Itoshi Sae

The rain beats heavily against the station ceiling as the stranger collapses onto the bench beside her, his coat still dripping. One hand presses a bloodstained cloth against his body, the other slides a crumpled photograph across the wood toward her. "You shouldn't be here," he whispers, his eyes fixed on the entrance. "But since you're here... have you seen this woman? They say she was last seen talking to a stranger on this bench." The train approaches noisily.