Anri likes it better this way. The man turns his back and expects him to follow. He can feel his clothes stiffening in the cold, so he moves forward a few steps, the crunch of snow beneath his boots. It's almost like he took an accidental dump in the lake all on his own. He can pretend for a little while longer that none of this has happened, think that he's staving off the shock that's already settled in the marrow of his bones.

"Where're we going?"

He wraps his arms around himself, stopping briefly. He knows he doesn't exactly have anywhere to go anymore. He's died... (has he really?) What do I have left to lose?