New chapter! Hope this one came out alright and that you guys enjoy!

07

Day Three: Afternoon

Rider

She tapped her toes against the floor impatiently.

Berserker—definitely not one of her beloveds. Saber—also not one of her beloveds. Caster—far from one of her beloveds. Assassin—dead, so what the hell did it matter? Archer—some man of the forest, but not one of her beloveds. Lancer?

Well, Lancer was the last bastion of hope she had for a reunion.

"You seem agitated, Rider," Takuya said around his teacup. Chiaki was already serving him an afternoon brew, the young man resting between battles.

Rider let out a harrumph and crossed her arms in front of her. "All these men, and none of them are my darlings," she huffed. If Takuya didn't have the sash over his eyes, she'd swear he was staring blankly at her. "And don't get me wrong, I love being around all of them and seeing what they can bring to the table, but it's just not the same as Fergus or Conchobar or—"

Rider sighed longingly. She sank into a chair and set her chin on the palms of her hands, the memory of that wonderful, unobtainable man from her era fresh in her mind.

"Or Cú."

After finishing another sip, Takuya set down his teacup perfectly atop its saucer. "Ireland's Child of Light," he said. Rider nodded in agreement, excited that the man of her dreams was still relevant today. "If I'm not mistaken, he was famous for wielding Gáe Bolg. Yes?"

"Oh, absolutely! Never had I seen a better spearman, and even my own army couldn't stand a chance against him. I don't think I'll ever forget that gorgeous glow Gáe Bolg gave off."

Takuya frowned. He furrowed his brows and inclined his head toward Chiaki. "Perhaps Archer had misheard," he said, no longer addressing Rider. Chiaki hummed once, clearly as curious as her charge about whatever revelation they'd come to.

Rider blinked at them, no longer distracted by her thoughts of Cú. What was wrong? More than that, had Archer told them something and not her? Rider clenched her fists tightly under her chin. Oh, that mischievous little—

"Regardless," Takuya went on, smiling again and turning his attention back to Rider, "I believe I'll be busy today with contacting the Association. I imagine you'll be rather bored waiting around all day. Why not explore Fuyuki without needing to keep an eye on other Masters and Servants?"

Rider tilted her head to the side. He was just going to let her do what she wanted, like that? Wasn't he worried about what kind of havoc Rider could wreck? Or was Takuya spoiling her by showing his trust? She had no doubts that he was being honest and that he really was going to spend the rest of the day following up on the other Masters they'd seen. It was just how easily he let her do as she pleased. Rider was all for doing what she wanted, but her experiences with most men always showed a need to fight for that right. They all fell for the trick that she was to be dominated, intellectually and physically.

Rider didn't argue this to Takuya, though. She jumped out of her chair and bounced to his side of the table, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and letting out a small squeal.

"That sounds so fun!" she cheered. Chiaki stared dryly at her over Takuya, and Rider couldn't help the smug smile she regarded the other woman with. "You don't mind if I go out?"

Takuya chuckled and shrugged. Rider removed herself from him and he took another sip of tea. "Only if you don't go wild."

She grinned at him, and almost made the mistake of winking. She just kept forgetting that the sash was there, stopping any knowing looks from being exchanged. Rider instead settled for a giggle and a coy agreement to keep her evening out as tame as possible.

Chiaki had gone shopping for clothes upon Rider's request as soon as she was summoned, but Rider would soon find the garments to be too modest for her beautiful physique. It felt unfair to hide, even if the weather was on the chilly side once the sun began to set—but Rider was from a land of snow! More than that, she was a Heroic Spirit! No amount of cold wind would stop her from putting on her best outfit for a night on the town.

It had taken a horrendous amount of snipping and sewing, but Rider managed to turn the conservative pencil skirt and blazer into something more her style. Rider strolled out of Takuya's home with a satisfied expression on her face. With her skirt reaching just above her thighs, the straps of her garter belt visible underneath, and her blouse reduced to being sleeveless, blazer draped over her shoulder, Fuyuki was far from prepared to handle the presence of Queen Medb of Connacht.

She wasn't entirely sure what she wanted to do first. There certainly were a few sights she'd love to see, mostly the attractions in Shinto that tourists would flock to. The Grail had fed her plenty of information on Fuyuki itself, so there was no shortage of places to choose from while she passed the time and Takuya focused on his Association business. Rider entered the hustle and bustle of the evening crowd, and the immediate turns of heads in her direction filled her with pride. She walked with her head held high, a smile on her face as she made brief eye contact with those who passed her.

