Her cheeks burning, O-Ren let the doors slide shut behind her. The rain had picked up, pouring down in almost constant streams. She'd seen the garden before, herself in white against the snow.

But now the sakura was blooming, and the petals scattered in the downpour.

Across the courtyard, Bill threw back his dripping hair.

"You and I," she said, "have some unfinished business." With a soft sliding sound, comforting in its familiarity, her sword came loose from its sheath.