But there is progress.

Breath seizing stubbornly in his chest, his lungs burn. The miko and counselor are watching, waiting. But her question—the one he's owed her an answer to since he stepped out of her life all those months ago—paralyzes him.

"Sesshoumaru?" the counselor prompts.

It's suddenly too much, and he folds. "I was scared."

Next to him, her breath catches.

He forces himself to look at her, to give her that much. But it is uncomfortable and painful, and his words rasp. "And that is difficult for me to admit."

A small hand slides into his.