《Echoes of Tomorrow》 Prologue — The Echo That Never Ends There is a bench. A shoe. A shadow without a body. And the sound of breathing¡ªbut not mine. I try to move. I¡¯m stuck. Not physically. Not really. But like when you know you¡¯ve already made a mistake and the moment¡¯s still happening, and you can¡¯t undo it, and you can¡¯t wake up. A girl stands at the edge of the street. Her hair¡¯s too dark. Her posture¡¯s wrong. She¡¯s already falling. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Except she hasn¡¯t moved yet. Except I¡¯m watching it again. Except this isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve been here. There¡¯s a voice behind me. I know it. It¡¯s mine. And not mine. ¡°You see it, don¡¯t you? The fracture point.¡± No one speaks that way. Except in dreams. Except in guilt. I look down. There¡¯s a crack running through the sidewalk, glowing faintly. Pale blue, like moonlight drowned in static. A thread of reality splitting open. I blink and it¡¯s gone. The girl turns her head. And for a second¡ª A single second¡ª She looks right at me. Like she knows. Then the sound comes. That sound. Again. The First Echo 7:03 AM. My alarm went off, and I hated it more than usual. I hit snooze without looking. Ten more minutes wouldn¡¯t fix anything, but it felt like a promise. The room was still dark. My curtain was half open, not that it mattered¡ªMinatsuki light didn¡¯t try very hard. I sat up and let the air hit my back. Cold, damp. I¡¯d forgotten to shut the window again. There was a crack in the wall near the ceiling. It looked like a question mark if you tilted your head. I told myself I¡¯d fix it. Like I told myself I¡¯d eat breakfast. I didn¡¯t do either. I got dressed. Hoodie. Uniform pants. The socks didn¡¯t match. Didn¡¯t care. Still breathing. Good enough. The fridge was empty, the light above the sink flickered once and gave up. The apartment was quiet. Mom had already left for her shift. Dad wasn¡¯t here anymore¡ªhadn¡¯t been for a while. I moved like I was underwater. Toothbrush. Water. Avoid the mirror¡ª Nope. Too late.
7:28 AM. I stared at the bathroom mirror. Not in the dramatic, self-loathing kind of way. Just¡­ stared. Toothbrush dangling. Water still running. My reflection looked tired in that vaguely haunted, too-old-for-his-age way. Hoodie half-zipped, eyes dull. Nothing special. No glowing marks. No cursed runes. Just me. The kind of kid you pass on the street and never think about again. But that was the problem. I noticed things. Things no one else did. Things I wish I didn¡¯t. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my bag, and left without locking the door twice this time. I was working on that.
7:42 AM. Minatsuki city always smelled like rain that overstayed its welcome. Not the clean kind, either. More like wet pavement and rusted vending machines. The roads were quiet. Too quiet, if you grew up here. When a place like this went still, it didn¡¯t mean peace. It meant something was holding its breath. The buildings all looked like they needed a nap. Or a cigarette. Or both. I pulled my hood up, stepped around a puddle that wasn¡¯t there yesterday, and kept walking like the background didn¡¯t matter. It shouldn¡¯t matter. But it always did. The usual path. Overpass. Right side. Earphones in. No music playing. Volume low enough to hear my own thoughts. Which was maybe the problem. Ahead of me, a guy wheeled a metal cart across the street¡ª Old, half-bent frame. Loaded with gas cylinders. The kind you¡¯re not supposed to transport like that. One of them jostled loose. Just a little. Wobbling at the edge. I watched it roll an inch. Then stop. That¡¯s not safe, I thought. If the cart hits that curb too hard¡ª Stop. I pulled the hood tighter over my head and kept walking. That was the trick, right? Ignore it. Pretend I didn¡¯t see it. Pretend I wasn¡¯t always scanning the world for the next disaster. --- Then she appeared. A girl on a bike. I didn¡¯t know her name. Didn¡¯t know anything, really. She sat near the back of class, near the window. That was it. She rode like she was always late. Skirt a little too short. Shoelaces undone. Ponytail bouncing like she hadn¡¯t figured out gravity yet. I looked at the bike. Front wheel: slight wobble. Handlebar: one grip torn. Pothole ahead: camouflaged by wet leaves. And suddenly the thought came. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. What if¡ª What if her front wheel hits that pothole? What if she slips at the exact moment she passes the gas cart? What if that cylinder breaks loose, bounces, and¡ª truck. impact. bone. I clenched my jaw. She passed the cart. Nothing happened. No scream. No crash. No blood. Just the soft hum of wheels on concrete. I forced a breath out. Tried to laugh at myself. Didn¡¯t succeed.
