Morning in the Minato compound did not come with birdsong or gentle sunlight. It came with the rhythmic, concussive sounds of a private army drilling in the courtyard.
Hanae opened her eyes.
The ceiling was vaulted cedar. The sheets were black silk. The mattress was infinitely softer than the hospital cot or the rigid hotel beds she'd occupied over the last seventy-two hours.
She shifted her weight.
Fire flared along her left side.
"Don't move," a voice said.
Hanae turned her head. Ryuuji sat in a leather armchair beside the sprawling bed, a tablet in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. He was already dressed in dark slacks and a fitted charcoal shirt.
"What time is it?" her voice was gravelly with sleep.
"Six AM." Ryuuji didn't look up from the screen. "You slept for exactly four hours and twelve minutes. During which you tried to stab me twice."
