He knew.
It had been there from the start.
Under the shaking, under the anger, under the moment his hands closed on her collar and he dragged her inside.
He had known.
Hana did this to herself.
She killed herself by her own choice.
If Shizuka had wanted her dead, it would have happened the first day he met her.
It would not have been this obvious, not this careless, not something that pointed straight back at her.
He knew what Shizuka was—ancient, dangerous, possessive in a way that did not bend.
He knew that.
She had been protecting him for close to a decade.
And he had still blamed her.
The thought turned over in him, heavy now instead of sharp, pressing down where the anger had been.
Why hadn't she stopped him.
Why hadn't she said no.
Why had she just taken it.
The anger didn't come back.
There was nothing there now.
His legs gave out under him, and he dropped to the floor hard enough that the impact traveled up his spine.
