Not gone.
But loosened.
Like Kenji had been untying it all night, one knot at a time, with raw fish and candlelight and the patience of a man who knew that some things couldn't be healed with words.
And then it hit me.
Omakase. . .I leave it up to you.
This wasn't just dinner. This was a lesson mixed in raw fish and candlelight. Kenji hadn't chosen omakase by accident. He never did anything by accident.
Surrendering control to someone who knows what you need better than you do.
His own words. Said casually over sea bream like he was just explaining a tradition.
But he wasn't.
He was telling me how he loved.
Trust the chef. Trust him. . .
My body stilled.
After this morning, I'd been braced for an intense and difficult conversation.
For the weight of all the things we still needed to discuss.
But Kenji had given me this instead.
Candlelight, a 4D Tokyo, raw fish, and the simple pleasure of learning his world, one bite at a time.
And then. . .the sushi slowed. Chef Mariko began cleaning her tools. The koto player's melody shifted into a slower pace.
And then I heard footsteps.
Multiple sets of them.
Who’s coming?
I turned toward the entrance of the war room.
Three figures emerged from the shadows near the doorway. Two men and one woman, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing—the men in dark hakama and fitted tops, the woman in a flowing kimono that shifted colors as she moved.
The men carried swords. Real swords, from the look of them. The blades caught candlelight and threw it back in sharp silver flashes.
The woman carried nothing.
She simply glided forward in graceful movements.
"Kenji?" I looked at him. "What’s this?"
Chapter fifteen
The Performance
Nyomi
Kenji pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around my waist, drawing me to him. “Are you ready?”
