On the thirty-second day, Shuo woke from the chill.
It wasn't the weather. It was a malicious gaze, pricking the edges of his perception like fine needles, cold enough to keep him from sleeping.
He opened his eyes and lay still, too lazy even to turn over.
Lightspeed Thinking kicked in instinctively, feeding information into his mind-the room was twenty degrees; Sai was still asleep in bed, breathing steadily; outside, dawn had yet to break, and the gray sky had a bluish cast; someone lay on the opposite rooftop.
That person's Chakra was suppressed so low that he almost blended into the night. His body temperature was lower than normal, and his breathing was slow, just once every seven seconds.
He belonged to the same group as the ones who had tried to assassinate Shuo last time, but this one was clearly stronger.
Shuo watched for three seconds, then slowly sat up.
The person on the opposite rooftop moved. He didn't flee, merely shifted position and kept staring at Shuo's window, as though nailed in place.
Shuo got out of bed, slipped into his slippers, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains open.
Through a pane of glass and thirty meters of darkness, their eyes met.
The man's eyes gleamed faintly in the shadows, scarlet red-the Sharingan.
Shuo blinked, his face expressionless, and raised his right hand, pointing his index finger toward the man.
A speck of golden light emerged at his fingertip, faint as a firefly yet dazzlingly bright.
He said nothing, but the man understood-I see you.
The man slowly stood up. He didn't run, simply stood on the rooftop, meeting Shuo's gaze through the darkness.
Three seconds later, he turned, flickered, and vanished behind the rooftop without leaving a trace.
Shuo lowered his hand, and the