The hours after the scrape on the shutter dragged like wet cement. None of them really slept, not even Hana. She would drift off, twitch, then stir awake again at every tiny sound. Riku stayed where he was, rifle balanced across his knees, until the pale glow of dawn began to bleed through the towels taped over the windows.

When the first light touched the floor, Riku spoke.

"Pack up. We're moving."

Ichika groaned, already hugging the walkie like a pillow. "So soon? We just got here."

Suzune didn't argue. She rose without a word and started collecting the few items they had. Miko nudged Hana awake and brushed her hair out of her eyes. The girl rubbed her face with tiny fists, then sat up obediently.

They gathered their supplies: the last of the bottled water, the bag of rice, a pack of noodles, the candy bars, duct tape, lighter, batteries. Riku wrapped them in an old store blanket, tied it tight with cord, and slung it over his shoulder. He made sure each girl carried something—light but important. Hana clutched the instant noodles like treasure.

At the shutter, Riku gave the usual briefing.

"Two rules. First: quiet. If I stop, you stop. If I run, you run. Second: no talking unless it's needed. Save it for later."

The girls nodded, tense but listening.

Riku eased the shutter up just enough to slip through. He scanned the street—still empty, though the city never stayed empty long. The Rezvani waited where it had been, its matte paint dull under the weak light.

"Go," Riku whispered.

One by one, the girls ducked under and scurried across the street. Suzune and Ichika moved first, rifles slung, nerves sharp. Miko guided Hana in the middle, keeping a hand on her back. Riku covered them from the rear, finger light on the trigger.

They piled into the Rezvani, doors soft, no slamming. Riku checked the mirrors twice, then slid into the driver's seat. He turned the key—engine rumble, low and steady. He kept the headlights off and rolled out slow.

The streets were narrow and broken. Abandoned cars clogged intersections, some burned, some just dead weight. Riku kept the vehicle crawling, weaving between obstacles. The girls stayed silent, eyes on the glass, as the city's carcass slid past.

Once, they passed a bus on its side. Windows smashed. Rust streaked down its body like dried blood. Hana pressed her face into Miko's sleeve until they'd gone past.

Further along, the Rezvani's tires crunched glass near a gas station. Riku slowed, eyeing the pumps. The canopy sagged, burned at the edges. Two corpses lay slumped near the door, swollen and half-rotted. No fuel drums, no survivors. He didn't stop.

Suzune spoke softly. "Are we heading for another store?"

"No," Riku said. "Stores draw too many. We need somewhere quiet. Somewhere overlooked."

Ichika leaned forward. "Like what?"

"Workshops. Warehouses. Garages. Places people don't think of first."

They drove another twenty minutes, taking back streets, avoiding the main roads. Twice, Riku killed the engine and waited as groups of shamblers drifted by—slow, stupid, but dangerous in numbers. The girls barely breathed until the Rezvani rolled forward again.

Finally, he spotted it: a low auto repair shop wedged between taller buildings. Its sign was broken, half the letters gone. The shutter at the front was bent but not broken, and the side entrance still had its steel door.

"This will do," Riku said.

He pulled the Rezvani into the alley beside it, nose pointed out for escape. He scanned the windows—dusty, no movement. He cut the engine.

"Stay inside," he told the girls. "I clear first."

They didn't argue.

Riku moved to the side door, tested the handle—locked. One kick near the knob, and it snapped. He pushed in slow, rifle raised.

Inside smelled of oil and rust. Dust coated the concrete floor, disturbed only by fallen tools. The repair shop had three work bays, a row of lockers, and a small office in the back. No bodies. No blood. No signs of looting.

Clear.

He opened the side door again and waved. The girls hurried across the alley and slipped inside. Hana clutched her noodles like a shield.

"Lock the door," Riku ordered. Suzune slid the bolt home.

They spread out, checking corners. Miko tested the lockers—empty. Ichika tugged a tarp off an old sedan in one bay, coughing as dust filled the air. The car was stripped, little more than a shell.

"Better than the store," Suzune admitted.

"Safer," Riku said. "And quieter."

They set up in the office, the only room with a solid door. Riku checked the windows—grimy but intact. He taped the edges with duct tape, then hung a tarp for extra cover.

Food came next. Suzune boiled a small portion of rice on the stove, careful with the flame. Hana stirred again, proud. Miko poured water into cups. Ichika leaned against the wall, walkie in her hand, frowning at nothing.

When the rice was ready, they ate in silence. Warmth filled their stomachs, easing the tension in their shoulders.

Afterward, Riku spread a map on the desk, one he'd scavenged weeks before. It showed most of Tokyo's districts. He traced a finger along the roads.

"Fuel depots here, here, and here," he murmured. "Too obvious. Raiders will hold them."

