For the third time, I stopped mid-sentence, and looked down at the words I had written. I then glanced at the small wastepaper basket, already full with shreds of paper. Once again, I circled back to that question.

To tell, or not to tell?

I had told Takaaki to not tell Dad if I ended up a killer, but didn't he need to know? I knew of course he wouldn't be working this case whether I ended up dead or not. Moeka's dad most certainly wouldn't be. But just like all the cases that I had assisted with before, they'd both be family members desperate for answers, for closure. Who was I to deny them?

But, wouldn't it break them to know what Moeka-chan had done?

I sighed and leant down to pick up the bin and dumped all the shreds out on the desk in front of me. I then fished out the sheet of paper from underneath them and stared. This attempt hadn't gone very far. It hadn't even reached Kiran's death. I had managed to get to Moeka's last time, but that was when I had shredded it. I saw her name, flashing up at me from amongst the fragments. Moeka, Moeka, Moeka. I didn't understand why she had killed. Or I did, but I didn't want to understand. Because that meant that no matter how much I vowed that I would not become a killer myself, the possibility remained.

I started to rip up this page too, but then I stopped.

Because perhaps I wouldn't be a killer. Perhaps I'd be killed instead. Perhaps I'd be lucky enough to survive, but then what? And even if I did end up a killer, who was I to try and hide information that could lead to justice for the others? Would that not go against everything I stood for? Wouldn't that upset Dad more? I wanted to make him proud, even if I ended up dying.

And yet here I was yet again, going around in circles, wanting and not wanting at the same time.

I put the sheet of paper down, and looked through the desk drawers. Hadn't there been Sellotape somewhere? I had thought there'd been some in the storage room that I'd brought back with me a little while back, for no other reason that not really knowing what else to do with it. My search didn't uncover it though, and I just sighed. I pushed aside the pile on my desk, including the sheet I had been working on, then pulled another off the notepad I had been using.

Dear Dad,

I stopped there. By itself, there was no guarantee that this would make it to Dad. There was no guarantee that even the bodies of the dead would make it to anyone. Moeka's room had been cleared, Akari's body had been bundled away, and I presumed that if we had to go to the basement another time, Moeka's would also have been cleared away, just how Fumiaki's had gone by the time we'd gone down to uncover Moeka's deeds. I didn't know where they were storing those bodies, and I knew that was one of the things Osamu had been looking for.

Of course, addressing this letter to somebody else and asking them to deliver it to Dad wouldn't guarantee its successful arrival either. How would I know that that person would survive? It wasn't any more likely than my survival, was it?

And yet…and yet…

I would have chosen Moeka first, if she hadn't died, because she was my closest friend and who else would I choose but a close friend? Who else could I pick after that?

Teiichi, Osamu, Sadie and Eizo would want to be helpful and would leap at the chance to do so. Lilian, I wasn't sure about. There was something about her. Neither Azami nor Yuki could be trusted, though it wasn't their fault really. Takaaki and Sen'ya probably would be willing, but both of them were pretty unpredictable. Eikichi, on the other hand, would be efficient, as would Friede, but I was not close with either of them. These sheets of paper made me feel so exposed, and I knew if I was dead it wouldn't matter anymore but still, I was reluctant to address this to them.

I kept thinking deeply, going through everything I knew about them, all the times we had shared together outside of our captivity. And I circled back to one particular memory: a campfire, a discussion about humanity, walking together side by side. That fire had long since been put out, but what about us? That had been a happy moment, one that was long over, but what about the memory of it? If one of us survived, then that would be enough for those things to survive as well, wouldn't it?

And hope, that was an enduring human trait too, wasn't it?

So I picked up the pen again, and crossed out the words I had written. Then, underneath, carefully, I wrote:

Takaaki Jinsai,

This letter is an act of fortune telling. In writing it, I am predicting that you will get through this ordeal, even if I do not manage it myself…