The squeak of the sliding door was warning enough, even over the burbling of the spring and a little water-fall that trickled down at the far end of the pool. Ryouma slitted his eyes open and settled in to appreciate the way the damp towel hugged her curves, the long pale lines of her legs, the water beading at the hollow of her throat...

She dropped the towel.

He sat up, eyes snapping fully open. Steam billowed around her, but it couldn't hide her body, or her scars--the thick cruel crescent curving under her belly, from hipbone to hipbone; the long white line carving down her sternum, where her ribcage had been cracked open and sewn shut again; the four savage claw marks raking over the left side of her ribs, seaming the edge of her breast. The needle tracks and burn-scars on her arms were almost minor, compared to this.

He'd thought it was torture. She'd said it was experimentation. This was-- This was obscene.

He was on his feet, with no memory of getting there. "Katsuko," he said. His voice was raw in his throat. "They--they're dead, aren't they?"