The daylight in the Main House's hall stopped where the bloodstains had dried.
Mikoto washed her hands in the courtyard. The bandage on her right hand had only been wrapped after dawn. The soaked patches had dried and darkened.
She poured out the water and curled her fingers beneath the bandage. They still moved.
Sasuke slept in the inner room, his brow furrowed since the night before.
Before entering, she glanced at the windowsill. The Cookbook was still there, coated in dust.
Dawn came late to the base. Smoke had only just begun to rise beneath the cooking shelter.
Izumi crouched beside the stove, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
"Let me."
The woman beside the stove startled. She had seen the register. Izumi's name had been on that long page.
"You... on the register-"
"I'm not on the register." Izumi dragged the basket of firewood over with a faint smile. "Dead people don't collect wages. I'll do some extra work to pay for my meals."
The woman opened her mouth, then said nothing and added a piece of wood to the stove.
Shisui had settled on that cover story two days earlier: beyond this mountain hollow, there was no such person as Izumi.
Izumi had agreed readily, as though it were nothing more than a small favor.
Among the children carrying water was a twelve-year-old eldest son. In all his days at the base, he had barely spoken half a sentence to anyone but Shisui. He passed Izumi with a carrying pole on his shoulder and hesitated.
"Izumi."
"Mm, take the water to the east end." Izumi answered without thinking. "Shisui's at the Outpost. He'll be back at noon."
The boy acknowledged her and left.
Izumi turned and saw Kiyoshi standing at the shelter's entrance.
She put down