Yori tapped his cheek thoughtfully at the reply as Masato rolled up next to him. "Want? Not necessarily. At least not the artist. She's trying to tell us something. There has to be a deeper meaning."

"Progress," he hummed slowly, looking over the wilting flower. "Progress." He glanced back and forth between the hanged man and the blood rain, trying to put the pieces together. "Progress. The cycle of life and death. The rose dies so that the plants around it may live."

A frustrated sigh escaped his lips. "I can't piece together the numbers, though. They add nothing in context. Perhaps we need more. The others went upstairs, didn't they?"