Night cut the Clan Grounds into sections.
The night wind pushed at a window someone had failed to shut properly. Its creaking carried halfway down the street, then fell silent.
Itachi emerged from the alley by Izumi's house and headed toward the main house. Since leaving her home, he had not looked back once.
He had walked this road a thousand times. Which way each door opened, whether a threshold stood half an inch higher or lower-he remembered it all with his eyes closed. He had counted the cracks in the paving stones when he was eight.
His pace was unhurried. There was no need to rush tonight. Every household had its place in the sequence.
The first door stood ajar. The light was still on. Two sets of bowls and chopsticks sat on the table, the food untouched.
He went in, came out, and pulled the door shut behind him.
Clothes hung in the second courtyard, forgotten on the line. A gust of wind knocked the empty hangers together. They clinked twice, then stopped.
The third door was locked. He did not stop.
There were more empty houses than he remembered. He noted that without dwelling on it.
The fourth house had its light on, two shadows cast against the paper window. He pushed the door open and went inside. When he came out, the shadows were gone, but the light still burned. It would not go out until after midnight.
At the fifth house, a kettle sat on the stove. The water had boiled and was whistling. No one turned off the heat.
Itachi took it off the fire as he passed.
At the sixth, a Go board lay on a low table, the game half played. A black stone had just been placed in the center. Rice