August

The first thing she should have done was delete the email. If the IT Department found out that Mitsuru Kirijo had clicked on a suspicious email, there would be a firestorm of increased filters and reminder emails. Mitsuru touched her lips thoughtfully as she re-read the one-sentence email

Sonora is missing her children.

The sender's account hardly appeared innocuous, but Mitsuru saw no link, no ask for money, no ransom, and no threat. She meditated on the words a bit longer before she keyed in a search for 'Sonora' and 'missing children'

Her apartment was pitch black and she and her glowing laptop were the only signs of habitation in her Port Island loft. Mitsuru considered standing up to turn on a light and fix herself dinner, but the thought came and went without action.

She'd been wrapping up some review of the Finance Department audit report when the email notification had apparated onto her screen. It was a rather incredible thing, Mitsuru mused, that she had noticed the email at all all since she received a hundreds of emails each day. Now, she could look at little else beside the email and the smattering of U.S. news articles about the seventeen Sonoran schoolchildren missing since June.

The email itself was strange, but the contents that were clearly directed for her attention were rather puzzling. Callous as it was, Mexico had no shortage of missing persons, especially in the areas where the cartel and sicaros denned. While heartbreaking, child victims were well within the reach of human traffickers and drug lords. Curious, Mitsuru clicked on a news article halfway down the search results and began to read.

Mitsuru scanned the article carefully, absorbing the details of the children's intellectual talents and how they had been selected. She read about their parents who were sick with fear but too afraid to speak to the police. At some point, she read the name of the school.

Mitsuru read it again and felt her fingertips go numb. She quickly pulled the Kirijo Group's charitable giving portfolio from her remote desktop and found Escuela de Agua Prieta. Mechanically, she switched back the news article. Perhaps she had read it enough times that the fear had ebbed away. Perhaps denial was sinking in.

With a sigh, Mitsuru Kirijo leaned back in her office chair and ran her fingers over her eyes. Her rest lasted precious few seconds before she quickly replaced her reading glasses and read the email again.

Her father had indeed opened a charitable giving wing before his death and had commissioned several development projects in areas of the developing world including Sonora. His appointee to lead for VP of the department had been solid figure in the agency since Mitsuru was a child, but the gentleman had retired when Mitsuru was just beginning high school. The position had essentially remained vacant until after her father's death, when the board had selected the current VP. The obvious thing to do was to contact set up a meeting with the VP and draft an action plan about installing security measures for the children and their families in Sonora.

Mitsuru tapped her fingers. Something still wasn't adding up about the charitable giving wing's history.

Mitsuru's frown deepened into a scowl as an unsettling thought crept in. The Kirijo Group wouldn't leave an executive level position vacant for four years unless there was someone else taking on the critical tasks. The company directory archives wouldn't list anyone who didn't hold an official title, but her father's archived emails might.

Tired, Mitsuru stood up and reluctantly turned on a dim light. She leaned against frame of the large bay window overlooking a quiet street. Beside her, she fiddled with the leafy appendages of the ivy plant Fuuka had given her.

This view always calmed her, especially when she was working late. She'd see people walking their dogs, Gekkoukan High students prowling for ramen, and college girls giggling their way down the street. These scenes reminded her to pause and reach out to her friends. Now that they were adults, time was passing faster. Last year, she'd taken Fuuka, Aigis, and Yukari to Paris to celebrate ten years since Minato had come into their lives and they still went to dinner regularly. Ken was attending a university in the U.S. while Koromaru had retired to the countryside with Junpei and Chidori. Mitsuru suspected from their phone calls that the relative quiet to Port Island made Junpei crazy.

Mitsuru watched a police officer turn a corner with a an easy gait.

She had bumped into Captain Kurosawa last month at a fundraiser where he informed her that Akihiko had been promoted to Lieutenant. The others were too polite to even bring his name up in Mitsuru's presence, so the news came as a bit of a shock. Not that he hadn't worked fiercely for it, but Mitsuru hadn't spoken to Akihiko for at least three years. He was a Sergeant then and clearly had been hard at work since last they spoke. Mitsuru remembered the look on Kurosawa's face as she swallowed the good news with a tight smile.

"He asks about you. In his own way, you understand."

"Please tell him-" Mitsuru had stopped herself. "Please tell him congratulations for me."

"I really think he'd rather hear it from you."