8:06 AM. Homeroom. I sat by the window. Same desk. Same scratch on the wood from someone¡¯s compass, probably carved years ago. People were talking. Laughing. Trading rumors about gym class getting canceled again. I wasn¡¯t listening. The door to the hallway stayed open for a while. I kept watching it. Waiting for her to walk past like she always did. She didn¡¯t. The teacher came in. Took attendance. Mispronounced three names. Sighed like it was already going to be a long day. Still no sign of her. Then¡ª ¡°Sera Fujimoto?¡± Silence. The teacher looked up. Waited a beat. Moved on. That was the first time I¡¯d heard her name. Sera. I didn¡¯t know that before. Didn¡¯t even try to. She sat near the back of class, near the window. That was it. Maybe she was sick. Or took the day off. She wasn¡¯t wearing her uniform this morning, now that I think about it. That meant something, right? Maybe she just¡­ wasn¡¯t coming in today. Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was just anxiety again. That¡¯s what everyone always said. Just anxiety. Just thoughts. But I kept thinking about the wheel. The pothole. The truck. The moment I thought this is how it ends¡ªand then watched her ride through it like I¡¯d never thought it at all. It didn¡¯t happen. But it could¡¯ve.
3:33 PM. The hallway buzzed like it always did. Laughter. Footsteps. Lockers slamming too hard. People moving fast like nothing bad ever happens between classes. I moved through it like a ghost. Headphones in. No music playing. The stairs near the east wing had just been waxed. Not well. A little too smooth. A little too shiny. Someone would fall. I saw it the moment I stepped down. A younger kid¡ªfirst-year, maybe¡ªbackpack open, earbuds in, rushing too fast. And then it came. Not a vision. Not a spiral. Just a single thought. He¡¯s gonna slip and break his wrist. I looked away. Kept walking. Tried to be normal. Tried to¡ª Thud. A sharp cry. A flurry of gasps behind me. I turned around. The kid was on the landing, curled up, holding his wrist. His backpack had spilled open like a cut. A teacher shouted for the nurse. Someone knelt beside him. Someone else muttered, ¡°Did anyone see what happened?¡± I didn¡¯t move. My fingers were ice. It had happened. Exactly how I pictured it. Exactly. I kept walking. Didn¡¯t blink. Didn¡¯t breathe until I reached the end of the hall.
4:02 PM. The ramen shop was nearly empty. Just the old man behind the counter, and a salaryman in the corner slurping like he was trying to drown out the world. I slid into my usual seat. Third stool from the window. The owner looked up. Gave a nod. Didn¡¯t say anything. He never did. He poured a glass of water and slid it over. Then reached under the counter, pulled out a cigarette, and placed it next to a fresh bowl of ramen. The usual. Steam curled up from the bowl. The smell was sharp¡ªsoy, salt, something bitter underneath. It should¡¯ve made me feel something. Normally, I¡¯d mutter, ¡°It¡¯s still shit.¡± And he¡¯d grunt, ¡°It grows on you.¡± A ritual. A joke. Our only real words. But this time, I didn¡¯t say it. Didn¡¯t touch the cigarette. Didn¡¯t touch the ramen. Just sat there. Fingers tight around the water glass. The old man looked at me for a second longer than usual. No questions. No concern. No judgment. Just¡­ noticed. And maybe that¡¯s why I kept coming here. Because he never asked. And somehow, that made it the only place that didn¡¯t make me feel worse.
