Yuji’s voice is sandy. His fingers card your hair into a gentle braid, the early morning, post-apocolyptic sun settling into the horizon, a canvas of oranges and yellows.

It’s bright and early but no less the middle of a murderous reality; the culling games. Another dawn — another step closer to working this out.

“I gotta say. If there’s one thing I actually kinda like about this situation, it’s seeing you with your hair like this.”