A/N: this isn't precisely an action-packed chapter, but after what happened in the previous one I felt it would make sense having a somewhat "slower" one, to let the characters think over what happened a bit and generally set things up for the next one. Also, I felt like giving some spotlight on Musashidou and his own backstory since so far the fic has been prominently about the other three. He's going to be a Cradle executive as well, after all, so I decided to give him some more space.

"Well then, gentlemen. The game is over, and I believe I have won."

Musashidou's words broke a long, stunned silence, causing several of the other men and women in the lounge to recoil and turn to look at him. Musashidou couldn't hold back a smirk at the incredulity he could see on each face.

"You devil," Takahashi said, his voice halfway between admiration and resentment. "How in the world did you even imagine this could happen?"

A laugh. "I had a hunch, that's all, and decided to follow it. Audaces Fortuna Iuvat, my friend – Fortune favors the daring. But please," Musashidou added, reaching to put his empty glass back on the small table next to his armchair, "do not be too eager to pay me my due. We have time, after all; I suppose we can wait until we have the boys on board. After the show they granted us, they do deserve at least a hot meal and an explanation. Do tell, how are we going to find the life boat once they lower it? I suppose it sends out a signal?" he asked. Perhaps it would take them more than the nine hours time limit to lower the life boat and get far enough from the Gigantic, but that was no issue: it wasn't like they truly had a time limit to solve it. Despite what the players were told to... motivate them, they never had any intention to sink the Gigantic.

His words didn't really seem to gain him any points with the others, but it mattered little: he had come to realize he simply was not meant to be someone popular when he was still very, very young, and he had never let it bother him. He didn't quite care of being disliked as long as he was respected, or of being even hated as long as he got his due.

When Ms. Sato spoke to answer, her voice was collected as always and even colder than usual. Hardly a surprise: number [7] had been her bet, and he had almost made it out. Almost. How rude of the poor sod, Musashidou thought with some amusement, getting a lady's hopes up like that and then just dying.

"Yes, that is right. As soon as the life boat is lowered, the signal will be sent every few minutes so that we'll always know its position. We'll give the helmsman instructions to sail the yacht to them as soon as the life boat is lowered from the ship. They can't get very far from the Gigantic by just rowing and only one of them is both strong enough and in physical condition to row, so he'll certainly take pauses. I'd say we'll likely catch up with them in a matter of a few hours."

Musashidou nodded. "Very well," was all he said before finally getting up from his armchair. The game had been quite exciting and the satisfaction of knowing he had won against all odds was even better, so there would be no point in letting thew sour atmosphere in the lounge spoil the moment. "I believe I'll go out on the deck; I need some fresh air," he added, and after a quick nod at the others he walked out.

He heard them start talking before the door behind him had even closed, but didn't even try to catch a few words: he had no reason to concern himself with whatever was said out of resentment by a few sore losers. And they certainly were poor losers: Musashidou could almost imagine Gordain shaking his head at them. The old man had been a complete bastard but oh boy, he had been a true gambler if he had ever met one.

It was half past two in the morning now, and the ocean around the yacht was pitch black; hadn't it been for the sound of waves as they sailed through them, Musashidou would have almost imagined that beneath them there was complete nothingness. The air was somewhat chilly, but he didn't mind; it was rather pleasant just leaning on the rail and listening to the waves, savoring the cool wind that smelled of salt. Certainly more pleasant than when he had been the one in the life boat after the game had ended: that time the pleasant coolness had been chilling cold, and all he could smell was a stench of of dead fish, rotting seaweed and his own blood, oozing out from more wounds than he could recall and drenching shredded clothes.

People tend to fight back when they realize you have to kill them to keep living, and that you're desperate enough to it.

The memory caused him to scowl. He could smell blood again even though he knew it was only his imagination, that nothing was bleeding there. Nothing.

Musashidou reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cigar: that always helped whenever that happened. He lit it with some difficulty, having to shield the lighter from the wind, but the moment he took the first intake of smoke the stench of blood he had thought he was smelling vanished.

Good.