4:28 PM. Behind the shop, past the rusted railing and the crooked signpost, the path curved into the trees. Most people forgot it was there. A narrow trail, half-eaten by moss and broken roots. The kind of place that used to matter, but didn¡¯t anymore. At the end stood the old shrine. Or what was left of it. Stone steps like jagged teeth. A single arch, half-swallowed by ivy. Everything else had fallen years ago. Beyond it: the cliff. Minatsuki Bay stretched out below in a dull, silver sprawl. The sky and sea bled together like a smudged watercolor. No wind. No sound. Just that heavy kind of quiet that feels like it¡¯s waiting for something. I sat on the flat stone near the edge. The one shaped like an open hand. Lit the cigarette. Inhaled. Exhaled. The smoke didn¡¯t sting this time. It just sat in my lungs like a second kind of air. Let it dull my senses. Somewhere behind my eyelids, a memory surfaced. A hospital hallway. A coat by the door that morning. My father¡¯s voice saying, ¡°Back before dinner.¡± And a thought I¡¯d never told anyone. What if he doesn¡¯t come back? I¡¯d had it. I knew I had. A full-body chill. I felt it echoing through my teeth for weeks before. The same weight I felt with the girl. With the stairs. But it had just been a thought. A worry. Right? Right? I opened my eyes. The cigarette had burned halfway down. The bay hadn¡¯t moved. The sky hadn¡¯t changed. But something felt different. Or maybe I just did. It¡¯s not real, I told myself. It¡¯s just anxiety. It¡¯s always been anxiety. Still¡­ What if it wasn¡¯t? I didn¡¯t want to think about the next one. And somehow, not knowing felt worse. Just Another Day 7:56 AM. I was more anxious than usual. Not the kind that punches you in the gut or makes your hands shake. Just... quieter. Closer. Like the world had tilted slightly overnight and no one noticed but me. It wasn¡¯t new. Just¡­ amplified. A sharper buzz under my skin. I blamed it on the weather. Or the stairs. Or the silence that followed me home last night. I didn¡¯t believe I had powers. I believed I had anxiety. Still, I walked slower than usual. Same route. Same sidewalk. Same cracked pillar outside the community clinic. The same overgrown road divider with last year¡¯s campaign poster still flapping on it. And then I saw her. Hina. We didn¡¯t really know each other. But we passed each other often¡ªjust enough for polite nods and small acknowledgements near the ramen shop. She lived a block over from me, I think. The kind of neighbor who existed in glimpses. And she was clumsy. I¡¯d seen it a few times. Keys dropped. Bags tilted. Once, she knocked over a crate of oranges outside the market and apologized to every fruit individually. So when I saw her walking ahead, holding a stuffed paper bag in both arms, that same thought returned: She¡¯s going to trip. There was a curb up ahead¡ªslanted, uneven, stupidly placed. Her foot landed right near the edge. I winced¡ª But she didn¡¯t fall. Not even a stumble. She adjusted her step without thinking and kept going, turning the corner like nothing happened. I exhaled. This time, for real. Maybe I was just being dramatic. Maybe the thing with the kid was a fluke. A one-time freakout. Maybe my brain just needed someone to shove a reset button inside it. Honestly, if I kept ¡°predicting¡± accidents that didn¡¯t happen, I¡¯d be due for a psych eval by next month. Or at least a coupon for one. I shook the thought off. It was fine. Nothing happened. The world didn¡¯t crack open. It was just another day.
10:12 AM. School was... normal. Or at least, the version of normal I remembered from a few days ago. Before the stairs. Before the girl on the bike. I kept my head down. Took my usual seat by the window. Tried not to look like someone who was trying not to look like something was wrong. I wasn¡¯t good at it. But I¡¯d been doing it long enough that most people didn¡¯t bother anymore. The only one who still seemed to notice was Mr. Riku. Ethics teacher. Guidance counselor. Permanent ghost in the hallway. I saw him near the vending machines on the second floor. He didn¡¯t say anything¡ªjust looked in my direction like he was reading the creases on my forehead. I ducked into the stairwell before he could catch up. It wasn¡¯t that I didn¡¯t like him. He just made me feel like I was already caught. Like he knew something I hadn¡¯t said yet.
12:45 PM. I ate lunch on the roof. Same spot I always claimed¡ªthe one where the rusted AC unit blocked you from view unless you really leaned. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Most of the other third-years were inside. Studying. Pretending to. Laughing over videos on their phones. Planning cram school, college interviews, futures. I picked at a lukewarm onigiri and listened to the city. Sometimes I wondered if anyone else noticed how thin the air felt at this height. Like the sound of everything was always a second too late. Eighteen. Almost nineteen. Slightly older than most of the class¡ªnot that anyone asked why. The truth was¡­ I didn¡¯t talk until I was five. Not really. Doctors said it was a developmental thing. Not physical. Just... delayed. By the time I caught up, everyone else had already started school. So I started late. Stayed behind. Watched from the back row. Maybe that¡¯s why I still felt like a shadow in every room. Or maybe that¡¯s just how I am.
