The rain stole only the outlines from the world. Two in the morning. The residential district illuminated by streetlights was as quiet as a watercolor painting, and even the sound of the train crossing in the distance seemed to echo from the bottom of a dream. A white shadow was running through the rain. Her breath was not ragged. Her heart did not beat. Only her wet black hair clung to her cheeks, and the pale fingertips peeking from the cuffs of her white frills trembled slightly. Rinne turned around. No one was there. But the sensation of being pursued was certainly clinging to her back.

A familiar nameplate hung on the gatepost of an old, single-family house. A memory of visiting once as a child to play. A face that had smiled at her in that hazy, blurred memory. Rinne did not hesitate. She pushed open the gate and ran up to the entrance.