Page 115 of Mercy Written in Blood

"You ignored every previous attempt."

"Fair."

Reina returned to her notes.

"The interesting part starts halfway through."

Haruki turned the page. The first photograph showed a bronze coin blackened by centuries underground. Its condition was poor, but one face remained almost untouched: stamped into the metal was a flower, eight white petals once surrounding a raised circular centre. The colouring had long disappeared. The shape remained unmistakable.

Haruki looked at the next page. A carved seal. The same flower. Another page — the corner of a surviving manuscript. Again. Then another. And another. Every object recovered from different areas of the chamber carried the same symbol, sometimes carved, sometimes embossed, sometimes painted in faded white pigment. Always identical. Always the same eight petals.

"The lotus," Haruki said quietly.

Reina nodded.

"We've counted thirty-four examples."

"Across unrelated objects."

"Exactly."

Haruki turned more pages. A broken lacquer box — white lotus. A bronze clasp — white lotus. Wax impressed intocracked parchment — white lotus. It appeared everywhere. Not decoration. Identity. Ownership.

He looked up.

"No other symbol?"

"One."

Reina reached into another folder.

"This."

She placed a magnified photograph beside the others. It showed a narrow strip of burnt parchment. Most of the writing had vanished; only a few ink strokes remained. At the bottom sat a small circular stamp. A crescent moon. Nothing else.

"No repeats?"

"None."

"So everything else belongs to whoever used the lotus."

Ken joined them.

"Professor Takeda noticed something before she was discharged."

Haruki looked towards him.

"She said the lotus appears before names."

"Before?"

"As if it identifies them."

Haruki thought back to the journal, the physician's writing, turning pages stained with age while Takeda translated aloud. Several entries had begun with small marks beside names. At the time he had paid little attention. He had been listening to the words. Not the margins.

"She thinks it's a family crest?"

Ken shrugged.