4:02 PM. The ramen shop was quiet when I stepped in. It always was around this time. Post-school. Pre-office crowd. The old man behind the counter barely looked up as I sat. He just handed me water and went back to watching whatever baseball game he¡¯d muted. It was routine. That was the point. No questions. No smiles. No pressure to say anything unless I wanted to. I drank the water. Let it settle in my throat. Ate the first few bites of ramen in silence. Then I blinked. The taste was different. Less bitter. Less weird. I frowned slightly. ¡°Hey,¡± I muttered. ¡°What do you know. It doesn¡¯t taste like shit today.¡± The old man grunted from behind the stove. ¡°Ran out of my secret ingredient.¡± I looked at him. He didn¡¯t turn around. Just kept stirring. But it landed. A quiet attempt at cheering me up. The ramen shop equivalent of a hug. I didn¡¯t say anything. But I finished the bowl.
4:38 PM. I stepped outside, tugged my jacket tighter, and lit a cigarette. Not with my usual disposable one. But with the old silver lighter I¡¯d finally gotten back from the repair shop. My father¡¯s. It clicked open with a solid, satisfying snap. The flame caught clean. No sputter. The smoke hit softer than I expected. Smooth. Familiar. Muted. I leaned against the rusted crate stack behind the shop and let myself settle. The wind felt nice. The sky was that soft pre-dusk grey where you couldn¡¯t tell if it was going to rain or not. For a moment, I didn¡¯t feel broken. Just¡­ paused. --- Then I heard it. The door to the shop creaked open. ¡°Thanks, Uncle¡ªMom said to tell you she added extra sweet buns this time.¡± It was Hina. I stiffened. She stepped out, holding a paper bag and waving behind her. Then her eyes landed on me. And the cigarette. We both froze. She blinked. ¡°Oh¡ªI didn¡¯t see you there¡ªsorry¡ª¡± she half-bowed, half-turned like she was about to disappear around the corner. I opened my mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. But she was already hopping onto her bike. The paper bag jostled in her front basket. Then, without looking back, she pushed off. --- I hesitated. Then I moved. Didn¡¯t really know why. Didn¡¯t feel like a choice. Just instinct. I caught up with her a few blocks later. She wasn¡¯t riding fast¡ªjust steady, weaving slightly to avoid potholes. Then she stopped. Crouched beside her back wheel. Chain was off. ¡°Need a hand?¡± I said. She jumped slightly, then turned. ¡°Oh. It¡¯s you.¡± She smiled¡ªnot big, just enough to count. ¡°Yeah¡­ uh¡­ it kinda slipped. I was gonna fix it but my hands are full and¡ªyeah. If you don¡¯t mind?¡± I knelt down. ¡°No problem.¡± Chain wasn¡¯t too bad. Just loose. Greasy. Took a bit of coaxing. ¡°You always carry this much?¡± I asked, glancing at the overloaded basket. She laughed quietly. ¡°Only when my brothers eat through the entire week¡¯s worth of snacks in two days.¡± ¡°Plural?¡± ¡°Two little monsters and one angel. Technically a sister.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re the grocery mule.¡± ¡°Oldest sibling duties,¡± she shrugged. ¡°Mom¡¯s at the bakery till late, and Dad¡¯s barely home before ten.¡± She didn¡¯t sound bitter. Just¡­ tired. Not in a dramatic way. In the way people sound when they¡¯re used to being needed. I nodded, wiping my fingers on my sleeve. ¡°There. Should hold.¡± ¡°You sure?¡± ¡°If it doesn¡¯t, blame physics.¡± She smiled again. Then hesitated. ¡°I can carry it from here, but¡­ if you¡¯re not in a hurry¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± ¡°Wanna walk?¡± --- We didn¡¯t talk much on the way. She pushed the bike slowly, her front basket tilting with every bump. Plastic bags rustled with half-wrapped bakery items, juice boxes, a pack of drawing pencils, and something that looked suspiciously like a mini rice cooker. ¡°I multitasked,¡± she explained when she caught me looking. I didn¡¯t respond. Just kept walking beside her. Her house was close. A corner unit with a faded mailbox and a cracked tile path. She didn¡¯t invite me in. Didn¡¯t need to. ¡°Thanks again,¡± she said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. ¡°I¡¯m usually not this much of a mess. I mean¡ªokay, maybe I am. But I pretend better.