people are able to hold onto hope

There's an instability to the city that drives itself down on Rukia's nerves, wearing them down thin, sharp, brittle. Even though the city's returned back to normal, the mixture of spirits in the air remains unsure, ghosting past Rukia's skin and sight, forcing her to pay closer attention than ever before in Darrow. These days, she spends most of her time in her true form, lingering on rooftops, the evening chill passing through her body as she watches the shadows cast by the moonlight, waiting for the next Hollow to emerge. Hoping, each time, that she'll know exactly how to suppress it.

Somewhere in the distance, Ichigo's patrolling as well, reaching out with his presence — from it, Rukia draws a softer relief, calm encouraged by solidarity.

The howl of a Hollow still trickles down her spine like cool water as Rukia gets to her feet, quickly darting over to where the fledgling spirit scratches uselessly at concrete. Sensing the fleeting movement in shadow, the creature starts to turn around, sending an almost plaintive cry through the night — too human for a Hollow, almost, and it makes Rukia wince — but its movements are too slow to keep up with Rukia's zanpakutou, which drives itself directly in the soft, exposed span of skin over the back of its head.

Expression even, she shakes the few lingering drops of blood off of the blade before stalling, belatedly feeling a gaze turned on her from the distance.