Suzune leaned over. "What about this? A bus terminal."

"Maybe," Riku said. "But big places mean big groups. We want something smaller. Hidden."

Ichika crossed her arms. "So where?"

"Workshops like this," Riku said. "Private garages. Maybe old construction yards. Places with tanks nobody thought about yet."

The girls looked uncertain, but none argued.

Afternoon passed slow. They cleaned the office, swept dust into a corner, and stacked their supplies neatly. Suzune inventoried what little food they had left. Miko sat with Hana, showing her how to braid tighter. Ichika fiddled with the walkie, listening for static.

Riku spent the time stripping his M4, cleaning it piece by piece with an oily rag he found in the shop. He checked the pistol next, then the spare mags. Each click of metal felt like control, like order against the chaos outside.

When he was done, he looked at them all. "One more night here. Then we scout. We can't last on scraps."

Suzune nodded. Miko squeezed Hana's hand. Ichika just scowled but didn't argue.

That night, the city's noises returned. Moans echoed faintly through the streets, carried on the wind. Somewhere, distant gunfire rattled like firecrackers.

They huddled in the office, lantern off, only a covered flashlight for light. Riku sat by the door, rifle across his knees. Suzune took first watch with him, her eyes steady despite the fatigue.

Hana curled up between Miko and Ichika, already drifting to sleep. For a moment, in the dim light, it looked almost like a family huddled around a campfire.

Riku knew better. But he let the thought stay, just for the night.

Riku didn't say more after that. He just listened—to the wind pushing through the alley, to the soft click of the building settling, to Hana's breathing evening out as sleep pulled her under. The office smelled like old paper and oil. Better than blood. Better than smoke.

"Watches," he said. "Suzune with me for the first. Then Ichika. Miko, you take last watch with me before dawn."

Ichika made a face but nodded. Miko squeezed Hana closer, careful not to wake her. Suzune shifted on the floor so her back was to the desk and her eyes were on the door. Riku stayed by the handle, thumb resting on the safety.

Minutes stretched. The quiet wasn't clean; it never was. There were small noises—a bottle rolling somewhere in the shop, a light metallic clink as a loose wrench settled, a scuff in the alley that made both him and Suzune hold their breath. It passed.

"Tomorrow," Suzune whispered, tone low, not asking—just bracing herself.

"Short scout," Riku said. "Two blocks south, three west. I'll go alone first. If it's clear, Rezvani follows. If it's not, we fall back and reroute. No heroics."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn't. "Okay."

He pulled the map back between them and traced with a gloved finger. "Old taxi depot here. If it's not occupied, maybe drums… or siphon options. If not, there's a construction yard near the river. Small, fenced. They sometimes kept diesel tanks for generators."

"Diesel won't run the Rezvani," Suzune said.

"No," Riku answered. "But diesel means machines, and machines sometimes mean hidden gasoline for small tools. We check, we don't hope."

Suzune's mouth twitched. "You always talk like that?"

"Since the world ended," he said, and that was that.

He checked the door again, then eased the flashlight under his palm and let a thin oval of light spill onto his lap. He took the pistol, popped the mag, counted by touch, seated it again. Then he drew one of the spare magazines for the M4, taped a strip of cloth as a pull tab, and stowed it front-left on his rig where muscle memory would find it blind.

"Sleep," he said over his shoulder.

Miko pretended she hadn't been listening and laid her head down next to Hana's. Ichika shifted until her spine hit the wall and closed her eyes like she was daring sleep to try something. It took her a while, but her breathing leveled out too.

Time moved. When the watch turned, Suzune touched Ichika's shoulder and whispered her name. Ichika woke mean-faced but silent, took the spot by the door, and set the walkie on her thigh with the antenna angled up. Suzune rolled into her blanket and was asleep in seconds. Miko barely stirred; Hana didn't at all.

Riku didn't sleep. He let his eyes half-close, but his ears did the work. He marked each passing noise and filed it away: not a step, not a scrape, not a threat. Once, a distant, feral scream rippled through the blocks—too high, too thin to be human. It faded fast. Ichika's jaw clenched; she didn't speak.

"Tomorrow," Riku said again, so quiet it was almost nothing. "Fuel. Then distance."

Ichika breathed out through her nose. "And after that?"

"After that," Riku said, "we make a place that lasts longer than a night."

The wind shifted. Somewhere out in the streets, a sheet of tin flapped twice and fell still. Riku kept his hand on the rifle and let the rest of him go as calm as he could manage.

Morning would come. They'd move. And for now, that was enough to end the day.

"Where to?" Miko asked quietly.

"Somewhere safer. Somewhere with fuel," Riku said. "This place bought us one night. That's all it was meant to."

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