It was cold, even for early winter in Tokyo. Kouga sipped his tea slowly, savoring the heat, making it last. Finishing it quickly only meant having to brave the chilly winds to get another.

"You shouldn't be out here, Miroku," he said suddenly.

A figure separated from the gloom and sharpened into the photographer's face. "You knew I was here?"

"Stop making conversation with me. Go home and get some sleep."

"I had that nightmare again," replied Miroku tersely. "Worse than normal."

"And you expect hunting Naraku will bring closure?" Kouga's ice-blue eyes were colder than their surroundings. "Look. You don't know what you're saying. Go home, have a hot shower, get some sleep. Drink some beer, whatever. Anything that works for you. I'll see you tomorrow morning, okay?"

Miroku ignored him. "Which one's Naraku's?"

"That's getting damned annoying, you know very well which one belongs to him." A little way ahead, the bright lights of Kabuki-cho pulsated incessantly. The shady little bar set to the side had none of its neighbours' flashiness, but had a steady stream of clientele moving in and out.

The photographer's hand dipped into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Kouga, who grudgingly took one. "Bribing an officer? A bit low, even for you."

Miroku graced him with a tight smile.

Kouga shrugged. "We don't know if he'll come back here, but it's as good a guess as anyone's," explained the undercover policeman. "Our sources report he has numerous hiding holes, but this seems to be his favourite."

His partner – now both officially and unofficially – nodded.

Loud cheers echoed down the narrow alleyway; a man's voice raised in a bawdy song faltered and was drowned out by jeers. Kouga snorted in disgust.

"Humans. Don't understand why they drink. Dulls the senses and you end up doing the most disgusting things."

Miroku was about to treat him to one of his philosophical discourses when a familiar person caught his eye. "Damn."

Kouga was instantly alert. "Is it him?"

"No, it's Sango."

Sango rubbed her temples. Somehow, a quiet dinner had turned into a walk through the notorious district of Kabuki-cho, in search of an 'awesome' little bar Kagome's friend had recommended for after-dinner drinks.

"Kagome-chan, maybe we should call it a night," she suggested, eyeing a group of men in rumpled business suits suspiciously. They leered back, hungrily eyeing her and her companion.

Her friend made a disappointed noise. "I guess you're right. I forgot how scary this place gets at night." She whirled around, catching Sango's elbow, bullying her way through the crowd. "Hey, the subway station's this way, right?"

Sango did not reply. A familiar facade, tucked a little way off the main road, sent a jolt of recognition through her body which both chilled and heated her blood.

How could she not have recognized that place? The Spider, a club which belonged to Naraku and his underlings. A place she was continuously seeing in other newspapers, writing about in her articles, where strange things happened.

And this was the first time she was seeing it in person.

"Sango-chan?"

She barely heard Kagome's voice, so strong was the siren call of the place. Her heart hammering in her ears, she brushed aside a few passerbys, making her way closer –

The pavement in front of The Spider was cracked and uneven, causing her to stumble a little. The reporter winced at the reek of cigarette smoke surrounding the place.

Perhaps Naraku was inside. The thought flitted through her mind for an instant. He was certainly at liberty, but everyone said he would not be as foolish as to come back to one of his regular spots. But, just maybe...

"Sango-chan!" Kagome's shoe caught on the crack and she swore. "Sango-chan, are you even listening to me?"

"The Spider," said her friend. "Naraku's lair."

Kagome's eyes darted from left to right, taking in the distinctly dilapidated front. She bit her lip. "... We should go. It's late, and you need to go back and sleep."

She was about to listen to the calming voice of her friend when she heard a man's laughter. For some reason, it reminded her of the night her world burned to ashes before her eyes.

"Good night, Kohaku."

His angelic face beamed up at her. "Good night, Nee-chan."

She closed his door and went up to her room to finish her homework. Her karate instructor father and pharmacist mother had gone to sleep long before. The night was too quiet to work, so she put on her headphones and began humming along to her favourite song.

Sango remembered being hungry and sleepy, yet nowhere near finishing her paper. She padded downstairs in search of something hot to drink, or perhaps a snack –

– the corridor was strangely hot. Sango turned on the lights and gasped; smoke was curling underneath the kitchen door.

"Fire! Kohaku! Mama! Papa!"

Dashing back upstairs, she saw a familiar figure standing in the hallway. Bright orange flames lit him from behind, crackling noises filling her ears.

Sango screamed. Her parents' room was on fire.

"Mama! Papa!"

"It's okay, Nee-chan." Kohaku grabbed her hand. "Mama and Papa are safe."

"They got out?"

He nodded. "I helped them get out before the fire started."

She realized the small hand on hers was sticky and dark – and whatever he was holding in his other hand glittered in the light from the fire.

