Boss Minowara wore a magnificent grey suit and crimson shoes of crocodile leather. He sat in a gorgeous chair crafted by the same designer that created Raizen's precious desk. The arms of the chair were carved in the shape of dragons and his gnarled and bejeweled fingers toyed with their beards as he regarded her. Expression of any kind had long been extinct on his ancient face. It was only in his eyes that the spark of anything still shone, and, at this moment, they projected on her a kind of anti-light. No hate, no malice, no resentment behind the fog of glaucoma. No nothing.

A life of bad choices had led her to this moment and her heart was steady. They hadn't frisked her. They hadn't found the knife in her skirt. Before they hauled her off, sh...

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