The candle that lit the room was inside a glass bowl. Milton scrambled over the woman and reached for it, jamming it at Katsuro’s alcohol-sodden clothes. The room went dark before the candle lit the alcohol that had doused the fabric, bluish flame quickly sweeping across it. Katsuro ignored it for a moment, rounding the bed and drilling down with a right that flattened Milton against the carpet. He stomped down at him; Milton caught his boot and swept his standing leg, and the bigger man collapsed on top of him. Milton felt the burn of the flame on his skin and wriggled clear, hopping out of range as Katsuro’s wild downward swipe missed him and demolished the table instead.

Milton was starting to feel dazed, knew that he was badly outmatched, yet could not bring himself to retreat. Sakura was in the room next door, and he couldn’t leave her. Katsuro stood, worked off the burning jacket and flung it behind him. Milton looked for something to use as a weapon, saw the bottle of rum that the pair had been drinking from, and grabbed it by the neck. He smashed it against the table, the alcohol splashing over his trousers, and held the shattered remains out in front of him. Katsuro came on and Milton swung the bottle, a swipe from right to left and then another from left to right; the bigger man evaded each with surprising dexterity. Milton stabbed out with it and Katsuro blocked, the daggered edges cutting furrows along his forearm. He ignored the bloody tracks, slapping the bottle out of Milton’s grip and then shoving him with both hands. Milton stumbled back, losing his balance and falling through the curtains and out of the open door onto the balcony.

Milton was on his back, the sky spread out above him, fluffy clouds scudding along on a gentle breeze. The balcony was narrow, no more than a metre deep, and there was nowhere for Milton to go. Katsuro filled the doorway, his broad shoulders brushing either side of the opening, blocking any chance Milton might have to escape. Milton leapt to his feet and punched him, his fists bouncing against Katsuro’s chest and into his ribs, doing no obvious damage and having no effect. Katsuro seized him with both hands, pinning Milton’s arms to his sides, and then butted him in the face.

The day spun.

Katsuro butted him again and started to lift. Milton’s back was against the rail, a fulcrum against which he could start to feel himself turning. His right foot came off the floor and then his left. He jammed his leg between Katsuro’s, locking his ankle behind the bigger man’s knee, trying to anchor himself. It would take only a few more inches, an extra degree or two, and Milton would be over the edge.

There was nowhere to go.

The end of the road.