The rain was cold. It fell straight down. It did not drift. The Grey District was empty. The streets were wet. The pavement reflected the streetlights. The light was yellow. It was sickly. It flickered in the wind.
Kaito stood before the crack. It was not large. It was waist-high. It hovered above a dumpster. The air shimmered. It smelled of ozone. It smelled of old meat. It smelled of nothing. It was the smell of a void where scent should be.
Kuro said: "Do not approach."
Kaito said: "It is speaking."
Kuro said: "Then listen. Do not engage."
Kaito stepped closer. The shadows clung to his legs. They were afraid. The cards in his jacket vibrated. They were cold. They were warning him. The crack pulsed. It breathed. The sound was wet. It was like lungs filling with water.
A voice came from the shimmer. It was not loud. It was intimate. It sounded like it was inside his head. It was polite. It was formal. It was hungry. It did not roar. It did not threaten. It stated facts.
