Meursault arc

Water dripped from the overhead lights like the ticking of a slow, indifferent clock. Dazai stepped through ankle-deep water, his white coat stained darker by moisture and smoke. The metallic scent of blood clung to the corridor — not enough to overwhelm, just enough to warn.

Behind him, Sigma stumbled, barely keeping pace. “Is… is he really here?” he whispered.

Dazai didn’t answer.

Because he was.

A shadow moved ahead. It was Chūya