Page 267 of Mercy Written in Blood

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Line We Won't Cross

The address inside Sota's envelope led to a community centre in the eastern district. Haruki checked it three times, not because he expected the building to move, but because the place made no sense.

The centre stood between a laundrette and a closed pharmacy beneath a row of ageing apartments. Its windows displayed children's paintings, notices for language classes and a faded poster advertising free legal advice on Tuesdays. Nothing suggested the Unveiled. No guards at the entrance. No cameras Haruki could identify beyond the council unit fixed above the street. A handwritten sign on the door read: PRIVATE MEETING — SECOND FLOOR.

Ken looked up at the building.

"This feels worse than the garden."

"Why?"

"Garden had exits."

"This has exits."

"Garden had old people and ducks."

"Koi."

"Same principle."

Renji stood beside Haruki, reading the notices through the glass.

"You were not asked to come," Haruki said.

"No."

"You came anyway."

"Yes."

"That wasn't criticism."

"I know."

Haruki looked at him. Renji's expression remained directed towards the door.

Since the meeting with Sota, he had become quieter. Not withdrawn. Focused. He had spent most of the previous night examining the financial transfers from the envelope. Three matched payments made to the murdered historians through cultural preservation grants. Two led to shell organisations that no longer existed. One connected indirectly to a company Haruki recognised as having worked with the Accord.

The information had been real. Incomplete. Placed carefully enough to guide them without revealing who had gathered it. Exactly as Haruki expected.

What he had not expected was the second message. It arrived that morning from an unregistered number.

You asked what ordinary people are being asked to accept. Come and hear them answer.

No demand. No threat. Only a time and address. Haruki had nearly ignored it. Then Renji had read the message and said, "We should go." Not because he trusted Sota. Because refusing to listen would make their judgement easier.

Haruki opened the door. Warm air carrying the smell of instant coffee and old carpet met them. A volunteer sat behind a folding table in the entrance hall. Young. Male. Human, as far as Renji could tell. He wore a paper name label that read RYOTA and appeared more nervous than dangerous.

"Mr Ishida?"

"Yes."

Ryota's eyes moved to Ken.

"Only two guests were expected."