Shiro died. There was nothing pretty about it. There was no dignity to it. He'd been brutalized and savagely murdered - and he'd allowed it to happen to him in my place. But when he died, there was a small, contended smile on his face. Maybe the smile of someone who had run his course without wavering from it. Someone who had served something greater than himself. Who had given up his life willingly, if not gladly.