Ryoichiro and Risa traverse a tangle of narrow alleys where the walls lean in close, like they’re tired of standing and want to fall on anyone dumb enough to pass through. Trash carpets the ground. The city’s noise fades until it feels like another lifetime. At the center of it all sits a shack that looks ready to give up. Tin roof. Warped wood. One bad storm from becoming a memory. The door doesn’t match the rest. Reinforced steel, rusted and scarred, still holding on out of pure spite.

  The banging comes hard and sudden, echoing down the alley.

  Inside, Ed jerks awake, heart already racing. You live long enough in a place like this, you learn that surprises never bring good news. He slides out of bed and crosses the cold floor, careful, quiet. Through the thin curtain over the window, he sees two shapes outside. One he knows. One he doesn’t.

  Ed sighs, already tired of whatever this is going to be. He pulls the bolts and swings the door open. The hinges scream.

  “Somebody better be dying,” he says.

  Ryoichiro doesn’t answer. He stumbles past Ed like a drunk, collapses onto the bed, eyes wide and empty, like he left part of himself somewhere else.

  Ed scowls, then lets it go. “Well,” he says, stepping aside, “come on in.”

  Risa enters last. She pauses to knock dirt from her boots, makes a quick sign of the cross, follows it with a Buddhist prayer gesture, then steps inside.

  “I’m sorry, Ed-san,” she says. Her voice is worn thin. “We had an incident.”

  Ed squints at her. “How’d you find this place?”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She looks around at the shelves lined with charms, bones, jars, things that shouldn’t be collected by anyone sane. “Theo told me.”

  Ed freezes. “Who the hell is Theo?”

  He turns away, digs through a cluttered cupboard, pours water into a glass, hands it to her.

  “The bartender,” Risa says after draining it.

  Ed’s jaw tightens. “I’ll kill that bastard. I should’ve known. He’d sell his soul if the price was right. How much did he take? Five grand? Ten?”

  “Ed-san, please,” Risa says. “This matters!”

  He studies them both, then sets the pitcher down. “What happened?”

  Ryoichiro finally speaks. “Ed-san…”

  His hands clench until the knuckles bleach white. “We need to stop it,” he says. His voice cracks. “W-whatever it takes. I… I can’t do this anymore.”

  The words drop into the room and stay there.

  Ed looks at him for a long moment, then nods. “Alright. But this isn’t something you half-do.”

  Risa steps forward. “I couldn’t get the artifact. The dealer backed out. Vacation, of all things. A black market esper dealer on holiday. Maybe you have something similar?”

  Ed laughs once. Bitter. “You’re already wearing it.”

  She blinks. “What?”

  He points to the beads at her neck. “Palo santo. Sacred wood. Stronger than anything I’ve got. I didn’t tell you before. The way they react around you made me keep quiet.”

  Risa grips the beads. “You could’ve said something instead of sending me chasing ghosts.”

  “No time for that now,” Ed says. “If we’re doing this, we move.”

  Ryoichiro looks up. “What do we do?”

  “There’s an old shrine nearby,” Ed says. “Abandoned. Forgotten. Still consecrated. If we have a chance, it’s there.”

  “Then let’s go,” Ryoichiro says.

  They move fast. Chalk, tools, whatever Ed shoves into their hands. The alleys twist and coil as they walk, shadows stretching long and mean. The shrine waits behind a broken wall, swallowed by vines and time. Stone cracked with symbols nobody remembers how to read.

  Inside, the air is thick and wrong. Quiet in a way that makes your skin itch.

  “This is it,” Ed says. “Hallowed ground. Weak, but still breathing.”

  He kneels and starts drawing with the chalk. “This place was built to hold things back. If we screw this up, we wake something worse.”

  Risa swallows. “Tell us what to do.”

  “The beads go in the center,” Ed says. “They anchor it. Ryoichiro finishes the circle. Perfect lines. No breaks.”

  “And if it fails?” Ryoichiro asks.

  Ed doesn’t look up. “Then we pray.”

  They work in silence. Chalk scraping stone. Ed murmuring words that don’t belong in daylight. The circle hums when it’s done, low and alive.

  “Risa,” Ed says. “Now.”

  She steps inside, removes the beads, places them at the center. The air tightens. Warms. Breath comes harder.

  “We’ve got minutes,” Ed says. “Maybe less.”

  Risa clenches her fists, eyes burning.

  “Time to end this.”