Weren't you looking for me?
Outside the ramen shop, the cool evening breeze blew past, but Baru felt only pleasantly refreshed despite wearing just a thin shirt.
He rolled his neck from side to side, setting off a series of sharp cracks.
The house at number 152 stood a dozen or so meters from the nearest streetlamp. Other buildings adjoined it on the right, while the alley on the left was pitch-black.
Baru glanced at the second-floor window overlooking the alley.
He sauntered into the alley at a leisurely pace. With no one around, the muscles in his legs bulged slightly, contracting and releasing.
With only a soft pop against the ground, Baru's hundred-plus-kilogram bulk leaped nearly four meters into the air. His feet landed soundlessly on the second-floor windowsill, and his hands gripped the window frame.
A glance while airborne had told him the room was empty.
He tested the window with his hand and found it wasn't locked at all, then slipped easily inside.
Baru was like a heavily muscled cat in the night. From entering the alley to getting into the room, the entire process took less than twenty seconds.
Once inside, Baru remained motionless and listened closely.
His extraordinary hearing told him everyone was in the attic.
He had thought the parents of one of the young people might be in the house, but apparently its occupant either lived alone or their parents happened to be away. That saved Baru some trouble.
In the attic at 152 Fisher Street.
The group of young French people led by Philier had gathered once again.
After all this time, neither television news nor information online had revealed anything useful, and they didn't dare log back into the email account they had sent the message from.
"Ugh, it feels