Raito didn't slow down as he approached the apartment complex. The building was modest—middle-income, poorly maintained, probably cash-only rent. Perfect for someone trying to stay beneath the radar.
He parked across the street, stepped out of the car, and crossed the road without hesitation. His pace was unhurried, his expression unreadable, but his presence alone made a passing jogger veer to the other side of the sidewalk.
Unit 2B.
No doorbell. No knocking.
Just a clean, sharp kick.
CRASH.
The door snapped inward like wet plywood, slamming against the wall with a loud bang that echoed through the hallway.
Inside, the woman from the footage looked up mid-bite, a plate of reheated pasta in her lap, fork still halfway to her mouth. She paled instantly, dropping the fork with a clatter.
Emi was nowhere in sight.
Raito was on her in two steps.
He grabbed her by the collar and effortlessly lifted her into the air like she weighed nothing.
"Where is she?" His voice was low and cold, a blade wrapped in velvet.
The woman flailed. "W-Wait! I can explain—!"
"Shut it," Raito snapped, eyes narrowing. "You have five seconds to bring Emi out here before I break your legs and drag the truth out of you."
Her mouth opened and closed—but she said nothing.
Raito dropped her.
She hit the floor with a thud and a yelp. Before she could scramble to her feet, Raito reached down and lifted the door he had kicked in moments ago—wood splintered, hinges bent.
He raised it over her like a judge about to pass sentence.
"You've got three seconds now."
"WAIT—WAIT!" she cried, hands raised in terror. "I don't—I don't have her! I swear! Please—if I tell you, they'll kill me!"
Raito's voice went colder than ice.
"I can do things to you that make death look like a mercy. Talk."
Her breath hitched. Tears sprang to her eyes as she spilled everything in a rush.
"I don't keep the babies—I just hand them off! T-They pay me, I pick them up and drop them off at a location. That's all! I don't know who they are—I just go to the address they text me!"
He crouched, still holding the door above her, like it could come down at any moment.
"The address."
"1–One-six-seven Westfield Drive! It's an old warehouse! That's all I know, I swear!"
Raito stared at her for a beat longer—making sure she wasn't lying, weighing her fear against his instincts.
Then, without a word, he dropped the broken door flat beside her, hard enough to rattle her bones. She flinched and let out a sob.
He turned on his heel and walked out, just as calm as he came in.
"Brutal," Kurai muttered, amused. "You didn't even crack a sweat. You sure you're not having fun?"
"I'll have fun when Emi's safe."
"Heh… This is starting to feel personal, Raito."
Raito didn't answer.
He just got back in the car, started the engine, and sped off toward Westfield Drive.