The road to Tokiwa Heights became an entirely different place once night fell. All the streetlights were extinguished, and the trees pressed down from both sides, threatening to swallow the narrow passage whole. Only the car's headlights offered any salvation. Aiko Aozaki gripped the steering wheel, her mind turning over Masaru Isogame's words from the day before. ——That hospital might still be hiding secrets of the living. Eleven p.m. The outside temperature read six degrees Celsius. When she pulled into the hospital's parking space and cut the engine, silence rushed in to fill the void. She took a deep breath. White vapor dissolved into the darkness. After confirming the authorization certificate from Takuya Fushimi in her jacket pocket, Aiko opened the door. The crunch of gravel beneath her feet echoed far louder than expected, and she paused instinctively. But nothing happened. Only wind stirred the trees. Inside her shoulder bag lay a high-sensitivity recording device, an EMF meter—equipment that measured electromagnetic fields, its readings often spiking wildly when vengeful spirits drew near—an infrared camera, a thermometer, and a handwritten field notebook. Eighty thousand yen worth of equipment in total. But tonight, she would rely on none of these instruments most of all. Her own ears. Her own voice. The main building's entrance had been mapped during the previous investigation. When she pushed the rusted metal door, it groaned open with a low, protesting sound. She switched on her flashlight. The beam illuminated a grimy floor. The reception counter still stood there. Dust-laden chairs. A shattered fluorescent light. A clock frozen thirty years in the past. Aiko headed straight for the stairwell. She climbed toward the third floor. Each wooden step creaked beneath her weight. One board per footfall. She did not slow. She passed the second floor and pushed open the third-floor door—and cold air struck her face. It was noticeably colder than last time. She pulled out the hallway thermometer. Nine degrees. Lower than the outdoor temperature. Despite being inside the building. The special ward—the floor where some of the human experimentation subjects had supposedly been housed, where the patient rooms lined both sides of the corridor. Every door was closed. Every door was silent. Room 303. Aiko stopped before the door. During the previous investigation, multiple voices had emanated from this room. Voices calling her name. She turned the knob. Pushed it open. The interior was dark, and the temperature dropped even further than in the hallway. She aimed the thermometer. Eight point two degrees. ——The eight-degree range. A sealed space colder than the outside air. There was no physical explanation for it. Aiko recorded the reading in her notebook and walked toward the center of the room. She switched on the EMF meter. Activated the recording device. She surveyed the space. Where a bed had once stood, only rusted metal framework remained. The window glass was shattered, and outside wind occasionally drifted through. The wall paint had peeled away, exposing gray concrete beneath. Someone had suffered here. That fact seemed to transmit itself through the very air. Not sentiment—but the starting point of tonight's investigation. Aiko stood in the center of the room and drew a deep breath. "[serious]I am Aiko Aozaki. I want to speak with you." Her voice was swallowed by the silence. Stillness. The EMF meter's needle wavered within the baseline range. The recording device's red light blinked steadily. Wind entered once, then ceased. Thirty seconds. One minute. Nothing. Aiko did not grow impatient. It had been the same last time. Nothing happened at first. Yet she waited. She waited until the other side was ready. That was the foundation of this work. The EMF meter's needle moved slowly. It crossed the baseline. Climbed higher. Aiko watched the instrument without moving. The room's temperature seemed to drop again. Her fingertips grew cold. Her breath turned white. A faint sound began to emerge from the recording device. White noise—the static hiss of a television screen, a steady, uniform sound. Something was mixed within it. Aiko strained to listen. "……a……i……ko……" Her name again. The same voice as before. A thin woman's voice. Fragmentary, emerging from the recording device's small speaker. "[serious]Yes. I am Aiko." She answered in a measured tone. No excess emotion. No surprise. So the other would not become confused. "[serious]Who are you?" Silence. The EMF meter's needle swung further. Nearly at maximum. "……wa……ta……shi……wa……" There was a