The gate closed behind her with a hollow, iron finality.

Rika didn’t turn around to watch it latch.

She heard it. That was enough.

The sound carried through the stone pillars and into the open grounds beyond, echoing faintly before being swallowed by the night. For a moment, no one moved. The air inside the estate felt different—not safer, not yet—but contained. Like the world had narrowed to the space between the walls.

Rika stepped forward slowly, the worn sole of her shoe scraping lightly against the stone path. The mop hung loosely in her hand, damp strands trailing behind her, leaving a faint line across the ground that disappeared almost as quickly as it formed.

The girl with the racket stood directly ahead of her.

Green hair. Short. Uneven at the ends like it had been cut without much care. A red clip caught the lantern light, just enough to stand out. Her grip on the racket wasn’t casual—it rested low, angled slightly forward, ready.

Not threatening.

Not welcoming.

Just ready.

Off to the side, framed by the gate, the maid stood quietly. Hands together. Posture straight. Watching.

Rika’s eyes moved between them, taking in the distance, the spacing, the way neither of them stepped forward.

No one rushed her.

No one asked anything.

That was good.

“…You came from the lower road,” the maid said softly.

Her voice was even. Measured. Like she had already considered the answer before asking.

Rika nodded once. “Yeah.”

A pause.

The girl with the racket shifted her weight slightly. Not nervous. Just adjusting.

“…Kisaragi High?” she asked.

Rika glanced at her.

“…Yeah.”

Another pause. Slightly longer this time.

That was all it took.

Recognition—not familiarity. Not comfort. Just a shared reference point that existed somewhere in the past, distant and irrelevant now, but enough to confirm something simple:

They weren’t strangers.

The maid gave a small nod, as if that settled something.

“You should come inside,” she said.

Not an invitation.

A statement.

Rika stepped forward.

The gate loomed behind her, but she didn’t look back.

—

The estate grounds stretched wider than she expected.

Not open like a field, but layered. Paths cut through trimmed sections of grass that had begun to grow uneven. Trees stood at the edges, their branches forming dark silhouettes against the fading sky. The lantern near the gate cast a warm circle of light that quickly gave way to cooler shadows further in.

Rika followed a few steps behind them.

The maid walked ahead, steady and unhurried. The girl with the racket lingered slightly closer to Rika’s side—not beside her, not behind her, but near enough to react if something happened.

It wasn’t subtle.

Rika noticed.

She didn’t comment.

The front doors were already open.

That bothered her more than anything else so far.

The maid stepped through first.

No hesitation.

Rika paused just long enough to register the threshold. The dark interior beyond. The way the light shifted from cool blue dusk to dim amber inside.

Then she stepped in.

—

The doors closed.

Not slammed.

Just… closed.

A soft push. A quiet click.

Still, the sound felt heavier inside.

The silence that followed pressed in from all sides.

Rika stood just inside the entrance, her eyes adjusting.

The air smelled faintly of dust and something older—wood, fabric, time. The kind of place that had been lived in, then left, then lived in again without ever fully returning to what it was.

“Shoes stay on,” the maid said.

Rika gave a small nod.

Good.

—

The hallway stretched long and narrow, lined with framed portraits that caught what little light there was. Faces she didn’t recognize stared out from behind aged glass. Some tilted slightly, like they had been disturbed and never straightened.

The floor creaked in places.

Not loudly. Just enough.

The maid moved with familiarity, stepping around certain boards without looking down.

Rika noticed that too.

“How many rooms?” Rika asked.

It was the first thing she said since entering.

The maid answered without turning. “Enough.”

A beat.

“Some are locked.”

Another step.

“Some stay that way.”

Rika didn’t ask which ones.

—

They passed an open doorway on the left.

Rika glanced inside.

A dining room.

Long table. Chairs pulled in unevenly. One slightly out of place, like someone had stood up quickly and never pushed it back.

Dust layered the surface—but not evenly.

Someone had used this room.

Not recently.

But not long ago either.

She kept walking.

—

A faint hum echoed somewhere deeper in the house.

Low. Steady.

Mechanical.

Rika’s eyes shifted slightly.

“Generator?” she asked.

This time, the girl with the racket answered.

“Yeah.”

Her voice was quieter than Rika expected.

“It’s in the back.”

Rika nodded.

Good.

That meant light. Power. Something stable.

Something they could lose.

—

They entered a larger room.

Kitchen, maybe. Or something close to it.

A table sat in the center, smaller than the dining room’s but more used. A few items rested on it—cups, a bottle, something wrapped in cloth. Not organized. Not messy. Just… there.

The maid moved to the side counter, picking up a glass without asking if anyone wanted one.

She filled it.

Set it down.

Another.

Set it down.

Not offering. Not assigning.

Just placing.

Rika didn’t reach for one.

The girl with the racket didn’t either.

—

For a moment, no one spoke.

The silence wasn’t awkward.

It was measured.

Each of them adjusting to the others being there.

Rika leaned slightly against the edge of the table, not fully resting her weight. Just enough to take the pressure off her legs.

She kept the mop in her hand.

No one told her to put it down.

—

“How many of you are here?”

The question landed simply.

No edge. No demand.

Just information.

The maid answered.

“Three.”

A pause.

“Now four.”

Rika nodded once.

That was what she needed.

Not names.

Not stories.

Numbers.

—

Something hit the gate.

Faint.

Metal against metal.

All three of them reacted.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

The girl with the racket turned slightly toward the sound, grip tightening almost imperceptibly.

The maid’s head tilted, listening.

Rika didn’t move.

Another sound.

Softer this time.

Dragging.

Then nothing.

—

“Sometimes they wander,” the maid said.

Like she was explaining the weather.

“They don’t stay long.”

Rika nodded.

She didn’t ask how many.

She didn’t ask how close.

—

The light flickered once.

Then steadied.

The hum from the generator continued.

—

Time passed.

No one measured it.

At some point, the girl with the racket shifted away from the table and moved toward the doorway, positioning herself where she could see both the hall and the entrance.

Not assigned.

Not instructed.

Just done.

Rika watched her for a second.

Then looked away.

—

“You should rest,” the maid said.

To no one in particular.

Rika didn’t respond.

She wasn’t ready for that yet.

—

The house settled around them.

Small sounds. Wood adjusting. Distant creaks.

Nothing urgent.

Nothing safe.

—

Eventually, the maid moved again, disappearing briefly down the hall.

Rika stayed where she was.

The girl with the racket remained near the doorway, eyes forward, posture steady.

The two of them didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

—

Night came fully.

The last traces of blue faded from the windows, replaced by the dull reflection of the interior lights.

Outside was gone.

Inside remained.

—

Rika finally set the mop down.

Not far.

Within reach.

She sat slowly, not fully relaxing, her weight balanced like she might need to stand again at any moment.

Her eyes moved once more around the room.

Doors.

Windows.

Exits.

People.

—

No one said it.

Not out loud.

But something had shifted.

Not safety.

Not trust.

Something smaller.

More fragile.

—

For the first time in a long while…

Rika wasn’t alone.

‍