He blinked. “I don’t need—"

That was the secret of Iori Insurance. Kenji never protected people from disaster. He simply made sure that when the crack appeared, someone was there to hold the teacup steady until the light could find its way back in.

For the next month, Kenji did not send Hana a single yen. Instead, he showed up every Tuesday with a bento box and a checklist. Kiln temperature calibrated? Check. Supplier for clay re-established? Check. Grief counseling session attended? Check.

She looked up, numb. “The insurance adjuster isn’t coming for three days. I don’t even have a place to sleep.”