¡± I almost said same. But something else sat in the back of my throat. That cigarette. Her seeing me smoke. That look when she did. What if she said something? What if she told a teacher? Worse¡ªwhat if she told him? Mr. Riku had been hovering since the first week this year. Watching me too closely. Like he could hear my thoughts crackling through the walls. I don¡¯t want Mr. Riku on my ass. Not more than he already was. ¡°Hey,¡± I said, more defensive than I meant to be. ¡°About earlier. Outside the shop.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°The cigarette.¡± Her eyes widened slightly. Then she waved both hands fast¡ªclearly flustered. ¡°Oh¡ªdon¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t say anything! About that. I mean, it¡¯s none of my business.¡± She paused, panicking halfway through her own sentence. ¡°Not that I would¡¯ve said anything. Or that I think it¡¯s okay, or not okay, or¡ªugh. Sorry.¡± She buried her face in her hands for a second. ¡°That came out all wrong.¡± I¡­ didn¡¯t hate it. ¡°¡­Thanks,¡± I said finally. She nodded, cheeks still a little pink. ¡°See you around, I guess,¡± she added. ¡°Try not to get caught being human.¡± And just like that, she turned and disappeared into the house. I stood there on the sidewalk for a second longer. The lighter in my pocket felt heavier than it should. The sky above still hadn¡¯t cleared. But it didn¡¯t feel quite as heavy anymore. Fracture Point 7:42 AM. The morning didn¡¯t start bad. Which¡ªconsidering everything¡ªwas weird enough to notice. I wasn¡¯t spiraling. Wasn¡¯t counting cracks in the ceiling or rereading the same message twice. If anything, I felt¡­ okay. I kept thinking about Hina. The way she crouched beside her busted bike, half-apologizing and half-laughing. How her voice dipped slightly when she talked about her brothers. Her mother¡¯s bakery. Like she didn¡¯t want to admit how tired she really was. And the way she looked at me outside the ramen shop. Not shocked. Not weirded out. Just¡­ curious. Like I wasn¡¯t a complete ghost. It lingered. That warmth. That flicker of maybe I¡¯m not completely invisible after all. I walked a little slower on purpose. Until I saw it. A scrap of paper pinned to a streetlight. Half-soaked. In memory of S.F. The ink had run down the side. No photo. No last name. Just those two letters. My chest tightened. It could¡¯ve been anyone. But it wasn¡¯t. I picked up my pace.
8:01 AM. The name stuck with me more than it should have. Sera Fujimoto. I hadn¡¯t known it yesterday. Hadn¡¯t even tried to. Just another girl in class. Window seat. Untied shoes. Gone. Today, the silence in her chair felt louder. I kept telling myself she was just absent. That she took the day off. That maybe I was wrong about everything. That maybe it was just another echo of anxiety pretending to be something else.
10:48 AM. I took the long way to the vending machines¡ªlooped past the music room, through the rear corridor. I don¡¯t know why. Maybe I wanted proof. Maybe I didn¡¯t. That¡¯s when I saw her. A girl I only half-recognized. Same school uniform, skirt a little too neat, black tights. Red eyes. Not the crying kind¡ª The kind you get when you''ve already run out of tears. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. She stood quietly by a locker in the corner¡ªSera¡¯s locker. Pulled a small white envelope from her sleeve and placed it down, gently. No note. No words. Just the envelope. Marked in fine strokes of handwriting. I didn¡¯t move. I barely breathed. She turned. Didn¡¯t look at me. Didn¡¯t look at anyone. She walked off without a word, her steps quiet, precise. Like she¡¯d done this before. Two boys nearby were whispering. Not to me. Just between themselves. ¡°That¡¯s her cousin, I think. They¡¯re holding the funeral today.¡± I didn¡¯t hear anything else. Didn¡¯t want to. I turned away. Walked. Fast. Without thinking. I ended up back near our classroom before I even realized it. The chair was still empty. Same old sunlight pouring through the blinds. Someone laughed three seats away. I stared at that chair. Tried to remember if she ever smiled. If she ever looked tired. Or rushed. Or happy. Or¡ª Nothing came. Just a name. A locker. And a white envelope that weighed more than it should¡¯ve.
