when we wait

“Pardon me,” the stranger says politely. Late 20’s, 185 cm. Red-brown hair, cool blue eyes, unmarried, Yokohama-born, though no longer a resident. Lightly armed, slightly stressed, moves carefully, likely not hostile, likely not a client-Ranpo’s lightning-quick train of observations and deductions hit a glitch in the super-detective's mind, a minor hitch registering a rare mental error before veering precariously from one track onto another.He blinks in unfamiliar bewilderment, and then just a smidgen of offense. “Didn’t you die?” he demands with a slight pout.