Tsukiko flicks her still-glowing cigarette toward the fire.
It is still in the air when Marco cries out for Celia to stop.
It has barely touched the flickering white flames of the bonfire when she leaps into his arms.
Marco knows he does not have the time to push her away, so he pulls her close, burying his face in her hair, his bowler hat torn from his head by the wind.
And then the pain starts. Sharp, ripping pain as though he is being pulled apart.
"Trust me," Celia whispers in his ear, and he stops fighting it, forgetting everything but her.
In the moment before the explosion, before the white light becomes too blinding to discern precisely what is happening, they dissolve into the air.
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