Papa's kusari-gama. Her father had loved collecting medieval weapons; the chain sickle she normally saw hanging in his study, she belatedly realized, now shone unevenly in Kohaku's hand, parts of the blade obscured by the same dark substance. Bile rose in her throat.

Belatedly, she realized that she hadn't seen them come downstairs.

"Kohaku, you – "

Tears were beginning to stream down his face. "Nee-chan?" His voice was no longer measured, but vulnerable. "Nee-chan, what's happening?"

She didn't think further; instinct kicked in. Ignoring the wrenching pain in her chest, she scooped up her brother and ran downstairs again, kicking down their front door. The garden, thankfully, was free of flames.

Kohaku tumbled away from her, driven forward by her momentum. He scrambled to his feet and waved his weapon at her.

"Stay back – they warned me about you." He sounded detached, unlike himself.

"Kohaku, what's wrong? It's me, Sango."

"The voices told me you were dangerous." The tip of the sickle wavered slightly. "They told me to save Papa and Mama and I did, but they won't go away now. They say I have to save you too." His soft brown eyes, she finally noticed, were glassy.

Tears streamed down her face. "Kohaku, no. You don't know what you're saying."

"Nee-chan, help me!" He lashed out in a wide arc; she sidestepped. "I can't stop myself!"

His body moved ceaselessly, the blade making wild cuts at her. It was a macabre version of their regular sparring sessions under their father's proud eye.

"Kohaku, please!"

"Sango-chan! Kohaku-kun!"

Their neighbour's voice. She turned to call out to him, ask for help –

– and then her world jolted, white-hot pain lancing through her back.

Sango fell to her knees. She reached up to touch her back, feeling the kusari-gama embedded in her flesh.

"Why, Kohaku?" She whispered.

Tears flowed down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Nee-chan..."

Her vision blurred and spun...

... the next thing Sango remembered, she was waking up in a pool of her own blood. The fire crackled beside her. She was alone in their back garden.

"Kohaku?!"

"Did you come from the house?" An unfamiliar man's voice came from close by.

"I'm sorry."

Her brother's voice. Followed by a strangled gasp.

Strength she never knew she had suffused her body. "Kohaku!" Sango was up and moving, half-running, half-stumbling towards the voices. Her brother was standing there, his weapon raised over someone else –

"Kohaku, no!" With her last burst of strength, she crawled forward and seized his leg.

The next few moments were blurred in her mind. She remembered people, mostly; hands stanching her wound, pulling her away from her brother. She remembered fighting them like a madwoman, frantic to get him back.

She remembered seeing the man her brother attacked being taken away – and meeting his eyes.

She remembered finally being allowed to see Kohaku in the hospital two weeks later, a comatose body lying in a bed.

And she remembered seeing him once more in the hospital morgue. "Multiple organ failure," said the faceless hands taking her brother away again. "I'm sorry."

"Sango-chan."

She realized she was crying; furiously, she swiped at her face. "Kagome-chan. I have to go in."

"Then I'm going with you." She blinked. The normally gentle girl's eyes were steely. "I know this is important to you, but I'm not letting you go in there by yourself." Kagome's hand found hers. "It's something to do with your family, isn't it?"

"Yes." It came out as a hoarse rasp. "I... I don't know why, but something tells me this place has something to do with what happened to my brother and my parents."

Together, they entered the spider's lair.

Miroku swore vividly. "Why is she going in? Is she stupid or something?"

Kouga growled. "And Kagome too! All this for a scoop, those girls are insane." He tossed his tea into the nearest trash bin. "Come on, we're going in after them."

The inside of the place was stereotypically shabby, with morose patrons nursing their drinks in different corners of the bar. Miroku made a sound of disgust as a man pushed his way past to vomit noisily outside.

"Keep your focus," muttered Kouga. "Anything happens to you, I lose my job."

"There'll always be your reporter job waiting for you," shot back Miroku. His friend scowled.

Ahead of the two men, the girls walked nervously around. Sango's gaze was fixed straight ahead, her mouth set in a thin line.

"Um, Sango-chan? What exactly are we looking for?" asked Kagome.

"I don't know. Anything." She pretended not to notice the eyes following them ever since they had stepped into the bar.

Their reactions to her, at least, proved something was very wrong in the place. At the slightest provocation, Sango planned to get Kagome somewhere safe, and then –

"Anything I can get you ladies?" The bartender was lazily polishing a glass behind the counter. Sango frowned in annoyance; he was wearing sunglasses, even in the darkened interior.

"No, we're fine, thanks."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

The man that pushed past Miroku staggered outside and bent over the pavement, making loud retching noises. As the door shut behind him, he straightened up, perfectly healthy, and pulled out his phone.

"Boss? There are reporters here. The same four that were there with the kid the last time."

A heartbeat.

"Yeah. The girl too. The kid's sister."

