“We’ll leave you to it,” Eslar interrupted Wayne. “Thank you for looking after her.”
Someone has to, Jo thought bitterly. It seemed no one else was clamoring to rise to the task. “No problem.”
Jo followed the three men back through the hall and to the Four-Way.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Nico pulled her in for a tight hug, one Jo was eager to return. He was calm, calm enough to remind Jo that this was far from the first massive tragedy he’d ever witnessed. She wondered if she could be like him someday, taking turmoil in her stride, smiling all the same. It seemed an impossibly hard thing to do. The only thing that could be harder was the idea of doing it again, and again, and again.
Jo pulled away and assessed the man with the sunshine smile. He’d been born during the Renaissance, was old enough to have seen dozens of wars, immeasurable horrors, and he could still smile as genuinely as he did. She didn’t know if it was admirable or terrifying. In what way did a heart have to contort to be able to do that?
“Will do.” Jo dismissed him and her thoughts before they could linger in a place that was far too negative. This team was all she had; she couldn’t allow suspicions to form surrounding someone’s goodness. It was just the shock and hurt talking, she knew.
She turned right, heading up the stairs toward the recreation rooms. There was no sign of Snow in the hallway, even if she squinted all the way to the very end. Jo wasn’t sure if his absence was relieving or disappointing. It was likely for the best, either way. She was emotionally off-balance, somewhat upset with the man’s actions (even if she didn’t really have any right to be), and not in the best headspace to exchange words.
Much to her surprise, and despite Takako’s much earlier comments about what she did when she needed to “clear her head,” both recreation rooms were void of watches—no sign of Takako at either.
That left one other option.
Jo headed in the opposite direction, back toward the Four-Way, up the other set of stairs, and toward her own room. However, instead of turning left at the end of the hall, she turned right and was faced with the nameplate that greeted her every morning:Takako. Taking a deep breath, Jo gave a gentle knock on the door.
Several seconds passed and wore at her resolve. There was no word, no response. She should leave the woman be.
But something wouldn’t let her.
“Takako,” Jo said softly, knocking again. “I know you’re in there.” She didn’t, actually. But she couldn’t imagine where else her friend would be. They didn’t havethatmany options for privacy in the Society. “Please, open the door?”
Just as Jo had committed herself to sitting on the floor and waiting in the hall until Takako was ready to let someone in, the door finally cracked open. Takako stood rigid, half her body still hidden on the other side.
“Yes?”
“May I come in?” Jo asked, wishing it sounded stronger. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, yet wanted to let it be Takako’s choice.
“Why?” The woman questioning her was nothing like the Takako Jo knew. She’d burrowed deep into this shell of curt responses. Not that Jo could blame her.
“Because I don’t think you should be alone.” Being honest came easier than she expected it to, and it seemed to startle the woman. Seeing her hesitation, Jo doubled down. “We don’t have to talk. I can just, be there. . .”
As if merely being there could ever be enough, she mentally chided herself. But to her surprise, Takako stepped back and allowed the door to swing open wide enough for Jo to enter. She stepped in quickly.
She’d seen rooms like this in pamphlets for Japanese resorts, nice hotels, even in one of her former employer’s homes. It was an open space, with ten woven grass mats making up the floor. Wooden beams supported cream-colored, sand-paper-textured walls on three sides. The fourth side hadshoji—wood and paper—screens pulled open to a wooden platform that overlooked a small garden space. A pastel sunset glowed behind purple mountains.
It was the epitome of Japanese architecture. Yuusuke would’ve been proud of Jo for just how much of her Japanese she could recall without the use of magic: ahorigotatsuin the center of the room, atokonomawith a scroll displaying calligraphy, an oversized closet where Jo fully expected to findfutontucked away. Yet, as picture-perfect as it all was, it still felt lived in. There were little accents here and there displayed above the rest, placing personalization before the picturesque, and making it feel like a home.
Takako busied herself at an electric kettle. Her movements were measured and precise as she filled up two small cups and put them on a tray with Japanese rice crackers between them. Jo left her to it, stepping onto the wooden platform just beyond theshojiand taking a seat.
There was a crash and an expletive from behind her that had Jo turning.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine,” Takako snapped. “I just. . . I’m fine.” she said much softer, in that same barely-controlled way as she cleaned up the mess of tea that had just spilled across her small counter. Jo knew it was much the opposite, but said nothing as Takako lifted the tray, setting it between them. “The tea isn’t much.”
“Mugichamakes me think of home.”
“Of home?” Takako said, startled. “I would’ve never imagined we would share a similarity on this.”
“Why not?” Jo couldn’t help but laugh at her ever-mechanical nature.
“Because you’re from America.”
“Lone Star Republic, technically,” Jo gently corrected. She didn’t have enough nationalistic pride to take offense. Especially since Takako had never actually lived in a time where the LSR existed.
