Page 184 of Mercy Written in Blood

"It was safe."

"It warped in the heat."

"That sounds like a manufacturing flaw."

Renji ate quietly. Not because he lacked anything to say. Because he had become occupied by the feeling of the room — the clatter of bowls, voices overlapping, someone reaching across him for sauce without apology, Hiroshi complaining that no one appreciated his aubergine while everyone continued eating it, Haruki leaning close to ask whether Renji wanted more rice before simply serving it when he hesitated.

Memory arrived without warning. Not an image. A sensation. Warmth from a hearth against one side of his face. His mother correcting his brother's posture with two fingers between his shoulders. Steam rising from barley. His youngest sister laughing with her mouth full while their father pretended outrage. The Takahara household before fear entered it. Before doors were barred at night. Before whispers replaced music. Before blood on winter snow.

Renji had spent centuries remembering faces. He had preserved voices, names and the exact order in which rooms once connected. But he had forgotten this — the noise of people who assumed there would always be another meal, the casual cruelty of teasing that carried no danger, the certainty that a place at the table would remain even after anger.

The Ishidas were nothing like the family Renji had lost. Hiroshi resembled no one he had known. Reina would have terrified his eldest brother. Haruki belonged to a world the Takaharacould never have imagined. Yet the feeling was the same. Not the people. The space between them. That was what returned him. For one moment, Renji was no longer sitting in Takamori beneath electric light. He was young. Human. Home.

His hand stopped around the tea cup. Haruki noticed immediately.

"Are you all right?"

The room continued around them. No one else heard the quiet question.

"Yes."

Haruki studied him. Renji knew the answer had been insufficient. He tried again.

"This reminds me of something."

"What?"

Renji looked along the table — at Ayako listening while Ken described an argument with a parking official, at Reina stealing food from Hiroshi's plate after declaring it inedible, at the housekeeper placing more fish in Daisuke's bowl while he protested.

"My family."

Haruki's expression softened.

"The Takahara?"

Renji looked at him sharply.

"You mentioned the name once," Haruki said, lowering his voice.

"I did not."

"You did."

"When?"

"At the hospital. You were exhausted."

Renji searched his memory. Nothing. That disturbed him. Haruki seemed to understand.

"I didn't ask because you didn't offer anything else."

Renji looked down at his tea.

"They were very different."

"But it feels like them."

"Yes."