I stopped the car near the apartment building and turned the engine off. Rain was coming down harder now, not a storm, but fast enough to soak you if you stood still too long. Minne pulled her hood up, and I did the same before stepping out. I locked the car and followed her to the entrance, the sound of rain tapping against concrete filling the street.

She pushed the door open, and we headed inside. The building was old enough that there were no elevators, just a narrow stairwell that smelled faintly of cleaning solution and damp air. We started climbing.

"So," I said as we reached the first landing, "did you tell your mother that Guy isn't… around anymore?"

"I already did," she replied. "And I told her about you. She approves."

"That fast?" I asked. "She didn't approve of Guy?"

"No one approves of Guy," she said sharply, the edge in her voice unmistakable. "No one."

"Fair enough," I muttered as we reached the next floor. "I thought you said your mom couldn't really move. This place doesn't even have an elevator."

"She can walk," Minne said. "Just not well. She gets tired quickly."

"Hmm."

We climbed another flight, and she pointed down the hallway. "Here."

She knocked. After a moment, the door opened, and Emma stood there like she always did, short green hair slightly messy, half-lidded eyes looking like she was permanently unimpressed with the world.

"Emma," Minne said, blinking in surprise. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"I was in the block," Emma replied casually. "Thought I'd stop by and say hi to Ms. Drag."

"That's… nice of you," Minne said.

Emma's gaze slid to me, and one corner of her mouth lifted. "Evan's here too, huh? Come in."

Minne stepped inside first and immediately slipped her shoes off, setting them neatly by the door. I followed her lead and did the same.

"My mom's Japanese," Minne said quietly. "She hates shoes in the house."

"Japanese or not, that's reasonable," I said, shrugging. "You step outside where dogs and cats piss everywhere."

"But you don't take your shoes off in the penthouse, Master," she replied softly.

"That's because I have a lovely maid," I said, nudging her shoulder lightly.

She chuckled under her breath. I noticed Emma watching us, her eyes opening just a little more, but she didn't comment.

Minne gestured for us to move further in, and we followed her into the living room. The space was modest but warm. A low table sat in the center with magazines stacked unevenly on it, a folded blanket draped over one arm of the couch. Shelves lined one wall, crowded with books, small plants, and framed photos. It was a little messy, but not neglected, the kind of mess that came from living in a place rather than avoiding it.

Ms. Drag sat on the couch with headphones on, tapping her fingers lightly against her knee. When she saw us, she pushed herself up quickly and walked toward Minne, her steps slightly unsteady. She wrapped her arms around her daughter without hesitation.

"Oh," She said. "I didn't hear the door ring…"

Minne hugged her back. "Mom…"

Ms. Drag was in her mid-forties, kind eyes, soft features, and a presence that immediately filled the room. When she pulled back, she reached up and brushed Minne's hair aside, smiling.

"What were you listening to?" Minne asked.

"A cooking podcast," Emma answered from the hallway. "Some recipe thing."

"Oh. Nice."

Ms. Drag's attention shifted to me. "Mr. Marlowe," she said with a polite bow. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Evan is fine," I replied. "Nice to meet you too."

"Hana," she said, correcting herself with a small smile. "Please, sit. Would you like some tea?"

"I really don't—"

"I've got it, Ms. Drag," Emma called from the hallway.

Hana relaxed instantly. "Ah. Thank you, honey."

"We really won't take much of your time, Ms. Dra—Hana," I said, correcting myself quickly. "I heard you have a cat named Kim. Is that right?"

"Yes?" she asked as she settled back into the couch, her posture stiffening just a little. "Did something happen to her?"

"No, no," I said immediately, shaking my head as I sat across from her with Minne beside me. "Nothing like that. I was just wondering… she's here, right?"

"She should be sleeping in the other room."

I nodded once, then took a breath. "I was thinking Kim could come live with us. At the penthouse. If that's something you'd be okay with."

