The street was empty now.

Only the wind moved – slow and heavy through the cracked buildings, tugging at scorched curtains and ash-covered prayer tags. Smoke from the wrecked department store drifted like breath from a dying god. The bus was gone. So were the whispers.

So was Minori.

Dan sat cross-legged in the middle of the road, elbows on his knees, fingers crusted in blood.

Alyssa stood a few steps away, staring at her hands. She hadn't moved in minutes. The dried crimson flaked at her knuckles. Some of it was hers. Most wasn't.

The silence between them stretched thin. Then she spoke.

"I killed her."

Her voice was flat. Not numb – just hollow, like something had been scooped out of her chest and not replaced.

Dan didn't argue. He didn't comfort her either.

"She would've died anyway," she added quietly, like she needed to say it just to see if it helped. It didn't. "If I hadn't punched… if I'd just aimed lower, or waited, or—"

She stopped.

Dan looked up. His eyes were red, but not from tears. From exhaustion. He still hadn't cleaned the blood from his shirt. "You saved everyone else."

Alyssa didn't answer.

She dropped to a crouch across from him. They sat like that – mirroring each other in the ruins of their choices.

"I saw her drawing, Dan. She saw me burning." Her throat tightened. "I don't want to be what she drew."

Dan glanced at the sketchbook lying nearby, half-curled and scorched. The last page still fluttered faintly, like it couldn't decide whether to turn or be torn.

"Then be something else."

Alyssa's jaw clenched.

"Do you think that's all it takes?"

"No," Dan said. "But it's where it starts."

A long silence followed. She stared at the page. Then, slowly, Alyssa reached for it. Her fingers hovered, then touched the paper. It was cold. Wet with something that had long since stopped being just ink.

She didn't tear it. She knelt. Set it down like a memory. And with one trembling breath – set it alight.

The flames rose fast. Not Hellfire. Not rage. Just fire. Small. Orange. Real.

She watched it curl inward, blackening her own outline first. The burning arms. The broken bodies. All of it turned to ash.

Only then did she whisper: "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

Dan stood too. Walked over. He didn't touch her.

"You didn't want to. That matters more than you think."

A gust stirred the ashes at their feet.

Alyssa crossed her arms, hugging herself, eyes still locked on the smoke drifting upward. "We're alone again."

Dan shook his head. "We're not."

A long pause. Then Alyssa asked the question that had been simmering beneath everything:

"Do you think they'll make it?"

Dan followed her gaze toward the vanishing skyline, the vague direction of Itami Airport. The smoke blurred the horizon.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "But they've got a chance."

She nodded, slowly.

And then: "Do you think we will?"

Dan looked at her. Something behind his eyes shifted.

"We're not getting on that flight, are we?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

Because they both already knew.

…………………

The fire was dying. Just embers now, flickering in a ring of old bricks Dan had pulled from the roadside. The kind of warmth that barely held off the cold – but they sat beside it anyway, as if pretending it still mattered.

Alyssa sat across from him, her arms curled around her knees, boots scuffed, face unreadable. They hadn't said much since the bus vanished down the road. Not because there was nothing to say – because some things were too heavy to say wrong.

Dan broke the silence first.

"You know what people never tell you about healing?"

Alyssa blinked. Her voice was quiet. "What?"

"It makes loss worse. Way worse."

She looked at him. "Because it reminds you that you couldn't fix everything?"

He shook his head. "Because sometimes… you can. And that messes you up. You start to believe you always should."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low. "I've pulled people back from death, Alyssa. Flatlined. Ruptured organs. Once, I regrew a man's femur in five minutes using just my aura and adrenaline. I rewired a kid's neural lattice mid-seizure to pull her out of a coma."

Alyssa's eyes widened. "That's not healing. That's god-tier stuff."

Dan's smile was humourless. "Yeah. And it breaks you. Because then, when someone doesn't come back…"

He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

A gust of wind passed through the overpass, tugging ash into the gutter. Alyssa didn't look away.

"Minori," she said softly.

Dan nodded. "I couldn't save her. My hands were glowing. My power was there. And it didn't matter."

