For the first time in two hundred years, the yokai shard had found not a careless child, but a careful one. And that was far, far worse.
Yuka smiled. It was not a nice smile. Grief had filed it sharp. yuka scattered shard of yokai
“You scattered us,” it said. Its voice was the gurgle of a drain. “You cannot gather us back.” For the first time in two hundred years,
“Let’s make a deal,” she said. “You tell me who killed my mother—and I mean the real thing, not the sickness—and maybe I don't turn this whole bridge into a cage made of your own forgotten name.” It was not a nice smile
The fragments—so small they were almost dust—caught the wind like frozen fireflies. They spun once, twice, and then sank into the river. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Yuka almost laughed at her own foolishness.