"Occupied," he whispered.

The lights returned.

He heard the bathroom door rattle.

The doors opened. Kenji ran. He didn't look back. He leaped onto the platform, the briefcase heavy on his wrist, and disappeared into the river of commuters.

Kenji’s plan was simple: stay mobile, get off at Nagoya, vanish. The plan died when he heard the announcement.

Car Six. The train lurched. A sharp turn. Kenji slammed into a luggage rack. The briefcase flew from his hand, clattering down the aisle.

Twenty minutes ago, he’d seen the first one board at Shinagawa. A woman in a powder-pink suit, reading a fashion magazine. He knew her as "The Sparrow." She killed with a sewing needle to the brainstem.

He tossed the juice box. Kenji flinched. That was the distraction. The blade snapped out. Kenji raised the briefcase— CLANG . The blade stuck in the carbon fiber. Kenji headbutted the boy, who staggered back, surprised. Kenji ran.

Kenji grabbed a pot of hot coffee and threw it. She moved like water, but a splash caught her sleeve. She hissed—a genuine, human sound of pain. For a second, she was just a woman with a burn.

"Mr. Saito," the old man said. "I believe that's mine."