A surge of pure terror froze my blood. I took a clumsy step back, my lower back slamming into the corner of a piece of furniture with a sharp crack. I was paralyzed, unable to tear my eyes away from this living bonfire.

  Suddenly, the space between us evaporated. He was on me with inhuman speed, a trail of residual heat in his wake. His hand clamped around my throat. He lifted me off the ground with a single arm, possessing a demonic strength. My feet left the floor, kicking desperately in the air, searching for a support that no longer existed. Air became a rare, searing commodity as the temperature around us spiked to an unbearable level.

  "Since you've seen my true face, I should kill you right now," he whispered with a serenity that chilled me more than the flames.

  "No... wait... I..."

  He squeezed tighter. The cartilage of my windpipe felt like it was about to give way. My lungs screamed; my entire body went into survival mode. I couldn't die here, not like this strangled by a ghost in a dusty living room. My vision began to blur; dark spots danced before my eyes.

  In a final gesture of pure desperation, my hand fumbled along the furniture behind me. My fingers met a cold, rectangular object. I grabbed it and, in one last effort before blacking out, I hurled it against his face of fire.

  The pressure released abruptly. I collapsed to the floor, air rushing into my lungs with excruciating pain. Tanashi had let go to catch the object mid-air. It was a portrait. A simple wooden frame protecting a photo of him and his daughter.

  I stayed doubled over, one hand gripped around my throat, which felt crushed like an aluminum can. My breathing was a raspy whistle. I looked up, eyes watering, to see him delicately cleaning the glass of the frame with his fingertips, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

  Then, he turned his gaze from the flames toward me. A shiver ran down my spine. In that moment, a glacial certainty settled in my mind: I was not getting out of this house alive.

  I backed away centimeter by centimeter across the floorboards, short of breath, my gaze locked on the fiery silhouette advancing toward me. The front door was right there, behind my back, so close... yet light-years away. Tanashi placed the frame delicately back on the dresser, his movements terrifyingly gentle.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "You shouldn't have touched my things," he murmured.

  "Tch... You were going to kill me!" I shot back in a surge of survival instinct. "At least I bought myself a few seconds. Can't we just... talk? I can keep the secret, I swear!"

  He drew closer, closing the distance to less than two meters. The heat was beginning to consume the oxygen again.

  "No."

  I held my hands up in front of me, palms open, my heart drumming against my ribs as if trying to escape.

  "Wait! You don't trust me, I get it. But think... if you kill me here, now... what will your daughter think?"

  He froze. For a micro-second. A blink in eternity, but it was enough. The shadow of Hina hovered between us, more powerful than any weapon.

  "She won't see a thing once you've turned to ash," he replied, but his voice had lost its certainty.

  He raised his hand. The bandages wrapped around it ignited, falling away in charred tatters to reveal the blaze that served as his limb. I was prostrate on the ground, pinned against the wood of the door, unable to flee.

  "Wait! I have a proposal! I can help you! I know what you're looking for, Tanashi. Please... I still have things to accomplish. I can give you all the information you need on the Association!"

  I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth, waiting for the agonizing pain of combustion. I just hoped it would be quick. But instead of fire, I felt a sudden drop in temperature. I opened one eyelid. Tanashi was rummaging through a drawer. He pulled out a fresh linen bandage and began wrapping his hand again, stifling the flames.

  "You're lucky, Kenji. Today... I don't feel like killing."

  I sat there on the floor, my legs like jelly, drained of all strength. My heart was beating so hard I could hear the blood pounding in my temples.

  "If you try to run, I will catch you and I will burn you," he added without turning around.

  The very concept of fleeing evaporated from my mind. I swallowed hard, my throat aching horribly.

  "Do you have another pair of handcuffs?" he asked coldly.

  "Y... yes. I think so."

  "Then put them on. And if you try anything, know that I won't need to turn on my stove to cook you."

  I looked at my gun, still at my hip, but the idea of shooting at an inferno suddenly seemed ridiculous. You don't kill a fire with bullets. In a gesture of total resignation, I pulled out my own cuffs and locked my wrists. The "click" of the steel sounded like the end of my career as a cop, and the beginning of something much darker.

  "Ready?"

  I gave him a simple nod as I stood up. My legs were still heavy, but survival instinct kept me upright.

  "Then follow me," he snapped.

  With a swift movement, he seized my gun and my phone, cutting me off from the outside world entirely. I was no longer a police officer; I had become his shadow. He headed toward the end of the hallway and stopped in front of a door with peeling paint. He quickly grabbed a few items from a nearby shelf, concealing them with an efficiency that gave me no time to guess their nature. When he finally turned back to me, the silence of the house seemed to thicken.

  Through his bandages, I felt his gaze weighing on me, indecipherable and menacing. I realized then that the day wasn't over. It was only just beginning, and it was going to be hell.