The flight back to New-Edo was silent.

  Hana slept most of the way, her head against her father's shoulder, exhaustion finally claiming her. Kenji stayed awake, watching clouds, thinking about nothing and everything.

  Beside him, Takeshi dozed in the aisle seat, his massive frame somehow folded into the economy-class space. Behind them, the others spread through the plane—ordinary passengers on an ordinary flight, except for the eyes that never stopped watching.

  Kenji's phone buzzed. A message from Hiroshi, three rows back: Clean up crew finished at the warehouse. No traces. No bodies. It's like they were never there.

  He typed back: Good.

  Another buzz: Rossi called. Wants to talk when you're back.

  Kenji stared at the message. Rossi. Ten years since they'd become something like friends. The retired inspector still lived in Kyokai-machi, still visited the shop, still pretended he was just another customer.

  Rossi would know about this. Rossi always knew.

  Kenji typed: Tell him I'll call tomorrow.

  He put the phone away and looked at his daughter. At the rise and fall of her breathing. At the small cut on her cheek from the warehouse—superficial, but it would leave a scar.

  Another scar I gave her, he thought. Another wound from the life I couldn't escape.

  The plane droned on toward home.

  ---

  New-Edo rose from the sea like a promise.

  The towers of Zaitechku glittered in the afternoon sun, their glass faces reflecting a thousand other buildings. The traditional roofs of Kyokai-machi huddled at their feet, small and stubborn and unchanged. Kenji looked down at his city and felt something he hadn't expected.

  Relief.

  They landed, passed through customs, walked into the arrival hall. And there, waiting by the exit, was a face Kenji hadn't seen in months.

  Rossi.

  The old inspector leaned against a pillar, a cigarette burning between his fingers despite the No Smoking signs. He looked older—more grey, more lines, more weariness. But his eyes were the same.

  "Nakamura." He pushed off the pillar, walked toward them. "Welcome home."

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  "Rossi." Kenji nodded to Hana. "Go with Takeshi. I'll be there in a minute."

  Hana looked at Rossi, then at her father. "Be careful."

  "Always."

  She walked away with Takeshi, disappearing into the crowd. Rossi watched her go.

  "She okay?"

  "She will be." Kenji met his eyes. "You heard?"

  "I hear everything." Rossi took a long drag on his cigarette. "Fargo's nephews. Young, stupid, hungry for revenge. They've been planning this for years."

  "And you didn't warn me?"

  "Didn't know until it was too late." Rossi's voice was flat. "They were careful. Kept their heads down. Waited until you were vulnerable."

  Kenji was quiet for a moment. Then: "It's over. All of them."

  "All of them?"

  "Every one."

  Rossi studied him with those tired, knowing eyes. "You killed them."

  "They were going to kill Hana. I gave them a choice. They made it."

  Rossi nodded slowly. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look judgmental. He just looked... tired.

  "I'll make sure the local authorities don't ask questions," he said. "The rest is your problem."

  "My problem?"

  "You're out of retirement now, Nakamura. Word spreads. The men who came to Thailand—they're loyal, but they talked. Other people talked. By now, half the underworld knows that Kenji Nakamura is back." Rossi crushed out his cigarette. "That makes you a target. Again."

  Kenji said nothing.

  "I'm not telling you this to scare you. I'm telling you because—" Rossi stopped, seemed to struggle with himself. "Because you're the closest thing I have to a friend in this city. And I'd rather not see you dead."

  Kenji looked at the old man. At the enemy who'd become an ally, who'd become something more.

  "Thanks, Rossi."

  "Don't thank me. Just stay alive." Rossi turned to go, then paused. "And Nakamura? Take care of that girl. She's the best thing you ever did."

  He walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

  Kenji stood alone in the arrival hall, surrounded by strangers, and thought about what came next.

  ---

  Kyokai-machi hadn't changed.

  The same narrow streets. The same old women sweeping the same porches. The same cherry trees along the same canal. Kenji walked through his district and felt the years fall away.

  At the sweets shop, Hana was already inside, arranging mochi in the window the way Takeda used to. She looked up as he approached, smiled.

  "Tou-san. You're back."

  "I'm back."

  She came to the door, hugged him tightly. "I'm glad."

  "Me too."

  They stood together in the doorway of the shop, father and daughter, watching the street go by. Normal life. Precious life. The life they'd fought for.

  "Tou-san?" Hana's voice was quiet. "What happens now?"

  He thought about Rossi's words. About the men who'd come to Thailand. About the eyes that would be watching now.

  "I don't know," he admitted. "But whatever happens, we face it together."

  She nodded slowly. "Together."

  They walked inside, into the warm smell of sugar and tradition, and for a little while, the world outside didn't exist.

  ---

  That night, Kenji sat in his garden.

  The koi were still there, swimming their lazy circles. The cherry trees were bare now, winter coming, but they would bloom again in spring. The pond reflected the stars.

  His phone buzzed. A message from Hiroshi: Everyone's home safe. We're watching. Always.

  Kenji typed back: Rest. You've earned it.

  Another buzz, from Takeshi: You okay, boss?

  He smiled. I'm okay. Go be with your family.

  The last message was from an unknown number: We know what happened in Thailand. We know you're back. We'll be in touch.

  Kenji stared at the message for a long moment. Then he deleted it and put the phone away.

  They would come. They always came. That was the price of the life he'd chosen.

  But tonight, he was just a man in a garden, watching stars, thinking about his daughter.

  Tonight, that was enough.

  ---

  END OF CHAPTER 3