It was strange. For a moment he didn't believe it, or that he saw clearly. Blood coated his vision, and he smelled it was her own. A definite level of shock, burrowed deep, twisted inside his gut It was small, but acutely painful.
Contorted and sweating, ripped wide for the world to see, opened to agony only death could follow.
Matsumoto Rangiku should never, ever appear in such a way.
The face of danger had cringed at his lonesome smile years and years ago. He'd chased the dark away by drawing it into himself. He'd bribed her pain away. He'd held her, cursed her, loved her, and left her. He no longer had a claim to her.
Faltering, his smile slipped a moment.
That had to be a damn lie.
Ichimaru Gin steadied with ease, sliding easily into routine. The incentive was that no one would ever know, they couldn't predict the future once he stepped into his underhanded role. Priorities were hard to distinguish, and under that fog he would forfeit most to ensure she wasn't the tragedy.