11:03 AM. The back stairwell was empty. I sat on the bottom step and gripped the edge of the railing until my knuckles cracked. It wasn¡¯t loud. Wasn¡¯t a scream or a breakdown. Just stillness. And static. I kept seeing the envelope. The neat handwriting. The red eyes. She was real. And now she wasn¡¯t. And I had seen it. Or something like it. Thought it. Felt it. And I did nothing. Not even ask her name.
11:24 AM. The stairwell door creaked open. I didn¡¯t look up. Didn¡¯t need to. Mr. Riku sat down a few steps above me. He didn¡¯t say anything right away. Just waited. ¡°You left class again.¡± I nodded, barely. ¡°Not trying to make this a habit, are we?¡± I didn¡¯t answer. ¡°You knew her?¡± I swallowed hard. ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°Not really.¡± ¡°But you knew?¡± he asked again. Carefully. ¡°No. I didn¡¯t know anything. I just¡­ thought.¡± ¡°Thought what?¡± ¡°That something bad would happen. That she¡¯d crash. That she¡¯d die. And she did.¡± The last word cracked open something in my chest. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. Mr. Riku was quiet. ¡°I¡¯ve always been like this,¡± I muttered. ¡°Always afraid. Always spiraling. Every damn day. Ever since¡­¡± I stopped. ¡°Since your father?¡± I flinched. Didn¡¯t ask how he knew. ¡°My mom doesn¡¯t talk about him anymore. She¡¯s got work, double shifts, headaches, bills. And me. Just me.¡±¡°I¡¯m all she¡¯s got now. So I can¡¯t tell her that sometimes I wake up convinced something¡¯s going to fall from the sky and kill us both.¡±¡°I can¡¯t tell her that when I walk across the street, I see five ways to die before I reach the curb.¡±¡°I can¡¯t tell anyone.¡± My voice cracked again. ¡°So I bottle it. Push it down. Smile when I¡¯m supposed to. Pretend I¡¯m okay.¡±¡°But I¡¯m not okay. I¡¯m tired. I¡¯m angry. I¡¯m so goddamn angry.¡± ¡°At what?¡± I snapped my head up. ¡°At EVERYTHING!¡±¡°At the world!¡± ¡°At fate!¡±¡°At MYSELF!¡±¡°At¡ª¡± I stood up too fast. My breath hitched. My vision swam. ¡°At HIM!¡±¡°He said he¡¯d be back for dinner. He promised. And I knew something was wrong¡ªI FELT it. And I didn¡¯t say anything. I was just a kid, but I KNEW!¡± My hands weren¡¯t just shaking now¡ªthey were buzzing. A hot pressure building behind my teeth, behind my ribs. I remembered the last time I saw him. The way his coat smelled like stale smoke. The sound of the door clicking shut. I should¡¯ve said something. I should¡¯ve said don¡¯t go. Something in the air shifted. The world dimmed. And then¡ª It started. A glow, faint at first. Like heat rising off my skin. Thin red lines began to shimmer around me¡ªwebbing into the air, faint and trembling. Threads. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Tied to desks. Lockers. Doors. Windows. People. The whole school around me, veined in crimson strands of fate. And they were tightening. Each one straining like a pulled wire. Vibrating. Humming. ¡°Kaito,¡± Mr. Riku said, louder now. ¡°Look at me. You have to calm down.¡± I couldn¡¯t move. Could barely breathe. The threads vibrated with pressure. Like they were waiting for a signal. One wrong breath and¡ª ¡°Don¡¯t pull them¡ªKaito, FOCUS! You¡¯re going to¡ª¡± My legs gave out. My chest locked. The threads¡­ didn¡¯t snap. But they sang¡ªa high, metallic whine, just as the world tipped sideways. Blinding light. And then¡ª The last thing I remember was falling. And Mr. Riku, shouting my name.