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She answered the question with nothing but a shrug, brief and barely there, an infinitesimal movement of her shoulders. Her eyes remained dispassionate.

There's nothing to tell you, Maegi replied. I'm alive. I'm here.

And I'd rather not be. But she figured Gucci didn't have to be a mind-reader to understand that unspoken addendum in her deadened visage.

She'd also rather be alone, but she couldn't hardly turn her eager bridegroom-to-be away.

The thought brought her back to some semblance of reality, and panic gripped her throat because—Mou—

What if he returned? What would he think?—

So. When's the wedding? she asked flippantly, trying to joke away her existential dread.