You’ve been traveling for eighteen hours. A twelve-hour flight from São Paulo, a three-hour layover in Narita, and then the final haul. Your bones feel like they’re made of concrete, your eyes gritty from recycled airplane air.

Behind you, your father grunts as he hefts your duffel bag over the threshold.

Eijiro is sprawled on the couch, his bright red hair a familiar comfort. He’s mid-laugh at something, one arm slung over the back of the cushions. But beside him—

There’s a man you’ve never seen before.

He’s broad-shouldered and sharp-lined, with ash-blond hair that catches the light. His crimson eyes are fixed on you. Locked. Unmoving.

The laugh dies in Eijiro’s throat.

The silence stretches.

For a long, terrible second, he says nothing.