Serina woke to the bubbling of a pot of porridge.
She hadn't made it herself-it was Grandma Saeki next door, the elderly widow of an Anbu operative who lived alone. Every morning at six thirty sharp, she cooked porridge in the hallway, and the scent of rice slipped through the gap under the door, more effective than any alarm. Serina rolled over. The sinking light in her left shoulder felt warm, like a heated buckwheat pillow tucked against her. The stabbing pain and cold numbness from three months ago were long gone, replaced by a solid, reassuring weight, like a bone that had healed over and stopped making trouble, only reminding her it was still there.
She reached for her terminal. Shikamaru's morning report had already arrived. She opened it. The body contained only three lines:
"Snow Valley outpost, northern Land of Iron. After a blizzard, a herder named Batu found a bronze bell roughly three finger-widths in diameter, with no clapper and Cloud Script engraved on its exterior. Shaking it produces no audible sound, but all hoofbeats, footsteps, and even breathing within a thirty-foot radius automatically take on the mode of the Breath-Guiding Art. Kikyo has secured the object pending your decision. Also: Batu says he heard three bell tolls the night he found it."
Three bell tolls.
Not the seven the Silence-Sound Sect had rung before, but three. Short and brisk, like a young temple monk impatient to announce mealtime.
She stared at "three tolls" for a long time, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the edge of the terminal. Then she threw back the covers, walked barefoot to her desk, and opened Jiraiya's notebook. Beside the page where she had last tucked the ginkgo leaf, a folded piece of coarse paper was still attached-she had assumed it was a