The café bell chimed softly as Raito stepped inside, the cool scent of roasted beans and lemon pastries drifting through the air. He adjusted the strap on Emi's baby carrier and quietly made his way to the counter.
A bored-looking barista behind the register glanced up, blinking at the sight of a sharply dressed man with a baby clinging to his chest. One of her coworkers snickered behind the espresso machine, nudging the other. Raito either didn't notice or didn't care.
"I'll take a black tea," he said. Then, after a beat, "And… one lollipop. Strawberry."
The barista raised a brow but nodded. "Right. Coming right up."
A few moments later, Raito found a seat near the back, away from the few scattered patrons. The place was quieter than usual—a small mercy. He set his tea and the lollipop down on the table, removed his coat, and gently shifted Emi onto his lap.
She blinked up at him, wide-eyed and alert again. When he handed her the lollipop, she clutched it like a priceless gem.
"Don't drop it this time," Raito muttered.
He opened his laptop and checked his inbox. Predictably, a backlog of messages had piled up—some from coworkers, a few automated updates from clients, and several junk ads. Nothing urgent. He methodically responded to the ones that mattered, sipping his tea between keystrokes.
Emi sat quietly, distracted by the sugary prize in her hands. The soft jazz playing overhead and the low hum of machinery made the atmosphere almost tolerable. Raito could feel some of the static in his head fading.
A brief peace.
Too brief.
Just as he was closing his laptop, a grating voice shattered the calm.
"Are you deaf or just stupid?! I said whiskey! What kind of café doesn't have a basic drink menu?!"
Raito's eye twitched. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder.
Near the front counter, a man in a wrinkled jacket reeked of stale booze and entitlement. He was slurring his words, jabbing a finger at a clearly uncomfortable young barista with short red hair and a quiet voice. She tried to explain again that they didn't serve alcohol, but the man kept yelling over her.
Raito took a deep breath through his nose and packed up his things.
Killing urge's flaring up again huh…
He picked up Emi—who was now licking her lollipop contentedly—and placed her back in the carrier. The man's shouting grated at his ears like nails on glass. It was the kind of noise that made his fingers twitch with the memory of blood and steel.
Kurai's voice slithered in his head, dry with amusement.
"Oh? Not going to play the hero today?"
Raito tightened the straps on the carrier and stood, walking toward the door without looking back.
"I missed the part where this is my problem."
But just as he passed the scene, eyes on the exit, something tugged at his senses. A quiet absence.
He turned his head slightly.
The carrier was light.
Too light.
He stopped cold, slowly turning around.
There she was—Emi, somehow slipped from the strap, now crawling across the tiled floor toward the flustered red-haired barista who was still being berated. Her lollipop was smeared across her chin, and her wide eyes sparkled with innocent interest as she reached for the shiny bell on the counter.
Raito's gaze flattened.
"Give me a break already," he muttered, stepping back into the storm.