He looked at his palms. There was still dried blood at the edges of his fingernails.

"I think maybe... that's the worst thing about this gift. Knowing what it should do. Knowing it has done the impossible. And then still holding someone while they die."

"It's like watching a miracle dissolve in your hands."

Silence stretched. The fire crackled weakly.

"I don't know much about your past," Alyssa said.

Dan gave a tired smile. "Not much to know. I was ten when it happened. My parents died in a car crash. Drunk driver hit us coming home from a New Year's dinner. I was the only one in the backseat. Walked away without a scratch."

Alyssa didn't interrupt.

"My sister, April, was in university. She dropped everything. Took two jobs. Cooked. Cleaned. Raised me. Never complained."

His voice cracked a little.

"She was the kind of person who ironed her own uniforms while studying for finals. Who made me brush my teeth during blackouts. She had this fire in her – but it was all for other people. All of it."

He swallowed hard.

"And then came Max. He wasn't what I expected. Quiet. Serious. Strong. But she loved him. And he… he showed up. He kept showing up. For her. For me. He became the big brother I didn't know I needed."

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A breath. Then: "When April died in that fire, it shattered us. Max barely survived. I tried to be strong. I swore I'd make her proud. But the truth is, I think part of me broke that day."

He paused. His voice was low, almost too quiet.

"And now Liz is all we have left."

Alyssa reached out instinctively. Her fingers brushed his wrist. He didn't flinch.

"You're afraid," she said.

Dan nodded once.

"She's everything to Max. If anything happens to her, I don't think Max comes back from it. And if he falls…"

He didn't finish the thought. He didn't have to.

The fire cracked again, a little brighter this time. Dan picked up a stone and tossed it into the shadows beyond the overpass. It bounced once. Twice. Gone.

"I used to think healing was my purpose," he said. "That I could spend my life giving second chances. You know – real ones. Not patching bullet holes, but curing things. Chronic stuff. Genetic disorders. Cancer. I dreamed about walking into a hospital and clearing out a paediatric ward. Sending kids home to their parents, clean scans in hand."

Alyssa watched him. "That's beautiful."

He exhaled slowly. "It was. And then the world ended. And now... all I do is stop people from bleeding out between ambushes."

A bitter chuckle escaped him. "I used to imagine opening a free clinic. No insurance, no politics. Just help. Just people. Give a little kindness, get some healing in return."

"You'd have been a legend," Alyssa said. "Famous. Rich. Probably your own documentary series."

Dan laughed softly. "Oh yeah? That why you stuck around? Trying to get in early?"

She smirked. "Gotta ride that fame while it's still single."

He gave her a look, then shook his head. "God, I miss joking. I miss... having time to just be."

"You still have that in you, Dan. That dream. The clinic. The kindness."

Dan's gaze drifted toward the sky – smoke-dimmed and bruised.

"Maybe. But I don't know if I can do both. Heal people and fight this war. Every time I patch someone up, it's just so they can suffer a little longer."

A beat.

"You make it sound like you're failing," Alyssa said.

"Feels like I am."

"Dan," she said. "You're not failing. You're surviving. You're saving lives. Every. Single. Day."

He didn't answer.

"I've seen what you do," she said. "You stitched a man's face back together during that fight at the Institute. You brought a girl out of seizure mid-flight. And when you saved me... back in Kyoto... I thought I was gone."

"You weren't," Dan said softly.

"Exactly. Because you didn't let me be."

The silence that followed was soft – not empty, but full of something unspoken.

Alyssa shifted a little closer to the fire. Her voice was quiet now.

"You know… I don't think strength is just power. Or fists. Or healing."

Dan raised an eyebrow.

"You're the strongest person I've met," she said.

Dan looked down, unconvinced.

"No, really," she continued. "You care. You try. Even when it tears you apart. That's more strength than most people ever find."

Dan didn't know what to say. So he just looked at her.

"You saved my life. Twice. Probably three times, depending how you count that mess in Nagoya," she added.

He chuckled softly.

"I probably owe you a drink," she added.

He grinned. "Well, when Japan isn't a nightmare hellscape, I'll hold you to that."

