Ho-seok watched the dead come up the river road and felt every eye in the square turn to him.
He didn't have to look over his shoulder to know. He could feel it, the way he always felt it on a stage. Hundreds of people behind him. Crew in plain masks. Spades's people with their black ones. Strangers from every corner of the country in tigers and cranes and grinning noblemen. Jin's people, fresh out of that grey door. All of them standing at the edge of the square, watching the silent ranks march toward them, and then watching him.
Waiting for him to say something.
It wasn't a show. Nobody was clapping. Nobody had paid to be here. But they were looking at him anyway, all of them, and he could feel it settle into his chest like warm water, steadying his hands.
He took a breath.
