Page 107 of The Dragon 1

Starting and ending.

Over and over.

A mesmerizing worship of time.

The man beckoned her to walk over to him and where the red rope was tied to the hook. And that’s when my brain started to spiral—just a little.

What exactly is this? Is she going to swing? Float? Climb? Is this some sort of ritual? A dance? A hanging?

God, I hoped not that last one.

My heart gave a little kick in my chest.

I mean—I was in Japan. Their definition ofartandentertainmentmight not line up with my American sensibilities. Granted, I always figured America was much more of a violent country than Japan, but I didn’t know enough to truly expand on that topic.

The rope swayed lightly in the night breeze. The cello moaned and a chill rippled down my spine.

But I was alert.

Watching.

Waiting.

Please don’t let this be one of those “death as art” kind of things.

I liked the woman.

There was something powerful in the way she carried herself. Calm. Proud. She hadn’t even spoken and I already admired her.She didn’t strike me as the type to participate in a final act. Not like that.

Still, the rope.

The hook.

The music.

It all felt so. . .loaded.

But Kenji sat completely still beside me.

Which helped me breathe.

If something were about to go terribly sideways, I had the sense that Kenji wouldn’t be sipping sake and smirking like this. His posture was too open. Too grounded. He looked like a man watching a prayer unfold.

And the woman. . .she looked free.

Not in a reckless way.

In achosenway.

I let out a breath, leaned back in my seat, and grabbed my cup of sake.

Okay.

I didn’t know what was coming but I was ready to see it. As long as nobody bled or caught fire, I was game.

The woman got right by the hook, the rope hanging from it, and the man.

My breath caught.