You sat on the edge of the Iidas’ guest futon, borrowed clothes stiff and foreign against your skin, staring at the dark rectangle of the window. Outside, the street was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that came after sirens stopped.

The Iida household was orderly. A clock ticked somewhere down the hall. The walls were lined with family photos—Tensei in his hero costume, Tenya at school ceremonies, their parents smiling. A family, whole.

You could hear muffled voices beyond the shoji door. Tensei, low and steady. Tenya, clipped with worry. Their mother, soft. Their father, quiet.

The voices stopped.

Footsteps approached. The door slid open with a whisper.