Yuki halts. This bar might as well be the Tombs of the Star Corridor, chamber ensnared by a nexus of roots and branches like a haunted forest. Trees are supposed to oxygenate the air, clear toxins from the breeze, but instead the cavity is stale and stifling. Hot, dry. Global warming in the span of a doorway. 'Huh? '

'This is for Riko, ' he says again, shattering Yuki 's snowglobe world. Miniature flecks of joy and wonder litter the carbon-black tile spackling the ground. As if they 're worthless. 'She died because of you. '

'She-- ' The hell is Yuki supposed to say? That she died because of Toji? That she died because of the Star Religious Group? That she died because of Q? That she died because of Tengen, because of the higher-ups, because of the whole damn jujutsu society? Where is the blame?

Is it me?

'How do you know her? ' Yuki finishes instead. Crisis on the backburner, a pot filled with gasoline. One drop on the stove and it 'll explode. 'Who are you? '