Miroku and Kouga were finding it difficult to move through the crowd. They saw the bartender talk to the girls and was rebuffed; Sango and Kagome exchanged a few words and then headed deeper into the back of the room.

Kouga waded through the throngs of people, shouldering them aside whenever they failed to move satisfactorily out of his way. A bleary-eyed man glared at him.

"You got some nerve, punk," he slurred. "In a hurry?"

The younger man spared him a sidelong glance. "Yes, actually."

"Not so fast!" He pressed closer, eyes glinting in the dim lights. "I'm just trying to have a good time here. You look like you could use a drink too, kid."

"We're losing them!" hissed Miroku, elbowing Kouga hard. All he could see of them now was Sango's ponytail, and Kagome's leg. His partner grunted.

"Just give me a moment – "

"There's no time!"

Miroku slipped from Kouga's side as the other man swore. "Damnit, no, Miroku! I can't let a civilian go alone!"

With a jaunty wink and wave, the photographer was gone.

"Did you find anything?"

"No..." Sango bit her lip. There was something about the place that chilled her soul, but she could not quite put her finger on it. It was shady, suspicious and dingy – with just a trace of evil lurking beneath the surface. "I don't know..."

She sighed. "Maybe I'm just overreacting after all the excitement today. I'm sorry I dragged you here, Kagome-chan, let's go."

In that very moment, she saw him.

The crimson-tinted eyes hidden behind sunglasses – Naraku. The intense loathing that had seized her when she saw him for the first time gripped her chest.

He apparently had not seen her. Inconspicuously dressed in a rumpled cheap suit and tie, he had disguised his appearance well; Naraku was half-hidden in the shadows near the bar.

Now that he was not smirking and arrogant, Sango noticed something familiar in his bowed profile.

I've seen this man before – !

Her heart pounded. She knew he had something to do with the tragedy that had befallen her family – somehow –

Naraku looked up, lowered his sunglasses a fraction, and smiled at her.

Red flashed in Sango's vision. He knows I'm here. He knows I know.

She had prepared for this day. Her fingers rummaged expertly in her handbag, reaching for the pistol in the hidden pocket. Taking long strides towards him, steeling herself for what was to come, as her fingers curled around the cold metal grip –

– Miroku darted out of the faceless mass, catching her wrist.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed in her ear. "Stop it, Sango!"

She blinked, and the red drained from her vision. Kagome caught up behind, calling her name; she was vaguely aware of the jumble of voices around her.

Sango felt suddenly tired.

"I – I..."

Miroku's firm grip on her elbow steered her out of the bar and into the cold, sharp air outside. Her knees gave way, and he held on to her as she emptied the contents of her stomach on the pavement.

When she had finally finished retching, he proffered a bottle of green tea, bought from a nearby vending machine. "Drink. Small sips," he ordered.

While this was happening, Kouga was talking with Kagome. "What happened in there?"

Despite the trying events of the night, Kagome was still as fiery as ever. She drew herself up to her full height, glaring up at him. "I don't know. Why should I tell you, anyway? So you can write up a nice expose? 'Shikon Times reporters out for a wild night'?"

He bristled, debating with himself whether he should explain himself or not. Better not, Kouga thought, my cover's been blown once, one time too many. And so the reporter released the agitation she had riled up in him in one long sigh. "No. That wasn't my intention. Believe it or not, our job isn't that ruthless all of the time."

"Oh." The fire – mercifully – had leached out of Kagome at this point. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

He smiled and she returned it. "Apology accepted."

"We came out for dinner," explained Kagome, "but then Sango-chan saw this place and she insisted we go in. We were about to leave when suddenly, she ran off – "

Sango's head whipped up. "I saw him," she said tersely. "Naraku. He's inside."

Kouga frowned. "He's a wanted man. I doubt he'd be freely having a drink at a bar."

"I know what I saw," snapped the reporter. "He is in there. He knows I'm after him – oh god, I nearly – " There was another odd swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach; she clenched her jaw until it passed.

"This is as far as you all go," Kouga said loudly. "I don't know what the hell I was thinking, letting Miroku even come inside with me. But you three are going home. Miyasuzu, you escort these ladies there," he jerked his thumb in the direction of the subway, "and take yourself home after."

"What?!" The detective winced as three angry voices began to talk all at once.

"Are you serious? What are you going to do then, go in there on your own – "

"You have got to be kidding me – "

"He's right there! That bastard knows what happened that night, he did something to Kohaku to make him attack us – "

Miroku's head jerked up. "Wait. Kohaku?" He barely registered her sharp intake of breath.

"That girl," he said softly, "from the burning house."

Sango paled, clapping a hand to her mouth. "You – you're the man in the garden." Her wide gaze fell on the scarred palm of Miroku's right hand.