He wasn't new to moments like that and they didn't bother him most of the time, but sometimes they did, and he would always light himself a cigar to put a stop to it. And there had been a time, in the first year or so that had followed his own involvement in Gordain's game – the worst way to find out how much of a bad idea not paying his gambling debts to Lord Dashiell Gordain on time was – when the sensation had terrified him. No matter where he was, how safe he was and how well he knew it was only his imagination: sometimes he would smell blood as though he was back in that ship again, stabbing a struggling man to death in a desperate fight to get out alive, and that rarely failed to make him lapse into a full-fledged panic attack.

"We all had them; you don't come out of the Game without scars, be them on your flesh or on your soul. Give it time and it will go away on its own," one of Gordain's other successors, one of those who had won the game through the years, had told him once in a rare moment of talkativeness about the subject.

And indeed, that had changed: the sensation would come back from time to time even now, but there had been no panic attacks in years. He had found a way to live with it in the end, as the others had told him he would – but not without a price.

Musashidou's gaze fell on his own hand, where – years ago – he had worn a wedding ring. It hadn't been an especially good marriage, perhaps, but it hadn't been so bad, either. Looking back there may have not been much love, if any, but there was respect and an affinity he still missed from time to time. He had thought it would last despite his gambling addition, he truly had. And maybe his wife had as well – until he had been kidnapped, of course, only to reappear several days later in a hospital, with wounds he refused to explain.

That had been the first serious blow. Sadako had insisted to know what had happened, had demanded to know what had happened, and he had refused to tell her anything. Not only because Gordain expected absolute secrecy from each member of his 'club', as he called it, but because he knew without a doubt that if he told her anything she'd go straight to the police – with the only significant result of getting him and herself killed. So he had kept quiet, told her he couldn't tell her anything and refused to spend one more word on the subject. That alone may have been enough to make most people leave, he supposed, but Sadako had stayed and he had been glad for that. Until, of course, those episodes had started.

Sadako was no idiot, and of course she had realized there had to be a correlation between those sudden panic attacks and whatever he had been through that he refused to tell her about. But instead of dropping the matter she had insisted over and over again, until he had found himself wishing he could make her stop asking, silence her for good so that she would no longer ask – and found himself having to fight harder and harder against the urge to wrap his hands around her neck and choke her so that she would just leave him alone.

Musashidou would never know if she had never seen the murderous intent in his eyes or if she just cared enough to take risks, but for whatever reason she had chosen to stay. The marriage had lasted maybe five more months, until the night he had almost killed her.

He remembered little of it: only that he had dreamed, for it had to be a dream, that he was back in the Gigantic – back in the incinerator, back to fighting to get out, the man he was stabbing screaming and squirming and the smell of was blood everywhere like the blaring of the siren, loud enough to hurt his ears but never enough to cover his victim's cries. He probably had cried out in his sleep, too – and that was likely the moment when Sadako had tried to shake him awake.

Next thing he knew was that he was pinning her down on the mattress, an arm on her throat pressing down, down, down with all his weight – not even knowing who it was, only knowing it was a matter of killing or being killed and that he wanted to live. When his mind had finally, finally snapped back into full awareness the choking noises she made were staring to die down and her face was a terrifying bluish color, her lips livid and eyes bloodshot.

He could never forget the convulsive breaths she had drawn in the moment he had pulled back with a start, babbling something he couldn't even remember now, nor the way she had cried when she had finally regained some breath again. He had never heard her crying before: she was not one for tears.

The very next day it had been him to call a lawyer to file the divorce papers. He had come to the conclusion he was too dangerous for her – or anyone, for the matter – to stay near him, so divorce had been the only possible solution. She had not argued that decision; Musashidou supposed that almost being killed was a rather eye-opening experience, and she had come to realize she simply could not stay without her life being at risk. She had made him promise he'd seek professional help last time they had met, and he had promised – a lie, for he could not speak to anyone about what had happened in the days he had been missing, but she couldn't know it. As far as Musashidou knew, she had remarried a couple of years later and now had a child.

As for him, he had learned to live with the occasional episodes without lapsing into a panic attack with no need of a shrink; at the very worst, he would need a cigar and everything would be fine – as it was now.

