KENJI
The first sound is a whimper. So soft I almost miss it. Then it comes again, a broken, "No…" that tears from her throat like it's being ripped out.
My own body goes rigid. I'm already leaning over her, the duvet clenched in my fist. Her eyes are screwed shut, but they're moving rapidly beneath the lids. She's not here. She's somewhere else. Somewhere dark.
"It's too dark up here," she whimpers, her voice a child's whisper, thin and terrified.
The ceiling. She's back in the fucking ceiling. Watching her parents die.
A cold fury, sharp as a razor, slices through me. Not at her. Never at her. At the world that did this. At the ghosts that won't let her go. At Shuya for dragging her back into this hell.
She starts to twist on the bed, a low, trapped-animal cry escaping her lips. The tears aren't quiet anymore; they're streaming down her temples, soaking into her hair.
Her hands clutch at the sheets, scrambling for a purchase that isn't there.