Alyssa smiled – tired, but real. Then her smile faded into something quieter.

"Do you think we'll make it?" she asked.

Dan followed her gaze into the dark.

"To the flight?"

She nodded.

"I hope so," he said. "But if not… then we make it somewhere else. Together."

She looked at him.

Dan leaned in just a little. His fingers brushed her cheek, slow and gentle. Not forward. Not forceful. Just present.

"You're not a monster, Alyssa. You saved lives today. You saved mine. Don't let anyone make you forget that."

She swallowed. Her eyes shimmered faintly in the firelight.

"I can't forget," she whispered. "Not after Minori."

Dan nodded.

"Good," he said. "Don't. Let the pain stay. Let it remind you why you fight. Let it anchor you."

"To the world?" she asked.

He tilted his head. "To something."

She smiled. "To someone?"

Their eyes locked. The fire danced between them, casting soft shadows over raw hearts.

Dan didn't speak. He didn't need to.

They sat that way for a long time. Quiet. Together.

And when the cold finally settled in, Alyssa didn't pull away.

She just leaned in.

And Dan didn't let go.

…………………

The fire had died to ash by morning. Pale light filtered through the smog, a sickly grey that didn't know if it was dawn or dusk. The wind had quieted. The world just… waited.

Alyssa stirred beneath the overpass first. Her back ached from the concrete. She'd used her jacket as a makeshift pillow, but her neck still burned. Her breath steamed faintly in the air – not from cold, but from whatever strange tension the city held now. Static. Like the sky itself was holding its breath.

She blinked and sat up slowly.

The world was too quiet.

In her dream, there had been flames. Again. Always. But this time she hadn't been screaming. She'd been alone, standing on top of a mountain made from cracked masks. One of them had Minori's eyes.

Alyssa stared at her hands. They were clean.

She didn't trust them.

Dan stirred beside her, curled on his side, one arm tucked beneath his satchel like a shield. His halo – normally faint and warm – had gone out completely while he slept. Just a man again. No glow. No miracles.

He looked younger in sleep. Or maybe just sadder.

Alyssa stood, stretched, then crouched beside him and nudged his shoulder.

"Hey. It's morning. Or close enough."

Dan cracked one eye. "Do we know what day it is?"

She shrugged. "Tuesday. Or the end of the world. Could be both."

He groaned and sat up. His joints cracked as he moved. He rolled one shoulder, winced, then looked around.

"No one came?"

"No one even passed." She paused. "Which might be worse."

Dan rubbed his hands together and checked their pack. "We've got half a ration bar and maybe two sips of water left. You up for chasing miracles?"

Alyssa leaned against the wall of the overpass. "You mean the airport?"

Dan nodded. "It's the only place we haven't ruled out."

A long pause. Alyssa didn't answer right away.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter.

"What if we're not welcome there either?"

Dan looked up from the gear. His eyes met hers.

"Then we don't ask permission."

He zipped the bag shut and stood. The silence hung there. Not empty – just waiting.

Alyssa hesitated, then stepped over to him. "You really think anyone's still there? The J-Alert said 24 hours. That was yesterday."

Dan's voice was steady. "Even if there's no flight, there might be people. Or signs. Or someone who knows what the hell's happening in Kyoto. We can't just… drift."

Alyssa nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Drifting hasn't gone well for us."

As they stepped out from under the overpass, Dan reached into his medkit and carefully pulled something out. A small, weather-worn notebook.

Minori's sketchbook.

Alyssa blinked. "You kept it?"

She hesitated, reaching out but not touching it. Her jaw tightened. "She thought I was a monster."

Dan didn't flinch. "She also drew you saving people."

He flipped it open briefly. Most of the pages were ruined – bloodstained, torn, some melted at the edges. But one half-page drawing remained intact: a figure silhouetted against a burning city, standing between shadowed beasts and a group of children.

The figure had Alyssa's hair.

"I want to believe," Dan said, voice low, "that something good survives all this. Even if it's just a drawing."

Alyssa stepped beside him. Together, they looked down the broken road. The sky hung like bruised paper overhead. In the distance, somewhere past the rows of shattered buildings and collapsed overpasses, Osaka waited.