Musashidou slowly exhaled some smoke and leant against the rail once again. But this time, instead of glancing down, he looked up. Even though everything was different – there was no smell of blood and death, he was on a yacht and not going adrift on a life boat, he was satisfied with himself for the victory and not terrified beyond words at the thought he may have survived a game he did not understand only to die on a life boat in the middle of the ocean – there was one thing that looked precisely as it had looked that night nine years before: the stars. Countless and luminous, they seemed to close he could almost believe he could reach out to touch them. Musashidou remembered distinctly having that same thought when he lay on his back on the life boat, too tired and in pain to row, letting the waves bring him where they would.

It felt like it had been a lifetime, he reasoned, taking another long drag from the cigar. And very soon the boys would be in the same situation he and every other survivor of Gordain's Game had been into: drifting in the middle of an ocean at night, wondering if anyone would come to pick them up or if they'd die there, be it for any wounds or of thirst and hunger.

The anguish of those moments, with a million unanswered questions in their mind, was something they wouldn't easily forget; he sure hadn't. It was a good thing they no longer had weapons on them, having left them behind when they had left the incinerator: Musashidou had been told that once, many years before, a survivor had shot himself on the life boat before the yacht Gordain and his men were into could reach him. He had died before he could find out that by just living he had gained himself membership of a very, very peculiar club... a membership whose refusal would be a death warrant, but that was never explicitly stated.

"At least the boys will have it easier," Musashidou mused aloud after releasing a cloud of smoke that immediately was blown away by the wind. Yes, the boys – his boys – would definitely have it easier because at least they were together. The worst part of his hours on the life boat had been being alone, with neither an enemy to fight for survival nor anyone he could turn to while facing the crushing doubt he may have lived through the game and drenched his hands in blood only to die of starvation on a small life boat in the middle of the ocean.

But this time there was more than just one survivor, and Musashidou was sure the three of them could hang on for a few more hours – just enough time for them to reach them and get the on the yacht. And then... then they could finally meet personally. They were such a fascinating bunch, Musashidou thought, each of them piquing his curiosity – and he couldn't wait to exchange a few words with them.

He was certain it was going to be... interesting.

Gentarou turned away from the metal door that separated them from the incinerator after what felt like an eternity, when the roar of flames began to die down and a long time after the screams had stopped. He licked his dry lips and turned to his left, where Nagisa had been standing when the door had closed behind them. And he still stood there, staring at the closer door exactly like Gentarou had; it was only after a few moments that slowly turned to look back at Gentarou, perhaps sensing his gaze.

There were a few moments of silence as they just stared at each other. In the end it was Gentarou to break it, and in his own voice he heard the same stunned calmness he could see plainly on Nagisa's anonymous face. "I killed them," he heard himself saying. And it was then, only then, that the full implication of what he had said dawned on him: he had killed two men, shot one and left the other to burn alive while he could have saved him as well. Killed them, with his own two hands. And he felt... he felt nothing about it.

Absolutely nothing.

"We killed them," Nagisa spoke, his own voice raspy. "Both of us. All three of us. We all agreed on leaving Pluto behind. He deserved what he got," he added, his voice now harsher as the sense of unreality began fading. "He would have left us behind as well."

"True. But then there's Nitro. I shot him," Gentarou murmured. He hadn't enjoyed having to, for the man had done nothing to deserve such a fate – but he still felt no guilt over it: he had no choice. But it still felt odd to think that he had ended a man's life just like that, with just the pull of a trigger. He stared down at his hands as though they did not belong to him.

It was Nagisa's voice to snap him from his thoughts. "If you hadn't killed him, I would have," he said coldly, causing Gentarou to look back up at him in surprise. Nagisa sighed. "I'm sorry it had to happen. I liked him. He was a good man. But it was you or him, and... you said we'd win our way out of there, remember?" he added with a weak smile. "And we did, all three of us. But he had to go. I wasn't leaving you inside."

Gentarou found himself returning the weak smile. "Thank you," he said. He wondered if he could have said the same in Nagisa's place, and it was with some measure of surprise that he found himself truly thinking that yes, he would have. He wouldn't have died for him or anyone else, his own survival being his ultimate goal... but yes, he would have killed Nitro if the choice was between him and Nagisa; even with no logical reason to prefer either, he still would have.