Not many attractions stayed open once the schools let out and the sun went down. Rider found herself wandering through markets rather than grand attractions, some of the food smelling nostalgic while others smelt dazzling and unfamiliar. She never necessarily needed to eat now that she had a steady supply of mana from Takuya, but there was no harm in enjoying some of the things the quaint little stalls had to offer.

Her attention was soon drawn to a man selling little fish-shaped cakes—taiyaki, she was certain they were called—and Rider wasted no time turning on the charm to snag one for herself. The elderly man was smitten with her, hardly questioning her excuse of forgetting her wallet back at her hotel room. Rider watched gleefully as he bagged one for her, the inside of the taiyaki stuffed with chocolate; she thanked him, called him a sweetheart, as she walked away with a free dessert for the evening. As she turned to continue down the street, she found herself being stared at by a girl in a local high school uniform.

The girl, bespectacled and skinny but still pretty in her own reserved way, gaped at Rider and the taiyaki. She held the strap of her bag tightly, and when she realised Rider was staring back at her she looked away with a light blush covering her cheeks. Rider grinned. Had she the time, maybe she could take on a few young women as disciples—teach the elegance and love she'd been renowned for back in her era.

Rider broke the taiyaki in half and as she approached the girl, she held the bag with the tail out for her to take. The bespectacled girl gawked, but took the bag anyway, and Rider could only wink knowingly as she went on her way.

The rest of Rider's evening would've gone perfectly. It would've been amazing. It would've been the most relaxed she'd been in a long time. But, as with all of her more enjoyable moments, it came to a jarring halt with just one person's presence.

Rider felt her presence before she saw her. It was hard to ignore the feeling of another Servant in the vicinity, watching her like a sideshow instead of a work of art. Rider ground her teeth together and scanned the crowd around her. Which Servant dared to approach her in the middle of a crowded street, to possibly attack her in the open? Who would be so brazen? Rider crossed her arms in front of her chest and zeroed in on the presence calling out to her.

She began to eat the taiyaki once her eyes drifted upwards, to the taller buildings around the stalls. Rider didn't even savour the chocolate filling as she focused on one building in particular, on the flash of red she saw glistening from its heights. She knew that shade of red anywhere, but this feeling in the back of her mind—this was not her beloved Cú's gaze, not even when he was at his fiercest.

The red darted to another building. Rider walked calmly down the street until she was closer to the next apartment block the red jumped to. Her view of the Servant was becoming clearer and clearer, and Rider loathed the idea of who this Lancer possibly was.

She saw the long purple hair fluttering in the wind. She saw the second red spear emerge from behind the figure as though taunting her with the weapon's identity.

That bitch, Rider thought. She stared up at the apartment complex, unblinking, and Lancer—Scáthach—stared back. Of all the people to be brought into the same War as her, to be related to her beloveds, it had to be Scáthach. Rider would've been content with even Ferdiad. Or better yet, someone from an entirely different part of the world and era. But no, the Grail was cruel and exercised its sick sense of humour.

That bitch, Rider thought again as she stopped just outside a bar that was slowly opening its doors for the night crowd. Lancer's expression was a blank mask, unreadable even to Rider, but she just knew the woman was thinking the same thing. Both adored Cú, and both knew the other did. Rider was willing to bet that Lancer was cursing her just as hard in return.

That bitch, she thought once more, and it wasn't until she heard Takuya respond that she realised she'd telegraphed the statement to him.

Rider? What's happening?

Rider sucked in a deep breath and turned for the bar. She was going to have to take some drastic measures if Scáthach was here.

I know who Lancer is, she told Takuya. And I'm pissed off.

There was silence. Takuya didn't seem to want to press for details just yet, and it left Rider with a sense of relief. No interruptions would make this infinitely easier.

She took a seat at the bar's counter and ordered the strongest ale available. One by one the other seats would be filled, and Rider stopped counting how many people walked in and out as time ticked by. She finished her first pint with relative ease, and by the time the second pint was in front of her she was beginning her plan to stand against Lancer.

