Page 124 of Mercy Written in Blood

"Yes."

"How old?"

"Old."

Haruki looked back at him.

"You know exactly how old it is."

"Yes."

"And you're not telling me."

"No."

Haruki smiled. His gaze returned to the apartment. Renji removed his own cardigan from the back of a chair and folded it over one arm.

"You arrived uninvited."

"I noticed."

"That was criticism."

"I noticed that too."

"What do you want?"

Haruki lifted the paper bag.

"I brought dinner."

Renji looked at it.

"Why?"

"Because normal people eat."

"I have food."

Haruki glanced towards the kitchen, visible through an open archway — small, clean, almost unused. A single cup sat beside the sink. One saucepan hung from a rail. The refrigerator door held no notes, magnets or photographs.

"You have ingredients," Haruki said. "That isn't the same."

"I ate at the hospital."

"What?"

Renji paused. Haruki's expression brightened with vindication.

"Exactly."

"That proves nothing."

"It proves you don't remember."

"I was occupied."

"You always are."