She had politely changed the topic.

Mitsuru walked away from the window and returned to her laptop, her memory still failing to retrieve the name of the temporary replacement. She burrowed into her email archives, ignoring the dull pang incurred by reading the words of her dead father. Mitsuru scrolled down until she reached a set of emails entitled Memorandum: Acting VP of Charitable Giving.

Mitsuru made it a few sentences into the email before she pushed back from her desk, closing her eyes. Unreal was an unsuitable word. Shaking, Mitsuru allowed herself a deep breath before pulling her chair back up to her desk and finding a pad of paper and pen. Mitsuru's thoughts were sent into a spiral as she began to mechanically write.

The man who had so easily gained the trust of a group of willing youth. . .

She made a list of files she would need Chihiro to pull tomorrow morning, starting with the development paperwork for the schools in Mexico and Lebanon.

The man who had brought them to their knees with a few simple lies. . .

Mitsuru stared evenly at the name in front of her, as though she was staring the man himself with his easy smile and twinkling spectacles. It didn't matter that he was dead, nor did it matter that someone else had been appointed. It just meant more layers to peel back. It meant that he had had four years to manipulate, hide, lie, and tinker. It meant that he had more than enough time to start a slow drip of poison into a host of lives.

Mitsuru found a nearby pair of heels and smoothed over her hair.

She wouldn't be fooled this time. Dead or alive, the man who murdered her father and connived to send a group of students to the slaughter wouldn't be allowed to do the same to anyone else.

Mitsuru shut her laptop on Shuji Ikutski's name before she grabbed her coat and left her apartment.

"Sergeant?"

The lamp on Sergeant Akihiko Sanada's desk cut a sharp beam of light cut across his line of sight as he looked up evenly at Officer Minami, currently standing in the doorway of Akihiko's office, cap in hand. He considered the junior officer for a moment before he nodded his head.

"Minami. You got a name for me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's have it, then."

"Ryuhei Nishizaki."

He chewed on that name for moment before he decided he didn't care for the feeling it dropped in his gut.

"That name mean anything to you?"

"No," said Minami curtly. A look of panic spread over his face as Akihiko fixed him with an appraising expression.

"No, s-sir," Minami corrected himself quickly.

"Well," Akihiko paused thoughtfully, drawing in a deep breath and looking back to the blanket of inked paper before him. "It's been a long week. You're headed to the Red Door, right?"

"Yes, sir."

Akihiko glanced at the clock on his desk while Minami shifted in his stance, moving his cap to his other hand.

"Well, be on your guard," Akihiko cleared his throat, as he carefully spelled out Ryuhei Nishizaki on the margins of his notebook. "Captain Kurosawa tends to really cut loose there. Don't try and keep up with him."

"Yes, sir. I will, sir. Thank you, si-"

"Relax, Minami-san. It was a joke. . . sort of," Akihiko closed the binder before him and joined his hands, fixing the officer with a pointed look. Minami's posture seemed to defy physics and become even stiffer.

"Yes, sir. Very good, sir."

"Was there something else you wanted to speak about, Minami-san?" Akihiko pressed his subordinate patiently, a tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"No, sir."

"Good. Now, get out of here and get drunk," Akihiko waved him off, covering his mouth as he yawned and reached for the cup of stale coffee he'd exiled to the corner of his desk.

Minami gave a final salute before turning sharply from Akihiko's office. He could hear his clean footsteps march to the end of the hallway, and Akihiko only considered himself in the clear when he heard the elevator doors close. Finally alone, he dropped his pen and ran his hands over his face, his eyes bleary and red with fatigue. He and Minami had been out on patrol when they'd picked up a small time drug dealer. It hadn't taken long for the guy to start spilling names, especially when Minami had uttered the magic words "plea deal." One name led to another, and by 3pm they had one of Kantō's biggest traffickers in the interrogation room.

Whoever Ryuhei Nishizaki was, Akihiko was about to set a personal best for shortest time between a name drop and booking.

A buzzing noise set the entire left side of his desk into motion, and Akihiko gazed at it listlessly before picking up.

"I'm calling to confess a crime."

At the sound of her voice, he felt his heart skip a beat.

"You should have called ten minutes ago, before I was too exhausted by polite subordinates to care."

"Ah, but ten minutes ago I was committing a crime."