Her expression changed instantly. Her eyes lit up before she could stop herself, and then she looked at Minne, searching her face. I couldn't tell if she was relieved or just happy, maybe both.

"Of course," Hana said after a moment. "But Kim is… a bad girl."

"A bad girl?" I asked, surprised.

Emma came back into the living room carrying a tray with three glasses of tea. She set it down on the coffee table, then let out a quiet sigh and shook her head at me. Tugging at the hem of her t-shirt, she pushed the sleeve up from her wrist to her elbow, exposing her forearm.

There were a few thin red scratches there. Fresh, but shallow.

"She did that," Emma said flatly. "Little idiot. I'm just glad she didn't go for my foot."

"Your foot?" I asked, then immediately realized why that mattered to her.

She was… selling her feet photos, right? I guess she didn't want the 'product' to be damaged.

Minne's eyes widened, but Hana didn't seem to catch the implication. Emma dropped her sleeve back down like it was nothing.

I leaned forward, picked up one of the glasses, and sat back again. Minne and Hana followed suit. Emma didn't take a drink for herself. She sat on the remaining chair and crossed her legs. She wasn't wearing shoes, only black socks, and my eyes lingered longer than they should have before I cleared my throat and forced myself to refocus.

"So," I said, looking back to Hana, "Minne told you Guy isn't a problem anymore."

"She did," Hana said quietly, lifting her cup. "I thank God every day. He was a bad man, Mr. Marlowe."

"Evan," I corrected gently. "Did he ever meet you?"

"No," she said. "I only knew him by name. And from television. Emma is the one who found Minne that maid job."

"And I regret it every day," Emma muttered, exhaling through her nose. "Never knew that bastard was that unhinged."

"Emma," Hana said with a tired shake of her head. "Please don't swear in front of guests."

"Sorry, Ms. Drag."

"She's not wrong," I said. "Guy was a bastard. A twisted one. You didn't know him personally, but trust me, that word barely covers it."

Minne nodded, her fingers tightening in her lap as she glanced at her mother. Hana leaned back, her gaze drifting to the wall. For a second I thought she was just thinking, but then her eyes glossed over and her breath hitched.

She wiped at her face quickly, then tried to lift her tea. Her hands were shaking too badly. After a second, she set the glass down and exhaled sharply.

Minne was on her feet immediately, disappearing down the hallway. She came back with a tissue and handed it to her mother before sitting close beside her. Hana pressed it to her eyes, shoulders trembling.

"It was my fault," she said softly. "She worked there for my treatment. I—"

"That's not true," Minne said, her voice tight. "Please stop saying that."

"She's right," Emma added, still calm, eyes half-lidded but serious. "You didn't do this. If anyone's at fault, it's me."

"I just…" Hana swallowed.

"Hana," I said, leaning forward slightly so she had to look at me. "You don't need to worry anymore. Guy is gone. Minne is safe now. She's with me, and I'll take care of her. However I can. I promise."

She nodded slowly, then again, her grip on the tissue loosening. "Thank you, Evan."

"No problem," I said, then straightened up and clapped my hands lightly, trying to ease the heaviness in the room. "Alright. Where's this infamous Kim cat?"

Emma stood. "You want to see her? Come on."

"Sure."

"I'll stay with my mom," Minne said quietly. "Is that okay, Master?"

"Of course," I said, meeting her eyes. "I'll be right back."

I got up and followed Emma out of the living room. We walked down the narrow hallway and turned right. The floor creaked faintly under our steps. At the very end, she stopped and pushed a door open.

Inside was a bedroom.

The bed was neatly made, the blanket pulled tight and squared like no one had slept in it for a long time. The furniture was simple: a small desk, a chair tucked under it, a narrow wardrobe against the wall. Everything was clean, but there was a thin layer of dust on most surfaces, like the room had been preserved rather than used. A few old posters were still taped to the wall, their corners curling.

"Minne's old bedroom," Emma said, stepping aside. "Come in."

I hummed quietly and followed her inside.

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