Natalia and I descended the stairs together. My hand found the small of her back, a gesture that would have been automatic for any couple heading down for breakfast. Except we weren't any couple, and this wasn't any breakfast.
This was the last meal in the house where I'd learned to pretend to be human again.
The dining room was bathed in morning light, the kind of golden glow that belonged in a commercial for wholesome family values. Rice steaming in the cooker. Miso soup in lacquered bowls. Grilled fish arranged on small plates with artistic care.
It looked like a magazine spread for Perfect Japanese Breakfast Monthly.
It felt like a funeral.
Kimiko stood at the counter, her back to us. She wore a simple blue yukata, her red hair pulled back in a low ponytail.
"Good morning," I said.
She turned. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Good morning, Satori. Natalia. Please, sit. Everything's ready."
Natalia moved to her usual seat. I took mine.
