Akane stared at the neatly arranged pieces of her Sig Sauer, hands steepled in front of her mouth, elbows on the desk. An informant? A traitor? Neither?T he uncertainty was the irritating part. Someone had entered the periphery of her world without invitation, and she didn't yet know what that meant.
She had made the order an hour ago. They should be here by now.
She had just racked the slide into place when the intercom buzzed. One black claw reached over. She said nothing.
"Yatsura o kakuho shimashita, Oyabun." (We have them, Oyabun.)
An ear flicked. "Tsurete koi." (Bring them.)
She set the rebuilt pistol down and steepled her fingers again, eyes on the door.
Her tail had not moved once.
When they came in, she watched them cross the room the way she watched everything—quietly, completely, missing nothing. She let the silence sit for a moment after they were seated. Long enough to be uncomfortable.
"Watashi no kumi ga anata ni kyōmi o motta." (My clan took an interest in you.) Her voice was soft. It was always soft. "Sore wa, watashi mo onaji da to iu koto." (Which means I have as well.)
She picked up the pistol. Not pointing it—just holding it, turning it over once in her hand before setting it down again on the other side of the desk.
"Hanashite." (Talk.)
