Across my face, my neck, my chest. It landed on my lips and I tasted copper and salt.
Her eyes stayed open.
But the light behind them—that steady, stubborn, surviving light that had guided us through a labyrinth, stopped us from walking into a mine, handed us keys with shaking fingers and then steadied herself because that's who she was—that light went out.
Her legs gave out and she began to crumple, folding sideways.
I caught her.
The orchestra swelled on the other side of the curtain. Some song with strings. One that was so beautiful that it had no right to exist in the same moment as this.
People fired at the threat while I stayed stiff with grief. Claws raced off. Hiro yelled something in my ear and began yanking at my arm.
But I was frozen and staring at her.
I didn't know why I caught Hiroko.
She was already gone.
My hands had moved before my mind could stop them. . .and. . .
She was in my arms. . .
And. . .
Her head fell back. . .
And her blood ran down my wrists and soaked into my sleeves. . .
And I could feel the warmth leaving her. . .
And my chest, my heart, my soul drowned in so much guilt.
Horrifying, suffocating guilt.
She'd saved our lives today, but I hadn't saved hers.
My brother shoved at me. "Kenji! Put her down! We have to go!!"
I looked at her face one last time. Her lips were still parted. Still shaped around the word she never finished.
Hiroko. . .
Chapter thirty-nine
Bullets and Fire
Kenji
On the other side of the curtain, laughter erupted—bright, full, delighted. A thousand hands clapped in rhythm. They had no idea a woman had just died ten feet behind velvet.
Slowly, I lowered Hiroko to the ground, yet didn't let her go.
The white flowers were still scattered across the floor. Petals crushed under boots. Stems bent and broken from the chaos.
But some were still whole.
I gathered a few with one hand and placed them beneath her head. Where the blood was pooling.
