Something had been off about Izumi these past few days.
She helped out as usual. Whatever work they gave her in the shop, she did. Moving things, arranging shelves, serving tea to customers-she missed nothing.
She just spoke less. Before, she would talk back a little, her laughter light. These past few days, even her replies had been hushed, as though she feared disturbing something.
At night, she was not in her bed. Her roommate assumed she had gone to the back slope for some air and did not ask much.
She had not been like this before. Before the massacre, she had been the quickest to joke in the shop, humming no matter how heavy the crates were.
These past few days, the humming had vanished, and she had put away her smile too. Kiyoshi noted that as well-not in the accounts for the shopkeeper, but in a corner of the notebook's last page.
His account book had grown half a finger thicker. Izumi's comings and goings, Itachi's kneeling, Naruto's words-all were kept inside.
In the morning, her roommate handed her some warmed tea and asked casually.
"Izumi, you didn't sleep in your bed again last night?"
Izumi took the cup. "Needed some air."
She took half a sip, then set the rest on the table and left it untouched. Her roommate glanced at her and draped the rag over the edge of the table.
"You're frighteningly pale. Go get some rest."
"No need," Izumi said.
She turned to straighten the shelves, her back to everyone, and felt along the wooden compartments for a long time without picking anything up. Kiyoshi looked up from the corner and saw her knuckles turning white.
The shopkeeper raised his head behind the counter and jerked his chin at her.
"Izumi, put that