Page 278 of Mercy Written in Blood

"That is why no institution should hold truth permanently."

"That is also why no movement should believe itself exempt from restraint."

For the first time, irritation entered Sota's face. Small. Human.

"You speak of restraint as though it has been neutral."

"I do not."

"As though waiting has not killed people."

"I do not."

"Then what do you offer them?"

Sota gestured towards the room. Not theatrically. Almost angrily.

"These people came because every official path failed. Police dismissed them. Courts had no category for what happened. The Accord regarded their grief as a security risk."

Renji looked at the people. Haruki did too. There was no answer large enough for them. Investigation sounded inadequate. Reform sounded insulting. Patience sounded cruel.

"Individual truth," Renji said. "Accountability. A controlled dismantling of the First Law."

Sota's laugh held no humour.

"Controlled by whom?"

Renji did not answer. The Accord would never volunteer to diminish itself. Governments could not prepare for a reality they were forbidden to acknowledge. Vampires who benefited from secrecy would delay indefinitely. Haruki saw the flaw. So did everyone else.

Sota looked at him.

"You understand."

It was not triumph. That made it harder to reject. Haruki understood the anger in the room. He understood why Ryota stood at the door despite knowing a vampire sat within reach, why Mrs Okada remained while afraid, why the woman in scrubs wanted a name for the thing that killed her brother more than she wanted reassurance that the world remained ordinary. He understood Sota's mother preserving a room for a daughter who never returned.

Understanding did not create agreement. It only removed the comfort of believing the other side was irrational.

Haruki looked towards the memorandum on the wall. FIRST LAW COMPLIANCE REQUIRED. Four words. Enough to turn grief into administrative procedure. Enough to make good people defend lies because the alternative might be worse. Enough to make desperate people follow a man who admitted he did not know what he might become.

"We should go," Haruki said.

Renji looked at him. Then nodded. Sota did not stop them.

Haruki moved towards the door. The delivery driver stepped aside reluctantly. Mrs Okada avoided Renji's gaze. The woman in scrubs did not.

"Kenta," Renji said quietly as he passed.

She stared at him.

"Your brother's name."

Something in her face broke. Not forgiveness. Recognition. Renji continued walking.

Haruki followed him into the corridor. Sota's voice came from behind them.

"Haruki."

He stopped. Not because of the use of his name. Because of the way Sota said it — as though it belonged to a memory neither had recovered.