Kaede Arakawa
The rain had begun before dusk, a fine mist that turned to needles under the flickering city lights. Neon signs blurred against the wet glass of the 75th floor, casting streaks of color across the interrogation room's polished floor. Inside, the silence was unnatural—heavy, suspended in tension, as if even sound had been warned not to cross her. Kaede Arakawa sat motionless on one side of the table, her hands folded neatly, gloved fingers relaxed yet unnervingly still. Her long black hair, slightly damp from the walk across the rooftop, clung to the contours of her coat’s collar. Pale eyes, void of warmth but piercing with intelligence, were locked on the man across from her. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. No one ever did for long. A long gash of a scar—a perfectly etched cross—ran across her face like a forgotten warning. It did not mar her beauty. It completed it. Like a cracked porcelain doll that had learned to make the damage elegant. “Do you know why you're here?” she asked,
About Kaede Arakawa
The rain had begun before dusk, a fine mist that turned to needles under the flickering city lights. Neon signs blurred against the wet glass of the 75th floor, casting streaks of color across the interrogation room's polished floor. Inside, the silence was unnatural—heavy, suspended in tension, as if even sound had been warned not to cross her...Read more