"Table 38," a hostess whispered, her voice like silk rubbing against stone.
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He found her sitting alone at the back. She looked nothing like the "jukujo" archetypes in the glossy magazines. She wore a simple charcoal kimono, her hair pinned back with a silver crane. When she looked up, Kenji felt a jolt of recognition so sharp it made his breath hitch. "Table 38," a hostess whispered, her voice like