voice. Unmistakably. Aiko withdrew her notebook and let her pen move across the page. Recording. The voice's tone. Its timing. The EMF readings. The room temperature. "[gentle]There is no rush. Can you tell me your name?" She chose her words carefully. No urgency. No pressure. The voice attempted to continue. "……na……"——then it fractured. In its place came a sound of distress. A moan. Something like endurance, a low, fragile sound. "……ku……ru……shi……i……" Aiko's hand stilled for a moment. *Kurushii*. Suffering. That single word fell into the silence-filled room. The entity was trapped in profound agony. That much was unmistakable. Something had been suffering here for decades. Aiko received that fact not with emotion, but with absolute certainty. "[serious]What is causing you this suffering? Tell me." No answer came. Instead, from the far end of the room—near the window—came the sound of metal striking metal. Clink. Clink. Rhythmic. Aiko aimed her flashlight in that direction. Nothing. A rusted window frame. Shards of broken glass. That was all. Yet the recording device continued to capture sound. "……ta……su……ke……te……" This time, it came through clearly. *Tasukete*——Help me. That word struck something deep within Aiko. Not emotion, but conviction. The voice's source was not merely a lingering thought. It was a presence seeking dialogue. "[serious]I want to help. But please, tell me more about what you need." In that instant, the room's atmosphere transformed. Wind——wind that should not have come from that direction, despite the broken window——swirled through the interior. Aiko's black hair swept to the side. The flashlight beam wavered. The recording device's needle pegged. The EMF meter's alarm shrieked. Aiko narrowed her eyes but did not move from that spot. Do not flee. That was tonight's resolve. The wind persisted for three seconds, then stopped. As if something had drawn a single, enormous breath. Silence returned. The recording device's sound and the EMF meter's needle both fell back toward baseline. The room temperature had dropped to six point eight degrees. The voice was gone. Aiko remained motionless. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Nothing occurred. Slowly, she let her pen move across the notebook. ——The vengeful spirit seeks dialogue. It can call out names. It can voice suffering. It can cry for help. Yet sustained conversation has not been achieved. Time is required. Aiko stopped the recording device and stowed the EMF meter in her bag. As she organized her equipment, she sorted tonight's data in her mind. Tonight's results were significant. Contact had been established. A voice had been received. She had confirmed that the other side possessed the will to "seek salvation." That alone was enough. She closed the door to room 303 behind her and stepped into the hallway. Cold air pricked her cheeks. Standing at the corridor's end, Aiko considered in silence. ——Why does it know my name? That remained unanswered. It was rare, but not impossible, for vengeful spirits to call out an investigator's name. Yet to know it on the first night was abnormal. This was Aiko's first time in this city. She had no personal connection to Saint Martyr Hospital. There should be none. That moan. The word "kurushii." The cry of "tasukete." What had happened here? What had occurred on this third floor thirty years ago? She descended the stairs, passed through the first-floor lobby, and stepped outside. The crunch of gravel echoed into the night's stillness. She returned to her car and closed the door. She switched on the heater. Warmth gradually returned. She reviewed the recording data. She listened to the voice segments again through earbuds. "Aiko." "Watashi wa." "Kurushii." "Tasukete." All unmistakably a woman's voice. Buried in noise, but with processing, clarity was likely achievable. Tomorrow, she would report tonight's findings to Fushimi. She would compile it into an investigation report. And she would search the library for records from thirty years ago. The continuation of the newspaper clippings Isogame had shown her. Details from the closure. Staff names. Patient lists. ——Something was beginning to connect. Aiko started the engine. The headlights illuminated the dark mountain road ahead. As she descended Tokiwa Heights, she continued to contemplate that voice. The depth of its suffering. The fragility of its tone, as if it might shatter. Perhaps for decades, unheard by anyone, that presence had been screaming in that room. Aiko faced forward and gripped the steering wheel more firmly. She would return here tomorrow night. That much was already decided.