The idea suddenly made him feel uncomfortable: it was not a way of thinking he was accustomed to, for outside his immediate family he had never given any human being any more value than he'd give to any other stranger he could see on the street. In the end Gentarou cleared his throat and chose to change subject.

"We should get moving. This ship may start sinking any moment," he finally said, looking at the long spiral staircase behind them. It went up and up as far as he could see, and he hoped it would bring them outside, hoped that the nightmare was finally drawing to an end.

Nagisa nodded. "Yes, let's go. Teruaki?"

No answer. Gentarou, who had almost forgotten about the child's presence, turned back to the door to see he was still there, right in front of it. He had not moved an inch: he just stood there, expressionless, staring at the door in silence – just as he had from the first moment, when the fire had started roaring and Pluto had begun screaming.

"We have to move," Gentarou repeated. "Teruaki, do you hear me? We must go. There isn't much time left before this ship sinks. We have to find a… a life boat, or whatever the hell there is here. Just come with us, okay? Teruaki...?"

For a few more, long moments the child just kept standing there and staring at the door, gaze unfocused behind thick lenses. Then he slowly – so slowly, as though he couldn't move any faster, as though moving more quickly would break his trance and make him crumble – brought his hands to his head, and his breathing quickened and he shut his eyes and-

Gentarou winced when the boy gave a wordless, drum-shattering shriek. Something inside him seemed to have broken, snapped free, whirled away into the static in his head – and when he no longer had breath, when the scream died down, he fell eerily quiet again and fell on his knees on the floor like a puppet whose strings were cut.

For a moment neither Gentarou nor Nagisa said anything: they only turned to stare at each other in silence, and Gentarou was certain that they were thinking the same thing – that whatever sanity Teruaki had been left was gone for good. He was a wreck and was never going to be alright again, given that he had ever truly been: the ordeal had broken him in a way that could never be fixed, no matter the amount of therapy he'd likely get in the years to come. It would be like trying to fix a vase that had shattered in a thousand pieces: even if one could manage to glue all the pieces back together the vase would show all the cracks, would never again properly hold water and it would break again at the slightest pressure.

"Teruaki," Nagisa finally called out, walking up to him and awkwardly crouching down to put a hand on his shoulder. Gentarou could tell, from the grimace he could not completely hide, that his broken arm was hurting once more now that the adrenaline was starting to wear down.

The child didn't wince nor he looked up at him, but he spoke; his voice was so hollow and emotionless that Gentarou could barely even recognize it. "He said she was brought here because of me," he said flatly. It didn't take a genius to know what he exactly was talking about. Nagisa sighed.

"It wasn't your fault. Whoever set up this damn game is to blame, not you. Pluto killed her, not you. You know that, right? Right?" he insisted, giving the child's shoulder a small shake.

Teruaki kept staring at the floor, saying nothing, and Gentarou scowled, his patience wearing thin. They had maybe twenty minutes left before that damn ship began sinking, and they didn't have one minute to lose. The kid was going to have to save his guilt for later.

"If you don't move now, she will have died for nothing," Gentarou said sharply. That shook Teruaki out of his trance in a way Nagisa's words could not: he winced, and looked up at him as though he had just spoken in a foreign language. All of a sudden he was once again the terrified little boy he had met almost nine hours earlier, and that was good – that was the one he could get to do what he said.

"W-what...?"

"Murakami wanted you to make it out. She wanted you to live so much that if necessary she would have been willing to stay behind so that you could escape. She told us as much back behind Door [4]. She said-" Gentarou trailed off, suddenly reminded of something that had happened in the kitchen, something he had brushed aside as meaningless – Murakami holding Teruaki tight and saying something in his ear back in the kitchen. "The knife," he said slowly. "The kitchen knife you had in your pocket, the one you used to stab Pluto – it was from the kitchen, wasn't it? This ship's kitchen. Murakami gave you that, didn't she?"

Teruaki nodded, finally allowing Nagisa to help him back on his feet. "Yes. She t-t-told me to k-keep it hidden. S-said it was j-just to... t-t-that she wanted me to stay s-safe."

