The candles in the council hall burned lower than usual. The white lanterns at the entrance had not been taken down. When the wind swept past, their shadows swayed inside.
Only three hours had passed since blood was spilled at the west entrance. Twenty-odd people sat in the hall, none speaking first.
The brazier burned hot, but its warmth could not reach their hearts.
Kiyoshi sat in the last seat.
He was short, his back straight, the old ledger resting on his knees.
An old man sat ahead of him. Uchiha Sosuke, his hair half white, a strip of black cloth pinned to his cuff.
Dozens of people in the clan had pinned on black cloth this past month.
Sosuke raised his hand and slammed his palm on the table.
The teacup on it jumped.
"The blood hasn't even been wiped away."
His voice was hoarse.
"And you want people from the village handling our cases?"
The hall fell silent for a moment.
A middle-aged man on the left spoke up.
"Uncle Sosuke, who said we were letting people from the village handle them?"
"Then what about that blade at the west entrance?"
The middle-aged man drew his hand from his sleeve and pressed it downward. "The blade was Ju's. He's one of ours."
He paused.
"But the villagers are crowding the west entrance to watch. All their eyes are on us."
Sosuke sneered and pushed his teacup half an inch away. "So what if they're watching?"
He looked at them one by one. "Were they watching when our people died?"
A tall, thin man on the right spoke. He did not look at Sosuke, only at the cup on the table. "Keep this up, and clearing our name will have been for nothing."
Sosuke turned his head. "What did