Page 101 of Mercy Written in Blood

The receptionist hesitated.

"Which patient?"

"All of them."

"That may require approval."

"Then find someone who can provide it."

Haruki heard the old command return to his voice. The receptionist straightened. Before she could respond, someone crossed the corridor behind her.

Dark hair. White coat. Folder in one hand. Renji Takahara.

Haruki saw him before Renji saw the wheelchair. Then Renji looked up. His eyes moved from Haruki's face to the hospital bracelet still secured around his wrist. Then to the stain beneath his coat.

The expression that followed was not pleasure. Not surprise. Not even irritation. It was the contained fury of a doctor discovering that a patient had ignored every instruction given to him.

Haruki smiled. Renji walked towards them.

"What are you doing here?"

Haruki settled more comfortably in the chair.

"To check on survivors."

Renji looked at the blood spreading beneath his dressing.

"You are one of the survivors."

"Then I'm being very thorough."

Renji closed his eyes. Only briefly.

Haruki's smile widened. The investigation could wait another minute.

Chapter Nine

First Coffee

Renji saw Haruki Ishida again three weeks after discharging him. Not in intensive care. Not bleeding through a dressing. Not arguing with a nurse while attempting to leave the hospital before he could stand without assistance.

He was sitting alone in the ground-floor café with a paper cup between his hands and an expression Renji did not recognise. Quiet. That was what felt unfamiliar. Haruki occupied quiet differently from most people. In the hospital, even when he had been still, there had always been something moving beneath the surface — amusement, defiance, calculation, the constant awareness of everyone around him.

Now he sat near the window with his coat folded over the back of the chair, looking out across the hospital courtyard. No entourage. No Reina. No Ken. No one watching the doors. His hair had grown slightly longer since the tunnel attack. The bruising had faded from his face, though a thin mark remained near his jaw. He wore a dark shirt beneath a grey jumper rather than one of the tailored suits Renji had come to associate with him.

He looked less like Haruki Ishida. More like a man waiting for coffee to become something better than it was.

Renji should have continued walking. He had twenty-two minutes before the departmental meeting — enough time to collect the tea he had ordered and review the amended surgical rota. It was not enough time for conversation. That should have made the decision simple.

He stepped into the café.

Haruki did not notice him immediately. Renji collected his drink from the counter, thanked the barista and turned towards the exit. Haruki looked up. Recognition came slowly. Then the familiar smile appeared — not the broad, deliberate expression he used when entering a room full of people who expected something from him. This one began in his eyes.

"Doctor."

Renji stopped.

"Mr Ishida."