noticing. The woman looks at me, surprised:

— Why are you crying, officer?

— I’m not a cop… not anymore. — I reply, wiping my tears. — Like you, I lost my daughter three years ago. In a situation very, very much like yours. But… I never found her. So I understand you.

— Do you still look for her?

— After two years, I stopped for a while. I accepted that she might be dead.  

But I want to know. Whether my daughter is alive or dead, I want to know what happened. What I can promise you… is that, if the cases are connected, I’ll save your son. I promise.

She hands me a photo of her son.  

Black hair, pale skin. He looked about the same age as my Emi when she disappeared. On the back of the photo, she writes down her address and phone number.

Her voice trembles as she adds:

— His name is Renji.

— How did he disappear?

She falls silent. As if those memories were sharp knives tearing at her soul.  

After a few seconds, she looks at me and says:

— I went to the market near my house. I just turned the corner. When I came back… the door was open and… — she starts crying again, forcing out the words — everything was torn apart.

— Was there anything strange? Like… before that?

— My neighbor… he used to be fine but then he got strange.

That catches my attention. Different from my case, this one had a lead.

— Strange?

She squeezes her arms tightly, as if trying to protect herself again.

— He didn’t seem human.

— Can you describe him for me?

— He was around fifty, maybe sixty… gray hair. And… he had a black slime dripping from his eyes and mouth.

The moment she says that, my heart clenches.  

I feel a shock run through my chest.

I ask her to wait and run to Yuki’s office.  

She looks at me and says, with that usual expression:

— So, shall we go?

— Shut up. I’m handling something.

I ignore her and grab the file of Mr. Takeuchi Masanori, our “mysterious man.” I take the photo to the mother and show it to her.

— Is this him?

She studies the photo carefully. Her gaze is serious, heavy.

— No.

The immediate response feels strange. I press her:

— Are you sure? Absolutely?

— Yes. It’s not him.

At that moment, the weight returns to my chest.  

There’s someone else with that black slime — this can’t be a coincidence.

Yuki comes closer, curious. I look at the mother and say, in a low voice:

— I’ll find your son. I promise. May I know your name?

— Fujimoto Tomoe.

I say goodbye to her.  

When I reach the car, Yuki asks:

— Who’s the old lady?

I look at her, serious:

— She’s like me.

Before I get in the car, Nakamura comes running after us, out of breath.

— I did it… I unlocked the mayor’s phone and laptop. But… not completely.

Yuki and I exchange a confused look.  

Maybe we were about to get answers.  

Or maybe… just more questions.