Nagisa gave him a brave attempt at a smile. "See? She wanted you to be safe. And you are now – but we must go, alright? Up those stairs and... and then out, I hope. We must leave this ship before it sinks, get back to civilization and then go to the police. The people who did this must pay, right? Not just Pluto – all of them. For Murakami and... and the others, too. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Teruaki drew in a deep, trembling breath, then he finally nodded. "A-alright," he murmured, giving one last, long glance at the door before finally turning his back to it. Gentarou smiled.

"That's more like it. Let's go," he said, and they finally began climbing up the stairs as quickly as they could. It was a very, very long spiral staircase and it took them more than Gentarou was comfortable with to reach the top – but in the end they did and in front of them was a small, metal door. Gentarou grabbed the handle and pulled. He had only one moment to fear the worst – that the door would not open, that all their struggled had been for naught and that they would be trapped there no matter what, doomed to sink with the ship – before the door opened with a clang and cool, cool air rushed in his lungs, the sight of an impossibly starry sky greeting him.

They were out.

And in front of them, hanging on the side of the ship as though in wait, was a life boat ready to be lowered.

"Musashidou, sir?"

Snapped from his – admittedly rather morbid – thoughts, Musashidou turned away from the night sky and glanced back at the man who had called out for him, some waiter whose only duty on board was serving them their drinks and whose name he never bothered to remember. "What is it?"

"The signal has been sent out. The winners have lowered the life boat and are currently moving away from the Gigantic. We estimate we'll reach them it three hours at most."

Musashidou shook his head disapprovingly. "That long? My, we keep the yacht too far away from the ship."

"You know it's a matter of safety, sir. While unlikely, there is always a chance someone from outside notices the ship – and if that happens we have to be far enough not to raise suspects."

A sigh. "These people really don't like taking risks, do they? One should wonder why even bother to gamble," he muttered. "Oh well, I suppose I can keep my curiosity at bay for a few more hours. Let us proceed, then," he added, and that was all the time he was willing to spare on the man: the next moment he was turning back to the sea and taking another drag from his cigar, once against lost in thought.

As the shadow of the huge ship they had been into completely faded away from their sight, blurring into the darkness all around them, Gentarou could feel his euphoria upon being out of there start to fade away. Not only because his arms were hurting with strain from rowing incessantly, not only because a damp coldness was starting to make him shiver despite the workout – but because as the full implications of their new situation began dawning in his mind, he realized they were still far from being out of danger.

They may be out of the ship, yes, but they were in a life boat in the middle of hell knew what ocean with nothing but darkness all around them, a couple of blankets, a small oil lamp that was barely enough to be able to see each other, little water, no food and the frightening certainty that nobody knew where they were. Nobody but the sick fucks who had put them in that situation to begin with, and somehow Gentarou failed to find it reassuring.

He tried not to think about it, tried to just keep rowing and rowing and rowing so that they would be as far as possible from the ship when it sank – did it sink yet? Was it sinking right now? He couldn't tell, it was too dark and the ship too far and he could only hear the sound of wavers against the life boat – but in the end he had to stop, his arms and shoulders screaming for mercy. He pulled the rows back into the life boat and looked at the other two for the first time since the moment he had started rowing.

At the weak light of the oil lamp he could see that Teruaki was resting on his side on the bottom of the boat, his head resting on a bunch of rope. He was wrapped into one of the blankets and shivering slightly, but clearly asleep. He was giving Gentarou his back, so he couldn't tell whether that was merely for the cold or because his was an uneasy sleep... but, to be honest, Gentarou couldn't truly be bothered to truly check. Nagisa was resting against the boat's prow, a blanket over his shoulders, the broken arm still hanging to his neck and his gaze empty, lost somewhere in the darkness around them.

Seeing him like that worried Gentarou almost more than their current situation did, just like seeing him crying back in the engine room had: it didn't matter if Teruaki was broken, but Nagisa couldn't break – he needed him not to, because he couldn't handle that shit alone. It was too much.

"Nagisa," he called out, coming to sit next to him.

Nagisa recoiled just a little, but did not turn to look at him. His gaze stayed fixed on the blackness around them. "Do you think anyone will find us?" he asked, very quietly. It was obvious that he had realized as well how bad their situation was, and how.

Gentarou swallowed. "Of course," he said, desperately trying to actually believe what he was saying. "Someone will find us sooner or later. I'm sure."

