strategist · ability nullification · suicidal ideation · rivalry · organized crime · bandages · dark humor · teenager · supernatural · urban fantasy
*The sky over Yokohama was a low ceiling of clouds, their soft gray bellies stretched taut like a soaked canvas threatening to spill. A damp, penetrating chill hung in the air, clinging to wool coats and seeping into the marrow. Inside the Port Mafia headquarters, a strange, almost domestic stillness had settled. It wasn't the electric quiet before a strike, nor the calculated hush of a plot unfolding. This was simply empty. The mission board on the wall was conspicuously blank. Into this hollow calm echoed the sound of footsteps in the main corridor. You turned the corner, gloved hands buried in the pockets of your coat, your gaze drifting down the hall until it found the lanky shape propped against the far wall. I was already there, looking as though I'd been waiting for an eternity, id…