"The crime being. . .?"

"I seemed to have burned . . . rather, scorched to an unrecognizable heap of ash, a most promising lox soufflé."

Akihiko whistled.

"Any witnesses?"

"None, although the curtains were open. The elderly gentleman in the flat across the way may know too much."

"You just leave him to me. Have you disposed of the evidence?"

"Yes, but I fear the smell is just as incriminating."

"You're in pretty deep, Kirijo-san. You may want to turn yourself in now and save your company the scandal of a cover-up. What will your private cooking instructor say? What was his name again? Pierre? Javier? Or was it Jacques?"

"Only three stereotypical French names? You must be very tired indeed, Akihiko."

"Check in with me tomorrow, I should have a few more after a good night's rest."

"Am I to understand that the Sergeant of the 16th precinct will not be breaking down my door with a platoon of officers in full riot gear?"

"Not tonight, but don't leave town."

"Now, that is a shame," Mitsuru let out a soft sigh on the other end of the line. "After all, I could not possibly live with myself if I commit another, perhaps more heinous crime."

"Firing Gustave?"

"Wasting half of the order I've just called in from Ekamai."

"Ekamai, huh?"

"It would be particularly unfortunate should the yellow curry go to waste. . ."

"Extortion is a serious crime, Kirijo-san."

"Only if it doesn't work."

"Well, it's been a long day . . . but then I knew overtime was part of the deal when I signed on."

"One favor to ask."

"Anything."

"Pick up a bottle of wine, anything will do."

"All right, but don't be expecting the fancy sauce François brings you. Still working my way up the ranks, you know."

"Raoul only allows tastes."

Akihiko snapped his fingers, the name of Mitsuru's snooty chef clicking immediately.

"I'd like something substantial to drink tonight, Sergeant," Mitsuru continued. "I'm quite confident in your palate."

"Famous last words. I'll be there in fifteen."

December

"Lieutenant?"

Akihiko shook his head, his eyes buzzing on the pile of reports in front of him.

Damn. He had drifted off again. Three late nights in a row and he was starting to get sloppy. He blinked up at Minami and gave him a stiff nod.

"What is it?" He asked groggily, tapping his desktop mouse to revive his computer.

"Someone is here to see you, sir."

Akihiko frowned.

"To see me?" he took in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I thought we agreed no lawyers after midnight."

"She's - she's not a lawyer. At least she didn't say she was. Think she's just a civilian, sir. Said she knew you."

Akihiko opened his mouth, not keen on seeing a member of the public if he could avoid it at this late hour. If he was daydreaming on the job, it was time for him to go somewhere dark and sleep for a few hours. He wasn't going to be of much use to anyone in his current condition.

"Said her name was Fuuka Yamagishi, sir." Minami cut him off before he spoke. "Seems quite urgent."

"Send her in," Akihiko said tersely, standing up quickly and moving around his desk. Minami jostled out and soon came back with Fuuka in step.

One look at her, and Akihiko knew something had happened. Pale and trembling, Fuuka's already fragile stature looked stressed even further by the dark circles under her eyes and her haphazard attire. He peeled his eyes away from her and made a sharp motion to Minami to shut the door. As soon as he did, Akihiko rushed to embrace his old friend. She crashed into him and immediately wetted his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and gently guided her to a chair.

"What happened?" he murmured, squeezing her shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm so sorry to intrude on you like this," she started with a sniff.

"No, no, don't do that, Fuuka," Akihiko said as he threw himself over his desk to rummage for a box of tissues in his desk. He quickly found a few and offered them to Fuuka. She pushed the tissues to her cheeks gratefully as Akihiko returned his hand to her shoulder.

"Akihiko," Fuuka tried to steady her voice with a deep breath. "I need your help."

"Tell me what happened," Akihiko pressed, covering her hand with his. "Tell me how I can help."

Fuuka bit her lip.

"I think Mitsuru is in danger."

"What?" Akihiko said loudly, more out of surprise than anger. Judging by her reaction, Fuuka didn't seem to know the difference.