"Sooner or later," Nagisa repeated flatly. "But how later? We have only a water bottle here, and no food. We don't even know where we are. No one knows where we are."

"Whoever put us on the ship knows," Gentarou countered. "Maybe... maybe they'll let authorities know where we may be. We won their game. They can't just let us die here."

"And what makes you so sure?" Nagisa snapped, finally turned to glare at him. His eyes were reddened, the haunted look in them making Gentarou's mouth go dry. "They're sick enough to make people fight and die for their amusement! Why should they bother to get us rescued? They're probably just laughing at their joke now, they-" Nagisa trailed off with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a choked sob and fell silent once again. He stayed silent for a few long minutes – they both did – and when he spoke again his voice was dull, and distant. "Say. Have you ever read a book called 'And Then There Were None'?"

Gentarou couldn't say he liked that title, nor he liked where that may be going. But he tried to keep his worry in check and spoke quietly. "No, I never read it."

"It's about ten people who get invited to a house on an island. No way to get away. But their host does not show up. Instead, on the first evening they hear a rhyme about ten soldier boys dying one by one. And then the guests start dying. One by one, just like in the rhyme. The guests know it has to be one of them, but they can't figure out who it is and they keep dying. Until there is none left; not the victims, not their murderer," Nagisa said. His dull tone and distant gaze made his words even more ominous.

"There was nine of us. Not ten," Gentarou pointed out, unnerved by the comparison. "And not all of us died. We lived, and will live. We won't just... we cannot... we'll make it, alright? I refuse to-" he was cut off when Nagisa began speaking again, his voice almost a whisper, and he realized he was not actually speaking: that was... some kind of rhyme.

"Four little soldier boys going out to sea; a red herring swallowed one and then there were three," Nagisa murmured. He turned his head just enough to glance down at Teruaki's sleeping form, his eyes empty. "Three little soldier boys walking in the zoo; a big bear hugged one and then there were two."

Gentarou swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. A cold chill ran down his spine. "Stop," he said hoarsely. "Stop that."

But Nagisa didn't stop, didn't even seem to hear him. "Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun; one got frizzled up and then there was one."

"Nagisa-"

Nagisa laughed, lowly enough not to wake Teruaki up – but it was no true laugh. It was the sound Gentarou would associate with the padded cell of a madman. "One little soldier boy left all alone; he went out and hanged himself and then there were no-"

"ENOUGH!"

Gentarou's cry seemed to snap Nagisa out of some kind of trance. He recoiled, and blinked blearily at him as though he had just been woken up. On the bottom of the life boat, Teruaki awoke with a start and looked up at them with empty eyes, as though barely even comprehending who he was, and where they were.

"We will not die. Not now," Gentarou almost snarled, reaching to grab Nagisa's shoulders as though wanting to shake him, only refraining because the other boy's arm was broken. "I refuse to give up now! We won their damn game! We WON!"

Nagisa stared back for a few moments, then he drew in a trembling breath. "But where are we? Who will pick us up? Will anyone pick us up?"

Gentarou swallowed. "I... I don't know. But someone will have to. They're probably looking for us. So we can wait and see. We have water, and... and it will be enough for a bit," he added. "And going on and on muttering creepy rhymes will do us no good. Stop it. Stop thinking about it. And you get back to sleep," he added, turning to Teruaki and making an effort to soften his voice. "It's alright. We'll be alright."

The child said nothing: he only gave him one apathetic glance before settling down on the bottom of the lifeboat and curling under the blanked in a fetal position again – only that this time he rested his head on Nagisa's leg. Gentarou stared at him for a few moments – he knew he was broken, but he was still unsettling to look at – then sighed and leaned against the side of the boat as well, beside Nagisa. "We'll be alright," he repeated, suddenly feeling exhausted, and didn't even move when Nagisa leant his head on his left shoulder. The air around them was cold and humid, he had to rip off his shirt's sleeves long ago and Nagisa felt pleasantly warm on his bare skin.

"Do you really think we'll make it?" Nagisa murmured close to his ear, so that Teruaki couldn't hear him.

