244.3

One week earlier.

Tomoyo found them in their usual spot in the courtyard, sprawled across a table. Mika sat cross-legged on top of the table itself, unwrapping what looked like two different konbini store sandwiches. Kenji had claimed the bench, his legs stretched out long enough that Kuroko had to sit on the opposite side to avoid getting kicked.

"Has anyone seen Raika?"

Mika looked up mid-bite. "Huh? No, why?"

"She wasn't in class. I wanted to eat lunch with her."

"Check the cafeteria," Kenji offered, not looking up from his phone.

"Already did. She's not there."

Kuroko peeled open a High-Chew wrapper with her teeth. "Did you text her?"

"Three times. No response."

"Then she doesn't want to be found." Kuroko popped the candy into her mouth and chewed, expression blank.

The bento box in grew heavier in Tomoyo's hands. Her mother had helped her make it that morning: tamagoyaki, karaage, pickled vegetables arranged in neat rows. Enough for two people.

"I'll go look for her."

Tomoyo turned to leave, but Mika's voice stopped her.

"Wait, Tomo-chan! If you find her, tell her she owes me five hundred yen. She said she'd pay me back."

"For what?"

"Not sure, something about a vending machine?"

Tomoyo nodded and hurried off, weaving between groups of students clustered on the grass. She tried homeroom first. Then the second floor bathroom, then the science lab, even the faculty office where she had to bow and apologize for interrupting.

No Raika.

A girl from 3-A mentioned seeing someone matching Raika's description heading toward the stairs, so Tomoyo climbed, bento box clutched against her chest. The metal handle was warm under her palm when she finally pushed it open.

Raika lay flat on the rooftop, arms stretched overhead, holding what looked like a manga above her face. She positioned herself directly in a patch of sunlight, unconcerned that the dirty roof would leave marks on her blazer. Her legs were crossed at the ankle, one shoe kicked off somewhere to her left.

Tomoyo approached, careful not to step on the scattered belongings: backpack, phone, an opened soda can, the abandoned shoe. As she got closer, the manga's cover became visible: two girls tangled together in an embrace that left very little to interpretation.

Raika lowered the book, eyes sliding up to meet Tomoyo.

"Wha-What're you reading...?"

"Oh, Kenji recommended it."

"Kenji? Why would Kenji recommend something like this to you?"

"I needed to know something."

"Know what?"

Raika shrugged, already flipping back to her page. "Just something."

Tomoyo stood there, bento box pressed against her chest. Was Raika trying to tell her something? Was this some kind of hint? The way she said it so casually, like it meant nothing, but maybe that was the point. Maybe casual was how you were supposed to bring these things up…

Raika glanced up again. "So, what brings you here?"

Tomoyo stepped to the side, nearly tripping over the discarded shoe. "I brought lunch. Extra, if you wanted to share."

Raika sat up. She closed the manga and set it aside.

"What'd you bring?"

"Your favorite. Karaage."

Something flicked across Raika's face, not quite a smile but something close enough that Tomoyo's chest tightened.

"You made it yourself?"

"Mom taught me. I practiced twice last night to get it right."

Tomoyo knelt down, setting the box between them. She'd wrapped the chopsticks in a napkin, tied with a ribbon she'd found in her desk drawer that morning. Too much? Probably too much. But Raika took them without a word, unwrapping the bundle and separating the wooden sticks with a clean snap.

"Looks good." Raika plucked a piece of karaage from the box, biting into it. "Damn, whoever marries you is going to be one lucky bastard."

The compliment landed somewhere behind Tomoyo's ribs and stayed there. She watched Raika take another bite, tracking her jaw, the way her fingers held the chopsticks. Tomoyo wanted to memorize it. Store it somewhere safe where it couldn't be taken away, where no one could touch it.

Raika set down her chopsticks.

"…Hey Tomo-chan?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something important?"

Raika wasn't looking at Tomoyo anymore. Her gaze had drifted to the manga laying beside her, then past it, toward the chain link fence at the roof's edge.

Was this it? Was Raika going to confess? The manga had been a hint after all. Kenji must have known. Maybe they'd talked about it. Maybe Raika had asked him how to approach this kind of conversation and he'd suggested reading something first to work up the courage and now she was going to say it, oh god, was she actually going to say it-

"I'm leaving soon."

