They stride along in the darkness, lit only by the lanterns outside the buildings and the pearly glow given off by the ghosts as they wander and float. They're simultaneously harmless and immensely disruptive, and Lazarus finds himself struggling to reconcile the two. He hates this, despises the clenched feeling in his gut and the way Misa seems to want to look back again more than anything in the world. Even as he knows it's not her fault, his frustration needs an outlet, and finds it in the tight way he grasps her hand and the way his steps fall more heavily than they normally do.

Then she speaks, and his steps slow and stop.

"You... what?"

Well, that's a lot to take in.

"You echoed back the notebook? Is that what you're saying?" he asks, voice hoarse, thinking about his own echoes on the subject.

"...I believe you. What else do you know about it?" Maybe her honesty will hold out.