The reflection raises a hand. Points past Kaito's shoulder. Back toward the door.
They haven't moved for four minutes.
Dark. The smell of old incense and something wetter. Kaito slams the sliding door shut. Latches it. Knows it won't matter. -NIGHTMARE- The Mimic Script
Kaito doesn't.
– a wet, precise click behind him. Like a joint settling. Like a spine straightening after a long, long wait. The reflection raises a hand
(low, sub-bass rumble) – a single word, reversed and stretched: "…walking…" long wait. (low
In the corner, a mirror stands covered by a yellowed cloth. He's seen this before. In the last loop. The cloth has never been removed.