Gentarou sighed. "I have to," he said, and looked up at the sky, at the countless stars above them – the only light in the blackness around them, aside from the weak light cast by the oil lamp on the bottom of the boat. "They look close, don't they?" he said, more to get Nagisa's mind and his own away from their situation.

"Yes. You don't see them like this ashore, but I don't think I'll miss the sight much once we're back home," was the reply, and Gentarou was relieved by the change – now Nagisa spoke of when they'd go home, and no longer seemed to wonder if they would. Or at least he was trying not to. Still, a good sign.

"Me neither," he found himself replying. "Say, would you mind sharing at blanket? It's cold," he added. There was a bit of adjusting needed, with Nagisa careful not to move his broken arm and the leg Teruaki was now using as a pillow, but in a matter of a few moments they were once again resting back, pressed close to share some warmth and the blanket across both of them. There were a few more moments of silence as they both kept staring up at the night sky.

"How familiar are you with Western zodiac?"

The sudden question caused Gentarou to blink, but he decided to go along: idle chat was always better than keeping silent and sinking back into despair. Maybe that was the reason why Nagisa had brought it up in the first place: he was trying to keep his mind busy with lighter subjects than the possibility of dying adrift on a life boat.

"I know almost nothing," he replied. "I can't say it's a field that interests me. What about it?"

A shrug. "I was just trying to recall what my stepfather told me about it. You know, to focus on something else. When were you born?"

"August."

"What day?"

"August first."

"Then you're a Leo. It's a Sun sign," Nagisa said, making a vague gesture in the air with his good hand.

"Huh. What about it?"

Nagisa gave a weak chuckle. "Now you're asking too much. I can tell your element would be fire, but nothing past that. I'm no expert."

Gentarou smiled, glad to hear that chuckle: he'd rather not have to deal with a desperate Nagisa again. He needed him as his ally still. He nodded and looked back up at the sky. "And what about you?"

"Just about your total opposite. Cancer. Moon sign, the element being water. But hey, now don't go asking about love compatibility!" he added, elbowing Gentarou lightly and causing him to blink before giving a small, somewhat uncomfortable snort.

"Wasn't about to, thank you so much."

"You don't know what you're missing."

"What?"

Nagisa chuckled again. "Just kidding, just kidding. No need to get defensive only because this," he added with a vague gesture, clearly alluding at the way they were resting close under the same blanket, "looks all kinds of wrong from outside."

"And then you tell me I should be forbidden to joke. That's not a mental image I wanted," Gentarou muttered, looking away from the sky and back at Teruaki's sleeping form. He hadn't moved at all in those past few minutes: still huddled into his blanket, still resting his head on Nagisa's leg. It couldn't be too comfortable, but Gentarou assumed it was still better than the rope... and maybe it was more of a reassurance, even in his sleep, that he was not alone and that someone else was there with him.

Nagisa had to follow his gaze, for when he spoke again he was clearly referring to the child. "He will never recover, will he?"

"I don't think so, no."

"He almost scared me, back outside the incinerator. When he screamed. It was like... I don't know. I never heard anything like that before. I hope I never will again."

Gentarou nodded. "Same here," he said, then, "I didn't expect him to turn on Pluto. I really thought he wanted to leave with him for a moment."

"Same. I had no idea he had a knife, and even if I did I wouldn't have thought he'd use it. I didn't think he'd have it in him to try," Nagisa murmured. "We underestimated him, and so did Pluto. He dug his grave when he taunted him about killing Murakami. But..." he hesitated before speaking again. "Can I ask something?"

"What is it?"

"What happened inside the incinerator?" Nagisa asked, turning to glance at him even though they were so close already. "You began acting odd all of a sudden, said you heard something none of us heard, and then you suddenly knew it had been Pluto. Just like that. So... what happened? How did that happen?"

Gentarou hesitated, thinking back of the voice – no, the voices – he had heard back in the incinerator. With all that had happened he had no time to dwell on it, but now... now he did wonder. Whose voices were those? What were they saying? Why? And why was he the only one to hear them? How had he heard them?

"Gentarou...?"

Recoiling at the sound of Nagisa's voice, he sighed. "You'll think I'm insane."

Nagisa shook his head. "No. I've already seen what the definition of insane is, and it's not you. Besides, whatever happened back there had to be real. You did know Pluto was the murderer, and you were right."

