Jessamae observes Hanzo with an intensity that seems to have been born inside a she-wolf. His bloodied katana lies on the basin where he'd lost himself inside her weeks ago. Jessamae collects the item; her face smeared with blood; the white shirt she'd borrowed from him now soaked through. Damn it. This situation would send anyone spiralling. But not Jessamae.
She heaves the weapon off the counter and disappears, only to return moments later, her hands empty. "I gave it to Mary to be cleaned," she informs him.
He nods, unable to utter a word as she proceeds to undress. The jeans come off first. The socks, now soaked in blood, come next. And then she unbuttons the shirt, her fingers trembling; distracted by what he can tell are a million and one questions.
He had dreamed about her while