There was hardly any time to include Takuya in this planning, and with how busy he'd be with his Association mission, it wasn't like she'd get caught scheming in the first place. Rider smirked over the rim of her ale. With any luck, that nuisance who dared called herself a queen would be significantly weakened by her dependence on a Master. Rider would have the upper hand, a superior source of power, and come the end of the war she'd have the one thing they both sought—Cú Chulainn.

Momoko

Her head was pounding. Her arm was killing her. No matter how much she seemed to rest, she found herself more and more tired with every awakening. Momo was, in short, having a shit day to end all shit days.

She was half-dangling out of her bed while Berserker sat down beside her. He seemed to be slowly recovering, the damage from the collapsed building seeming to be minimal compared to the arrow that grazed Momo's arm. She was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on with all that happened last night—like what that big attack Berserker let out was, and why it had drained her to the point of falling unconscious just moments after he'd performed it. Was this the special ability the priest said all Servants had? The Phantasm thing? If so, damn—that was a pretty big show just to catch the guy they were chasing.

At least now she knew the man at the store was a Master. That was one positive Momo could take away from last night.

Momo groaned and peeled herself off the bed. Berserker looked down at her, barely even letting a growl slip. He was back to his calmer, less berserk state. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was—

"Sunset?!" She jumped to her feet and ran for the nearby window. The sky was darkening and the sun was dipping behind the buildings around her makeshift home. Had she slept the whole day away? Momo gawked at the sky and then at Berserker. The man didn't seem to move much at the revelation like she had.

Momo stumbled for her closet and made quick work of changing out of yesterday's clothes. She ignored the sight of two of her command spells looking washed out and more like bruises than markings, and slipped on the dark purple hoodie hidden away at the back of her closet. It was no doubt going to be chilly tonight, and however brief her trip would be she wanted to keep warm while out and about.

She hadn't had any time to shoplift some meals for tonight, and if she waited too long then even Pan-Oba would close her doors. And Momo was starving. A starving Momo was not a happy Momo.

She finally got her heeled boots on and gestured to Berserker. He stood up high, but made sure to bend his neck so his head didn't go through the ceiling. "We gotta hurry!" Momo insisted.

Part of her was glad Berserker picked her up and carried her out of their home with one arm. She wasn't sure how she was going to run at her fastest in knee-high boots and a pleated skirt without tripping on the pavement at some point. Berserker tried to shut the door behind him (and failed) and once Momo said, "To Pan-Oba's!" he leapt high into the evening sky.

Pan-Oba was still clearing up her bakery when they arrived across the street. Momo jogged across the road at first, relieved to see that a chance for a meal hadn't been missed. But once she saw Pan-Oba pacing and fixing her hair over and over, touching her face out of sheer nerves, Momo came to a halt. She'd never seen the old woman look so concerned, even when it came to Momo herself.

Berserker waddled behind her and let out a low growl. Momo looked up at him, a hand held to calm him, and when she looked back to the bakery she met the gaze of Pan-Oba. There was a mixture of emotions on the woman's face—worry, relief, confliction. Something must have happened today. Perhaps she'd been worried about Momo for going absolutely silent and not showing up earlier.

Pan-Oba scuttled to the door and opened it slowly. It was the slow movement that was meant to keep the bell from ringing above the door. Momo bristled.

"Momoko!" Pan-Oba hissed. She nodded for the girl to come inside. "I need to talk to you! Bring Berserker with you."

This was concerning. Momo hesitated to take a step forward, almost feeling threatened by the urgent tone in the old woman's voice; but Berserker patted her on the back once, almost like he was reassuring her, and she wasted no time lifting her chin and approaching the bakery with a confident stride.

"What's up?" Momo said casually. If she was easygoing, maybe the tension Pan-Oba was giving off would ease away.

It wasn't until Momo and Berserker were inside and Pan-Oba carefully shut the door—again, to keep the bell from ringing—that an explanation came their way.

"The woman I told you about," Pan-Oba said in a rush. "She came back just a few minutes before you got here. I tried to have her leave before closing but she's so adamant the child she's looking for will show up here."

Momo's eyes grew to the size of saucers. Aura Sasaki... She was here?

"I wanted to give you some bread and send you on your way rather than have you help out tonight." Pan-Oba hurried to the counter and pulled out one tray, which was stuffed with bags of leftover pastries and bread from today's sales. It was enough food to last Momo three days—just enough time to keep her away from the store and convince Aura she wasn't here, she realised. "Be careful when you leave—she's just in my living room upstairs—"

"I'll see her."

