Michiru's fingers wrap around her own, and Haruka offers no protest. Her hand is limp with exhaustion -- there's no point in resisting, anyway.

The question is as foreign as an alien language, and yet it sends a ice-cold pang down to the base of her abdomen just the same. Haruka's fingers twitch, then tighten. She sets her jaw.

"You're too selfish," she says, her eyes never leaving the wall ahead. Her blow has chipped the paint. "We had our own idea of what's right. We agreed on it together."

Haruka's voice is scratchy and low, dragged through broken glass, yet unyielding. "Don't decide those things on your own. It's cruel."