EIGHT-TWENTY PM, NIGHT OF THE GALA.
ON THE SECOND FLOOR, INSIDE THE VENUE.
“Where is he?”. Miyamura asks the moment he steps out of the room, calmly wiping the blood from his hands with his pocket handkerchief.
Misa sighs.
She hands him a bottle of water to wash the blood off his hands. He pours it over his hands right there in the hallway.
She stares at him in irritation.
He barely acknowledges the look. He tilts his head at her, waiting for her to reply to his question.
“I thought you preferred torment over killing?”. She replies evenly.
The look he gives her is so dark, it has her wincing. “Some things don’t deserve to exist”.
“Wow, that’s…harsh”. She says dryly.
“My secretary?”. He asks again, this time his tone cold.
“He’s in that room”. She points at the room right opp