Pan-Oba blinked at her. "Pardon?"

"I said I'll see her," Momo muttered. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Even if Momo hid for a few days, her own baggage would still bother Pan-Oba for Lord knew how long. Pan-Oba had been nothing but good to her—she couldn't just dump this problem on her doorstep without trying to get rid of it. All the free food and the lack of interrogations about her situation, and even the trust she had in Berserker to keep Momo safe... Momo may have been a thief and a little street urchin by society's standards, but she wasn't heartless. "I'll see if I can get rid of her so you don't have to put up with her anymore."

Pan-Oba's expression softened. "Oh, Momoko..."

She pointed to the door behind Pan-Oba. It led to her small kitchen, which had another door out of sight until you entered. "I just go through there, right? And she's waiting upstairs?"

Pan-Oba left her to have the conversation privately. She did, however, give Momo the reassurance that she'd stick by the phone and call the police if it was necessary. Her heart swelled and she led Berserker through the kitchen with a small smile on her face. This wouldn't be all that hard, right?

She'd never been in Pan-Oba's apartment, but there was a first time for everything. It was small, connected directly to the kitchen by its stairwell, and it didn't take Momo too long to spot Aura Sasaki among the quilt-covered furniture and antique decor. At first the woman didn't notice Momo entering, probably assuming it to be Pan-Oba instead, and Momo could only stare longingly at the back of her mother's head.

It'd been so long since she'd seen her in person. She was fourteen now—hadn't she been nine the last time they were face-to-face? When Aura had rejected her so harshly, calling her a street rat and claiming she had no daughter?

"For the last time, I have nothing for you!"

Momo reached up and clutched at her chest, her heart crying out at the piercing words that had been Aura's farewell. Momo stared at the back of Aura's head, at the short blue hair that matched her own like they were carbon copies. Her knees trembled, her nails digging into her hoodie.

She just had to tell her to go away. She just had to remind Aura that she had no children.

Berserker let out a low growl, this one loud enough for even Aura to hear. The woman gasped, jumping to her feet and whirled around to face them, her arm lighting up with green patterns as she aimed her outstretched hand at the duo. The harsh glare on her face soon turned into heartbreak, and she pulled her hand back to remove the cigarette at her lips and extinguish it.

"Hotaru," Aura gasped. Momo's whole body froze at the use of her birth name—the name she buried when Aura had abandoned her. "Hotaru..."

Momo's knuckles turned white as her grip only tightened. "I—I thought... I thought you d—didn't have any—" Her throat was closing up with every word she tried to force out. "—children."

Aura sniffed and shook her head. She didn't dare move from the couch she stood in front of, keeping her distance from Momo like she knew the girl—like she knew she'd lash out if Aura made one false move. "I know," Aura said, her voice beginning to strain. Her lip trembled before she forced herself to steel her expression. "I said so many horrible things to you. I tossed you aside."

"You're damn right you did!"

Momo couldn't hold back the screech that came out. Aura winced, her composure slipping at the agreement, but she didn't dare interrupt just yet. Momo's breathing was haggard as she went on, "I waited so long for you! You made me believe you loved me, that you wanted me! You abandoned me for the people who wanted me gone!"

She wiped at her eyes, hoping to catch the tears before they could fall. She hid her face behind her sleeve, and Aura took advantage of the silence to plead her case.

"I betrayed the Sasaki clan."

What? Momo gave up trying to keep herself from crying. She stared at Aura and let the tears fall, only able to utter a weak, "You betrayed me first."

"And it's unforgivable," Aura agreed. "I thought I could survive watching you grow from afar, letting you run the course of your life without such a hateful family wanting you out of the picture. I thought I could wait until it was safe to come back, or to wait until you were old enough to—to do something, anything you wanted."

Momo sniffed. Against her better judgement, she asked, "What changed?"

Genuine malice crossed Aura's expression. It was so familiar to the face she'd shown Momo when she was nine, used to convince her she had no mother anymore. Momo shuddered, but stood her ground as she remembered Berserker's presence behind her.

"They were going to sacrifice you," Aura growled. Her hands curled into tight fists by her sides, shaking with pure rage. "I did everything they wanted and came back like a good girl, and they still wanted more. You heard my voice that night, didn't you? At the site you were attacked at?"

It was hard to forget. Momo had even called for her mother that night when she thought she was truly going to die.