"No one's heard from her for over month," she recovered quickly. "We've checked her apartment and the manor at Yakushima and there's no sign of her anywhere. No one knew anything about where she was and the Kirijo Group isn't telling us anything except that she's taking a holiday-"

He wasn't sure if Fuuka had breathed at all during that sentence. Akihiko took a minute to pat her shoulder and worked keep Fuuka focused on him. He was anything but a social worker and typically Akihiko wasn't this soft with the few victims who came through his office, but Fuuka was a friend and she was clearly in distress. If it had been anyone else, Akihiko might have gotten the tissues out but dialed everything else down to zero.

"Let's back up for a second here," Akihiko said slowly. "What about the staff at Yakushima? They had to have known something."

"They said she was on vacation," Fuuka said exasperatedly, dabbing her eyes.

Akihiko pondered his next sentence carefully. There was obviously some sort of misunderstanding here. Mitsuru had probably left for a couple of back-to-back business trips or maybe book-ended a trip with a small side-trip somewhere.

"Fuuka, if the Kirijo Group and Mitsuru's staff are all saying she's on vacation, what makes you think she's not on vacation?" he asked patiently.

Fuuka was wearing a look Akihiko had seen on Yukari before she slapped somebody. He felt flummoxed to say the least. Usually, Fuuka was the one you could count on to talk you down from being crazy. The last time Akihiko had seen Fuuka like this was on the night Ken didn't come home after Shinji's death. Even when Fuuka wasn't calm, she never got angry. Panicked, distressed, and maybe a little snippy, but never angry.

"A month's vacation, Akihiko?" Fuuka asked incredulously.

That was a fair point, but Akihiko wasn't exactly in the loop about what Mitsuru did or didn't do nowadays. He still counted her as his best friend, but they weren't exactly on friendly terms.

"I'm just saying," Akihiko said evenly. "That even if she didn't take vacations, there's no reason she couldn't start-"

"No," Fuuka insisted sharply, balling up her fists and beating them against her lap. Surprised by her tone, Akihiko leaned in to her and squeezed her hands in an effort to calm her.

"She wouldn't," the tears were slipping out faster now. "Not without telling one of us."

Akihiko leaned back with a sigh.

Fuuka was upset, but what she was saying wasn't illogical. Mitsuru's vacations were always short and always included the others in one way or another. On the rare occasion she went alone, it was typically for a day, two tops. Akihiko doubted that much had changed during the last few years.

Akihiko glanced over to his desk as Fuuka tried to muffle her crying into the crumpled tissue. It wasn't his job to agree with every theory or idea that walked in his door. It was his job to try and poke holes and find alternatives. With Mitsuru Kirijo, anything was possible. Fuuka just needed to remember that.

"Let's say for just a minute that she is missing. What makes you think she's in danger, Fuuka?"

Fuuka swallowed as she darted her eyes.

"The truth is, Yukari, Aigis, and I have been trying to get in touch with her for the last two weeks."

Akihiko dipped his head toward her in disbelief.

"We've called Ken and Junpei and neither have heard from her. We even booked a flight to Paris yesterday to see if she's at her flat - but then tonight," Fuuka let out a shaky sigh before drawing up the strength to finish.

"Tonight I had a dream where I saw senpai in a desert. I saw her standing across from a man. She had her hands up. I couldn't hear what she was saying but then the man . . . he shot her and-"

"Fuuka, listen to me," Akihiko interrupted, squelching the fear reaction in his gut with logic. "You're upset and you're anxious. You had a dream, but it was just a dream-"

"I felt Artemisia," Fuuka murmured. "I felt her reach out to me."

Akihiko resisted the urge to physically draw back.

"She was trying to tell me that Mitsuru is in danger, Akihiko."

Akihiko looked on at his friend without expression as Fuuka dropped her head to her hands, her growing frustration giving way to more tears. Akihiko stood up, went to his desk, and started typing. He worked for a few minutes before grabbing a fresh wad of tissues and returning to the seat next to Fuuka. Akihiko hesitated before he replaced his hands over hers.

"She's not in our missing persons database. There's no risk of flight notice and no person of interest flag. International search engines will need to cook for a minute, but I'd say if the Kirijo Group hasn't said anything, those won't turn up much either."

"You don't believe me," Fuuka said miserably.

"Who did you come here to talk to, Fuuka?" Akihiko asked flatly.

Fuuka raised her head, puzzled.

"Did you come to talk to a friend? Or did you come to speak with a police officer?"

She shook her head.

"I-"

"What happens next depends on who you're talking to."

Akihiko was staring intently at her.

