Shuo hadn't fallen asleep.
Not because he didn't want to, but because the moonlight outside was too dazzling, as if it were deliberately picking a fight.
Lying on his side, he stared at the thin silver line in the gap between the curtains, clicked his tongue, and rolled over. Still dazzling.
Light Perception spread in a thin layer, like spilled mercury, quietly seeping into the floors and walls. Even the gaps between the street's paving stones and the roof tiles warmed by the moonlight lay clearly within its coverage.
Someone was on the roof.
They weren't crouching there looking around aimlessly. Their whole body lay extremely low, their chakra completely suppressed, like a lifeless stone.
Their body temperature was several degrees below normal, and they breathed slowly, once every seven seconds, even more patient than the village's old tortoise.
No killing intent.
It was the kind of professional expertise that hid killing intent so thoroughly that even its owner almost forgot it existed-Root's work, no question.
Shuo rolled over again, facing the ceiling, his limbs splayed like a salted fish.
The person on the roof didn't move, and neither did he. They simply waited each other out, as if whoever moved first lost. He had plenty of time anyway.
At 2:14 a.m., the insects outside suddenly fell silent, and even the wind stopped for an instant.
A roof tile clicked, as softly as a stray cat's footfall. Without listening closely, no one would have noticed.
Shuo sat up without turning on the light or putting on shoes. His bare feet touched the cold wooden floor as he quietly edged toward the window.
Hooking his fingers around the curtain's edge, he opened only a narrow slit. Moonlight flooded in, dividing his face into light and shadow as though he wore a