If they’re burning a mountain of people then. . .Kenji knew. . .probably ordered it.
My stomach finally heaved.
I doubled over, hand flying to my mouth, bile surging up my throat. My body tried to reject it—all of it—what I was seeing, what I had smelled, what I had breathed.
My knees buckled and I grabbed the windowsill, fingernails scraping wood, and my body convulsed again, trying to purge.
Nothing came up.
Just bile burning the back of my throat. Just that fucking smell filling every breath I tried to take.
I was shaking.
Couldn't stop.
My whole body trembling, teeth chattering, vision blurring with tears I didn't remember starting to cry. The heat from the window pressed against my face like a hand.
Then, Kenji’s hand reached past me and yanked the curtain shut.
Why would they do that? Why?
The fabric fell back into place and cut off the sight, but not the heat. Not the smell. Those weren't going anywhere.
"Don't look." His voice was low. Controlled. Like this was a problem to be managed.
Don't look? What the fuck?
Still gagging on nothing, I stumbled away from the window.
Away from him.
Don’t look. Is he insane?!
My legs barely worked but I made them move me across the room, putting distance between myself and the curtain, the glass, the fire,him.
“Tora. . .”
My breathing came in ragged gasps.
The air still tasted like death.
“W-wait.” I hit the far wall, pressed my back against it, and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold my body together because it felt like I was falling apart.
“Tora.” Kenji followed. “It’s going to be okay.”
“It’s not.”
"You weren't supposed to see that, Tora," he said it the way you'd apologize for a surprise party gone wrong. For a ruined birthday. For somethinginconvenient.
Not for over a hundred corpses.
“Tora, I’m sorry.” He moved toward me with that predator's grace, all coiled power and quiet intention, and his hand reached out.
Those hands.
Those fucking hands.
That had held me minutes ago.
