He reached inside his jacket. She didn’t flinch. The old Chiharu — Chiharu.21 — would have run. But this Chiharu had spent three winters in the backstreets of Shinsekai, learning the arithmetic of silence and the weight of a borrowed name.
She stubbed out her cigarette. The room smelled of soy and old secrets. K93n Na1 Kansai Chiharu.21
“You were supposed to be in Kobe that day,” he said. He reached inside his jacket