"I was supposed to be Berserker's Master. For a brief moment I was." Aura lifted one of her fists, and the bruises on the back of her hand seemed to corroborate with her claim. "The Grail chose me as a Master, and my first act upon summoning Berserker was having him kill the members of my... Of our family who'd witnessed me summon him. I had just enough time to transfer the command spells before you came to, and Berserker hadn't registered you as a sacrifice just yet." Aura chewed her lip and lowered her hand. "I was ready to attack if he didn't accept you, though."

The story was so farfetched, but it made some sense. Hearing Aura's voice, but never seeing a body among the other corpses. The directions written on her arm to head for Fuyuki Church. Berserker turning for Momo like he'd only just noticed her, too busy killing the Sasaki family members attending. Momo sniffed loudly and wiped at her face again.

"Leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever made," Aura went on. "And if I have to forsake an entire clan of magi to be with you again, to be your mother like I should've all this time, then... Then they can kiss my prodigious ass. I'll gladly hand the crest back over to them if that's what it takes to keep you safe from them."

She wanted it all to be true. As bitter as she was over the last five years, Momo wanted so bad for Aura's words to be true. Momo could hardly breathe as she watched Aura helplessly. Her mind was going haywire as everything she'd built up over the years finally turned on itself.

I don't need her.

I missed her.

I don't love her.

I still love her.

I don't want her.

I want her.

I don't have to forgive her.

But I want so bad to.

I don't believe her.

But I want it to be true.

Momo stumbled forward, all fight sapped from her as she reached for Aura. Aura opened her arms wide, tearing up herself as Momo drew closer and closer. She was mere feet away, close enough to hear Momo whimper, "Mama—"

Berserker's arm swiped across the living room. A rush of wind knocked Momo to the floor, and glass shattered to her right as the sound of a thud echoed through the street. Momo opened her eyes to see Aura missing, and when she saw Berserker's arm still raised in the aftermath of a swipe, she panicked.

Momo made it to the edge of the window before she finally shrieked in horror. Her shoulder was warm, a reminder of her command spell from a mere two days ago. In the middle of the road, where other passerby had stopped to try and help her, was a mangled and bloodied Aura Sasaki. Momo's mother.

A few people looked up at the window, Berserker thankfully out of sight, and Momo tried to keep herself from becoming too much of a mess to scream down at them, "Call an ambulance!"

Matsuo

"Working late tonight?"

Matsuo hummed once at Kirigaya. She didn't usually make much comment whenever she left, but there were her rare days whenever she wanted to bug someone on her way out.

"You need a shower," Kirigaya added as she walked past his desk. Matsuo gave her one dry glare, and she smirked down at him. "Try not to let the Oshiro case keep you up all night. We've already got enough obsessive detectives in our unit."

He wasn't too in the mood for her jokes. Nevertheless, he deadpanned back, "We've already got enough bratty detectives in our unit, but you still keep going."

Kirigaya flipped him off as the elevator doors shut behind her.

There was hardly anyone left in the office aside from himself, and Matsuo deemed it safe to open his emails on his laptop. He'd spent a good portion of the morning trying to get hold of Saizou, but the most success he'd reached was an email address that the man supposedly checked once a day. There were things he wanted to ask, but he didn't want to miss his chance and leave it for too late. More than that, he had to let Saizou know that Assassin had lost to Caster and that Matsuo was no longer a Master—unless he could convince another Servant to ally with him, that was.

There were no new emails, and he let out a heavy sigh as he minimised the window. Damn it, Saizou. Whatever happened to being ready at a moment's notice to help?

Matsuo clicked his tongue and leaned back in his desk chair. Ever since convincing Katerina—Katya? Did he call her Katya now?—to ally with him, he'd been desperate for information on her that wasn't available to the public. He wasn't all that experienced with mage stuff, but he knew for a fact that it paid to know about other families and their heirs, especially those involved in the Grail War. It wasn't like he could ask her this stuff himself, either. She'd be more likely to drop the alliance and order him to go to the Church for sanctuary.

He rose from his chair and let out a groan. Knowing his luck he'd have to wait until tomorrow to talk to Saizou, so he may as well get started on something else. He knew so far that the last Grail War was ten years ago, and the one before that was ten years earlier. Usually around the same time, he noted, which have him a sneaking suspicion that some events in those wars would've been reported to local police and brushed off as hallucinations.