"No, I... I didn't know who the murderer was yet. I only knew I had to look for someone left-handed. That was why I threw both him and Nitro the watch, remember? I knew it could only be one of them by that point. And I knew that because... something... made me think back of the marks on Murakami's face."

A sigh. "You're avoiding the question, aren't you?"

"No, I-"

"Then define something."

Gentarou sighed. "Alright. I heard a voice. Two voices."

"Voices?" Nagisa repeated after a moment of silence, as though wanting to make sure he had heard well.

"Yes. It was a boy and a girl. She sounded more like a child than him. And they kept repeating something, like a... a riddle, I think. Something about the sinister hand. And then I had this moment when I just got it. An epiphany, if you will. I just thought back of Murakami, and of the marks, and this sinister hand... I knew it meant the left hand. And then I just..."

"Knew?" Nagisa finished for him. He sounded incredulous, but still fascinated.

Gentarou nodded. "Exactly! I suddenly just knew that Murakami's murderer had to be left-handed. And I knew it couldn't be Mercury or Venus, because they used their right hand when they killed each other to get out of that room, and that it couldn't be Mars because she was too small, and that it couldn't be either of you two. I knew it had to be either Nitro or Pluto. So I threw them both the watch to see how they'd catch it, and when Pluto used his left hand I was sure. And I was right," he finished, putting all emphasis he could on the last word. He knew his tale had to sound insane, he knew that Nagisa probably wouldn't believe it, but that last part – that he had been right – was a fact that Nagisa couldn't dismiss.

There was a long silence before Nagisa finally spoke. "Somehow," he said, "this isn't even the most unbelievable thing I've heard today."

Gentarou released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "I know it's odd as hell and I have no idea how that even happened, but-"

"You don't have to convince me you told the truth," Nagisa cut him off. "I believe you. I can't imagine how it was possible and... look, maybe it was some kind of trick from their part, but I know you're not lying, okay?"

"You must think I was hallucinating, then," Gentarou muttered. It was a possibility he couldn't rule out himself, but on the other hand he had felt so real he couldn't quite bring himself to believe he had just imagined it all.

Nagisa shrugged. "Maybe it was. But in that case it was the most fucking useful hallucination in history, because it probably saved our lives. Hell knows what could have happened in that incinerator if we didn't find out who Pluto was, and what he did. We could have been the ones left behind to burn."

Gentarou sighed and nodded. "True. But we didn't. We lived and we're going to stay alive."

"You bet we're going to. Someone has to pay for this," Nagisa said, a vicious note in his voice. He stared down at Teruaki's sleeping form, his jaw set. Gentarou smiled tiredly.

"Now I recognize you," he said, then he had to hold back a yawn. Because he was tired, God, he was so tired and his arms hurt from rowing. And maybe sleeping wasn't such a bad idea: it would help them pass time and regain strength. Besides, dark as it was none of them could even hope to see anything and there was no point in rowing and rowing without even knowing where they were going.

His yawn caused Nagisa to yawn as well. "Tired, huh?"

"So are you, if I'm not mistaken."

"True. Maybe we should just... sleep, at least until dawn?"

"That's what I was thinking; we're not getting much done until it's day anyway. Now, if you could get that elbow out of my ribcage and stop stealing the whole blanket..."

They needed some more adjustments before they both could settle down comfortably enough, still close and with the blanket over them. By the time they did, Gentarou wasn't too surprised by the fact Teruaki hadn't even stirred: he had to be absolutely exhausted. As he was, after all.

"What about the oil lamp?" Nagisa asked, his voice already laced thickly with sleep.

"Let it on for now. It will give us a chance of being seen should a ship pass by while it's still dark," Gentarou answered. He didn't really think they could be that lucky, but he wasn't going to take the risk of having a ship passing right by the life boat without noticing them, or maybe even hitting them.

Nagisa didn't try to argue: he just leant his head comfortably on Gentarou's shoulder again, and in a matter of minutes they were both deep asleep, drawing some comfort in the little warmth they could share and almost rocked by the waves.

They were still sleeping when, in the cold gray light of dawn, a yacht appeared at the horizon heading in their direction.