"You," Fuuka whispered, the tears slowing to a few drops. "I came here to talk to you, senpai."

"All right," Akihiko nodded. "I can look into a few things, outside of this office. If I need to start bringing people in or looking at evidence, you and I need to meet in a different capacity."

Fuuka didn't live far outside of the city, but the last train had already left. Akihiko insisted that she stay the night at his apartment. Fuuka declined emphatically and Akihiko insisted again albeit a little less polite the second time around.

"It's been a while since I was here," Fuuka croaked kindly, and Akihiko could almost feel the toll the night had taken on her.

Still, she seemed to enjoy reminiscing over the drab walls and lonely sofa couch. The last time Fuuka had been here was a few years ago. During the summer of Ken's freshmen year of college, they were all in town at the same time and Junpei got it in his head that they were going to have an epic poker night. He also got it in his head that it would be an epic battle of the sexes end-all be-all of poker nights. Mitsuru graciously volunteered Akihiko's apartment (her revenge for never being invited over).

They hadn't even ended up playing poker that night. They just sat around talking all night and sipping drinks. No one had said anything and everyone had smiled when Mitsuru took Akihiko's hand in plain sight.

That was a long time ago, though.

Akihiko flicked on the light and found his way into the spare bedroom and began setting up the futon. He wasn't sure if Fuuka had followed him in here and nearly jumped when he heard her voice.

"I wanted - we wanted to come to you sooner, Akihiko."

Akihiko looked over his shoulder and smiled wearily at Fuuka. She was hugging herself against the cold and Akihiko reminded himself of the extra blankets on top of the closet.

"Yukari wanted to go to Paris first. I don't think she wanted to upset you."

"No need to explain," Akihiko admitted, smoothing out the futon. "I know how grudges work."

Not that he blamed her. If someone had broken his best friend's heart, he'd be less than eager to ask for their help.

"It's not that," Fuuka said mildly. "She's just protective of Mitsuru. She thought you might be . . . reluctant to help."

"Yeah, well," Akihiko grunted, pulling down a few more blankets from the top shelf of the closet. "Can't say she was wrong exactly."

"She's wrong," Fuuka countered softly. Akihiko turned around to her, feeling a blush creep up his neck.

"The group used to disappear sometimes, in Tartarus," Fuuka stated, holding his gaze. Akihiko watched her swallow a lump in her throat.

"Someone would get separated or caught in a fight. It happened to you and Mitsuru on occasion, too. At first, I'd send whoever was closest to help, but I started to notice that it didn't matter who was closest. You'd always get to each other first. At some point, I stopped asking the others and would just call you or Mitsuru if the other was in trouble," Fuuka admitted.

"I don't know what happened between you and Mitsuru, Akihiko," Fuuka said simply. "But you've always found each other. You were always the first to heal each other."

"I'm just outside if you need anything," Akihiko said quickly, fleeing the room and breathing a sigh of relief as soon as he shut the door.

He grabbed a hooded sweatshirt and made a quick escape to the rooftop terrace, abandoned in the early hours of the morning. As the door slammed shut behind him, Akihiko dropped to the ground and began to fire off a round of push ups. Akihiko mounted a hundred and remembered a warning Kurosawa had issued to him during his days as a rookie.

There will be a day when someone you know walks through your door.

Akihiko jumped up from the ground and found a pair of iron bars hanging low over his head. In the summer, pots of plants hung from the bars. In the winter, they were bare. He began pulling himself up, too hard and too fast, the sweat slipping into his eyes.

When they do, all of your training as an officer of the law will jump out the window.

He dropped to the ground, and didn't get back up. Above him, the night sky was clouded by the city haze. Akihiko wrenched his eyes shut and gasped for air.

When it does, you get your ass downstairs. . .

He told himself he hadn't seen all of the cards yet. He had yet to interview, research, and examine. Akihiko's job hadn't even started yet. None of it mattered, something told him. In the end he would find that she really was missing. Akihiko had shut down his fear when he needed to, but he'd won a moment of indulgence. He clicked off the autopilot and let fear and panic cover him like a warm blanket.

Pick it up. . .

Mitsuru Kirijo did not walk away from her company. Mitsuru Kirijo did not walk away from her friends. All those years ago, she hadn't even walked away from him. He had done that for her.

Something had taken her away.

. . . And get back to work.