“Tea not strong enough for you, is it?”

Ryo dropped the empty flask on the table and wiped his mouth. He flicked his eyes at Akane and back at the half-amused, half-concerned Shinji.

“Or perhaps the mere mention of the man frustrates you. Are you angry that he saved your life, that you must admit you are not so invulnerable, or is it more than that?”

Ryo groaned and laid his back on the floor, arms under his head. “Must you persist, Shinji? Let it be.”

“As you wish. However…” Shinji hesitated, reflecting on some inner decision. “I know you have not had much time to rest, but given your words I fear the worst for another job we must carry out…”

Ryo sat up. His expression was cold sober. “Whatever you have, I’ll take it.”

“Not so fast, my friend.” Shinji poured himself more tea. “I must consult with my contacts and think on this.” He held the small cup in his smooth, slender fingers, staring at the steam that rose and curled, and he inhaled the steam softly, as though enjoying the pleasant aroma of a blooming flower. Then he rose from the table and bowed deeply to Ryo and Akane before exiting.

Ryo snorted. He would prefer to be given the task and be done with it, but he knew enough of Shinji and the Kaijin that impatience had the opposite effect he desired. Despite his willingness to hasten into action, a show of restraint would better result in a quick ticket away from Remi and her pigheadedness, the endless house chores she threw at him from dawn to dusk, the sophist ramblings of Shinji, and—most importantly—the scrutinizing eye of their mother, whom Ryo assumed beyond a doubt that these days she held a particular dislike for him.

He turned his eyes to Akane, a girl who—until this point—had been content to relearn how to eat a proper dinner. But now he found her with her eyes affixed to his, hands resting on the table. There was something strange about the way she looked at him, as though it brushed against some distant thought or fleeting emotion. Ryo found himself transfixed, and in a flash his simmering anger melted away. Everything did, in fact: he felt nothing, not a thought or feeling, not the rug beneath his legs nor the robe on his skin. Everything disappeared, all but her face, all but her gaze and the monumental nothingness it entailed.

Ryo gasped sharply.

A half-finished painting of the garden. The asagao, kikyo, and suiren in full bloom. Dragonflies dance and the cicadas sing. A sliding door claps softly in its frame.

Ryo stood abruptly, stunned.

Paint strokes on the canvas. Its picture blurred, but the sound of a voice behind him was clear. It spoke faintly, almost inaudible—

“Finally!” Remi burst into the room, breaking Ryo’s unwelcome trance and dropping a dull and bent metal fork onto the table with a ringing clatter. Ryo looked at her, though still felt Akane’s eyes on him. Remi noticed the strange mood and frowned. “What’s going on in here?” She glanced curiously at the silent girl.