And of course, that morning, Lord Byakuya left his quarters promptly an hour before dawn had filtered through the trees—and nearly stepped on the girl, glaring gravely at the doors. Hands clenched over her folded knees, she looked so stiff and furiously pained that it was clear she had been like that for the better hours of the night. She looked up at him in a defiant deference, if such a thing were possible: it was not, but Rukia seemed willing to live for the sake of the contradiction.

“Brother, I’m--” she said. Her eyes flared. Her voice cracked more than slightly—that, he decided then and there, would be one of the next things to focus upon. She corrected herself: “I mean! I am! I am! I am ready for my lesson.”

And perhaps, in the hallway, there was a shred of hope to be found there after all.