"...Leaving?"

"Yeah."

Questions piled up in Tomoyo's throat. Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said? Is it because I've been texting too much? Did I annoy you? Are you angry with me? Do you hate me? but they stayed trapped there, swallowed back down where they couldn't escape and make things worse.

The silence stretched. Raika went back to eating, like nothing had happened at all. Tomoyo sat there, knees pressed against concrete, watching the way sunlight caught in Raika's hair and turned it gold at the edges.

Don't leave.

Please don't leave.

Please, you can't leave.

You can't leave me.

You're not allowed to leave.

…I won't let you leave.

***

Relief hit Tomoyo first. Raika was alive, capable of typing, not one of the three bodies discovered in Adachi Ward. The knot in Tomoyo's chest loosened just enough to let her breathe, but then twisted tighter when she processed the rest.

Why the aquarium? Why now, after three days of silence?

Tomoyo kept staring at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard, unable to form a response.

"Tomo-chan?" Mika's voice cut through. "You good? You've been staring at that thing for like a full minute."

Tomoyo looked up. "I'm fine. Just-"

"Raika?" 

Tomoyo nodded.

"About time she texted back. What'd she say?"

"She wants me to meet her somewhere."

"Right now?" Kenji pulled out his phone to check the time. "We've got like fifteen minutes before first period."

"You'll get in trouble." Kuroko's red eyes fixed on Tomoyo. "Teachers notice when you skip."

Tomoyo gripped her phone tighter, the plastic case digging into her palm. Raika needed her now - not after school, not during lunch break tomorrow. Now.

"I'm sorry."

She turned and ran.

"Tomo-chan, wait!" Mika's voice followed her, but Tomoyo didn't stop.

She sprinted toward the station, guilt pooling in her stomach with every step. She abandoned them without explanation, without even trying to make up a decent excuse.

But Raika was waiting.

***

The train platform blurred past Tomoyo's peripheral vision as muscle memory guided her toward the correct train. She'd taken this route enough times that her feet knew exactly where to stop, which door would open directly in front of her, how many steps until she reached the pole she always grabbed during the ride. The missing sky made depth perception difficult, but her body compensated without her having to think about it.

The eel, meanwhile, had turned in place and was staring directly at her. Tomoyo met its gaze.

Why are you looking at me?

The eel didn't respond. Obviously, it never did.

You were staring at other people earlier. What changed?

Still nothing.

Is this about Raika? Do you know something I don't?

The train lurched to a stop. Tomoyo stumbled forward, breaking eye contact with the eel as passengers shuffled toward the exit. She followed them onto the platform, through the ticket gates, up the stairs into the mall.

The mall sprawled beneath a glass ceiling that should have flooded the space with sunlight. Instead, only eel illuminated the path, its glow reflecting off polished floors and store windows displaying clothes Tomoyo would never wear. The aquarium occupied the entire east wing, its entrance marked by an archway designed to resemble ocean waves.

She fumbled through her bag, searching for her annual pass. Pencil case, wallet, loose receipts that needed throwing away, but no pass.

"Tomoyo-chan?"

She looked up. The worker at the entrance smiled at her from behind the ticket counter.

"Forget your pass again?"

"I... yes. Sorry."

"No problem. I see you here often enough." He waved her through without checking his computer. "Enjoy your visit."

Tomoyo bowed and hurried inside.

Raika hadn't specified where to meet, but Tomoyo already knew. Past the starfish, beyond the jellyfish, through the tunnel where rays glided overhead.

The Magellan penguin exhibit waited at the far end.

Tomoyo found her there, exactly where she'd expected. Raika stood before the glass, watching a penguin waddle across the rocks. Her posture hadn't changed from the rooftop: shoulders relaxed, head tilted slightly, like she'd just been hanging out waiting.

But her hands.

Blood covered them completely, coating her fingers and palms and wrists and forearms. It dripped onto the floor in slow, steady drops that pooled at her feet.

And attached to her back, connected by an umbilical cord identical to Tomoyo's, floated a fish.