Fog rose over the Naka River on the last night of summer's first ten-day stretch.
After dark, this river usually had only two sounds: running water and the faint rustle of hidden sentries changing shifts.
Three days earlier, an unnamed channel had leaked half a sentence to Root: lately, Shisui had been patrolling the river alone.
The shadow that had watched for half a year had not withdrawn, and the missing goods had not been replaced. Passing along that scrap of news was like giving a light flick to a web that had been stretched taut for six months.
Kiyoshi did not know which channel had carried the rumor. He only knew what Shisui had said the night they laid everything out: for the bait to be real, the opening had to be real. So did the pain.
Kiyoshi lay on high ground two li downstream. The wind was strong, and he pulled his collar closed. As the night wind swept through the trees, he pressed himself lower.
A door stood in the darkness behind him, no light escaping its seams. Someone was already waiting on the other side. He had only one job tonight: watch. Stay out of the scene, do not intervene, and keep an eye on the door.
One night every ten days, Shisui patrolled downstream alone. That routine had gone unbroken for half a year, and the entire village knew it. Among those who knew, there were some who had been waiting for it all along.
At the third watch, fog slid downstream against the surface of the water.
The familiar figure came down along the riverbank at an unhurried pace. He first scooped up water by the shallows to wash his face, then rolled his cuffs up once, his steps growing slower and more even.