The smoke found it all.
Settled into my soul. Yet, didn't fix it.
Just sat with it the way Hiro sat with us tonight.
Fuck. . .I didn’t know I needed this. . .
I held it in.
The room changed.
The edges softened first. The curved glass walls lost their sharpness. The moonlight on the tatami spread wider and warmer than it had any right to. The koto notes I'd stopped consciously hearing came back and each one landed on my skin like a lover’s fingertips.
Light caress.
Then gone.
Light teasing stroke.
Then nothing again.
I held the smoke longer and turned to the cherry blossom tree in its black stone planter. The form blurred slightly at the edges and then sharpened. Every petal became distinct on the branches.
Pressure built in my lungs.
I exhaled.
The smoke left me, slowly unraveling from my nostrils in thin gray wisps that rose up to the ceiling and turned silver before dissolving.
Yes. They’re right. This is strong.
A numbing sensation moved warm through my bloodstream. My hands felt heavy in the best way. The sort of heavy that meant they were finally resting after months of gripping things—weapons, knives, the world.
I looked at the ceiling.
And Hiroko was there.
Not visibly.
But present still.
She was in the cedar smell. She was in the joint itself. She was in Hiro's laugh from minutes ago and in the way Nyomi had fed my soldiers tonight without being asked.
Perhaps, Hiroko had known what she was doing when she told her slave to give Hiro that joint. Maybe, she knew we would need it if she didn’t return.
I don’t want to think about her anymore. I just want to be okay.
The grief wouldn't leave, but the weed had done what the sake couldn't manage. It removed the heaviness and let me breathe around the sorrow.
For now.
For tonight.
We continued to smoke and the koto played through me.
I closed my eyes. “The weed makes the music deeper.”
Hiro chuckled.