Matsuo would've headed straight for the archives if not for the distraction that fell upon the precinct. Phones rang, the closest one being on Kirigaya's desk, and Matsuo watched as his co-workers scrambled to answer their own. One by one they all swore under their breaths and rummaged through their desks, and the field officers put on their coats without even stopping to shut down their computers.

One detective, a veteran named Sato, actually paused by Matsuo's desk on his way out.

"Who died?" Matsuo half-joked. The place normally wasn't in a crisis like this unless something big happened.

Sato wiped his brow and began buttoning up his coat. "No idea yet," he wheezed. "All I know is that paramedics are at a little bakery in Shinto and some poor woman is fighting for her life like she just got run over by a speeding truck."

Had Matsuo been holding anything, he'd have dropped it in shock.

"Was she?"

"Was she what, Ueda?"

"Hit by a truck?"

Sato scoffed. "That'd make our job infinitely easier," he grumbled. He shook his head and gestured to Matsuo's own coat draped over his desk chair, an invitation to see for himself. "C'mon, I'll fill you in on what patrol officers on the scene told me."

Matsuo wasted no time shutting down his computer and leaving the precinct with Sato. They took a squad car and kept the windows up as the sirens blared, and as cars pulled over to let them pass Sato explained the situation. Less than half an hour ago the owner of the small bakery called the police about a possible dispute, and over the course of five minutes all hell broke loose. According to witnesses the woman fighting for her life had seemingly been thrown from the second floor of the building, right out the window.

There'd apparently been a young girl in the second floor at the time, and she'd screamed for an ambulance to be called before she vanished from the scene.

"The injuries don't line up with just being pushed out the window, though," Sato went on as they approached a street that had been sealed off. They were close. "Her entire right arm and half of her right leg were crushed, and the distance she landed from the window was too far even for a running start."

"So it was like she was hit at full speed in the apartment," Matsuo said.

Sato nodded. "Un-fucking-believable. First we get hit with all the calls about an explosion at a construction site last night, and now this. Always every decade we get this shit that ends up with the cold cases," he scoffed.

Matsuo blinked. This would definitely save him time looking through the archives. "How so?"

Sato's car came to a stop just a short distance from the scene, where other investigators were already interviewing the owner of the bakery and any remaining witnesses who'd stayed behind. None of the street had been cleaned just yet, leaving Matsuo a chalk outline and blood to fill in the blanks.

"Let's see," Sato sighed. He didn't make a move to exit the car yet. "Ten years ago we had a whole office building fall unconscious, most of them into comas, after a mysterious gas leak that we never got to the bottom of. And you know Ryuudou Temple? A fire broke out that destroyed half the area, and all the monks and construction workers in Fuyuki who tried to rebuild it kept falling ill. One poor bastard even died after continuously going back to try again."

"Shit," Matsuo said. It was all he could say, really. He'd have to pick Sato's brain some more about all the stuff he'd seen each decade, especially if it could give him any indicators of what to expect from any Servants or cases that popped up this year.

They both made a move to exit the car and investigate with the others, but a knock at Sato's window stopped them. Sato wound it down, facing a man clearly of a higher rank, and was promptly told, "Got someone to keep a lookout for. You mind patrolling the area for any sign of 'em?"

The other man handed a piece of paper to Sato. Matsuo peeked over at it, finding a drawing of what looked to be just a young teen.

"Sure," Sato said. He handed the paper to Matsuo and nodded to his subordinate. "We'll give you a call if we find anything."

"Before you go—owner identified her with the name 'Momoko'. Can't say for sure if it's a real name, but if you have to ask around then that name's a good start."

Matsuo stared down at the image as the window was rolled back up and Sato reversed out of the area. Momoko, huh? He had no idea what a young kid would be doing here, let alone why she'd flee—at least under normal circumstances. But with the knowledge of the secret world hidden from mundane eyes, he had a good hunch just what this teen had been doing.

She was probably a Master, and she probably hadn't been careful enough to stay hidden. Matsuo nodded to the picture as he addressed Sato again.

"Drop me back at the precinct when we're done. I'll scan a copy of this to everyone so they can keep an eye open for her."

When Sato agreed, Matsuo felt a hint of relief wash over him. There'd be even less people working once he got back, which meant no one would notice him forward the image to his newfound ally.