I drew in a deep breath before stepping toward Kenzo’s bookshelves. My fingers hovered for a moment before I reached for one of the paper folders, flipping through the pages with quiet urgency, searching for any document bearing his signature. Nothing. My chest tightened as I pulled out a few more folders, setting them on the floor. Crouching, I skimmed through page after page, but they were all printed documents. No handwritten signatures.

Then, in another folder, I finally spotted his ...