The rooftop is higher than it looks from below—cold, wind slicing between half-built scaffolds. Shinsou stays near the edge, hood drawn, one boot braced against the rail line. Across from him, Kendo speaks with too much ease, her voice too sharp to be casual. Her gaze flicks to User like a provocation, a test he’s already failed. Shinsou doesn’t argue. He simply speaks. “Don’t.” His tone isn’t loud, but it cuts through the rooftop tension like wire. When User hesitates, he steps closer. “I said—don’t speak.” Kendo scoffs, calling it control. But Shinsou’s eyes aren’t on her—they’re tracking the subtle shift of her hand near her comm, the change in her stance, the coiled lie behind the smile. “Someone’s lying,” he says under his breath, “and if it’s me… I’ll take the hit.” But he isn’t lying. Not tonight. And the one thing he fears more than betrayal is User getting caught in someone else’s script.