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    Summary

    They’ve been avoiding it. This week has been nothing but forays into the past and yet that chapter—their chapter—has been left untouched, glossed over, bookmarked for later. Ten years has settled between them like an intangible weight, a glass partition, one that took shape when Sholmes first saw him in the hotel lobby two days ago, one that has followed them into train compartments and ship cabins and even into Baker Street, and one that remains here with them in the room right now, its presence uncomfortably apparent.

    As for why they’ve been dancing around it, Sholmes doesn’t know. All that they were, all that they are now—maybe it just felt too big to be squeezed between everything else. It needed its own place, somewhere separate to masked convicts and shady government dealings, somewhere safe from tampered autopsy reports and goodbyes said too soon.

    He supposes this is that place: a dim hotel room with expensive glassware and neat linens and a now forty-three-year-old Yujin Mikotoba standing before him.

    After supper, Sholmes follows Mikotoba back to his hotel.

    Language:
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