PROLOGUE
The Person I Called
The snow did not fall in soft, silent flakes. It hit her face like fine needles, biting into the wet skin of her cheeks and the raw edges of her throat.
Run.
Her feet were completely numb. Every step onto the packed asphalt sent a dull, jarring shock up her knees, but she couldn’t feel the ice scraping her skin. She was wearing only a thin cotton house shirt and grey lounge pants. No coat. No shoes. No bag.
She stumbled near the curb of a silent residential alley, her shoulder slamming hard into a rusted utility pole. A sharp, hot tear ripped through her abdomen, making her vision flicker black. She coughing violently, her lungs seizing against the freezing air.
Don’t look back.
She didn’t feel human anymore. She only knew one thing.
Keep running.
Up ahead, through the blurring white curtain of the midnight storm, a single yellow light spilled onto the snow. A small red light glowed above it.
A koban.
Mio threw her weight against the glass sliding door.
It rolled open with a rattle, carrying her inside along with a burst of wind.
The sudden heat hit her like a physical blow. Her knees buckled. She collapsed sideways onto the floor, her hip striking the linoleum with a dull thud.
Inside, two police officers—a middle-aged man and a younger female officer—stood up from behind their desk.
“Ma’am?” the older officer said, stepping forward.
Mio tried to push herself up. Her elbows buckled. She opened her mouth to explain, to tell them everything, but nothing came out. Only a wet, choked breath.
The female officer knelt on the floor beside her, matching her eye level. She unbuttoned her heavy navy jacket in one swift motion and draped it over Mio’s shoulders.
“You’re safe now,” the officer said quietly. “You’re inside the police box. No one is going to hurt you here.”
Safe.
The word didn’t feel real.
“Can you tell me your name?” the male officer asked, holding a notepad. “Are you hurt?”
Mio stared at the dark blue carpet under the desk. A dark stain spread across her left sleeve. Beneath the torn collar of her shirt, deep purple bruises were blooming across her neck and collarbone.
The female officer’s eyes swept over Mio’s bare, bleeding feet and the dark fluid soaking the hem of her pants. Her jaw tightened slightly.
She looked up at her partner and gave a single, quiet nod.
“Please dispatch an ambulance,” she said softly.
The male officer immediately picked up the landline desk phone, speaking in a calm, steady voice.
The female officer reached into her pocket, pulled out a small packet of tissues, and gently wiped a streak of slush from Mio’s forehead.
“The ambulance will be here soon,” she whispered. “Is there someone we can call for you? A family member? A friend?”
Mio tried to think.
Her parents. No. Her father’s fragile heart, her mother’s tired eyes. If they saw her like this—broken, bleeding—it would kill them.
Her phone was gone. Locked away three months ago. She had no contacts. No address book.
The room went completely silent except for the ticking of a plastic clock on the wall and the distant, muffled wail of a siren.
Mio closed her eyes.
In the dark behind her eyelids, a single memory surfaced.
Eleven digits.
A phone number she had memorized when she was eleven years old, writing it in faint pencil on the back of the green frog eraser Kaito had won for her at the summer festival. A number she hadn’t dialed in years.
Her dry lips parted.
“...Zero... eight... zero...”
The female officer leaned in closer, bringing her pen to the paper. “Go ahead.”
“...three... nine... seven... four...”
Mio spoke softly, but without a second of hesitation. Digit by digit. She didn’t pause to think. She didn’t stumble.
The officer watched her face for a second, realizing this wasn’t a number she was trying to remember. It was a number she had never forgotten.
“...five... two... nine... one...”
The officer wrote down the last digit. “Who is this?”
Mio swallowed, the effort tearing at her throat.
“...Kaito...” she whispered.
Red and blue lights flashed against the frosted glass as the ambulance pulled up outside. Paramedics burst through the door with a stretcher.
Hands lifted her. A blanket was wrapped around her body. An oxygen mask was placed over her face.
As they wheeled her out into the dark night air, Mio looked up at the falling snow.
Will he answer? she thought quietly. Or have I been gone too long?
Miles away, in the dark, a smartphone screen lit up on a bedside table.
Vibrate. Vibrate.
Caller ID: Unknown Number
A sleepy hand reached across the table.
His thumb pressed ACCEPT.
“Hello?”
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To Be Continued
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Author Notes:
Thank you so much for reading The Man I Always Come Home To. ❤️
I truly appreciate every view, vote, comment, and bookmark. Knowing that you’re spending your time with Mio and Kaito means more to me than you know.
Akina’s Chapter Zero is where I share everything that doesn’t make it into the final novel—the messy drafts, the extra scenes, the little moments between characters, and the journey of bringing this story to life. If you’d like to experience the story beyond what’s published here, I’d love to have you there.
Join Akina’s Chapter Zero: 🔗bit.ly/akinachapterzero