Or what was left of it. They started walking. Not because they knew what they'd find.

But because they were done standing still.

…………………

The car coughed to life on the second turn of the key.

Dan blinked at the dashboard, almost in disbelief. Alyssa leaned in through the shattered driver's side window.

"You've got to be kidding," she muttered.

He reached up and pulled the visor down. A keyring fell into his palm – two silver keys and a faded smiley face charm.

"Guess some miracles don't need prayers," Dan said.

Alyssa gave a dry laugh. "Or maybe we've just earned one."

They didn't talk much as they pulled away from the skeleton of the convenience store. The roads ahead were mostly clear – at least of traffic. The dead, however, still lingered in memory. Scorched buildings, hollow-eyed mannequins in shopfronts, the skeletal outline of a bicycle melted into the asphalt.

The radio crackled once. Dan twisted the dial. Nothing but static.

They drove in silence.

It wasn't long before the runway came into view. What should've been a sign of hope felt like something else entirely.

The outer fence had been torn open by something massive – coils of barbed wire hung like torn veins. JSDF trucks littered the entrance, many reduced to twisted husks. One still smoked, the faintest curl of ash rising from a melted turret.

Alyssa slowed the car and eased it up a cracked service ramp. The airport grounds opened before them like a war diary no one wanted to read.

Dead yokai lay strewn across the tarmac – bodies twisted and burned, claws frozen mid-reach, blackened eyes wide and staring. Some had been blown apart. Others were sliced with military precision, still steaming in places where acidic blood had etched the concrete.

And there – near the eastern edge of the runway – was the bus.

Dan stepped out before the engine had even fully cut. He walked slowly toward it, heart hammering.

The bus was empty. Doors open. Wind swaying the emergency exit just slightly on its hinge. A few abandoned packs lay inside. Blood – but not fresh. Just the residue of a miracle that had cost too much.

He turned back and found Alyssa frozen near a pile of old luggage. She picked up a half-melted Hello Kitty bag and held it for a moment. Then set it down gently, like placing a flower on a grave.

"There's no one here," she said.

Dan nodded. "Which means they made it."

Dan hesitated at the bus door. Then quietly slid Minori's sketchbook into the first seat. Let her final hope ride the one bus that made it out.

She stared up at the sky – pale, washed out, empty. No smoke trails. No engine roars. No flights incoming or outbound. Just clouds smeared thin across a ruined horizon.

"No planes," she murmured.

Dan reached the tarmac. He knelt and picked up a dog tag. The name had been melted away, but the chain was intact.

"Looks like the JSDF held them off long enough," he said.

Alyssa joined him. Her eyes swept the field again. The absence of bodies chilled more than their presence might have.

"They evacuated," she said softly. "We missed it."

Dan didn't speak. He just stared at the cracked runway. His fingers curled into fists.

After a long silence, Alyssa walked back to the bus and slowly – almost reverently – closed the door. The hydraulic hiss sounded too final.

"It wasn't our flight," she said.

Dan looked at her, eyes sunken with exhaustion.

"We got them out," he replied. "That has to be enough."

Alyssa nodded once. Then turned her back on the runway. The moment stretched, heavy with the weight of what they'd done… and what came next.

They climbed back into the car. Alyssa took the wheel this time.

As the vehicle rolled past the ruins of the final gate, Dan glanced over his shoulder one last time. Just the field of ash and steel. No movement. No monsters.

Just what was left of a fight worth losing.

He leaned back in his seat, eyes closed for a beat.

"Back to Kyoto?" Alyssa asked.

Dan nodded. "Back to Liz and Chloe."

Alyssa's jaw tightened – not in fear. In resolve.

"We've still got people," she said.

Dan looked at her. "Family."

She gave a faint, tired smile. "The kind worth burning the world for."

The car turned north, leaving the scorched tarmac behind. The sky darkened as they drove. But up ahead – past the shattered roads, beyond the fields of ruin – the silhouette of Kyoto waited, silent and still.

And they drove toward it. Together.

Because some things were stronger than death. And some people refused to forget.

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